Morris towsend, a true villain?

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Originally Posted by lochfyne

I would read the word 'disappointment' as 'contempt' and then you have enough in the first two chapters to convict Dr.Sloper.

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Recently bereaved of a wife of effulgent beauty and intellect, Dr. Sloper is certainly disappointed in his ordinary daughter. Should one blame a grieving spouse for disappointment alone?

Nevertheless, Sloper is zealous in hiding his disappointment from Catherine who has nothing but admiration and respect for her father, two decades later.

Though, on the whole, he was very kind to her, she was perfectly aware of this, and to go beyond the point in question seemed to her really something to live for.

and

It must not be supposed that Dr. Sloper visited his disappointment upon the poor girl, or ever let her suspect that she had played him a trick. On the contrary, for fear of being unjust to her, he did his duty with exemplary zeal, and recognised that she was a faithful and affectionate child. Besides, he was a philosopher; he smoked a good many cigars over his disappointment, and in the fulness of time he got used to it.

Clearly Dr. Sloper never once treated his daughter with contempt before his inadvertent slur: the sarcastic, "Did you get it from Mr. Townsend?". It seems to me harsh, indeed, to convict Sloper of 'contempt' when his actions show 'exemplary zeal' and his daughter loves him.

Scripture says, 'Ye shall know them by their fruits': not 'by their feelings'.

Sloper might not of consciously acted with contempt towards his daughter but the child would sub-consciously have picked it up.
It is only when the two of them are about to return from Europe that Catherine first realises that her father does not like her and inevitably as a result her adoration of her father evaporates ( I'm sorry I don't have the book at hand at the moment and can't furnish a quote but I'm sure you know the incident I mean as you seem to know the book inside out ).

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Originally Posted by lochfyne

Sloper might not of consciously acted with contempt towards his daughter but the child would sub-consciously have picked it up.

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Perhaps so. In interactions between friends and relatives, we all signal more at times than we would wish. Tolerance here is all important, whereas the wounded Catherine proves less than tolerant towards her well-meaning father. She is pig-headed in that she jumps to and embraces false conclusions, just as her father had long ago underestimated her. Her tragic flaw (inherited from her father) is shown in her thoughts after her last conversation with Dr. Sloper, just before his death.

"Upon my word," her father explained, "I had no idea how obstinate you are!"

She knew herself that she was obstinate, and it gave her a certain joy. She was now a middle-aged woman.

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Originally Posted by lochfyne

It is only when the two of them are about to return from Europe that Catherine first realises that her father does not like her and inevitably as a result her adoration of her father evaporates.

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Chapter 24, the Europe trip, has nothing of this. Days before returning from Europe, we do know how much Catherine still admires her father:

The strangest part of it was that he had said he was not a good man; Catherine wondered a great deal what he had meant by that. The statement failed to appeal to her credence, and it was not grateful to any resentment that she entertained. Even in the utmost bitterness that she might feel, it would give her no satisfaction to think him less complete. Such a saying as that was a part of his great subtlety--men so clever as he might say anything and mean anything. And as to his being hard, that surely, in a man, was a virtue.

All evidence, Lochfyne, confirms that Dr. Sloper does like, indeed loves, his only daughter. And vice versa! My tears flow.

Here are the passages to do with Catherine coming to realise that her father does not like her:

end of ch.24, Sloper speaking to Catherine:' "We have fattened the sheep for him before he kills it". Catherine turned away and stood staring at the blank door.'

This incident is explained by Catherine herself in ch.26. She is speaking to Townsend: 'She hesitated to bring it out but at last it came. "He is not very fond of me.......I saw it, I felt it, in England just before he came away. He talked to me one night - the last night - and then it came over me".'

Leave Catherine alone - she is innocent.

Thanks, Lochfyne, for these crucial passages on Catherine's insight into her father. Sorry this post is so long, but this is far from simple.

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Originally Posted by lochfyne

Here are the passages to do with Catherine coming to realise that her father does not like her

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Catherine's "He is not very fond of me" is much weaker than your "her father does not like her". Dr Sloper does like his daughter though, intellectually, she had long been a disappointment; so he spent little time with her. Just before his 'inadvertent slur', he has reason to doubt this judgement but cruel fate intervenes, and communication breakdown descends like a fog around father and daughter forever.

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Originally Posted by lochfyne

end of ch.24, Sloper speaking to Catherine:

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A year ago, you were perhaps a little limited--a little rustic; but now you have seen everything, and appreciated everything, and you will be a most entertaining companion. We have fattened the sheep for him before he kills it!" Catherine turned away, and stood staring at the blank door.

Why does Catherine stand 'staring at the blank door'? Here's the context:

That recent and terrible confrontation 'in a lonely valley of the Alps' between father and daughter 'had not permanently affected her feeling towards her father': Catherine is so resilient! In England, after days of silence, 'the very last, the night before they embarked for New York', they speak again. Catherine is buoyant, thinking happily of her return to Townsend, unconcerned about her father's grave warning: 'We have fattened the sheep for him before he kills it!' In conversation, she bubbles with excitement.

But she slams into a brick wall when Dr. Sloper, unawares, says the words 'you were perhaps a little limited--a little rustic'. Why? She is assaulted by the memory and implications of the inadvertent slur: Dr Sloper's sarcastic, "Did you get it from Mr. Townsend?"

Mortified, Catherine stands 'staring at the blank door' (foreshadowing the final: 'Catherine, meanwhile, in the parlour, picking up her morsel of fancy work, had seated herself with it again--for life, as it were.)

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Originally Posted by lochfyne

This incident is explained by Catherine herself in ch.26. She is speaking to Townsend: 'She hesitated to bring it out but at last it came. "He is not very fond of me!"'

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Catherine continues:

"I wouldn't say such a thing without being sure. I saw it, I felt it, in England, just before he came away. He talked to me one night- -the last night; and then it came over me. You can tell when a person feels that way. I wouldn't accuse him if he hadn't made me feel that way. I don't accuse him; I just tell you that that's how it is. He can't help it; we can't govern our affections. Do I govern mine? mightn't he say that to me? It's because he is so fond of my mother, whom we lost so long ago. She was beautiful, and very, very brilliant; he is always thinking of her. I am not at all like her; Aunt Penniman has told me that. Of course, it isn't my fault; but neither is it his fault. All I mean is, it's true; and it's a stronger reason for his never being reconciled than simply his dislike for you."

That busybody Penniman has helped undermine Catherine's view of her father by making her more vulnerable to his inadvertent slur, his one and only slip. Incidentally the movie, 'The Heiress', presents a soap opera by removing all the subtlety of the novel.

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Originally Posted by lochfyne

Leave Catherine alone - she is innocent.

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As Catherine sagely observes in the large quote above, father and daughter are more or less innocent, though with human frailties.

I have to agree with Lochfyne's take on Dr. Sloper, and like Lochfyne, the evidence in favor of the notion that Catherine's father's motivation has less to do with his daughter's best interest and more to do with his own need for proving himself correct is far to voluminous to post in one response. I honestly don't know how anyone can interpret the irony with which Dr. Sloper addresses Catherine, his general distaste for female eccentricities, and his last dig with the codicil to his will as anything but malicious.

The one scene in particular that presents damning evidence against the good doctor occurs at the end of the scene between Catherine and Dr. Sloper in Chapter 31. While on the surface of the exchange, one can certainly understand a father's need to know whether or not his daughter will marry, the doctor is a clever man--he may not clearly see into what goes on in Catherine's head, but he does know what goes on in his house, as evidenced earlier in the novel. He is fully aware that Morris has left his daughter; he desires to hear this information from her lips to prove to her that he was right all along. While he first approaches Catherine with what seems like genuine concern, telling her, "It doesn't seem to me that you are treating me just now with all the consideration I deserve," his true intention becomes more apparent when, after not getting any kind of response out of Catherine, he slips into the familiar form of verbal irony with which he always addresses his daughter and remarks, "You certainly ought to be cheerful, you ask a great deal if you are not. To the pleasure of marrying a brilliant young man, you add that of having your own way; you strike me as a very lucky young lady!" As in the earlier scene in the novel after Catherine first meets Morris and the Dr. exclaims "Is it possible that this magnificent person is my child?", he clearly intends to mock her, even humiliate her. Unlike that Catherine who kept the "light remnants and snippets of irony...lamenting the limitations of her understanding," this wiser young woman fully understands her father's cruel intention, "Catherine got up; she was suffocating." The trauma of having the two men she loves the most treat her so callously proves too much to bear; that, coupled with humiliation, causes her to lie about the cause of their breakup

The information above, though, would never be enough to convict the doctor of cruelty and callousness, but what follows after Catherine's lie raises many questions:

"The Doctor was both puzzled and disappointed, but he solved his perplexity by saying to himself that his daughter simply misrepresented--justifiably, if one would? but nevertheless misrepresented--the facts; and he eased off his disappointment, which was that of a man losing a chance for a little triumph that he had rather counted on, by a few words that he uttered aloud.

"How does he take his dismissal?"

"I don't know!" said Catherine, less ingeniously than she had hitherto spoken.

"You mean you don't care? You are rather cruel, after encouraging him and playing with him for so long!"

The Doctor had his revenge, after all."


A father picks at his daughter's fresh wounds; a daughter that, by his account, lacks intelligence and cleverness (as he tells Lavinia, "you are good for nothing unless you are clever"). He seeks triumph and ultimately "gets his revenge"--hardly the actions of a loving father, especially when coupled with the codicil to the will.

I am pleased, Colbert, that you too appreciate this masterpiece.

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Originally Posted by Colbert2006

He is fully aware that Morris has left his daughter; he desires to hear this information from her lips to prove to her that he was right all along.

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Unfair. Dr. Sloper is more concerned about his daughter's future and the recipient of his fortune as stated in his will.

“You certainly ought to be cheerful, you ask a great deal if you are not. To the pleasure of marrying a brilliant young man, you add that of having your own way; you strike me as a very lucky young lady!”

Catherine got up; she was suffocating. But she folded her work, deliberately and correctly, bending her burning face upon it.

The clause, 'she was suffocating', has more to do with Catherine's distress over Townsend's betrayal and what she perceives as her father's low estimation of her than with callous or humiliating irony on Sloper's part. At worst she misinterprets his verbal irony as you, Colbert, have done. You should remember that the Dr Sloper is a fundamentally good man, as Mrs Almond shows us again and again, who has has been subjected to twelve months of emotional silence by his daughter: a silence that would try the patience of a saint.

“You mean you don’t care? You are rather cruel, after encouraging him and playing with him for so long!”

The Doctor had his revenge, after all.

Yet more verbal irony on Sloper's part. Critical here is Dr Sloper does NOT have the faintest idea how negatively Catherine has perceived him ever since that fateful incident after Catherine nobly offered to leave home:

This striking argument gave the Doctor a sudden sense of having underestimated his daughter; it seemed even more than worthy of a young woman who had revealed the quality of unaggressive obstinacy. But it displeased him--displeased him deeply, and he signified as much. "That idea is in very bad taste," he said. "Did you get it from Mr. Townsend?"

"Oh no; it's my own!" said Catherine eagerly.

As I explained earlier in this thread, Catherine is soon mortified and angry once the dreadful meaning of this exchange solidifies. She vows to hide her paternal wound from her father forever, and he never learns of her pain and suppressed anger, a strong emotion indeed for placid Catherine. Understandably, Dr. Sloper assumes his momentary slip has passed unnoticed, forgets about it, and decades later dies in ignorance without opportunity to apologise and set right his momentary blunder. In one fleeting minute, he learns ('a sudden sense of having underestimated') that Catherine is not so bland after all...but to no avail!

'Washington Square' is no soap opera. Both father and daughter are duped by fate and their own stiff-necked personalities. Townsend is but a minor player.

I don't think he's a villain at all but it's ambiguous... I finished reading the novel having doubts about it. But I think it's not the real topic of the novel. The important thing is Catherine's decision and the confrontation with her father.

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Originally Posted by Mrs. Dalloway

I don't think he's a villain at all but it's ambiguous.

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How is it ambiguous? I've just read the novel again and every word in this tragedy slots together like an elaborate crossword - far from simple.

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Originally Posted by Mrs. Dalloway

But I think it's not the real topic of the novel. The important thing is Catherine's decision and the confrontation with her father.

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As a part of Henry James' crossword, three doors tragically close on Catherine Sloper.

Dr. Sloper at Liverpool waiting for a ship to New York: '"A year ago, you were perhaps a little limited—a little rustic" ... Catherine turned away, and stood staring at the blank door'.

Townsend as he leaves Catherine for New Orleans, fulfilling her father's prophesy: And he managed to get away and to close the door behind him.

Townsend as he departs forever, having returned as her father long prophesied and predicted in his surprising (to Catherine) will: He bowed, and she turned away—standing there, averted, with her eyes on the ground, for some moments after she had heard him close the door of the room.

The last door is the most terrible, so much so she averts her eyes (twice bitten thrice shy). The door closes on two decades of needless alienation from her beloved and loving father...but this time 'for life, as it were'.

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Originally Posted by Gladys

As a part of Henry James' crossword, three doors tragically close on Catherine Sloper.

Dr. Sloper at Liverpool waiting for a ship to New York: '"A year ago, you were perhaps a little limited—a little rustic" ... Catherine turned away, and stood staring at the blank door'.

Townsend as he leaves Catherine for New Orleans, fulfilling her father's prophesy: And he managed to get away and to close the door behind him.

Catherine as Townsend departs forever, having returned as her father long prophesied and predicted in his surprising (to Catherine) will: He bowed, and she turned away—standing there, averted, with her eyes on the ground, for some moments after she had heard him close the door of the room.

The last door is the most terrible, so much so she averts her eyes (twice bitten thrice shy). The door closes on two decades of needless alienation from her beloved and loving father...but this time 'for life, as it were'.

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Do these doors prevent Catherine from living her own life? What are the consequence of the close of those doors?

Your comments are really interesting. You've gone through the novel deeply.

However, Catherine chooses to become an old maid at the end. Maybe she is disappointed and thus, the end is sad. But I still see Catherine as a free woman here because she rejects her father (though she knows she was right), Townsend and her aunt. She is not a victim anymore. What do you think of that Gladys?

Like Dostoevsky's 'The Idiot', 'Washington Square' is a masterpiece in complexity.

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Originally Posted by Mrs. Dalloway

Do these doors prevent Catherine from living her own life?

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Absolutely!

Catherine, meanwhile, in the parlour, picking up her morsel of fancy work, had seated herself with it again—for life, as it were.

In other words:

Catherine

meanwhile: as her life ebbs away

in the parlour: in the reception room, once a room of hope, where she had turned down three excellent suitors in order to keep her vow that 'her father should see nothing of' her feelings toward Morris Townsend.

picking up her morsel of fancy work: picking a her pathetic, miserable morsel of embroidery.

had seated herself with it again: again, seated, with all she has left in the world - what else has she?

for life: as a third-rate substitute for life foregone.

as it were: but, of course, nothing can substitute for the damage she has done herself, if inadvertently, by alienating her loving and devoted father, 'a thoroughly honest man'. (She gets a tiny glimpse of their mutual misunderstanding during the reading of his will.)

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Originally Posted by Mrs. Dalloway

What are the consequence of the close of those doors?

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1st door: Dr. Sloper at Liverpool waiting for a ship to New York: Catherine alienates forever her devoted father for a single sarcastic remark, made under duress.

2nd door: Townsend as he leaves Catherine for New Orleans, fulfilling her father's prophesy: 'Proving thereby that not only our faults, but our most involuntary misfortunes, tend to corrupt our morals.' For two decades she vows 'her father should see nothing of it', and loses a loving father and three fine suitors as a result.

3rd door: Townsend as he departs forever, having returned as her father long prophesied and predicted in his surprising (to Catherine) will: The final act of a long, painful and totally unnecessary alienation from her father is finished. Her father was right once again - the 'deluded fortune-hunter' did return. It is finished.

The ending of 'Washington Square' is every bit as tragic as Shakespeare's monumental 'King Lear'.

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Originally Posted by Mrs. Dalloway

But I still see Catherine as a free woman here because she rejects her father (though she knows he was right), Townsend and her aunt. She is not a victim anymore.

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In her early twenties, Catherine rejects a 'deluded fortune-hunter' and a dangerous woman with 'a talent for being in the wrong'. The 'victim' liberates herself. In those days, her father exercised tough love as any responsible and assertive parent should, to save his only daughter falling victim to the rapacious gold-digger.

That an obstinate Catherine rejects her well meaning, loving and obstinate father, who allowed her freedom a plenty in her relationship with the gold-digger, is a tragedy of epic proportions. The young Catherine enslaves herself 'for life, as it were'.