All this I saw from the open window of the Warden's breakfast-saloon, looking across the shoulder of the Lord Chancellor2, who had sprung to his feet the moment the shouting began, almost as if he had been expecting it, and had rushed to the window which commanded the best view of the market-place.
“What can it all mean?” he kept repeating to himself, as, with his hands clasped behind him, and his gown floating in the air, he paced rapidly up and down the room. “I never heard such shouting before—and at this time of the morning, too! And with such unanimity3! Doesn't it strike you as very remarkable4?”
I represented, modestly, that to my ears it appeared that they were shouting for different things, but the Chancellor would not listen to my suggestion for a moment. “They all shout the same words, I assure you!” he said: then, leaning well out of the window, he whispered to a man who was standing5 close underneath6, “Keep'em together, ca'n't you? The Warden will be here directly. Give'em the signal for the march up!” All this was evidently not meant for my ears, but I could scarcely help hearing it, considering that my chin was almost on the Chancellor's shoulder.
The 'march up' was a very curious sight:
{Image...The march-up}
a straggling procession of men, marching two and two, began from the other side of the market-place, and advanced in an irregular zig-zag fashion towards the Palace, wildly tacking8 from side to side, like a sailing vessel9 making way against an unfavourable wind so that the head of the procession was often further from us at the end of one tack7 than it had been at the end of the previous one.
Yet it was evident that all was being done under orders, for I noticed that all eyes were fixed10 on the man who stood just under the window, and to whom the Chancellor was continually whispering. This man held his hat in one hand and a little green flag in the other: whenever he waved the flag the procession advanced a little nearer, when he dipped it they sidled a little farther off, and whenever he waved his hat they all raised a hoarse11 cheer. “Hoo-roah!” they cried, carefully keeping time with the hat as it bobbed up and down. “Hoo-roah! Noo! Consti! Tooshun! Less! Bread! More! Taxes!”
“That'll do, that'll do!” the Chancellor whispered. “Let 'em rest a bit till I give you the word. He's not here yet!” But at this moment the great folding-doors of the saloon were flung open, and he turned with a guilty start to receive His High Excellency. However it was only Bruno, and the Chancellor gave a little gasp12 of relieved anxiety.
“Morning!” said the little fellow, addressing the remark, in a general sort of way, to the Chancellor and the waiters. “Doos oo know where Sylvie is? I's looking for Sylvie!”
“She's with the Warden, I believe, y'reince!” the Chancellor replied with a low bow. There was, no doubt, a certain amount of absurdity13 in applying this title (which, as of course you see without my telling you, was nothing but 'your Royal Highness' condensed into one syllable) to a small creature whose father was merely the Warden of Outland: still, large excuse must be made for a man who had passed several years at the Court of Fairyland, and had there acquired the almost impossible art of pronouncing five syllables14 as one.
But the bow was lost upon Bruno, who had run out of the room, even while the great feat15 of The Unpronounceable Monosyllable was being triumphantly16 performed.
Just then, a single voice in the distance was understood to shout “A speech from the Chancellor!” “Certainly, my friends!” the Chancellor replied with extraordinary promptitude. “You shall have a speech!” Here one of the waiters, who had been for some minutes busy making a queer-looking mixture of egg and sherry, respectfully presented it on a large silver salver. The Chancellor took it haughtily17, drank it off thoughtfully, smiled benevolently18 on the happy waiter as he set down the empty glass, and began. To the best of my recollection this is what he said.
“Ahem! Ahem! Ahem! Fellow-sufferers, or rather suffering fellows—” (“Don't call 'em names!” muttered the man under the window. “I didn't say felons19!” the Chancellor explained.) “You may be sure that I always sympa—” (“'Ear, 'ear!” shouted the crowd, so loudly as quite to drown the orator20's thin squeaky voice) “—that I always sympa—” he repeated. (“Don't simper quite so much!” said the man under the window. “It makes yer look a hidiot!” And, all this time, “'Ear, 'ear!” went rumbling21 round the market-place, like a peal22 of thunder.) “That I always sympathise!” yelled the Chancellor, the first moment there was silence. “But your true friend is the Sub-Warden! Day and night he is brooding on your wrongs—I should say your rights—that is to say your wrongs—no, I mean your rights—” (“Don't talk no more!” growled23 the man under the window. “You're making a mess of it!”) At this moment the Sub-Warden entered the saloon. He was a thin man, with a mean and crafty24 face, and a greenish-yellow complexion25; and he crossed the room very slowly, looking suspiciously about him as if he thought there might be a savage26 dog hidden somewhere. “Bravo!” he cried, patting the Chancellor on the back. “You did that speech very well indeed. Why, you're a born orator, man!”
“Oh, that's nothing!” the Chancellor replied, modestly, with downcast eyes. “Most orators27 are born, you know.”
The Sub-Warden thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “Why, so they are!” he admitted. “I never considered it in that light. Still, you did it very well. A word in your ear!”
The rest of their conversation was all in whispers: so, as I could hear no more, I thought I would go and find Bruno.
I found the little fellow standing in the passage, and being addressed by one of the men in livery, who stood before him, nearly bent28 double from extreme respectfulness, with his hands hanging in front of him like the fins29 of a fish. “His High Excellency,” this respectful man was saying, “is in his Study, y'reince!” (He didn't pronounce this quite so well as the Chancellor.) Thither30 Bruno trotted31, and I thought it well to follow him.
The Warden, a tall dignified32 man with a grave but very pleasant face, was seated before a writing-table, which was covered with papers, and holding on his knee one of the sweetest and loveliest little maidens33 it has ever been my lot to see. She looked four or five years older than Bruno, but she had the same rosy34 cheeks and sparkling eyes, and the same wealth of curly brown hair. Her eager smiling face was turned upwards35 towards her father's, and it was a pretty sight to see the mutual36 love with which the two faces—one in the Spring of Life, the other in its late Autumn—were gazing on each other.
“No, you've never seen him,” the old man was saying: “you couldn't, you know, he's been away so long—traveling from land to land, and seeking for health, more years than you've been alive, little Sylvie!” Here Bruno climbed upon his other knee, and a good deal of kissing, on a rather complicated system, was the result.
“He only came back last night,” said the Warden, when the kissing was over: “he's been traveling post-haste, for the last thousand miles or so, in order to be here on Sylvie's birthday. But he's a very early riser, and I dare say he's in the Library already. Come with me and see him. He's always kind to children. You'll be sure to like him.”
“Has the Other Professor come too?” Bruno asked in an awe-struck voice.
“Yes, they arrived together. The Other Professor is—well, you won't like him quite so much, perhaps. He's a little more dreamy, you know.”
“I wiss Sylvie was a little more dreamy,” said Bruno.
“What do you mean, Bruno?” said Sylvie.
Bruno went on addressing his father. “She says she ca'n't, oo know. But I thinks it isn't ca'n't, it's wo'n't.”
“Says she ca'n't dream!” the puzzled Warden repeated.
“She do say it,” Bruno persisted. “When I says to her 'Let's stop lessons!', she says 'Oh, I ca'n't dream of letting oo stop yet!'”
“He always wants to stop lessons,” Sylvie explained, “five minutes after we begin!”
“Five minutes' lessons a day!” said the Warden. “You won't learn much at that rate, little man!”
“That's just what Sylvie says,” Bruno rejoined. “She says I wo'n't learn my lessons. And I tells her, over and over, I ca'n't learn 'em. And what doos oo think she says? She says 'It isn't ca'n't, it's wo'n't!'”
“Let's go and see the Professor,” the Warden said, wisely avoiding further discussion. The children got down off his knees, each secured a hand, and the happy trio set off for the Library—followed by me. I had come to the conclusion by this time that none of the party (except, for a few moments, the Lord Chancellor) was in the least able to see me.
“What's the matter with him?” Sylvie asked, walking with a little extra sedateness37, by way of example to Bruno at the other side, who never ceased jumping up and down.
{Image...Visiting the profesor}
“What was the matter—but I hope he's all right now—was lumbago, and rheumatism38, and that kind of thing. He's been curing himself, you know: he's a very learned doctor. Why, he's actually invented three new diseases, besides a new way of breaking your collar-bone!”
“Is it a nice way?” said Bruno.
“Well, hum, not very,” the Warden said, as we entered the Library. “And here is the Professor. Good morning, Professor! Hope you're quite rested after your journey!”
A jolly-looking, fat little man, in a flowery dressing-gown, with a large book under each arm, came trotting39 in at the other end of the room, and was going straight across without taking any notice of the children. “I'm looking for Vol. Three,” he said. “Do you happen to have seen it?”
“You don't see my children, Professor!” the Warden exclaimed, taking him by the shoulders and turning him round to face them.
The Professor laughed violently: then he gazed at them through his great spectacles, for a minute or two, without speaking.
At last he addressed Bruno. “I hope you have had a good night, my child?” Bruno looked puzzled. “I's had the same night oo've had,” he replied. “There's only been one night since yesterday!”
It was the Professor's turn to look puzzled now. He took off his spectacles, and rubbed them with his handkerchief. Then he gazed at them again. Then he turned to the Warden. “Are they bound?” he enquired40.
“No, we aren't,” said Bruno, who thought himself quite able to answer this question.
The Professor shook his head sadly. “Not even half-bound?”
“Why would we be half-bound?” said Bruno.
“We're not prisoners!”
But the Professor had forgotten all about them by this time, and was speaking to the Warden again. “You'll be glad to hear,” he was saying, “that the Barometer's beginning to move—”
“Well, which way?” said the Warden—adding, to the children, “Not that I care, you know. Only he thinks it affects the weather. He's a wonderfully clever man, you know. Sometimes he says things that only the Other Professor can understand. Sometimes he says things that nobody can understand! Which way is it, Professor? Up or down?”
“Neither!” said the Professor, gently clapping his hands. “It's going sideways—if I may so express myself.”
“And what kind of weather does that produce?” said the Warden. “Listen, children! Now you'll hear something worth knowing!”
“Horizontal weather,” said the Professor, and made straight for the door, very nearly trampling41 on Bruno, who had only just time to get out of his way.
“Isn't he learned?” the Warden said, looking after him with admiring eyes. “Positively he runs over with learning!”
“But he needn't run over me!” said Bruno.
The Professor was back in a moment: he had changed his dressing-gown for a frock-coat, and had put on a pair of very strange-looking boots, the tops of which were open umbrellas. “I thought you'd like to see them,” he said. “These are the boots for horizontal weather!”
{Image...Boots for horizontal weather}
“But what's the use of wearing umbrellas round one's knees?”
“In ordinary rain,” the Professor admitted, “they would not be of much use. But if ever it rained horizontally, you know, they would be invaluable42—simply invaluable!”
“Take the Professor to the breakfast-saloon, children,” said the Warden. “And tell them not to wait for me. I had breakfast early, as I've some business to attend to.” The children seized the Professor's hands, as familiarly as if they had known him for years, and hurried him away. I followed respectfully behind.
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收听单词发音
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1
warden
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| n.监察员，监狱长，看守人，监护人 | |
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chancellor
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| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
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3
unanimity
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| n.全体一致，一致同意 | |
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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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5
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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6
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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7
tack
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| n.大头钉；假缝，粗缝 | |
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8
tacking
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| （帆船）抢风行驶，定位焊[铆]紧钉 | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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10
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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11
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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12
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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13
absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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14
syllables
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| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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15
feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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16
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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benevolently
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| adv.仁慈地，行善地 | |
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19
felons
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| n.重罪犯( felon的名词复数 )；瘭疽；甲沟炎；指头脓炎 | |
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orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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22
peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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23
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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24
crafty
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| adj.狡猾的，诡诈的 | |
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25
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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orators
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| n.演说者，演讲家( orator的名词复数 ) | |
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28
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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29
fins
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| [医]散热片；鱼鳍；飞边；鸭掌 | |
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30
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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31
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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sedateness
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| n.安详，镇静 | |
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rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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39
trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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40
enquired
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| 打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 )； 询问； 问问题； 查问 | |
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41
trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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42
invaluable
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| adj.无价的，非常宝贵的，极为贵重的 | |
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