the sapient Malvolio; and I frankly admit that I felt myself to be
entirely in the latter category when I became a sort of modern heroine
in a new version of _Much Ado About Nothing_, in the precincts of
Stratford-on-Avon itself, under the sacred ægis of the Immortal Bard.
A real stage was set for me, with the real “city officers Dogberry and
Verges”--in fact “the whole dissembly appeared.” I was summoned for
“hoarding” sugar. In plain truth I have never “hoarded” anything--not
even money, as the town of Stratford-on-Avon has sufficient reason
to know. I have never even had the careful housekeeper’s habit
of a “store-cupboard”--my house being destitute of such lock-up
conveniences, wherefore we have found it best always to order what
is wanted from week to week, paying for it likewise from week to
week and incurring no debts. In the affair of the sugar I could not
procure enough to obey the commands set upon me by the Food Production
and other Government Departments. Correspondence with Mr. Prothero
had impressed upon me that there was a shortage of all foodstuffs,
especially butter, and it was represented to me that every householder
growing their own fruit should make as much jam as possible to replace
the butter. That year (1917) was a wonderful fruit year; in my own
garden, not an “orchard” by any means or abundantly stocked, there was
gathered nearly a thousand pounds dead-weight of fruit. Some of it
we sold--much of it we gave away--the rest had either to be wasted or
preserved. “Shortage of foodstuffs” necessitated its preservation. Our
local surveyor, though obliging, could not supply his customers with
enough sugar to go round. The “Hoarding Act” distinctly stated that the
order did not apply itself to “sugar obtained for the preservation of
homegrown produce”--so I appealed to my old friend, Sir Thomas Lipton,
not only because he was a friend, but because he was a grocer, and as
such, would be sure to know what quantity of sugar he might or might
not sell to any customer. But----! Here comes in another story!
A short time previous to the Sugar-Comedy of “Much Ado,” I had been
approached by two gentlemen from Birmingham on behalf of the Y.M.C.A.
and Sir Arthur Yapp (then Director of Food Economy) to help the Society
by a subscription. I gave a hundred pounds; and a generous friend of
mine, on hearing what I had subscribed, gave another hundred. In the
warmth of this success I wrote to Sir Thomas Lipton and asked him
boldly for another hundred. I received a truly heart-rending reply to
the effect that he was a “poor man,” and “could not afford so large a
sum,” but that if I had asked him for ten or fifteen pounds he would
have gladly subscribed. I at once seized the opportunity and begged
him to send the fifteen. He did so, and I wrote my acknowledgments,
assuring him that when he went to heaven that Fifteen Pounds given to
the Y.M.C.A. would be an extra feather in his Angel-Wing! (I do hope
he will one day show that letter to Sir Arthur Yapp!) Then, feeling
I had not yet done enough for the Y.M.C.A. Huts, I agreed that the
Cinema company, then running some stories of mine on the “film,” should
give a few “shows” of them in Stratford for the sole benefit of the
Y.M.C.A., and I am glad to say that they drew packed houses and brought
a substantial result. For this and such assistance as I had freely
given to help on the good cause I had a note from Sir Arthur Yapp
expressing his “most grateful thanks.” And now we can _revenons à nos
moutons_--that is to say, I can return to the Sugar version of “Much
Ado”--but I would earnestly request my readers to “mark, learn, and
inwardly digest” what we may call “The Y.M.C.A.-Yapp Interlude.”
As I have already stated, I could not get sufficient sugar from the
local grocer to preserve the fruit in hand, and as fruit is perishable,
and there was no time to be lost, I rang up Sir Thomas Lipton on the
telephone and asked him what he could do for me. The familiar “Glasgie”
accent came harmoniously along the wire--“Ye’ll never want for sugar so
long as Tom Lipton’s on the ‘phone!”
So it was settled. I and my friend (a lady who has been my companion
throughout my life since my childhood, and who has generously and
kindly undertaken all my household cares) set happily to work to
preserve our fruit; whole in jars where we could do so, but made into
jam for the most part. I would here remark, with all diffidence, that
I do not revel in jam myself; but I like having it for others--such as
schoolboys, for instance, before whom whole pots vanish like snow in
the sun when they come to tea with me, bless their frank appetites!
We had nearly completed our labours, all except the transmutation of
apples into jelly and “apple cheese” (the best possible substitute
for butter), when one afternoon, while I was out, a police constable
called and said he must search the house for “hoards.” He brought
no authority, but stated that if he were refused he would procure a
search warrant. My friend, who received the intruder, was naturally
rather surprised, but having nothing to hide she cordially invited
the official to go all over the house wherever he would. Accordingly
he tramped into the dining-room, opened cupboards and drawers, even
peering into an unobtrusive little tea-caddy, and went down into
the cellar and inspected the larder. He found nothing but a large
flour-bin, into which for convenience had been put fifteen pounds of
sugar (duly weighed) left for use with the apples yet to be preserved.
While he was still on the prowl, I returned home, and though I am never
much taken aback at anything Stratford-on-Avon “authorities” do, I
was, I think, justifiably annoyed at having my private rooms searched
on such a ridiculous charge of which I was absolutely guiltless.
Moreover, the “hofficer” who had thus broken into my house without
warning, was a man who had often had supper in our kitchen with beer
_galore_, which he had greatly relished--while another detail of the
matter was that for some years, since the intrusion of an unhappy
lunatic-tramp into my garden, the police had been given by myself a
private key to the premises, so that they could enter at any time.
Therefore, if they had sought to keep me under “observation” there was
nothing to hinder their surveillance, which indeed I had personally
requested and was grateful for. But--as the official informed me the
“hoarding” accusation came “from London”--“on account of Sir Thomas
Lipton.” This rather amazed me, and for a moment I thought it must be
that “feather in the Angel-Wing”! My doubts were soon set at rest by
a visit from my solicitor who told me Sir Thomas was “much distressed
and could not sleep” for thinking about the threatened trouble. Some
one at certain Stratford-on-Avon Stores had noted the arrival at the
railway station of the Lipton supplies of sugar--quite openly sent,
and openly marked “Sugar,” for we were under the impression that all
was in due observance of the Food Production rules, and that there was
nothing to hide or to “hoard.” Naturally I wrote at once to the Lipton
office requesting these supplies to be stopped, without, however, at
once succeeding, as, notwithstanding my expressed desire, a fresh
package was transmitted, which I promptly returned. I then wrote to
Sir Arthur Yapp, feeling quite sure that his recent experience of my
conduct in respect to the Y.M.C.A. would convince him that there was
some “official blundering” (to quote a press term) in the absurd notion
that I, whose work throughout the war had been to help, not to hinder
all patriotic aims, could possibly sink to the “hoarding” level. I
had written to him long before, pleading that the poor working women
should not be compelled to stand in “queues,” waiting to get food
for themselves and their children, on which subject he wrote me the
following letter:--
“December 17, 1917.
“DEAR MISS CORELLI,--Thank you very much indeed for your further
letter and enclosure, and I hope to be able to arrange for the
workers to get things for their children. All the points you
mention shall receive careful attention and I am consulting some
of my colleagues forthwith. Again thanking you,
“Yours faithfully,
“A. K. YAPP,
“_Director of Food Economy_.”
This does not look as if I had sought to “rob the poor by hoarding,”
as one accuser in the “gutter” press made out later on! When I wrote,
explaining the position which had so wrongfully arisen, Sir Arthur
wrote regretting it and saying: “I will make all inquiries and am more
than sorry you should be worried.”
However, the “case” instigated “from London,” went on remorselessly and
I asserted my innocence in vain. A second appeal to Sir Arthur Yapp,
strengthened by a personal visit to him from my solicitor who urgently
pointed out the absurdity of the “hoarding” charge in my regard,
brought the following:--
“NATIONAL COUNCIL, Y.M.C.A.
December 26, 1917.
“DEAR MISS CORELLI,--Thanks for your letters. I was glad to see
your solicitor, but am not sure that I can help you. I will gladly
do so if I can. Unfortunately all the people are away for a few
days. I will try to get in touch with the Chairman of the Sugar
Commission to-morrow, Friday or Saturday. I will write again. I am
so sorry you are having this worry. In haste,
“Yours sincerely,
”A. K. YAPP.”
Nevertheless, with all this amiable “Yapp-ing” he did _not_ “get in
touch” with the Chairman of the Sugar Commission, then Sir Charles
Bathurst, who wrote himself and told me he had never heard a word of
the affair till he saw it in the newspapers. On this point my solicitor
wrote as follows: “I am glad to hear that you have a letter from Sir
Charles Bathurst, expressing sympathy. I cannot, however, overlook
the fact that whereas Sir Arthur Yapp had no power apart from Sir
Charles to take cognisance of facts which I brought to his notice with
a view to stopping an unjustifiable prosecution calculated to do you
an injury, Sir Charles Bathurst had ample power and did not exercise
it, although approached by Sir Arthur Yapp. I do not think the Food
Control Department even troubled to send the case to their counsel, but
merely seized the opportunity to accept a statement which was not in
conformity with the evidence, was a violation of the highest principles
of justice, and a slur upon the summary jurisdiction of the land.”
And so the case went on. Yapp meantime addressed a crowd on Tower
Hill and assured them “Marie Corelli’s sugar had been taken from
her”--which was a flaring fiction as there was no excess of sugar to
take. He failed to mention that the victim he thus pilloried had given
far more than the sugar’s worth to the Y.M.C.A., of which he posed
as the pious and conscientious Head! But “that’s another story”! He
felt perfectly justified, however, in handing over my personal letters
to him (marked “Private”) to a Mr. Wise, his secretary, I believe,
whom my solicitor found reading them to his lady clerks by way of a
little entertainment--and so altogether I rank Sir Arthur Yapp with
Shakespeare’s Brutus, and here express my profound acknowledgments.
On the 2nd of January, 1918, the case for my “hoarding” was tried
by the eminent “bench” of Stratford-on-Avon. My servants were
subpœnaed--they sat patiently in court, but nobody asked them a
single question! A legal representative of Sir Thomas Lipton’s, glib
as Sergeant Buzfuz, managed things for his principal in such a way
as to leave Sir Thomas scot-free, though in other similar cases the
supplier was fined in the same sum as the supplied. I was not in court.
My friend, who has all the responsibility of housekeeping, went into
the witness-box and answered all questions plainly and honestly--but
plainness and honesty do not count for much in law. The point which
Dogberry and Verges adhered to was that they did not believe we had
used the sugar for jam! Was ever anything more absurdly humorous! We
were ready and willing to make public exhibition of the jam; we offered
those amazing “city officers” free permission to inspect it--but _they
would not_! They preferred to doubt the word of a lady through whose
hands many hundreds of pounds had been spent in the town and whose
well-known straightforward character makes her incapable of truckling
to falsehood or hypocrisy. I must not forget to mention that the
worthy Dogberrys had been much bamboozled by the constant delivery of
large wooden boxes at my house labelled “Maypole Tea,” “Tate’s Sugar,”
“Nestle’s Milk,” etc., etc.; it looked very like “hoarding,” surely?
A constable followed the packages up through an open passage leading
to out-houses, and there to his immense chagrin discovered that these
cases contained nothing but material for electric-wiring and lighting,
sent by Messrs. Tredegars of Brook Street, who had undertaken the
installation of the electric light in my house. They were compelled
to pack their goods in any boxes they could secure, there being a
“shortage” in packing-cases as in everything else, and when the
“hoarding” trial came on, the director of the firm offered most kindly
and courteously to attend the court and explain the share his boxes
had in the silly accusation. But there was no need; Dogberry and
Verges had already made up their minds. My chief assailants were the
Superintendent of Police in Stratford and the Town Clerk--and after the
case was over and they had “convicted” me of what I had never committed
(though the “bench” disagreed among themselves), all the clues were
placed in my hands in such a remarkable way as would remind one of
Sherlock Holmes if there were time or space to tell it! Perhaps the
following sentence from a legal document may put the matter clearly:--
“The root of the whole evil is your local bench, and bias is
self-evident by the action of the Acting Clerk, _when he withheld
information from us as to the findings of the Justices until after the
time to appeal to Quarter Sessions had elapsed_.”
I have often wondered why this malignity? Why, too, on the part
of the “Acting Clerk,” whom I have always beheld with respectful
admiration in his curly white wig marching in the Shakespeare Sunday
or Mayoral processions to Church? He is my beau-ideal of a cultured
Dogberry--his very look and movement express--“I am a wise fellow;
and which is more an officer; and which is more a householder; and
which is more as pretty a piece of flesh as any in Messina (Stratford)
and one that knows the law, go to; and a rich fellow enough, go to;
and a fellow that hath had losses; and one that hath two gowns and
everything handsome about him! O that I had been writ down----” No--I
will not finish the quotation; suffice it to say that I have never
intentionally or to my knowledge caused offence to this excellent man.
But both Church and State were in the persecution of my quite innocent
personality; two dismissed outdoor employés of my own first started
the mischief, and as one had found a temporary job on the local “food
control,” it was easy to trace the work of hands guided by personal
spite and desire to give me trouble. Afraid to start the accusation
in Stratford itself, they quite ingenuously managed to transfer it
through a mutual friend to London, from whence the “summons” was
“arranged” to come--and since then, having found out the whole petty
plot, I have been full of amused compassion for the miserable plotters.
They must surely feel that the game was hardly worth the candle! Of
course, press-reporters rushed down like hounds in full cry directly
they scented possible injury to me--they would never have troubled
themselves to note anything I did of good--but anything that savoured
of meanness and disloyalty on my part was “nuts” to them! As they never
saw me, and I made no appearance in court, these poor untidy pressmen
were reduced to their usual fictions, and wired all over the world that
I had “made a scene in court,” “attacked Lloyd George,” etc., etc.!
(And yet, just before this comedy started, and â propos of sugar, I had
sent Miss Megan Lloyd George some chocolate “eclairs” made at home,
with which this charming little friend of mine was much delighted!)
Yes--these chivalrous press-men labelled me from England to furthest
Ind as a hoarder and hypocrite and I was left without remedy. I was
assailed by the lowest anonymous letters and post cards; of course one
knows how to take such off-scourings of depraved human minds, as no
one but a villain, male or female, would write an anonymous letter.
But with all the pain I felt at the misjudgment, amounting almost to
cruelty, of the press, which deliberately did its best to injure me
with my reading public, I had my compensations. I had hundreds of
letters from our men at the front indignantly protesting against the
wrong done to me--and a wonderful document signed by the officers and
men of the Overseas Military Forces of Canada came to hearten me up by
its generous testimony as follows:--
“We, the undersigned Officers, Non-Commissioned Officers, and Men
of the Overseas Military Forces of Canada desire to take this
opportunity of expressing to you our gratitude for the many acts of
kindness and hospitality that you have shown to the members of the
Canadian Forces since they arrived in this country.
“We also wish to express to you our sympathies in the recent cruel
and unjust charge of ‘hoarding’ which was brought against you, and
we feel sure that when the true facts are brought to the knowledge
of the public they will realise that the spirit of patriotism you
have shown throughout the war, and the generosity with which you
have contributed articles to the various periodicals published for
the benefit of the troops do not coincide with the possibility of
any contravention of war measures.
“We also wish to add the expression of our admiration for the
pre-eminent position you have attained in the world of literature
and art, and to assure you that none appreciate your works more
than the people of Canada.
“We trust that this assurance of our admiration for your genius,
and our sympathy in the worry to which you have been so unjustly
subjected, will prove to you that we are not unmindful of the
kindness and warm interest you have invariably shown towards
Canadian soldiers.
“We beg to remain,
”Sincerely yours,”
Here followed a long list of officers’ and men’s names; the kind and
generous testimonial of their friendship was dated from Bramshott Camp,
Hants, April 16th, 1918.
I make no comment on this most valued “vote of confidence” voluntarily
given by brave and chivalrous men. I publish it just as it is--one of
my most precious possessions. I can endure even dear Dogberry’s malice
with such a battalion of fighting friends!
One other thing may be mentioned as showing the curious cross-purposes
of the Stratford-on-Avon “justices” in the prosecution against me, and
that is the letter written to me by the Deputy-Mayor on the eve of the
trial--thus:--
“December 31, 1917.
“DEAR MISS CORELLI,--Allow me to offer you my sincere wishes
that the year 1918 may prove to you and yours one of unalloyed
happiness. In these days such a wish may seem impossible of
achievement. Amidst the strife of nations and the world-wide clash
of arms there must be anxiety and care for all who love their
country, and the ‘petty pin-pricks’ which come to all who try to
do their duty will no doubt try the temper and patience; but amidst
all life’s worries the consciousness of duty done, of love for
others, and the desire to do always what is right will bring _you_
that real peace and happiness which the world cannot give. That you
may have this in 1918 and the years to follow is my earnest wish.
With kind regards,
“Yours sincerely,
“FRED WINTER.”
So was the “Winter of my discontent” moved to try making a bit of
“glorious summer” on the eve of the “Hoarding” case! I was grateful,
of course--and I did not allow myself to dwell on the thought that
perhaps, only perhaps, he was thus moved because long before the
“hoarding” case, my “hoarding” tendencies had prominently displayed
themselves in agreeing to pay £60 towards the restoration of his
ancient house in the High Street, a sum which no one else volunteered!
I did it for love and honour of the town’s antique beauty--not for any
self-laudation or advantage; and I am glad to have been of some use in
this direction. It is a quaint coincidence that this same Deputy-Mayor,
when I previously aided the restoration of the now famous “Tudor”
House opposite the Town Hall, accused me in the local press of doing
it for “self-advertisement.” I am sure he must regret this temporary
misjudgment now that his own house shows its Henry VIIth timbers to the
light of day.
Briefly to sum up, I am and always have been absolutely guiltless of
“hoarding” anything. I would rather give than receive, and am quite
an adept at “doing without.” And if I may presume to quote finally
from the original _Much Ado About Nothing_ I can say that while I am
perfectly aware of the local “Conrade” and “Borachio” who vented their
spite against me, I think there are many now in Stratford-on-Avon
itself who would say with the original Dogberry:--
“Marry, sir, they have committed false report; moreover, they have
spoken untruths; secondarily they are slanderers; sixth and lastly they
have belied a lady; thirdly they have verified unjust things.”
As for the excellent Sir Thomas Lipton, who was much more troubled
in his mind about this little affair than I was, and who, though he
supplied the contested sugar, escaped all fine and also escaped the
contumely of the press which was heaped upon me like a cartload of
bricks, without rhyme or reason, without honesty or justice, and
without a single word of truth in the various reports cabled all over
the world to do me as much injury as possible; he was so relieved and
happy to think nothing was said about his own share in the matter
that he was more genial and delightsome than ever. And I have reason
to believe that he is “flattered to death,” as our American cousins
sometimes say, by the parody I wrote for him “after Robert Burns,”
which I call--
A New Version of
“A MAN’S A MAN FOR A’ THAT”
_Cordially Inscribed to Sir Thomas Lipton_
Fair fa’ our bouncin’ braggart Tam,
Wha perks his heid an’ a’ that,
The Prince o’ Pickles and o’ Jam,
Wha daurs be rich on a’ that!
For a’ that an’ a’ that,
His Butter, Tea, an’ a’ that,
He’s found his Bank the way to rank,
An’ Tam is Tam for a’ that!
What though wi’ Royalty he’ll dine,
’Mid sleekit Jews an’ a’ that,
Tam disna drink their best o’ wine,
He’s wide awake an’ a’ that!
For a’ that an’ a’ that,
Their duds an’ shows an’ a’ that,
The “Lipton Shares” are worth them a’
An’ Tam is Tam for a’ that!
Ye see yon birkie ca’d a lord,
Wha struts an’ stares an’ a’ that,
When tradesmen winna tak’ his word,
Tam rules his roast an’ a’ that!
For a’ that an’ a’ that,
His ribbon, stars an’ a’ that,
Tam kens his man baith oot an’ in,
An’ looks an’ laughs at a’ that.
The Premier maks a belted knight,
A duke, an earl an’ a’ that,
But a “Lipton’s Stores” aboon his might,
Gude faith! he maunna fa’ that!
For a’ that an’ a’ that,
Their pride o’ place an’ a’ that,
Monopolies o’ Ham and Tea
Mak’ louder fame than a’ that!
An’ Tam has gi’en Y.M.C.A.
A muckle cheque an’ a’ that,
An’ angels waft him on his way
To Paradise an’ a’ that!
For a’ that an’ a’ that,
For that’s the end o’ a’ that;
His lavish hand’s its own reward,
An’ Tam is Tam for a’ that!
THREE HUNDRED YEARS OF FAME
AVE SHAKESPEARE!
Three hundred years ago, on April 23, 1616, William Shakespeare,
of whom Carlyle wrote as “the pink and flower of remembered
Englishmen--the greatest thing we have yet done and managed to produce
in this world,” drew his last breath at “New Place,” the home he had
earned for himself in his native town of Stratford-on-Avon. The great
bell of the Guild Chapel facing the garden side of his “pretty house of
brick and timber” tolled for his passing; but the great voice of the
world which acclaims him so loudly to-day was dumb.
In those Puritan times he was but little considered; and no hint or
whisper of his coming renown stirred the sleepy quietude of the little
country place where he was born and where he died. His fellow-townsmen
of that period kept no particular record of him, nor did they dream of
him as the future King of English Literature. He was laid to rest in
the chancel of the Parish Church--an honoured place allowed to him, not
because of his genius as a Poet, for this was as indifferent a matter
then to the good bucolic folk of Stratford-on-Avon as it is now, but
because he had, by purchase, become part owner of the tithes and as a
lay-rector had right of interment there.