In the opening pages of the novel, in a
comparison between the initial plot points of her work and those one
would likely find in a Gothic novel, Austen writes, "But strange
things may be generally accounted for if their cause be fairly
searched out" (8). Austen's protagonist, Catherine Morland,
seems to take this advice to heart later in the novel when, upon
suddenly seeing the man with whom she has shared a brief flirtation,
Henry Tilney, with another woman, she rightly assumes this woman to
be his sister: "But guided only by what was simple and probable,
it had never entered her head that Mr. Tilney could be married . . .
he had never mentioned a wife, and he had acknowledged a sister . . .
therefore, instead of . . . falling in a fit on Mrs. Allen's bosom,
Catherine sat erect, in the perfect use of her senses" (35).
Here, then, Austen shows Catherine to be quite capable of sound
logic. Perhaps of import, however, is the fact that, in this
instance, Catherine's rational calculations inform her only of the
happiest of conclusions. It is in other relationships that we find
Catherine unable to be so discerning.
For much of the novel, for instance,
Catherine is oblivious to the fact that Isabella is using her to
further her relationship with James, that John Thorpe intends to
marry her, and that General Tilney falsely believes she and her
family to be wealthy. What each of these seems to have in common is
that none is something she would be happy to know; each would cause
her anxiety. This anxiety, and a kind of willful ignorance Catherine
seems to employ in order to combat it, is especially apparent in the
scene in which Captain Tilney comes upon Isabella and Catherine
talking in a quiet corner of the Pump-room, and Catherine is amazed
by the impropriety with which Isabella engages in conversation with
him: "She wished Isabella had talked more like her usual self,
and not so much about money; and had not looked so well pleased at
the sight of Captain Tilney" (101). Even with her misgivings so
apparent, however, a few days' reflection finds Catherine yet "not
allowing herself to suspect her friend" (101). Similarly, while
she readily recognizes the amarous feelings Tilney has for her, she
is oblivious to that romantic interest which does not please her, as
evidenced by her amusing response to John Thorpe's flirtatious suggestion
that she will be happy to see him at a later meeting: "There are
very few people I am sorry to see" (86). Finally, pleased by
the positive attention she receives from General Tilney, she seems
not to question why this stern man would single her out for kind
treatment, and she ignores hints that would complicate her estimation of
him: "'Your father is so very liberal! He told me the other
day, that he only valued money as it allowed him to promote the
happiness of his children." "The brother and sister looked
at each other" (141). Although Austen endears Catherine to her readers through the very innocence that allows her to think the best of others, it seems, given the many mishaps into which her ignorance of others' true motivations leads her, that Austen does not conceive of such innocence as entirely wise.
I wonder, finally, if Catherine's later escape
into the fantastical Gothic is a means by which she is able to escape
the anxieties of these relationships, thereby maintaining her innocence. It is interesting to note that,
while she is long unable to suspect a new friend of duplicity,
she readily suspects General Tilney of murdering or secreting his
wife within the abbey. Further, her imaginings of these hideous
crimes seem to cause her relatively little uneasiness. At one point,
for instance, Catherine determines she will seek out the hidden
woman: "Till midnight, she supposed it would be in vain to
search; but then . . . she would . . . steal out and look once more.
The clock struck twelve—and Catherine had been half an hour asleep"
(131). Soon disabused of her misconceptions by Henry, she admits to
herself that "Charming as were all of Mrs. Radcliffe's works . .
. it was not int them perhaps that human nature . . . was to be
looked for" (137). It seems significant, then, that, no longer
distracted by these romantic ideas, Catherine must now deal with
reality. When, for instance, her ignorance of General Tilney's
ulterior motives leads to the shock she experiences at her forced
departure, she feels keenly the difference between imagined and
actual suffering: ""Yet how different now the source of her
inquietude from what it had been then—how mournfully superior in
reality and substance! Her anxiety had foundation in fact, her fears
in probability; and with a mind so occupied in the contemplation of
actual and natural evil" (156). So embroiled has she been in the idea that
General Tilney was a murderer, Catherine fails to detect, and
protect herself from, that which is truly opprobrious in his
character. Both her own moral innocence and the innocence of reality to which her reading here contributes can be seen, then, as amounting to ignorance. Did Austen share the view of many in the
eighteenth century that certain types of fiction could prove so
distracting as to cause a reader to fail to attend to the
immediate necessities of his or her own life?