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LETTER 04

SHE’S NOT A BONE!

Lewis Carroll to Alexandra Kitchin

21 August 1873

Alexandra ‘Xie’ Kitchin was born in 1864 to the Dean of Durham, Reverend George Kitchin, and his wife, Alice. From an early age, Xie – and to a lesser extent her three brothers, Herbert, Hugh and Brook, as well as her sister Dorothy Maud Mary – regularly sat for portraits taken by an old school friend of her father’s, Charles Dodgson. Dodgson is better known as Lewis Carroll, author of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. Carroll photographed all of the Kitchins, but it was with Xie in particular that he shared a sense of humour, as evidenced by this letter, written when she was nine.

THE LETTER

Christ Church, Oxford

August 21, 1873

My dear Xie,

Poor, poor Hugh and Brook! Have you quite forgotten that you’ve got three brothers? Why mayn’t they choose photographs too? I said “the children,” you know. But perhaps you will say they are not children, but that you and Herbert are the only two children, and they are two little old men. Well, well, perhaps they are: and then of course they won’t care about photographs: but they do look very young, I must say.

The day after you went, I passed by your garden, and saw the little pug-dog wandering in and out, and it turned up its nose at me. So I went up to it and said, “It is not good manners to turn up your nose at people!” Its eyes filled with tears, and it said, “I wasn’t doing it at you, Sir! It was only to keep myself from crying.” “But what are you crying about, little pug-dog?” said I. The poor little dog rubbed its paws over its eyes, and said, “Because my Ex—” “Because your Extravagance has ruined you?” I said. “Then let it be a lesson to you not to be extravagant. You should only spend a halfpenny a year.” “No, it’s not that,” said the little dog. “It’s because my Ex—” “Because your Excellent master, Mr. Kitchin, is gone?” I said. “No!” said the little dog. “Do let me finish the word! It’s because my Exie is gone!” “Well! What of that?” I said. “She’s only a child! She’s not a bone!”

“No,” said the pug: “she’s not a bone.”

“Now, tell me the truth,” I said. “Which do you like best? Xie, or a bone?”

The little dog thought for a minute, and then he said, “She’s very ‘bonne,’ you know: that means ‘good’ in French. But she’s not so good as a bone!”

Wasn’t it an interesting conversation? Tell me what photographs Hugh and Brook choose: and give my love to them, and to Herbert: and take a leetle tiny slice of it for yourself.

Yours very affectionately,

C. L. Dodgson