selected prose of oscar wilde-第3章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！



peace；　but　that　she　can　form　herself　on　the　very　lines　and　colours

of　art；　and　can　reproduce　the　dignity　of　Pheidias　as　well　as　the

grace　of　Praxiteles。　　Hence　came　their　objection　to　realism。　　They

disliked　it　on　purely　social　grounds。　　They　felt　that　it　inevitably

makes　people　ugly；　and　they　were　perfectly　right。　　We　try　to　improve

the　conditions　of　the　race　by　means　of　good　air；　free　sunlight；

wholesome　water；　and　hideous　bare　buildings　for　the　better　housing

of　the　lower　orders。　　But　these　things　merely　produce　health；　they

do　not　produce　beauty。　　For　this；　Art　is　required；　and　the　true

disciples　of　the　great　artist　are　not　his　studio…imitators；　but

those　who　become　like　his　works　of　art；　be　they　plastic　as　in　Greek

days；　or　pictorial　as　in　modern　times；　in　a　word；　Life　is　Art's

best；　Art's　only　pupil。The　Decay　of　Lying







LIFE　THE　PLAGIARIST







I　once　asked　a　lady；　who　knew　Thackeray　intimately；　whether　he　had

had　any　model　for　Becky　Sharp。　　She　told　me　that　Becky　was　an

invention；　but　that　the　idea　of　the　character　had　been　partly

suggested　by　a　governess　who　lived　in　the　neighbourhood　of

Kensington　Square；　and　was　the　companion　of　a　very　selfish　and　rich

old　woman。　　I　inquired　what　became　of　the　governess；　and　she　replied

that；　oddly　enough；　some　years　after　the　appearance　of　Vanity　Fair；

she　ran　away　with　the　nephew　of　the　lady　with　whom　she　was　living；

and　for　a　short　time　made　a　great　splash　in　society；　quite　in　Mrs。

Rawdon　Crawley's　style；　and　entirely　by　Mrs。　Rawdon　Crawley's

methods。　　Ultimately　she　came　to　grief；　disappeared　to　the

Continent；　and　used　to　be　occasionally　seen　at　Monte　Carlo　and　other

gambling　places。　　The　noble　gentleman　from　whom　the　same　great

sentimentalist　drew　Colonel　Newcome　died；　a　few　months　after　The

Newcomer　had　reached　a　fourth　edition；　with　the　word　'Adsum'　on　his

lips。　　Shortly　after　Mr。　Stevenson　published　his　curious

psychological　story　of　transformation；　a　friend　of　mine；　called　Mr。

Hyde；　was　in　the　north　of　London；　and　being　anxious　to　get　to　a

railway　station；　took　what　he　thought　would　be　a　short　cut；　lost　his

way；　and　found　himself　in　a　network　of　mean；　evil…looking　streets。

Feeling　rather　nervous　he　began　to　walk　extremely　fast；　when

suddenly　out　of　an　archway　ran　a　child　right　between　his　legs。　　It

fell　on　the　pavement；　he　tripped　over　it；　and　trampled　upon　it。

Being　of　course　very　much　frightened　and　a　little　hurt；　it　began　to

scream；　and　in　a　few　seconds　the　whole　street　was　full　of　rough

people　who　came　pouring　out　of　the　houses　like　ants。　　They

surrounded　him；　and　asked　him　his　name。　　He　was　just　about　to　give

it　when　he　suddenly　remembered　the　opening　incident　in　Mr。

Stevenson's　story。　　He　was　so　filled　with　horror　at　having　realised

in　his　own　person　that　terrible　and　well…written　scene；　and　at

having　done　accidentally；　though　in　fact；　what　the　Mr。　Hyde　of

fiction　had　done　with　deliberate　intent；　that　he　ran　away　as　hard　as

he　could　go。　　He　was；　however；　very　closely　followed；　and　finally　he

took　refuge　in　a　surgery；　the　door　of　which　happened　to　be　open；

where　he　explained　to　a　young　assistant；　who　happened　to　be　there；

exactly　what　had　occurred。　　The　humanitarian　crowd　were　induced　to

go　away　on　his　giving　them　a　small　sum　of　money；　and　as　soon　as　the

coast　was　clear　he　left。　　As　he　passed　out；　the　name　on　the　brass

door…plate　of　the　surgery　caught　his　eye。　　It　was　'Jekyll。'　　At

least　it　should　have　been。The　Decay　of　Lying







THE　INDISPENSABLE　EAST







What　is　true　about　the　drama　and　the　novel　is　no　less　true　about

those　arts　that　we　call　the　decorative　arts。　　The　whole　history　of

these　arts　in　Europe　is　the　record　of　the　struggle　between

Orientalism；　with　its　frank　rejection　of　imitation；　its　love　of

artistic　convention；　its　dislike　to　the　actual　representation　of　any

object　in　Nature；　and　our　own　imitative　spirit。　　Wherever　the　former

has　been　paramount；　as　in　Byzantium；　Sicily　and　Spain；　by　actual

contact；　or　in　the　rest　of　Europe　by　the　influence　of　the　Crusades；

we　have　had　beautiful　and　imaginative　work　in　which　the　visible

things　of　life　are　transmuted　into　artistic　conventions；　and　the

things　that　Life　has　not　are　invented　and　fashioned　for　her　delight。

But　wherever　we　have　returned　to　Life　and　Nature；　our　work　has

always　become　vulgar；　common　and　uninteresting。　　Modern　tapestry；

with　its　aerial　effects；　its　elaborate　perspective；　its　broad

expanses　of　waste　sky；　its　faithful　and　laborious　realism；　has　no

beauty　whatsoever。　　The　pictorial　glass　of　Germany　is　absolutely

detestable。　　We　are　beginning　to　weave　possible　carpets　in　England；

but　only　because　we　have　returned　to　the　method　and　spirit　of　the

East。　　Our　rugs　and　carpets　of　twenty　years　ago；　with　their　solemn

depressing　truths；　their　inane　worship　of　Nature；　their　sordid

reproductions　of　visible　objects；　have　become；　even　to　the

Philistine；　a　source　of　laughter。　　A　cultured　Mahomedan　once

remarked　to　us；　〃You　Christians　are　so　occupied　in　misinterpreting

the　fourth　commandment　that　you　have　never　thought　of　making　an

artistic　application　of　the　second。〃　　He　was　perfectly　right；　and

the　whole　truth　of　the　matter　is　this：　　The　proper　school　to　learn

art　in　is　not　Life　but　Art。The　Decay　of　Lying







THE　INFLUENCE　OF　THE　IMPRESSIONISTS　ON　CLIMATE







Where；　if　not　from　the　Impressionists；　do　we　get　those　wonderful

brown　fogs　that　come　creeping　down　our　streets；　blurring　the　gas…

lamps　and　changing　the　houses　into　monstrous　shadows？　　To　whom；　if

not　to　them　and　their　master；　do　we　owe　the　lovely　silver　mists　that

brood　over　our　river；　and　turn　to　faint　forms　of　fading　grace　curved

bridge　and　swaying　barge？　　The　extraordinary　change　that　has　taken

place　in　the　climate　of　London　during　the　last　ten　years　is　entirely

due　to　a　particular　school　of　Art。　　You　smile。　　Consider　the　matter

from　a　scientific　or　a　metaphysical　point　of　view；　and　you　will　find

that　I　am　right。　　For　what　is　Nature？　　Nature　is　no　great　mother　who

has　borne　us。　　She　is　our　creation。　　It　is　in　our　brain　that　she

quickens　to　life。　　Things　are　because　we　see　them；　and　what　we　see；

and　how　we　see　it；　depends　on　the　Arts　that　have　influenced　us。　　To

look　at　a　thing　is　very　different　from　seeing　a　thing。　　One　does　not

see　anything　until　one　sees　its　beauty。　　Then；　and　then　only；　does

it　come　into　existence。　　At　present；　people　see　fogs；　not　because

there　are　fogs；　but　because　poets　and　painters　have　taught　them　the

mysterious　loveliness　of　such　effects。　　There　may　have　been　fogs　for

centuries　in　London。　　I　dare　say　there　were。　　But　no　one　saw　them；

and　so　we　do　not　know　anything　about　them。　　They　did　not　exist　till

Art　had　invented　them。　　Now；　it　must　be　admitted；　fogs　are　carried

to　excess。　　They　have　become　the　mere　mannerism　of　a　clique；　and　the

exaggerated　realism　of　their　method　gives　dull　people　bronchitis。

Where　the　cultured　catch　an　effect；　the　uncultured　catch　cold。　　And

so；　let　us　be　humane；　and　invite　Art　to　turn　her　wonderful　eyes

elsewhere。　　She　has　done　so　already；　indeed。　　That　white　quivering

sunlight　that　one　sees　now　in　France；　with　its　strange　blotches　of

mauve；　and　its　restless　violet　shadows；　is　her　latest　fancy；　and；　on

the　whole；　Nature　reproduces　it　quite　admirably。　　Where　she　used　to

give　us　Corots　and　Daubignys；　she　gives　us　now　exquisite　Monets　and

entrancing　Pissaros。　　Indeed　there　are　moments；　rare；　it　is　true；

but　still　to　be　observed　from　time　to　time；　when　Nature　becomes

absolutely　modern。　　Of　course　she　is　not　always　to　be　relied　upon。

The　fact　is　that　she　is　in　this　unfortunate　position。　　Art　creates

an　incomparable　and　unique　effect；　and；　having　done　so；　passes　on　to

other　things。　　Nature；　upon　the　other　hand；　forgetting　that

imitation　can　be　made　the　sincerest　form　of　insult；　keeps　on

repeating　this　effect　until　we　all　become　absolutely　wearied　of　it。

Nobody　of　any　real　culture；　for　instance；　ever　talks　nowad