Authors: Andrew Norman
Eliza finally accepts the hand of her cousin Henry Austen, and the couple are married on 31 December 1797. (Henry was the third of Jane’s brothers to marry).
1.
Le Faye,
Jane Austen’s ‘Outlandish Cousin’
, p. 140.
Jane Austen first met the Revd Samuel Blackall in the summer, or early autumn, of 1798 when he was staying with the Lefroys of Ashe. It is possible, in fact, that the meeting was arranged by Mrs Lefroy in an attempt to mitigate for Jane’s disappointment over Tom Lefroy.
The Blackalls were a Devonshire family, the strangely named Offspring Blackall (1654–1716), Blackall’s great-grandfather having been Bishop of Exeter in the time of Queen Anne. Blackall himself was a graduate of Emmanuel College, Cambridge, gaining his BA in 1791 and his MA in 1794, in which year he became a fellow of the college. In June 1794 he was ordained deacon at Ely in Cambridgeshire, and in December he was ordained priest. In 1796 he became Tutor and Proctor (officer with disciplinary functions) and in 1797, Taxor (imposer of taxes) at Emmanuel College. Shortly afterwards, he became College Steward and Librarian. At Emmanuel, Blackall was described as ‘a sociable and lively member of the combination room [fellow’s common room]’.
1
Jane wrote to Cassandra on 17 November 1798 telling her of a conversation she had had with Mrs Lefroy. A few weeks previously, said Jane, Mrs Lefroy had received a letter from:
her [Mrs Lefroy’s] friend … [the Revd Blackall, then aged 28] towards the end of which was a sentence to this effect: ‘I am very sorry to hear of Mrs Austen’s illness. [As previously mentioned,
Jane’s mother Cassandra did not enjoy good health.] It would give me particular pleasure to have the opportunity of improving my acquaintance with that family – with the hope of creating to myself a nearer interest. But at present I cannot indulge any expectation of it.’
Jane’s reaction, on hearing this from Mrs Lefroy, was as follows:
This is rational enough; there is less love and more sense in it than sometimes appeared before, and I am very well satisfied. It will all go on exceedingly well, and decline away in a very reasonable manner. There seems no likelihood of his coming into Hampshire this Christmas, and it is therefore most probable that our indifference will soon be mutual, unless his regard, which appeared to spring from knowing nothing of me at first, is best supported by never seeing me.
Jane concludes by saying, ‘Mrs Lefroy made no remarks on the letter, nor did she indeed say anything about him [Blackall] as relative to me’.
2
From these remarks, it appears that Jane originally believed the Revd Blackall both cared about her and had regard for her. However, from his letter, she concluded that there was now ‘less love’ in their relationship, and that he was now indifferent to her. It is possible that in this she was mistaken, in that Blackall’s not being able to ‘indulge any expectation’ of a further acquaintance may have been because a) he was many miles away in Cambridge, b) he had many duties to fulfil at his col ege, as has been demonstrated, and c) he was not in a strong enough position financially to support a wife. (Blackall’s ambition, which he confided to Jane, was to acquire the ‘exceedingly good’ living of Great (North) Cadbury, in Somersetshire.
3
This, in those times, was worth ‘a clear
£
800 per annum; he might have married on that …’).
4
Jane has, therefore, convinced herself that the Revd Blackall is indifferent to her, but has she misinterpreted the meaning of Blackall’s letter to Mrs Lefroy? After all, had he not openly affirmed his desire to improve his acquaintance with her family, in the hope of ‘creating to myself a nearer interest’? And when Jane uses the words, ‘very well satisfied’ in regard to the outcome, may this not, in reality, disguise an inner irritation and disappointment?
To the outsider, Blackall – whose father, like himself, was a clergyman, and whose great-grandfather had been a bishop – as a man of learning and intelligence, would appear to have been the ideal partner for Jane. For her part she described him as ‘a peice [
sic
] of Perfection, noisy Perfection himself which I always recollect with regard’ – which, coming from one who did not bestow compliments lightly, was praise indeed! (The word ‘noisy’ may allude to the fact that Blackall was known to be a ‘lively’ and talkative character).
In early December 1798, Jane told Cassandra that their brother Francis had recently been at Cadiz where he was ‘alive and well’, he having written to her describing his adventures at sea.
5
On the 28th of that month, Jane became ecstatic. She told Cassandra:
Frank [Francis] is made. – He was yesterday raised to the Rank of Commander, & appointed to the Petterel sloop, now at Gibraltar.
6
Jane was as devoted to her younger brother Charles as to any of her brothers, though circumstances dictated that she saw precious little of him. James E. Austen-Leigh states that as an officer in the Royal Navy, Charles was absent from England [i.e. at sea] for a period of ‘seven years together’.
7
Jane is constantly
anticipating the next letter from Charles. She takes great interest in his fortunes, reporting, in late December 1798, that he ‘is removed to the Tamer Frigate’.
8
From August 1798 until March 1799, Cassandra enjoyed a prolonged stay at Godmersham Park with Edward and his family. At this time, Edward’s health was giving cause for concern. Jane wrote:
Poor Edward! It is very hard that he who has everything else in the World that he can wish for, should not have good health too [and] I know no one more deserving of happiness without alloy than Edward is.
9
Meanwhile, Jane developed a friendship with Martha Lloyd. Martha was the daughter of the late Revd Nowis (or Noyes) Lloyd who, prior to James becoming curate of Deane in 1792, had lived with her mother Martha (senior) at Deane parsonage. The Lloyds now lived at Ibthorpe, some 20 miles away. In a letter to Cassandra from Steventon, dated 18/19 December 1798 Jane, who perhaps wishing that she could be at Godmersham Park and enjoying the high life, declared irritably:
People get so horribly poor & economical in this part of the World, that I have no patience with them.– Kent is the only place for happiness, Everybody is rich there.
10
On the surface, these remarks sound callous in the extreme, but they should be seen in the context of Jane’s frustration at having to subsist on the small allowance paid to her by her father George. Also, it would not have escaped her notice that two of her brothers, James and Edward, had acquired wealth and property: the first through marriage, and the second through being adopted by a wealthy family.
1.
William Austen-Leigh,
Jane Austen: Her Life and Letters
, p. 87.
2.
Letter from Jane Austen to Cassandra Austen, 17/18 November 1798.
3.
Letter from Jane Austen to Francis Austen, 3/6 July 1813.
4.
Emmanuel College Magazine
, Vol. XLVII (1964–5), p. 44.
5.
Letter from Jane Austen to Cassandra Austen, 1/2 December 1798.
6.
Letter from Jane Austen to Cassandra Austen, 28 December 1798.
7.
James E. Austen-Leigh,
A Memoir of Jane Austen
, p. 17.
8.
Letter from Jane Austen to Cassandra Austen, 28 December 1798.
9.
Letter from Jane Austen to Cassandra Austen, 24/26 December 1798.
10.
Letter from Jane Austen to Cassandra Austen, 18/19 December 1798.
Northanger Abbey
, written in 1797–98, began life as
Susan
. It was revised in 1802–03 and again in 1815–16 under the title
Catherine
. (The novel was finally published in 1818, after Jane’s death, by John Murray). In
Northanger Abbey
, Jane makes the Gothic novel – a type of romance popular in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries – the target of her wit and satire. In the words of author J.M. Evans she:
parodied those people who loved thrills and gorged themselves mentally with mysteries – strange noises, confessions of murders found in chests, secrets hidden in cabinets … etc.
1
The heroine is 17-year-old Catherine Morland, the daughter of a clergyman. She is described as plain, awkward, inattentive and always preferring those enjoyments which she was forbidden to take. As for Catherine’s mother:
she had three sons before Catherine was born; and instead of dying in bringing the latter into the world, as any body might expect, she still lived on – lived to have six children more …
So here is Jane, on the very first page of the novel, treating the prospect of death in a humorous and witty way. (Death in childbirth, of course, was a common occurrence in her day).
When she was young, Catherine had no objection to books provided that ‘nothing like useful knowledge could be gained from them [and] provided that they were all story and no reflection’. From the age of 15, however, her tastes become more refined as she acquaints herself with authors such as Pope, Gray, Thompson and Shakespeare.
The Allens are friends of Catherine’s family; Mrs Allen being described as a person:
whose vacancy of mind and incapacity for thinking was such, that as she never talked a great deal, so she could never be entirely silent….
When they decide to visit Bath in Somersetshire, where Mr Allen proposes to have treatment for his gout, Catherine is invited to accompany them.
Before they leave for Bath, Mrs Allen cautions Catherine ‘against the violence of such noblemen and baronets as delight in forcing young ladies away to some remote farm-house [the object of which is not explained, but may be guessed at]’. As for her own daughter Isabella, Mrs Allen begs her always to wrap herself up ‘very warm about the throat, when you come from the [Assembly] Rooms at night …’.
Despite Mrs Allen’s over-protective attitude Catherine, from the outset, is on the lookout for excitement, and it is a disappointment to her that on the journey to Bath, ‘Neither robbers nor tempests befriended them, nor [did they experience] one lucky overturn [of the coach]’, whereby Catherine (as the heroine of the story) might be introduced to a prospective hero.
An inordinate amount of time and trouble is taken by Mrs Allen to make sure that she and her young charge Catherine are fitted out with the appropriate clothes; the result being that when the latter accompanies Mrs Allen and her husband to a
ball, they do not arrive at the ballroom until late in the evening. This first visit is a disappointment on account of the Allens being strangers in the area and having no acquaintances there. When they attend the Lower Rooms, however, (both the Upper and Lower Assembly Rooms being used for dances and concerts) the Master of Ceremonies introduces Catherine to a Mr Henry Tilney, a clergyman, and after the dance she confesses to ‘a strong inclination for continuing the acquaintance’ with him.
Mrs Allen then recognises a Mrs Thorpe with whom she had been at school. Mrs Thorpe is devoted to her children and inclined to boast about them: John being at Oxford; Edward at Merchant Taylors’ School and William at sea. At the end of chapter four of
Northanger Abbey
Jane, in her characteristically witty way, decides to spare her reader an account of the ‘past adventures and sufferings’ of Mrs Thorpe, ‘which otherwise might be expected to occupy the three or four following chapters …’.
Catherine makes friends with Mrs Thorpe’s daughter Isabella, who is four years older than she, and Jane uses a conversation between the two of them to poke fun at the current obsession with the Gothic novel. Such novels reached their apotheosis in the works of that popular author of the day Mrs Ann Radcliffe (whose real life name Jane does not hesitate to use). When Isabella asks Catherine how she is enjoying Mrs Radcliffe’s
Mysteries of Udolpho
, the latter replies that she has got as far as ‘the black veil’, but is intrigued to know ‘what lies behind the veil’. ‘Do not tell me’, Catherine implores Isabella (who has already read the book):
I would not be told upon any account. I know it must be a skeleton; I am sure it is Laurentina’s skeleton [i.e. that of Mme Laurentini, a villainous character in
Mysteries of Udolpho
]. Oh! I am delighted with the book! I should like to spend my whole life reading it.
This, of course, is Jane being sarcastic about the generally sycophantic attitude of the general public to this current genre of literature.
Catherine is displeased at the ill manners of Isabella’s brother John, when he declared that his younger sisters ‘looked very ugly’. John makes matters worse when, during a dance with Catherine, he bores her to tears by talking incessantly ‘of the horses and dogs of the friend whom he had just left, and of the proposed exchange of terriers between them …’ Matters do not improve for Catherine when John takes her for a drive in his carriage. She finds him:
insufferably vain; his equipage was altogether the most complete of its kind in England, his carriage the neatest, his horse the best goer, and himself the best coachman.
John is equally boastful about his riding and shooting abilities.
Catherine is reunited with Henry Tilney, whom she had met at the ball, when he, his sister Eleanor and their father General Tilney, invite her to go out walking with them. However, when they fail to arrive at the allotted time, John Allen deceives her by saying that he has seen Henry Tilney out driving in a phaeton with a ‘smart-looking girl’. John has lied because he wishes Catherine to go out with him instead. ‘How could you deceive me so …?’ she asks him. Catherine is a person who keeps her word, and she expects others to do likewise.
When Eleanor Tilney asks Catherine if she is fond of history, the reply is:
I read it a little as a duty, but it tells me nothing that does not either vex or weary me. The quarrels with popes or kings, the wars or pestilences, in every page; the men all so good for nothing, and hardly any women at all – it is very tiresome …
The implication is that Catherine prefers something far more exciting. Eleanor, nevertheless, declares that she herself is fond of history.
Catherine has a brother James who becomes engaged to Isabella Thorpe, but Catherine is perplexed when, at a dance, she sees Isabella (who has previously stated that she is determined
not
to dance in the absence of her fiancé) dancing with Henry’s brother Captain Tilney. ‘I cannot think how it can happen!’ she says. Again, this is an indication that Catherine expects people to be true to their word and finds it disconcerting when they fail to be so.
Having fended off several unsuitable admirers, Catherine finally settles for Henry Tilney. She is invited to the Tilney family home – Northanger Abbey – situated some 30 miles from Bath. This brings out all the romanticism in her. She relishes the prospect and ‘could not entirely subdue the hope of [discovering] some traditional legends, some awful memorials of an injured and ill-fated nun’. In other words, she wishes to experience something akin to what Mrs Radcliffe describes in her Gothic novels.
Henry adds to the tension when, on the journey, he asks Catherine if she is prepared to encounter all the horrors that a building such as ‘what one reads about [in Gothic novels]’ may produce?
Was she aware that the housekeeper Dorothy would show her to ‘an apartment never used since some cousin or kin died in it about twenty years before’? How would she react when Dorothy gave her reason to suppose that the part of the abbey in which she lodged was, undoubtedly, haunted? And how would she feel when she discovered, ‘with increased alarm’, that the door of her apartment had no lock on it? When Catherine duly arrives at Northanger Abbey and settles into her apartment she is full of anticipation.
She notices in a recess on one side of the fireplace, ‘an immense heavy chest’. ‘What can it hold?’ she asks herself and, ‘Why should it be placed here?’ As she examines it, ‘her fearful curiosity was every moment growing greater …’ Finally, ‘her resolute effort threw back the lid’, and what did she find? Merely a cotton counterpane! This is Jane, having raised her readers’ expectations to a pitch – a device used commonly in the Gothic novel – bringing them suddenly back down to earth with a bump.
Not to be deterred, Catherine investigates a black cabinet with a secret drawer into which a roll of papers has been pushed, ‘apparently for concealment’. Her feelings at that moment ‘were indescribable. Her heart fluttered, her knees trembled, and her cheeks grew pale’. However, before she can investigate further, there is a storm and she decides to retire to bed. The following day she examines the papers, only to discover that instead of this being an ancient manuscript, such as she had hoped for, it is simply a laundry bill, tendered for the washing of shirts, stockings, cravats and waistcoats, together with another bill from a farrier ‘to poultice [apply a warm dressing in order to reduce inflammation] [a] chestnut mare’. Catherine now realises how foolish she has been:
Nothing could now be clearer [to her] than the absurdity of her recent fancy…. Heaven forbid that Henry Tilney should ever know her folly!
But she still has some way to go before such ‘fancies’ are entirely dispelled.
When General Tilney, a widower, excuses himself from going on his late wife’s favourite walk, Catherine becomes suspicious of him, and even more so when he removes a portrait of her from the drawing room, on the grounds that he is
dissatisfied with it. When the General shows Catherine over Northanger Abbey, and she notices that he omits to open certain doors, the tension mounts. Not only that, but when his daughter attempts to open the doors to her late mother’s bedroom, he stops her. This leads Catherine to jump to the conclusion that the General had been cruel to his wife during her lifetime, and that he was now concealing something. When Catherine learns that the General would often pace the drawing room for an hour at a time, ‘in silent thoughtfulness’, she feels that this too ‘boded nothing good’. She decides to investigate for herself, but opens the door to Henry Tilney’s bedroom by mistake.
When Henry realises that Catherine suspects his father, the General, of having murdered his mother, he tells her that she has ‘erred in supposing him [the General] not [to be] attached to his wife, when in fact, he loved her’. Catherine realises that her feelings had been:
… all a voluntary, self-created delusion, each trifling circumstance receiving importance from an imagination resolved on alarm, and everything forced to bend to one purpose by a mind which, before she entered the Abbey, had been craving to be frightened.
Catherine becomes totally disillusioned with Mrs Radcliffe’s novels portraying vice, horror, murder, slavery and poisoning. They might be appropriate for the continent of Europe, she decides, but they definitely were not appropriate for England. For had not Henry Tilney told her, ‘Remember that we are English, that we are Christians’?
Catherine’s thoughts turn to Isabella Thorpe. She cannot understand why Isabella, whom she previously considered to be a friend, has failed to write to her, even though she repeatedly
promised to do so. Catherine finally concludes that Isabella is ‘a vain coquette’ whom she believes never had any regard for her, nor for her (Catherine’s) brother James, with whom she had broken off an engagement in the hope of finding somebody richer and more aristocratic.
When General Tilney finally ejects Catherine from Northanger Abbey, it is not on account of her inquisitiveness. It is because, having seen her as a prospective bride for his son Henry, he had subsequently discovered that she was ‘less rich than he had supposed her to be’ – something which was entirely unacceptable for a prospective daughter-in-law of his. Nevertheless, Henry proposes to Catherine and she accepts him. Finally, all ends happily when the General relents and gives his consent for the couple to marry, but only after learning that Catherine is to have the sum of
£
3,000.