30 Northanger Abbey - Read By Stephanie Poppins

Northanger Abbey is the coming-of-age story of a young woman named Catherine Morland.

Northanger Abbey" by Jane Austen follows Catherine Morland, a young woman with a passion for Gothic novels, as she navigates the social world of Bath and later Northanger Abbey. Her romantic imagination, fueled by her love for these novels, leads her to misinterpret the people and events around her, particularly at the Tilney family's estate.

In this episode, Catherine is devastated.

Transcript

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Happy listening.

Chapter 24 The succeeding morning promised something better.

The General's early walk,

Ill-timed as it was in every other view,

Was favourable here.

And when Catherine knew him to be out of the house,

She directly proposed to Miss Tilney the accomplishment of her promise.

Eleanor was ready to oblige,

And Catherine reminding her as they went of another promise,

Their first visit in consequence was to the portrait in her bedchamber.

It represented a very lovely woman,

With a mild and pensive countenance,

Justifying so far the expectations of its new observer.

But they were not in every respect answered,

For Catherine had depended upon meeting with features,

Air,

Complexion,

That should be the very counterpart,

The very image,

If not of Henry's,

Of Eleanor's.

The only portraits of which she had been in the habit of thinking,

Bearing always an equal resemblance of mother and child.

A face once taken was taken for generations.

But here she was obliged to look and consider a study for likeness.

She contemplated it,

However,

In spite of this drawback,

With much emotion,

And but for a yet stronger interest,

Would have left it unwillingly.

Her agitation as they entered the great gallery was too much for any endeavour at discourse.

She could only look at her companion.

Eleanor's countenance was dejected yet sedate,

And its composure spoke her inure to all the gloomy objects to which they were advancing.

Again she passed Catherine,

Hardly able to breathe,

Was turning to close the former with fearful caution,

When the figure,

The dreadful figure of the General himself at the further end of the gallery,

Stood before her.

The name of Eleanor at the same moment,

In his loudest tone,

Resounded through the building,

Giving to his daughter the first intimation of his presence,

And to Catherine terror upon terror.

An attempted concealment had been her first instinctive movement on perceiving him.

Yet she could scarcely hope to have escaped his eye,

And when her friend,

Who,

With an apologising look,

Darted hastily by her,

Had joined and disappeared with him,

She ran for safety to her own room,

And locking herself in,

Believed she should never have courage to go down again.

She remained there at least an hour,

In the greatest agitation,

Deeply commiserating the state of her poor friend,

And expecting a summons herself from the angry General,

To attend him in his own apartment.

No summons,

However,

Arrived,

And at last,

On seeing a carriage drive up to the Abbey,

Catherine was emboldened to descend and meet him under the protection of visitors.

The breakfast room was gay with company.

Catherine was named to them by the General as the friend of his daughter,

In a complimentary style,

Which so well concealed his resentful ire as to make her feel secure,

At least of life,

For the present.

And Eleanor,

With a command of countenance which did honour to her concern for his character,

Taking an early occasion of saying to her,

My father only wanted me to answer a note.

She began to hope she had either been unseen by the General,

Or that from some consideration of policy,

She should be allowed to suppose herself so.

Upon this trust,

She dared still to remain in his presence.

After the company left them,

Nothing occurred to disturb it.

In the course of this morning's reflections,

Catherine came to a resolution of making her next attempt on the forbidden door alone.

It would be much better in every respect that Eleanor should know nothing of the matter.

To involve her in the danger of a second detection,

To court her into an apartment which must wring her heart,

Could not be the office of a friend.

The General's utmost anger could not be to herself what it might be to a daughter,

And besides,

She thought that the examination itself would be more satisfactory if made without any companion.

It would be impossible to explain to Eleanor the suspicions from which the other had,

In all likelihood,

Been hitherto happily exempt,

Nor could she therefore in her presence search for those proofs of the General's cruelty,

Which however they might yet have escaped discovery,

She felt confident of somewhere drawing forth in the shape of some fragmented journal,

Continued to the last gasp.

On the way to the apartment she was now perfectly mistress,

And as she wished to get it over before Henry's return,

Who was expected on the morrow,

There was no time to be lost.

The day was bright,

Her courage high.

At four o'clock the sun was now two hours above the horizon,

And it would be only her retiring to dress half an hour earlier than usual.

It was done.

Catherine found herself alone in the gallery.

Before the clock ceased to strike,

There was no time for thought.

She hurried on,

Slipped with the least possible noise through the folding doors,

And without stopping to look or breathe,

Rushed forth to the one in question.

The lock yielded to her hand,

And luckily with no sullen sound that could alarm a human being.

On tiptoe she entered.

The room was before her,

But it was some minutes before she could advance another step.

She beheld what fixed her to the spot and agitated every feature.

She saw a large,

Well-proportioned apartment,

A handsome bed arranged as unoccupied,

With a housemaid's care,

A bright bath stove,

Mahogany wardrobes,

Neatly painted chairs on which the warm beams of a western sun gaily poured through two sash windows.

Catherine had expected to have her feelings worked,

And worked they were.

Astonishment and doubt first seized them,

And a shortly succeeding ray of common sense added some bitter emotions of shame.

She could not be mistaken as to the room,

But how grossly mistaken in everything else,

In Miss Tilney's meaning,

In her own calculation.

This apartment,

To which she had given a date so ancient,

A position so awful,

Proved to be one end of what the General's father had built.

There were two other doors in the chamber,

Leading probably into dressing closets,

But she had no inclination to open either.

Would the veil in which Miss Tilney had last walked,

Or the volume in which she had last read,

Remain to tell what nothing else was allowed to whisper?

No.

Whatever might have been the General's crimes,

He had certainly too much wit to let them sue for detection.

Catherine was tired of exploring,

And desired but to be safe in her own room,

With her own heart only privy to its folly.

And she was on the point of retreating as softly as she had entered,

When the sound of footsteps,

She could hardly tell where,

Made her pause and tremble.

To be found there even by a servant would be unpleasant,

But by the General,

And he seemed always at hand when least wanted,

Much worse.

She listened.

The sound had ceased,

And resolving not to lose a moment,

She passed through and closed the door.

That instant,

A door underneath was hastily opened,

Someone seemed with swift steps to ascend the stairs,

By the head of which she had yet to pass before she gained the gallery.

She had no power to move.

With a feeling of terror not very definable,

She fixed her eyes on the staircase,

And in a few moments it gave Henry to her view.

Mr Tilney,

She exclaimed in a voice of more than common astonishment.

He looked astonished too.

Good God,

She continued,

Not attending to his address,

How came you here?

How came you up that staircase?

How I came up that staircase,

He replied,

Greatly surprised,

Because it's my nearest way from the stable yard to my own chamber.

Why should I not come up it?

Catherine recollected herself,

Blushed deeply,

And could say no more.

He seemed to be looking at her countenance for that explanation which her lips did not afford.

She moved on towards the gallery.

And may I not,

In my turn,

Said he,

As he pushed back the folding doors,

Ask how you came here,

Catherine?

This passage is at least as extraordinarily eroded from the breakfast parlour to your apartment,

As that staircase can be from the stables to mine.

I have been,

Said Catherine looking down,

To see your mother's room.

My mother's room?

Is there anything extraordinary to be seen there?

No,

Nothing at all.

I thought you did not mean to come back till tomorrow.

I did not expect to be able to return sooner when I went away,

But three hours ago I had the pleasure of finding nothing to detain me.

You look pale.

I am afraid I alarmed you by running so fast up those stairs.

Perhaps you did not know.

You were not aware of their leading from the offices in common use?

No,

Henry,

I was not.

You have had a very fine day for your ride.

Very.

And does Eleanor leave you to find your way into all the rooms in the house by yourself?

Oh,

No.

She showed me over the greatest part on Saturday.

We were coming here to see these rooms,

But only your father was with us.

And that prevented you,

Said Henry earnestly regarding her.

Have you looked into all the rooms in that passage?

No,

I only wanted to see… Is it not very late?

I must go and dress.

It is only a quarter past four.

You are not now in Bath.

No theatre or rooms to prepare for.

Half an hour at Northanger must be enough.

Catherine could not contradict this,

And therefore suffered herself to be detained,

Though her dread of further questions made her,

For the first time in their acquaintance,

Wish to leave him.

They walked slowly up the gallery.

Have you had any letter from Bath since I saw you?

No,

Said Catherine,

And I am very much surprised.

Isabella promised so faithfully to write directly.

Promise so faithfully.

A faithful promise.

That puzzles me.

I have heard of a faithful performance,

But a faithful promise.

The fidelity of promising.

It is a power little worth knowing,

However,

Since it can deceive and pain you.

My mother's room is very commodious,

Is it not?

Large and cheerful looking,

And the dressing closet so well disposed.

It always strikes me as the most comfortable apartment in the house.

I rather wonder that Eleanor should not take it for her own.

She sent you to look at it,

I suppose?

No.

It has been your own doing entirely.

Catherine said nothing.

After a short silence during which she closely observed her,

Henry added,

As there is nothing in the room in itself to raise curiosity,

This must have proceeded from a sentiment of respect for her character,

As described by Eleanor,

Which does honour to her memory.

The world,

I believe,

Never saw a better woman.

But it is not often that virtue can boast an interest such as this.

The domestic,

Unpretending merits of a person never known do not often create that kind of fervent,

Venerating tenderness which would prompt a visit like yours.

Eleanor,

I suppose,

Has talked of her a great deal.

Yes,

A great deal.

That is,

Not so much,

But what she did say was very interesting.

Her dying so suddenly,

And none of you being at home,

And your father,

I thought perhaps he had not been so very fond of her.

And from these circumstances,

Henry replied,

You infer perhaps the probability of some negligence.

Catherine raised her eyes towards him more fully than she had ever done before.

My mother's illness,

He continued,

The seizure which ended in her death was sudden.

The malady itself,

One from which she had often suffered,

A bilious fever,

Its cause therefore constitutional.

On the third day,

In short,

As soon as she could be prevailed upon,

A physician attended.

A very respectable man,

And one in whom my mother had always placed great confidence.

Upon his opinion of her danger,

Two others were called the next day.

They remained in almost constant attendance for four and twenty hours.

On the fifth day she died.

During the progress of her disorder,

Frederick and I saw her repeatedly.

From our own observation,

We can bear witness to her having received every possible attention.

Poor Eleanor was absent,

At such a distance as to return only to see her mother in a coffin.

But your father,

Said Catherine,

Was he afflicted?

For a time,

Greatly so.

You have erred in supposing him not attached to her.

He loved her,

I'm persuaded,

As well as it was possible for him to.

We have not all,

You know,

The same tenderness of disposition.

And I will not pretend to say that while she lived,

She might not often have had much to bear.

But though his temper injured her,

My father's judgment never did.

His value of her was sincere.

If not permanently,

He was truly afflicted by her death.

I'm very glad of it,

Said Catherine.

It would have been very shocking.

If I understand you rightly,

You've formed a surmise of such horror as I've hardly words to.

Dear Miss Boland,

Consider the dreadful nature of the suspicions you've entertained.

What have you been judging from?

Remember the country and the age in which we live.

Remember we're English,

We are Christians.

Consult your own understanding,

Your own sense of the probable,

Your own observation of what's passing around you.

Does our education prepare us for such atrocities?

Do our laws connive at them?

Could they be perpetrated without being known in a country like this,

Where social and literary intercourse is on such a footing?

Where every man is surrounded by a neighbourhood of voluntary spies,

And where roads and newspapers lay everything open?

Dearest Miss Morland,

What ideas have you been admitting?

They had reached the end of the gallery,

And with tears of shame,

Catherine ran off to her own room.

Reviews

Oh catherine, what an imagination!😬😹 thank you ✨🙏🏼✨