ALICE'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND

ALICE'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND

 

 

                     Lewis Carroll

 

          THE MILLENNIUM FULCRUM EDITION 2.5

                (C)1991 Duncan Research

 

CHAPTER VI Pig and Pepper

 

For a minute or two she stood looking at the house, and

wondering what to do next, when suddenly a footman in livery came

running out of the wood--(she considered him to be a footman

because he was in livery: otherwise, judging by his face only,

she would have called him a fish)--and rapped loudly at the door

with his knuckles. It was opened by another footman in livery,

with a round face, and large eyes like a frog; and both footmen,

Alice noticed, had powdered hair that curled all over their

heads. She felt very curious to know what it was all about, and

crept a little way out of the wood to listen.

 

The Fish-Footman began by producing from under his arm a great

letter, nearly as large as himself, and this he handed over to

the other, saying, in a solemn tone, `For the Duchess. An

invitation from the Queen to play croquet.'  The Frog-Footman

repeated, in the same solemn tone, only changing the order of the

words a little, `From the Queen. An invitation for the Duchess

to play croquet.'

 

Then they both bowed low, and their curls got entangled

together.

 

Alice laughed so much at this, that she had to run back into

the wood for fear of their hearing her; and when she next peeped

out the Fish-Footman was gone, and the other was sitting on the

ground near the door, staring stupidly up into the sky.

 

Alice went timidly up to the door, and knocked.

 

`There's no sort of use in knocking,' said the Footman, `and

that for two reasons. First, because I'm on the same side of the

door as you are; secondly, because they're making such a noise

inside, no one could possibly hear you.' And certainly there was

a most extraordinary noise going on within--a constant howling

and sneezing, and every now and then a great crash, as if a dish

or kettle had been broken to pieces.

 

`Please, then,' said Alice, `how am I to get in?'

 

`There might be some sense in your knocking,' the Footman went

on without attending to her, `if we had the door between us. For

instance, if you were INSIDE, you might knock, and I could let

you out, you know.' He was looking up into the sky all the time

he was speaking, and this Alice thought decidedly uncivil. `But

perhaps he can't help it,' she said to herself; `his eyes are so

VERY nearly at the top of his head. But at any rate he might

answer questions.--How am I to get in?' she repeated, aloud.

 

`I shall sit here,' the Footman remarked, `till tomorrow--'

 

At this moment the door of the house opened, and a large plate

came skimming out, straight at the Footman's head: it just

grazed his nose, and broke to pieces against one of the trees

behind him.

 

`--or next day, maybe,' the Footman continued in the same tone,

exactly as if nothing had happened.

 

`How am I to get in?' asked Alice again, in a louder tone.

 

`ARE you to get in at all?' said the Footman. `That's the

first question, you know.'

 

It was, no doubt: only Alice did not like to be told so.

`It's really dreadful,' she muttered to herself, `the way all the

creatures argue. It's enough to drive one crazy!'

 

The Footman seemed to think this a good opportunity for

repeating his remark, with variations. `I shall sit here,' he

said, `on and off, for days and days.'

 

`But what am I to do?' said Alice.

 

`Anything you like' said the Footman, and began whistling.

 

`Oh, there's no use in talking to him,' said Alice desperately:

`he's perfectly idiotic!' And she opened the door and went in.

 

The door led right into a large kitchen, which was full of

smoke from one end to the other: the Duchess was sitting on a

three-legged stool in the middle, nursing a baby; the cook was

leaning over the fire, stirring a large cauldron which seemed to

be full of soup.

 

`There's certainly too much pepper in that soup!' Alice said to

herself, as well as she could for sneezing.

 

There was certainly too much of it in the air. Even the

Duchess sneezed occasionally; and as for the baby, it was

sneezing and howling alternately without a moment's pause. The

only things in the kitchen that did not sneeze, were the cook,

and a large cat which was sitting on the hearth and grinning from

ear to ear.

 

`Please would you tell me,' said Alice, a little timidly, for

she was not quite sure whether it was good manners for her to

speak first, `why your cat grins like that?'

 

`It's a Cheshire cat,' said the Duchess, `and that's why.

Pig!'

 

She said the last word with such sudden violence that Alice

quite jumped; but she saw in another moment that it was addressed

to the baby, and not to her, so she took courage, and went on

again:--

 

I didn't know that Cheshire cats always grinned; in fact, I

didn't know that cats COULD grin.'

 

`They all can,' said the Duchess; `and most of 'em do.'

 

`I don't know of any that do,' Alice said very politely,

feeling quite pleased to have got into a conversation.

 

`You don't know much,' said the Duchess; `and that's a fact.'

 

Alice did not at all like the tone of this remark, and thought

it would be as well to introduce some other subject of

conversation. While she was trying to fix on one, the cook took

the cauldron of soup off the fire, and at once set to work

throwing everything within her reach at the Duchess and the baby-

-the fire-irons came first; then followed a shower of saucepans,

plates, and dishes. The Duchess took no notice of them even when

they hit her; and the baby was howling so much already, that it

was quite impossible to say whether the blows hurt it or not.

 

`Oh, PLEASE mind what you're doing!' cried Alice, jumping up

and down in an agony of terror. `Oh, there goes his PRECIOUS

nose'; as an unusually large saucepan flew close by it, and very

nearly carried it off.

 

`If everybody minded their own business,' the Duchess said in a

hoarse growl, `the world would go round a deal faster than it

does.'

 

`Which would NOT be an advantage,' said Alice, who felt very

glad to get an opportunity of showing off a little of her

knowledge. `Just think of what work it would make with the day

and night! You see the earth takes twenty-four hours to turn

round on its axis--'

 

`Talking of axes,' said the Duchess, `chop off her head!'

 

Alice glanced rather anxiously at the cook, to see if she meant

to take the hint; but the cook was busily stirring the soup, and

seemed not to be listening, so she went on again: `Twenty-four

hours, I THINK; or is it twelve? I--'

 

`Oh, don't bother ME,' said the Duchess; `I never could abide

figures!' And with that she began nursing her child again,

singing a sort of lullaby to it as she did so, and giving it a

violent shake at the end of every line:

 

   `Speak roughly to your little boy,

     And beat him when he sneezes:

   He only does it to annoy,

     Because he knows it teases.'

 

               CHORUS.

 

(In which the cook and the baby joined):--

 

           `Wow! wow! wow!'

 

While the Duchess sang the second verse of the song, she kept

tossing the baby violently up and down, and the poor little thing

howled so, that Alice could hardly hear the words:--

 

   `I speak severely to my boy,

     I beat him when he sneezes;

   For he can thoroughly enjoy

     The pepper when he pleases!'

 

               CHORUS.

 

           `Wow! wow! wow!'

 

`Here! you may nurse it a bit, if you like!' the Duchess said

to Alice, flinging the baby at her as she spoke. `I must go and

get ready to play croquet with the Queen,' and she hurried out of

the room. The cook threw a frying-pan after her as she went out,

but it just missed her.

 

Alice caught the baby with some difficulty, as it was a queer-

shaped little creature, and held out its arms and legs in all

directions, `just like a star-fish,' thought Alice. The poor

little thing was snorting like a steam-engine when she caught it,

and kept doubling itself up and straightening itself out again,

so that altogether, for the first minute or two, it was as much

as she could do to hold it.

 

As soon as she had made out the proper way of nursing it,

(which was to twist it up into a sort of knot, and then keep

tight hold of its right ear and left foot, so as to prevent its

undoing itself,) she carried it out into the open air. `IF I

don't take this child away with me,' thought Alice, `they're sure

to kill it in a day or two: wouldn't it be murder to leave it

behind?' She said the last words out loud, and the little thing

grunted in reply (it had left off sneezing by this time). `Don't

grunt,' said Alice; `that's not at all a proper way of expressing

yourself.'

 

The baby grunted again, and Alice looked very anxiously into

its face to see what was the matter with it. There could be no

doubt that it had a VERY turn-up nose, much more like a snout

than a real nose; also its eyes were getting extremely small for

a baby: altogether Alice did not like the look of the thing at

all. `But perhaps it was only sobbing,' she thought, and looked

into its eyes again, to see if there were any tears.

 

No, there were no tears. `If you're going to turn into a pig,

my dear,' said Alice, seriously, `I'll have nothing more to do

with you. Mind now!' The poor little thing sobbed again (or

grunted, it was impossible to say which), and they went on for

some while in silence.

 

Alice was just beginning to think to herself, `Now, what am I

to do with this creature when I get it home?' when it grunted

again, so violently, that she looked down into its face in some

alarm. This time there could be NO mistake about it: it was

neither more nor less than a pig, and she felt that it would be

quite absurd for her to carry it further.

 

So she set the little creature down, and felt quite relieved to

see it trot away quietly into the wood. `If it had grown up,'

she said to herself, `it would have made a dreadfully ugly child:

but it makes rather a handsome pig, I think.' And she began

thinking over other children she knew, who might do very well as

pigs, and was just saying to herself, `if one only knew the right

way to change them--' when she was a little startled by seeing

the Cheshire Cat sitting on a bough of a tree a few yards off.

 

The Cat only grinned when it saw Alice. It looked good-

natured, she thought: still it had VERY long claws and a great

many teeth, so she felt that it ought to be treated with respect.

 

`Cheshire Puss,' she began, rather timidly, as she did not at

all know whether it would like the name: however, it only

grinned a little wider. `Come, it's pleased so far,' thought

Alice, and she went on. `Would you tell me, please, which way I

ought to go from here?'

 

`That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,' said

the Cat.

 

`I don't much care where--' said Alice.

 

`Then it doesn't matter which way you go,' said the Cat.

 

`--so long as I get SOMEWHERE,' Alice added as an explanation.

 

`Oh, you're sure to do that,' said the Cat, `if you only walk

long enough.'

 

Alice felt that this could not be denied, so she tried another

question. `What sort of people live about here?'

 

`In THAT direction,' the Cat said, waving its right paw round,

`lives a Hatter: and in THAT direction,' waving the other paw,

`lives a March Hare. Visit either you like: they're both mad.'

 

`But I don't want to go among mad people,' Alice remarked.

 

`Oh, you can't help that,' said the Cat: `we're all mad here.

I'm mad. You're mad.'

 

`How do you know I'm mad?' said Alice.

 

`You must be,' said the Cat, `or you wouldn't have come here.'

 

Alice didn't think that proved it at all; however, she went on

`And how do you know that you're mad?'

 

`To begin with,' said the Cat, `a dog's not mad. You grant

that?'

 

`I suppose so,' said Alice.

 

`Well, then,' the Cat went on, `you see, a dog growls when it's

angry, and wags its tail when it's pleased. Now I growl when I'm

pleased, and wag my tail when I'm angry. Therefore I'm mad.'

 

`I call it purring, not growling,' said Alice.

 

`Call it what you like,' said the Cat. `Do you play croquet

with the Queen to-day?'

 

`I should like it very much,' said Alice, `but I haven't been

invited yet.'

 

`You'll see me there,' said the Cat, and vanished.

 

Alice was not much surprised at this, she was getting so used

to queer things happening. While she was looking at the place

where it had been, it suddenly appeared again.

 

`By-the-bye, what became of the baby?' said the Cat. `I'd

nearly forgotten to ask.'

 

`It turned into a pig,' Alice quietly said, just as if it had

come back in a natural way.

 

`I thought it would,' said the Cat, and vanished again.

 

Alice waited a little, half expecting to see it again, but it

did not appear, and after a minute or two she walked on in the

direction in which the March Hare was said to live. `I've seen

hatters before,' she said to herself; `the March Hare will be

much the most interesting, and perhaps as this is May it won't be

raving mad--at least not so mad as it was in March.' As she said

this, she looked up, and there was the Cat again, sitting on a

branch of a tree.

 

`Did you say pig, or fig?' said the Cat.

 

`I said pig,' replied Alice; `and I wish you wouldn't keep

appearing and vanishing so suddenly: you make on quite giddy.'

 

`All right,' said the Cat; and this time it vanished quite

slowly, beginning with the end of the tail, and ending with the

grin, which remained some time after the rest of it had gone.

 

`Well! I've often seen a cat without a grin,' thought Alice;

`but a grin without a cat! It's the most curious thing I ever

say in my life!'

 

She had not gone much farther before she came in sight of the

house of the March Hare: she thought it must be the right house,

because the chimneys were shaped like ears and the roof was

thatched with fur. It was so large a house, that she did not

like to go nearer till she had nibbled some more of the lefthand

bit of mushroom, and raised herself to about two feet high: even

then she walked up towards it rather timidly, saying to herself

`Suppose it should be raving mad after all! I almost wish I'd

gone to see the Hatter instead!'

 

CHAPTER VII A Mad Tea-Party

 

There was a table set out under a tree in front of the house,

and the March Hare and the Hatter were having tea at it: a

Dormouse was sitting between them, fast asleep, and the other two

were using it as a cushion, resting their elbows on it, and the

talking over its head. `Very uncomfortable for the Dormouse,'

thought Alice; `only, as it's asleep, I suppose it doesn't mind.'

 

The table was a large one, but the three were all crowded

together at one corner of it: `No room! No room!' they cried

out when they saw Alice coming. `There's PLENTY of room!' said

Alice indignantly, and she sat down in a large arm-chair at one

end of the table.

 

`Have some wine,' the March Hare said in an encouraging tone.

 

Alice looked all round the table, but there was nothing on it

but tea. `I don't see any wine,' she remarked.

 

`There isn't any,' said the March Hare.

 

`Then it wasn't very civil of you to offer it,' said Alice

angrily.

 

`It wasn't very civil of you to sit down without being

invited,' said the March Hare.

 

`I didn't know it was YOUR table,' said Alice; `it's laid for a

great many more than three.'

 

`Your hair wants cutting,' said the Hatter. He had been

looking at Alice for some time with great curiosity, and this was

his first speech.

 

`You should learn not to make personal remarks,' Alice said

with some severity; `it's very rude.'

 

The Hatter opened his eyes very wide on hearing this; but all

he SAID was, `Why is a raven like a writing-desk?'

 

`Come, we shall have some fun now!' thought Alice. `I'm glad

they've begun asking riddles.--I believe I can guess that,' she

added aloud.

 

`Do you mean that you think you can find out the answer to it?'

said the March Hare.

 

`Exactly so,' said Alice.

 

`Then you should say what you mean,' the March Hare went on.

 

`I do,' Alice hastily replied; `at least--at least I mean what

I say--that's the same thing, you know.'

 

`Not the same thing a bit!' said the Hatter. `You might just

as well say that "I see what I eat" is the same thing as "I eat

what I see"!'

 

`You might just as well say,' added the March Hare, `that "I

like what I get" is the same thing as "I get what I like"!'

 

`You might just as well say,' added the Dormouse, who seemed to

be talking in his sleep, `that "I breathe when I sleep" is the

same thing as "I sleep when I breathe"!'

 

`It IS the same thing with you,' said the Hatter, and here the

conversation dropped, and the party sat silent for a minute,

while Alice thought over all she could remember about ravens and

writing-desks, which wasn't much.

 

The Hatter was the first to break the silence. `What day of

the month is it?' he said, turning to Alice: he had taken his

watch out of his pocket, and was looking at it uneasily, shaking

it every now and then, and holding it to his ear.

 

Alice considered a little, and then said `The fourth.'

 

`Two days wrong!' sighed the Hatter. `I told you butter

wouldn't suit the works!' he added looking angrily at the March

Hare.

 

`It was the BEST butter,' the March Hare meekly replied.

 

`Yes, but some crumbs must have got in as well,' the Hatter

grumbled: `you shouldn't have put it in with the bread-knife.'

 

The March Hare took the watch and looked at it gloomily: then

he dipped it into his cup of tea, and looked at it again: but he

could think of nothing better to say than his first remark, `It

was the BEST butter, you know.'

 

Alice had been looking over his shoulder with some curiosity.

`What a funny watch!' she remarked. `It tells the day of the

month, and doesn't tell what o'clock it is!'

 

`Why should it?' muttered the Hatter. `Does YOUR watch tell

you what year it is?'

 

  `Of course not,' Alice replied very readily: `but that's

because it stays the same year for such a long time together.'

 

`Which is just the case with MINE,' said the Hatter.

 

Alice felt dreadfully puzzled. The Hatter's remark seemed to

have no sort of meaning in it, and yet it was certainly English.

`I don't quite understand you,' she said, as politely as she

could.

 

`The Dormouse is asleep again,' said the Hatter, and he poured

a little hot tea upon its nose.

 

The Dormouse shook its head impatiently, and said, without

opening its eyes, `Of course, of course; just what I was going to

remark myself.'

 

`Have you guessed the riddle yet?' the Hatter said, turning to

Alice again.

 

`No, I give it up,' Alice replied: `that's the answer?'

 

`I haven't the slightest idea,' said the Hatter.

 

`Nor I,' said the March Hare.

 

Alice sighed wearily. `I think you might do something better

with the time,' she said, `than waste it in asking riddles that

have no answers.'

 

`If you knew Time as well as I do,' said the Hatter, `you

wouldn't talk about wasting IT. It's HIM.'

 

`I don't know what you mean,' said Alice.

 

`Of course you don't!' the Hatter said, tossing his head

contemptuously. `I dare say you never even spoke to Time!'

 

`Perhaps not,' Alice cautiously replied: `but I know I have to

beat time when I learn music.'

 

`Ah! that accounts for it,' said the Hatter. `He won't stand

beating. Now, if you only kept on good terms with him, he'd do

almost anything you liked with the clock. For instance, suppose

it were nine o'clock in the morning, just time to begin lessons:

you'd only have to whisper a hint to Time, and round goes the

clock in a twinkling! Half-past one, time for dinner!'

 

(`I only wish it was,' the March Hare said to itself in a

whisper.)

 

`That would be grand, certainly,' said Alice thoughtfully:

`but then--I shouldn't be hungry for it, you know.'

 

`Not at first, perhaps,' said the Hatter: `but you could keep

it to half-past one as long as you liked.'

 

`Is that the way YOU manage?' Alice asked.

 

The Hatter shook his head mournfully. `Not I!' he replied.

`We quarrelled last March--just before HE went mad, you know--'

(pointing with his tea spoon at the March Hare,) `--it was at the

great concert given by the Queen of Hearts, and I had to sing

 

       "Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!

       How I wonder what you're at!"

 

You know the song, perhaps?'

 

`I've heard something like it,' said Alice.

 

`It goes on, you know,' the Hatter continued, `in this way:--

 

       "Up above the world you fly,

       Like a tea-tray in the sky.

               Twinkle, twinkle--"'

 

Here the Dormouse shook itself, and began singing in its sleep

`Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, twinkle--' and went on so long that

they had to pinch it to make it stop.

 

`Well, I'd hardly finished the first verse,' said the Hatter,

`when the Queen jumped up and bawled out, "He's murdering the

time! Off with his head!"'

 

`How dreadfully savage!' exclaimed Alice.

 

`And ever since that,' the Hatter went on in a mournful tone,

`he won't do a thing I ask! It's always six o'clock now.'

 

A bright idea came into Alice's head. `Is that the reason so

many tea-things are put out here?' she asked.

 

`Yes, that's it,' said the Hatter with a sigh: `it's always

tea-time, and we've no time to wash the things between whiles.'

 

`Then you keep moving round, I suppose?' said Alice.

 

`Exactly so,' said the Hatter: `as the things get used up.'

 

`But what happens when you come to the beginning again?' Alice

ventured to ask.

 

`Suppose we change the subject,' the March Hare interrupted,

yawning. `I'm getting tired of this. I vote the young lady

tells us a story.'

 

`I'm afraid I don't know one,' said Alice, rather alarmed at

the proposal.

 

`Then the Dormouse shall!' they both cried. `Wake up,

Dormouse!' And they pinched it on both sides at once.

 

The Dormouse slowly opened his eyes. `I wasn't asleep,' he

said in a hoarse, feeble voice: `I heard every word you fellows

were saying.'

 

`Tell us a story!' said the March Hare.

 

`Yes, please do!' pleaded Alice.

 

`And be quick about it,' added the Hatter, `or you'll be asleep

again before it's done.'

 

`Once upon a time there were three little sisters,' the

Dormouse began in a great hurry; `and their names were Elsie,

Lacie, and Tillie; and they lived at the bottom of a well--'

 

`What did they live on?' said Alice, who always took a great

interest in questions of eating and drinking.

 

`They lived on treacle,' said the Dormouse, after thinking a

minute or two.

 

`They couldn't have done that, you know,' Alice gently

remarked; `they'd have been ill.'

 

`So they were,' said the Dormouse; `VERY ill.'

 

Alice tried to fancy to herself what such an extraordinary ways

of living would be like, but it puzzled her too much, so she went

on: `But why did they live at the bottom of a well?'

 

`Take some more tea,' the March Hare said to Alice, very

earnestly.

 

`I've had nothing yet,' Alice replied in an offended tone, `so

I can't take more.'

 

`You mean you can't take LESS,' said the Hatter: `it's very

easy to take MORE than nothing.'

 

`Nobody asked YOUR opinion,' said Alice.

 

`Who's making personal remarks now?' the Hatter asked

triumphantly.

 

Alice did not quite know what to say to this: so she helped

herself to some tea and bread-and-butter, and then turned to the

Dormouse, and repeated her question. `Why did they live at the

bottom of a well?'

 

The Dormouse again took a minute or two to think about it, and

then said, `It was a treacle-well.'

 

`There's no such thing!' Alice was beginning very angrily, but

the Hatter and the March Hare went `Sh! sh!' and the Dormouse

sulkily remarked, `If you can't be civil, you'd better finish the

story for yourself.'

 

`No, please go on!' Alice said very humbly; `I won't interrupt

again. I dare say there may be ONE.'

 

`One, indeed!' said the Dormouse indignantly. However, he

consented to go on. `And so these three little sisters--they

were learning to draw, you know--'

 

`What did they draw?' said Alice, quite forgetting her promise.

 

`Treacle,' said the Dormouse, without considering at all this

time.

 

`I want a clean cup,' interrupted the Hatter: `let's all move

one place on.'

 

He moved on as he spoke, and the Dormouse followed him: the

March Hare moved into the Dormouse's place, and Alice rather

unwillingly took the place of the March Hare. The Hatter was the

only one who got any advantage from the change: and Alice was a

good deal worse off than before, as the March Hare had just upset

the milk-jug into his plate.

 

Alice did not wish to offend the Dormouse again, so she began

very cautiously: `But I don't understand. Where did they draw

the treacle from?'

 

`You can draw water out of a water-well,' said the Hatter; `so

I should think you could draw treacle out of a treacle-well--eh,

stupid?'

 

`But they were IN the well,' Alice said to the Dormouse, not

choosing to notice this last remark.

 

`Of course they were', said the Dormouse; `--well in.'

 

This answer so confused poor Alice, that she let the Dormouse

go on for some time without interrupting it.

 

`They were learning to draw,' the Dormouse went on, yawning and

rubbing its eyes, for it was getting very sleepy; `and they drew

all manner of things--everything that begins with an M--'

 

`Why with an M?' said Alice.

 

`Why not?' said the March Hare.

 

Alice was silent.

 

The Dormouse had closed its eyes by this time, and was going

off into a doze; but, on being pinched by the Hatter, it woke up

again with a little shriek, and went on: `--that begins with an

M, such as mouse-traps, and the moon, and memory, and muchness--

you know you say things are "much of a muchness"--did you ever

see such a thing as a drawing of a muchness?'

 

`Really, now you ask me,' said Alice, very much confused, `I

don't think--'

 

`Then you shouldn't talk,' said the Hatter.

 

This piece of rudeness was more than Alice could bear: she got

up in great disgust, and walked off; the Dormouse fell asleep

instantly, and neither of the others took the least notice of her

going, though she looked back once or twice, half hoping that

they would call after her: the last time she saw them, they were

trying to put the Dormouse into the teapot.

 

`At any rate I'll never go THERE again!' said Alice as she

picked her way through the wood. `It's the stupidest tea-party I

ever was at in all my life!'

 

Just as she said this, she noticed that one of the trees had a

door leading right into it. `That's very curious!' she thought.

`But everything's curious today. I think I may as well go in at

once.' And in she went.

 

Once more she found herself in the long hall, and close to the

little glass table. `Now, I'll manage better this time,' she

said to herself, and began by taking the little golden key, and

unlocking the door that led into the garden. Then she wet to

work nibbling at the mushroom (she had kept a piece of it in her

pocked) till she was about a foot high: then she walked down the

little passage: and THEN--she found herself at last in the

beautiful garden, among the bright flower-beds and the cool

fountains.

 

THE END

 

 

ALICE'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND

 

 

                     Lewis Carroll

 

          THE MILLENNIUM FULCRUM EDITION 2.5

                (C)1991 Duncan Research

 

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