selected prose of oscar wilde- 第3部分

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

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

we　have　had　beautiful　and　imaginative　work　in　which　the　visible

things　of　life　are　transmuted　into　artistic　conventions；　and　the

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

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

always　become　vulgar；　common　and　uninteresting。　　Modern　tapestry；

with　its　aerial　effects；　its　elaborate　perspective；　its　broad

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

beauty　whatsoever。　　The　pictorial　glass　of　Germany　is　absolutely

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

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

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

depressing　truths；　their　inane　worship　of　Nature；　their　sordid

reproductions　of　visible　objects；　have　become；　even　to　the

Philistine；　a　source　of　laughter。　　A　cultured　Mahomedan　once

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

the　fourth　commandment　that　you　have　never　thought　of　making　an

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

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

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







THE　INFLUENCE　OF　THE　IMPRESSIONISTS　ON　CLIMATE







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

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

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

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

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

bridge　and　swaying　barge？　　The　extraordinary　change　that　has　taken

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

exaggerated　realism　of　their　method　gives　dull　people　bronchitis。

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nobody　of　any　real　culture；　for　instance；　ever　talks　nowadays　about

the　beauty　of　a　sunset。　　Sunsets　are　quite　old…fashioned。　　They

belong　to　the　time　when　Turner　was　the　last　note　in　art。　　To　admire

them　is　a　distinct　sign　of　provincialism　of　temperament。　　Upon　the

other　hand　they　go　on。The　Decay　of　Lying







AN　EXPOSURE　OF　NATURALISM







After　all；　what　the　imitative　arts　really　give　us　are　merely　the

various　styles　of　particular　artists；　or　of　certain　schools　of

artists。　　Surely　you　don't　imagine　that　the　people　of　the　Middle

Ages　bore　any　resemblance　at　all　to　the　figures　on　mediaeval　stained

glass；　or　in　mediaeval　stone　and　wood　carving；　or　on　mediaeval

metal…work；　or　tapestries；　or　illuminated　MSS。　　They　were　probably

very　ordinary…looking　people；　with　nothing　grotesque；　or　remarkable；

or　fantastic　in　their　appearance。　　The　Middle　Ages；　as　we　know　them

in　art；　are　simply　a　definite　form　of　style；　and　there　is　no　reason

at　all　why　an　artist　with　this　style　should　not　be　produced　in　the

nineteenth　century。　　No　great　artist　ever　sees　things　as　they　really

are。　　If　he　did；　he　would　cease　to　be　an　artist。　　Take　an　example

from　our　own　day。　　I　know　that　you　are　fond　of　Japanese　things。

Now；　do　you　really　imagine　that　the　Japanese　people；　as　they　are

presented　to　us　in　art；　have　any　existence？　　If　you　do；　you　have

never　understood　Japanese　art　at　all。　　The　Japanese　people　are　the

deliberate　self…conscious　creation　of　certain　individual　artists。

If　you　set　a　picture　by　Hokusai；　or　Hokkei；　or　any　of　the　great

native　painters；　beside　a　real　Japanese　gentleman　or　lady；　you　will

see　that　there　is　not　the　slightest　resemblance　between　them。　　The

actual　people　who　live　in　Japan　are　not　unlike　the　general　run　of

English　people；　that　is　to　say；　they　are　extremely　commonplace；　and

have　nothing　curious　or　extraordinary　about　them。　　In　fact　the　whole

of　Japan　is　a　pure　invention。　　There　is　no　such　country；　there　are

no　such　people。　　One　of　our　most　charming　painters　｛3｝　went　recently

to　the　Land　of　the　Chrysanthemum　in　the　foolish　hope　of　seeing　the

Japanese。　　All　he　saw；　all　he　had　the　chance　of　painting；　were　a　few

lanterns　and　some　fans。　　He　was　quite　unable　to　discover　the

inhabitants；　as　his　delightful　exhibition　at　Messrs。　Dowdeswell's

Gallery　showed　only　too　well。　　He　did　not　know　that　the　Japanese

people　are；　as　I　have　said；　simply　a　mode　of　style；　an　exquisite

fancy　of　art。　　And　so；　if　you　desire　to　see　a　Japanese　effect；　you

will　not　behave　like　a　tourist　and　go　to　Tokio。　　On　the　contrary；

you　will　stay　at　home　and　steep　yourself　in　the　work　of　certain

Japanese　artists；　and　then；　when　you　have　absorbed　the　spirit　of

their　style；　and　caught　their　imaginative　manner　of　vision；　you　will

go　some　afternoon　and　sit　in　the　Park　or　stroll　down　Piccadilly；　and

if　you　cannot　see　an　absolutely　Japanese　effect　there；　you　will　not

see　it　anywhere。　　Or；　to　return　again　to　the　past；　take　as　another

instance　the　ancient　Greeks。　　Do　you　think　that　Greek　art　ever　tells

us　what　the　Greek　people　were　like？　　Do　you　believe　that　the

Athenian　women　were　like　the　stately　dignified　figures　of　the

Parthenon　frieze；　or　like　those　marvellous　goddesses　who　sat　in　the

triangular　pediments　of　the　same　building？　　If　you　judge　from　the

art；　they　certainly　were　so。　　But　read　an　authority；　like

Aristophanes；　for　instance。　　You　will　find　that　the　Athenian　ladies

laced　tightly；　wore　high…heeled　shoes；　dyed　their　hair　yellow；

painted　and　rouged　their　faces；　and　were　exactly　like　any　silly

fashionable　or　fallen　creature　of　our　own　day。　　The　fact　is　that　we

look　back　on　the　ages　entirely　through　the　medium　of　art；　and　art；

very　fortunately；　has　never　once　told　us　the　truth。The　Decay　of

Lying







THOMAS　GRIFFITHS　WAINEWRIGHT







He　was　taken　back　to　Newgate；　preparatory　to　his　removal　to　the

colonies。　　In　a　fanciful　passage　in　one　of　his　early　essays　he　had

fancied　himself　'lying　in　Horsemonger　Gaol　under　sentence　of　death'

for　having　been　unable　to　resist　the　temptation　of　stealing　some

Marc　Antonios　from　the　British　Museum　in　order　to　complete　his

collection。　　The　sentence　now　passed　on　him　was　to　a　man　of　his

culture　a　form　of　death。　　He　complained　bitterly　of　it　to　his

friends；　and　pointed　out；　with　a　good　deal　of　reason；　some　people

may　fancy；　that　the　money　was　practically　his　own；　having　come　to

him　from　his　mother；　and　that　the　forgery；　such　as　it　was；　had　been

committed　thirteen　years　before；　which；　to　use　his　own　phrase；　was

at　least　a　circonstance　attenuante。　　The　permanence　of　personality

is　a　very　subtle　metaphysical　problem；　and　certainly　the　English　law

solves　the　question　in　an　extremely　rough…and…ready　manner。　　There

is；　however；　something　dramatic　in　the　fact　that　this　heavy

punishment　was　inflicted　on　him　for　what；　if　we　remember　his　fatal

influence　on　the　prose　of　modern　journalism；　was　certainly　not　the

worst　of　all　his　sins。



While　he　was　in　gaol；　Dickens；　Macready；　and　Hablot　Browne　came

across　him　by　chance。　　They　had　been　going　over　the　prisons　of

London；　searching　for　artistic　effects；　and　in　Newgate　they　suddenly

caught　sight　of　Wainewright。　　He　met　them　with　a　defiant　stare；

Forster　tells　us；　but　Macready　was　'horrified　to　recognise　a　man

familiarly　known　to　him　in　former　years；　and　at　whose　table　he　had

dined。'



Others　had　more　curiosity；　and　his　cell　was　for　some　time　a　kind　of

fashionable　lounge。　　Many　men　of　letters　went　down　to　visit　their

old　literary　comrade。　　But　he　was　no　longer　the　kind　light…hearted

Janus　whom　Charles　Lamb　admired。　　He　seems　to　have　grown　quite

cynical。



To　the　agent　of　an　insurance　company　who　was　visiting　him　one

afternoon；　and　thought　he　would　improve　the　occasion　by　pointing　out

that；　after　all；　crime　was　a　bad　speculation；　he　replied：　　'Sir；　you

City　men　enter　on　your　speculations；　and　take　the　chances　of　them。

Some　of　your　speculations　succeed；