 Chapter 14 of Sylvie and Bruno, this is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by John Starr. Sylvie and Bruno by Lewis Carroll, Chapter 14, Fairy Sylvie. For a full month, the business for which I had returned to London detained me there, and even then it was only the urgent advice of my physician that induced me to leave it unfinished and pay another visit to Elvston. Arthur had written once or twice during the month, but in none of his letters was there any mention of Lady Muriel. Still I did not augur ill from his silence. To me it looked like the natural action of a lover, who even while his heart was singing, she is mine, would fear to paint his happiness in the cold phrases of a written letter, but would wait to tell it by word of mouth. Yes, I thought, I am to hear his song of triumph from his own lips. The night I arrived, we had much to say on other matters, and tired with the journey I went to bed early, leaving the happy secret still untold. Next day, however, as we chatted on over the remains of luncheon, I ventured to put the momentous question. Well, old friend, you have taught me nothing of Lady Muriel, nor when the happy day is to be. The happy day, Arthur said, looking unexpectedly grave, is yet in the dim future. We need to know, or rather she needs to know me better. I know her sweet nature thoroughly by this time, but I dare not speak till I am sure that my love is returned. Don't wait too long, I said gaily. Faint heart never won fair lady. It is faint heart perhaps, but really I dare not speak just yet. But meanwhile, I pleaded, you are running a risk that perhaps you have not thought of. Some other man? No, said Arthur firmly. She is heart whole, I am sure of that. Yet if she loves another better than me, so be it, I will not spoil her happiness. The secret shall die with me, but she is my first and my only love. That is all very beautiful sentiment, I said, but it is not practical, it is not like you. He either fears his fate too much, or his dessert is small, who dares not put it to the touch to win or lose it all. I dare not ask the question whether there is another, he said passionately, it would break my heart to know it. Yet is it wise to leave it unasked, you must not waste your life upon an eith. I tell you I dare not. May I find it out for you? I asked with the freedom of an old friend. No, no, he replied with a pained look. I entreat you to say nothing, let it wait. As you please, I said, and judged it best to say no more just then. But this evening, I thought, I will call on the Earl. I may be able to see how the land lies without so much as saying a word. It was a very hot afternoon, too hot to go for a walk or do anything, or else it wouldn't have happened, I believe. In the first place, I want to know, dear child, who reads this, why fairy should always be teaching us to do our duty and lecturing us when we go wrong, and we should never teach them anything. You can't mean to say that fairies are never greedy or selfish or cross or deceitful, because that would be nonsense, you know. Well then, don't you think they might be all the better for a little lecturing and punishing now and then? I really don't see why it shouldn't be tried, and I'm almost sure that if you could only catch a fairy and put it in the corner and give it nothing but bread and water for a day or two, you'd find it quite an improved character. It would take down its conceit a little at all events. The next question is, what is the best time for seen fairies? I believe I can tell you all about that. The first rule is that it must be a very hot day, that we may consider as settled, and you must be just a little sleepy but not too sleepy to keep your eyes open mind. Well, and you ought to feel a little what one may call fairy-ish, the scotch call it airy, and perhaps that's a prettier word. If you don't know what it means, I'm afraid I can hardly explain it, you must wait till you meet a fairy and then you'll know. And the last rule is that the crickets should not be chirping. I can't stop to explain that. You must take it on trust for the present. So if all these things happen together, you have a good chance of seeing a fairy, or at least a much better chance than if they didn't. The first thing I noticed is I went lazily along through an open place in the wood, was a large beetle lying struggling on its back, and I went down upon one knee to help the poor thing to its feet again. Some things, you know, you cannot be quite sure what an insect would like. For instance, I never could quite settle supposing I were a moth, whether I would rather be kept out of the candle, or be allowed to fly straight in and get burnt, or again supposing I were a spider. I'm not sure I should be quite pleased to have my web torn down and the fly let loose, but I feel quite certain that if I were a beetle and had rolled over on my back I should always be glad to be helped up again. So as I was saying, I had gone down upon one knee and was just reaching out a little stick to turn the beetle over when I saw a sight that made me draw back hastily and hold my breath for fear of making any noise and frightening the little creature away. Not that she looked as if she would be easily frightened. She seemed so good and gentle that I'm sure she would never expect that anyone could wish to hurt her. She was only a few inches high and was dressed in green, so that you really would hardly have noticed her among the long grass. And she was so delicate and graceful that she quite seemed to belong to the place, almost as if she were one of the flowers. I may tell you besides that she had no wings. I don't believe in fairies with wings, and that she had quantities of long brown hair and large earnest brown eyes. And then I shall have done all I can to give you an idea of her. Sylvie, I found out her name afterwards, had knelt down just as I was doing to help the beetle, but it needed more than a little stick for her to get it on its legs again. It was as much as she could do with both arms to roll the heavy thing over, and all the while she was talking to it half scolding, half comforting, as a nurse might do with a child that had fallen down. There, there, you needn't cry so much about it. You're not killed yet, though, if you were, you couldn't cry, you know, and so it's a general rule against crying, my dear. And how did you come to tumble over? Ah, but I can see well enough how it was. I needed to ask you that. Walking over sand pits with your chin in the air, as usual. Of course, if you go among sand pits like that you must expect to tumble, you should look. The beetle murmured something that sounded like, I did look, and Sylvie went on again. But I know you didn't, you never do. You always walk with your chin up. You're so dreadfully conceited. Well, let's see, how many legs are broken this time. Why, none of them, I declare. And what's the good of having six legs, my dear, if you can only kick them all about in the air when you tumble? Legs are meant to walk with, you know. Now, don't begin putting out your wings yet, I've more to say. Go to the frog that lives behind that buttercup. Give him my compliments. Sylvie's compliments. Can you say compliments? The beetle tried, and I suppose succeeded. Yes, that's right. And tell him he's to give you some of that sav I left with him yesterday, and you'd better get him to rub it in for you. He's got rather cold hands, but you mustn't mind that. I think the beetle must have shuddered at this idea, for Sylvie went on in a graver tone. Now, you needn't pretend to be so particular as all that, as if you were too grand to be rubbed by a frog. The fact is, you ought to be very much obliged to him. Suppose you could get nobody but a toad to do it. How would you like that? There was little pause, and then Sylvie added, Now you may go. Be a good beetle, and don't keep your chin in the air. And then began one of those performances of humming and whizzing and restless banging about, such as a beetle indulges in when it has decided on flying, but hasn't quite made up its mind which way to go. At last, in one of its awkward zigzags, it managed to fly right into my face, and by the time I had recovered from the shock, the little fairy was gone. I looked about in all directions for the little creature, but there was no trace of her, and my airy feeling was quite gone off. And the crickets were chirping again merrily, so I knew she was really gone. And now I've got time to tell you the rule about the crickets. They always leave off chirping when a fairy goes by, because a fairy's a kind of queen over them, I suppose. At all events it's a much grander thing than a cricket, so whenever you're walking out and the crickets suddenly leave off chirping, you may be sure that they see a fairy. I walked on, sadly enough, you may be sure. However, I comforted myself with thinking, it's been a very wonderful afternoon so far. I'll just go quietly on and look about me, and I shouldn't wonder if I were to come across another fairy somewhere. Peering about in this way, I happened to notice a plant with rounded leaves, and with queer little holes cut in the middle of several of them. Ah, the leaf-cutter bee, I carelessly remarked. You know I am very learned in natural history. For instance, I can always tell kittens from chickens at one glance. And I was passing on when a sudden thought made me stoop down and examine the leaves. Then a little thrill of delight ran through me, for I noticed that the holes were all arranged so as to form letters. There were three leaves side by side with bee, r, and u marked on them, and after some search I found two more which contained an in and an o. And then, all in a moment, a flash of inner light seemed to illumine a part of my life that had all but faded into oblivion, the strange visions I had experienced during my journey to Elveston, and with a thrill of delight I thought those visions are destined to be linked with my waking life. By this time the airy feeling had come back again, and I suddenly observed that no crickets were chirping, so I felt quite sure that Bruno was somewhere very near. And so indeed he was, so near that I had very nearly walked over him without seeing him, which would have been dreadful, always supposing that fairies can be walked over. My own belief is that they are something of the nature of Willow the Wisps, and there's no walking over them. Think of any pretty little boy you know, with rosy cheeks, large dark eyes, and tangled brown hair, and then fancy him mate small enough to go comfortably into a coffee-cup, and you'll have a very fair idea of him. What's your name, little one? I began, in as soft a voice as I could manage. And by the way, why is it we always begin by asking little children their names? Is it because we fancy a name will help to make them a little bigger? You never thought of asking a real large man his name now, did you? But however that may be, I felt it quite necessary to know his name. So as he didn't answer my question, I asked it again a little louder. What's your name, my little man? What's yours? He said without looking up. I told him my name quite gently, for he was much too small to be angry with. Duke of anything? He asked, just looking at me for a moment and then going on with his work. Not Duke at all, I said, a little ashamed of having to confess it. Oh, big enough to be true dukes, said the little creature. I suppose it was sir something then. No, I said, feeling more and more ashamed, I haven't got any title. The fairies seem to think that in that case I really wasn't worth the trouble of talking to, for he quietly went on digging and tearing the flowers to pieces. After a few minutes I tried again. Please, tell me what your name is. Bruno! the little fellow answered very readily. Why didn't Oosey please before? That's something like we used to be taught in the nursery, I thought to myself, looking back through the long years. About a hundred of them, since you asked the question. Who the time when I was a little child? And here an idea came into my head, and I asked him, aren't you one of the fairies that teach children to be good? Well, we have to do that sometimes, said Bruno. And a dreadful bother it is. As he said this, he savagely tore a heart's ease in two and trampled on the pieces. What are you doing there, Bruno? I said. Spoiling Sylvie's garden! Was all the answer Bruno would give at first. But as he went on tearing up the flowers, he muttered to himself, the nasty cross-thing wouldn't let me go and play this morning. Said I must finish my lessons first. Lessons indeed. I'll vex her finally, though. Oh, Bruno, you shouldn't do that. I cried. Don't you know that's revenge? And revenge is a wicked, cruel, dangerous thing. River edge, said Bruno. What a funny word. I suppose who call it cruel and dangerous? Because if who went too far and tumbled it in, who'd get drowned it? No, not river edge, I explained. Revenge, saying the word very slowly. But I couldn't help thinking that Bruno's explanation did very well for either word. Oh! said Bruno, opening his eyes very wide, but without trying to repeat the word. Come, try and pronounce it, Bruno. I said, cheerfully, revenge, revenge. But Bruno only tossed his little head and said he couldn't. That his mouth wasn't the right shape for words of that kind. And the more I laughed, the more sorky the little fellow got about it. Well, never mind my little man, I said, shall I help you with that job? Yes, please, Bruno said, quite pacified. I only wish I could think of something to vex her more than this. Who don't know how hard it is to make her angry? Now, listen to me, Bruno, and I'll teach you quite a splendid kind of revenge. Something that'll vex her finally? He asked with gleaming eyes. Something that will vex her finally. First, we'll get up all the weeds in her garden. See, there are good many at this end quite hiding the flowers. But that won't vex her, said Bruno. After that, I said, without noticing the remark, we'll water this highest bed up here. You see, it's getting quite dry and dusty. Bruno looked at me inquisitively, but he said nothing this time. Then, after that, I went on, the walks once sweeping a bit, and I think you might cut down that tall nettle. It's so close to the garden that it's quite in the way. What is who talking about? Bruno impatiently interrupted me. All that won't vex her a bit. Won't it? I said innocently. Then, after that, suppose we put in some of these coloured pebbles, just to mark the divisions between the different kinds of flowers, you know, that'll have a very pretty effect. Bruno turned round and had another good stare at me. At last there came an odd little twinkle into his eyes, and he said, with quite a new meaning in his voice, That'll do nicely. Let's put him in rows, all the red together and all the blue together. That'll do capitalally, I said. And then, what kind of flowers does Sylvie like best? Bruno had to put his thumb in his mouth and consider a little before he could answer. Violets, he said at last. There's a beautiful bed of violets down by the brook. Oh, let's vex him! cried Bruno, giving a little skip into the air. Here, catch hold of my hand and I'll help you along. The grass is rather thick down that way. I couldn't help laughing at his having so entirely forgotten what a big creature he was talking to. No, not yet, Bruno, I said. We must consider what's the right thing to do first. You see, we've got quite a business before us. Yes, let's consider, said Bruno, putting his thumb into his mouth again and sitting down upon a dead mouse. What do you keep that mouse for, I asked. You should either bury it or throw it into the brook. Why, it's to measure with, cried Bruno. How would ooh do a garden without one? We make each bed three mouses and a half long and two mouses wide. I stopped him as he was dragging it off by the tail to show me how it was used, for I was half afraid the airy feeling might go off before we had finished the garden, and in that case I should see no more of him or Sylvie. I think the best way will be for you to weed the beds when I sort out these pebbles ready to mark the walks with. Let's eat, cried Bruno, and I'll tell ooh about the caterpillars while we work. Ah, let's hear about the caterpillars, I said, as I drew the pebbles together into a heap and began dividing them into colours. And Bruno went on in a low, rapid tone, more as if he were talking to himself. Yesterday I saw two little caterpillars when I was sitting by the brook, just where ooh go into the wood. They were quite green, and they had yellow eyes, and they didn't see me. And one of them had got a moth's wing to carry, a great brown moth's wing, ooh know, all dry with feathers. So he couldn't want it to eat, I should think. Perhaps he meant to make a clue for the winter? Perhaps, I said, for Bruno had twisted up the last word into a sort of question and was looking at me for an answer. One word was quite enough for the little fellow, and he went on merrily. Well, and so he didn't want the other caterpillar to see the moth's wing, you know. So what must he do, but try to carry it with all his left legs, and he tried to walk on the other side? Of course, he toppled over after that. After what? I said, catching at the last word, before to tell the truth, I hadn't been attending much. He toppled over! Bruno repeated very gravely, and if whoever saw a caterpillar topple over, ooh know, it's a welly serious thing, and not sit grinning like that, and I shan't tell ooh no more. Indeed, and indeed, Bruno, I didn't mean to grin. See, I'm quite grave again now. But Bruno only folded his arms and said, Don't tell me. I see a little twinkle in one of ooh eyes, just like the moon. Why do you think I'm like the moon, Bruno? I asked. Ooh, a face is large and round, like the moon. Bruno answered, looking at me thoughtfully. It doesn't shine quite so bright, but it's more cleaner. I couldn't help smiling at this. You know, I sometimes wash my face, Bruno. The moon never does that. Ooh, doesn't she, though? cried Bruno, and he leapt forwards and added in a solemn whisper. The moon's face gets dirtier and dirtier every night till it's black all across, and then when it's dirty all over, so he passed his hand across his own rosy cheeks as he spoke. Then she washes it. Then it's all clean again, isn't it? Not all in a moment, said Bruno. What a deal of teaching, ooh, once. She washes it little by little. Only she begins at the other edge, ooh, no. By this time he was sitting quietly on the dead mouse with his arms folded, and the weeding wasn't getting on a bit. So I had to say, work first, pleasure afterwards. No more talking till that bed's finished. End of Chapter 14. Very Sylvie. Read by John Star, www.ourmanstar.com Chapter 15. Bruno's Revenge After that we had a few minutes of silence while I sorted out the pebbles and amused myself with watching Bruno's plan of gardening. It was quite a new plan to me. He always measured each bed before he weeded it, as if he was afraid the weeding would make it shrink. And once when it came out longer than he wished, he set to work to thump the mouse with his little fist, crying out, There now it's all gone wrong again. Why don't you keep your tail straight when I tell you? I tell you what I'll do, Bruno said in a half whisper as we worked. Oh, like fairies, don't do? Yes, I said, of course I do, or I shouldn't have come here. I should have gone to some place where there are no fairies. Bruno laughed contemptuously. Why, who might as well say, Oh, go to some place where there wasn't any air. Suppose he did it like air? This was a rather difficult idea to grasp. I tried a change of subject. You're nearly the first fairy I ever saw. Have you ever seen any people besides me? Plenty, said Bruno. We see them when we walk in the road. But they cannot see you. How is it they never tread on you? Can it tread on us? said Bruno, looking amused at my ignorance. Why, suppose we're walking here, so Making little marks on the ground. And suppose there's a fairy, that's me, Walking here, very well then, Who put one foot here and one foot here, So, who do'sn't tread on the fairy? This was all very well as an explanation, But it didn't convince me. Why shouldn't I put one foot on the fairy, I asked. Hmm, I don't know why, The little fellow said in a thoughtful tone. But I know who wouldn't. Nobody never walked on the top of the fairy. Now, I'll tell you what I'll do, As ooh so fond of fairies. I'll get ooh an invitation To the Fairy King's dinner party. I know one of the head waiters. I couldn't help laughing at this idea. Do the waiters invite the guests? I asked. Oh, not to sit down, Bruno said. But to wait at table. Ooh'd like that when it ooh'd, To hand about plates and so on. Well, but that's not so nice as sitting at the table, is it? Of course it isn't, Bruno said, In a tone as if he rather pity'd my ignorance. But if ooh're not even sir anything, Ooh can it expect to be allowed to sit at the table, ooh, no? I said, as meekly as I could, that I didn't expect it. But it was the only way of going to a dinner party that I rarely enjoyed. And Bruno tossed his head and said in a rather offended tone That I might do as I pleased. There were many he knew who would give their ears to go. Have you ever been yourself, Bruno? They invited me once. Last week, Bruno said very gravely, It was to wash up the soup plates. No, the cheese plates, I mean. That was grand enough. And I waited at table. And I didn't hardly make only one mistake. What was it, I said? You didn't mind telling me. Only bringing scissors to cut the beef with. Bruno said carelessly. But the grandest thing of all was I fetched the king a glass of cider. That was grand, I said, biting my lip to keep myself from laughing. Wasn't it? said Bruno very earnestly. Who know it isn't everyone that had such an honor as that? This set me to thinking of the various queer things we call An honor in this world. But which, after all, haven't a bit more honor in them Than what Bruno enjoyed when he took the king a glass of cider. I don't know how long I might not have dreamed on in this way If Bruno hadn't suddenly roused me. Oh, come here, quick! He cried in a state of the wildest excitement. Catch hold of his other horn! I cannot hold him more than a minute! He was struggling desperately with a great snail Clinging to one of its horns And nearly breaking his poor little back In his efforts to drag it over a blade of grass. I saw we should have no more gardening If I let this sort of thing go on So I quietly took the snail away And put it on a bank where he couldn't reach it. We'll hunt it afterwards, Bruno, I said, If you really want to catch it. But what's the use of it when you've got it? What's the use of a fox when you've got it? Said Bruno. I know who big things hunt foxes. I tried to think of some good reason why big things should hunt foxes And he should not hunt snails. But none came into my head. So I said at last, Well, I suppose once as good as the other, I'll go snail hunting myself some day. I should think who wouldn't be so silly, Said Bruno, as to go snail hunting by yourself. Why, who'd never get the snail along Hadn't somebody to hold on to his other horn? Of course, I shan't go alone, I said quite gravely. By the way, is that the best kind to hunt, Or do you recommend the ones without shells? Oh, no! We never hunt the ones without shells, Bruno said with a little shudder at the thought of it. They're always so cross about it, And then if ootumbles over them, they're ever so sticky. By this time we had nearly finished the garden. I had fetched some violets, And Bruno was just helping me to put in the last, When he suddenly stopped and said, I'm tired. Rest then, I said, I can go on without you quite well. Bruno needed no second invitation. He at once began arranging the dead mouse as a kind of sofa. And I'll sing oot a little song, He said as he rolled it about. Do, said I, I like songs very much. Which song will oot shoes? Bruno said, as he dragged the mouse into a place Where he could get a good view of me. Ting-ting-ting is the nicest. There was no resisting such a strong hint as this. However, I pretended to think about it for a moment, And then said, Well, I like ting-ting-ting best of all. That shows oot a good judge of music. Bruno said with a pleased look, How many hair-bells would oot like? And he put his thumb into his mouth to help me to consider. As there was only one cluster of hair-bells within easy reach, I said very gravely that I thought one would do this time, And I picked it and gave it to him. Bruno ran his hand once or twice up and down the flowers, Like a musician trying an instrument, Producing their most delicious, delicate tingling, As he did so. I had never heard flower music before. I don't think one can, unless one's in the airy state, And I don't know quite how to give you an idea of what it was like, Except by saying that it sounded like a peel of bells a thousand miles off. When he had satisfied himself that the flowers were in tune, He seated himself on the dead mouse. He never seemed really comfortable anywhere else. And looking up at me with a merry twinkle in his eyes, he began. By the way, the tune was rather a curious one, And you might like to try it for yourself. So here are the notes. Rise, arise, the daylight dies, The owls are hooting, ting, ting, ting, ting. Wake, awake, beside the lake, The elves are fluting, ting, ting, ting. Welcome in our fairy king, We sing, sing, sing. He sang the first four lines briskly and merrily, Making the hair bells chime in time with the music. But the last two he sang quite slowly and gently, And merely waved the flowers backwards and forwards. Then he left off to explain, The fairy king is Oberon, And he lives across the lake, And sometimes he comes in a little boat, And we go and meet him, And then we sing this song, you know. And then you go and dine with him. I said mischievously, Who shouldn't talk? Bruno hastily said. It interrupts the song so. I said I wouldn't do it again. I never talk myself when I'm singing. He went on very gravely. So who shouldn't either? Then he tuned the hair bells once more and sang, Here, oh, here, from far and near, The music's dealing, ding, ding, ding. Fairy bells out down the tales, Are merrily peeling, ding, ding, ding. Welcome in our fairy king, We ring, ring, ring. See, oh, see, on every tree, What lamps are shining, ding, ding, ding. They are the eyes of fiery flies, To light our dining, ding, ding, ding. Welcome in our fairy king, They swing, swing, swing. Haste, oh, haste to take and taste, The dainties waiting, ding, ding, ding. Honey do we start? Hush, Bruno. I interrupted in a warning whisper. She's coming. Bruno checked his song, and as she slowly made her way through the long grass, he suddenly rushed out headlong at her like a little bull, shouting, Look the other way! Look the other way! Which way? Sylvie asked, in rather a frightened tone, as she looked round in all directions to see where the danger could be. That way! said Bruno, carefully turning her round with her face to the wood. No, walk backwards, walk gently. Don't be frightened. Oh, shall it trip? But Sylvie did trip, notwithstanding. In fact, he led her in his hurry across so many little sticks and stones that it was really a wonder the poor child could keep on her feet at all. But he was far too much excited to think of what he was doing. I silently pointed out to Bruno the best place to lead her to so as to get a view of the whole garden at once. It was a little rising ground about the height of a potato, and when they had mounted it, they drew back into the shade that Sylvie mightn't see me. I heard Bruno cry out triumphantly, Now, who may look? and then followed a clapping of hands but it was all done by Bruno himself. Sylvie was silent. She only stood and gazed with her hands clasped together and I was half afraid she didn't like it after all. Bruno too was watching her anxiously and when she jumped down off the mound and began wandering up and down the little walks he cautiously followed her about evidently anxious that she should form her own opinion of it all without any hint from him and when at last she drew a long breath and gave her verdict in a hurried whisper and without the slightest regard to grammar It's the loveliest thing as I never saw in all my life before. The little fellow looked as well pleased as if it had been given by all the judges and juries in England put together. And did you really do it all by yourself, Bruno? said Sylvie and all for me. I was helped a bit. He he he he he Bruno began with a merry little laugh at her surprise. We've been at it all the afternoon. And here the poor little fellow's lip began to quiver and all in a moment he burst out crying and running up to Sylvie he flung his arms passionately round her neck and hid his face on her shoulder. There was a little quiver in Sylvie's voice too as she whispered Why? What's the matter, darling? and tried to lift up his head and kiss him but Bruno only clung to her sobbing and wouldn't be comforted till he had confessed. I tried to spoil Urgotten first but I never never and then came another burst of tears which drowned the rest of the sentence at last he got out the words I liked putting in the flowers for oh Sylvie and I never was so happy before and the rosy little face came up at last to be kissed all wet with tears as it was Sylvie was crying too by this time and she said nothing but Bruno dear and? I never was so happy before though why these two children who had never been so happy before should both be crying was a mystery to me I felt very happy too but of course I didn't cry big things never do you know we leave all that to the fairies only I think it must have been raining a little just then for I found a drop or two on my cheeks after that they went through the whole garden again flower by flower as if it were a long sentence they were spelling out with kisses for commas and a great hug by way of the full stop when they got to the end does who know that was my river edge Sylvie Bruno solemnly began Sylvie laughed merrily what do you mean she said and she pushed back her heavy brown hair with both hands and looked at him with dancing eyes in which the big teardrops were still glittering Bruno drew in a long breath and made up his mouth for a great effort I mean revenge he said now who undertand and he looked so happy and proud of having said the word right at last that I quite envied him I rather think Sylvie didn't undertand at all but she gave him a little kiss on each cheek which seemed to do just as well so they wandered off lovingly together in among the buttercups each with an arm twined round the other whispering and laughing as they went and never so much as once looked back at poor me yes once just before I quite lost sight of them Bruno half turned his head and nodded me a saucy little goodbye of a one shoulder and that was all the things I got for my trouble the very last thing I saw of them was this Sylvie was stooping down with her arms round Bruno's neck coaxing me in his ear do you know Bruno I've quite forgotten that hard word do say it once more come only this once dear but Bruno wouldn't try it again chapter 16 of Sylvie and Bruno this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by John Starr Sylvie and Bruno by Loes Kell Chapter 16 A Changed Crocodile the marvellous the mysterious had quite passed out of my life for the moment and the commonplace reigned supreme I turned in the direction of the Earl's house as it was now the witching hour of five and I knew I should find them ready for a cup of tea and a quiet chat Lady Muriel and her father gave me a delightfully warm welcome to the rest of the folk we meet in fashionable drawing rooms who conceal all such feelings as they may chance to possess beneath the impenetrable mask of a conventional placidity the man with the iron mask was no doubt a rarity and a marvel in his own age in modern London no one would turn his head to give him a second look no these were real people when they looked pleased it meant that they were pleased and when Lady Muriel said with a bright smile I'm very glad to see you again I knew that it was true still I did not venture to disobey the injunctions crazies I felt him to be of the love-sick young doctor by so much as eluding to his existence and it was only after they had given me full details of the projected picnic to which they invited me that Lady Muriel exclaimed almost as an afterthought and do if you can bring Dr. Forrester with you I'm sure a day in the country would do him good I'm afraid he studies too much it was on the tip of my tongue to quote the words his only books are women's looks but I checked myself just in time with something of the feeling of one who has crossed a street and has been all but run over by a passing handsome and I think he has too lonely a life she went on with a gentle earnestness that left no room whatever to suspected double meaning do get him to come and don't forget the day, Tuesday week we can drive you over it would be a pity to go by rail there's so much pretty scenery on the road and our open carriage just holds four oh, I'll persuade him to come I said with confidence, thinking it would take all my powers of persuasion to keep him away the picnic was to take place in ten days and though Arthur readily accepted the invitation I brought him nothing that I could say would induce him to call either with me or without me on the Earl and his daughter in the meanwhile no, he feared to where out is welcome? he said they had seen enough of him for one while and when at last the day for the expedition arrived he was so childishly nervous and uneasy that I thought it best so to arrange our plans that we should go separately to the house my intention being to arrive some time after him so as to give him time to get over a meeting with this object I purposely made a considerable circuit on my way to the hall as we called the Earl's house and if I could only manage to lose my way a bit I thought to myself that would suit me capital in this I succeeded better and sooner than I had ventured to hope for the path through the wood had been made familiar to me by many a solitary stroll to my former visit to Elsin and how I could have so suddenly and so entirely lost it even though I was so engrossed in thinking of Arthur and his lady love that I heeded little else was a mystery to me and this open place I said to myself seems to have some memory about it I cannot distinctly recall surely it is the very spot where I saw those fairy children but I hope there are no snakes about I'm used to loud taking my seat on a fallen tree I certainly do not like snakes and I don't suppose Bruno likes them either no he doesn't like them said it to me a little voice at my side he's not afraid of them you know but he doesn't like them he says they're too waggly words fail me to describe the beauty of the little group couched on a patch of moss on the trunk of the fallen tree that met my eager gaze Sylvie reclining with her elbow buried in the moss and her rosy cheek resting in the palm of her hand and Bruno stretched at her feet with his head in her lap too waggly was all I could say in so sudden an emergency I'm not practical Bruno said carelessly but I do like straight animals based but you like a dog when it wags its tail Sylvie interrupted you know you do Bruno but there's more of a dog isn't there Mr. Sir Bruno appealed to me you wouldn't like to have a dog if it hadn't got nothing but a head and a tail I admitted that a dog of that kind would be uninteresting but there isn't such a dog as that Sylvie thoughtfully remarked but there would be cried Bruno if the professor shortened it up for us shortened it up I said that's something new how does he do it he's got a curious machine Sylvie was beginning to explain a willy curious machine Bruno broke in not at all willing to have the story thus taken out of his mouth and if who puts in something or other at one end you know and he turns the handle and it comes out at the other end oh ever so short as short as short Sylvie echoed and one day when we was in Outland you know before we came to Fairyland me and Sylvie took him a big crocky dial and he shortened it up for us and it did look so funny and it kept looking round and said wherever is the rest of me got to and then its eyes looked unhappy not both its eyes Sylvie interrupted course not said the little fellow only the eye that couldn't see wherever the rest of it had got to but the eye that could see wherever how short was the crocodile I asked as the story was getting a little complicated half is short again is when we got it so long said Bruno spreading out his arms to their full stretch I tried to calculate what this would come to but it was too hard for me please make it out for me dear child who reads this but you didn't leave the poor thing so short as that did you well no Sylvie and me took it back again and we got it stretched to how much was it Sylvie two times and a half and a little bit more said Sylvie it wouldn't like that better than the other way I'm afraid oh but it did though Bruno put in eagerly it were proud of its new tail who never saw a crocodile so proud like it could go round and walk on the top of its tail and along its back all the way to its head not quite all the way said Sylvie it couldn't you know ah but it did once Bruno cried triumphantly who weren't looking but I watched it and it walked on tippity-toe so as it wouldn't wake itself because it thought it were asleep and it got both its paws on its tail and it walked and it walked all the way along its back and it walked and it walked on its forehead and it walked a tiny little way down its nose there now this was a good deal worse than the last puzzle please dear child help again I don't believe no crocodile never walked along its own forehead Sylvie cried too much excited by the controversy to limit the number of her negatives you don't know the reason why it did it Bruno scornfully retorted it had a welly good reason I heard it say why shouldn't I walk on my own forehead so of course it didn't know if that's a good reason Bruno I said why shouldn't you get up that tree shall any minute said Bruno soon as we've done talking only two people's can it talk comfortably together when one's getting up a tree and the other isn't it appeared to me that a conversation would scarcely be comfortable while trees were being climbed even if both the people's were doing it but it was evidently dangerous to oppose any theory of Bruno's so I thought it best to let the question drop and to ask for an account of the machine that made things longer this time Bruno was at a loss and left it to Sylvie it's like a mangle she said if things are put in they get squoze squeezed Bruno interrupted oh yes Sylvie accepted the correction but did not attempt to pronounce the word which was evidently new to her they get like that and they come out a ever so long once Bruno began again Sylvie and me righted wrote Sylvie whispered well we wrote it a nursery song and the professor mingled it longer for us it were there was a little man and he had a little gun and the bullet said I know the rest he interrupted but would you say it long I mean the way that it came out of the mangle we'll get the professor to sing it for you said Sylvie it would spoil it to say it I would like to meet the professor I said and I would like to take you all with me to see some friends of mine that live near here would you like to come I don't think the professor would like to come said Sylvie he's very shy but we'd like it very much only we'd better not come this size you know the difficulty had occurred to me already and I had felt that perhaps there would be a slight awkwardness in introducing two such tiny friends into society what size will you be I inquired we'd better come as common children Sylvie thoughtfully replied that's the easiest size to manage could you come today I said thinking then we could have you at the picnic Sylvie considered a little not today she replied we haven't got the things ready we'll come on Tuesday next if you like and now really Bruno you must come and do your lessons a whistle wouldn't say really Bruno the little fellow pleaded with pouting lips that made him look prettier than ever it always shows there's something horrid coming and I won't kiss you if you're so unkind ah that you have kissed me Sylvie exclaimed in merry triumph where then I'll un-kiss you and he threw his arms round her neck for this novel but apparently not very painful operation it's very like kissing Sylvie remarked as soon as her lips were again free for speech who don't know nothing about it it was just the conchery Bruno replied with much severity as he marched away Sylvie turned her laughing face to me shall we come on Tuesday she said very well I said let it be Tuesday next where is the professor did he come with you to fairyland no said Sylvie but he promised he'd come and see us some day he's getting his lecture ready so he has to stay at home at home I said dreamily not feeling quite sure what she had said yes sir his lordship and lady muriel are at home please to walk this way End of chapter 16 A Changed Crocodile Chapter 17 of Sylvie and Bruno This is the LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Kalinda Sylvie and Bruno by Lewis Carroll Chapter 17 The Three Badgers Still more dreamily I found myself following this imperious voice into a small room where the Earl, his daughter and Arthur were seated So your come at last said lady muriel in a tone of playful reproach I was delayed I stammered Though what it was that had delayed me I should have been puzzled to explain Luckily no questions were asked The carriage was ordered round The hamper containing our contribution to the picnic was duly stowed away and we set forth There was no need for me to maintain the conversation Lady Muriel and Arthur were evidently on those most delightful of terms where one has no need to check thought after thought as it rises to the lips with the fear this will not be appreciated this will give offence this will sound too serious this will sound flippant like very old friends in fullest sympathy their talk rippled on Why shouldn't we desert the picnic and go in some other direction? she suddenly suggested A party of four is surely self-sufficing and as for food our hamper Why shouldn't we? What a genuine lady's argument laughed Arthur A lady never knows on which side the onus probandi the burden of proving lies Do men always know, she asked, with a pretty assumption of meek docility With one exception, the only one I can think of Dr. Watts, who has asked the senseless question why should I deprive my neighbor of his goods against his will Fancy that as an argument for honesty His position seems to be I'm only honest because I see no reason to steal and the thief's answer is of course complete and crushing I deprive my neighbor of his goods because I want them myself and I do it against his will because there's no chance of getting him to consent to it I can give you one other exception, I said an argument I heard only today and not by a lady Why shouldn't I walk on my own forehead? What a curious subject for speculation said Lady Muriel turning to me with eyes brimming over with laughter May we know who propounded the question and did he walk on his own forehead? I can't remember who it was that said it, I faltered, nor where I heard it Whoever it was, I hope we shall meet him at the picnic, said Lady Muriel It's a far more interesting question than isn't this a picturesque ruin? Aren't those autumn tints lovely? I shall have to answer those two questions ten times at least this afternoon That's one of the miseries of society, said Arthur Why can't people let one enjoy the beauties of nature without having to say so every minute? Why should life be one long catechism? It's just as bad at a picture gallery, the Earl remarked I went to the RA last May with a conceited young artist and he did torment me I wouldn't have minded his criticizing the pictures himself but I had to agree with him or else to argue the point which would have been worse It was depreciatory criticism of course, said Arthur I don't see the of course at all Why, did you ever know a conceited man dare to praise a picture? The one thing he dreads next to not being noticed is to be proved fallible If you once praise a picture your character for infallibility hangs by a thread Suppose it's a figure picture and you venture to say draws well Somebody measures it and finds one of the proportions an eighth of an inch wrong You are disposed of as a critic Did you say he draws well? Your friends inquire sarcastically while you hang your head in blush No, the only safe course, if anyone says draws well, is to shrug your shoulder Draws well, you repeat thoughtfully Draws well, hmph That's the way to become a great critic Thus airily chatting after a pleasant drive through a few miles of beautiful scenery We reached the rendezvous, a ruined castle where the rest of the picnic party were already assembled We spent an hour or two in sauntering about the ruins Gathering at last by common consent into a few random groups seated on the side of a mound Which commanded a good view of the old castle and its surroundings The momentary silence that ensued was promptly taken possession of Or more correctly taken into custody by a voice A voice so smooth, so monotonous, so sonorous That one felt with a shutter that any other conversation was precluded And that unless some desperate remedy were adopted We were fated to listen to a lecture of which no man could foresee the end The speaker was a broadly built man whose large, flat, pale face Was bounded on the north by a fringe of hair On the east and west by a fringe of whiskers And on the south by a fringe of beard The whole constituting a uniform halo of stubbly whitey-brown bristles His features were so entirely destitute of expression That I could not help saying to myself, helplessly, as if in the clutches of a nightmare They are only penciled in, no final touches as yet And he had a way of ending every sentence with a sudden smile Which spread like a ripple over that vast blank surface And was gone in a moment, leaving behind it such absolute solemnity That I felt impelled to murmur It was not he, it was somebody else that smiled Do you observe, such was the phrase with which the wretch began each sentence Do you observe the way in which that broken arch at the very top of the ruin Stands out against the clear sky It is placed exactly right, and there is exactly enough of it A little more or a little less, and all would be utterly spoiled O gifted architect, murmured Arthur, Inaudibly to all but Lady Muriel and myself For seeing the exact effect his work would have When in ruins, centuries after his death And do you observe where those trees slope down the hill Indicating them with the sweep of the hand And with all the patronizing air Of the man who has himself arranged the landscape How the mists rising from the river fill up Exactly those intervals where we need indistinctness For artistic effect Here in the foreground a few clear touches are not a miss But a background without mist, you know It is simply barbarous Yes, we need indistinctness The orator looked so pointedly at me as he uttered these words That I felt bound to reply By murmuring something to the effect That I hardly felt the need myself And that I enjoyed looking at a thing Better when I could see it Quite so the great man sharply took me up From your point of view that is correctly put But for anyone who has a soul for art Such a view is preposterous Nature is one thing, art is another Nature shows us the world as it is But art, as a Latin author tells us Art, you know the words have escaped my memory Ars est celare naturum, Arthur imposed With a delightful promptitude Quite so the orator replied with an air of relief I thank you Ars est celare naturum, but that isn't it And for a few peaceful moments the orator brooded Frowningly over the quotation The welcome opportunity was seized And another voice struck into the silence What a lovely old ruin it is, cried a young lady In spectacles, the very embodiment of the march of mind Looking at Lady Muriel as the proper recipient Of all really original remarks And don't you admire those autumn tints on the trees I do intensely Lady Muriel shot a meeting glance at me But replied with admirable gravity Oh yes indeed, indeed, so true And isn't it strange said the young lady Passing with startling suddenness From sentiment to science That the mere impact of certain colored rays Upon the retina should give us such exquisite pleasure You have studied physiology then A certain young doctor courteously inquired Oh yes, isn't it a sweet science Arthur slightly smiled It seems a paradox does it not he went on That the image formed on the retina should be inverted It is puzzling she candidly admitted Why is it we do not see things upside down You have never heard the theory then That the brain also is inverted No indeed, what a beautiful fact But how is it proved? Thus replied Arthur with all the gravity Of ten professors rolled into one What we call the vertex of the brain Is really its base And what we call its base is really its vertex It is simply a question of nomenclature This last polysyllable settled the matter How truly delightful the fair scientist Exclaimed with enthusiasm I shall ask our physiological lecturer Why he never gave us that exquisite theory I'd give something to be present When the question is asked Arthur whispered to me as At a signal from Lady Muriel We moved on to where the hampers Had been collected and devoted ourselves To the more substantial business of the day We waited on ourselves as the modern barbarism Combining two good things in such a way As to secure the discomforts of both And the advantages of neither Of having a picnic with servants to wait upon you Had not reached this far out of the way region And of course the gentlemen did not even take their places Until the ladies had been duly provided With all imaginable creature comforts Then I supplied myself with a plate of something solid And a glass of something fluid And found a place next to Lady Muriel It had been left vacant, apparently for Arthur As a distinguished stranger But he had turned shy and had placed himself Next to the young lady in spectacles Whose high rasping voice had already cast loose Upon society such ominous phrases as Man is a bundle of qualities The objective is only attainable through the subjective Arthur was bearing it bravely But several faces wore a look of alarm And I thought it high time to start some less Metaphysical topic In my nursery days I began When the weather didn't suit for an out-of-doors picnic We were allowed to have a peculiar kind That we enjoyed hugely The tablecloth was laid under the table Instead of upon it, we sat round it on the floor I believe we really enjoyed that extremely Uncomfortable kind of dinner more than We ever did the orthodox arrangement I've no doubt of it, Lady Muriela replied There's nothing a well-regulated child Hates so much as regularity I believe a really healthy boy Would thoroughly enjoy Greek grammar If only he might stand on his head to learn it And your carpet dinner certainly spared You one feature of a picnic Which is, to me, its chief drawback The chance of a shower, I suggested No, the chance, or rather the certainty Of live things occurring in combination With one's food Spiders are my bugbear Now my father has no sympathy with that sentiment, Have you, dear? For the earl had caught the word And turned to listen To each his sufferings all are men, He replied, in the sweet, sad tones That seemed natural to him Each has his pet aversion But you'll never guess his, Lady Muriela said, with that delicate Silvery laugh that was music to my ears I declined to attempt the impossible He doesn't like snakes, She said in a stage whisper Now isn't that an unreasonable aversion? Fancy not liking such a dear Coaxingly clingingly affectionate creature as a snake Not like snakes, I exclaimed Is such a thing possible? No, he doesn't like them, She repeated with a pretty mock gravity He's not afraid of them, you know, But he doesn't like them, He says they're too waggly I was more startled than I'd like to show There was something so uncanny This echo of the very words I had so lately heard From that little forest sprite That it was only by a great effort I succeeded in saying carelessly Let us banish so unpleasant a topic Won't you sing us something, Lady Muriela? I know you do sing without music The only songs I know without music Are desperately sentimental, I'm afraid Are your tears all ready? Quite ready, quite ready came from all sides And Lady Muriel, not being one of those Lady singers who think it derigure to decline to sing Till they have been petitioned three or four times And if pleaded failure of memory, loss of voice And other conclusive reasons for silence Began at once There be three badgers on a mossy stone Beside a dark and covered way Each dreams himself a monarch on his throne And so they stay and stay Though their old father languishes alone They stay and stay and stay There be three herrings loitering around Longing to share that mossy seat Each herring tries to sing what she has found That makes life seem so sweet Thus, with a grating and uncertain sound They bleed and bleed and bleed The mother herring on the salt sea wave Saw it vainly for her absent ones The father badger writhing in a cave Shrieked out, return, my sons You shall have buns, he shrieked if you'll behave Buns and buns and buns I fear, said she, your sons have gone astray My daughters left me while I slept Yes, I'm the badger said, it's as you say They should be better kept And the poor parents talked the time away And wept and wept and wept Here Bruno broke off suddenly The herring song wants another tune, Sylvie, he said And I can't sing it without you who plays it for me Instantly Sylvie seated herself upon a tiny mushroom That happened to grow in front of a daisy As if it were the most ordinary musical instrument in the world And played on the pedals as if they were the notes of an organ And such delicious tiny music it was Such teeny tiny music Bruno held his head on one side And listened very gravely for a few moments Until he had caught the melody Then the sweet childish voice rang out once more Oh dear, beyond our dearest dreams Farer than all that fairest seems To feast the rosy hours away to revel in a rondele How blessed would be a life so free If work is pudding to consume and drink the subtle as a goom And if in other days and hours Mid other fluff and other flowers The choice were given me how to dine Name what thou wilt, it shall be thine Oh, then I see the life for me If work is pudding to consume And drink the subtle as a goom Who may leave off playing now, Sylvie I can do the other tune much better without a compliment He means without accompaniment, Sylvie whispered Smiling at my puzzled look And she pretended to shut up the stops of the organ The Badgers did not care to talk to fish They did not doad on herring songs They never had experienced the dish To which that name belongs And oh, to pinch their tails this was their wish With tongs, ye tongs, ye end tongs I ought to mention that he marked the parenthesis In the air with his finger It seemed to me a very good plan You know there's no sound to represent it Any more than there is for a question Suppose you have said to your friend You are better today And that you want him to understand That you are asking him a question What can be simpler than just to make A question mark in the air with your fingers He would understand you in a moment And are not these the fish the eldest side Whose mother dwells beneath the foam They are the fish the second one replied And they have left their home Oh, wicked fish the youngest Badger cried To roam, ye roam and roam Gently the Badgers trotted to the shore The sandy shore that fringed the bay Each in his mouth a living herring bore Those aged ones waxed gray Clear rang their voices through the ocean's roar Hurray, hurray, hurray! So they all got safe home again, Bruno said After waiting a minute to see if I had anything to say He evidently felt that some remark ought to be made And I couldn't help wishing there were some such rule In society at the conclusion of a song That the singer herself should say the right thing And not leave it to the audience Suppose a young lady has just been warbling With a grating and uncertain sound Shelly's exquisite lyric I arise from dreams of thee How much nicer it would be Instead of having to say Oh, thank you, thank you For the young lady herself to remark As she draws on her glove While the impassioned words Oppress it to thine own Or it will break at last Are still ringing in your ears But she wouldn't do it, you know So it did break at last And I knew it would, she added quietly As I started at the sudden crash of broken glass In the last minute and letting all the champagne run out Were you asleep, I wonder? I'm so sorry, my singing has such a narcotic effect. End of Chapter 17, The Three Badgers Chapter 18, Queer Street, Number 40 Lady Muriel was the speaker And for the moment, that was the only fact I could clearly realize But how she came to be there And how I came to be there And how the glass of champagne came to be there All these were questions Which I felt it better to think out in silence And not commit myself to any statement Till I understood things a little more clearly First, accumulate the master facts And then construct a theory That, I believe, is the true scientific method I set up, rubbed my eyes And began to accumulate facts A smooth, grassy slope Bounded at the upper end By Venerable Gruen's harborate in Ivy At the lower, by a stream Seemed through arching trues A dozen gaily dressed people Seated the little groups here and there Some open hampers The debris of a picnic Such were the facts accumulated By the scientific researcher And now, what deep, far-reaching theory Was he to construct from them The researcher found himself at fault Yet, stay, one fact had escaped his notice While all the rest were grouped in twos and in threes Arthur was alone While all towns were talking His was silent While all faces were gay His was gloomy and despondent Here was the fact indeed The researcher felt that a theory Must be constructed without delay Lady Muriel had just risen and left the party Could that be the cause of his despondency The theory hardly rose to the dignity Of a working hypothesis Clearly, more facts were needed The researcher looked around him once more And now, the facts accumulated In such bewildering profusion That the theory was lost among them For Lady Muriel had gone to meet this strange gentleman Just visible in the distance And now, she was returning with him Both of them talking eagerly and joyfully Like all friends who had been long-parted And now, she was moving from group to group Introducing the new hero of the hour And he, young, tall and handsome Moved gracefully at her sight To the erect bearing and firm treat of a soldier Verily, the theory looked gloomy for other His eye caught mine and he crossed to me He is very handsome, I said Abominably handsome, muttered other Then smiled at his own bitter words Lucky no one hurt me but you Dr. Forrester said Lady Muriel Who had just joined us Let me introduce to you my cousin Eric Linden Captain Linden, I should say Arthur shook off his ill temper instantly And completely as he rose and gave The young soldier his hand I have heard of you, he said I'm very glad to make the acquaintance Of Lady Muriel's cousin Yes, that's all I am distinguished for As yet, said Eric So we soon got to call him With a winning smile And I doubt, glancing at Lady Muriel If it even amounts to a good conduct's batch But there's something to begin with You must come to my father, Eric, said Lady Muriel I think he's wandering among the ruins And the pair moved on The gloomy look returned to Arthur's face And I could see it was only to distract His thoughts that he took his place At the side of the metaphysical young lady And resumed their interrupted discussion Talking of Herbert Spencer, he began Do you really find no logical difficulty In regarding nature as the process of evolution Passing from definite coherent homogeneity To indefinite incoherent heterogeneity Amused as I was at the ingenious jumble He had made of Spencer's words I capped as great a face as I could No physical difficulty, she confidently replied But I haven't studied logic much Would you state the difficulty? Well, said Arthur Do you accept it as self-evident? Is it as obvious, for instance As that things that are greater than the same Are greater than one another? To my mind, she modestly replied It seems quite as obvious I crass both truths by intuition But other minds may need some logical I forget the technical terms For a complete logical arrangement Arthur began with that memorable solemnity We need two premises Of course, she interrupted I remember that word now And they produced A delusion, said Arthur Yes, she said dubiously I remember that so well But what is the whole arrangement called? A syllogism? Ah, yes, I remember now But I don't need a syllogism, you know To prove that mathematical axiom you mentioned Not to prove that all angles are equal, I suppose Why, of course not One takes such a simple truth as that for granted Here I venture to interpose To offer her a plate of strawberries and cream I felt really uneasy at the thought That she might take the trick And I contrived, unperceived by her To shake my head reprovingly at the pseudo-philosopher Equally unperceived by her Arthur slightly raised his shoulders And spread his hands aboard As who should say, what else can I say to her? And moved away Leaving her to discuss her strawberries by involution Or any other way she preferred By this time, the carriages that were to convey the revelers To their respective homes Had begun to assemble outside the casual grounds And it became evident that now Lady Murrell's cousin had joined our party That's the problem How to convey five people to Alveston With the carriage that would only hold four Must somehow be solved The honorable Eric Linden Who was at this moment Working up and down with Lady Murrell Might have solved it at once No doubt By announcing his intention of returning on foot Of this solution That did not seem to be the very smallest probability The next best solution It seemed to me That was I should walk home And this I at once proposed Are you sure you don't mind? Said the old I'm afraid the carriage won't take us all And I don't like to suggest to Eric To desert his cousin so soon So far from minding it I said I should prefer it It will give me time to scratch These beautiful old ruin I'll keep you company After suddenly said And in answer to what I suppose Was a look of surprise on my face He said in a low voice I really would rather I shall be quite the chop in the carriage I think I'll walk too Said the old He will have to be content with Eric as your escort He added To Lady Murrell Who had joined us while he was speaking You must be as entertaining as surprise Three gentlemen rolled into one Lady Murrell said to her companion It will be a grand military exploit A sort of full-on hope The captain modestly suggested You do pay pretty compliments Loved his fair cousin Good day to you, gentlemen three Or rather, dessert is three And the two young folk entered the carriage And were driven away How long will your scratch-thick? Said Arthur Well, I said I should like an hour for it Don't you think you had bad to go without me? I'll return by train I know there's one in about an hour's time Perhaps that would be best Said the old The station is quite close So I was left to my old devices And soon found a comfortable seat At the foot of a tree From which I had a good view of the ruins It is a very drowsy day I said to myself I'd only turning over the leaves of the scratch-book To find a blank page Why? I thought you were a mile off by this time For, to my surprise The two walkers were back again I came back to remind you Arthur said That the train goes every ten minutes Nonsense I said It isn't the metropolitan rainway It is the metropolitan rainway The old insisted This is a part of Kensington Why do you talk with your eyes shut? Said Arthur Wake up I think is the heat makes me so drowsy I said hoping But not feeling quite sure That I was talking sense Am I awake now? I think not The old judicially pronounced What do you think, doctor? He's only got one eye open And he's knowing like anything Cried Bruno Do wake up You dear old thing And he and Sylvie said to work Rolling the heavy head from side to side As if his connection with the shoulders Was a matter of no sort of importance And at last The professor opened his eyes And sat up Blinking at this With eyes of utter bewilderment Who do you have the kindness to mention? He said Asking me with his usual old fashioned courtesy Whereabouts we are just now And who we are beginning with me? I thought it best to begin with the children This is Sylvie, sir And this is Bruno Ah, yes I know them well enough The old man murmured It's myself I'm most anxious about Perhaps it will be good enough to mention At the same time how I got here Or how the problem occurs to me I venture to say And that is how you are to get back again True, true The professor replied That's the problem No doubt Viewed as the problem I'll sign the ones off It is a most interesting one Viewed as the portion of one's own biography It is I must admit Very distressing, he groaned But instantly added with a chuckle As to myself I think you mentioned that I am You are the professor Bruno shouted in his ear Didn't you know that? You've come from Outland And it's ever so far away from here The professor left to his feet With the agility of a boy Then there's no time to lose Climbed anxiously I've just asked this guyless peasant With his brace of buckets That contain apparently water If he'll be so kind as to directors Guyless peasant He proceeded in a loud voice Would you tell us the way to Outland? The guyless peasant turned With a sheepish scream Hey, was all he said The way to Outland The professor repeated The guyless peasant sat down His buckets and conceded I do not I ought to mention The professor hastily put in Whatever you say Will be used in evidence against you The guyless peasant Instantly resumed his pockets Then I say snout He answered briskly And walked away at a great piss The children gray sadly Are the rapidly vanishing figure He goes very quickly The professor said with a sigh But I know that was the right thing to say I've studied your English law However, let's ask these neck men Thus coming He's not guyless And he's not a peasant But I don't know That either point is the vital importance It was, in fact The honorable Eric Linden Who had apparently Fulfilled his task of his Scouting lady mural home And was now strolling lazily Up and down the road Outside the house Enjoying a solitary cigar Might I trouble you sir To tell us the nearest way To Outland Oddity as he was In our appearance The professor was In that essential nature Which no outward disguise could conceal A thorough gentleman And as such Eric Linden accepted him instantly He took the cigar from his mouth And delicately shook off the ash Why he conceded The name sounds strange to me He said And I doubt if I can help you It is not very far from fairy land The professor suggested Eric Linden ice browns To slightly raise that this works And an amused smile Which he courteously tried to repress Flitted across his handsome face A trifle cracket He muttered to himself But what a jolly old patriarchy it is Then he turned to the children And can't you help him little fork He said With a gentleness of tone And seemed to win their hearts at once Surely you know all about it How many mines to Babylon Three score mines and ten Can I get there by candlelight Yes and back again To my surprise Bruno ran forwards to him As if he was some old friend of theirs Seized the disengaged hand And hung on to it with both of his own And there stood this tall dignified officer In the middle of the road Gravely swinging a little boy to and fro Why Sylvie stood ready to push him Exactly as if a real swing Has suddenly been provided for their pastime We don't want to get to Babylon, you know Bruno explained as he swung And it isn't candlelight It's daylight, Sylvie added Giving the swing a push of extra vigor Which nearly took the whole machine By this time it was clear to me That Eric Linden was quite unconscious Of my presence Even the professor and the children Seemed to have lost sight of me And I stood in the midst of the group As unconcernedly as the ghost Seeing but unseen How perfectly I saw Cronus The professor exclaimed with enthusiasm He had his watch in his hand And was carefully counting Bruno's oscillations He measures time quite as securely As the pendulum Yet even pendulums The good-natured young soldier observed As he carefully released his hand From Bruno's grasp I'm not a joy forever Come, that's enough for one bout, little Min Next time we meet You shall have another Meanwhile, you'd better take this Ladies and gentlemen, to queer street number We will fight it, cried Bruno equally As they dragged the professor away We are much indebted to you The professor said, looking over his shoulder Don't mention it Replied the officer, raising his hat As a parting salute What number did you say The professor called from the distance And made a trumpet of his two hands Four T He shouted the instantorian tones And not piano by any means He added to himself It's a mad world, my masters A mad world He lit another cigar And strung on to watch his hotel What a lovely evening, I said Joining him as he passed me He said, where did you come from? Drop from the clouds I'm strolling your way, I said And no further explanation seemed necessary Have a cigar Thanks, I'm not a smoker Is there a lunatic asylum near here? Not that I know of Thought there might be But a lunatic just now Queer old fish as ever I saw And so, in friendly charge Our homeward ways And wished each other good night At the door of his hotel Left to myself I felt the ear of feeling rush over me again And so, standing at the door of number 40 The three figures I knew so well Then, is the wrong house? Bruno was saying No, no, it's the right house The professor cheerfully replied It's the wrong street That's where we've made our mistake Our best plan now will be to... It was over, the street was empty Commonplace life was around me And the ear of feeling had fled End of Chapter 18 Queer Street, Number 40 Chapter 19 of Sylvie and Bruno This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Kalinda Sylvie and Bruno by Lewis Carroll Chapter 19 How to make a Philiz The week passed without any further communication with The Hall As Arthur was evidently fearful That we might wear out our welcome But when, on Sunday morning We were setting out for church He agreed to his proposal to go round and inquire after the Earl Who was said to be unwell Eric, who was strolling in the garden Gave us a good report of the invalid Who was still in bed, with Lady Muriel in attendance Are you coming with us to church, I inquired? Thanks, no, he courteously replied It's not exactly in my line, you know It's an excellent institution for the poor When I'm with my own folk I go Just to set them an example But I'm not known here, so I think I'll excuse myself sitting out a sermon Country preachers are always so dull Arthur was silent till we were out of hearing Then he said to himself, almost inaudibly We are two or three are gathered together in my name There am I, in the midst of them Yes, I assented No doubt that is the principle on which church-going rests And when he does go, he continued Our thoughts ran so much together The conversation was often slightly elliptical I suppose he repeats the words I believe in the communion of saints By this time we had reached the little church Into which a goodly stream of worshipers Consisting mainly of fishermen and their families Was flowing The service would have been pronounced By any modern aesthetic religionist Or religious aesthetic, which is it To be crude and cold To me, coming fresh from the ever-advancing Conference of a London church under a Suadizant Catholic rector It was unspeakably refreshing There was no theatrical procession Of demure little choristers Trying their best not to simper Under the admiring gaze of the congregation The people's share in the service Was taken by the people themselves Unaided, except that a few good voices Judiciously posted here and there among them Kept the singing from going too far astray There was no murdering of the noble music Contained in the Bible and the liturgy By its recital in a dead monotone With no more expression than a mechanical talking doll No, the prayers were prayed, the lessons were read And best of all, the sermon was talked And I found myself repeating as we left the church The words of Jacob when he awaked out of his sleep Surely the Lord is in this place This is none other but the house of God And this is the gate of heaven Yes, said Arthur, apparently an answer to my thoughts Those high services are fast becoming pure formalism More and more the people are beginning to regard them As performances in which they only assist in the French sense And it is specially bad for the little boys They'd be much less self-conscious as pantomime ferries With all that dressing up and stagey entrances and exits And being always en évidence No wonder if they're eaten up with vanity The blatant little coxcombs When we passed the hall on our return We found the Earl and Lady Muriel sitting out in the garden Eric had gone for a stroll We joined them, and the conversation soon turned On the sermon we had just heard The subject of which was selfishness What a change has come over our pulpits, Arthur remarked Since the time when Paley gave that utterly selfish definition of virtue The doing good to mankind In obedience to the will of God For the sake of everlasting happiness Lady Muriel looked at him inquiringly But she seemed to have learned by intuition What years of experience had taught me That the way to elicit Arthur's deepest thoughts Was neither to assent nor dissent But simply to listen At that time he went on A great tidal wave of selfishness was sweeping over human thought Right and wrong had somehow been transformed into gain and loss And religion had become a sort of commercial transaction We may be thankful that our preachers are beginning to take a nobler view of life But is it not taught again and again in the Bible, I venture to ask? Not in the Bible as a whole, said Arthur In the Old Testament, no doubt, rewards and punishments Are constantly appealed to as motives for action That teaching is best for children And the Israelites seem to have been mentally uttered children We guide our children thus at first But we appeal as soon as possible To their innate sense of right and wrong And when that stage is safely passed We appeal to the highest motive of all The desire for likeness to and union with The supreme good I think you will find that to be the teaching of the Bible as a whole Beginning with that thy days may be long in the land And ending with be ye perfect even as your Father Which is in heaven is perfect We were silent for a while And then Arthur went off on another tack Look at the literature of hymns now How canker does it through and through with selfishness There are few human compositions More utterly degraded than some modern hymns I quoted the stanza Whatever Lord we tend to thee Repaid a thousandfold shall be Then gladly will we give to thee, giver of all Yes, he said grimly, that is the typical stanza And the very last charity sermon I heard was infected with it After giving many good reasons for charity The preacher wound up with, and for all you give He will be repaid a thousandfold Ah, the utter meanness of such a motive to be put before men Who do know what self-sacrifice is Who can appreciate generosity and heroism Talk of original sin, he went on with increasing bitterness Can you have a stronger proof of the original goodness There must be in this nation Than the fact that religion has been preached to us As a commercial speculation for a century And that we still believe in a god It couldn't have gone on so long Lady Muriel musingly remarked If the opposition hadn't been practically silenced Put under what French call la clouture Surely in any lecture hall Or in private society Such teaching would soon have been hooded down I trust so said Arthur And though I don't want to see brawling in church legalized I must say that our preachers enjoy an enormous privilege Which they ill deserve and which they misuse terribly We put our men into a pulpit and we virtually tell him Now you may stand there and talk to us for half an hour We won't interrupt you by so much as a word You shall have it all your own way And what does he give us in return? Shallow twaddle that if it were addressed to you Over a dinner table you would think Does the man take me for a fool? The return of Eric from his walk Checked the tide of Arthur's eloquence And after a few minutes' talk About our conventional topics We took our leave Lady Muriel walked with us to the gate You have given me much to think about She said earnestly as she gave Arthur her hand I'm so glad you came in And her words brought a real glow of pleasure Into that pale worn face of his On the Tuesday As Arthur did not seem equal to more walking I took a long stroll by myself Having stipulated that he was not to give The whole day to his books At the hall at about tea time On my way back I passed the station Just as the afternoon train came in sight And sauntered down the stairs to see it come in But there was little to gratify my idle curiosity And when the train was empty and the platform clear I found it was about time to be moving on If I meant to reach the hall by five As I approached the end of the platform From which a steep irregular wooden staircase Conducted to the upper world I noticed two passengers Who had evidently arrived by the train But who, oddly enough, had entirely escaped my notice Though the arrivals had been so few They were a young woman and a little girl The former, so far as one could judge by appearances Was a nursemaid or possibly a nurse regoverness In attendance on the child Whose refined face even more than her dress Distinguished her as of a higher class Than her companion The child's face was refined But it was also a worn and sad one And told a tale, or so I seem to read it Of much illness and suffering Sweetly and patiently born She had a little crutch to help herself along with And she was now standing Looking wistfully up the long staircase And apparently waiting till she could muster courage To begin the toilsome assent There are some things one says in life As well as things one does Which come automatically by reflex action As the physiologists say Meaning no doubt, action without reflection Just as Lucas is said to be derived Anon Lucendo Closing one's eyelids when something seems to be flying Into the eye is one of those actions And saying, may I carry the little girl up the stairs Was another It wasn't that any thought of offering help occurred to me And that then I spoke The first intimation I had of being likely to make That offer was the sound of my own voice And the discovery that the offer had been made The servant paused doubtfully glancing from her charge to me And then back again at the child Would you like it dear, she asked her But no such doubt appeared to cross the child's mind She left her arms eagerly to be taken up Please was all she said While a faint smile flickered on the weary little face I took her up with scrupulous care And her little arm was at once clasped Trustfully around my neck She was a very light weight So light, in fact, that the ridiculous idea crossed my mind That it was rather easier going up with her in my arms Than it would have been without her And when we reached the road above with its cart-ruts And loose stones All formidable obstacles for a lame child I found that I had said I'd better carry her over this rough place Before I had formed any mental connection With its roughness and my gentle little burden Indeed, it's troubling you too much, sir, the maid exclaimed She can walk very well on the flat But the arm that was twined about my neck Clung just an atom more closely at the suggestion And decided me to say She's no weight, really, I'll carry her a little further I'm going your way The nurse raised no further objection And the next speaker was a ragged little boy With bare feet and a brim over his shoulder Who ran across the road And pretended to sweep the perfectly dry road In front of us Give us a penny the little urchin pleaded With a broad grin on his dirty face Don't give him a penny, said the little lady in my arms The words sounded harsh But the tone was gentleness itself He's an idle little boy And she laughed a laugh of such silvery sweetness As I had never yet heard from any lips but silvies To my astonishment the boy actually joined in the laugh As if there were some subtle sympathy between them As he ran away down the road And vanished through a gap in the hedge As he was back in a few moments having discarded his broom And provided himself from some mysterious source With an exquisite bouquet of flowers Buy a posie, buy a posie, only a penny he chanted With the melancholy drawl of a professional beggar Don't buy it was Her Majesty's edict as she looked down With a lofty scorn that seemed curiously mixed With tender interest on the ragged creature at her feet But this time I turned rebel and ignored the royal commands Such lovely flowers and a form so entirely new to me Were not to be abandoned at the bidding of any little maid However imperious I bought the bouquet and the little boy After popping the half-penny into his mouth Turned head over heels as if to ascertain Whether the human mouth is really adapted to serve As a money-box With wonder that increased every moment I turned over the flowers and examined them one by one There was not a single one among them That I could remember having ever seen before At last I turned to the nursemaid Do these flowers grow wild about here? I never saw, but the speech died away on my lips The nursemaid had vanished You can put me down now if you like, Sylvie quietly remarked I obeyed in silence and could only ask myself Is this a dream? On finding Sylvie and Bruno walking one on either side of me And clinging to my hands with the ready confidence of childhood You're larger than when I saw you last, I began Really, I think we ought to be introduced again There's so much of you that I never met before, you know Very well, Sylvie merrily replied This is Bruno. It doesn't take long He's only got one name There's another name to me Bruno protested with a reproachful look At the mistress of the ceremonies And it's Esquire Oh, of course, I forgot, said Sylvie Bruno Esquire And did you come here to meet me, my children, I inquired? You know, I said we'd come on Tuesday, Sylvie explained Are we the proper size for common children? Quite the right size for children, I replied, adding mentally They're not common children by any means But what became of the nursemaid? It are gone, Bruno solemnly replied Then it wasn't solid like Sylvie in you No, we couldn't touch it, you know If we walked at it, we'd go right through I quite expected you'd find it out at once, said Sylvie Bruno ran it against the telegraph post by accident And it went in two halves But you were looking the other way I felt that I had indeed missed an opportunity to witness Such an event as a nursemaid going in two halves Does not occur twice in a lifetime When did you guess it were Sylvie, Bruno inquired I didn't guess it till it was Sylvie, I said But how did you manage the nursemaid? Bruno managed it, said Sylvie It's called a flizz And how do you make a flizz, Bruno? The professor teached me how, said Bruno First, oh, takes a lot of air Oh, Bruno, Sylvie interposed The professor said you weren't to tell But who did her voice, I asked Indeed, it's troubling you too much, sir She can walk very well on the flat Bruno laughed merrily as I turned hastily from side to side Looking in all directions for the speaker That were me, he gleefully proclaimed in his own voice She can indeed walk very well on the flat, I said And I think I was the flat By this time we were near the hall This is where my friends live, I said Will you come in and have some tea with them? Bruno gave a little jump of joy And Sylvie said, yes, please You'd like some tea, Bruno, wouldn't you? He hasn't tasted tea, she explained to me Since we left Outland And that weren't good tea, said Bruno It were so welly-weak End of chapter 19 How to make a flizz