The Life and Letters of Lewis Carroll by Stuart Dodgson Collingwood

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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 L35 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 L20 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 L150 a year--supposing him to appropriate it thus:--

L s. d.

Invested at 4 per cent. ... ... 100 0 0

Life Insurance of L1,500 ... 29 15 0
Books, besides those bought in
ordinary course ... ... ... 20 5 0
_____________
L150 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 L1,220 ready money, for furnishing and
other expenses.

2. A sum of L1,500 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 L200, 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.

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