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Original paragraph in
The Weekly Times - Saturday, April 13, 1895
The Weekly Times - Saturday, April 13, 1895
Most similar paragraph from
The Herald - Saturday, April 6, 1895
The Herald - Saturday, April 6, 1895
Difference
Mr Oscar Wilde is before the public at present in a distinctly unenviable light. He has posed in a good many lights in his time, mostly
tinted. From the days when he was the centre of a "too-too-utterly-utter" cult at Brasenose College, Oxford, doing his best to "live up to his blue
china," down the later period, when he set the odious fashion of wearing green carnations, dyed in verdagris, and told a London audience that it had done
itself an honor in appreciating one of his plays, he has managed to keep himself before the public by reason of his æsthetic and other eccentricities. As
he has remarked, "There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about." Some people have said that he
was a fool; others, who knew him better, were aware that he was only pretending to be one. He has managed to create a reputation for being sincere in
nothing but insincerity. "A little sincerity," he once said, "is a dangerous thing; a great deal of it is absolutely fatal. What people call our
insincerity is simply a method by which we can multiply our personalities." The last play he has produced is called The Importance of Being in Earnest.
Probably this title, and the action he has brought against the Marquis of Queensberry, are the only two thoroughly earnest things he has ever been
concerned in, and that he has made a mistake in so venturing out of his element in at least one of these respects cannot, in view of the result, be
doubted.
Mr Oscar Wilde is before the public at present in a distinctly unenviable light. He has posed in a good many lights in his time, mostly
tinted. From the days when he was the centre of a "too-too-utterly-utter" cult at Brasenose College, Oxford, doing his best to "live up to his blue
china," down the later period, when he set the odious fashion of wearing green carnations, dyed in verdagris, and told a London audience that it had done
itself an honor in appreciating one of his plays, he has managed to keep himself before the public by reason of his æsthetic and other eccentricities. As
he has remarked, "There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about." Some people have said that he
was a fool; others, who knew him better, were aware that he was only pretending to be one. He has managed to create a reputation for being sincere in
nothing but insincerity. "A little sincerity," he once said, "is a dangerous thing, a great deal of it is absolutely fatal. What people call our
insincerity is simply a method by which we can multiply our personalities." The last play he has produced is called The Importance of Being in Earnest.
Probably this title, and the action he has brought against the Marquis of Queensberry, are the only two thoroughly earnest things he has ever been
concerned in, and that he has made a mistake in so venturing out of his element in at least one of these respects cannot, in view of the result, be
doubted.
Everyone is familiar with the name of Oscar Wilde — Oscar O'Flaherty Wilde, to give his full denomination - but not many people, perhaps,
know very much about his literary work. Most of his books are expensive. He values his thoughts as "precious," and insists upon issuing them in dainty
volumes, ornate with gilt and printed on the fittest paper. But despite affectations, there is real genius in Oscar's literary work, and, eccentricities
notwithstanding, his [is] a peculiarly interesting personality. At Oxford he was one of Mr Ruskin's young men. While "the master" was professor of fine
arts, from 1870 to 1879, he tried to lead his students to healthy and useful recreations, and, in pursuance of this object, led them to go out early in
the mornings to make a road. Oscar was one of the students who joined in this exercise, and, it is said, on his own authority, he "had the honor of
filling Mr Ruskin's especial wheelbarrow on these occasions."
Everyone is familiar with the name of Oscar Wilde — Oscar O'Flaherty Wilde, to give his full denomination — but not many people, perhaps,
know very much about his literary work. Most of his books are expensive. He values his thoughts as "precious," and insists upon issuing them in dainty
volumes, ornate with gilt and printed on the finest paper. But despite affectations, there is real genius in Oscar's literary work, and, eccentricities
notwithstanding, his a peculiarly interesting personality. At Oxford he was one of Mr Ruskin's young men. While "the mentor" was Slade, professor of fine
arts, from 1870 to 1879, he tried to lead his students to healthy and useful recreations, and, in pursuance of this object, led them to go out early in
the morning to make a road. Oscar was one of the students who joined in this exercise, and it is said, on his own authority, he "had the honor of filling
Mr Ruskin's especial wheelbarrow on these occasions."
He first burst into the full bloom of publicity, however, in connection with the ultra-æsthetic movement of the early eighties, when he
posed as an apostle of a sunflower and a lily evangel, and was photographed and displayed all over England in black velvet knickerbockers, silk stockings
and long hair. His lecture on "The House Beautiful" was delivered in very many places in America, as well as in London and the English provinces. The
æsthetic movement was exquisitely caricatured by Du Maurier in "Punch," and by Gilbert in the comic opera "Patience." Æstheticism is dead now, and its
high priest has been spending his days in the Central Criminal Court, where sunflowers bloom not and the fragance of the lily is unknown.
He first burst into the full bloom of publicity, however, in connection with the ultra-æsthetic movement of the early eighties, when he
posed as an apostle of a sunflower and a lily evangel, and was photographed and displayed all over England in black velvet knickerbockers, silk stockings,
and long hair. His lecture on "The House Beautiful" was delivered in very many places in America, as well as in London and the English provinces. The
æsthetic movement was exquisitely caricatured by Du Maurier in "Punch," and by Gilbert in the comic opera "Patience." Æstheticism is dead now, and its
high priest has been spending his days in the Central Criminal Court, where sunflowers bloom not and the fragrance of the lily is unknown. He is even
threatened with worse than that.
Oscar is a man who has trained himself to speak in epigrams, and explain his meaning in paradoxes. "To be natural is to be obvious, and
to be obvious is to be artistic," he has said. His books and plays sparkle with clever and startling things of this kind. Take another. "A man can't be
too careful in the choice of his enemies. I have not got one who is a fool. They are all men of some intellectual power, and consequently they all
appreciate me." One wonders whether he now appreciates them! "Nowadays people know the price of everything and the value of nothing." "There are only two
kinds of people who are absolutely fascinating: people who know absolutely everything and people who know absolutely nothing." "The man who sees both
sides of a question is the man who sees absolutely nothing at all." "Life imitates art far more than art imitates life. A great artist invents a type, and
life tries to copy it. In a word, Life is Art's best, Art's only pupil." "It is because humanity has never known where it was going that it has been able
to find its way." "Divorces are made in heaven." "I am always bored in the country; they call it agricultural depression."
Oscar is a man who has trained himself to speak in epigrams, and explain his meaning in paradoxes. "To be natural is to be obvious, and to
be obvious is to be artistic," he has said. His books and plays sparkle with clever and startling things of this kind. Take another. "A man can't be too
careful in the choice of his enemies. I have not got one who is a fool. They are all men of some intellectual power, and consequently they all appreciate
me." One wonders whether he now appreciates them! "Nowadays people know the price of everything and the value of nothing." "There are only two kinds of
people who are absolutely fascinating: people who know absolutely everything and people who know absolutely nothing." "The man who sees both sides of a
question is the man who sees absolutely nothing at all." "Life imitates art far more than art imitates life. A great artist invents a type, and life tries
to copy it. In a word, Life is Art's best, Art's only pupil." "It is because humanity has never known where it was going that it has been able to find its
way." "Divorces are made in heaven." "I am always bored in the country; they call it agricultural depression."
One could simply quote columns of Oscar Wilde's smart flashes in this style, until, indeed, the mere reading of them would become
tedious. His books and plays, indeed, cloy with excess of cleverness. Sarah Bernhardt characterised him with some degree of critical neatness, if with
some exaggeration when she described him as "Lord Byron and eau sucree."
One could simply quote columns of Oscar Wilde's smart flashes in this style, until, indeed, the more reading of them would become tedious.
His books and plays, indeed, cloy with excess of cleverness. Sarah Bernhardt characterised him with some degree of critical neatness, if with some
exaggeration, when she described him as "Lord Byron and caus[?]."
The one work of his which, so far as the cables have informed us, has been quoted during the trial just concluded, is his story The
Picture of Dorian Gray. This is undoubtedly a powerful and exceedingly clever book, but a most unconscionably wicked one. It is the tale of a singularly
fascinating and handsome youth — "a beautiful personality," Oscar would probably call him, pace recent evidence — who falls under the evil influence of a
cynical man of the world named Lord Henry Wotton. The whole atmosphere of the book is heavy with perfume, and the scenes in which the action takes place
are lavishly luxurious as to furniture and surroundings. The author allowed his fancy for beautiful things to roam at will in describing the surroundings
of his hero. The picture referred to in the title of the book is that of a "young man of extraordinary beauty," who is in fact Dorian Gray. Dorian is led
on a path of vicious pleasures by Lord Harry. The peculiar thing is that despite all, his beautiful face remains unchanged, but the portrait by some
occult mystery undergoes the most horrible alterations of aspect. The impress of vicious living on the part of Dorian, manifests itself on the face of the
picture. Nobody knows the secret of this but Dorian himself. He keeps the picture in a room, locked, with its face to the wall. Day by day the picture
grows more and more hideous, whilst his own face remains unchaned[sic].
The one work of his which, so far as the cables have informed us, has been quoted during the trial just concluded, is his story The
Picture of Dorian Gray. This is undoubtedly a powerful and exceedingly clever book, but a most unconscionably wicked one. It is the tale of a singularly
fascinating and handsome youth — "a beautiful personality," Oscar would probably call him, pace recent evidence — who falls under the evil influence of a
cynical man of the world named Lord Henry Wotton. The whole atmosphere of this book is heavy with perfume, and the scenes in which the action takes place
are lavishly luxurious as to furniture and surroundings. The author allowed his fancy for beautiful things to roam at will in describing the surroundings
of his hero. The picture referred to in the title of the book is that of a young man of extraordinary beauty, who is in fact Dorian Gray. Dorian is led on
a path of vicious pleasures by Lord Harry. The peculiar thing is that despite all, his beautiful face remains unchanged, but the portrait by some occult
mystery undergoes the most horrible alterations of aspect. The [im]press of vicious living on the part of Dorian, manifests itself on the [?] of the
picture. Nobody knows the secret of this but Dorian himself. He keeps the picture in a room, locked, with its face to the wall. Day by day the picture
grows more and more hideous, whilst his own face remains unchanged.
"Was it true that he could never change? He felt a wild longing for the unstained purity of his boyhood - his rosewhite boyhood, as Lord
Harry had once called it. He knew that he had tarnished himself, filled his mind with corruption, and given horror to his fancy; that he had been an evil
influence to others, and had experienced a terrible joy in being so, and that of the lives that had crossed his own it had been the fairest and the most
full of promise that he had brought to shame." Haunted by the horror of the things and the thoughts, he rushes madly to the room where the portrait is
hanging. He takes a big knife, with the intent to rip it from its frame. He cannot bear the thought of this picture bearing the story of his shameful life
upon it. "There was a cry heard and a crash. The cry was so horrible in its agony that the frightened servants woke, and crept out of their rooms... When
they entered they found hanging upon the wall a splendid portrait of their master as they had last seen him, in all the wonder of his exquisite youth and
beauty. Lying on the floor was a dead man in evening dress, with a knife in his heart. He was withered, wrinkled, and loathsome of visage. It was not till
they had examined the rings that they recognised who it was."
"Was it true that he could never change? He felt a wild longing for the unstained purity of his boyhood — his rosewhite boyhood, as Lord
Harry had once called it. He knew that he had tarnished himself, filled his mind with corruption, and given horror to his fancy; that he had been an evil
influence to others, and had experienced a terrible joy in being so, and that of the lives that had crossed his own it had been the fairest and the most
full of promise that he had brought to shame." Haunted by the horror of the things and the thoughts, he rushes madly to the room where the portrait is
hanging. He takes a big knife, with the intent to rip it from its frame. He cannot bear the thought of his picture bearing the story of his shameful life
upon it. "There was a cry heard and a crash. The cry was so horrible in its agony that the frightened servants woke and crept out of their rooms... When
they entered they found hanging upon the wall a splendid portrait of their master as they had last seen him, in all the wonder of his exquisite youth and
beauty. Lying on the floor was a dead man in evening dress, with a knife in his heart. He was withered, wrinkled, and loathsome of visage. It was not till
they had examined the rings that they recognised who it was."
This story is told with a full complement of the cynical aphorisms which characterise Mr Wilde's style. Take a few:— "Those who are
faithful know only the pleasures of love; it is the faithless who know love's tragedies." "Men marry because they are tired; women because they are
curious; both are disappointed. What they call their loyalty and fidelity I call either the lethargy of custom or the lack of imagination. Faithlessness
is to the emotional life what consistency is to the intellectual life, simply a confession of failure." "Every experience is of value, and whatever we may
say against marriage, it is certainly an experience." "Whenever a man does a stupid thing it is always from the noblest motives."
This story is told with a full complement of the cynical aphorisms which characterise Mr Wilde's style. Take a few:— "Those who are
faithful know only the pleasures of love; it is the faithless who know love's tragedies." "Men marry because they are tired; women because they are
curious; both are disappointed. What they call their loyalty and fidelity I call either the lethargy of custom or the lack of imagination. Faithlessness
is to the emotional life what consistency is to the intellectual life, simply a confession of failure." "Every experience is of value, and whatever we may
say against marriage, it is certainly an experience." "Whenever a man does a stupid thing it is always from the noblest motives."
Oscar Wilde has only lately come into notoriety as a dramatise, and his plays are characterised by just the same sort of brilliant
cynical wit as everything else he writes. "It is the public, not the play I desire to make a success," he said on a recent occasion; "the public makes a
success when it realises that a play is a work of art." His stage characters say the most dazzling things, and in sheer wit of dialogue no playwright of
modern times has come near Oscar Wilde. "The truth is rarely pure and never simple," he says in his latest play. And again — "The amount of women who
flirt with their husbands in London is simply scandalous; it is washing one's clean linen in public."
Oscar Wilde has only lately come into notoriety as a dramatist, and his plays are characterised by just the same sort of brilliant
cynical wit as everything else he writes. "It is the public, not the play I desire to make a success," he said on a recent occasion; "the public makes a
success when it realises that a play is a work of art." His stage characters say the most dazzling things, and in sheer wit of dialogue no playwright of
modern times has come near Oscar Wilde. "The truth is innately pure and never simple," he says in his latest play. And again — "The amount of women who
flirt with their husbands in London is simply scandalous; it is washing one's clean linen in public."
As a poet Oscar has chiefly distinguished himself as a sonneteer. He has mastered the sonnet form, and given to literature some flawless
specimens. One example in his sonnet-writing may conclude this article. It is
As a poet Oscar has chiefly distinguished himself as a sonneter. He has mastered the sonnet form, and given to literature some flawless
specimens. One example in his sonnet writing may conclude this article. It is
"ON THE SALE BY AUCTION OF KEATS'
"ON THE SALE BY AUCTION OF KEATS'
LOVE LETTERS." These are the letters which Endymion wrote To one he loved in secret and apart. And now the brawlers of
the auction mart Bargain and bid for each poor blotted note — Ay! for each separate pulse of passion quote The merchant's price. I think
they love not art Who break the crystal of a poet's heart, That small and sickly eyes may glare and gloat. Is it not said that many
years ago, In a far eastern town, some soldiers ran With torches through the mid night, and began To wrangle for mean raiment, and to
throw Dice for the garments of a wretched man, Not knowing the God's wonder or His woe.
These are the letters which Endymion wrote To one he loved in secret and apart. And now the brawlers of the auction mart
Bargain and bid for each poor blotted note - Ay! for each seperate pulse of passion quote The merchant's price. I think they love not
art Who break the crystal of a poet's heart, That small and sickly eyes may glare and gloat. Is it not said that many years ago,
In a far eastern town, some soldiers ran With torches through the midnight, and began To wrangle for mean raiment, and to throw
Dice for the garments of a wretched man, Not knowing the God's wonder or His woe.