Wuthering Heights (adapted)

Emily Brontë

Category: Novels

Genres: Romance,Tragedy,Psychological fiction

Level 4.13:09 h85.9 mb

On the wild Yorkshire moors, two lonely houses hide a dark family story. Mr. Lockwood comes to Wuthering Heights and hears the story of Heathcliff, a poor boy who loves Catherine Earnshaw with all his heart. But pride, class, and cruelty separate them. Their love turns into anger and revenge, and the pain reaches the next generation. This is an adapted version of the novel, shortened and simplified to A2 level.

Wuthering Heights

Name: Wuthering Heights (adapted)
Author: Emily Brontë

[adapted]

by
Emily Brontë

Chapter 1

1801. I have just come back from visiting my landlord. He is my only near neighbour. His name is Mr. Heathcliff. This part of England is beautiful and very quiet. It is far from town life and far from society. A man who does not like people could be happy here. I thought Mr. Heathcliff and I might be good neighbours, because we both seemed to like being alone.

When I rode up to his gate, he looked at me with dark, careful eyes. He did not smile. He kept his hands close to his body, as if he did not want to welcome me.

“Mr. Heathcliff?” I said. He nodded. “I am Mr. Lockwood, your new tenant,” I said. “I have come to call on you. I hope I did not trouble you by asking to rent Thrushcross Grange.”

“Thrushcross Grange is mine, sir,” he said. “I do not let people trouble me if I can stop them. Come in.”

He said “come in,” but his voice sounded more like “go away.” Still, this made me more interested in him. He seemed colder than I was. He opened the gate and walked in front of me along the stone path.

“Joseph,” he called, “take Mr. Lockwood’s horse. And bring some wine.”

Joseph was an old servant. He looked strong, but his face was hard and angry. As he took my horse, he said in a low voice, “Lord help us.” He looked at me as if my visit was bad news.

The house was called Wuthering Heights. “Wuthering” means wild and windy. It was a good name. The wind must often beat against the house. The trees near it all leaned one way. The house itself looked strong, with small deep windows and heavy stone walls.

Over the front door, I saw old carvings. I also saw the date 1500 and the name Hareton Earnshaw. I wanted to ask about the place, but Heathcliff stood at the door with an impatient face. So I went in.

We entered the main room at once. There was no hall. The room was large, plain, and dark. There were stone floors, high chairs, old guns, and many dishes on a great wooden dresser. Meat and oatcakes hung above. A large brown dog lay near her puppies. Other dogs watched from the corners.

The room looked like the home of a rough farmer. But Heathcliff did not look like a simple farmer. He was dark, strong, and handsome. His clothes and manner were almost those of a gentleman. But he was silent and hard. I wondered if he was proud, or if he only hated showing warm feelings.

I sat near the fire. Heathcliff sat across from me. For a while, we said nothing. I tried to touch the mother dog. She came near my legs and showed her teeth.

“You had better leave the dog alone,” Heathcliff said. “She is not a pet.”

Then he went to call Joseph again. He left me alone with the dogs. I sat still, but I foolishly made faces at them. At once, the mother dog jumped at me. I pushed her away and moved behind the table.

Then all the dogs began to bark. More dogs ran out from dark corners. They came at my feet and coat. I took the fire poker and tried to keep them away. Then I called for help.

Heathcliff and Joseph came slowly from the cellar. They did not hurry. But a strong woman came quickly from the kitchen. Her face was red from the fire, and she held a frying pan. She shouted at the dogs and drove them back. Soon the room was quiet again.

“What is the matter?” Heathcliff asked.
“What is the matter?!” I replied. “Your dogs are like wild animals! You should not leave a stranger alone with them.”

“They do not trouble people who touch nothing,” he said. “The dogs are right to watch. Will you have some wine?”
“No, thank you.”
“You are not bitten?”
“If I were, I would leave my mark on the dog.”

Heathcliff smiled. “Come, Mr. Lockwood,” he said. “You are upset. Take some wine. Guests are rare in this house. My dogs and I do not know how to receive them. Your health, sir.”

I drank with him. I saw that it was foolish to stay angry. I also did not want him to laugh at me.

After that, Heathcliff spoke a little more. He talked about Thrushcross Grange, the house I had rented from him. He told me its good points and bad points. He was not warm, but he was intelligent.

Before I left, I said I would visit again the next day. I could see he did not want this. But I shall go. Compared to him, I feel almost friendly.

Chapter 2

The next afternoon was cold and misty. I first thought I would stay at home by the fire. But my room was full of dust because a servant was cleaning it. So I took my hat and walked to Wuthering Heights.

Snow began to fall when I reached the gate. The hill was dark with frost, and the wind was very cold. I could not open the chain, so I climbed over the gate. I knocked for a long time. The dogs howled inside, but no one opened the door.

At last Joseph looked out from a small window. “What do you want?” he shouted.
“I want to come in,” I called.
“The master is in the yard. Go round the building.”
“Can no one open the door?”
“Only the young mistress, and she will not open it,” he said. Then he disappeared.

The snow grew thicker. Then a young man came into the yard. He wore no coat and carried a farm fork. He told me to follow him. We went through the back of the house and came into the warm main room.

A great fire burned there. The table was ready for supper. A young woman sat near it. I had not known there was a mistress in the house. I bowed, but she did not greet me. She only looked at me in a cold way.

“Sit down,” the young man said roughly. “He will come soon.”

I sat down and tried to speak to the young woman. I asked about the dogs, but she answered coldly. Then I looked at something on a cushion and thought it was a pet.

“A strange choice,” she said.
I saw they were dead rabbits. I felt foolish.

She stood to make tea. She was very young and beautiful, with fair hair and a fine face. But her eyes were proud and sad. I moved to help her reach a tea box.

“I do not want your help,” she said sharply.
“I beg your pardon,” I said.
“Were you asked to tea?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “But you may ask me.”
She threw the tea back and sat down in anger.

The young man stood by the fire and watched me with a hard look. His clothes were rough, and his hands were like a worker’s hands. But he did not act like a servant.

Soon Heathcliff came in, covered with snow.
“I have come as I promised,” I said. “But I may need shelter for a short time because of the storm.”
“Why did you walk here in a snowstorm?” he said. “You may lose your way on the moors.”
“Can one of your men guide me home?”
“No,” he said. “I cannot spare anyone.”

At supper, no one spoke. The fire was warm, but the people were not. I tried to make friendly talk, and I called the young woman Mrs. Heathcliff, meaning Heathcliff’s wife.

Heathcliff smiled cruelly. “My wife?” he said. “Mrs. Heathcliff is my daughter-in-law. She married my son. He is dead.”

Then I thought the rough young man must be her husband, and I spoke as if he were. This was another mistake.

“My name is Hareton Earnshaw,” the young man growled. “You should respect it.”

“I meant no disrespect,” I said. Now I felt very unwelcome. After supper I went to the window. Night had come early. The snow hid the sky, the hills, and the road. “I cannot get home without a guide,” I said. No one helped me. Heathcliff only told Hareton to put the sheep in the barn.

Joseph came in and began to scold the young woman. He said she was lazy and wicked, like her mother. She answered with angry play. She took a dark book and said she knew magic. Joseph was truly afraid and hurried away, praying. When he was gone, I asked her to tell me the way home.

“Take the road you came by,” she said.
“That will not help me in this snow.”
“I cannot go with you,” she said. “They would not let me go even to the garden wall.”
“Then ask Mr. Heathcliff to give me a guide.”
“That is between you and him.”

Heathcliff spoke from the doorway. “You should not make foolish walks on these hills,” he said. “I do not keep rooms for visitors. You must share a bed with Hareton or Joseph.”

“I can sleep on a chair here,” I said.
“No. A stranger is a stranger. I will not let one walk about my house while I sleep.”

I was angry now. I pushed past him and went into the yard. It was too dark to find the way out. I heard Hareton offer to guide me part of the way, but Heathcliff refused. The young woman said a man’s life mattered more than the horses. Hareton would not listen to her. I saw Joseph with a lantern and took it. I called that I would send it back tomorrow, and I ran to a small door.

“He is stealing the lantern!!” Joseph shouted. “Dogs, stop him!”

When I opened the door, two large dogs jumped at me. They knocked me down, and the lantern went out. Heathcliff and Hareton laughed. The dogs did not bite me, but they kept me on the ground. I shouted until my nose began to bleed.

At last Zillah, the housekeeper, came out. She was kinder than the others. “Look at the poor gentleman!” she cried. “Bring him inside.” She threw cold water on me and pulled me into the kitchen. I felt sick and weak. I could not leave now.

Heathcliff told Zillah to give me brandy. Then he went away. Zillah felt sorry for me. When I could stand again, she took me upstairs to a bed.

Chapter 3

Zillah took me upstairs. She told me to hide my candle and make no noise. Her master did not like anyone to sleep in that room. She did not know why. I locked the door and looked around. The room had a chair, a clothes press, and a large old oak bed. The bed was like a small wooden room. I climbed in and shut the wooden sides.

Near the window were old books. The wood around them was covered with one name, written again and again: Catherine Earnshaw. Sometimes it was Catherine Heathcliff. Sometimes it was Catherine Linton. I opened one book. On the first page I saw, “Catherine Earnshaw, her book.” Many pages had writing in them. Some parts were like a child’s diary. I began to read.