Wuthering Heights

Chapter 2

In 1801, I had just returned from a visit to my landlady, who was my lonely neighbour, who was about to come and make trouble with me.This is indeed a beautiful piece of country!Traveling all over the UK, I don't think I can find such a paradise, completely isolated from the hustle and bustle of the world.Cynics, this is the perfect paradise.Heathcliff just happened to be paired with me, to share the desolate loneliness between us.A top man!When I rode up and watched his dark eyes under his brows contract suspiciously; I'm afraid I wouldn't have imagined how my heart warmed up towards him.

"Mr Heathcliff?" I said.

A little nod is the answer.

"Lockwood, your new lodger, sir. As soon as I have had the honor of being in your place, I havetened to call on you, in the hope that my repeated requests to occupy Thrushcross Grange will not cause you any inconvenience. I heard yesterday that you intended to—"

"Thrushcross Grange is mine, sir," he interrupted melessly, "and I won't suffer anyone to inconvenience me, if I can—go in!"

The word "go in" was said through gritted teeth, which meant "go to hell with you!" Even though he was leaning against the door, he didn't show the slightest sympathy for these two words.I think it was this scene that decided me to accept his invitation, and I was excited about a man more eccentric than myself.

When he saw that my horse's chest was about to hit the fence, he stretched out his hand and opened the barricade.Then he sullenly led me on my way.As we entered the yard, he called out:

"Joseph, take Mr. Lockwood's horse and bring me some wine."

"Perhaps, this is all his belongings," he ordered aloud, which aroused my thought. "No wonder the weeds are overgrown in the cracks between the stone slabs, and only the cattle and sheep trim the hedges."

Joseph was an old man, no, an old man, probably very old, though stout and vigorous.

"My lord bless him, he grumbled reluctantly to himself as he led the horse from me. At the same time he stared into my face with such grievances that I kindly guessed that he must have needed The gods helped to digest his meal. The reverence he blurted out, therefore, has nothing to do with me, an unexpected guest.

Wuthering Heights is the name of Heathcliff's mansion. The original text of "Wuthering" and "Wuthering" is Wuthering, and the profane sound is similar to "Wuthering".is a meaningful local adjective, describing the tumultuous sound of the air in this place on a stormy day.To be honest, they can enjoy pure and smooth cool air all year round.Look at the dwarf fir-trees at the far end of the house, leaning over to one side, and the row of gaunt thorns stretching out their hands and feet in one direction, as if begging the sun for a favor, and the north wind blowing through the hedges with majesty, It is also conceivable.Fortunately the architect had the foresight to build the house solidly, with the narrow windows sunk deep in the walls and the corners reinforced by large protruding stones.

Before stepping over the threshold, I stopped to admire the front of the mansion, especially the large piece of weird carvings around the main entrance.Above the main entrance, amidst a savage mass of broken griffins and impudent little boys, I found the date "1500" and the name "Hareton Earnshaw."I would have said a word or two, and begged the gloomy master to tell me a little history of the place.But the way he stood at the door clearly wanted me to go in quickly, or just turn back and walk. I didn't want to come and add fuel to his fire before I entered the room.

We entered the living room of this family at one step, with no hall or passage to guide us.They ingeniously called this place "the house".It usually includes the kitchen and living room.But I believe that at Wuthering Heights the whole kitchen was forced into another corner.At least I heard the chatter and the sound of kitchen utensils coming from the depths.Around the great fireplace I saw no sign of cooking or roasting, no glint of copper pots and tin colanders on the wall, but at the other end of the room, on a huge oak cupboard, stood a row of Another row of solder dishes, interspersed with silver jugs and cups, piled on top of each other up to the roof.These things really emit light and heat brilliantly.The cupboard was always open, and the whole of its construction was visible except for a wooden shelf full of biscuits, shanks of beef, mutton, ham, etc., which was somewhat covered.Above the fireplace, there are all kinds of strange old guns.and a pair of carbine.For decoration, three ornately painted tea caddies are also placed side by side on the ledge.The ground is smooth white stone.The high-backed chairs were of primitive construction, painted green; one or two heavy, dark chairs lay dormant in the shadows.In a vault under the cupboard lay a large red-brown pinscher, surrounded by a litter of squawking puppies, and other dogs in other recesses.

There was nothing special about the room and the furniture. If they belonged to an ordinary northern farmer, he had a stubborn face, and his thick arms and legs seemed to be a natural advantage, and he was specially designed to wear knee-length shorts and leggings.Such a figure sitting in an easy chair, with a large glass of ale bubbling on the round table in front of him, as long as you just walk five or six miles among the mountains in this area during the period after the meal, you can see it everywhere. .But Mr. Heathcliff is in sharp contrast with his house and way of life.In appearance, he is a dark-skinned gypsy, and in terms of clothes and demeanor, he is a gentleman.That is to say, he was like many country gentlemen, a little sloppy perhaps, but his slovenliness was not ugly, for he had a tall and handsome figure.A depressed look.Some people may suspect that he is arrogant due to lack of education, but I feel deeply with him in my heart, which tells me that he is not this kind of person.I knew instinctively that his indifference was due to a distaste for displays of affection and mutual intimacy.He was both loving and hating under cover, and decided that it would be unseemly to be loved and hated again.No, I came to conclusions too quickly: I added my own personality to him at will.Mr. Heathcliff, probably for quite a different reason, hid his hand every time he met a man who might wish to make him a friend.I wish my temper was different.My dear mother used to say that I would never have a comfortable home.It wasn't until last summer that I fully confirmed to myself that I really didn't deserve a home.

I was enjoying a month of fine weather by the sea when I suddenly bumped into a most charming woman; as long as she didn't notice me, she was a real goddess in my eyes.I "never spoke of my love" . . . in words; but, if eyes could speak, the stupid thing might have guessed that I was ecstatic.She finally understood me, and gave me a glance back, a glance that was as sweet as it was impossible to find.What did I do?Ashamed to say, I backed off as coldly as a snail.The more she looked at me, the colder and farther I retreated.Until at last, the poor little thing began to doubt her own feelings, thinking that she was being self-indulgent and panic-stricken, and persuaded her mother to leave the camp.

It is because of this eccentric virtue that I have acquired the reputation of being ruthless.How misplaced, only I know.

I sat down on one of the chairs by the fire, opposite the one my landlady was walking towards.To fill the silence of the moment, I wanted to pet the bitch, who had left her litter and slinked like a wolf behind my legs, baring her teeth, slobbering from her pale teeth.

When I touched it, I felt a long growl in its throat.

"You'd better leave the dog alone," sang Mr. Heathcliff to his dog, growling also, and stomping his foot to silence the more ferocious demonstration below. "It's not used to being petted, it's not kept as a plaything."

Then, striding towards a side door, he shouted again:
"Joseph!"

Joseph muttered indistinctly in the depths of the cellar, but there was no movement to come up.So his master rushed down to find him, and left me and the ferocious bitch, and a pair of ferocious shaggy collies, face to face.The pair of dogs, together with the bitch, kept a close eye on my every move.

I'm not in a hurry to have sex with Dogya, just sit still.But I thought they didn't know how to humiliate silently, so I was unlucky enough to wink and grimace at these three things.Which of my faces offended Mrs. Dog, and she flew into a rage and jumped on my lap.I slammed it back and hurried to get the table in the middle.My action caused public outrage.Six or seven four-legged devils, big and small, old and young, rushed out of the hidden lair and surrounded them.I felt the heels of my hind legs and the hem of my clothes as prominent targets.As I flicked the tongs away from the big guys, I had to yell for help, begging someone from the family to come over and help restore peace.

Mr. Heathcliff and his servant, abominably, climbed the basement steps slowly.I don't think they're going a second faster than usual, despite the biting and howling over the fireplace.

God knows, another resident of the kitchen came out, a strong woman with rolled skirts, bare arms, and flaming cheeks, waving a frying pan and rushing towards us.She wielded the weapon and her tongue like a god, and miraculously quelled the storm.When her master arrived, she was left alone, panting like a stormy sea.

"What the hell?" he asked, glaring at me.I can't bear to look at this kind of look after being treated so poorly.

"What the hell, really!" I grumbled, "even if the pigs are possessed by demons. eat.The demons begged Jesus to let them go into the pigs, and Jesus allowed them.And the ghost came out of the man and went into the pig.So the pigs rushed down the cliff, threw themselves into the lake and drowned. "The ghost in the body is not as fierce as you and the beasts. You might as well throw a stranger to a group of tigers, sir!"

"They don't make a fuss as long as people don't touch them," he said, putting the bottle down to me.He moved the table back. "It's the dog's job to be alert. A drink?"

"no thank you."

"Not bitten, is it?"

"It's about to be bitten, and I want to leave a memorial for the biting thing."

Heathcliff grinned, his face softened.

"Come, come," he said, "you're frightened, Mr. Lockwood. Come, have a drink. There's only one visitor in this house in a millennium, so me and my dog, I will admit, don't really understand." How to receive them. Good health, sir!"

I bowed and returned his congratulations.I began to feel foolish to sit and hold my breath over the audacity of those dogs.Also, I don't want to take the trouble to give this guy further jokes, because his interest has already turned the corner.

And he, perhaps on reflection, realizing how stupid it would be to offend a good tenant, was a little friendlier, stopped scribbling, chopped off pronouns and auxiliary verbs, and brought up what he thought was the same A subject of my interest, that is, to speak of the strengths and weaknesses of my present hermitage.In terms of the topics we discussed, I found him to be very knowledgeable.When it came time to say goodbye, I was already in high spirits, and volunteered to visit again tomorrow.

He obviously didn't want me to disturb him again.But I don't care, I still want to go.Strange to say, I feel how gregarious I am compared to him.

It was foggy and cold yesterday afternoon, so I was more focused on spending the afternoon by the fireplace in the study, instead of trekking all the way to Wuthering Heights with mud on the wasteland.

But after lunch, (note: I eat lunch between twelve and one, the housekeeper, a serene lady whom I have taken over with the house, never fails, or refuses to heed my request, Dinner is served at five o'clock.) I went up the stairs and into the study with this laziness in mind, and saw a maid kneeling, surrounded by brooms and coal buckets, sealing a fire with piles of cinders, making a fuss. The whole house is full of dust.Seeing this smoky scene, I turned around and left.I put on my hat and walked the four miles to escape the first snowfall of the year when I came to Heathcliff's garden gate.

On this desolate hilltop, the ground was hardened by a black frost, and the cold made my limbs tremble.Because I couldn't break the chain on the fence, I rolled over and jumped in.Rushing across the cobblestone road with gooseberry trees sprawling on both sides, I knocked on the door for a long time in vain, until my finger bones ached and the dog howled.

"Bastards!" I cried inwardly, "you deserve to be cut off from your kind for the rest of your life because of your bad hospitality. At least, I don't bark the door in broad daylight. I don't care, I have to go in." !"

With such determination, I grabbed the door mortar and shook it vigorously.From one of the round windows of the barn, a sad-faced Joseph poked his head out.

"What are you doing?" he shouted loudly. "The master is in the sheepfold. If you want to talk to him, go around this intersection."

"Is no one in the house to answer the door?" I also yelled at him in return.

"There is only my wife in the room, no one else. Even if you toss around until night, she won't open the door for you."

"Why, can't you tell her who I am, O Joseph?"

"No, I won't do it, I don't care about it." The head muttered and disappeared.

The snow started to fall heavily.I grabbed the mortar and tried again.At that moment a young man without a coat appeared in the backyard with a rake on his shoulder.He beckoned me to follow him; and we walked past the laundry, past a paved field with a coal shed, pump, and pigeon coop, and at last came to the big warm and comfortable house where I had been entertained yesterday.

The house shone brightly in the bright light of a roaring fire in which a mixture of coal and peat and wood burned.At the table where a sumptuous supper was being prepared, I was delighted to see Mrs. I had never imagined that there was such a person here.

I bowed and waited there, thinking she would ask me to sit down.But she looked at me, threw herself back into the chair again, and didn't move or say a word.

"It's terrible weather!" said I. "Mrs. Heathcliff, I'm afraid your servants have been giving the gate a lot of trouble by being lazy, and I knocked a long time before they heard it!"

She never opened her mouth.I stared at her and she stared at me.In any case, her eyes were fixed on me with a cold, indifferent, embarrassing and disconcerting look.

"Sit down," said the young man gruffly, "he'll be right here."

I obey.I coughed and called that vicious dog Juno. It was the second time we met, and he finally condescended and wagged the tip of his tail to admit that I was an acquaintance.

"What a beautiful dog!" I said again. "Are you going to give it away, little dog, ma'am?"

"They are not mine," said the lovely hostess, and Heathcliff himself could not have been more blunt in replying.

"Ah! Your baby is here!" I went on, turning to a dark cushion covered with something that looked like a cat.

"Ghosts treat them like treasures!" she said contemptuously.

Unfortunately, it was a bunch of dead rabbits.I coughed again and moved closer to the fireplace, resuming my remark on the wild weather tonight.

"You shouldn't have come out," she said, standing up and reaching for the two painted tea caddies on the mantelpiece.

Her position was originally blocked by the light.At this moment, I saw her whole figure and appearance clearly: she was slender, and she even bid farewell to her girlish years.Amazing figure, and the most beautiful little face I have ever seen in my life, with delicate facial features, very beautiful.Light yellow, or rather blond, curls hung loosely about her delicate neck.Two eyes, no one can resist if they are willing to express their feelings.Perhaps it was the luck of my sensitive hearts, that the emotion which they expressed was only a wavering between contempt and a certain despair, which was really unnatural in such a face.

She couldn't reach the two tea pots with her outstretched hands.I moved to come and help her.She turned and stared at me with the look of a miser who is about to count gold for her.

"I don't need your help," she snapped, "I can get it myself."

"Excuse me." I replied hastily.

"Did you come for tea?" she asked, pulling an apron around her clean black gown, and standing with a spoonful of tea leaves pointed at the teapot.

"I'd be glad to have a drink," I replied.

"Please?" she repeated her question.

"No," I said with a smile, "you are the right person to invite me."

She poured the tea back, put away the teaspoon, and sat back on her chair angrily.Her brows were tightly wrinkled, and her red lower lip was pouted forward, as if a child was about to cry.

(End of this chapter)