The Life and Letters of Lewis Carroll by Stuart Dodgson Collingwood

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He spent the Long Vacation at Eastbourne as usual, frequently walking
over to Hastings, which is about twenty miles off. A good many of his
mornings were spent in giving lectures and telling stories at schools.

A letter to the widow of an old college friend reveals the
extraordinary sensitiveness of his nature:--

2, Bedford Well Road, Eastbourne,

_August_ 2, 1897.

My Dear Mrs. Woodhouse,--Your letter, with its mournful
news, followed me down here, and I only got it on Saturday
night; so I was not able to be with you in thought when the
mortal remains of my dear old friend were being committed to
the ground; to await the time when our Heavenly Father shall
have accomplished the number of His elect, and when you and
I shall once more meet the loved ones from whom we are, for
a little while only--what a little while even a long human
life lasts!--parted in sorrow, yet _not_ sorrowing as
those without hope.

You will be sure without words of mine, that you have my
true and deep sympathy. Of all the friends I made at Ch.
Ch., your husband was the very _first_ who spoke to
me--across the dinner-table in Hall. That is forty-six years
ago, but I remember, as if it were only yesterday, the
kindly smile with which he spoke....

September 27th and 28th are marked in his Diary "with a white
stone":--

_Sept. 27th.--Dies notandus._ Discovered rule for
dividing a number by 9, by mere addition and subtraction. I
felt sure there must be an analogous one for 11, and found
it, and proved first rule by algebra, after working about
nine hours!

_Sept. 28th.--Dies creta notandus._ I have actually
_superseded_ the rules discovered yesterday! My new
rules require to ascertain the 9-remainder, and the
11-remainder, which the others did _not_ require; but
the new ones are much the quickest. I shall send them to
_The Educational Times_, with date of discovery.

On November 4th he wrote:--

Completed a rule for dividing a given number by any divisor
that is within 10 of a power of 10, either way. The
_principle_ of it is not my discovery, but was sent me
by Bertram Collingwood--a rule for dividing by a divisor
which is within 10 of a power of 10, _below_ it.

My readers will not be surprised to learn that only eight days after
this he had superseded his rule:--

An inventive morning! After waking, and before I had
finished dressing, I had devised a new and much neater form
in which to work my Rules for Long Division, and also
decided to bring out my "Games and Puzzles," and Part iii.
of "Curiosa Mathematica," in _Numbers_, in paper covers,
paged consecutively, to be ultimately issued in boards.

On November 20th he spent the day in London, with the object of seeing
"The Little Minister" at the Haymarket. "A beautiful play, beautifully
acted," he calls it, and says that he should like to see it "again and
again." He especially admired the acting of Mrs. Cyril Maude (Miss
Winifred Emery) as Lady Babbie. This was the last theatrical
performance he ever witnessed.

He apparently kept rough notes for his Diary, and only wrote it up
every few weeks, as there are no entries at all for 1898, nor even for
the last week of 1897. The concluding page runs as follows:--

_Dec. (W.) 10 a.m._--I am in my large room, with no fire,
and open window--temperature 54 degrees.

_Dec. 17 (F.)._--Maggie [one of his sisters], and our nieces
Nella and Violet, came to dinner.

_Dec. 19 (Sun.)._--Sat up last night till 4 a.m., over a
tempting problem, sent me from New York, "to find 3 equal
rational-sided rt.-angled _triangles_." I found _two_,
whose sides are 20, 21, 29; 12, 35, 37; but could not find
_three_.

_Dec. 23(Th.)._--I start for Guildford by the 2.7 today.

As my story of Lewis Carroll's life draws near its end, I have
received some "Stray Reminiscences" from Sir George Baden-Powell,
M.P., which, as they refer to several different periods of time, are
as appropriate here as in any other part of the book. The Rev. E.H.
Dodgson, referred to in these reminiscences, is a younger brother of
Lewis Carroll's; he spent several years of his life upon the remote
island of Tristan d'Acunha, where there were only about seventy or
eighty inhabitants besides himself. About once a year a ship used to
call, when the island-folk would exchange their cattle for cloth,
corn, tea, &c., which they could not produce themselves. The island is
volcanic in origin, and is exposed to the most terrific gales; the
building used as a church stood at some distance from Mr. Dodgson's
dwelling, and on one occasion the wind was so strong that he had to
crawl on his hands and knees for the whole distance that separated
the two buildings.

My first introduction (writes Sir George Baden-Powell) to
the author of "Through the Looking-Glass" was about the year
1870 or 1871, and under appropriate conditions! I was then
coaching at Oxford with the well-known Rev. E. Hatch, and
was on friendly terms with his bright and pretty children.
Entering his house one day, and facing the dining-room, I
heard mysterious noises under the table, and saw the cloth
move as if some one were hiding. Children's legs revealed it
as no burglar, and there was nothing for it but to crawl
upon them, roaring as a lion. Bursting in upon them in their
strong-hold under the table, I was met by the staid but
amused gaze of a reverend gentleman. Frequently afterwards
did I see and hear "Lewis Carroll" entertaining the
youngsters in his inimitable way.

We became friends, and greatly did I enjoy intercourse with
him over various minor Oxford matters. In later years, at one
time I saw much of him, in quite another _role_--namely
that of ardent sympathy with the, as he thought, ill-treated
and deserted islanders of Tristan d'Acunha. His brother, it
will be remembered, had voluntarily been left at that island
with a view to ministering to the spiritual and educational
needs of the few settlers, and sent home such graphic
accounts and urgent demands for aid, that "Lewis Carroll"
spared no pains to organise assistance and relief. At his
instance I brought the matter before Government and the
House of Commons, and from that day to this frequent
communication has been held with the islanders, and material
assistance has been rendered them--thanks to the warm heart
of "Lewis Carroll."

On December 23, 1897, as the note in his Diary states, he went down,
in accordance with his usual custom, to Guildford, to spend Christmas
with his sisters at the Chestnuts. He seemed to be in his ordinary
health, and in the best of spirits, and there was nothing to show that
the end was so near.

[Illustration: The Chestnuts, Guildford. _From a
photograph._]

At Guildford he was hard at work upon the second part of his "Symbolic
Logic," spending most of the day over this task. This book, alas! he
was not destined to finish, which is the more to be regretted as it
will be exceedingly difficult for any one else to take up the thread
of the argument, even if any one could be found willing to give the
great amount of time and trouble which would be needed.

On January 5th my father, the Rev. C.S. Collingwood, Rector of
Southwick, near Sunderland, died after a very short illness. The
telegram which brought Mr. Dodgson the news of this contained the
request that he would come at once. He determined to travel north the
next day--but it was not to be so. An attack of influenza, which began
only with slight hoarseness, yet enough to prevent him from following
his usual habit of reading family prayers, was pronounced next morning
to be sufficiently serious to forbid his undertaking a journey. At
first his illness seemed a trifle, but before a week had passed
bronchial symptoms had developed, and Dr. Gabb, the family physician,
ordered him to keep his bed. His breathing rapidly became hard and
laborious, and he had to be propped up with pillows. A few days before
his death he asked one of his sisters to read him that well-known
hymn, every verse of which ends with 'Thy Will be done.' To another he
said that his illness was a great trial of his patience. How great a
trial it must have been it is hard for us to understand. With the work
he had set himself still uncompleted, with a sense of youth and
joyousness, which sixty years of the battle of life had in no way
dulled, Lewis Carroll had to face death. He seemed to know that the
struggle was over. "Take away those pillows," he said on the 13th, "I
shall need them no more." The end came about half-past two on the
afternoon of the 14th. One of his sisters was in the room at the time,
and she only noticed that the hard breathing suddenly ceased. The
nurse, whom she summoned, at first hoped that this was a sign that he
had taken a turn for the better. And so, indeed, he had--he had passed
from a world of incompleteness and disappointment, to another where
God is putting his beautiful soul to nobler and grander work than was
possible for him here, where he is learning to comprehend those
difficulties which used to puzzle him so much, and where that infinite
Love, which he mirrored so wonderfully in his own life, is being
revealed to him "face to face."

In accordance with his expressed wish, the funeral was simple in the
extreme--flowers, and flowers only, adorned the plain coffin. There
was no hearse to drag it up the steep incline that leads to the
beautiful cemetery where he lies. The service was taken by Dean Paget
and Canon Grant, Rector of Holy Trinity and S. Mary's, Guildford. The
mourners who followed him in the quiet procession were few--but the
mourners who were not there, and many of whom had never seen him--who
shall tell _their_ number?

After the grave had been filled up, the wreaths which had covered the
coffin were placed upon it. Many were from "child-friends" and bore
such inscriptions as "From two of his child-friends"--"To the sweetest
soul that ever looked with human eyes," &c. Then the mourners left him
alone there--up on the pleasant downs where he had so often walked.

A marble cross, under the shadow of a pine, marks the spot, and
beneath his own name they have engraved the name of "Lewis Carroll,"
that the children who pass by may remember their friend, who is
now--himself a child in all that makes childhood most attractive--in
that "Wonderland" which outstrips all our dreams and hopes.

I cannot forbear quoting from Professor Sanday's sermon at Christ
Church on the Sunday after his death:--

The world will think of Lewis Carroll as one who opened out
a new vein in literature, a new and a delightful vein, which
added at once mirth and refinement to life.... May we not
say that from our courts at Christ Church there has flowed
into the literature of our time a rill, bright and
sparkling, health-giving and purifying, wherever its waters
extend?

[Illustration: Lewis Carroll's grave. _From a photograph._]

On the following Sunday Dean Paget, in the course of a sermon on the
"Virtue of Simplicity," said:--

We may differ, according to our difference of taste or
temperament, in appraising Charles Dodgson's genius; but
that that great gift was his, that his best work ranks with
the very best of its kind, this has been owned with a
recognition too wide and spontaneous to leave room for
doubt. The brilliant, venturesome imagination, defying
forecast with ever-fresh surprise; the sense of humour in
its finest and most naive form; the power to touch with
lightest hand the undercurrent of pathos in the midst of
fun; the audacity of creative fancy, and the delicacy of
insight--these are rare gifts; and surely they were his.
Yes, but it was his simplicity of mind and heart that raised
them all, not only in his work but in his life, in all his
ways, in the man as we knew him, to something higher than
any mere enumeration of them tells: that almost curious
simplicity, at times, that real and touching child-likeness
that marked him in all fields of thought, appearing in his
love of children and in their love of him, in his dread of
giving pain to any living creature, in a certain
disproportion, now and then, of the view he took of
things--yes, and also in that deepest life, where the pure
in heart and those who become as little children see the
very truth and walk in the fear and love of God.

Some extracts from the numerous sympathetic letters received by Mr.
Dodgson's brothers and sisters will show how greatly his loss was
felt. Thus Canon Jelf writes:--

It was quite a shock to me to see in the paper to-day the
death of your dear, good brother, to whom we owe so much of
the brightening of our lives with pure, innocent fun.
Personally I feel his loss very much indeed. We were
together in old Ch. Ch. days from 1852 onwards; and he was
always such a loyal, faithful friend to me. I rejoice to
think of the _serious_ talks we had together--of the grand,
brave way in which he used the opportunities he had as a man
of humour, to reach the consciences of a host of readers--of
his love for children--his simplicity of heart--of his care
for servants--his spiritual care for them. Who can doubt
that he was fully prepared for a change however sudden--for
the one clear call which took him away from us? Yet the
world seems darker for his going; we can only get back our
brightness by realising Who gave him all his talent, all his
mirth of heart--the One who never leaves us. In deep
sympathy,

Yours very sincerely,

George E. Jelf.

P.S.--When you have time tell me a little about him; he was
so dear to me.

Mr. Frederic Harrison writes as follows:--

The occasional visits that I received from your late brother
showed me a side of his nature which to my mind was more
interesting and more worthy of remembrance even than his
wonderful and delightful humour--I mean his intense sympathy
with all who suffer and are in need.

He came to see me several times on sundry errands of mercy,
and it has been a lesson to me through life to remember his
zeal to help others in difficulty, his boundless generosity,
and his inexhaustible patience with folly and error.

My young daughter, like all young people in civilised
countries, was brought up on his beautiful fancies and
humours. But for my part I remember him mainly as a sort of
missionary to all in need. We all alike grieve, and offer
you our heartfelt sympathy.

I am, faithfully yours,

Frederic Harrison.

His old friend and tutor. Dr. Price, writes:--

... I feel his removal from among us as the loss of an old
and dear friend and pupil, to whom I have been most warmly
attached ever since he was with me at Whitby, reading
mathematics, in, I think, 1853--44 years ago! And 44 years
of uninterrupted friendship .... I was pleased to read
yesterday in _The Times_ newspaper the kindly obituary
notice: perfectly just and true; appreciative, as it should
be, as to the unusual combination of deep mathematical
ability and taste with the genius that led to the writing of
"Alice's Adventures."

Only the other day [writes a lady friend] he wrote to me
about his admiration for my dear husband, and he ended his
letter thus: "I trust that when _my_ time comes, I may be
found, like him, working to the last, and ready for the
Master's call"--and truly so he was.

A friend at Oxford writes:--

Mr. Dodgson was ever the kindest and gentlest of friends,
bringing sunshine into the house with him. We shall mourn
his loss deeply, and my two girls are quite overcome with
grief. All day memories of countless acts of kindness shown
to me, and to people I have known, have crowded my mind, and
I feel it almost impossible to realise that he has passed
beyond the reach of our gratitude and affection.

The following are extracts from letters written by some of his
"child-friends," now grown up:--

How beautiful to think of the track of light and love he has
left behind him, and the amount of happiness he brought into
the lives of all those he came in contact with! I shall
never forget all his kindness to us, from the time he first
met us as little mites in the railway train, and one feels
glad to have had the privilege of knowing him.

One of Mr. Dodgson's oldest "child-friends" writes:--

He was to me a dear and true friend, and it has been my
great privilege to see a good deal of him ever since I was a
tiny child, and especially during the last two years. I
cannot tell you how much we shall miss him here. Ch. Ch.
without Mr. Dodgson will be a strange place, and it is
difficult to realise it even while we listen to the special
solemn anthems and hymns to his memory in our cathedral.

One who had visited him at Guildford, writes:--

It must be quite sixteen years now since he first made
friends with my sister and myself as children on the beach
at Eastbourne, and since then his friendship has been and
must always be one of my most valued possessions. It
culminated, I think, in the summer of 1892--the year when he
brought me to spend a very happy Sunday at Guildford. I had
not seen him before, that year, for some time; and it was
then, I think, that the childish delight in his kindness,
and pride in his friendship, changed into higher love and
reverence, when in our long walks over the downs I saw more
and more into the great tenderness and gentleness of his
nature.

Shortly after Mr. Dodgson's death, his "Three Sunsets" was published
by Messrs. Macmillan. The twelve "Fairy Fancies," which illustrate it,
were drawn by Miss E. G. Thomson. Though they are entirely unconnected
with the text, they are so thoroughly in accordance with the author's
delicate refinement, and so beautiful in themselves, that they do not
strike one as inappropriate.

Some of the verses are strangely in keeping with the time at which
they are published.

I could not see, for blinding tears,
The glories of the west:
A heavenly music filled my ears,
A heavenly peace my breast.
"Come unto me, come unto me--
All ye that labour, unto me--
Ye heavy-laden, come to me--
And I will give you rest."

One cannot read this little volume without feeling that the shadow of
some disappointment lay over Lewis Carroll's life. Such I believe to
have been the case, and it was this that gave him his wonderful
sympathy with all who suffered. But those who loved him would not wish
to lift the veil from these dead sanctities, nor would any purpose be
served by so doing. The proper use of sympathy is not to weep over
sorrows that are over, and whose very memory is perhaps obliterated
for him in the first joy of possessing new and higher faculties.

Before leaving the subject of this book, I should like to draw
attention to a few lines on "woman's mission," lines full of the
noblest chivalry, reminding one of Tennyson's "Idylls of the King":--

In the darkest path of man's despair,
Where War and Terror shake the troubled earth,
Lies woman's mission; with unblenching brow
To pass through scenes of horror and affright
Where men grow sick and tremble: unto her
All things are sanctified, for all are good.
Nothing so mean, but shall deserve her care:
Nothing so great, but she may bear her part.
No life is vain: each hath his place assigned:
Do thou thy task, and leave the rest to God.

Of the unpublished works which Mr. Dodgson left behind him, I may
mention "Original Games and Puzzles"; "Symbolic Logic, Part ii.," and
a portion of a mathematical book, the proofs of which are now in the
hands of the Controller of the Oxford University Press.

I will conclude this chapter with a poem which
appeared in _Punch_ for January 29th, a fortnight
after Lewis Carroll's death. It expresses, with
all the grace and insight of the true poet, what
I have tried, so feebly and ineffectually, to
say:--

LEWIS CARROLL.

_Born_ 1832. _Died January_ 14, 1898.

Lover of children! Fellow-heir with those
Of whom the imperishable kingdom is!
Beyond all dreaming now your spirit knows
The unimagined mysteries.

Darkly as in a glass our faces look
To read ourselves, if so we may, aright;
You, like the maiden in your faerie book--
You step behind and see the light!

The heart you wore beneath your pedant's cloak
Only to children's hearts you gave away;
Yet unaware in half the world you woke
The slumbering charm of childhood's day.

We older children, too, our loss lament,
We of the "Table Round," remembering well
How he, our comrade, with his pencil lent
Your fancy's speech a firmer spell.

Master of rare woodcraft, by sympathy's
Sure touch he caught your visionary gleams,
And made your fame, the dreamer's, one with his.
The wise interpreter of dreams.

Farewell! But near our hearts we have you yet,
Holding our heritage with loving hand,
Who may not follow where your feet are set
Upon the ways of Wonderland.[025]

[Illustration: Lorina and Alice Liddell. _From a photograph
by Lewis Carroll._]

* * * * *

CHAPTER X

CHILD FRIENDS

Mr. Dodgson's fondness for children--Miss Isabel
Standen--Puzzles--"Me and Myself"--A double
acrostic--"Father William"--Of drinking healths--Kisses by
post--Tired in the face--The unripe
plum--Eccentricities--"Sylvie and Bruno"--"Mr. Dodgson is
going on _well_."

This chapter, and the next will deal with Mr. Dodgson's friendships
with children. It would have been impossible to arrange them in
chronological sequence in the earlier part of this book, and the fact
that they exhibit a very important and distinct side of his nature
seems to justify me in assigning them a special and individual
position.

For the contents of these two chapters, both my readers and myself owe
a debt of gratitude to those child-friends of his, without whose
ever-ready help this book could never have been written.

From very early college days began to emerge that beautiful side of
Lewis Carroll's character which afterwards was to be, next to his fame
as an author, the one for which he was best known--his attitude
towards children, and the strong attraction they had for him. I shall
attempt to point out the various influences which led him in this
direction; but if I were asked for one comprehensive word wide
enough to explain this tendency of his nature, I would answer
unhesitatingly--Love. My readers will remember a beautiful verse in
"Sylvie and Bruno"; trite though it is, I cannot forbear to quote it--

Say, whose is the skill that paints valley and hill,
Like a picture so fair to the sight?
That flecks the green meadow with sunshine and shadow,
Till the little lambs leap with delight?
'Tis a secret untold to hearts cruel and cold,
Though 'tis sung by the angels above,
In notes that ring clear for the ears that can hear,
And the name of the secret is Love!

That "secret"--an open secret for him--explains this side of his
character. As _he_ read everything in its light, so it is only in
its light that _we_ can properly understand _him_. I think
that the following quotation from a letter to the Rev. F. H. Atkinson,
accompanying a copy of "Alice" for his little daughter Gertrude,
sufficiently proves the truth of what I have just stated:--

Many thanks to Mrs. Atkinson and to you for the sight of the
tinted photograph of your Gertrude. As you say, the picture
speaks for itself, and I can see exactly what sort of a
child she is, in proof of which I send her my love and a
kiss herewith. It is possible I may be the first (unseen)
gentleman from whom she has had so ridiculous a message; but
I can't say she is the first unseen child to whom I have
sent one! I think the most precious message of the kind I
ever got from a child I never saw (and never shall see in
this world) was to the effect that she liked me when she
read about Alice, "but please tell him, whenever I read that
Easter letter he sent me I _do_ love him!" She was in a
hospital, and a lady friend who visited there had asked me
to send the letter to her and some other sick children.

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