Home is where the heartless are: Examining connections between setting and Gothic villains
Creepy castles and run-down houses, dangerous men and undead monsters - settings and villains are defining features of Gothic Fiction. While it is easy to track how these two elements have separately evolved throughout 19th century Gothic literature, one gains a greater appreciation for these novels when studying them together. This paper will examine how setting in The Mysteries of Udolpho, Dracula and Wuthering Heights sets the mood of a story and also reflects its respective Gothic villains.
Ann Radcliffe's The Mysteries of Udolpho, an early Gothic pioneer, uses setting to emphasize Emily St. Aubert's isolation and her fear of the unknown. At the start of the novel, Emily's life could not be more perfect. She lives in a chateau with her parents, with views of the Pyrenees mountains, whose "summits, veiled in clouds . . . were sometimes barren, and gleamed through the blue tinge of air, and sometimes frowned with forests of gloomy pine, that swept downward to their base" (Radcliffe 1). While Emily seems isolated from the rest of the world, she enjoys studying the "elegant arts" with a view of the French countryside, which is replete with "groves of almond, palm-trees, flowering-ash, and myrtle" (3). Radcliffe's imagery is soothing, practically tranquil, and reflects how Emily feels in the comfort of her home. However, her descriptions become dark and foreboding when Emily approaches Udolpho. The forests of Italy, unlike those in France, are described as having a "solitary silence" which only bring "images of gloomy grandeur, or of dreadful sublimity" to Emily's thoughts (224). Likewise, Udolpho itself strikes fear into Emily. She feels as if "she was going into her prison" which the "gloomy court . . . served to confirm the idea, and her imagination, ever awake to circumstance, suggested even more terrors, than her reason could justify" (227). Yet just a few more glimpses at Udolpho bring "long-suffering and murder" to Emily's thoughts. Far from home with her resolve slipping away, Emily fears for her life (228).
But Emily's terror does not stem from Udolpho itself, but rather the castle's reflection of Montoni, her guardian and the story's villain. The castle, "Silent, lonely, and sublime . . . seemed to stand the sovereign of the scene, and to frown defiance on all, who dared to invade its solitary reign" (227). It is an isolated, hulking structure, just like its master who stands aloof from the world. Emily detects such qualities in Montoni when she first meets him at a party. While Montoni is an "uncommonly handsome person, with features manly and expressive," Emily notes he exhibited "more of the haughtiness of command, and the quickness of discernment" (23) of any of the guests. But like his castle, which "as the twilight deepened, its features became more awful" (227), Montoni's true nature dawns on Emily as she learns more about him. The Italian's "spirit and vigour of his soul" suggest a strong personality, yet Emily's admiration for him is "not the admiration that leads to esteem; for it was mixed with a degree of fear she knew not exactly wherefore" (122). Emily's suspicions are aroused further when her aunt quickly marries Montoni and during their wedding reception he remains "silent, reserved and somewhat haughty, seemed weary of the parade, and of the frivolous company it had drawn together" while her aunt "danced, laughed and talked incessantly" (143). But Udolpho itself reveals the extent of Montoni's cruelty. He is not taking Emily to a beloved second home, but a fortress that overlooks a "precipice, whose shattered outline, appearing on a gleam, that lingered in the west, told of the ravages of war" (227). Examining the castle reveals to Emily what the reader already knows, that he is a man who "delighted in the energies of the passions; the difficulties and tempests of life, which wreck the happiness of others" (182). Emily quickly deduces that Montoni has removed her to "his secluded castle" because he "could there, with more probability of success, attempt to terrify her into obedience" (224).
But while Montoni's castle reflects his personality, the villain ultimately poses little threat to Emily. Montoni of course is undeniably cruel and manipulative; he locks Emily's aunt away to "secure an opportunity of privately dispatching her, should any new circumstances occur to confirm the present suggestions" that she had poisoned him. Likewise, he forces Emily to sign all her lands over to him, and tells her, "You speak like a heroine . . . we shall see whether you can suffer like one" (381). But Montoni never lives up to the ominous threat his castle suggests. Emily is initially isolated, but she quickly gains allies like Annette. In addition, Montoni has plenty of opportunity to make Emily suffer, but prefers to deliver misogynistic platitudes: "before you undertake to regulate the morals of other persons, you should learn and practise the virtues, which are indispensable to a woman-sincerity, uniformity of conduct and obedience," he sneers at her (270). Indeed, just after Montoni threatens Emily with suffering worthy of a heroine, she realizes "his power did not appear so terrible to her imagination, as it was wont to do: a sacred pride was in her heart, that taught it to swell against the pressure of injustice" (381) and "she felt the full extent of her own superiority to Montoni" (381-382). With nearly 300 pages remaining in Radcliffe's novel, Montoni, for all his bluster, can do no more harm to Emily.
In Mysteries of Udolpho, the setting of the novel seems more prominent than the villain. However as Gothic Fiction evolved, setting took more of a backing role. Indeed, in Bram Stoker's Dracula, the setting creates the initial source of fear and uncertainty in the novel, but these feelings are amplified by the presence of the villain. Jonathan Harker is unprepared for the strangeness of Old World Transylvania. Not only do the trains run late and the people are wrapped up in superstition, but even the weather is unsettling:
She continued her course along the precipitous sides of the river, when suddenly her foot slipped, and she fell into the rapid stream. I rushed from my hiding-place and with extreme labour, from the force of the current, saved her and dragged her to shore. She was senseless, and I endeavoured by every means in my power to restore animation (125).
There were dark, rolling clouds overhead, and in the air the heavy, oppressive sense of thunder. It seemed as though the mountain range had separated two atmospheres, and that now we had got into the thunderous one. I was now myself looking out for the conveyance which was to take me to the Count. Each moment I expected to see the glare of lamps through the blackness, but all was dark (Stoker 9).
Jonathan's journey to Castle Dracula is hardly smooth sailing. He hears wolves, whose howling "seemed to come from all over the country, as far as the imagination could grasp it through the gloom of the night" (11), and make him consider jumping out of the carriage (12). Jonathan soon discovers that his destination is a "vast ruined castle, from whose tall black windows came no ray of light, and whose battlements showed a jagged line against the sky" (14); an image which makes the story unsettling . But Jonathan and the reader are given a brief - albeit deceptive - reprieve from fear, as Dracula welcomes Harker with enthusiasm: "Welcome to my house. Come freely. Go safely; and leave something of the happiness you bring!" (16) the Count says. Jonathan accepts the Count's warm welcome despite noting how Dracula has a hand that "seemed cold as ice - more like the hand of a dead than a living man" (16). Stoker builds uncertainty not by referencing the castle's gloomy walls, but just through a simple handshake. Further encounters with Dracula heighten Jonathan's wariness of him: when the Count leans over him, Harker "could not repress a shudder. It may have been that his breath was rank, but a horrible feeling of nausea came over me, which, do what I would, I could not conceal" (19). These small events wear away at Jonathan, and he admits that "this nocturnal existence . . . is destroying my nerve" (34). But Jonathan experiences ultimate terror when he learns Dracula has direct control of the setting itself. Jonathan's fear skyrockets when he "heard the voice of the Count calling in his harsh, metallic whisper," in response to a woman crying outside his castle. The Count's call is "answered from far and wide by the howling of wolves" (46), who leave no trace of her. Watching this grisly scene, Jonathan realizes he will likely share her fate.
While the setting is used to unsettle the reader in Dracula, it also resembles the undead count himself. Unlike Mysteries of Udolpho, Dracula's influence can be seen in multiple places, namely his Transylvanian and British haunts. The latter place, Carfax, is a "corruption of the old Quatre Face," (24) just as the Count is a corruption of life itself. According to Jonathan, the house has "only a few windows high up and heavily barred with iron," and "looks like part of a keep" (24). Carfax is appealing to Dracula because his own castle "was built on the corner of a great rock, so that on three sides it was quite impregnable," and features windows where "sling, or bow" nor "light and comfort" can reach (36). These buildings are invulnerable to conventional attack, just like their master. Indeed as Van Helsing describes, Dracula is the ultimate opponent:
[H]e is brute, and more than brute; he is devil in callous, and the heart of him is not; he can, within his range, direct the elements, the storm, the fog, the thunder; he can command all the meaner things, the rat, and the owl, and the bat, the moth, and the fox, and the wolf, he can grow and become small; and he can at times vanish and come unknown (239).
The vampire, unlike Montoni, truly represents the physical power seen in his estates. But Dracula poses a mental threat as well. He is a being whose very presence makes Jonathan sick, because as Mina puts it, "he looked so fierce and nasty" (172). This mental threat is represented by the insane asylum that is adjacent to Carfax. The asylum, like Dracula, saps the spirit and corrupts the mind. Dr. Seward glumly reflects how he must leave "the wonderful smoky beauty of a sunset over London" for the "grim sternness of my own cold stone building, with its wealth of breathing misery, and my own desolate heart to endure it all" (118). The asylum also serves as the place where setting and villain meet. Renfield, the asylum's most notable resident and later servant of Dracula, loses control whenever his master is near, and the vampire manages to prey on Mina by slipping through the mad-house. The Count's presence is so entrenched in this novel's setting, that even when he is not present, the reader urges the characters to look over their shoulders.
Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights, in contrast to the other two novels, takes Gothic Fiction in a different direction. Bronte and her sisters were said to have domesticated Gothic, and indeed the castles and monsters are replaced by an isolated country estate and a man rejected by the world. Bronte doesn't use the setting to induce fear, but to comment on the broken family which resides at Wuthering Heights. The name itself sums up the emotional situation. Mr. Lockwood notes that "'Wuthering' being a significant provincial adjective" is descriptive of "the atmospheric tumult to which its station is exposed in stormy weather" (Bronte 3). The name could easily describe the estate itself, which in many ways is inhospitable. A "heap of dead rabbits" (7) adorns one of the cushions, the poorly tended garden is overgrown with "straggling gooseberry bushes" (6), and the house's residents include dogs with threatening names like "Gnasher" and "Wolf" (13). It's no wonder Lockwood is told that "guests are exceedingly rare" (5). Notably Wuthering Heights is not named after Heathcliff, the current lord of the house, because he has usurped the title of master from Hareton Earnshaw, whose name appears above the "principal door" (3). Indeed, the first few pages of Bronte's novel establish that Heathcliff does not belong at Wuthering Heights. Lockwood notices the floor is made of "smooth, white stone" and the house features "immense pewter dishes, interspersed with silver jugs and tankards" (3), which suggest the house has a history of nobility. But "Mr. Heathcliff forms a singular contrast to his abode and style of living," observes Lockwood (3). While he dresses nicely, Heathcliff is as "much a gentleman as many a country squire" and is "rather morose" (3). Recognizing that Wuthering Heights must have once been a well-kept home, Lockwood asks Nelly Dean, "Is [Heathcliff] not rich enough to keep the estate in good order?" (28). But the reader learns that it is not money that prevents Wuthering Heights from regaining a semblance of respectability, but Heathcliff himself.
Unlike Dracula, the setting in Wuthering Heights reflects the corrupting influence, not the physical strength, of the villain. What Mr. Lockwood observes at the beginning of the novel can be traced to years of Heathcliff's toxic occupancy. Since he arrived at Wuthering Heights, Heathcliff has disrupted the natural order with his presence. Indeed, Nelly Dean recalls how "he bred bad feeling in the house" since he was taken in by Mr. Earnshaw, and was quickly seen by Hindley "as a usurper of his parent's affections and privileges" (33). Growing up, Heathcliff was observed to be a "wicked boy" who was "quite unfit for a decent house," according to Mrs. Linton (44). Yet Heathcliff ultimately goes from a boy whose clothes "had seen three months' service in mire and dust" (47) to a gentleman-like figure whose expression "looked intelligent, and retained no marks of former degradation" (84). But despite his physical transformation, Heathcliff maintains a "half-civilized ferocity" (84-85) that furthers the corruption of Wuthering Heights. This civilized façade unfortunately attracts Isabella Linton, who marries Heathcliff and soon wonders, "Is he mad? And if no, is he a devil?" (120). Just as he corrupts the physical environment around him, Heathcliff also corrupts the people who come into contact with him. Isabella, who was once a precocious teenager is described by Nelly Dean as "wan and listless," after she marries Heathcliff (129). Yet her husband feels no remorse for tormenting her, indeed he prides himself on keeping "strictly within the limits of the law" so that Isabella has not the "slightest right to claim a separation" (133). In addition, Heathcliff also manages to corrupt Hareton Earnshaw, the rightful owner of Wuthering Heights. Nelly sadly comments how "Hareton, who should now be the first gentleman in the neighborhood, was reduced to a state of complete dependence on his father's inveterate enemy" (166). Hareton lives as a servant, just like Heathcliff did, and the latter enjoys the influence he has over his enemy's son:
And the best of it is, Hareton is damnably fond of me! You'll own that I've outmatched Hindley there. If the dead villain could rise from his grave to abuse me for his offspring's wrongs, I should have the fun of seeing the said offspring fight him back again, indignant that he should dare to rail at the one friend he has in the world!' (193).
With no one to resist him, Heathcliff takes control as master of Wuthering Heights, and the world slowly decays around him.
In a curious twist on the relationship between setting and Gothic villains, Bronte reveals that Wuthering Heights undergoes a positive transformation once Heathcliff dies. Lockwood discovers that the gates to the estate "yielded to my hand" (272), and the "fragrance of stocks and wall flowers, wafted on the air, from amongst the homely fruit trees" (273). Even the weather appears to have subsided as Lockwood walks beneath a "benign sky" and listens "to the soft wind breathing through the grass" (300). Like a body free of a virus, Wuthering Heights has begun to grow and thrive again without Heathcliff. Interestingly, a similar result occurs earlier in the novel when Heathcliff has eloped with Isabella. Cathy and Linton observe that "the sky is blue, and the larks are singing, and the becks and brooks are all brim full" (118). Heathcliff's influence then was never permanent, but Wuthering Heights and the families connected to it were given few chances to grow from beneath his shadow.
In a curious twist on the relationship between setting and Gothic villains, Bronte reveals that Wuthering Heights undergoes a positive transformation once Heathcliff dies. Lockwood discovers that the gates to the estate "yielded to my hand" (272), and the "fragrance of stocks and wall flowers, wafted on the air, from amongst the homely fruit trees" (273). Even the weather appears to have subsided as Lockwood walks beneath a "benign sky" and listens "to the soft wind breathing through the grass" (300). Like a body free of a virus, Wuthering Heights has begun to grow and thrive again without Heathcliff. Interestingly, a similar result occurs earlier in the novel when Heathcliff has eloped with Isabella. Cathy and Linton observe that "the sky is blue, and the larks are singing, and the becks and brooks are all brim full" (118). Heathcliff's influence then was never permanent, but Wuthering Heights and the families connected to it were given few chances to grow from beneath his shadow.
Works Cited
Bronte, Emily. Wuthering Heights. Oxford, NY: Oxford University Press, 2008.
Radcliffe, Ann. The Mysteries of Udolpho. Oxford, NY: Oxford University Press. 1966.
Stoker, Bram. Dracula. New York, NY: Signet Classics, 2007.
2,842 words, 10 pages
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