alice-in-metamorpov/through-the-looking-glass/its-my-own-invention.typ

== “It's my own Invention”
After a while the noise seemed gradually to die away, till all was dead
silence, and pov/S lifted up pov/p head in some alarm. There was no one
to be seen, and pov/p first thought was that pov/s must have been
dreaming about the Lion and the Unicorn and those queer Anglo-Saxon
Messengers. However, there was the great dish still lying at her feet,
on which pov/s had tried to cut the plum-cake, “So I wasn't dreaming,
after all,” pov/s said to pov/r, “unless---unless we're all part of the
same dream. Only I do hope it's #emph[my] dream, and not the Red King's!
I don't like belonging to another person's dream,” pov/s went on in a
rather complaining tone: “I've a great mind to go and wake him, and see
what happens!”

At this moment pov/p thoughts were interrupted by a loud shouting of
“Ahoy! Ahoy! Check!” and a Knight dressed in crimson armour came
galloping down upon pov/o, brandishing a great club. Just as he reached
pov/o, the horse stopped suddenly: “You're my prisoner!” the Knight
cried, as he tumbled off his horse.

Startled as she was, pov/S vrb/be/ more frightened for him than for
pov/r at the moment, and watched him with some anxiety as he mounted
again. As soon as he was comfortably in the saddle, he began once more
“You're my---” but here another voice broke in “Ahoy! Ahoy! Check!” and
pov/S looked round in some surprise for the new enemy.

This time it was a White Knight. He drew up at pov/P side, and tumbled
off his horse just as the Red Knight had done: then he got on again, and
the two Knights sat and looked at each other for some time without
speaking. Pov/S looked from one to the other in some bewilderment.

“Prn/s'cut/off first 1/vrn/present/be\/\/ #emph[my] prisoner, you know!”
the Red Knight said at last.

“Yes, but then #emph[I] came and rescued prn/o!” the White Knight
replied.

“Well, we must fight for prn/o, then,” said the Red Knight, as he took
up his helmet (which hung from the saddle, and was something the shape
of a horse's head), and put it on.

“You will observe the Rules of Battle, of course?” the White Knight
remarked, putting on his helmet too.

“I always do,” said the Red Knight, and they began banging away at each
other with such fury that pov/S got behind a tree to be out of the way
of the blows.

“I wonder, now, what the Rules of Battle are,” pov/s said to pov/r, as
pov/s watched the fight, timidly peeping out from pov/p hiding-place:
“one Rule seems to be, that if one Knight hits the other, he knocks him
off his horse, and if he misses, he tumbles off himself---and another
Rule seems to be that they hold their clubs with their arms, as if they
were Punch and Judy---What a noise they make when they tumble! Just like
a whole set of fire-irons falling into the fender! And how quiet the
horses are! They let them get on and off them just as if they were
tables!”

Another Rule of Battle, that pov/S had not noticed, seemed to be that
they always fell on their heads, and the battle ended with their both
falling off in this way, side by side: when they got up again, they
shook hands, and then the Red Knight mounted and galloped off.

“It was a glorious victory, wasn't it?” said the White Knight, as he
came up panting.

“I don't know,” pov/S said doubtfully. “I don't want to be anybody's
prisoner. I want to be a/an also/Queen.”

“So you will, when you've crossed the next brook,” said the White
Knight. “I'll see you safe to the end of the wood---and then I must go
back, you know. That's the end of my move.”

“Thank you very much,” alt/first and second or third/pov/S said/said
pov/S/. “May I help you off with your helmet?” It was evidently more
than he could manage by himself; however, pov/s managed to shake him out
of it at last.

“Now one can breathe more easily,” said the Knight, putting back his
shaggy hair with both hands, and turning his gentle face and large mild
eyes to pov/O. Pov/s thought pov/s had never seen such a strange-looking
soldier in all pov/p life.

He was dressed in tin armour, which seemed to fit him very badly, and he
had a queer-shaped little deal box fastened across his shoulder,
upside-down, and with the lid hanging open. Pov/S looked at it with
great curiosity.

“I see you're admiring my little box.” the Knight said in a friendly
tone. “It's my own invention---to keep clothes and sandwiches in. You
see I carry it upside-down, so that the rain can't get in.”

“But the things can get #emph[out];,” pov/S gently remarked. “Do you
know the lid's open?”

“I didn't know it,” the Knight said, a shade of vexation passing over
his face. “Then all the things must have fallen out! And the box is no
use without them.” He unfastened it as he spoke, and was just going to
throw it into the bushes, when a sudden thought seemed to strike him,
and he hung it carefully on a tree. “Can you guess why I did that?” he
said to pov/O.

Pov/S shook pov/p head.

“In hopes some bees may make a nest in it---then I should get the
honey.”

“But you've got a bee-hive---or something like one---fastened to the
saddle,” alt/first and second or third/pov/S said/said pov/S/.

“Yes, it's a very good bee-hive,” the Knight said in a discontented
tone, “one of the best kind. But not a single bee has come near it yet.
And the other thing is a mouse-trap. I suppose the mice keep the bees
out---or the bees keep the mice out, I don't know which.”

“I was wondering what the mouse-trap was for,” alt/first and second or
third/pov/S said/said pov/S/. “It isn't very likely there would be any
mice on the horse's back.”

“Not very likely, perhaps,” said the Knight: “but if they #emph[do]
come, I don't choose to have them running all about.”

“You see,” he went on after a pause, “it's as well to be provided for
#emph[everything];. That's the reason the horse has all those anklets
round his feet.”

“But what are they for?” pov/S asked in a tone of great curiosity.

“To guard against the bites of sharks,” the Knight replied. “It's an
invention of my own. And now help me on. I'll go with you to the end of
the wood---What's the dish for?”

“It's meant for plum-cake,” alt/first and second or third/pov/S
said/said pov/S/.

“We'd better take it with us,” the Knight said. “It'll come in handy if
we find any plum-cake. Help me to get it into this bag.”

This took a very long time to manage, though pov/S held the bag open
very carefully, because the Knight was so #emph[very] awkward in putting
in the dish: the first two or three times that he tried he fell in
himself instead. “It's rather a tight fit, you see,” he said, as they
got it in a last; “There are so many candlesticks in the bag.” And he
hung it to the saddle, which was already loaded with bunches of carrots,
and fire-irons, and many other things.

“I hope you've got your hair well fastened on?” he continued, as they
set off.

“Only in the usual way,” pov/S said, smiling.

“That's hardly enough,” he said, anxiously. “You see the wind is so
#emph[very] strong here. It's as strong as soup.”

“Have you invented a plan for keeping the hair from being blown off?”
pov/S enquired.

“Not yet,” said the Knight. “But I've got a plan for keeping it from
#emph[falling] off.”

“I should like to hear it, very much.”

“First you take an upright stick,” said the Knight. “Then you make your
hair creep up it, like a fruit-tree. Now the reason hair falls off is
because it hangs #emph[down];---things never fall #emph[upwards];, you
know. It's a plan of my own invention. You may try it if you like.”

It didn't sound a comfortable plan, pov/S thought, and for a few minutes
pov/s walked on in silence, puzzling over the idea, and every now and
then stopping to help the poor Knight, who certainly was #emph[not] a
good rider.

Whenever the horse stopped (which it did very often), he fell off in
front; and whenever it went on again (which it generally did rather
suddenly), he fell off behind. Otherwise he kept on pretty well, except
that he had a habit of now and then falling off sideways; and as he
generally did this on the side on which pov/S vrB/be/ walking, pov/s
soon found that it was the best plan not to walk #emph[quite] close to
the horse.

“I'm afraid you've not had much practice in riding,” pov/s ventured to
say, as pov/s was helping him up from his fifth tumble.

The Knight looked very much surprised, and a little offended at the
remark. “What makes you say that?” he asked, as he scrambled back into
the saddle, keeping hold of pov/P hair with one hand, to save himself
from falling over on the other side.

“Because people don't fall off quite so often, when they've had much
practice.”

“I've had plenty of practice,” the Knight said very gravely: “plenty of
practice!”

Pov/S could think of nothing better to say than “Indeed?” but pov/s said
it as heartily as pov/s could. They went on a little way in silence
after this, the Knight with his eyes shut, muttering to himself, and
pov/S watching anxiously for the next tumble.

“The great art of riding,” the Knight suddenly began in a loud voice,
waving his right arm as he spoke, “is to keep---” Here the sentence
ended as suddenly as it had begun, as the Knight fell heavily on the top
of his head exactly in the path where pov/S vrB/be/ walking. Pov/s
vrb/be/ quite frightened this time, and said in an anxious tone, as
pov/s picked him up, “I hope no bones are broken?”

“None to speak of,” the Knight said, as if he didn't mind breaking two
or three of them. “The great art of riding, as I was saying, is---to
keep your balance properly. Like this, you know---”

He let go the bridle, and stretched out both his arms to show pov/O what
he meant, and this time he fell flat on his back, right under the
horse's feet.

“Plenty of practice!” he went on repeating, all the time that pov/S
vrB/be/ getting him on his feet again. “Plenty of practice!”

“It's too ridiculous!” alt/first and second or third/pov/S cried/cried
pov/S/, losing all pov/p patience this time. “You ought to have a wooden
horse on wheels, that you ought!”

“Does that kind go smoothly?” the Knight asked in a tone of great
interest, clasping his arms round the horse's neck as he spoke, just in
time to save himself from tumbling off again.

“Much more smoothly than a live horse,” pov/S said, with a little scream
of laughter, in spite of all pov/s could do to prevent it.

“I'll get one,” the Knight said thoughtfully to himself. “One or
two---several.”

There was a short silence after this, and then the Knight went on again.
“I'm a great hand at inventing things. Now, I daresay you noticed, that
last time you picked me up, that I was looking rather thoughtful?”

“You #emph[were] a little grave,” alt/first and second or third/pov/S
said/said pov/S/.

“Well, just then I was inventing a new way of getting over a
gate---would you like to hear it?”

“Very much indeed,” pov/S said politely.

“I'll tell you how I came to think of it,” said the Knight. “You see, I
said to myself, ‘The only difficulty is with the feet: the #emph[head]
is high enough already.' Now, first I put my head on the top of the
gate---then I stand on my head---then the feet are high enough, you
see---then I'm over, you see.”

“Yes, I suppose you'd be over when that was done,” pov/S said
thoughtfully: “but don't you think it would be rather hard?”

“I haven't tried it yet,” the Knight said, gravely: “so I can't tell for
certain---but I'm afraid it #emph[would] be a little hard.”

He looked so vexed at the idea, that pov/S changed the subject hastily.
“What a curious helmet you've got!” pov/s said cheerfully. “Is that your
invention too?”

The Knight looked down proudly at his helmet, which hung from the
saddle. “Yes,” he said, “but I've invented a better one than that---like
a sugar loaf. When I used to wear it, if I fell off the horse, it always
touched the ground directly. So I had a #emph[very] little way to fall,
you see---But there #emph[was] the danger of falling #emph[into] it, to
be sure. That happened to me once---and the worst of it was, before I
could get out again, the other White Knight came and put it on. He
thought it was his own helmet.”

The knight looked so solemn about it that pov/S did not dare to laugh.
“I'm afraid you must have hurt him,” pov/s said in a trembling voice,
“being on the top of his head.”

“I had to kick him, of course,” the Knight said, very seriously. “And
then he took the helmet off again---but it took hours and hours to get
me out. I was as fast as---as lightning, you know.”

“But that's a different kind of fastness,” pov/S objected.

The Knight shook his head. “It was all kinds of fastness with me, I can
assure you!” he said. He raised his hands in some excitement as he said
this, and instantly rolled out of the saddle, and fell headlong into a
deep ditch.

Pov/S ran to the side of the ditch to look for him. Pov/s vrb/be/ rather
startled by the fall, as for some time he had kept on very well, and
pov/s vrb/be/ afraid that he really #emph[was] hurt this time. However,
though pov/s could see nothing but the soles of his feet, pov/s vrb/be/
much relieved to hear that he was talking on in his usual tone. “All
kinds of fastness,” he repeated: “but it was careless of him to put
another man's helmet on---with the man in it, too.”

“How #emph[can] you go on talking so quietly, head downwards?” pov/S
asked, as pov/s dragged him out by the feet, and laid him in a heap on
the bank.

The Knight looked surprised at the question. “What does it matter where
my body happens to be?” he said. “My mind goes on working all the same.
In fact, the more head downwards I am, the more I keep inventing new
things.”

“Now the cleverest thing of the sort that I ever did,” he went on after
a pause, “was inventing a new pudding during the meat-course.”

“In time to have it cooked for the next course?” said pov/S. “Well, not
the #emph[next] course,” the Knight said in a slow thoughtful tone: “no,
certainly not the next #emph[course];.”

“Then it would have to be the next day. I suppose you wouldn't have two
pudding-courses in one dinner?”

“Well, not the #emph[next] day,” the Knight repeated as before: “not the
next #emph[day];. In fact,” he went on, holding his head down, and his
voice getting lower and lower, “I don't believe that pudding ever
#emph[was] cooked! In fact, I don't believe that pudding ever
#emph[will] be cooked! And yet it was a very clever pudding to invent.”

“What did you mean it to be made of?” pov/S asked, hoping to cheer him
up, for the poor Knight seemed quite low-spirited about it.

“It began with blotting paper,” the Knight answered with a groan.

“That wouldn't be very nice, I'm afraid---”

“Not very nice #emph[alone];,” he interrupted, quite eagerly: “but
you've no idea what a difference it makes mixing it with other
things---such as gunpowder and sealing-wax. And here I must leave you.”
They had just come to the end of the wood.

Pov/S could only look puzzled: pov/s vrb/be/ thinking of the pudding.

“You are sad,” the Knight said in an anxious tone: “let me sing you a
song to comfort you.”

“Is it very long?” pov/S asked, for pov/s had heard a good deal of
poetry that day.

“It's long,” said the Knight, “but very, #emph[very] beautiful.
Everybody that hears me sing it---either it brings the #emph[tears] into
their eyes, or else---”

“Or else what?” alt/first and second or third/pov/S said/said pov/S/,
for the Knight had made a sudden pause.

“Or else it doesn't, you know. The name of the song is called
‘#emph[Haddocks' Eyes];.'”

“Oh, that's the name of the song, is it?” pov/S said, trying to feel
interested.

“No, you don't understand,” the Knight said, looking a little vexed.
“That's what the name is #emph[called];. The name really #emph[is]
‘#emph[The Aged Aged Man];.'”

“Then I ought to have said ‘That's what the #emph[song] is called'?”
pov/S corrected pov/r.

“No, you oughtn't: that's quite another thing! The #emph[song] is called
‘#emph[Ways and Means];': but that's only what it's #emph[called];, you
know!”

“Well, what #emph[is] the song, then?” alt/first and second or
third/pov/S said, being/said pov/S, who was/ by this time completely
bewildered.

“I was coming to that,” the Knight said. “The song really #emph[is]
‘#emph[A-sitting On A Gate];': and the tune's my own invention.”

So saying, he stopped his horse and let the reins fall on its neck:
then, slowly beating time with one hand, and with a faint smile lighting
up his gentle foolish face, as if he enjoyed the music of his song, he
began.

Of all the strange things that pov/S saw in pov/p journey Through The
Looking-Glass, this was the one that pov/s always remembered most
clearly. Years afterwards pov/s could bring the whole scene back again,
as if it had been only yesterday---the mild blue eyes and kindly smile
of the Knight---the setting sun gleaming through his hair, and shining
on his armour in a blaze of light that quite dazzled pov/o---the horse
quietly moving about, with the reins hanging loose on his neck, cropping
the grass at pov/p feet---and the black shadows of the forest
behind---all this pov/s took in like a picture, as, with one hand
shading pov/p eyes, pov/s leant against a tree, watching the strange
pair, and listening, in a half dream, to the melancholy music of the
song.

“But the tune #emph[isn't] his own invention,” pov/s said to pov/r:
“it's ‘#emph[I give thee all, I can no more];.'” Pov/s stood and
listened very attentively, but no tears came into pov/p eyes.

#include "poems/i-give-thee-all-i-can-no-more.typ"

As the Knight sang the last words of the ballad, he gathered up the
reins, and turned his horse's head along the road by which they had
come. “You've only a few yards to go,” he said, “down the hill and over
that little brook, and then you'll be a/an also/Queen---But you'll stay
and see me off first?” he added as pov/S turned with an eager look in
the direction to which he pointed. “I shan't be long. You'll wait and
wave your handkerchief when I get to that turn in the road? I think
it'll encourage me, you see.”

“Of course I'll wait,” alt/first and second or third/pov/S said/said
pov/S/: “and thank you very much for coming so far---and for the
song---I liked it very much.”

“I hope so,” the Knight said doubtfully: “but you didn't cry so much as
I thought you would.”

So they shook hands, and then the Knight rode slowly away into the
forest. “It won't take long to see him #emph[off];, I expect,” pov/S
said to pov/r, as she stood watching him. “There he goes! Right on his
head as usual! However, he gets on again pretty easily---that comes of
having so many things hung round the horse---” So pov/s went on talking
to pov/r, as pov/s watched the horse walking leisurely along the road,
and the Knight tumbling off, first on one side and then on the other.
After the fourth or fifth tumble he reached the turn, and then pov/s
waved pov/p handkerchief to him, and waited till he was out of sight.

“I hope it encouraged him,” pov/s said, as pov/s turned to run down the
hill: “and now for the last brook, and to be a/an also/Queen! How grand
it sounds!” A very few steps brought pov/o to the edge of the brook.
“The Eighth Square at last!” pov/s cried as pov/s bounded across,

#line(length: 100%)

and threw pov/r down to rest on a lawn as soft as moss, with little
flower-beds dotted about it here and there. “Oh, how glad I am to get
here! And what #emph[is] this on my head?” pov/s exclaimed in a tone of
dismay, as pov/s put pov/p hands up to something very heavy, and fitted
tight all round her head.

“But how #emph[can] it have got there without my knowing it?” pov/s said
to pov/r, as pov/s lifted it off, and set it on pov/p lap to make out
what it could possibly be.

It was a golden crown.