Poor Alice

Article appeared in Vanity Fair in July, 1927

[This story is most likely a parody of Leslie Howard's experience in Her Cardboard Lover • Spelling and punctuation are Mr. Howard's]

A Modern Parable of an Ingenue's Distressing Adventures In Theatrical Wonderland

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—ten per cent, Brady—Shubert—ten per cent,' in the most monotonous manner.

'What a curious language,' thought Alice, 'though I 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 saw that she was in a little room so small that she had to bend to keep her head from touching he ceiling. In the room, sitting round the walls, was the strangest collection of small birds and animals. They seemed to resent alice very strongly—which was not surprising as they were actors and actresses looking for engagement.

'Did you ever see anything so enormous and ungainly?' said one actress, an elderly Owl, scarcely lowering her voice. 'Whoops, dearie, just look at her legs and...' She whispered something in the ear of a green Parrot sitting beside her—and then gave an unpleasant laugh. Further on sat a Duck, a Lory and an Eaglet. In a corner were two Mice, nervous and silent. There was also a Peacock whose tail-feathers got in everyone's way and particularly annoyed an elderly Stork who stood leaning on his cane.

Through a small office window to one side a hook-nosed and miserable-looking Dodo periodically thrust his head. He seemed to be there as if to keep everyone away from the White Rabbit, a kind of custodian. 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 seemed rather a shock to the Dodo who vanished precipitately—only to reappear a few seconds later through another door and beckon mysteriously to Alice with his wing. She followed him through dozens of doors till she was quite tired—then, suddenly, found herself in front of the White Rabbit. He was sitting talking to a rather fat Frog, who wore a good many diamond rings.

'How 'bout this one?' said the White Rabbit. 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,' replied Alice nervously.

'Well, take off 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,' said 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, and was only prevented from vanishing completely by the timely reappearance of the Dodo who whisked her out and pushed her into the street, saying as he did so, 'Rehearsal—Father William—Madhatter's Theater—at once.'

'Oh, dear—oh, dear!' said Alice rather angrily when she had recovered her breath, for Alice was a modern girl who 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 way barred by an enormous blue Caterpillar who sat quietly on a toad-stool, smoking a pipe. Alice found out later that he had sat on the same toad-stool for twenty years without moving. The Caterpillar looked at Alice in silent disapproval for some time.

'Who are you?' he asked, without removing his pipe.

'I'm—nobody,' replied Alice truthfully.

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

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

'There ain't no such person!' said the Caterpillar, and laughed loudly. 'Father William is the name of the play.'

'I can't help it,' said Alice, getting 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:

The Madhatter

presents

THE CHESIRE CAT

in

Father William

by

W. Shakespeare

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

'That just shows how ignorant you are,' said the Caterpillar. 'She's the star—therefore, there can't be anybody else in the play!'

'But who does she talk to?' asked Alice, in a puzzled way.

'Oh, there are a few insects—like yourself—crawling about. But I don't count them.' And he turned his back on Alice, puffing out clouds of smoke.

While he was thus occupied, creating a kind of smoke-screen, Alice slipped quickly past him 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, looking very important, with her back arched and screeching loudly. In front of her, on a chair, sat the Mad Hatter—nodding meekly to everything she said. In a corner of the stage Alice noticed a number of small animals and birds huddled together nervously.

When the Cheshire Cat paused for a moment to take breath, the Mad Hatter said 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 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 couldn't help being 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.'

'That's how I was born,' said the Tortoise, by way of explanation.

'I know, old man,' said the Hatter amiably, 'but 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 chap. You'll get two weeks salary.'

'Will he!' snapped the Cat. 'Try and get it out of the Frog!'

After the Tortoise had ambled away, the Hatter called out—'Now, we'll start the rehearsal.' At that moment, he caught sight of Alice. He studied her for a moment in silence.

'Come here, child,' he said. 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 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.'

'Neither do I,' said the Hatter with a wink—and everyone laughed heartily except the Cheshire Cat who snapped: 'We're wasting time.'

The Hatter clapped his hands and the rehearsal started. Alice watched for some time until, suddenly, as the Cat stood glaring angrily at her leading man, a Mock Turtle, 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, "T'was brillig and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe".'

'Is that what I say?'

'Yes. 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.

'It's obvious what it means—and if it isn't, it's no use explaining. Anyway, just say it. It's symbolic!'

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

'T'was brillig,' said Alice, 'and...'

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

Alice tried again. But the Hatter kept stopping her and giving her different readings. Finally, very nervous, she blurted out:

'I'm sorry. I just can't make sense of it. It doesn't seem like English to me.' The Hatter looked more pitying than ever.

'It isn't,' he said. 'It's a translation from the Hungarian.'

Alice was about to try again when the star advanced upon her with talons outstretched.

'I know what the trouble is,' the Cat hissed. 'I know why you don't understand the 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, she'll get over it,' the Hatter interposed, 'if she stays with us long enough.' And he added, with a touch of pathos, 'I was one myself once.'

'Exactly!' snarled the Cat. 'And you've never got over it, you poor idiot. We don't want any more of your sort in the business. Out with her, out with her!'

There was a dreadful uproar. The members of the cast did not like the star much, but now they seemed to like Alice even less. They rushed at her in a body, fur and feathers bristling with rage.

'Amateur!' they screamed. 'Amateur—Amateur!'

Alice shrank back and found herself growing smaller and smaller, while the animals grew larger and larger, and came closer and closer. With a scream Alice turned and ran—and ran—and ran.

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

Trivial Fond Records, pgs. 76-81


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