“One felt that there was less tenderness in his looks, that there was something harsh in his laughter, and a wild madness in his joy.  He seemed at the same time to be sure of pleasing, and less ambitious to succeed therein.  He had grown reckless, hardened and conceited.  Strangely enough he no longer spoke in fables....”

His brother Willie made a similar complaint to Sir Edward Sullivan.  Sir Edward writes: 

“William Wilde told me, when Oscar was in prison, that the only trouble between him and his brother was caused by Oscar’s inordinate vanity in the period before his conviction.  ‘He had surrounded himself,’ William said, ’with a gang of parasites who praised him all day long, and to whom he used to give his cigarette-cases, breast pins, etc., in return for their sickening flattery.  No one, not even I, his brother, dared offer any criticism on his works without offending him.’”

If proof were needed both of his reckless contempt for public opinion and the malignancy with which he was misjudged, it could be found in an incident which took place towards the end of 1894.  A journal entitled The Chameleon was produced by some Oxford undergraduates.  Oscar wrote for it a handful of sayings which he called “Phrases and Philosophies for the Use of the Young.”  His epigrams were harmless enough; but in the same number there appeared a story entitled “The Priest and the Acolyte” which could hardly be defended.  The mere fact that his work was printed in the same journal called forth a storm of condemnation though he had never seen the story before it was published nor had he anything to do with its insertion.

Nemesis was following hard after him.  Late in this year he spoke to me of his own accord about Lord Queensberry.  He wanted my advice: 

“Lord Queensberry is annoying me,” he said; “I did my best to reconcile him and Bosie.  One day at the Cafe Royal, while Bosie and I were lunching there, Queensberry came in and I made Bosie go over and fetch his father and bring him to lunch with us.  He was half friendly with me till quite recently; though he wrote a shameful letter to Bosie about us.  What am I to do?”

I asked him what Lord Queensberry objected to.

“He objects to my friendship with Bosie.”

“Then why not cease to see Bosie?” I asked.

“It is impossible, Frank, and ridiculous; why should I give up my friends for Queensberry?”

“I should like to see Queensberry’s letter,” I said.  “Is it possible?”

“I’ll bring it to you, Frank, but there’s nothing in it.”  A day or two later he showed me the letter, and after I had read it he produced a copy of the telegram which Lord Alfred Douglas had sent to his father in reply.  Here they both are; they speak for themselves loudly enough: 

     ALFRED,—­