Autobiographical fiction; Bildungsromans; England -- Fiction; Feminist fiction; Love stories; Sex role -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
'I should vainly attempt to describe the struggles, the
solicitudes, the doubts, the apprehensions, that alternately
rend my heart! I feel, that I have "put to sea upon a
shattered plank, and placed my trust in miracles for
safety." I dread, one moment, lest, in attempting to awaken
your tenderness, I may have forfeited your respect; the
next, that I have mistaken a delusive meteor for the sober
light of reason. In retirement, numberless contradictory
emotions revolve in my disturbed mind:--in company, I start
and shudder from accidental allusions, in which no one but
myself could trace any application. The end of doubt is the
beginning of repose. Say, then, to me, that it is a
principle in human nature, however ungenerous, to esteem
lightly what may be attained without difficulty.--Tell me to
make distinctions between love and friendship, of which I
have, hitherto, been able to form no idea.--Say, that the
former is the caprice of fancy, founded on external graces,
to which I have little pretension, and that it is vain to
pretend, that--
"Truth and good are one,
And beauty dwells with them."
'Tell me, that I have indulged too long the wild and
extravagant chimeras of a romantic imagination. Let us walk
together into the palace of Truth, where (it is fancifully
related by an ingenious writer,[9] that) every one was
compelled by an irresistible, controuling, power, to reveal
his inmost sentiments! All this I will bear, and will still
respect your integrity, and confide in your principles; but
I can no longer sustain a suspense that preys upon my
spirits. It is not the Book of Fate--it is your mind, only,
I desire to read. A sickly apprehension overspreads my
heart--I pause here, unable to proceed.'
'EMMA.'
[Footnote 9: Madame de Genlis's Tales of the Castle.]
CHAPTER XXVIII
Week after week, month after month, passed away in the anguish of
vain expectation: my letter was not answered, and I again sunk into
despondency.--Winter drew near. I shuddered at the approach of this
dreary and desolate season, when I was roused by the receipt of a letter
from one of the daughters of the maternal aunt, under whose care I had
spent the happy, thoughtless, days of childhood. My cousin informed me--
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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