“Believe me, child, all the gentleman’s misfortunes arose from his being educated at a public school. . . . ”
FIELDING.
In England success is a plant of slow growth. The tone of good society, though responsive to political talent, and openly, eagerly sensitive to money-making talent, is contemptuous of genius and rates the utmost brilliancy of the talker hardly higher than the feats1 of an acrobat2. Men are obstinate3, slow, trusting a bank-balance rather than brains; and giving way reluctantly to sharp-witted superiority. The road up to power or influence in England is full of pitfalls4 and far too arduous5 for those who have neither high birth nor wealth to help them. The natural inequality of men instead of being mitigated6 by law or custom is everywhere strengthened and increased by a thousand effete7 social distinctions. Even in the best class where a certain easy familiarity reigns8 there is circle above circle, and the summits are isolated9 by heredity.
The conditions of English society being what they are, it is all but impossible at first to account for the rapidity of Oscar Wilde’s social success; yet if we tell over his advantages and bring one or two into the account which have not yet been reckoned, we shall find almost every element that conduces to popularity. By talent and conviction he was the natural pet of the aristocracy whose selfish prejudices he defended and whose leisure he amused. The middle class, as has been noted10, disliked and despised him: but its social influence is small and its papers, and especially Punch, made him notorious by attacking him in and out of season. The comic weekly, indeed, helped to build up his reputation by the almost inexplicable11 bitterness of its invective12.
Another potent13 force was in his favour. From the beginning he set himself to play the game of the popular actor, and neglected no opportunity of turning the limelight on his own doings. As he said, his admiration14 of himself was “a lifelong devotion,” and he proclaimed his passion on the housetops.
Our names happened to be mentioned together once in some paper, I think it was The Pall15 Mall Gazette. He asked me what I was going to reply.
“Nothing,” I answered, “why should I bother? I’ve done nothing yet that deserves trumpeting16.”
“You’re making a mistake,” he said seriously. “If you wish for reputation and fame in this world, and success during your lifetime, you ought to seize every opportunity of advertising17 yourself. You remember the Latin word, ‘Fame springs from one’s own house.’ Like other wise sayings, it’s not quite true; fame comes from oneself,” and he laughed delightedly; “you must go about repeating how great you are till the dull crowd comes to believe it.”
“The prophet must proclaim himself, eh? and declare his own mission?”
“That’s it,” he replied with a smile; “that’s it.
“Every time my name is mentioned in a paper, I write at once to admit that I am the Messiah. Why is Pears’ soap successful? Not because it is better or cheaper than any other soap, but because it is more strenuously18 puffed19. The journalist is my ‘John the Baptist.’ What would you give, when a book of yours comes out, to be able to write a long article drawing attention to it in The Pall Mall Gazette? Here you have the opportunity of making your name known just as widely; why not avail yourself of it? I miss no chance,” and to do him justice he used occasion to the utmost.
Curiously20 enough Bacon had the same insight, and I have often wondered since whether Oscar’s worldly wisdom was original or was borrowed from the great Elizabethan climber. Bacon says:
“‘Boldly sound your own praises and some of them will
stick.’ . . . It will stick with the more ignorant and the
populace, though men of wisdom may smile at it; and the
reputation won with many will amply countervail the disdain21
of a few. . . . And surely no small number of those who are of
solid nature, and who, from the want of this ventosity,
cannot spread all sail in pursuit of their own honour,
suffer some prejudice and lose dignity by their moderation.”
Many of Oscar’s letters to the papers in these years were amusing, some of them full of humour. For example, when he was asked to give a list of the hundred best books, as Lord Avebury and other mediocrities had done, he wrote saying that “he could not give a list of the hundred best books, as he had only written five.”
Winged words of his were always passing from mouth to mouth in town. Some theatre was opened which was found horribly ugly: one spoke22 of it as “Early Victorian.”
“No, no,” replied Oscar, “nothing so distinctive23. ‘Early Maple,’ rather.”
Even his impertinences made echoes. At a great reception, a friend asked him in passing, how the hostess, Lady S— — could be recognised. Lady S—— being short and stout24, Oscar replied, smiling:
“Go through this room, my dear fellow, and the next and so on till you come to someone looking like a public monument, say the effigy25 of Britannia or Victoria — that’s Lady S——.”
Though he used to pretend that all this self-advertisement was premeditated and planned, I could hardly believe him. He was eager to write about himself because of his exaggerated vanity and reflection afterwards found grounds to justify26 his inclination27. But whatever the motive28 may have been the effect was palpable: his name was continually in men’s mouths, and his fame grew by repetition. As Tiberius said of Mucianus:
“Omnium qu? dixerat feceratque, arte quadam ostentator” (He had a knack29 of showing off and advertising whatever he said or did).
But no personal qualities, however eminent30, no gifts, no graces of heart or head or soul could have brought a young man to Oscar Wilde’s social position and popularity in a few years.
Another cause was at work lifting him steadily31. From the time he left Oxford32 he was acclaimed33 and backed by a small minority of passionate34 admirers whom I have called his fuglemen. These admirers formed the constant factor in his progress from social height to height. For the most part they were persons usually called “sexual inverts,” who looked to the brilliancy of his intellect to gild35 their esoteric indulgence. This class in England is almost wholly recruited from the aristocracy and the upper middle-class that apes the “smart set.” It is an inevitable36 product of the English boarding school and University system; indeed one of the most characteristic products. I shall probably bring upon myself a host of enemies by this assertion, but it has been weighed and must stand. Fielding has already put the same view on record: he says:
“A public school, Joseph, was the cause of all the
calamities37 which he afterwards suffered. Public schools are
the nurseries of all vice38 and immorality39. All the wicked
fellows whom I remember at the University were bred at
them. . . . ”
If boarding-school life with its close intimacies40 between boys from twelve to eighteen years of age were understood by English mothers, it is safe to say that every boarding-house in every school would disappear in a single night, and Eton, Harrow, Winchester and the rest would be turned into day-schools.
Those who have learned bad habits at school or in the ‘Varsity are inclined to continue the practices in later life. Naturally enough these men are usually distinguished41 by a certain artistic42 sympathy, and often by most attractive, intellectual qualities. As a rule the epicene have soft voices and ingratiating manners, and are bold enough to make a direct appeal to the heart and emotions; they are considered the very cream of London society.
These admirers and supporters praised and defended Oscar Wilde from the beginning with the persistence43 and courage of men who if they don’t hang together are likely to hang separately. After his trial and condemnation44 The Daily Telegraph spoke with contempt of these “decadents” and “?sthetes” who, it asserted, “could be numbered in London society on the fingers of one hand”; but even The Daily Telegraph must have known that in the “smart set” alone there are hundreds of these acolytes45 whose intellectual and artistic culture gives them an importance out of all proportion to their number. It was the passionate support of these men in the first place which made Oscar Wilde notorious and successful.
This fact may well give pause to the thoughtful reader. In the middle ages, when birth and position had a disproportionate power in life, the Catholic Church supplied a certain democratic corrective to the inequality of social conditions. It was a sort of “Jacob’s Ladder” leading from the lowest strata46 of society to the very heavens and offering to ingenuous47, youthful talent a career of infinite hope and unlimited48 ambition. This great power of the Roman Church in the middle-ages may well be compared to the influence exerted by those whom I have designated as Oscar Wilde’s fuglemen in the England of today. The easiest way to success in London society is to be notorious in this sense. Whatever career one may have chosen, however humble49 one’s birth, one is then certain of finding distinguished friends and impassioned advocates. If you happen to be in the army and unmarried, you are declared to be a strategist like C?sar, or an organizer like Moltke; if you are an artist, instead of having your faults proclaimed and your failings scourged50, your qualifications are eulogised and you find yourself compared to Michel Angelo or Titian! I would not willingly exaggerate here; but I could easily give dozens of instances to prove that sexual perversion51 is a “Jacob’s Ladder” to most forms of success in our time in London.
It seems a curious effect of the great compensatory balance of things that a masculine rude people like the English, who love nothing so much as adventures and warlike achievements, should allow themselves to be steered52 in ordinary times by epicene ?sthetes. But no one who knows the facts will deny that these men are prodigiously53 influential54 in London in all artistic and literary matters, and it was their constant passionate support which lifted Oscar Wilde so quickly to eminence55.
From the beginning they fought for him. He was regarded as a leader among them when still at Oxford. Yet his early writings show no trace of such a prepossession; they are wholly void of offence, without even a suggestion of coarseness, as pure indeed as his talk. Nevertheless, as soon as his name came up among men in town, the accusation56 of abnormal viciousness was either made or hinted. Everyone spoke as if there were no doubt about his tastes, and this in spite of the habitual57 reticence58 of Englishmen. I could not understand how the imputation59 came to be so bold and universal; how so shameful60 a calumny61, as I regarded it, was so firmly established in men’s minds. Again and again I protested against the injustice62, demanded proofs; but was met only by shrugs63 and pitying glances as if my prejudice must indeed be invincible64 if I needed evidence of the obvious.
I have since been assured, on what should be excellent authority, that the evil reputation which attached to Oscar Wilde in those early years in London was completely undeserved. I, too, must say that in the first period of our friendship, I never noticed anything that could give colour even to suspicion of him; but the belief in his abnormal tastes was widespread and dated from his life in Oxford.
From about 1886–7 on, however, there was a notable change in Oscar Wilde’s manners and mode of life. He had been married a couple of years, two children had been born to him; yet instead of settling down he appeared suddenly to have become wilder. In 1887 he accepted the editorship of a lady’s paper, The Woman’s World, and was always mocking at the selection of himself as the “fittest” for such a post: he had grown noticeably bolder. I told myself that an assured income and position give confidence; but at bottom a doubt began to form in me. It can’t be denied that from 1887–8 on, incidents occurred from time to time which kept the suspicion of him alive, and indeed pointed65 and strengthened it. I shall have to deal now with some of the more important of these occurrences.
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1
feats
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| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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acrobat
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| n.特技演员，杂技演员 | |
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obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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pitfalls
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| （捕猎野兽用的）陷阱( pitfall的名词复数 )； 意想不到的困难，易犯的错误 | |
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arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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mitigated
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| v.减轻，缓和( mitigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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effete
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| adj.无生产力的，虚弱的 | |
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reigns
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| n.君主的统治( reign的名词复数 )；君主统治时期；任期；当政期 | |
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isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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invective
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| n.痛骂，恶意抨击 | |
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potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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trumpeting
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| 大声说出或宣告（trumpet的现在分词形式） | |
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advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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strenuously
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| adv.奋发地，费力地 | |
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puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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distinctive
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| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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effigy
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| n.肖像 | |
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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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27
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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28
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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30
eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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31
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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acclaimed
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| adj.受人欢迎的 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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35
gild
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| vt.给…镀金，把…漆成金色，使呈金色 | |
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36
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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37
calamities
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| n.灾祸，灾难( calamity的名词复数 )；不幸之事 | |
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38
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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39
immorality
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| n. 不道德, 无道义 | |
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40
intimacies
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| 亲密( intimacy的名词复数 )； 密切； 亲昵的言行； 性行为 | |
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41
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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42
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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44
condemnation
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| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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acolytes
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| n.助手( acolyte的名词复数 )；随从；新手；（天主教）侍祭 | |
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strata
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| n.地层（复数）；社会阶层 | |
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47
ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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50
scourged
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| 鞭打( scourge的过去式和过去分词 )； 惩罚，压迫 | |
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perversion
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| n.曲解；堕落；反常 | |
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52
steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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53
prodigiously
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| adv.异常地，惊人地，巨大地 | |
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54
influential
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| adj.有影响的，有权势的 | |
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55
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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imputation
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| n.归罪，责难 | |
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shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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calumny
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| n.诽谤，污蔑，中伤 | |
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injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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63
shrugs
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| n.耸肩（以表示冷淡，怀疑等）( shrug的名词复数 ) | |
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invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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