EVERYONE is to leave at least one sensible comment/annotation in the column on the right, below.
Please preface the remark with your name and a colon (:).
Remember:
1.) All text-based passages must be focused on analysing the given passage itself
2.) while also drawing relevance to the REST of the novel
Exercise ends by this SUNDAY 7 August 2359 hrs.
Write a critical appreciation of the following passage, relating it to Catherine's state of mind, here and elsewhere in the novel.
She could not bear the notion which I had put into her head of Mr. Linton's philosophical resignation. Tossing about, she increased her feverish bewilderment to madness, and tore the pillow with her teeth; then raising herself up, all burning, desired that I would open the window. We were in the middle of winter, the wind blew strong from the north-east, and I objected. Both the expressions flitting over her face and the changes of her moods began to alarm me terribly, and brought to my recollection her former illness, and the doctor's injunction that she should not be crossed. A minute previously she was violent; now, supported on one arm, and not noticing my refusal to obey her, she seemed to find childish diversion in pulling the feathers from the rents she had just made, and ranging them on the sheet according to their different species. Her mind had strayed to other associations.
"That's a turkey's," she murmured to herself, "and this is a wild duck's, and this is a pigeon's. Ah, they put pigeons' feathers in the pillows; no wonder I couldn't die! Let me take care to throw it on the floor when I lie down. And here is a moor-cock's; and this -- I should know it among a thousand -- it's a lapwing's. Bonny bird, wheeling over our heads in the middle of the moor. It wanted to get to its nest, for the clouds had touched the swells, and it felt rain coming. This feather was picked up from the heath; the bird was not shot. We saw its nest in the winter, full of little skeletons. Heathcliff set a trap over it, and the old ones dare not come. I made him promise he'd never shoot a lap-wing after that, and he didn't. Yes, here are more! Did he shoot my lapwings, Nelly? Are they red, any of them? Let me look."
"Give over with that baby-work!" I interrupted, dragging the pillow away, and turning the holes towards the mattress, for she was removing its contents by handfuls. "Lie down and shut your eyes; you're wandering. There's a mess! The down is flying about like snow."
I went here and there collecting it.
"I see in you, Nelly," she continued dreamily, "an aged woman. You have gray hair and bent shoulders. This bed is the fairy cave under Peniston Crag, and you are gathering elf-bolts to hurt our heifers, pretending, while I am near, that they are only locks of wool. That's what you'll come to fifty years hence. I know you are not so now. I'm not wandering; you're mistaken, or else I should believe you really were that withered hag, and I should think I was under Peniston Crag; and I'm conscious it's night, and there are two candles on the table making the black press shine like jet."
"The black press? Where is that?" I asked. "You are talking in your sleep!"
"It's against the wall, as it always is," she replied. "It does appear odd. I see a face in it!"
"There's no press in the room, and never was," said I, resuming my seat, and looping up the curtain, that I might watch her.
"Don't you see that face?" she inquired, gazing earnestly at the mirror.
And say what I could, I was incapable of making her comprehend it to be her own; so I rose and covered it with a shawl.
"It's behind there still!" she pursued anxiously. "And it stirred. Who is it? I hope it will not come out when you are gone! O Nelly, the room is haunted! I'm afraid of being alone!"
I took her hand in mine, and bade her be composed, for a succession of shudders convulsed her frame, and she would keep straining her gaze towards the glass.
"There's nobody here!" I insisted. "It was yourself Mrs. Linton. You knew it a while since."
"Myself!" she gasped; "and the clock is striking twelve! It's true, then; that's dreadful!"
Her fingers clutched the clothes, and gathered them over her eyes. I attempted to steal to the door, with an intention of calling her husband; but I was summoned back by a piercing shriek. The shawl had dropped from the frame.
"Why, what is the matter?" cried I. "Who is coward now? Wake up! That is the glass -- the mirror, Mrs. Linton; and you see yourself in it; and there am I too, by your side."
Trembling and bewildered, she held me fast, but the horror gradually passed from hercountenance. Its paleness gave place to a glow of shame.
"Oh dear! I thought I was at home," she sighed -- "I thought I was lying in my chamber at Wuthering Heights. Because I'm weak, my brain got confused, and I screamed unconsciously. Don't say anything, but stay with me. I dread sleeping. My dreams appall me."
"A sound sleep would do you good, ma'am," I answered; "and I hope this suffering will prevent your trying starving again."
"Oh, if I were but in my own bed in the old house!" she went on bitterly, wringing her hands. "And that wind sounding in the firs by the lattice. Do let me feel it -- it comes straight down the moor -- do let me have one breath!"
To pacify her, I held the casement ajar a few seconds. A cold blast rushed through. I closed it, and returned to my post. She lay still now, her face bathed in tears. Exhaustion of body had entirely subdued her spirit. Our fiery Catherine was no better than a wailing child.
Volume 1 Chapter 12
ANNOTATIONS (NAME/COMMENT):
Jane:
"Oh, if I were but in my own bed in the old house!" she went on bitterly, wringing her hands. "And that wind sounding in the firs by the lattice. Do let me feel it -- it comes straight down the moor -- do let me have one breath!"
Even though it is apparent that Catherine is in an unstable state of mind from her hallucinations, she still yearns to be at Wuthering Heights (or rather, at least feel its presence), which suggests how important and precious the place is to her. Parallel to: the appearance of Catherine's ghost in Chapter 3.
Regina:
"That's a turkey's," she murmured to herself, "and this is a wild duck's, and this is a pigeon's. Ah, they put pigeons' feathers in the pillows; no wonder I couldn't die! Let me take care to throw it on the floor when I lie down. And here is a moor-cock's; and this -- I should know it among a thousand -- it's a lapwing's. Bonny bird, wheeling over our heads in the middle of the moor. It wanted to get to its nest, for the clouds had touched the swells, and it felt rain coming. This feather was picked up from the heath; the bird was not shot. We saw its nest in the winter, full of little skeletons. Heathcliff set a trap over it, and the old ones dare not come. I made him promise he'd never shoot a lap-wing after that, and he didn't. Yes, here are more! Did he shoot my lapwings, Nelly? Are they red, any of them? Let me look." Catherine's state of mind here is very critical as her incredulity that Edgar continues occupying himself with books when she is dying once more brings out the discrepancy in values between the two houses; WH and TCG. this agonising perception of dislocation has caused the act of Catherine plucking out the feathers from her pillow.
Regina:
"Don't you see that face?" she inquired, gazing earnestly at the mirror. Catherine failed to recognise her face here has shown us that her state of mind here is very unstable and that she is hallucinating, or in fact gazing beyond what she is seeing supported in (V2C1 pg 137-138) that: "The flash of her eyes had been succeeded by a dreamy melancholy softness: they no longer gave the impression of looking at the objects around her; they appeared always to gaze beyond, and far beyond-you would have said out of this world."
EVERYONE is to leave at least one sensible comment/annotation in the column on the right, below.
Please preface the remark with your name and a colon (:).
Remember:
1.) All text-based passages must be focused on analysing the given passage itself
2.) while also drawing relevance to the REST of the novel
Exercise ends by this SUNDAY 7 August 2359 hrs.
She could not bear the notion which I had put into her head of Mr. Linton's philosophical resignation. Tossing about, she increased her feverish bewilderment to madness, and tore the pillow with her teeth; then raising herself up, all burning, desired that I would open the window. We were in the middle of winter, the wind blew strong from the north-east, and I objected. Both the expressions flitting over her face and the changes of her moods began to alarm me terribly, and brought to my recollection her former illness, and the doctor's injunction that she should not be crossed. A minute previously she was violent; now, supported on one arm, and not noticing my refusal to obey her, she seemed to find childish diversion in pulling the feathers from the rents she had just made, and ranging them on the sheet according to their different species. Her mind had strayed to other associations.
"That's a turkey's," she murmured to herself, "and this is a wild duck's, and this is a pigeon's. Ah, they put pigeons' feathers in the pillows; no wonder I couldn't die! Let me take care to throw it on the floor when I lie down. And here is a moor-cock's; and this -- I should know it among a thousand -- it's a lapwing's. Bonny bird, wheeling over our heads in the middle of the moor. It wanted to get to its nest, for the clouds had touched the swells, and it felt rain coming. This feather was picked up from the heath; the bird was not shot. We saw its nest in the winter, full of little skeletons. Heathcliff set a trap over it, and the old ones dare not come. I made him promise he'd never shoot a lap-wing after that, and he didn't. Yes, here are more! Did he shoot my lapwings, Nelly? Are they red, any of them? Let me look."
"Give over with that baby-work!" I interrupted, dragging the pillow away, and turning the holes towards the mattress, for she was removing its contents by handfuls. "Lie down and shut your eyes; you're wandering. There's a mess! The down is flying about like snow."
I went here and there collecting it.
"I see in you, Nelly," she continued dreamily, "an aged woman. You have gray hair and bent shoulders. This bed is the fairy cave under Peniston Crag, and you are gathering elf-bolts to hurt our heifers, pretending, while I am near, that they are only locks of wool. That's what you'll come to fifty years hence. I know you are not so now. I'm not wandering; you're mistaken, or else I should believe you really were that withered hag, and I should think I was under Peniston Crag; and I'm conscious it's night, and there are two candles on the table making the black press shine like jet."
"The black press? Where is that?" I asked. "You are talking in your sleep!"
"It's against the wall, as it always is," she replied. "It does appear odd. I see a face in it!"
"There's no press in the room, and never was," said I, resuming my seat, and looping up the curtain, that I might watch her.
"Don't you see that face?" she inquired, gazing earnestly at the mirror.
And say what I could, I was incapable of making her comprehend it to be her own; so I rose and covered it with a shawl.
"It's behind there still!" she pursued anxiously. "And it stirred. Who is it? I hope it will not come out when you are gone! O Nelly, the room is haunted! I'm afraid of being alone!"
I took her hand in mine, and bade her be composed, for a succession of shudders convulsed her frame, and she would keep straining her gaze towards the glass.
"There's nobody here!" I insisted. "It was yourself Mrs. Linton. You knew it a while since."
"Myself!" she gasped; "and the clock is striking twelve! It's true, then; that's dreadful!"
Her fingers clutched the clothes, and gathered them over her eyes. I attempted to steal to the door, with an intention of calling her husband; but I was summoned back by a piercing shriek. The shawl had dropped from the frame.
"Why, what is the matter?" cried I. "Who is coward now? Wake up! That is the glass -- the mirror, Mrs. Linton; and you see yourself in it; and there am I too, by your side."
Trembling and bewildered, she held me fast, but the horror gradually passed from hercountenance. Its paleness gave place to a glow of shame.
"Oh dear! I thought I was at home," she sighed -- "I thought I was lying in my chamber at Wuthering Heights. Because I'm weak, my brain got confused, and I screamed unconsciously. Don't say anything, but stay with me. I dread sleeping. My dreams appall me."
"A sound sleep would do you good, ma'am," I answered; "and I hope this suffering will prevent your trying starving again."
"Oh, if I were but in my own bed in the old house!" she went on bitterly, wringing her hands. "And that wind sounding in the firs by the lattice. Do let me feel it -- it comes straight down the moor -- do let me have one breath!"
To pacify her, I held the casement ajar a few seconds. A cold blast rushed through. I closed it, and returned to my post. She lay still now, her face bathed in tears. Exhaustion of body had entirely subdued her spirit. Our fiery Catherine was no better than a wailing child.
Volume 1 Chapter 12
Jane:
"Oh, if I were but in my own bed in the old house!" she went on bitterly, wringing her hands. "And that wind sounding in the firs by the lattice. Do let me feel it -- it comes straight down the moor -- do let me have one breath!"
Even though it is apparent that Catherine is in an unstable state of mind from her hallucinations, she still yearns to be at Wuthering Heights (or rather, at least feel its presence), which suggests how important and precious the place is to her. Parallel to: the appearance of Catherine's ghost in Chapter 3.
Regina:
"That's a turkey's," she murmured to herself, "and this is a wild duck's, and this is a pigeon's. Ah, they put pigeons' feathers in the pillows; no wonder I couldn't die! Let me take care to throw it on the floor when I lie down. And here is a moor-cock's; and this -- I should know it among a thousand -- it's a lapwing's. Bonny bird, wheeling over our heads in the middle of the moor. It wanted to get to its nest, for the clouds had touched the swells, and it felt rain coming. This feather was picked up from the heath; the bird was not shot. We saw its nest in the winter, full of little skeletons. Heathcliff set a trap over it, and the old ones dare not come. I made him promise he'd never shoot a lap-wing after that, and he didn't. Yes, here are more! Did he shoot my lapwings, Nelly? Are they red, any of them? Let me look."
Catherine's state of mind here is very critical as her incredulity that Edgar continues occupying himself with books when she is dying once more brings out the discrepancy in values between the two houses; WH and TCG. this agonising perception of dislocation has caused the act of Catherine plucking out the feathers from her pillow.
Regina:
"Don't you see that face?" she inquired, gazing earnestly at the mirror.
Catherine failed to recognise her face here has shown us that her state of mind here is very unstable and that she is hallucinating, or in fact gazing beyond what she is seeing supported in (V2C1 pg 137-138) that:
"The flash of her eyes had been succeeded by a dreamy melancholy softness: they no longer gave the impression of looking at the objects around her; they appeared always to gaze beyond, and far beyond-you would have said out of this world."