Richardson Clarissa Harlowe or the History of a Young Lady, the longest novel in the English language, all 9 volumes in a single file

1. Auflage 2018
ISBN: 978-1-4553-3754-5
Verlag: Seltzer Books
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, 2240 Seiten

According to Wikipedia: 'Samuel Richardson's Clarissa, or, the History of a Young Lady epistolary novel, published in 1748, tells the tragic story of a heroine whose quest for virtue is continually thwarted by her family. It is commonly cited as the longest novel in the English language.' Richardson 'was a major English 18th century writer best known for his three epistolary novels: Pamela: Or, Virtue Rewarded (1740), Clarissa: Or the History of a Young Lady (1748) and Sir Charles Grandison (1753). Richardson had been an established printer and publisher for most of his life when, at the age of 51, he wrote his first novel and immediately became one of the most popular and admired writers of his time.'

Autoren/Hrsg.

Richardson, Samuel

Leseproben

O Madam, Madam!  Kill me not with your displeasure--I would not, I  need not, hesitate one moment, did I not dread the inference, if I  answer you as you wish.--Yet be that inference what it will, your  threatened displeasure will make me speak.  And I declare to you, that  I know not my own heart, if it not be absolutely free.  And pray, let  me ask my dearest Mamma, in what has my conduct been faulty, that,  like a giddy creature, I must be forced to marry, to save me from-- From what?  Let me beseech you, Madam, to be the guardian of my  reputation!  Let not your Clarissa be precipitated into a state she  wishes not to enter into with any man!  And this upon a supposition  that otherwise she shall marry herself, and disgrace her whole family.   Well then, Clary [passing over the force of my plea] if your heart be  free--   O my beloved Mamma, let the usual generosity of your dear heart  operate in my favour.  Urge not upon me the inference that made me  hesitate.   I won't be interrupted, Clary--You have seen in my behaviour to you,  on this occasion, a truly maternal tenderness; you have observed that  I have undertaken the task with some reluctance, because the man is  not every thing; and because I know you carry your notions of  perfection in a man too high--   Dearest Madam, this one time excuse me!--Is there then any danger that  I should be guilty of an imprudent thing for the man's sake you hint  at?   Again interrupted!--Am I to be questioned, and argued with?  You know  this won't do somewhere else.  You know it won't.  What reason then,  ungenerous girl, can you have for arguing with me thus, but because  you think from my indulgence to you, you may?   What can I say?  What can I do?  What must that cause be that will not  bear being argued upon?   Again!  Clary Harlowe!   Dearest Madam, forgive me: it was always my pride and my pleasure to  obey you. But look upon that man--see but the disagreeableness of his  person--   Now, Clary, do I see whose person you have in your eye!--Now is Mr.  Solmes, I see, but comparatively disagreeable; disagreeable only as  another man has a much more specious person   But, Madam, are not his manners equally so?--Is not his person the  true representative of his mind?--That other man is not, shall not be,  any thing to me, release me but from this one man, whom my heart,  unbidden, resists.   Condition thus with your father.  Will he bear, do you think, to be  thus dialogued with?  Have I not conjured you, as you value my peace-- What is it that I do not give up?--This very task, because I  apprehended you would not be easily persuaded, is a task indeed upon  me.  And will you give up nothing?  Have you not refused as many as  have been offered to you?  If you would not have us guess for whom,  comply; for comply you must, or be looked upon as in a state of  defiance with your whole family.   And saying this, she arose and went from me.  But at the chamber-door  stopt; and turned back: I will not say below in what a disposition I  leave you.  Consider of every thing.  The matter is resolved upon.  As  you value your father's blessing and mine, and the satisfaction of all  the family, resolve to comply.  I will leave you for a few moments.  I  will come up to you again.  See that I find you as I wish to find you;  and since your heart is free, let your duty govern it.   In about half an hour, my mother returned.  She found me in tears.   She took my hand: It is my part evermore, said she, to be of the  acknowledging side.  I believe I have needlessly exposed myself to  your opposition, by the method I have taken with you.  I first began  as if I expected a denial, and by my indulgence brought it upon  myself.   Do not, my dearest Mamma! do not say so!   Were the occasion for this debate, proceeded she, to have risen from  myself; were it in my power to dispense with your compliance; you too  well know what you can do with me.   Would any body, my dear Miss Howe, wish to marry, who sees a wife of  such a temper, and blessed with such an understanding as my mother is  noted for, not only deprived of all power, but obliged to be even  active in bringing to bear a point of high importance, which she thinks  ought not to be insisted upon?   When I came to you a second time, proceeded she, knowing that your  opposition would avail you nothing, I refused to hear your reasons:  and in this I was wrong too, because a young creature who loves to  reason, and used to love to be convinced by reason, ought to have all  her objections heard: I now therefore, this third time, see you; and  am come resolved to hear all you have to say: and let me, my dear, by  my patience engage your gratitude; your generosity, I will call it,  because it is to you I speak, who used to have a mind wholly  generous.--Let me, if your heart be really free, let me see what it  will induce you to do to oblige me: and so as you permit your usual  discretion to govern you, I will hear all you have to say; but with  this intimation, that say what you will, it will be of no avail  elsewhere.   What a dreadful saying is that!  But could I engage your pity, Madam,  it would be somewhat.   You have as much of my pity as of my love.  But what is person, Clary,  with one of your prudence, and your heart disengaged?   Should the eye be disgusted, when the heart is to be engaged?--O  Madam, who can think of marrying when the heart is shocked at the  first appearance, and where the disgust must be confirmed by every  conversation afterwards?   This, Clary, is owing to your prepossession.  Let me not have cause to  regret that noble firmness of mind in so young a creature which I  thought your glory, and which was my boast in your character.  In this  instance it would be obstinacy, and want of duty.--Have you not made  objections to several--   That was to their minds, to their principles, Madam.--But this man--   Is an honest man, Clary Harlowe.  He has a good mind.  He is a  virtuous man.   He an honest man?  His a good mind, Madam?  He a virtuous man?--   Nobody denies these qualities.   Can he be an honest man who offers terms that will rob all his own  relations of their just expectations?--Can his mind be good--   You, Clary Harlowe, for whose sake he offers so much, are the last  person who should make this observation.   Give me leave to say, Madam, that a person preferring happiness to  fortune, as I do; that want not even what I have, and can give up the  use of that, as an instance of duty--   No more, no more of your merits!--You know you will be a gainer by  that cheerful instance of your duty; not a loser.  You know you have  but cast your bread upon the waters--so no more of that!--For it is  not understood as a merit by every body, I assure you; though I think  it a high one; and so did your father and uncles at the time--   At the time, Madam!--How unworthily do my brother and sister, who are  afraid that the favour I was so lately in--   I hear nothing against your brother and sister--What family feuds have  I in prospect, at a time when I hoped to have most comfort from you  all!    God bless my brother and sister in all their worthy views!  You shall  have no family feuds if I can prevent them.  You yourself, Madam,  shall tell me what I shall bear from them, and I will bear it: but let  my actions, not their misrepresentations (as I am sure by the  disgraceful prohibitions I have met with has been the case) speak for  me.   Just then, up came my father, with a sternness in his looks that made  me tremble.--He took two or three turns about my chamber, though  pained by his gout; and then said to my mother, who was silent as soon  as she saw him--   My dear, you are long absent.--Dinner is near ready.  What you had to  say, lay in a very little compass.  Surely, you have nothing to do but  to declare your will, and my will--But perhaps you may be talking of  the preparations--Let us have you soon down--Your daughter in your  hand, if worthy of the name.   And down he went, casting his eye upon me with a look so stern, that I  was unable to say one word to him, or even for a few minutes to my  mother.   Was not this very intimidating, my dear?   My mother, seeing my concern, seemed to pity me.  She called me her  good child, and kissed me; and told me that my father should not know  I had made such opposition.  He has kindly furnished us with an excuse  for being so long together, said she.--Come, my dear--dinner will be  upon table presently--Shall we go down?--And...