Sylvie & Bruno (Vol.1&2). Льюис КэрроллЧитать онлайн книгу.
flowers were such as I had ever seen before. Higher up, each wall contained a circular window of coloured glass; and over all was an arched roof, that seemed to be spangled all over with jewels.
With hardly less wonder, I turned this way and that, trying to make out how in the world we had come in: for there was no door: and all the walls were thickly covered with the lovely creepers.
‘We are safe here, my darlings!’ said the old man, laying a hand on Sylvie’s shoulder, and bending down to kiss her. Sylvie drew back hastily, with an offended air: but in another moment, with a glad cry of ‘Why, it’s Father!’ she had run into his arms.
‘Father! Father!’ Bruno repeated: and, while the happy children were being hugged and kissed, I could but rub my eyes and say ‘Where, then, are the rags gone to?’; for the old man was now dressed in royal robes that glittered with jewels and gold embroidery, and wore a circlet of gold around his head.
A beggar’s palace
Chapter 6
The Magic Locket
Table of Contents
‘Where are we, father?’ Sylvie whispered, with her arms twined closely around the old man’s neck, and with her rosy cheek lovingly pressed to his.
‘In Elfland, darling. It’s one of the provinces of Fairyland.’
‘But I thought Elfland was ever so far from Outland: and we’ve come such a tiny little way!’
‘You came by the Royal Road, sweet one. Only those of royal blood can travel along it: but you’ve been royal ever since I was made King of Elfland—that’s nearly a month ago. They sent two ambassadors, to make sure that their invitation to me, to be their new King, should reach me. One was a Prince; so he was able to come by the Royal Road, and to come invisibly to all but me: the other was a Baron; so he had to come by the common road, and I dare say he hasn’t even arrived yet.’
‘Then how far have we come?’ Sylvie enquired.
‘Just a thousand miles, sweet one, since the Gardener unlocked that door for you.’
‘A thousand miles!’ Bruno repeated. ‘And may I eat one?’
‘Eat a mile, little rogue?’
‘No,’ said Bruno. ‘I mean may I eat one of that fruits?’
‘Yes, child,’ said his father: ‘and then you’ll find out what Pleasure is like—the Pleasure we all seek so madly, and enjoy so mournfully!’
Bruno ran eagerly to the wall, and picked a fruit that was shaped something like a banana, but had the colour of a strawberry.
He ate it with beaming looks, that became gradually more gloomy, and were very blank indeed by the time he had finished.
‘It hasn’t got no taste at all!’ he complained. ‘I couldn’t feel nuffin in my mouf! It’s a—what’s that hard word, Sylvie?’
‘It was a Phlizz,’ Sylvie gravely replied. ‘Are they all like that, father?’
‘They’re all like that to you, darling, because you don’t belong to Elfland—yet. But to me they are real.’
Bruno looked puzzled. ‘I’ll try anuvver kind of fruits!’ he said, and jumped down off the King’s knee. ‘There’s some lovely striped ones, just like a rainbow!’ And off he ran.
Meanwhile the Fairy-King and Sylvie were talking together, but in such low tones that I could not catch the words: so I followed Bruno, who was picking and eating other kinds of fruit, in the vain hope of finding some that had a taste. I tried to pick some myself—but it was like grasping air, and I soon gave up the attempt and returned to Sylvie.
‘Look well at it, my darling,’ the old man was saying, ‘and tell me how you like it.’
‘It’s just lovely,’ cried Sylvie, delightedly. ‘Bruno, come and look!’ And she held up, so that he might see the light through it, a heart-shaped Locket, apparently cut out of a single jewel, of a rich blue colour, with a slender gold chain attached to it.
‘It are welly pretty,’ Bruno more soberly remarked: and he began spelling out some words inscribed on it. ‘All—will—love—Sylvie,’ he made them out at last. ‘And so they doos!’ he cried, clasping his arms round her neck. ‘Everybody loves Sylvie!’
‘But we love her best, don’t we, Bruno?’ said the old King, as he took possession of the Locket. ‘Now, Sylvie, look at this.’ And he showed her, lying on the palm of his hand, a Locket of a deep crimson colour, the same shape as the blue one and, like it, attached to a slender golden chain.
‘Lovelier and lovelier!’ exclaimed Sylvie, clasping her hands in ecstasy. ‘Look, Bruno!’
‘And there’s words on this one, too,’ said Bruno. ‘Sylvie—will—love—all.’
‘Now you see the difference,’ said the old man: ‘different colours and different words. Choose one of them, darling. I’ll give you whichever you like best.’
Sylvie whispered the words, several times over, with a thoughtful smile, and then made her decision. ‘It’s very nice to be loved,’ she said: ‘but it’s nicer to love other people! May I have the red one, Father?’
The old man said nothing: but I could see his eyes fill with tears, as he bent his head and pressed his lips to her forehead in a long loving kiss. Then he undid the chain, and showed her how to fasten it round her neck, and to hide it away under the edge of her frock. ‘It’s for you to keep, you know’ he said in a low voice, ‘not for other people to see. You’ll remember how to use it?’
‘Yes, I’ll remember,’ said Sylvie.
‘And now, darlings, it’s time for you to go back or they’ll be missing you and then that poor Gardener will get into trouble!’
Once more a feeling of wonder rose in my mind as to how in the world we were to get back again—since I took it for granted that wherever the children went I was to go—but no shadow of doubt seemed to cross their minds as they hugged and kissed him murmuring over and over again ‘Good-bye darling Father!’ And then suddenly and swiftly the darkness of midnight seemed to close in upon us and through the darkness harshly rang a strange wild song:
‘He thought he saw a Buffalo Upon the chimney-piece: He looked again, and found it was His Sister’s Husband’s Niece. “Unless you leave this house,” he said, “I’ll send for the Police!”’ [•]
‘That was me!’ he added, looking out at us, through the half-opened door, as we stood waiting in the road. ‘And that’s what I’d have done—as sure as potatoes aren’t radishes—if she hadn’t have tooken herself off! But I always loves my pay-rints like anything.’
‘Who are oor pay-rints?’ said Bruno.
‘Them as pay rint for me, a course!’ the Gardener replied. ‘You can come in now, if you like.’
He flung the door open as he spoke, and we got out, a little dazzled and stupefied (at least I felt so) at the sudden transition from the half-darkness of the railway-carriage