Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
on which the wretched Hatter trembled so, that he shook both his shoes
off.
“Give your evidence,” the King repeated angrily, “or I’ll have you
executed, whether you’re nervous or not.”
“I’m a poor man, your Majesty,” the Hatter began, in a trembling voice,
“—and I hadn’t begun my tea—not above a week or so—and what with the
bread-and-butter getting so thin—and the twinkling of the tea—”
“The twinkling of the _what?_” said the King.
“It _began_ with the tea,” the Hatter replied.
“Of course twinkling begins with a T!” said the King sharply. “Do you
take me for a dunce? Go on!”
“I’m a poor man,” the Hatter went on, “and most things twinkled after
that—only the March Hare said—”
“I didn’t!” the March Hare interrupted in a great hurry.
“You did!” said the Hatter.
“I deny it!” said the March Hare.
“He denies it,” said the King: “leave out that part.”
“Well, at any rate, the Dormouse said—” the Hatter went on, looking
anxiously round to see if he would deny it too: but the Dormouse denied
nothing, being fast asleep.
“After that,” continued the Hatter, “I cut some more bread-and-butter—”
“But what did the Dormouse say?” one of the jury asked.
“That I can’t remember,” said the Hatter.
“You _must_ remember,” remarked the King, “or I’ll have you executed.”
The miserable Hatter dropped his teacup and bread-and-butter, and went
down on one knee. “I’m a poor man, your Majesty,” he began.
“You’re a _very_ poor _speaker_,” said the King.
Here one of the guinea-pigs cheered, and was immediately suppressed by
the officers of the court. (As that is rather a hard word, I will just
explain to you how it was done. They had a large canvas bag, which tied
up at the mouth with strings: into this they slipped the guinea-pig,
head first, and then sat upon it.)
“I’m glad I’ve seen that done,” thought Alice. “I’ve so often read in
the newspapers, at the end of trials, “There was some attempts at
applause, which was immediately suppressed by the officers of the
court,” and I never understood what it meant till now.”
“If that’s all you know about it, you may stand down,” continued the
King.
“I can’t go no lower,” said the Hatter: “I’m on the floor, as it is.”
“Then you may _sit_ down,” the King replied.
Here the other guinea-pig cheered, and was suppressed.
“Come, that finished the guinea-pigs!” thought Alice. “Now we shall get
on better.”
“I’d rather finish my tea,” said the Hatter, with an anxious look at
the Queen, who was reading the list of singers.
“You may go,” said the King, and the Hatter hurriedly left the court,
without even waiting to put his shoes on.
“—and just take his head off outside,” the Queen added to one of the
officers: but the Hatter was out of sight before the officer could get
to the door.
“Call the next witness!” said the King.
The next witness was the Duchess’s cook. She carried the pepper-box in
her hand, and Alice guessed who it was, even before she got into the
court, by the way the people near the door began sneezing all at once.
“Give your evidence,” said the King.
“Shan’t,” said the cook.
The King looked anxiously at the White Rabbit, who said in a low voice,
“Your Majesty must cross-examine _this_ witness.”
“Well, if I must, I must,” the King said, with a melancholy air, and,
after folding his arms and frowning at the cook till his eyes were
nearly out of sight, he said in a deep voice, “What are tarts made of?”
“Pepper, mostly,” said the cook.
“Treacle,” said a sleepy voice behind her.
“Collar that Dormouse,” the Queen shrieked out. “Behead that Dormouse!
Turn that Dormouse out of court! Suppress him! Pinch him! Off with his
whiskers!”
For some minutes the whole court was in confusion, getting the Dormouse
turned out, and, by the time they had settled down again, the cook had
disappeared.
“Never mind!” said the King, with an air of great relief. “Call the
next witness.” And he added in an undertone to the Queen, “Really, my
dear, _you_ must cross-examine the next witness. It quite makes my
forehead ache!”
Alice watched the White Rabbit as he fumbled over the list, feeling
very curious to see what the next witness would be like, “—for they
haven’t got much evidence _yet_,” she said to herself. Imagine her
surprise, when the White Rabbit read out, at the top of his shrill
little voice, the name “Alice!”
CHAPTER XII.
Alice’s Evidence
“Here!” cried Alice, quite forgetting in the flurry of the moment how
large she had grown in the last few minutes, and she jumped up in such
a hurry that she tipped over the jury-box with the edge of her skirt,
upsetting all the jurymen on to the heads of the crowd below, and there
they lay sprawling about, reminding her very much of a globe of
goldfish she had accidentally upset the week before.
“Oh, I _beg_ your pardon!” she exclaimed in a tone of great dismay, and
began picking them up again as quickly as she could, for the accident
of the goldfish kept running in her head, and she had a vague sort of
idea that they must be collected at once and put back into the
jury-box, or they would die.
“The trial cannot proceed,” said the King in a very grave voice, “until
all the jurymen are back in their proper places—_all_,” he repeated
with great emphasis, looking hard at Alice as he said so.
Alice looked at the jury-box, and saw that, in her haste, she had put
the Lizard in head downwards, and the poor little thing was waving its
tail about in a melancholy way, being quite unable to move. She soon
got it out again, and put it right; “not that it signifies much,” she
said to herself; “I should think it would be _quite_ as much use in the
trial one way up as the other.”
As soon as the jury had a little recovered from the shock of being
upset, and their slates and pencils had been found and handed back to
them, they set to work very diligently to write out a history of the
accident, all except the Lizard, who seemed too much overcome to do
anything but sit with its mouth open, gazing up into the roof of the
court.
“What do you know about this business?” the King said to Alice.
“Nothing,” said Alice.
“Nothing _whatever?_” persisted the King.
“Nothing whatever,” said Alice.
“That’s very important,” the King said, turning to the jury. They were
just beginning to write this down on their slates, when the White
Rabbit interrupted: “_Un_important, your Majesty means, of course,” he
said in a very respectful tone, but frowning and making faces at him as
he spoke.
“_Un_important, of course, I meant,” the King hastily said, and went on
to himself in an undertone,
“important—unimportant—unimportant—important—” as if he were trying
which word sounded best.
Some of the jury wrote it down “important,” and some “unimportant.”
Alice could see this, as she was near enough to look over their slates;
“but it doesn’t matter a bit,” she thought to herself.
At this moment the King, who had been for some time busily writing in
his note-book, cackled out “Silence!” and read out from his book, “Rule
Forty-two. _All persons more than a mile high to leave the court_.”
Everybody looked at Alice.
“_I’m_ not a mile high,” said Alice.
“You are,” said the King.
“Nearly two miles high,” added the Queen.
“Well, I shan’t go, at any rate,” said Alice: “besides, that’s not a
regular rule: you invented it just now.”
“It’s the oldest rule in the book,” said the King.
“Then it ought to be Number One,” said Alice.
The King turned pale, and shut his note-book hastily. “Consider your
verdict,” he said to the jury, in a low, trembling voice.
“There’s more evidence to come yet, please your Majesty,” said the
White Rabbit, jumping up in a great hurry; “this paper has just been
picked up.”
“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
can’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,” said the Queen.
“It proves nothing 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 gravely, “and go on till you
come to the end: then stop.”
These were the verses the White Rabbit read:—
“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 can’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—‘_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