The Sun - Saturday, April 6, 1895
This report was originally published in English. Machine translations may be available in other languages.
WILDE AS WE KNEW HIM.
HIS VISIT TO AMERICA AS ÆS-
THETHICISM'S APOSTLE.
Caricatured by Du Maurier and
Satirized
by Gilbert - Stories of His Experiences
While Here - His Quarrels with Critics.
Oscar Wilde, an account of whose downfall is printed elsewhere this morning, first achieved notoriety as a prostrate apostle and then as the leader of the then infantile æsthetic-craze. He carried his æsthetic peculiarities so far that he became the subject of Du Maurier's caricaturing pencil and Gilbert's satirizing fun. That may have been what he was trying for. Neither the caricaturist nor the satirist diminished the ardor with which Wilde pursued what was vaguely called æstheticism. The Bunthornes of "Patience" made up in exact imitation of Wilde, and he posed in the lobbies of the same theatres and composed phrases which outdid, in lily-like languor, the phrases Gilbert had thought to be satires. One of the songs of "Patience" which seemed to contain a more or less pointed allusion to Wilde ran:
Oscar Wilde, about whom so much is now being said, first achieved notoriety as a prostate apostle and then as the leader of the then infantile aesthetic craze. He carried his aesthetic peculiarities so far that he became the subject of Du Maurier's caricaturing pencil and Gilbert's satirizing fun. That may have been what he was trying for. Neither the caricaturist nor the satirist diminished the ardor with which Wilde pursued what was vaguely called aestheticism. The Bunthornes of "Patience" made up in exact imitation of Wilde, and he posed in the lobbies of the same theatres and composed phrases which outdid, in lily-like languor, the phrases Gilbert and thought to be satires. One of the songs of "Patience" which seemed to contain a more or less pointed allusion to Wilde ran:
Oscar Wilde, whose downfall is the talk of two continents, first achieved notoriety as a prostrate apostle, and then as the leader of the then infantile aesthetic craze. He carried his aesthetic peculiarities so far that he became the subject of Du Maurier’s caricaturing pencil and Gilbert’s satirizing fun. That may have been what he was trying for. Neither the caricaturist nor the satirist diminished the ardor with which Wilde purpled what was vaguely called aestheticism. The Bunthornes of "Patience" made up in exact imitation of Wilde, and he posed in the lobbies of the same theatres and composed phrases which outdid, in lily-like languages, the phrases Gilbert has thought to be satires. One of the songs of "Patience," which seemed to contain a more or less pointed allusion to Wilde, ran:—
New York Sun: Oscar Wilde first achieved notoriety as a prostrate apostle and then as the leader of the then infantile aesthetic craze. He carried his aesthetic peculiarities so far that he became the subject of Du Maurier’s caricaturing pencil and Gilbert’s satirizing fun. That may have been what he was trying for. Neither the caricaturist nor the satirist diminished the ardor with which Wilde pursued what was vaguely called aestheticism. The Bunthornes of "Patience" made up in exact imitation of Wilde, and he posed in the lobbies of the same theatres and composed phrases which outdid, in lily-like languor, the phrases that Gilbert had thought to be satires. One of the songs of "Patience" which seemed to contain a more or less pointed allusion to Wilde ran:
Then a sentimental passion of a vegetable fashion
Should excite your languid spleen:
An attachment, à la Plato, for a
bashful young potato,
Or a not too French French bean:
Though the Philistines may jostle, you will rank as an apostle
In the sentimental
band.
If you walk down Picadilly with a poppy or a lily
In your mediæval hand;
And every one will say
As you walk your mystic way,
"If he's content with a vegetable love that would certainly not suit me.
Why, what a most particularly pure young man this pure young man must
be."
Then a sentimental passion of a vegetable fashionShould excite your languid spleen;An attachment, a la Plato, for a bashful young potato,Or a not too French French bean;Though the Philistines may jostle, you will rank as an apostleIn the sentimental band;If you walk down Piccadilly with a poppy or a lilyIn your mediaeval hand;And every one will sayAs you walk your mystic way,"If he's content with a vegetable love that would certainly not suit me.Why, what a most particularly pure young man this pure young man must be."
Then, a sentimental passion of a vegetable fashionShould excite your languid spleen;An attachment, a la Plato, for a bashful young potato,Or a not too French French bean;Though the Philistines may jostle, you will rank as an apostleIn the sentimental band;If you walk down Piccadilly with a poppy on a lilyIn your medieval hand;And every one will sayAs you walk your mystic way,"If he’s content with a vegetable love that would certainly not suit me,Why, what a most particularly pure young man this pure young man must be."
Then a sentimental passion of a vegetable fashion Should excite your languid spleen; An attachment, a la Plato, for a bashful young potato, Or a not too French French bean; Though the Philistines may jostle, you will rank as an apostle In the sentimental band, If you walk walk down Piccadilly with a poppy or a lily In your mediaeval hand; And every one will say As you walk your mystic may, "If he’s content with vegetable love that would certainly not suit me, Why, what a most peculiarly pure young man this pure young man must be."
The more limp Du Maurier drew his caricature the limper was Oscar when he confronted the next assemblage; the longer Du Maurier made his people's hair the longer Wilde stayed away from the barber's.
The more limp Du Maurier drew his caricature the limper was Oscar when he confronted the next assemblage; the longer Du Maurier made his people’s hair the longer Wilde stayed away from the barber’s.
The more limp Du Maurier drew his caricature, the limper was Oscar when he confronted the next assemblage; the longer Du Maurier made his people's hair, the longer Wilde stayed away from the barber's.
The more limp Du Maurier drew his caricature the limper was Oscar when he confronted the next assemblage; the longer Du Maurier made his people’s hair the longer Wilde stayed away from the barber’s.
Up to that time, fifteen years ago, Wilde had done little else to attract attention to himself. He was known to be the son of exceptionally clever parents and winner of the Newdigate at Oxford, but, besides cleverly advertising himself and writing a few verses, he had done no clever original work, and was not seriously considered. His reputation as lecturer, man of fashion, wit, poet, novelist, essayist, playwright has been made, in most particulars, in the last half dozen years, all since his lecturing tour in this country.
Up to that time, fifteen years ago, Wilde had done little else to attract attention to himself. He was known to be the son of exceptionally clever parents and winner of the Newdigate at Oxford, but, besides cleverly advertising himself and writing a few verses, he had done no clever original work, and was not seriously considered. His reputation as lecturer, man of fashion, wit, poet, novelist, essayist, playwright has been made, in most particulars, in the last half dozen years, all since his lecturing tour in this country.
Up to that time, 15 years ago, Wilde had done little else to attract attention to himself. He was known to be the son of exceptionally clever parents and winner of the Newdigate at Oxford, but besides cleverly advertising himself and writing a few verses, he had done no clever original work, and was not seriously considered. His reputation as lecturer, man of fashion, wit, poet, novelist, essayist, playwright, has been made, in most particulars, in the last half dozen years, all since his lecturing tour in this country.
Up to the time of his American lecturing tour Wilde had done little else to attract attention to himself. He was known to be the son of exceptionally clever parents, and winner of the Newdigate at Oxford; but, besides cleverly advertising himself and writing a few verses, he had done no clever original work, and was not seriously considered. His reputation as a lecturer, man of fashion, wit, poet, novelist, essayist, playwright, has been made in most particulars, in the last half dozen years.
He came here about twelve years ago, frankly advertised as a freak lecturing on "æstheticism." He wore knee breeches, silk hose, lace cuffs, and was otherwise variously freakish in his dress. At Boston a half hundred Harvard boys marched into his lecture hall dressed as he was, each carrying a lily. Wilde's noted imperturbability did not desert him. He merely lisped, "How tenderly droll!" and went on with his lecture.
He came here about twelve years ago, frankly advertised as a freak lecturing on "aestheticism." He wore knee breeches, silk hose, lace cuffs, and was otherwise variously freakish in his dress. At Boston a half hundred Harvard boys marched into his lecture hall dressed as he was, each carrying a lily. Wilde's noted imperturbability did not desert him. He merely lisped, "How tenderly droll!" and went on with his lecture.
He came to America about 12 years ago, frankly advertised as a freak lecturing on "aestheticism." He wore knee breeches, silk hose, lace cuffs, and was otherwise variously freakish in his dress. At Boston a half hundred Harvard boys marched into his lecture hall dressed as he was, each carrying a lily. Wilde’s noted imperturbability did not desert him. Here merely lisped, "How tenderly droll!" and went on with his lecture.
Wilde came to America about 12 years ago, frankly advertising as a freak lecturing on "Aestheticism." He wore knee breeches, silk hose, lace cuffs, and was otherwise variously freakish in his dress. At Boston a half hundred Harvard boys marched into his lecture hall dressed as he was, each carrying a lily. Wilde’s noted imperturbability did not desert him. He merely lisped, "How tenderly droll" and went on with his lecture.
In a Western city he was the guest of a club among whose members were a number of stout drinkers. They undertook to "tank up the æsthete" as they expressed it. The process was long. As the sun was breaking into the club windows, Wilde looked about over a room strewn with fallen braves, and said to the one man still able to comprehend speech:
In a Western city he was the guest of a club, among whose members were a number of stout drinkers. They undertook to "tank up the aesthete," as they expressed it. The process was long. As the sun was breaking into the club windows, Wilde looked about over a room strewn with fallen braves, and said to the one man still able to comprehend speech:
In a western city he was the guest of a club, among whose members were a number of stout drinkers. They undertook to "tank up the aesthete," as they expressed it. The process was long. As the sun was breaking into the club windows Wilde looked over a room strewn with fallen braves, and said to the one man still able to comprehend speech:
In a western city he was the guest of a club, among whose members were a number of stout drinkers. They undertook to "tank up the aesthete" as they expressed it. The process was Iong. As the sun was breaking into the club windows, Wilde looked about over a room strewn with fallen braves, and said to the one man still able to comprehend speech: "We've had a charmingly quiet little evening. Don't you feel like a bit of a run about town before breakfast?"
In a Western city he was the guest of a club, among whose members were a number of stout drinkers. They undertook to "tank up the aesthete," as they expressed it. The process was long. As the sun was breaking into the club windows, Wilde looked about the room strewn with the fallen braves, and said to one man still able to comprehend speech:"We've had a charmingly quiet little evening. Don't you feel like a bit of a run about town before breakfast?"
"We've had a charmingly quiet little evening. Don't you feel like a bit of a run about town before breakfast?"
"We’ve had a charmingly quiet little evening. Don’t you feel like a bit of a run about town before breakfast?"
"We’ve had a charmingly quiet little evening. Don’t you feel like a bit of a run about town before breakfast?"
But those who met him under normal conditions found Mr. Wilde a witty and engaging talker; unusually well informed on a wide range of literary and art subjects, and quite able to care for himself in any mental encounter. The public at large, not knowing this of him, refused to accept him or his cult seriously, and Wilde returned to England richer only in experiences and a few hundred pounds. He had apologists, not of his class, for his "lily-like" eccentricities. In 1889 Edmund Yates wrote of him the London World:
But those who met him under normal conditions found Mr. Wilde a witty and engaging talker; unusually well informed on a wide range of literary and art subjects, and quite able to care for himself in any mnental encounter. The public at large, not knowing this of him, refused to accept him or his cult seriously, and Wilde returned to England richer only in experiences and a few hundred pounds. He had apologists, not of his class, for his "lilylike" eccentricities. In 1880 Edmund Yates wrote of him in the London World:
But those who met him under normal conditions found Mr. Wilde a witty and engaging talker; unusually well informed on a wide range of literature and art subjects, and quite able to care for himself in any mental encounter. The public at large, not knowing this of him, refused to accept him or his cult seriously, and Wilde returned to England richer only in experiences and a few hundred pounds. He had apologists, not of his class, for his "lily-like" eccentricities. In 1889 Edmund Yates wrote of him in The London World:
But those who met him under normal conditions found Mr. Wilde a witty and engaging talker; unusually well informed on a wide range of literature and art subjects, and quite able to care for himself in any mental encounter. The public at large not knowing this of him refused to accept him or his cult seriously, and Wilde returned to England richer only in experience, and a few hundred pounds. He had apologists, not of his class for his "lily-like" eccentricities.
"He came out with a great splurge; his hair, his watch fob, his costume, and his walking stick started him well; the living up to the lily, and his disappointment with the Atlantic, and other quaint phrases carried him on for a bit; but he made somewhat of a failure in his lecturing tour in America, and has not been much heard of since his return, so that there was a general impression that though he had come out well, he had gone in again. But those who were well acquainted with him knew better, and had perfect reliance on his unquestionable cleverness and his determination to make a mark. They felt that in these days, when every gate is thronged with suitors, a little charlatanism to call attention to one's self is not merely admissible, but is necessary; granted always that when the attention has been attracted there is something really worth seeing in the show. Mr. Wilde has justified these good opinions by working unobtrusively, indeed, but always well."
"He came out with a great splurge; his hair, his watch fob, his costume, and his walking stick started him well; the living up to the lily, and his disappointment with the Atlantic, and other quaint phrases carried him on for a bit; but he made somewhat of a failure in his lecturing tour in America, and has not been much heard of since his return, so that there was a general impression that though he had come out well, he had gone in again. But those who were well acquainted with him knew better, and had perfect reliance on his unquestioniable cleverness and his determination to make a mark. They felt that in these days, when every gate is thronged with suitors, a little charlatanism to call attention to one's self is not merely admissible, but is necessary; granted always that when the attention has been attracted there is something really worth seeing in the show. Mr. Wilde has justified these good opinions by working unobtrusively, indeed, but always well."
"He came out with a great splurge: his hair, his watch fob, his costume and his walking stick started him well; the living up to the lily, and his disappointment with the Atlantic, and other quaint phrases carried him on for a bit; but he made something of a failure of his lecturing tour in America, and has not been much heard of since his return, so that there was a general impression that though he had come out well, he had gone in again. But those who were well acquainted with him knew better, and had perfect reliance on his unquestionable cleverness and his determination to make a mark. They felt that in these days, when every gate is thronged with suitors, a little charlatanism to call attention to one’s self is not merely admissible, but is necessary; granted always that when the attention has been attracted there is something really worth seeing in the show. Mr. Wilde has "justified these good opinions by working unobtrusively, indeed, but always well."
At that time Wilde had been married several years to Miss Constance Lloyd, and was living in Chelsea in a house decorated in "harmonies of green and blue," and furnished with quaint Old World pieces, but he was doing little or nothing to attract attention; even "Dorian Grey" had not then been much noticed. But he had "come out," and was destined to "stay out" in the sense that he was soon to be talked of again more than he ever had been, and in a more reputable manner. His art criticisms in the London papers, his essays on the drama, and his poems began to attract more and more attention, and served to revive interest in "Dorian Grey." He was criticised extensively, and although the morality of much that he wrote was questioned or condemned, the literary ability of his work was generally conceded. He adopted Whistler's plan of quarelling with his critics, and of "making phrases."
At that time Wilde had been married several years to Miss Constance Lloyd, and was living in Chelsea in a house decorated in "harmonies of green and blue," and furnished with quaint Old World pieces, but he was doing little or nothing to attract attention; even "Dorian Grey" had not then been much noticed. But he had "come out," and was destined to "stay out" in the sense that he was soon to be talked of again more than he ever had been, and in a more reputable manner. His art criticisms in the London papers, his essays on the drama and his poems began to attract more and more attention, and serve to revive interest in "Dorian Grey." He was criticised extensively, and although the morality of much that he wrote was questioned or condemned, the literary ability of his work was generally conceded. He adopted Whistler's plan of quarreling with his critics, and of "making phrases."
Then, about three years ago his play, "Lady Windermere's Fan," was produced in London, and later here, and that at once made him one of the most talked about playwrights living. There was not much seriously objectionable in the sentiments expressed in this play; not to theatregoers who had become accustomed to "Divorçon," and its kind, and this did not seem to satisfy Mr. Wilde. He wrote "Salome," wrote it in French and arranged with Sarah Bernhardt to produce it in London, but the Lord Chamberlain refused to authorize its production, or, to put it the familiar way, prohibited it, and Wilde threatened to go to France to live - which the Marquis of Queensberry expressed a longing for him to do - but he did not. He said of this prohibition and of Sarah Bernhardt's rehearsals:
Then, about three years ago, his play, "Lady Windermere's Fan," was produced in London, and later here, and that at once made him one of the most talked about playwrights living. There was not much seriously objectionable in the sentiments expressed in this play; not to theatre-goers who had become accustomed to "Divorcon," and its kind, and this did not seem to satisfy Mr. Wilde, He wrote "Salome," wrote it in French and arranged with Sarah Bernhardt to produce it in London, but the Lord Chamberlain refused to authorize its production, or, to put it the familiar way, prohibited it, and Wilde threatened to go to France to live—which the Marquis of Queensberry expressed a longing for him to do—but he did not. He said of this prohibition and of Sarah Bernhardt's rehearsals:
"Every rehearsal has been a source of intense pleasure to me. To hear my own words spoken by the most beautiful voice in the world has been the greatest artistic joy that it is possible to experience. So that you see, as far as I am concerned, I care very little about the refusal of Lord Chamberlain to allow my play to be produced. What I do care about is this, that the censorship apparently regards the stage as the lowest of all the arts, and looks on acting as a vulgar thing. The painter is allowed to take his subjects where he chooses. He can go to the great Hebrew and Hebrew-Greek literature of the Bible and can paint Salomé dancing, or Christ on the cross, or the Virgin with her child. Nobody interferes with the painter. Nobody says, 'Painting is such a vulgar art that you must not paint sacred things.' The sculptor is equally free. He can carve St. John the Baptist in his camel hair, and fashion the Madonna or Christ in bronze or in marble as he wills. Yet nobody says to him, 'Sculpture is such a vulgar art that you must not carve sacred things.' And the writer - the poet - he also is quite free. I can write about any subject I choose. For me there is no censorship. I can take any incident I like out of sacred literature and treat it as I choose and there is no one to say to the poet, 'Poetry is such a vulgar art that you must not use it in treating sacred subjects.' But there is a censorship over the stage and acting, and the basis of that censorship is that, while vulgar subjects may be put on the stage and acted, while everything that is mean and low and shameful in life can be portrayed by actors, no actor is to be permitted to present, under artistic conditions, the great and ennobling subjects taken from the Bible. The insult in the suppression of 'Salomé' is an insult to the stage as a form of art, and not to me."
"Every rehearsal has been a source of intense pleasure to me. To hear my own vwords spoken by the most beautiful voice in the world has been the greatest artistic joy that it is possible to experience. So that, you see, as far as I am concerned, I care very little about the refusal of the Lord Chamberlain to allow my plays to be produced. What I do care about is this, that the censorship apparently reggards the stage as the lowest of all the arts, and looks on acting as a vulgar thing. The painter is allowed to take his subjects where he chooses. He can go to the great Hebrew and Hebrew-Greek literature of the Bible, and can paint Salome dancing, or Christ on the cross, or the Virgin with her child. Nobody interferes with the painter. Nobody says: 'Painting is such a vulgar art that you must not paint sacred things.' The sculptor is equally free. He can carve St. John the Baptist in his camel hair, and fashion the Madonna or Christ in bronze or in marble, as he wills. Yet nobody says to him: 'Sculpture is such a vulgar art that you must not carve sacred things.' And the writer—the poet—he also is quite free. I can write about any subject I choose. For me there is no censorship. I can take any incident I like out of sacred literature and treat it as I choose, and there is no one to say to the poet: 'Poetry is such a vulgar art that you must not use it in treating sacred subjects.' But there is a censorship over the stage and acting, and the basis of that censorship is that, while vulgar subjects may be put on the stage and acted, while everything that is mean and low and shameful in life can be portrayed by actors, no actor is to be permitted to present, under artistic conditions, the great and ennobling subjects taken from the Bible. The insult in the suppression of 'Salome' is an insult to the stage as a form of art, and not to me."
A year and a half ago Mr. Wilde managed to contrive and have ventilated in the Pall Mall Budget a quarrel with T.P. O'Connor, in which he expressed his opinion of the "ordinary journalist" in a manner intended to increase the scope of the quarrel, but it did not. This is his first letter in the series published in the Budget:
A year and a half ago Mr. Wilde managed to contrive and have ventilated in the Pall Mall Budget a quarrel with T. P. O'Connor, in which he expressed his opinion of the "ordinary journalist" in a manner intended to increase the scope of the quarrel, but it did not. This is his first letter in the series published in the Budget:
SIR: Will you allow me to draw your attention to a very interesting example of the ethics of modern journalism, a quality of which we
have all heard so much and seen so little?
About a month ago Mr. T.P. O'Connor published in the Weekly Sun some doggerel verses entitled "The
Shamrock," and had the amusing impertinence to append my name to them as their author. As for some years past all kinds of scurillous personal attacks had
been made on me in Mr. O'Connor's newspapers, I determined to take no notice at all of the incident.
Enraged, however, by my courteous silence, Mr.
O'Connor returns to the charge this week. He now solemnly accuses me of plagiarizing the poem he had the vulgarity to attribute to me.
This seems to
me to pass beyond even those bounds of coarse humor and coarse malice that are, by the contempt of all, conceded to the ordinary journalist, and it is
really very distressing to find so low a standard of ethics in a Sunday newspaper. I remain, sir, your obedient servant,
OSCAR WILDE.
"Sir: Will you allow me to draw your attention to a very interesting example of the ethics of modern journalism, a quality of which we have all heard so much and seen so little?"About a month ago Mr. T. P. O'Connor published in the Weekly Sun some doggerel verses entitled 'The Shamrock,' and had the amusing impertinence to append my name to them as their author. As for some years past all kinds of scurrilous personal attacks had been made on me in Mr. O'Connor's newspapers, I determined to take no notice at all of the incident."Enraged, however, by my courteous silence, Mr. O'Connor returns to the charge this week. He now solemnly accuses me of plagiarizing the poem he had the vulgarity to attribute to me."This seems to me to pass beyond even those bounds of coarse humor and coarser malice that are, by the contempt of all, conceded to the ordinary journalist, and it is really very distressing to find so low a standard of ethics in a Sunday newspaper. I remain, sir, your obedient servant,"OSCAR WILDE."
The reply to this was signed, "The Assistant Editor," which gave Mr. Wilde an opportunity to say this:
The reply to this was signed, "The Assistant Editor," which gave Mr. Wilde an opportunity to say this:
SIR: The assistant editor of the Weekly Sun on whom seems to devolve the arduous duty of writing Mr. T.P. O'Connor's apologies for him, does not, I observe in regret, place that gentleman's conduct in any more attractive or more honorable light by the attempted explanation that appears in the letter published in your issue of to-day. For the future it would be much better if Mr. O'Connor would always write his own apologies. That he can do so exceedingly well no one is more ready to admit than myself. I happen to possess one from him.
"Sir: The assistant editor of the Weekly Sun, on whom seems to devolve the arduous duty of writing Mr. T. P. O'Connor's apologies for him, does not, I observe with regret, place that gentleman's conduct in any more attractive or more honorable light by the attempted explanation that appears in the letter published in your issue of today. For the future it would be much better if Mr. O'Connor would always write his own apologies. That he can do so exceedingly well no one is more ready to admit than myself. I happen to possess one from him."
In spite of the harsh things which have been written lately about the moral quality of his later literary work, a recent London critic wrote of him:
In spite of the harsh things which have been written lately about the moral quality of his later literary work, a recent London o critic wrote of him:
"Mr. Oscar Wilde has a very wholesome influence upon contemporary thought, though there are people who think otherwise. It is not that he is original, or even absurd. He is never entirely either. But he sticks his pen into the somewhat torpid consciousness of the average Englishman, and digs up the clods of truth which have caked and hardened therein. He turns upside down the proverbial wisdom which most of us regard as eternal verity, and shows us that it looks as well one way as the other."
"Mr. Oscar Wilde has a very wholesome influence upon contemporary thought, though there are people who think otherwise. It is not that he is original, or even absurd. He is never entirely either. But he sticks his pen into the somewhat torpid consciousness of the average Englishman, and digs up the clods of truth which have caked and hardened therein. He turns upside down the proverbial wisdom which most of us regard as eternal verity, and shows us that it looks as well one way as the other."