Through The Looking Glass

‘What does it live on?’ Alice asked with great curiosity.

‘Sap and sawdust,’ said the Gnat. ‘Go on with the list.’

Alice looked at the Rocking-horse-fly with great interest, and made up her mind that it must have been just repainted, it looked so bright and sticky; and then she went on:

‘And there’s the Dragon-fly.’

‘Look on the branch above your head,’ said the Gnat, ‘and there you’ll find a Snap-dragon-fly. Its body is made of plum-pudding, its wings of holly-leaves, and its head is a raisin burning in brandy.’

‘And what does it live on?’ Alice asked, as before.

‘Frumenty and mince-pie,’ the Gnat replied: ‘and it makes its nest in a Christmas-box.’

‘And then there’s the Butterfly,’ Alice went on, after she had taken a good look at the insect with its head on fire, and had thought to herself, ‘I wonder if that’s the reason insects are so fond of flying into candles – because they want to turn into Snap-dragon-flies!’

‘Crawling at your feet,’ said the Gnat (Alice drew her feet back in some alarm), ‘you may observe a Bread-and-butter-fly. Its wings are thin slices of bread-and-butter, its body is a crust, and its head is a lump of sugar.’

‘And what does it live on?’

‘Weak tea with cream in it.’

A new difficulty came into Alice’s head. ‘Supposing it couldn’t find any?’ she suggested.

‘Then it would die, of course.’

‘But that must happen very often,’ Alice remarked thoughtfully.

‘It always happens,’ said the Gnat.

After this, Alice was silent for a minute or two, pondering. The Gnat amused itself meanwhile by humming round and round her head: at last it settled again and remarked, ‘I suppose you don’t want to lose your name?’

‘No, indeed,’ Alice said, a little anxiously.

‘And yet I don’t know,’ the Gnat went on in a careless tone: ‘only think how convenient it would be if you could manage to go home without it! For instance, if the governess wanted to call you to your lessons, she would call out “Come here –,” and there she would have to leave off, because there wouldn’t be any name for her to call, and of course you wouldn’t have to go, you know.’

‘That would never do, I’m sure,’ said Alice: ‘the governess would never think of excusing me lessons for that. If she couldn’t remember my name, she’d call me “Miss!” as the servants do.’

‘Well, if she said “Miss,” and didn’t say anything more,’ the Gnat remarked, ‘of course you’d miss your lessons. That’s a joke. I wish you had made it.’

‘Why do you wish I had made it?’ Alice asked. ‘It’s a very bad one.’

But the Gnat only sighed deeply, while two large tears came rolling down its cheeks.

‘You shouldn’t make jokes,’ Alice said, ‘if it makes you so unhappy.’

Then came another of those melancholy little sighs, and this time the poor Gnat really seemed to have sighed itself away, for, when Alice looked up, there was nothing whatever to be seen on the twig, and, as she was getting quite chilly, with sitting still so long, she got up and walked on.

She very soon came to an open field, with a wood on the other side of it: it looked much darker than the last wood, and Alice felt a little timid about going into it. However, on second thoughts, she made up her mind to go on: ‘for I certainly won’t go back,’ she thought to herself, and this was the only way to the Eighth Square.

‘This must be the wood,’ she said thoughtfully to herself, ‘where things have no names. I wonder what’ll become of my name when I go in? I shouldn’t like to lose it at all – because they’d have to give me another, and it would be almost certain to be an ugly one. But then the fun would be, trying to find the creature that had got my old name! That’s just like the advertisements, you know, when people lose dogs – “answers to the name of ‘Dash’: had on a brass collar” – just fancy calling everything you met “Alice,” till one of them answered! Only they wouldn’t answer at all, if they were wise.’

She was rambling on in this way when she reached the wood: it looked very cool and shady. ‘Well, at any rate it’s a great comfort,’ she said, as she stepped under the trees, ‘after being so hot, to get into the – into the – into what?’ she went on, rather surprised at not being able to think of the word. ‘I mean to get under the – under the – under this, you know!’ putting her hand on the trunk of the tree. ‘What does it call itself, I wonder? I do believe it’s got no name – why, to be sure it hasn’t!’

She stood silent for a minute thinking: then she suddenly began again. ‘Then it really has happened, after all! And now, who am I? I will remember, if I can! I’m determined to do it!’ But being determined didn’t help her much, and all she could say, after a great deal of puzzling, was, ‘L, I know it begins with L!’

Just then a Fawn came wandering by: it looked at Alice with its large gentle eyes, but didn’t seem at all frightened.

‘Here then! Here then!’ Alice said, as she held out her hand and tried to stroke it; but it only started back a little, and then stood looking at her again.

‘What do you call yourself?’ the Fawn said at last. Such a soft sweet voice it had!

‘I wish I knew!’ thought poor Alice. She answered, rather sadly, ‘Nothing just now.’

‘Think again,’ it said: ‘that won’t do.’

Alice thought, but nothing came of it. ‘Please, would you tell me what you call yourself?’ she said timidly. ‘I think that might help a little.’

‘I’ll tell you, if you’ll come a little farther on,’ the Fawn said. ‘I can’t remember here.’

So they walked on together through the wood, Alice with her arms clasped lovingly round the soft neck of the Fawn, till they came out into another open field, and there the Fawn gave a sudden bound into the air, and shook itself free from Alice’s arm. ‘I’m a Fawn!’ it cried out in a voice of delight. ‘And, dear me! you’re a human child!’ A sudden look of alarm came into its beautiful brown eyes, and in another moment it had darted away at full speed.

Alice stood looking after it, almost ready to cry with vexation at having lost her dear little fellow-traveller so suddenly. ‘However, I know my name now,’ she said: ‘that’s some comfort. Alice – Alice – I won’t forget it again. And now, which of these finger-posts ought I to follow, I wonder?’

It was not a very difficult question to answer, as there was only one road through the wood, and the two fingerposts both pointed along it. ‘I’ll settle it,’ Alice said to herself, ‘when the road divides and they point different ways.’

But this did not seem likely to happen. She went on and on, a long way, but wherever the road divided there was sure to be two fingerposts pointing the same way, one marked ‘TO TWEEDLEDUM’S HOUSE,’ and the other ‘TO THE HOUSE OF TWEEDLEDEE.’

‘I do believe,’ said Alice at last, ‘that they live in the same house! I wonder I never thought of that before – But I can’t stay there long. I’ll just call and say, “How d’ye do?” and ask them the way out of the wood. If I could only get to the Eighth Square before it gets dark!’ So she wandered on, talking to herself as she went, till, on turning a sharp corner, she came upon two fat little men, so suddenly that she could not help starting back, but in another moment she recovered herself, feeling sure that they must be Tweedledum and Tweedledee.