Wuthering Heights. Эмили Бронте

master’s bad ways and bad companions formed a pretty example for Catherine and Heathcliff. His treatment of the latter was enough to make a fiend of a saint. And, truly, it appeared as if the lad were possessed of something diabolical at that period. He delighted to witness Hindley degrading himself past redemption; and became daily more notable for savage sullenness and ferocity.

      I could not half tell what an infernal house we had. The curate dropped calling, and nobody decent came near us, at last; unless Edgar Linton’s visits to Miss Cathy might be an exception. At fifteen she was the queen of the country-side; she had no peer: and she did turn out a haughty, headstrong creature! I own I did not like her, after her infancy was past; and I vexed her frequently by trying to bring down her arrogance; she never took an aversion to me, though. She had a wondrous constancy to old attachments; even Heathcliff kept his hold on her affections unalterably, and young Linton, with all his superiority, found it difficult to make an equally deep impression.

      He was my late master; that is his portrait over the fireplace. It used to hang on one side, and his wife’s on the other; but hers has been removed, or else you might see something of what she was. Can you make that out?

      Mrs Dean raised the candle, and I discerned a soft-featured face, exceedingly resembling the young lady at the Heights, but more pensive and amiable in expression. It formed a sweet picture. The long light hair curled slightly on the temples; the eyes were large and serious; the figure almost too graceful. I did not marvel how Catherine Earnshaw could forget her first friend for such an individual. I marvelled much how he, with a mind to correspond with his person, could fancy my idea of Catherine Earnshaw.

      ‘A very agreeable portrait,’ I observed to the housekeeper. ‘Is it like?’

      ‘Yes,’ she answered; ‘but he looked better when he was animated; that is his everyday countenance; he wanted spirit in general.’

      Catherine had kept up her acquaintance with the Lintons since her five weeks’ residence among them; and as she had no temptation to show her rough side in their company, and had the sense to be ashamed of being rude where she experienced such invariable courtesy, she imposed unwittingly on the old lady and gentleman, by her ingenious cordiality; gained the admiration of Isabella, and the heart and soul of her brother – acquisitions that flattered her from the first, for she was full of ambition – and led her to adopt a double character without exactly intending to deceive anyone.

      In the place where she heard Heathcliff termed a ‘vulgar young ruffian,’ and ‘worse than a brute,’ she took care not to act like him; but at home she had small inclination to practise politeness that would only be laughed at, and restrain an unruly nature when it would bring her neither credit, nor praise.

      Mr Edgar seldom mustered courage to visit Wuthering Heights openly. He had a terror of Earnshaw’s reputation, and shrunk from encountering him, and yet, he was always received with our best attempts at civility: the master himself avoided offending him – knowing why he came – and if he could not be gracious; kept out of the way. I rather think his appearance there was distasteful to Catherine; she was not artful, never played the coquette, and had evidently an objection to her two friends meeting at all: for when Heathcliff expressed contempt of Linton, in his presence, she could not half coincide, as she did in his absence; and when Linton evinced disgust and antipathy to Heathcliff, she dare not treat his sentiments with indifference, as if depreciation of her playmate were of scarcely any consequence to her.

      I’ve had many a laugh at her perplexities and untold troubles, which she vainly strove to hide from my mockery. That sounds ill-natured – but she was so proud, it became really impossible to pity her distresses, till she should be chastened into more humility.

      She did bring herself, finally, to confess, and confide in me. There was not a soul else that she might fashion into an adviser.

      Mr Hindley had gone from home, one afternoon; and Heathcliff presumed to give himself a holiday, on the strength of it. He had reached the age of sixteen then, I think, and without having bad features or being deficient in intellect, he contrived to convey an impression of inward and outward repulsiveness that his present aspect retains no traces of.

      In the first place, he had, by that time, lost the benefit of his early education: continual hard work, begun soon and concluded late, had extinguished any curiosity he once possessed in pursuit of knowledge, and any love for books or learning. His childhood’s sense of superiority, instilled into him by the favours of old Mr Earnshaw, was faded away. He struggled long to keep up an equality with Catherine in her studies and yielded with poignant though silent regret: but, he yielded completely; and there was no prevailing on him to take a step in the way of moving upward, when he found he must, necessarily, sink beneath his former level. Then personal appearance sympathised with mental deterioration; he acquired a slouching gait, and ignoble look; his naturally reserved disposition was exaggerated into an almost idiotic excess of unsociable moroseness; and he took a grim pleasure, apparently, in exciting the aversion rather than the esteem of his few acquaintance.

      Catherine and he were constant companions still, at his seasons of respite from labour; but, he had ceased to express his fondness for her in words, and recoiled with angry suspicion from her girlish caresses, as if conscious there could be no gratification in lavishing such marks of affection on him. On the before-named occasion he came into the house to announce his intention of doing nothing, while I was assisting Miss Cathy to arrange her dress – she had not reckoned on his taking it into his head to be idle, and imagining she would have the whole place to herself, she managed, by some means, to inform Mr Edgar of her brother’s absence, and was then preparing to receive him.

      ‘Cathy, are you busy, this afternoon?’ asked Heathcliff. ‘Are you going anywhere?’

      ‘No, it is raining,’ she answered.

      ‘Why have you that silk frock on, then?’ he said. ‘Nobody coming here, I hope?’

      ‘Not that I know of,’ stammered Miss, ‘but you should be in the field now, Heathcliff. It is an hour past dinner time; I thought you were gone.’

      ‘Hindley does not often free us from his accursed presence,’ observed the boy. ‘I’ll not work any more today, I’ll stay with you.’

      ‘O, but Joseph will tell,’ she suggested, ‘you’d better go!’

      ‘Joseph is loading lime on the farther side of Pennistow Crag; it will take him till dark, and he’ll never know.’

      So saying, he lounged to the fire, and sat down. Catherine reflected an instant, with knitted brows – she found it needful to smooth the way for an intrusion.

      ‘Isabella and Edgar Linton talked of calling this afternoon,’ she said, at the conclusion of a minute’s silence. ‘As it rains, I hardly expect them; but, they may come, and if they do, you run the risk of being scolded for no good.’

      ‘Order Ellen to say you are engaged, Cathy,’ he persisted. ‘Don’t turn me out for those pitiful, silly friends of yours! I’m on the point, sometimes, of complaining that they – but I’ll not –’

      ‘That they what?’ cried Catherine, gazing at him with a troubled countenance. ‘Oh, Nelly!’ she added petulantly, jerking her head away from my hands, ‘you’ve combed my hair quite out of curl! That’s enough, let me alone. What are you on the point of complaining about, Heathcliff?’

      ‘Nothing – only look at the almanack, on that wall.’ He pointed to a framed sheet hanging near the window, and continued;

      ‘The crosses are for the evenings you have spent with the Lintons, the dots for those spent with me – Do you see, I’ve marked every day?’

      ‘Yes – very foolish; as if I took notice!’ replied Catherine in a peevish tone. ‘And where is the sense of that?’

      ‘To show that I do take notice,’ said Heathcliff.

      ‘And should I always be sitting with you,’ she demanded, growing more irritated. ‘What good do I get – What do you talk about? You might be dumb