THE FOLLOWING LETTER to Mr. Craik is interesting, as expressing certain very strongly held opinions about what are called society papers. Messrs Macmillan had some thoughts of publishing a weekly paper, with Mrs. Oliphant as editor.
To Mr. Craik.
Windsor,
January 29.
I wonder how it would answer if a (I do not say the) projected new paper were got to be somehow under the patronage of the Queen? The idea has just shot across my mind, and I don’t know if anything could be made of it, or if even that patronage could be secured. But I am sure her Majesty must feel (as she is one of the chief sufferers) the iniquity of these society papers which we would essay to combat on their own ground.
I should like very much to attempt some social sketches of an impersonal kind in the style (con respetto parlando) of the ‘Spectator,’ by which one might do all (I think) that the gossip papers pretend to do, without the gossip. How I might succeed is another question, but I should like to try.
And, I think, that a sort of creaming of the foreign press might be done, so as to give the public the chance of seeing what different parties say abroad of themselves, which is what it is most difficult for dwellers at home to know.
There are a great many other matters which would enter into the constitution of such a paper, or weekly magazine as you suggest, if you are really going to entertain the idea, which it would be a pleasure to work out in detail. I must say, however, that I don’t think my name would be half so much good to it as that of your own firm. With the name of Macmillan to it as publisher the public would be sufficiently assured that it was neither to be scandalous nor impertinent. I see great capabilities in the social way, while entirely rejecting the vulgar aid of personality: the uses of fiction have not yet been half exhausted, and its legitimate licence is large.
This scheme seems to have been entirely abandoned, and Mrs. Oliphant’s next work for Messrs Macmillan was the ‘Makers of Venice,’ — a book which, however laborious it was in actual execution, gave her infinite pleasure in the collecting of materials.
To Mr. W. Blackwood.
27 Wellington Square, Oxford,
1st March.
...I am having a great pleasure to look forward to. I am going to Venice to prepare for a companion volume to the Florence one. I have just arranged about it, and will start in about a month, for a month’s stay in that city of enchantment.
I congratulate you heartily on the prosperity of ‘Maga.’ You know I have borne a most delighted testimony all along to the way in which you were keeping up the old standard. It is a great pleasure to see it and no small triumph.
Mrs. Ritchie’s book will be delightful, and is sure to have a great sale. It is not only Madame de Sévigné, but it is thoroughly Sévigné-ish.
About the 1st of April Mrs. Oliphant started for Venice, taking with her her younger son and the cousin who has been frequently mentioned. A little group of acquaintances gathered about her on her arrival, of whom the most notable were Mr. Henry James, the novelist, and Mr. Holmes, the Queen’s librarian, who had undertaken to make drawings for the illustration of the book. The weather was not very kind, but there were a good many fine days, and most delightful expeditions were made in search of notable or interesting spots. A sail to Torcello was one of the best of these, and among the shorter ones was the quest for the house of Marco Polo, which was a real voyage of discovery. After staying for a time at the hotel the little party moved into lodgings on the Riva dei Schiavoni, and had an entirely new and amusing experience. After a fortnight, it must be confessed, they were glad to return to more sophisticated ways of life, but the whole time was full of charm and interest. They moved on from Venice to Verona, Florence, and Paris, staying a day or two at each, and reached England early in May.
To Mr. Blackwood.
Windsor,
17th May.
You will think me a most frightful nuisance, I know. Here I have a heartrending appeal from — , whose son I introduced to you some time ago, and who sent you some MS. She says, “The long silence, I feel afraid, bodes no good” — it is an anguish of mind to her. She is afraid that bad news will come when her son is abroad. “I wish,” says this poor lady, “we could know the worst before my dear son is so far away that every pang will be the deeper.” Stony-hearted editor, can you resist this?
She thinks what he writes is so beautiful and himself so clever. Dear, dear! I wish I could have such an exalted opinion of my boys. But you will please to be so very kind as to put her out of her pain, poor lady. I hope it may be the best instead of the worst that they have to hear. I warned them that a conscientious editor cannot be expected to reply instantly to everybody that writes to him, but her six pages of eloquence have overwhelmed me. I am sure you will think me an intolerable bore, so that is all I shall have for my pains.
Laurence Oliphant and his wife are with me to-day. He tells me he is about to begin something in the Magazine, which I am very glad to hear. She is a very charming young woman. She has taken a little house in this neighbourhood, where she is going to stay till he comes back from America.
It was always a subject of regret to Mrs. Oliphant’s friends that there was no good likeness of her. She photographed very badly, and indeed only colour could have shown the beauty of her eyes and complexion. But she would never have herself painted, and the drawing alluded to in the following letters was the first ever made of her.
Windsor,
15th July.
...I am dreadfully sorry not to send to you the next number of the Autobiographies with this. I thought I would send you a short paper on Gibbon. It is half done, but I am entirely taken off work by the dreadful business of sitting for my portrait, which Mr. Craik (of Messrs Macmillan) has asked me to do for him. The artist, Mr. Sandys, who has just finished a very fine head of Matthew Arnold, is here, living in my house, and taking a great deal out of me. This joined to the heat of the weather has made me very late. If it is not too late I will try to send it to you by Tuesday. Will that do?
I hope you are having in Scotland the same steady brilliancy of weather that we have here, but here it is altogether enervating. Yesterday, with everything we could do to secure coolness — Venetian blinds closed and every precaution — I “sat” in a temperature of 80°, and to-day it promises to be hotter still.
To Mr. Craik.
Windsor,
17th July.
Mr. Sandys’ work is going on admirably. He is making a most beautiful drawing, the most wonderful piece of workmanship I ever saw. He applauds me as a sitter, and intends, I hear, that this should be the best drawing he has ever made. The likeness everybody seems to consider very satisfactory. To me it becomes very touching from the fact that every day it is more and more like my mother, of whom I have no good likeness.
Windsor,
21st July.
...I should give up my house here if I could, but the lease is a hindrance, and it is very difficult to let houses here. I have been in town to-day with my little Denny to see Dr. Wharton Hood about her arm. Mr. Sandys gave me a holiday, as the picture is just done — only an hour or two’s work required about the dress....
The drawing is quite beautiful. It seems to me much more dignified and imposing than I ever was, or could be; but barring this size and grandeur, which Mr. Sandys seems to me to give to all the heads he draws, it is considered an admirable likeness, as well as the most beautiful piece of work I ever saw. I believe he intends to take it up to town to-morrow, and I hope you will allow me to have it photographed for the benefit of my immediate friends.
I am sure your kind heart will be a little troubled about me. Don’t be so. I am very sanguine and buoyant by nature, whence some woes and a great deal of consolation. I daresay my enforced idleness under Mr. Sandys was the thing that drove me to despair, and I shall be better when I am at work again.
Unfortunately this drawing, though a very fine piece of workmanship, does not, as a likeness, satisfy Mrs. Oliphant’s most familiar friends. The very irregularity of her face — the mouth with its expressive if artistically faulty lines especially — had a charm which is lost in the “dignified and imposing” presentment.
The next letter is addressed to the mother of the present Editor of ‘Maga.’
Binny,
Sept. 6.
My dear Mrs. Blackwood, — We arrived here quite comfortably last night, having had time to do all we wanted in Edinburgh, where by good luck we had beautiful weather, the sun shining, and the Old Town looking its best....
It is difficult to find words to tell you how much we enjoyed our stay at Colinton and felt your kindness in every way. I knew of old what a kind and genial house yours was, but it is a great pleasure to renew the knowledge. Both Cyril and I will always think of our visit with the greatest pleasure, and I can only thank you and your dear girls and excellent son for all your kindness to us. It does one good to be allowed to form part of such a household even for a little time, and I feel thankful that my careless boy, who has the gift of always appreciating excellence when he sees it, should have had the benefit of knowing Mr. Blackwood at home. There is nothing that does a youth so much good. — With love and many thanks, believe me, dear Mrs. Blackwood....
To Principal Tulloch.
Windsor,
Saturday night (or rather Sunday morning, 2 A.M.)
[Probably Sept, 1881].
My dear Principal, — I was delighted to get your letter, and now feel much comforted, and hope you will make progress daily. It wants patience, and I am sure you have had a very hard trial to go through in your banishment and loneliness; but God be thanked that it has had its effect, and I hope you will carry out your cure bravely, and not think of coming away till the doctors give you leave: as they have been justified in ordering you this very bitter medicine, it is only fair to let them get the full credit of their wisdom.
I wrote off to Sir Henry Ponsonby as soon as I got your letter. Unless it is promised to somebody, I think the mere suggestion that you would take this post of Historiographer should be enough. Is there anything to do? and is it worth your while?
What do you think of the appointment of the Master of University to the Deanery of Westminster? It seems a very curious choice. Mr. Hale and I were regretting much the other day that you could not have got that, Mr. Hale said boldly, “They ought to make the Principal Dean of Westminster.”
Yes, it is evident that I am much stronger than you are. I fancy that women are stronger than men, after they get over their special danger, though indeed the dear padrona is not a case in point. But think, please, if it had been me who had been ill, what would have become of me? — no income going on whether one could work or not — no wife to take care of me. You are far better off than I am in these respects, and, to tell the truth, I am often tired to death of work and care — always work, work, whether one likes or not. But I am wicked to complain.
It will be very kind of you to write and let me know now and then how you are going on. Tids and I are all alone at present, living a sort of Darby-and-Joan life, which I enjoy much.
I am going to write to Sara, so I need not send her any messages. We start for Scotland on Monday morning. — With very anxious wishes for your complete recovery, dear Principal, ever affectionately.
Letters such as the two following give an idea of the wide range of reading and of interests which Mrs. Oliphant always maintained even in the heaviest press of solid work. She almost seemed to know books by instinct.
To Mr. Blackwood.
Windsor,
27th October.
...For a New Books article I am somewhat divided in my mind between an article on Travels — including Miss Bird’s books, Mrs. Scott Stevenson’s ‘Ride through Asia Minor’, and Du Chaillu’s new book on Scandinavia, which ought to make an excellent article — or Philosophical Romance, taking up Mallock’s last production, the ‘Romance of the Nineteenth Century,’ and ‘Clifford Gray’ — or an article on French and English novels, taking up two or three of the latter, and Daudet’s last two books, ‘Le petit Chose’ and a very recent one called ‘Numa Roumestan.’ Will you choose between them and send me which you like? About the ghost story, I am turning it over in my mind, and if I find it likely to work out well, you shall have it in good time.
The idea of the story of the Unseen called “The Open Door” was suggested to Mrs. Oliphant by part of the grounds belonging to Colinton House, near Edinburgh, where Mr. Blackwood was then residing.
Windsor,
20th December.
...I am very glad that Mr. Langford likes “The Open Door,” and delighted that you are satisfied with your New Year number. The Magazine has been so successful during the last year that I have no fear of your keeping it up to the highest level.
The English books that I thought of taking up as a balance to the French ones are ‘John Inglesant’ (a very remarkable book), the ‘Portrait of a Lady,’ and ‘Clifford Gray,’ — these are all that occur to me at the moment, and I have got them all. I will tell you of any others I think of.
I am not going to mix up my Christmas good wishes with business, so I shall write again. — With once more many thanks.
To the Misses Blackwood.
Windsor,
10th November,
Dear Bessie and Emma, — I feel so startled and overwhelmed by the sad announcement I have just seen in the papers, that I have no words to say to you how I feel for you and how deeply I grieve in your grief. I feel more thankful than I can say that I saw so much of your dear mother this autumn, and so entirely renewed the affectionate regard which I had always felt for her. How kind she was! how thoughtful and good to everybody! I wish I were near enough to go to you and cry with you, dear girls. God bless you. I cannot say any more. — Yours in deep sympathy and affection.
To Mr. Craik.
Windsor,
20th December.
Your letter is exact to the terms we agreed upon, and I shall preserve it as my guide, — many thanks.
Let me wish you all kinds of good things for the season. I feel myself so struggling upon a stormy sea, so wildly afloat, and sometimes so little hopeful, that I am but a poor sort of raven to croak out good wishes. There are times when life is specially hard; but though you are safe and happy, you are not one of those who hug themselves upon their comfort and enjoy their peace all the more for the roar of the storms outside in which others are battling. Many thanks for the helping hand you have always been ready to hold out to me, and I pray that you may have for your share full measure, heaped up and running over, of all that is good and best, both now and always.
Entreat Mrs. Craik in my name to come and bear me company in Mr. Sandys’ gallery. I don’t think it is quite proper that I should be there alone. He is a dreadful tyrant, it is true, but it is only once in a way. I do hope she will be persuaded to sit. I feel sure he would make a beautiful piece of work of her. Will you greet her affectionately in my name, and give her my kindest and best wishes for the New Year and all years?