Alice's Adventure In Wonderland, Lewis Carroll [bearly read books txt] 📗

they repeated their arguments to her, though, as they

all spoke at once, she found it very hard indeed to make out exactly

what they said.

The executioner’s argument was, that you couldn’t cut off a head unless

there was a body to cut it off from: that he had never had to do such a

thing before, and he wasn’t going to begin at _his_ time of life.

The King’s argument was, that anything that had a head could be

beheaded, and that you weren’t to talk nonsense.

The Queen’s argument was, that if something wasn’t done about it in

less than no time she’d have everybody executed, all round. (It was

this last remark that had made the whole party look so grave and

anxious.)

Alice could think of nothing else to say but “It belongs to the

Duchess: you’d better ask _her_ about it.”

“She’s in prison,” the Queen said to the executioner: “fetch her here.”

And the executioner went off like an arrow.

The Cat’s head began fading away the moment he was gone, and, by the

time he had come back with the Duchess, it had entirely disappeared; so

the King and the executioner ran wildly up and down looking for it,

while the rest of the party went back to the game.

CHAPTER IX.

The Mock Turtle’s Story

“You can’t think how glad I am to see you again, you dear old thing!”

said the Duchess, as she tucked her arm affectionately into Alice’s,

and they walked off together.

Alice was very glad to find her in such a pleasant temper, and thought

to herself that perhaps it was only the pepper that had made her so

savage when they met in the kitchen.

“When _I’m_ a Duchess,” she said to herself, (not in a very hopeful

tone though), “I won’t have any pepper in my kitchen _at all_. Soup

does very well without—Maybe it’s always pepper that makes people

hot-tempered,” she went on, very much pleased at having found out a new

kind of rule, “and vinegar that makes them sour—and camomile that makes

them bitter—and—and barley-sugar and such things that make children

sweet-tempered. I only wish people knew _that_: then they wouldn’t be

so stingy about it, you know—”

She had quite forgotten the Duchess by this time, and was a little

startled when she heard her voice close to her ear. “You’re thinking

about something, my dear, and that makes you forget to talk. I can’t

tell you just now what the moral of that is, but I shall remember it in

a bit.”

“Perhaps it hasn’t one,” Alice ventured to remark.

“Tut, tut, child!” said the Duchess. “Everything’s got a moral, if only

you can find it.” And she squeezed herself up closer to Alice’s side as

she spoke.

Alice did not much like keeping so close to her: first, because the

Duchess was _very_ ugly; and secondly, because she was exactly the

right height to rest her chin upon Alice’s shoulder, and it was an

uncomfortably sharp chin. However, she did not like to be rude, so she

bore it as well as she could.

“The game’s going on rather better now,” she said, by way of keeping up

the conversation a little.

“’Tis so,” said the Duchess: “and the moral of that is—‘Oh, ’tis love,

’tis love, that makes the world go round!’”

“Somebody said,” Alice whispered, “that it’s done by everybody minding

their own business!”

“Ah, well! It means much the same thing,” said the Duchess, digging her

sharp little chin into Alice’s shoulder as she added, “and the moral of

_that_ is—‘Take care of the sense, and the sounds will take care of

themselves.’”

“How fond she is of finding morals in things!” Alice thought to

herself.

“I dare say you’re wondering why I don’t put my arm round your waist,”

the Duchess said after a pause: “the reason is, that I’m doubtful about

the temper of your flamingo. Shall I try the experiment?”

“He might bite,” Alice cautiously replied, not feeling at all anxious

to have the experiment tried.

“Very true,” said the Duchess: “flamingoes and mustard both bite. And

the moral of that is—‘Birds of a feather flock together.’”

“Only mustard isn’t a bird,” Alice remarked.

“Right, as usual,” said the Duchess: “what a clear way you have of

putting things!”

“It’s a mineral, I _think_,” said Alice.

“Of course it is,” said the Duchess, who seemed ready to agree to

everything that Alice said; “there’s a large mustard-mine near here.

And the moral of that is—‘The more there is of mine, the less there is

of yours.’”

“Oh, I know!” exclaimed Alice, who had not attended to this last

remark, “it’s a vegetable. It doesn’t look like one, but it is.”

“I quite agree with you,” said the Duchess; “and the moral of that

is—‘Be what you would seem to be’—or if you’d like it put more

simply—‘Never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might

appear to others that what you were or might have been was not

otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be

otherwise.’”

“I think I should understand that better,” Alice said very politely,

“if I had it written down: but I can’t quite follow it as you say it.”

“That’s nothing to what I could say if I chose,” the Duchess replied,

in a pleased tone.

“Pray don’t trouble yourself to say it any longer than that,” said

Alice.

“Oh, don’t talk about trouble!” said the Duchess. “I make you a present

of everything I’ve said as yet.”

“A cheap sort of present!” thought Alice. “I’m glad they don’t give

birthday presents like that!” But she did not venture to say it out

loud.

“Thinking again?” the Duchess asked, with another dig of her sharp

little chin.

“I’ve a right to think,” said Alice sharply, for she was beginning to

feel a little worried.

“Just about as much right,” said the Duchess, “as pigs have to fly; and

the m—”

But here, to Alice’s great surprise, the Duchess’s voice died away,

even in the middle of her favourite word ‘moral,’ and the arm that was

linked into hers began to tremble. Alice looked up, and there stood the

Queen in front of them, with her arms folded, frowning like a

thunderstorm.

“A fine day, your Majesty!” the Duchess began in a low, weak voice.

“Now, I give you fair warning,” shouted the Queen, stamping on the

ground as she spoke; “either you or your head must be off, and that in

about half no time! Take your choice!”

The Duchess took her choice, and was gone in a moment.

“Let’s go on with the game,” the Queen said to Alice; and Alice was too

much frightened to say a word, but slowly followed her back to the

croquet-ground.

The other guests had taken advantage of the Queen’s absence, and were

resting in the shade: however, the moment they saw her, they hurried

back to the game, the Queen merely remarking that a moment’s delay

would cost them their lives.

All the time they were playing the Queen never left off quarrelling

with the other players, and shouting “Off with his head!” or “Off with

her head!” Those whom she sentenced were taken into custody by the

soldiers, who of course had to leave off being arches to do this, so

that by the end of half an hour or so there were no arches left, and

all the players, except the King, the Queen, and Alice, were in custody

and under sentence of execution.

Then the Queen left off, quite out of breath, and said to Alice, “Have

you seen the Mock Turtle yet?”

“No,” said Alice. “I don’t even know what a Mock Turtle is.”

“It’s the thing Mock Turtle Soup is made from,” said the Queen.

“I never saw one, or heard of one,” said Alice.

“Come on, then,” said the Queen, “and he shall tell you his history,”

As they walked off together, Alice heard the King say in a low voice,

to the company generally, “You are all pardoned.” “Come, _that’s_ a

good thing!” she said to herself, for she had felt quite unhappy at the

number of executions the Queen had ordered.

They very soon came upon a Gryphon, lying fast asleep in the sun. (If

you don’t know what a Gryphon is, look at the picture.) “Up, lazy

thing!” said the Queen, “and take this young lady to see the Mock

Turtle, and to hear his history. I must go back and see after some

executions I have ordered;” and she walked off, leaving Alice alone

with the Gryphon. Alice did not quite like the look of the creature,

but on the whole she thought it would be quite as safe to stay with it

as to go after that savage Queen: so she waited.

The Gryphon sat up and rubbed its eyes: then it watched the Queen till

she was out of sight: then it chuckled. “What fun!” said the Gryphon,

half to itself, half to Alice.

“What _is_ the fun?” said Alice.

“Why, _she_,” said the Gryphon. “It’s all her fancy, that: they never

executes nobody, you know. Come on!”

“Everybody says ‘come on!’ here,” thought Alice, as she went slowly

after it: “I never was so ordered about in all my life, never!”

They had not gone far before they saw the Mock Turtle in the distance,

sitting sad and lonely on a little ledge of rock, and, as they came

nearer, Alice could hear him sighing as if his heart would break. She

pitied him deeply. “What is his sorrow?” she asked the Gryphon, and the

Gryphon answered, very nearly in the same words as before, “It’s all

his fancy, that: he hasn’t got no sorrow, you know. Come on!”

So they went up to the Mock Turtle, who looked at them with large eyes

full of tears, but said nothing.

“This here young lady,” said the Gryphon, “she wants for to know your

history, she do.”

“I’ll tell it her,” said the Mock Turtle in a deep, hollow tone: “sit

down, both of you, and don’t speak a word till I’ve finished.”

So they sat down, and nobody spoke for some minutes. Alice thought to

herself, “I don’t see how he can _ever_ finish, if he doesn’t begin.”

But she waited patiently.

“Once,” said the Mock Turtle at last, with a deep sigh, “I was a real

Turtle.”

These words were followed by a very long silence, broken only by an

occasional exclamation of “Hjckrrh!” from the Gryphon, and the constant

heavy sobbing of the Mock Turtle. Alice was very nearly getting up and

saying, “Thank you, sir, for your interesting story,” but she could not

help thinking there _must_ be more to come, so she sat still and said

nothing.

“When we were little,” the Mock Turtle went on at last, more calmly,

though still sobbing a little now and then, “we went to school in the

sea. The master was an old Turtle—we used to call him Tortoise—”

“Why did you call him Tortoise, if he wasn’t one?” Alice asked.

“We called him Tortoise because he taught us,” said the Mock Turtle

angrily: “really you are very dull!”

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself for asking such a simple

question,” added the Gryphon; and then they both sat silent and looked

at poor Alice, who felt ready to sink into the earth. At last the

Gryphon said to the Mock Turtle, “Drive on, old fellow! Don’t be all

day about it!” and he went on in these words:

“Yes, we went to school in the sea, though you mayn’t believe it—”

“I never said I didn’t!” interrupted Alice.

“You did,” said the Mock Turtle.

“Hold your tongue!” added the Gryphon, before Alice could speak again.

The Mock Turtle went on.

“We had the best of educations—in fact, we went to school every day—”

“_I’ve_ been to a day-school, too,” said Alice; “you needn’t be so

proud as all that.”

“With extras?” asked the Mock Turtle a little anxiously.

“Yes,” said Alice, “we learned French and music.”

“And washing?” said the Mock Turtle.

“Certainly not!” said Alice indignantly.

“Ah! then yours wasn’t a really good school,” said the Mock Turtle in a

tone of great relief. “Now at _ours_ they had at the end of the bill,

‘French, music, _and washing_—extra.’”

“You couldn’t have wanted it much,” said Alice; “living at the bottom

of the sea.”

“I couldn’t afford to learn it.” said the Mock Turtle with a sigh. “I

only took the regular course.”

“What was that?” inquired Alice.

“Reeling and Writhing, of course, to begin with,” the Mock Turtle

replied; “and then the different branches of Arithmetic—Ambition,

Distraction, Uglification, and Derision.”

“I never heard of ‘Uglification,’” Alice ventured to say. “What is it?”

The Gryphon lifted up both its paws in surprise. “What! Never heard of

uglifying!” it exclaimed. “You know what to beautify is, I suppose?”

“Yes,” said Alice doubtfully: “it means—to—make—anything—prettier.”

“Well, then,” the Gryphon went on, “if you don’t know what to uglify

is, you _are_ a simpleton.”

Alice did not feel encouraged to ask any more questions about it, so

she turned to the Mock Turtle, and said “What else had you to learn?”

“Well, there was Mystery,” the Mock Turtle replied, counting off the

subjects on his flappers, “—Mystery, ancient and modern, with

Seaography: then Drawling—the Drawling-master was an old conger-eel,

that used to come once a week: _he_ taught us Drawling, Stretching, and

Fainting in Coils.”

“What was _that_ like?” said Alice.

“Well, I can’t show it you myself,” the Mock Turtle said: “I’m too

stiff. And the Gryphon never learnt it.”

“Hadn’t time,” said the Gryphon: “I went to the Classics master,

though. He was an old crab, _he_ was.”

“I never went to him,” the Mock Turtle said with a sigh: “he taught

Laughing and Grief, they used to say.”

“So he did, so he did,” said the Gryphon, sighing in his turn; and both

creatures hid their faces in their paws.

“And how many hours a day did you do lessons?” said Alice, in a hurry

to change the subject.

“Ten hours the first day,” said the Mock Turtle: “nine the next, and so

on.”

“What a curious