But Marie-Celeste succeeded in getting through the first few hours without telling: the two hours with Harold on the train, a very trying half hour when she was all alone with her mother, and another trying half hour the next morning, when she was sitting in the breakfast-room with Dorothy; and after that the worst was over, so many delightful6 things came along to claim everyone’s thought and attention. And one of the most delightful things of all—at least in the children’s estimation—came with that Sunday afternoon in Oxford, and Dorothy was the one to be thanked for it.
It seemed that in one of the colleges somebody lived who Marie-Celeste would have given more to see, next to the Queen (and, as you know, she had seen her without the asking), than any one else in England, and that was the man who calls himself Lewis Carroll, and who has written those incomparable books, “Through the Looking-Glass” and “Alice in Wonderland.” If it is possible that any little friend of these stories of mine has never happened to have read them, then let me urge you at once to give Aunt Bess or Uncle Jack7 no rest till both are in your keeping, with your name written very legibly across the fly-leaf of each, so that you can keep them for your very own till you’ve no more use for any books whatsoever. And while you are about it, why not put in a plea for Kingsley’s “Water Babies,” too, which is of the same beautiful dreamland type; and please do not think for a moment that you are too old for any of the three. Why, some one I know, who is well on to forty, just revels8 in those same three books, and, for that matter, there are some things in them that you cannot fully9 take in even then. And in this connection perhaps it is fair to tell you, in case you do not happen to know it already, that it is twenty years and more since these books were written; but then of course you are sensible enough to see that that is ever so much more to their credit. Indeed, it was just because they were written so long ago that the visit of which I am about to tell you came to pass. Twenty years before Dorothy’s father had been rector of a church there in Oxford, and though Dorothy was only two years old at that time, and her brother Harry10 but a year and a half older, they had been great pets, babies though they were, with the author of “Wonderland” and “Through the Looking-Glass,” and Mr. Dodgson—for that is Lewis Carroll’s real name—had been in and out of Canon Allyn’s house almost every day in the week. And what was true of Canon Allyn’s house was true of many another house in Oxford where there were children; and so you see it was because of this old-time intimacy11 with Lewis Carroll that Dorothy had made bold to write and ask if she might bring Harold and Marie-Celeste to call upon him. But for some reason or other Mr. Dodgson no longer cares to see as much of the little people as formerly12; in fact, he rather runs away from them when they seek him out; and when he received Dorothy’s letter, what did he do but write her that he was very sorry to say that he would not be at home on the afternoon in question, but that if it would be any pleasure to her little friends to see his rooms, she might bring them there and welcome, and that he would leave some old photographs that he thought would interest them ready to her hand in a portfolio13 on the writing-table.
And so they were not to see “Lewis Carroll,” which was of course considerable of a disappointment to Marie-Celeste and Harold, and to Dorothy as well; but all the same the recollection of that Sunday afternoon in Oxford will doubtless long hold its place among the most delightful memories of their lives.
It was only two o’clock when they set out, and a walk up the beautiful High Street, past the spires14 and domes15, brick windows and massive gateways17 of the old churches and colleges that line it, and then a turn at the corner of Aldgate Street, soon brought them to Christ Church. Mr. Carroll’s rooms—for he prefers doubtless to be Mr. Carroll to those of us who know him only through his books—. were of course the first object of interest, and Dorothy, who remembered where they were from a more fortunate visit of a few years before, when they had not been obliged, as to-day, to count without their host, led the way through the Entrance Gateway16, well worthy18 of its old name of “The Faire Gate.”
Over this entrance looms19 the beautiful tower containing Great Tom, an old, old bell that tolls20 a curfew of one hundred and one strokes every night as a signal for the closing of the college. And Great Tom looks down on one of those quadrangles which at Christ Church, as indeed at all the colleges, forms one of the most attractive features. In many cases the walls of the buildings which surround the quadrangles on the four sides are almost hid beneath a luxurious21 growth of English ivy22, while from April to December the lawns that carpet them are green with the wonderful depth of color peculiar23 to lawns that have been cultivated for centuries.
The windows of Mr. Carroll’s rooms open on the “Ton Quad,” as it is called, because of the nearness to Great Tom, and they found the janitor25, who had been informed of their coming, ready to unlock the door for them.
“Do you think we have driven Mr. Dodgson away by planning to come here this afternoon?” asked Dorothy, feeling that this invasion of a man’s room in his absence bordered on intrusion, and hesitating to step over the threshold.
“Like as not, mum,” replied the old janitor honestly, “he’s grown that averse27 to mingling28 much with folk, be they big or little.”
“But he wrote me very cordially to come, only that he had an engagement and would not be at home.”
“Then he probably told you the truth, mum. He often goes off on a ten-mile tramp of a Sunday afternoon with one of the professors. He left word that he’d not be home till six, mum, so you needn’t be thinking of leaving till half-past five, mum;” and so it was plainly evident that Lewis Carroll wanted to run no risk of seeing them at either end of their visit, and Dorothy could not help feeling a little piqued29.
“I am sorry Mr. Dodgson is so much afraid of meeting us,” she said with a sigh; “we used to live in Oxford, and he was a good friend of mine when I was a child. It seems strange he ceases to care for his little friends as soon as they are grown up.”
“You must leave an old bachelor to his foibles, mum. It seems as though they must have them of one sort or another. I’m a bachelor myself, mum, and have me own little peculiarities30, they tell me, mum.”
“Oh, Miss Dorothy, please look here! These are the photographs Mr. Carroll wrote you about!” called Marie-Celeste, for she and Harold had had no misgivings31 whatever about making their way into a room to which they had been granted privileged entrance; and after a reconnoitring tour round its borders had naturally brought up at the portfolio, to which their attention had been specially32 directed in Mr. Carroll’s note.
“The door has a spring lock, mum,” explained the janitor; “will you kindly33 make sure to close it on leaving?” and with this parting injunction he left them to their own devices.
It seems that in the old days, when Lewis Carroll loved to play host to the children, they would often come to take afternoon tea in his lodgings, and then likely as not, if the light were good, he would spirit them into a ‘room fitted up for the purpose and take their pictures; and then, if they promised to be good and not to bother, they might follow him into the queer-smelling little room where he made the pictures come out, and they would be permitted to have a look at the dripping glass plate, from which they could seldom make head nor tail, held up against the dark-room’s lantern for inspection34. But, all the same, their faith in the result was supreme35; for what could a wizard not do who could weave fairy-tales so wonderfully as not to have them seem like fairy-tales at all. And so this portfolio, extended to its uttermost, was literally36 stuffed with pictures; and what did they discover, to their surprised delight, lying right on the top of the pile, but three or four unmistakable photographs of Harry and Dorothy Allyn, which had evidently been placed there by design. Dorothy was pleased at this little attention, and partly forgave Mr. Carroll his antipathy37 to renewing old friendships.
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The pictures themselves were as funny as could be, and the Harry Allyn of those days was wonderfully like the Albert Allyn of these; so that a council was held on the spot, and the resolution carried that they would leave a little note on Mr. Carroll’s table, humbly38 begging for one of the pictures, that they might have the pleasure of showing them to interested parties at Windsor.
The inspection of the photographs once over, the little party settled themselves to “taking the little sitting-room39 in,” as they said, and there was little, you may be sure, that escaped them.
The curious old fire-irons were noted40, the subjects of the pictures on the walls, the books on the shelves, and a remarkable41 paper-knife and quaint42 old inkstand upon the table.
Marie-Celeste, to whom this visit meant more than to Harold and Dorothy, even made so bold as to glance through an intervening portière to the bachelor bedroom beyond; and yet you must know that there was not a vestige43 of prying44 curiosity in this investigating mood of hers. The next thing, and sometimes a better thing than knowing your favorite author, is to know how and where he lives; and it was a matter of supreme delight to Marie-Celeste that henceforth when she should open Lewis Carroll’s books she should be able to picture him working away here in his study, and just as he really looked, too, for by chance or accidents full-length photograph stood on the mantel, which Dorothy, from her visita few years before, was able to pronounce an excellent likeness45, and very characteristic.
“I would like to be able to say I had sat exactly where ‘Alice’ was written,” said Marie-Celeste, slipping into the chair at the writing-table. “Do you think I could honestly?”
“Well, both table and chair look old enough,” Dorothy considerately replied; “but I don’t believe books like those are written much in regular places at all. It seems as though ‘Alice’ must at least have been made up out on the river, even if there were not three little pairs of childish hands to steer46 and guide the boat, as the verses at the beginning would have us believe.”
“Oh, but I do believe there were, Miss Dorothy!” said Marie-Celeste warmly; “don’t you remember it says,
”’ All in the golden afternoon
Full leisurely47 we glide48,
For both our oars49 with little skill
By little arms are plied26,
While little hands make vain pretence50
Our wanderings to guide.’”
And then in another verse in just so many words, ‘Thus grew the tale of Wonderland.’ Oh, yes, I choose to believe everything in those two books.”
“Well, I don’t blame you,” laughed Dorothy, “for everything is told as a matter of course, and it seems the most natural thing in the world for a rabbit to carry white gloves, and for little girls to seek advice of caterpillars51.”
“Well, the parts I used to like best were the verses;” for Harold, after the manner of the genus who pride themselves on early outgrowing52 many of the best things of life, relegated53 the books to the days of his early childhood; “the stories themselves always seemed more meant for girls than for boys.”
“Now, excuse me, Harold,” said Marie-Celeste, bristling54 up a little, “but I don’t see why you boys are so afraid of peeping into what you call a girl’s book. Of course there are books that tell only about girls that you wouldn’t like. To tell the truth, I don’t care much for them myself; but if a book ever happens to have a kind of girlish name to it, that settles it at once. Now, suppose it were possible for any one to write a story about me; I presume they would have to give a sort of girl’s name to the story; but would that mean that it was all about girls? Well, I guess not;” and Marie-Celeste laughed as she realized how wide such an estimate would fall of the mark. “Chris would be in it, of course, and you and Donald and—” and Marie-Celeste was going to say Ted24, but checked herself in time to make an exchange for Mr. Belden—“and Albert. Why, gracious, Harold, come to think of it, I haven’t a girl friend this summer—only Miss Dorothy here, if she will excuse me.”
“And it’s a pity about me, isn’t it, Marie-Celeste,” said Dorothy slyly, “for the author might feel that as I am your friend he ought to put mein somewhere, and that would make it a little more about girls, you see, and probably spoil the story.”
“Oh, Miss Dorothy, you know what I mean; it isn’t that I don’t like girls, it’s only that a book like ‘Alice’ ought to have just as much interest for boys as girls;” for all Marie-Celeste had in mind was the defence of the imputation55 that Lewis Carroll’s books were “just girls’ books.”
“If all the remarkable things in those two stories,” she continued, “had happened to a ‘Jack’ instead of an ‘Alice,’ I should have loved it just as much, I am sure.”
“Oh, well, you needn’t be quite so hard on me,” Harold replied, improving the first opportunity to put in a word, and very much amused at Marie-Celeste’s little tirade56. “I fancy, on the whole, you don’t know much more about ‘Alice’s’ adventures than I do.”
This last remark Marie-Celeste chose to regard as a challenge, and then followed such a rehearsal57 of Alice’s varied58 experiences as would have done Lewis Carroll’s heart good to hear. Both eager to show how much they remembered, the moment either paused for the fraction of a second, the other would take it up, and so the whole ground was pretty well gone over. Harold’s principal achievement lay in “The Walrus59 and the Carpenter,” and Marie-Celeste’s in the recitation of “Jabberwocky” from “Through the Looking-Glass;” for not only was she able to slip its almost unpronounceable words quite easily from her tongue, but she remembered the explanation of them given by Humpty Dumpty, when Alice appeals to him a little later on in the story, and he modestly informs her that he can explain all the poems that ever were invented, “and a good many beside that haven’t been invented just yet.”
“It’s getting near four o’clock,” said Dorothy, feeling at last that she must interrupt the flow of conversation, no matter how interesting; “let us write the note asking for the picture, and then see something of the rest of the college.”
So the note was written and left conspicuously60 upon the writing-table; and then with one long farewell glance about them, and a flower stolen from a vase by Marie-Celeste and laid between the leaves of her prayer-book, they turned their backs on all they would ever be permitted to know of Lewis Carroll, and the door with the spring lock swung to behind them.
It had been part of the plan to attend the five-o’clock service in Christ Church Cathedral; and after spending a half hour or so in wandering through the cloisters61 and gaining something of an idea of the college as a whole, they went early into the cathedral, that they might also stroll for a while through the beautiful old church whose history dates as far back as the middle of the eighth century. At five o’clock promptly62 the beautiful choral service began, and the sweet music and the earnest spirit of the service seemed to round out to a fitting close that always to be remembered Sunday afternoon in Oxford.
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1
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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divulge
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| v.泄漏(秘密等)；宣布，公布 | |
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whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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revels
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| n.作乐( revel的名词复数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉v.作乐( revel的第三人称单数 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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portfolio
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| n.公事包；文件夹；大臣及部长职位 | |
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spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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domes
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| n.圆屋顶( dome的名词复数 )；像圆屋顶一样的东西；圆顶体育场 | |
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gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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gateways
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| n.网关( gateway的名词复数 )；门径；方法；大门口 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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looms
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| n.织布机( loom的名词复数 )v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的第三人称单数 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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tolls
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| （缓慢而有规律的）钟声( toll的名词复数 )； 通行费； 损耗； （战争、灾难等造成的）毁坏 | |
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luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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ivy
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| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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ted
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| vt.翻晒，撒，撒开 | |
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janitor
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| n.看门人，管门人 | |
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plied
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的过去式和过去分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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averse
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| adj.厌恶的；反对的，不乐意的 | |
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mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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29
piqued
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| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
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peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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36
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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37
antipathy
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| n.憎恶；反感，引起反感的人或事物 | |
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38
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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39
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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40
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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42
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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vestige
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| n.痕迹，遗迹，残余 | |
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44
prying
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| adj.爱打听的v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的现在分词 )；撬开 | |
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45
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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46
steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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47
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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48
glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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49
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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50
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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51
caterpillars
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| n.毛虫( caterpillar的名词复数 )；履带 | |
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52
outgrowing
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| 长[发展] 得超过（某物）的范围( outgrow的现在分词 )； 长[发展]得不能再要（某物）； 长得比…快； 生长速度超过 | |
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53
relegated
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| v.使降级( relegate的过去式和过去分词 )；使降职；转移；把…归类 | |
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54
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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55
imputation
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| n.归罪，责难 | |
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56
tirade
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| n.冗长的攻击性演说 | |
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57
rehearsal
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| n.排练，排演；练习 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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walrus
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| n.海象 | |
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conspicuously
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| ad.明显地，惹人注目地 | |
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cloisters
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| n.（学院、修道院、教堂等建筑的）走廊( cloister的名词复数 )；回廊；修道院的生活；隐居v.隐退，使与世隔绝( cloister的第三人称单数 ) | |
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62
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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