Charlotte Bronte
It was in the cold weather，which follows the shortest day that wefirst came to England．1 was a little child at the time--perhaps four yearsold，or between that and five．The sea voyage if well remembered by me；the milky greenness of the waves，the curl of the foam，the dark meetingof December sea and sky，the glinting sea—birds and passing ships，madeeach an imprint on my vision which I yet retain——worn but not oblitera。。ted．
Where did we come？Where had we lived？What occasioned thisvoyage？Memory puzzles herself to reply to these questions．She reflectswith finger raised to her lips and eyes bent on the pavement．She turns toher chronicle and searches its faded pages where the records are SO pale，brief．and broken：this if all she reads—We came from a place where thebuildings were numerous and stately，where before white house—frontsthere rose here and there trees straight as spires，where there was one walkbroad and endlessl Y long，down which on certain days rolled two tidesone of people on roses，scarves fluttering，little parasols gay as tulips；andthe other of carriages rolling along rapid and quiet．Indeed，all was quietin this walk—it was a mysterious place：full of people but without noise．
We had lived in a house with slippery floors and no carpets；a house with many mirrors and many windows．In this house I know there was a hall with a door of red and violet glass，blowing brilliant in the shade of that end opposite the entrance．The bright portal opened into a garden，small but green，where there was turf，many flowers，and one tree．What chiefly made it green and filled it with leaf was the curtain of vines con—cealing the high walls—vines I know they were，because I remember both the grapes and the curled tendrils．
With whom did we live？To this question 1 can only reply with my father；and of him I have twenty reminiscences，but they are all scant and fragmentary．My farther—papa，as 1 called him—was the origin of all the punishments I had in those early days．I had an unreasonable wish to be always with him；and to this end，whenever the nurse who had charge of me turned her back，1 was apt to escape from the nursery and seek the study．Then 1 was caught，shaken，and sometimes whipped，which 1 well deserved．Whether my father knew how much I prized his presence I can-not pronounce．He was much engaged all day，frequently out，and when at home other gentlemen were with him；but it often happened of an evening that he would suddenly enter the nursery，come up to me as I sat in my little chair，stand a moment looking down at me，and as I held up my arms，full of pleasure，he would stoop，lift me，take me to his heart and say，“Polly may come downstairs now and be papa’S littlie visitors．”
Papa had a wonderfully interesting style conversation，intelligible tO my childish brain，delightful to my childish heart．He charmed while he taught me．I think he had a quick，fiery temper：his brain was indeed gen—tle for me，but not always for others．I remember him both hasty and stem，but never with me．I never irritated him．never feared to do SO．HowI liked to stroke his dark face with my hands，tO stand on his knees a11dcomb his hair，to rest my head against his shoulder and thus fall asleep！passing n．通过，死，逝去
adj．经过的；短暂的，一时间；越过的；偶然的，不经意的
adv．非常vision n．视觉，眼光，先见之明
V．梦见，显示，想象chronicle v．载入编年史entrance n．入口，门口；进入的权利；进入，就任，登场；入学许可
V．令出神，使狂喜，使陶醉curtain n．帐，窗帘，幕
V．装帘子于，遮掉fragmentary aaj．碎片的，零碎的；不连续的；不全的；碎屑状的temper n．脾气，趋向，调剂
V．锻炼，使缓和，调剂；经回火后具有的韧度童年
[英]夏洛蒂·勃朗特
那是我们第一次到英格兰，天很冷，即将来临的便是冬至：白昼最短的一天。当时我还是个孩子——可能是4岁，或者是四五岁的样子。那次航行我似乎仍然记忆犹新；那混浊发绿的海浪，随波荡漾的泡沫，12月的海与天暗淡的交融，一闪而过的海鸟和往来航行的船只，这一切依然历历在目——虽然只是一些破碎的记忆，却是那么难以忘却。
我们从哪里来？我们曾住在什么地方？是什么事促成了这次旅行？混沌的记忆不能帮她解答这些问题。她在人行道上努力地思索着，一会儿把手放在嘴唇上，一会儿眨眨眼睛。最后她打开她的编年史，在发黄的纸页中翻看那苍白、简洁、支离破碎的记录：她能读到的好像只有这些——我来自这样一个地方，那里高楼林立，雄伟壮观，白色的房屋前到处都是挺拔如塔的树木。还有条宽阔平坦的、走不到尽头的大道。那个时候在这条道路上，卷起过两股潮流：一股是步行者的潮流，他们穿着绣有粉红色玫瑰花的衣着，披巾随风飘动着，小阳伞像郁金香一样赏心悦目；另一股是马车的潮流，轻陕而又安静地向前涌动。在那条马路上一‘切都在进行着，却是在安静中进行的。那是一个神奇的地方，到处都是人，但并不吵闹。
我们住的房间里地板光滑，没有铺地毯，里面有许多镜子和窗户。在这幢房子里，我非常确切地知道有一个房间，门上嵌着紫红色的玻璃，它那斑斓的反光照映在门对面的阴影中。这扇明亮的大门通向一个小巧的绿色花园，那里有草坪，朵朵鲜花和一棵大树。花园里一片葱绿，到处都挂满绿色的叶片，而这片片绿色主要还是那些——我知道那是葡萄藤，因为我还记得那一串串葡萄和弯弯曲曲的藤蔓……
我们跟谁一起生活？对于这个问题我的回答只能是跟我的父亲。对于他的事，我能记起一二十件，但都是模糊的支离破碎的。我的父亲——我当时叫他爸爸——是我童年时代所受的一切惩罚的诱因。我总是不明事理地希望和他能多待一会儿。为了做到这一点，每当负责照看我的保姆转过身去时，我就会悄悄地溜出育儿室去他的书房。然后我就会被逮住，身子被摇晃着，有时还挨揍，然而那都是我应得的。我的父亲是否了解我多么珍惜与他在一起的机会，这我不敢断言。他整天忙忙碌碌，经常出门，即使在家里时也总有别的乡缉I与他待在一起。不过，黄昏时他总是会突然进入育儿室，走到我的小椅子边，站上一会儿，低头朝我看着。当我兴高采烈地伸出手臂时，他会俯身把我抱在胸前，说道：“波莉，现在可以下楼做爸爸的小客人了。”
爸爸有一种灵活而有趣的谈话方式，很容易使我幼稚的头脑有所明了，让我天真的心灵感到兴奋。当他教育我时，显得非常有魅力。我觉得他的性情有点急，甚至有些暴躁，但他对我确实很温柔，对别人却不总是这样。我记得他既性急又严厉，但对我从来不是这样。我从不惹他发怒，也从来不担心他会生我的气。我多么想用我的小手摸摸他黝黑的脸颊，站在他的腿上，梳梳他的头发，或者把头靠在他的臂弯里呼呼地睡上一觉啊！
