Sylvie & Bruno (Vol.1&2). Льюис Кэрролл

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       Lewis Carroll

      Sylvie & Bruno

      (Vol.1&2)

      Including Sylvie and Bruno Concluded

      Published by

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      2019 OK Publishing

      EAN 4057664559302

Table of Contents

       Sylvie and Bruno

       Sylvie and Bruno Concluded

      Sylvie and Bruno

      Table of Contents

        Preface

        Chapter 1

        Chapter 2

        Chapter 3

        Chapter 4

        Chapter 5

        Chapter 6

        Chapter 7

        Chapter 8

        Chapter 9

        Chapter 10

        Chapter 11

        Chapter 12

        Chapter 13

        Chapter 14

        Chapter 15

        Chapter 16

        Chapter 17

        Chapter 18

        Chapter 19

        Chapter 20

        Chapter 21

        Chapter 22

        Chapter 23

        Chapter 24

        Chapter 25

      Is all our Life, then, but a dream

       Seen faintly in the golden gleam

       Athwart Time’s dark resistless stream?

      Bowed to the earth with bitter woe,

       Or laughing at some raree-show,

       We flutter idly to and fro.

      Man’s little Day in haste we spend,

       And, from its merry noontide, send

       No glance to meet the silent end.

Preface

      Table of Contents

One little picture in this book, the Magic Locket was drawn by ‘Miss Alice Havers.’ I did not state this on the title-page, since it seemed only due, to the artist of all these (to my mind) wonderful pictures, that his name should stand there alone.

      The descriptions, here and here, of Sunday as spent by children of the last generation, are quoted verbatim from a speech made to me by a child-friend and a letter written to me by a lady-friend.

      The Chapters, headed ‘Fairy-Sylvie’ and ‘Bruno’s Revenge,’ are a reprint, with a few alterations, of a little fairy-tale which I wrote in the year 1867, at the request of the late Mrs. Gatty, for ‘Aunt Judy’s Magazine,’ which she was then editing.

It was in 1874, I believe, that the idea first occurred to me of making it the nucleus of a longer story. As the years went on, I jotted down, at odd moments, all sorts of odd ideas, and fragments of dialogue, that occurred to me—who knows how?—with a transitory suddenness that left me no choice but either to record them then and there, or to abandon them to oblivion. Sometimes one could trace to their source these random flashes of thought—as being suggested by the book one was reading, or struck out from the ‘flint’ of one’s own mind by the ‘steel’ of a friend’s chance remark—but they had also a way of their own, of occurring, à propos of nothing—specimens of that hopelessly illogical phenomenon, ‘an effect without a cause.’ Such, for example, was the last line of ‘The Hunting of the Snark,’ which came into my head (as I have already related in ‘The Theatre’ for April, 1887) quite suddenly, during a solitary walk; and such, again, have been passages which occurred in dreams, and which I cannot trace to any antecedent cause whatever. There are at least two instances of such dream-suggestions in this book—one, my Lady’s remark, ‘it often runs in families, just as a love for pastry does’; the other, Eric Lindon’s badinage about having been in domestic service.

      And thus it came to pass that I found myself at last in possession of a huge unwieldy mass of litterature—if the reader will kindly excuse the spelling—which only needed stringing together, upon the thread of a consecutive story, to constitute the book I hoped to write. Only! The task, at first, seemed absolutely hopeless, and gave me a far clearer idea, than I ever had before, of the meaning