Complete Works of Lewis Carroll (246 page)

The publication of "Sylvie and Bruno" marks an epoch in its author's life, for it was the publication of all the ideals and sentiments which he held most dear.
It was a book with a definite purpose; it would be more true to say with several definite purposes.
For this very reason it is not an artistic triumph as the two "Alice" books undoubtedly are; it is on a lower literary level, there is no unity in the story.
But from a higher standpoint, that of the Christian and the philanthropist, the book is the best thing he ever wrote.
It is a noble effort to uphold the right, or what he thought to be the right, without fear of contempt or unpopularity.
The influence which his earlier books had given him he was determined to use in asserting neglected truths.

Of course the story has other features, delightful nonsense not surpassed by anything in "Wonderland," childish prattle with all the charm of reality about it, and pictures which may fairly be said to rival those of Sir John Tenniel.
Had these been all, the book would have been a great success.
As things are, there are probably hundreds of readers who have been scared by the religious arguments and political discussions which make up a large part of it, and who have never discovered that Sylvie is just as entrancing a personage as Alice when you get to know her.

Perhaps the sentiment of the following poem, sent to Lewis Carroll by an anonymous correspondent, may also explain why some of "Alice's" lovers have given "Sylvie" a less warm welcome:—

TO SYLVIE.

Ah!
Sylvie, winsome, wise and good!

Fain would I love thee as I should.

But, to tell the truth, my dear,—

And Sylvie loves the truth to hear,—

Though fair and pure and sweet thou art,

Thine elder sister has my heart!

I gave it her long, long ago

To have and hold; and well I know,

Brave Lady Sylvie, thou wouldst scorn

To accept a heart foresworn.

Lovers thou wilt have enow

Under many a greening bough—

Lovers yet unborn galore,

Like Alice all the wide world o'er;

But, darling, I am now too old

To change.
And though I still shall hold

Thee, and that puckling sprite, thy brother,

Dear, I cannot
love
another:

In this heart of mine I own

She
must ever reign alone!

March
, 1890.

N.P.

I do not know N.P.'s name and address, or I should have asked leave before giving publicity to the above verses.
If these words meet his eye, I hope he will accept my most humble apologies for the liberty I have taken.

At the beginning of 1894 a Baptist minister, preaching on the text, "No man liveth to himself," made use of "Sylvie and Bruno" to enforce his argument.
After saying that he had been reading that book, he proceeded as follows:

A child was asked to define charity.
He said it was "givin' away what yer didn't want yerself."
This was some people's idea of self-sacrifice; but it was not Christ's.
Then as to serving others in view of reward: Mr.
Lewis Carroll put this view of the subject very forcibly in his "Sylvie and Bruno"—an excellent book for youth; indeed, for men and women too.
He first criticised Archdeacon Paley's definition of virtue (which was said to be "the doing good to mankind, in obedience to the will of God, and for the sake of everlasting happiness,") and then turned to such hymns as the following:—

Whatever, Lord, we lend to Thee,

Repaid a thousandfold shall be
,

Then gladly will we give to Thee,

Giver of all!

Mr.
Carroll's comment was brief and to the point.
He said: "Talk of Original
Sin
!
Can you have a stronger proof of the Original Goodness there must be in this nation than the fact that Religion has been preached to us, as a commercial speculation, for a century, and that we still believe in a God?"
["Sylvie and Bruno," Part i., pp.
276, 277.] Of course it was quite true, as Mr.
Carroll pointed out, that our good deeds would be rewarded; but we ought to do them because they were
good
, and not because the reward was great.

In the Preface to "Sylvie and Bruno," Lewis Carroll alluded to certain editions of Shakespeare which seemed to him unsuitable for children; it never seemed to strike him that his words might be read by children, and that thus his object very probably would be defeated, until this fact was pointed out to him in a letter from an unknown correspondent, Mr.
J.C.
Cropper, of Hampstead.
Mr.
Dodgson replied as follows:—

Dear Sir,—Accept my best thanks for your thoughtful and valuable suggestion about the Preface to "Sylvie and Bruno."
The danger you point out had not occurred to me (I suppose I had not thought of
children
reading the Preface): but it is a very real one, and I am very glad to have had my attention called to it.

Believe me, truly yours,

Lewis Carroll.

Mathematical controversy carried on by correspondence was a favourite recreation of Mr.
Dodgson's, and on February 20, 1890, he wrote:—

I've just concluded a correspondence with a Cambridge man, who is writing a Geometry on the "Direction" theory (Wilson's plan), and thinks he has avoided Wilson's (what
I
think) fallacies.
He
hasn't
, but I can't convince him!
My view of life is, that it's next to impossible to convince
anybody
of
anything
.

The following letter is very characteristic.
"Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with all thy might," was Mr.
Dodgson's rule of life, and, as the end drew near, he only worked the harder:—

Christ Church, Oxford,
April
10, 1890.

My dear Atkinson,—Many and sincere thanks for your most hospitable invitation, and for the very interesting photo of the family group.
The former I fear I must ask you to let me defer
sine die
, and regard it as a pleasant dream, not
quite
hopeless of being some day realised.
I keep a list of such pleasant possibilities, and yours is now one of ten similar kind offers of hospitality.
But as life shortens in, and the evening shadows loom in sight, one gets to
grudge any
time given to mere pleasure, which might entail the leaving work half finished that one is longing to do before the end comes.

There are several books I
greatly
desire to get finished for children.
I am glad to find my working powers are as good as they ever were.
Even with the mathematical book (a third edition) which I am now getting through the press, I think nothing of working six hours at a stretch.

There is one text that often occurs to me, "The night cometh, when no man can work."
Kindest regards to Mrs.
Atkinson, and love to Gertrude.

Always sincerely yours,

C.
L.
Dodgson.

For the benefit of children aged "from nought to five," as he himself phrased it, Lewis Carroll prepared a nursery edition of "Alice."
He shortened the text considerably, and altered it so much that only the plot of the story remained unchanged.
It was illustrated by the old pictures, coloured by Tenniel, and the cover was adorned by a picture designed by Miss E.
Gertrude Thomson.
As usual, the Dedication takes the form of an anagram, the solution of which is the name of one of his later child-friends.
"
The Nursery 'Alice,
'" was published by Macmillan and Co., in March, 1890.

On August 18th the following letter on the "Eight Hours Movement" appeared in
The Standard:
—

Sir,—Supposing it were the custom, in a certain town, to sell eggs in paper bags at so much per bag, and that a fierce dispute had arisen between the egg vendors and the public as to how many eggs each bag should be understood to contain, the vendors wishing to be allowed to make up smaller bags; and supposing the public were to say, "In future we will pay you so much per egg, and you can make up bags as you please," would any ground remain for further dispute?

Supposing that employers of labour, when threatened with a "strike" in case they should decline to reduce the number of hours in a working day, were to reply, "In future we will pay you so much per hour, and you can make up days as you please," it does appear to me—being, as I confess, an ignorant outsider—that the dispute would die out for want of a
raison d'être
, and that these disastrous strikes, inflicting such heavy loss on employers and employed alike, would become things of the past.

I am, Sir, your obedient servant,

Lewis Carroll.

The remainder of the year was uneventful; a few notes from his Diary must represent it here:—

Oct.
4th.
—Called on Mr.
Coventry Patmore (at Hastings), and was very kindly received by him, and stayed for afternoon tea and dinner.
He showed me some interesting pictures, including a charming little drawing, by Holman Hunt, of one of his daughters when three years old.
He gave me an interesting account of his going, by Tennyson's request, to his lodging to look for the MS.
of "In Memoriam," which he had left behind, and only finding it by insisting on going upstairs, in spite of the landlady's opposition, to search for it.
Also he told me the story (I think I have heard it before) of what Wordsworth told his friends as the "one joke" of his life, in answer to a passing carter who asked if he had seen his wife.
"My good friend, I didn't even know you had a wife!"
He seems a very hale and vigorous old man for nearly seventy, which I think he gave as his age in writing to me.

Oct.
31st.
—This morning, thinking over the problem of finding two squares whose sum is a square, I chanced on a theorem (which seems
true
, though I cannot prove it), that if x² + y² be even, its half is the sum of two squares.
A kindred theorem, that 2(x² + y²) is always the sum of two squares, also seems true and unprovable.

Nov.
5th.—
I have now proved the above two theorems.
Another pretty deduction from the theory of square numbers is, that any number whose square is the sum of two squares, is itself the sum of two squares.

I have already mentioned Mr.
Dodgson's habit of thinking out problems at night.
Often new ideas would occur to him during hours of sleeplessness, and he had long wanted to hear of or invent some easy method of taking notes in the dark.
At first he tried writing within oblongs cut out of cardboard, but the result was apt to be illegible.
In 1891 he conceived the device of having a series of squares cut out in card, and inventing an alphabet, of which each letter was made of lines, which could be written along the edges of the squares, and dots, which could be marked at the corners.
The thing worked well, and he named it the "Typhlograph," but, at the suggestion of one of his brother-students, this was subsequently changed into "Nyctograph."

He spent the Long Vacation at Eastbourne, attending service every Sunday at Christ Church, according to his usual rule.

Sept.
6, 1891.—At the evening service at Christ Church a curious thing happened, suggestive of telepathy.
Before giving out the second hymn the curate read out some notices.
Meanwhile I took my hymn-book, and said to myself (I have no idea
why
), "It will be hymn 416," and I turned to it.
It was not one I recognised as having ever heard; and, on looking at it, I said, "It is very prosaic; it is a very unlikely one"—and it was really startling, the next minute, to hear the curate announce "Hymn 416."