Complete Works of Lewis Carroll
Page 22
Alice thought to herself, "I never should try to remember my name in the middle of an accident! Where would be the use of it?" But she did not say this aloud, for fear of hurting the poor Queen's feelings.
"Your Majesty must excuse her," the Red Queen said to Alice, taking one of the White Queen's hands in her own, and gently stroking it: "she means well, but she can't help saying foolish things, as a general rule."
The White Queen looked timidly at Alice, who felt she ought to say something kind, but really couldn't think of anything.
"She never was really well brought up," the Red Queen went on: "but it's amazing how good-tempered she is! Pat her on the head, and see how pleased she'll be!" But this was more than Alice had courage to do.
"A little kindness—and putting her hair in papers—would do wonders with her—-"
The White Queen gave a deep sigh, and laid her head on Alice's shoulder. "I am so sleepy!" she moaned.
"She"s tired, poor thing!" said the Red Queen, "Smooth her hair—lend her your nightcap—and sing her a soothing lullaby."
"I haven't got a nightcap with me," said Alice, as she tried to obey the first direction: "and I don't know any soothing lullabies."
"I must do it myself, then," said the Red Queen, and she began:
"Hush-a-by lady, in Alice's lap!
Till the feast's ready, we've time for a nap:
Till the feast's over, we'll go to the ball —
Red Queen, and White Queen, and Alice, and all!.
"And now you know the words," she added, as she put her head down on Alice's other shoulder, "just sing it through to me. I'm getting sleepy too." In another moment both Queens were fast asleep, and snoring loud.
"What am I to do?" exclaimed Alice, looking about in great perplexity, as first one round head, and then the other, rolled down from her shoulder, and lay like a heavy lump in her lap. "I don't think it ever happened before, that anyone had to take "care of two Queens asleep at once! No, not in all the History of England—it couldn't, you know, because there never was more than one Queen at a time. Do wake up, you heavy things!" she went on in an impatient tone; but there was no answer but a gentle snoring.
The snoring got more distinct every minute, and sounded more like a tune: at last she could even make out words, and she listened so eagerly that when the two great heads suddenly vanished from her lap, she hardly missed them.
She was standing before an arched doorway, over which were the words QUEEN ALICE in large letters, and on each side of it there was a bell-handle ; one marked "Visitors' Bell," and the other "Servants' Bell."
"I'll wait till the song's over," thought Alice, "and then I'll ring the—the—which bell must ring?" she went on, very much puzzled by the names. "I'm not a visitor, and I'm not a servant. There ought to be one marked "Queen,' you know—-"
Just then the door opened a little way, and a creature with a long beak put its head out for a moment and said, "No admittance till the week after next!" and shut the door again with a bang.
Alice knocked and rang in vain for a long time, but at last a very old Frog, who was sitting under a tree, got up, and hobbled slowly towards her : he was dressed in bright yellow, and had enormous boots on.
"What is it now?" the Frog said in a deep hoarse whisper.
Alice turned round, ready to find fault with anybody. "Where's the servant whose business it is to answer the door?" she began angrily.
"Which door?" said the Frog.
Alice almost stamped with irritation at the slow drawl in which he spoke. "This door, of course!
The Frog looked at the door with his large dull eyes for a minute : then he went nearer and rubbed it with his thumb, as if he were trying whether the paint would come off; then he looked at Alice. "To answer the door?" he said. "What's it been asking of?" He was so hoarse that Alice could scarcely hear him.
"I don't know what you mean," she said.
"I speaks English, doesn't I?" the Frog went on.
"Or are you deaf? What did it ask you?"
"Nothing!" Alice said impatiently. "I've been knocking at it!"
"Shouldn't do that—shouldn't do that—" the Frog muttered. "Wexes it, you know." Then he went up and gave the door a kick with one off his great feet. "You let it alone," he panted out, as he hobbled back to his tree, "and it'll let you alone, you know."
At this moment the door was flung open, and a shrill voice was heard singing:
To the Looking-glass world it was Alice that said,
"I've a sceptre in hand, I've a crown on my head;
Let the Looking-glass creatures, whatever they be,
Come and dine with the Red Queen, the White
Queen, and me.
And hundreds of voices joined in the chorus:
"Then fill up the glasses as quick as you can,
And sprinkle the table with buttons and bran:
Put cats in the coffee, and mice in the tea —
And welcome Queen Alice with thirty-times-three!
Then followed a confused noise of cheering, and Alice thought to herself, "Thirty times three makes ninety. I wonder if anyone's counting?" In a minute there was silence again, and the same shrill voice, sang another verse:
"`O Looking-glass creatures,' quoth Alice, `draw near!
'Tis an honour to see me, a favour to hear:
'Tis a privilege high to have dinner and tea
Along with the Red Queen, the White Queen, and me!'"
Then came the chorus again:
"Then fill up the glasses with treacle and ink,
Or anything else that is pleasant to drink;
Mix sand with the cider, and wool with the wine —
And welcome Queen Alice with ninety-times-nine"
"Ninety-times-nine!" Alice repeated in despair. "Oh, that'll never be done! I'd better go in at once—" and in she went, and there was a dead silence the moment she appeared.
Alice glanced nervously along the table, as she walked up the large hall, and noticed that there were about fifty guests, of all kinds: some were animals, some birds, and there were even a few flowers among them. "I'm glad they've come without waiting to be asked," she thought: "I should never have known who were the right people to invite!"
There were three chairs at the head of the table; the Red and White Queens had taken two of them, but the middle one was empty. Alice sat down, rather uncomfortable at the silence, and longing for someone to speak.
At last the Red Queen began. "You've missed the soup and fish," she said. "Put on the joint!" And the waiters set a leg of mutton before Alice, who looked at it rather anxiously, as she had never had to carve one before.
"You look a little shy; let me introduce you to that leg of mutton," said the Red Queen. "Alice—Mutton; Mutton—Alice." The leg of mutton got up in the dish and made a little bow to Alice; and she returned the bow, not knowing whether to be frightened or amused.
"May I give you a slice?" she said, taking up the knife and fork, and looking from one Queen to the other.
"Certainly not," the Red Queen said, very decidedly; "it isn't etiquette to cut anyone you've been introduced to. Remove the joint!" And the waiters carried it off, and brought a large plum-pudding in its place.
"I won't be introduced to the pudding, please," Alice said rather hastily, "or we shall get no dinner at all. May I give you some?"
But the Red Queen looked sulky, and growled, "Pudding—Alice; Alice—Pudding. Remove the pudding!" and the waiters took it away before Alice could return its bow.
However, she didn't see why the Red Queen should be the only one to give orders, so, as an experiment, she called out, "Waiter! Bring back the pudding!" and there it was again in a moment, like a conjuring trick. It was so large that she couldn't help feeling a little shy with it, as she had been with the mutton; however, she conquered her shyness by a great effort, and handed a slice to the Red Queen.
"What impertinence!" said the Pudding. " I wonder how you'd like it, if I were to cut a sl
ice out of you, you creature!"
Alice could only look at it and gasp.
"Make a remark," said the Red Queen: "it's ridiculous to leave all the conversation to the pudding!"
"Do you know, I've had such a quantity of poetry repeated to me to-day," Alice began, a little frightened at finding that, the moment she opened her lips, there was dead silence, and all eyes were fixed upon her; "and it's a very curious thing, I think—every poem was about fishes in some way. Do you know why they're so fond of fishes, all about here?"
She spoke to the Red Queen, whose answer was a little wide of the mark. "As to fishes," she said, very slowly and solemnly, putting her mouth close to Alice's ear, "her White Majesty knows a lovely riddle—all in poetry—all about fishes. Shall she repeat it?"
"Her Red Majesty's very kind to mention it," the White Queen murmured into Alice's other ear, in a voice like the cooing of a pigeon. "It would be such a treat! May I?"
"Please do," Alice said very politely. The White Queen laughed with delight, and stroked Alice's cheek. Then she began:
"`First the fish must be caught.'
That is easy: a baby, I think, could have caught it.
`Next, the fsh must be bought.'
That is easy: a penny, I think, would have bought it.
`Now cook me the fish!'
That is easy, and will not take more than a minute.
`Let it lie in a dish!'
That is easy, because it already is in it.
`Bring it here! Let me sup!'
It is easy to set such a dish on the table.
`Take the dish-cover up!'
Ah that is so hard that I fear I'm unable!
For it holds it like glue —
Holds the lid to the dish, while it lies in the middle:
Which is easiest to do,
un-dish-cover the fish, or dish-cover the riddle?"
"Take a minute to think about it, then and guess," said the Red Queen. "Meanwhile, we'll drink your health—Queen Alice's health!" she screamed at the top of her voice, and all the guests began drinking it directly, and very queerly they managed it: some of them put their glasses upon their heads like extinguishers, and drank all that trickled down their faces—others upset the decanters, and drank the wine as it ran off the edges of the table—and three of them (who looked like kangaroos) scrambled into the dish of roast mutton, and began to lap up the gravy, "just like pigs in a trough!" thought Alice.
"You ought to return thanks in a neat speech," the Red Queen said, frowning at Alice as she spoke. "We must support you, you know," the White Queen whispered, as Alice got up to do it, very obediently, but a little frightened.
"Thank you very much," she whispered in reply, "but I can do quite well without."
"That wouldn't be at all the thing," the Red Queen said very decidedly: so Alice tried to submit to it with a good grace.
("And they did push so!" she said afterwards, when she was telling her sister the history of the feast. "You would have thought they wanted to squeeze me flat!")
In fact it was rather difficult for her to keep in her place while she made her speech: the two Queens pushed her so, one on each side, that they nearly lifted her up into the air: "I rise to return thanks—" Alice began: and she really did rise as she spoke, several inches; but she got hold of the edge of the table, and managed to pull herself down again.
"Take care of yourself!" screamed the White Queen, seizing Alice's hair with both her hands. "Something's going to happen!"
And then (as Alice afterwards described it) all sorts of things happened in a moment. The candles grew up to the ceiling, looking something like a bed of bushes with fireworks at the top. As to the bottles, they each took a pair of plates, which they hastily fitted on as wings, and so, with forks for legs, went fluttering about: "and very like birds they look," Alice thought to herself, as well as she could in the dreadful confusion that was beginning. At this moment she heard a hoarse laugh at her side, and turned to see what was the matter with the White Queen; but, instead of the Queen, there was the leg of mutton sitting in the chair. "Here I am!" cried a voice from the soup-tureen, and Alice turned again, just in time to see the Queen's broad good-natured face grinning at her for a moment over the edge of the tureen, before she disappeared into the soup.
There was not a moment to be lost. Already several of the guests were lying down in the dishes, and the soup-ladle was walking up the table to Alice, and signing to her to get out of its way.
"I can't stand this any longer!" she cried, as she seized the table-cloth with both hands: one good pull, and plates, dishes, guests, and candles came crashing down together in a heap on the floor.
"And as for you," she went on, turning fiercely upon the Red Queen, whom she considered as the cause of all the mischief—but the Queen was no longer at her side—she had suddenly dwindled down to the size of a little doll, and was now on the table, merrily running round and round after her own shawl, which was trailing behind her.
At any other time, Alice would have felt surprised at this, but she was far too much excited to be surprised at anything now. "As for you," she repeated, catching hold of the little creature in the very act of jumping over a bottle which had just lighted upon the table, "I'll shake you into a kitten, that I will!"
CHAPTER 10
"Shaking"
She took her off the table as she spoke, and shook her backwards and forwards with all her might.
The Red Queen made no resistance whatever; only her face grew very small, and her eyes got large and green: and still, as Alice went on shaking her, she kept on growing shorter—and fatter—and softer—and rounder—and—-
CHAPTER 11
"Waking"
—and it really was a kitten, after all.
CHAPTER 12
"Which Dreamed It?"
YOUR Red Majesty shouldn't purr so loud," Alice said, rubbing her eyes, and addressing the kitten respectfully, yet with some severity. "You woke me out of—oh! such a nice dream! And you've been along with me, Kitty—all through the Looking-glass world. Did you know it, dear?"
It is a very inconvenient habit of kittens (Alice had once made the remark) that, whatever you say to them, they always purr. "If they would only purr for "yes,' and mew for "no,' or any rule of that sort," she had said, "so that one could keep up a conversation! But how can you talk with a person if they always say the same thing?"
On this occasion the kitten only purred: and it was impossible to guess whether it meant "yes' or 'no.'
So Alice hunted among the chessmen on the table till she had found the Red Queen: then she went down on her knees on the hearthrug, and put the Kitten and the Queen to look at each other. "Now, Kitty!" she cried, clapping her hands triumphantly. "You've got to confess that that was what you turned into!"
("But it wouldn't look at it," she said, when she was explaining the thing afterwards to her sister : "it turned away its head, and pretended not to see it: but it looked a little ashamed of itself, so I think it must have been the Red Queen.")
"Sit up a little more stiffly, dear!" Alice cried with a merry laugh. "And curtsey while you're thinking what to—what to purr. It saves time, remember!" And she caught it up in her arms, and gave it one little kiss "just in honour of its having been a Red Queen, you know!"
"Snowdrop, my pet!" she went on, looking over her shoulder at the White Kitten, which was still patiently undergoing its toilet, "when will Dinah have finished with your White Majesty, I wonder? That must be the reason you were so untidy in my dream.—Dinah! Do you know that you're -211-
scrubbing a White Queen? Really, it's most disrespectful you, and I'm quite surprised at you!"
"And what did Dinah turn to, I wonder?" she prattled on, as she settled comfortably down, with one elbow on the rug, and her chin in her hand, to watch the kittens. "Tell me, Dinah, did you turn to Humpty Dumpty? I think you did—however,
you'd better not mention it to your friends just yet, for I"m not sure.
"Now, Kitty, let's consider who it was that dreamed it all. This is a serious question, my dear, and you should not go on licking your paw like that—as if Dinah hadn't washed you this morning!
You see, Kitty, it must have been either me or the Red King. He was part of my dream, of course—but then I was part of his dream, too! Was it the Red King, Kitty? You were his wife, my dear, so you ought to know—oh, Kitty, do help to settle it! I'm sure your paw can wait!" But the provoking kitten only began on the other paw, and pretended it hadn't heard the question.
Which do you think it was?
THE END
SYLVIE AND BRUNO
This novel was first published in 1889, followed by a sequel volume in 1893, and both volumes were illustrated by Harry Furniss. Over twenty years before that, Carroll had written two short stories titled Fairy Sylvie and Bruno's Revenge which appeared in Aunt Judy's Magazine in 1867. Later, Carroll decided to use them as the core for a longer story. Much of the rest of the novel he compiled from notes of ideas and dialogue which he had collected over the years.
The novel has two main plots, with one set in the real world at the time the novel was published, whilst the other concerns a fantasy Fairyland. While the latter plot contains many nonsense elements and poems, similar to Carroll’s Alice books, the other plot is poignant for its portrayal of Victorian Britain, offering important social views of religion, philosophy and morality at the time of publication.