Her imagination, which was a spirit more sombre than
sunny, more powerful than sportive, found in such traits material
whence it wrought creations like Heathcliff, like Earnshaw, like
Catherine. Having formed these beings, she did not know what she
had done. If the auditor of her work, when read in manuscript,
shuddered under the grinding influence of natures so relentless and
implacable, of spirits so lost and fallen; if it was complained
that the mere hearing of certain vivid and fearful scenes banished
sleep by night, and disturbed mental peace by day, Ellis Bell would
wonder what was meant, and suspect the complainant of affectation.
Had she but lived, her mind would of itself have grown like a
strong tree, loftier, straighter, wider-spreading, and its matured
fruits would have attained a mellower ripeness and sunnier bloom;
but on that mind time and experience alone could work: to the
influence of other intellects it was not amenable.
Having avowed that over much of 'Wuthering Heights' there broods 'a
horror of great darkness'; that, in its storm-heated and electrical
atmosphere, we seem at times to breathe lightning: let me point to
those spots where clouded day-light and the eclipsed sun still
attest their existence.
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