Marie Corelli

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 73, Issue 370, 13 September 1930, Page 18 (Supplement)

Marie Corelli

Dear Wendy,—Following toe history of Madame Adelina Patti that I wrote last week. I am -now giving you some particulars and opinions of the life and works of Marie Corelli, the "Corelli” of my pen-name. Unlike Adelina Paiti, Marie Corelli’s early life is somewhat shrouded in mystery, but it appears that she was born in London, in 1864, and was the daughter of an Italian and a Scotswoman, but owing to the straitened and humble circumstances of the Corelli home, was early adopted by a famous hymn writer, i whose name for the time being I cannot recall. The story goer that this famous hymn writer found th.- infant Marie Corcl'i abandoned on his doorstep one whiter's day. and 1 out of the charity of his heart, took charge of the abandoned baby, adopted her, and brought her up as his own (laughter. However, I am not prepared to say if the above story is author.lie or nut. but 1 do know that she was one of a large family of seventeen, and that Mario became an adopted daughter of the hymn writer. In the years intervening before she became an author®**. Marie Corelli often vi e ited her parent.', her numerous brothers and sisters in their London home, but so disgusted was she at the povertystricken aspect of her parents’ abode, when compared with the wealth, comfort and affluences nf the home of her adopted father, that Marie would never really acknowledge her own people in her later years, proof of which was provided in the fact, that after her death in 11124. it waa found that her monetary and landed estate was left to her many-years friend and constant companion, Miss Bertha Vyven. and nothing was. left to her own people. Before embarking upon her career as a writer of fiction and other works, the authoress in enibryro studied singing and music, and after some study in the intricacies of singing, etc., it was found that Marie Corelli would never become another "Swedish Nightingale.” therefore ahe turned her mind and energies to becoming an authoress. Her first book, 'The Romance of Two Worlds,’ was published in 1886. which was followed by many other books, showing that the authoress was one to be reckoned with in the London world of letters. I have read several of Miss Corelli's works, such as "The Sorrows of Satan,” “God's Good Man.” “Holy Orders,” "Boy” (this work was dedicated to her companion. Miss Vyven), "Innocent. Her Fact and Fancy,” "Thelma.” and "The Treasure of Heaven," all of these books convincing me that Marie Corelli was a prolific writer of no mean order. Personally I think that one of her last books. "The Young Diana,” the story of a young-old woman who became jiermanently by hitherto undiscovered means of keeping ago at bay, and who so deceived her own father by her youthful appearance, causing her parent to make love to his own daughter, is a book, from the mere wonderful to the uncanny. People have told me that they consider "Thelma” to be the apex of Marie Corelli’s books, but I do not think this. The book that has given me hours of pleasurable reading, and which I consider to rank as the foremost of her many works of fiction, is "The Treasure of Heaven.” I have read "The Treasure of Heaven” five times through, and 1 intended to read this book again, for I agree

with the sentiments of this book, that love is greater than riches. Apart from the undoubted merits of “The Treasure of Heaven” I think a useful lesson could be gained by those who think selfishness and the greed of money is greater than the refining influence of love, to read this book, and then their outlook on life will be much altered after reading "The Treasure of Heaven.” Marie Corelli's works enjoyed a wide popularity for many years, due to the fart, so it is read, that her late Majesty, Queen Victoria, preferred her books to those of others. Even now her books command a ready sale. So much for the literary gifts of Marie, that I think I will mention something of her character and life beyond the writing of books. Like all geniuses, Marie Corelli was of an uneven temperament with many foibles and unbudging fancies. Strong in opinion, though weak in judgment upon some things, she was vindicative to those who held the opposite to her viewe. She was at heart intensely a patriotic citizen to her King and country, and prodigal in her chanties to the deserving poor of London. Her veneration of Shakespeare, of his works and relics, amounted to a degree of idolatry, in fact she resided at Stratford-on-Avon so as to be near the scenes pertaining to Shakespeare, and in which locality many of her works were written. Strange to say, none of her works were adapted for stage purposes, which accounted for her hostility to eminent personages of the theatrical world, though she professed an admiration for the “Divine Sarah,” the late Sarah Bernhardt. Marie Corelli never married, and died at Stratford-on-Avon in April, 1924, leaving an estate of £22,000 to her companion, Miss Bertha Vyven. In conclusion may I just quote the following from "The Treasure of Heaven”:— Let the sweet heavens endure, Not close and darken above me, Before I am quite, quite sure That there is one to love me! I trust that I have not been too longwinded in writing the history of Marie Corelli, but I thought it would be of interest to iny fellow members of the Hut. Sincere wishes.—From "PATTI CORELLI," WanMany thanks again, dear, for your interesting story of Marie Corelli. Only last week one of my friends remarked upon the splendid history you gave of Adelina Patti. She is anxious to read your article in to-day's issue also. —Wendy. “ROYAL ROMEO,” Whenuakura.—So jolly of you, dear, to write to me this week. I am ever so happy to hear that your hand is now quite better. It must have been painful indeed. Oh, yes, I love music. I play a violin. I think it the sweetest of music. Many thanks for the Bell Tea coupon. It will no doubt be asked for by someone who reads this. I will see if I can get you a penfriend. 1 will ask our "Sea Sprite."—Wendy. “Cherry blossom sprig,” Fordeii.— I am keeping quite well, thank you, my dear. Oh, dear, you must not spin around until you become giddy and sick. It is very bad for

you. You will not do so again, will you? Do not worry because you cannot send anything for our Relief Ship, dear. Only those who are able to are invited to do so. I will ask our "Plum Blossom.” She wil! make you a fine pen-friend.—Wendy. “KEEP ON SMILING,” Wanganui.—l will see if I can get you a pen-friend, dear. Goodness, but what an experience befell you at the picnic. I am happy to bear you did not hurt yourself, dear. Oh, yes, I have fallen into the water and received a ducking, too, but it was a long time ago. I am pleased you have enjoyed your holidays and are now ready for school once again.—Wendy. “PETITE MARIE,” Utiku.—Well, well, and so here you are again, my dear. I could not help but wonder what could have happened to you. I am eo happy to receive your welcome letter this week. I am keeping quite well, thank you. The weather has been a little wintry during the earlier part of the week. However, we have the lovely days of summer to look forward to now, haven't we ? I will see if I can get you a pen-friend.— Wendy. JACKO HELPS AGAIN Somehow Monday never was a lucky day for Jacko. Things always seemed to have the unhappy knack of going wrong on a Monday—not like other days in the week when everything went right. First, Monday was mother Jacko's washing day; now why mother Jacko should choose Monday above all other dpys for washing no one seems to know, least of all our hero. It was Monday to-day and of course, as usual mother Jacko had been up for some time before Jacko appeared on the scene. Approaching the washhouse Jacko peeped in to see how mother Jacko was progressing with the washing. "Good morning, mother,” says our hero. “How is everything going?” "If it’s the fire you mean, well it is not,” replied Jacko's mother. "Why ever you cannot find me some dry wood I don’t know. However, see if you can do something useful. Go into the kitchen and make the porridge.” Good gracious, thinks our hero, but is far too wise to think loudly, so off into the kitchen he goes. Splasher from the bathroom announce that father Ja/.o is partaking of a cold bath. Taking a pot from the cupboard Jacko pours some cold water into it and stands it on toe range to boil, while he goes in search of the bag of oatmeal. At last he finds it and taking a spoon measures some into a basin (ac> he had often seen mother do) and mixes it with water. By this time the water in the put was boiling so Jacko pours in£o it the already mixed oatmeal and stirred it vigorously fcr a few minutes. "Ha! Ha!” says he, "this looks cooked now,’’ so he promptly stands it on the side of the range, while he again pays a visit to the washhouse. “Ive made the porridge, mother,” says Jacko. "Have you set the. tabic?” "No!” reiflied he, "but I shall do so now.” Away he goes into the kitchen once more and sets the tabic. In a few minutes father Jacko appears and sits down. "You had better go and call mother,” says he and Jacko did. Mother Jacko pours put the porridge and then she, too, sits down to partake of it. Before anyone took more than a taste all three jumped up from the table spluttering and ran for some water. On being the first to recover her breath, mother Jacko atiks, "Whatever did you do to the porridge. Jacko?” “1 just made it.” replied he. "Yes, but what with?” asked his mother. “From Mis y.i ’ pi i iuccs th? bag of oatmeal the label of which read—best soap powder.