At about this time,in 1845,I was almost blind.I had a new curate to do my work-Arthur Nicholls,a young man of twenty-eight.He came from Northern Ireland like my-self.He was a good,hard worker.I spoke in the church on Sundays,but Arthur Nicholls did the rest of my work.
Branwell became worse and worse.Mr Robinson died in 1846,but Mrs Robinson didn't marry Branwell—oh no!She was a cold wicked woman.She sent my son Branwell away,and later married a rich old man.And so Branwell spent more and more time drinking,and taking laudanum,and walking alone on the moors.
When you are blind, you listen to things very carefully.I used to sit alone in my room and listen to the sounds of the wind outside the house.The wind talks and whispers and sings -it has many voices.I listened to the sounds of the clock on the stairs,and the wood in the fire,and the footsteps and voices of the girls walking round the house.They talked a lot to each other,and sometimes I could hear what they said,even when they were in another room.
Anne had had a poem published in a magazine,and one day I heard a conversation between Charlotte and Emily.Charlotte had found something that Emily had written, and was talking to her about it.
'But they're wonderful,Emily,'Charlotte said.'They're much better than mine or Anne's.'
'They're not for people to read,'Emily said.'They're part of the Gondal story.Nobody would understand them,except me and Anne.'
I realized that they were talking about some poems of Emily's.I knew that Emily and Anne wrote a lot about the country of Gondal,but I didn't know much about it.Emily kept all her papers locked in her desk.
Charlotte was arguing with her.'Emily,listen to me! These are fine poems.I think we should put some of them in a book,togetner with mine and Anne's,and try to publish it.People should read them!'
'No!'Emily shouted.Then her dog Keeper began to bark,and I didn't hear any more.But I think they talked about this again several times.I often heard voices arguing,and usually they never argued about their writing.
I wanted to tell them not to do it.I had published several small books myself,but I always lost money.I had to pay the publisher to print the books,and not many people bought them.It's an easy way to lose money.But I was too ill,so I said nothing.
I learnt,many years later,that they paid over£30 to have a book of poems printed,and that it sold two copies.I am not surprised that they didn't tell me about it; we had very little
I began to feel that there was something wrong with my head,as well as my eyes.Several times the postman brought an old packet to our house,which was addressed to a man called Currer Bell.I told him that no Currer Bell lived in Haworth,and sent him away.But then,a month or two later,he came back again,with the same old packet.
In the summer of 1846 Charlotte took me to see an eye doc-tor in Manchester.We stayed in rooms in the town.The doctor decided to operate on my eyes, and the next morning we got up early.I was afraid.Could I hold my head still while the doctor cut into my eyes with a knife? Perhaps the pain would be too terrible.Perhaps I would move,or stand up, or…
Charlotte held my hand.As we left our rooms,we met a postman.
'Good morning,Miss,'he said.'There's packet here for Currer Bell.'
'Oh…thank you.'Charlotte sounded sad,but she took the packet,and put it in her room.She did not open it.Then we walked to the eye doctor's.
The pain was terrible,but it was over in fifteen minutes, and I didn't move.Afterwards,I had to lie on a bed in a dark room.We couldn't go home for a month.A nurse came some-times,but Charlotte stayed with me all day.
I asked her once about the packet.She said:' Oh,it's for a friend of mine,papa.It had a letter for me in it.I have posted it away again now.'
I didn't understand,but I didn't ask again.I lay quietly on my bed most of the day, and Charlotte sat in the next room writing.She wrote very fast,for many hours, and never put her pen down once.She seemed quiet,but strangely happy.
I was happy too.The doctor had helped;I could see again.It was wonderful-the colours,the shapes of everything were beautiful.When we came back to Haworth,I could see every-thing clearly at last-our home,the church,the graveyard,the moors, the faces of my Emily and Anne!
And Branwell.
Branwell's face looked terrible.White, thin,with big dark eyes and untidy hair.His clothes were dirty,he smelt, his hands shook.All the time he was either shouting or crying.And always, every day,he asked me for money.
I let him sleep in my room at night,and he kept me awake for hours talking about Mrs Robinson.I remembered his paint-ings,his stories,his happy childish laughter.My fine, clever son had become a drunken animal.
The winter of 1846 was terribly cold.The wind blew snow around the house and over the gravestones.A lot of children died in the village.Anne was ill,Branwell was worse.We lit fires in all the rooms,but there was ice inside the windows in the mornings.I spent most of my time with Branwell,so I didn't think very much about the girls.
And then,one afternoon,Charlotte came into my room.I was sitting here,in this same chair,beside the fire.She had a book in her hand, and that strange,happy look on her face.
'Papa,'she said.'I've been writing a book.'
I smiled.'Have you,my dear?'I thought she had written another little book about Angria.
'Yes, and I want you to read it.'
'Oh,I'm afraid it will hurt my eyes too much.'My eyes were much better,but the tiny writing in the Angria books was too small for me.
'Oh no,'she said.'It's not in my handwriting;it is printed.'She held out the book in her hand.
'My dear!Think how much it will cost!You will almost certainly lose money,because no one will buy it!No one knows your name !'
'I don't think so,father.I didn't pay to get it printed,you know.The publishers paid me.Listen to what people say about it in these magazines.'
She sat down, and read to me from some of the most famous magazines in England.There were long articles in them,about a book called Jane Eyre, by Currer Bell.They were kind arti-cles;most of the magazine writers liked the book.
'This Currer Bell, then,'I ashed.'Is it you?'
Charlotte laughed.'Yes,papa.It's a man's name, with the same first letters:CB—Charlotte Bront, Currer Bell.'
She gave me the book,and went out.I began to read.
I think I read for two hours, but it seemed like ten minutes.It was a wonderful,beautiful book—the story of a little girl called Jane Eyre.Her parents are dead,so she lives with an un-kind aunt and her children.Then Jane goes away to a school called Lowood.This school is a terrible place,and it is very like the school at Cowan Bridge.Jane Eyre's best friend, Helen Burns,falls ill at the school, and dies. This Helen is just like my own little Maria.When I read about her death,my eyes fillled with tears.But it was a beautiful book, too;I did not want to put it down.
At five o'clock I got up and went into the sitting-room. My three daughters sat there waiting for me.Their eyes were very bright.I still had tears in my eyes,but I had a big smile on my face too.I held up Jane Eyre in my hand,and said:'Girls,do you know Charlotte has written a book? And it is more than good, you know—it is very, very fine indeed!'
大約是在1845年,我?guī)缀跞沽?。我?qǐng)了一個(gè)新的副牧師替我工作,他就是亞瑟·尼可斯,一個(gè)28歲的年輕人。和我一樣他來(lái)自北愛爾蘭。他人很好,工作也勤奮。我只在星期天講道,其余的活兒都是亞瑟·尼可斯干。
布蘭韋爾越來(lái)越糟了,羅賓遜先生死于1846年,可羅賓遜太太并沒有嫁給他。——噢,沒有!她是個(gè)冷血的、邪惡的女人,她把我兒子打發(fā)掉,自己后來(lái)嫁給了一個(gè)老富翁。這樣布蘭韋爾花越來(lái)越多的時(shí)間喝酒和鴉片酊,或者一個(gè)人在荒野上踱步。
當(dāng)人眼睛瞎后,聽東西就會(huì)格外仔細(xì)。我常常一個(gè)人坐在自己的房間里,聽著屋外風(fēng)的聲音。風(fēng)兒說(shuō)著、低語(yǔ)著、唱著——它有很多種聲調(diào)。我也聽著樓梯上大鐘的嘀噠嘀噠的響聲,爐火中木柴的噼叭聲以及女兒們?cè)诜孔永锏孽獠铰?。她們?jīng)常談?wù)撛S多事,有時(shí)我還能聽見她們談話的內(nèi)容,即使她們是在另一個(gè)房間。
安妮有一首詩(shī)在雜志上發(fā)表了。一天我聽到了夏洛蒂和愛米麗之間的談話,夏洛蒂讀到了愛米麗寫的東西,正和她談?wù)撝?/p>
“可它們很棒啊,愛米麗。”夏洛蒂說(shuō),“它們比我和安妮的強(qiáng)多了。”
“那不是寫給外人看的,”愛米麗說(shuō),“它們是哥恩達(dá)爾故事的一部分,除了我和安妮,沒有誰(shuí)能懂。”
我聽出來(lái)她們?cè)谡務(wù)搻勖惖脑?shī)。我知道她和安妮寫了很多關(guān)于哥恩達(dá)爾的故事。但我了解的不多。愛米麗把她所有的詩(shī)稿都鎖在自己的書桌里。
夏洛蒂和她爭(zhēng)論道:“愛米麗,聽我的!這些都是好詩(shī),我覺得我們應(yīng)該把它同我和安妮的詩(shī)一起編成一本書,試著出版。人們應(yīng)該讀到它們!”
“不!”愛米麗喊道。她的“管家”也跟著叫了起來(lái),我就聽不清后面的談話了。但我想她們就這個(gè)話題又談了好幾次。我經(jīng)常聽到爭(zhēng)論的聲音,一般來(lái)說(shuō),她們從不會(huì)為寫作而爭(zhēng)論的。
我想勸她們不要出書。我曾出過幾本自己的書,但總是賠錢。我得付錢給出版商印書,而并沒有多少人買這些書。這真是一樁太容易虧本的事。但我病得很厲害,就什么也沒說(shuō)。
很多年以后,我了解到她們付了30英鎊印這本詩(shī)集,只賣了兩本。她們瞞著我,我倒不覺得奇怪;家里的錢太少了。
我覺得我的腦子開始出毛病了,眼睛也不對(duì)勁。有幾次郵差給我們送一個(gè)舊包裹來(lái),上面寫著柯勒·貝爾先生收。我告訴他霍沃斯沒有叫這個(gè)名字的人,可兩個(gè)月后,他又把同一個(gè)包裹送了過來(lái)。
1846年的夏天,夏洛蒂帶我去曼徹斯特看眼科大夫。我們住在鎮(zhèn)上的房子里,大夫決定給我的眼睛做手術(shù),第二天我們起得很早。我有點(diǎn)害怕。當(dāng)醫(yī)生用刀切到我的眼睛時(shí),我的頭能保持不動(dòng)嗎?也許會(huì)疼得很厲害。也許我會(huì)動(dòng),會(huì)站起來(lái),或是……
夏洛蒂握著我的手,我們離開家時(shí),碰上了一個(gè)郵差。
“早上好,小姐,”他說(shuō),“這兒有個(gè)給柯勒·貝爾的包裹。”
“哦,謝謝。”夏洛蒂聽上去有些難過,但她接過包裹,把它放回房間。她并沒有打開。然后我們?nèi)チ搜劭拼蠓蚰莾骸?/p>
手術(shù)非常痛苦,好在15分鐘就結(jié)束了。我堅(jiān)持著沒有動(dòng)。之后我躺在一間黑屋子里的床上。在醫(yī)院里我們呆了1個(gè)月,不能回家。有個(gè)護(hù)士不時(shí)來(lái)一下,夏洛蒂則一天到晚地陪著我。
我曾問起她包裹的事。她說(shuō):“哦,那包裹是寄給我一個(gè)朋友的,爸爸。里面有一封給我的信,我現(xiàn)在已經(jīng)把它寄走了。”
我聽不太明白,但沒有再問。我整天差不多都靜靜地躺在床上,夏洛蒂則在隔壁的屋子里寫作。她寫得很快,一連寫好幾個(gè)鐘頭,一次也不停筆。她看上去很安靜,卻又莫名其妙地有些高興。
我也挺高興。醫(yī)生做的手術(shù)挺成功,我又能看見東西了。這真是太好了——所有東西的色彩和形狀都是那么美麗。當(dāng)我們回到霍沃斯時(shí),我終于能清楚地看見每一樣?xùn)|西了——家、教堂、墓地、荒野、我的愛米麗和安妮的臉龐。
還有布蘭韋爾。
布蘭韋爾的臉看上去有些嚇人。他的臉又蒼白又消瘦,眼睛又大又黑,頭發(fā)蓬亂。他的衣服骯臟,氣味難聞,雙手抖個(gè)不停。他不住地叫喊、哭泣,而且每天都向我要錢。
夜里我讓他睡在我的房里,他就一連幾個(gè)小時(shí)地給我講羅賓遜太太,讓我沒法睡覺。我還記得他的那些畫和故事,他那快活、孩子般的笑聲。我聰明的好兒子現(xiàn)在成了一個(gè)酒鬼。
1846年的冬天非常寒冷,風(fēng)把雪花吹起來(lái),在屋子四周和墓地上空盤旋。村子里大批的孩子死去了。安妮也生病了,布蘭韋爾更糟糕。我們?cè)诿块g屋于里都生起了火,可是早上窗戶內(nèi)層還是結(jié)了冰。我把大部分時(shí)間都花在陪布蘭韋爾上,沒有太注意女兒們。
后來(lái),一天下午,夏洛蒂來(lái)到我的房間。我坐在現(xiàn)在的這把椅子上,就在爐火旁。她手里拿著本書,臉上帶著一種奇怪的快樂表情。
“爸爸,”她說(shuō),“我在寫本書。”
我微笑著說(shuō):“是嗎,親愛的?”我以為她又寫了本關(guān)于安哥利亞的小書。
“是啊,我還想讓您讀讀呢。”
“噢,恐怕會(huì)太傷我的眼睛的。”我的眼睛雖然好了,但是安哥利亞故事里纖細(xì)的筆跡對(duì)我來(lái)說(shuō)還是太小了些。
“哦,不!”她說(shuō),“不是我手寫的,而是印刷的。”然后她把手里的書遞了過來(lái)。
“親愛的,想想這得花很多錢!你幾乎肯定要賠錢的,因?yàn)闆]有人會(huì)買!沒有人知道你的名字!”
“我倒不這么看;爸爸,要知道我沒有付印刷費(fèi)。出版商付給我錢。聽聽,這些雜志上人們是怎么說(shuō)這本書的。”
她坐下來(lái),給我念英國(guó)最有名的一些雜志上的文章。那上面有幾篇長(zhǎng)長(zhǎng)的文章,都是談?wù)撘槐窘凶觥逗?jiǎn)·愛》的書,作者是柯勒·貝爾。那些評(píng)論都很善意,大多數(shù)作者都很喜歡這本書。
“這個(gè)柯勒·貝爾,那么說(shuō)就是你啰?”我問。
夏洛蒂大笑起來(lái)。“是呵,爸爸。這是個(gè)男人的名字,但和我的名字有同樣的字母開頭。”
她把書給我,就出去了。我開始讀它。
我想我讀了兩個(gè)鐘頭,卻好像只有10分鐘,這是本奇妙而美麗的書——關(guān)于一個(gè)叫簡(jiǎn)·愛的女孩的故事。她父母死了,所以和一個(gè)壞舅媽及她的孩子們住在一起,后來(lái)簡(jiǎn)去了一個(gè)叫勞渥德的學(xué)校,那是個(gè)可怕的地方,非常像考恩橋的那所學(xué)校。簡(jiǎn)·愛最好的朋友,海倫·彭斯,在學(xué)校染上了病,死了。這個(gè)海倫就像是我的小瑪麗亞。當(dāng)我讀到她的死時(shí),雙眼噙滿淚水。但這確是一本優(yōu)美的書。我簡(jiǎn)直不想把它放下來(lái)。
5點(diǎn)鐘我起身走進(jìn)客廳,我的3個(gè)女兒都在那兒等著我。她們的眼睛都閃著亮。我的眼里還含著眼淚,可臉上帶著舒心的笑容。我舉起《簡(jiǎn)·愛》,說(shuō):“孩子們,你們知道夏洛蒂寫了本書嗎?它簡(jiǎn)直棒極了,你們知道嗎——確實(shí)非常、非常好!”
7 柯勒、埃利斯和阿克頓·貝爾
At about this time,in 1845,I was almost blind.I had a new curate to do my work-Arthur Nicholls,a young man of twenty-eight.He came from Northern Ireland like my-self.He was a good,hard worker.I spoke in the church on Sundays,but Arthur Nicholls did the rest of my work.
大約是在1845年,我?guī)缀跞沽?。我?qǐng)了一個(gè)新的副牧師替我工作,他就是亞瑟·尼可斯,一個(gè)28歲的年輕人。和我一樣他來(lái)自北愛爾蘭。他人很好,工作也勤奮。我只在星期天講道,其余的活兒都是亞瑟·尼可斯干。
Branwell became worse and worse.Mr Robinson died in 1846,but Mrs Robinson didn't marry Branwell—oh no!She was a cold wicked woman.She sent my son Branwell away,and later married a rich old man.And so Branwell spent more and more time drinking,and taking laudanum,and walking alone on the moors.
布蘭韋爾越來(lái)越糟了,羅賓遜先生死于1846年,可羅賓遜太太并沒有嫁給他。——噢,沒有!她是個(gè)冷血的、邪惡的女人,她把我兒子打發(fā)掉,自己后來(lái)嫁給了一個(gè)老富翁。這樣布蘭韋爾花越來(lái)越多的時(shí)間喝酒和鴉片酊,或者一個(gè)人在荒野上踱步。
When you are blind, you listen to things very carefully.I used to sit alone in my room and listen to the sounds of the wind outside the house.The wind talks and whispers and sings -it has many voices.I listened to the sounds of the clock on the stairs,and the wood in the fire,and the footsteps and voices of the girls walking round the house.They talked a lot to each other,and sometimes I could hear what they said,even when they were in another room.
當(dāng)人眼睛瞎后,聽東西就會(huì)格外仔細(xì)。我常常一個(gè)人坐在自己的房間里,聽著屋外風(fēng)的聲音。風(fēng)兒說(shuō)著、低語(yǔ)著、唱著——它有很多種聲調(diào)。我也聽著樓梯上大鐘的嘀噠嘀噠的響聲,爐火中木柴的噼叭聲以及女兒們?cè)诜孔永锏孽獠铰?。她們?jīng)常談?wù)撛S多事,有時(shí)我還能聽見她們談話的內(nèi)容,即使她們是在另一個(gè)房間。
Anne had had a poem published in a magazine,and one day I heard a conversation between Charlotte and Emily.Charlotte had found something that Emily had written, and was talking to her about it.
安妮有一首詩(shī)在雜志上發(fā)表了。一天我聽到了夏洛蒂和愛米麗之間的談話,夏洛蒂讀到了愛米麗寫的東西,正和她談?wù)撝?/p>
'But they're wonderful,Emily,'Charlotte said.'They're much better than mine or Anne's.'
“可它們很棒啊,愛米麗。”夏洛蒂說(shuō),“它們比我和安妮的強(qiáng)多了。”
'They're not for people to read,'Emily said.'They're part of the Gondal story.Nobody would understand them,except me and Anne.'
“那不是寫給外人看的,”愛米麗說(shuō),“它們是哥恩達(dá)爾故事的一部分,除了我和安妮,沒有誰(shuí)能懂。”
I realized that they were talking about some poems of Emily's.I knew that Emily and Anne wrote a lot about the country of Gondal,but I didn't know much about it.Emily kept all her papers locked in her desk.
我聽出來(lái)她們?cè)谡務(wù)搻勖惖脑?shī)。我知道她和安妮寫了很多關(guān)于哥恩達(dá)爾的故事。但我了解的不多。愛米麗把她所有的詩(shī)稿都鎖在自己的書桌里。
Charlotte was arguing with her.'Emily,listen to me! These are fine poems.I think we should put some of them in a book,togetner with mine and Anne's,and try to publish it.People should read them!'
夏洛蒂和她爭(zhēng)論道:“愛米麗,聽我的!這些都是好詩(shī),我覺得我們應(yīng)該把它同我和安妮的詩(shī)一起編成一本書,試著出版。人們應(yīng)該讀到它們!”
'No!'Emily shouted.Then her dog Keeper began to bark,and I didn't hear any more.But I think they talked about this again several times.I often heard voices arguing,and usually they never argued about their writing.
“不!”愛米麗喊道。她的“管家”也跟著叫了起來(lái),我就聽不清后面的談話了。但我想她們就這個(gè)話題又談了好幾次。我經(jīng)常聽到爭(zhēng)論的聲音,一般來(lái)說(shuō),她們從不會(huì)為寫作而爭(zhēng)論的。
I wanted to tell them not to do it.I had published several small books myself,but I always lost money.I had to pay the publisher to print the books,and not many people bought them.It's an easy way to lose money.But I was too ill,so I said nothing.
我想勸她們不要出書。我曾出過幾本自己的書,但總是賠錢。我得付錢給出版商印書,而并沒有多少人買這些書。這真是一樁太容易虧本的事。但我病得很厲害,就什么也沒說(shuō)。
I learnt,many years later,that they paid over£30 to have a book of poems printed,and that it sold two copies.I am not surprised that they didn't tell me about it; we had very little
很多年以后,我了解到她們付了30英鎊印這本詩(shī)集,只賣了兩本。她們瞞著我,我倒不覺得奇怪;家里的錢太少了。
I began to feel that there was something wrong with my head,as well as my eyes.Several times the postman brought an old packet to our house,which was addressed to a man called Currer Bell.I told him that no Currer Bell lived in Haworth,and sent him away.But then,a month or two later,he came back again,with the same old packet.
我覺得我的腦子開始出毛病了,眼睛也不對(duì)勁。有幾次郵差給我們送一個(gè)舊包裹來(lái),上面寫著柯勒·貝爾先生收。我告訴他霍沃斯沒有叫這個(gè)名字的人,可兩個(gè)月后,他又把同一個(gè)包裹送了過來(lái)。
In the summer of 1846 Charlotte took me to see an eye doc-tor in Manchester.We stayed in rooms in the town.The doctor decided to operate on my eyes, and the next morning we got up early.I was afraid.Could I hold my head still while the doctor cut into my eyes with a knife? Perhaps the pain would be too terrible.Perhaps I would move,or stand up, or…
1846年的夏天,夏洛蒂帶我去曼徹斯特看眼科大夫。我們住在鎮(zhèn)上的房子里,大夫決定給我的眼睛做手術(shù),第二天我們起得很早。我有點(diǎn)害怕。當(dāng)醫(yī)生用刀切到我的眼睛時(shí),我的頭能保持不動(dòng)嗎?也許會(huì)疼得很厲害。也許我會(huì)動(dòng),會(huì)站起來(lái),或是……
Charlotte held my hand.As we left our rooms,we met a postman.
夏洛蒂握著我的手,我們離開家時(shí),碰上了一個(gè)郵差。
'Good morning,Miss,'he said.'There's packet here for Currer Bell.'
“早上好,小姐,”他說(shuō),“這兒有個(gè)給柯勒·貝爾的包裹。”
'Oh…thank you.'Charlotte sounded sad,but she took the packet,and put it in her room.She did not open it.Then we walked to the eye doctor's.
“哦,謝謝。”夏洛蒂聽上去有些難過,但她接過包裹,把它放回房間。她并沒有打開。然后我們?nèi)チ搜劭拼蠓蚰莾骸?/p>
The pain was terrible,but it was over in fifteen minutes, and I didn't move.Afterwards,I had to lie on a bed in a dark room.We couldn't go home for a month.A nurse came some-times,but Charlotte stayed with me all day.
手術(shù)非常痛苦,好在15分鐘就結(jié)束了。我堅(jiān)持著沒有動(dòng)。之后我躺在一間黑屋子里的床上。在醫(yī)院里我們呆了1個(gè)月,不能回家。有個(gè)護(hù)士不時(shí)來(lái)一下,夏洛蒂則一天到晚地陪著我。
I asked her once about the packet.She said:' Oh,it's for a friend of mine,papa.It had a letter for me in it.I have posted it away again now.'
我曾問起她包裹的事。她說(shuō):“哦,那包裹是寄給我一個(gè)朋友的,爸爸。里面有一封給我的信,我現(xiàn)在已經(jīng)把它寄走了。”
I didn't understand,but I didn't ask again.I lay quietly on my bed most of the day, and Charlotte sat in the next room writing.She wrote very fast,for many hours, and never put her pen down once.She seemed quiet,but strangely happy.
我聽不太明白,但沒有再問。我整天差不多都靜靜地躺在床上,夏洛蒂則在隔壁的屋子里寫作。她寫得很快,一連寫好幾個(gè)鐘頭,一次也不停筆。她看上去很安靜,卻又莫名其妙地有些高興。
I was happy too.The doctor had helped;I could see again.It was wonderful-the colours,the shapes of everything were beautiful.When we came back to Haworth,I could see every-thing clearly at last-our home,the church,the graveyard,the moors, the faces of my Emily and Anne!
我也挺高興。醫(yī)生做的手術(shù)挺成功,我又能看見東西了。這真是太好了——所有東西的色彩和形狀都是那么美麗。當(dāng)我們回到霍沃斯時(shí),我終于能清楚地看見每一樣?xùn)|西了——家、教堂、墓地、荒野、我的愛米麗和安妮的臉龐。
And Branwell.
還有布蘭韋爾。
Branwell's face looked terrible.White, thin,with big dark eyes and untidy hair.His clothes were dirty,he smelt, his hands shook.All the time he was either shouting or crying.And always, every day,he asked me for money.
布蘭韋爾的臉看上去有些嚇人。他的臉又蒼白又消瘦,眼睛又大又黑,頭發(fā)蓬亂。他的衣服骯臟,氣味難聞,雙手抖個(gè)不停。他不住地叫喊、哭泣,而且每天都向我要錢。
I let him sleep in my room at night,and he kept me awake for hours talking about Mrs Robinson.I remembered his paint-ings,his stories,his happy childish laughter.My fine, clever son had become a drunken animal.
夜里我讓他睡在我的房里,他就一連幾個(gè)小時(shí)地給我講羅賓遜太太,讓我沒法睡覺。我還記得他的那些畫和故事,他那快活、孩子般的笑聲。我聰明的好兒子現(xiàn)在成了一個(gè)酒鬼。
The winter of 1846 was terribly cold.The wind blew snow around the house and over the gravestones.A lot of children died in the village.Anne was ill,Branwell was worse.We lit fires in all the rooms,but there was ice inside the windows in the mornings.I spent most of my time with Branwell,so I didn't think very much about the girls.
1846年的冬天非常寒冷,風(fēng)把雪花吹起來(lái),在屋子四周和墓地上空盤旋。村子里大批的孩子死去了。安妮也生病了,布蘭韋爾更糟糕。我們?cè)诿块g屋于里都生起了火,可是早上窗戶內(nèi)層還是結(jié)了冰。我把大部分時(shí)間都花在陪布蘭韋爾上,沒有太注意女兒們。
And then,one afternoon,Charlotte came into my room.I was sitting here,in this same chair,beside the fire.She had a book in her hand, and that strange,happy look on her face.
后來(lái),一天下午,夏洛蒂來(lái)到我的房間。我坐在現(xiàn)在的這把椅子上,就在爐火旁。她手里拿著本書,臉上帶著一種奇怪的快樂表情。
'Papa,'she said.'I've been writing a book.'
“爸爸,”她說(shuō),“我在寫本書。”
I smiled.'Have you,my dear?'I thought she had written another little book about Angria.
我微笑著說(shuō):“是嗎,親愛的?”我以為她又寫了本關(guān)于安哥利亞的小書。
'Yes, and I want you to read it.'
“是啊,我還想讓您讀讀呢。”
'Oh,I'm afraid it will hurt my eyes too much.'My eyes were much better,but the tiny writing in the Angria books was too small for me.
“噢,恐怕會(huì)太傷我的眼睛的。”我的眼睛雖然好了,但是安哥利亞故事里纖細(xì)的筆跡對(duì)我來(lái)說(shuō)還是太小了些。
'Oh no,'she said.'It's not in my handwriting;it is printed.'She held out the book in her hand.
“哦,不!”她說(shuō),“不是我手寫的,而是印刷的。”然后她把手里的書遞了過來(lái)。
'My dear!Think how much it will cost!You will almost certainly lose money,because no one will buy it!No one knows your name !'
“親愛的,想想這得花很多錢!你幾乎肯定要賠錢的,因?yàn)闆]有人會(huì)買!沒有人知道你的名字!”
'I don't think so,father.I didn't pay to get it printed,you know.The publishers paid me.Listen to what people say about it in these magazines.'
“我倒不這么看;爸爸,要知道我沒有付印刷費(fèi)。出版商付給我錢。聽聽,這些雜志上人們是怎么說(shuō)這本書的。”
She sat down, and read to me from some of the most famous magazines in England.There were long articles in them,about a book called Jane Eyre, by Currer Bell.They were kind arti-cles;most of the magazine writers liked the book.
她坐下來(lái),給我念英國(guó)最有名的一些雜志上的文章。那上面有幾篇長(zhǎng)長(zhǎng)的文章,都是談?wù)撘槐窘凶觥逗?jiǎn)·愛》的書,作者是柯勒·貝爾。那些評(píng)論都很善意,大多數(shù)作者都很喜歡這本書。
'This Currer Bell, then,'I ashed.'Is it you?'
“這個(gè)柯勒·貝爾,那么說(shuō)就是你啰?”我問。
Charlotte laughed.'Yes,papa.It's a man's name, with the same first letters:CB—Charlotte Bront, Currer Bell.'
夏洛蒂大笑起來(lái)。“是呵,爸爸。這是個(gè)男人的名字,但和我的名字有同樣的字母開頭。”
She gave me the book,and went out.I began to read.
她把書給我,就出去了。我開始讀它。
I think I read for two hours, but it seemed like ten minutes.It was a wonderful,beautiful book—the story of a little girl called Jane Eyre.Her parents are dead,so she lives with an un-kind aunt and her children.Then Jane goes away to a school called Lowood.This school is a terrible place,and it is very like the school at Cowan Bridge.Jane Eyre's best friend, Helen Burns,falls ill at the school, and dies. This Helen is just like my own little Maria.When I read about her death,my eyes fillled with tears.But it was a beautiful book, too;I did not want to put it down.
我想我讀了兩個(gè)鐘頭,卻好像只有10分鐘,這是本奇妙而美麗的書——關(guān)于一個(gè)叫簡(jiǎn)·愛的女孩的故事。她父母死了,所以和一個(gè)壞舅媽及她的孩子們住在一起,后來(lái)簡(jiǎn)去了一個(gè)叫勞渥德的學(xué)校,那是個(gè)可怕的地方,非常像考恩橋的那所學(xué)校。簡(jiǎn)·愛最好的朋友,海倫·彭斯,在學(xué)校染上了病,死了。這個(gè)海倫就像是我的小瑪麗亞。當(dāng)我讀到她的死時(shí),雙眼噙滿淚水。但這確是一本優(yōu)美的書。我簡(jiǎn)直不想把它放下來(lái)。
At five o'clock I got up and went into the sitting-room. My three daughters sat there waiting for me.Their eyes were very bright.I still had tears in my eyes,but I had a big smile on my face too.I held up Jane Eyre in my hand,and said:'Girls,do you know Charlotte has written a book? And it is more than good, you know—it is very, very fine indeed!'
5點(diǎn)鐘我起身走進(jìn)客廳,我的3個(gè)女兒都在那兒等著我。她們的眼睛都閃著亮。我的眼里還含著眼淚,可臉上帶著舒心的笑容。我舉起《簡(jiǎn)·愛》,說(shuō):“孩子們,你們知道夏洛蒂寫了本書嗎?它簡(jiǎn)直棒極了,你們知道嗎——確實(shí)非常、非常好!”