Heroines Of Fiction. William Dean Howells
the relations of Anne and Wentworth in the characters of helper and helped.
" There was too much wind to make the high part of the new Cobb pleasant for the ladies, and they agreed to get down the steps to the lower, and all were contented to pass quietly and safely down the steep steps excepting Louisa; she must be jumped down them by Captain Wentworth. . . . She was safely down, and instantly to shew her enjoyment, ran up the steps to be jumped down again. He advised her against it, thought the jar too great; but no, he reasoned and talked in vain, she smiled and said, ' I am determined I will': he put out his hands; she was too precipitate by half a second; she fell on the pavement on the Lower Cobb, and was taken up lifeless! There was no wound, no visible bruise; but her eyes were closed, she breathed not, her face was like death. . . . Captain Wentworth, who had caught her up, knelt with her in his arms, looking on her with a face as pallid as her own in an agony of silence. 'She is dead!' screamed Mary, catching hold of her husband, and contributing with her own horror to make him immovable; and in the same moment, Henrietta, sinking under the conviction, lost her senses, too, and would have fallen on the steps, but for Captain Benwick and Anne, who supported her between them. ' Is there no one to help me?' were the first words that burst from Captain Wentworth. 'Go to him; go to him', cried Anne;' for Heaven's sake, go to him. Leave me and go to him. Rub her hands, rub her temples; here are salts; take them, take them. ' Louisa was raised up and supported between them. Everything was done that Anne had prompted, but in vain; while Captain Wentworth, staggering against the wall for his support, exclaimed in the bitterest agony, 'Oh, God! Her father and mother!' 'A surgeon!' said Anne. He caught at the word; it seemed to rouse him at once; and saying only, 'True, true; a surgeon this instant.' . . . Anne, attending with all the strength and zeal and thought, which instinct supplied, to Henrietta, still tried, at intervals, to suggest comfort to the others, tried to quiet Maty, to animate Charles, to assuage the feelings of Captain Wentworth. Both seemed to look to her for direction. 'Anne, Anne,' cried Charles, 'what in Heaven's name is to be done next?' Captain Wentworth's eyes were also turned towards her. ' Had she not better be carried to the inn? Yes, I am sure; carry her to the inn.' 'Yes, yes, to the inn,' repeated Wentworth. . . . ' I will carry her myself."'
Anne has to show, with all this presence of mind, a greatness of mind superior to the misery 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 1 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 meagerly and formally the heroines of " The Vicar of Wakefield " are presented. In "Sir Charles Grandison," there is a great pretense 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 gentlewoman, 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