Lake Wakatip Mail - Friday, May 17, 1895
This report was originally published in English. Machine translations may be available in other languages.
OSCAR WILDE AS A LITERARY ARTIST.
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 verda-gris, 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.
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 noy 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 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 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."
His first burst into the fall 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 Da 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 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."
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 sucreè."
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 mare hideous, whilst his own face remains unchanged.
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 most full of promise that he had brough 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 this 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 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 pleasure 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 of 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."
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 dramatist, and his plays are characterised by 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 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 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' 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 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 of his woe.