Wuthering Heights. Emily Bronte

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      EMILY BRONTE

      Wuthering Heights

      WUTHERING HEIGHTS

      Love is not always a happy experience. Nor do people who love each other always treat each other gently. We are all familiar with stories where two lovers are kept apart by outside forces – sometimes by their families, sometimes by the customs of their society.

      In Wuthering Heights the main force that keeps the lovers apart is themselves. The characters in this story, just like real people, have weaknesses – and their weaknesses lead them into unhappiness. They are proud and selfish; they often have mixed feelings and are unable to make up their minds. For these reasons love often fails, but rarely as passionately and dramatically as in this story.

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First published in Oxford Bookworms 1992

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ISBN 978 0 19 479234 9

A complete recording of this Bookworms edition of Wuthering Heights is available on audio CD ISBN 978 0 19 479209 7

Typeset by Wyvern Typesetting Ltd, Bristol

Illustrated by: Jeff Spokes/Three in a Box

Word count (main text): 23,180 words

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e-Book first published 2012

      PEOPLE IN THIS STORY

      MR LOCKWOOD’S STORY, 1801 TO 1802

      At Thrushcross Grange

      Mr Lockwood, the narrator

      Ellen Dean, the housekeeper

      At Wuthering Heights

      Mr Heathcliff, the landlord of Thrushcross Grange

      Mrs Cathy Heathcliff, a widow and Mr Heathcliff’s daughter-in-law

      Hareton Earnshaw

      Joseph, a servant

      Zillah, a housekeeper

      ELLEN DEAN’S STORY, 1770 TO 1802

      Mr Earnshaw

      Hindley Earnshaw, his son

      Catherine Earnshaw, his daughter

      Heathcliff, a gipsy boy

      Frances, Hindley’s wife

      Mr and Mrs Linton

      Edgar Linton, their son

      Isabella Linton, their daughter

      Hareton, Hindley Earnshaw’s son

      Cathy, Edgar Linton’s daughter

      Linton, Heathcliff’s son

      Joseph, a servant

      Ellen Dean, a servant

      Zillah, a housekeeper

      

I HAVE JUST returned from a visit to my landlord, Mr Heathcliff. I am delighted with the house I am renting from him. Thrushcross Grange is miles away from any town or village. That suits me perfectly. And the scenery here in Yorkshire is so beautiful!

      Mr Heathcliff, in fact, is my only neighbour, and I think his character is similar to mine. He does not like people either.

      ‘My name is Lockwood,’ I said, when I met him at the gate to his house. ‘I’m renting Thrushcross Grange from you. I just wanted to come and introduce myself.’

      He said nothing, but frowned, and did not encourage me to enter. After a while, however, he decided to invite me in.

      ‘Joseph, take Mr Lockwood’s horse!’ he called. ‘And bring up some wine from the cellar!’ Joseph was a very old servant, with a sour expression on his face. He looked crossly up at me as he took my horse.

      ‘God help us! A visitor!’ he muttered to himself. Perhaps there were no other servants, I thought. And it seemed that Mr Heathcliff hardly ever received guests.

      His house is called Wuthering Heights. The name means ‘a windswept house on a hill’, and it is a very good description. The trees around the house do not grow straight, but are bent by the north wind, which blows over the moors every day of the year. Fortunately, the house is strongly built, and is not damaged even by the worst winter storms. The name ‘Earnshaw’ is cut into a stone over the front door.

      Mr Heathcliff and I entered the huge main room. It could have been any Yorkshire farmhouse kitchen, except that there was no sign of cooking, and no farmer sitting at the table. Mr Heathcliff certainly does not look like a farmer. His hair and skin are dark, like a gipsy’s, but he has the manners of a gentleman. He could perhaps take more care with his appearance, but he is handsome. I think he is proud, and also unhappy.

      We sat down by the fire, in silence.

      ‘Joseph!’ shouted Mr Heathcliff. No answer came from the cellar, so he dived down there, leaving me alone with several rather fierce-looking dogs. Suddenly one of them jumped angrily up at me, and in a moment all the others were attacking me. From every shadowy corner in the great room appeared a growling animal, ready to kill me, it seemed.

      ‘Help! Mr Heathcliff! Help!’ I shouted, trying to keep the dogs back. My landlord and his servant were in no hurry to help, and could not have climbed the cellar steps more slowly, but luckily a woman, who I supposed was the housekeeper, rushed into the room to calm the dogs.

      ‘What the devil is the matter?’ Mr Heathcliff asked me rudely, when he finally entered the room.

      ‘Your dogs, sir!’ I replied. ‘You shouldn’t leave a stranger with them. They’re dangerous.’

      ‘Come, come, Mr Lockwood. Have some wine. We don’t often have strangers here, and I’m afraid neither I nor my dogs are used to receiving them.’

      I could not feel offended after this, and accepted the wine. We sat drinking and talking together for a while. I suggested visiting him tomorrow. He did not seem eager to see me again, but I shall go anyway. I am interested in him, even if he isn’t interested in me.

      Two days later Yesterday afternoon was misty and bitterly cold, but I walked the four miles to Wuthering Heights and arrived just as it was beginning to snow. I banged on the front door for ten minutes, getting colder and colder. Finally Joseph’s head appeared at a window of one of the farm buildings.

      ‘What do you want?’ he growled.

      ‘Could you let me in?’ I asked desperately.

      He