CHAPTER X.

"HUNTING THE SNARK" AND OTHER POEMS.

There is no doubt that the second "Alice" book was quite as successful as the first, but regarding its merit there is much difference of opinion. As a rule the "grown-ups" prefer it. They like the clever situations and the quaint logic, no less than the very evident good writing; but this of course did not influence the children in the least. They liked "Alice" and the pretty idea of her trip through the Looking-Gla.s.s, but for real delight "Wonderland" was big enough for them, and to whisk down into a rabbit-hole on a summer's day was a much easier process than squeezing through a looking-gla.s.s at the close of a short winter's afternoon, not being _quite_ sure that one would not fall into the fire on the other side.

The very care that Lewis Carroll took in the writing of this book deprived it of a certain charm of originality which always clings to the pages of "Wonderland." Each chapter is so methodically planned and so well carried out that, while we never lose sight of the author and his cleverness, fairyland does not seem quite so real as in the book which was written with no plan at all, but the earnest desire to please three children. Then again there was a certain staidness in the prim little girl who pushed her way through the Looking-Gla.s.s. And there were no wonderful cakes marked "eat me," and bottles marked "drink me," which kept the Wonderland _Alice_ in a perpetual state of growing or shrinking; so the fact that nothing happened to _Alice_ at all during this second journey lessened its interest somewhat for the young ones to whom constant change is the spice of life. A very little girl, while she might enjoy the flower chapter, and might be tempted to build her own fanciful tales about the rest of the garden, would not be so attracted toward the insect chapter, which may possibly have been written with the praiseworthy idea of teaching children not to be afraid of these harmless buzzing things that are too busy with their own concerns to bother them.

There are, in truth, little "cut and dried" speeches in the Looking-Gla.s.s "Alice," which we do not find in "Wonderland." A real hand is moving the Chessman over the giant board, and the _Red_ and the _White Queen_ often speak like automatic toys. We miss the savage "off with his head" of the _Queen of Hearts_, who, for all her cardboard stiffness, seemed a thing of flesh and blood. But the poetry in the two "Alices" is of very much the same quality.

In his prose "nonsense" anyone might notice the difference of years between the two books, but Lewis Carroll's poetry never loses its youthful tone. It was as easy for him to write verses as to teach mathematics, and that was saying a good deal. It was as easy for him to write verses at sixty as at thirty, and that is saying even more. From the time he could hold a pencil he could make a rhyme, and his earlier editorial ventures, as we know, were full of his own work which in after years made its way to the public, either through the magazines or in collection of poems, such as "Rhyme and Reason," "Phantasmagoria," and "The Three Sunsets."

In _The Train_, that early English magazine before mentioned, are several poems written by him and signed by his newly borrowed name of Lewis Carroll, but they are very sentimental and high-flown, utterly unlike anything he wrote either before or after.

Between the publication of "Through the Looking-Gla.s.s" and "The Hunting of the Snark" was a period of five years, during which, according to his usual custom, Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, in the seclusion of Christ Church, calmly pursued his scholarly way, smiling sedately over the literary antics of Lewis Carroll, for the Rev. Charles was a sober, over-serious bachelor, whose one aim and object at that time was the proper treatment of Euclid, for during those five years he wrote the following pamphlets: "Symbols, etc., to be used in Euclid--Books I and II," "Number of Propositions in Euclid," "Enunciations--Euclid I-VI," "Euclid--Book V.

Proved Algebraically," "Preliminary Algebra and Euclid--Book V," "Examples in Arithmetic," "Euclid--Books I and II."

He also wrote many other valuable pamphlets concerning the government of Oxford and of Christ Church in particular, for the retiring "don" took a keen interest in the University life, and his influence was felt in many spicy articles and apt rhymes, usually brought forth as timely skits.

_Notes by an Oxford Chiel_, published at Oxford in 1874, included much of this material, where his clever verses, mostly satirical, generally hit the mark.

And all this while, Lewis Carroll was gathering in the harvest yielded by the two "Alices," and planning more books for his child-friends, who, we may be sure, were growing in numbers.

We find him at the Christmas celebration of 1874, at Hatfield, the home of Lord Salisbury, as usual, the central figure of a crowd of happy children.

On this occasion he told them the story of _Prince Uggug_, which was afterwards a part of "Sylvie and Bruno." Many of the chapters of this book had been published as separate stories in _Aunt Judy's Magazine_ and other periodicals, and, as such, they were very sweet and dainty as well as amusing. It was Lewis Carroll's own special charm in telling these stories which really lent them color and drew the children; they lost much in print, for they lacked the st.u.r.dy foundations of nonsense on which the "Alices" were built.

On March 29, 1876, "The Hunting of the Snark" was published, a new effort in "nonsense" verse-making, which stands side by side with "Jabberwocky"

in point of cleverness and interest.

The beauty of Lewis Carroll's "nonsense" was that he never tried to be funny or "smart." The queer words and the still queerer ideas popped into his head in the simplest way. His command of language, including that important knowledge of how to make "portmanteau" words, was his greatest aid, and the poem which he called "An Agony in Eight Fits" depends entirely upon the person who reads it for the cleverness of its meaning.

To children it is one big fairy tale where the more ridiculous the situations, the more true to the rules of fairyland. The Snark, being a "portmanteau" word, is a cross between a _snake_ and a _shark_, hence _Snark_, and the fact that he dedicated this wonderful bit of word-making to a little girl, goes far to prove that the poem was intended as much for children as for "grown-ups."

The little girl in this instance was Gertrude Chataway, and the verses are an acrostic on her name:

Girt with a boyish garb for boyish task, Eager she wields her spade: yet loves as well Rest on a friendly knee, intent to ask The tale he loves to tell.

Rude spirit of the seething outer strife, Unmeet to read her pure and simple spright, Deem, if you list, such hours a waste of life, Empty of all delight!

Chat on, sweet maid, and rescue from annoy, Hearts that by wiser talk are unbeguiled; Ah, happy he who owns that tenderest joy, The heart-love of a child!

Away, fond thoughts, and vex my soul no more!

Work claims my wakeful nights, my busy days, Albeit bright memories of that sunlit sh.o.r.e Yet haunt my dreaming gaze!

There was scarcely a little girl who claimed friendship with Lewis Carroll who was not the proud possessor of an acrostic poem written by him--either on the t.i.tle-page of some book that he had given her, or as the dedication of some published book of his own.

"The Hunting of the Snark" owed its existence to a country walk, when the last verse came suddenly into the mind of our poet:

"In the midst of the word he was trying to say, In the midst of his laughter and glee, He had softly and suddenly vanished away-- For the Snark _was_ a Boojum, you see."

In a very humorous preface to the book, Lewis Carroll attempted some sort of an explanation, which leaves us as much in the dark as ever. He writes:

"If--and the thing is wildly possible--the charge of writing nonsense was ever brought against the author of this brief but instructive poem, it would be based, I feel convinced, on the line:

"'Then the bowsprit got mixed with the rudder sometimes.'

"In view of this painful possibility, I will not (as I might) appeal indignantly to my other writings as a proof that I am incapable of such a deed; I will not (as I might) point to the strong moral purpose of the poem itself, to the arithmetical principles so cautiously inculcated in it, or to its n.o.ble teachings in Natural History. I will take the more prosaic course of simply explaining how it happened.

"The Bellman, who was almost morbidly sensitive about appearances, used to have the bowsprit unshipped once or twice a week to be revarnished; and more than once it happened, when the time came for replacing it, that no one on board could remember which end of the ship it belonged to. They knew it was not of the slightest use to appeal to the Bellman about it--he would only refer to his Naval Code and read out in pathetic tones Admiralty Instructions which none of them had ever been able to understand, so it generally ended in its being fastened on anyhow across the rudder. The Helmsman used to stand by with tears in his eyes; _he_ knew it was all wrong, but, alas! Rule 4, of the Code, '_No one shall speak to the man at the helm_,' had been completed by the Bellman himself with the words, '_and the man at the helm shall speak to no one_,' so remonstrance was impossible and no steering could be done till the next varnishing day. During these bewildering intervals the ship usually sailed backward."

Is it any wonder that a poem, based upon such an explanation, should be a perfect bundle of nonsense? But we know from experience that Lewis Carroll's nonsense was not stupidity, and that not one verse in all that delightful bundle missed its own special meaning and purpose.

We do not propose to find the key to this remarkable work--for two reasons: first, because there are different keys for different minds; and second, because the unexplainable things in many cases come nearer the "mind's eye," as Shakespeare calls it, without words. We cannot tell _why_ we understand such and such a thing, but we _do_ understand it, and that is enough--quite according to Lewis Carroll's ideas, for he always appeals to our imagination and that is never guided by rules. The higher it soars, the more fantastic the region over which it hovers, the nearer it gets to the land of "make believe," "let's pretend" and "supposing," the better pleased is Lewis Carroll. In a delightful letter to some American children, published in _The Critic_ shortly after his death, he gives his own ideas as to the meaning of the _Snark_.

"I'm very much afraid I didn't mean anything but nonsense," he wrote; "still you know words mean more than we mean to express when we use them, so a whole book ought to mean a great deal more than the writer means. So whatever good meanings are in the book, I shall be glad to accept as the meaning of the book. The best that I've seen is by a lady (she published it in a letter to a newspaper) that the whole book is an allegory on the search after happiness. I think this fits beautifully in many ways, particularly about the bathing machines; when people get weary of life, and can't find happiness in towns or in books, then they rush off to the seaside to see what bathing machines will do for them."

Taking this idea for the foundation of the poem, it is easy to explain _Fit the First_, better named _The Landing_, though where they landed it is almost impossible to say.

"Just the place for a Snark," the Bellman cried, and, as he stated this fact three distinct times, it was undoubtedly true. That was the _Bellman's_ rule--once was uncertain, twice was possible, three times was "dead sure." And the _Bellman_ being a person of some authority, ought to have known. The crew consisted of a _Boots_, a _Maker of Bonnets and Hoods_, a _Barrister_, a _Broker_, a _Billiard-marker_, a _Banker_, a _Beaver_, a _Butcher_, and a nameless being who pa.s.sed for the _Baker_, and who, in the end, turned out to be the luckless victim of the Snark. He is thus beautifully described:

"There was one who was famed for a number of things He forgot when he entered the ship: His umbrella, his watch, all his jewels and rings, And the clothes he had brought for the trip.

"He had forty-two boxes, all carefully packed, With his name painted clearly on each: But, since he omitted to mention the fact, They were all left behind on the beach.

"The loss of his clothes hardly mattered, because He had seven coats on when he came, With three pair of boots--but the worst of it was, He had wholly forgotten his name.

"He would answer to 'Hi!' or to any loud cry, Such as 'Fry me!' or 'Fritter my wig!'

To 'What-you-may-call-um!' or 'What-was-his-name!'

But especially 'Thing-um-a-jig!'

"While, for those who preferred a more forcible word, He had different names from these: His intimate friends called him 'Candle-ends,'

And his enemies 'Toasted-cheese.'

"'His form is ungainly, his intellect small'

(So the Bellman would often remark); 'But his courage is perfect! and that, after all, Is the thing that one needs with a Snark.'

"He would joke with hyenas, returning their stare With an impudent wag of the head: And he once went a walk, paw-in-paw with a bear, 'Just to keep up its spirits,' he said.

"He came as a Baker: but owned when too late-- And it drove the poor Bellman half-mad-- He could only bake Bride-cake, for which I may state, No materials were to be had."

Notice how ingeniously the actors in this drama are introduced; all the "B's," as it were, buzzing after the phantom of happiness, which eludes them, no matter how hard they struggle to find it. Notice, too, that all these beings are unmarried, a fact shown by the _Baker_ not being able to make a bride-cake as there are no materials on hand. All these creatures, while hunting for happiness, came to prey upon each other. The _Butcher_ only killed _Beavers_, the _Barrister_ was hunting among his fellow sailors for a good legal case. The _Banker_ took charge of all their cash, for it certainly takes money to hunt properly for a _Snark_, and it is a well-known fact that bankers need all the money they can get.

_Fit the Second_ describes the _Bellman_ and why he had such influence with his crew:

The Bellman himself they all praised to the skies: Such a carriage, such ease, and such grace!

Such solemnity, too! One could see he was wise, The moment one looked in his face!

He had bought a large map representing the sea, Without the least vestige of land: And the crew were much pleased when they found it to be A map they could all understand.

"What's the good of Mercator's North Poles and Equators, Tropics, Zones, and Meridian Lines?"

So the Bellman would cry: and the crew would reply, "They are merely conventional signs!"