________________________________________________
_ WHILE leading the way upstairs, she recommended that I should hide
the candle, and not make a noise; for her master had an odd notion
about the chamber she would put me in, and never let anybody lodge
there willingly. I asked the reason. She did not know, she
answered: she had only lived there a year or two; and they had so
many queer goings on, she could not begin to be curious.
Too stupefied to be curious myself, I fastened my door and glanced
round for the bed. The whole furniture consisted of a chair, a
clothes-press, and a large oak case, with squares cut out near the
top resembling coach windows. Having approached this structure, I
looked inside, and perceived it to be a singular sort of old-
fashioned couch, very conveniently designed to obviate the
necessity for every member of the family having a room to himself.
In fact, it formed a little closet, and the ledge of a window,
which it enclosed, served as a table. I slid back the panelled
sides, got in with my light, pulled them together again, and felt
secure against the vigilance of Heathcliff, and every one else.
The ledge, where I placed my candle, had a few mildewed books piled
up in one corner; and it was covered with writing scratched on the
paint. This writing, however, was nothing but a name repeated in
all kinds of characters, large and small - CATHERINE EARNSHAW, here
and there varied to CATHERINE HEATHCLIFF, and then again to
CATHERINE LINTON.
In vapid listlessness I leant my head against the window, and
continued spelling over Catherine Earnshaw - Heathcliff - Linton,
till my eyes closed; but they had not rested five minutes when a
glare of white letters started from the dark, as vivid as spectres
- the air swarmed with Catherines; and rousing myself to dispel the
obtrusive name, I discovered my candle-wick reclining on one of the
antique volumes, and perfuming the place with an odour of roasted
calf-skin. I snuffed it off, and, very ill at ease under the
influence of cold and lingering nausea, sat up and spread open the
injured tome on my knee. It was a Testament, in lean type, and
smelling dreadfully musty: a fly-leaf bore the inscription -
'Catherine Earnshaw, her book,' and a date some quarter of a
century back. I shut it, and took up another and another, till I
had examined all. Catherine's library was select, and its state of
dilapidation proved it to have been well used, though not
altogether for a legitimate purpose: scarcely one chapter had
escaped, a pen-and-ink commentary - at least the appearance of one
- covering every morsel of blank that the printer had left. Some
were detached sentences; other parts took the form of a regular
diary, scrawled in an unformed, childish hand. At the top of an
extra page (quite a treasure, probably, when first lighted on) I
was greatly amused to behold an excellent caricature of my friend
Joseph, - rudely, yet powerfully sketched. An immediate interest
kindled within me for the unknown Catherine, and I began forthwith
to decipher her faded hieroglyphics.
'An awful Sunday,' commenced the paragraph beneath. 'I wish my
father were back again. Hindley is a detestable substitute - his
conduct to Heathcliff is atrocious - H. and I are going to rebel -
we took our initiatory step this evening.
'All day had been flooding with rain; we could not go to church, so
Joseph must needs get up a congregation in the garret; and, while
Hindley and his wife basked downstairs before a comfortable fire -
doing anything but reading their Bibles, I'll answer for it -
Heathcliff, myself, and the unhappy ploughboy were commanded to
take our prayer-books, and mount: we were ranged in a row, on a
sack of corn, groaning and shivering, and hoping that Joseph would
shiver too, so that he might give us a short homily for his own
sake. A vain idea! The service lasted precisely three hours; and
yet my brother had the face to exclaim, when he saw us descending,
"What, done already?" On Sunday evenings we used to be permitted
to play, if we did not make much noise; now a mere titter is
sufficient to send us into corners.
'"You forget you have a master here," says the tyrant. "I'll
demolish the first who puts me out of temper! I insist on perfect
sobriety and silence. Oh, boy! was that you? Frances darling,
pull his hair as you go by: I heard him snap his fingers."
Frances pulled his hair heartily, and then went and seated herself
on her husband's knee, and there they were, like two babies,
kissing and talking nonsense by the hour - foolish palaver that we
should be ashamed of. We made ourselves as snug as our means
allowed in the arch of the dresser. I had just fastened our
pinafores together, and hung them up for a curtain, when in comes
Joseph, on an errand from the stables. He tears down my handiwork,
boxes my ears, and croaks:
'"T' maister nobbut just buried, and Sabbath not o'ered, und t'
sound o' t' gospel still i' yer lugs, and ye darr be laiking!
Shame on ye! sit ye down, ill childer! there's good books eneugh if
ye'll read 'em: sit ye down, and think o' yer sowls!"
'Saying this, he compelled us so to square our positions that we
might receive from the far-off fire a dull ray to show us the text
of the lumber he thrust upon us. I could not bear the employment.
I took my dingy volume by the scroop, and hurled it into the dog-
kennel, vowing I hated a good book. Heathcliff kicked his to the
same place. Then there was a hubbub!
'"Maister Hindley!" shouted our chaplain. " Maister, coom hither!
Miss Cathy's riven th' back off 'Th' Helmet o' Salvation,' un'
Heathcliff's pawsed his fit into t' first part o' 'T' Brooad Way to
Destruction!' It's fair flaysome that ye let 'em go on this gait.
Ech! th' owd man wad ha' laced 'em properly - but he's goan!"
'Hindley hurried up from his paradise on the hearth, and seizing
one of us by the collar, and the other by the arm, hurled both into
the back-kitchen; where, Joseph asseverated, "owd Nick would fetch
us as sure as we were living: and, so comforted, we each sought a
separate nook to await his advent. I reached this book, and a pot
of ink from a shelf, and pushed the house-door ajar to give me
light, and I have got the time on with writing for twenty minutes;
but my companion is impatient, and proposes that we should
appropriate the dairywoman's cloak, and have a scamper on the
moors, under its shelter. A pleasant suggestion - and then, if the
surly old man come in, he may believe his prophecy verified - we
cannot be damper, or colder, in the rain than we are here.'
* * * * * *
I suppose Catherine fulfilled her project, for the next sentence
took up another subject: she waxed lachrymose.
'How little did I dream that Hindley would ever make me cry so!'
she wrote. 'My head aches, till I cannot keep it on the pillow;
and still I can't give over. Poor Heathcliff! Hindley calls him a
vagabond, and won't let him sit with us, nor eat with us any more;
and, he says, he and I must not play together, and threatens to
turn him out of the house if we break his orders. He has been
blaming our father (how dared he?) for treating H. too liberally;
and swears he will reduce him to his right place - '
* * * * * *
I began to nod drowsily over the dim page: my eye wandered from
manuscript to print. I saw a red ornamented title - 'Seventy Times
Seven, and the First of the Seventy-First.' A Pious Discourse
delivered by the Reverend Jabez Branderham, in the Chapel of
Gimmerden Sough.' And while I was, half-consciously, worrying my
brain to guess what Jabez Branderham would make of his subject, I
sank back in bed, and fell asleep. Alas, for the effects of bad
tea and bad temper! What else could it be that made me pass such a
terrible night? I don't remember another that I can at all compare
with it since I was capable of suffering.
I began to dream, almost before I ceased to be sensible of my
locality. I thought it was morning; and I had set out on my way
home, with Joseph for a guide. The snow lay yards deep in our
road; and, as we floundered on, my companion wearied me with
constant reproaches that I had not brought a pilgrim's staff:
telling me that I could never get into the house without one, and
boastfully flourishing a heavy-headed cudgel, which I understood to
be so denominated. For a moment I considered it absurd that I
should need such a weapon to gain admittance into my own residence.
Then a new idea flashed across me. I was not going there: we were
journeying to hear the famous Jabez Branderham preach, from the
text - 'Seventy Times Seven;' and either Joseph, the preacher, or I
had committed the 'First of the Seventy-First,' and were to be
publicly exposed and excommunicated.
We came to the chapel. I have passed it really in my walks, twice
or thrice; it lies in a hollow, between two hills: an elevated
hollow, near a swamp, whose peaty moisture is said to answer all
the purposes of embalming on the few corpses deposited there. The
roof has been kept whole hitherto; but as the clergyman's stipend
is only twenty pounds per annum, and a house with two rooms,
threatening speedily to determine into one, no clergyman will
undertake the duties of pastor: especially as it is currently
reported that his flock would rather let him starve than increase
the living by one penny from their own pockets. However, in my
dream, Jabez had a full and attentive congregation; and he preached
- good God! what a sermon; divided into FOUR HUNDRED AND NINETY
parts, each fully equal to an ordinary address from the pulpit, and
each discussing a separate sin! Where he searched for them, I
cannot tell. He had his private manner of interpreting the phrase,
and it seemed necessary the brother should sin different sins on
every occasion. They were of the most curious character: odd
transgressions that I never imagined previously.
Oh, how weary I grow. How I writhed, and yawned, and nodded, and
revived! How I pinched and pricked myself, and rubbed my eyes, and
stood up, and sat down again, and nudged Joseph to inform me if he
would EVER have done. I was condemned to hear all out: finally,
he reached the 'FIRST OF THE SEVENTY-FIRST.' At that crisis, a
sudden inspiration descended on me; I was moved to rise and
denounce Jabez Branderham as the sinner of the sin that no
Christian need pardon.
'Sir,' I exclaimed, 'sitting here within these four walls, at one
stretch, I have endured and forgiven the four hundred and ninety
heads of your discourse. Seventy times seven times have I plucked
up my hat and been about to depart - Seventy times seven times have
you preposterously forced me to resume my seat. The four hundred
and ninety-first is too much. Fellow-martyrs, have at him! Drag
him down, and crush him to atoms, that the place which knows him
may know him no more!'
'THOU ART THE MAN!' cried Jabez, after a solemn pause, leaning over
his cushion. 'Seventy times seven times didst thou gapingly
contort thy visage - seventy times seven did I take counsel with my
soul - Lo, this is human weakness: this also may be absolved! The
First of the Seventy-First is come. Brethren, execute upon him the
judgment written. Such honour have all His saints!'
With that concluding word, the whole assembly, exalting their
pilgrim's staves, rushed round me in a body; and I, having no
weapon to raise in self-defence, commenced grappling with Joseph,
my nearest and most ferocious assailant, for his. In the
confluence of the multitude, several clubs crossed; blows, aimed at
me, fell on other sconces. Presently the whole chapel resounded
with rappings and counter rappings: every man's hand was against
his neighbour; and Branderham, unwilling to remain idle, poured
forth his zeal in a shower of loud taps on the boards of the
pulpit, which responded so smartly that, at last, to my unspeakable
relief, they woke me. And what was it that had suggested the
tremendous tumult? What had played Jabez's part in the row?
Merely the branch of a fir-tree that touched my lattice as the
blast wailed by, and rattled its dry cones against the panes! I
listened doubtingly an instant; detected the disturber, then turned
and dozed, and dreamt again: if possible, still more disagreeably
than before.
This time, I remembered I was lying in the oak closet, and I heard
distinctly the gusty wind, and the driving of the snow; I heard,
also, the fir bough repeat its teasing sound, and ascribed it to
the right cause: but it annoyed me so much, that I resolved to
silence it, if possible; and, I thought, I rose and endeavoured to
unhasp the casement. The hook was soldered into the staple: a
circumstance observed by me when awake, but forgotten. 'I must
stop it, nevertheless!' I muttered, knocking my knuckles through
the glass, and stretching an arm out to seize the importunate
branch; instead of which, my fingers closed on the fingers of a
little, ice-cold hand! The intense horror of nightmare came over
me: I tried to draw back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a
most melancholy voice sobbed, 'Let me in - let me in!' 'Who are
you?' I asked, struggling, meanwhile, to disengage myself.
'Catherine Linton,' it replied, shiveringly (why did I think of
LINTON? I had read EARNSHAW twenty times for Linton) - 'I'm come
home: I'd lost my way on the moor!' As it spoke, I discerned,
obscurely, a child's face looking through the window. Terror made
me cruel; and, finding it useless to attempt shaking the creature
off, I pulled its wrist on to the broken pane, and rubbed it to and
fro till the blood ran down and soaked the bedclothes: still it
wailed, 'Let me in!' and maintained its tenacious gripe, almost
maddening me with fear. 'How can I!' I said at length. 'Let ME
go, if you want me to let you in!' The fingers relaxed, I snatched
mine through the hole, hurriedly piled the books up in a pyramid
against it, and stopped my ears to exclude the lamentable prayer.
I seemed to keep them closed above a quarter of an hour; yet, the
instant I listened again, there was the doleful cry moaning on!
'Begone!' I shouted. 'I'll never let you in, not if you beg for
twenty years.' 'It is twenty years,' mourned the voice: 'twenty
years. I've been a waif for twenty years!' Thereat began a feeble
scratching outside, and the pile of books moved as if thrust
forward. I tried to jump up; but could not stir a limb; and so
yelled aloud, in a frenzy of fright. To my confusion, I discovered
the yell was not ideal: hasty footsteps approached my chamber
door; somebody pushed it open, with a vigorous hand, and a light
glimmered through the squares at the top of the bed. I sat
shuddering yet, and wiping the perspiration from my forehead: the
intruder appeared to hesitate, and muttered to himself. At last,
he said, in a half-whisper, plainly not expecting an answer, 'Is
any one here?' I considered it best to confess my presence; for I
knew Heathcliff's accents, and feared he might search further, if I
kept quiet. With this intention, I turned and opened the panels.
I shall not soon forget the effect my action produced.
Heathcliff stood near the entrance, in his shirt and trousers; with
a candle dripping over his fingers, and his face as white as the
wall behind him. The first creak of the oak startled him like an
electric shock: the light leaped from his hold to a distance of
some feet, and his agitation was so extreme, that he could hardly
pick it up.
'It is only your guest, sir,' I called out, desirous to spare him
the humiliation of exposing his cowardice further. 'I had the
misfortune to scream in my sleep, owing to a frightful nightmare.
I'm sorry I disturbed you.'
'Oh, God confound you, Mr. Lockwood! I wish you were at the - '
commenced my host, setting the candle on a chair, because he found
it impossible to hold it steady. 'And who showed you up into this
room?' he continued, crushing his nails into his palms, and
grinding his teeth to subdue the maxillary convulsions. 'Who was
it? I've a good mind to turn them out of the house this moment?'
'It was your servant Zillah,' I replied, flinging myself on to the
floor, and rapidly resuming my garments. 'I should not care if you
did, Mr. Heathcliff; she richly deserves it. I suppose that she
wanted to get another proof that the place was haunted, at my
expense. Well, it is - swarming with ghosts and goblins! You have
reason in shutting it up, I assure you. No one will thank you for
a doze in such a den!'
'What do you mean?' asked Heathcliff, 'and what are you doing? Lie
down and finish out the night, since you ARE here; but, for
heaven's sake! don't repeat that horrid noise: nothing could
excuse it, unless you were having your throat cut!'
'If the little fiend had got in at the window, she probably would
have strangled me!' I returned. 'I'm not going to endure the
persecutions of your hospitable ancestors again. Was not the
Reverend Jabez Branderham akin to you on the mother's side? And
that minx, Catherine Linton, or Earnshaw, or however she was called
- she must have been a changeling - wicked little soul! She told
me she had been walking the earth these twenty years: a just
punishment for her mortal transgressions, I've no doubt!'
Scarcely were these words uttered when I recollected the
association of Heathcliff's with Catherine's name in the book,
which had completely slipped from my memory, till thus awakened. I
blushed at my inconsideration: but, without showing further
consciousness of the offence, I hastened to add - 'The truth is,
sir, I passed the first part of the night in - ' Here I stopped
afresh - I was about to say 'perusing those old volumes,' then it
would have revealed my knowledge of their written, as well as their
printed, contents; so, correcting myself, I went on - 'in spelling
over the name scratched on that window-ledge. A monotonous
occupation, calculated to set me asleep, like counting, or - '
'What CAN you mean by talking in this way to ME!' thundered
Heathcliff with savage vehemence. 'How - how DARE you, under my
roof? - God! he's mad to speak so!' And he struck his forehead
with rage.
I did not know whether to resent this language or pursue my
explanation; but he seemed so powerfully affected that I took pity
and proceeded with my dreams; affirming I had never heard the
appellation of 'Catherine Linton' before, but reading it often over
produced an impression which personified itself when I had no
longer my imagination under control. Heathcliff gradually fell
back into the shelter of the bed, as I spoke; finally sitting down
almost concealed behind it. I guessed, however, by his irregular
and intercepted breathing, that he struggled to vanquish an excess
of violent emotion. Not liking to show him that I had heard the
conflict, I continued my toilette rather noisily, looked at my
watch, and soliloquised on the length of the night: 'Not three
o'clock yet! I could have taken oath it had been six. Time
stagnates here: we must surely have retired to rest at eight!'
'Always at nine in winter, and rise at four,' said my host,
suppressing a groan: and, as I fancied, by the motion of his arm's
shadow, dashing a tear from his eyes. 'Mr. Lockwood,' he added,
'you may go into my room: you'll only be in the way, coming down-
stairs so early: and your childish outcry has sent sleep to the
devil for me.'
'And for me, too,' I replied. 'I'll walk in the yard till
daylight, and then I'll be off; and you need not dread a repetition
of my intrusion. I'm now quite cured of seeking pleasure in
society, be it country or town. A sensible man ought to find
sufficient company in himself.'
'Delightful company!' muttered Heathcliff. 'Take the candle, and
go where you please. I shall join you directly. Keep out of the
yard, though, the dogs are unchained; and the house - Juno mounts
sentinel there, and - nay, you can only ramble about the steps and
passages. But, away with you! I'll come in two minutes!'
I obeyed, so far as to quit the chamber; when, ignorant where the
narrow lobbies led, I stood still, and was witness, involuntarily,
to a piece of superstition on the part of my landlord which belied,
oddly, his apparent sense. He got on to the bed, and wrenched open
the lattice, bursting, as he pulled at it, into an uncontrollable
passion of tears. 'Come in! come in!' he sobbed. 'Cathy, do come.
Oh, do - ONCE more! Oh! my heart's darling! hear me THIS time,
Catherine, at last!' The spectre showed a spectre's ordinary
caprice: it gave no sign of being; but the snow and wind whirled
wildly through, even reaching my station, and blowing out the
light.
There was such anguish in the gush of grief that accompanied this
raving, that my compassion made me overlook its folly, and I drew
off, half angry to have listened at all, and vexed at having
related my ridiculous nightmare, since it produced that agony;
though WHY was beyond my comprehension. I descended cautiously to
the lower regions, and landed in the back-kitchen, where a gleam of
fire, raked compactly together, enabled me to rekindle my candle.
Nothing was stirring except a brindled, grey cat, which crept from
the ashes, and saluted me with a querulous mew.
Two benches, shaped in sections of a circle, nearly enclosed the
hearth; on one of these I stretched myself, and Grimalkin mounted
the other. We were both of us nodding ere any one invaded our
retreat, and then it was Joseph, shuffling down a wooden ladder
that vanished in the roof, through a trap: the ascent to his
garret, I suppose. He cast a sinister look at the little flame
which I had enticed to play between the ribs, swept the cat from
its elevation, and bestowing himself in the vacancy, commenced the
operation of stuffing a three-inch pipe with tobacco. My presence
in his sanctum was evidently esteemed a piece of impudence too
shameful for remark: he silently applied the tube to his lips,
folded his arms, and puffed away. I let him enjoy the luxury
unannoyed; and after sucking out his last wreath, and heaving a
profound sigh, he got up, and departed as solemnly as he came.
A more elastic footstep entered next; and now I opened my mouth for
a 'good-morning,' but closed it again, the salutation unachieved;
for Hareton Earnshaw was performing his orison SOTTO VOCE, in a
series of curses directed against every object he touched, while he
rummaged a corner for a spade or shovel to dig through the drifts.
He glanced over the back of the bench, dilating his nostrils, and
thought as little of exchanging civilities with me as with my
companion the cat. I guessed, by his preparations, that egress was
allowed, and, leaving my hard couch, made a movement to follow him.
He noticed this, and thrust at an inner door with the end of his
spade, intimating by an inarticulate sound that there was the place
where I must go, if I changed my locality.
It opened into the house, where the females were already astir;
Zillah urging flakes of flame up the chimney with a colossal
bellows; and Mrs. Heathcliff, kneeling on the hearth, reading a
book by the aid of the blaze. She held her hand interposed between
the furnace-heat and her eyes, and seemed absorbed in her
occupation; desisting from it only to chide the servant for
covering her with sparks, or to push away a dog, now and then, that
snoozled its nose overforwardly into her face. I was surprised to
see Heathcliff there also. He stood by the fire, his back towards
me, just finishing a stormy scene with poor Zillah; who ever and
anon interrupted her labour to pluck up the corner of her apron,
and heave an indignant groan.
'And you, you worthless - ' he broke out as I entered, turning to
his daughter-in-law, and employing an epithet as harmless as duck,
or sheep, but generally represented by a dash - . 'There you are,
at your idle tricks again! The rest of them do earn their bread -
you live on my charity! Put your trash away, and find something to
do. You shall pay me for the plague of having you eternally in my
sight - do you hear, damnable jade?'
'I'll put my trash away, because you can make me if I refuse,'
answered the young lady, closing her book, and throwing it on a
chair. 'But I'll not do anything, though you should swear your
tongue out, except what I please!'
Heathcliff lifted his hand, and the speaker sprang to a safer
distance, obviously acquainted with its weight. Having no desire
to be entertained by a cat-and-dog combat, I stepped forward
briskly, as if eager to partake the warmth of the hearth, and
innocent of any knowledge of the interrupted dispute. Each had
enough decorum to suspend further hostilities: Heathcliff placed
his fists, out of temptation, in his pockets; Mrs. Heathcliff
curled her lip, and walked to a seat far off, where she kept her
word by playing the part of a statue during the remainder of my
stay. That was not long. I declined joining their breakfast, and,
at the first gleam of dawn, took an opportunity of escaping into
the free air, now clear, and still, and cold as impalpable ice.
My landlord halloed for me to stop ere I reached the bottom of the
garden, and offered to accompany me across the moor. It was well
he did, for the whole hill-back was one billowy, white ocean; the
swells and falls not indicating corresponding rises and depressions
in the ground: many pits, at least, were filled to a level; and
entire ranges of mounds, the refuse of the quarries, blotted from
the chart which my yesterday's walk left pictured in my mind. I
had remarked on one side of the road, at intervals of six or seven
yards, a line of upright stones, continued through the whole length
of the barren: these were erected and daubed with lime on purpose
to serve as guides in the dark, and also when a fall, like the
present, confounded the deep swamps on either hand with the firmer
path: but, excepting a dirty dot pointing up here and there, all
traces of their existence had vanished: and my companion found it
necessary to warn me frequently to steer to the right or left, when
I imagined I was following, correctly, the windings of the road.
We exchanged little conversation, and he halted at the entrance of
Thrushcross Park, saying, I could make no error there. Our adieux
were limited to a hasty bow, and then I pushed forward, trusting to
my own resources; for the porter's lodge is untenanted as yet. The
distance from the gate to the grange is two miles; I believe I
managed to make it four, what with losing myself among the trees,
and sinking up to the neck in snow: a predicament which only those
who have experienced it can appreciate. At any rate, whatever were
my wanderings, the clock chimed twelve as I entered the house; and
that gave exactly an hour for every mile of the usual way from
Wuthering Heights.
My human fixture and her satellites rushed to welcome me;
exclaiming, tumultuously, they had completely given me up:
everybody conjectured that I perished last night; and they were
wondering how they must set about the search for my remains. I bid
them be quiet, now that they saw me returned, and, benumbed to my
very heart, I dragged up-stairs; whence, after putting on dry
clothes, and pacing to and fro thirty or forty minutes, to restore
the animal heat, I adjourned to my study, feeble as a kitten:
almost too much so to enjoy the cheerful fire and smoking coffee
which the servant had prepared for my refreshment. _
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