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Updated: May 23, 2025
And Emily wrote Wuthering Heights. They had found their destiny at Haworth. Every conceivable theory has been offered to account for the novels that came so swiftly and incredibly from these three sisters. It has been said that they wrote them merely to pay their debts when they found that poems did not pay.
She has left but one book behind her, a novel, called "Wuthering Heights," a curious title, which seems to suggest a storm on a mountain peak. She was the daughter of an English clergyman, the Rev. Patrick Bronte, who was the most insignificant, selfish, lethargic, pretentious creature the mind can conceive.
Edgar Poe has a perfectly serious and very characteristic explosion at the prominence of these agreeable viands in the book. The curious story of the struggles of the Brontë girls to get published hardly concerns us, and Emily's work, Wuthering Heights, is one of those isolated books which, whatever their merit, are rather ornaments than essential parts in novel history.
We begin to peep and botanise, we take an interest in birds and insects, we find many things beautiful in miniature. The reader will recollect the little summer scene in "Wuthering Heights" the one warm scene, perhaps, in all that powerful, miserable novel and the great feature that is made therein by grasses and flowers and a little sunshine: this is in the spirit of which I now speak.
In the June of 1848, "The Tenant of Wildfell Hall," a second novel by Anne Brontë "Acton Bell" was submitted for publication to the firm which had previously published "Wuthering Heights" and "Agnes Grey," and this firm announced the new book in America as by the author of "Jane Eyre," although Messrs.
In one of the preceding letters, Miss Bronte referred to am article in the Palladium, which had rendered what she considered the due meed of merit to "Wuthering Heights", her sister Emily's tale. Her own works were praised, and praised with discrimination, and she was grateful for this. But her warm heart was filled to the brim with kindly feelings towards him who had done justice to the dead.
Evidently the place had a history. The snow had fallen so deeply since I entered the house that return across the moor in the dusk was impossible. Spending that night at Wuthering Heights on an old-fashioned couch that filled a recess, or closet, in a disused chamber, I found, scratched on the paint many times, the names "Catherine Earnshaw," "Catherine Heathcliff," and again "Catherine Linton."
We begin to peep and botanise, we take an interest in birds and insects, we find many things beautiful in miniature. The reader will recollect the little summer scene in Wuthering Heights the one warm scene, perhaps, in all that powerful, miserable novel and the great feature that is made therein by grasses and flowers and a little sunshine: this is in the spirit of which I now speak.
Some of these coincidences seem on the first blush of it remarkable, for instance, the child-phantom which appears both to Jane Eyre and to Nelly Dean in Wuthering Heights; or the rainy day and the fireside scene, which occur in the third chapter of Wuthering Heights and the opening chapter of Jane Eyre.
Still, I believe, it will be admitted that it is in the cycle of these poems, and not elsewhere, that we should look for the first germs of Wuthering Heights. The evidence only demonstrates in detail what has never been seriously contested that the genius of Emily Brontë found its sources in itself. 10th October, 1911. The Three Brontës
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