Complete Works of Lewis Carroll (87 page)

‘I will now recite the other Introductory Verses,’ said the Other Professor.

Little Birds are choking

Baronets with bun,

Taught to fire a gun:

Taught, I say, to splinter

Salmon in the winter—

Merely for the fun.

Little Birds are hiding

Crimes in carpet-bags,

Blessed by happy stags:

Blessed, I say, though beaten—

Since our friends are eaten

When the memory flags.

Little Birds are tasting

Gratitude and gold,

Pale with sudden cold:

Pale, I say, and wrinkled—

When the bells have tinkled,

And the Tale is told.

‘The next thing to be done,’ the Professor cheerfully remarked to the Lord Chancellor, as soon as the applause, caused by the recital of the Pig-Tale, had come to an end, ‘is to drink the Emperor’s health, is it not?’

‘Undoubtedly!’
the Lord Chancellor replied with much solemnity, as he rose to his feet to give the necessary directions for the ceremony.
‘Fill your glasses!’
he thundered.
All did so, instantly.
‘Drink the Emperor’s health!’
A general gurgling resounded all through the Hall.
‘Three cheers for the Emperor!’
The faintest possible sound followed this announcement: and the Chancellor, with admirable presence of mind, instantly proclaimed ‘A speech from the Emperor!’

The Emperor had begun his speech almost before the words were uttered.
‘However unwilling to be Emperor—since you all wish me to be Emperor—you know how badly the late Warden managed things—with such enthusiasm as you have shown—he persecuted you—he taxed you too heavily—you know who is fittest man to be Emperor—my brother had no sense—’

How long this curious speech might have lasted it is impossible to say, for just at this moment a hurricane shook the palace to its foundations, bursting open the windows, extinguishing some of the lamps, and filling the air with clouds of dust, which took strange shapes in the air, and seemed to form words.

But the storm subsided as suddenly as it had risen—the casements swung into their places again: the dust vanished: all was as it had been a minute ago—with the exception of the Emperor and Empress, over whom had come a wondrous change.
The vacant stare, the meaningless smile, had passed away: all could see that these two strange beings had returned to their senses.

The Emperor continued his speech as if there had been no interruption.
‘And we have behaved—my wife and I—like two arrant Knaves.
We deserve no better name.
When my brother went away, you lost the best Warden you ever had.
And I’ve been doing my best, wretched hypocrite that I am, to cheat you into making me an Emperor.
Me!
One that has hardly got the wits to be a shoe-black!’

The Lord Chancellor wrung his hands in despair.
‘He is mad, good people!’
he was beginning.
But both speeches stopped suddenly—and, in the dead silence that followed, a knocking was heard at the outer door.

‘What is it?’
was the general cry.
People began running in and out.
The excitement increased every moment.
The Lord Chancellor, forgetting all the rules of Court-ceremony, ran full speed down the hall, and in a minute returned, pale and gasping for breath.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

THE BEGGAR’S RETURN

‘YOUR Imperial Highnesses!’
he began.
‘It’s the old Beggar again!
Shall we set the dogs at him?’

‘Bring him here!’
said the Emperor.

The Chancellor could scarcely believe his ears.
‘Here, your Imperial Highness?
Did I rightly understand—’

‘Bring him here!’
the Emperor thundered once more.
The Chancellor tottered down the hall—and in another minute the crowd divided, and the poor old Beggar was seen entering the Banqueting-Hall.

He was indeed a pitiable object: the rags, that hung about him, were all splashed with mud: his white hair and his long beard were tossed about in wild disorder.
Yet he walked upright, with a stately tread, as if used to command: and—strangest sight of all—Sylvie and Bruno came with him, clinging to his hands, and gazing at him with looks of silent love.

Men looked eagerly to see how the Emperor would recieve the bold intruder.
Would he hurl him from the steps of the daïs?

But no.
To their utter astonishment, the Emperor knelt as the beggar approached, and with bowed head murmured ‘Forgive us!’

‘Forgive us!’
the Empress, kneeling at her husband’s side, meekly repeated.

The Outcast smiled.
‘Rise up!’
he said.
‘I forgive you!’
And men saw with wonder that a change had passed over the old beggar, even as he spoke.
What had seemed, but now, to be vile rags and splashes of mud, were seen to be in truth kingly trappings, broidered with gold, and sparkling with gems.
All knew him now, and bent low before the Elder Brother, the true Warden.

‘Brother mine, and Sister mine!’
the Warden began, in a clear voice that was heard all through that vast hall.
‘I come not to disturb you.
Rule on, as Emperor, and rule wisely.
For I am chosen King of Elfland.
To-morrow I return there, taking nought from thence, save only—save only—’ his voice trembled, and with a look of ineffable tenderness, he laid his hands in silence on the heads of the two little ones who clung around him.

But he recovered himself in a moment, and beckoned to the Emperor to resume his place at the table.
The company seated themselves again—room being found for the Elfin-King between his two children—and the Lord Chancellor rose once more, to propose the next toast.

‘The next toast—the hero of the day—why, he isn’t here!’
he broke off in wild confusion.

Good gracious!
Everybody had forgotten Prince Uggug!

‘He was told of the Banquet, of course?’
said the Emperor.

‘Undoubtedly!’
replied the Chancellor.
‘That would be the duty of the Gold Stick in Waiting.’

‘Let the Gold Stick come forwards!’
the Emperor gravely said.

The Gold Stick came forwards.
‘I attended on His Imperial Fatness,’ was the statement made by the trembling official.
‘I told him of the Lecture and the Banquet—.’

‘What followed?’
said the Emperor: for the unhappy man seemed almost too frightened to go on.

‘His Imperial Fatness was graciously pleased to be sulky.
His Imperial Fatness was graciously pleased to box my ears.
His Imperial Fatness was graciously pleased to say "I don’t care!"
‘

‘ "Don’t-care" came to a bad end,’ Sylvie whispered to Bruno.
‘I’m not sure, but I believe he was hanged.’

The Professor overheard her.
‘That result,’ he blandly remarked, ‘was merely a case of mistaken identity.’

Both children looked puzzled.

‘Permit me to explain.
"Don’t-care" and "Care" were twin-brothers.
"Care", you know, killed the Cat.
And they caught "Don’t-care" by mistake, and hanged him instead.
And so "Care" is alive still.
But he’s very unhappy without his brother.
That’s why they say "Begone, dull Care!"
‘

‘Thank you!’
Sylvie said, heartily.
‘It’s very extremely interesting.
Why, it seems to explain everything!’

‘Well, not quite everything,’ the Professor modestly rejoined.
‘There are two or three scientific difficulties—’

‘What was your general impression as to His Imperial Fatness?’
the Emperor asked the Gold Stick.

‘My impression was that His Imperial Fatness was getting more—’

‘More what?’

All listened breathlessly for the next word.

‘More PRICKLY!’

‘He must be sent for at once!’
the Emperor exclaimed.
And the Gold Stick went off like a shot.
The Elfin-King sadly shook his head.
‘No use, no use!’
he murmured to himself.
‘Loveless, loveless!’

Pale, trembling, speechless, the Gold Stick came slowly back again.

‘Well?’
said the Emperor.
‘Why does not the Prince appear?’

‘One can easily guess,’ said the Professor.
‘His Imperial Fatness is, without doubt, a little preoccupied.’

Bruno turned a look of solemn enquiry on his old friend.
‘What do that word mean?’

But the Professor took no notice of the question.
He was eagerly listening to the Gold Stick’s reply.

‘Please your Highness!
His Imperial Fatness is—’ Not a word more could he utter.

The Empress rose in an agony of alarm.
‘Let us go to him!’
she cried.
And there was a general rush for the door.

Bruno slipped off his chair in a moment.
‘May we go too?’
he eagerly asked.
But the King did not hear the question, as the Professor was speaking to him.
‘Preoccupied, your Majesty!’
he was saying.
‘That is what he is, no doubt!’

‘May we go and see him?’
Bruno repeated.
The King nodded assent, and the children ran off.
In a minute or two they returned, slowly and gravely.
‘Well?’
said the King.
‘What’s the matter with the Prince?’

‘He’s—what you said,’ Bruno replied looking at the Professor.
‘That hard word.’
And he looked to Sylvie for assistance.

‘Porcupine,’ said Sylvie.

‘No, no!’
the Professor corrected her.
‘ "Pre-occupied", you mean.’

‘No, it’s porcupine,’ persisted Sylvie.
‘Not that other word at all.
And please will you come?
The house is all in an uproar.’

(‘And oo’d better bring an uproar-glass wiz oo!’
added Bruno.)

We got up in great haste, and followed the children upstairs.
No one took the least notice of me, but I wasn’t at all surprised at this, as I had long realized that I was quite invisible to them all—even to Sylvie and Bruno.

All along the gallery, that led to the Prince’s apartment, an excited crowd was surging to and fro, and the Babel of voices was deafening: against the door of the room three strong men were leaning, vainly trying to shut it—for some great animal inside was constantly bursting it half open, and we had a glimpse, before the men could push it back again, of the head of a furious wild beast, with great fiery eyes and gnashing teeth.
Its voice was a sort of mixture—there was the roaring of a lion, and the bellowing of a bull, and now and then a scream like a gigantic parrot.
‘There is no judging by the voice!’
the Professor cried in great excitement.
‘What is it?’
he shouted to the men at the door.
And a general chorus of voices answered him ‘Porcupine!

Prince Uggug has turned into a Porcupine!’

‘A new Specimen!’
exclaimed the delighted Professor.
‘Pray let me go in.
It should be labeled at once!’

But the strong men only pushed him back.
‘Label it, indeed!
Do you want to be eaten up?’
they cried.

‘Never mind about Specimens, Professor!’
said the Emperor, pushing his way through the crowd.
‘Tell us how to keep him safe!’

‘A large cage!’
the Professor promptly replied.
‘Bring a large cage,’ he said to the people generally, ‘with strong bars of steel, and a portcullis made to go up and down like a mouse-trap!
Does anyone happen to have such a thing about him?’

It didn’t sound a likely sort of thing for anyone to have about him; however, they brought him one directly: curiously enough, there happened to be one standing in the gallery.

‘Put it facing the opening of the door, and draw up the portcullis!’
This was done in a moment.

‘Blankets now!’
cried the Professor.
‘This is a most interesting Experiment!’

There happened to be a pile of blankets close by: and the Professor had hardly said the word, when they were all unfolded and held up like curtains all around.
The Professor rapidly arranged them in two rows, so as to make a dark passage, leading straight from the door to the mouth of the cage.

‘Now fling the door open!’
This did not need to be done: the three men had only to leap out of the way, and the fearful monster flung the door open for itself, and, with a yell like the whistle of a steam-engine, rushed into the cage.

‘Down with the portcullis!’
No sooner said than done: and all breathed freely once more, on seeing the Porcupine safely caged.

The Professor rubbed his hands in childish delight.
‘The Experiment has succeeded!’
he proclaimed.
‘All that is needed now is to feed it three times a day, on chopped carrots and—’

‘Never mind about its food, just now!’
the Emperor interrupted.
‘Let us return to the Banquet.
Brother, will you lead the way?’

And the old man, attended by his children, headed the procession down stairs.
‘See the fate of a loveless life!’
he said to Bruno, as they returned to their places.
To which Bruno made reply, ‘I always loved Sylvie.
so I’ll never get prickly like that!’

‘He is prickly, certainly,’ said the Professor, who had caught the last words, ‘but we must remember that, however porcupiny, he is royal still!
After this feast is over, I’m going to take a little present to Prince Uggug—just to soothe him, you know: it isn’t pleasant living in a cage.’

‘What’ll you give him for a birthday-present?’
Bruno enquired.

‘A small saucer of chopped carrots,’ replied the Professor.
‘In giving birthday-presents, my motto is—cheapness!
I should think I save forty pounds a year by giving—oh, what a twinge of pain!’