Selected Prose of Oscar Wilde Part 2

He who would stir us now by fiction must either give us an entirely new background, or reveal to us the soul of man in its innermost workings.

The first is for the moment being done for us by Mr. Rudyard Kipling. As one turns over the pages of his _Plain Tales from the Hills_, one feels as if one were seated under a palm-tree reading life by superb flashes of vulgarity. The bright colours of the bazaars dazzle one's eyes. The jaded, second-rate Anglo-Indians are in exquisite incongruity with their surroundings. The mere lack of style in the story-teller gives an odd journalistic realism to what he tells us. From the point of view of literature Mr. Kipling is a genius who drops his aspirates. From the point of view of life, he is a reporter who knows vulgarity better than any one has ever known it. d.i.c.kens knew its clothes and its comedy. Mr.

Kipling knows its essence and its seriousness. He is our first authority on the second-rate, and has seen marvellous things through keyholes, and his backgrounds are real works of art. As for the second condition, we have had Browning, and Meredith is with us. But there is still much to be done in the sphere of introspection. People sometimes say that fiction is getting too morbid. As far as psychology is concerned, it has never been morbid enough. We have merely touched the surface of the soul, that is all. In one single ivory cell of the brain there are stored away things more marvellous and more terrible than even they have dreamed of, who, like the author of _Le Rouge et le Noir_, have sought to track the soul into its most secret places, and to make life confess its dearest sins. Still, there is a limit even to the number of untried backgrounds, and it is possible that a further development of the habit of introspection may prove fatal to that creative faculty to which it seeks to supply fresh material. I myself am inclined to think that creation is doomed. It springs from too primitive, too natural an impulse. However this may be, it is certain that the subject-matter at the disposal of creation is always diminishing, while the subject-matter of criticism increases daily. There are always new att.i.tudes for the mind, and new points of view. The duty of imposing form upon chaos does not grow less as the world advances. There was never a time when Criticism was more needed than it is now. It is only by its means that Humanity can become conscious of the point at which it has arrived.--_The Critic as Artist_.

WITHOUT FRONTIERS

Goethe--you will not misunderstand what I say--was a German of the Germans. He loved his country--no man more so. Its people were dear to him; and he led them. Yet, when the iron hoof of Napoleon trampled upon vineyard and cornfield, his lips were silent. 'How can one write songs of hatred without hating?' he said to Eckermann, 'and how could I, to whom culture and barbarism are alone of importance, hate a nation which is among the most cultivated of the earth and to which I owe so great a part of my own cultivation?' This note, sounded in the modern world by Goethe first, will become, I think, the starting point for the cosmopolitanism of the future. Criticism will annihilate race-prejudices, by insisting upon the unity of the human mind in the variety of its forms. If we are tempted to make war upon another nation, we shall remember that we are seeking to destroy an element of our own culture, and possibly its most important element. As long as war is regarded as wicked, it will always have its fascination. When it is looked upon as vulgar, it will cease to be popular. The change will of course be slow, and people will not be conscious of it. They will not say 'We will not war against France because her prose is perfect,' but because the prose of France is perfect, they will not hate the land.

Intellectual criticism will bind Europe together in bonds far closer than those that can be forged by shopman or sentimentalist. It will give us the peace that springs from understanding.--_The Critic as Artist_.

THE POETRY OF ARCHAEOLOGY

Infessura tells us that in 1485 some workmen digging on the Appian Way came across an old Roman sarcophagus inscribed with the name 'Julia, daughter of Claudius.' On opening the coffer they found within its marble womb the body of a beautiful girl of about fifteen years of age, preserved by the embalmer's skill from corruption and the decay of time.

Her eyes were half open, her hair rippled round her in crisp curling gold, and from her lips and cheek the bloom of maidenhood had not yet departed. Borne back to the Capitol, she became at once the centre of a new cult, and from all parts of the city crowded pilgrims to worship at the wonderful shrine, till the Pope, fearing lest those who had found the secret of beauty in a Pagan tomb might forget what secrets Judaea's rough and rock-hewn sepulchre contained, had the body conveyed away by night, and in secret buried. Legend though it may be, yet the story is none the less valuable as showing us the att.i.tude of the Renaissance towards the antique world. Archaeology to them was not a mere science for the antiquarian; it was a means by which they could touch the dry dust of antiquity into the very breath and beauty of life, and fill with the new wine of romanticism forms that else had been old and outworn. From the pulpit of Niccola Pisano down to Mantegna's 'Triumph of Caesar,' and the service Cellini designed for King Francis, the influence of this spirit can be traced; nor was it confined merely to the immobile arts--the arts of arrested movement--but its influence was to be seen also in the great Graeco-Roman masques which were the constant amus.e.m.e.nt of the gay courts of the time, and in the public pomps and processions with which the citizens of big commercial towns were wont to greet the princes that chanced to visit them; pageants, by the way, which were considered so important that large prints were made of them and published--a fact which is a proof of the general interest at the time in matters of such kind.--_The Truth of Masks_.

THE ART OF ARCHAEOLOGY

Indeed archaeology is only really delightful when transfused into some form of art. I have no desire to underrate the services of laborious scholars, but I feel that the use Keats made of Lempriere's Dictionary is of far more value to us than Professor Max Muller's treatment of the same mythology as a disease of language. Better _Endymion_ than any theory, however sound, or, as in the present instance, unsound, of an epidemic among adjectives! And who does not feel that the chief glory of Piranesi's book on Vases is that it gave Keats the suggestion for his 'Ode on a Grecian Urn'? Art, and art only, can make archaeology beautiful; and the theatric art can use it most directly and most vividly, for it can combine in one exquisite presentation the illusion of actual life with the wonder of the unreal world. But the sixteenth century was not merely the age of Vitruvius; it was the age of Vecellio also. Every nation seems suddenly to have become interested in the dress of its neighbours. Europe began to investigate its own clothes, and the amount of books published on national costumes is quite extraordinary. At the beginning of the century the _Nuremberg Chronicle_, with its two thousand ill.u.s.trations, reached its fifth edition, and before the century was over seventeen editions were published of Munster's _Cosmography_.

Besides these two books there were also the works of Michael Colyns, of Hans Weigel, of Amman, and of Vecellio himself, all of them well ill.u.s.trated, some of the drawings in Vecellio being probably from the hand of t.i.tian.

Nor was it merely from books and treatises that they acquired their knowledge. The development of the habit of foreign travel, the increased commercial intercourse between countries, and the frequency of diplomatic missions, gave every nation many opportunities of studying the various forms of contemporary dress. After the departure from England, for instance, of the amba.s.sadors from the Czar, the Sultan and the Prince of Morocco, Henry the Eighth and his friends gave several masques in the strange attire of their visitors. Later on London saw, perhaps too often, the sombre splendour of the Spanish Court, and to Elizabeth came envoys from all lands, whose dress, Shakespeare tells us, had an important influence on English costume.--_The Truth of Masks_.

HEROD SUPPLIANT

Non, non, vous ne voulez pas cela. Vous me dites cela seulement pour me faire de la peine, parce que je vous ai regardee pendant toute la soiree.

Eh! bien, oui. Je vous ai regardee pendant toute la soiree. Votre beaute m'a trouble. Votre beaute m'a terriblement trouble, et je vous ai trop regardee. Mais je ne le ferai plus. Il ne faut regarder ni les choses ni les personnes. Il ne faut regarder que dans les miroirs. Car les miroirs ne nous montrent que des masques . . . Oh! Oh! du vin! j'ai soif . . . Salome, Salome, soyons amis. Enfin, voyez . . . Qu'est-ce que je voulais dire? Qu'est-ce que c'etait? Ah! je m'en souviens! . . .

Salome! Non, venez plus pres de moi. J'ai peur que vous ne m'entendiez pas . . . Salome, vous connaissez mes paons blancs, mes beaux paons blancs, qui se promenent dans le jardin entre les myrtes et les grands cypres. Leurs becs sont dores, et les grains qu'ils mangent sont dores aussi, et leurs pieds sont teints de pourpre. La pluie vient quand ils crient, et quand ils se pavanent la lune se montre au ciel. Ils vont deux a deux entre les cypres et les myrtes noirs et chacun a son esclave pour le soigner. Quelquefois ils volent a travers les arbres, et quelquefois ils couchent sur le gazon et autour de l'etang. Il n'y a pas dans le monde d'oiseaux si merveilleux. Il n'y a aucun roi du monde qui possede des oiseaux aussi merveilleux. Je suis sur que meme Cesar ne possede pas d'oiseaux aussi beaux. Eh bien! je vous donnerai cinquante de mes paons. Ils vous suivront partout, et au milieu d'eux vous serez comme la lune dans un grand nuage blanc . . . Je vous les donnerai tous.

Je n'en ai que cent, et il n'y a aucun roi du monde qui possede des paons comme les miens, mais je vous les donnerai tous. Seulement, il faut me delier de ma parole et ne pas me demander ce que vous m'avez demande.--_Salome_.

THE TETRARCH'S REMORSE

Salome, pensez a ce que vous faites. Cet homme vient peut-etre de Dieu.

Je suis sur qu'il vient de Dieu. C'est un saint homme. Le doigt de Dieu l'a touche. Dieu a mis dans sa bouche des mots terribles. Dans le palais, comme dans le desert, Dieu est toujours avec lui . . . Au moins, c'est possible. On ne sait pas, mais il est possible que Dieu soit pour lui et avec lui. Aussi peut-etre que s'il mourrait, il m'arriverait un malheur. Enfin, il a dit que le jour ou il mourrait il arriverait un malheur a quelqu'un. Ce ne peut etre qu'a moi. Souvenez-vous, j'ai glisse dans le sang quand je suis entre ici. Aussi j'ai entendu un battement d'ailes dans l'air, un battement d'ailes gigantesques. Ce sont de tres mauvais presages. Et il y en avait d'autres. Je suis sur qu'il y en avait d'autres, quoique je ne les aie pas vus. Eh bien! Salome, vous ne voulez pas qu'un malheur m'arrive? Vous ne voulez pas cela.--_Salome_.

THE TETRARCH'S TREASURE

Moi, je suis tres calme. Je suis tout a fait calme. Ecoutez. J'ai des bijoux caches ici que meme votre mere n'a jamais vus, des bijoux tout a fait extraordinaires. J'ai un collier de perles a quatre rangs. On dirait des lunes enchainees de rayons d'argent. On dirait cinquante lunes captives dans un filet d'or. Une reine l'a porte sur l'ivoire de ses seins. Toi, quand tu le porteras, tu seras aussi belle qu'une reine.

J'ai des amethystes de deux especes. Une qui est noire comme le vin.

L'autre qui est rouge comme du vin qu'on a colore avec de l'eau. J'ai des topazes jaunes comme les yeux des tigres, et des topazes roses comme les yeux des pigeons, et des topazes vertes comme les yeux des chats.

J'ai des opales qui brulent toujours avec une flamme qui est tres froide, des opales qui attristent les esprits et ont peur des tenebres. J'ai des onyx semblables aux prunelles d'une morte. J'ai des selenites qui changent quand la lune change et deviennent pales quand elles voient le soleil. J'ai des saphirs grands comme des oeufs et bleus comme des fleurs bleues. La mer erre dedans, et la lune ne vient jamais troubler le bleu de ses flots. J'ai des chrysolithes et des beryls, j'ai des chrysoprases et des rubis, j'ai des sardonyx et des hyacinthes, et des calcedoines et je vous les donnerai tous, mais tous, et j'ajouterai d'autres choses. Le roi des Indes vient justement de m'envoyer quatre eventails faits de plumes de perroquets, et le roi de Numidie une robe faite de plumes d'autruche. J'ai un cristal qu'il n'est pas permis aux femmes de voir et que meme les jeunes hommes ne doivent regarder qu'apres avoir ete flagelles de verges. Dans un coffret de nacre j'ai trois turquoises merveilleuses. Quand on les porte sur le front on peut imaginer des choses qui n'existent pas, et quand on les porte dans la main on peut rendre les femmes steriles. Ce sont des tresors de grande valeur. Ce sont des tresors sans prix. Et ce n'est pas tout. Dans un coffret d'ebene j'ai deux coupes d'ambre qui ressemblent a des pommes d'or. Si un ennemi verse du poison dans ces coupes elles deviennent comme des pommes d'argent. Dans un coffret incruste d'ambre j'ai des sandales incrustees de verre. J'ai des manteaux qui viennent du pays des Seres et des bracelets garnis d'escarboucles et de jade qui viennent de la ville d'Euphrate. . . Enfin, que veux-tu, Salome? Dis-moi ce que tu desires et je te le donnerai. Je te donnerai tout ce que tu demanderas, sauf une chose. Je te donnerai tout ce que je possede, sauf une vie. Je te donnerai le manteau du grand pretre. Je te donnerai le voile du sanctuaire.--_Salome_.

SALOME ANTIc.i.p.aTES DR. STRAUSS

Ah! tu n'as pas voulu me laisser baiser ta bouche, Iokanaan. Eh bien! je la baiserai maintenant. Je la mordrai avec mes dents comme on mord un fruit mur. Oui, je baiserai ta bouche, Iokanaan. Je te l'ai dit, n'est- ce pas? je te l'ai dit. Eh bien! je la baiserai maintenant . . . Mais pourquoi ne me regardes-tu pas, Iokanaan? Tes yeux qui etaient si terribles, qui etaient si pleins de colere et de mepris, ils sont fermes maintenant. Pourquoi sont-ils fermes? Ouvre tes yeux! Souleve tes paupieres, Iokanaan. Pourquoi ne me regardes-tu pas? As-tu peur de moi, Iokanaan, que tu ne veux pas me regarder? . . . Et ta langue qui etait comme un serpent rouge dardant des poisons, elle ne remue plus, elle ne dit rien maintenant, Iokanaan, cette vipere rouge qui a vomi son venin sur moi. C'est etrange, n'est-ce pas? Comment se fait-il que la vipere rouge ne remue plus? . . . Tu n'as pas voulu de moi, Iokanaan. Tu m'as rejetee. Tu m'as dit des choses infames. Tu m'as traitee comme une courtisane, comme une prost.i.tuee, moi, Salome, fille d'Herodias, Princesse de Judee! Eh bien, Iokanaan, moi je vis encore, mais toi tu es mort et ta tete m'appartient. Je puis en faire ce que je veux. Je puis la jeter aux chiens et aux oiseaux de l'air. Ce que laisseront les chiens, les oiseaux de l'air le mangeront . . . Ah! Iokanaan, Iokanaan, tu as ete le seul homme que j'ai aime. Tous les autres hommes m'inspirent du degout. Mais, toi, tu etais beau. Ton corps etait une colonne d'ivoire sur un socle d'argent. C'etait un jardin plein de colombes et de lis d'argent. C'etait une tour d'argent ornee de boucliers d'ivoire. Il n'y avait rien au monde d'aussi blanc que ton corps. Il n'y avait rien au monde d'aussi noir que tes cheveux. Dans le monde tout entier il n'y avait rien d'aussi rouge que ta bouche. Ta voix etait un encensoir qui repandait d'etranges parfums, et quand je te regardais j'entendais une musique etrange! Ah! pourquoi ne m'as-tu pas regardee, Iokanaan? Derriere tes mains et tes blasphemes tu as cache ton visage. Tu as mis sur tes yeux le bandeau de celui qui veut voir son Dieu. Eh bien, tu l'as vu, ton Dieu, Iokanaan, mais moi, moi . . . tu ne m'as jamais vue. Si tu m'avais vue, tu m'aurais aimee. Moi, je t'ai vu, Iokanaan, et je t'ai aime. Oh! comme je t'ai aime. Je t'aime encore, Iokanaan. Je n'aime que toi . . . J'ai soif de ta beaute. J'ai faim de ton corps. Et ni le vin, ni les fruits ne peuvent apaiser mon desir. Que ferai-je, Iokanaan, maintenant? Ni les fleuves ni les grandes eaux, ne pourraient eteindre ma pa.s.sion. J'etais une Princesse, tu m'as dedaignee. J'etais une vierge, tu m'as defloree. J'etais chaste, tu as rempli mes veines de feu . . . Ah! Ah! pourquoi ne m'as-tu pas regardee, Iokanaan? Si tu m'avais regardee tu m'aurais aimee. Je sais bien que tu m'aurais aimee, et le mystere de l'amour est plus grand que le mystere de la mort. Il ne faut regarder que l'amour.--_Salome_.

THE YOUNG KING

All rare and costly materials had certainly a great fascination for him, and in his eagerness to procure them he had sent away many merchants, some to traffic for amber with the rough fisher-folk of the north seas, some to Egypt to look for that curious green turquoise which is found only in the tombs of kings, and is said to possess magical properties, some to Persia for silken carpets and painted pottery, and others to India to buy gauze and stained ivory, moonstones and bracelets of jade, sandal-wood and blue enamel and shawls of fine wool.

But what had occupied him most was the robe he was to wear at his coronation, the robe of tissued gold, and the ruby-studded crown, and the sceptre with its rows and rings of pearls. Indeed, it was of this that he was thinking to-night, as he lay back on his luxurious couch, watching the great pinewood log that was burning itself out on the open hearth.

The designs, which were from the hands of the most famous artists of the time, had been submitted to him many months before, and he had given orders that the artificers were to toil night and day to carry them out, and that the whole world was to be searched for jewels that would be worthy of their work. He saw himself in fancy standing at the high altar of the cathedral in the fair raiment of a King, and a smile played and lingered about his boyish lips, and lit up with a bright l.u.s.tre his dark woodland eyes.

After some time he rose from his seat, and leaning against the carved penthouse of the chimney, looked round at the dimly-lit room. The walls were hung with rich tapestries representing the Triumph of Beauty. A large press, inlaid with agate and lapis-lazuli, filled one corner, and facing the window stood a curiously wrought cabinet with lacquer panels of powdered and mosaiced gold, on which were placed some delicate goblets of Venetian gla.s.s, and a cup of dark-veined onyx. Pale poppies were broidered on the silk coverlet of the bed, as though they had fallen from the tired hands of sleep, and tall reeds of fluted ivory bare up the velvet canopy, from which great tufts of ostrich plumes sprang, like white foam, to the pallid silver of the fretted ceiling. A laughing Narcissus in green bronze held a polished mirror above its head. On the table stood a flat bowl of amethyst.

Outside he could see the huge dome of the cathedral, looming like a bubble over the shadowy houses, and the weary sentinels pacing up and down on the misty terrace by the river. Far away, in an orchard, a nightingale was singing. A faint perfume of jasmine came through the open window. He brushed his brown curls back from his forehead, and taking up a lute, let his fingers stray across the cords. His heavy eyelids drooped, and a strange languor came over him. Never before had he felt so keenly, or with such exquisite joy, the magic and the mystery of beautiful things.

When midnight sounded from the clock-tower he touched a bell, and his pages entered and disrobed him with much ceremony, pouring rose-water over his hands, and strewing flowers on his pillow. A few moments after that they had left the room, he fell asleep.--_The Young King_.

A CORONATION

And when the Bishop had heard them he knit his brows, and said, 'My son, I am an old man, and in the winter of my days, and I know that many evil things are done in the wide world. The fierce robbers come down from the mountains, and carry off the little children, and sell them to the Moors.

The lions lie in wait for the caravans, and leap upon the camels. The wild boar roots up the corn in the valley, and the foxes gnaw the vines upon the hill. The pirates lay waste the sea-coast and burn the ships of the fishermen, and take their nets from them. In the salt-marshes live the lepers; they have houses of wattled reeds, and none may come nigh them. The beggars wander through the cities, and eat their food with the dogs. Canst thou make these things not to be? Wilt thou take the leper for thy bedfellow, and set the beggar at thy board? Shall the lion do thy bidding, and the wild boar obey thee? Is not He who made misery wiser than thou art? Wherefore I praise thee not for this that thou hast done, but I bid thee ride back to the Palace and make thy face glad, and put on the raiment that beseemeth a king, and with the crown of gold I will crown thee, and the sceptre of pearl will I place in thy hand. And as for thy dreams, think no more of them. The burden of this world is too great for one man to bear, and the world's sorrow too heavy for one heart to suffer.'

'Sayest thou that in this house?' said the young King, and he strode past the Bishop, and climbed up the steps of the altar, and stood before the image of Christ.