Haywood [née Fowler], Eliza (1693?-1756)

Love in Excess: or the Fatal Enquiry, a Novel

London

1719-1720, 1725

"She threw herself down into an Elbow-Chair that stood there, and gave a Loose to the Tempest of her Soul."

As soon as the Servant, whom she had order'd to watch, brought her Word that his Lord was dressing, she went into his Room; there was nobody with him but his Gentleman, and he withdrawing out of Respect, imagining, by both their Countenances, there might something be said, not proper for him to hear. I see (said she) my Presence is unwish'd, but I have learn'd from you to scorn Constraint, and as you openly avow your Falshood, I shall my Indignation, and my just Disdain! Madam, (answer'd he, suddenly) if you have any thing to reproach me with, you could not have chose a more unlucky Time for it, than this, nor was I ever less dispos'd to give you Satisfaction. No, barbarous cold Insulter! (resum'd she) I had not the least Hope you would; I find that I am grown so low in your Esteem, I am not worth Pains of an Invention. --By Heaven, this damn'd Indifference is worse than the most vile Abuse! --'Tis plain Contempt! --O that I could resent it as I ought--then Sword, or Poison should revenge me--Why am I so curs'd to Love you still? --O that those Fiends (continu'd she, bursting into Tears) that have deform'd thy Soul, would change thy Person too, turn every Charm to horrid Blackness, grim as thy Cruelty, and foul as thy Ingratitude, to free that Heart, thy Perjury has ruin'd! I thought, Madam, (said he, with an Accent maliciously ironical) that you had thrown off, even the Appearances of Love for me, by the Message you sent me yesterday--O thou Tormenter! (interrupted she) hast thou not wrong'd me in the tenderest Point, driven me to the last Degree of Misery! to Madness! to Despair? And dost thou--can'st thou reproach me for complaining? --Your Coldness, your Unkindness stung me to the Soul, and then I said, I know not what-- but I remember well, that I would have seem'd careless and indifferent like you. You need not (reply'd he) give yourself the Trouble of an Apology, I have no Design to make a Quarrel of it; and wish, for both our Peace, you could as easily moderate your Passions, as I can mine; and that you may the better do so, I leave you to reflect on what I have said, and the little Reason I have ever given you for such Intemperance. He left the Chamber with these Words, which instead of quelling, more enflam'd Alovisa's Rage. She threw herself down into an Elbow-Chair that stood there, and gave a Loose to the Tempest of her Soul; sometimes she curs'd, and vow'd the bitterest Revenge, sometimes she wept, and at others, was resolv'd to fly to Death, the only Remedy for neglected Love. In the midst of these confus'd Meditations, casting her Eye on a Table by her, she saw a Paper, and something written on it, which hastily taking up, found it the Count's Character, and read (to her inexpressible Torment) these Lines.
(pp. 111-3)

Weather::Tempest

C-H Lion

At least 12 entries in ESTC (1719, 1720, 1721, 1722, 1724, 1725, 1732, 1742).

Published in 3 parts in 1719-1720. <Part 1, ESTC><Part 2, ESTC><Part 3, ESTC>

See Eliza Haywood, Love in Excess: or the Fatal Enquiry, a Novel (London: Printed for W. Chetwood; and R. Francklin; and sold by J. Roberts, 1719). <Link to ECCO>

Text from Vol. 1 of Secret Histories, Novels and Poems. In Four Volumes. Written by Mrs. Eliza Haywood. (London: Printed [partly by Samuel Aris] for Dan. Browne, jun. at the Black Swan without Temple-Bar; and S. Chapman, at the Angel in Pall-Mall, 1725). <Link to ESTC><Link to LION>

06/30/2013