Punch: Punch (82.1882)

14

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVAPJ. [January 14, 1882.

AN UNDOUBTED OLD MASTER.

(By Hi'inself.)

OSCAE INTERVIEWED.

New York. Jan. 1882.

Determined to anticipate the rabble of penny-a-liners ready to
pounce upon any distinguisbed foreigner who approaches our shores,
and eager to assist a sensitive Poet in avoiding the impertinent
curiosity and ill-bred insolence of the Professional Reporter, I took
the fastest pilot-boat on the station, and boarded the splendid Cunard
steamer, The Boshnia, in the shucking of a pea-nut.

HlS iEsTHETIC Ari'EARANCE.

He stood, with his large hand passed through his long hair, against
a high chimney-piece—which had been painted pea-green, with
f panels of peacock-blue pottery let in at uneven intervals—one elbow
\ on the high ledge, the other hand on his hip. He was dressed in a
long, snuff-eoloured, single-breasted coat, whichreached tohisheels,
and was relieved with a seal-skin collar and cuffs rather the worse
for wear. Frayed linen, and an orange silk handkerchief gave a
note to the generallv artistic colouring of the ensemble, while one

small daisy drooped despondently in his button-hole.Wemay

state, that the chimney-piece, as well as the seal-skin collar, is the
property of Oscar, and will appear in his Lectures “ on the Growth
of Artistic Taste in England.” But

He Speaes For Himself.

“ Tes ; I should have been astonished had I not heen interviewed!
Indeed, 1 have not been well on board this Cunard Argosy. I have
wrestled with the glaukous-haired Poseidon, and feared his ravish-
ment. _ QuiteI have been too ill, too utterly ill. Exactly—-
seasick in fact, if I must descend to so trivial an expression. I fear
the clean beauty of my strong limbs is somewhat waned. I am
scarcely myself—my nerves are thrilling like throbbing violins,—
in exquisite pulsation.

“ You are right. I believe I was the first to devote my subtle
brain-chords to the worship of the Sunflower, and the apotheosis of
the delicate Tea-pot. I have ever been jasmine-cradled from my
youth. Eons ago, I might say centuries, in ’78, when a student at
Oxford, I had trampled the vintage of my babyhood, and trod |

the thorn-spread heights of Poesy. I had stood in the Arena and
torn the bays from the expiring athletes, my competitors.”

His Glorious Past.

Precisely—I took the Newdigate. Oh! no doubt, every year
some man gets the Newdigate ; but not every year does Newdigate
get an Oscar. Since then—barely three years, but centuries to-
such as I am—I have stood upon the steps of London Palaces—-
in South Kensington—and preached hLsthetic Art. I have taught
the wan beauty to wear nameless robes, have guided her limp
limbs into sightless knots and curving festoons, while we sang
of the sweet sad sin of Swinburne, or the lone delight of soft
communion with Burne-Jones. Swinburne had made a name, and
Burne-Jones had copied illuminations e’er the first silky down had
fringed my upper lip, but the Trinity of Inner Brotherhood was not
complete till I came forward, like the Asphodel from the wilds of
Arcady, to join in sweet antiphonal counterchanges with the Elder
Seers. "We are a Beautiful Family—we are, we are, we are ! ”

Lecture Prospects.

“ Yes ; I expect my Lecture will be a success. So does Dollar
Carte—I mean D’Oyly Carte. Too-Toothless Senility may jeer,.
and poor, positive Propriety may shake her rusty curls ; but I am
here, in my creamy lustihood, to pipe of Passion’s venturous Poesy,
and reap the scorching harvest of Self-Love ! I am not quite sure
what I mean. The true Poet never is. In fact, true Poetry is
nothing if it is intelligible. She is only to be compared to Salmacis,
who is not boy or girl, but yet is both.”

His Neophytes.

“ Who are my neophytes ? Well, I fancy the Lonsdales and the
Langtrys would have never heen known if I hadn’t placed them on
a pedestal of daffodils, and taught the world to worship.”

His Kosmic Soul.

“ Oh, yes! I speak most languages; in the sweet, honey-tinted
brogue my own land lends me. La bella JDonna della mia Mente
exists, but she is not the Jersey Lily, though I have grovelled at her
feet; she is not the Juno Countess, though I have twisted my limbs
all over her sofas ; she is not the Polish Actress, though I have sighed
and wept over all the boxes of the Court Theatre; she is not the
diaphanous Sarah, though I have crawled after her footsteps through
the heavy fields of scentless Asphodel; she is not the golden-haired
Ellen, more fair than any woman Veronese looked upon, though
I have left my Impressions on many and many a seat in the Lyceum
Temple, where she is the High Priestess; nor is she one of the little
Nameless Naiads I have met in Lotus-haunts, who, with longing eyes,
watch the sweet bubble of the frenzied grape. No, Sir, my real Love
is my own Kosmic Soul, enthroned in its fiawless essence ; and when
America can grasp the supreme whole I sing in too-too utterance
for vulgar lips, then soul and body will blend in mystic symphonies ;
then, crowned with bellamours and wanton flower-de-luce, I shall
be hailed Lord of a new Empery, and as I stain my lips in the
bleeding wounds of the Pomegranate, and wreathe my o’ergrown
limbs with the burnished disk of the Sunflower, Apollo will turn
pale, and lashing the restive horses of the Sun, the tamer chariot of
a forgotten god will make way for the glorious zenith of the one
Oscar Wilde.”

At this moment The Boshnia gave a sudden lurch, and the grand
young Poet fell prostrate on the rabbit-skins, worshipping Poseidpn,
and calling feebly for the Steward. Seeing that he would be in-
capable of receiving any other interviewers, I quitted the cabin,
drank the brandy-and-soda whicb the Steward was bringing, and
then returned to 'shore as quickly as possible. So here is the First
Intelligence!

The Egyptian Barometer.

English Annexation.—Enthusiasm, white heat. Stocks, 150.
Anglo-Franco Intervention.—Delight, red heat. ,, 100.

Egyptian Independence.—Approval, summer heat. ,, 80.

Continental Interference.—Anger, blood heat. ,, 60.

Turkish Supremacy.—Hope below zero. ,, Unsaleable!

AT DRURY LANE.

On Twelfth Night the usual cake and wine was handed round to*
the Company and distinguished guests.

“ Doing well to-night, eh?” inquired Lord Alfr-d P-g-t of
C^esar Augustus Harris.

“ Doing well to-night! ” returned the Manager. “No—doing
Baddelev.” This was wit without Meritt.

Mrs. Ramsbotham was much gratified by seeing the Tabooed
Greek Nobleman at the Aquarium, the other day.