Northanger Abbey, chapter 25: A Disengaging Prospect

It’s hard to think that a person like Cat, who doesn’t have a superior complex, who is generous and modest in her assumptions about people (most of the time), and who is generally kind and thoughtful, would need to be “humbled.” But she does. And she has been, thanks to Henry, who “ha[s] more thoroughly opened her eyes to the extravagance of her late fancies than all their several disappointments had done.”

Maybe it’s because she possesses these qualities that Cat doesn’t torture herself for the rest of her stay, or even for rest of the evening. She later joins the household and Henry seems incredibly empathetic to her state of mind, which, combined with his decision to not raise the subject again, helps soothe Cat’s agitation. She reflects that “it had been all a voluntary, self–created delusion, that “[her] mind … had been craving to be frightened,” and that “among the English … there was a general though unequal mixture of good and bad.” This passage in particular employs some interestingly patriotic logic, of the it couldn’t happen here variety. Critic Robert Kiely (yes, I’m cheating on Shapard) comments that Austen is trying to show that “Tilney himself is not too perfect to fall into priggish overstatement,” even “emphasiz[ing] the silliness of Henry’s speech by making Catherine believe it wholeheartedly.” I’m not sure how much I agree with this line of thinking—maybe Cat is just the kind of person who believes in anything “wholeheartedly.” Maybe Henry’s “priggish” tone results from hearing a pretty extreme accusation leveled at a member of his family. Or maybe it’s another layer of irony that the mistress of irony has written into her meta novel.

In any case, Cat wises up and gradually regains her cheery mood, thanks in part to “Henry’s astonishing generosity and nobleness of conduct, in never alluding in the slightest way to what had passed.” She’s also more clear-headed about her feelings about General Tilney, and I’m sure this will be the final hint of tension in their relationship. Yep. No more drama there, for sure.

Speaking of tense relationships, Cat has realized that she hasn’t heard from Isabella. You know, her best friend of the summer and soon-to-be sister-in-law? While I’ve enjoyed a break from having to write about Isabella’s every manipulative move, Cat is confused by the silence from Bath: “Isabella had promised and promised again; and when she promised a thing, she was so scrupulous in performing it!”

Another week later, she at last receives a letter, and it does concern Isabella … but it’s not from Isabella. Instead, her dopey lovesick brother James writes Cat to let her know that he has found a cure: Isabella and he have called it quits. Gasp, shock, etc.

We don’t get specific details about how it happened, but we do find out that Captain Tilney (that other dopey brother) is the new apple in Isabella’s wandering eye. James believes he was “played off [against the captain] to make [Isabella] secure of Tilney,” though “till the very last … she declared herself as much attached to me as ever, and laughed at my fears.” He also warns her to “beware how you give your heart,” although this seems to be general advice and not some kind of hint that he knows she’s crushing on Henry.

In the parlor later, the Tilney siblings ask Cat about her very unsubtle mood swing, and she lets Henry read the letter for himself (although she “blush[es]” at the idea of him reading her brother’s warning about love). Cat is convinced that Isabella and Captain Tenacious will announce their engagement any day now, but Henry and Eleanor don’t seem as certain. Cat still has a rosy view of General Tilney, so she assumes he’ll welcome the match despite Isabella’s meager social standing. Henry, who is familiar with Isabella’s hypocritical behavior, jokes to her sister: “Prepare for your sister–in–law, Eleanor … ! Open, candid, artless, guileless, with affections strong but simple, forming no pretensions, and knowing no disguise.” Eleanor catches his drift and responds in kind, and it’s painfully obvious that they’re talking about Cat—but of course this flies over Cat’s head. She suggests that Isabella “behave better by [your family]” now that she’s got the man she actually loves (apparently), though when prompted by Henry’s joke about a baronet sweeping Isabella off her feet, Cat reflects on her former friend’s mercenary tendency. 

But how disappointed is Cat to be losing said former friend? With his usual flair, Henry offers his sympathy and takes a stab at her feelings: “You feel, I suppose, that in losing Isabella, you lose half yourself: you feel a void in your heart which nothing else can occupy.” Cat admits that though she is unhappy, she “do[es] not feel so very, very much afflicted as one would have thought.” Whether Henry is attempting to lead her to a specific conclusion about Isabella or just trying to lighten the mood, I think, depends on your perspective on him. But he does applaud her for articulating her emotions with nuance, a skill that Cat is just learning. Oh, look, he turned this into a teaching moment!

But is Isabella truly gone for good, or will she return? 

The Shapard Shelf: Shapard notes that Austen’s presentation of “a mixture of good and bad” in her characters set her apart among her contemporaries. Critics at the time thought that “the moral message and impact of a novel [was] better served by presenting the purist examples of good behavior and the most loathsome examples of bad behavior” (although this notion is turned on its head through Cat’s very literal interpretation). Shapard also believes that “Henry’s tenderness toward [Cat]” is partially driven by “a sense of personal responsibility in encouraging her foolish fantasies by the scenario he created.” It’s a compelling argument. Do you think Henry should show accountability here?