Complete Works of Lewis Carroll (273 page)

It is hard to tell what he had in mind when he wrote of this deed of daring—for such it was.
Possibly, St.
George and the Dragon inspired him, and like the best of preachers he turned his sermon into wholesome nonsense.
The Jabberwock itself was a most awe-inspiring creature, and Tenniel’s drawing is most deliciously blood-curdling; half-snake, half-dragon, with “jaws that bite and claws that scratch,” it is yet saved from being utterly terrible by having some nice homely looking buttons on his waistcoat and upon his three-clawed feet, something very near akin to shoes.

The anxious father bids his brave son good-bye, little dreaming that he will see him again.

 “Beware the Jubjub bird—and shun

The frumious Bandersnatch”

are his last warning words, mostly “portmanteau” words, if one takes the time to puzzle them out.
Then the brave boy goes forth into the “tulgey wood” and stands in “uffish thought” until with a “whiffling” sound the “burbling” Jabberwock is upon him.

Oh, the excitement of that moment when the “vorpal” sword went “snicker-snack” through the writhing neck of the monster!
Then one can properly imagine the youth galloping in triumph (hence the “portmanteau” word “galumphing,” the first syllable of gallop and the last syllable of triumph) back to the proud papa, who says: “Come to my arms, my ‘beamish boy’ ...
and ‘chortles in his joy,’” But all the time these wonderful things are happening, just around the corner, as it were, the “toves” and the “borogoves” and the “mome raths” were pursuing their never-ending warfare on the hillside, saying, with Tennyson’s
Brook
:

“Men may come and men may go—

But
we
go on forever,”

no matter how many “Jabberwocks” are slain nor how many “beamish boys” take their “vorpal swords in hand.”

In preparing the second “Alice” book for publication, Lewis Carroll’s first idea was to use the “Jabberwocky” illustration as a frontispiece, but, in spite of the reassuring buttons and shoes, he was afraid younger children might be “scared off” from the real enjoyment of the book.
So he wrote to about thirty mothers of small children asking their advice on the matter; they evidently voted against it, for, as we all know, the
White Knight
on his horse with its many trappings, with
Alice
walking beside him through the woods, was the final selection, and the smallest child has grown to love the silly old fellow who tumbled off his steed every two minutes, and did many other dear, ridiculous things that only children could appreciate.

Looking-glass walking puzzled
Alice
at first quite as much as looking-glass writing or reading.
If she tried to walk downstairs in the looking-glass house “she just kept the tips of her fingers on the hand rail and floated gently down, without even touching the stairs with her feet.”
Then when she tried to climb to the top of the hill to get a peep into the garden, she found that she was always going backwards and in at the front door again.
Finally, after many attempts, she reached the wished-for spot, and found herself among a talkative cluster of flowers, who all began to criticise her in the most impertinent way.

“Oh, Tiger-lily!”
said Alice, addressing herself to one that was waving gracefully about in the wind, “I
wish
you could talk!”

“We can talk,” said the Tiger-lily, “when there’s anybody worth talking to” ...
At length, as the Tiger-lily went on waving about, she spoke again in a timid voice, almost in a whisper:

“And can
all
the flowers talk?”

“As well as
you
can,” said the Tiger-lily, “and a great deal louder.”

“It isn’t manners for us to begin, you know,” said the Rose, “and I really was wondering when you’d speak!
Said I to myself, ‘Her face has got
some
sense in it though it’s not a clever one!’
Still you’ve the right colour and that goes a long way.”

“I don’t care about the colour,” the Tiger-lily remarked.
“If only her petals curled up a little more, she’d be all right.”

Alice didn’t like being criticised, so she began asking questions:

“Aren’t you sometimes frightened at being planted out here with nobody to take care of you?”

“There’s the tree in the middle,” said the Rose.
“What else is it good for?”

“But what could it do if any danger came?”
Alice asked.

“It could bark,” said the Rose.

“It says ‘bough-wough’,” cried a Daisy.
“That’s why its branches are called boughs.”

“Didn’t you know that?”
cried another Daisy.
And here they all began shouting together.

Lewis Carroll loved this play upon words, and children, strange to say, loved it too, and were quick to see the point of his puns.
The
Red Queen
, whom
Alice
met shortly after this, was a most dictatorial person.

“Where do you come from?”
she asked, “and where are you going?
Look up, speak nicely, and don’t twiddle your fingers all the time.”

Alice attended to all these directions, and explained as well as she could that she had lost her way.

“I don’t know what you mean by
your
way,” said the Queen.
“All the ways about here belong to
me
, but why did you come out here at all?”
she added in a kinder tone.
“Curtsey while you’re thinking what to say.
It saves time.”

Alice wondered a little at this, but she was too much in awe of the Queen to disbelieve it.

“I’ll try it when I go home,” she thought to herself, “the next time I’m a little late for dinner.”

Evidently some little girls were often late for dinner.

“It’s time for you to answer now,” the Queen said, looking at her watch; “open your mouth a
little
wider when you speak and always say ‘Your Majesty.’”

“I only wanted to see what your garden was like, your Majesty.”

“That’s right,” said the Queen, patting her on the head, which Alice didn’t like at all, “though when you say ‘garden,’
I’ve
seen gardens compared with which this would be a wilderness.”

Alice didn’t dare to argue the point, but went on: “And I thought I’d try and find my way to the top of that hill—”

“When you say ‘hill,’” the Queen interrupted, “
I
could show you hills in comparison with which you’d call this a valley.”

“No, I shouldn’t,” said Alice, surprised into contradicting her at last.
“A hill
can’t
be a valley you know.
That would be nonsense—”

The
Red Queen
shook her head.

“You may call it ‘nonsense’ if you like,” she said, “but
I’ve
heard nonsense compared with which that would be as sensible as a dictionary!”

Which last remark seemed to settle the matter, for
Alice
had nothing further to say on the subject.

Nonsense, indeed; and what delightful nonsense it is!
Is it any wonder that the little girls for whom Lewis Carroll labored so lovingly should reward him with their laughter?

Alice
entered Checker-Board Land in the
Red Queen’s
company; she was apprenticed as a pawn, with the promise that when she entered the eighth square she would become a queen [she probably was confusing chess with checkers], and the
Red Queen
explained how she would travel.

“A pawn goes two squares in its first move, you know, so you’ll go very quickly through the third square, by railway, I should think, and you’ll find yourself in the fourth square in no time.
Well,
that
square belongs to Tweedledum and Tweedledee, and the fifth is mostly water, the sixth belongs to Humpty Dumpty, ...
the seventh square is all forest.
However, one of the knights will show you the way, and in the eighth square we shall be queens together, and its all feasting and fun.”

The rest of her adventures occurred on those eight squares—sometimes in company with the
Red Queen
or the
White Queen
or both.
Things went more rapidly than in Wonderland, the people were brisker and smarter.
When the
Red Queen
left her on the border of Checker-Board Land, she gave her this parting advice:

“Speak in French when you can’t think of the English for a thing, turn out your toes as you walk, and remember who you are!”

How many little girls have had the same advice from their governesses or their mamma—“Turn out your toes when you walk, and remember who you are!”

This is what made Lewis Carroll so irresistibly funny—the way he had of bringing in the most common everyday expressions in the most uncommon, unexpected places.
Only in
Alice’s
case it took her quite a long time to remember who she was, just because the
Red Queen
told her not to forget.
Children are very queer about that—little girls in particular—at least those that Lewis Carroll knew, and he certainly was acquainted with a great many who did remarkably queer things.

Alice’s
meeting with the two fat little men named
Tweedledum
and
Tweedledee
recalled to her memory the old rhyme:

Tweedledum and Tweedledee

Agreed to have a battle;

For Tweedledum said Tweedledee

Had spoiled his nice new rattle.

Just then flew down a monstrous crow,

As black as a tar barrel;

Which frightened both the heroes so,

They quite forgot their quarrel.

Fierce little men they were, one with
Dum
embroidered on his collar, the other showing
Dee
on his.
They were not accustomed to good society nor fine grammar.
They were exactly alike as they stood motionless before her, their arms about each other.

“I know what you’re thinking about,” said Tweedledum, “but it isn’t so—nohow.”
[Behold the
beautiful
grammar.]

“Contrariwise,” continued Tweedledee, “if it was so, it might be; and if it were so, it would be; but as it isn’t, it ain’t.
That’s logic.”

Now,
Alice
particularly wanted to know which road to take out of the woods, but somehow or other her polite question was never answered by either of the funny little brothers.
They were very sociable and seemed most anxious to keep her with them, so for her entertainment
Tweedledum
repeated that beautiful and pathetic poem called:

THE WALRUS AND THE CARPENTER.

The sun was shining on the sea,

Shining with all his might;

He did his very best to make

The billows smooth and bright—

And this was odd, because it was

The middle of the night.

The moon was shining sulkily,

Because she thought the sun

Had got no business to be there

After the day was done—

“It’s very rude of him,” she said,

“To come and spoil the fun!”

The sea was wet as wet could be,

The sands were dry as dry,

You could not see a cloud, because

No cloud was in the sky;

No birds were flying overhead—

There were no birds to fly.

The Walrus and the Carpenter

Were walking close at hand;

They wept like anything to see

Such quantities of sand;

“If this were only cleared away,”

They said, “it
would
be grand!”

“If seven maids with seven mops

Swept it for half a year,

Do you suppose,” the Walrus said,

“That they would get it clear?”

“I doubt it,” said the Carpenter,