Chapter 14

by Jane Austen

　　The next morning was fair, and Catherine almostexpected another attack from the assembled party.With Mr. Allen to support her, she felt no dread ofthe event: but she would gladly be spared a contest,where victory itself was painful, and was heartily rejoicedtherefore at neither seeing nor hearing anything of them.The Tilneys called for her at the appointed time;and no new difficulty arising, no sudden recollection,no unexpected summons, no impertinent intrusion to disconcerttheir measures, my heroine was most unnaturally able to fulfilher engagement, though it was made with the hero himself.They determined on walking round Beechen Cliff, that noblehill whose beautiful verdure and hanging coppice render itso striking an object from almost every opening in Bath.

　　"I never look at it," said Catherine, as theywalked along the side of the river, "without thinkingof 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 mind of the country that Emily and herfather travelled through, in The Mysteries of Udolpho.But you never read novels, I dare say?"

　　"Why not?"

　　"Because they are not clever enough for you--gentlemenread better books."

　　"The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has notpleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid.I have read all Mrs. Radcliffe's works, and most ofthem with great pleasure. The Mysteries of Udolpho,when I had once begun it, I could not lay down again;I remember finishing it in two days--my hair standing on endthe whole time."

　　"Yes," added Miss Tilney, "and I remember that youundertook to read it aloud to me, and that when I was calledaway for only five minutes to answer a note, instead ofwaiting for me, you took the volume into the Hermitage 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 waitonly five minutes for my sister, breaking the promiseI had made of reading it aloud, and keeping her insuspense at a most interesting part, by running awaywith the volume, which, you are to observe, was her own,particularly her own. I am proud when I reflect on it,and I think it must establish me in your good opinion."

　　"I am very glad to hear it indeed, and now I shallnever be ashamed of liking Udolpho myself. But I reallythought before, young men despised novels amazingly."

　　"It is amazingly; it may well suggest amazementif they do--for they read nearly as many as women.I myself have read hundreds and hundreds. Do not imaginethat you can cope with me in a knowledge of Juliasand Louisas. If we proceed to particulars, and engagein the never-ceasing inquiry of 'Have you read this?'and 'Have you read that?' I shall soon leave you as farbehind me as--what shall I say?--l want an appropriatesimile.--as far as your friend Emily herself left poorValancourt when she went with her aunt into Italy.Consider how many years I have had the start of you.I had entered on my studies at Oxford, while you were a goodlittle girl working your sampler at home!"

　　"Not very good, I am afraid. But now really,do not you think Udolpho the nicest book in the world?"

　　"The nicest--by which I suppose you mean the neatest.That must depend upon the binding."

　　"Henry," said Miss Tilney, "you are very impertinent.Miss Morland, he is treating you exactly as he does his sister.He is forever finding fault with me, for some incorrectnessof language, and now he is taking the same liberty with you.The word 'nicest,' as you used it, did not suit him;and you had better change it as soon as you can, or weshall be overpowered with Johnson and Blair all the restof the way."

　　"I am sure," cried Catherine, "I did not meanto say anything wrong; but it is a nice book, and whyshould not I 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 twovery nice young ladies. Oh! It is a very nice wordindeed! It does for everything. Originally perhaps itwas applied only to express neatness, propriety, delicacy,or refinement--people were nice in their dress,in their sentiments, or their choice. But now everycommendation on every subject is comprised in that one word."

　　"While, in fact," cried his sister, "it ought onlyto 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 whateverterms we like best. It is a most interesting work.You are fond of that kind of reading?"

　　"To say the truth, I do not much like any other."

　　"Indeed!"

　　"That is, I can read poetry and plays, and thingsof that sort, and do not dislike travels. But history,real solemn history, I cannot be interested 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 me nothing that does not either vex or weary me.The quarrels of popes and kings, with wars or pestilences,in every page; the men all so good for nothing,and hardly any women at all--it is very tiresome:and yet I often think it odd that it should be so dull,for a great deal of it must be invention. The speechesthat are put into the heroes' mouths, their thoughtsand designs--the chief of all this must be invention,and invention is what delights me in other books."

　　"Historians, you think," said Miss Tilney, "are nothappy in their flights of fancy. They display imaginationwithout raising interest. I am fond of history--and amvery well contented to take the false with the true.In the principal facts they have sources of intelligencein former histories and records, which may be as muchdepended on, I conclude, as anything that does not actuallypass under one's own observation; and as for the littleembellishments you speak of, they are embellishments,and I like them as such. If a speech be well drawn up,I read it with pleasure, by whomsoever it may be made--andprobably with much greater, if the production of Mr. Humeor Mr. Robertson, than if the genuine words of Caractacus,Agricola, or Alfred the Great."

　　"You are fond of history! And so are Mr. Allen andmy father; and I have two brothers who do not dislike it.So many instances within my small circle of friends isremarkable! At this rate, I shall not pity the writersof history any longer. If people like to read their books,it is all very well, but to be at so much trouble in fillinggreat volumes, which, as I used to think, nobody wouldwillingly ever look into, to be labouring only for the tormentof little boys and girls, always struck me 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 couldsit down on purpose to do it."

　　"That little boys and girls should be tormented,"said Henry, "is what no one at all acquainted with humannature in a civilized state can deny; but in behalfof our most distinguished historians, I must observethat they might well be offended at being supposed tohave no higher aim, and that by their method and style,they are perfectly well qualified to torment readersof the most advanced reason and mature time of life.I use the verb 'to torment,' as I observed to be yourown method, instead of 'to instruct,' supposing them to benow admitted as synonymous."

　　"You think me foolish to call instruction a torment,but if you had been as much used as myself to hear poorlittle children first learning their letters and thenlearning to spell, if you had ever seen how stupid theythey can be for a whole morning together, and how tiredmy poor mother is at the end of it, as I am in the habitof seeing almost every day of my life at home, you wouldallow that 'to torment' and 'to instruct' might sometimesbe used as synonymous words."

　　"Very probably. But historians are not accountablefor the difficulty of learning to read; and even you yourself,who do not altogether seem particularly friendly tovery severe, very intense application, may perhaps bebrought to acknowledge that it is very well worth-whileto be tormented for two or three years of one's life,for the sake of being able to read all the rest of it.Consider--if reading had not been taught, Mrs. Radcliffewould have written in vain--or perhaps might not havewritten at all."

　　Catherine assented--and a very warm panegyricfrom her on that lady's merits closed the subject.The Tilneys were soon engaged in another on which shehad nothing to say. They were viewing the country withthe eyes of persons accustomed to drawing, and decided onits capability of being formed into pictures, with all theeagerness of real taste. Here Catherine was quite lost.She knew nothing of drawing--nothing of taste: and shelistened to them with an attention which brought herlittle profit, for they talked in phrases which conveyedscarcely any idea to her. The little which she couldunderstand, however, appeared to contradict the very fewnotions she had entertained on the matter before.It seemed as if a good view were no longer to be takenfrom the top of an high hill, and that a clear bluesky was no longer a proof of a fine day. She washeartily ashamed of her ignorance. A misplaced shame.Where people wish to attach, they should always be ignorant.To come with a well-informed mind is to come with aninability of administering to the vanity of others,which a sensible person would always wish to avoid.A woman especially, if she have the misfortuneof knowing anything, should conceal it as well as she can.

　　The advantages of natural folly in a beautifulgirl have been already set forth by the capital penof a sister author; and to her treatment of the subjectI will only add, in justice to men, that though to thelarger and more trifling part of the sex, imbecility infemales is a great enhancement of their personal charms,there is a portion of them too reasonable and too wellinformed themselves to desire anything more in womanthan ignorance. But Catherine did not know her ownadvantages--did not know that a good-looking girl, with anaffectionate heart and a very ignorant mind, cannot failof attracting a clever young man, unless circumstancesare particularly untoward. In the present instance,she confessed and lamented her want of knowledge, declared thatshe would give anything in the world to be able to draw;and a lecture on the picturesque immediately followed,in which his instructions were so clear that she soonbegan to see beauty in everything admired by him,and her attention was so earnest that he became perfectlysatisfied of her having a great deal of natural taste.He talked of foregrounds, distances, and seconddistances--side-screens and perspectives--lights and shades;and Catherine was so hopeful a scholar that when they gainedthe top of Beechen Cliff, she voluntarily rejected the wholecity of Bath as unworthy to make part of a landscape.Delighted with her progress, and fearful of wearying her withtoo much wisdom at once, Henry suffered the subject to decline,and by an easy transition from a piece of rocky fragmentand the withered oak which he had placed near its summit,to oaks in general, to forests, the enclosure of them,waste lands, crown lands and government, he shortlyfound himself arrived at politics; and from politics,it was an easy step to silence. The general pausewhich succeeded his short disquisition on the state ofthe nation was put an end to by Catherine, who, in rathera solemn tone of voice, uttered these words, "I haveheard that something very shocking indeed will sooncome out in London."

　　Miss Tilney, to whom this was chiefly addressed,was startled, and hastily replied, "Indeed! And ofwhat nature?" "That I do not know, nor who is the author.I have only heard that it is to be more horrible thananything 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 aletter from London yesterday. It is to be uncommonly dreadful.I shall expect murder and everything of the kind."

　　"You speak with astonishing composure! But I hopeyour friend's accounts have been exaggerated; and if such adesign is known beforehand, proper measures will undoubtedlybe taken by government to prevent its coming to effect."

　　"Government," said Henry, endeavouring not to smile,"neither desires nor dares to interfere in such matters.There must be murder; and government cares not how much."

　　The ladies stared. He laughed, and added,"Come, shall I make you understand each other, or leaveyou to puzzle out an explanation as you can? No--I willbe noble. I will prove myself a man, no less by thegenerosity of my soul than the clearness of my head.I have no patience with such of my sex as disdain to letthemselves sometimes down to the comprehension of yours.Perhaps the abilities of women are neither sound noracute--neither vigorous nor keen. Perhaps they maywant observation, discernment, judgment, fire, genius, and wit."

　　"Miss Morland, do not mind what he says; but havethe goodness to satisfy me as to this dreadful riot."

　　"Riot! What riot?"

　　"My dear Eleanor, the riot is only in your own brain.The confusion there is scandalous. Miss Morland has beentalking of nothing more dreadful than a new publicationwhich is shortly to come out, in three duodecimo volumes,two hundred and seventy-six pages in each, with a frontispieceto the first, of two tombstones and a lantern--do youunderstand? And you, Miss Morland--my stupid sister hasmistaken all your clearest expressions. You talkedof expected horrors in London--and instead of instantlyconceiving, as any rational creature would have done,that such words could relate only to a circulating library,she immediately pictured to herself a mob of three thousandmen assembling in St. George's Fields, the Bank attacked,the Tower threatened, the streets of London flowingwith blood, a detachment of the Twelfth Light Dragoons (thehopes of the nation) called up from Northampton to quellthe insurgents, and the gallant Captain Frederick Tilney,in the moment of charging at the head of his troop,knocked off his horse by a brickbat from an upper window.Forgive her stupidity. The fears of the sister have addedto the weakness of the woman; but she is by no meansa simpleton in general."

　　Catherine looked grave. "And now, Henry," said Miss Tilney,"that you have made us understand each other, you mayas well make Miss Morland understand yourself--unless youmean to have her think you intolerably rude to your sister,and a great brute in your opinion of women in general.Miss Morland is not used to your odd ways."

　　"I shall be most happy to make her better acquaintedwith 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 handsomelybefore her. Tell her that you think very highly of the understanding of women."

　　"Miss Morland, I think very highly of the understandingof all the women in the world--especially of those--whoeverthey may be--with whom I happen to be in company."

　　"That is not enough. Be more serious."

　　"Miss Morland, no one can think more highly ofthe understanding of women than I do. In my opinion,nature has given them so much that they never find itnecessary to use more than half."

　　"We shall get nothing more serious from him now,Miss Morland. He is not in a sober mood. But I do assureyou that he must be entirely misunderstood, if he canever appear to say an unjust thing of any woman at all,or an unkind one of me."

　　It was no effort to Catherine to believe that Henry Tilneycould never be wrong. His manner might sometimes surprise,but his meaning must always be just: and what she didnot understand, she was almost as ready to admire,as what she did. The whole walk was delightful, and thoughit ended too soon, its conclusion was delightful too;her friends attended her into the house, and Miss Tilney,before they parted, addressing herself with respectful form,as much to Mrs. Allen as to Catherine, petitioned forthe pleasure of her company to dinner on the day afterthe next. No difficulty was made on Mrs. Allen's side,and the only difficulty on Catherine's was in concealingthe excess of her pleasure.

　　The morning had passed away so charmingly as to banishall her friendship and natural affection, for no thoughtof Isabella or James had crossed her during their walk.When the Tilneys were gone, she became amiable again,but she was amiable for some time to little effect;Mrs. Allen had no intelligence to give that could relieveher anxiety; she had heard nothing of any of them.Towards the end of the morning, however, Catherine,having occasion for some indispensable yard of ribbonwhich must be bought without a moment's delay, walked outinto the town, and in Bond Street overtook the secondMiss Thorpe as she was loitering towards Edgar'sBuildings between two of the sweetest girls in the world,who had been her dear friends all the morning. From her,she soon learned that the party to Clifton had taken place."They set off at eight this morning," said Miss Anne,"and I am sure I do not envy them their drive. I thinkyou and I are very well off to be out of the scrape.it must be the dullest thing in the world, for there is nota soul at Clifton at this time of year. Belle went withyour brother, and John drove Maria."

　　Catherine spoke the pleasure she really felton hearing this part of the arrangement.

　　"Oh! yes," rejoined the other, "Maria is gone.She was quite wild to go. She thought it would besomething very fine. I cannot say I admire her taste;and for my part, I was determined from the first not to go,if they pressed me ever so much."

　　Catherine, a little doubtful of this, could nothelp answering, "I wish you could have gone too.It is a pity you could not all go."

　　"Thank you; but it is quite a matter of indifferenceto me. Indeed, I would not have gone on any account.I was saying so to Emily and Sophia when you overtook us.

　　Catherine was still unconvinced; but glad that Anneshould have the friendship of an Emily and a Sophia toconsole her, she bade her adieu without much uneasiness,and returned home, pleased that the party had not beenprevented by her refusing to join it, and very heartilywishing that it might be too pleasant to allow eitherJames or Isabella to resent her resistance any longer.