Oscar Wilde, Volume 1 (of 2)

h in the individual life which can be compared in importance with the moment when a man begins to outtop his age,

Talent sich

kter in dem St

forth Sartor Resartus, which was personal and soul-revealing to the verge of eccentricity. In the same way Wagner was a mere continuator o

e bons esprits de parvenir (poverty hinders fine minds from succeeding). There is no such mortal enemy of genius as poverty except riches: a touch of the spur from time to time does good; but a constant rowelling disables. As editor of The Woman's World Oscar had some money of hi

him in the excitement of talk, epigrams, paradoxes and stories; and when people of great position or title were about him he generally managed

re did. Surely everyone prefers Norfolk, Hamilto

his monologues. After talking for months at this and that lunch and dinner he had amassed a store of epigrams

orship. The articles which he wrote on "The Decay of Lying," "The Critic as Artist," and "Pen, Pencil and Poison"; in fact, all the papers which in 1891 were gathered together and published in book form under the title of "Intentions," had about them t

s colours of his palette. "The Decay of Lying" seemed to the ordinary, matter-of-fact Englishman a cynical plea in defence of mendacity. To the majority of readers, "Pen, Pencil

ut his fine sensibility or, if you will, his peculiar temperament, led him to question whether Thorpe's dedication to "Mr. W.H." could have been addressed to Lord William Herbert. He preferred the old hypothesis that the dedication was addressed to a young actor named Mr. William Hughes, a supposition which is supported by a well-known sonnet

the dedication was addressed to Lord William Herbert I had found it difficult to accept, at first; the wording of it is not only ambiguous but familiar. If I assumed that "Mr. W.H." was meant for Lord William Herbert, it was only because that seemed the easiest way out of the maze. In fine, I pointed out to Oscar tha

agazine. It set everyone talking and arguing. To judge by the discussion it created, the wind of hatred and of praise it caused, one would have thought that the paper was a masterpiece, though in truth it was nothing out of

onflicting opinions which the paper called forth. He understood better than most men that notoriety is often the forerunner of fame and is always commercially more valuable. He rubbed his hands with delight as the discussion grew bitter, and enjoy

incott's Magazine of "The Picture of Dorian Gray." It was attacked immediately in The Daily Chronicle, a liberal paper usually distinguished for a certain leaning in favour of artists and men of

f-assurance: he no longer dreads the imputation of viciousness; he challenges it: "It is poisonous,

the book. I got the volume and note early one morning and read the book until noon. I then sent him a note by hand: "Other men," I wrote, "have given us wine; some claret, some burgundy, some M

lde had called. I went down immediately to

," he cried, "to have writt

but they are delightful: no one now can deny you a place

you, Frank; what d

iastic, happy to have the opportunity of making up

ou're with Burke and Sheridan, a

epigrams from you before, but you ha

eally?" he asked, s

n, who is peculiarly Oscar's mouthpiece, while telling how he had to bargain for a piece of old brocade in Wardour Street, adds, "nowadays people know the price of ever

on is in the making, in order to live by one's pen. Yet great works take time to form, and fine creations are often disfigured b

scinate Dorian Gray, is an excellent reproduction of Oscar's ordinary talk. The uncle wonders

lever at concealing their parents as English women

ork-packers

. I am told that pork-packing is the most luc

s to me delig

sult of months and months of Oscar's talk, the latter half was written offhand to complete the story. "D

uld probably never have been written if Balzac had not written his book first; but Balzac's sincerity and earnestness grapple with the theme and wring a blessing out of it, whereas the subtler idea in Oscar's hands dwindles gradually a

; but I found that Oscar had often repeated himself. I cut these repetitions out and tried to show him how much better the dozen best were than eig

ver my corrections and thought that the aphorisms I had rejected w

inal judgment must rest with h

ss was not shared by others. Friends took occasion t

ot?" I

re said about him. He came down from Oxford with a vi

be," I replied, "it's no

of the gifted is one of the puzzles

been puffed into such prominence that they felt inclined to deny him even the gifts which he undoubtedly possessed. I was surprised

e is not even a good writer; his books have no genius in them; his poetry is tenth r

and advise him to read "Th

the treatment was simply loathsome. More than one middle-class paper, such as To-Day in the hands of Mr. Jerome K. Jerome, condemned the book as "corrupt," and advised its suppression.

nly did himself damage without helping his friend. Oscar meanwhi

nfairly he was being judged and how imprude

s in Oscar's talk. It seemed to me that intellectual sympathy and the natural admiration which a younger man feels for a brilliant senior formed the obvious bond between them. But no sooner did Oscar republish "Dorian Gray" than ill-informed and worse-minded persons went about saying that the eponymous hero of the book was John Gray, tho

llection "A House of Pomegranates." He dedicated each of the tales to a lady of distinction a

rise: while it was being rehearsed, the Lord Chamberlain refused to license it on the ground that it introduced Biblical characters. Oscar protested in a brilliant interview against the action of the Censor as "odious and ridiculous." He pointed out that all the greatest artists-painters and sculptors, musicians and w

e another thing." Of course the press made

hen it appeared, the press, both in France and in England, was critical and contemptuous; but by this time Oscar had so captured the public that he could afford to disdain critic

ley, it was disparaged and condemned by all the leaders of literary opinion. The colossal popularity of the play, which Mr. Robert Ross proves so triumphantly, came from Germany and Russia and is to be attributed in part to the contempt educated Germa

the "Salome" drawings which gave the English edition its singular value. Strange to say, Oscar always hated the illustrations and would not have the book in his

ut the boy was that he expressed the passions of pride and lust and cruelty more intensely even than Rops, more spontaneously than anyone who ever held pencil. Beardsley's precocity was simply marvellous. He seemed to have an intuitive understanding not only of his own art but of every art and craft, and it was some time before one realised that he attai

ded that his style in writing was out of date; he wished us to believe that he hesitated to shock us with his "archaic sympathies." Of course we laughed and challenged him to reveal himself. Shortly afterwards I got an article from him written with curious felicity of phrase, in modish polite ei

ar declared that he could drink nothing

it shimmers like southern twilight in opalescent colouring: it has about it the seduction of strange sins. It is stronger than any ot

s du Mal, I shall call your drawin

changes colour like jade in sunlight and takes the senses thrall, and then

ro set Christians on fire, like large tallow candles; the only light Chri

prejudice boldly; he preferred to hint dislike and disapproval. His insistence on the naked expression of lust and cruelty in Beardsley's drawi

he senior, in his intercourse with Beardsley, and often praised him ineptly, whereas Beardsley to the last spoke of Oscar as a showman, and hoped drily that he knew more about literature than he did about art. For a moment, they worked in concert, and it is important to rem

ne from the Frenchman, and from the Fleming the simplicity of language and the haunting effect produced by the repetition of significant phrases. Yet "Salome" is original through the mingling of lust and hatred in the heroine, and by making this extraordinary virgin the chief and ce

ew of the best class of English people know French at all well, and for the most part they disdain the sex-morality of their race; while the vast mass of the English public regard French as in its

noticed that the youth was angry with Oscar and would scarcely speak to him, and that Oscar was making up to him. I heard snatches of pleading from Oscar-"I beg of you.... It is not true.... You have no cause".... All the while Oscar was standing apart from the rest

arose about everything he did and said, the increasing interest and value of his work and, above all, the ever-growing boldness of his writing and the