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Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
Language: English
A l i c e ’ s A d v e n t u re s i n
Wo n d e r l a n d
by Lewis Carroll
THE MILLENNIUM FULCRUM EDITION 3.0
Contents
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CHAPTER II.
The Pool of Tears
“Curiouser and curiouser!” cried Alice (she was so much
surprised, that for the moment she quite forgot how to
speak good English); “now I’m opening out like the largest
telescope that ever was! Good-bye, feet!” (for when she
looked down at her feet, they seemed to be almost out of
sight, they were getting so far off). “Oh, my poor little feet, I
wonder who will put on your shoes and stockings for you
now, dears? I’m sure I shan’t be able! I shall be a great deal
too far off to trouble myself about you: you must manage
the best way you can;—but I must be kind to them,” thought
Alice, “or perhaps they won’t walk the way I want to go! Let
me see: I’ll give them a new pair of boots every Christmas.”
And she went on planning to herself how she would
manage it. “They must go by the carrier,” she thought; “and
how funny it’ll seem, sending presents to one’s own feet!
And how odd the directions will look!
Alice’s Right Foot, Esq.,
Hearthrug,
near the Fender, (with Alice’s love).
“I’m sure those are not the right words,” said poor Alice,
and her eyes filled with tears again as she went on, “I must
be Mabel after all, and I shall have to go and live in that
poky little house, and have next to no toys to play with, and
oh! ever so many lessons to learn! No, I’ve made up my
mind about it; if I’m Mabel, I’ll stay down here! It’ll be no
use their putting their heads down and saying ‘Come up
again, dear!’ I shall only look up and say ‘Who am I then?
Tell me that first, and then, if I like being that person, I’ll
come up: if not, I’ll stay down here till I’m somebody else’—
but, oh dear!” cried Alice, with a sudden burst of tears, “I do
wish they would put their heads down! I am so very tired of
being all alone here!”
As she said this she looked down at her hands, and was
surprised to see that she had put on one of the Rabbit’s
little white kid gloves while she was talking. “How can I have
done that?” she thought. “I must be growing small again.”
She got up and went to the table to measure herself by it,
and found that, as nearly as she could guess, she was now
about two feet high, and was going on shrinking rapidly: she
soon found out that the cause of this was the fan she was
holding, and she dropped it hastily, just in time to avoid
shrinking away altogether.
“That was a narrow escape!” said Alice, a good deal
frightened at the sudden change, but very glad to find
herself still in existence; “and now for the garden!” and she
ran with all speed back to the little door: but, alas! the little
door was shut again, and the little golden key was lying on
the glass table as before, “and things are worse than ever,”
thought the poor child, “for I never was so small as this
before, never! And I declare it’s too bad, that it is!”
As she said these words her foot slipped, and in another
moment, splash! she was up to her chin in salt water. Her
first idea was that she had somehow fallen into the sea,
“and in that case I can go back by railway,” she said to
herself. (Alice had been to the seaside once in her life, and
had come to the general conclusion, that wherever you go
to on the English coast you find a number of bathing
machines in the sea, some children digging in the sand with
wooden spades, then a row of lodging houses, and behind
them a railway station.) However, she soon made out that
she was in the pool of tears which she had wept when she
was nine feet high.
“I wish I hadn’t cried so much!” said Alice, as she swam
about, trying to find her way out. “I shall be punished for it
now, I suppose, by being drowned in my own tears! That will
be a queer thing, to be sure! However, everything is queer
to-day.”
Just then she heard something splashing about in the pool
a little way off, and she swam nearer to make out what it
was: at first she thought it must be a walrus or
hippopotamus, but then she remembered how small she
was now, and she soon made out that it was only a mouse
that had slipped in like herself.
“Would it be of any use, now,” thought Alice, “to speak to
this mouse? Everything is so out-of-the-way down here, that
I should think very likely it can talk: at any rate, there’s no
harm in trying.” So she began: “O Mouse, do you know the
way out of this pool? I am very tired of swimming about
here, O Mouse!” (Alice thought this must be the right way of
speaking to a mouse: she had never done such a thing
before, but she remembered having seen in her brother’s
Latin Grammar, “A mouse—of a mouse—to a mouse—a
mouse—O mouse!”) The Mouse looked at her rather
inquisitively, and seemed to her to wink with one of its little
eyes, but it said nothing.
“Perhaps it doesn’t understand English,” thought Alice; “I
daresay it’s a French mouse, come over with William the
Conqueror.” (For, with all her knowledge of history, Alice had
no very clear notion how long ago anything had happened.)
So she began again: “Où est ma chatte?” which was the first
sentence in her French lesson-book. The Mouse gave a
sudden leap out of the water, and seemed to quiver all over
with fright. “Oh, I beg your pardon!” cried Alice hastily,
afraid that she had hurt the poor animal’s feelings. “I quite
forgot you didn’t like cats.”
“Not like cats!” cried the Mouse, in a shrill, passionate
voice. “Would you like cats if you were me?”
“Well, perhaps not,” said Alice in a soothing tone: “don’t
be angry about it. And yet I wish I could show you our cat
Dinah: I think you’d take a fancy to cats if you could only
see her. She is such a dear quiet thing,” Alice went on, half
to herself, as she swam lazily about in the pool, “and she
sits purring so nicely by the fire, licking her paws and
washing her face—and she is such a nice soft thing to nurse
—and she’s such a capital one for catching mice—oh, I beg
your pardon!” cried Alice again, for this time the Mouse was
bristling all over, and she felt certain it must be really
offended. “We won’t talk about her any more if you’d rather
not.”
“We indeed!” cried the Mouse, who was trembling down to
the end of his tail. “As if I would talk on such a subject! Our
family always hated cats: nasty, low, vulgar things! Don’t let
me hear the name again!”
“I won’t indeed!” said Alice, in a great hurry to change the
subject of conversation. “Are you—are you fond—of—of
dogs?” The Mouse did not answer, so Alice went on eagerly:
“There is such a nice little dog near our house I should like
to show you! A little bright-eyed terrier, you know, with oh,
such long curly brown hair! And it’ll fetch things when you
throw them, and it’ll sit up and beg for its dinner, and all
sorts of things—I can’t remember half of them—and it
belongs to a farmer, you know, and he says it’s so useful,
it’s worth a hundred pounds! He says it kills all the rats and
—oh dear!” cried Alice in a sorrowful tone, “I’m afraid I’ve
offended it again!” For the Mouse was swimming away from
her as hard as it could go, and making quite a commotion in
the pool as it went.
So she called softly after it, “Mouse dear! Do come back
again, and we won’t talk about cats or dogs either, if you
don’t like them!” When the Mouse heard this, it turned
round and swam slowly back to her: its face was quite pale
(with passion, Alice thought), and it said in a low trembling
voice, “Let us get to the shore, and then I’ll tell you my
history, and you’ll understand why it is I hate cats and
dogs.”
It was high time to go, for the pool was getting quite
crowded with the birds and animals that had fallen into it:
there were a Duck and a Dodo, a Lory and an Eaglet, and
several other curious creatures. Alice led the way, and the
whole party swam to the shore.
CHAPTER III.
A Caucus-Race and a Long Tale
They were indeed a queer-looking party that assembled
on the bank—the birds with draggled feathers, the animals
with their fur clinging close to them, and all dripping wet,
cross, and uncomfortable.
The first question of course was, how to get dry again:
they had a consultation about this, and after a few minutes
it seemed quite natural to Alice to find herself talking
familiarly with them, as if she had known them all her life.
Indeed, she had quite a long argument with the Lory, who at
last turned sulky, and would only say, “I am older than you,
and must know better;” and this Alice would not allow
without knowing how old it was, and, as the Lory positively
refused to tell its age, there was no more to be said.
At last the Mouse, who seemed to be a person of authority
among them, called out, “Sit down, all of you, and listen to
me! I’ll soon make you dry enough!” They all sat down at
once, in a large ring, with the Mouse in the middle. Alice
kept her eyes anxiously fixed on it, for she felt sure she
would catch a bad cold if she did not get dry very soon.
“Ahem!” said the Mouse with an important air, “are you all
ready? This is the driest thing I know. Silence all round, if
you please! ‘William the Conqueror, whose cause was
favoured by the pope, was soon submitted to by the English,
who wanted leaders, and had been of late much
accustomed to usurpation and conquest. Edwin and Morcar,
the earls of Mercia and Northumbria—’”
“Ugh!” said the Lory, with a shiver.
“I beg your pardon!” said the Mouse, frowning, but very
politely: “Did you speak?”
“Not I!” said the Lory hastily.
“I thought you did,” said the Mouse. “—I proceed. ‘Edwin
and Morcar, the earls of Mercia and Northumbria, declared
for him: and even Stigand, the patriotic archbishop of
Canterbury, found it advisable—’”
“Found what?” said the Duck.
“Found it,” the Mouse replied rather crossly: “of course
you know what ‘it’ means.”
“I know what ‘it’ means well enough, when I find a thing,”
said the Duck: “it’s generally a frog or a worm. The question
is, what did the archbishop find?”
The Mouse did not notice this question, but hurriedly went
on, “‘—found it advisable to go with Edgar Atheling to meet
William and offer him the crown. William’s conduct at first
was moderate. But the insolence of his Normans—’ How are
you getting on now, my dear?” it continued, turning to Alice
as it spoke.
“As wet as ever,” said Alice in a melancholy tone: “it
doesn’t seem to dry me at all.”
“In that case,” said the Dodo solemnly, rising to its feet, “I
move that the meeting adjourn, for the immediate adoption
of more energetic remedies—”
“Speak English!” said the Eaglet. “I don’t know the
meaning of half those long words, and, what’s more, I don’t
believe you do either!” And the Eaglet bent down its head to
hide a smile: some of the other birds tittered audibly.
“What I was going to say,” said the Dodo in an offended
tone, “was, that the best thing to get us dry would be a
Caucus-race.”
“What is a Caucus-race?” said Alice; not that she wanted
much to know, but the Dodo had paused as if it thought that
somebody ought to speak, and no one else seemed inclined
to say anything.
“Why,” said the Dodo, “the best way to explain it is to do
it.” (And, as you might like to try the thing yourself, some
winter day, I will tell you how the Dodo managed it.)
First it marked out a race-course, in a sort of circle, (“the
exact shape doesn’t matter,” it said,) and then all the party
were placed along the course, here and there. There was no
“One, two, three, and away,” but they began running when
they liked, and left off when they liked, so that it was not
easy to know when the race was over. However, when they
had been running half an hour or so, and were quite dry
again, the Dodo suddenly called out “The race is over!” and
they all crowded round it, panting, and asking, “But who has
won?”
This question the Dodo could not answer without a great
deal of thought, and it sat for a long time with one finger
pressed upon its forehead (the position in which you usually
see Shakespeare, in the pictures of him), while the rest
waited in silence. At last the Dodo said, “Everybody has
won, and all must have prizes.”
“But who is to give the prizes?” quite a chorus of voices
asked.
“Why, she, of course,” said the Dodo, pointing to Alice
with one finger; and the whole party at once crowded round
her, calling out in a confused way, “Prizes! Prizes!”
Alice had no idea what to do, and in despair she put her
hand in her pocket, and pulled out a box of comfits, (luckily
the salt water had not got into it), and handed them round
as prizes. There was exactly one a-piece, all round.
“But she must have a prize herself, you know,” said the
Mouse.
“Of course,” the Dodo replied very gravely. “What else
have you got in your pocket?” he went on, turning to Alice.
“Only a thimble,” said Alice sadly.
“Hand it over here,” said the Dodo.
Then they all crowded round her once more, while the
Dodo solemnly presented the thimble, saying “We beg your
acceptance of this elegant thimble;” and, when it had
finished this short speech, they all cheered.
Alice thought the whole thing very absurd, but they all
looked so grave that she did not dare to laugh; and, as she
could not think of anything to say, she simply bowed, and
took the thimble, looking as solemn as she could.
The next thing was to eat the comfits: this caused some
noise and confusion, as the large birds complained that they
could not taste theirs, and the small ones choked and had to
be patted on the back. However, it was over at last, and
they sat down again in a ring, and begged the Mouse to tell
them something more.
“You promised to tell me your history, you know,” said
Alice, “and why it is you hate—C and D,” she added in a
whisper, half afraid that it would be offended again.
“Mine is a long and a sad tale!” said the Mouse, turning to
Alice, and sighing.
“It is a long tail, certainly,” said Alice, looking down with
wonder at the Mouse’s tail; “but why do you call it sad?”
And she kept on puzzling about it while the Mouse was
speaking, so that her idea of the tale was something like
this:—
“Fury said to a
mouse, That he
met in the
house,
‘Let us
both go to
law: I will
prosecute
you.—Come,
I’ll take no
denial; We
must have a
trial: For
really this
morning I’ve
nothing
to do.’
Said the
mouse to the
cur, ‘Such
a trial,
dear sir,
With
no jury
or judge,
would be
wasting
our
breath.’
‘I’ll be
judge, I’ll
be jury,’
Said
cunning
old Fury:
‘I’ll
try the
whole
cause,
and
condemn
you
to
death.’”
“You are old,” said the youth, “and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak—
Pray, how did you manage to do it?”
“You are old,” said the youth, “one would hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as ever;
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose—
What made you so awfully clever?”
* * * * * * *
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* * * * * * *
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!”
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