Lewis Carroll in Wonderland and at Home Part 14

Then there's a mysterious pause, and some eager small boy or girl asks, "Now _what_ is it?" and before one has time to answer, someone calls out--

"It's an egg; it's an egg!" and the riddle is a riddle no longer.

One clever mechanical Humpty was made of barrel hoops covered with stiff paper and muslin. The eyes, nose, and mouth were connected with various tapes, which the inventor had in charge behind the scenes, and so well did he work them that Humpty in his hands turned out a fine imitation of the _Humpty-Dumpty_ Sir John Tenniel has made us remember; the same _Humpty-Dumpty_ who asked _Alice_ her name and her business, and who informed her proudly that if he did tumble off the wall, "_The King has promised me with his very own mouth--to--to--_"

"To send all his horses and all his men--" Alice interrupted rather unwisely.

"Now I declare that's too bad!" Humpty-Dumpty cried, breaking into a sudden pa.s.sion. "You've been listening at doors, and behind trees, and down chimneys, or you wouldn't have known it."

"I haven't, indeed!" Alice said, very gently. "It's in a book."

"Ah, well! They may write such things in a _book_," Humpty-Dumpty said in a calmer tone. "That's what you call a History of England, that is. Now take a good look at me. I'm one that has spoken to a King, _I_ am; mayhap you'll never see such another; and to show you I'm not proud you may shake hands with me...."

"Yes, all his horses and all his men," _Humpty-Dumpty_ went on. "They'd pick me up in a minute, _they_ would. However, this conversation is going on a little too fast; let's go back to the last remark but one."

Such a nice, common old chap is _Humpty-Dumpty_, so "stuck-up" because he has spoken to a King; and argue! Well, _Alice_ never heard anything like it before, and found difficulty in keeping up a conversation that was disputed every step of the way. She found him worse than the _Ches.h.i.+re Cat_ or even the _d.u.c.h.ess_ for that matter, and not half so well-bred.

He too favored _Alice_ with the following poem, which he a.s.sured her was written entirely for her amus.e.m.e.nt, and here it is, with enough of Lewis Carroll's "nonsense" in it to let us know where it came from:

In winter, when the fields are white, I sing this song for your delight:--

In spring, when woods are getting green, I'll try and tell you what I mean:

In summer, when the days are long, Perhaps you'll understand the song:

In autumn, when the leaves are brown, Take pen and ink, and write it down.

I sent a message to the fish: I told them: "This is what I wish."

The little fishes of the sea, They sent an answer back to me.

The little fishes' answer was: "We cannot do it, Sir, because----"

I sent to them again to say: "It will be better to obey."

The fishes answered, with a grin: "Why, what a temper you are in!"

I told them once, I told them twice: They would not listen to advice.

I took a kettle large and new, Fit for the deed I had to do.

My heart went hop, my heart went thump: I filled the kettle at the pump.

Then someone came to me and said: "The little fishes are in bed."

I said to him, I said it plain: "Then you must wake them up again."

I said it very loud and clear: I went and shouted in his ear.

But he was very stiff and proud: He said: "You needn't shout so loud!"

And he was very proud and stiff: He said: "I'd go and wake them, if----"

I took a corkscrew from the shelf; I went to wake them up myself.

And when I found the door was locked, I pulled and pushed and kicked and knocked.

And when I found the door was shut, I tried to turn the handle, but----

With which highly satisfactory ending _Humpty_ remarked:

"That's all. Good-bye."

Alice got up and held out her hand.

"Good-bye till we meet again," she said, as cheerfully as she could.

"I shouldn't know you if we _did_ meet," Humpty-Dumpty replied in a discontented tone, giving her one of his fingers to shake. "You're so exactly like other people."

The next square--the seventh--took _Alice_ through the woods. Here she met some old friends: the _Mad Hatter_ and the _White Rabbit_ of Wonderland fame, mixed in with a great many new beings, including the _Lion_ and the _Unicorn_, who, as the old ballad tells us, "were fighting for the crown"; and then as the _Red Queen_ had promised from the beginning, the _White Knight_--after a battle with the _Red Knight_ who held _Alice_ prisoner--took her in charge to guide her through the woods. Whoever has read the humorous and yet pathetic story of "Don Quixote" will see at once where Lewis Carroll found his gentle, valiant old _White Knight_ and his horse, so like yet so unlike the famous steed _Rosenante_.

He, too, had a song for _Alice_, which he called "The Aged, Aged Man," and which he sang to her, set to very mechancholy music. It is doubtful if _Alice_ understood it for she wasn't thinking of age, you see. She was only seven years and six months old, and probably paid no attention. She was thinking instead of the strange kindly smile of the knight, "the setting sun gleaming through his hair and s.h.i.+ning on his armor in a blaze of light that quite dazzled her; the horse quietly moving about with the reins hanging loose on his neck, cropping the gra.s.s at her feet, and the black shadows of the forest behind." Certainly Lewis Carroll could paint a picture to remain with us always. The poem is rather too long to quote here, but the experiences of this "Aged, Aged Man" are well worth reading.

_Alice_ was now hastening toward the end of her journey and events were tumbling over each other. She had reached the eighth square, where, oh, joy! a golden crown awaited her, also the _Red Queen_ and the _White Queen_ in whose company she traveled through the very stirring episodes of that very famous dinner party, when the candles on the table all grew up to the ceiling, and the gla.s.s bottles each took a pair of plates for wings, and forks for legs, and went fluttering in all directions.

Everything was in the greatest confusion, and when the _White Queen_ disappeared in the soup tureen, and the soup ladle began walking up the table toward _Alice's_ chair, she could stand it no longer. She jumped up "and seized the tablecloth with both hands; one good pull, and plates, dishes, guests, and candles came cras.h.i.+ng down together in a heap on the floor." And then _Alice_ began to shake the _Red Queen_ as the cause of all the mischief.

"The Red Queen made no resistance whatever; only her face grew very small, and her eyes got large and green; and still, as Alice went on shaking her, she kept on growing shorter, and fatter, and softer, and rounder, and--and it really _was_ a kitten after all."

And _Alice_, opening her eyes in the red glow of the fire, lay snug in the armchair, while the Looking-Gla.s.s on the mantel caught the reflection of a very puzzled little face. The "dream-child" had come back to everyday, and was trying to retrace her journey as she lay there blinking at the firelight, and wondering if, back of the blaze, the Chessmen were still walking to and fro.

And Lewis Carroll, as he penned the last words of "Alice's Adventures through the Looking-Gla.s.s," remembered once more the little girl who had been his inspiration, and wrote a loving tribute to her at the very end of the book, an acrostic on her name--Alice Pleasance Liddell.

A boat, beneath a sunny sky Lingering onward dreamily In an evening of July.

Children three that nestle near, Eager eye and willing ear, Pleased a simple tale to hear.

Long has paled that sunny sky; Echoes fade and memories die: Autumn frosts have slain July.

Still she haunts me, phantomwise, Alice moving under skies, Never seen by waking eyes.

Children yet, the tale to hear, Eager eye and willing ear, Lovingly shall nestle near.

In a Wonderland they lie, Dreaming as the days go by, Dreaming as the summers die:

Ever drifting down the stream, Lingering in the golden gleam, Life, what is it but a dream?