WHAT vain weathercocks we are!
I, who had determined to hold
myself independent of all social
intercourse, and thanked my stars
that, at length, I had lighted
on a spot where it was next to
impracticable - I, weak wretch,
after maintaining till dusk a
struggle with low spirits and
solitude, was finally compelled
to strike my colours; and under
pretence of gaining information
concerning the necessities of
my establishment, I desired Mrs.
Dean, when she brought in supper,
to sit down while I ate it; hoping
sincerely she would prove a regular
gossip, and either rouse me to
animation or lull me to sleep
by her talk.
'You have lived here a considerable
time,' I commenced; 'did you
not say sixteen years?'
'Eighteen, sir: I came when
the mistress was married, to
wait on her; after she died,
the master retained me for his
housekeeper.'
'Indeed.'
There ensued a pause. She was
not a gossip, I feared; unless
about her own affairs, and those
could hardly interest me. However,
having studied for an interval,
with a fist on either knee, and
a cloud of meditation over her
ruddy countenance, she ejaculated
- 'Ah, times are greatly changed
since then!'
'Yes,' I remarked, 'you've
seen a good many alterations,
I suppose?'
'I have: and troubles too,'
she said.
'Oh, I'll turn the talk on
my landlord's family!' I thought
to myself. 'A good subject to
start! And that pretty girl-widow,
I should like to know her history:
whether she be a native of the
country, or, as is more probable,
an exotic that the surly INDIGENAE
will not recognise for kin.'
With this intention I asked Mrs.
Dean why Heathcliff let Thrushcross
Grange, and preferred living
in a situation and residence
so much inferior. 'Is he not
rich enough to keep the estate
in good order?' I inquired.
'Rich, sir!' she returned.
'He has nobody knows what money,
and every year it increases.
Yes, yes, he's rich enough to
live in a finer house than this:
but he's very near - close-handed;
and, if he had meant to flit
to Thrushcross Grange, as soon
as he heard of a good tenant
he could not have borne to miss
the chance of getting a few hundreds
more. It is strange people should
be so greedy, when they are alone
in the world!'
'He had a son, it seems?'
'Yes, he had one - he is dead.'
'And that young lady, Mrs.
Heathcliff, is his widow?'
'Yes.'
'Where did she come from originally?'
'Why, sir, she is my late master's
daughter: Catherine Linton was
her maiden name. I nursed her,
poor thing! I did wish Mr. Heathcliff
would remove here, and then we
might have been together again.'
'What! Catherine Linton?' I
exclaimed, astonished. But a
minute's reflection convinced
me it was not my ghostly Catherine.
Then,' I continued, 'my predecessor's
name was Linton?'
'It was.'
'And who is that Earnshaw:
Hareton Earnshaw, who lives with
Mr. Heathcliff? Are they relations?'
'No; he is the late Mrs. Linton's
nephew.'
'The young lady's cousin, then?'
'Yes; and her husband was her
cousin also: one on the mother's,
the other on the father's side:
Heathcliff married Mr. Linton's
sister.'
'I see the
house at Wuthering Heights
has "Earnshaw" carved
over the front door. Are they
an old family?'
'Very old, sir; and Hareton
is the last of them, as our Miss
Cathy is of us - I mean, of the
Lintons. Have you been to Wuthering
Heights? I beg pardon for asking;
but I should like to hear how
she is!'
'Mrs. Heathcliff? she looked
very well, and very handsome;
yet, I think, not very happy.'
'Oh dear, I don't wonder! And
how did you like the master?'
'A rough fellow, rather, Mrs.
Dean. Is not that his character?
'Rough as a saw-edge, and hard
as whinstone! The less you meddle
with him the better.'
'He must have had some ups
and downs in life to make him
such a churl. Do you know anything
of his history?'
'It's a cuckoo's, sir - I know
all about it: except where he
was born, and who were his parents,
and how he got his money at first.
And Hareton has been cast out
like an unfledged dunnock! The
unfortunate lad is the only one
in all this parish that does
not guess how he has been cheated.'
'Well, Mrs. Dean, it will be
a charitable deed to tell me
something of my neighbours: I
feel I shall not rest if I go
to bed; so be good enough to
sit and chat an hour.'
'Oh, certainly, sir! I'll just
fetch a little sewing, and then
I'll sit as long as you please.
But you've caught cold: I saw
you shivering, and you must have
some gruel to drive it out.'
The worthy woman bustled off,
and I crouched nearer the fire;
my head felt hot, and the rest
of me chill: moreover, I was
excited, almost to a pitch of
foolishness, through my nerves
and brain. This caused me to
feel, not uncomfortable, but
rather fearful (as I am still)
of serious effects from the incidents
of to-day and yesterday. She
returned presently, bringing
a smoking basin and a basket
of work; and, having placed the
former on the hob, drew in her
seat, evidently pleased to find
me so companionable.
Before I came to live here,
she commenced - waiting no farther
invitation to her story - I was
almost always at Wuthering Heights;
because my mother had nursed
Mr. Hindley Earnshaw, that was
Hareton's father, and I got used
to playing with the children:
I ran errands too, and helped
to make hay, and hung about the
farm ready for anything that
anybody would set me to. One
fine summer morning - it was
the beginning of harvest, I remember
- Mr. Earnshaw, the old master,
came down-stairs, dressed for
a journey; and, after he had
told Joseph what was to be done
during the day, he turned to
Hindley, and Cathy, and me -
for I sat eating my porridge
with them - and he said, speaking
to his son, 'Now, my bonny man,
I'm going to Liverpool to-day,
what shall I bring you? You may
choose what you like: only let
it be little, for I shall walk
there and back: sixty miles each
way, that is a long spell!' Hindley
named a fiddle, and then he asked
Miss Cathy; she was hardly six
years old, but she could ride
any horse in the stable, and
she chose a whip. He did not
forget me; for he had a kind
heart, though he was rather severe
sometimes. He promised to bring
me a pocketful of apples and
pears, and then he kissed his
children, said good-bye, and
set off.
It seemed a long while to us
all - the three days of his absence
- and often did little Cathy
ask when he would be home. Mrs.
Earnshaw expected him by supper-time
on the third evening, and she
put the meal off hour after hour;
there were no signs of his coming,
however, and at last the children
got tired of running down to
the gate to look. Then it grew
dark; she would have had them
to bed, but they begged sadly
to be allowed to stay up; and,
just about eleven o'clock, the
door-latch was raised quietly,
and in stepped the master. He
threw himself into a chair, laughing
and groaning, and bid them all
stand off, for he was nearly
killed - he would not have such
another walk for the three kingdoms.
'And at the end of it to be
flighted to death!' he said,
opening his great-coat, which
he held bundled up in his arms.
'See here, wife! I was never
so beaten with anything in my
life: but you must e'en take
it as a gift of God; though it's
as dark almost as if it came
from the devil.'
We crowded round, and over
Miss Cathy's head I had a peep
at a dirty, ragged, black-haired
child; big enough both to walk
and talk: indeed, its face looked
older than Catherine's; yet when
it was set on its feet, it only
stared round, and repeated over
and over again some gibberish
that nobody could understand.
I was frightened, and Mrs. Earnshaw
was ready to fling it out of
doors: she did fly up, asking
how he could fashion to bring
that gipsy brat into the house,
when they had their own bairns
to feed and fend for? What he
meant to do with it, and whether
he were mad? The master tried
to explain the matter; but he
was really half dead with fatigue,
and all that I could make out,
amongst her scolding, was a tale
of his seeing it starving, and
houseless, and as good as dumb,
in the streets of Liverpool,
where he picked it up and inquired
for its owner. Not a soul knew
to whom it belonged, he said;
and his money and time being
both limited, he thought it better
to take it home with him at once,
than run into vain expenses there:
because he was determined he
would not leave it as he found
it. Well, the conclusion was,
that my mistress grumbled herself
calm; and Mr. Earnshaw told me
to wash it, and give it clean
things, and let it sleep with
the children.
Hindley and Cathy contented
themselves with looking and listening
till peace was restored: then,
both began searching their father's
pockets for the presents he had
promised them. The former was
a boy of fourteen, but when he
drew out what had been a fiddle,
crushed to morsels in the great-coat,
he blubbered aloud; and Cathy,
when she learned the master had
lost her whip in attending on
the stranger, showed her humour
by grinning and spitting at the
stupid little thing; earning
for her pains a sound blow from
her father, to teach her cleaner
manners. They entirely refused
to have it in bed with them,
or even in their room; and I
had no more sense, so I put it
on the landing of the stairs,
hoping it might he gone on the
morrow. By chance, or else attracted
by hearing his voice, it crept
to Mr. Earnshaw's door, and there
he found it on quitting his chamber.
Inquiries were made as to how
it got there; I was obliged to
confess, and in recompense for
my cowardice and inhumanity was
sent out of the house.
This was Heathcliff's first
introduction to the family. On
coming back a few days afterwards
(for I did not consider my banishment
perpetual), I found they had
christened him 'Heathcliff':
it was the name of a son who
died in childhood, and it has
served him ever since, both for
Christian and surname. Miss Cathy
and he were now very thick; but
Hindley hated him: and to say
the truth I did the same; and
we plagued and went on with him
shamefully: for I wasn't reasonable
enough to feel my injustice,
and the mistress never put in
a word on his behalf when she
saw him wronged.
He seemed a sullen, patient
child; hardened, perhaps, to
ill- treatment: he would stand
Hindley's blows without winking
or shedding a tear, and my pinches
moved him only to draw in a breath
and open his eyes, as if he had
hurt himself by accident, and
nobody was to blame. This endurance
made old Earnshaw furious, when
he discovered his son persecuting
the poor fatherless child, as
he called him. He took to Heathcliff
strangely, believing all he said
(for that matter, he said precious
little, and generally the truth),
and petting him up far above
Cathy, who was too mischievous
and wayward for a favourite.
So, from the very beginning,
he bred bad feeling in the house;
and at Mrs. Earnshaw's death,
which happened in less than two
years after, the young master
had learned to regard his father
as an oppressor rather than a
friend, and Heathcliff as a usurper
of his parent's affections and
his privileges; and he grew bitter
with brooding over these injuries.
I sympathised a while; but when
the children fell ill of the
measles, and I had to tend them,
and take on me the cares of a
woman at once, I changed my idea.
Heathcliff was dangerously sick;
and while he lay at the worst
he would have me constantly by
his pillow: I suppose he felt
I did a good deal for him, and
he hadn't wit to guess that I
was compelled to do it. However,
I will say this, he was the quietest
child that ever nurse watched
over. The difference between
him and the others forced me
to be less partial. Cathy and
her brother harassed me terribly:
he was as uncomplaining as a
lamb; though hardness, not gentleness,
made him give little trouble.
He got through, and the doctor
affirmed it was in a great measure
owing to me, and praised me for
my care. I was vain of his commendations,
and softened towards the being
by whose means I earned them,
and thus Hindley lost his last
ally: still I couldn't dote on
Heathcliff, and I wondered often
what my master saw to admire
so much in the sullen boy; who
never, to my recollection, repaid
his indulgence by any sign of
gratitude. He was not insolent
to his benefactor, he was simply
insensible; though knowing perfectly
the hold he had on his heart,
and conscious he had only to
speak and all the house would
be obliged to bend to his wishes.
As an instance, I remember Mr.
Earnshaw once bought a couple
of colts at the parish fair,
and gave the lads each one. Heathcliff
took the handsomest, but it soon
fell lame, and when he discovered
it, he said to Hindley -
'You must exchange horses with
me: I don't like mine; and if
you won't I shall tell your father
of the three thrashings you've
given me this week, and show
him my arm, which is black to
the shoulder.' Hindley put out
his tongue, and cuffed him over
the ears. 'You'd better do it
at once,' he persisted, escaping
to the porch (they were in the
stable): 'you will have to: and
if I speak of these blows, you'll
get them again with interest.'
'Off, dog!' cried Hindley, threatening
him with an iron weight used
for weighing potatoes and hay.
'Throw it,' he replied, standing
still, 'and then I'll tell how
you boasted that you would turn
me out of doors as soon as he
died, and see whether he will
not turn you out directly.' Hindley
threw it, hitting him on the
breast, and down he fell, but
staggered up immediately, breathless
and white; and, had not I prevented
it, he would have gone just so
to the master, and got full revenge
by letting his condition plead
for him, intimating who had caused
it. 'Take my colt, Gipsy, then!'
said young Earnshaw. 'And I pray
that he may break your neck:
take him, and he damned, you
beggarly interloper! and wheedle
my father out of all he has:
only afterwards show him what
you are, imp of Satan. - And
take that, I hope he'll kick
out your brains!'
Heathcliff had gone to loose
the beast, and shift it to his
own stall; he was passing behind
it, when Hindley finished his
speech by knocking him under
its feet, and without stopping
to examine whether his hopes
were fulfilled, ran away as fast
as he could. I was surprised
to witness how coolly the child
gathered himself up, and went
on with his intention; exchanging
saddles and all, and then sitting
down on a bundle of hay to overcome
the qualm which the violent blow
occasioned, before he entered
the house. I persuaded him easily
to let me lay the blame of his
bruises on the horse: he minded
little what tale was told since
he had what he wanted. He complained
so seldom, indeed, of such stirs
as these, that I really thought
him not vindictive: I was deceived
completely, as you will hear.
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