Complete Works of Lewis Carroll (277 page)

Of course, Lewis Carroll’s own especial girlfriends understood “The Hunting of the Snark” better than the less favored “outsiders.”
First of all there was Lewis Carroll himself to read it to them in his own expressive way, his pleasant voice sinking impressively at exciting moments, and his clear explanation of each “portmanteau” word helping along wonderfully.
We can fancy the gleam of fun in the blue eyes, the sweep of his hand across his hair, the sudden sweet smile with which he pointed his jests or clothed his moral, as the case might be.
Indeed, one little girl was so fascinated with the poem which he sent her as a gift that she learned the whole of it by heart, and insisted on repeating it during a long country drive.

“The Hunting of the Snark” created quite a sensation among his friends.
The first edition was finely illustrated by Henry Holiday, whose clever drawings show how well he understood the poem, and what sympathy existed between himself and the author.

“Phantasmagoria,” his ghost poem, deals with the friendly relations always existing between ghosts and the people they are supposed to haunt; a whimsical idea, carried out in Lewis Carroll’s whimsical way, with lots of fun and a good deal of simple philosophy worked out in the verses.
One canto is particularly amusing.
Here are some of the verses:

Oh, when I was a little Ghost,

A merry time had we!

Each seated on his favorite post,

We chumped and chawed the buttered toast

They gave us for our tea.

“That story is in print!”
I cried.

“Don’t say it’s not, because

It’s known as well as Bradshaw’s Guide!”

(The Ghost uneasily replied

He hardly thought it was.)

It’s not in Nursery Rhymes?
And yet

I almost think it is—

“Three little Ghostesses” were set

“On postesses,” you know, and ate

Their “buttered toastesses.”

“The Three Voices,” his next ambitious poem, is rather out of the realm of childhood.
A weak-minded man and a strong-minded lady met on the seashore, she having rescued his hat from the antics of a playful breeze by pinning it down on the sands with her umbrella, right through the center of the soft crown.
When she handed it to him in its battered state, he was scarcely as grateful as he might have been—he was rude, in fact,

For it had lost its shape and shine,

And it had cost him four-and-nine,

And he was going out to dine.

“To dine!”
she sneered in acid tone.

“To bend thy being to a bone

Clothed in a radiance not its own!”

“Term it not ‘radiance,’” said he:

“’Tis solid nutriment to me.

Dinner is Dinner: Tea is Tea.”

And she “Yea so?
Yet wherefore cease?

Let thy scant knowledge find increase.

Say ‘Men are Men, and Geese are Geese.’”

The gentleman wanted to get away from this severe lady, but he could see no escape, for she was getting excited.

“To dine!”
she shrieked, in dragon-wrath.

“To swallow wines all foam and froth!

To simper at a tablecloth!

“Canst thou desire or pie or puff?

Thy well-bred manners were enough,

Without such gross material stuff.”

“Yet well-bred men,” he faintly said,

“Are not unwilling to be fed:

Nor are they well without the bread.”

Her visage scorched him ere she spoke;

“There are,” she said, “a kind of folk

Who have no horror of a joke.

“Such wretches live: they take their share

Of common earth and common air:

We come across them here and there.”

“We grant them—there is no escape—

A sort of semihuman shape

Suggestive of the manlike Ape.”

So the arguing went on—her Voice, his Voice, and the Voice of the Sea.
He tried to joke away her solemn mood with a pun.

“The world is but a Thought,” said he:

“The vast, unfathomable sea

Is but a Notion—unto me.”

And darkly fell her answer dread

Upon his unresisting head,

Like half a hundredweight of lead.

“The Good and Great must ever shun

That reckless and abandoned one

Who stoops to perpetrate a pun.

“The man that smokes—that reads the
Times
—

That goes to Christmas Pantomimes—

Is capable of
any
crimes!”

Anyone can understand these verses, but it is very plain that the poem is a satire on the rise of the learned lady, who takes no interest in the lighter, pleasanter side of life; a being much detested by Lewis Carroll, who above all things loved a “womanly woman.”
As he grew older he became somewhat precise and old-fashioned in his opinions—that is perhaps the reason why he was so lovable.
His ideals of womanhood and little girlhood were fixed and beautiful dreams, untouched by the rush of the times.
The “new woman” puzzled and pained him quite as much as the pert, precocious, up-to-date girl.
Would there were more Lewis Carrolls in the world; quiet, simple, old-fashioned, courteous gentlemen with ideals!

Here is a clever little poem dedicated to girls, which he calls

A GAME OF FIVES.

Five little girls, of five, four, three, two, one:

Rolling on the hearthrug, full of tricks and fun.

Five rosy girls, in years from ten to six:

Sitting down to lessons—no more time for tricks.

Five growing girls, from fifteen to eleven:

Music, drawing, languages, and food enough for seven!

Five winsome girls, from twenty to sixteen:

Each young man that calls I say, “Now tell me which you
mean
!”

Five dashing girls, the youngest twenty-one:

But if nobody proposes, what is there to be done?

Five showy girls—but thirty is an age

When girls may be
engaging
, but they somehow don’t
engage
.

Five dressy girls, of thirty-one or more:

So gracious to the shy young men they snubbed so much before!

Five
passé
girls.
Their age?
Well, never mind!

We jog along together, like the rest of human kind:

But the quondam “careless bachelor” begins to think he knows

The answer to that ancient problem “how the money goes!”

There was no theme, in short, that Lewis Carroll did not fit into a rhyme or a poem.
Some of them were full of real feeling, others were sparkling with nonsense, but all had their charm.
No style nor meter daunted him; no poet was too great for his clever pen to parody; no ode was too heroic for a little earthly fun; and when the measure was rollicking the rhymer was at his best.
Of this last,
Alice’s
invitation to the Looking-Glass world is a fair example:

To the Looking-Glass world it was Alice that said,

“I’ve a scepter in hand, I’ve a crown on my head.

Let the Looking-Glass creatures, whatever they be,

Come and dine with the Red Queen, the White Queen, and me!”

Then fill up the glasses as quick as you can,

And sprinkle the table with buttons and bran;

Put cats in the coffee, and mice in the tea,

And welcome Queen Alice with thirty-times-three!

“O Looking-Glass creatures,” quoth Alice, “draw near!

’Tis an honor to see me, a favor to hear;

’Tis a privilege high to have dinner and tea

Along with the Red Queen, the White Queen, and me!”

Then fill up the glasses with treacle and ink,

Or anything else that is pleasant to drink;

Mix sand with the cider, and wool with the wine,

And welcome Queen Alice with ninety-times-nine!

The real sentiment always cropped out in his verses to little girls; from youth to age he was their “good knight and true” and all his fairest thoughts were kept for them.
Many a grown woman has carefully hoarded among her treasures some bit of verse from Lewis Carroll, which her happy childhood inspired him to write; but the dedication of “Alice through the Looking-Glass” was to the unknown child, whom his book went forth to please:

Child of the pure, unclouded brow

And dreaming eyes of wonder!

Though time be fleet, and I and thou

Are half a life asunder,

Thy loving smile will surely hail

The love-gift of a fairy tale.

I have not seen thy sunny face,

Nor heard thy silver laughter:

No thought of me shall find a place

In thy young life’s hereafter,

Enough that now thou wilt not fail

To listen to my fairy tale.

A tale begun in other days,

When summer suns were glowing,

A simple chime, that served to time

The rhythm of our rowing,

Whose echoes live in memory yet,

Though envious years would say “forget.”

Come, hearken then, ere voice of dread,

With bitter tidings laden,

Shall summon to unwelcome bed

A melancholy maiden!

We are but older children, dear,

Who fret to find our bedtime near.

Without, the frost, the blinding snow,

The storm-wind’s moody madness;

Within, the firelight’s ruddy glow,

And childhood’s nest of gladness.

The magic words shall hold thee fast;

Thou shalt not heed the raving blast.

And though the shadow of a sigh

May tremble through the story,

For “happy summer days” gone by

And vanished summer glory,

It shall not touch, with breath of bale,

The pleasance of our fairy tale.

These are only a meager handful of his many poems.
Through his life this gift stayed with him, with all its early spirit and freshness; the added years but added grace and lightness to his touch, for in the “Story of Sylvie and Bruno” there are some gems: but that is another chapter and we shall hear them later.

And so the years passed, and the writer of the “Alices” and the “Jabberwocky” and “The Hunting of the Snark” and other poems fastened himself slowly but surely into the loyal hearts of his many readers, and the grave mathematical lecturer of Christ Church seemed just a trifle older and graver than of yore.
He was very reserved, very shy, and kept somewhat aloof from his fellow “dons”; but let a little girl tap
ever
so faintly at his study door, the knock was heard, the door flung wide, Charles Lutwidge Dodgson vanished into some inner sanctum, and Lewis Carroll stood smiling on the threshold to welcome her with open arms.

CHAPTER XI.

GAMES, RIDDLES, AND PROBLEMS.

Lewis Carroll had a mind which never rested in waking hours, and as is the case with all such active thinkers, his hours of sleeping were often broken by long stretches of wakefulness, during which time the thinking machinery set itself in motion and spun out problems and riddles and odd games and puzzles.

“Puzzles and problems of all sorts were a delight to Mr.
Dodgson,” writes Miss Beatrice Hatch in the
Strand Magazine
.
“Many a sleepless night was occupied by what he called a ‘pillow problem’; in fact his mathematical mind seemed always at work on something of the kind, and he loved to discuss and argue a point connected with his logic, if he could but find a willing listener.
Sometimes, while paying an afternoon call, he would borrow scraps of paper and leave neat little diagrams or word puzzles to be worked out by his friends.”

Logic was a study of which he was very fond.
After he gave up in 1881 the lectureship of mathematics which he had held for twenty-five years he determined to make literature a profession; to devote part of his time to more serious study, and a fair portion to the equally fascinating work for children.

“In his estimation,” says Miss Hatch, “logic was a most important study for every one; no pains were spared to make it clear and interesting to those who would consent to learn of him, either in a class that he begged to be allowed to hold in a school or college, or to a single individual girl who showed the smallest inclination to profit by his instructions.”

He took the greatest delight in his subject and wisely argued that all girls should learn, not only to reason, but to reason properly—that is, logically.
With this end in view he wrote for their use a little book which he called “The Game of Logic,” and the girls, whose footsteps he had guided in childish days through realms of nonsense, were willing in many instances to journey with him into the byways of learning, feeling sure he would not lead them into depths where they could not follow.
The little volume contains four chapters, and the whimsical headings show us at once that Lewis Carroll was the author, and not Charles Lutwidge Dodgson.

Chapter I.........New Lamps for Old.

Chapter II.......Cross Questions.

Chapter III......Crooked Answers.

Chapter IV......Hit or Miss.

To be sure this is not a “play” book, and even as a “game” it is one which requires a great deal of systematic thinking and reasoning.
The girl who has reached thinking and reasoning years and does not care to do either, had better not even peep into the book; but if she is built on sturdier lines and wishes to peep, she must do more—she must read it step by step and study the carefully drawn diagrams, if she would follow intelligently the clear, precise arguments.
The book is dedicated—

TO MY CHILD-FRIEND.

I charm in vain: for never again,

All keenly as my glance I bend,

Will memory, goddess coy,

Embody for my joy

Departed days, nor let me gaze

On thee, my Fairy Friend!

Yet could thy face, in mystic grace,

A moment smile on me, ’twould send

Far-darting rays of light

From Heaven athwart the night,

By which to read in very deed

Thy spirit, sweetest Friend!

So may the stream of Life’s long dream

Flow gently onward to its end,

With many a floweret gay,

Adown its billowy way:

May no sigh vex nor care perplex

My loving little Friend!

His preface is most enticing.
He says: “This Game requires nine Counters—four of one colour and five of another; say four red and five gray.
Besides the nine Counters, it also requires one Player
at least
.
I am not aware of any game that can be played with
less
than this number; while there are several that require more; take Cricket, for instance, which requires twenty-two.
How much easier it is, when you want to play a game, to find
one
Player than twenty-two!
At the same time, though one Player is enough, a good deal more amusement may be got by two working at it together, and correcting each other’s mistakes.

“A second advantage possessed by this Game is that, besides being an endless source of amusement (the number of arguments that may be worked by it being infinite), it will give the Players a little instruction as well.
But is there any great harm in that, so long as you get plenty of amusement?”

To explain the book thoroughly would take the wit and clever handling of Lewis Carroll himself, but to the beginner of Logic a few of these unfinished syllogisms may prove interesting: a syllogism in logical language consists of what is known as two
Premisses
and one
Conclusion
, and is a very simple form of argument when you get used to it.

For instance, supposing someone says: “All my friends have colds”; someone else may add: “No one can sing who has a cold”; then the third person draws the conclusion, which is: “None of my friends can sing,” and the perfect logical argument would read as follows:

1.
Premise—“All my friends have colds.”

2.
Premise—“No one can sing who has a cold.”

3.
Conclusion—“None of my friends can sing.”

That is what is called a perfect syllogism, and in Chapter IV, which he calls
Hit or Miss
, Lewis Carroll has collected a hundred examples containing the two
Premisses
which need the
Conclusion
.
Here are some of them.
Anyone can draw her own conclusions:

Pain is wearisome;

No pain is eagerly wished for.

In each case the student is required to fill up the third space.

No bald person needs a hairbrush;

No lizards have hair.

No unhappy people chuckle;

No happy people groan.

All ducks waddle;

Nothing that waddles is graceful.

Some oysters are silent;

No silent creatures are amusing.

Umbrellas are useful on a journey;

What is useless on a journey should be left behind.

No quadrupeds can whistle;

Some cats are quadrupeds.

Some bald people wear wigs;

All your children have hair.

The whole book is brimful of humor and simple everyday reasoning that the smallest child could understand.

Another “puzzle” book of even an earlier date is “A Tangled Tale”; this is dedicated—

TO MY PUPIL.

Belovéd pupil!
Tamed by thee,

Addish, Subtrac-, Multiplica-tion,

Division, Fractions, Rule of Three,

Attest the deft manipulation!

Then onward!
Let the voice of Fame,

From Age to Age repeat the story,

Till thou hast won thyself a name,

Exceeding even Euclid’s glory!

In the preface he says: “This Tale originally appeared as a serial in
The Monthly Packet
, beginning in April, 1880.
The writer’s intention was to embody in each Knot (like the medicine so deftly but ineffectually concealed in the jam of our childhood) one or more mathematical questions, in Arithmetic, Algebra, or Geometry, as the case might be, for the amusement and possible edification of the fair readers of that Magazine.

“October, 1885. L.
C.”

These are regular mathematical problems and “posers,” most of them, and it seems that the readers, being more or less ambitious, set to work in right good earnest to answer them, and sent in the solutions to the author under assumed names, and then he produced the real problem, the real answer, and all the best answers of the contestants.
These problems were all called
Knots
and were told in the form of stories.

Knot I was called
Excelsior
.
It was written as a tale of adventure, and ran as follows:

“The ruddy glow of sunset was already fading into the somber shadows of night, when two travelers might have been observed swiftly—at a pace of six miles in the hour—descending the rugged side of a mountain; the younger bounding from crag to crag with the agility of a fawn, while his companion, whose aged limbs seemed ill at ease in the heavy chain armor habitually worn by tourists in that district, toiled on painfully at his side.”

Lewis Carroll is evidently imitating the style of some celebrated writer—Henry James, most likely, who is rather fond of opening his story with “two travelers,” or perhaps Sir Walter Scott.
He goes on:

“As is always the case under such circumstances, the younger knight was the first to break the silence.

“‘A goodly pace, I trow!’
he exclaimed.
‘We sped not thus in the ascent!’

“‘Goodly, indeed!’
the other echoed with a groan.
‘We clomb it but at three miles in the hour.’

“‘And on the dead level our pace is—?’
the younger suggested; for he was weak in statistics, and left all such details to his aged companion.

“‘Four miles in the hour,’ the other wearily replied.
‘Not an ounce more,’ he added, with that love of metaphor so common in old age, ‘and not a farthing less!’

“‘’Twas three hours past high noon when we left our hostelry,’ the young man said, musingly.
‘We shall scarce be back by supper-time.
Perchance mine host will roundly deny us all food!’

“‘He will chide our tardy return,’ was the grave reply, ‘and such a rebuke will be meet.’

“‘A brave conceit!’
cried the other, with a merry laugh.
‘And should we bid him bring us yet another course, I trow his answer will be tart!’

“‘We shall but get our deserts,’ sighed the older knight, who had never seen a joke in his life, and was somewhat displeased at his companion’s untimely levity.
‘’Twill be nine of the clock,’ he added in an undertone, ‘by the time we regain our hostelry.
Full many a mile have we plodded this day!’

“‘How many?
How many?’
cried the eager youth, ever athirst for knowledge.

“The old man was silent.

“‘Tell me,’ he answered after a moment’s thought, ‘what time it was when we stood together on yonder peak.
Not exact to the minute!’
he added, hastily, reading a protest in the young man’s face.
‘An’ thy guess be within one poor half hour of the mark, ’tis all I ask of thy mother’s son!
Then will I tell thee, true to the last inch, how far we shall have trudged betwixt three and nine of the clock.’

“A groan was the young man’s only reply, while his convulsed features and the deep wrinkles that chased each other across his manly brow revealed the abyss of arithmetical agony into which one chance question had plunged him.”

The problem in plain English is this: “Two travelers spend from three o’clock till nine in walking along a level road, up a hill, and home again, their pace on the level being four miles an hour, up hill three, and down hill six.
Find distance walked: also (within half an hour) the time of reaching top of hill.”

Answer.
“Twenty-four miles: half-past six.”

The explanation is very clear and very simple, but we will not give it here.
This first knot of “A Tangled Tale” offers attractions of its own, for like the dream
Alice
someone may exclaim, “A Knot!
Oh, do let me help to undo it!”

The second problem or “Tale” is called
Eligible Apartments
, and deals with the adventures of one
Balbus
and his pupils, and contains two “Knots.”
One is: “The Governor of —— wants to give a
very
small dinner party, and he means to ask his father’s brother-in-law, his brother’s father-in-law, and his brother-in-law’s father, and we’re to guess how many guests there will be.”
The answer is
one
.
Perhaps some ambitious person will go over the ground and prove it.
The second knot deals with the
Eligible Apartments
which
Balbus
and his pupils were hunting.
At the end of their walk they found themselves in a square.