selected prose of oscar wilde- 第17部分

type　both　in　life　and　art。



Behind　joy　and　laughter　there　may　be　a　temperament；　coarse；　hard　and

callous。　　But　behind　sorrow　there　is　always　sorrow。　　Pain；　unlike

pleasure；　wears　no　mask。　　Truth　in　art　is　not　any　correspondence

between　the　essential　idea　and　the　accidental　existence；　it　is　not

the　resemblance　of　shape　to　shadow；　or　of　the　form　mirrored　in　the

crystal　to　the　form　itself；　it　is　no　echo　coming　from　a　hollow　hill；

any　more　than　it　is　a　silver　well　of　water　in　the　valley　that　shows

the　moon　to　the　moon　and　Narcissus　to　Narcissus。　　Truth　in　art　is

the　unity　of　a　thing　with　itself：　　the　outward　rendered　expressive

of　the　inward：　　the　soul　made　incarnate：　　the　body　instinct　with

spirit。　　For　this　reason　there　is　no　truth　comparable　to　sorrow。

There　are　times　when　sorrow　seems　to　me　to　be　the　only　truth。　　Other

things　may　be　illusions　of　the　eye　or　the　appetite；　made　to　blind

the　one　and　cloy　the　other；　but　out　of　sorrow　have　the　worlds　been

built；　and　at　the　birth　of　a　child　or　a　star　there　is　pain。



More　than　this；　there　is　about　sorrow　an　intense；　an　extraordinary

reality。　　I　have　said　of　myself　that　I　was　one　who　stood　in　symbolic

relations　to　the　art　and　culture　of　my　age。　　There　is　not　a　single

wretched　man　in　this　wretched　place　along　with　me　who　does　not　stand

in　symbolic　relation　to　the　very　secret　of　life。　　For　the　secret　of

life　is　suffering。　　It　is　what　is　hidden　behind　everything。　　When　we

begin　to　live；　what　is　sweet　is　so　sweet　to　us；　and　what　is　bitter

so　bitter；　that　we　inevitably　direct　all　our　desires　towards

pleasures；　and　seek　not　merely　for　a　'month　or　twain　to　feed　on

honeycomb；'　but　for　all　our　years　to　taste　no　other　food；　ignorant

all　the　while　that　we　may　really　be　starving　the　soul。De　Profundis







VITA　NUOVA







Far　off；　like　a　perfect　pearl；　one　can　see　the　city　of　God。　　It　is

so　wonderful　that　it　seems　as　if　a　child　could　reach　it　in　a

summer's　day。　　And　so　a　child　could。　　But　with　me　and　such　as　me　it

is　different。　　One　can　realise　a　thing　in　a　single　moment；　but　one

loses　it　in　the　long　hours　that　follow　with　leaden　feet。　　It　is　so

difficult　to　keep　'heights　that　the　soul　is　competent　to　gain。'　　We

think　in　eternity；　but　we　move　slowly　through　time；　and　how　slowly

time　goes　with　us　who　lie　in　prison　I　need　not　tell　again；　nor　of

the　weariness　and　despair　that　creep　back　into　one's　cell；　and　into

the　cell　of　one's　heart；　with　such　strange　insistence　that　one　has；

as　it　were；　to　garnish　and　sweep　one's　house　for　their　coming；　as

for　an　unwelcome　guest；　or　a　bitter　master；　or　a　slave　whose　slave

it　is　one's　chance　or　choice　to　be。



And；　though　at　present　my　friends　may　find　it　a　hard　thing　to

believe；　it　is　true　none　the　less；　that　for　them　living　in　freedom

and　idleness　and　comfort　it　is　more　easy　to　learn　the　lessons　of

humility　than　it　is　for　me；　who　begin　the　day　by　going　down　on　my

knees　and　washing　the　floor　of　my　cell。　　For　prison　life　with　its

endless　privations　and　restrictions　makes　one　rebellious。　　The　most

terrible　thing　about　it　is　not　that　it　breaks　one's　hearthearts

are　made　to　be　brokenbut　that　it　turns　one's　heart　to　stone。　　One

sometimes　feels　that　it　is　only　with　a　front　of　brass　and　a　lip　of

scorn　that　one　can　get　through　the　day　at　all。　　And　he　who　is　in　a

state　of　rebellion　cannot　receive　grace；　to　use　the　phrase　of　which

the　Church　is　so　fondso　rightly　fond；　I　dare　sayfor　in　life　as

in　art　the　mood　of　rebellion　closes　up　the　channels　of　the　soul；　and

shuts　out　the　airs　of　heaven。　　Yet　I　must　learn　these　lessons　here；

if　I　am　to　learn　them　anywhere；　and　must　be　filled　with　joy　if　my

feet　are　on　the　right　road　and　my　face　set　towards　'the　gate　which

is　called　beautiful；'　though　I　may　fall　many　times　in　the　mire　and

often　in　the　mist　go　astray。



This　New　Life；　as　through　my　love　of　Dante　I　like　sometimes　to　call

it；　is　of　course　no　new　life　at　all；　but　simply　the　continuance；　by

means　of　development；　and　evolution；　of　my　former　life。　　I　remember

when　I　was　at　Oxford　saying　to　one　of　my　friends　as　we　were

strolling　round　Magdalen's　narrow　bird…haunted　walks　one　morning　in

the　year　before　I　took　my　degree；　that　I　wanted　to　eat　of　the　fruit

of　all　the　trees　in　the　garden　of　the　world；　and　that　I　was　going

out　into　the　world　with　that　passion　in　my　soul。　　And　so；　indeed；　I

went　out；　and　so　I　lived。　　My　only　mistake　was　that　I　confined

myself　so　exclusively　to　the　trees　of　what　seemed　to　me　the　sun…lit

side　of　the　garden；　and　shunned　the　other　side　for　its　shadow　and

its　gloom。　　Failure；　disgrace；　poverty；　sorrow；　despair；　suffering；

tears　even；　the　broken　words　that　come　from　lips　in　pain；　remorse

that　makes　one　walk　on　thorns；　conscience　that　condemns；　self…

abasement　that　punishes；　the　misery　that　puts　ashes　on　its　head；　the

anguish　that　chooses　sack…cloth　for　its　raiment　and　into　its　own

drink　puts　gall：…　all　these　were　things　of　which　I　was　afraid。　　And

as　I　had　determined　to　know　nothing　of　them；　I　was　forced　to　taste

each　of　them　in　turn；　to　feed　on　them；　to　have　for　a　season；　indeed；

no　other　food　at　all。



I　don't　regret　for　a　single　moment　having　lived　for　pleasure。　　I　did

it　to　the　full；　as　one　should　do　everything　that　one　does。　　There

was　no　pleasure　I　did　not　experience。　　I　threw　the　pearl　of　my　soul

into　a　cup　of　wine。　　I　went　down　the　primrose　path　to　the　sound　of

flutes。　　I　lived　on　honeycomb。　　But　to　have　continued　the　same　life

would　have　been　wrong　because　it　would　have　been　limiting。　　I　had　to

pass　on。　　The　other　half　of　the　garden　had　its　secrets　for　me　also。…

…De　Profundis







THE　GRAND　ROMANTIC







it　is　when　he　deals　with　a　sinner　that　Christ　is　most　romantic；　in

the　sense　of　most　real。　　The　world　had　always　loved　the　saint　as

being　the　nearest　possible　approach　to　the　perfection　of　God。

Christ；　through　some　divine　instinct　in　him；　seems　to　have　always

loved　the　sinner　as　being　the　nearest　possible　approach　to　the

perfection　of　man。　　His　primary　desire　was　not　to　reform　people；　any

more　than　his　primary　desire　was　to　a　relieve　suffering。　　To　turn　an

interesting　thief　into　a　tedious　honest　man　was　not　his　aim。　　He

would　have　thought　little　of　the　Prisoners'　Aid　Society　and　other

modern　movements　of　the　kind。　　The　conversion　of　a　publican　into　a

Pharisee　would　not　have　seemed　to　him　a　great　achievement。　　But　in　a

manner　not　yet　understood　of　the　world　he　regarded　sin　and　suffering

as　being　in　themselves　beautiful　holy　things　and　modes　of

perfection。



It　seems　a　very　dangerous　idea。　　It　isall　great　ideas　are

dangerous。　　That　it　was　Christ's　creed　admits　of　no　doubt。　　That　it

is　the　true　creed　I　don't　doubt　myself。



Of　course　the　sinner　must　repent。　　But　why？　　Simply　because

otherwise　he　would　be　unable　to　realise　what　he　had　done。　　The

moment　of　repentance　is　the　moment　of　initiation。　　More　than　that：

it　is　the　means　by　which　one　alters　one's　past。　　The　Greeks　thought

that　impossible。　　They　often　say　in　their　Gnomic　aphorisms；　'Even

the　Gods　cannot　alter　the　past。'　　Christ　showed　that　the　commonest

sinner　could　do　it；　that　it　was　the　one　thing　he　could　do。　　Christ；

had　he　been　asked；　would　have　saidI　feel　quite　certain　about　it

that　the　moment　the　prodigal　son　fell　on　his　knees　and　wept；　he　made

his　having　wasted　his　substance　with　harlots；　his　swine…herding　and

hungering　for　the　husks　they　ate；　beautiful　and　holy　moments　in　his

life。　　It　is　difficult　for　most　people　to　grasp　the　idea。　　I　dare

say　one　has　to　go　to　prison　to　understand　it。　　If　so；　it　may　be

worth　while　going　to　prison。



There　is　something　so　unique　about　Christ。　　Of　course　just　as　there

are　false　dawns　before　the　dawn　itself；　and　winter　days　so　full　of

sudden　sunlight　that　they　will　cheat　the　wise　crocus　into

squandering　its　gold　before　its　time；　and　make　some　foolish　bird

call　to　its　mate　to　build　on　barren　boughs；　so　there　were　Christians

before　Christ。　　For　that　we　should　be　grateful。　　The　unfortunate

thing　is　that　there　have　been　none　since。　　I　make　one　exception；　St。

Francis　of　Assisi。　　But　then　God　had　given　him　at　his　birth　the　soul

of　a　poet；　as　he　himself　when　quite　young　had　in　mystical　marriage

taken　poverty　as　his　bride：　　and　with　the　soul　of　a　poet　and　the

body　of　a　beggar　he　found　the　way　to　perfection　not　difficult。　　He

understood　Christ；　and　so　he　became　like　him。　　We　do　not　require　the

Liber　Conformitatum　to　teach　us　that　the　life　of　St。　Francis　was　the

true　Imitatio　Christi；　a　poem　compared　to　which　the　book　of　that

name　is　merely　prose。



Indeed；　that　is　the　charm　about　Christ；　when　all　is　said：　　he　is

just　like　a　work　of　art。　　He　does　not　really　teach　one　anything；　but

by　being　brought　into　his　presence　one　becomes　something。　　And

everybody　is　predestined　to　his　presence。　　Once　at　least　in　his　life

each　man　walks　with　Christ　to　Emmaus。De　Profundis







CLAPHAM　JUNCTION







My　lot　has　been　one　of　public　infamy；　of　long　imprisonment；　of

misery；　of　ruin；　of　disgrace；　but　I　am　not　worthy　of　itnot　yet；　at

any　rate。　　I　remember　that　I　used　to　say　that　I　thought　I　could　bear

a　real　tragedy　if　it　came　to　me　with　purple　pall　and　a　mask　of　noble

sorrow；　but　that　the　dreadful　thing　about　modernity　was　that　it　put

tragedy　into　the　raiment　of　comedy；　so　that　the　great　realities

seemed　commonplace　or　grotesque　or　lacking　in　style。　　It　is　quite

true　about　modernity。　　It　has　probably　always　been　true　about　actual

life。　　It　is　said　that　all　martyrdoms　seemed　mean　to　the　looker　on。

The　nineteenth　century　is　no　exception　to　the　rule。



Everything　about　my　tragedy　has　been　hideous；　mean；　repellent；

lacking　in　style；　our　very　dress　makes　us　grotesque。　　We　are　the

zanies　of　sorrow。　　We　are　clowns　whose　hearts　are　broken。　　We　are

specially　designed　to　appeal　to　the　sense　of　humour。　　On　November

13th；　1895；　I　was　brought　down　here　from　London。　　From　two　o'clock

till　half…past