ENG 463 Emily Bronte

From WolfWikis

ENG 463: The Victorian Period

Jennifer Cunningham

Class, Tradition, and Money

Published in the 1846 collection Poems By Currer, Ellis and Acton Bell under Emily's nom de plume 'Ellis Bell'.

On a sunny brae alone I lay
One summer afternoon;
It was the marriage-time of May,
With her young lover, June.

From her mother's heart seemed loath to part
That queen of bridal charms,
But her father smiled on the fairest child
He ever held in his arms.

The trees did wave their plumy crests,
The glad birds carolled clear;
And I, of all the wedding guests,
Was only sullen there!

There was not one, but wished to shun My aspect void of cheer; The very gray rocks, looking on, Asked, "What do you here?"

And I could utter no reply; In sooth, I did not know Why I had brought a clouded eye To greet the general glow.

So, resting on a heathy bank, I took my heart to me; And we together sadly sank Into a reverie.

We thought, "When winter comes again, Where will these bright things be? All vanished, like a vision vain, An unreal mockery!

"The birds that now so blithely sing, Through deserts, frozen dry, Poor spectres of the perished spring, In famished troops will fly.

"And why should we be glad at all? The leaf is hardly green, Before a token of its fall Is on the surface seen!"

Now, whether it were really so, I never could be sure; But as in fit of peevish woe, I stretched me on the moor,

A thousand thousand gleaming fires Seemed kindling in the air; A thousand thousand silvery lyres Resounded far and near:

Methought, the very breath I breathed Was full of sparks divine, And all my heather-couch was wreathed By that celestial shine!

And, while the wide earth echoing rung To that strange minstrelsy The little glittering spirits sung, Or seemed to sing, to me:

"O mortal! mortal! let them die; Let time and tears destroy, That we may overflow the sky With universal joy!

"Let grief distract the sufferer's breast, And night obscure his way; They hasten him to endless rest, And everlasting day.

"To thee the world is like a tomb, A desert's naked shore; To us, in unimagined bloom, It brightens more and more!

"And, could we lift the veil, and give One brief glimpse to thine eye, Thou wouldst rejoice for those that live, BECAUSE they live to die."

The music ceased; the noonday dream, Like dream of night, withdrew; But Fancy, still, will sometimes deem Her fond creation true. [1]

Emily Bronte's father was a preacher who was unhappy with his familie's class stauts. He changed his name from Bronty which came from the Irish O'Brunty to the French Bronte. He accepted a parsonage that he thought would be best for supporting his 5 surving children after the death of his eldest daughter and his wife. Patrick Bronte hoped to marry off his daughters for money as was a common goal for families in the Victorian era. Of course, only one of his daughters, Charlotte, ever married. Emily, Anne, Charlotte, and their brother Branwell all became governesses for a short period to earn money.

In contrast to today's society, marrying for love in Victorian England was not common in the middle and upper classes. Instead marriages were based on power, wealth, land, necessity, status, and convenience. Marriage was not so much between the individuals as between the families of the individuals. The main idea behind marriage in Victorian England between the middle and upper classes was that "marriage was a social duty, because it obliged the family and helped to widen social contacts" (Beckett 103). It was important to marry within the same class since social standing was just as important as wealth to many families. To marry outside of one's group would endanger the entire family's position in society so there was a tremendous pressure to ensure that this situation did not occur (Beckett 103). Often the married couple would grow to love each other, but it rarely started out that way in such cases (Habakkuk 145). Love was usually not the deciding factor in marriage arrangements. [2]

This painting of Emily Bronte was particulary interesting because it was painted by her brother Branwell. Image:Emilybronte retouche.jpg

Working Life

    Before he dismounted, I went and opened the door.  It was half-past six; the family had just finished breakfast; the servant was clearing and wiping down the table:  Joseph stood by his master's chair telling some tale concerning a lame horse; and Hareton was preparing for the hay-field.

Emily Bronte. Wuthering Heights. Bantam Books: New York. 1847. p. 190.

The Servants

by Ellen Micheletti

We are so used to modern conveniences that we have forgotten how much sheer labor is involved in keeping a house without them. Imagine having to take care of a huge mansion with no vacuum cleaners, no washing machines, no bathtubs or indoor toilets, no piped in water and no central heating. Now try and keep this place clean while you and your neighbors burn coal that fills the air with smoke and smuts.

Support our sponsors Readers of historical novels are familiar with some of the servants that large establishments employed to do all the work required to keep the place running smoothly. Large estates had an army of outdoor servants (gardeners, gamekeepers, and grooms) and an equally large army of indoor servants. The number and kinds of servants varied depending on the social status of the employer and the size of the estate. I am going to concentrate on the indoor servants only, and the servants who are most likely to be encountered by readers of historical fiction.

Male servants ranked above female servants and non-liveried servants, those who did not wear uniforms, ranked above those servants who did. The highest ranking male servant (who in some ways was more a professional employee than a true servant), was the land steward. He was often the son of a minister or businessman. Some land stewards were attorneys and had their own homes and own businesses on the side. The steward was the manager of the estate. He hired and fired workers, settled tenant complaints, saw to the harvesting of crops, managed the timber, collected the rents and kept all the financial records. Very wealthy men with more than one estate had several land stewards. A reader often encounters a land steward (sometimes called a bailiff) in regency fiction. David Wiggins in Carla Kelly's The Lady's Companion is the steward who manages the farm for Lady Bushnell.

The highest ranking male house servant was the valet. He cared for his employer's clothing, shined his shoes and boots, did the hairdressing and barbering and made sure the gentleman looked good. A valet had to be well-dressed himself, but was not to outshine his employer. When the gentleman went shopping or travelling, the valet went along since there were men who literally could not dress or undress themselves without assistance (those regency coats and boots were tight!)

A few, very wealthy homes employed a house steward, but he is not often encountered in fiction. The highest ranking male house servant, next to the valet, was the butler. The butler's duties varied depending on the size of the house. He was in charge of the wine cellar and in the days before refrigeration, that was a delicate task. He was in charge of the silver and gold plate, china, and crystal. He supervised the cleaning of this valuable silver and gold and guarded it against thieves. As time passed, the position of the butler gained more and more prestige until he became the top servant in Victorian times - in charge of the men and women underservants. While the butler did not wear livery, he did alter his clothing slightly while on duty - he wore a black tie rather than a white one for instance. It would not do to mistake the butler for a gentleman.

The highest ranking indoor liveried servant was the footman. Footmen did many jobs around the house - both indoors and outside. Inside, he laid the table, waited at table, served tea, answered the door and assisted the butler. Outside, he rode on the carriage, opened doors, served as an escort when a lady paid calls, and carried torches to deter thieves when the lady and gentleman went out at night. The footman carried letters to and fro and special footmen called "running footmen" ran in front of or beside a carriage. These running footmen had mostly died out by the time of the regency, but in their prime, they were colorful characters, both literally and figuratively. They often wore very bright and luxurious livery and some noblemen would organize footraces between their running footmen. The qualifications for being a footman were good looks and a good physique. Their livery was knee breeches, often plush ones with silk stockings (footmen had to have good legs) and coats of satin and velvet with starched shirts. Footmen had to powder their hair - a custom that did not die out among the Buckingham Palace footmen until Prince Philip put a stop to it. He thought it was unhygenic.

Sometimes, in Regency novels, a reader will encounter a page. A page was a young boy who was sort of an apprentice footman. He performed odd jobs and tasks and was put into livery to stand around and look good when the lady chose to entertain. Sometimes the page was a young Black boy who was put into an especially fancy livery and treated almost like an ornament.

Women servants did not rank as high as men and were not paid as much even though their work was often harder. A footman carried letters, but a chambermaid often had to climb flights of stairs with loads of coal for the fire or cans of hot water for the bath.

The highest ranking woman servant was the housekeeper. She kept the keys to all the storage closets and supervised the maids and cook. She served as the butler's right hand helper. She kept books and household accounts and ordered food and supplies. She very much ran the house.

The next highest woman servant and one often encountered in regency novels is the personal maid or "abigail," as regency slang termed her. She dressed and undressed the lady, cleaned, pressed and mended rips in clothing and did the lady's hair. In the Victorian age, when clothing was very heavy and elaborate (and buttoned and laced up the back) a women could literally not get dressed or undressed without assistance just like the regency fops with their tight coats. Personal maids also looked after the jewelry and served as a companion and confidante. It was very much the thing to have a personal maid who was French, but if a lady could not find a French maid, an English personal maid who could speak a few French phrases was almost as good.

The cook was considered to be of better quality if she had trained with a male chef. Not many people were wealthy enough to afford a male chef, so they searched for female cooks who had trained with men. The cook was the dictator of the kitchen. She is sometimes portrayed in fiction as a tyrant and that was true in some real life cases. There is a very funny scene in Mary Balogh's The Famous Heroine where Lord Francis is amazed to find that his new wife Cora is not only not afraid of the cook, she has been swapping recipies with her. The cook had many kitchen helpers to assist her in the massive amounts of cooking that had to be done. There were always scullery maids (the lowest of the female servants) whose job it was to clean the pots and pans. These poor girls spent their days with their hands in hot water and harsh washing soda. After a large party, there could be hundreds of greasy pots and pans to clean before the girls could go to bed.

There were several kinds of maids - chambermaids, parlormaids and maids-of-all-work. These young women were the ones who swept, dusted, polished, cleaned, washed, fetched and carried from early morning till late at night. In Frank Dawes' book Not In Front of the Servants, he gives a schedule of the week for maids that has them working from 6:30 am till 10:00 pm with one half-day off a week. They had to do all the cleaning and polishing with none of the labor saving devices we take for granted. There was no such thing as polish for instance. Furniture polish was made from linseed oil, turpentine and beeswax. Carpets had to be brushed by hand, lamps had to be cleaned and filled and fires had to kept lit and tended. This necessitated maids lugging large amounts of coal up flights of stairs to all the fireplaces, and a large estate could have many, many fireplaces. The sheer amount of work involved in a maid's job is difficult to imagine. Maids wore two kinds of clothing. In the mornings when most of the heavy work was done, they wore cotton print dresses and heavy aprons. Later in the afternoon, they changed into black dresses with ruffled aprons and caps with streamers. By Victorian times, all but the wealthiest had given up footmen and the maids answered the doors and announced visitors.

The era of large estates and many servants died out after World War I. For a long time, a job as a servant was the only one a respectable young woman could get, and after jobs in offices and factories became available, few young women or men wanted to spend long hours working for little money and little chance to have a life of their own. More job opportunities, smaller houses and more labor saving devices finally put an end to the huge numbers of servants who used to work in stately homes.

title

Image:Maid.jpg A maid. Punch (1847)

4. Technology, Science, and the Urban World

How Clear She Shines

How clear she shines! How quietly I lie beneath her guardian light; While heaven and earth are whispering me, “To morrow, wake, but dream to-night.” Yes, Fancy, come, my Fairy love! These throbbing temples softly kiss; And bend my lonely couch above, And bring me rest, and bring me bliss.

The world is going; dark world, adieu! Grim world, conceal thee till the day; The heart thou canst not all subdue Must still resist, if thou delay!

Thy love I will not, will not share; Thy hatred only wakes a smile; Thy griefs may wound—thy wrongs may tear, But, oh, thy lies shall ne’er beguile! While gazing on the stars that glow Above me, in that stormless sea, I long to hope that all the woe Creation knows, is held in thee!

And this shall be my dream to-night; I’ll think the heaven of glorious spheres Is rolling on its course of light In endless bliss, through endless years; I’ll think, there’s not one world above, Far as these straining eyes can see, Where Wisdom ever laughed at Love, Or Virtue crouched to Infamy;

Where, writhing ‘neath the strokes of Fate, The mangled wretch was forced to smile; To match his patience ‘gainst her hate, His heart rebellious all the while. Where Pleasure still will lead to wrong, And helpless Reason warn in vain; And Truth is weak, and Treachery strong; And Joy the surest path to Pain; And peace, the lethargy of Grief; And Hope, a phantom of the soul; And life, a labour, void and brief; And Death, the despot of the whole!

In this poem Bronte wishes upon stars and speaks about nature.

5. Official Life: Government and the Law

The Prisoner

A fragment.

In the dungeon-crypts idly did I stray, Reckless of the lives wasting there away; "Draw the ponderous bars! open, Warder stern!" He dared not say me nay--the hinges harshly turn.

"Our guests are darkly lodged," I whisper'd, gazing through The vault, whose grated eye showed heaven more gray than blue; (This was when glad Spring laughed in awaking pride;) "Ay, darkly lodged enough!" returned my sullen guide.

Then, God forgive my youth; forgive my careless tongue; I scoffed, as the chill chains on the damp flagstones rung: "Confined in triple walls, art thou so much to fear, That we must bind thee down and clench thy fetters here?"

The captive raised her face; it was as soft and mild As sculptured marble saint, or slumbering unwean'd child; It was so soft and mild, it was so sweet and fair, Pain could not trace a line, nor grief a shadow there!

The captive raised her hand and pressed it to her brow; "I have been struck," she said, "and I am suffering now; Yet these are little worth, your bolts and irons strong; And, were they forged in steel, they could not hold me long."

Hoarse laughed the jailor grim: "Shall I be won to hear; Dost think, fond, dreaming wretch, that I shall grant thy prayer? Or, better still, wilt melt my master's heart with groans? Ah! sooner might the sun thaw down these granite stones.

"My master's voice is low, his aspect bland and kind, But hard as hardest flint the soul that lurks behind; And I am rough and rude, yet not more rough to see Than is the hidden ghost that has its home in me."

About her lips there played a smile of almost scorn, "My friend," she gently said, "you have not heard me mourn; When you my kindred's lives, MY lost life, can restore, Then may I weep and sue,--but never, friend, before!

"Still, let my tyrants know, I am not doomed to wear Year after year in gloom, and desolate despair; A messenger of Hope comes every night to me, And offers for short life, eternal liberty.

"He comes with western winds, with evening's wandering airs, With that clear dusk of heaven that brings the thickest stars. Winds take a pensive tone, and stars a tender fire, And visions rise, and change, that kill me with desire.

"Desire for nothing known in my maturer years, When Joy grew mad with awe, at counting future tears. When, if my spirit's sky was full of flashes warm, I knew not whence they came, from sun or thunder-storm.

"But, first, a hush of peace--a soundless calm descends; The struggle of distress, and fierce impatience ends; Mute music soothes my breast--unuttered harmony, That I could never dream, till Earth was lost to me.

"Then dawns the Invisible; the Unseen its truth reveals; My outward sense is gone, my inward essence feels: Its wings are almost free--its home, its harbour found, Measuring the gulph, it stoops and dares the final bound,

"Oh I dreadful is the check--intense the agony-- When the ear begins to hear, and the eye begins to see; When the pulse begins to throb, the brain to think again; The soul to feel the flesh, and the flesh to feel the chain.

"Yet I would lose no sting, would wish no torture less; The more that anguish racks, the earlier it will bless; And robed in fires of hell, or bright with heavenly shine, If it but herald death, the vision is divine!"

She ceased to speak, and we, unanswering, turned to go-- We had no further power to work the captive woe: Her cheek, her gleaming eye, declared that man had given A sentence, unapproved, and overruled by Heaven.

Emily Bronte does not write about politics or empires. The closest she comes to discussing government or law is to speak of a place where people end up when the break the law.

6. Private Life: House, Food, and Clothes from Wuthering Heights

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. 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.

This passage describes the home of Mr. Heathcliff and his family as perceived by his new tenant.

7. Fam'ily and Social Rituals' from Wuthering Heights

Before I came to live here, she commenced - waiting no farther invitation to her story - I was almost always at Wuthering Heights; because my mother had nursed Mr. Hindley Earnshaw, that was Hareton's father, and I got used to playing with the children: I ran errands too, and helped to make hay, and hung about the farm ready for anything that anybody would set me to. One fine summer morning - it was the beginning of harvest, I remember - Mr. Earnshaw, the old master, came down-stairs, dressed for a journey; and, after he had told Joseph what was to be done during the day, he turned to Hindley, and Cathy, and me - for I sat eating my porridge with them - and he said, speaking to his son, 'Now, my bonny man, I'm going to Liverpool to-day, what shall I bring you? You may choose what you like: only let it be little, for I shall walk there and back: sixty miles each way, that is a long spell!' Hindley named a fiddle, 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. He did not forget me; for he had a kind heart, though he was rather severe sometimes. He promised to bring me a pocketful of apples and pears, and then he kissed his children, said good-bye, and set off.

This is an example of a father’s interaction with his children. As was often the case in the Victorian period, men were not always at home with their children. They often went away on business and would offer to bring home gifts for the children.

8. Education

from Wuthering Heights

'You must tell her,' she continued, 'that I would answer her letter, but I have no materials for writing: not even a book from which I might tear a leaf.'

'No books!' I exclaimed. 'How do you contrive to live here without them? if I may take the liberty to inquire. Though provided with a large library, I'm frequently very dull at the Grange; take my books away, and I should be desperate!'

'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!'

In the Victorian era people took great interest in books that were made available to common people at reasonable prices. This passage shows one man’s dismay at the thought of not being able to have access to his books.

9. Health and Medicine

A Death Scene

"O day! he cannot die When thou so fair art shining! O Sun, in such a glorious sky, So tranquilly declining;

He cannot leave thee now, While fresh west winds are blowing, And all around his youthful brow Thy cheerful light is glowing!

Edward, awake, awake-- The golden evening gleams Warm and bright on Arden's lake-- Arouse thee from thy dreams!

Beside thee, on my knee, My dearest friend, I pray That thou, to cross the eternal sea, Wouldst yet one hour delay:

I hear its billows roar-- I see them foaming high; But no glimpse of a further shore Has blest my straining eye.

Believe not what they urge Of Eden isles beyond; Turn back, from that tempestuous surge, To thy own native land.

It is not death, but pain That struggles in thy breast-- Nay, rally, Edward, rouse again; I cannot let thee rest!"

One long look, that sore reproved me For the woe I could not bear-- One mute look of suffering moved me To repent my useless prayer:

And, with sudden check, the heaving Of distraction passed away; Not a sign of further grieving Stirred my soul that awful day.

Paled, at length, the sweet sun setting; Sunk to peace the twilight breeze: Summer dews fell softly, wetting Glen, and glade, and silent trees.

Then his eyes began to weary, Weighed beneath a mortal sleep; And their orbs grew strangely dreary, Clouded, even as they would weep.

But they wept not, but they changed not, Never moved, and never closed; Troubled still, and still they ranged not-- Wandered not, nor yet reposed!

So I knew that he was dying-- Stooped, and raised his languid head; Felt no breath, and heard no sighing, So I knew that he was dead.

This poem talks of a friend’s lost battle with illness and the day he finally succumbs to death. Edward may possibly be the same Edward from Wuthering Heights who was sick all of his life.

10. Leisure and Pleasure: Holidays, Sports, and Recreation

from Wuthering Heights

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; regardless of Joseph's affirmations that he considered the merry tunes I chose as next door to songs. He had retired to private prayer in his chamber, and Mr. and Mrs. Earnshaw were engaging Missy's attention by sundry gay trifles bought for her to present to the little Lintons, as an acknowledgement of their kindness.

One of the Christmas traditions developed in the Victorian period was the singing of Christmas carols. In this passage, the characters prepare for Christmas by singing carols and looking at the presents they will be exchanging.

11. Faith and Works: Religion and Reform

Faith and Despondency

"The winter wind is loud and wild, Come close to me, my darling child; Forsake thy books, and mateless play; And, while the night is gathering gray, We'll talk its pensive hours away;--

"Ierne, round our sheltered hall November's gusts unheeded call; Not one faint breath can enter here Enough to wave my daughter's hair, And I am glad to watch the blaze Glance from her eyes, with mimic rays; To feel her cheek, so softly pressed, In happy quiet on my breast,

"But, yet, even this tranquillity Brings bitter, restless thoughts to me; And, in the red fire's cheerful glow, I think of deep glens, blocked with snow; I dream of moor, and misty hill, Where evening closes dark and chill; For, lone, among the mountains cold, Lie those that I have loved of old. And my heart aches, in hopeless pain, Exhausted with repinings vain, That I shall greet them ne'er again!"

"Father, in early infancy, When you were far beyond the sea, Such thoughts were tyrants over me! I often sat, for hours together, Through the long nights of angry weather, Raised on my pillow, to descry The dim moon struggling in the sky; Or, with strained ear, to catch the shock, Of rock with wave, and wave with rock; So would I fearful vigil keep, And, all for listening, never sleep. But this world's life has much to dread, Not so, my Father, with the dead.

"Oh! not for them, should we despair, The grave is drear, but they are not there; Their dust is mingled with the sod, Their happy souls are gone to God! You told me this, and yet you sigh, And murmur that your friends must die. Ah! my dear father, tell me why? For, if your former words were true, How useless would such sorrow be; As wise, to mourn the seed which grew Unnoticed on its parent tree, Because it fell in fertile earth, And sprang up to a glorious birth-- Struck deep its root, and lifted high Its green boughs in the breezy sky.

"But, I'll not fear, I will not weep For those whose bodies rest in sleep,-- I know there is a blessed shore, Opening its ports for me and mine; And, gazing Time's wide waters o'er, I weary for that land divine, Where we were born, where you and I Shall meet our dearest, when we die; From suffering and corruption free, Restored into the Deity."

"Well hast thou spoken, sweet, trustful child! And wiser than thy sire; And worldly tempests, raging wild, Shall strengthen thy desire-- Thy fervent hope, through storm and foam, Through wind and ocean's roar, To reach, at last, the eternal home, The steadfast, changeless shore!"

This poem is almost like a prayer. It seems like a conversation with God about the existence of an afterlife. The speaker seems comforted by the fact that there is some kind of existence after death.

12. “Victorian Morality”

from Wuthering Heights

I had Cathy by the hand, and was urging her on, when all at once she fell down. "Run, Heathcliff, run!" she whispered. "They have let the bull-dog loose, and he holds me!" 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. The man took Cathy up; she was sick: not from fear, I'm certain, but from pain. He carried her in; I followed, grumbling execrations and vengeance. "What prey, Robert?" hallooed Linton from the entrance. "Skulker has caught a little girl, sir," he replied; "and there's a lad here," he added, making a clutch at me, "who looks an out-and- outer! Very like the robbers were for putting them through the window to open the doors to the gang after all were asleep, that they might murder us at their ease. Hold your tongue, you foul- mouthed thief, you! you shall go to the gallows for this. Mr. Linton, sir, don't lay by your gun." "No, no, Robert," said the old fool. "The rascals knew that yesterday was my rent-day: they thought to have me cleverly. Come in; I'll furnish them a reception. There, John, fasten the chain. Give Skulker some water, Jenny. To beard a magistrate in his stronghold, and on the Sabbath, too! Where will their insolence stop? Oh, my dear Mary, look here! Don't be afraid, it is but a boy - yet the villain scowls so plainly in his face; 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. The cowardly children crept nearer also, 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. Isn't he, Edgar?"

In the Victorian period it was not acceptable to speak of sex or rape. This example, while it is about a young girl being attacked by a dog reads very much like a rape scene. In fact, many would say that this was the point at which Catherine is raped of her innocene.

13. England and Empire

from Wuthering Heights

'A good heart will help you to a bonny face, my lad,' I continued, 'if you were a regular black; and a bad one will turn the bonniest into something worse than ugly. And now that we've done washing, and combing, and sulking - tell me whether you don't think yourself rather handsome? I'll tell you, I do. 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!

Emily Bronte really doesn’t write about politics and empires. This is closest she gets. All it shows is that the empire was expanding outside of England during her lifetime.

All poems and excerpts from Wuthering Heights quoted on this page came from [3]