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 one 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 saw 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!'
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Advice from a Caterpillar
The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.
'Who are you?' said the Caterpillar.
This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, 'I--I hardly know, sir, just at present-- at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.'
'What do you mean by that?' said the Caterpillar sternly. 'Explain yourself!'
'I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir' said Alice, 'because I'm not myself, you see.'
'I don't see,' said the Caterpillar.
'I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly,' Alice replied very politely, 'for I can't understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.'
'It isn't,' said the Caterpillar.
'Well, perhaps you haven't found it so yet,' said Alice; 'but when you have to turn into a chrysalis--you will some day, you know--and then after that into a butterfly, I should think you'll feel it a little queer, won't you?'
'Not a bit,' said the Caterpillar.
'Well, perhaps your feelings may be different,' said Alice; 'all I know is, it would feel very queer to me.'
'You!' said the Caterpillar contemptuously. 'Who are you?'
Which brought them back again to the beginning of the conversation. Alice felt a little irritated at the Caterpillar's making such very short remarks, and she drew herself up and said, very gravely, 'I think, you ought to tell me who you are, first.'
'Why?' said the Caterpillar.
Here was another puzzling question; and as Alice could not think of any good reason, and as the Caterpillar seemed to be in a very unpleasant state of mind, she turned away.
'Come back!' the Caterpillar called after her. 'I've something important to say!'
This sounded promising, certainly: Alice turned and came back again.
'Keep your temper,' said the Caterpillar.
'Is that all?' said Alice, swallowing down her anger as well as she could.
'No,' said the Caterpillar.
Alice thought she might as well wait, as she had nothing else to do, and perhaps after all it might tell her something worth hearing. For some minutes it puffed away without speaking, but at last it unfolded its arms, took the hookah out of its mouth again, and said, 'So you think you're changed, do you?'
'I'm afraid I am, sir,' said Alice; 'I can't remember things as I used--and I don't keep the same size for ten minutes together!'
'Can't remember what things?' said the Caterpillar.
'Well, I've tried to say "How doth the little busy bee," but it all came different!' Alice replied in a very melancholy voice.
'Repeat, "You are old, Father William,"' said the Caterpillar.
Alice folded her hands, and began:--
'You are old, Father William,' the young man
said,
'And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head—
Do you think, at your age, it is right?'
'In my youth,' Father William replied to his son,
'I feared it might injure the brain;
But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again.'
'You are old,' said the youth, 'as I mentioned before,
And have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door—
Pray, what is the reason of that?'
'In my youth,' said the sage, as he shook his grey
locks,
'I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment—one shilling the box—
Allow me to sell you a couple?'
'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?'
'In my youth,' said his father, 'I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life.'
'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?'
'I have answered three questions, and that is
enough,'
Said his father; 'don't give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I'll kick you down stairs!'
'That is not said right,' said the Caterpillar.
'Not quite right, I'm afraid,' said Alice, timidly; 'some of the words have got altered.'
'It is wrong from beginning to end,' said the Caterpillar decidedly, and there was silence for some minutes.
The Caterpillar was the first to speak.
'What size do you want to be?' it asked.
'Oh, I'm not particular as to size,' Alice hastily replied; 'only one doesn't like changing so often, you know.'
'I don't know,' said the Caterpillar.
Alice said nothing: she had never been so much contradicted in her life before, and she felt that she was losing her temper.
'Are you content now?' said the Caterpillar.
'Well, I should like to be a little larger, sir, if you wouldn't mind,' said Alice: 'three inches is such a wretched height to be.'
'It is a very good height indeed!' said the Caterpillar angrily, rearing itself upright as it spoke (it was exactly three inches high).
'But I'm not used to it!' pleaded poor Alice in a piteous tone. And she thought of herself, 'I wish the creatures wouldn't be so easily offended!'
'You'll get used to it in time,' said the Caterpillar; and it put the hookah into its mouth and began smoking again.
This time Alice waited patiently until it chose to speak again. In a minute or two the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth and yawned once or twice, and shook itself. Then it got down off the mushroom, and crawled away in the grass, merely remarking as it went, 'One side will make you grow taller, and the other side will make you grow shorter.'
'One side of what? The other side of what?' thought Alice to herself.
'Of the mushroom,' said the Caterpillar, just as if she had asked it aloud; and in another moment it was out of sight.
Alice remained looking thoughtfully at the mushroom for a minute, trying to make out which were the two sides of it; and as it was perfectly round, she found this a very difficult question. However, at last she stretched her arms round it as far as they would go, and broke off a bit of the edge with each hand.
'And now which is which?' she said to herself, and nibbled a little of the right-hand bit to try the effect: the next moment she felt a violent blow underneath her chin: it had struck her foot!
She was a good deal frightened by this very sudden change, but she felt that there was no time to be lost, as she was shrinking rapidly; so she set to work at once to eat some of the other bit. Her chin was pressed so closely against her foot, that there was hardly room to open her mouth; but she did it at last, and managed to swallow a morsel of the lefthand bit.
'Come, my head's free at last!' said Alice in a tone of delight, which changed into alarm in another moment, when she found that her shoulders were nowhere to be found: all she could see, when she looked down, was an immense length of neck, which seemed to rise like a stalk out of a sea of green leaves that lay far below her.
'What can all that green stuff be?' said Alice. 'And where have my shoulders got to? And oh, my poor hands, how is it I can't see you?' She was moving them about as she spoke, but no result seemed to follow, except a little shaking among the distant green leaves.
As there seemed to be no chance of getting her hands up to her head, she tried to get her head down to them, and was delighted to find that her neck would bend about easily in any direction, like a serpent. She had just succeeded in curving it down into a graceful zigzag, and was going to dive in among the leaves, which she found to be nothing but the tops of the trees under which she had been wandering, when a sharp hiss made her draw back in a hurry: a large pigeon had flown into her face, and was beating her violently with its wings.
'Serpent!' screamed the Pigeon.
'I'm not a serpent!' said Alice indignantly. 'Let me alone!'
'Serpent, I say again!' repeated the Pigeon, but in a more subdued tone, and added with a kind of sob, 'I've tried every way, and nothing seems to suit them!'
'I haven't the least idea what you're talking about,' said Alice.
'I've tried the roots of trees, and I've tried banks, and I've tried hedges,' the Pigeon went on, without attending to her; 'but those serpents! There's no pleasing them!'
Alice was more and more puzzled, but she thought there was no use in saying anything more till the Pigeon had finished.
'As if it wasn't trouble enough hatching the eggs,' said the Pigeon; 'but I must be on the look-out for serpents night and day! Why, I haven't had a wink of sleep these three weeks!'
'I'm very sorry you've been annoyed,' said Alice, who was beginning to see its meaning.
'And just as I'd taken the highest tree in the wood,' continued the Pigeon, raising its voice to a shriek, 'and just as I was thinking I should be free of them at last, they must needs come wriggling down from the sky! Ugh, Serpent!'
'But I'm not a serpent, I tell you!' said Alice. 'I'm a--I'm a--'
'Well! what are you?' said the Pigeon. 'I can see you're trying to invent something!'
'I--I'm a little girl,' said Alice, rather doubtfully, as she remembered the number of changes she had gone through that day.
'A likely story indeed!' said the Pigeon in a tone of the deepest contempt. 'I've seen a good many little girls in my time, but never one with such a neck as that! No, no! You're a serpent; and there's no use denying it. I suppose you'll be telling me next that you never tasted an egg!'
'I have tasted eggs, certainly,' said Alice, who was a very truthful child; 'but little girls eat eggs quite as much as serpents do, you know.'
'I don't believe it,' said the Pigeon; 'but if they do, why then they're a kind of serpent, that's all I can say.'
This was such a new idea to Alice, that she was quite silent for a minute or two, which gave the Pigeon the opportunity of adding, 'You're looking for eggs, I know that well enough; and what does it matter to me whether you're a little girl or a serpent?'
'It matters a good deal to me,' said Alice hastily; 'but I'm not looking for eggs, as it happens; and if I was, I shouldn't want yours: I don't like them raw.'
'Well, be off, then!' said the Pigeon in a sulky tone, as it settled down again into its nest. Alice crouched down among the trees as well as she could, for her neck kept getting entangled among the branches, and every now and then she had to stop and untwist it. After a while she remembered that she still held the pieces of mushroom in her hands, and she set to work very carefully, nibbling first at one and then at the other, and growing sometimes taller and sometimes shorter, until she had succeeded in bringing herself down to her usual height.
It was so long since she had been anything near the right size, that it felt quite strange at first; but she got used to it in a few minutes, and began talking to herself, as usual. 'Come, there's half my plan done now! How puzzling all these changes are! I'm never sure what I'm going to be, from one minute to another! However, I've got back to my right size: the next thing is, to get into that beautiful garden--how is that to be done, I wonder?' As she said this, she came suddenly upon an open place, with a little house in it about four feet high. 'Whoever lives there,' thought Alice, 'it'll never do to come upon them this size: why, I should frighten them out of their wits!' So she began nibbling at the righthand bit again, and did not venture to go near the house till she had brought herself down to nine inches high.
'Who are you?' said the Caterpillar.
This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, 'I--I hardly know, sir, just at present-- at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.'
'What do you mean by that?' said the Caterpillar sternly. 'Explain yourself!'
'I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir' said Alice, 'because I'm not myself, you see.'
'I don't see,' said the Caterpillar.
'I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly,' Alice replied very politely, 'for I can't understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.'
'It isn't,' said the Caterpillar.
'Well, perhaps you haven't found it so yet,' said Alice; 'but when you have to turn into a chrysalis--you will some day, you know--and then after that into a butterfly, I should think you'll feel it a little queer, won't you?'
'Not a bit,' said the Caterpillar.
'Well, perhaps your feelings may be different,' said Alice; 'all I know is, it would feel very queer to me.'
'You!' said the Caterpillar contemptuously. 'Who are you?'
Which brought them back again to the beginning of the conversation. Alice felt a little irritated at the Caterpillar's making such very short remarks, and she drew herself up and said, very gravely, 'I think, you ought to tell me who you are, first.'
'Why?' said the Caterpillar.
Here was another puzzling question; and as Alice could not think of any good reason, and as the Caterpillar seemed to be in a very unpleasant state of mind, she turned away.
'Come back!' the Caterpillar called after her. 'I've something important to say!'
This sounded promising, certainly: Alice turned and came back again.
'Keep your temper,' said the Caterpillar.
'Is that all?' said Alice, swallowing down her anger as well as she could.
'No,' said the Caterpillar.
Alice thought she might as well wait, as she had nothing else to do, and perhaps after all it might tell her something worth hearing. For some minutes it puffed away without speaking, but at last it unfolded its arms, took the hookah out of its mouth again, and said, 'So you think you're changed, do you?'
'I'm afraid I am, sir,' said Alice; 'I can't remember things as I used--and I don't keep the same size for ten minutes together!'
'Can't remember what things?' said the Caterpillar.
'Well, I've tried to say "How doth the little busy bee," but it all came different!' Alice replied in a very melancholy voice.
'Repeat, "You are old, Father William,"' said the Caterpillar.
Alice folded her hands, and began:--
'You are old, Father William,' the young man
said,
'And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head—
Do you think, at your age, it is right?'
'In my youth,' Father William replied to his son,
'I feared it might injure the brain;
But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again.'
'You are old,' said the youth, 'as I mentioned before,
And have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door—
Pray, what is the reason of that?'
'In my youth,' said the sage, as he shook his grey
locks,
'I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment—one shilling the box—
Allow me to sell you a couple?'
'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?'
'In my youth,' said his father, 'I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life.'
'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?'
'I have answered three questions, and that is
enough,'
Said his father; 'don't give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I'll kick you down stairs!'
'That is not said right,' said the Caterpillar.
'Not quite right, I'm afraid,' said Alice, timidly; 'some of the words have got altered.'
'It is wrong from beginning to end,' said the Caterpillar decidedly, and there was silence for some minutes.
The Caterpillar was the first to speak.
'What size do you want to be?' it asked.
'Oh, I'm not particular as to size,' Alice hastily replied; 'only one doesn't like changing so often, you know.'
'I don't know,' said the Caterpillar.
Alice said nothing: she had never been so much contradicted in her life before, and she felt that she was losing her temper.
'Are you content now?' said the Caterpillar.
'Well, I should like to be a little larger, sir, if you wouldn't mind,' said Alice: 'three inches is such a wretched height to be.'
'It is a very good height indeed!' said the Caterpillar angrily, rearing itself upright as it spoke (it was exactly three inches high).
'But I'm not used to it!' pleaded poor Alice in a piteous tone. And she thought of herself, 'I wish the creatures wouldn't be so easily offended!'
'You'll get used to it in time,' said the Caterpillar; and it put the hookah into its mouth and began smoking again.
This time Alice waited patiently until it chose to speak again. In a minute or two the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth and yawned once or twice, and shook itself. Then it got down off the mushroom, and crawled away in the grass, merely remarking as it went, 'One side will make you grow taller, and the other side will make you grow shorter.'
'One side of what? The other side of what?' thought Alice to herself.
'Of the mushroom,' said the Caterpillar, just as if she had asked it aloud; and in another moment it was out of sight.
Alice remained looking thoughtfully at the mushroom for a minute, trying to make out which were the two sides of it; and as it was perfectly round, she found this a very difficult question. However, at last she stretched her arms round it as far as they would go, and broke off a bit of the edge with each hand.
'And now which is which?' she said to herself, and nibbled a little of the right-hand bit to try the effect: the next moment she felt a violent blow underneath her chin: it had struck her foot!
She was a good deal frightened by this very sudden change, but she felt that there was no time to be lost, as she was shrinking rapidly; so she set to work at once to eat some of the other bit. Her chin was pressed so closely against her foot, that there was hardly room to open her mouth; but she did it at last, and managed to swallow a morsel of the lefthand bit.
'Come, my head's free at last!' said Alice in a tone of delight, which changed into alarm in another moment, when she found that her shoulders were nowhere to be found: all she could see, when she looked down, was an immense length of neck, which seemed to rise like a stalk out of a sea of green leaves that lay far below her.
'What can all that green stuff be?' said Alice. 'And where have my shoulders got to? And oh, my poor hands, how is it I can't see you?' She was moving them about as she spoke, but no result seemed to follow, except a little shaking among the distant green leaves.
As there seemed to be no chance of getting her hands up to her head, she tried to get her head down to them, and was delighted to find that her neck would bend about easily in any direction, like a serpent. She had just succeeded in curving it down into a graceful zigzag, and was going to dive in among the leaves, which she found to be nothing but the tops of the trees under which she had been wandering, when a sharp hiss made her draw back in a hurry: a large pigeon had flown into her face, and was beating her violently with its wings.
'Serpent!' screamed the Pigeon.
'I'm not a serpent!' said Alice indignantly. 'Let me alone!'
'Serpent, I say again!' repeated the Pigeon, but in a more subdued tone, and added with a kind of sob, 'I've tried every way, and nothing seems to suit them!'
'I haven't the least idea what you're talking about,' said Alice.
'I've tried the roots of trees, and I've tried banks, and I've tried hedges,' the Pigeon went on, without attending to her; 'but those serpents! There's no pleasing them!'
Alice was more and more puzzled, but she thought there was no use in saying anything more till the Pigeon had finished.
'As if it wasn't trouble enough hatching the eggs,' said the Pigeon; 'but I must be on the look-out for serpents night and day! Why, I haven't had a wink of sleep these three weeks!'
'I'm very sorry you've been annoyed,' said Alice, who was beginning to see its meaning.
'And just as I'd taken the highest tree in the wood,' continued the Pigeon, raising its voice to a shriek, 'and just as I was thinking I should be free of them at last, they must needs come wriggling down from the sky! Ugh, Serpent!'
'But I'm not a serpent, I tell you!' said Alice. 'I'm a--I'm a--'
'Well! what are you?' said the Pigeon. 'I can see you're trying to invent something!'
'I--I'm a little girl,' said Alice, rather doubtfully, as she remembered the number of changes she had gone through that day.
'A likely story indeed!' said the Pigeon in a tone of the deepest contempt. 'I've seen a good many little girls in my time, but never one with such a neck as that! No, no! You're a serpent; and there's no use denying it. I suppose you'll be telling me next that you never tasted an egg!'
'I have tasted eggs, certainly,' said Alice, who was a very truthful child; 'but little girls eat eggs quite as much as serpents do, you know.'
'I don't believe it,' said the Pigeon; 'but if they do, why then they're a kind of serpent, that's all I can say.'
This was such a new idea to Alice, that she was quite silent for a minute or two, which gave the Pigeon the opportunity of adding, 'You're looking for eggs, I know that well enough; and what does it matter to me whether you're a little girl or a serpent?'
'It matters a good deal to me,' said Alice hastily; 'but I'm not looking for eggs, as it happens; and if I was, I shouldn't want yours: I don't like them raw.'
'Well, be off, then!' said the Pigeon in a sulky tone, as it settled down again into its nest. Alice crouched down among the trees as well as she could, for her neck kept getting entangled among the branches, and every now and then she had to stop and untwist it. After a while she remembered that she still held the pieces of mushroom in her hands, and she set to work very carefully, nibbling first at one and then at the other, and growing sometimes taller and sometimes shorter, until she had succeeded in bringing herself down to her usual height.
It was so long since she had been anything near the right size, that it felt quite strange at first; but she got used to it in a few minutes, and began talking to herself, as usual. 'Come, there's half my plan done now! How puzzling all these changes are! I'm never sure what I'm going to be, from one minute to another! However, I've got back to my right size: the next thing is, to get into that beautiful garden--how is that to be done, I wonder?' As she said this, she came suddenly upon an open place, with a little house in it about four feet high. 'Whoever lives there,' thought Alice, 'it'll never do to come upon them this size: why, I should frighten them out of their wits!' So she began nibbling at the righthand bit again, and did not venture to go near the house till she had brought herself down to nine inches high.
The Rabbit Sends in a Little Bill
It was the White Rabbit, trotting slowly back again, and looking anxiously about as it went, as if it had lost something; and she heard it muttering to itself 'The Duchess! The Duchess! Oh my dear paws! Oh my fur and whiskers! She'll get me executed, as sure as ferrets are ferrets! Where can I have dropped them, I wonder?' Alice guessed in a moment that it was looking for the fan and the pair of white kid gloves, and she very good-naturedly began hunting about for them, but they were nowhere to be seen--everything seemed to have changed since her swim in the pool, and the great hall, with the glass table and the little door, had vanished completely.
Very soon the Rabbit noticed Alice, as she went hunting about, and called out to her in an angry tone, 'Why, Mary Ann, what are you doing out here? Run home this moment, and fetch me a pair of gloves and a fan! Quick, now!' And Alice was so much frightened that she ran off at once in the direction it pointed to, without trying to explain the mistake it had made.
'He took me for his housemaid,' she said to herself as she ran. 'How surprised he'll be when he finds out who I am! But I'd better take him his fan and gloves--that is, if I can find them.' As she said this, she came upon a neat little house, on the door of which was a bright brass plate with the name 'W. RABBIT' engraved upon it. She went in without knocking, and hurried upstairs, in great fear lest she should meet the real Mary Ann, and be turned out of the house before she had found the fan and gloves.
'How queer it seems,' Alice said to herself, 'to be going messages for a rabbit! I suppose Dinah'll be sending me on messages next!' And she began fancying the sort of thing that would happen: '"Miss Alice! Come here directly, and get ready for your walk!" "Coming in a minute, nurse! But I've got to see that the mouse doesn't get out." Only I don't think,' Alice went on, 'that they'd let Dinah stop in the house if it began ordering people about like that!'
By this time she had found her way into a tidy little room with a table in the window, and on it (as she had hoped) a fan and two or three pairs of tiny white kid gloves: she took up the fan and a pair of the gloves, and was just going to leave the room, when her eye fell upon a little bottle that stood near the looking- glass. There was no label this time with the words 'DRINK ME,' but nevertheless she uncorked it and put it to her lips. 'I know something interesting is sure to happen,' she said to herself, 'whenever I eat or drink anything; so I'll just see what this bottle does. I do hope it'll make me grow large again, for really I'm quite tired of being such a tiny little thing!'
It did so indeed, and much sooner than she had expected: before she had drunk half the bottle, she found her head pressing against the ceiling, and had to stoop to save her neck from being broken. She hastily put down the bottle, saying to herself 'That's quite enough--I hope I shan't grow any more--As it is, I can't get out at the door--I do wish I hadn't drunk quite so much!'
Alas! it was too late to wish that! She went on growing, and growing, and very soon had to kneel down on the floor: in another minute there was not even room for this, and she tried the effect of lying down with one elbow against the door, and the other arm curled round her head. Still she went on growing, and, as a last resource, she put one arm out of the window, and one foot up the chimney, and said to herself 'Now I can do no more, whatever happens. What will become of me?'
Luckily for Alice, the little magic bottle had now had its full effect, and she grew no larger: still it was very uncomfortable, and, as there seemed to be no sort of chance of her ever getting out of the room again, no wonder she felt unhappy.
'It was much pleasanter at home,' thought poor Alice, 'when one wasn't always growing larger and smaller, and being ordered about by mice and rabbits. I almost wish I hadn't gone down that rabbit-hole--and yet--and yet--it's rather curious, you know, this sort of life! I do wonder what can have happened to me! When I used to read fairy-tales, I fancied that kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of one! There ought to be a book written about me, that there ought! And when I grow up, I'll write one--but I'm grown up now,' she added in a sorrowful tone; 'at least there's no room to grow up any more here.'
'But then,' thought Alice, 'shall I never get any older than I am now? That'll be a comfort, one way--never to be an old woman-- but then--always to have lessons to learn! Oh, I shouldn't like that!'
'Oh, you foolish Alice!' she answered herself. 'How can you learn lessons in here? Why, there's hardly room for you, and no room at all for any lesson-books!'
And so she went on, taking first one side and then the other, and making quite a conversation of it altogether; but after a few minutes she heard a voice outside, and stopped to listen.
'Mary Ann! Mary Ann!' said the voice. 'Fetch me my gloves this moment!' Then came a little pattering of feet on the stairs. Alice knew it was the Rabbit coming to look for her, and she trembled till she shook the house, quite forgetting that she was now about a thousand times as large as the Rabbit, and had no reason to be afraid of it.
Presently the Rabbit came up to the door, and tried to open it; but, as the door opened inwards, and Alice's elbow was pressed hard against it, that attempt proved a failure. Alice heard it say to itself 'Then I'll go round and get in at the window.'
'That you won't' thought Alice, and, after waiting till she fancied she heard the Rabbit just under the window, she suddenly spread out her hand, and made a snatch in the air. She did not get hold of anything, but she heard a little shriek and a fall, and a crash of broken glass, from which she concluded that it was just possible it had fallen into a cucumber-frame, or something of the sort.
Next came an angry voice--the Rabbit's--'Pat! Pat! Where are you?' And then a voice she had never heard before, 'Sure then I'm here! Digging for apples, yer honour!'
'Digging for apples, indeed!' said the Rabbit angrily. 'Here! Come and help me out of this!' (Sounds of more broken glass.)
'Now tell me, Pat, what's that in the window?'
'Sure, it's an arm, yer honour!' (He pronounced it 'arrum.')
'An arm, you goose! Who ever saw one that size? Why, it fills the whole window!'
'Sure, it does, yer honour: but it's an arm for all that.'
'Well, it's got no business there, at any rate: go and take it away!'
There was a long silence after this, and Alice could only hear whispers now and then; such as, 'Sure, I don't like it, yer honour, at all, at all!' 'Do as I tell you, you coward!' and at last she spread out her hand again, and made another snatch in the air. This time there were two little shrieks, and more sounds of broken glass. 'What a number of cucumber-frames there must be!' thought Alice. 'I wonder what they'll do next! As for pulling me out of the window, I only wish they could! I'm sure I don't want to stay in here any longer!'
She waited for some time without hearing anything more: at last came a rumbling of little cartwheels, and the sound of a good many voices all talking together: she made out the words: 'Where's the other ladder?--Why, I hadn't to bring but one; Bill's got the other--Bill! fetch it here, lad!--Here, put 'em up at this corner--No, tie 'em together first--they don't reach half high enough yet--Oh! they'll do well enough; don't be particular-- Here, Bill! catch hold of this rope--Will the roof bear?--Mind that loose slate--Oh, it's coming down! Heads below!' (a loud crash)--'Now, who did that?--It was Bill, I fancy--Who's to go down the chimney?--Nay, I shan't! you do it!--That I won't, then!--Bill's to go down--Here, Bill! the master says you're to go down the chimney!'
'Oh! So Bill's got to come down the chimney, has he?' said Alice to herself. 'Shy, they seem to put everything upon Bill! I wouldn't be in Bill's place for a good deal: this fireplace is narrow, to be sure; but I think I can kick a little!'
She drew her foot as far down the chimney as she could, and waited till she heard a little animal (she couldn't guess of what sort it was) scratching and scrambling about in the chimney close above her: then, saying to herself 'This is Bill,' she gave one sharp kick, and waited to see what would happen next.
The first thing she heard was a general chorus of 'There goes Bill!' then the Rabbit's voice along--'Catch him, you by the hedge!' then silence, and then another confusion of voices--'Hold up his head--Brandy now--Don't choke him--How was it, old fellow? What happened to you? Tell us all about it!'
Last came a little feeble, squeaking voice, ('That's Bill,' thought Alice,) 'Well, I hardly know--No more, thank ye; I'm better now--but I'm a deal too flustered to tell you--all I know is, something comes at me like a Jack-in-the-box, and up I goes like a sky-rocket!'
'So you did, old fellow!' said the others.
'We must burn the house down!' said the Rabbit's voice; and Alice called out as loud as she could, 'If you do. I'll set Dinah at you!'
There was a dead silence instantly, and Alice thought to herself, 'I wonder what they will do next! If they had any sense, they'd take the roof off.' After a minute or two, they began moving about again, and Alice heard the Rabbit say, 'A barrowful will do, to begin with.'
'A barrowful of what?' thought Alice; but she had not long to doubt, for the next moment a shower of little pebbles came rattling in at the window, and some of them hit her in the face. 'I'll put a stop to this,' she said to herself, and shouted out, 'You'd better not do that again!' which produced another dead silence.
Alice noticed with some surprise that the pebbles were all turning into little cakes as they lay on the floor, and a bright idea came into her head. 'If I eat one of these cakes,' she thought, 'it's sure to make some change in my size; and as it can't possibly make me larger, it must make me smaller, I suppose.'
So she swallowed one of the cakes, and was delighted to find that she began shrinking directly. As soon as she was small enough to get through the door, she ran out of the house, and found quite a crowd of little animals and birds waiting outside. The poor little Lizard, Bill, was in the middle, being held up by two guinea-pigs, who were giving it something out of a bottle. They all made a rush at Alice the moment she appeared; but she ran off as hard as she could, and soon found herself safe in a thick wood.
'The first thing I've got to do,' said Alice to herself, as she wandered about in the wood, 'is to grow to my right size again; and the second thing is to find my way into that lovely garden. I think that will be the best plan.'
It sounded an excellent plan, no doubt, and very neatly and simply arranged; the only difficulty was, that she had not the smallest idea how to set about it; and while she was peering about anxiously among the trees, a little sharp bark just over her head made her look up in a great hurry.
An enormous puppy was looking down at her with large round eyes, and feebly stretching out one paw, trying to touch her. 'Poor little thing!' said Alice, in a coaxing tone, and she tried hard to whistle to it; but she was terribly frightened all the time at the thought that it might be hungry, in which case it would be very likely to eat her up in spite of all her coaxing.
Hardly knowing what she did, she picked up a little bit of stick, and held it out to the puppy; whereupon the puppy jumped into the air off all its feet at once, with a yelp of delight, and rushed at the stick, and made believe to worry it; then Alice dodged behind a great thistle, to keep herself from being run over; and the moment she appeared on the other side, the puppy made another rush at the stick, and tumbled head over heels in its hurry to get hold of it; then Alice, thinking it was very like having a game of play with a cart-horse, and expecting every moment to be trampled under its feet, ran round the thistle again; then the puppy began a series of short charges at the stick, running a very little way forwards each time and a long way back, and barking hoarsely all the while, till at last it sat down a good way off, panting, with its tongue hanging out of its mouth, and its great eyes half shut.
This seemed to Alice a good opportunity for making her escape; so she set off at once, and ran till she was quite tired and out of breath, and till the puppy's bark sounded quite faint in the distance.
'And yet what a dear little puppy it was!' said Alice, as she leant against a buttercup to rest herself, and fanned herself with one of the leaves: 'I should have liked teaching it tricks very much, if--if I'd only been the right size to do it! Oh dear! I'd nearly forgotten that I've got to grow up again! Let me see--how IS it to be managed? I suppose I ought to eat or drink something or other; but the great question is, what?'
The great question certainly was, what? Alice looked all round her at the flowers and the blades of grass, but she did not see anything that looked like the right thing to eat or drink under the circumstances. There was a large mushroom growing near her, about the same height as herself; and when she had looked under it, and on both sides of it, and behind it, it occurred to her that she might as well look and see what was on the top of it.
She stretched herself up on tiptoe, and peeped over the edge of the mushroom, and her eyes immediately met those of a large caterpillar, that was sitting on the top with its arms folded, quietly smoking a long hookah, and taking not the smallest notice of her or of anything else.
Very soon the Rabbit noticed Alice, as she went hunting about, and called out to her in an angry tone, 'Why, Mary Ann, what are you doing out here? Run home this moment, and fetch me a pair of gloves and a fan! Quick, now!' And Alice was so much frightened that she ran off at once in the direction it pointed to, without trying to explain the mistake it had made.
'He took me for his housemaid,' she said to herself as she ran. 'How surprised he'll be when he finds out who I am! But I'd better take him his fan and gloves--that is, if I can find them.' As she said this, she came upon a neat little house, on the door of which was a bright brass plate with the name 'W. RABBIT' engraved upon it. She went in without knocking, and hurried upstairs, in great fear lest she should meet the real Mary Ann, and be turned out of the house before she had found the fan and gloves.
'How queer it seems,' Alice said to herself, 'to be going messages for a rabbit! I suppose Dinah'll be sending me on messages next!' And she began fancying the sort of thing that would happen: '"Miss Alice! Come here directly, and get ready for your walk!" "Coming in a minute, nurse! But I've got to see that the mouse doesn't get out." Only I don't think,' Alice went on, 'that they'd let Dinah stop in the house if it began ordering people about like that!'
By this time she had found her way into a tidy little room with a table in the window, and on it (as she had hoped) a fan and two or three pairs of tiny white kid gloves: she took up the fan and a pair of the gloves, and was just going to leave the room, when her eye fell upon a little bottle that stood near the looking- glass. There was no label this time with the words 'DRINK ME,' but nevertheless she uncorked it and put it to her lips. 'I know something interesting is sure to happen,' she said to herself, 'whenever I eat or drink anything; so I'll just see what this bottle does. I do hope it'll make me grow large again, for really I'm quite tired of being such a tiny little thing!'
It did so indeed, and much sooner than she had expected: before she had drunk half the bottle, she found her head pressing against the ceiling, and had to stoop to save her neck from being broken. She hastily put down the bottle, saying to herself 'That's quite enough--I hope I shan't grow any more--As it is, I can't get out at the door--I do wish I hadn't drunk quite so much!'
Alas! it was too late to wish that! She went on growing, and growing, and very soon had to kneel down on the floor: in another minute there was not even room for this, and she tried the effect of lying down with one elbow against the door, and the other arm curled round her head. Still she went on growing, and, as a last resource, she put one arm out of the window, and one foot up the chimney, and said to herself 'Now I can do no more, whatever happens. What will become of me?'
Luckily for Alice, the little magic bottle had now had its full effect, and she grew no larger: still it was very uncomfortable, and, as there seemed to be no sort of chance of her ever getting out of the room again, no wonder she felt unhappy.
'It was much pleasanter at home,' thought poor Alice, 'when one wasn't always growing larger and smaller, and being ordered about by mice and rabbits. I almost wish I hadn't gone down that rabbit-hole--and yet--and yet--it's rather curious, you know, this sort of life! I do wonder what can have happened to me! When I used to read fairy-tales, I fancied that kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of one! There ought to be a book written about me, that there ought! And when I grow up, I'll write one--but I'm grown up now,' she added in a sorrowful tone; 'at least there's no room to grow up any more here.'
'But then,' thought Alice, 'shall I never get any older than I am now? That'll be a comfort, one way--never to be an old woman-- but then--always to have lessons to learn! Oh, I shouldn't like that!'
'Oh, you foolish Alice!' she answered herself. 'How can you learn lessons in here? Why, there's hardly room for you, and no room at all for any lesson-books!'
And so she went on, taking first one side and then the other, and making quite a conversation of it altogether; but after a few minutes she heard a voice outside, and stopped to listen.
'Mary Ann! Mary Ann!' said the voice. 'Fetch me my gloves this moment!' Then came a little pattering of feet on the stairs. Alice knew it was the Rabbit coming to look for her, and she trembled till she shook the house, quite forgetting that she was now about a thousand times as large as the Rabbit, and had no reason to be afraid of it.
Presently the Rabbit came up to the door, and tried to open it; but, as the door opened inwards, and Alice's elbow was pressed hard against it, that attempt proved a failure. Alice heard it say to itself 'Then I'll go round and get in at the window.'
'That you won't' thought Alice, and, after waiting till she fancied she heard the Rabbit just under the window, she suddenly spread out her hand, and made a snatch in the air. She did not get hold of anything, but she heard a little shriek and a fall, and a crash of broken glass, from which she concluded that it was just possible it had fallen into a cucumber-frame, or something of the sort.
Next came an angry voice--the Rabbit's--'Pat! Pat! Where are you?' And then a voice she had never heard before, 'Sure then I'm here! Digging for apples, yer honour!'
'Digging for apples, indeed!' said the Rabbit angrily. 'Here! Come and help me out of this!' (Sounds of more broken glass.)
'Now tell me, Pat, what's that in the window?'
'Sure, it's an arm, yer honour!' (He pronounced it 'arrum.')
'An arm, you goose! Who ever saw one that size? Why, it fills the whole window!'
'Sure, it does, yer honour: but it's an arm for all that.'
'Well, it's got no business there, at any rate: go and take it away!'
There was a long silence after this, and Alice could only hear whispers now and then; such as, 'Sure, I don't like it, yer honour, at all, at all!' 'Do as I tell you, you coward!' and at last she spread out her hand again, and made another snatch in the air. This time there were two little shrieks, and more sounds of broken glass. 'What a number of cucumber-frames there must be!' thought Alice. 'I wonder what they'll do next! As for pulling me out of the window, I only wish they could! I'm sure I don't want to stay in here any longer!'
She waited for some time without hearing anything more: at last came a rumbling of little cartwheels, and the sound of a good many voices all talking together: she made out the words: 'Where's the other ladder?--Why, I hadn't to bring but one; Bill's got the other--Bill! fetch it here, lad!--Here, put 'em up at this corner--No, tie 'em together first--they don't reach half high enough yet--Oh! they'll do well enough; don't be particular-- Here, Bill! catch hold of this rope--Will the roof bear?--Mind that loose slate--Oh, it's coming down! Heads below!' (a loud crash)--'Now, who did that?--It was Bill, I fancy--Who's to go down the chimney?--Nay, I shan't! you do it!--That I won't, then!--Bill's to go down--Here, Bill! the master says you're to go down the chimney!'
'Oh! So Bill's got to come down the chimney, has he?' said Alice to herself. 'Shy, they seem to put everything upon Bill! I wouldn't be in Bill's place for a good deal: this fireplace is narrow, to be sure; but I think I can kick a little!'
She drew her foot as far down the chimney as she could, and waited till she heard a little animal (she couldn't guess of what sort it was) scratching and scrambling about in the chimney close above her: then, saying to herself 'This is Bill,' she gave one sharp kick, and waited to see what would happen next.
The first thing she heard was a general chorus of 'There goes Bill!' then the Rabbit's voice along--'Catch him, you by the hedge!' then silence, and then another confusion of voices--'Hold up his head--Brandy now--Don't choke him--How was it, old fellow? What happened to you? Tell us all about it!'
Last came a little feeble, squeaking voice, ('That's Bill,' thought Alice,) 'Well, I hardly know--No more, thank ye; I'm better now--but I'm a deal too flustered to tell you--all I know is, something comes at me like a Jack-in-the-box, and up I goes like a sky-rocket!'
'So you did, old fellow!' said the others.
'We must burn the house down!' said the Rabbit's voice; and Alice called out as loud as she could, 'If you do. I'll set Dinah at you!'
There was a dead silence instantly, and Alice thought to herself, 'I wonder what they will do next! If they had any sense, they'd take the roof off.' After a minute or two, they began moving about again, and Alice heard the Rabbit say, 'A barrowful will do, to begin with.'
'A barrowful of what?' thought Alice; but she had not long to doubt, for the next moment a shower of little pebbles came rattling in at the window, and some of them hit her in the face. 'I'll put a stop to this,' she said to herself, and shouted out, 'You'd better not do that again!' which produced another dead silence.
Alice noticed with some surprise that the pebbles were all turning into little cakes as they lay on the floor, and a bright idea came into her head. 'If I eat one of these cakes,' she thought, 'it's sure to make some change in my size; and as it can't possibly make me larger, it must make me smaller, I suppose.'
So she swallowed one of the cakes, and was delighted to find that she began shrinking directly. As soon as she was small enough to get through the door, she ran out of the house, and found quite a crowd of little animals and birds waiting outside. The poor little Lizard, Bill, was in the middle, being held up by two guinea-pigs, who were giving it something out of a bottle. They all made a rush at Alice the moment she appeared; but she ran off as hard as she could, and soon found herself safe in a thick wood.
'The first thing I've got to do,' said Alice to herself, as she wandered about in the wood, 'is to grow to my right size again; and the second thing is to find my way into that lovely garden. I think that will be the best plan.'
It sounded an excellent plan, no doubt, and very neatly and simply arranged; the only difficulty was, that she had not the smallest idea how to set about it; and while she was peering about anxiously among the trees, a little sharp bark just over her head made her look up in a great hurry.
An enormous puppy was looking down at her with large round eyes, and feebly stretching out one paw, trying to touch her. 'Poor little thing!' said Alice, in a coaxing tone, and she tried hard to whistle to it; but she was terribly frightened all the time at the thought that it might be hungry, in which case it would be very likely to eat her up in spite of all her coaxing.
Hardly knowing what she did, she picked up a little bit of stick, and held it out to the puppy; whereupon the puppy jumped into the air off all its feet at once, with a yelp of delight, and rushed at the stick, and made believe to worry it; then Alice dodged behind a great thistle, to keep herself from being run over; and the moment she appeared on the other side, the puppy made another rush at the stick, and tumbled head over heels in its hurry to get hold of it; then Alice, thinking it was very like having a game of play with a cart-horse, and expecting every moment to be trampled under its feet, ran round the thistle again; then the puppy began a series of short charges at the stick, running a very little way forwards each time and a long way back, and barking hoarsely all the while, till at last it sat down a good way off, panting, with its tongue hanging out of its mouth, and its great eyes half shut.
This seemed to Alice a good opportunity for making her escape; so she set off at once, and ran till she was quite tired and out of breath, and till the puppy's bark sounded quite faint in the distance.
'And yet what a dear little puppy it was!' said Alice, as she leant against a buttercup to rest herself, and fanned herself with one of the leaves: 'I should have liked teaching it tricks very much, if--if I'd only been the right size to do it! Oh dear! I'd nearly forgotten that I've got to grow up again! Let me see--how IS it to be managed? I suppose I ought to eat or drink something or other; but the great question is, what?'
The great question certainly was, what? Alice looked all round her at the flowers and the blades of grass, but she did not see anything that looked like the right thing to eat or drink under the circumstances. There was a large mushroom growing near her, about the same height as herself; and when she had looked under it, and on both sides of it, and behind it, it occurred to her that she might as well look and see what was on the top of it.
She stretched herself up on tiptoe, and peeped over the edge of the mushroom, and her eyes immediately met those of a large caterpillar, that was sitting on the top with its arms folded, quietly smoking a long hookah, and taking not the smallest notice of her or of anything else.
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 not attending!' said the Mouse to Alice severely. 'What are you thinking of?'
'I beg your pardon,' said Alice very humbly: 'you had got to the fifth bend, I think?'
'I had not!' cried the Mouse, sharply and very angrily.
'A knot!' said Alice, always ready to make herself useful, and looking anxiously about her. 'Oh, do let me help to undo it!'
'I shall do nothing of the sort,' said the Mouse, getting up and walking away. 'You insult me by talking such nonsense!'
'I didn't mean it!' pleaded poor Alice. 'But you're so easily offended, you know!'
The Mouse only growled in reply.
'Please come back and finish your story!' Alice called after it; and the others all joined in chorus, 'Yes, please do!' but the Mouse only shook its head impatiently, and walked a little quicker.
'What a pity it wouldn't stay!' sighed the Lory, as soon as it was quite out of sight; and an old Crab took the opportunity of saying to her daughter 'Ah, my dear! Let this be a lesson to you never to lose your temper!' 'Hold your tongue, Ma!' said the young Crab, a little snappishly. 'You're enough to try the patience of an oyster!'
'I wish I had our Dinah here, I know I do!' said Alice aloud, addressing nobody in particular. 'She'd soon fetch it back!'
'And who is Dinah, if I might venture to ask the question?' said the Lory.
Alice replied eagerly, for she was always ready to talk about her pet: 'Dinah's our cat. And she's such a capital one for catching mice you can't think! And oh, I wish you could see her after the birds! Why, she'll eat a little bird as soon as look at it!'
This speech caused a remarkable sensation among the party. Some of the birds hurried off at once: one old Magpie began wrapping itself up very carefully, remarking, 'I really must be getting home; the night-air doesn't suit my throat!' and a Canary called out in a trembling voice to its children, 'Come away, my dears! It's high time you were all in bed!' On various pretexts they all moved off, and Alice was soon left alone.
'I wish I hadn't mentioned Dinah!' she said to herself in a melancholy tone. 'Nobody seems to like her, down here, and I'm sure she's the best cat in the world! Oh, my dear Dinah! I wonder if I shall ever see you any more!' And here poor Alice began to cry again, for she felt very lonely and low-spirited. In a little while, however, she again heard a little pattering of footsteps in the distance, and she looked up eagerly, half hoping that the Mouse had changed his mind, and was coming back to finish his story.
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 not attending!' said the Mouse to Alice severely. 'What are you thinking of?'
'I beg your pardon,' said Alice very humbly: 'you had got to the fifth bend, I think?'
'I had not!' cried the Mouse, sharply and very angrily.
'A knot!' said Alice, always ready to make herself useful, and looking anxiously about her. 'Oh, do let me help to undo it!'
'I shall do nothing of the sort,' said the Mouse, getting up and walking away. 'You insult me by talking such nonsense!'
'I didn't mean it!' pleaded poor Alice. 'But you're so easily offended, you know!'
The Mouse only growled in reply.
'Please come back and finish your story!' Alice called after it; and the others all joined in chorus, 'Yes, please do!' but the Mouse only shook its head impatiently, and walked a little quicker.
'What a pity it wouldn't stay!' sighed the Lory, as soon as it was quite out of sight; and an old Crab took the opportunity of saying to her daughter 'Ah, my dear! Let this be a lesson to you never to lose your temper!' 'Hold your tongue, Ma!' said the young Crab, a little snappishly. 'You're enough to try the patience of an oyster!'
'I wish I had our Dinah here, I know I do!' said Alice aloud, addressing nobody in particular. 'She'd soon fetch it back!'
'And who is Dinah, if I might venture to ask the question?' said the Lory.
Alice replied eagerly, for she was always ready to talk about her pet: 'Dinah's our cat. And she's such a capital one for catching mice you can't think! And oh, I wish you could see her after the birds! Why, she'll eat a little bird as soon as look at it!'
This speech caused a remarkable sensation among the party. Some of the birds hurried off at once: one old Magpie began wrapping itself up very carefully, remarking, 'I really must be getting home; the night-air doesn't suit my throat!' and a Canary called out in a trembling voice to its children, 'Come away, my dears! It's high time you were all in bed!' On various pretexts they all moved off, and Alice was soon left alone.
'I wish I hadn't mentioned Dinah!' she said to herself in a melancholy tone. 'Nobody seems to like her, down here, and I'm sure she's the best cat in the world! Oh, my dear Dinah! I wonder if I shall ever see you any more!' And here poor Alice began to cry again, for she felt very lonely and low-spirited. In a little while, however, she again heard a little pattering of footsteps in the distance, and she looked up eagerly, half hoping that the Mouse had changed his mind, and was coming back to finish his story.
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).
Oh dear, what nonsense I'm talking!'
Just then her head struck against the roof of the hall: in fact she was now more than nine feet high, and she at once took up the little golden key and hurried off to the garden door.
Poor Alice! It was as much as she could do, lying down on one side, to look through into the garden with one eye; but to get through was more hopeless than ever: she sat down and began to cry again.
'You ought to be ashamed of yourself,' said Alice, 'a great girl like you,' (she might well say this), 'to go on crying in this way! Stop this moment, I tell you!' But she went on all the same, shedding gallons of tears, until there was a large pool all round her, about four inches deep and reaching half down the hall.
After a time she heard a little pattering of feet in the distance, and she hastily dried her eyes to see what was coming. It was the White Rabbit returning, splendidly dressed, with a pair of white kid gloves in one hand and a large fan in the other: he came trotting along in a great hurry, muttering to himself as he came, 'Oh! the Duchess, the Duchess! Oh! won't she be savage if I've kept her waiting!' Alice felt so desperate that she was ready to ask help of any one; so, when the Rabbit came near her, she began, in a low, timid voice, 'If you please, sir--' The Rabbit started violently, dropped the white kid gloves and the fan, and skurried away into the darkness as hard as he could go.
Alice took up the fan and gloves, and, as the hall was very hot, she kept fanning herself all the time she went on talking: 'Dear, dear! How queer everything is to-day! And yesterday things went on just as usual. I wonder if I've been changed in the night? Let me think: was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is, Who in the world am I? Ah, that's the great puzzle!' And she began thinking over all the children she knew that were of the same age as herself, to see if she could have been changed for any of them.
'I'm sure I'm not Ada,' she said, 'for her hair goes in such long ringlets, and mine doesn't go in ringlets at all; and I'm sure I can't be Mabel, for I know all sorts of things, and she, oh! she knows such a very little! Besides, she's she, and I'm I, and--oh dear, how puzzling it all is! I'll try if I know all the things I used to know. Let me see: four times five is twelve, and four times six is thirteen, and four times seven is--oh dear! I shall never get to twenty at that rate! However, the Multiplication Table doesn't signify: let's try Geography. London is the capital of Paris, and Paris is the capital of Rome, and Rome--no, that's all wrong, I'm certain! I must have been changed for Mabel! I'll try and say "How doth the little--"' and she crossed her hands on her lap as if she were saying lessons, and began to repeat it, but her voice sounded hoarse and strange, and the words did not come the same as they used to do:--
'How doth the little crocodile
Improve his shining tail,
And pour the waters of the Nile
On every golden scale!
'How cheerfully he seems to grin,
How neatly spread his claws,
And welcome little fishes in
With gently smiling jaws!'
'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: 'Ou 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.
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).
Oh dear, what nonsense I'm talking!'
Just then her head struck against the roof of the hall: in fact she was now more than nine feet high, and she at once took up the little golden key and hurried off to the garden door.
Poor Alice! It was as much as she could do, lying down on one side, to look through into the garden with one eye; but to get through was more hopeless than ever: she sat down and began to cry again.
'You ought to be ashamed of yourself,' said Alice, 'a great girl like you,' (she might well say this), 'to go on crying in this way! Stop this moment, I tell you!' But she went on all the same, shedding gallons of tears, until there was a large pool all round her, about four inches deep and reaching half down the hall.
After a time she heard a little pattering of feet in the distance, and she hastily dried her eyes to see what was coming. It was the White Rabbit returning, splendidly dressed, with a pair of white kid gloves in one hand and a large fan in the other: he came trotting along in a great hurry, muttering to himself as he came, 'Oh! the Duchess, the Duchess! Oh! won't she be savage if I've kept her waiting!' Alice felt so desperate that she was ready to ask help of any one; so, when the Rabbit came near her, she began, in a low, timid voice, 'If you please, sir--' The Rabbit started violently, dropped the white kid gloves and the fan, and skurried away into the darkness as hard as he could go.
Alice took up the fan and gloves, and, as the hall was very hot, she kept fanning herself all the time she went on talking: 'Dear, dear! How queer everything is to-day! And yesterday things went on just as usual. I wonder if I've been changed in the night? Let me think: was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is, Who in the world am I? Ah, that's the great puzzle!' And she began thinking over all the children she knew that were of the same age as herself, to see if she could have been changed for any of them.
'I'm sure I'm not Ada,' she said, 'for her hair goes in such long ringlets, and mine doesn't go in ringlets at all; and I'm sure I can't be Mabel, for I know all sorts of things, and she, oh! she knows such a very little! Besides, she's she, and I'm I, and--oh dear, how puzzling it all is! I'll try if I know all the things I used to know. Let me see: four times five is twelve, and four times six is thirteen, and four times seven is--oh dear! I shall never get to twenty at that rate! However, the Multiplication Table doesn't signify: let's try Geography. London is the capital of Paris, and Paris is the capital of Rome, and Rome--no, that's all wrong, I'm certain! I must have been changed for Mabel! I'll try and say "How doth the little--"' and she crossed her hands on her lap as if she were saying lessons, and began to repeat it, but her voice sounded hoarse and strange, and the words did not come the same as they used to do:--
'How doth the little crocodile
Improve his shining tail,
And pour the waters of the Nile
On every golden scale!
'How cheerfully he seems to grin,
How neatly spread his claws,
And welcome little fishes in
With gently smiling jaws!'
'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: 'Ou 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.
Down the Rabbit-Hole
Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, 'and what is the use of a book,' thought Alice 'without pictures or conversation?'
So she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could, for the hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her.
There was nothing so very remarkable in that; nor did Alice think it so very much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself, 'Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be late!' (when she thought it over afterwards, it occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at this, but at the time it all seemed quite natural); but when the Rabbit actually took a watch out of its waistcoat-pocket, and looked at it, and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a watch to take out of it, and burning with curiosity, she ran across the field after it, and fortunately was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the hedge.
In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again.
The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself before she found herself falling down a very deep well.
Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her and to wonder what was going to happen next. First, she tried to look down and make out what she was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything; then she looked at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled with cupboards and book-shelves; here and there she saw maps and pictures hung upon pegs. She
took down a jar from one of the shelves as she passed; it was labelled 'ORANGE MARMALADE', but to her great disappointment it was empty: she did not like to drop the jar for fear of killing somebody, so managed to put it into one of the cupboards as she fell past it.
'Well!' thought Alice to herself, 'after such a fall as this, I shall think nothing of tumbling down stairs! How brave they'll all think me at home! Why, I wouldn't say anything about it, even if I fell off the top of the house!' (Which was very likely true.)
Down, down, down. Would the fall never come to an end! 'I wonder how many miles I've fallen by this time?' she said aloud. 'I must be getting somewhere near the centre of the earth. Let me see: that would be four thousand miles down, I think--' (for, you see, Alice had learnt several things of this sort in her lessons in the schoolroom, and though this was not a VERY good opportunity for showing off her knowledge, as there was no one to listen to her, still it was good practice to say it over) '--yes, that's about the right distance--but then I wonder what Latitude or Longitude I've got to?' (Alice had no idea what Latitude was, or Longitude either, but thought they were nice grand words to say.)
Presently she began again. 'I wonder if I shall fall right through the earth! How funny it'll seem to come out among the people that walk with their heads downward! The Antipathies, I think--' (she was rather glad there WAS no one listening, this time, as it didn't sound at all the right word) '--but I shall have to ask them what the name of the country is, you know. Please, Ma'am, is this New Zealand or Australia?' (and she tried to curtsey as she spoke--fancy curtseying as you're falling through the air! Do you think you could manage it?) 'And what an ignorant little girl she'll think me for asking! No, it'll never do to ask: perhaps I shall see it written up somewhere.'
Down, down, down. There was nothing else to do, so Alice soon began talking again. 'Dinah'll miss me very much to-night, I should think!' (Dinah was the cat.) 'I hope they'll remember her saucer of milk at tea-time. Dinah my dear! I wish you were down here with me! There are no mice in the air, I'm afraid, but you might catch a bat, and that's very like a mouse, you know. But do cats eat bats, I wonder?' And here Alice began to get rather sleepy, and went on saying to herself, in a dreamy sort of way, 'Do cats eat bats? Do cats eat bats?' and sometimes, 'Do bats eat cats?' for, you see, as she couldn't answer either question, it didn't much matter which way she put it. She felt that she was dozing off, and had just begun to dream that she was walking hand in hand with Dinah, and saying to her very earnestly, 'Now, Dinah, tell me the truth: did you ever eat a bat?' when suddenly, thump! thump! down she came upon a heap of sticks and dry leaves, and the fall was over.
Alice was not a bit hurt, and she jumped up on to her feet in a moment: she looked up, but it was all dark overhead; before her was another long passage, and the White Rabbit was still in sight, hurrying down it. There was not a moment to be lost: away went Alice like the wind, and was just in time to hear it say, as it turned a corner, 'Oh my ears and whiskers, how late it's getting!' She was close behind it when she turned the corner, but the Rabbit was no longer to be seen: she found herself in a long, low hall, which was lit up by a row of lamps hanging from the roof.
There were doors all round the hall, but they were all locked; and when Alice had been all the way down one side and up the other, trying every door, she walked sadly down the middle, wondering how she was ever to get out again.
Suddenly she came upon a little three-legged table, all made of solid glass; there was nothing on it except a tiny golden key, and Alice's first thought was that it might belong to one of the doors of the hall; but, alas! either the locks were too large, or the key was too small, but at any rate it would not open any of them. However, on the second time round, she came upon a low curtain she had not noticed before, and behind it was a little door about fifteen inches high: she tried the little golden key in the lock, and to her great delight it fitted!
Alice opened the door and found that it led into a small passage, not much larger than a rat-hole: she knelt down and looked along the passage into the loveliest garden you ever saw. How she longed to get out of that dark hall, and wander about among those beds of bright flowers and those cool fountains, but she could not even get her head though the doorway; 'and even if my head would go through,' thought poor Alice, 'it would be of very little use without my shoulders. Oh, how I wish I could shut up like a telescope! I think I could, if I only know how to begin.' For, you see, so many out-of-the-way things had happened lately, that Alice had begun to think that very few things indeed were really impossible.
There seemed to be no use in waiting by the little door, so she went back to the table, half hoping she might find another key on it, or at any rate a book of rules for shutting people up like telescopes: this time she found a little bottle on it, ('which certainly was not here before,' said Alice,) and round the neck of the bottle was a paper label, with the words 'DRINK ME' beautifully printed on it in large letters.
It was all very well to say 'Drink me,' but the wise little Alice was not going to do that in a hurry. 'No, I'll look first,' she said, 'and see whether it's marked "poison" or not'; for she had read several nice little histories about children who had got burnt, and eaten up by wild beasts and other unpleasant things, all because they would not remember the simple rules their friends had taught them: such as, that a red-hot poker will burn you if you hold it too long; and that if you cut your finger very deeply with a knife, it usually bleeds; and she had never forgotten that, if you drink much from a bottle marked 'poison,' it is almost certain to disagree with you, sooner or later.
However, this bottle was not marked 'poison,' so Alice ventured to taste it, and finding it very nice, (it had, in fact, a sort of mixed flavour of cherry-tart, custard, pine-apple, roast turkey, toffee, and hot buttered toast,) she very soon finished it off.
'What a curious feeling!' said Alice; 'I must be shutting up like a telescope.'
And so it was indeed: she was now only ten inches high, and her face brightened up at the thought that she was now the right size for going through the little door into that lovely garden. First, however, she waited for a few minutes to see if she was going to shrink any further: she felt a little nervous about this; 'for it might end, you know,' said Alice to herself, 'in my going out altogether, like a candle. I wonder what I should be like then?' And she tried to fancy what the flame of a candle is like after the candle is blown out, for she could not remember ever having seen such a thing.
After a while, finding that nothing more happened, she decided on going into the garden at once; but, alas for poor Alice! when she got to the door, she found she had forgotten the little golden key, and when she went back to the table for it, she found she could not possibly reach it: she could see it quite plainly through the glass, and she tried her best to climb up one of the legs of the table, but it was too slippery; and when she had tired herself out with trying, the poor little thing sat down and cried.
'Come, there's no use in crying like that!' said Alice to herself, rather sharply; 'I advise you to leave off this minute!' She generally gave herself very good advice, (though she very seldom followed it), and sometimes she scolded herself so severely as to bring tears into her eyes; and once she remembered trying to box her own ears for having cheated herself in a game of croquet she was playing against herself, for this curious child was very fond of pretending to be two people. 'But it's no use now,' thought poor Alice, 'to pretend to be two people! Why, there's hardly enough of me left to make ONE respectable person!'
Soon her eye fell on a little glass box that was lying under the table: she opened it, and found in it a very small cake, on which the words 'EAT ME' were beautifully marked in currants. 'Well, I'll eat it,' said Alice, 'and if it makes me grow larger, I can reach the key; and if it makes me grow smaller, I can creep under the door; so either way I'll get into the garden, and I don't care which happens!'
She ate a little bit, and said anxiously to herself, 'Which way? Which way?', holding her hand on the top of her head to feel which way it was growing, and she was quite surprised to find that she remained the same size: to be sure, this generally happens when one eats cake, but Alice had got so much into the way of expecting nothing but out-of-the-way things to happen, that it seemed quite dull and stupid for life to go on in the common way.
So she set to work, and very soon finished off the cake.
So she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could, for the hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her.
There was nothing so very remarkable in that; nor did Alice think it so very much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself, 'Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be late!' (when she thought it over afterwards, it occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at this, but at the time it all seemed quite natural); but when the Rabbit actually took a watch out of its waistcoat-pocket, and looked at it, and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a watch to take out of it, and burning with curiosity, she ran across the field after it, and fortunately was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the hedge.
In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again.
The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself before she found herself falling down a very deep well.
Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her and to wonder what was going to happen next. First, she tried to look down and make out what she was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything; then she looked at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled with cupboards and book-shelves; here and there she saw maps and pictures hung upon pegs. She
took down a jar from one of the shelves as she passed; it was labelled 'ORANGE MARMALADE', but to her great disappointment it was empty: she did not like to drop the jar for fear of killing somebody, so managed to put it into one of the cupboards as she fell past it.
'Well!' thought Alice to herself, 'after such a fall as this, I shall think nothing of tumbling down stairs! How brave they'll all think me at home! Why, I wouldn't say anything about it, even if I fell off the top of the house!' (Which was very likely true.)
Down, down, down. Would the fall never come to an end! 'I wonder how many miles I've fallen by this time?' she said aloud. 'I must be getting somewhere near the centre of the earth. Let me see: that would be four thousand miles down, I think--' (for, you see, Alice had learnt several things of this sort in her lessons in the schoolroom, and though this was not a VERY good opportunity for showing off her knowledge, as there was no one to listen to her, still it was good practice to say it over) '--yes, that's about the right distance--but then I wonder what Latitude or Longitude I've got to?' (Alice had no idea what Latitude was, or Longitude either, but thought they were nice grand words to say.)
Presently she began again. 'I wonder if I shall fall right through the earth! How funny it'll seem to come out among the people that walk with their heads downward! The Antipathies, I think--' (she was rather glad there WAS no one listening, this time, as it didn't sound at all the right word) '--but I shall have to ask them what the name of the country is, you know. Please, Ma'am, is this New Zealand or Australia?' (and she tried to curtsey as she spoke--fancy curtseying as you're falling through the air! Do you think you could manage it?) 'And what an ignorant little girl she'll think me for asking! No, it'll never do to ask: perhaps I shall see it written up somewhere.'
Down, down, down. There was nothing else to do, so Alice soon began talking again. 'Dinah'll miss me very much to-night, I should think!' (Dinah was the cat.) 'I hope they'll remember her saucer of milk at tea-time. Dinah my dear! I wish you were down here with me! There are no mice in the air, I'm afraid, but you might catch a bat, and that's very like a mouse, you know. But do cats eat bats, I wonder?' And here Alice began to get rather sleepy, and went on saying to herself, in a dreamy sort of way, 'Do cats eat bats? Do cats eat bats?' and sometimes, 'Do bats eat cats?' for, you see, as she couldn't answer either question, it didn't much matter which way she put it. She felt that she was dozing off, and had just begun to dream that she was walking hand in hand with Dinah, and saying to her very earnestly, 'Now, Dinah, tell me the truth: did you ever eat a bat?' when suddenly, thump! thump! down she came upon a heap of sticks and dry leaves, and the fall was over.
Alice was not a bit hurt, and she jumped up on to her feet in a moment: she looked up, but it was all dark overhead; before her was another long passage, and the White Rabbit was still in sight, hurrying down it. There was not a moment to be lost: away went Alice like the wind, and was just in time to hear it say, as it turned a corner, 'Oh my ears and whiskers, how late it's getting!' She was close behind it when she turned the corner, but the Rabbit was no longer to be seen: she found herself in a long, low hall, which was lit up by a row of lamps hanging from the roof.
There were doors all round the hall, but they were all locked; and when Alice had been all the way down one side and up the other, trying every door, she walked sadly down the middle, wondering how she was ever to get out again.
Suddenly she came upon a little three-legged table, all made of solid glass; there was nothing on it except a tiny golden key, and Alice's first thought was that it might belong to one of the doors of the hall; but, alas! either the locks were too large, or the key was too small, but at any rate it would not open any of them. However, on the second time round, she came upon a low curtain she had not noticed before, and behind it was a little door about fifteen inches high: she tried the little golden key in the lock, and to her great delight it fitted!
Alice opened the door and found that it led into a small passage, not much larger than a rat-hole: she knelt down and looked along the passage into the loveliest garden you ever saw. How she longed to get out of that dark hall, and wander about among those beds of bright flowers and those cool fountains, but she could not even get her head though the doorway; 'and even if my head would go through,' thought poor Alice, 'it would be of very little use without my shoulders. Oh, how I wish I could shut up like a telescope! I think I could, if I only know how to begin.' For, you see, so many out-of-the-way things had happened lately, that Alice had begun to think that very few things indeed were really impossible.
There seemed to be no use in waiting by the little door, so she went back to the table, half hoping she might find another key on it, or at any rate a book of rules for shutting people up like telescopes: this time she found a little bottle on it, ('which certainly was not here before,' said Alice,) and round the neck of the bottle was a paper label, with the words 'DRINK ME' beautifully printed on it in large letters.
It was all very well to say 'Drink me,' but the wise little Alice was not going to do that in a hurry. 'No, I'll look first,' she said, 'and see whether it's marked "poison" or not'; for she had read several nice little histories about children who had got burnt, and eaten up by wild beasts and other unpleasant things, all because they would not remember the simple rules their friends had taught them: such as, that a red-hot poker will burn you if you hold it too long; and that if you cut your finger very deeply with a knife, it usually bleeds; and she had never forgotten that, if you drink much from a bottle marked 'poison,' it is almost certain to disagree with you, sooner or later.
However, this bottle was not marked 'poison,' so Alice ventured to taste it, and finding it very nice, (it had, in fact, a sort of mixed flavour of cherry-tart, custard, pine-apple, roast turkey, toffee, and hot buttered toast,) she very soon finished it off.
'What a curious feeling!' said Alice; 'I must be shutting up like a telescope.'
And so it was indeed: she was now only ten inches high, and her face brightened up at the thought that she was now the right size for going through the little door into that lovely garden. First, however, she waited for a few minutes to see if she was going to shrink any further: she felt a little nervous about this; 'for it might end, you know,' said Alice to herself, 'in my going out altogether, like a candle. I wonder what I should be like then?' And she tried to fancy what the flame of a candle is like after the candle is blown out, for she could not remember ever having seen such a thing.
After a while, finding that nothing more happened, she decided on going into the garden at once; but, alas for poor Alice! when she got to the door, she found she had forgotten the little golden key, and when she went back to the table for it, she found she could not possibly reach it: she could see it quite plainly through the glass, and she tried her best to climb up one of the legs of the table, but it was too slippery; and when she had tired herself out with trying, the poor little thing sat down and cried.
'Come, there's no use in crying like that!' said Alice to herself, rather sharply; 'I advise you to leave off this minute!' She generally gave herself very good advice, (though she very seldom followed it), and sometimes she scolded herself so severely as to bring tears into her eyes; and once she remembered trying to box her own ears for having cheated herself in a game of croquet she was playing against herself, for this curious child was very fond of pretending to be two people. 'But it's no use now,' thought poor Alice, 'to pretend to be two people! Why, there's hardly enough of me left to make ONE respectable person!'
Soon her eye fell on a little glass box that was lying under the table: she opened it, and found in it a very small cake, on which the words 'EAT ME' were beautifully marked in currants. 'Well, I'll eat it,' said Alice, 'and if it makes me grow larger, I can reach the key; and if it makes me grow smaller, I can creep under the door; so either way I'll get into the garden, and I don't care which happens!'
She ate a little bit, and said anxiously to herself, 'Which way? Which way?', holding her hand on the top of her head to feel which way it was growing, and she was quite surprised to find that she remained the same size: to be sure, this generally happens when one eats cake, but Alice had got so much into the way of expecting nothing but out-of-the-way things to happen, that it seemed quite dull and stupid for life to go on in the common way.
So she set to work, and very soon finished off the cake.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
THE OUTRAGE--A TRUE STORY
THE OUTRAGE--A TRUE STORY
BY ALEKSANDR I. KUPRIN
It was five o'clock on a July afternoon. The heat was terrible. The
whole of the huge stone-built town breathed out heat like a glowing
furnace. The glare of the white-walled house was insufferable. The
asphalt pavements grew soft and burned the feet. The shadows of the
acacias spread over the cobbled road, pitiful and weary. They too
seemed hot. The sea, pale in the sunlight, lay heavy and immobile as
one dead. Over the streets hung a white dust.
In the foyer of one of the private theatres a small committee of local
barristers who had undertaken to conduct the cases of those who had
suffered in the last pogrom against the Jews was reaching the end of
its daily task. There were nineteen of them, all juniors, young,
progressive and conscientious men. The sitting was without formality,
and white suits of duck, flannel and alpaca were in the majority. They
sat anywhere, at little marble tables, and the chairman stood in front
of an empty counter where chocolates were sold in the winter.
The barristers were quite exhausted by the heat which poured in
through the windows, with the dazzling sunlight and the noise of the
streets. The proceedings went lazily and with a certain irritation.
A tall young man with a fair moustache and thin hair was in the chair.
He was dreaming voluptuously how he would be off in an instant on his
new-bought bicycle to the bungalow. He would undress quickly, and
without waiting to cool, still bathed in sweat, would fling himself
into the clear, cold, sweet-smelling sea. His whole body was enervated
and tense, thrilled by the thought. Impatiently moving the papers
before him, he spoke in a drowsy voice.
"So, Joseph Moritzovich will conduct the case of Rubinchik... Perhaps
there is still a statement to be made on the order of the day?"
His youngest colleague, a short, stout Karaite, very black and lively,
said in a whisper so that every one could hear: "On the order of the
day, the best thing would be iced _kvas_..."
The chairman gave him a stern side-glance, but could not restrain a
smile. He sighed and put both his hands on the table to raise himself
and declare the meeting closed, when the doorkeeper, who stood at the
entrance to the theatre, suddenly moved forward and said: "There are
seven people outside, sir. They want to come in."
The chairman looked impatiently round the company.
"What is to be done, gentlemen?"
Voices were heard.
"Next time. _Basta!_"
"Let 'em put it in writing."
"If they'll get it over quickly... Decide it at once."
"Let 'em go to the devil. Phew! It's like boiling pitch."
"Let them in." The chairman gave a sign with his head, annoyed. "Then
bring me a Vichy, please. But it must be cold."
The porter opened the door and called down the corridor: "Come in.
They say you may."
Then seven of the most surprising and unexpected individuals filed
into the foyer. First appeared a full-grown, confident man in a smart
suit, of the colour of dry sea-sand, in a magnificent pink shirt with
white stripes and a crimson rose in his buttonhole. From the front his
head looked like an upright bean, from the side like a horizontal
bean. His face was adorned with a strong, bushy, martial moustache. He
wore dark blue pince-nez on his nose, on his hands straw-coloured
gloves. In his left hand he held a black walking-stick with a silver
mount, in his right a light blue handkerchief.
The other six produced a strange, chaotic, incongruous impression,
exactly as though they had all hastily pooled not merely their
clothes, but their hands, feet and heads as well. There was a man with
the splendid profile of a Roman senator, dressed in rags and tatters.
Another wore an elegant dress waistcoat, from the deep opening of
which a dirty Little-Russian shirt leapt to the eye. Here were the
unbalanced faces of the criminal type, but looking with a confidence
that nothing could shake. All these men, in spite of their apparent
youth, evidently possessed a large experience of life, an easy manner,
a bold approach, and some hidden, suspicious cunning.
The gentleman in the sandy suit bowed just his head, neatly and
easily, and said with a half-question in his voice: "Mr. Chairman?"
"Yes. I am the chairman. What is your business?"
"We--all whom you see before you," the gentleman began in a quiet
voice and turned round to indicate his companions, "we come as
delegates from the United Rostov-Kharkov-and-Odessa-Nikolayev
Association of Thieves."
The barristers began to shift in their seats.
The chairman flung himself back and opened his eyes wide. "Association
of _what_?" he said, perplexed.
"The Association of Thieves," the gentleman in the sandy suit coolly
repeated. "As for myself, my comrades did me the signal honour of
electing me as the spokesman of the deputation."
"Very ... pleased," the chairman said uncertainly.
"Thank you. All seven of us are ordinary thieves--naturally of
different departments. The Association has authorised us to put before
your esteemed Committee"--the gentleman again made an elegant
bow--"our respectful demand for assistance."
"I don't quite understand ... quite frankly ... what is the
connection..." The chairman waved his hands helplessly. "However,
please go on."
"The matter about which we have the courage and the honour to apply to
you, gentlemen, is very clear, very simple, and very brief. It will
take only six or seven minutes. I consider it my duty to warn you of
this beforehand, in view of the late hour and the 115 degrees that
Fahrenheit marks in the shade." The orator expectorated slightly and
glanced at his superb gold watch. "You see, in the reports that have
lately appeared in the local papers of the melancholy and terrible
days of the last pogrom, there have very often been indications that
among the instigators of the pogrom who were paid and organised by the
police--the dregs of society, consisting of drunkards, tramps,
souteneurs, and hooligans from the slums--thieves were also to be
found. At first we were silent, but finally we considered ourselves
under the necessity of protesting against such an unjust and serious
accusation, before the face of the whole of intellectual society. I
know well that in the eye of the law we are offenders and enemies of
society. But imagine only for a moment, gentlemen, the situation of
this enemy of society when he is accused wholesale of an offence which
he not only never committed, but which he is ready to resist with the
whole strength of his soul. It goes without saying that he will feel
the outrage of such an injustice more keenly than a normal, average,
fortunate citizen. Now, we declare that the accusation brought against
us is utterly devoid of all basis, not merely of fact but even of
logic. I intend to prove this in a few words if the honourable
committee will kindly listen."
"Proceed," said the chairman.
"Please do ... Please ..." was heard from the barristers, now
animated.
"I offer you my sincere thanks in the name of all my comrades. Believe
me, you will never repent your attention to the representatives of our
... well, let us say, slippery, but nevertheless difficult,
profession. 'So we begin,' as Giraldoni sings in the prologue to
_Pagliacci_.
"But first I would ask your permission, Mr. Chairman, to quench my
thirst a little... Porter, bring me a lemonade and a glass of English
bitter, there's a good fellow. Gentlemen, I will not speak of the
moral aspect of our profession nor of its social importance. Doubtless
you know better than I the striking and brilliant paradox of Proudhon:
_La propriete c'est le vol_--a paradox if you like, but one that has
never yet been refuted by the sermons of cowardly bourgeois or fat
priests. For instance: a father accumulates a million by energetic and
clever exploitation, and leaves it to his son--a rickety, lazy,
ignorant, degenerate idiot, a brainless maggot, a true parasite.
Potentially a million rubles is a million working days, the absolutely
irrational right to labour, sweat, life, and blood of a terrible
number of men. Why? What is the ground of reason? Utterly unknown.
Then why not agree with the proposition, gentlemen, that our
profession is to some extent as it were a correction of the excessive
accumulation of values in the hands of individuals, and serves as a
protest against all the hardships, abominations, arbitrariness,
violence, and negligence of the human personality, against all the
monstrosities created by the bourgeois capitalistic organisation of
modern society? Sooner or later, this order of things will assuredly
be overturned by the social revolution. Property will pass away into
the limbo of melancholy memories and with it, alas! we will disappear
from the face of the earth, we, _les braves chevaliers d'industrie_."
The orator paused to take the tray from the hands of the porter, and
placed it near to his hand on the table.
"Excuse me, gentlemen... Here, my good man, take this,... and by the
way, when you go out shut the door close behind you."
"Very good, your Excellency!" the porter bawled in jest.
The orator drank off half a glass and continued: "However, let us
leave aside the philosophical, social, and economic aspects of the
question. I do not wish to fatigue your attention. I must nevertheless
point out that our profession very closely approaches the idea of that
which is called art. Into it enter all the elements which go to form
art--vocation, inspiration, fantasy, inventiveness, ambition, and a
long and arduous apprenticeship to the science. From it is absent
virtue alone, concerning which the great Karamzin wrote with such
stupendous and fiery fascination. Gentlemen, nothing is further from
my intention than to trifle with you and waste your precious time with
idle paradoxes; but I cannot avoid expounding my idea briefly. To an
outsider's ear it sounds absurdly wild and ridiculous to speak of the
vocation of a thief. However, I venture to assure you that this
vocation is a reality. There are men who possess a peculiarly strong
visual memory, sharpness and accuracy of eye, presence of mind,
dexterity of hand, and above all a subtle sense of touch, who are as
it were born into God's world for the sole and special purpose of
becoming distinguished card-sharpers. The pickpockets' profession
demands extraordinary nimbleness and agility, a terrific certainty of
movement, not to mention a ready wit, a talent for observation and
strained attention. Some have a positive vocation for breaking open
safes: from their tenderest childhood they are attracted by the
mysteries of every kind of complicated mechanism--bicycles, sewing
machines, clock-work toys and watches. Finally, gentlemen, there are
people with an hereditary animus against private property. You may
call this phenomenon degeneracy. But I tell you that you cannot entice
a true thief, and thief by vocation, into the prose of honest
vegetation by any gingerbread reward, or by the offer of a secure
position, or by the gift of money, or by a woman's love: because there
is here a permanent beauty of risk, a fascinating abyss of danger, the
delightful sinking of the heart, the impetuous pulsation of life, the
ecstasy! You are armed with the protection of the law, by locks,
revolvers, telephones, police and soldiery; but we only by our own
dexterity, cunning and fearlessness. We are the foxes, and society--is
a chicken-run guarded by dogs. Are you aware that the most artistic
and gifted natures in our villages become horse-thieves and poachers?
What would you have? Life is so meagre, so insipid, so intolerably
dull to eager and high-spirited souls!
"I pass on to inspiration. Gentlemen, doubtless you have had to read
of thefts that were supernatural in design and execution. In the
headlines of the newspapers they are called 'An Amazing Robbery,' or
'An Ingenious Swindle,' or again 'A Clever Ruse of the Gangsters.' In
such cases our bourgeois paterfamilias waves his hands and exclaims:
'What a terrible thing! If only their abilities were turned to
good--their inventiveness, their amazing knowledge of human
psychology, their self-possession, their fearlessness, their
incomparable histrionic powers! What extraordinary benefits they would
bring to the country!' But it is well known that the bourgeois
paterfamilias was specially devised by Heaven to utter commonplaces
and trivialities. I myself sometimes--we thieves are sentimental
people, I confess--I myself sometimes admire a beautiful sunset in
Aleksandra Park or by the sea-shore. And I am always certain
beforehand that some one near me will say with infallible _aplomb_:
'Look at it. If it were put into picture no one would ever believe
it!' I turn round and naturally I see a self-satisfied, full-fed
paterfamilias, who delights in repeating some one else's silly
statement as though it were his own. As for our dear country, the
bourgeois paterfamilias looks upon it as though it were a roast
turkey. If you've managed to cut the best part of the bird for
yourself, eat it quietly in a comfortable corner and praise God. But
he's not really the important person. I was led away by my detestation
of vulgarity and I apologise for the digression. The real point is
that genius and inspiration, even when they are not devoted to the
service of the Orthodox Church, remain rare and beautiful things.
Progress is a law--and theft too has its creation.
"Finally, our profession is by no means as easy and pleasant as it
seems to the first glance. It demands long experience, constant
practice, slow and painful apprenticeship. It comprises in itself
hundreds of supple, skilful processes that the cleverest juggler
cannot compass. That I may not give you only empty words, gentlemen, I
will perform a few experiments before you now. I ask you to have every
confidence in the demonstrators. We are all at present in the
enjoyment of legal freedom, and though we are usually watched, and
every one of us is known by face, and our photographs adorn the albums
of all detective departments, for the time being we are not under the
necessity of hiding ourselves from anybody. If any one of you should
recognise any of us in the future under different circumstances, we
ask you earnestly always to act in accordance with your professional
duties and your obligations as citizens. In grateful return for your
kind attention we have decided to declare your property inviolable,
and to invest it with a thieves' taboo. However, I proceed to
business."
The orator turned round and gave an order: "Sesoi the Great, will you
come this way!"
An enormous fellow with a stoop, whose hands reached to his knees,
without a forehead or a neck, like a big, fair Hercules, came forward.
He grinned stupidly and rubbed his left eyebrow in his confusion.
"Can't do nothin' here," he said hoarsely.
The gentleman in the sandy suit spoke for him, turning to the
committee.
"Gentlemen, before you stands a respected member of our association.
His specialty is breaking open safes, iron strong boxes, and other
receptacles for monetary tokens. In his night work he sometimes avails
himself of the electric current of the lighting installation for
fusing metals. Unfortunately he has nothing on which he can
demonstrate the best items of his repertoire. He will open the most
elaborate lock irreproachably... By the way, this door here, it's
locked, is it not?"
Every one turned to look at the door, on which a printed notice hung:
"Stage Door. Strictly Private."
"Yes, the door's locked, evidently," the chairman agreed.
"Admirable. Sesoi the Great, will you be so kind?"
"'Tain't nothin' at all," said the giant leisurely.
He went close to the door, shook it cautiously with his hand, took out
of his pocket a small bright instrument, bent down to the keyhole,
made some almost imperceptible movements with the tool, suddenly
straightened and flung the door wide in silence. The chairman had his
watch in his hands. The whole affair took only ten seconds.
"Thank you, Sesoi the Great," said the gentleman in the sandy suit
politely. "You may go back to your seat."
But the chairman interrupted in some alarm: "Excuse me. This is all
very interesting and instructive, but ... is it included in your
esteemed colleague's profession to be able to lock the door again?"
"Ah, _mille pardons_." The gentleman bowed hurriedly. "It slipped my
mind. Sesoi the Great, would you oblige?"
The door was locked with the same adroitness and the same silence. The
esteemed colleague waddled back to his friends, grinning.
"Now I will have the honour to show you the skill of one of our
comrades who is in the line of picking pockets in theatres and
railway-stations," continued the orator. "He is still very young, but
you may to some extent judge from the delicacy of his present work of
the heights he will attain by diligence. Yasha!" A swarthy youth in a
blue silk blouse and long glace boots, like a gipsy, came forward with
a swagger, fingering the tassels of his belt, and merrily screwing up
his big, impudent black eyes with yellow whites.
"Gentlemen," said the gentleman in the sandy suit persuasively, "I
must ask if one of you would be kind enough to submit himself to a
little experiment. I assure you this will be an exhibition only, just
a game."
He looked round over the seated company.
The short plump Karaite, black as a beetle, came forward from his
table.
"At your service," he said amusedly.
"Yasha!" The orator signed with his head.
Yasha came close to the solicitor. On his left arm, which was bent,
hung a bright-coloured, figured scarf.
"Suppose yer in church or at the bar in one of the halls,--or watchin'
a circus," he began in a sugary, fluent voice. "I see straight
off--there's a toff... Excuse me, sir. Suppose you're the toff.
There's no offence--just means a rich gent, decent enough, but don't
know his way about. First--what's he likely to have about 'im? All
sorts. Mostly, a ticker and a chain. Whereabouts does he keep 'em?
Somewhere in his top vest pocket--here. Others have 'em in the bottom
pocket. Just here. Purse--most always in the trousers, except when a
greeny keeps it in his jacket. Cigar-case. Have a look first what it
is--gold, silver--with a monogram. Leather--what decent man'd soil his
hands? Cigar-case. Seven pockets: here, here, here, up there, there,
here and here again. That's right, ain't it? That's how you go to
work."
As he spoke the young man smiled. His eyes shone straight into the
barrister's. With a quick, dexterous movement of his right hand he
pointed to various portions of his clothes.
"Then again you might see a pin here in the tie. However we do not
appropriate. Such _gents_ nowadays--they hardly ever wear a real
stone. Then I comes up to him. I begin straight off to talk to him
like a gent: 'Sir, would you be so kind as to give me a light from
your cigarette'--or something of the sort. At any rate, I enter into
conversation. What's next? I look him straight in the peepers, just
like this. Only two of me fingers are at it--just this and this."
Yasha lifted two fingers of his right hand on a level with the
solicitor's face, the forefinger and the middle finger and moved them
about.
"D' you see? With these two fingers I run over the whole pianner.
Nothin' wonderful in it: one, two, three--ready. Any man who wasn't
stupid could learn easily. That's all it is. Most ordinary business. I
thank you."
The pickpocket swung on his heel as if to return to his seat.
"Yasha!" The gentleman in the sandy suit said with meaning weight.
"Yasha!" he repeated sternly.
Yasha stopped. His back was turned to the barrister, but be evidently
gave his representative an imploring look, because the latter frowned
and shook his head.
"Yasha!" he said for the third time, in a threatening tone.
"Huh!" The young thief grunted in vexation and turned to face the
solicitor. "Where's your little watch, sir?" he said in a piping
voice.
"Oh!" the Karaite brought himself up sharp.
"You see--now you say 'Oh!'" Yasha continued reproachfully. "All the
while you were admiring me right hand, I was operatin' yer watch with
my left. Just with these two little fingers, under the scarf. That's
why we carry a scarf. Since your chain's not worth anything--a present
from some _mamselle_ and the watch is a gold one, I've left you the
chain as a keepsake. Take it," he added with a sigh, holding out the
watch.
"But ... That is clever," the barrister said in confusion. "I didn't
notice it at all."
"That's our business," Yasha said with pride.
He swaggered back to his comrades. Meantime the orator took a drink
from his glass and continued.
"Now, gentlemen, our next collaborator will give you an exhibition of
some ordinary card tricks, which are worked at fairs, on steamboats
and railways. With three cards, for instance, an ace, a queen, and a
six, he can quite easily... But perhaps you are tired of these
demonstrations, gentlemen."...
"Not at all. It's extremely interesting," the chairman answered
affably. "I should like to ask one question--that is if it is not too
indiscreet--what is your own specialty?"
"Mine... H'm... No, how could it be an indiscretion?... I work the big
diamond shops ... and my other business is banks," answered the orator
with a modest smile. "Don't think this occupation is easier than
others. Enough that I know four European languages, German, French,
English, and Italian, not to mention Polish, Ukrainian and Yiddish.
But shall I show you some more experiments, Mr. Chairman?"
The chairman looked at his watch.
"Unfortunately the time is too short," he said. "Wouldn't it be better
to pass on to the substance of your business? Besides, the experiments
we have just seen have amply convinced us of the talent of your
esteemed associates... Am I not right, Isaac Abramovich?"
"Yes, yes ... absolutely," the Karaite barrister readily confirmed.
"Admirable," the gentleman in the sandy suit kindly agreed. "My dear
Count"--he turned to a blond, curly-haired man, with a face like a
billiard-maker on a bank-holiday--"put your instruments away. They
will not be wanted. I have only a few words more to say, gentlemen.
Now that you have convinced yourselves that our art, although it does
not enjoy the patronage of high-placed individuals, is nevertheless an
art; and you have probably come to my opinion that this art is one
which demands many personal qualities besides constant labour, danger,
and unpleasant misunderstandings--you will also, I hope, believe that
it is possible to become attached to its practice and to love and
esteem it, however strange that may appear at first sight. Picture to
yourselves that a famous poet of talent, whose tales and poems adorn
the pages of our best magazines, is suddenly offered the chance of
writing verses at a penny a line, signed into the bargain, as an
advertisement for 'Cigarettes Jasmine'--or that a slander was spread
about one of you distinguished barristers, accusing you of making a
business of concocting evidence for divorce cases, or of writing
petitions from the cabmen to the governor in public-houses! Certainly
your relatives, friends and acquaintances wouldn't believe it. But the
rumour has already done its poisonous work, and you have to live
through minutes of torture. Now picture to yourselves that such a
disgraceful and vexatious slander, started by God knows whom, begins
to threaten not only your good name and your quiet digestion, but your
freedom, your health, and even your life!
"This is the position of us thieves, now being slandered by the
newspapers. I must explain. There is in existence a class of
scum--_passez-moi le mot_--whom we call their 'Mothers' Darlings.'
With these we are unfortunately confused. They have neither shame nor
conscience, a dissipated riff-raff, mothers' useless darlings, idle,
clumsy drones, shop assistants who commit unskilful thefts. He thinks
nothing of living on his mistress, a prostitute, like the male
mackerel, who always swims after the female and lives on her
excrements. He is capable of robbing a child with violence in a dark
alley, in order to get a penny; he will kill a man in his sleep and
torture an old woman. These men are the pests of our profession. For
them the beauties and the traditions of the art have no existence.
They watch us real, talented thieves like a pack of jackals after a
lion. Suppose I've managed to bring off an important job--we won't
mention the fact that I have to leave two-thirds of what I get to the
receivers who sell the goods and discount the notes, or the customary
subsidies to our incorruptible police--I still have to share out
something to each one of these parasites, who have got wind of my job,
by accident, hearsay, or a casual glance.
"So we call them _Motients_, which means 'half,' a corruption of
_moitie_ ... Original etymology. I pay him only because he knows and
may inform against me. And it mostly happens that even when he's got
his share he runs off to the police in order to get another dollar.
We, honest thieves... Yes, you may laugh, gentlemen, but I repeat it:
we honest thieves detest these reptiles. We have another name for
them, a stigma of ignominy; but I dare not utter it here out of
respect for the place and for my audience. Oh, yes, they would gladly
accept an invitation to a pogrom. The thought that we may be confused
with them is a hundred times more insulting to us even than the
accusation of taking part in a pogrom.
"Gentlemen! While I have been speaking I have often noticed smiles on
your faces. I understand you. Our presence here, our application for
your assistance, and above all the unexpectedness of such a phenomenon
as a systematic organisation of thieves, with delegates who are
thieves, and a leader of the deputation, also a thief by
profession--it is all so original that it must inevitably arouse a
smile. But now I will speak from the depth of my heart. Let us be rid
of our outward wrappings, gentlemen, let us speak as men to men.
"Almost all of us are educated, and all love books. We don't only read
the adventures of Roqueambole, as the realistic writers say of us. Do
you think our hearts did not bleed and our cheeks did not burn from
shame, as though we had been slapped in the face, all the time that
this unfortunate, disgraceful, accursed, cowardly war lasted. Do you
really think that our souls do not flame with anger when our country
is lashed with Cossack-whips, and trodden under foot, shot and spit at
by mad, exasperated men? Will you not believe that we thieves meet
every step towards the liberation to come with a thrill of ecstasy?
"We understand, every one of us--perhaps only a little less than you
barristers, gentlemen--the real sense of the pogroms. Every time that
some dastardly event or some ignominious failure has occurred, after
executing a martyr in a dark corner of a fortress, or after deceiving
public confidence, some one who is hidden and unapproachable gets
frightened of the people's anger and diverts its vicious element upon
the heads of innocent Jews. Whose diabolical mind invents these
pogroms--these titanic blood-lettings, these cannibal amusements for
the dark, bestial souls?
"We all see with certain clearness that the last convulsions of the
bureaucracy are at hand. Forgive me if I present it imaginatively.
There was a people that had a chief temple, wherein dwelt a
bloodthirsty deity, behind a curtain, guarded by priests. Once
fearless hands tore the curtain away. Then all the people saw, instead
of a god, a huge, shaggy, voracious spider, like a loathsome
cuttlefish. They beat it and shoot at it: it is dismembered already;
but still in the frenzy of its final agony it stretches over all the
ancient temple its disgusting, clawing tentacles. And the priests,
themselves under sentence of death, push into the monster's grasp all
whom they can seize in their terrified, trembling fingers.
"Forgive me. What I have said is probably wild and incoherent. But I
am somewhat agitated. Forgive me. I continue. We thieves by profession
know better than any one else how these pogroms were organised. We
wander everywhere: into public houses, markets, tea-shops,
doss-houses, public places, the harbour. We can swear before God and
man and posterity that we have seen how the police organise the
massacres, without shame and almost without concealment. We know them
all by face, in uniform or disguise. They invited many of us to take
part; but there was none so vile among us as to give even the outward
consent that fear might have extorted.
"You know, of course, how the various strata of Russian society behave
towards the police? It is not even respected by those who avail
themselves of its dark services. But we despise and hate it three, ten
times more--not because many of us have been tortured in the detective
departments, which are just chambers of horror, beaten almost to
death, beaten with whips of ox-hide and of rubber in order to extort a
confession or to make us betray a comrade. Yes, we hate them for that
too. But we thieves, all of us who have been in prison, have a mad
passion for freedom. Therefore we despise our gaolers with all the
hatred that a human heart can feel. I will speak for myself. I have
been tortured three times by police detectives till I was half dead.
My lungs and liver have been shattered. In the mornings I spit blood
until I can breathe no more. But if I were told that I will be spared
a fourth flogging only by shaking hands with a chief of the detective
police, I would refuse to do it!
"And then the newspapers say that we took from these hands
Judas-money, dripping with human blood. No, gentlemen, it is a slander
which stabs our very soul, and inflicts insufferable pain. Not money,
nor threats, nor promises will suffice to make us mercenary murderers
of our brethren, nor accomplices with them."
"Never ... No ... No ... ," his comrades standing behind him began to
murmur.
"I will say more," the thief continued. "Many of us protected the
victims during this pogrom. Our friend, called Sesoi the Great--you
have just seen him, gentlemen--was then lodging with a Jewish
braid-maker on the Moldavanka. With a poker in his hands he defended
his landlord from a great horde of assassins. It is true, Sesoi the
Great is a man of enormous physical strength, and this is well known
to many of the inhabitants of the Moldavanka. But you must agree,
gentlemen, that in these moments Sesoi the Great looked straight into
the face of death. Our comrade Martin the Miner--this gentleman here"
--the orator pointed to a pale, bearded man with beautiful eyes who
was holding himself in the background--"saved an old Jewess, whom he
had never seen before, who was being pursued by a crowd of these
_canaille_. They broke his head with a crowbar for his pains, smashed
his arm in two places and splintered a rib. He is only just out of
hospital. That is the way our most ardent and determined members
acted. The others trembled for anger and wept for their own impotence.
"None of us will forget the horrors of those bloody days and bloody
nights lit up by the glare of fires, those sobbing women, those little
children's bodies torn to pieces and left lying in the street. But for
all that not one of us thinks that the police and the mob are the real
origin of the evil. These tiny, stupid, loathsome vermin are only a
senseless fist that is governed by a vile, calculating mind, moved by
a diabolical will.
"Yes, gentlemen," the orator continued, "we thieves have nevertheless
merited your legal contempt. But when you, noble gentlemen, need the
help of clever, brave, obedient men at the barricades, men who will be
ready to meet death with a song and a jest on their lips for the most
glorious word in the world--Freedom--will you cast us off then and
order us away because of an inveterate revulsion? Damn it all, the
first victim in the French Revolution was a prostitute. She jumped up
on to a barricade, with her skirt caught elegantly up into her hand
and called out: 'Which of you soldiers will dare to shoot a woman?'
Yes, by God." The orator exclaimed aloud and brought down his fist on
to the marble table top: "They killed her, but her action was
magnificent, and the beauty of her words immortal.
"If you should drive us away on the great day, we will turn to you and
say: 'You spotless Cherubim--if human thoughts had the power to wound,
kill, and rob man of honour and property, then which of you innocent
doves would not deserve the knout and imprisonment for life?' Then we
will go away from you and build our own gay, sporting, desperate
thieves' barricade, and will die with such united songs on our lips
that you will envy us, you who are whiter than snow!
"But I have been once more carried away. Forgive me. I am at the end.
You now see, gentlemen, what feelings the newspaper slanders have
excited in us. Believe in our sincerity and do what you can to remove
the filthy stain which has so unjustly been cast upon us. I have
finished."
He went away from the table and joined his comrades. The barristers
were whispering in an undertone, very much as the magistrates of the
bench at sessions. Then the chairman rose.
"We trust you absolutely, and we will make every effort to clear your
association of this most grievous charge. At the same time my
colleagues have authorised me, gentlemen, to convey to you their deep
respect for your passionate feelings as citizens. And for my own part
I ask the leader of the deputation for permission to shake him by the
hand."
The two men, both tall and serious, held each other's hands in a
strong, masculine grip.
The barristers were leaving the theatre; but four of them hung back a
little beside the clothes rack in the hall. Isaac Abramovich could not
find his new, smart grey hat anywhere. In its place on the wooden peg
hung a cloth cap jauntily flattened in on either side.
"Yasha!" The stern voice of the orator was suddenly heard from the
other side of the door. "Yasha! It's the last time I'll speak to you,
curse you! ... Do you hear?" The heavy door opened wide. The gentleman
in the sandy suit entered. In his hands he held Isaac Abramovich's
hat; on his face was a well-bred smile.
"Gentlemen, for Heaven's sake forgive us--an odd little
misunderstanding. One of our comrades exchanged his hat by accident...
Oh, it is yours! A thousand pardons. Doorkeeper! Why don't you keep an
eye on things, my good fellow, eh? Just give me that cap, there. Once
more, I ask you to forgive me, gentlemen."
With a pleasant bow and the same well-bred smile he made his way
quickly into the street.
BY ALEKSANDR I. KUPRIN
It was five o'clock on a July afternoon. The heat was terrible. The
whole of the huge stone-built town breathed out heat like a glowing
furnace. The glare of the white-walled house was insufferable. The
asphalt pavements grew soft and burned the feet. The shadows of the
acacias spread over the cobbled road, pitiful and weary. They too
seemed hot. The sea, pale in the sunlight, lay heavy and immobile as
one dead. Over the streets hung a white dust.
In the foyer of one of the private theatres a small committee of local
barristers who had undertaken to conduct the cases of those who had
suffered in the last pogrom against the Jews was reaching the end of
its daily task. There were nineteen of them, all juniors, young,
progressive and conscientious men. The sitting was without formality,
and white suits of duck, flannel and alpaca were in the majority. They
sat anywhere, at little marble tables, and the chairman stood in front
of an empty counter where chocolates were sold in the winter.
The barristers were quite exhausted by the heat which poured in
through the windows, with the dazzling sunlight and the noise of the
streets. The proceedings went lazily and with a certain irritation.
A tall young man with a fair moustache and thin hair was in the chair.
He was dreaming voluptuously how he would be off in an instant on his
new-bought bicycle to the bungalow. He would undress quickly, and
without waiting to cool, still bathed in sweat, would fling himself
into the clear, cold, sweet-smelling sea. His whole body was enervated
and tense, thrilled by the thought. Impatiently moving the papers
before him, he spoke in a drowsy voice.
"So, Joseph Moritzovich will conduct the case of Rubinchik... Perhaps
there is still a statement to be made on the order of the day?"
His youngest colleague, a short, stout Karaite, very black and lively,
said in a whisper so that every one could hear: "On the order of the
day, the best thing would be iced _kvas_..."
The chairman gave him a stern side-glance, but could not restrain a
smile. He sighed and put both his hands on the table to raise himself
and declare the meeting closed, when the doorkeeper, who stood at the
entrance to the theatre, suddenly moved forward and said: "There are
seven people outside, sir. They want to come in."
The chairman looked impatiently round the company.
"What is to be done, gentlemen?"
Voices were heard.
"Next time. _Basta!_"
"Let 'em put it in writing."
"If they'll get it over quickly... Decide it at once."
"Let 'em go to the devil. Phew! It's like boiling pitch."
"Let them in." The chairman gave a sign with his head, annoyed. "Then
bring me a Vichy, please. But it must be cold."
The porter opened the door and called down the corridor: "Come in.
They say you may."
Then seven of the most surprising and unexpected individuals filed
into the foyer. First appeared a full-grown, confident man in a smart
suit, of the colour of dry sea-sand, in a magnificent pink shirt with
white stripes and a crimson rose in his buttonhole. From the front his
head looked like an upright bean, from the side like a horizontal
bean. His face was adorned with a strong, bushy, martial moustache. He
wore dark blue pince-nez on his nose, on his hands straw-coloured
gloves. In his left hand he held a black walking-stick with a silver
mount, in his right a light blue handkerchief.
The other six produced a strange, chaotic, incongruous impression,
exactly as though they had all hastily pooled not merely their
clothes, but their hands, feet and heads as well. There was a man with
the splendid profile of a Roman senator, dressed in rags and tatters.
Another wore an elegant dress waistcoat, from the deep opening of
which a dirty Little-Russian shirt leapt to the eye. Here were the
unbalanced faces of the criminal type, but looking with a confidence
that nothing could shake. All these men, in spite of their apparent
youth, evidently possessed a large experience of life, an easy manner,
a bold approach, and some hidden, suspicious cunning.
The gentleman in the sandy suit bowed just his head, neatly and
easily, and said with a half-question in his voice: "Mr. Chairman?"
"Yes. I am the chairman. What is your business?"
"We--all whom you see before you," the gentleman began in a quiet
voice and turned round to indicate his companions, "we come as
delegates from the United Rostov-Kharkov-and-Odessa-Nikolayev
Association of Thieves."
The barristers began to shift in their seats.
The chairman flung himself back and opened his eyes wide. "Association
of _what_?" he said, perplexed.
"The Association of Thieves," the gentleman in the sandy suit coolly
repeated. "As for myself, my comrades did me the signal honour of
electing me as the spokesman of the deputation."
"Very ... pleased," the chairman said uncertainly.
"Thank you. All seven of us are ordinary thieves--naturally of
different departments. The Association has authorised us to put before
your esteemed Committee"--the gentleman again made an elegant
bow--"our respectful demand for assistance."
"I don't quite understand ... quite frankly ... what is the
connection..." The chairman waved his hands helplessly. "However,
please go on."
"The matter about which we have the courage and the honour to apply to
you, gentlemen, is very clear, very simple, and very brief. It will
take only six or seven minutes. I consider it my duty to warn you of
this beforehand, in view of the late hour and the 115 degrees that
Fahrenheit marks in the shade." The orator expectorated slightly and
glanced at his superb gold watch. "You see, in the reports that have
lately appeared in the local papers of the melancholy and terrible
days of the last pogrom, there have very often been indications that
among the instigators of the pogrom who were paid and organised by the
police--the dregs of society, consisting of drunkards, tramps,
souteneurs, and hooligans from the slums--thieves were also to be
found. At first we were silent, but finally we considered ourselves
under the necessity of protesting against such an unjust and serious
accusation, before the face of the whole of intellectual society. I
know well that in the eye of the law we are offenders and enemies of
society. But imagine only for a moment, gentlemen, the situation of
this enemy of society when he is accused wholesale of an offence which
he not only never committed, but which he is ready to resist with the
whole strength of his soul. It goes without saying that he will feel
the outrage of such an injustice more keenly than a normal, average,
fortunate citizen. Now, we declare that the accusation brought against
us is utterly devoid of all basis, not merely of fact but even of
logic. I intend to prove this in a few words if the honourable
committee will kindly listen."
"Proceed," said the chairman.
"Please do ... Please ..." was heard from the barristers, now
animated.
"I offer you my sincere thanks in the name of all my comrades. Believe
me, you will never repent your attention to the representatives of our
... well, let us say, slippery, but nevertheless difficult,
profession. 'So we begin,' as Giraldoni sings in the prologue to
_Pagliacci_.
"But first I would ask your permission, Mr. Chairman, to quench my
thirst a little... Porter, bring me a lemonade and a glass of English
bitter, there's a good fellow. Gentlemen, I will not speak of the
moral aspect of our profession nor of its social importance. Doubtless
you know better than I the striking and brilliant paradox of Proudhon:
_La propriete c'est le vol_--a paradox if you like, but one that has
never yet been refuted by the sermons of cowardly bourgeois or fat
priests. For instance: a father accumulates a million by energetic and
clever exploitation, and leaves it to his son--a rickety, lazy,
ignorant, degenerate idiot, a brainless maggot, a true parasite.
Potentially a million rubles is a million working days, the absolutely
irrational right to labour, sweat, life, and blood of a terrible
number of men. Why? What is the ground of reason? Utterly unknown.
Then why not agree with the proposition, gentlemen, that our
profession is to some extent as it were a correction of the excessive
accumulation of values in the hands of individuals, and serves as a
protest against all the hardships, abominations, arbitrariness,
violence, and negligence of the human personality, against all the
monstrosities created by the bourgeois capitalistic organisation of
modern society? Sooner or later, this order of things will assuredly
be overturned by the social revolution. Property will pass away into
the limbo of melancholy memories and with it, alas! we will disappear
from the face of the earth, we, _les braves chevaliers d'industrie_."
The orator paused to take the tray from the hands of the porter, and
placed it near to his hand on the table.
"Excuse me, gentlemen... Here, my good man, take this,... and by the
way, when you go out shut the door close behind you."
"Very good, your Excellency!" the porter bawled in jest.
The orator drank off half a glass and continued: "However, let us
leave aside the philosophical, social, and economic aspects of the
question. I do not wish to fatigue your attention. I must nevertheless
point out that our profession very closely approaches the idea of that
which is called art. Into it enter all the elements which go to form
art--vocation, inspiration, fantasy, inventiveness, ambition, and a
long and arduous apprenticeship to the science. From it is absent
virtue alone, concerning which the great Karamzin wrote with such
stupendous and fiery fascination. Gentlemen, nothing is further from
my intention than to trifle with you and waste your precious time with
idle paradoxes; but I cannot avoid expounding my idea briefly. To an
outsider's ear it sounds absurdly wild and ridiculous to speak of the
vocation of a thief. However, I venture to assure you that this
vocation is a reality. There are men who possess a peculiarly strong
visual memory, sharpness and accuracy of eye, presence of mind,
dexterity of hand, and above all a subtle sense of touch, who are as
it were born into God's world for the sole and special purpose of
becoming distinguished card-sharpers. The pickpockets' profession
demands extraordinary nimbleness and agility, a terrific certainty of
movement, not to mention a ready wit, a talent for observation and
strained attention. Some have a positive vocation for breaking open
safes: from their tenderest childhood they are attracted by the
mysteries of every kind of complicated mechanism--bicycles, sewing
machines, clock-work toys and watches. Finally, gentlemen, there are
people with an hereditary animus against private property. You may
call this phenomenon degeneracy. But I tell you that you cannot entice
a true thief, and thief by vocation, into the prose of honest
vegetation by any gingerbread reward, or by the offer of a secure
position, or by the gift of money, or by a woman's love: because there
is here a permanent beauty of risk, a fascinating abyss of danger, the
delightful sinking of the heart, the impetuous pulsation of life, the
ecstasy! You are armed with the protection of the law, by locks,
revolvers, telephones, police and soldiery; but we only by our own
dexterity, cunning and fearlessness. We are the foxes, and society--is
a chicken-run guarded by dogs. Are you aware that the most artistic
and gifted natures in our villages become horse-thieves and poachers?
What would you have? Life is so meagre, so insipid, so intolerably
dull to eager and high-spirited souls!
"I pass on to inspiration. Gentlemen, doubtless you have had to read
of thefts that were supernatural in design and execution. In the
headlines of the newspapers they are called 'An Amazing Robbery,' or
'An Ingenious Swindle,' or again 'A Clever Ruse of the Gangsters.' In
such cases our bourgeois paterfamilias waves his hands and exclaims:
'What a terrible thing! If only their abilities were turned to
good--their inventiveness, their amazing knowledge of human
psychology, their self-possession, their fearlessness, their
incomparable histrionic powers! What extraordinary benefits they would
bring to the country!' But it is well known that the bourgeois
paterfamilias was specially devised by Heaven to utter commonplaces
and trivialities. I myself sometimes--we thieves are sentimental
people, I confess--I myself sometimes admire a beautiful sunset in
Aleksandra Park or by the sea-shore. And I am always certain
beforehand that some one near me will say with infallible _aplomb_:
'Look at it. If it were put into picture no one would ever believe
it!' I turn round and naturally I see a self-satisfied, full-fed
paterfamilias, who delights in repeating some one else's silly
statement as though it were his own. As for our dear country, the
bourgeois paterfamilias looks upon it as though it were a roast
turkey. If you've managed to cut the best part of the bird for
yourself, eat it quietly in a comfortable corner and praise God. But
he's not really the important person. I was led away by my detestation
of vulgarity and I apologise for the digression. The real point is
that genius and inspiration, even when they are not devoted to the
service of the Orthodox Church, remain rare and beautiful things.
Progress is a law--and theft too has its creation.
"Finally, our profession is by no means as easy and pleasant as it
seems to the first glance. It demands long experience, constant
practice, slow and painful apprenticeship. It comprises in itself
hundreds of supple, skilful processes that the cleverest juggler
cannot compass. That I may not give you only empty words, gentlemen, I
will perform a few experiments before you now. I ask you to have every
confidence in the demonstrators. We are all at present in the
enjoyment of legal freedom, and though we are usually watched, and
every one of us is known by face, and our photographs adorn the albums
of all detective departments, for the time being we are not under the
necessity of hiding ourselves from anybody. If any one of you should
recognise any of us in the future under different circumstances, we
ask you earnestly always to act in accordance with your professional
duties and your obligations as citizens. In grateful return for your
kind attention we have decided to declare your property inviolable,
and to invest it with a thieves' taboo. However, I proceed to
business."
The orator turned round and gave an order: "Sesoi the Great, will you
come this way!"
An enormous fellow with a stoop, whose hands reached to his knees,
without a forehead or a neck, like a big, fair Hercules, came forward.
He grinned stupidly and rubbed his left eyebrow in his confusion.
"Can't do nothin' here," he said hoarsely.
The gentleman in the sandy suit spoke for him, turning to the
committee.
"Gentlemen, before you stands a respected member of our association.
His specialty is breaking open safes, iron strong boxes, and other
receptacles for monetary tokens. In his night work he sometimes avails
himself of the electric current of the lighting installation for
fusing metals. Unfortunately he has nothing on which he can
demonstrate the best items of his repertoire. He will open the most
elaborate lock irreproachably... By the way, this door here, it's
locked, is it not?"
Every one turned to look at the door, on which a printed notice hung:
"Stage Door. Strictly Private."
"Yes, the door's locked, evidently," the chairman agreed.
"Admirable. Sesoi the Great, will you be so kind?"
"'Tain't nothin' at all," said the giant leisurely.
He went close to the door, shook it cautiously with his hand, took out
of his pocket a small bright instrument, bent down to the keyhole,
made some almost imperceptible movements with the tool, suddenly
straightened and flung the door wide in silence. The chairman had his
watch in his hands. The whole affair took only ten seconds.
"Thank you, Sesoi the Great," said the gentleman in the sandy suit
politely. "You may go back to your seat."
But the chairman interrupted in some alarm: "Excuse me. This is all
very interesting and instructive, but ... is it included in your
esteemed colleague's profession to be able to lock the door again?"
"Ah, _mille pardons_." The gentleman bowed hurriedly. "It slipped my
mind. Sesoi the Great, would you oblige?"
The door was locked with the same adroitness and the same silence. The
esteemed colleague waddled back to his friends, grinning.
"Now I will have the honour to show you the skill of one of our
comrades who is in the line of picking pockets in theatres and
railway-stations," continued the orator. "He is still very young, but
you may to some extent judge from the delicacy of his present work of
the heights he will attain by diligence. Yasha!" A swarthy youth in a
blue silk blouse and long glace boots, like a gipsy, came forward with
a swagger, fingering the tassels of his belt, and merrily screwing up
his big, impudent black eyes with yellow whites.
"Gentlemen," said the gentleman in the sandy suit persuasively, "I
must ask if one of you would be kind enough to submit himself to a
little experiment. I assure you this will be an exhibition only, just
a game."
He looked round over the seated company.
The short plump Karaite, black as a beetle, came forward from his
table.
"At your service," he said amusedly.
"Yasha!" The orator signed with his head.
Yasha came close to the solicitor. On his left arm, which was bent,
hung a bright-coloured, figured scarf.
"Suppose yer in church or at the bar in one of the halls,--or watchin'
a circus," he began in a sugary, fluent voice. "I see straight
off--there's a toff... Excuse me, sir. Suppose you're the toff.
There's no offence--just means a rich gent, decent enough, but don't
know his way about. First--what's he likely to have about 'im? All
sorts. Mostly, a ticker and a chain. Whereabouts does he keep 'em?
Somewhere in his top vest pocket--here. Others have 'em in the bottom
pocket. Just here. Purse--most always in the trousers, except when a
greeny keeps it in his jacket. Cigar-case. Have a look first what it
is--gold, silver--with a monogram. Leather--what decent man'd soil his
hands? Cigar-case. Seven pockets: here, here, here, up there, there,
here and here again. That's right, ain't it? That's how you go to
work."
As he spoke the young man smiled. His eyes shone straight into the
barrister's. With a quick, dexterous movement of his right hand he
pointed to various portions of his clothes.
"Then again you might see a pin here in the tie. However we do not
appropriate. Such _gents_ nowadays--they hardly ever wear a real
stone. Then I comes up to him. I begin straight off to talk to him
like a gent: 'Sir, would you be so kind as to give me a light from
your cigarette'--or something of the sort. At any rate, I enter into
conversation. What's next? I look him straight in the peepers, just
like this. Only two of me fingers are at it--just this and this."
Yasha lifted two fingers of his right hand on a level with the
solicitor's face, the forefinger and the middle finger and moved them
about.
"D' you see? With these two fingers I run over the whole pianner.
Nothin' wonderful in it: one, two, three--ready. Any man who wasn't
stupid could learn easily. That's all it is. Most ordinary business. I
thank you."
The pickpocket swung on his heel as if to return to his seat.
"Yasha!" The gentleman in the sandy suit said with meaning weight.
"Yasha!" he repeated sternly.
Yasha stopped. His back was turned to the barrister, but be evidently
gave his representative an imploring look, because the latter frowned
and shook his head.
"Yasha!" he said for the third time, in a threatening tone.
"Huh!" The young thief grunted in vexation and turned to face the
solicitor. "Where's your little watch, sir?" he said in a piping
voice.
"Oh!" the Karaite brought himself up sharp.
"You see--now you say 'Oh!'" Yasha continued reproachfully. "All the
while you were admiring me right hand, I was operatin' yer watch with
my left. Just with these two little fingers, under the scarf. That's
why we carry a scarf. Since your chain's not worth anything--a present
from some _mamselle_ and the watch is a gold one, I've left you the
chain as a keepsake. Take it," he added with a sigh, holding out the
watch.
"But ... That is clever," the barrister said in confusion. "I didn't
notice it at all."
"That's our business," Yasha said with pride.
He swaggered back to his comrades. Meantime the orator took a drink
from his glass and continued.
"Now, gentlemen, our next collaborator will give you an exhibition of
some ordinary card tricks, which are worked at fairs, on steamboats
and railways. With three cards, for instance, an ace, a queen, and a
six, he can quite easily... But perhaps you are tired of these
demonstrations, gentlemen."...
"Not at all. It's extremely interesting," the chairman answered
affably. "I should like to ask one question--that is if it is not too
indiscreet--what is your own specialty?"
"Mine... H'm... No, how could it be an indiscretion?... I work the big
diamond shops ... and my other business is banks," answered the orator
with a modest smile. "Don't think this occupation is easier than
others. Enough that I know four European languages, German, French,
English, and Italian, not to mention Polish, Ukrainian and Yiddish.
But shall I show you some more experiments, Mr. Chairman?"
The chairman looked at his watch.
"Unfortunately the time is too short," he said. "Wouldn't it be better
to pass on to the substance of your business? Besides, the experiments
we have just seen have amply convinced us of the talent of your
esteemed associates... Am I not right, Isaac Abramovich?"
"Yes, yes ... absolutely," the Karaite barrister readily confirmed.
"Admirable," the gentleman in the sandy suit kindly agreed. "My dear
Count"--he turned to a blond, curly-haired man, with a face like a
billiard-maker on a bank-holiday--"put your instruments away. They
will not be wanted. I have only a few words more to say, gentlemen.
Now that you have convinced yourselves that our art, although it does
not enjoy the patronage of high-placed individuals, is nevertheless an
art; and you have probably come to my opinion that this art is one
which demands many personal qualities besides constant labour, danger,
and unpleasant misunderstandings--you will also, I hope, believe that
it is possible to become attached to its practice and to love and
esteem it, however strange that may appear at first sight. Picture to
yourselves that a famous poet of talent, whose tales and poems adorn
the pages of our best magazines, is suddenly offered the chance of
writing verses at a penny a line, signed into the bargain, as an
advertisement for 'Cigarettes Jasmine'--or that a slander was spread
about one of you distinguished barristers, accusing you of making a
business of concocting evidence for divorce cases, or of writing
petitions from the cabmen to the governor in public-houses! Certainly
your relatives, friends and acquaintances wouldn't believe it. But the
rumour has already done its poisonous work, and you have to live
through minutes of torture. Now picture to yourselves that such a
disgraceful and vexatious slander, started by God knows whom, begins
to threaten not only your good name and your quiet digestion, but your
freedom, your health, and even your life!
"This is the position of us thieves, now being slandered by the
newspapers. I must explain. There is in existence a class of
scum--_passez-moi le mot_--whom we call their 'Mothers' Darlings.'
With these we are unfortunately confused. They have neither shame nor
conscience, a dissipated riff-raff, mothers' useless darlings, idle,
clumsy drones, shop assistants who commit unskilful thefts. He thinks
nothing of living on his mistress, a prostitute, like the male
mackerel, who always swims after the female and lives on her
excrements. He is capable of robbing a child with violence in a dark
alley, in order to get a penny; he will kill a man in his sleep and
torture an old woman. These men are the pests of our profession. For
them the beauties and the traditions of the art have no existence.
They watch us real, talented thieves like a pack of jackals after a
lion. Suppose I've managed to bring off an important job--we won't
mention the fact that I have to leave two-thirds of what I get to the
receivers who sell the goods and discount the notes, or the customary
subsidies to our incorruptible police--I still have to share out
something to each one of these parasites, who have got wind of my job,
by accident, hearsay, or a casual glance.
"So we call them _Motients_, which means 'half,' a corruption of
_moitie_ ... Original etymology. I pay him only because he knows and
may inform against me. And it mostly happens that even when he's got
his share he runs off to the police in order to get another dollar.
We, honest thieves... Yes, you may laugh, gentlemen, but I repeat it:
we honest thieves detest these reptiles. We have another name for
them, a stigma of ignominy; but I dare not utter it here out of
respect for the place and for my audience. Oh, yes, they would gladly
accept an invitation to a pogrom. The thought that we may be confused
with them is a hundred times more insulting to us even than the
accusation of taking part in a pogrom.
"Gentlemen! While I have been speaking I have often noticed smiles on
your faces. I understand you. Our presence here, our application for
your assistance, and above all the unexpectedness of such a phenomenon
as a systematic organisation of thieves, with delegates who are
thieves, and a leader of the deputation, also a thief by
profession--it is all so original that it must inevitably arouse a
smile. But now I will speak from the depth of my heart. Let us be rid
of our outward wrappings, gentlemen, let us speak as men to men.
"Almost all of us are educated, and all love books. We don't only read
the adventures of Roqueambole, as the realistic writers say of us. Do
you think our hearts did not bleed and our cheeks did not burn from
shame, as though we had been slapped in the face, all the time that
this unfortunate, disgraceful, accursed, cowardly war lasted. Do you
really think that our souls do not flame with anger when our country
is lashed with Cossack-whips, and trodden under foot, shot and spit at
by mad, exasperated men? Will you not believe that we thieves meet
every step towards the liberation to come with a thrill of ecstasy?
"We understand, every one of us--perhaps only a little less than you
barristers, gentlemen--the real sense of the pogroms. Every time that
some dastardly event or some ignominious failure has occurred, after
executing a martyr in a dark corner of a fortress, or after deceiving
public confidence, some one who is hidden and unapproachable gets
frightened of the people's anger and diverts its vicious element upon
the heads of innocent Jews. Whose diabolical mind invents these
pogroms--these titanic blood-lettings, these cannibal amusements for
the dark, bestial souls?
"We all see with certain clearness that the last convulsions of the
bureaucracy are at hand. Forgive me if I present it imaginatively.
There was a people that had a chief temple, wherein dwelt a
bloodthirsty deity, behind a curtain, guarded by priests. Once
fearless hands tore the curtain away. Then all the people saw, instead
of a god, a huge, shaggy, voracious spider, like a loathsome
cuttlefish. They beat it and shoot at it: it is dismembered already;
but still in the frenzy of its final agony it stretches over all the
ancient temple its disgusting, clawing tentacles. And the priests,
themselves under sentence of death, push into the monster's grasp all
whom they can seize in their terrified, trembling fingers.
"Forgive me. What I have said is probably wild and incoherent. But I
am somewhat agitated. Forgive me. I continue. We thieves by profession
know better than any one else how these pogroms were organised. We
wander everywhere: into public houses, markets, tea-shops,
doss-houses, public places, the harbour. We can swear before God and
man and posterity that we have seen how the police organise the
massacres, without shame and almost without concealment. We know them
all by face, in uniform or disguise. They invited many of us to take
part; but there was none so vile among us as to give even the outward
consent that fear might have extorted.
"You know, of course, how the various strata of Russian society behave
towards the police? It is not even respected by those who avail
themselves of its dark services. But we despise and hate it three, ten
times more--not because many of us have been tortured in the detective
departments, which are just chambers of horror, beaten almost to
death, beaten with whips of ox-hide and of rubber in order to extort a
confession or to make us betray a comrade. Yes, we hate them for that
too. But we thieves, all of us who have been in prison, have a mad
passion for freedom. Therefore we despise our gaolers with all the
hatred that a human heart can feel. I will speak for myself. I have
been tortured three times by police detectives till I was half dead.
My lungs and liver have been shattered. In the mornings I spit blood
until I can breathe no more. But if I were told that I will be spared
a fourth flogging only by shaking hands with a chief of the detective
police, I would refuse to do it!
"And then the newspapers say that we took from these hands
Judas-money, dripping with human blood. No, gentlemen, it is a slander
which stabs our very soul, and inflicts insufferable pain. Not money,
nor threats, nor promises will suffice to make us mercenary murderers
of our brethren, nor accomplices with them."
"Never ... No ... No ... ," his comrades standing behind him began to
murmur.
"I will say more," the thief continued. "Many of us protected the
victims during this pogrom. Our friend, called Sesoi the Great--you
have just seen him, gentlemen--was then lodging with a Jewish
braid-maker on the Moldavanka. With a poker in his hands he defended
his landlord from a great horde of assassins. It is true, Sesoi the
Great is a man of enormous physical strength, and this is well known
to many of the inhabitants of the Moldavanka. But you must agree,
gentlemen, that in these moments Sesoi the Great looked straight into
the face of death. Our comrade Martin the Miner--this gentleman here"
--the orator pointed to a pale, bearded man with beautiful eyes who
was holding himself in the background--"saved an old Jewess, whom he
had never seen before, who was being pursued by a crowd of these
_canaille_. They broke his head with a crowbar for his pains, smashed
his arm in two places and splintered a rib. He is only just out of
hospital. That is the way our most ardent and determined members
acted. The others trembled for anger and wept for their own impotence.
"None of us will forget the horrors of those bloody days and bloody
nights lit up by the glare of fires, those sobbing women, those little
children's bodies torn to pieces and left lying in the street. But for
all that not one of us thinks that the police and the mob are the real
origin of the evil. These tiny, stupid, loathsome vermin are only a
senseless fist that is governed by a vile, calculating mind, moved by
a diabolical will.
"Yes, gentlemen," the orator continued, "we thieves have nevertheless
merited your legal contempt. But when you, noble gentlemen, need the
help of clever, brave, obedient men at the barricades, men who will be
ready to meet death with a song and a jest on their lips for the most
glorious word in the world--Freedom--will you cast us off then and
order us away because of an inveterate revulsion? Damn it all, the
first victim in the French Revolution was a prostitute. She jumped up
on to a barricade, with her skirt caught elegantly up into her hand
and called out: 'Which of you soldiers will dare to shoot a woman?'
Yes, by God." The orator exclaimed aloud and brought down his fist on
to the marble table top: "They killed her, but her action was
magnificent, and the beauty of her words immortal.
"If you should drive us away on the great day, we will turn to you and
say: 'You spotless Cherubim--if human thoughts had the power to wound,
kill, and rob man of honour and property, then which of you innocent
doves would not deserve the knout and imprisonment for life?' Then we
will go away from you and build our own gay, sporting, desperate
thieves' barricade, and will die with such united songs on our lips
that you will envy us, you who are whiter than snow!
"But I have been once more carried away. Forgive me. I am at the end.
You now see, gentlemen, what feelings the newspaper slanders have
excited in us. Believe in our sincerity and do what you can to remove
the filthy stain which has so unjustly been cast upon us. I have
finished."
He went away from the table and joined his comrades. The barristers
were whispering in an undertone, very much as the magistrates of the
bench at sessions. Then the chairman rose.
"We trust you absolutely, and we will make every effort to clear your
association of this most grievous charge. At the same time my
colleagues have authorised me, gentlemen, to convey to you their deep
respect for your passionate feelings as citizens. And for my own part
I ask the leader of the deputation for permission to shake him by the
hand."
The two men, both tall and serious, held each other's hands in a
strong, masculine grip.
The barristers were leaving the theatre; but four of them hung back a
little beside the clothes rack in the hall. Isaac Abramovich could not
find his new, smart grey hat anywhere. In its place on the wooden peg
hung a cloth cap jauntily flattened in on either side.
"Yasha!" The stern voice of the orator was suddenly heard from the
other side of the door. "Yasha! It's the last time I'll speak to you,
curse you! ... Do you hear?" The heavy door opened wide. The gentleman
in the sandy suit entered. In his hands he held Isaac Abramovich's
hat; on his face was a well-bred smile.
"Gentlemen, for Heaven's sake forgive us--an odd little
misunderstanding. One of our comrades exchanged his hat by accident...
Oh, it is yours! A thousand pardons. Doorkeeper! Why don't you keep an
eye on things, my good fellow, eh? Just give me that cap, there. Once
more, I ask you to forgive me, gentlemen."
With a pleasant bow and the same well-bred smile he made his way
quickly into the street.
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