Love In Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights
She is placing herself in an uncomfortable and destructive position by marrying Edgar for the benefit of Heathcliff. “‘My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I’m well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary’” (74). She recognizes her love for Heathcliff is greater than her love for Edgar, yet she still marries Edgar. Catherine even calls herself Heathcliff because she loves him that much. “‘Nelly, I am Heathcliff! He’s always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always pleasure to myself, but as my own being’” (75). Catherine expresses obsessive love for Heathcliff as comparing herself to him and not as her own individual. “‘My great miseries in this world have been Heathcliff’s miseries, and I watched and felt each from the beginning: my great thought in living is himself. If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be: and if all else remained, and he were annihilated the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it’” …show more content…
Heathcliff had forced Nelly to send a letter to Catherine. If she refused, he would hold Nelly captive at Wuthering Heights. Nelly, of course, delivered the letter to Catherine.
In Catherine and Heathcliff’s final confrontation, their obsession reaches a peak. Catherine describes her situation as a prison. They both try to lay blame on each other for their misery. “‘You know you lie to say I have killed you: and, Catherine, you know that I could as soon forget you as my existence! Is it not sufficient for your infernal selfishness, that while you are at peace I shall writhe in the torments of hell?’” (146). He is enraged that Catherine had the audacity to say he had caused her suffering:
“You teach me now how cruel you’ve been—cruel and false. Why did you despise me? Why did you betray your own heart, Cathy? I have not one word of comfort. You deserve this. You have killed yourself. Yes, you may kill me, and cry; and wring out my kisses and tears: they’ll blight you—they’ll damn you. You loved me—then what right had you to leave me? What right—answer me—for the poor fancy you felt for Linton? Because misery, and degradation, and death, and nothing that God or Satan could inflict would have parted us, you, of your own will, did it. I have not broken your heart—you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken