The Annotated Alice: The Definitive Edition (The Annotated Books)

by Lewis Carroll

  The thorn and the thistle grow broader and higher;

  The clothes that hang on him are turning to rags;

  And his money still wastes till he starves or he begs.

  I made him a visit, still hoping to find

  That he took better care for improving his mind:

  He told me his dreams, talked of eating and drinking;

  But he scarce reads his Bible, and never loves thinking.

  Said I then to my heart, “Here’s a lesson for me,”

  This man’s but a picture of what I might be:

  But thanks to my friends for their care in my breeding,

  Who taught me betimes to love working and reading.

  Carroll’s burlesque of Watts’s doggerel underwent a good many changes. Before 1886 all editions of Alice had a first verse of four lines and a second verse that was interrupted after the second line. Carroll supplied the missing two lines for William Boyd’s Songs from Alice in Wonderland, a book published in 1870. The full stanza then read:

  I passed by his garden, and marked, with one eye,

  How the owl and the oyster were sharing a pie,

  While the duck and the Dodo, the lizard and cat

  Were swimming in milk round the brim of a hat.

  In 1886 Carroll revised and enlarged the poem to sixteen lines for the stage musical of Alice. This is the final version, which appears in editions of Alice after 1886. It is hard to believe, but an Essex vicar actually wrote a letter to The St. James’ Gazette accusing Carroll of irreverence because of the Biblical allusion in the first line of his parody.

  8. Selwyn Goodacre passed on to me his daughter’s observation that Tenniel carefully followed Alice’s remark by drawing the lobster with its feet in the first position in ballet.

  9. The grim final words, “eating the owl,” appear in the 1886 printed edition of Savile Clarke’s operetta. Another and probably earlier version of the last couplet, given in Stuart Collingwood’s biography, runs:

  But the panther obtained both the fork and the knife, So, when he lost his temper, the owl lost its life.

  Carrollians have amused themselves by replacing “eating the owl” with other phrases, which are reported from time to time in the Lewis Carroll Society’s newsletter, Bandersnatch. Here are some proposed endings: “taking a prowl,” “wiping his jowl,” “giving a howl,” “taking a trowel,” “kissing the fowl,” “giving a scowl,” and “donning a cowl.”

  10. On August 1, 1862, Carroll records in his diary that the Liddell sisters sang for him the popular song “Star of the Evening.” The words and music were by James M. Sayles.

  Beautiful star in heav’n so bright,

  Softly falls thy silv’ry light,

  As thou movest from earth afar,

  Star of the evening, beautiful star.

  CHORUS

  Beautiful star,

  Beautiful star,

  Star of the evening, beautiful star.

  In Fancy’s eye thou seem’st to say,

  Follow me, come from earth away.

  Upward thy spirit’s pinions try,

  To realms of love beyond the sky.

  Shine on, oh star of love divine,

  And may our soul’s affection twine

  Around thee as thou movest afar,

  Star of the twilight, beautiful star.

  Carroll’s second stanza, with its E. E. Cummings–like partition of “pennyworth,” does not appear in the original manuscript. The divisions of “beautiful,” “soup,” and “evening” suggest the manner in which the original song was sung. Cary Grant sobbed through the song in his role of the Mock Turtle in Paramount’s undistinguished 1933 movie version of Alice.

  Several readers have informed me that marine turtles often appear to weep copiously—especially females, when they make nocturnal egg-laying visits to the shore. One reader, Henry Smith, explains why: Reptilian kidneys are not made to deal efficiently with removing salt from water. Marine turtles are equipped with a special gland that discharges salty water through a duct at the outside corners of each eye. Underwater the secretion washes away, but when the turtle is on land the secretion resembles a flood of tears. Carroll, who had a lively interest in zoology, undoubtedly knew of this phenomenon.

  CHAPTER XI

  Who Stole the Tarts?

  The King and Queen of Hearts were seated on their throne when they arrived, with a great crowd assembled about them—all sorts of little birds and beasts, as well as the whole pack of cards: the Knave was standing before them, in chains, with a soldier on each side to guard him; and near the King was the White Rabbit, with a trumpet in one hand, and a scroll of parchment in the other. In the very middle of the court was a table, with a large dish of tarts upon it: they looked so good, that it made Alice quite hungry to look at them—“I wish they’d get the trial done,” she thought, “and hand round the refreshments!” But there seemed to be no chance of this; so she began looking at everything about her to pass away the time.

  Alice had never been in a court of justice before, but she had read about them in books, and she was quite pleased to find that she knew the name of nearly everything there. “That’s the judge,” she said to herself, “because of his great wig.”

  The judge, by the way, was the King; and, as he wore his crown over the wig (look at the frontispiece if you want to see how he did it), he did not look at all comfortable, and it was certainly not becoming.

  “And that’s the jury-box,” thought Alice; “and those twelve creatures,” (she was obliged to say “creatures,” you see, because some of them were animals, and some were birds,) “I suppose they are the jurors.” She said this last word two or three times over to herself, being rather proud of it: for she thought, and rightly too, that very few little girls of her age knew the meaning of it at all. However, “jurymen” would have done just as well.

  The twelve jurors were all writing very busily on slates. “What are they doing?” Alice whispered to the Gryphon. “They ca’n’t have anything to put down yet, before the trial’s begun.”

  “They’re putting down their names,” the Gryphon whispered in reply, “for fear they should forget them before the end of the trial.”

  “Stupid things!” Alice began in a loud indignant voice; but she stopped herself hastily, for the White Rabbit cried out “Silence in the court!”, and the King put on his spectacles and looked anxiously round, to make out who was talking.

  Alice could see, as well as if she were looking over their shoulders, that all the jurors were writing down “Stupid things!” on their slates, and she could even make out that one of them didn’t know how to spell “stupid,” and that he had to ask his neighbour to tell him. “A nice muddle their slates’ll be in, before the trial’s over!” thought Alice.

  One of the jurors had a pencil that squeaked. This, of course, Alice could not stand, and she went round the court and got behind him, and very soon found an opportunity of taking it away. She did it so quickly that the poor little juror (it was Bill, the Lizard) could not make out at all what had become of it; so, after hunting all about for it, he was obliged to write with one finger for the rest of the day; and this was of very little use, as it left no mark on the slate.

  “Herald, read the accusation!” said the King.

  On this the White Rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, and then unrolled the parchment-scroll, and read as follows:—1

  “The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts,

  All on a summer day:

  The Knave of Hearts, he stole those tarts

  And took them quite away!”

  “Consider your verdict,” the King said to the jury.

  “Not yet, not yet!” the Rabbit hastily interrupted. “There’s a great deal to come before that!”

  “Call the first witness,” said the King; and the White Rabbit blew three blasts on the trumpet, and called out “First witness!”

  The first witness was the Hatter. He came in with a teacup in one
hand and a piece of bread-and-butter in the other. “I beg pardon, your Majesty,” he began, “for bringing these in; but I hadn’t quite finished my tea when I was sent for.”

  “You ought to have finished,” said the King. “When did you begin?”

  The Hatter looked at the March Hare, who had followed him into the court, arm-in-arm with the Dormouse. “Fourteenth of March, I think it was,” he said.

  “Fifteenth,” said the March Hare.

  “Sixteenth,” said the Dormouse.

  “Write that down,” the King said to the jury; and the jury eagerly wrote down all three dates on their slates, and then added them up, and reduced the answer to shillings and pence.

  “Take off your hat,” the King said to the Hatter.

  “It isn’t mine,” said the Hatter.

  “Stolen!” the King exclaimed, turning to the jury, who instantly made a memorandum of the fact.

  “I keep them to sell,” the Hatter added as an explanation. “I’ve none of my own. I’m a hatter.”

  Here the Queen put on her spectacles, and began staring hard at the Hatter, who turned pale and fidgeted.

  “Give your evidence,” said the King; “and don’t be nervous, or I’ll have you executed on the spot.”

  This did not seem to encourage the witness at all: he kept shifting from one foot to the other, looking uneasily at the Queen, and in his confusion he bit a large piece out of his teacup instead of the bread-and-butter.2

  Just at this moment Alice felt a very curious sensation, which puzzled her a good deal until she made out what it was: she was beginning to grow larger again, and she thought at first she would get up and leave the court; but on second thoughts she decided to remain where she was as long as there was room for her.

  “I wish you wouldn’t squeeze so,” said the Dormouse, who was sitting next to her. “I can hardly breathe.”

  “I ca’n’t help it,” said Alice very meekly: “I’m growing.”

  “You’ve no right to grow here,” said the Dormouse.

  “Don’t talk nonsense,” said Alice more boldly: “you know you’re growing too.”

  “Yes, but I grow at a reasonable pace,” said the Dormouse: “not in that ridiculous fashion.” And he got up very sulkily and crossed over to the other side of the court.

  All this time the Queen had never left off staring at the Hatter, and, just as the Dormouse crossed the court, she said, to one of the officers of the court, “Bring me the list of the singers in the last concert!” on which the wretched Hatter trembled so, that he shook off both his shoes.3

  “Give your evidence,” the King repeated angrily, “or I’ll have you executed, whether you’re nervous or not.”

  “I’m a poor man, your Majesty,” the Hatter began, in a trembling voice, “and I hadn’t begun my tea—not above a week or so—and what with the bread-and-butter getting so thin—and the twinkling of the tea—”4

  “The twinkling of what?” said the King.

  “It began with the tea,” the Hatter replied.

  “Of course twinkling begins with a T!” said the King sharply. “Do you take me for a dunce? Go on!”

  “I’m a poor man,” the Hatter went on, “and most things twinkled after that—only the March Hare said—”

  “I didn’t!” the March Hare interrupted in a great hurry.

  “You did!” said the Hatter.

  “I deny it!” said the March Hare.

  “He denies it,” said the King: “leave out that part.”

  “Well, at any rate, the Dormouse said—” the Hatter went on, looking anxiously round to see if he would deny it too; but the Dormouse denied nothing, being fast asleep.

  “After that,” continued the Hatter, “I cut some more bread-and-butter—”

  “But what did the Dormouse say?” one of the jury asked.

  “That I ca’n’t remember,” said the Hatter.

  “You must remember,” remarked the King, “or I’ll have you executed.”

  The miserable Hatter dropped his teacup and bread-and-butter, and went down on one knee. “I’m a poor man, your Majesty,” he began.

  “You’re a very poor speaker,” said the King.

  Here one of the guinea-pigs cheered, and was immediately suppressed by the officers of the court. (As that is rather a hard word, I will just explain to you how it was done. They had a large canvas bag, which tied up at the mouth with strings: into this they slipped the guinea-pig, head first, and then sat upon it.)

  “I’m glad I’ve seen that done,” thought Alice. “I’ve so often read in the newspapers, at the end of trials, ‘There was some attempt at applause, which was immediately suppressed by the officers of the court,’ and I never understood what it meant till now.”

  “If that’s all you know about it, you may stand down,” continued the King.

  “I ca’n’t go no lower,” said the Hatter: “I’m on the floor, as it is.”

  “Then you may sit down,” the King replied.

  Here the other guinea-pig cheered, and was suppressed.

  “Come, that finishes the guinea-pigs!” thought Alice. “Now we shall get on better.”

  “I’d rather finish my tea,” said the Hatter, with an anxious look at the Queen, who was reading the list of singers.

  “You may go,” said the King, and the Hatter hurriedly left the court, without even waiting to put his shoes on.

  “—and just take his head off outside,” the Queen added to one of the officers; but the Hatter was out of sight before the officer could get to the door.

  “Call the next witness!” said the King.

  The next witness was the Duchess’s cook. She carried the pepper-box in her hand, and Alice guessed who it was, even before she got into the court, by the way the people near the door began sneezing all at once.

  “Give your evidence,” said the King.

  “Sha’n’t,” said the cook.

  The King looked anxiously at the White Rabbit, who said, in a low voice, “Your Majesty must cross-examine this witness.”

  “Well, if I must, I must,” the King said with a melancholy air, and, after folding his arms and frowning at the cook till his eyes were nearly out of sight, he said, in a deep voice, “What are tarts made of?”

  “Pepper, mostly,” said the cook.

  “Treacle,” said a sleepy voice behind her.

  “Collar that Dormouse!” the Queen shrieked out. “Behead that Dormouse! Turn that Dormouse out of court! Suppress him! Pinch him! Off with his whiskers!”

  For some minutes the whole court was in confusion, getting the Dormouse turned out, and, by the time they had settled down again, the cook had disappeared.

  “Never mind!” said the King, with an air of great relief. “Call the next witness.” And, he added, in an undertone to the Queen, “Really, my dear, you must cross-examine the next witness. It quite makes my forehead ache!”

  Alice watched the White Rabbit as he fumbled over the list, feeling very curious to see what the next witness would be like, “—for they haven’t got much evidence yet,” she said to herself. Imagine her surprise, when the White Rabbit read out, at the top of his shrill little voice, the name “Alice!”

  1. As William and Ceil Baring-Gould note in their Annotated Mother Goose (Clarkson N. Potter, 1962, p. 149), the White Rabbit reads only the first lines of a four-stanza poem that originally appeared in The European Magazine (April 1782). The first stanza found its way into a collection of “Mother Goose” rhymes and probably owes its present fame, as the Baring-Goulds suggest, to its use by Carroll.

  Here is the entire poem:

  The Queen of Hearts

  She made some tarts,

  All on a summer’s day;

  The Knave of Hearts

  He stole the tarts,

  And took them clean away.

  The King of Hearts

  Called for the tarts,

  And beat the Knave full sore;

  The Knave of Hearts

&nbs
p; Brought back the tarts,

  And vow’d he’d steal no more.

  The King of Spades

  He kissed the maids,

  Which made the Queen full sore;

  The Queen of Spades

  She beat those maids,

  And turned them out of door;

  The Knave of Spades

  Grieved for those jades,

  And did for them implore;

  The Queen so gent

  She did relent

  And vow’d she’d ne’er strike more.

  The King of Clubs

  He often drubs

  His loving Queen and wife;

  The Queen of Clubs

  Returns his snubs,

  And all is noise and strife;

  The Knave of Clubs

  Gives winks and rubs,

  And swears he’ll take her part;

  For when our kings

  Will do such things,

  They should be made to smart.

  The Diamond King

  I fain would sing,

  And likewise his fair Queen;

  But that the Knave,

  A haughty slave,

  Must needs step in between;

  Good Diamond King,

  With hempen string,

  The haughty Knave destroy!

  Then may your Queen

  With mind serene,

  Your royal bed enjoy.

  Tenniel’s original drawing of the White Rabbit blowing the horn differs in many respects from the one printed.

  2. It has been noticed that the Hatter’s bow tie, in Tenniel’s illustration for this scene, has its pointed end on his right, as in Newell’s pictures. In two earlier Tenniel illustrations the tie points to the Hatter’s left. Michael Hancher, in his book on Tenniel, cites this as one of several amusing inconsistencies in Tenniel’s art.

  3. The Queen is recalling the occasion, described in Chapter 7, on which the Hatter murdered the time by singing “ ‘Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!’ ”