"[H]er spirits droop more than her body; she is thoughtful and melancholy when she thinks she is not observed, and, what pleases me worse, affects to appear otherwise, when she is"
— Mackenzie, Henry (1745-1831)
Author
Place of Publication
London
Publisher
W. Strahan, T. Cadell, W. Creech
Date
1777
Metaphor
"[H]er spirits droop more than her body; she is thoughtful and melancholy when she thinks she is not observed, and, what pleases me worse, affects to appear otherwise, when she is"
Metaphor in Context
My wife (that word must often come across the narration of a married man) has been a good deal indisposed of late. You will not joke me on this intelligence, as such of my neighbours whom I have seen have done; it is not however what they say, or you may think; her spirits droop more than her body; she is thoughtful and melancholy when she thinks she is not observed, and, what pleases me worse, affects to appear otherwise, when she is. I like not this sadness which is conscious of itself. Yet, perhaps, I have seen her thus before our marriage, and have rather admired this turn of mind than disapproved of it; but now I would not have her pensive-- nor very gay neither--I would have no. thing about her, methinks, to stir a question in me whence it arose. She should be contented with the affection she knows I bear for her. I do not expect her to be romantically happy, and she has no cause for uneasiness--I am not uneasy neither--yet I wish her to conquer this melancholy.
I was last night abroad at supper: Julia was a-bed before my return. I found her lute lying on the table, and a musicbook open by it. I could perceive the marks of tears shed on the paper, and the air was such as might encourage their falling: sleep however had overcome her sadness, and she did not awake when I opened the curtains to look on her. When I had stood some moments, I heard her sigh strongly through her sleep, and presently she muttered some words, I know not of what import. I had sometimes heard her do so before, without regarding it much; but there was something that roused my attention now. I listened; she sighed again, and again spoke a few broken words; at last, I heard her plainly pronounce the name Savillon, two or three times over, and each time it was accompanied with sighs so deep, that her heart seemed bursting as it heaved them. I confess the thing struck me, and, after musing on it some time, I resolved to try a little experiment this day at dinner, to discover whether chance had made her pronounce this name, orif some previous cause had impressed it on her imagination. I knew a man of that name at Paris, when I first went thither, who had an office under the intendant of the marine. I introduced some conversation on the subject of the fleet, and said, in an indifferent manner, that I had heard so and so from my old acquaintance Savillon. She spilt some soup she was helping me to at the instant; and, stealing a glance at her, I saw her cheeks flushed into crimson.
I have been ever since going the round of conjecture on this incident. I think I can recollect once, and but once, her father speak of a person called Savillon residing abroad, from whom he had received a letter; but I never heard Julia memion him at all. I know not why I should have forborn asking her the reason of her being so affected at the sound; yet, at the moment I perceived it, the question stuck in my throat. I felt something like guilt hang over this incident altogether--it is none of mine then--nor of Julia's neither, I trust--and yet, Segarva, it has touched me nearer--much nearer than I should own to any one but you.
(pp. 100-104)
I was last night abroad at supper: Julia was a-bed before my return. I found her lute lying on the table, and a musicbook open by it. I could perceive the marks of tears shed on the paper, and the air was such as might encourage their falling: sleep however had overcome her sadness, and she did not awake when I opened the curtains to look on her. When I had stood some moments, I heard her sigh strongly through her sleep, and presently she muttered some words, I know not of what import. I had sometimes heard her do so before, without regarding it much; but there was something that roused my attention now. I listened; she sighed again, and again spoke a few broken words; at last, I heard her plainly pronounce the name Savillon, two or three times over, and each time it was accompanied with sighs so deep, that her heart seemed bursting as it heaved them. I confess the thing struck me, and, after musing on it some time, I resolved to try a little experiment this day at dinner, to discover whether chance had made her pronounce this name, orif some previous cause had impressed it on her imagination. I knew a man of that name at Paris, when I first went thither, who had an office under the intendant of the marine. I introduced some conversation on the subject of the fleet, and said, in an indifferent manner, that I had heard so and so from my old acquaintance Savillon. She spilt some soup she was helping me to at the instant; and, stealing a glance at her, I saw her cheeks flushed into crimson.
I have been ever since going the round of conjecture on this incident. I think I can recollect once, and but once, her father speak of a person called Savillon residing abroad, from whom he had received a letter; but I never heard Julia memion him at all. I know not why I should have forborn asking her the reason of her being so affected at the sound; yet, at the moment I perceived it, the question stuck in my throat. I felt something like guilt hang over this incident altogether--it is none of mine then--nor of Julia's neither, I trust--and yet, Segarva, it has touched me nearer--much nearer than I should own to any one but you.
(pp. 100-104)
Categories
Provenance
HDIS
Citation
11 entries in ESTC (1777, 1778, 1781, 1782, 1787, 1793, 1795, 1796).
Henry Mackenzie, Julia de Roubigné, A Tale in a Series of Letters. Published by The Author of The Man of Feeling, and The Man of The World, 2 vols. (London: W. Strahan, T. Cadell, W. Creech, 1777). <Link to ECCO>
Henry Mackenzie, Julia de Roubigné, A Tale in a Series of Letters. Published by The Author of The Man of Feeling, and The Man of The World, 2 vols. (London: W. Strahan, T. Cadell, W. Creech, 1777). <Link to ECCO>
Date of Entry
09/14/2009
