| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Oscar Wilde Miscellaneous by Oscar Wilde: that of a Frenchman. The play was passed for press, however, by no
less a writer than Marcel Schwob whose letter to the Paris
publisher, returning the proofs and mentioning two or three slight
alterations, is still in my possession. Marcel Schwob told me some
years afterwards that he thought it would have spoiled the
spontaneity and character of Wilde's style if he had tried to
harmonise it with the diction demanded by the French Academy. It
was never composed with any idea of presentation. Madame Bernhardt
happened to say she wished Wilde would write a play for her; he
replied in jest that he had done so. She insisted on seeing the
manuscript, and decided on its immediate production, ignorant or
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Critias by Plato: theme is more difficult; and I shall argue that to seem to speak well of
the gods to men is far easier than to speak well of men to men: for the
inexperience and utter ignorance of his hearers about any subject is a
great assistance to him who has to speak of it, and we know how ignorant we
are concerning the gods. But I should like to make my meaning clearer, if
you will follow me. All that is said by any of us can only be imitation
and representation. For if we consider the likenesses which painters make
of bodies divine and heavenly, and the different degrees of gratification
with which the eye of the spectator receives them, we shall see that we are
satisfied with the artist who is able in any degree to imitate the earth
and its mountains, and the rivers, and the woods, and the universe, and the
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Tom Grogan by F. Hopkinson Smith: fumbling with his fur cap, deathly pale, and entirely sober--Dan
McGaw.
"There's no use of my going," said the courier trustee, taking his
seat. "Grogan won't live an hour, if she ain't dead now. She had
a sick horse that wanted looking after, and she went into the
stable without a light, and he let drive, and broke her skull.
She's got a gash the length of your hand--wasn't that it, Mr.
McGaw?"
McGaw nodded his head.
"Yes; that's about it," he said. The voice seemed to come from
his stomach, it was so hollow.
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