Oscar Wilde, Volume 1 (of 2)

his seventeenth birthday. Sir Edward Sullivan writes me that when Oscar matriculated at Trinity he was already "a thoroughly good classical scholar of a brilliant type," a

visitors were admitted, an unfinished landscape in oils was always on the easel, in a prominent place in his sitting room. He would invariably refer to it, telling one in his humorously unconvinc

ion to working for his classical examinations, he d

, on the Greek authors, were perpetually in his hands. He never entertained any pronounced views on social,

lways a very vivacious and welcome guest at any house he cared to visit. All through

man's rooms. He was also an extremely moderate drinker. He became a member of the junior

Willia

nt teacher. He told me for instance that on one occasion he expressed his sympathy for Mills on seeing him come into his rooms wearing a tall hat completely covered in crape. Mills, however, replied, with a smile, that no one was dead-it was only the evil co

y striking pair of trousers. I made some chaffing remark on them, but he begged me in

e trousers, and I mean

dedness," or what I should rather call his peculiar refinement of nature. No one ever heard Oscar Wilde tell a suggest

some truth in it, however, for in part at least it was borne out and corroborated by Oscar's later achievement. It must be borne in mind that

o so well in the long examinations for a classical scholarship in his second year. He was placed fifth, which was considere

se spirit-photographs by what he

me at that time. Though not so good a scholar as Tyrrell, he had been in Greece, had lived there and saturated himself with Greek thought and Greek feeling. Besides he took deliberately the artistic standpoint towards everything, which was coming more and more to be my standpoint. He was a delightful talker,

n Dublin?" I asked. "Did you m

varied these intellectual exercises with bouts of fighting and drinking. If they had any souls they diverted them with coarse amours among b

ster smell far w

and jokes. Their highest idea of humour was an obscene story. No, n

as edited by Meineke." In this year, too, he won a classical scholarship-a demyship of the annual value of ￡95, which

ord University Gazette of July 11th, 1874. He entered Magdalen Co

school, so he was destined to be far more successful an

at twenty instead of eighteen, and thus was enabled to win high hono

whom I have already quoted, after admitting that there was not a breath against his character either at school or Trinity, goes on to write that "at Trinit

e he could study what he most affected. It is, I feel sure, from his Oxford life more than from his life in Ireland t

gaining the Newdigate prize for English verse with his poem "Ravenna," which he recited at the annual Commemorat

Undergraduates' Journal, "with rapt attention." It was just the sort of thing, half poetry, half rhythmic rhetoric, which was sure to reach the hearts and minds of youth. His voice, too, was of beautiful tenor quality, and exquisitely used. When he sat down people crowded to praise him and even men of great distin

s Prince Rupert, and I talked as he charged but with more success, for I turned al

tell you all O

two or three people, I should have been worse off at Trinity than at Portora; but Oxford-Oxford was paradise to me. My very soul seemed to expand within me to peace and joy. Oxford-the enchanted valley, holding in its flowerlet cup all the idealism of the middle ages.[3] Oxford is the capital of romance, Frank; in its own way as memorable as Athens, and to me it was even more entrancing. In Oxford, as in Athens, the realities of sordid life were kept at a distance. No one seemed to know anything about money or care anything for it. Everywhere the aristocratic feeling; one must have money, but mus

inside of the

now; there was no grossness, no coa

ountiful pities and l

ischievously at

he nodded his head smilin

a poet could desire, and I preached the old-ever-new gospel of individual revolt and individual perfection. I showed them that sin with its curiosities widened the horizons of life. Prejudices and

reat talker even at Oxford

I was a great talker at school. I did nothing at Trinity but talk, my re

re like Mahaffy?" I asked, "any p

seriousne

of belief. Ruskin has always seemed to me the Plato of England-a Prophet of the Good and True and Beautiful, who saw as Plato saw that the three are one perfect flower. But it was his prose I loved, and not his piety. His sympathy with the poor bored me: the road he wanted us to build was tiresome. I could see nothing in pove

erity of beauty. I came to my full growth with Pater. He was a sort of silent, sympathetic elder brother. Fortunately for me he could not talk at all; but he was an admirable listener, and I talked to him by the hour. I learned the instrument of speech

hen?" I questioned, "a

s in Oxford. I had been watching the students bathing in the river: the beautiful white figures all grace and ease and virile strength. I had been pointing out how Christianity had flowered into

where the enchanting perfume of romance should be wedded to the severe beauty of classic form. I really talked as if inspired, and

must not. What would peop

ith a white

glancing about him fearf

ened and set in a higher key of thought by the fact th