The Life and Letters of Lewis Carroll Part 4

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 Cla.s.s 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 antic.i.p.ating events, and there is much to tell of the year 1855, which was a very eventful one for him. On February 15th he was made Sub-Librarian. "This will add 35 to my income," he writes, "not much towards independence." For he was most anxious to have a sufficient income to make him his own master, that he might enter on the literary and artistic career of which he was already dreaming. On May 14th he wrote in his Diary: "The Dean and Canons have been pleased to give me one of the Bostock scholarships, said to be worth 20 a year--this very nearly raises my income this year to independence.

Courage!"

His college work, during 1855, was chiefly taking private pupils, but he had, in addition, about three and a half hours a day of lecturing during the last term of the year. He did not, however, work as one of the regular staff of lecturers until the next year. From that date his work rapidly increased, and he soon had to devote regularly as much as seven hours a day to delivering lectures, to say nothing of the time required for preparing them.

The following extract from his Journal, June 22, 1855, will serve to show his early love for the drama. The scene is laid at the Princess'

Theatre, then at the height of its glory:--

The evening began with a capital farce, "Away with Melancholy," and then came the great play, "Henry VIII.,"

the greatest theatrical treat I ever had or ever expect to have. I had no idea that anything so superb as the scenery and dresses was ever to be seen on the stage. Kean was magnificent as Cardinal Wolsey, Mrs. Kean a worthy successor to Mrs. Siddons as Queen Catherine, and all the accessories without exception were good--but oh, that exquisite vision of Queen Catherine's! I almost held my breath to watch: the illusion is perfect, and I felt as if in a dream all the time it lasted. It was like a delicious reverie, or the most beautiful poetry. This is the true end and object of acting--to raise the mind above itself, and out of its petty cares. Never shall I forget that wonderful evening, that exquisite vision--sunbeams broke in through the roof, and gradually revealed two angel forms, floating in front of the carved work on the ceiling: the column of sunbeams shone down upon the sleeping queen, and gradually down it floated, a troop of angelic forms, transparent, and carrying palm branches in their hands: they waved these over the sleeping queen, with oh! such a sad and solemn grace. So could I fancy (if the thought be not profane) would real angels seem to our mortal vision, though doubtless our conception is poor and mean to the reality. She in an ecstasy raises her arms towards them, and to sweet slow music, they vanish as marvellously as they came. Then the profound silence of the audience burst at once into a rapture of applause; but even that scarcely marred the effect of the beautiful sad waking words of the Queen, "Spirits of peace, where are ye?" I never enjoyed anything so much in my life before; and never felt so inclined to shed tears at anything fict.i.tious, save perhaps at that poetical gem of d.i.c.kens, 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 circ.u.mstances, of a young man of twenty-three, making up his mind to work for ten years, and living to do it, on an Income enabling him to save 150 a year--supposing him to appropriate it thus:--

s. d.

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

Life Insurance of 1,500 ... 29 15 0 Books, besides those bought in ordinary course ... ... ... 20 5 0 _____________ 150 0 0

Suppose him at the end of the ten years to get a Living enabling him to settle, what will be the result of his savings:--

1. A nest egg of 1,220 ready money, for furnishing and other expenses.

2. A sum of 1,500 secured at his death on payment of a _very much_ smaller annual Premium than if he had then begun to insure it.

3. A useful Library, worth more than 200, besides the books bought out of his current Income during the period....

The picture on the opposite page is one of Mr. Dodgson's ill.u.s.trations 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 Ill.u.s.trated 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Studies from English Poets II "Alas! What Boots--" Milton's Lucidas.]

Among the contributors was Frank Smedley, author of "Frank Fairleigh."

Though a confirmed invalid, and condemned to spend most of his days on a sofa, Mr. Smedley managed to write several fine novels, full of the joy of life, and free from the least taint of discontent or morbid feeling. He was one of those men--one meets them here and there--whose minds rise high above their bodily infirmities; at moments of depression, which come to them as frequently, if not more frequently, than to other men, they no doubt feel their weakness, and think themselves despised, little knowing that we, the stronger ones in body, feel nothing but admiration as we watch the splendid victory of the soul over its earthly companion which their lives display.

It was through Frank Smedley that Mr. Dodgson became one of the contributors to _The Comic Times_. Several of his poems appeared in it, and Mr. Yates wrote to him in the kindest manner, expressing warm approval of them. When _The Comic Times_ changed hands in 1856, and was reduced to half its size, the whole staff left it and started a new venture, _The Train_. They were joined by Sala, whose stories in _Household Words_ were at that time usually ascribed by the uninitiated to Charles d.i.c.kens. Mr. Dodgson's contributions to _The Train_ included the following: "Solitude"

(March, 1856); "Novelty and Romancement" (October, 1856); "The Three Voices" (November, 1856); "The Sailor's Wife" (May, 1857); and last, but by no means least, "Hiawatha's Photographing" (December, 1857).

All of these, except "Novelty and Romancement," have since been republished in "Rhyme? and Reason?" and "Three Sunsets."

The last entry in Mr. Dodgson's Diary for this year reads as follows:--

I am sitting alone in my bedroom this last night of the old year, waiting for midnight. It has been the most eventful year of my life: I began it a poor bachelor student, with no definite plans or expectations; I end it a master and tutor in Ch. Ch., with an income of more than 300 a year, and the course of mathematical tuition marked out by G.o.d's providence for at least some years to come. Great mercies, great failings, time lost, talents misapplied--such has been the past year.

His Diary is full of such modest depreciations of himself and his work, interspersed with earnest prayers (too sacred and private to be reproduced here) that G.o.d would forgive him the past, and help him to perform His holy will in the future. And all the time that he was thus speaking of himself as a sinner, and a man who was utterly falling short of his aim, he was living a life full of good deeds and innumerable charities, a life of incessant labour and unremitting fulfilment of duty. So, I suppose, it is always with those who have a really high ideal; the harder they try to approach it the more it seems to recede from them, or rather, perhaps, it is impossible to be both "the subject and spectator" of goodness. As Coventry Patmore wrote:--

Become whatever good you see; Nor sigh if, forthwith, fades from view The grace of which you may not be The Subject and spectator too.

The reading of "Alton Locke" turned his mind towards social subjects.

"If the book were but a little more definite," he writes, "it might stir up many fellow-workers in the same good field of social improvement. Oh that G.o.d, in His good providence, may make me hereafter such a worker! But alas, what are the means? Each one has his own _nostrum_ to propound, and in the Babel of voices nothing is done. I would thankfully spend and be spent so long as I were sure of really effecting something by the sacrifice, and not merely lying down under the wheels of some irresistible Juggernaut."

He was for some time the editor of _College Rhymes_, a Christ Church paper, in which his poem, "A Sea Dirge" (afterwards republished in "Phantasmagoria," and again in "Rhyme? and Reason?"), first appeared. The following verses were among his contributions to the same magazine:--

I painted her a gushing thing, With years perhaps a score I little thought to find they were At least a dozen more; My fancy gave her eyes of blue, A curly auburn head: I came to find the blue a green, The auburn turned to red.

She boxed my ears this morning, They tingled very much; I own that I could wish her A somewhat lighter touch; And if you were to ask me how Her charms might be improved, I would not have them _added to_, But just a few _removed_!

She has the bear's ethereal grace, The bland hyena's laugh, The footstep of the elephant, The neck of the giraffe; I love her still, believe me, Though my heart its pa.s.sion hides; "She is all my fancy painted her,"

But oh! _how much besides_!

It was when writing for _The Train_ that he first felt the need of a pseudonym. He suggested "Dares" (the first syllable of his birthplace) to Edmund Yates, but, as this did not meet with his editor's approval, he wrote again, giving a choice of four names, (1) Edgar Cuthwellis, (2) Edgar U. C. Westhall, (3) Louis Carroll, and (4) Lewis Carroll. The first two were formed from the letters of his two Christian names, Charles Lutwidge; the others are merely variant forms of those names--Lewis = Ludovicus = Lutwidge; Carroll = Carolus = Charles. Mr. Yates chose the last, and thenceforward it became Mr.

Dodgson's ordinary _nom de plume_. The first occasion on which he used it was, I believe, when he wrote "The Path of Roses," a poem which appeared in _The Train_ in May, 1856.

On June 16th he again visited the Princess's Theatre. This time the play was "A Winter's Tale," and he "especially admired the acting of the little Mamillius, Ellen Terry, a beautiful little creature, who played with remarkable ease and spirit."

During the Long Vacation he spent a few weeks in the English Lake District. In spite of the rain, of which he had his full share, he managed to see a good deal of the best scenery, and made the ascent of Gable in the face of an icy gale, which laid him up with neuralgia for some days. He and his companions returned to Croft by way of Barnard Castle, as he narrates in his Diary:--

We set out by coach for Barnard Castle at about seven, and pa.s.sed over about forty miles of the dreariest hill-country I ever saw; the climax of wretchedness was reached in Bowes, where yet stands the original of "Dotheboys Hall"; it has long ceased to be used as a school, and is falling into ruin, in which the whole place seems to be following its example--the roofs are falling in, and the windows broken or barricaded--the whole town looks plague-stricken. The courtyard of the inn we stopped at was grown over with weeds, and a mouthing idiot lolled against the corner of the house, like the evil genius of the spot. Next to a prison or a lunatic asylum, preserve me from living at Bowes!

Although he was anything but a sportsman, he was interested in the subject of betting, from a mathematical standpoint solely, and in 1857 he sent a letter to _Bell's Life_, explaining a method by which a betting man might ensure winning over any race. The system was either to back _every_ horse, or to lay against _every_ horse, according to the way the odds added up. He showed his scheme to a sporting friend, who remarked, "An excellent system, and you're bound to win--_if only you can get people to take your bets_."

In the same year he made the acquaintance of Tennyson, whose writings he had long intensely admired. He thus describes the poet's appearance:--

A strange s.h.a.ggy-looking man; his hair, moustache, and beard looked wild and neglected; these very much hid the character of the face. He was dressed in a loosely fitting morning coat, common grey flannel waistcoat and trousers, and a carelessly tied black silk neckerchief. His hair is black; I think the eyes too; they are keen and restless--nose aquiline--forehead high and broad--both face and head are fine and manly. His manner was kind and friendly from the first; there is a dry lurking humour in his style of talking.

I took the opportunity [he goes on to say] of asking the meaning of two pa.s.sages in his poems, which have always puzzled me: one in "Maud"--

Strange that I hear two men Somewhere talking of me; Well, if it prove a girl, my boy Will have plenty; so let it be.

He said it referred to Maud, and to the two fathers arranging a match between himself and her.

The other was of the poet--

Dowered with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love.

He said that he was quite willing it should bear any meaning the words would fairly bear; to the best of his recollection his meaning when he wrote it was "the hate of the quality hate, &c.," but he thought the meaning of "the quintessence of hatred" finer. He said there had never been a poem so misunderstood by the "ninnies of critics" as "Maud."

[Ill.u.s.tration: Alfred Tennyson. _From a photograph by Lewis Carroll._]

During an evening spent at Tent Lodge Tennyson remarked, on the similarity of the monkey's skull to the human, that a young monkey's skull is quite human in shape, and gradually alters--the a.n.a.logy being borne out by the human skull being at first more like the statues of the G.o.ds, and gradually degenerating into human; and then, turning to Mrs. Tennyson, "There, that's the second original remark I've made this evening!" Mr. Dodgson saw a great deal of the Tennysons after this, and photographed the poet himself and various members of his family.

In October he made the acquaintance of John Ruskin, who in after years was always willing to a.s.sist him with his valuable advice on any point of artistic criticism. Mr. Dodgson was singularly fortunate in his friends; whenever he was in difficulties on any technical matters, whether of religion, law, medicine, art, or whatever it might be, he always had some one especially distinguished in that branch of study whose aid he could seek as a friend. In particular, the names of Canon King (now Bishop of Lincoln), and Sir James Paget occur to me; to the latter Mr. Dodgson addressed many letters on questions of medicine and surgery--some of them intricate enough, but never too intricate to weary the unfailing patience of the great surgeon.

A note in Mr. Dodgson's Journal, May 9, 1857, describes his introduction to Thackeray:--