牛津书虫3级 10The Bronte Story.docx
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牛津书虫3级 10The Bronte Story.docx
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牛津书虫3级10TheBronteStory
TheBronteStory
1Haworth
Therewasacoldwindthisafternoon,butthesunshoneforanhourortwo.Iwalkedoutonthemoorsbehindthehouse.Thesheepwerehidingfromthewindunderthestonewalls,andthereweregreycloudsoverthehillstothewest.ItisonlyNovember,butIcouldsmellsnowintheair.
Itwillbeacoldwinter,thisyearof1855.
therectorofthevillageofHaworth.Haworthisavillageofsmall,greystonehousesonthesideofahillinthenorthofEngland,andIliveinahouseatthetopofthehill,nexttothechurchandthegraveyard.
Iwalkedthroughthegraveyardtothechurchthisafternoon.AllmyfamilyexceptAnneareburiedthere.Thewindhadblownsomedeadleavesthroughthedoorintothechurch,andIwatchedthemdancinginthesunlightnearthegrave.SoonIshallbeinthatgravewithmywifeandchildren,underthecoldgreystoneanddancingleaves.
Itisdarkoutsidenow,anditisveryquietinthishouse.Charlotte'shusband,MrNicholls,isreadinginhisroom,andourservantiscookinginthekitchen.Onlythethreeofusliveherenow.Itisveryquiet.Icanhearthesoundsofthewoodburninginthefire,andthebigclockonthestairs.
Thereisanothersoundtoo—thesoundofthewindoutside.Thewindhasmanyvoices.Itsingsandlaughsandshoutstoitselfallnightlong.Lastnightitcriedlikealittlechild,andIgotoutofbedandwenttothewindowtolisten.
Therewasnochild,ofcourse.Onlythewindandthegrave-stones,coldinthepalemoonlight.ButIdecidedthenthatIwouldwritethestoryofmychildren,today,beforeitistoolate.Charlotte'sfriend,MrsGaskell,iswritingabookabouther,andperhapsshewillwanttoreadmystory.
Itisafinestory.ItbeganinApril1820,whenwecametoHaworthforthefirsttime...
Therewasastrongwindblowingthatdaytoo,outofadark,cloudysky.Wecouldseesnowonthemoors.TheroadtoHaworthgoesupahill,andtherewasiceonthestonesoftheroadMaria,mywife,wasafraidtorideupthehillinthecarts.
'We'llwalk,children,'shesaid.'Ifoneofthosehorsesfallsdown,there'llbeaterribleaccident.Comeon,let'sgoandseeournewhouse.'
Shewasasmallwoman,mywife,andnotverystrong.Butshecarriedthebaby,Anne,upthehillinherarms.IcarriedEmily—shewasoneandahalfyearsoldthen.Theotherswalked.Mytwo-year-oldson,PatrickBranwell,walkedwithme,andCharlotte,whowasnearlyfour,walkedwithhermother.Thetwooldestchildren—ElizabethandMaria—ranoninfront.Theywereveryexcited,andlaughedandtalkedalltheway.
ThepeopleofHaworthcameouttowatchus.Someofthemhelped,butmostofthemjuststoodintheirdoorwaysandwatched.Theyareverypoorpeople,inthisvillage.Iwastheirnewrector.
Wehadsevencartstocarryourfurnitureupthaticyhill,butitwashardworkforthehorses.Whenwereachedourhouse,thewindwasblowinghadinourfaces.Mywifehur-riedinside,andbegantolightfires.
'Doyoulikeit,mydear?
'Iaskedherthatnight,whenthechildrenwereinbed.Shelookedpaleandtired.Ithoughtitwasbecauseofthelongjourney,andthechildren.Perhapsitwas.
Sheheldoutherhandstothefire,andsaid:
'Ofcourse,Patrick.It'safinehouse.Idohopeitwillbeagoodhomeforyou,andthechildren.'
Iwasalittlesurprisedbythat.'Andforyou,Maria,'Isaid.'Don'tforgetyourself.Youarethemostimportantper-sonintheworld,tome.'
Shesmiledthen—alovelysmile.'Thankyou,Patrick,'shesaid.Shewasaverysmallwoman,andshewasoftentiredbecauseofthechildren.Butwhenshesmiledatmelikethat,IthoughtshewasthemostbeautifulwomaninEngland.
Ayearandahalflater,shewasdead.
Shedidnotdiequickly.Shewasinbedforsevenlongmonths,inawfulpain.Thedoctorcameoften,andhersisterElizabethcametoo,tohelp.Thechildrenwereill,aswell.Itwasaterribletime.
MywifeMariadiedinSeptember,1821.Shewasthirty-eight.Itwasmyjobtoburyherinthechurch.Oursixyoungchildrenstoodandwatchedquietly.
Afterwards,wewentbacktothehouse.Icalledthemintothisroomandspoketothem.
Isaid:
'Youmustnotcrytoomuch,mydears.YourmotheriswithGodnow.Sheishappy.Onedayyouwillalldie,andifyouaregood,youwillgotoGodtoo.'
'Butwhy?
'Mariaasked.'Whydidshedienow,father?
Weneedher.'
'Thisworldisahardplace,children,andwecannotunder-standeverythingthatGoddoes.ButGodlovesus,neverforgetthat.Yourmotherlovedyou,andperhapsshecanseeyounow.Wemustalltrytoworkhard,learnasmuchaspossible,andbekindtoeachother.Willyoudothat?
'
'Yes,father.'
Theyalllookedsosad,Iremember,andtheylistenedsocarefully.LittleEmilysaid:
'Whowillbeourmothernow?
'
'Mariaistheoldest,soshewillhelpme.Youmustalllistentoher,anddowhatshesays.AndyourAuntElizabethishere,too.Perhapsshewillstayforawhile.'
Elizabethdidstay.Shewasolderthanmywife,andshewasn'tmarried.WecalledherAuntBranwell.ShecamefromPenzanceinCornwall,awarm,sunnyplacebytheseainthesouth—westofEngland.ItisoftencoldonthemoorsbehindHaworth,andthewindsblowallwinter.AuntBranwellhatedHaworth,butshestayedhereallherlife,tohelpmewithhersister'schildren.Shewasagood,kindwoman.
IwasveryproudofmylittleMaria.Shewasonlyeightyearsold,butsheworkedalldaylikeanadult.Shehelpedthelittleonestogetwashedanddressed;shehelpedthemtoplayanddrawandread.Shewaslikealittlemothertothem.
Shecouldreadverywellherself.Wealwayshadbooksandnewspapersinthehouse,andItalkedtothechildrenaboutthemeveryday.Italkedtothemaboutadultthings:
theDukeofWellington,andtheimportantthingsthathewasdoinginLondon.Thechildrenlistenedcarefully,andtriedhardtoun-derstand.Mariaoftenreadtotheothersfromthenewspaper,andaskedmequestionsaboutit.Sheunderstooditbetterthanmostmen.
Iwassuremychildrenwereveryclever.ButIdidnothavetimetotalktothemallday;Ihadmyworktodo.So,in1824,Isentthemtoschool.
2CowanBridgeSchool
IwasborninasmallhouseinIreland.Therewereonlytworoomsinourhouse,andIhadninebrothersandsisters.Myparentswereverypoor.Wehadnomoney,andonlyasmallfarm.Butwedidhaveachurchnearus,andthatchurchhadaschool.
Thatschoolgavememyonechanceofsuccess.Iworkedveryhardthere,andwhenIwassixteen,Ibecameateacher.ThenIwenttoStJohn'sCollege,Cambridge,tostudysomemore.Ibecameacurate.WhenImarried,Iwasabletogetagoodjobandahouseformyfamily.IgotallthatbecauseIworkedsohardatschool.
IwantedmychildrentogotothebestschoolthatIcouldfind.CowanBridgeSchoolwasaschoolforthedaughtersofchurchmen.Itbelongedtoachurchman—MrWilson.Hewasagoodman,Ithought.Ilikedtheschool,anditwasnottooexpensive.So,inJuly1824,ItookMariaandElizabeththere.InSeptember,ItookCharlotteand,inNovember,Emilyaswell.Emilywasjustsixthen,andCharlottewaseight.
Irememberhowquietthehousewasthatautumn.IntheeveningsItaughtmyson,Branwell,andmywife'ssisterlookedaftertheyoungestchild,Anne.Ioftenthoughtaboutthegirls.Myeldest,Maria,wasagood,clevergirl—Ithoughtshemustbethebestpupilintheschool.Iwaitedforherletters,andwonderedwhatnewthingsshewaslearning.
Shedidtellmesomethingsinherletters,butnotenough.Shetoldmeshelikedtheschoolwork,andIwaspleased.Butshedidnottellmeaboutthefood,orthecold,ortheunkindteachers.Charlottetoldmethosethings,muchlater.IknowMariadidnottellmethatthefoodwasoftenburntanduneat-able,orthattheycouldnotsleepbecausethebedsweretoocold.Shedidnottellmethatthepoorhungrychildrenhadtowashwithiceinthemorning,andwalkthroughwetsnowtositfortwohourswithicyfeetinacoldchurchonSundays.Shedidnottellmethatmanyofthechildrenattheschoolwereill.
Youdidn'ttellmethat,didyou,Maria?
Didyou?
Ordidyoutrytowritesomething,andstopbecauseyouwereafraidoftheteachers?
Youwereagood,bravechild,andIwassoproudofyou,sopleasedbecauseyouwereatschool.Iwantedyoutolearneverything;Ididn'twantyoutobepoorlikemysisters.Godhelpme,IthoughtyouwerehappyatCowanBridgeSchool!
TherewerenoChristmasholidaysattheschool,anditwastoodifficulttotraveloverthecold,windyhillstovisitmylittlegirls.SoIsatathomehereinHaworth,withAuntBranwell,myson,andthelittlegirl,Anne.Outside,thewindblewsnowoverthegravestones,andtherewasiceonourwindows.
OnChristmasDaylittleAnnelookedlonely.Sheaskedmeabouthersisters.
'Don'tworry,mydear,'Isaid.'Theyarehappy,withtheothergirlsatschool.YoushallgotoCowanBridge,too,whenyouareolder.'
Irememberhowstrangelyshelookedatmethen.Shewasonlyfour,andverypretty.Shesmiledatme,butherfacewentverywhite,andherhandsstartedtoshake.Idon'tknowwhy.Ithoughtshewascold,andIputsomemorewoodonthefire.ThenAuntBranwellreadherastoryfromtheBible,andIfor-gotaboutit.
InFebruaryalettercame.Itwasinanadult'shandwriting,notMaria'Manychildrenintheschoolhavebeenill,andyourdaughterMaria...
Myhandbegantoshakebadly,andIdroppedtheletteronthefloor.AsIpickeditup,Icouldseeonlyoneword—dead...IfyourdaughterMariadoesnotcomehomesoon,shewillbedead.
Iwentoverthehillstobringherback.MyMariawasinasmallbedinacoldroomupstairs,coughingbadly.ElizabethandCharlotteandEmilystoodbesideher,waitingforme.T
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