“At last there was a washing bill to be paid; Bosie was dunned for it, and when I came in, he raged and whipped me with his tongue.  It was appalling; I had done everything for him, given him everything, lost everything, and now I could only stand and see love turned to hate:  the strength of love’s wine making the bitter more venomous.  Then he left me, Frank, and now there is no hope for me.  I am lost, finished, a derelict floating at the mercy of the stream, without plan or purpose....  And the worst of it is, I know, if men have treated me badly, I have treated myself worse; it is our sins against ourselves we can never forgive....  Do you wonder that I snatch at any pleasure?”

He turned and looked at me all shaken; I saw the tears pouring down his cheeks.

“I cannot talk any more, Frank,” he said in a broken voice, “I must go.”

I called a cab.  My heart was so heavy within me, so sore, that I said nothing to stop him.  He lifted his hand to me in sign of farewell, and I turned again to walk home alone, understanding, for the first time in my life, the full significance of the marvellous line in which Shakespeare summed up his impeachment of the world and his own justification:  the only justification of any of us mortals: 

     “A man more sinn’d against than sinning.”

FOOTNOTES: 

[22] This was the sum promised by the whole Queensberry family and by Lord Alfred Douglas in particular to Oscar to defray the costs of that first action for libel which they persuaded him to bring against Lord Queensberry.  Ross has since stated in court that it was never paid.  The history of the monies promised and supplied to Oscar at that time is so extraordinary and so characteristic of the age that it might well furnish a chapter to itself.  Here it is enough just to say that those who ought to have supplied him with money evaded the obligation, while others upon whom he had no claim, helped him liberally; but even large sums slipped through his careless fingers like water.

[23] Cfr.  Appendix:  “Criticisms by Robert Ross.”

[24] One of the prettiest daughters of the game to be found in Paris at the time.

CHAPTER XXI

The more I considered the matter, the more clearly I saw, or thought I saw, that the only chance of salvation for Oscar was to get him to work, to give him some purpose in life, and the reader should remember here that at this time I had not read “De Profundis” and did not know that Oscar in prison had himself recognised this necessity.  After all, I said to myself, nothing is lost if he will only begin to write.  A man should be able to whistle happiness and hope down the wind and take despair to his bed and heart, and win courage from his harsh companion.  Happiness is not essential to the artist:  happiness never creates anything but memories.  If Oscar