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Sylvie and Bruno-Part20_Lewis Carrol(1832-1898)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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"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 yet reached this 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 ominousphrases 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 table cloth was laid under the table, instead of

upon it: we sat round it on the floor: and I believe we really enjoyed



that extremelyuncomfortable kind of dinner more than we ever did the

orthodox arrangement!"



"I've no doubt of it," Lady Muriel 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 Muriel 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 liked to show. There was something so



uncanny in 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 Muriel? I know you do sing without music."



"The only songs I know--without music--are desperatelysentimental,

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 de rigueur to decline to



sing till they have been petitioned three or four times, and have

pleaded failure of memory, loss of voice, and other conclusive reasons



for silence--began at once:--

[Image...'Three badgers on a mossy stone']



"There be three Badgers on a mossy stone,




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