Marie Corelli: The Writer and the Woman

by Thomas F. G. Coates; R. S. Warren Bell

To the high character of Dr. Charles Mackay must be attributed the chief influence in the formation of the child’s ideas; a glance, therefore, at the career of that gentleman cannot fail to be of interest. A native of Perth, Charles Mackay was born March 27th, 1814. His father, George Mackay, was the second son of Captain Hugh Mackay, of the Strathnavar branch of the Mackay clan of which Lord Reay is the chief. Charles Mackay received his earlier education in London, and, subsequently proceeding to a school at Brussels, made a special study of European languages. He early commenced writing for Belgian newspapers, and, also whilst a youngster, sent poems to English newspapers, which readily published them. A volume of “Songs and Poems” followed; and then, returning to England, Mr. Mackay became a contributor to The Sun, assistant sub-editor of The Morning Chronicle, and editor of The Glasgow Argus. He was married in 1831, and by his first wife had three sons—Charles, Robert, and George Eric, and also a daughter, who died when she was twenty-two years of age. Of the sons, Charles is still living, being resident in America with his wife and family. Robert is dead, but is survived by a son and a daughter. Of George Eric Mackay, the second of the three sons, more will be told anon.

During Charles Dickens’s brief editorship of the London Daily News, a number of verses by Mackay were published in that newspaper, and attracted much notice and praise. They were subsequently republished in a volume as “Voices from the Crowd.” A selection of these verses was set to music, and quickly caught the ear of the people, “The Good Time Coming” reaching a circulation of well-nigh half a million.

In 1848 Mr. Mackay became a member of the staff of The Illustrated London News, and in 1852 was appointed editor of that journal. Here, through the enterprise of Mr. Ingram, the song-writing capacities of Mr. Mackay were put to good use, and a number of musical supplements of The Illustrated London News were produced. “Songs for Music” afterwards appeared as a volume in 1856. The pieces included such prime favorites as “Cheer, Boys, Cheer!” “To the West! To the West!” “Tubal Cain,” “There’s a Land, a dear Land,” and “England over All.” Set to the taking melodies of Henry Russell and others, these songs, it may truly be said, have been sung the world over, wherever the English language is spoken.

Mackay severed his connection with The Illustrated London News in 1859, and in the following year started The London Review, which did not succeed. Failure was the fate, too, of another periodical, Robin Goodfellow, founded by him in 1861. During the American Civil War, Mackay was the special correspondent of the New York Times. Dr. Mackay’s efforts in prose were as numerous and as interesting as his verses. His “Forty Years’ Recollections of Life, Literature, and Public Affairs from 1830 to 1870,” is a classic and a literary treat to every one who reads it; for herein is set forth a graphic picture of the life and times of that most interesting period, not only in England, but in the United States. His relations with Greeley and with President Lincoln were of altogether exceptional interest. Few men had experiences so varied and interesting as those of Charles Mackay—his degree, by the way, was that of LL. D. of Glasgow University—and few men were so capable as was he of vividly describing what he did, and saw, and heard.

In addition to writing many volumes of songs and ballads himself, it should be mentioned that Mackay compiled the well-known “A Thousand and One Gems of English Poetry.”

From the year 1870 he engaged in little regular work, though he undertook interesting and valuable researches into Celtic philology. His closing years were—through ill-health and age—a period of financial reverses, but the gloom was brightened by the presence of the pet child of his adoption. He worked on till the last, being engaged during the very week of his death in writing two articles, one for Blackwood’s Magazine, the other for The Nineteenth Century.

When his adopted daughter’s somewhat brief school-days were over, she returned home well fitted to assist Dr. Mackay in his literary work. She was already on familiar terms with his study and his books. A good many of the baby days were spent in the Doctor’s study, and as an infant there were evidences that the mind of the little one was of a thoughtful and inquiring bent. She was considered almost too inquiring by those governesses who guided her earliest lessons, religious subjects always having a peculiar attraction for her. “Little girls must be good and try to please God,” one governess impressed upon her; and the child’s wondering reply was: “Why of course; everybody and everything must try to please God, else where would be the use of living at all?”

Babies—when they are good—always seem somewhat akin to angels, and the “Rosebud”—as Mackay called his adopted girl—always had a perfect belief not only in their existence, but in their near presence. The poet especially encouraged her faith in them. The “Rosebud” always believed angels were in her bedroom at night, and on her once saying that she could not see the angel (whom she fully expected) in her room, the Doctor answered: “Never mind, dearie! It is there, you may be sure; and if you will behave just as if you saw it, you will certainly see it some day.”

Passed chiefly in the country and abroad, the first ten years of Marie Corelli’s life went by pleasantly enough. Some hours daily were devoted to lessons; others to play, and most of these amongst the flowers that she has always loved. And as much time was spent, not over lesson books, but over those works of a nature to be understood by a child which she found in the Doctor’s library, and listening to stories, witty and wise, of Dr. Mackay’s former friends and literary associates. Many, indeed, had been these friends—Dickens and Thackeray, Sir Edwin Landseer and Douglas Jerrold, to name but a few. He had known many men of light and leading in his day, and to the little girl who played in his study he delighted to recount reminiscences of them. Through him she learned to love some of his old friends as if she had known them personally.

Those were days that had much to do with the moulding of the character of the future novelist. There were no child playmates for little Marie, and the naturally studious bent of her mind was greatly affected by her environment. It gave her thought and wisdom beyond her years. This absence of child companions may or may not be advantageous; it all depends upon the circumstances. Victoria, who became Queen of England, had no child companions, and often in later years dwelt upon the fact with regret. Yet who would say they would have had any alteration in the character and doings of our late sovereign? The loss to a child of that child-companionship which most enjoy may be very great; but there are compensations.