These two years 1893-4 saw Oscar Wilde at the very zenith of success.
Thackeray, who always felt himself a monetary failure in comparison
with Dickens, calls success "one of the greatest of a great man's
qualities," and Oscar was not successful merely, he was triumphant.
Not Sheridan the day after his marriage, not Byron when he awoke to
find himself famous, ever reached such a pinnacle. His plays were
bringing in so much that he could spend money like water; he had won
every sort of popularity; the gross applause of the many, and the
finer incense of the few who constitute the jury of Fame; his personal
popularity too was extraordinary; thousands admired him, many liked
him; he seemed to have everything that heart could desire and perfect
health to boot. Even his home life was without a cloud. Two stories
which he told at this time paint him. One was about his two boys,
Vyvyan and Cyril.

"Children are sometimes interesting," he began. "The other night I was
reading when my wife came and asked me to go upstairs and reprove the
elder boy: Cyril, it appeared, would not say his prayers. He had
quarrelled with Vyvyan, and beaten him, and when he was shaken and
told he must say his prayers, he would not kneel down, or ask God to
make him a good boy. Of course I had to go upstairs and see to it. I
took the chubby little fellow on my knee, and told him in a grave way
that he had been very naughty; naughty to hit his younger brother, and
naughty because he had given his mother pain. He must kneel down at
once, and ask God to forgive him and make him a good boy.

"'I was not naughty,' he pouted, 'it was Vyvyan; he was naughty.'

"I explained to him that his temper was naughty, and that he must do
as he was told. With a little sigh he slipped off my knee, and knelt
down and put his little hands together, as he had been taught, and
began 'Our Father.' When he had finished the 'Lord's Prayer,' he
looked up at me and said gravely, 'Now I'll pray to myself.'

"He closed his eyes and his lips moved. When he had finished I took
him in my arms again and kissed him. 'That's right,' I said.

"'You said you were sorry,' questioned his mother, leaning over him,
'and asked God to make you a good boy?'

"'Yes, mother,' he nodded, 'I said I was sorry and asked God to make
Vyvyan a good boy.'

"I had to leave the room, Frank, or he would have seen me smiling.
Wasn't it delightful of him! We are all willing to ask God to make
others go