Грозовой перевал / Wuthering Heights

Cathy tried to stand up, and Heathcliff turned towards her, his eyes wild and wet. For a moment they stood apart, then Cathy made a wild leap at Heathcliff. He just managed to catch her and they fell into each other’s arms, locked tightly together as though they would never part.

«Why have you been so cruel to me, Cathy?» said Heathcliff wildly. «Why did you marry Edgar when it was me that you loved? If we had been together, nothing would have parted us, but you chose to do this. I haven’t broken your heart – it’s you who has broken it! And you’ve broken mine as well. Do you think I want to live after you’ve gone? What kind of living will it be when you are in your grave?»

«If I’ve done wrong, I’m dying for it now,» sobbed Cathy. «But you left me too, Heathcliff. And I’ll forgive you, if you forgive me now!»

«It’s hard to forgive you, and look in your sunken eyes. Kiss me again, Cathy, but don’t let me see your eyes!

Then they were silent and clung to each other, drenched in each other’s tears[66].

Suddenly, I noticed through the window a group of people walking home from church.

«My master will be here very soon,» I warned them. But they never moved.

Soon I saw Edgar opening the garden gate.

«Now he’s here,» I cried. «For heaven’s sake, hurry! If you go now, you can still miss him.»

«I must go, Cathy,» said Heathcliff, «but I’ll stay close to your window.»

«No! You mustn’t go!» she shrieked. «It’s the last time! Edgar can’t hurt us, Heathcliff. I shall die if you go!

At that moment, Edgar opened the door. He rushed towards Heathcliff, shaking with rage. But before Edgar could reach him, Heathcliff had stepped forward.

«Look after Cathy first,» he said, putting her lifeless body into her husband’s arms, «and then you can speak to me!»

Cathy lay unconscious in Edgar’s arms, and while we tried desperately to revive her, Heathcliff crept silently out into the garden. Eventually, Cathy came around, but all she could do was sigh and moan and look around her wildly, not recognizing us at all. We put her straight to bed, and around midnight her baby was born, two months early. A couple of hours later, Cathy died, without ever recovering consciousness enough to see her daughter.

Edgar was so desperate with grief that he completely ignored his child, who we named Catherine after her mother. It seemed a terrible start for the puny little thing, and I worried that she had a difficult future ahead of her. The Lintons’ fortune was oddly arranged so that all Edgar’s wealth and property would go to Isabella after his death. If Edgar died, Isabella and Heathcliff would inherit everything, and little Catherine would be left with nothing.

Finally, morning came, and Edgar fell asleep, worn out with grief. I went out to look for Heathcliff and found him leaning on an old ash tree, his hair soaked in dew. When he saw me coming, he raised his eyes to me.

«She’s dead!» he said. «You needn’t tell me that. And put your handkerchief away, Nelly – she doesn’t want your tears!»

«Yes, she’s dead!» I answered, trying to stop my sobs.

«Tell me, Nelly,» he urged, «how did she…?» He struggled to speak, trembling all over. «How did she die?» he managed to say at last.

«As quietly as a lamb,» I answered. «She died in a gentle dream – and may she wake as gently in heaven!»

«May she wake in torment!» he cried out violently. «Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest as long as I am living! You said that I killed you – well haunt me, then! Be with me always – take any form – drive me insane! Only don’t leave me in this darkness where I cannot find you! You know I can’t live without my life! I can’t live without my soul!»

Then he started beating his head against the tree trunk and howling like a savage beast in pain.

Cathy was buried in Gimmerton churchyard five days later. Edgar spent every night until then sitting by her coffin, while Heathcliff kept watch in the garden outside. On the day of her funeral, only Edgar and the servants accompanied Cathy’s coffin to her grave. To my surprise, she wasn’t buried inside the church with the Lintons, or with her parents by the church door. Instead, her grave was dug on a green slope in the corner of the churchyard, just where the graveyard meets the moor.

On the evening of Cathy’s funeral, the warm spring sunshine changed to snow. Soon the primroses were covered in wintry snowdrifts[67] and the larks were silent again. The mood in the Grange was dismal. My master stayed in his study while I took over the sitting room[68], turning it into a nursery for baby Catherine. I spent my days trying to comfort the tiny moaning doll of a child, and watching the sleet and snow driving outside.

The day after the funeral, I was sitting with the baby, when the door opened and I heard a familiar voice. It was Isabella Heathcliff and she was in a terrible state.