Women in novels between Victorian Age and Modernism di Daniela Gallizio

Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë

The title of this Victorian novel, which was written in 1847, is the name of an old house on the Yorkshire moors, where the Earnshaw family lives. Mr. Earnshaw, who has two children, Hindley and Catherine, adopts and orphan child, Heathcliff. Catherine and Heathcliff grow up together on the moors and share a deep affection, which eventually becomes passionate love. In spite of her love for Heathcliff, Catherine thinks it would be degrading to marry him and decides therefore to marry the respectable Edgar Linton. Because of the situation, Heathcliff disappears and comes back only a few years later, having made a fortune and wanting to revenge himself. Edgar forbids any intercourse between his wife and Heathcliff who, as revenge, marries Edgar’s sister, Isabella. Catherine falls ill and Heathcliff manages to see her before she dies. From that moment Heathcliff starts feeling desperate and lets himself die of starvation.

From chapter 15: ‘You and Edgar have broken my heart, Heathcliff! And you both come to bewail the deed to me, as if you were the people to be pitied! I shall not pity you, not I. You have killed me – and thriven on it, I think. How strong you are! How many years do you mean to live after I am gone?’
‘I wish I could hold you’ she continued, bitterly, until 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 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. I’ve loved many other 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? I’m not whishing you greater torment that 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! Come here and kneel down again! You never harmed me in your life. Nay, if you nurse anger, that will be worse to remember than my harsh words!’
She put her hands to clasp his neck, and bring her cheek to his, as she held her: while he, in return, covering her with frantic caresses, said wildly -‘You teach me now how cruel you’ve been - cruel and false. Why did you despise me? Why did you betray your own heart, Cathy? I have not one word of comfort - you deserve this. You have killed yourself. Yes, you may kiss me, and cry; and wring out my kisses and tears. They’ll blight you - they’ll damn you. You loved me - then what right had you to leave me? What right - answer me - for the poor fancy you felt in Linton? Because misery, and degradation, and death, and nothing that God or Satan could inflict would have parted us, you, of your own will, did it. I have not broken your heart - you have broken it - and in breaking it, you have broken mine. So much the worse for me, that I am strong. 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?’.
‘Let me alone. Let me alone’, sobbed Catherine. If I’ve done wrong, I’m dying for it. It is enough! You left me too; but I won’t upbraid you. Forgive me!’

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