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February 1882 51 imitators. See Ellmann, Oscar Wilde, 182. See also “Oscar Wilde in Brooklyn,” New York Sun, 4 February 1882, 1: “Referring to the sixty Bunthornes, [Wilde] said laughingly: ‘Oh, I could sympathize with them, because I thought to myself that when I was in my first year at Oxford I would have been apt to do the same; but as they put their head in the lion’s mouth, I thought they deserved a little bite.’” 13. Lilian Whiting, “They Will Show Him,” Chicago Inter-Ocean, 10 February 1882, 2 Jan. 29.—The poet of the aesthetes arrived at the Hotel Vendome yesterday. I did not see the lily-laden lyrist make his entrée in the portals, but I have the assurance of one of our Sunday morning papers of today that “Mr. Wilde arrived about noon and entered the Vendome like any ordinary person”—a statement that one must credit, considering the high local authority I quote, although I regret the fact, as I am sure something extraordinary was expected of Oscar in this important moment. The local historian neglects to chronicle whether or not his manner was intense, and whether he appeared in good spirits thus separated from his “mamma.” (For the full force of this last allusion vide a Mrs. Gustafson’s glowing eulogy on Miss Genevieve Ward.)1 One would fancy, by the by, that Miss Ward’s prayer to the gods would have been “Save me from my friends,” on the appearance of this amazing chronicle. But to return to the aesthete: I chanced to meet Mr. Wilde for an hour or two before dinner last night, and I found little of that eccentricity which has seemed so pronounced to his numerous interviewers. From some supremely poetical perception of the eternal fitness of things, I suppose, he proceeded to entertain me with tales of the atrocity of the American press. In the evening I was laughingly relating Mr. Wilde’s power of natural selection, conversationally considered, to a musical artist—a prima donna, in fact—who assured me in return that half the people whom she met would regale her with unflattering allusions to her profession. However, I listened with equanimity to Mr. Wilde’s tale of “the dangers he had passed” less moved than Desdemona, yet not without a sympathetic perception of truth in his strictures. The fact is he has been greatly misrepresented, his individualities caricatured ,histastesexaggerated,hisappearanceburlesqued.Heisnotgreatenough to merit so much attention, and he is not necessarily an object of ridicule. Mr. Wilde has more than the average intelligence, is a scholarly and sufficiently well-appearing young man, whose intellectual method is strongly i-xii_1-196_Wild.indd 51 8/4/09 9:11:38 AM 52 February 1882 flavored with the ideas of Ruskin, Swinburne, Morris, Rossetti, and who, without being at all an original genius, is yet remarkably assimilative of genius . He is one of the people who produce the right atmosphere for art. He is not an artist, but he is artistic; not creative, but intensely appreciative. The truly poetic mind is reverent. “Poets become such through scorning nothing.” Mr. Wilde is perceptively egotistic, and, in so far, is not a poet. “My object in coming to America,” remarked Mr. Wilde to me last night, “is to tell the American people what is the most important movement of thought in England, wishing that all should exactly understand what we artists intend to do. Our object is to produce more concentration, more definite artistic movements of value than ever before.” “Do you limit this movement to what are termed, distinctively, the ‘fine arts,’ or do you also include the decorative, Mr. Wilde?” I asked. “No one art is finer than any other,” he replied. “All true art is decorative.” Now the avowed object of Mr. Wilde’s visit here indicates his ignorance of current life. The American people need no missionary to proclaim to them the latest thought in England. It is very probable that Mr. Wilde might learn rather than teach, while here. We all take our Pre-Raphaelitism—our Ruskin, Shelley, Keats, Swinburne, and Burne-Jones2 —at first hand, and need no apostle to translate or dilute it for us. However, we have contributed so largely to the growth of Mr. Wilde’s conceit that [it] is merely a bit of poetic justice that we should suffer from it. His goings-out and his comings-in have been chronicled, his dressing gown, slippers, and neckties...

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