She did not turn her face, and he was compelled to look at her now. His glaring eyes were fixed upon her.
“Don’t you know?” he whispered again, and then in a scarcely audible voice he said, “It was I, Mona.”
The restrained power of this passage is typical of Hall Caine—not one word too much, and yet the man and woman live and breathe before our very eyes.
Mona confesses her love, and Dan leaves her to give himself up to justice. But temptation and hindrances are put in his way. It seems to be fated that his crime shall go unpunished, unatoned for. At length, overcoming all his weakness, and with a mighty resolve to suffer the penalty of his guilt, Dan gives himself up at the Ramsey courthouse. Then follow weary months of waiting until his trial. Finally he receives his punishment on Tynwald Hill—the ancient mound where, once in each year, the laws of the island are proclaimed to the assembled people. He is sentenced by his own father to lifelong solitude. “Men and women of Man,” cries the Bishop, “the sentence of the court of the barony of the island is, that this man shall be cut off from his people. Henceforth let him have no name among us, nor family, nor kin. From now for ever let no flesh touch his flesh. Let no tongue speak to him. Let no eye look on him. If he should be an-hungered, let none give him meat. When he shall be sick, let none minister to him. When his death shall come, let no man bury him. Alone let him live, alone let him die, and among the beasts of the field let him hide his unburied bones.” And then follows a tear-compelling document written by Dan in his exile, wherein it is shown how he works out his own redemption, and regains his manhood. Eventually he becomes the saviour of his people and dies in Mona’s arms.
Many critics have levelled at Mr Caine a charge of unnecessary sadness in thus allowing his hero to die just at the moment when his regeneration is complete, but to my mind that is the only possible ending. Read in the right spirit the book is not sad; pervading its pages is seen a glorious optimism which not only gives one new faith in humanity, but makes one feel that life itself is a grander and nobler thing than one had ever before imagined. If Dan had had his punishment cancelled, and had married Mona—what a painful piece of bathos it would have been! And yet that is precisely what many critics desired. They seem to imagine that the temporal life is of far more importance than the spiritual. Dan’s life was crowned and his death glorified by his spiritual triumph. During those years of awful loneliness he not only purified his own nature, but exalted his very soul. The Deemster is no melodramatic piece of stagework; it is a direct human document, a spiritual drama. It is the first work of Hall Caine’s which has indubitably written on every page the word “genius.”
It was published in 1838, and immediately created a sensation. Critics welcomed it on all hands. It was recognised as a powerful and original piece of work, and the new setting for the story added not a little to its attractiveness; for, fully in sympathy with Manxland, its laws, customs and society, Mr Caine had painted a picture of great charm and attraction. Old Kerry, Quilleash, and Hommy-beg were accepted as true portraits of Manx character, with their ingrained superstition, their vanity and their generosity. But the book did not impress the critics only; it was read far and wide by the public, and within a few months the circulation had become enormous. The Deemster was one of the successes of the year, and from the date of its publication the popularity of Hall Caine began.
I am permitted to give here, by the courtesy of Mr A. P. Watt, Mr Wilkie Collins’s literary executor, a letter addressed to Mr Caine by the late novelist. It is only one out of many hundreds received by Hall Caine from all parts of the world, congratulating him on his success, and offering him tributes of thanks.
“90 Gloucester Place,
“Portman Square, W.,
“London, March 15, 1888.
“Dear Hall Caine,—(Let us drop the formality of ‘Mr’—and let me set the example because I am the oldest).
“I have waited to thank you for The Deemster, until I could command time enough to read the book without interruptions. Let me add that the chair in which I have enjoyed this pleasure is not the chair of the critic. What I am now writing conveys the impressions of a brother in the art.