Complete Works of Lewis Carroll (227 page)

DR.
LIDDON.

(From a photograph by Lewis Carroll)
.

In the Summer Vacation of 1867 he went for a tour on the Continent, accompanied by Dr.
Liddon, whom I have already mentioned as having been one of his most intimate friends at this time.
During the whole of this tour Mr.
Dodgson kept a diary, more with the idea that it would help him afterwards to remember what he had seen than with any notion of publication.
However, in later years it did occur to him that others might be interested in his impressions and experiences, though he never actually took any steps towards putting them before the public.
Perhaps he was wise, for a traveller's diary always contains much information that can be obtained just as well from any guide-book.
In the extracts which I reproduce here, I hope that I have not retained anything which comes under that category.

July 12th
.—The Sultan and I arrived in London almost at the same time, but in different quarters—
my
point of entry being Paddington, and
his
Charing Cross.
I must admit that the crowd was greatest at the latter place.

Mr.
Dodgson and Dr.
Liddon met at Dover, and passed the night at one of the hotels there:—

July 13th
.—We breakfasted, as agreed, at eight, or at least we then sat down and nibbled bread and butter till such time as the chops should be done, which great event took place about half past.
We tried pathetic appeals to the wandering waiters, who told us, "They are coming, sir," in a soothing tone, and we tried stern remonstrance, and they then said, "They are coming, sir," in a more injured tone; and after all such appeals they retired into their dens, and hid themselves behind side-boards and dish-covers, and still the chops came not.
We agreed that of all virtues a waiter can display, that of a retiring disposition is quite the least desirable....

The pen refuses to describe the sufferings of some of the passengers during our smooth trip of ninety minutes: my own sensations were those of extreme surprise, and a little indignation, at there being no other sensations—it was not for
that
I paid my money....

We landed at Calais in the usual swarm of friendly natives, offering services and advice of all kinds; to all such remarks I returned one simple answer,
Non!
It was probably not strictly applicable in all cases, but it answered the purpose of getting rid of them; one by one they left me, echoing the
Non
!
in various tones, but all expressive of disgust.

At Cologne began that feast of beautiful things which his artistic temperament fitted him so well to enjoy.
Though the churches he visited and the ceremonies he witnessed belonged to a religious system widely different from his own, the largeness and generosity of his mind always led him to insist upon that substratum of true devotion—to use a favourite word of his—which underlies all forms of Christianity.

We spent an hour in the cathedral, which I will not attempt to describe further than by saying it was the most beautiful of all churches I have ever seen or can imagine.
If one could imagine the spirit of devotion embodied in any material form, it would be in such a building.

In spite of all the wealth of words that has been expended upon German art, he found something new to say on this most fertile subject:—

The amount of art lavished on the whole region of Potsdam is marvellous; some of the tops of the palaces were like forests of statues, and they were all over the gardens, set on pedestals.
In fact, the two principles of Berlin architecture appear to me to be these.
On the house-tops, wherever there is a convenient place, put up the figure of a man; he is best placed standing on one leg.
Wherever there is room on the ground, put either a circular group of busts on pedestals, in consultation, all looking inwards—or else the colossal figure of a man killing, about to kill, or having killed (the present tense is preferred) a beast; the more pricks the beast has, the better—in fact a dragon is the correct thing, but if that is beyond the artist, he may content himself with a lion or a pig.
The beast—killing principle has been carried out everywhere with a relentless monotony, which makes some parts of Berlin look like a fossil slaughter-house.

He never missed an opportunity of studying the foreign drama, which was most praiseworthy, as he knew very little German and not a word of Russ:—

At the hotel [at Danzig] was a green parrot on a stand; we addressed it as "Pretty Poll," and it put its head on one side and thought about it, but wouldn't commit itself to any statement.
The waiter came up to inform us of the reason of its silence: "Er spricht nicht Englisch; er spricht nicht Deutsch."
It appeared that the unfortunate bird could speak nothing but Mexican!
Not knowing a word of that language, we could only pity it.

July 23rd.
—We strolled about and bought a few photographs, and at 11.39 left for Königsberg.
On our way to the station we came across the grandest instance of the "Majesty of Justice" that I have ever witnessed.
A little boy was being taken to the magistrate, or to prison (probably for picking a pocket).
The achievement of this feat had been entrusted to two soldiers in full uniform, who were solemnly marching, one in front of the poor little urchin and one behind, with bayonets fixed, of course, to be ready to charge in case he should attempt an escape.

July 25th.
—In the evening I visited the theatre at Königsberg, which was fairly good in every way, and very good in the singing and some of the acting.
The play was "Anno 66," but I could only catch a few words here and there, so have very little idea of the plot.
One of the characters was a correspondent of an English newspaper.
This singular being came on in the midst of a soldiers' bivouac before Sadowa, dressed very nearly in white—a very long frock-coat, and a tall hat on the back of his head, both nearly white.
He said "Morning" as a general remark, when he first came on, but afterwards talked what I suppose was broken German.
He appeared to be regarded as a butt by the soldiers, and ended his career by falling into a drum.

From Königsberg the travellers went on to St.
Petersburg, where they stayed several days, exploring the wonderful city and its environs:—

There is a fine equestrian statue of Peter the Great near the Admiralty.
The lower part is not a pedestal, but left shapeless and rough like a real rock.
The horse is rearing, and has a serpent coiled about its hind feet, on which, I think, it is treading.
If this had been put up in Berlin, Peter would no doubt have been actively engaged in killing the monster, but here he takes no notice of it; in fact, the killing theory is not recognised.
We found two colossal figures of lions, which are so painfully mild that each of them is rolling a great ball about like a kitten.

Aug.
1st
.—About half-past ten Mr.
Merrilies called for us, and with really remarkable kindness gave up his day to taking us down to Peterhof, a distance of about twenty miles, and showing us over the place.
We went by steamer down the tideless, saltless Gulf of Finland; the first peculiarity extends through the Baltic, and the second through a great part of it.
The piece we crossed, some fifteen miles from shore to shore, is very shallow, in many parts only six or eight feet deep, and every winter it is entirely frozen over with ice two feet thick, and when this is covered with snow it forms a secure plain, which is regularly used for travelling on, though the immense distance, without means of food or shelter, is dangerous for poorly clad foot passengers.
Mr.
Merrilies told us of a friend of his who, in crossing last winter, passed the bodies of eight people who had been frozen.
We had a good view, on our way, of the coast of Finland, and of Kronstadt.
When we landed at Peterhof, we found Mr.
Muir's carriage waiting for us, and with its assistance, getting out every now and then to walk through portions where it could not go, we went over the grounds of two imperial palaces, including many little summer-houses, each of which would make a very good residence in itself, as, though small, they were fitted up and adorned in every way that taste could suggest or wealth achieve.
For varied beauty and perfect combination of nature and art, I think the gardens eclipse those of Sans Souci.
At every corner, or end of an avenue or path, where a piece of statuary could be introduced with effect, there one was sure to find one, in bronze or in white marble; many of the latter had a sort of circular niche built behind, with a blue background to throw the figure into relief.
Here we found a series of shelving ledges made of stone, with a sheet of water gliding down over them; here a long path, stretching down slopes and flights of steps, and arched over all the way with trellises and creepers; here a huge boulder, hewn, just as it lay, into the shape of a gigantic head and face, with mild, sphinx-like eyes, as if some buried Titan were struggling to free himself; here a fountain, so artfully formed of pipes set in circles, each set shooting the water higher than those outside, as to form a solid pyramid of glittering spray; here a lawn, seen through a break in the woods below us, with threads of scarlet geraniums running over it, and looking in the distance like a huge branch of coral; and here and there long avenues of trees, lying in all directions, sometimes three or four together side by side, and sometimes radiating like a star, and stretching away into the distance till the eye was almost weary of following them.
All this will rather serve to remind me, than to convey any idea, of what we saw.

But the beauties of Peterhof were quite eclipsed by the Oriental splendours of Moscow, which naturally made a great impression upon a mind accustomed to the cold sublimity of Gothic architecture at Oxford.

We gave five or six hours to a stroll through this wonderful city, a city of white houses and green roofs, of conical towers that rise one out of another like a foreshortened telescope; of bulging gilded domes, in which you see, as in a looking-glass, distorted pictures of the city; of churches which look, outside, like bunches of variegated cactus (some branches crowned with green prickly buds, others with blue, and others with red and white) and which, inside, are hung all round with
eikons
and lamps, and lined with illuminated pictures up to the very roof; and, finally, of pavement that goes up and down like a ploughed field, and
drojky
—drivers who insist on being paid thirty per cent.
extra to-day, "because it is the Empress's birthday."
...

Aug.
5th.
—After dinner we went by arrangement to Mr.
Penny, and accompanied him to see a Russian wedding.
It was a most interesting ceremony.
There was a large choir, from the cathedral, who sang a long and beautiful anthem before the service began; and the deacon (from the Church of the Assumption) delivered several recitative portions of the service in the most magnificent bass voice I ever heard, rising gradually (I should say by less than half a note at a time if that is possible), and increasing in volume of sound as he rose in the scale, until his final note rang through the building like a chorus of many voices.
I could not have conceived that one voice could have produced such an effect.
One part of the ceremony, the crowning the married couple, was very nearly grotesque.
Two gorgeous golden crowns were brought in, which the officiating priest first waved before them, and then placed on their heads—or rather the unhappy bridegroom had to wear
his
, but the bride, having prudently arranged her hair in a rather complicated manner with a lace veil, could not have hers put on, but had it held above her by a friend.
The bridegroom, in plain evening dress, crowned like a king, holding a candle, and with a face of resigned misery, would have been pitiable if he had not been so ludicrous.
When the people had gone, we were invited by the priests to see the east end of the church, behind the golden gates, and were finally dismissed with a hearty shake of the hand and the "kiss of peace," of which even I, though in lay costume, came in for a share.

One of the objects of the tour was to see the fair at Nijni Novgorod, and here the travellers arrived on August 6th, after a miserable railway journey.
Owing to the breaking down of a bridge, the unfortunate passengers had been compelled to walk a mile through drenching rain.

We went to the Smernovaya (or some such name) Hotel, a truly villainous place, though no doubt the best in the town.
The feeding was very good, and everything else very bad.
It was some consolation to find that as we sat at dinner we furnished a subject of the liveliest interest to six or seven waiters, all dressed in white tunics, belted at the waist, and white trousers, who ranged themselves in a row and gazed in a quite absorbed way at the collection of strange animals that were feeding before them.
Now and then a twinge of conscience would seize them that they were, after all, not fulfilling the great object of life as waiters, and on these occasions they would all hurry to the end of the room, and refer to a great drawer which seemed to contain nothing but spoons and corks.
When we asked for anything, they first looked at each other in an alarmed way; then, when they had ascertained which understood the order best, they all followed his example, which always was to refer to the big drawer.
We spent most of the afternoon wandering through the fair, and buying
eikons
, &c.
It was a wonderful place.
Besides there being distinct quarters for the Persians, the Chinese, and others, we were constantly meeting strange beings with unwholesome complexions and unheard-of costumes.
The Persians, with their gentle, intelligent faces, the long eyes set wide apart, the black hair, and yellow-brown skin, crowned with a black woollen fez something like a grenadier, were about the most picturesque we met.
But all the novelties of the day were thrown into the shade by our adventure at sunset, when we came upon the Tartar mosque (the only one in Nijni) exactly as one of the officials came out on the roof to utter the muezzin cry, or call to prayers.
Even if it had been in no way singular in itself, it would have been deeply interesting from its novelty and uniqueness, but the cry itself was quite unlike anything I have ever heard before.
The beginning of each sentence was uttered in a rapid monotone, and towards the end it rose gradually till it ended in a prolonged, shrill wail, which floated overhead through the still air with an indescribably sad and ghostlike effect; heard at night, it would have thrilled one like the cry of the Banshee.