Silsbee 1 Wuthering Heights: A Tale of Romantic Horror ​ The Romantic literary tradition has long been difficult to pin down and describe accurately. Arthur Lovejoy noted the variety and conflict of opinion amusingly in his 1923 address to an annual meeting of the Modern Language Association of America. He listed experts who attributed the rise of Romanticism variously to Rousseau, Kant, Plato, and the Serpent in the Garden of Eden, and noted “that many of these originators of Romanticism...figure on other lists as initiators or representatives of tendencies of precisely the contrary sort” (230). Movements in th the middle of the 20 ​ century—most notably led by René Wellek—tried to create a ​ homogenized sense of European Romanticism, but more recent efforts have once again fractured that paradigm (McGann). Wuthering Heights is, however, generally described as a Romantic ​​ work, often in the colloquial as well as literary sense, and Heathcliff is often considered the epitome of a Byronic hero. In spite of the prevalence of these labels, Emily Brontë's treatment of Heathcliff, Catherine and the relationship between them seems more like a critique of both traditions than an endorsement or glorification of either. The suggestion of Heathcliff as a Byronic hero is introduced before the reader has a chance to really understand who he is. Lockwood's description of him upon their first meeting is our first glimpse: He is a dark-skinned gypsy in aspect, in dress and manners a gentleman...rather slovenly, perhaps, yet not looking amiss with his negligence, because he has an erect and handsome figure—and rather morose—possibly some people might suspect him of a degree of under-bred pride...I know, by instinct, his reserve springs from an Silsbee 2 aversion to showy displays of feeling...He'll love and hate, equally under cover... (vol. 1, ch. 1) th The character which Lockwood attributes to him is very much the 19 ​ century picture of the ​ Byronic hero—misunderstood and melancholy, answering only to his own set of principles, but utterly committed to them. And, of course, handsome. The very fact that it is Lockwood who characterizes Heathcliff thus must make the reader wonder if it is a figure that Brontë feels any respect for. Lockwood, after all, is a fool. After his lengthy description of Heathcliff, he immediately checks himself: “No, I'm running on too fast—I bestow my own attributes over-liberally on him” (vol. 1, ch. 1). Lockwood, the reader understands, casts Heathcliff in this Romantic role because it is the role he sees himself in. Thus Brontë begins her book with two views of the Byronic hero: on one side, Lockwood-the-fool, and on the other, Heathcliff-the-sadist. It is hardly a flattering account. Heathcliff himself spurns the role of Romantic hero, mocking Isabella for “picturing in me a hero of romance, and expecting unlimited indulgences from my chivalrous devotion” (vol. 1, ch. 14). Though this seems a clear indictment of any sentiment within the reader that might wish to interpret him similarly, one might argue that it is Catherine with whom he fulfills that role, not Isabella, and the statement has no deeper meaning. It is true that the relationship between Heathcliff and Catherine is cast in the classic Romantic mold—violent, passionate, larger than life and able to be realized fully only in death. Even so, Nelly Dean describes the only physically intimate scene that the two would-be lovers share as “a strange and fearful picture.” It almost seems more like they are attacking than embracing each other—Catherine's hands, tangled in his hair, come away with “a portion of the locks she had been grasping,” while Silsbee 3 Heathcliff's grip on her leaves “four distinct impressions...blue in the colorless skin” (vol. 2, ch. 1). Though this kind of fervor does not in the least disqualify the relationship from being Romantic, the way it is presented, with the stoic and sensible Nelly as the narrator, makes it so patently absurd that readers may find themselves vacillating between amused and disgusted fascination. The choice of Nelly as the primary storyteller seems significant in itself. She never presents the relationship between Catherine and Heathcliff as other than baffling and somewhat exasperating, particularly as it is so intense as to cause them to disregard the feelings of practically everyone else. This early disregard, which feeds in to Heathcliff's later outright sadism, seems to lie at the root of Brontë's critique. Catherine's devotion to Heathcliff supersedes her devotion to her father, her brother—including early on, when he might have been worth some devotion—and her indulgent husband. Part of the reason she agrees to marry Edgar, indeed, lies in her desire to help Heathcliff: “'...if I marry Linton, I can aid Heathcliff to rise, and place him out of my brother's power'” (vol. 1, ch. 9). Nelly is, naturally, repelled by this as a reason for marriage. Though Catherine and Heathcliff's mutual devotion is what gives the novel its romance, Brontë makes the selfishness of that devotion perfectly apparent through Nelly's eyes. On Heathcliff's return following Catherine's marriage to Edgar, Nelly recounts with particular care Catherine's disregard for her husband's feelings and the pain it causes him: “They were too much absorbed in their mutual joy to suffer embarrassment. Not so Mr. Edgar: he grew pale...when his lady rose—and stepping across the rug, seized Heathcliff's hands again, and laughed like one beside herself” (vol. 1, ch. 10). Catherine's love for Heathcliff hurts Edgar and, in the end, drives Silsbee 4 her insane and kills her. It is difficult to see the positive side of this portrayal. Even the foolish Lockwood understands that Catherine, beautiful or not, is not the sort of woman to whom one wishes be attached. After hearing the first part of Nelly's story he takes the following moral from it: “...firstly, let me beware of the fascination that lurks in Catherine Heathcliff's brilliant eyes. I should be in a curious taking if...the daughter turned out to be a second edition of the mother!” (vol. 1, ch. 14) Though Lockwood fancies himself a romantic, when the opportunity presents itself to put his ideals into practice—or at least make the attempt—he shies away. While this can be read as a commentary on his shallowness, it can also been seen as a statement that not even an utter fool would willingly place himself in the way of the Romantic ideal if he could help it. As appealing as it might seem in an opera or a piece of poetry, in real life it is merely insanity. The nearly incestuous nature of the love between Catherine and Heathcliff is another point worth remarking on. There have, quite naturally, been questions about whether Heathcliff is, in fact, Mr. Earnshaw's illegitimate son. Though this is unlikely upon further reflection—Heathcliff is some seven or eight years old when Mr. Earnshaw brings him home, looks nothing like his benefactor, and does not even speak English—Heathcliff is still presented to Catherine as a brother figure. He is named for her brother who died in infancy and the two of them are treated very much as siblings by her father and the household (vol. 1, ch. 4). Many Romantic entanglements contain elements of the forbidden, but the particular taboo which Brontë uses in this case seems almost to caricature the difficulties which other star-crossed lovers find themselves faced with. Catherine and Heathcliff, in violating that taboo, seem more worthy of censure than praise. Silsbee 5 One must also consider whether the very selfishness that the relationship between Catherine and Heathcliff nurtures is not also one source of its destruction. Though they profess to love each other supremely, neither displays much empathy for the other. Catherine, after all, marries Edgar, and seems incapable of understanding why either man might consider the other a threat. She says to Nelly, “'I am Heathcliff—he's always, always in my mind—not as a pleasure, ​ ​ any more than I am always a pleasure to myself—but, as my own being—so, don't talk of our separation again—it is impracticable'” (vol. 1, ch. 9). In spite of this speech, Heathcliff does not appear to feel precisely the same way—he leaves Wuthering Heights that very night and does not return for three years. Once he does, he has no more sympathy for Catherine's preferences than she had for his. Against her wishes, he pursues and eventually marries her sister-in-law, Isabella, bringing on Catherine's final illness (vol. 1, ch. 11). If Heathcliff and Catherine are, as they assert, more or less the same person, they make up a remarkably masochistic person, perfectly willing to throw away any chance of happiness for either if happiness for both is not attainable, even though one would suppose that, if they really were one person, seeing the other happy would be a kind of happiness in itself. Beyond these objections to Wuthering Heights as a serious piece of Romantic literature, ​ ​ one must consider the fact that the romance between Heathcliff and Catherine lasts only half the novel. The rest deals with the fallout of their twisted love as Heathcliff takes his revenge on everyone even remotely connected to the obstruction of his marriage to Catherine. In this single-minded pursuit, we may see a confirmation of Heathcliff as a Byronic hero—he does not answer to conventional morality, but only to his own principles.