9 Arthur Nicholls

That was not the end of my sadness．Anne，too，became ill．She could not breathe，she coughed，her face was white．But she was more sensible² than Emily．She took all her medicines，and did everything the doctors said．It didn't help much．In the spring she said she wanted to go to the sea，to a warmer place．The doctors told her to wait．I thought she would die before she went．

At last，in May， Charlotte went away with her． They went to York first，where they visited a wonderful church，York Minster．'If men can make something as beautiful as this，'Anne whispered，'what is God⁴'s real home like？'

Charlotte told me this in a letter she sent from Scarborough，a town by the sea on the north-east coast．

'On 26th May Anne rode a donkey⁶ on the beach，'the letter said．'She was very happy，papa．Afterwards⁷ we went to church and then sat and watched the sea for a long time．On the 28th she was too ill to go out． She died quietly at two o'clock in the afternoon．She will be buried⁸ in a graveyard⁹ near the sea．'

Anne was the baby of the family，the youngest and prettiest of them all．Before she died，she wrote another book-The Tenant¹⁰ of Wildfell Hall—about a woman who left her cruel¹¹ husband．She was proud of it，and so was I．She was twenty-nine years old．I don't want to die，papa，'she said．' I have too many ideas in my head，too many books to write．'

When Charlotte came home the dogs barked¹² happily．Per－haps they thought Anne and Emily and Branwell were coming home too—I don't know．But it was only Charlotte．The smallest of all my children．Not the prettiest，not the strongest，not the strangest．God had taken all those for himself．He had left me with the one who would become the most famous．And the one who nearly had a child．

Charlotte wrote two more books：Shirley，about a strong brave woman like her sister Emily；and Villette，about love be－tween a teacher and a pupil．But Jane Eyre was her most fa－mous book．Everyone in England talked abut¹³ it；everyone wanted to read it．

Charlotte went to London and met many famous writers． I was very pleased；I loved to hear about the people and places that she saw．But she always came back to Haworth；she didn't like to be with famous people very long．And this quiet place was her home．

In 1852，just before Christmas，a terrible thing happened．I heard some of it from my room．My curate，Arthur Nicholls，opened the door to Charlotte's sitting－room， and stood there．His face was white，and he was shaking．

'Yes，Mr Nicholls？'Charlotte said．'Do you want to come in？'

'No，Miss Charlotte—that is， yes． I mean— I have some－thing important to say to you．'

I heard his voice stop for a moment and then he went on．'I have always…felt strongly about you，Miss Charlotte，and…my feelings are stronger，much stronger，than you know．And，well， the fact is， Miss Charlotte， that…I am asking you to be my wife．'

There was a long silence．I heard every word，and I felt cold and angry．Mr Nicholls was a good curate，but that was all．I paid him ￡100 a year to help me with my work，but he had no place in my house，or in my daughter's bed！I stood up， and opened my door．

'Mr，Nichols！'

He turned and looked at me．I could see Charlotte behind him．

'You will leave this house at once，Mr Nicholls．I am very，very angry！You must not speak to my daughter again-ever！Do you understand me？'

The stupid¹⁵ man was shaking and almost crying！I thought he was ill．He opened his mouth to speak，but no words came out．Then he turned and went out of the door．

Mr Nicholls stayed in his own house for three days．He re－fused to eat，the stupid man， and he sent me some angry letters．But Charlotte wrote to him，to say that she would not marry him．Then Mr Nicholls said he would leave Haworth，and go to Australia．

On his last day，in church， he had to give people bread to eat．But when he held out the bread to Charlotte，he could not do it， because he was shaking and crying so much． Afterwards，the people of Haworth gave him a gold watch．He cried aboutthat， too．

I thought it was all finished，but I was wrong．I think he wrote to Charlotte，and she wrote back．In April of 1854，he came back to Haworth．Charlotte brought him into my room． I looked at him， but I said nothing． I was not pleased．

'Papa，'Charlotte said．'Mr Nicholls and I have something to say to you．'

I did not like that．'Mr Nicholls and I…'It did not sound good to me．

'I am busy，'I said．'I have a lot of work．'

Charlotte smiled．'That's because you don't have a good curate，papa．When Mr Nicholls was here，your life was easy．'

'Perhaps，'I said．'But he was going to Australia， I thought．Why haven't you gone，sir？'

Mr Nicholls spoke¹⁶ for the first time．He looked very tall and proud，I thought．'There are two reasons，sir，'he said．'First，because I have decided¹⁷ not to go to Australia．And also…'

He stopped，and looked down at Charlotte． She smiled up at him，and I felt my blood run cold．

'…and also，because your daughter Charlotte and I would like to be married．We have come to ask you to agree．'

I don't remember what I said next．I think there were a lot of unkind¹⁹ words between us，and some tears．But in the end I agreed．I agreed because Charlotte wanted it，not because of Arthur Nicholls．

In June that year they were married¹⁸ in my church．I did not go—I could not give Charlotte away to that man．But he came back here to be my curate， and he and Charlotte lived in this house with me．He is still here now．

Perhaps he will read this． If he does， he will know that he was right，and I was wrong．Mr Nicholls was，after all，a good husband for Charlotte．I understood，after a while， that he honestly loved her， and he could make her happy．She began to smile and laugh again．Her eyes shone，she sang sometimes as she worked．Our house became a home again．

She went with him to see his family in Ireland，and travelled to the far west of that country．Mr Nicholls did most of my church work for me． Charlotte began a new book Emma，she called it．And one day in December 1854 she came into my room，smiling．I could see that she was excited．

'What is it，my dear？ Have you finished your book？'

'No，not yet，papa．But I have something wonderful to tell you．What do you think？'

'I don't know，my dear． If it's not your book，then…'

'I told Arthur yesterday．I am going to have a child．'

I did not say anything．Her hand was on the table and I put my hand on it gently．It was wonderful news．I remembered when my own wife，Maria，had told me this， and how this house had been full of the laughter²² of little voices，and the noise of running feet．Charlotte and I sat like that for a long time， re-membering．

It did not happen．At Christmas she fell ill， and in the New Year she was worse．She felt sick all the time because of the baby， and she ate nothing．She lay in bed all day，hot and coughing．Arthur Nicholls cared for her wonderfully——I think he often stayed awake all night．But it did not help．

On 31st March 1855 the last of my six children died． It was early in the morning．Arthur Nicholls was sitting by her bed，and I was standing²³ by the door．She was asleep with her hand in his．Her face was very thin and pale．

She opened her eyes and saw him．Then she coughed，and I saw fear in her face．

'Oh God，'she whispered．I am not going to die， am I ？Please don't take me away from Arthur now-we have been so happy．'

Those were the last words she ever said．A little while later，I walked slowly out of the house．As I went into the graveyard，the church bell began to ring．It was ringing to tell Haworth and all the world that Charlotte Bront was dead．

9 亚瑟•尼可斯

我的悲哀还没有结束。安妮也开始生病了，她呼吸费力，咳嗽着，脸色苍白。但她比爱米丽明智，她吃了各种药，完全遵医嘱行事。可是并不管用。春天来了，她说想去海边，去一个暖和些的地方，可大夫们让她等等。我预感到她可能等不到动身就会死去。

最后在5月份，夏洛蒂和她一起，先去了约克，在那儿参观了美丽的约克•敏斯特大教堂。“人类的作品已经如此美丽，”安妮叹息道，“上帝的家园又会是什么样呢？”

夏洛蒂在一封寄自斯卡伯勒的信中向我讲述了这件事，那是位于东北部海边的一个城镇。

“5月26日安妮在岸边骑了一头驴子。”信中写道，“她非常快活，爸爸。然后我们去了教堂，又坐着，看着大海，在那儿待了很长时间。28号她病得不能出门。下午两点钟她静静地死了。她将葬在海边的墓地。”

安妮是家中最小的孩子，最年轻，也最漂亮。她死前写了另一本书——《瓦尔德费尔庄园的房客》——关于一个妇女离开她残酷的丈夫的故事。她为这本书自豪，我也是。她当时29岁。“我不想死，爸爸。”她说，“我脑子里还有许多许多构思，我还有许多许多的书要写。”

夏洛蒂回家时，狗儿们欢快地叫着。或许它们以为安妮、爱米丽和布兰韦尔也一同回来了——我不知道。可是只有夏洛蒂。我所有孩子中个子最小的一个，她不是最美的，不是最坚强的，也不是最怪异的一个。上帝把其他孩子都召了回去，只留给我这个，但她将成为最有名的一个。她差一点就有了自己的孩子。

夏洛蒂又写了另外两本书，《雪莉》是关于一个像爱米丽一样坚强勇敢的妇女的故事；《维莱特》写的是一对师生之间的爱情故事。不过《简•爱》是她最著名的作品，英国上下每个人都在谈论它，每个人都想读它。

夏洛蒂去了伦敦，会晤了许多有名的作家。我非常高兴；我爱听她谈论她见到的人和去过的地方。她最后总是回到霍沃斯。她不喜欢和有名的人物在一起待太长时间。只有这个安静的地方才是她的家。

1852年圣诞节前，发生了一件可怕的事。我从房间里听到一些声音。我的副牧师，亚瑟•尼可斯先生，推开了夏洛蒂起居室的门，站在那儿。他脸色苍白，浑身发抖。

“哦，尼可斯先生，”夏洛蒂说，“您想进来吗？”

“不，夏洛蒂小姐，——我是说是的。我的意思是——我有件重要的事要告诉您。”

我听见他的声音停了一下，又继续说道：“我对您总是……有一种强烈的感情，夏洛蒂小姐，而且……我的感情越来越强烈，比您知道的要强烈的多。嗯，那么，事实是，夏洛蒂小姐，那就是……我请求您做我的妻子。”

一段长时间的沉默。我听见了每一个字，我又冷、又生气。尼可斯先生是个优秀的副牧师，但仅此而已。我一年付他100英镑来帮我，可他在我家里没有位置，更不可能和我女儿结婚！我站起身，把门推开。

“尼可斯先生！”

他转过身来看着我。我看见夏洛蒂站在他身后。

“你马上离开这所房子，尼可斯先生！我非常生气！不许你再和我女儿说话——永远！你听明白了吗？”

那个笨家伙浑身颤抖着，快要哭出来了。我觉得他是生病了。他张开嘴巴，可是一个字也说不出。他转身走出了房门。

尼可斯先生在他的房间呆了3天。他绝食，这个笨家伙还写了些愤怒的信给我。但夏洛蒂也给他写了信，说她不会嫁给他。后来尼可斯先生说他要离开霍沃斯，去澳大利亚。

最后一天，在教堂他得给人们做分面包的仪式。当他把面包递给夏洛帝时，他简直不能进行下去了，他哆嗦着，哭得那么厉害。然后，霍沃斯的人们送了他一块金表。他为这个又哭了。

我以为一切结束了，可我错了。我猜他写信给夏洛蒂，而她也回了信。1854年4月，他又回到了霍沃斯，夏洛蒂把他带进我的房间，我看着他，一言不发。我挺不高兴。

“爸爸，”夏洛蒂说，“尼可斯先生和我有件事要告诉您。”

我可不乐意她那么说：“尼可斯先生和我……”听上去不大妙。

“我没空，”我说，“我有好多事要干。”

夏洛蒂微笑了，“那是因为您没有一个称职的副牧师，爸爸。如果尼可斯先生在这儿，您会很轻松的。”

“也许吧，”我说道，“但我记得他要去澳大利亚的呀。您怎么还没有走呵，先生？”

尼可斯先生第一次开口讲了话。我记得他看上去个子很高，神情自豪。“有两个原因，先生，”他说，“首先是因为我决定不去澳大利亚了，另外……”

他停下来，低头看着夏洛蒂。她抬头笑吟吟地望着他。我觉得血液都要冷却了。

“……另外，因为您的女儿夏洛蒂和我要结婚了。我们现在是来请求您的同意的。”

我记不得后来我说了什么，大概是我们两人之间说了一大堆不友好的话，都流了泪。不过最后我还是同意了。之所以这样做是为了夏洛蒂，这是她想要的；而不是因为亚瑟•尼可斯。

那年6月份，他们在我主持的教堂结了婚，可我没去——我不愿把夏洛蒂交给那个男人。但他仍回到这里来作我的副牧师。他、夏洛蒂和我一起住在这所房子里。他现在还在这儿。

或许他会读到这段文字。如果读了，他就会知道他是对的，而我错了。不管怎样，尼可斯先生是夏洛蒂的好丈夫。他们结婚之后我才看出来。他真诚地爱着她，也给她带来了欢乐。她开始笑了，她的眸子闪耀着光彩。有时工作着就会唱起歌来。我们的家又像个家了。

她和他一起去过他的爱尔兰老家，一直旅行到西边的尽头。尼可斯先生为我分担了教堂的绝大部分工作；夏洛蒂开始着手写一本新书——《爱玛》。1854年12月的一天，她来到了我的房间，脸上挂着微笑，看得出她很兴奋。

“怎么了，亲爱的？你写完书了？”

“不，还没呢，爸爸。但我有个好消息告诉您。您猜是什么？”

“我猜不出，亲爱的。如果不是关于书的，那么……”

“我昨天已经告诉了亚瑟。我怀孕了。”

我什么也没说。她的手正放在桌上，我轻轻地把手放到她的手上。这真是个好消息。我记得妻子玛丽亚也曾告诉我这样的好消息，当时房子里是如何地充满了那些稚嫩的欢笑和欢快跑动的脚步声。夏洛蒂和我就那么坐了好久，回忆着这一切。

可事情并未发生。圣诞节时她病了，到了元旦她病得更重了。由于胎儿的缘故，她一直在生病，什么也吃不下。她整天躺在床上，发着烧而且咳嗽。亚瑟•尼可斯很细心地照顾她——我想他经常整宿地不睡，但这也无济于事。

1855年3月31日，我6个孩子中的最后一个死了。那是个清晨，亚瑟•尼可斯坐在她的床边，我站在门旁。她握着他的手睡着了。她的脸是那么消瘦、苍白。

她睁开眼睛看着他，然后又是一阵咳嗽，在她脸上我看到了恐惧的神色。

“噢，上帝，”她叹息道，“我不会死的，是吗？请别现在就把我从亚瑟身边带走——我们是多么幸福啊！”

那是她最后的话。过了一小会儿，我慢慢地走出了屋子。当我走向墓地时，教堂的钟敲响了，那是在告诉霍沃斯和全世界，夏洛蒂•勃朗特去世了。