Arthur Conan Doyle: A Life in Letters. Daniel Stashower

nouns, and all that sort of thing, but I can always easily be understood, and I have attained so much volubility that twice a week, when we have our walks, I can keep up an unbroken conversation for three hours with two Germans; for in a walk we go in ranks three abreast, and an Englishman must always escort two Germans. I generally entertain my couple with descriptions of Captain Webb’s feat or the ‘Devastation’ turret ship, or the Channel fleet, or London or Stonyhurst, or fifty other things. I have just finished a history of Europe since 1789 (800 pages) in German, there are such funny mistakes in it, just such mistakes as one could imagine a conscientious thick headed, old German making. The old fellow was very much perplexed by the English name Hyde Parker, and split the poor man into two, remarking complacently that Admiral Hyde, Admiral Nelson, and Admiral Parker were at the battle of the Baltic. There are several other funny mistakes. I am reading the life of Frederick the Great by a famous biographer Onno Klopp. I read about 120 pages a day, though I don’t always understand every word, yet I am quick in making out a sentence

      Did Lottie get my letter? I hope she was pleased. By all means give her a birthday present out of that pound, if you think fit, for remember I gave it to you. I hope the measles are all right again, it made me quite uneasy. It is very kind of Doctor Waller to attend to her.

      The average age of our class is just about mine, though I am second biggest. Our good master hauls me up every day to mutilate poor Cicero, and turn him into bad German among the grins of the aborigines. I am the only foreigner in the class. I am going to pitch into my French essay, but we had some holidays at Shrovetide, and it rather put me out.

      to Mary Doyle FELDKIRCH, APRIL 1876

      I wish to answer Doctor Waller’s kind letter, which it was an unexpected pleasure for me to receive. Dr Waller’s handwriting is sometimes remarkably like Mr Cassidy’s, as you will find on referring to a very ancient ‘catholic’s manual’ at home, in which Mr C—wrote something.

      I was indeed surprised and sorry to hear that papa is leaving the office; has he been unwell? or is there any other particular reason for it? He ought now to be able to finish the skating picture soon at any rate.

      I am sure you will think me very changeable, but I really think I would prefer to return by rail over Switzerland and France, to carrying out my original idea of the long voyage. I want to see some more of the fortified frontier between France and Germany, and I could easily choose another route to my former one. It would be cheaper too, for I could travel from here to Paris sumptuously alone on £5. And then perhaps, if you have no particular wish that I pass through London, I could set a direct passage from Havre or Ostende to Leith, which would be very jolly wouldn’t it?

      You must excuse my scribble; I am sure you will approve of my answering Dr W as quickly as possible, to show that I duly appreciate his kindness. Love and kisses to all.

      The end of Charles Doyle’s position in the Office of Works, where he had designed such important projects as the fountain at the Queen’s Holyrood Palace in Edinburgh, came as a surprise to his son, now nearly seventeen. When the head of the Office retired, and it was reorganized, the authorities took the opportunity to pension off the artist at the age of only forty-four, which suggests that his performance had declined considerably.

      His father left the office for good in June. Meantime Conan Doyle continued the life of an English student in a foreign land, and, because of his more than average stature, found himself in the school’s marching band playing an unfamiliar tuba-like instrument. ‘The Bombardon,’ he said, ‘only comes in on a measured rhythm with an.occasional run, which sounds like a hippopotamus doing a step-dance. So big was the instrument that I remember the other bandsmen putting my sheets and blankets inside it and my surprise when I could not get out a note.’

      to Mary Doyle FELDKIRCH, MAY 1876

I have just received your little postcard, and was sorry indeed to hear that papa was unwell; I hope that it is nothing serious. When does he leave the office? I was glad to get the bursary paper,* and am working as hard as possible at the subjects, though I think Doctor Waller will agree with me that it will be hard work getting up the subjects, when he hears that I have never learned any trigonometry or conic sections, nor books V and VI of Euclid. The other three are not so formidable, though each requires some study. Luckily I have ‘Todhunter’s trigonometry’, for the Germans here have quite another system, and never use Euclid. If you could send me a work on ‘conic sections treated geometrically’, and a Euclid it would be very useful indeed, as it would not do to leave such subjects to be worked up at the last moment. Don’t you think it would be possible, by applying at the proper quarters, to obtain a few copies of previous bursary examinations; in most examinations they publish small books containing sample examination papers, by which means one understands better how much knowledge is required. The list of subjects in the paper you sent me is rather

       The Feldkirch marching band, with Conan Doyle (second row, second from right) and his bombardon

      ambiguous. If once I have my work already cut out for me, then I can go at it with ardour, but somehow when you are not certain whether what you study is included in the examen or not, it is rather a damper.

      I have quite given up English books, and have not opened any, except school books for two months; I always keep a German book in my desk as a relaxation when I get muddled. I am reading the life of the French Crimean general Marshal Saint Arnaud but it is very slow work, as I study nearly always during free time.

      I delayed writing as we have been having our photographs taken, first the whole division (60 boys) and then the band alone with their instruments.

      Every fortnight we have a holiday and march out to our country house, about half a mile from here, with banners flying, and we (the band) at the head of the column blowing quick marches. It is rather hard, I find, blowing and marching at the same time, but, like everything else, it can be acquired by practise. It affords me a feeling of satisfaction too to observe the effect produced by my deep sonorous notes on the unmusical oxen we meet on the way drawing the peasants carts, I always blow in their ears as I pass, and cause a fine disturbance.

      An uninitiated Briton [would be] astonished, not to say shocked, at the amount of beer and wine we, especially the band, manage to make away with on one of our holidays; strong beer it is too. We are so accustomed to it that it is just as water to us, for instance on one of these days, on which we go out to our country house I will just give you a sketch of our order of the day. We have a long sleep till half past five A.M. Then toilet, studies and mass carry us down to 7, when we get our breakfast of bread and two cups of coffee. Then at half past seven off we start in great pomp. First go the four drummers, then the band about thirty strong, with regimental cape of silver and black, and looking very smart; marching in quick step and playing. Then the banner bearer with the college banner, gold and blue, which cost more than 100 pounds. Then the third or smaller division, about 50 in all, march, all in a state of supreme beatitude at having escaped their professors for a day. The second division containing about 80, follows the third, and the first, which without the band, has not more than 30 representatives forms the rearguard. We march right through the quiet little town, down the market place, and principal streets, bringing all the shopkeepers to their doors, and the burgers, mostly in a very sleepy state to their windows. The policeman, an old soldier, draws himself up militarily as we pass, and criticises our step and music, amid the reverence of the rustics, who no doubt look upon him as the greatest military authority, and so, through quite a crowd we march out of the town gate. On reaching our country house the band blows a hymn which the rest sing, and then the band goes into the house and each man gets a bottle of beer, just ‘to grease his wheels’. Then we leave our instruments and go out in separate divisions for a walk on the hills. At dinner time we return, and get a rough healthy sort of dinner, consisting of soup, two courses of meat, one cold, one hot, and some dessert. In the course of this we drink at least another pint bottle of