The Story of Lewis Carroll Part 4

We generally got back to dinner about seven or earlier. He would never let me change my frock for the meal, even if we were going to a concert or theatre afterwards. He had a curious theory that a child should not change her clothes twice in one day. He himself made no alteration in his dress at dinner time, nor would he permit me to do so. Yet he was not by any means an untidy or slovenly man. He had many little fads in dress, but his great horror and abomination was high-heeled shoes with pointed toes. No words were strong enough, he thought, to describe such monstrous things.

Lewis Carroll was a deeply religious man, and on Sundays at Eastbourne we always went twice to church. Yet he held that no child should be forced into church-going against its will. Such a state of mind in a child, he said, needed most careful treatment, and the very worst thing to do was to make attendance at the services compulsory. Another habit of his, which must, I feel sure, sound rather dreadful to many, was that, should the sermon prove beyond my comprehension, he would give me a little book to read; it was better far, he maintained, to read, than to stare idly about the church. When the rest of the congregation rose at the entrance of the choir he kept his seat. He argued that rising to one's feet at such a time tended to make the choir-boys conceited. I think he was quite right.

He kept no special books for Sunday reading, for he was most emphatically of opinion that anything tending to make Sunday a day dreaded by a child should be studiously avoided. He did not like me to sew on Sunday unless it was absolutely necessary.

One would have hardly expected that a man of so reserved a nature as Lewis Carroll would have taken much interest in the stage. Yet he was devoted to the theatre, and one of the commonest of the treats that he gave his little girl friends was to organise a party for the play. As a critic of acting he was nave and outspoken, and never hesitated to find fault if he thought it justifiable. The following letter that he wrote to me criticising my acting in "Richard III." when I was playing with Richard Mansfield, is one of the most interesting that I ever received from him.

Although it was written for a child to understand and profit by, and moreover written in the simplest possible way, it yet even now strikes me as a trenchant and valuable piece of criticism.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ISA BOWMAN AS DUKE OF YORK]

"CH. CH. OXFORD, "_Ap. 4, '89_.

"MY LORD DUKE,--The photographs, which Your Grace did me the honour of sending arrived safely; and I can a.s.sure your Royal Highness that I am very glad to have them, and like them _very_ much, particularly the large head of your late Royal Uncle's little little son. I do not wonder that your excellent Uncle Richard should say 'off with his head!' as a hint to the photographer to print it off. Would your Highness like me to go on calling you the Duke of York, or shall I say 'my own own darling Isa?' Which do you like best?

"Now I'm going to find fault with my pet about her acting. What's the good of an old Uncle like me except to find fault?

"You do the meeting with the Prince of Wales _very_ nicely and lovingly; and, in teasing your Uncle for his dagger and his sword, you are very sweet and playful and--'but _that's_ not finding fault!' Isa says to herself. Isn't it? Well, I'll try again. Didn't I hear you say 'In weightier things you'll say a _beggar_ nay,' leaning on the word 'beggar'? If so, it was a mistake. _My_ rule for knowing which word to lean on is the word that tells you something _new_, something that is _different_ from what you expected.

"Take the sentence 'first I bought a bag of apples, then I bought a bag of pears,' you wouldn't say 'then I bought a _bag_ of pears.' The 'bag' is nothing new, because it was a bag in the first part of the sentence. But the _pears_ are new, and different from the _apples_.

So you would say, 'then I bought a bag of _pears_.'

"Do you understand that, my pet?"

"Now what you say to Richard amounts to this, 'With light gifts you'll say to a beggar "yes": with heavy gifts you'll say to a beggar "nay."'

The words 'you'll say to a beggar' are the same both times; so you mustn't lean on any of _those_ words. But 'light' is different from 'heavy,' and 'yes' is different from 'nay.' So the way to say the sentence would be 'with _light_ gifts you'll say to a beggar "_yes_": with _heavy_ gifts you'll say to a beggar "_nay_".' And the way to say the lines in the play is--

'O, then I see you will _part_ but with _light_ gifts; In _weightier_ things you'll say a beggar _nay_.'

"One more sentence.

"When Richard says, 'What, would you have my _weapon_, little Lord?'

and you reply 'I _would_, that I might thank you as you call me,'

didn't I hear you p.r.o.nounce 'thank' as if it were spelt with an 'e'? I know it's very common (I often do it myself) to say 'thenk you!' as an exclamation by itself. I suppose it's an odd way of p.r.o.nouncing the word. But I'm sure it's wrong to p.r.o.nounce it so when it comes into a _sentence_. It will sound _much_ nicer if you'll p.r.o.nounce it so as to rhyme with 'bank.'

"One more thing. ('What an impertinent old uncle! Always finding fault!') You're not as _natural_, when acting the Duke, as you were when you acted Alice. You seemed to me not to forgot _yourself_ enough. It was not so much a real _prince_ talking to his elder brother and his uncle; it was _Isa Bowman_ talking to people she didn't _much_ care about, for an audience to listen to--I don't mean it was that all _through_, but _sometimes_ you were _artificial_. Now don't be jealous of Miss Hatton, when I say she was _sweetly_ natural.

She looked and spoke like a _real_ Prince of Wales. And she didn't seem to know that there was any audience. If you are ever to be a _good_ actress (as I hope you will), you must learn to _forget_ 'Isa'

altogether, and _be_ the character you are playing. Try to think 'This is _really_ the Prince of Wales. I'm his little brother, and I'm _very_ glad to meet him, and I love him _very_ much,' and 'this is _really_ my uncle: he's very kind, and lets me say saucy things to him,' and _do_ forget that there's anybody else listening!

"My sweet pet, I _hope_ you won't be offended with me for saying what I fancy might make your acting better!

"Your loving old Uncle, "CHARLES.

X for NELLIE.

X for MAGGIE.

X for EMSIE.

X for ISA."

He was a fairly constant patron of all the London theatres, save the Gaiety and the Adelphi, which he did not like, and numbered a good many theatrical folk among his acquaintances. Miss Ellen Terry was one of his greatest friends. Once I remember we made an expedition from Eastbourne to Margate to visit Miss Sarah Thorne's theatre, and especially for the purpose of seeing Miss Violet Vanbrugh's Ophelia. He was a great admirer of both Miss Violet and Miss Irene Vanbrugh as actresses. Of Miss Thorne's school of acting, too, he had the highest opinion, and it was his often expressed wish that all intending players could have so excellent a course of tuition. Among the male members of the theatrical profession he had no especial favourites, excepting Mr. Toole and Mr. Richard Mansfield.

He never went to a music-hall, but considered that, properly managed, they might be beneficial to the public. It was only when the refrain of some particularly vulgar music-hall song broke upon his ears in the streets that he permitted himself to speak harshly about variety theatres.

Comic opera, when it was wholesome, he liked, and was a frequent visitor to the Savoy theatre. The good old style of Pantomime, too, was a great delight to him, and he would often speak affectionately of the pantomimes at Brighton during the regime of Mr. and Mrs. Nye Chart. But of the up-to-date pantomime he had a horror, and nothing would induce him to visit one. "When pantomimes are written for children once more," he said, "I will go. Not till then."

Once when a friend told him that she was about to take her little girls to the pantomime, he did not rest till he had dissuaded her.

To conclude what I have said about Lewis Carroll's affection for the dramatic art, I will give a kind of examination paper, written for a child who had been learning a recitation called "The Demon of the Pit." Though his stuttering prevented him from being himself anything of a reciter, he loved correct elocution, and would take any pains to make a child perfect in a piece.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE LITTLE PRINCES]

First of all there is an explanatory paragraph.

"As you don't ask any questions about 'The Demon of the Pit,' I suppose you understand it all. So please answer these questions just as you would do if a younger child (say Mollie) asked them."

_Mollie._ Please, Ethel, will you explain this poem to me. There are some very hard words in it.

_Ethel._ What are they, dear?

_Mollie._ Well, in the first line, "If you chance to make a sally."

What does "sally" mean?

_Ethel._ Dear Mollie, I believe sally means to take a chance work.[2]

_Mollie._ Then, near the end of the first verse--"Whereupon she'll call her cronies"--what does "whereupon" mean? And what are cronies?

_Ethel._ I think whereupon means at the same time, and cronies means her favourite playfellows.

_Mollie._ "And invest in proud polonies." What's to "invest?"

_Ethel._ To invest means to spend money in anything you fancy.

_Mollie._ And what's "A woman of the day?"

_Ethel._ A woman of the day means a wonder of the time with the general public.

_Mollie._ "Pyrotechnic blaze of wit." What's pyrotechnic?

_Ethel._ Mollie, I think you will find that pyrotechnic means quick, with flashes of lightning.

_Mollie._ Then the 8 lines that begin "The astounding infant wonder"--please explain "role" and "mise" and "tout ensemble" and "grit."

_Ethel._ Well, Mollie, "role" means so many different things, but in "The Demon of the Pit" I should think it meant the leading part of the piece, and "mise" means something extra good introduced, and "tout"

means to seek for applause, but "ensemble" means the whole of the parts taken together, and grit means something good.

_Mollie._ "And the Goblins prostrate tumble." What's "prostrate"?