"Northanger Abbey" was written in 1798, revised for the press
in 1803, and sold in the same year for £10 to a Bath
bookseller, who held it in such light esteem that, after
allowing it to remain for many years on his shelves, he was
content to sell it back to the novelist's brother, Henry
Austen, for the exact sum which he had paid for it at the
beginning, not knowing that the writer was already the author
of four popular novels. This story--which is, of course, a
skit on the "terror" novel of Mrs. Radcliffe's school--was not
published till after its author's death, when, in 1818, it was
bound up with her last book, "Persuasion."
_I.--A Heroine in the Making_
No one who had ever seen Catherine Morland in her infancy could have
supposed her born to be a heroine. Her situation in life, the character
of her father and mother, her own person and disposition, were all
equally against her. Her father was a clergyman, without being neglected
or poor, and a very respectable man, though his name was Richard, and he
had never been handsome. He had a considerable independence, besides two
good livings, and he was not in the least addicted to locking up his
daughters. Her mother was a woman of useful plain sense, with a good
temper, and, what is more remarkable, with a good constitution. She had
three sons before Catherine was born; and, instead of dying in bringing
the latter into the world, as anybody might expect, she still lived
on--lived to have six children more--to see them growing up around her,
and to enjoy excellent health herself. Catherine, for many years of her
life, was as plain as any member of her family. She had a thin, awkward
figure, a sallow skin without colour, dark, lank hair, and strong
features. So much for her person; and not less propitious for heroism
seemed her mind. She was fond of all boys' sports, and greatly preferred
cricket not merely to dolls, but to the more heroic enjoyments of
infancy--nursing a dormouse, feeding a canary-bird, or watering a
rosebush. Indeed, she had no taste for a garden; and if she gathered
flowers at all, it was chiefly for the pleasure of mischief--at least,
so it was conjectured from her habit of always preferring those which
she was strictly forbidden to take.
Such were her propensities; her abilities were quite as extraordinary.
She never could learn or understand anything before she was taught, and
sometimes not even then, for she was often inattentive, and occasionally
stupid. Her mother wished her to learn music; and Catherine was sure she
should like it, for she was very fond of tinkling the keys of the old
forlorn spinet; so at eight years old she began. She learnt a year, and
could not bear it; and Mrs. Morland, who did not insist on her daughters
being accomplished in spite of incapacity or distaste, allowed her to
leave off. The day which dismissed the music-master was one of the
happiest of Catherine's life. Her taste for drawing was not superior;
though, whenever she could obtain the outside of a letter from her
mother, or seize upon any other odd piece of paper, she did what she
could in that way by drawing houses and trees, hens and chickens, all
very much like one another. Writing and accounts she was taught by her
father; French by her mother. Her proficiency in either was not
remarkable, and she shirked her lessons in both whenever she could.
What a strange, unaccountable character! For with all these symptoms of
profligacy at ten years old, she had neither a bad heart nor a bad
temper, was seldom stubborn, scarcely ever quarrelsome, and very kind to
the little ones, with few interruptions of tyranny. She was noisy and
wild, hated confinement and cleanliness, and loved nothing so well in
the world as rolling down the green slope at the back of the house.
Such was Catherine Morland at ten. At fifteen, appearances were mending:
she began to curl her hair and long for balls, her complexion improved,
her features were softened by plumpness and colour, her eyes gained more
animation, and her figure more consequence. Her love of dirt gave way to
an inclination for finery; she grew clean and she grew smart; and she
had now the pleasure of sometimes hearing her father and mother remark
on her personal improvement. From fifteen, indeed, to seventeen, she was
in training for a heroine; she read all such works as heroines must read
to supply their memories with those quotations which are so serviceable
and so soothing in the vicissitudes of their eventful lives.
So far her improvement was sufficient; and in many other points she came
on exceedingly well, for though she could not write sonnets, she brought
herself to read them; and though there seemed no chance of her throwing
a whole party into raptures by a prelude on the pianoforte of her own
composition, she could listen to other people's performances with very
little fatigue.
Her greatest deficiency was in the pencil. She had no notion of drawing,
not enough even to attempt a sketch of her lover's profile, that she
might be detected in the design. There she fell miserably short of the
true heroic height. At present she did not know her own poverty, for she
had no lover to portray. There was not one lord in the neighbourhood;
no, not even a baronet! There was not one family among their
acquaintance who had reared and supported a boy accidentally found at
their door; no, not one young man whose origin was unknown. Her father
had no ward, and the squire of the parish no children. But when a young
lady is to be a heroine, the perverseness of forty surrounding families
cannot prevent her. Something must and will happen to throw a hero in
her way.
Mr. Allen, who owned the chief of the property about Fullerton, the
village in Wiltshire where the Morland family lived, was ordered to Bath
for the benefit of a gouty constitution; and his lady, a good-humoured
woman, fond of Miss Morland, and probably aware that if adventures will
not befall a young lady in her own village she must seek them abroad,
invited her to go with them. Mr. and Mrs. Morland were all compliance,
and Catherine all happiness.
_II.--In the Gay City of Bath_
When the hour for departure drew nigh, the maternal anxiety of Mrs.
Morland will be naturally supposed to have been most severe. But she
knew so little of lords and baronets that she entertained no notion of
their general mischievousness, and was wholly unsuspicious of danger to
her daughter from their machinations. Her cautions were confined to
advising her to wrap up well when she came from the rooms at night, and
to try to keep some account of the money she spent.
Sally, or rather Sarah, must, from situation, be at this time the
intimate friend and confidante of her sister. It is remarkable, however,
that she neither insisted on Catherine's writing by every post, nor
exacted her promise of transmitting the character of every new
acquaintance nor a detail of every interesting conversation that Bath
might produce. Everything, indeed, relative to this important journey
was done on the part of the Morlands with a strange degree of moderation
and composure. Catherine's father, instead of giving her an unlimited
order on his banker, or even putting a hundred pounds bankbill into her
hands, gave her only ten guineas, and promised her more when she wanted
it. The journey was performed with suitable quietness and uneventful
safety. They arrived at Bath, and were soon settled in comfortable
lodgings in Pulteney Street.
Mrs. Allen had not beauty, genius, accomplishment, or manner. The air of
a gentlewoman, a great deal of quiet, inactive good temper, and a
trifling turn of mind, were all that could account for her being the
choice of a sensible, intelligent man like Mr. Allen. In one respect she
was admirably fitted to introduce a young lady into public, being as
fond of going everywhere and seeing everything herself as any young lady
could be. Dress was her passion; and our heroine's entrée into life
could not take place till after three or four days had been spent in
providing her chaperon with a dress of the newest fashion. Catherine,
too, made some purchases herself; and when all those matters were
arranged, the important evening came which was to usher her into the
upper rooms. But nothing happened that evening. Mrs. Allen knew nobody
there, and so Catherine was unable to dance.
A day or two later, when they made their appearance in the lower rooms,
fortune was more favourable to our heroine. The master of the ceremonies
introduced to her a very gentleman-like young man as a partner. His name
was Tilney. He was a clergyman, seemed to be about four or five and
twenty, was rather tall, had a pleasing countenance, a very intelligent
and lively eye, and, if not quite handsome, was very near it. His
address was good, he talked with fluency and spirit, and there was an
archness and pleasantry in his manner which interested, though it was
hardly understood by, her. Catherine felt herself in high luck; and they
parted, on the lady's side at least, with a strong inclination for
continuing the acquaintance.
But when Catherine hastened to the pump-room the next day, there was no
Mr. Tilney to be seen. Instead, Mrs. Allen had the good fortune to meet
an acquaintance at last in the person of a Mrs. Thorpe, a former
schoolfellow whom she had seen only once since their respective
marriages. Their joy on this meeting was very great, as well it might
be, since they had been contented to know nothing of each other for the
last fifteen years. Mrs. Thorpe had one great advantage as a talker over
Mrs. Allen, in a family of children; and when she had expatiated on the
talents of her sons and the beauty of her daughters, Mrs. Allen had no
similar information to give, no similar triumphs to press on the
unwilling and unbelieving ear of her friend. She was forced to sit and
to appear to listen to all these maternal effusions, and to be
introduced, along with Catherine, to the three Miss Thorpes, who proved
to be sisters of a young man who was at the same college as Catherine's
brother James. James, indeed, had actually spent the last week of the
Christmas vacation with the family near London.
The progress of the friendship thus entered into by Catherine and
Isabella, the eldest of the Miss Thorpes, was quick as its beginning was
warm; and they passed so rapidly through every gradation of increasing
tenderness that there was shortly no fresh proof of it to be given to
their friends and themselves. They called each other by their Christian
name, were always arm in arm when they walked, pinned up each other's
train for the dance, and were not to be divided in the set; and if a
rainy morning deprived them of other enjoyments, they were still
resolute in meeting in defiance of wet and dirt, and shut themselves up
to read novels together. One day, after they had been talking of
"Udolpho," of other "horrid" books and of their favourite complexion in
a man, they met Catherine's brother James and Isabella's brother John in
a gig. On introduction, the latter proved to be a smart young man of
middle height, who, with a plain face and ungraceful form, seemed
fearful of being too handsome unless he wore the dress of a groom, and
too much like a gentleman unless he were easy where he ought to be
civil, and impudent where he might be allowed to be easy. James, of
course, was attached to Isabella. "She has so much good sense," he said,
"and is so thoroughly unaffected and amiable."
At the dance at the upper rooms which took place on the evening of the
same day, Mr. Tilney made his reappearance, and introduced his sister to
Catherine. Miss Tilney had a good figure, a pretty face, and a very
agreeable countenance. Her air, though it had not all the decided
pretension, the resolute stylishness, of Miss Thorpe's, had more real
elegance; and her manners showed better sense and better breeding. She
seemed capable of being young and attractive at a ball, without wanting
to fix the attention of every man near her.
_III.--Catherine Morland Among Her Friends_
Unfixed as Catherine's general notions were of a what a man ought to be,
she could not entirely repress a doubt of Mr. John Thorpe's being
altogether completely agreeable. A tattler and a swaggerer, having
elicited, as he thought, from Catherine that she was the destined
heiress of Mr. Allen, he twice endeavoured to detach her, by a glaring
lie, from keeping engagements with the Tilneys; and when he did succeed
in persuading her to go with him in his gig, she found that the whole of
his talk ended with himself and his own concerns. He told her of horses
which he had bought for a trifle and sold for incredible sums; of racing
matches in which his judgment had infallibly foretold the winner; of
shooting-parties in which he had killed more birds (though without
having one good shot) than all his companions together; and described to
her some famous days spent with the foxhounds, in which his foresight
and skill in directing the dogs had repaired the mistakes of the most
experienced huntsman, and in which the boldness of his riding, though it
had never endangered his own life for a single moment, had been
constantly leading others into difficulties which, he calmly concluded,
had broken the necks of more than one person.
All this rather wearied Catherine; and not even his relating to her that
Mr. Tilney's father, General Tilney--whom he was talking to one night at
the theatre--had declared her the finest girl in Bath could reconcile
her to the idea that Mr. John Thorpe had the faculty of giving universal
pleasure. It was a visit which she paid to Miss Tilney to apologise for
not keeping an engagement which Mr. John had caused her to break that
first introduced her to the general. A handsome, stately, well-bred man,
with a temper that made him a martinet to his own children, he received
her with a politeness, and even a deference, that delighted and
surprised her. But whereas Catherine's simplicity of character made her
growing attachment to Mr. Tilney obvious to that gentleman and to his
sister, it was not so clear that he reciprocated her feelings. Generally
he amused himself by talking down to her or making fun of her in a
good-natured way. One day they were speaking of Mrs. Radcliffe's works,
and more particularly of the "Mysteries of Udolpho."
"I have read all of Mrs. Radcliffe's works," said he, "and most of them
with great pleasure."
"I am very glad to hear it, indeed," replied Catherine, "and now I shall
never be ashamed of liking 'Udolpho' myself. But I really thought that
young men despised novels amazingly."
"It is _amazingly_; it may well suggest _amazement_ if they do, for they
read nearly as many as women," was Mr. Tilney's answer. "I myself have
read hundreds and hundreds. Do not imagine that you can cope with me in
a knowledge of Julias and Louisas. Consider how many years I have had
the start of you. I had entered on my studies at Oxford while you were
probably a good little girl working your sampler at home!"
"Not very good, I am afraid. But now, really, do you not think 'Udolpho'
the nicest book in the world?"
"The nicest; by which I suppose you mean the neatest. That must depend
on the binding," said he.
"I am sure," cried Catherine hastily, "I did not mean to say anything
wrong; but it is a nice book, and why should I not call it so?"
"Very true," said Henry, "and this is a very nice day; and we are taking
a very nice walk; and you are two very nice young ladies. Oh, it is a
very nice word indeed--it does for everything! Originally perhaps, it
was applied only to express neatness, propriety, delicacy, or
refinement; people were nice in their dress, in their sentiments, or in
their choice. But now every commendation on every subject is comprised
in that one word."
Meanwhile, Catherine was required to interest herself in her friend's
love affairs. Isabella surprised her one day with the news that she was
engaged to her brother James; and, obviously under the impression that
her lover was the heir of a wealthy man, seemed to wonder whether his
parents would acquiesce in the engagement. But despite her affection for
James, she danced with Mr. Tilney's elder brother, Captain Tilney, at a
ball which was given while her betrothed was absent on the necessary
visit to his parents; and when letters were received from him,
announcing their consent to the match and the agreement of Mr. Morland
to resign a living of four hundred pounds to his son and to bequeath to
him by will an estate of the same value, Isabella looked grave first at
the smallness of the income, and then at the fact that it would be
nearly three years before James would be old enough to take it.
Meantime, she continued to flirt rather openly with Captain Tilney, much
to James' uneasiness and to his sister's distress. But Catherine was to
some extent reassured as to the captain's conduct by his brother Henry,
and she was so overjoyed by receiving an invitation from General Tilney
to pay a visit to Northanger Abbey, his beautiful country seat, that a
parting interview with Isabella and James, at which he was in excellent
spirits and she most engagingly placid, left her blissfully convinced
that the behaviour of the lovers was a model of judicious affection.
_IV.--Romance at Northanger Abbey_
The Tilney party set out for the Abbey in great state, the ladies in the
general's chaise and four, with postilions and numerous outriders, and
the general and Henry in the latter's curricle. But at the first stage
the general proposed that Catherine should take his place in the
curricle that she might "see as much of the country as possible;" and,
for the rest of the journey she was tête-à-tête with Henry, who amused
himself by rallying her upon the sliding panels, ghastly tapestry,
funereal beds, vaulted chambers, and kindred uncanny apparatus which,
judging from her favourite kind of fiction, she must be expecting to
find at the Abbey.
As a matter of fact, Northanger, though it comprised some parts of the
old Abbey, turned out to be a building thoroughly modernized and
improved. Notwithstanding, Catherine could not restrain her imagination
from running riot just a little. A large cedar chest, curiously inlaid
and provided with silver handles, first attracted her attention. But
this was soon found to contain merely a white cotton counterpane. A high
old-fashioned ebony cabinet, which she noticed in her bedroom just
before stepping into bed, struck her as offering more promise of
romantic interest. Even this, after a most thrilling search, in the
midst of which her candle went out, yielded nothing better than an
inventory of linen.
Still, Catherine's passion for romance was not easily to be
disappointed. Hearing from Eleanor Tilney that her mother's fatal
illness had been sudden and short, and had taken place in her absence
from home, Catherine's blood ran cold with the horrid suggestions that
naturally sprang from these words. Could it be possible? Could Henry's
father----? And yet how many were the examples to justify even the
blackest suspicions? And when she saw him in the evening, while she
worked with her friend, slowly pacing the drawing-room for an hour
together in silent thoughtfulness, with downcast eye and contracted
brow, she felt secure from all possibility of wronging him. It was
indeed the air and attitude of a Montoni! What could more plainly speak
the gloomy workings of a mind not wholly dead to every sense of
humanity, in its fearful review of past scenes of guilt?
Full, then, of the idea that the general had ill-treated his wife, ready
even to believe that she might still be living and a prisoner, our
heroine set out one day to explore a certain set of rooms into which the
general, in showing her over the house, had not taken her. But she was
caught in the act by Henry Tilney, who revealed, with customary
openness, what had been in her mind, and received only a very gentle
rebuke.
Most grievously was she humbled. Her folly, which now seemed even
criminal, was all exposed to him; and he must surely despise her for
ever. But he did nothing of the kind. His astonishing generosity and
nobleness of conduct were such that the only difference he made in his
behaviour to her was to pay her somewhat more attention than usual.
But the anxieties of common life began soon to succeed to the alarms of
romance. Catherine's desire of hearing from Isabella grew every day
greater. For nine successive mornings she wondered over the repetition
of disappointment; and then, on the tenth, she got a letter--not from
Isabella, but from James, announcing the breaking off of the engagement
by mutual consent. At first she was much upset by the news, and burst
into tears. But in the end she saw it in a more philosophic light, so
that before long Henry was able to rally her on her former bosom
friendship with Miss Thorpe without offending her. And when a day or two
later a letter arrived from Isabella containing the amazing sentences,
"I am quite uneasy about your dear brother, not having heard from him
since he went to Oxford, and am fearful of some misunderstanding. Your
kind offices will set all right: he is the only man I ever did or could
love, and I trust you will convince him of it----" Catherine resolved:
"No; whatever would happen, James should never hear Isabella's name
mentioned by her again."
Soon afterwards, a bolt fell from the blue. General Tilney, who had paid
Catherine the most embarrassing attentions, suddenly and unexpectedly
returned from town, where he had gone for a day or two on business, and
packed Catherine off home immediately, with hardly an apology, and at
scarcely a moment's notice. He had met young Thorpe in town, it seemed;
and John had this time under-estimated the wealth and consequence of the
Morlands as much as he had over-stated them before when he talked to the
general in the theatre at Bath.
The rudeness of the general, however, proved not so very great a
disaster to Catherine. The interest and liking which Henry had first
felt for her had gradually grown into a warmer feeling, and, roused to a
sense of this by his father's tyrannical behaviour, he presented himself
to Catherine at Fullerton, proposed to her, and was accepted. It was not
long before the general gave his consent. Getting at last to a right
understanding of Mr. Morland's circumstances--which, he found, would
allow Catherine to have three thousand pounds--and delighted by the
recent marriage of his daughter Eleanor to a viscount, he agreed to the
union; and so Henry and Catherine were married within a twelvemonth from
the first day of their meeting.
* * * * *