selected prose of oscar wilde-第5章
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companion being a cat; for which he had evinced at extraordinary
affection。
His crimes seem to have had an important effect upon his art。 They
gave a strong personality to his style; a quality that his early
work certainly lacked。 In a note to the Life of Dickens; Forster
mentions that in 1847 Lady Blessington received from her brother;
Major Power; who held a military appointment at Hobart Town; an oil
portrait of a young lady from his clever brush; and it is said that
'he had contrived to put the expression of his own wickedness into
the portrait of a nice; kind…hearted girl。' M。 Zola; in one of his
novels; tells us of a young man who; having committed a murder;
takes to art; and paints greenish impressionist portraits of
perfectly respectable people; all of which bear a curious
resemblance to his victim。 The development of Mr。 Wainewright's
style seems to me far more subtle and suggestive。 One can fancy an
intense personality being created out of sin。Pen; Pencil and
Poison
CARDINAL NEWMAN AND THE AUTOBIOGRAPHIERS
In literature mere egotism is delightful。 It is what fascinates us
in the letters of personalities so different as Cicero and Balzac;
Flaubert and Berlioz; Byron and Madame de Sevigne。 Whenever we come
across it; and; strangely enough; it is rather rare; we cannot but
welcome it; and do not easily forget it。 Humanity will always love
Rousseau for having confessed his sins; not to a priest; but to the
world; and the couchant nymphs that Cellini wrought in bronze for
the castle of King Francis; the green and gold Perseus; even; that
in the open Loggia at Florence shows the moon the dead terror that
once turned life to stone; have not given it more pleasure than has
that autobiography in which the supreme scoundrel of the Renaissance
relates the story of his splendour and his shame。 The opinions; the
character; the achievements of the man; matter very little。 He may
be a sceptic like the gentle Sieur de Montaigne; or a saint like the
bitter son of Monica; but when he tells us his own secrets he can
always charm our ears to listening and our lips to silence。 The
mode of thought that Cardinal Newman representedif that can be
called a mode of thought which seeks to solve intellectual problems
by a denial of the supremacy of the intellectmay not; cannot; I
think; survive。 But the world will never weary of watching that
troubled soul in its progress from darkness to darkness。 The lonely
church at Littlemore; where 'the breath of the morning is damp; and
worshippers are few;' will always be dear to it; and whenever men
see the yellow snapdragon blossoming on the wall of Trinity they
will think of that gracious undergraduate who saw in the flower's
sure recurrence a prophecy that he would abide for ever with the
Benign Mother of his daysa prophecy that Faith; in her wisdom or
her folly; suffered not to be fulfilled。 Yes; autobiography is
irresistible。The Critic as Artist
ROBERT BROWNING
Taken as a whole the man was great。 He did not belong to the
Olympians; and had all the incompleteness of the Titan。 He did not
survey; and it was but rarely that he could sing。 His work is
marred by struggle; violence and effort; and he passed not from
emotion to form; but from thought to chaos。 Still; he was great。
He has been called a thinker; and was certainly a man who was always
thinking; and always thinking aloud; but it was not thought that
fascinated him; but rather the processes by which thought moves。 It
was the machine he loved; not what the machine makes。 The method by
which the fool arrives at his folly was as dear to him as the
ultimate wisdom of the wise。 So much; indeed; did the subtle
mechanism of mind fascinate him that he despised language; or looked
upon it as an incomplete instrument of expression。 Rhyme; that
exquisite echo which in the Muse's hollow hill creates and answers
its own voice; rhyme; which in the hands of the real artist becomes
not merely a material element of metrical beauty; but a spiritual
element of thought and passion also; waking a new mood; it may be;
or stirring a fresh train of ideas; or opening by mere sweetness and
suggestion of sound some golden door at which the Imagination itself
had knocked in vain; rhyme; which can turn man's utterance to the
speech of gods; rhyme; the one chord we have added to the Greek
lyre; became in Robert Browning's hands a grotesque; misshapen
thing; which at times made him masquerade in poetry as a low
comedian; and ride Pegasus too often with his tongue in his cheek。
There are moments when he wounds us by monstrous music。 Nay; if he
can only get his music by breaking the strings of his lute; he
breaks them; and they snap in discord; and no Athenian tettix;
making melody from tremulous wings; lights on the ivory horn to make
the movement perfect; or the interval less harsh。 Yet; he was
great: and though he turned language into ignoble clay; he made
from it men and women that live。 He is the most Shakespearian
creature since Shakespeare。 If Shakespeare could sing with myriad
lips; Browning could stammer through a thousand mouths。 Even now;
as I am speaking; and speaking not against him but for him; there
glides through the room the pageant of his persons。 There; creeps
Fra Lippo Lippi with his cheeks still burning from some girl's hot
kiss。 There; stands dread Saul with the lordly male…sapphires
gleaming in his turban。 Mildred Tresham is there; and the Spanish
monk; yellow with hatred; and Blougram; and Ben Ezra; and the Bishop
of St。 Praxed's。 The spawn of Setebos gibbers in the corner; and
Sebald; hearing Pippa pass by; looks on Ottima's haggard face; and
loathes her and his own sin; and himself。 Pale as the white satin
of his doublet; the melancholy king watches with dreamy treacherous
eyes too loyal Strafford pass forth to his doom; and Andrea shudders
as he hears the cousins whistle in the garden; and bids his perfect
wife go down。 Yes; Browning was great。 And as what will he be
remembered? As a poet? Ah; not as a poet! He will be remembered
as a writer of fiction; as the most supreme writer of fiction; it
may be; that we have ever had。 His sense of dramatic situation was
unrivalled; and; if he could not answer his own problems; he could
at least put problems forth; and what more should an artist do?
Considered from the point of view of a creator of character he ranks
next to him who made Hamlet。 Had he been articulate; he might have
sat beside him。 The only man who can touch the hem of his garment
is George Meredith。 Meredith is a prose Browning; and so is
Browning。 He used poetry as a medium for writing in prose。The
Critic as Artist
THE TWO SUPREME AND HIGHEST ARTS
Life and Literature; life and the perfect expression of life。 The
principles of the former; as laid down by the Greeks; we may not
realise in an age so marred by false ideals as our own。 The
principles of the latter; as they laid them down; are; in many
cases; so subtle that we can hardly understand them。 Recognising
that the most perfect art is that which most fully mirrors man in
all his infinite variety; they elaborated the criticism of language;
considered in the light of the mere material of that art; to a point
to which we; with our accentual system of reasonable or emotional
emphasis; can barely if at all attain; studying; for instance; the
metrical movements of a prose as scientifically as a modern musician
studies harmony and counterpoint; and; I need hardly say; with much
keener aesthetic instinct。 In this they were right; as they were
right in all things。 Since the introduction of printing; and the
fatal development of the habit of reading amongst the middle and
lower classes of this country; there has been a tendency in
literature to appeal more and more to the eye; and less and less to
the ear which is really