Headstones in Gimmerton kirkyard

The headstones in Gimmerton kirkyard form the novel's final, potent image, a quiet tableau that resolves the tempest of its narrative. They are the physical proof of Catherine Earnshaw's unconventional burial, the resting place of Edgar Linton, and the monument to Heathcliff that bears only his single name. These stones crystallize the novel's themes of unity, memory, and the contested legacy of its characters, serving as the quiet, verdant conclusion to a story of violent passion and revenge.

The Unconventional Grave of Catherine Earnshaw

Catherine Earnshaw's place of interment was a deliberate departure from family tradition, surprising the villagers who expected her to be laid either in the chapel beneath the carved Linton monument or beside the tombs of her own relations outside. Instead, her grave was dug on a green slope in a corner of the kirkyard, where the wall is so low that heath and bilberry-plants have climbed over it from the moor, and peat-mould almost buries it. This location, neither fully within the Linton chapel nor among the Earnshaw tombs, visually enacts her divided identity and her refusal to belong wholly to either family. It is a spot where the wild moor encroaches upon the consecrated ground, a fitting resting place for a woman whose nature was as much of the heath as of the drawing-room. The choice of this grave, made by her husband Edgar Linton, who lies in the same spot now, was a final act that honored her wild spirit over the claims of his own family's grandeur.

Heathcliff's Single-Name Monument

The headstone that marks Heathcliff's grave is as singular as the man himself. When Ellen Dean, half-dreaming after his death, imagined the task of dictating an inscription for his monument, she was vexed by the impossibility of the task. Because he had no surname and his age could not be determined, they were obliged to content themselves with the single word, 'Heathcliff.' This prophecy came true: entering the kirkyard, one reads on his headstone only that name and the date of his death. This stark monument, devoid of lineage or chronology, is the final testament to his mysterious origins, the 'little dark thing' whose parentage was never known. It stands in stark contrast to the family monuments of the Lintons and Earnshaws, marking him forever as an outsider, a force of nature defined not by his ancestry but by his own overwhelming presence.

The Three Headstones and the Final Reconciliation

Mr. Lockwood, returning to the kirkyard after seven months, sought and discovered the three headstones on the slope next to the moor. The middle one, Catherine's, was grey and half buried in the heath; Edgar Linton's was only harmonized by the turf and moss creeping up its foot; while Heathcliff's was still bare. This visual progression from the wild, overgrown middle stone to the still-raw newness of Heathcliff's suggests a gradual process of nature reclaiming and softening the harsh edges of their story. Lockwood lingered around them under a benign sky, watching the moths fluttering among the heath and harebells, and listening to the soft wind breathing through the grass. He wondered how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth, a final, ironic question that dismisses the country folks' tales of Heathcliff walking near the church, on the moor, and even within the house. The image of the three stones, with Catherine's at the center, is the novel's last word on the possibility of peace, a serene and natural conclusion that belies the turbulent lives it commemorates.

The Grave as a Site of Obsession and Memory

The kirkyard and Catherine's grave were not merely a final destination but a recurring site of obsession for Heathcliff. In the days after her death, he was a sleepless guardian outside the Grange, and on the Tuesday after her decease, Ellen Dean opened a window to allow him a final, cautious adieu to the corpse. His obsession culminated in the desecration of her grave, an act he confessed to Ellen. On the day she was buried, after a fall of snow, he went to the churchyard alone and, conscious that two yards of loose earth was the sole barrier between them, said to himself, "I'll have her in my arms again!" He got a spade and began to delve with all his might, scraping the coffin and working with his hands until the wood commenced cracking about the screws. He was on the point of attaining his object when he heard a sigh from above, close at the edge of the grave, and felt the warm breath of it displacing the sleet-laden wind. He felt certain that Cathy was there, not under him, but on the earth, and a sudden sense of relief flowed from his heart. He relinquished his labour of agony, turned consoled, and re-filled the grave, her presence remaining with him and leading him home. This act of opening the coffin, and the subsequent replacement of the locket's contents with a black lock of his own hair, transformed the grave from a place of mourning into a site of supernatural communion, where his yearning for Catherine could be momentarily assuaged. The headstone, therefore, marks not just a burial but the epicenter of Heathcliff's haunting, the place where his monomania found its most desperate and literal expression.

The Burial and the Legacy of the Stones

Heathcliff's own burial was as unconventional as his life, carried out "to the scandal of the whole neighbourhood, as he wished." The attendance was minimal: Hareton Earnshaw, Ellen Dean, the sexton, and six men to carry the coffin. After the coffin was lowered, the six men departed, leaving the small party to see it covered. Hareton, with a streaming face, dug green sods and laid them over the brown mould himself, an act of profound and unexpected tenderness from the man Heathcliff had most wronged. This gesture, performed by the 'most wronged' character, who had sat by the corpse all night weeping in bitter earnest and kissing the sarcastic, savage face that everyone else shrank from, completes a cycle of forgiveness and grief. The grave, now as smooth and verdant as its companion mounds, is a testament to Hareton's generous heart, which remained tough as tempered steel yet capable of deep mourning. The headstones, in their final state, thus represent not only the end of the Earnshaw and Linton dynasties but also the possibility of a new, more peaceful order, one where the wild heath and the quiet earth can finally hold the restless spirits of the past.