A day or two after the first call came a note saying that he would be taking Isa home before long, and if we would like to see her he would stop on the way again.
Of course we were only too delighted to have the opportunity, and, though the visit was postponed more than once, it did take place early in August, when he brought both Isa and Nellie up to town to see a performance of "Sweet Lavender." It is needless to remark that we took care, this time, to be provided with something at once substantial and carvable.
The children were bright, healthy, happy and childlike little maidens, quite devoted to their good friend, whom they called "Uncle"; and very interesting it was to see them together.
But he did not allow any undue liberties either, as a little incident showed.
He had been describing a particular kind of collapsible tumbler, which you put in your pocket and carried with you for use on a railway journey.
"There now," he continued, turning to the children, "I forgot to bring it with me after all."
"Oh Goosie," broke in Isa; "you"ve been talking about that tumbler for days, and now you have forgotten it."
He pulled himself up, and looked at her steadily with an air of grave reproof.
Much abashed, she hastily subst.i.tuted a very subdued "Uncle"
for the objectionable "Goosie," and the matter dropped.
The princ.i.p.al anecdote on this occasion was about a dog which had been sent into the sea after sticks. He brought them back very properly for some time, and then there appeared to be a little difficulty, and he returned swimming in a very curious manner. On closer inspection it appeared that he had caught hold of his own tail by mistake, and was bringing it to land in triumph.
This was told with the utmost gravity, and though we had been requested beforehand not to mention "Lewis Carroll"s"
books, the temptation was too strong. I could not help saying to the child next me--
"That was like the Whiting, wasn"t it?"
Our visitor, however, took up the remark, and seemed quite willing to talk about it.
"When I wrote that," he said, "I believed that whiting really did have their tails in their mouths, but I have since been told that fishmongers put the tail through the eye, not in the mouth at all."
He was not a very good carver, for Miss Bremer also describes a little difficulty he had--this time with the pastry: "An amusing incident occurred when he was at lunch with us. He was requested to serve some pastry, and, using a knife, as it was evidently rather hard, the knife penetrated the d"oyley beneath--and his consternation was extreme when he saw the slice of linen and lace he served as an addition to the tart!"
It was, I think, through her connection with the "Alice" play that Mr.
Dodgson first came to know Miss Isa Bowman. Her childish friendship for him was one of the joys of his later years, and one of the last letters he wrote was addressed to her. The poem at the beginning of "Sylvie and Bruno" is an acrostic on her name--
Is all our Life, then, but a dream, Seen faintly in the golden gleam Athwart Times"s dark, resistless stream?
Bowed to the earth with bitter woe, Or laughing at some raree-show, We flutter idly to and fro.
Man"s little Day in haste we spend, And, from the merry noontide, send No glance to meet the silent end.
Every one has heard of Lewis Carroll"s hatred of interviewers; the following letter to Miss Manners makes one feel that in some cases, at least, his feeling was justifiable:--
If your Manchester relatives ever go to the play, tell them they ought to see Isa as "Cinderella"--she is evidently a success. And she has actually been "interviewed" by one of those dreadful newspapers reporters, and the "interview" is published with her picture! And such rubbish he makes her talk! She tells him that something or other was "tacitly conceded": and that "I love to see a great actress give expression to the wonderful ideas of the immortal master!"
(N.B.--I never let her talk like that when she is with _me_!)
Emsie recovered in time to go to America, with her mother and Isa and Nellie: and they all enjoyed the trip much; and Emsie has a London engagement.
Only once was an interviewer bold enough to enter Lewis Carroll"s _sanctum_. The story has been told in _The Guardian_ (January 19, 1898), but will bear repet.i.tion:--
Not long ago Mr. Dodgson happened to get into correspondence with a man whom he had never seen, on some question of religious difficulty, and he invited him to come to his rooms and have a talk on the subject. When, therefore, a Mr.
X-- was announced to him one morning, he advanced to meet him with outstretched hand and smiles of welcome. "Come in Mr. X--, I have been expecting you." The delighted visitor thought this a promising beginning, and immediately pulled out a note-book and pencil, and proceeded to ask "the usual questions." Great was Mr. Dodgson"s disgust! Instead of his expected friend, here was another man of the same name, and one of the much-dreaded interviewers, actually sitting in his chair! The mistake was soon explained, and the representative of the Press was bowed out as quickly as he had come in.
It was while Isa and one of her sisters were staying at Eastbourne that the visit to America was mooted. Mr. Dodgson suggested that it would be well for them to grow gradually accustomed to seafaring, and therefore proposed to take them by steamer to Hastings. This plan was carried out, and the weather was unspeakably bad--far worse than anything they experienced in their subsequent trip across the Atlantic. The two children, who were neither of them very good sailors, experienced sensations that were the reverse of pleasant. Mr.
Dodgson did his best to console them, while he continually repeated, "Crossing the Atlantic will be much worse than this."
However, even this terrible lesson on the horrors of the sea did not act as a deterrent; it was as unsuccessful as the effort of the old lady in one of his stories: "An old lady I once knew tried to check the military ardour of a little boy by showing him a picture of a battlefield, and describing some of its horrors. But the only answer she got was, "I"ll be a soldier. Tell it again!""
The Bowman children sometimes came over to visit him at Oxford, and he used to delight in showing them over the colleges, and pointing out the famous people whom they encountered. On one of these occasions he was walking with Maggie, then a mere child, when they met the Bishop of Oxford, to whom Mr. Dodgson introduced his little guest. His lordship asked her what she thought of Oxford. "I think," said the little actress, with quite a professional _aplomb,_ "it"s the best place in the Provinces!" At which the Bishop was much amused.
After the child had returned to town, the Bishop sent her a copy of a little book called "Golden Dust," inscribed "From W. Oxon," which considerably mystified her, as she knew n.o.body of that name!
Another little stage-friend of Lewis Carroll"s was Miss Vera Beringer, the "Little Lord Fauntleroy," whose acting delighted all theatre-goers eight or nine years ago. Once, when she was spending a holiday in the Isle of Man, he sent her the following lines:--
There was a young lady of station, "I love man" was her sole exclamation; But when men cried, "You flatter,"
She replied, "Oh! no matter, Isle of Man is the true explanation."
Many of his friendships with children began in a railway carriage, for he always took about with him a stock of puzzles when he travelled, to amuse any little companions whom chance might send him. Once he was in a carriage with a lady and her little daughter, both complete strangers to him. The child was reading "Alice in Wonderland," and when she put her book down, he began talking to her about it. The mother soon joined in the conversation, of course without the least idea who the stranger was with whom she was talking. "Isn"t it sad,"
she said, "about poor Mr. Lewis Carroll? He"s gone mad, you know."
"Indeed," replied Mr. Dodgson, "I had never heard that." "Oh, I a.s.sure you it is quite true," the lady answered. "I have it on the best authority." Before Mr. Dodgson parted with her, he obtained her leave to send a present to the little girl, and a few days afterwards she received a copy of "Through the Looking-Gla.s.s," inscribed with her name, and "From the Author, in memory of a pleasant journey."
When he gave books to children, he very often wrote acrostics on their names on the fly-leaf. One of the prettiest was inscribed in a copy of Miss Yonge"s "Little Lucy"s Wonderful Globe," which he gave to Miss Ruth Dymes:--
R ound the wondrous globe I wander wild, U p and down-hill--Age succeeds to youth-- T oiling all in vain to find a child H alf so loving, half so dear as Ruth.
In another book, given to her sister Margaret, he wrote:--
M aidens, if a maid you meet A lways free from pout and pet, R eady smile and temper sweet, G reet my little Margaret.
A nd if loved by all she be R ightly, not a pampered pet, E asily you then may see "Tis my little Margaret.
Here are two letters to children, the one interesting as a specimen of pure nonsense of the sort which children always like, the other as showing his dislike of being praised. The first was written to Miss Gertrude Atkinson, daughter of an old College friend, but otherwise unknown to Lewis Carroll except by her photograph:--
My dear Gertrude,--So many things have happened since we met last, really I don"t know _which_ to begin talking about! For instance, England has been conquered by William the Conqueror. We haven"t met since _that_ happened, you know. How did you like it? Were you frightened?
And one more thing has happened: I have got your photograph. Thank you very much for it. I like it "awfully."
Do they let you say "awfully"? or do they say, "No, my dear; little girls mustn"t say "awfully"; they should say "very much indeed""?
I wonder if you will ever get as far as Jersey? If not, how _are_ we to meet?
Your affectionate friend,
C.L. Dodgson.
From the second letter, to Miss Florence Jackson, I take the following extract:--
I have two reasons for sending you this fable; one is, that in a letter you wrote me you said something about my being "clever"; and the other is that, when you wrote again you said it again! And _each_ time I thought, "Really, I _must_ write and ask her _not_ to say such things; it is not wholesome reading for me."
The fable is this. The cold, frosty, bracing air is the treatment one gets from the world generally--such as contempt, or blame, or neglect; all those are very wholesome. And the hot dry air, that you breathe when you rush to the fire, is the praise that one gets from one"s young, happy, rosy, I may even say _florid_ friends!
And that"s very bad for me, and gives pride--fever, and conceit--cough, and such-like diseases. Now I"m sure you don"t want me to be laid up with all these diseases; so please don"t praise me _any_ more!