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内容简介

《呼啸山庄》是艾米莉·勃朗特的代表作，讲述了一个奇异而复杂的爱情复仇故事。弃儿希刺克厉夫与养父老恩萧的女儿凯瑟琳相恋，但凯瑟琳却嫁给了贵族青年林惇，多年后，希刺克厉夫对仇人进行了残酷的报复，然而并没有从中获得快乐。

作者简介

艾米莉·勃朗特Emily Bronte，1818－184819世纪英国作家与诗人，著名的“勃朗特三姐妹”之一，世界文学名著《呼啸山庄》的作者。这部作品是艾米莉?勃朗特一生中唯一的一部小说，奠定了她在英国文学史以及世界文学史上的地位。此外，她还创作了193首诗，被认为是英国一位天才型的女作家。

目　　录

CONTENTS

Introduction

Note on the Text

Select Bibliography

A Chronology of Emily Brontë

Genealogical Table

WUTHERING HEIGHTS

Appendix 1

Biographical Notice of Ellis and Acton Bell

Editor’s Preface to the New Edition

Extract from the Prefatory Note to

‘Selections from Poems by Ellis Bell’

Appendix 2: Selected Poems by Emily Brontë

Explanatory Notes?? ?

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在线试读部分章节

VOLUME I
CHAPTER I

1801––Ihave just returned from a visit to my landlord––the solitary neighbour that Ishall be troubled with. This is certainly a beautiful country! In all England, I donot believe that I could have fixed on a situation so completely removed fromthe stir of society. A perfect misanthropist’s Heaven––and Mr. Heathcliffand Iare such a suitable pair to divide the desolation between us. A capital fellow!He little imagined how my heart warmed towards him when I beheld his black eyeswithdraw so suspiciously under their brows, as I rode up, and when his fingerssheltered themselves, with a jealous resolution, still further in hiswaistcoat, as I announced my name.
“Mr. Heathcliff?”I said.
A nodwas the answer.
“Mr. Lockwood,your new tenant, sir ––I do myself the honour of calling as soon as possibleafter my arrival, to express the hope that I have not inconvenienced you by myperseverance in soliciting the occupation of Thrushcross Grange: I heard,yesterday, you had had some thoughts ––”
“ThrushcrossGrange is my own, sir,” he interrupted, wincing, “I should not allow any one toinconvenience me, if I could hinder it –– walk in!”
The“walk in” was uttered with closed teeth and expressed the sentiment, “Go to theDeuce!” Even the gate over which he leant manifested no sympathizing movementto the words; and I think that circumstance determined me to accept theinvitation: I felt interested in a man who seemed more exaggeratedly reservedthan myself.

VOLUME I
CHAPTER I
 
1801––I
have just returned from a visit to my landlord––the solitary neighbour that I
shall be troubled with. This is certainly a beautiful country! In all <st1:country-region><st1:place>England</st1:place></st1:country-region>, I do
not believe that I could have fixed on a situation so completely removed from
the stir of society. A perfect misanthropist’s Heaven––and Mr. Heathcliffand I
are such a suitable pair to divide the desolation between us. A capital fellow!
He little imagined how my heart warmed towards him when I beheld his black eyes
withdraw so suspiciously under their brows, as I rode up, and when his fingers
sheltered themselves, with a jealous resolution, still further in his
waistcoat, as I announced my name.
“Mr. Heathcliff?”
I said.
A nod
was the answer.
“Mr. Lockwood,
your new tenant, sir ––I do myself the honour of calling as soon as possible
after my arrival, to express the hope that I have not inconvenienced you by my
perseverance in soliciting the occupation of Thrushcross Grange: I heard,
yesterday, you had had some thoughts ––”
“Thrushcross
Grange is my own, sir,” he interrupted, wincing, “I should not allow any one to
inconvenience me, if I could hinder it –– walk in!”
The
“walk in” was uttered with closed teeth and expressed the sentiment, “Go to the
Deuce!” Even the gate over which he leant manifested no sympathizing movement
to the words; and I think that circumstance determined me to accept the
invitation: I felt interested in a man who seemed more exaggeratedly reserved
than myself.
When
he saw my horse’s breast fairly pushing the barrier, he did pull out his hand
to unchain it, and then sullenly preceded me up the causeway, calling, as we
entered the court:
“Joseph, take Mr
Lockwood’s horse; and bring up some wine.”
“Here we have the
whole establishment of domestics, I suppose,” was the reflection, suggested by
this compound order. “No wonder the grass grows up between the flags, and
cattle are the only hedgecutters.”
Joseph
was an elderly, nay, an old man: very old, perhaps, though hale and sinewy.
“The Lord help
us!” he soliloquised in an undertone of peevish displeasure, while relieving me
of my horse: looking, meantime, in my face so sourly that I charitably
conjectured he must have need of divine aid to digest his dinner, and his pious
ejaculation had no reference to my unexpected advent.
<st1:place><st1:placename>Wuthering</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Heights</st1:placetype></st1:place> is the name of
Mr. Heathcliff’s dwelling, “Wuthering”
being a significant provincial adjective, descriptive of the atmospheric tumult
to which its station is exposed in stormy weather. Pure, bracing ventilation
they must have up there, at all times, indeed: one may guess the power of the
north wind, blowing over the edge, by the excessive slant of a few, stunted
firs at the end of the house; and by a range of gaunt thorns all stretching
their limbs one way, as if craving alms of the sun. Happily, the architect had
foresight to build it strong: the narrow windows are deeply set in the wall,
and the corners defended with large jutting stones.
Before
passing the threshold, I paused to admire a quantity of grotesque carving
lavished over the front, and especially about the principal door, above which,
among a wilderness of crumbling griffins and shameless little boys, I detected
the date “<st1:chmetcnv tcsc="0" numbertype="1" negative="False" hasspace="False" sourcevalue="1500" unitname="”">1500”</st1:chmetcnv>
and the name “Hareton Earnshaw.” I would have made a few comments, and
requested a short history of the place from the surly owner, but his attitude
at the door appeared to demand my speedy entrance, or complete departure, and I
had no desire to aggravate his impatience, previous to inspecting the
penetralium.
One
step brought us into the family sitting-room, without any introductory lobby or
passage: they call it here “the house” preeminently. It includes kitchen and
parlor, generally, but I believe at Wuthering Heights the kitchen is forced to
retreat altogether into another quarter: at least I distinguished a chatter of
tongues, and a clatter of culinary utensils, deep within; and I observed no
signs of roasting, boiling, or baking, about the huge fire-place; nor any
glitter of copper saucepans and tin cullenders on the walls. One end, indeed,
reflected splendidly both light and heat from ranks of immense pewter dishes,
interspersed with silver jugs and tankards, towering row after row, in a vast
oak dresser, to the very roof. The latter had never been underdrawn: its entire
anatomy lay bare to an inquiring eye, except where a frame of wood laden with
oatcakes, and clusters of legs of beef, mutton and ham, concealed it. Above the
chimney were sundry villanous old guns, and a couple of horsepistols, and, by
way of ornament, three gaudily painted canisters disposed along its ledge. The
floor was of smooth, white stone: the chairs, high-backed, primitive
structures, painted green: one or two heavy black ones lurking in the shade. In
an arch under the dresser, reposed a huge, liver-coloured bitch pointer,
surrounded by a swarm of squealing puppies, and other dogs haunted other
recesses.
The
apartment and furniture would have been nothing extraordinary as belonging to a
homely, northern farmer, with a stubborn countenance, and stalwart limbs set
out to advantage in kneebreeches and gaiters. Such an individual, seated in his
armchair, his mug of ale frothing on the round table before him, is to be seen
in any circuit of five or six miles among these hills, if you go at the right time,
after dinner. But Mr. Heathcliffforms a singular contrast to his abode and
style of living. He is a dark-skinned gypsy in aspect, in dress and manners a
gentleman––that is, as much a gentleman as many a country squire: rather
slovenly, perhaps, yet not looking amiss with his negligence, because he has an
erect and handsome figure––and rather morose––possibly some people might
suspect him of a degree of under-bred pride––I have a sympathetic chord within
that tells me it is nothing of the sort; I know, by instinct, his reserve
springs from an aversion to showy displays of feeling––to manifestations of
mutual kindliness. He’ll love and hate, equally under cover, and esteem it a
species of impertinence to be loved or hated again––No, I’m running on too fast
––I bestow my own attributes over-liberally on him. Mr. Heathcliffmay have
entirely dissimilar reasons for keeping his hand out of the way, when he meets
a would-be acquaintance, to those which actuate me. Let me hope my constitution
is almost peculiar: my dear mother used to say I should never have a
comfortable home, and only last summer I proved myself perfectly unworthy of
one.

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