Грозовой перевал / Wuthering Heights

Mr. Edgar and his daughter were very close. He was her only teacher, and she was such a fast learner that her lessons were a pleasure for them both. Until Catherine was thirteen, she had never been beyond the walls of Thrushcross Park, except for short walks with her father, or to go to church. As far as she knew, Mr. Heathcliff and Wuthering Heights simply didn’t exist. She and her father lived like hermits and, for a long while, she seemed perfectly happy with her isolated life.

Then, one evening, I noticed Catherine looking out over the moors.

«Nelly, how long will it be before I can walk to the top of those hills?» she asked. «I wish I knew what lies on the other side of them – is it the sea?»

«No, Miss Catherine. It’s hills again, just like these.»

«And how does it feel to stand under those golden rocks?» she said, pointing up to Peniston Crags[72].

«They’re not so wonderful as they look from down here, miss,» I said firmly, «and the hill on which they stand is very hard to climb.»

«Oh, so you’ve been up there!» she cried excitedly. «And can I go too, when I’m older? Has papa climbed up to those rocks as well?»

«Your father would tell you that they’re not worth visiting. The fields where you walk with him are much nicer, and Thrushcross Park is the finest place in the world.»

«But I know every bit of the park,» she murmured to herself, «and I would love to see the view from those hills. I’m sure my pony Minny could take me there easily.»

Once she’d started to dream about Peniston Crags, young Catherine wouldn’t let the idea drop[73]. She begged her father again and again to take her up to the Crags, and every few months she would ask him the same question, «Now, am I old enough to climb to the Crags?»

Edgar dreaded the thought of his precious daughter passing close to Wuthering Heights, so he kept giving the answer, «Not yet, my love, not yet.»

Isabella Heathcliff lived for twelve years after leaving her husband. None of the Lintons were strong, and I believe she died from a kind of fever. Before she died, she wrote to her brother begging him to visit her in London. She wanted to say goodbye, and to hand over her son Linton to him. Even though Edgar hated leaving home, he immediately set off for London and left me in charge of Catherine, repeating his orders that she must not be allowed to leave the park.

Edgar was away for three weeks. For the first few days, Catherine sat in a corner of the library, too sad to play or even to read a book, but she soon became bored and restless. I was much too busy to look after her all day, so I told her to go out for a ride on her pony, never imagining that she would leave the park. Catherine asked me to pack a picnic for her so she could stay out all day. Then she set off on her pony with the dogs running behind her. I told her to ride carefully and be back soon after lunch, but the naughty thing never appeared for her tea.

I set out to find her, but when I reached the park gates, a workman told me he’d seen her jumping the wall and galloping out of sight.

I was sure that Catherine was heading for Peniston Crags. I covered the miles as fast as I could and, after about an hour of heavy climbing, I reached the path that led to Wuthering Heights. The Crags were still a mile and a half beyond the house, and I began to be afraid that it would be completely dark before I reached them.

«What if she tried to climb the rocks,» I thought to myself, «and slipped and broke her leg?» I was becoming desperate when I noticed, to my great relief, one of Miss Catherine’s dogs running out of the farmhouse to meet me.

I raced up to the house and hammered on the door, which was opened by Zillah, the housemaid at the Heights.

«Ah,» she said,» I see you’ve come for your little mistress! Don’t be frightened. She’s here, safe and sound[74].»

«And is Heathcliff at home?» I panted, breathless with fear.

«No, no,» she replied. «He won’t be back for an hour or more. Come in and rest for a while.»

I entered the room and saw my precious Catherine, sitting on a rocking chair that used to be her mother’s. She seemed perfectly at home, and was laughing and talking to Hareton, who was now a strong, handsome lad of eighteen. He was staring at her, open-mouthed with astonishment, as she chattered away to him cheerfully.

«Well, miss!» I said, as sternly as I could. «This is your last ride until your papa comes back. I won’t trust you outside the house again, you naughty, naughty girl!»

«But, Nelly!» she cried, ignoring my bad temper. «I’ve had such a great adventure. Have you ever been here in your life before?»

«Put on your hat and come home at once,» I said firmly. «I’m very cross with you, Miss Catherine. What do you think your father will say when he hears you’ve been sneaking off like this!»

«But what have I done?» she sobbed. «Papa won’t be angry with me. He’s never cross, like you!»

«Come on,» I repeated. «Let’s get away now.»