The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1897-09-05
OSCAR wILDE's MOTHER AND WIFE.
one Unfortunate Lady Is Dead, the
Other Likely to Die.


Poor Lady Wildes death, am told. was
extremely sad. She died in great poverty
and almost wholly neglected by hosts Of
ner former so-called friends. This is the
sort OF t1d1ngs that turns shade darker
the melancholia of pessimists that gives
10 mlsanthrophy a new grisly excuse for
existence Beautiful in her Younger years
Lady Wilde for a long time held in Dublin
the most prominent social place Her hus-
band had been knighted because of profile
lency as an oculist She possessed marked
Test Test themselves in fiery revolutionary
forms. "Speranza's' name cher nom de
guerre In the very most literal sense) was
at one time almost as widely known as
the name Of Parnell Later in 1884. she
read me one or two of these belligerent
lyrics, and | could not but feel their fine
StreSs ana sting. But by this time she had
II L mistake not, more or less renounced
all the fervorS and fevers of her Irish pa
Lrlotlsm She was now no longer young
She was keenly interested in the careers
OF her two sons. She lived in a pretty little
house in Charles street, Grosvenor Square
ana almost whenever one went to her one
had TO steep himself in a delightful rosy
atmosphere, caused by many pink-shaded
lamps, in every hail. room or alcoye of
the miniature dwelling. 1 am afraid that
Lady Wide chose always to wear her hair
disheveled 1t was straight hair without
a mint or SupplenesS, and though the face
from whose brows it depended was both
comely and strong, still, l could not help
thinking the style ill-advised. But Lady
Wilde was woman of much charm
never inquired as to whether she was
markedly in the social movement or not
1t always struck me, somehow, that she
was rather careless of the mere fashiona-
BILE perhaps because they had not, in the
falntest sense, anything to get from her
or anything to give her. What she wanted
to talk about and to make intimacies with
was the complex and multiplex develop
ment of life and society in all civilized
lands. Her manners were exquisite: her
voice was music; her glowing eyes and SEN
sitlve smile We're the unconscious invoca-
nf n 1scsfrn Il
(peace rest her, dear lady, how or Whv
she should have died without throng of
sol1cltouS watchers at the door of her bed
chamber. But when reality sets to it's lips
the pipe of life, there is no telling what
plaintive tunes what distracting dscords,
may be evoked. And it cannot escape our
remembrance that Lady Wilde's latter DAYS
were frightfully gloOmed. She adored her
son, Oscar Wilde, and his conviction and
test anguish.
The release of this son from prison car
rieS with 1t CHASTITY tale I knew Mrs
Oscar Wilde, in past years. very we'll. She
was a woman of great refinement Of much
personal beauty, of intense artistic taste
Often 1 wondered how she would endure
the unSpeakable calamity which befell her
household. Lately 1 have heard the most
pathetic story concerning her. 1t happened
that man of my acquaintance met her
about year ago at the table d hote of a
hotel in one of the channel watering places.
She had changed her name poor unhappy
womanD and her two boys We're each also
lHCOSuIlO. MY ITlenQ was charmed with
her conversation. For several days, sitting
next to one another, they talked together
In the salon of the hotel they continued
for several evenings their acquaintance. On
a sudden, during a certain tete-a-tete Mrs,
Wilde said: Il feel that l must tell you
the truth. I am the wife of Oscar Wilde 3"
This, as | recoliect her, is just what
Constance Brooks Wilde might have done
1t probably weighed on her conscience that
she had exploited a pseudonym, and some
thing urged her frank, sweet soul to tear
Ard
now comes new record regarding her GU
riouSly unfortunate life. With amazing
wifely affection, she had decided to join her
husband on his release from Jail. She may
or may not have forgiven. But nothing as
it seems to me, could be more sublime than
her Willingness to forget-to begin again
to bury the dead past in an obliviouS
grave. l cannot conceive of any more ire
mendous example to the multitudes of
american women VINO are forever seeking
divorces-many Of them for reasons which
chiefly concern their own hot tempers and
scornful disregard of all proper feminine
patience. Here was a woman who had had
to bear infinite suffering. More than that,
she had been forced to confront infinite
odium, not only for herself but for her two
young sons. And yet she consented to
crush down all feeling of outrage and to
go and live once more as his wife with the
man who had so stormily darkened her
days. Heroism is word not strong enough
to portray the simple grandeur of her con-
duct. And yet it was fated to achieve no
results Having at last firmly made up her
mind to rejoin her. husband, she expert
enced. in one side of her body, on a certain
occasion, peculiar disturbing thrills. They
were the first symptoms of that creeping
paralysis which now has her in its clutches,
and from which death is the sole escape
She is at the present time. l am told, a
dying woman. Nothing could well be more
tragic than this poor creatures life.
knew her well as a beautiful young bride.
She adored her husband; there could not
then have lain a shadow on her life. 1t is
stated by the way. that for the past two
years or so she and her little sons have
almost begun her journey to a place near
Dieppe. where Oscar Wilde was awaiting
her. when the fatal seizure occurred On
her death he must indeed feel that his
punishment has not ended with the loosen
ing of his prison bars.