She has a big public, but it would be a thousand times bigger if only scoffers and doubters would really read these books by the authoress whom they hang without trial. Let them take a course of Marie Corelli during the long winter evenings, passing on from book to book—from the “Romance” to “Vendetta,” thence to “Thelma,” “Ardath,” “Wormwood,” “The Soul of Lilith,” and so on—in the order in which they were written. For the idle and listless, for the frivolous, for the irreligious, for the purse-proud, for the down-hearted and distressed, she will prove a veritable “cure,” for she is at once a moralist and a tonic. And whereas she is a literary sermon in herself to those who listen to other preachers without profit, so will she prove a profitable and restorative change of air to the busy, the honestly prosperous, the “godly, righteous, and sober” of her students. She is for all, and, where funds are scarce and shillings consequently precious, Free Libraries bring her within reach of everybody.
At a time when our leading dramatists and novelists drag their art in the mud for the sake of the lucre that may be found down there in plenty, it is refreshing and hope-inspiring to find that the writer with the largest public in the world, whose work has penetrated to every country and is thus not restricted to Anglo-Saxondom any more than a new type of rifle is, has ranged herself on the side of Right! Thus, owing to the wide-spread interest in her work, she is enabled to preach the gospel of her beliefs in all corners of the globe;—this, too, in spite of the fact that she is comparatively a newcomer in literature.
“My appeal for a hearing,” wrote Miss Corelli, when describing, in the pages of the Idler, the appearance of her first book, “was first made to the great public, and the public responded; moreover, they do still respond with so much heartiness and good-will, that I should be the most ungrateful scribbler that ever scribbled if I did not” (despite press “drubbings” and the amusing total ignoring of my very existence by certain cliquey literary magazines) “take up my courage in both hands, as the French say, and march steadily onward to such generous cheering and encouragement. I am told by an eminent literary authority that critics are ‘down upon me’ because I write about the supernatural. Neither ‘Vendetta,’ nor ‘Thelma,’ nor ‘Wormwood’ is supernatural. But, says the eminent literary authority, why write at all, at any time, about the supernatural? Why? Because I feel the existence of the supernatural, and, feeling it, I must speak of it. I understand that the religion we profess to follow emanates from the supernatural. And I presume that churches exist for the solemn worship of the supernatural. Wherefore, if the supernatural be thus universally acknowledged as a guide for thought and morals, I fail to see why I, and as many others as choose to do so, should not write on the subject.... But I distinctly wish it to be understood that I am neither a ‘Spiritualist’ nor a ‘Theosophist’.... I have no other supernatural belief than that which is taught by the Founder of our Faith....”
The plot of the story with which Miss Corelli won her spurs is simple in the extreme. The plot indeed, is a secondary matter, the main strength of the book being the Physical Electricity utilized by Heliobas—the medicine man of Chaldæan descent who has neither diploma nor license—in his cure of the young improvisatrice whose nerves have been shattered by over-devotion to musical study and whose vitality has been reduced to an alarmingly low ebb by her inability to recuperate, even in the soothing climate of the Riviera. An artist who has been saved from self-destruction and restored to absolute health by Heliobas, advises her to seek out this “Dr. Casimir” (as Heliobas is called in Paris) and put herself in his hands. This she does, with astounding results; for, from a miserable, woe-begone creature, all “palpitations and headaches and stupors,” Casimir’s potions and electrical remedies change her into an absolutely healthy woman, “plump and pink as a peach.” In Casimir’s house lives the physician’s sister, Zara, who, by means of the same medical and electrical properties, retains, at thirty-eight, the complexion and supple health of a girl of seventeen, being ever “as fresh and lovely as a summer morning.” During her stay with him, Heliobas expounds his “Electric Creed” to the young musician, and by her own wish, and by means of his extraordinary hypnotic powers—combined with a fluid preparation which he causes her to take—throws her into a trance, in the course of which “strange departure,” her soul is temporarily separated from her body and floats from the earth to other spheres. Guided by the spirit Azùl, it wanders to the “Centre of the Universe,” and, after being permitted to gaze upon the wonders and glories of the supernatural, returns to earth and once more takes its place in the work-a-day body from which it had been temporarily released. After Casimir has afforded the girl further explanations of his theories, she is admitted to the small circle of adherents to the Electric Creed. As a result of Casimir’s treatment she eventually finds herself not only in possession of complete health, but also equally perfected in her work; so much so, indeed, that while her improved looks are a delight to her friends, her playing fills them with wonder and delight.
The story ends pathetically. Just as the heroine is about to go forth into the world again, armed with new bodily vigor and tenfold her previous talent, her friend, the ever-youthful Zara, is killed by a flash of lightning. After attending the burial of his sister in Père-la-Chaise, Heliobas takes leave of his patient, and proceeds to Egypt to accustom himself to the solitude to which his sister’s death has condemned him. The reader is given to understand, however, that Heliobas and the young musician meet again later on under more cheerful conditions.
Such is a mere outline of this popular story, which is told throughout with admirable restraint and dignity, the language being moderate, and the arguments pithily expressed. The half-dozen minor characters are touched in with all the skill of an experienced novelist; and yet, when Miss Corelli set to work on this “Romance,” she was younger than her heroine is represented to be.
The actual penmanship occasioned by the writing of the book must have been as nothing compared with the very arduous thought and study connected with the mental generation of the views held by Heliobas and his fellow-believers. That the theories here exploited are well worth the consideration of all thoughtful persons, is proved by the intense interest the book has aroused in so many widely different and widely separated areas of civilization.
It ought to be remembered, too, that, at the time the “Romance” was published, the wonders of the X-rays had not been demonstrated, nor had wireless telegraphy become a fait accompli. Yet these were distinctly foretold in Marie Corelli’s first book, as also the possible wonders yet to be proved in certain new scientific theories of Sound and Color. It may instruct many to know that the theory of God’s “Central World” with which all the universe moves, is a part of the authoress’s own implicit belief in a future state of being.
CHAPTER IV
“VENDETTA” AND “THELMA”
To Miss Corelli’s host of admirers the story of “Vendetta” must be so familiar as to render a lengthy repetition of it unnecessary. “Vendetta” is, briefly, an exposition—in the form of a novel—on marital infidelity.