Delphi Complete Works of William Dean Howells

by William Dean Howells

  Anne has to show, with all this presence of mind, a greatness of mind superior to the mi; Try of imagining that Wentworth is in love with Louisa, and that his impassioned remorse is an expression of his love. Only when they are going home together, to tell Louisa’s parents of the accident, does she make one meek little tacit reflection in her own behalf. “‘Don’t talk of it, don’t talk of it,’ he cried. ‘Oh, God, that I had not given way to her at that fatal moment! Had I done as I ought! But so eager and so resolute! Dear, sweet Louisa!’ Anne wondered whether it ever occurred to him now to question the justness of his own previous opinion as to the universal felicity and advantage of firmness of character.... She thought it could scarcely escape him to feel that a persuadable temper might sometimes be as much in favor of happiness as a very resolute character.”

  IV

  One of the things that Jane Austen was first in was the personal description of her heroines. Almost to her time the appearance of the different characters was left to the reader’s imagination; it is only in the modern novel that the author seems to feel it his duty to tell how his people look. We have seen how meagrely and formally the heroines of “The Vicar of Wakefield” are presented. In “Sir Charles Grandison,” there is a great pretence of describing the beauty of Harriet Byron, but the image given is vague and conventional. So far as I recall them, the looks of Fanny Burney’s and Maria Edgeworth’s heroines are left to the reader’s liking; and I do not remember any portrait even of Elizabeth Bennet in “Pride and Prejudice.” It is in her later stories that Jane Austen offers this proof of modernity among so many other proofs of it, and tells us how her girls appeared to her. She tells us not very elaborately, to be sure, though in the case of Emma Woodhouse, in “Emma,” the picture is quite finished. In” Persuasion” Anne Eliot is slightly sketched; and we must be content with the fact that she had “mild dark eyes and delicate features,” and that at the time we are introduced to her she fully looked her twenty-seven years. But this is a good deal better than nothing, and in “Northanger Abbey” Catharine Morland is still more tangibly presented. “The Morlands... were in general very plain, and Catharine was, for many years of her life, as plain as any.

  She had a thin, awkward figure, a sallow skin without color, dark lank hair, and strong features.... At fifteen, appearances were mending.... Her complexion improved, her features were softened by plumpness and color, her eyes gained more animation, and her figure more consequence.” At seventeen, when we make her acquaintance, her manners were “just removed from the awkwardness and shyness of a girl; her person pleasing, and when in good looks, pretty.”

  These particulars are from that delightful first chapter where the character as well as the person of the heroine is studied with the playful irony in which the whole story is conceived. From the beginning we know that it is a comedy the author has in hand; and we lose sight of her obvious purpose of satirizing the Radcliffe school of romance in our delight with the character of the heroine and her adventures in Bath and at Northanger Abbey. Catharine Morland is a goose, but a very engaging goose, and a goose you must respect for her sincerity, her high principles, her generous trust of others, and her patience under trials that would be great for much stronger heads. It is no wonder that the accomplished Henry Tilney falls in love with her when he finds that she is already a little in love with him; and when his father brutally sends her home from the Abbey where he has pressed her to visit his daughter on the belief that she is rich and will be a good match for his son, it is no wonder that Tilney follows her and offers himself to her. She prevails by her innocence and sweetness, and in spite of her romantic folly she has so much good heart that it serves her in place of good sense.

  V

  The chapters of the story relating to Catharine’s stay at the Abbey are rather perfunctorily devoted to burlesquing romantic fiction, in accordance with the author’s original design, and they have not the easy charm of the scenes at Bath, where Catharine, as the guest of Mrs. Allen, meets Henry Tilney at a public ball. — Mrs.

  Allen was one of that numerous class of females whose society can raise no other emotion than surprise at there being any men in the world who could like them well enough to marry them.... The air of a gentle woman, a great deal of quiet, inactive good temper, and a trifling turn of mind were all that could account for her being the choice of a sensible, intelligent man like Mr. Allen. In one respect she was admirably fitted to introduce a young lady into public, being as fond of going everywhere, and seeing everything herself, as any young lady could.” But at the first ball she knows nobody, and she can only say to Catharine from time to time, “I wish we had a large acquaintance here,” but at their next appearance in the Lower Rooms (how much the words say to the reader of old-fashioned fiction!) the master of ceremonies introduces a partner to Catharine. “His name was Tilney. He seemed to be about four or five and twenty, was rather tall, had a pleasing countenance, a very lively and intelligent eye, and, if not quite handsome, was very near it.... When they were seated at tea she found him as agreeable as she had already given him credit for being.... After chatting for some time on such matters as naturally arose from the objects around them, he suddenly addressed her with— ‘I have hitherto been very remiss, madam, in the proper attentions of a partner here; I have not yet asked you how long you have been in Bath, whether you were ever here before, whether you have been at the Upper Rooms, the theatre, and the concert, and how you like the place altogether. I have been very negligent; but are you now at leisure to satisfy me in these particulars? If you are, I will begin directly.’ ‘You need not give yourself that trouble, sir,” No trouble, I assure you, madam,’ Then, forming his features in a soft smile, and affectedly softening his voice, he added with a simpering air, ‘Have you been long in Bath, madam?” About a week, sir,’ replied Catharine, trying not to laugh. ‘Really!’ with affected astonishment. ‘Why should you be surprised, sir?” Why, indeed?’ said he in his natural tone. ‘But some emotion must appear to be raised by your reply, and surprise is more easily assumed, and not less reasonable, than any other. Now let us go on. Were you ever here before, madam?” Never, sir,” Indeed! Have you yet honored the Upper Rooms?’ ‘Yes, sir; I was there last Monday.” Have you been to the theatre?’ ‘Yes, sir; I was at the play on Tuesday.’ ‘To the concert?’ ‘Yes, sir; on Wednesday.’ ‘And you are altogether pleased with Bath?’ ‘Yes, I like it very well.” Now, I must give one more smirk, and then we may be rational again.’ Catharine turned away her head, not knowing whether she ought venture to laugh. ‘I see what you think of me,’ said he gravely. ‘I shall make but a poor figure in your journal to-morrow.... I know exactly what you will say. Friday went to the Lower Rooms; wore my sprigged muslin robe with blue trimmings, plain black shoes; appeared to much advantage, but was strangely harassed by a queer, half-witted man who would make me dance with him, and distressed me by his nonsense.’ ‘Indeed I shall say no such thing.’ ‘Shall I tell you what you ought to say?’ ‘If you please.’ ‘I danced with a very agreeable young man, had a good deal of conversation with him, seems a most extraordinary genius; hope I may know more of him. That, madam, is what I wish you to say.’ ‘But perhaps I keep no journal.’ ‘Perhaps you are not sitting in this room, and I am not sitting beside you.’”

  It is plain from the beginning what must be Catharine’s fate with a young man who can laugh at her so caressingly, and what must be his with a girl so helplessly transparent to his eyes. Henry Tilney is as good as he is subtle, and he knows how to value her wholesome honesty aright; but all her friends are not witty young clergymen, and one of them is as little like him in appreciation of Catharine’s rare nature as she is like Catharine in the qualities which take him. This is putting it rather too severely if it conveys the reproach of wilful bad faith in the case of Isabella Thorp, who becomes the bosom friend of Catharine at a moment’s notice, and the betrothed of Catharine’s brother with very little more delay. She is simply what she was born, a se
lf-centred jilt in every motion of her being, and not to be blamed for fulfilling the jilt’s function in a world where she is divined in almost her modem importance. In this character, the author forecasts the supremacy of a type which had scarcely been recognized before, but which has since played so dominant a part in fiction, and as with the several types of snobs, proves herself not only artist but prophet. Isabella is not of the lineage of the high and mighty flirts, the dark and deadly flirts, who deal destruction round among the hearts of men. She is what was known in her time as a “rattle”; her tongue runs while her eyes fly, and her charms are perpetually alert for admiration. She is involved in an incessant drama of fictitious occurrences; she is as romantic in her own way as Catharine is in hers; she peoples an unreal world with conquests, while Catharine dwells in the devotion of one true, if quite imaginary lover. As Catharine cannot make anything of such a character, she decides to love and believe in her utterly, and she cannot well do more after Isabella becomes engaged to her brother James, and declares that she is going to withdraw from the world in his absence, and vows that though she may go to the assembly she will do it merely because Catharine asks it. “‘ But do not insist upon my being very agreeable, for my heart you know will be forty miles off; and as for dancing, do not mention it, I beg; that is quite out of the question.’”

  Catharine takes her friend so literally that when Tilney asks her in behalf of his handsome brother the question whether Miss Thorp would have any objection to dancing, “‘Your brother will not mind it, I know,’ said she, ‘because I heard him say before that he hated dancing; but it was very good-natured of him to think of it. I suppose he saw Isabella sitting down, and fancied she might wish for a partner, but... she would not dance on any account in the world,’ Henry smiled and said, ‘How very little trouble it can give you to understand the motive of other people’s actions.’ ‘Why, what do you mean?’... ‘I only meant that your attributing my brother’s wish of dancing with Miss Thorp to good-nature, convinced me of your being superior in good-nature yourself to all the rest of the world.’ Catharine blushed and disclaimed.... She drew back for some time, forgetting to speak or to listen... till roused by the voice of Isabella, she looked up and saw her with Captain Tilney preparing to give their hands across. Isabella shrugged her shoulders and smiled, the only explanation of this extraordinary change which could at that time be given. Catharine... spoke her astonishment in very plain terms to her partner. ‘I cannot think how it could happen. Isabella was so determined not to dance. “And did Isabella never change her mind before?’ ‘Oh! but because — and your brother! After what you told him from me, how could he think of going to ask her?’... ‘The fairness of your friend was an open at traction; her firmness, you know, could only be understood by yourself.’ ‘You are laughing; but I assure you Isabella is very firm in general,’... The friends were not able to get together... till after the dancing was over; but then as they walked about the room arm in arm, Isabella thus explained herself: ‘I do not wonder at your surprise, and I am really fatigued to death.... I would have given the world to sit still.’ ‘Then why did not you?’... ‘Oh, my dear, it would have looked so particular, and you know how I abhor doing that.... You have no idea how he pressed me.... I found there would be no peace if I did not stand up. Besides, I thought Mrs. Hughes, who introduced him, might take it ill if I did; and your dear brother, I am sure, would have been miserable if I had sat down the whole evening. My spirits are quite jaded, listening to his nonsense; and then being such a smart young fellow, I saw every eye was upon us.’ ‘He is very handsome indeed.’ ‘Handsome? Yes, I suppose he may... But he is not at all in my style of beauty. I hate a florid complexion and dark eyes in a man. However, he is very well. Amazingly conceited, I am sure. I took him down, several times, you know, in my way.’”

  The born jilt, the jilt so natured that the part she perpetually plays is as unconscious with her as the circulation of the blood, has never been more perfectly presented than in Isabella Thorp, in whom she was first presented; and her whole family, so thoroughly false that they live in an atmosphere of lies, are miracles of art. The soft, kindly, really well-meaning mother, is as great a liar as her hollow-hearted, hollow-headed daughter, or her braggart son who babbles blasphemous falsehoods because they are his native speech, with only the purpose of a momentary effect, and hardly the hope or wish of deceit. His pursuit of the trusting Catharine, who desires to believe in him as the friend of her brother, is the farcical element of the pretty comedy. The farce darkens into as much tragedy as the scheme will suffer when General Tilney, a liar in his own way, is taken in by John Thorp’s talk, and believes her very rich; but it all brightens into the sweetest and loveliest comedy again, when Henry Tilney follows her home from his father’s house, and the cheerful scene is not again eclipsed till the curtain goes down upon her radiant happiness.

  JANE AUSTEN’S EMMA WOODHOUSE, MARIANNE DASHWOOD, AND FANNY PRICE

  IN primitive fiction plot is more important than character; as the art advances character becomes the chief interest, and the action is such as springs from it. In the old tales and romances there is no such thing as character in the modem sense; their readers were satisfied with what the heroes and heroines did and suffered.

  When the desire for character arose, the novelists loaded their types with attributes; but still there was no character, which is rooted in personality. The novelist of to-day who has not conceived of this is as archaic as any romancer of the Middle Ages in his ideal of art. Most of the novels printed in the last year, in fact, are as crudely devised as those which have amused people of childish imagination at any time in the last thousand years; and it will always be so with most novels, because most people are of childish imagination. The masterpieces in fiction are those which delight the mind with the traits of personality, with human nature recognizable by the reader through its truth to himself. The wonder of Jane Austen is that at a time when even the best fiction was overloaded with incident, and its types went staggering about under the attributes heaped upon them, she imagined getting on with only so much incident as would suffice to let her characters express their natures movingly or amusingly. She seems to have reached this really unsurpassable degree of perfection without a formulated philosophy, and merely by her clear vision of the true relation of art to life; but however she came to be what she was, she was so unquestionably great, so unmistakably the norm and prophecy of most that is excellent in Anglo-Saxon fiction since her time, that I shall make no excuse for what may seem a disproportionate study of her heroines.

  I

  Emma Woodhouse, in the story named after her, is one of the most boldly imagined of Jane Austen’s heroines. Perhaps she is the very most so, for it took supreme courage to portray a girl, meant to win and keep the reader’s fancy, with the characteristics frankly ascribed to Emma Woodhouse. We are indeed allowed to know that she is pretty; not formally, but casually, from the words of a partial friend:— “Such an eye! — the true hazel eye — and so brilliant! — regular features, open countenance, with a complexion — ah, what a bloom of full health, and such a pretty height and size; such a firm and upright figure.” But, before we are allowed to see her personal beauty we are made to see in her some of the qualities which are the destined source of trouble for herself and her friends. In her wish to be useful she is patronizing and a little presumptuous; her self-sufficiency early appears, and there are hints of her willingness to shape the future of others without having past enough of her own to enable her to do it judiciously. The man who afterwards marries her says of her: “‘She will never submit to anything requiring industry and patience, mid a subjection of the fancy to the understanding.... Emma is spoiled by being the cleverest of her family. At ten years old she had the misfortune of being able to answer questions which puzzled her sister at seventeen. She was always quick and assured... and ever since she was twelve Emma has been mistress of the house and you all.’”

  An officious and
self-confident girl, even if pretty, is not usually one to take the fancy, and yet Emma takes the fancy. She manages the delightful and whimsical old invalid her father, but she is devotedly and unselfishly good to him. She takes the destiny of Harriet Smith unwarrantably into her charge, but she breaks off the girl’s love-affair only in the interest of a better match. She decides that Frank Churchill, the stepson of her former governess, will be in love with her, but she never dreams that Mr. Elton, whom she means for Harriet Smith, can be so. She is not above a little manoeuvring for the advantage of those she wishes to serve, but the tacit insincerity of Churchill is intolerable to her. She is unfeelingly neglectful of Jane Fairfax and cruelly suspicious of her, but she generously does what she can to repair the wrong, and she takes her punishment for it meekly and contritely. She makes thoughtless and heartless fun of poor, babbling Miss Bates, but when Knightley calls her to account for it, she repents her unkindness with bitter tears. She will not be advised against her pragmatical schemes by Knightley, but she is humbly anxious for his good opinion. She is charming in the very degree of her feminine complexity, which is finally an endearing single-heartedness.