Northanger Abbey and Angels and Dragons by Jane Austen, Vera Nazarian Page B
Authors: Jane Austen, Vera Nazarian
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two younger sisters and their partners. I have been laughing at them this half hour. And I do believe I have arrived at a certain derivation of occult meaning from a grand clue —”
Again Catherine excused herself. And at last he walked off to quiz his sisters by himself and mutter in a roar about hidden treasure. Catherine was still quite piqued by the notion of Udolpho and treasure being somehow connected, and all these wonderful secrets. But she was overheated and sorely inclined to tell John Thorpe he was being tediously monstrous, and she just wished he would go away and stand next to a thoroughly drafty window open to the chill night breeze—which was not at all a charitable thing to say, nor particularly polite. She even wished Isabella would come by and bring some cooling relief.
The rest of the evening she found very dull, despite the many sympathetic whispers of angels in both her ears. Mr. Tilney was drawn away from their party at tea, to attend that of his partner. Miss Tilney, though belonging to it, did not sit near her. And James and Isabella were so much engaged in conversing together that the latter had no leisure to bestow more on her friend than one smile, one icy squeeze, and one “dearest Catherine.”
And yet—before the end of the evening, dullness was promptly dispelled, to be replaced by something truly horrific. For, soon enough, it was midnight, and Catherine was suddenly reminded of the angelic warning . . .
At the striking of the clock, Isabella momentarily paused and oddly flexed her shoulders, as though a strange invisible weight had settled on her. And, as Catherine continued to observe, she began to see that there was indeed a shadow , a shape forming near Isabella—verily, out of Isabella.
The air itself seemed to fill with despair.
The shape—at first only a grotesque distortion of Isabella’s own shadow cast by candlelight—in a matter of seconds took on a life of its own, a dark unnatural animation and existence. It wavered, it moved; it stretched and reformed and thickened into an ugly thing, remotely human, with blunt limbs, glowing slits of coal-red eyes, scaly and elephantine hide, a darting forked tongue, and a pair of prominent horns.
Isabella’s demon was here.
And while Isabella chattered on about trifles, and James watched her with oblivious impossible fascination (meanwhile turning blue from the cold), Isabella’s demon stretched and looked around, and hissed like a serpent at the cloud of angels.
And then it looked directly at Catherine.
And it belched, in the filthiest manner possible.
Chapter 9
T he progress of Catherine’s unhappiness from the events of the evening was as follows:
First, she had been deprived, multiple times, and in the most disagreeable ways imaginable, of Mr. Tilney’s company.
Second, she had seen a demon . Her first ever, horrid, impossible, putrid demon.
Third, the demon had seen her . And although it did not particularly do anything but grossly breathe through its mouth, or say anything, Catherine had a firm suspicion that it had said plenty to Isabella, whispering inside her head and making the naphil of ice even colder and darker than she already was.
Next, Catherine experienced a general dissatisfaction with everybody about her—with the people who were so clearly oblivious to the putrid demon in their midst—and the fact that she could only mutter her complaints to the angels while pretending to cough yet for the hundredth time, else she would be overheard by the seated company all around them, taken for a ninny, and that simply would not do.
While she remained in the rooms, observing the disgusting demon skulking near Isabella (and curdling the drinks and the refreshment plates with its ghastly breath, and being an absolute toad with the angels all around, who, it must be said, swarmed between them in a wall of protection, the dears), she speedily felt considerable weariness and a violent desire to go
Again Catherine excused herself. And at last he walked off to quiz his sisters by himself and mutter in a roar about hidden treasure. Catherine was still quite piqued by the notion of Udolpho and treasure being somehow connected, and all these wonderful secrets. But she was overheated and sorely inclined to tell John Thorpe he was being tediously monstrous, and she just wished he would go away and stand next to a thoroughly drafty window open to the chill night breeze—which was not at all a charitable thing to say, nor particularly polite. She even wished Isabella would come by and bring some cooling relief.
The rest of the evening she found very dull, despite the many sympathetic whispers of angels in both her ears. Mr. Tilney was drawn away from their party at tea, to attend that of his partner. Miss Tilney, though belonging to it, did not sit near her. And James and Isabella were so much engaged in conversing together that the latter had no leisure to bestow more on her friend than one smile, one icy squeeze, and one “dearest Catherine.”
And yet—before the end of the evening, dullness was promptly dispelled, to be replaced by something truly horrific. For, soon enough, it was midnight, and Catherine was suddenly reminded of the angelic warning . . .
At the striking of the clock, Isabella momentarily paused and oddly flexed her shoulders, as though a strange invisible weight had settled on her. And, as Catherine continued to observe, she began to see that there was indeed a shadow , a shape forming near Isabella—verily, out of Isabella.
The air itself seemed to fill with despair.
The shape—at first only a grotesque distortion of Isabella’s own shadow cast by candlelight—in a matter of seconds took on a life of its own, a dark unnatural animation and existence. It wavered, it moved; it stretched and reformed and thickened into an ugly thing, remotely human, with blunt limbs, glowing slits of coal-red eyes, scaly and elephantine hide, a darting forked tongue, and a pair of prominent horns.
Isabella’s demon was here.
And while Isabella chattered on about trifles, and James watched her with oblivious impossible fascination (meanwhile turning blue from the cold), Isabella’s demon stretched and looked around, and hissed like a serpent at the cloud of angels.
And then it looked directly at Catherine.
And it belched, in the filthiest manner possible.
Chapter 9
T he progress of Catherine’s unhappiness from the events of the evening was as follows:
First, she had been deprived, multiple times, and in the most disagreeable ways imaginable, of Mr. Tilney’s company.
Second, she had seen a demon . Her first ever, horrid, impossible, putrid demon.
Third, the demon had seen her . And although it did not particularly do anything but grossly breathe through its mouth, or say anything, Catherine had a firm suspicion that it had said plenty to Isabella, whispering inside her head and making the naphil of ice even colder and darker than she already was.
Next, Catherine experienced a general dissatisfaction with everybody about her—with the people who were so clearly oblivious to the putrid demon in their midst—and the fact that she could only mutter her complaints to the angels while pretending to cough yet for the hundredth time, else she would be overheard by the seated company all around them, taken for a ninny, and that simply would not do.
While she remained in the rooms, observing the disgusting demon skulking near Isabella (and curdling the drinks and the refreshment plates with its ghastly breath, and being an absolute toad with the angels all around, who, it must be said, swarmed between them in a wall of protection, the dears), she speedily felt considerable weariness and a violent desire to go
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