“What’s in it?” said the Queen.
“I haven’t opened it yet,” said the White Rabbit; “but it seems to be a letter, written by the prisoner to—to somebody.”
“It must have been that,” said the King, “unless it was written to nobody, which isn’t usual, you know.”
“Who is it directed to?” said one of the jurymen.
“It isn’t directed at all,” said the White Rabbit; “in fact, there’s nothing written on the outside.” He unfolded the paper as he spoke, and added “It isn’t a letter, after all: it’s a set of verses.”
“Are they in the prisoner’s handwriting?” asked another of the jurymen.
“No, they’re not,” said the White Rabbit, “and that’s the queerest thing about it.” (The jury all looked puzzled.)
“He must have imitated somebody else’s hand,” said the King. (The jury all brightened up again.)
“Please your Majesty,” said the Knave, “I didn’t write it, and they ca’n’t prove I did: there’s no name signed at the end.”
“If you didn’t sign it,” said the King, “that only makes the matter worse. You must have meant some mischief, or else you’d have signed your name like an honest man.”
There was a general clapping of hands at this: it was the first really clever thing the King had said that day.
“That proves his guilt, of course,” said the Queen: “so, off with—”
“It doesn’t prove anything of the sort!” said Alice. “Why, you don’t even know what they’re about!”
“Read them,” said the King.
The White Rabbit put on his spectacles. “Where shall I begin, please your Majesty?” he asked.
“Begin at the beginning,” the King said, very gravely, “and go on till you come to the end: then stop.”
There was dead silence in the court, whilst the White Rabbit read out these verses:—
“They told me you had been to her,
And mentioned me to him:
She gave me a good character,
But said I could not swim.
He sent them word I had not gone
(We know it to be true):
If she should push the matter on,
What would become of you?
I gave her one, they gave him two,
You gave us three or more;
They all returned from him to you,
Though they were mine before.
If I or she should chance to be
Involved in this affair,
He trusts to you to set them free,
Exactly as we were.
My notion was that you had been
(Before she had this fit)
An obstacle that came between
Him, and ourselves, and it.
Don’t let him know she liked them best,
For this must ever be
A secret, kept from all the rest,
Between yourself and me.”
“That’s the most important piece of evidence we’ve heard yet,” said the King, rubbing his hands; “so now let the jury—”
“If any one of them can explain it,” said Alice, (she had grown so large in the last few minutes that she wasn’t a bit afraid of interrupting him,) “I’ll give him sixpence. I don’t believe there’s an atom of meaning in it.”
The jury all wrote down on their slates, “She doesn’t believe there’s an atom of meaning in it,” but none of them attempted to explain the paper.
“If there’s no meaning in it,” said the King, “that saves a world of trouble, you know, as we needn’t try to find any. And yet I don’t know,” he went on, spreading out the verses on his knee, and looking at them with one eye; “I seem to see some meaning in them, after all. ‘—said I could not swim—’ you ca’n’t swim, can you?” he added, turning to the Knave.
The Knave shook his head sadly. “Do I look like it?” he said. (Which he certainly did not, being made entirely of cardboard.)
“All right, so far,” said the King, and he went on muttering over the verses to himself: “‘We know it to be true—’ that’s the jury, of course—‘If she should push the matter on’—that must be the Queen—‘What would become of you?’—What, indeed!—‘I gave her one, they gave him two’—why, that must be what he did with the tarts, you know—”
“But, it goes on ‘they all returned from him to you,’” said Alice.
“Why, there they are!” said the King triumphantly, pointing to the tarts on the table. “Nothing can be clearer than that. Then again—‘before she had this fit’— you never had fits, my dear, I think?” he said to the Queen.
“Never!” said the Queen furiously, throwing an inkstand at the Lizard as she spoke. (The unfortunate little Bill had left off writing on his slate with one finger, as he found it made no mark; but he now hastily began again, using the ink, that was trickling down his face, as long as it lasted.)
“Then the words don’t fit you,” said the King, looking round the court with a smile. There was a dead silence.
“It’s a pun!” the King added in an angry tone, and everybody laughed, “Let the jury consider their verdict,” the King said, for about the twentieth time that day.
“No, no!” said the Queen. “Sentence first—verdict afterwards.”
“Stuff and nonsense!” said Alice loudly. “The idea of having the sentence first!”
“Hold your tongue!” said the Queen, turning purple.
“I wo’n’t!” said Alice.
“Off with her head!” the Queen shouted at the top of her voice. Nobody moved.
“Who cares for you?” said Alice, (she had grown to her full size by this time.) “You’re nothing but a pack of cards!”
At this the whole pack rose up into the air, and came flying down upon her; she gave a little scream, half of fright and half of anger, and tried to beat them off, and found herself lying on the bank, with her head in the lap of her sister, who was gently brushing away some dead leaves that had fluttered down from the trees upon her face.
“Wake up, Alice dear!” said her sister. “Why, what a long sleep you’ve had!”
“Oh, I’ve had such a curious dream!” said Alice. And she told her sister, as well as she could remember them, all these strange Adventures of hers that you have just been reading about: and, when she had finished, her sister kissed her, and said “It was a curious dream, dear, certainly: but now run in to your tea: it’s getting late.” So Alice got up and ran off, thinking while she ran, as well she might, what a wonderful dream it had been.
But her sister sat still just as she left her, leaning her head on her hand, watching the setting sun, and thinking of little Alice and all her wonderful Adventures, till she too began dreaming after a fashion, and this was her dream:—
First, she dreamed of little Alice herself: once again the tiny hands were clasped upon her knee, and the bright eager eyes were looking up into hers—she could hear the very tones of her voice, and see that queer little toss of her head to keep back the wandering hair that would always get into her eyes—and still as she listened, or seemed to listen, the whole place around her became alive with the strange creatures of her little sister’s dream.
The long grass rustled at her feet as the White Rabbit hurried by—the frightened Mouse splashed his way through the neighbouring pool—she could hear the rattle of the teacups as the March Hare and his friends shared their never-ending meal, and the shrill voice of the Queen ordering off her unfortunate guests to execution—once more the pig-baby was sneezing on the Duchess’s knee, while plates and dishes crashed around it—once more the shriek of the Gryphon, the squeaking of the Lizard’s slate-pencil, and the choking of the suppressed guinea-pigs, filled the air, mixed up with the distant sobs of the miserable Mock Turtle.
So she sat on, with closed eyes, and half believed herself in Wonderland, though she knew she had but to open them again, and all would change to dull reality—the grass would be only rustling in the wind, and the po
ol rippling to the waving of the reeds—the rattling teacups would change to tinkling sheep- bells, and the Queen’s shrill cries to the voice of the shepherd-boy—and the sneeze of the baby, the shriek of the Gryphon, and all thy other queer noises, would change (she knew) to the confused clamour of the busy farm-yard—while the lowing of the cattle in the distance would take the place of the Mock Turtle’s heavy sobs.
Lastly, she pictured to herself how this same little sister of hers would, in the after-time, be herself a grown woman; and how she would keep, through all her riper years, the simple and loving heart of her childhood; and how she would gather about her other little children, and make their eyes bright and eager with many a strange tale, perhaps even with the dream of Wonderland of long ago; and how she would feel with all their simple sorrows, and find a pleasure in all their simple joys, remembering her own child-life, and the happy summer days.
PART II
REFLECTIONS ON ALICE IN WONDERLAND
By Kent David Kelly
THE FOLLOWING notes may be of interest to the curious reader who wants to learn more of Alice’s secrets. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (much like Carroll himself!) is filled to the brim with inside jokes, witticisms, secret references and clever insinuations. Also, the Victorian nature of the story creates some distance between Alice and the modern reader, which hopefully is mended hereafter. These “secret” notes are arranged in accordance to the appearance of the scenes and instances in the story itself. (Footnotes, I believe, distract from the enjoyment of the story, and tempt the reader to spoil the entertainment as it is happening. Rather, I prefer not to intrude between the reader and Alice and Lewis Carroll, but to follow after them instead.)
I ask only that you please do enjoy the secrets of Wonderland. The adventures will continue!
Chapter I
Sitting on the River’s Bank: The riverbank that Alice and her sister are sitting on is that of the River Isis, which is the local name of the Thames in Oxfordshire. This region—near Godstow and the beautiful ruins of a nunnery—was a favored holiday and picnic ground in Carroll’s time.
The Secret of Alice’s Sister (and Other Siblings): The sister in the story is Lorina Charlotte Liddell, Alice’s elder sister. Alice had many other siblings—Edward Henry, James Arthur Charles (who only lived to be three), Edith Mary, Albert Edward Arthur (who died at eight weeks), Rhoda Caroline Anne, Violet Constance, Frederick Francis, and Lionel Charles. In Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, the siblings who appear are Lorina (on the riverbank and as the Lory), Edith (as the Eaglet), and Edward Henry (Harry), by the mention of his Latin primer.
The Origins of the White Rabbit: The Rabbit may have been inspired by a painting created by Sir Edwin Henry Landseer, “Scene from ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream.’” After viewing this painting on November 17, 1857, Carroll wrote in his diary, “There are some wonderful points in it … the white rabbit especially.” The painting in question portrays Titania, Bottom, and a host of fairy-land creatures from Shakespeare’s classic play. (White rabbits, of course, are also the classic “apprentices” of stage magicians, popping out of holes and top hats.)
Some Details Concerning Alice and the White Rabbit: He is not often regarded in this manner today, but originally, Carroll intended the White Rabbit to be a caricature of a hurried old man rushing about on errands. In his article “‘Alice’ on the Stage,” Carroll wrote the following when comparing the Rabbit to Alice: “And the White Rabbit, what of him? Was he framed on the ‘Alice’ lines, or as a contrast? As a contrast, distinctly. For her ‘youth,’ ‘audacity,’ ‘vigour’ and ‘swift directness of purpose,’ read ‘elderly,’ ‘timid,’ ‘feeble,’ and ‘nervously shilly-shallying,’ and you will get something of what I meant him to be. I think the White Rabbit should wear spectacles. I am sure his voice should quaver, and his knees quiver, and his whole air suggest a total inability to say ‘Boo’ to a goose!”
“I Shall Be Too Late!”: The Rabbit’s sense of urgency has, over time, become quite famous beyond its own reason for being. Why is the Rabbit late in returning to Wonderland? This obsession with timekeeping (shared by the Hatter) may be a jest about the Great Tom bell in Tom Tower, which is located near to where both Carroll and Alice lived. Oxford is situated five miles west of Greenwich, and so the bell of Great Tom rings five minutes after the actual hour. If the poor White Rabbit (being a tourist of Oxfordshire while he is above ground) has his own watch set to Great Tom instead of Wonderland, he will always be late!
Dinah, Alice’s Favored Pet: The Liddells’ cat Dinah was an actual pet, originally given to Alice’s sister Lorina. But Alice loved Dinah more than anything. Per Alice Liddell’s reminiscences, the cat “was given to Ina, but became my special pet … Dinah I was devoted to.” Dinah originally had a male companion, Villikens. The two were named in honor of the characters in a popular Victorian song, “Villikens and His Dinah.” Whether Villikens was the father of Kitty and Snowdrop (featured in Through the Looking-Glass) remains an open question.
The Carrollian Dream-Child: Alice changes as she falls down the rabbit-hole. Although the distinction is not often commented upon, it is clear that Alice “in Wonderland” is quite a different person than Alice Pleasance Liddell. Carroll’s illustrations in Alice’s Adventures Under Ground—the first draft of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland—portrayed Ms. Liddell herself, but they were idealized in a Pre-Raphaelite fashion, featuring an Alice Liddell with longer hair. We do know for certain that Carroll sought to remove particularly personal identifiers from the published version of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. (As another example, he changed the names of two of Alice’s actual companions to Ada and Mabel.) In a similar fashion, the blonde, classically-featured Alice of Tenniel’s drawings is nothing like Ms. Liddell herself. The illustrated Alice “of Wonderland” is the dream-child, the idealized representation of strength and innocence, as written by Carroll and envisioned by Tenniel. The implication may well be that we are bettered by our dreams.
Falling Off the Top of the House: One of our first hints that the Alice books are subversive, and not at all like most Victorian fairy-tales, is that Carroll is referentially grim throughout the story. He quite often takes the time to point out moments of darkness, such as this one. Here he makes it clear that Alice wouldn’t say anything after falling off the top of the house, because she would probably break her neck and die in the fall!
The Antipathies: Alice is quite close here, actually! What she really means is the Antipodes, which is a term that refers (from the English perspective) to Australia and New Zealand. The joke may have been amusing to Victorian readers because “antipathy” means “absolutely without sympathy,” and Australia was largely colonized by English criminals!
The Lamps in the Hall: Considering the age of Alice’s adventures (the 1860s), these lamps would very likely be gaslight, which would explain why Alice felt so hot beneath their glow. Indeed, it is possible that the poisonous fumes played a part in her discombobulation!
The Secret Doors in the Hall: We are never told but are left to wonder: where might the other doors in the hall go to? Given that one of the doors leads into the royal garden, and another comes out inside a tree in the middle of the forest, they could lead anywhere. Possibilities include the homes of various characters (such as the Dodo, the Mouse, and very likely the White Rabbit), or other trees, or places in nearby Looking-Glass Land, or even the corridors of the Palace of Hearts itself. Some might even open onto the Underwater School, which would explain the presence of the Crabs at the Pool of Tears. We shall never know, but it is an interesting puzzle to contemplate!
The Unseen Table: Carroll does not quite tell us why Alice failed to find the three-legged table during her first circuit around the hall. It may be that the table appeared by magic, or that its transparency caused her not to notice it the first time. Most likely, however, is that Alice is dreaming and her yearning for a way out causes a (dubious) means of exit to appear.
The L
oveliest Garden: From the nature of the Queen’s croquet-ground, we know that the royal garden is actually a dream-image of the Deanery and Cathedral Gardens, located outside Alice’s own home back in Oxford.
“How I Wish I Could Shut Up Like a Telescope”: Although it is subtle, the appearance of the “DRINK ME” bottle upon the table is actually caused by Alice wishing here out loud.
A Bottle Marked “Poison”: Some of these grim thoughts of children meeting terrible ends come from Struwwelpeter, a book featuring the deaths and punishment of naughty children. Alice might also be remembering the unexpurgated edition of Kinder- und Hausmärchen, commonly known today as Grimm’s Fairy Tales.
“Going Out Like a Candle”: Alice’s thoughts here are dark indeed. She is contemplating the idea of not just death, but non-existence and absolute annihilation. Carroll, however, pointedly left his religious beliefs out of the Alice works (with the exceptions of prefaces and inserted pamphlets). This concept of nothingness will become key later on, as an older and darker Alice explores Looking-Glass Land.
Pretending to Be Two People: This spirit of duality is present throughout the “Alice” stories. Alice talks to herself, argues with herself, considers her feet as separate entities, and treats herself as both rival and confidante. This identity issue—succinctly summed up as the philosophical question “Who am I?”—lies at the heart of Alice’s adventures throughout her own dreaming mind.
Chapter II
“They Must Go By the Carrier”: This aside, thoroughly contemporary in Carroll’s time, is now an antiquated example of Victorian charm. The carrier, of course, would be the postman; Esq. is short for “Esquire,” a title of formal import in polite correspondence; the hearth-rug is the rug which goes in front of the fireplace (favored by both Dinah and Alice); and the fender is a protective screen that fits the base of the fireplace itself.
The Complete Alice in Wonderland (Wonderland Imprints Master Editions) Page 10