Henrietta

Charlotte Lennox, Ruth Perry, Susan Carlile

• Publisher: The University Press of Kentucky
• Year: 2008
• Print ISBN: 9780813191904
• eBook ISBN: 9780813138800
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Literature General
• Index: Literature

A pioneer in the tradition of English women's fiction, Charlotte Lennox was valued friend to both Samuel Richardson and Samuel Johnson and a major influence on Jane Austen. The heroine of Charlotte Lennox's Henrietta is a young Englishwoman who resists her aunt's pressure to convert to Catholicism and is set adrift in London society. But unlike many of her passive, vulnerable contemporaries in fiction, the admirable Henrietta makes her way in the world relying on her own cleverness, conviction, and wit. This groundbreaking work of satire and human folly is republished here in a fully annotated modern edition.

HENRIETTA.

BY

Mrs. CHARLOTTE LENNOX.

IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOL. I.

The SECOND EDITION, Corrected.

LONDON:

Printed for A. MILLAR, in the Strand.

MDCCLXI.

CONTENTS.

BOOK I.

CHAP. I. Which introduces our Heroine to the Acquaintance of the Reader in no very advantageous Situation.

CHAP. II. The commencement of a violent friendship between two young ladies, which has the usual consequences, a communication of secrets, by which the reader is let into part of Henrietta’s story.

CHAP. III. Which illustrates an observation ofRochefoucault’s, that in the misfortunes of our friends there is always something that does not displease us.

CHAP. IV. In which our heroine, through inattention, falls into the very difficulty she had taken such pains to avoid.

CHAP. V. Which contains nothing but very common occurrences.

CHAP. VI. In which miss Woodby again makes her appearance.

CHAP. VII. In which Henrietta relates the story of her parents, introductory to her own.

CHAP. VIII. In which Henrietta continues her history.

CHAP. IX. The story continued.

CHAP. X. A farther continuation of her story.

BOOK II.

CHAP. I. In which Henrietta enters upon her own story, and shews, that to confer benefits, is not always a proof of benevolence.

CHAP. II. Wherein family-pride awakens those natural affections which family-pride had suppressed.

CHAP. III. Which introduces a Jesuit to the acquaintance of the reader.

CHAP. IV. In which our heroine engages herself in a very unequal contest.

CHAP. V. Containing an account of some difficulties our heroine was involved in, arising from an old exploded notion, that interest ought not to be the sole consideration in marriage.

CHAP. VI. In which our heroine is very reasonably alarmed.

CHAP. VII. In which Henrietta concludes her history.

CHAP. VIII. Containing nothing either new or extraordinary.

CHAP. IX. A very short chapter.

CHAP. X. Which gives the reader a specimen of female friendship.

CHAP. XI. In which our heroine is in great distress.

CHAP. XII. In which the history goes forward.

CHAP. XIII. The history still advances.

CHAP. XIV. Containing several mysterious circumstances.

CHAP. XV. In which those circumstances are partly explained.

HENRIETTA.

BOOK THE FIRST.

CHAP. I.

Which introduces our Heroine to the Acquaintance of the Reader in no very advantageous Situation.

About the middle of July, 17——, when the Windsor stage-coach with the accustomed number of passengers was proceeding on its way to London, a young woman genteely dressed, with a small parcel tied up in her handkerchief, hastily bolted from the shelter of a large tree near the road; and calling to the coachman to stop for a moment, asked him, if he could let her have a place? The man, although he well knew his vehicle was already sufficiently crouded, yet being desirous of appropriating this supernumerary fare to himself, replied, that he did not doubt but he could find room for her; and, jumping off his box, begged the company to sit close, and give the young woman a place.

“What do you mean?” said a jolly fat woman, with a face as red as scarlet, “Have you not got your usual number of passengers? Do you think we will be stifled with heat to put money into your pocket?” “There is room enough for such a slender young body as this,” said the coachman, “if you would but sit closer.”

“Sit closer!” repeated the dame, and spreading her cloaths, “Don’t you see we are crouded to death: how dare you pretend to impose another passenger upon us, when your coach is already full?”

“Well,” said a tall lean woman, who sat next her, “This is the first time I ever travelled in a stage-coach, and truly I am sick of it already. There is no bearing the insults one is exposed to in these carriages. Prithee, young woman,” pursued she, with an air of great contempt, “Go about your business, you see there is no room for you—And do you, fellow, get on your box, and drive on.”

“Fellor me! no fellors,” said the coachman, in a surly tone, “I won’t drive till I please. Who are you, pray, that takes so much upon you to order me?”

“Who am I, you fancy Jack-a-napes,” said the lady, “a person that—but I shall not demean myself so much as to tell you who I am: it is my misfortune to be stuffed up in a stage-coach at present—what I have never been used to, I assure you.”

“Good lack-a-day!” said the fat gentlewoman, with a sneer, “A great misfortune truly—I would have you to know, madam, your betters ride in stage-coaches. Here’s a coil indeed with such would-be-gentry.”

“Good woman,” said the other, with an affected calmness, “Pray don’t direct your impertinent discourse to me, I have nothing to say to you.”

“No more a good woman than yourself,” said the plump lady, with a face doubly inflamed with rage; “I scorn your words.”

“Very likely;” said a grave man, who sat on the opposite side, “but I wish it was possible to make room for the young gentlewoman.”—“Ah! God bless your honour,” said the coachman, “I thought you could not find in your heart to let such a pretty young woman as this walk.”

“Pretty!” exclaimed the haughty lady—“You are a fine judge of beauty indeed—but I will not submit to be crouded, fellow: so you and your pretty passenger may ride on the coach-box, if you please.”

“Nay, since you come to that,” says the fat gentlewoman, “I am resolved you shall not have your own way—The young woman may be as good as you; and she shall not be obliged to ride on the coach-box—So open the door, coachman,” said she, shoving her antagonist at the same time with all her force—“Here is room enough.”

A young gentlewoman in a riding-habit, who sat on the same side, but next the widow, declared that she was willing to give part of her seat to the stranger; and begged the haughty lady to yield. “Poh,” said the rosy matron, “don’t stand begging and praying her; since you are on my side, we will be too hard for her, I warrant you.” Saying this, she put one of her huge arms round the young woman’s waist; and thus reinforced, shoved her neighbour so forcibly against the other window, that she cried out with pain and vexation.

The young lady without, who had been the occasion of this contest, and who had hitherto stood silent, with her hat over her eyes, alarmed by the screams of her foe, raised her head; and in a tone of voice so sweet, as immediately fixed the attention of the whole company, intreated them not to quarrel upon her account: it was indeed, she said, of great consequence to her to be admitted, but she would not continue to desire it, since her request had produced so much uneasiness among them.

The passengers who occupied the other side of the coach were two men and a woman big with child; which circumstance had made it impossible for the men to offer her a seat with them, for fear of incommoding the pregnant woman. But the youngest of the men having now got a glimpse of the stranger’s face, declared that the ladies might make themselves easy, for he would resign his seat; adding, that he was extremely glad he had an opportunity of obliging such a handsome lady. He then jumped out of the coach, and taking the stranger’s hand to help her in, stared confidently under her hat, which put her into a little confusion: however, she thanked him very politely, and accepted his offer; but not without expressing some concern for the manner in which he would dispose of himself.

“Oh! madam,” said the coachman, “the gentleman may sit upon the box with me, and he will have the pleasure of viewing the beautiful prospects all the way we go.”—“I shall see none so beautiful,” said the young fellow, “as what they who remain in the coach will behold.”

The fair stranger now blushed more than before, and being willing to avoid any farther speeches of this sort, she hastily got into the coach, thanked the young man a second time, who having seen her seated, placed himself by the coachman on the box, and they proceeded on their journey.

CHAP. II.

The commencement of a violent friendship between two young ladies, which has the usual consequences, a communication of secrets, by which the reader is let into part of Henrietta’s story.

A profound silence now prevailed among the company in the coach; the eyes of all were fastened upon the fair stranger, who appeared wholly insensible of the scrutinizing looks of her fellow-travellers. Something within herself seemed to engross all her thoughts, and although by her eyes being constantly turned towards the windows of the coach, it might be imagined the passing objects drew her attention, yet their fixed looks too plainly indicated that they were beheld without observation. Her person, though full of charms, and the easy gracefulness of her air, impressed less respect for her on the minds of the women, than the elegance of her morning-dress, which they were now at leisure to consider. Her gown was a white sprig’d muslin, extremely fine, through which shone a rich blue Mantua silk petticoat: her cap, handkerchief, and ruffles were trimmed with fine Brussels lace: her apron had a broad border round it of Dresden work; and a white lutestring hat shaded her charming face, which she was solicitous to conceal from view.

The melancholy with which she seemed oppressed, conciliated to her the good-will of her female fellow-travellers, though from very different sentiments. The haughty lady, who had refused to let her have a place in the coach, found her envy and ill-nature insensibly subside, by the consideration that this stranger was probably more unhappy than herself.

The lusty matron, pleased that by insisting upon receiving her, she had conferred an obligation on one who appeared to be of a rank above her own, enjoyed her present superiority, and pitied her from the overflowings of gratified pride.

The young lady in the riding-habit, whose vanity had been a little mortified at seeing herself associated in a journey with persons whom she conceived to be very unfit company for her, thought herself very happy in the acquisition of so genteel a fellow-traveller; and as she had not deign’d to open her mouth before, from an opinion of the meanness of her company, she now made herself amends for her silence, by addressing a profusion of civil speeches to the fair stranger, who replied to every thing she said with extreme politeness, but with an air that showed her heart was not at ease.

The passengers being set down at different places, miss Courteney, for that was the name of our fair adventurer, remained alone with the young lady in the coach. This circumstance seemed to rouze her from a deep revery, in which she had been wholly absorbed during the last half hour; and looking earnestly at her companion, “Ah! madam,” said she, in a most affecting accent, “and when am I to lose you?” “I shall leave you in a few minutes,” said the lady; “for I am going no farther than Hammersmith.”¹ “Lord bless me!” said miss Courteney, lifting up her fine eyes swimming in tears, “What shall I do? what will become of me?”

This exclamation gave great surprize to the other lady, who from several circumstances had conceived that there was some mystery in her case. “You seem uneasy,” said she to miss Courteney, “pray let me know if it is in my power to serve you.”

This kind request had such an effect on the tender heart of miss Courteney, that she burst into tears, and for a few moments was unable to answer; when the lady pressing her to speak freely, “I am an unhappy creature, madam,” said she, sighing; “and am flying from the only person in the world upon whom I have any dependence. I will make no scruple to trust you with my secret. Did you ever hear of lady Meadows,” pursued she, “the widow of Sir John Meadows?”

“I know a lady who is acquainted with her,” said the other, “she is a woman of fashion and fortune.”

“Lady Meadows is my relation,” resumed miss Courteney; “she took me, a poor helpless orphan, under her protection, and during some time treated me with the tenderness of a mother. Within these few weeks I have unhappily lost her favour, not by any fault of mine, I assure you, for I have always loved and reverenced her. Nothing should have obliged me to take this step, which has no doubt an appearance of ingratitude, but the fear of being forced to marry a man I hate.”

“O heavens! my dear creature,” exclaimed the lady in an affected tone, “What do you tell me! were you upon the point of being forced to a detested match?” “Yes, madam,” replied miss Courteney; “and to this hard lot was I doomed by her to whom I owe all my past happiness, and from whom I expected all the future.”

“You have obliged me excessively by this unreserved confidence,” interrupted the lady; “and you shall find me not unworthy of it. From this moment I swear to you an inviolable attachment. Sure there is nothing so transporting as friendship and mutual confidence! You won my heart the moment I saw you. I have formed a hundred violent friendships, but one accident or other always dissolved them in a short time. There are very few persons that are capable of a violent friendship; at least I never could find one that answered my ideas of that sort of engagement. Have not you been often disappointed? tell me, my dear: I dare say you have. Your sentiments, I believe, are as delicate as mine upon this head. I am charmed, I am ravished with this meeting! Who would have imagined that by chance, and in a stage-coach, I should have found what I have so earnestly sought for these three months, a person with whom I could contract a violent friendship, such as minds like ours are only capable of feeling.”

“I am extremely obliged to you, madam, for your good opinion,” said miss Courteney; “I hope I shall never be so unfortunate as to forfeit it; indeed I have reason to think that in my present distressed situation, a friend is a blessing sent from heaven.”

“Well! but my dear Clelia,” said this flighty lady, “you have not told me all your story—I call you Clelia, because you know it is so like common acquaintance to address one another by the title of Miss such a one—Romantick names give a spirit to the correspondence between such friends as you and I are; but perhaps you may like another name better than Clelia; though I think that is a mighty pretty one, so soft and gliding, Clelia, Clelia—tell me do you like it, my dear?”

“Call me what you please,” said miss Courteney, smiling a little at the singularity of her new friend; “but my name is Courteney.”

“Courteney is a very pretty sirname,” said the lady; “I hope it is not disgraced with any odious vulgar christian name, such as Molly, or Betty, or the like.”

“I was christened Henrietta, after my mother,” said miss Courteney. “Henrietta is well enough”—returned the other; “but positively, my dear, you must assume the name of Clelia when yo...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half title
• Title
• Copyright
• Contents
• Introduction
• Chronology
• Note on the Text
• Henrietta
• Volume I
• Volume II
• Appendix I Variants between the 1758 and 1761 Editions
• Appendix II Corrections to the 1761 Edition for Clarity
• Notes to the Novel
• Bibliography