Although Oscar Wilde had a gay relationship, the Vatican is championing his razor-sharp moral maxims, not his lifestyle (Corbis)

 

 

The wit and wisdom of Wilde

Those who see any difference between soul and body have neither
I am not in favour of long engagements. They give people the opportunity of finding out each other’s character before marriage
One’s real life is often the life that one does not lead. I see an intimate connection between the life of Christ and the life of the artist. Christ’s place indeed is with the poets
I can resist everything except temptation
We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars
It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution
The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it
There is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about
Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive them
Nothing makes one so vain as being told that one is a sinner
In this world there are only two tragedies. One is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it
What is a cynic? A man who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing
Experience is the name everyone gives to their mistakes
What a pity that in life we only get our lessons when they are of no use to use

 

Oscar Wilde, poet, playwright, gay icon and deathbed convert to Catholicism, has been paid a rare tribute by the Vatican. His aphorisms are quoted in a collection of maxims and witticisms for Christians that has been published by one of the Pope’s closest aides.

Wilde (1854-1900) had long been regarded with distaste by the Vatican — a dissolute and disgraced homosexual who was sentenced for acts of gross indecency over his relationship with Lord Alfred Douglas.

The book, compiled by Father Leonardo Sapienza, head of protocol at the Vatican, includes such Wildean gems as “I can resist everything except temptation” and “The only way to get rid of a temptation is yield to it” — hardly orthodox Catholic teaching.

Father Sapienza said that he had devoted the lion’s share of Provocations: Aphorisms for an Anti-conformist Christianity to Wilde because he was a “writer who lived perilously and somewhat scandalously but who has left us some razor-sharp maxims with a moral”. The book also includes contributions from the Colombian philosopher Nicolás Gómez Dávila.

Father Sapienza said that Wilde had been a great writer of powerful force and dazzling intelligence who was now chiefly remembered not for his promiscuity but for plays such as The Importance of Being Earnest and An Ideal Husband as well as moral tales such as The Picture of Dorian Gray, in which a vain young man pays a terrible price for selling his soul to gain eternal youth.

Father Sapienza said that he wanted to “stimulate a reawakening in certain Catholic circles”. Christianity was intended to be a radical cure, not a humdrum remedy for the common cold: “Our role is to be a thorn in the flesh, to move people’s consciences and to tackle what today is the No 1 enemy of religion — indifference.”

“What a surprise!” La Repubblica’s said. “A homosexual icon has been accepted by the Vatican.” Orazio La Rocca, a Vatican watcher, described the book as a bombshell.

Pope Benedict XVI is a stern opponent of gay marriage and has reinforced Catholic teaching that homosexuality is a disorder. On the other hand he has belied his reputation as a hardliner since his election, reserving most of his fire for apathy and relativism in an attempt to revive Christian faith in Europe.

Wilde, who was married and had two children, was arrested and tried in 1895 over his relationship with Lord Douglas (known as Bosie), son of the Marquess of Queensberry, who had accused Wilde of sodomy. The writer sued Queensberry but lost and was sentenced to two years’ hard labour.

He displayed a long fascination with Catholicism, once remarking: “I am not a Catholic — I am simply a violent Papist.” He was born in Dublin to a Protestant family but fell under the spell of Catholicism at Oxford. He even made a journey for an audience with the Pope, but declared: “To go over to Rome would be to sacrifice and give up my two great Gods: Money and Ambition.” The way for Wilde’s rehabilitation was paved six years ago by a Jesuit theologian, Father Antonio Spadaro. On the centenary of Wilde’s death, he raised eyebrows by praising the “understanding of God’s love” that had followed Wilde’s imprisonment in Reading.

Father Spadaro said that at the end of his life Wilde had seen into the depths of his own soul and in his last works, such as De Profundis, had made “an implicit journey of faith”. He said that Wilde had come to see that God was capable of “breaking hearts of stone and entering into them with mercy and forgiveness”.

Oscar O'Flahertie Fingal Wills-Wilde was not English, but Irish. He was best known as a flaming homosexual who wrote plays and had a bit of a sass-mouth.

In 1878, Oscar Wilde moved to London with a singular purpose: to achieve superstardom. He'd already received his degree from Oxford University, and his entire upbringing had been less than conventional. His father was an antiquarian, a gifted writer, and a specialist in disease. His mother was a poet and a journalist, who'd taught Wilde to view life as an unfolding performance.

Wilde enjoyed making a full spectacle of all his activities. He'd hail a cab just to cross the street. His wardrobe was designed by theatre costume departments who could easily understand the dramatic effects he wished to achieve. His standard uniform included a velvet coat edged with braid, knee breeches, black silk stockings, a soft loose shirt with wide low turned-down collar, and a large flowing pale green tie. Sadly, that wasn't sufficient. There would also be outrageous sunflowers, blue peacock feathers and dainty lilies in his buttonhole at all times - a ridiculous touch which became his public signature. His clothing tickled and poked the establishment nearly as much as his essays.

Oscar's work was often sustained by the implied acknowledgement that he was gay, gay, gay. His private life flew in the face of harsh anti-homosexual Victorian society. He preferred lower-class males, because their passion was all body and no soul. He once bragged to a friend of having had sex with five different boys in a single night. "I kissed each one of them in every part of their bodies. They were all dirty and appealed to me just for that reason." The man truly had the velveteen touch of a dandy fop, asserting that the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. As his literary career flourished, the risk of a huge scandal grew ever larger.

The last of Wilde's plays to be written, The Importance of Being Earnest (1895), is considered by many to be the finest modern farce in the English language. Unfortunately, by the time of it's premiere on February 14, 1895, Wilde's demise had already been set in motion. For months, the Marquess of Queensbury had been demanding that Wilde stay away from his son, Lord Alfred Douglas. Wilde was wholly infatuated with the young man and ignored the Marquess.

Queensbury intended to publicly denounce Wilde at the opening of The Importance of Being Earnest, but he was refused a ticket. Two weeks later, he confronted Wilde at his club, leaving his infamously misspelled note accusing Wilde of posing as a somdomite. Wilde charged Queensbury with libel, but revelations during the trial about the nature of Wilde's relationship with Queensbury's son caused the playwright to be prosecuted for homosexuality and offenses to minors. He was tried twice. The first trial ended with a hung jury, the second with a guilty verdict. Wilde served two years hard labor, and Dickensian prison conditions triggered a chain of cerebral meningitis and syphilis which would lead to Wilde's death.

Wilde made a few attempts at literary activity after his imprisonment, but he concluded that such endeavors were better suited toward the man he used to be. He was never the same after his release from prison in 1897. He shyed away from his fans, and lived the remainder of his life under the alias of Sebastian Melmoth. In 1900, Oscar Wilde died penniless and alone in a Paris hotel. He was buried without fanfare in the cemetery of Pére Lachaise.

One of Wilde's talents was developing a battery of quotations he could "improvisationally" toss off in public, and he saved a special one for his last words. Gazing at the wallpaper of the room he lay dying in, he sighed: "Well, one of us had to go."

Fifty years later, the remains of his longtime friend Robert Ross, the first boy Oscar ever had, were placed in his tomb.

 

Ohio State Journal, Columbus, Feb. 5, 1882 asthetics

Mr. Oscar Wilde, the professional English "asthete," has come to this country "to diffuse beauty." It might be inferred from this that, in Mr. Wilde's opinion, all is not lovely in America, but that is a mistake. He says there is "a subtle relation between beauty and everything," and that all we need in order to realize that is to "make beauty stand out wherever it is." Mr. Wilde proposes to make beauty "stand out." It is a trick worth knowing, and he knows it, for he has studied the matter. We Americans possess a great deal of latent beauty--whole reservoirs of it, in fact--but with few exceptions we don't know how to make it stand out. To be able to do this is what Mr. Wilde has come to teach us, and we hope he will lose no time in coming to these parts. The amount of beauty that is lying around loose hereabouts is undoubtedly astonishing if we did but realize it. The beauty of our City Hall, for example, needs to be made to stand out. The extreme loveliness of that building has never been as conspicuous as it should be. Its graceful proportions have not been appreciated. To use Mr. Wilde's idea, there is undoubtedly a "subtle relation" between the building and beauty, but it is too subtle to be perceived. We need a Wilde to point it out, and display it to our obtuse understanding.

The same is true of the cupola of the State House. When requested to indicate the latent beauty that was lurking in a certain grain elevator at New York, Mr. Wilde excused himself by saying he was too near sighted to see the object referred to. Now if he would not be too near sighted to see the State House cupola, we humbly imagine that he would find the observation thereof to be good for sore eyes, if he should happen to have that affliction. Mr. Wilde should hasten to come and look at this. He should enable us all to understand that a mammoth cheesebox is exactly the thing to set on top of the Capitol of a State where the dairy is a leading industry. He would not need to make the beauty of the cupola stand out. It has always stood out. It should be rather Mr. Wilde's mission to take it in. The propriety of that might be apparent even to a near-sighted man. Mr. Wilde would only need to adjust his monocle, and look squarely with one eye, to see it at a glance.

There are other various repositories of latent beauty in our midst which Mr. Wilde might grapple with, and he might remark, for instance, the picturesqueness of our telegraph poles and the extreme beauty of our street crossings after a thaw. But there is one difficulty, which the distinguished asthete would encounter here, and that is the trouble it takes to withdraw one's attention from the beauty which is apparent to that which is latent. He will find that there is enough beauty in Columbus to turn an older head than he has on his shoulders, and we doubt whether he will be so near sighted as not to observe it. The English confessedly admire American women, and a poetic Englishman will be the last to withold his homage. Mr. Wilde remarks that "man is hungry for beauty; therefore he must be filled." The poet strikes many a responsive chord there. Who could help but be hungry where there is so much to whet the appetite? Wilde should hurry along and endeavor to satisfy the prevalent craving, particularly among our young men. The beauty that causes the mischief is not latent: it stands out, and it is irresistable.