CHAPTER 1
1801. I have just returned from a visit to my landlord – my solitary neighbour. This is certainly a beautiful country! In all England, I do not believe that I could have found a place so completely removed from society. A perfect misanthropist’s heaven: for which Mr. Heathcliff and I are equally suited. A capital fellow! He little imagined how my heart warmed towards him when I saw his black eyes withdraw so suspiciously under their brows, and his fingers shelter themselves jealously in his waistcoat, as I rode up.
‘Mr. Heathcliff?’ I said.
He nodded.
‘Mr. Lockwood, your new tenant, sir. I called to express the hope that I have not inconvenienced you by renting Thrushcross Grange.’
‘Thrushcross Grange is my own, sir,’ he answered, wincing. ‘I should not allow anyone to inconvenience me, if I could hinder it. Walk in!’
The ‘walk in’ was uttered with closed teeth, meaning, ‘Go to the Devil.’ However, I decided to accept the invitation: I felt interested in a man even more exaggeratedly reserved than myself.
He unchained the gate and then sullenly led me up the driveway, calling, as we entered the courtyard, ‘Joseph, take Mr. Lockwood’s horse; and bring up some wine.’
‘Here is the whole set of servants, I suppose,’ I reflected. ‘No wonder the grass grows up between the flagstones.’
Joseph was an old man: very old, perhaps, though hale and sinewy. ‘The Lord help us!’ he muttered in a peevish undertone, taking my horse and looking at me sourly.
Wuthering Heights is the name of Mr. Heathcliff’s house: ‘wuthering’ being a local word, describing the tumultuous weather to which the place is exposed. Pure, bracing ventilation they must have up there, indeed: one may guess the power of the north wind by the steep slant of a few stunted firs at the end of the house; and by a range of gaunt thorns all stretching their limbs one way, as if craving alms of the sun. Luckily, the house is strongly built, with narrow windows deeply set in the walls.
Before entering, I paused to admire the grotesque carvings over the door; where amongst crumbling griffins and shameless little boys, I detected the date ‘1500,’ and the name ‘Hareton Earnshaw.’ I would have asked the surly owner about the place’s history, but he seemed impatient, and I had no desire to annoy him.
We walked into the family sitting-room without any introductory lobby or passage: they call it here ‘the house.’ It usually includes kitchen and parlour; but at Wuthering Heights the kitchen is forced to retreat into another quarter. There were no signs of cooking around the huge fireplace; no glitter of copper saucepans on the walls. At one end, indeed, were ranks of immense pewter dishes, silver jugs and tankards, towering row after row, on a vast oak dresser, to the very roof. The roof beams were bare, except for a wooden frame laden with oatcakes and legs of beef, mutton, and ham.
Above the chimney were several villainous old guns. The floor was of smooth, white stone; the chairs were high-backed and primitive. By the dresser lay a huge pointer, surrounded by a swarm of squealing puppies; and other dogs haunted other recesses.
The house and furniture were of a type that might belong to a homely, northern farmer in knee-breeches. Such a person, seated in his arm-chair with his mug of ale, may be seen everywhere amongst these hills.
But Mr. Heathcliff forms a singular contrast to his home and style of living. He is a dark-skinned gipsy in aspect, in dress and manners as gentlemanly as many a country squire: rather slovenly, perhaps, yet despite his negligence, with an erect and handsome figure; and rather morose. Possibly, some people might suspect him of pride; I feel instinctively his reserve is nothing of the sort, but springs from an aversion to showy displays of feeling. He’ll love and hate equally under cover.
No, I’m running on too fast: I bestow my own feelings on him. Mr. Heathcliff may have entirely different reasons for his reserve from mine. Let me hope my nature is unique: my dear mother used to say I should never have a comfortable home; and only last summer I proved myself unworthy of one.
While enjoying a month of fine weather at the sea-coast, I was thrown into the company of a fascinating girl: a goddess in my eyes, as long as she took no notice of me. I ‘never told my love’; still, the merest idiot might have guessed from my looks that I was head over heels. She understood me, and looked a return – the sweetest of all looks. And what did I do? I confess it with shame – shrunk icily into myself, like a snail; at every glance retired colder and farther; till finally the poor innocent was led to doubt her own senses, and, overwhelmed with confusion at her supposed mistake, persuaded her mamma to leave. Through this reserve I have gained the reputation of heartlessness; how undeserved, I alone can know.
I took a seat by the hearth, and filled the silence by attempting to caress the dog, who was sneaking wolfishly to the back of my legs, her lip curled up, ready to bite. My caress provoked a long, guttural snarl.
‘Let the dog alone,’ growled Mr. Heathcliff, aiming a kick at her. ‘She’s not a pet.’ Then, striding to a side door, he shouted, ‘Joseph!’
Joseph mumbled in the depths of the cellar, but did not appear; so his master dived down to him, leaving me with the ruffianly bitch and a pair of grim shaggy sheep-dogs. Not anxious to feel their fangs, I sat still; but I unfortunately indulged in winking and making faces at them, and so irritated madam that she suddenly broke into a fury and leapt on my knees.
I flung her back, and quickly put the table between us. This aroused the whole hive: half-a-dozen four-footed fiends, of various sizes, ran out from hidden dens to attack my heels and coat-hems. Keeping them off as best I could with the poker, I was obliged to call for help.
Mr. Heathcliff and his man climbed the cellar steps without hurry; I don’t think they moved one second faster than usual, though the hearth was an absolute tempest of worrying and yelping. Happily, an inhabitant of the kitchen made more haste: a lusty dame, with bare arms and fire-flushed cheeks, rushed in flourishing a frying-pan: and used that weapon to such purpose, that the storm subsided magically by the time her master entered on the scene.
‘What the devil is the matter?’ he asked.
‘What the devil, indeed!’ I muttered. ‘You might as well leave a stranger with a brood of tigers as with those animals, sir!’
‘They won’t meddle with people who touch nothing,’ he remarked, putting a bottle before me. ‘The dogs do right to be vigilant. A glass of wine?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘Not bitten, are you?’
‘If I had been, I would have set my mark on the biter.’
Heathcliff’s face relaxed into a grin.
‘Come, come,’ he said, ‘take a little wine. Guests are so rare in this house that I and my dogs hardly know how to receive them. Your health, sir!’
I bowed, seeing that it would be foolish to sulk. Probably not wishing to offend a good tenant, he began to talk less curtly, discussing the advantages and disadvantages of my new house. I found him very intelligent on these topics; and before I went home, I offered to visit him tomorrow. He did not seem to wish for it. I shall go, all the same. It is astonishing how sociable I feel compared with him.