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!'
CHAPTER VII A Mad Tea-Party
There was a table set out under a tree in front of the house, and the March Hare and the Hatter were having tea at it: a Dormouse was sitting between
them, fast asleep, and the other two were using it as a cushion, resting
their elbows on it, and talking over its head. `Very uncomfortable for the
Dormouse,' thought Alice; `only, as it's asleep, I suppose it doesn't mind.'
The table was a large one, but the three were all crowded together at one
corner of it: `No room! No room!' they cried out when they saw Alice
coming. `There's PLENTY of room!' said Alice indignantly, and she sat down
in a large arm-chair at one end of the table.
`Have some wine,' the March Hare said in an encouraging tone.
Alice looked all round the table, but there was nothing on it but tea. `I
don't see any wine,' she remarked.
`There isn't any,' said the March Hare.
`Then it wasn't very civil of you to offer it,' said Alice angrily.
`It wasn't very civil of you to sit down without being invited,' said the March
Hare.
`I didn't know it was YOUR table,' said Alice; `it's laid for a great many
more than three.'
`Your hair wants cutting,' said the Hatter. He had been looking at Alice for
some time with great curiosity, and this was his first speech.
`You should learn not to make personal remarks,' Alice said with some
severity; `it's very rude.'
The Hatter opened his eyes very wide on hearing this; but all he SAID was,
`Why is a raven like a writing-desk?'
`Come, we shall have some fun now!' thought Alice. `I'm glad they've
begun asking riddles.--I believe I can guess that,' she added aloud.
`Do you mean that you think you can find out the answer to it?' said the
March Hare.
`Exactly so,' said Alice.
`Then you should say what you mean,' the March Hare went on.
`I do,' Alice hastily replied; `at least--at least I mean what I say--that's the
same thing, you know.'
`Not the same thing a bit!' said the Hatter. `You might just as well say that
"I see what I eat" is the same thing as "I eat what I see"!'
`You might just as well say,' added the March Hare, `that "I like what I
get" is the same thing as "I get what I like"!'
`You might just as well say,' added the Dormouse, who seemed to be
talking in his sleep, `that "I breathe when I sleep" is the same thing as "I
sleep when I breathe"!'
`It IS the same thing with you,' said the Hatter, and here the conversation
dropped, and the party sat silent for a minute, while Alice thought over all
she could remember about ravens and writing-desks, which wasn't much.
The Hatter was the first to break the silence. `What day of the month is it?'
he said, turning to Alice: he had taken his watch out of his pocket, and was
looking at it uneasily, shaking it every now and then, and holding it to his
ear.
Alice considered a little, and then said `The fourth.'
`Two days wrong!' sighed the Hatter. `I told you butter wouldn't suit the
works!' he added looking angrily at the March Hare.
`It was the BEST butter,' the March Hare meekly replied.
`Yes, but some crumbs must have got in as well,' the Hatter grumbled:
`you shouldn't have put it in with the bread-knife.'
The March Hare took the watch and looked at it gloomily: then he dipped it
into his cup of tea, and looked at it again: but he could think of nothing
better to say than his first remark, `It was the BEST butter, you know.'
Alice had been looking over his shoulder with some curiosity. `What a funny
watch!' she remarked. `It tells the day of the month, and doesn't tell what
o'clock it is!'
`Why should it?' muttered the Hatter. `Does YOUR watch tell you what year
it is?'
`Of course not,' Alice replied very readily: `but that's because it stays the
same year for such a long time together.'
`Which is just the case with MINE,' said the Hatter.
Alice felt dreadfully puzzled. The Hatter's remark seemed to have no sort of
