Marie Corelli: The Writer and the Woman

by Thomas F. G. Coates; R. S. Warren Bell

He had a good voice, and the next profession to which he turned his attention was operatic singing. For this again he had a not unpromising equipment, and his father determined to send him to Italy for the purpose of studying music there under good masters. No progress, however, was made with the musical studies, though the people and the conditions of existence in Italy appealed strongly to him, and he made Italy his home for many years.

During the first portion of his sojourn abroad he received a liberal allowance from his father, and was at other times indebted to him for considerable financial help. He was, like the Doctor, a master of European languages, and this knowledge enabled him to earn a precarious livelihood as a teacher of French and English. The income thus derived was added to by correspondence for newspapers.

Dr. Mackay gave his son many valuable introductions, and he thus became acquainted with Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton (to whom he subsequently dedicated a book of poems); Sir Richard Burton; and Sir William Perry, the British Consul at Venice. All three became interested in him, and were frequently of assistance to him.

He found it impossible, however, to settle down. He stayed nowhere very long. Rome and Venice saw more of him than other cities. He wrote verses, and some were, under the title of “Songs of Love and Death,” collected in a volume and published by Messrs. Chapman & Hall in 1864. This was the volume which was dedicated to Sir E. Bulwer Lytton. He was not encouraged by the financial results of his work. Poetry, in fact, does not pay, and the public at the time gave his verses but a chilly greeting. His poetic ardor somewhat damped by this treatment, he left the lyrical muse alone for a time and commenced the publication in Rome of The Roman Times. This journal, unfortunately, like most newspaper enterprises that do not “go,” was a costly failure. Il Poliglotta, another journalistic venture, was published in Venice. It was a disastrous undertaking, absorbing all the money which its editor had been able to raise, and leaving a heavy deficit.

The failure was the more serious because of other debts—personal, and in connection with two volumes which he had published. One, a collection of his newspaper articles, was called “Days and Nights in Italy”; the other, “Lord Byron at the Armenian Convent,” this being practically a handy guide-book to Venice. Nothing paid. The result was that he left Italy, after living there for twenty years, poorer than he went, which literally meant that he came back penniless. Broken financially, and in spirit, he returned to his father.

To the young girl Marie, whose life had hitherto been so exceptionally quiet, there was almost a romantic interest in this sudden arrival of the middle-aged man who, she was informed, was her stepbrother, and she made much of him. Moreover, Dr. Mackay was seriously disappointed at the failure of his son to make a career, and at his position—without income or apparent hope of earning one; and it was evident to Marie that it would afford her stepfather the keenest pleasure if George Eric should, after all, achieve success.

The circumstances of her untiring efforts to bring him into notice are known only to a few, though misunderstood by many.

In the first place, her principal aim was to relieve her stepfather from the burden of his son’s maintenance. In the second, she sought to rouse and inspire that son to obtain for himself a high position in literature. She spared no pains to attain these two objects, and all her first small earnings went in assisting him. She was at this time still continuing her musical studies, and very often went to hear Sarasate. The large sums of money earned by this eminent artist first suggested an idea to George Eric of learning the violin, and, though late in life to begin, he resolved to study the instrument. His musical training in Italy must have been very ineffectual, as he had to learn his notes. He wished, however, for a good instrument, and his stepsister secured a “Guarnerius” model from Chappell, which she paid for by instalments and presented to him. It may be added that he never made anything of it, but it was useful in providing the title of his best-known work.

He had produced a volume, “Pygmalion in Cyprus,” published at the expense of friends, but the result was again disheartening. Some plays that he wrote were rejected by the managers to whom they were sent. About the same time Miss Corelli had returned to her the first story she had written. The editor of the magazine to whom it had been submitted was of opinion that the writing of novels was not her forte. She took the opinion seriously, and decided to write no more, but to complete her musical training and look to the concert platform as the means of livelihood. She had already composed quite a large number of poems, some of which were subsequently torn up, some remain unpublished, and some have found a place in her books. A strong poetical tendency is evident throughout all her books, and is particularly prominent in “Ardath,” a great portion of which is almost as much poetry as prose. Two letters, written by Eric Mackay at this time, and now preserved in Miss Corelli’s autograph album, are particularly interesting. One ran:

“I am happier than I have been since boyhood, for I have a little sister again, and that little sister—the best and brightest in the world—does everything for me. But how far short of your ambition for me must I fall!—for you have already done so much in your short life—you, a child, and I, alas! a man growing old.”