[I have invented nothing, nor altered anything, in the last few sentences I have quoted. Wilde's words are fixed in my mind, and, I might almost say, in my ears. I do not say that Wilde clearly saw the prison opening to receive him, but I do assert that the great and unexpected event which astonished and upset London, suddenly changing Oscar Wilde from accuser into accused, did not cause him any surprise. The newspapers, which chose to see in him only a buffoon, misrepresented, as far as they could, the position taken up for his defence, even to the extent of wresting all meaning from it. Perhaps some day in the far future it will be seemly to lift this dreadful trial out of the mire--but not yet.] [1] _An Ideal Husband_ at the Haymarket and _The Importance of Being Earnest_ at the St. James's. Possibly _Lady Windermere's Fan_ or _A Woman of No Importance_ was being played at a suburban theatre at the same time. [2] M. Gide first wrote _euphuisme_ but altered it to _euphémisme_ on republishing his 'Study' in _Prétextes_. Euphuism or 'extreme nicety in language' seems to be more appropriate in the present case than euphemism or 'a softening of offensive expressions.' III. For the crimson flower of our life is eaten by the cankerworm of truth. And no hand can gather up the fallen withered petals of the rose of youth. III. As soon as he came out of prison, Oscar Wilde went back to France. At Berneval, a quiet little village near Dieppe, a certain 'Sebastian Melmoth' took up his abode. It was he. As I had been the last of his French friends to see him, I wanted to be the first to greet him on his return to liberty, and as soon as I could find out his address I hastened to him. I arrived about midday without having previously announced my proposed visit. M. Melmoth, whom T----[1] with warm cordiality invited to Dieppe fairly frequently, was not expected back till the evening. He did not return till midnight. It was as cold as winter. The weather was atrocious. The whole day I wandered about the deserted beach in low spirits and bored to death. How could Wilde have chosen Berneval to live in, I wondered. It was positively mournful. Night came, and I went back to the hotel to engage a room, the same hotel where Melmoth was living--indeed it was the only one in the place. The hotel, which was clean and pleasantly situated, catered only for second-class boarders, inoffensive folk enough, with whom I had to dine. Rather poor company for Melmoth, I thought.