OSCAR WILDE AT OXFORD, 1878.
It was not possible at that time to think of defending him in any other way. Instead of trying to shelter the man behind his work, it was necessary to show forth first the man as an object of admiration—as I am going to try to do now—and then the work itself illuminated by his personality. 'I have put all my genius into my life; I have put only my talent into my works,' said Wilde once. Great writer, no, but great viveur, yes, if one may use the word in the fullest sense of the French term. Like certain Greek philosophers of old, Wilde did not write his wisdom, but spoke and lived it, entrusting it rashly to the fleeting memory of man, thereby writing it as it were on water.
Let those who knew him for a longer time than I did, tell the story of his life. One of those who listened to him the most eagerly relates here simply a few personal recollections.
I.
And the mighty nations would have crowned me, who
am crownless now and without name,
And some orient dawn had found me kneeling on the
threshold of the House of Fame.