Oscar Wilde: A Life in Letters

May Returns to Paris. Stays at Hotel de la Neva, then at Hotel Marsollier

July An Ideal Husband published

August Moves back to the Hotel d’Alsace

1900—April-May Spends two weeks as Mellor’s guest travelling in Italy and Sicily

May Returns to the Hotel d’Alsace

10 October Undergoes ear operation in hotel room

30 November Dies in Hotel d’Alsace of cerebral meningitis. Buried at Bagneux

1905—February De Profundis first published in heavily expurgated form by Robert Ross

1906—July Wilde’s estate discharged from bankruptcy. Creditors paid 20s in the £ and 4 per cent interest from sales of books and licensing of plays

1908—First collected edition of Wilde’s works published by Methuen

1909—20 July Wilde’s remains are moved from the cemetery at Bagneux to Pere Lachaise and reinterred under Jacob Epstein’s monument. The manuscript of De Profundis is presented by Ross to the British Museum on the condition that it remain closed for fifty years

1945—20 March Death of Lord Alfred Douglas

1949—Suppressed part of De Profundis published by Wilde’s son, Vyvyan Holland, from Ross’s typescript

1954—Unveiling of plaque on Wilde’s London home at 16 Tite Street

1956—First publication of the original four-act version of The Importance of Being Earnest

1962—Publication of Wilde’s Collected Letters including first fully correct version of De Profundis

1995—Consecration of a window to Oscar Wilde in Poets’ Corner, Westminster Abbey

1998—Erection of a publicly funded sculpture A Conversation with Oscar Wilde in Adelaide Street, London

The Student (#ulink_96d91b79-541b-5244-b823-a026440c6539)

‘It is too delightful altogether this display of fireworks at the end of my career…The dons are ‘astonied’ beyond words – the Bad Boy doing so well in the end!’

It is all too easy to think of Oscar Wilde as a fin de siecle phenomenon, something like the firework in his story “The Remarkable Rocket’, rising apparently from nowhere, exploding in a spectacularly self-destructive way and gasping as he went out, ‘I knew I should create a great sensation!’ In reality, he was brought up in what today would be considered a well-to-do, upper-middle-class, professional family, living in a fashionable area of Dublin, though not by the conventional parents that such a background might have suggested. His father, William Wilde, was a respected medical man specialising in maladies of the eye and ear, whose work on the Irish census of 1851, hailed at the time as a quite exceptional demographic study, is still in use today as source material for the study of the Great Famine. He was also passionately interested in the history and topography of Ireland and wrote two books on the subject, as well as one on Irish folklore, and catalogued in three volumes the antiquities of the Royal Irish Academy.

Oscar’s mother, Jane, was no less extraordinary in her way: she had played a leading role in the Young Ireland movement of the 1840s writing inflammatory, anti-English articles in the Nation under her pen name ‘Speranza’ and narrowly missed imprisonment alongside the editor, Charles Gavan Duffy, for sedition; she published poetry, essays, and translations from French and German; and she hosted a weekly salon to which came Dublin’s foremost doctors, lawyers, artists and literary figures, together with distinguished foreign visitors. The influence of these two remarkable parents, committed Hibemophiles both, he intellectually and she more emotionally, was to remain with Oscar Wilde throughout his life. Indeed, from prison he would write remorsefully to Lord Alfred Douglas, ‘She and my father had bequeathed me a name they had made noble and honoured not merely in Literature, Art, Archaeology and Science, but in the public history of my own country in its evolution as a nation. I had disgraced that name eternally.’

Jane Elgee and William Wilde were married on 12 November 1851 and their first child, William Charles Kingsbury, was bom on 26 September the following year. Jane was soon pregnant again and on 16 October 1854 she gave birth to her secondchild. He was christened Oscar Fingal O’Flahertie (he would later add the ‘Wills’ from his father), a veritable mouthful of names by which he was embarrassed at school, proud of at university and dismissive of in later life, saying, ‘As one becomes famous, one sheds some of them, just as a balloonist, when rising higher, sheds unnecessary ballast. All but two have already been thrown overboard. Soon I shall discard another and be known simply as “The Wilde” or “The Oscar”.’ If Willie had been christened with admirable restraint after his own father, Jane’s father and Jane’s mother’s family name, reflecting her new conformity, the new arrival was an excuse to restate her Irishness. Oscar and Fingal were respectively son and father of Oisin, the third-century Celtic warrior-poet and O’fflahertie, as he would occasionally spell it, was in deference to her husband’s links with ‘the ferocious O’Flaherties of Galway’.

The Wildes soon began to find that their house at 21 Westland Row, which backed on to Trinity College, was not only too small for the expanding family, but also lacked the social cachet which William’s growing status as a doctor demanded. Before Oscar was a year old they moved to an ample Georgian house around the corner at 1 Merrion Square and engaged six servants to run it, as well as employing a French maid and a German governess. The latter permitted the children’s education to take place at home until Oscar was ten, when he was sent with his brother to board at Portora Royal School, Enniskillen. It was from there that his first surviving letter was written. His mother had contributed a poem ‘To Ireland’ for the previous (August) issue of the National Review, a pale and short-lived imitation of the magazine of her former firebrand days, the Nation, and the young thirteen-year-old Oscar’s taste for clothes and radical politics is beginning to show.

To Lady Wilde

8 September 1868 Portora School

Darling Mama, The hamper came today, I never got such a jolly surprise, many thanks for it, it was more than kind of you to think of it. The grapes and pears are delicious and so cooling, but the blancmange got a little sour, I suppose by the knocking about, but the rest all came safe.

Don’t forget please to send me the National Review, is it not issued today?

The flannel shirts you sent in the hamper are both Willie’s, mine are one quite scarlet and the other lilac but it is too hot to wear them yet, the weather is so hot.

We went down to the horrid regatta on Thursday last. It was very jolly. There was a yacht race.

You never told me anything about the publisher in Glasgow. What does he say and have you written to Aunt Warren on the green note paper?

We played the officers of the 27th Regiment now stationed in Enniskillen, a few days ago and beat them hollow by about seventy runs.

You may imagine my delight this morning when I got Papa’s letter saying he had sent a hamper.

Now dear Mamma, I must bid you goodbye as the post goes very soon. Many thanks for letting me paint. With love to Papa, ever your affectionate son OSCAR WILDE

In 1871 he won an entrance scholarship to Trinity College, Dublin, and went there armed with an exhibition from Portora. During the next three years he had the distinction of being made a Foundation Scholar and won many prizes for classics, including the Berkeley Gold Medal for Greek. He also came strongly under the influence of the Rev. John Pentland Mahaffy (1839–1919). This remarkable man (who later became Provost of the College and was knighted in 1918) was then Professor of Ancient History. His passion for all things Greek, his study of the art of conversation and his social technique all left their mark on his pupil.

In 1874, at the age of nineteen, Wilde crowned his Irish academic successes by winning a Demyship (scholarship) to Magdalen College, Oxford and in October, a week before his twentieth birthday, he took up residence there to read Classics. What Dublin had sowed, flowered intellectually in Oxford. He made the acquaintance of John Ruskin, Slade Professor of Fine Art, and having attended his lectures on Florentine Aesthetics in his first term, was soon persuaded to take part in his new mentor’s practical improvements to the countryside, and found himself rising at dawn to help build a country road. The reward was less in the toil than in the pleasure of breakfasting with Ruskin afterwards. The road, however, soon sank back into Hinksey Marsh but their friendship flourished. When Wilde sent him acopy of The Happy Prince in 1888 (see p. 108) he accompanied it with a note: ‘The dearest memories of my Oxford days are my walks and talks with you, and from you I learned nothing but what was good…There is in you something of prophet, of priest, and of poet.’

Soon after his arrival in Oxford Wilde read Walter Pater’s Studies in the History of the Renaissance. Pater was a young don at Brasenose College whom Wilde did not meet in person until his third year but on whose theories of art and aesthetics he was already starting to base his own flamboyant style. He found himself disturbingly attuned to the book’s philosophies, especially those in the ‘Conclusion’ in which Pater said: ‘Not the fruit of experience but experience itself is the end’ and continued, ‘To bum always with this hard gem-like flame, to maintain this ecstasy, is success in life.’ He also declared that enrichment of our given lifespan consisted of ‘getting as many pulsations as possible into the given time’ and of having ‘the desire for beauty, the love of art for its own sake’. Writing from prison two decades later Wilde would refer to it as ‘that book which has had such a strange influence over my life’.

Ruskin and Pater each appealed to a different Wilde: Ruskin to the intellectual, the noble, the high-minded; Pater, more insidiously, to the sensual, the decadent, the mystical. Pater was less uplifting for the soul but dangerously attractive to the senses.

But the excitement of new teachings did not lead Oscar to abandon old friends. He still found time for Mahaffy and, together with a young Dubliner, William Goulding, they travelled through Italy during the summer vacation of 1875. Ruskin had fired him with the desire to experience the Renaissance for himself and his old tutor provided the opportunity. They visited Venice, Padua, Verona, Milan and Florence from where he wrote to his father, reflecting their shared interest in history and archaeology.

To Sir William Wilde

Tuesday [15 June 1875] Florence

Went in the morning to see San Lorenzo, built in the usual Florentine way, cruciform: a long aisle supported by Grecian pillars: a gorgeous dome in the centre and three small aisles leading off it. Behind it are the two Chapels of the Medici. The first, the Burial Chapel, is magnificent; of enormous height, octagonal in shape. Walls built entirely of gorgeous blocks of marble, all inlaid with various devices and of different colours, polished like a looking-glass. Six great sarcophagi of granite and porphyry stand in six niches: on top of each of them a cushion of inlaid mosaic bearing a gold crown. Above the sarcophagi are statues in gilded bronze of the Medici; on the dome, of course, frescoes and gilded carving.

The other chapel is very small, built simply of white marble. Two mausoleums in it to two great Medici; one bearing Michelangelo’s statues of Night and Morning and the other those of Evening and Dawn.

Then to the Biblioteca Laurenziana in the cloisters of San Lorenzo, where I was shown wonderfully illuminated missals and unreadable manuscripts and autographs. I remarked the extreme clearness of the initial letters in the Italian missals and bibles, so different from those in the Book of Kells etc., which might stand for anything. The early illuminations are very beautiful in design and sentiment, but the later are mere mechanical tours de force of geometrical scroll-work and absurd designs.

Then to the Etruscan Museum, which is in the suppressed monastery of San Onofrio and most interesting. You come first to a big tomb, transplanted from Arezzo; Cyclopean stonework, doorway with sloping jambs and oblong lintel, roof slightly conical, walls covered with wonderfully beautiful frescoes, representing first the soul in the shape of a young man naked, led by a beautifully winged angel or genius to the two-horsed chariot which is to convey them to Elysium – and then represents the banquet which awaits him. This same idea of the resurrection of the soul and a state of happiness after death pervades the whole system of Etruscan art. There were also wonderful sarcophagi which I have roughly drawn for you. [Overleaf]

On the top the figure of the dead man or woman holding a plate containing the obol for paying the ferryman over Styx. Also extraordinary jars with heads and arms – funeral of course – I have drawn them. The sarcophagi, of which there are over a hundred and fifty to be seen, are about two and a half feet long and about three feet high. The sides of the sarcophagi are sculptured with the achievements and adventures of the dead man, mostly in bas-relief which are sometimes coloured. There were some with frescoes instead of sculpture, beautifully done. Of course urns and vases of every possible shape, and all painted exquisitely.

A great collection of coins, from the old as, a solid pound weight of metal about as big as a large bun and stamped with a ship on one side and a double-faced Janus on the other, down to tiny little gold coins the same size as gold five-franc pieces. The goldsmiths’ work for beauty of design and delicacy of workmanship exceeded anything I have ever seen. As I was kept there for a long time by an awful thunderstorm I copied a few which I send you.

I cannot of course give you the wonderful grace and delicacy of workmanship, only the design. Goblets and bowls of jasper and all sorts of transparent pebbles – enamelled jars in abundance. Swords of the leaf shape, regular torques but somewhat same design, metal hand-mirrors, and household utensils of all kinds, and every thing, even the commonest plate or jug, done with greatest delicacy and of beautiful design. They must have been a people among whom artistic feeling and power was most widely spread. There is also a museum of Egyptian antiquities, but their devices and frescoes appeared to me grotesque and uncouth after the purity and sentiment of the Etruscan. You would have been much interested in all the Etruscan work: I spent two delightful hours there.

In the evening I dined at a restaurant on top of San Miniato, air delightfully clear and cool after the thunderstorm. Coming back I met just opposite the Pitti Palace a wonderful funeral; a long procession of monks bearing torches, all in white and wearing a long linen veil over their faces – only their eyes can be seen. They bore two coffins and looked like those awful monks you see in pictures of the Inquisition.

Mahaffy is not come yet. I do hope he will arrive today, as I shan’t be able to stay much longer away. Today is the anniversary of the birth of Michelangelo: there will be great fetes.