Delphi Complete Works of the Brontes Charlotte, Emily, Anne Brontë (Illustrated) (319 page)

‘Nelly, there is a strange change approaching; I’m in its shadow at present.  I take so little interest in my daily life that I hardly remember to eat and drink.  Those two who have left the room are the only objects which retain a distinct material appearance to me; and that appearance causes me pain, amounting to agony.  About
her
I won’t speak; and I don’t desire to think; but I earnestly wish she were invisible: her presence invokes only maddening sensations. 
He
moves me differently: and yet if I could do it without seeming insane, I’d never see him again!  You’ll perhaps think me rather inclined to become so,’ he added, making an effort to smile, ‘if I try to describe the thousand forms of past associations and ideas he awakens or embodies.  But you’ll not talk of what I tell you; and my mind is so eternally secluded in itself, it is tempting at last to turn it out to another.

‘Five minutes ago Hareton seemed a personification of my youth, not a human being; I felt to him in such a variety of ways, that it would have been impossible to have accosted him rationally.  In the first place, his startling likeness to Catherine connected him fearfully with her.  That, however, which you may suppose the most potent to arrest my imagination, is actually the least: for 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!  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!  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 —

‘But it is frenzy to repeat these thoughts to you: only it will let you know why, with a reluctance to be always alone, his society is no benefit; rather an aggravation of the constant torment I suffer: and it partly contributes to render me regardless how he and his cousin go on together.  I can give them no attention any more.’

‘But what do you mean by a
change
, Mr. Heathcliff?’ I said, alarmed at his manner: though he was neither in danger of losing his senses, nor dying, according to my judgment: he was quite strong and healthy; and, as to his reason, from childhood he had a delight in dwelling on dark things, and entertaining odd fancies.  He might have had a monomania on the subject of his departed idol; but on every other point his wits were as sound as mine.

‘I shall not know that till it comes,’ he said; ‘I’m only half conscious of it now.’

‘You have no feeling of illness, have you?’ I asked.

‘No, Nelly, I have not,’ he answered.

‘Then you are not afraid of death?’ I pursued.

‘Afraid?  No!’ he replied.  ‘I have neither a fear, nor a presentiment, nor a hope of death.  Why should I?  With my hard constitution and temperate mode of living, and unperilous occupations, I ought to, and probably
shall
, remain above ground till there is scarcely a black hair on my head.  And yet I cannot continue in this condition!  I have to remind myself to breathe — almost to remind my heart to beat!  And it is like bending back a stiff spring: it is by compulsion that I do the slightest act not prompted by one thought; and by compulsion that I notice anything alive or dead, which is not associated with one universal idea.  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.  My confessions have not relieved me; but they may account for some otherwise unaccountable phases of humour which I show.  O God!  It is a long fight; I wish it were over!’

He began to pace the room, muttering terrible things to himself, till I was inclined to believe, as he said Joseph did, that conscience had turned his heart to an earthly hell.  I wondered greatly how it would end.  Though he seldom before had revealed this state of mind, even by looks, it was his habitual mood, I had no doubt: he asserted it himself; but not a soul, from his general bearing, would have conjectured the fact.  You did not when you saw him, Mr. Lockwood: and at the period of which I speak, he was just the same as then; only fonder of continued solitude, and perhaps still more laconic in company.

CHAPTER XXXIV

For some days after that evening Mr. Heathcliff shunned meeting us at meals; yet he would not consent formally to exclude Hareton and Cathy.  He had an aversion to yielding so completely to his feelings, choosing rather to absent himself; and eating once in twenty-four hours seemed sufficient sustenance for him.

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, and the two dwarf apple-trees near the southern wall in full bloom.  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, who had perfectly recovered from his accident, to dig and arrange her little garden, which was shifted to that corner by the influence of Joseph’s complaints.  I was comfortably revelling in the spring fragrance around, and the beautiful soft blue overhead, 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.  ‘And he spoke to me,’ she added, with a perplexed countenance.

‘What did he say?’ asked Hareton.

‘He told me to begone as fast as I could,’ she answered.  ‘But he looked so different from his usual look that I stopped a moment to stare at him.’

‘How?’ he inquired.

‘Why, almost bright and cheerful.  No,
almost
nothing —
very much
excited, and wild, and glad!’ she replied.

‘Night-walking amuses him, then,’ I remarked, affecting a careless manner: in reality as surprised as she was, and anxious to ascertain the truth of her statement; for 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.

‘Will you have some breakfast?’ I said.  ‘You must be hungry, rambling about all night!’  I wanted to discover where he had been, but I did not like to ask directly.

‘No, I’m not hungry,’ he answered, averting his head, and speaking rather contemptuously, as if he guessed I was trying to divine the occasion of his good humour.

I felt perplexed: I didn’t know whether it were not a proper opportunity to offer a bit of admonition.

‘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.  I daresay you’ll catch a bad cold or a fever: you have something the matter with you now!’

‘Nothing but what I can bear,’ he replied; ‘and with the greatest pleasure, provided you’ll leave me alone: get in, and don’t annoy me.’

I obeyed: and, in passing, I noticed he breathed as fast as a cat.

‘Yes!’ I reflected to myself, ‘we shall have a fit of illness.  I cannot conceive what he has been doing.’

That noon he sat down to dinner with us, and received a heaped-up plate from my hands, as if he intended to make amends for previous fasting.

‘I’ve neither cold nor fever, Nelly,’ he remarked, in allusion to my morning’s speech; ‘and I’m ready to do justice to the food you give me.’

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 while we concluded our meal, and Earnshaw said he’d go and ask why he would not dine: he thought we had grieved him some way.

‘Well, is he coming?’ cried Catherine, when her cousin returned.

‘Nay,’ he answered; ‘but he’s not angry: he seemed rarely pleased indeed; only I made him impatient by speaking to him twice; and then he bid me be off to you: he wondered how I could want the company of anybody else.’

I set his plate to keep warm on the fender; and after an hour or two he re-entered, when the room was clear, in no degree calmer: the same unnatural — it was unnatural — appearance of joy under his black brows; the same bloodless hue, and his teeth visible, now and then, in a kind of smile; his frame shivering, not as one shivers with chill or weakness, but as a tight-stretched cord vibrates — a strong thrilling, rather than trembling.

I will ask what is the matter, I thought; or who should?  And I exclaimed — ‘Have you heard any good news, Mr. Heathcliff?  You look uncommonly animated.’

‘Where should good news come from to me?’ he said.  ‘I’m animated with hunger; and, seemingly, I must not eat.’

‘Your dinner is here,’ I returned; ‘why won’t you get it?’

‘I don’t want it now,’ he muttered, hastily: ‘I’ll wait till supper.  And, Nelly, once for all, let me beg you to warn Hareton and the other away from me.  I wish to be troubled by nobody: I wish to have this place to myself.’

‘Is there some new reason for this banishment?’ I inquired.  ‘Tell me why you are so queer, Mr. Heathcliff?  Where were you last night?  I’m not putting the question through idle curiosity, but — ’

‘You are putting the question through very idle curiosity,’ he interrupted, with a laugh.  ‘Yet I’ll answer it.  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!  And now you’d better go!  You’ll neither see nor hear anything to frighten you, if you refrain from prying.’

Having swept the hearth and wiped the table, I departed; more perplexed than ever.

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.  The fire had smouldered to ashes; 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.  I uttered an ejaculation of discontent at seeing the dismal grate, and 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.

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.

‘Yes, close it,’ he replied, in his familiar voice.  ‘There, that is pure awkwardness!  Why did you hold the candle horizontally?  Be quick, and bring another.’

I hurried out in a foolish state of dread, and said to Joseph — ‘The master wishes you to take him a light and rekindle the fire.’  For I dared not go in myself again just then.

Joseph rattled some fire into the shovel, and went: but he brought it back immediately, with the supper-tray in his other hand, explaining that Mr. Heathcliff was going to bed, and he wanted nothing to eat till morning.  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, of which he had rather we had no suspicion.

‘Is he a ghoul or a vampire?’ I mused.  I had read of such hideous incarnate demons.  And then I set myself to reflect how I had tended him in infancy, and watched him grow to youth, and followed him almost through his whole course; and 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; and, repeating my waking meditations, I tracked his existence over again, with grim variations; at last, picturing his death and funeral: of which, all I can remember is, being exceedingly vexed at having the task of dictating an inscription for his monument, and consulting the sexton about it; and, as he had no surname, and we could not tell his age, we were obliged to content ourselves with the single word, ‘Heathcliff.’  That came true: we were.  If you enter the kirkyard, you’ll read, on his headstone, only that, and the date of his death.

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.’  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.

On my re-entrance, I found Mr. Heathcliff below.  He and Joseph were conversing about some farming business; he gave clear, minute directions concerning the matter discussed, but he spoke rapidly, and turned his head continually aside, and had the same excited expression, even more exaggerated.  When Joseph quitted the room he took his seat in the place he generally chose, and 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, and with such eager interest that he stopped breathing during half a minute together.

‘Come now,’ I exclaimed, pushing some bread against his hand, ‘eat and drink that, while it is hot: it has been waiting near an hour.’

He didn’t notice me, and yet he smiled.  I’d rather have seen him gnash his teeth than smile so.

‘Mr. Heathcliff! master!’ I cried, ‘don’t, for God’s sake, stare as if you saw an unearthly vision.’

‘Don’t, for God’s sake, shout so loud,’ he replied.  ‘Turn round, and tell me, are we by ourselves?’

‘Of course,’ was my answer; ‘of course we are.’

Still, I involuntarily obeyed him, as if I was not quite sure.  With a sweep of his hand he cleared a vacant space in front among the breakfast things, and leant forward to gaze more at his ease.

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.  And whatever it was, it communicated, apparently, both pleasure and pain in exquisite extremes: at least the anguished, yet raptured, expression of his countenance suggested that idea.  The fancied object was not fixed, either: his eyes pursued it with unwearied diligence, and, even in speaking to me, were never weaned away.  I vainly reminded him of his protracted abstinence from food: if he stirred to touch anything in compliance with my entreaties, if he stretched his hand out to get a piece of bread, his fingers clenched before they reached it, and remained on the table, forgetful of their aim.

I sat, a model of patience, trying to attract his absorbed attention from its engrossing speculation; till he grew irritable, and got up, asking why I would not allow him to have his own time in taking his meals? and saying that on the next occasion 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.

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.  I listened, and tossed about, and, finally, dressed and descended.  It was too irksome to lie there, harassing my brain with a hundred idle misgivings.

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.  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 — ‘Nelly, come here — is it morning?  Come in with your light.’