LIMELIGHTERS AND RUMOUR.
For a minute or two she stood looking at the house, and wondering what
to do next, when suddenly a footman came running out of the wood--she
considered him to be a footman because he was in livery; otherwise,
she would have called him a pig--and rapped loudly on the door. It was
opened by a sentry in uniform, with a face like a Bull-Dog.
The Pig-Footman began by producing from under his arm a large and very
dirty letter, with crowns stamped all over it, and this he handed to
the other, saying in a solemn tone: “For the Duchess. An ultimatum from
the Kaiser to expire at midnight.” The Dog-Sentry repeated, in the
same solemn tone, only changing the order of the words a little: “From
the Kaiser. An ultimatum for the Duchess to expire at midnight.” Then
they both bowed very low; the Pig-Footman ran back into the wood with
his arms full of a lot more big letters, and the Dog-Sentry stood at
attention on the top of the steps.
[Illustration: “_The Pig-Footman began by producing a large and very
dirty letter._”]
“Why does the Kaiser want the Duchess to expire at midnight?” Alice
asked politely.
“Have you _met_ the Duchess?” said the Dog.
“No,” said Alice; “I haven’t had the pleasure.”
“I don’t know about pleasure,” said the Dog; “but if you had you
wouldn’t ask silly questions.”
“Is she _very_ objectionable then?” Alice inquired.
“She’s a Limelighter,” said the Dog, as if that settled the matter.
“What does that mean?” asked Alice.
“It means,” said the Dog, “a person who gets into the limelight--and
sticks in it, too. Duchesses aren’t all Limelighters, and Limelighters
aren’t all Duchesses; but, anyhow, they are the nastiest things we’ve
got in the house. And if you want to know any more you’d better go and
ask her. Why don’t you ring the bell?”
Alice did as he suggested, but got no reply.
“Keep on ringing,” said the Dog; “and you might keep your eye on the
wood at the same time. I want to have a look at the news.”
He sat on the steps and took a big newspaper out of his pocket. “Very
interesting,” he remarked after a pause, “listen to this--
“_‘Some Boers from the Cape
Have got into a scrape
Through attending to treacherous liars;
But I’m credibly told
They are bound to be +sold+,
Now that Botha is out after +Beyers+.’_”
“And here’s some more,” he added, turning over the paper; “I’ll read it
to you,” and he began--
“RESULT OF GREAT (BLANK-DASH) ATTACK.
[FROM OUR OWN EXPERT AT THE BACK.]
(Submitted to the Press Bureau,
Who will not swear it’s true, although
They do not think its publication
Will jeopardise the British nation.)
A TOWN IN EUROPE,
(Blank) o’clock,
November (dash).
A fearful shock
Of arms occurred at (blank) to-day,
And I’m at liberty to say
That the result was (blank-dash-blank),
For which we have the (blanks) to thank.
The whole (dash) Corps of (censored) Huns,
Supported by (omitted) guns,
Advanced at daylight, and were faced
By (here a passage is erased),
Who held a very strong position
Resting upon (a long omission).
The (blanks) were able to advance
And occupy (a town in France);
But presently the (blank) Division
Attacked the trenches of (excision),
And soon (blank-blank), and then (dash-dash),
(Dash-blank, dash-blank) a fearful crash
(A paragraph omitted here),
As a result of which it’s clear
That further efforts will (the rest
Of the report has been suppressed).”
“That’s _very_ interesting, isn’t it?” said the Dog after a pause.
“Very,” Alice agreed. “It will help people to understand the war, won’t
it? The Censor, or Nonsensor, or whatever they call him, must be a
great stimulus to recruiting.”
Alice rang the bell again.
“It’s no good ringing,” remarked the Dog, “the Duchess is much too busy
to attend to business. If I were you I’d walk straight in.”
This seemed to be the best thing to do, so Alice pushed open the door
and went into the house.
Inside were a lot of passages, with offices on each side, and in the
offices were heaps of people all very busy. “Much too busy to talk to
me,” Alice thought; “I’m sure they wouldn’t like to be interrupted.”
Fortunately, at intervals along the passages there were illuminated
notices saying, “This way to the Duchess,” and presently she came to a
door labelled, “Walk in and see what the Duchess is doing. Interviewers
and photographers especially welcome.” Alice opened the door and went
in.
She found herself in a big room like an office, but full of very
brilliant lights, all arranged so as to shine on the Duchess, who was
sitting in a revolving chair before a desk in the middle, nursing a
baby dressed in red tape and looking very puny and neglected. She was
evidently trying to pose for a Cinematograph Operator who was working
his machine in one corner.
“There’s certainly too much light in this room,” Alice said to herself,
rubbing her eyes.
Now and then the Operator lit a piece of magnesium wire, and the glare
made even the Duchess blink; as for the Baby, it screwed up its eyes
and howled piteously. The only thing in the room that seemed quite
indifferent was a large brown bear that was wandering round and round
very silently.
“Please would you tell me,” said Alice a little timidly, “why your bear
is so restless?”
“It isn’t mine,” said the Duchess. “It’s a Russian bear, and that’s
why.”
“I didn’t know that Russian bears----” Alice began.
“They don’t,” the Duchess interrupted. “But it isn’t a real one; it’s
only a rumour. It annoys me very much, first turning up in one place
and then in another, and then disappearing just when I have begun to
believe in it, and have started dozens of Committees to look after it.”
“But can’t it look after itself?” Alice asked.
“Of course it can,” said the Duchess; “but in that case where do _I_
come in? Why, I’ve started a Society to provide it with hot tea at
Inverness and a foot-warmer on the journey down, and it doesn’t come
that way! And I’ve formed a Committee to scrape the snow off its paws,
and there isn’t any; And I’ve talked about it to _everyone_, and said
I _know_ it’s true, and it turns out to be only a rumour. It’s a horrid
ungrateful beast, and I can’t get any credit out of it!”
“Never mind,” said Alice, trying to comfort her, for she looked as if
she might burst into tears at any moment; “after all, you’ve got your
nice house and your dear little baby.”
“Dear!” cried the Duchess; “_expensive_, you mean! It’s a nasty,
useless little nuisance.”
“What is its name?” asked Alice, who was very fond of babies, even ugly
ones.
“It’s name is all right,” said the Duchess; “in fact, it’s a good name.
It’s called ‘The International Society of Unqualified War-nuts.’ But it
doesn’t get on, and I don’t understand it, and I wish I’d never seen
the sickly little brat!”
“Then why don’t you get someone to look after it who _does_ understand
it?” Alice inquired.
“That’s all very well,” said the Duchess, “but where should _I_ come in?
“I don’t know how to handle the wretched thing,” she went on.
Alice was inclined to think she was speaking the truth, as she was
certainly holding it the wrong way up, and had got it into a terrible
mess.
Just then the baby began to cry again, and the Duchess started to sing
a sort of lullaby to it, giving it a violent shake at the end of each
line:
_The limelight falls
In crowded halls
On platforms duly elevated;
The public haste
To praise my taste
For patriotism unabated.
Blow, trumpet, blow! Set the glad news a-going.
Blow, trumpet! Answer echoes, growing, growing, growing._
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:
_O hark! O hear!
How loud and clear
The hangers-on repeat the story!
By blatant bluff,
And pictured puff,
My reputation leaps to glory.
Blow! and who cares if blue-black ink is snowing!
Blow, trumpet! Answer echoes, growing, growing, growing._
“Here! you may nurse it a bit, if you like!” the Duchess said to Alice,
flinging the baby at her as she spoke. “It’s getting so thin that
I’m ashamed to take it into the limelight, for fear of people seeing
through it.”
Alice caught it with some difficulty, and carried it out into the open
air.
It was in a terribly tangled state, and when she had straightened it
out a bit she found that there was really hardly anything there but red
tape, and it certainly had no backbone. However, she carried it along
for some time, hoping that it would improve, but it got lighter and
lighter, until it faded out of existence altogether.
“Well, it’s no use hanging on to a lot of red tape,” said Alice to
herself, and she put it down by the side of the path, and walked on
into the wood.
Presently she came to a place where a great many paths diverged in all
directions, and she was just wondering which way to go when she was a
little startled by seeing the Russian Bear sitting on a bough of a tree
a few yards off.
[Illustration: “_She was a little startled by seeing the Russian
bear._”]
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.
“Russian Bear,” she began, rather nervously, “would you please tell me
which way to go?”
“It doesn’t matter,” said the Bear, “because you won’t get there,
anyway. Now I started from Russia and landed in Scotland, and went by
Great Northern, North Western, and Midland; and I landed at Avonmouth
and went by Great Western; and I did the whole journey by the North
Sea; and I came round by Siberia and Canada; and I changed my uniform
in France; and _then_ where do you think I was?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Alice politely.
“Why,” said the Bear, “in Russia, of course.”
“How annoying for you!” Alice exclaimed.
“Not at all,” said the Bear; “I should get along nicely enough
if interfering people would leave me alone, and not call me a
steam-roller, and wrap me up in rumours, and see me where I’m not. That
old Duchess is the worst of the lot!”
“What is _she_ doing now?” asked Alice.
“Oh, she’s _very_ busy,” said the Bear. “She’s getting up a show of
Tableaux Vivants for the Blind.”
“But they won’t see them!” Alice objected.
“Oh, _that’s_ all right,” said the Bear; “they are going to do them in
Braile. Besides, her schemes never amount to anything.”
“Then why does she trouble about them?” asked Alice.
“Oh, she wants to get the credit for doing _something_,” said the Bear,
“and if she can’t, she wants to make sure that no one else will get it.
But I must be bobbing up in a new place. Good-bye!” And it vanished
suddenly.
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 Bear. “I’d nearly forgotten to ask.”
“It dissolved into thin air,” Alice said.
“I thought it would,” said the Bear. “It was always a transparent
farce.”
“How did you get there again?” Alice asked; “I didn’t see you coming.”
“No, I always travel with the blinds down,” said the Bear, 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 until she came to a
sign-post labelled: “This way to the News-Wolff. All the latest fables.
Complete satisfaction guaranteed.” The other arm was labelled: “To the
Blonde Beast. Crimes committed on easy terms. Special this day--Murders
and Arson.”
“Well, they neither of them sound very pleasant,” said Alice to
herself, “but I think the News-Wolff will be the least objectionable.”
As she said this she looked up, and there was the Bear again, sitting
on a branch of a tree.
“I shall hope to see you in Berlin,” said the Bear.
“Thanks very much,” replied Alice; “and I wish you wouldn’t keep
appearing and vanishing so suddenly; you make me quite giddy.”
“All right,” said the Bear; and this time it vanished quite slowly,
beginning with an official statement and ending with a rumour, which
was still very persistent for some time afterwards.
“Well! I’ve often seen a bear without a rumour,” thought Alice, “but a
rumour without a bear! It’s the most curious thing I ever saw in all my
life.”
She turned along the path towards the News-Wolff, and presently arrived
opposite to a little house surrounded by a pretty garden.