1801. I have just returned from a visit to my landlord. This is certainly a beautiful country! And Mr. Heathcliff and I are such a suitable pair. A capital fellow! We met yesterday.
'Mr. Heathcliff? I'm Mr. Lockwood, your new tenant, sir. I hope that I don't bother you by my perseverance occupating Thrushcross Grange[1]: I heard yesterday you had had some thoughts – '
'Thrushcross Grange is my own, sir,' he interrupted, wincing. 'I won't allow anyone to bother me, but walk in!'
The 'walk in' was uttered with closed teeth, and in fact he seemed to say 'Go to Hell'. But eventually he opened the gate and invited me to enter. As we entered the court, he called,
'Joseph, take Mr. Lockwood's horse; and bring up some wine.'
Joseph was an old man. 'The Lord help us!' he said and helped me from my horse.
Wuthering Heights[2] is the name of Mr. Heathcliff's house. The word 'Wuthering' is connected with the stormy weather in this region. Above the door, I detected the date '1500,' and the name 'Hareton Earnshaw.'
We came into the family sitting-room, without any lobby or passage: they call it here 'the house'. Above the chimney there were some old guns, and a couple of horse-pistols[3]. The floor was of smooth, white stone; the chairs were high-backed, primitive structures.
Mr. Heathcliff is a dark-skinned gipsy in appearance, in dress and manners a gentleman. He has an erect and handsome figure; and is rather morose. Possibly, some people suspect under-bred pride; but I think it is nothing of the sort. I know, by instinct, he is so reserved because of an aversion to show his feeling.
When he left me to go to the cellar with Joseph and bring some wine, however, I was attacked by several large dogs, they ran into the kitchen. Happily, a woman came in to save me. She had bare arms and red cheeks, and she rushed into the midst of us with a frying-pan, and used that weapon, and her tongue, to such purpose, that the storm subsided magically.
'What the devil is the matter?' asked Heathcliff.
I did not like this inhospitable treatment.
'What the devil, indeed!' I muttered. 'Those animals of yours, sir. You will leave a stranger with tigers soon!'
'They won't touch the persons who touch nothing,' he remarked, putting the bottle before me. 'The dogs must be vigilant. A glass of wine?'
'No, thank you.'
'Come, come,' he said, 'you are uneasy, Mr. Lockwood. Here, 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?'
Yesterday I went to see Heathcliff again, but nobody answered when I knocked for admittance.
Only the dogs howled inside. It was snowing hard. Suddenly, when a young man without coat, but with a pitchfork, appeared in the yard behind. He hailed me to follow him, and at length[4] we arrived in the huge, warm, cheerful apartment. I was formerly received there. The fire was burning; and near the table, laid for an evening meal, I observed a lady whose existence I had never previously suspected. I bowed and waited. Will she ask me to take a seat? She looked at me, leant back in her chair, and remained motionless and silent.
'Rough weather!' I remarked.
She did not open her mouth. I stared – she stared also. She looked at me in a cool, regardless manner, exceedingly embarrassing and disagreeable.
'Sit down,' said the young man, gruffly. 'He'll be in soon.'
She was not very amiable with me – in fact, quite the opposite. But I noticed that she was slender and beautiful, with curly blond hair. I could not remember when I had last seen such a beauty. But our conversation did not go far. Meanwhile, the shabby young man was standing
in front of the fireplace. He looked down on me from the corner of his eyes. Was there some mortal feud between us? No. Is he a servant here? His dress and speech were both rude; his thick brown curls and whiskers were rough and uncultivated, and his hands were brown like those of a common worker. Five minutes afterwards the entrance of Heathcliff relieved me from my uncomfortable thoughts.
'You see, sir, I have come, according to promise!' I exclaimed; 'and I fear I shall stay here for half an hour, if you afford me shelter.'
'Half an hour?' he said. He shook the white flakes from his clothes; 'I wonder you selected the snow-storm to go out. Do you know that you risk? You may be lost in the marshes.'
'Perhaps I can get a guide among your lads. He might stay at the Grange till morning – could you spare me one?'
'No, I can't.'
'Oh, indeed! Well, then, I must trust to my own luck.'
'Umph! Are you going to drink tea?' demanded he of the shabby coat, which was shifting his ferocious gaze from me to the young lady.
'Will he drink too?' she asked Heathcliff.
'Get it ready, will you?' was the answer.
It 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 good 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 in silence.
