Who, after all, that I should write of him, is this scribbling anonymuncule in grand old Ma.s.sachusetts who scrawls and screams so glibly about what he cannot understand? This apostle of inhospitality, who delights to defile, to desecrate, and to defame the gracious courtesies he is unworthy to enjoy? Who are these scribes who, pa.s.sing with purposeless alacrity from the Police News to the Parthenon, and from crime to criticism, sway with such serene incapacity the office which they so lately swept? 'Narcissuses of imbecility,' what should they see in the clear waters of Beauty and in the well undefiled of Truth but the shifting and shadowy image of their own substantial stupidity? Secure of that oblivion for which they toil so laboriously and, I must acknowledge, with such success, let them peer at us through their telescopes and report what they like of us. But, my dear Joaquin, should we put them under the microscope there would be really nothing to be seen.

I look forward to pa.s.sing another delightful evening with you on my return to New York, and I need not tell you that whenever you visit England you will be received with that courtesy with which it is our pleasure to welcome all Americans, and that honour with which it is our privilege to greet all poets.--Most sincerely and affectionately yours,

OSCAR WILDE.

NOTES ON WHISTLER

I.

(World, November 14, 1883.)

From Oscar Wilde, Exeter, to J. M'Neill Whistler, t.i.te Street.--Punch too ridiculous--when you and I are together we never talk about anything except ourselves.

II.

(World, February 25, 1885.)

DEAR b.u.t.tERFLY,--By the aid of a biographical dictionary I made the discovery that there were once two painters, called Benjamin West and Paul Delaroche, who rashly lectured upon Art. As of their works nothing at all remains, I conclude that they explained themselves away.

Be warned in time, James; and remain, as I do, incomprehensible. To be great is to be misunderstood.--Tout a vous, OSCAR WILDE.

III.

(World, November 24,1886.)

ATLAS,--This is very sad! With our James vulgarity begins at home, and should be allowed to stay there.--A vous, OSCAR WILDE.

REPLY TO WHISTLER

(Truth, January 9, 1890.)

To the Editor of Truth.

SIR,--I can hardly imagine that the public is in the very smallest degree interested in the shrill shrieks of 'Plagiarism' that proceed from time to time out of the lips of silly vanity or incompetent mediocrity.

However, as Mr. James Whistler has had the impertinence to attack me with both venom and vulgarity in your columns, I hope you will allow me to state that the a.s.sertions contained in his letter are as deliberately untrue as they are deliberately offensive.

The definition of a disciple as one who has the courage of the opinions of his master is really too old even for Mr. Whistler to be allowed to claim it, and as for borrowing Mr. Whistler's ideas about art, the only thoroughly original ideas I have ever heard him express have had reference to his own superiority as a painter over painters greater than himself.

It is a trouble for any gentleman to have to notice the lucubrations of so ill-bred and ignorant a person as Mr. Whistler, but your publication of his insolent letter left me no option in the matter.--I remain, sir, faithfully yours, OSCAR WILDE.

16 t.i.tE STREET, CHELSEA, S. W.

LETTERS ON DORIAN GRAY

I. MR. WILDE'S BAD CASE

(St. James's Gazette, June 26, 1890.)

To the Editor of the St. James's Gazette.

SIR,--I have read your criticism of my story, The Picture of Dorian Gray; and I need hardly say that I do not propose to discuss its merits or demerits, its personalities or its lack of personality. England is a free country, and ordinary English criticism is perfectly free and easy.

Besides, I must admit that, either from temperament or taste, or from both, I am quite incapable of understanding how any work of art can be criticised from a moral standpoint. The sphere of art and the sphere of ethics are absolutely distinct and separate; and it is to the confusion between the two that we owe the appearance of Mrs. Grundy, that amusing old lady who represents the only original form of humour that the middle cla.s.ses of this country have been able to produce.

What I do object to most strongly is that you should have placarded the town with posters on which was printed in large letters:--

MR. OSCAR WILDE'S LATEST ADVERTIs.e.m.e.nT: A BAD CASE.

Whether the expression 'A Bad Case' refers to my book or to the present position of the Government, I cannot tell. What was silly and unnecessary was the use of the term 'advertis.e.m.e.nt.'

I think I may say without vanity--though I do not wish to appear to run vanity down--that of all men in England I am the one who requires least advertis.e.m.e.nt. I am tired to death of being advertised--I feel no thrill when I see my name in a paper. The chronicle does not interest me any more. I wrote this book entirely for my own pleasure, and it gave me very great pleasure to write it. Whether it becomes popular or not is a matter of absolute indifference to me. I am afraid, Sir, that the real advertis.e.m.e.nt is your cleverly written article. The English public, as a ma.s.s, takes no interest in a work of art until it is told that the work in question is immoral, and your reclame will, I have no doubt, largely increase the sale of the magazine; in which sale I may mention with some regret, I have no pecuniary interest.--I remain, Sir, your obedient servant, OSCAR WILDE.

16 t.i.tE STREET, CHELSEA, June 25.

II. MR. OSCAR WILDE AGAIN

(St. James's Gazette, June 27, 1890.)

SIR,--In your issue of today you state that my brief letter published in your columns is the 'best reply' I can make to your article upon Dorian Gray. This is not so. I do not propose to discuss fully the matter here, but I feel bound to say that your article contains the most unjustifiable attack that has been made upon any man of letters for many years.

The writer of it, who is quite incapable of concealing his personal malice, and so in some measure destroys the effect he wishes to produce, seems not to have the slightest idea of the temper in which a work of art should be approached. To say that such a book as mine should be 'chucked into the fire' is silly. That is what one does with newspapers.

Of the value of pseudo-ethical criticism in dealing with artistic work I have spoken already. But as your writer has ventured into the perilous grounds of literary criticism I ask you to allow me, in fairness not merely to myself but to all men to whom literature is a fine art, to say a few words about his critical method.

He begins by a.s.sailing me with much ridiculous virulence because the chief personages in my story are puppies. They _are_ puppies. Does he think that literature went to the dogs when Thackeray wrote about puppydom? I think that puppies are extremely interesting from an artistic as well as from a psychological point of view.

They seem to me to be certainly far more interesting than prigs; and I am of opinion that Lord Henry Wotton is an excellent corrective of the tedious ideal shadowed forth in the semi-theological novels of our age.