Poor Alice

A Modern Parable of an Ingénue's Distressing Adventures in Theatrical Wonderland

LESLIE HOWARD

ALICE always felt that the whole thing was entirely the fault of the White Rabbit. She had walked with him all the way down the street and he had suddenly vanished into a little hole in the ground. Alice, with great difficulty, squeezed herself into the hole, and followed. Ahead of her was a long dark passage down which she could see the White Rabbit hurrying for all he was worth. He seemed to be very agitated and kept muttering to himself: "Brady—Shubert—tenpercent, Brady—Shubert—-ten-percent," in the most monotonous manner.

"What a curious language," thought Alice, "though 1 suppose all the other rabbits understand it."

At that moment the White Rabbit vanished, and Alice found herself in front of a little door, on which was a sign, "W. RABBIT— Theatrical Agent." Alice squeezed through the door and found herself in a little room, so small that she had to bend to keep her head from touching the ceiling. In the room sitting 'round the walls, was the strangest assortment of small birds and animals. They seemed to resent Alice very strongly which was not surprising as they were actors and actresses looking for engagements.

"Did you ever see anything so enormous?" said one old Owl almost out loud, "Whoops, dearie, look at her legs and—." She continued in a whisper in the car of a green parrot who sat by her side and kept screeching in the most ear-splitting way. There was a Duck, and a Lory and an Eaglet. In one corner two Mice sat nervous and silent. And there was a Peacock whose feathers got in everybody's way and particularly annoyed an elderly Stork who stood leaning on his cane.

THROUGH a little window at one side, a Dodo stuck his head and surveyed the company. He seemed to be there especially to keep everyone away from the White Rabbit. He kept saying over and over again, to no one in particular, "Nothing today— nothing today." Nobody paid the slightest attention to him; they all sat on patiently.

"How stupid of them," thought Alice, and she went up to the Dodo and said politely, "Excuse me, but can I see the White Rabbit?"

"Nothing today," repeated the Dodo which didn't seem at all the correct answer to Alice, so she made her request again. This was rather a shock to the Dodo, who vanished precipitately, only to come back in a second through another door and beckon mysteriously to Alice with his right wing. Alice followed him through dozens of doors till she was quite tired and suddenly found herself in front of the White Rabbit who was sitting talking to a rather fat Frog, who wore a good many diamond rings.

"How 'bout this one?" said the White Rabbit waving his ears at Alice, who didn't think it very polite of him to refer to her as "this one."

The Frog croaked, and looked up at Alice, whose head was still touching the ceiling.

"Young," murmured the White Rabbit, "and cheap."

"Take off your hat," croaked the Frog.

"I haven't got one on," replied Alice nervously.

"Well, take ofT your stockings," said the Frog.

Alice found that her head was no longer touching the ceiling, in fact, she was shrinking rapidly in size. She took off her stockings.

"Now stand on your head," croaked the Frog.

By the time Alice had finished standing on her head, she had become so small that she barely reached the White Rabbit's knee, in fact she was only prevented from vanishing completely by the timely re-entrance of the Dodo who whisked her out and pushed her into the street, saying as he did so, "Rehearsal

Father William—Madhatter's Theatre—at once."

"Oh, dear—oh, clear!" said Alice rather angrily when she had recovered her breath. (For Alice was a modern girl and could use strong language on occasion.)

HOWEVER, she did as she was told and soon found herself at the Theatre. She tried to go through the stage door, but found her entrance barred by an enormous blue caterpillar who sat quietly on a toadstool, smoking a pipe. Alice found out later that he had sat on the same toadstool for twenty years without moving. The Caterpillar looked at Alice in silence for some time, and then, removing his pipe, said languidly,

"W ho are you?"

"Nobody," replied Alice truthfully.

"Then you can't come in," said the Caterpillar and continued to smoke as if that closed the matter.

"But," persisted Alice timidly, "I have an appointment with Father William."

"There ain't no such person," said the Caterpillar, and laughed loudly in his caterpillar fashion. Alice thought this was very rude, in addition to being bad grammar, and said so. Then the Caterpillar explained:

"Father William is the name of the play."

"I can't help it—" said Alice, getting really annoyed. "I'm in the play, so you must let me in."

"Don't talk nonsense," snapped the Caterpillar. "There's only one person in the play— and that's the Cheshire Cat—she's the star. You must be blind or you'd have seen her name up there."

Alice looked up and saw a huge sign which read:—

"But she can't be the only person in the play," objected Alice.

"Oh, can't she?" said the Caterpillar. "That just shows how ignorant you are. The Cheshire Cat is a star—therefore, there cant be anybody else in the play."

"But whom does she talk to?" asked Alice.

The Caterpillar shrugged his shoulders. Of course he had none to shrug, but he went through the motions.

"Oh, there are a few insects who will be crawling about—like yourself, for instance. I don't count them."

He then turned his back on Alice and started singing at the top of his voice:

Twinkle, twinkle little star No one wonders what you are;

In fact it's said, an awful lot,

On principle you should be shot.

While he was thus occupied Alice got into the Theatre. It was rather dark inside, and all she could see at first was the Cheshire Cat standing in the middle of the stage with hexback arched, and screeching loudly. The Madhatter himself sat, feeble and dejected, on a chair in front of her, nodding his head meekly to everything she said.

THEN Alice noticed a number of small birds and animals huddled in a corner together. They were very similar to the creatures she had seen in the White Rabbit's office.

W hen the Cheshire Cat paused for a moment to take breath the Madhatter took the opportunity to say hurriedly, "All right my dear—have it your own way."

"Thank you for nothing," snarled the Cat.

"Come here, Tortoise," ordered the Hatter.

Very slowly a dejected tortoise detached itself from the nervous group in the corner and advanced haltingly to the centre of the stage.

"Mind you don't trip," sneered the star, which Alice thought most unkind, especially as the Tortoise was obviously slow.

"I'm sorry old man," said the Hatter taking the Tortoise to one side, "but the star thinks you're too slow for the part."

The tortoise thought a moment and said, "That's how I was born."

"I can't help it—old man," said the Hatter amiably, "you're supposed to be a greyhound in the play and you're not a bit like one."

"I've got an Equity contract," said the Tortoise slowly but defiantly.

"That's all right, old man—you'll get two weeks' salary."

"Will he?" snapped the Cat. "Try and get it out of the Frog."

So the poor Tortoise ambled off very slowly, and the Hatter called out:

"Now we'll start the rehearsal."

At that moment he caught sight of Alice. He looked at her for a moment in silence, and said, "Come here, child." Alice hastily straightened her hair and went over to him. "The White Rabbit sent me," she said, feeling she ought to explain why she was there.

THE MADHATTER Presents THE CHESHIRE CAT in "Father William" By W. Shakespeare

(Continued on page 92)

(Continued from page 36)

The Hatter grinned at her.

"Oh, yes?" he remarked. "Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

Everybody but the star laughed nervously at the Hatter's wit. Not knowing the answer Alice replied, "I don't know, sir."

Whereupon the Hatter said with a wink, "Neither do I." And again everyone laughed heartily. All but the Cheshire Cat who snapped out, "We re wasting time."

The Hatter clapped his hands and the rehearsal started. Alice watched while it continued for some time, until suddenly, as the Cat stood glaring angrily at her leading man, a Mock Turtle, (it may have been a Welsh Rabbit), the Hatter announced to Alice.

"This is your entrance, my dear. You only have one line, but it's a very good one."

"Thank you, sir," said Alice stepping forward. "What do I say?"

"You come in," directed the Hatter, "and the star says. 'What do you want?' and you reply, ''Twas brillig and the shithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe'."

"Is that what I say?"

"Certainly. It's one of the best lines in the play."

"But what does it mean?" asked Alice.

The Hatter looked pityingly at her, while the Cat hissed under her breath.

"Well," said the Hatter at last, "it's obvious what it means, and if it isn't obvious it's no use explaining it. Anyway, it doesn't matter—just say it. It's symbolical."

Alice did her best. She waited till she heard her cue and then stepped up to the Cheshire Cat, who looked balefully at her and said, "What do you want?"

" 'Twas brillig," said Alice, "and—"

"No, no, no," interrupted the Hatter, "that reading's all wrong. You must say, ' 'Twas brillig' not 'Twas brillig.' It's in the past tense you see. It was brillig yesterday—but today it isn't brillig in any sort of respect."

Poor Alice tried again, but without much success. The Hatter kept stopping her and giving her different readings. Finally, very nervous, she blurted out, "I'm sorry, but I just can't make sense of it at all. It doesn't seem like English to me."

"I don't see w hy it should," said the Hatter. "It's a translation from the Hungarian."

Alice was just about to try again when she noticed the star advancing menacingly upon her with talons outstretched and countenance infuriated.

"I know' what it is," hissed the Cheshire Cat. "1 know why you don't understand those words. You're a human being, aren't you? Admit it."

"Yes," said Alice retreating, "I am."

"Aha," screeched the Cat triumphantly, "I knew it. Out you get!" She turned on the Hatter.

"You promised me there'd be no human beings in this play."

"Well," objected the Hatter, "she'll get over that if she stays with us long enough."

"Never," screamed the Cheshire Cat. "Once a woman always a woman."

"I was one myself once," ventured the Hatter reminiscently and not without a touch of pathos.

"Exactly," snarled the Cat. "And you've never really got over it, you poor idiot. We don't want any of you in this business. Out with her—out with her."

Then there was a dreadful uproar. The members of the cast cl id not like the star over much, but now they seemed to like Alice even less, and they all rushed at her in a body, fur and feathers bristling with rage.

"Amateur!" they screamed. "Amateur—Amateur—"

Alice shrank back anti found herself growing smaller and smaller, while the animals grew bigger and bigger and came closer and closer.

With a scream Alice turned and ran —and ran,—and ran—.

"Poor girl," said her distraught mother after Alice was safely in her bed that night, "we must let her think it was all a dream."