3 CAThERINE’S DISCOvERy

BY JANE AUSTEN

Jane Austen (1775–1817): An English author. She wrote “Sense and Sensibility,” “Northanger Abbey,” “Pride and Prejudice,” and several other novels. Her characters are drawn from the middle rank of English society, and are remarkable for their truth to human nature.

This selection is from “Northanger Abbey.” Catheriue Morland, a young lady who is very fond of reading tales of mystery, has arrived on a visit at Northanger Abbey, the home of General Tilney. The general’s son, Henry, has mischievously tried to alarm her with stories of haunted chambers, mysterious cabinets, and other marvels. She goes to her bedroom after a dinner party.

I

The night was stormy; the wind had been rising at intervals the whole afternoon; and by the time the party broke up, it blew and rained violently. Catherine, as she crossed the hall, listened to the tempest with sensations of awe; and when she heard it rage round a corner of the ancient building, and close with sudden fury a distant door, felt for the first time that she was really in an abbey. Yes, these were characteristic sounds: they brought to her recollection a countless variety of dreadful situations and horrid scenes which such buildings had witnessed and such storms ushered in; and most heartily did she rejoice in the happier circumstances attending her entrance within walls so solemn! But, in a house so furnished and so guarded, she could have nothing to explore or to suffer, and might go to her bedroom as securely as if it had been her own chamber at home.

Thus wisely fortifying her mind as she proceeded upstairs, she was enabled to enter her room with a tolerably stout heart; and her spirits were immediately assisted by the cheerful blaze of a wood fire.

“How much better is this,” said she, as she walked to the fender, “how much better to find a fire ready lit than to have to wait shivering in the cold till all the family are in bed, as so many poor girls have been obliged to do, and then to have a faithful old servant frightening one by coming in with a fagot!”

She looked round the room. The window curtains seemed in motion. It could be nothing but the violence of the wind penetrating through the divisions of the shutters; and she stepped boldly forward, carelessly humming a tune, to assure herself of its being so, peeped courageously behind each curtain, saw nothing on either low window seat to scare, and, on placing a hand against the shutter, felt the strongest conviction of the wind’s force.

She scorned the causeless fears of an idle fancy, and began with a most happy indifference to prepare herself for bed.

“She should take her time; she should not hurry herself; she did not care if she were the last person up in the house. But she would not make up her fire; that would seem cowardly, as if she wished for the protection of light after she were in bed.”

The fire, therefore, died away; and Catherine was beginning to think of stepping into bed, when, on giving a parting glance round the room, she was struck by the appearance of a high, old-fashioned black cabinet which had not caught her notice before. She took her candle and looked closely at the cabinet. It was Japan, black and yellow Japan, of the handsomest kind; and as she held her candle, the yellow had very much the effect of gold.

The key was in the door, and she had a strange fancy to look into it; not, however, with the smallest expectation of finding anything, but it was so very odd. In short, she could not sleep till she had examined it. So, placing the candle with great caution on a chair, she seized the key with a very tremulous hand and tried to turn it, but it resisted her utmost strength. Alarmed but not discouraged, she tried it another way; a bolt flew, and she believed herself successful; but, how strangely mysterious! the door was still immovable.

She paused a moment in breathless wonder. The wind roared down the chimney, the rain beat in torrents against the windows, and everything seemed to speak the awfulness of her situation. To retire to bed, however, unsatisfied on such a point, would be vain, since sleep must be impossible with the consciousness of a cabinet so mysteriously closed in her immediate vicinity .

Again, therefore, she applied herself to the key, and, after moving it in every possible way for some instants, with the determined celerity of hope’s last effort, the door suddenly yielded to her hand. Her heart leaped with exultation at such a victory; and, having thrown open each folding door, the second being secured only by bolts of less wonderful construction than the lock, though in that her eye could not discern anything unusual, a double range of small drawers appeared in view with some larger drawers above and below them, and in the center a small door, closed also with lock and key, secured in all probability a cavity of importance.

Catherine’s heart beat quick, but her courage did not fail her. With a cheek flushed by hope, and an eye straining with curiosity, her fingers grasped the handle of a drawer, and drew it forth. It was entirely empty. With less alarm and greater eagerness, she seized a second, a third, a fourth—each was equally empty. Not one was left unsearched, and in not one was anything found. Well read in the art of concealing a treasure, the possibility of false linings to the drawers did not escape her, and she felt round each with anxious acuteness in vain. The place in the middle alone remained now unexplored. It was some time, however, before she could unfasten the door, the same difficulty occurring in the management of this inner lock as of the outer; but at length it did open; and not vain, as hitherto, was her search; her quick eye directly fell on a roll of paper pushed back into the farther part of the cavity, apparently for concealment, and her feelings at that moment were indescribable. Her heart fluttered, and her cheeks grew pale. She seized, with an unsteady hand, the precious manuscript, for half a glance sufficed to ascertain written characters; and she resolved instantly to peruse every line before she attempted to rest.

The dimness of the light her candle emitted made her turn to it with alarm; but there was no danger of its sudden extinction, it had yet some hours to burn; and that she might not have any greater difficulty in distinguishing the writing than what its ancient date might occasion, she hastily snuffed it. Alas! it was snuffed and extinguished in one. A lamp could not have expired with more awful effect. Catherine, for a few moments, was motionless with horror. It was done completely; not a remnant of light in the wick could give hope to the rekindling breath. Darkness impenetrable and immovable filled the room. A violent gust of wind, rising with sudden fury, added fresh horror to the moment. Catherine trembled from head to foot. In the pause which succeeded, a sound like receding footsteps and the closing of a distant door struck on her affrighted ear. Human nature could support no more. A cold sweat stood on her forehead; the manuscript fell from her hand; and, groping her way to the bed, she jumped hastily in, and sought some suspension of agony by creeping far underneath the clothes.

II

To close her eyes in sleep that night she felt must be entirely out of the question. With a curiosity so justly awakened and feelings in every way so agitated, repose must be absolutely impossible. The storm, too, abroad so dreadful! She had not been used to feel alarm from wind, but now every blast seemed fraught with awful intelligence. The manuscript so wonderfully found, how was it to be accounted for? What could it contain? To whom could it relate? By what means could it have been so long concealed? and how singularly strange that it should fall to her lot to discover it! Till she had made herself mistress of its contents, however, she could have neither repose nor comfort; and with the sun’s first rays she was determined to peruse it.

But many were the tedious hours which must yet intervene. She shuddered, tossed about in her bed, and envied every quiet sleeper. The storm still raged, and various were the noises, more terrific even than the wind, which struck at intervals on her startled ear. The very curtains of her bed seemed at one moment in motion; and at another the lock of her door was agitated, as if by the attempt of somebody to enter. Hollow murmurs seemed to creep along the gallery, and more than once her blood was chilled by the sound of distant moans. Hour after hour passed away, and the wearied Catherine had heard three proclaimed by all the clocks in the house before the tempest subsided, or she unknowingly fell fast asleep.

The housemaid’s folding back her window shutters at eight o’clock the next day was the sound which first roused Catherine; and she opened her eyes, wondering that they could ever have been closed, on objects of cheerfulness. Her fire was already burning, and a bright morning had succeeded the tempest of the night.

Instantaneously, with the consciousness of existence, returned her recollection of the manuscript; and springing from the bed in the very moment of the maid’s going away, she eagerly collected every scattered sheet which had burst from the roll on its falling to the ground, and flew back to enjoy the luxury of their perusal on her pillow. She now plainly saw that she must not expect a manuscript of equal length with the generality of what she had shuddered over in books; for the roll, seeming to consist entirely of small, disjointed sheets, was altogether but of trifling size, and much less than she had supposed it to be at first.

Her greedy eye glanced rapidly over a page. She started at its import. Could it be possible, or did not her senses play her false? An inventory of linen, in coarse and modern characters, seemed all that was before her! If the evidence of sight might be trusted, she held a washing bill in her hand. She seized another sheet, and saw the same articles with little variation; a third, a fourth, and a fifth presented nothing new. Shirts, stockings, cravats, and waistcoats faced her in each. Two others, penned by the same hand, marked an expenditure scarcely more interesting, in letters, hair powders, and shoe strings; and the larger sheet, which had inclosed the rest, seemed by its first cramp line, “To poultice chestnut mare,” a farrier’s bill!

Such was the collection of papers— left, perhaps, as she could then suppose, by the negligence of a servant, in the place whence she had taken them—which had filled her with expectation and alarm, and robbed her of half her night’s rest! She felt humbled to the dust. Impatient to get rid of those hateful evidences of her folly, those detestable papers scattered over the bed, she rose directly, and, folding them up as nearly as possible in the same shape as before, returned them to the same spot within the cabinet, with a very hearty wish that no untoward accident might ever bring them forward again, to disgrace her even with herself.

Why the locks should have been so difficult to open, however, was still something remarkable, for she could now manage them with perfect ease. In this there seemed something mysterious. She indulged in the flattering suggestion for half a minute, till the possibility of the door having been at first unlocked, and of herself being its fastener, darted into her head and cost her another blush.

He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty: and he that ruleth his own spirit than he that taketh a city.

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