I suppose publishers are untrustworthy. They certainly always look it. I hope some notice will appear, as your paper, or rather yourself, is a great force in London and when you speak men listen.
I of course feel that the poem is too autobiographical and that real experience are alien things that should never influence one, but it was wrung out of me, a cry of pain, the cry of Marsyas, not the song of Apollo. Still, there are some good things in it. I feel as if I had made a sonnet out of skilly, and that is something.
When you return from Monte Carlo please let me know. I long to dine with you.
As regards a comedy, my dear Frank, I have lost the mainspring of life and art--_la joie de vivre_--it is dreadful. I have pleasures and passions, but the joy of life is gone. I am going under, the Morgue yawns for me. I go and look at my zinc bed there. After all I had a wonderful life, which is, I fear, over. But I must dine once with you first.
[39] Oscar told me this story; but as it only concerns Lord Alfred Douglas, and throws no new light on Oscar's character, I don't use it.
[40] This is extravagant condemnation of Lord Alfred Douglas' want of education; for he certainly knew a great deal about the poetic art even then and he has since acquired a very considerable knowledge of "Elizabethan Song."
[41] Whoever wishes to understand this bitter allusion should read his father's letter to Lord Alfred Douglas transcribed in the first volume. The Marquis of Queensberry doesn't hesitate to hint why his son was "sent down" from Oxford.
[42] Cfr. Appendix: "Criticisms by Robert Ross."
[43] Oscar is not flattering his friend in this: Lord Alfred Douglas has written two or three sonnets which rank among the best in the language.
[44] This statement--more than half true--is Oscar Wilde's _Apologia_ and justification.
[45] This is, I believe, true and the explanation that follows is probably true also.
[46] Baccarat is not played in the Casino: _roulette_ and _trente et quarante_ are the games: roulette was Lord Alfred Douglas' favourite.
[47] This is a confession almost as much as an accusation.
[48] Oscar here crosses the _t's_ and dots the _i's_ of his charge.
[49] The previous accusation repeated, with bitterest sarcasm.