THE SAME--_continued._
Books for children--"The Lost Plum-Cake"--"An Unexpected
Guest"--Miss Isa Bowman--Interviews--"Matilda Jane"--Miss
Edith Rix--Miss Kathleen Eschwege
BIBLIOGRAPHY
INDEX
FOOTNOTES
* * * * *
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
LEWIS CARROLL--Frontispiece
_From a photograph_.
ARCHDEACON DODGSON AS A YOUNG MAN
_From a miniature, painted about_ 1826.
DARESBURY PARSONAGE, LEWIS CARROLL'S BIRTHPLACE
_From a photograph by Lewis Carroll_.
LEWIS CARROLL, AGED 8
_From a silhouette_.
MRS. DODGSON, LEWIS CARROLL'S MOTHER
_From a silhouette_.
CROFT RECTORY; ARCHDEACON DODGSON AND FAMILY IN FOREGROUND
_From a photograph by Lewis Carroll_, 1856.
TOY STATION IN GARDEN AT CROFT
_From a photograph_.
ARCHBISHOP TAIT
_From a photograph by Elliott and Fry_.
"THE ONLY SISTER WHO _WOULD_ WRITE TO HER BROTHER"
_From a drawing by Lewis Carroll_.
"THE AGE OF INNOCENCE".
_From a drawing by Lewis Carroll_.
"THE SCANTY MEAL"
_From a drawing by Lewis Carroll_.
"THE FIRST EARRING"
_From a drawing by Lewis Carroll_.
ILLUSTRATIONS TO "LAYS OF SORROW," NO. 2
_From drawings by Lewis Carroll_.
EXTERIOR OF CHRIST CHURCH
_From a photograph_.
GRAVE OF ARCHDEACON AND MRS. DODGSON IN CROFT CHURCHYARD
_From a photograph_.
LEWIS CARROLL, AGED 23
_From a photograph_.
ARCHDEACON DODGSON
_From a photograph_.
ARCHBISHOP LONGLEY
_From a photograph by Lewis Carroll_.
"ALAS! WHAT BOOTS--"
_From a drawing by Lewis Carroll_.
ALFRED TENNYSON
_From a photograph by Lewis Carroll_, 1857.
THE BISHOP OF LINCOLN
_From a photograph by Lewis Carroll_, 1875.
BISHOP WILBERFORCE
_From a photograph by Lewis Carroll_, 1860.
ALICE LIDDELL AS "THE BEGGAR-CHILD"
_From a photograph by Lewis Carroll_, 1858.
SKETCH FROM ST. LEONARD'S CONCERT-ROOM
_From a drawing by Lewis Carroll_.
GEORGE MACDONALD AND HIS DAUGHTER LILY
_From a photograph by Lewis Carroll_, 1863.
MRS. ROSSETTI AND HER CHILDREN, DANTE GABRIEL, CHRISTINA,
AND WILLIAM
_From a photograph by Lewis Carroll_, 1863.
LORINA, ALICE, AND EDITH LIDDELL
_From a photograph by Lewis Carroll_.
GEORGE MACDONALD
_From a photograph by Lewis Carroll_, 1870.
J. SANT, R.A.
_From a photograph by Lewis Carroll_, 1866.
HOLMAN HUNT
_From a photograph by Lewis Carroll_, 1860.
SIR JOHN MILLAIS
_From a photograph by Lewis Carroll_, 1865.
CHARLOTTE M. YONGE
_From a photograph by Lewis Carroll_, 1866.
CANON LIDDON
_From a photograph by Lewis Carroll_, 1867.
"INSTANCE OF HIEROGLYPHIC WRITING OF THE DATE 1867"
_From a sketch by Lewis Carroll_.
SIR JOHN TENNIEL
_From a photograph by Bassano_.
LEWIS CARROLL'S STUDY AT CHRIST CHURCH, OXFORD
_From a photograph_.
PROFESSOR FARADAY
_From a photograph by Lewis Carroll_, 1860.
JUSTICE DENMAN
_From a photograph by Lewis Carroll_, 1873.
LORD SALISBURY AND HIS TWO SONS
_From a photograph by Lewis Carroll_, 1870.
FACSIMILE OF A LETTER FROM SIR JOHN TENNIEL TO LEWIS
CARROLL, DATED JUNE 1, 1870
JOHN RUSKIN
_From a photograph by Lewis Carroll_, 1875.
HENRY HOLIDAY IN HIS STUDIO
_From a photograph_.
LEWIS CARROLL
_From a photograph_.
ELLEN TERRY
_From a photograph by Lewis Carroll_.
TOM TAYLOR
_From a photograph by Lewis Carroll_, 1863.
KATE TERRY
_From a photograph by Lewis Carroll_, 1865.
MISS E. GERTRUDE THOMSON
_From a photograph_.
DR. LIDDELL
_From a photograph by Hill & Saunders_.
"RESPONSIONS"
_From a photograph by A.T. Shrimpton_.
H. FURNISS
_From a photograph_.
"BALBUS AND THE DRAGON"
_From a crayon drawing by the Rev. H.C. Gaye_.
MEDLEY OF TENNIEL'S ILLUSTRATIONS IN "ALICE"
_From an etching by Miss Whitehead_.
FACSIMILE OF A LETTER FROM H. FURNISS TO LEWIS CARROLL,
DATED AUGUST 23, 1886
SYLVIE AND BRUNO
_From a drawing by Henry Holiday_.
FACSIMILE OF PROGRAMME OF "ALICE IN WONDERLAND" PRODUCED
AT THE ROYAL GLOBE THEATRE, DECEMBER 26, 1888.
"THE MAD TEA PARTY"
_From a photograph by Elliott and Fry_.
THE LATE DUKE OF ALBANY
_From a photograph by Lewis Carroll_, 1875.
THE DEAN OF CHRIST CHURCH
_From a photograph by Hill & Saunders_.
THE MECHANICAL "HUMPTY DUMPTY"
_From a photograph_.
LEWIS CARROLL
_From a photograph_.
THE CHESTNUTS, GUILDFORD
_From a photograph_.
LEWIS CARROLL'S GRAVE
_From a photograph_.
LORINA AND ALICE LIDDELL
_From a photograph by Lewis Carroll_.
ALICE LIDDELL
_From a photograph by Lewis Carroll_.
XIE KITCHIN
_From a photograph by Lewis Carroll_.
XIE KITCHIN AS A CHINAMAN
_From a photograph by Lewis Carroll_.
ALICE AND THE DORMOUSE
_From a photograph by Elliott and Fry_.
FACSIMILE OF A "LOOKING-GLASS" LETTER FROM LEWIS CARROLL
TO MISS EDITH BALL
ARTHUR HUGHES AND HIS DAUGHTER AGNES
_From a photograph by Lewis Carroll_, 1863.
"WHAT I LOOK LIKE WHEN I'M LECTURING"
_From a drawing by Lewis Carroll_.
* * * * *
CHAPTER I
(1832-1850.)
Lewis Carroll's forebears--The Bishop of Elphin--Murder of
Captain Dodgson--Daresbury--Living in
"Wonderland"--Croft--Boyish amusements--His first
school--Latin verses--A good report--He goes to
Rugby--_The Rectory Umbrella_--"A Lay of Sorrow."
The Dodgsons appear to have been for a long time connected with the
north of England, and until quite recently a branch of the family
resided at Stubb Hall, near Barnard Castle.
In the early part of the last century a certain Rev. Christopher
Dodgson held a living in Yorkshire. His son, Charles, also took Holy
Orders, and was for some time tutor to a son of the then Duke of
Northumberland. In 1762 his patron presented him to the living of
Elsdon, in Northumberland, by no means a desirable cure, as Mr.
Dodgson discovered. The following extracts from his letters to various
members of the Percy family are interesting as giving some idea of the
life of a rural clergyman a hundred years ago:
I am obliged to you for promising to write to me, but don't
give yourself the trouble of writing to this place, for 'tis
almost impossible to receive 'em, without sending a
messenger 16 miles to fetch 'em.
'Tis impossible to describe the oddity of my situation at
present, which, however, is not void of some pleasant
circumstances.
A clogmaker combs out my wig upon my curate's head, by way
of a block, and his wife powders it with a dredging-box.
The vestibule of the castle (used as a temporary parsonage)
is a low stable; above it the kitchen, in which are two
little beds joining to each other. The curate and his wife
lay in one, and Margery the maid in the other. I lay in the
parlour between two beds to keep me from being frozen to
death, for as we keep open house the winds enter from every
quarter, and are apt to sweep into bed to me.
Elsdon was once a market town as some say, and a city
according to others; but as the annals of the parish were
lost several centuries ago, it is impossible to determine
what age it was either the one or the other.
There are not the least traces of the former grandeur to be
found, whence some antiquaries are apt to believe that it
lost both its trade and charter at the Deluge.
... There is a very good understanding between the parties
[he is speaking of the Churchmen and Presbyterians who lived
in the parish], for they not only intermarry with one
another, but frequently do penance together in a white
sheet, with a white wand, barefoot, and in the coldest
season of the year. I have not finished the description for
fear of bringing on a fit of the ague. Indeed, the ideas of
sensation are sufficient to starve a man to death, without
having recourse to those of reflection.
If I was not assured by the best authority on earth that the
world is to be destroyed by fire, I should conclude that the
day of destruction is at hand, but brought on by means of an
agent very opposite to that of heat.
I have lost the use of everything but my reason, though my
head is entrenched in three night-caps, and my throat, which
is very bad, is fortified by a pair of stockings twisted in
the form of a cravat.
As washing is very cheap, I wear _two_ shirts at a
time, and, for want of a wardrobe, I hang my great coat upon
my own back, and generally keep on my boots in imitation of
my namesake of Sweden. Indeed, since the snow became two
feet deep (as I wanted a 'chaappin of Yale' from the
public-house), I made an offer of them to Margery the maid,
but her legs are too thick to make use of them, and I am
told that the greater part of my parishioners are not less
substantial, and notwithstanding this they are remarkable
for agility.
In course of time this Mr. Dodgson became Bishop of Ossory and Ferns,
and he was subsequently translated to the see of Elphin. He was warmly
congratulated on this change in his fortunes by George III., who said
that he ought indeed to be thankful to have got away from a palace
where the stabling was so bad.
The Bishop had four children, the eldest of whom, Elizabeth Anne,
married Charles Lutwidge, of Holmrook, in Cumberland. Two of the
others died almost before they had attained manhood. Charles, the
eldest son, entered the army, and rose to the rank of captain in the
4th Dragoon Guards. He met with a sad fate while serving his king and
country in Ireland. One of the Irish rebels who were supposed to have
been concerned in the murder of Lord Kilwarden offered to give himself
up to justice if Captain Dodgson would come alone and at night to take
him. Though he fully realised the risk, the brave captain decided to
trust himself to the honour of this outlaw, as he felt that no chance
should be missed of effecting so important a capture. Having first
written a letter of farewell to his wife, he set out on the night of
December 16, 1803, accompanied by a few troopers, for the
meeting-place--an old hut that stood a mile or so from Phillipstown,
in King's County. In accordance with the terms of the agreement, he
left his men a few hundred yards from the hut to await his return, and
advanced alone through the night. A cowardly shot from one of the
windows of the cottage ended his noble life, and alarmed the troopers,
who, coming up in haste, were confronted with the dead body of their
leader. The story is told that on the same night his wife heard two
shots fired, and made inquiry about it, but could find out nothing.
Shortly afterwards the news came that her husband had been killed just
at that time.
Captain Dodgson left two sons behind him--Hassard, who, after a
brilliant career as a special pleader, became a Master of the Court of
Common Pleas, and Charles, the father of the subject of this Memoir.
Charles, who was the elder of the two, was born in the year 1800, at
Hamilton, in Lanarkshire. He adopted the clerical profession, in which
he rose to high honours. He was a distinguished scholar, and took a
double first at Christ Church, Oxford. Although in after life
mathematics were his favourite pursuit, yet the fact that he
translated Tertullian for the "Library of the Fathers" is sufficient
evidence that he made good use of his classical education. In the
controversy about Baptismal Regeneration he took a prominent part,
siding on the question with the Tractarians, though his views on some
other points of Church doctrine were less advanced than those of the
leaders of the Oxford movement. He was a man of deep piety and of a
somewhat reserved and grave disposition, which, however, was tempered
by the most generous charity, so that he was universally loved by the
poor. In moments of relaxation his wit and humour were the delight of
his clerical friends, for he had the rare power of telling anecdotes
effectively. His reverence for sacred things was so great that he was
never known to relate a story which included a jest upon words from
the Bible.
In 1830 he married his cousin, Frances Jane Lutwidge, by whom he had
eleven children, all of whom, except Lewis Carroll, survive. His wife,
in the words of one who had the best possible opportunities for
observing her character, was "one of the sweetest and gentlest women
that ever lived, whom to know was to love. The earnestness of her
simple faith and love shone forth in all she did and said; she seemed
to live always in the conscious presence of God. It has been said by
her children that they never in all their lives remember to have heard
an impatient or harsh word from her lips." It is easy to trace in
Lewis Carroll's character the influence of that most gentle of
mothers; though dead she still speaks to us in some of the most
beautiful and touching passages of his works. Not so long ago I had a
conversation with an old friend of his; one of the first things she
said to me was, "Tell me about his mother." I complied with her
request as well as I was able, and, when I had finished my account of
Mrs. Dodgson's beautiful character, she said, "Ah, I knew it must have
been so; I felt sure he must have had a good mother."
On January 27, 1832, Charles Lutwidge Dodgson was born at Daresbury,
of which parish his father was then incumbent. The village of
Daresbury is about seven miles from Warrington; its name is supposed
to be derived from a word meaning oak, and certainly oaks are very
plentiful in the neighbourhood. A canal passes through an outlying
part of the parish. The bargemen who frequented this canal were a
special object of Mr. Dodgson's pastoral care. Once, when walking with
Lord Francis Egerton, who was a large landowner in the district, he
spoke of his desire to provide some sort of religious privileges for
them. "If I only had £100," he said, "I would turn one of those barges
into a chapel," and, at his companion's request, he described exactly
how he would have the chapel constructed and furnished. A few weeks
later he received a letter from Lord Francis to tell him that his wish
was fulfilled, and that the chapel was ready. In this strange church,
which is believed to have been the first of its kind, Mr. Dodgson
conducted service and preached every Sunday evening!
[Illustration: Daresbury Parsonage]
The parsonage is situated a mile and a half from the village, on the
glebe-farm, having been erected by a former incumbent, who, it was
said, cared more for the glebe than the parish. Here it was that
Charles spent the first eleven years of his life--years of complete
seclusion from the world, for even the passing of a cart was a matter
of great interest to the children.
[Illustration: Lewis Carroll, aged 8.]
In this quiet home the boy invented the strangest diversions for
himself; he made pets of the most odd and unlikely animals, and
numbered certain snails and toads among his intimate friends. He tried
also to encourage civilised warfare among earthworms, by supplying
them with small pieces of pipe, with which they might fight if so
disposed. His notions of charity at this early age were somewhat
rudimentary; he used to peel rushes with the idea that the pith would
afterwards "be given to the poor," though what possible use they could
put it to he never attempted to explain. Indeed he seems at this time
to have actually lived in that charming "Wonderland" which he
afterwards described so vividly; but for all that he was a thorough
boy, and loved to climb the trees and to scramble about in the old
marl-pits.
One of the few breaks in this very uneventful life was a holiday spent
with the other members of his family in Beaumaris. The journey took
three days each way, for railroads were then almost unknown; and
whatever advantages coaching may have had over travelling in trains,
speed was certainly not one of them.
Mr. Dodgson from the first used to take an active part in his son's
education, and the following anecdote will show that he had at least a
pupil who was anxious to learn. One day, when Charles was a very small
boy, he came up to his father and showed him a book of logarithms,
with the request, "Please explain." Mr. Dodgson told him that he was
much too young to understand anything about such a difficult subject.
The child listened to what his father said, and appeared to think it
irrelevant, for he still insisted, "_But_, please, explain!"
[Illustration: Mrs. Dodgson]
On one occasion Mr. and Mrs. Dodgson went to Hull, to pay a visit to
the latter's father, who had been seriously ill. From Hull Mrs.
Dodgson wrote to Charles, and he set much store by this letter, which
was probably one of the first he had received. He was afraid that some
of his little sisters would mess it, or tear it up, so he wrote upon
the back, "No one is to touch this note, for it belongs to C. L. D.";
but, this warning appearing insufficient, he added, "Covered with
slimy pitch, so that they will wet their fingers." The precious letter
ran as follows:--
My dearest Charlie, I have used you rather ill in not having
written to you sooner, but I know you will forgive me, as
your Grandpapa has liked to have me with him so much, and I
could not write and talk to him comfortably. All your notes
have delighted me, my precious children, and show me that
you have not quite forgotten me. I am always thinking of
you, and longing to have you all round me again more than
words can tell. God grant that we may find you all well and
happy on Friday evening. I am happy to say your dearest Papa
is quite well--his cough is rather _tickling_, but is
of no consequence. It delights me, my darling Charlie, to
hear that you are getting on so well with your Latin, and
that you make so few mistakes in your Exercises. You will be
happy to hear that your dearest Grandpapa is going on
nicely--indeed I hope he will soon be quite well again. He
talks a great deal and most kindly about you all. I hope my
sweetest Will says "Mama" sometimes, and that precious Tish
has not forgotten. Give them and all my other treasures,
including yourself, 1,000,000,000 kisses from me, with my
most affectionate love. I am sending you a shabby note, but
I cannot help it. Give my kindest love to Aunt Dar, and
believe me, my own dearest Charlie, to be your sincerely
affectionate
Mama.
Among the few visitors who disturbed the repose of Daresbury Parsonage
was Mr. Durnford, afterwards Bishop of Chichester, with whom Mr.
Dodgson had formed a close friendship. Another was Mr. Bayne, at that
time head-master of Warrington Grammar School, who used occasionally
to assist in the services at Daresbury. His son, Vere, was Charles's
playfellow; he is now a student of Christ Church, and the friendship
between him and Lewis Carroll lasted without interruption till the
death of the latter.
The memory of his birthplace did not soon fade from Charles's mind;
long afterwards he retained pleasant recollections of its rustic
beauty. For instance, his poem of "The Three Sunsets," which first
appeared in 1860 in _All the Year Round,_ begins with the
following stanzas, which have been slightly altered in later
editions:--
I watch the drowsy night expire,
And Fancy paints at my desire
Her magic pictures in the fire.
An island farm, 'mid seas of corn,
Swayed by the wandering breath of morn,
The happy spot where I was born.
Though nearly all Mr. Dodgson's parishioners at Daresbury have passed
away, yet there are still some few left who speak with loving
reverence of him whose lips, now long silenced, used to speak so
kindly to them; whose hands, long folded in sleep, were once so ready
to alleviate their wants and sorrows.
In 1843 Sir Robert Peel presented him to the Crown living of Croft, a
Yorkshire village about three miles south of Darlington. This
preferment made a great change in the life of the family; it opened
for them many more social opportunities, and put an end to that life
of seclusion which, however beneficial it may be for a short time, is
apt, if continued too long, to have a cramping and narrowing
influence.
The river Tees is at Croft the dividing line between Yorkshire and
Durham, and on the middle of the bridge which there crosses it is a
stone which shows where the one county ends and the other begins.
"Certain lands are held in this place," says Lewis in his
"Topographical Dictionary," "by the owner presenting on the bridge, at
the coming of every new Bishop of Durham, an old sword, pronouncing a
legendary address, and delivering the sword to the Bishop, who returns
it immediately." The Tees is subject to extraordinary floods, and
though Croft Church stands many feet above the ordinary level of the
river, and is separated from it by the churchyard and a field, yet on
one occasion the church itself was flooded, as was attested by
water-marks on the old woodwork several feet from the floor, still to
be seen when Mr. Dodgson was incumbent.
This church, which is dedicated to St. Peter, is a quaint old building
with a Norman porch, the rest of it being of more modern construction.
It contains a raised pew, which is approached by a winding flight of
stairs, and is covered in, so that it resembles nothing so much as a
four-post bedstead. This pew used to belong to the Milbanke family,
with which Lord Byron was connected. Mr. Dodgson found the
chancel-roof in so bad a state of repair that he was obliged to take
it down, and replace it by an entirely new one. The only village
school that existed when he came to the place was a sort of barn,
which stood in a corner of the churchyard. During his incumbency a
fine school-house was erected. Several members of his family used
regularly to help in teaching the children, and excellent reports were
obtained.
The Rectory is close to the church, and stands in the middle of a
beautiful garden. The former incumbent had been an enthusiastic
horticulturist, and the walls of the kitchen garden were covered with
luxuriant fruit-trees, while the greenhouses were well stocked with
rare and beautiful exotics. Among these was a specimen of that
fantastic cactus, the night-blowing Cereus, whose flowers, after an
existence of but a few hours, fade with the waning sun. On the day
when this occurred large numbers of people used to obtain Mr.
Dodgson's leave to see the curiosity.
[Illustration: Croft Rectory]
Near the Rectory is a fine hotel, built when Croft was an important
posting-station for the coaches between London and Edinburgh, but in
Mr. Dodgson's time chiefly used by gentlemen who stayed there during
the hunting season. The village is renowned for its baths and
medicinal waters. The parish of Croft includes the outlying hamlets of
Halnaby, Dalton, and Stapleton, so that the Rector's position is by no
means a sinecure. Within the village is Croft Hall, the old seat of
the Chaytors; but during Mr. Dodgson's incumbency the then Sir William
Chaytor built and lived at Clervaux Castle, calling it by an old
family name.
Shortly after accepting the living of Croft, Mr. Dodgson was appointed
examining chaplain to the Bishop of Ripon; subsequently he was made
Archdeacon of Richmond and one of the Canons of Ripon Cathedral.
Charles was at this time very fond of inventing games for the
amusement of his brothers and sisters; he constructed a rude train out
of a wheelbarrow, a barrel and a small truck, which used to convey
passengers from one "station" in the Rectory garden to another. At
each of these stations there was a refreshment-room, and the
passengers had to purchase tickets from him before they could enjoy
their ride. The boy was also a clever conjuror, and, arrayed in a
brown wig and a long white robe, used to cause no little wonder to his
audience by his sleight-of-hand. With the assistance of various
members of the family and the village carpenter, he made a troupe of
marionettes and a small theatre for them to act in. He wrote all the
plays himself the most popular being "The Tragedy of King John"--and
he was very clever at manipulating the innumerable strings by which
the movements of his puppets were regulated. One winter, when the snow
lay thick upon the lawn, he traced upon it a maze of such hopeless
intricacy as almost to put its famous rival at Hampton Court in the
shade.
[Illustration: Toy Station in garden at Croft.]
When he was twelve years old his father sent him to school at
Richmond, under Mr. Tate, a worthy son of that well-known Dr. Tate who
had made Richmond School so famous.
I am able to give his earliest impressions of school-life in his own
words, for one of his first letters home has been fortunately
preserved. It is dated August 5th, and is addressed to his two eldest
sisters. A boy who has _ten_ brothers and sisters can scarcely be
expected to write separate letters to each of them.
My dear Fanny and Memy,--I hope you are all getting on well,
as also the sweet twins, the boys I think that I like the
best, are Harry Austin, and all the Tates of which there are
7 besides a little girl who came down to dinner the first
day, but not since, and I also like Edmund Tremlet, and
William and Edward Swire, Tremlet is a sharp little fellow
about 7 years old, the youngest in the school, I also like
Kemp and Mawley. The rest of the boys that I know are
Bertram, Harry and Dick Wilson, and two Robinsons, I will
tell you all about them when I return. The boys have played
two tricks upon me which were these--they first proposed to
play at "King of the Cobblers" and asked if I would be king,
to which I agreed. Then they made me sit down and sat (on
the ground) in a circle round me, and told me to say "Go to
work" which I said, and they immediately began kicking me
and knocking me on all sides. The next game they proposed
was "Peter, the red lion," and they made a mark on a
tombstone (for we were playing in the churchyard) and one of
the boys walked with his eyes shut, holding out his finger,
trying to touch the mark; then a little boy came forward to
lead the rest and led a good many very near the mark; at
last it was my turn; they told me to shut my eyes well, and
the next minute I had my finger in the mouth of one of the
boys, who had stood (I believe) before the tombstone with
his mouth open. For 2 nights I slept alone, and for the rest
of the time with Ned Swire. The boys play me no tricks now.
The only fault (tell Mama) that there has been was coming in
one day to dinner just after grace. On Sunday we went to
church in the morning, and sat in a large pew with Mr.
Fielding, the church we went to is close by Mr. Tate's
house, we did not go in the afternoon but Mr. Tate read a
discourse to the boys on the 5th commandment. We went to
church again in the evening. Papa wished me to tell him all
the texts I had heard preached upon, please to tell him that
I could not hear it in the morning nor hardly one sentence
of the sermon, but the one in the evening was I Cor. i. 23.
I believe it was a farewell sermon, but I am not sure. Mrs.
Tate has looked through my clothes and left in the trunk a
great many that will not be wanted. I have had 3 misfortunes
in my clothes etc. 1st, I cannot find my tooth-brush, so
that I have not brushed my teeth for 3 or 4 days, 2nd, I
cannot find my blotting paper, and 3rd, I have no shoe-horn.
The chief games are, football, wrestling, leap frog, and
fighting. Excuse bad writing.
Yr affec' brother Charles.
_To_ SKEFF [_a younger brother, aged six_].
My dear Skeff,--Roar not lest thou be abolished. Yours,
etc.,--.
The discomforts which he, as a "new boy," had to put up with from his
school-mates affected him as they do not, unfortunately, affect most
boys, for in later school days he was famous as a champion of the weak
and small, while every bully had good reason to fear him. Though it is
hard for those who have only known him as the gentle and retiring don
to believe it, it is nevertheless true that long after he left school
his name was remembered as that of a boy who knew well how to use his
fists in defence of a righteous cause.
As was the custom at that time, Charles began to compose Latin verses
at a very early age, his first copy being dated November 25, 1844. The
subject was evening, and this is how he treated it:--
Phoebus aqua splendet descendens, æquora tingens
Splendore aurato. Pervenit umbra solo.
Mortales lectos quærunt, et membra relaxant
Fessa labore dies; cuncta per orbe silet.
Imperium placidum nunc sumit Phoebe corusca.
Antris procedunt sanguine ore feræ.
These lines the boy solemnly copied into his Diary, apparently in the
most blissful ignorance of the numerous mistakes they contained.
The next year he wrote a story which appeared in the school magazine.
It was called "The Unknown One," so it was probably of the sensational
type in which small boys usually revel.
Though Richmond School, as it was in 1844, may not compare favourably
in every respect with a modern preparatory school, where supervision
has been so far "reduced to the absurd" that the unfortunate masters
hardly get a minute to themselves from sunrise till long after sunset,
yet no better or wiser men than those of the school of Mr. Tate are
now to be found. Nor, I venture to think, are the results of the
modern system more successful than those of the old one. Charles loved
his "kind old schoolmaster," as he affectionately calls him, and
surely to gain the love of the boys is the main battle in
school-management.
The impression he made upon his instructors may be gathered from the
following extracts from Mr. Tate's first report upon him:
Sufficient opportunities having been allowed me to draw from
actual observation an estimate of your son's character and
abilities, I do not hesitate to express my opinion that he
possesses, along with other and excellent natural
endowments, a very uncommon share of genius. Gentle and
cheerful in his intercourse with others, playful and ready
in conversation, he is capable of acquirements and knowledge
far beyond his years, while his reason is so clear and so
jealous of error, that he will not rest satisfied without a
most exact solution of whatever appears to him obscure. He
has passed an excellent examination just now in mathematics,
exhibiting at times an illustration of that love of precise
argument, which seems to him natural.
I must not omit to set off against these great advantages
one or two faults, of which the removal as soon as possible
is desirable, tho' I am prepared to find it a work of time.
As you are well aware, our young friend, while jealous of
error, as I said above, where important faith or principles
are concerned, is exceedingly lenient towards lesser
frailties--and, whether in reading aloud or metrical
composition, frequently sets at nought the notions of Virgil
or Ovid as to syllabic quantity. He is moreover marvellously
ingenious in replacing the ordinary inflexions of nouns and
verbs, as detailed in our grammars, by more exact analogies,
or convenient forms of his own devising. This source of
fault will in due time exhaust itself, though flowing freely
at present.... You may fairly anticipate for him a bright
career. Allow me, before I close, one suggestion which
assumes for itself the wisdom of experience and the
sincerity of the best intention. You must not entrust your
son with a full knowledge of his superiority over other
boys. Let him discover this as he proceeds. The love of
excellence is far beyond the love of excelling; and if he
should once be bewitched into a mere ambition to surpass
others I need not urge that the very quality of his
knowledge would be materially injured, and that his
character would receive a stain of a more serious
description still....
And again, when Charles was leaving Richmond, he wrote:
"Be assured that I shall always feel a peculiar interest in
the gentle, intelligent, and well-conducted boy who is now
leaving us."
Although his father had been a Westminster boy, Charles was, for some
reason or other, sent to Rugby. The great Arnold, who had, one might
almost say, created Rugby School, and who certainly had done more for
it than all his predecessors put together, had gone to his rest, and
for four years the reins of government had been in the firm hands of
Dr. Tait, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury. He was Headmaster
during the whole of the time Charles was at Rugby, except the last
year, during which Dr. Goulburn held that office. Charles went up in
February, 1846, and he must have found his new life a great change
from his quiet experiences at Richmond. Football was in full swing,
and one can imagine that to a new boy "Big-side" was not an unalloyed
delight. Whether he distinguished himself as a "dropper," or ever beat
the record time in the "Crick" run, I do not know. Probably not; his
abilities did not lie much in the field of athletics. But he got on
capitally with his work, and seldom returned home without one or more
prizes. Moreover, he conducted himself so well that he never had to
enter that dreaded chamber, well known to _some_ Rugbeians, which
is approached by a staircase that winds up a little turret, and
wherein are enacted scenes better imagined than described.
[Illustration: Archbishop Tait. _From a photograph by
Messrs. Elliott and Fry_]
A schoolboy's letter home is not, usually, remarkable for the
intelligence displayed in it; as a rule it merely leads up with more
or less ingenuity to the inevitable request for money contained in the
postscript. Some of Charles's letters were of a different sort, as the
following example shows:
Yesterday evening I was walking out with a friend of mine
who attends as mathematical pupil Mr. Smythies the second
mathematical master; we went up to Mr. Smythies' house, as
he wanted to speak to him, and he asked us to stop and have
a glass of wine and some figs. He seems as devoted to his
duty as Mr. Mayor, and asked me with a smile of delight,
"Well Dodgson I suppose you're getting well on with your
mathematics?" He is very clever at them, though not equal to
Mr. Mayor, as indeed few men are, Papa excepted.... I have
read the first number of Dickens' new tale, "Davy
Copperfield." It purports to be his life, and begins with
his birth and childhood; it seems a poor plot, but some of
the characters and scenes are good. One of the persons that
amused me was a Mrs. Gummidge, a wretched melancholy person,
who is always crying, happen what will, and whenever the
fire smokes, or other trifling accident occurs, makes the
remark with great bitterness, and many tears, that she is a
"lone lorn creetur, and everything goes contrairy with her."
I have not yet been able to get the second volume Macaulay's
"England" to read. I have seen it however and one passage
struck me when seven bishops had signed the invitation to
the pretender, and King James sent for Bishop Compton (who
was one of the seven) and asked him "whether he or any of
his ecclesiastical brethren had anything to do with it?" He
replied, after a moment's thought "I am fully persuaded your
majesty, that there is not one of my brethren who is not as
innocent in the matter as myself." This was certainly no
actual lie, but certainly, as Macaulay says, it was very
little different from one.
The Mr. Mayor who is mentioned in this letter formed a very high
opinion of his pupil's ability, for in 1848 he wrote to Archdeacon
Dodgson: "I have not had a more promising boy at his age since I came
to Rugby."
Dr. Tait speaks no less warmly:--
My dear Sir,--I must not allow your son to leave school
without expressing to you the very high opinion I entertain
of him. I fully coincide in Mr. Cotton's estimate both of
his abilities and upright conduct. His mathematical
knowledge is great for his age, and I doubt not he will do
himself credit in classics. As I believe I mentioned to you
before, his examination for the Divinity prize was one of
the most creditable exhibitions I have ever seen.
During the whole time of his being in my house, his conduct
has been excellent.
Believe me to be, My dear Sir,
Yours very faithfully,
A.C. TAIT.
Public school life then was not what it is now; the atrocious system
then in vogue of setting hundreds of lines for the most trifling
offences made every day a weariness and a hopeless waste of time,
while the bad discipline which was maintained in the dormitories made
even the nights intolerable--especially for the small boys, whose beds
in winter were denuded of blankets that the bigger ones might not feel
cold.
Charles kept no diary during his time at Rugby; but, looking back upon
it, he writes in 1855:--
During my stay I made I suppose some progress in learning of
various kinds, but none of it was done _con amore_, and
I spent an incalculable time in writing out
impositions--this last I consider one of the chief faults of
Rugby School. I made some friends there, the most intimate
being Henry Leigh Bennett (as college acquaintances we find
fewer common sympathies, and are consequently less
intimate)--but I cannot say that I look back upon my life at
a Public School with any sensations of pleasure, or that any
earthly considerations would induce me to go through my
three years again.
When, some years afterwards, he visited Radley School, he was much
struck by the cubicle system which prevails in the dormitories there,
and wrote in his Diary, "I can say that if I had been thus secure from
annoyance at night, the hardships of the daily life would have been
comparative trifles to bear."
The picture on page 32 was, I believe, drawn by Charles rile he was
at Rugby in illustration of a letter received from one of his sisters.
Halnaby, as I have said before, was an outlying district of Croft
parish.
During his holidays he used to amuse himself by editing local
magazines. Indeed, they might be called _very local_ magazines,
as their circulation was confined to the inmates of Croft Rectory. The
first of these, _Useful and Instructive Poetry_, was written
about 1845. It came to an untimely end after a six months' run, and
was followed at varying intervals by several other periodicals,
equally short-lived.
In 1849 or 1850, _The Rectory Umbrella_ began to appear. As the
editor was by this time seventeen or eighteen years old, it was
naturally of a more ambitious character than any of its precursors. It
contained a serial story of the most thrilling interest, entitled,
"The Walking-Stick of Destiny," some meritorious poetry, a few
humorous essays, and several caricatures of pictures in the Vernon
Gallery. Three reproductions of these pictures follow, with extracts
from the _Umbrella_ descriptive of them.
[Illustration: The only sister who _would_ write to her
brother, though the table had just "folded down"! The other sisters
are depicted "sternly resolved to set off to Halnaby & the Castle,"
tho' it is yet "early, early morning"--Rembrondt.]
THE VERNON GALLERY.
As our readers will have seen by the preceding page, we
have commenced engraving the above series of pictures. "The
Age of Innocence," by Sir J. Reynolds, representing a young
Hippopotamus seated under a shady tree, presents to the
contemplative mind a charming union of youth and innocence.
EDITOR.
[Illustration: _"The Scanty Meal."_]
We have been unusually[001] successful in our second
engraving from the Vernon Gallery. The picture is
intended, as our readers will perceive, to illustrate the
evils of homoeopathy.[002] This idea is well carried out
through the whole picture. The thin old lady at the head of
the table is in the painter's best style; we almost fancy we
can trace in the eye of the other lady a lurking suspicion
that her glasses are not really in fault, and that the old
gentleman has helped her to _nothing_ instead of a
nonillionth.[003] Her companion has evidently got an empty
glass in his hand; the two children in front are admirably
managed, and there is a sly smile on the footman's face, as
if he thoroughly enjoyed either the bad news he is bringing
or the wrath of his mistress. The carpet is executed with
that elaborate care for which Mr. Herring is so famed, and
the picture on the whole is one of his best.
"_The First Ear-ring_"
The scene from which this excellent picture is painted
is taken from a passage in the autobiography[004] of the
celebrated Sir William Smith[005] of his life when a
schoolboy: we transcribe the passage: "One day Bill
Tomkins[006] and I were left alone in the house, the old
doctor being out; after playing a number of pranks Bill laid
me a bet of sixpence that I wouldn't pour a bottle of ink
over the doctor's cat. _I did it_, but at that moment
old Muggles came home, and caught me by the ear as I
attempted to run away. My sensations at the moment I shall
never forget; _on that occasion I received my first
ear-ring_.[007] The only remark Bill made to me, as he
paid me the money afterwards was, 'I say, didn't you just
howl jolly!'" The engraving is an excellent copy of the
picture.
[Illustration: Sir D. Wilkie Painter The First Earring.
W. Greatbach Engraver. _from the picture in the Vernon Gallery_]
The best thing in the _Rectory Umbrella_ was a parody on Lord
Macaulay's style in the "Lays of Ancient Rome"; Charles had a special
aptitude for parody, as is evidenced by several of the best-known
verses in his later books.
LAYS OF SORROW.
No. 2.
Fair stands the ancient[008] Rectory,
The Rectory of Croft,
The sun shines bright upon it,
The breezes whisper soft.
From all the house and garden
Its inhabitants come forth,
And muster in the road without,
And pace in twos and threes about,
The children of the North.
Some are waiting in the garden,
Some are waiting at the door,
And some are following behind,
And some have gone before.
But wherefore all this mustering?
Wherefore this vast array?
A gallant feat of horsemanship
Will be performed to-day.
To eastward and to westward,
The crowd divides amain,
Two youths are leading on the steed,
Both tugging at the rein;
And sorely do they labour,
For the steed[009] is very strong,
And backward moves its stubborn feet,
And backward ever doth retreat,
And drags its guides along.
And now the knight hath mounted,
Before the admiring band,
Hath got the stirrups on his feet.
The bridle in his hand.
Yet, oh! beware, sir horseman!
And tempt thy fate no more,
For such a steed as thou hast got,
Was never rid before!
The rabbits[010] bow before thee.
And cower in the straw;
The chickens[011] are submissive,
And own thy will for law;
Bullfinches and canary
Thy bidding do obey;
And e'en the tortoise in its shell
Doth never say thee nay.
But thy steed will hear no master,
Thy steed will bear no stick,
And woe to those that beat her,
And woe to those that kick![012]
For though her rider smite her,
As hard as he can hit,
And strive to turn her from the yard,
She stands in silence, pulling hard
Against the pulling bit.
And now the road to Dalton
Hath felt their coming tread,
The crowd are speeding on before,
And all have gone ahead.
Yet often look they backward,
And cheer him on, and bawl,
For slower still, and still more slow,
That horseman and that charger go,
And scarce advance at all.
And now two roads to choose from
Are in that rider's sight:
In front the road to Dalton,
And New Croft upon the right.
"I can't get by!" he bellows,
"I really am not able!
Though I pull my shoulder out of joint,
I cannot get him past this point,
For it leads unto his stable!"
Then out spake Ulfrid Longbow,[013]
A valiant youth was he,
"Lo! I will stand on thy right hand
And guard the pass for thee!"
And out spake fair Flureeza,[014]
His sister eke was she,
"I will abide on thy other side,
And turn thy steed for thee!"
And now commenced a struggle
Between that steed and rider,
For all the strength that he hath left
Doth not suffice to guide her.
Though Ulfrid and his sister
Have kindly stopped the way,
And all the crowd have cried aloud,
"We can't wait here all day!"
Round turned he as not deigning
Their words to understand,
But he slipped the stirrups from his feet
The bridle from his hand,
And grasped the mane full lightly,
And vaulted from his seat,
And gained the road in triumph,[015]
And stood upon his feet.
All firmly till that moment
Had Ulfrid Longbow stood,
And faced the foe right valiantly,
As every warrior should.
But when safe on terra firma
His brother he did spy,
"What _did_ you do that for?" he cried,
Then unconcerned he stepped aside
And let it canter by.
They gave him bread and butter,[016]
That was of public right,
As much as four strong rabbits,
Could munch from morn to night,
For he'd done a deed of daring,
And faced that savage steed,
And therefore cups of coffee sweet,
And everything that was a treat,
Were but his right and meed.
And often in the evenings,
When the fire is blazing bright,
When books bestrew the table
And moths obscure the light,
When crying children go to bed,
A struggling, kicking load;
We'll talk of Ulfrid Longbow's deed,
How, in his brother's utmost need,
Back to his aid he flew with speed,
And how he faced the fiery steed,
And kept the New Croft Road.
[Illustration: Exterior of Christ Church]
* * * * *
CHAPTER II
(1850-1860.)
Matriculation at Christ Church--Death of Mrs. Dodgson--The
Great Exhibition--University and College Honours--A
wonderful year--A theatrical treat--_Misch-Masch--The
Train--College Rhymes_--His _nom de
plume_--"Dotheboys Hall"--Alfred
Tennyson--Ordination--Sermons--A visit to
Farringford--"Where does the day begin?"--The Queen visits
Oxford.
We have traced in the boyhood of Lewis Carroll the beginnings of those
characteristic traits which afterwards, more fully developed, gave him
so distinguished a position among his contemporaries. We now come to a
period of his life which is in some respects necessarily less
interesting. We all have to pass through that painful era of
self-consciousness which prefaces manhood, that time when we feel so
deeply, and are so utterly unable to express to others, or even to
define clearly to ourselves, what it is we do feel. The natural
freedom of childhood is dead within us; the conventional freedom of
riper years is struggling to birth, and its efforts are sometimes
ludicrous to an unsympathetic observer. In Lewis Carroll's mental
attitude during this critical period there was always a calm dignity
which saved him from these absurdities, an undercurrent of
consciousness that what seemed so great to him was really very little.
On May 23, 1850, he matriculated at Christ Church, the venerable
college which had numbered his father's among other illustrious names.
A letter from Dr. Jelf, one of the canons of Christ Church, to
Archdeacon Dodgson, written when the former heard that his old
friend's son was coming up to "the House," contains the following
words: "I am sure I express the common feeling of all who remember you
at Christ Church when I say that we shall rejoice to see a son of
yours worthy to tread in your footsteps."
Lewis Carroll came into residence on January 24, 1851. From that day
to the hour of his death--a period of forty-seven years--he belonged
to "the House," never leaving it for any length of time, becoming
almost a part of it. I, for one, can hardly imagine it without him.
Though technically "in residence," he had not rooms of his own in
College during his first term. The "House" was very full; and had it
not been for one of the tutors, the Rev. J. Lew, kindly lending him
one of his own rooms, he would have had to take lodgings in the town.
The first set of rooms he occupied was in Peckwater Quadrangle, which
is annually the scene of a great bonfire on Guy Fawkes' Day, and,
generally speaking, is not the best place for a reading man to live
in.
In those days the undergraduates dining in hall were divided into
"messes." Each mess consisted of about half a dozen men, who had a
table to themselves. Dinner was served at five, and very indifferently
served, too; the dishes and plates were of pewter, and the joint was
passed round, each man cutting off what he wanted for himself. In Mr.
Dodgson's mess were Philip Pusey, the late Rev. G. C. Woodhouse, and,
among others, one who still lives in "Alice in Wonderland" as the
"Hatter."
Only a few days after term began, Mrs. Dodgson died suddenly at Croft.
The shock was a terrible one to the whole family, and especially to
her devoted husband. I have come across a delightful and most
characteristic letter from Dr. Pusey--a letter full of the kindest and
truest sympathy with the Archdeacon in his bereavement. The part of it
which bears upon Mrs. Dodgson's death I give in full:--
[Illustration: Grave of Archdeacon and Mrs. Dodgson in Croft
Churchyard.]
My dear Friend, I hear and see so little and so few persons,
that I had not heard of your sorrow until your to-day's
letter; and now I but guess what it was: only your language
is that of the very deepest. I have often thought, since I
had to think of this, how, in all adversity, what God takes
away He may give us back with increase. One cannot think
that any holy earthly love will cease, when we shall "be
like the Angels of God in Heaven." Love here must shadow our
love there, deeper because spiritual, without any alloy from
our sinful nature, and in the fulness of the love of God.
But as we grow here by God's grace will be our capacity for
endless love. So, then, if by our very sufferings we are
purified, and our hearts enlarged, we shall, in that endless
bliss, love more those whom we loved here, than if we had
never had that sorrow, never been parted....
Lewis Carroll was summoned home to attend the funeral--a sad interlude
amidst the novel experiences of a first term at College. The Oxford of
1851 was in many ways quite unlike the Oxford of 1898. The position of
the undergraduates was much more similar to that of schoolboys than is
now the case; they were subject to the same penalties--corporal
punishment, even, had only just gone out of vogue!--and were expected
to work, and to work hard.
Early rising then was strictly enforced, as the following extract from
one of his letters will show:--
I am not so anxious as usual to begin my personal history,
as the first thing I have to record is a very sad incident,
namely, my missing morning chapel; before, however, you
condemn me, you must hear how accidental it was. For some
days now I have been in the habit of, I will not say getting
up, but of being called at a quarter past six, and generally
managing to be down soon after seven. In the present
instance I had been up the night before till about half-past
twelve, and consequently when I was called I fell asleep
again, and was thunderstruck to find on waking that it was
ten minutes past eight. I have had no imposition, nor heard
anything about it. It is rather vexatious to have happened
so soon, as I had intended never to be late.
[Illustration: Lewis Carroll, aged 23.]
It was therefore obviously his custom to have his breakfast
_before_ going to chapel. I wonder how many undergraduates of the
present generation follow the same hardy rule! But then no
"impositions" threaten the modern sluggard, even if he neglects chapel
altogether.
During the Long Vacation he visited the Great Exhibition, and wrote
his sister Elizabeth a long account of what he had seen:--
I think the first impression produced on you when you get
inside is one of bewilderment. It looks like a sort of
fairyland. As far as you can look in any direction, you see
nothing but pillars hung about with shawls, carpets, &c.,
with long avenues of statues, fountains, canopies, etc.,
etc., etc. The first thing to be seen on entering is the
Crystal Fountain, a most elegant one about thirty feet high
at a rough guess, composed entirely of glass and pouring
down jets of water from basin to basin; this is in the
middle of the centre nave, and from it you can look down to
either end, and up both transepts. The centre of the nave
mostly consists of a long line of colossal statues, some
most magnificent. The one considered the finest, I believe,
is the Amazon and Tiger. She is sitting on horseback, and a
tiger has fastened on the neck of the horse in front. You
have to go to one side to see her face, and the other to see
the horse's. The horse's face is really wonderful,
expressing terror and pain so exactly, that you almost
expect to hear it scream.... There are some very ingenious
pieces of mechanism. A tree (in the French Compartment) with
birds chirping and hopping from branch to branch exactly
like life. The bird jumps across, turns round on the other
branch, so as to face back again, settles its head and neck,
and then in a few moments jumps back again. A bird standing
at the foot of the tree trying to eat a beetle is rather a
failure; it never succeeds in getting its head more than a
quarter of an inch down, and that in uncomfortable little
jerks, as if it was choking. I have to go to the Royal
Academy, so must stop: as the subject is quite inexhaustible,
there is no hope of ever coming to a regular finish.
On November 1st he won a Boulter scholarship, and at the end of the
following year obtained First Class Honours in Mathematics and a
Second in Classical Moderations. On Christmas Eve he was made a
Student on Dr. Pusey's nomination, for at that time the Dean and
Canons nominated to Studentships by turn. The only conditions on which
these old Studentships were held were that the Student should remain
unmarried, and should proceed to Holy Orders. No statute precisely
defined what work was expected of them, that question being largely
left to their own discretion.
The eight Students at the bottom of the list that is to say, the eight
who had been nominated last--had to mark, by pricking on weekly papers
called "the Bills," the attendance at morning and evening chapel. They
were allowed to arrange this duty among themselves, and, if it was
neglected, they were all punished. This long-defunct custom explains
an entry in Lewis Carroll's Diary for October 15, 1853, "Found I had
got the prickbills two hundred lines apiece, by not pricking in in the
morning," which, I must confess, mystified me exceedingly at first.
Another reference to College impositions occurs further on in his
Diary, at a time when he was a Lecturer: "Spoke to the Dean about
F--, who has brought an imposition which his tutor declares is not
his own writing, after being expressly told to write it himself."
The following is an extract from his father's letter of
congratulation, on his being nominated for the Studentship:--
My dearest Charles,--The feelings of thankfulness and
delight with which I have read your letter just received, I
must leave to _your conception_; for they are, I assure
you, beyond _my expression_; and your affectionate
heart will derive no small addition of joy from thinking of
the joy which you have occasioned to me, and to all the
circle of your home. I say "_you_ have occasioned,"
because, grateful as I am to my old friend Dr. Pusey for
what he has done, I cannot desire stronger evidence than his
own words of the fact that you have _won_, and well
won, this honour for _yourself_, and that it is
bestowed as a matter of _justice_ to _you_, and
not of _kindness_ to _me_. You will be interested
in reading extracts from his two letters to me--the first
written three years ago in answer to one from me, in which I
distinctly told him that I neither asked nor expected that
he should serve me in this matter, unless my son should
fairly reach the standard of merit by which these
appointments were regulated. In reply he says--
"I thank you for the way in which you put the application to
me. I have now, for nearly twenty years, not given a
Studentship to any friend of my own, unless there was no
very eligible person in the College. I have passed by or
declined the sons of those to whom I was personally indebted
for kindness. I can only say that I shall have _very
great_ pleasure, if circumstances permit me to nominate
your son."
In his letter received this morning he says--
"I have great pleasure in telling you that I have been
enabled to recommend your son for a Studentship this
Christmas. It must be so much more satisfactory to you that
he should be nominated thus, in consequence of the
recommendation of the College. One of the Censors brought me
to-day five names; but in their minds it was plain that they
thought your son on the whole the most eligible for the
College. It has been very satisfactory to hear of your son's
uniform steady and good conduct."
The last clause is a parallel to your own report, and I am
glad that you should have had so soon an evidence so
substantial of the truth of what I have so often inculcated,
that it is the "steady, painstaking, likely-to-do-good" man,
who in the long run wins the race against those who now and
then give a brilliant flash and, as Shakespeare says,
"straight are cold again."
[Illustration: Archdeacon Dodgson.]
In 1853 Archdeacon Dodgson was collated and installed as one of the
Canons of Ripon Cathedral. This appointment necessitated a residence
of three months in every year at Ripon, where Dr. Erskine was then
Dean. A certain Miss Anderson, who used to stay at the Deanery, had
very remarkable "clairvoyant" powers; she was able--it was averred--by
merely holding in her hand a folded paper containing some words
written by a person unknown to her, to describe his or her character.
In this way, at what precise date is uncertain, she dictated the
following description of Lewis Carroll: "Very clever head; a great
deal of number; a great deal of imitation; he would make a good actor;
diffident; rather shy in general society; comes out in the home
circle; rather obstinate; very clever; a great deal of concentration;
very affectionate; a great deal of wit and humour; not much
eventuality (or memory of events); fond of deep reading; imaginative,
fond, of reading poetry; _may_ compose." Those who knew him well
will agree that this was, at any rate, a remarkable coincidence.
Longley, afterwards Primate, was then Bishop of Ripon. His charming
character endeared him to the Archdeacon and his family, as to every
one else who saw much of him. He was one of the few men whose faces
can truly be called _beautiful_; it was a veil through which a
soul, all gentleness and truth, shone brightly.
In the early part of 1854 Mr. Dodgson was reading hard for "Greats."
For the last three weeks before the examination he worked thirteen
hours a day, spending the whole night before the _viva voce_ over
his books. But philosophy and history were not very congenial subjects
to him, and when the list was published his name was only in the third
class.
[Illustration: Archbishop Longley.]
He spent the Long Vacation at Whitby, reading Mathematics with
Professor Price. His work bore good fruit, for in October he obtained
First Class Honours in the Final Mathematical School. "I am getting
quite tired of being congratulated on various subjects," he writes;
"there seems to be no end of it. If I had shot the Dean I could hardly
have had more said about it."
In another letter dated December 13th, he says:
Enclosed you will find a list which I expect you to rejoice
over considerably; it will take me more than a day to
believe it, I expect--I feel at present very like a child
with a new toy, but I daresay I shall be tired of it soon,
and wish to be Pope of Rome next.... I have just been to Mr.
Price to see how I did in the papers, and the result will I
hope be gratifying to you. The following were the sums total
for each in the First Class, as nearly as I can remember:--
Dodgson ... ... ... 279
Bosanquet ... ... ... 261
Cookson ... ... ... 254
Fowler ... ... ... 225
Ranken ... ... ... 213
He also said he never remembered so good a set of men in.
All this is very satisfactory. I must also add (this is a
very boastful letter) that I ought to get the senior
scholarship next term.... One thing more I will add, to
crown all, and that is, I find I am the next First Class
Mathematical Student to Faussett (with the exception of
Kitchin who has given up Mathematics), so that I stand next
(as Bosanquet is going to leave) for the Lectureship.
On December 18th he took the degree of Bachelor of Arts, and on
October 15, 1855, he was made a "Master of the House," in honour of
the appointment of the new Dean (Dr. Liddell) who succeeded Dean
Gaisford. To be made Master of the House means that a man has all the
privileges of a Master of Arts within the walls of Christ Church. But
he must be of a certain number of terms' standing, and be admitted in
due form by the Vice-Chancellor, before he is a Master of Arts of the
University. In this wider sense Mr. Dodgson did not take his Master's
degree until 1857.
This is anticipating events, and there is much to tell of the year
1855, which was a very eventful one for him. On February 15th he was
made Sub-Librarian. "This will add £35 to my income," he writes, "not
much towards independence." For he was most anxious to have a
sufficient income to make him his own master, that he might enter on
the literary and artistic career of which he was already dreaming. On
May 14th he wrote in his Diary: "The Dean and Canons have been pleased
to give me one of the Bostock scholarships, said to be worth £20 a
year--this very nearly raises my income this year to independence.
Courage!"
His college work, during 1855, was chiefly taking private pupils, but
he had, in addition, about three and a half hours a day of lecturing
during the last term of the year. He did not, however, work as one of
the regular staff of lecturers until the next year. From that date his
work rapidly increased, and he soon had to devote regularly as much as
seven hours a day to delivering lectures, to say nothing of the time
required for preparing them.
The following extract from his Journal, June 22, 1855, will serve to
show his early love for the drama. The scene is laid at the Princess'
Theatre, then at the height of its glory:--
The evening began with a capital farce, "Away with
Melancholy," and then came the great play, "Henry VIII.,"
the greatest theatrical treat I ever had or ever expect to
have. I had no idea that anything so superb as the scenery
and dresses was ever to be seen on the stage. Kean was
magnificent as Cardinal Wolsey, Mrs. Kean a worthy successor
to Mrs. Siddons as Queen Catherine, and all the accessories
without exception were good--but oh, that exquisite vision
of Queen Catherine's! I almost held my breath to watch: the
illusion is perfect, and I felt as if in a dream all the
time it lasted. It was like a delicious reverie, or the most
beautiful poetry. This is the true end and object of
acting--to raise the mind above itself, and out of its petty
cares. Never shall I forget that wonderful evening, that
exquisite vision--sunbeams broke in through the roof, and
gradually revealed two angel forms, floating in front of the
carved work on the ceiling: the column of sunbeams shone
down upon the sleeping queen, and gradually down it floated,
a troop of angelic forms, transparent, and carrying palm
branches in their hands: they waved these over the sleeping
queen, with oh! such a sad and solemn grace. So could I
fancy (if the thought be not profane) would real angels seem
to our mortal vision, though doubtless our conception is
poor and mean to the reality. She in an ecstasy raises her
arms towards them, and to sweet slow music, they vanish as
marvellously as they came. Then the profound silence of the
audience burst at once into a rapture of applause; but even
that scarcely marred the effect of the beautiful sad waking
words of the Queen, "Spirits of peace, where are ye?" I
never enjoyed anything so much in my life before; and never
felt so inclined to shed tears at anything fictitious, save
perhaps at that poetical gem of Dickens, the death of little
Paul.
On August 21st he received a long letter from his father, full of
excellent advice on the importance to a young man of saving money:--
I will just sketch for you [writes the Archdeacon] a
supposed case, applicable to your own circumstances, of a
young man of twenty-three, making up his mind to work for
ten years, and living to do it, on an Income enabling him to
save £150 a year--supposing him to appropriate it thus:--
£ s. d.
Invested at 4 per cent. ... ... 100 0 0
Life Insurance of £1,500 ... 29 15 0
Books, besides those bought in
ordinary course ... ... ... 20 5 0
_____________
£150 0 0
Suppose him at the end of the ten years to get a Living
enabling him to settle, what will be the result of his
savings:--
1. A nest egg of £1,220 ready money, for furnishing and
other expenses.
2. A sum of £1,500 secured at his death on payment of a
_very much_ smaller annual Premium than if he had then
begun to insure it.
3. A useful Library, worth more than £200, besides the
books bought out of his current Income during the period....
The picture on the opposite page is one of Mr. Dodgson's illustrations
in _Misch-Masch,_ a periodical of the nature of _The Rectory
Umbrella_, except that it contained printed stories and poems by
the editor, cut out of the various newspapers to which he had
contributed them. Of the comic papers of that day _Punch,_ of
course, held the foremost place, but it was not without rivals; there
was a certain paper called _Diogenes_, then very near its end,
which imitated _Punch's_ style, and in 1853 the proprietor of
_The Illustrated News_, at that time one of the most opulent
publishers in London, started _The Comic Times._ A capable editor
was found in Edmund Yates; "Phiz" and other well-known artists and
writers joined the staff, and 100,000 copies of the first number were
printed.
[Illustration: Studies from English Poets II "Alas! What
Boots--" Milton's Lucidas.]
Among the contributors was Frank Smedley, author of "Frank Fairleigh."
Though a confirmed invalid, and condemned to spend most of his days on
a sofa, Mr. Smedley managed to write several fine novels, full of the
joy of life, and free from the least taint of discontent or morbid
feeling. He was one of those men--one meets them here and there--whose
minds rise high above their bodily infirmities; at moments of
depression, which come to them as frequently, if not more frequently,
than to other men, they no doubt feel their weakness, and think
themselves despised, little knowing that we, the stronger ones in
body, feel nothing but admiration as we watch the splendid victory of
the soul over its earthly companion which their lives display.
It was through Frank Smedley that Mr. Dodgson became one of the
contributors to _The Comic Times_. Several of his poems appeared
in it, and Mr. Yates wrote to him in the kindest manner, expressing
warm approval of them. When _The Comic Times_ changed hands in
1856, and was reduced to half its size, the whole staff left it and
started a new venture, _The Train_. They were joined by Sala,
whose stories in _Household Words_ were at that time usually
ascribed by the uninitiated to Charles Dickens. Mr. Dodgson's
contributions to _The Train_ included the following: "Solitude"
(March, 1856); "Novelty and Romancement" (October, 1856); "The Three
Voices" (November, 1856); "The Sailor's Wife" (May, 1857); and last,
but by no means least, "Hiawatha's Photographing" (December, 1857).
All of these, except "Novelty and Romancement," have since been
republished in "Rhyme? and Reason?" and "Three Sunsets."
The last entry in Mr. Dodgson's Diary for this year reads as
follows:--
I am sitting alone in my bedroom this last night of the old
year, waiting for midnight. It has been the most eventful
year of my life: I began it a poor bachelor student, with no
definite plans or expectations; I end it a master and tutor
in Ch. Ch., with an income of more than £300 a year, and the
course of mathematical tuition marked out by God's
providence for at least some years to come. Great mercies,
great failings, time lost, talents misapplied--such has been
the past year.
His Diary is full of such modest depreciations of himself and his
work, interspersed with earnest prayers (too sacred and private to be
reproduced here) that God would forgive him the past, and help him to
perform His holy will in the future. And all the time that he was thus
speaking of himself as a sinner, and a man who was utterly falling
short of his aim, he was living a life full of good deeds and
innumerable charities, a life of incessant labour and unremitting
fulfilment of duty. So, I suppose, it is always with those who have a
really high ideal; the harder they try to approach it the more it
seems to recede from them, or rather, perhaps, it is impossible to be
both "the subject and spectator" of goodness. As Coventry Patmore
wrote:--
Become whatever good you see;
Nor sigh if, forthwith, fades from view
The grace of which you may not be
The Subject and spectator too.
The reading of "Alton Locke" turned his mind towards social subjects.
"If the book were but a little more definite," he writes, "it might
stir up many fellow-workers in the same good field of social
improvement. Oh that God, in His good providence, may make me
hereafter such a worker! But alas, what are the means? Each one has
his own _nostrum_ to propound, and in the Babel of voices nothing
is done. I would thankfully spend and be spent so long as I were sure
of really effecting something by the sacrifice, and not merely lying
down under the wheels of some irresistible Juggernaut."
He was for some time the editor of _College Rhymes_, a Christ
Church paper, in which his poem, "A Sea Dirge" (afterwards republished
in "Phantasmagoria," and again in "Rhyme? and Reason?"), first
appeared. The following verses were among his contributions to the
same magazine:--
I painted her a gushing thing,
With years perhaps a score
I little thought to find they were
At least a dozen more;
My fancy gave her eyes of blue,
A curly auburn head:
I came to find the blue a green,
The auburn turned to red.
She boxed my ears this morning,
They tingled very much;
I own that I could wish her
A somewhat lighter touch;
And if you were to ask me how
Her charms might be improved,
I would not have them _added to_,
But just a few _removed_!
She has the bear's ethereal grace,
The bland hyena's laugh,
The footstep of the elephant,
The neck of the giraffe;
I love her still, believe me,
Though my heart its passion hides;
"She is all my fancy painted her,"
But oh! _how much besides_!
It was when writing for _The Train_ that he first felt the need
of a pseudonym. He suggested "Dares" (the first syllable of his
birthplace) to Edmund Yates, but, as this did not meet with his
editor's approval, he wrote again, giving a choice of four names, (1)
Edgar Cuthwellis, (2) Edgar U. C. Westhall, (3) Louis Carroll, and (4)
Lewis Carroll. The first two were formed from the letters of his two
Christian names, Charles Lutwidge; the others are merely variant forms
of those names--Lewis = Ludovicus = Lutwidge; Carroll = Carolus =
Charles. Mr. Yates chose the last, and thenceforward it became Mr.
Dodgson's ordinary _nom de plume_. The first occasion on which he
used it was, I believe, when he wrote "The Path of Roses," a poem
which appeared in _The Train_ in May, 1856.
On June 16th he again visited the Princess's Theatre. This time the
play was "A Winter's Tale," and he "especially admired the acting of
the little Mamillius, Ellen Terry, a beautiful little creature, who
played with remarkable ease and spirit."
During the Long Vacation he spent a few weeks in the English Lake
District. In spite of the rain, of which he had his full share, he
managed to see a good deal of the best scenery, and made the ascent of
Gable in the face of an icy gale, which laid him up with neuralgia for
some days. He and his companions returned to Croft by way of Barnard
Castle, as he narrates in his Diary:--
We set out by coach for Barnard Castle at about seven, and
passed over about forty miles of the dreariest hill-country
I ever saw; the climax of wretchedness was reached in Bowes,
where yet stands the original of "Dotheboys Hall"; it has
long ceased to be used as a school, and is falling into
ruin, in which the whole place seems to be following its
example--the roofs are falling in, and the windows broken or
barricaded--the whole town looks plague-stricken. The
courtyard of the inn we stopped at was grown over with
weeds, and a mouthing idiot lolled against the corner of the
house, like the evil genius of the spot. Next to a prison or
a lunatic asylum, preserve me from living at Bowes!
Although he was anything but a sportsman, he was interested in the
subject of betting, from a mathematical standpoint solely, and in 1857
he sent a letter to _Bell's Life_, explaining a method by which a
betting man might ensure winning over any race. The system was either
to back _every_ horse, or to lay against _every_ horse,
according to the way the odds added up. He showed his scheme to a
sporting friend, who remarked, "An excellent system, and you're bound
to win--_if only you can get people to take your bets_."
In the same year he made the acquaintance of Tennyson, whose writings
he had long intensely admired. He thus describes the poet's
appearance:--
A strange shaggy-looking man; his hair, moustache, and beard
looked wild and neglected; these very much hid the character
of the face. He was dressed in a loosely fitting morning
coat, common grey flannel waistcoat and trousers, and a
carelessly tied black silk neckerchief. His hair is black; I
think the eyes too; they are keen and restless--nose
aquiline--forehead high and broad--both face and head are
fine and manly. His manner was kind and friendly from the
first; there is a dry lurking humour in his style of
talking.
I took the opportunity [he goes on to say] of asking the
meaning of two passages in his poems, which have always
puzzled me: one in "Maud"--
Strange that I hear two men
Somewhere talking of me;
Well, if it prove a girl, my boy
Will have plenty; so let it be.
He said it referred to Maud, and to the two fathers
arranging a match between himself and her.
The other was of the poet--
Dowered with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn,
The love of love.
He said that he was quite willing it should bear any meaning
the words would fairly bear; to the best of his recollection
his meaning when he wrote it was "the hate of the quality
hate, &c.," but he thought the meaning of "the quintessence
of hatred" finer. He said there had never been a poem so
misunderstood by the "ninnies of critics" as "Maud."
[Illustration: Alfred Tennyson. _From a photograph by Lewis
Carroll._]
During an evening spent at Tent Lodge Tennyson remarked, on the
similarity of the monkey's skull to the human, that a young monkey's
skull is quite human in shape, and gradually alters--the analogy being
borne out by the human skull being at first more like the statues of
the gods, and gradually degenerating into human; and then, turning to
Mrs. Tennyson, "There, that's the second original remark I've made
this evening!" Mr. Dodgson saw a great deal of the Tennysons after
this, and photographed the poet himself and various members of his
family.
In October he made the acquaintance of John Ruskin, who in after years
was always willing to assist him with his valuable advice on any point
of artistic criticism. Mr. Dodgson was singularly fortunate in his
friends; whenever he was in difficulties on any technical matters,
whether of religion, law, medicine, art, or whatever it might be, he
always had some one especially distinguished in that branch of study
whose aid he could seek as a friend. In particular, the names of Canon
King (now Bishop of Lincoln), and Sir James Paget occur to me; to the
latter Mr. Dodgson addressed many letters on questions of medicine and
surgery--some of them intricate enough, but never too intricate to
weary the unfailing patience of the great surgeon.
A note in Mr. Dodgson's Journal, May 9, 1857, describes his
introduction to Thackeray:--
I breakfasted this morning with Fowler of Lincoln to meet
Thackeray (the author), who delivered his lecture on George
III. in Oxford last night. I was much pleased with what I
saw of him; his manner is simple and unaffected; he shows no
anxiety to shine in conversation, though full of fun and
anecdote when drawn out. He seemed delighted with the
reception he had met with last night: the undergraduates
seem to have behaved with most unusual moderation.
The next few years of his life passed quietly, and without any unusual
events to break the monotony of college routine. He spent his mornings
in the lecture-rooms, his afternoons in the country or on the
river--he was very fond of boating--and his evenings in his room,
reading and preparing for the next day's work. But in spite of all
this outward calm of life, his mind was very much exercised on the
subject of taking Holy Orders. Not only was this step necessary if he
wished to retain his Studentship, but also he felt that it would give
him much more influence among the undergraduates, and thus increase
his power of doing good. On the other hand, he was not prepared to
live the life of almost puritanical strictness which was then
considered essential for a clergyman, and he saw that the impediment
of speech from which he suffered would greatly interfere with the
proper performance of his clerical duties.
[Illustration: The Bishop of Lincoln. _From a photograph by
Lewis Carroll_]
The Bishop of Oxford, Dr. Wilberforce, had expressed the opinion that
the "resolution to attend theatres or operas was an absolute
disqualification for Holy Orders," which discouraged him very much,
until it transpired that this statement was only meant to refer to the
parochial clergy. He discussed the matter with Dr. Pusey, and with Dr.
Liddon. The latter said that "he thought a deacon might lawfully, if
he found himself unfit for the work, abstain from direct ministerial
duty." And so, with many qualms about his own unworthiness, he at last
decided to prepare definitely for ordination.
On December 22, 1861, he was ordained deacon by the Bishop of Oxford.
He never proceeded to priest's orders, partly, I think, because he
felt that if he were to do so it would be his duty to undertake
regular parochial work, and partly on account of his stammering. He
used, however, to preach not unfrequently, and his sermons were always
delightful to listen to, his extreme earnestness being evident in
every word.
[Illustration: Bishop Wilberforce. _From a photograph by
Lewis Carroll_.]
"He knew exactly what he wished to say" (I am quoting from an article
in _The Guardian_), "and completely forgot his audience in his
anxiety to explain his point clearly. He thought of the subject only,
and the words came of themselves. Looking straight in front of him he
saw, as it were, his argument mapped out in the form of a diagram, and
he set to work to prove it point by point, under its separate heads,
and then summed up the whole."
One sermon which he preached in the University Church, on Eternal
Punishment, is not likely to be soon forgotten by those who heard it.
I, unfortunately, was not of that number, but I can well imagine how
his clear-cut features would light up as he dwelt lovingly upon the
mercy of that Being whose charity far exceeds "the measure of man's
mind." It is hardly necessary to say that he himself did not believe
in eternal punishment, or any other scholastic doctrine that
contravenes the love of God.
He disliked being complimented on his sermons, but he liked to be told
of any good effects that his words had had upon any member of the
congregation. "Thank you for telling me that fact about my sermon," he
wrote to one of his sisters, who told him of some such good fruit that
one of his addresses had borne. "I have once or twice had such
information volunteered; and it is a _great_ comfort--and a kind
of thing that is _really_ good for one to know. It is _not_
good to be told (and I never wish to be told), 'Your sermon was so
_beautiful_.' We shall not be concerned to know, in the Great
Day, whether we have preached beautiful sermons, but whether they were
preached with the one object of serving God."
He was always ready and willing to preach at the special service for
College servants, which used to be held at Christ Church every Sunday
evening; but best of all he loved to preach to children. Some of his
last sermons were delivered at Christ Church, Eastbourne (the church
he regularly attended during the Long Vacation), to a congregation of
children. On those occasions he told them an allegory--_Victor and
Arnion,_ which he intended to publish in course of time--putting
all his heart into the work, and speaking with such deep feeling that
at times he was almost unable to control his emotion as he told them
of the love and compassion of the Good Shepherd.
I have dwelt at some length on this side of his life, for it is, I am
sure, almost ignored in the popular estimate of him. He was
essentially a religious man in the best sense of the term, and without
any of that morbid sentimentality which is too often associated with
the word; and while his religion consecrated his talents, and raised
him to a height which without it he could never have reached, the
example of such a man as he was, so brilliant, so witty, so
successful, and yet so full of faith, consecrates the very conception
of religion, and makes it yet more beautiful.
On April 13, 1859, he paid another visit to Tennyson, this time at
Farringford.
After dinner we retired for about an hour to the
smoking-room, where I saw the proof-sheets of the "King's
Idylls," but he would not let me read them. He walked
through the garden with me when I left, and made me remark
an effect produced on the thin white clouds by the moon
shining through, which I had not noticed--a ring of golden
light at some distance off the moon, with an interval of
white between--this, he says, he has alluded to in one of
his early poems ("Margaret," vol. i.), "the tender amber." I
asked his opinion of Sydney Dobell--he agrees with me in
liking "Grass from the Battlefield," and thinks him a writer
of genius and imagination, but extravagant.
On another occasion he showed the poet a photograph which he had taken
of Miss Alice Liddell as a beggar-child, and which Tennyson said was
the most beautiful photograph he had ever seen.
[Illustration: Alice Liddell as Beggar-child. _From a
photograph by Lewis Carroll_.]
Tennyson told us he had often dreamed long passages of
poetry, and believed them to be good at the time, though he
could never remember them after waking, except four lines
which he dreamed at ten years old:--
May a cock sparrow
Write to a barrow?
I hope you'll excuse
My infantile muse;
--which, as an unpublished fragment of the Poet Laureate,
may be thought interesting, but not affording much promise
of his after powers.
He also told us he once dreamed an enormously long poem
about fairies, which began with very long lines that
gradually got shorter, and ended with fifty or sixty lines
of two syllables each!
On October 17, 1859, the Prince of Wales came into residence at Christ
Church. The Dean met him at the station, and all the dons assembled in
Tom Quadrangle to welcome him. Mr. Dodgson, as usual, had an eye to a
photograph, in which hope, however, he was doomed to disappointment.
His Royal Highness was tired of having his picture taken.
During his early college life he used often to spend a few days at
Hastings, with his mother's sisters, the Misses Lutwidge. In a letter
written from their house to his sister Mary, and dated April 11, 1860,
he gives an account of a lecture he had just heard:--
I am just returned from a series of dissolving views on the
Arctic regions, and, while the information there received is
still fresh in my mind, I will try to give you some of it.
In the first place, you may not know that one of the objects
of the Arctic expeditions was to discover "the intensity of
the magnetic needle." He [the lecturer] did not tell us,
however, whether they had succeeded in discovering it, or
whether that rather obscure question is still doubtful. One
of the explorers, Baffin, "_though_ he did not suffer
all the hardships the others did, _yet_ he came to an
untimely end (of course one would think in the Arctic
regions), _for instance_ (what follows being, I
suppose, one of the untimely ends he came to), being engaged
in a war of the Portuguese against the Prussians, while
measuring the ground in front of a fortification, a
cannon-ball came against him, with the force with which
cannon-balls in that day _did_ come, and killed him
dead on the spot." How many instances of this kind would you
demand to prove that he did come to an untimely end? One of
the ships was laid up three years in the ice, during which
time, he told us, "Summer came and went frequently." This, I
think, was the most remarkable phenomenon he mentioned in
the whole lecture, and gave _me_ quite a new idea of
those regions.
On Tuesday I went to a concert at St. Leonard's. On the
front seat sat a youth about twelve years of age, of whom
the enclosed is a tolerably accurate sketch. He really was,
I think, the ugliest boy I ever saw. I wish I could get an
opportunity of photographing him.
[Illustration: Sketch from St. Leonard's Concert-Room.]
The following note occurs in his Journal for May 6th:--
A Christ Church man, named Wilmot, who is just returned from
the West Indies, dined in Hall. He told us some curious
things about the insects in South America--one that he had
himself seen was a spider charming a cockroach with flashes
of light; they were both on the wall, the spider about a
yard the highest, and the light was like a glow-worm, only
that it came by flashes and did not shine continuously; the
cockroach gradually crawled up to it, and allowed itself to
be taken and killed.
A few months afterwards, when in town and visiting Mr.
Munroe's studio, he found there two of the children of Mr.
George Macdonald, whose acquaintance he had already made:
"They were a girl and boy, about seven and six years old--I
claimed their acquaintance, and began at once proving to the
boy, Greville, that he had better take the opportunity of
having his head changed for a marble one. The effect was
that in about two minutes they had entirely forgotten that I
was a total stranger, and were earnestly arguing the
question as if we were old acquaintances." Mr. Dodgson urged
that a marble head would not have to be brushed and combed.
At this the boy turned to his sister with an air of great
relief, saying, "Do you hear _that_, Mary? It needn't
be combed!" And the narrator adds, "I have no doubt combing,
with his great head of long hair, like Hallam Tennyson's,
was _the_ misery of his life. His final argument was
that a marble head couldn't speak, and as I couldn't
convince either that he would be all the better for that, I
gave in."
[Illustration: George Macdonald and his daughter Lily.
_From a photograph by Lewis Carroll._]
In November he gave a lecture at a meeting of the Ashmolean Society on
"Where does the Day begin?" The problem, which was one he was very
fond of propounding, may be thus stated: If a man could travel round
the world so fast that the sun would be always directly above his
head, and if he were to start travelling at midday on Tuesday, then in
twenty-four hours he would return to his original point of departure,
and would find that the day was now called Wednesday--at what point of
his journey would the day change its name? The difficulty of answering
this apparently simple question has cast a gloom over many a pleasant
party.
On December 12th he wrote in his Diary:--
Visit of the Queen to Oxford, to the great surprise of
everybody, as it had been kept a secret up to the time. She
arrived in Christ Church about twelve, and came into Hall
with the Dean, where the Collections were still going on,
about a dozen men being in Hall. The party consisted of the
Queen, Prince Albert, Princess Alice and her intended
husband, the Prince of Hesse-Darmstadt, the Prince of Wales,
Prince Alfred, and suite. They remained a minute or two
looking at the pictures, and the Sub-Dean was presented:
they then visited the Cathedral and Library. Evening
entertainment at the Deanery, _tableaux vivants_. I
went a little after half-past eight, and found a great party
assembled--the Prince had not yet come. He arrived before
nine, and I found an opportunity of reminding General Bruce
of his promise to introduce me to the Prince, which he did
at the next break in the conversation H.R.H. was holding
with Mrs. Fellowes. He shook hands very graciously, and I
began with a sort of apology for having been so importunate
about the photograph. He said something of the weather being
against it, and I asked if the Americans had victimised him
much as a sitter; he said they had, but he did not think
they had succeeded well, and I told him of the new American
process of taking twelve thousand photographs in an hour.
Edith Liddell coming by at the moment, I remarked on the
beautiful _tableau_ which the children might make: he
assented, and also said, in answer to my question, that he
had seen and admired my photographs of them. I then said
that I hoped, as I had missed the photograph, he would at
least give me his autograph in my album, which he promised
to do. Thinking I had better bring the talk to an end, I
concluded by saying that, if he would like copies of any of
my photographs, I should feel honoured by his accepting
them; he thanked me for this, and I then drew back, as he
did not seem inclined to pursue the conversation.
A few days afterwards the Prince gave him his autograph, and also
chose a dozen or so of his photograph (sic).
[Illustration: Mrs. Rossetti and her children Dante Gabriel,
Christina, and William. _From a photograph by Lewis Carroll._]
* * * * *
CHAPTER III
(1861-1867)
Jowett--Index to "In Memoriam"--The Tennysons--The beginning
of "Alice"--Tenniel--Artistic friends--"Alice's Adventures
in Wonderland"--"Bruno's Revenge"--Tour with Dr.
Liddon--Cologne--Berlin architecture--The "Majesty of
Justice"--Peterhof--Moscow--A Russian wedding--Nijni--The
Troitska Monastery--"Hieroglyphic" writing--Giessen.
It is my aim in this Memoir to let Mr. Dodgson tell his own story as
much as possible. In order to effect this object I have drawn largely
upon his Diary and correspondence. Very few men have left behind them
such copious information about their lives as he has; unfortunately it
is not equally copious throughout, and this fact must be my apology
for the somewhat haphazard and disconnected way in which parts of this
book are written. That it is the best which, under the circumstances,
I have been able to do needs, I hope, no saying, but the circumstances
have at times been too strong for me.
Though in later years Mr. Dodgson almost gave up the habit of dining
out, at this time of his life he used to do it pretty frequently, and
several of the notes in his Diary refer to after-dinner and Common
Room stories. The two following extracts will show the sort of facts
he recorded:--
_January 2, 1861._--Mr. Grey (Canon) came to dine and
stay the night. He told me a curious old custom of millers,
that they place the sails of the mill as a Saint Andrew's
Cross when work is entirely suspended, thus x, but in an
upright cross, thus +, if they are just going to resume
work. He also mentioned that he was at school with Dr.
Tennyson (father of the poet), and was a great favourite of
his. He remembers that Tennyson used to do his
school-translations in rhyme.
_May 9th._--Met in Common Room Rev. C.F. Knight, and
the Hon'ble. F.J. Parker, both of Boston, U.S. The former
gave an amusing account of having seen Oliver Wendell Holmes
in a fishmonger's, lecturing _extempore_ on the head of
a freshly killed turtle, whose eyes and jaws still showed
muscular action: the lecture of course being all "cram," but
accepted as sober earnest by the mob outside.
Old Oxford men will remember the controversies that raged from about
1860 onwards over the opinions of the late Dr. Jowett. In my time the
name "Jowett" only represented the brilliant translator of Plato, and
the deservedly loved master of Balliol, whose sermons in the little
College Chapel were often attended by other than Balliol men, and
whose reputation for learning was expressed in the well-known verse of
"The Masque of Balliol":--
First come I, my name is Jowett.
There's no knowledge but I know it;
I am Master of this College;
What I don't know isn't knowledge.
But in 1861 he was anything but universally popular, and I am afraid
that Mr. Dodgson, nothing if not a staunch Conservative, sided with
the majority against him. Thus he wrote in his Diary:--
_November 20th._--Promulgation, in Congregation, of the
new statute to endow Jowett. The speaking took up the whole
afternoon, and the two points at issue, the endowing a
_Regius_ Professorship, and the countenancing Jowett's
theological opinions, got so inextricably mixed up that I
rose to beg that they might be kept separate. Once on my
feet, I said more than I at first meant, and defied them
ever to tire out the opposition by perpetually bringing the
question on (_Mem_.: if I ever speak again I will try
to say no more than I had resolved before rising). This was
my first speech in Congregation.
At the beginning of 1862 an "Index to In Memoriam," compiled by Mr.
Dodgson and his sisters, was published by Moxon. Tennyson had given
his consent, and the little book proved to be very useful to his
admirers.
On January 27th Morning Prayer was for the first time read in English
at the Christ Church College Service. On the same day Mr. Dodgson
moved over into new rooms, as the part of the College where he had
formerly lived (Chaplain's Quadrangle) was to be pulled down.
During the Easter Vacation he paid another visit to the Tennysons,
which he describes as follows:--
After luncheon I went to the Tennysons, and got Hallam and
Lionel to sign their names in my album. Also I made a
bargain with Lionel, that he was to give me some MS. of his
verses, and I was to send him some of mine. It was a very
difficult bargain to make; I almost despaired of it at
first, he put in so many conditions--first, I was to play a
game of chess with him; this, with much difficulty, was
reduced to twelve moves on each side; but this made little
difference, as I check-mated him at the sixth move. Second,
he was to be allowed to give me one blow on the head with a
mallet (this he at last consented to give up). I forget if
there were others, but it ended in my getting the verses,
for which I have written out "The Lonely Moor" for him.
Mr. Dodgson took a great interest in occult phenomena, and was for
some time an enthusiastic member of the "Psychical Society." It was
his interest in ghosts that led to his meeting with the artist Mr.
Heaphy, who had painted a picture of a ghost which he himself had
seen. I quote the following from a letter to his sister Mary:--
During my last visit to town, I paid a very interesting
visit to a new artist, Mr. Heaphy. Do you remember that
curious story of a ghost lady (in _Household Words_ or
_All the Year Round_), who sat to an artist for her
picture; it was called "Mr. H.'s Story," and he was the
writer.... He received me most kindly, and we had a very
interesting talk about the ghost, which certainly is one of
the most curious and inexplicable stories I ever heard. He
showed me her picture (life size), and she must have been
very lovely, if it is like her (or like it, which ever is
the correct pronoun).... Mr. Heaphy showed me a most
interesting collection of drawings he has made abroad; he
has been about, hunting up the earliest and most authentic
pictures of our Saviour, some merely outlines, some coloured
pictures. They agree wonderfully in the character of the
face, and one, he says, there is no doubt was done before
the year 150.... I feel sure from his tone that he is doing
this in a religious spirit, and not merely as an artist.
On July 4, 1862, there is a very important entry: "I made an
expedition _up_ the river to Godstow with the three Liddells; we
had tea on the bank there, and did not reach Christ Church till
half-past eight."
[Illustration: Lorina, Alice, and Edith Liddell. _From a
photograph by Lewis Carroll_.]
On the opposite page he added, somewhat later, "On which occasion I
told them the fairy-tale of 'Alice's Adventures Underground,' which I
undertook to write out for Alice."
These words need to be supplemented by the verses with which he
prefaced the "Wonderland":--
All in the golden afternoon
Full leisurely we glide;
For both our oars, with little skill,
By little arms are plied,
While little hands make vain pretence
Our wanderings to guide.
Ah, cruel Three! In such an hour,
Beneath such dreamy weather,
To beg a tale of breath too weak
To stir the tiniest feather!
Yet what can one poor voice avail
Against three tongues together?
Imperious Prima flashes forth
Her edict "to begin it"--
In gentler tones Secunda hopes
"There will be nonsense in it!"
While Tertia interrupts the tale
Not _more_ than once a minute.
Anon, to sudden silence won,
In fancy they pursue
The dream-child moving through a land
Of wonders wild and new,
In friendly chat with bird or beast--
And half believe it true.
And ever, as the story drained
The wells of fancy dry,
And faintly strove that weary one
To put the subject by,
"The rest next time"--"It _is_ next time!"
The happy voices cry.
Thus grew the tale of Wonderland:
Thus slowly, one by one,
Its quaint events were hammered out--
And now the tale is done,
And home we steer, a merry crew,
Beneath the setting sun.
"Alice" herself (Mrs. Reginald Hargreaves) has given an account of the
scene, from which what follows is quoted:--
Most of Mr. Dodgson's stories were told to us on river
expeditions to Nuneham or Godstow, near Oxford. My eldest
sister, now Mrs. Skene, was "Prima," I was "Secunda," and
"Tertia" was my sister Edith. I believe the beginning of
"Alice" was told one summer afternoon when the sun was so
burning that we had landed in the meadows down the river,
deserting the boat to take refuge in the only bit of shade
to be found, which was under a new-made hayrick. Here from
all three came the old petition of "Tell us a story," and so
began the ever-delightful tale. Sometimes to tease us--and
perhaps being really tired--Mr. Dodgson would stop suddenly
and say, "And that's all till next time." "Ah, but it is
next time," would be the exclamation from all three; and
after some persuasion the story would start afresh. Another
day, perhaps, the story would begin in the boat, and Mr.
Dodgson, in the middle of telling a thrilling adventure,
would pretend to go fast asleep, to our great dismay.
"Alice's Adventures Underground" was the original name of the story;
later on it became "Alice's Hour in Elfland." It was not until June
18, 1864, that he finally decided upon "Alice's Adventures in
Wonderland." The illustrating of the manuscript book gave him some
trouble. He had to borrow a "Natural History" from the Deanery to
learn the correct shapes of some of the strange animals with which
Alice conversed; the Mock Turtle he must have evolved out of his inner
consciousness, for it is, I think, a species unknown to naturalists.
He was lucky enough during the course of the year to see a ceremony
which is denied to most Oxford men. When degrees are given, any
tradesman who has been unable to get his due from an undergraduate
about to be made a Bachelor of Arts is allowed, by custom, to pluck
the Proctor's gown as he passes, and then to make his complaint. This
law is more honoured in the breach than in the observance; but, on the
occasion of this visit of Mr. Dodgson's to Convocation, the Proctor's
gown was actually plucked--on account of an unfortunate man who had
gone through the Bankruptcy Court.
When he promised to write out "Alice" for Miss Liddell he had no idea
of publication; but his friend, Mr. George Macdonald, to whom he had
shown the story, persuaded him to submit it to a publisher. Messrs.
Macmillan agreed to produce it, and as Mr. Dodgson had not sufficient
faith in his own artistic powers to venture to allow his illustrations
to appear, it was necessary to find some artist who would undertake
the work. By the advice of Tom Taylor he approached Mr. Tenniel, who
was fortunately well disposed, and on April 5, 1864, the final
arrangements were made.
[Illustration: George MacDonald. _From a photograph by
Lewis Carroll_.]
The following interesting account of a meeting with Mr. Dodgson is
from the pen of Mrs. Bennie, wife of the Rector of Glenfield, near
Leicester:--
Some little time after the publication of "Alice's
Adventures" we went for our summer holiday to Whitby. We
were visiting friends, and my brother and sister went to the
hotel. They soon after asked us to dine with them there at
the _table d'hôte._ I had on one side of me a gentleman
whom I did not know, but as I had spent a good deal of time
travelling in foreign countries, I always, at once, speak to
any one I am placed next. I found on this occasion I had a
very agreeable neighbour, and we seemed to be much
interested in the same books, and politics also were touched
on. After dinner my sister and brother rather took me to
task for talking so much to a complete stranger. I said.
"But it was quite a treat to talk to him and to hear him
talk. Of one thing I am quite sure, he is a genius." My
brother and sister, who had not heard him speak, again
laughed at me, and said, "You are far too easily pleased."
I, however, maintained my point, and said what great delight
his conversation had given me, and how remarkably clever it
had been. Next morning nurse took out our two little twin
daughters in front of the sea. I went out a short time
afterwards, looked for them, and found them seated with my
friend of the _table d'hôte_ between them, and they
were listening to him, open-mouthed, and in the greatest
state of enjoyment, with his knee covered with minute toys.
I, seeing their great delight, motioned to him to go on;
this he did for some time. A most charming story he told
them about sea-urchins and Ammonites. When it was over, I
said, "You must be the author of 'Alice's Adventures.'" He
laughed, but looked astonished, and said, "My dear Madam, my
name is Dodgson, and 'Alice's Adventures' was written by
Lewis Carroll." I replied, "Then you must have borrowed the
name, for only he could have told a story as you have just
done." After a little sparring he admitted the fact, and I
went home and proudly told my sister and brother how my
genius had turned out a greater one than I expected. They
assured me I must be mistaken, and that, as I had suggested
it to him, he had taken advantage of the idea, and said he
was what I wanted him to be. A few days after some friends
came to Whitby who knew his aunts, and confirmed the truth
of his statement, and thus I made the acquaintance of one
whose friendship has been the source of great pleasure for
nearly thirty years. He has most generously sent us all his
books, with kind inscriptions, to "Minnie and Doe," whom he
photographed, but would not take Canon Bennie or me; he said
he never took portraits of people of more than seventeen
years of age until they were seventy. He visited us, and we
often met him at Eastbourne, and his death was indeed a
great loss after so many happy years of friendship with one
we so greatly admired and loved.
He spent a part of the Long Vacation at Freshwater, taking great
interest in the children who, for him, were the chief attraction of
the seaside.
Every morning four little children dressed in yellow go by
from the front down to the beach: they go by in a state of
great excitement, brandishing wooden spades, and making
strange noises; from that moment they disappear
entirely--they are never to be seen _on_ the beach. The
only theory I can form is, that they all tumble into a hole
somewhere, and continue excavating therein during the day:
however that may be, I have once or twice come across them
returning at night, in exactly the same state of excitement,
and seemingly in quite as great a hurry to get home as they
were before to get out. The evening noises they make sound
to me very much like the morning noises, but I suppose they
are different to them, and contain an account of the day's
achievements.
His enthusiasm for photography, and his keen appreciation of the
beautiful, made him prefer the society of artists to that of any other
class of people. He knew the Rossettis intimately, and his Diary shows
him to have been acquainted with Millais, Holman Hunt, Sant,
Westmacott, Val Prinsep, Watts, and a host of others. Arthur Hughes
painted a charming picture to his order ("The Lady with the Lilacs")
which used to hang in his rooms at Christ Church. The Andersons were
great friends of his, Mrs. Anderson being one of his favourite
child-painters. Those who have visited him at Oxford will remember a
beautiful girl's head, painted by her from a rough sketch she had once
made in a railway carriage of a child who happened to be sitting
opposite her.
[Illustration: J. Sant. _From a photograph by Lewis
Carroll_.]
His own drawings were in no way remarkable. Ruskin, whose advice he
took on his artistic capabilities, told him that he had not enough
talent to make it worth his while to devote much time to sketching,
but every one who saw his photographs admired them. Considering the
difficulties of the "wet process," and the fact that he had a
conscientious horror of "touching up" his negatives, the pictures he
produced are quite wonderful. Some of them were shown to the Queen,
who said that she admired them very much, and that they were "such as
the Prince would have appreciated very highly, and taken much pleasure
in."
[Illustration: Holman Hunt. _From a photograph by Lewis
Carroll_.]
On July 4, 1865, exactly three years after the memorable row up the
river, Miss Alice Liddell received the first presentation copy of
"Alice's Adventures in Wonderland": the second was sent to Princess
Beatrice.
The first edition, which consisted of two thousand copies, was
condemned by both author and illustrator, for the pictures did not
come out well. All purchasers were accordingly asked to return their
copies, and to send their names and addresses; a new edition was
prepared, and distributed to those who had sent back their old copies,
which the author gave away to various homes and hospitals. The
substituted edition was a complete success, "a perfect piece of
artistic printing," as Mr. Dodgson called it. He hardly dared to hope
that more than two thousand copies would be sold, and anticipated a
considerable loss over the book. His surprise was great when edition
after edition was demanded, and when he found that "Alice," far from
being a monetary failure, was bringing him in a very considerable
income every year.
[Illustration: Sir John Millais. _From a photograph by
Lewis Carroll_]
A rough comparison between "Alice's Adventures Underground" and the
book in its completed form, shows how slight were the alterations that
Lewis Carroll thought it necessary to make.
The "Wonderland" is somewhat longer, but the general plan of the book,
and the simplicity of diction, which is one of its principal charms,
are unchanged. His memory was so good that I believe the story as he
wrote it down was almost word for word the same that he had told in
the boat. The whole idea came like an inspiration into his mind, and
that sort of inspiration does not often come more than once in a
lifetime. Nothing which he wrote afterwards had anything like the same
amount of freshness, of wit, of real genius. The "Looking-Glass" most
closely approached it in these qualities, but then it was only the
following out of the same idea. The most ingenuous comparison of the
two books I have seen was the answer of a little girl whom Lewis
Carroll had asked if she had read them: "Oh yes, I've read both of
them, and I think," (this more slowly and thoughtfully) "I think
'Through the Looking-Glass' is more stupid than 'Alice's Adventures.'
Don't you think so?"
The critics were loud in their praises of "Alice"; there was hardly a
dissentient voice among them, and the reception which the public gave
the book justified their opinion. So recently as July, 1898, the
_Pall Mall Gazette_ conducted an inquiry into the popularity of
children's books. "The verdict is so natural that it will surprise no
normal person. The winner is 'Alice in Wonderland'; 'Through the
Looking-Glass' is in the twenty, but much lower down."
"Alice" has been translated into French, German, Italian, and Dutch,
while one poem, "Father William," has even been turned into Arabic.
Several plays have been based upon it; lectures have been given,
illustrated by magic-lantern slides of Tenniel's pictures, which have
also adorned wall-papers and biscuit-boxes. Mr. Dodgson himself
designed a very ingenious "Wonderland" stamp-case; there has been an
"Alice" birthday-book; at schools, children have been taught to read
out of "Alice," while the German edition, shortened and simplified for
the purpose, has also been used as a lesson-book. With the exception
of Shakespeare's plays, very few, if any, books are so frequently
quoted in the daily Press as the two "Alices."
In 1866 Mr. Dodgson was introduced to Miss Charlotte M. Yonge, whose
novels had long delighted him. "It was a pleasure I had long hoped
for," he says, "and I was very much pleased with her cheerful and easy
manners--the sort of person one knows in a few minutes as well as many
in many years."
[Illustration: C. M. Yonge. _From a photograph by Lewis
Carroll_.]
In 1867 he contributed a story to _Aunt Judy's Magazine_ called
"Bruno's Revenge," the charming little idyll out of which "Sylvie and
Bruno" grew. The creation of Bruno was the only act of homage Lewis
Carroll ever paid to boy-nature, for which, as a rule, he professed an
aversion almost amounting to terror. Nevertheless, on the few
occasions on which I have seen him in the company of boys, he seemed
to be thoroughly at his ease, telling them stories and showing them
puzzles.
I give an extract from Mrs. Gatty's letter, acknowledging the receipt
of "Bruno's Revenge" for her magazine:--
I need hardly tell you that the story is _delicious_.
It is beautiful and fantastic and childlike, and I cannot
sufficiently thank you. I am so _proud_ for _Aunt
Judy_ that you have honoured _her_ by sending it
here, rather than to the _Cornhill_, or one of the
grander Magazines.
To-morrow I shall send the Manuscript to London probably;
to-day I keep it to enjoy a little further, and that the
young ladies may do so too. One word more. Make this one of
a series. You may have great mathematical abilities, but so
have hundreds of others. This talent is peculiarly your own,
and as an Englishman you are almost unique in possessing it.
If you covet fame, therefore, it will be (I think) gained by
this. Some of the touches are so exquisite, one would have
thought nothing short of intercourse with fairies could have
put them into your head.
Somewhere about this time he was invited to witness a rehearsal of a
children's play at a London theatre. As he sat in the wings, chatting
to the manager, a little four-year-old girl, one of the performers,
climbed up on his knee, and began talking to him. She was very anxious
to be allowed to play the principal part (Mrs. Mite), which had been
assigned to some other child. "I wish I might act Mrs. Mite," she
said; "I know all her part, and I'd get an _encore_ for every
word."
During the year he published his book on "Determinants." To those
accustomed to regard mathematics as the driest of dry subjects, and
mathematicians as necessarily devoid of humour, it seems scarcely
credible that "An Elementary Treatise on Determinants," and "Alice in
Wonderland" were written by the same author, and it came quite as a
revelation to the undergraduate who heard for the first time that Mr.
Dodgson of Christ Church and Lewis Carroll were identical.