selected prose of oscar wilde-第17章
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when man was coeval with the stone age； the mammoth and the woolly
rhinoceros。 But； except these； we have added no new canon or method
to the science of historical criticism。 Across the drear waste of a
thousand years the Greek and the modern spirit join hands。
In the torch race which the Greek boys ran from the Cerameician
field of death to the home of the goddess of Wisdom； not merely he
who first reached the goal but he also who first started with the
torch aflame received a prize。 In the Lampadephoria of civilisation
and free thought let us not forget to render due meed of honour to
those who first lit that sacred flame； the increasing splendour of
which lights our footsteps to the far…off divine event of the
attainment of perfect truth。The Rise of Historical Criticism
THE POSSIBILITIES OF THE USEFUL
There are two kinds of men in the world； two great creeds； two
different forms of natures： men to whom the end of life is action；
and men to whom the end of life is thought。 As regards the latter；
who seek for experience itself and not for the fruits of experience；
who must burn always with one of the passions of this fiery…coloured
world； who find life interesting not for its secret but for its
situations； for its pulsations and not for its purpose； the passion
for beauty engendered by the decorative arts will be to them more
satisfying than any political or religious enthusiasm； any
enthusiasm for humanity； any ecstasy or sorrow for love。 For art
comes to one professing primarily to give nothing but the highest
quality to one's moments； and for those moments' sake。 So far for
those to whom the end of life is thought。 As regards the others；
who hold that life is inseparable from labour； to them should this
movement be specially dear： for； if our days are barren without
industry； industry without art is barbarism。
Hewers of wood and drawers of water there must be always indeed
among us。 Our modern machinery has not much lightened the labour of
man after all： but at least let the pitcher that stands by the well
be beautiful and surely the labour of the day will be lightened：
let the wood be made receptive of some lovely form； some gracious
design； and there will come no longer discontent but joy to the
toiler。 For what is decoration but the worker's expression of joy
in his work？ And not joy merelythat is a great thing yet not
enoughbut that opportunity of expressing his own individuality
which； as it is the essence of all life； is the source of all art。
'I have tried；' I remember William Morris saying to me once； 'I have
tried to make each of my workers an artist； and when I say an artist
I mean a man。' For the worker then； handicraftsman of whatever kind
he is； art is no longer to be a purple robe woven by a slave and
thrown over the whitened body of a leprous king to hide and to adorn
the sin of his luxury； but rather the beautiful and noble expression
of a life that has in it something beautiful and noble。The English
Renaissance of Art
THE ARTIST
ONE evening there came into his soul the desire to fashion an image
of The Pleasure that abideth for a Moment。 And he went forth into
the world to look for bronze。 For he could think only in bronze。
But all the bronze of the whole world had disappeared； nor anywhere
in the whole world was there any bronze to be found； save only the
bronze of the image of The Sorrow that endureth for Ever。
Now this image he had himself； and with his own hands； fashioned；
and had set it on the tomb of the one thing he had loved in life。
On the tomb of the dead thing he had most loved had he set this
image of his own fashioning； that it might serve as a sign of the
love of man that dieth not； and a symbol of the sorrow of man that
endureth for ever。 And in the whole world there was no other bronze
save the bronze of this image。
And he took the image he had fashioned； and set it in a great
furnace； and gave it to the fire。
And out of the bronze of the image of The Sorrow that endureth for
Ever he fashioned an image of The Pleasure that abideth for a
Moment。Poems in Prose
THE DOER OF GOOD
It was night…time and He was alone。
And He saw afar…off the walls of a round city and went towards the
city。
And when He came near He heard within the city the tread of the feet
of joy； and the laughter of the mouth of gladness and the loud noise
of many lutes。 And He knocked at the gate and certain of the gate…
keepers opened to Him。
And He beheld a house that was of marble and had fair pillars of
marble before it。 The pillars were hung with garlands； and within
and without there were torches of cedar。 And He entered the house。
And when He had passed through the hall of chalcedony and the hall
of jasper； and reached the long hall of feasting； He saw lying on a
couch of sea…purple one whose hair was crowned with red roses and
whose lips were red with wine。
And He went behind him and touched him on the shoulder and said to
him； 'Why do you live like this？'
And the young man turned round and recognised Him； and made answer
and said； 'But I was a leper once； and you healed me。 How else
should I live？'
And He passed out of the house and went again into the street。
And after a little while He saw one whose face and raiment were
painted and whose feet were shod with pearls。 And behind her came；
slowly as a hunter； a young man who wore a cloak of two colours。
Now the face of the woman was as the fair face of an idol； and the
eyes of the young man were bright with lust。
And He followed swiftly and touched the hand of the young man and
said to him； 'Why do you look at this woman and in such wise？'
And the young man turned round and recognised Him and said； 'But I
was blind once； and you gave me sight。 At what else should I look？'
And He ran forward and touched the painted raiment of the woman and
said to her； 'Is there no other way in which to walk save the way of
sin？'
And the woman turned round and recognised Him； and laughed and said；
'But you forgave me my sins； and the way is a pleasant way。'
And He passed out of the city。
And when He had passed out of the city He saw seated by the roadside
a young man who was weeping。
And He went towards him and touched the long locks of his hair and
said to him； 'Why are you weeping？'
And the young man looked up and recognised Him and made answer； 'But
I was dead once； and you raised me from the dead。 What else should
I do but weep？'Poems in Prose
THE DISCIPLE
When Narcissus died the pool of his pleasure changed from a cup of
sweet waters into a cup of salt tears； and the Oreads came weeping
through the woodland that they might sing to the pool and give it
comfort。
And when they saw that the pool had changed from a cup of sweet
waters into a cup of salt tears； they loosened the green tresses of
their hair and cried to the pool and said； 'We do not wonder that
you should mourn in this manner for Narcissus； so beautiful was he。'
'But was Narcissus beautiful？' said the pool。
'Who should know that better than you？' answered the Oreads。 'Us
did he ever pass by； but you he sought for； and would lie on your
banks and look down at you； and in the mirror of your waters he
would mirror his own beauty。'
And the pool answered； 'But I loved Narcissus because； as he lay on
my banks and looked down at me； in the mirror of his eyes I saw ever
my own beauty mirrored。'Poems in Prose
THE MASTER
Now when the darkness came over the earth Joseph of Arimathea；
having lighted a torch of pinewood； passed down from the hill into
the valley。 For he had business in his own home。
And kneeling on the flint stones of the Valley of Desolation he saw
a young man who was naked and weeping。 H
