July 23, 1867 (when on holiday in Dantzig). On our way to the station
we came across the grandest instance of the “Majesty of Justice” that I
have ever witnessed. A little boy was being taken to the magistrate, or
to prison (probably for picking a pocket). The achievement of this feat
had been entrusted to two soldiers in full uniform, who were solemnly
marching, one in front of the poor little urchin and one behind, with
bayonets fixed, of course, to be ready to charge in case he should
attempt to escape.
August, 1867 (on a visit to Kronstadt with Canon Liddon, of Oxford).
Liddon had surrendered his overcoat early in the day, and we found it
must be recovered from the waiting-maid, who talked only Russian, and
as I had left the dictionary behind, and the little vocabulary did not
contain _coat_, we were in some difficulty. Liddon began by exhibiting
his coat, with much gesticulation, including the taking it half off.
To our delight, she appeared to understand at once, left the room, and
returned in a minute with--a large clothes brush. On this Liddon tried
a further and more energetic demonstration; he took off his coat and
laid it at her feet, pointed downwards (to intimate that in the lower
regions was the object of his desire), smiled with an expression of
the joy and gratitude with which he would receive it, and put the coat
on again. Once more a gleam of intelligence lighted up the plain but
expressive features of the young person; she was absent much longer
this time, and when she returned, she brought, to our dismay, a large
cushion and a pillow, and began to prepare the sofa for the nap that
she now saw clearly was the thing the dumb gentleman wanted. A happy
thought occurred to me, and I hastily drew a sketch representing
Liddon, with one coat on, receiving a second and larger one from the
hands of a benignant Russian peasant. The language of hieroglyphics
succeeded where all other means had failed, and we returned to St.
Petersburg with the humiliating knowledge that our standard of
civilisation was now reduced to the level of ancient Nineveh.
* * * * *
December 17, 1895. I have given books to Kate Tyndall and Sydney
Fairbrother, and have heard from them, and find I was entirely mistaken
in taking them for children. Both are married women![47]
* * * * *
Lewis Carroll had a nervous horror of infection that occasionally
resulted in a good deal of unconscious humour. During a brief holiday
which the two elder Miss Bowmans spent with him at Eastbourne, the
news came that their youngest sister had caught scarlet fever. After
this, the two children had to read every letter which came from their
mother as best they could from the other side of the room, while their
host held the epistle aloft, his head averted so that he should not see
what was not intended for his eyes.
* * * * *
On the occasion of another Eastbourne visit the same little girls were
taken by their friend for a steamer trip to Hastings. This was with the
idea of accustoming them to sea-travelling, in view of the forthcoming
professional visit of the little actresses to America. Their
“rehearsal” was certainly instructive, for the sea was much rougher
than at any time during their subsequent trip across the Atlantic, with
the result that they suffered considerably. “Uncle Dodgson,” as they
invariably called him, did his best to console them by continually
repeating, “Crossing the Atlantic will be much worse than this!”
* * * * *
He (Lewis Carroll) had a wonderfully good memory, except for faces and
dates. The former were always a stumbling block to him, and people
used to say (most unjustly) that he was intentionally short-sighted.
One night he went up to London to dine with a friend, whom he had
only recently met. The next morning a gentleman greeted him as he was
walking.
“I beg your pardon,” said Mr. Dodgson, “but you have the advantage of
me. I have no remembrance of having ever seen you before this moment.”
“That is very strange,” the other replied, “for I was your host last
night!”
* * * * *
Tight boots were a great aversion of his, especially for children. One
little girl who was staying with him at Eastbourne had occasion to buy
a new pair of boots. Lewis Carroll gave instructions to the bootmaker
as to how they were to be made, so as to be thoroughly comfortable,
with the result that when they came home they were more useful than
ornamental, being very nearly as broad as they were long! Which shows
that even hygienic principles may be pushed too far.
* * * * *
In Guildford there is (or was) an American confectioner’s, where the
cakes are cooked by a very quick process before the public and handed
to you smoking hot, direct from the cook. This preparation used to
be a source of considerable interest to the juvenile population, who
could watch the proceedings through the shop window. One afternoon,
when Lewis Carroll was purchasing cakes for some of his child chums,
seven small ragged youngsters formed an envious group outside. But they
soon became a participatory one, for, purchasing seven of the choicest
specimens of confectionery, the lover of children took them outside and
distributed them to the eager little ones.
* * * * *
“My first introduction”[48] (writes Sir George Baden-Powell) “to the
author of ‘Through the Looking Glass’ was about the year 1870 or
1871, and under appropriate conditions! I was then coaching at Oxford
with the well-known Rev. E. Hatch, and was on friendly terms with his
bright and pretty children. Entering his house one day, and facing the
dining-room, I heard mysterious noises under the table, and saw the
cloth move as if some one were hiding. Children’s legs revealed it
as no burglar, and there was nothing for it but to crawl upon them,
roaring as a lion. Bursting in upon them, in their stronghold under the
table, I was met by the staid but amused gaze of a reverend gentleman.
Frequently afterwards did I see and hear Lewis Carroll entertaining the
youngsters in his inimitable way.”
Possibly the funniest story about Lewis Carroll is the rather
well-known one which relates how Queen Victoria, being charmed by
“Alice in Wonderland,” and hearing that the author was really the Rev.
C. L. Dodgson, ordered the rest of his works. Her surprise at receiving
a large parcel of mathematical and technical works may be imagined!
[45] No book of this kind would be comprehensive without reference to
Lewis Carroll’s inimitable talent as a raconteur. Stored within his
mind were numberless entertaining anecdotes, some true, some invented
by himself, and some he had heard. As a matter of fact, he had heard
so many that he was a difficult man to tell a story to--it was sure
to be familiar to him. In selecting for reproduction some of the best
Lewis Carroll anecdotes--both _by_ him and _about_ him--the editor has
ventured to include several which do not come within the category of
“Nonsense,” but trusts that their interest will excuse this deviation
from the professed plan of this work. It is recorded that Mr. Carroll
(or Mr. Dodgson, to be strictly accurate when dealing with this
characteristic) was an excellent after-dinner speaker, and told stories
exceedingly well with an effective stutter reminiscent of Charles Lamb.
[46] Sister of Isa who so charmingly played the heroine in the stage
version of “Alice,” after Miss Phœbe Carlo. The Bowman sisters were
among the most intimate of Lewis Carroll’s friends.
[47] In an earlier entry in the diary Mr. Dodgson refers to the clever
acting of “Kate Tyndall and Sydney Fairbrother, whom I guess to be
about fifteen and twelve,” in the sensational melodrama “Two Little
Vagabonds” at the Princess’s Theatre.
[48] This and the two succeeding anecdotes are from “The Life and
Letters of Lewis Carroll.”