The little shop (shown below) is now called The Alice in Wonderland Shop, and one can buy there books and items of all sorts related to the Alice books.
ALICE’S SHOP AS IT APPEARS TODAY
David Piggins and C. J. C. Phillips, writing on “Sheep Vision in Through the Looking-Glass” (Jabberwocky, Spring 1994), consider whether the sheep’s spectacles were intended for close-up vision because she wore them only when knitting. She does not have them on when she is in the boat with Alice. (In Peter Newell’s picture of this scene the glasses remain.) Research has shown, the authors write, that sheep eyes lack the power of accommodation (the ability to focus); hence the sheep’s glasses, they conclude, make no optical sense.
11. Alice’s difficulty in looking straight at the objects on sale in the shop has been compared by popularizers of quantum theory to the impossible task of pinning down the precise location of an electron in its path around the nucleus of an atom. One thinks also of those minute specks that sometimes appear slightly off the center of one’s field of vision, and that can never be seen directly because they move as the eye moves.
12. Carroll was a great admirer of Pascal’s Pensées. Jeffrey Stern, writing on “Lewis Carroll and Blaise Pascal” (in Jabberwocky, Spring 1983), quotes a passage that Carroll may well have had in mind when he wrote about how things flow about in the Sheep’s little shop:
[We are] incapable of certain knowledge or absolute ignorance. We are floating in a medium of vast extent, always drifting uncertainly, blown to and fro; whenever we think we have a fixed point to which we can cling and make fast, it shifts and leaves us behind; if we follow it, it eludes our grasp, slips away, and flees eternally before us. Nothing stands still for us. This is our natural state and yet the state most contrary to our inclinations. We burn with desire to find a firm footing, an ultimate, lasting base on which to build a tower rising up to infinity, but our whole foundation cracks.
13. A teetotum is a small top similar to what in England and the United States is now called a “put-and-take top.” It was popular in Victorian England as a device used in children’s games. The flat sides of the top are labeled with letters or numbers, and when the top comes to rest, the uppermost side indicates what the player is to do in the game. Early forms of the top were square-shaped and marked with letters. The letter T, on one of the sides, stood for the Latin word totum, indicating that the player took all.
14. In his prefatory poem to Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Carroll describes the Liddell girls as rowing “with little skill.” Perhaps Alice Liddell, on one of Carroll’s rowboat excursions, was as mystified as Alice is here by the rowing term feather. The Sheep is asking Alice to turn her oar blades horizontally as she moves them back for the next “catch” so that the lower edge of the blade will not drag through the water.
15. Catching a crab is rowing slang for a faulty stroke in which the oar is dipped so deeply in the water that the boat’s motion, if rapid enough, can send the oar handle against the rower’s chest with sufficient force to unseat him. This actually happens to Alice later on. “The phrase probably originated,” says the Oxford English Dictionary, “in the humorous suggestion that the rower had caught a crab, which was holding his oar down under water.” The phrase is sometimes used (improperly) for other rowing errors that can unseat the rower.
16. It is possible that Carroll thought of these dream-rushes as symbols of his child-friends. The loveliest seem to be the most distant, just out of reach, and, once picked, they quickly fade and lose their scent and beauty. They are, of course, consciously intended symbols of the fleeting, short-lived, hard-to-keep quality of all beauty.
17. Undergraduates at Christ Church, in Carroll’s day, insisted that if you ordered one boiled egg for breakfast you usually received two, one good and one bad. (See The Diaries of Lewis Carroll, Vol. I, page 176.)
18. The Sheep’s movement to the other end of the shop is indicated on the chessboard by a move of the White Queen to KB8.
19. Note that the Sheep places the egg upright on the shelf—not an easy thing to do without adopting Columbus’s stratagem of tapping the egg on a table to crack its lower end slightly.
20. The dots show that Alice has crossed the brook by advancing to Q6. She is now on the square to the right of the White King, although she does not meet him until after the Humpty Dumpty episode of the next chapter.
CHAPTER VI
Humpty Dumpty
However, the egg only got larger and larger, and more and more human: when she had come within a few yards of it, she saw that it had eyes and a nose and mouth; and, when she had come close to it, she saw clearly that it was HUMPTY DUMPTY himself. “It ca’n’t be anybody else!” she said to herself. “I’m as certain of it, as if his name were written all over his face!”
It might have been written a hundred times, easily, on that enormous face. Humpty Dumpty was sitting, with his legs crossed like a Turk,1 on the top of a high wall—such a narrow one that Alice quite wondered how he could keep his balance2—and, as his eyes were steadily fixed in the opposite direction, and he didn’t take the least notice of her, she thought he must be a stuffed figure, after all.
“And how exactly like an egg he is!” she said aloud, standing with her hands ready to catch him, for she was every moment expecting him to fall.
“It’s very provoking,” Humpty Dumpty said after a long silence, looking away from Alice as he spoke, “to be called an egg—very!”
“I said you looked like an egg, Sir,” Alice gently explained. “And some eggs are very pretty, you know,” she added, hoping to turn her remark into a sort of compliment.
“Some people,” said Humpty Dumpty, looking away from her as usual, “have no more sense than a baby!”
Alice didn’t know what to say to this: it wasn’t at all like conversation, she thought, as he never said anything to her; in fact, his last remark was evidently addressed to a tree—so she stood and softly repeated to herself:—3
“Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall:
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the King’s horses and all the King’s men
Couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty in his place again.”
“That last line is much too long for the poetry,” she added, almost out loud, forgetting that Humpty Dumpty would hear her.
“Don’t stand chattering to yourself like that,” Humpty Dumpty said, looking at her for the first time, “but tell me your name and your business.”
“My name is Alice, but—”
“It’s a stupid name enough!” Humpty Dumpty interrupted impatiently. “What does it mean?”
“Must a name mean something?” Alice asked doubtfully.
“Of course it must,” Humpty Dumpty said with a short laugh: “my name means the shape I am—and a good handsome shape it is, too. With a name like yours, you might be any shape, almost.”4
“Why do you sit out here all alone?” said Alice, not wishing to begin an argument.
“Why, because there’s nobody with me!” cried Humpty Dumpty. “Did you think I didn’t know the answer to that? Ask another.”
“Don’t you think you’d be safer down on the ground?” Alice went on, not with any idea of making another riddle, but simply in her good-natured anxiety for the queer creature. “That wall is so very narrow!”
“What tremendously easy riddles you ask!” Humpty Dumpty growled out. “Of course I don’t think so! Why, if ever I did fall off—which there’s no chance of—but if I did—” Here he pursed up his lips, and looked so solemn and grand that Alice could hardly help laughing. “If I did fall,” he went on, “the King has promised me—ah, you may turn pale, if you like! You didn’t think I was going to say that, did you? The King has promised me—with his very own mouth—to—to—”
“To send all his horses and all his men,” Alice interrupted, rather unwisely.
“Now I declare that’s too bad!” Humpty Dumpty cried, breaking5 into a sudden passion. “You’ve be
en listening at doors—and behind trees—and down chimneys—or you couldn’t have known it!”
“I haven’t, indeed!” Alice said very gently. “It’s in a book.”
“Ah, well! They may write such things in a book,” Humpty Dumpty said in a calmer tone. “That’s what you call a History of England, that is. Now, take a good look at me! I’m one that has spoken to a King, I am: mayhap you’ll never see such another: and, to show you I’m not proud, you may shake hands with me!”6 And he grinned almost from ear to ear, as he leant forwards (and as nearly as possible fell off the wall in doing so) and offered Alice his hand. She watched him a little anxiously as she took it. “If he smiled much more the ends of his mouth might meet behind,” she thought: “and then I don’t know what would happen to his head! I’m afraid it would come off!”
“Yes, all his horses and all his men,” Humpty Dumpty went on. “They’d pick me up again in a minute, they would! However, this conversation is going on a little too fast: let’s go back to the last remark but one.”
“I’m afraid I ca’n’t quite remember it,” Alice said, very politely.
“In that case we start afresh,” said Humpty Dumpty, “and it’s my turn to choose a subject—” (“He talks about it just as if it was a game!” thought Alice.) “So here’s a question for you. How old did you say you were?”
Alice made a short calculation, and said “Seven years and six months.”
“Wrong!” Humpty Dumpty exclaimed triumphantly. “You never said a word like it!”
“I thought you meant ‘How old are you?’ ” Alice explained.
“If I’d meant that, I’d have said it,” said Humpty Dumpty.
Alice didn’t want to begin another argument, so she said nothing.
“Seven years and six months!” Humpty Dumpty repeated thoughtfully. “An uncomfortable sort of age. Now if you’d asked my advice, I’d have said ‘Leave off at seven’—but it’s too late now.”
“I never ask advice about growing,” Alice said indignantly.
“Too proud?” the other enquired.
Alice felt even more indignant at this suggestion. “I mean,” she said, “that one ca’n’t help growing older.”
“One ca’n’t, perhaps,” said Humpty Dumpty; “but two can. With proper assistance, you might have left off at seven.”7
“What a beautiful belt you’ve got on!” Alice suddenly remarked. (They had had quite enough of the subject of age, she thought: and, if they really were to take turns in choosing subjects, it was her turn now.) “At least,” she corrected herself on second thoughts, “a beautiful cravat, I should have said—no, a belt, I mean—I beg your pardon!” she added in dismay, for Humpty Dumpty looked thoroughly offended, and she began to wish she hadn’t chosen that subject. “If only I knew,” she thought to herself, “which was neck and which was waist!”
Evidently Humpty Dumpty was very angry, though he said nothing for a minute or two. When he did speak again, it was in a deep growl.
“It is a—most—provoking—thing,” he said at last, “when a person doesn’t know a cravat from a belt!”
“I know it’s very ignorant of me,” Alice said, in so humble a tone that Humpty Dumpty relented.
“It’s a cravat, child, and a beautiful one, as you say. It’s a present from the White King and Queen. There now!”
“Is it really?” said Alice, quite pleased to find that she had chosen a good subject, after all.
“They gave it me,” Humpty Dumpty continued thoughtfully, as he crossed one knee over the other and clasped his hands round it, “they gave it me—for an un-birthday present.”
“I beg your pardon?” Alice said with a puzzled air.
“I’m not offended,” said Humpty Dumpty.
“I mean, what is an un-birthday present?”
“A present given when it isn’t your birthday, of course.”
Alice considered a little. “I like birthday presents best,” she said at last.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” cried Humpty Dumpty. “How many days are there in a year?”
“Three hundred and sixty-five,” said Alice.
“And how many birthdays have you?”
“One.”
“And if you take one from three hundred and sixty-five, what remains?”
“Three hundred and sixty-four, of course.”
Humpty Dumpty looked doubtful. “I’d rather see that done on paper,” he said.8
Alice couldn’t help smiling as she took out her memorandum-book, and worked the sum for him:
Humpty Dumpty took the book, and looked at it carefully. “That seems to be done right—” he began.
“You’re holding it upside down!” Alice interrupted.
“To be sure I was!” Humpty Dumpty said gaily, as she turned it round for him. “I thought it looked a little queer. As I was saying, that seems to be done right—though I haven’t time to look it over thoroughly just now—and that shows that there are three hundred and sixty-four days when you might get un-birthday presents—”
“Certainly,” said Alice.
“And only one for birthday presents, you know. There’s glory for you!”
“I don’t know what you mean by ‘glory,’ ” Alice said.
Humpty Dumpty smiled contemptuously. “Of course you don’t—till I tell you. I meant ‘there’s a nice knock-down argument for you!’ ”9
“But ‘glory’ doesn’t mean ‘a nice knock-down argument,’ ” Alice objected.
“When I use a word,” Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone, “it means just what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less.”
“The question is,” said Alice, “whether you can make words mean so many different things.”10
“The question is,” said Humpty Dumpty, “which is to be master—that’s all.”11
Alice was too much puzzled to say anything; so after a minute Humpty Dumpty began again. “They’ve a temper, some of them—particularly verbs: they’re the proudest—adjectives you can do anything with, but not verbs—however, I can manage the whole lot of them! Impenetrability! That’s what I say!”
“Would you tell me, please,” said Alice, “what that means?”
“Now you talk like a reasonable child,” said Humpty Dumpty, looking very much pleased. “I meant by ‘impenetrability’ that we’ve had enough of that subject, and it would be just as well if you’d mention what you mean to do next, as I suppose you don’t mean to stop here all the rest of your life.”
“That’s a great deal to make one word mean,” Alice said in a thoughtful tone.
“When I make a word do a lot of work like that,” said Humpty Dumpty, “I always pay it extra.”
“Oh!” said Alice. She was too much puzzled to make any other remark.
“Ah, you should see ’em come round me of a Saturday night,” Humpty Dumpty went on, wagging his head gravely from side to side, “for to get their wages, you know.”
(Alice didn’t venture to ask what he paid them with; and so you see I ca’n’t tell you.)
“You seem very clever at explaining words, Sir,” said Alice. “Would you kindly tell me the meaning of the poem called ‘Jabberwocky’?”
“Let’s hear it,” said Humpty Dumpty. “I can explain all the poems that ever were invented—and a good many that haven’t been invented just yet.”
This sounded very hopeful, so Alice repeated the first verse:—
“ ’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.”
“That’s enough to begin with,” Humpty Dumpty interrupted: “there are plenty of hard words there. ‘Brillig’ means four o’clock in the afternoon—the time when you begin broiling things for dinner.”
“That’ll do very well,” said Alice: “and ‘slithy’?”
“Well, ‘slithy’ means ‘lithe and slimy.’ ‘Lithe’ is
the same as ‘active.’ You see it’s like a portmanteau—there are two meanings packed up into one word.”12
“I see it now,” Alice remarked thoughtfully: “and what are ‘toves’?”
“Well, ‘toves’ are something like badgers—they’re something like lizards—and they’re something like corkscrews.”
“They must be very curious-looking creatures.”
“They are that,” said Humpty Dumpty: “also they make their nests under sun-dials—also they live on cheese.”
“And what’s to ‘gyre’ and to ‘gimble’?”
“To ‘gyre’ is to go round and round like a gyroscope. To ‘gimble’ is to make holes like a gimblet.”
“And ‘the wabe’ is the grass-plot round a sun-dial, I suppose?’ said Alice, surprised at her own ingenuity.
“Of course it is. It’s called ‘wabe,’ you know, because it goes a long way before it, and a long way behind it—”
“And a long way beyond it on each side,”13 Alice added.
‘Exactly so. Well then, ‘mimsy’ is ‘flimsy and miserable’ (there’s another portmanteau for you). And a ‘borogove’ is a thin shabby-looking bird with its feathers sticking out all round—something like a live mop.”
“And then ‘mome raths’?” said Alice. “I’m afraid I’m giving you a great deal of trouble.”
“Well, a ‘rath’ is a sort of green pig: but ‘mome’ I’m not certain about. I think it’s short for ‘from home’—meaning that they’d lost their way, you know.”14
“And what does ‘outgrabe’ mean?”
“Well, ‘outgribing’ is something between bellowing and whistling, with a kind of sneeze in the middle: however, you’ll hear it done, maybe—down in the wood yonder—and, when you’ve once heard it, you’ll be quite content. Who’s been repeating all that hard stuff to you?”
The Annotated Alice: The Definitive Edition (The Annotated Books) Page 28