Wuthering Heights
By Emily Bronte Published by Planet eBook. Visit the site to download free
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Chapter I
. I have just returned from a visit to my landlord the
solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled with. This is cer-
tainly a beautiful country! In all England, I do not believe
that I could have fixed on a situation so completely removed
from the stir of society. A perfect misanthropist’s heaven:
and Mr. Heathcliff and I are such a suitable pair to divide
the desolation between us. A capital fellow! He little imag-
ined how my heart warmed towards him when I beheld his
black eyes withdraw so suspiciously under their brows, as
I rode up, and when his fingers sheltered themselves, with
a jealous resolution, still further in his waistcoat, as I an-
nounced my name.
‘Mr. Heathcliff?’ I said.
A nod was the answer.
‘Mr. Lockwood, your new tenant, sir. I do myself the hon-
our of calling as soon as possible after my arrival, to express
the hope that I have not inconvenienced you by my perse-
verance in soliciting the occupation of Thrushcross Grange:
I heard yesterday you had had some thoughts ‘
‘Thrushcross Grange is my own, sir,’ he interrupted,
wincing. ‘I should not allow any one to inconvenience me, if
I could hinder it walk in!’
The ‘walk in’ was uttered with closed teeth, and ex-
pressed the sentiment, ‘Go to the Deuce:’ even the gate over Wuthering Heights
which he leant manifested no sympathising movement to
the words; and I think that circumstance determined me to
accept the invitation: I felt interested in a man who seemed
more exaggeratedly reserved than myself.
When he saw my horse’s breast fairly pushing the bar-
rier, he did put out his hand to unchain it, and then sullenly
preceded me up the causeway, calling, as we entered the
court, ‘Joseph, take Mr. Lockwood’s horse; and bring up
some wine.’
‘Here we have the whole establishment of domestics, I
suppose,’ was the reflection suggested by this compound or-
der. ‘No wonder the grass grows up between the flags, and
cattle are the only hedgecutters.’
Joseph was an elderly, nay, an old man: very old, perhaps,
though hale and sinewy. ‘The Lord help us!’ he soliloquised
in an undertone of peevish displeasure, while relieving me
of my horse: looking, meantime, in my face so sourly that
I charitably conjectured he must have need of divine aid to
digest his dinner, and his pious ejaculation had no reference
to my unexpected advent.
Wuthering Heights is the name of Mr. Heathcliff’s dwell-
ing. ‘Wuthering’ being a significant provincial adjective,
descriptive of the atmospheric tumult to which its station is
exposed in stormy weather. Pure, bracing ventilation they
must have up there at all times, indeed: one may guess the
power of the north wind blowing over the edge, by the ex-
cessive 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. Happily, the architect had Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com
foresight to build it strong: the narrow windows are deeply
set in the wall, and the corners defended with large jutting
stones.
Before passing the threshold, I paused to admire a
quantity of grotesque carving lavished over the front, and
especially about the principal door; above which, among a
wilderness of crumbling griffins and shameless little boys, I
detected the date ‘1500,’ and the name ‘Hareton Earnshaw.’
I would have made a few comments, and requested a short
history of the place from the surly owner; but his attitude
at the door appeared to demand my speedy entrance, or
complete departure, and I had no desire to aggravate his
impatience previous to inspecting the penetralium.
One stop brought us into the family sitting-room, with-
out any introductory lobby or passage: they call it here ‘the
house’ preeminently. It includes kitchen and parlour, gen-
erally; but I believe at Wuthering Heights the kitchen is
forced to retreat altogether into another quarter: at least I
distinguished a chatter of tongues, and a clatter of culinary
utensils, deep within; and I observed no signs of roasting,
boiling, or baking, about the huge fireplace; nor any glitter of
copper saucepans and tin cullenders on the walls. One end,
indeed, reflected splendidly both light and heat from ranks
of immense pewter dishes, interspersed with silver jugs and
tankards, towering row after row, on a vast oak dresser, to
the very roof. The latter had never been under-drawn: its
entire anatomy lay bare to an inquiring eye, except where
a frame of wood laden with oatcakes and clusters of legs
of beef, mutton, and ham, concealed it. Above the chimney Wuthering Heights
were sundry villainous old guns, and a couple of horse-
pistols: and, by way of ornament, three gaudily-painted
canisters disposed along its ledge. The floor was of smooth,
white stone; the chairs, high-backed, primitive structures,
painted green: one or two heavy black ones lurking in the
shade. In an arch under the dresser reposed a huge, liver-
coloured bitch pointer, surrounded by a swarm of squealing
puppies; and other dogs haunted other recesses.
The apartment and furniture would have been nothing
extraordinary as belonging to a homely, northern farmer,
with a stubborn countenance, and stalwart limbs set out to
advantage in kneebreeches and gaiters. Such an individu-
al seated in his arm-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 these hills, if you go at the right time
after dinner. But Mr. Heathcliff forms a singular contrast
to his abode and style of living. He is a darkskinned gip-
sy in aspect, in dress and manners a gentleman: that is, as
much a gentleman as many a country squire: rather slov-
enly, perhaps, yet not looking amiss with his negligence,
because he has an erect and handsome figure; and rather
morose. Possibly, some people might suspect him of a de-
gree of under-bred pride; I have a sympathetic chord within
that tells me it is nothing of the sort: I know, by instinct,
his reserve springs from an aversion to showy displays of
feeling to manifestations of mutual kindliness. He’ll love
and hate equally under cover, and esteem it a species of im-
pertinence to be loved or hated again. No, I’m running on
too fast: I bestow my own attributes over-liberally on him. Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com
Mr. Heathcliff may have entirely dissimilar reasons for
keeping his hand out of the way when he meets a would-be
acquaintance, to those which actuate me. Let me hope my
constitution is almost peculiar: my dear mother used to say
I should never have a comfortable home; and only last sum-
mer I proved myself perfectly unworthy of one.
While enjoying a month of fine weather at the sea-coast,
I was thrown into the company of a most fascinating crea-
ture: a real goddess in my eyes, as long as she took no notice
of me. I ‘never told my love’ vocally; still, if looks have lan-
guage, the merest idiot might have guessed I was over head
and ears: she understood me at last, and looked a return the
sweetest of all imaginable 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 inno-
cent was led to doubt her own senses, and, overwhelmed
with confusion at her supposed mistake, persuaded her
mamma to decamp. By this curious turn of disposition I
have gained the reputation of deliberate heartlessness; how
undeserved, I alone can appreciate.
I took a seat at the end of the hearthstone opposite that
towards which my landlord advanced, and filled up an in-
terval of silence by attempting to caress the canine mother,
who had left her nursery, and was sneaking wolfishly to the
back of my legs, her lip curled up, and her white teeth water-
ing for a snatch. My caress provoked a long, guttural gnarl.
‘You’d better let the dog alone,’ growled Mr. Heathcliff in
unison, checking fiercer demonstrations with a punch of his
foot. ‘She’s not accustomed to be spoiled not kept for a pet.’ Wuthering Heights
Then, striding to a side door, he shouted again, ‘Joseph!’
Joseph mumbled indistinctly in the depths of the cellar,
but gave no intimation of ascending; so his master dived
down to him, leaving me VIS-A-VIS the ruffianly bitch and
a pair of grim shaggy sheep-dogs, who shared with her a
jealous guardianship over all my movements. Not anxious
to come in contact with their fangs, I sat still; but, imagining
they would scarcely understand tacit insults, I unfortunately
indulged in winking and making faces at the trio, and some
turn of my physiognomy so irritated madam, that she sud-
denly broke into a fury and leapt on my knees. I flung her
back, and hastened to interpose the table between us. This
proceeding aroused the whole hive: half-a-dozen four-foot-
ed fiends, of various sizes and ages, issued from hidden dens
to the common centre. I felt my heels and coat-laps peculiar
subjects of assault; and parrying off the larger combatants
as effectually as I could with the poker, I was constrained to
demand, aloud, assistance from some of the household in
re-establishing peace.
Mr. Heathcliff and his man climbed the cellar steps with
vexatious phlegm: I don’t think they moved one second fast-
er than usual, though the hearth was an absolute tempest of
worrying and yelping. Happily, an inhabitant of the kitchen
made more despatch: a lusty dame, with tucked-up gown,
bare arms, and fire-flushed cheeks, rushed into the midst of
us flourishing a frying-pan: and used that weapon, and her
tongue, to such purpose, that the storm subsided magically,
and she only remained, heaving like a sea after a high wind,
when her master entered on the scene. Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com
‘What the devil is the matter?’ he asked, eyeing me in a
manner that I could ill endure, after this inhospitable treat-
ment.
‘What the devil, indeed!’ I muttered. ‘The herd of pos-
sessed swine could have had no worse spirits in them than
those animals of yours, sir. You might as well leave a strang-
er with a brood of tigers!’
‘They won’t meddle with persons who touch nothing,’
he remarked, putting the bottle before me, and restoring
the displaced table. ‘The dogs do right to be vigilant. Take a
glass of wine?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘Not bitten, are you?’
‘If I had been, I would have set my signet on the biter.’
Heathcliff’s countenance relaxed into a grin.
‘Come, come,’ he said, ‘you are flurried, Mr. Lockwood.
Here, take a little wine. Guests are so exceedingly rare in
this house that I and my dogs, I am willing to own, hardly
know how to receive them. Your health, sir?’
I bowed and returned the pledge; beginning to perceive
that it would be foolish to sit sulking for the misbehaviour
of a pack of curs; besides, I felt loth to yield the fellow fur-
ther amusement at my expense; since his humour took that
turn. He probably swayed by prudential consideration of the
folly of offending a good tenant relaxed a little in the laconic
style of chipping off his pronouns and auxiliary verbs, and
introduced what he supposed would be a subject of interest
to me, a discourse on the advantages and disadvantages of
my present place of retirement. I found him very intelligent Wuthering Heights
on the topics we touched; and before I went home, I was en-
couraged so far as to volunteer another visit to-morrow. He
evidently wished no repetition of my intrusion. I shall go,
notwithstanding. It is astonishing how sociable I feel myself
compared with him. Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com
Chapter II
YESTERDAY afternoon set in misty and cold. I had
half a mind to spend it by my study fire, instead of wading
through heath and mud to Wuthering Heights. On com-
ing 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 the house, could not, or would not,
comprehend my request that I might be served at five) on
mounting the stairs with this lazy intention, and stepping
into the room, I saw a servant-girl on her knees surrounded
by brushes and coal-scuttles, and raising an infernal dust
as she extinguished the flames with heaps of cinders. This
spectacle drove me back immediately; I took my hat, and,
after a four-miles’ walk, arrived at Heathcliff’s garden-gate
just in time to escape the first feathery 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
unable to remove the chain, I jumped over, and, running up
the flagged causeway bordered with straggling gooseberry-
bushes, knocked vainly for admittance, till my knuckles
tingled and the dogs howled.
‘Wretched inmates!’ I ejaculated, mentally, ‘you deserve
perpetual isolation from your species for your churlish in-
hospitality. At least, I would not keep my doors barred in Wuthering Heights
the day-time. I don’t care I will get in!’ So resolved, I grasped
the latch and shook it vehemently. Vinegar-faced Joseph
projected his head from a round window of the barn.
‘What are ye for?’ he shouted. ‘T’ maister’s down i’ t’
fowld. Go round by th’ end o’ t’ laith, if ye went to spake
to him.’
‘Is there nobody inside to open the door?’ I hallooed, re-
sponsively.
‘There’s nobbut t’ missis; and shoo’ll not oppen ‘t an ye
mak’ yer flaysome dins till neeght.’
‘Why? Cannot you tell her whom I am, eh, Joseph?’
‘Nor-ne me! I’ll hae no hend wi’t,’ muttered the head,
vanishing.
The snow began to drive thickly. I seized the handle to
essay another trial; when a young man without coat, and
shouldering a pitchfork, appeared in the yard behind. He
hailed me to follow him, and, after marching through
a wash-house, and a paved area containing a coal-shed,
pump, and pigeon-cot, we at length arrived in the huge,
warm, cheerful apartment where I was formerly received.
It glowed delightfully in the radiance of an immense fire,
compounded of coal, peat, and wood; and near the table,
laid for a plentiful evening meal, I was pleased to observe
the ‘missis,’ an individual whose existence I had never pre-
viously suspected. I bowed and waited, thinking she would
bid me take a seat. She looked at me, leaning back in her
chair, and remained motionless and mute.
‘Rough weather!’ I remarked. ‘I’m afraid, Mrs. Heathcliff,
the door must bear the consequence of your servants’ lei- Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com
sure attendance: I had hard work to make them hear me.’
She never opened her mouth. I stared she stared also: at
any rate, she kept her eyes on me in a cool, regardless man-
ner, exceedingly embarrassing and disagreeable.
‘Sit down,’ said the young man, gruffly. ‘He’ll be in
soon.’
I obeyed; and hemmed, and called the villain Juno, who
deigned, at this second interview, to move the extreme tip of
her tail, in token 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, more re-
pellingly than Heathcliff himself could have replied.
‘Ah, your favourites are among these?’ I continued, turn-
ing to an obscure cushion full of something like cats.
‘A strange choice of favourites!’ she observed scornfully.
Unluckily, it was a heap of dead rabbits. I hemmed once
more, and drew closer to the hearth, repeating my comment
on the wildness of the evening.
‘You should not have come out,’ she said, rising and
reaching from the chimney-piece two of the painted can-
isters.
Her position before was sheltered from the light; now,
I had a distinct view of her whole figure and countenance.
She was slender, and apparently scarcely past girlhood: an
admirable form, and the most exquisite little face that I have
ever had the pleasure of beholding; small features, very fair;
flaxen ringlets, or rather golden, hanging loose on her deli-
cate neck; and eyes, had they been agreeable in expression, Wuthering Heights
that would have been irresistible: fortunately for my sus-
ceptible heart, the only sentiment they evinced hovered
between scorn and a kind of desperation, singularly unnat-
ural to be detected there. The canisters were almost out of
her reach; I made a motion to aid her; she turned upon me
as a miser might turn if any one attempted to assist him in
counting his gold.
‘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 an apron
over her neat black frock, and standing with a spoonful of
the 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 the proper person to
ask me.’
She flung the tea back, spoon and all, and resumed her
chair in a 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
decidedly shabby upper garment, and, erecting himself be-
fore the blaze, looked down on me from the corner of his
eyes, for all the world as if there were some mortal feud un-
avenged between us. I began to doubt whether he were a
servant or not: his dress and speech were both rude, entirely
devoid of the superiority observable in Mr. and Mrs. Heath-
cliff; his thick brown curls were rough and uncultivated,
his whiskers encroached bearishly over his cheeks, and his Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com
hands were embrowned like those of a common labourer:
still his bearing was free, almost haughty, and he showed
none of a domestic’s assiduity in attending on the lady of
the house. In the absence of clear proofs of his condition, I
deemed it best to abstain from noticing his curious conduct;
and, five minutes afterwards, the entrance of Heathcliff re-
lieved me, in some measure, from my uncomfortable state.
‘You see, sir, I am come, according to promise!’ I ex-
claimed, assuming the cheerful; ‘and I fear I shall be
weather-bound for half an hour, if you can afford me shelter
during that space.’
‘Half an hour?’ he said, shaking the white flakes from
his clothes; ‘I wonder you should select the thick of a snow-
storm to ramble about in. Do you know that you run a risk
of being lost in the marshes? People familiar with these
moors often miss their road on such evenings; and I can tell
you there is no chance of a change at present.’
‘Perhaps I can get a guide among your lads, and he might
stay at the Grange till morning could you spare me one?’
‘No, I could not.’
‘Oh, indeed! Well, then, I must trust to my own sagac-
ity.’
‘Umph!’
‘Are you going to mak’ the tea?’ demanded he of the
shabby coat, shifting his ferocious gaze from me to the
young lady.
‘Is HE to have any?’ she asked, appealing to Heathcliff.
‘Get it ready, will you?’ was the answer, uttered so sav-
agely that I started. The tone in which the words were said Wuthering Heights
revealed a genuine bad nature. I no longer felt inclined to
call Heathcliff a capital fellow. When the preparations were
finished, he invited me with ‘Now, sir, bring forward your
chair.’ And we all, including the rustic youth, drew round
the table: an austere silence prevailing while we discussed
our meal.
I thought, if I had caused the cloud, it was my duty to
make an effort to dispel it. They could not every day sit so
grim and taciturn; and it was impossible, however ill-tem-
pered they might be, that the universal scowl they wore was
their every-day countenance.
‘It is strange,’ I began, in the interval of swallowing one
cup of tea and receiving another ‘it is strange how custom
can mould our tastes and ideas: many could not imagine the
existence of happiness in a life of such complete exile from
the world as you spend, Mr. Heathcliff; yet, I’ll venture to
say, that, surrounded by your family, and with your amiable
lady as the presiding genius over your home and heart ‘
‘My amiable lady!’ he interrupted, with an almost dia-
bolical sneer on his face. ‘Where is she my amiable lady?’
‘Mrs. Heathcliff, your wife, I mean.’
‘Well, yes oh, you would intimate that her spirit has tak-
en the post of ministering angel, and guards the fortunes of
Wuthering Heights, even when her body is gone. Is that it?’
Perceiving myself in a blunder, I attempted to correct it.
I might have seen there was too great a disparity between
the ages of the parties to make it likely that they were man
and wife. One was about forty: a period of mental vigour at
which men seldom cherish the delusion of being married Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com
for love by girls: that dream is reserved for the solace of our
declining years. The other did not look seventeen.
Then it flashed on me ‘The clown at my elbow, who is
drinking his tea out of a basin and eating his broad with
unwashed hands, may be her husband: Heathcliff junior,
of course. Here is the consequence of being buried alive:
she has thrown herself away upon that boor from sheer ig-
norance that better individuals existed! A sad pity I must
beware how I cause her to regret her choice.’ The last reflec-
tion may seem conceited; it was not. My neighbour struck
me as bordering on repulsive; I knew, through experience,
that I was tolerably attractive.
‘Mrs. Heathcliff is my daughter-in-law,’ said Heathcliff,
corroborating my surmise. He turned, as he spoke, a pecu-
liar look in her direction: a look of hatred; unless he has a
most perverse set of facial muscles that will not, like those
of other people, interpret the language of his soul.
‘Ah, certainly I see now: you are the favoured possessor
of the beneficent fairy,’ I remarked, turning to my neigh-
bour.
This was worse than before: the youth grew crimson,
and clenched his fist, with every appearance of a meditated
assault. But he seemed to recollect himself presently, and
smothered the storm in a brutal curse, muttered on my be-
half: which, however, I took care not to notice.
‘Unhappy in your conjectures, sir,’ observed my host; ‘we
neither of us have the privilege of owning your good fairy;
her mate is dead. I said she was my daughter-in-law: there-
fore, she must have married my son.’ Wuthering Heights
‘And this young man is ‘
‘Not my son, assuredly.’
Heathcliff smiled again, as if it were rather too bold a jest
to attribute the paternity of that bear to him.
‘My name is Hareton Earnshaw,’ growled the other; ‘and
I’d counsel you to respect it!’
‘I’ve shown no disrespect,’ was my reply, laughing inter-
nally at the dignity with which he announced himself.
He fixed his eye on me longer than I cared to return the
stare, for fear I might be tempted either to box his ears or
render my hilarity audible. I began to feel unmistakably out
of place in that pleasant family circle. The dismal spiritu-
al atmosphere overcame, and more than neutralised, the
glowing physical comforts round me; and I resolved to be
cautious how I ventured under those rafters a third time.
The business of eating being concluded, and no one utter-
ing a word of sociable conversation, I approached a window
to examine the weather. A sorrowful sight I saw: dark night
coming down prematurely, and sky and hills mingled in
one bitter whirl of wind and suffocating snow.
‘I don’t think it possible for me to get home now with-
out a guide,’ I could not help exclaiming. ‘The roads will be
buried already; and, if they were bare, I could scarcely dis-
tinguish a foot in advance.’
‘Hareton, drive those dozen sheep into the barn porch.
They’ll be covered if left in the fold all night: and put a plank
before them,’ said Heathcliff.
‘How must I do?’ I continued, with rising irritation.
There was no reply to my question; and on looking round Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com
I saw only Joseph bringing in a pail of porridge for the dogs,
and Mrs. Heathcliff leaning over the fire, diverting herself
with burning a bundle of matches which had fallen from
the chimney-piece as she restored the tea-canister to its
place. The former, when he had deposited his burden, took a
critical survey of the room, and in cracked tones grated out
‘Aw wonder how yah can faishion to stand thear i’ idleness
un war, when all on ‘ems goan out! Bud yah’re a nowt, and
it’s no use talking yah’ll niver mend o’yer ill ways, but goa
raight to t’ divil, like yer mother afore ye!’
I imagined, for a moment, that this piece of eloquence
was addressed to me; and, sufficiently enraged, stepped to-
wards the aged rascal with an intention of kicking him out
of the door. Mrs. Heathcliff, however, checked me by her
answer.
‘You scandalous old hypocrite!’ she replied. ‘Are you not
afraid of being carried away bodily, whenever you mention
the devil’s name? I warn you to refrain from provoking me,
or I’ll ask your abduction as a special favour! Stop! look
here, Joseph,’ she continued, taking a long, dark book from
a shelf; ‘I’ll show you how far I’ve progressed in the Black
Art: I shall soon be competent to make a clear house of it.
The red cow didn’t die by chance; and your rheumatism can
hardly be reckoned among providential visitations!’
‘Oh, wicked, wicked!’ gasped the elder; ‘may the Lord de-
liver us from evil!’
‘No, reprobate! you are a castaway be off, or I’ll hurt you
seriously! I’ll have you all modelled in wax and clay! and the
first who passes the limits I fix shall I’ll not say what he shall Wuthering Heights
be done to but, you’ll see! Go, I’m looking at you!’
The little witch put a mock malignity into her beauti-
ful eyes, and Joseph, trembling with sincere horror, hurried
out, praying, and ejaculating ‘wicked’ as he went. I thought
her conduct must be prompted by a species of dreary fun;
and, now that we were alone, I endeavoured to interest her
in my distress.
‘Mrs. Heathcliff,’ I said earnestly, ‘you must excuse me
for troubling you. I presume, because, with that face, I’m
sure you cannot help being good-hearted. Do point out
some landmarks by which I may know my way home: I have
no more idea how to get there than you would have how to
get to London!’
‘Take the road you came,’ she answered, ensconcing her-
self in a chair, with a candle, and the long book open before
her. ‘It is brief advice, but as sound as I can give.’
‘Then, if you hear of me being discovered dead in a bog
or a pit full of snow, your conscience won’t whisper that it is
partly your fault?’
‘How so? I cannot escort you. They wouldn’t let me go to
the end of the garden wall.’
‘YOU! I should be sorry to ask you to cross the threshold,
for my convenience, on such a night,’ I cried. ‘I want you
to tell me my way, not to SHOW it: or else to persuade Mr.
Heathcliff to give me a guide.’
‘Who? There is himself, Earnshaw, Zillah, Joseph and I.
Which would you have?’
‘Are there no boys at the farm?’
‘No; those are all.’ Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com
‘Then, it follows that I am compelled to stay.’
‘That you may settle with your host. I have nothing to
do with it.’
‘I hope it will be a lesson to you to make no more rash
journeys on these hills,’ cried Heathcliff’s stern voice from
the kitchen entrance. ‘As to staying here, I don’t keep accom-
modations for visitors: you must share a bed with Hareton
or Joseph, if you do.’
‘I can sleep on a chair in this room,’ I replied.
‘No, no! A stranger is a stranger, be he rich or poor: it will
not suit me to permit any one the range of the place while I
am off guard!’ said the unmannerly wretch.
With this insult my patience was at an end. I uttered an
expression of disgust, and pushed past him into the yard,
running against Earnshaw in my haste. It was so dark that
I could not see the means of exit; and, as I wandered round,
I heard another specimen of their civil behaviour amongst
each other. At first the young man appeared about to be-
friend me.
‘I’ll go with him as far as the park,’ he said.
‘You’ll go with him to hell!’ exclaimed his master, or
whatever relation he bore. ‘And who is to look after the
horses, eh?’
‘A man’s life is of more consequence than one evening’s
neglect of the horses: somebody must go,’ murmured Mrs.
Heathcliff, more kindly than I expected.
‘Not at your command!’ retorted Hareton. ‘If you set
store on him, you’d better be quiet.’
‘Then I hope his ghost will haunt you; and I hope Mr. Wuthering Heights
Heathcliff will never get another tenant till the Grange is a
ruin,’ she answered, sharply.
‘Hearken, hearken, shoo’s cursing on ‘em!’ muttered Jo-
seph, towards whom I had been steering.
He sat within earshot, milking the cows by the light of
a lantern, which I seized unceremoniously, and, calling out
that I would send it back on the morrow, rushed to the near-
est postern.
‘Maister, maister, he’s staling t’ lanthern!’ shouted the
ancient, pursuing my retreat. ‘Hey, Gnasher! Hey, dog! Hey
Wolf, holld him, holld him!’
On opening the little door, two hairy monsters flew at my
throat, bearing me down, and extinguishing the light; while
a mingled guffaw from Heathcliff and Hareton put the cope-
stone on my rage and humiliation. Fortunately, the beasts
seemed more bent on stretching their paws, and yawning,
and flourishing their tails, than devouring me alive; but
they would suffer no resurrection, and I was forced to lie till
their malignant masters pleased to deliver me: then, hat-
less and trembling with wrath, I ordered the miscreants to
let me out on their peril to keep me one minute longer with
several incoherent threats of retaliation that, in their indefi-
nite depth of virulency, smacked of King Lear.
The vehemence of my agitation brought on a copious
bleeding at the nose, and still Heathcliff laughed, and still I
scolded. I don’t know what would have concluded the scene,
had there not been one person at hand rather more rational
than myself, and more benevolent than my entertainer. This
was Zillah, the stout housewife; who at length issued forth Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com
to inquire into the nature of the uproar. She thought that
some of them had been laying violent hands on me; and, not
daring to attack her master, she turned her vocal artillery
against the younger scoundrel.
‘Well, Mr. Earnshaw,’ she cried, ‘I wonder what you’ll
have agait next? Are we going to murder folk on our very
door-stones? I see this house will never do for me look at t’
poor lad, he’s fair choking! Wisht, wisht; you mun’n’t go on
so. Come in, and I’ll cure that: there now, hold ye still.’
With these words she suddenly splashed a pint of icy
water down my neck, and pulled me into the kitchen. Mr.
Heathcliff followed, his accidental merriment expiring
quickly in his habitual moroseness.
I was sick exceedingly, and dizzy, and faint; and thus
compelled perforce to accept lodgings under his roof. He
told Zillah to give me a glass of brandy, and then passed on
to the inner room; while she condoled with me on my sorry
predicament, and having obeyed his orders, whereby I was
somewhat revived, ushered me to bed. Wuthering Heights
Chapter III
WHILE leading the way upstairs, she recommended that
I should hide the candle, and not make a noise; for her mas-
ter had an odd notion about the chamber she would put me
in, and never let anybody lodge there willingly. I asked the
reason. She did not know, she answered: she had only lived
there a year or two; and they had so many queer goings on,
she could not begin to be curious.
Too stupefied to be curious myself, I fastened my door
and glanced round for the bed. The whole furniture con-
sisted of a chair, a clothes-press, and a large oak case, with
squares cut out near the top resembling coach windows.
Having approached this structure, I looked inside, and per-
ceived it to be a singular sort of oldfashioned couch, very
conveniently designed to obviate the necessity for every
member of the family having a room to himself. In fact, it
formed a little closet, and the ledge of a window, which it
enclosed, served as a table. I slid back the panelled sides, got
in with my light, pulled them together again, and felt secure
against the vigilance of Heathcliff, and every one else.
The ledge, where I placed my candle, had a few mil-
dewed books piled up in one corner; and it was covered
with writing scratched on the paint. This writing, however,
was nothing but a name repeated in all kinds of characters,
large and small CATHERINE EARNSHAW, here and there Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com
varied to CATHERINE HEATHCLIFF, and then again to
CATHERINE LINTON.
In vapid listlessness I leant my head against the window,
and continued spelling over Catherine Earnshaw Heathc-
liff Linton, till my eyes closed; but they had not rested five
minutes when a glare of white letters started from the dark,
as vivid as spectres the air swarmed with Catherines; and
rousing myself to dispel the obtrusive name, I discovered
my candle-wick reclining on one of the antique volumes,
and perfuming the place with an odour of roasted calf-skin.
I snuffed it off, and, very ill at ease under the influence of
cold and lingering nausea, sat up and spread open the in-
jured tome on my knee. It was a Testament, in lean type, and
smelling dreadfully musty: a fly-leaf bore the inscription
‘Catherine Earnshaw, her book,’ and a date some quarter
of a century back. I shut it, and took up another and an-
other, till I had examined all. Catherine’s library was select,
and its state of dilapidation proved it to have been well used,
though not altogether for a legitimate purpose: scarcely one
chapter had escaped, a pen-and-ink commentary at least the
appearance of one covering every morsel of blank that the
printer had left. Some were detached sentences; other parts
took the form of a regular diary, scrawled in an unformed,
childish hand. At the top of an extra page (quite a treasure,
probably, when first lighted on) I was greatly amused to be-
hold an excellent caricature of my friend Joseph, rudely, yet
powerfully sketched. An immediate interest kindled within
me for the unknown Catherine, and I began forthwith to
decipher her faded hieroglyphics. Wuthering Heights
‘An awful Sunday,’ commenced the paragraph beneath.
‘I wish my father were back again. Hindley is a detestable
substitute his conduct to Heathcliff is atrocious H. and I are
going to rebel we took our initiatory step this evening.
‘All day had been flooding with rain; we could not go to
church, so Joseph must needs get up a congregation in the
garret; and, while Hindley and his wife basked downstairs
before a comfortable fire doing anything but reading their
Bibles, I’ll answer for it Heathcliff, myself, and the unhappy
ploughboy were commanded to take our prayer-books, and
mount: we were ranged in a row, on a sack of corn, groan-
ing and shivering, and hoping that Joseph would shiver too,
so that he might give us a short homily for his own sake.
A vain idea! The service lasted precisely three hours; and
yet my brother had the face to exclaim, when he saw us de-
scending, ‘What, done already?’ On Sunday evenings we
used to be permitted to play, if we did not make much noise;
now a mere titter is sufficient to send us into corners.
‘’You forget you have a master here,’ says the tyrant. ‘I’ll
demolish the first who puts me out of temper! I insist on
perfect sobriety and silence. Oh, boy! was that you? Fran-
ces darling, pull his hair as you go by: I heard him snap his
fingers.’ Frances pulled his hair heartily, and then went and
seated herself on her husband’s knee, and there they were,
like two babies, kissing and talking nonsense by the hour
foolish palaver that we should be ashamed of. We made
ourselves as snug as our means allowed in the arch of the
dresser. I had just fastened our pinafores together, and hung
them up for a curtain, when in comes Joseph, on an errand Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com
from the stables. He tears down my handiwork, boxes my
ears, and croaks:
‘’T’ maister nobbut just buried, and Sabbath not o’ered,
und t’ sound o’ t’ gospel still i’ yer lugs, and ye darr be lai-
king! Shame on ye! sit ye down, ill childer! there’s good
books eneugh if ye’ll read ‘em: sit ye down, and think o’ yer
sowls!’
‘Saying this, he compelled us so to square our positions
that we might receive from the far-off fire a dull ray to show
us the text of the lumber he thrust upon us. I could not bear
the employment. I took my dingy volume by the scroop, and
hurled it into the dogkennel, vowing I hated a good book.
Heathcliff kicked his to the same place. Then there was a
hubbub!
‘’Maister Hindley!’ shouted our chaplain. ‘ Maister, coom
hither! Miss Cathy’s riven th’ back off ‘Th’ Helmet o’ Salva-
tion,’ un’ Heathcliff’s pawsed his fit into t’ first part o’ ‘T’
Brooad Way to Destruction!’ It’s fair flaysome that ye let ‘em
go on this gait. Ech! th’ owd man wad ha’ laced ‘em properly
but he’s goan!’
‘Hindley hurried up from his paradise on the hearth,
and seizing one of us by the collar, and the other by the arm,
hurled both into the back-kitchen; where, Joseph asseverat-
ed, ‘owd Nick would fetch us as sure as we were living: and,
so comforted, we each sought a separate nook to await his
advent. I reached this book, and a pot of ink from a shelf,
and pushed the house-door ajar to give me light, and I have
got the time on with writing for twenty minutes; but my
companion is impatient, and proposes that we should ap- Wuthering Heights
propriate the dairywoman’s cloak, and have a scamper on
the moors, under its shelter. A pleasant suggestion and then,
if the surly old man come in, he may believe his prophecy
verified we cannot be damper, or colder, in the rain than we
are here.’
*****
I suppose Catherine fulfilled her project, for the next
sentence took up another subject: she waxed lachrymose.
‘How little did I dream that Hindley would ever make
me cry so!’ she wrote. ‘My head aches, till I cannot keep it
on the pillow; and still I can’t give over. Poor Heathcliff!
Hindley calls him a vagabond, and won’t let him sit with us,
nor eat with us any more; and, he says, he and I must not
play together, and threatens to turn him out of the house if
we break his orders. He has been blaming our father (how
dared he?) for treating H. too liberally; and swears he will
reduce him to his right place ‘
*****
I began to nod drowsily over the dim page: my eye wan-
dered from manuscript to print. I saw a red ornamented title
‘Seventy Times Seven, and the First of the Seventy-First.’ A
Pious Discourse delivered by the Reverend Jabez Brander-
ham, in the Chapel of Gimmerden Sough.’ And while I was,
half-consciously, worrying my brain to guess what Jabez
Branderham would make of his subject, I sank back in bed,
and fell asleep. Alas, for the effects of bad tea and bad tem-
per! What else could it be that made me pass such a terrible
night? I don’t remember another that I can at all compare
with it since I was capable of suffering. Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com
I began to dream, almost before I ceased to be sensible of
my locality. I thought it was morning; and I had set out on
my way home, with Joseph for a guide. The snow lay yards
deep in our road; and, as we floundered on, my companion
wearied me with constant reproaches that I had not brought
a pilgrim’s staff: telling me that I could never get into the
house without one, and boastfully flourishing a heavy-
headed cudgel, which I understood to be so denominated.
For a moment I considered it absurd that I should need such
a weapon to gain admittance into my own residence. Then
a new idea flashed across me. I was not going there: we were
journeying to hear the famous Jabez Branderham preach,
from the text ‘Seventy Times Seven;’ and either Joseph, the
preacher, or I had committed the ‘First of the Seventy-First,’
and were to be publicly exposed and excommunicated.
We came to the chapel. I have passed it really in my walks,
twice or thrice; it lies in a hollow, between two hills: an el-
evated hollow, near a swamp, whose peaty moisture is said
to answer all the purposes of embalming on the few corpses
deposited there. The roof has been kept whole hitherto; but
as the clergyman’s stipend is only twenty pounds per an-
num, and a house with two rooms, threatening speedily to
determine into one, no clergyman will undertake the du-
ties of pastor: especially as it is currently reported that his
flock would rather let him starve than increase the living by
one penny from their own pockets. However, in my dream,
Jabez had a full and attentive congregation; and he preached
good God! what a sermon; divided into FOUR HUNDRED
AND NINETY parts, each fully equal to an ordinary ad-
