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 (a hater of mankind)’s Heaven—and Mr. Heathcliff (the dark foundling brought home to the Heights, who grows into its fierce master) and I are such a suitable pair to divide the desolation (ruined emptiness) 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 (the tenant of the Grange), 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 (a lawyer of family business) the occupation of Thrushcross Grange (the Lintons' house in the valley): I heard yesterday you had had some thoughts—”

“Thrushcross Grange is my own, sir,” he interrupted, wincing (to shrink as from a blow). “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 (leaned) manifested no sympathising (sympathised: felt with another) 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 (to an exaggerated degree) reserved than myself.

When he saw my horse’s breast fairly pushing the barrier, he did put out his hand to unchain (unchained: loosed) it, and then sullenly (in gloomy ill humor) 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 (those that cut the hedges).”

Joseph was an elderly, nay, an old man, very old, perhaps, though hale and sinewy (lean and strong with cords of muscle). “The Lord help us!” he soliloquised (soliloquised: spoke to himself) in an undertone of peevish (cross and fretful) displeasure, while relieving me of my horse: looking, meantime, in my face so sourly (in a bitter surly way) that I charitably (kindly) conjectured he must have need of divine aid to digest his dinner, and his pious ejaculation (ejaculations: sudden cries) had no reference to my unexpected advent.

Wuthering Heights (the Earnshaws' farmhouse on the moor) is the name of Mr. Heathcliff’s dwelling. “Wuthering” being a significant provincial adjective, descriptive of the atmospheric tumult (wild noisy uproar) 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 (to slope) of a few stunted firs at the end of the house; and by a range of gaunt (thin and worn) thorns all stretching their limbs one way, as if craving alms (almost) 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 (sticking out) 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 (Hindley's son, brought up rough at the Heights).” 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 (aggravated: made worse; with violence added) his impatience previous to inspecting the penetralium (the innermost part — Latin).

One step brought us into the family sitting-room (the family sitting room), without any introductory lobby or passage (passage: a sea-journey — the old sense here): they call it here “the house” pre-eminently (above all). It includes kitchen and parlour (the sitting room), generally; 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 (a rattling noise) 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 (cullenders: colanders, pierced bowls for straining) on the walls. One end, indeed, reflected splendidly both light and heat from ranks of immense pewter (a dull grey metal for dishes) dishes, interspersed (scattered here and there among) with silver jugs and tankards (tankards: large drinking mugs), towering row after row, on a vast oak dresser, to the very roof. The latter had never been under-drawn (under-drawn: with a ceiling below the roof): its entire anatomy lay bare to an inquiring eye, except where a frame of wood laden with oatcakes (a flat cake of oatmeal) and clusters of legs of beef, mutton (sheep's meat), and ham, concealed it. Above the chimney were sundry villainous (wicked) old guns, and a couple of horse-pistols (large pistols carried on horseback): and, by way of ornament, three gaudily (in a showy flashy way) painted canisters (cannon shot of scattering balls) disposed along its ledge. The floor was of smooth, white stone; the chairs, high-backed (with a high back), 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 (dark reddish brown) bitch pointer, surrounded by a swarm of squealing (shrill crying) 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 (the face; composure), and stalwart (sturdy and strong) limbs set out to advantage in knee-breeches (breeches to the knee) and gaiters (gaiters: cloth coverings for the lower leg). Such an individual 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 (a home; dwelling place) and style of living. He is a dark-skinned (dark-skinned) gipsy (a wandering Romany) in aspect (aspect: look; appearance — the old sense here), in dress and manners a gentleman: that is, as much a gentleman as many a country squire: rather slovenly (untidy and careless), perhaps, yet not looking amiss with his negligence, because he has an erect and handsome figure; and rather morose (gloomy and sour). Possibly, some people might suspect him of a degree of under-bred (ill-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 (gentle kindness). He’ll love and hate equally under cover, and esteem it a species of impertinence (rudeness) to be loved or hated again. No, I’m running on too fast: I bestow (given as a gift) my own attributes over-liberally (too freely) on him. Mr. Heathcliff may have entirely dissimilar reasons for keeping his hand out of the way when he meets a would-be (wishing to be) acquaintance, to those which actuate (to move to action) me. Let me hope my constitution is almost peculiar (peculiar: its own; particular — the old sense here): my dear mother used (use: habit; custom — the old sense here) to say I should never have a comfortable home; and only last summer I proved myself perfectly unworthy of one.

While enjoying a month of fine weather at the sea-coast (sea-coast: the shore), I was thrown into the company of a most fascinating creature: 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 language, 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 (made smaller; drawn back) icily (coldly) 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 decamp (to go off suddenly).

By this curious turn of disposition I have gained the reputation of deliberate heartlessness (want of feeling); how undeserved, I alone can appreciate.

I took a seat at the end of the hearthstone (the flat stone floor of a fireplace) opposite that towards which my landlord advanced, and filled up an interval of silence by attempting to caress the canine mother, who had left her nursery, and was sneaking wolfishly (like a wolf) to the back of my legs, her lip curled up, and her white teeth watering for a snatch. My caress provoked a long, guttural (from deep in the throat) gnarl (twisted and knotted).

“You’d better let the dog alone,” growled Mr. Heathcliff in unison, checking fiercer (more fierce) demonstrations with a punch of his foot. “She’s not accustomed to be spoiled—not kept for a pet.” Then, striding to a side door, he shouted again, “Joseph!”

Joseph mumbled (to speak low and unclearly) indistinctly (not clearly) in the depths of the cellar, but gave no intimation (a first faint sign) of ascending; so his master dived down to him, leaving me vis-à-vis (face to face — French) the ruffianly (rough and brutal) bitch and a pair of grim shaggy (covered with rough hair) sheep-dogs (dogs that herd sheep), 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 (silent by nature) insults, I unfortunately indulged in winking and making faces at the trio, and some turn of my physiognomy (the cast of a face; inner character shown outwardly) so irritated madam, that she suddenly broke into a fury and leapt (jumped) on my knees. I flung her back, and hastened to interpose (to put in a word between others) the table between us. This proceeding aroused the whole hive: half-a-dozen (six) four-footed (having four feet) fiends (a devil), of various sizes and ages, issued from hidden dens to the common centre. I felt my heels and coat-laps (the tails of a coat) peculiar subjects of assault; and parrying off the larger combatants as effectually (with real effect) as I could with the poker, I was constrained to demand, aloud, assistance from some of the household in re-establishing (setting up again) peace.

Mr. Heathcliff and his man climbed the cellar steps with vexatious (annoying) phlegm (sluggish calm): 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 dispatch; a lusty dame, with tucked-up (gathered up out of the way) gown, bare arms, and fire-flushed (flushed from the fire) cheeks, rushed into the midst of us flourishing a frying-pan (the flat pan for frying): and used that weapon, and her tongue, to such purpose, that the storm subsided magically, and she only remained, heaving (heavens! — a cry of surprise) like a sea after a high wind, when her master entered on the scene.

“What the devil is the matter?” he asked, eyeing me in a manner that I could ill endure after this inhospitable (harsh and unwelcoming) treatment.

“What the devil, indeed!” I muttered (to speak low in the throat). “The herd of possessed swine could have had no worse spirits in them than those animals of yours, sir. You might as well leave a stranger with a brood of tigers!”

“They won’t meddle (to interfere) 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 (a seal-stamp ring) on the biter.” Heathcliff’s countenance relaxed into a grin.

“Come, come,” he said, “you are flurried (rushed confusion), 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 (sulks: fits of moody silence) for the misbehaviour (bad behaviour) of a pack of curs; besides, I felt loth (unwilling) to yield the fellow further amusement at my expense; since his humour took that turn. He—probably swayed by prudential (prudent) consideration of the folly of offending a good tenant—relaxed a little in the laconic (using few words) style of chipping off his pronouns and auxiliary verbs, and introduced what he supposed would be a subject of interest (interest: the spectacle that draws a crowd — the old sense here) to me,—a discourse on the advantages and disadvantages of my present place of retirement. I found him very intelligent on the topics we touched; and before I went home, I was encouraged 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 (fond of company) I feel myself compared with him.