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Wuthering Heights — Chapter 33 | Full Audiobook · Chapter by Chapter — The Lost Library

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Chapter 33 The next day, with Earnshaw still unable to resume
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his usual tasks and thus lingering around the house, it
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quickly became clear that keeping my charge close by, as I
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had before, was no longer feasible.
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She was up and out before me, heading into the garden where
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she found her cousin engaged in some light work.
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By the time I went to call them in for breakfast, she had
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already convinced him to clear a large patch of ground, uprooting
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current and gooseberry bushes, and they were eagerly plotting
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to bring in plants from the Grange.
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I was alarmed by the destruction wrought in such a short span.
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Joseph prized those black currant trees above all else,
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and she had chosen to place a flower bed right in the middle
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of them. Look here, this will be reported
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to the Master the moment it's discovered.
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I exclaimed. What justification do you have
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for taking such liberties with the garden?
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We're in for quite the uproar over this.
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Just wait and see, Mr. Horton. I'm surprised you didn't have
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the sense to refuse her and avoid this mess.
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I forgot they were Josephs. Earnshaw replied, looking
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somewhat confused. But I'll tell him it was my
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doing. We always shared our meals with
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Mr. Heathcliff. I took on the role of Hostess,
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preparing tea and carving the meat, making my presents at the
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table essential. Catherine typically sat beside
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me, but today she edged closer to Hareton.
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It was clear she would show as little restraint in her
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friendship as she did in her animosity.
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Remember, don't engage too much with your cousin.
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I whispered as we entered the room.
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It will surely irritate Mr. Heathcliff and he'll be angry
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with both of you. I'm not going to, she replied.
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Yet moments later she had sidled over to him, placing primroses
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in his bowl of porridge. He didn't dare speak to her
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there. He barely dared to look.
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Still, she continued her teasing until he was nearly provoked
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into laughter. Twice.
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I frowned, and she glanced at the Master.
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His thoughts were clearly elsewhere, as his expression
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showed. She grew serious for a moment,
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studying him with intense gravity.
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Then she turned back and resumed her antics.
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Eventually, Hareton let out a muffled laugh.
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Mr. Heathcliff started, his eyes quickly scanning our faces.
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Catherine met his gaze with her usual mix of nervousness and
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defiance, which he detested. It's a good thing you're out of
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my reach. He exclaimed.
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What devil compels you to keep staring at me with those damned
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eyes? Look away and don't remind me of
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your presence again. I thought I'd broken you.
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That laughter. It was me.
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Hareton mumbled. What did you say?
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The master demanded. Hareton stared at his plate,
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unwilling to repeat himself. Mr. Heathcliff glanced at him
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briefly, then returned to his breakfast and his interrupted
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thoughts. We were nearly done, and the two
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young people wisely moved farther apart, so I expected no
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more disruptions during the meal.
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Just then, Joseph appeared at the door, his trembling lip and
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furious eyes revealing that he had discovered the damage to his
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cherished shrubs. He must have seen Cathy and her
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cousin near the scene before inspecting it, for as his jaws
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worked like a cow chewing cud, making his speech hard to
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follow, he began. I must have my wages and I must
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leave. I had planned to die where I've
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served for 60 years. I thought I'd haul my books up
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to to the attic, along with all my belongings and let them have
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the kitchen to themselves for the sake of peace.
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It was hard to give up my own Hearthstone, but I thought I
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could manage it. But now she's taken my garden
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from me, and by God, Master, I can't stand it.
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You may bend to the yoke if you wish.
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I'm not used to it, and an old man doesn't easily adapt to new
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burdens. I'd rather earn my bread and
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drink by breaking stones on the road.
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Enough, you fool. Heathcliff interrupted sharply.
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Get to the point. What's your complaint?
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I won't get involved in any disputes between you and Nelly.
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She could lock you in the coal cellar for all I care.
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It's not Nelly, Joseph retorted. I wouldn't bother with Nelly.
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Nasty creature that she is. Thank God she can't steal
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anyone's soul. She was never so attractive that
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you couldn't look at her without blinking.
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It's that frightful, shameless girl who's bewitched our boy
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with her bold eyes and forward ways until, oh, it breaks my
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heart. He's forgotten everything I've
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done for him, everything I've given him, and he's gone and
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torn up a whole row of the finest current bushes in the
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garden. At this he broke down,
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completely overwhelmed by the sense of his deep grievances and
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Earnshaw's ingratitude and precarious state.
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Is the idiot drunk? Heathcliff Asked.
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Hareton. Is it you he's complaining
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about? I pulled up a couple of bushes.
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The young man admitted. But I'm going to replant them.
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And why have you uprooted them? The master asked.
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Catherine quickly interjected. We wanted to plant some flowers
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there. She exclaimed.
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I'm the one to blame. It was my idea.
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And who on earth gave you permission to touch anything
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around here? Her father-in-law demanded,
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clearly taken aback. And who told you to follow her
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orders? He added, turning to Hareton.
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Hareton was silent, but his cousin spoke up.
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You shouldn't begrudge me a few yards of soil to beautify when
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you've taken all my land. Your land, you insolent girl.
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You never had any. Heathcliff retorted.
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And my money. She continued, meeting his
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furious gaze while biting into a piece of crust left from her
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breakfast silence. He shouted.
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Finish up and get out. And Hareton's land and his
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money. She pressed on, undeterred.
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Hareton and I are friends now, and I'll tell him everything
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about you. The master seemed momentarily
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stunned. He turned pale and stood up,
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watching her with an expression of intense hatred.
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If you strike me, Hareton will strike you, she warned.
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So you might as well sit down. If Hareton doesn't throw you out
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of this room, I'll send him straight to hell.
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Heathcliff Broad, you damned twitch.
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Do you dare to turn him against me?
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Get her out of here, do you hear me?
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Throw her into the kitchen. I'll kill her, Ellen Dean, if
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she crosses my path again. Hareton, in a low voice, tried
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to coax her to leave, drag her away.
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Heathcliff shouted, his voice filled with menace.
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Are you just standing there talking?
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He moved forward to enforce his demand.
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He won't follow your orders anymore, you vile man, Catherine
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declared. Soon he'll hate you, ha, as much
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as I do. Quiet, quiet.
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Hareton murmured reproachfully. I won't listen to you speak to
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him like that. Stop it.
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But you won't let him hit me, will you?
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She pleaded. Come on then, He whispered
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urgently, but it was too late. Heathcliff had already seized
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her. Now it's your turn, he barked at
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Earnshaw. Damnable witch, she's pushed me
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past my limit this time, and I'll make her regret it forever.
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He had his hand tangled in her hair.
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Hareton tried to free her, bleeding with him, not to hurt
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her just this once. Heathcliff's dark eyes blazed.
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He looked ready to tear Catherine apart, and I was on
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the verge of stepping in to help when suddenly his grip loosened.
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He shifted his hold from her hair to her arm and stared
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intently into her face. Then he rubbed his eyes, stood
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still for a moment as if to gather himself, and turned back
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to Catherine with a forced calmness.
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You need to learn not to provoke me, or one day I might really
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kill you. Go with Mrs. Dean, stay with
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her, and keep your insolence for her ears.
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As for Hareton Earnshaw, if I catch him listening to you, I'll
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send him off to fend for himself.
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Your love will turn him into an outcast and a beggar.
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Nelly, take her away. All of you.
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Leave me. Leave me.
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I LED my young lady out. She was too relieved to resist.
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The others followed, and Mr. Heathcliff had the room to
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himself until dinner. I had advised Catherine to eat
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upstairs, but as soon as he noticed her empty seat, he sent
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me to fetch her. He spoke to none of us, ate
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sparingly, and left immediately afterward, indicating he
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wouldn't return until evening. In his absence, the two new
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friends settled into the house. I overheard Hareton firmly
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admonished his cousin when she attempted to disclose her father
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in law's behaviour to his father.
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He declared he wouldn't tolerate a single disparaging word
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against him. Even if he were her, the devil,
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it wouldn't matter. He would defend him.
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He preferred she criticize him as she used to, and rather than
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start on Mr. Heathcliff. Catherine grew irritable at
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this, but he managed to silence her by asking how she would feel
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if he spoke I'll of her father. Then she understood that
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Earnshaw took the Master's reputation personally, and was
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bound by ties stronger than a reason could sever chains forged
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by habit, which it would be cruel to attempt to break.
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From then on she showed a good heart by avoiding complaints and
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expressions of dislike about Heathcliff, and admitted to me
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her regret for trying to stir animosity between him and
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Hareton. Indeed, I don't believe she's
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uttered a word against her oppressor in Hareton's presence
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since. Once this minor disagreement was
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resolved, they were friends again, fully engaged in their
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roles as student and teacher. After finishing my work, I
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joined them, and watching them brought me such comfort and
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peace that I lost track of time. You see, they both felt like my
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children to some extent. I had long been proud of 1, and
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now I was certain the other would bring me equal joy.
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His honest, warm and intelligent nature quickly dispelled the
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ignorance and degradation in which he had been raised, and
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Catherine's genuine praise spurred his diligence.
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His mind, now a light with clarity, illuminated his
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features, infusing them with a new found spirit and nobility.
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It was hard to believe he was the same person I had seen when
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I found my young lady at Wuthering Heights after her
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adventure to the cracks. As I watched in admiration and
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they worked, dusk settled in. Bring with it the master.
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He arrived unexpectedly through the front entrance, catching a
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full view of all three of us before we could lift our heads
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to acknowledge him. I thought to myself, there could
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be no more pleasant or innocent sight.
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It would be a terrible injustice to reprimand them.
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The red glow of the firelight danced on the two bright heads,
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revealing faces alive with the eager curiosity of youth.
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For though he was 23 and she 18, they both had so much new to
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experience and learn that they showed none of the jaded
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sentiments of disillusioned adulthood.
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They raised their eyes in unison to meet Mr. Heathcliff's gaze.
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Perhaps you haven't noticed, but their eyes are exactly engaged,
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like Catherine Earnshaw's, the coroner.
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Catherine shares no other resemblance to her, apart from a
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broad forehead and a certain arch of the nostril that lends
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her an air of haughtiness, whether she intends it or not.
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With Hareton the likeness extends further.
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It is always remarkable, but at that moment it was particularly
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striking, as his senses were keen and his mind unusually
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active. I suspect this resemblance
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softened Mr. Heathcliff. He approached the hearth,
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visibly agitated, though this quickly transformed as he looked
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at the young man. Or rather, it changed in nature,
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for the agitation remained. He took the book from my hand,
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glanced at the open page, then handed it back without a word,
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merely gesturing for Catherine to leave.
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The companion lingered only a moment longer, and as I prepared
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to depart as well, he instructed me to stay seated.
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It's a disappointing end, isn't it?
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He remarked after brooding over the scene.
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He had just witnessed an absurd conclusion to all my furious
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efforts. I gather tools and train myself
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to demolish these two houses, ready to work like Hercules.
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And when everything is set and within my grasp, I find I've
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lost the will to even lift a single slate from either roof.
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My old adversaries haven't defeated me.
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Now would be the perfect moment to exact my revenge on their
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descendants. I could do it and no one could
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stop me. But what's the point?
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I have no desire to strike. I can't even muster the energy
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to raise my hand. It sounds as if I've been
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striving all this time just to show off some noble trait of
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magnanimity. That's far from the truth.
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I've lost the ability to take pleasure in their downfall, and
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I'm too indifferent to destroy for no reason.
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Nelly, there's a strange change coming.
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I'm in its shadow now. I'm so disinterested in my daily
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life that I barely remember to eat and drink.
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Those two who just left the room are the only things that still
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have a clear, tangible presence for me.
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And that presence causes me pain and agony that's hard to bear.
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I won't speak of her. I don't even want to think about
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her, I just wish she could vanish because her presence only
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stirs up a storm inside me. He affects me in a different
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way, yet if I could avoid him without seeming deranged, I
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would. You might think I'm on the verge
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of madness, He added, attempting a smile.
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If I try to explain the myriad memories and ideas he stirs up
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or embodies. But you won't speak of what I
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confide in you. My mind is so perpetually
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blocked within itself, it's tempting to finally share it
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with someone else. Just 5 minutes ago, Hareton
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seemed less a person and more living embodiment of my youth.
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I felt so many conflicting emotions towards him that
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speaking to him rationally was out of the question.
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His uncanny resemblance to Catherine ties him to her in a
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haunting way, but strangely, what you might think would most
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captivate my imagination is actually the least significant.
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For what isn't linked to her in my mind, what doesn't bring her
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to mind. I can't even look at this floor
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without seeing her features etched in the stones, in every
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cloud, every tree. Her image fills the night air
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and flashes before me in every object.
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By day I'm surrounded by her likeness, the most ordinary
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faces of men and women. Even my own reflection taunt me
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with her resemblance. The whole world is grim archive
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of reminders that she was real and that I've lost her.
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Hareton's presence is like a shadow of my eternal love, a
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reflection of my fierce attempts to claim what was mine, my fall
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from grace. My pride, my joy, and my
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suffering. But it's madness to share these
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thoughts with you. It only explains why, despite my
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aversion to solitude, his company offers no solace.
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Instead, it intensifies the relentless torment I endure.
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It partly makes me indifferent to how he and his cousin fare
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together. I can no longer pay them any
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mind. But what do you mean by a
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change, Mr. Heathcliff? I asked, concerned by his
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demeanour. Though he showed no signs of
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losing his mind or nearing death, in my estimation, he was
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robust and healthy, and As for his mental state, he had always
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found pleasure in brooding over dark matters and indulging in
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peculiar notions. Perhaps he was obsessed with the
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memory of his lost idol. But in all other respects, his
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mind was as sharp as mine. I won't know until it happens,
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he replied. I'm only vaguely aware of it
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now. You don't feel unwell, do you?
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I inquired. No, Nelly, I don't, he replied.
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Then you're not afraid of dying, I continued.
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Afraid. No, he answered.
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I harbour neither fear nor foreboding.
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Nor do I hope for death. Why should I?
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With my robust constitution, my moderate lifestyle and my safe
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pursuits, I should and likely will remain alive until the last
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of my black hair has turned grey.
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Yet I cannot persist in the state.
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I have to remind myself to breathe.
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Almost to remind my heart to beat.
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It's like forcing A stiff spring back into place.
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I perform even the smallest action, not driven by a singular
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thought, through sheer will. And I notice anything, living or
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dead, not connected to 1, all consuming idea only by force.
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I have one desire and my entire being and faculties are
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straining to achieve it. They've yearned for it so long
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and so unwaveringly that I'm convinced it will be realized,
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and soon. Because it has consumed my
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existence, I am engulfed in the anticipation of its fulfilment.
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My confessions have not brought me relief, but they might
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explain some otherwise inexplicable moods I display.
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Oh, God, it's a long battle. I wish it were over.
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He began to pace the room, muttering dreadful things to
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himself, until I was inclined to believe, as he said Joseph did,
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that his conscience had turned his heart into an earthly hell.
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I wondered greatly how it would end.
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Though he had seldom revealed the state of mind before, even
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through his expressions, I had no doubt it was his habitual
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mood. He claimed it himself, yet from
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his general demeanour no one would have guessed the truth.
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You didn't recognize him then, Mr. Lockwood, and at the time
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I'm referring to, he was exactly the same as you saw him, more
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inclined to solitude and perhaps even more terse in conversation.