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Northanger Abbey is not a Gothic novel, but a parody of the genre. Still, with October nearly gone, and Halloween almost upon us, it feels necessary to devote at least one post to the stories that fueled the imagination of Catherine Morland and, to a different degree, Jane Austen herself.
The one that gets primary attention is Ann Radcliffe's The Mysteries of Udolpho, published in 1794. To quote the Encyclopædia Britannica article:
The work tells the story of the orphaned Emily St. Aubert, who is subjected to cruelties by her guardians, threatened with the loss of her fortune, and imprisoned in a number of castles but finally freed and united with her lover. Many strange and fearful events (now classic devices of Gothic romances) take place in the haunted atmosphere of the solitary castle of Udolpho, set high in the dark and majestic Apennines.
I must admit that I'm not as well-versed in 18th century Gothic literature as I am in later Victorian works; hence why most of my allusions (not illusions, but references) are to Shakespeare or the Bible. But I did listen to parts of Udolpho while editing Gentlemen of Gloucestershire. I knew that these stories often involved long passages of natural description, which I was prepared to mostly skip during my research reading. What I did not realize was how much poetry these works contained!
Here are just two examples, dramatically read by The Ghoul Guides YouTube channel.
These are probably the most eerie poems Radcliffe provides in Udolpho, but are hardly the only ones: it felt like every few minutes Emily was reciting, reading, or writing poetry. In fact, on Project Gutenberg, the novel is subtitled: "A Romance Interspersed With Some Pieces of Poetry." Whereas a modern author might spend pages psychologically analyzing her characters, or writing dialogue exploring their feelings, Radcliffe used the long-accepted emotive qualities of verse to bring inner lives forward for the reader.
Austen includes some poetry in Northanger Abbey, mainly in the first chapter when describing Catherine's education. Like most of the book, this section's mood is satirical rather than spooky.
From Pope, she learnt to censure those who
“bear about the mockery of woe.”
This first poem is Alexander Pope's "Elegy to the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady" (1717). It's perfectly themed for Halloween, with the opening lines "What beck'ning ghost, along the moon-light shade / Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade?" I couldn't help comparing it to "Annabel Lee" by Edgar Allan Poe, with references to etheral forces and a maiden lost before her time. But Pope's ghost is not an intimate of the narrator like Poe's; instead, he questions if her haunting is due to "Thy fate unpitied, and thy rites unpaid?" In that context, it's hard not to see Austen setting up Catherine's later suspicions of General Tilney as a person who seemingly mocks the woe that should spring from his wife's death, only to subvert that expectation when we learn he was truly mourned her.
From Gray, that
“Many a flower is born to blush unseen,
“And waste its fragrance on the desert air.”
This selection is from "Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard," published in 1751 by Thomas Gray. It's much longer but also evokes a Gothic sense of mystery and darkness, taking place in a graveyard as the sun sets. The lines Austen quotes are in the middle, when the poet wonders whether any buried nearby might have accomplished great things.
It's easy to see further foreshadowing for the deceased Mrs. Tilney, but I think Austen may also be hinting at the real horror of Northanger Abbey. The next stanza describes a "village-Hampden," resisting petty rural bullies instead of national tyrants, and a would-be Cromwell who never gets the opportunity to plunge his country into war. In each case the poem evokes the aura of famous greats, then flips the script by applying those same qualities to long gone nobodies.
In the same way, when Catherine suspects General Tilney of murder, she connects him with the villain of her favorite book: "It was the air and attitude of a Montoni!" We like her soon learn this idea is false; instead, Austen shows us the more common banality of sin, far less sensational or fantastic, and yet just as horrifying. Eleanor, in particular, is the epitome of "a flower born to blush unseen."
From Thompson, that—
“It is a delightful task
“To teach the young idea how to shoot.”
I'm not going to pretend (as, I must confess, I sometimes did in college) to have read the entirety of this James Thompson poem, which comes from an entire collection based on the seasons. Even in a skim, though, it's clear that "Spring" is metaphorical as well as literal: new life is praised as the pinnacle of a tender family's joy. While some may see a hint at the main couple's ultimate future, I think instead it's a subtle swipe at the protagonist's tabula rosa at the start of the novel. Rather than the angsty romance of Emily and Valancourt, Henry and Catherine are more in line with the poem's ideal of friendship leading to "perfect esteem," as she learns from him, and he finds a "sympathy of soul" with her.
And from Shakespeare she gained a great store of information—amongst the rest, that—
“Trifles light as air,
“Are, to the jealous, confirmation strong,
“As proofs of Holy Writ.”That
“The poor beetle, which we tread upon,
“In corporal sufferance feels a pang as great
“As when a giant dies.”And that a young woman in love always looks—
“like Patience on a monument
“Smiling at Grief.”
As I said, I'm not as familiar with the finer forms of traditional Gothic tales, but as a Theatre and English major, I know a lot about the Bard! In fact, one of the reasons I chose Twelfth Night for Catherine and Henry to read in my novel (rather than the more common Much Ado About Nothing) is because I've stage managed it twice. Even so, I had to look up the quotes Jane Austen uses here, as I did not immediately recognize them.
The first is from Othello of all plays, a tragic tale of love destroyed by suspicion and jealousy. This particular quotation is spoken by the villain Iago in Act III Scene 3, when he first hatches the scheme to use Desdemona's lost handkerchief as proof of her alleged infidelity to her husband. It's easy to find parallels with the moment where John Thorpe misleads the protagonist and sets up a potential seed of jealousy in her love interest. Only in Othello's case, he believes the "Holy Writ" of circumstantial evidence to his downfall, while Henry does the heroine justice by listening to and believing her. This roadblock in their courtship becomes, instead, an actual comedic "trifle."
Next we have Measure for Measure, sometimes called a "tragicomedy" or "problem play." I directed a scene during my last year of theatre school, and have loved it for years, but there's a reason it's rarely performed: the story is dark and bleak, with a heavy focus on hypocrisy and the rot of spiritual decay. In Act III Scene 1, Isabella tells her brother she can only win his freedom by giving herself up to the lecherous Angelo. She believes he'd die first, but Claudio's not convinced it would be all that bad a deal. In turn she reminds him that death comes to us all (even little beetles), but that honor and mortal sin last forever. Again, Austen is foreshadowing future events, with Catherine standing firm in her convictions even in the face of her brother's weakness and the Thorpes' falsities, transforming a horrific moral dilemma into the more prosaic foibles of young relationships.
Finally, we get to an honest-to-goodness comedy, Twelfth Night. I've called it the trippiest of Shakespeare's plays with absurdities piling on absurdities: Viola adopts a male disguise merely for the sake of plot contrivances, her twin brother Sebastian is mistaken for her multiple times, with a few interludes that would be right at home in a '70s surrealist flick.
Most of all, from the moment Duke Orsino opens Act I pining about his ardor, Shakespeare ribs every romantic convention put upon the stage, rather like how a certain authoress gently mocks the hyperbole of Gothic novels through her heroine's pursuit of their tropes. In Act II Scene 2, Viola expresses her growing attraction for the duke by telling her "sister's" history: "My father had a daughter loved a man / As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, / I should your Lordship." She defends women, saying they love as strongly as men (hinting at Anne Elliot's own arguments in Persuasion), and that the latter's more demonstrative declarations (which Orsino has been using the whole time) are not as truly heartfelt as the quiet suffering of a woman denied her desires.
Is this last quote another reference to the pining Eleanor, Catherine's own long secret engagement, or even the absent Mrs. Tilney? Perhaps all three. Yet if we follow the way Austen has subverted each and every tragic overtone thus far, I think it's more likely she is continuing Shakespeare's theme of roasting the more ostentatious displays of romance expected by readers both then and now. Isabella Thorpe revels to a ridiculous degree in flowery declarations of friendship and love, yet feels very little of either for the Morlands. Both the pursuit of John Thorpe and General Tilney proves to be only skin deep with no substance. Patience, and trust built over time, instead win the day.
It's not poetry or music that proves the real food of love at the end of Twelfth Night, but the faithful service of Viola to her duke, and the further loyalty of Sebastian to his new wife. In like manner, Catherine and Henry have less verve than some of Austen's other power couples at first glance: they're not super rich, especially gifted, or even great looking. The book goes out of its way to introduce a decidedly non-Gothic, non-romantic couple, while using all the trappings of both genres for comedic purposes.
Each of the above passages would have been recognized by literate readers of the day, the melancholic or merely wistful nature of their sources being widely read and known. Using them for clearly comedic purposes would immediately alert readers to the satire intended, something like what this GIF might convey to Janite movie fans:
My goal before writing my next Northanger Abbey sequel (and yes, I do have more planned) is to become more familiar with the specifics of the Gothic works Jane Austen so lovingly spoofed. But even this small examination gave me a lot to munch on. Once again, I'm amazed by Austen's genius wit, and can only hope my sincere attempt at flattery in imitation is even half as good. Again, I'd love to hear from my readers on the subject: do you have any personal connections to Gothic literature, comedic poetry, or oh-so-clever allusions? What are your favorites?
If nothing else, perhaps today's material may inspire some very niche Halloween costume ideas.