Oscar Wilde Read Online Free PDF

man except by the last thing that he’s done. If I went back to Paris now, all they’d want to see in me is the … convict. I don’t want to reappear before writing a play. I must be let alone until then.”—And he added abruptly, “Haven’t I done well to come here? My friends wanted me to go to the Midi to rest; because, at the beginning, I was very tired. But I asked them to find me, in the North of France, a very small beach, where I wouldn’t see anyone, where it’s quite eold, where it’s almost never sunny … Oh! haven’t I done well to come and live in Berneval?” (Outside the weather was frightful.)
    â€œHere everyone is very good to me. The curé in particular. I’m so fond of the little church! Would you believe that it’s called Notre Dame de Liesse! Aoh! isn’t it charming?—And now I know that I’m never again going to be able to leave Berneval, because this morning the curé offered me a permanent stall in the choir!
    â€œAnd the customs officers! They were so bored here! so I asked them whether they hadn’t anythingto read; and now I’m bringing them all the novels of Dumas the elder … I have to stay here, don’t I?
    â€œAnd the children! aaah! they adore me! The day of the queen’s jubilee, I gave a great festival, a great dinner, to which I had forty school-children—all! all! with the teacher! to fête the queen! Isn’t that absolutely charming?… You know I’m very fond of the queen. I always have her portrait with me.” And he showed me, pinned to the wall, the portrait by Nicholson.
    I got up to look at it; a small library was nearby; I looked at the books for a moment. I should have liked to get Wilde to talk to me more seriously. I sat down again, and with a bit of fear I asked him whether he had read The House of the Dead. He did not answer directly but began:
    â€œThe writers of Russia are extraordinary. What makes their books so great is the pity which they’ve put into them. At first, I liked Madame Bovary a great deal, didn’t I; but Flaubert didn’t want any pity in his work, and that’s why it seems small and closed; pity is the side on which a work is open, by which it appears infinite … Do you know, dear, 1 that it’s pity that kept me from killing myself? Oh! during the first six months I was terribly unhappy; so unhappy that I wanted to kill myself; but whatkept me from doing so was looking at the others, seeing that they were as unhappy as I, and having pity. O dear! it’s an admirable thing, pity; and I didn’t know what it was! (He was speaking in an almost low voice, without any exaltation.) Have you quite understood how admirable a thing pity is? As for me, I thank God each evening—yes, on my knees, I thank God for making me know what it is. For I entered prison with a heart of stone, thinking only of my pleasure, but now my heart has been completely broken; pity has entered my heart; I now understand that pity is the greatest, the most beautiful thing that there is in the world … And that’s why I can’t be angry with those who condemned me, nor with anyone, because without them I would not have known all that—B … writes me terrible letters; he tells me that he doesn’t understand me; that he doesn’t understand that I’m not angry with everyone; that everyone has been hateful to me … No, he doesn’t understand me; he can’t understand me any more. But I repeat to him in each letter: we can not follow the same path; he has his; it’s very beautiful; I have mine. His is that of Alcibiades; mine is now that of Saint Francis of Assisi … Are you familiar with Saint Francis of Assisi? aoh! wonderful! wonderful! Do you want to do something very nice for me? Send me the best life of Saint Francis that you know …
    I promised him to do so; he