My servant having
lamed his steed ...
I arrived alone at a
small hostelry in a
secluded part of the
country, and apparently
at some distance
from any
habitable dwelling.
Having determined
to rest for the night,
I discovered in the
woman who seemed
to be the hostess an
anxiety to get rid of
me; but with the
usual obstinacy of
curiosity caused by
this apparent anxiety,
I determined not to
be thwarted; so,
putting up my horse,
I entered the house,
and sat down to a
humble but substantial
meal, prepared
during my absence
in the stable; and
though comfort had
sway with all around
me, yet there was an
evident air of profound
mystery between
my hostess
and her boy-of-all-work,
a thick-set son
of the north, with a
deep voice and a
sturdy manner;
whilst I, with all the
malignant pleasure of
counteracting any
mystery, secretly enjoyed
the hope of
discovering the reason
of wishing my absence....
I was not
at all disconcerted,
but philosophically
finished my meal ...
and at an early hour
requested to be
shown where I was
to rest for the night.
Refusing to listen to
any excuse, I was
shown up a ladder
into a small room....
I thanked my
guide, and ... laid
down with the expectation
of sleeping
hard, an expectation
which was not
realized, for thoughts
obtruded themselves
upon me, wholly
preventing repose.
Midnight had scarcely
fallen when I heard
voices in the room
below, and by a light
which grew stronger
every moment I felt
some person was
about to ascend the
ladder.
Before Charlotte
Brontë proceeds with
the dramatic experiences
of this terrible
night she provides
entirely original
matter independent
of Montagu, as a
preface. I will give
Montagu his space,
however, for we have
here a duet in unison,
so to speak, between
Wuthering Heights
and Jane Eyre.
The trio will be resumed
in perfect
sequence after Montagu
has rested a
few bars in the
introduction. My
reader will note
with sensational interest,
I am sure,
that in both of
Charlotte Brontë's
introductions to the
appearance of the
candle-bearing, frenzied,
bedside apparition,
the separate
narrators tell us that
a gale is blowing;
that they dreamed
most disagreeably
twice. The first
dream being in each
instance that of
journeying upon an
unknown road, and
the second dream
that of an unknown
ice-cold little child
(always referred to in
the neuter "it"),
which "wailed piteously"
and "clung"
to the narrators in
"terror," intense
horror being accentuated
by their being
unable to rid themselves
of the clinging,
shivering small
"creature," as Charlotte
Brontë calls
"it." The "doleful"
moaning and the
"blast" play their
part in each version,
and in both a
"branch" is duly
grasped or seized by
the dreamer. For
the origin of this
wailing little creature
see my chapter,
"Charlotte Brontë's
Child Apparition."
Further, the reader
will observe that in
both Wuthering
Heights and Jane
Eyre Montagu's bedside,
candle-bearing
apparition is not a
dream, but a candlelit
reality, immediately
sequent to
the dream of the
tenacious child
phantom.
I will here resume
Montagu's narrative:
... By a light
which grew stronger
every moment, I felt
some person was
about to ascend the
ladder. At this
moment every murder
... I had heard of
crowded upon my
brain, and I instantly
determined to make
the best fight I could,
... and with my
partially closed eyes
turned towards the
trap-door. I had
only just time to
make my arrangements
when, clad in
a white gown, fastened
close up to her neck,
with her black hair,
matted by carelessness,
hanging over her
collar, and as pale as
death, ascended my
hostess. Never shall
I forget her dreadfully
hideous expression.
She came up
to the bedside and
looked at me for a
full minute, and after
passing the candle
carefully before my
eyes, left me, and
carefully descended
the ladder.
Montagu arises,
and, looking down
the ladder, finds the
thick-set servant is
also astir with the
mysterious, hideous
visitant. Then Montagu
hears his trap-door
replaced; and
he wakes to learn he
has had the nightmare. | Heathcliffe, when
he saw my horse's
breast fairly pushing
the barrier, did put
out his hand to unchain
it ... calling
as we entered the
court, "Joseph, take
Mr. Lockwood's
horse; and bring
some wine."
Joseph was an
elderly, nay an old
man, very old perhaps,
though hale
and sinewy. "The
Lord help us!" he
soliloquised in an
undertone of peevish
displeasure, while relieving
me of my
horse, looking ...
in my face so sourly
that I charitably conjectured
he must
have need of Divine
aid to digest his
dinner, and his pious
ejaculation had no
reference to my unexpected
advent.
"Guests are so exceedingly
rare in this
house that I and my
dogs hardly know
how to receive
them," says Heathcliffe.
Resuming his narrative
in Chapter II.,
Lockwood tells us he
goes again to
Wuthering Heights
and gains admittance
with difficulty, after
muttering, "Wretched
inmates, you deserve
perpetual isolation ...
for your churlish
inhospitality. I
don't care, I will
get in."
"As to staying
here," cries Heathcliffe,
"I don't keep
accommodations for
visitors: you must
share a bed with
Joseph [the country-bred
servant] if you
do."
Chapter III.
Lockwood at last
is guided to bed by
a servant. While
leading the way, she
recommended ...
"I should hide the
candle, ... for her
master had an odd
notion about the
chamber ... and
never let anybody
lodge there willingly."...
I sank back in
bed and fell asleep....
Alas! what
could it be that made
me pass such a
terrible night? I
don't remember
another that I can
compare with it since
I was capable of
suffering.
... I began to
dream.... I had
set out on my way
home, with Joseph
for a guide. The
snow lay yards deep
in our road. We
came to a chapel....
Presently the
whole chapel resounded
with rappings
and counter-rappings; ...
at last,
to my unspeakable
relief, they awoke
me.... What ...
had suggested the
tumult? ... the
branch of a fir-tree
that touched my
lattice as the blast
wailed by....
I dreamt again,
if possible still more
disagreeably than before....
I heard the
gusty wind, ... I
thought I rose ...
to unhasp the casement.
"I must stop
[the fir bough's teasing
sound]," I muttered,
knocking my
hand through the
glass and stretching
an arm out to seize
the ... branch;
instead of which my
fingers closed on the
fingers of an ice-cold
hand! The intense
horror of nightmare
came over me: I
tried to draw back
my arm, but the hand
clung to it, and a
most melancholy
voice sobbed....
I discerned ...
a child's face looking
through the window.
Terror made me
cruel, and finding it
useless to attempt
shaking the creature
off, I pulled its wrist
on to the broken
pane, ... rubbing it
to and fro till the
blood ran down; ...
still it wailed ...
and maintained its
tenacious gripe,
almost maddening
me with fear.
I said, "Let me
go!" The fingers
relaxed, I snatched
mine ... and
stopped my ears....
Yet the instant I
listened again, there
was the doleful cry,
moaning;... I tried
to jump up, but
could not stir a
limb....
Hasty footsteps approached
my chamber
door, ... a light
glimmered ... at
the top of the bed.
I sat shuddering yet,
and wiping the perspiration
from my
forehead. The intruder
appeared to
hesitate....
... Heathcliffe
stood near the entrance,
in his shirt
and trousers, with a
candle dripping over
his fingers and his
face white.... The
first creak of the oak
startled him, ... the
light leaped from his
hold....
"It is only your
guest, sir," I called
out. "I had the
nightmare."
"Mr. Lockwood
... who showed
you up to this
room?" grinding his
teeth to control the
maxillary convulsions.
"It was your servant,
Zillah," I replied,
flinging myself
on to the floor, and
... resuming my
garments.... "The
place ... is swarming
with ghosts and
goblins."
"What do you
mean?" asked Heathcliffe....
"Lie
down and finish out
the night since you
are here...."
I descended; ...
nothing was stirring
... and then Joseph
[shuffled] down a
wooden ladder that
vanished through a
trap—the ascent to
his garret, I suppose. | Jane is shown the
bedrooms of the
secluded Thornfield
Hall:—
"Do the servants
sleep in these
rooms?"
"No ... no one
sleeps here. One
would ... say that
if there were a ghost
at Thornfield Hall
this would be its
haunt."
... I followed
... to the attics,
and thence by a trap-door
to the roof of
the hall ... a laugh
struck my ear ...
"Who is it?"
... the laugh was
as preternatural ...
as any I ever
heard....
The ... door
opened, and a servant
came out—a woman
of between thirty and
forty; a set, square-made
figure ... and
with a hard, plain
face....
One day Jane, out
for a walk, sees a
horseman approaching
who, in sympathy
with Montagu's story
of laming a horse,
has an accident.
"Did the horse
fall in Hay Lane?"
Jane asks later of a
servant.
"Yes, it slipped."
Thus Jane learns
the horseman is the
master of Thornfield
Hall. She discovers
an air of mystery
surrounds the master
of the house; and a
thick-set woman servant
is involved.
Chapter XV.
Though I had
now extinguished my
candle and was laid
down in bed, I could
not sleep for thinking
of the [mystery that
seemed to surround
Mr. Rochester]....
I hardly knew
whether I had slept
or not after this
musing; at any rate
I started wide awake
on hearing a vague
murmur.... I
wished I had kept
my candle burning;
the night was drearily
dark.... I rose and
sat up in bed listening;...
I was chilled with fear....
I began to feel the
return of slumber.
But it was not fated
... I should sleep
that night. A dream
had scarcely approached
my ear
when it fled affrighted....
There was a
demonia laugh ...
at my chamber door....
I thought the
goblin laughter stood
at my bedside....
Something ...
moaned. "Was that
Grace Poole?" [the
thick-set servant]
thought I.... There
was a candle burning
outside.
Chapter XXV.
... After I went
to bed I could not
sleep—a sense of
anxious excitement
depressed me. The
gale still rising
seemed to my ear to
muffle a ... doleful
undersound....
During my first sleep
I was following the
windings of an unknown
road; ...
rain pelted me; I
was burdened with
the charge of a little
child—a very small
creature, ... which
shivered in my cold
arms and wailed
piteously in my
ear.
I dreamt another
dream.... I still
carried the unknown
little child: I might
not lay it down anywhere,
however tired
were my arms—however
its weight
impeded my progress,
I must retain
it.... I climbed
the thin wall [of the
house] with frantic,
perilous haste, ...
the stones rolled
from under my feet,
the ivy branches I
grasped gave way,
the child clung round
my neck in terror,
and almost strangled
me.... The blast
blew so strong ...
I sat down on the
narrow ledge; I
hushed the scared
infant, ... the wall
crumbled; I was
shaken; the child
rolled from my knee;
I lost my balance,
fell, and awoke.
"Now, Jane, that
is all," put in Rochester.
To which
Jane Eyre replies,
"All the preface; the
tale is yet to come."
On waking a gleam
dazzled my eyes; ...
it was candle light....
A form emerged
from the closet; it
took the light and
held it aloft.... I
had risen up in bed,
I bent forward, ...
then my blood crept
cold through my
veins.... It was not
even that strange
woman Grace Poole
[the thick-set servant]....
It seemed ...
a woman ...
with thick and dark
hair hanging long
down her back. I
know not what dress
she had on: it was
white and straight;
but whether gown,
sheet or shroud I cannot
tell. The features
were fearful and
ghastly to me; ...
it was a savage face.
I wish I could forget
... the lineaments....
Just at my bedside
the figure
stopped: the fiery
eye glared upon me—she
thrust up her
candle close to my
face, and extinguished
it under my eyes.
"Now," says
Rochester. "I'll explain
to you all about
it. It was half dream,
half reality: a woman
did, I doubt not,
enter your room;
and that woman was—must
have been—Grace
Poole [the
thick-set servant].
You call her a
strange being yourself." |