By Delfina Morganti Hernández
SYNOPSIS
Catherine Morland, the heroine depicted in Northanger Abbey (England, 1817) by Jane Austen (1775-1817), is often described by Austen herself as being as plain as any of her siblings and even occasionally stupid. But Austen’s Catherine, whose ‘greatest deficiency was in the pencil’ since ‘she had no notion of drawing (1994, 4)’ was not, perhaps, as poorly equipped with beauty, talent or skills as the protagonist made up by Henry James (1843-1916) in Washington Square (New York, 1880), Catherine Sloper. In James’s own words, ‘though it is an awkward confession to make about one’s heroine (1998, 6),’ she ‘was not quick with her book, nor, indeed, with anything else’ and ‘there was nothing to be proud of in poor Catherine (7).’ Such is the degree of resemblance between these two fictional characters that no one who has ever read or heard about them can help wondering, ‘What if Henry James has actually taken his cue from Jane Austen’s character?’ By comparing and contrasting both heroines, I will try to state my case for an at least partially positive response to this enigma.
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1. PRELUDE
In writing this essay I hope that the reader will be as fascinated with the discovery I am about to unravel as I once was when I first made it. ‘The most curious, juicy, personally-fulfilling literary discovery I have ever made,’ I dared call it at the time. But that would mean that it goes without question that the finding I am to disclose can and will be regarded as an actual discovery. Truth be told, how could I, of all readers, know better than you?
I hate to think that my so-called ‘discovery’ is perhaps no such thing. So I while away this prelude with the tone of consolation and tell myself that, on the bright side, though, since literature is no science, I may as well flatter myself that, indeed, I have made a discovery of relative relevance to the contemporary readership of two personal favourite authors: Jane Austen and Henry James. In short, I have reason to believe that Henry James’s heroine in Washington Square bears a good deal of resemblance to Jane Asten’s heroine in Northanger Abbey: to point out but one basic similarity that can be easily observed at first sight, both characters have the same first name, Catherine.
So you arch an eyebrow in surprise and expect me to sit under defeat by refraining to go any further in my case altogether. I am sorry to cause disappointment so early in your reading, but your shock will not deter me. In fact, now is the time to insist that, as long as I manage to trace and reveal some reasonable evidence in Jane Austen’s novel and Henry James’s work to account for my thesis, I may as well call my essay a respectable argument, an argument for suspecting that James could have based his Washington Square on Austen’s Northanger Abbey—in part, at the very least. In asserting this, I do not mean to suggest that Henry James’s novel has plagiarised Jane Austen’s classic; rather, it is my firm belief that his Washington Square is a veiled literary allusion to her Northanger Abbey, and that is precisely what I am here to prove.
Generally speaking, an allusion is a ‘statement that refers to something in an indirect way (Macmillan Dictionary).’ In literature, it is a rhetorical device or figure of speech that is used by an author (or a narrator or character) in order to make an implicit reference to a place, an event or (elements of) a literary work. Since the referent that is being alluded to is not evident, it may or may not be noticed and understood by all readers alike, and it may even be attributed to more than one source by different readers. Back to my case now, on the very first page of my Dover Thrift edition of Washington Square, there is a ‘Note’ that attributes Henry James’s source of inspiration to write this novel to a certain gossip that a friend of his had once mentioned to him:
I hate to think that my so-called ‘discovery’ is perhaps no such thing. So I while away this prelude with the tone of consolation and tell myself that, on the bright side, though, since literature is no science, I may as well flatter myself that, indeed, I have made a discovery of relative relevance to the contemporary readership of two personal favourite authors: Jane Austen and Henry James. In short, I have reason to believe that Henry James’s heroine in Washington Square bears a good deal of resemblance to Jane Asten’s heroine in Northanger Abbey: to point out but one basic similarity that can be easily observed at first sight, both characters have the same first name, Catherine.
So you arch an eyebrow in surprise and expect me to sit under defeat by refraining to go any further in my case altogether. I am sorry to cause disappointment so early in your reading, but your shock will not deter me. In fact, now is the time to insist that, as long as I manage to trace and reveal some reasonable evidence in Jane Austen’s novel and Henry James’s work to account for my thesis, I may as well call my essay a respectable argument, an argument for suspecting that James could have based his Washington Square on Austen’s Northanger Abbey—in part, at the very least. In asserting this, I do not mean to suggest that Henry James’s novel has plagiarised Jane Austen’s classic; rather, it is my firm belief that his Washington Square is a veiled literary allusion to her Northanger Abbey, and that is precisely what I am here to prove.
Generally speaking, an allusion is a ‘statement that refers to something in an indirect way (Macmillan Dictionary).’ In literature, it is a rhetorical device or figure of speech that is used by an author (or a narrator or character) in order to make an implicit reference to a place, an event or (elements of) a literary work. Since the referent that is being alluded to is not evident, it may or may not be noticed and understood by all readers alike, and it may even be attributed to more than one source by different readers. Back to my case now, on the very first page of my Dover Thrift edition of Washington Square, there is a ‘Note’ that attributes Henry James’s source of inspiration to write this novel to a certain gossip that a friend of his had once mentioned to him:
In February 1879, Henry James (1843-1916) made a note of an anecdote his friend Fanny Kemble had shared with him: Mrs. Kemble’s brother, it seems, had courted a ‘dull, plain, common-place girl’ entirely because of the fortune she stood to inherit. He had abandoned her when her father threatened to disown her, but resumed his pursuit upon her father’s death. Mrs. Kemble went as far as to say that she herself had advised the young woman ‘by no means to marry her brother.’ A brief but provocative plot sketch such as this was more than enough to fire James’s novelistic imagination (iii).
Now, if all this is true—and it seems it is, for fact tells us that ‘Washington Square was written within six months, published serially in Cornhill Magazine and Harper’s New Monthly (Harper & Bros.) in the second half of 1880 (iii)’—, I dare say that, to write such a grippingly witty and sarcastic novel, he may as well have been no less inspired by real-life gossip than by Jane Austen’s 1817 work, Northanger Abbey.
Don’t look at me like that. Who says a writer need be inspired—or, to use a less prejudiced term, moved—to write fiction by one single event or fact? Who says the motive needs to belong exclusively to what he recognises as real life? We all know that art interacts with art. Artists of all kinds fuel other artists all the time. Literary works often refer either anaphorically or cataphorically to their predecessors or their successors, respectively, and we are seldom alarmed. So why look so grave at a purely plausible liaison between James’s Washington Square and Austen’s Northanger Abbey? I do not think it at all strange that he should have modeled his Catherine Sloper, as well as the sarcastic voice of his narrator in Washington Square and many other aspects of his novel, in subtle allusion to Jane Austen’s Catherine Morland, who is also brought to us by means of a sarcastic narrator and in the generally satirical tone of a novel as Northanger Abbey.
Adding to my own defence, I will not be the first critic to acknowledge a significant degree of resemblance between James’s discursive strategies and those of Austen’s: even when there is enough evidence in James’s letters to suggest that he disliked the most widely acclaimed author of British literature, there are many research papers nowadays that show how his prose actually developed several devices employed by Jane Austen in her novels. There are articles even that prove that James’s aversion to Austen’s prose was not such as could be attributed to her prose itself, but to the fact that she was a woman writer and he was a man of Victorian principles[1].
It must be noted, though, that my essay will not delve into the particulars between Henry James and Jane Austen the people: I will leave aside, for the purposes of this essay, whatsoever he may have had to say or not say about her style in his letters, etc. Firstly, because it is not the intention of this text to address the connection between James’s Washington Square and Austen’s Northanger Abbey as a means to prove his admiration for her. Secondly, because I cannot take his comments on Austen’s work as addressed to his friends or acquaintance as a hundred per cent true or honest; everyone, we know, is capable of lying and James, being human and a fiction writer, could not have wanted to escape contributing to such art whenever he could. Therefore, what if he lied in his letters? What if his words concealed a secret, unwanted jealousy of her wits and her style, and her being so bright despite being a woman? Indeed, he may have said one thing and meant quite another, either due to conscious, purposeful lying or to the forces of the unconscious propelling him to disguise his actual like for Jane Austen. Whichever the case may be, I do not think his real-life sayings concerning Austen’s work can either increase or decrease the degree of plausibility of my thesis which, as a matter of fact, does not seek to prove that James the author was an admirer of Austen the authoress, but that his literary work, Washington Square, has several features in common with Austen’s Northanger Abbey.
Don’t look at me like that. Who says a writer need be inspired—or, to use a less prejudiced term, moved—to write fiction by one single event or fact? Who says the motive needs to belong exclusively to what he recognises as real life? We all know that art interacts with art. Artists of all kinds fuel other artists all the time. Literary works often refer either anaphorically or cataphorically to their predecessors or their successors, respectively, and we are seldom alarmed. So why look so grave at a purely plausible liaison between James’s Washington Square and Austen’s Northanger Abbey? I do not think it at all strange that he should have modeled his Catherine Sloper, as well as the sarcastic voice of his narrator in Washington Square and many other aspects of his novel, in subtle allusion to Jane Austen’s Catherine Morland, who is also brought to us by means of a sarcastic narrator and in the generally satirical tone of a novel as Northanger Abbey.
Adding to my own defence, I will not be the first critic to acknowledge a significant degree of resemblance between James’s discursive strategies and those of Austen’s: even when there is enough evidence in James’s letters to suggest that he disliked the most widely acclaimed author of British literature, there are many research papers nowadays that show how his prose actually developed several devices employed by Jane Austen in her novels. There are articles even that prove that James’s aversion to Austen’s prose was not such as could be attributed to her prose itself, but to the fact that she was a woman writer and he was a man of Victorian principles[1].
It must be noted, though, that my essay will not delve into the particulars between Henry James and Jane Austen the people: I will leave aside, for the purposes of this essay, whatsoever he may have had to say or not say about her style in his letters, etc. Firstly, because it is not the intention of this text to address the connection between James’s Washington Square and Austen’s Northanger Abbey as a means to prove his admiration for her. Secondly, because I cannot take his comments on Austen’s work as addressed to his friends or acquaintance as a hundred per cent true or honest; everyone, we know, is capable of lying and James, being human and a fiction writer, could not have wanted to escape contributing to such art whenever he could. Therefore, what if he lied in his letters? What if his words concealed a secret, unwanted jealousy of her wits and her style, and her being so bright despite being a woman? Indeed, he may have said one thing and meant quite another, either due to conscious, purposeful lying or to the forces of the unconscious propelling him to disguise his actual like for Jane Austen. Whichever the case may be, I do not think his real-life sayings concerning Austen’s work can either increase or decrease the degree of plausibility of my thesis which, as a matter of fact, does not seek to prove that James the author was an admirer of Austen the authoress, but that his literary work, Washington Square, has several features in common with Austen’s Northanger Abbey.
1. INTRODUCTION
Jane Austen’s fictional I in Northanger Abbey once said:
Alas! If the heroine of one novel be not patronized by the heroine of another, from whom can she expect protection and regard? […] Let us not desert one another; we are an injured body (24).
Indeed, Henry James seems to have taken Jane Austen’s words to heart. In writing his well-known novel Washington Square, he created a heroine who very much resembles that of Austen’s in Northanger Abbey. For the careless or perhaps less obsessive reader, Catherine Sloper (James’s) could only be imagined to share with Catherine Morland (Austen’s) the same Christian name; for the more sagacious, they could, at most, be said to bear a trochaic-foot surname each. However, there are more features in common between these two heroines than meets the eye, and I will compare and contrast them in this essay in order to prove that, in spite of Henry James’s widely known comments regarding Jane Austen’s work, his Catherine is quite similar to hers; in fact, I would go so far as to say that his Catherine stands for an allusion to hers.
2. cOUNTENANCE, BODY AND PASTIMES
To begin with, Catherine Sloper shares an amazing number of physical features with Catherine Morland. But first things first: Jane Austen’s opening lines of Northanger Abbey read:
No one who had ever seen Catherine Morland in her infancy would have supposed her born to be an heroine. Her situation in life, the character of her father and mother, her own person and disposition, were all equally against her (1).
Jane Austen’s narrator, though perhaps modest in some very remote aspect of her person, is certainly not humble when it comes to speaking the truth about her characters, not even when she introduces her heroine. Far from being modest about her protagonist’s looks, the narrator of N. A. is both ironic and strategic: later on, they will claim that ‘the Morlands in general were very plain, and Catherine, for many years of her life, as plain as any (idem),’ from which we can infer that the author is using typically antiheroic features to describe the physical appearance of the character who is, paradoxically, the heroine of her novel. While this may seem like a contradiction, it will most likely awaken the reader’s curiosity and, perhaps, make them laugh or, at least, produce some sign of a smile, as denial of what is or ought to be always works wonders in fiction, just like when a novel is defined as actual fact by its narrator: far from causing a negative feeling in the readership, the strategy of denial has the power of forging sympathy among readers. In the case of N. A., the antiheroic description can be regarded as a device aimed at creating both a humorous as well as a sympathetic effect. But the unfavorable introduction of the heroine does not end there:
She had a thin awkward figure, a sallow skin without colour, dark lank hair, and strong features—so much for her person; and not less unpropitious for heroism seemed her mind (idem).
Now if we compare such descriptions of Catherine Morland by Austen to Henry James’s Catherine Sloper, we can instantly spot a key similarity in terms of the rhetorical device of denial used, as well, by the narrator of Washington Square. Of his Catherine we read, for instance, that she ‘grew up a very robust and healthy child (3),’ a physical trait that would not go along with the usual stereotype of a heroine, right? Just like Miss Morland, Miss Sloper is described by the storyteller in a ridiculing yet hilarious manner:
She was a healthy, well-grown child, without a trace of her mother’s beauty. She was not ugly; she had simply a plain, dull, gentle countenance. The most that had ever been said for her was that she had a ‘nice’ face; and, though she was an heiress, no one had ever thought of regarding her as a belle. […] Her eye was small and quiet, her features were rather thick, her tresses brown and smooth (6).
So in each case the reader is presented with a female protagonist who has either ‘strong’ (N. A.) or ‘thick’ (W. S.) features and who would certainly not stand out as a heroine at first sight. While strong facial features and thickness are not the same thing, both descriptions pay tribute to the same end, that is, that of rendering each Catherine a rather extraordinary, surely unexpected creature to the eyes of the (judgemental?) average reader. Similarly, what is more striking is that neither storyteller can be said to boast a sense of pity in their tone when it comes to describing their object of interest; on the contrary, they are all humour, irony and sarcasm for the most part.
Furthermore, both characters are said to be ‘plain,’ and while James will call his Catherine ‘dull,’ Austen had called her ‘occasionally stupid.’ No wonder the plot writers for the back cover of my paperback editions of these novels resort to the exactly same adjective—‘unremarkable’—to paraphrase the descriptions supplied by each storyteller:
Furthermore, both characters are said to be ‘plain,’ and while James will call his Catherine ‘dull,’ Austen had called her ‘occasionally stupid.’ No wonder the plot writers for the back cover of my paperback editions of these novels resort to the exactly same adjective—‘unremarkable’—to paraphrase the descriptions supplied by each storyteller:
Catherine Morland, an unremarkable tomboy as a child […]. (N. A.)
[…] an unattractive suitor causes the plain and unremarkable Catherine [Sloper] to fall deeply in love […]. (W. S.)
There! The use of the same synonym to condense in one word the essence of each Catherine must prove that I am right… right?
Finally, another interesting similarity between Catherine Sloper and Catherine Morland lies in the way each used to behave and amuse themselves in their childhood. For instance, young Miss Morland ‘was fond of all boys’ plays, and greatly preferred cricket, not merely to dolls, but to the more heroic enjoyments of infancy (1).’ Some eighty years later, Henry James would write of his Catherine that ‘[…] when the girl came to spend a Saturday with her cousins, she was available for “follow-my-master,” and even for leap-frog […]’ and ‘seven of the little Almonds were boys, and Catherine had a preference for those games which are most conveniently played in trousers (12).’ Now, call it what you may, but there can be no mere coincidence here. I belong to that numerous class of people who believe there is a fine line between coincidence and causation, and this can’t be a mere coincidence. There can be no accidental resemblance between the two characters; rather, I would call it a purposefully happy allusion from one author’s creation to another’s: Henry James has certainly not plagiarised Austen’s work, that is certain; but James’s character seems to echo Austen’s Catherine in so many respects, especially in their early beginnings toward the path of heroism, and this, I trust, will not pass unnoticed to those who have read or will now wish to read both novels.
Finally, another interesting similarity between Catherine Sloper and Catherine Morland lies in the way each used to behave and amuse themselves in their childhood. For instance, young Miss Morland ‘was fond of all boys’ plays, and greatly preferred cricket, not merely to dolls, but to the more heroic enjoyments of infancy (1).’ Some eighty years later, Henry James would write of his Catherine that ‘[…] when the girl came to spend a Saturday with her cousins, she was available for “follow-my-master,” and even for leap-frog […]’ and ‘seven of the little Almonds were boys, and Catherine had a preference for those games which are most conveniently played in trousers (12).’ Now, call it what you may, but there can be no mere coincidence here. I belong to that numerous class of people who believe there is a fine line between coincidence and causation, and this can’t be a mere coincidence. There can be no accidental resemblance between the two characters; rather, I would call it a purposefully happy allusion from one author’s creation to another’s: Henry James has certainly not plagiarised Austen’s work, that is certain; but James’s character seems to echo Austen’s Catherine in so many respects, especially in their early beginnings toward the path of heroism, and this, I trust, will not pass unnoticed to those who have read or will now wish to read both novels.
3. WITS AND OTHER NATURAL ENDOWMENTS
When it comes to Catherine’s and Catherine’s capability to learn, both characters seem rather reluctant to excel. For instance, they are generally incapable of doing more than fairly well in the piano or any other skill their masters and parents may try hard for them to pursue. It must be said that, while the education of Austen’s Catherine is superintended by her mother and an occasional piano tutor, that of Catherine Sloper’s is inevitably handed over to her dreamy, feather-brained aunt, Lavinia Penniman, since Miss Sloper lost her mother a week or so after she was born and her father is a rather busy doctor.
After giving some further details of how Catherine Morland used to enjoy herself as a child, Austen’s narrator writes:
After giving some further details of how Catherine Morland used to enjoy herself as a child, Austen’s narrator writes:
She never could learn or understand anything before she was taught; and sometimes not even then, for she was often inattentive, and occasionally stupid. Her mother was three months in teaching her only to repeat the ‘Beggar's Petition;’ and after all, her next sister, Sally, could say it better than she did. Not that Catherine was always stupid—by no means; she learnt the fable of ‘The Hare and Many Friends’ as quickly as any girl in England (2).
Compared to Henry James’s own Catherine, Miss Morland has little, if anything, to envy her, and hardly no reason to pity herself, for James’s
Catherine was decidedly not clever; she was not quick with her book, nor, indeed, with anything else. She was not abnormally deficient, and she mustered learning enough to acquit herself respectably in conversation with her contemporaries—among whom it must be avowed, however, that she occupied a secondary place […] Doctor Sloper would have liked to be proud of his daughter; but there was nothing to be proud of in poor Catherine. There was nothing, of course, to be ashamed of; but this was not enough for the Doctor, who was a proud man, and would have enjoyed being able to think of his daughter as an unusual girl (7).
It must be noted that the Morlands were all of them, generally speaking, not very bright—though genuinely respectable—, and their authority was rather lax. By contrast, Dr. Sloper, Catherine Sloper’s father, is not only terribly intelligent and witty, but also wise and rigorous. In his own words, ‘You are good for nothing unless you are clever (5).’ Thus, the irony of the antiheroine in Washington Square goes beyond the humorous and sarcastic effect regarding the picture of the heroine as the opposite of the heroic model itself, since it also affects the characterization of his father; a ‘decidedly not clever’ daughter seems quite the height of contradiction for a very smart and very demanding parent.
The same cannot be said of the Morlands. Precisely, one of the main differences between Catherine Morland and Catherine Sloper lies in the way their respective parents react to their daughters’ wide variety of defects and intellectual shortage. The Morlands, with as many as ten children to provide for and raise, could hardly have found the time and constancy to reproach or endeavor to straighten their Catherine’s flaws. Unlike them, Dr. Sloper is deeply concerned with his daughter’s unpromising signs of development as she grows up. Even Miss Sloper herself acknowledges some of her faults at times, such as when she claims that, ‘You know how little there is in me to be proud of. I am ugly and stupid (43).’ Now while the heroine of W. S. calls herself ‘stupid,’ Catherine Morland is only said to be stupid by the narrator of N. A., as she herself does not seem to find any particular fault in her person as it is.
However, as not all that does not glitter is not gold, we’ve seen how each narrator attempts to strike a balance between sarcasm and sympathy by admitting, in the case of Miss Morland, that she was not ‘always stupid (2),’ and in the case of Miss Sloper, that she ‘was not abnormally deficient (7).’
The same cannot be said of the Morlands. Precisely, one of the main differences between Catherine Morland and Catherine Sloper lies in the way their respective parents react to their daughters’ wide variety of defects and intellectual shortage. The Morlands, with as many as ten children to provide for and raise, could hardly have found the time and constancy to reproach or endeavor to straighten their Catherine’s flaws. Unlike them, Dr. Sloper is deeply concerned with his daughter’s unpromising signs of development as she grows up. Even Miss Sloper herself acknowledges some of her faults at times, such as when she claims that, ‘You know how little there is in me to be proud of. I am ugly and stupid (43).’ Now while the heroine of W. S. calls herself ‘stupid,’ Catherine Morland is only said to be stupid by the narrator of N. A., as she herself does not seem to find any particular fault in her person as it is.
However, as not all that does not glitter is not gold, we’ve seen how each narrator attempts to strike a balance between sarcasm and sympathy by admitting, in the case of Miss Morland, that she was not ‘always stupid (2),’ and in the case of Miss Sloper, that she ‘was not abnormally deficient (7).’
4. tO SEE OURSELVES AS OTHERS SEE US
When it comes to how the rest of the world see Catherine and Catherine, both heroines seem to be the low-profile sort, although their attitude is slightly different.
For example, James portrays his main character as a ‘modest’ young lady:
For example, James portrays his main character as a ‘modest’ young lady:
Catherine, who was extremely modest, had no desire to shine, and on most social occasions, as they are called, you would have found her lurking in the background (7).
As for Austen’s protagonist, prior to her ‘entrée into life (8),’ Miss Morland has undergone a promising change in looks, although, even then, Austen’s narrator says:
Catherine hoped at least to pass uncensured through the crowd; as for admiration, it was always welcome when it came, but she did not depend on it (8).
Judging from such descriptions, both Catherine and Catherine do seem rather modest creatures and they would not reproach themselves for not standing out at social gatherings. Nevertheless, Catherine Morland is happy and excited about entering the Upper Rooms in Bath, and not at all averse to being admired, whereas Catherine Sloper hopes to pass unnoticed altogether. In fact, there is some evidence in James’s text to suggest that his heroine has a somewhat low self-esteem over the general course of novel as her will is generally subordinate to that of others, whereas Austen’s Catherine is rather blissfully unaware of most of her flaws when she embarks on the journey to her rightful place as heroine of N. A.
Talking about how others see them and how each Catherine sees herself and the world around her, according to James’s storyteller,
Talking about how others see them and how each Catherine sees herself and the world around her, according to James’s storyteller,
Her father’s opinion of her moral purity was abundantly justified; she was excellently, imperturbably good; affectionate, docile, obedient, and much addicted to speaking the truth. In her younger years she was a good deal of a romp, and, though it is an awkward confession to make about one’s heroine, I must add that she was something of a glutton. She never, that I know of, stole raisins out of the pantry; but she devoted her pocket-money to the purchase of cream-cakes (6-7).
And by the time James’s Catherine reaches her eighteenth year,
[…] she seemed not only incapable of giving surprises; it was almost a question whether she could have received one—she was so quiet and irresponsive. People who expressed themselves roughly called her stolid. But she was irresponsive because she was shy, uncomfortably, painfully shy. This was not always understood, and she sometimes produced an impression of insensibility. In reality, she was the softest creature in the world (8).
Here perhaps lies one of the greatest differences between one Catherine and the other, and their destiny within their respective novels, for next to Miss Sloper, Miss Morland is neither uninteresting at the age of seventeen, nor shy. On the contrary; Austen’s narrator is quite determined to have her fortune turn for the better, for as the narrator of N. A. will enlighten us, ‘if adventures will not befall a young lady in her own village, she must seek them abroad (5).’ And thus it begins: Catherine Morland’s journey toward change and happiness and adventure in Bath, where the change in air will also have the narrator say that
[…] it may be stated, for the reader’s more certain information, lest that the following pages should otherwise fail of giving any idea of what her character is meant to be, that her heart was affectionate, her disposition cheerful and open, without conceit or affection of any kind; her manners just removed from the awkwardness and shyness of a girl; her person pleasing, and, when in good looks, pretty; and her mind about as ignorant and uninformed as the female mind at seventeen usually is (5-6).
Despite their differences, both Catherines seem to have equally seduced their narrators, what with their faults and everything, since after the first few chapters of each novel, both storytellers—Austen’s more than James’s—begin to soften their verdicts concerning the person, character and endowments of their respective objects of detailed observation, and although they can’t help resorting to their typically ironic sense of humour, they gradually begin to use less and less heartless sarcasm when they describe their Catherines.
5. DRESS SENSE
Another relevant point of comparison between Catherine Sloper and Catherine Morland may be pointed out in connection with the importance each young lady will attribute to their dress.
On the one hand, Miss Morland is not as passionate about dresses and gowns and muslin as her chaperon, Mrs. Allen; nevertheless, when Mrs. Allen insists on Catherine wearing ‘a dress of the newest fashion (8),’ the girl makes no objection. Moreover, Catherine makes no attempt to take an active part in the conversation between Mrs. Allen and Mr. Tilney (Catherine’s suitor) on the subject of muslin, a topic which she regards as her chaperon’s own ‘foibles (16).’
On the other hand, Catherine Sloper’s efforts to recommend herself to others is often translated in her display of a lavishly peculiar dress sense, both because she can afford it and because she enjoys it:
On the one hand, Miss Morland is not as passionate about dresses and gowns and muslin as her chaperon, Mrs. Allen; nevertheless, when Mrs. Allen insists on Catherine wearing ‘a dress of the newest fashion (8),’ the girl makes no objection. Moreover, Catherine makes no attempt to take an active part in the conversation between Mrs. Allen and Mr. Tilney (Catherine’s suitor) on the subject of muslin, a topic which she regards as her chaperon’s own ‘foibles (16).’
On the other hand, Catherine Sloper’s efforts to recommend herself to others is often translated in her display of a lavishly peculiar dress sense, both because she can afford it and because she enjoys it:
When it had been duly impressed upon her that she was a young lady—it was a good while before she could believe it—she suddenly developed a lively taste for dress: a lively taste is quite the expression to use […] she sought to be eloquent in her garments, and to make up for her diffidence of speech by a fine frankness of costume. But if she expressed herself in her clothes it is certain that people were not to blame for not thinking her a witty person (9).
Considering the sudden importance which Miss Sloper gives to her attire, is seems almost inevitable to suspect that, had Jane Austen’s narrator ever seen Henry James’s Catherine, they—Austen’s narrator—would have most likely asserted, as they do in N. A., that ‘Dress is at all times a frivolous distinction, and excessive solicitude about it often destroys its own aim (61);’ in fact, they may go so far as to remind Miss Sloper that ‘It would be mortifying to the feelings of many ladies could they be made to understand how little the heart of man is affected by what is costly or new in their attire […] (62).’ N. B.: I can’t help thinking James made a note of these remarks in N. A. and used them against his own heroine in order to add to her ridiculous looks.
Here again we have found a positive match in terms of topoi, as both narrators address the issue of their heroine’s clothes and dress sense. Of course, there is a difference in the way they treat this subject within their stories: while Catherine Sloper wears extraordinary garments in order to supply through her choice of dresses what she cannot bring herself to give in conversation, Catherine Morland will only begin to care about a variety of gowns and hats and shawls due to Mrs. Allen’s influence and advice. In short, Miss Sloper focuses on calling attention from the rest of the world in general even before she meets her lover, whereas Miss Morland will mind her dress on very specific occasions, insofar as she thinks it may help her impress one person only, Mr. Tilney.
Here again we have found a positive match in terms of topoi, as both narrators address the issue of their heroine’s clothes and dress sense. Of course, there is a difference in the way they treat this subject within their stories: while Catherine Sloper wears extraordinary garments in order to supply through her choice of dresses what she cannot bring herself to give in conversation, Catherine Morland will only begin to care about a variety of gowns and hats and shawls due to Mrs. Allen’s influence and advice. In short, Miss Sloper focuses on calling attention from the rest of the world in general even before she meets her lover, whereas Miss Morland will mind her dress on very specific occasions, insofar as she thinks it may help her impress one person only, Mr. Tilney.
6. tHE CHAPERON FRIEND AND THE MATCHMAKER AUNT
Having discussed Catherine and Catherine long enough, it is now time to refer to Mrs. Allen (N. A.) and Mrs. Penniman (W. S.). These women of more advanced age and experience than their protégées stand for the means to the same end as regards plot structure: both Mrs. Allen and Aunt Penniman are the vehicle for attracting and securing the attachment—or, at least, in the case of W. S., the attentions—of a certain young man for their respective Catherines. In N. A., it is Mrs. Allen to move the plot forward at first, for it is she who invites Catherine Morland to Bath, where Austen’s young heroine is to meet the charming Mr. Tilney, her husband-to-be. Similarly, in W. S., we find that it is Lavinia Penniman, Catherine Sloper’s aunt, who facilitates the circumstances for her niece to fall in love with Morris Townsend, the one and only suitor to James’s unattractive protagonist.
If we search for similarities between Catherine Morland’s chaperon and Catherine Sloper’s aunt, we shall see how both ladies share not only some memorable facial features, but also a few interestingly diverting qualities. For example, when introducing Mrs. Allen, Austen’s narrator claims:
If we search for similarities between Catherine Morland’s chaperon and Catherine Sloper’s aunt, we shall see how both ladies share not only some memorable facial features, but also a few interestingly diverting qualities. For example, when introducing Mrs. Allen, Austen’s narrator claims:
Mrs. Allen was one of that numerous class of females, whose society can raise no other emotion than surprize at there being any men in the world who could like them well enough to marry them. She had neither beauty, genius, accomplishment, nor manner. 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 (7-8).
In parallelism, we find James’s Aunt Penniman similar to Mrs. Allen in terms of frivolity:
Mrs. Penniman was a tall, thin, fair, rather faded woman, with a perfectly amiable disposition, a high standard for gentility […]. She was romantic, she was sentimental, she had a passion for little secrets and mysteries—a very innocent passion, for her secrets had hitherto always been as unpractical as addled eggs (6).
Furthermore, both Mrs. Allen and Aunt Penniman indulge themselves and their Catherines in trivial thoughts and actions: of Mrs. Allen, we know that ‘Dress was her passion (8),’ while Aunt Penniman, who had a ‘taste for light literature (6),’ made by no means light weather of dress, for she once attended a social gathering wearing ‘more buckles and bangles than ever (13).’ More to the point, according to Austen’s storyteller, Mrs. Allen has a ‘trifling turn of mind (8),’ a trait which is curiously echoed by the description which James’s narrator gives of Mrs. Penniman, who delights us with ‘a certain foolish indirectness and obliquity of character (6).’
7. sTATUS, FATHERS AND SUITORS
Much as I may have gained ground with my readers by this time, it should be noted that there is a set of differences to be outlined in terms of social and economic status, the depiction of the fathers and the kind of suitors that W. S.’s Catherine and N. A.’s Catherine are connected with.
On the one hand, Catherine Sloper is an only child and an heiress; her father is ‘a local celebrity (1),’ a physician who enjoys ‘an exceptional share of the consideration which, in the United States, has always been bestowed upon distinguished members of the medical profession (idem).’ On the other hand, Catherine Morland is the fourth of ten children; her father is ‘a clergyman, without being neglected or poor, and a very respectable man, though his name was Richard, and he had never been handsome (1).’ Even if Richard Morland ‘had a considerable independence, besides two good livings (idem),’ he also had a family of ten children, among whom at least three of them were boys and, therefore, as inherited property ran through the male line in Jane Austen times, poor Catherine had not much to aspire to unless she married well, as in the case of most Austen novels featuring middle-class heroines.
Therefore, while in the case of Dr. Austin Sloper ‘fortune had favoured him (2),’ for he ‘had found the path to prosperity very soft to his tread (idem)’ and married a certain ‘Miss Catherine Harrington, of New York, who in addition to her charms, had brought him a solid dowry (idem),’ in the case of Catherine Morland, when the novel begins, her ‘situation in life, the character of her father and mother’ and ‘her own person and disposition, were all equally against her (1).’ Although the latter was not poor, she was certainly far from being an heiress, and this feature concerning the social and economic status of their family and themselves does play a part in the sort of men and general social circle each Catherine will attract over the course of events in their stories.
Now in spite of the fact that both novels address the subject of marriage for love versus marriage of convenience, the heroes in each are poles apart, not just in this respect, but in many others as well. Mr. Tilney, Catherine Morland’s husband-to-be, is wealthy, but his attachment toward the heroine of N. A. is genuinely based on Catherine’s tenderness of heart, good intentions and amiable disposition which, by the time she meets and continues to improve her acquaintance with Mr. Tilney, are already very recommending qualities in a heroine. However, she is also pursued by John Thorpe. Mr. Thorpe is not penniless, but he and his sister, Isabella, are desperate to secure themselves wealthy spouses and, in fact, as they both mistakenly believe the Morlands to be wealthy, they will court Catherine Morland and her brother respectively. She does not love John Thorpe, though; she never did and never will, but what matters to my case is that Catherine Morland is believed to be wealthy and pursued by this suitor in particular, this Mr. Thorpe, merely due to her allegedly good fortune. Once he learns the truth about her not being at all rich, however, he immediately gives up on her heart. This kind of mercenary behaviour displayed by John Thorpe in N. A. will be the reason for Catherine Sloper’s love and loss in W. S., where she will be courted by a man whose sole interest lies in her dowry.
Indeed, Morris Townsend, Catherine’s suitor in W. S., will only be after her heart because he is after her fortune. Just like John Thorpe, Morris is a man without scruples. Prior to his being personally introduced to Catherine Sloper, we learn that Townsend has already ‘a great desire to make our heroine’s acquaintance (13).’ Truth be told, the one reason to account for this man’s ‘great desire’ is that Catherine Sloper, an heiress and quite single, stands for his passport to a lifetime of good fortune and no need to work for a living. As Dr. Sloper will later insist, his ‘Catherine is not unmarriageable, but she is absolutely unattractive (28).’
Back to Mr. Tilney and Mr. Townsend, apart from the difference in their motives for courting their respective Catherines, their manners are also strikingly different when they first become acquainted with the heroine. On the one hand, Mr. Tilney complies with all rules of politeness and is described by Austen’s narrator as a ‘very gentleman-like young man (12)’:
On the one hand, Catherine Sloper is an only child and an heiress; her father is ‘a local celebrity (1),’ a physician who enjoys ‘an exceptional share of the consideration which, in the United States, has always been bestowed upon distinguished members of the medical profession (idem).’ On the other hand, Catherine Morland is the fourth of ten children; her father is ‘a clergyman, without being neglected or poor, and a very respectable man, though his name was Richard, and he had never been handsome (1).’ Even if Richard Morland ‘had a considerable independence, besides two good livings (idem),’ he also had a family of ten children, among whom at least three of them were boys and, therefore, as inherited property ran through the male line in Jane Austen times, poor Catherine had not much to aspire to unless she married well, as in the case of most Austen novels featuring middle-class heroines.
Therefore, while in the case of Dr. Austin Sloper ‘fortune had favoured him (2),’ for he ‘had found the path to prosperity very soft to his tread (idem)’ and married a certain ‘Miss Catherine Harrington, of New York, who in addition to her charms, had brought him a solid dowry (idem),’ in the case of Catherine Morland, when the novel begins, her ‘situation in life, the character of her father and mother’ and ‘her own person and disposition, were all equally against her (1).’ Although the latter was not poor, she was certainly far from being an heiress, and this feature concerning the social and economic status of their family and themselves does play a part in the sort of men and general social circle each Catherine will attract over the course of events in their stories.
Now in spite of the fact that both novels address the subject of marriage for love versus marriage of convenience, the heroes in each are poles apart, not just in this respect, but in many others as well. Mr. Tilney, Catherine Morland’s husband-to-be, is wealthy, but his attachment toward the heroine of N. A. is genuinely based on Catherine’s tenderness of heart, good intentions and amiable disposition which, by the time she meets and continues to improve her acquaintance with Mr. Tilney, are already very recommending qualities in a heroine. However, she is also pursued by John Thorpe. Mr. Thorpe is not penniless, but he and his sister, Isabella, are desperate to secure themselves wealthy spouses and, in fact, as they both mistakenly believe the Morlands to be wealthy, they will court Catherine Morland and her brother respectively. She does not love John Thorpe, though; she never did and never will, but what matters to my case is that Catherine Morland is believed to be wealthy and pursued by this suitor in particular, this Mr. Thorpe, merely due to her allegedly good fortune. Once he learns the truth about her not being at all rich, however, he immediately gives up on her heart. This kind of mercenary behaviour displayed by John Thorpe in N. A. will be the reason for Catherine Sloper’s love and loss in W. S., where she will be courted by a man whose sole interest lies in her dowry.
Indeed, Morris Townsend, Catherine’s suitor in W. S., will only be after her heart because he is after her fortune. Just like John Thorpe, Morris is a man without scruples. Prior to his being personally introduced to Catherine Sloper, we learn that Townsend has already ‘a great desire to make our heroine’s acquaintance (13).’ Truth be told, the one reason to account for this man’s ‘great desire’ is that Catherine Sloper, an heiress and quite single, stands for his passport to a lifetime of good fortune and no need to work for a living. As Dr. Sloper will later insist, his ‘Catherine is not unmarriageable, but she is absolutely unattractive (28).’
Back to Mr. Tilney and Mr. Townsend, apart from the difference in their motives for courting their respective Catherines, their manners are also strikingly different when they first become acquainted with the heroine. On the one hand, Mr. Tilney complies with all rules of politeness and is described by Austen’s narrator as a ‘very gentleman-like young man (12)’:
[…] His address was good, and Catherine felt herself in high luck. There was little leisure for speaking while they danced; but when they were seated at tea she found him as agreeable as she had already given him credit for being. He talked with fluency and spirit, and there was an archness and pleasantry in his manner which interested, though it was hardly understood by her (idem).
On the other hand, of Mr. Townsend we hear only that he is ‘a tall young man (13),’ and then he speaks to Catherine with such a familiar tone that sounds a little pretentious for a first meeting, even if W. S.’s New York society in the 1880s can’t be said to be as conservative as N. A.’s Bath society back in the 1800s:
Mr. Townsend, leaving her no time for embarrassment, began to talk with an easy smile, as if he had known her for a year.
“What a delightful party! What a charming house! What an interesting family! What a pretty girl your cousin is! (13).
Undoubtedly, the difference between the way each suitor is perceived and admired by each heroine is quite notorious: one man has many a quality to recommend him, the other can only boast about his physical beauty. Hence, when Catherine Morland meets Mr. Tilney for the first time, the narrator of N. A. writes that ‘he seemed to be about four or five and twenty, was rather tall, had a pleasing countenance, a very intelligent and lively eye, and, if not quite handsome, was very near it. His address was good, and Catherine felt herself in high luck (12).’ By contrast, to Catherine Sloper’s eye, Mr. Townsend was ‘so handsome, or rather, as she phrased it to herself, so beautiful (14)’ and that is all and that is enough, too, to captivate her and lead her to assume he must be a kind, well-meaning man, from which we can infer that those who are so worried about how they look themselves will many times judge other people by their appearance, as is the case of Catherine Sloper.
Just as first impressions are in favour of Henry Tilney, so are second and third: both Mr. Tilney and Mr. Townsend have a sister, but Tilney’s unmarried sibling is his friend and probably his confidante, and they both depend, financially speaking, on Captain Tilney, their father. Mr. Townsend’s sister, on the other hand, is an impoverished widow who has to lodge her brother in her already cramped house—she has five children to keep—, for he is an absolute sponger.
So yes, they are both handsome, the suitors; and yes, Catherine and Catherine meet them in very happy circumstances: a ball in N. A., an engagement party in W. S.; there is a neighbour chaperon in one case, and a matchmaker aunt in another, and it all looks like a promising beginning in each case, until we learn what each hero is about and the difference is unavoidably stark. Although both heros are said to be ‘handsome,’ Henry Tilney is a well-read clergyman with a witty sense of humour ‘and of a very respectable family in Gloucestershire (17),’ and he means no harm, whereas Morris Townsend is a leech, a wolf in sheep’s clothing who ‘had been knocking about the world, and living in far-away lands (15),’ and is now back in the New York to try and settle by securing his living through a marriage of convenience.
Just as first impressions are in favour of Henry Tilney, so are second and third: both Mr. Tilney and Mr. Townsend have a sister, but Tilney’s unmarried sibling is his friend and probably his confidante, and they both depend, financially speaking, on Captain Tilney, their father. Mr. Townsend’s sister, on the other hand, is an impoverished widow who has to lodge her brother in her already cramped house—she has five children to keep—, for he is an absolute sponger.
So yes, they are both handsome, the suitors; and yes, Catherine and Catherine meet them in very happy circumstances: a ball in N. A., an engagement party in W. S.; there is a neighbour chaperon in one case, and a matchmaker aunt in another, and it all looks like a promising beginning in each case, until we learn what each hero is about and the difference is unavoidably stark. Although both heros are said to be ‘handsome,’ Henry Tilney is a well-read clergyman with a witty sense of humour ‘and of a very respectable family in Gloucestershire (17),’ and he means no harm, whereas Morris Townsend is a leech, a wolf in sheep’s clothing who ‘had been knocking about the world, and living in far-away lands (15),’ and is now back in the New York to try and settle by securing his living through a marriage of convenience.
8. ON THE SUBJECT OF BOOKS AND LITERATURE
Much though it may go against my case to say so, there is one particular feature which Catherine Sloper does not share at all with Catherine Morland, and the same is true for their lovers. As opposed to the main character in W. S., Catherine Morland is very fond of reading, especially when it comes to sonnets and Gothic novels:
[…] from fifteen to seventeen she was in training for a heroine; she read all suck works as heroines must read to supply their memories with those quotations which are so serviceable and so soothing in the vicissitudes of their eventful lives (3).
And ‘though she could not write sonnets, she brought herself to read them (4).’ Compared with such pleasure in reading as we witness in Miss Morland, Catherine Sloper can only be said to despise books and literature altogether, for in conversation with Mr. Townsend, she ‘confessed that she was not particularly fond of literature (25).’
As for Henry Tilney, much as he may tease Catherine Morland for often trusting the words of fiction far too much and letting herself go whenever discussing The Mysteries of Udolpho[2], he is for literature, as he himself exclaims that ‘The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid (95).’ In marked contrast to N. A.’s hero, in W. S. we learn that
As for Henry Tilney, much as he may tease Catherine Morland for often trusting the words of fiction far too much and letting herself go whenever discussing The Mysteries of Udolpho[2], he is for literature, as he himself exclaims that ‘The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid (95).’ In marked contrast to N. A.’s hero, in W. S. we learn that
Morris Townsend agreed with her [Catherine] that books were tiresome things; only, as he said, you had to read a good many before you found it out. He had been to places that people had written books about, and they were not a bit like the descriptions. To see for yourself—that was the great thing; he always tried to see for himself (25).
All differences considered between both Catherines and their heroes regarding the like or dislike for reading, the fact is, both Catherines are most content with what Mr. Tilney, in one case, and Mr. Townsend, in the other, have to say on the subject, since the assertions each man voices in each case do actually match the rivaling viewpoints expressed by each heroine.
9. EPILOGUE
Catherine Morland, Catherine Sloper; Mrs. Allen, Aunt Penniman; Henry Tilney, Morris Townsend--Northanger Abbey and Washington Square. If I have previously omitted dwelling on the fact that both novels feature the name of the setting where most of the relevant speeches and actions take place, it is not because this similarity has passed unnoticed to me, but because I did not wish to point out the obvious. Obvious remarks will often make the wiser readers yawn with boredom. Therefore, I have skipped this petty similarity and devoted myself to cherishing all the others, all in my readers’ best interests, as you can see.
Yet, if all the deep and serious comparisons outlined above were not enough, what say you to the fact that Dr. Sloper, the heroine’s father in W. S., should bear Austin for a first name? Austin, indeed! The resemblance itself sounds like a joke at this point, as it cannot be denied that the phonological representation of Austin is exactly the same as Austen. If that allusion alone should not ring a bell, I don’t know what else could.
Therefore, I begin to think that I can safely hope to have amused my reader to the point of persuasion, for after all the connections drawn between the works in question, who could now deny me the very probable possibility that Henry James may have based his Catherine Sloper on Jane Austen’s Catherine Morland?
Yet, if all the deep and serious comparisons outlined above were not enough, what say you to the fact that Dr. Sloper, the heroine’s father in W. S., should bear Austin for a first name? Austin, indeed! The resemblance itself sounds like a joke at this point, as it cannot be denied that the phonological representation of Austin is exactly the same as Austen. If that allusion alone should not ring a bell, I don’t know what else could.
Therefore, I begin to think that I can safely hope to have amused my reader to the point of persuasion, for after all the connections drawn between the works in question, who could now deny me the very probable possibility that Henry James may have based his Catherine Sloper on Jane Austen’s Catherine Morland?
FOOTNOTES
[1] See, for instance, Misreading Jane Austen: Henry James, Women Writers, and the Friendly Narrator by William C. Duckworth, Jr. Article available at http://www.jasna.org/assets/Persuasions/No.-21/duckworth.pdf
[2] The Mysteries of Udolpho is a novel often mentioned throughout Northanger Abbey, especially in conversations between Catherine Morland and her friend Isabella Thorpe, as well as between Catherine and the Tilney brothers. The novel was written by Ann Radcliffe and published in 1794.
[2] The Mysteries of Udolpho is a novel often mentioned throughout Northanger Abbey, especially in conversations between Catherine Morland and her friend Isabella Thorpe, as well as between Catherine and the Tilney brothers. The novel was written by Ann Radcliffe and published in 1794.
wORKS CITED
Austen, Jane. Northanger Abbey. London, Penguin Group: 1994.
James, Henry. Washington Square. Ed. Julie Nord. New York, Dover Publications, Inc.: 1998.
James, Henry. Washington Square. Ed. Julie Nord. New York, Dover Publications, Inc.: 1998.
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