The Sun - Sunday, April 14, 1895
This report was originally published in English. Machine translations may be available in other languages.
... A Noble
Lord Flees England, Not Daring to Face
Exposures of the Oscar Wilde Sort -
Growing
Repugnance for Morbidity in
Art and Literature ...
Special Cable Despatch to THE SUN.
The blow to English national pride inflicted by the exposure of the Oscar Wilde infamies is still producing the strongest manifestations of resentment, shame, and alarm in all classes of society. The public curiosity to know the details of the long series of crimes, alleged against the prisoner in the police court, has much abated. The most morbid appetite for this sort of stuff has been more than satiated . Interest is keener than ever, however, in the pursuit of others in high places whom common rumor associate's with the same black crew. Inquiry is especially directed toward a prominent member of the House of Lords, who has left the country for his country's good, and who, even if he escapes the fate now hanging over Wilde, will never again enter the society of which, ten days ago, he was a leading member. Wilde's guilt seems so overwhelmingly established that his doom is regarded as sealed, and everybody regrets that it is necessary to bring him yet again, two or three times, to the light of day before consigning him to oblivion deeper than the grave.
His case is so hopeless that some of the more charitable of those formerly his friends are showing a little pity for the miserable creature, pity based solely on the assumption that his responsibility is somewhat lessened by mental disease. Thus Mr. Labouchere who has known him for years, says that he has always regarded him as somewhat wrong in the head. The editor of Truth adds: "So strange and wondrous is his mind when in an abnormal condition, that it would not surprise me if he were deriving keen enjoyment from a position which most people, whether innocent or guilty, would prefer to die rather than to occupy. He must have known in what a glass house he lived when he challenged investigation in a Court of Justice. After he had done this he went abroad. Why did he not stay abroad? The possibilities of prison may not be pleasing to him, but I believe the notoriety that has overtaken him has such a charm for him that it outweighs everything else."
His case is so hopeless that some of the more charitable of those formerly his friends are showing a little pity for the miserable creature, pity based solely on the assumption that his responsibility is somewhat lessened by mental disease. Thus Labouchere, who has known him for years, says that he has always regarded him as somewhat wrong in the head. The editor of Truth adds: "So strange and wondrous is his mind when in an abnormal condition that it would not surprise me if he were deriving keen enjoyment from a position which most people, whether innocent or guilty, would prefer to die rather than occupy. He must have known in what a glass house he lived when he challenged investigation in the court of justice. After he had done this he went abroad. Why did he not stay abroad? The possibilities of prison may not be pleasing to him, but I believe the notoriety that has overtaken him has such a charm for him that it outweighs everything else."
Wilde's doom is regarded as sealed. His case is so hopeless that some of the more charitable of those formerly his friends are showing a little pity for the miserable creature, pity based solely on his assumption that his responsibility is somewhat lessened by mental disease. Thus Mr. Labouchere, who has known him for years, says that he has always regarded him as somewhat wrong in the head. The editor of Truth adds: "So strange and wondrous is his mind when in an abnormal condition that it would not surprise me if he were deriving keen enjoyment from a position which most people, whether innocent or guilty, would prefer to die rather than to occupy. He must have known in what a glass house he lived when he challenged investigation in a court of justice. After he had done this he went abroad. Why did he not stay abroad? The possibilities of prison may not be pleasing to him, but I believe the notoriety that has overtaken him has such a charm for him that it outweighs everything else."
An incident which Mr. Labouchere quotes, however, tends to show much method in Wilde's madness for notoriety. "I remember in the early days of the cult of æstheticism hearing someone ask him how a man of his undoubted capacity could make such a fool of himself. He gave this explanation: He had written, he said, a book of poems. In vain he went from publisher to publisher asking them to bring them out. Not one would even read them for he was unknown. In order to find a publisher he felt he must do something to become a personality. So he hit upon æstheticism. It succeeded. People talked about him and invited him to their houses as a sort of lion. He then took his poems to a publisher who, still without reading them, gladly accepted them."
An incident which Mr. Labouchere quotes, however, tends to show much method in Wilde's madness for notoriety. "I remember in the early days of the cult of æstheticism hearing some one ask him how a man of his undoubted capacity could make such a fool of himself. He gave this explanation: He had written, he said, a book of poems. In vain he went from publisher to publisher asking them to bring them out. Not one would even read them for he was unknown. In order to find a publisher he felt he must do something to become a personality. So he hit upon æstheticism. It succeeded. People talked about him and invited him to their houses as a sort of lion. He then took his poems to a publisher, who, still without reading them, gladly accepted them."
I remember, in the early days of the cult of aestheticism, hearing some one ask him how a man of his undoubted capacity could make such a fool of himself. He gave this explanation. He had written, he said, a book of poems, and he believed in their excellence. In vain he went from publisher to publisher asking them to bring them out; not one would even read them, for he was unknown. In order to find a publisher he felt that he must do something to become a personality. So he hit upon aestheticism. It succeeded. People talked about him; they invited him to their houses as a sort of lion. He then took his poems to a publisher, who—still without reading them—gladly accepted them.
I remember in the early days of the cult of aestheticism, hearing someone ask him how a man of his undoubted capacity could make such a fool of himself. He gave his explanation. He had written, he said, a book of poems, and he believed in their excellence. In vain he went from publisher to publisher asking them to bring them out; not one would even read them, for he was unknown. In order to find a publisher he felt that he must do something to become a personality. So he hit upon aestheticism. It succeeded. People talked about him; they invited him to their homes as a sort of lion. He then took his poems to a publisher, who—still without reading them—gladly accepted them.
In the early days of the cult of aestheticism someone asked Oscar Wilde how a man of his undoubted capacity could make such a fool of himself. He gave this explanation. He had written, he said, a book of poems, and he believed in their excellence. In vain he went from publisher to publisher asking them to bring them out; not one would even read them, for he was unknown. In order to find a publisher he felt that he must do something to become a personality. So he hit upon aestheticism. It succeeded. People talked about him; they invited him to their houses as a sort of lion. He then took his poems to a publisher, who—still without reading them—gladly accepted them.
In the early days of the cult of aestheticism some one asked Oscar Wilde how a man of his undoubted capacity could make such a fool of himself. He gave this explanation. He had written, he said, a book of poems, and he believed in their excellence. In vain he went from publisher to publisher asking them to bring them out; not one would even read them, for he was unknown. In order to find a publisher he felt that he must do something to become a personality. So he hit upon aestheticism. It succeeded. People talked about him; they invited him to their houses as a sort of lion. He then took his poems to a publisher, who—still without reading them—gladly accepted them.
In the early days of the cult of aestheticism someone asked Oscar Wilde how a man of his undoubted capacity could make such a fool of himself. He gave this explanation. He had written, he said, a book of poems, and he believed in their excellence. In vain he went from publisher to publisher asking them to bling them out; not one would even read them, for he was known. In order to find a published he felt that he must do something to become a personality. So he hit upon aestheticism. It succeeded. People talked about him; they invited him to their houses as a sort of lion. He then took his poems to a published, who — still without reading them — gladly accepted them.
In the early days of the cult of æstheticism, some one asked Oscar Wilde how a man of his undoubted capacity could make such a fool of himself. He had written, he said, a book of poems, and he believed in their excellence. In vain he went from publisher to publisher asking them to bring them them out; not one would even read them, for he was unknown. In order to find a publisher he felt that he must do something to become a personality. So he hit upon æstheticism. It succeeded. People talked about him; they invited him to their houses as a sort of lion. He then took his poems to a publisher, who — still without reading them — gladly accepted them.
While the interest in Wilde is rapidly disappearing, there is a strong tendency on the part of aroused public opinion to make the exposure of vice complete as a necessary measure toward eradicating it. Thus Jerome K. Jerome makes this startling assertion in his paper: "I doubt very much, and I am not using words loosely, whether this particular evil is a wit less rampant in London or New York to-day than it ever was in Rome or Athens of old. I would that our Mrs. Grundys and Mr. Podsnaps knew a little more of the world in which they live. They would see that their methods have utterly failed. We want a little more outspokeness on the matter. When, some months ago, I attacked the chameleon in terms that I consider justified, I was bombarded with indignant letters from those who told me such things are best left untouched, and I was accused of advertising the evil. Silence is not the way to meet these approaches . Evil loves silence. Publicity is to it as daylight to an owl."
While the interest in Wilde is rapidly disappearing, there is a strong tendency on the part of aroused public opinion to make the exposure of vice complete, as a necessary measure toward eradicating it. Thus Jerome K. Jerome makes the startling assertion in his paper: "I doubt very much, and I am not using words loosely, whether this particular evil be a wit less rampant in London or New York today than it ever was in Rome or Athens of old. I would that our Mrs Grundys and Mr Podsnaps knew a little more of the world in which they live. They would see that their methods have utterly failed. We want a little more outspokeness on the matter. When some months ago I attacked the chameleon in terms that were considered justified, I was bombarded with indignant letters from those who told me such things are best left untouched, and I was accused of advertising the evil. Silence is not the way to meet these approaches. Evil loves silence. Publicity is to it as daylight to the owl."
Many people are already rejoicing in the doom of morbid literature, morbid art, and morbid drama, which they profess is marked by the Old Bailey trial. This reaction began in this country some weeks ago, as the readers of these despatches were told. It will be an exceedingly interesting social problem to note how far this reaction will go. Mr. Labouchere, who is no prude, has a slashing article on the subject in his paper. He says:
"We have nowadays a galaxy of authors whose minds are essentially diseased, and who seem to imagine that the inner workings of these diseased minds cannot be too openly made known in the interests of mankind. Their morbid emotions and nasty imaginings they regard as the outcome of the emancipation of artistic minds from the narrow prejudices of ordinary mortals. At first they are probably actuated by a mere desire to draw attention to their obscure individualities by startling paradox, but no sooner do they force their way into notoriety than the praise of fools leads them to believe they have a message to the world. Each professes to found a new school. The Masters discuss in lengthy essays each other's special doctrines, and while differing in details, they agree in lauding the beauty of each others garbage. To me all this inspires loathing. I make no sort of profession of being a hyper-goody-goody. In my literary tastes I am an admirer of Rabelais, Fielding, Smollett, and many modern French novelists. I do not hesitate to say that the coarseness which to the modern mind disfigures the plays of the Restoration and many great works of former days is neither so pernicious nor so foul as the tone that pervades the decadent sex problem novel of to-day, from Ibsen down to the humblest third-rate poet who publishes his unsavory longings and emotions in unharmonious verse. I loathe the entire crew."
It is a curious fact that the rapid movement of public opinion on this subject is coincident with a distinct growth of popular repugnance towards New Women.