Marie Corelli

“ Sunday is a day when we should ask Nature to speak to us and teach us such things as may only be mastered in silence and solitude—when the book of poems, the beautiful prose idyll, or the tender romance, may be our companion in summer under the trees, or in winter by a bright fire—and when we may stand, as it were, for a moment and take breath on the threshold of another week, bracing our energies to meet with whatever that week may hold in store for us, whether joy or sorrow. ”

“ From God who is our home!
While these “trailing clouds of glory” still cling to the soul, the limits of this world,—the mere dust and grime of material things,—do not and cannot satisfy it; it must penetrate into a realm which is of its own idea and innate perception. There it must itself create a universe, and find expression for its higher thought. To this resentful attitude of the soul against mere materialism, we owe all art, all poetry, all music. ”

“ He does not labour at it, piecing his thoughts and words together with the tardy and tame patience of a worker in mosaics, for though such exact execution be admirable in mosaic-work, it is dull and lifeless in poetry. Colour, fire, music, passion, and intense, glowing vitality are the heritage of the Great Poet; and when the torrent of unpremeditated love-song, battle-chant, dirge and prophecy pours from his lips, the tired world slackens its pace to listen, and listening, silently crowns him Laureate in its heart of hearts, regardless of Prime Minister or Court Chamberlain. ”

“ New blood—fresh sap, is sorely needed to invigorate the grand old tree of the British aristocracy, which has of late been looking sadly as though dry rot were setting in,—as though the woodlice were at work in its heart, and the rats burrowing at its root. But, by the importation of a few clean-minded, sweet-souled American women, some of the most decayed places in the venerable stem have been purged and purified,—the sap has risen, and new boughs and buds of promise are sprouting. ”

“ Hearts break every day in the truest sense of that sentimental phrase; brains reel into insanity and the darkness of suicide; and it is no Little Poet’s personal pangs about “pence” and such trifles, that can, like David’s harp of old, soothe or dismiss the dark spirit brooding over the latter-day Saul. It is the Great Poet we care for, whose singing-soul mystically comprehends our unuttered thoughts of love or glory; who chants not only his pains, but ours; not his joy, so much as the whole world’s joy. Such a man needs no “discoverer” to prove his existence; he is self-evident. ”

“ We cannot point to the minutest portion of God’s magnificent creation and say that it is idle. Nothing is absolutely at rest. There is—strictly speaking—no rest in the whole Universe. All things are working; all things are moving. Man clamours for rest,—but rest is what he will never get,—not even in the grave. For though he may seem dead, new forms of life germinate from his body, and go on working in their appointed way,—while, with the immortal part of himself which is his Soul, he enters at once into fresh fields of labour. ”

“ But perhaps the American Millionaire-Bounder is at his best when he has bought an English newspaper and is running it in London. Then he feels as if he were running the Imperial Government itself—nay, almost the Monarchy. He imagines that he has his finger on the very pulse of Time. He hugs himself in the consciousness that the British people,—that large majority of them who are not behind the scenes—buy his paper, believing it to be a British paper, not a journal of “Amurrican” opinion, that is, opinion as ordered and paid for by one “Amurrican.” ”

“ It resembles the stirring of the sap in the roots of flowers, thrilling the very ground with hints and promises of spring,—it is the unspeakable outcoming of human emotion and sympathy too great to be contained within itself,—the tremulous desire,—half vague and wholly innocent,—of the human soul for its mate. The lower grades of passion have not as yet ruffled the quivering white wings of this divinely sweet emotion, and the being who is happy enough to experience it in all its intensity, is, for the time, the most enviable on earth. ”

“ For whenever any woman, rich or poor, high in rank or of humble estate, throws these aside, and turns her back on Home, her own natural, beautiful and thrice-blessed sphere of action, she performs what would be called the crazed act of a queen, who, called to highest sovereignty, casts away her crown, breaks her sceptre, tramples on her royal robes, and steps from her throne, down;—down into the dust of a saddened world’s contempt. ”

“ The woman whom thou gavest to be with me is the joy of my life,—the companion of my thoughts. To her my soul turns,—for her my heart beats—in her I rejoice,—her triumphs are my pride,—her success is my delight! If danger threatens her, I will be her defender, not her accuser,—should she be blamed for aught, I will take her fault upon myself, and will serve as a strong shield between her and calumny. ”

“ We must not forget that the Scottish race has taken a very firm root in the New World Beyond Seas,—and that out in Canada and Australia and South Africa the memories and the traditions of home are dear to the hearts of thousands who call Scotland their mother. Surely they should be privileged to feel that in their beautiful ancestral land, the old proud spirit is still kept up,—the old legends, the old language, the old songs,—all the old associations, which—far away as they are forced to dwell—they can still hand down to their children and their children’s children. ”

“ A happy home is the best and surest safeguard against all evil; and where home is not happy, there the devil may freely enter and find his hands full. With women, and women only, this happiness in the home must find its foundation. They only are responsible; for no matter how wild and erring a man may be, if he can always rely on finding somewhere in the world a peaceful, well-ordered, and undishonoured home, he will feel the saving grace of it sooner or later, and turn to it as the one bright beacon in a darkening wilderness. ”

“ We demand our rights in the Divine and Eternal Love!—and these rights, born in us from the beginning, we will have, even if all present-existing human forms and fabrics of creed go down in our struggle for the one pure faith under whose holy influence we shall become stronger and wiser, and better able to understand our work and place in creation! The gates of Life shall not be shut upon us;—we will not accept the materialist’s latter-day testimony that death shall be the end of all. For if there be an Eternal Good we are part of its being and share in its Eternal attributes. ”

“ Sometimes, however, when we work,—when we perform some special round of duty more or less monotonous, we are unlike the rest of the working Universe. The Universe works without any grumbling at its work—but we—well!—we rather like to grumble. We want every one to know how hard our work is, and how badly paid we are. Many of us, who are men, would like to pass entire days, loafing about, our hands in our pockets, our pipes in our mouths, serving no purpose whatever in the world save that of replenishing the till of the nearest public-house. ”

“ The repulsive materialism of Zola, and others of his school,—the loose theories of the “smart” set, and the moral degradation of those who have no greater God than self,—these things are the merest ephemera, destined to leave no more mark on human history than the trail of a slug on one leaf of an oak. The Ideal must always be triumphant,—the soul can only hope to make way by climbing towards it. Thus it is with “imaginary” Love,—it must hold fast to its ideal, or be content to perish on the plane of sensual passion, which exhausts itself rapidly, and once dead, is dead for ever and aye. ”

“ And such, chiefly, were the kind of men and women who poured themselves into the channels of the “Do We Believe?” discussion, like water running down the streets into gutters and mains,—never seeming to realize that to the thinking and intellectual world, their foolish letters, addressed to such a public quarter, merely proved their utter loss of respect for themselves, not only as professing Christians and subjects of a Christian Empire, but as men and women. No real follower of a Faith—any Faith—would be so lost to every sense of decency as to discuss it in a daily newspaper. ”

“ We cannot fit the eagle into a sparrow’s nest. But some people are always trying to do this sort of thing. And when they find they cannot succeed, they fall into a fit of the spleen, and revile what they cannot emulate. There is no surer sign of mental and moral decadence than this grudging envy of a great fame. For the healthy mind rejoices in the recognition of genius wherever or whenever it may be discovered, and has a keen sense of personal delight in giving to merit all its due. Hero-worship is a much finer and more invigorating emotion than hero-slander. ”

“ And I maintain that such drawbacks, disappointments, difficulties, and sufferings as the profession of Literature entails are sweeter and nobler than the cares besetting other professions, inasmuch as they are always accompanied by never-failing consolations. If the pinch be poverty, the true servant of Literature can do with less of this world’s goods than most people. Luxury is not called for when one is rich in idealism and fancy. Heavy feeding will not make a clear, quick brain. Extravagant apparel is a necessity for no one—and genius was never yet born of a millionaire. ”

“ But British feminine prettiness would be infinitely more captivating than it is, if it were associated with a little extra additional touch of vivacity and intelligence. When it is put in the shade, (as frequently happens,) by the sparkling allurements of the Viennese coquette, the graceful savoir faire of the French mondaine, or the enticing charm of lustrous-eyed sirens from southern Italy, it is merely because of its lack of wit. It is a good thing to have a pretty face; but if the face be only like a wax mask, moveless and expressionless, it soon ceases to attract. ”

“ This is a phase of the power of the pen—to make the beautiful, the quaint, the terrible, or the wonderful things of imagination seem an absolute reality.
But to get all the enjoyment out of an author’s imagination, we, who read his books, must ourselves “imagine” with him. We must let him take us where he will; we must not draw back and refuse to go with him. We must not approach him in a carping spirit, or make up our minds before opening his book, that we shall not like it. ”

“ Like a visible lamp of God’s love for us it generates beauty and brightness about us wherever we go,—and it invites us to look beyond the veil of creation to the Creator, who alone sustains the majestic fabric of life. ”

“ And is it “a wadded hem” or a padded room that should “finish off” these people who spread the madness of clothes far and wide till it becomes a positively dangerous and immoral infection? One wonders! For there is no more mischievous wickedness in society to-day than the flamboyant, exuberant, wilful extravagance of women’s dress. It has far exceeded the natural and pretty vanity of permissible charm, good taste and elegance. It has become a riotous waste,—an ugly disease of moral principle, ending at last in the disgrace and death of many a woman’s good name. ”

“ But, given a sane mind in a sound body, a clear brain, a quick perception, a keen imagination, a warm heart, and a never-to-be-parted-with ideal of humanity [Pg 339] at its best, noblest and purest, then the Life Literary, with all the advantages it bestows, the continuous education it fosters, the refinement of taste it engenders, the love and sympathy of unknown thousands of one’s fellow-creatures which it brings, is the sweetest, most satisfying, most healthful and happy life in the world. Moreover it is a life of power and responsibility—a life that forms character and tests courage. ”

“ A nation rounds itself to an Ideal, as the clay forms into shape on a potter’s wheel. It is well, therefore, to see that the Ideal be pure and lofty, and not a mere Golden Image like that set up by King Nebuchadnezzar, who ended his days by eating grass,—possibly thistles. Some of our public men might perhaps be better for a little more Imagination, and a little less red tape. It might take them healthfully out of themselves. For most of them seem burdened with an absurd self-consciousness, which is apt to limit the extent of their view out on public affairs. ”

“ Can we imagine Scotland without Walter Scott and Robert Burns? No! Their power of the pen rules the whole country, and gives it over the heads of monarchs a free fairy kingdom to all classes and peoples who have the wish and will to possess it. There are certain superior people nowadays who declare that Walter Scott is “old-fashioned,” and that they, for their parts, cannot read his novels. Well, I grant that Walter Scott is old-fashioned—as old-fashioned as the sunshine—and just as wholesome. He lived in a time when men still reverenced women, and when women gave men cause for reverence. ”

“ And it is the innate consciousness of her own power and intelligent ability that gives her the dominating charm,—the magnetic spell under which the stolid Britisher falls more or less stricken, stupefied and inert. He is never a great talker; she is. Her flow of conversation bewilders him. She knows so much too—she chatters of Shakespeare, Byron, Shelley, Keats—and he thinks he has heard of these people somewhere before. He listens dumbly. Sometimes he scratches his head,—occasionally he feels his moustache, if he has one. When she laughs, he smiles slowly and dubiously. ”

“ Apart from the pleasures of the material senses which we share in common with our friends and fellows of the brute creation, the more delicate and exquisite emotions of the mind are ministered to with unfailing and fostering care. Music—Poetry, Art in all its brilliant and changeful phases,—these things are offered for the delectation of our thoughts and the refinement of our tastes; but the most priceless boon of the Immortals is the talisman which alone enables us to understand the beauty of life at its highest, and the perfection of ideals at their best. ”

“ Herein is the saving grace of life,—to love one’s home. Love of home implies lovable people dwelling in the charmed circle,—tender hearts, quick to respond to every word of love, every whisper of confidence, every caress. The homeless man is the restless and unhappy man, for ever seeking what he cannot find. The homeless woman is still more to be pitied, being entirely and hopelessly out of her natural element. And the marked tendency which exists nowadays to avoid home life is wholly mischievous. ”

“ Nevertheless, it is, as it has always been, a fatal mistake for any nation to rely on the extent of its cash power alone. Without the real spirit which makes for greatness—without truth, without honour, without sincere patriotism and regard for the real well-being and honest government of the majority—any national system, whether monarchical or republican, must inevitably decay and perish from the face of the earth.
Unblemished honesty is the best policy for statesmen; but that such has been their rule of conduct in these latter years may perhaps be open to question. ”

“ But are there no drawbacks, no disappointments, no sufferings in the Life Literary? Why, of course there are! Who would be such a useless block of stone, such a senseless lump of unvalued clay, as not to ardently wish for drawbacks, disappointments, and sufferings? Who that has a soul at all does not pray that it may be laid like glowing iron on the anvil of endurance, there to be beaten and hammered by destiny till it is of a strong and shapely mould, fit for combat, nerved to victory? ”

“ THE AMERICAN BOUNDER
Everything in America is colossal, stupendous and pre-eminent,—it follows, therefore, that the American “bounder” is the most colossal, stupendous and pre-eminent bounder in existence. None of his tribe can match him in “brass,”—none of his European forbears or connections can equal him in brag. He is an inflated bladder of man, swollen out well-nigh to bursting with the wind of the Yankee Doodle Eagle’s wing. His aim in life appears to be to disgrace his country by his manners, his morals and his conversation. ”

“ What a deplorable contrast we make in our pandering to the lowest tastes of the mob when, without a word of protest, we permit our “Spirits of the Dead,”—the spirits of our gallant forefathers who fought for the pure Faith of England and sealed it with their blood,—to be degraded and insulted by a cheap newspaper discussion on the most private and sacred emotions of the soul, as though such a discussion were of a character suited to take its place among police-cases and quack medical advertisements! ”

“ Men adore what they cannot imitate. Therefore when men are drunken, let women be sober; when men are licentious, let women be chaste; when men are turf-hunters and card-players, let women absent themselves from both the race-course and the gambling-table; and while placing a gentle yet firm ban on laxity in morals and disregard of the binding sanctity of family life, let them silently work on and make progress in every art, every profession, every useful handicraft, that they may not be dependent for home or livelihood on man’s merely casual fancy or idle whim. ”

“ But one may hope and believe that it is only a passing malady, and that the old healthy life will re-invest the veins of the nation all the more strongly for partial sickness and relapse. In the meantime it occasionally happens that the “free” Briton bows his head like a whipped mongrel cur to the bulging Bank-Account of the American Millionaire-Bounder. And the American Millionaire-Bounder plants his flat foot on the so foolishly bent pate and walks over it with a commercial chuckle. “You talk of your ‘Noblesse oblige,’ your honour, your old historic tradition and aristocratic Order!” ”

“ The Soul of the Nation does not in itself ask reward for its good deeds,—nor does it weakly complain if punishment be inflicted upon it for its evil ones,—but it does demand justice,—it does ask why, for no conscious fault of its own, it should be born, only to die. Were this question never to be answered, then the mathematical exactitude with which everything, small or great, is balanced in the universe would be a merely elaborate scheme of unnecessary fallacy, irrationally designed for the delusion of creatures who are not worth the trouble of deluding. ”

“ I am no politician. I am simply a Worker—and I do such work as I can, quite independently of sect or party. But as a Worker, and looker-on at the events taking place around me, I cannot help feeling that this dear land of ours is on the verge of a great crisis in her history. We hear much of failing trade,—depression in this or that quarter,—yet apart from political agitators, it seems to me that Great Britain stands where she has always stood—at the top of the world! ”

“ The colossal architecture of the temples of ancient Egypt—and that marvellous imaginative creation, the Sphinx, with its immutable face of mingled scorn and pity—the beautiful classic forms of old Greece and Rome—these are all visible evidences of spiritual aspiration and endeavour,—moreover, they are the expression of a broad, reposeful strength,—a dignified consciousness of power. The glorious poetry of the Hebrew Scriptures—the swing and rush of Homer’s Iliad,—the stately simplicity and profundity of Plato,—these also belong to what we know of the youth of the world. ”