The Yorkshire Evening Post - Friday, April 5, 1895

YORKSHIRE ECHOES.

"Sir Edward Clarke, on behalf of plaintiff, accepts a verdict of not guilty." This was the first sensational telegram received this morning of the collapse of Oscar Wilde's case. It means, of course, that the Marquess was justified in his allegations, and that he has proved them to the satisfaction of the jury. It means that one of the most pampered and paradoxical men of this generation is branded with the most odious name that can be given. It means that Oscar Wilde goes out into the darkness, not "to cool his hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things," but to be accused of all men, daring not to show his face in the light again.

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Wilde has never been a seeker after notoriety. He commenced his career with being notorious, he has lived in it, and he goes out in the full blaze of notoriety. Only from being famous he has become infamous. For a time his artistic absurdity, the perfection of his folly, were the keynote of Society. None suspected that his "scarlet sins" were more than the impertinences of a literary man. He Became an aesthete ate passion flowers, and gave his friends lilies to adore instead of afternoon tea. The foolish world followed, caught in a whimsical craze of velvet breeches, limp gowns, and the ecstasy of floral adoration. When aestheticism became too popular, and every third-rate drawing-room enshrined the sunflower, Wilde took to literature.

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There he did well. When he was not highly erotic he was flippant and paradoxical. The world loves to steep itself in the musk of languorous eroticism or, as a relief, to have its nose tweaked by an epigram. "The Picture of Dorian Grey" was declared to be delightful, impious, Greek in its audacious imaginings. It sold by thousands. When that craze failed—and before Wilde wrote his admirable plays—he invented the art of the preposterous in conversation. He spoke brilliant absurdities, and they were treasured up as violet shafts of wit. He was unique. Drawing-rooms and clubs told his latest paradox; the papers took them and admired.

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This strange man has been a poseur all his life. Yet he had genius; and we cannot withhold from him the regret which is applied to every burglar, that if he had used his life and his talents properly he might have clomb to a nobler height.

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It was an open secret, of course, that "The Green Carnation" was a clever skit upon Oscar Wilde, who was thinly veiled as Esmé Amarinth, while his bosom friend, Lord Alfred Douglas, appeared as Lord Reggie, "young, with pale gilt hair and blue eyes, and a mouth like the mouth of Narcissus." But I expected to see the fact so well established as it was in yesterday's evidence:

"What a pity my poor father is so plain," Reggie said to himself with a quiet [...]. Only that morning he had received a long a vehement diatribe from his parents, showering abuse upon him, and exhorting him to lead a more reputable life. He had replied by wire—"What a funny little man you are.—[...]—I [...] "The Green Carnation."

Counsel read a letter from the Marquess of Queensberry to Lord Alfred Douglas, complaining of his idleness and profligacy, and declining to supply him with any more funds. Sir Edward Clarke read the telegraphed reply, which was—"Queensberry, Carter's Hotel. What a funny little man you are.—Alfred Douglas." From the Report of the Queensberry Libel Case.

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One can hardly explain away that remarkable coincidence as a case of "unconscious celebration" such as we are asked to believe in Mr. Pinero's use of the name Ebbsmith. Evidently Mr. Hichens knew something. Perhaps the story got round the town. But "The Green Carnation" teems with remarkable and daring Oscar Wildeisms.