第4章
CHAPTER III
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.
第三节
齐拉领我上楼时，建议我藏起蜡烛，不要出声，因为东家对她安排我住的那个房间怀有一种古怪的念头，从不乐意让任何人住在那里。我问是什么原因。齐拉回答说她不知道。她才在这里住了一两年；这家人有好多怪事，她也就不去好奇了。
我自己茫然发呆，无法打听，就闩好门，环顾四周，看床在哪里。所有的家具包括一把椅子、一个衣橱和一只大橡木箱，靠近箱子顶部的地方开了几个马车窗似的方洞。我凑近这个物件往里瞧，才看出这是一个独特的老式长榻，设计非常便利，这样家庭成员就没有必要每人独占一间了。其实，这件家具构成了一个小隔间，圈在其中的窗台权当桌子。我推开壁板门扇，手持蜡烛钻进去，又把门合住，不让希斯克利夫和其他人有所警戒，心里才感到踏实。
我把蜡烛放在窗台上，只见窗台一角上摞着几本发霉的书；窗台漆面上划满了字迹。然而，这些字迹只是用各种不同字体或大或小反反复复写的一个名字——“凯瑟琳·恩肖”，在这里改写成“凯瑟琳·希斯克利夫”，在那里又改写成了“凯瑟琳·林顿”。
我百无聊赖，无精打采地把头靠在窗户上，不停地思考着凯瑟琳·恩肖——希斯克利夫——林顿，直到合上眼睛；然而，眼睛还没有休息五分钟，就有一个个白花花的字母从黑暗中闪射出来，犹如鬼影一般浮现在眼前——空气里到处都是“凯瑟琳”这个名字；我惊跳起来，想驱散这个过分炫耀的名字，这才发现蜡烛芯正倒在其中一本古书上，使那个地方散发出了一股烤焦的牛皮味。我熄灭蜡烛，在寒冷和持续恶心的影响下，心神不安，坐起来，把那本烤坏的书摊开，放在膝盖上。那是一本用瘦长体印刷的《圣经》，散发出一股可怕的霉味：空白扉页上题有——“凯瑟琳·恩肖藏书”，日期大约是二十五年前的。我合上书，拿起了一本又一本，全都看了一遍。凯瑟琳的藏书都是精选过的，藏书磨损的状况表明都得到了充分利用，尽管并不完全出于正当的目的：几乎没有一章幸免，墨水笔写的注释——至少看起来像是——填满了排版留出的每一处空白。有些是不连贯的句子；有些是正规日记的形式，笔迹潦草稚气，没有定型。在一页衬纸的上端（也许蜡烛刚照上时还以为是一件宝贝呢），我非常高兴地看到了我的朋友约瑟夫的一幅出色的漫画——尽管画得粗糙，但很有气势。这使我心里马上对这位不认识的凯瑟琳产生了兴趣，于是我立刻开始辨认她那些模糊不清、褪了色的字体。
“糟糕的礼拜天，”下面的一段文字开头写道，“我真希望父亲再次回来。欣德利是一个可恶的继承人——他对希斯克利夫的行为真残忍——希和我准备反抗——我们今晚实施第一步。”
“一整天都在下大雨；我们都去不了教堂，所以约瑟夫非要在阁楼召集圣会布道不可；这时，欣德利和他的妻子在楼下舒适的壁炉前烤火——我敢说，他们什么都可能做，就是不可能念他们的《圣经》——希斯克利夫、我本人和那个不幸的干农活的孩子奉命拿着我们的祈祷书，爬到阁楼上面：我们排成一排，坐在一包谷物上，哼哼叽叽，哆哆嗦嗦，还希望约瑟夫也会浑身哆嗦，这样他也许会为自己着想，少给我们布些道。真是妄想！这个礼拜分秒不差持续了整整三个小时；可是，我的哥哥看到我们下来，竟有脸大声叫道：‘什么，已经做完了？’礼拜天晚上，要是我们不太吵的话，通常就会获准玩耍；现在仅仅偷笑一下，都足够罚我们站墙角了。”
“‘你们忘了还有一个东家在这里，’这个暴君说，‘谁先惹我发火，我就灭了谁！我坚决要求绝对的清醒和安静。噢，好小子！那是你吗？弗朗西丝，亲爱的，你过来时揪他的头发：我听到他打响指。’弗朗西丝狠狠地揪了一下他的头发，然后走过去，坐到丈夫的膝盖上。他们就在那里，像两个小屁孩似的，又是亲吻，又是神侃，过了一个小时——全是愚蠢的废话，我们都觉得害臊。我们在橱柜的拱洞下想办法使自己温暖舒适。我刚把围裙系在一起，挂起来当帷幕，约瑟夫就进来了，他有事从马厩那边来。约瑟夫扯下我的杰作，扇了我一耳光，声音低哑地说道：
‘东家刚下葬，安息日还没有过完，你们的耳朵里福音还没有散去，你们就玩上了！真不害臊！坐下来，坏孩子！只要你们愿意看，好书有的是。坐下来，想想你们的灵魂吧！’”
“这样说着，他硬逼着我们端坐起来，借着远处壁炉散射过来的昏暗光线，看清他塞给我们的干巴巴的经文。我受不了这个差事，呼啦一声拿起自己那本书扔进了狗窝，诅咒发誓说我恨好书。希斯克利夫把他那本也踢进了同一地方。这下可出了乱子！”
“‘欣德利少爷！’我们的牧师喊道，‘少爷，快过来！凯茜小姐把《救世头盔》的封底撕下来了，希斯克利夫用脚踢破了《毁灭之路》的第一部分！你让他们这样闹下去可不得了啊。唉！换了老东家，早就治住他们了——可是，他不在了！’”
“欣德利从壁炉那边他的极乐世界匆匆赶来，一个拽着衣领，一个拎着胳膊，把我们俩撂进了后厨；在那里，约瑟夫断言‘老尼克’肯定会活捉了我们。我们一时解脱，各自寻了一个安乐窝，等他出现。我从架子上伸手够下这本书和一瓶墨水，把门微微推开，透进一些光亮。于是，我就写了二十分钟。可是，我的同伴不耐烦了，提议我们应该偷了挤奶女仆的斗篷，躲在下面，然后跑去荒野撒欢。主意不错——这样，要是恶老头进来，他就会以为是他的预言应验了呢——我们待在雨地里，跟待在这里一样寒冷潮湿。”
我猜想凯瑟琳实现了她的计划，因为下一句说起了另一件事：她变得爱哭了。
“我做梦也没有想到欣德利会让我哭成这样！”她写道，“我头疼，疼得我连枕头都不能挨，还是哭个不停。可怜的希斯克利夫！欣德利骂他是流氓，再也不让他跟我们一起坐了，也不让他跟我们一起吃饭了；他还说，我和他再也不能一起玩，还吓唬说，要是我们违抗他的命令，他就把希斯克利夫赶出门去。他一直责怪我们的父亲（他怎么敢呢？）对待希太大方了，还发誓说要把他打回原形——”
我对着字迹模糊的书页开始昏昏欲睡打起盹来，目光从手稿移到了铅字上，看到了一个红色花式字体标题——“七十乘以七和第七十一个七次的第一：杰贝兹·布兰德哈姆牧师在吉默屯·苏小教堂宣讲的一篇传道经文”。我在半睡半醒中绞尽脑汁地猜测杰贝兹·布兰德哈姆要怎么发挥他这个题目时，却倒在床上睡着了。唉，都是坏茶叶和坏脾气带来的后果！还有什么能使我度过这个可怕的夜晚呢？自从能忍受痛苦以来，我记不起还有哪一夜能跟这一夜相比。
我几乎在还能意识到自己身在何处时，就开始做起了梦。我想那是早晨；我已经出发了，走在了回家的路上，有约瑟夫当向导。路上的雪有几码深；我们踉踉跄跄向前走，同伴不断指责我没有带一根朝圣用的拐杖，对我说不带拐杖我绝不可能走进家里，还虚张声势地挥舞着一根大头棒——我明白这就是所谓的拐杖。一时间，我觉得这很可笑，我怎么会需要这样一个武器才能获准进自己的家呢？随后，我的脑海里闪过了一个新的念头：我不是要回家，我们是去听著名的杰贝兹·布兰德哈姆宣讲“七十乘以七”的经文。要么是约瑟夫，要么是传教士，要么是我，触犯了“第七十一个七次的第一”条罪，要被当众揭发，逐出教会。
我们来到了小教堂。我散步时的确曾经从那里路过了两三次；小教堂位于两山之间的一个山谷里，是一个填高的山谷——山谷接近一片沼泽，据说沼泽泥煤似的湿气对存放那里的几具尸体完全可以起到防腐作用。房顶迄今保存完好；但是，因为牧师的薪金每年只有二十英镑，一座两间屋的房子很快就有变成一间的危险，所以没有哪个教士愿意到这里担任牧师的职位，尤其是传说他的教民们宁愿让他饿死，也不愿从自己的口袋里多掏一便士增加他的薪金。然而，在我的梦里，杰贝兹却会众满堂，全都聚精会神；他布起了道——天哪！多好的布道啊，分为四百九十节，每一节完全等于一篇普通布道，而且每一节都单独讨论一种罪孽！我说不清这些罪孽他是从哪里搜罗来的。他解释片言只语都有自己独有的方式，好像教友在每个场合都必须犯不同的罪孽。那些罪孽都具有最古怪的特征，我以前从来没有想到过会有这种奇怪的罪孽。
噢，我越来越困乏了。我浑身扭动，哈欠连天，前仰后合，然后又醒过来！我对自己又掐又扎，不断揉眼，站起又坐下，然后用胳膊肘碰约瑟夫，让他告诉我，杰贝兹是不是要讲完了。我注定要全部听完。他终于讲到了“第七十一个七次的第一”条罪。在这个关键时刻，我突然闪现出了一个灵感，不由得站起来，谴责杰贝兹·布兰德哈姆是罪人，犯了基督徒都无法饶恕的罪孽。
“先生，”我高声叫道，“我坐在这四面墙内，一口气忍耐并宽恕了你宣讲的四百九十条。我七十个七次拿起帽子准备离开——你又七十个七次荒唐地迫使我回到座位上。四百九十一次太过分了。受难的教友们，攻击他！把他拽下来，把他砸成粉末，让这个了解他的地方再也不认识他！”
“你就是那个人！”肃静了一会儿之后，杰贝兹俯身在垫子上，大声叫道，“你七十个七次张大嘴巴，面孔扭曲——我七十个七次跟自己的灵魂商量——瞧，这就是人类的弱点，这也是可以宽恕的！接下来就是第七十一个七次中的第一个了。教友们，对他执行成文的判决吧。所有圣徒都有这种荣誉！”
刚说完，全体会众就举着朝拜用的拐杖向我冲来；我没有武器拿来自卫，就开始跟距离我最近、攻击最凶猛的约瑟夫扭打起来，抢夺他的拐杖。在蜂拥的人群中，好几根棍棒交错在一起，本来对准了我击来，却落在了别人的头上。不久，整个教堂噼里啪啦响成了一片；你来我往，每个人都向身边的人动起了手；布兰德哈姆也不愿无所事事，就拿出所有的热情，急如雨点般啪啪啪地敲击布道坛。布道坛发出了非常响亮的回声，最后终于把我惊醒了，使我有一种难以言表的轻松。是什么引发了那场惊人的吵闹？在那场吵闹中，是什么扮演了杰贝兹的角色？原来只是一阵狂风呼啸而过时，一棵冷杉树的树枝碰到了我的窗格，冷杉树的干果打在窗格上噼啪作响！我满腹狐疑地听了一会儿，听清了是什么在捣乱，便转过身继续打盹，又做起了梦，如有可能，会比先前更加不快。
这一次，我记得自己正躺在橡木隔间里，对狂风暴雪听得一清二楚；我听到冷杉树枝不断敲打出烦人的响声，也清楚是什么原因。但是，这种响声让我心烦意乱，我决定尽可能让它静下来，就想起身试图打开窗扇。窗扇钩焊进了钩环里。醒着时，我注意到了这一情况，却又忘到了脑后。“不过，我必须让它停下来！”我一边咕哝，一边用指关节敲穿玻璃，伸出一只胳膊去拽那个缠扰不休的树枝；我没有拽着，手指却握住了一只冰凉小手的手指！梦魇般的极度恐惧向我袭来，我想设法抽回胳膊，但那只手却紧抓不放，随后一个极其忧郁的声音哭泣道：“让我进去——让我进去！”“你是谁？”我一边问，一边奋力挣脱。“凯瑟琳·林顿，”那个声音颤抖着回答（我为什么想到林顿？我二十次都把林顿念成了恩肖）——“我要回家：我在荒野上迷了路！”它说话时，我模模糊糊地辨认出一张小孩子的脸正从窗外朝里望。恐惧使我变得残忍；我发现试图甩掉这小东西是白费功夫，就把它的手腕拽到破了的窗玻璃上，在上面来回摩擦，直到血流下来，浸湿了床褥，它还是哀号：“让我进去啊！”它紧拽不放，快要把我吓疯了。“我怎么能呢？”我终于说道，“你想要我让你进来，就放开我！”那些手指松开了。我突然从窗洞里抽回自己的手指，急忙把那些书摞起来顶住，然后捂住耳朵，不再听那可怜的祈求，好像把耳朵捂了有十五分钟以上；但是，我又侧耳倾听时，听到悲哀的哭声还在继续呜咽！“滚开！”我喊道，“你就是求上二十年，我也绝不会放你进来。”“是有二十年了，”那个声音忧伤地说，“二十年了。我已经做了二十年的孤魂野鬼了！”这时，外面开始响起了微弱的抓挠声，那堆书好像被推着向前挪动了一下。我想设法跳起来，但四肢却动弹不得，就在一阵惊悚之中大声尖叫起来。让我大惑不解的是，我发现尖叫声并不是凭空想象出来的。一阵急促的脚步声逼近了我的卧室门口；有人用一只有力的手推开了门，一道光亮从床顶的方洞照了进来。我坐在那里，还在瑟瑟发抖，擦去额头上的汗。来者似乎犹豫了一下，喃喃自语，最后半是耳语般地说道：“这里有人吗？”显然并不指望有人回答。我想，最好还是承认我在这里，因为我听出是希斯克利夫的口音，唯恐我不声不响，他就会进一步搜索。这样想着，我就转身打开了壁板门。这一举动产生的后果，我是不会马上忘记的。
希斯克利夫穿着衬衣和裤子站在门边，蜡烛油正滴落在他的手指上，只见他的脸色就像他背后那堵墙一样惨白。橡木嘎吱响了一声，仿佛电击一般吓了他一跳：蜡烛从他的手里跳出来，落在了几英尺开外的地方。他激动万分，差点儿没能拾起它。
“先生，只不过是你的客人，”我大声说道，不想让他再露出怯懦而丢脸，“真倒霉，我做了一个可怕的噩梦，睡梦里尖叫了起来。对不起，打扰了你。”
“噢，该死的，洛克伍德先生！我真希望你到——”我的房东把蜡烛放在椅子上开口说道，因为他发现端不稳它，“那是谁把你带进了这个房间？”他继续说道，指甲深深地掐进了手掌，咬紧牙关，止住上颌的抽搐。“是谁？我此刻就很想把他们都赶出门去！”
“是你的女仆齐拉，”我一边回答，一边跳到地板上，很快整好了衣服，“我可不会介意你这样做，希斯克利夫先生；她真是活该。我想，她是拿我再证明一下这地方是不是闹鬼吧。噢，是这样——到处都是幽灵和小鬼！你有理由把它关起来，我向你保证。在这个洞穴里打盹，没有人会感谢你！”
“你这话什么意思？”希斯克利夫问道，“你要干什么？既然你进来了，就躺下睡过这一夜吧；不过，看在老天的分上！不要再弄出那种可怕的声音了：怎样也原谅不了这一点，除非有人要割你的喉咙！”
“那个小鬼要是从窗户钻进来，说不定就会掐死我！”我回答说，“我才不打算再忍受你那些好客祖先的迫害呢。难道杰贝兹·布兰德哈姆牧师不是你母亲那边的亲戚吗？还有那个小妖女凯瑟琳·林顿或恩肖，或者管她叫什么——她一定是一个调包婴儿——邪恶的小东西！她对我说，这二十年她一直游荡在世界上：这是对她致命罪孽的应有惩罚，我毫不怀疑！”
刚说完，我就想起了那本书上希斯克利夫和凯瑟琳这两个名字的联系，方才我完全忘记了这件事，这才醒悟过来。我为自己的考虑不周而脸红，但没有进一步显露出我察觉到了自己的过失，而是急忙补充说——“事实上，先生，我前半夜是在——”说到这里，我又停了下来——我是要说“细读那些旧书”，但那就会暴露我不仅了解书里印的东西，而且了解书上写的东西；因此，我改口继续说道——“拼读划在窗台上的名字，打算用这枯燥乏味的事情来催眠自己，就像数数，或者像——”
“你对我这样说话，究竟是什么意思？”希斯克利夫穷凶极恶地大声吼道，“你怎么——你怎么竟敢在我的家里这么做——天哪！他这样说话，真是疯了！”说着，他气得打起了自己的额头。
我不知道他这样说话我是该憎恨还是该继续解释，他却好像大为动情；我就起了恻隐之心，继续叙述我做的那些梦，同时声明我以前从来没有听说过“凯瑟琳·林顿”这个名字，但多看了几遍，所以就产生了深刻的印象。当我迷迷糊糊地睡着时，它就以人的形象出现了。我叙述时，希斯克利夫渐渐地退到橡木床后面躲了起来，最后坐下来，几乎被床挡住了。然而，通过他时而不匀、时而中断的呼吸，我猜出了他在竭力克制过分强烈的情感。我不愿让他察觉到我已经听出了他内心的冲突，就继续更衣，故意弄出一些声响。我看了看手表，自言自语地说起了这漫漫长夜：“还不到三点钟！我本来想赌咒说已经六点钟了。时间在这里停顿了。我们肯定是八点钟就已经就寝了！”
“冬季总是九点钟睡觉，四点钟起床。”房东压住了一声呻吟说。随后，通过他的胳膊投下的影子做出的动作，我想他是匆匆地抹去了一滴眼泪。“洛克伍德先生，”他补充道，“你可以去我的房间。你这么早下楼，只会碍事。你那种孩子般的尖叫早已赶跑了我的睡意。”
“也赶跑了我的睡意。”我回答说，“我要到院子里走到天亮，然后就会离开；你不必害怕我再来打搅。我现在完全根治了交友找乐的毛病。无论是在乡下还是在城里，一个理智的人就应该发现跟自己做伴足够了。”
“愉快做伴！”希斯克利夫咕哝道，“拿着蜡烛，想去哪里就去哪里。我立刻去找你。可别到院子里去，那些狗没有上锁链；也不要上堂屋里去——朱诺守卫在那里，还有——不，你只能在楼梯和过道里闲逛。你快去吧！我过两分钟就来！”
我听从他的话，退出了那个小屋，不知道这一个个狭窄的厅道通向哪里，站在那里一动不动，奇怪的是，无意中看到了房东做的一项迷信活动，看来他不过是表面上理智。他爬上床，然后使劲地扭开窗户，一边用力拉窗，一边控制不住泪如泉涌。“进来！进来啊！”他哭泣道，“凯茜，请进来。噢，请——再来一次！噢！我的心肝宝贝！凯瑟琳，就听我这一次吧，最后一次！”鬼就是鬼，反复无常，捉摸不定，不露任何踪迹；只有风雪狂舞灌了进来，甚至刮到了我站立的地方，刮灭了蜡烛。
这番胡言乱语带有极大的痛苦和悲哀；出于怜悯，我就宽恕了这种愚行，抽身走开，既对听到这一切感到生气，又对自己叙述荒唐的噩梦感到烦恼，因为正是我的梦招致了那种痛苦，尽管我不明白其中的原因。我小心翼翼地下楼，来到后厨，只见那里有一星微火，聚拢成一束火苗，使我又点燃了蜡烛。这里没有任何动静，仅有一只带斑纹的灰猫；灰猫从灰堆里爬出来，乖戾地喵了一声，算是向我致意。
炉边摆着两条圆弧形长凳，差不多把炉子围了起来；我在一条长凳上躺下来。老花猫跳上了另一条长凳。我们俩都打起了盹，随后有人闯进了我们休息的地方。那么，来人就是约瑟夫，他通过房顶的活门放下一个木梯——我想，这是登上阁楼的通道。他向我已经在炉栅间拨亮的那尾小火苗恶狠狠地瞥了一眼，把那只猫从长凳上横扫下来，自己坐在了那个空位上，开始动手装满一支三英寸长的烟斗。我来到他的密室，显然被看成是一种厚颜无耻的行为，不屑一说。他默默地抽着烟斗，交叉双臂，不停地吞云吐雾。我让他不受打搅地享受，他吐出最后一个烟圈，深深地叹了口气，然后站起来，像来时那样神情严肃地离开了。
接下来，一个更轻快的脚步走了进来；于是，我张嘴要说“早上好”，但又合上了，没有问候成；原来是哈里顿·恩肖在屋角找一把铲子或铁锹去铲雪，嘴里低声祈祷着，每碰到一件东西，都要骂声不绝。他瞥了一眼长凳后面，张大了鼻孔，认为对我就像对我的猫伙伴一样不用多么客套。从他准备的情况来看，我猜测他允许我走了。因此，我离开硬邦邦的长凳，移动脚步跟他走。他注意到了这一点，就用铲尖戳了戳一扇里门，口齿不清地宣布说，我要是想换地方，就必须朝那里走。
那扇门通向堂屋，女人们已经在那里忙活起来了；齐拉拽着一个大风箱，把火苗吹上了烟囱；希斯克利夫太太跪在壁炉边，借助火光在看一本书。她把一只手遮在眼前，挡住火光的热量，好像是在专心致志地看书，只有骂仆人溅了她一身火星，要么是不时地推开一只把鼻子凑到她脸上的狗时，才会停止看书。我吃惊地看到希斯克利夫也在那里。他站在火炉边，背对着我，刚对可怜的齐拉发完一通脾气；齐拉不时地中断活计，撩起围裙角，发出一阵愤怒的声音。
“还有你，你这个无用的——”我进去时，他正转向他的儿媳妇叫嚷，使用的都是像鸭子或绵羊这样无伤大雅的字眼，但通常用破折号代替，“你又在那里玩无聊的把戏了！其余的人都自己挣饭吃——你却要靠我的施舍生活！扔掉你的破烂，找点事儿做吧。你总在我的眼前烦我，我要跟你算账——你听到了吗？该死的贱货！”
“我会扔掉破烂的，因为就是我不愿扔掉，你也会强迫我的，”少妇一边回答，一边合上书，扔在椅子上，“不过，哪怕你骂掉了舌头，我什么也不会干的，除非我愿意干！”
希斯克利夫抬起一只手，说话人显然熟悉它的分量，就跳到了更安全的地方。我不想观看猫狗打架，就快步上前，好像迫不及待地想到炉边烤火，完全不知道打断了这场争吵。他们各自都有足够的礼貌，没有敌对下去。为了不受诱惑，希斯克利夫把两只拳头放进了口袋；希斯克利夫太太噘起嘴，走到了远处的一个座位边；她在那里说话算话，在我逗留的剩余时间里，犹如雕像一般。那没有多久。我谢绝跟他们一起吃早饭。等第一缕晨曦一出现，我就趁机逃到了自由的空气当中，外面的空气现在清亮、宁静，像触摸不到的冰一样寒冷。
我还没有走到花园尽头，房东就喊住了我，要主动陪我穿过荒野。幸好他陪我，因为整个山脊像巨浪起伏的白色海洋，外表的高低起伏并不表明地面也高低起伏，至少许多坑洼都被填平了；还有所有的山冈、所有采石场的废弃物，都从我昨天走过时脑海里留下的图像中被抹去了。我注意到在路的一边每隔六七码远就竖着一块石碑，一直延续到荒野的尽头。这些石碑都竖立着，涂上了石灰，天黑时作为路标，同时也是为了防止遇上今天这样的大雪，有人把路边深深的沼泽和坚实的小路搞得混淆不清。但是，除了到处露出的黑点之外，所有石碑的痕迹都不见了。我认为自己准确无误地顺着蜿蜒的大路前进，同伴却必须常常告诫我向左向右转。
我们一路没有说多少话，随后他在画眉庄园的入口处停下，说我到了这里就不会走错了。我们的告别只限于匆匆鞠躬，然后我凭着自己的能耐继续前行，因为门房那里还没有人居住。大门口到田庄有两英里的距离；我想，在林间迷路和陷入齐脖深的雪坑使我走成了四英里。这种困境只有亲身经历的人才能体会到。不管我一路怎么乱跑，时钟敲响十二点时，我走进了家门。按照从呼啸山庄到这里的通常路线计算，正好是每小时一英里。
女管家和她的手下们跑过来迎接我，都嚷嚷着说，他们都以为我完全没有救了，大家都猜想我昨晚一命呜呼了，都在想着怎么去着手寻找我的尸体。我吩咐他们说，既然他们看到我回来了，就请安静；随后，我冻得心都木了，就拖着身体爬上楼，换上干爽的衣服后，来来回回走了三四十分钟，以便恢复体温。我来到书房，虚弱得像一只小猫，过于虚弱，几乎连仆人为我恢复体力而准备的暖烘烘的炉火和热腾腾的咖啡都无力享受了。