Through the Looking-Glass
“I don’t deny things with my _hands_,” Alice objected.
“Nobody said you did,” said the Red Queen. “I said you couldn’t if you
tried.”
“She’s in that state of mind,” said the White Queen, “that she wants to
deny _something_—only she doesn’t know what to deny!”
“A nasty, vicious temper,” the Red Queen remarked; and then there was
an uncomfortable silence for a minute or two.
The Red Queen broke the silence by saying to the White Queen, “I invite
you to Alice’s dinner-party this afternoon.”
The White Queen smiled feebly, and said “And I invite _you_.”
“I didn’t know I was to have a party at all,” said Alice; “but if there
is to be one, I think _I_ ought to invite the guests.”
“We gave you the opportunity of doing it,” the Red Queen remarked: “but
I daresay you’ve not had many lessons in manners yet?”
“Manners are not taught in lessons,” said Alice. “Lessons teach you to
do sums, and things of that sort.”
“And you do Addition?” the White Queen asked. “What’s one and one and
one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one?”
“I don’t know,” said Alice. “I lost count.”
“She can’t do Addition,” the Red Queen interrupted. “Can you do
Subtraction? Take nine from eight.”
“Nine from eight I can’t, you know,” Alice replied very readily: “but—”
“She can’t do Subtraction,” said the White Queen. “Can you do Division?
Divide a loaf by a knife—what’s the answer to that?”
“I suppose—” Alice was beginning, but the Red Queen answered for her.
“Bread-and-butter, of course. Try another Subtraction sum. Take a bone
from a dog: what remains?”
Alice considered. “The bone wouldn’t remain, of course, if I took
it—and the dog wouldn’t remain; it would come to bite me—and I’m sure
_I_ shouldn’t remain!”
“Then you think nothing would remain?” said the Red Queen.
“I think that’s the answer.”
“Wrong, as usual,” said the Red Queen: “the dog’s temper would remain.”
“But I don’t see how—”
“Why, look here!” the Red Queen cried. “The dog would lose its temper,
wouldn’t it?”
“Perhaps it would,” Alice replied cautiously.
“Then if the dog went away, its temper would remain!” the Queen
exclaimed triumphantly.
Alice said, as gravely as she could, “They might go different ways.”
But she couldn’t help thinking to herself, “What dreadful nonsense we
_are_ talking!”
“She can’t do sums a _bit_!” the Queens said together, with great
emphasis.
“Can _you_ do sums?” Alice said, turning suddenly on the White Queen,
for she didn’t like being found fault with so much.
The Queen gasped and shut her eyes. “I can do Addition, if you give me
time—but I can’t do Subtraction, under _any_ circumstances!”
“Of course you know your A B C?” said the Red Queen.
“To be sure I do.” said Alice.
“So do I,” the White Queen whispered: “we’ll often say it over
together, dear. And I’ll tell you a secret—I can read words of one
letter! Isn’t _that_ grand! However, don’t be discouraged. You’ll come
to it in time.”
Here the Red Queen began again. “Can you answer useful questions?” she
said. “How is bread made?”
“I know _that_!” Alice cried eagerly. “You take some flour—”
“Where do you pick the flower?” the White Queen asked. “In a garden, or
in the hedges?”
“Well, it isn’t _picked_ at all,” Alice explained: “it’s _ground_—”
“How many acres of ground?” said the White Queen. “You mustn’t leave
out so many things.”
“Fan her head!” the Red Queen anxiously interrupted. “She’ll be
feverish after so much thinking.” So they set to work and fanned her
with bunches of leaves, till she had to beg them to leave off, it blew
her hair about so.
“She’s all right again now,” said the Red Queen. “Do you know
Languages? What’s the French for fiddle-de-dee?”
“Fiddle-de-dee’s not English,” Alice replied gravely.
“Who ever said it was?” said the Red Queen.
Alice thought she saw a way out of the difficulty this time. “If you’ll
tell me what language ‘fiddle-de-dee’ is, I’ll tell you the French for
it!” she exclaimed triumphantly.
But the Red Queen drew herself up rather stiffly, and said “Queens
never make bargains.”
“I wish Queens never asked questions,” Alice thought to herself.
“Don’t let us quarrel,” the White Queen said in an anxious tone. “What
is the cause of lightning?”
“The cause of lightning,” Alice said very decidedly, for she felt quite
certain about this, “is the thunder—no, no!” she hastily corrected
herself. “I meant the other way.”
“It’s too late to correct it,” said the Red Queen: “when you’ve once
said a thing, that fixes it, and you must take the consequences.”
“Which reminds me—” the White Queen said, looking down and nervously
clasping and unclasping her hands, “we had _such_ a thunderstorm last
Tuesday—I mean one of the last set of Tuesdays, you know.”
Alice was puzzled. “In _our_ country,” she remarked, “there’s only one
day at a time.”
The Red Queen said, “That’s a poor thin way of doing things. Now
_here_, we mostly have days and nights two or three at a time, and
sometimes in the winter we take as many as five nights together—for
warmth, you know.”
“Are five nights warmer than one night, then?” Alice ventured to ask.
“Five times as warm, of course.”
“But they should be five times as _cold_, by the same rule—”
“Just so!” cried the Red Queen. “Five times as warm, _and_ five times
as cold—just as I’m five times as rich as you are, _and_ five times as
clever!”
Alice sighed and gave it up. “It’s exactly like a riddle with no
answer!” she thought.
“Humpty Dumpty saw it too,” the White Queen went on in a low voice,
more as if she were talking to herself. “He came to the door with a
corkscrew in his hand—”
“What did he want?” said the Red Queen.
“He said he _would_ come in,” the White Queen went on, “because he was
looking for a hippopotamus. Now, as it happened, there wasn’t such a
thing in the house, that morning.”
“Is there generally?” Alice asked in an astonished tone.
“Well, only on Thursdays,” said the Queen.
“I know what he came for,” said Alice: “he wanted to punish the fish,
because—”
Here the White Queen began again. “It was _such_ a thunderstorm, you
can’t think!” (“She _never_ could, you know,” said the Red Queen.) “And
part of the roof came off, and ever so much thunder got in—and it went
rolling round the room in great lumps—and knocking over the tables and
things—till I was so frightened, I couldn’t remember my own name!”
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 feeling.
“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 at the moment.
“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:
When 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 any one 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 the words, and she listened so
eagerly that, when the two great heads 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 the arch there was a
bell-handle; one was marked “Visitors’ Bell,” and the other “Servants’
Bell.”
“I’ll wait till the song’s over,” thought Alice, “and then I’ll
ring—the—_which_ bell must I 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 talks 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. “Vexes it,
you know.” Then he went up and gave the door a kick with one of 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 any one’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:—