2 Cowan Bridge School 
　  
　　I was born in a small house in Ireland．There were only two rooms in our house，and I had nine brothers and sisters．My parents were very poor．We had no money，and only a small farm．But we did have a church near us， and that church had a school． 
　　That school gave me my one chance of success．I worked very hard there，and when I was sixteen，I became a teacher．Then I went to St John's College，Cambridge，to study some more．I became a curate．When I married，I was able to get a good job and a house for my family．I got all that because I worked so hard at school． 
　　I wanted my children to go to the best school that I could find．Cowan Bridge School was a school for the daughters of churchmen．It belonged to a churchman—Mr Wilson．He was a good man，I thought．I liked the school，and it was not too expensive．So，in July 1824，I took Maria and Elizabeth there．In September，I took Charlotte and，in November，Emily as well．Emily was just six then，and Charlotte was eight． 
　　I remember how quiet the house was that autumn．In the evenings I taught my son，Branwell，and my wife's sister looked after the youngest child，Anne．I often thought about the girls．My eldest，Maria，was a good，clever girl—I thought she must be the best pupil in the school．I waited for her letters，and wondered what new things she was learning． 
　　She did tell me some things in her letters，but not enough．She told me she liked the schoolwork，and I was pleased．But she did not tell me about the food，or the cold，or the unkind teachers．Charlotte told me those things，much later．I know Maria did not tell me that the food was often burnt and uneat－able，or that they could not sleep because the beds were too cold．She did not tell me that the poor hungry children had to wash with ice in the morning，and walk through wet snow to sit for two hours with icy feet in a cold church on Sundays． She did not tell me that many of the children at the school were ill． 
　　You didn't tell me that， did you，Maria？Did you？Or did you try to write something，and stop because you were afraid of the teachers？You were a good，brave child，and I was so proud of you，so pleased because you were at school．I wanted you to learn everything；I didn't want you to be poor like my sisters．God help me，I thought you were happy at Cowan Bridge School！ 
　　There were no Christmas holidays at the school，and it was too difficult to travel over the cold，windy hills to visit my little girls．So I sat at home here in Haworth，with Aunt Branwell，my son，and the little girl，Anne．Outside，the wind blew snow over the gravestones，and there was ice on our windows． 
　　On Christmas Day little Anne looked lonely．She asked me about her sisters． 
　　'Don't worry，my dear，'I said．'They are happy，with the other girls at school．You shall go to Cowan Bridge，too，when you are older．' 
　　I remember how strangely she looked at me then．She was only four，and very pretty．She smiled at me，but her face went very white，and her hands started to shake．I don't know why．I thought she was cold，and I put some more wood on the fire．Then Aunt Branwell read her a story from the Bible，and I for－got about it． 
　　In February a letter came．It was in an adult's handwriting，not Maria' 
　　 
　　Many children in the school have been ill，and your daughter Maria... 
　　My hand began to shake badly，and I dropped the letter on the floor．As I picked it up，I could see only one word—dead ...If your daughter Maria does not come home soon，she will be dead． 
　　I went over the hills to bring her back．My Maria was in a small bed in a cold room upstairs，coughing badly．Elizabeth and Charlotte and Emily stood beside her，waiting for me．They looked so sad and ill and frightened．I remember the big eyes in their small white faces．But I did not bring them home then；the school doctor said it was not necessary． So I took Maria home across the cold，windy moors to Haworth．I sat be－side her in the coach and held her hand all the way．I remem－ber how cold her hand was in mine．Thin cold fingers，that did not move at all． 
　　It was too late to save her．She lay in bed upstairs for nearly three months，but she was too ill to eat．Her poor face was white，I remember，and it seemed thin and small like a dead child's．Only her eyes looked alive—big dark eyes in a thin white face．'Don't cry，father，'she said to me once．' I shall be with mother soon，you know．And with God．' 
　　I buried Maria beside her mother，and a month later I buried Elizabeth there，too．She became ill at school，and a woman from the school brought her home．I brought Charlotte and Emily home two weeks later．They were here when Elizabeth died．Her body lay all night in a wooden box on the table，and her little sisters and brother kissed her before she was buried． 
　　I had wanted so much for these two girls，and now I had nothing．I stood in the church，and looked at the summer flow－ers I had put on their grave．I remembered how my wife had held the girls in her arms，and how she had smiled at me when we looked at them．'They have come back to you now，Maria，'I said．'I am sorry．I am so sorry，my love．'  
　 
2 考恩桥学校 
　  
　　我生于爱尔兰的一座小房子里。家里只有两个房间，我有9个兄弟姐妹。父亲很穷，我们没有钱，只有一个小农场。附近有个教堂，那个教堂有一所学校。 
　　这所学校赋予了我一个成功的机会。我非常努力，16岁时，我成了一名教师，后来我去剑桥的圣约翰学院深造。我成了副牧师。等到我成家的时候，我得到了一份好工作和一座房子。这一切得益于我在学校的努力。 
　　我要我的孩子上我能找到的最好的学校。考恩桥学校是专为牧师的女儿们开办的。它属于一个牧师——威尔逊先生。我认为他是个好人。我喜欢这所学校，而且它也不太贵。在1842年7月，我把玛丽亚和伊丽莎白送到了那里。9月份，我又把夏洛蒂送到那儿。11月份又送去了爱米丽。爱米丽当时只有6岁，夏洛蒂8岁。 
　　我记得那年秋天，家里变得非常安静。晚上我教儿子布兰韦尔念书；我妻子的姐姐照料最小的孩子安妮。我时常惦记我的女儿们。我的大女儿玛丽亚是个善良聪明的女孩，我相信她一定是学校中最好的学生。我等着她的来信，猜想着她又学到了什么新的东西。 
　　在信中她的确给我讲了一些事，但还不够多。她只告诉我她喜欢学校的功课，我很高兴。但她没讲起学校的饮食、寒冷和严厉的教师。夏洛蒂后来告诉我了，但那已是很久以后的事了。我知道玛丽亚没有告诉我食物经常烧焦，难以下咽；床铺冰冷得令人无法入睡。她没有告诉我可怜的孩子们经常一大早饿着肚子，却不得不用冰水漱洗，然后踏着积雪去教堂，星期天在冰冷的教堂里坐上两个钟头，双脚冻得冰凉。她也没有告诉我学校有许多孩子都生病了。 
　　玛丽亚，你没有告诉我这些，是吗？或许你试着写可又停了笔，因为你害怕老师知道。你是个善良聪明的孩子，我那么地以你为荣，为你在学校念书而高兴。我希望你学会所有的东西；我不想你像我的姐妹们那么穷困一生。上帝，帮帮我，我以为你在考恩桥学校是快活的呀！ 
　　圣诞节学校也不放假，对我来说，要爬过寒风呼啸的山峦去看我的女儿们太困难了。所以，我和布兰韦尔姨妈、儿子和小女儿安妮留在霍沃斯的家中。屋外，寒风把雪卷到墓碑上空，窗户上都结了冰。 
　　圣诞节那天小安妮显得很孤单。她向我问起姐姐们。 
　　“别担心，亲爱的。”我说，“她们和其他孩子在学校里很快活。你长大了也要去考恩桥学校。” 
　　我记得她听了以后那么奇怪地看着我，她只有4岁，非常漂亮。她冲我笑了笑，可是脸却变得非常苍白，双手也开始颤抖起来。我不知道是怎么回事。我以为她冷，就往火里加了些木头。然后布兰韦尔姨妈给她念圣经里的一个故事，我就把这事忘了。 
　　2月份时来了一封信，不是玛丽亚写的，而是一个成年人的笔迹。“亲爱的勃朗特先生，”上面写道，“恐怕有个坏消息要通知您。学校里有很多孩子都病了，您的女儿玛丽亚……” 
　　我的手剧烈地哆嗦起来，信纸滑落到地板上。我捡起来，只看见一个字——“死……如果您的女儿玛丽亚不赶快回家的话，她会死的。” 
　　我翻山越岭去接她回家。我的小玛丽亚躺在楼上一间冰冷房间的小床上，剧烈地咳嗽着。伊丽莎白、夏洛蒂和爱米丽站在床边等着我。她们看上去好像病了，又伤心又惊恐不安。我记得她们苍白的小脸上大大的眼睛！但是我没有把她们也接回家；学校的医生说用不着。于是我只带着玛丽亚穿过寒风呼啸的荒野回到霍沃斯。一路上我在马车里坐在她身旁，握着她的手。我还记得她的手在我手心里是多么的冰凉啊。手指又细又凉，一动也不动。 
　　要挽救她的生命还是太晚了。她在楼上的床上躺了近三个月，病得不能吃东西。我记得她那苍白的小脸看上去那么瘦小，像个死孩子一样。只有眼睛看上去还是活生生的——瘦削、苍白的脸上大大的黑眼睛。“别哭，爸爸。”有一次她对我说，“你知道，我很快就要和妈妈在一起了。和上帝在一起。” 
　　我把玛丽亚埋在她妈妈的旁边。1个月以后我又掩埋了伊丽莎白，她在学校生了病，被学校的一个女人送回了家。两周后我把夏洛蒂和爱米丽接了回来。伊丽莎白死时她们都在家。她的尸体在桌上的木盒里放了整夜，下葬前她的小妹妹们和小弟弟亲吻了她。 
　　我曾在这两个女孩子身上寄托了那么多希望，而现在我什么也没有了。我站在教堂里看着我放在她们坟上的花儿。我还记得我妻子如何把她们搂在怀里，记得当我看着她们时，她们是如何地向我微笑着。“她们回到你身边了，玛丽亚。”我说，“对不起，真对不起，亲爱的。” 
　　　    


 