The inner structure of Wuthering heights: A study of an imaginative field 9783111630199, 9783111251349

Table of contents :
TABLE OF CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
PART ONE: THE IMAGERY OF THE ELEMENTS
I. THE IMAGERY OF AIR
II. THE IMAGERY OF WATER
III. THE IMAGERY OF EARTH
IV. THE IMAGERY OF FIRE
PART TWO: FURTHER COMPONENTS OF THE IMAGERY
V. THE IMAGERY OF THE WEATHER
VI. THE IMAGERY OF DREAMS, VISIONS, FOREBODINGS, PREMONITIONS AND OMENS
VII. THE IMAGERY OF WINDOWS, DOORS, KEYS, WALLS, GATES, MIRRORS AND PORTRAITS
VIII. THE IMAGERY OF ANIMAL AND VEGETABLE LIFE
IX. THE IMAGERY OF BOOKS AND THE BIBLE
X. THE IMAGERY OF LIGHT AND DARKNESS
CONCLUSIONS
BIBLIOGRAPHY
INDEX

Citation preview

DE P R O P R I E T A T I B U S L I T T E R A R U M edenda curat C. H. VAN SCHOONEVELD Indiana University

Series Practica,

23

THE INNER STRUCTURE OF

WUTHERING HEIGHTS A Study of an Imaginative Field by

E L I S A B E T H TH. M. V A N DE L A A R

1969 MOUTON THE H A G U E • PARIS

© Copyright 1969 in The Netherlands. Mouton & Co. N.V., Publishers, The Hague. No part of this book may be translated or reproduced in any form, by print, photoprint, microfilm, or any other means, without written permission from the publishers.

PROEFSCHRIFT LEIDEN 1969

Printed in The Netherlands by Mouton & Co., Printers, The Hague.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction

7 PART O N E : T H E IMAGERY OF THE ELEMENTS

I. The Imagery of Air

21

II. The Imagery of Water

35

III. The Imagery of Earth

46

IV. The Imagery of Fire

58

PART T W O : FURTHER COMPONENTS OF THE IMAGERY

V. The Imagery of The Weather

75

VI. The Imagery of Dreams, Visions, Forebodings, Premonitions and Omens

86

VII. The Imagery of Windows, Doors, Keys, Walls, Gates, Mirrors and Portraits VIII. The Imagery of Animal and Vegetable Life .

107 .

.

.

156

IX. The Imagery of Books and the Bible

197

X. The Imagery of Light and Darkness

212

Conclusions

235

Bibliography

254

Index

261

INTRODUCTION

SCOPE AND METHOD OF THIS INQUIRY

1. The Inner Structure of "Wuthering Heights" and the Language of the Images. - Needless to say, Wuthering Heights is among the greatest works of fiction in the English language. So many books and papers have been written about its remarkable qualities that - like its author it has acquired a somewhat legendary character. Is there anything to be gained by a renewed study of this much-discussed work? In the following pages an attempt will be made to arrive at a positive answer by concentrating on the novel's inner structure. But here the question presents itself at once whether it is at all possible to speak of the "inner structure" of a literary work and what exactly is to be understood by it. Admittedly, the inner structure of a novel is not something that is immediately obvious. It does not seem primarily concerned with such elements as story and plot. Nor are biographical data concerning the novelist essential tools in revealing the inner structure of his work. Information of the kind may be very interesting and even stimulating, but it is the literary work itself that we must search for the key to the creative process. In the following study the inner structure will be seen as the pattern made by the literary imagination, i.e. by that spiritual mobility which is characterized by the ability to transform sights and sounds, forms and colours, suggested by perception or memory, into a new sequence of living images which has the power to open up new worlds of experience and thereby to enrich the language. It is Gaston Bachelard who said of these images: Elles vivent de la vie du langage vivant. On les éprouve, dans leur lyrisme en acte, à ce signe intime qu'elles rénovent l'âme et le cœur; elles donnent - ces images littéraires - une espérance à un sentiment, une vigueur spéciale

8

INTRODUCTION

à notre décision d'être une personne, une tonicité même à notre vie physique. Le livre qui les contient est soudain pour nous une lettre intime. Elles jouent un rôle dans notre vie. Elles nous vitalisent. Par elles, la parole, le verbe, la littérature sont promus au rang de l'imagination créatrice.1

An imagination that can form a coherent pattern of such images and, in doing so, break through the reality of every-day life and establish a new order may be truly said to be creative, and as such characteristic of the human psyche. From the foregoing is will be clear that in this study the term "image" should not be taken in a restricted sense, i.e. as the verbal presentation of a sensation or a perception containing an analogy to some mental concept. "Images" here are seen as the verbal expression of the literary imagination, which is the organizing principle of a literary work of art; it is by means of this verbal expression that - through successive stages of transposition - a world unfolds itself existing entirely apart from the material world. Bachelard described the activity of the literary imagination as a journey: Mais la mobilité véritable, le mobilisme en soi qu'est le mobilisme imaginé n'est pas bien alerté par la description du réel, fût-ce même par la description d'un devenir du réel. Le vrai voyage de l'imagination c'est le voyage au pays de l'imaginaire, dans le domaine même de l'imaginaire.2

Reading and re-reading Wuthering Heights one is struck by the sheer force of the imagination behind it. The whole mass of criticism written about it cannot in any way diminish the directness of its impact. It is one of those rare novels that remain as fresh as ever; a novel, too, that still presents a challenge because in all the wealth of inspired and valuable comment perhaps too little attention has been paid to the function of the author's imagination. This is not to say that the importance of the imagery in Wuthering Heights has escaped the commentators altogether. David Cecil observes that The first fact to be realized about Emily Brontë, if we are ever to appreciate her properly, is that her achievement is of an intrinsically different kind from that of any of her contemporaries . . . ; it is specially distinguished by the power of its imagination. 3

McCullough has called Wuthering Heights "a triumph of the imagina1

Gaston Bachelard, L'Air et les songes (Paris, 1943), p. 9. * Ibid., p. 11. * David Cecil, Early Victorian Novelists (London, 1934), p. 158.

INTRODUCTION

9

tion". 4 Schorer recognizes the highly personal character of its imagery when he states: One of the most curious imaginative experiences in literature is recorded in the substrata of this novel, where we can watch the drama of a creative mind being thrust, by the quality and the logic of its own material, into full reality. 5 Kettle sees the greatness of Emily Bronte in that she works not in ideas but in symbols, that is to say concepts which have a significance and validity on a level different from that of logical thought . . . . The symbolism of Wuthering Heights . . . is the expression of the very terms in which the novel has been conceived. In fact, it is the novel and the novel stands or falls by its validity, its total adequacy to life. 6 Though the "accidental qualities" of Wuthering Heights may be derived from nineteenth-century romanticism, according to Traversi, this critic thinks that its true significance lies in the transformation of this romanticism through the operation of an intensively personal imaginative power. 7 Others have gone further and have given an interpretation of Wuthering Heights based on what they felt to be the most powerful component of the imagery. Dorothy V a n Ghent perceives a threefold repetition of the two children-figure, a symbolic presentation of two forms of existence. T o her this is the underlying pattern in the structure of the novel. T h e image of the windowpane at which the children appear is described as metamorphic, suggesting a total change of mode of being by the breakingthrough of a separating medium that exists between consciousness and the "other". 8 McKibben selects the image of the book for his elucidation of ing Heights.

Wuther-

H e writes:

The world of the novel is divided into the two rival camps of Edgar and Heathcliff, Thrushcross Grange and Wuthering Heights. It is not surprising, 4

Bruce McCullough, "The Dramatic Novel: Wuthering Heights", in Representative English Novelists (New York, 1946), p. 185. Mark Schorer, Introduction to Wuthering Heights (Rinehart Editions, New York, 1950), p. V. 6 Arnold Kettle, An Introduction to the English Novel, vol. I (London, 1951), pp. 139-140. 7 Derek Traversi, "The Bronte Sisters and Wuthering Heights", in The Pelican Guide to English Literature, vol. VI (Harmondsworth, 1963), pp. 260-261. 8 Dorothy Van Ghent, The English Novel: Form and Function (New York, 1953), p. 165. 5

10

INTRODUCTION

then, that books which appear in the narrative are found in either one or the other of these camps and that, consequently, they operate in different ways and call forth attitudes which are fundamentally in opposition. A more detailed examination of the role of the book image in each environment should serve to illustrate the means of this contention. 9 For Chase the deepest significance of the novel lies in the "sheer dazzling sexual force that is Heathcliff". 10 Moser qualifies - somewhat glibly - this statement: Over a century ago Emily Bronte dramatized what Freud subsequently called the id. She discovered and symbolized in Heathcliff and, to a lesser degree, in Cathy that part of us we know so little about, the secret wellspring of vitality, the child that lurks within everyone, even within so ordinary a person as Nelly Dean or one so weak as Lockwood. Somehow, Emily Bronte penetrated to that most obscure part of the psyche and "characterized" it. The primary traits which Freud ascribed to the id apply perfectly to Heathcliff: the source of psychic energy; the seat of the instincts (particularly sex and death); the essence of dreams; the archaic foundation of personality - selfish, asocial, impulsive. 11 For Ruth A d a m s 12 and Edgar Shannon 1S the dreams in Heights have served as the true "key to the novel".

Wuthering

These passages do not call for an evaluation here; the several approaches indicated in them are certainly interesting and valuable. But as examinations of the imagery in Wuthering Heights they do no more than point the way. What seemed imperative at this stage was to investigate whether a coherent pattern of images could be discovered and the existence of a structural relationship established. There might lie the clue to the special thrill that Wuthering Heights has always caused a great variety of readers to feel. In the present writer's opinion the images possess an emotional significance which can stir the reader's response on a far deeper level than conscious thought. If, therefore, by careful analysis of the language of the images, a coherent pattern can be shown to exist, it may be possible to detect as the dynamic heart of • Robert C. McKibben, "The Image of the Book in Wuthering Heights", in Nineteenth-Century Fiction, vol. XV, Nr. 2, p. 160. 10 Richard Chase, "The Brontes, or, Myth Domesticated", in Forms of Modern Fiction, ed. by William Van O'Connor (Minneapolis, 1948), p. 109. 11 Thomas Moser, "What Is The Matter With Emily Jane? Conflicting Impulses in Wuthering Heights", in Nineteenth-Century Fiction, vol. XVII, reprinted in Idem, Wuthering Heights. Text, Sources, Criticism (New York, 1962), p. 219. 12 Ruth M. Adams, "Wuthering Heights: The Land East of Eden", in Nineteenth-Century Fiction, vol. XIII, Nr. 1, pp. 58-62. 13 Edgar F. Shannon jr., "Lockwood's Dreams and the Exegesis of Wuthering Heights", in Nineteenth-Century Fiction, vol. XIV, Nr. 2, pp. 95-109.

INTRODUCTION

11

the story the new order created by the author's imagination, a "magical" world, which communicates freely with the intimate emotional world of the imagination within ourselves. 2. The Function of the Literary Imagination. — Although the creation of literary images postulates a choice of objects and actions, the literary artist should not merely reproduce in words scenes and experiences from every-day life, with the aid of observation and memory; he should produce new images or sequences of images in order to reanimate the emotional forces operating in the reader's mind. It is the aim of this study of the internal organisation of a literary work to trace the connection between imagery and ideas. It would be wrong, and at any rate useless, to cherish preconceived notions as to the absolute meaning of any image whatever. It is only by a faithful recording of all the contexts in which the images occur that it may be possible to map out their structural relationship. This method of analysis should afford an insight into the internal organisation of an imaginative text in more or less the same way as the analysis of dreams reveals glimpses of the workings of the psyche; like the workings of the psyche in a dream the literary images appear in the guise of material phenomena in the external world. As Bachelard said: . . . l'image a u n e double réalité: u n e réalité psychique et u n e réalité physique. C'est par l'image que l'être imaginant et l'être imaginé sont au plus proche. Le psychisme h u m a i n se f o r m u l e primitivement en images. 1 4

The literary artist, unlike the dreamer, can consciously select and arrange the products of his imagination, though the structural relationship of the images may remain hidden from his consciousness. Nevertheless a work of literature, when analysed in its totality, should ideally reveal an internal and consistent relation between ideas and imagery. The imaginative creativity of the writer supplies the technique by means of which spiritual ideas can take shape in the characters and events in a novel. Arbitrary interpretations of the images should be avoided; their structural relationship seen in the totality of the literary work should point to the symbolic content characteristic of the author. It is only natural that there should be a strong relation between the author's thoughts, feelings and general experience of life on the one hand, and the pattern of the images produced by his creative mind on the other. The inner structure of a literary work of art is of special 14

Gaston Bachelard, La terre et les rêveries de la volonté (Paris, 1948), p. 5.

12

INTRODUCTION

symbolic significance to the author himself. Through the acceptance, rejection, and organisation of imaginative material a writer may achieve a catharsis, a relief from the strain and tension of artistic creation which is to him a necessity of life. Whether he succeeds in this will depend to a great extent upon the degree of oneiric genuineness in his imaginative creativity; only an imagination that is a faithful projection of the hidden workings of the psyche can have this liberating and renewing force. According to Bachelard: Expansion et profondeur, au moment où l'être se découvre avec exubérance, sont dynamiquement liées. Elles s'induisent mutuellement. Vécue dans la sincérité de ses images, l'exubérance de l'être révèle sa profondeur. 15

Oneiric genuineness of the images implies that the literary imagination must detach itself sufficiently from the mere imitation of every-day reality to establish a new order of a transcendent character. Stereotyped images will never be able to renew poetic experience. Even though superficially they seem to be simple reflections of the material world, truly literary images must have a spiritual force that stirs up an emotional response, and adds a new dimension to human experience. If the images lack this spiritual force one goal of literary creation, the creation of a new and transcendent world, will not be reached. The degree of oneiric genuineness of the imagination may be equated with the extent to which the writer has succeeded in choosing and organising his images in such a way that - again - his work affords him a maximum of relief from the tensions and frustrations inherent in most creative processes. The more perfect the internal organisation of his work, the more truly characteristic the transcendent world of his creation will be. Bachelard put it as follows: Mais quand l'être vit son langage génétiquement, s'adonnant de tout son cœur, de toute son âme à l'activité littéraire, à l'imagination parlante, les deux perspectives d'expansion et d'intimité se révèlent curieusement homograph iques. 16

The reader who is able and willing - as far as he possibly can - to re-live the writer's creative processes, will be best suited to share the writer's imaginary world. The Dynamic Force of the Images. - The transition from reality to 15

Bachelard, Air, p. 302.

'« Ibid., p. 302.

INTRODUCTION

13

dream, i.e. from ordinary life to the transcendent world of the poetic creation, is made by the dynamic force of the images. "To imagine", in the literary sense, should be "to move", "to penetrate" into a visionary world. Stereotyped images have lost their driving-power and can only add some descriptive touches to a conventional world. Oneirically genuine images are inspired by an authentically dynamic imagination. In the transition from reality to dream, movement is prior to form. Bachelard expressed himself very forcefully on this point when he stated: . . . l'image littéraire est un explosif. Elle fait soudain éclater les phrases toutes faites, elle brise les proverbes qui roulent d'âge en âge, elle nous fait entendre les substantifs après leur explosion, quand ils ont quitté la géhenne de leur racine, quand ils ont franchi la porte des ténèbres, quand ils ont transmué leur matière. Bref, l'image littéraire mets les mots en mouvement, elle les rend à leur fonction d'imagination. 17

The "dreaming" forces of the psyche deposit formal images along their route that are in fact condensations of their dynamism. In other words oneirically genuine images are experienced as derived from movement, not only by the writer but also by the reader who can and will participate dynamically in the creation of the imaginary world. Of course these images can take any form; in a long prose narrative such as Wuthering Heights many of them will almost certainly be verbal presentations of ordinary objects in the world around us. They are oneirically genuine images if they exceed the merely descriptive function and at the moment of their appearance in the plot contribute progressively to the reader's awareness of the characters concerned, thereby affording him a deeper insight into those characters. Cirlot says about the dynamic principle of the literary imagination: Artistic expression is a continuous, flowing, causal and direct relation between the inspiration and the final representation, which is both the means and the end of the expressive process. 18

This dynamism, this mobility of the psyche is also evident in the expression "a flight of the imagination". In this connection one might think of "winged poetry" and the "seven-league boots" of the fairy-tale. The dynamic principle implies that there are no isolated forms; it »

¡bid., p. 285. J. E. Cirlot, A Dictionary of Symbols, translated by Jack Sage (London, 1962), p. XLII.

18

14

INTRODUCTION

ensures the continuity of the images deposited along the oneiric route. There is a natural affinity between a writer and his adopted route. In the analysis of the imagery in Wuthering Heights the startingpoint is provided by the title. The adjective wuthering — as clearly explained in the opening pages of the novel itself - denotes a violent movement of the air; in the substantive heights the idea of vertically is suggested. These initial images, linked together in the title, might be taken tentatively as pointing to the essence of the imaginative programme. According to Cirlot, air is essentially related to three sets of ideas: the creative breath of life; the stormy wind, connected in many mythologies with the idea of creation; and, finally, space as medium for movement and for the emergence of the lifeprocesses.19

The idea of verticality is - according to the same author — closely related to upward movement, which, by analogy to the symbolism of space and with moral concepts, corresponds symbolically to the tendency towards spiritualization. 20

In his examination of Shelley's poetry Bachelard stressed the importance of the idea of verticality: On comprend facilement que des images aussi fortement polarisées dans le sens de la hauteur puissent recevoir facilement les valorisations sociales, morales, prométhéennes. Mais ces valorisations ne sont pas cherchées; elles ne sont pas un but pour le poète. Avant les métaphores sociales, l'image dynamique se révèle comme une valeur psychique première. 21

From their prominence, then, in the title of Wuthering Heights, air, the primary element, and verticality, with its inherent dynamism, may be expected to play an important part in determining the route along which the transition from reality to the dream is made. 3. The Conception of the Images in "Wuthering Heights;" and their Inner Dynamism. - The method adopted to analyse the images in Wuthering Heights and to investigate any structural relationship that might exist between them was as follows. After a careful study of the text and an experimental analysis of some important fragments, a classified list of images or groups of images was drawn up by way of a working hypothesis. In this list the imagery of the four elements was " Ibid., pp. 5-6. 2 ° Ibid., p. 340.

11

Bachelard, Air, p. 53.

INTRODUCTION

15

the first to be included, viz. (I) air, (II) water, (III) earth, (IV) fire. Next the following categories could be established as further components of the total imagery: (V) the weather, (VI) dreams, visions, forebodings, premonitions and omens, (VII) windows, doors, keys, walls, gates, mirrors and portraits, (VIII) animal and vegetable life, (IX) books (including the Bible), and (X) light and darkness. The method is entirely inductive and can only be justified by its results. The idea of examining the imagery of the four elements was inspired by Bachelard's theory that to each of the four elements corresponds a certain type of poetic imagination. He characterizes the elements as: . . . les hormones de l'imagination. Ils mettent en action des groupes d'images. Ils aident à l'assimilation intime du réel dispersé dans ses formes. 22

In accordance with his temperament, Bachelard declared elsewhere, every writer is especially fascinated by one or at most two of the elements. In his imagery he will be true to this element, it is at the root of his imaginative powers and gives unity and substance to his work: Pour qu'une rêverie se poursuive avec assez de constance pour donner une œuvre écrite, pour qu'elle ne soit pas simplement la vacance d'une heure fugitive, il faut qu'elle trouve sa matière, il faut qu'un élément matériel lui donne sa propre substance, sa propre règle, so poétique spécifique. 23

Now, Bachelard based his theory on a fairly arbitrary collection of illustrative instances, taken more or less at random from an author's literary œuvre. The present study, concentrating on the imagery of one particular work, offers an opportunity to discover whether the images connected with one (or at most two) of the four elements give coherence to the structure of the work. If the imagery of three or even four elements should prove to be equally prominent, the structural effect of any one of them would be neutralized, as a result of the contradiction in their symbolical implications. In the early works on the poetic imagination24 a distinction was already made by Bachelard between l'imagination matérielle, concerned with the four elements, and l'imagination formelle, derived from a variety of external objects, colours, etc. At first he attached the greater importance to the former: L'imagination matérielle est vraiment le médiateur plastique qui unit les images littéraires et les substances. 25 « Ibid., p. 19. 28 Gaston Bachelard, L'eau et les rêves (Paris, 1942), p. 5. 24 Ibid., p. 2. » Bachelard, Air, p. 48.

16

INTRODUCTION

In his later works 26 he recognized the limitations of his earlier approach. He widened his scope so as to comprise every manifestation of any poet's individual imagination. He abandons the closed concept of the four elements as the only structural forces controlling the poet's imagery and attaches greater importance to the individual imagination, which is essentially open. He now condemns the attempt to force the imagination into an intellectual or philosophical system as detrimental to the rejuvenating powers of the image: La philosophie mûrit trop vite et elle nous cristallise dans un état de maturité. Comment alors, sans se "déphilosopher", espérer vivre les ébranlements que l'être reçoit des images nouvelles, des images qui sont toujours des phénomènes de la jeunesse de l'être? Quand on est dans l'âge d'imaginer, on ne sait dire comment et pourquoi on imagine. Quand on saurait dire comment on imagine, on n'imagine plus. 27

Perhaps it would be best to see this new development in Bachelard's studies on the imagination as complementary to his original views, the more so because the fundamental idea of the dynamism of the imagination has not been affected. As Dagognet says: Malgré l'évident changement d'accent et de vocabulaire, les thèmes fondamentaux subsistent, seulement plus affinés et surtout plus tendrement personnels. 28

From an analysis of the imagery of the four elements the examination will pass on to the more specialized categories of the imagery in (he next six chapters. The quotations related to the several headings represent the working material. The quotations will be arranged in the order of their relation to the characters in the story. Thus each chapter will consist of twelve sections, one for each of the twelve characters, viz. (1) Lockwood, (2) Ellen Dean (Nelly), (3) Joseph, (4) Old Mr. Earnshaw, (5) Hindley Earnshaw, (6) Catherine Earnshaw, (7) Heathcliff, (8) Edgar Linton, (9) Isabella Linton, (10) the second Catherine (Cathy), (11) Hareton, (12) Linton Heathcliff. Bearing in mind the way in which the reader is introduced and then led to the heart of the story by the two narrators, Lockwood and Ellen Dean, it seemed logical to put them first; then follow the inmates of the two houses, Wuthering Heights and Thrush28

Gaston Bachelard, La poétique de l'espace (Paris, 1957). Idem, La poétique de la rêverie (Paris, 1961). Idem, La flamme d'une chandelle (Paris, 1961). 27 Bachelard, Espace, p. 211. 28 François Dagognet, Gaston Bachelard sa vie, son œuvre avec un exposé de sa philosophie (Paris, 1965), p. 31.

INTRODUCTION

17

cross Grange; last of all come the representatives of the second generation. Characters that are mentioned only once or twice, such as the doctor Kenneth, the lawyer Green and the servant Zillah, will not be considered in this examination. The interpretation of the images should evolve from their functioning in the characterization and the plot, which is the hallmark of their oneiric genuineness. With every image, or group of images, that is considered in its relation to the character concerned, a component part may be found of the total imagery used to build up this particular character. It may be possible to discover how the author's imagination has found expression in the language; in what imaginative substances the character has been conceived; and whether there is an inner dynamism in these substances potent enough to break down the barriers of every-day reality and effect a transition into the writer's visionary world. It may also be of great significance to see how some characters lack those dynamic images, or groups of images, that give to other characters their prominence in the story. If the title of the novel really indicates the imaginative programme, the dynamism of the images should be found to be expressed in terms of verticality; it would be a most plausible result if a correlation could be shown to exist between the place on the vertical axis of the images relating to a certain character and the degree of spiritualization of that character. The term spiritualization as used here should of course not be taken in a moral sense, but as the opposite of materialization, so denoting a progressive state of sublimation by psychic forces. T. S. Eliot referred to a similar though not identical dynamism of height and depth in one of the three points he wanted to make about Dante's Divine Comedy: And the third point is that the Divine Comedy is a complete scale of the depths and heights of human emotion; that the Purgatorio and Paradiso are to be read as extensions of the ordinarily very limited human range. Every degree of the feeling of humanity, from lowest to highest, has, moreover, an intimate relation to the next above and below, and all fit together according to the logic of sensibility. 29

The dynamism of height and depth is not only present in the works of poets and myth-makers. The psychotherapeutic method elaborated by Robert Desoille - the technique of the rêve éveillé dirigé - recognizes its importance and utilizes the sublimating powers of the imaginary ascent: "

T. S. Eliot, Essay on Dante in Selected Essays (London, 1951), pp. 268-269.

18

INTRODUCTION

La recherche de ces états euphoriques par l'ascension est une condition nécessaire de la sublimation ultérieure . . . . 30 When the plan outlined above has been carried out, it will be possible to decide whether we can indeed speak of an inner structure of Wuthering Heights. If the stream of images will be found not to have been blocked, if the imaginative themes will prove to have been developed consistently, and if it will be seen that there is no lack of dynamism in them, it will be possible to conclude that Emily Brontë has achieved a harmonious synthesis in her creation. Note: The text as given in the passages is reprinted from the first edition of Wuthering Heights (1847), with correction of obvious misprints. References are given only to the chapters, not to pages. Sometimes the instances of the imagery belonging to two or even more categories will overlap; notably this may be the case in the imagery of air and of weather. If a certain fragment relates to two or more headings, it will be given under all the relevant headings.

30

Robert Desoille, Le rêve eveillé en psychothérapie (Paris, 1945), p. 378.

PART ONE

THE IMAGERY OF THE ELEMENTS

I THE IMAGERY OF AIR

To avoid any misunderstanding it is perhaps as well to explain at the outset that by the interpretation of the imaginative content of the relevant quotations their factual implications are by no means denied or declared invalid. As explained in what has gone before, the additional significance of the ten items of this inquiry should reveal in how far they are constituting elements of imaginative field underlying the novel as a whole, thereby giving it an inner structure.

1.

Lockwood

To Lockwood, the outsider, the task is given of explaining the title of the book and the name of Heathcliffs dwelling (1). He shows the polite interest of the visitor from other parts. He is not aware that he enters into a different world. The name of the house (and the title of the novel) is indeed most characteristic. In the opening pages powerful images come to the fore at once: the atmospheric tumult, the storm, the pure invigorating air; and the secondary images related to the concept of storm such as the slanting firs and thorn-bushes. From Lockwood they draw no emotional response as yet; only a mild sarcasm with regard to the "pure, bracing ventilation" and an absence of enthusiasm for the site. Still he is influenced by it: the ideas of storm and

(1) Wuthering Heights is the name of Mr. Heathcliff's dwelling. "Wuthering" being a significant provincial adjective, descriptive of the atmospheric tumult to which its station is exposed in stormy weather. Pure, bracing ventilation they must have up there at all times, indeed: one may guess the power of the north wind blowing over the edge, by the excessive slant of a few stunted firs at the end of the house; and by a range of gaunt thorns all stretching their limbs one way, as if craving alms of the sun. (Ch. I)

22

THE IMAGERY OF THE ELEMENTS

tempest are uppermost in his mind and he makes use of them when describing his encounter with the dogs (2, 3). On his second visit (4, 5) he experiences even less agreeable sensations. Again they are carried over into his narrative: the "cloud" he tries "to dispel", and Hareton "smothering the storm" (6, 7). But worse is to come still: when he looks through the window the full impact of his unpleasant situation hits him (8). Chapter III is very important for the understanding of the novel, for here Lockwood, and with him the reader, are brought closest to the central imagery of air. The first time that the air takes on an additional significance for Lockwood is when he closes his eyes after reading over and over again the various names scribbled on the window-ledge (9). This and the reading of the diary prepare him for the later dream in which a ghost-like Catherine knocks at the window. Sounds related to the storm (10) make him susceptible to the emotional storms in which his dreams will involve him. These sounds lead up to the most horri-

(2) . . . the hearth was an absolute tempest of worrying and yelping. (Ch. I) ( 3 ) . . . a lusty dame . . . rushed into the midst of us flourishing a frying-pan: and used that weapon, and her tongue, to such purpose, that the storm subsided magically, and she only remained, heaving like a sea after a high wind, . . . . (Ch. I) (4) . . . I took my hat, and, after a four miles' walk, arrived at Heathcliff's garden gate just in time to escape the first feathery flakes of a snow-shower. (Ch. II) (5) On that bleak hill-top the earth was hard with a black frost, and the air made me shiver through every limb. (Ch. II) (6) I thought, if I had caused the cloud, it was my duty to make an effort to dispel it. They could not every day sit so grim and taciturn; . . . (Ch. II) { ! ) . . . the youth grew crimson, and clenched his fist, with every appearance of a meditated assault. But he seemed to recollect himself, presently; and smothered the storm in a brutal curse, . . . . (Ch. II) (8) I approached a window to examine the weather. A sorrowful sight I saw: dark night coming down prematurely, and sky and hills mingled in one bitter whirl of wind and suffocating snow. (Ch. II) (9) [I] continued spelling over Catherine Earashaw - Heathcliff - Linton, till my eyes closed; but they had not rested five minutes when a glare of white letters started from the dark, as vivid as spectres - the air swarmed with Catherines; . . . . (Ch. Ill) (10) And what was it that had suggested the tremendous tumult? . . . Merely the branch of a fir-tree that touched my lattice, as the blast wailed by, and rattled its dry cones against the panes! (Ch. Ill)

THE IMAGERY OF AIR

23

fying experience of his dream (11). His screams bring Heathcliff to the spot (12). Not yet fully awake Lockwood still feels the oppression of his dream in the air. The images become more sober when Heathcliff's odd behaviour has shocked him into his usual state of mind (13). Something of the influence of his brief contact with this strange world of Catherine and Heathcliff still lingers on: in the early morning he escapes into an air which is at once free, clear, still and cold (14). H e

feels free again, nott involved; spectres have vanished; there are no longer any disturbing sounds in the air; the penetrating coldness of the air clears his head of the hothouse creatures of his dreams, and he is glad of it. From now on we shall see him as the superficially interested, but detached listener to Nelly's story of the drama of Wuthering Heights. The next chapter (IV) opens with Lockwood's exasperated cry: "Wha. vain weathercocks we are!" (15). He is compelled by feelings of loneliness and dejection to ask Mrs. Dean to keep him company. The frustration and weakness implied in this phrase stand in contrast to his joy in the cold, pure air of freedom in the last chapter. The stimulation of his mood by the air of the Heights has been shortlived. Boredom again dulls his spirit. Only in chapter XXXII do we find any references to the concept of air

'11) This time, I remembered I was lying in the oak closet, and I heard distinctly the gusty wind, and the driving of the snow; I heard, also, the fir-bough repeat its teasing sound, and ascribed it to the right cause: but it annoyed me so much, that I resolved to silence it, if possible; . . . . "I must stop it, nevertheless!' I muttered, knocking my knuckles through the glass, and stretching an arm out to seize the importunate branch; instead of which, my fingers closed on the fingers of a little, ice-cold hand! (Ch. Ill) (12) "I suppose that she [Zillah] wanted to get another proof that the place was haunted, at my expense. Well, it is - swarming with ghosts and goblins! . . . No one will thank you for a doze in such a den!" (Ch. Ill) (13) The spectre showed a spectre's ordinary caprice; it gave no sign of being; but the snow and wind whirled wildly through, even reaching my station, and blowing out the light. (Ch. Ill) (14) I declined joining their breakfast, and, at the first gleam of dawn, took an opportunity of escaping into the free air, now clear and still, and cold as impalpable ice. (Ch. Ill) (15) What vain weather-cocks we are! I, who had determined to hold myself independent of all social intercourse, . . . was finally compelled to strike my colours: . . . (Ch. IV)

24

THE IMAGERY OF THE ELEMENTS

again in connection with Lockwood (16, 17). There are some secondary images, suggestive of quiet domesticity (16); the scent of flowers is to him a sign of improvement at Wuthering Heights (17). Walking back he visits the kirk and the churchyard. He clearly puts a distance - in time as well as place - between himself and the atmospheric tumult of the heights (18). He looks at everything with the objective eye of the visitor, he does not belong to this place. The last lines (19) emphasize once more his failure to share the more dynamic qualities of the element of air. All the images are of muted, muffled sounds, and movement close to the earth. The moths have no powerful flight in them, the soft wind has only the force to stir the blades of grass.

2. Ellen Dean

The aspect of the air that is most attractive to Nelly is not the "pure, bracing ventilation" of Wuthering Heights, but the smells and scents lingering in the air, reminiscent of flowers, wet earth etc. Strong winds, storm, clouds and rain call up a negative response in her. When old Mr. Earnshaw has died, she goes reluctantly to the village to fetch the doctor and the parson (20). Heathcliffs dirty appearance, which compares unfavourably with Catherine's newly-acquired lady-like deportment and manners, reminds

(16) . . . the family had retreated into the back premises, I judged by one thin, blue wreath curling from the kitchen chimney, and they did not hear. (Ch. XXXII) (17) And I noticed another [improvement], by the aid of my nostrils; a fragrance of stocks and wall flowers, wafted on the air, from amongst the homely fruit-trees. (Ch. XXXII) (18) My walk home was lengthened by a diversion in the direction of the kirk. When beneath its walls, I perceived decay had made progress, even in seven months: many a window showed black gaps deprived of glass; and slates jutted off, here and there, beyond the right line of the roof, to be gradually worked off in coming autumn storms. (Ch. XXXIV) (19) I lingered round them, under that benign sky: watched the moths fluttering among the heath and harebells; listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass; and wondered how any one could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth. (Ch. XXXIV) (20) [Joseph] told me to put on my cloak and run to Gimmerton for the doctor and the parson. I could not guess the use that either would be of, then. However, I went, through wind and rain, . . . . (Ch. V)

THE IMAGERY OF AIR

25

her of a dismal cloud (21). The next two passages show her enjoying the sweet air (22, 23). Catherine's temper, when roused, will wake a domestic storm (24), nevertheless Nelly will try to stop Heathcliff's bad influence at the Grange. The fundamental nature of the conflict between Catherine's personality and Ellen's is revealed by means of the imagery of air (25, 26, 27). Ellen's attitude towards this element is essentially practical, sensible, down-to-earth; it is impossible for her to share Catherine's elation aroused by her affinity with its dynamism. In Nelly's speech clouds and wind are metaphorically related to displeasure (28). The pattern of Nelly's relation to the element of air is established in several more passages (29, 30, 31, 32, 33). She has a

(21) . . . the surface of his face and hands was dismally beclouded. (Ch. VII) (22) The morning was fresh and cool; I threw back the lattice, and presently the room filled with sweet scents from the garden; . . . (Ch. IX) (23) On a mellow evening in September, I was coming from the garden with a heavy basket of apples which I had been gathering. . . . I set my burden on the house steps by the kitchen door, and lingered to rest, and drew in a few more breaths of the soft, sweet air; . . . . (Ch. X) (24) . . . it urged me to resolve further on mounting vigilant guard, and doing my utmost to check the spread of such bad influence at the Grange: even if I should wake a domestic storm, by thwarting Mrs. Linton's pleasure. (Ch. XI) (25) [Catherine] raising herself up all burning, desired that I would open the window. We were in the middle of winter, the wind blew strong from the north-east, and I objected. (Ch. XII) (26) To pacify her, I held the casement ajar a few seconds. A cold blast rushed through; I closed it, and returned to my post. She lay still now, her face bathed in tears. (Ch. XII) (27) And sliding from the bed before I could hinder her, she crossed the room, walking very uncertainly, threw it back, and bent out, careless of the frosty air that cut about her shoulders as keen as a knife. (Ch. XII) (28) "What now?" said Catherine, leaning back, and returning his look with a suddenly clouded brow: her humour was a mere vane for constantly varying caprices. (Ch. XV) (29) . . . I ventured soon after sunrise to quit the room and steal out to the pure refreshing air. (Ch. XVI) (30) The pure heather-scented air, the bright sunshine, and the gentle canter of Minny, relieved his despondency, after a while. (Ch. XX) (31) "It is not so buried in trees", I replied, "and it is not quite so large, but you can see the country beautifully all round; and the air is healthier for you - fresher and dryer." (Ch. XX)

26

THE IMAGERY OF THE ELEMENTS

firm belief in the beneficent power of mild air and unclouded skies. Lingering scents of flowers etc. have a greater appeal for her than the violent commotion of a storm. 3.

Joseph

There are no relevant passages. 4.

Earnshaw

It is the evening of Mr. Earnshaw's death (34). The storm - as a symbol of change or transmutation, of catastrophe even - introduces the events that follow. The death of Earnshaw will bring about a great change in the life of Heathcliff. His protector is dead, the son (Hindley) will degrade Heathcliff to a mere servant, and deprive him of his privileged position in the household. Heathcliff's friendship with Catherine will suffer, she will find it beneath her to marry him. The predominant element in the catastrophe is the air. Indeed, all great changes in the lives of the principal characters are preceded or accompanied by atmospheric tumult. This is one example. The images of the storm are primarily those of sound: the noise of the wind round the house and the roar in the chimney. The visual images are secondary. By surrounding Earnshaw's death with storm images the author made him share the powerful symbolism of air that pervades the story. 5.

Hindley

There are no relevant passages. 6.

Catherine

There is quite a number of instances in which Catherine is brought into relation with the concept of air, and especially air in its more violent aspects. For Lockwood, the air "swarming with Catherines" is the starting(32) We deferred our excursion till the afternoon; a golden afternoon of August: every breath from the hills so full of life, that it seemed whoever respired it, though dying, might revive. (Ch. XXVII) (33) I was comfortably revelling in the spring fragrance around, and the beautiful soft blue overhead, when my young lady . . . returned . . . . (Ch. XXXIV) (34) A high wind blustered round the house, and roared in the chimney: it sounded wild and stormy, yet it was not cold, . . . . (Ch. V)

THE IMAGERY OF AIR

27

point for his subsequent dreams, in which a world of violent passions will be revealed to him (35). In chapter IX, the crucial point in the story, Catherine's rejection of Heathcliff in favour of Edgar, and the disappearance of Heathcliff, is accompanied by a violent thunderstorm (36). The symbol of storm contains a creative moment as a result of the combined forces of the predominant element, air, and two others, water (or rain) and fire (or lightning). Here the destructive power of the storm corresponds to the negative change which is wrought in Catherine: she becomes desperately ill. She has denied her innermost nature and its revenge is pictured in the element closest to her nature. In the quarrel between Edgar, now Catherine's husband, and Heathcliff, after the latter's return to Wuthering Heights, Catherine works herself up to such a pitch of fury that her mind is deranged. All the air images in the following passages (37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43) testify to

(35) . . . a glare of white letters started from the dark, as vivid as spectres the air swarmed with Catherines; . . . . (Ch. Ill) (36) About midnight, while we still sat up, the storm came rattling over the Heights in full fury. There was a violent wind, as well as thunder, and either one or the other split a tree off at the corner of the building: a huge bough fell across the roof, and knocked down a portion of the east chimneystack, sending a clatter of stones and soot into the kitchen fire. We thought a bolt had fallen in the middle of us. (Ch. IX) (37) . . . raising herself up all burning, desired that I would open the window. We were in the middle of winter, the wind blew strong from the north-east, and I objected. (Ch. XII) (38) . . . she seemed to find childish diversion in pulling the feathers from the rents she had just made, and ranging them on the sheet according to their different species: her mind had strayed to other associations. (Ch. XII) (39) " . . . it's a lapwing's. Bonny bird; wheeling over our heads in the middle of the moor. It wanted to get to its nest, for the clouds had touched the swells, and it felt rain coming." (Ch. XII) (40) "Oh, if I were but in my own bed in the old house!" she went on bitterly, wringing her hands, "And that wind sounding in the firs by the lattice. Do let me feel it - it comes straight down the moor - do let me have one breath!" To pacify her. I held the casement ajar a few seconds. A cold blast rushed through; I closed it, and returned to my post. She lay still now, her face bathed in tears. (Ch. XII) (41) " . . . I wish I were out of doors! I wish I were a girl again, half savage and hardy, and free. . . . I'm sure I should be myself were I once among the heather on those hills. Open the window again wide: fasten it open! Quick., why don't you move?"

28

THE IMAGERY OF THE ELEMENTS

her disintegrating personality. The wind, coming straight down the moor (40), is to her the breath of life. Nelly, who refuses to open the window, denies her the "chance of life" (41). Feathers and birds correspond to the element of air. They represent tangible memories of happy days spent on the moors (38, 39). The tree, with its implied vertical dynamism, is another essential symbol; in the tree, processes of regeneration are always at work, making it stand for inexhaustible life. It is the movement of the trees here (42) that symbolizes the cradle of life, and Catherine, who is dying, longs to be taken up in this primitive movement, but feels utterly separated from its cosmic life. (The younger Catherine will have a marked preference for a seat among the branches, she will share the life and movement of the tree "in her windswept cradle" like a bird perched on its branches.) Closely related to the concept of air are images of rising and falling; just as the tree with its long vertical lines is also a symbol of the relationship between the lower world and the upper world, so the images of falling and rising develop along a vertical axis, expressing dynamically the double nature of man, creature of the lower world (element of earth), and of the upper world (element of air), destined to fall and to rise. The dynamic images of falling and rising unite the poles; earth and air are connected indissolubly (43). For a brief moment the world of Edgar and the world of Catherine come together (44). The south wind, associated with sunshine and "Because I won't give you your death of cold", I answered. "You won't give me a chance of life, you mean", she said sullenly. "However, I'm not helpless, yet; I'll open it myself." And sliding from the bed . . . [she] threw it back, and bent out, careless of the frosty air that cut about her shoulders as keen as a knife. (Ch. XII) (42) "Look!" she cried eagerly, "that's my room with the candle in it, and the trees swaying before it . . . ." (Ch. XII) (43) "Hush!" cried Mrs. Linton. "Hush, this moment! You mention that name and I end the matter instantly, by a spring from the window! What you touch at present you may have; but my soul will be on that hill-top before you lay hands on me again . . . ." (Ch. XII) (44) Mr. Linton had put on her pillow, in the morning, a handful of golden crocuses; her eye. . . . caught them in waking, and shone delighted as she gathered them eagerly together. "These are the earliest flowers at the Heights", she exclaimed. "They remind me of soft thaw winds, and warm sunshine, and nearly melted snow. Edgar, is there not a south wind, and is not the snow almost gone?" (Ch. XIII)

THE IMAGERY OF AIR

29

flowers, animates the world of Edgar. Catherine, for whom the keen wind of the moors was the breath of life, can also - though on an altogether different plane - be animated by the softer wind from the south, just as she could marry Edgar while spiritually she felt bound to Heathcliff. This is one of the rare and brief moments between Edgar and Catherine in which they are inspired by the same element and reach some degree of harmony. Catherine's life-force is now nearly spent and the imagery of air becomes less and less dynamic (45) until all movement stops (46). Rain, sleet and snow from the north-east destroy all the signs of budding spring (47). Catherine is buried. Edgar is resigned to her death, Heathcliff is not. The snowstorm introduces a new phase in the relationship between Catherine and Heathcliff. It suggests unbridled movement, vigorous life, unfettered freedom. Catherine appears to Heathcliff in a breath of air (48), not in the depth of the grave, but above him, bending down to him. The vertical dynamism in the images is restored; Heathcliff feels the relief flowing through his limbs. Catherine fills the air with her presence. For Lockwood "the air swarmed with Catherines" only for the short time he was capable of sharing the dynamism of this element; for Heathcliff all the forms of the objects outlined in the air, clouds, trees, will be symbolic messengers of Catherine's presence for the remainder of his life on earth (49). (45) A book lay spread on the sill before her, and the scarcely perceptible wind fluttered its leaves at intervals. (Ch. XV) (46) . . . I [Ellen] partook of the infinite calm in which she lay: . . . . (Ch. XVI) (47) In the evening, the weather broke; the wind shifted from south to north-east, and brought rain first, and then sleet and snow. On the morrow one could hardly imagine that there had been three weeks of summer: the primroses and crocuses were hidden under wintry drifts; the larks were silent, the young leaves of the early trees smitten and blackened (Ch. XVII) (48) I was on the point of attaining my object, when it seemed that I heard a sigh from some one above, close at the edge of the grave, and bending down. "If I can only get this off", I muttered, "I wish they may shovel in the earth over us both!" and I wrenched at it more desperately still. There was another sigh, close at my ear. I appeared to feel the warm breath of it displacing the sleet-laden wind. I knew no living thing in flesh and blood was by; but as certainly as you perceive the approach to some substantial body in the dark, though it cannot be discerned, so certainly I felt that Cathy was there: not under me, but on the earth. A sudden sense of relief flowed from my heart through every limb. (Ch. XXIX) (49) "In every cloud, in every tree - filling the air at night, and caught by

30 7.

THE IMAGERY OF THE ELEMENTS

Heathcliff

The first time Heathcliff's name appears in relation to the imagery of air is in Lockwood's description of Wuthering Heights (50). At once the tune is set: the wind, especially the violent wind, is the most conspicuous element in the imagery of air related to Heathcliff. There is also the idea of height connected with it. Again we see how brilliantly conceived the name of "Wuthering Heights" actually is, both for Heathcliff's (and formerly Catherine's) home and for the story, because it is a dynamic combination of two most forceful images in the book, air and height. After hearing Catherine declare to Nelly that it would degrade her to marry him, Heathcliff disappears from Wuthering Heights (51). Joseph, sent out by Catherine to look for Heathcliff, reports there is no trace of him except the gate swinging violently in the storm. Only a movement in the air betrays Heathcliff's departure. Wuthering Heights and especially the only person who shared with him the dynamism of the same element, have turned hostile to him. This element will work his revenge (52). The thunderstorm marks Heathcliff's disappearance (53). After three years he comes back and visits Catherine (now the wife of Edgar Linton) at Thrushcross Grange. The peaceful atmosphere of

glimpses in every object, by day I am surrounded with her image!" (Ch. XXXIII) (50) Wuthering Heights is the name of Mr. Heathcliff's dwelling. "Wuthering" being a significant provincial adjective, descriptive of the atmospheric tumult to which its station is exposed in stormy weather. Pure, bracing ventilation they must have up there at all times, indeed: one may guess the power of the north wind blowing over the edge, by the excessive slant of a few stunted firs at the end of the house; and by a range of gaunt thorns all stretching their limbs one way, as if craving alms of the sun. (Ch. I) (51) "Yon lad gets war un war!" observed he on re-entering. "He's left th' yate at t' full swing, . . . ." (Ch. IX) (52) About midnight, while we still sat up, the storm came rattling over the Heights in full fury. There was a violent wind, as well as thunder, and either one or the other split a tree off at the corner of the building: a huge bough fell across the roof, and knocked down a portion of the east chimneystack, sending a clatter of stones and soot into the kitchen fire. We thought a bolt had fallen in the middle of us; . . . . (Ch. IX) (53) Heathcliff had never been heard of since the evening of the thunderstorm; . . . . (Ch. IX)

THE IMAGERY OF AIR

31

the "mellow evening in September" seems to him lacking in life and vitality (54). Having disrupted what harmony there was growing between Catherine and Edgar, Heathcliff disappears from the scene a second time, now accompanied by the hopelessly infatuated Isabella. A movement, but not caused by the wind, is the only trace left (55). The gate swinging in the wind in Ch. I X was a genuine symbol of Heathcliffs escape into the only form of existence acceptable to him - freedom - after Catherine's rejection of him; the dog swinging in its noose, moved not by the air but by its own death-struggles, is a symbol of Heathcliffs rejection of his own vitalizing element, and so spelling deterioration and death. With the approach of Heathcliffs death the accent on movement becomes stronger and is transferred to his body (56, 57). Increasingly he shares the dynamism of his element until the moment of ultimate dematerialization. Nelly, walking round the house, discovers the window of the upstairs room, which had been Catherine's, swinging open and finds Heathcliff dead (58, 59). The dynamism of height and storm formed the symbolic pattern that governed Heathcliffs life. The "lattice, flapping to and fro", (59) indicates his identification with the element. 8. Edgar

Linton

There is only one relevant passage with reference to Edgar and that comes at the moment when he and Catherine seem closest to the achieve-

(54) "I have waited here an hour", he resumed, while I continued staring; "and the whole of that time all round has been as still as death . . . ." (Ch. X) (55) In passing the garden to reach the road, at a place where a bridle hook is driven into the wall, I saw something white moved irregularly, evidently by another agent than the wind. . . . My surprise and perplexity were great to discover, by touch more than vision, Miss Isabella's springer, Fanny, suspended to a handkerchief, and nearly at its last gasp. (Ch. XIII) (56) Heatcliff stood at the open door; he was pale, and he trembled: yet, certainly, he had a strange joyful glitter in his eyes . . . . (Ch. XXXIV) (57) . . . his frame shivering, not as one shivers with chill or weakness, but as a tight-stretched cord vibrates - a strong thrilling, rather than trembling. (Ch. XXXIV) (58) . . . I observed the master's window swinging open, and the rain driving straight in. (Ch. XXXIV) (59) The lattice, flapping to and fro, had grazed one hand that rested on the sill; . . . . (Ch. XXXIV)

32

THE IMAGERY OF THE ELEMENTS

ment of harmony. Edgar transcends his own limitations in recognizing the dynamic force of Catherine's element (60). 9.

Isabella

Isabella's thoughts, when she hears the wind blowing round the house at Wuthering Heights, are of death and an all-pervading sadness (61, 62). The wind brings her no message of life. Caught in the web of Heathcliff's hatred her own life seems to have come to a standstill; the only defence left to her is mockery (63). A s soon as Isabella sees an opportunity to escape to the Grange, the images of death and gloom give place to those of speed and freedom (64). She is urged on towards the Grange as if driven by a violent storm, the instinct of self-preservation. It is a downward movement and opposed to the vertical dynamism expressing the tendency towards spiritualization. 10.

Cathy

Images of air and especially of wind are frequent, both in the descriptive passages where Nelly talks about Cathy and in those where Cathy herself expresses her idea of heaven. The dynamic force of the wind (60) "Catherine, last spring at this time, I was longing to have you under this roof: now, I wish you were a mile or two up those hills: the air blows so sweetly, I feel that it would cure you." (Ch. XIII) (61) Yester-evening I sat in my nook reading some old books till late on towards twelve. It seemed so dismal to go upstairs, with the wild snow blowing outside, and my thoughts continually reverting to the kirkyard and the new-made grave! (Ch. XVII) (62) There was no sound through the house but the moaning wind which shook the windows every now and then, the faint crackling of the coals, and the click of my snuffers as I removed at intervals the long wick of the candle. . . . It was very, very sad: and while I read I sighed, for it seemed as if all joy had vanished from the world, never to be restored. (Ch. XVII) (63) "We were left at peace on our beds as long as the summer moon shone, but the moment a blast of winter returns, you must run for shelter! . . . ." (Ch. XVII) (64) In my flight through the kitchen I bid loseph speed to his master; I knocked over Hareton, who was hanging a litter of puppies from a chairback in the doorway; and, blest as a soul escaped from purgatory, I bounded, leaped, and flew down the steep road; then, quitting its windings, shot direct across the moor, rolling over banks, and wading through marshes: precipitating myself, in fact, towards the beacon light of the Grange. . . . (Ch. XVII)

THE IMAGERY OF AIR

33

seems a fitting symbol of Cathy's happiness (65). Checked by Nelly in her love-affair with Linton she is as a bird whose flight is suddenly arrested (66). Cathy's dejection when her father is ill is accompanied by images of wind and clouds that bring rain (67); in this state of depression she is unable to share the vital dynamism of the element. Happiness is: swinging in the branches of the trees, high up, feeling the movement of the tree, and sharing the life of the cosmos of which by virtue of its vertical dynamism the tree is often a symbol (68). The creative breath of life flows through the passage in which Cathy expresses her most perfect idea of happiness (69). Its essence is airy delight: liberty and movement. All the images are related and contrib(65) She bounded before me, and returned to my side, and was off again like a young grey-hound; and, at first, I found plenty of entertainment in listening to the larks singing far and near, and enjoying the sweet, warm sunshine; and watching her, my pet, and my delight, with her golden ringlets flying loose behind, . . . . (Ch. XXI) (66) Never did any bird flying back to a plundered nest which it had left brimful of chirping young ones, express more complete despair in its anguished cries and flutterings, than she by her single "Oh!" . . . (Ch. XXI) (67) On an afternoon in October, or the beginning of November - a fresh watery afternoon, when the turf and paths were rustling with moist, withered leaves, and the cold, blue sky was half hidden by clouds - dark gray streamers, rapidly mounting from the west, and boding abundant rain I requested my young lady to forego her ramble because I was certain of showers. She refused; . . . . She went sadly on: there was no running or bounding now, though the chill wind might well have tempted her to race. (Ch. XXII) (68) On one side of the road rose a high, rough bank, where hazels and stunted oaks, with their roots half-exposed, held uncertain tenure: the soil was too loose for the latter; and strong winds had blown some nearly horizontal. In summer, Miss Catherine delighted to climb along these trunks, and sit in the branches, swinging twenty feet above the ground; and I, pleased with her agility and her light, childish heart, still considered it proper to scold every time I caught her at such an elevation, but so that she knew there was no necessity for descending. From dinner to tea she would lie in her breeze-rocked cradle, doing nothing except singing old songs - my nursery lore - to herself, or watching the birds, joint tenants, feed and entice their young ones to fly: or nestling with closed lids, half thinking, half dreaming, happier than words can express. (Ch. XXII) (69) "That was his most perfect idea of heaven's happiness: mine was rocking in a rustling green tree, with a west wind blowing, and bright white clouds flitting rapidly above; and not only larks, but throstles, and blackbirds, and linnets, and cuckoos pouring out music on every side, and the

34

THE IMAGERY OF THE ELEMENTS

ute to these two ideas: the tree, the wind, the clouds, the birds, the undulating moors, the long, waving grass. The dynamic vertieality of these images equals the strong principle of spiritualization in Cathy's personality. Het narrative of one of the few happy visits to Linton concludes on the same notes of liberty and movement (70), the horse and its rider sharing the magic of the moment. 11.

Hareton

There is only one instance of the imagery of air to be found with reference to Hareton and this is in the form of a threat on Heathcliff's part, uttered after the death of Hindley (71). Hareton will be exposed to the full force of Heathcliff's hatred, as the stunted firs and gaunt thorns at Wuthering Heights have to bear the power of the north wind. The air as a symbol has no favourable aspects for Hareton. 12.

Linton

For Linton the movement of the air is not the breath of life (72). Rather it is associated with death. All the images in his idea of heaven's happiness are static (73). This is exactly the opposite of Cathy's picture of heaven, where the stress is on movement and, in its relation to the image of air, on sound. Linton "wanted all to lie in an ecstasy of peace . . ."; he "could not breathe" in Cathy's heaven. There is also the absence of the longing to rise: whereas Cathy likes to swing in her "breeze-rocked cradle", high among the branches of the trees, Linton prefers lying on a bank of heath, to feel close to the earth. moors seen at a distance, broken into cool dusky dells; but close by great swells of long grass undulating in waves to the breeze; and woods and sounding water, and the whole world awake and wild with joy. H e wanted all to lie in an ecstasy of peace; I wanted all to sparkle and dance in a glorious jubilee." (Ch. X X I V ) (70) "Minny and I went flying home as light as air; . . . ." (Ch. X X I V ) (71) "Now, m y bonny lad, you are mine\ A n d we'll see if one tree won't grow as crooked as another, with the same wind to twist it!" (Ch. XVII) (72) ". . . H e will go on, if I leave the window open a bit late in the evening. Oh! it's killing, a breath of night air! . . . " (Ch. X X I ) (73) . . . lying from morning till evening on a bank of heath in the middle of the moors, with the bees humming dreamily about among the bloom, and the larks singing high up overhead, and the blue sky and bright sun shining steadily and cloudlessly. That was his most perfect idea of heaven's happiness: (Ch. X X I V )

II THE IMAGERY OF WATER

1. Lockwood The imagery of water related to Lockwood takes two forms: snow, and the bog or swamp. Both are things to be avoided for they are associated with suffocation and death (1, 2, 3, 4). Lockwood's fear of sinking into a snow-filled pit is dynamically opposed to his brief enjoyment of the free air (5, 6). In the double perspective of height and depth, lightness and heaviness, rising and falling, his nature tends to the latter. Water (the passive element) and snow offer no resistance to the downward movement. In these passages the negative aspect of the element predominates.

(1) [I] arrived at Heathcliff's garden gate just in time to escape the first feathery flakes of a snow-shower. (Ch. II) (2) . . . I approached a window to examine the weather. A sorrowful sight I saw: dark night coming down prematurely, and sky and hills mingled in one bitter whirl of wind and suffocating snow. (Ch. II) (3) " . . . if you hear of me being discovered dead in a bog or pit full of snow, your conscience won't whisper that it is partly your fault?" (Ch. II) (4) We came to the chapel. I have passed it really in my walks, twice or thrice; it lies in a hollow, between two hills: an elevated hollow, near a swamp, whose peaty moisture is said to answer all the purposes of embalming on the few corpses deposited there. (Ch. Ill) (5) . . . at the first gleam of dawn, [I] took an opportunity of escaping into the free air, now clear and still, and cold as impalpable ice. My landlord hallooed for me to stop, . . . and offered to accompany me across the moor. It was well he did, for the whole hill-back was one billowy, white ocean; the swells and falls not indicating corresponding rises and depressions in the ground: . . . . (Ch. Ill) (6) The distance from the gate to the Grange is two miles: I believe I managed to make it four; what with losing myself among the trees, and sinking up to the neck in snow: a predicament which only those who have experienced it can appreciate. (Ch. Ill)

36 2. Ellen

THE IMAGERY OF THE ELEMENTS

Dean

In the passages related to Nelly the element of water is present in two forms: rain, and the brook or beck as she calls it. Rain has exclusively unpleasant associations; she cannot imagine anyone would want to be out in the rain (7, 8, 9, 12, 13, 14, 16). Rain represents the element of water in its depressive, negative aspect. There is no trace of the common symbolism of rain as an agent of purification or of (7) [Joseph] told me to put on my cloak and run to Gimmerton for the doctor and the parson. I could not guess the use that either would be of, then. However, I went, through wind and rain, . . . . (Ch. V) (8) The household went to bed; and I, too anxious to lie down, opened my lattice and put my head out to hearken, though it rained: . . . . (Ch. VI) (9) It was a very dark evening for summer: the clouds appeared inclined to thunder, and I said we had better all sit down; the approaching rain would be certain to bring him [Heathcliff] home without further trouble. (Ch. IX) (10) They sat together in a window whose lattice lay back against the wall, and displayed, beyond the garden trees and the wild green park, the valley of Gimmerton, with a long line of mist winding nearly to its top (for very soon after you pass the chapel, as you may have noticed, the sough that runs from the marshes joins a beck which follows the bend of the glen). (Ch. X) (11) Gimmerton chapel bells were still ringing; and the full, mellow flow of the beck in the valley came soothingly on the ear. It was a sweet substitute for the yet absent murmur of the summer foliage, which drowned that music about the Grange when the trees were in leaf. At Wuthering Heights it always sounded on quiet days following a great thaw or a season of steady rain. (Ch. XV) (12) On an afternoon in October, or the beginning of November - a fresh watery afternoon, when the turf and paths were rustling with moist, withered leaves, and the cold, blue sky was half hidden by clouds — dark grey streamers, rapidly mounting from the west, and boding abundant rain - I requested my young lady to forego her ramble, because I was certain of showers. (Ch. XXII) (13) . . . spreading my umbrella, I drew my charge underneath: for the rain began to drive through the moaning branches of the trees, and warned us to avoid delay. (Ch. XXII) (14) The rainy night had ushered in a misty morning - half frost, half drizzle - and temporary brooks crossed our path, gurgling from the uplands. My feet were thoroughly wetted; I was cross and low; exactly the humour suited for making the most of these disagreeable things. (Ch. XXIII) (15) He did not quit the house again that afternoon, and no one intruded on his solitude, till, at eight o'clock, I deemed it proper, though unsummoned, to carry a candle and his supper to him. . . . The fire had smouldered to ashes; the room was filled with the damp, mild air of the cloudy

THE IMAGERY OF WATER

37

fertility in these passages. Rather the accent is on protection against rain: a cloak (7), the house (9) , an umbrella (13), stout shoes (14) and closed windows (8, 16). Perhaps Nelly dislikes the rain because of its disturbing qualities. On the other hand the brook stands for the aspect of tranquillity of the element of water (10, 11, 15). The sound of the swift running beck has the soothing effect of soft music (11). Also Nelly hears in it the living voice of nature penetrating into the quiet room of Catherine, who is dying (11), and later into Heathcliff's silent room, when he has all but broken the bonds of natural life (15). In Nelly's speech the images of water are often mixed with those of earth; just as the element of air was principally present for her in a derivative form as smells, not in its primitive force, so the sound of running water is the most attractive aspect of this element for her. 3.

Joseph

There is only one relvant passage with reference to Joseph here and in it he is called "the old man", quite impersonally, but it is clear that none other than Joseph can be meant (17). Why then is he called "the old man", and this in the very passage in which he is shown to be so close to the heart of the story? After all, he claims to have seen Catherine and Heathcliff, on every rainy night. "The old man" seems invested with special powers, his vision is clarified by the age-old wisdom of humanity, and so he is chosen as an acceptable witness. The fact that he affirms to have seen Catherine and Heathcliff only on rainy nights points to his capacity to be moved by the dynamic qualities of the element of water. Oneirically Joseph, or "the old man" shares the element of water with the principal characters.

evening; and so still, that not only the murmur of the beck down Gimmerton was distinguishable, but its ripples and its gurgling over the pebbles, or through the large stones which it could not cover. (Ch. XXXIV) (16) The following evening was very wet: indeed it poured down, till daydawn; and, as I took my morning walk round the house, I observed the master's window swinging open, and the rain driving straight in. He cannot be in bed, I thought: those showers would drench him through! (Ch. XXXIV) (17) Idle tales, you'll say, and so say I. Yet that old man by the kitchen fire affirms he has seen two on 'em looking out of his chamber window, on every rainy night since his death: . . . . (Ch. XXXIV)

38

THE IMAGERY OF THE ELEMENTS

4. Earnshaw Mr. Earnshaw's death occurs on a rainy evening, as we read in Nelly's story (18). She is sent through wind and rain to fetch the doctor and the parson. The evening is not only wet, it is also wild and stormy. In this way the figure of Earnshaw is connected with the great air-andwater imagery of the novel. 5.

Hindley

There are no relevant passages. 6.

Catherine

All the water images in any way connected with Catherine are more than easy visualisations such as tears and rain; the dynamism of the element of water puts groups of images into action, into which her whole being is projected. The imagining of forms passes into the imagination of the element; in fact this is what enables the imagination to be really creative and to share the life of the living language. Rain is primarily a fertilizing agent and therefore related to the general symbolism of life. Catherine and Heathcliff, escaping to the moor in the pouring rain, can spend their pent-up energy there and find freedom and movement (19, 20). Catherine comes under the influence of a different world, at Thrushcross Grange. Her streaming hair is combed and dried; life is temporarily subdued (22). Like living water her emotions must find an outlet. Catherine's tears reflect now the tumultuous outburst of the storm on the moor, then again the soft murmur of the becks and brooks. All her tears are for (18) He [Joseph] told me to put on my cloak and run to Gimmerton for the doctor and the parson. I could not guess the use that either would be of, then. However, I went, through wind and rain, . . . . (Ch. V) (19) All day had been flooding with rain; we could not go to church, so Joseph must needs get up a congregation in the garret; . . . . (Ch. Ill) ( 2 0 ) . . . my companion [Heathcliff] . . . proposes that we should appropriate the dairywoman's cloak, and have a scamper on the moors, under its shelter. A pleasant suggestion - and then, if the surly old man [Joseph] come in, he may believe his prophecy verified - we cannot be damper, or colder, in the rain than we are here. (Ch. Ill) (21) How little did I dream that Hindley would ever make me cry so! My head aches, till I cannot keep it on the pillow; and still I can't give over. Poor Heathcliff! . . . (Ch. Ill) (22) Afterwards, they dried and combed her beautiful hair, and gave her a pair of enormous slippers, and wheeled her to the fire; . . . (Ch. VI)

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39

Heathcliff and the Heights, because to her they are the source of life itself (21, 23, 24, 25, 26, 30, 32, 33, 35). This operates even in her dreams (26) and states of half-consciousness (32). The climax in the imagery of water is reached together with the crucial point in the story of Heathcliff's disappearance (27, 28, 29, 30). In a desperate attempt to be with him in the world to which they both belong, Catherine goes out on to the moor and her paroxysm of weeping coincides with the atmospheric uproar. Both her tears and her refusal to take shelter from the rain constitute an act of repentance and participation in the purifying power of the element of water. When she is ill, rain and clouds are present in her feverish dreams about the moor (31). (23) "Did she say she was grieved?" he [Heathcliff] inquired, looking very serious. "She cried when I told her you were off again this morning." . . . (Ch. VII) (24) She lifted a mouthful to her lips; then she set it down again: her cheeks flushed, and the tears gushed over them. (Ch. VII) (25) Her eyes began to glisten, and her lids to twinkle . . . . She dropped down on her knees by a chair, and set to weeping in serious earnest. (Ch. VIII) (26) I broke my heart with weeping to come back to earth; and the angels were so angry that they flung me out into the middle of the heath on the top of Wuthering Heights; where I woke sobbing for joy. (Ch. IX) (27) She kept wandering to and fro, . . . ; and at length took up a permanent position on one side of the wall, near the road: where, heedless of my expostulations and the growling thunder, and the great drops that began to splash about her, she remained, calling at intervals, and then listening, and then crying outright. She beat Hareton, or any child, at a good passionate fit of crying. (Ch. IX) (28) But the uproar passed away in twenty minutes, leaving us all unharmed; excepting Cathy, who got thoroughly drenched for her obstinacy in refusing to take shelter, and standing bonnetless and shawlless to catch as much water as she could with her hair and clothes. She came in and lay down on the settle, all soaked as she was, . . . . (Ch. IX) (29) I, having vainly begged the wilful girl to rise and remove her wet things, left . . . her shivering, and betook myself to bed . . . . (Ch. IX) (30) "I never saw Heathcliff last night", answered Catherine, beginning to sob bitterly: "and if you do turn him out of doors, I'll go with him. But, perhaps, you'll never have an opportunity: perhaps he's gone." Here she burst into uncontrollable grief, and the remainder of her words were inarticulate. (Ch. IX) (31) "Bonny bird; wheeling over our heads in the middle of the moor. It wanted to get to its nest, for the clouds had touched the swells, and it felt rain coming . . ." (Ch. XII)

40

THE IMAGERY OF THE ELEMENTS

A s Catherine is dying we find n o longer the violent aspect of water as in heavy showers, but its gentle aspect expressed in the soft m u r m u r of small brooks, seeking their way to the valley (34). A f t e r h e r death there is an a b r u p t return to the harsher manifestations of the element (36), a cosmic rage a n d vengeance, killing off the tender life of spring. Catherine's life is mirrored in the element of water; she shares its dynamism. A f t e r her a n d Heathcliff s deaths they are seen by Joseph and the little shepherd boy on rainy nights (37). This is in accordance with the regenerative powers of the element. 7.

Heathcliff

T h e characters of both Heathcliff a n d Catherine have been inspired to a great extent by the imagery of water. Water is of all the elements the most ambiguous, associated with death and dissolution as well as life. In the symbolism of baptism, immersion stands for death, a n d the rising (32) . . . rousing from a dismal doze after a night of weeping, I lifted my hand to push the panels aside: it struck the table-top! I swept it along the carpet, and then memory burst in: my late anguish was swallowed in a paroxysm of despair. (Ch. XII) (33) . . . vaguely regarding the flowers, she let the tears collect on her lashes and stream down her cheeks unheeding. (Ch. XIII) (34) . . . the full, mellow flow of the beck in the valley came soothingly on the ear. It was a sweet substitute for the yet absent murmur of the summer foliage, which drowned that music about the Grange when the trees were in leaf. At Wuthering Heights it always sounded on quiet days following a great thaw or a season of steady rain. And of Wuthering Heights Catherine was thinking as she listened: . . . . (Ch. XV) (35) They were silent - their faces hid against each other, and washed by each other's tears. (Ch. XV) (36) In the evening, the weather broke; the wind shifted from south to north-east, and brought rain first, and then sleet and snow. On the morrow one could hardly imagine that there had been three weeks of summer: the primroses and crocuses were hidden under wintry drifts; . . . . (Ch. XVII) (37) Yet that old man by the kitchen fire affirms he has seen two on 'em, . . . on every rainy night since his death: and an odd thing happened to me about a month ago. I was going to the Grange one evening - a dark evening threatening thunder - and, just at the turn of the Heights, I encountered a little boy with a sheep and two lambs before him; he was crying terribly, and I supposed the lambs were skittish, and would not be guided. "What is the matter, my little man?" I asked. "They's Heathcliff, and a woman, yonder, under t' Nab", he blubbered, "un' Aw darnut pass 'em." (Ch. XXXIV)

THE IMAGERY OF WATER

41

from the water for the rebirth of the new man. For many poets water is the element of sadness and melancholy, no doubt because of its symbolic connections with death and dissolution. As the psalmist sang: "Super flumina Babylonis sedimus et flevimus". Catherine's and Heathcliff's tears are full of this universal melancholy, linking them to the incessant stream of life, for ever flowing and renewing itself. Heathcliff weeps tears of frustration and despair because he has lost Catherine (39, 41, 43, 44, 45, 46, 48, 49), and Catherine is his life (42). Heathcliff's passionate grief finds its cosmic counterpart in the snowstorm (38, 39, 40).

(38) "Half-an-hour?" he said, shaking the white flakes from his clothes; "I wonder you should select the thick of a snowstorm to ramble about in . . . !" (Ch. II) (39) He got on to the bed, and wrenched open the lattice, bursting, as he pulled at it, into an uncontrollable passion of tears. "Come in! come in!" he sobbed . . . . There was such an anguish in the gush of grief that accompanied this raving, that my compassion made me overlook its folly, . . . . (Ch. Ill) (40) The spectre showed a spectre's ordinary caprice; it gave no sign of being; but the snow and wind whirled wildly through. . . . . (Ch. Ill) (41) "She cried when I told her you were off again this morning." "Well, / cried last night", he returned, "and I had more reason to cry than she." (Ch. VII) (42) "Oh, Cathy! Oh, my life! how can I bear it?" was the first sentence he uttered. . . . . And now he stared at her so earnestly that I thought the very intensity of his gaze would bring tears into his eyes; but they burned with anguish: they did not melt. (Ch. XV) (43) " . . . Do come to me, Heathcliff." . . . At that earnest appeal he turned to her, looking absolutely desperate. His eyes wide, and wet at last, flashed fiercely on her; . . . . (Ch. XV) (44) "Yes, you may kiss me, and cry; and wring out my kisses and tears: they'll blight you - they'll damn you . . . ." (Ch. XV) (45) They were silent - their faces hid against each other, and washed by each other's tears. At least, I suppose the weeping was on both sides; as it seemed Heathcliff could weep on a great occasion like this. (Ch. XV) (46) People feel with their hearts, Ellen: and since he has destroyed mine, I have not power to feel for him: and I would not, though he groaned from this to his dying day, and wept tears of blood for Catherine . . . . (Ch. XVII) (47) His hair and clothes were whitened with snow, . . . . (Ch. XVII) (48) His forehead, that I once thought so manly, and that I now think so diabolical, was shaded with a heavy cloud; his basilisk eyes were nearly quenched by sleeplessness - and weeping, perhaps, for the lashes were wet then; . . . . (Ch. XVII)

42

THE IMAGERY OF THE ELEMENTS

When Catherine is buried there is a fall of snow (47, 50). Every communication with Catherine seems lost; water, the communicating element, is congealed. This implies the symbolic significance of congelation, in other words, it means death. When hope of a reunion is restored, it is expressed in images of fluidity: relief flows through his limbs (51). When Edgar is buried, Heathcliff opens the lid of Catherine's coffin and looks at her face; afterwards he is tranquil (52), the tranquillity of death reflected in the image of the frozen cheeks. Heathcliff is haunted by visions of Catherine; the images of fluidity return (53, 54). The sound of running water, the living voice of nature, reaches the silent room where he struggles to overcome the last barrier between his vision and himself (55). Flowing water finds a way even if a dam is raised to stop it; the psychic forces strive to penetrate from the depth of their imprisonment. A flood of rain, liberating all the forces contained in the element of water, marks the completion of the great change (56). (49) . . . his eyes rained down tears among the ashes, and he drew his breath in suffocating sighs. I stared full at him, and laughed scornfully. The clouded windows of hell flashed a moment towards me; the fiend which usually looked out, however, was so dimmed and drowned that I did not fear to hazard another sound of derision. (Ch. XVII) (50) The day she was buried, there came a fall of snow. In the evening I went to the churchyard. It blew bleak as winter - . . . . (Ch. XXIX) (51) There was another sigh, close at my ear. I appeared to feel the warm breath of it displacing the sleet-laden wind. I knew no living thing in flesh and blood was by; but, as certainly as you perceive the approach to some substantial body in the dark, though it cannot be discerned, so certainly I felt that Cathy was there: not under me, but on the earth. A sudden sense of relief flowed, from my heart, through every limb. (Ch. XXIX) (52) I dreamt I was sleeping the last sleep by that sleeper, with my heart stopped and my cheek frozen against hers. (Ch. XXIX) (53) One night, after the family were in bed, I heard him go downstairs, and out at the front door. I did not hear him re-enter, and in the morning I found he was still away. We were in April then: the weather was sweet and warm, the grass as green as showers and sun could make it, . . . . (Ch. XXXIV) (54) "I don't think it right to wander out of doors, . . . instead of being in bed: it is not wise, at any rate, this moist season . . . ." (Ch. XXXIV) (55) . . . the room was filled with the damp, mild air of the cloudy evening; and so still, that not only the murmur of the beck down Gimmerton was distinguishable, but its ripples and its gurgling over the pebbles, or through the large stones which it could not cover. (Ch. XXXIV)

THE IMAGERY OF WATER

43

8. Edgar Linton The element of water has no positive appeal for Edgar. Not for him the symbolic act of being steeped in rain, signifying purification and regeneration of the life-force. He does not share the dynamism of the element of water as the fons et origo of all creation (57, 58, 59). 9.

Isabella

The only instances of the imagery of water related to Isabella are to be found in that part of the story when she flies from Heathcliff and Wuthering Heights, and reaches the haven of Thrushcross Grange (60, 61). In these two passages, but especially in the second, there is an abundance of words expressing the movement of water: streaming, flowing, runnning etc. One could read the second passage as a description of a brook running across the moor, sometimes slowed down in its swift course by the obstacles in its way, but irresistibly moving on to its ultimate goal. Here Isabella shares briefly the dynamism of the (56) The following evening was very wet: indeed it poured down till daydawn; and, as I took my morning walk round the house, I observed the master's window swinging open, and the rain driving straight in. He cannot be in bed, I thought: those showers would drench him through! He must either be up or out. But I'll make no more ado, I'll go boldly and look! Having succeeded in obtaining entrance with another key, I ran to unclose the panels, for the chamber was vacant; quickly pushing them aside, I peeped in. Mr. Heathcliff was there - laid on his back. His eyes met mine so keen and fierce, I started; and then he seemed to smile. I could not think him dead: but his face and throat were washed with rain; the bedclothes dripped, and he was perfectly still. (Ch. XXXIV) (57) "And cried for mamma at every turn", I added, ". . . and sat at home all day for a shower of rain. Oh, Heathcliff. you are showing a poor spirit!" (Ch. VII) (58) "Isabella and Edgar Linton talked of calling this afternoon", she said, at the conclusion of a minute's silence. "As it rains. I hardly expect them; " (Ch. VIII) (59) On her [Cathy's] seventeenth birthday, he did not visit the churchyard: it was raining, . . . . (Ch. XXV) (60) . . . her hair streamed on her shoulders, dripping with snow and water; . . . [her] frock was of light silk, and clung to her with wet, and her feet were protected merely by thin slippers; add to this a deep cut under one ear, which only the cold prevented from bleeding profusely, . . . (Ch. XVII) (61) . . . blest as a soul escaped from purgatory, I bounded, leaped, and flew down the steep road; then, quitting its windings, shot direct across the moor, rolling over banks, and wading through marshes; precipitating myself, in fact, towards the beacon light of the Grange. (Ch. XVII)

44

THE IMAGERY OF THE ELEMENTS

element. Water is the element that dissolves and at the same time fertilizes. Isabella's flight brings a corrupt stage of life to an end and is the creative moment of whatever good will happen to her. 10.

Cathy

Instances of water-imagery related to Cathy only appear when she grows into a young woman (62, 63). The accent is on movement by the combined forces of wind and water. Cathy, who has never known a mother, instinctively expresses her need in maternal images such as the rustling tree which is to her a cradle rocked by the breeze, or a bark sailing on the waters. The last image is strengthened by the "great swells of long grass undulating in waves to the breeze". This movement, the gentle rocking of a boat carried by the waves, is happiness to her, because it satisfies a fundamental need. 11.

Hareton

The only instances of the imagery of water related to Hareton link him to the great events in the last chapter (64, 65). Heathcliff's death has released in Hareton purifying emotions, like water springing from a

(62) On an afternoon in October, or the beginning of November - a fresh watery afternoon, when the turf and paths were rustling with moist, withered leaves, and the cold, blue sky was half hidden by clouds - dark grey streamers, rapidly mounting from the west, and boding abundant rain - I requested my young lady to forego her ramble because I was certain of showers. She refused; . . . . (Ch. XXII) ( 6 3 ) . . . mine was rocking in a rustling green tree, with a west wind blowing, and bright white clouds flitting rapidly above; and not only larks, but throstles, and blackbirds, and linnets, and cuckoos pouring out music on every side, and the moors seen at a distance, broken into cool dusky dells; but close by great swells of long grass undulating in waves to the breeze; and woods and sounding water, and the whole world awake and wild with joy. He wanted all to lie in an ecstasy of peace; I wanted all to sparkle, and dance in a glorious jubilee. I said his heaven would be only half alive; and he said mine would be drunk: I said I should fall asleep in his; . . . . (Ch. XXIV) (64) . . . [Hareton] sat by the corpse all night, weeping in bitter earnest . . . [he] bemoaned him with that strong grief which springs naturally from a generous heart, . . . . (Ch. XXXIV) (65) Hareton, with a streaming face, dug green sods, and laid them over the brown mound himself: at present it is as smooth and verdant as its companion mounds - . . . . (Ch. XXXIV)

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45

well, an ability to love, and thus breaking down the barriers of the prison of his emotions. The power of love is like the fertilizing power of water, making a blessed green spot of repose for the recipient of that love. 12.

Linton

There are no relevant passages.

Ill THE IMAGERY OF EARTH

1.

Lockwood

Oneirically Lockwood is represented as a traveller, seeking escape. Emotional disturbances have brought him to this lonely spot. Once he has settled at Thrushcross Grange the pattern repeats itself: his attempts at communication meet with rejection and defeat. On his first visit to Wuthering Heights he still remarks on such things as the grass growing up between the flags (1). On the second occasion his enthusiasm is already dampened: the road offers real inconveniences and the landscape has a hostile aspect (2, 3).The tiresome journey leads only to an unwilling reception (4). His last bit of confidence is destroyed; his anxiety and stress are mirrored in the images of being lost on the moors, sinking into the marshes, the churchyard near the swamp, having to walk the earth as a punishment, and the necessity of having a guide or finding some help to get out of this labyrinth (5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12). The idea of sinking into the snow and getting lost is even carried over into his dream (9).

(1) Here we have the whole establishment of domestics, I suppose . . . . No wonder the grass grows up between the flags, . . . . (Ch. I) (2) I had half a mind to spend it [the afternoon] by my study fire, instead of wading through heath and mud to Wuthering Heights. (Ch. II) (3) On that bleak hill-top the earth was hard with a black frost, . . . . (Ch. II) (4) . . . running up the flagged causeway bordered with straggling gooseberry bushes, [I] knocked vainly for admittance, . . . . (Ch. II) (5) "Do you know that you run a risk of being lost in the marshes? People familiar with these moors often miss their road on such evenings; . . . (Ch. II) (6) "I don't think it possible for me to get home now without a guide . . . the roads will be buried already; and, if they were bare, I could scarcely distinguish a foot in advance." (Ch. II)

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47

After the illness, which is the result of his adventure into the bewildering world of Wuthering Heights, Lockwood's thoughts are still occupied with the state of the roads (13); they restrict him in his wish to escape. When he revisits the neighbourhood, he has clearly put some distance between himself and his experiences of last winter. He looks at the scene now with the eyes of a tourist (14, 15, 16). His sense of security (7) "Do point out some landmarks by which I may know my way home; " (Ch. II) (8) "Then, if you hear of me being discovered dead in a bog or pit full of snow, your conscience won't whisper that it is partly your fault?" (Ch. II) (9) I thought it was morning; and I had set out on my way home, with Joseph for a guide. The snow lay yards deep in our road; and, as we floundered on, my companion . . . . (Ch. Ill) (10) We came to the chapel. I have passed it really in my walks, twice or thrice; it lies in a hollow, between two hills: an elevated hollow, near a swamp, whose peaty moisture is said to answer all the purposes of embalming on the few corpses deposited there. (Ch. Ill) (11) "She told me she had been walking the earth those twenty years; a just punishment for her mortal transgressions, I've no doubt!" (Ch. Ill) (12) . . . the whole hill-back was one billowy, white ocean; the swells and falls not indicating corresponding rises and depressions in the ground: many pits, at least, were filled to a level; and entire ranges of mounds, the refuse of the quarries, blotted from the chart which my yesterday's walk left pictured in my mind. I had remarked on one side of the road, at intervals of six or seven yards, a line of upright stones, continued through the whole length of the barren: these were erected, and daubed with lime on purpose to serve as guides in the dark; and also when a fall, like the present, confounded the deep swamps on either hand with the firmer path; but, excepting a dirty dot pointing up here and there, all traces of their existence had vanished: and my companion found it necessary to warn me frequently to steer to the right or left, when I imagined I was following, correctly, the windings of the road. (Ch. Ill) (13) "Oh! these bleak winds and bitter northern skies, and impassable roads, " (Ch. X) (14) . . . [I] proceeded down the valley alone. The grey church looked greyer, and the lonely churchyard lonelier. I distinguished a moor sheep cropping the short turf on the graves. (Ch. XXXII) (15) In winter nothing more dreary, in summer nothing more divine, than those glens shut in by hills, and those bluff, bold swells of heath. (Ch. XXXII) (16) . . . I turned away and made my exit, rambling leisurely along, with the glow of a sinking sun behind, and the mild glory of a rising moon in front . . ., as I quitted the park, and climbed the stony by-road branching off to Mr. Heathcliff's dwelling. (Ch. XXXII)

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is strengthened by the fact that he can see the road distinctly (17). The churchyard with the three graves holds for him a melancholy charm: a picturesque country tale has found its conclusion here (18). Any flights of fancy are firmly checked by the earth which has irrevocably closed over the dead. 2.

Ellen Dean

If the aspect of the element of earth that has a special significance for Lockwood is the road, for Nelly it is stone. Nearly all the images of a terrestrial kind related to Nelly are concerned with stone floors, the frozen ground and bare rocks. Stone seems to have an unconscious appeal for her; the stone floor in the kitchen at Wuthering Heights is the object of her particular care and pride (21). Heathcliff's cruelty is described in stone images (19, 24). The beginning of Chapter X I (25, (17) I could see every pebble on the path, and every blade of grass, by that splendid moon. (Ch. X X X I I ) (18) I sought, and soon discovered, the three head-stones on the slope next the moor: the middle one grey, and half buried in heath; Edgar Linton's only harmonised by the turf, and moss creeping up its foot; Heathcliff's still bare. I lingered round them, under that benign sky: watched the moths fluttering among the heath and harebells; listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass; and wondered how any one could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth. (Ch. X X X I V ) (19) [Nelly speaking to Lockwood of Heathcliff:] . . . rough as a saw-edge, and hard as whinstone! (Ch. IV) (20) [Nelly telling Lockwood about the arrival of Hindley's wife:] . . . his wife expressed such pleasure at the white floor . . . . (Ch. VI) (21) [Nelly in the kitchen at Wuthering Heights on Chrismas Eve:] . . . [I] admired . . . above all, the speckless purity of my particular care - the scoured and well-swept floor. (Ch. VII) (22) [Nelly tells Lockwood about Edgar's visits to Catherine:] . . . a horse's feet were heard on the flags, and having knocked gently, young Linton entered, (Ch. VIII) (23) Doubtless Catherine marked the difference between her friends, as one came in and the other went out. The contrast resembled what you see in exchanging a bleak, hilly coal country for a beautiful fertile valley; . . . . (Ch. VIII) (24) Had it been dark, I dare say, he would have tried to remedy the mistake by smashing Hareton's skull on the steps; but, we witnessed his salvation; (Ch. IX) (25) It was about the period that my narrative has reached: a bright frosty afternoon; the ground bare, and the road hard and dry. I came to a stone

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49

26, 27) is particularly revealing as far as the language of the images is concerned. Nelly revisits Wuthering Heights, anxious to see how Hindley and Hareton are getting on. There are many images of a terrestrial kind, solid, hard as the frozen earth itself. Seeing the stone that serves as a guide-post starts off a whole train of visions from the past; there are numerous words expressing the idea of hardness; for a moment she even imagines looking into the eyes of the young Hindley, sitting on the hard ground, with a piece of slate in his hand. This vision is so strong that when she approaches Wuthering Heights she has the impression that the ghostly child of her imagination is looking through the gate. Only reflection can make it clear to her that the child must be Hareton. The following scene is as a nightmare: the child cursing and throwing a stone, the appearance of Heathcliff on the door stones, where she had expected to see Hindley. She turns and runs down the road. Not until she reaches the guide-post again (where the train of illusions started) does the feeling of panic subside. The dream has come full circle. In the grip of strong emotions Nelly's speech turns to the harsher aspects of the element of earth, to stone and rocks. Also in what follows (28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36) the (grave-) where the highway branches off on to the moor at your left hand; a rough sand-pillar, with the letters W.H. cut on its north side, on the east, G., and on the south-west, T.G. It serves as a guide-post to the Grange, and Heights, and village. The sun shone yellow on its grey head, reminding me of summer: and I cannot say why, but all at once, a gush of child's sensations flowed into my heart. Hindley and I held it a favourite spot twenty years before. I gazed long at the weather-worn block; and stooping down, perceived a hole near the bottom still full of snail-shells and pebbles, which we were fond of storing there with more perishable things; and, as fresh as reality, it appeared that I beheld my early playmate seated on the withered turf: his dark, square head bent forward, and his little hand scooping out the earth with a piece of slate. (Ch. XI) (26) He [Hareton] . . . picked up a large flint . . . . He raised his missile to hurl it; . . . the stone struck my bonnet; . . . . (Ch. XI) (27) . . . but, instead of Hindley, Heathcliff appeared on the door stones; and I turned directly and ran down the road as hard as ever I could race, making no halt till I gained the guide-post, and feeling as scared as if I had raised a goblin. (Ch. XI) (28) The place of Catherine's interment . . . was dug on a green slope in a corner of the kirkyard, where the wall is so low that heath and bilberry plants have climbed over it from the moor; and peat mould almost buries it. Her husband lies in the same spot now; and they have each a simple headstone above, and a plain grey block at their feet, to mark the graves. (Ch. XVI)

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stone and the barren earth occur frequently. The imagery of earth related to Nelly shows nothing of the idea of fertility with which the element is usually associated. The aspect of impenetrability is rather more prominent (23). Perhaps because there exists an unconscious affinity with stone in her personality Nelly is so utterly indignant when the story is spread in the village that she has sunk into the Blackhorse marsh (37). Being drawn into the bog, unable to offer resistance, seems to her the most outrageous of fates. 3.

Joseph

There are no relevant passages. 4. Old Mr. Earnshaw There are no relevant passages.

(29) The abrupt descent of Penistone Craggs particularly attracted her [Cathy's] notice; . . . I explained that they were bare masses of stone, with hardly enough earth in their clefts to nourish a stunted tree. (Ch. XVIII) (30) [Nelly speaking of Hareton:] Good things lost amid a wilderness of weeds, to be sure, whose rankness far overtopped their neglected growth; yet, notwithstanding, evidence of a wealthy soil, that might yield luxuriant crops under other and favourable circumstances. (Ch. XVIII) (31) On one side of the road rose a high, rough bank, where hazels and stunted oaks, with their roots half-exposed, held uncertain tenure: the soil was too loose for the latter; and strong winds had blown some nearly horizontal. (Ch. XXII) (32) "Look, miss!" I exclaimed, pointing to a nook under the roots of one twisted tree. "Winter is not here yet. There's a little flower, up yonder, the last bud from the multitude of bluebells that clouded those turf steps in July with a lilac mist " (Ch. XXII) (33) "Miss Cathy, I'll knock the lock off with a stone: you won't believe that vile nonsense. You can feel in yourself, it is impossible that a person should die for the love of a stranger." (Ch. XXII) (34) I closed the door, and rolled a stone to assist the loosened lock in holding it; (Ch. XXII) (35) The moon shone bright; a sprinkling of snow covered the ground, . . . . (Ch. XXIV) (36) It was a mistry afternoon, but the February sun shone dimly, and we could just distinguish the two fir-trees in the yard, and the sparely scattered gravestones. (Ch. XXV) (37) "I never thought but you were sunk in the Blackhorse marsh, . . . ." . . . "Your master is a true scoundrel!" I replied. "But he shall answer for it. He needn't have raised that tale: . . . ." (Ch. XXVIII)

THE IMAGERY OF EARTH

5.

51

Hindley

No conclusions are possible from the few passages (38, 39). 6.

Catherine

The earth images in connection with Catherine fall into two categories. In the images of the first group those aspects of Catherine's nature are at work that express her longing for the Heights; they represent the dynamic forces of her instinctive life. In the second group those of her exterior world are at work in the opposite direction. There is a continuous tension between these two extremes, the principle of ascent standing for the victory of Catherine's aspirations towards the free and real life of the heights, which is the only possible life for her; the principle of descent denoting a denial of her psychic powers in favour of a life in the valley, a terrestrial life imposed on her by social considerations, taking its destructive course towards dissolution in the grave. The dualism in Catherine's soul is - in these passages - expressed in terms of the element (earth) and of movement (ascent or descent). All the images move along a vertical axis between the two poles of elation, of liberation on the one hand (40, 44, 46, 49, 52, 53, 54), and (38) " . . . I've just crammed Kenneth [the doctor], head-downmost, in the Blackhorse marsh; . . . ." (Ch. IX) (39) Hindley and I held it a favourite spot twenty years before. I gazed long at the weather-worn block; and, stooping down, perceived a hole near the bottom still full of snail-shells and pebbles, which we were fond of storing there . . . . (Ch. XI) (40) . . . the angels were so angry that they flung me out into the middle of the heath on the top of Wuthering Heights; where I woke sobbing for joy. (Ch. IX) (41) [The doctor] told me to . . . take care she did not throw herself downstairs or out of the window; . . . . (Ch. IX) (42) "Nelly, help me to convince her of her madness. Tell her what Heathcliff is: an unreclaimed creature, without refinement, without cultivation: an arid wilderness of furze and whinstone . . . ." (Ch. X) (43) "Among his books!" she cried, confounded. "And I dying! I on the brink of the grave!" (Ch. XII) (44) " . . . it's a lapwing's. Bonny bird; wheeling over our heads in the middle of the moor." (Ch. XII) (45) As soon as ever I had barred the door, utter blackness overwhelmed me, and I fell on the floor . . . I thought as I lay there, with my head against that table leg, and my eyes dimly discerning the grey square of the window, that I was enclosed in the oak-panelled bed at home; and my heart ached with some great grief . . . ; my misery arose from the separation that Hindley had ordered between me and Heathcliff. I was laid alone, for the first time;

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of anxiety, of destruction on the other hand (41, 42, 43, 45, 47, 50, 51). The images of earth and movement in these passages are consistently related to psychic realities. 7.

Heathcliff

The imagery of earth in connection with Heathcliff is not very rich, but it follows much the same pattern as in the case of Catherine. The

and, rousing from a dismal doze after a night of weeping, I lifted my hand to push the panels aside: it struck the table-top! I swept it along the carpet, and then memory burst in: . . . . You may fancy a glimpse of the abyss where I grovelled! (Ch. XII) (46) "I'm sure I should be myself were I once among the heather on those hills " (Ch. XII) (47) "I'll not lie there by myself: they may bury me twelve feet deep, and throw the church down over me, but I won't rest till you are with me. I never will!" (Ch. XII) (48) "Catherine, what have you done?" commenced the master. "Am I nothing to you any more? Do you love that wretch Heath —" "Hush!" cried Mrs. Linton. "Hush, this moment! You mention that name and I end the matter instantly, by a spring from the window!" (Ch. XII) (49) "What you touch at present you may have; but my soul will be on that hill-top before you lay hands on me again. I don't want you, Edgar: . . . ." (Ch. XII) (50) "Why shouldn't you suffer? I do! Will you forget me? Will you be happy when I am in the earth? Will you say twenty years hence, 'That's the grave of Catherine Earnshaw. I loved her long ago, and was wretched to lose her; but it is past.' " (Ch. XV) (51) "I'm not wishing you greater torment than I have, Heathcliff. I only wish us never to be parted: and should a word of mine distress you hereafter, think I feel the same distress underground, and for my own sake, forgive me!" (Ch. XV) (52) "I'm tired, tired of being enclosed here. I'm wearying to escape into that glorious world, and to be always there: not seeing it dimly through tears, and yearning for it through the walls of an aching heart; but really with it, and in i t . . . I shall be incomparably beyond and above you all . . . ." (Ch. XV) (53) The place of Catherine's interment . . . was dug on a green slope . . . . (Ch. XVI) (54) Being alone, and conscious two yards of loose earth was the sole barrier between us, I said to myself - I'll have her in my arms again! . . . I was on the point of attaining my object, when it seemed that I heard a sigh from some one above, close at the edge of the grave, and bending down . . . I felt that Cathy was there: not under me, but on the earth . . . . (Ch. XXIX)

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53

moors, the heights are his world, intruders are not welcome (55, 56, 57, 58). Catherine was his early companion on the moors; with Isabella he walks in the plantation in the valley (59). When Catherine is dead, Heathcliff experiences her death as a falling or sinking into the depths (60). When he is deprived of hope and possessed by fear, the vertical dynamism of the images is reversed. Life is imagined as an ascent, death as a descent. In the earth is annihilation (61, 62). Then he receives a call from above the earth (63). This message turns his thoughts away from the grave and he runs to the Heights, secure in the belief that Catherine is awaiting him there. After his death he is buried, as he had wished, next to Catherine. But, according to the little shepherd boy he walks, not in the valley, but on the heights (64). As in the case of Catherine, the earth images

(55) "Do you know that you run a risk of being lost in the marshes? People familiar with these moors often miss their road on such evenings; . . . !" (Ch. II) (56) "I hope it will be a lesson to you, to make no more rash journeys on these hills, " (Ch. II) (57) . . . it was one of their chief amusements to run away to the moors in the morning and remain there all day, . . . . (Ch. VI) (58) . . . he carried his ill-humour on to the moors; . . . . (Ch. VII) (59) . . . she and Heathcliff were walking in the plantation at the back of your house, above two hours; . . . . (Ch. XII) (60) "Be with me always - take any form — drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!" (Ch. XVI) (61)1 got the sexton . . . to remove the earth off her coffin-lid, and I opened it. I thought, once, I would have stayed there, when I saw her face again - it is hers yet - he had hard work to stir me; but he said it would change, if the air blew on it, and so I struck one side of the coffin loose, and covered it up: . . . . (Ch. XXIX) (62) . . . yesternight I was tranquil. I dreamt I was sleeping the last sleep by that sleeper, with my heart stopped and my cheek frozen against hers . . . . "And if she had been dissolved into earth, or worse, what would you have dreamt of then?" I said. - "Of dissolving with her, and being more happy still!" he answered. (Ch. XXIX) (63) I heard a sigh from some one above, close at the edge of the grave, and bending down . . . not under me, but on the earth. (Ch. XXIX) (64) I was going to the Grange one evening . . . and, just at the turn of the Heights, I encountered a little boy with a sheep and two lambs before him; he was crying terribly, . . . "They's Heathcliff, and a woman, yonder, under t' Nab", he blubbered, "un' Aw darnut pass 'em." I saw nothing; but neither the sheep nor he would go on; so I bid him take the road lower down . . . . (Ch. XXXIV)

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related to Heathcliff move along a vertical axis between the poles of height, corresponding to the psychic reality of life, and depth, corresponding to the psychic reality of death. 8. Edgar Linton

In the case of Edgar Linton the poles of the vertical axis of the imagination are reversed: life is in the depth of the valley, at Thrushcross Grange; death is in the grave dug on the high moor (65). The earth will provide his last home, protecting him from the storms and tempests raging round the Heights. For Edgar there will be no mystic call to rise from the grave; while he is anticipating his last journey to the hill churchyard, his life has already thinned out into a dream, a memory (66). 9.

Isabella

For Isabella as for Edgar life at the Heights is unthinkable, a living death. The feeling of freedom, of rebirth, comes for her with the return to the Grange, when she has succeeded in escaping from Wuthering Heights. The inverted dynamism of height is very strong here and signifies a decrease in intensity of the life-force (67). 10.

Cathy

From childhood Cathy is fascinated by the heights of Penistone Crags (68, 69, 70, 71). Her day-dreams about the Crags and the Fairy Cave

(65) . . . he spent a life of entire seclusion within the limits of his park and grounds; only varied by solitary rambles on the moors, and visits to the grave of his wife, . . . . (Ch. XVII) (66) "Ellen, I've been very happy with my little Cathy. Through winter nights and summer days she was a living hope at my side. But I've been as happy musing by myself among those stones, under that old church: lying, through the long June evenings, on the green mound of her mother's grave, and wishing, yearning for the time when I might lie beneath it." (Ch. XXV) (67) . . . blest as a soul escaped from purgatory, I bounded, leaped, and flew down the steep road; then, quitting its windings, shot direct across the moor, rolling over banks, and wading through marshes: precipitating myself, in fact, towards the beacon light of the Grange. And far rather would I be condemned to a perpetual dwelling in the infernal regions, than, even for one night, abide beneath the roof of Wuthering Heights again. (Ch. XVII) (68) The abrupt descent of Penistone Craggs particularly attracted her notice; especially when the setting sun shone on it and the topmost heights,

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55

mark the transition stage between her childhood and young-womanhood. She is not satisfied with Ellen's matter-of-fact explanations that they are simply bare masses of stone. Her father, being afraid for her sake of the dangers that lie on the way to the heights, wants to keep her away from them. It is left to Hareton to guide her on her first journey into these mysterious regions. Together with Hareton she crosses the threshold of the cave, into the heart of the hills; this experience, with Hareton as the "gardien du seuil", is the beginning of a synthesis between two very different human beings. However, before they can attain harmony the demonic powers of the ruler of these high regions must be overcome (72). The point where the evil powers are about to be subdued is marked by Cathy persuading Hareton to make her a garden, a cultivated, ordered garden instead of the straggling rows of gooseberry bushes (73). 11.

Hareton

The history of Hareton is briefly contained in three earth-images: the stone, the mountain-cave and the garden; corresponding with three stages of life: childhood, adolescence and adult life.

and the whole extent of landscape besides lay in shadow. (Ch. XVIII) (69) One of the maids mentioning the Fairy Cave, quite turned her head with a desire to fulfil this project: she teased Mr. Linton about it; and he promised she should have the journey when she got older. But Miss Catherine measured her age by months, and, "Now, am I old enough to go to Penistone Craggs?" was the constant question in her mouth. The road thither wound close by Wuthering Heights. Edgar had not the heart to pass it; so she received as constantly the answer, "Not yet, love: not yet." (Ch. XVIII) (70) Catherine told Hareton who she was, and where she was going; and asked him to show her the way; finally, beguiling him to accompany her. He opened the mysteries of the Fairy Cave, . . . . (Ch. XVIII) (71) . . . being in disgrace, I was not favoured with a description of the interesting objects she saw. I could gather, however, that her guide had been a favourite till she hurt his feelings . . . . (Ch. XVIII) (72) . . . she dived into a hollow; and before I came in sight of her again, she was two miles nearer Wuthering Heights than her own home; and I beheld a couple of persons arrest her, one of whom I felt convinced was Mr. Heathcliff himself. (Ch. XXI) (73) I saw she had persuaded him to clear a large space of ground from currant and gooseberry bushes, and they were busy planning together an importation of plants from the Grange. (Ch. XXXIII)

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The stone, a piece of inorganic matter, seems farthest removed from conscious life; yet it is picked up intuitively by the child to express its feelings of hostility and aggression, making the stone into a symbol of his inner experience (74). The mountain-cave: Hareton opens up the mysteries of the Fairy Cave to Cathy. The arduous approach to the cave, the enlightening on what lies hidden in its dark interior remind one of the initiation rites of primitive tribes. Here Hareton guides Cathy into a conscious recognition of a spiritual kinship (75, 76). The garden: Cathy persuades Hareton to make a little garden for her at Wuthering Heights. Here the woman takes the lead. When we look upon the garden as a place where nature is subdued, ordered and enclosed, we can understand its symbolic meaning as the scene of processes of growing consciousness and maturity, a reconciliation of untamed (human) nature and ordered growth, a unification of part and counterpart. The making of the garden marks the beginning of a period of peace and happiness for Cathy and Hareton (77). 12.

Linton

In the case of Linton the earth images express his need of support. It (74) . . . he retreated . . . and picked up a large flint . . . . He raised his missile to hurl it; . . . the stone struck my bonnet; . . . . (Ch. XI) (75) He opened the mysteries of the Fairy Cave, and twenty other queer places. But, being in disgrace, I was not favoured with a description of the interesting objects she saw. (Ch. XVIII) (76) . . . I saw she had persuaded him to clear a large space of ground from currant and gooseberry bushes, and they were busy planning together an importation of plants from the Grange. (Ch. XXXIII) (77) . . . she beguiled Hareton . . . to dig and arrange her little garden, . . . . (Ch. XXXIV) (78) Linton had slid from his seat on to the hearth stone, and lay writhing . . . . (Ch. XXIII) (79) He said the pleasantest manner of spending a hot luly day was lying from morning till evening on a bank of heath in the middle of the moors, (Ch. XXIV) (80) . . . he lay on the heath, awaiting our approach, and did not rise till we came within a few yards. (Ch. XXVI) (81) With streaming face and an expression of agony, Linton had thrown his nerveless frame along the ground: he seemed convulsed with exquisite terror. (Ch. XXVII) (82) " . . . get up, Linton! Get up!" he shouted. "Don't grovel on the ground, there - up this moment!" - Linton had sunk prostrate again in another paroxysm of helpless fear, . . . . (Ch. XXVII)

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57

is his basic insecurity which makes him revert to the earth to sustain his failing strength. In his personality there is nothing of the vertical dynamism that strives to attain the heights (78, 79, 80, 81, 82).

IV THE IMAGERY OF FIRE

1.

Lockwood

The imagery of fire in the passages related to Lockwood is rather poor. There is nothing to be found here of the idea of fire as a symbol of destruction on the one hand and regeneration on the other. The fire is not linked in Lockwood's thought with the mystic concepts of purification or sublimation. Fire is an active element, just like air, whereas earth and water are felt to be passive. Fire is not submissive, but creative, expressing physical or spiritual energy. But Lockwood is not moved by this element. He does not resemble the thinker sitting before the fire, gazing into the flames, his elbows on his knees and his head supported in his hands, while the fire stirs up his dreams. He is content to enjoy the comfort and benefits of the fire, its genial warmth and pleasant glow (1, 3, 4, 6, 7, 11, 12). In (2) the absence of a comfortable fire in (1) . . . I observed no signs of roasting, boiling, or baking, about the huge fire-place; nor any glitter of copper saucepans and tin cullenders on the walls. One end, indeed, reflected splendidly both light and heat from ranks of immense pewter dishes, interspersed with silver jugs and tankards, towering row after row, on a vast oak dresser, to the very roof. (Ch. I) (2) Yesterday afternoon set in misty and cold. I had half a mind to spend it by my study fire, instead of wading through heath and mud to Wuthering Heights. On coming up from dinner, however, . . . , on mounting the stairs with this lazy intention, and stepping into the room, I saw a servant-girl on her knees, surrounded by brushes and coal-scuttles; and raising an infernal dust as she extinguished the flames with heaps of cinders. This spectacle drove me back immediately; . . . . (Ch. II) (3) He [Hareton] hailed me to follow him, and . . . we at length arrived in the huge, warm, cheerful apartment, where I was formerly received. It glowed delightfully in the radiance of an immense fire, compounded of coal, peat, and wood; . . . . (Ch. II) (4) The dismal spiritual atmosphere overcame, and more than neutralised the glowing physical comforts round me; and I resolved to be cautious how I ventured under those rafters a third time. (Ch. II)

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his study drives him out to Wuthering Heights. After his disturbed night at Wuthering Heights he is glad to find even a few glimmering coals in the back-kitchen (5). The small fire helps to bring him back to earth after his recent encounter - in his dream - with the world of ghosts, because it is a sign of human habitation. In (10) it has more or less the same function, to show him the way to the inhabited part of the house. Only in (8, 9) where the influence of his recent experiences, and later also the impact of Nelly's story on his imagination combine with the fascinating nature of the fire, does he show something of the concentrated energy of the dreamer before the fire. 2. Ellen Dean At first (13, 14, 15), before there have been any dramatic developments, we are shown nothing more than Nelly's delight in the benefits of a

(5) I descended cautiously to the lower regions, and landed in the back kitchen, where a gleam of fire, raked compactly together, enabled me to rekindle my candle. (Ch. Ill) (6) Having no desire to be entertained by a cat-and-dog combat. I stepped forward briskly, as if eager to partake the warmth of the hearth, and innocent of any knowledge of the interrupted dispute. (Ch. Ill) (7) . . . benumbed to my very heart, I dragged upstairs; whence, after putting on dry clothes, and pacing to and fro thirty or forty minutes, to restore the animal heat, I am adjourned to my study, feeble as a kitten: almost too much so to enjoy the cheerful fire and smoking coffee which the servant has prepared for my refreshment. (Ch. Ill) (8) The worthy woman bustled off, and I crouched nearer the fire; my head felt hot, and the rest of me chill: moreover I was excited, almost to a pitch of foolishness, through my nerves and brain. (Ch. IV) (9) Thus interrupting herself, the housekeeper rose, and proceeded to lay aside her sewing; but I felt incapable of moving from the hearth, and I was very far from nodding. (Ch. VII) (10) I reached the Grange before sunset, and knocked for admittance; but the family had retreated into the back premises, I judged by one thin, blue wreath curling from the kitchen chimney, and they did not hear. (Ch. XXXII) (11) I bid her [the housekeeper] be composed . . . . No sweeping and dusting, only a good fire and dry sheets were necessary. (Ch. XXXII) (12) Both doors and lattices were open; and yet, as is usually the case in a coal district, a fine, red fire illumined the chimney: the comfort which the eye derives from it, renders the extra heat endurable. But the house of Wuthering Heights is so large, that the inmates have plenty of space for withdrawing out of its influence; . . . . (Ch. XXXII)

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good fire. For Nelly the fire is in the centre of life at Wuthering Heights. When she offers Heathcliff - who had been banished to the attic - a seat at the fireside, she means to draw him back into the circle of life. The great disruption of the peace at Wuthering Heights is also mirrored in fire-images (17). The comfortable, material fire is disturbed; the bolt is an immaterial fire, spreading no warmth; it is rather a dynamic weapon, a cold sword of light, which will leave the permanent wounds of its elemental rage. Next we must pay attention to the great number of times that Nelly uses metaphors of fire in her speech: (16, 18, 19, 21, 2 2 / 2 3 , 24, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 36, 38). Nearly all of them are expressions of (13) After playing lady's-maid to the new-comer, and putting my cakes in the oven, and making the house and kitchen cheerful with great fires, befitting Christmas eve, I prepared to sit down and amuse myself by singing carols, all alone; . . . . (Ch. VII) (14) "Make haste, Heathcliff!" I said, "the kitchen is so comfortable; and Joseph is upstairs: make haste, and let me dress you smart before Miss Cathy comes out, and then you can sit together, with the whole hearth to yourselves, and have a long chatter till bedtime." (Ch. VII) (15) He [Heathcliff] went down; I set him a stool by the fire, and offered him a quantity of good things; but he was sick and could eat little, . . . . (Ch. VII) (16) She [Catherine] never had power to conceal her passion, it always set her whole complexion in a blaze. (Ch. VIII) (17) . . . a huge bough fell across the roof, and knocked down a portion of the east chimney-stack, sending a clatter of stones and soot into the kitchen fire. We thought a bolt had fallen in the middle of us; . . . . (Ch. IX) (18) . . . tutored by Kenneth, and serious threats of a fit that often attended her rages, her brother allowed her whatever she pleased to demand, and generally avoided aggravating her fiery temper. (Ch. IX) (19) Not to grieve a kind master, I learned to be less touchy; and, for the space of half a year, the gun-powder lay as harmless as sand, because no fire came near to explode it. (Ch. X) (20) Now fully revealed by the fire and candlelight, I was amazed, more than ever, to behold the transformation of Heathcliff. (Ch. X) (21) A half-civilised ferocity lurked yet in the depressed brows and eyes full of black fire, but it was subdued; . . . . (Ch. X) (22) The conversation ceased. Mrs. Linton sat down by the fire, flushed and gloomy . . . . He [Heathcliff] stood on the hearth with folded arms, brooding on his evil thoughts; and in this position I left them to seek the master, . . . . (Ch. XI) (23) She lay still now, her face bathed in tears. Exhaustion of body had entirely subdued her spirit: our fiery Catherine was no better than a wailing child. (Ch. XII)

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passion or violence: (16, 18, 19, 21, 22, 23, 24, 26, 28, 29, 30, 31, 36, 38). Her barely concealed dislike of Catherine shows itself clearly in her choice of words: (16, 18, 23, 24, 29); particularly revealing in this respect is (23), through the spiteful comparison of the formerly fiery Catherine to "a wailing child". All these passages about Catherine's temper can be seen as projections of her own suppressed rage; she considers herself quite superior in character and self-discipline to Catherine; yet her position in the household does not allow her to dominate Catherine. Her feelings for Heathcliff are ambivalent. In some references to him (20, 21, 22) there is a recognition of his evil nature, yet in others she looks at him with compassion (28, 30). When it is certain that Catherine is dying, Nelly allows gentler feelings for her to arise; the object of her rage has nearly ceased to be a threat to her (26, 27). Another instance of Nelly's insincerity is to be found in (31), about the child Linton. Here again it is her own furious sense of inferiority that makes her strike out cruelly at the defenceless child. All at once too Isabella, who is dead by this time, possessed "a sparkling spirit", a thing we never heard from Nelly while Isabella was alive. As soon as death or illness have removed or reduced the causes of (24) "Ah! Nelly has played traitor", she exclaimed, passionately . . . . "Let me go, and I'll make her rue!" . . . A maniac's fury kindled under her brows; she struggled desperately to disengage herself from Linton's arms. I felt no inclination to tarry the event; . . . (Ch. XII) (25) The master told me to light a fire in the many-weeks-deserted parlour, and to set an easy-chair in the sunshine by the window; and then he brought her down, and she sat a long while enjoying the genial heat, . . . . (Ch. XIII) (26) The flash of her eyes had been succeeded by a dreamy and melancholy softness; . . . (Ch. XV) (27) "Must I read it [the letter], ma'am? It is from Mr. Heathcliff." There was a start and a troubled gleam of recollection, . . . . (Ch. XV) (28) . . . he [Heathcliff] stared at her so earnestly that I thought the very intensity of his gaze would bring tears into his eyes; but they burned with anguish: they did not melt. (Ch. XV) (29) Her [Catherine's] present countenance had a wild vindictiveness in its white cheek, and a bloodless lip and scintillating eye; . . . (Ch. XV) (30) "Do come to me, Heathcliff." . . . At that earnest appeal he turned to her, looking absolutely desperate. His eyes wide, and wet at last, flashed fiercely on her; . . . . (Ch. XV) (31) . . . his mother's eyes, save that, unless a morbid touchiness kindled them a moment, they had not a vestige of her sparkling spirit. (Ch. XX)

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her rage and jealousy, her images change and lose their fierce spite. In (32, 33) we are concerned with the clandestine letters from Linton to Cathy; they have been discovered by Nelly, who threatens to tell Cathy's father about the secret correspondence. There is a certain sensual enjoyment in her feeding the fire with the letters and seeing the flames rising high. Cathy is aware of this, too, for she calls Nelly "a cruel wretch", and tries to save some fragments from the hungry fire. Nelly uses the word "immolation"; and certainly she is the victor here, she feels the lust of power and gloats over the sacrifice; she cannot even let the ashes alone but must "inter" them under some fresh coals, to make sure that the sacrifice is complete. Again in (34) Linton is the victim of her suppressed spitefulness. The fire-imagery seems to bring out some hidden rage. The element of fire is closer to her than the elements of air and water. The idea of punishment through fire comes naturally to her (37). When Hareton and Cathy have formed a firm league against Heathcliff and the world at large, she thinks it more expedient to paint a romantic picture (for the benefit of Lockwood) of the two young people sitting before the fire (38); that she does not take them seriously is obvious from the word "children" which has a faintly insincere sound here. Of course, it also serves to make her feel superior. (32) . . . and then she poured out further frantic entreaties that I would burn them - do anything rather than show them. . . . I at length relented in a measure, and asked: "If I consent to burn them, will you promise faithfully neither to send nor receive a letter again, . . . ?" (Ch. XXI) (33) I . . . commenced dropping them in from an angle, and the flame curled up the chimney. "I will have one, you cruel wretch!" she screamed, darting her hand into the fire, and drawing forth some half consumed fragments, at the expense of her fingers. "Very well - and I will have some to exhibit to papa!" I answered, . . . . She emptied her blackened pieces into the flames, and motioned me to finish the immolation. It was done; I stirred up the ashes, and interred them under a shovelful of coals; . . . . (Ch. XXI) (34) I stirred up the cinders, and fetched a scuttleful myself. The invalid [Linton] complained of being covered with ashes; . . . . (Ch. XXIII) (35) And though frequently, when she looked in to bid me good-night, I remarked a fresh colour in her cheeks and a pinkness over her slender fingers; instead of fancying the hue borrowed from a cold ride across the moors, I laid it to the charge of a hot fire in the library. Ch. XXIII) (36) Cathy ran to me instead of Linton, and knelt down, and put her burning cheek on my lap, . . . . (Ch. XXVII) (37) "O, Lord, judge 'em, fur they's norther law nur justice among wer rullers!" - "No! or we should be sitting in flaming fagots, I suppose", retorted the singer. (Ch. XXXII)

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How much Nelly is dependent on the fire for security becomes clear in (39, 40). Heathcliff, approaching death, and unaware of his immediate surroundings, has let the fire smoulder to ashes. This wakes in Nelly sensations of acute discomfort and fear: she sends Joseph in to rekindle the fire. In the last passage (41) she makes a desperate attempt to bring Heathcliff back from the road to death, by stirring the kitchen fire and making so much noise that he will be roused from his apathy. Blowing the coals red hot is the expression of her unconscious fight to ward off death. 3.

Joseph

Joseph's place when he is seen in the house is near the fire (42, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48). Only his garden, i.e. his gooseberry and currant bushes, have a stronger hold on his affections (47). His idea of perfect contentment (44) is composed of three things: a good fire, a pot of ale, and a pipe - all three principles of warmth; his dreams are generated in the flames of fire and alcohol and in clouds of smoke. The fire has also a sacred quality: being tested by fire (43) prepares the path to salvation.

(38) Well, I reflected, there was never a pleasanter, or more harmless sight; and it will be a burning shame to scold them. The red firelight glowed on their two bonny heads, and revealed their faces, animated with the eager interest of children; . . . . (Ch. XXXIII) (39) He [Heathcliff] was leaning against the ledge of an open lattice, but not looking out: his face was turned to the interior gloom. The fire had smouldered to ashes; . . . I uttered an ejaculation of discontent at seeing the dismal grate, . . . . (Ch. XXXIV) (40) I hurried out in a foolish state of dread, and said to loseph: "The master wishes you to take him a light and rekindle the fire." For I dared not go in myself again just then. (Ch. XXXIV) (41) I had not courage to walk straight into the apartment; but I desired to divert him from his reverie, and therefore fell foul of the kitchen fire, stirred it, and began to scrape the cinders. It drew him forth sooner than I expected. He opened the door immediately, and said: " . . . Come in, and kindle me a fire, . . . . " - "I must blow the coals red first, before I can carry any", I replied, getting a chair and the bellows. (Ch. XXXIV) (42) Joseph was bending over the fire, peering into a large pan that swung above it; (Ch. XIII) (43) Joseph affirms he's sure he's [Heathcliff is] an altered man: that the Lord has touched his heart, and he is saved "so as by fire". (Ch. XVII) (44) Joseph seemed sitting in a sort of elysium alone, beside a roaring fire; a quart of ale on the table near him, bristling with large pieces of toasted oat-cake; and his black, short pipe in his mouth. (Ch. XXIII)

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4. Old Mr.

Earnshaw

Clearly the fire is not Mr. Earnshaw's element. In his old age he does not become "the wise old man by the fireside". On the contrary, he does not understand his children and alienates his son by preferring a stranger as his favourite. It irritates him to be forced into inactivity in the chimney-corner (49). On the evening he dies "a high wind that roared in the chimney" (Ch. V) symbolizes his release (50). 5.

Hindley

Through the influence of alcohol (or "fire-water", i.e. a symbol of the conjunction of opposites) Hindley's "paradise on the hearth" has changed into a hell, a place of cruelty and terror. The hearth is finally the place where he meets death. The images express the whole cycle from the creative to the destructive principle in the symbolism of fire (51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58). (45) I [Cathy] heard a malignant, crackly laugh by the fire, and turning, beheld that odious Joseph . . . . (Ch. XXIV) (46) . . . in wet weather he [Hareton] took to smoking with Joseph, and they sat like automatons, one on each side of the fire, . . . . (Ch. XXXII) (47) "It wur hard tuh gie up my awn hearthstun, bud Aw thowt Aw could do that! Bud, nah, shoo's taan my garden frough me, . . . ." (Ch. XXXIII) (48) "Idle tales, you'll say, and so say I. Yet that old man by the kitchen fire affirms he has seen two on 'em . . . on every rainy night since his [Heathcliff's] death: . . . ." (Ch. XXXIV) (49) In the course of time, Mr. Earnshaw began to fail. He had been active and healthy, yet his strength left him suddenly; and when he was confined to the chimney-corner he grew grievously irritable. (Ch. V) (50) He died quietly in his chair one October evening, seated by the fireside. (Ch. V) (51) . . . while Hindley and his wife basked downstairs before a comfortable fire - doing anything but reading their Bibles, I'll answer for it - Heathcliff, myself, and the unhappy plough-boy were commanded to take our Prayer-books, and mount: . . . . (Ch. Ill) (52) Hindley hurried up from his paradise on the hearth, and seizing one of us by the collar, and the other by the arm, hurled both into the back kitchen; (Ch. Ill) (53) Hareton was impressed with a wholesome terror of encountering either his wild-beast's fondness or his madman's rage; for in one he ran a chance of being squeezed and kissed to death, and in the other of being flung into the fire, or dashed against the wall; . . . . (Ch. IX) (54) "And, hark you, Heathcliff! clear you too, quite from my reach and hearing. I wouldn't murder you to-night, unless, perhaps, I set the house on fire: but that's as my fancy goes." (Ch. IX) (55) "Wash that stuff away; and mind the sparks of your candle - it is more than half brandy!" (Ch. XVII)

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6.

65

Catherine

The first two passages related to Catherine (59, 60) form a sharp oontrast with the third (61): the child Catherine, deprived of love and care, banished to the cold attic or shivering in a corner far from the warm hearth, turns rebellious. At Thrushcross Grange, where she is well cared for by Mrs. Linton, and where she basks before a radiant fire, she becomes quite a different girl. Even the timid little Lintons are touched and encouraged by her warmth. Desperate because she can't marry Heathcliff on account of his degradation by Hindley, she still recognizes in him a spiritual kinship (62). Fire, lightning are the symbols of energy, creative force, intensity of passion. When Heathcliff has gone, there is the picture of a starving Catherine crouching before a nearly extinguished fire, because the principle of energy has gone out of her life (63). Heathcliff is welcomed back and the thought of having a fire lighted is one of the first in her mind (64). In the quarrel between Heathcliff and (56) . . . Hindley stretched himself on the hearth-stone! (Ch. XVII) (57) This morning, when I came down, . . . Mr. Earnshaw was sitting by the fire, deadly sick; . . . ! (Ch. XVII) (58) The last glimpse I caught of him was a furious rush on his part, checked by the embrace of his host; and both fell locked together on the hearth (Ch. XVII) (59) . . . while Hindley and his wife basked downstairs before a comfortable fire - doing anything but reading their Bibles, I'll answer for it - Heathcliff, myself, and the unhappy plough-boy were commanded to take our Prayerbooks, and mount: . . . . (Ch. Ill) (60) . . . he compelled us so to square our positions that we might receive from the far-off fire a dull ray to show us the text of the lumber he thrust upon us. I could not bear the employment. I took my dingy volume by the scroop, and hurled it into the dog-kennel, . . . . (Ch. Ill) (61) Afterwards . . . they wheeled her to the fire; and I left her, as merry as she could be . . . ; and kindling a spark of spirit in the vacant blue eyes of the Lintons . . . . (Ch. VI) (62) "Whatever our souls are made of, his [Heathcliff's] and mine are the same; and Linton's is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire." (Ch. IX) (63) Coming down somewhat later than usual, I saw . . . Miss Catherine still seated near the fire-place. . . . Catherine called peevishly to me, "Ellen, shut the window. I'm starving!" And her teeth chattered as she shrunk closer to the almost extinguished embers. (Ch. IX) (64) "Set two tables here, Ellen: one for your master and Miss Isabella, being gentry; the other for Heathcliff and myself, being of the lower orders. Will that please you, dear? Or must I have a fire lighted elsewhere? . . . ." (Ch. X)

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Edgar, in which she chooses the side of Heathcliff, there is again the fire to help her, against Edgar (65). The fire in her blood, her uncontrolled passion is going to destroy her (66, 67). The fire that Edgar lights for her in the parlour (68) cannot save her from the ultimate destruction she has brought on herself. The creative/destructive symbolism of fire operates very clearly in these passages connected with Catherine. 7.

Heathcliff

The first passage (69) shows how much Heathcliff, in spite of his outwardly maintained indifference, is affected by his cruel treatment at the hands of Hindley. He longs for warmth, and not only the warmth of a fire, just as much as Catherine. But Heathcliff is rejected and not received into a living family-circle. When he comes back after some years' absence (70) he has learned to keep his passions in check, abiding his time. The hearth is his favourite place for thinking (71, 74, 75); many of his expressions of anger and passion are derived from the fire and its qualities (72, 73). (65) He [Edgar] tried to wrest the key from Catherine's grasp, and for safety she flung it into the hottest part of the fire; . . . . (Ch. XI) (66) Tossing about, she increased her feverish bewilderment to madness, and tore the pillow with her teeth; then raising herself up all burning, desired that I would open the window. (Ch. XII) (67) "Oh, I'm burning! I wish I were out of doors! I wish I were a girl again, half savage and hardy, and free, . . . and laughing at injuries, not maddening under them! Why am I so changed? Why does my blood rush into a hell of tumult at a few words? . . . !" (Ch. XII) (68) The master told me to light a fire in the many-weeks-deserted parlour, and to set an easy-chair in the sunshine by the window; and then he brought her down, and she sat a long while enjoying the genial heat, and, as we expected, revived by the objects round her: . . . . (Ch. XIII) (69) . . . we thought we would just go and see whether the Lintons passed their Sunday evenings standing shivering in corners, while their father and mother sat . . . burning their eyes out before the fire. (Ch. VI) (70) Now fully revealed by the fire and candlelight, I was amazed, more than ever, to behold the transformation of Heathcliff. . . . A half-civilised ferocity lurked yet in the depressed brows and eyes full of black fire, but it was subdued; . . . . (Ch. X) (71) He stood on the hearth with folded arms, brooding on his evil thoughts; (Ch. XI) (72) "Do you suppose I'm going with that blow burning in my gullet?' he thundered. "By hell, no! . . . " (Ch. XI) (73) "Do you reflect that all those words will be branded on my memory,

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When his anger has left him, at the end of his life, he lets the fire smoulder to ashes (76). His question to Nelly, to rekindle the fire (77), merely gives the impression that he submits to domestic routine; perhaps it symbolizes an attempt to bring things to an end. 8. Edgar

Linton

The first two passages (78, 79) are words spoken by Catherine to Edgar. They illustrate Catherine's exasperation at the absence of any spiritual kinship between Edgar and herself. In (80) the parlour fire and the winter sunshine symbolize once more the mildness of Edgar's feelings, as opposed to Catherine's fiery spirit, now broken to such an extent that she even enjoys the "genial heat" for a while. 9.

Isabella

The passages (81, 95) related to Isabella can be dismissed as having no special symbolic significance. Quite striking is the number of times that Isabella uses images of fire and passion in the story of her escape from Wuthering Heights told to Nelly in Ch. XVII (87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 93, 94). and eating deeper eternally after you have left me? . . . . Is it not sufficient for your infernal selfishness, that while you are at peace I shall writhe in the torments of hell?" (Ch. XV) (74) "I shall have that [Catherine's portrait] home. Not because I need it, but" - He turned abruptly to the fire, and continued, with what, for lack of a better word, I must call a smile - "I'll tell you what I did yesterday! . . . " (Ch. XXIX) (75) Mr. Heathcliff paused and wiped his forehead; his hair clung to it, wet with perspiration; his eyes were fixed on the red embers of the f i r e ; . . . . (Ch. XXIX) (76) He was leaning against the ledge of an open lattice, but not looking out: his face was turned to the interior gloom. The fire had smouldered to ashes; . . . . (Ch. XXXIV) (77) "Come in, and kindle me a fire, and do anything there is to do about the room." (Ch. XXXIV) (78) "Whatever our souls are made of, his [Heathcliff's] and mine are the same; and Linton's is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire." (Ch. IX) (79) "Your cold blood cannot be worked into a fever: your veins are full of ice-water; but mine are boiling, and the sight of such chillness makes them dance." (Ch. IX) (80) The master told me to light a fire in the many-weeks-deserted parlour, and to set an easy-chair in the sunshine by the window; and then he brought her down, and she sat a long while enjoying the genial heat, and, as we expected, revived by the objects round her: . . . . (Ch. XIII)

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Her action (89) of throwing her wedding-ring into the fire is a gesture of symbolic significance: the destruction of her love for Heathcliff; but on the whole the images are too affected to ring true. Quotations (91) and (96) are examples of this sort of laboured language. They do not convince. The last one (97) is probably the best: here the image of the soul escaped from purgatory expresses exactly the feeling of freedom that comes over Isabella when she has left the oppression of Wuthering Heights behind her. (81) . . . complaining that . . . we let the parlour fire go out on purpose to vex her, . . . . (Ch. X) (82) There was a great fire, and that was all the light in the huge apartment, . . . ! (Ch. XIII) (83) "You'll not be surprised, Ellen, at my feeling particularly cheerless, seated in worse than solitude on that inhospitable hearth, . . . ." (Ch. XIII) (84) . . . the minute I flung myself into a chair, by the fire, I nodded, and slept. (Ch. XIII) (85) . . . I [Nelly] would, at least, have swept the hearth, . . . . (Ch. XIV) (86) With that the speaker came forward to the fire, . . . . (Ch. XVII) (87) ". . . see how it [the blood] flows down my neck now! The fire does make it smart." (Ch. XVII) (88) "Now, Ellen", she said, when my task was finished and she was seated in an easy chair on the hearth, with a cup of tea before her, "you sit down opposite me, . . . ." (Ch. XVII) (89) "Oh, give me the poker! This is the last thing of his I have about me:" she slipped the gold ring from her third finger, and threw it on the floor. "I'll smash it!" she continued, . . . "and then I'll burn it!" and she took and dropped the misused article among the coals. (Ch. XVII) (90) He [Heathcliff] has extinguished my love effectually, . . . . (Ch. XVII) (91) Pulling out the nerves with red-hot pincers requires more coolness than knocking on the head. (Ch. XVII) (92) . . . when he [Heathcliff] is not [at home] . . . I establish a table and chair at one corner of the house fire, . . . ! (Ch. XVII) (93) There was no sound through the house but the moaning wind, which shook the windows every now and then, the faint crackling of the coals, and the click of my snuffers as I removed at intervals the long wick of the candle. (Ch. XVII) (94) . . . searching in my eyes for a sympathy with the burning hate that gleamed from his: . . . . (Ch. XVII) (95) "Come in and get shot, if you please! I've done my duty." With that I shut the window and returned to my place by the fire; . . . ! (Ch. XVII) (96) I ventured on the unusual liberty of drawing near the fire, . . . Heathcliff did not glance my way, and I gazed up, and contemplated his features almost as confidently as if they had been turned to stone. (Ch. XVII) (97) . . . blest as a soul escaped from purgatory, I bounded, leaped and fled down the steep road; . . . . (Ch. XVII)

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10.

69

Cathy

The figure of Cathy is surrounded by a strong imagery of fire as well as air. Both fire and air are active elements, they have a creative character. Fire especially is a symbol of transformation and regeneration. Old forms vanish, new ones are created. Fire is also related to the concept of light or enlightenment, purification or sublimation. If we take all this into account it is possible to read Cathy's history in the firepassages related to her. In (98) we see her idly playing with matches before the fire. There is no purpose yet in this action, it is merely a kind of dreaming and seeing things in the capricious flames. In (99) the fire has a useful function, to serve her as a light. She may be at an undecided stage of life, yet she is seeking enlightenment. Passages (100, 101, 102) are of course concerned with earlier events in her life; they show her sacrifice (Nelly uses the word "immolation") of Linton's love-letters, and a definite leaving behind of childhood. Passage (103) is more concerned with Linton than with Cathy really. In (104, 105), (98) . . . I [Lockwood] saw . . . Mrs. Heathcliff leaning over the fire, diverting herself with burning a bundle of matches which had fallen from the chimney-piece . . . . (Ch. II) (99) . . . the females were already astir. . . . Mrs. Heathcliff, kneeling on the hearth, reading a book by the aid of the blaze. She held her hand interposed between the furnace-heat and her eyes, and seemed absorbed in her occupation; desisting from it only to chide the servant for covering her with sparks, . . . . (Ch. Ill) (100) . . . she poured out further frantic entreaties that I would burn them - do any thing rather than show them. (Ch. XXI) (101) "If I consent to burn them, will you promise faithfully neither to send nor receive a letter again . . . ?" . . . "I promise, Ellen." she cried, catching my dress. "Oh, put them in the fire, do, do!" (Ch. XXI) (102) "I will have one, you cruel wretch!" she screamed, darting her hand into the fire, and drawing forth some half consumed fragments, at the expense of her fingers. . . . "Very well - and I will have some to exhibit to papa!" I answered, . . . . She emptied the blackened pieces into the flames, and motioned me to finish the immolation. It was done; and she mutely, and with a sense of intense injury, retired to her private apartment. (Ch. XXI) (103) On my second visit, Linton seemed in lively spirits; and Zillah . . . made us a clean room and a good fire, . . . She brought me some warm wine and gingerbread, . . . ; and Linton sat in the arm chair, and I in the little rocking-chair on the hearth-stone, and we laughed and talked so merrily, (Ch. XXIV) (104) "Stay all night? No", she said, looking slowly round. "Ellen, I'll burn that door down, but I'll get out!" (Ch. XXVII)

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when she is imprisoned at Wuthering Heights, she sees fire as a means of escape. The following passages (106, 107, 108) lead up to the reconciliation with Hareton; he invites her to come to the fire. Cathy shows greater maturity than Hareton. Hareton's throwing the books into the fire fills her with indignation; his staring vacantly into the fire for hours vexes her active spirit. Finally harmony between them is reached (109); we see them illuminated by the firelight, not dreaming, but intent on making further discoveries together. 11.

Hareton

For Hareton the fire-images (110-121) follow much the same pattern as for Cathy. There are more instances of Hareton sitting idly before

(105) " . . . he'll be distressed already. I'll either break or burn a way out of the house." (Ch. XXVII) (106) Earnshaw rose, too, and bid her come to the settle, and sit close by the fire: he was sure she was starved. "I've been starved a month and more", she answered, . . . . And she got a chair for herself, and placed it at a distance from both of us. Having sat till she was warm, she began to look round, . . . . (Ch. XXX) (107) He [Hareton] afterwards gathered the books and hurled them on the fire. . . . "Yes; that's all the good that such a brute as you can get from them!" cried Catherine, . . . watching the conflagration with indignant eyes. (Ch. XXXI) (108) [Cathy] . . . expressing her wonder how he [Hareton] could endure the life he lived - how he could sit a whole evening staring into the fire and dozing. (Ch. XXXII) (109) Well, I [Nelly] reflected, there was never a pleasanter, or more harmless sight; and it will be a burning shame to scold them. The red firelight glowed on their two bonny heads, and revealed their faces animated with the eager interest of children; . . . . (Ch. XXXIII) (110) . . . The young man . . . erecting himself before the blaze, looked down on me from the corner of his eyes, . . . . (Ch. II) (111) By the fire stood a ruffianly child, strong in limb and dirty in garb, . . . . (Ch. XIII) (112) . . . Earnshaw rose, too, and bid her come to the settle, and sit close by the fire: he was sure she was starved. (Ch. XXX) (113) He afterwards gathered the books and hurled them on the fire. I read in his countenance what anguish it was to offer that sacrifice to spleen. I fancied that as they consumed, he recalled the pleasure they had already imparted, . . . . (Ch. XXXI) (114) . . . expressing her wonder . . . how he could sit a whole evening staring into the fire and dozing. (Ch. XXXII)

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71

the fire, smoking or dozing; (114, 116, 117, 118, 119). It takes him longer to be roused from his apathy into creative activity. When it finally happens, it is at the instigation of Cathy. Her sarcasm at his first clumsy attempts at reading wounds him so much that he flings the books into the fire (113, 115). At this point this is for him an act of sacrifice and therefore creative of new and better things. Afterwards Cathy will be able to overcome his resistance and the process of transmutation can go on. The beginning of regeneration is denoted by the glow on his face (120). In the last passage (121) Cathy and Hareton are united in their purpose to triumph over the powers of evil. The fire has worked as a unifying agent. 12.

Linton

From the passages related to Linton (122-129) one thing is obvious: he is desperately in need of warmth. His life and health depend on the

(115) "Ellen, what do you think? He began to teach himself to read once; and because I laughed, he burned his books, and dropped it: was he not a fool?" (Ch. XXXII) (116) . . . in wet weather he took to smoking with Joseph; and they sat like automatons, one on each side of the fire, . . . . (Ch. XXXII) (117) His gun burst while out on the hills by himself; a splinter cut his arm, and he lost a good deal of blood before he could reach home. The consequence was that, perforce, he was condemned to the fireside and tranquillity, (Ch. XXXII) (118) On Easter Monday . . . Earnshaw sat, morose as usual, at the chimneycorner, and my little mistress was beguiling an idle hour with drawing pictures on the window panes; varying her amusement by . . . quick glances of annoyance and impatience in the direction of her cousin, who steadfastly smoked, and looked into the grate. (Ch. XXXII) (119) Before he could attempt to recover it [his pipe], it was broken, and behind the fire. He swore at her and seized another. "Stop", she cried, "you must listen to me first; and I can't speak while those clouds are floating in my face." (Ch. XXXII) (120) . . . she stole away, and guietly seated herself beside her cousin. He trembled, and his face glowed: all his rudeness and all his surly harshness had deserted him: . . . . (Ch. XXXII) (121) Well, I reflected, there was never a pleasanter, or more harmless sight; and it will be a burning shame to scold them. The red firelight glowed on their two bonny heads, and revealed their faces animated with the eager interest of children; . . . . (Ch. XXXII) (122) "And he must have a fire in the middle of summer; . . . ." (Ch. XXI)

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fire, the fire is his life. When the warmth of the fire is withheld from him, he is without any spiritual or physical energy. There is no principle of growth in him for the fire to stimulate. Sprung from an evil relationship of hate he is doomed to destruction.

(123) " . . . and there he'll sit, wrapped in his furred cloak in his chair by the fire, with some toast and water or other slop on the hob to sip at; (Ch. XXI) (124) Linton stood on the hearth. He had been out walking in the fields, for his cap was on, and he was calling to Joseph to bring him dry shoes. (Ch. XXI) (125) Linton gathered his energies, and left the hearth. (Ch. XXI) (126) "Joseph! . . . How often am I to call you? There are only a few red ashes now. Joseph! Come this moment." (Ch. XXIII) (127) ". . . those detestable creatures won't bring coals to the fire. It's so cold!" (Ch. XXIII) (128) On my second visit, Linton seemed in lively spirits; and Zillah . . . made us a clean room and a good fire; . . . . (Ch. XXIV) (129) As I hesitated whether to go off at once, or return and seek my mistress, a slight cough drew my attention to the hearth. Linton lay on the settle, . . . . (Ch. XXVIII)

PART TWO

F U R T H E R C O M P O N E N T S OF T H E I M A G E R Y

V THE IMAGERY OF THE WEATHER

1.

Lockwood

Lockwood has the holiday-maker's attitude towards the weather. It is all right to him if the weather is sweet and warm, and the sun is shining in a cloudless sky (2, 8). Wind and storm are uncongenial to him. His matter-of-fact description of Wuthering Heights (1) conveys nothing of the exultation inspired by these airy heights into minds more akin to their wild beauty. His approach is mainly negative. The unpleasant weather that compelled him to spend the night at Wuthering Heights is even carried over into his dreams (3, 4, 5). In the morning, after the upsetting experiences of the night, the frosty air clears his head: the turmoil in his mind as well as the snowstorm outside have passed (6); not being used to such violent disturbances he is left exhausted and ill. The negative approach is heard again in the complaints about the

(1) "Wuthering" being a significant provincial adjective, descriptive of the atmospheric tumult to which its station is exposed in stormy weather. Pure, bracing ventilation they must have up there at all times, indeed: one may guess the power of the north wind blowing over the edge, by the excessive slant of a few stunted firs . . . . (Ch. I) (2) While enjoying a month of fine weather at the sea-coast, I was thrown into the company of a most fascinating creature: . . . . (Ch. I) (3) I approached a window to examine the weather. A sorrowful sight I saw: dark night coming down prematurely, and sky and hills mingled in one bitter whirl of wind and suffocating snow. (Ch. II) (4) I thought it was morning; and I had set out on my way home, with Joseph for a guide. The snow lay yards deep in our road; . . . . (Ch. Ill) (5) This time, I remembered I was lying in the oak closet, and I heard distinctly the gusty wind, and the driving of the snow; I heard, also, the fir-bough repeat its teasing sound, and ascribed it to the right cause: . . . . (Ch. Ill) (6) . . . at the first gleam of dawn, [I] took an opportunity of escaping into the free air, now clear and still, and cold as impalpable ice. (Ch. Ill)

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weather during his convalescence (7). Being very much an inhabitant of the town he does not like being restricted in his movements by the weather. On his return to the neighbourhood during the following September he passes the old church, and the slates jutting out from the roof remind him of the storms of last winter and turn his thoughts to the coming autumn. He does not feel the slightest inclination to be there at that time (8, 9). The peaceful atmosphere of the graveyard on this beautiful summer evening makes Nelly Dean's story about Heathcliff's and Catherine's (7) Oh! these bleak winds and bitter northern skies, and impassable roads, (Ch. X) (8) It was sweet, warm weather - too warm for travelling; but the heat did not hinder me from enjoying the delightful scenery above and below: had I seen it nearer August, I'm sure it would have tempted me to waste a month among its solitudes. In winter nothing more dreary, in summer nothing more divine, than those glens shut in by hills, and those bluff, bold swells of heath. (Ch. XXXII) (9) . . . slates jutted off, here and there, beyond the right line of the roof, to be gradually worked off in coming autumn storms. (Ch. XXXIV) (10) I lingered round them, under that benign sky: watched the moths fluttering among the heath and harebells; listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass; and wondered how any one could imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth. (Ch. XXXIV) (11) One fine summer morning - it was the beginning of harvest, I remember - Mr. Earnshaw, the old master, came downstairs, dressed for a journey; . . . . (Ch. IV) (12) [Joseph] told me to put on my cloak and run to Gimmerton for the doctor and the parson. I could not guess the use that either would be of, then. However, I went, through wind and rain, . . . . (Ch. V) (13) The household went to bed; and I, too anxious to lie down, opened my lattice and put my head out to hearken, though it rained: . . . . (Ch. VI) (14) . . . the surface of his face and hands was dismally beclouded . . . . (Ch. VII) (15) Heathcliff's face brightened a moment; then it was overcast afresh, and he sighed. (Ch. VII) (16) On the morning of a fine June day, my first bonny little nursling, and the last of the ancient Earnshaw stock, was born. (Ch. VIII) (17) The morning was fresh and cool; I threw back the lattice, and presently the room filled with sweet scents from the garden; . . . . (Ch. IX) (18) . . . though our patient [Catherine] was as wearisome and headstrong as a patient could be, she weathered it through. (Ch. IX) (19) . . . if ever he [Edgar] heard me answer sharply, or saw any other servant grow cloudy at some imperious order of hers, he would show his trouble by a frown of displeasure . . . . (Ch. X)

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appearances on the rainswept moors seem highly improbable, if not impossible, to him (10). As far as Lockwood is concerned the picturesque country tale is at an end. 2. Ellen Dean There are numerous references to the weather in Nelly's narrative; she also borrows many of her metaphors from natural phenomena like clouds, wind, rain and sunshine. Instances of the latter are to be found throughout the story (14, 15, 18, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 29, 30, (20) The return of sunshine was welcomed by answering sunshine from him (Ch. X) (21) . . . she rewarded him with such a summer of sweetness and affection in return, as made the house a paradise for several days; both master and servant profiting from the perpetual sunshine. (Ch. X) (22) . . . it commenced in a quarrel. She was struck during a tempest of passion with a kind of fit. (Ch. XII) (23) "What now?" said Catherine, leaning back, and returning his look with a suddenly clouded brow; her humour was a mere vane for constantly varying caprices. (Ch. XV) (24) . . . the coldness melted as fast as snow in April, and ere the tiny thing could stammer a word or totter a step, it wielded a despot's sceptre in his heart. (Ch. XVII) (25) She was the most winning thing that ever brought sunshine into a desolate house: . . . . (Ch. XVIII) (26) Hareton grew black as a thundercloud, at this childish speech. (Ch. XVIII) (27) The pure heather-scented air, the bright sunshine, and the gentle canter of Minny, relieved his despondency after a while. (Ch. XX) (28) On an afternoon in October, or the beginning of November - a fresh watery afternoon, when the turf and paths were rustling with moist, withered leaves, and the cold, blue sky was half hidden by clouds - dark grey streamers, rapidly mounting from the west, and boding abundant rain - I requested my young lady to forego her ramble because I was certain of showers. She refused; and I unwillingly donned a cloak, and took my umbrella to accompany her . . . . (Ch. XXII) (29) . . . my young lady, lightening into sunshine again, climbed up and seated herself on the top of the wall, . . . . (Ch. XXII) (30) . . . spreading my umbrella, I drew my charge underneath: for the rain began to drive through the moaning branches of the trees, and warned us to avoid delay Catherine's heart was clouded now in double darkness. (Ch. XXII) (31) The rainy night had ushered in a misty morning - half-frost, half-drizzle - and temporary brooks crossed our path - gurgling from the uplands. My feet were thoroughly wetted; I was cross and low; exactly the humour suited for making the most of these disagreeable things. (Ch. XXIII)

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32, 33). She is very fond of the fresh morning air and is a great believer in its beneficent powers (11, 16, 17, 27, 34). She hates wind and rain. When she is obliged to go out in rainy weather she does so reluctantly (12, 28, 30, 31). Putting her head out of the window when it rains is even something to be remarked upon (13). She feels no affinity with the rain as a mediating agent between heaven and earth. Hers is an active nature that considers rain as a nuisance. Her preference for the invigorating air of the morning is quite in accordance with this, as early morning is pre-eminently the time for displaying activity. The writer has created in Nelly a woman living in close contact with nature. The natural phenomena seem to have easily and spontaneously found their way into her speech. 3.

Joseph

Joseph is linkel by some mystic power to the central figures of the story (35, 36). Rain is the mediating agent that makes the spiritual forces felt on earth by those who are susceptible to its generative powers. 4. Old Mr.

Earnshaw

The weather-imagery related to old Mr. Earnshaw's death is rather elaborate. It might therefore be more than normally significant (38). The storm, often seen as a creative agent, inaugurates a great change. This storm, having the house (Wuthering Heights) as it were for its centre and even penetrating into the heart of the house through the chimney, heralds the important changes that are to come over it. No conclusions are possible from the first passage (37). (32) Catherine's face was just like the landscape - shadows and sunshine flitting over it in rapid succession; but the shadows rested longer, and the sunshine was more transient; . . . . (Ch. XXVII) (33) [Hareton] blackened and scowled like a thunder-cloud,.... (Ch. XXXII) (34) We were in April then: the weather was sweet and warm I was comfortably revelling in the spring fragrance around, and the beautiful soft blue overhead, when my young lady . . . informed us that Mr. Heathcliff was coming in. (Ch. XXXIV) (35) "Bud, Aw can look for norther horse, nur man uf a neeght loike this as black as t' chimbley! . . ." (Ch. IX) (36) Yet that old man by the kitchen fire affirms he has seen two on 'em looking out of his chamber window, on every rainy night since his [Heathcliff's] death: (Ch. XXXIV) (37) One fine summer morning - it was the beginning of harvest, I remember - Mr. Earnshaw, the old master, came downstairs, dressed for a journey; . . . . (Ch. IV)

THE IMAGERY OF THE WEATHER

5.

79

Hindley

There are no relevant passages. 6. Catherine Wind and rain play an important part in the weather-imagery related to Catherine. Rain does not deter her from rambling on the moor with Heathcliff (39, 40), though it may possibly prevent the Lintons from coming to see her (41). On the night of the thunderstorm, when Heathcliff disappears, she gets soaked rather than coming indoors (42). She wants to be where Heathcliff is, and standing there in the rain is at the same time an act of solidarity with him and an act of repentance because she has betrayed him by consenting to marry Edgar. She delivers herself to the purifying power of the rain. Her feverish delusions during her illness reveal the emotional significance for her of wind and rain (43, 44). Her subdued spirit speaks from the softer images of thaw winds and warm sunshine, images evoked by the spring crocuses that Edgar brings her (45). The day of Catherine's burial is marked by a change of weather (46). The cold of (38) He died quietly in his chair one October evening, seated by the fireside. A high wind blustered round the house, and roared in the chimney: it sounded wild and stormy, yet it was not cold, . . . . (Ch. V) (39) All day had been flooding with rain; we could not go to church, so Joseph must needs get up a congregation in the garret; . . . (Ch. Ill) (40) A pleasant suggestion - . . . - we cannot be damper, or colder, in the rain than we are here. (Ch. Ill) (41) "Isabella and Edgar Linton talked of calling this afternoon", she said, at the conclusion of a minute's silence. "As it rains, I hardly expect them; . . . ." (Ch. VIII) (42) She . . . took up a permanent position on one side of the wall, near the road: where, heedless of my expostulations and the growling thunder, and the great drops that began to plash around her, she remained, . . . (Ch. IX) (43) "Bonny bird; wheeling over our heads in the middle of the moor. It wanted to get to its nest, for the clouds had touched the swells, and it felt rain coming." (Ch. II) (44) " . . . that wind sounding in the firs by the lattice. Do let me feel it - it comes straight down the moor - do let me have one breath!" (Ch. XII) (45) "These are the earliest flowers at the Heights", she exclaimed. "They remind me of soft thaw winds, and warm sunshine, and nearly melted snow. Edgar, is there not a south wind, and is not the snow almost gone?" (Ch. XIII) (46) That Friday made the last of our fine days, for a month. In the evening, the weather broke; the wind shifted from south to north-east, and

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winter returns; it seems to be the end of life. Yet for Heathcliff, who shared with her the wind and rain of the moor, Catherine's presence makes itself felt in a warm breath of spring, a sigh, a movement in the air (47). Rain is the mediating agent that enables those who possess an affinity with its mystical powers to experience the mingling of spiritual and earthly influences (48). This affinity is strongest in people and animals whose intuitive nature is unspoilt by civilisation. 7.

Heathcliff

The images of wind, rain, snow, storm, atmospheric tumult recur in relation to Heathcliff throughout the story. Rain- and thunderstorms accentuate the principal events of his life, and his death (49, 53, 54, 63, 64). Periods of despair after Catherine's death are marked by frost and snow (50, 52, 56, 59). Even the instances of metaphorical speech connected with him contain only images of rain and cloud (55, 57). Together with Catherine he enjoyed a ramble on the moors in the rain (51). The presence of Catherine, felt in a breath of warm air,

brought rain first, and then sleet and snow. . . . And dreary, and chill, and dismal, that morrow did creep over! (Ch. XVII) (47) It blew bleak as winter - . . . . There was another sigh, close at my ear. I appeared to feel the warm breath of it displacing the sleet-laden wind. (Ch. XXIX) (48) Yet that old man by the kitchen fire affirms he has seen two on 'em, looking out of his chamber window, on every rainy night since his death: and an odd thing happened to me about a month ago. I was going to the Grange one evening - a dark evening, threatening thunder - and, just at the turn of the Heights, I encountered a little boy with a sheep and two lambs before him; he was crying terribly, . . . . "They's Heathcliff, and a woman, yonder, under t' Nab", he blubbered, "un' Aw darnut pass 'em." (Ch. XXXIV) (49) Wuthering Heights is the name of Mr. Heathcliff's dwelling. "Wuthering" being a significant provincial adjective, descriptive of the atmospheric tumult to which its station is exposed in stormy weather. (Ch. I) (50) "Half-an-hour?" he said, shaking the white flakes from his clothes; "I wonder you should select the thick of a snowstorm to ramble about in. Do you know that you run a risk of being lost in the marshes? . . . ." (Ch. II) (51) . . . my companion is impatient, and proposes that we should appropriate the dairywoman's cloak, and have a scamper on the moors, under its shelter . . . . (Ch. Ill)

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81

releases sensations of relief in him in the same way as the milder winds of spring melt the snow (60). The images of rain and cloud are becoming more and more intense as Heathcliff approaches death (61, 62, 63, 64). Rain and wind ac-

(52) " . . . Oh! my heart's darling; hear me this time, Catherine, at last!" The spectre showed a spectre's ordinary caprice: it gave no sign of being; but the snow and wind whirled wildly through, . . . . (Ch. Ill) (53) About midnight . . . the storm came rattling over the Heights in full fury. There was a violent wind, as well as thunder, and either one or the other split a tree off at the corner of the building: a huge bough fell across the roof, and knocked down a portion of the east chimney-stack, sending a clatter of stones and soot into the kitchen fire. We thought a bolt had fallen in the middle of us; . . . . (Ch. IX) (54) Heathcliff had never been heard of since the evening of the thunderstorm; . . . . (Ch. IX) (55) "You'd hear of odd things if I lived alone with that mawkish, waxen face: the most ordinary would be painting on its white the colours of the rainbow . . . .:" (Ch. X) (56) . . . His hair and clothes were whitened with snow, . . . . (Ch. XVII) (57) . . . his eyes rained down tears among the ashes, . . . . The clouded windows of hell flashed a moment towards me; . . . . (Ch. XVII) (58) . . . the rain began to drive through the moaning branches of the trees, and warned us to avoid delay. Our hurry prevented any comment on the encounter with Heathcliff . . . . (Ch. XXII) (59) The day she was buried there came a fall of snow. In the evening I went to the churchyard. It blew bleak as winter - all round was solitary . . . . (Ch. XXIX) (60) There was another sigh, close at my ear. I appeared to feel the warm breath of it displacing the sleet-laden wind . . . . (Ch. XXIX) (61) "I don't think it right to wander out of doors", I observed, "instead of being in bed: it is not wise, at any rate, this moist season . . . ." (Ch. XXXIV) (62) He was leaning against the ledge of an open lattice, but not looking out: his face was turned to the interior gloom. The fire had smouldered to ashes; the room was filled with the damp, mild air of the cloudy evening; (Ch. XXXIV) (63) The following evening was very wet: indeed it poured down till daydawn; and, as I took my morning walk round the house, I observed the master's window swinging open, and the rain driving straight in. . . . (Ch. XXXIV) (64) . . . his face and throat were washed with rain; the bedclothes dripped, and he was perfectly still. The lattice, flapping to and fro, had grazed one hand that rested on the sill; . . . . (Ch. XXXIV)

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company Heathcliff's appearance in the story to the last (65, 66). Both rain and wind are related to the general symbolism of life. Rain signifies symbolically purification and regeneration through the descent of spiritual influences upon the earth. Wind is associated with the creative breath of life. Taken together the symbolic significance of rain and wind is intensified and suggests a sublimation, not an annihilation of life. 8. Edgar

Linton

Edgar shows a positive reaction to mild weather and sunshine (69, 70, 71, 73). They contribute greatly to his happiness. Rain is an impediment that easily lessens his activity (67, 68, 73). The last illness that saps his vitality and leads to his death is con(65) Yet that old man by the kitchen fire affirms he has seen two on 'em, looking out of his chamber window, on every rainy night since his death: (Ch. XXXIV) (66) I was going to the Grange one evening - a dark evening, threathening thunder - and, just at the turn of the Heights, I encountered a little boy with a sheep and two lambs before him; he was crying terribly; and I supposed the lambs were skittish, and would not be guided. "What's the matter, my little man?" I asked. "They's Heathcliff, and a woman, yonder, under t' Nab", he blubbered, "un' Aw darnut pass 'em." (Ch. XXXIV) (67) "And cried for mamma at every turn", I added, ". . . and sat at home all day for a shower of rain . . . ." (Ch. VII) (68) "Isabella and Edgar Linton talked of coming this afternoon", she said, at the conclusion of a minute's silence. "As it rains, I hardly expect them; . . . . (Ch. VIII) (69) The return of sunshine was welcomed by answering sunshine from him . . . . (Ch. X) (70) The snow is quite gone down here, darling, . . . and I only see two white spots on the whole range of moors: the sky is blue, and the larks are singing . . . the air blows so sweetly, I feel that it would cure you. (Ch. XIII) (71) . . . [he] sauntered slowly up, probably enjoying the lovely afternoon that breathed as soft as summer. (Ch. XV) (72) Mr. Linton and his daughter would frequently walk out among the reapers; at the carrying of the last sheaves, they stayed till dusk, and the evening happening to be chill and damp, my master caught a bad cold, that settled obstinately on his lungs, and confined him indoors throughout the whole of the winter, nearly without intermission. (Ch. XXII) (73) ". . . I've been very happy with my little Cathy: . . . . But I've been as happy musing by myself among those stones, under that old church: lying, through the long June evenings, on the green mound of her mother's grave, . . ." (Ch. XXV)

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83

tracted on a cold and damp evening (72). There are no instances of the stimulating qualities of wind and rain. 9.

Isabella

Isabella's reaction to the storm raging round the house is one of distress and melancholy; a reflection of her own hopeless situation at Wuthering Heights (75). 10.

Cathy

The coldness of the weather matches Cathy's cold reception into the world (76). There is still an echo of Catherine's death in the bleakness of this passage. However, Cathy soon establishes herself as a person in her own right; the images of her childhood are all of spring, summer and sunshine (77, 78, 79, 80, 81). The references to rain start when grief comes first into her life (82). The romantic exchange of loveletters with Linton is frustrated by Nelly. Summer draws to an end and

(74) On her seventeenth birthday, he did not visit the churchyard: it was raining, (Ch. XXV) (75) It seemed so dismal to go upstairs, with the wild snow blowing outside, and my thoughts continually reverting to the kirkyard and the new-made grave! . . . . There was no sound through the house but the moaning wind, which shook the windows every now and then, . . . . (Ch. XVII) (76) . . . and there I was, sitting with the moaning doll of a child laid on my knee; rocking it to and fro, and watching, meanwhile, the still driving flakes build up the uncurtained window, . . . . (Ch. XVII) (77) [Edgar's] coldness melted as fast as snow in April, and ere the tiny thing could stammer a word or totter a step, it wielded a despot's sceptre in his heart. (Ch. XVII) (78) She was the most winning thing that ever brought sunshine into a desolate house: . . . . (Ch. XVIII) (79) . . . she sprang up as gay as a fairy, sheltered by her wide-brimmed hat and gauze veil from the July sun, . . . . (Ch. XVIII) (80) This 20th of March was a beautiful spring day, and when her father had retired, my young lady . . . said she asked to have a ramble on the edge of the moor with me: Mr. Linton had given her leave, . . . (Ch. XXI) (81) . . . I found plenty of entertainment in listening to the larks singing far and near, and enjoying the sweet, warm sunshine; and watching her, my pet, and my delight, with her golden ringlets flying loose behind . . . . (Ch. XXI) (82) The day being wet, she could not divert herself with rambling about the park; so, at the conclusion of her morning studies, she resorted to the solace of the drawer. (Ch. XXI)

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Mr. Linton catches a bad cold. The accent is more and more on rain, clouds and darkness (83, 84). Under the influence of Nelly's comforting words there is a short return to the happiness of youth (85), which is shattered by Hearthcliff's cruel words: rain and darkness increase (86, 87). The journey to visit Linton at Wuthering Heights is undertaken by Nelly and Cathy under unfavourable circumstances (88). Only more grief will come from it. When Cathy is growing up the images of the weather related to her change from pure, unadulterated sunshine to a mixture of sunshine, clouds, rain and wind (90, 92). Her idea of heaven's happiness reveals a greater maturity than Linton's (89, 91). In his heaven she would be only half alive and fall asleep; her vitality is stimulated by the west wind and the rapidly flitting clouds.

(83) On an afternoon in October, or the beginning of November - a fresh watery afternoon, when the turf and paths were rustling with moist, withered leaves, and the cold, bluy sky was half hidden by clouds - dark grey streamers, rapidly mounting from the west, and boding abundant rain - I requested my young lady to forego her ramble, because I was certain of showers. She refused; . . . . (Ch. XXII) (84) She went sadly on: there was no running or bounding now, though the chill wind might well have tempted her to race. (Ch. XXII) (85) . . . my young lady, lightening into sunshine again, climbed up and seated herself on the top of the wall, . . . . (Ch. XXII) (86) . . . spreading my umbrella, I drew my charge underneath: for the rain began to drive through the moaning branches of the trees, and warned us to avoid delay. (Ch. XXII) (87) . . . Catherine's heart was clouded now in double darkness. (Ch. XXII) (88) The rainy night had ushered in a misty morning - half-frost, halfdrizzle - and temporary brooks crossed our path - gurgling from the uplands. (Ch. XXIII) (89) That was his most perfect idea of heaven's happiness: mine was rocking in a rustling green tree, with a west wind blowing, and bright white clouds flitting rapidly above; . . . . (Ch. XXIV) (90) On her seventeenth birthday, he did not visit the churchyard: it was raining, . . . . (Ch. XXV) (91) "You recollect the two days we agreed to spend in the place and way each thought pleasantest? This is surely yours, only there are clouds: buth then they are so soft and mellow: it is nicer than sunshine." (Ch. XXVI) (92) Catherine's face was just like the landscape - shadows and sunshine flitting over it in rapid succession; but the shadows rested longer, and the sunshine was more transient; . . . . (Ch. XXVII)

THE IMAGERY OF THE WEATHER

85

11. Hareton Hareton's attitude to the weather seems to be entirely practical. The passages reveal no special emotional significance (93, 94, 95).

12. Linton Linton needs sweet air and sunshine to live at all. His idea of heaven's happiness comprises all the things he is deprived of: warmth and peace and a feeling of security. The breeze which takes such a prominent place in Cathy's idea of heaven would take away his breath. His vitality is too low to derive any stimulation from it (96, 97, 98, 99).

(93) On the morning of a fine June day, my first bonny little nursling, and the last of the ancient Earnshaw stock, was born. (Ch. VIII) (94) . . . instead of snatching at her bait, in wet weather he took to smoking with Joseph; (Ch. XXXII) (95) On fine evenings the latter [Hareton] followed his shooting expeditions, and Catherine yawned and sighed, . . . . (Ch. XXXII) (96) The pure heather-scented air, the bright sunshine, and the gentle canter of Minny, relieved his despondency after a while. (Ch. XX) (97) His features were pretty yet, and his eye and complexion brighter than I remembered them, though with merely temporary lustre borrowed from the salubrious air and genial sun. (Ch. XXI) (98) He said the pleasantest manner of spending a hot July day was lying from morning till evening on a bank of heath in the middle of the moors, with the bees humming dreamily about among the bloom, and the larks singing high up overhead, and the blue sky and bright sun shining steadily and cloudlessly. That was his most perfect idea of heaven's happiness: . . . . (Ch. XXIV) (99) He wanted all to lie in an ecstasy of peace; . . . he said he could not breathe in mine [in Cathy's heaven]. (Ch. XXIV)

VI T H E I M A G E R Y O F D R E A M S , VISIONS, F O R E B O D I N G S , PREMONITIONS AND OMENS

1.

Lockwood

With regard to the necessarily rather long passages of Lockwood's dreams the following observations could be made: Lockwood's dreams are no common dreams, not even common dreams of terror; they are real nightmares; the conflict and the terror in them are so great and they cause such a violent emotional tension that he wakes u p to escape from the unbearable oppression. In both the dreams in passage (2) he is the victim; in the first dream he is in danger of being cudgelled to death and in the second he is rendered helpless by the tenacious grip

(1) In vapid listlessness I leant my head against the window, and continued spelling over Catherine Earnshaw - Heathcliff - Linton, till my eyes closed; but they had not rested five minutes when a glare of white letters started from the dark as vivid as spectres - the air swarmed with Catherines; . . . . (Ch. Ill) (2) I began to nod drowsily over the dim page: my eye wandered from manuscript to print. I saw a red ornamented title - "Seventy Times Seven, and the First of the Seventy-First. A Pious Discourse delivered by the Reverend Jabes Branderham, in the Chapel of Gimmerdon Sough." And while I was, half consciously, worrying my brain to guess what Jabes Branderham would make of his subject, I sank back in bed, and fell asleep . . . . I began to dream, almost before I ceased to be sensible of my locality. I thought it was morning; and I had set out on my way home, with Joseph for a guide. The snow lay yards deep in our road; and, as we floundered on, my companion wearied me with constant reproaches that I had not brought a pilgrim's staff: telling me that I could never get into the house without one, and boastfully flourishing a heavy-headed cudgel, which I understood to be so denominated. For a moment I considered it absurd that I should need such a weapon to gain admittance into my own residence. Then a new idea flashed across me. I was not going there: we were jour-

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of the ghostly Catherine (1, 2). From both dreams he is awakened by sounds: from the first by the tapping of a branch on the window-pane, from the second by his own screams; in both cases he is utterly relieved

neying to hear the famous Jabes Branderham preach from the text "Seventy Times Seven"; and either Joseph, the preacher, or I had committed the "First of the Seventy-First", and were to be publicly exposed and excommunicated. We came to the chapel. I have passed it really in my walks, twice or thrice; it lies in a hollow, between two hills; an elevated hollow, near a swamp, whose peaty moisture is said to answer all the purposes of embalming on the few corpses deposited there. . . . in my dream, Jabes had a full and attentive congregation; and he preached - good God! what a sermon: divided into four hundred and ninety parts, each fully equal to an ordinary address from the pulpit, and each discussing a separate sin! Where he searched for them, I cannot tell. He had his private manner of interpreting the phrase, and it seemed necessary the brother should sin different sins on every occasion. They were of the most curious character: odd transgressions that I never imagined previously. Oh, how weary I grew. How I writhed, and yawned, and nodded, and revived! How I pinched and pricked myself, and rubbed my eyes, and stood up, and sat down again, and nudged Joseph to inform me if he would ever have done. I was condemned to hear all out: finally, he reached the "First of the Seventy-First." At that crisis, a sudden inspiration descended on me; I was moved to rise and denounce Jabes Branderham as the sinner of the sin that no Christian need pardon. "Sir", I exclaimed, "sitting here within these four walls, at one stretch, I have endured and forgiven the four hundred and ninety heads of your discourse. Seventy times seven times have I plucked up my hat and been about to depart - Seventy times seven times have you preposterously forced me to resume my seat. The four hundred and ninety-first is too much. Fellow-martyrs, have at him! Drag him down, and crush him to atoms, that the place which knows him may know him no more!" "Thou art the man\" cried Jabes, after a solemn pause, leaning over his cushion. "Seventy times seven times didst thou gapingly contort thy visage - seventy times seven did I take counsel with my soul - Lo, this is human weakness: this also may be absolved! The First of the Seventy-First is come. Brethren, execute upon him the judgment written. Such honour have all His saints!" With that concluding word, the whole assembly, exalting their pilgrim's staves, rushed round me in a body; and I, having no weapon to raise in selfdefence, commenced grappling with Joseph, my nearest and most ferocious assailant, for his. In the confluence of the multitude, several clubs crossed; blows, aimed at me, fell on other sconces. Presently the whole chapel re-

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to find that the terrors only existed in dreams. But the oppression of the second dream does not leave him at once, as appears from his explanations to Heathcliff; fear has not only made him cruel in his

sounded with rappings and counter-rappings: every man's hand was against his neighbour; and Branderham, unwilling to remain idle, poured forth his zeal in a shower of loud taps on the boards of the pulpit, which responded so smartly that, at last, to my unspeakable relief, they woke me. And what was it that had suggested the tremendous tumult? What had played Jabes's part in the row? Merely, the branch of a fir-tree that touched my lattice, as the blast wailed by, and rattled its dry cones against the panes! I listened doubtingly an instant; detected the disturber, then turned and dozed, and dreamt again: if possible, still more disagreeably than before. This time, I remembered I was lying in the oak closet, and I heard distinctly the gusty wind, and the driving of the snow; I heard, also, the firbough repeat its teasing sound, and ascribed it to the right cause: but it annoyed me so much, that I resolved to silence it, if possible; and, I thought, I rose and endeavoured to unhasp the casement. The hook was soldered into the staple: a circumstance observed by me when awake, but forgotten. "I must stop it, nevertheless!" I muttered, knocking my knuckles through the glass, and stretching an arm out to seize the importunate branch; instead of which, my fingers closed on the fingers of a little, ice-cold hand! The intense horror of nightmare came over me: I tried to draw back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice sobbed, "Let me in let me in!" "Who are you?" I asked, struggling, meanwhile to disengage myself. "Catherine Linton", it replied, shiveringly (why did I think of Linton? I had read Earnshaw twenty times for Linton); "I'm come home: I'd lost my way on the moor!" As it spoke, I discerned, obscurely, a child's face looking through the window. Terror made me cruel; and, finding it useless to attempt shaking the creature off, I pulled its wrist on to the broken pane, and rubbed it to and fro till the blood ran down and soaked the bedclothes: still it wailed, "Let me in!" and maintained its tenacious gripe, almost maddening me with fear. "How can I?" I said at length. "Let me go, if you want me to let you in!" The fingers relaxed, I snatched mine through the hole, hurriedly piled the books up in a pyramid against it, and stopped my ears to exclude the lamentable prayer. I seemed to keep them closed above a quarter of an hour; yet, the instant I listened again, there was the doleful cry moaning on! "Begone!" I shouted, "I'll never let you in, not if you beg for twenty years." "It is twenty years", mourned the voice: "twenty years. I've been a waif for twenty ears!" Thereat began a feeble scratching outside, and the pile of books moved as if thrust forward. I tried to jump up; but could not stir a limb; and so yelled aloud, in a frenzy of fright. To my confusion, I discovered the yell was not ideal: hasty footsteps approached my chamber door; . . . . (Ch. Ill)

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dream, it also makes him angry and aggressive when he is awake (3,4). Here he is quite a different man from the urbane Lockwood paying a neighbourly visit and making polite conversation. The content of both dreams is punishment for some sin or transgression. This could point to a basic feeling of insecurity in Lockwood, his fear of not coming up to an established moral code. The conflict may thus be situated in his own inner life. That there are conflicting wishes active in him appears from his own account of his last summer holiday: "While enjoying a month of fine weather at the sea-coast, I was thrown into the company of a most fascinating creature: a real goddess in my eyes, as long as she took no notice of me. I "never told my love" vocally; still, if looks have language, the merest idiot might have guessed I was over head and ears: she understood me at last, and looked a return the sweetest of all imaginable looks. And what did I do? I confess it with shame - shrunk icily into myself, like a snail; at every glance retired colder and farther; till finally the poor innocent was led to doubt her own senses, and, overwhelmed with confusion at her supposed mistake, persuaded her mamma to decamp. By this curious turn of disposition I have gained the reputation of deliberate heartlessness; how undeserved, I alone can appreciate." (Ch. I) The events of the preceding afternoon and evening of course lead up to Lockwood's dreams. Cathy studying "Black Art" from a long, dark book, Zillah telling Mm of the "odd notion" that the master [Heatcliff] had of the room where she was going to put him up for the night being haunted; and the intriguing names [Catherine Earnshaw, Catherine Heathcliff and Catherine Linton] scratched in the paint of the windowledge. In fact it is these names that start him off dreaming (1). Then the

(3) "I suppose that she [Zillah] wanted to get another proof that the place was haunted, at my expense. Well, it is - swarming with ghosts and goblins! You have reason in shutting it up, I assure you. No one will thank you for a doze in such a den!" (Ch. Ill) (4) "If the little fiend had got in at the window, she probably would have strangled me!" I returned. "I'm not going to endure the persecutions of your hospitable ancestors again. Was not the Reverend Jabes Branderham akin to you on the mother's side? And that minx, Catherine Linton, or Earnshaw, or however she was called - she must have been a changeling wicked little soul! She told me she had been walking the earth those twenty years: a just punishment for her mortal transgressions, I've no doubt!" (Ch. Ill)

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subsequent reading of Catherine's diary together with the many impressions and emotions of the day are intensified and exaggerated in his dreams: the walk through the snowdrifts, Joseph's moral severity, and Catherine's account of her scamper on the moors with Heathcliff in the diary: all these provide a dream-disguise for the underlying conflict in Lockwood himself, which is probably his fear of living a full life with adult responsibilities. Because his fear and inhibitions are too great there is no room in his dream for any suggestions as to a possible solution of his problems; that is why he awakes, paralysed with fear. The terror in both nightmares is basically the same, namely the fear of being destroyed. This fear is stronger than his personality, so he will never come to grips with it. In passage (5) he makes a rather feeble joke about the haunted house, showing an indifference which is very far from convincing, and in passage (6) he has definitely silenced any urge he may have felt to explore an unfamiliar world of wider human experience. And because he is made by the author to speak the final words of the story, the reader is left with a strong impression of his total unbelief, or incapability to believe that what the shepherd boy and Joseph experienced (and also Nelly to a certain degree) is true. Therefore the conclusion of the book is something of an anti-climax, leading the reader gently back into ordinary every-day life. 2. Ellen Dean Throughout the whole book Nelly's story is full of premonitions, misgivings, speculations both about the past and the future. There is not one real dream, she is never seen sleeping (except once in passage (26), where she is dozing), she is always active. Indeed she is afraid of dreams

(5) "They will live in the kitchen, and the rest will be shut up." "For the use of such ghosts as choose to inhabit it", I observed. "No, Mr. Lockwood", said Nelly, shaking her head. "I believe the dead are at peace: but it is not right to speak of them with levity." (Ch. XXXIV) (6) . . . [I] wondered how any one could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth. (Ch. XXXIV) (7) "You're fit for a prince in disguise. Who knows but your father was Emperor of China, and your mother an Indian queen, each of them able to buy up, with one week's income. Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange together? And you were kidnapped by wicked sailors and brought to England. Were I in your place, I would frame high notions of my birth; and the thoughts of what I was should give me courage and dignity to support the oppressions of a little farmer!" (Ch. VII)

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as possible forebodings of evil (8). Or perhaps she feels that dreams have a way of showing up uncomfortable truths she prefers not to see. Some of her musings are concerned with the origins of Heathcliff (7, 26). The ambiguity of her feelings is manifest here too. She encourages Heathcliff to think of himself as of noble birth (7) and privately she is of opinion that he might be a demon (26). Probably connected with her fear of dreams is the fact that certain visual impressions, like unexpected glimpses of Heathcliff, arouse in her a fear of being confronted with a visitor from another world (9, 13), 25, 26). Of course, the appearance of Heathcliff s evil spirit would provide her with an excellent excuse for having chosen his side on (8) "I won't hear it, I won't hear it!" I repeated hastily. I was superstitious about dreams then, and am still; and Catherine had an unusual gloom in her aspect, that made me dread something from which I might shape a prophecy, and foresee a fearful catastrophe. (Ch. IX) (9) A ray [of moonlight] fell on his features; the cheeks were sallow, and half covered with black whiskers; the brows lowering, the eyes deep set and singular. I remembered the eyes. . . . "What!" I cried, uncertain whether to regard him as a worldly visitor, . . . . (Ch. X) (10) "Is he turning out a bit of a hypocrite, and coming into the country to work mischief under a cloak?" I mused: I had a presentiment in the bottom of my heart that he had better have remained away. (Ch. X) (11) His visits were a continual nightmare to me; and, I suspected, to my master also. His abode at the Heights was an oppression past explaining. I felt that God had forsaken the stray sheep there to its own wicked wanderings, and an evil beast prowled between it and the fold, waiting his time to spring and destroy. (Ch. X) (12) Sometimes, while meditating on these things in solitude, I've got up in a sudden terror, and put on my bonnet to go see how all was at the farm. . . . The sun shone yellow on its [the guide-post's] grey head, reminding me of summer; and I cannot say why, but all at once, a gush of child's sensations flowed into my heart. Hindley and I held it a favourite spot twenty years before. . . . as fresh as reality, it appeared that I beheld my early playmate seated on the withered turf: his dark, square head bent forward, and his little hand scooping out the earth with a piece of slate. "Poor Hindley!" I exclaimed involuntarily. I started: my bodily eye was cheated into a momentary belief that the child lifted its face and stared straight into mine! It vanished in a twinkling; but immediately I felt an irresistible yearning to be at the Heights. Superstition urged me to comply with this impulse: supposing he should be dead! I thought - or should die soon! supposing it were a sign of death! The nearer I got to the house the more agitated I grew; and on catching sight of it I trembled in every limb. The apparition had outstripped me: it stood looking through the gate. That was my first idea on observing an elf-locked, brown-eyed boy setting his ruddy

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several occasions, thereby bringing unhappiness on Heathcliff's victims (16, 20, 26). It would mean that she could not help doing this because a supernatural power was dominating her. It is possible to read from Nelly's premonitions, misgivings etc. her frustrations (7), her hidden enmity towards Catherine (14, 17, 18), the harshness of her feelings for the child Linton (19, 21). Nelly is perhaps the one whose feelings are the most mixed up of all the characters in the story. Her words are chosen to make a good impression on others, yet unconsciously she betrays her insincerity and resentment continually. She professes to wish Catherine's and Edgar's happiness, yet she destroys every chance they have of reaching greater

countenance against the bars. Further reflection suggested this must be Hareton, my Hareton, not altered greatly . . . . (Ch. XI) (13) . . . instead of Hindley, Heathcliff appeared on the door stones; and I turned directly and ran down the road as hard as ever I could race, making no halt till I gained the guide-post, and feeling as scared as if I had raised a goblin. (Ch. XI) (14) . . . I felt that, however the scene closed, we should all be driven asunder for nobody knows how long! (Ch. XI) (15) . . . I saw something white moved irregularly, evidently by another agent than the wind. Notwithstanding my hurry, I stayed to examine it, lest ever after I should have the conviction impressed on my imagination that it was a creature of the other world. My surprise and perplexity were great on discovering, by touch more than vision, Miss Isabella's springer, Fanny, (Ch. XII) (16) Notwithstanding, my journey homeward was sadder than my journey thither; and many misgivings I had, ere I could prevail on myself to put the missive [Heathcliff's] into Mrs. Linton's hand. (Ch. XIV) (17) The paleness of her face . . . and the peculiar expression arising from her mental state, . . . invariably to me, I know, and to any person who saw her, I should think - refuted more tangible proofs of convalescence, and stamped her as one doomed to decay. (Ch. XV) (18) And I partook of the infinite calm in which she lay: my mind was never in a holier frame than while I gazed on that untroubled image of Divine rest. I instinctively echoed the words she had uttered a few hours before: "Incomparably beyond and above us all! Whether still on earth or now in heaven, her spirit is at home with God!" . . . I am seldom otherwise than happy while watching in the chamber of death, . . . . I see a repose that neither earth nor hell can break, and I feel an assurance of the endless and shadowless hereafter - the Eternity they have entered - where life is boundless in its duration, and love in its sympathy, and joy in its fulness. . . . To be sure, one might have doubted, after the wayward and impatient existence she had led, whether she merited a haven of peace at last. One might doubt

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harmony by arranging Heathcliff's visit in Edgar's absence (16). She is Heathcliff s willing accomplice in bringing about young Cathy's disastrous marriage to Linton (20). It is very difficult to assess Nelly's attitude to Heathcliff. She professes to think of him as an evil genius (10, 11, 26), yet she is anxious to remain on good terms with him and is the recipient of his confidences when his death is approaching. In most, nearly all, cases where she contemplates the future, she foresees or expects some evil or unhappiness. It seems a basic need of her nature to be pessimistic about the future, perhaps due to an unconscious wish to steel herself for what is coming, so as not to be shocked out of all composure when it actually happens (10, 11, 12, 14, 16, 17, 19). in seasons of cold reflection; but not then, in the presence of her corpse. It asserted its own tranquillity, which seemed a pledge of equal quiet to its former inhabitant. - "Do you believe such people are happy in the other world, Sir? I'd give a great deal to know." (Ch. XVI) (19) "Ay, if we can keep him!" I mused to myself; and sore misgivings came over me that there was slight hope of that. And then, I thought, however will that weakling live at Wuthering Heights? (Ch. XIX) (20) . . . I was foolish enough to imagine the memory of her mother might disarm him from desiring her injury. (Ch. XXI) (21) . . . Happily, as Mr. Heathcliff conjectured, he'll not win twenty. I doubt whether he'll see spring, indeed. And small loss to his family whenever he drops off . . . ." (Ch. XXIII) (22) I, for my part, began to fancy my forebodings were false, and that he [Linton] must be actually rallying, . . . . I could not picture a father treating a dying child as tyrannically and wickedly as I afterwards learned Heathcliff had treated him, (Ch. XXV) (23) The crown of al my wishes will be the union of those two [Cathy and Hareton]. I shall envy no one on their wedding-day: there won't be a happier woman than myself in England! (Ch. XXXII) (24) . . . I was inclined to believe . . . that conscience had turned his heart to an earthly hell! I wondered greatly how it would end. (Ch. XXXIII) (25) The light flashed on his features as I spoke. Oh, Mr. Lockwood, I cannot express what a terrible start I got by the momentary view! Those deep black eyes! That smile, and ghastly paleness! It appeared to me, not Mr. Heathcliff, but a goblin; . . . . (Ch. XXXIV) (26) "Is he a ghoul or a vampire?" I mused. I had read of such hideous incarnate demons. And then I set myself to reflect . . . what absurd nonsense it was to yield to that sense of horror. "But where did he come from, the little dark thing, harboured by a good man to his bane?" muttered superstition, as I dozed into unconsciousness. And I began, half dreaming, to weary myself with imagining some fit parentage for him; . . . . (Ch. XXXIV)

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Looking again at all the passages and recapitulating, it might be said there runs a strong vein of ambivalence through all Nelly's utterances when she is carried away by her imagination. Off-guard the conventional mask of goodwill sometimes cracks and shows malice and envy towards those she pretends to like or to pity. The most striking example of this is to be found in passage (18), where the pious discourse on eternal rest is sharply broken off by her doubtful question to Lockwood whether he believes that such people (like Catherine) can be happy in the other world. But in passage (28) she will assert her belief that "the dead are at peace". In passage (19) the quite uncalled-for use of the word weakling in connection with young Linton reveals her contempt for the unhappy child. It is the contempt of the superficially civilised healthy human being for the mentally or physically inferior specimen of the race. Considering her numerous prevarications and attempts to remain on good terms with the enemy (Heathcliff), her expressions of joy at the coming marriage of Cathy and Hareton sound rather incincere, or at least exaggerated. It is the first time we hear of this union as "the crown of all her wishes". But the drama at Wuthering Heights has run its full course, the principal actors are dead, and there are no further sensational happenings to be expected. Moreover Nelly seems anxious to impress Lockwood with her disinterested joy in other people's happiness; just as she wishes to impress him with her orthodox principles (28). 3.

Joseph

The vision experienced by the "old man by the fire" - a figure of ageold wisdom - is accompanied by some of the most powerful images in the novel, as there are the window, rain, darkness; moreover it is pervaded by the dynamism of ascent: Joseph's window is at the top of the house, overlooking the Heights. Thus Joseph is connected with the heart of the story (29). (27) Yet, still, I don't like being out in the dark now; and I don't like being left to myself in this grim house: I cannot help it; I shall be glad when they leave it, and shift to the Grange. (Ch. XXXIV) (28) "No, Mr. Lockwood", said Nelly, shaking her head. "I believe the dead are at peace, but it is not right to speak of them with levity." (Ch. XXXIV) (29) Yet that old man by the kitchen fire affirms he has seen two on 'em, looking out of his chamber window, on every rainy night since his death: (Ch. XXXIV)

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4. Old Mr. Earnshaw There are no relevant passages with reference to Old Mr. Earnshaw. 5.

Hindley

There are no relevant passages with reference to Hindley. 6.

Catherine

Putting all the relevant passages together we find that Catherine's dreams, visions, premonitions etc. are centred round her home (including the moor), her need to be loved and her fear to lose the love of those around her, and her strong identification with Heathcliff. All these things together and every one of them by itself are manifestations of her basic insecurity; the first indication of this shows itself after her father's death (41). From this point on Catherine's loneliness starts: Hindley has ordered Heathcliff's separation from Catherine. The picture in passage (30), where Heathcliff and Catherine immediately after Mr. Earnshaw's death are seen talking about heaven, is the last time they are really together. The dream she tells to Ellen (32) shows clearly that the heaven of her childhood has no longer any appeal for her; its infantile image has not been replaced by a maturer one; the picture of heaven in her dream is an echo of the formal religious instruction in childhood which has remained barren and incapable of inspiring other than outworn images. Catherine's unspecified dream which she speaks about in passage (31) and her meditations in passage (33) have apparently taken her much further along the road of speculative thought. Her identification with Heathcliff has taken possession of her conscious mind. (30) The little souls [Heathcliff and Catherine] were comforting each other [after Mr. Earnshaw's death] with better thoughts than I could have hit on: no parson in the world ever pictured heaven so beautifully as they did, in their innocent talk: . . . . (Ch. V) (31) "I've dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas: they've gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the colour of my mind . . . ." (Ch. IX) (32) "I once dreamt that I was there [in heaven]. . . . heaven did not seem to be my home; and I broke my heart with weepening to come back to earth; and the angels were so angry that they flung me out into the middle of the heath on the top of Wuthering Heights; where I woke sobbing for joy, (Ch. IX) (33) " . . . but surely you and everybody have a notion that there is or should be an existence of yours beyond you. What were the use of my

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The return of Heathcliff brings, besides a short-lived frenzied happiness, forebodings of ultimate tragedy (34, 35). Passage (36) reveals Catherine's painful realisation of her utter loneliness; cut off from Heathcliff she is confronted with a hostile world, somewhat analogous to the inimical heaven in the dream of passage (32). Only there is no return now to Wuthering Heights and happiness. The experience is too painful to bear (37); she escapes into a fleeting dream-world of materialised memories (38). The intuitively felt hostility of Nelly takes shape in the dream of creation, if I were entirely contained here? My great miseries in this world have been Heathcliff's miseries, and I watched and felt each from the beginning: my great thought in living is himself. If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it . . . ." (Ch. IX) (34) "I shall think it a dream to-morrow!" she cried. "I shall not be able to believe that I have seen, and touched, and spoken to you once more . . . ." (Ch. X) (35) "Really, when he [Edgar] opened on me in that unreasonable tone of displeasure after I had scolded Heathcliff till I was hoarse for him, I did not care, hardly, what they did to each other; especially as I felt that, however the scene closed, we should all be driven asunder for nobody knows how long! . . . ." (Ch. XI) (36)"These three awful nights, I've never closed my lids - and oh, I've been tormented! I thought, though everybody hated and despised each other, they could not avoid loving me. And they have all turned to enemies in a few hours: they have, I'm positive; the people here. How dreary to meet death, surrounded by their cold faces. Isabella terrified and repelled, afraid to enter the room, it would be so dreadful to watch Catherine go. And Edgar standing solemnly by to see it over; then offering prayers of thanks to God for restoring peace to his house, and going back to his booksl What in the name of all that feels has he to do with books, when I am dying?" (Ch. XII) (37) Tossing about, she increased her feverish bewilderment to madness, and tore the pillow with her teeth; . . . . (Ch. XII) (38) . . . she seemed to find childish diversion in pulling the feathers from the rents she had just made, and ranging them on the sheet according to their different species: her mind had strayed to other associations. "That's a turkey's", she murmured to herself; "and this is a wild duck's; and this is a pigeon's. Ah, they put pigeons' feathers in the pillows - no wonder I couldn't die! Let me take care to throw it on the floor when I lie down. And here is a moor-cock's; and this - I should know it among a thousand it's a lapwing's. Bonny bird; wheeling over our heads in the middle of the moor. It wanted to get to its nest, for the clouds had touched the swells, and it felt rain coming . . . ." (Ch. XII)

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passage (39). On the borderline between the clear insight of the dream and the compromise of her waking condition Nelly is alternatively seen by her as the enemy and the protectress (39, 40, 44). In the passages (42, 43, 45, 46, 47) Catherine's bewildered mind evokes a sequence of images centring round the grave. The sequence starts (42) with images suggesting height (the window of her old room at Wuthering Heights with the swaying trees before it, and the window (39) "I see in you, Nelly", she continued dreamily, "an aged woman: you have grey hair and bent shoulders. This bed is the fairy cave under Peniston Crag, and you are gathering elf-bolts to hurt our heifers; pretending, while I am near, that they are only locks of wool. That's what you'll come to fifty years hence: I know you are not so now. I'm not wandering: you're mistaken, or else I should believe you really were that withered hag, and I should think I was under Peniston Crag; and I'm conscious it's night, and there are two candles on the table making the black press shine like jet." "The black press? where is that?" I asked. "You are talking in your sleep!" "It's against the wall, as it always is", she replied. "It does appear odd - I see a face in it! . . . Don't you see that face?" she inquired, gazing earnestly at the mirror. And say what I could, I was incapable of making her comprehend it to be her own; so I rose and covered it with a shawl. "It's behind there still!" she pursued anxiously. "And it stirred. Who is it? I hope it will not come out when you are gone! Oh! Nelly, the room is haunted! I'm afraid of being alone!" . . . "There's nobody here!" I insisted. "It was yourself, Mrs. Linton: you knew it a while since." "Myself!" she gasped, "and the clock is striking twelve! It's true, then! That's dreadful!" (Ch. XII) (40) Trembling and bewildered, she held me fast, but the horror gradually passed from her countenance; its paleness gave place to a glow of shame. "Oh, dear! I thought I was at home", she sighed. "I thought I was lying in my chamber at Wuthering Heights. Because I'm weak, my brain got confused, and I screamed unconsciously. Don't say anything; but stay with me. I dread sleeping: my dreams appal me." (Ch. XII) (41) "I thought as I lay there, with my head against that table leg, and my eyes dimly discerning the grey square of the window, that I was enclosed in the oak-panelled bed at home; . . . . I was a child, my father was just buried, and my misery arose from the separation that Hindley had ordered between me and Heathcliff." (Ch. XII) (42) There was no moon, and everything beneath lay in misty darkness: not a light gleamed from any house, far or near - all had been extinguished long ago; and those at Wuthering Heights were never visible - still she asserted she caught their shining. "Look!" she cried eagerly, "that's my room with the candle in it, and the trees swaying before it . . . and the other candle is in Joseph's garret. . . . Joseph sits up late, doesn't he? He's waiting till I come home that he may

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of Joseph's garret); then there is a downward movement in the images, first to the kirkyard, then to the depth of the grave. The entrance of Edgar does not change this downward trend of the images (43). The idea of loneliness, loss of love, death and burial is only more elaborated (43), and experienced as inevitable (45). The great change comes during the anguished conversation with Heathcliff (46, 47, 48). It is hardly possible for two people to be more lock the gate. Well, he'll wait a while yet. It's a rough journey, and a sad heart to travel it; and we must pass by Gimmerton Kirk, to go that journey! We've braved its ghosts often together, and dared each other to stand among the graves and ask them to come. . . . But, Heathcliff, if I dare you now, will you venture? If you do, I'll keep you. I'll not lie there by myself: they may bury me twelve feet deep, and throw the church down over me, but I won't rest till ou are with me. I never will!" (Ch. XII) (43) "Ah! you are come, are you, Edgar Linton?" she said, with angry animation . . . . "I suppose we shall have plenty of lamentations now - I see we shall - but they can't keep me from my narrow home out yonder: my resting-place, where I'm bound before spring is over! . . . " (Ch. XII) (44) "Ah! Nelly has played traitor", she exclaimed passionately. "Nelly is my hidden enemy. You witch! So you do seek elf-bolts to hurt us! Let me go, I'll make her rue! I'll make her howl a recantation!" (Ch. XII) (45) "I shall never be there [on the moor] but once more", said the invalid, "and then you'll leave me, and I shall remain for ever. Next spring you'll long again to have me under this roof, and you'll look back and think you were happy to-day." (Ch. XIII) (46) "I wish I could hold you", she continued bitterly, till we were both dead! I shouldn't care what you suffered, I care nothing for your sufferings. Why shouldn't you suffer? I do! Will you forget me? Will you be happv when I am in the earth? Will you say twenty years hence, "That's the grave of Catherine Earnshaw. I loved her long ago, and was wretched to lose her; but it is past. I've loved many others since: my children are dearer to me than she was; and at death, I shall not rejoice that I am going to her; I shall be sorry that I must leave them! Will you say so, Heathcliff?" (Ch. XV) (47) "I shall not be at peace", moaned Catherine, . . . . "I'm not wishing you greater torment than I have, Heathcliff. I only wish us never to be parted: and should a word of mine distress you hereafter, think I feel the same distress underground, and for my own sake, forgive me! . . ." (Ch. XV) (48) " . . . the thing that irks me most is this scattered prison, after all. I'm tired of being enclosed here. I'm wearying to escape into that glorious world, and to be always there: not seeing it dimly through tears, and yearning for it through the walls of an aching heart; but really with it, and in it. Nelly, you think you are better and more fortunate than I; in full health and strength; you are sorry for me - very soon that will be altered. I shall be sorry for you. I shall be incomparably beyond and above you all " (Ch. XV)

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cruel to each other than Heathcliff and Catherine are even in the face of death. Catherine finds the strength to rise above the mutual accusations (47). The liberating force of love breaks through the self-centredness, and loosens - in an ultimate realisation of the self - the fetters that bound her to Heathcliff and denied her an existence of her own. At once (48) the images change their trend: the sense of freedom is expressed in the images of the shattered prison and the escape into a glorious world. In the last words of this passage the downward movement of the images has completey changed into an upward one, which corresponds symbolically to the tendency towards spiritualisation. The dynamic image reveals itself as the expression of an important psychic force. Spiritual life is characterized by its dominant activity: it seeks the heights instinctively. The images in Catherine's dreams etc. move along a vertical axis; they receive their impetus from the dynamic force of the psychic realities they express. After exploring the depth (images of the grave), they soar to the opposite pole of the axis, uniting the life of the individual to cosmic and transcendent life. 7.

Heathcliff

All the passages related to Heathcliff are concerned with his passionate longing for Catherine, the one thing that is always prying on his mind, and is becoming an obsession to him in the end. Heathcliff is haunted by this dream of possessing Catherine, he pursues it until the fierceness of his desire kills him. Heathcliff is more and more enthralled by the power of his visions, and expresses himself in powerful images. These are centred round the concepts of heaven and hell, and their antithesis. Union with Catherine is heaven, losing her is hell (49, 50, 59). The (49) "You suppose she has nearly forgotten me?" he said. "Oh, Nelly! Y o u know she has not! . . . At a most miserable period of my life, I had a notion of the kind: it haunted me on my return to the neighbourhood last summer; but only her own assurance could make me admit the horrible idea again. And then, Linton would be nothing, nor Hindley, nor all the dreams that ever I dreamt. Two words would comprehend my future death and hell: existence, after losing her, would be hell. . . . " (Ch. XIV) (50) "Are you possessed with a devil", he pursued savagely, "to talk in that manner to me when you are dying? D o you reflect that all those words will be branded on my memory, and eating deeper eternally after you have left me? Y o u know you lie to say I have killed you: and, Catherine, you know that I could as soon forget you as my existence! It is not sufficient for your infernal selfishness, that while you are at peace I shall writhe in the torments of hell?" (Ch. X V )

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torments of hell are vividly imagined and clearly reflected in the choice of words; thus the words branded, eating deeper eternally, your infernal selfishness, writhe elaborate the hell-image in passage (50). Parallel to the heaven-hell image, runs the life-death antithesis. Life without Catherine is a living death (51), a semblance of life only, a deliverance from which would be a blessing (51, 52). A third parallel is to be found in the height-depth antithesis, with its inherent dynamism. Heathcliff is living with his "soul in the grave" (51); he implores Catherine to release him, not to "leave him in this abyss", while her ghost is imagined by him wandering on the earth (51, 55). Reaching the extreme of despair he opens Catherine's grave and experiences her presence as a warm breath of life, not in the depth of the grave, but overhead. Her presence leads him to the Heights and

(51) ". . . Do I want to live? What kind of living will it be when you oh, God! would you like to live with your soul in the grave?" (Ch. XV) (52) "Hush, my darling! Hush, hush, Catherine! I'll stay. If he [Edgar] shot me so, I'd expire with a blessing on my lips." (Ch. XV) (53) "May she wake in torment!" he cried. . . . "Why, she's a liar to the end! Where is she? Not there — not in heaven - not perished - where? . . . Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living! You said I killed you - haunt me then! The murdered do haunt their murderers, I believe. I know that ghosts have wandered on earth. Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I cannot live without my soul!" (Ch. XVI) (54) "You were very wicked, Mr. Heathcliff!" I exclaimed, "were you not ashamed to disturb the dead?" "I disturbed nobody, Nelly", he replied; "and I gave some ease to myself. I shall be a great deal more comfortable now; and you'll have a better chance of keeping me underground, when I get there. Disturbed her? No! She has disturbed me, night and day, through eighteen years - incessantly remorselessly - till yesternight; and yesternight I was tranquil. I dreamt I was sleeping the last sleep by that sleeper, with my heart stopped and my cheek frozen against hers." "And if she had been dissolved into earth, or worse, what would you have dreamt of then?" I said. 'Of dissolving with her, and being more happy still!" he answered . . . . (Ch. XXIX) (55) "You know I was wild after she died; and eternally, from dawn to dawn, praying her to return to me her spirit! I have a strong faith in ghosts: I have a conviction that they can, and do, exist among us! . . . ." (Ch. XXIX)

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upstairs to their old room, the same room where he is to die (56). The vertical dynamism is also present in the images of yearning to attain his wish, reaching his purpose in passage (58), and in passage (60) where Nelly hears his deep painful inspiration and the terms of endearment wrung from the depth of his soul. In strange contrast with Heathcliff's frenzied belief that Catherine is (56) " . . . I heard a sigh from some one above, close at the edge of the grave, and bending down. . . . There was another sigh, close at my ear. I appeared to feel the warm breath of it displacing the sheet-laden wind. I knew no living thing in flesh and blood was by; but, as certainly as you perceive the approach to some substantial body in the dark, though it cannot be discerned, so certainly I felt that Cathy was there: not under me: but on the earth. A sudden sense of relief flowed from my heart through every limb. . . . Her presence was with me: it remained while I refilled the grave, and led me home. . . . I was sure I should see her there. I was sure she was with me, and I could not help talking to her. Having reached the Heights, I rushed eargerly to the door . . . . Then hurrying upstairs, to my room and hers. I looked round impatiently - I felt her by me - I could almost see her, and yet I could not\ I ought to have sweat blood then, from the anguish of my yearning . . . . She showed herself, as she often was in life, a devil to me! And since then . . . I've been the sport of that intolerable torture! . . ." (Ch. XXIX) (57) "Five minutes ago, Hareton seemed a personification of my youth, not a human being: . . . . In the first place, his startling likeness to Catherine connected him fearfully with her . . . . What is not connected with her to me? and what does not recall her? I cannot look down to this floor, but her features are shaped in the flags! In every cloud, in every tree - filling the air at night, and caught by glimpses in every object by day - I am surrounded with her image! . . . Well, Hareton's aspect was the ghost of my immortal love, of my wild endeavours to hold my right; my degradation, my pride, my happiness, and my anguish: . . . ." (Ch. XXXIII) (58) "I have a single wish, and my whole being and faculties are yearning to attain it. They have yearned towards it so long, and so unwaveringly, that I'm convinced it will be reached - and soon - because it has devoured my existence: I am swallowed up in the anticipation of its fulfilment . . . ." (Ch. XXXIII) (59) "Last night I was on the threshold of hell. To-day, I am within sight of my heaven. I have my eyes on it: hardly three feet to sever me! . . . ." (Ch. XXXIV) (60) I distinguished Mr. Heathcliff's step, restlessly measuring the floor, and he frequently broke the silence by a deep inspiration, resembling a groan. He muttered detached words also; the only one I could catch was the name of Catherine, coupled with some wild term of endearment or suffering; and spoken as one would speak to a person present: low and earnest, and wrung from the depth of his soul. (Ch. XXXIV)

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not annihilated and his fervent wish to be united with her, is his dream in passage (54) after the opening of Catherine's grave; in this dream he is drawn, not towards existence and eternal life, but towards death and annihilation. Movement is replaced by immobility as in the images of the heart that has stopped, and his cheek frozen against hers. After the impassioned desire and the paroxysm of emotion we see here the urge to escape into tranquillity and dissolution. It is very difficult to see why Heathcliff should answer Nelly's question in passage (54) "And if she had been dissolved into earth, or worse, what would you have dreamt of then?" as he does: "Of dissolving with her, and being more happy still!" Why "more happy' in this final dissolution than in re-union, we wonder. Perhaps because in his dream, and when still under its influence, Heathcliff has reached a depth of understanding which is denied him when waking. Re-union with Catherine would mean a renewal of the ambiguity of their relations, love and hatred, pity and cruelty, which alternately dominate their feelings for each other (50, 52, 53, 56). The senselessness of such an existence eternally continued must have struck him at times with fear and despair. Something of this may be heard in passage (57) where he speaks of Hareton's aspect reminding him of Catherine. In any case, in passage (54) there is no image denoting a striving upwards; on the other hand there is a definite verticalism in the opposite direction, of sinking into the earth and becoming one with it, thereby reaching complete annihilation. This is very remarkable, because the general imagery in connection with Heathcliff throughout the novel is a symbolism of height and not of depth, of rising and not of falling or sinking. 8. Edgar Linton There are no real dreams of Edgar Linton. We have two instances of the thoughts and sentiments that have taken possession of his mind since Catherine's death. Foremost is the longing for the cessation of the torment caused by the separation through death from Catherine, sec-

(61) "Ellen, I've been very happy with my little Cathy: through winter nights and summer days she was a living hope at my side. But I've been as happy musing by myself among those stones under that old church: lying, through the long lune evenings, on the green mound of her mother's grave, and wishing - yearning for the time when I might lie beneath it . . . ," (Ch. XXV)

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ondly his love for Cathy and the wish to see the three of them safely re-united for all eternity. Thus his own account of his fantasies (61) and his last words before dying (62) express the desires that are most important to him. These utterances are not dreams in the strict sense; they reveal the emotional patterns of Edgar's waking fantasy, while his customary control has been slackened, as when he indulges in daydreams (61) and when he is dying (62). Both Edgar and Heathcliff can only conceive happiness through reunion with Catherine. But whereas Heathcliff strives to overcome the laws of nature in his frantic attempts to reach her, and encounters death in the struggle, Edgar is resigned to the idea that he will only be able to attain his purpose through submission to death. Edgar visualises death as the gate to happiness, Heathcliff will reach his goal even if he has to die for it. Edgar's passivity is matched by die flatness of the language in which he expresses his longing. His feelings are simply described, not lived; they do not create a sequence of images that have the power to communicate his emotional experiences. 9.

Isabella

There are no relevant passages. 10.

Cathy

Day-dreaming comes naturally to the young Catherine (64, 65, 66). In

(62) He died blissfully, Mr. Lockwood: he died so. Kissing her cheek, he murmured: "I am going to her; and you, darling child, shall come to us!" and never stirred or spoke again; but continued that rapt, radiant gaze, till his pulse imperceptibly stopped and his soul departed . . . . (Ch. XXVIII) (63) "A man's life is of more consequence than one evening's neglect of the horses: somebody must go", murmured Mrs. Heathcliff, more kindly than I expected. "Not at your command!" retorted Hareton. 'If you set store on him, you'd better be quiet". "Then I hope his ghost will haunt you; . . ." she answered sharply. (Ch. II) (64) Catherine came to me, one morning, at eight o'clock, and said she was that day an Arabian merchant, going to cross the Desert with his caravan; and I must give her plenty of provision for herself and beasts: a horse, and three camels, personated by a large hound and a couple of pointers. (Ch. XVIII) (65) "And you [Hareton] may come with me. I want to see where the goblin-hunter rises in the marsh, and to hear about the fairishes, as you call them: " (Ch. XVIII)

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her childhood her fantasy is captured by Hareton's stories of fairishes and goblin-hunters (65). She is an imaginative child, living in a dreamworld of her own (64). Growing up she gives up her active dream-play for passive daydreams. These do not concentrate on a well-defined story; instead Cathy indulges in a diffuse sort of thinking (66). Imminent changes in her happy life are vividly imagined (67, 69). Also an occasional happy time spent with Linton is elaborated in her dreams (68). Dreaming is to her a necessity of life. A mind empty of dreams is to her "dreary" (70). She taunts Hareton with his lack of imaginative thinking. His apathy is irritating her; she even compares him to the dog Juno. His dreams, if any, are of the same order in her opinion. In passage (63), which is chronologically the last of course, we see her mind switching easily and readily from the every-day world into the world of ghosts. She thinks it will be an appropriate punishment for the unimaginative Hareton to be haunted by Lockwood's ghost. Cathy's mind is active, imaginative; she possesses the ability to let her subconscious work on the problems life offers to her; she does not force the issue; by being able to dream she saves her sanity in a seemingly hopeless situation. 11.

Hareton

There are no relevant passages.

(66) From dinner to tea she would lie in her breeze-rocked cradle, doing nothing except singing old songs . . . or watching the birds . . . or nestling with closed lids, half thinking, half dreaming, happier than words can express. (Ch. XXII) (67) "How life will be changed, how dreary the world will be, when papa and you are dead." (Ch. XXII) (68) "Minny and I went flying home as light as air; and I dreamt of Wuthering Heights and my sweet, darling cousin, till morning." (Ch. XXIV) (69) Seven days glided away, every one marking its course by the henceforth rapid alteration of Edgar Linton's state. . . . Catherine, we would fain have deluded yet: but her own quick spirit refused to delude her: it divined in secret, and brooded on the dreadful probability, . . . . (Ch. XXVII) (70) "What a blank, dreary mind he must have! Do you ever dream, Hareton? And, if you do, what is it about? . . . He's, perhaps, dreaming now", she continued. "He twitched his shoulder as luno twitches hers . . . !" (Ch. XXXII)

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Linton

Linton is obsessed by fears (71) and especially the fear of his father (74). He wakes up, terrified, because he dreams he hears his father (72, 73). All his dreams follow the same pattern; they resemble nightmares: in each of them a terrible apparition inspires him with such fear that he wakes up; the tension is such that the emotional disturbances of the dream are carried over into his waking condition. They are evidence of his basic insecurity, his desperate need to be loved and protected. Heathcliff appears nowhere more diabolically cruel than in the scene of passage (75) where he deliberately, and with a horrible insight into his son's mental and emotional state, plays upon his fears, and takes a fiendish pleasure in increasing them. Here the whole order of things has reached a climax of perversion. A father, a child's natural protector, has become his merciless persecutor; a parent's love - love in its purest and most disinterested form - has turned into blind hatred, seeking to destroy its own creation. Here Heathcliff reaches the depth of perversity, and the theme of the relationship between Heathcliff and his son is laid bare in the few horrible words of this scene. The theme is hatred: hatred in its most barbarous form, the complete negation of the prin-

(71) "He [Linton] dreams of you day and night, and cannot be persuaded that you don't hate him, since you neither write nor call." (Ch. XXII) (72) Linton here started from his slumber in bewildered terror, and asked if any one had called his name. "No", said Catherine; "unless in dreams. I cannot conceive how you manage to doze out of doors, in the morning." "I thought I heard my father", he gasped, glancing up to the frowning nab above us. "You are sure nobody spoke?" (Ch. XXVI) (73) . . . still under the spell of the imaginary voice, his gaze wandered up and down to detect its owner. (Ch. XXVI) (74) And so we left him, scarcely conscious of our departure, so absorbed was he in anticipating his father's approach. (Ch. XXVI) (75) "I was embarassed how to punish him when I discovered his part in the business: he's such a cobweb, a pinch would annihilate him; but you'll see by his look that he has received his due! I brought him down one evening, the day, before yesterday, and just set him in a chair, and never touched him afterwards. I sent Hareton out, and we had the room to ourselves. In two hours, I called Joseph to carry him up again; and since then my presence is as potent on his nerves as a ghost; and I fancy he sees me often, though I am not near. Hareton says he wakes and shrieks in the night by the hour together, and calls you to protect him from me; . . . ." (Ch. XXIX)

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ciple of life. In the character of Heathcliff and in the character of Linton, Emily Bronte has expressed the perversion of love into hatred and of trust into fear.

VII THE IMAGERY OF WINDOWS, DOORS, KEYS, WALLS, GATES, MIRRORS A N D PORTRAITS

1. Lockwood In reviewing the relevant passages the first thing that strikes us is the great number of instances of the imagery of windows, doors, gates etc. that is in some way or other related to Lockwood. In itself this may well be a significant fact: the window, the door, the gate being apertures they express symbolically the idea of penetration into an otherwise enclosed space. It is through Lockwood that the reader is introduced into the world of "Wuthering Heights". The degree of seclusion of this world is reflected in the difficulty he experiences when trying to penetrate into it (1, 3, 4). He is definitely not invited to enter this world. His stub(1) The "walk-in" was uttered with closed teeth, and expressed the sentiment, "Go to the deuce": even the gate over which he leant manifested no sympathising movement to the words; and I think that circumstance determined me to accept the invitation: I felt interested in a man who seemed more exaggeratedly reserved than myself. When he saw my horse's breast fairly pushing the barrier, he did pull out his hand to unchain it, . . . . (Ch. I) (2) Happily, the architect had foresight to build it strong: the narrow windows are deeply set in the wall, and the corners defended with large jutting stones. (Ch. II) (3) . . . I took my hat, and, after a four miles' walk, arrived at Heathcliff's garden gate just in time to escape the first feathery flakes of a snow-shower. . . . Being unable to remove the chain, I jumped over, and . . . knocked vainly for admittance, till my knuckles tingled, and the dogs howled. . . . "Wretched inmates!" I ejaculated mentally, "you deserve perpetual isolation from your species for your churlish inhospitality. At least, I would not keep my door barred in the day-time. I don't care - I will get in!" So resolved, I grasped the latch and shook it vehemently. . . . "Is there nobody inside to open the door?" I hallooed, . . . . The snow began to drive quickly. I seized the handle to essay another trial; . . . . (Ch. II) (4) "Rough weather!" I remarked. "I'm afraid, Mrs. Heathcliff, the door must bear the consequence of your servants' leisure attendance: I had hard work to make them hear me." (Ch. II)

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bornness in forcing an entry reveals his ignorance of what lies beyond that inhospitably barred gate. For him Wuthering Heights is just a lonely house with narrow windows in thick walls, strongly built to withstand the force of the gales in this exposed spot (2). He likes to think of himself as a misanthropist, yet the first thing he does after his arrival at Thrushcross Grange is to visit and to re-visit Wuthering Heights, in spite of the unwelcoming reception. The fact is of course that he has no idea of what real isolation from one's fellow-creatures means. He tries to impose the normal rules of social intercourse on a world that does nor recognize any other society than its own limited circle. His transgression brings its own punishment (5). Having once forced an entry into this uncongenial world, the outsider is not allowed to escape before he has been made to feel its horrifying power (6). He allows himself to be overcome by a false feeling of safety once he has shut himself in the oak-panelled enclosure ( - the nameLockwood may be seen as symbolical of this basically insecure man who tries to find security by locking himself in and shutting the world out - ) (7), only to find that he has unwittingly penetrated into the very centre of this threatening world. His unawareness is so great that he is even prepared to feel sympathy for the unknown Catherine when he comes upon a portrait (5) The business of eating being concluded, and no one uttering a word of sociable conversation, I approached a window to examine the weather. A sorrowful sight I saw: . . . . (Ch. II) (6) With this insult, my patience was at an end. I uttered an expression of disgust, and pushed past him into the yard, running against Earnshaw in my haste. It was so dark that I could not see the means of exit; . . . . [Joseph] sat within earshot, milking the cows by the light of a lantern, which I seized unceremoniously, and, calling out that I would send it back on the morrow, rushed to the nearest postern On opening the little door, two hairy monsters flew at my throat, bearing me down and extinguishing the light; . . . . (Ch. II) (7) Too stupefied to be curious myself, I fastened the door and glanced round for the bed. The whole furniture consisted of a chair, a clothes-press, and a large oak case, with squares cut out near the top, resembling coach windows. . . . In fact, it formed a little closet, and the ledge of a window, which it enclosed, served as a table. I slid back the panelled sides, got in with my light, pulled them together again, and felt secure against the vigilance of Heathcliff, and every one else. . . . In vapid listlessness I leant my head against the window, . . . till my eyes closed; . . . . (Ch. Ill) (8) At the top of an extra page . . . I was greatly amused to behold an excellent caricature of my friend Joseph, - rudely yet powerfully sketched. An immediate interest kindled within me for the unknown Catherine, and I began, forthwith, to decipher her faded hieroglyphics. (Ch. Ill)

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sketch of Joseph drawn by her in one of her books (8). When he sees the caricature of Joseph (who has refused to open the door to him earlier that day), he supposes the maker of the picture to be a kindred soul and he starts reading the diary: thus the way is opened up for the hidden creatures of the dark to emerge and overwhelm him (9, 10). A short return to waking consciousness (11) and the second nightmare - even more gruesome than the first - sets in with the fircones rattling against the window-pane, heralding the appearance at the window of a ghostly Catherine. In his dreams his fear reaches feverpitch; terrified by the spirit seeking entrance he makes a desperate attempt to keep it outside by piling the books before the shattered pane, anything to block the gap through which evil threatened to reach him (12). The door of the enclosure being pushed open marks the passing away of his

(9) . . . my companion wearied me with constant reproaches that I had not brought a pilgrim's staff: telling me that I could never get into the house without one, and boastfully flourishing a heavy-headed cudgel, which I understood to be so denominated. For a moment I considered it absurd that I should need such a weapon to gain admittance into my own residence. Then a new idea flashed across me. I was not going there: . . . . (Ch. Ill) (10) "Sir", I exclaimed, "sitting here within these four walls, at one stretch. I have endured and forgiven the four hundred and ninety heads of your discourse. Seventy times seven times have I plucked up my hat and been about to depart - Seventy times seven times have you preposterously forced me to resume my seat. . . . (Ch. Ill) (11) And what was it that had suggested the tremendous tumult? What had played Jabes's part in the row? Merely the branch of a fir-tree that touched my lattice, as the blast wailed by, and rattled its dry cones against the panes! . . . (Ch. Ill) (12) . . . I heard . . . the fir-bough repeat its teasing sound, and ascribed it to the right cause: but it annoyed me so much, that I resolved to silence it, if possible; . . . . "I must stop it, nevertheless!" I muttered, knocking my knuckles through the glass, and stretching an arm out to seize the importunate branch; instead of which, my fingers closed on the fingers of a little, ice-cold hand! . . . As it spoke, I discerned, obscurely, a child's face looking through the window. Terror made me cruel; and, finding it useless to attempt shaking the creature off, I pulled its wrist on to the broken pane, and rubbed it to and fro till the blood ran down and soaked the bedclothes: still it wailed, "Let me in!" and maintained its tenacious gripe, almost maddening me with fear. "How can I?" I said at length. "Let me go, if you want me to let you in!" The fingers relaxed, I snatched mine through the hole, hurriedly piled the books up in a pyramid against it, . . . . "Begone!" I shouted, "I'll never let you in, not if you beg for twenty years." . . . the pile of books moved as if thrust forward. . . . (Ch. Ill)

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terror (13). Contact with a fellow human being has been re-established, bringing with it a degree of security and self-confidence, sufficient for Lockwood to let him show his resentment to Heathcliff, but there is still in his words the memory of the threatening terror at the window. His opinion of Catherine Earnshaw has undergone a radical change (14). When he admires the picture of Edgar Linton it is obvious that Lockwood thinks him much too good for her (15). Despite the disastrous results of his visits to Wuthering Heights disastrous for his peace of mind and for his bodily health - he is still impatient to go there again as soon as possible after his illness (16, 17). Though the difficulty of entering is less great this time, he still feels he is excluded from the world of Wuthering Heights (he uses the words "jealous gate") and wants to overcome this resistance. It is clear however that this world has rejected him definitely; the only thing for him to do is to take himself off (18). In a last attempt to establish some sort of familiarity he tries to leave by the back door, but he is shown out formally and irrevocably. (13) . . . hasty foorsteps approached my chamber door; somebody pushed it open, with a vigorous hand, and a light glimmered through the squares at the top of the bed. I sat shuddering yet, and wiping the perspiration from my forehead (Ch. Ill) (14) " . . . who showed you up into this room?" he [Heathcliff] continued, . . . "It was your servant, Zillah", I replied, . . . "I suppose that she wanted to get another proof that the place was haunted, at my expense. Well, it is - swarming with ghosts and goblins! You have reason in shutting it up, I assure you. No one will thank you for a doze in such a den! . . . If the little fiend had got in at the window, she probably would have strangled me!" (Ch. Ill) (15) Mrs. Dean raised the candle, and I discerned a soft-featured face, exceedingly resembling the young lady at the Heights, but more pensive and amiable in expresión. It formed a sweet picture. . . . I did not marvel how Catherine Earnshaw could forget her first friend for such an individual. I marvelled much how he, with a mind to correspond with his person, could fancy my idea of Catherine Earnshaw. (Ch. VIII) (16) Yesterday was bright, and calm, and frosty. I went to the Heights as I proposed; . . . . The front door stood open, but the jealous gate was fastened, as at my last visit; I knocked, and invoked Earnshaw from among the garden beds; he unchained it, and I entered. (Ch. XXXI) (17) Hareton's chest heaved in silence a minute: . . . I rose, and, from a gentlemanly idea of relieving his embarrassment, took up my station in the doorway, surveying the external prospect as I stood. (Ch. XXXI) (18) With Mr. Heathcliff, grim and saturnine, on the one hand, and Hareton, absolutely dumb, on the other, I made a somewhat cheerless meal, and

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The last passages (19-24) are all concerned with the events following Heathcliff's death. Lockwood is again in the neighbourhood and revisits Thrushcross Grange and Wuthering Heights. There is nobody to welcome him back at his old home (19). At Wuthering Heights the gate, the doors, the lattices are all open, but though he thinks this an improvement at first (20), it will soon become clear to him that it is only a sign that an earlier episode in the life of Wuthering Heights has been concluded and that a new era has begun, to which he will be just as much an outsider as to the former one. He feels shut out, not forcibly, but equally efficiently (21, 22, 23). Hareton and Cathy do not need the protection of closed gates and locked doors. Lockwood expresses this very clearly (23). And there is nothing left for him to do but exchange a few words with Ellen Dean, the servant, and then to disappear (23). In the last passage (24) we hear echoes of Lockwood's feeling of dejection: on his lonely walk to the churchyard his glance sweeping

bade adieu early. I would have departed by the back way, to get a last glimpse of Catherine and annoy old Joseph; but Hareton received orders to lead up my horse, and my host himself escorted me to the door, so I could not fulfil my wish. (Ch. XXXI) (19) I reached the Grange before sunset, and knocked for admittance; but the family had retreated into the back premises, . . . and they did not hear. I rode into the court. (Ch. XXXII) (20) . . . I quitted the park, and climbed the stony by-road branching off to Mr. Heathcliff's dwelling. . . . I had neither to climb the gate nor to knock - it yielded to my hand. That is an improvement, I thought. (Ch. XXXII) (21) Both doors and lattices were open; . . . what inmates there were had stationed themselves not far from one of the windows. I could both see them and hear them talk before I entered, and looked and listened in consequence; . . . . (Ch. XXXII) (22) . . . I skulked round to seek refuge in the kitchen. There was unobstructed admittance on that side also, and at the door sat my old friend Nelly Dean, (Ch. XXXII) (23) "They are afraid of nothing", I grumbled, watching their approach through the window. "Together they would brave Satan and all his legions!" As they stepped on to the door-stones, . . . I felt irresistibly impelled to escape them again; and . . . I vanished through the kitchen as they opened the house door; . . . . (Ch. XXXIV) (24) My walk home was lengthened by a diversion in the direction of the kirk. When beneath its walls, I perceived decay had made progress, even in seven months: many a window showed black gaps deprived of glass; . . . . (Ch. XXXIV)

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upwards detects only signs of decay, as e.g. the windows deprived of glass; an image of ascent but with a negative dynamism of death and destruction, manifesting Lockwood's defeat. 2. Ellen Dean The exceptionally great number of relevant passages (65) is a very strong indication that the imagery of windows, doors etc. in relation with Ellen Dean is very elaborate. We can divide them into several groups: doors (occuring 31 times), windows (18 times), gates (8 times), keys and locks (7 times), mirrors (4 times), walls and fences (3 times), and portraits (2 times). In some of the passages doors as well as windows play a part. Both doors and windows symbolize the idea of penetration, of giving access, while keys and locks serve much the same purpose. "Having the key to a problem" is equivalent to being in a position to solve it. Of course the symbolism can be reversed and then the predominant sense is one of enclosing, locking in, expressing the impossibility of reaching the outside. Similarly walls and fences can denote a limiting situation but because of their implied verticalism ( - every wall or fence is a challenge to climb over it - ) they may also be taken as symbols of ascent, of rising above restricting difficulties. The mirror does not only reflect the images it receives; as we all know from Through the Looking-glass it may also serve the function of a magic door, giving access to an imaginary world. The symbolism of the portrait can be linked to that of the lookingglass and the door. The portrait gives access to a certain knowledge of the real person; on the other hand it also reflects something of the person of the spectator, as the impression the portrait makes is to some extent a projection of the spectator himself. Taken together doors, windows, gates, keys, walls, mirrors and portraits, occurring in as many as 65 passages with relation to Nelly, cannot but reflect strongly her wish to know everything that is going on about her, to penetrate into everybody's secret thoughts and feelings. She is frequently seen listening at doors, opening windows to see and hear, rattling the handles of locked doors. The first passage (25) shows her at the door of the children's room

(25) . . . I ran to the children's room: their door was ajar, I saw they had never laid down, and did not need me to console them. The little souls

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at Wuthering Heights on the evening of Mr. Earnshaw's death. Her pious commentary, thrown in for the benefit of Lockwood, the listener, has a distinct flavour of hypocrisy: "the little souls", "their innocent talk" indicate a false sentimentality which corresponds with her sneaking attitude at the door. Passage (26) shows her again doing (or contemplating doing) something that is not expected of her: opening the door for Heathcliff and Catherine contrary to Hindley's orders. In passage (27) she puts Heathcliff in front of the looking-glass. He is not - in her opinion - what he should be. The mirror is the door that must give Heathcliff access to the knowledge of what he should try to become. In passage (28) the whole budding conflict between the parties is sketched in the situation of the participants with Nelly in the position of go-between at the door, never quite belonging to any of the parties. Lockwood's question with regard to the portrait of Edgar Linton gives rise to another of Nelly's remarks which strikes a discordant note (29). Just as in passage (27) the mirror must show Heathcliff what he is not, so in passage (29) the Edgar Linton of the portrait is not, according to her, what he should be.

were comforting each other with better thoughts than I would have hit on: no parson in the world ever pictured heaven so beautifully as they did, in their innocent talk: and, while I sobbed and listened, I could not help wishing we were all there safe together. (Ch. V) (26) . . . Hindley in a passion told us to bolt the doors, and swore nobody should let them in that night. The household went to bed; and I, too anxious to lie down, opened my lattice and put my head out to hearken, though it rained: determined to admit them in spite of the prohibition, should they return. (Ch. VI) (27) "Oh, Heathcliff, you are showing a poor spirit! Come to the glass, and I'll let you see what you should wish. Do you mark those two lines between your eyes; and those thick brows, that instead of rising arched, sink in the middle; and that couple of black fiends, so deeply buried, who never open their windows boldly, but lurk glinting under them, like devil's spies? . . . " (Ch. VII) (28) He [Heathcliff] ran to the window and I to the door, just in time to behold the two Lintons descend from the family carriage, smothered in cloaks and furs, and the Earnshaws dismount from their horses: . . . . (Ch. VII) (29) "A very agreeable portrait", I observed to the housekeeper. "Is it like?" "Yes, she answered; "but he looked better when he was animated; that is his everyday countenance: he wanted spirit in general." (Ch. VIII)

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In all the passages so far there is a sense of conflict. In passage (30) we see her again listening at the door to things which are no concern of hers; she simply can't bear to be excluded from what is going on. Conflict everywhere, also in passage (31) where Hindley vents his resentment at her meddling, in cursing and swearing. In passage (32) there is unmistakably spite in her throwing back the lattice while Catherine is sitting cold and miserable on the settle. Joseph recognizes her untruthfulness and her habitual mood of protest against any authority (33). When Heathcliff returns (34) more or less the same situation is pictured as in passage (28), only Heathcliff and Nelly are outside now and Edgar Linton and Catherine Earnshaw (now married) are together in the house: the conflict has deepened. Nelly is conscious of this for she hesitates before announcing Heathcliff's arrival (35). She has to "persuade herself to proceed" with her message, knowing full well that this will mean the end of peace and the beginning of serious trouble. Nevertheless she opens the door. Passages (36, 37, 38, 39) are conconcerned with Nelly's visit to her old home, Wuthering Heights, where Heathcliff is a guest now and

(30) I lifted Hareton in my arms, and walked off to the kitchen with him, leaving the door of communication open, for I was anxious to watch how they [Edgar and Catherine] would settle their disagreement. (Ch. VIII) (31) The Jonah, in my mind, was Mr. Earnshaw; and I shook the handle of his den that I might ascertain if he were yet living. He replied audibly enough, . . . . (Ch. IX) (32) The morning was fresh and cool; I threw back the lattice, and presently the room filled with sweet scents from the garden; but Catherine called peevishly to me, "Ellen, shut the window. I'm starving!" And her teeth shattered . . . . (Ch. IX) (33) ". . . and Miss Nelly, shoo's a fine lass! shoo sits watching for ye i ' t ' kitchen; and as yah're in at one door, he's aht at t' other; . . . ." (Ch. IX) (34) On a mellow evening in September, I was coming from the garden with a heavy basket of apples . . . . I set my burden on the house steps by the kitchen door, and lingered to rest, . . . when I heard a voice behind me say - "Nelly, is that you?" (Ch. X) (35) He lifted the latch, and I entered; but when I got to the parlour where Mr. and Mrs. Linton were, I could not persuade myself to proceed. At length, I resolved on making an excuse to ask if they would have the candles lighted, and I opened the door. (Ch. X) (36) I've persuaded my conscience that it was my duty to warn him [Hindley] how people talked regarding his ways; and then I've recollected his

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Hindley is slowly drinking himself to death. It is the conflict between Hindley and Heathcliff in which she wants to interfere now. She does not come much farther than the gate though. Through the appearance of Heathcliff at the door she is given to understand that her interference is not wanted. Again she is excluded. Passage (40) shows her spying on Heathcliff when he is embracing Isabella in the garden. Passage (41): she is listening at the door when Edgar and Catherine quarrel about Heathcliff's visits. In passage (42) she is shut out by Catherine. Up to now the picture of Nelly that arises from these 18 passages is of a woman who desperately tries to interfere in other people's business and is rejected on all sides. In nearly all the passages we find a situation of conflict, in this sense that Nelly's opinions, thoughts and/or feelings are not in harmony with those of the people around her, or that she is in some way or other excluded from sharing other people's experiences, thoughts or feelings. So the door and the window take on the symbolic significance of a dividing wall, separating Nelly from her surroundings.

confirmed bad habits, and hopeless of benefiting him, have flinched from re-entering the dismal house, . . . . (Ch. XI) (37) One time I passed the old gate, going out of my way, on a journey to Gimmerton. (Ch. XI) (38) The nearer I got to the house the more agitated I grew; and on catching sight of it I trembled in every limb. The apparition had outstripped me: it stood looking through the gate. That was my first idea on observing an elf-locked, brown-eyed boy setting his ruddy countenance against the bars. (Ch. XI) (39) I put the orange in his hand, and bade him tell his father that a woman called Nelly Dean was waiting to speak with him, by the garden gate. He went up the walk, and entered the house; but, instead of Hindley, Heathcliff appeared on the door stones; and I turned directly and ran down the road as hard as ever I could race, . . . . (Ch. XI) (40) Now, as soon as he [Heathcliff] beheld her [Isabella], his first precaution was to take a sweeping survey of the house-front. I was standing by the kitchen window, but I drew out of sight. (Ch. XI) (41) Therefore I said nothing when I met the master coming towards the parlour; but I took the liberty of turning back to listen whether they would resume their quarrel together. (Ch. XI) (42) . . . she [Catherine] only glared about her for an instant, and then rushed from the room. The master directed me to follow; I did, to her chamber door: she hindered me from going further by securing it against me. (Ch. XI)

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The conflict with Catherine is continued in passages (43-47). The window, the mirror and the door all play a part in it. Catherine wants the window opened, Nelly keeps it closed; when Catherine is brought into a state of terror by the images she sees in the mirror, - reflections of her own frenzied excitement, - Nelly tries to escape from the room. The conflict, which is really a clash of wills, reaches its climax in passage (47) and Catherine, dazed though she is, realizes the hidden enmity in Nelly. Catherine - as in a dream - thinks in images here: when the window is closed, the link with the cosmic life on the moor is broken and from that moment she is doomed to die. Passage (48) supplies an example of the action of an opposite force in Nelly: here is no conflict, she is simply obeying a natural impulse. The helpless little dog evokes no feelings of hostility in her. This one action cannot counterbalance the many instances of aggressive wilfulness however. In the next passage (49) she performs a particularly

(43) . . . then raising herself up all burning, desired that I would open the window. We were in the middle of winter, the wind blew strong from the north-east, and I objected. (Ch. XII) (44) "Don't you see that face?" she inquired, gazing earnestly at the mirror. And say what I could, I was incapable of making her comprehend it to be her own; so I rose and covered it with a shawl. (Ch. XII) (45) I attempted to steal to the door with an intention of calling her husband; but I was summoned back by a piercing shriek - the shawl had dropped from the frame. "Why, what is the matter?" cried I. "Who is coward now? wake up! That is the glass - the mirror, Mrs. Linton; and you see yourself in it, and there am I too, by your side." (Ch. XII) (46) To pacify her, I held the casement ajar a few seconds. A cold blast rushed through; I closed it, and returned to my post. She lay still now, . . . . (Ch. XII) (47) "Open the window again wide: fasten it open! Quick, why don't you move?" "Because I won't give you your death of cold", I answered. "You won't give me a chance of life, you mean", she said sullenly. . . . (Ch. XII) (48) The little dog was yelping in the garden yet. I spared a minute to open the gate for it, . . . . (Ch. XII) (49) There was a man-servant left to keep the house with me, and we generaly made a practice of locking the doors during the hours of service; but on that occasion the weather was so warm and pleasant that I set them wide open, and, to fulfil my engagement, as I knew who would be coming, I told my companion that . . . he must run over to the village . . . . (Ch. XV)

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treacherous act towards her employer: opening the doors wide to allow his rival an unhindered entrance. As soon as Catherine has died her feelings seem to undergo a softening influence, reflected in the subdued light that falls through the screened windows (50). But this does not mean an essential change in her: hardly a day later she exhibits another act of treachery behind Edgar's back (51). Most of the passages in the first half of the book show Nelly in some relation to Catherine; in the second part Catherine's place is taken by her daughter Cathy. The first passage in which Cathy figures as a newborn baby is full of harsh words ("the moaning doll of a child"), culminating in the unfriendly picture of the uncurtained window being gradually blocked up, so that the world outside is hidden from Nelly's view. It causes a feeling of frustration in her and when Isabella appears unexpectedly at the door she has to bear the brunt of Nelly's anger (52). In passages (53, 54, 55) we see the first beginnings of Cathy's resistance to Nelly's dominating influence, in other words of a new conflict between Nelly and another (young) woman. Cathy is no longer the

(50) Next morning - bright and cheerful out of doors - stole softened in through the blinds of the silent room, and suffused the couch and its occupant with a mellow, tender glow. (Ch. XVI) (51) . . . still, I was conscious of his design to enter, if he could; and on the Tuesday, a little after dark, when my master, from sheer fatigue, had been compelled to retire a couple of hours, I went and opened one of the windows; moved by his perseverance, to give him a chance of bestowing on the faded image of his idol one final adieu. (Ch. XVI) (52) . . . and there I was, sitting with the moaning doll of a child laid on my knee; rocking it to and fro, and watching, meanwhile, the still driving flakes build up the uncurtained window, when the door opened, and some person entered, out of breath and laughing! My anger was greater than my astonishment for a minute. (Ch. XVII) (53) I did not fear her [Cathy] breaking bounds; because the gates were generally locked, and I thought she would scarcely venture forth alone, if they had stood wide open. (Ch. XVIII) (54) There was a labourer working at a fence round a plantation, on the borders of the grounds. I inquired of him if he had seen our young lady. . . . "What will become of her?" I ejaculated, pushing through a gap which the man was repairing, . . . . (Ch. XVIII) (55) I opened the wicket and ran to the door, knocking vehemently for admittance. A woman whom I knew . . . answered: . . . . (Ch. XVIII)

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docile little girl and Nelly, hastening through the gap in the fence and knocking angrily on the door at Wuthering Heights, realizes that her authority has received a blow. Cathy takes the lead in visiting Linton again (56, 57) and Nelly, uttering vain protests, can only follow her to the gate of Wuthering Heights. The shameful story of Nelly discovering and reading Cathy's secret correspondence with Linton can be read in the following four passages (58, 59, 60, 61) with their abundance of images of secrecy and the violation of another person's privacy: Nelly returning softly and suddenly opening the door of Cathy's bedroom (58); her searching for a key to fit the drawer with the letters and re-locking the empty drawer, while taking the letters with her to the safety of her own room (59, 60); and her reading of Cathy's letter to Linton under the shelter of the garden wall. After the burning of the letters Nelly's control over Cathy seems re-established. The renewed outbreak of conflict - in which Nelly will have to admit defeat - starts with Cathy climbing the wall (62) and getting down on the other side. There she is exposed to Heathcliff's

(56) "Well", said I, "where are your moor-game, Miss Cathy? We should be at them: the Grange park-fence is a great way off now. (Ch. XXI) (57) "And I'm resolved she shall never approach your house with me again". I returned, as we reached the gate, where Miss Cathy waited our coming. (Ch. XXIV) (58) . . . I covered her up, and shut her door, in great displeasure; but, repenting half-way, I returned softly, and lo! there was miss standing at the table with a bit of blank paper before her and a pencil in her hand, which she guiltily slipped out of sight, on my entrance. (Ch. XXI) (59) My curiosity and suspicions were aroused; I determined to take a peep at her mysterious treasures; so, at night, as soon as she and my master were safe upstairs, I searched and readily found among my house-keys one that would fit the lock. Having opened, I emptied the whole contents into my apron, and took them with me to examine at leisure in my own chamber. (Ch. XXI) (60) After turning over as many as I thought proper, I tied them in a handkerchief and set them aside, re-locking the vacant drawer. (Ch. XXI) (61) I went round by the garden, and laid wait for the messenger; who fought valorously to defend his trust, and we spilt the milk between us; but I succeeded in abstracting the epistle; and . . . I remained under the wall and perused Miss Cathy's affectionate composition. (Ch. XXI) (62) As we talked, we neared a door that opened on the road; and my young lady, brightening into sunshine again, climbed up and seated herself on the top of the wall, reaching over to gather some hips . . . . (Ch. XXII)

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persuasion while Nelly is powerless behind the closed door (63, 64). She has to use force to knock off the lock before she can pull Cathy back through the door into her sphere of influence. And even if she barricades the door with a stone, she has lost (65). For in (66) we see her accompanying Cathy to Wuthering Heights and Linton. Her threat to have the lock mended is met by laughing defiance on the part of Cathy (67). Nelly is ill for some weeks and during that time Cathy visits Linton regularly. Nelly has become suspicious and sets herself to discover what Cathy is up to in the evenings. Passages (68, 69) are again full of images of secrecy: the listening at the door, the watching at the window for Cathy's return and then the sudden rising from the darkness when she enters; windows and doors play again a prominent part in this episode. No fewer than twelve passages (70-81) are concerned with the imprisonment of Nelly and Cathy at Wuthering Heights. Though they (63) "Stay where you are". I answered, "I have my bundle of keys in my pocket: perhaps I may manage to open it; if not I'll go." Catherine amused herself with dancing to and fro before the door, while I tried all the large keys in succession. I had applied the last, and found that none would do; . . . . (Ch. XXII) (64) "How can you lie so glaringly to the poor child?" I called from the inside. "Pray ride on! . . . Miss Cathy, I'll knock the lock off with a stone: you won't believe that vile nonsense, . . . ." (Ch. XXII) (65) The lock gave way and I issued out . . . . "Come in", said I. taking Cathy by the arm and half-forcing her to re-enter; . . . . I closed the door, and rolled a stone to assist the loosened lock in holding it; . . . . (Ch. XXII) (66) We entered the farmhouse by the kitchen way, to ascertain whether Mr. Heathcliff were really absent; because I put slight faith in his own affirmation. (Ch. XXIII) (67) "You won't go to-morrow, recollect, miss!" I commenced, when we were out of the house. "You are not dreaming of it, are you?" She smiled. "Oh, I'll take good care", I continued: "I'll have that lock mended, and you can escape by no way else." "I can get over the wall", she said, laughing. "The Grange is not a prison, Ellen, and you are not my gaoler." (Ch. XXIII) (68) No Catherine could I discover upstairs, and none below. . . . I listened at Mr. Edgar's door; all was silence. I returned to her apartment, extinguished my candle, and seated myself in the window. (Ch. XXIII) (69) Cathy entered by the casement-window of the drawing-room, and glided noiselessly up to where I awaited her. She put the door gently to, . . . when I suddenly rose and revealed myself. The surprise petrified her an instant: . . . . (Ch. XXIII)

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share the same fate they are by no means in harmony, which is evident from (74): Cathy, at the window, does not speak a single word to Nelly, and Nelly herself, locked in by Heathcliff and obstinately ignored by Cathy, feels rejected by both parties. In this predicament she confesses to a momentary awareness of her own doubtful actions. Her behaviour during the whole episode is certainly too naive to be considered sincere. She lets herself be shepherded meekly into the house by Heathcliff (70); when she hears voices at the gate, which she could hardly fail to identify as those of the servants at the Grange, she has not the wit to cry out for help (72, 73); she actually urges Cathy to obey Heathcliff when he tells them to go upstairs, though as a former inmate of Wuthering Heights she must know that escape through the windows will be impossible (74). When she is free to go, she hastens home without Cathy, intending to return with a party of servants from the Grange to fetch her, but she is "happily spared the journey and the trouble!" (80). She does not tell the

(70) We reached the threshold: Catherine walked in, and I stood waiting till she had conducted the invalid to a chair, expecting her out immediately; when Mr. Heathcliff, pushing me forward, exclaimed: "My house is not stricken with the plague, Nelly; . . . sit down, and allow me to shut the door." He shut and locked it also. I started. (Ch. XXVII) (71) Our first thought, on his departure, was to force an exit somewhere. We tried the kitchen door, but that was fastened outside: we looked at the windows - they were too narrow for even Cathy's little figure. (Ch. XXVII) (72) It was growing dark - we heard a sound of voices at the garden gate. Our host hurried out instantly: he had his wits about him; we had not. (Ch. XXVII) (73) "It was three servants sent to seek you from the Grange", said Heathcliff "You should have opened a lattice and called out: . . . ." (Ch. XXVII) (74) Then he bid us go upstairs, . . . and I whispered my companion to obey: perhaps we might contrive to get through the window there, or into a garret, and out by its skylight. The window, however, was narrow, like those below, and the garret trap was safe from our attempts; for we were fastened in as before. We neither of us lay down: Catherine took her station by the lattice, and watched anxiously for morning; a deep sigh being the only answer I could obtain to my frequent entreaties that she would try to rest. I seated myself in a chair, and rocked to and fro, passing harsh judgment on my many derelictions of duty; from which, it struck me then, all the misfortunes of my employers sprang . . . . (Ch. XXVII) (75) At seven o'clock he came, and inquired if Miss Linton had risen. She ran to the door immediately, and answered, "Yes." "Here, then", he said, opening it, and pulling her out. I rose to follow, but he turned the lock again. I demanded my release. (Ch. XXVII)

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truth to Edgar (78) and listens at the door when Cathy is re-united with her dying father (81). A s if she were the mistress of the house she now receives Heathcliff in the same room into which as a servant she had ushered him eighteen years before (82). It is not accidental that she mentions the portraits of Mr. and Mrs, Linton on this occasion: she remembers quite well how they sat at the window on such an evening as this when their peaceful mood was shattered by the entrance of Heathcliff. This time he comes to fetch Cathy, and Nelly, after listening patiently to his long story of how he is pursued by visions of Catherine, watches placidly from the window when he takes Cathy away from her home (83). Once she tries to visit her, but she is not allowed to enter (84), after (76) I thumped on the panels, and rattled the latch angrily; . . . . And there I remained enclosed the whole day, and the whole of the next night; and another, and another . . . ." (Ch. XXVII) (77) . . . I snatched my outdoor things, and hastened below, for the way was free. On entering the house, I looked about for some one to give information of Catherine. The place was filled with sunshine, and the door stood wide open; but nobody seemed at hand. (Ch. XXVIII) (78) As soon as he [Edgar] recovered, I related our compulsory visit, and detention at the Heights. I said Heathcliff forced me to go in: which was not quite true. (Ch. XXVIII) (79) Her father shall see her, I vowed, and vowed again, if that devil be killed on his own doorstones in trying to prevent it! (Ch. XXVIII) (80) Happily, I was spared the journey and the trouble. I had gone downstairs at three o'clock to fetch a jug of water; and was passing through the hall with it in my hand, when a sharp knock at the front door made me jump. . . . the knock was repeated: not loud, and still importunately. I . . . hastened to admit him [Green] myself . . . . It was not the attorney. My own sweet little mistress sprang on my neck, . . . . (Ch. XXVIII) (81) I couldn't abide to be present at their meeting. I stood outside the chamber-door a quarter of an hour, . . . . (Ch. XXVIII) (82) It was the same room into which he had been ushered, as a guest, eighteen years before: the same moon shone through the window; and the same autumn landscape lay outside. We had not yet lighted a candle, but all the apartment was visible, even to the portraits on the wall: the splendid head of Mrs. Linton, and the graceful one of her husband. (Ch. XXIX) (83) He signed her to precede him; and casting back a look that cut my heart she obeyed. I watched them from the window, walk down the garden. (Ch. XXIX) (84) I have paid a visit to the Heights, but I have not seen her since she left: Joseph held the door in his hand when I called to ask after her, and wouldn't let me pass. (Ch. XXX)

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which her attempts at communication with her "little mistress" stop altogether. T h e last five passages are f r o m the last chapter of the book in which Heathcliff dies. T h e y show Nelly's struggle with Heathcliff's moods and fancies, a struggle that is reflected in the opening and shutting of doors and windows (85, 86, 88, 89), and, (just as in ( 2 7 ) ) in her dissatisfaction with Heathcliff's appearance; her advice to him is to look at himself in a mirror, and supposedly the shock will bring him over to her opinion that he ought to do something about it (87). T h e window swinging open ( 8 9 ) is to N e l l y a sign that something is wrong. She has to overcome the difficulty of the closed door and panels before she can shut the window; this is the end of the conflict with Heathcliff; the conflict with Cathy ended in Nelly watching f r o m the window how Cathy was being taken away by Heathcliff ( 8 3 ) ; the conflict with the first Catherine found its climax in Nelly shutting the window in spite of Catherine's earnest pleading to open it (47). In the light of all this evidence it may not be saying too much when we state that Nelly's situation throughout the book is one of conflict, and that the door and the window are the most important symbolical manifestations of this conflict. (85) I . . . commenced shutting the casements, one after another, till I came to his. "Must I close this?" I asked, in order to rouse him; for he would not stir. (Ch. X X X I V ) (86) Dawn restored me to common sense. I rose, and went into the garden, as soon as I could see. to ascertain if there were any footmarks under his window. There were none. " H e has stayed at home", I thought, "and he'll be all right to-day." (Ch. X X X I V ) (87) " D o take some food, and some repose. You need only look at yourself in a glass to see how you require both. Your cheeks are hollow, and your eyes bloodshot, like a person starving with hunger and going blind with loss of sleep." (Ch. X X X I V ) (88) . . . we heard him groaning and murmuring to himself. Hareton was anxious to enter; but I bade him fetch Dr. Kenneth, and he should go in and see him. When he came, and I requested admittance and tried to open the door, I found it locked; and Heathcliff bid us be damned. He was better and would be left alone; (Ch. X X X I V ) (89) . . . as I took my morning walk round the house, I observed the master's window swinging open Having succeeded in obtaining entrance with another key, I ran to unclose the panels, for the chamber was vacant; quickly pushing them aside, I peeped in. Mr. Heathcliff was there laid on his back. . . . The lattice, flapping to and fro, had grazed one hand . . . I hasped the window; . . . . (Ch. X X X I V )

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3.

123

Joseph

Nine of the ten passages (90-98) related to Joseph stress his preference for locked doors and gates. Joseph is not going to lift a finger to open the door for Lockwood, who arrives in a snowstorm at Wuthering Heights (90). In Lockwood's dream (91) Joseph has characteristically provided himself with a heavy stick to fight his way into the house, because naturally he expects resistance to his entry. When Heathcliff disappears, Joseph complains that the boy gets worse and worse, because he has left the gate open (92). He advises Hindley to slam the door in the faces of visitors (93). Catherine, in her feverish delirium, imagines she sees a light in Joseph's window and concludes he is waiting up to lock the gate (94). Also Isabella returning with Heathcliff to Wuthering Heights remarks on Joseph's fondness of locking doors and gates (95). It is with obvious pleasure that he refuses to show her into Heathcliff's room, because Heathcliff always keeps it locked, he says (96).

(90) Vinegar-faced Joseph projected his head from a round window of the barn . . . . "Is there nobody inside to open the door?" I hallooed, responsively. "They's nobbut t' missis; and shoo'll nut oppen't an ye mak yer flaysome dins till neeght." "Why? Cannot you tell her who I am, eh, Joseph?" "Nor-ne me! Aw'll hae noa hend wi't", muttered the head vanishing. (Ch. II) (91) I thought it was morning; and T had set out on my way home, with Joseph for guide. . . . My companion wearied me with constant reproaches that I had not brought a pilgrim's staff: telling me that I could never get into the house without one, and boastfully flourishing a heavy- headed cudgel. . . . . (Ch. Ill) (92) "Yon lad gets war un war!" observed he on re-entering. "He's left th'yate at t' full swing, and Miss's pony has trodden dahn two rigs uh corn, and plottered through, raight o'er intuh t' meadow!" (Ch. IX) (93) "If Aw wur yah. maister. Aw'd just slam t' boards i' their faces all on them, gentle and simple! . . ." (Ch. IX) (94) ". . . and the other candle is in Joseph's garret. Joseph sits up late, doesn't he? He's waiting till I come home that he may lock the gate." (Ch. XII) (95) Then he [Joseph] took the two horses, and led them into the stables, reappearing for the purpose of locking the outer gate, as if we lived in an ancient castle. (Ch. XIII) (96) "Oh! it's Maister Hathecliff s yah're wanting!" cried he. as if making a new discovery. ". . . that's just one [room] yah cannot see - he alias keeps it locked, un nob'dy iver mells o n ' t but hisseln." (Ch. XIII)

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H a r e t o n in a passion has thrown Linton out of the r o o m and Joseph expresses his delight by locking the door (97). Nelly, coming to see Cathy after her marriage with Linton, finds Joseph barring the entrance (98). It seems surprising that Joseph, who is so f o n d of locking doors and keeping visitors out, should open his window in the garret every rainy night and be granted the sight of Heathcliff's and Catherine's appearance on the moor, after Heathcliff's death (99). T h e opening of the window at the top of the house may symbolize Joseph's ability to establish a mystic link between what can be perceived in the natural order of things and that which is beyond bodily perception. Joseph, uncommunicative and unsociable, seems invested with special powers of psychic energy. 4.

Old Mr.

Earnshaw

T h e r e are only two passages related to Mr. E a r n s h a w and no conclusions can be drawn f r o m them (100, 101). 5.

Hindley

T h e r e are ten passages relating to Hindley and without one exception they are all concerned with the locking and bolting of doors and windows; when Hindley is not busy shutting other people out, he is locking himself in. T h e whole conflict between Hindley and Heathcliff can be read in these terms. Of course, the possession of Wuthering Heights is at stake in this struggle, and the door is of the utmost significance, because it is the door which gives access to the house. Whoever has

(97) "I [Cathy] exclaimed that he [Hareton] had killed Linton, and I would enter. Joseph locked the door, and declared I should do 'no sich stuff, . . . ." (Ch. XXIV) (98) . . . I [Nelly] have not seen her [Cathy] since she left: Joseph held the door in his hand when I called to ask after her, and wouldn't let me pass. (Ch. XXX) (99) Yet that old man by the kitchen fire affirms he has seen two on 'em looking out of his chamber window, on every rainy night since his death: . . . . (Ch. XXXIV) (100) Then it grew dark; she would have had them to bed, but they begged sadly to be allowed to stay up; and, just about eleven o'clock, the doorlatch was raised quietly and in stepped the master. (Ch. IV) (101) By chance, or else attracted by hearing his voice, it crept to Mr. Earnshaw's door, and there he found it on quitting his chamber. (Ch. IV)

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passed the outer barrier of the door can penetrate into the heart of the house. When Hindley can no longer keep Heathcliff out, he locks himself in and drinks himself to death. W hen we take the passages one by one we see in: (102) Hindley orders the servants to bolt the doors and tells them not to admit Heathcliff and Catherine; (103) Heathcliff is sent out of the room and locked up in the garret; (104) during the thunderstorm Hindley locks himself in his room; (105) a picture of Hindley, drinking and gambling behind closed shutters; (106) Hindley opens the door to Isabella and immediately locks it again to keep Heathcliff out; (107) Hindley tells Isabella that every night he tries Heathcliff's door and that he will kill him if he finds it unlocked for once;

(102) We searched the house, above and below, and the yard and the stables; they were invisible: and at last, Hindley in a passion told us to bolt the doors, and swore nobody should let them in that night. (Ch. VI) (103) . . . ill luck would have it that as he [Heathcliff] opened the door leading from the kitchen on one side, Hindley opened it on the other. They met, and the master . . . shoved him back with a sudden thrust, and angrily bade Joseph "keep the fellow out of the room - send him into the garret till dinner is over . . . ." (Ch. VII) (104)The Jonah, in my mind, was Mr. Earnshaw; and I shook the handle of his den that I might ascertain if he were yet living. He replied audibly enough, . . . . (Ch. IX) (105) "This is t'way o n ' t : - up at sundahn: dice, brandy, cloised shutters, und can'le-lught till next day, at nooin: then, t' fooil gangs banning un raving tuh his cham'er, . . . ." (Ch. X) (106) I [Isabella] walked round the yard, and through a wicket, to another door, at which I took the liberty of knocking, . . . . After a short suspense, it was opened by a tall, gaunt man, without neckerchief, and otherwise extremely slovenly; I repented having tried this second entrance, and was almost inclined to slip away before he finished cursing, but ere I could execute that intention, he ordered me in, and shut and re-fastened the door. (Ch. XIII) (107) "Joseph will show you Heathcliff's chamber", said he; "open that door - he's in there." I was going to obey, but he suddenly arrested me, and added in the strangest tone: "Be so good as to turn your lock, and draw your bolt - don't omit it!" "Well!" I said. "But why, Mr. Earnshaw?" . . . "Look here!" he replied, pulling from his waist-coat a curiously constructed pistol, . . . . "That's a

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(108) (109) actions; (110) (111) 6.

Hindley keeps Heathcliff iocked out in the snowstorm; here Hindley expresses the conflict in words as well as in his a last desperate attempt to reach out and beat the enemy; surrender, but behind the locked door, symbol of defiance.

Catherine

The imagery of doors, windows etc. bearing relation to Catherine is very extensive. The main idea that finds expression in a variety of ways is the feeling of security or the lack of it; not so much a battle of wills as in the case of Ellen Dean, or the lust of power as in the case of Hindley. As children Catherine and Heathcliff seek a spot where they can feel secure from their uncongenial surroundings (112). Lockwood has read Catherine's diary before he went to sleep in the panelled bed. That her story has impressed her feeling of insecurity, of being lost in a hostile world, upon his mind is revealed by the ap-

great tempter to a desperate man, is it not? I cannot resist going up with this every night, and trying his door. If once I find it open he's done for! " (Ch. XIII) (108) Heathcliff had returned from his watch . . . . That [kitchen] entrance was fastened, and we heard him coming round to get in by the other. I rose with an irrepressible expression of what I felt on my lips, which induced my companion, who had been staring towards the door, to turn and look at me. "I'll keep him out five minutes", he exclaimed. "You won't object?" "No, you may keep him out the whole night for me", I answered. "Do! put the key in the lock, and draw the bolts." Earnshaw accomplished this ere his guest reached the front; . . . . (Ch. XVII) (109) "Damn the hellish villain! He knocks at the door as if he were master here already! . . . " (Ch. XVII) (110) "He's there, is he?" exclaimed my companion, rushing to the gap. "If I can get my arm out I can hit him!" (Ch. XVII) (111) "I [Heathcliff] happened to leave him [Hindley] ten minutes yesterday afternoon, and in that interval he fastened the two doors of the house against me, and he has spent the night in drinking himself to death deliberately! . . . " (Ch. XVII) (112) We made ourselves as snug as our means allowed in the arch of the dresser. I had just fastened our pinafores together, and hung them up for a curtain, when in comes Joseph on an errand from the stables. (Ch. Ill)

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pearance of the child at the window, asking to be let in, in his dream (113, 114). The picture of Heathcliff and Catherine looking in wonder through the window at Thrushcross Grange, and seeing the well-cared for and even over-protected little Lintons in their comfortable world makes their own situation seem more forlorn still (115). When Heathcliff is in disgrace Catherine shares his temporary banishment; even locked doors cannot keep her out. Without Heathcliff the world is a hostile place to her (116). Catherine has been won over by the superficial appeal of the Lintons' world. Once she has decided she will belong to it, she cannot let Edgar go without a struggle. In the quarrel with Edgar (117) the door-imagery takes the form of a conflict, in which Catherine proves the stronger of the two. She can keep Edgar by locking the door, but she has no means of stopping Heathcliff if he is determined to go. The open gate (118) is to Catherine a sign that communication with Heathcliff has been inter-

i l l 3) . . . a most melancholy voice sobbed, "Let me in - let me in! . . . I'm come home: I'd lost my way on the moor!" As it spoke, I discerned, obscurely, a child's face looking through the window. (Ch. Ill) (114) "I've been a waif for twenty years!" Thereat began a feeble scratching outside, and the pile of books moved as if thrust forward. (Ch. Ill) (115) We crept through a broken hedge, groped our way up the path, and planted ourselves on a flower-plot under the drawing-room window. The light came from thence; they had not put up the shutters, and the curtains were only half closed. Both of us were able to look in by standing on the basement, and clinging to the ledge, and we saw - ah! it was beautiful (Ch. VI) (116) She . . . mounted . . . to the garret where Heathcliff was confined, and called him. . . . she persevered, and finally persuaded him to hold communion with him through the boards. . . . the little monkey had crept by the skylight of one garret, along the roof, into the skylight of the other, and it was with the utmost difficulty I could coax her out again. When she did come Heathcliff came with her, . . . . (Ch. VII) (117) "Where are you going?" demanded Catherine, advancing to the door. He swerved aside, and attempted to pass. "You must not go!" she exclaimed energetically. "I must and shall!" he replied in a subdued voice. "No", she persisted, grasping the handle; "not yet, Edgar Linton: sit down; you shall not leave me in that temper." (Ch. VIII) (118) "I want to speak to him, and I must, before I go upstairs", she said. "And the gate is open: he is somewhere out of hearing; . . . ." (Ch. IX)

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rupted. When it becomes evident that he has gone for good, she wants the window closed (119). A pathetic attempt to make herself believe Heathcliff will come back, and a half-hearted hope to be able to share his banishment from Wuthering Heights if he does return are expressed in (120). The full realization of her loss makes Catherine desperate; in the doctor's warning that she may throw herself out of the window we see the inverted dynamism of the downward movement, indicative of selfdestruction (121). A short interval of seeming quiet: Catherine and Edgar sitting together at the window and looking out over the placid valley. Wuthering Heights is invisible. Here again, though in a mitigated form, the downward tendency which is in contradiction to Catherine's natural dynamism (122). The closing of the curtains, shutting out the peaceful scene, marks the end of this episode (123). The beginning conflict, which Catherine fears and tries to avoid because she feels it will mean the end of compromise, is again expressed in the image of the bolting of the door (124). If she still intends to be on the same side as Edgar in passage (124), in the following passages (125, 126, 127, 128, 129) she has definitely chosen Heathcliffs side. (119) The morning was fresh and cool; I threw back the lattice, . . . but Catherine called peevishly to me, "Ellen, shut the window. I'm starving!" and her teeth chattered . . . . (Ch. IX) (120) "I never saw Heathcliff last night", answered Catherine, . . . "and if you do turn him out of doors, I'll go with him. . . ." (Ch. IX) (121) . . . he [the doctor] told me to . . . take care she did not throw herself downstairs or out of the window; . . . . (Ch. IX) (122) They sat together in a window whose lattice lay back against the wall, and displayed . . . the valley of Gimmerton, . . . Wuthering Heights was invisible; . . . . Both the room and its occupants, and the scene they gazed on, looked wondrously peaceful. (Ch. X) (123) "Well, close the curtains, Nelly", she said; "and bring up tea, I'll be back again directly." (Ch. X) (124) "I said you must let Isabella alone! - I beg you will, unless you are tired of being received here, and wish Linton to draw the bolts against you." (Ch. XI) (125) ". . . Every day I grow madder after sending him to heaven!" . . . "Hush!" said Catherine, shutting the inner door. (Ch. XI) (126) "Have you been listening at the door, Edgar?" asked the mistress, in a tone particularly calculated to provoke her husband, . . . . (Ch. XI) (127) . . . Mrs. Linton, suspecting something, followed; and when I attempted to call them [the servants], she pulled me back, slamned the door to, and locked it. (Ch. XI)

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129

How deep and irrevocable the conflict has become can be seen in (128) where Catherine threatens to swallow the key, a destructive action symbolizing the impossobility to solve the problem that is facing her. In passage (129) she actually throws the key into the fire; as fire is an agent of destruction this action is a further indication of Catherine's inability or unwillingness to find a way out of the conflict. The episode ends with Catherine flying to the safety of her room and barring the door against intruders (130). Nelly, who is obviously considered to belong to the opposite camp, is only allowed in when it has become a matter of life and death for Catherine to obtain some food and water (131). The introduction of the imagery of the mirror (132) marks the change that is coming over Catherine. Symbolically the mirror possesses the magic power to change the images it receives and substitute others in their place. So it does not only reflect the images it receives; in fairytales and folklore it can also reproduce images it has received at some time in the past or reflect the projections of one's inner consciousness. Catherine seeing a face in the mirror that frightens her is looking at a projection of her own anxiety (134).

(128) " . . . I'll swallow the key before you shall get it! . . . " (Ch. XI) (129) He [Edgar] tried to wrest the key from Catherine's grasp, and for safety she flung it into the hottest part of the fire; . . . . (Ch. XI) (130) . . . she only glared about her for an instant, and then rushed from the room. The master directed me to follow; I did, to her chamber door: she hindered me from going further by securing it against me. (Ch. XI) (131) Mrs. Linton, on the third day, unbarred her door, and having finished the water in her pitcher and decanter, desired a renewed supply, and a basin of gruel, for she believed she was dying. (Ch. XII) (132) "My God! does he know how I'm altered?" continued she, staring at her reflection in a mirror hanging against the opposite wall. "Is that Catherine Linton? . . ." (Ch. XII) (133) Tossing about, she increased her feverish bewilderment to madness, and tore the pillow with her teeth; then raising herself up all burning, desired that I would open the window. (Ch. XII) (134) " . . . I'm conscious it's night, and there are two candles on the table making the black press shine like jet. . . . It does appear odd - I see a face in it! . . . Dont' you see that face? she inquired, gazing earnestly at the mirror. And say what I could, I was incapable of making her comprehend it to be her own; so I rose and covered it with a shawl. "It's behind there still!" she pursued anxiously. "And it stirred. Who is it? I hope it will not come out when you are gone! Oh! Nelly, the room is haunted! I'm afraid

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The mirror is also a magic door and Catherine is afraid the horrifying apparition will come out. Nelly covers the glass with a shawl, thereby instinctively entering into Catherine's state of mind and finding the correct response: the magic door is now closed and the apparition cannot come out. For a moment Catherine's fears are allayed. Nelly tries to make her understand that she saw herself in the mirror. The realization of the truth strikes Catherine with terror just when the clock strikes midnight, the hour expressive of the greatest cosmic force, when the dead leave their graves and the creatures of darkness reign. So when the shawl drops from the glass intense horror overwhelms her. The open window is for Catherine the only chance of life (133, 135, 137); the wind from the moor the breath of life. of being alone!" . . . she would keep straining her gaze towards the glass . . . . "There's nobody here!" I insisted. "It was yourself, Mrs. Linton: you knew it a while since." "Myself!" she gasped, "and the clock is striking twelve! It's true, then! that's dreadful!" Her fingers clutched the clothes, and gathered them over her eyes. I attempted to steal to the door . . . but I was summoned back by a piercing shriek - the shawl had dropped from the frame. . . . Trembling and bewildered, she held me fast, but the horror gradually passed from her countenance; (Ch. XII) (135) "Oh, if I were but in my own bed in the old house! . . . And that wind sounding in the firs by the lattice. De let me feel it - it comes straight down the moor - do let me have one breath!" To pacify her, I held the casement ajar a few seconds. A cold blast rushed through; . . . . (Ch. XII) (136) ". . . As soon as ever I had barred the door, utter blackness overwhelmed me, and I fell on the floor. . . . I thought as I lay there, with my head against that table leg, and my eyes dimly discerning the grey square of the window, that I was enclosed in the oak-panelled bed at home; and my heart ached with some great grief . . . I was a child; my father was just buried, and my misery arose from the separation that Hindley had ordered between me and Heathcliff. I was laid alone, for the first time; and, rousing from a dismal doze after a night of weeping, I lifted my hand to push the panels aside: it struck the tabletop! . . ." (Ch. XII) (137) "Oh, I'm burning! I wish I were out of doors! . . . Open the window again wide: fasten it open. Quick, why don't you move?" . . . "Because I won't give you your death of cold", I answered. - "You won't give me a chance of life, you mean", she said sullenly. "However, I'm not helpless yet: I'll open it myself." - And sliding from the bed . . . she . . . threw it back, and bent out, careless of the frosty air . . . "Look!" she cried eagerly, "that's my room with the candle in it, and the trees swaying before it: and the other candle is in Joseph's garret. Joseph sits up late, doesn't he? He's waiting till I come home that he may lock the gate . . . ." (Ch. XII)

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131

The feeling of insecurity that started in Catherine's youth, after her father's death, when Hindley had degraded Heathcliff to a servant, manifests itself in the images of the oak-panelled bed and the window; longing to break throug the barriers of loneliness Catherine strikes the table-top, when she is lying on the floor in her room, and awareness of her condition dawns (136). The window seems to offer her the only possibility either to return to her former happy state (end of passages (137, 138) with the vision of Wuthering Heights), or to destroy herself (139): Wuthering Heights with its implied dynamism of ascenit and life, or a fall from the window, with the inverted dynamism of descent and death. After this turning-point in the story, at which the ideas evoked by the image of the window reached a climax, this same image seems strangely lifeless and ineffectual in passages (140) and (141). It recalls reminiscences of Edgar and Catherine sitting placidly at the window on the evening of Heathcliff's return. The zest for life has gone, and all Edgar's attempts to revive Catherine's former animation remain fruitless. Only Heathcliff can rouse her from her apathy for a short while (142). But not for long. Catherine's last words show that she has already left the world behind her, in the spirit, and is only waiting for the final falling away of all the barriers that enclosed her (143). In-

(138) I was planning how 1 could reach something to wrap about her, without quitting my hold of herself (for I could not trust her alone by the gaping lattice), when . . . Mr. Linton entered. (Ch. XII) (139) "Catherine, what have you done?" commenced the master. "Am I nothing to you any more? Do you love that wretch Heath - " "Hush!" cried Mrs. Linton. . . . "You mention that name and I end the matter instantly, by a spring from the window! . . ." (Ch. XII) (140) The master told me to light a fire in the many-weeks-deserted parlour, and to set an easy-chair in the sunshine by the window; and then he brought her down, and she sat a long while enjoying the genial heat, and, as we expected, revived by the objects round her: . . . . (Ch. XIII) (141) Mrs. Linton sat in a loose, white dress, with a light shawl over her shoulders, in the recess of the open window, as usual. (Ch. XV) (142) With straining eagerness Catherine gazed towards the entrance of her chamber. He did not hit the right room directly, she motioned me to admit him, (Ch. XV) (143) "I'm tired of being enclosed here. I'm wearying to escape into that glorious world, and to be always there: not seeing it dimly through tears, and yearning for it through the walls of an aching heart; but really with it, and in it " (Ch. XV)

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security and conflict are resolved into a dynamic feeling of freedom. The tendency of ascent in the last images is continued in passage (144). Catherine's grave is dug on rising ground, and the wall of the churchyard does not constitute a hindrance for it to become part of the sloping moor. 7.

Heathcliff

Passages (145, 146, 147) show clearly Heathcliff's unwillingness to receive visitors in his house. Heathcliff is only waiting for the manifestation of Catherine's spirit, and when he thinks this is about to happen he throws open doors and windows in a frenzy of expectation (148, 149). Passage (150) takes the story back to the beginning, when old Mr. Earnshaw has brought Heathcliff with him from Liverpool. It shows Heathcliff on the floor outside Mr. Earnshaw's room. Heathcliff's troubles have already begun; the children (Catherine and Hindley) and Nelly as well have refused to accept him and from the beginning he is a source of conflict and discord. The door is the symbol of division; (144) The place of Catherine's interment . . . was dug on a green slope in a corner of the kirkyard, where the wall is so low that heath and bilberry plants have climbed over it from the moor; and peat mould almost buries it. (Ch. XVI) (145) The "walk-in" was uttered with closed teeth, and expressed the sentiment, "Go to the deuce": even the gate over which he leant manifested no sympathising movement to the words; . . . (Ch. I) (146) When he saw my horse's breast fairly pushing the barrier, he did put out his hand to unchain it, . . . . (Ch. I) (147) I would have made a few comments, and requested a short history of the place from the surly owner; but his attitude at the door appeared to demand my speedy entrance, or complete departure, . . .. (Ch. I) (148) . . . hasty footsteps approached my chamber door; somebody pushed it open, with a vigorous hand, and a light glimmered through the squares at the top of the bed. . . . I turned and opened the panels. . . . Heathcliff stood near the entrance, . . . the first creak of the oak startled him like an electric shock! . . . (Ch. Ill) (149) He got on the bed, and wrenched open the lattice, bursting, as he pulled at it, into an uncontrollable passion of tears. "Come in! come in!" he sobbed. . . . (Ch. Ill) (150) They [Catherine and Hindley] entirely refused to have it [Heathcliff] in bed with them, or even in their room; and I had no more sense, so I put it on the landing of the stairs, hoping it might be gone on the morrow. By chance, or else attracted by hearing his voice, it crept to Mr. Earnshaw's door, and there he found it on quitting his chamber. (Ch. IV)

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presently it will open and he will be on the other side with Earnshaw against the rest of the household. Catherine is won over to his side; passage (151) shows them together looking in at the drawing-room window at Thrushcross Grange. But he loses Catherine to this world and in passage (152) Catherine is inside and Heathcliff alone outside; separated from her by the window, he would smash it to pieces if Catherine gave a sign of wanting to come out to him. The separation continues and is symbolized by Heathcliff "skulking behind the settle" when Catherine enters the house again after her long absence (153). Catherine belongs to the Lintons now, the world of the masters, and Heathcliff to the world of the servants (154). This is clearly illustrated by Hindley, who pushes Heathcliff back into the kitchen when he tries to come out of it and join the company (155). A reconciliation between Heathcliff and Catherine takes place (156) but it takes Heathcliff a long time to be convinced of Catherine's sincerity. The door continues to be a symbol of conflict: when Edgar is received joyfully by Catherine, nothing remains for Heathcliff than to leave the field to his opponent (157). Catherine's words, overheard by Heathcliff, (151) We crept through a broken hedge, groped our way up the path, and planted ourselves on a flower-plot under the drawing-room window. The light came from thence; they had not put up the shutters, and the curtains were only half closed. Both of us were able to look in . . ., and we saw ah! it was beautiful - . . . . (Ch. VI) (152) The curtains were still looped up at one corner, and I resumed my station as spy; because, if Catherine had wished to return, I intended shattering their great glass panes to a million of fragments, unless they let her out. She sat on the sofa quietly. (Ch. VI) (153) He might well skulk behind the settle, on beholding such a bright, graceful damsel enter the house, instead of a rough-headed counterpart of himself, as he expected. (Ch. VII) (154) He ran to the window and I to the door, just in time to behold the two Lintons descend from the family carriage, . . . and the Earnshaws dismount from their horses: . . . . (Ch. VII) (155) . . . ill luck would have it that, as he opened the door leading from the kitchen on one side, Hindley opened it on the other. They met, and the master . . . shoved him back with a sudden thrust, . . . . (Ch. VII) (156) She . . . mounted farther, to the garret where Heathcliff was confined, and called him. He stubbornly declined answering for a while; she persevered, and finally persuaded him to hold communion with her through the boards. (Ch. VII) (157) Doubtless Catherine marked the difference between her friends, as one came in and the other went out. (Ch. VIII)

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who is separated from her by the back of the settle (which can be seen here as a dividing wall), make him decide to go away (158). But he intends to come back: he leaves the gate open (159, 160). In the interval of his absence Heathcliff has evidently left the ranks of the servants; he clearly means to be with the masters, as his attitude at the door of the Grange suggests (161, 162, 163). Nelly recognizes this attitude too, when she tries to visit Wuthering Heights (164). H e even possesses some demonic power over her now. His sudden appearance at the door frightens her away. Edgar will not stand Heathcliff's visits to Thrushcross Grange any longer. The conflict is again expressed in terms of doors, locks and keys (165, 166). Heathcliff escapes by using violence: he smashes the lock. From now on the two of them will live in a state of open conflict. The hostile relationship between Heathcliff and Isabella and Heathcliff's masterful attitude towards her also find expression in images of

(158) Ere this speech ended, I became sensible of Heathcliff's presence. Having noticed a slight movement, I turned my head, and saw him rise f r o m the bench, and steal out noiselessly. (Ch. IX) (159) "I want to speak to him, and I must, before I go upstairs", she said. "And the gate is open: he is somewhere out of hearing; . . . ." (Ch. IX) (160) "Yon lad gets war un war!" observed he on re-entering. "He's left th' yate ut t' full swing, . . . ." (Ch. IX) (161) I turned about to discover who spoke, fearfully; for the doors were shut, and I had seen nobody on approaching the steps. Something stirred in the porch; and, moving nearer, I distinguished a tall man . . . . He . . . held his fingers on the latch as if intending to open for himself. . . . (Ch. X) (162) "Go and carry my message", he interrupted impatiently. "I'm in hell till you do!" H e lifted the latch, and I entered; . . . . (Ch. X) (163) I descended and found Heathcliff waiting under the porch, evidently anticipating an invitation to enter. (Ch. X) (164) . . . but, instead of Hindley, Heathcliff appeared on the door stones; and I turned directly and ran down the road as hard as ever I could race, making no halt till I gained the guide-post, and feeling as scared as if I had raised a goblin. (Ch. XI) (165) Heathcliff had moved to the window, and hung his head, somewhat cowed by her violant rating apparently. H e saw the master first, . . . . (Ch. XI) (166) Heathcliff, on second thoughts, resolved to avoid a struggle against the three underlings: he seized the poker, smashed the lock from the inner door, and made his escape as they tramped in. (Ch. XI) (167) "Oh! it's Maister Hathecliff's ye're wanting! . . . that's just one ye cannot see - he alias keeps it locked, un nob'dy iver mells on't but hisseln." (Ch. XIII)

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doors and keys (167, 168). Heathcliff keeps the key of his room in his pocket; he does not intend to share any part of bis life with Isabella, she is literally left out in the cold. The contrast between the preceding passages with their strong impression of conflict worked out in the images of locked door and those that follow (169-173) is very great. In these passages, dealing with Heathcliff's secret visitis to Catherine when sihe is fatally ill and his watch in the garden, we have doors and windows too, but they do not form an obstruction to the spiritual communion that flows between Heathcliff and Catherine. On the contrary, the opening and the closing of doors and windows are signs that make it possible for Heathcliff, watching out of doors, to feel included in the drama that is enacted within. Then, after Catherine's death, there is a sudden return to situations of conflict and violence (174-180): first Heathcliff locking himself into his room against all intruders; then the taunting of Heathcliff by Isabella, his violent entry through the smashed window, by which action (168) I told him the cause of my staying up so late - that he had the key of our room in his pocket. The adjective our gave mortal offence . . . . (Ch. XIII) (169) . . . the open house was too tempting for Heathcliff to resist walking in: . . . . He did not hit the right room directly, . . . but he found it out ere I could reach the door, . . . . (Ch. XV) (170) "But if I live, I'll see you again before you are asleep. I won't stray five yards from your window." (Ch. XV) (171) "I shall not refuse to go out of doors", he answered; "but I shall stay in the garden: . . . ." He sent a rapid glance through the half-open door of the chamber, and, ascertaining that what I stated was apparently true, delivered the house of his luckless presence. (Ch. XV) (172) If he had come nearer, he would probably be aware, from the lights flitting to and fro, and the opening and shutting of the outer doors, that all was not right within. (Ch. XVI) (173) Heathcliff spent his nights, at least, outside, equally a stranger to repose. I held no communication with him; still, I was conscious of his design to enter, if he could; and on the Tuesday . . . I went and opened one of the windows; moved by his perseverance, to give him a chance of bestowing on the faded image of his idol one final adieu. (Ch. XVI) (174) "He has just come home at dawn, and gone upstairs to his chamber; locking himself in - as if anybody dreamt of coveting his company! . . ." (Ch. XVII) (175) The doleful silence was broken at length by the sound of the kitchen latch: Heathcliff had returned from his watch . . . . That entrance was fastened, and we heard him coming round to get in by the other. (Ch. XVII) (176) "You'd better open the door, you - " he answered . . . . (Ch. XVII)

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he forcibly takes possession of the house. From now on he is the master of Wuthering Heights. It is in this quality that we see him (181, 182) lure Cathy to the house. Heathcliff stations himself at the door, surveying the situation inside as well as outside with a masterful eye. This time Cathy and Nelly are still allowed to leave; but Heathcliff standing at the door is in control. The whole scene is a preliminary to the actual imprisonment of Cathy and Nelly (183-188). Heathcliff, who as a boy was locked in (177) As I sat nursing these reflections, the casement behind me was banged on to the floor by a blow from the latter individual, and his black countenance looked blastingly through . . . . "Isabella, let me in by the kitchen door", he said. (Ch. XVII) (178) He then took a stone, struck down the division between two windows, and sprang in. (Ch. XVII) (179) "And how the devil did you come to fasten me out, you toothless hound? . . . " (Ch. XVII) (180) The clouded windows of hell flashed a moment towards me; the fiend which usually looked out, however, was so dimmed and drowned that I did not fear to hazard another sound of derision. (Ch. XVII) (181) Heathcliff bade me be quiet; and, preceding us up the path, hastened to open the door. (Ch. XXI) (182) After exchanging numerous marks of fondness with him, his cousin went to Mr. Heathcliff, who lingered by the door, dividing his attention between the objects inside and those that lay without: pretenting, that is, to observe the latter, and really noting the former alone. (Ch. XXI) (183) We reached the threshold: Catherine walked in, . . . when Mr. Heathcliff, pushing me forward exclained: "My house is not stricken with the plague, Nelly; . . . sit down, and allow me to shut the door!" He shut and locked it also. I started. (Ch. XXVII) (184) Heathcliff had the key in his hand . . . . She snatched at the instrument, and half-succeeded in getting it out of his loosened fingers: but her action recalled him to the present; he recovered it speedily . . . . He opened them [his fingers] suddenly, and resigned the object of dispute; . . . . (Ch. XXVII) (185) "I know how to chastise children, you see", said the scoundrel grimly, as he stooped to repossess himself of the key, which had dropped to the floor. (Ch. XXVII) (186) He spoke these words, holding the door open for his son to pass; . . . the lock was re-secured. (Ch. XXVII) (187) "It was three servants sent to seek you from the Grange", said Heathcliff overhearing me. "You should have opened a lattice and called out: " (Ch. XXVII) (188) At seven o'clock he came, and inquired if Miss Linton had risen. She ran to the door immediately, and answered, "Yes." "Here, then", he said, opening it and pulling her out. I rose to follow, but he turned the lock again. (Ch. XXVII)

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the garret, now takes revenge and inflicts the same humiliation on a descendant of the former caste of masters. Also the fight over the key is to some extent a repetition of a former struggle in Ch. IX. But then Heathcliff had to leave the house ignominiously, whereas he is now in possession of the key and has the power to act authoritatively. Heathcliffs violence and brutality (189) towards Cathy when he takes from her Edgar's portrait, and also the destructive aggressiveness he exhibits when dealing with the portrait itself show sufficiently that the picture embodies for Heathcliff Edgar's spiritual presence and as such is a threat to his power. In the picture he also sees a projection of his own hatred towards Edgar, and the act of crushing it is equivalent to the subjection of a hated enemy. Thus the image of the portrait is linked with the imagery of doors, keys etc. in Heathcliff's struggle for power. In the passages (190, 191, 194) his power is established beyond all doubt. It is expressed in his walking in without knocking, and directing the servant to shut the door; and also in the way he appropriates (189) " . . . [Cathy] gave me her mother's portrait; the other she attempted to hide: but papa asked what was the matter, and I explained it. He took the one I had away, and ordered her to resign hers to me; she refused, and he - he struck her down, and wrenched it off the chain, and crushed it with his foot. (Ch. XXVIII) (190) He made no ceremony of knocking or announcing his name: he was master, and availed himself of the master's privilege to walk straight in, without saying a word. The sound of our informant's voice directed him to the library: he entered, and motioning him [the servant] out, shut the door. (Ch. XXIX) (191) He bid me be silent; and then, for the first time, allowed himself a glance round the room and a look at the pictures. Having studied Mrs. Linton's, he said: "I shall have that home. Not because I need it, but" - He turned abruptly to the fire, (Ch. XXIX) (192) "Having reached the Heights, I rushed eagerly to the door. It was fastened; and, I remember that accursed Earnshaw and my wife opposed my entrance. I remember stopping to kick the breath out of him, and then hurrying upstairs, to my room and hers." (Ch. XXIX) (193) "And when I slept in her chamber - I was beaten out of that. I couldn't lie there; for the moment I closed my eyes, she was either outside the window, or sliding back the panels, or entering the room, or even resting her darling head on the same pillow as she did when a child; . . . . (Ch. XXIX) (194) "Send that [Catherine's portrait] over to-morrow", said Heathcliff to me; . . . . (Ch. XXIX)

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Catherine's portrait. Contrary to Edgar's, Catherine's portrait evokes no feelings of frustration and spite, because there is no conflict any more with Catherine. For Heathcliff it has found its solution in the manifestation of her spirit he has experienced after her death. There is only a time of waiting now to be lived through until they will be finally united, a time during which he will be engrossed more and more by visions of Catherine, in the room they shared as children (192), in her former room with the panelled bed (193), at the window, everywhere. The picture of Catherine is no necessity to him (191), because it is only one of a whole series of visual impressions that link her presence to his (196). He is the undisputed master of Wuthering Heights now, as his coming and going at all times of the day and the night show (195, 197, 199, 200, 206, 207), and the door has ceased to be a symbol of the struggle (195) . . . dusk grew on, and with it returned the master. He came upon us quite unexpectedly, entering by the front way, and had a full view of the whole three, ere we could raise our heads to glance at him. (Ch. XXXIII) (196) "In the first place, his [Hareton's] startling likeness to Catherine connected him fearfully with her . . . . What does not recall her? I cannot look down to this floor, but her features are shaped in the flags! In every cloud, in every tree - filling the air at night, and caught by glimpses in every object by day - I am surrounded with her image! The most ordinary faces of men and women - my own features - mock me with a resemblance. The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her! . . . " (Ch. XXXIII) (197) One night, after the family were in bed, I heard him go downstairs, and out at the front door. I did not hear him re-enter, and in the morning I found he was still away. (Ch. XXXIV) (198) . . . to see the master looking glad would not be an every-day spectacle. I framed an excuse to go in. Heathcliff stood at the open door, he was pale, and he trembled: yet, certainly, he had a strange, joyful glitter in his eyes, that altered the aspect of his whole face. (Ch. XXXIV) (199) He took his knife and fork, and was going to commence eating, when the inclination appeared to become suddenly extinct. He laid them on the table, looked eagerly towards the window, then rose and went out. We saw him walking to and fro in the garden . . . . (Ch. XXXIV) (200) He did not quit the house again that afternoon, and no one intruded on his solitude; till, at eight o'clock, I deemed it proper, though unsummoned, to carry a candle and his supper to him. He was leaning against the ledge of an open lattice, but not looking out: his face was turned to the interior gloom. (Ch. XXXIV) (201) I . . . commenced shutting the casements, one after another, till I came to his. "Must I close this?" I asked, in order to rouse him; for he would not

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for power; Hareton's likeness to Catherine has, just like her portrait, lost its exclusive power to call up her image (196). Catherine does not exist any longer apart from the world around him; her spiritual presence has absorbed it, she has become the world. This is the world that projects itself on his vision (198, 199, 200, 204, 205). Heathcliff himself moves as it were on another level of existence and cannot penetrate into Catherine's world: he remains isolated. The numerous instances of the imagery of windows, doors and gates in the last chapter of the novel (XXXIV) point to Heathcliff's struggle to penetrate into the world of his vision. His excursions by day and by night offer him no lasting relief from the unbearable tension. The first indication of the approaching climax is his locking himself into his room: with this action he has shut himself off completely from everyday life (208, 210). The opening of the window in the upper room (209)

stir. . . . "Yes, close it", he replied, in his familiar voice. (Ch. XXXIV) (202) We heard him mount the stairs directly; he did not proceed to his ordinary chamber, but turned into that with the panelled bed: its window, as I mentioned before, is wide enough for anybody to get through; and it struck me that he plotted another midnight excursion . . . . (Ch. XXXIV) (203) Dawn restored me to common sense. I rose, and went into the garden, as soon as I could see, to ascertain if there were any footmarks under his window. There were none. "He has stayed at home", I thought, "and he'll be all right to-day." (Ch. XXXIV) (204) . . . I put a basin of coffee before him. He drew it nearer, and then rested his arms on the table, and looked at the opposite wall, as I supposed, surveying one particular portion, up and down, with glittering, restless eyes, (Ch. XXXIV) (205) Now I perceived he was not looking at the wall; for when I regarded him alone, it seemed exactly that he gazed at something within two yards' distance . . . . (Ch. XXXIV) (206) . . . I needn't wait: I might set the things down and go. Having uttered these words he left the house, slowly sauntered down the garden path, and disappeared through the gate. (Ch. XXXIV) (207) The hours crept anxiously by: another evening came. I did not retire to rest till late, and when I did, I could not sleep. He returned after midnight, and, instead of going to bed, shut himself into the room beneath. (Ch. XXXIV) (208) When he [the doctor] came, and I requested admittance and tried to open the door, I found it locked; and Heathcliff bid us be damned. He was better, and would be left alone. (Ch. XXXIV) (209) . . . as I took my morning walk round the house, I observed the master's window swinging open, and the rain driving straight in. He cannot be in bed, I thought: (Ch. XXXIV)

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is his last yearning attempt to merge into that other existence, wihose higher level of consciousness is symbolized by the window at the top of the house. The idea of vertical dynamism is emphasized by Nelly (in the garden) looking up at the upper window swinging open (209). The "hand that rested on the sill" (211) seems to establish the connecting link between the two worlds, the sill denoting the only boundary between outside and inside and belonging to both. 8. Edgar

Linton

The battle of wills between Catherine and Edgar is conceived in terms of doors, keys and windows. Edgar's lack of courage as a boy is shown in (212). At the first sound at the window he and his sister Isabella run to the door, away from the frightening noise. Passage (213) marks an important point in the story: Catherine favours Edgar as a suitor; he is awaited eagerly by her and can walk in unhindered, while Heathcliff's presence is not wanted at the moment. Edgar wants to escape when he has caught a glimpse of the fury Catherine is capable of, but he is dominated by her personality (214, 215). A peaceful interlude: Edgar and Catherine sitting at the window and looking out over the valley; this is one of the rare moments that they are in harmony with each other. Heatchcliff has not yet returned to exert his disturbing influence, Wuthering Heights is invisible from (210) Having succeeded in obtaining entrance with another key, I ran to unclose the panels, for the chamber was vacant; quickly pushing them aside, I peeped in. Mr. Heathcliff was there - laid on his back. (Ch. XXXIV) (211) The lattice, flapping to and fro, had grazed one hand that rested on the sill; . . . . (Ch. XXXIV) (212) The Lin tons heard us, and with one accord, they shot like arrows to the door; there was silence, and then a cry, "Oh, mamma, mamma! Oh, papa! Oh, mamma, come here! . . ." (Ch. VI) (213) Doubtless Catherine marked the difference between her friends, as one came in and the other went out. (Ch. VIII) (214) "Where are you going?" demanded Catherine, advancing to the door. He swerved aside, and attempted to pass. "You must not go!" she exclaimed energetically. "I must and shall!" he replied in a subdued voice. "No", she persisted, grasping the handle; "not yet, Edgar Linton: sit down; you shall not leave me in that temper . . . ." (Ch. VIII) (215) The soft thing looked askance through the window: he possessed the power to depart, as much as a cat possesses the power to leave a mouse half killed, or a bird half eaten. . . . he turned abruptly, hastened into the house again, shut the door behind him; . . . . (Ch. VIII)

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their window (216). In leaving this window for the one on the other side of the room, Edgar changes the tranquil scene for one of strife (217). In the conflict Catherine at first intends to be on Edgar's side (218). Already in the next passage (219) she visualizes herself on Heathcliff's side. In the struggle for the possession of the key Edgar has to recognize defeat (220). By a devious way he re-establishes his authority as the master of the house (221). Catherine and Edgar are now more irrevocably separated than ever. Though he opens the door behind which she had barred herself, he cannot reach her any more (222); he shuts the window, cutting off her communication with the moor and therefore with life itself. Edgar's attempt to revive Catherine's will to live is futile: the chair placed by the window in the pale wintry sunshine is no substitute for the wilder elements Catherine's nature craves in order to live (223). (216) They sat together in a window whose lattice lay back against the wall, and displayed, beyond the garden trees and the wild green park, the valley of Gimmerton, with a long line of mist winding nearly to its top Wuthering Heights rose above this silvery vapour; but our old house was invisible; it rather dips down on the other side. Both the room and its occupants, and the scene they gazed on, looked wondrously peaceful. (Ch. X) (217) Mr. Linton walked to a window on the other side of the room that overlooked the court. He unfastened it and leant out. I suppose they [Catherine and Heathcliff] were below, for he exclaimed quickly - "Don't stand there, love! Bring the person in, if it be any one particular." (Ch. X) (218) "I said you must let Isabella alone! - I beg you will, unless you are tired of being received here, and wish Linton to draw the bolts against you!" "God forbid that he should try!" answered the black villain. (Ch. XI) (219) "Have you been listening at the door, Edgar?" asked the mistress, in a tone particularly calculated to provoke her husband, . . . . (Ch. XI) (220) He [Edgar] tried to wrest the key from Catherine's grasp, and for safety she flung it into the hottest part of he fire; whereupon Mr. Edgar was taken with a nervous trembling, . . . . (Ch. XI) (221) . . . my master . . . struck him full on the throst a blow that would have levelled a slighter man. It took his breath for a minute; and while he choked, Mr. Linton walked out by the back door into the yard, and from thence to the front entrance. (Ch. XI) (222) . . . I heard the rattle of the door-handle and Mr. Linton entered. . . . "Catherine ill?" he said, hastening to us. "Shut the window, Ellen! Catherine! why" - He was silent. (Ch. XII) (223) The master told me to light a fire in the many-weaks-deserted parlour, and to set an easy-chair in the sunshine by the window; and then he brought her down, and she sat a long while enjoying the genial heat, . . . . (Ch. XIII)

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Edgar enjoys the lovely afternoon, unaware of the horrors that lie in wait for him in the house ( 2 2 4 ) . The view from the window reveals to Edgar the symbols of death ( 2 2 5 ) . The window itself is a symbol of separation too. Catherine rests on the moor which nourished her very life; Edgar sits in the safe enclosure of his room. 9.

Isabella

Passage ( 2 2 6 ) shows the kind of children that Isabella and Edgar Linton were: at the unexpected sound at the window they run away, crying for help. A desire to escape from difficult situations or to avoid unpleasant things seems to be one of Isabella's traits of character. The imagery of doors and windows is very effective in bringing this out. The door can afford entrance, but it is also a way of escape. The window gives at least a view of the world outside and is thus a means of diverting a person's mind from his immediate surroundings ( 2 3 5 , 2 3 6 ) . The passages relating to Isabella fall mainly into two groups: those connected with her arrival at Wuthering Heights as Heathcliff's wife

(224) Ere long I perceived a group of the servants passing up the road towards the kitchen wing. Mr. Linton was not far behind: he opened the gate himself and sauntered slowly up, probably enjoying the lovely afternoon that breathed as soft as summer. "Now he's here", I exclaimed. " F o r Heaven's sake, hurry down! . . . " (Ch. X V ) (225) Edgar sighed; and walking to the window, looked out towards Gimmerton Kirk. It was a misty afternoon, but the February sun shone dimly, and we could just distinguish the two fir-trees in the yard, and the sparely scattered gravestones. (Ch. X X V ) (226) The Lintons heard us, and with one accord, they shot like arrows to the door: there was silence, and then a cry, "Oh, mamma, mamma! Oh, papa! Oh, mamma, come here . . . . " (Ch. VI) (227) But one day, when she had been peculiarly wayward, complaining . . . that she had caught cold with the doors being left open, . . . Mrs. Linton peremptorily insisted that she should get to bed; . . . . (Ch. X ) (228) "Hey, Throttler, lad! whispered the little wretch, rousing a half-bred bull-dog from its lair in a corner. "Now, wilt thou be ganging?" he asked authoritatively. Love for my life urged a compliance; I stepped over the threshold to wait till the others should enter. (Ch. X I I I ) (229) I walked round the yard, and through a wicket, to another door, at which I took the liberty of knocking, in hopes some more civil servant might show himself. (Ch. X I I I ) (230) "Yes - we came just now", I said; but he left me by the kitchen door;

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(228-234); and those connected with her escape from Wuthering Heights (237-246). Passage (227) shows the conflict with Catherine. The passages (228-234) throw light on Isabella's insecurity and on the difficulties she has to overcome when trying to enter Wuthering Heights. They remind us of Lockwood's troubles to get into the house. Both are definitely unsuited to the life and habits of its inmates and the atmosphere of the place. Both try nevertheless to penetrate into this alien world; they find it repugnant to their own individual temperaments, and, once inside, they want to leave, but only succeed in doing so after gruelling and horrifying experiences have shocked their nature to the core. In Isabella's case these experiences do not take the form of dreams and nightmares, but still they have several elements in common with Lockwood's: there is the threat of an attack by a fierce dog (228); the repeated attempt to enter (229); the escape into the kitchen (233). Also her flight resembles Lockwood's; it is preceded by scenes of and when I would have gone in, your little boy played sentinel over the place, and frightened me off by the help of a bull-dog." (Ch. XIII) (231) I repented having tried this second entrance, and was almost inclined to slip away before he finished cursing, but ere I could execute that intention, he ordered me in, and shut and re-fastened the door. (Ch. XIII) (232) "Joseph will show you Heathcliff's chamber", said he; "open that door - he is in there." I was going to obey, but he suddenly arrested me, and added in the strangest tone: "Be so good as to turn your lock, and draw your bolt - don't omit it!" "Well!" I said. "But why, Mr. Earnshaw?" I did not relish the notion of deliberately fastening myself in with Heathcliff. (Ch. XIII) (233) . . . I raised the latch, and escaped into the kitchen. Joseph was bending over the fire, peering into a large pan that swung above it; . . . . (Ch. XIII) (234) I told him the cause of my staying up so late - that he had the key of our room in his pocket. The adjective our gave mortal offence. (Ch. XIII) (235) I dare say she [Isabella] had been on the watch for me since morning: I saw her looking through the lattice, as I came up the garden causeway, and I nodded to her; but she drew back, as if afraid of being observed. (Ch. XIV) (236) ". . . but he [Edgar] thinks that after this time, his household and the household here should drop intercommunication, as nothing could come of keeping it up." Mrs. Heathcliff's lip quivered slightly, and she returned to her seat in the window. (Ch. XIV)

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discord and violence in the house (243, 244) and a heavy snowstorm outside. The flight itself (245) is a frantic attempt to reach the haven of Thrushcross Grange; the walk across the moors is accompanied with many falls; Lockwood has to wade through snow, Isabella through marshes. (237) There was no sound through the house but the moaning wind, which shook the windows every now and then (Ch. XVII) (238) The doleful silence was broken at length by the sound of the kitchen latch: Heathcliff had returned from his watch. . . . That entrance was fastened, and we heard him coming round to get in by the other . . . . "I'll keep him out five minutes", he [Hindley] exclaimed. "You won't object?" "No, you may keep him out the whole night for me", I answered. "Do! put the key in the lock, and draw the bolts." (Ch. XVII) (239) "I'll not hold my tongue!" I said; "you mustn't touch him. Let the door remain shut, and be quiet!" . . . I might as well have struggled with a bear, or reasoned with a lunatic. The only resource left me was to run to a lattice and warn his intended victim of the fate which awaited him. (Ch. XVII) (240) "You'd better seek shelter somewhere else to-night", I exclaimed in rather a triumphant tone. "Mr. Earnshaw has a mind to shoot you, if you persist in endeavouring to enter." (Ch. XVII) (241) "I shall not meddle in the matter", I retorted again. "Come in and get shot, if you please! I've done my duty." With that I shut the window and returned to my place by the fire; . . . . (Ch. XVII) (242) As I sat nursing these reflections, the casement behind me was banged on to the floor by a blow from the latter individual [Heathcliff], and his black countenance looked blightingly through. The stanchions stood too close to suffer his shoulders to follow, and I smiled, exulting in my fancied security. (Ch. XVII) (243) I stared full at him, and laughed scornfully. The clouded windows of hell flashed a moment towards me; the fiend which usually looked out, however, was so dimmed and drowned that I did not fear to hazard another sound of derision. (Ch. XVII) (244) . . . he [Heathcliff] snatched a dinner knife from the table and flung it at my head. It struck beneath my ear, and stopped the sentence I was uttering; but, pulling it out, I sprang to the door and delivered another; which I hope went a little deeper than his missile. (Ch. XVII) (245) In my flight through the kitchen I bid Joseph speed to his master; I knocked over Hareton, who was hanging a litter of puppies from a chairback in the doorway; and, blest as a soul escaped from purgatory, I bounded, leaped, and flew down the steep road; then, quitting its windings, shot direct across the moor, rolling over banks, and wading through marshes: precipitating myself, in fact, towards the beacon light of the Grange . . . . (Ch. XVII)

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Like Lockwood, Isabella witnesses Heathcliff's grief (243); but where Lockwood only expressed his inability to understand it, Isabella finds a malicious pleasure in it. Heathcliff's violence is then directed against her (244). Passage (246) shows again a conventional Isabella kissing Edgar's and Catherine's portraits. With this action she leaves the story and the door is closed on her for ever. 10.

Cathy

There is a very great number of passages relating to Cathy. Though the first in the story, (247) is really the last when we take into account the time sequence of the events. In it we see Cathy after the death of Linton, virtually a prisoner at Wuthering Heights. Then Nelly begins her story of Cathy to Lockwood. Already as a young girl Cathy shows an independent spirit (248, 249) and escapes Nelly's vigilance. The first meeting with Hareton takes place at the gate of Wuthering Heights (250). Cathy reaches the gate just at the moment that Hareton comes out: the first convergence of their paths. In the passages (251, 252, 254, 255) Cathy's struggle to free herself

(246) Isabella . . . stepped on to a chair, kissed Edgar's and Catherine's portraits, bestowed a similar salute on me, and descended to the carriage (Ch. XVII) (247) "Is there nobody inside to open the door" I hallooed, responsively. "There's nobbut t' missis, and shoo'll not oppen't an ye mak yer flaysome dins till neeght." (Ch. II) (248) I did not fear her breaking bounds; because the gates were generally locked, and I thought she would scarcely venture forth alone, if they had stood wide open. Unluckily, my confidence proved misplaced. (Ch. XVIII) (249) There was a labourer working at a fence round a plantation, on the borders of the grounds. I inquired of him if he had seen our young lady. "I saw her at noon", he replied; "she would have me to cut her a hazel switch, and then she leapt her Galloway over the hedge yonder, where it is lowest, and gallopped out of sight." (Ch. XVII) (250) I could not wring from my little lady how she had spent the day; except that, as I supposed, the goal of her pilgrimage was Penistone Craggs: and she arrived without adventure to the gate of the farmhouse, when Hareton happened to issue forth, attended by some canine followers, who attacked her train. (Ch. XVIII) (251) "No, she's not going to any such place", I cried, struggling to release my arm, which he [Heathcliff] had seized: but she was almost at the doorstones already, scampering round the brow at full speed. (Ch. XXI)

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from Nelly's rather overbearing control becomes more and more pronounced. The drawing of the bolt against Nelly is a definite rejection of her authority (254). Her possession of the key of the drawer containing her private correspondence with Linton is a very important indication of her growing consciousness of independence (255). In passage (253) the difference in temperament between Cathy and Linton is clearly brought out by means of their conflicting wishes: Cathy wants to be outside and active, Linton prefers to sit indoors. When separated from Nelly by the park wall and thus removed from her direct influence, Cathy listens to Heathcliff's persuasions to visit Linton (256, 257, 258, 259). From now on the positions are reversed: Cathy will take the lead and Nelly will have to follow (260). Cathy is aware of her newly-gained freedom (261).

(252) "And I'm resolved she shall never approach your house with me again", I returned, as we reached the gate, where Miss Cathy waited our coming. (Ch. XXI) (253) "Wouldn't you rather sit here?" asked Linton, addressing Cathy in a tone which expressed reluctance to move again. "I don't know", she replied, casting a longing look to the door, and evidently eager to be active. (Ch. XXI) (254) "You'll get nobody to take that, Catherine", I said, "if you write it; and at present I shall put out your candle." I set the extinguisher on the flame, receiving as I did so a slap on my hand, and a petulant "Cross thing!" I then quitted her again, and she drew the bolt in one of her worst, most peevish humours. (Ch. XXI) (255) . . . and she had a small drawer in a cabinet in the library, which she would trifle over for hours, and whose key she took special care to remove when she left it. (Ch. XXI) (256) As we talked, we neared a door that opened on the road; and my young lady, lightening into sunshine again, climbed up and seated herself on the top of the wall, reaching over to gather some hips . . . . In stretching to pull them, her hat fell off; and as the door was locked, she proposed scrambling down to recover it. (Ch. XXII) (257) "Ellen, you'll have to fetch the key, or else I must run round to the porter's lodge. I can't scale the ramparts on this side!" (Ch. XXII) (258) "Who is that?" I whispered. "Ellen, I wish you could open the door", whispered back my companion anxiously. (Ch. XXII) (259) "Come in", said I, taking Cathy by the arm and half-forcing her to re-enter; for she lingered, viewing with troubled eyes the features of the speaker, . . . . (Ch. XXII)

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The passages (262, 263, 264, 265, 266) are concerned with Cathy's secret visits to Wuthering Heights during Nelly's illness. Nelly does not shrink from even the most furtive means to re-establish her authority over Cathy (262). She succeeds in so far that Cathy tells her all about the visits to Linton (263, 264, 265, 266). In passage (263) we see again the key as a symbol of freedom and power. In (264, 265) the conflict with Hareton is renewed. His jealousy and rage and her loyalty to Linton form the barrier that separates them. Cathy is not intimidated and pays another visit to Linton openly and without concealment (266). The episode of Cathy's imprisonment at Wuthering Heights is of course rich in images of doors, keys and windows (267, 268). It is the

(260) She lingered, and resisted my persuasions to departure a tiresome while; but as he [Linton] neither looked up nor spoke, she finally made a movement to the door and I followed. We were recalled by a scream. (Ch. XXIII) (261) "Oh, I'll take good care", I continued: "I'll have that lock mended, and you can escape by no way else." "I can get over the wall", she said, laughing. "The Grange is not a prison, Ellen, and you are not my gaoler." (Ch. XXIII) (263) "While Michael was refastening the lock of the park door in the afterglided noiselessly up to where I awaited her. She put the door gently to, slipped off her snowy shoes, . . . when I suddenly rose and revealed myself. (Ch. XXIV) (263) "While Michael was refastening the lock of the park door in the afternoon, I got possession of the key, and told him how my cousin wished me to visit him, . . . ." (Ch. XXIV) (264) "He [Hareton] swore at us, and left Linton no time to answer, nearly throwing him into the kitchen; . . . I was afraid for a moment, and I let one volume fall; he kicked it after me, and shut us out . . . ." (Ch. XXIV) (265) "Zillah and I ascended after him; but he stopped me at the top of the steps, and said I shouldn't go in: I must go home. I exclaimed that he had killed Linton, and I would enter. Joseph locked the door, and declared I should do 'no sich stuff', . . . ." (Ch. XXIV) (266) "Michael came to ask if he must saddle Minny; I said 'Yes', and considered myself doing a duty as she bore me over the hills. I was forced to pass the front windows to get to the court: it was no use trying to conceal my presence." (Ch. XXIV) (267) We reached the threshold: Catherine walked in, and I stood waiting till she had conducted the invalid to a chair, expecting her out immediately; when Mr. Heathcliff . . . exclaimed: "My house is not stricken with the plague, Nelly; . . . allow me to shut the door." He shut and locked it also. I started. (Ch. XXVII) (268) She stepped close up; her black eyes flashing with passion and resolu-

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conflict with Heathcliff that is reflected in these images. Cathy walks unsuspectingly into the trap (267), but when she realizes that she is a prisoner she demands the key from Heathcliff and tries to wrest it from his hand (268). Her attitude is quite different from Nelly's; Nelly does not put up any resistance and does not even come to the rescue when Heathcliff strikes Cathy a series of blows on the head. Cathy's courage is not even broken then (270, 271). Neither the doors nor the windows offer an opportunity to escape and they remain Heathcliff's prisoners (273, 274). Besides the evident implications of the struggle for power in these images of the closed rooms and windows, they may have a deeper and more subtle meaning. The episode occurs at a point in Cathy's life at

tion. "Give me that key: I will have it!" she said. "I wouldn't eat or drink here, if I were starving." Heathcliff had the key in his hand . . . . She snatched at the instrument, and half-succeeded in getting it out of his loosened fingers: he recovered it speedily . . . . Regardless of this warning, she captured his closed hand and its contents again. "We will go!" she repeated, . . . . (Ch. XXVII) (269) Our first thought, on his departure, was to force an exit somewhere. We tried the kitchen door, but that was fastened outside: we looked at the windows - they were too narrow for even Cathy's little figure. Ch. XXVII) (270) "Stay all night? No", she said, looking slowly round. "Ellen, I'll burn that door down, but I'll get out." (Ch. XXVII) (271) "I'll either break or bum a way out of the house. Be quiet! You're in no danger; but if you hinder me - Linton, I love papa better than you!" (Ch. XXVII) (272) He spoke these words, holding the door open for his son to pass; . . . the lock was re-secured. (Ch. XXVII) (273) It was growing dusk - we heard a sound of voices at the garden gate. Our host hurried out instantly: he had his wits about him; we had not . . . . "You should have opened a lattice and called out: . . . ." At learning the chance we had missed, we both gave vent to our grief without control; and he allowed us to wail on till nine o'clock. Then he bid us go upstairs, through the kitchen, to Zillah's chamber; and I whispered my companion to obey: perhaps we might contrive to get through the window there, or into a garret, and out by its skylight. The window, however, was narrow, like those below, and the garret trap was safe from our attempt; for we were fastened in as before. We neither of us lay down: Catherine took her station by the lattice, and watched anxiously for morning; (Ch. XXVII) (274) At seven o'clock he came, and inquired if Miss Linton had risen. She ran to the door immediately, and answered, "Yes". "Here, then", he said, opening it, and pulling her out . . . . (Ch. XXVII)

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which she is outgrowing childish dependence and is taking on adult responsibility. The imprisonment preceding the enforced marriage with Linton recalls primitive legends in which a period of confinement is only concluded after a secret marriage has been arranged, and the liberty of the victim is thus effectively restricted. In this way Heathcliff gains power over Cathy; when she escapes by means of the window (277) he can afford to let her remain for some time at Thrushcross Grange, because he has a hold on her. The unexpected element here is that Cathy's personality is strong enough to make of Linton an (unwilling) ally (277). Her spirit is not broken, though Heathcliff s treatment of her father's picture (275) came near to destroying all hope (276). To turn one's face to the wall is expressive of a death-wish, the wall being a symbol of impotence or defeat. Also we can perceive in this quotation the symbolism of the wall of lamentations. The window in passage (277) on the other hand opens up the possibility of escape from a limiting situation. The window is Cathy's only means of achieving some spiritual participation in the world outside at the time that Lockwood visits Wuthering Heights, at the end of his stay at Thrushcross Grange (278). Hareton is made the (275) "All her nice books are mine; she offered to give me them . . . if I would get the key of her room, and let her out; but I told her she had nothing to give. They were all, all mine. And then she cried, and took a little picture f r o m her neck, and said I should not have that; two pictures in a gold case, on one side her mother, and on the other, uncle, when they were young: . . . she heard papa coming, and she broke the hinges and divided the case, and gave me her mother's portrait; the other she attempted to hide: but papa asked what was the matter, and I explained it. He took the one I had away, and ordered her to resign hers to me; she refused, and he - he struck her down, and wrenched it off the chain, and crushed it with his foot." (Ch. XXVIII) (276) Linton . . . was terrified into fetching the key . . . Catherine stole out sat down with her face to the wall, and she has never spoken to me since." (Ch. XXVIII) (277) " . . . and then she gathered up the bits of the picture, and went and before break of day. She dare not try the doors, lest the dogs should raise an alarm; she visited the empty chambers and examined their windows; and, luckily, lighting on her mother's she got easily out of its lattice, and on to the ground, by means of the fir-tree close by. (Ch. XXVIII) (278) Catherine caught and perused it [Nelly's letter] eagerly; . . . gazing towards the hills, [she] murmured in soliloquy: "I should like to . . . be climbing up there! Oh! I'm tired - I'm stalled, Hareton!" And she leant her pretty head back against the sill, with half a yawn and half a sigh, and lapsed into an aspect of abstracted sadness: . . . . (Ch. XXXI)

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recipient of her feelings of frustration; a foreshadowing of the time that he will be the one who will finally lead her out of her imprisonment (279, 280). The events in the passages (282, 283, 284, 285, 286) precede chronologically those in (280) and (281). They form part of Ellen Dean's story to Lockwood when he has returned to the neighbourhood after Heatihcliffs death. The passages (282, 283, 284) show the gradual development of friendship between Cathy and Hareton. Cathy operates from her place at the window, retreating after each strategic movement to the window-seat, until the victory is hers. Then in passages (285, 286) we have some glimpses of Cathy's regained freedom. The events in passages (279) He [Heathcliff] bent his eyes to the ground and walked moodily in. . . . His daughter-in-law, on perceiving him through the window, immediately escaped into the kitchen, . . . . (Ch. XXXI) (280) Both doors and lattices were open; . . . what inmates there were had stationed themselves not far from one of the windows. (Ch. XXXII) (281) Then they came to the door, and from their conversation I judged they were about to issue out and have a walk on the moors. (Ch. XXXII) (282) Earnshaw sat, morose as usual, at the chimney-corner, and my little mistress was beguiling an idle hour with drawing pictures on the window panes; (Ch. XXXII) (283) "I'll go to hell, body and soul, before I look sideways after you again. Side out o ' t ' gate, now; this minute!" Catherine frowned, and retreated to the window-seat chewing her lip, . . . . (Ch. XXXII) (284) Catherine, by instinct, must have divined it was obdurate perversity, and not dislike, that prompted this dogged conduct; for . . . she stooped and impressed on his cheek a gentle kiss. The little rogue thought I had not seen her, and, drawing back, she took her former station by the window, quite demurely. (Ch. XXXII) (285) . . . my young lady, who had run down near the gate to procure some primrose roots for a border, returned only half laden, and informed us that Mr. Heathcliff was coming in. "And he spoke to me", she added with a perplexed countenance. (Ch. XXXIV) (286) I prepared breakfast for the household, as was my usual custom, but told Hareton and Catherine to get theirs ere the master came down, for he lay late. They preferred taking it out of doors, under the trees, and I set a little table to accommodate them. (Ch. XXXIV) (287) "No, Mr. Lockwood", said Nelly, shaking her head. "I believe the dead are at peace: but it is not right to speak of them with levity." At that moment the garden gate swung to; the ramblers were returning. (Ch. XXXIV) (288) "They are afraid of nothing", I grumbled, watching their approach through the window. "Together they would brave Satan and all his legions,"

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(287, 288) follow chronologically those in passage (279). Cathy and Hareton together have conquered insecurity and fear. Full of confidence they return to take possession of the house. For them walls, doors and windows have ceased to be symbols of division and the struggle for power. 11.

Hareton

In fourteen passages containing imagery of doors, windows, gates etc. we see the development of Hareton, from the aggressive little boy behind the bars of the gate (289), a captive in Heathcliff's power, to the self-confident yooung man, set free by the love of a young woman and stepping out with her into a new existence (302). Passage (290) gives the same picture of Hareton as (289); here he is preventing Isabella from entering, by the help of a bull-dog. The first meeting with Cathy (291) at the gate of Wuthering Heights is accompanied with a fight between their dogs. Afterwards they set out together for Penistone Crags. The initial good understanding between them is disturbed: Cathy wounds Hareton's self-respect, and instead of opening the door for her he walks off, feeling offended and angry (292,

As they stepped on to the door-stones, and halted to take a last look at the moon - or, more correctly, at each other by her light - I felt irresistibly impelled to escape them again; . . . . (Ch. XXXIV) (289) The nearer I got to the house the more agitated I grew; and on catching sight of it I trembled in every limb. The apparition had outstripped me: it stood looking through the gate. That was my first idea on observing an elf-locked, brown-eyed boy setting his ruddy countenance against the bars. Further reflection suggested this must be Hareton, . . . . (Ch. IX) (290) "Yes - we came just now", I said; "but he left me by the kitchen door; and when I would have gone in, your little boy played sentinel over the place, and frightened me off by the help of a bull-dog." (Ch. XIII) (291) I could not wring from my little lady how she had spent the day; except that, as I supposed, the goal of her pilgrimage was Penistone Craggs; and she arrived without adventure to the gate of the farmhouse, when Hareton happened to issue forth, attended by some canine followers, who attacked her train . . . . (Ch. XVIII) (292) I only told him to leave my horse alone, or else it would kick him. . . . I was half inclined to make it try; however; he moved off to open the door, and, as he raised the latch, he looked up to the inscription above, and said, with a stupid mixture of awkwardness and elation: "Miss Catherine! I can read yon, nah." (Ch. XXIV)

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293). Cathy prefers Linton's company to his. Hareton takes revenge on them by locking them out of the "house" (294). Elllen Dean sees Hareton as the ideal jailer: his taciturnity and reticence match his fondness for closed doors (295). There is a very much greater feeling of openness in passage( 296), where he opens the gate for Lockwood when he pays his farewell visit to Wuthering Heights. The relationship with Cathy is still not harmonious. After some taunts from her, concerning his reading, he throws her books into the fire; he walks out in great fury. Ellen Dean tells Lockwood the story of Heathcliff's death and the events preceding it, when Lockwood has returned to the neighbourhood: the continuance of the quarrel between Cathy and Hareton is

(293) . . . uncertain whether he might not join in my mirth: whether it were not pleasant familiarity, or what it really was, contempt. I settled his doubts, by . . . desiring him to walk away, for I came to see Linton, not him. He reddened . . . dropped his hand from the latch, and skulked off a picture of mortified vanity. (Ch. XXIV) (294) . . . he [Linton] asked me to read a little of one [book], and I was about to comply, when Earnshaw burst the door open: having gathered venom with reflection. . . . He swore at us, and left Linton no time to answer, nearly throwing him into the kitchen; and he clenched his fist as I followed, seemingly longing to knock me down. I was afraid for a moment, and I let one volume fall; he kicked it after me, and shut us out. (Ch. XXIV) (295) "I've brought you something to eat", said a voice; "oppen t' door!" Complying eagerly, I beheld Hareton, laden with food enough to last me all day . . . he was a model of a gaoler: surly, and dumb, and deaf to every attempt at moving his sense of justice or compassion. (Ch. XXVII) (296) The front door stood open, but the jealous gate was fastened, as at my last visit; I knocked, and invoked Earnshaw from among the garden beds; he unchained it, and I entered. (Ch. XXXI) (297) "You'd better hold your tongue, now;" he answered fiercely. And his agitation precluded further speech; he advanced hastily to the entrance, where I made way for him to pass. But ere he had crossed the door-stones, Mr. Heathcliff, coming up the causeway, encountered him, and laying hold of his shoulder, asked: "What's to do now, my lad?" (Ch. XXXI) (298) Both doors and lattices were open; . . . . What inmates there were had stationed themselves not far from one of the windows. (Ch. XXXII) (299) Then they came to the door, and from their conversation I judged they were about to issue out and have a walk on the moors. (Ch. XXXII)

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illustrated in passage (300). Hareton still shows a preference for showing people the door. When they have become friends they like to be outside together in the beautiful spring weather (301). From being friends they have progressed to loving each other; the barriers are down between them: together they sit at the window (symbol of openness) (298), together they come out of the house to take a walk on the moor, leaving the protection of the house (299) and full of confidence they stand on the threshold of the house, and of a new life together (302). 12.

Linton

The pitiful story of Linton's stay at Wuthering Heights is reflected in the passages (303-312). He is brought to the house under all sorts of false promises, nevertheless he does not want to go in (303). He is forced to stay: power expressed again in the image of the locked door. Passage (304) is one of the cruellest and most heart-rending passages in the novel, because a helpless child is the victim of a perverted father. The function of the house is perverted here, too; it is not a symbol of protection, but of imprisonment. Gradually Linton's weak personality will degenerate too under the influence of the unnatural character of the house. (300) "I'll go to hell, body and soul, before I look sideways after you again. Side out o ' t ' gate, now; this minute!" Catherine frowned, and retreated to the window-seat . . . . (Ch. XXXII) (301) I prepared breakfast for the household, as was my usual custom, but told Hareton and Catherine to get theirs ere the master came down, for he lay late. They preferred taking it out of doors, under the trees, and I set a little table to accommodate them. (Ch. XXXIV) (302) At that moment the garden gate swung to; the ramblers were returning; "They are afraid of nothing", I grumbled, watching their approach through the window. "Together they would brave Satan and all his legions." As they stepped on to the door-stones, and halted to take a last look at the moon - or, more correctly, at each other by her light - I felt irresistibly impelled to escape them again; . . . . (Ch. XXXIV) (303) The boy was fully occupied with his own cogitations for the remainder of the ride, till we halted before the farmhouse garden gate. . . . He surveyed the carved front and low-browed lattices, the straggling gooseberry bushes and crooked firs, with solemn intentness, and then shook his head: (Ch. XX) (304) But he was too much on the alert to be cheated: as I closed the door, I heard a cry, and a frantic repetition of the words: "Don't leave me! I'll not stay here! I'll not stay here!" Then the latch was raised and fell; they did not suffer him to come forth (Ch. XX)

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He develops a growing aversion to having a window open or going out (305, 306, 307, 308). The house that seemed a prison to him at first has now become a protective shell; going out requires a greater effort of will than staying indoors. His nature has adapted itself to the atmosphere of cruelty and hatred that reigns in the house. Hareton, slighted by Cathy, throws both her and Linton out into the kitchen; Linton resents furiously being thus excluded from what he considers his domain (309). His streak of cruelty and avarice becomes more prominent (310).

(305) "And I never knew such a faint-hearted creature", added the woman; "nor one so careful of hisseln. He will go on, if I leave the window open a bit late in the evening. Oh! it's killing! a breath of night air! . . . " (Ch. XXI) (306) Linton gathered his energies, and left the hearth. The lattice was open, and, as he stepped out, I heard Cathy inquiring of her unsociable attendant, what was that inscription over the door? (Ch. XXI) (307) Mr. Heathcliff . . . cast a look of singular aversion on the flippant pair, who remained chattering in the doorway: the boy finding animation enough while discussing Hareton's faults and deficiencies, and relating anecdotes of his goings-on; and the girl relishing his pert and spiteful sayings, . . . . (Ch. XXI) (308) " . . . Papa said you would call", continued he, after recovering a little from Catherine's embrace; . . . . "Will you shut the door, if you please? you left it open; . . . . It's so cold!" (Ch. XXIII) (309) He [Hareton] swore at us, and left Linton no time to answer, nearly throwing him into the kitchen; . . . he kicked it [the book] after me, and shut us out . . . . Linton was white and trembling . . . . He grasped the handle of the door, and shook it: it was fastened inside. (Ch. XXIV) (310) " . . . she offered to give me them [her books], and her pretty birds, and her pony Minny, if I would get the key of her room, and let her out; but I told her she had nothing to give, they were all, all mine. And then she cried, and took a little picture from her neck, and said I should not have that; two pictures in a gold case, on one side her mother, and on the other, uncle, when they were young. That was yesterday - I said they were mine, too; and tried to get them from her. . . . She heard papa coming, and she broke the hinges and divided the case, and gave me her mother's portrait; the other she attempted to hide: but papa asked what was the matter, and I explained it. He took the one I had away, and ordered her to resign hers to me; she refused, and he - he struck her down, and wrenched it off the chain, and crushed it with his foot . . . . When papa was gone, she made me come to the window and showed me her cheek cut on the inside, . . . ." (Ch. XXVIII)

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The spirit of Wuthering Heights has completely obliterated any vestige of the wish to escape (311). The utmost he can be forced to do is to help Cathy in her flight. His apathy is too great for him to be induced to fly too. He remains in the house to meet his doom (312).

(311) "And you can get the key if you choose?" I said. "Yes, when I'm upstairs", he answered; "but I can't walk upstairs now." (Ch. XXVIII) (312) [Linton] was terrified into fetching the key before his father reascended. He had the cunning to unlock and re-lock the door, without shutting it; . . . . Catherine stole out before break of day . . . . Her accomplice suffered for his share in the escape, . . . . (Ch. XXVIII)

VIII THE IMAGERY OF ANIMAL AND VEGETABLE LIFE

1.

Lockwood

In passage (1) we see that Lockwood, seeking admission to Wuthering Heights, is helped a little by his horse. Only when Heathcliff sees the horse "pushing the barrier" does he put out a hand to unchain the gate. Lockwood's journey, which will turn out to be something of an adventure into a strange and horrifying world - though Lockwood is not yet aware of this - gets an impulse from this instinctive source. His conscious mind is still concerned with urbane things like the lack of domestics and the obvious results: grass and cattle are the trite manifestations of his reflections. In passage (2) a note of uneasiness creeps in. The dogs are everywhere, like a many-headed monster. Lockwood feels their disturbing presence as a threat and (3) makes an attempt to placate the most dangerous animal. His self-confidence is severely shaken now. In this somewhat unbalanced psychical condition, revealed by the twitching of his features - rationalised later in his story as intentional - he whips up

(1) When he saw my horse's breast fairly pushing the barrier, he did put out his hand to unchain it, and then suddenly preceded me up the causeway, calling, as we entered the court - "Joseph, take Mr. Lockwood's horse; and bring up some wine." "Here we have the whole establishment of domestics, I suppose", was the reflection suggested by this compound order. "No wonder the grass grows up between the flags, and cattle are the only hedge-cutters." (Ch. I) (2) In an arch under the dresser, reposed a huge, liver-coloured bitch pointer, surrounded by a swarm of squealing puppies; and other dogs haunted other recesses. (Ch. I) (3) [I] filled up an interval of silence by attempting to caress the canine mother, who had left her nursery, and was sneaking wolfishly to the back of my legs, her lip curled up, and her white teeth watering for a snatch. My caress provoked a long, guttural snarl. (Ch. I)

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the fury of the dogs (4). For a while chaos reigns; he has not the power of personality to make the tumult subside, no magic weapon to vanquish his assailants. He is the opposite of the hero of myth and legend who kills the monster; on the contrary, he must ask for help from the inmates of the house to deliver him, and so becomes an anti-hero. He knows he has lost the fight but tries to conceal his defeat in boastful language (5, 6); seeing, however, this does not produce any effect (7) he decides to accept the situation. Lockwood is typically a man who has not come to terms with reality, nor has he discovered his real self. If we look at the fight against the dogs as a struggle to integrate the forces of the dark into the conscious personality, his defeat signifies his failure to do so. This could explain why he sets out for Wuthering Heights a second time: he has not recognised the dark powers he is up against for what they are; his next visit will prove an even more horrifying experience and an even greater defeat. The journey there seems unattractive enough already (8) and

(4) . . . his master dived down to him [Joseph], leaving me vis-à-vis the ruffianly bitch and a pair of grim shaggy sheep-dogs, who shared with her a jealous guardianship over all my movements. Not anxious to come in contact with their fangs, I sat still; but, imagining they would scarcely understand tacit insults, I unfortunately indulged in winking and making faces at the trio, and some turn of my physiognomy so irritated madam, that she suddenly broke into a fury and leapt on my knees. I flung her back, and hastened to interpose the table between us. This proceeding roused the whole hive: half-a-dozen four-footed fiends, of various sizes and ages, issued from hidden dens to the common centre. I felt my heels and coat-laps peculiar subjects of assault; and parrying off the larger combatants as effectually as I could with the poker, I was constrained to demand, aloud, assistance from some of the household in re-establishing peace . . . . The hearth was an absolute tempest of worrying and yelping. (Ch. I) (5) "The herd of possessed swine could have had no worse spirits in them than those animals of yours, sir. You might as well leave a stranger with a brood of tigers!" (Ch. I) (6) "Not bitten, are you?" "If I had been, I would have set my signet on the biter." (Ch. I) (7) . . . it would be foolish to sit sulking for the misbehaviour of a pack of curs: besides, I felt loath to yield the fellow further amusement at my expense; since the humour took that turn. (Ch. I) (8) Yesterday afternoon set in misty and cold. I had half a mind to spend it by my study fire, instead of wading through heath and mud to Wuthering Heights. (Ch. II)

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the hostility of the house is emphasized by the naked branches of the gooseberry bushes and the howling of the dogs (9). His anxious attempts to establish friendly relations - he sounds rather insecure - result in his mistaking the dead rabbits for pets (10), an absolute dead-lock. The scene in passage (11) is an intensified version of the one in (4). The monsters threaten to overwhelm him, he is in their power until their masters see fit to liberate him. He has neither been able to tame nor to kill the monsters; they will continue to exercise their disturbing influence if he remains on the spot. But Lockwood, as we know, leaves the neighbourhood at the earliest possible moment after he has recovered from the illness, which is the result of his nerve-shattering visits to Wuthering Heights. He is now obliged to stay the night at Wuthering Heights and at the mercy of the powers of the dark (12, 13). The branch of the fir-tree with its dry cones rattling against the panes — the opposite of the branch bearing blossoms or fruit, and therefore a symbol of the renewal of life - is the instrument of bringing the horror of death upon him. The return to commonplace life for Lockwood is exemplified by the

(9) . . . running up the flagged causeway bordered with straggling gooseberry bushes, [I] knocked vainly for admittance, till my knuckles tingled and the dogs howled. (Ch. II) (10) I . . . called the villain Juno, who deigned, at this second interview, to move the extreme tip of her tail, in token of owning my acquaintance. "A beautiful animal!" I commented again. "Do you intend parting with the little ones, madam?" . . . "Ah, your favourites are among these?" I continued, turning to an obscure cushion full of something like cats . . . . Unluckily, it was a heap of dead rabbits. I hemmed once more . . . . (Ch. II) (11) On opening the little door, two hairy monsters flew at my throat, bearing me down . . . . Fortunately, the beasts seemed more bent on stretching their paws and yawning and flourishing their tails, than devouring me alive; but they would suffer no resurrection, and I was forced to lie till their malignant masters pleased to deliver me: . . . . (Ch. II) (12) What had played Jabes's part in the row? Merely, the branch of a firtree that touched my lattice, as the blast wailed by, and rattled its dry cones against the panes! (Ch. Ill) (13) I heard, also, the fir-bough repeat its teasing sound, and ascribed it to the right cause: but it annoyed me so much, that I resolved to silence it, if possible; . . . . "I must stop it, nevertheless!" I muttered, knocking my knuckles through the glass, and stretching an arm out to seize the importunate branch; instead of which, my fingers closed on the fingers of a little, ice-cold hand! . . . (Ch. Ill)

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introduction of the domestic cat (14), and his inane remarks in (15, 16). At home again he feels drained of energy to the point of exhaustion by his unusually violent emotional and physical experiences. Looking for an apt comparison to express his feeling of weakness he hits upon the word "kitten" (17). In unconscious contrast with the fierce nature of his recent encounter with the dogs at Wuthering Heights, the cat, the kitten, as well as the domestic call-name "puss" figure in his conversation with Nelly during his convalescence (18). What little he has learned about human nature during his stay in the country is summarized in a would-be philosophical treatise for the benefit of the housekeeper Ellen Dean (19). With the brace of grouse Heathcliff sent to him a whiff of the more vigorous air of Wuthering Heights and the moors reaches the sick-room at Thrushcross Grange (20, 21, 22).

(14) I . . . landed in the back kitchen, . . . . Nothing was stirring except a brindled, grey cat, which crept from the ashes, and saluted me with a querulous mew. Two benches . . . nearly enclosed the hearth; on one of these I stretched myself, and Grimalkin mounted the other. We were both of us nodding, ere any one invaded our retreat, . . . . (Ch. Ill) (15) "And you, you worthless" - he [Heathcliff] broke out as I entered, turning to his daughter-in-law, and employing an epithet as harmless as duck, or sheep, but generally represented by a dash - . (Ch. Ill) (16) Having no desire to be entertained by a cat-and-dog combat, I stepped forward briskly, . . . . (Ch. Ill) (17) . . . after putting on dry clothes, and pacing to and fro thirty or forty minutes, to restore the animal heat, I am adjourned to my study, feeble as a kitten: . . . . (Ch. Ill) (18) "Are you acquainted with the mood of mind in which, if you were seated alone, and the cat licking its kitten on the rug before you, you would watch the operation so intently that puss's neglect of one ear would put you seriously out of temper?" (Ch. VII) (19) "I perceive that people in these regions acquire over people in towns the value that the spider in a dungeon does over a spider in a cottage, to their various occupants; and yet the deepened attraction is not entirely owing to the situation of the looker-on. They do live more in earnest, . . . ." (Ch. VII) (20) Mr. Heathcliff has just honoured me with a call. About seven days ago he sent me a brace of grouse - the last of the season. (Ch. X) (21) . . . how could I offend a man who was charitable enough to . . . talk on some other subject than pills and draughts, blisters and leeches? (Ch. X) (22) But never mind! I'll extract wholesome medicines from Mrs. Dean's bitter herbs; and firstly, let me beware the fascination that lurks in Catherine Heathcliff's brilliant eyes. (Ch. X)

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The passages (23-28) are concerned with the events after Lockwood's return to the neighbourhood, the following autumn. There is nothing in them to remind one of the fierce encounters he had when first visiting Wuthering Heights. The passing of a cart of oats, the sheep placidly cropping the grass in tihe churchyard, the still summery appearance of the heatih, the scent of flowers, these are the aspects of animal and vegetable life that suit Lockwood's cautious nature. 2. Ellen Dean From the passages quoted Ellen Dean appears as a country-woman born and bred. She is familiar with the work on the farm, the animals, the plants, flowers and trees, everything that lives or grows in the garden and on the moors. Her speech, like that of many country people, is interspersed with metaphors of animal and vegetable life. Time is often indicated by referring to farming activities like making hay, reaping corn etc., or by mentioning the flowers that are in bloom. She is observant of nature in all its aspects. The passages fall into two groups, one for the passages in which (23) 1802. - This September I was invited to devastate the moors of a friend in the north, and on my journey to his abode, I unexpectedly came within fifteen miles of Gimmerton. The 'ostler at a roadside public-house was holding a pail of water to refresh my horses, when a cart of very green oats, newly reaped, passed by, and he remarked: "Yon's frough Gimmerton nah! They're alias three wick after other folk wi' ther harvest." (Ch. XXXII) (24) . . . I directed my servant to inquire the way to the village; and, with great fatigue to our beasts, we managed the distance in some three hours. (Ch. XXXII) (25) The grey church looked greyer, and the lonely churchyard lonelier. I distinguished a moor sheep cropping the short turf on the graves. (Ch. XXXII) (26) In winter nothing more dreary, in summer nothing more divine, than those glens shut in by hills, and those bluff, bold swells of heath. (Ch. XXXII) (27) And I noticed another [improvement] by the aid of my nostrils; a fragrance of stocks and wallflowers wafted on the air from amongst the homely fruit-trees. (Ch. XXXII) (28) I lingered round them [the three graves], under that benign sky: watched the moths fluttering among the heath and harebells; listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass; and wondered how any one could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth. (Ch. XXXIV)

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names of animals, plants etc. are used literally, and the second group for passages, in which they are used metaphorically. Some belong to both groups. To group I belong the following passages: (30, 31, 32, 34, 35, 39, 40, 42, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 65, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 90, 92, 93, 94, 95). T o group II belong the following passages: (29, 33, 36, 37, 38, 41, 43, 44, 45, 56, 58, 63, 64, 66, 72, 74, 89, 91). So the passages in group I are far more numerous than those in group II. Many passages in group I contain clues as to Nelly's indications of time in her narrative: (30) Nelly begins her story to Lockwood. In her memory it was summer; she helped to make hay. (31) It is the beginning of harvest; Mr. Earnshaw promised to bring her some apples and pears. (32) This does not throw any light upon the question of the timepattern. This passage really belongs as much to Heathcliff's story as to Nelly's. (34) Christmas Eve: the clock decked in holly. (35) Hareton is born, at the time of the hay-making. The two events are closely connected in her memory.

(29) "Do you know anything of his history!" "It's a cuckoo's, sir - I know all about it: except where he was bora, and who were his parents, and how he got his money, at first. And Hareton has been cast out like an unfledged dunnock; . . . ." (Ch. IV) (30) [I] ran errands too, and helped to make hay, and hung about the farm . . . . (Ch. IV) (31) He [Mr. Earnshaw] did not forget me; . . . . He promised to bring me a pocketful of apples and pears, . . . . (Ch. IV) (32) I persuaded him easily te let me lay the blame of his bruises on the horse: . . . . (Ch. IV) (33) We all kept as mute as mice a full half-hour, and should have done so longer, only Joseph . . . said that he must rouse the master for prayers and bed (Ch. V) (34) [I] admired the shining kitchen utensils, the polished clock, decked in holly, (Ch. VII) (35) On the morning of a fine June day, my first bonny little mursling, and the last of the ancient Earnshaw stock, was born. We were busy with the hay in a far away field (Ch. VIII)

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(39) This does not give any clue as to the time. (40) The whole atmosphere is that of a typical midsummer thunderstorm. (42) A mellow evening in September: Nelly coming in with a basket of apples. (46) The hardness of the frozen ground is echoed in hard and dry images e.g. the snail-shells, the pebbles and the withered turf. (47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52) throw no light on the time-pattern. (53) This indicates the essence of early spring: flowing waters, and the trees still bare. (54) The dog basking in the spring sunshine. (55) Birds building their nests, another indication of spring.

(36) . . . he [Edgar Linton] possessed the power to depart, as much as a cat possesses the power to leave a mouse half killed, or a bird half eaten. (Ch. VIII) (37) Hareton was impressed with a wholesome terror of encountering either his wild beast's fondness or his madman's rage; . . . . (Ch. IX) (38) "There, I've found it out at last!" cried Hindley, pulling me back by the skin of my neck, like a dog . . . . (Ch. IX) (39) "But I don't like the carving-knife, Mr. Hindley", I answered: "it has been cutting red herrings . . . ." (Ch. IX) (40) There was a violent wind, as well as thunder, and either one or the other split a tree off at the corner of the building: a huge bough fell across the roof, (Ch. IX) (41) They [Edgar and Isabella] were both very attentive to her comfort, certainly. It was not the thorn bending to the honeysuckles, but the honeysuckles embracing the thorn. (Ch. X) (42) On a mellow evening in September, I was coming from the garden with a heavy basket of apples which I had been gathering. (Ch. X) (43) "Banish him from your thoughts, miss", I said. "He's a bird of bad omen: no mate for you." (Ch. X) (44) And he stared hard at the object of discourse, as one might do at a strange repulsive animal: a centipede from the Indies, for instance, which curiosity leads one to examine in spite of the aversion it raises. (Ch. X) (45) I felt that God had forsaken the stray sheep there to its own wicked wanderings, and an evil beast prowled between it and the fold, waiting his time to spring and destroy. (Ch. X) (46) [I] perceived a hole near the bottom still full of snail-shells and pebbles, which we [Hindley and Nelly] were fond of storing there with more perishable things; and, as fresh as reality, it appeared that I beheld my early playmate seated on the withered turf: . . . . (Ch. XI)

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(57) A return of winter weather blotting out the signs of spring. (58) Late summer or early autumn of the year after Catherine's death, indicated by the blossoming of the heath. (60, 61, 62, 65) Cathy's excursions could only take place on fine summer days. (67) throws no light on the time-pattern. (68, 69, 70) continue the idea of long summer days. (71) throws no light on the time-pattern. (72, 73) Spring-time again; all the images continue to give a suggestion of youth and movement as opposed to the static rest of winter. (75) The beginning of autumn, also the beginning of Edgar Linton's illness.

(47) Fit to cry, I took an orange from my pocket, and offered it to propitiate him. He hesitated, and then snatched it from my hold; as if he fancied I only intended to tempt and disappoint him. I showed another, keeping it out of his reach. (Ch. XI) (48) "Tell us where you got your lessons, and you shall have it", said I. . . . He jumped at the fruit; I raised it higher. "What does he [Heathcliff] teach you?" I asked. (Ch. XI) (49) I put the orange in his hand, and bade him tell his father that a woman called Nelly Dean was waiting to speak with him, . . . . (Ch. XI) (50) My surprise and perplexity were great on discovering, by touch more than vision. Miss Isabella's springer, Fanny, suspended by a handkerchief, and nearly at its last gasp. I quickly released the animal, and lifted it into the garden . . . . While untying the knot round the hook, it seemed to me that I repeatedly caught the beat of horses' feet galloping at some distance; Ch. XII) (51) [I] ran most of the way back. The little dog was yelping in the garden yet. I spared a minute to open the gate for it, but instead of going to the house door, it coursed up and down snuffing the grass and would have escaped to the road, had I not seized and conveyed it in with me. (Ch. XII) (52) I told my companion that the mistress wished very much for some oranges, and he must run over to the village and get a few, to be paid for on the morrow. (Ch. XV) (53) . . . the full, mellow flow of the beck in the valley came soothingly on the ear. It was a sweet substitute for the yet absent murmur of the summer foliage, which drowned that music about the Grange when the trees were in leaf. (Ch. XV) (54) As I spoke, I observed a large dog lying on the sunny grass beneath raise its ears as if about to bark, and then smoothing them back, announce, by a wag of the tail, that some one approached whom it did not consider a stranger. (Ch. XV)

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(76, 77, 78, 79, 80) The autumnal features abound in the passages: the withered leaves; the single flower left under a tree, a reminder of summer; moss, fungus, and the rose-hips blooming against the wall. (81, 83, 85, 86, 87, 88, 93) throw no light on the time-pattern. (82) There is a deepening of the autumnal gloom. (84) A pale February sun shining through the mist, a first indication of the end of winter. (90) Spring: planting time. Catherine wants Hareton to make her a garden. (92) Warm, mild spring weather, and the wild apple trees in full bloom. (94, 95) The boy herding the sheep and the lambs across the moors late in the evening: probably late summer. (55) . . . my chief motive was seeing Mr. Heathcliff. If he had remained among the larches all night, he would have heard nothing of the stir at the Grange; . . . . He was there - at least a few yards further in the park; leant against an old ash tree, . . . . He had been standing a long time in that position, for I saw a pair of ousels passing and repassing scarcely three feet from him, busy in building their nest, and regarding his proximity no more than that of a piece of timber. They flew off at my approach, . . . . (Ch. XVI) (56) He dashed his head against the knotted trunk; and, lifting up his eyes, howled, not like a man, but like a savage beast being goaded to death with knives and spears. (Ch. XVI) (57) On the morrow one could hardly imagine that there had been three weeks of summer: the primroses and crocuses were hidden under wintry drifts; the larks were silent, the young leaves of the early trees smitten and blackened. (Ch. XVII) (58) . . . after the first six months, she grew like a larch and could walk and talk too, in her own way, before the heath blossomed a second time over Mrs. Linton's dust . . . . Still she did not resemble her; for she could be soft and mild as a dove, . . . . (Ch. XVIII) (59) I explained that they [Penistone Crags] were bare masses of stone, with hardly enough earth in their clefts to nourish a stunted tree. (Ch. XVIII) (60) I used to send her on her travels round the grounds - now on foot and now on a pony; . . . . (Ch. XVIII) (61) One traveller, the hound, being an old dog and fond of its ease, returned; but neither Cathy, nor the pony, nor the two pointers were visible in any direction: . . . . (Ch. XVIII) (62) My suspense was truly painful; and, at first, it gave me delightful relief to observe, in hurrying by the farmhouse, Charlie, the fiercest of the pointers, lying under a window, with swelled head and bleading ear. (Ch. XVIII)

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The above passages give sufficient proof that Nelly's division of time follows the pattern of the seasons of the year, as reflected in the life of plants, flowers, trees and birds. The passages in group II throw some light on certain characteristics of the persons or the events in Nelly's story. From these metaphors we gain an insight into Nelly's opinions about the persons and their actions. Thus in (29) the whole story of Heathcliff and Hareton is summed up aptly by the comparison with the cuckoo and the dunnock respectively. (33) Old Mr. Earnshaw is an authoritative sort of person, he must not be disturbed. (36) Edgar is irresistibly drawn to his fate. (37) Hindley in his uncontrolled moods of affection for his son shows a wild beast's fondness.

(63) I entered, and beheld my stray lamb seated on the hearth (Ch. XVIII) (64) ". . . and you stealing off so! it shows you are a cunning little fox " (Ch. XVIII) (65) "How long am I to wait?" I continued, . . . . "It will be dark in ten minutes. Where is the pony, Miss Cathy? And where is Phoenix? . . ." (Ch. XVIII) (66) . . . she commenced capering round the room; and on my giving chase, ran like a mouse over and under and behind the furniture, rendering it ridiculous for me to pursue. (Ch. XVIII) (67) . . . the poor fellow . . . was a well-made, athletic youth, . . . but attired in garments befitting his daily occupation of working on the farm, and lounging among the moors after rabbits and game. (Ch. XVIII) (68) "Linton is just six months younger than I am", she chattered, as we strolled leisurely over the swells and hollows of mossy turf, under shadow of the trees. (Ch. XIX) (69) The pure heather-scented air, the bright sunshine, and the gentle canter of Minny, relieved his despondency after a while. (Ch. XX) (70) "It [Wuthering Heights] is not so buried in trees", I replied, "and it is not quite so large, but you can see the country beautifully all round; . . . . And you will have such nice rambles on the moors . . . and you can bring a book in fine weather, and make a green hollow your study; . . . ." (Ch. XX) (71) I mounted Minny, and urged her to a trot; and so my brief guardianship ended. (Ch. XX) (72) "That must be a good distance up", I answered; "they don't breed on the edge of the moor". . . . She bounded before me, and returned to my side, and was off again like a young grey-hound; and, at first, I found plenty of entertainment in listening to the larks singing far and near, and enjoying the sweet, warm sunshine; and watching her, my pet, and my

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(38) An improbable situation: Nelly, warming up to her subject, lets herself be carried away by her eagerness to describe Hindley's brutal conduct adequately. (39) The most absurd excuse as an anti-climax, befitting a most absurd situation. (41) This leaves no doubt about the way Nelly's sympathies lie. (43) This metaphor expresses very well the mysterious character of Heathcliff's origin and his evil presence hovering over Thrushcross Grange. (44) This passage expresses the contempt and repulsion most people feel for a creepy crawling insect. The commonest reaction would be to crush it under one's foot.

delight, with her golden ringlets flying loose behind and her bright cheek, as soft and pure in its bloom as a wild rose, . . . . (Ch. XXI) (73) "Well", said I, "where are your moor-game, Miss Cathy? We should be at them: . . . ." (Ch. XXI) (74) Never did any bird flying back to a plundered nest which it had left brimful of chirping young ones, express more complete despair in its anguished cries and flutterings, than she by her single "Oh!" . . . . (Ch. XXI) (75) . . . It was past Michaelmas, but the harvest was late that year, and a few of our fields were still uncleared. (Ch. XXII) (76) On an afternoon in October, or the beginning of November - a fresh watery afternoon, when the turf and paths were rustling with moist, withered leaves, . . . - I requested my young lady to forego her ramble, . . . . (Ch. XXII) (77) I gazed round for a means of diverting her thoughts. On one side of the road rose a high, rough bank, where hazels and stunted oaks, with their roots half-exposed, held uncertain tenure: the soil was too loose for the latter; and strong winds had blown some nearly horizontal. . . . "Look, miss!" I exclaimed, pointing to a nook under the roots of one twisted tree. "Winter is not here yet. There's a little flower up yonder, the last bud from the multitude of bluebells that clouded those turf steps in July with a lilac mist. Will you clamber up, and pluck it to show to papa?" (Ch. XXII) (78) . . . [she] continued sauntering on, pausing at intervals, to muse over a bit of moss, or a tuft of blanched grass, or a fungus spreading its bright orange among the heaps of brown foliage; . . . . (Ch. XXII) (79) . . . my young lady, lightening into sunshine again, climbed up and seated herself on the top of the wall, reaching over to gather some hips that bloomed scarlet on the summit branches of the wild rose trees, shadowing the highway side: the lower fruit had disappeared, but only birds could

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(45) Hindley at the mercy of Heathcliff, who is only biding his time to make his victory complete. (56) Nelly emphasizes the animal nature of Heathcliff's grief at Catherine's death. (58) The tree is a symbol of life; the upward trend of its growth implies a strong vertical dynamism. In the comparison of Cathy to a dove Ellen cannot refrain from uttering once more her dislike of the first Catherine's imperious character. (63, 64, 66) In the narration of one short scene Elllen describes Cathy as a stray lamb, a cunning little fox and a mouse. The "stray lamb" still echoes Nelly's relief at finding Cathy; the other

touch the upper, except from Cathy's present station. In stretching to pull them, her hat fell off; . . . . (Ch. XXII) (80) . . . the rose bushes and blackberry stragglers could yield no assistance in re-ascending. (Ch. XXII) (81) . . . I was about to hurry home as fast as I could, when an approaching sound arrested me. It was the trot of a horse; . . . . (Ch. XXII) (82) I closed the door, . . . and spreading my umbrella, I drew my charge underneath: for the rain began to drive through the moaning branches of the trees, and warned us to avoid delay . . . . (Ch. XXII) (83) . . . next day beheld me on the road to Wuthering Heights, by the side of my wilful young mistress's pony . . . . (Ch. XXII) (84) Edgar sighed; and walking to the window, looked out towards Gimmerton Kirk. It was a misty afternoon, but the February sun shone dimly, and we could just distinguish the two fir-trees in the yard, and the sparely scattered gravestones. (Ch. XXV) (85) But when we reached him [Linton], and that was scarcely a quarter of a mile from his own door, we found he had no horse; and we were forced to dismount, and leave ours to graze. (Ch. XXVI) (86) My young mistress alighted, and told me that, as she was resolved to stay a very little while, I had better hold the pony and remain on horseback; but I dissented: I wouldn't risk losing sight of the charge committed to me a minute; so we climbed the slope of heath together. (Ch. XXVII) (87) . . . when hearing a rustle among the ling, I looked up and saw Mr. Heathcliff almost close upon us, descending the Heights. (Ch. XXVII) (88) Heathcliff fixed Catherine's arm under his: . . . and with rapid strides he hurried her into the alley, whose trees concealed them. (Ch. XXIX) (89) And. perhaps, not quite awake to what he did, but attracted like a child to a candle, at last he proceeded from staring to touching; he put out

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two epithets are expressions of annoyance, first at being kept in the dark about Cathy's plans, and in the second instance at being put in a ridiculous position. Nelly's use of metaphor varies considerably with her moods. Thus again in (72), when she is enjoying herself, she compares Cathy's agility to that of a young greyhound, and her complexion to a wild rose. The exact description of Cathy's despair at finding her letters gone in passage (74) leaves little room for supposing sympathy on Nelly's side; and indeed she is the cause of Cathy's despair: she has taken the letters away, a cruel act, and the detailed description of its results echoes this cruelty. Her sympathy for Hareton is reflected in passage (89), and her dislike of Joseph, who never makes a secret of his unfavourable opinion

his hand and stroked one curl, as gently as if it were a bird. (Ch. X X X ) (90) I was terrified at the devastation which had been accomplished in a brief half-hour; the black currant trees were the apple of Joseph's eye, and she had just fixed her choice of a flower-bed in the midst of them. . . . " . . . . And what excuse have you to offer for taking such liberties with the garden?" . . . (Ch. X X X I I I ) (91) . . . Joseph appeared at the door, . . . while his jaws worked like those of a cow chewing its cud (Ch. X X X I I I ) (92) We were in April then: the weather was sweet and warm, the grass as green as showers and sun could make it, and the two dwarf apple-trees near the southern wall in full bloom . . . . (Ch. X X X I V ) (93) Hareton, with a streaming face, dug green sods, and laid them over the brown mound himself: at present it is as smooth and verdant as its companion mounds - and I hope its tenant sleeps as soundly. (Ch. X X X I V ) (94) I was going to the Grange one evening . . . and, just at the turn of the Heights, I encountered a little boy with a sheep and two lambs before him; he was crying terribly; and I supposed the lambs were skittish, and would not be guided. (Ch. X X X I V ) (95) I saw nothing; but neither the sheep nor he would go on; so I bid him take the road lower down. (Ch. X X X I V ) (96) "The Lord help us!" he soliloquised in an undertone of peevish displeasure, while relieving me of my horse: . . . . (Ch. I) (97) "How must I do?" I continued, with rising irritation. - There was no reply to my question; and on looking round I saw only Joseph bringing in a pail of porridge for the dogs (Ch. II) (98) [Joseph] sat within earshot, milking the cows by the light of a lantern, which I seized unceremoniously, . . . . "Maister, maister, he's staling t' lantern!" shouted the ancient, pursuing my retreat. "Hey, Gnasher! Hey, dog! Hey, Wolf, holld him, holld him!" (Ch. II)

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of her, is expressed in passage (91); she maliciously compares him to a cow chewing the cud. Nelly's knowledge of animal behaviour is evident especially from the passages (29, 36, 51, 54, 55, 61, 66, 72, 74, 94). She likes to use this knowledge to make her descriptions of people and events more graphic, and thus to prevent her long narrative from becoming tedious. In general we can say that all the quotations of animal and vegetable life help to give to Nelly's story a firm root in reality. 3.

Joseph

While none of the passages concerning animals shows Joseph as having much sympathy for them ( 9 6 - 1 0 4 ) , (106, 107, 108, 109) reveal him in

(99) We were both of us nodding, ere any one invaded our retreat, and then it was Joseph, . . . . He . . . swept the cat from its elevation, and bestowing himself in the vacancy, commenced the operation of stuffing a three-inch pipe with tobacco. (Ch. Ill) (100) "He's left th' yate ut t' full swing, and Miss's pony has trodden dahn two rigs uh corn, and plottered through, raight o'er intuh t' meadow!" (Ch. IX) (101) "'Aw sud more likker look for th' horse", he replied. "It 'ud be tuh more sense. Bud, Aw can look for norther horse, nur man uf a neeght loike this " (Ch. IX) (102) "Never a day ut yah're off, but yon cat uh Linton comes sneaking hither; . . . ." (Ch. IX) (103) "One on 'em 's a'most getten his finger cut off wi' hauding t' other froo' stickin hisseln loike a cawlf." (Ch. X) (104) Joseph stood by his master's chair telling some tale concerning a lame horse; (Ch. XX) (105) "His mother wer just soa - we wer a'most too mucky tuh sow t' corn fur makking her breead." (Ch. XX) ( 1 0 6 ) . . . the black currant trees were the apple of Joseph's eye, and she had just fixed her choice of a flower-bed in the midst of them. (Ch. XXXIII) (107) . . . Joseph appeared at the door, revealing by his quivering lip and furious eyes, that the outrage committed on his precious shrubs was detected. (Ch. XXXIII) (108) ". . . Bud, nah, shoo's taan my garden frough me, un by th' heart! Maister, Aw cannot stand it!" (Ch. XXXIII) (109) "He's forgetten all E done for him, un made on him, un goan un riven up a whole row ut t' grandest currant trees, i' t' garden!" and here he lamented outright (Ch. XXXIII)

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a very different light. His emotions are worked up to a remarkable degree by the pulling up of the gooseberry and current bushes. Nelly tells Lockwood they "were the apple of Joseph's eye" (106) and describes the signs of his violent emotion, "a quivering lip and furious eyes" (107). Joseph is apparently not quite the stoical character he might have been taken for on account of his surly imperturbability during the many passionate scenes he has witnessed at Wuthering Heights. Giving up his garden is too much for him (108); the loss of "t' grandest currant trees" (109) breaks down his self-control. There must be some inner bond then linking the character of the garden and the trees with something in Joseph's spiritual nature. The affinity might be wholly unconscious on the part of Joseph. For him the garden with the currant trees is perhaps a kind of mystic trysting place with his secret self. There must be a very strong reason for Joseph's extraordinary emotional disturbance when this spot is devastated. Now plants and trees, because of their inherent vertical dynamism, correspond symbolically to growth and development of psychic life. The unconscious yearning for unity with the life of the cosmos, as exemplified here in the life of the trees, could explain Joseph's agitation when the trees are uprooted. Another instance of Joseph's special psychic powers is to be found in the chapter on windows. 4. Old Mr. Earnshaw It is impossible to draw any conclusions from the few passages with regard to old Mr. Earnshaw (110, 111). 5.

Hindley

Most of the passages concerning Hindley Earnshaw show the brutal streak in his character. All of them are about animals, none about plants, flowers or trees (112-119). (110) He promised to bring me [Nelly] a pocketful of apples and pears, and then . . . he set off. (Ch. IV) (111) . . . I remember Mr. Earnshaw once bought a couple of colts at the parish fair, and gave the lads [Heathcliff and Hindley] each one. (Ch. IV) (112) . . . he [Heathcliff] said to Hindley - "You must exchange horses with me: I don't like mine; . . . . "Off, dog!" cried Hindley, threatening him . . . . "Take my colt, gypsy, then!" said young Earnshaw. "And I pray that he may break your neck: take him, and be damned, I hope he'll kick out your brains!" (Ch. IV)

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The animals concerned are horses and dogs, so of the kind symbolically connected with the earth, as opposed e.g. to birds, symbolically connected with the element of air. The quotations certainly bring out the animal, instinctive side of Hindley's nature, which, uncontrolled by the powers of his will, will destroy his personality. 6.

Catherine

The first passages (120-128) show Catherine as a healthy and even hardy young girl, still living in harmony with her surroundings. Her attitude to horses and dogs is a natural, unsentimental one; she is still living largely an instinctive sort of life, in which she has not yet had to weather any emotional storms. Reflection does not play an important part yet: without thinking she plants herself together with Heathcliff on a flower-plot under the drawing-room window at Thrushcross Grange

(113) Heathcliff had gone to loose the beast, and shift it to his own stall; he was passing behind it, when Hindley finished his speech by knocking him under its feet, and without stopping to examine whether his hopes were fulfilled, ran away as fast as he could. (Ch. IV) (114) Hindley lifted her from her horse, exclaiming delightedly, "Why, Cathy, you are quite a beauty! . . . " (Ch. VII) (115) He [Heathcliff] ran to the window and I to the door, just in time to behold . . . the Earnshaws dismount from their horses: they often rode to church in winter. (Ch. VII) (116) Hareton was impressed with a wholesome terror of encountering either his wild beast's fondness or his madman's rage; . . . . (Ch. IX) (117) "There, I've found it out at last", cried Hindley, pulling me back by the skin of my neck, like a dog. "By heaven and hell, you've sworn between you to murder that child! . . . " (Ch. IX) (118) "Unnatural cub, come hither! . . . Now, don't you think the lad would be handsomer cropped? It makes a dog fiercer, and I love something fierce - get me a scissors - something fierce and trim! Besides, it's infernal affectation - devilish conceit it is - to cherish our ears - we're asses enough without them . . . ." (Ch. IX) (119) Our labours were scarcely over when I heard Earnshaw's tread in the passage; my assistant [Skulker] tucked in his tail, and pressed to the wall; I stole into the nearest doorway. The dog's endeavour to void him was unsuccessful; as I guessed by a scutter downstairs, and a prolonged, piteous yelping. I had better luck! (Ch. XIII) (120) . . . and then he asked Miss Cathy; she was hardly six years old, but she could ride any horse in the stable, and she chose a whip. (Ch. IV)

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(121). Flowers (and the higher life of the psyche, of which they are frequently a symbol) belong to a sphere of life that is not hers. Half an hour after the bull-dog has bitten her, she shares her food with him and pinches his nose in a friendly way (122, 123, 124); she accepts the moment as it comes unquestioningly. The passages (129, 130, 131, 132) offer a very different picture. Catherine is Mrs. Linton now. The marriage to Edgar, so ill-suited to her nature, has taken place and has caused a serious disturbance of her inner self, of which she becomes increasingly aware after Heathcliff's return. In the ensuing quarrels she takes Heathcliff's side. All the metaphors of animal life she uses in these passages, in connection with the Lintons, are expressions of hatred, contempt, derision. Heathcliff is painted in metaphors suggestive of barrenness, hardness and cruelty (129). She herself does not quite belong to either party. If she cannot find a way out of this dilemma it will destroy her in the end. (121) We crept through a broken hedge, and planted ourselves on a flowerplot under the drawing-room window. (Ch. VI) (122) "Run, Heathcliff, run!" she whispered. "They have let the bull-dog loose, and he holds me!" . . . She did not yell out - no! she would have scorned to do it, if she had been spitted on the horns of a mad cow . . . ." (Ch. VI) (123) "That's Miss Earnshaw!" he [Edgar] whispered to his mother, "and look how Skulker has bitten her - how her foot bleeds!" (Ch. VI) (124) " . . . I left her, as merry as she could be, dividing her food between the little dog and Skulker, whose nose she pinched as he ate; . . . ." (Ch. VI) (125) . . . there 'lighted from a handsome black pony a very dignified person, . . . . (Ch. VII) (126) Hindley lifted her from her horse, . . . . (Ch. VII) (127) . . . while her eyes sparkled joyfully when the dogs came bounding up to welcome her, she dare hardly touch them lest they should fawn upon her splendid garments. (Ch. VII) (128) He [Heathcliff] ran to the window and I to the door, just in time to behold . . . the Earnshaws dismount from their horses: they often rode to church in winter. (Ch. VII) (129) "You are an impertinent little monkey!" exclaimed Mrs. Linton, in surprise . . . . "Nelly, help me to convince her of her madness. Tell her what Heathcliff is: . . . an arid wilderness of furze and whinstone. I'd as soon put that little canary into the park on a winter's day, as recommend you to bestow your heart on him! . . . He's not a rough diamond - a pearlcontaining oyster of a rustic: he's a fierce, pitiless, wolfish man . . . he'd crush you like a sparrow's egg, Isabella, if he found you a troublesome charge . . . ." (Ch. X)

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Now we come to passage (133): Catherine is ill and dying. In her feverish delirium birds (symbolically connected with the element of air) take a prominent place. The bird's feathers are associated with the birds themselves and with their flight, and so there is a strong vertical dynamism in these images. From this passages there speaks a very different spirit from that in the passages (129, 130, 131, 132). Catherine has gone through much suffering and it has set her thinking. Her reflections are sublimated into the volatile creatures of her dreams, belonging to the air and the heights. Her spirit is wakened up to feelings of pity and love. The whole passage marks the process of spiritualization in Catherine. In passage (134) where she sees Nelly as the secret enemy she is contemplating the harm that may be done by her to the heifers; another instance of Catherine's newly-awakened feeling of pity. The flowers that Edgar brings her (135) produce the same association (130) "There's a tigress!" exclaimed Mrs. Linton, setting her free and shaking her hand with pain. "Begone, for God's sake, and hide your vixen face! How foolish to reveal those talons to him . . . ." (Ch. X) (131) ". . . and turning the blue eyes black, every day or two: they detestably resemble Linton's." "Delectably!" observed Catherine. "They are dove's eyes - angel's!" (Ch. X) (132) "Heathcliff would as soon lift a finger at you as a king would march his army against a colony of mice. Cheer up! you shan't be hurt! Your type is not a lamb, it's a suckling leveret." (Ch. XI) (133) "That's a turkey's [feather]", she murmured to herself; "and this is a wild duck's; and this is a pigeon's. Ah, they put pigeons' feathers in the pillows - no wonder I couldn't die! . . . And here is a moor-cock's; and this - I should know it among a thousand - it's a lapwing's. Bonny bird; wheeling over our heads in the middle of the moor. It wanted to get to its nest, for the clouds had touched the swells, and it felt rain coming. This feather was picked up from the heath, the bird was not shot; we saw its nest in the winter, full of little skeletons. Heathcliff set a trap over it, and the old ones dare not come. I made him promise he'd never shoot a lapwing after that, and he didn't. Yes, here are more! Did he shoot my lapwings, Nelly? Are they red, any of them! Let me look." (Ch. XII) (134) "I see in you, Nelly", she continued dreamily, "an aged woman: you have grey hair and bent shoulders. This bed is the fairy cave under Peniston Crag, and you are gathering elf-bolts to hurt our heifers; . . . ." (Ch. XII) (135) The first time she left her chamber was at the commencement of the following March. Mr. Linton had put on her pillow, in the morning, a handful of golden crocuses; her eye, long stranger to any gleam of pleasure, caught them in waking, and shone delighted as she gathered them eagerlv together.

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with the Heights and the element of air; so here too we find the same vertical dynamism, suggesting spiritualization, as in passage (133). Heathcliff, who is not yet aware of the change in Catherine, stresses her matter-of-fact attitude to animals (136). The description of Catherine's death and interment is rich in symbols of beauty (flowers) and growth (137, 138). After the funeral there is a sudden reversal (139). Everything that grew and strove upwards is checked (the flowers, the larks, the leaves on the trees). There is a strong inverted dynamism here, directed against the earth. And when Lockwood visits Catherine's grave (140) he finds it "half buried in heath", almost indistinguishable from the earth around it. 7.

Heathcliff

It is not a pleasant picture of Heathcliff that appears from these passages. The imagery of animal and vegetable life seems to emphasize only the surliness of this temper, his contempt for other people including

"These are the earliest flowers at the Heights", she exclaimed. "They remind me of soft thaw winds, . . . ." (Ch. XIII) (136) "He [Edgar] is scarcely a degree dearer to her than her dog, or her horse. It is not in him to be loved like me: how can she love in him what he has not?" (Ch. XIV) (137) Mrs Linton's funeral was appointed to take place on the Friday following her decease; and till then her coffin remained uncovered, and strewn with flowers and scented leaves, in the great drawing-room. (Ch. XVI) (138) [Catherine's grave] was dug on a green slope in a corner of the kirkyard, where the wall is so low that heath and bilberry plants have climbed over it from the moor; and peat mould almost buries it. (Ch. XVI) (139) On the morrow one could hardly imagine that there had been three weeks of summer: the primroses and crocuses were hidden under wintry drifts; the larks were silent, the young leaves of the early trees smitten and blackened. (Ch. XVII) (140) I sought, and soon discovered, the three headstones on the slope next the moor: the middle one grey, and half buried in heath: . . . . (Ch. XXXIV) (141) When he saw my horse's breast fairly pushing the barrier, he did put out his hand to unchain it, and then suddenly preceded me up the causeway, calling . . . "Joseph, take Mr. Lockwood's horse; . . . ." (Ch. I) (142) . . . the grass grows up between the flags, and cattle are the only hedge-cutters. (Ch. I) (143) . . . one may guess the power of the north wind blowing over the edge, by the excessive slant of a few stunted firs at the end of the house; and by a range of gaunt thorns all stretching their limbs one way, as if craving alms of the sun. (Ch. I)

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his own son, and his cruelty to people as well as animals. The passages (141, 142, 143, 144, 145) are from Chapter I. If ever a person met with an unfriendly reception it certainly is Mr. Lockwood on his first visit to Wuthering Heights. The owner of the house, the situation of the house itself and the surrounding vegetation, the behaviour of his dogs, and the owner's treatment of them are unpromising enough. On Lockwood's second visit (146, 147, 148) he witnesses more instances of Heathcliffs uncharitable disposition. Also when speaking metaphorically (148) Heathcliff is not at a loss to express his contempt by means of the name of an animal. Nelly Dean starts to tell her story to Lockwood and in one of the first episodes of Heathcliff's life at Wuthering Heights she accentuates his unscrupulousness as illustrated in the story of the colts (149, 150). There is no sign of any love on the part of Heathcliff for his horse; he just wants to possess the best one. The next episode (151, 152, 153) is the description of Heathcliffs (144) "You'd better let the dog alone", growled Mr. Heathcliff in unison, checking fiercer demonstrations with a punch of his foot. "She's not accustomed to be spoiled - not kept for a pet." (Ch. I) (145) "They won't meddle with persons who touch nothing", he remarked . . . "The dogs do right to be vigilant . . . . Not bitten, are you? . . . Guests are so exceedingly rare in this house that I and my dogs, I am willing to own, hardly know how to receive them . . . ." (Ch. I) (146) "You'll go with him to hell!" exclaimed his master, or whatever relation he bore. "And who is to look after the horses, eh?" (Ch. II) (147) "Keep out of the yard, though, the dogs are unchained; and the house - luno mounts sentinel there, and . . . ." (Ch. Ill) (148) "And you, you worthless" - he broke out as I entered, turning to his daughter-in-law, and employing an epithet . . . generally represented by a dash - . (Ch. Ill) (149) . . . I remember Mr. Earnshaw once bought a couple of colts at the parish fair, and gave the lads each one. Heathcliff took the handsomest, but it soon soon fell lame, and when he discovered it, he said to Hindley "You must exchange horses with me: I don't like mine; . . . ." (Ch. IV) (150) Heathcliff had gone to loose the beast, and shift it to his own stall; he was passing behind it, when Hindley finished his speech by knocking him under its feet, . . . . (Ch. IV) (151) We crept through a broken hedge, groped our way up the path, and planted ourselves on a flower-plot under the drawing-room window. (Ch. VI) (152) " . . . in the middle of the table sat a little dog, shaking its paw and yelping; which, from their mutual accusations, we understood they had nearly pulled in two between them. The idiots! That was their pleasure! to quarrel who should hold a heap of warm hair, . . . . (Ch. VI)

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and Catherine's nightly excursion to the Grange. The flowers in the garden are not respected (151), the little dog is "a heap of warm hair" (152), and passage (153) abounds with expressions of harshness; the servant is "a beast" too, clearly an echo of the mind's disposition. The passages (154, 155) do not offer any new viewpoints. Passage (156) belongs more to Nelly's story than to Heathcliff's perhaps, but of course the comparison is suggested to her by Heathcliff's contemptuous behaviour towards Isabella. In passage (157) we hear once more Heathcliff's contempt of the Lintons and his wish to destroy them. Passage (158) shows how downright cruel Heathcliff as a boy could be already. It has made a very deep impression on Catherine's mind, for in her feverish state of the episode recurs to her after many years. Passage (159) does not offer any new viewpoints. (153) "'The devil had seized her ankle, Nelly: I heard his abominable snorting. She did not yell out - no! she would have scorned to do it, if she had been spitted on the horns of a mad cow. I did, though! I vociferated curses enough to annihilate any fiend in Christendom; and I got a stone and thrust it between his jaws, and tried with all my might to cram it down his throat. A beast of a servant came up with a lantern, at last, shouting - 'Keep fast, Skulker, keep fast!' He changed his note, however, when he saw Skulker's game. The dog was throttled off; his huge, purple tongue hanging half a foot out of his mouth, and his pendent lips streaming with bloody slaver." (Ch. VI) (154) I got up and walked into the court to seek him [Heathcliff]. He was not far; I found him smoothing the glossy coat of the new pony in the stable, and feeding the other beasts, according to custom. (Ch. VII) (155) Mr. Heathcliff has just honoured me with a call. About seven days ago he sent me a brace of grouse - the last of the season. (Ch. X) (156) And he [Heathcliff] stared hard at the object of discourse [Isabella], as one might do at a strange repulsive animal: a centipede from the Indies, for instance, which curiosity leads one to examine in spite of the aversion it raises. (Ch. X) (157) "Cathy, this lamb of yours threatens like a bull!" he said. "It is in danger of splitting its skull against my knuckles." (Ch. XI) (158) "This feather was picked up from the heath, the bird was not shot; we saw its nest in the winter, full of little skeletons. Heathcliff set a trap over it, and the old ones dare not come. I made him promise he'd never shoot a lapwing after that, and he didn't. Yes, here are more! Did he shoot my lapwings, Nelly? Are they red, any of them! . . . " (Ch. XII) (159) "I have it from good authority, that, last night . . . she and Heathcliff were walking in the plantation at the back of your house, above two hours; and he pressed her not to go in again, but just mount his horse and away with him!" (Ch. XII)

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More instances of Heathcliff's cruelty appear in (160, 161, 162, 163). He cannot imagine Catherine to be genuinely fond of her dog or her horse, probably because he feels no affection whatever himself (160). To show Isabella what he would like to do to all the Lintons he hangs up her little dog (161); he expresses his contempt for her in the most abject terms of abuse (162, 163). The dog at the Grange showing recognition of Heathcliff (164) is one instance where there is no unfavourable association. Passage (165) does not offer any new viewpoints. There is not a vestige of harmony between the birds, symbolically related to the higher life of the psyche, and Heathcliff's wooden numbness (166). The comparison of Heathcliff to a savage beast comes naturally to Nelly when she witnesses his frustration (167). Heathcliff's language to Joseph and his description of Hindley's death illustrate his opinion of them (168, 169). (160) "He is scarcely a degree dearer to her than her dog, or her horse, . . . ." (Ch. XIV) (161) "The first thing she saw me do, on coming out of the Grange, was to hang up her little dog; . . . ." (Ch. XIV) (162) "Now, was it not the depth of absurdity - of genuine idiocy, for that pitiful, slavish, mean-minded brach to dream that I could love her? . . . " (Ch. XIV) (163) "I have no pity! I have no pity! The more the worms writhe, the more I yearn to crush out their entrails! . . . " (Ch. XIV) (164) As I spoke, I observed a large dog lying on the sunny grass beneath raise its ears as if about to bark, and then smoothing them back, announce, by a wag of the tail, that some one approached whom it did not consider a stranger. (Ch. XV) (165) " . . . and, Nelly, mind you keep your word tomorrow. I shall be under those larch trees." (Ch. XV) (166) He was there - . . . leant against an old ash tree . . . . He had been standing a long time in that position, for I saw a pair of ousels passing and repassing scarcely three feet from him, busy in building their nest, and regarding his proximity no more than that of a piece of timber. They flew off at my approach, . . . . (Ch. XVI) (167) He dashed his head against the knotted trunk; and, lifting up his eyes, howled, not like a man, but like a savage beast being goaded to death with knives and spears. (Ch. XVI) (168) "And how the devil did you come to fasten me out, you toothless hound? . . . " (Ch. XVII) (169) "I sent for Kenneth, and he came; but not till the beast had changed into carrion: . . . ." (Ch. XVII)

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Passages (170, 171, 172, 173) degrade Heathcliff even more, because he is speaking here of his own son. He exhausts himself in finding the most wounding terms of derision, which he - characteristically for him - derives from the names of animals. Yet he despises Linton for not having any pets to show to Cathy (174). Passages (175, 177, 178) do not offer any new viewpoints. Passages (176, 179) elaborate his contempt for Linton. Cathy comes in for a share of the abuse derived from names of animals too (180). Heathcliff apparently reverts to the animal kingdom when he wants to express himself most feelingly. Young Linton knows from his own observation Heathcliff s behaviour to dogs and horses (181), and he tells Nelly about it in plain terms. Passage (182) gives another instance of Heathcliff's cruelty towards Cathy. (170) "God! what a beauty! what a lovely, charming thing!" he exclaimed. "Haven't they reared it on snails and sour milk, Nelly? . . . " (Ch. XX) (171) "Thou art thy mother's child, entirely! Where is my share in thee, puling chicken?" (Ch. XX) (172) "Hareton, you infernal calf, begone to your work." (Ch. XX) (173) ". . . my child hiring their children to till their father's lands for wages. That is the sole consideration which can make me endure the whelp: . . . ." (Ch. XX) (174) "Have you nothing to show your cousin anywhere about? not even a rabbit or a weasel's nest? Take her into the garden, before you change your shoes; and into the stable to see your horse." (Ch. XXI) (175) He pushed his horse close, and, bending down, observed: "Miss Catherine, I'll own to you that I have little patience with Linton; . . . ." (Ch. XXII) (176) ". . . Hallo! has the whelp been playing that game long? I did give him some lessons about snivelling . . . ." (Ch. XXVII) (177) "Wash away your spleen", he said . . . . "I'm going out to seek your horses." (Ch. XXVII) (178) . . . our gaoler re-entered. "Your beasts have trotted off", he said, . . . . (Ch. XXVII) (179) "Linton can play the little tyrant well. He'll undertake to torture any number of cats, if their teeth be drawn and their claws pared . . . ." (Ch. XXVII) (180) "Keep your eft's fingers off; and move, or I'll kick you!" cried Heathcliff, brutally repulsing her. "I'd rather be hugged by a snake. How the devil can you dream of fawning on me? I detest you!" (Ch. XXVII) (181) "I wink to see my father strike a dog or a horse, he does it so hard . . . ." (Ch. XXVIII) (182) "You may do without your pony: it is a fine evening, and you'll need no ponies at Wuthering Heights; for what journeys you take, your own feet

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Heathcliff is not so much concerned about the gooseberry and currant bushes as furious about the fact that Cathy has had a hand in having them removed (183). After all this, passage (184) offers a strong contrast. The words "streaming", "green sods", „smooth and verdant" are suggestive of water as a life-renewing force. Most of the preceding quotations suggest destruction and death. Lockwood finds Heathcliff s headstone still bare (185). This is again in accordance with the idea of barrenness, of a life lived without charity or love in its real sense. 8. Edgar

Linton

From these passages Edgar Linton appears as a subdued, timid personality. This effect is brought about by the kind of animal and flower names used, as well as by the accompanying verbs. Thus the quarrel of Edgar and Isabella about the little dog, which sits shaking its paw and yelping (186) at once gives a certain impression of the weakness of their characters, at the first glimpse the reader gets of them. The impression of Edgar's timidity is strengthened by the quotations (187, 188). From a safe distance he remarks on the bull-dog's fierce attack on Catherine, and on Heathcliff's wild appearance. will serve you. Come along." . . . with rapid strides he hurried her into the alley, whose trees concealed them. (Ch. XXIX) (183) "And why have you pulled them [the currant bushes] up?" said the master. Catherine wisely put in her tongue. " . . . I wished him to do it." "And who the devil gave you leave to touch a stick about the place?" demanded her father-in-law, much surprised . . . . (Ch. XXXIII) (184) Hareton, with a streaming face, dug green sods, and laid them over the brown mound himself: at present it is as smooth and verdant as its companion mounds - . . . . (Ch. XXXIV) (185) I sought, and soon discovered, the three head-stones on the slope next the moor: . . . Heathcliff's still bare. (Ch. XXXIV) (186) Edgar stood on the hearth weeping silently, and in the midst of the table sat a little dog, shaking its paw and yelping; which, from their mutual accusations, we understood they had nearly pulled in two between them. . . . (Ch. VI) (187) "That's miss Earnshaw!" he whispered to his mother, "and look how Skulker has bitten her - how her foot bleeds!" (Ch. VI) (188) "They are long enough, already," observed Master Linton, peeping from the doorway; "I wonder they don't make his head ache. It's like a colt's mane over his eyes!" (Ch. VII)

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Passage (189) merely reports Edgar's punctual arrival at Wuthering Heights, at an imperious summons from Catherine undoubtedly. Nelly and Joseph both use the image of the cat to describe Edgar's weakness of character (190) and his furtive behaviour (191) respectively. Whereas Catherine is compared to a thorn by Nelly (192), Edgar and his sister are likened to honeysuckles, embracing the thorn. Obviously she has in mind the ideas of limpness, and drawing strength from an outward source. Heathcliff chooses the lamb as his image of Edgar (193) and ridicules his threats. Catherine has her own way of degrading her husband (194), going even further than Heathcliff in her scorn for Edgar's lack of physical courage. After this it comes as something of a surprise to learn that Edgar's tender feelings for Catherine have not changed (195, 196). The golden flowers, the blue sky and the larks, all expressive of sunshine and a calm atmosphere belong to Edgar's world, not to Catherine's. But Catherine is dying and lets herself be comforted by Edgar's softer emotions. That there is a fundamental rift between Catherine's and Edgar's spheres of life is expressed by Heathcliff (197), who puts

(189) Her companion rose up, but he hadn't time to express his feelings further, for a horse's feet were heard on the flags, and having knocked gently, young Linton entered. (Ch. VIII) (190) . . . he possessed the power to depart, as much as a cat possesses the power to leave a mouse half killed, or a bird half eaten . . . . (Ch. VIII) (191) "Never a day ut yah're off, but yon cat o' Linton comes sneaking hither; . . . ." (Ch. IX) (192) They [Edgar and Isabella] were both very attentive to her comfort, certainly. It was not the thorn bending to the honeysuckles, but the honeysuckles embracing the thorn. (Ch. X) (193) "Cathy, this lamb of yours threatens like a bull!" he said. "It is in danger of splitting its skull against my knuckles . . . ." (Ch. XI) (194) "Heathcliff would as soon lift a finger at you as a king would march his army against a colony of mice. Cheer up! you shan't be hurt! Your type is not a lamb, it's a suckling leveret." (Ch. XI) (195) Mr. Linton had put on her pillow, in the morning, a handful of golden crocuses; . . . . (Ch. XIII) (196) "The snow is quite gone down here, darling", replied her husband; "and I only see two white spots on the whole range of moors: the sky is blue, and the larks are singing, . . . ." (Ch. XIII) (197) "He [Edgar] is scarcely a degree dearer to her than her dog, or her horse " (Ch. XIV)

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Catherine's affection for Edgar on a level scarcely higher than what she feels for her dog or her horse, so altogether on a different plane from the world of human relationships. Passage (198) does not offer any new viewpoint. Passages (199, 200) show Edgar's peaceful observation of nature and his interest in the activities of the farm. There is an inverted vertical dynamism (symbolically often connected with death) in the next two passages (201, 202). Edgar's glance travels from the fir-trees to the gravestones. He remembers his happiness lying on the green mound of Catherine's grave, and his longing to lie beneath it. This is the (inverted) zenith of his aspirations. In the last passage (203) Lockwood visits the three graves on the moor. Edgar's headstone is neither buried in heath, like Catherine's, nor bare, like Heathcliff's. It is a picture not of extremes, but of balance and harmony. 9.

Isabella

The character of Isabella is associated with small and gentle animals and birds, and with enclosed or well-ordered places where nature is subdued. Thus we find the little dog she quarrels about with Edgar, (204), according to Heathcliff nothing but a heap of warm hair; the (198) Mr. Linton commissioned me to take the boy home early, on Catherine's pony; . . . . (Ch. XX) (199) Cathy had been caught in the act of plundering, or, at least, hunting out the nests of the grouse . . . . "I didn't mean to take them; but papa told me there were quantities up here, and I wished to see the eggs." (Ch. XXI) (200) Mr. Linton and his daughter would frequently walk out among the reapers; at the carrying of the last sheaves, they stayed till dusk, and the evening happening to be chill and damp, my master caught a bad cold, . . . . (Ch. XXII) (201) Edgar sighed; and walking to the window, looked out towards Gimmerton Kirk. It was a misty afternoon, but the February sun shone dimly, and we could just distinguish the two fir-trees in the yard, and the sparely scattered gravestones. (Ch. XXV) (202) "But I've been as happy . . . lying, through the long lune evenings, on the green mound of her mother's grave, and wishing - yearning for the time when I might lie beneath it." (Ch. XXV) (203) I sought, and soon discovered, the three head-stones on the slope next the moor: . . . Edgar Linton's only harmonised by the turf and moss creeping up its foot: (Ch. XXXIV) (204) " . . . in the middle of the table sat a little dog, shaking its paw and yelping; which, from their mutual accusations, we understood they had nearly pulled in two between them." (Ch. VI)

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tame pheasant (205); the pigeons she is feeding in the court (211); and her faithful springer Fanny (212, 224); she is seen walking in the plantation behind the house (213). Her metaphorical use of animal names is limited and not very colourful; Catherine is called a dog in the manger (207); all the intensity of her feeling of hatred for Heathcliff culminates in the word "tiger" and "venomous serpent" (218); Hindley in his most murderous mood is a "bear" (221); and when she thinks she can do so safely she defies Heathcliff contemptuously to die "like a faithful dog" on Catherine's grave. Even the fierce bull-dog becomes a piteous figure in this context (216, 217). These quotations do not reveal great depth of feeling or violent passions. Isabella's nature, like Edgar's, is subdued and timid. Like Edgar she submits to Catherine's more forceful personality (206).

(205) . . . Isabella lisping - "Frightful thing! Put him in the cellar, papa. He's exactly like the son of the fortune-teller that stole my tame pheasant, " (Ch. VI) (206) They were both very attentive to her comfort, certainly. It was not the thorn bending to the honeysuckles, but the honeysuckles embracing the thorn. (Ch. X) (207) "You are a dog in the manger, Cathy, and desire no one to be loved but yourself!" (Ch. X) (208) And he stared hard at the object of discourse, as one might do at a strange repulsive animal: a centipede from the Indies, for instance, which curiosity leads one to examine in spite of the aversion it raises. (Ch. X) (209) "There's a tigress!" exclaimed Mrs. Linton, . . . - shaking her hand with pain. "Begone, for God's sake, and hide your vixen face! How foolish to reveal those talons to him . . . ." (Ch. X) (210) "Delectably!" observed Catherine. "They are dove's eyes - angel's!" (Ch. X) (211) The next time Heathcliff came, my young lady chanced to be feeding some pigeons in the court. (Ch. XI) (212) My surprise and perplexity were great on discovering, by touch more than vision, Miss Isabella's springer, Fanny, suspended by a handkerchief, and nearly at its last gasp . . . . I had seen it follow its mistress upstairs when she went to bed; . . . . (Ch. XII) (213) . . . she and Heathcliff were walking in the plantation at the back of your house, above two hours; and he pressed her not to go in again, but just mount his horse and away with him! (Ch. XII) (214) An oath, and a threat to set Throttler on me if I did not "frame off", rewarded my perseverance. (Ch. XIII) (215) ". . . your little boy played sentinel over the place, and frightened me off by the help of a bull-dog." (Ch. XIII)

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Nevertheless she evokes in some of the people around her intense feelings of dislike and even revulsion. Nelly tells of Heathcliff's loathing when he looks at her as if she were a repulsive insect (208). Catherine's outburst of anger is full of vicious epithets (209); she derides Isabella's mildness of temper (210). The child Hareton is not won over by her formal kindness (214, 215); instead he threatens to set the bull-dog on her. She inspires Heathcliff to such cruelty and brutality that he is nearly at a loss for sufficiently insulting names for her (219). Her meekness arouses feelings of disgust he hardly knows how to express strongly enough (220). She is to him a spineless, abhorrent parasite that one wants to crush automatically under one's foot. Isabella's escape from Wuthering Heights is accompanied to the last by scenes of savagery (223).

(216) An unexpected aid presently appeared in the shape of Throttler, whom I now recognised as a son of our old Skulker: it had spent its whelphood at the Grange, and was given by my father to Mr. Hindley. I fancy it knew me: it pushed its nose against mine by way of salute, and then hastened to devour the porridge; . . . . (Ch. XIII) (217) Our labours were scarcely over when I heard Earnshaw's tread in the passage; my assistant tucked in his tail, and pressed to the wall; I stole into the nearest doorway. The dog's endeavour to void him was unsuccessful; as I guessed by a scutter downstairs, and a prolonged, piteous yelping. I had better luck! . . . (Ch. XIII) (218) I sometimes wonder at him [Heathcliff] with an intensity that deadens my fear: yet, I assure you, a tiger or a venomous serpent could not rouse terror in me equal to that which he wakens. (Ch. XIII) (219) The first thing she saw me do, on coming out of the Grange, was to hang up her little dog; and when she pleaded for it, the first words I uttered were a wish that I had the hanging of every being belonging to her except one: possibly she took that exception for herself. . . . Now, was it not the depth of absurdity - of genuine idiocy, for that pitiful, slavish, meanminded brach to dream that I could love her? (Ch. XIV) (220) He seized and thrust her from the room: and returned muttering: "I have no pity! I have no pity! The more the worms writhe, the more I yearn to crush out their entrails! . . . " (Ch. XIV) (221) I might as well have struggled with a bear, or reasoned with a lunatic. The only resource left me was to run to a lattice . . . . (Ch. XVII) (222) "Heathcliff, if I were you, I'd go stretch myself over her grave and die like a faithful dog." (Ch. XVII) (223) I knocked over Hareton, who was hanging a litter of puppies from a chair-back in the doorway; and, blest as a soul escaped from purgatory, I bounded, leaped, and flew down the steep road; . . . (Ch. XVII)

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Joseph too had little sympathy for Isabella. When her son Linton comes to Wuthering Heights he remembers her haughty arrogance in his own characteristic way (225). 10.

Cathy

The first four passages are taken from that part of the story, after young Linton's death, where Cathy is virtually kept a prisoner at Wuthering Heights by Heathcliff. They illustrate how she has lost her zest for life. The heap of dead rabbits (226), and the death of the red cow she pretends to have caused by her Black Art (227) may be seen as the outward signs of the partial and temporal perversion of her natural high spirits. The friendly dog is pushed back indifferently (229). Only passage (228) seems to form an exception, because she shows concern for Lockwood's life, but she does not care if the horses are neglected. Then Nelly begins to tell the story of Cathy's childhood and all at once the tone is changed. Nelly compares the baby to a growing larch tree (230) and this image of upward movement sets the pattern for the vertical dynamism which will prove to be so significant in the following passages. (224) [Isabella] descended to the carriage, accompanied by Fanny, who yelped wild with joy at recovering her mistress . . . . (Ch. XVII) (225) "His mother wer just soa - we wer a'most too mucky to sow t' corn for makking her breead." (Ch. XX) (226) "A beautiful animal" I commented again. "Do you intend parting with the little ones, madam?" "They are not mine", said the amiable hostess, more repellingly than Heathcliff himself could have replied. "Ah, your favourites are among these?" I continued, turning to an obscure cushion full of something like cats. "A strange choice of favourites!" she observed scornfully. Unluckily it was a heap of dead rabbits . . . . (Ch. II) (227) "I'll show you how far I've progressed in the Black Art: I shall soon be competent to make a clear house of it. The red cow didn't die by chance; . . . ." (Ch. II) (228) "A man's life is of more consequence than one evening's neglect of the horses: somebody must go", murmured Mrs. Heathcliff, more kindly than I expected. (Ch. II) (229) Mrs. Heathcliff . . . reading a book by the aid of the blaze. She . . . seemed absorbed in her occupation; desisting from it only . . . to push away a dog, now and then, that snoozled its nose overforwardly into her face (Ch. Ill)

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As a child Cathy longs for the day when she will be able to go to the heights of Penistone Crags and characteristically the idea of going there is linked with the thought of her horse (232). Animals play a large part in her childish fantasies (233). Her high spirits and intrepidity are made clear by her solitary expedition to Penistone Crags (234); Nelly was mistaken in supposing she would not venture outside the park gates: Cathy on her pony takes a flying leap over the fence. Here again we note the upward dynamism, symbolic of striving to attain a higher level of spiritualization as opposed to instinctive life. Chronologically here follows passage (241), showing that the journey did not pass without mishaps: the first meeting with Hareton, who will later be her guide to the heights of Penistone Crags and the Fairy Cave, is brought about by the fight between their dogs. Symbolically this could mean that Hareton as well as Cathy have not yet gained a sufficient degree of spiritualization i.e. control over their instinctive drives. After the journey, which is completed in perfect harmony, there is an outbreak of uncontrolled temper on Cathy's side, which disturbs the peace between them (238, 239). She even refuses Hareton's peace(230) . . . after the first six months, she grew like a larch and could walk and talk too, in her own way, before the heath blossomed a second time over Mrs. Linton's dust. (Ch. XVIII) (231) . . . still she did not resemble her [mother]; for she could be soft and mild as a dove, (Ch. XVIII) (232) " . . . I should delight to look round me from the brow of that tallest point: my little pony Minny shall take me some time." (Ch. XVIII) (233) Catherine came down to me, one morning, at eight o'clock, and said she was that day an Arabian merchant, going to cross the Desert with his caravan; and I must give her plenty of provision for herself and beasts: a horse, and three camels, personated by a large hound and a couple of pointers. (Ch. XVIII) (234) "I saw her at noon", he replied; "she would have me to cut her a hazel switch, and then she leapt her Galloway over the hedge yonder, where it is lowest, and gallopped out of sight." (Ch. XVIII) (235) I entered, and beheld my stray lamb seated on the hearth, . . . . (Ch. XVIII) (236) "The pony is in the yard", she replied, "and Phoenix is shut in there. He's bitten - and so is Charlie. I was going te tell you all about it; but you are in a bad temper, and don't deserve to hear!" (Ch. XVIII) (237) . . . she commenced capering round the room; and on my giving chase, ran like a mouse over and under and behind the furniture, rendering it ridiculous for me to pursue. (Ch. XVIII) (238) "Now, get my horse", she said, addressing her unknown kinsman as she would one of the stable-boys at the Grange; . . . . "What's the matter? Get my horse, I say." (Ch. XVIII)

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offering, a terrier whelp; again an animal, this time a very young one, appealing to feelings of tenderness, is introduced as a means of reestablishing contact between Hareton and Cathy. There is no immediate result. They each go their own way; Cathy returns home, dispirited, with her defeated dogs ( 2 4 0 ) . The passages ( 2 4 2 , 2 4 3 , 2 4 4 ) , where Cathy is waiting for Linton to arrive, do not contain any animal imagery. The emphasis here is on the pleasant countryside, the distant clump of birches and the green bank, all very peaceful and not very exciting, certainly not for Cathy who can hardly control her impatience. In the passages ( 2 4 5 , 2 4 6 , 2 4 7 , 2 4 8 , 2 4 9 ) we see how Cathy, out on

(239) "You bring my pony", she exclaimed, turning to the woman, "and let my dog free this moment!" (Ch. X V I I I ) (240) Miss Cathy rejected the peace-offering of the terrier, and demanded her own dogs, Charlie and Phoenix. They came limping, and hanging their heads; and we set out for home, . . . . (Ch. X V I I I ) (241) . . . she arived without adventure to the gate of the farmhouse, when Hareton happened to issue forth, attended by some canine followers, who attacked her train. They had a smart battle, before their owners could separate them: that formed an introduction. (Ch. X V I I I ) (242) "Linton is just six months younger than I am", she chattered, as we strolled leisurely over the swells and hollows of mossy turf, under shadow of the trees. "How delightful it will be to have him for a play-fellow! . . ." (Ch. X I X ) (243) . . . she seated herself on the grassy bank beside the path, and tried to wait patiently; . . . . (Ch. X I X ) (244) 'May we not go a little way - half a mile, Ellen: only just half a mile? Do say yes: to that clump of birches at the turn." (Ch. X I X ) (245) "So make haste, Ellen!" she cried. "I know where I wish to go; where a colony of moor game are settled: I want to see whether they have made their nests yet." (Ch. X X I ) (246) She bounded before me, and returned to my side, and was off again like a young grey-hound; and, at first, I found plenty of entertainment in listening to the larks singing far and near, and enjoying the sweet, warm sunshine; and watching her, my pet, and my delight, with her golden ringlets flying loose behind and her bright cheek, as soft and pure in its bloom as a wild rose, . . . . (Ch. X X I ) (247) "Climb to that hillock, pass that bank, and by the time you reach the other side I shall have raised the birds." (Ch. X X I ) (248) Cathy had been caught in the act of plundering, or, at least, hunting out the nests of the grouse. (Ch. X X I ) (249) "I've neither taken any nor found any", she said, . . . " I didn't mean to take them; but papa told me there were quantities up here, and I wished to see the eggs." (Ch. X X I )

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the moor with Nelly for a walk and wishing to see the nests of the grouse, is arrested by Heathcliff; this episode is the occasion of the second meeting with Linton and the ensuing secret correspondence. The passages (245, 246, 247) are full of images of speed and height; they express a vivacity and dynamism which is in shrill contrast to (226, 227, 228, 229), where Cathy sits in the house at Wuthering Heights, a sullen and morose prisoner. Here flying over the bank and hillocks we see the real Cathy before the spark of life is all but extinguished. Here no pictures of dead rabbits (animals of the earth) but of birds (belonging to the element of air) hatching their eggs (symbol of new life); here no cows (animals of the earth) killed by Black Art, but the image of the bounding grey-hound and the blooming wild rose (images of youth and vitality). Then comes (250); this is when Nelly has taken away Linton's letters; the imagery of birds is continued, but now the accent is on bereavement and death, on the wilful destruction of young life. This is the end of Cathy's carefree happiness of youth. Mr. Linton's illness is contracted on an autumn evening when he and his daughter stay out late among the reapers (251). In passage (252) Nelly gives a picture of what used to be Cathy's paradise: the chief elements are height and movement, the elements of vertical dynamism in fact. Height is expressed in the image of the tree, movement in the image of the breeze. Sitting in the swinging branches of the tree Cathy feels safe as the infant in its cradle. Birds, also related to the element of air and to height, are an essential element of her happiness too. In contrast to the upward movement expressed in the image of the (250) Never did any bird flying back to a plundered nest which it had left brimful of chirping young ones, express more complete despair in its anguished cries and flutterings, than she by her single "Oh!" and the change that transfigured her late happy countenance. (Ch. XXI) (251) Mr. Linton and his daughter would frequently walk out among the reapers; at the carrying of the last sheaves, they stayed till dusk, . . . . (Ch. XXII) (252) I gazed round for a means of diverting her thoughts. On one side of the road rose a high, rough bank, where hazels and stunted oaks, with their roots half-exposed, held uncertain tenure: the soil was too loose for the latter; and strong winds had blown some nearly horizontal. In summer, Miss Catherine delighted to climb along these trunks, and sit in the branches, swinging twenty feet above the ground; . . . . From dinner to tea she would lie in her breeze-rocked cradle, doing nothing except singing old songs - my nursery lore - to herself, or watching the birds, joint tenants, feed and entice their young ones to fly: or nestling with closed lids, half thinking, half dreaming, happier than words can express. (Ch. XXII)

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tree - expression of Cathy's happiness - there is the tendency to seek the earth, with its lonely flower, its withered grass and the fungi among the dead leaves, all symbols of decay and death (253, 254). The climb on to the wall to reach some hips (upward movement again) brings some temporary return to happiness (255). Again birds are brought in to stress the coincidence of Cathy's high position on the wall and her care-free feeling of happiness. But with the beginning of the downward movement (her hat falls off) the end of her short-lived happiness is in sight; she has to descend on the other side, where there are no high-rising trees to help her re-ascending (256). Heathcliff has an easy prey in her; he bends down to her from his high position on horseback and sows the seed of guilt and uneasiness about Linton in her mind (257). These, together with her anxiety about her father's health, will cloud her happiness for a long time to come; the grief finds its cosmic counterpart in the moaning branches of the trees (258). Still the harmony with nature is not quite disturbed yet: she is still in the

(253) Cathy stared a long time at the lonely blossom trembling in its earthy shelter, and replied, at length: "No, I'll not touch it: but it looks melancholy, does it not, Ellen?" (Ch. XXII) (254) . . . she . . . continued sauntering on, pausing at intervals, to muse over a bit of moss, or a tuft of blanched grass, or a fungus spreading its bright orange among the heaps of brown foliage; and, ever and anon, her hand was lifted to her averted face. (Ch. XXII) (255) As we talked, we neared a door that opened on the road; and my young lady, lightening into sunshine again, climbed up and seated herself on the top of the wall, reaching over to gather some hips that bloomed scarlet on the summit branches of the wild rose trees, shadowing the highway side: the lower fruit had disappeared, but only birds could touch the upper, except from Cathy's present station. In stretching to pull them, her hat fell off; . . . . (Ch. XXII) (256) . . . the return was no such easy matter: the stones were smooth and neatly cemented, and the rose bushes and blackberry stragglers could yield no assistance in re-ascending. (Ch. XXII) (257) He [Heathcliff] pushed his horse close, and, bending down, observed: "Miss Catherine, I'l own to you that I have little patience with Linton; . . . ." (Ch. XXII) (258) . . . spreading my umbrella, I drew my charge underneath: for the rain began to drive through the moaning branches of the trees, and warned us to avoid delay. (Ch. XXII) (259) We parted that night - hostile; but next day beheld me on the road to Wuthering Heights, by the side of my wilful young mistress's pony. (Ch. XXII) (260) . . . then started off at a brisk pace, as if he had detected something.

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possession of her pony (259, 260, 261), which by virtue of its swiftness and its height is connected symbolically with vertical dynamism. In passage (262) we have Cathy's own description of her paradise: prominent in it are the trees (with their implied idea of height and movement), and birds (symbolically pertaining to air and movement). In her happiness (263) she is one with her horse ("Minny and I went flying . . ."), taken up in one airy movement. Because the horse and all it stands for symbolically is the projection of some powerful inner drive she is mortally offended when Hareton scorns it (264). Wishing to avoid Hareton Cathy attempts to enter the house at Wuthering Heights stealthily, but fails (265), because the dogs give warning. The dogs at Wuthering Heights - as we have seen in the story of Lockwood and of Isabella - are often introduced to bring in the element of hostility. The next passage (266) does not offer any new viewpoint. The meeting with Linton on the moor does not bring much happiness to Cathy. Downward trends in the imagery prevail (267, 268). The and reappeared presently, leading Miss's pony; and there she was, just dismounted, and walking by its side . . . . (Ch. XXIV) (261) "I gave Michael books and pictures to prepare Minny every evening, and to put her back in the stable: . . . ." (Ch. XXIV) (262) "That was his most perfect idea of heaven's happiness: mine was rocking in a rustling green tree, . . . . and not only larks, but throstles, and blackbirds, and linnets, and cuckoos pouring out music on every side, and the moors seen at a distance, broken into cool, dusky dells; but close by great swells of long grass undulating in waves to the breeze; and woods and sounding water, . . . ." (Ch. XXIV) (263) "Minny and I went flying home as light as air; and I dreamt of Wuthering Heights and my sweet, darling cousin, till morning. (Ch. XXIV) (264) " . . . that fellow Earnshaw met me, took my bridle, and bid me go in by the front entrance. He patted Minny's neck, and said she was a bonny beast, and appeared as if he wanted me to speak to him. I only told him to leave my horse alone, or else it would kick him. He answered in his vulgar accent, 'It wouldn't do mich hurt if it did;' and surveyed its legs with a smile. I was half inclined to make it try; . . . ." (Ch. XXIV) (265) " . . . I went at five o'clock, and walked; fancying I might manage to creep into the house, and up to Linton's room, unobserved. However, the dogs gave notice of my approach . . . ." (Ch. XXIV) (266) "Michael came to ask if he must saddle Minny; I said 'Yes', and considered myself doing a duty as she bore me over the hills . . . ." (Ch. XXIV) (267) " . . . well, we'll turn our horses' heads round, when we reach him", answered my companion, "our excursion shall lie towards home." But when we reached him, . . . we found that he had no horse; and we were forced to dismount, and leave ours to graze. (Ch. XXVI) (268) Cathy began to seek solace in looking for bilberries, and sharing the

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return home on Minny's back is a slight break in the continuity of the downward tendency. At the second meeting on the moor she has to dismount again (270). This augurs ill for Cathy, who will presently be persuaded to accompany Linton to Wuthering Heights, where she will be kept a prisoner until her marriage with Linton has taken place. She expresses her disgust for Linton's faint-hearted attitude to his father (271) in the images of downward movement ("degrade") and of the animal most closely pertaining to the element of earth ("reptile"). Kneeling besides Heathcliff's chair (272) Cathy reaches - symbolically speaking - the lowest point of the vertical axis. This is expressed in the animal imagery of the eft and the snake, reptiles clinging to the earth. This point in the story coincides with Cathy's most humiliating degradation. Passage (273) merely confirms what we already knew: that Cathy had a strong affection for birds and her pony, because of a shared element of inner dynamism. Once more, after carefully avoiding the danger of the hostile dogs, she seems to find a way out of the difficulties by means of her cosmic affinity to the tree (274), but the movement is a downward one and will not bring lasting happiness.

produce of her researches with me: she did not offer them to him, for she saw further notice would only weary and annoy. (Ch. XXVI) (269) . . . she hastily disengaged herself, and whistled to Minny, who obeyed her like a dog. (Ch. XXVI) (270) My young mistress alighted, and told me that . . . I had better hold the pony and remain on horseback; but I dissented: I wouldn't risk losing sight of the charge committed to me a minute; so we climbed the slope of heath together. (Ch. XXVII) (271) "Rise, and don't degrade yourself into an abject reptile - don'tV' (Ch. XXVII) (272) '"Keep your eft's fingers off; and move, or I'll kick you!" cried Heathcliff, brutally repulsing her. "I'd rather be hugged by a snake. How the devil can you dream of fawning on me? I detest you!" (Ch. XXVII) (273) " . . . papa says everything she has is mine. All her nice books are mine; she offered to give me them, and her pretty birds, and her pony Minny, if I would get the key of her room, and let her out; . . . ." (Ch. XXVIII) (274) Catherine stole out before break of day. She dare not try the doors, lest the dogs should raise an alarm; she visited the empty chambers and examined their windows; and, luckily, lighting on her mother's she got easily out of its lattice, and on to the ground, by means of the fir-tree close by . . . . (Ch. XXVIII)

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In the next passage (275) her last link with cosmic life is broken, she has to abandon her pony and go on foot from now on. Even the function of the trees is perverted (276): they do not offer an escape, instead they close in round her like enemies. When Lockwood visits Wuthering Heights for the last time before his departure, the worst part of Cathy's conflict with the world at large has passed. Since his first two visits she has established a beginning friendship with Hareton. Through the three passages (277, 278, 279) from this chapter we see a gradual development in the imagery. First she is simply preparing vegetables. From this she goes on to an occupation of a more creative nature: the carving of figures of birds and beasts out of the vegetable parings. Then her glance travels up the hills outside the window, and out of the upward dynamism of this glance the picture of her pony is created and the liberating communication breaks through: "I'm stalled, Hareton!" Passage (280) comes chronologically before (277, 278, 279) in the story. Hareton is compared to a dog or a cart-horse with all the implications of subjection (not freedom) and being weighed down (inverted dynamism of height). The straggling currant and gooseberry bushes must be removed to make room for plants from the Grange: thus Cathy asserts her right to live (281). The flowers she sticks in Hareton's plate of porridge (282) symbolize the essence of spring. She is not afraid of Heathcliff any more (275) . . . Catherine entered, announcing that she was ready, when her pony should be saddled. . . . "You may do without your pony: it is a fine evening, and you'll need no ponies at Wuthering Heights; . . . ." (Ch. XXIX) (276) Heathcliff fixed Catherine's arm under his :. . . he hurried her into the alley, whose trees concealed them. (Ch. XXIX) (277) We entered together; Catherine was there, making herself useful in preparing some vegetables for the approaching meal; . . . . (Ch. XXXI) (278). . . retiring to a stool by the window, where she began to carve figures of birds, and beasts out of the turnip parings in her lap. (Ch. XXXI) (279) . . . gazing towards the hills, [she] murmured in soliloqui: "I should like to be riding Minny, down there! . . . Oh! I'm tired -I'm stalled, Hareton!" (Ch. XXXI) (280) "He's just like a dog, is he not, Ellen?" she once observed, "or a carthorse? He does his work, eats his food, and sleeps eternally: what a blank, dreary mind he must have!" (Ch. XXXII) (281) I saw she had persuaded him to clear a large space of ground from currant and gooseberry bushes, and they were busy planning together an importation of plants from the Grange . . . the black currant trees were the

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(283), because she feels the springs of love and life within herself. Finally passages (284, 285) elaborate the theme of growth. The trees under which they take their breakfast give a last indication of verticality. 11.

Hareton

Passage (286) shows Hareton as he is when Lockwood visits Wuthering Heights: an uncouth young rustic. Passage (287) gives Nelly's view of the way Hareton has been treated by Heathcliff: the idea of helplessness is expressed here. Passage (288): Hareton is born; all the images in this passage suggest a sunny, happy future for the child. But the pictures from Hareton's childhood (289, 290, 291, 292, 293, 294) tell a very different story: his father's brutal treatment and his own fear set the pattern for his aggressive and cruel behaviour (289, 290). Instinctive drives are unchecked (291, 292, 293). They take the symbolic form of fruit and apple of Joseph's eye, and she had just fixed her choice of a flowerbed in the midst of them. (Ch. XXXIII) (282) . . . The minute after, she had sidled to him, and was sticking primroses in his plate of porridge. (Ch. XXXIII) (283) Catherine wisely put in her tongue. "We wanted to plant some flowers there", she cried. "I'm the only person to blame, for I wished him to do it." (Ch. XXXIII) (284) After breakfast, Catherine insisted on my bringing a chair and sitting with my work under the fir-trees at the end of the house; and she beguiled Hareton . . . to dig and arrange her little garden. . . . I was comfortably revelling in the spring fragrance around, . . . when my young lady, who had run down near the gate to procure some primrose roots for a border, returned only half-laden, and informed us that Mr. Heathcliff was coming in. (Ch. XXXIV) (285) I prepared breakfast . . . Hareton and Catherine . . . preferred taking it out of doors, under the trees, and I set a little table to accommodate them. (Ch. XXXIV) (286) He . . . thought as little of exchanging civilities with me as with my companion the cat. (Ch. Ill) (287) . . . And Hareton has been cast out like an unfledged dunnock! (Ch. IV) (288) On the morning of a fine June day, my first bonny little nursling, and the last of the ancient Earnshaw stock, was born. We were busy with the hay in a far away field, . . . . (Ch. VIII) (289) Hareton was impressed with a wholesome terror of encountering either his [Hindley's] wild beast's fondness or his madman's rage; . . . . (Ch. IX)

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fierce animals, suggestive of instinctive desires and inferior forms of life. A s a child he shows a strong destructive trait; a pleasure in killing (294). After the first meeting with Cathy and their joint trip to Penistone Crags he offers her a terrier-whelp from the kennel; apparently he has learned something about the value of life, the tenderness of something very young, because he offers the little dog to her as a peace-offering, to conciliate her. At this point Nelly cannot discover in him any sign yet of becoming more civilised (296). She sees him still against the univocal background of animals and the farm. However, the beginning of a change has taken place. The meeting with Cathy (297) has started the development of Hareton into a more complete human being, whose unmasked instinctive drives will be gradually more checked by reflection (the curbing of the fighting dogs). For Hareton as well as for Cathy the curbing of their fighting dogs seems symbolical of a new phase of life. When Nelly takes Linton to Wuthering Heights she sees the same Hareton, immediately (290) "Unnatural cub, come hither! . . . Now, don't you think the lad would be handsomer cropped? It makes a dog fiercer, and I love something fierce . . . and trim!" (Ch. IX) (291) Fit to cry, I took an orange from my pocket, and offered it to propitiate him. He hesitated, and then snatched it from my hold; as if he fancied I only intended to tempt and disappoint him. I showed another, keeping it out of his reach. (Ch. XI) (292) "Damn the curate, and thee! Gie me that", he replied . . . . He jumped at the fruit; I raised it higher . . . . (Ch. XI) (293) An oath, and a threat to set Throttler on me if I did not "frame off", rewarded my perseverance. "Hey, Throttler, lad!" whispered the little wretch, rousing a half-bred bull-dog from its lair in a corner. "Now, wilt thou be ganging?" he asked authoritatively. (Ch. XIII) (294) . . . I knocked over Hareton, who was hanging a litter of puppies from a chair-back in the doorway; . . . . (Ch. XVII) (295) Hareton, . . . having fetched the pony round to the door, [he] took, to propitiate her, a fine crooked-legged terrier-whelp from the kennel, and putting it into her hand bid her wisht! for he meant n o u g h t . . . . (Ch. XVIII) (296) I could scarcely refrain from smiling at this antipathy to the poor fellow; who was a well-made, athletic youth, . . . but attired in garments befitting his daily occupations of working on the farm, and lounging among the moors after rabbits and game. (Ch. XVIII) (297) . . . Hareton happened to issue forth, attended by some canine followers, who attacked her train. They had a smart battle, before their owners could separate them: that formed an introduction . . . . (Ch. XVIII)

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associated with the work on the farm (298). Heathcliff represents the same opinion (299): Hareton is little better than the inarticulate calf. The relationship with Cathy has not yet improved when she visits Linton regularly (300, 301). She too sees him still exclusively against an animal background. Only much later in the story, after Linton's death, there is another sign of continued development (302). Nelly recognizes it and uses the image of the bird (symbol of air and vertical dynamism), whereas up to now Hareton was almost exclusively associated with animals symbolically related to the element of earth. Heathcliff accompanies his guest and Hareton walks up with the horse: to Heathcliff this seems the established order of things (303). Cathy's last taunts at him before the break-through of enlightenment (304) also point in the direction of earth-bound and completely instinctive animal life. At Cathy's instigation Hareton clears the ground from the straggling bushes, and plants a flower-garden (305, 306, 307, 308, 309, 310). The (298) . . . And Hareton was preparing for the hay field. (Ch. XX) (299) "Hareton, you infernal calf, begone to your work . . . ." (Ch. XX) (300) . . . Hareton Earnshaw was off with his dogs - robbing our woods of pheasants, as I heard afterwards - we might do what we liked. (Ch. XXIV) (301) . . . that fellow Earnshaw met me, took my bridle, and bid me go in by the front entrance. He patted Minny's neck, and said she was a bonny beast, . . . I only told him to leave my horse alone, or else it would kick him. He answered in his vulgar accent, "It wouldn't do mitch hurt if it did"; and surveyed its legs with a smile . . . . (Ch. XXIV) (302) And, perhaps not quite awake to what he did, but attracted like a child to a candle, . . . he put out his hand and stroked one curl, as gently as if it were a bird. (Ch. XXX) (303).. . Hareton received orders to lead up my horse, and my host himself escorted me to the door, . . . . (Ch. XXXI) (304) "He's just like a dog, is he not, Ellen?" she once observed, "or a carthorse? . . . Do you ever dream, Hareton? . . . He's, perhaps, dreaming now", she continued. "He twitched his shoulder as Juno twitches hers . . . ." (Ch. XXXII) (305) . . . she had persuaded him to clear a large space of ground from currant and gooseberry bushes, and they were busy planning together an importation of plants from the Grange. (Ch. XXXIII) (306) "I'd forgotten they were Joseph's", answered Earnshaw, rather puzzled; (Ch. XXXIII) (307) ". . . He's forgotten all E done for him, un made on him, un goan un riven up a whole row ut t' grandest currant trees, i ' t ' garden!" . . . (Ch. XXXIII)

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upward dynamism in the image of growing plants and the ideas of spring and beauty inherent in the imagery of flowers symbolize Hareton's awakening to a more spiritualized form of life. Together they like to sit under the trees (311), which means symbolically a joint start at the vertical axis of spiritual life. The last passage (312) is full of symbols of fertility: Hareton's tears and the green sods are united by the fertilizing power of water. This power, released by love, will change the barren aspect of Heathcliff's grave. 12.

Linton

Linton's intuition seems to function quite naturally in the first two passages (313, 314). Heathcliff's influence will be a degrading one; at once he starts calling the child contemptuous names like "puling chicken" and "whelp" (315, 316). With a little encouragement Linton might have been able to establish a better contact with his new surroundings (317). But being constantly intimidated he loses all interest (318). (308) "I've pulled up two or three bushes", replied the young man; but I'm going to set 'em again." (Ch. XXXIII) (309) "We wanted to plant some flowers there", she cried. "I'm the only person to blame, for I wished him to do it." (Ch. XXXIII) (310) . . . she beguiled Hareton, . . . to dig and arrange her little garden. . . . (Ch. XXXIV) (311) Hareton and Catherine . . . preferred taking it [breakfast] out of doors, under the trees, and I set a little table to accommodate them. (Ch. XXXIV) (312) Hareton, with a streaming face, dug green sods, and laid them over the brown mound himself: . . . . (Ch. XXXIV) (313) The pure heather-scented air, the bright sunshine, and the gentle canter of Minny, relieved his despondency after a while . . . . (Ch. XX) (314) He surveyed the carved front and low-browed lattices, the straggling gooseberry bushes and crooked firs, with solemn intentness, and then shook his head: . . . . (Ch. XX) (315) "Thou art thy mother's child, entirely. Where is my share in thee, puling chicken?" (Ch. XX) (316) " . . . my child hiring their children to till their father's lands for wages. That is the sole consideration which can make me endure the whelp: . . . ." (Ch. XX) (317) . . . Linton was engaged in timidly rebuffing the advances of a friendly sheep-dog (Ch. XX) (318) " . . . have you nothing to show your cousin anywhere about? not even a rabbit or a weasel's nest? Take her into the garden, . . . and into the stable to see your horse." "Wouldn't you rather sit here?" asked Linton (Ch. XXI)

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His idea of perfect happiness (319) is characterized first of all by the wish to be left alone; next to feel the safe proximity of the earth (a substitute for motherly protection); but there are also some more dynamical elements: the bees for example; and the larks and the blue sky even reveal a vertical dynamism, latent in Linton's spiritual make-up. Some time later this dormant dynamism has been smothered effectually: Linton clings to the earth as his only support (320, 321, 322), and makes himself so repulsive to Cathy that she compares him to "an abject reptile" (323). She commands him to rise, but of course the forces dragging Linton down are far stronger than her feeble powers. Heathcliff introduces the additional touches of cowardliness and cruelty into the picture of Linton (324, 325). His education of his son in this respect seems to have remained uncompleted. His son still shows a spark of affection (326) and pity (327) for other living creatures.

(319) He said the pleasantest manner of spending a hot July day was lying from morning till evening on a bank of heath in the middle of the moors, with the bees humming dreamily about among the bloom, and the larks singing high up overhead, and the blue sky and bright sun shining steadily and cloudlessly. That was his most perfect idea of heaven's happiness: . . . . (Ch. XXIV) (320) But when we reached him, and that was scarcely a quarter of a mile from his own door, we found he had no horse; . . . . (Ch. XXVI) (321) He lay on the heath, awaiting our approach, and did not rise till we came within a few yards. (Ch. XXVI) (322) Cathy began to seek solace in looking for bilberries; . . . she did not offer them to him, for she saw further notice only weary and annoy. (Ch. XXVI) (323) "Rise, and don't degrade yourself into an abject reptile - don't!" (Ch. XXVII) (324) "Hallo! has the whelp been playing that game long? I did give him some lessons about snivelling . . . ." (Ch. XXVII) (325) "Linton can play the little tyrant well: He'll undertake to torture any number of cats, if their teeth be drawn and their claws pared." (Ch. XXVII) (326) "All her nice books are mine; she offered to give me them, and her pretty birds, and her pony Minny, if I would get the key of her room, and let her out; . . . ." (Ch. XXVIII) (327) "I wink to see my father strike a dog or a horse, he does it so hard " (Ch. XXVIII)

IX T H E IMAGERY OF BOOKS AND T H E BIBLE

1.

Lockwood

Lockwood's attitude to books is purely conventional. When he cannot sleep, he picks up the books he finds on the ledge, and idly turns the leaves (1, 2, 3); just as his visit to Wuthering Heights was planned as a social call but turned out to be an introduction into a world of undreamt-of horror, so the book whose leaves he turns over casually will lead him straight into nightmare (4). The characters from the book (Catherine, Joseph, the Rev. Branderham), will return in an intensified form in his dreams. When his terror is reaching its climax he will try to prevent the phantom of his dreams from entering through the gap in the window-pane by piling the books before it (5); the same books that have called up the spirit are now (in his dreams) used as a line of defence against it. When the pile totters he screams aloud (6), wakes

(1) The ledge, where I placed my candle, had a few mildewed books piled in one corner, . . . . (Ch. Ill) (2) I discovered my candle wick reclining on one of the antique volumes, and perfuming the place with an odour of wasted calf-skin. (Ch. Ill) (3) [I] sat up and spread open the injured tome on my knee. It was a Testament, in lean type, and smelling dreadfully musty: . . . I shut it, and took up another, and another, till I had examined all. Catherine's library was select, (Ch. Ill) (4) I began to nod drowsily over the dim page: my eye wandered from manuscript to print. I saw a red ornamented title - "Seventy Times Seven, and the First of the Seventy-First. A Pious Discourse delivered by the Reverend Jabes Branderham, in the Chapel of Gimmerton Sough." . . . (Ch. Ill) (5) The fingers relaxed, I snatched mine through the hole, hurriedly piled the books up in a pyramid against it, and stopped my ears to exclude the lamentable prayer. (Ch. Ill) (6) Thereat began a feeble scratching outside, and the pile of books moved as if thrust forward . . . . [I] yelled aloud, in a frenzy of fright. (Ch. Ill)

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up and gradually returns to his normal state of conventionality, denying all knowledge of the contents of the books (7). It is this superficial conventionality that speaks from his remarks to Cathy when he pays his farewell visit to Wuthering Heights (8). He reads books, but they are to him a kind of anaesthetic to alleviate his boredom. In spite of his experiences at Wuthering Heights he remains inaccessible - in conscious life - to emotions of a more profound character. 2. Ellen Dean The Bible inspires Nelly to some sharp-tongued criticisms and pretentious moral lessons. Joseph comes in for his share of biblical condemnation (9) and admonition (14), for Joseph is not in the habit of mincing his words when expressing his unflattering opinion of Nelly; when Isabella has got to the point in her story when she relishes in the thought of Heathcliff's grief and her taunts directed at him in parting, Nelly sees fit, rather ostentatiously, to read her a lecture (11); Heathcliff, approaching death, does not escape her moralizing either (19). Nelly is not free from a certain amount of self-righteousness and hypocrisy in her role of selfappointed moralist. Her stilted words do not exactly call up a picture of Christian charity. (7) Scarcely were these words uttered, when I recollected the association of Heathcliff's with Catherine's name in the book, which had completely slipped from my memory, till thus awakened. . . . I hastened to add - "The truth is, sir, I passed the first part of the night in" - Here I stopped afresh. - I was about to say "perusing those old volumes", then it would have revealed my knowledge of their written, as well as their printed contents: so, correcting myself, I went on, "in spelling over the names scratched on that window-ledge . . . ." (Ch. Ill) (8) "No books!" I exclaimed. "How do you contrive to live here without them? though provided with a large library, I'm frequently very dull at the Grange; take my books away, and I should be desperate!" (Ch. XXXI) (9) He [Joseph] was, and is yet most likely, the wearisomest self-righteous Pharisee that ever ransacked a Bible to rake the promises to himself and fling the curses to his neighbours. (Ch. V) (10) " . . . and then, I have read more than you would fancy, Mr. Lockwood. You could not open a book in this library that I have not looked into, and got something out of also; unless it be that range of Greek and Latin, and that of French; and those I know one from another: it is as much as you can expect of a poor man's daughter." (Ch. VII) (11) "Fie, fie, miss!" I interrupted. "One might suppose you had never

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Books in general are a status-symbol for Nelly, used by her to prove that she is far above 'the common servant in general knowledge (10). The passages (12, 13, 15) throw light on the importance of books in the life of the inmates of the Grange, and especially in the life of Cathy; and because Cathy is so fond of reading, Nelly automatically assumes that it will be an attractive idea for Linton too to take out a book and read it on the moor (12). Passage (13) shows that Nelly is in the habit of reading books and has certain preferences. Cathy's life at Wuthering Heights is made more bearable by the books brought secretly by Nelly from the Grange (15). The remaining passages (16, 17, 18) belong more to the story of Cathy and Hareton than to Nelly's story; they are given here too, however, because Nelly plays a helpful part in winning over Hareton to Cathy's side (16), and because in the battle of the book she proves herself to be an understanding and sympathetic spectator as well (17, 18). 3.

Joseph

Whereas for Nelly books are a status-symbol, a connection with which raises her above the status of a mere servant in her opinion, Joseph's attitude to books is more sincere. He has a great respect for their written contents and the power of words. opened a Bible in your life. If God afflict your enemies, surely that ought to suffice you. It is both mean and presumptuous to add your torture to His!" (Ch. XVII) (12) "Hareton Earnshaw . . . will show you all the sweetest spots; and you can bring a book in fine weather, and make a green hollow your study; " (Ch. XX) (13) . . . and imagining my sort of books did not suit her, I bid her place herself in the choice of what she perused. She selected one of her own favourites, . . . . (Ch. XXIV) (14) "But wisht, old man, and read your Bible like a Christian, and never mind me . . . ." (Ch. XXXII) (15) . . . by degrees, I smuggled over a great number of books, and other articles, that had formed her amusement at the Grange; . . . . (Ch. XXXII) (16) I carried it [the book]. . . . Hareton would not open his fingers, so I laid it on his knee. He did not strike it off, either . . . . (Ch. XXXII) (17) . . . on looking round again, I perceived two such radiant countenances bent over the page of the accepted book, that I did not doubt the treaty had been ratified on both sides; . . . . (Ch. XXXII) (18) The work they studied was full of costly pictures; and those and their position had charm enough to keep them unmoved till Joseph came home. (Ch. XXXII) (19) "You are aware, Mr. Heathcliff", I said, "that from the time you

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Cathy, pretending she is studying Black Art from a "long, dark book", can successfully check him scolding her for her idleness (20). Joseph's exclusive reading-matter consists of the Bible and other religious books, to which he shows himself fanatically addicted (21). Nelly gives a sour view of Joseph's use of the Bible-texts (22). Passages (23, 24, 26) give more evidence of Joseph's regular Bible-reading and his knowledge of its contents. Even business transactions are connected in some way or other with the Bible (27). Joseph is highly intolerant of a more profane kind of reading-matter. When Cathy and Hareton have become friends and she is teaching him to read, he is indignant and threatens to destroy her books (28). His books are his exclusive possession, jealously guarded (25), and considered essential to his well-being (29); if he could only keep his books

were thirteen years old, you have lived a selfish, unchristian life; and probably hardly had a Bible in your hands during all that period. You must have forgotten the contents of the Book, and you may not have space to search it now. Could it be hurtful to send for some one — some minister of any denomination, it does not matter which - to explain it, and show you how far you have erred from its precepts, and how unfit you will be for its heaven, unless a change takes place before you die?" (Ch. XXXIV) (20) "Stop! look here, Joseph", she continued, taking a long, dark book from a shelf; "I'll show you how far I've progressed in the Black Art: I shall soon be competent to make a clear house of it." . . . "Oh, wicked, wicked!" gasped the elder; "May the Lord deliver us from evil!" (Ch. II) (21) "Shame on ye! sit ye dahn, ill childer! they's good books eneugh if ye'll read them! sit ye dahn, and think uh yer sowls!" Saying this, he compelled us so to square our positions that we might receive from the far-off fire a dull ray to show us the text of the lumber he thrust upon us. I could not bear the employment. I took my dingy volume by the scroop, and hurled it into the dog-kennel, vowing I hated a good book. Heathcliff kicked his to the same place. Then there was a hubbub! "Maister Hindley!" shouted our chaplain. "Maister, coom hither! Miss Cathy's riven th' back off 'Th' Helmet uh Salvation", un' Heathcliff's pawsed his fit intuh t' first part uh T Brooad Way to Destruction! . . ." (Ch. Ill) (22) He [Joseph] was, and is yet most likely, the wearisomest selfrighteous Pharisee that ever ransacked a Bible to rake the promises to himself and fling the curses to his neighbours. (Ch. V) (23) We all kept as mute as mice a full half-hour, and should have done so longer, only Joseph, having finished his chapter, got up and said that he must rouse the master for prayers and bed. (Ch. V)

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he would even be willing to leave the kitchen to Cathy and Hareton. Only the blackcurrant and gooseberry bushes mean more to him, and their loss shocks him out of his stoical resignation. 4.

Old Mr. Earnshaw

There are no relevant passages. 5.

Hindley

There are no relevant passages. 6.

Catherine

Catherine as a child is more interested in scribbling notes and drawing sketches in the margin than in reading her books (30, 32). She hates

(24) "Yah knaw whet t' Scripture ses - " And he began quoting several texts, referring us to chapters and verses where we might find them. (Ch. IX) (25) "I was always reading, when I had them", said Catherine; " . . . only once, I searched through Joseph's store of theology, to his great irritation; . . . ." (Ch. XXXI) (26) "But wisht, old man, and read your Bible like a Christian, and never mind me " (Ch. XXXII) (27) His emotion was only revealed by the immense sighs he drew, as he solemnly spread his large Bible on the table, and overlaid it with dirty bank-notes from his pocket-book, the produce of the day's transactions. (Ch. XXXII) (28) "Ony books ut yah leave, Aw suall tak' intuh th' hahse", said Joseph, "un it 'ull be mitch if yah find 'em agean; soa, yah muh plase yourseln!" (Ch. XXXII) (29) ". . . un' Aw thowt Aw'd lug my books up intuh t' garret, 'un all my bits uh stuff, un' they sud hev t' kitchen to theirseln; fur t' sake uh quietness " (Ch. XXXIII) (30) . . . a fly-leaf bore the inscription - "Catherine Earnshaw, her book", and a date some quarter of a century back. I shut it, and took up another, and another, till I had examined all. Catherine's library was select, and its state of dilapidation proved it to have been well used; though not altogether for a legitimate purpose: scarcely one chapter had escaped a pen-and-ink commentary - at least, the appearance of one - covering every morsel of blank that the printer had left. Some were detached sentences; other parts took the form of a regular diary, scrawled in an unformed childish hand. At the top of an extra page (quite a treasure, probably, when first lighted on) I was greatly amused to behold an excellent caricature of my friend Joseph, - rudely, yet powerfully sketched. (Ch. Ill)

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Joseph's religious books (31). Her scathing sarcasm concerning the subject of books, directed against Edgar, speaks for itself: she regards books as a ridiculously inadequate substitute for people (33, 34, 35). She is incapable of seeing the value or the significance of books. To be absorbed in a book seems to her a vicarious way of living, contrary to her inclination towards more active occupations. The book lying disregarded on the window-sill, placed there by Edgar (36), is a silent symbol of the futility of his attempts to bridge the gap between their different personalities. 7.

Heathcliff

Heathcliff's attitude to books is much the same as Catherine's; it is one of contempt (37, 38), not only for the books themselves, but also for

(31) Saying this, he [Joseph] compelled us [Catherine and Heathcliff] so to square our positions that we might receive from the far-off fire a dull ray to show us the text of the lumber he trust upon us. I could not bear the employment. I took my dingy volume by the scroop, and hurled it into the dog-kennel, vowing I hated a good book. (Ch. Ill) (32) I reached this book, and a pot of ink from a shelf, and pushed the house-door ajar to give me light, and I have got the time on with writing for twenty minutes; . . . . (Ch. Ill) (33) " . . . he [Edgar] is continually among his books, since he has no other society." "Among his books!" she cried, confounded. "And I dying! . . . " (Ch. XII) (34) "And Edgar standing solemnly by to see it over, then offering prayers of thanks to God for restoring peace to his house, and going back to his booksl What in the name of all that feels has he to do with books, when I am dying?" (Ch. XII) (35) "I don't want you, Edgar: I'm past wanting you. Return to your books. I'm glad you possess a consolation, for all you had in me is gone." (Ch. XII) (36) A book lay spread on the sill before her, and the scarcely perceptible wind fluttered its leaves at intervals. I believe Linton had laid it there: for she never endeavoured to divert herself with reading, or occupation of any kind, . . . . (Ch. XV) (37) Saying this, he compelled us so to square our positions that we might receive from the far-off fire a dull ray to show us the text of the lumber he thrust upon us. I could not bear the employment. I took my dingy volume by the scroop, and hurled it into the dog-kennel, vowing I hated a good book. Heathcliff kicked his to the same place. Then there was a hubbub! . . . (Ch. Ill) (38) "And you, you worthless" . . . "There you are, at your idle tricks again! . . . Put your trash away, and find something to do . . . ." (Ch. Ill)

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the persons who read them. In his hatred of the younger Catherine he even goes so far as to destroy her books, a vicious act revealing his impotent frustration at being unable to subdue her independent spirit (39). It therefore signifies a great change in Heathcliff when towards the end of his life (40) he surprises Hareton and Cathy bent together over a book and instead of flying into a rage and destroying the book, he merely glances at it and returns it to Hareton, without speaking a word. It is as much as an admission of defeat and he recognizes it as such. Nelly's somewhat ostentatious plea for a formal conversion to the teachings of the Bible cannot move him however (41). Books and the Bible have no positive value for him. 8. Edgar Linton

From the quotations concerning Edgar Linton we see that the book is clearly a symbol of the division between him and Catherine. Edgar, even when not actually reading, still seeks the conventional protection of his study to give him a semblance of poise. Catherine has nothing but scorn for this attitude. Ellen edges her on, while seemingly excusing Edgar's absence. In this underhand way she helps to widen the rift between them (43). Edgar brings Catherine a book in her convalescence (46); but Catherine is indifferent to this well-meant but vain attempt at re-establishing contact. Books have no place in her life. (39) "I was always reading, when I had them", said Catherine; "and Mr. Heathcliff never reads; so he took it into his head to destroy my books." (Ch. XXXI) (40) I suppose this resemblance disarmed Mr. Heathcliff: he walked to the hearth in evident agitation; but it quickly subsided as he looked at the young man: or, I should say, altered its character; for it was there yet. He took the book from his hand, and glanced at the open page, then returned it without any observation; . . . . (Ch. XXXIII) (41) "You are aware, Mr. Heathcliff", I said, "that from the time you were thirteen years old, you have lived a selfish, unchristian life; and probably hardly had a Bible in your hands during all that period. You must have forgotten the contents of the Book, and you may not have space to search it now . . . ." (Ch. XXXIV) (42) While Miss Linton moped about the park and garden, . . . and her brother shut himself up among books that he never opened - . . . . (Ch. XII) (43) ". . . He's probably well, I think, though his studies occupy him rather more than they ought: he is continually among his books, since he has no other society." (Ch. XII)

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9. Isabella From the passages concerning Isabella we cannot draw many conclusions. Isabella's attitude to books seems conventional; reading is simply a pastime, not a subject of violent discussion (47, 48). In passage (49) Nelly delivers one of her moral lectures for the benefit of Isabella; she evidently assumes that Isabella is acquainted with the Bible. 10.

Cathy

The imagery of the book is strongest in Cathy's story, which is evident not only from the great number of passages quoted (35 passages), but also from their occurrence at the most important points in her life. When her prospects of happiness are at their blackest, she pretends to study Black Art, and to be able to bring death to her enemies (50). Her thoughts are bent on the destruction, not on the preservation of

(44) "And Edgar standing solemnly by to see it over, then offering prayers of thanks to God for restoring peace to his house, and going back to his booksl What in the name of all that feels has he to do with books, when I am dying?" (Ch. XII) (45) . . . I heard the rattle of the door-handle, and Mr. Linton entered. He had only then come from the library; . . . . "I don't want you, Edgar: I'm past wanting you. Return to your books. I'm glad you possess a consolation, for all you had in me is gone." (Ch. XII) (46) A book lay spread on the sill before her, and the scarcely perceptible wind fluttered its leaves at intervals. I believe Linton had laid it there: for she never endeavoured to divert herself with reading, . . . .(Ch. XV) (47) Isabella, absorbed in her meditations, or a book, remained till the door opened; and it was too late to attempt an escape, . . . . (Ch. X) (48) "Yester-evening I sat in my nook reading some old books till late on towards twelve. It seemed so dismal to go upstairs, . . . ." (Ch. XVII) (49) "Fie, fie, miss!" I interrupted. "One might suppose you had never opened a Bible in your life. If God afflict your enemies, surely that ought to suffice you " (Ch. XVII) (50) "Stop! look here, loseph", she continued, taking a long, dark book from a shelf, "I'll show you how far I've progressed in the Black Art: I shall soon be competent to make a clear house of it . . . ." (Ch. II) (51) "Take the road you came", she answered, ensconcing herself in a chair, with a candle, and the long book open before her." (Ch. II) (52) . . . Zillah urging flakes of flames up the chimney with a colossal bellows; and Mrs. Heathcliff, kneeling on the hearth, reading a book by the aid of the blaze. She . . . seemed absorbed in her occupation; . . . . (Ch. Ill)

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life. Her attitude to the outsider Lockwood is one of indifference (51). Reading constitutes the only congenial occupation she finds at Wuthering Heights, much to the annoyance of Heathcliff (52, 53, 54); to him books are "trash", and reading an "idle trick". Heathcliff has chosen his own way of life, books and everything they stand for have no place in it, he is sufficient to himself. Cathy must not be allowed to seek (through her books) a way out of the living death he has imposed upon her. All the same she will find the way to a new life and happiness through books. Prior to the events narrated in the preceding passages the first bond established by means of books was that with Michael, the groom (58, 59). This leads to contact with Linton, by means of letters and their shared pleasure in books (60, 62). Books are also a symbol of division as e.g. between Cathy and Nelly (57) and initially between Cathy and Hareton (55, 61). The bond between Cathy and Linton is, by its very nature of one-sidedness, broken (53) "And you, you worthless". . . . "There you are, at your idle tricks again! . . . Put your trash away, and find something to do . . . ." (Ch. Ill) (54) "I'll put my trash away, because you can make me, if I refuse", answered the young lady, closing her book, and throwing it on a chair . . . . (Ch. Ill) (55) "My cousin fancies you are an idiot. There you experience the consequences of scorning 'book-laming', as you would say . . . ." (Ch. XXI) (56) . . . she grew wondrous fond of stealing off to corners by herself; and often, if I came near her suddenly while reading, she would start and bend over the book, evidently desirous to hide it; and I detected edges of loose paper sticking out beyond the leaves. (Ch. XXI) (57) . . . and imagining my sort of books did not suit her, I bid her place herself in the choice of what she perused. She selected one of her own favourites, . . . . (Ch. XXIV) (58) "I gave Michael books and pictures to prepare Minny every evening, and to put her back in the stable: . . . ." (Ch. XXIV) (59) "He is fond of reading, and he thinks of leaving soon to get married; so he offered, if I would lend him books out of the library, to do what I wished: but I preferred giving him my own, and that satisfied him better." (Ch. XXIV) (60) "I had brought some of my nicest books for him [Linton]; he asked me to read a little of one, and I was about to comply, when Earnshaw burst the door open: . . . ." (Ch. XXIV) (61) "I was afraid for a moment, and I let one volume fall; he kicked it after me, and shut us out." (Ch. XXIV) (62) " . . . to my inexpressible joy, I beheld Linton laid on a little sofa, reading one of my books." (Ch. XXIV)

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soon (63). When Cathy is set free by Linton's death the hostility between her and Hareton is gradually broken down, by means of books. First, Hareton is only instrumental in making the books available to Cathy (64). He does not share them with her yet (65, 66). The books being too high up for Cathy to reach them without Hareton's help (64) is another instance of the implied vertical dynamism that is connected throughout the novel with the idea of reaching a higher level of spiritualization. Neither Cathy nor Hareton will be able to go the difficult road alone; they will find obstacles in their path which they must be willing to remove together, before they can find harmony and peace. Chapter X X X I is full of this "battle of the books" (67, 68, 69, 70, (63) ". . . papa says everything she has is mine. A1 her nice books are mine; she offered to give me them . . . , if I would get the key of her room, and let her out; " (Ch. XXVIII) (64) Having sat till she was warm, she began to look round, and discovered a number of books in the dresser; . . . but they were too high up. Her cousin . . . at last summoned courage to help her; she held her frock, and he filled it with the first that came to hand. (Ch. XXX) (65) . . . he felt gratified that she had accepted his assistance, and ventured to stand behind as she examined them, and even to stoop and point out what struck his fancy in certain old pictures which they contained; nor was he daunted by the saucy style in which she jerked the page from his finger: he contented himself with going a bit farther back, and looking at her instead of the book. She continued reading, . . . . (Ch. XXX) (66) "Will you ask her to read to us, Zillah? . . . " "Mr. Hareton wishes you would read to us, ma'am", I said . . . . (Ch. XXX) (67) " . . . I have no materials for writing: not even a book from which I might tear a leaf." (Ch. XXXI) (68) "I was always reading, when I had them", said Catherine; "and Mr. Heathcliff never reads; so he took it into his head to destroy my books. I have not had a glimpse of one for weeks. Only once, I searched through Joseph's store of theology, to his great irritation; and once, Hareton, I came upon a secret stock in your room - some Latin and Greek, and some tales and poetry: all old friends. I brought the last here - and you gathered them, as a magpie gathers silver spoons, for the mere love of stealing! They are of no use to you; or else you concealed them in the bad spirit that as you cannot enjoy them nobody else shall. Perhaps your envy counselled Mr. Heathcliff to rob me of my treasures? But I've most of them written on my brain and printed in my heart, and you cannot deprive me of those!" (Ch. XXXI) (69) " . . . I heard you turning over the dictionary to seek out• the hard words, and then cursing because you couldn't read their explanations!" (Ch. XXXI)

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71, 72). On Cathy's side the weapons are satire, scorn and ridicule; on Hareton's side rage, violence and destruction. In chapter XXXII the story of the gradual coming-together is continued: Cathy has to overcome Hareton's stubbornness and heal his wounded pride. Hareton on his part must stand between her and Heathcliff, as we shall see presently. All this is expressed in the imagery of books (73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80). Nelly, seeing their two heads bent together over the pages of the accepted book, feels this is the end of the quarrel (81, 82, 83); and for

(70) "Those books, both prose and verse, are consecrated to me by other associations; and I hate to have them debased and profaned in his mouth!" (Ch. XXXI) (71) . . . but [Hareton] presently reappeared, bearing half-a-dozen volumes in his hands, which he threw into Catherine's lap, exclaiming: "Take them! I never want to hear, or read, or think of them again!" "I won't have them now", she answered. "I shall connect them with you, and hate them." She opened one of them that had obviously been often turned over, and read a portion in the drawling tone of a beginner; then laughed, and threw it from her. (Ch. XXXI) (72) "Yes; that's all the good that such a brute as you can get from them!" cried Catherine, sucking her damaged lip, and watching the conflagration with indignant eyes. (Ch. XXXI) (73) "No, read it over first correctly, without a single mistake." his eyes kept impatiently wandering from the page to a small white hand over his shoulder, . . . . (Ch. XXXII) (74) . . . by degrees, I smuggled over a great number of books, and other articles, that had formed her amusement at the Grange; . . . (Ch. XXXII) (75) "He began to teach himself to read once; and because I laughed, he burned his books, and dropped it: was he not a fool?" (Ch. XXXII) (76) "Hareton, if I gave you a book, would you take it now? I'll try!" She placed one she had been perusing on his hand; he flung it off, and muttered, if she did not give over, he would break her neck. "Well, I shall put it here", she said, "in the table drawer; and I'm going to bed." Then she whispered me to watch whether he touched it, and departed. But he would not come near it; and so I informed her in the morning, to her great disappointment. (Ch. XXXII) (77) . . . she would bring some pleasant volume and read it aloud to me. When Hareton was there, she generally paused in an interesting part, and left the book lying about: that she did repeatedly; but he was as obstinate as a mule, and, instead of snatching at her bait, in wet weather he took to smoking with Joseph; . . . . (Ch. XXXII)

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Cathy, going singing upstairs, life holds again a promise, symbolized in the upward impulse in the image of ascent (84). 11.

Hareton

Hareton's struggle to attain a higher level of spiritual development is closely connected with the impulses that govern Cathy's inner life in its upward movement of transcendence. At first Hareton finds himself up against the combined scorn of Cathy and Linton (85). It a fit of impotent rage he kicks the book they were reading after them into the kitchen and shuts them out (86, 87).

(78) Catherine employed herself in wrapping a handsome book neatly in white paper, and having tied it with a bit of ribbon, and addressed it to "Mr. Hareton Earnshaw", she desired me to be her ambassadress, and convey the present to its destined recipient. (Ch. XXXII) (79) "And tell him, if he'll take it I'll come and teach him to read it right", she said; "and, if he refuse it, I'll go upstairs, and never tease him again." (Ch. XXXII) (80) I carried it [the book] . . . Hareton would not open his fingers, so I laid it on his hand. He did not strike it off, either . . .; she heard the slight rustle of the covering being removed; than she stole away, and quietly seated herself beside her cousin. (Ch. XXXII) (81) . . . on looking round again, I perceived two such radiant countenances bent over the page of the accepted book, that I did not doubt the treaty had been ratified on both sides; . . . . (Ch. XXXII) (82) The work they studied was full of costly pictures; and those and their position had charm enough to keep them unmoved till Joseph came home. (Ch. XXXII) (83) "Hareton, I'll leave this book upon the chimney-piece, and I'll bring some more to-morrow." (Ch. XXXII) (84) Cathy threatened that his [Joseph's] library should pay for hers; and, smiling as she passed Hareton, went singing upstairs: . . . . (Ch. XXXII) (85) "My cousin fancies you are an idiot. There you experience the consequences of scorning 'book-larning', as you would say . . . ." (Ch. XXI) (86) "I had brought some of my nicest books for him [Linton]; he asked me to read a little of one, and I was about to comply, when Earnshaw burst the door open; " (Ch. XXIV) (87) "I was afraid for a moment, and I let one volume fall; he kicked it after me, and shut us out." (Ch. XXIV) (88) Having sat till she was warm, she began to look round, and discovered a number of books in the dresser; . . . but they were too high up. Her cousin . . . at last summoned courage to help her; she held her frock, and he filled it with the first that came to hand. (Ch. XXX) (89) . . . he felt gratified that she had accepted his assistance, and ventured to stand behind as she examined them, and even to stoop and point out

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Passage (88) marks the turning-point: though he cannot share yet in the enjoyment Cathy gets from her books, he is willing to help her to get at them (88); the liberating force of this action, in which he transcends his own limited condition, is expressed in the upward dynamism of the image. The fact that Cathy accepts his help gives him courage to go on (89, 90). Both benefit from the initial action of reaching for the books; Cathy too, for Hareton has broken through her loneliness. The difficulties between them are not at an end yet, as the following passages (91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96) show; there is still a lot of aggression

what struck his fancy in certain old pictures which they contained; nor was he daunted by the saucy style in which she jerked the page from his finger; he contented himself with going a bit farther back, and looking at her instead of the book . . . . (Ch. XXX) (90) "Will you ask her to read to us, Zillah?" . . . "Mr. Hareton wishes you would read to us, ma'am", I said . . . . (Ch. XXX) (91) ". . . once, Hareton, I came upon a secret stock [of books] in your room - some Latin and Greek, and some tales and poetry: all old friends. I brought the last here - and you gathered them, as a magpie gathers silver spoons, for the mere love of stealing! They are of no use to you; or else you concealed them in the bad spirit that as you cannot enjoy them nobody else shall. Perhaps your envy counselled Mr. Heathcliff to rob me of my treasures? But I've most of them written on my brain and printed in my heart, and you cannot deprive me of those!" (Ch. XXXI) (92) " . . . I heard you turning over the dictionary to seek out the hard words, and then cursing because you couldn't read their explanations!" (Ch. XXXI) (93) "Those books, both prose and verse, are consecrated to me by other associations; and I hate to have them debased and profaned in his mouth!" (Ch. XXXI) (94) . . . but [Hareton] presently reappeared, bearing half-a-dozen volumes in his hands, which he threw into Catherine's lap, exclaiming: "Take them! I never want to hear, or read, or think of them again!" "I won't have them now", she answered. "I shall connect them with you, and hate them." She opened one of them that had obviously been often turned over, and read a portion in the drawling tone of a beginner; then laughed, and threw it from her. (Ch. XXXI) (95) He [Hareton] afterwards gathered the books and hurled them on the fire. I read in his countenance what anguish it was to offer that sacrifice to spleen. I fancied that as they consumed, he recalled the pleasure they had already imparted, and the triumph and ever-increasing pleasure he had anticipated from them; and I fancied I guessed the incitement to his secret studies also (Ch. XXXI)

210

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to be overcome, on both sides. Cathy is very apt at taunting Hareton with words; his response is of a more primitive and inarticulate kind. But they are no longer isolated, each in their own shell of hostility: they give free utterance to their feelings. When Lockwood re-visits Wuthering Heights in the autumn he is confronted with the picture in passage (97). Then Nelly tells him the story of how things have progressed from the time he left (98, 99, 100, 101, 102, 103, 104, 105). The episode ends on a note of ascent (105); the higher level in space corresponding to the attainment of a higher degree of spiritual life. Heathcliff surprising Cathy and Hareton bent together over the book feels they are beyond his power now (106). His action of returning the

(96) "Yes; that's all the good that such a brute as you can get from them!" cried Catherine, sucking her damaged lip, and watching the conflagration with indignant eyes. (Ch. XXXI) (97) "No, read it over first correctly, without a single mistake." The male speaker began to read: he was a young man, respectably dressed and seated at a table, having a book before him. His handsome features glowed with pleasure, and his eyes kept impatiently wandering from the page to a small white hand over his shoulder, . . . . (Ch. XXXII) (98) "He began to teach himself to read once; and because I laughed, he burned his books, and dropped it: was he not a fool?" (Ch. XXXII) (99) "Hareton, if I gave you a book, would you take it now? I'll try!" She placed one she had been perusing on his hand; he flung it off, and muttered, if she did not give over, he would break her neck. "Well, I shall put it here", she said, "in the table drawer; and I'm going to bed." Then she whispered me to watch whether he touched it, and departed. But he would not come near it; and so I informed her in the morning, to her great disappointment. (Ch. XXXII) (100) . . . she would bring some pleasant volume and read it aloud to me. When Hareton was there, she generally paused in an interesting part, and left the book lying about: that she did repeatedly; but he was as obstinate as a mule, and, instead of snatching at her bait, in wet weather he took to smoking with Joseph; . . . . (Ch. XXXII) (101) Catherine employed herself in wrapping a handsome book neatly in white paper, and having tied it with a bit of ribbon, and addressed it to "Mr. Hareton Earnshaw", she desired me to be her ambassadress, and convey the present to its destined recipient. (Ch. XXXII) (102) I carried it [the book] . . . Hareton would not open his fingers, so I

THE IMAGERY OF BOOKS AND THE BIBLE

211

book to Hareton signifies his recognition of the fact. The open book is the symbol of the way they will go together from now on, now that violence, ignorance and stubborn pride are conquered. The book is the symbol of the truth they have discovered together, of the road that lies before them, and of life itself. 12.

Linton

In the first four passages (107-110) related to Linton the book is a symbol of the alliance between Cathy and Linton, whereas Hareton is the outsider. The bond, however, is too frail to bear the strain of Linton's weak self-indulgence and egoism (111). The images lack every trace of the upward dynamism of ascent.

laid it on his knee. He did not strike it off, either . . . . She [Cathy] heard the slight rustle of the covering being removed; then she stole away, and quietly seated herself beside her cousin. (Ch. XXXII) (103) . . . on looking round again, I perceived two such radiant countenances bent over the page of the accepted book, that I did not doubt the treaty had been ratified on both sides; . . . . (Ch. XXXII) (104) The work they studied was full of costly pictures; and those and their position had charm enough to keep them unmoved till Joseph came home. (Ch. XXXII) (105) "Hareton, I'll leave this book upon the chimney-piece, and I'll bring some more to-morrow." . . . and, smiling as she passed Hareton, [she] went singing upstairs: . . . . (Ch. XXXII) (106) I suppose this resemblance disarmed Mr. Heathcliff: he walked to the hearth in evident agitation; but it quickly subsided as he looked at the young man: or, I should say, altered its character; for it was there yet. He took the book from his hand, and glanced at the open page, then returned it without any observation; . . . . (Ch. XXXIII) (107) "My cousin fancies you are an idiot. There you experience the consequences of scorning 'book-larning', as you would say . . . ." (Ch. XXI) (108) "I had brought some of my nicest books for him; he asked me to read a little of one, and I was about to comply, when Earnshaw burst the door open: . . . ." (Ch. XXIV) (109) "I was afraid for a moment, and I let one volume fall; he kicked it after me, and shut us out." (Ch. XXIV) (110) " . . . to my inexpressible joy. I beheld Linton laid on a little sofa, reading one of my books." (Ch. XXIV) (111) " . . . papa says everything she has is mine. All her nice books are mine; she offered to give me them . . . if I would get the key of her room, and let her out; . . . ." (Ch. XXVIII)

X THE IMAGERY OF LIGHT AND DARKNESS

1. Lockwood Lockwood's first impressions of the "house" at Wuthering Heights are full of images of light (1, 2, 3); however, there are also some indications of darkness (1, 3). This is in accordance with the basically light-hearted mood in which he sets out on his visits to Wuthering Heights, a mood tempered, but only gradually changed, by the hostile reception he meets with. When the change in mood is complete and fear and frustration predominate, the images of darkness increase. Everything becomes dark, inside and outside (4, 5). The intruder is not allowed to escape, darkness closes in upon him (6, 7). He even has to hide the light when he is

(1) One end [of the "house" at Wuthering Heights], indeed, reflected splendidly both light and heat from ranks of immense pewter dishes, interspersed with silver jugs and tankards, towering row after row, on a vast oak dresser, to the very roof. . . . one or two heavy black ones [chairs] lurking in the shade. (Ch. I) (2) . . . the huge, warm cheerful apartment . . . glowed delightfully in the radiance of an immense fire, . . . . (Ch. II) (3) Her position before was sheltered from the light; now, I had a distinct view of her whole figure and countenance . . . . (Ch. II) (4) The dismal spiritual atmosphere overcame, and more than neutralised, the glowing physical comforts round me; and I resolved to be cautious how I ventured under those rafters a third time. (Ch. II) (5) I approached a window . . . . A sorrowful sight I saw: dark night coming down prematurely (Ch. II) (6) I . . . pushed past him into the yard, . . . . It was so dark that I could not see the means of exit, . . . . (Ch. II) (7) [Joseph] sat within earshot, milking the cows by the light of a lantern, which I seized unceremoniously, . . . . On opening the little door, two hairy monsters flew at my throat, bearing me down and extinguishing the light; . . . . (Ch. II)

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213

led upstairs (8). Once inside the panelled enclosure the candle helps to restore his feeling of security (9). But not for long. No sooner has he closed his eyes than the dark sends out its luminous messengers of unrest, the harbingers of approaching nightmare (10). His ensuing state of panic is relieved by the coming of Heathcliff with the light (11). His flippancy sounds a bit forced; he shows little understanding of his host's emotions and is left literally in the dark (12). In the back kitchen in the lower regions (instance of inverted dynamism of ascent) he laboriously re-lights his candle (13), to give himself back some measure of confidence. When the first light of day appears in the sky he is glad to leave Wuthering Heights and its mysteries of darkness behind him (14), but their nerve-shattering effects will be felt by him for a long time afterwards. He falls ill. With the recovery of health the memory of the dark terror experienced at Wuthering Heights fades and on a clear day he returns to pay his farewell visit, with little more understanding of the house and its inmates than when he made his first social call (15). His visit in the

(8) While leading the way upstairs, she recommended that I should hide the candle, and not make a noise; for her master had an odd notion about the chamber she would put me in, . . . . (Ch. Ill) (9) I slid back the panelled sides, got in with my light, pulled them together again, and felt secure against the vigilance of Heathcliff, and every one else. (Ch. Ill) (10) The ledge, where I placed my candle, . . . was covered with writing scratched on the paint. . . . In vapid listlessness I leant my head against the window, and continued spelling over Catherine Earnshaw - Heathcliff Linton, till my eyes closed; but they had not rested five minutes when a glare of white letters started from the dark as vivid as spectres - the air swarmed with Catherines; . . . . (Ch. Ill) (11) I discovered the yell was not ideal: hasty footsteps approached my chamber door; somebody pushed it open, with a vigorous hand, and a light glimmered through the squares at the top of the bed. (Ch. Ill) (12) The spectre showed a spectre's ordinary caprice: it gave no sign of being; but the snow and wind whirled wildly through, even reaching my station, and blowing out the light. (Ch. Ill) (13) I descended cautiously to the lower regions, and landed in the back kitchen, where a gleam of fire, raked compactly together, enabled me to rekindle my candle. (Ch. Ill) (14) I declined joining their breakfast, and, at the first gleam of dawn, took an opportunity of escaping . . . . (Ch. Ill) (15) Yesterday was bright, calm, and frosty. I went to the Heights as I proposed; . . . . (Ch. XXXI)

214

FURTHER COMPONENTS OF THE IMAGERY

autumn takes place by moonlight (16). The sun (symbolically connected with day and the illumination of the spirit) is sinking; the moon (symbolically connected with night and the uncertain light of the imagination and sometimes of error) is rising. Wuthering Heights will continue to keep its secrets from Lockwood, the outsider, who can only distinguish the material shapes and forms, not the essence of its being. He remains far from the fire that illuminated the house as a flame of spiritual strength and energy (17). Again he escapes; just as on his former visits he feels that the house and its inmates do not accept him (18). 2. Ellen Dean

The great number of passages in any way related to Nelly may be accounted for by the fact that she is the chief narrator; all the same it is evident that she is very conscious of shades of light and darkness. Many of her observations are effected by noticing the presence or absence of light. She draws conclusions from the changes in illumination. She has a tendency to connect darkness and moonlight with things of the imagination, and the harsher light of day with matter-of-fact statements. Day is the appropriate time for action, night for speculation. She also presides over the candles in the house. In passage (19) she first reports hearing footsteps and then seeing the approaching light glimmering through the gate before she tells us that it is Heathcliff she sees emerging from the darkness: thus adding a touch of drama to her description. Somewhat dramatically too she re(16) . . . I turned away and made my exit, rambling leisurely along with the glow of a sinking sun behind, and the mild glory of a rising moon in front one fading, and the other brightening - as I quitted the park, and climbed the stony by-road branching off to Mr. Heathcliff's dwelling. Before I arrived in sight of it, all that remained of day was a beamless amber light along the west: but I could see every pebble on the path, and every blade of grass, by that splendid moon. (Ch. XXXII) (17) Both doors and lattices were open; and yet, as is usually the case in a coal district, a fine, red fire illumined the chimney: the comfort which the eye derives from it renders the extra heat endurable. (Ch. XXXII) (18) As they [Cathy and Hareton] stepped on to the door-stones, and halted to take a last look at the moon - or, more correctly, at each other by her light - I felt irresistibly impelled to escape them again; . . . . (Ch. XXXIV) (19) In a while, I distinguished steps coming up the road, and the light of a lantern glimmered through the gate . . . . There was Heathcliff by himself: it gave me a start to see him alone. (Ch. VI)

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215

veals Edgar's portrait, which was hidden in darkness, to Lockwood (20). It is a little like conjuring up a ghost. How readily she connects darkness with dark deeds in her imagination is shown in passage (21): Heathcliff has accidentally saved little Hareton when his father let him fall downstairs. Nelly does not hesitate to declare what he would have done if it had been dark. Heathcliff has walked off into the darkness and Catherine is desperate. Nelly tries to make light of his disappearance when speaking to Catherine (22), finding an imaginary reason for Heathcliff's absence. Her uneasiness about it shows itself in her next words (23) with their sense of impending disaster. They form a sharp contrast with the sober statement of the next morning (24), made in the bright morning sunshine. The return of Heathcliff (25) is presented by Nelly with numerous images of darkness, broken only by the mysterious light of the moon. From this passage the following words may be lifted: dusk, shadows, lurk, corners, dark clothes, dark face, dark hair. Again Heathcliff emerges from the darkness (cp. (19)) and is now only revealed by the fitful light of the moon. The slightly unreal and mysterious atmosphere is further emphasized by the reflected moonlight in the windows of the otherwise dark house (26). Nelly is so much affected by the sudden (20) Mrs. Dean raised the candle, and I discerned a soft-featured face, exceedingly resembling the young lady at the Heights, . . . . (Ch. VIII) (21) Had it been dark, I dare say, he [Heathcliff] would have tried to remedy the mistake by smashing Hareton's skull on the steps; . . . . (Ch. IX) (22) "What a trifle scares you! It's surely no great cause of alarm that Heathcliff should take a moonlight saunter on the moors, . . . ." (Ch. IX) (23) It was a very dark evening for summer: the clouds appeared inclined to thunder, . . . . (Ch. IX) (24) Coming down somewhat later than usual, I saw, by the sunbeams piercing the chinks of the shutters, Miss Catherine still seated near the fireplace. The house door was ajar, too; light entered from its unclosed windows: . . . . (Ch. IX) (25) It had got dusk, and the moon looked over the high wall of the court, causing undefined shadows to lurk in the corners of the numerous projecting portions of the building . . . ; my eyes were on the moon, and my back to the entrance, when I heard a voice behind me say - "Nelly, is that you?" . . . Something stirred in the porch; and, moving nearer, I distinguished a tall man dressed in dark clothes, with dark face and hair . . . . (Ch. X) (26) "Yes, Heathcliff", he replied, glancing from me up to the windows, which reflected a score of glittering moons, but showed no light from within. (Ch. X)

216

FURTHER COMPONENTS OF THE IMAGERY

materialisation of Heathcliff that she is at a loss how to announce him (27). Her first words on opening the door are concerned with the lighting of candles, to alleviate the darkness. Even then, in the flickering light of the fire and the candles, Heathcliff remains an amazing figure in Nelly's eyes (28); when he is accepted as a regular visitor and has lost his supernatural aura as an emanation from the dark, she expresses herself in images of day and sunshine (29). Passage (30) belongs more to Catherine's story really; Nelly describes the darkness outside the window of Catherine's bedroom, when Catherine in her delusions imagines she sees the lights of Wuthering Heights. The following passages (31, 32, 33, 34) show how conscious Nelly is of shades of light and dark, and how she draws conclusions from her observations. When speaking of the young Catherine Nelly's thoughts are of sun(27) . . . when I got to the parlour where Mr. and Mrs. Linton were, I could not persuade myself to proceed. At length, I resolved on making an excuse to ask if they would have the candles lighted, and I opened the door. (Ch. X) (28) Now fully revealed by the fire and candlelight, I was amazed, more than ever, to behold the transformation of Heathcliff. (Ch. X) (29) . . . she rewarded him with such a summer of sweetness and affection in return, as made the house a paradise for several days; both master and servants profiting from the perpetual sunshine. (Ch. X) (30) There was no moon, and everything beneath lay in misty darkness: not a light gleamed from any house, far or near - all had been extinguished long ago; and those at Wuthering Heights were never visible - still she asserted she caught their shining. (Ch. XII) (31) I grew very uncomfortable, meanwhile; for the afternoon wore fast away, . . . and I could distinguish, by the shine of the western sun up the valley, a concourse thickening outside Gimmerton chapel porch. "Service is over", I announced. "My master will be here in half-an-hour." (Ch. XV) (32) Next morning - bright and cheerful out of doors - stole softened in through the blinds of the silent room, and suffused the couch and its occupant with a mellow, tender glow. (Ch. XVI) (33) If he [Heathcliff] had come nearer, he would probably be aware, from the lights flitting to and fro, . . . that all was not right within. I wished, yet feared, to find him. (Ch. XVI) (34) . . . observing on the floor a curl of light hair, . . . which . . . I ascertained to have been taken from a locket hung round Catherine's neck. Heathcliff had opened the trinket and cast out its contents, replacing them by a black lock of his own. I twisted the two, and enclosed them together. (Ch. XVI) (35) She [Cathy] was the most winning thing that ever brought sunshine into a desolate house: . . . . (Ch. XVIII)

THE IMAGERY OF LIGHT AND DARKNESS

217

shine and happiness (35, 42). When the friendly relations between Cathy and herself are disturbed, images of darkness occur (37, 38, 43, 44, 45). Wuthering Heights and Heathcliff also evoke images of darkness (40, 41). Nelly often uses images of light and darkness to satisfy her longing for dramatic effects, as in (48), where Heathcliff appears in the same setting as in (27, 28), so that the two occasions are linked together and the air of mystery is enhanced. Also in passage (49) the image of the light (of the fire this time) is used to reveal the newly-founded friendly relationship between Cathy and Hareton. (36) The abrupt descent of Penistone Craggs particularly attracted her notice; especially when the setting sun shone on it and the topmost heights, and the whole extent of landscape besides lay in shadow. (Ch. XVIII) (37) The Craggs lie about a mile and a half beyond Mr. Heathcliff's place, . . . so I began to fear night would fall ere I could reach them." (Ch. XVIII) (38) "How long am I to wait?" I continued, . . . . "It will be dark in ten minutes " (Ch. XVIII) (39) I had come down, and was standing by the table in the hall, lighting a bedroom candle for Mr. Edgar, when a maid . . . informed me that Mr. Heathcliff's servant Joseph was at the door, and wished to speak with the master. (Ch. XIX) (40) "You will, perhaps, think the building [Wuthering Heights] old and dark at first; though it is a respectable house: the next best in the neighbourhood . . . (Ch. XX) (41) "And what is my father like?" he asked. "Is he as young and handsome as uncle?" "He's as young", said I; "but he has black hair and eyes, . . . ." (Ch. XX) (42) She bounced before me, and returned to my side, and was off again like a young grey-hound; and, at first I found plenty of entertainment in . . . enjoying the sweet, warm sunshine; and watching her, my pet, and my delight (Ch. XXI) (43) "You'll get nobody to take that [letter], Catherine", I said, "if you write it; and at present I shall put out your candle." I set the extinguisher on the flame, receiving as I did so a slap on my hand, . . . . (Ch. XXI) (44) . . . I resolved on going and inquiring whether she were better, and asking her to come and lie on the sofa, instead of upstairs in the dark. (Ch. XXIV) (45) I returned to her apartment, extinguished my candle, and seated myself in the window. The moon shone bright; a sprinkling of snow covered the ground, . . . I did detect a figure creeping along the inner fence of the park; but is was not my young mistress: on its merging into the light, I recognized one of the grooms. (Ch. XXIV)

218

FURTHER COMPONENTS OF THE IMAGERY

It is one of Nelly's probably self-appointed tasks to provide lighted candles at night (27, 39, 50, 52, 54). It is an important job for it offers her an opportunity to check people's comings and goings, e.g. Cathy's (in passages (43, 44, 45)). But the main function of the imagery of light and darkness in connection with Nelly seems to be to bring out her leaning towards mysticism: from the dark emerges the ghastly appearance of Heathcliff (51) and fills her with terror. It sets her thinking of his obscure origin, how he was brought to Wuthering Heights in the darkness of the night, hidden in the dark folds of Mr. Earnshaw's greatcoat (53). After Heathcliff's death, it is especially during the dark hours of night that she feels the threat of an emanation of his and Catherine's spirit from the gloom of nothingness (55). Nelly's attitude to light and darkness may be summed up in her own

(46) On entering the house, I looked about for some one to give information of Catherine. The place was filled with sunshine, and the door stood wide open; . . . . (Ch. XXVIII) (47) . . . resolving to take a whole bevy [of servants] up to the Heights, at daylight, and storm it literally, unless the prisoner were quietly surrendered to us. (Ch. XXVIII) (48) It was the same room into which he had been ushered, as a guest, eighteen years before: the same moon shone through the window; and the same autumn landscape lay outside. We had not yet lighted a candle, but all the apartment was visible, . . . . (Ch. XXIX) (49) The red firelight glowed on their two bonny heads, and revealed their faces animated with the eager interest of children; . . . . (Ch. XXXIII) (50) . . . no one intruded on his solitude; till, at eight o'clock, I deemed it proper, though unsummoned, to carry a candle and his supper to him . . . his face was turned to the interior gloom. (Ch. XXXIV) (51) The light flashed on his features as I spoke. Oh, Mr. Lockwood, I cannot express what a terrible start I got by the momentary view! Those deep black eyes! That smile, and ghastly paleness! It appeared to me, not Mr. Heathcliff, but a goblin; and, in my terror, I let the candle bend towards the wall, and it left me in darkness. (Ch. XXXIV) (52) . . . [I] said to loseph: "the master wishes you to take him a light and rekindle the fire." For I dared not go in myself again just then. (Ch. XXXIV) (53) "But where did he come from, the little dark thing, harboured by a good man to his bane?" muttered superstition, . . . . Dawn restored me to common sense. (Ch. XXXIV) (54) "Nelly, come here - is it morning? Come in with your light." "It is striking four", I answered. "You want a candle to take upstairs: you might have lit one at this fire." (Ch. XXXIV)

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words: "Dawn restored me to common sense" (53). By day she is active, self-reliant and full of confidence; at night she is beset by fears and feelings of insecurity (55). 3.

Joseph

In all the passages (56-62) Joseph moves in a dark world, in which only a lantern or a candle sheds a little pool of light, while everything around is enveloped in darkness. In this patch of light he appears momentarily, as a ghostly figure, before merging again with the dark: a small flame of spiritual energy and strength, illuminating the indifferentiated gloom. Only on the evening of Heathcliff's disappearance (59) even Joseph must admit the darkness is too much for him: he is powerless to act against the unsublimated forces of this evil night. (55) . . . an odd thing happened to me about a month ago. I was going to the Grange one evening - a dark evening, threatening thunder - and, just at the turn of the Heights, I encountered a little boy with a sheep and two lambs before him; he was crying terribly; . . . . "They's Heathcliff and a woman, yonder, under t' Nab", he blubbered, "un' Aw darnut pass 'em." I saw nothing; . . . . Yet, still, I don't like being out in the dark now; . . . . (Ch. XXXIV) (56) [Joseph] sat within earshot, milking the cows by the light of a lantern, which I seized unceremoniously, . . . . "Maister, maister, he's staling t' lantern!" shouted the ancient, pursuing my retreat . . . . (Ch. II) ( 5 7 ) . . . he compelled us to square our positions that we might receive from the far-off fire a dull ray to show us the text of the lumber he thrust upon us. (Ch. Ill) (58) [Joseph] stepped forward, and called him [Mr. Earnshaw] by name, and touched his shoulder; but he would not move, so he took the candle and looked at him. (Ch. V) (59) "Bud, Aw can look for norther horse, nur man uf a neeght loike this as black as t' chimbley! . . . " (Ch. IX) (60) "Look!" she cried eagerly, "that's my room with the candle in it, and the trees swaying before it: and the other candle is in Joseph's garret. Joseph sits up late, doesnt' he? He's waiting till I come home that he may lock the gate . . . ." (Ch. XII) (61) . . . it was dark when we dismounted in the paved yard of the farmhouse, and your old fellow-servant, Joseph, issued out to receive us by the light of a dip candle. He did it with a courtesy that redounded to his credit. His first act was to elevate his torch to a level with my face, squint malignantly, project his under lip, and turn away. (Ch. XIII) (62)And so he went on scolding to his den beneath, taking the candle with him; and I remained in the dark. (Ch. XIII)

220 4.

FURTHER COMPONENTS OF THE IMAGERY

Old Mr.

Earnshaw

Old Mr. Earnshaw brings Heathcliff to Wuthering Heights (63). It is dark when he reaches home and presents Heathcliff to his wife and family. The dark-skinned, dark-haired child emerges from the double darkness of Mr. Earnshaw's great-coat and the evening. Mr. Earnshaw himself remarks on his dark aspect: it makes him think of the contrasting ideas of light and darkness, God and the devil, the principles of good and evil. He has brought Heathcliff, the dark creature, to Wuthering Heights, and they will have to accept him, but he is not quite certain himself if the principle of light will be able to conquer the power of darkness. 5.

Hindley

Hindley's world has been turned upside down through the influence of Heathcliff, after the latter's return to Wuthering Heights. Night and day have lost their natural rhythm: the night has become a time of frantic gambling activity; the day is spent in drunken stupor (64). No wonder that the word "hell" comes so readily to Hindley's lips (65, 67). All the passages are full of the imagery of darkness; what was light and cheerful before has now become dark and obscure (66). Hindley lives in a circle of unrelieved gloom and cannot find the way out. 6.

Catherine

Catherine belongs to the world of darkness that is Wuthering Heights in contrast to the world of light and sunshine that is Thrushcross (63) Then it grew dark; . . . and, just about eleven o'clock, the doorlatch was raised quietly and in stepped the master. . . . he said, opening his greatcoat, . . . "See here, wife! I was never so beaten with anything in my life: but you must e'en take it as a gift of God; though it's as dark almost as if it came from the devil." (Ch. IV) (64) " . . . up at sundahn; dice, brandy, cloised shutters, und can'le lught till next day, at nooin: . . . ." (Ch. X) (65) "It's well the hellish villain has kept his word!" growled my future host, searching the darkness beyond me in expectation of discovering Heathcliff; (Ch. XIII) (66) . . . he ordered me in, and shut and re-fastened the door. There was a great fire, and that was all the light in the huge apartment, whose floor had grown a uniform grey; and the once brilliant pewter dishes, which used to attract my gaze when I was a girl, partook of a similar obscurity, created by tarnish and dust. (Ch. XIII) (67) ". . . hell shall have his soul! It will be ten times blacker with that guest than ever it was before!" (Ch. XIII)

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Grange. At Wuthering Heights the children (Heathcliff and Catherine) have to be content with a dull ray of light from the fire (68, 69). The lights of the Grange attract them (70, 71) and for a time Catherine is under their spell. Heathcliff returns alone. When she has decided to marry Edgar Linton, she still realizes her affinity with Heathcliff (72). The light that appeals to her and Heathcliff has the fiery quality of lightning, not the cold gleam of moonlight, connected in her mind with Edgar. After Heathcliffs disappearance Catherine is out of harmony with her surroundings: Nelly finds her sitting, miserable and cold after a night of watching and waiting, in the morning sunshine (73). The pattern of her life is unsettled now, as expressed in the images of gloom and sunshine (74). When Catherine goes to meet the visitor Nelly has announced she tells her to close the curtains, thereby shutting out the peaceful moonlit scene she and Edgar had been looking out at (75). Catherine does not realize it yet, but it signifies the end of her allegiance to Edgar and Thrushcross Grange, and her return to the dark world of Heathcliff

(68) Saying this, he [Joseph] compelled us so to square our positions that we might receive from the far-off fire a dull ray to show us the text of the lumber he thrust upon us. (Ch. Ill) (69) I reached this book, and a pot of ink from a shelf, and pushed the house-door ajar to give me light, and I have got the time on with writing for twenty minutes; . . . . (Ch. Ill) (70) Cathy and I escaped . . . and getting a glimpse of the Grange lights, we thought we would just go and see whether the Lintons passed their Sunday evenings standing shivering in corners, . . . . (Ch. VI) (71) We . . . planted ourselves on a flower-plot under the drawing-room window. The light came from thence; . . . . Both of us were able to look in . . . and we saw - ah! it was beautiful - . . . . (Ch. VI) (72) "Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same; and Linton's is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire." (Ch. IX) (73) Coming down somewhat later than usual, I saw, by the sunbeams piercing the chinks of the shutters, Miss Catherine still seated by the fireplace. The house door was ajar, too; light entered from its unclosed windows; . . . . (Ch. IX) (74) Catherine had seasons of gloom and silence now and then: they were respected with sympathising silence by her husband, . . . . The return of sunshine was welcomed by answering sunshine from him . . . . (Ch. X) (75) "Well, close the curtains, Nelly", she said; "and bring up tea. I'll be back again directly." (Ch. X)

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and Wuthering Heights. She knows that this is where she belongs and feels no envy of Isabella whose light colouring seems to epitomize the life of Thrushcross Grange (76). When not thwarted in the desires dictated by her nature Catherine can even bring sunshine into Edgar's life (77). Of course this unnatural state of mind cannot last; some conflict will break off Catherine's forced approach to Edgar's way of life. The return to darkness is evident in her memories of Wuthering Heights during her illness (78, 80, 81). The whole of this episode is marked by images of darkness (78, 79, 80, 81, 82), a darkness varied only by some uncertain light. In her feverish dreams she undergoes once more the influence of her early experiences at Wuthering Heights. Edgar's attempts to bring her back to the pale sunshine of Thrushcross Grange are doomed to failure (83): Catherine, having passed through the dark tunnel, longs

(76) "I'm not envious: I never feel hurt at the brightness of Isabella's yellow hair and the whiteness of her skin, . . . ." (Ch. X) (77) Mr. Linton . . . ventured no objection to her taking Isabella with her to Wuthering Heights in the afternoon; and she rewarded him with such a summer of sweetness and affection in return, as made the house a paradise for several days; both master and servant profiting from the perpetual sunshine. (Ch. X) (78) " . . . and I'm conscious it's night, and there are two candles on the table making the black press shine like jet." (Ch. XII) (79) As soon as ever I had barred the door, utter blackness overwhelmed me, and I fell on the floor. (Ch. XII) (80) Before I recovered sufficiently to see and hear, it began to be dawn, . . . I thought as I lay there, with my head against that table leg, and my eyes dimly discerning the grey square of the window, that I was enclosed in the oak-panelled bed at home; . . . . (Ch. XII) (81) There was no moon, and everything beneath lay in misty darkness: not a light gleamed from any house, far or near - all had been extinguished long ago; and those at Wuthering Heights were never visible - still she asserted she caught their shining. "Look!" she cried eagerly, "that's my room with the candle in it, and the trees swaying before it: and the other candle is in Joseph's garret. Joseph sits up late, doesn't he? He's waiting till I come home that he may lock the gate." (Ch. XII) (82) The delirium was not fixed, however; having weaned her eyes from contemplating the outer darkness, by degrees she centered her attention on him, and discovered who it was that held her. (Ch. XII) (83) The master told me to light a fire in the many-weeks-deserted parlour, and to set an easy-chair in the sunshine by the window; and then he brought her down, and she sat a long while enjoying the genial heat, . . . . (Ch. XIII)

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for a world of light and freedom, an illumination of the spirit that leaves all earthly bonds behind (84). The upward dynamism in the image of escaping makes this passage remarkably suggestive: the ideas of light and escape are caught up in one sweeping upward movement. And as these are among the last words Catherine utters it is very significant that they express the vertical dynamism of so many important images in the novel. Passage (85) merely contains Nelly's impression of the subdued light in Catherine's chamber. It is significant though that she takes up the imagery of light in connection with Catherine's death. Heathcliff experiences Catherine's proximity on the earth, not in the depth of the grave (86). Lastly the vertical dynamism is present in the story of the little boy with the sheep, who felt Catherine's and Heathcliff's presence on the Heights, but still on the earth though. The upward movement seems frustrated after all. When Heathcliff returns in the picture (86, 87) the images of darkness return, and the vertical trend is checked. Thus the effect is ambiguous, the illumination of the spirit not achieved. 7.

Heathcliff

There are no fewer than 36 intsances of the imagery of light and darkness in connection with Heathcliff, so it may be safely assumed that light and darkness are important elements of the imagery from which the figure of Heathcliff arises. In most of the passages Heathcliff appears in the context of a dark(84) "I'm wearying to escape into that glorious world, and to be always there: not seeing it dimly through tears, . . . ." (Ch. XV) (85) Next morning - bright and cheerful out of doors - stole softened in through the blinds of the silent room, and suffused the couch and its occupant with a mellow, tender glow. (Ch. XVI) (86) . . . as certainly as you perceive the approach to some substantial body in the dark, though it cannot be discerned, so certainly I felt that Cathy was there: not under me, but on the earth. (Ch. XXIX) (87) Yet that old man by the kitchen fire affirms he has seen two on 'em . . . on every rainy night since his death: and an odd thing happened to me about a month ago. I was going to the Grange one evening - a dark evening threatening thunder - and, just at the turn of the Heights, I encountered a little boy .. . "They's Heathcliff, and a woman, yonder, under t' Nab", he blubbered, "un' Aw darnut pass 'em." . . . I don't like being out in the dark now; . . . . (Ch. XXXIV)

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ness, only relieved by the light of a candle, a lantern or a fire (88, 89, 90, 100, 107, 112, 117, 118). He is often seen coming out of the dark, just as his first entrance into the life of Wuthering Heights was made when he was brought in by old Mr. Earnshaw late at night, hidden in the dark folds of Mr. Earnshaw's great-coat. Rarely, if ever, is Heathcliff pictured in surroundings of light and sunshine. He seems to belong to darkness. His escapade with Catherine to the lights of Thrushcross Grange (91, 92, 93, 94) only ends in his being thrust out into the dark again, and even losing his friend and companion to the bright world of Thrushcross Grange. Examined by Mr. and Mrs. Linton under the light of the great chandelier, which he had admired so much from outside, his features evoke nothing but their disgust and horror (93). From now on he identifies himself more and more with darkness and secrecy: in passage (94) he takes up his position under the window

(88) Saying this, he compelled us so to square our positions that we might receive from the far-off fire a dull ray to show us the text of the lumber he thrust upon us. (Ch. Ill) (89) Heathcliff stood near the entrance, in his shirt and trousers: with a candle dripping over his fingers, and his face as white as the wall behind him. The first creak of the oak startled him like an electric shock! The light leaped from his hold to a distance of some feet, . . . . (Ch. Ill) (90) In a while, I distinguished steps coming up the road, and the light of a lantern glimmered through the gate, . . . There was Heathcliff by himself: " (Ch. VI) (91) Cathy and I escaped . . ., and getting a glimpse of the Grange lights, we thought we would just go and see whether the Lintons passed their Sunday evenings standing shivering in corners, . . . . (Ch. VI) (92) We . . . planted ourselves on a flower-plot under the drawing-room window. The light came from thence; they had not put up the shutters, and the curtains were only half closed. . . . We saw — ah! it was beautiful - . . . a pure white ceiling bordered by gold, a shower of glass-drops hanging in silver chains from the centre, and shimmering with little soft tapers . . . . (Ch. VI) (93) ". . . would it not be a kindness to the country to hang him at once, before he shows his nature in acts as well as features?" He pulled me under the chandelier, and Mrs. Linton placed her spectacles on her nose and raised her hands in horror . . . . (Ch. VI) (94) . . . [he] pushed the lantern into my hand, . . . and, bidding me march directly, secured the door again. The curtains were still looped up at one corner, and I resumed my station as spy; . . . . (Ch. VI) (95) "But, Nelly, if I knocked him down twenty times, that wouldn't make him less handsome or me more so. I wish I had light hair and a fair skin, " (Ch. VII)

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again, not to admire now, but to spy. His hatred of Edgar, and his jealousy, are expressed in a wish to have Edgar's light hair and fair skin (95). His second appearance on the scene is again like an emanation from the dark (97, 98, 99). His evil influence on Hindley converts the day into night (101). The hatred and jealousy he feels for Edgar are transferred to Isabella (102); she has the same fair hair and skin as Edgar, and thus arouses his desire for revenge. Not only Isabella, also her little white dog is a victim of Heathcliff's frustrated fury at all that is light and fair (103). When Catherine has died he tries to assert his claim to her by replacing Edgar's fair lock of hair by a black lock of his own in the locket round her neck (106). Heathcliff's third arrival at Wuthering Heights, with Isabella as his

(96) Had it been dark, I dare say, he would have tried to remedy the mistake by smashing Hareton's skull on the steps; . . . . (Ch. IX) (97) It had got dusk, and the moon looked over the high wall of the court, causing undefined shadows to lurk in the corners of the numerous projecting portions of the building. (Ch. X) (98) Something stirred in the porch; and, moving nearer, I distinguished a tall man dressed in dark clothes, with dark face and hair. (Ch. X) (99) "Yes, Heathcliff", he replied, glancing from me up to the windows, which reflected a score of glittering moons, but showed no lights from within. (Ch. X) (100) Now fully revealed by the fire and candlelight, I was amazed, more than ever, to behold the transformation of Heathcliff. (Ch. X) (101) ". . . up at sundahn; dice, brandy, cloised shutters, und can'le lught till next day at nooin: . . . ." (Ch. X) (102) "You'd hear of odd things if I lived alone with that mawkish, waxen face: the most ordinary would be painting on its white the colours of the rainbow, and turning the blue eyes black, every day or two: they detestably resemble Linton's." (Ch. X) (103) In passing the garden to reach the road, . . . I saw something white moved irregularly, evenidently by another agent than the wind. (Ch. XII) (104) . . . it was dark when we dismounted in the paved yard of the farmhouse, . . . . (Ch. XIII) (105) " . . . and hell shall have his soul! It will be ten times blacker with that guest than ever it was before!" (Ch. XIII) (106) . . . observing on the floor a curl of light hair, . . . [which] I ascertained to have been taken from a locket hung round Catherine's neck. Heathcliff had opened the trinket and cast out its contents, replacing them by a black lock of his own. (Ch. XVI)

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wife, also takes place in the dark (104). Hindley expresses himself strongly with regard to the blackness of his guest (105); the comparison with the blackness of hell comes naturally in this connection: for him Heathcliff is a personification of the devil, who has robbed his life of light and made it into a hell. His own son, Linton, is another victim of Heathcliff's rage: Linton is light and fair and so arouses the same feelings of hatred and jealousy as Edgar and Isabella do (108, 109, 110, 111). In the dark Heathcliff feels Catherine's spiritual presence (89, 113, 117, 118, 122). The instances of the imagery of darkness increase with the approach of Heathcliff's death. He expresses the wish to be buried in the evening (121). On the last evening of his life he goes to his room, (107) . . . the casement behind me was banged on to the floor . . . and his black countenance looked blightingly through . . . . His hair and clothes were whitened with snow, and his sharp cannibal teeth, revealed by cold and wrath, gleamed through the dark. (Ch. XVII) (108) "He's as young [as Edgar Linton]", said I; "but he has black hair and eyes, and looks sterner; . . . ." (Ch. XX) (109) "Black hair and eyes!" mused Linton . . . . "Then I am not like him, am I?" (Ch. XX) (110) "Now, dont' wince, and colour up! Though it is something to see you have not white blood . . . ." (Ch. XX) (111) " . . . I'm bitterly disappointed with the whey-faced whining wretch!" (Ch. XX) (112) It was the same room into which he had been ushered, as a guest, eighteen years before: the same moon shone through the window; . . . . We had not yet lighted a candle, but all the apartment was visible, even to the portraits on the wall: . . . . There was the same man: his dark face rather sallower and more composed (Ch. XXIX) (113) . . . as certainly as you perceive the approach to some substantial body in the dark, though it cannot be discerned, so certainly I felt that Cathy was there: not under me, but on the earth. (Ch. XXIX) (114) He [Heathcliff] cursed to himself, and . . . came out with a lighted candle, and proceeded to their room. . . . Her father-in-law went up, held the light to Linton's face, looked at him, and touched him; afterwards he turned to her. (Ch. XXX) (115) While I admired and they [Cathy and Hareton] laboured, dusk grew on, and with it returned the master. He came upon us quite unexpectedly, . . . and had a full view of the whole three, ere we could raise our heads to glance at him . . . . The red firelight glowed on their two bonny heads, and revealed their faces animated with the eager interest of children; . . . . (Ch.XXXIII) (116) . . . from childhood he had a delight in dwelling on dark things, and entertaining odd fancies . . . . (Ch. XXXIII)

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at dusk (122); the following morning he is found dead. As he came from the dark, so he vanished into darkness. The manifestations of his presence after his death are all experienced on dark nights (123). The dual aspect of the figure of Heathcliff, evoked to such a large extent by the imagery of darkness, may be interpreted positively as the mystic, creative spirit, animating the world; negatively as the expression of an evil and destructive spirit. Heathcliff's death is not total defeat, it does not only stress the negative aspect of his nature, it is not the complete submergence of his individual spirit: the manifestations of his spiritual presence to "the old man by the fire", to the boy with the sheep, and, in a lesser degree, to Nelly, point to the positive side of his being, to the mystic bond between his spirit and the spirit of nature, as personified in the people and animals whose psychic energy links their existence with his. (117) . . . no one intruded on his solitude; till, at eight o'clock . I deemed it proper, though unsummoned, to carry a candle and his supper to him. He was leaning against the ledge of an open lattice, but not looking out: his face was turned to the interior gloom. The fire had smouldered to ashes; . . . . (Ch. XXXIV) (118) "Must I close this?" I asked The light flashed on his features as I spoke. Oh. Mr. Lockwood. I cannot express what a terrible start I got by the momentary view! Those deep black eyes! That smile, and ghastly paleness! It appeared to me, not Mr. Heathcliff, but a goblin; and, in my terror, I let the candle bend towards the wall, and it left me in darkness. . . . "There, that is pure awkwardness! Why did you hold the candle horizontally? Be quick, and bring another." (Ch. XXXIV) (119) 'The master wishes you to take him a light and rekindle the fire." . . . Joseph rattled some fire into the shovel, and went; but he brought it back immediately. (Ch. XXXIV) (120) He opened the door immediately, and said: "Nelly, come here - is it morning? Come in with your light Come in, and kindle me a fire, (Ch. XXXIV) (121) " . . . you remind me of the manner in which I desire to be buried. It is to be carried to the churchyard in the evening . . . ." (Ch. XXXIV) (122) He solicited the society of no one more. At dusk, he went into his chamber. Through the whole night, and far into the morning, we heard him groaning and murmuring to himself. (Ch. XXXIV) (123) Yet that old man by the kitchen fire affirms he has seen two on 'em . . . on every rainy night since his death: and an odd thing happened to me about a month ago. I was going to the Grange one evening - a dark evening threatening thunder - and, just at the turn of the Heights, I encountered a little boy . . . . "They's Heathcliff, and a woman, yonder, under t' Nab", he blubbered, "un' Aw darnut pass 'em". . . . I don't like being out in the dark now; . . . . (Ch. XXXIV)

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8. Edgar Linton Edgar is contrasted in appearance and surroundings to Heathcliff. He has light hair and a fair skin and because he is attractive to Catherine he arouses Heathcliff's jealousy (124, 125, 130). When Catherine realizes she has alienated Heathcliff by preferring Edgar, she stresses the aspect of coldness in the images of light connected with him (126). Edgar flourishes in an atmosphere of light and sunshine (127, 128). His attempt to bring Catherine back from the threshold of death to his own specific world is symbolized in the order given to Nelly to place a chair for Catherine in the sunshine by the window (129). Edgar's fatal illness is brought on by his staying out late on a dark and chilly evening (131). Also in passage (132) Edgar is pictured against a background of light and sunshine, though veiled in mist.

(124) "But, Nelly, if I knocked him down twenty times, that wouldn't make him less handsome or me more so. I wish I had light hair and a fair skin, . . . ." (Ch. VII) (125) Mrs. Dean raised the candle, and I discerned a soft-featured face, . . . . The long light hair curled slightly on the temples; . . . . (Ch. VIII) (126) "Whatever our souls are made of. his and mine are the same; and Linton's is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire." (Ch. IX) (127) Catherine had seasons of gloom and silence now and then: they were respected with sympathising silence by her husband The return of sunshine was welcomed by answering sunshine from him. (Ch. X) (128) . . . he ventured no objection to her taking Isabella with her to Wuthering Heights in the afternoon; and she rewarded him with such a summer of sweetness and affection in return, as made the house a paradise for several days; both master and servants profiting from the perpetual sunshine. (Ch. X) (129) The master told me to light a fire in the many-weeks-deserted parlour, and to set an easy-chair in the sunshine by the window; . . . . (Ch. XIII) (130) . . . observing on the floor a curl of light hair, . . . which, on examination. I ascertained to have been taken from a locket hung round Catherine's neck. Heathcliff had opened the trinket and cast out its contents, replacing them by a black lock of his own. (Ch. XVI) (131) . . . at the carrying of the last sheaves, they stayed till dusk, and the evening happening to be chill and damp, my master caught a bad cold, . . . . (Ch. XXII) (132) Edgar sighed; and walking to the window, looked out towards Gimmerton Kirk. It was a misty afternoon, but the February sun shone dimly, and

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After Catherine's death it is his greatest happiness to lie on her grave during the long, light evenings of June ( 1 3 3 ) . Light seems to be the principle of Edgar's nature. As a positive symbol it expresses the man of virtue, hope and gratitude; however, it has a negative aspect as well: Edgar's death is a total submergence of his individual spirit. When the light of his natural life has vanished, there are no emanations of his spiritual nature, because his nature lacked the creative principle of the primordial darkness; so nothing is left to form a bridge to the unknown. 9.

Isabella

Isabella belongs to the world of light: she has the same fair hair and white skin as Edgar ( 1 3 4 ) , and arouses the same hatred in Heathcliff. Heathcliff's utterance concerning Isabella is charged with boundless emotional vehemence ( 1 3 5 ) , in itself a sign of the depth of the psychic level from which this feeling arises. Heathcliff wants to turn the light into darkness ( 1 3 5 ) : a darkness, which is no longer a symbol of creative potentialities, but the regressive symbol of evil and destruction. Isabella's stay at Wuthering Heights ( 1 3 6 , 137, 138), the world of we could just distinguish the two fir-trees in the yard, and the sparely scattered gravestones. (Ch. X X V ) (133) "Ellen, I've been very happy with my little Cathy: through winter nights and summer days she was a living hope at my side. But I've been as happy musing by myself among those stones, under that old church: lying, through the long June evenings, on the green mound of her mother's grave, . . . . " (Ch. X X V ) (134) "I'm not envious: I never feel hurt at the brightness of Isabella's yellow hair and the whiteness of her skin, . . . . " (Ch. X ) (135) "You'd hear of odd things if I lived alone with that mawkish, waxen face: the most ordinary would be painting on its white the colours of the rainbow, and turning the blue eyes black, every day or two; . . . ." (Ch. X ) (136) . . . it was dark when we dismounted in the paved yard of the farmhouse, and your old fellow-servant, Joseph, issued out to receive us by the light of a dip candle . . . . His first act was to elevate his torch to a level with my face, squint malignantly, project his under lip, and turn away. (Ch. X I I I ) (137) There was a great fire, and that was all the light in the huge apartment, whose floor had grown a uniform grey; and the once brilliant pewter dishes, which used to attract my gaze when I was a girl, partook of a similar obscurity, created by tarnish and dust. (Ch. X I I I ) (138) And so he [Joseph] went on scolding to his den beneath, taking the candle with him; and I remained in the dark. (Ch. X I I I )

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darkness created by Heathcliff, is characterized by an accumulation of images of darkness and obscurity. She experiences it as a perversion of life. Her escape is a rush "towards the beacon light" of the Grange, a return to life itself (139). 10.

Cathy

Cathy has the dark eyes of the Earnshaws, the fair hair and skin of the Lintons (140, 142). In more than this one aspect of personal appearance she will personify a reconciliation of the opposites of light and darkness. As a child already she is fascinated by the play of light and shadow on the heights of Penistone Crags (143, 144). In the darkest part of her life, when she is virtually a prisoner at Wuthering Heights, she is pictured kneeling on the hearth reading a book (141), making use of the little light there is. But the pictures of her childhood speak of sunshine and freedom (142, 145, 146). There is a brief interlude of shadow when Linton is brought to the Grange by Edgar and is taken away by Heathcliff the next day (147). (139) . . . blest as a soul escaped from purgatory, . . . [I] shot direct across the moor, . . . towards the beacon light of the Grange. (Ch. XVII) (140) Her position before was sheltered from the light; now, I had a distinct view of her whole figure and countenance . . . small features, very fair; flaxen ringlets, or rather golden, hanging loose . . . . (Ch. II) (141) . . . the females were already astir . . . Mrs. Heathcliff, kneeling on the hearth, reading a book by the aid of the blaze . . . . (Ch. Ill) (142) She was the most winning thing that ever brought sunshine into a desolate house: a real beauty in face, with the Earnshaws' handsome dark eyes, but the Lintons' fair skin and small features, and yellow curling hair. (Ch. XVIII) (143) The abrupt descent of Penistone Craggs particularly attracted her notice; especially when the setting sun shone on it and the topmost heights, and the whole extent of landscape besides lay in shadow. (Ch. XVIII) (144) "And why are they bright so long after it is evening here?" she pursued. "Because they are a great deal higher up than we are", replied I; " . . . and deep into summer I have found snow under that black hollow on the northeast side!" (Ch. XVIII) (145) The summer shone in full prime; and she took such a taste for this solitary rambling that she often contrived to remain out from breakfast till tea; (Ch. XVIII) ( 1 4 6 ) . . . and she sprang up as gay as a fairy, sheltered by her wide-brimmed hat and gauze veil from the July sun, . . . . (Ch. XVIII) (147) "Linton is just six months younger than I am", she chattered, as we strolled leisurely over the swells and hollows of mossy turf, under shadow of the trees." (Ch. XIX)

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It is a mild grief however and the years of her girlhood are again full of light and movement (148, 149). Darkness sets in when the connections with Wuthering Heights are taking a more serious form (150). The ominous meeting with Heathcliff is foreshadowed in the clouds (151) as well as in Cathy's dejection. A momentary lifting of her spirits - expressed in the images of light and sunshine (152) - leads effortlessly to the climbing of the wall, an image with a very strong vertical dynamism, which is not continued though, but is reversed into the descent on the shadowy side of the wall. After the climbing of the wall - a forceful breaking of the protective bonds of childhood - the images take on a more stable character: a sign of greater maturity. There is an interplay of light and darkness, sunshine and cloud, which in itself is refleotive of life (154, 155, 156). Movement is an essential part of these images: it is expressed in a variety of verbs, like rocking and flitting, to sparkle and to dance (153);

(148) . . . at first, I found plenty of entertainment in listening to the larks singing far and near, and enjoying the sweet, warm sunshine; and watching her, my pet, and my delight, with her golden ringlets flying loose behind and her bright cheek, . . . and her eyes radiant with cloudless pleasure. (Ch. XXI) (149) Catherine had reached her full height; . . . her whole aspect sparkling with health and spirits. (Ch. XXI) (150) "You'll get nobody to take that, Catherine", I said, "if you write it; and at present I shall put out your candle." I set the extinguisher on the flame, receiving as I did so a slap on my hand, . . . . (Ch. XXI) (151) On an afternoon in October, or the beginning of November - a fresh watery afternoon, when . . . the cold, blue sky was half hidden by clouds dark grey streamers, rapidly mounting from the west, . . . I requested my young lady to forego her ramble, . . . . She refused; . . . . (Ch. XXII) (152) As we talked, we neared a door that opened on the road; and my young lady, lightening into sunshine again, climbed up and seated herself on the top of the wall, reaching over to gather some hips that bloomed scarlet on the summit branches of the wild rose trees, shadowing the highway side: . . . . (Ch. XXII) (153) "That was his most perfect idea of heaven's happiness: mine was rocking in a rustling green tree, . . . and bright white clouds flitting rapidly above; . . . and the moors seen at a distance, broken into cool dusky dells; . . . . L wanted all to sparkle and dance in a glorious jubilee . . . . " (Ch. XXIV) (154) Summer was already past its prime, when Edgar reluctantly yielded his assent to their entreaties, and Catherine and I set out on our first ride to join her cousin. It was a close, sultry day: devoid of sunshine, but with a sky too dappled and hazy to threaten rain; . . . . (Ch. XXVI)

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in the expressions "flitting in rapid succession", and "the sunshine was more transient" (156). Also the idea of height is everywhere present: in the image of the tree (153), the sky (154), the clouds (155). The interplay of light and darkness, height and movement bring a dynamism to these images that determines to a great extent the symbolic pattern of Cathy's personality. The picture in passage (157), though basically it shows the same background, is in many ways different from the scene in passage (141). Cathy and Hareton, reconciled now and united by ever-growing love that is reflected in their glowing faces, offer to Heathcliff, coming upon them suddenly from the dark, the only spectacle that could make him realize his defeat to the full, in one single instant. The sight of Cathy and Hareton looking together at the moon puts Lockwood to flight (158): this is another instance of a sudden realisation of rejection. Heathcliff is illuminated by the blazing firelight, Lockwood by the pale light of the moon. Both fire as the principle of energy and change, and the moon as the principle of imaginative illumination contribute to the symbolic pattern of Cathy's and Hareton's future together. 11.

Hareton

Hareton's birth occurs on a fine June morning (159). At first the future seems bright enough for the last of the Earnshaws. But soon the clouds will gather over his head. His sensitivity is wounded when he is referred

(155) "This [day] is surely yours, only there are clouds: but then they are so soft and mellow: it is nicer than sunshine . . . ." (Ch. XXVI) (156) We deferred our excursion till the afternoon; a golden afternoon of August: . . . . Catherine's face was just like the landscape - shadows and sunshine flitting over it in rapid succession; but the shadows rested longer, and the sunshine was more transient; . . . . (Ch. XXVII) (157) While I admired and they laboured, dusk grew on, and with it returned the master. He . . . had a full view of the whole three, ere we could raise our heads to glance at him . . . . The red firelight glowed on their two bonny heads, and revealed their faces animated with the eager interest of children; (Ch. XXXIII) (158) As they stepped on to the door-stones, and halted to take a last look at the moon - or, more correctly, at each other by her light - I felt irresistibly impelled to escape them again; . . . . (Ch. XXXIV) (159) On the morning of a fine June day my first bonny little nursling, and the last of the ancient Earnshaw stock, was born. (Ch. VIII)

THE IMAGERY OF LIGHT AND DARKNESS

233

to as a servant (160); the image of darkness accompanying Nelly's narration of this incident typifies the cloud under which Hareton is living. The first indication of the light that will lead Hareton out of the darkness is his being attracted "like a child to a candle" (image of light) by Cathy's golden curls (161). The images of light continue now and become more positive, the quality of the light becoming more definite. Their "radiant countenances" convince Nelly that all is well now between Hareton and Cathy (162). The glowing firelight, suggestive of warmth and life (163), and the pale moonlight, suggestive of magic and enchantment, point to their enlightenment by the power of love (164). 12.

Linton

Linton's light colouring evokes tenderness from Cathy (165), regret from Nelly (166) and contempt from Heathcliff (167, 168). (160) "And he never said, Miss; he should have done, shouldn't he, if he's a servant?" Hareton grew black as a thundercloud, at this childish speech . . . . (Ch. XVIII) (161) And, perhaps, not quite awake to what he did, but attracted like a child to a candle, at last he proceeded from staring to touching; he put out his hand and stroked one curl, . . . . (Ch. XXX) (162) I overheard no further distinguishable talk, but, on looking round again, I perceived two such radiant countenances bent over the page of the accepted book, that I did not doubt the treaty had been ratified on both sides; . . . . (Ch. XXXII) (163) While I admired and they laboured, dusk grew on, and with it returned the master. He came upon us quite unexpectedly, . . . and had a full view of the whole three, ere we could raise our heads to glance at him. . . . The red firelight glowed on their two bonny heads, and revealed their faces animated with the eager interest of children; . . . (Ch. XXXIII) (164) As they stepped on to the door-stones, and halted to take a last look at the moon - or, more correctly, at each other by her light - I felt irresistibly impelled to escape them again; . . . . (Ch. XXXIV) (165) "How delightful it will be to have him for a play-fellow! Aunt Isabella sent papa a beautiful lock of his hair; it was lighter than mine - more flaxen, and quite as fine " (Ch. XIX) (166) "Black hair and eyes!" mused Linton. "I can't fancy him. Then I am not like him, am I?" "Not much", I answered: not a morsel, I thought, surveying with regret the white complexion and slim frame of my companion, and his large languid eyes - . . . . (Ch. XX) (167) "Now, don't wince, and colour up! Though it is something to see you have not white blood . . . ." (Ch. XX)

234

FURTHER COMPONENTS OF THE IMAGERY

Through his son Heathcliff is reminded of Edgar and Isabella, and his hatred of them is reflected in his treatment of Linton. No wonder that Linton's idea of happiness is an abundance of light and warmth (169), being deprived as he is of any spark of love on the part of his father.

(168) " . . . I'm bitterly disappointed with the whey-faced whining wretch!" (Ch. XX) (169) . . . and the blue sky and bright sun shining steadily and cloudlessly. That was his most perfect idea of heaven's happiness: . . . ." (Ch. XXIV)

CONCLUSIONS

After the analysis, in the preceding pages, of the images with relation to the twelve separate characters in the story, a synthesis follows here. 1.

Lockwood:

(I) Air: Lockwood does not share the dynamic qualities of the element of air. The images of air are mostly of a domestic and secondary nature. Only in his dreams does the element take on an emotional significance, but in a reversed way: it inspires fear and terror and so, instead of exercising a sublimating power it works in the opposite direction; the inverted dynamism of the element has a negative influence on the character as this is experienced by the reader. (II) Water: The imagery of water takes the forms of deep snow, bog or swamp, and is connected with the fear of sinking, suffocation and death. The inverted dynamism of height exercises its negative force here too. (III) Earth: In the images of earth the accent is on the road; the difficulty of finding the road, the necessity of a guide, the fear of being lost. Oneirically Lockwood is represented as a traveller, seeking escape from unconscious fears and obsessions. (IV) Fire: The fire-images are merely a domestic kind, they contain nothing of the concentrated energy of the element. (V) Weather: Lockwood's attitude to the weather is that of the holiday-maker. His chief consideration is of comfort. The storm raging on the Heights does not inspire exultation, only feelings of acute discomfort. (VI) Dreams, Visions, Forebodings, Premonitions, Omens: Lockwood's dreams are nightmares, in which he is the victim in some terrible conflict. He is threatened by punishment for some sin or transgression. His fear of being destroyed is such that the dreams bring no relief or solution of the conflict; he awakes in terror. (VII) Windows, Doors, Keys, Walls, Gates, Mirrors, Portraits: The

236

CONCLUSIONS

imagery of windows, etc. stresses the fact that Lockwood is an outsider who is not easily allowed to penetrate into the unfamiliar world of Wuthering Heights. Having gained access to it, he is trapped and made to feel its dark passions and terrors. Then he is rejected again. (VIII) Animal and Vegetable Life: The furious dogs at Wuthering Heights are like monsters arising out of the dark, bringing the terror of death upon him. He cannot rescue himself, he must ask the help of his host, who appears more like he jailer of a prison in which he is trapped. The return to normal life is accentuated by the placid images of the domestic cat, puss or kitten. (IX) Books, The Bible: Books are a conventional means to alleviate boredom. There is no trace of any deeper significance. The Bible is not mentioned in connection with Lockwood. (X) Light and Darkness: Darkness is to Lockwood synonymous with fear and frustration. A lighted candle gives him some confidence. Revisiting Wuthering Heights by moonlight he distinguishes only the outward shapes and forms: he is denied a clear insight into the essence of this strange world. He is rejected again. The character of Lockwood does not belong to the prominent ones of the novel. It is easy now to see why: the character all but lacks the dynamism, either positive or negative, of the great imaginative themes indicated in the title. It is conceived mostly in imaginative substances of secondary interest, which moreover give rise to images that are not always oneirically genuine. The character thus acts as a foil to the protagonists. 2. Ellen Dean: (I) Air: A violent movement of the air such as wind or storm calls up a negative response from Nelly. On the other hand she enjoys the sweet warm air of spring and summer, the smells and scents of wet earth, flowers etc. lingering in the air. All her metaphors of cloud and storm have unpleasant connotations. (II) Water: The images of water are of two kinds: rain and the beck. Rain is associated with feelings of depression and/or reluctance. The soft music of the beck rippling over stones has pleasant associations of tranquillity and harmony. (III) Earth: The earth is present in many images of stone and rock. The harsher aspects of this element appear in the metaphors she uses when in the grip of some strong emotion.

CONCLUSIONS

237

The idea of fertility related to the element of earth is absent; the impenetrability of the stone or rock is stressed. She has a horror of the bog, which represents the opposite aspect of the element. (IV) Fire: The fire is connected with the idea of violence, rage, cruelty; on the other hand there are instances of feelings of delight in the benefits of the fire, of security because it is at the centre of life; the feeding of the fire affords her an almost sensual enjoyment, because it satisfies her desire for power. (V) Weather: In numerous metaphors Nelly gives evidence of the fact that she lives in close contact with nature. She has no affinity with rain, wind and storm; they restrict her in her activity. Her active nature prefers especially the invigorating morning air. (VI) Dreams, Visions, Forebodings, Premonitions, Omens: No real dreams are recorded; only premonitions, forebodings, misgivings and speculations about the past and the future. She is afraid of dreams as possible forebodings of evil; this reveals a basic feeling of insecurity. Her frustrations, her enmity towards Catherine, her harshness towards Linton are brought out in her speculations, and also the ambiguity of her feelings towards Heathcliff. (VII) Windows, Doors, Keys, Walls, Gates, Mirrors, Portraits: Windows, doors etc. are the symbols of conflict, of the clash of wills between Nelly and Catherine, and later between Nelly and the young Cathy. She wishes to know everything that is going on, people's secret actions, thoughts and feelings; she is seen listening at doors, opening windows to see and hear, rattling the handles of locked doors. Only once does she confess to a momentary awareness of her own doubtful actions. (VIII) Animal and Vegetable Life: Numerous instances given under this heading serve as clues to the division of time and the sequence of the events. They follow the pattern of the seasons of the year as reflected in the life of plants, flowers, trees and birds, and the activities on the farm. They give the story a firm footing in reality. In the metaphors Nelly gives her opinion about the several persons and their actions. The use of animal and vegetable names varies with her moods. (IX) Books, The Bible: The Bible inspires her to sharp-tongued criticisms and pretentious moral lessons. As a self-appointed moralist she hands out some biblical condemnation. She makes a point of telling Lockwood she has read many books.

238

CONCLUSIONS

In her eyes books are a status-symbol which can greatly enhance her authority in the house. (X) Light and Darkness: Nelly is very conscious of shades of light and darkness. Darkness and moonlight promote the processes of the imagination, daylight is more conducive to matter-of-fact statements. Night is the time for speculation, day for activity. The night brings out her leaning towards mysticism, and her feelings of insecurity. By day she is active, self-reliant, full of confidence. She is in charge of the candles, which gives her a welcome feeling of power. Nelly's practical nature is evident from much of the imagery used. There are however underlying feelings of insecurity and aggressiveness. There is a certain ambivalence in her attitude to the people around her. She has a tendency to dominate, which brings her into conflict with stronger characters than her own. She does not share the vertical dynamism of the element of air. Earth and fire are the elements that have the greatest emotional significance for her; the elements too in which her personality finds its most adequate expression. The psychic forces inspiring the imagery are not powerful enough to ensure a degree of spiritualization equal to that of the main characters of the story. 3.

Joseph:

(I) Air: No references. (II) Water: The element occurs only in the form of rain. Joseph, opening the window of his room and seeing Catherine and Heathcliff on the moor, on rainy nights after their deaths, comes close to the heart of the story, by sharing the vitalizing power of the element of water with the principal characters. (III) Earth: No references. (IV) Fire: Joseph's paradise is his place neax the fire; with a pot of ale before him, and a pipe in his mouth he is happy. Silent, gazing into the flames he represents "the old man by the fire", a figure of age-old wisdom. The fire has also a kind of sacred quality. (V) Weather: Joseph is susceptible to the mystic powers of rain as a mediating agent, which makes spiritual forces felt on earth. (VII) Dreams, Visions, Forebodings, Premonitions, Omens: There is only one reference, constituting a link between Joseph and the heart of the story. (VII) Windows, Doors, Keys, Walls, Gates, Mirrors, Portraits: Joseph

CONCLUSIONS

239

shows a preference for locked doors and gates. The circle of life must be closed and all outsiders banned. It is all the more remarkable that he opens the window at the top of the house and sees the appearance of Heathcliff and Catherine on the moor. He shares to some extent the dynamism of height and possesses special powers of psychic energy to bridge the gap between the natural order of things and the phenomena that are beyond normal sense perception. (VIII) Animal and Vegetable Life: Joseph is exceptionally moved when his gooseberry and black currant bushes are uprooted. The idea of having to give up his garden breaks down his selfcontrol. The garden is the place most congenial to his secret self; even more so than his place by the fire. He shares the vertical dynamism of trees and growing things. (IX) Books, The Bible: Religious books and especially the Bible are Joseph's jealously guarded possessions. Only his blackcurrant and gooseberry bushes are dearer to him. He is intolerant of Cathy's books of tales and verse. Written words of a sacred or magical nature exercise a powerful influence over him; his prayers resemble incantations. (X) Light and Darkness: Joseph is often seen emerging from the dark for a moment, with a lantern or a lighted candle; then he vanishes again. This is in accordance with his personality, much of which remains hidden. His appearances leave the impression of great spiritual energy and strength. In the imagery of which the character of Joseph is built up there are strong indications of trends in the personality that are operated by some spiritual energy. Much remains in the shadow, but there is evidence of a certain affinity with the principal persons in the story, because he is moved by the vitalizing dynamism of the element of water and by the vertical dynamism of height. The element of air has no emotional or psychical significance for him. So there is no complete imaginative identification of Joseph with the principal characters in the story. 4. Old Mr.

Earnshaw:

(I) Air: On the evening of his death a storm is raging round the house and roaring in the chimney. The storm, introducing change, is of symbolic significance here. (II) Water: On the evening of his death it is raining. Rain, the mystic link between the spiritual forces and the earth, is of symbolic significance here.

240

CONCLUSIONS

(III) Earth: No references. (IV) Fire: It irritates Mr. Earnshaw to be forced into inactivity in the chimney-corner. The wind roaring in the chimney signifies his release. (V) Weather: The storm, creating change, penetrates into the heart of the house (the chimney), including it in its cosmic activity. (VI) Dreams, Visions, Forebodings, Premonitions, Omens: No references. (VII) Windows, Doors, Keys, Walls, Gates, Mirrors, Portraits: No conclusions possible from the two references. (VIII) Animal and Vegetable Life: No conclusions from the two references. (IX) Books, The Bible: No references. (X) Light and Darkness: Mr. Earnshaw brings Heathcliff ("a dark thing") home to Wuthering Heights at dark of night, hidden in the dark folds of his great-coat. To his wife he says she must accept him "as a gift of God". He sees in Heathcliff the dual possibilities of light and darkness, of good and evil. By the imagery of air and water relating to him Mr. Earnshaw is taken up into the central imaginative themes of the novel. He stands at the beginning of their development. He also introduces the dualism of light and darkness as a symbolic formula of good and evil that operates throughout the work. Therefore his part in the story, though small, is significant. 5.

Hindley:

(I) Air: No references. (II) Water: No references. (III) Earth: Hindley shares with Nelly a preference for the harsher aspects of the element. He detests the bog. (IV) Fire: In the fire-imagery Hindley's journey through life is reflected. The images run through the whole cycle from the creative to the destructive principle in the symbolism of fire. (V) Weather: No references. (VI) Dreams, Visions, Forebodings, Premonitions, Omens: No references. (VII. Windows, Doors, Keys, Walls, Gates, Mirrors, Portraits: Windows and doors are the visual representations of the conflict between Hindley and Heathcliff. When Hindley can no longer keep the intruder

CONCLUSIONS

241

out, he surrenders, but the locked door of the room is a last symbol of defiance. (VIII) Animal and Vegetable Life: There are no references to vegetable life. In the imagery of animal life the animal, instinctive side of Hindley's nature is brought out, which is uncontrolled by the higher powers of the will and the intellect. The animals connected symbolically with the earth are expressions of an inverted vertical dynamism. (IX) Books, The Bible: No references. (X) Light and Darkness: Through Heathcliff's influence night and day are reversed; they have lost their natural rhythm. Hindley lives in a "hell" of darkness, locked in a world of unrelieved gloom. Hindley does not share the dynamism of the elements of air and water. On the contrary, his fate is mirrored in the imagery of earth and fire, but in their negative aspects. Once Heathcliff has succeeded in penetrating into the house, the principle of darkness reigns supreme, shutting out the light of day. Hindley becomes its victim. There is no dynamic power in him to rise above the opposing forces; he is borne down towards the earth. By his affinity with the contrasting elements of earth and fire, and by their implied inverted dynamism he is opposed to the protagonists. 6.

Catherine:

(I) Air: A strong relation exists between Catherine and the element of air, especially in its more violent aspects. An important characteristic of the imagery of air is the vertical dynamism of the element, expressed in images of rising and falling, ascent and descent. Catherine's fate is mirrored in the images of air and the related images that share its dynamism, such as birds, feathers, trees. The keen air of the moor is to her the breath of life. The imaginative identification of Catherine with the element of air is completed after her death when she appears to Heathcliff as a breath of air. (II) Water: The imagery of water with relation to Catherine brings out the ideas of purification and regeneration. In the images of rain and tears the crucial events of her life are reflected. Together with the images of air, the images of water have the most profound emotional significance. (III) Earth: The dualism in Catherine's soul, the continuous tension between her instinctive longing for the Heights and the demands upon her nature of the life in the valley, chosen by her from social considera-

242

CONCLUSIONS

tions, is also expressed in terms of the element of earth, and especially in the dynamism of ascent and descent belonging to it. (IV) Fire: In the imagery of fire the creative/destructive cycle of Catherine's passion is reflected. The principle of energy present in the element has been perverted into a principle of destruction. (V) Weather: Catherine's instinctive nature is revealed by the images of storm and rain: her subdued spirit is expressed in the gentler images of warm thaw winds and sunshine. The strong affinity of Catherine's nature with rain is brought out by the fact that her appearance on the moor after her death is seen only on rainy nights. Rain as the mediator between spiritual and earthly influences is especially significant here. (VI) Dreams, Visions, Forebodings, Premonitions, Omens: Catherine's dreams are manifestations of her basic insecurity and final escape from loneliness and frustration. The images in them move along a vertical axis. After exploring the depth (images of the grave) they soar to the opposite pole of the axis, uniting the life of the individual to cosmic and transcendent life. (VII) Windows, Doors, Keys, Walls, Gates, Mirrors, Portraits: The imagery of windows is used to express Catherine's feelings of security and insecurity. The vertical dynamism works here too. Catherine in a depressive mood threatens to throw herself out of the window. The mirror, like a magic door, gives her access to the inner recesses of her mind and shows her the projections of her anxiety. This magic door must be closed: her feeling of insecurity is only intensified by what it reveals. The open window is a chance of life; insecurity and conflict are resolved into a dynamic feeling of freedom. Here again the vertical dynamism operates. (VIII) Animal and Vegetable Life: The increasing degree of spiritualization in Catherine is marked by a change in the animal imagery. Her death and interment are accompanied by images of frustrated growth. The inverted dynamism is directed towards the earth. (IX) Books, The Bible: They have no emotional significance for Catherine. Her instinctive nature shows no inclination towards reading. It is impossible for her to see its positive value. (X) Light and Darkness: Catherine belongs to the world of clouds and darkness that is Wuthering Heights, in contrast to the world of light and sunshine that is Thrushcross Grange. When she longs for a world of light and freedom it shows no resemblance to Edgar's home. The

CONCLUSIONS

243

complete illumination of the spirit is not achieved; darkness is an attribute of the evenings on which her spiritual presence is experienced after her death. The essence of Catherine's character is indicated by the title of "Wuthering Heights"; its imaginative programme is worked out in the images of air and water and in the vertical dynamism of these elements. The other imaginative substances in which the character is conceived are complementary. The same dynamism of ascent and descent operates in many of them. In others the creative/destructive principle is apparent, e.g. in the fire-imagery. In the imagery of light and darkness an inversion in the dynamic trend is an indication that the aspiration towards complete illumination of the spirit is checked by the influence of darkness. 7.

Heathcliff:

(I) Air: The violent wind is the most conspicuous aspect of the imagery of air related to Heathcliff. The dynamism of height and storm forms the symbolic pattern of his life. The peace and tranquillity of the valley seem to him lacking in vitality. The only break in the pattern occurs when Heathcliff - out of harmony with his own inner nature - elopes with Isabella. In his death the same identification with the element is obvious. (II) Water: The imagery of water related to Heathcliff takes the forms of tears and of rain, sometimes snow. They express the ideas of grief, frustration and despair, corresponding with the symbolic aspect of death in the element; and of belief and the renewal of hope, corresponding with the symbolic aspect of rebirth. The combined energy of the elements of air and water reflects Heathcliff's release. (III) Earth: The same dynamism that operates in the imagery of air and water works in the images of earth related to Heathcliff. Life is identified with the Heights, death with the valley. (IV) Fire: The element of fire has no great emotional significance for Heathcliff. Obviously it does not correspond with important psychic realities. (V) Weather: Rain and wind with their general symbolism of regeneration and life predominate. (VI) Dreams, Visions, Forebodings, Premonitions, Omens: Heathcliff's dreams, visions etc. are centred round the concepts of heaven and hell, life and death, height and depth, all three pairs of opposites

244

CONCLUSIONS

running along similar lines of symbolic significance. At one point the vertical dynamism is inverted; here the death-wish prevails and the longing for complete annihilation. (VII) Windows, Doors, Keys, Walls, Gates, Mirrors, Portraits: The door is the symbol of division and conflict, and of Heathcliff's fight for power. The window, especially the window at the top of the house, is the symbolic link with that existence on a higher level of consciousness, which he is trying to attain. The window, swinging open, at his death, signifies the termination of his isolation and his breaking through into that spiritual existence. (VIII) Animal and Vegetable Life: The imagery of animal and vegetable life brings out Heathcliff's surliness, his contempt for others, and his cruelty. There is no sign of love. Terms of derision are derived from the names of animals. His own son comes in for the greater part of these. (IX) Books, The Bible: They have no positive value for Heathcliff. Books and the persons who read them evoke only his contempt. He does not search for illumination of the spirit. (X) Light and Darkness: Heathcliff belongs to darkness: he appeared out of the dark and moves in a dark world. He has dark hair, eyes and skin. He epitomizes darkness. He hates everything that is light; it becomes automatically the object of his rage. The manifestations of his presence after his death are all experienced on dark nights. Not once does he aspire to the light, like Catherine in her last illness. This is remarkable and, as light is symbolically associated with the dynamism of ascent or height, and darkness with descent or depth, it contrasts strongly with the fact that the vertical dynamism of air has such symbolic significance in his life. A definite check is put upon the upward striving tendencies; he is caught in his world of darkness for ever. From the combined and sometimes contradictory symbolical significance of all the imaginative substances in which the character of Heathcliff is conceived it appears that through the dualism of his nature the upwards striving tendencies are checked, the illumination of the spirit is not effected, and the primordial darkness of undeveloped potentialities is replaced by a regressive darkness, which is the principle of evil.

CONCLUSIONS

245

8. Edgar Linton: (I) Air: Edgar, though having no affinity with the dynamic force of the element, recognizes Catherine's need to share it. His love makes him transcend his limitations. (II) Water: Edgar is not moved by the dynamism of the element of water either; it has no positive appeal for him. (III) Earth: For Edgar the poles of the vertical axis of the imagery of earth are reversed: life is in the valley; death and destruction are wrought by the powers that rule the heights. (IV) Fire: Edgar shows no affinity with the dynamism of the element of fire. (V) Weather: Any stimulation from the weather comes to Edgar only through warmth and sunshine. Rain and wind have a negative influence. (VI) Dreams, Visions, Forebodings, Premonitions, Omens: There are no dreams in the strict sense of the word, only day-dreams, waking fantasies. They reveal Edgar's feelings of love for Catherine and his longing to be re-united with her, and his love for his daughter. The imagery has no dynamic power. It reflects Edgar's subdued spirit. On the other hand there are no feelings of insecurity either. (VII) Windows, Doors, Keys, Walls, Gates, Mirrors, Portraits: Doors, keys and windows are the imaginative substances in which the growing separation between Edgar and Catherine is depicted. There is an interlude of peace and harmony: Edgar and Catherine sitting at the window overlooking the valley, just before Heathcliffs return. (VIII) Animal and Vegetable Life: The imagery of animal and vegetable life brings out the calm atmosphere that belongs to Edgar's world. There is no fierceness, no violence. The (inverted) zenith of his aspirations is to lie beneath the green mound of Catherine's grave. (IX) Books, The Bible: The book is a symbol of the difference between Edgar and Catherine. The book belongs to Edgar's world, not to Catherine's. (X) Light and Darkness: Edgar flourishes in a world of light and sunshine. Light has a positive significance here in so far that it reveals him as a man of virtue, hope and gratitude. The negative aspect is that this light is not animated by great spiritual energy. Once extinguished it leaves no trace.

246

CONCLUSIONS

The character of Edgar strikes the reader as flat and unexciting, which is owing to the negative workings of many of the imaginative substances used. The dynamism of the elements of air and water most effective in the imagery of the novel - is lacking here; the earth is the (inverted) zenith of his aspirations. The remaining images strengthen the negative influence; the dynamism of light, symbolically connected with ideas of sublimation and ascent, is not strong enough to counteract the opposing forces. 9. Isabella: (I) Air: The element of air is not a powerful influence animating Isabella. The wind brings her no message of life. The vertical dynamism of the element is inverted. (II) Water: For a short time Isabella shares the dynamism of this element. It is the only creative moment of her life, because here the operation of the element is a positive one. (III) Earth: For Isabella, as for Edgar, life is only possible in the valley; death and destruction are wrought by the powers of the heights. (TV) Fire: The fire-images with relation to Isabella have little symbolic significance, with the exception of the one in which fire is shown as the destructive element. (V) Weather: Isabella is not stimulated by the storm; it contributes rather to her feelings of depression. (VI) Dreams, Visions, Forebodings, Premonitions, Omens: No references. (VII) Windows, Doors, Keys, Walls, Gates, Mirrors, Portraits: Just as in the case of Lockwood the imagery of windows, doors etc. shows how Isabella, an outsider, gains access to a world foreign to her nature and how she is forced to undergo horrifying experiences before she manages to escape. (Vni) Animal and Vegetable Life: The imagery here does not reveal great depth of feeling or violent passions. Isabella's character is associated wih small and gentle animals and birds, and with well-ordered places like a park or a plantation; her lack of spirit calls up nothing but derision and contempt from Heathcliff and Catherine. (IX) Books, The Bible: Isabella's attitude to books is conventional; books alleviate boredom, but excite no great interest. (X) Light and Darkness: Isabella belongs to the world of light; her stay at Wuthering Heights, the world of darkness, isexperienced by her as a perversion of life; her escape to Trushcross Grange as a return to life.

CONCLUSIONS

247

It is quite clear now why the character of Isabella makes such a dull impression on the reader: she is not inspired by any of the powerful imaginative themes of the novel, except for a brief moment by the element of water. And even here the stress is on downward movement; there are no instances of the imagery of ascent, not even in the images of light. On the other hand, the inverted dynamism is not strong enough to ensure a perfect synthesis of the opposites of the imaginative themes of the novel. 10. Cathy (I) Air: The dynamic vertically of the images of air, and especially of the wind, corresponds to the strong principle of spiritualization in Cathy. The ideas of liberty and movement are expressed in a variety of images related to the element of air. (II) Water: The sound of water, and the rocking movement - as of a cradle or a bark - caused by the combined forces of wind and water, satisfy a fundamental need of Cathy's nature and so mean happiness to her. (III) Earth: Cathy's fate is mirrored in two aspects of the element of earth: adolescence is marked by the exploration of the mysterious caves in the heart of the hills, the beginning of enlightenment; adulthood is marked by the making of a garden, a place where nature is ordered and cultivated, a sign of growing consciousness and maturity. (IV) Fire: In this element too the several stages of Cathy's growing enlightenment and maturity are revealed. The creative principle of the fire corresponds to her active spirit. The fire is also known as the element of sacrifice. (V) Weather: The images of Cathy's childhood are of spring, summer and sunshine. Then follows a period of increasing darkness and rain; finally a balance between the two extremes is struck, in which she feels happiest: a sign of maturity. (VI) Dreams, Visions, Forebodings, Premonitions, Omens: Daydreams form an essential part of Cathy's mental activity. A mind empty of dreams is to her lacking in vitality. She switches easily from the problems of the every-day world into imaginative thinking. (VII) Windows, Doors, Keys, Walls, Gates, Mirrors, Portraits: In the imagery of windows, doors, keys, etc. Cathy's struggle for freedom and maturity is reflected. The wall is a symbol of near-defeat. Gradually the restrictions imposed upon her by the authority of others are overcome. Doors and windows are opened wide.

248

CONCLUSIONS

(VIII) Animal and Vegetable Life: The vertical dynamism in the images is very important. Cathy's idea of happiness is made up of images of height and movement. The downward tendency in other images coincides with periods of unhappiness. (IX) Books, The Bible: The imagery of books is strongest in the case of Cathy. Books are connected symbolically with the idea of reaching a higher level of spiritualization. This principle works very strongly in Cathy. Books are also her chosen means of establishing a better communication with Hareton. (X) Light and Darkness: In Cathy the opposites of light and darkness are reconciled. The imagery shows an interplay of light and darkness which in itself is reflective of life. Movement and height are essential in the images too. The whole of the imagery related to Cathy reveals a strong principle of spiritualization. This psychic energy works along a vertical axis; at the various stages of ascent the images are deposited as milestones on the oneiric route, denoting the degree of illumination reached. There is no dramatic inversion in the dynamic trend of the images; therefore the character of Cathy is a harmoniously structured synthesis of oneirically genuine images. 11.

Hareton:

(I) Air: The air as a symbol of Heathcliffs hatred holds no favourable prospects for Hareton. (II) Water: The element of water as a purifying and fertilizing agent signifies Hareton's release from a barren existence, dominated from the beginning by the principle of evil. (III) Earth: In the images of the element of earth Hareton's fate is reflected in three stages: the intuitive life of childhood; the enlightenment of adolescence; growing consciousness and maturity. (IV) Fire: The fire-images are connected symbolically with the ideas of destruction and regeneration. They reveal Hareton's struggle for illumination of the spirit. (V) Weather: The (few) references do not point to any emotional significance the weather might have for Hareton. (VI) Dreams, Visions, Forebodings, Premonitions, Omens: No references. (VII) Windows, Doors, Keys, Walls, Gates, Mirrors, Portraits: The development of Hareton is shown clearly in the imagery of doors, win-

CONCLUSIONS

249

dows and gates. The closed doors of his inhibitions and aggression are broken open slowly by Cathy's love and by his own expanding awareness of her as a person. When he has triumphed in this conflict with his own nature the doors and lattices opened wide signify his newly gained freedom. (VIII) Animal and Vegetable Life: In the imagery of animal and vegetable life Hareton's awakening to a more spiritualized form of life is revealed. The transition from a purely instinctive existence to a new and more illuminated phase of life is also expressed in the upward dynamism inherent in the images chosen. (IX) Book, The Bible: After his initial contempt of books Hareton accepts Cathy's help in conquering his ignorance. The book is the symbol of the truth they have discovered together, of the road before them, and of life itself. The vertical dynamism also operates in these images. (X) Light and Darkness: The early part of Hareton's life is darkened by the cloud of Heathcliff's hatred and by his own black drives. Gradually the images of light become more numerous and more positive. The growing light is indicative of the new and more illuminated phase of life that sets in towards the end of the novel. Though the vertical trend in the imagery related to Hareton is not so strong as in the case of Cathy, there is still a harmonious synthesis to be detected in its pattern. The guiding principles are regeneration and illumination. To their implied vertical dynamism the character of Hareton owes its oneiric genuineness. 12.

Linton:

(I) Air: For Linton the movement of the air is not the breath of life; rather it is associated with suffocation and death. There is a strong inverted dynamism in these images. (II) Water: No references. (III) Earth: The earth is to Linton the sustaining element. There is no vertical dynamism in these images. (IV) Fire: The fire cannot stimulate, only preserve Linton's feeble spiritual and physical energies. The principle of regeneration is absent. (V) Weather: Linton's idea of happiness comprises all the things he needs most: warmth and peace and security. The principles of height and movement are completely absent. (VI) Dreams, Visions, Forebodings, Premonitions, Omens: Linton's dreams are nightmares. They are inspired by terror. In Linton the in-

250

CONCLUSIONS

verted dynamism of the theme of hatred is most powerfully active, it is the complete negation of the principle of life. This principle of evil has turned trust into fear. (VII) Windows, Doors, Keys, Walls, Gates, Mirrors, Portraits: Linton grows to regard his prison as a protective shell. The imagery of doors and windows brings out the deterioration of his nature and the complete shrivelling up of any desire to escape his doom. (VIII) Animal and Vegetable Life: The latent traces of vertical dynamism in Linton's spiritual make-up are destroyed early in his life at Wuthering Heights. The inverted trend towards the earth is suggested by the instances of the imagery of animal and vegetable life. (IX) Books, The Bible: The images of the book as a symbol of communication between Linton and Cathy lack every vestige of the vertical dynamism of ascent: this means the absence of illumination of the spirit. (X) Light and Darkness: An abundance of light and warmth belongs to Linton's idea of happiness, but he is denied the fulfillment of this emotional need. Here too the inverted vertical dynamism of darkness is active. He is caught in Heathcliff's world of black hatred. The character of Linton offers a sharp contrast with that of Cathy, because here the principle of spiritualization is completely reversed into its opposite. Therefore it signifies the negation of the imaginative themes of the novel, height and movement. Though some of the images lack dynamic power the character as a whole forms a pattern of oneiric genuineness, but the effect is negative. •

•

•

In the preceding pages the internal organisation or inner structure of the imagery in Wuthering Heights has gradually come to light. It should be possible now to see how the imagery of the four elements and the imagery of the weather, dreams, etc., windows etc., animal and vegetable life, books, and light and darkness, have found expression in the language, and how they have supplied the component parts of the total imagery out of which the characters in the novel have been built. The analysis should have made it clear in what imaginative substances the several characters have been conceived, and how some of them, through a strong inner dynamism of the images, have reached a higher degree of spiritualization and therefore of oneiric genuineness; how others, in-

CONCLUSIONS

251

spired by less authentically dynamic images, remain in the shade and thus accentuate the prominence of the protagonists. The oneiric genuineness of the novel as a whole may be deduced from the consistency with which the author has used the imaginative substances, resulting in the creation of a transcendent world, characteristic of the author, and revealing transcendent truths. This consistency should not only be apparent in the positive aspects of the imagery used but also in the negative aspects. "This language of images and emotions is based . . . upon a precise and crystallized means of expression, revealing transcendent truths, external to Man (cosmic order) as well as within him (thought, the moral order of things, psychic evolution, the destiny of the soul); furthermore, it possesses a quality which . . . increases its dynamism and gives it a truly dramatic character. This quality, the essence of the symbol, is its ability to express simultaneously the various aspects (thesis and antithesis) of the idea it represents." 1

Summing up briefly it is possible to make the following points about the imaginative field of Wuthering Heights: (I) The element of air in its positive aspects is symbolically related to the ideas of spiritual illumination and life; in its negative aspects to obliteration and death. (II) The element of water in its positive aspects is symbolically related to the ideas of fertility and regeneration; in its negative aspects to death and dissolution. (III) The element of earth in its positive aspects is symbolically related to the ideas of fertility and security; in its negative aspects to barrenness and decay. (IV) The element of fire in its positive aspects is symbolically related to the ideas of creation or regeneration; in its negative aspects to sacrifice, punishment, destruction. (V) The weather in its positive aspects is symbolically related to the ideas of happiness, elation; in its negative aspects to unhappiness, dejection. (VI) Dreams etc. in their positive aspects are symbolically related to the ideas of security and happiness; in their negative aspects to insecurity and fear. (VII) Windows etc. in their positive aspects are symbolically related to the ideas of openness, power, freedom and life; in their negative aspects to closeness, inferiority, imprisonment and death. 1 J. E. Cirlot, A Dictionary (London, 1962), p. xxx.

of Symbols, transl. from the Spanish by Jack Sage

252

CONCLUSIONS

(VIII) Animal and vegetable life in its positive aspects is symbolically related to the ideas of love, growth and life; in its negative aspects to cruelty, destruction and death. (IX) Books in their positive aspects are symbolically related to the ideas of communication, flexibilty and illumination of the spirit; in their negative aspects to obstinacy, inertia and indifference. (X) Light and darkness are symbolically related to the respective ideas of illumination of the spirit, and life; and to obliteration of the spirit, and death; but here it is necessary to distinguish between primordial darkness, with its principle of potential generation, or life, and regressive darkness, with its principle of evil or destruction. These ten imaginative substances then form together the imaginative field, which is the inner structure of the literary masterpiece that is Wuthering Heights. Some internal organisation of the imagery is essential to literary composition. In this respect Cirlot remarks: Symbols, in whatever form they may appear, are not usually isolated; they appear in clusters, giving rise to symbolic compositions which may be evolved in time (as in the case of story-teling), in space (works of art, emblems, graphic designs), or in both space and time (dreams, drama).-

The imaginative field apparent in Wuthering Heights is characteristic of this particular novel; in it the segments of the respective imaginative substances are deposited on which the author has drawn in the creation of her work. The structural relationship of the imaginative categories is evident from the fact that they derive their dynamism from one common centre, the dual ideas of life and death, good and evil, spiritual illumination and annihilation. The remarkable thing is that in the case of Heathcliff and - in a lesser degree - in that of Catherine the positive aspects of the imagery of air and water conflict with the negative aspects of the imagery of light and darkness. In other words: in spite of the positive aspect of the dynamism of height there is no identification of life with light, but with darkness. As the examination has shown there is such a perfect consistency in the use of the imaginative categories in Wuthering Heights that it is impossible to speak of a flaw in the composition here. It would be more plausible to account for this clash in the symbolic contents of the imagery by assuming a fundamental disturbance in the psyche of the author. In poetic creation image and idea are probably born uno actu. The 2

Ibid., p. lii.

253

CONCLUSIONS

origin of the symbolic content of the imaginative substances and therefore of the whole imaginative field lies hidden in the unconscious psyche. Penetrating further into this unconscious psyche may help to reveal a structure in the poetic imagination; according to Pongs: Mais en découvrant dans les créations de l'imagination la collaboration de l'inconscient, elle ouvre des possibilités, jusqu'à présent négligées, de pénétrer plus avant dans la structure p r o f o n d e d e l'imagination poétique. 8

Out of the primordial darkness - with its potentialities of procreation - arose the light, and the light generated life. Emily Bronte's novel culminates in the negation of light: she creates "life in darkness" a form of life which may seem inconceivable and even abhorrent, though its mysterious power will continue to intrigue and fascinate. "Life in darkness": this examination - which might perhaps be considered as just one aid to the understanding of a great novel - has revealed this to be the epitome of Wuthering Heights. The examination of the imagery carried out in the preceding pages has brought to light the existence of a solid inner structure, an imaginative field of great consistency. The curious feeling of frustration, of being left in the dark, which for some readers even manifold readings of the book cannot dispel and which gave rise to this inquiry in the first place, has been shown to originate in that remarkable antithesis in the symbolical significance of the imaginative substances in which the principal characters, Heathcliff and Catherine, have been conceived. Why this should be so remains hidden in the author's mental existence. The imaginative resources of the author are not necessarily exhausted with this particular imaginative field. Rather her genius has found in its potential of imagery the ideal linguistic embodiment of her ideas. The ideas give unity to the structure of the imaginative field. Emily Brontë need not have been aware of her own private motives in constructing this ideal system; still it is obvious that life and death, good and evil, spiritual illumination and annihilation are the ideas that preoccupied her mind to the point of obsession. It is to their primordial power that the imaginative substances constituting the imaginative field of Wuthering Heights owe their tremendous dynamic force, making this book one of the greatest symbolic novels of English literature. 3

H. Pongs, "L'image poétique et l'inconscient", in Psychologie (Paris, 1933), p. 127.

de

langage

BIBLIOGRAPHY

A.

EMILY BRONTE AND WUTHER1NG

HEIGHTS'.

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B.

GENERAL WORKS

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260

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Wellek, René and Austin Warren, Theory of Literature (New York/London, 1949). , A History of Modern Criticism (New Haven, 1955). West, Rebecca, The Great Victorians (New York, 1932). Willey, Basil, Nineteenth-Century Studies (London, 1949). Woolf, Virginia, The Common Reader (London, 1925). Zweig, Stefan, Der Kampf mit dem Dämon (Leipzig, 1929).

INDEX

Adams, Ruth M., 10 air, 21-34, 235, 236, 238, 239, 240, 241, 243, 245, 246, 247, 248, 249, 251 animal and vegetable life, 156-196, 236, 237, 239, 240, 241, 242, 244, 245, 246, 248, 249, 250, 251 Bachelard, Gaston, 7, 8, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16 books, 197-211, 236, 237, 239, 240, 241, 242, 244, 245, 246, 248, 249, 250, 252 Catherine, 26-29, 38-40, 51-52, 6566, 79-80, 95-99, 126-132, 171-174, 201-202, 220-223, 241-243 Cathy, 32-34, 44, 54-55, 69-70, 8384, 103-104, 145-151, 184-192, 204-208, 230-232, 247-248 Cecil, David, 8 Chase, Richard, 10 Cirlot, J. E„ 13, 14, 251, 252 Dagognet, François, 16 Desoille, Robert, 18 dreams etc., 86-106, 235, 237, 238, 240, 242, 243, 245, 246, 247, 248, 249, 251 earth, 46-57, 235, 236, 238, 240, 241, 243, 245, 246, 247, 248, 249, 251 Edgar, 31-32, 43, 54, 67, 82-83, 102103, 140-142, 179-181, 203, 228229, 245-246 Eliot, T. S., 17 Ellen Dean (Nelly), 24-26, 36-37, 4850, 59-63, 77-78, 90-94, 112-122, 160-169, 198-199, 214-219, 236238 fire, 58-72, 235, 237, 238, 240, 242,

243, 245, 246, 247, 248, 249, 251 Ghent, Dorothy Van, 9 Hareton, 34, 44-45, 55-56, 70-71, 85, 104, 151-153, 192-195, 208-211, 232-233, 248-249 Heathclijf, 30-31, 40-42, 52-54, 6667, 80-82, 99-102, 132-140, 174179, 202-203, 223-227, 243-244 Hindley, 26, 38, 51, 64, 79, 95, 124126, 170-171, 201, 220, 240-241 Isabella, 32, 43-44, 54, 67-68, 83, 103, 142-145, 181-184, 204, 229230, 246-247 Joseph, 26, 37, 50, 63, 78, 94, 123124, 169-170, 199-201, 219, 238239 Kettle, Arnold, 9 light and darkness, 212-234, 236, 238, 239, 240, 241, 242, 244, 245, 246, 248, 249, 250, 252 Linton, 34, 45, 56-67, 71-72, 85, 105106, 153-155, 195-196, 211, 233234, 249-250 Lockwood, 21-24, 35, 46-48, 58-59, 75-77, 86-90, 107-112, 156-160, 197-198, 212-214, 235-236 McCullough, Bruce, 9 McKibben, Robert C., 10 Moser, Thomas, 10 Old Mr. Earnshaw, 26, 38, 50, 64, 78, 95, 124, 170, 201, 220, 239-240 Pongs, H„ 253

262 Schorer, Mark, 9 Shannon jr., Edgar F., 10 Traversi, Derek, 9 water, 35-45, 235, 236, 238, 239, 240, 241, 243, 245, 246, 247, 248, 249, 251

INDEX weather, 75-85, 235, 237, 238, 242, 243, 245, 246, 247, 248, 251 windows etc., 107-155, 236, 237, 240, 242, 244, 245, 246, 247, 250, 251

240, 249, 238, 248,

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