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 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 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 inhospitality. At least, I would not keep my doors barred in 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, responsively.
“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 previously 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’ leisure 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 manner, 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 repellingly 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 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 canisters.
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 delicate neck; and eyes, had they been agreeable in expression, that would have been irresistible: fortunately for my susceptible heart, the only sentiment they evinced hovered between scorn and a kind of desperation, singularly unnatural 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 before the blaze, looked down on me from the corner of his eyes, for all the world as if there were some mortal feud unavenged 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. Heathcliff; his thick brown curls were rough and uncultivated, his whiskers encroached bearishly over his cheeks, and his 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 relieved me, in some measure, from my uncomfortable state.
“You see, sir, I am come, according to promise!” I exclaimed, 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 sagacity.”
“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 savagely that I started. The tone in which the words were said 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.
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 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 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 inhospitality. At least, I would not keep my doors barred in 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, responsively.
“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 previously 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’ leisure 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 manner, 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 repellingly 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 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 canisters.
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 delicate neck; and eyes, had they been agreeable in expression, that would have been irresistible: fortunately for my susceptible heart, the only sentiment they evinced hovered between scorn and a kind of desperation, singularly unnatural 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 before the blaze, looked down on me from the corner of his eyes, for all the world as if there were some mortal feud unavenged 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. Heathcliff; his thick brown curls were rough and uncultivated, his whiskers encroached bearishly over his cheeks, and his 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 relieved me, in some measure, from my uncomfortable state.
“You see, sir, I am come, according to promise!” I exclaimed, 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 sagacity.”
“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 savagely that I started. The tone in which the words were said 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.
第二章
昨天后晌开始，漫天雾气迷蒙，到处冷冷清清。我半心半意想要坐在书房壁炉的旁边，消磨整个下午，没打算踩着泥泞道路，穿过荒原去往呼啸山庄。
但是吃罢正餐（这里需要说明一下——我中午十二点到下午一点之间用餐；这里的管家是位妇人，体型有些发福，她就像是这座房子的一个固定物件，在我租房子时也被我租下了。我请求她可以把正餐安排在下午五点，但是这位女管家好像不能明白，或者说她根本就不想明白我的这个请求），我意志懒散，爬上楼梯，踱入房中，看到一位女仆双膝跪倒在地，周围有几把扫灰笤帚和几只煤斗，只见她正用一堆煤渣准备封火，结果搞得煤灰四处飞扬，令人作呕。看到这个场景，我一下子从房间退了出来。我戴上帽子，徒步走了十来里路，来到黑思克里夫的花园门口，正好及时躲过了今年的首场鹅毛大雪。
荒凉的山头地面上，结了一层黑霜而显得格外坚硬，空气冷得令我四肢发抖。我打不开门上链条，只好翻过篱笆墙，跑到石板路上，路两旁随意散乱地生长着一些醋栗灌木，我白白敲了半天门，一直敲到手指关节感到阵阵刺痛，这时狗开始狂叫了。
“里面这帮家伙真是可恶！”我心里不禁大叫道，“像这种无礼待客的样子，你们活该永远与世隔绝。至少白天我还不至于把门上闩。管不了那么多了——今儿个我非要进去不可！”我决心已下，抓住门把手使劲摇晃。这时只见谷仓的一个圆形窗户探出了周思福的脑袋，他的那张老脸一看就令人生厌。
“喔哪耶？”他嚷道。“东家走羊圈去啦。要是您想和他说话，从这哒转过去。”
“屋里头就没个人给我开一下门吗？”我回应着，向他吼道。
“太太独耶在屋，其他人都不在屋；你就是在这哒吼叫到半夜，她也不会给你开门。”
“为啥呀？周思福，你看就不会给她说我是哪耶吗，唵？”
“你不要问我！我管不了你这号事。”那颗脑袋嘟囔完旋即就不见了。
雪开始下得越来越厚了。我抓住门把手想要再试一下；这时一位小伙子出现在院子后面，他没穿外套，肩上扛着把草叉。他招呼我跟他走，我俩穿过洗衣房，接着走过一块砖铺地，这里有煤棚、抽水机和鸽子笼，最后我们来到了先前接待我的那间屋子，这里占地面积较大，既温暖又令人感到心情愉快。壁炉中煤块、泥炭和木柴混合在一起燃烧，整个屋子在熊熊炉火的照耀下熠熠生辉，格外令人感到愉悦，桌子上已经摆好餐具，随时准备端上丰盛的晚餐，我很高兴在桌子旁边见到了一位“太太”，之前我从来没想到还有这么个人儿存在。我鞠躬等候，心想她应该会让我找个座位坐下。她看了看我，身子往椅背上一靠，仍然保持纹丝不动，一声不吭。
“这个鬼天气！”我说。“黑思克里夫太太，您家仆人真会偷懒，我恐怕这回可得要怪罪您家的大门了，我使劲敲了它老半天他们才听到。”
她一直不开口，一句话也不说。我盯着她看——她也盯着我看——她盯我的眼神冷若冰霜、漠不关心，令人感觉极其尴尬窘迫、局促不安。
“坐下吧，”那个小伙子粗声粗气地说。“他一会儿就回来了。”
我听从了他，并轻咳了一声，然后叫那条恶狗朱诺。这是第二次见面，朱诺还算给面子，屈尊摇了摇尾巴尖，算是和我认识。
“这狗真漂亮！”我开口道。“太太，您打算把那些小狗送人吗？”
“这些狗不是我的，”女主人说道，她看着慈眉善目，说起话来却比黑思克里夫还要让人难招架。
“啊，那您最喜欢的在这一堆里？”我继续说，把头转到一块肮肮脏脏的垫子，上面像是有几只猫。
“我要是喜欢这些那才叫怪呢！”她冷冷地答道。
真倒霉，原来那是一堆死兔子。我又轻咳了一声，身子往炉台靠了靠，又开始说起晚上这糟糕的天气。
“你就不该出门，”她说着站起来，伸手去够烟囱旁的那两个绘有彩色画的茶叶罐。
她刚才坐的地方光线被挡住了；现在我把她的全身和相貌都看得一清二楚。她腰肢纤细，很明显还没完全长成大姑娘——她婀娜窈窕，人见人爱，那张小脸蛋精妙绝伦，在此之前我从未有过这样的眼福；五官小巧玲珑，煞是好看，亚麻色的卷发，倒不如说金黄色的卷发，蓬松地垂在她娇嫩的脖颈上；还有那双眸子，目光要是能够和善一些，谁见了心里又怎能放得下呢？我还算比较走运，就凭我一副容易动情的心肠，看得出那双眼睛流露出的仅有神态，犹豫徘徊在不屑一顾和某种绝望无助之间，让人觉察到匪夷所思的不近人情。她差一点就够着那两个茶叶罐了；我起来想帮她拿；她回过头看着我，那样子就像是守财奴生怕别人要帮着数她的金子似的。
“我不想要你帮忙，”她呵斥道，“我自己够得着。”
“我很抱歉！”我赶忙答道。
“你是赴约来喝茶的吗？”她问道，一边在她那件干净整洁的黑色连衣裙上系了条围裙，她站在那里，舀了一勺茶叶正准备往壶里倒。
“能喝一杯那是再好不过了，”我答道。
“你是来赴约的吗？”她又问了一句。
“不是，”我微笑着说，“您现在正好可以约我。”
她猛地把茶收起，包括勺子和其他东西，闷闷不乐地回到自己的座位；她眉头紧锁，红红的下唇撅着，像个准备要哭的孩子。
与此同时，那个小伙子往自己身上披了件衣服，一看就是那种破衣烂衫，他在炉火前站直身体，眼角向下就这么看着我，真地就好像我俩之间有什么尚未了结、不共戴天的世仇。我开始估摸他究竟是不是这家的仆人——他衣着简陋，谈吐粗鲁，从他身上完全看不出黑思克里夫夫妇俩的那种优越气质；他一头浓密的棕色卷发像团乱麻，而且也不梳理，胡须倔强地侵占了他的双颊，双手像是普通体力劳动者一样呈赭褐色——然而他举止随便，几乎是傲慢自大，至于如何服侍这个家的女主人，他一点都没有表现出作为一个仆人应有的尽心尽责。既然缺乏明确证据说明他的来历，我想现在最好不要管他的奇怪举止。大概五分钟后，黑思克里夫的到来多少让我从这令人不爽的场面中解脱出来。
“您看，先生，按照约定，我还是来了！”我假装兴高采烈地高声嚷道；“这天气把我困在这里，我担心得等半个钟头，这会儿您能不能让我在这儿避一避。”
“半个钟头？”他抖掉衣服上的雪花，说道：“我就想知道，你为啥偏偏挑这么个大雪天出来到处乱逛。你知不知道要是你掉在沼泽地里迷了路该有多危险吗？即便熟悉这片旷野的人，在这样的夜晚都经常会迷路；而且我可以告诉你，一时半会儿这天气不会好转。”
“或许您可以派个小伙子帮我带路，他可以在画眉田庄呆到明天早上——您能帮我安排一下吗？”
“不，不可能。”
“哦，这样啊！好吧，那我只好任由自己了。”
“哼！”
“你该准备沏茶了吧？”那个穿着破外套的小伙子说道，黑思克里夫眼中的凶光从我身上转到了那位年轻太太身上。
“要请他吗？”她问道，像是在向黑思克里夫申请。
“你还不去准备，在等什么呢？”这就是他的回答，话说得如此野蛮，竟把我吓了一跳。这句话的腔调着实暴露出他的脾气很坏。我再也不想把黑思克里夫称作一表人才了。茶水准备就绪，“来吧，先生，把椅子搬过来”，这就是他对我的邀约。于是我们几个人一起，包括那个粗野的小伙子，围坐在桌子一圈——我们用餐时，大家周围笼罩着一片冷峻的沉默。
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