The Life and Letters of Lewis Carroll by Stuart Dodgson Collingwood
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Stuart Dodgson Collingwood >> The Life and Letters of Lewis Carroll
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My "Memoria Technica" is a modification of Gray's; but,
whereas he used both consonants and vowels to represent
digits, and had to content himself with a syllable of
gibberish to represent the date or whatever other number was
required, I use only consonants, and fill in with vowels _ad
libitum,_ and thus can always manage to make a real word of
whatever has to be represented.
The principles on which the necessary 20 consonants have
been chosen are as follows:--
1. "b" and "c," the first two consonants in the alphabet.
2. "d" from "duo," "w" from "two."
3. "t" from "tres," the other may wait awhile.
4. "f" from "four," "q" from "quattuor."
5. "l" and "v," because "l" and "v" are the Roman symbols
for "fifty" and "five."
6. "s" and "x" from "six."
7. "p" and "m" from "septem."
8. "h" from "huit," and "k" from the Greek "okto."
9. "n" from "nine"; and "g" because it is so like a "9."
0. "z" and "r" from "zero."
There is now one consonant still waiting for its digit,
viz., "j," and one digit waiting for its consonant, viz.,
"3," the conclusion is obvious.
The result may be tabulated thus:--
|1 |2 |3 |4 |5 |6 |7 |8 |9 |0 |
|b |d |t |f |l |s |p |h |n |z |
|c |w |j |q |v |x |m |k |g |r |
When a word has been found, whose last consonants represent
the number required, the best plan is to put it as the last
word of a rhymed couplet, so that, whatever other words in
it are forgotten, the rhyme will secure the only really
important word.
Now suppose you wish to remember the date of the discovery
of America, which is 1492; the "1" may be left out as
obvious; all we need is "492."
Write it thus:--
4 9 2
f n d
q g w
and try to find a word that contains "f" or "q," "n" or "g,"
"d" or "w." A word soon suggests itself--"found."
The poetic faculty must now be brought into play, and the
following couplet will soon be evolved:--
"Columbus sailed the world around,
Until America was F O U N D."
If possible, invent the couplets for yourself; you will
remember them better than any others.
_June_, 1888.
The inventor found this "Memoria Technica" very useful in helping him
to remember the dates of the different Colleges. He often, of course,
had to show his friends the sights of Oxford, and the easy way in
which, asked or unasked, he could embellish his descriptions with
dates used to surprise those who did not know how the thing was done.
The couplet for St. John's College ran as follows:--
"They must have a bevel
To keep them so LEVEL."
The allusion is to the beautiful lawns, for which St. John's is
famous.
In his power of remembering anecdotes, and bringing them out just at
the right moment, Mr. Dodgson was unsurpassed. A guest brought into
Christ Church Common Room was usually handed over to him to be amused.
He was not a good man to tell a story to--he had always heard it
before; but as a _raconteur_ I never met his equal. And the best
of it was that his stories never grew--except in number.
One would have expected that a mind so clear and logical and definite
would have fought shy of the feminine intellect, which is generally
supposed to be deficient in those qualities; and so it is somewhat
surprising to find that by far the greater number of his friends were
ladies. He was quite prepared to correct them, however, when they were
guilty of what seemed to him unreasoning conduct, as is shown by the
following extract from a letter of his to a young lady who had asked
him to try and find a place for a governess, without giving the
latter's address:--
Some of my friends are business-men, and it is pleasant to
see how methodical and careful they are in transacting any
business-matter. If, for instance, one of them were to write
to me, asking me to look out for a place for a French
governess in whom he was interested, I should be sure to
admire the care with which he would give me _her name in
full_--(in extra-legible writing if it were an unusual
name)--as well as her address. Some of my friends are not
men of business.
So many such requests were addressed to him that at one time he had a
circular letter printed, with a list of people requiring various
appointments or assistants, which he sent round to his friends.
In one respect Lewis Carroll resembled the stoic philosophers, for no
outward circumstance could upset the tranquillity of his mind. He
lived, in fact, the life which Marcus Aurelius commends so highly, the
life of calm contentment, based on the assurance that so long as we
are faithful to ourselves, no seeming evils can really harm us. But in
him there was one exception to this rule. During an argument he was
often excited. The war of words, the keen and subtle conflict between
trained minds--in this his soul took delight, in this he sought and
found the joy of battle and of victory. Yet he would not allow his
serenity to be ruffled by any foe whom he considered unworthy of his
steel; he refused to argue with people whom he knew to be hopelessly
illogical--definitely refused, though with such tact that no wound was
given, even to the most sensitive.
He was modest in the true sense of the term, neither overestimating
nor underrating his own mental powers, and preferring to follow his
own course without regarding outside criticism. "I never read anything
about myself or my books," he writes in a letter to a friend; and the
reason he used to give was that if the critics praised him he might
become conceited, while, if they found fault, he would only feel hurt
and angry. On October 25, 1888, he wrote in his Diary: "I see there is
a leader in to-day's _Standard_ on myself as a writer; but I do
not mean to read it. It is not healthy reading, I think."
He hated publicity, and tried to avoid it in every way. "Do not tell
any one, if you see me in the theatre," he wrote once to Miss Marion
Terry. On another occasion, when he was dining out at Oxford, and some
one, who did not know that it was a forbidden subject, turned the
conversation on "Alice in Wonderland," he rose suddenly and fled from
the house. I could multiply instances of this sort, but it would be
unjust to his memory to insist upon the morbid way in which he
regarded personal popularity. As compared with self-advertisement, it
is certainly the lesser evil; but that it _is_ an evil, and a
very painful one to its possessor, Mr. Dodgson fully saw. Of course it
had its humorous side, as, for instance, when he was brought into
contact with lion-hunters, autograph-collectors, _et hoc genus
omne_. He was very suspicious of unknown correspondents who
addressed questions to him; in later years he either did not answer
them at all, or used a typewriter. Before he bought his typewriter, he
would get some friend to write for him, and even to sign "Lewis
Carroll" at the end of the letter. It used to give him great amusement
to picture the astonishment of the recipients of these letters, if by
any chance they ever came to compare his "autographs."
On one occasion the secretary of a "Young Ladies' Academy" in the
United States asked him to present some of his works to the School
Library. The envelope was addressed to "Lewis Carroll, Christ Church,"
an incongruity which always annoyed him intensely. He replied to the
Secretary, "As Mr. Dodgson's books are all on Mathematical subjects,
he fears that they would not be very acceptable in a school library."
Some fourteen or fifteen years ago, the Fourth-class of the Girl's
Latin School at Boston, U.S., started a magazine, and asked him if
they might call it _The Jabberwock._ He wrote in reply:--
Mr. Lewis Carroll has much pleasure in giving to the editors
of the proposed magazine permission to use the title they
wish for. He finds that the Anglo-Saxon word "wocer" or
"wocor" signifies "offspring" or "fruit." Taking "jabber" in
its ordinary acceptation of "excited and voluble
discussion," this would give the meaning of "the result of
much excited discussion." Whether this phrase will have any
application to the projected periodical, it will be for the
future historian of American literature to determine. Mr.
Carroll wishes all success to the forthcoming magazine.
From that time forward he took a great interest in the magazine, and
thought very well of it. It used, I believe, to be regularly supplied
to him. Only once did he express disapproval of anything it contained,
and that was in 1888, when he felt it necessary to administer a rebuke
for what he thought to be an irreverent joke. The sequel is given in
the following extract from _The Jabberwock_ for June, 1888:--
A FRIEND WORTH HAVING.
_The Jabberwock_ has many friends, and perhaps a few
(very few, let us hope) enemies. But, of the former, the
friend who has helped us most on the road to success is Mr.
Lewis Carroll, the author of "Alice in Wonderland," &c. Our
readers will remember his kind letter granting us permission
to use the name "Jabberwock," and also giving the meaning of
that word. Since then we have received another letter from
him, in which he expresses both surprise and regret at an
anecdote which we published in an early number of our little
paper. We would assure Mr. Carroll, as well as our other
friends, that we had no intention of making light of a
serious matter, but merely quoted the anecdote to show what
sort of a book Washington's diary was.
But now a third letter from our kind friend has come,
enclosing, to our delight, a poem, "A Lesson in Latin," the
pleasantest Latin lesson we have had this year.
The first two letters from Mr. Carroll were in a beautiful
literary hand, whereas the third is written with a
typewriter. It is to this fact that he refers in his letter,
which is as follows:--
"29, Bedford Street,
Covent Garden, LONDON,
_May_ 16, 1888.
Dear Young Friends,--After the Black Draught of serious
remonstrance which I ventured to send to you the other day,
surely a Lump of Sugar will not be unacceptable? The
enclosed I wrote this afternoon on purpose for you.
I hope you will grant it admission to the columns of _The
Jabberwock_, and not scorn it as a mere play upon words.
This mode of writing, is, of course, an American invention.
We never invent new machinery here; we do but use, to the
best of our ability, the machines you send us. For the one I
am now using, I beg you to accept my best thanks, and to
believe me
Your sincere friend,
Lewis Carroll."
Surely we can patiently swallow many Black Draughts, if we
are to be rewarded with so sweet a Lump of Sugar!
The enclosed poem, which has since been republished in
"Three Sunsets," runs as follows:
A LESSON IN LATIN.
Our Latin books, in motley row,
Invite us to the task--
Gay Horace, stately Cicero;
Yet there's one verb, when once we know,
No higher skill we ask:
This ranks all other lore above--
We've learned "amare" means "to love"!
So hour by hour, from flower to flower,
We sip the sweets of life:
Till ah! too soon the clouds arise,
And knitted brows and angry eyes
Proclaim the dawn of strife.
With half a smile and half a sigh,
"Amare! Bitter One!" we cry.
Last night we owned, with looks forlorn,
"Too well the scholar knows
There is no rose without a thorn "--
But peace is made! we sing, this morn,
"No thorn without a rose!"
Our Latin lesson is complete:
We've learned that Love is "Bitter-sweet"
Lewis Carroll.
In October Mr. Dodgson invented a very ingenious little stamp-case,
decorated with two "Pictorial Surprises," representing the "Cheshire
Cat" vanishing till nothing but the grin was left, and the baby
turning into a pig in "Alice's" arms. The invention was entered at
Stationers' Hall, and published by Messrs. Emberlin and Son, of
Oxford. As an appropriate accompaniment, he wrote "Eight or Nine Wise
Words on Letter-Writing," a little booklet which is still sold along
with the case. The "Wise Words," as the following extracts show, have
the true "Carrollian" ring about them:--
Some American writer has said "the snakes in this district
may be divided into one species--the venomous." The same
principle applies here. Postage-stamp-cases may be divided
into one species--the "Wonderland."
Since I have possessed a "Wonderland-Stamp-Case," Life has
been bright and peaceful, and I have used no other. I
believe the Queen's Laundress uses no other.
My fifth Rule is, if your friend makes a severe remark,
either leave it unnoticed or make your reply distinctly less
severe: and, if he makes a friendly remark, tending towards
"making up" the little difference that has arisen between
you, let your reply be distinctly _more_ friendly. If,
in picking a quarrel, each party declined to go more than
_three-eighths_ of the way, and if, in making friends,
each was ready to go _five-eighths_ of the way--why,
there would be more reconciliations than quarrels! Which is
like the Irishman's remonstrance to his gad-about daughter:
"Shure, you're _always_ goin' out! You go out
_three_ times for wanst that you come in!"
My sixth Rule is, _don't try to have the last word!_
How many a controversy would be nipped in the bud, if each
was anxious to let the _other_ have the last word!
Never mind how telling a rejoinder you leave unuttered:
never mind your friend's supposing that you are silent from
lack of anything to say: let the thing drop, as soon as it
is possible without discourtesy: remember "Speech is
silvern, but silence is golden"! (N.B. If you are a
gentleman, and your friend a lady, this Rule is superfluous:
_you won't get the last word!_)
Remember the old proverb, "Cross-writing makes
cross-reading." "The _old_ proverb?" you say
inquiringly. "_How_ old?" Well, not so _very_
ancient, I must confess. In fact, I invented it while
writing this paragraph. Still, you know, "old" is a
_comparative_ term. I think you would be _quite_
justified in addressing a chicken, just out of the shell, as
"old boy!" _when compared_ with another chicken that
was only half-out!
The pamphlet ends with an explanation of Lewis Carroll's method of
using a correspondence-book, illustrated by a few imaginary pages from
such a compilation, which are very humorous.
[Illustration: _Facsimile of programme of "Alice in
Wonderland_."]
At the end of the year the "Alice" operetta was again produced at the
Globe Theatre, with Miss Isa Bowman as the heroine. "Isa makes a
delightful Alice," Mr. Dodgson writes, "and Emsie [a younger sister]
is wonderfully good as Dormouse and as Second Ghost [of an oyster!],
when she sings a verse, and dances the Sailor's Hornpipe."
[Illustration: "The Mad Tea-Party." _From a photograph by
Elliott & Fry_.]
The first of an incomplete series, "Curiosa Mathematica," was
published for Mr. Dodgson by Messrs. Macmillan during the year. It was
entitled "A New Theory of Parallels," and any one taking it up for the
first time might be tempted to ask, Is the author serious, or is he
simply giving us some _jeu d'esprit?_ A closer inspection,
however, soon settles the question, and the reader, if mathematics be
his hobby, is carried irresistibly along till he reaches the last
page.
The object which Mr. Dodgson set himself to accomplish was to prove
Euclid I. 32 without assuming the celebrated 12th Axiom, a feat which
calls up visions of the "Circle-Squarers."
The work is divided into two parts: Book I. contains certain
Propositions which require no disputable Axiom for their proof, and
when once the few Definitions of "amount," &c., have become familiar
it is easy reading. In Book II. the author introduces a new Axiom, or
rather "Quasi-Axiom"--for it's _self-evident_ character is open
to dispute. This Axiom is as follows:--
In any Circle the inscribed equilateral Tetragon (Hexagon in
editions 1st and 2nd) is greater than any one of the
Segments which lie outside it.
Assuming the truth of this Axiom, Mr. Dodgson proves a series of
Propositions, which lead up to and enable him to accomplish the feat
referred to above.
At the end of Book II. he places a proof (so far as finite magnitudes
are concerned) of Euclid's Axiom, preceded by and dependent on the
Axiom that "If two homogeneous magnitudes be both of them finite, the
lesser may be so multiplied by a finite number as to exceed the
greater." This Axiom, he says, he believes to be assumed by every
writer who has attempted to prove Euclid's 12th Axiom. The proof
itself is borrowed, with slight alterations, from Cuthbertson's
"Euclidean Geometry."
In Appendix I. there is an alternative Axiom which may be substituted
for that which introduces Book II., and which will probably commend
itself to many minds as being more truly axiomatic. To substitute
this, however, involves some additions and alterations, which the
author appends.
Appendix II. is headed by the somewhat startling question, "Is
Euclid's Axiom true?" and though true for finite magnitudes--the sense
in which, no doubt, Euclid meant it to be taken--it is shown to be not
universally true. In Appendix III. he propounds the question, "How
should Parallels be defined?"
Appendix IV., which deals with the theory of Parallels as it stands
to-day, concludes with the following words:--
I am inclined to believe that if ever Euclid I. 32 is proved
without a new Axiom, it will be by some new and ampler
definition of the _Right Line_--some definition which
shall connote that mysterious property, which it must
somehow possess, which causes Euclid I. 32 to be true. Try
_that_ track, my gentle reader! It is not much trodden
as yet. And may success attend your search!
In the Introduction, which, as is frequently the case, ought to be
read _last_ in order to be appreciated properly, he relates his
experiences with two of those "misguided visionaries," the
circle-squarers. One of them had selected 3.2 as the value for
"_pi_," and the other proved, to his own satisfaction at least,
that it is correctly represented by 3! The Rev. Watson Hagger, to
whose kindness, as I have already stated in my Preface, my readers are
indebted for the several accounts of Mr. Dodgson's books on
mathematics which appear in this Memoir, had a similar experience with
one of these "cranks." This circle-squarer selected 3.125 as the value
for "_pi_," and Mr. Hagger, who was fired with Mr. Dodgson's
ambition to convince his correspondent of his error, failed as
signally as Mr. Dodgson did.
The following letter is interesting as showing that, strict
Conservative though he was, he was not in religious matters
narrow-minded; he held his own opinions strongly, but he would never
condemn those of other people. He saw "good in everything," and there
was but little exaggeration, be it said in all reverence, in the
phrase which an old friend of his used in speaking of him to me: "Mr.
Dodgson was as broad--as broad as _Christ_."
Christ Church, Oxford, _May_ 4, 1889.
Dear Miss Manners,--I hope to have a new book out very soon,
and had entered your name on the list of friends to whom
copies are to go; but, on second thoughts, perhaps you might
prefer that I should send it to your little sister (?)
(niece) Rachel, whom you mentioned in one of your letters.
It is to be called "The Nursery Alice," and is meant for
very young children, consisting of coloured enlargements of
twenty of the pictures in "Alice," with explanations such as
one would give in showing them to a little child.
I was much interested by your letter, telling me you belong
to the Society of Friends. Please do not think of _me_
as one to whom a "difference of creed" is a bar to
friendship. My sense of brother- and sisterhood is at least
broad enough to include _Christians_ of all
denominations; in fact, I have one valued friend (a lady who
seems to live to do good kind things) who is a Unitarian.
Shall I put "Rachel Manners" in the book?
Believe me, very sincerely yours,
C. L. Dodgson.
From June 7th to June 10th he stayed at Hatfield.
Once at luncheon [he writes] I had the Duchess (of Albany)
as neighbour and once at breakfast, and had several other
chats with her, and found her very pleasant indeed. Princess
Alice is a sweet little girl. Her little brother (the Duke
of Albany) was entirely fascinating, a perfect little
prince, and the picture of good-humour. On Sunday afternoon
I had a pleasant half-hour with the children [Princess
Alice, the Duke of Albany, Honorable Mabel Palmer, Lady
Victoria Manners, and Lord Haddon], telling them "Bruno's
Picnic" and folding a fishing-boat for them. I got the
Duchess's leave to send the little Alice a copy of the
"Nursery Alice," and mean to send it with "Alice
Underground" for herself.
Towards the end of the year Lewis Carroll had tremendously hard work,
completing "Sylvie and Bruno." For several days on end he worked from
breakfast until nearly ten in the evening without a rest. At last it
was off his hands, and for a month or so he was (comparatively) an
idle man. Some notes from his Diary, written during this period,
follow:--
_Nov. 17th._--Met, for first time, an actual believer
in the "craze" that buying and selling are wrong (!) (he is
rather 'out of his mind'). The most curious thing was his
declaration that he himself _lives_ on that theory, and
never buys anything, and has no money! I thought of railway
travelling, and ventured to ask how he got from London to
Oxford? "On a bicycle!" And how he got the bicycle? "It was
given him!" So I was floored, and there was no time to think
of any other instances. The whole thing was so new to me
that, when he declared it to be _un-Christian_, I quite
forgot the text, "He that hath no sword, let him sell his
garment, and buy one."
_Dec. 19th._--Went over to Birmingham to see a
performance of "Alice" (Mrs. Freiligrath Kroeker's version)
at the High School. I rashly offered to tell "Bruno's
Picnic" afterwards to the little children, thinking I should
have an audience of 40 or 50, mostly children, instead of
which I had to tell it from the stage to an audience of
about 280, mostly older girls and grown-up people! However,
I got some of the children to come on the stage with me, and
the little Alice (Muriel Howard-Smith, aet. 11) stood by me,
which made it less awful. The evening began with some of
"Julius Caesar" in German. This and "Alice" were really
capitally acted, the White Queen being quite the best I have
seen (Miss B. Lloyd Owen). I was introduced to Alice and a
few more, and was quite sorry to hear afterwards that the
other performers wanted to shake hands.
The publication of "Sylvie and Bruno" marks an epoch in its author's
life, for it was the publication of all the ideals and sentiments
which he held most dear. It was a book with a definite purpose; it
would be more true to say with several definite purposes. For this
very reason it is not an artistic triumph as the two "Alice" books
undoubtedly are; it is on a lower literary level, there is no unity in
the story. But from a higher standpoint, that of the Christian and the
philanthropist, the book is the best thing he ever wrote. It is a
noble effort to uphold the right, or what he thought to be the right,
without fear of contempt or unpopularity. The influence which his
earlier books had given him he was determined to use in asserting
neglected truths.
[Illustration: The Late Duke of Albany. _From a photograph
by Lewis Carroll._]
Of course the story has other features, delightful nonsense not
surpassed by anything in "Wonderland," childish prattle with all the
charm of reality about it, and pictures which may fairly be said to
rival those of Sir John Tenniel. Had these been all, the book would
have been a great success. As things are, there are probably hundreds
of readers who have been scared by the religious arguments and
political discussions which make up a large part of it, and who have
never discovered that Sylvie is just as entrancing a personage as
Alice when you get to know her.
Perhaps the sentiment of the following poem, sent to Lewis Carroll by
an anonymous correspondent, may also explain why some of "Alice's"
lovers have given "Sylvie" a less warm welcome:--
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