Читать книгу Oscar Wilde: A Life in Letters - Оскар Уайльд, Merlin Holland, F. H. Cornish - Страница 15

Wednesday [26 July 1876] 1 Merrion Square North, Dublin

My dear Boy, I confess not to be a worshipper at the Temple of Reason. I think man’s reason the most misleading and thwarting guide that the sun looks upon, except perhaps the reason of woman. Faith is, I think, a bright lantern for the feet, though of course an exotic plant in man’s mind, and requiring continual cultivation. My mother would probably agree with you. Except for the people, for whom she thinks dogma necessary, she rejects all forms of superstition and dogma, particularly any notion of priest and sacrament standing between her and God. She has a very strong faith in that aspect of God we call the Holy Ghost – the divine intelligence of which we on earth partake. Here she is very strong, though of course at times troubled by the discord and jarring of the world, when she takes a dip into pessimism.

Her last pessimist, Schopenhauer, says the whole human race ought on a given day, after a strong remonstrance firmly but respectfully urged on God, to walk into the sea and leave the world tenantless, but of course some skulking wretches would hide and be left behind to people the world again I am afraid.

I wonder you don’t see the beauty and necessity for the incarnation of God into man to help us to grasp at the skirts of the Infinite. The atonement is I admit hard to grasp. But I think since Christ the dead world has woke up from sleep. Since him we have lived. I think the greatest proof of the Incarnation aspect of Christianity is its whole career of noble men and thoughts and not the mere narration of unauthenticated histories.

I think you are bound to account (psychologically most especially) for S. Bernard and S. Augustine and S. Philip Neri – and even in our day for Liddon and Newman – as being good philosophers and good Christians. That reminds me of Mallock’s New Republic in Belgravia; it is decidedly clever – Jowett especially. If you have the key to all the actors please send it to me.

I send you this letter and a book together. I wonder which you will open first. It is Aurora Leigh, which I think you said you had not read. It is one of those books that, written straight from the heart – and from such a large heart too – never weary one: because they are sincere. We tire of art but not of nature after all our aesthetic training. I look upon it as much the greatest work in our literature.

I rank it with Hamlet and In Memoriam. So much do I love it that I hated the idea of sending it to you without marking a few passages I felt you would well appreciate – and I found myself marking the whole book. I am really very sorry: it is like being given a bouquet of plucked flowers instead of being allowed to look for them oneself. But I could not resist the temptation, as it did instead of writing to you about each passage.

The only fault is that she overstrains her metaphors till they snap, and although one does not like polished emotion, still she is inartistically rugged at times. As she says herself, she shows the mallet hand in carving cherrystones.

I hope you will have time to read it, for I don’t believe your dismal forebodings about Greats.

I wrote to Kitten for your address, and his letter and yours arrived simultaneously. His thoughts and ink rarely last beyond one sheet.

I ride sometimes after six, but don’t do much but bathe, and although always feeling slightly immortal when in the sea, feel sometimes slightly heretical when good Roman Catholic boys enter the water with little amulets and crosses round their necks and arms that the good S. Christopher may hold them up.

I am now off to bed after reading a chapter of S. Thomas a Kempis. I think half-an-hour’s warping of the inner man daily is greatly conducive to holiness.

Pray remember me to your mother and sisters. Ever yours

OSCAR F. O’F. WILLS WILDE

Post Scriptum

You don’t deserve such a long letter, but I must tell you that I met Mr Rigaud (the gentleman who met with that sad accident in early youth) and his brother the General swaggering up Grafton Street here yesterday. I had a long talk with them and the General told me yarns by the dozen about the time he was quartered here ‘with the 16th Battalion, sir! Damme, sir! We were the best corps in the Regiment! Service gone to the dogs! Not a well drilled soldier in the country, sir!’

Sir William had built two properties in the west of Ireland, a small fishing lodge in 1853 at Illaunroe, near Leenane, and a comfortable country house at Moytura near Cong. Oscar is known to have spent time there as a boy helping his father record and catalogue Celtic antiquities, and now as a student used both as summer retreats for himself and for entertaining friends.