Oscar Wilde, Volume 2

Oscar Wilde, Volume 2

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Oscar Wilde, Volume 2 (of 2), by
Frank Harris This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost
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Title: Oscar Wilde, Volume 2 (of 2) His Life and Confessions
Author: Frank Harris
Release Date: October 17, 2005 [EBook #16895]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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WILDE, VOLUME 2 (OF 2) ***

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OSCAR WILDE
HIS LIFE AND CONFESSIONS
BY

FRANK HARRIS
VOLUME II
[Illustration: Oscar Wilde and Lord Alfred Douglas About 1893]
PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR
29 WAVERLEY PLACE NEW YORK CITY
MCMXVIII
Imprime en Allemagne Printed in Germany
For he who sins a second time Wakes a dead soul to pain, And draws it
from its spotted shroud, And makes it bleed again, And makes it bleed
great gouts of blood, And makes it bleed in vain.
--_The Ballad of Reading Gaol._
Copyright, 1916, BY FRANK HARRIS

BOOK II

CHAPTER XVII
Prison for Oscar Wilde, an English prison with its insufficient bad
food[1] and soul-degrading routine for that amiable, joyous, eloquent,
pampered Sybarite. Here was a test indeed; an ordeal as by fire. What
would he make of two years' hard labour in a lonely cell?
There are two ways of taking prison, as of taking most things, and all
the myriad ways between these two extremes; would Oscar be
conquered by it and allow remorse and hatred to corrupt his very heart,
or would he conquer the prison and possess and use it? Hammer or

anvil--which?
Victory has its virtue and is justified of itself like sunshine; defeat
carries its own condemnation. Yet we have all tasted its bitter waters:
only "infinite virtue" can pass through life victorious, Shakespeare tells
us, and we mortals are not of infinite virtue. The myriad vicissitudes of
the struggle search out all our weaknesses; test all our powers. Every
victory shows a more difficult height to scale, a steeper pinnacle of
god-like hardship--that's the reward of victory: it provides the hero with
ever-new battle-fields: no rest for him this side the grave.
But what of defeat? What sweet is there in its bitter? This may be said
for it; it is our great school: punishment teaches pity, just as suffering
teaches sympathy. In defeat the brave soul learns kinship with other
men, takes the rub to heart; seeks out the reason for the fall in his own
weakness, and ever afterwards finds it impossible to judge, much less
condemn his fellow. But after all no one can hurt us but ourselves;
prison, hard labour, and the hate of men; what are these if they make
you truer, wiser, kinder?
Have you come to grief through self-indulgence and good-living? Here
are months in which men will take care that you shall eat badly and lie
hard. Did you lack respect for others? Here are men who will show you
no consideration. Were you careless of others' sufferings? Here now
you shall agonize unheeded: gaolers and governors as well as black
cells just to teach you. Thank your stars then for every day's experience,
for, when you have learned the lesson of it and turned its discipline into
service, the prison shall transform itself into a hermitage, the dungeon
into a home; the burnt skilly shall be sweet in your mouth; and your
rest on the plank-bed the dreamless slumber of a little child.
And if you are an artist, prison will be more to you than this; an
astonishing vital and novel experience, accorded only to the chosen.
What will you make of it? That's the question for you. It is a wonderful
opportunity. Seen truly, a prison's more spacious than a palace; nay,
richer, and for a loving soul, a far rarer experience. Thank then the
spirit which steers men for the divine chance which has come to you;
henceforth the prison shall be your domain; in future men will not think

of it without thinking of you. Others may show them what the good
things of life do for one; you will show them what suffering can do,
cold and regretful sleepless hours and solitude, misery and distress.
Others will teach the lessons of joy. The whole vast underworld of pity
and pain, fear and horror and injustice is your kingdom. Men have
drawn darkness about you as a curtain, shrouded you in blackest night;
the light in you will shine the brighter. Always provided of course that
the light is not