The Wildes had three children, two sons and a daughter. The first son
was born in 1852, a year after the marriage, and was christened after
his father William Charles Kingsbury Wills. The second son was born
two years later, in 1854 and the names given to him seem to reveal the
Nationalist sympathies and pride of his mother. He was christened
Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde; but he appears to have suffered
from the pompous string only in extreme youth. At school he concealed
the "Fingal," as a young man he found it advisable to omit the
"O'Flahertie."
In childhood and early boyhood Oscar was not considered as quick or
engaging or handsome as his brother, Willie. Both boys had the benefit
of the best schooling of the time. They were sent as boarders to the
Portora School at Enniskillen, one of the four Royal schools of
Ireland. Oscar went to Portora in 1864 at the age of nine, a couple of
years after his brother. He remained at the school for seven years and
left it on winning an Exhibition for Trinity College, Dublin, when he
was just seventeen.
The facts hitherto collected and published about Oscar as a schoolboy
are sadly meagre and insignificant. Fortunately for my readers I have
received from Sir Edward Sullivan, who was a contemporary of Oscar
both at school and college, an exceedingly vivid and interesting
pen-picture of the lad, one of those astounding masterpieces of
portraiture only to be produced by the plastic sympathies of boyhood
and the intimate intercourse of years lived in common. It is love
alone which in later life can achieve such a miracle of representment.
I am very glad to be allowed to publish this realistic miniature, in
the very words of the author.
"I first met Oscar Wilde in the early part of 1868 at Portora Royal
School. He was thirteen or fourteen years of age. His long straight
fair hair was a striking feature of his appearance. He was then, as he
remained for some years after, extremely boyish in nature, very
mobile, almost restless when out of the schoolroom. Yet he took no
part in the school games at any time. Now and then he would be seen in
one of the school boats on Loch Erne: yet he was a poor hand at an
oar.
"Even as a schoolboy he was an excellent talker: his descriptive power
being far above the average, and his humorous exaggerations of school
occurrences always highly amusing.
"A favourite place for the boys to sit and gossip in the late
afternoon in winter time was round a stove which stood in 'The Stone
Hall.' Here Oscar was at his best; although his brother Willie was
perhaps in those days even better than he was at telling a story.
"Oscar would frequently vary the entertainment by giving us extremely
quaint illustrations of holy people in stained-glass attitudes: his
power of twisting his limbs into weird contortions being very great.
(I am told that Sir William Wilde, his father, possessed the same
power.) It must not be thought, however, that there was any suggestion
of irreverence in the exhibition.
"At one of these gatherings, about the year 1870, I remember a
discussion taking place about an ecclesiastical prosecution that made
a considerable stir at the time. Oscar was present, and full of the
mysterious nature of the Court of Arches; he told us there was nothing
he would like better in after life than to be the hero of such a
_cause celèbre_ and to go down to posterity as the defendant in such a
case as 'Regina versus Wilde!'
"At school he was almost always called 'Oscar'--but he had a
nick-name, 'Grey-crow,' which the boys would call him when they wished
to annoy him, and which he resented greatly. It was derived in some
mysterious way from the name of an island in the Upper Loch Erne,
within easy reach of the school by boat.
"It was some little time before he left Portora that the boys got to
know of his full name, Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde. Just at
the close of his school career he won the 'Carpenter' Greek Testament
Prize,--and on presentation day was called up to the dais by Dr.
Steele, by all his names--much to Oscar's annoyance; for a great deal
of schoolboy chaff followed.
"He was always generous, kindly, good-tempered. I remember he and
myself were on one occasion mounted as opposing jockeys on the backs
of two bigger boys in what we called a 'tournament,' held in one of
the class-rooms. Oscar and his horse were thrown, and the result was a
broken arm for Wilde. Knowing that it was an accident, he did not let
it make any difference in our friendship.
"He had, I think, no very special chums while at school. I was perhaps
as friendly with him all through as anybody, though his junior in
class by a year....
"Willie Wilde was never very familiar with him, treating him always,
in those days, as a younger brother....
"When in the head class together, we with two other boys were in the
town of Enniskillen one afternoon, and formed part of an audience who
were listening to a street orator. One of us, for the fun of the
thing, got near the speaker and with a stick knocked his hat off and
then ran for home followed by the other three. Several of the
listeners, resenting the impertinence, gave chase, and Oscar in his
hurry collided with an aged cripple and threw him down--a fact which
was duly reported to the boys when we got safely back. Oscar was
afterwards heard telling how he found his way barred by an angry giant
with whom he fought through many rounds and whom he eventually left
for dead in the road after accomplishing prodigies of valour on his
redoubtable opponent. Romantic imagination was strong in him even in
those schoolboy days; but there was always something in his telling of
such a tale to suggest that he felt his hearers were not really being
taken in; it was merely the romancing indulged in so humorously by the
two principal male characters in 'The Importance of Being Earnest.'...
"He never took any interest in mathematics either at school or
college. He laughed at science and never had a good word for a
mathematical or science master, but there was nothing spiteful or
malignant in anything he said against them; or indeed against anybody.
"The romances that impressed him most when at school were Disraeli's
novels. He spoke slightingly of Dickens as a novelist....
"The classics absorbed almost his whole attention in his later school
days, and the flowing beauty of his oral translations in class,
whether of Thucydides, Plato or Virgil, was a thing not easily to be
forgotten."
This photograph, so to speak, of Oscar as a schoolboy is astonishingly
clear and lifelike; but I have another portrait of him from another
contemporary, who has since made for himself a high name as a scholar
at Trinity, which, while confirming the general traits sketched by Sir
Edward Sullivan, takes somewhat more notice of certain mental
qualities which came later to the fruiting.
This observer who does not wish his name given, writes:
"Oscar had a pungent wit, and nearly all the nicknames in the school
were given by him. He was very good on the literary side of
scholarship, with a special leaning to poetry....
"We noticed that he always liked to have editions of the classics that
were of stately size with large print.... He was more careful in his
dress than any other boy.
"He was a wide reader and read very fast indeed; how much he
assimilated I never could make out. He was poor at music.
"We thought him a fair scholar but nothing extraordinary. However, he
startled everyone the last year at school in the classical medal
examination, by walking easily away from us all in the _viva voce_ of
the Greek play ('The Agamemnon')."
I may now try and accentuate a trait or two of these photographs, so
to speak, and then realise the whole portrait by adding an account
given to me by Oscar himself. The joy in humorous romancing and the
sweetness of temper recorded by Sir Edward Sullivan were marked traits
in Oscar's character all through his life. His care in dressing too,
and his delight in stately editions; his love of literature "with a
special leaning to poetry" were all qualities which distinguished him
to the end.
"Until the last year of my school life at Portora," he said to me
once, "I had nothing like the reputation of my brother Willie. I read
too many English novels, too much poetry, dreamed away too much time
to master the school tasks.
"Knowledge came to me through pleasure, as it always comes, I
imagine....
"I was nearly sixteen when the wonder and beauty of the old Greek life
began to dawn upon me. Suddenly I seemed to see the white figures
throwing purple shadows on the sun-baked palæstra; 'bands of nude
youths and maidens'--you remember Gautier's words--'moving across a
background of deep blue as on the frieze of the Parthenon.' I began to
read Greek eagerly for love of it all, and the more I read the more I
was enthralled:
Oh what golden hours were for us
As we sat together there,
While the white vests of the chorus
Seemed to wave up a light air;
While the cothurns trod majestic
Down the deep iambic lines
And the rolling anapæstics
Curled like vapour over shrines.
"The head master was always holding my brother Willie up to me as an
example; but even he admitted that in my last year at Portora I had
made astounding progress. I laid the foundation there of whatever
classical scholarship I possess."
It occurred to me once to ask Oscar in later years whether the
boarding school life of a great, public school was not responsible for
a good deal of sensual viciousness.
"Englishmen all say so," he replied, "but it did not enter into my
experience. I was very childish, Frank; a mere boy till I was over
sixteen. Of course I was sensual and curious, as boys are, and had
the usual boy imaginings; but I did not indulge in them excessively.
"At Portora nine out of ten boys only thought of football or cricket
or rowing. Nearly every one went in for athletics--running and jumping
and so forth; no one appeared to care for sex. We were healthy young
barbarians and that was all."
"Did you go in for games?" I asked.
"No," Oscar replied smiling, "I never liked to kick or be kicked."
"Surely you went about with some younger boy, did you not, to whom you
told your dreams and hopes, and whom you grew to care for?"
The question led to an intimate personal confession, which may take
its place here.
"It is strange you should have mentioned it," he said. "There was one
boy, and," he added slowly, "one peculiar incident. It occurred in my
last year at Portora. The boy was a couple of years younger than I--we
were great friends; we used to take long walks together and I talked
to him interminably. I told him what I should have done had I been
Alexander, or how I'd have played king in Athens, had I been
Alcibiades. As early as I can remember I used to identify myself with
every distinguished character I read about, but when I was fifteen or
sixteen I noticed with some wonder that I could think of myself as
Alcibiades or Sophocles more easily than as Alexander or Cæsar. The
life of books had begun to interest me more than real life....
"My friend had a wonderful gift for listening. I was so occupied with
talking and telling about myself that I knew very little about him,
curiously little when I come to think of it. But the last incident of
my school life makes me think he was a sort of mute poet, and had much
more in him than I imagined. It was just before I first heard that I
had won an Exhibition and was to go to Trinity. Dr. Steele had called
me into his study to tell me the great news; he was very glad, he
said, and insisted that it was all due to my last year's hard work.
The 'hard' work had been very interesting to me, or I would not have
done much of it. The doctor wound up, I remember, by assuring me that
if I went on studying as I had been studying during the last year I
might yet do as well as my brother Willie, and be as great an honour
to the school and everybody connected with it as he had been.
"This made me smile, for though I liked Willie, and knew he was a
fairly good scholar, I never for a moment regarded him as my equal in
any intellectual field. He knew all about football and cricket and
studied the school-books assiduously, whereas I read everything that
pleased me, and in my own opinion always went about 'crowned.'" Here
he laughed charmingly with amused deprecation of the conceit.
"It was only about the quality of the crown, Frank, that I was in any
doubt. If I had been offered the Triple Tiara, it would have appeared
to me only the meet reward of my extraordinary merit....
"When I came out from the doctor's I hurried to my friend to tell him
all the wonderful news. To my surprise he was cold and said, a little
bitterly, I thought:
"'You seem glad to go?'
"'Glad to go,' I cried; 'I should think I was; fancy going to Trinity
College, Dublin, from this place; why, I shall meet men and not boys.
Of course I am glad, wild with delight; the first step to Oxford and
fame.'
"'I mean,' my chum went on, still in the same cold way, 'you seem glad
to leave me.'
"His tone startled me.
"'You silly fellow,' I exclaimed, 'of course not; I'm always glad to
be with you: but perhaps you will be coming up to Trinity too; won't
you?'
"'I'm afraid not,' he said, 'but I shall come to Dublin frequently.'
"'Then we shall meet,' I remarked; 'you must come and see me in my
rooms. My father will give me a room to myself in our house, and you
know Merrion Square is the best part of Dublin. You must come and see
me.'
"He looked up at me with yearning, sad, regretful eyes. But the future
was beckoning to me, and I could not help talking about it, for the
golden key of wonderland was in my hand, and I was wild with desires
and hopes.
"My friend was very silent, I remember, and only interrupted me to
ask:
"'When do you go, Oscar?'
"'Early,' I replied thoughtlessly, or rather full of my own thoughts,
'early to-morrow morning, I believe; the usual train.'
"In the morning just as I was starting for the station, having said
'goodbye' to everyone, he came up to me very pale and strangely quiet.
"'I'm coming with you to the station, Oscar,' he said; 'the Doctor
gave me permission, when I told him what friends we had been.'
"'I'm glad,' I cried, my conscience pricking me that I had not thought
of asking for his company. 'I'm very glad. My last hours at school
will always be associated with you.'
"He just glanced up at me, and the glance surprised me; it was like a
dog looks at one. But my own hopes soon took possession of me again,
and I can only remember being vaguely surprised by the appeal in his
regard.
"When I was settled in my seat in the train, he did not say 'goodbye'
and go, and leave me to my dreams; but brought me papers and things
and hung about.
"The guard came and said:
"'Now, sir, if you are going.'
"I liked the 'Sir.' To my surprise my friend jumped into the carriage
and said:
"'All right, guard, I'm not going, but I shall slip out as soon as you
whistle.'
"The guard touched his cap and went. I said something, I don't know
what; I was a little embarrassed.
"'You will write to me, Oscar, won't you, and tell me about
everything?'
"'Oh, yes,' I replied, 'as soon as I get settled down, you know. There
will be such a lot to do at first, and I am wild to see everything. I
wonder how the professors will treat me. I do hope they will not be
fools or prigs; what a pity it is that all professors are not
poets....' And so I went on merrily, when suddenly the whistle sounded
and a moment afterwards the train began to move.
"'You must go now,' I said to him.
"'Yes,' he replied, in a queer muffled voice, while standing with his
hand on the door of the carriage. Suddenly he turned to me and cried:
"'Oh, Oscar,' and before I knew what he was doing he had caught my
face in his hot hands, and kissed me on the lips. The next moment he
had slipped out of the door and was gone....
"I sat there all shaken. Suddenly I became aware of cold, sticky drops
trickling down my face--his tears. They affected me strangely. As I
wiped them off I said to myself in amaze:
"'This is love: this is what he meant--love.'...
"I was trembling all over. For a long while I sat, unable to think,
all shaken with wonder and remorse."