Marie Corelli

“ His arm sank in the soft satin coverlet as he laid back the little hand he held upon her breast,—and with eager scrutiny he noted every tint and every line in her exquisite face;—the lovely long lashes that swept the blush-rose of her cheeks,—the rounded chin, dimpled in its curve,—the full white throat, the perfect outline of the whole fair figure as it rested like a branched lily in a bed of snow,—and, as he looked, he realised that all this beauty was his—his, if he chose to take Love and let Wisdom go. ”

“ The fact is, Marie Corelli appeals to a tremendous section of the public—a section in which, we are assured, the fair sex does not pre{128}dominate. Indeed, the majority of the novelist’s correspondents are men. Marie Corelli is intensely in earnest, imaginative, and passionate. ”

“ For Marie Corelli does not shroud herself in obscurity, does not affect the life of the recluse, does not pretend to be other than she is—a winsome, warm-hearted, sunny-natured woman, who enjoys life to the full, and would have others enjoy theirs, who has ideals and tries to live up to them, and who asks only to be freed from vulgar intrusion and the slanderous shafts of unseen enemies. ”

“ Marie Corelli did not invite adverse criticism. She was quite a girl, untried and inexperienced, and had, apparently, from her letters to her friends, a most touching faith in the chivalry of the press. “I hope,” she wrote to Mr. Bentley, “the clever men on the Press will be kind to me, as it is a first book [the ‘Romance’] ; because if they are I shall be able to do so much better another time.”
But, much to her surprise, the clever men of the press bullied her as though she had been a practiced hand at literature, and abused her with quite unnecessary violence. ”

“ MARIE CORELLI’S VIEWS ON MARRIAGE
Marie Corelli seems to think that the present generation is one in which hypocrisy cumbers the face of the globe. “Never,” she says, “was the earth so oppressed with the weight of polite lying, never were there such crowds of evil masqueraders, cultured tricksters, and social humbugs, who, though admirable as tricksters and humbugs, are wholly contemptible as men and women. Truth is at a discount, and if one should utter it the reproachful faces of one’s so-called ‘friends’ show how shocked they are at meeting with anything honest.” ”

“ In the old-world town of Stratford-on-Avon stands an Elizabethan red-brick house, its windowsills brightened with flowers which hang down in profusion and impart gaiety of aspect to the ancient and time-worn edifice. Here, near the Guild Church and the school that Shakespeare knew, in the quietest part of the town, dwells, with her loyal companion and friend, Miss Marie Corelli.
What manner of woman is this most popular novelist of the hour, who has the reading world at her feet, and who has conquered the hearts of millions? ”

“ What should you do with yourself, frowning at Fate? You are a superb egoist,—no more.”
As he spoke, the roses in the vase beside him swayed lightly to and fro, as though a faint wind had fanned them, and their perfume stole upon the air like the delicate breath of summer wafted from some distant garden.
There was no window open—and El-Râmi had not stirred, so that no movement on his part could have shaken the vase,—and yet the roses quivered on their stalks as if brushed by a bird’s wing. ”

“ It is a personality striking in its simplicity and in its power. Marie Corelli is a woman of women, simple in her tastes, strong in her faiths and her aims, with a heart full of sympathy for others, living a busy life that from its productiveness in the world of literature is a constant influence for good in the hearts and homes of thousands the world over, and, in its private relationships, a source of help, inspiration, and benefit to those with whom she comes in contact. ”

“ It is enough for me to know that you are a child and alone in the world,—such sorrow makes me your servant."
Gently the boy loosened his clasp of the Cardinal's hands.
"Then I have found a friend!" he said,—"That is very strange!" He paused, and the smile that had once before brightened his countenance shone again like a veritable flash of sunlight—"You have the right to know my name, and if you choose, to call me by it,—it is Manuel." ”

“ She moaned a little,—and, instead of folding them one over the other as before, raised them palm to palm in an attitude of prayer. The colour faded entirely from her face,—but an expression of the calmest, grandest wisdom, serenity, and compassion came over her features as of a saint prepared for martyrdom. Her breathing grew fainter and fainter till it was scarcely perceptible,—and her lips parted in a short sobbing sigh,—then they moved and whispered something. El-Râmi stooped over her more closely. ”

“ The one, a man in the full prime of splendid and vigorous manhood,—the other, a maiden, timid and sweet, robed in gray attire with a posy of white flowers at her throat. A simple girl, and most distinctly human,—the fresh, pure color reddened in her cheeks,—the soft springtide wind fanned her gold hair, and the sunbeams seemed to dance about her in a bright revel of amaze and curiosity. Her lustrous eyes dwelt on the busy Platz below with a vaguely compassionate wonder—a look that suggested some far foreknowledge of things, that at the same time were strangely unfamiliar. ”

“ He began talking softly and cheerily:
"Why should it matter so much?" he said. "If you do not know who you are—if none of us know—it may be more fortunate for you than you can imagine! We cannot tell! Your own father may claim you—your own mother—such things are quite possible! You may be like the princess of a fairy-tale—rich people may come and take you away from Briar Farm and from me—and you will be too grand to think of us any more, and I shall only be the poor farmer in your eyes—you will wonder how you could ever have spoken to me—"
"Robin!" ”

“ Thank you for all you have said,—it is the first time I have met with so much gentleness, courtesy and patience from one of your sex. Good-bye!”
She passed out, Féraz escorting her to her carriage, which waited at the door; then he returned to his brother with a slow step and meditative air.
“Do men really wrong women so much as she seems to think?” he asked.
El-Râmi paused a moment,—then answered slowly:
“Yes, Féraz, they do; and, as long as this world wags, they will! Let God look to it!—for the law of feminine oppression is His—not ours!” ”

“ Marie Corelli is a great friend of children, loving them and beloved of them. It may be regarded as probable that the children of those who form the ideal unions which the novelist so eloquently describes will be sure to train their own offspring on good and intelligent lines. ”

“ Marie Corelli well says that there{302} can be nothing more hideous—more like a foretaste of hell itself—than the life position of a man and woman who have been hustled into matrimony, and who, when the wedding fuss is over and the feminine pictorial papers have done gushing about the millinery of the occasion, find themselves alone together, without a single sympathy in common, with nothing but the chink of gold and the rustle of the bank-notes for their heart music, and with a barrier of steadily increasing repulsion and disgust rising between them every day. ”

“ They are answerable for a good deal in my life! They made me want to write bogle stories myself!"
"And do you write them?" asked Mary.
"Not exactly. Though perhaps all human life is only a bogle tale! Invented to amuse the angels!"
She smiled, and taking up a delicate piece of crochet lace, which she called her "spare time work," began to ply the glittering needle in and out fine intricacies of thread, her shapely hands gleaming like alabaster in the fire-light reflections.
"Well, now tell us your own bogle tale!" she said—"And David and I will play the angels!" ”

“ The performances of the latter potentate are certainly “impossible” and “outrageous”—to quote press diatribes on “Temporal Power”—but they live, and their forgotten writer is not branded with lèse-majestè. This romance of Marie Corelli’s was written to show how a King, in spite of modern surroundings, can still be a hero. Marie Corelli’s king is the best man in the whole story, and is represented as winning the love of all his people.
The authoress readily admits that an attack on Jesuitism is contained in the book, nor is she the only one who has waylaid that persuasion. ”

“ It comes in everywhere!" he declared. "There's no other woman in the world that would have done so much for a poor forlorn old tramp like that, adrift on the country roads. And you exposed yourself to some risk, too, Mary! He might have been a dangerous character!"
"Poor dear, he didn't look it," she said gently—"and he hasn't proved it. Everything has gone well for me since I did my best for him. It was even through him that you came to know me, Angus!—think of that! Blessings on the dear old man!—I'm sure he must be an angel in disguise!" ”

“ Throwing herself on the cold ground, thick with the dust of dead Caesars, she clung to Miraudin, pouring out a torrent of vociferous French, largely intermixed with a special slang of the Paris streets, and broken by the hysterical yells when she saw her "protector" throw off his coat, and, standing in his shirt-sleeves, take close observation of the pistol he held.
"Is this your care of me?" she cried, "Mon Dieu! What a thing is a man! Here am I alone in a strange country—and you endanger your life for some quarrel of which I know nothing,—yet you pretend to love me! ”

“ Above them, the snowy Alpine range showed white as the tips of frozen waves—beneath, the water rippled blue-black, breaking now and again into streaks of silver.
“I’m afraid you have imbibed some of my cynicism,” he said, slowly. “It is, perhaps, a pity! For now, when you have come to think love a ‘delusion,’ you will be greatly loved! It is always the way! If you have nothing to give to men, it is then they clamour for everything!”
He looked at her as he spoke and saw her smile—a cruel little smile. ”

“ It is under any circumstances a thankless task to arrange writers as one would arrange boys in a class—according to merit. There are the poets, the historians, the novelists, the humorists, and—the critics. Marie Corelli occupies a peculiarly isolated position. A novelist she is, in the main, and yet hardly a novelist according to cut-and-dried formulas; she is, unquestionably, a poet, for there is many a song in her books not a whit less sweet because it is not set in measured verse and line. ”

“ Marie Corelli’s acquaintances are many in number, but her circle of friends is a small and carefully selected one. Shakespeare’s “He that is thy friend indeed” can be applied, even in the case of a popular novelist, to but few persons. Where Miss Corelli is, there always is her devoted friend Miss Vyver. Between these two there is perfect understanding and absolute sympathy. It goes without saying that, until the day of his death, Dr. Mackay held chief place in his adopted daughter’s heart, and, though dead, holds it still. ”

“ She dropped on her knees—and clasped her hands,—I strove to move,—to speak,—but some resistless force held me dumb and motionless;—the light from the stained glass window fell upon her face, and showed its fairness illumined by a smile of perfect rapture.
“With every pulse of my being I worship you!” she murmured passionately—“My king!—my god! The cruel things you say but deepen my love for you,—you can kill, but you can never change me! For one kiss of your lips I would die,—for one embrace from you I would give my soul! ...” ”

“ She paused—her eyes were dark with thought and full of a dreamy sorrow,—then, smiling gently, she held out her hand.
“I talk too much, you will say—women always do! Come and see me if you feel disposed—not otherwise; I will send you my card through Lady Melthorpe—meantime, good-night!”
El-Râmi took her hand, and, as he pressed it in his own, felt again that curious thrill which had before communicated itself to his nerves through the same contact.
“Surely you must be a visionary, Madame!” he said, abruptly and with a vague sense of surprise—“and you see things not at all of this world!” ”

“ Dearest, do not stay long away—I shall be so unhappy till you come back!”
“Absence strengthens love, they say,” I observed, with a forced smile. “May it do so in our case. Farewell, cara mia! Pray for me; I suppose you do pray a great deal here?”
“Oh, yes,” she replied, naively; “there is nothing else to do.”
I held her hands closely in my grasp. The engagement ring on her finger, and the diamond signet on my own, flashed in the light like the crossing of swords.
“Pray then,” I said, “storm the gates of heaven with sweet-voiced pleadings for the repose of poor Ferrari’s soul! ”

“ I said, and I heard myself speak as though I were somebody else at a great distance off—"I think, Signor Cellini, your Eastern wine has been too potent for me. My head is quite heavy, and I feel dazed."
"It is mere fatigue and the heat of the day," he replied quietly. "I am sure you are not too DAZED, as you call it, to see your favourite picture, are you?"
I trembled. Was not that picture veiled? I looked—there was no curtain at all, and the faces of the two Angels shone out of the canvas with intense brilliancy! ”

“ Perhaps all these attempts to solve the Unsolvable have a morbid tendency; a little simple faith is certainly more salutary. However that may be, a very great public regards such attempts as more engrossing reading-matter than tales “of love and politics and society”; and a still stronger reason for Marie Corelli’s immense popularity is to be found in the fact that she is the only female Richmond in{129} the field. She sits on a splendidly isolated throne, a writer whose genius has enabled her to soar to certain peculiar heights which no other literary man or woman has succeeded in scaling. ”