by Неизвестный
Who fears for claim or bond or debt,
When all the glories that have been
Are scheduled as a cash asset?
If times are bleak and trade is slack,
If coal and cotton fail at last,
We’ve something left to barter yet—
Our glorious past.
Conan Doyle also turned his imaginative gifts to his aunt Catherine’s recent travels, wistfully conjuring up a domestic scene at home in Edinburgh—and the contents of his next Christmas food package at school.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
I was so glad to learn that Aunt Kate was safe and happy. I hope she will continue to be so and will send me lots of Stamps and Postmarks. she must have pinned her voyage immensely. I wish I had been on the ship when the jib boom blew away. you must have been awfully surprised when the letter came. I can fancy the scene. You rushing for a carving knife to cut the letter open.
Papa endeavouring to support the tottering cups of tea.
Lottie hanging on by your dress.
and Cony eating the sugar.
I hope Lottie is getting on well in her reading. I am glad that Papa’s picture is progressing.
I like to see Tottie’s letters very much, Ma, and would be very glad if you sent some.
With regard to my box. I do not intend you to send all the things I mention, but merely to pick and choose out of them. You must impress upon your memory that the box ought to be at Preston by the evening of the 23d, and that all the meat in it must be cooked.
Secondly, you had better not send any books. not because I am less a bookworm than I was before, but because there is a large lybrary under my nose.
and remember, Ma, that the meat you send has to last me Breakfast and Dinner for a fortnight and when it is finished I shall have to depend on Charity.
Don’t scruple to tuck into my 10 shillings.
well 1st I want A goose. A Piece of Ham. a German Sausage. And a box of sardines for Friday.
Secondly, a Bottle of Raspberry Vinegar and one of those you keep at the bottom of your press in the Bedroom.
Thirdly, a dozen oranges & a dozen apples & half a dozen pears. then any fruit which you may happen to have. then a Plum Cake and a Shortbread Cake and some tea rolls. then some Chocolate sticks a packet of Butter Scotch a packet of Jujubees or any other sweets.
then, some paper, pens, envelopes and pencils and any sort of a box of chalks, to replenish my old set which are still in existence, many of them unbroken. then send some rock and anything you know I like—not forgetting my pots of Jam.
And then there is my Xmas 5 shillings, by the bye. I hope Mrs Smith will remember her promise—and Ma don’t forget any sort of tough six-penny pen knife—I often have need of one for some thing or other which would break the blade of that little sheath knife.
I hope my box won’t ruin us though it has formidable dimensions.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
We are having our first term examinations during the last few weeks, I have done very well in them I think. We had the compositions also in which I did a good English verse theme, the subject was ‘the plague of London’, I also wrote a piece for our academies, on the martyrdom of St Catherine, the patron saint of Rhetoric, which proved a success. Yesterday was our academy day and in the evening, we had, as is the custom, a good supper. We had a capital spread, turkey and sausages, apple tarts, fruit and cakes, together with port, sherry and claret. Songs were sung by everybody, I sung Mrs Brown.
I hope you effected your change without any serious inconvenience, and that you have affable neighbours.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
We have had skating—glorious skating—I pinned it immensely. We had it the whole of the Immaculate conception, and on the next two days, but then one night it began to rain and now the ice is covered with it.
I can skate backwards—cut rolls—cut outsiders—and do other feats only to be appreciated by Papa.
The Actors are learning their parts in the Plays. every person is trying to find out what is the name of the tragedy—for this is always kept a great secret—some say it is ‘McBeth’ others say it is ‘King Lear’ which Papa read to me during the vacation, there are some 30 actors some of them having parts in all the plays there are 8 plays one each night and they last two hours and a half each but I don’t think we ever produced anything so good as ‘Rob Roy’.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
many thanks to you for sending me such a nice box. Everything in it came quite safe, no breakage. I am enjoying myself very much. there are 69 boys staying, 10 higher line ones. we have great fun during the long evenings, telling ghost stories round the fire. we have got a play up called ‘The Box of Mischeif’ [sic]. I have two short parts in it. First as a Town Crier, secondly as the captain of an east Indiaman. I hope it will come off well.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
last thursday was the rectors day the following was the order of the day We got up at 6 and had washing till 1/2 past 6 then mass till 7 then studies till 8 & breakfast of bread & milk till 1/2 past 8 then we took our skates and went to a recevoir [sic] near, and skated till 12 we then had some tarts & other refreshments & went out skating till 5 o’clock we then went home & had dinner of pork & apple sauce & potatoes & then tarts & oranges till 1/2 past 5 we then went to the playroom & played games till 7 we then said night prayers and had supper of bread & milk we then again took our skates & went to the pond and there we found it all illuminated with Chinese lanterns & torches & blue & red lights so that it was as light as day & there was a band on the side of the pond playing Rule britania and other popular songs we then began skating after being all provided with cigars & matches we had scarcely begun to skate when the masters on the sides began throwing jumping crackers & squibs among us & letting off rockets & Roman Candles & so we enjoyed ourselves till 11 o’clock & then we all got a tumbler of punch to drink the Rector’s health with & then we took off our skates & went to bed.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
many thanks to Papa for his funny note and to lottie and cony for the cake I wish I could get some little gift for them here.
my cricket costume is not quite finished, a coat is dispensable as we always take off our coats in the cricket field.
I hope you are all well. the vacations are coming rolling towards us again. I am trying to keep up my French reading in order to be able to read the ‘Du Monde’ to you during the holidays.
P.S. I am cocksure of a prize.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, MAY 1872
I enjoyed your last letter very much, thank you for the leave. I have already been measured and I will appear in them in the course of a week. this is my cricketing costume, a small peaked white flannel cap (provided by the College for all), a bulging out light yellow flannel shirt, loose trousers of the same description, & white shoes with long sharp spikes sticking out of the soles, to prevent me from slipping when bowling. The sight of 250 boys all dressed like this, and all laughing and running about, is a very imposing one.
The Rector came into the studyplace yesterday and gave us a lecture which he finished by saying that last year several parents had been annoyed at his sending their boys back in their usual dress, and had said that they had expected him to get their boys vacation suits, so he told each boy to write home & ask whether they are to get clothes or not. of course I don’t care whether I get them or not.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
This is my last letter this year. I will be at Edinburgh on Wednesday at quarter past five. I will take care of everything. I will get my trunk and get a cab and drive to you. don’t let Lottie and Cony go to bed till I come, please!
I have arranged everything about my clothes I am to take two suits home with me the suit I got some time ago and my old grey clothes. my brown ones are completely worn out. I will, I think have to get some more clothes for next year. All the schoolbooks are taken up now I’m as happy as a lark. I hope I will find you
all well and comfortable when I return I also hope that Papa will get some vacation and then we will go walks together. won’t I pitch into Walter Scott’s novels.
Conan Doyle’s liking for Sir Walter Scott had been growing for months, fanned by early exposure to Ivanhoe and Rob Roy. Over the summer, as he ‘pitched into’ the rest of Scott, Conan Doyle felt a powerful stirring of the imagination. ‘They were the first books I ever owned,’ he said, ‘long before I could appreciate or even understand them. But at last I realized what a treasure they were.’ Just as future generations of schoolboys would read Sherlock Holmes by the glow of flashlights, Conan Doyle found himself huddling up among the ‘glorious brotherhood’ of the Waverley novels: ‘I read them by surreptitious candle-ends in the dead of the night, when the sense of crime added a new zest to the story.’
When he returned to Stonyhurst in the autumn he had a new respect and passion for history. There was little sign of this new studiousness on the return journey, however, as he and Jimmy Ryan set off firecrackers in the train carriage.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, AUGUST 1872
I have not told you the events which happened on my journey yet. So I will tell you them now.
Ryan and I let off crackers and romped till we came to Carstairs. There we waited 45 minutes for the perth train.
we then went on a long, long way without anything happening, when suddenly a man said Oh Look at the Chinaman. there sure enough was one of the Burmese puffing and blowing like a steam engine, they had a splendidly filled out saloon at the end of the train, but they left us near Carlisle. we then bowled on quickly till we came to Preston so I and Ryan ran and looked in all the vans for our luggage, but no luggage appeared, I was quite frightened. I asked several guards but none of them knew anything about it. at last an old fellow suggested that it might be in the next train. so I sat & waited and in 1/4 of an hour up came the train, the very first thing taken out was my trunk. I then drove to the Red Lion, here I met one of the fathers the first thing he said to me was, I dispense you from eating fish today (an ember day) so I got some meat soup I found the stockport bus, and drive here. the driver killed a hedgehog running across the road.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
there is tremendous bustle going on here. all who are not going home at Xmas, being mostly foreigners are writing to the rector for Xmas boxes, and those who are going are eager to know all the arrangements there are about 50 of the Lower Line stopping here, but only 6 or 7 of the higher line, which is very jolly, as we can all be taken out fishing or anything.
I must tell you about my box now. as it is twice as long vacation, I will require a rather larger box to keep me in good. well in the way of meat you may send what you think will do me, the usual thing is a turkey or goose, a piece of ham a German sausage, a piece of tongue or a chicken, and then one or two boxes of sardines for fast days. please don’t send any of that potted lobster, it is very nice, but very little of it gives me Diarhoea. then there is a cake (a small one will do) & piece of shortbread, then a box of figs, and a few buns or small cakes.
1 doz apples. 2 doz oranges and 1/2 a dozen pears. then 1/2 lb of London mixture, a packet of Butter Scotch and a packet of Furgusson’s Edinburgh rock then a Bottle of Clarat (don’t put water in for it will be diluted here) and some raspberry Vinegar, and anything you find expedient…
After making it safely through the holiday without the ill effects of potted lobster, Conan Doyle looked forward to the Easter break, though preparations were complicated by the fact that he was rapidly outgrowing his clothes, at not quite fourteen years old.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, MARCH 1873
I would be very glad if you sent me a necktie for Easter. Before the end of the year I daresay, I shall have to write for more clothes, both those trousers of Papa’s are rather worn out, and my last year’s suit has grown rather short, and will soon be well-nigh useless. that heather-suit you got me wears splendidly, there isn’t a single scratch in it, and it doesn’t show dirt a bit. it serves me now, but when summer comes, I’m afraid it will be rather too heavy & hot. Excuse my writing, I hurt my thumb at hockey, and cannot bend it properly.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, APRIL 1873
we have been having desperately hot weather lately. Even our french boy finds it hot, he keeps saying ‘it is tres chaud, very chaud, chauder than dans France.’
I had a talk with the rector yesterday. he said he was extremely pleased at the report he had to send home about me, and especially that I had overcome all sulkiness or ill temper I used to have. he also said there was scarcely a boy in the house who had done better!
The Anglican Alphabit seems to be a great favourite. I saw another thing in some paper about Papa, it said ‘Great men’s footsteps, a pleasing story, with 4 capital engravings by C. A. DOYLE.
I have read all Tottie’s letters, they are very nice. I am glad she is going to be ‘a child of Mary’. I hope she will be at home before I return, and will stay at home the whole vacation.
Though Charles Doyle tended to drink the payment he received for extra-curricular work as an artist, he was still busy in these days with commissions from magazines and publishers, and his work as an illustrator was still well regarded. The Anglican Alphabet was new—and he a surprising choice as its illustrator, for he like the other Doyles was an ardent Roman Catholic. Brave Men’s Footsteps (its title recalled incorrectly in Arthur’s letter), subtitled A Book of Anecdote and Example in Practical Life, had been published the year before. Its editor was James Hogg, who presumably remembered Charles Doyle’s work when his son started submitting stories to him.
Conan Doyle’s sister Annette was apparently considering joining the religious order to which her London aunt belonged, the Society of the Daughters of the Heart of Mary. It was devoted to good works, did not require adherents to wear habits, and allowed them to live in homes of their own.* His aunt Annette Doyle shared one with her bachelor brother, illustrator Richard Doyle, famous for ending his association with Punch in 1850 over its anti-Catholic views.
Conan Doyle learned that another sibling had arrived, his only brother in a family that included three sisters, with more to come. Perhaps to please his mother, he wrote in French this time to inquire about the baby.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, APRIL 1873
I’ve been quite busy recently with my lessons, and haven’t had the time to write to you as I would have liked to do. I am very happy to know that I have a little brother, that is charming, write me quickly and tell me what his name is and what he looks like. love to everyone, I am very tired from writing this little letter.
The boy’s name, he soon learned, was John Francis Innes Hay Doyle, although it would be some time before the family decided what to call him on a daily basis. After ‘Frank’ at first, they eventually settled on Innes, but Arthur first called him Geoff, and then Duff.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST
After dinner it was growing rain, however we determined in spite of the weather to set out at once for Clitheroe the usual place visited on the Academy walk, so we all donned water-proofs and sou’westers. we set off, smoking to keep off the cold. I bought a nice little pipe with an amber mouthpiece, which I enjoyed very much. At last we reached Clitheroe and we all ordered what we wished in the way of drink. I got a bottle of lemonade but some, I am ashamed to say, tossed off whole tumblers of raw brandy. We passed through some curious pits where excavations were being made for fossils. I found there a most curious stone, all covered with petrified worms, whose coils I could see distinctly.
After a nice walk we reached home, where we found a jolly feast ready for us, in what is called, in the book I sent you, the do-room. Mr Splaine made a new speech, and we made great havoc among the eatables. we had a very jolly day on the whole. next morning I noticed the brandy-drinkers, however, who did not seem at all the better for their do.
to Mary Doyle STONYHURST, JUNE 1873
I am glad to hear that my report was a good one. I h
ave got my prize now for certain, and it will be a much more honourable one than any other that I have got yet, as Syntax is one of the hardest schools in the house, and certainly not more than eight in the class will get a prize. I am trying to improve in my French and I have read a great many books in that language lately. I will tell you a few of them to see if you have ever seen them. ‘Vingt milles lieus ses les mers’ by Jules Verne, ‘Don Quixote’ ‘cingt semaines dans un balon’ by Jules Verne, ‘Napoleon et le grande armeé’ ‘Voyage dans soudain’ ‘La Roche des Mouettes’ ‘Voyage d’un Enfant a Paris’ ‘Le Fratricide’ ‘Les Russes et les anglais’ ‘Enfants du Capitaine Grant’ ‘a la lune et de retour’ and a lot more, and I am getting to relish them quite as well as English books.
Our master, Mr Splaine, has been up at the Tichbourne Trial, he was appointed as librarian to bring up some old charts of the college. he has now returned and told us all his adventures with great gusto.
I hope you are all well at home, has little Frank got any teeth yet? I suppose he won’t be able to walk by the time I come home.
Like Scott’s novels, Jules Verne’s visionary work would take root in Conan Doyle’s mind, and Verne’s Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea can be readily felt in Conan Doyle’s 1929 science-fiction novel, The Maracot Deep, in which undersea explorers travel to a kingdom on the ocean floor.
The Tichborne Claimant, one of England’s most famous legal cases, fascinated Stonyhurst, for it dealt with a mysterious figure who claimed to be the long-missing Sir Roger Tichborne, a Stonyhurst graduate and heir to a fortune, who had been presumed lost at sea in 1854. For twelve years Lady Tichborne refused to believe that her son was dead, and she kept a light in the entrance of Tichborne Hall to enable him to find his way home in the dark. In 1866 she received a letter from a butcher in Wagga Wagga, Australia, a man known locally there as Arthur Orton, who declared—amid apologies for his lax correspondence—that he was her long lost son.