Wuthering Heights

Emily Brontë

• Publisher: Youcanprint
• Year: 2017
• ISBN:
  9788892682979
• Topic: Literatur
• Subtopic: Altertumswissenschaften

Emily Brontë's only novel, Wuthering Heights remains one of literature's most disturbing explorations into the dark side of romantic passion. Heathcliff and Cathy believe they're destined to love each other forever, but when cruelty and snobbery separate them, their untamed emotions literally consume them.

CHAPTER I

1801.—I have just returned from a visit to mylandlord—the solitary neighbour that I shall be troubledwith. This is certainly a beautiful country! In allEngland, I do not believe that I could have fixed on a situation socompletely removed from the stir of society. Aperfectmisanthropist’s heaven: and Mr. Heathcliff and I aresuch a suitable pair to divide the desolation between us. Acapital fellow! He little imagined how my heart warmedtowards him when I beheld his black eyes withdraw so suspiciouslyunder their brows, as I rode up, and when his fingers shelteredthemselves, with a jealous resolution, still further in hiswaistcoat, as I announced my name.

‘Mr. Heathcliff?’ I said.

A nod was the answer.

‘Mr. Lockwood, your new tenant, sir. I do myself thehonour of calling as soon as possible after my arrival, to expressthe hope that I have not inconvenienced you by my perseverance insoliciting the occupation of Thrushcross Grange: I heard yesterdayyou had had some thoughts—’

‘Thrushcross Grange is my own, sir,’ he interrupted,wincing. ‘I should not allow any one to inconvenienceme, if I could hinder it—walk in!’

The ‘walk in’ was uttered with closed teeth, andexpressed the sentiment, ‘Go to the Deuce:’ even thegate over which he leant manifested no sympathising movement to thewords; and I think that circumstance determined me to accept theinvitation: I felt interested in a man who seemed moreexaggeratedly reserved than myself.

When he saw my horse’s breast fairly pushing the barrier,he did put out his hand to unchain it, and then sullenly precededme up the causeway, calling, as we entered thecourt,—‘Joseph, take Mr. Lockwood’s horse; andbring up some wine.’

‘Here we have the whole establishment of domestics, Isuppose,’ was the reflection suggested by this compoundorder. ‘No wonder the grass grows up between the flags,and cattle are the only hedge-cutters.’

Joseph was an elderly, nay, an old man: very old, perhaps,though hale and sinewy. ‘The Lord help us!’ hesoliloquised in an undertone of peevish displeasure, whilerelieving me of my horse: looking, meantime, in my face so sourlythat I charitably conjectured he must have need of divine aid todigest his dinner, and his pious ejaculation had no reference to myunexpected advent.

Wuthering Heights is thename of Mr. Heathcliff’sdwelling. ‘Wuthering’ being a significantprovincial adjective, descriptive of the atmospheric tumult towhich its station is exposed instormy weather. Pure, bracingventilation they must have up there at all times, indeed: onemayguess the power of the north wind blowing over the edge, by theexcessive slant of a few stunted firs at the end of the house; andby a range of gaunt thorns all stretching their limbs one way, asif craving alms of the sun. Happily, the architect hadforesight to build it strong: the narrow windows are deeply set inthe wall, and the corners defended with large jutting stones.

Before passing the threshold, I paused to admire a quantity ofgrotesque carving lavished over the front, and especiallyabout theprincipal door; above which, among a wilderness of crumblinggriffins and shameless little boys, I detected the date‘1500,’ and the name ‘HaretonEarnshaw.’ I would have made a few comments, andrequested a short history of the place from the surly owner; buthis attitude at the door appeared to demand my speedy entrance, orcomplete departure, and I had no desire to aggravate his impatienceprevious to inspecting the penetralium.

One stop brought us into the family sitting-room, without anyintroductory lobby or passage: they call it here ‘thehouse’ pre-eminently. It includes kitchen and parlour,generally; but I believe at Wuthering Heights the kitchen is forcedto retreat altogether into another quarter: at least Idistinguished a chatter oftongues, and a clatter of culinaryutensils, deep within; and I observed no signs of roasting,boiling, or baking, about the huge fireplace; nor any glitter ofcopper saucepans and tin cullenders on the walls. One end,indeed, reflected splendidly both light and heat from ranks ofimmense pewter dishes, interspersed with silver jugs and tankards,towering row after row, on a vast oak dresser, to the veryroof. The latter had never been under-drawn: its entireanatomy lay bare to an inquiring eye, exceptwhere a frame of woodladen with oatcakes and clusters of legs of beef, mutton, and ham,concealed it. Above the chimney were sundry villainous oldguns, and a couple of horse-pistols: and, by way of ornament, threegaudily-painted canisters disposed along its ledge. The floorwas of smooth, white stone; the chairs, high-backed, primitivestructures, painted green: one or two heavy black ones lurking inthe shade. In an arch under the dresser reposed a huge,liver-coloured bitch pointer, surrounded by aswarm of squealingpuppies; and other dogs haunted other recesses.

The apartment and furniture would have been nothingextraordinary as belonging to a homely, northern farmer, with astubborn countenance, and stalwart limbs set out to advantage inknee-breeches and gaiters. Such an individual seated in hisarm-chair, his mug of ale frothing on the round table before him,is to be seen in any circuit of five or six miles among thesehills, if you go at the right time after dinner. But Mr.Heathcliff formsa singular contrast to his abode and style ofliving. He is a dark-skinned gipsy in aspect, in dress andmanners a gentleman: that is, as much a gentleman as many a countrysquire: rather slovenly, perhaps, yet not looking amiss with hisnegligence, because he has an erect and handsome figure; and rathermorose. Possibly, some people might suspect him of a degreeof under-bred pride; I have a sympathetic chord within that tellsme it is nothing of the sort: I know, by instinct, his reservesprings from anaversion to showy displays of feeling—tomanifestations of mutual kindliness. He’ll love andhate equally under cover, and esteem it a species of impertinenceto be loved or hated again. No, I’m running on toofast: I bestow my own attributes over-liberally on him. Mr.Heathcliff may have entirelydissimilar reasons for keeping his handout of the way when he meets a would-be acquaintance, to thosewhich actuate me. Let me hope my constitution is almostpeculiar: my dear mother used to say I should never have acomfortable home; and only last summer I proved myself perfectlyunworthy of one.

While enjoying a month of fine weather at the sea-coast, I wasthrown into the company of a most fascinating creature: a realgoddess in my eyes, as long as she took no notice of me. I‘never told my love’ vocally; still, if looks havelanguage, the merest idiot might have guessed I was over head andears: she understood me at last, and looked a return—thesweetest of all imaginable looks. And what did I do? Iconfess it with shame—shrunk icily into myself, like a snail;at every glance retired colder and farther; till finally the poorinnocent was led to doubt her own senses, and, overwhelmed withconfusion at her supposed mistake, persuaded her mamma todecamp. By this curious turn of disposition I have gained thereputation of deliberate heartlessness; how undeserved, I alone canappreciate.

I took a seat at the end of the hearthstone opposite thattowards which my landlord advanced, and filled up an intervalofsilence by attempting to caress the canine mother, who had lefther nursery, and was sneaking wolfishly to the back of my legs, herlip curled up, and her white teeth watering for a snatch. Mycaress provoked a long, guttural gnarl.

‘You’d better let thedog alone,’ growled Mr.Heathcliff in unison, checking fiercer demonstrations with a punchof his foot. ‘She’s not accustomed to bespoiled—not kept for a pet.’ Then, striding to aside door, he shouted again, ‘Joseph!’

Joseph mumbled indistinctly in the depths of the cellar, butgave no intimation of ascending; so his master dived down to him,leaving mevis-à-visthe ruffianly bitch and a pair of grimshaggy sheep-dogs, who shared with her a jealous guardianship overall my movements. Not anxious to come in contact with theirfangs, I sat still; but, imagining they would scarcely understandtacit insults, I unfortunately indulged in winking and making facesat the trio, and some turn of my physiognomy so irritated madam,that she suddenly broke into afury and leapt on my knees. Iflung her back, and hastened to interpose the table betweenus. This proceeding aroused the whole hive: half-a-dozenfour-footed fiends, of various sizes and ages, issued from hiddendens to the common centre. I felt my heels and coat-lapspeculiar subjects of assault; and parrying off the largercombatants as effectually as I could with the poker, I wasconstrained to demand, aloud, assistance from some of the householdin re-establishing peace.

Mr. Heathcliff and his man climbed the cellar steps withvexatious phlegm: I don’t think they moved one second fasterthan usual, though the hearth was an absolute tempest of worryingand yelping. Happily, an inhabitant of the kitchen made moredespatch: a lusty dame, with tucked-upgown, bare arms, andfire-flushed cheeks, rushed into the midst of us flourishing afrying-pan: and used that weapon, and her tongue, to such purpose,that the storm subsided magically, and she only remained, heavinglike a sea after a high wind, when hermaster entered on thescene.

‘What the devil is the matter?’ he asked, eyeing mein a manner that I could ill endure, after this inhospitabletreatment.

‘What the devil, indeed!’ I muttered. ‘The herd of possessed swine could have had no worse spiritsinthem than those animals of yours, sir. You might as wellleave a stranger with a brood of tigers!’

‘They won’t meddle with persons who touchnothing,’ he remarked, putting the bottle before me, andrestoring the displaced table. ‘The dogs do right tobevigilant. Take a glass of wine?’

‘No, thank you.’

‘Not bitten, are you?’

‘If I had been, I would have set my signet on thebiter.’ Heathcliff’s countenance relaxed into agrin.

‘Come, come,’ he said, ‘you are flurried, Mr.Lockwood. Here, take a littlewine. Guests are soexceedingly rare in this house that I and my dogs, I am willing toown, hardly know how to receive them. Your health,sir?’

I bowed and returned the pledge; beginning to perceive that itwould be foolish to sit sulking for the misbehaviour of a pack ofcurs; besides, I felt loth to yield the fellow further amusement atmy expense; since his humour took that turn. He—probably swayed by prudential consideration of the follyof offending a good tenant—relaxed a little in the laconicstyle of chipping off his pronouns and auxiliary verbs, andintroduced what he supposed would be a subject of interest tome,—a discourse on the advantages and disadvantages of mypresent place of retirement. I found him very intelligent onthe topics we touched; and before I went home, I was encouraged sofar as to volunteer another visit to-morrow. He evidentlywished no repetition of my intrusion. I shall go,notwithstanding. It is astonishing how sociable I feel myselfcompared with him.

CHAPTER II

Yesterday afternoon set in misty and cold. I had half amind to spend it by my study fire, instead of wading through heathand mud to Wuthering Heights. On coming up from dinner,however, (N.B.—I dine between twelve and one o’clock;the housekeeper, a matronly lady, taken as a fixture along with thehouse, could not, or would not, comprehend my request that I mightbe served at five)—on mounting the stairs with this lazyintention, and stepping into the room, I saw a servant-girl on herknees surrounded bybrushes and coal-scuttles, and raising aninfernal dust as she extinguished the flames with heaps ofcinders. This spectacle drove me back immediately; I took myhat, and, after a four-miles’ walk, arrived atHeathcliff’s garden-gate just in time to escape the firstfeathery flakes of a snow-shower.

On that bleak hill-top the earth was hard with a black frost,and the air made me shiver through every limb. Being unableto remove the chain, I jumped over, and, running up the flaggedcauseway bordered withstraggling gooseberry-bushes, knocked vainlyfor admittance, till my knuckles tingled and the dogs howled.

‘Wretched inmates!’ I ejaculated, mentally,‘you deserve perpetual isolation from your species for yourchurlish inhospitality. At least, I wouldnot keep my doorsbarred in the day-time. I don’t care—I will getin!’ So resolved, I grasped the latch and shook itvehemently. Vinegar-faced Joseph projected his head from around window of the barn.

‘What are ye for?’ he shouted. ‘T’maister’s downi’ t’ fowld. Go round byth’ end o’ t’ laith, if ye went to spake tohim.’

‘Is there nobody inside to open the door?’ Ihallooed, responsively.

‘There’s nobbut t’ missis; and shoo’llnot oppen ’t an ye mak’ yer flaysome dins tillneeght.’

‘Why? Cannot you tell her whom I am, eh,Joseph?’

‘Nor-ne me! I’ll hae no hendwi’t,’ muttered the head, vanishing.

The snow began to drive thickly. I seized the handle toessay another trial; when a young man without coat, and shoulderinga pitchfork, appeared in theyard behind. He hailed me tofollow him, and, after marching through a wash-house, and a pavedarea containing a coal-shed, pump, and pigeon-cot, we at lengtharrived in the huge, warm, cheerful apartment where I was formerlyreceived. It glowed delightfully in the radiance of animmense fire, compounded of coal, peat, and wood; and near thetable, laid for a plentiful evening meal, I was pleased to observethe ‘missis,’ an individual whose existence I had neverpreviously suspected. I bowed and waited,thinking she wouldbid me take a seat. She looked at me, leaning back in herchair, and remained motionless and mute.

‘Rough weather!’ I remarked. ‘I’mafraid, Mrs. Heathcliff, the door must bear the consequence of yourservants’ leisure attendance: I had hard work to make themhear me.’

She never opened her mouth. I stared—she staredalso: at any rate, she kept her eyes on me in a cool, regardlessmanner, exceedingly embarrassing and disagreeable.

‘Sit down,’ said the young man, gruffly. ‘He’ll be insoon.’

I obeyed; and hemmed, and called the villain Juno, who deigned,at this second interview, to move the extreme tip of her tail, intoken of owning my acquaintance.

‘A beautiful animal!’ I commenced again. ‘Do you intend parting with the little ones,madam?’

‘They are not mine,’ said the amiable hostess, morerepellingly than Heathcliff himself could have replied.

‘Ah, your favourites are among these?’ I continued,turning to an obscure cushion full of something like cats.

‘A strange choice of favourites!’ she observedscornfully.

Unluckily, it was a heap of dead rabbits. I hemmed oncemore, and drew closer to the hearth, repeating my comment on thewildness of the evening.

‘You should not have come out,’ she said, rising andreaching from the chimney-piece two of the painted canisters.

Her position before was sheltered from the light; now, I had adistinct view of her whole figure and countenance. She wasslender, and apparently scarcely past girlhood: an admirable form,and the most exquisite littleface that I have ever had the pleasureof beholding; small features, very fair; flaxen ringlets, or rathergolden, hanging loose on her delicate neck; and eyes, had they beenagreeable in expression, that would have been irresistible:fortunately for my susceptible heart, the only sentiment theyevinced hovered between scorn and a kind of desperation, singularlyunnatural to be detected there. The canisters were almost outof her reach; I made a motion to aid her; she turned upon me as amiser might turnif any one attempted to assist him in counting hisgold.

‘I don’t want your help,’ she snapped;‘I can get them for myself.’

‘I beg your pardon!’ I hastened to reply.

‘Were you asked to tea?’ she demanded, tying anapron over her neat black frock, and standing with a spoonful ofthe leaf poised over the pot.

‘I shall be glad to have a cup,’ I answered.

‘Were you asked?’ she repeated.

‘No,’ I said, half smiling. ‘You are theproper person to ask me.’

She flung the tea back, spoon and all, and resumed her chair ina pet; her forehead corrugated, and her red under-lip pushed out,like a child’s ready to cry.

Meanwhile, the young man had slung on to his person a decidedlyshabby upper garment, and, erecting himself before the blaze,looked down on me from the corner of his eyes, for all the world asif there were some mortal feud unavenged between us. I beganto doubt whether he were a servant or not: his dress and speechwere both rude, entirely devoid of the superiority observable inMr. and Mrs. Heathcliff;his thick brown curls were rough andunculti...