Wuthering Heights | Page 3

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Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte Scanned and proofed by David
Price, email [email protected]

Wuthering Heights
CHAPTER I

1801. - I have just returned from a visit to my landlord - the solitary
neighbour that I shall be troubled with. This is certainly 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
imagined 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 announced my name.
'Mr. Heathcliff?' I said.
A nod was the answer.
'Mr. Lockwood, your new tenant, sir. I do myself the honour of calling
as soon as possible after my arrival, to express the hope that I have not
inconvenienced you by my perseverance 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 expressed the sentiment,
'Go to the Deuce:' even the gate over 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 barrier, 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 order. '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!' 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 dwelling.
'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 excessive 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 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, without any
introductory lobby or passage: they call it here 'the house' pre-
eminently. It includes kitchen and parlour, generally; but I believe at
Wuthering Heights the kitchen is forced to retreat altogether into
another quarter: at least I