CHAPTER 14
The next morning was fair, and Catherine almost expected another attackfrom the assembled party. With Mr. Allen to support her, she felt nodread of the event: but she would gladly be spared a contest, wherevictory itself was painful, and was heartily rejoiced therefore atneither seeing nor hearing anything of them. The Tilneys called forher at the appointed time; and no new difficulty arising, no suddenrecollection, no unexpected summons, no impertinent intrusion todisconcert their measures, my heroine was most unnaturally able tofulfil her engagement, though it was made with the hero himself.They determined on walking round Beechen Cliff, that noble hill whosebeautiful verdure and hanging coppice render it so striking an objectfrom almost every opening in Bath.
”I never look at it,” said Catherine, as they walked along the side ofthe river, ”without thinking of the south of France.”
”You have been abroad then?” said Henry, a little surprised.
”Oh! No, I only mean what I have read about. It always puts me in mindof the country that Emily and her father travelled through, in TheMysteries of Udolpho. But you never read novels, I dare say?”
”Why not?”
”Because they are not clever enough for you--gentlemen read betterbooks.”
”The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a goodnovel, must be intolerably stupid. I have read all Mrs. Radcliffe'sworks, and most of them with great pleasure. The Mysteries of Udolpho,when I had once begun it, I could not lay down again; I rememberfinishing it in two days--my hair standing on end the whole time.”
”Yes,” added Miss Tilney, ”and I remember that you undertook to read italoud to me, and that when I was called away for only five minutes toanswer a note, instead of waiting for me, you took the volume into theHermitage Walk, and I was obliged to stay till you had finished it.”
”Thank you, Eleanor--a most honourable testimony. You see, Miss Morland,the injustice of your suspicions. Here was I, in my eagerness to get on,refusing to wait only five minutes for my sister, breaking the promiseI had made of reading it aloud, and keeping her in suspense at a mostinteresting part, by running away with the volume, which, you are toobserve, was her own, particularly her own. I am proud when I reflect onit, and I think it must establish me in your good opinion.”
”I am very glad to hear it indeed, and now I shall never be ashamed ofliking Udolpho myself. But I really thought before, young men despisednovels amazingly.”
”It is amazingly; it may well suggest amazement if they do--for theyread nearly as many as women. I myself have read hundreds and hundreds.Do not imagine that you can cope with me in a knowledge of Julias andLouisas. If we proceed to particulars, and engage in the never-ceasinginquiry of 'Have you read this?' and 'Have you read that?' I shall soonleave you as far behind me as--what shall I say?--I want an appropriatesimile.--as far as your friend Emily herself left poor Valancourt whenshe went with her aunt into Italy. Consider how many years I have hadthe start of you. I had entered on my studies at Oxford, while you werea good little girl working your sampler at home!”
”Not very good, I am afraid. But now really, do not you think Udolphothe nicest book in the world?”
”The nicest--by which I suppose you mean the neatest. That must dependupon the binding.”
”Henry,” said Miss Tilney, ”you are very impertinent. Miss Morland, heis treating you exactly as he does his sister. He is forever findingfault with me, for some incorrectness of language, and now he is takingthe same liberty with you. The word 'nicest,' as you used it, did notsuit him; and you had better change it as soon as you can, or we shallbe overpowered with Johnson and Blair all the rest of the way.”
”I am sure,” cried Catherine, ”I did not mean to say anything wrong; butit is a nice book, and why should not I call it so?”
”Very true,” said Henry, ”and this is a very nice day, and we are takinga very nice walk, and you are two very nice young ladies. Oh! It is avery nice word indeed! It does for everything. Originally perhaps itwas applied only to express neatness, propriety, delicacy, orrefinement--people were nice in their dress, in their sentiments, ortheir choice. But now every commendation on every subject is comprisedin that one word.”
”While, in fact,” cried his sister, ”it ought only to be applied to you,without any commendation at all. You are more nice than wise. Come,Miss Morland, let us leave him to meditate over our faults in the utmostpropriety of diction, while we praise Udolpho in whatever terms welike best. It is a most interesting work. You are fond of that kind ofreading?”
”To say the truth, I do not much like any other.”
”Indeed!”
”That is, I can read poetry and plays, and things of that sort, anddo not dislike travels. But history, real solemn history, I cannot beinterested in. Can you?”
”Yes, I am fond of history.”
”I wish I were too. I read it a little as a duty, but it tells menothing that does not either vex or weary me. The quarrels of popes andkings, with wars or pestilences, in every page; the men all so good fornothing, and hardly any women at all--it is very tiresome: and yet Ioften think it odd that it should be so dull, for a great deal of itmust be invention. The speeches that are put into the heroes' mouths,their thoughts and designs--the chief of all this must be invention, andinvention is what delights me in other books.”
”Historians, you think,” said Miss Tilney, ”are not happy in theirflights of fancy. They display imagination without raising interest. Iam fond of history--and am very well contented to take the false withthe true. In the principal facts they have sources of intelligencein former histories and records, which may be as much depended on,I conclude, as anything that does not actually pass under one's ownobservation; and as for the little embellishments you speak of, they areembellishments, and I like them as such. If a speech be well drawn up,I read it with pleasure, by whomsoever it may be made--and probably withmuch greater, if the production of Mr. Hume or Mr. Robertson, than ifthe genuine words of Caractacus, Agricola, or Alfred the Great.”
”You are fond of history! And so are Mr. Allen and my father; and I havetwo brothers who do not dislike it. So many instances within my smallcircle of friends is remarkable! At this rate, I shall not pity thewriters of history any longer. If people like to read their books, itis all very well, but to be at so much trouble in filling great volumes,which, as I used to think, nobody would willingly ever look into, to belabouring only for the torment of little boys and girls, always struckme as a hard fate; and though I know it is all very right and necessary,I have often wondered at the person's courage that could sit down onpurpose to do it.”
”That little boys and girls should be tormented,” said Henry, ”is whatno one at all acquainted with human nature in a civilized state candeny; but in behalf of our most distinguished historians, I must observethat they might well be offended at being supposed to have no higheraim, and that by their method and style, they are perfectly wellqualified to torment readers of the most advanced reason and maturetime of life. I use the verb 'to torment,' as I observed to be your ownmethod, instead of 'to instruct,' supposing them to be now admitted assynonymous.”
”You think me foolish to call instruction a torment, but if you had beenas much used as myself to hear poor little children first learning theirletters and then learning to spell, if you had ever seen how stupid theycan be for a whole morning together, and how tired my poor mother isat the end of it, as I am in the habit of seeing almost every day of mylife at home, you would allow that 'to torment' and 'to instruct' mightsometimes be used as synonymous words.”
”Very probably. But historians are not accountable for the difficultyof learning to read; and even you yourself, who do not altogether seemparticularly friendly to very severe, very intense application, mayperhaps be brought to acknowledge that it is very well worth-while tobe tormented for two or three years of one's life, for the sake ofbeing able to read all the rest of it. Consider--if reading had not beentaught, Mrs. Radcliffe would have written in vain--or perhaps might nothave written at all.”
Catherine assented--and a very warm panegyric from her on that lady'smerits closed the subject. The Tilneys were soon engaged in another onwhich she had nothing to say. They were viewing the country with theeyes of persons accustomed to drawing, and decided on its capability ofbeing formed into pictures, with all the eagerness of real taste. HereCatherine was quite lost. She knew nothing of drawing--nothing of taste:and she listened to them with an attention which brought her littleprofit, for they talked in phrases which conveyed scarcely any ideato her. The little which she could understand, however, appeared tocontradict the very few notions she had entertained on the matterbefore. It seemed as if a good view were no longer to be taken from thetop of an high hill, and that a clear blue sky was no longer a proofof a fine day. She was heartily ashamed of her ignorance. A misplacedshame. Where people wish to attach, they should always be ignorant.To come with a well-informed mind is to come with an inability ofadministering to the vanity of others, which a sensible person wouldalways wish to avoid. A woman especially, if she have the misfortune ofknowing anything, should conceal it as well as she can.
The advantages of natural folly in a beautiful girl have been alreadyset forth by the capital pen of a sister author; and to her treatmentof the subject I will only add, in justice to men, that though to thelarger and more trifling part of the sex, imbecility in females is agreat enhancement of their personal charms, there is a portion of themtoo reasonable and too well informed themselves to desire anythingmore in woman than ignorance. But Catherine did not know her ownadvantages--did not know that a good-looking girl, with an affectionateheart and a very ignorant mind, cannot fail of attracting a clever youngman, unless circumstances are particularly untoward. In the presentinstance, she confessed and lamented her want of knowledge, declaredthat she would give anything in the world to be able to draw; anda lecture on the picturesque immediately followed, in which hisinstructions were so clear that she soon began to see beauty ineverything admired by him, and her attention was so earnest that hebecame perfectly satisfied of her having a great deal of natural taste.He talked of foregrounds, distances, and second distances--side-screensand perspectives--lights and shades; and Catherine was so hopeful ascholar that when they gained the top of Beechen Cliff, she voluntarilyrejected the whole city of Bath as unworthy to make part of a landscape.Delighted with her progress, and fearful of wearying her with too muchwisdom at once, Henry suffered the subject to decline, and by an easytransition from a piece of rocky fragment and the withered oak whichhe had placed near its summit, to oaks in general, to forests, theenclosure of them, waste lands, crown lands and government, he shortlyfound himself arrived at politics; and from politics, it was aneasy step to silence. The general pause which succeeded his shortdisquisition on the state of the nation was put an end to by Catherine,who, in rather a solemn tone of voice, uttered these words, ”I haveheard that something very shocking indeed will soon come out in London.”
Miss Tilney, to whom this was chiefly addressed, was startled, andhastily replied, ”Indeed! And of what nature?”
”That I do not know, nor who is the author. I have only heard that it isto be more horrible than anything we have met with yet.”
”Good heaven! Where could you hear of such a thing?”
”A particular friend of mine had an account of it in a letter fromLondon yesterday. It is to be uncommonly dreadful. I shall expect murderand everything of the kind.”
”You speak with astonishing composure! But I hope your friend's accountshave been exaggerated; and if such a design is known beforehand, propermeasures will undoubtedly be taken by government to prevent its comingto effect.”
”Government,” said Henry, endeavouring not to smile, ”neither desiresnor dares to interfere in such matters. There must be murder; andgovernment cares not how much.”
The ladies stared. He laughed, and added, ”Come, shall I make youunderstand each other, or leave you to puzzle out an explanation asyou can? No--I will be noble. I will prove myself a man, no less by thegenerosity of my soul than the clearness of my head. I have no patiencewith such of my sex as disdain to let themselves sometimes down to thecomprehension of yours. Perhaps the abilities of women are neither soundnor acute--neither vigorous nor keen. Perhaps they may want observation,discernment, judgment, fire, genius, and wit.”
”Miss Morland, do not mind what he says; but have the goodness tosatisfy me as to this dreadful riot.”
”Riot! What riot?”
”My dear Eleanor, the riot is only in your own brain. The confusionthere is scandalous. Miss Morland has been talking of nothing moredreadful than a new publication which is shortly to come out, in threeduodecimo volumes, two hundred and seventy-six pages in each, witha frontispiece to the first, of two tombstones and a lantern--do youunderstand? And you, Miss Morland--my stupid sister has mistaken allyour clearest expressions. You talked of expected horrors in London--andinstead of instantly conceiving, as any rational creature would havedone, that such words could relate only to a circulating library, sheimmediately pictured to herself a mob of three thousand men assemblingin St. George's Fields, the Bank attacked, the Tower threatened, thestreets of London flowing with blood, a detachment of the Twelfth LightDragoons (the hopes of the nation) called up from Northampton to quellthe insurgents, and the gallant Captain Frederick Tilney, in themoment of charging at the head of his troop, knocked off his horse by abrickbat from an upper window. Forgive her stupidity. The fears of thesister have added to the weakness of the woman; but she is by no means asimpleton in general.”
Catherine looked grave. ”And now, Henry,” said Miss Tilney, ”that youhave made us understand each other, you may as well make Miss Morlandunderstand yourself--unless you mean to have her think you intolerablyrude to your sister, and a great brute in your opinion of women ingeneral. Miss Morland is not used to your odd ways.”
”I shall be most happy to make her better acquainted with them.”
”No doubt; but that is no explanation of the present.”
”What am I to do?”
”You know what you ought to do. Clear your character handsomely beforeher. Tell her that you think very highly of the understanding of women.”
”Miss Morland, I think very highly of the understanding of all the womenin the world--especially of those--whoever they may be--with whom Ihappen to be in company.”
”That is not enough. Be more serious.”
”Miss Morland, no one can think more highly of the understanding ofwomen than I do. In my opinion, nature has given them so much that theynever find it necessary to use more than half.”
”We shall get nothing more serious from him now, Miss Morland. He isnot in a sober mood. But I do assure you that he must be entirelymisunderstood, if he can ever appear to say an unjust thing of any womanat all, or an unkind one of me.”
It was no effort to Catherine to believe that Henry Tilney could neverbe wrong. His manner might sometimes surprise, but his meaning mustalways be just: and what she did not understand, she was almost as readyto admire, as what she did. The whole walk was delightful, and though itended too soon, its conclusion was delightful too; her friends attendedher into the house, and Miss Tilney, before they parted, addressingherself with respectful form, as much to Mrs. Allen as to Catherine,petitioned for the pleasure of her company to dinner on the day afterthe next. No difficulty was made on Mrs. Allen's side, and the onlydifficulty on Catherine's was in concealing the excess of her pleasure.
The morning had passed away so charmingly as to banish all herfriendship and natural affection, for no thought of Isabella or Jameshad crossed her during their walk. When the Tilneys were gone, shebecame amiable again, but she was amiable for some time to littleeffect; Mrs. Allen had no intelligence to give that could relieve heranxiety; she had heard nothing of any of them. Towards the end of themorning, however, Catherine, having occasion for some indispensable yardof ribbon which must be bought without a moment's delay, walked out intothe town, and in Bond Street overtook the second Miss Thorpe as she wasloitering towards Edgar's Buildings between two of the sweetest girls inthe world, who had been her dear friends all the morning. From her, shesoon learned that the party to Clifton had taken place. ”They set off ateight this morning,” said Miss Anne, ”and I am sure I do not envythem their drive. I think you and I are very well off to be out of thescrape. It must be the dullest thing in the world, for there is not asoul at Clifton at this time of year. Belle went with your brother, andJohn drove Maria.”
Catherine spoke the pleasure she really felt on hearing this part of thearrangement.
”Oh! yes,” rejoined the other, ”Maria is gone. She was quite wild to go.She thought it would be something very fine. I cannot say I admire hertaste; and for my part, I was determined from the first not to go, ifthey pressed me ever so much.”
Catherine, a little doubtful of this, could not help answering, ”I wishyou could have gone too. It is a pity you could not all go.”
”Thank you; but it is quite a matter of indifference to me. Indeed, Iwould not have gone on any account. I was saying so to Emily and Sophiawhen you overtook us.”
Catherine was still unconvinced; but glad that Anne should have thefriendship of an Emily and a Sophia to console her, she bade her adieuwithout much uneasiness, and returned home, pleased that the party hadnot been prevented by her refusing to join it, and very heartily wishingthat it might be too pleasant to allow either James or Isabella toresent her resistance any longer.