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as a proceeding which； however well meant； is weak and futile。 I cannot
tell what good it does … what feeling it spares … what horror it conceals。
With regard to the rusticity of 'Wuthering heights；' I admit the charge；
for I feel the quality。 It is rustic all through。 It is moorish； and wild； and
knotty as a root of heath。 Nor was it natural that it should be otherwise； the
author being herself a native and nursling of the moors。 Doubtless； had her
lot been cast in a town； her writings； if she had written at all； would have
possessed another character。 Even had chance or taste led her to choose a
similar subject； she would have treated it otherwise。 Had Ellis Bell been a
lady or a gentleman accustomed to what is called 'the world；' her view of a
remote and unreclaimed region； as well as of the dwellers therein； would
have differed greatly from that actually taken by the home…bred country
girl。 Doubtless it would have been wider … more comprehensive： whether it
would have been more original or more truthful is not so certain。 As far as
the scenery and locality are concerned； it could scarcely have been so
sympathetic： Ellis Bell did not describe as one whose eye and taste alone
found pleasure in the prospect； her native hills were far more to her than a
spectacle； they were what she lived in； and by； as much as the wild birds；
their tenants； or as the heather； their produce。 Her descriptions； then； of
natural scenery are what they should be； and all they should be。
Where delineation of human character is concerned； the case is
different。 I am bound to avow that she had scarcely more practical
knowledge of the peasantry amongst whom she lived； than a nun has of
the country people who sometimes pass her convent gates。 My sister's
disposition was not naturally gregarious； circumstances favoured and
fostered her tendency to seclusion； except to go to church or take a walk
on the hills； she rarely crossed the threshold of home。 Though her feeling
for the people round was benevolent； intercourse with them she never
sought； nor； with very few exceptions； ever experienced。 And yet she
know them： knew their ways； their language； their family histories； she
could hear of them with interest； and talk of them with detail； minute；
graphic； and accurate； but WITH them； she rarely exchanged a word。
Hence it ensued that what her mind had gathered of the real concerning
them； was too exclusively confined to those tragic and terrible traits of
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which； in listening to the secret annals of every rude vicinage； the memory
is sometimes compelled to receive the impress。 Her imagination； which
was a spirit more sombre than sunny； more powerful than sportive； found
in such traits material whence it wrought creations like Heathcliff； like
Earnshaw； like Catherine。 Having formed these beings； she did not know
what she had done。 If the auditor of her work； when read in manuscript；
shuddered under the grinding influence of natures so relentless and
implacable； of spirits so lost and fallen； if it was complained that the mere
hearing of certain vivid and fearful scenes banished sleep by night； and
disturbed mental peace by day； Ellis Bell would wonder what was meant；
and suspect the complainant of affectation。 Had she but lived； her mind
would of itself have grown like a strong tree； loftier； straighter； wider…
spreading； and its matured fruits would have attained a mellower ripeness
and sunnier bloom； but on that mind time and experience alone could
work： to the influence of other intellects it was not amenable。
Having avowed that over much of 'Wuthering Heights' there broods 'a
horror of great darkness'； that； in its storm…heated and electrical
atmosphere； we seem at times to breathe lightning： let me point to those
spots where clouded day…light and the eclipsed sun still attest their
existence。 For a specimen of true benevolence and homely fidelity； look at
the character of Nelly Dean； for an example of constancy and tenderness；
remark that of Edgar Linton。 （Some people will think these qualities do
not shine so well incarnate in a man as they would do in a woman； but
Ellis Bell could never be brought to comprehend this notion： nothing
moved her more than any insinuation that the faithfulness and clemency；
the long…suffering and loving…kindness which are esteemed virtues in the
daughters of Eve； become foibles in the sons of Adam。 She held that
mercy and forgiveness are the divinest attributes of the Great Being who
made both man and woman； and that what clothes the Godhead in glory；
can disgrace no form of feeble humanity。） There is a dry saturnine humour
in the delineation of old Joseph； and some glimpses of grace and gaiety
animate the younger Catherine。 Nor is even the first heroine of the name
destitute of a certain strange beauty in her fierceness； or of honesty in the
midst of perverted passion and passionate perversity。
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Heathcliff； indeed； stands unredeemed； never once swerving in his
arrow…straight course to perdition； from the time when 'the little black…
haired swarthy thing； as dark as if it came from the Devil；' was first
unrolled out of the bundle and set on its feet in the farmhouse kitchen； to
the hour when Nelly Dean found the grim； stalwart corpse laid on its back
in the panel…enclosed bed； with wide…gazing eyes that seemed 'to sneer at
her attempt to close them； and parted lips and sharp white teeth that
sneered too。'
Heathcliff betrays one solitary human feeling； and that is NOT his love
for Catherine； which is a sentiment fierce and inhuman： a passion such as
might boil and glow in the bad essence of some evil genius； a fire that
might form the tormented centre … the ever… suffering soul of a magnate of
the infernal world： and by its quenchless and ceaseless ravage effect the
execution of the decree which dooms him to carry Hell with him wherever
he wanders。