3 The little books 
　  
　　I had four children now— Charlotte，Branwell，Emily and Anne．I did not send them to school again for many years．God's ways are hard to understand，I thought．Perhaps God was not pleased with me；perhaps He wanted Maria and Elizabeth for Himself．I decided to keep the others at home．Aunt Branwell could teach them，and I could help when I had time． 
　　They were clever children，quick at learning．They loved to write and draw and paint，and they talked all day long．And，thank God，they were not ill．In the afternoons，my servant，Tabby，took them for long walks on the moors behind the house．They walked for miles on the hilltops in the strong clean wind，alone with the birds and the sheep．I think it was good for them．They grew stronger，and there was a bright light in their eyes． 
　　I was not the only sad father in Haworth．Many，many chil-dren died，and I had to bury them all．The water in Haworth was bad，so many children died from illness．And many more died from accidents；I saw a hundred children die from fire．In my house，I was always very careful．I had no curtains，no car－pets，because I was afraid of fire．My children never wore cot－ton clothes，because they burn so easily． 
　　One day in 1826 I brought a box of toy soldiers home from Leeds．Next morning the children began to play games with them． 
　　'This one is mine！'Charlotte said．'He's the Duke of Wellington！' 
　　'And this is mine！'said Branwell．'He's Napoleon Bonaparte！' 
　　The children liked the wooden soldiers and began to tell a story about them．It was a very exciting story，I remember．They read it to me and Aunt Branwell and Tabby，our servant．The next day they invented another story，and then another．And then for several days the children were very quiet，and I wondered what they were doing． 
　　I went upstairs，and opened their bedroom door．Inside，they were all busily writing or drawing on small pieces of paper．The wooden soldiers were in the middle of the room in front of them． 
　　'What are you doing？'I asked． 
　　Emily looked up．'Oh，father，please go away，'she said． 
　　'We're writing our secret books．' 
　　I suppose I looked sad．'What？ Can't I see them？'I asked． 
　　They all thought for a minute．Then Charlotte said，very se－riously：'You can see some of them，of course，papa．But they aren't easy to read，because it's very small writing． We'll show them to you when we are ready．' 
　　These toy soldiers opened a new world for my children．They showed me some of their stories，but there were hundreds that tney kept secret．They all began writing so young—Charlotte，the oldest，was only ten，and Emily was eight．I don't think they ever stopped．Mr Nicholls has all Charlotte's little books now，in a cupboard in his room．Some of them are no more than five or six centimetres high．They are beautifully made，and full of small pictures and tiny writing．There is one on my desk now，but I can't read it，my eyes are too bad． 
　　Charlotte and Branwell wrote about a country called Angria，while Emily and Anne wrote about a land called Gondal．The paple in those countries fought battles and fell in love， and wrote letters and poems．My children wrote these poems and letters，and they wrote books about Angria and Gondal．They drew maps of the countries，wrote newspapers about them， and drew pictures of the towns and people in their stories．They in－vented a new world for themselves． 
　　They wrote many of these stories when I was in bed．I used to read to the family，and pray with them in the evening， and then I usually went to bed at nine o'clock．One night，I re-member，I woke up and came down again at ten．There was a noise in my room—this room where I am writing now． I opened the door and saw Charlotte and Branwell with a candle，looking at a picture on my wall． 
　　'What are you doing here？'I asked． 
　　'We're looking at the picture， papa，'Branwell said．'It's the Duke of Zamorna and the Duke of Northangerland fighting in Glasstown．' 
　　I looked at the picture．It's here now behind me．It's a pic－ture of a story in the Bible，with a town，mountains，and hun-dreds of people in It．'What do you mean？'I asked． 
　　'It's one of our stories，papa，'Charlotte said．'We have to come in here to look at the picture．Then we invent what hap-pens．' 
　　'Tell me，then，'I said．They both looked very excited；their faces were pink，and their eyes were bright in the candlelight．But they looked happy too．I put my candle on the table，and sat down here，where I am sitting now，to listen to their story． 
　　It was a wonderful story．Charlotte's wooden soldier，the Duke of Wellington，had had a son，Arthur，Duke of Zamorna．Branwell's toy soldier，Bonaparte，had become the strong， bad，good-looking Duke of Northangerland．The two Dukes were fighting a terrible battle in a city called Glasstown．There were soldiers who died bravely，and beautiful women who fell in love．I listened until two o'clock in the morning．There was much more，but I have forgotten it now． 
　　But I remember the excitement in my children's faces．Sometimes I thought they could actually see these people，as they talked． 
　　Next day they said no more about it，and I did not ask．It was their own secret world，and they did not let me into it again．But I was pleased they had told me about it once．And sometimes they showed me drawings of places in Angria or Gondal．All my children could draw and paint beautifully．Charlotte used watercolours，and often spent hours painting small pictures．Branwell used oil-paints as well． 
　  
3 小书 
　  
　　现在我只剩下了4个孩子——夏洛蒂、布兰韦尔，爱米丽和安妮。有好几年我没把他们送到学校去。我觉得上帝的做法不容易为人所理解。也许上帝对我不高兴，也许他自己想要玛丽亚和伊丽莎白。我决定把其他几个孩子留在家里，布兰韦尔姨妈能教他们，我有空的时候也能帮把手。 
　　他们都是很聪明的孩子，学得很快。他们喜欢写字、画画和涂涂画画，一天到晚地都在交谈。感谢上帝，他们没再生病。下午，我们的用人泰比会带他们到屋后的荒野散步。在清凉劲风中，他们在山顶上走好几英里，和那些鸟儿、羊儿们呆在一起。这对他们很有好处。他们长得结实些了，眼眸中熠熠闪光。 
　　在霍沃斯，我并不是唯一一个伤心的父亲，许多孩子都死了，都是由我来埋葬的。霍沃斯的水很糟糕，很多孩子因此生病死去。还有更多的孩子死于意外。我见过上百个孩子被火烧死。在自己家里我总是非常小心。我不挂窗帘，不铺地毯，因为我害怕火灾。我的孩子从不穿棉布衣服，那太容易着火了。 
　　1826年的一天我从商店买回一盒玩具兵，第二天一早孩子们就开始玩起士兵的游戏。 
　　“这个是我的！”夏洛蒂说，“他是惠灵顿公爵。” 
　　“这个是我的！”布兰韦尔说，“他是拿破仑·波拿巴。” 
　　孩子们喜欢这些木头士兵，编起了他们的故事。我记得那是个令人兴奋的故事。他们把故事念给我、布兰韦尔姨妈和用人泰比听。第二天他们又编出了新的故事，然后又是另一个。后来的几天孩子们变得很安静。我很奇怪，不知道他们究竟在干什么。 
　　我上了楼，推开他们卧室的门。屋内他们正忙着在纸上又写又画。木头士兵就摆在他们面前屋子的中央。 
　　“你们在干什么？”我问道。 
　　爱米丽抬起头说：“哦，爸爸，请走开！我们正在写要保密的书。” 
　　我想我看起来有点难过。“怎么，我不能看看吗？”我问。 
　　他们想了一会儿。然后夏洛蒂非常严肃地说：“当然，爸爸，你可以看一部分。但它们不太好读，字太小了。等我们写完了就给你看。” 
　　这些玩具兵为我的孩子们打开了一个新的世界。他们给我看了一些故事，可还有上百个故事对我保着密。他们那么小就开始写作了。最年长的夏洛蒂也才10岁，爱米丽8岁。自此以后他们就从未停止过写作。尼可斯先生现在把夏洛蒂的全部小书收藏在他房间的一个柜橱里。有几本差不多五六公分厚。它们制作精美，里面尽是小画和纤细的手写笔迹。还有一本现在就在我的书桌上，可是我读不了，我的眼神太差了。 
　　夏洛蒂和布兰韦尔写了一个叫安哥利亚的国家。爱米丽和安妮写了一片叫哥恩达尔的土地。那些地区的人们打仗、恋爱，写信和诗歌。孩子们不只写这些诗和信，还描绘了安哥利亚和哥恩达尔这两个国家。他们画了地图，编了它们的报纸，还画了故事中的城堡及人。他们为自己设计了一个新世界。 
　　我睡觉的时候他们就写很多这样的故事。我习惯念书给大家听，晚上和他们一起祷告，然后通常在9点钟时上床睡觉。记得一天夜里，我醒来，10点钟又下楼去。在我现在写作的房间听到了一点声音。我开门看见夏洛蒂和布兰韦尔举着一枝蜡烛，正在看我墙上的一幅画。 
　　“你们在这儿干什么？”我问。 
　　“我们在看画呢，爸爸。”布兰韦尔说道，“这是扎摩那公爵和北安哥兰公爵的玻璃城之战。” 
　　我看着画，它现在就在我身后。那是圣经里的一个故事，有城镇、山峦和几百个人。“你们是什么意思？”我问他们。 
　　“这是我们的一个故事，爸爸。”夏洛蒂说，“我们得来这儿看看它，这样才能把故事编出来。” 
　　“那么讲给我听听。”我说。他们看上去很兴奋，小脸红扑扑的，眼睛在烛光下闪闪发亮。看样子他们很开心。我把手中的蜡烛放到桌上，坐了下来——就是我现在坐的地方——听他们讲故事。 
　　那真是个奇妙的故事。夏洛蒂的木头兵是惠灵顿公爵，他有个叫亚瑟的儿子，也就是扎摩那公爵。布兰韦尔的木头兵波拿巴成了一个强壮、邪恶而又英俊的北安哥兰公爵。两个公爵在一个叫玻璃城的地方进行了一场激烈的战斗，士兵们英勇地死去，美丽的女人们堕入爱河。我一直听到凌晨两点。还有很多情节我现在已经忘记了。 
　　但我还记得孩子们脸上兴奋的表情。有时我觉得，当他们讲述时，他们真的都能看到那些人物。 
　　第二天他们不再提这件事了，我也没有再问。那是他们自己的秘密世界，不让我再进入。但我很高兴他们毕竟还是给我讲了一次。有时他们还给我看关于安哥利亚和哥恩达尔的画。我的孩子们都画得很棒。夏洛蒂经常花几小时用水彩来画这些小画布兰韦尔也用油画颜料画画。 
　　　    


 