by Jane Austen
Such was the permission upon which he had now offered her his hand. The affrighted Catherine, amidst all the terrors of expectation, as she listened to this account, could not but rejoice in the kind caution with which Henry had saved her from the necessity of a conscientious rejection, by engaging her faith before he mentioned the subject;19 and as he proceeded to give the particulars, and explain the motives of his father’s conduct, her feelings soon hardened into even a triumphant delight. The General had had nothing to accuse her of, nothing to lay to her charge, but her being the involuntary, unconscious object of a deception which his pride could not pardon, and which a better pride would have been ashamed to own.20 She was guilty only of being less rich than he had supposed her to be. Under a mistaken persuasion of her possessions and claims, he had courted her acquaintance in Bath, solicited her company at Northanger, and designed her for his daughter in law. On discovering his error, to turn her from the house seemed the best, though to his feelings an inadequate proof of his resentment towards herself, and his contempt of her family.
John Thorpe had first misled him. The General, perceiving his son one night at the theatre to be paying considerable attention to Miss Morland, had accidentally21 inquired of Thorpe, if he knew more of her than her name. Thorpe, most happy to be on speaking terms with a man of General Tilney’s importance, had been joyfully and proudly communicative;22—and being at that time not only in daily expectation of Morland’s engaging Isabella, but likewise pretty well resolved upon marrying Catherine himself, his vanity induced him to represent the family as yet more wealthy than his vanity and avarice had made him believe them. With whomsoever he was, or was likely to be connected, his own consequence always required that theirs should be great, and as his intimacy with any acquaintance grew, so regularly23 grew their fortune. The expectations of his friend Morland, therefore, from the first over-rated, had ever since his introduction to Isabella, been gradually increasing; and by merely adding twice as much for the grandeur of the moment, by doubling what he chose to think the amount of Mr. Morland’s preferment,24 trebling his private fortune,25 bestowing a rich aunt, and sinking26 half the children, he was able to represent the whole family to the General in a most respectable light. For Catherine, however, the peculiar27 object of the General’s curiosity, and his own speculations, he had yet something more in reserve, and the ten or fifteen thousand pounds which her father could give her, would be a pretty addition to Mr. Allen’s estate. Her intimacy there had made him seriously determine on her being handsomely legacied hereafter; and to speak of her therefore as the almost acknowledged future heiress of Fullerton naturally followed. Upon such intelligence28 the General had proceeded; for never had it occurred to him to doubt its authority. Thorpe’s interest in the family, by his sister’s approaching connection with one of its members, and his own views on29 another, (circumstances of which he boasted with almost equal openness,) seemed sufficient vouchers for his truth;30 and to these were added the absolute facts of the Allens being wealthy and childless, of Miss Morland’s being under their care, and—as soon as his acquaintance allowed him to judge—of their treating her with parental kindness.31 His resolution was soon formed. Already had he discerned a liking towards Miss Morland in the countenance of his son; and thankful for Mr. Thorpe’s communication, he almost instantly determined to spare no pains in weakening his boasted interest and ruining his dearest hopes. Catherine herself could not be more ignorant at the time of all this, than his own children. Henry and Eleanor, perceiving nothing in her situation likely to engage their father’s particular respect, had seen with astonishment the suddenness, continuance and extent of his attention; and though latterly, from some hints which had accompanied an almost positive command to his son of doing every thing in his power to attach her, Henry was convinced of his father’s believing it to be an advantageous connection,32 it was not till the late explanation at Northanger that they had the smallest idea of the false calculations which had hurried him on. That they were false, the General had learnt from the very person who had suggested them, from Thorpe himself, whom he had chanced to meet again in town, and who, under the influence of exactly opposite feelings, irritated by Catherine’s refusal, and yet more by the failure of a very recent endeavour to accomplish a reconciliation between Morland and Isabella, convinced that they were separated for ever, and spurning a friendship which could be no longer serviceable, hastened to contradict all that he had said before to the advantage of the Morlands;—confessed himself to have been totally mistaken in his opinion of their circumstances and character, misled by the rhodomontade33 of his friend to believe his father a man of substance34 and credit,35 whereas the transactions of the two or three last weeks proved him to be neither; for after coming eagerly forward on the first overture of a marriage between the families, with the most liberal36 proposals, he had, on being brought to the point by the shrewdness of the relator, been constrained to acknowledge himself incapable of giving the young people even a decent support. They were, in fact, a necessitous37 family; numerous too almost beyond example; by no means respected in their own neighbourhood, as he had lately had particular opportunities of discovering; aiming at a style of life which their fortune could not warrant; seeking to better themselves by wealthy connexions; a forward,38 bragging, scheming race.
The terrified General pronounced the name of Allen with an inquiring look; and here too Thorpe had learnt his error. The Allens, he believed, had lived near them too long, and he knew the young man on whom the Fullerton estate must devolve. The General needed no more. Enraged with almost every body in the world but himself, he set out the next day for the Abbey, where his performances have been seen.39
I leave it to my reader’s sagacity to determine how much of all this it was possible for Henry to communicate at this time to Catherine, how much of it he could have learnt from his father, in what points his own conjectures might assist him, and what portion must yet remain to be told in a letter from James. I have united for their ease what they must divide for mine.40 Catherine, at any rate, heard enough to feel, that in suspecting General Tilney of either murdering or shutting up his wife, she had scarcely sinned against his character, or magnified his cruelty.41
Henry, in having such things to relate of his father, was almost as pitiable as in their first avowal to himself. He blushed for the narrow-minded counsel42 which he was obliged to expose.43 The conversation between them at Northanger had been of the most unfriendly kind. Henry’s indignation on hearing how Catherine had been treated, on comprehending his father’s views, and being ordered to acquiesce in them, had been open and bold. The General, accustomed on every ordinary occasion to give the law in his family, prepared for no reluctance but of feeling, no opposing desire that should dare to clothe itself in words, could ill brook the opposition of his son, steady as the sanction of reason and the dictate of conscience could make it. But, in such a cause, his anger, though it must shock, could not intimidate Henry, who was sustained in his purpose by a conviction of its justice. He felt himself bound as much in honour as in affection to Miss Morland, and believing that heart to be his own which he had been directed to gain, no unworthy retraction of a tacit consent, no reversing decree of unjustifiable anger, could shake his fidelity, or influence the resolutions it prompted.44
He steadily refused to accompany his father into Herefordshire, an engagement formed almost at the moment, to promote the dismissal of Catherine, and as steadily declared his intention of offering her his hand. The General was furious in his anger, and they parted in dreadful disagreement. Henry, in an agitation of mind which many solitary hours were required to compose, had returned almost instantly to Woodston; and, on the afternoon of the following day,45 had begun his journey to Fullerton.
Chapter Sixteen
Mr. and Mrs. Morland’s surprise on being applied to by Mr. Tilney, for their consent to his marrying their daughter, was, for a few minutes, considerable; it having never entered their heads to suspect
an attachment on either side; but as nothing, after all, could be more natural than Catherine’s being beloved, they soon learnt to consider it with only the happy agitation of gratified pride, and, as far as they alone were concerned, had not a single objection to start.1 His pleasing manners and good sense were self-evident recommendations; and having never heard evil of him, it was not their way to suppose any evil could be told. Good-will supplying the place of experience, his character needed no attestation. “Catherine would make a sad heedless young housekeeper to be sure,”2 was her mother’s foreboding remark; but quick was the consolation of there being nothing like practice.
There was but one obstacle, in short, to be mentioned; but till that one was removed, it must be impossible for them to sanction the engagement. Their tempers were mild, but their principles were steady, and while his parent so expressly forbad the connexion, they could not allow themselves to encourage it. That the General should come forward to solicit the alliance,3 or that he should even very heartily approve it, they were not refined enough to make any parading4 stipulation; but the decent appearance of consent must be yielded, and that once obtained—and their own hearts made them trust that it could not be very long denied—their willing approbation was instantly to follow. His consent was all that they wished for. They were no more inclined than entitled to demand his money. Of a very considerable fortune, his son was, by marriage settlements, eventually secure;5 his present income was an income of independence and comfort, and under every pecuniary view, it was a match beyond the claims of their daughter.
The young people could not be surprised at a decision like this. They felt and they deplored—but they could not resent it; and they parted, endeavouring to hope that such a change in the General, as each believed almost impossible, might speedily take place, to unite them again in the fullness of privileged affection. Henry returned to what was now his only home, to watch over his young plantations,6 and extend his improvements for her sake, to whose share in them he looked anxiously forward; and Catherine remained at Fullerton to cry. Whether the torments of absence were softened by a clandestine correspondence, let us not inquire. Mr. and Mrs. Morland never did—they had been too kind to exact any promise; and whenever Catherine received a letter, as, at that time, happened pretty often, they always looked another way.7
The anxiety, which in this state of their attachment must be the portion of Henry and Catherine, and of all who loved either, as to its final event,8 can hardly extend, I fear, to the bosom of my readers, who will see in the tell-tale compression of the pages before them, that we are all hastening together to perfect felicity.9 The means by which their early marriage was effected can be the only doubt; what probable circumstance could work upon a temper like the General’s? The circumstance which chiefly availed, was the marriage of his daughter with a man of fortune and consequence, which took place in the course of the summer—an accession of dignity that threw him into a fit of good-humour, from which he did not recover till after Eleanor had obtained his forgiveness of Henry, and his permission for him “to be a fool if he liked it!”
The marriage of Eleanor Tilney, her removal from all the evils of such a home as Northanger had been made by Henry’s banishment, to the home of her choice and the man of her choice, is an event which I expect to give general satisfaction among all her acquaintance.10 My own joy on the occasion is very sincere. I know no one more entitled, by unpretending merit, or better prepared by habitual suffering, to receive and enjoy felicity. Her partiality for this gentleman was not of recent origin; and he had been long withheld only by inferiority of situation from addressing11 her. His unexpected accession to title and fortune had removed all his difficulties;12 and never had the General loved his daughter so well in all her hours of companionship, utility, and patient endurance, as when he first hailed her, “Your Ladyship!” Her husband was really deserving of her; independent of his peerage,13 his wealth, and his attachment, being to a precision the most charming young man in the world. Any further definition of his merits must be unnecessary; the most charming young man in the world is instantly before the imagination of us all. Concerning the one in question therefore I have only to add—(aware that the rules of composition forbid the introduction of a character not connected with my fable)14—that this was the very gentleman whose negligent servant left behind him that collection of washing-bills, resulting from a long visit at Northanger, by which my heroine was involved in one of her most alarming adventures.15
The influence of the Viscount and Viscountess in their brother’s behalf was assisted by that right understanding of Mr. Morland’s circumstances which, as soon as the General would allow himself to be informed, they were qualified to give. It taught him that he had been scarcely more misled by Thorpe’s first boast of the family wealth, than by his subsequent malicious overthrow of it; that in no sense of the word were they necessitous or poor, and that Catherine would have three thousand pounds. This was so material an amendment of his late expectations, that it greatly contributed to smooth the descent of his pride; and by no means without its effect was the private intelligence, which he was at some pains to procure, that the Fullerton estate, being entirely at the disposal of its present proprietor, was consequently open to every greedy speculation.16
On the strength of this, the General, soon after Eleanor’s marriage, permitted his son to return to Northanger, and thence made him the bearer of his consent, very courteously worded in a page full of empty professions to Mr. Morland. The event which it authorized soon followed: Henry and Catherine were married, the bells rang and every body smiled; and, as this took place within a twelvemonth from the first day of their meeting, it will not appear, after all the dreadful delays occasioned by the General’s cruelty, that they were essentially hurt by it.17 To begin perfect happiness at the respective ages of twenty-six and eighteen, is to do pretty well; and professing myself moreover convinced, that the General’s unjust interference, so far from being really injurious to their felicity, was perhaps rather conducive to it, by improving their knowledge of each other, and adding strength to their attachment, I leave it to be settled by whomsoever it may concern, whether the tendency of this work be altogether18 to recommend parental tyranny, or reward filial disobedience.19
FINIS
A marriage ceremony.
[From William Combe, The Dance of Life (London, 1817; 1903 reprint), p. 234]
[List of Illustrations]
Notes
ADVERTISEMENT, BY THE AUTHORESS
1. The bookseller, or publisher, was Richard Crosby. He paid ten pounds for the manuscript, a modest sum, and in an edition of Flowers of Literature, a literary journal, under the heading New Publications, by Crosby and Co., appears, beneath the further heading In the Press, “SUSAN; a Novel, in 2 vols.” (Susan was the initial name of the novel.) Why the publisher proceeded no further is unknown.
2. Jane Austen’s frustration with the publisher eventually led her to write to the publisher and complain of his failure to publish, “tho’ an early publication was stipulated for at the time of Sale” (April 5, 1809). After offering to send him another copy if it had been lost, she concluded, “Should no notice be taken of this Address, I shall feel at liberty to secure the publication of my work, by applying elsewhere.” Crosby replied immediately that he was under no obligation to publish the manuscript and that he would take action to prevent its publication elsewhere, but that he would sell it back to her for the same sum he had purchased it. Jane Austen, with little money and no other publications to her credit, took no further action at this point.
It was only in early 1816, after she had successfully published four other novels, that her brother Henry bought back the manuscript and copyright for ten pounds. According to the 1869 biography by Austen’s nephew James Edward Austen-Leigh, upon completion of the deal, Henry “had the satisfaction of informing [the publisher] that the work which had been so lightly esteemed was by the author of ‘Pride and Prejudice,’ ” her mo
st successful novel. It was after this transaction that she composed this “Advertisement,” though it was not until the end of 1817, after her death, that the novel appeared, in conjunction with her last completed novel, Persuasion.
3. The most obvious place she has in mind is Bath, the setting for more than half the novel. During the early years of the nineteenth century Bath became less popular as a vacation destination, losing ground particularly to the growing taste for traveling to the seaside for health and amusement. (Jane Austen’s last, unfinished novel, Sanditon, centers around a burgeoning seaside resort.) Bath instead increasingly became a place of residence for retirees and wealthy people, such as the principal family of Austen’s last published novel, Persuasion, which is also set heavily in the town. Moreover, Bath’s social life came to center less on the public venues that are so central to Northanger Abbey and more on quieter, private gatherings, a change also reflected in Persuasion.
4. Northanger Abbey focuses heavily on books, and inevitably the ones discussed were less current by the time these words were written. In particular, during the 1790s the Gothic horror novels that are central to Austen’s satire had been extremely popular; by 1816, though still read by many, they were no longer leading sellers. Meanwhile, new types of books had come to the fore, most notably the romantic narrative poems of Walter Scott (later Sir Walter) and Lord Byron, which attained heretofore unprecedented levels of sales (and which figure in literary discussions in Persuasion).