Wuthering Heights - World Literary Masterpieces (Introduction by Renowned Scholars)

Author: (English) Emily Bront? / Country: Mainland China
Publisher:
Publishing Date: 2006-05-01
Features: In 19th-century England, there was a beautiful, isolated small villa. Due to my then-bleak and despondent mood, I quickly fell in love with this magical place. After everything was settled, I rode my horse to visit my landlord, Mr. Heathcliff.
"Hello, sir! I’m Lockwood, your new tenant. I hope renting Thornfield won’t cause you too much inconvenience."
"Thornfield is mine, and I will never allow anyone to cause me any trouble!" He rudely interrupted me, staring at me with suspicious black eyes. Despite this, I soon developed a very friendly and warm feeling toward him, at least I could say I was somewhat interested in this stranger who was even stranger than I was. He unlocked the door with his hand and led me along the stone path. As we entered the courtyard, he shouted loudly, "Joseph, take that horse to the side, and bring some wine!"
Joseph was a sturdy old man. When he took my horse, he said, "May the Lord bless us!" However, his eyes were not friendly as he stared at me. The house where Mr. Heathcliff lived was called "Wuthering Heights," and it stood high on a hill. In front of the house, there were many strange carvings. Inside, there was a large fireplace. At the other end of the house, a tall oak cabinet held stacks of white dishes, some silver pots and cups, piled up high to the roof. On one side of the cabinet, shelves were filled with legs of beef and pork. Various old-fashioned guns were placed on the mantelpiece. The floor was paved with white stone, and there were high-backed chairs scattered around. Under the arch of the cabinet lay a large, liver-colored hunting dog, with a litter of puppies barking around it, and other dogs wandering around.
Mr. Heathcliff and his residence formed a striking contrast. The house seemed like it was lived in by a simple northern farmer, but Mr. Heathcliff was like a dark-skinned Gypsy, dressed in a gentlemanly manner. He was tall and handsome, always appearing melancholic. Thornfield was about four miles away from Wuthering Heights. When I reached the gate of Heathcliff’s garden, I narrowly avoided a heavy snowfall that had just begun this year. On the desolate hilltop, the ground was covered in a layer of hard black ice, and the cold wind made my limbs tremble. I couldn’t open the door chain, so I jumped into the garden and ran along the stone path to the front of the house, knocking until my fingers were numb, but no one answered. Only the dogs kept barking.
"This unlucky family," I thought, "to treat guests so rudely, you should be stuck in this place cut off from the world forever. Who locks the door during the day?" I grabbed the door handle and shook it hard. Joseph peered out from the round window of the barn, "What are you doing? The master is in the cowshed. If you want to see him, go around this bend."
"Is there anyone else in the house?" I asked.
"Only the mistress. Even if you shout all night, she won’t open the door."
The snow grew heavier. At that moment, a young man without an outer garment came out from the back garden, carrying hay. He told me to follow him, passing through the laundry, the coal shed, and the pigeon coop, and I arrived at Mr. Heathcliff’s residence. I was happy to see the mistress, who was sitting by the blazing fire at that moment. I bowed and greeted her, thinking she would let me sit, but she leaned back in her chair and remained silent.