The Life and Letters of Lewis Carroll by Stuart Dodgson Collingwood

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[Illustration: Miss E. Gertrude Thomson.]

In 1878 some drawings of Miss E. Gertrude Thomson's excited his keen
admiration, and he exerted himself to make her acquaintance. Their
first meeting is described so well by Miss Thomson herself in _The
Gentlewoman_ for January 29, 1898, that I cannot do better than
quote the description of the scene as given there:--

It was at the end of December, 1878, that a letter, written
in a singularly legible and rather boyish-looking hand, came
to me from Christ Church, Oxford, signed "C. L. Dodgson."
The writer said that he had come across some fairy designs
of mine, and he should like to see some more of my work. By
the same post came a letter from my London publisher (who
had supplied my address) telling me that the "Rev. C. L.
Dodgson" was "Lewis Carroll."

"Alice in Wonderland" had long been one of my pet books, and
as one regards a favourite author as almost a personal
friend, I felt less restraint than one usually feels in
writing to a stranger, though I carefully concealed my
knowledge of his identity, as he had not chosen to reveal
it.

This was the beginning of a frequent and delightful
correspondence, and as I confessed to a great love for fairy
lore of every description, he asked me if I would accept a
child's fairy-tale book he had written, called "Alice in
Wonderland." I replied that I knew it nearly all off by
heart, but that I should greatly prize a copy given to me by
himself. By return came "Alice," and "Through the
Looking-Glass," bound most luxuriously in white calf and
gold.

And this is the graceful and kindly note that came with
them: "I am now sending you 'Alice,' and the 'Looking-Glass'
as well. There is an incompleteness about giving only one,
and besides, the one you bought was probably in red and
would not match these. If you are at all in doubt as to what
to do with the (now) superfluous copy, let me suggest your
giving it to some poor sick child. I have been distributing
copies to all the hospitals and convalescent homes I can
hear of, where there are sick children capable of reading
them, and though, of course, one takes some pleasure in the
popularity of the books elsewhere, it is not nearly so
pleasant a thought to me as that they may be a comfort and
relief to children in hours of pain and weariness. Still, no
recipient _can_ be more appropriate than one who seems
to have been in fairyland herself, and to have seen, like
the 'weary mariners' of old--

'Between the green brink and the running foam
White limbs unrobed in a crystal air,
Sweet faces, rounded arms, and bosoms prest
To little harps of gold.'"

"Do you ever come to London?" he asked in another letter;
"if so, will you allow me to call upon you?"

Early in the summer I came up to study, and I sent him word
that I was in town. One night, coming into my room, after a
long day spent at the British Museum, in the half-light I
saw a card lying on the table. "Rev. C. L. Dodgson." Bitter,
indeed, was my disappointment at having missed him, but just
as I was laying it sadly down I spied a small T.O. in the
corner. On the back I read that he couldn't get up to my
rooms early or late enough to find me, so would I arrange to
meet him at some museum or gallery the day but one
following? I fixed on South Kensington Museum, by the
"Schliemann" collection, at twelve o'clock.

A little before twelve I was at the rendezvous, and then the
humour of the situation suddenly struck me, that _I_
had not the ghost of an idea what _he_ was like, nor
would _he_ have any better chance of discovering
_me!_ The room was fairly full of all sorts and
conditions, as usual, and I glanced at each masculine figure
in turn, only to reject it as a possibility of the one I
sought. Just as the big clock had clanged out twelve, I
heard the high vivacious voices and laughter of children
sounding down the corridor.

At that moment a gentleman entered, two little girls
clinging to his hands, and as I caught sight of the tall
slim figure, with the clean-shaven, delicate, refined face,
I said to myself, "_That's_ Lewis Carroll." He stood
for a moment, head erect, glancing swiftly over the room,
then, bending down, whispered something to one of the
children; she, after a moment's pause, pointed straight at
me.

Dropping their hands he came forward, and with that winning
smile of his that utterly banished the oppressive sense of
the Oxford don, said simply, "I am Mr. Dodgson; I was to
meet you, I think?" To which I as frankly smiled, and said,
"How did you know me so soon?"

"My little friend found you. I told her I had come to meet a
young lady who knew fairies, and she fixed on you at once.
But _I_ knew you before she spoke."

This acquaintance ripened into a true, artistic friendship, which
lasted till Mr. Dodgson's death. In his first letter to Miss Thomson
he speaks of himself as one who for twenty years had found his one
amusement in photographing from life--especially photographing
children; he also said that he had made attempts ("most
unsuccessfully") at drawing them. When he got to know her more
intimately, he asked her to criticise his work, and when she wrote
expressing her willingness to do so, he sent her a pile of
sketch-books, through which she went most carefully, marking the
mistakes, and criticising, wherever criticism seemed to be necessary.

After this he might often have been seen in her studio, lying flat on
his face, and drawing some child-model who had been engaged for his
especial benefit. "I _love_ the effort to draw," he wrote in one
of his letters to her, "but I utterly fail to please even my own
eye--tho' now and then I seem to get somewhere _near_ a right
line or two, when I have a live child to draw from. But I have no time
left now for such things. In the next life, I do _hope_ we shall
not only _see_ lovely forms, such as this world does not contain,
but also be able to _draw_ them."

But while he fully recognised the limits of his powers, he had great
faith in his own critical judgment; and with good reason, for his
perception of the beautiful in contour and attitude and grouping was
almost unerring. All the drawings which Miss Thomson made for his
"Three Sunsets" were submitted to his criticism, which descended to
the smallest details. He concludes a letter to her, which contained
the most elaborate and minute suggestions for the improvement of one
of these pictures, with the following words: "I make all these
suggestions with diffidence, feeling that I have _really no_
right at all, as an amateur, to criticise the work of a real artist."

The following extract from another letter to Miss Thomson shows that
seeking after perfection, that discontent with everything short of the
best, which was so marked a feature of his character. She had sent him
two drawings of the head of some child-friend of his:--

Your note is a puzzle--you say that "No. 2 would have been
still more like if the paper had been exactly the same
shade--but I'd no more at hand of the darker colour." Had I
given you the impression that I was in a _hurry_, and
was willing to have No. 2 _less_ good than it
_might_ be made, so long as I could have it
_quick?_ If I did, I'm very sorry: I never _meant_
to say a word like it: and, if you had written "I could make
it still more like, on darker paper; but I've no more at
hand. How long can you wait for me to get some?" I should
have replied, "Six weeks, or six _months_, if you
prefer it!"

I have already spoken of his love of nature, as opposed to the
admiration for the morbid and abnormal. "I want you," he writes to
Miss Thomson, "to do my fairy drawings from _life_. They would be
very pretty, no doubt, done out of your own head, but they will be ten
times as valuable if done from life. Mr. Furniss drew the pictures of
'Sylvie' from life. Mr. Tenniel is the only artist, who has drawn for
me, who resolutely refused to use a model, and declared he no more
needed one than I should need a multiplication-table to work a
mathematical problem!" On another occasion he urges the importance of
using models, in order to avoid the similarity of features which would
otherwise spoil the pictures: "Cruikshank's splendid illustrations
were terribly spoiled by his having only _one_ pretty female face
in them all. Leech settled down into _two_ female faces. Du
Maurier, I think, has only _one_, now. All the ladies, and all
the little girls in his pictures look like twin sisters."

It is interesting to know that Sir Noel Paton and Mr. Walter Crane
were, in Lewis Carroll's opinion, the most successful drawers of
children: "There are but few artists who seem to draw the forms of
children _con amore_. Walter Crane is perhaps the best (always
excepting Sir Noel Paton): but the thick outlines, which he insists on
using, seem to take off a good deal from the beauty of the result."

He held that no artist can hope to effect a higher type of beauty than
that which life itself exhibits, as the following words show:--

I don't quite understand about fairies losing "grace," if
too like human children. Of course I grant that to be like
some _actual_ child is to lose grace, because no living
child is perfect in form: many causes have lowered the race
from what God made it. But the _perfect_ human form,
free from these faults, is surely equally applicable to men,
and fairies, and angels? Perhaps that is what you mean--that
the Artist can imagine, and design, more perfect forms than
we ever find in life?

I have already referred several times to Miss Ellen Terry as having
been one of Mr. Dodgson's friends, but he was intimate with the whole
family, and used often to pay them a visit when he was in town. On May
15, 1879, he records a very curious dream which he had about Miss
Marion ("Polly") Terry:--

Last night I had a dream which I record as a curiosity, so
far as I know, in the literature of dreams. I was staying,
with my sisters, in some suburb of London, and had heard
that the Terrys were staying near us, so went to call, and
found Mrs. Terry at home, who told us that Marion and
Florence were at the theatre, "the Walter House," where they
had a good engagement. "In that case," I said, "I'll go on
there at once, and see the performance--and may I take Polly
with me?" "Certainly," said Mrs. Terry. And there was Polly,
the child, seated in the room, and looking about nine or ten
years old: and I was distinctly conscious of the fact, yet
without any feeling of surprise at its incongruity, that I
was going to take the _child_ Polly with me to the
theatre, to see the _grown-up_ Polly act! Both
pictures--Polly as a child, and Polly as a woman, are, I
suppose, equally clear in my ordinary waking memory: and it
seems that in sleep I had contrived to give the two pictures
separate individualities.

Of all the mathematical books which Mr. Dodgson wrote, by far the most
elaborate, if not the most original, was "Euclid and His Modern
Rivals." The first edition was issued in 1879, and a supplement,
afterwards incorporated into the second edition, appeared in 1885.

This book, as the author says, has for its object

to furnish evidence (1) that it is essential for the
purposes of teaching or examining in Elementary Geometry to
employ one text-book only; (2) that there are strong _a
priori_ reasons for retaining in all its main features,
and especially in its sequence and numbering of
Propositions, and in its treatment of Parallels, the Manual
of Euclid; and (3) that no sufficient reasons have yet been
shown for abandoning it in favour of any one of the modern
Manuals which have been offered as substitutes.

The book is written in dramatic form, and relieved throughout by many
touches in the author's happiest vein, which make it delightful not
only to the scientific reader, but also to any one of average
intelligence with the slightest sense of humour.

Whether the conclusions are accepted in their entirety or not, it is
certain that the arguments are far more effective than if the writer
had presented them in the form of an essay. Mr. Dodgson had a wide
experience as a teacher and examiner, so that he knew well what he was
writing about, and undoubtedly the appearance of this book has done
very much to stay the hand of the innovator.

The scene opens in a College study--time, midnight. Minos, an
examiner, is discovered seated between two immense piles of
manuscripts. He is driven almost to distraction in his efforts to mark
fairly the papers sent up, by reason of the confusion caused through
the candidates offering various substitutes for Euclid. Rhadamanthus,
another equally distracted examiner, comes to his room.

The two men consult together for a time, and then Rhadamanthus
retires, and Minos falls asleep. Hereupon the Ghost of Euclid appears,
and discusses with Minos the reasons for retaining his Manual as a
whole, in its present order and arrangement. As they are mainly
concerned with the wants of beginners, their attention is confined to
Books I. and II.

We must be content with one short extract from the dialogue:--

_Euclid_.--It is, I think, a friend of yours who has
amused himself by tabulating the various Theorems which
might be enunciated on the single subject of Pairs of Lines.
How many did he make them out to be?

_Minos_.--About two hundred and fifty, I believe.

_Euclid_.--At that rate there would probably be within
the limit of my First Book--how many?

_Minos_.--A thousand at least.

_Euclid_.--What a popular school-book it will be! How
boys will bless the name of the writer who first brings out
the complete thousand!

With a view to discussing and criticising his various modern rivals,
Euclid promises to send to Minos the ghost of a German Professor (Herr
Niemand) who "has read all books, and is ready to defend any thesis,
true or untrue."

"A charming companion!" as Minos drily remarks.

This brings us to Act II., in which the Manuals which reject Euclid's
treatment of Parallels are dealt with one by one. Those Manuals which
adopt it are reserved for Act III., Scene i.; while in Scene ii., "The
Syllabus of the Association for the Improvement of Geometrical
Teaching," and Wilson's "Syllabus," come under review.

Only one or two extracts need be given, which, it is hoped, will
suffice to illustrate the character and style of the book:

Act II., Scene v.--Niemand and Minos are arguing for and against
Henrici's "Elementary Geometry."

_Minos_.--I haven't quite done with points yet. I find
an assertion that they never jump. Do you think that arises
from their having "position," which they feel might be
compromised by such conduct?

_Niemand_.--I cannot tell without hearing the passage
read.

_Minos_.--It is this: "A point, in changing its
position on a curve, passes in moving from one position to
another through all intermediate positions. It does not move
by jumps."

_Niemand_.--That is quite true.

_Minos_.--Tell me then--is every centre of gravity a
point?

_Niemand_.--Certainly.

_Minos_.--Let us now consider the centre of gravity of
a flea. Does it--

_Niemand (indignantly)_.--Another word, and I shall
vanish! I cannot waste a night on such trivialities.

_Minos_.--I can't resist giving you just _one_
more tit-bit--the definition of a square at page 123: "A
quadrilateral which is a kite, a symmetrical trapezium, and
a parallelogram is a square!" And now, farewell, Henrici:
"Euclid, with all thy faults, I love thee still!"

Again, from Act II., Scene vi.:--

_Niemand_.--He (Pierce, another "Modern Rival,") has a
definition of direction which will, I think, be new to you.
_(Reads.)_

"The _direction of a line_ in any part is the direction
of a point at that part from the next preceding point of the
line!"

_Minos_.--That sounds mysterious. Which way along a
line are "preceding" points to be found?

_Niemand_.--_Both ways._ He adds, directly
afterwards, "A line has two different directions," &c.

_Minos_.--So your definition needs a postscript.... But
there is yet another difficulty. How far from a point is the
"next" point?

_Niemand_.--At an infinitely small distance, of course.
You will find the matter fully discussed in my work on the
Infinitesimal Calculus.

_Minos_.--A most satisfactory answer for a teacher to
make to a pupil just beginning Geometry!

In Act IV. Euclid reappears to Minos, "followed by the ghosts of
Archimedes, Pythagoras, &c., who have come to see fair play." Euclid
thus sums up his case:--

"'The cock doth craw, the day doth daw,' and all respectable
ghosts ought to be going home. Let me carry with me the hope
that I have convinced you of the necessity of retaining my
order and numbering, and my method of treating Straight
Lines, Angles, Right Angles, and (most especially)
Parallels. Leave me these untouched, and I shall look on
with great contentment while other changes are made--while
my proofs are abridged and improved--while alternative
proofs are appended to mine--and while new Problems and
Theorems are interpolated. In all these matters my Manual is
capable of almost unlimited improvement."

In Appendices I. and II. Mr. Dodgson quotes the opinions of two
eminent mathematical teachers, Mr. Todhunter and Professor De Morgan,
in support of his argument.

Before leaving this subject I should like to refer to a very novel use
of Mr. Dodgson's book--its employment in a school. Mr. G. Hopkins,
Mathematical Master in the High School at Manchester, U.S., and
himself the author of a "Manual of Plane Geometry," has so employed it
in a class of boys aged from fourteen or fifteen upwards. He first
called their attention to some of the more prominent difficulties
relating to the question of Parallels, put a copy of Euclid in their
hands, and let them see his treatment of them, and after some
discussion placed before them Mr. Dodgson's "Euclid and His Modern
Rivals" and "New Theory of Parallels."

Perhaps it is the fact that American boys are sharper than English,
but at any rate the youngsters are reported to have read the two books
with an earnestness and a persistency that were as gratifying to their
instructor as they were complimentary to Mr. Dodgson.

In June of the same year an entry in the Diary refers to a proposal in
Convocation to allow the University Club to have a cricket-ground in
the Parks. This had been proposed in 1867, and then rejected. Mr.
Dodgson sent round to the Common Rooms copies of a poem on "The
Deserted Parks," which had been published by Messrs. Parker in 1867,
and which was afterwards included in "Notes by an Oxford Chiel." I
quote the first few lines:--

Museum! loveliest building of the plain
Where Cherwell winds towards the distant main;
How often have I loitered o'er thy green,
Where humble happiness endeared the scene!
How often have I paused on every charm,--
The rustic couple walking arm in arm,
The groups of trees, with seats beneath the shade
For prattling babes and whisp'ring lovers made,
The never-failing brawl, the busy mill,
Where tiny urchins vied in fistic skill.
(Two phrases only have that dusky race
Caught from the learned influence of the place;
Phrases in their simplicity sublime,
"Scramble a copper!" "Please, sir, what's the time?")
These round thy walks their cheerful influence shed;
These were thy charms--but all these charms are fled,
Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen,
And rude pavilions sadden all thy green;
One selfish pastime grasps the whole domain,
And half a faction swallows up the plain;
Adown thy glades, all sacrificed to cricket,
The hollow-sounding bat now guards the wicket;
Sunk are thy mounds in shapeless level all,
Lest aught impede the swiftly rolling ball;
And trembling, shrinking from the fatal blow,
Far, far away thy hapless children go.
Ill fares the place, to luxury a prey,
Where wealth accumulates, and minds decay:
Athletic sports may flourish or may fade,
Fashion may make them, even as it has made;
But the broad Parks, the city's joy and pride,
When once destroyed can never be supplied!

Readers of "Sylvie and Bruno" will remember the way in which the
invisible fairy-children save the drunkard from his evil life, and I
have always felt that Mr. Dodgson meant Sylvie to be something more
than a fairy--a sort of guardian angel. That such an idea would not
have been inconsistent with his way of looking at things is shown by
the following letter:

Ch. Ch., _July_, 1879.

My dear Ethel,--I have been long intending to answer your
letter of April 11th, chiefly as to your question in
reference to Mrs. N--'s letter about the little S--s [whose
mother had recently died]. You say you don't see "how they
can be guided aright by their dead mother, or how light can
come from her." Many people believe that our friends in the
other world can and do influence us in some way, and perhaps
even "guide" us and give us light to show us our duty. My
own feeling is, it _may_ be so: but nothing has been
revealed about it. That the angels do so _is_ revealed,
and we may feel sure of _that_; and there is a
beautiful fancy (for I don't think one can call it more)
that "a mother who has died leaving a child behind her in
this world, is allowed to be a sort of guardian angel to
that child." Perhaps Mrs. N-- believes that.

Here are two other entries in the Diary:--

_Aug. 26th_.--Worked from about 9.45 to 6.45, and again
from 10.15 to 11.45 (making 101/2 hours altogether) at an
idea which occurred to me of finding limits for _pi_ by
elementary trigonometry, for the benefit of the
circle-squarers.

_Dec. 12th_.--Invented a new way of working one word
into another. I think of calling the puzzle "syzygies."

I give the first three specimens:--

MAN }
permanent }
entice } Send MAN on ICE.
ICE. }

ACRE }
sacred }
credentials } RELY on ACRE.
entirely }
RELY }

PRISM }
prismatic }
dramatic } Prove PRISM to be ODIOUS.
melodrama }
melodious }
ODIOUS. }

In February, 1880, Mr. Dodgson proposed to the Christ Church
"Staff-salaries Board," that as his tutorial work was lighter he
should have L200 instead of L300 a year. It is not often that a man
proposes to cut down _his own_ salary, but the suggestion in this
case was intended to help the College authorities in the policy of
retrenchment which they were trying to carry out.

_May 24th_.--Percival, President of Trin. Coll., who
has Cardinal Newman as his guest, wrote to say that the
Cardinal would sit for a photo, to me, at Trinity. But I
could not take my photography there and he couldn't come to
me: so nothing came of it.

_Aug. 19th_. [At Eastbourne].--Took Ruth and Maud to
the Circus (Hutchinson and Tayleure's--from America). I
made friends with Mr. Tayleure, who took me to the tents of
horses, and the caravan he lived in. And I added to my
theatrical experiences by a chat with a couple of circus
children--Ada Costello, aged 9, and Polly (Evans, I think),
aged 13. I found Ada in the outer tent, with the pony on
which she was to perform--practising vaulting on to it,
varied with somersaults on the ground. I showed her my wire
puzzle, and ultimately gave it her, promising a duplicate to
Polly. Both children seemed bright and happy, and they had
pleasant manners.

_Sept. 2nd_.--Mrs. H-- took me to Dr. Bell's (the old
homoeopathic doctor) to hear Lord Radstock speak about
"training children." It was a curious affair. First a very
long hymn; then two very long extempore prayers (not by Lord
R--), which were strangely self-sufficient and wanting in
reverence. Lord R--'s remarks were commonplace enough,
though some of his theories were new, but, I think, not
true--_e.g.,_ that encouraging emulation in
schoolboys, or desiring that they should make a good
position in life, was un-Christian. I escaped at the first
opportunity after his speech, and went down on the beach,
where I made acquaintance with a family who were banking up
with sand the feet and legs of a pretty little girl perched
on a sand-castle. I got her father to make her stand to be
drawn. Further along the beach a merry little mite began
pelting me with sand; so I drew _her_ too.

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