Through the Looking-Glass
“This young lady loves you with an H,” the King said, introducing Alice
in the hope of turning off the Messenger’s attention from himself—but
it was no use—the Anglo-Saxon attitudes only got more extraordinary
every moment, while the great eyes rolled wildly from side to side.
“You alarm me!” said the King. “I feel faint—Give me a ham sandwich!”
On which the Messenger, to Alice’s great amusement, opened a bag that
hung round his neck, and handed a sandwich to the King, who devoured it
greedily.
“Another sandwich!” said the King.
“There’s nothing but hay left now,” the Messenger said, peeping into
the bag.
“Hay, then,” the King murmured in a faint whisper.
Alice was glad to see that it revived him a good deal. “There’s nothing
like eating hay when you’re faint,” he remarked to her, as he munched
away.
“I should think throwing cold water over you would be better,” Alice
suggested: “or some sal-volatile.”
“I didn’t say there was nothing _better_,” the King replied. “I said
there was nothing _like_ it.” Which Alice did not venture to deny.
“Who did you pass on the road?” the King went on, holding out his hand
to the Messenger for some more hay.
“Nobody,” said the Messenger.
“Quite right,” said the King: “this young lady saw him too. So of
course Nobody walks slower than you.”
“I do my best,” the Messenger said in a sulky tone. “I’m sure nobody
walks much faster than I do!”
“He can’t do that,” said the King, “or else he’d have been here first.
However, now you’ve got your breath, you may tell us what’s happened in
the town.”
“I’ll whisper it,” said the Messenger, putting his hands to his mouth
in the shape of a trumpet, and stooping so as to get close to the
King’s ear. Alice was sorry for this, as she wanted to hear the news
too. However, instead of whispering, he simply shouted at the top of
his voice “They’re at it again!”
“Do you call _that_ a whisper?” cried the poor King, jumping up and
shaking himself. “If you do such a thing again, I’ll have you buttered!
It went through and through my head like an earthquake!”
“It would have to be a very tiny earthquake!” thought Alice. “Who are
at it again?” she ventured to ask.
“Why the Lion and the Unicorn, of course,” said the King.
“Fighting for the crown?”
“Yes, to be sure,” said the King: “and the best of the joke is, that
it’s _my_ crown all the while! Let’s run and see them.” And they
trotted off, Alice repeating to herself, as she ran, the words of the
old song:—
“The Lion and the Unicorn were fighting for the crown:
The Lion beat the Unicorn all round the town.
Some gave them white bread, some gave them brown;
Some gave them plum-cake and drummed them out of town.”
“Does—the one—that wins—get the crown?” she asked, as well as she
could, for the run was putting her quite out of breath.
“Dear me, no!” said the King. “What an idea!”
“Would you—be good enough,” Alice panted out, after running a little
further, “to stop a minute—just to get—one’s breath again?”
“I’m _good_ enough,” the King said, “only I’m not strong enough. You
see, a minute goes by so fearfully quick. You might as well try to stop
a Bandersnatch!”
Alice had no more breath for talking, so they trotted on in silence,
till they came in sight of a great crowd, in the middle of which the
Lion and Unicorn were fighting. They were in such a cloud of dust, that
at first Alice could not make out which was which: but she soon managed
to distinguish the Unicorn by his horn.
They placed themselves close to where Hatta, the other messenger, was
standing watching the fight, with a cup of tea in one hand and a piece
of bread-and-butter in the other.
“He’s only just out of prison, and he hadn’t finished his tea when he
was sent in,” Haigha whispered to Alice: “and they only give them
oyster-shells in there—so you see he’s very hungry and thirsty. How are
you, dear child?” he went on, putting his arm affectionately round
Hatta’s neck.
Hatta looked round and nodded, and went on with his bread and butter.
“Were you happy in prison, dear child?” said Haigha.
Hatta looked round once more, and this time a tear or two trickled down
his cheek: but not a word would he say.
“Speak, can’t you!” Haigha cried impatiently. But Hatta only munched
away, and drank some more tea.
“Speak, won’t you!” cried the King. “How are they getting on with the
fight?”
Hatta made a desperate effort, and swallowed a large piece of
bread-and-butter. “They’re getting on very well,” he said in a choking
voice: “each of them has been down about eighty-seven times.”
“Then I suppose they’ll soon bring the white bread and the brown?”
Alice ventured to remark.
“It’s waiting for ’em now,” said Hatta: “this is a bit of it as I’m
eating.”
There was a pause in the fight just then, and the Lion and the Unicorn
sat down, panting, while the King called out “Ten minutes allowed for
refreshments!” Haigha and Hatta set to work at once, carrying rough
trays of white and brown bread. Alice took a piece to taste, but it was
_very_ dry.
“I don’t think they’ll fight any more to-day,” the King said to Hatta:
“go and order the drums to begin.” And Hatta went bounding away like a
grasshopper.
For a minute or two Alice stood silent, watching him. Suddenly she
brightened up. “Look, look!” she cried, pointing eagerly. “There’s the
White Queen running across the country! She came flying out of the wood
over yonder—How fast those Queens _can_ run!”
“There’s some enemy after her, no doubt,” the King said, without even
looking round. “That wood’s full of them.”
“But aren’t you going to run and help her?” Alice asked, very much
surprised at his taking it so quietly.
“No use, no use!” said the King. “She runs so fearfully quick. You
might as well try to catch a Bandersnatch! But I’ll make a memorandum
about her, if you like—She’s a dear good creature,” he repeated softly
to himself, as he opened his memorandum-book. “Do you spell ‘creature’
with a double ‘e’?”
At this moment the Unicorn sauntered by them, with his hands in his
pockets. “I had the best of it this time?” he said to the King, just
glancing at him as he passed.
“A little—a little,” the King replied, rather nervously. “You shouldn’t
have run him through with your horn, you know.”
“It didn’t hurt him,” the Unicorn said carelessly, and he was going on,
when his eye happened to fall upon Alice: he turned round rather
instantly, and stood for some time looking at her with an air of the
deepest disgust.
“What—is—this?” he said at last.
“This is a child!” Haigha replied eagerly, coming in front of Alice to
introduce her, and spreading out both his hands towards her in an
Anglo-Saxon attitude. “We only found it to-day. It’s as large as life,
and twice as natural!”
“I always thought they were fabulous monsters!” said the Unicorn. “Is
it alive?”
“It can talk,” said Haigha, solemnly.
The Unicorn looked dreamily at Alice, and said “Talk, child.”
Alice could not help her lips curling up into a smile as she began: “Do
you know, I always thought Unicorns were fabulous monsters, too! I
never saw one alive before!”
“Well, now that we _have_ seen each other,” said the Unicorn, “if
you’ll believe in me, I’ll believe in you. Is that a bargain?”
“Yes, if you like,” said Alice.
“Come, fetch out the plum-cake, old man!” the Unicorn went on, turning
from her to the King. “None of your brown bread for me!”
“Certainly—certainly!” the King muttered, and beckoned to Haigha. “Open
the bag!” he whispered. “Quick! Not that one—that’s full of hay!”
Haigha took a large cake out of the bag, and gave it to Alice to hold,
while he got out a dish and carving-knife. How they all came out of it
Alice couldn’t guess. It was just like a conjuring-trick, she thought.
The Lion had joined them while this was going on: he looked very tired
and sleepy, and his eyes were half shut. “What’s this!” he said,
blinking lazily at Alice, and speaking in a deep hollow tone that
sounded like the tolling of a great bell.
“Ah, what _is_ it, now?” the Unicorn cried eagerly. “You’ll never
guess! _I_ couldn’t.”
The Lion looked at Alice wearily. “Are you animal—vegetable—or
mineral?” he said, yawning at every other word.
“It’s a fabulous monster!” the Unicorn cried out, before Alice could
reply.
“Then hand round the plum-cake, Monster,” the Lion said, lying down and
putting his chin on his paws. “And sit down, both of you,” (to the King
and the Unicorn): “fair play with the cake, you know!”
The King was evidently very uncomfortable at having to sit down between
the two great creatures; but there was no other place for him.
“What a fight we might have for the crown, _now_!” the Unicorn said,
looking slyly up at the crown, which the poor King was nearly shaking
off his head, he trembled so much.
“I should win easy,” said the Lion.
“I’m not so sure of that,” said the Unicorn.
“Why, I beat you all round the town, you chicken!” the Lion replied
angrily, half getting up as he spoke.
Here the King interrupted, to prevent the quarrel going on: he was very
nervous, and his voice quite quivered. “All round the town?” he said.
“That’s a good long way. Did you go by the old bridge, or the
market-place? You get the best view by the old bridge.”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” the Lion growled out as he lay down again.
“There was too much dust to see anything. What a time the Monster is,
cutting up that cake!”
Alice had seated herself on the bank of a little brook, with the great
dish on her knees, and was sawing away diligently with the knife. “It’s
very provoking!” she said, in reply to the Lion (she was getting quite
used to being called “the Monster”). “I’ve cut several slices already,
but they always join on again!”
“You don’t know how to manage Looking-glass cakes,” the Unicorn
remarked. “Hand it round first, and cut it afterwards.”
This sounded nonsense, but Alice very obediently got up, and carried
the dish round, and the cake divided itself into three pieces as she
did so. “_Now_ cut it up,” said the Lion, as she returned to her place
with the empty dish.
“I say, this isn’t fair!” cried the Unicorn, as Alice sat with the
knife in her hand, very much puzzled how to begin. “The Monster has
given the Lion twice as much as me!”
“She’s kept none for herself, anyhow,” said the Lion. “Do you like
plum-cake, Monster?”
But before Alice could answer him, the drums began.
Where the noise came from, she couldn’t make out: the air seemed full
of it, and it rang through and through her head till she felt quite
deafened. She started to her feet and sprang across the little brook in
her terror,
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and had just time to see the Lion and the Unicorn rise to their feet,
with angry looks at being interrupted in their feast, before she
dropped to her knees, and put her hands over her ears, vainly trying to
shut out the dreadful uproar.
“If _that_ doesn’t ‘drum them out of town,’” she thought to herself,
“nothing ever will!”
CHAPTER VIII.
“It’s my own Invention”
After a while the noise seemed gradually to die away, till all was dead
silence, and Alice lifted up her head in some alarm. There was no one
to be seen, and her first thought was that she must have been dreaming
about the Lion and the Unicorn and those queer Anglo-Saxon Messengers.
However, there was the great dish still lying at her feet, on which she
had tried to cut the plum-cake, “So I wasn’t dreaming, after all,” she
said to herself, “unless—unless we’re all part of the same dream. Only
I do hope it’s _my_ dream, and not the Red King’s! I don’t like
belonging to another person’s dream,” she went on in a rather