Northanger Abbey, chapter 20: The Storyteller
But since this is Jane Austen, a significant portion of this experience is grounded in reality. And while we wait with Cat and Mr. Allen at the Tilneys’ Bath residence, the reality is less savory than usual. We have General Tilney to thank for that.
How ironic that the person who issued this life-changing invitation in the first place (though it was Eleanor’s originally) is also the person whose behavior unnerves Cat: “His anxiety for her comfort … made it impossible for her to forget for a moment that she was a visitor.” Then, in berating a tardy Captain Tilney, Cat is “quite pained by the severity of his father’s reproof, which seemed disproportionate to the offense.” She had wanted to get to know the captain better, motivated by his unseemly interest in her engaged friend, but he doesn’t speak up during breakfast. “How glad I shall be when you are all off,” he mutters to Eleanor.
Just a brat in a foul mood, you might say. After all, Captain Thoughtless didn’t make the best first impression. But then we get to the actual Packing of the Carriage, and we start to see even more of General Tilney. His servants put his coat in the wrong coach. He almost throws out his daughter’s new writing desk because he thinks it takes up too much space (in a coach he won’t be in). During the ride, Cat has a very pleasant time with Eleanor. When they stop for lunch, however (before they’re even hungry), General Tilney once again calls the shots. Cat certainly notices “his discontent at whatever the inn afforded, and his angry impatience at the waiters,” and that once again, his presence is “a check upon his children’s spirits.”
For the second half of the journey, General Tilney does Cat a good turn by having Henry ride with her. Though she recalls Mr. Allen’s words of caution, she decides that “[General Tilney] he could not propose anything improper for her,” and spends her time favorably contrasting Henry’s steady hand, lively conversation, and riding jacket against John Thorpe’s. Henry is grateful that Cat is going to be a companion to Eleanor, as he cannot spend all his time at Northanger Abbey. Cat is aghast—who wouldn’t want to live in such a tragical, romantic place like an ancient abbey? “Is not it a fine old place, just like what one reads about?” she asks him.
And then Henry begins to riff on the Gothic romance novels he knows she adores. That’s right: Henry Tilney invents self-insert fanfic. Hey, you had to do something on those long carriage rides—might as well discover a new genre. His description of Cat’s would-be “gloomy chamber” shows how much he himself is familiar with the tropes of these novels: “too lofty and extensive for you … its walls hung with tapestry exhibiting figures as large as life, and the bed, of dark green stuff or purple velvet, presenting even a funereal appearance.” He describes a secret passageway behind the tapestry and cuts himself off with an impressive cliffhanger, which only makes Cat want more, which in turn makes him laugh so much that “he [can] no longer command solemnity either of subject or voice, and [is] obliged to entreat her to use her own fancy.” Cat’s like, oh no, I know not to expect anything like that at your house.
And yet, when they at last arrive at Northanger Abbey, she doesn’t even get to see the splendor of the castle due to a sudden downpour … and inside, she’s disappointed to see the modern furniture and typical English decor. “To an imagination which had hoped for the smallest divisions, and the heaviest stone–work, for painted glass, dirt, and cobwebs, the difference was very distressing.”
Then … I’m not kidding … General Tilney turns into Mr. Collins (YES I AM SERIOUS). In trying to anticipate her expectations, he notes “the smallness of the room and simplicity of the furniture, where everything … pretended only to comfort.” And he uses the classic “flatter[s] himself” phrasing and double-negatively assures her “that there [are] some apartments in the Abbey not unworthy her notice.” He even directs her attention to the “costly gilding” of an impressive window! All traits of Collins’ conversation, no? But then he loudly notes the time and Eleanor is hurrying Cat away “in such a manner as convinced her that the strictest punctuality to the family hours would be expected at Northanger.”
As Eleanor cautions Cat against taking too long to get ready for the evening, we may see a similarity between Henry’s foreboding narrative and the semi-oppressive atmosphere of Northanger Abbey. It’s the difference between a satisfying spine-tingle and anxiety in the pit of one’s stomach.
The Shapard Shelf: We get a lot of context for the journey to Northanger Abbey and the logistics about horses and carriages. General Tilney and son are riding in a curricle, while Cat and Eleanor ride with the lady’s maid in a chaise (which in theory has less room for Eleanor’s parcels). Shapard points out that General Tilney takes “good care of [the horses],” as “he allows two hours for their rest.” Henry’s oral story takes a lot of cues from Udolpho and The Romance of the Forest, another Radcliffe novel; “Henry, showing his usual attentiveness to language, echoes that found in Gothic tales, especially their continual use of highly-charged stock phrases[.]”
"Henry Tilney invents self-insert fanfic." That's a hoot. X-D It always makes me smile when people think fan fiction is a new thing--it's been around for ages! William Shakespeare wrote it, after a fashion. So did Cervantes, though Don Quixote is probably more of a crackfic. I also heard someone say once that The Divine Comedy is Bible fanfic. But it's passages like this that make me love Henry all the more: he's laughing about Catherine's sort-of expectations, but not in a way that makes him seem smug and oh so above it all.
ReplyDeleteAs for the General turning into Mr. Collins--never saw that before, but you're right. Arrrrghhh. Exactly the same sort of behavior.
MA