1879-1884
In the year 1878 an event of the greatest importance to Hall Caine’s
future life happened; he became acquainted with the poems of Dante
Gabriel Rossetti. Little did the eager young student of literature
imagine, when he first heard the name of one of the most subtle and
alluring poets of the last century, that his life would one day be
joined with his. Rossetti was to exercise an influence on his future the
full extent of which cannot even now be estimated. In his fascinating
_Recollections of Rossetti_ Mr Caine tells, with a certain amount of
detail, the story of his friendship with the poet. The story is a deeply
interesting one, and in some respects without precedent in Literature.
Their friendship was an honourable affair to both of them—more
especially to the younger man, who not only gave up many months of his
early youth when, maybe, he would have preferred to have been battling
with a still unconquered world, but also sacrificed much of his peace of
mind in his endeavour to make happy the last hours of Rossetti’s troubled
life. On the other hand, what he lost in health of body and mind, he
gained in intellectual stimulus; for Rossetti had a mind richly stored
with poetic and artistic lore, and the strangely beautiful dreams and
phantasmagoria that flitted through his brain undoubtedly did a great
deal towards stirring up the imagination of the future novelist, and
inciting him to further achievement. As I think of the poet and his
enthusiast talking for many hours together in Chelsea; as I think of them
afterwards in their loneliness in the Vale of St John; and as I ponder
over those last tragic days together at Birchington, I see many examples
of sacrifice on the part of Hall Caine, and many, many bitter hours
when the poet, forced by what seemed almost a power outside himself,
gave way to the accursed drug which killed him. A weak, febrile mind
would have given way under the strain of constant companionship with
Rossetti during the last months of his life; but Hall Caine had more
than this to weigh down his vigorous young intellect. For several weeks
he had the sole responsibility of the poet’s life on his shoulders, and
it even became necessary for him to regulate the doses of chloral which
was Life and Death to the diseased man with whom he lived; and many were
the extremities to which he was put in order to hide the fatal drug from
his friend. The story of their friendship, quite apart from its own
intrinsic interest, is essential to any honest attempt to understand the
development of the novelist’s mind.
It was in the early spring of 1879 that Rossetti wrote his first letter
to Hall Caine. It reads as follows:—
“16 CHEYNE WALK, CHELSEA,
“_29th July 1879_.
“DEAR MR CAINE,—I am much struck by the generous enthusiasm
displayed in your lecture, and by the ability with which it is
written. Your estimate of the impulses influencing my poetry
is such as I should wish it to suggest, and this suggestion, I
believe, it will have always for a true-hearted nature. You say
that you are grateful to me: my response is, that I am grateful
to you: for you have spoken out heartily and unfalteringly for
the work you love.
“I daresay you sometimes come to London. I should be very glad
to know you, and would ask you, if you thought of calling, to
give me a day’s notice when to expect you, as I am not always
able to see visitors without appointment. The afternoon about 5
might suit me, or else the evening about 9.30 p.m.—With all best
wishes, Yours sincerely,
“D. G. ROSSETTI.
“T. H. CAINE, Esq.”
This was sent in reply to a note of Hall Caine’s covering a copy of a
lecture he had twice or thrice delivered in Liverpool, on Rossetti’s
poetry. The lecture was subsequently printed in a magazine, and some
little time after its publication he conceived the idea of sending a
copy to the poet. This letter was the first of nearly two hundred which
followed in quick succession. Rossetti’s generous nature immediately
recognised the enthusiasm of his admirer, and Hall Caine writes in his
_Recollections of Rossetti_: “It is hardly necessary to say that I was …
delighted with the warmth of the reception accorded to my essay, and with
the revelation the letters appeared to contain of a sincere and unselfish
nature.” Mr Caine was naturally somewhat chary of seeming to seek favour
from the distinguished poet, and his purpose of bringing to Rossetti’s
knowledge the contents of his essay being served, he withdrew from the
correspondence and “there ensued an interval in which I did not write to
him.” Rossetti then wrote:—
“MY DEAR CAINE,—Let me assure you at once that correspondence
with yourself is one of my best pleasures, and that you cannot
write too much or too often for _me_; though after what you
have told me as to the apportioning of your time, I should be
unwilling to encroach unduly upon it.”
This at once put at rest all doubts that troubled Mr Caine, and a long,
ardent correspondence ensued.
During the time that Hall Caine was engaged in writing to Rossetti, his
life was an exceedingly busy one, and full of many and varied interests.
As we have seen, he was engaged all day in office work—uncongenial, one
can imagine, and perhaps even irksome. At night—sometimes _all_ night—he
worked at his books, reading and writing, for he had a good deal to do
in order to catch up with others who had enjoyed better opportunities.
His life was far from unhappy, in spite of the checked ambition which was
beginning to dominate him. He had friends of like mind and tastes with
his own, and his work in connection with the Liverpool Notes and Queries
Shakespearian Society brought him in contact with many interesting
people. Still, he was longing to be away—longing to test his strength
with the strength of the world, and desiring nothing better than to
work out his destiny. The story of how he threw off the shackles of
conventional life in Liverpool and escaped to the mountains of Cumberland
is by no means uncharacteristic, and I may perhaps be pardoned if I tell
it here pretty much as Mr Caine himself related it to me.
In 1881 his health seemed on the point of breaking down. He mentioned the
fact to his employer, with whom, by now, he was on terms of friendship.
Perhaps business was pressing, perhaps there were good and sufficient
reasons of some other kind, but at all events little attention was
taken, and for a week or two Mr Caine worked on uncomplainingly. But
a time came when he felt that if he wished to preserve his health he
must have an immediate holiday, so, giving up his keys to his fellow
clerk, he walked out of the office and never returned, in spite of the
affectionate and solicitous letters which followed him. But he had had
more than enough of office life, and had made up his mind to devote
his energies to Literature. At this time he possessed a sum of about
thirty pounds, and was delivering a course of twenty-four lectures for
the Liverpool Corporation. For each lecture he received two or three
guineas, but that was all that stood between him and the bottom of the
purse. But in his heart of hearts he knew that Literature was the only
profession in the world for him, and that the sooner he began to devote
his life to it the better. At this date, Hall Caine had twice stayed
with Rossetti at his house in Chelsea. He had found the poet cheerful
and in good health, but the mental atmosphere in which he lived was
almost morbid. “The gloom, the mediæval furniture, the brass censers,
sacramental cups, lamps and crucifixes conspired, I thought, to make the
atmosphere of a dwelling-house heavy and unwholesome.” But he felt that
by personal contact with the man he had been brought much nearer to him
in spirit, and there existed between them an affectionate regard such as
father and son might have for each other. The younger man was soon to be
called upon to make a sacrifice on behalf of his friend, and with that
“genius for friendship” of which we have already heard, the sacrifice was
made eagerly enough. Hall Caine had not been settled long at the Vale
of St John before Rossetti wrote saying that he too was ill—bodily and
mentally, and that he must soon leave London. If only he could get away
to the country, he was sure he would be better. “Supposing,” he wrote,
“I were to ask you to come to town in a fortnight’s time from now—I
returning with you for a while into the country—would that be feasible
to you?” For a few days he remained undecided, but at length wrote to
the Vale of St John asking Mr Caine to come to him. Mr Caine went, but
on arriving at Rossetti’s house found the poet unwilling to move. A
great change had now taken place. Rossetti had lost his cheerfulness,
his fund of good spirits. He was ill, and more than ever a slave to
chloral. His mind was unsettled and gloomy, and he suffered from the
hallucination that nearly all his friends had proved faithless. He
longed to escape from London, but yet he had not the strength of mind to
take the necessary steps. His doctor gave his permission for a visit to
Cumberland, but still Rossetti would not go. At last, yielding to the
persuasion of Mr Caine, strongly supported by the advice of Rossetti’s
older and more immediate friends, Theodore Watts, Frederick Shields and
William Rossetti, his brother, who thought the bracing mountain air of
Cumberland would work wonders, Rossetti consented to go. And now ensued
a time of anxiety for Hall Caine. They were entirely alone in the little
house they had rented in the mountains, save for a nurse to attend to
the wants of the sick man; and Caine had the real responsibility of
Rossetti’s life on his shoulders. Rossetti could not sleep, so night was
turned into day and day into night. They would sit up through the dark
hours together, with the sound of the flooded ghyll outside, and within
the tones of Caine’s voice as he read aloud to Rossetti to while the
hours away. And as he read, the poet would walk up and down the oblong
room, restless, nervous, and longing to get at the chloral which was
safely locked away in a place he knew not of. The hot, quick, anguishing
thirst for chloral was on him during these days, and when Rossetti used
to come to Hall Caine’s bedside and beg for an extra dose, the younger
man found him simply irresistible, and often had to give way to his
friend’s earnest pleading. There were other grave responsibilities
thrust upon him of which I cannot speak; suffice it to say that he bore
them bravely and uncomplainingly, and came out from his trial a more
experienced and a stronger man.
It was during these long sleepless nights that Hall Caine first told
Rossetti the outline of the story which was afterwards to be the
framework of his first novel, _The Shadow of a Crime_. This story, which
is dealt with in an ensuing chapter, although it appealed to Rossetti’s
imagination, did not convince him that it would make a good novel. It
was too terrible—too unsympathetic. He urged Caine to try his hand at
a Manx novel, and told him that it would be no mean ambition to strive
to become the bard of Manxland. The plot was discussed from every point
of view, but as yet the writing of it had not been commenced. Perhaps
the young student of Literature did not yet feel quite strong enough
in experience and imagination to attempt so large a scheme; perhaps
he was too engrossed reading Smollett, Fielding and Richardson for his
Liverpool lectures; or perhaps he had seen that Rossetti’s criticism was
a just one, and that the story would prove cold and inhuman. Whatever the
reason, the fact remains that he did not begin to work on his first novel
until some time afterwards when Rossetti lay in his grave, but month by
month, week by week, it was getting a stronger and yet stronger hold on
his imagination, until it dominated him entirely. The familiar legend of
his youth became a part of his everyday life, a part of his very being.
It obsessed him almost entirely to the exclusion of all other interests;
but he restrained himself day by day, until restraint was no longer
possible, and then in a fever of impatience and enthusiasm he began to
write.
Meanwhile Rossetti was gradually becoming worse and worse, and Caine more
and more anxious. What was to be done? They were hundreds of miles away
from home and older and more experienced friends, and Rossetti seemed
too ill to travel. It was a critical time for both of them. Rossetti was
by turns irritable and genial, bad-tempered and high-spirited, full of
life and languidly indolent; but these various moods were not reflected
in his companion—he was always anxious, always wondering what was going
to happen. The solitude, the anxiety and the poor state of his own health
made him suffer keenly; yet even now he confesses that he looks back
with great tenderness and gratitude to those four weeks with Rossetti
among the Cumberland hills. At length it was decided that they should
return home, and the instant the decision was made Rossetti’s spirits
rose. Perhaps he had already a premonition of his nearly-approaching
death, and felt more at ease that he was to die near friends and kindred
instead of in the almost tragic silence and loneliness of Cumberland. He
returned worse in health and spirits than he had come, and as soon as
his doctor saw him he realised that the time had arrived when drastic
measures should be taken. Rossetti had an attack of paralysis, and from
that time his drug was absolutely forbidden him. The pain that ensued
was intense, and he became delirious with desire for chloral. A few days
after, however, he rallied and became more cheerful, and it was decided
that he should stay for a time at a bungalow at Birchington-on-Sea which
had very opportunely been placed at his service. Thither he went with
Hall Caine, his constant friend and comforter, and there he died shortly
afterwards—literally in his young friend’s arms, for at the last moments
Caine had put his arm about Rossetti to raise him up, in order to relieve
his apparent pain.
In attempting to gauge the kind of influence which Rossetti exercised
over Hall Caine, it must not be overlooked that the poet was old enough
to be the younger man’s father; indeed, both in letters and conversation,
he more than once expressed the wish that he _was_ his father. When
Caine first knew Rossetti, the latter’s health and nerves were already
on the point of breaking down, and he was even then a victim to the
chloral-taking habit. He was morbid and fanciful; his body diseased,
and his mind unhealthy. Caine, on the other hand, had fair health and a
vigorous, lusty mind. What came to pass is only what a spectator might
have guessed; the older man attracted and fascinated the younger, and
there can be little doubt that this fascination had by no means an
entirely healthy influence over Hall Caine. Indeed, he tells us in his
_Recollections of Rossetti_ that one day he found himself becoming the
victim of the very delusions which so tortured his friend, and this is
but one instance out of many by means of which it might be shown that
the poet’s influence over the budding novelist was one of at least
questionable value. As I have already remarked, it would have required a
peculiarly strong and vigorous mind and body to have lived with Rossetti
towards the end of his life without being detrimentally influenced by
his personality; but fortunately for Hall Caine, this doubtful part of
the influence was only temporary, while the good and noble part of it
was permanent, and was felt long after the personal intercourse came to
its end. It must not be forgotten, too, that Hall Caine’s imagination
was with him a masterful power which he had not yet learned to control
properly, and his sensitive, responsive disposition made him particularly
impressionable. But it cannot be doubted that the friendship of these two
men, both strongly, indeed peculiarly individual, had a great deal to do
in developing the character of the younger man. It was inevitable that a
man of Rossetti’s genius and character should inflame his imagination and
light up many beacons of his intellect.
When a year or two later Hall Caine began to strike out for himself it
was bruited abroad that he was making capital out of the names of his
friends—in other words, that he was making a bid for Fame by the help of
those who constituted the Rossetti circle.
This, of course, was as absurd as it was untrue. People said that Caine
had been Rossetti’s secretary, and some foolish gossips went so far as
to declare that he had been his valet. The only relationship that existed
between them was one of friendship. Hall Caine looked on Rossetti with
enthusiastic admiration and something almost approaching reverence, and
Rossetti regarded him with the keen interest one naturally takes in the
career of a young man of genius. For Rossetti often encouraged his young
friend by bidding him have no anxiety as to what the future held for him,
declaring that Fame was bound to come to him sooner or later. It speaks
much for Rossetti’s perspicacity that he was able to discern the genius
of his friend, for at this time Hall Caine had produced little or nothing
that he cares to recognise now. He had written a quantity of mediocre
verse, and a few sonnets of real and lasting beauty; but that was all.
Rossetti insisted that Caine’s vocation lay in the writing of fervid and
impassioned prose, and the truth of this remark has been demonstrated
over and over again since it was first uttered.
I have not read the essay which Hall Caine wrote on the poetry of
Rossetti, and which was the means of bringing the two men together, but
I can very well imagine what it was in the poet that attracted him.
Different as the two men seem to be in almost every particular save
their mutual love of Beauty, there is one common trait which bound them
together: they were both strangely and strongly attracted towards the
supernatural and spiritual. There is an air of mystery, of unknown and
unseen terrors and forces in Rossetti’s poetry that is also breathed in
the earlier novels of Hall Caine. To this very day, Hall Caine is a firm
believer in many of the phenomena which, by ignorant people, are placed
in the category of spiritualism. For instance, he believes in second
sight. On several occasions he has himself had distinct and indisputable
warnings of accidents some minutes before they actually happened. A case
in point occurred the day previous to my last visit to Greeba Castle.
A young lady was bicycling through Greeba on the way to Peel. She was
“scorching,” but, so far as one could judge, had complete command over
her machine. Mr Caine happened to be in the road at the time with a
friend, and as the lady passed he turned to his companion and said:
“That girl will meet with an accident before she has turned the corner!”
They watched her for a minute or so with interest, and then everything
happened as the novelist had predicted. She collided with an unsuspecting
cow, which appeared from some unseen place, and fell to the ground almost
insensible. I could, if it were necessary, produce other instances of the
exercise of the somewhat mysterious faculty for foreseeing which have
come within my own observation.
Rossetti was always powerfully attracted by the supernatural, as, indeed,
men of imagination usually are, and this mutual attraction undoubtedly
served to bind the two writers together. Caine’s attraction to and study
of Coleridge had undoubtedly prepared him for the advent of Rossetti,
for the mystic imagery, the finished technique and the mandragora-like
spell of the earlier poet were reproduced in detail by the later. Again,
the supernatural in Shakespeare had received Caine’s particular study,
and throughout his life it has been a powerful factor in stirring up his
imagination.
In 1882—the year of Rossetti’s death—appeared Hall Caine’s _Recollections
of Rossetti_, which has already been referred to several times in this
chapter. For this he received forty pounds. The book made something of
a sensation in the literary world, owing chiefly, or perhaps entirely,
to its subject, and the intimate nature of its revelations, but it did
not in the least enhance its author’s reputation among the large body
of general readers. Mr Caine does not to-day regard this product of his
earlier years with any feeling of respect. It was edited with the kindest
and best possible intentions by Rossetti’s friends and relatives, and
many important changes were insisted on. I myself have read the original
version side by side with that which was eventually published, and I have
not the least hesitation in saying that the unedited account which Mr
Caine wrote of his relations with his revered friend is vastly superior
to that with which the public is familiar.
Before I leave Rossetti and turn to the novels of the subject of this
monograph, I should like to give a letter of the late Mr Robert Buchanan,
addressed by him to Mr Caine after reading the latter’s obituary notice
of his friend in the _Academy_. To all who know anything of the life of
Rossetti, it will prove of exceptional interest, for it bears directly
upon one of the causes of his premature death, and throws fresh light
on one of the most widely-discussed episodes of nineteenth-century
literature.
“30 BOULEVARD STE BEUVE,
“BOULOGNE-SUR-MER,
“FRANCE, _May 18 [1882]_.
“DEAR SIR,—I have read with deep interest your memorial of poor
Rossetti, and been particularly moved by your passing allusion
to myself. I don’t know if your intention was to heap ‘coals of
fire’ on my head, but whether or not you have succeeded. I have
often regretted my old criticism on your friend, not so much
because it was stupid, but because, after all, I doubt one poet’s
right to criticise another. For the rest, I have long been of
opinion that Rossetti was a great spirit; and in that belief I
inscribed to him my ‘God and the Man.’
“I suppose it was lack of courage which kept me from putting his
name boldly on the preprint of my book; but had I dreamed he was
ill or ailing, how eagerly would I not have done so! Still, I
cannot conceive anyone mistaking the words of that dedication.
Some people have been foolish enough to take it as addressed to
Swinburne; but every line of it is against that supposition. I
wonder now, if Rossetti himself knew of, and understood, that
inscription? Perhaps you could tell me, and to ask you I write
this letter. It would be a sincere satisfaction to me to know
that he _did_ read it, and accepted it in the spirit in which it
was written.
“I am here on my way to Paris, but after this week my address
will be uncertain. A letter sent to 30 Queen Anne St., Cavendish
Square, will always find me.—I am, dear sir, yours faithfully,
“ROBERT BUCHANAN.
“T. HALL CAINE, Esq.”
In the meantime, Caine had also published an anthology of sonnets,
entitled _Sonnets of Three Centuries_ (a particularly handsome volume,
prefaced by a very capable and original essay on the history of the
sonnet), and a volume of essays entitled _Cobwebs of Criticism_.
Neither of these books did much to widen his reputation, but the volume
of sonnets was a labour of love, and the essays contained in the latter
consisted chiefly of lectures delivered in Liverpool.