Celtic Dawn: A Portrait of the Irish Literary Renaissance by Ulick O’Connor (1984)

We will show that Ireland is not the home of buffoonery and easy sentiment, as it has been represented, but the home of ancient idealism.
(Prospectus for the Irish Literary Theatre drafted by Lady Gregory, 1897; page 188)

This is a much more substantial work than O’Connor’s 1975 history of the Easter Rising. That was a slender pocket-sized 180 pages, this is a bigger format 416-page book complete with hefty index, 17-page bibliography and all. But like the earlier book, it’s still very much a personal account, and based on biography and anecdote rather than more scholarly history.

O’Connor (1928 to 2019) wrote a lot but he was neither a professional historian nor literary critic. He was more an erudite and impassioned amateur. And so this isn’t a scholarly or historically profound account, more an attempt, in his own words, ‘to convey the energy and elation of an era on Europe’s last island, perhaps the last in a series of renaissances which flourished in different countries since the Italian one in the fourteenth century’.

As with the earlier book, O’Connor is not shy about describing his own connections with the various settings and people involved, which makes for sweet anecdotes which, however, tend to bring out its rather home-made feel.

I was led to believe it’s a group biography of the key figures of the Celtic renaissance but, as you can see from my summary (below), it’s more like an interlocking series of biographies of all the Irish writers of the time, plus a fair few political figures.

One by one O’Connor introduces them to us and gives pen portraits. (I double checked I was using this phrase correctly. A pen portrait is ‘a brief, vivid and written description of a person, providing a “snapshot” of their character, lifestyle, and key traits, rather than just objective data’, which seems accurate enough.)

First of all we’re introduced to the key figures in chronological order and then, as they begin to work together, write for each other’s magazines or theatres, introduce each other to new ideas etc, the stories overlap and intertwine to build up a mosaic portrait of a major literary movement. At key moments when the central players, Griffiths, Yeats, Lady Gregory, AE, Edward Martyn, see their vision for a mature national Irish literature come to fruition, it can be very moving. And the figure of George Moore, the mocking dandy novelist, weaves in and out of the story like Puck, helping, mocking and memoiring.

The key players are:

Standish O’Grady (1846 to 1928)

Son of a Church of Ireland minister, O’Grady retained his aristocratic Unionist beliefs till the end of his life, but he played a pivotal role in the Celtic Renaissance by researching, writing, publishing and publicising the ancient legends of Ireland. His academic works – ‘History of Ireland: Heroic Period’ (1878–81) and ‘Early Bardic Literature of Ireland’ (1879) – didn’t sell so he realised he needed to dramatise them and romanticise Irish legends in a series of historical novels including ‘Finn and his Companions’ (1891), ‘The Coming of Cuculain’ (1894), ‘The Chain of Gold’ (1895), ‘Ulrick the Ready’ (1896) and ‘The Flight of the Eagle’ (1897). His insistence that the ancient Irish legends ranked with the tales of Homer inspired Yeats and others, leading to the title ‘Father of the Celtic Revival’. A lot later Yeats wrote: ‘whatever is Irish in me he kindled to life’ (p.25).

Douglas Hyde (1860 to 1949)

Son of a Church of Ireland rector, Hyde was home schooled among gillies and labourers, where he heard Gaelic spoken and started to study it. He began transcribing folk songs and discovered the people of Connacht remembered courtly songs and poems, which he translated and published. It was his poems published between 1890 and 1894 that inspired Yeats and Lady Gregory to realise the folk culture could be the basis for a national revival.

Around 1880 Hyde joined the Society for the Preservation of the Irish Language. Between 1879 and 1884 he published more than a hundred pieces of Irish verse under the pen name An Craoibhín Aoibhinn.

In 1886 Hyde met and became close friends with W.B. Yeats (then 21). They often met and discussed each other’s poetry.

In 1892 Hyde helped establish the Gaelic Journal, and wrote a manifesto called ‘The necessity for de-anglicising the Irish nation’ arguing that Ireland should follow its own traditions in language, literature, and dress. O’Connor sees it as a pivotal moment (p.165) because it led to…

In 1893 he helped found Conradh na Gaeilge (the Gaelic League) to encourage the preservation of Irish culture, music, dance and language. Ten years later there were 600 branches with a membership of 50,000. The next generation of Irish republicans (including Pádraig Pearse, Éamon de Valera, Michael Collins) became politicised through their involvement in Conradh na Gaeilge.

In the same year he published ‘Love Songs of Connacht’. The book had Gaelic poems on one page and prose and verse translations on the other. O’Connor thinks it ‘set the style of the literary renaissance’ (p.170).

Charles Stewart Parnell (1846 to 1891)

1875: Charles Stewart Parnell elected MP for Meath. O’Connor thinks the crucial fact of his life was that his other was American, from a family of heroes who fought against the British. By 1880 Parnell had succeeded Isaac Butt as leader of the Irish Party. In 1888 he was vindicated by an enquiry into his role in the Phoenix Park Murders (which Skin-the-Goat in James Joyce’s ‘Ulysses’ was meant to be the getaway driver for). Here and in his Easter Rising book, O’Connor thinks Parnell’s achievement was to bring together land reformers, constitutionalists and physical force advocates into one party to win the electoral success which gave them 70 or so seats in the London House of Commons and so made them the decisive force in British politics during the 1880s.

Parnell generated an energy which fuelled the elation unleashed in the national being.

Parnell had been having an affair with Katherine ‘Kitty’ O’Shea, a married woman, lived with her and fathered two children by her, when her husband, Captain O’Shea, brought a divorce suit against her, citing Parnell as co-respondent. The case came to court in November 1890 causing a scandal. The Catholic hierarchy turned against him, Gladstone was forced to criticise him. His closest associates in his own party deserted him to form the Irish National federation. The alliance of nationalist forces he had carefully assembled fragmented, and Irish nationalism was set back by a generation.

The following year he died of tuberculosis in Hove, aged just 45. His body was brought back to Dublin and given the biggest funeral procession ever seen. Yeats wrote several poems about it. So did the 9-year-old James Joyce, who went on to dramatise the bitterness surrounding his fall in the famous Christmas dinner scene in ‘A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man’.

O’Connor thinks Parnell united the Anglo-Irish and the Gaelic Irish into the new identity of the nationalist Irish. (O’Connor nowhere really tackles the more obvious divide between Protestant and Catholic.)

Yeats believed part of the inspiration for the Irish Literary Renaissance was that the people’s creative energies were turned away from politics by Parnell’s fall and sought alternative outlets: folk stories, pagan religion, poetry and drama.

Lady Gregory (1852 to 1932)

Isabelle Augusta Persse, Lady Gregory was the 14th of 18 children! From a Protestant low church background but had a Catholic nanny who told her rebel stories. Met and married Sir William Gregory, recently retired as governor of Ceylon, 62 to her 28. Engaged in political campaigns. Affair with Wilfrid Blunt, the explorer, adventurer, poet and anti-imperialist. Jailed for chairing an anti-eviction meeting in Galway. Husband Sir William died in 1892 aged 74, leaving Augusta aged 40, mistress of Coole Park. She needed income so set about writing, and turning the Park into a venue for Irish nationalist writers. Her momentous meeting with 31 year-old Years was in 1896.

Agreed to create an Irish Literary Theatre for him, to be funded by Edward Martyn.

Studied Gaelic and collected folktales in west of Ireland, heading towards ‘Visions and Beliefs in the West of Ireland’, published in 1920 with notes and two essays by W.B. Yeats.

Memorably wrote: ‘I defy anyone to study Irish history without getting a dislike and distrust of England’ (p.201).

By the later 1890s Coole Park was recognised as a meeting place for writers, with Yeats often there, and AE, Douglas Hyde, Martin. George Bernard Shaw visited and John Masefield. When she heard Irish literature being condemned by Trinity College academics it inspired her to devote two years to retelling the stories from O’Grady’s History of Ireland but in her own style which she had developed over years of translating. The result was ‘Cuchulainn of Muirthemne: The Story Of The Men of the Red Branch Of Ulster arranged and put into English by Lady Gregory, with a preface by W. B. Yeats’, published in 1902. The book is a centrepiece of the literary renaissance. It was well reviewed, and Yeats later used stories in it as the basis for no fewer than five plays, and Synge based his last play, Deirdre, on it.

George Moore (1852 to 1933)

Irish novelist, short-story writer, poet, art critic, memoirist and dramatist. Moore came from a landed family of Catholics who lived at Moore Hall in Carra, County Mayo. The estate had 12,000 acres and his father had not only a stables but a full scale racecourse built on the model of Aintree racecourse in Liverpool.

Moore’s father wanted him to go into the Army but young George wanted to be a painter and so went to Paris in 1873 to study art. There, he befriended many of the leading French artists such as Manet (who painted his portrait) and Degas, and writers such as Villiers de l’Isle-Adam and Mallarmé. Failing as a painter he had a go at poetry but was bad at that, too. At which point he commenced writing prose fiction which turned out to be his metier. He wrote in the naturalist style pioneered by Émile Zola. According to Richard Ellmann, his writings influenced the early James Joyce.

In 1880 he heard his estate was in trouble and so returned. The 1879 harvest had been as bad as the potato famine years and tenants were refusing to pay rents. Moore toured the estate and was shocked at their abject poverty. Having sorted out new, lower rents in order to maintain the estate, he moved to London and started writing at a prodigious rate:

  • A Modern Lover, 1883
  • A Mummer’s Wife, 1885 – Kate Ede, bored housewife in the Potteries, runs away to join a troupe of travelling actors
  • A Drama in Muslin, 1886 – satire on the annual season at Dublin Castle
  • A Mere Accident, 1887
  • Parnell and His Island, 1887 – factual often scathing essays and portraits
  • Confessions of a Young Man, 1888
  • Modern Painting, 1893 – factual book introducing the French Impressionists
  • Esther Waters, 1894 – portrait of a serving girl
  • Celibates, 1895 – three characters explore love, sex and social conventions
  • Evelyn Innes, 1898

He had a love-hate relationship with his country, writing in the factual book ‘Parnell and His People‘ that Ireland was ‘a primitive country and barbarous people’, and:

Ireland is a bog, and the aborigines are a degenerate race — short, squat little men — with low foreheads and wide jaws.

Fifteen years later he would write about the British Empire and its administrators in much the same terms. O’Connor quotes Martyn saying Moore observed himself, his actions and beliefs with the detached attitude of a scientist.

Edward Martyn (1859 to 1923)

Another landlord of a large estate and urban property except that Martyn’s family was Catholic. He was cousin and boyhood friend with George Moore: George the sensualist and Edward the ascetic. They visited Bayreuth together.

Tulira Castle Martyn was eccentric. He comprehensively renovated the family property, the Gothic Tulira Castle, but chose to live in a spartan bedroom. He was a connoisseur of church music. Tulira was and is only 4 or so miles from Coole Park, home of Lady Gregory.

Music He was a fine musician in his own right, giving memorable performances for guests on an organ he had installed at Tullira.

Cultural sponsor Martyn used his wealth to benefit Irish culture. His activities and sponsorships included:

  • 1897: co-founder and endowing of the Feis Ceoil
  • 1903: foundation of the Palestrina Choir (the resident choir at the St Mary’s Pro-Cathedral, Dublin)
  • funding and direction of St. Brendan’s Cathedral, Loughrea
  • president of Na hAisteoirí, the Irish-language drama group
  • sponsored and guided An Túr Gloine, Ireland’s first stained-glass workshop
  • sponsored the Irish Theatre

Martyn was reportedly pivotal in introducing William Butler Yeats and Lady Gregory to each other in 1896. The three founded the Irish Literary Theatre, for whom Martyn wrote his best and most popular plays ‘The Heather Field’ and ‘A Tale of a Town’. He covered the costs of the company’s first three seasons, which proved crucial to establishing the company and the future of the Abbey Theatre.

Irish republicanism He became involved with the political work of Maud Gonne and Arthur Griffith. He was a vocal opponent of the visit of Queen Victoria to Ireland in 1897 and of Edward VII in 1903, this time as chairman of the People’s Protection Committee.

He became close friends with Griffith and funded the publication of his tract ‘The Resurrection of Hungary in 1904’ which publicised Griffith’s abstentionist strategy i.e. non-cooperation with every aspect of the British administration.

From 1905 to 1908 he was the first president of Sinn Féin (the party only taking that name in the latter year). In 1908, he resigned from the party and politics in general to concentrate on writing and his other activities.

He was on close personal terms with Thomas MacDonagh, Joseph Mary Plunkett and Patrick Pearse and mourned their executions in the aftermath of the Easter Rising. A parish hall and church that he founded at Labane, near Tullira, were burned by the Black and Tans. In ‘A Terrible Beauty’ O’Connor quotes the letter Yeats wrote to the Times protesting this.

John Butler Yeats (1839 to 1922)

From an Anglo-Irish = Protestant family, he studied at Trinity College, briefly pursued the law before switching to painting. He became a prolific portrait painter but was not a good businessman, so he and his family were always hard up and regularly moved. ‘In a material sense he had been a hopeless parent’ (p.110).

In 1863 he married Susan Pollexfen (1841 to 1900) daughter of a Sligo merchant and shipowner. She was dismayed when he abandoned the law. They had six children: three sons and three daughters, the oldest son being the Nobel Prize winning poet and dramatist William Butler Yeats. The two daughters most mentioned are Lily and Elizabeth, known as Lolly. Apparently, Susan went slowly mad.

Surprisingly, in 1907 at the age of 68, he travelled to New York aboard the RMS Campania with his daughter Lily and never returned to Ireland, dying in a boarding house in New York.

William Butler (W.B.) Yeats

J.B. was an atheist materialist, a follower of Comte and Darwin. His son, Willie, reacted against this into his Celtic Dawn love of fairies and spiritualism, describing himself as ‘a voice of the revolt of the soul against the intellect’ (p.150). In reaction against his Victorian materialist father, from his teenage years onwards Yeats subscribed to every spiritualist fad available, setting up the Hermetic Society with a friend, meeting Madame Blavatsky and getting into Theosophy, studying ancient Indian texts etc.

In the 1880s father John moved the family to London, to Bedford Park, introducing young Willie to Oscar Wilde among others. One day in June 1889, Maud Gonne turned up on their doorstep. She was already a legend and said to be the most beautiful women in Europe.

Yeats joined the Order of the Golden Dawn led by Mcgregor Mathers. He took to Rosicrucianism as an ideal synthesis of Christianity and paganism. In 1889 he had published his first book of poems, ‘The Wanderings of Oisin and other poems’, supported by the Fenian John O’Leary.

In 1890 Yeats along with Welsh poet Ernest Rhys founded The Rhymers’ Club which met at the London pub ‘Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese’ in Fleet Street.

Later Yeats and others glamorised members of the club as the ‘doomed generation’ because so many died of poverty, alcoholism or disease. Hmm. This is a typical example of literary types’ self-mythologisation. Compare the peace and plenty they enjoyed with the experience of the generation who reached manhood as the First World War broke out; who were the real doomed generation?

The most notable of the Rhymesters was Arthur Symons who wrote an excellent book ‘The Symbolist Movement in Literature’; read to Yeats from French and Latin poetry; and gave Yeats introductions to key literary figures in Paris (Verlaine, d’Adam) when he went to visit the French capital.

1894 production of his first play, ‘The Land of Heart’s Desire’ in London. In it a young woman about to be married is lured into the otherworld by a fairy. George Moore attended and was put off Yeats by his posing in a big black cloak and walking up and down the back of the dress circle wearing a ridiculous sombrero. He had a pathological dislike of Ibsen and issue-led theatre, thus profoundly disliked Shaw’s plays.

Hard up, in autumn 1894 Yeats went to stay out in Sligo with his uncle George Pollexfen. Although a successful merchant, George was also into mysticism and a member of the Hermetic Dawn. He was single, living alone apart from a serving girl he was convinced had second sight.

In 1896 Yeats, aged 30, moved to rented rooms at 18 Woburn Buildings in London where he would live for the next 15 years.

In August the same year, Edward Martyn invited Yeats and Arthur Symons to visit him at Tulira. The visitors asked if they could take a boat to the Isles of Aran, the most remote and unspoiled part of Ireland, which they did for five days. During the visit Lady Gregory invited them to nearby Coole Park. This was the decisive visit which began their collaboration. Amusingly, Symons witnessed their conversation and instantly realised that she would seduce Yeats away from lyric poetry. He ever afterwards referred to her as ‘the witch’ (p.182).

In 1897 Yeats went for another stay with Martyn. While Martyn was elsewhere Yeats was left with Lady Gregory, lamenting that there was nowhere for him to get his plays produced in a Dublin dominated by plays and entertainments imported from England. Within an hour she had mapped out a scheme to set up an Irish national theatre. She would call on her connections via her dead husband with establishment figures and ask them all to cough up £25 for three years to fund the thing. When Martyn rejoined them and heard the plan, he immediately signed up.

In 1898 Yeats, exhausted by his unrequited love for Gonne, came back to Coole. Lady Gregory let him rest in bed, created a daily timetable, had his food sent up, let him walk through the grounds and round the lake where he got to know the wild swans. For the next 20 years she was to be his rock and support until he married in 1917, and she had a hand in arranging that.

George Russell (A.E.) (1867 to 1935)

Met Yeats at art school. The Russell and Yeats families lived near each other. Professional seer of visions which he depicted in his drawings, sacred mountains, druids, the Hindu and Irish gods were related. He did a painting of a divine being and, wondering what to call it, heard the word ‘aeon’ being whispered to him, a few weeks later opening a book about the Gnostics and discovering ‘aeon’ was the name they gave to the first order of beings created by the Divine Mind. From that moment till his dying day he signed his works AE and the brand stuck. He used to go to the esplanade at Bray and hold forth to passersby about the glories of the ancient religion of mankind. Standish O’Grady heard him and was impressed.

In the late 1880s he gave up painting and got a job as a draper’s assistant during the day, so as to be free to practice mystical mind exercises at night.

Despite all this he had a practical side: at Yeats’s suggestion, Horace Plunkett appointed Russell assistant secretary of the Irish Agricultural Organisation Society (IAOS), an agricultural co-operative society Plunkett founded in 1894. He was responsible for developing the credit societies and establishing Co-operative Banks in the south and west of the country.

From 1905 to 1923 he was editor of the influential Irish Homestead, the journal of the IAOS.

O’Connor quotes a good thing A.E. said to a Catholic friend who was twitting him about his mystical beliefs: ‘Like all Irish Catholics you are an atheist at heart’ (quoted page 157).

Sir William Wilde (1815 to 1876)

From a Protestant family, Wilde was an ophthalmologic surgeon and the author of significant works on medicine, archaeology and folklore, particularly concerning his native Ireland. Also, the father of Oscar Wilde.

Wilde was a founder member of the Irish nationalist Home Government Association, established by his Trinity College Dublin colleague Isaac Butt as the precursor to the Irish Parliamentary Party.

In 1851 Wilde married the poet Jane Francesca Agnes Elgee, who wrote and published under the name of Speranza. The couple had two sons, William (Willie) and Oscar, and a daughter, Isola Francesca, who died in childhood.

He was knighted in 1864, mostly for his help conducting a census in Ireland.

Wilde was promiscuous (‘Sir William had a name as a lecher’, p.101). He fathered three children by two women before he married Jane. In 1864 his reputation was damaged by the Travers libel trial. There’s a good summary in the Irish Times:

Wilde is important for O’Connor because he a) spoke Irish like a native and b) collected folklore from his estate in the west of Ireland.

Jane Francesca Agnes Elgee Wilde (Speranza) (1821 to 1896)

From a prosperous Protestant family in Dublin. The plaque on the grave of her husband describes her as ‘Speranza of The Nation, writer, translator, poet and nationalist, author of works on Irish folklore, early advocate of equality for women, and founder of a leading literary salon’.

Speranza As a young woman in the 1840s, Elgee wrote for the Young Ireland movement, publishing patriotic ballads in The Nation under the pseudonym of Speranza, calling for Irish independence and anti-British. Charles Gavan Duffy was the editor when ‘Speranza’ wrote commentary calling for armed revolution in Ireland as a result of which the authorities at Dublin Castle shut down the paper and brought Charles Duffy to court but he refused to name the person who had written the offending article.

Marriage In 1851 Elgee married the successful society doctor and ophthalmologist, William Wilde, thus becoming Jane Wilde. When he was knighted in 1864, she became Lady Wilde.

Folklore When Wilde died in 1876, the family discovered that he was virtually bankrupt. Lady Wilde joined her sons in London in 1879, living with Willie in poverty, supplementing their meagre income by writing for fashionable magazines. She wrote several books based on the research of her late husband into Irish folklore, notably ‘Ancient legends, mystic charms, and superstitions of Ireland’ (1887). O’Connor thinks it ‘contains some of the most beautiful folk tales in existence’ (p.100), although he tells us that the expert, Douglas Hyde, was sceptical about them, given that Jane didn’t actually speak Gaelic. Yeats on the other hand thought they were so good he didn’t care if Lady Jane had embellished them or not (p.115). There’s an obvious study to be done comparing Jane’s folk stories and her son Oscar’s fairy stories…

Feminist Jane was an early advocate of women’s rights, and campaigned for better education for women. She invited the suffragist Millicent Fawcett to her home to speak on female liberty. She praised the passing of the Married Women’s Property Act of 1882, which prevented a woman from having to enter marriage ‘as a bond slave, disenfranchised of all rights over her fortune’.

Oscar Wilde (1854 to 1900)

Yeats’s father moved the family to London and introduced young Willie to Oscar, who he knew through his parents. Wilde was ten years older than Willie and tried to help the young poet. Willie was impressed by Oscar’s attempt to make every aspect of his life beautiful but he deprecated the older man’s sloth. O’Connor points out that when Oscar toured the USA for almost the whole of 1882, he was feted among Irish audiences as much for being the son of the nationalist Speranza as for being a London aesthete. George Bernard Shaw, 2 years older than Oscar, thought him ‘a very Irish Irishman’.

John O’Leary (1830 to 1907)

An Irish separatist and a leading Fenian. He studied both law and medicine but did not take a degree. For his involvement in the Irish Republican Brotherhood, he was imprisoned for five years in England. He spent time in Paris among other political exiles and developed a strong sense of the importance of having a national culture in order to promote independence. He’s important to this narrative because he got to see W.B. Yeats debate and orate and came to believe he was the national poet Ireland was waiting for.

O’Leary was on the Supreme Council of the Irish Republican Brotherhood and inducted Yeats into it. Yeats was to remain involved for the rest of his life. The IRB would regard Yeats as ‘their man’ in the literary movement. Later Yeats would say ‘to him I owe everything I set my hand to’. O’Leary arranged for the publication of Yeats’s first volume, and introduced him to folklorists who supplied the material for his books ‘

Maud Gonne MacBride (1866 to 1953)

Born of an English mother and father in the army, brought up in the barracks, lived with the family in Austria and the south of France, attended the 1886 season at Dublin Castle, attended balls and was presented to the Prince of Wales. But Maud rebelled against her upbringing to become a firebrand Irish nationalist and suffragette.

In 1889 she was introduced to W.B. Yeats who was driven mad with love for her, but she refused to become his lover a) because she was already having an affair with a Frenchman Lucien Millevoye, later b) because she later fell in love with and married (in 1903) the nationalist activist John MacBride (one of the leaders of the Easter Rising, executed by the British in 1916).

William Morris (1834 to 1896)

English textile designer, poet, artist, writer, and socialist activist associated with the British Arts and Crafts movement. In the late 1880s and 90s he was for a while an idol of Yeats’s (‘one of the few men he ever really worshipped’, p.138), who visited him at Kelmscott House and attended meetings of his Socialist League. When Yeats’s collection of essays, ‘the Celtic Twilight’ was published in 1893, the Morris group hailed it as the Irish equivalent of their own pre-Raphaelite movement. What they had in common was a rejection of Victorian pragmatism, mercantilism and science in favour of romantic worlds of faerie. But O’Connor suggests the difference was that the pre-Raphaelites were nostalgic for a vanished English past whereas Yeats was trying to instil the folk culture of Ireland in the here and now.

Eventually they split after Yeats sat through a socialist meeting consisting of attacks on religion before getting to his feet and insisting that only through religion and imagination could the revolution come, before being told to desist and sit down. He never attended another meeting.

George Bernard Shaw (1856 to 1950)

Of Protestant Anglo-Irish descent, Bernard Shaw was a playwright, critic, polemicist and political activist. His father was an alcoholic corn merchant, but his mother, Lucinda, was a noted opera singer, she sang at the Castle and was congratulated by the Lord Lieutenant. Shaw grew up in a household saturated with classical music which is why he was able to become a music critic when he moved to London in 1876. This was encouraged by the mentorship of George Lee who formed a sort of menage with the Shaw household and organised classical concerts. He was also a Catholic who introduced young George to Irish nationalism.

He wrote more than sixty plays, including major works such as Man and Superman (1902), Pygmalion (1913) and Saint Joan (1923). He worshipped Ibsen for confronting the middle classes with truths they’d prefer to ignore.

His first success was Arms and The Man, first staged in 1894. It was funded by Shaw’s lover, Florence Farr and staged alongside Yeats’s first play ‘The Land of Heart’s Desire’. Wilde wrote to congratulate Shaw.

John Millington Synge (1871 to 1909)

Another protestant, from a wealthy Anglo-Irish background, Synge went to Paris to study music. Realising he was not going to become a composer, he met Yeats on a visit to the capital, who advised him to go to the Aran Islands (which Yeats had visited only months before) to learn from the peasants. Two years later, in May 1898, Synge did just that. He made five visits over the next few years. By the end he was fluent in Gaelic. It helped that he was a fine violinist and picked up many airs and tunes which he played for the locals.

(In between these trips he spent five successive summers at Coole Park, collecting stories and folklore, perfecting his Irish, but living in Paris for most of the rest of each year.)

Then he set about writing the half a dozen plays that he is remembered as a key figure of the Irish Literary Revival.

Horace Plunkett (1854 to 1932)

Phenomenally posh, Plunkett was born in Sherborne, Gloucestershire, the third son of Admiral Edward Plunkett, the 16th Baron of Dunsany, of Dunsany Castle, Dunsany, near Dunshaughlin, County Meath, and the Honourable Anne Constance Dutton (daughter of John Dutton, 2nd Baron Sherborne).

Raised in County Meath, Plunkett was Anglo-Irish, raised in the Church of Ireland, educated at Eton College and University College, Oxford.

However, he appears in this story because he went to Wyoming in America to try and cure his incipient tuberculosis, spending ten years there and turning out to have a talent for running ranches at a profit. And when he returned to Ireland, in 1891, he ended up, through a series of initiatives, becoming a pioneer of agricultural cooperatives. In 1894 he set up the Irish Agricultural Organisation Society (IAOS).

Among many other appointments, he heard about Lady Gregory’s good works in Galway and went down to visit. Here he met Yeats who he initially thought an ass until he heard him address a meeting of local farmers and realised there was more to him than first appeared. Plunkett needed an organiser to tour the west of Ireland. Yeats recommended his friend AE who had developed practical experience working for his draper’s company. After years on the road, in 1901 he became editor of the co-op’s magazine, The Irish Homestead.

Irish Literary Theatre

The first plays staged in the theatre’s first season, in 1899, were:

  1. Yeats’s The Countess Cathleen, first published in 1892: is set during a famine in Ireland, where the noblewoman Countess Cathleen sells her soul to demons to save the starving peasantry.
  2. Edward Martyn’s The Heather Field: Carden Tyrrell, a visionary landowner, becomes obsessed with reclaiming a barren, heather-covered field and transforming it into fertile pasture, mortgaging his estate and ignoring his family’s needs, causing conflict with his practical wife, Grace; as the project fails, Tyrrell withdraws into madness.

O’Connor gives a humorous account of the runup to the productions, which Yeats got George Moore to help with, and he was a tyrant who enraged everyone, writing a letter to Martyn so offensive that the latter threatened to withdraw his play.

The famous thing is that the Catholic hierarchy and traditional nationalists got wind of the plot and decided it was a libel on Irish peasantry and Irish womanhood etc. A claque of students attended the first night to yell abuse and boo, but they were combated with cheers. George Moore had played a vital role in securing appropriate actors and directing them. He now sent London critics over to Dublin who loved it. So he had a big hand in launching the theatre.

A celebration dinner was held for all involved at the Shelborne Hotel. Moore described it in his Autobiography:

Yeats rose, and a beautiful commanding figure he seemed at the end of the table, pale and in profile, with long nervous hands and a voice resonant and clear as a silver trumpet. He drew himself up and spoke against Trinity College, saying that it had always taught the ideas of the stranger, and the songs of the stranger, and the literature of the stranger, and that was why Ireland had never listened and Trinity College had been a sterile influence. The influences that had moved Ireland deeply were the old influences that had come down from generation to generation, handed on by the story-tellers that collected in the evenings round the fire, creating for learned and unlearned a communion of heroes.

The second season was staged in 1900 at the Gaiety Theatre and featured two plays by Edward Martyn – Maeve, The Tale of a Town – and The Last of the Fianna by Alice Milligan. The mere fact that these were successfully staged at the 1,200 seat Gaiety and not the 500-seat Antient Common Rooms, showed how the theatre was becoming a commercial as well as cultural success.

Arthur Griffith (1871 to 1922)

Griffith was a key but complicated figure. He was an Irish writer, newspaper editor and politician who founded the political party Sinn Féin. He led the Irish delegation at the negotiations that produced the 1921 Anglo-Irish Treaty, and served as the president of Dáil Éireann from January 1922 until his death that August.

But back in the period O’Connor is covering Griffith is important because he articulated an entirely new strategy for achieving independence. Parnell thought he could do it in the English Parliament; physical force revolutionaries thought they could do it through targeted assassinations and taking on the British Army of occupation. Griffith suggested a third way which was for the Irish to retire entirely from British politics – the policy of ‘abstentionism’ – and instead set up their own administration entirely separate from the British: for the MPs elected in the (British defined) constituencies to not only not go to London, but to set up their own Parliament (the Dail), giving everything Irish Gaelic names, to create their own laws, their own budget, their own courts and system of justice, to create a parallel and independently Irish administration at all levels. Hence the name of his organisation, Sinn Fein which means ‘ourselves alone’.

This was a compelling new idea which caught everyone’s imagination (it’s even mentioned several times in James Joyce’s ‘Ulysses’).

Yeats’s anti-Britishness

1898 – elected president of the committee to celebrate the centenary of the 1798 uprising.

1899 – October, second Boer War broke out and Yeats, Gonne and Martyn became members of the Transvaal Committee protesting Britain’s treatment of the Boers.

1900 – April, the same group plus others formed a committee to protest a planned visit of Queen Victoria to Dublin. (The old queen was 81). (Here as in his Easter rising book, O’Connor tells us that Maud Gonne’s future husband, John Macbride, was in South Africa leading a brigade of Boers against the British.)

O’Connor quotes a letter by Yeats to the Daily Express on 3 April 1900 which gives you a real feeling of his anti-British republicanism. Speaking of Victoria, he writes:

She is the official head and symbol of an empire that is robbing the South African republics of their liberty, as it robbed Ireland of hers. Whoever stands by the roadway cheering for Queen Victoria cheers for that empire, dishonours Ireland, and condones a crime. But whoever goes tomorrow night to the meeting of the people and protests within the law against the welcome of that Unionists and time-servers will have given this English Queen, honours Ireland and condemns a crime.

Moore moves back to Dublin

The Boer War prompted George Moore to revise his opinions of England and Ireland. He began to hate the former and romanticise the latter, forgetting all about his amusingly insulting opinions of 15 years earlier. Strikingly, he is quoted saying he has come to hate the English language and wants to flee the English country and English people (p.282).

He moved back to Dublin in 1901. He’s in this account a) because he was an important novelist in his own right but b) because of his close relationship with the founders of the Literary Theatre, which extended, as O’Connor shows, to a major rewrite of one of Edward Martyn’s plays, which infuriated his old friend. It must be said, his droll insouciance and wit make him one of the most attractive characters in the book. O’Connor devotes quite a few pages to just comic anecdotes from his own autobiography and other people’s reminiscences.

O’Connor gives a comic account of Moore and Yeats struggling to collaborate on a play based on the legend of Diarmuid and Grania, Moore’s attitude is priceless. He was then chosen to direct a production of Douglas Hyde’s play ‘The Twisting of the Rope’ but resigns after 3 weeks. Hyde himself played the lead role of Hanrahan the poet and turned out to be sprightly and antic onstage, completely the opposite of his sober, scholarly everyday persona. The two plays were performed in October 1901. Grania wasn’t a success whereas ‘The Twisting of the Rope’ was the first play to be performed in Irish and was joyously received by nationalists. The audience sang patriotic songs. The audience mobbed Yeats at the stage door. In the audience was John Millington Synge, who saw the language and imagery he had been collecting on the Aran Isles come to life onstage. Within a few months he’d written his first play and within a year the first of his five masterpieces.

Joyce

Joyce loathed these productions and wrote a savage indictment of their success titled ‘The Day of the Rabblement’. He thought Yeats and Co were catering to the low, debased tastes of the Irish people by sinking themselves deeper into the mire of illiterate peasant superstition, whereas Joyce wanted to join and become a star in the great European tradition. Which is why he had to leave Ireland altogether.

Joyce walked across Dublin one night to AE’s house and waited till the established writer returned at midnight. They talked till 4 in the morning. Easy-going AE was impressed and wrote to Lady Gregory warning him about this ‘spectre of fastidiousness’ (p.296). When Joyce left Ireland for Paris in 1904, Lady Gregory gave him money.

The Fays and the Abbey Theatre

The origins of the famous Abbey Theatre in the work of two brothers, William and Frank Fay. In the 1890s, William had worked with a touring company in Ireland, Scotland and Wales while Frank was heavily involved in amateur dramatics in Dublin. After William returned, the brothers began to stage productions in halls around the city. O’Connor gives his usual pen portrait and explains how Frank asked AE permission to use a play which he, AE, had written solely for literary interest, ‘Deirdre’. Discovering it wouldn’t fill a whole evening they approached Yeats for a short filler and he gave them ‘Cathleen Ni Houlihan’ and suggested Maud Gonne play the lead role. Amazingly, she agreed. The brothers hired the cramped St Theresa’s Hall on Clarendon Street for the production. Opening night was 2 April 1902. Deirdre was well received but the Yeats play is about the allegorical figure of Ireland depicted as a long-suffering old crone, who is transformed into a beautiful queen by the sacrifice of a young man. There were cheers throughout and, at the end, a standing ovation. Partisans like Arthur Griffith saw it as the start of a national revival. I’ll now quote from Wikipedia because the events surrounding the foundation of the Abbey Theatre are a bit convoluted and not fully explained by O’Connor:

Encouraged by the St Theresa’s Hall success, Yeats, Lady Gregory, Æ, Martyn, and John Millington Synge founded the Irish National Theatre Society in 1903 with funding from Annie Horniman. Horniman was a middle-class Englishwoman with previous experience in theatre production, having been involved in the presentation of George Bernard Shaw’s Arms and the Man in London in 1894. An acquaintance of Yeats from London circles, including the Order of the Golden Dawn, she came to Dublin in 1903 to act as Yeats’ unpaid secretary and to make costumes for a production of his play ‘The King’s Threshold’. They were joined by actors and playwrights from Fay’s company.

At first, they staged performances in the Molesworth Hall. When the Mechanics’ Theatre in Lower Abbey Street and an adjacent building in Marlborough Street became available after fire safety authorities closed it, Horniman and William Fay agreed to buy and refit the space to meet the society’s needs.

On 11 May 1904, the Society formally accepted Horniman’s offer of the use of the building. As Horniman did not usually reside in Ireland, the royal letters patent required were granted in the name of Lady Gregory, although paid for by Horniman. The founders appointed William Fay theatre manager, responsible for training the actors in the newly established repertory company. They commissioned Yeats’ brother Jack to paint portraits of all the leading figures in the society for the foyer, and hired Sarah Purser to design stained glass for the same space.

On 27 December 1904, the curtains went up on opening night. The bill consisted of three one-act plays, ‘On Baile’s Strand’ and ‘Cathleen Ní Houlihan’ by Yeats, and ‘Spreading the News’ by Lady Gregory. On the second night, ‘In the Shadow of the Glen’ by Synge replaced the second Yeats play. These two bills alternated over a five-night run.

In addition to providing funding, Horniman’s chief role with the Abbey over the coming years was to organise publicity and bookings for their touring productions in London and provincial England.

‘The Shadow of the Glen’ caused a furor. I have written a separate blog post about it.

Codas

Towards the end of the book, O’Connor deals increasingly briskly with his charges.

Joyce He portrays Joyce leaving for the continent, helped with cash from Lady Gregory, and even Yeats who met him at Euston station, bought him breakfast and helped him catch the boat train to Paris. In O’Connor’s portrait Joyce comes over as fiercely arrogant, angry, bitter and determined. In Paris he met Synge but the two didn’t get on at all. He’d only been there a few months when his father telegraphed him to return to Dublin because his mother was dying. It was then that occurred the famous occasion when Joyce refused to kneel and pray for his mother, letting her die distraught that her son was an atheist, leaving him gnawed with guilt which provides a central thread to ‘Ulysses’, where he grandly renames it ‘agenbite of inwit’. It was on 16 June 1904 that he had a second date with an uninhibited Galway girl who kissed him and touched his willy through his trousers, thus persuading the highly sexed Joyce that she was the girl for him, and indeed they spent the rest of their lives together, and she was the rock which enabled him to write his masterpieces.

Lady Gregory Having been midwife to numerous plays, Lady Gregory now started writing her own. Amazingly, she ended up writing about 100, and many were very popular. Her best works are probably ‘The Rising of the Moon’ and ‘The Workhouse Ward’. It was seeing plays like these on the Abbey Theatre’s first tour of America, which apparently inspired American playwright Eugene O’Neill to write his first plays. In the 1920s, when finances were tight, she persuaded the new Free State government to give the Abbey Theatre a stipend, making it the first state-sponsored theatre in the world.

Climax and aftermath

It turns out that those 1904 productions are the climax of O’Connor’s book. The precursor to the Abbey Theatre had been created and Yeats, Gregory, AE had seen their vision of a native Irish theatre based on native Irish legends and themes come true. From left-field came J.M. Synge whose Aran Island-inspired plays would expand and consolidate the genre.

So instead of continuing to take things forward at the slow incremental pace he’d used up till now, rather surprisingly O’Connor leaps forward to the first night of Sean O’Casey’s ‘The Plough and the Stars’ in 1926. After a vivid description of the protests and catcalling which forced Yeats to call in the police, again, O’Connor relaxes on the final pages of his book and turns into lists. The renaissance was underway and he lists the next generation of playwrights which came through along with a sudden interest in painting, which had until these last few pages only received passing mention in reference to John Yeats. Now there’s a sudden list of Irish painters who flourished in the 00s, 10s and 20s. The outstanding art collector Hugh Lane left his collection to the Dublin Art Gallery. In less than a page he skips over the East Rising and civil war to the creation of the Irish Free State, and then the last 3 or 4 pages concern the afterlives of his central characters.

Edward Martyn broke with the Abbey Theatre founders, founded his own rival theatre, died in 1924.

George Moore argued with everyone in the movement and, in 1912, left Ireland a second time, reverting to his initial contempt for his homeland. He died in 1933. He always felt James Joyce had plagiarised his ‘Confessions of a Young Man’ in his ‘A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man’, and stole his famous short story ‘The Dead’ from the end of his novel ‘Vain Fortune’. But the pair met in Paris in 1929 when Joyce was eager to conciliate the older man and they got on surprisingly well.

Lady Gregory stopped writing plays in the 1920s, negotiated a government subsidy for the Abbey Theatre in 1925. Her son Robert was killed serving in the air force in 1918. Coole Park had to be sold off, along with its wild swans and the tree she had her famous writers carve their names into. She died in 1932.

W.B. Yeats came to be recognised as one of the greatest poets of the age, receiving the Nobel Prize in 1924. He was made a senator in the new Free State. In 1928 he entered a late flowering period of creativity with ‘The Tower’. He died in the south of France in 1939.

Douglas Hyde was installed as president of Ireland in 1938. He had faded out of public life after refusing to let his Gaelic League get involved in politics. The decision to bring him out of retirement paid homage to his work as a young man in rescuing the Celtic language and its stories.

O’Connor ends with a charming story, of how the following year, when war broke out, coal became scarce, so Hyde opened the coal cellars of the Viceregal Lodge to the population of Dublin. Instead he had turf brought from the countryside so that the grand dinning, ball and state rooms of the palace, which had echoed to the social life of the conqueror for so many years, were now filled with the aromatic smoke betokening authentic Irish peasant life.

Firesides

O’Connor is a romantic, sometimes sentimental author. Peasants are noble. Aristocrats are noble. All his upper class characters are fine riders and excellent shots. He takes a heroic view of Irish patriots. One aspect of this is his fondness for ‘firesides’ as a symbol of authenticity, especially, of course, the firesides of the people and peasants.

[Henry Grattan]’s speech at the inauguration [of the 1782 parliament] would become a hymn of nationalism recited around the firesides of nationalist Ireland in the nineteenth century. (p.15)

Under the name of Speranza [Francesca Elgee] wrote patriotic ballads about the Fenians and English misrule, like ‘The Famine Year’ which was recited around firesides throughout the country. (p.100)

Soon [Synge] had mastered the Irish jigs and reels and slow airs, and he would sit at night near the firelight in the cottages and play his airs for the dancing boys and girls. (p.191)

This [lines from a Yeats poem] could be from the court of Aquitaine; or that its sentiment is a trifle extravagant, the address of a Cavalier. Least of all does one think of it as a poet’s address to his country in one of the traditional names which were used for Ireland in the seventeenth century, and that this was perfectly understood by the people when it was sung for them round their firesides or in the fields. (p.214)

[Of ‘In the Shadow of the Glen’] It was, after all, a daring theme for those days to depict a wife leaving a husband, however aged, for a tramp travelling the roads. The fact that it was based on an Irish folk tale told around the firesides of the west would not make it any more palatable when it would be acted out in front of urban audiences who would lack the Rabelaisian acceptance of farmyard life. (p.333)

The story of how Cuchulain inadvertently kills his own son whom he had had (unknown to him) by a Scottish princess, Aoife, was still told around the country firesides in the west. (p.352)

Documentary

There are many documentaries on the subject. This one is an easy-going complexity-free example, bolstered by extensive interviews with the eminent academic Fintan O’Toole. Most interesting for me was the section about Patrick Pearse’s objections to the movement which he said ought to be ‘strangled at birth’. He thought Yeats and Lady Gregory, Protestants both, were denying the Catholic faith of the peasants they depicted, and Ireland as a whole, in order to promote their own personal vision of a pagan Ireland, the Ireland of the myths and legends they collected and they promoted.

There was also a class aspect, because the revivalists’ plays focused on peasants or aristocrats, itself an ancient binary, with no space for the majority population of working and middle class. In this sense, their vision was utterly unrepresentative of Ireland’s realities. (Just one reason for James Joyce’s complete rejection of their vision and aesthetic, although the movement was, eventually, to be large enough for the working class dramas of Sean O’Casey.)


Credit

‘Celtic Dawn: A Portrait of the Irish Literary Renaissance’ by Ulick O’Connor was published by Hamish Hamilton in 1984.

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Constance: The Tragic and Scandalous Life of Mrs Oscar Wilde by Franny Moyle (2011)

She was a high-profile figure whose beauty was widely acknowledged, whose activities were often reported in the press, and whose appearance and outfits were monitored for the sake of an intrigued public. Ever since their marriage Oscar’s charming wife had done nothing but enhance and complement his reputation. Constance Wilde balanced her husband. She was wholesome and earnest and provided the ideal foil to his determined flamboyance.
(Franny Moyle summarising her subject in Constance: The Tragic and Scandalous Life of Mrs Oscar Wilde, page 7)

‘She could not understand me and I was bored to death with the married life – but she had some sweet points in her character and was wonderfully loyal to me.
(Wilde summarising his wife to his first gay lover and lifelong confidante Robbie Ross)

As we know, the book market changes to reflect changes in society and culture. For some time now there’s been a feminist market for books about ignored, overlooked and suppressed women, the women history forgot, the women written out of the record – books which boldly proclaim that now, at last, their voices can be heard, their true stories told!

An easy-to-understand subset of this is that, wherever there’s been a man eminent in any field who historians and fellow professionals have noted and praised, there’s now a well-developed and profitable market for books about the woman behind the man. Quite regularly this wife or lover is now credited with much of the man’s achievement, facts which have, up to this moment, been erased from the record but now the truth can be told! Often (to paraphrase Wilde) these revisionist accounts are even true!

Very much in this spirit comes ‘Constance: The Tragic and Scandalous Life of Mrs Oscar Wilde’, researched and written by former TV executive Franny Moyle. It tells the life story of Constance Mary Lloyd, from her birth on 2 January 1858 to her early death on 7 April 1898 (aged just 40) dwelling, of course, on her ill-fated marriage to one of the most notorious figures in English literature.

Horace Lloyd

Constance was the daughter and second child of Horace Lloyd, an Anglo-Irish barrister, and Adelaide Barbara Atkinson (Ada), who had married in 1855 in Dublin, when Ada was just 18 and he was 8 years her senior. Constance was born in London where her father had moved his legal practice and family.

Moyle tells us unflattering things about both her parents: Horace Lloyd was a fast-living womaniser, part of the Prince of Wales’s set, strongly suspected of having more than one illegitimate child. Adelaide (Ada) was ‘a selfish and difficult woman’. Horace died in 1874 when Constance was 16 and his death heralded a devastating deterioration in her life. Her mother began to abuse and insult her with a steady stream of insulting and sarcastic comments, snubs and public humiliations. Moyle quotes accounts by her brother Otho (2 years older than Constance) bleakly describing the insults and abuse she was subjected to. As you might expect this made Constance shy and nervous and lay behind the ill health and insomnia which dogged her youth. It also explains why, in adult life, she found herself attracted to older women (not sexually, just emotionally) and had a succession of older women she referred to as mother (including Wilde’s mother, Speranza).

William Wilde

Meanwhile, the Wilde family had troubles of its own. Oscar Wilde had been born to the eminent Dublin surgeon Sir William Wilde and his wife Jane Elgée (‘the fiery poet and Irish nationalist’, who wrote under the nom de plume Speranza) four years earlier than Constance (1854) but the Wilde family had similar tribulations. William Wilde also sowed plenty of wild oats, fathering a number of illegitimate children via different mothers. Apparently he already had three illegitimate children when he married.

In the year of Oscar’s birth (1854) he started an affair with the 19-year-old daughter of a doctor colleague, Mary Travers, which was to last a decade. But when Sir William tried to end the affair, Mary was furious, put the word about that he had raped her, wrote a pamphlet denouncing him and then triggered a libel trial in which she was able to list every detail of the affair. She lost the case but a traumatised and humiliated Sir William retreated to the west coast of Ireland and never recovered. He died in 1876 while Oscar was at Oxford. Wilde – extra-marital affairs – the courts – all very prophetic.

So you can see that Wilde had plenty of personal experience when he wrote, in his essays and plays, about the gross hypocrisy of the British, who put on a respectable bourgeois facade, denouncing the kind of plays and stories which he wrote as ‘immoral’, while all the time having multiple affairs and numerous children out of wedlock.

And you can also see why this is a very enjoyable book, because it is full of gossipy stories like these. It immerses you in the family backgrounds of both its lead players as well as their extensive social lives, the network of relations and family friends that everybody socialised with in those days.

It also has one very big selling point which is that Moyle had access to the archive of Constance’s letters. A surprising number of these survive and barely a page goes by without extensive quotes from them, describing her teens, her life as a young woman ‘coming out’ in London, and then her engagement and marriage to Oscar.

Thus we get the story of Constance’s life and, from the age of about 20, her slowly escalating courtship of Oscar, very largely in her own words, via letters to her brother, mother, other family members, and some to Oscar himself.

Constance and Oscar

She and Oscar were pushed towards each other by their mothers, Lady Wilde keen to get Oscar married and settled, Ada Lloyd imagining Oscar was a successful young writer who would settle the daughter she resented and disliked. What I didn’t understand is that both matriarchs knew the other family was on hard times so it’s neither can have expected relief for their own money troubles. Surely Oscar should have held out for one of the American heiresses that he met on his famous lecture tour of the States (January 1882 to February 1883). In the event Constance supplied the money via a financial deal with her grandfather whereby she was given some of the money he was going to give her in his will, in advance before dying and leaving her the rest of the lump sum (p.100). Oscar didn’t marry rich, but he married comfortable.

The key to their relationship

It was also something to do with the fact that the Lloyd and Wilde households had not been very far apart in 1860s Dublin and the neighbourly contact continued when they all moved to London. At one point Moyle makes the best speculation as to what drew Oscar and Constance together which is that, having known her and her family since he was a boy, Oscar could drop his guard with her. He could speak to her quite frankly and naturally without putting on the pontificating pose and tone he adopted for almost everyone else.

This fact – that she was the one person he could be quite frank and natural with – explains why he was prepared to overlook her conventionality. The latter is crystallised in a letter which Moyle charitably says is carrying on a ‘debate’ about the nature of art but which Constance reveals herself to be as absolutely conventional as possible.

‘I am afraid you and I disagree in our opinion on art, for I hold that there is no perfect art without perfect morality whilst you say they are distinct and separable things.’ (p.71)

Reading that makes you wonder if she ever understood what came to be the quite complicated, wide-ranging and deeply worked-out theories of art which Oscar expounded in the essays in Intentions (1891). On the evidence here, she isn’t even on the same planet.

And yet her account makes it absolutely clear that both partners were genuinely, deeply head-over-heels in love. Oscar wrote letters to all and sundry gushing about his beautiful bride-to-be and, once married, praised the state of matrimony to all his friends till they got bored of it.

But all the time, in parallel to the love, went worry about money. Oscar’s main source of income was the endless lecture tours he undertook, first the famous one across America, but even when back in England, he was regularly away for long stretches on tours of the north or Wales.

Moyle’s narrative goes into minute and fascinating detail about the couple’s finances. Despite making money from his American tour and a little from his first few plays, Oscar was still burdened with debts from his Oxford days, not to mention trying to help out his mother who was living in increasingly straitened circumstances in a pokey apartment in Mayfair: nice address, shame about the shabby little rooms. Oscar worked hard to maintain everyone.

Constance’s achievements

Moyle makes a very decent fist of talking up her protagonist’s interests and achievements.

Apostle of aestheticism

Moyle describes Constance’s association with the Aestheticism which became fashionable at the end of the 1870s. Once she is married to Oscar she becomes a leading figure in the movement, supervising the interior furnishing of their home at number 6 Tite Street, as well as becoming famous or notorious for her adventurous clothes. She was widely greeted as an appropriate partner for Wilde as they jointly attended the theatre and art galleries, putting on a joint aesthetic front. They were acknowledged in society and the Press as a cultural power couple (p.93). Their ‘at homes’ became famous (p.126). The (lesbian) author Marie Corelli saw a lot of the couple and wrote a mocking portrait of them as the Elephant and the Fairy (pp.151 to 153).

Wedding

Many of her outfits are described in very great detail including her wedding dress (page 87). (The wedding took place on 29 May 1884 at St James’s Church, Sussex Gardens, with a detailed description of the wedding dress, what the bridesmaids wore, and the wedding ring Oscar designed for her, p.87.) Descriptions of dress pages 93 to 98.

Rational Dress Association

Constance’s focus on clothes led her to get involved with the movement for more ‘rational’ wear for ladies, the Rational Dress Society (pp. 109 to 111, 142 to 154). Along with other progressive and feminist women, she campaigned for an end to the absurdly constrictive Victorian womenswear. Constance presided over meetings of the Rational Dress Society (RDS) and in April 1888 edited the first issue of its magazine (pages 142 to 144).

Acting

In letters to her brother Constance speculates about going on the stage. Via Oscar she had become friends with Henry Irving and Ellen Terry who he praised in his reviews and who they socialised with. She had a minor part in an ‘authentic’ production of the Greek tragedy, Helena in Troas, and looked very fetching but nothing further came of it (pages 112 to 114). She wrote theatre reviews for the Lady’s Pictorial (p.130).

Writing

Meanwhile she had been pursuing a writing career of her own. When Oscar took over the editorship of The Woman’s World magazine, Constance contributed articles on her specialist subject of rational clothes. But in a completely different vein, in 1888 she also produced a volume of children’s stories she had heard from her grandmother, called There Was Once (p.133 to 138).

Moyle devotes a couple of pages to the speculation, based on recently discovered manuscripts, that Constance may have written Wilde’s fairy story, ‘The Selfish Giant’ (pages 136 to 137). Characteristically the main evidence for this is that the story is less well written and contains blunter Christian moralising than Wilde’s other tales.

Politics

Moyle shows us how active Constance was in a variety of organisations and bodies, most focused around the ruling Liberal Party. She was a member of the Women’s Liberal Association and the Women’s Committee of the International Arbitration and Peace Movement. She supported Gladstone’s position on Irish Home Rule and went further. She made speeches at conferences. Her confidence and articulacy bloomed. Moyle devotes a few pages to showing how Constance was instrumental in the campaign to get the first women elected to the London County Council. She was at the heart of a lot of feminist and early suffragette activity. She dragged Oscar to Hyde Park to support the dockworkers strike of 1889. She helped to set up a women-only club, The Pioneer.

Spiritualism

This feminism and intellectual curiosity spilled over into an advanced interest in ‘spirituality’, all the rage in the last decades of the nineteenth century (pages 164 to 177). She was initiated into the secretive organisation, The Golden Dawn, whose initiation ceremony Moyle describes. After a while she dropped out of the order but maintained her interest in the subject, a few years later joining the Society for Psychical Research (p.176).

Photography

In her last years, especially in exile on the Continent, Constance developed an interest in photography, which Moyle describes a couple of times. However, taking photos of your family and children doesn’t really make you a pioneer.

In fact Moyle can’t overcome several problems. The main one is that despite all these attempts to make her sound exciting, and despite her involvement in all these causes, nonetheless Constance, in her letters, in her own words, often comes over as disappointingly conventional. Her letters portray her as a conventional Victorian lady who fusses and frets over family affairs, parties and gossip, as well as the endless money troubles the Lloyd family experienced after their dissolute father’s death, rarely rising above a very mundane, run-of-the-mill tone.

Plain

Oscar’s letters rave about Constance’s beauty but it is difficult to reconcile this with the few paintings and many photos of her we have. Moyle says she was self conscious and camera shy and it shows. She managed to look dour with a pronounced down-turning of the mouth, in more or less every photo ever taken of her.

Constance Lloyd in 1883

Clumsy

Constance had a tendency to clumsiness and misadventure when it came to everyday life. Throughout her life she was known for losing umbrellas or purses or losing things. (p.84)

Oscar bought her a pet marmoset to keep her company while he was away on his endless lecturing and she managed to kill it within a few weeks (p.84). Other examples pp.133 and 260 where she was tasked with carving a chicken but ended up dropping it on the floor.

Constance and Oscar’s prose

Oscar’s prose (in a letter to Lillie Langtry):

I am going to be married to a beautiful young girl called Constance Lloyd, a grave, slight, violet-eyed little Artemis, with great coils of heavy brown hair which make her flower-like head droop like a flower, and wonderful ivory hands which draw music from the piano so sweet that the birds stop to listen to her…. (p.80)

Constance’s prose (in a letter to Oscar):

My darling love, I am sorry I was so silly: you take all my strength away, I have no power to do anything but just love you when you are with me & I cannot fight against my dread of you going away. Every day that I see you, every moment that you are with me, I worship you more, my whole life is yours to do as you will with it, such a poor gift to offer up to you but yet all I have and you will not despise it. I know it is only for 3 days but – it is the wrench of the parting that is so awful and you are so good to me that I cannot bear to be an hour away from you… (p.78)

Now it’s not a very fair comparison because Oscar is self-consciously performing for a high cultural figure while Constance is writing a private love letter to her fiancé. Nonetheless, it’s a good indication of the vast gulf between Oscar’s hard-won performative prose and Constance’s naive schoolgirl gushing.

It also belies Moyle’s insistence that Constance was a feminist revolutionary keen to overthrow gender stereotypes. In this and most of her writing and behaviour around her marriage and children, Constance was the embodiment of gender stereotyping. Compare a letter she wrote to a friend after Oscar’s imprisonment:

‘By sticking to him now I may save him from even worse…I think we women were meant to be comforters and I believe that no-one can really take my place now or help him as I can.’ (quoted page 282)

‘I think we women were meant to be comforters’ – not that feminist or revolutionary, and most of her letters display the same attitudes.

Children and schism

Constance undertook all these activities while being pregnant, bearing and raising two children, Cyril (born 5 June 1885) and Vyvyan (3 November 1886). As a modern man I don’t underestimate the effort, sickness, discomfort and risk involved in each of these pregnancies. Interestingly, Moyle tells us that Constance took advantage of the latest thinking about childbirth which was to anaesthetise the mother when she was in labour so that the child was delivered while she was unconscious (p.106).

The Wildes are described as doting parents. His children remember Oscar happily getting down on his hands and knees to join in with their games. But there were straws in the wind.

1) Vyvyan

Both parents wanted the second child to be a girl and were disappointed when Vyvyan was born. Unlike Cyril he was a weakly sickly child and was treated differently from Cyril who was very obviously his parents’ favourite (p.115).

2) Pregnancies

Moyle believes the second pregnancy and birth were problematic, though no record survives. Alas the physical changes the two births caused to her body had a very negative effect on Wilde (p.123). Moyle includes a letter from Oscar to a friend lamenting that he now found Constance – who thrilled him with her physical beauty two short years earlier, who he referred to as Artemis – repellent and disgusting and it was an effort to touch or kiss her. Poor Constance.

3) Oscar’s absences

Moyle points out that when Oscar returned from his American lecture tour he threw himself into a gruelling series of unending lecture tours around the UK and this meant he was often away from her, often for long periods i.e. their relationship right from the start included Oscar’s absences. When these lecture tours came to an end and Oscar settled down to be a) a family man and b) the more regular office job of editing a magazine, he rankled at the lack of travel and novelty. Quite quickly he reverted to the nearest he could get which was routinely going out without Constance, something she lamented but got used to (for example, even on his honeymoon, p.91).

4) Oscar and danger

Moyle also brings out how Oscar was always attracted by danger and the seedy side of life. He enjoyed being taken by friends who knew about them, to the worst slums, to the drinking dens of Docklands and so on. In this he was at one with the cultural mood of the times which was becoming more and more interested in in the gritty realities of poverty and squalor. Wilde insisted on visiting criminal dens in Paris on his honeymoon (p.91).

Wilde deprecated the scientific Naturalism of Zola and his school but was as fascinated by low life as them; just that in his hands it acquires a ‘romantic’ mystique, most obviously in the passage in Dorian Gray where the protagonist takes a hansom cab way out East to drinking and opium dens down by the docks. There was nothing massively new in this. Dickens depicted the hypnotic thrill of criminal lowlives and purulent slums in many of his novels.

As to his sex life, Moyle tells us that up to and including the first years of his marriage, Wilde routinely used female sex workers, especially on trips to Paris with his heterosexual friend Robert Sherrard (p.79). This kind of thing also comes under the heading ‘Oscar’s interest in the sordid side of life’, with Wilde fascinated by bordellos and brothels well before he began any homosexual activity.

Writing about Wilde, especially by gay critics, routinely refers to his ‘double life’ in terms of his concealed homosexuality as if this was a great achievement, a bold gay rebellion against Victorian values – but millions of Victorian men led ‘double lives’ with heterosexual sex workers and they are routinely labelled hypocrites (p.124). In the eyes of feminists and posterity these straight men are horrible exploiters. It’s a mark of our own double or dubious standards that when Wilde began to use male prostitutes, he became a queer icon. There was much more of a continuum of exploitation in Wilde’s sex life, from female prostitutes to male prostitutes to boys. Categorising Wilde or anyone’s sex life in simplistic binary terms seems to me factually and morally wrong. We’re all on the spectrum, on numerous spectrums…

Robbie Ross

Moyle describes the arrival of the 17-year-old Robert Ross in Oscar’s life. Despite being so young, Robbie was precociously experienced in homosexual sex and social practices. Moyle repeats the rumour that Oscar first met Ross in a public convenience where the boy propositioned the older man. He was welcomed to Oscar’s home and became good friends with Constance. In fact he was just one of many young men whose adulation Oscar encouraged, including students at Oxford and Cambridge. It’s unclear how much of this was homosexual and how much was narcissism.

I’m not going to repeat the stories of Wilde’s gay experiments, cruising and rent boys. From the perspective of this book, what’s interesting is Constance’s reaction which is that she didn’t know about it. She thought Oscar liked surrounding himself with youthful adorers (which was indeed true) but when he disappeared on absences and his affections seemed directed elsewhere, Constance thought it was to a woman and Moyle details the several women Constance was jealous of. In fact, in the period 1887 to 1889 Moyle calculates that Wilde had six homosexual lovers (p.181).

The Portrait of Mr W.H.

It’s striking that Frank Harris thought it was the publication of Wilde’s essay-dialogue about the disputed identity of the muse of Shakespeare’s Sonnets, ‘The Portrait of Mr W. H.’, in the July 1889 edition of Blackwood’s Magazine, which began the ruin of his reputation. Up till then he had been a well-known figure of fun in London Society and the Press, portrayed as a workshy, effeminate fop. But he worked on the ‘Portrait’ with Robbie Ross as ‘a barely concealed apology for homosexual love’ (p.179). Friends and colleagues in the literary world advised against publishing it but Wilde went ahead and it marked a change in tone of the attacks on him, from cheerful satire to beginning to detect ‘immoral tendencies’. As we know, this would snowball.

Separate lives

By the end of 1889 the pair were living separate lives. Oscar often stayed out at hotels for nights on end, allegedly to concentrate on his writing, in reality to entertain streams of young men. There were arguments and recriminations. Constance developed a close friendship with another older woman, Georgina Cowper-Temple (vegetarian, anti-vivisectionist) the latest in a line of mother figures (‘I turn to you for love and claim a Mother’s love because I need it so desperately’). Georgina lived nearby, in Cheyne Walk in Chelsea, but also owned a big house on the coast at Babbacombe which was a shrine to pre-Raphaelite taste.

She also brought with her a passion for devout Christianity. As she felt more isolated in her private life (and worn down with concern for her dissolute brother Otho) Constance developed an intense late-Victorian Christian devoutness. She started attending church every day, making notes on sermons.

All this suited Oscar as it allowed him to pursue his own life, not just sex but all the socialising and schmoozing, the dinners and openings and whatnot required of someone trying to sustain a career as a freelance writer in London.

Moyle’s account of these years seen from Constance’s perspective are fascinating. As a general summary what comes over is that Oscar, despite long absences – for example months spent in Paris where he was writing Salome and having gay affairs – he continued to write regular letters to Constance full of the most loving endearments. Like a lot of women, Moyle struggles with the notion that a man can have sex with someone else and yet still love his wife, but that’s what Wilde appeared to do. Or he preserved one type or mode of love for her and the family life she created for him; other, most passionate and excitingly transgressive modes were expressed elsewhere. Human beings are complex.

Anyway, although they were now mostly living apart – with Constance taking holidays at friends’ houses around the UK – Oscar still sent her copies of his new play ‘Lady Windermere’s Fan’ to her and, a little later, the first copy of his next book of fairy stories, ‘A House of Pomegranates’ in November 1891 (p.199).

Enter Bosie

Bosie’s personality was twisted and difficult. Demanding and hedonistic, greedy and selfish… (p.221)

In Moyle’s account all this changes with the arrival of Lord Alfred Douglas (‘Bosie’) in Wilde’s life in June 1891. The pair were introduced by poet Lionel Johnson (p.194). But it was in only a year later, in May 1892, that Bosie was being blackmailed by a fellow student at Oxford and turned to Wilde for help and Wilde brought in his trusted lawyer George Lewis, that really clinched the affair. By June they were lovers (p.203).

In August 1892 the family hired a farmhouse near Cromer for Wilde to complete ‘A Woman of No Importance’ only for Bosie to invite himself for a day and end up spending weeks. In the autumn Constance’s feckless brother Otho flees his creditors to the Continent to live under the family middle name of Holland (this would be the identity Constance adopted after Oscar’s disgrace).

His character and behaviour were changed by Douglas. While Constance would be staying at Babbacombe with Georgiana, Wilde was extending his network of handsome young gay friends, who themselves had contacts among regular ‘renters’ or gay sex workers. In spring 1893 she went for a break to Italy. Wilde regularly popped over to Paris, partly to supervise production of Salome, partly for gay socialising.

Bosie casually gave away the gifts Oscar lavished on him, including clothes. He gave a suit to gay compadre and unemployed clerk Alfred Wood, which still had in the pocket a candid letter Oscar had written him which Wood tried to blackmail Oscar with (p.217). While Constance was doing an Italian tour with a lady companion and improving her skills with a Kodak camera, Wilde was staging orgies and holding court among adoring young men and being blackmailed.

Nonetheless Oscar still wrote loving letters to her and Moyle points out that most biographies of him fail to take into account how attached he remained to her right till the end.

Oscar’s behaviour in every respect had changed. At the curtain call of ‘Lady Windermere’s Fan’ (20 February 1892) he had provoked the audience not so much by ironically thanking them for their good taste nor for wearing a metal buttonhole, but for smoking as he did so, which was still regarded as impolite. At the first night of ‘A Woman of No Importance’ (19 April) 1893 most of the audience applauded but there were hisses and boos. Rumours were spreading of his transgressive lifestyle and Oscar again taunted the audience.

In June 1893 the Wildes hired a house at Goring. Bosie hired the staff who were insubordinate and sometimes drunk. For the first time Constance felt alienated. And for the first time Wilde started to be rude to her in front of others (p.211). The Belgian poet Pierre-Félix Louÿs who Oscar dedicated ‘Salome’ to cut off his friendship with Wilde when he witnessed the latter deliberately reduce Constance to tears in a hotel room in front of Bosie (p.223).

By August Wilde was exhausted by Bosie’s neediness, greed and tantrums and fled to France. Constance’s perpetual absence from Tite Street began to look like flight. Everything which warmed the first few years of their marriage had ended. On the rare occasions either returned there it felt an abandoned shell.

In the letters we have of hers, the ones she sent friends such as Georgina, she commonly refers to Oscar’s absences or holidays due to him being unwell. Moyle floats the theory that Constance may have been advised by one or more friends or doctors that Oscar’s homosexuality was an illness which could be cured. Alternatively, it might have been a comforting way of hiding from herself and others what she either suspected or knew to be true i.e. he had fallen out of love with her and in love with a disastrous young man.

Later Moyle quotes a letter where Constance describes herself as a ‘hero worshipper’. Nowadays maybe she’d be called a people pleaser. She had set Oscar up on such a high pedestal maybe she was just psychologically incapable of taking him down again.

Finally Wilde fled Bosie to Paris and, according to De Profundis, on the train there realised what a mess he had got his life into. He wrote to Bosie’s mother (who he was in regular correspondence with) suggesting that young scoundrel be sent to Egypt to join the Diplomatic Service. After hiding from Bosie for a month he returned to Tite Street and Constance in October 1893 determined to turn over a new leaf. She revived the house, hired new staff, they started attending plays together (three in one week) and reverted to being a celebrity couple. While Bosie was away from November 1893 to February 1894 all was like old times.

Then Constance made the worst mistake of her life. Bosie had been bombarding Oscar with letters to be allowed to see him again. Now he telegraphed Constance and Constance, writing that she felt it unbecoming of Oscar to ignore his friend, encouraged him to go and meet Paris. Catastrophe. As soon as they were reunited the pair fell into their old ways, ruinously expensive dining, sleeping together, posing ostentatiously. When he returned to London Oscar had reverted to being his cold self again.

Enter the Marquess of Queensbury

But a new element entered, Bosie’s almost insanely angry and vengeful father, John Sholto Douglas, the eighth Marquess of Queensbury. Queensbury began bombarding Wilde with messages telling him to cease his relationship with his son. He visited Wilde in Tite Street for a furious confrontation where Queensbury threatened to have Wilde horsewhipped and Wild threatened to shoot him. Bosie bought a pistol which he carried round with him and let off in the Berkeley Hotel, an incident covered in the newspapers which added to Wilde’s by-now seriously tarnished reputation (p.240).

I was interested to learn that in the summer of 1894 Wilde consulted a lawyer about taking out a restraining order on Queensbury or suing him for libel – in other words the step he was to take a year later. I.e. the 1895 libel action wasn’t a spontaneous act but rather the fulfilment of a long-considered one.

Constance takes the family on holiday to Worthing. At this time she conceived the idea of a book. I was prepared to be impressed by these signs of her authorial inventiveness so it felt bathetic when Moyle announces that it was to be…a book-length selection of Oscar’s best quotes, to be titled Oscariana. Not quite so original after all. But the main point is that, surprisingly, Constance seems to have fallen in with the young publisher tasked with helping to produce it, the general manager of Hatchard’s, one Arthur Humphreys. He was also trapped in an unhappy marriage and a member of the Society for Psychical Research.

During this holiday Oscar was sweet with the boys and sketched out the storyline for a play about a man who is beastly to his wife and drives her into having an affair. It was provisionally titled Constance and is evidence (or is it?) that he knew his wife had fallen in love with this Humphreys.

In any event the book was published privately the following year and the summer fling with Humphreys fizzled out.

September 1894

Anyway the Worthing idyll was ruined when Bosie invited himself to stay. In September 1894 Constance was upset by the publication of a novel satirising Oscar and his relationship with Bosie, ‘The Green Carnation’, by an author on the fringes of Oscar’s circle, Robert Hichens.

October 1894

In October Oscar stayed at the Grand Hotel Brighton with Bosie, a vacation he describes with horror in De Profundis. Meanwhile, following The Green Carnation, cartoons of Wilde and Bosie were published. On Constance and Oscar’s next visit to the theatre he was ostentatiously snubbed. December 1894 and the chickens were coming home to roost. Their checks were being bounced by the bank so they were both very anxious that Oscar’s next play, ‘An Ideal Husband’ which he was finishing that winter, would be a theatrical success.

Christmas 1894

At Christmas 1894 Constance had a fall which exacerbated her ill health. Moyle has periodically referred to her ill health, neuralgic pains in her side, being bedridden, intermittent paralysis, gout (p.10, 196).

January 1895

Premiere of ‘An Ideal Husband’. Oscar went on holiday to Algiers with Bosie.

February 1895

By 14 February, Valentine’s Day, he had returned for the first night of ‘The Importance of Being Earnest, a Trivial Comedy for Serious People’ at the St James’s Theatre. Oscar had been tipped off that the Marquess of Queensbury planned to make a speech from the stalls accusing Oscar of immoral relations with his son. He arrived with a bouquet of rotting vegetables but was prevented from entering the theatre by a cordon of police.

On 18 February Wilde arrived at his club, the Albemarle, to discover that the Marquess of Queensberry had been there a few days earlier and, finding Oscar absent, had scribbled on his card the famous words ‘For Oscar Wilde, posing somdomite’.

From here things unravelled quickly, as I’m sure you know and as is available in hundreds of accounts and at last half a dozen films. Because one or more servants at the Albemarle would have seen the accusation he couldn’t afford to ignore it: he was forced to take some action. He considered fleeing to the continent but was prevented by a very simple fact. The Avondale Hotel where he had been staying to be near the theatres where his plays were rehearsing and premiering, was owed money and had confiscated Wilde’s luggage as security (p.256).

Bosie arrived and, not thinking about Oscar’s safety, obsessed with the opportunity of putting his father, who he insensately hated, behind bars, advised Oscar to sue. When he said he had no money, Bosie (falsely) promised that he and his brother and mother would pay the court costs).

And so the well-worn story unfolded:

  • how the trial of Queensbury collapsed on the first day as evidence started to emerge that Wilde was ‘a somdomite’
  • how the evidence justified the public prosecutor in charging Wilde with gross indecency
  • how Wilde’s first trial failed when the jury couldn’t reach a verdict
  • how a second trial was held at which the jury (accurately) found him guilty of acts of gross indecency
  • how the judge, on an evil day, sentenced Wilde to two years hard labour

All was carried out under due process of the law, the evidence was plain to see, the jury did their duty, the judge awarded the sentence mandated by law – and yet this just goes to show that morality and right have nothing to do with law. It still feels like one of the darkest stains on the history of what is jokingly called British justice

Anyway, this is a book about Constance. How did all this affect her? During the build-up to the trial she was once again ill. She was diagnosed incapable of walking and needed care so went to stay with her aunt Napier.

It beggars belief that Wilde and Bosie were so sure of their case that Oscar let himself be persuaded to take the young egotist to Monte Carlo. Not only did they parade themselves in the most talked-about spot in Europe, but their holiday à deux was widely reported in the British press and could only confirm in the public mind all the Marquess’s accusations.

25 March 1895

Oscar and Bosie return to Britain.

28 March 1895

Trial date set for 3 April. While the pair had been gallivanting the Marquess of Queensbury had hired private detectives who had done an impressive job tracking down and getting evidence from an impressive number of Wilde’s gay sexual contacts.

1 April 1895

Constance’s last act for Oscar as a free man was to agree to accompany him and Bosie to the theatre, in a vain attempt, far too late, to rehabilitate his reputation or at least to put on a united front. So on the night of 1 April 1895 Constance put on one of her best outfits and the three of them arrived by carriage at the St James’s Theatre for a performance of ‘The Importance of Being Earnest’ determined to face down the mob. It’s hard for us to understand why Wilde clung on to Bosie’s company right to the last, and even harder to understand why Constance agreed to go with him and BosieSurely she should have insisted that just she and Oscar go as a couple in order to present a happy heterosexual face to the world.

3 April 1895

Wilde’s libel trial against Queensbury begins. By 5 April it has collapsed as the Marquess’s lawyers presented a litany of evidence proving Wilde’s homosexual associations with a long list of young men and male prostitutes.

24 April 1895

The entire contents of Tite street, all the family belongings, were sold at auction to pay Oscar’s creditors. Some things were simply stolen. Constance had kept all of Oscar’s letters to her in a blue binder. This vanished and all the letters with it.

26 April 1895

Start of the first trial, Oscar and Alfred Taylor charged with 25 counts of gross indecency and conspiracy to procure acts of indecency. Within a week it collapsed as the jury failed to agree a verdict. Oscar was allowed out on bail (provided by the Reverend Stewart Headlam). All his friends begged him to flee abroad. No hotel would have him so he stayed with his friend Ada Leverson. Constance visited him once and pleaded with him to flee. Like a fool he refused.

20 May 1895

Second trial begins. On 25 May he was found guilty on all counts and sentenced to two years hard labour.

During Oscar’s imprisonment

Moyle shows how Constance’s friends and acquaintances divided, most sticking by her but some blaming her for being a bad wife in letting her husband carry on like this. Friends who visited described her as the most miserable woman in London. To her rescue came Edward Burne-Jones’s son, Philip, who offered her clear legal and financial advice. Moyle’s account shows how Constance’s behaviour was consistently motivated by concern to protect her children and secure their futures.

Money

The central point was that, if she were to die, all her money, property and income would revert to Oscar who, on the record of the past five years, would blow it all on his improvident lover leaving Cyril and Vyvyan with nothing. The key goal then, was to legally and financially separate from Oscar.

Name

At the same time, now that the Wilde name was irretrievably ruined and a curse on all who bore it, the best thing would be to change her and especially the children’s names. This she did, adopting the family name of Holland for herself and the two boys in October 1895 (p.284)

Exile

And, seeing as the lease on Tite Street had run out, all its contents had been auctioned off in the 24 April fire sale, there was nothing to stop her from going to live abroad and changing her name, which is what she did. Through her own family, but especially via Oscar, she had become good friends with some of the posh Brits who preferred to live abroad (notably Margaret Brooke, the Ranee of Sarawak, p.283).

She (and the boys) had already got used to a life largely lived moving around, staying with wealthy friends, at other people’s houses, sometimes at hotels. Now she shifted this way of life to the Continent and the last few chapters detail the impressive number of locations Constance lived at, sometimes with the boys, sometimes sending them to stay with relatives, or to boarding schools (in Germany), sometimes with her brother Otho, whose rackety life and second marriage had fallen down the social scale so that he was renting a few rooms in a house shared with the landlord.

June 1895 Glion near Lake Geneva

September 1895 Otho’s chalet in Bevaix

November 1895 Sori, outside Nervi on the Italian Riviera, to be near Brooke

Christmas 1895 Genoa for the operation

April 1896 Heidelberg

In her last year Constance divided her time between Heidelberg, Nervi and Bevaix. For a while she stayed with the Ranee of Sarawak at her villa, the Villa Ruffo.

September 1897 Villa Elvira, Bogliasco, near Nervi

Oscar and Constance

The story of Constance and Oscar’s relationship in the three years between his conviction (May 1895) and her death (April 1898) is complicated but makes for fascinating reading. She visited him in prison twice, first time on 21 September 1895, and was appalled at his condition, second time in order to be the person to tell him that his beloved mother, Speranza, had died in February 1896. She made him an offer to pay him (from her own straitened funds) £150 a year on his release. Basically, she continued to be a doggedly loyal and loving wife but was sorely tried and, eventually, alienated by the behaviour of Oscar’s advisers and friends.

One aspect of this was money. To recoup the costs of the trial Queensbury had forced Wilde into bankruptcy, compelling him to attend the Bankruptcy Court, in his prison outfit, on 24 September and again on 12 November. Here his debts were announced as £3,591 (most of which had been lavished on Bosie). What assets remained were placed in the hands of the Official Receiver. One of these was a life interest in Constance’s private income. Legally, this interest was now available to anyone to buy and it was to become a bitter bone of contention between the couple. Because Constance, not unreasonably, considered it hers, whereas Oscar’s advisers advised him to buy it so as to guarantee him some income.

Their rival bid in the spring of 1896 blocked her own (p.293). Robbie Ross wrote to explain that they were taking this step because they’d heard that Queensbury himself was bidding to buy it, but it felt to Constance like yet another betrayal. Advisors on both side became increasingly suspicious of the other side’s intentions. Constance became paranoid that their next move would be to legally remove the boys from her care, which she was prepared to fight tooth and nail.

The situation deteriorated until Constance instructed her solicitor to write Wilde a blunt letter telling him to do as she wanted or she would divorce him, the life interest would become null and void, and she would gain sole custody of the children. By now, a year into his sentence, Wilde was in very poor shape mentally and physically.

Under the false impression that his friends had gathered a sizeable fund to support him after his release he decided to play hardball and, in December 1896, told his solicitor to demand both the life interest and an increased dole of £200 per annum from Constance.

This was the last straw and Constance initiated legal proceedings which, on 12 February, awarded her custody of the children along with ‘a responsible person’. She named her neighbour from Tite Street, Adrian Hope, who she also made the sole beneficiary of her will.

Interestingly, though, her plans to divorce Oscar were stymied. It turned out that she should have done it straight after the trial and cited the legal evidence revealed in the trial as her grounds. By delaying for 18 months she had, in legal terms, condoned his offences and they could no longer be used as grounds for divorce. To divorce Oscar now she would have to bring a new court case which would probably require reviving much of the evidence from his trial. This, understandably, made her pause.

In April 1897 Wilde was preparing for his release and realised what a fool he’d been. He realised with a thump that his friends had not gathered a fund for him to live on, and that he would be almost completely dependent on Constance’s goodwill which his allies had, regrettably, alienated.

The net result of all these negotiations and misunderstandings was that in the month of his release, May 1895, Wilde was forced to sign a legal agreement with Constance’s solicitors agreeing to a) a legal separation b) the life insurance assigned entirely to Constance c) Constance agreeing an annual stipend of £150. This latter was dependent on Oscar not mixing with ‘disreputable people’ meaning, of course, Bosie. Oscar was humiliated but forced to sign it.

The year after prison

Wilde was released from prison on 20 May 1897. Constance died on 7 April 1898. In those 12 months the following happened. On the day of his release he took the boat train to France and took rooms in the Channel village of Berneval-sur-Mer. Oscar and she corresponded. Oscar invited her and the boys to come and meet him but she prevaricated. Partly this was because the boys were in boarding schools but partly the deterioration in her health.

Moyle describes this as a big mistake. A grand gesture was called for, a magnanimous reunion and mutual forgiveness. Instead Constance’s failure to reply left the weak and vulnerable Oscar open to the importunities of others chief among whom was, of course, Bosie. After taking the boys for a summer holiday to the Black Forest Constance moved into a new villa outside Nervi and began preparing it for Oscar’s visit and the Grand Reconciliation.

Imagine her horror when she received a letter from him asking the visit date to be put back till October (when the boys would be back at school) and stamped as coming from Naples. Naples! Notorious haunt of the person Constance now calls ‘the dreadful person’. It seemed to Constance that the nightmare had returned: Oscar had fallen back into his old addiction. He had chosen Bosie over her and over his sons. He was ‘as weak as water’. For the first time she snapped, her love broke. She realised she didn’t sympathise with his weakness. Now she despised him.

She wrote him a stern letter which doesn’t survive but we have then letter Wilde wrote in response to Robbie. This includes the very telling lines:

Women are so petty and Constance has no imagination. Perhaps for revenge she will have another trial: then she may claim to have for the first time in her life influenced me.

This is a revealing indication of Wilde’s true unadorned opinion of her. Meanwhile Constance had snapped and wanted nothing more to do with him. He had breached the terms of their legal agreement and so she cut off her allowance to him.

Christmas came and went with presents from friends. She went to see Vyvyan in Monaco. In January she learned that Wilde and Bosie had separated. In February she received a copy of The Ballad of Reading Gaol and was moved by it. She asked a mutual friend Carlos Blacker to find out where Oscar was. He tracked Oscar down to a cheap hotel in Paris and found a broken, querulous man who was only interested in cadging money. Moyle quotes a long letter which lays bare the money situation which was that Constance herself had very little and was still trying to pay off Oscar’s borrowings to old friends and so would now never give him money directly, but only pay his bills directly to the landlord of whichever hotel he was holed up in. He was utterly untrustworthy with money.

Constance’s death

I knew that Constance died before Wilde but maybe the biggest surprise of the entire book was the revelation that her doctors killed her in a botched operation.

Moyle has prepared the way by telling us all through the book about Constance’s poor health – gout, neuralgia, back and arm pains, partial paralysis and so on – and her occasional hints that there was a gynaecological aspect to her illness, though no details survive. (Elsewhere I have read the view that these were the symptoms of multiple sclerosis – and that ‘The second doctor was an Italian, Luigi Maria Bossi, who somehow thought that neurological and mental illness could be cured with gynaecological operations’ – etinkerbell. Moyle is nowhere as explicit this and doesn’t mention the multiple sclerosis diagnosis anywhere.)

Anyway, at Christmas 1895 she had gone to see a Dr Bossi, a gynaecologist in Genoa. This man claimed he could cure the creeping paralysis of her left side with an operation. She underwent an operation just before Christmas 1895, took a month to recuperate, but then did feel better.

Then a lot of water under the bridge, as summarised above. And then, in April 1897, she went to see Bossi again. On 2 April she underwent another operation. Moyle says the details are unclear. There is mention of the creeping paralysis, of tumours and the renewed hint of something gynaecological. She survived the operation but the paralysis accelerated and eventually stopped her heart. She had written to her brother and the Ranee to come see her but neither made it in time.

Otho blamed the doctors. He wrote to Lady Mount-Temple that the Italian doctor heading the clinic had suddenly mysteriously gone abroad. Nobody had told Constance how serious the operation might be. Friends and doctors in England had advised against an operation. They were right but then again, they weren’t the ones suffering from creeping paralysis and desperate to fix it.

Oscar was devastated. He wrote to Blacker ‘If only we had met once and kissed.’ If only Constance had made the effort to go see him in Dieppe, maybe he wouldn’t have fallen back in with Bosie, maybe they would have patched something up, she wouldn’t have cut off his allowance, he would have prevented her having the fatal operation.

Constance was buried on 9 April in Genoa’s Campo Santo cemetery.

Summary

I’m glad this book exists. Kudos to Franny Moyle for researching and writing it. I think she a little overeggs Constance’s achievements – in the middle sections making more of Constance’s literary or acting careers than they merit, towards the end making a big deal of her taking up photography when in fact she just appears to have taken half-decent holiday snaps, and so on.

But she doesn’t really need to. Constance’s achievements speak for themselves – being the loving supportive wife of one of the great writers of the day, decorating their house in a stunning modern style and hosting her fashionable at-homes, presenting a united aesthetic front at the theatre and art galleries, maintaining an interest in a host of causes from women’s rights and political involvement and the Liberal Federation through to the (to us) wilder reaches of spirituality, psychic research and the Golden Dawn. And much more.

It wasn’t a great life and Constance isn’t an interesting figure in any intellectual sense. Her writings are thin and her letters reveal a very run-of-the-mill, dutiful, limited and conformist personality. What evidence we have is that she hadn’t a clue about Oscar’s intellectual concerns; in no way was she anywhere near his intellectual equal. But that doesn’t matter.

Obviously being married to Oscar Wilde was a unique position, but in many other ways she’s a very representative figure of her time, particularly in her resistance to the restricted life dictated to women by the Victorian patriarchy and her restless search for other interests and activities and purposes to fill her life.

So many biographies are of kings and queens or great soldiers or great artists and so on. Constance wasn’t a great anything very much. In the end she’s remembered, like countless mothers through the ages, for her spirited defence of her children. But Moyle’s book shows us that, also like countless mothers through the ages, her life was much, much more than that.

And of course, her biography acts as a powerful corrective to the hundreds of books, thousands of articles, and half dozen movies which go on about Oscar Oscar Oscar. Their marriage had two people in it and Moyle has done a great job of bringing Mrs Oscar Wilde to life, presenting her as a sympathetic and valid person in her own right.

Coda: on biography

I’m glad I’m not famous and have achieved next to nothing in my life. Imagine 120 years after your death having all your private letters published, having every development in your private life, every mood, every emotion, every unwise word and silly decision, blazoned for all the world to read, allowing millions of complete strangers to assess and judge you. What a nightmare.

There’s something horrifying about the entire idea of biography.


Credit

Constance: The Tragic and Scandalous Life of Mrs Oscar Wilde by Franny Moyle was published by John Murray in 2011. References are to the 2012 paperback edition.

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Oscar Wilde’s anti-English attitudes

Oscar Wilde was Irish through and through, born of Irish parents, raised and educated in Dublin. His father was Ireland’s pre-eminent eye and ear surgeon and his mother was a fiery Irish nationalist who wrote poems about an independent Ireland under the nom-de-plume of Speranza or ‘Hope’. (In De Profundis Wilde writes that his mother ‘intellectually ranks with Elizabeth Barrett Browning and historically with Madame Roland’, DP p.224). Wilde was raised in an atmosphere sympathetic to anti-British rebels and revolutionaries.

So although he moved to England and, after some struggle, established himself as a writer in London’s competitive literary world, and although he invoked and catered to the English upper classes in all his entertainments, he was consistently, sometimes astonishingly rude about the English, sometimes straightforwardly insulting.

I searched his works for quotes mentioning ‘England’, ‘English’, ‘British’ and ‘this country’ to build up a collage of his opinions.

The Soul of Man under Socialism (1891)

English philistinism:

 …the stupidity and hypocrisy and Philistinism of the English

…the vulgar theatre-going public of English men and women…

English law:

So completely has man’s personality been absorbed by his possessions that the English law has always treated offences against a man’s property with far more severity than offences against his person…

When private property is abolished there will be no necessity for crime, no demand for it; it will cease to exist. Of course, all crimes are not crimes against property, though such are the crimes that the English law, valuing what a man has more than what a man is, punishes with the harshest and most horrible severity…

English charity:

In the present state of things in England, the people who do most harm are the people who try to do most good…

The arts in England:

In England, the arts that have escaped best are the arts in which the public take no interest. Poetry is an instance of what I mean. We have been able to have fine poetry in England because the public do not read it, and consequently do not influence it. The public like to insult poets because they are individual, but once they have insulted them, they leave them alone. In the case of the novel and the drama, arts in which the public do take an interest, the result of the exercise of popular authority has been absolutely ridiculous. No country produces such badly-written fiction, such tedious, common work in the novel form, such silly, vulgar plays as England.

And a really sustained broadside against the stupidity and vulgarity of the English public, he turns to their attitudes to ‘the classics:

This acceptance of the classics does a great deal of harm. The uncritical admiration of the Bible and Shakespeare in England is an instance of what I mean. With regard to the Bible, considerations of ecclesiastical authority enter into the matter, so that I need not dwell upon the point. But in the case of Shakespeare it is quite obvious that the public really see neither the beauties nor the defects of his plays. If they saw the beauties, they would not object to the development of the drama; and if they saw the defects, they would not object to the development of the drama either. The fact is, the public make use of the classics of a country as a means of checking the progress of Art. They degrade the classics into authorities. They use them as bludgeons for preventing the free expression of Beauty in new forms. They are always asking a writer why he does not write like somebody else, or a painter why he does not paint like somebody else, quite oblivious of the fact that if either of them did anything of the kind he would cease to be an artist. A fresh mode of Beauty is absolutely distasteful to them, and whenever it appears they get so angry, and bewildered that they always use two stupid expressions – one is that the work of art is grossly unintelligible; the other, that the work of art is grossly immoral. What they mean by these words seems to me to be this: When they say a work is grossly unintelligible, they mean that the artist has said or made a beautiful thing that is new; when they describe a work as grossly immoral, they mean that the artist has said or made a beautiful thing that is true. The former expression has reference to style; the latter to subject-matter. But they probably use the words very vaguely, as an ordinary mob will use ready-made paving-stones. There is not a single real poet or prose-writer of this century, for instance, on whom the British public have not solemnly conferred diplomas of immorality, and these diplomas practically take the place, with us, of what in France, is the formal recognition of an Academy of Letters, and fortunately make the establishment of such an institution quite unnecessary in England.

You can see how he engineers a position from which he can regard the accusations of ‘immorality’ routinely made against his work, with pride.

The true artist is a man who believes absolutely in himself, because he is absolutely himself. But I can fancy that if an artist produced a work of art in England that immediately on its appearance was recognised by the public, through their medium, which is the public press, as a work that was quite intelligible and highly moral, he would begin to seriously question whether in its creation he had really been himself at all, and consequently whether the work was not quite unworthy of him, and either of a thoroughly second-rate order, or of no artistic value whatsoever.

Therefore:

On the whole, an artist in England gains something by being attacked. His individuality is intensified. He becomes more completely himself. Of course, the attacks are very gross, very impertinent, and very contemptible. But then no artist expects grace from the vulgar mind, or style from the suburban intellect. Vulgarity and stupidity are two very vivid facts in modern life. One regrets them, naturally. But there they are.

And the attempt to be genuinely, unselfishly sympathetic is particularly difficult in that particularly selfish, unsympathetic nation, England:

In the modern stress of competition and struggle for place, such sympathy is naturally rare, and is also very much stifled by the immoral ideal of uniformity of type and conformity to rule which is so prevalent everywhere, and is perhaps most obnoxious in England.

Which explains why her greatest artists had to flee:

Most personalities have been obliged to be rebels. Half their strength has been wasted in friction. Byron’s personality, for instance, was terribly wasted in its battle with the stupidity, and hypocrisy, and Philistinism of the English. Such battles do not always intensify strength: they often exaggerate weakness. Byron was never able to give us what he might have given us. Shelley escaped better. Like Byron, he got out of England as soon as possible. But he was not so well known. If the English had had any idea of what a great poet he really was, they would have fallen on him with tooth and nail, and made his life as unbearable to him as they possibly could. But he was not a remarkable figure in society, and consequently he escaped, to a certain degree. Still, even in Shelley the note of rebellion is sometimes too strong. The note of the perfect personality is not rebellion, but peace.

The Critic as Artist (1891)

I dislike modern memoirs. They are generally written by people who have either entirely lost their memories, or have never done anything worth remembering; which, however, is, no doubt, the true explanation of their popularity, as the English public always feels perfectly at its ease when a mediocrity is talking to it.

ERNEST: I have a foolish habit of reading periodicals, and it seems to me that most modern criticism is perfectly valueless.
GILBERT: So is most modern creative work also. Mediocrity weighing mediocrity in the balance, and incompetence applauding its brother — that is the spectacle which the artistic activity of England affords us from time to time.

There is no country in the world so much in need of unpractical people as this country of ours. With us, Thought is degraded by its constant association with practice. Who that moves in the stress and turmoil of actual existence, noisy politician, or brawling social reformer, or poor narrow-minded priest blinded by the sufferings of that unimportant section of the community among whom he has cast his lot, can seriously claim to be able to form a disinterested intellectual judgment about any one thing?

England will never be civilised till she has added Utopia to her dominions.

The real weakness of England lies, not in incomplete armaments or unfortified coasts, not in the poverty that creeps through sunless lanes, or the drunkenness that brawls in loathsome courts, but simply in the fact that her ideals are emotional and not intellectual.

I need hardly say, Ernest, how far we in England have fallen short of this ideal, and I can imagine the smile that would illuminate the glossy face of the Philistine if one ventured to suggest to him that the true aim of education was the love of beauty, and that the methods by which education should work were the development of temperament, the cultivation of taste, and the creation of the critical spirit.

England has done one thing; it has invented and established Public Opinion, which is an attempt to organise the ignorance of the community, and to elevate it to the dignity of physical force. But Wisdom has always been hidden from it. Considered as an instrument of thought, the English mind is coarse and undeveloped. The only thing that can purify it is the growth of the critical instinct.

How little we have of this temper in England, and how much we need it! The English mind is always in a rage. The intellect of the race is wasted in the sordid and stupid quarrels of second-rate politicians or third-rate theologians. It was reserved for a man of science to show us the supreme example of that ‘sweet reasonableness’ of which Arnold spoke so wisely, and, alas! to so little effect. The author of the Origin of Species had, at any rate, the philosophic temper. If one contemplates the ordinary pulpits and platforms of England, one can but feel the contempt of Julian, or the indifference of Montaigne. We are dominated by the fanatic, whose worst vice is his sincerity. Anything approaching to the free play of the mind is practically unknown amongst us. People cry out against the sinner, yet it is not the sinful, but the stupid, who are our shame. There is no sin except stupidity.

The Decay of Lying (1891)

Fortunately, in England at any rate, thought is not catching. Our splendid physique as a people is entirely due to our national stupidity. I only hope we shall be able to keep this great historic bulwark of our happiness for many years to come.

Robert Elsmere is of course a masterpiece — a masterpiece of the genre ennuyeux, the one form of literature that the English people seem to thoroughly enjoy. A thoughtful young friend of ours once told us that it reminded him of the sort of conversation that goes on at a meat tea in the house of a serious non-comformist family, and we can quite believe it. Indeed it is only in England that such a book could be produced. England is the home of lost ideas.

In the English Church a man succeeds, not through his capacity for belief but through his capacity for disbelief. Ours is the only Church where the sceptic stands at the altar, and where St. Thomas is regarded as the ideal apostle. Many a worthy clergyman, who passes his life in admirable works of kindly charity, lives and dies unnoticed and unknown; but it is sufficient for some shallow uneducated passman out of either University to get up in his pulpit and express his doubts about Noah’s ark, or Balaam’s ass, or Jonah and the whale, for half of London to flock to hear him, and to sit open-mouthed in rapt admiration at his superb intellect. The growth of common sense in the English Church is a thing very much to be regretted. It is really a degrading concession to a low form of realism.

The dreams of the great middle classes of this country, as recorded in Mr Myers’s two bulky volumes on the subject and in the Transactions of the Psychical Society, are the most depressing things that I have ever read. There is not even a fine nightmare among them. They are commonplace, sordid and tedious.

The Picture of Dorian Gray (1891)

Of Lord Henry’s uncle, Lord Fermor:

On succeeding…to the title [he] had set himself to the serious study of the great aristocratic art of doing absolutely nothing. He had two large town houses, but preferred to live in chambers as it was less trouble, and took most of his meals at his club. He paid some attention to the management of his collieries in the Midland counties, excusing himself for this taint of industry on the ground that the one advantage of having coal was that it enabled a gentleman to afford the decency of burning wood on his own hearth. In politics he was a Tory, except when the Tories were in office, during which period he roundly abused them for being a pack of Radicals. He was a hero to his valet, who bullied him, and a terror to most of his relations, whom he bullied in turn. Only England could have produced him, and he always said that the country was going to the dogs

There is no literary public in England for anything except newspapers, primers, and encyclopaedias. Of all people in the world the English have the least sense of the beauty of literature.’

LORD HENRY: ‘If one puts forward an idea to a true Englishman — always a rash thing to do — he never dreams of considering whether the idea is right or wrong. The only thing he considers of any importance is whether one believes it oneself. Now, the value of an idea has nothing whatsoever to do with the sincerity of the man who expresses it. Indeed, the probabilities are that the more insincere the man is, the more purely intellectual will the idea be, as in that case it will not be coloured by either his wants, his desires, or his prejudices.’

DORIAN: ‘I know how people chatter in England. The middle classes air their moral prejudices over their gross dinner-tables, and whisper about what they call the profligacies of their betters in order to try and pretend that they are in smart society and on intimate terms with the people they slander. In this country, it is enough for a man to have distinction and brains for every common tongue to wag against him. And what sort of lives do these people, who pose as being moral, lead themselves? My dear fellow, you forget that we are in the native land of the hypocrite.’

BASIL: ‘England is bad enough I know, and English society is all wrong.’

LORD HENRY: ‘Ugliness is one of the seven deadly virtues. You, as a good Tory, must not underrate them. Beer, the Bible, and the seven deadly virtues have made our England what she is.’

Mr. Chapman began to talk in a loud voice about the situation in the House of Commons. He guffawed at his adversaries. The word doctrinaire — word full of terror to the British mind — reappeared from time to time between his explosions. An alliterative prefix served as an ornament of oratory. He hoisted the Union Jack on the pinnacles of thought. The inherited stupidity of the race — sound English common sense he jovially termed it — was shown to be the proper bulwark for society.

‘The inherited stupidity of the race’. Did Wilde actually hate the English?

Lady Alice Chapman, his hostess’s daughter, a dowdy dull girl, with one of those characteristic British faces that, once seen, are never remembered; and her husband, a red-cheeked, white-whiskered creature who, like so many of his class, was under the impression that inordinate joviality can atone for an entire lack of ideas.

Some of this is just wit and banter, but still…

‘You don’t like your country, then?’ she asked.
‘I live in it.’
‘That you may censure it the better.’
‘Would you have me take the verdict of Europe on it?’ he inquired.
‘What do they say of us?’
‘That Tartuffe has emigrated to England and opened a shop.’
‘Is that yours, Harry?’
‘I give it to you.’
‘I could not use it. It is too true.’
‘You need not be afraid. Our countrymen never recognize a description.’
‘They are practical.’
‘They are more cunning than practical. When they make up their ledger, they balance stupidity by wealth, and vice by hypocrisy.’
‘Still, we have done great things.’
‘Great things have been thrust on us.’
‘We have carried their burden.’
‘Only as far as the Stock Exchange.’
She shook her head. ‘I believe in the race,’ she cried.
‘It represents the survival of the pushing.’

Obviously the word ‘burden’ rings bells for anyone familiar with Kipling’s 1899 poem, The White Man’s Burden, and is a kind of pre-emptive mockery of it.

‘My dear boy, they have only been talking about it [Basil Hallward’s mysterious disappearance] for six weeks, and the British public are really not equal to the mental strain of having more than one topic every three months.’

‘By the way, what has become of that wonderful portrait he did of you?…Oh! I remember your telling me years ago that you had sent it down to Selby, and that it had got mislaid or stolen on the way…What a pity! it was really a masterpiece. I remember I wanted to buy it…It belonged to Basil’s best period. Since then, his work was that curious mixture of bad painting and good intentions that always entitles a man to be called a representative British artist.’

De Profundis

(Page references are to the 1979 Oxford University Press paperback edition of The Selected Letters of Oscar Wilde edited by Rupert Hart-Davis.)

Writing about Jesus, Wilde says:

His chief war was against the Philistines. That is the war every child of light has to wage. Philistinism was the note of the age and community in which he lived. In their heavy inaccessibility to ideas, their dull respectability, their tedious orthodoxy, their worship of vulgar success, their entire preoccupation with the gross materialistic side of life, and their ridiculous estimate of themselves and their importance, the Jews of Jerusalem in Christ’s day were the exact counterpart of the British Philistine of our own.

Christ mocked at the ‘whited sepulchre’ of respectability, and fixed that phrase for ever. He treated worldly success as a thing absolutely to be despised. He saw nothing in it at all. He looked on wealth as an encumbrance to a man. He would not hear of life being sacrificed to any system of thought or morals. He pointed out that forms and ceremonies were made for man, not man for forms and ceremonies. He took sabbatarianism as a type of the things that should be set at nought. The cold philanthropies, the ostentatious public charities, the tedious formalisms so dear to the middle-class mind, he exposed with utter and relentless scorn…

In a completely different vein, Wilde execrates Lord Alfred Douglas’s father, the Marquess of Queensberry, and his motives for bringing the court case against Wilde, namely to get his name in the papers.

To pose as a champion of purity, as it is termed, is, in the present condition of the British public, the surest way of becoming for the nonce a heroic figure. Of this public I said in one of my plays that if it is Caliban for one half of the year, it is Tartuffe for the other… (p.226)

And on the same subject:

The fact that your father loathed you and you loathed your father was not a matter of any interest to the English public. Such feelings are very common in English domestic life and should be confined to the place they characterise: the home. (p.232)

No great conclusions to make. Just awe at the sustained animus and occasional real vitriol of Wilde’s attacks which are easy to overlook in the broader contexts of the essays and plays. And helps you understand the widespread support for his prosecution which came from a public he had been bating and insulting for years. On Clapham Junction station, standing chained in prison clothes, the crowd jeered and spat at him. It was an appalling experience but was he really all that surprised?


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