MRS. OLIPHANT’S AUTOBIOGRAPHY was broken off — as a connected narrative — at about the time when Cyril left Oxford. That he should have taken only a second-class was a disappointment to her, but yet, as she herself says, in no way a disgrace, and she was very hopeful of his future. He was to live at home and read for the Bar. Cecco had apparently taken to Oxford life with a certain amount of enjoyment. He was naturally a student, though perhaps not after the academic model, and there was no occasion for anxiety about him. A great grief fell on the household in the autumn of 1879, when Frank Wilson, the nephew whom Mrs. Oliphant had educated with her own sons, died in India. He had been always a most satisfactory and delightful young fellow, full of talent and energy, and succeeding in whatever he undertook, so that the dreadful news of his death after only a few days of fever seemed almost incredible. Except for this sorrow and the void left by the loss of her old and faithful friend Mr. John Blackwood, the time was one of peace, and the cheerful house at Windsor was brightened as usual by the comings and goings of visitors. Cyril went to town to work in the chambers of a barrister, and when he was at home his mother tried to keep him to his books, much as she had done when he was a very little boy, but with less success. Still she was happy in having him at home, and bore the tremendous burden of her own work with a light heart.
To Mr. Blackwood.
Windsor,
17th May.
I want to publish an article called “School and College,” with some special reference to the recent rows at Oxford. Will you have it? I think it might be interesting, as it will treat practically of Eton and Oxford. It could even be ready for June if you considered the appropriateness to the moment of consequence enough to put it into your programme at this late period, which I don’t suppose likely. If, however, it should by chance strike your fancy, would you kindly telegraph to me at once? If not, let me know as soon as it is convenient if you would be disposed to put it in in July. I prefer to have it appear in ‘Blackwood’ if possible, and must beg you to keep it a complete secret anyhow.
To Mr. Craik,
Lowick Rectory, Thrapston,
25th Aug.
...Did you happen to see a story of mine called “A Beleaguered City” which was published last Christmas in the ‘New Quarterly Magazine’? It is a story which I like — a thing that does not always happen with my own productions — and I should like to republish it. It would make, I think, only a very small volume, but I might add a short new story of a similar description to make up. Would you care to undertake the republication? I have a fancy of making a kind of Christmas present of it to my unknown friends. I should like it to come out exactly at Christmas, and to be published quite cheaply, as an experiment. Please let me know what you think. I fancy it would interest you.
We are pausing here in a sort of happy island of absolute tranquillity and leisure amid all the commotions of the world, a calm country parsonage, on our way to Scotland. Then I am going to the other end of the moral scale, to the Potteries, on Wednesday. We hope to be in Golf Place, St. Andrews, this day week, and perhaps you will reply to this there.
At the end of this summer Mrs. Oliphant did what she could very rarely be persuaded to do — she paid one or two visits. The first was to Mr. and Mrs. Lucas Collins at Lowick Rectory; and while there she heard a legendary story of the neighbouring old house of the Sackvilles which by-and-by shaped itself in her mind into “The Lady’s Walk.” It is curious how constantly some real scene or incident gave birth to one of her stories, and yet how very rarely any real person appears on her pages. People often thought they found their own portraits in her books, an imagination which only goes to show how very little we know ourselves or how others see us. From Lowick Mrs. Oliphant went on with her sons to visit Mr. Woodall, M.P., at Burslem. She was much interested in the work of the Potteries — the “throwers” with their immemorial “potter’s wheel” especially; but what makes this visit really remarkable in her life is the fact that for a whole week she laid aside her work! Never before, and never afterwards until the illnesses of her last year forced it upon her, did she take such a spell of idleness, and she gave herself up to the enjoyment of it with the zest that belongs to novelty.
From Staffordshire she went to Wales, and spent two or three weeks at Barmouth. The following letter refers to the great anxiety felt with regard to the fate of George Blackwood, brother of the Editor, and son of her first friend in the family, Major Blackwood.
To Mr. W. Blackwood.
Barmouth,
Septr. 9.
I send you now the final proofs of ‘Cervantes.’ I am very glad it is not too long.
I have been looking to see if any further news had come — with much anxiety. I can most truly enter into the long and painful endurance of your suspense, and I feel most deeply for you personally with so much work and so many anxieties on your head. I know well how every care is doubled by anxiety and grief.
14 Victoria Square, Grosvenor. Gardens, S.W.,
22nd September.
…I read with sad interest the references to your brother’s18 battery in the ‘ Times’ this morning. If indeed he fell among his men so, it was a soldier’s death, and one to call forth more envy than pity. “Here where men sit and hear each other moan” it is fine to think of a career so bravely accomplished.
The following letters explain themselves. The business caused Mrs. Oliphant the most intense annoyance, and destroyed the pleasure of her short residence in town.
14 Victoria Square, S.W.,
Octr. 4.
...I am greatly annoyed just now about a most arbitrary and unjustifiable proceeding on the part of the proprietors of the ‘Graphic,’ for whom I wrote a Life of the Queen some time ago. It was written exclusively for the paper, and no idea of any further use was in my mind. I was horrified the other day to see it advertised in book form by Messrs Low. I immediately remonstrated, but was met by a copy of my receipt, in which I had, it appears, given the “entire copyright” to the ‘Graphic.’ I suppose I had never read the receipt at all when I signed it, and certainly no idea of republication had ever been suggested. I don’t know what may come of it. I have asked Sir James Stephen to give me his opinion, which perhaps, as he is a judge, he may not like to do, but I shall certainly take legal advice upon the subject. I hope you will take my part in the matter. The thing was written with the idea of being a mere accompaniment to very good illustrations — in which point the ‘Graphic’ people broke their contract with me, to begin with — and is quite unfit to be published as a book. I am unspeakably annoyed about it, all the more that it was not even a profitable bit of work.
14 Victoria Square, S.W.,
22nd October.
...I am in a great fright about the law business. I hoped the solicitor, who is a very moderate and sober person, and was greatly against proceeding to extremities, would have managed a compromise. This is still possible, but only by a sacrifice on my part — buying back the copyright, which I never had the slightest intention of selling. I have been entrapped by a supplementary receipt, which I suppose I signed without reading it. I am in great trouble about it. Harper’s new proceeding is indefensible, I think, considering the line they have taken in the copyright question. I should like to write an article upon their circular which was sent to authors — I don’t know if you ever saw it — saying that they were most anxious to favour us, but were determined to prevent English publishers from flooding the American market, which was their reason for standing out against our improved copyright.
14 Victoria Square, S.W.,
Nov. 3.
...I have been obliged to pay the ‘Graphic’ people thirty pounds to redeem the Queen’s Life. I hear that some friends of mine are trying to represent that it is a shabby proceeding to take money from me, with some hopes of getting it back.
In the midst of her own troubles and anxieties she was never deaf to an appeal for help. The following refers to a piece of work which was her present to a less successful literary woman — a piece of work done too while her son Cecco was ill with typhoid fever and being nursed devotedly by her. His illness was, it is true, of a mild type, but she could never be less than acutely anxious.
To Mrs. Richmond Ritchie.
14 Victoria Square.
Dearest Annie, — Mrs. Craik writes to say that her name may go along with ours, and that she will send something if I can tell her the last possible day, as she is going to France to-day, and has nothing by her. Will you find out, dear, from Mrs. Riddell, what time she must have the things? (It sounds like things for the wash!) I have done part of mine.
What dreary wretched weather! one needs to be happy at home to make it bearable at all....
I fear my story for Mrs. Riddell will run to not less than 20 pages. I cannot be brief, but she will not mind, and perhaps it will save her a little work. I have written to Laurence Oliphant.
To Mrs. Craik.
14 Victoria Square,
24th Nov.
I know nothing more of Mrs. Riddell than her address. She wrote to me thanking me for the story I sent her, and I answered her letter, begging her to send me her advertisement for her Christmas number, that I might get it put into the ‘Spectator,’ which I thought would help it on a little....
I have just been explaining sundry delays to Mr. Craik by telling him about my Cecco’s illness. He had been very queer and unwell some time, and on calling in the doctor at last a day or two after I saw Mr. Craik, the boy was pronounced to have been struggling with an attack of typhoid for some time. It has turned out quite a mild case, and he is now getting better; but for a little while I was very anxious, and have been kept in constant attendance upon him all this time. The very name of course brings one’s heart to one’s mouth. The grievous thing is that he was just going in for “Mods,” which was of the utmost importance to him, and for which he had been working hard. Alas! the examination began yesterday, and here he is in bed tearing his hair.
The very same thing happened to him once at Eton.
I am very sorry to think I shall not see you, but hope you will have less shutting up this winter than you anticipate. Are you not tempted in such a case to run away to the south? After a month or two in London I prize the sunshine more than ever.
To Mr. Craik.
Windsor,
24th December.
I don’t know whether the ‘Beleaguered City’ is to be out immediately or not, but when it comes, I should like to have a liberal supply of copies, for which I must be charged if I ask too many. I have wanted to make a kind of present of it to my unknown friends, as you will see by the dedication, and there are a great many known friends to whom, as about the best I can do, I want to give the book itself.
I wonder if you, who are in the world and hear of everything that is going on, think it at all possible that I could get something to do of a permanent character, which would relieve me a little from the necessity of perpetual writing. I don’t mean to say that I am tired of writing or that it exhausts me, or that I don’t like it better than any other occupation, for these assertions would not be true. But as I am growing old I have more and more desire for a regular quarter day, a regular occupation, and so much money certainly coming in.…This is where men have such a huge advantage over us, that they have generally something besides their writing to fall back upon for mere bread and butter. I think if I had enough of steady income to justify me in letting a small house in town, I should be thankful — but at least for the steady income I should be thankful anyhow....
Oh, what a sad Christmas! — everybody mourning, everybody fearing. I know two families who have lost sons at this miserable Cabul. I take a little comfort in thinking that my boy died in bringing good and comfort to the district where he was in India and not blood.
I am going to write a word for Christmas to your dear kind wife. This will wait you at Bedford Street till you go back to business again. In the meantime may every good thing attend you at this season and all seasons.
To Mr. W. Blackwood.
Windsor,
26th December.
...Christmas is just over with all its many memories, and I am glad of it. It will not have been very merry for you, and it is the worst of such anniversaries that they bring so strongly before us the consciousness of every empty place. Accept my best wishes for the new year on which we are so soon to enter, and give my kindest messages to your mother and sisters. I trust Mrs. Blackwood, surrounded as she is with the devotion of the good children who remain to her, is strengthened to bear the griefs of which I know she has had no small share. And let me congratulate you, on the other hand, on having got so bravely and prosperously through the first year of your great responsibility. It does not seem to me that the Magazine has suffered in the least, and that is a very great deal to say, and must give all concerned great confidence for the future....
It seems to me while I write that probably you will be in London for George Eliot’s funeral. How sad it is!...There is something very solemn in the thought of a great spirit like hers entering the spiritual world which she did not believe in. If we are right in our faith, what a blessed surprise to her!