Melville SPERANZAWIFEMOTHER 1996

SPERANZA AS A WIFE AND MOTHER
Author(s): Joy Melville

Source: The Wildean, No. 9 (July 1996), pp. 15-24
Published by: Oscar Wilde Society
Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/45269531
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An informal talk by Joy Melville
recorded at the Oscar Wilde Society on 6 February 1996.
The importance Speranza placed on her role as wife and mother

could be because she herself lacked a close family life as a child.
Her father died when she was about two or three. He died, not
exactly in mysterious circumstances, but unknown circumstances.
One minute they were all living in Dublin; the next minute
there was a brief obituary in The Freeman's Journal saying that he
died in India. No one knows why he went to India, what he died
of, or what happened, but from then on Speranza, or Jane Elgee
as she was, was brought up by her mother. She had an elder
brother and an elder sister, who were quite a few years older than
she was - by some five or six years. The family disappeared from
the Dublin street directory, so quite where she was brought up is
not known, though presumably somewhere in Dublin. Her mother
had to bring up the three children on her own, and as the other
two married in their late teens, Speranza must have had a fairly
solitary life, and that was what she wanted to stop.
Her decision to get married right after her mother's death in

1851 could have been a rather practical thing to do, because, if she
hadn't married then, she would have been stuck with needing to be
chaperoned, even at the age of thirty. In those days she couldn't
just live on her own. But despite the practical side of marrying
rather quickly, she obviously was very fond of, and very much
respected William Wilde whom she married. Right from the
beginning she wrote letters saying that his intellect was something
she admired, and you get the feeling that this was the primary
reason why she married him. At the same time she also wrote to
say, much more romantically: 'in love I like to feel myself a slave'.
This didn't quite seem to tie up with their appearance. She was
nearly six foot and he was about five eight or so, so she towered
over him. Nevertheless it was an extremely happy marriage. In
fact the whole family, the children too, respected each other's
work, and this was very much at the core of the family.
15
THE WILDEAN
Sir William and Lady Wilde

caricatured by Harry Furniss
16
She had her children quite soon; being thirty when she married,
she had them at approximately thirty-two, thirty-four and thirty-six.
She absolutely adored them. She wrote letters to friends, and she
talked about the oldest one, Willie, saying he was: ' spirituel looking'
and that: 'he twined around all the fibres of my heart'. And
although she called Oscar 'a fat little fellow', nevertheless she loved
him too, very much. When Isola the daughter was born, that was
the absolute height of excitement for her: to have a daughter that
she hoped to bring up in her own image. When you read her
letters, she was very much a mother who was there: she would
write and say: 'The children have all got whooping cough and
colds and had a terrible winter', or: 'Willie's got the fever so I
couldn't go abroad this year.' You are very conscious that she was
not just casually consigning them to a governess, but she actually
was there, caring for them and looking after them. You can see
from Oscar's first letter to her, after he went off to Portora
boarding school, thanking her for the hamper, that it was a very
fond letter, laughing about things they had been discussing. She
brought them up to inherit her love of the classics. She spoke ten
languages, and indeed she taught herself Swedish, a language she
loved so much that she taught it to Isola when the child was only
eight. She really wanted her daughter to be just like her.
As a wife, Speranza said once that she would have been a better
wife, mother, and head of the household had she never touched a
pen, and that she wasn't going to encourage Isola to become an
author. She was, in a way, like a working mother today: she was
trying both to look after her children and to write. She did write
quite a lot for Dublin University Magazine , and contributed to The
Nation for years, and she was also translating books. She worked
late and disliked getting up before one o'clock. Someone else had
to get the children up: she became a mother after one o'clock.
As a wife she was extraordinary. She was a feminist, and she
felt it was time that literary women were awarded far more
honours than they normally got, and that they should have equal
rights to cultural honours alongside men. Yet every now and then
she would say things that would make any feminist absolutely
flinch. She once talked about: 'a wife who should be sunlight in
the house; never mind the brains, women don't need them.' On
one occasion she was writing a tract about Lady Byron, and she
17
THE WILDEAN
said: 'Lady Byron was entirely deficient in the subtle tact that could
guide and soothe the wayward, turbulent and terrible temperament
of genius. "Am I in your way, Byron?" she asked one day, entering
the poet's study while he was at his immortal work. "Damnably!"
was the answer of the poet-husband; and she deserved it! She had
no tact, no fine instinct. She ought to have known intuitively that
she was in the way, and effaced herself.'
When you read that you can see that she did believe it was
women's duty to support their husbands, and ask nothing in return
except the divine joy of sacrifice. Today this kind of attitude
makes you feel rather ill. Nevertheless, she was a marvellous wife
and had terrific loyalty. She obviously was a very attractive woman
and she had the Astronomer Royal, Rowan Hamilton, sendng
besotted letters to her - so much so that his biographer actually
wrote to her to say: 'Would you mind these letters being used in
the book?' in case they might immediately produce a divorce if
seen by her husband. But despite many infatuated letters from
various different men, she never became involved with anyone else.
Unlike her husband.
This loyalty was something that was at the core of her
relationship with her husband, and with her children. She
supported them one hundred per cent. In fact, when, as you all
know, there was the sensational Mary Travers case, caused because
her husband had behaved stupidly, as well as badly, by writing
letters and getting involved with this woman, Lady Wilde was
perfectly happy to roar into the witness-box to defend him. When
asked if her husband was involved with Mary Travers, she was
scornful at the mere idea of this, and completely dismissed it. In
fact, she annoyed the jury because of her reaction to being asked
at one point if Mary Travers had sent her a letter telling her she
had taken laudanum because of the way William Wilde had treated
her. The prosecution said: 'You didn't even reply to this letter;
why didn't you? Why didn't you do something about this poor
woman?' She just said: 'I was not interested.' Of course, they
were expecting her to say: 'How could my husband do such
terrible things?' But she didn't. It was quite genuine; she wasn't
interested in these minor peccadilloes. As far as she was
concerned, their relationship, their intellectual relationship,
overcame everything like this. She was that kind of wife - the ideal
wife for any man - who would ignore the fact that he happened to
18
be out rather late on Saturday night, and be perfectly prepared to

wait for him to come home.
This loyalty continued with her sons, and indeed with her
daughter. When Isola died in her tenth year, Lady Wilde was
absolutely devastated. It changed her life completely. She just
said: T shall never go out again; I shall never go out to the
drawing-rooms, the Dublin parties; I shall never go out to my
friends. I want to get away from the world from now on.'
Sadly, she did. She withdrew from that point on. That is when
she started to hold her salons, because her friends said: 'We never
see you!' So she did entertain, but she entertained at home rather
than going out. Even three or four years later, in letters to her
friends, she still talked about the dark shadow over her. She loved
all her children, but she loved her daughter especially. A great
point about that time is that she would be writing to say: Thank
God I still have my sons!' And as they grew older she would be
writing and talking about them, and she said: These wonderful
boys! One will go into Parliament, and one will be a wonderful
writer.' You could almost see the Greek chorus creeping along in
the background intoning: 'Woe to the House of Wilde.' You knew
that Oscar would die in disgrace and that Willie would die a
drunkard, but there were these letters so full of hope, so
enthusiastic about the two boys who still remained, that it is
particularly sad when you read them.
She had such hopes of them, and indeed she did give them the
most marvellous support. After Sir William died and the whole
family was left virtually bankrupt, one thing which thrilled her was
when Oscar won the Newdigate prize and she wrote to him to say:
'Well, after all, we have geniusY It must be marvellous, I think,
when you do succeed in anything, to have such enthusiasm from
one or both parents, to say that it is wonderful and they can't think
of any better news.
William Wilde died at a crucially difficult time for Willie, who
needed every single contact he could get because he was a barrister
and needed his father to introduce him to contacts. Without these,
Willie decided to chuck up being a barrister, and planned instead
to take up journalism. He had written one or two pieces which
had been taken by London magazines, so he thought that he would
become a journalist in London.
It was the fact that Willie was going to London, and that Oscar
19
THE WILDEAN
had decided to live in London after Oxford, that made Lady Wilde
herself decide that she would join her two sons there. Although
she didn't really like the English, and had written all this very anti-
English poetry, (and, indeed, the English didn't like her for that!),
she just felt that she had to be where her sons were. In a way it
was sad for her, because in Dublin, in Merrion Square, she was
known as the hostess, her salons were there, and she was a person
in her own right. But although she followed her sons lovingly to
London - the Queen Magazine at that time had a social column
called The Upper Ten Thousand', and she didn't even make the
upper ten thousand - she was just unknown in London. She had
really to start her life again. She restarted her salons, and both her
sons, who loyally loved her in the way she loyally loved them,
would come along. As Oscar became better known, then the
salons became more frequented by people who actually wanted to
meet Oscar more than his mother. Oscar was always there, he
was always ready, in his devotion, to support his mother on these
occasions. When, in 1882, Oscar went off to America to tour,
people said that the room in which she held the salons was so full
of pictures of Oscar that there just was not any space at all: Oscar
in his fur coat, Oscar without the fur coat, Oscar here and Oscar
there. Willie, I imagine, must have been pretty fed up.
Lady Wilde wrote to Oscar constantly, from the time when he
went to Oxford almost until her death. She regarded him as a
confidant, really, and she told him everything - everything she was
thinking about, what she was writing, what she thought he should
be writing, how she thought he should behave. They were
extraordinary, all these letters. She would often write to him about
Willie. She would say: 'Willie is off in Dublin again'; or: 'Willie
went off to Ascot this morning and that meant a very early
breakfast.' She was still getting up at the age of sixty preparing
early breakfast for Willie - she was an amazing mother in that way.
She was terribly keen that her sons married well, because she
wanted everything for them. She would write to Oscar and say:
'Go and see so-and-so; they might employ you to write this up, or
that up, or be a useful contact.' She was one of these wonderful,
plucky, pushing mothers saying: 'Come on! come on, get yourself
together! Go and see this person, go and do this, and get into
Parliament tomorrow.' She was delighted when Oscar met
Constance, whom she regarded as a good prospect, and so when
20
Oscar was in America in 1882 she made a point of constantly

asking Constance to tea so that she had her ready and primed for
when Oscar came back. And indeed they did get engaged within
about a year, and she was delighted, and wrote a letter saying:
'Marvellous! you can go into Parliament, and Constance can read
your proofs.' She had everything completely sorted out as to what
he should do. Oscar of course took absolutely no notice of
anything like that, but even so she was a great caring mother.
Willie she loved too, even though he basically sponged on her.
It didn't dawn on Willie ever to pay his bills, or actually hand any
money over. Willie was just there. He lived with her right until he
was about forty - for most of his life - until, to everyone's
amazement, he married a rich American widow. Lady Wilde was
particularly pleased about it because this rich widow, Mrs Frank
Leslie, actually gave her £300 in order that she and Willie could
use Lady Wilde's house when they were over from America.
Unfortunately the marriage didn't last longer than one trip from
America, and after that his wife divorced Willie on the grounds
that: 'You are no use to me, either by day or by night!'
Lady Wilde thought this terribly funny, and she sent Oscar all
the cuttings about Willie's divorce that said, for example: 'Willie
too tired to get up'. Willie just thought that if his wife was
working, why should he? He would spend all day long at the Lotus
Club and the other clubs in New York. Lady Wilde's amusement
ended when he turned up, drunkenly and happily, to live at home
with Mum again, and was not actually producing any money to do
so. Oscar was furious, first of all, that Willie turned up merrily
and just went back to Lady Wilde to live there; and also because
to get some money for drinks, in the Lotus Club in New York, he
imitated what was called Oscar's 'potato-choked voice.' Needless
to say it was reported in the papers, and Oscar read this. It was
the final straw, and he completely split with Willie.
This upset Lady Wilde terrifically, because she adored both her
sons, and couldn't bear them to hate each other. She wrote to
Oscar to say: 'Please come here! Please at least shake your
brother by the hand. He doesn't mean any harm, and I don't need
any money.' She did, actually, but she said that to placate Oscar.
In fact it is quite interesting, because if you look at The Importance
of Being Earnest , at the fourth act which was dropped and never
used, excerpts from Lady Wilde's letters are in that. In the fourth
21
THE WILDEAN
act, Algernon was actually arrested for debt, and it has got things
in it like: 'Please shake your brother by the hand' - things that
Lady Wilde had written to Oscar. So you get the effect of family
problems actually coming through into Oscar's work.
But despite Lady Wilde saying: 'I shall be in utter despair if you
two don't make it up', they never spoke to each other again. That
was a great sadness for her. It meant that Oscar wouldn't come to
her house if Willie was there. Up until then, she really was the
linchpin of the family; she kept the family together from when
they were children onwards, and then suddenly she was faced with
it falling apart. Both the brothers made snide comments about
each other and, if they saw each other at the Café Royal would
walk past looking in the other direction.
It would be interesting to know if Willie ever said anything to
Lady Wilde about the fact that Oscar was, as he put it, 'feasting
with panthers' at the Café Royal. Would he have said anything to
his mother? Does one do that kind of thing? It is very hard. A
lot of people have asked me if Oscar's homosexuality was due to
the classic claim of the dominant mother and the remote father.
It seems to me that she wasn't dominating; she played a dominant
part, but she wasn't a domineering mother; and Sir William Wilde
was a very loving father. He worked incredibly hard: but his
contemporaries have mentioned the fact that he always had Willie
by the hand, or was holding Oscar, and he certainly loved his
children.
Whether Willie, who would have seen Oscar at the Café Royal
with Bosie, and with innumerable other young men, ever said
anything to Lady Wilde is simply not known. I just do not know
if Lady Wilde would have known about Oscar's homosexuality. As
a classicist she would have known that it existed, but that is quite
different from necessarily knowing that your son was involved.
Unless Willie said anything, which he could have when he was
drunk - but at the same time he seemed to be at home very little -
he merely staggered home in the small hours and fell into bed. So
it is very hard to know. Once Oscar's first trial began, everything
was in the papers. His mother was a recluse at that point: she
didn't go out at all, but she was an avid reader of newspapers and
magazines, and would have read all about Oscar's various
involvements with young men. It would then have been a most
terrible shock to her if she didn't have any inkling at all. In
22
between the second and the third trials, Oscar was released on
bail and was trying to find a hotel to stay for the night. But all the
hotels refused because Queensberry's bully-boys were right behind
saying: 'Do you know who this is?'
So he was forced to seek sanctuary in his mother's house, and
she at that point was really not well, and was more or less confined
to bed, not just to her house. This was when so many of Oscar's
friends were urging him to flee the country saying: 'You are going
to be sent to prison. Get out, now, while you can! You've got a
day - a night'. This again was when Lady Wilde made her classic
remark to Oscar: 'You are my son, and even if you go to prison,
I shall always have affection for you, but if you run away, I shall
never speak to you again.' She positively adored Oscar, and you
think: 'How could she say that? How could she say: I won't have
anything more to do with you if you do this?' If you love someone,
you don't mind what they do. Surely you'd be the first to think:
'Yes, get away, get away, save yourself!'
But again it had always been important to Lady Wilde that she
was Irish, and Oscar was an Irish gentleman, and to think of him
running away from the English, of all races, and letting them win
by default, was unbearable to her. And also she would look back,
I think, to the Mary Travers trial, when she had stood in the
witness-box and bandied words with the prosecution - and won.
She had brought her sons up to think that they really were
superior. She had received such adulation for her own work - the
editor of that magazine The Shamrock , I remember, once wrote to
her and said: 'My Lady, my Lady, my Lady, would you grace the
pages of The Shamrockl Just write something]' And when people
come to you on bended knees, after a time you think: 'Well, yes,
I am pretty good'. She would genuinely believe: 'We are the ones
who cannot be brought down. We are the Wildes'. When Oscar
was convicted, the shock to her was as great as it was to him.
This happened on May 25th 1895, and in January of the next year
she got bronchitis and she asked that Oscar should be brought to
see her, but they refused. Within a few days, on February 3rd, she
had died. I truly think that if anybody could be said to have died
of a broken heart, it was Lady Wilde. I think that she had
absolutely no will to live at all. Willie, although she truly did love
him as well, had just brought her more and more problems. He
had married again within the last year or so, and had had a
23
THE WILDEAN
daughter too. Both Willie's wife and the baby were still living at
Oakley Street with Lady Wilde. She wrote to Oscar before he was
sent to prison: 'What am I going to do? They say they are going
to come and live with me! How am I going to manage?' She still
loved Willie, but Oscar was special. His conviction was such a
blow to her. She loved her family so much. She had done
everything she possibly could for them. She lived really through
them at the end.
She had always regarded herself as the writer of the family.
When Oscar's plays started to be such brilliant successes, she wrote
to him in a slightly miffed way to say: T suppose I shall now be
known as the Mother of Oscar!' Much as she liked them, she
couldn't quite accept that her sons had come up and over her. She
kept almost everything that Willie wrote. This was all unsigned.
It is extremely hard to find out what Willie has written. He wrote
short stories in The World and he would edit a lot of Christmas
annuals, and wrote up the Parnell Commission hearings, but it was
only when I came across Lady Wilde's scrapbook in the Bodleian
Library and saw all these lovingly cut out articles by Willie that I
was able to read some of what he wrote.
Although Oscar always tends to be centre stage, Willie lived with
his mother, and she loved him, even though he was sponging on
her, in that way that mothers do. She felt just as strongly about
him as she did about Oscar.
In fact, when she died, Willie wrote to a friend, saying: 'My dear
mother was more than a mother to me. She was the best and
truest and most loyal friend I had on earth.' I think that Oscar and
Willie both felt exactly the same about their mother, and you could
not have a stronger, better tribute than those words.
Well, after all it is a satisfaction to have

been through the whole circle of human
emotion , literature, ambition, love,
motherhood, till my wings fall from me at
last beside an infant's cradle .'
Speranza.
24

Melville SPERANZAWIFEMOTHER 1996

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Melville SPERANZAWIFEMOTHER 1996

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SPERANZA AS A WIFE AND MOTHER

Author(s): Joy Melville

An informal talk by Joy Melville

recorded at the Oscar Wilde Society on 6 February 1996.

The importance Speranza placed on her role as wife and mother

Her decision to get married right after her mother's death in

Sir William and Lady Wilde

be out rather late on Saturday night, and be perfectly prepared to

Oscar was in America in 1882 she made a point of constantly

Well, after all it is a satisfaction to have

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