Chapter 14

The next m orning was fair, and Catherine alm ost expected another

attack from the assem bled party. With Mr. Allen to support her, she felt no dread of the event: but she would gladly be spared a contest, where victory itself was painful, and was heartily rej oiced therefore at neither seeing nor hearing any thing of them . The Tilney s called for her at the appointed tim e; and no new difficulty arising, no sudden recollection, no unexpected sum m ons, no im pertinent intrusion to disconcert their m easures, m y heroine was m ost unnaturally able to fulfil her engagem ent, though it was m ade with the hero him self. They determ ined on walking round Beechen Cliff, that noble hill whose beautiful verdure and hanging coppice render it so striking an obj ect from alm ost every opening in Bath.

“I never look at it,” said Catherine, as they walked along the side of the

river, “without thinking of the south of France.”

“You have been abroad then?” said Henry, a little surprised. “Oh! No, I only m ean what I have read about. It alway s puts m e in

m ind of the country that Em ily and her father travelled through, in The My steries of Udolpho. But y ou never read novels, I dare say ?”

“Why not?”

“Because they are not clever enough for y ou – gentlem en read better

books.”

“The person, be it gentlem an or lady, who has not pleasure in a good

novel, m ust be intolerably stupid. I have read all Mrs. Radcliffe’s works, and m ost of them with great pleasure. The My steries of Udolpho, when I had once begun it, I could not lay down again; I rem em ber finishing it in two day s – m y hair standing on end the whole tim e.”

“Yes,” added Miss Tilney, “and I rem em ber that y ou undertook to read

it aloud to m e, and that when I was called away for only five m inutes to answer a note, instead of waiting for m e, y ou took the volum e into the Herm itage Walk, and I was obliged to stay till y ou had finished it.”

“Thank y ou, Eleanor – a m ost honourable testim ony. You see, Miss

Morland, the inj ustice of y our suspicions. Here was I, in m y eagerness to get on, refusing to wait only five m inutes for m y sister, breaking the prom ise I had m ade of reading it aloud, and keeping her in suspense at a m ost interesting part, by running away with the volum e, which, y ou are to observe, was her own, particularly her own. I am proud when I reflect on it, and I think it m ust establish m e in y our good opinion.”

“I am very glad to hear it indeed, and now I shall never be asham ed of

liking Udolpho m y self. But I really thought before, y oung m en despised novels am azingly.”

“It is am azingly ; it m ay well suggest am azem ent if they do – for they

read nearly as m any as wom en. I m y self have read hundreds and hundreds. Do not im agine that y ou can cope with m e in a knowledge of Julias and Louisas. If we proceed to particulars, and engage in the never-ceasing inquiry of ‘Have y ou read this?’ and ‘Have y ou read that?’ I shall soon leave y ou as far behind m e as – what shall I say ? – I want an appropriate sim ile. – as far as y our friend Em ily herself left poor Valancourt when she went with her aunt into Italy. Consider how m any y ears I have had the start of y ou. I had entered on m y studies at Oxford, while y ou were a good little girl working y our sam pler at hom e!”

“Not very good, I am afraid. But now really, do not y ou think Udolpho

the nicest book in the world?”

“The nicest – by which I suppose y ou m ean the neatest. That m ust

depend upon the binding.”

“Henry,” said Miss Tilney, “y ou are very im pertinent. Miss Morland,

he is treating y ou exactly as he does his sister. He is forever finding fault with m e, for som e incorrectness of language, and now he is taking the sam e liberty with y ou. The word ‘nicest,’ as y ou used it, did not suit him ; and y ou had better change it as soon as y ou can, or we shall be overpowered with Johnson and Blair all the rest of the way.”

“I am sure,” cried Catherine, “I did not m ean to say any thing wrong;

but it 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 taking

a very nice walk, and y ou are two very nice y oung ladies. Oh! It is a very nice word indeed! It does for every thing. Originally perhaps it was applied only to express neatness, propriety, delicacy, or refinem ent – people were nice in their dress, in their sentim ents, or their choice. But now every com m endation on every subj ect is com prised in that one word.”

“While, in fact,” cried his sister, “it ought only to be applied to y ou,

without any com m endation at all. You are m ore nice than wise. Com e, Miss Morland, let us leave him to m editate over our faults in the utm ost propriety of diction, while we praise Udolpho in whatever term s we like best. It is a m ost interesting work. You are fond of that kind of reading?”

“To say the truth, I do not m uch like any other.”

“Indeed!”

“That is, I can read poetry and play s, and things of that sort, and do not

dislike travels. But history, real solem n history, I cannot be interested in. Can y ou?”

“Yes, I am fond of history.”

“I wish I were too. I read it a little as a duty, but it tells m e nothing that

does not either vex or weary m e. The quarrels of popes and kings, with wars or pestilences, in every page; the m en all so good for nothing, and hardly any wom en at all – it is very tiresom e: and y et I often think it odd that it should be so dull, for a great deal of it m ust be invention. The speeches that are put into the heroes’ m ouths, their thoughts and designs – the chief of all this m ust be invention, and invention is what delights m e in other books.”

“Historians, y ou think,” said Miss Tilney, “are not happy in their flights

of fancy. They display im agination without raising interest. I am fond of history – and am very well contented to take the false with the true. In the principal facts they have sources of intelligence in form er histories and records, which m ay be as m uch depended on, I conclude, as any thing that does not actually pass under one’s own observation; and as for the little em bellishm ents y ou speak of, they are em bellishm ents, and I like them as such. If a speech be well drawn up, I read it with pleasure, by whom soever it m ay be m ade – and probably with m uch greater, if the production of Mr. Hum e or Mr. Robertson, than if the genuine words of Caractacus, Agricola, or Alfred the Great.”

“You are fond of history ! And so are Mr. Allen and m y father; and I

have two brothers who do not dislike it. So m any instances within m y sm all circle of friends is rem arkable! At this rate, I shall not pity the writers of history any longer. If people like to read their books, it is all very well, but to be at so m uch trouble in filling great volum es, which, as I used to think, nobody would willingly ever look into, to be labouring only for the torm ent of little boy s and girls, alway s struck m e 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 on purpose to do it.”

“That little boy s and girls should be torm ented,” said Henry, “is what no

one at all acquainted with hum an nature in a civilized state can deny ; but in behalf of our m ost distinguished historians, I m ust observe that they m ight well be offended at being supposed to have no higher aim , and that by their m ethod and sty le, they are perfectly well qualified to torm ent readers of the m ost advanced reason and m ature tim e of life. I use the verb ‘to torm ent,’ as I observed to be y our own m ethod, instead of ‘to instruct,’ supposing them to be now adm itted as sy nony m ous.”

“You think m e foolish to call instruction a torm ent, but if y ou had been

as m uch used as m y self to hear poor little children first learning their letters and then learning to spell, if y ou had ever seen how stupid they can be for a whole m orning together, and how tired m y poor m other is at the end of it, as I am in the habit of seeing alm ost every day of m y life at hom e, y ou would allow that ‘to torm ent’ and ‘to instruct’ m ight som etim es be used as sy nony m ous words.”

“Very probably. But historians are not accountable for the difficulty of

learning to read; and even y ou y ourself, who do not altogether seem particularly friendly to very severe, very intense application, m ay perhaps be brought to acknowledge that it is very well worth-while to be torm ented for two or three y ears 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. Radcliffe would have written in vain – or perhaps m ight not have written at all.”

Catherine assented – and a very warm panegy ric from her on that

lady ’s m erits closed the subj ect. The Tilney s were soon engaged in another on which she had nothing to say. They were viewing the country with the ey es of persons accustom ed to drawing, and decided on its capability of being form ed into pictures, with all the eagerness of real taste. Here Catherine was quite lost. She knew nothing of drawing – nothing of taste: and she listened to them with an attention which brought her little profit, for they talked in phrases which convey ed scarcely any idea to her. The little which she could understand, however, appeared to contradict the very few notions she had entertained on the m atter before. It seem ed as if a good view were no longer to be taken from the top of an high hill, and that a clear blue sky was no longer a proof of a fine day. She was heartily asham ed of her ignorance. A m isplaced sham e. Where people wish to attach, they should alway s be ignorant. To com e with a well-inform ed m ind is to com e with an inability of adm inistering to the vanity of others, which a sensible person would alway s wish to avoid. A wom an especially, if she have the m isfortune of knowing any thing, should conceal it as well as she can.

The advantages of natural folly in a beautiful girl have been already set

forth by the capital pen of a sister author; and to her treatm ent of the subj ect I will only add, in j ustice to m en, that though to the larger and m ore trifling part of the sex, im becility in fem ales is a great enhancem ent of their personal charm s, there is a portion of them too reasonable and too well inform ed them selves to desire any thing m ore in wom an than ignorance. But Catherine did not know her own advantages – did not know that a good-looking girl, with an affectionate heart and a very ignorant m ind, cannot fail of attracting a clever y oung m an, unless circum stances are particularly untoward. In the present instance, she confessed and lam ented her want of knowledge, declared that she would give any thing in the world to be able to draw; and a lecture on the picturesque im m ediately followed, in which his instructions were so clear that she soon began to see beauty in every thing adm ired by him , and her attention was so earnest that he becam e perfectly satisfied of her having a great deal of natural taste. He talked of foregrounds, distances, and second distances – side-screens and perspectives – lights and shades; and Catherine was so hopeful a scholar that when they gained the top of Beechen Cliff, she voluntarily rej ected the whole city of Bath as unworthy to m ake part of a landscape. Delighted with her progress, and fearful of weary ing her with too m uch wisdom at once, Henry suffered the subj ect to decline, and by an easy transition from a piece of rocky fragm ent and the withered oak which he had placed near its sum m it, to oaks in general, to forests, the enclosure of them , waste lands, crown lands and govern-m ent, he shortly found him self arrived at politics; and from politics, it was an easy step to silence. The general pause which succeed-ed his short disquisition on the state of the nation was put an end to by Catherine, who, in rather a solem n tone of voice, uttered these words, “I have heard that som ething very sho-cking indeed will soon com e out in London.”

Miss Tilney, to whom this was chiefly addressed, was startled, and

hastily replied, “Indeed! And of what nature?”

“That I do not know, nor who is the author. I have only heard that it is to

be m ore horrible than any thing we have m et with y et.”

“Good heaven! Where could y ou hear of such a thing?”

“A particular friend of m ine had an account of it in a letter from

London y esterday. It is to be uncom m only dreadful. I shall expect m urder and every thing of the kind.”

“You speak with astonishing com posure! But I hope y our friend’s

accounts have been exaggerated; and if such a design is known beforehand, proper m easures will undoubtedly be taken by governm ent to prevent its com ing to effect.”

“Governm ent,” said Henry, endea-vouring not to sm ile, “neither desires

nor dares to interfere in such m atters. There m ust be m urder; and governm ent cares not how m uch.”

The ladies stared. He laughed, and added, “Com e, shall I m ake y ou

understand each other, or leave y ou to puzzle out an explanation as y ou can? No – I will be noble. I will prove m y self a m an, no less by the generosity of m y soul than the clearness of m y head. I have no patience with such of m y sex as disdain to let them selves som etim es down to the com prehension of y ours. Perhaps the abilities of wom en are neither sound nor acute – neither vigorous nor keen. Perhaps they m ay want observation, discernm ent, j udgm ent, fire, genius, and wit.”

“Miss Morland, do not m ind what he say s; but have the goodness to

satisfy m e as to this dreadful riot.”

“Riot! What riot?”

“My dear Eleanor, the riot is only in y our own brain. The confusion

there is scandalous. Miss Morland has been talking of nothing m ore dreadful than a new publication which is shortly to com e out, in three duodecim o volum es, two hundred and seventy -six pages in each, with a frontispiece to the first, of two tom bstones and a lantern – do y ou understand? And y ou, Miss Morland – m y stupid sister has m istaken all y our clearest expressions. You talked of expected horrors in London – and instead of instantly conceiving, as any rational creature would have done, that such words could relate only to a circulating library, she im m ediately pictured to herself a m ob of three thousand m en assem bling in St. George’s Fields, the Bank attacked, the Tower threatened, the streets of London flowing with blood, a detachm ent of the Twelfth Light Dragoons (the hopes of the nation) called up from Northam pton to quell the insurgents, and the gallant Captain Frederick Tilney, in the m om ent 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 added to the weakness of the wom an; but she is by no m eans a sim pleton in general.”

Catherine looked grave. “And now, Henry,” said Miss Tilney, “that y ou

have m ade us understand each other, y ou m ay as well m ake Miss Morland understand y ourself – unless y ou m ean to have her think y ou intolerably rude to y our sister, and a great brute in y our opinion of wom en in general. Miss Morland is not used to y our odd way s.”

“I shall be m ost happy to m ake her better acquainted with them .”

“No doubt; but that is no explanation of the present.”

“What am I to do?”

“You know what y ou ought to do. Clear y our character handsom ely

before her. Tell her that y ou think very highly of the understanding of wom en.”

“Miss Morland, I think very highly of the understanding of all the

wom en in the world, especially of those, whoever they m ay be with whom I happen to be in com pany.”

“That is not enough. Be m ore serious.”

“Miss Morland, no one can think m ore highly of the understanding of

wom en than I do. In m y opinion, nature has given them so m uch that they never find it necessary to use m ore than half.”

“We shall get nothing m ore serious from him now, Miss Morland. He is

not in a sober m ood. But I do assure y ou that he m ust be entirely m isunderstood, if he can ever appear to say an unj ust thing of any wom an at all, or an unkind one of m e.”

It was no effort to Catherine to believe that Henry Tilney could never

be wrong. His m anner m ight som etim es surprise, but his m eaning m ust alway s be j ust: and what she did not understand, she was alm ost as ready to adm ire, as what she did. The whole walk was delightful, and though it 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 m uch to Mrs. Allen as to Catherine, petitioned for the pleasure of her com pany to dinner on the day after the next. No difficulty was m ade on Mrs. Allen’s side, and the only difficulty on Catherine’s was in concealing the excess of her pleasure.

The m orning had passed away so charm ingly as to banish all her

friendship and natural affection, for no thought of Isabella or Jam es had crossed her during their walk. When the Tilney s were gone, she becam e am iable again, but she was am iable for som e tim e to little effect; Mrs. Allen had no intelligence to give that could relieve her anxiety ; she had heard nothing of any of them . Towards the end of the m orning, however, Catherine, having occasion for som e indispensable y ard of ribbon which m ust be bought without a m om ent’s delay, walked out into the town, and in Bond Street overtook the second Miss Thorpe as she was loitering towards Edgar’s Buildings between two of the sweetest girls in the world, who had been her dear friends all the m orning. From her, she soon learned that the party to Clifton had taken place. “They set off at eight this m orning,” said Miss Anne, “and I am sure I do not envy them their drive. I think y ou and I are very well off to be out of the scrape. It m ust be the dullest thing in the world, for there is not a soul at Clifton at this tim e of y ear. Belle went with y our brother, and John drove Maria.”

Catherine spoke the pleasure she really felt on hearing this part of the

arrangem ent.

“Oh! y es,” rej oined the other, “Maria is gone. She was quite wild to go.

She thought it would be som ething very fine. I cannot say I adm ire her taste; and for m y part, I was determ ined from the first not to go, if they pressed m e ever so m uch.”

Catherine, a little doubtful of this, could not help answering, “I wish y ou

could have gone too. It is a pity y ou could not all go.”

“Thank y ou; but it is quite a m atter of indifference to m e. Indeed, I

would not have gone on any account. I was say ing so to Em ily and Sophia when y ou overtook us.”

Catherine was still unconvinced; but glad that Anne should have the

friendship of an Em ily and a Sophia to console her, she bade her adieu without m uch uneasiness, and returned hom e, pleased that the party had not been prevented by her refusing to j oin it, and very heartily wishing that it m ight be too pleasant to allow either Jam es or Isabella to resent her resistance any longer.