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Sylvie and Bruno-Part2_Lewis Carrol(1832-1898)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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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 unanimity!

Doesn't it strike you as very remarkable?"



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 standing close underneath, "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" target="_blank" title="ad.明显地">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 tacking from side to side, like a



sailing vessel making way against an unfavourable wind so that the head

of the procession was often further from us at the end of one tack 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 fixed 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 processionadvanced a little nearer, when he dipped



it they sidled a little farther off, and whenever he waved his hat they

all raised a hoarse 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 gasp 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 absurdity 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 syllables as one.



But the bow was lost upon Bruno, who had run out of the room, even

while the great feat of The Unpronounceable Monosyllable was being



triumphantly 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 haughtily, drank it off

thoughtfully, smiled benevolently 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 felons!" the Chancellor explained.)

"You may be sure that I always sympa--"



("'Ear, 'ear!" shouted the crowd, so loudly as quite to drown the

orator'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



rumbling round the market-place, like a peal of thunder.)




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