Ada Leverson Suggestion Analysis Essay

The Wilde family was prominent in the Dublin social scene, and well connected with other wealthy Dublin families. One such was the Davis family. Although both Hyman Davis, a dentist, and his wife, Isabella, were Londoners, they spent many years in Dublin and several of their eight children were born there. In the late 1870s, both Willie and Oscar were friendly with Dublin-born James ‘Jimmy’ Davis who, in a chequered career, was alternately a theatre writer, racing correspondent, theatre critic and solicitor.

Jimmy’s younger sister Eliza, who made her name as fashion columnist ‘Mrs Aria’, recorded her recollections of Oscar and Willie in her memoir, My Sentimental Self  (1922).

Both Oscar Wilde and Willie Wilde became frequent visitors, and in a public garden which spread its ill-kept lumpish lawn behind our dwelling we often played tennis together: Willie in a shirt showing some desire to be divorced from the top of his trousers, and Oscar in a high hat with his frock-coat tails flying and his long hair waving in the breeze.

Their connection did not end there. Eliza made her name as a journalist, editor of fashion magazine The World of Dress, and author of books on fashion and motoring. When she became involved in a long-term affair with Henry Irving, she suggested, to no avail, that he stage Wilde’s second play, The Duchess of Padua.

Her intervention on Oscar’s behalf may be attributable to their youthful friendship but may also have been rooted in the fact that her older sister Julia, also a participant in their tennis parties, was given her first break in journalism as a result of an attempt to parody Oscar’s work. Eliza wrote:

Julia’s attempt at a parody of a villanelle by Oscar Wilde which had appeared in The World led to an interview with Edmund Yates [editor], who found in it some excuse for encouraging her to take up writing as a career.


It is a coincidence that her first published lines should have owed their existence to Oscar Wilde.

Eliza Davis Aria gazes at a photo of her sister Julia

In 1906, six years after Oscar’s death, Julia, writing as Frank Danby, published a novel, The Sphinx’s Lawyer. In My Sentimental Self, Eliza described this book as Julia’s attempt ‘to defend the undefendable Oscar Wilde’.

In an astonishing preface to The Sphinx’s Lawyeraddressed to her brother Jimmy, who wrote under the name Owen Hall, and who had fallen out spectacularly with Oscar, Julia declared:

‘Because you “hate and loathe” my book and its subject, I dedicate it to you’.  For, incidentally, your harsh criticism has intensified my conviction of the righteousness of the cause I plead, and revolt from your narrow judgment has strengthened me against any personal opprobrium that such pleading may bring upon me’

In the pages that follow, Oscar appears in the guise of Algernon Heseltine, a man treated unjustly by society because he ‘was not as others’ on account of his genius; ‘the applause changed to low suspicious muttering’, Julia observed. It seems certain, given the title of her novel, that Julia’s qualified defence of Oscar was also connected to her great friendship with Ada Leverson, Wilde’s ‘Wonderful Sphinx’.

Yet, although Julia lauded Oscar’s genius and characterised him as a martyr, The Sphinx’s Lawyer was no vindication since she suggested that Heseltine was mad and should ‘have been placed in safety, kept from spreading his disease, from working evil’.

Her descriptions of Oscar, as ‘Heseltine’, facing his accusers, are worth reading:

The fire of his own genius had burnt Algernon’s youth.  The light that blazed about him obscured for him the minor rules of meaner men.  He saw more largely, amazing visions thronged, all sense of proportion became lost.  He was not as others.  He felt that, and at first the dazzled world which his personality fascinated saw it too, and applauded.  When the applause changed to low suspicious muttering, he became more flamboyant; he was supremely conscious of his gifts.

The end was not swift, yet it was upon him before he knew.  He stood before his accusers in the dock as a child might have stood, impudent, bewildered, irresponsible.  Those for whom he and his ailments held no meaning found him guilty, and sentenced him to a terrible end.  He was as a sick child, morally, mentally, physically, dazed, and failing.

For his fine hands, which had penned epic and philosophy, poem, and drama, there were bundles of tarred oakrum [sic].  When he failed over his task there was darkness, more appalling solitude, less food, stripes.  It ought to be incredible, but the whole bare truth is beyond it.  The personal degradation to which this man of genius was subjected, the outrages to his glimmering sense and dying manhood, made a martyr to him to those who knew.  (104–05)


Mrs. Aria London, My Sentimental Self (London, Chapman & Hall, 1922)

Frank Danby, The Sphinx’s Lawyer (New York, F.A. Stokes Company, 1906)

Margaret D. Stetz, ‘To defend the undefendable’: Oscar Wilde and the Davis Family, Oscholars Special Issue: Oscar Wilde, Jews & the Fin-de-Siècle, Summer 2010.

Eleanor Fitzsimons, Wilde’s Women (London, Duckworth & Co., 2015)

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Tagged as Ada Leverson, Eliza Davis, Frank Danby, Henry Irving, James Davis, Julia Davis, Mrs Aria, My Sentimental Seff, Oscar Wilde, Owen Hall, The Duchess of Padua, The Sphinx's Lawyer, The World of Dress, wilde's women, Willie Wilde

The meteoric rise and catastrophic fall of Oscar Wilde is such a familiar story that we’re inclined to take it for granted.  But a new exhibition in the Long Room at Trinity College, Dublin, gives it a vivid refresh by getting up close – and very personal – with the details of Wilde’s remarkable life. 

One of the most poignant exhibits is a letter by Wilde to his five-year-old son Cyril in 1891.  The only known surviving letter to either of his children, it begins: “My dearest Cyril, I send you a letter to tell you I am much better. I go every day and drive in a beautiful forest called the Bois de Boulogne – and in the evening I dine with my friend, and sit out afterwards at little tables and see the carriages drive by. . .”  After promising to “bring you and Vivian back some chocolates” the letter is signed “Your loving Papa, Oscar Wilde”. 

 The curator of From Decadence to Despair, Caoimhe Ní Ghormáin, has organised the exhibition as a four-chapter recreation of Wilde’s story.  It begins with his time as a student at Trinity and moves through marriage and family to his period of international celebrity and, finally, his years of exile.

 The only Oscar Wilde archive to be held in a public institution in Ireland, Trinity’s Wilde Collection was acquired in 2011 from the rare-book dealer and lifelong collector of Wildeana, Julia Rosenthal, and it is not, Ní Ghormáin explains, the usual library collection of literary papers and editions of the author’s works. 

“There’s nothing literary about the Wilde Collection,” she says. “Julia Rosenthal loved Oscar Wilde and bought things about him from when she was quite young. It’s a real collector’s collection which focuses on memorabilia such as photographs and letters.” 

Among the most striking – and certainly the most colourful – pieces on display, are a series of trade cards dating from the time of the famous US lecture tour which saw Wilde arrive in New York as a young poet in January 1882 and leave, 12 months later, as a superstar. 

“More than any other person at the time he was a master of self-promotion and – like the Kardashians of today – absolutely milked it,” says Ní Ghormáin. “His face was used to advertise everything from face cream to stoves and cigars.”

 The vividly-coloured cards, each about the size of a mobile phone, range from a caricature which declares “Strike Me With A Sunflower” to one which features a cherubic-looking head of Wilde – he appears to be wearing lipstick – and a lady who has obviously made copious use of Madame Fontaine’s Bosom Beautifier.

“It tells you all about it on the back,” says Ní Ghormáin, turning the card around to read about the perfumed cream which, it claims,  “not only increases the size and hardens the bosoms, but gives to them that beautiful transparency so much admired. . .”

Why the manufacturers of this particular product decided it would gain from an association with Wilde is anybody’s guess – though when you come to think of it, it’s no sillier than having Brad Pitt endorse Chanel No 5. 

So spectacular is the Long Room of the Old Library that it makes a fantastic and immensely atmospheric backdrop to the exhibition.  

Wilde, who studied classics at Trinity and was a successful and highly accomplished scholar, would surely approve.  On the down side, however, the restricted display space – there are just a couple of glass cases in the centre of the room – made it difficult for Ní Ghormáin to choose which pieces from the large collection to feature.

  Wilde’s classics textbook, complete with his own notes in the margins, was a no-brainer – as was a cartoon from the Philosophical Society’s “suggestions book”, and the iconic photographs of Wilde taken by Napoleon Sarony in the US in 1882.  But when it came to the theatre programmes from his four social comedies – the absolute pinnacle of his career as a writer – she had to choose just one, and so The Importance of Being Earnest is included. 

 Another key item is the sales catalogue from the auction of Wilde’s Chelsea house at that time. “There are only four copies of it in existence, and the one that we have is in the best condition,” she says. “At the time of his trial Oscar’s creditors demanded that the contexts of his house be sold to pay his legal fees.”  The Tite Street catalogue lists the contents of the house: china, porcelain, Persian rugs, inscribed editions of works by his father William and mother Jane, even his children’s toys and their rabbit hutch.

The star of Oscar Wilde: Decadence and Despair, however, is likely to be a tiny, elaborately engraved silver card case. “Everybody wants to see this – it’s very special,” says Ní Ghormáin. “It was given to Oscar on the day he left Reading Gaol, in 1897, by Ada Leverson and is engraved ‘To Sebastian Melmoth from Sphinx’.” Sebastian Melmoth was the name Wilde adopted when he came out of jail; Sphinx was what he had always called Leverson, who gave a generous amount of money to help him get back on his feet.

Sadly, Wilde became more and more depressed, drank too much, moved from one grotty hotel to another. It was a long way from the bucolic image of Paris he had presented to little Cyril in his 1891 letter. Another letter, written to the novelist Eliza Stannard just after his release from Reading Gaol, expresses Wilde’s emotions with characteristic intensity.  It is, says Ní Ghormáin, her favourite piece in the show. “His hand was starting to fail, so it’s quite faint and difficult to read,” she says. “But that’s probably why it’s so moving; the end of his life was just so sad.” 

 “Dear Mrs Stannard,” the letter reads, “Of course I have passed through a very terrible punishment and have suffered to the very pitch of anguish and despair. Still I am conscious that I was leading a life quite unworthy of an artist in every way, and unworthy of a son of my dear mother whose nobility of soul and intellect you always appreciated, and who was herself always one of your warmest and most enthusiastic admirers. I am living quietly in a little auberge by the sea, and for the moment am quite alone. . . Pray let my name and place of sojourn be quite a secret to all. I hope to live in solitude and peace.”

“Oscar Wilde: From Decadence to Despair” is at the Long Room, Trinity College, Dublin, Mondays to Saturdays, 9.30am to 5pm, Sundays noon to 4.30pm, admission €10-€13, includes entrance to Book of Kells


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