Feasting with cubs: Wilde at Berneval

A paper presented at the International Association for the Study of Irish Literature (IASIL) conference in Kyoto 1995 and subsequently published in Journal of Irish Studies

Introduction

1995 is the centenary of Oscar Wilde's trials. The man and the work have been suitably honoured in this year by the unveiling of a plaque in Poets' Corner in Westminster Abbey. In this same year, Irish homosexuals were refused permission to march as such down the streets of Manhattan in the annual St. Patrick's Day parade. This apparent clash of register - the high redress by the reigning culture after a century, and the nous, in both senses of the word, of the street - is germane to Wilde. His name alone signifies a disturbance in a way that no other name in literature does, partly because of this tessellation of the academy and the street: imputed pornography; fashion writing; journalism; children's tales; poetry; the drama and the novel; the posthumous salvo of De Profundis and the salt of the letters.

Audience and, in his last years, the lack of an audience, were crucial to Wilde's writing and sense of self. Wilde was at once demotic and a snob: no wonder he brought his rentboys to the Ritz, a case of having your cherry, eating it, and spitting the pits into the audience. His writing brings the unsaid elaborately to the edge of statement; this is essentially the strategy of the "open secret". Wilde, in his trials, was faced with the unequivocal statement: evidence, facts, the court record, and his only comeback is the aestheticisation of desire; wit on a precipice. Wilde was lying, in my view, which in a way lets him off the hook(1) . Lying is art. Against this we have the testimony of guttersnipes and the sententious rhetoric of lords: a poor truth of stained sheets and society seen to be righting itself. It is as though the havoc Wilde courted and was visited by has leached into his work. Those trials a hundred years ago, then, destroyed the usual distinction between literature and life, between high and low, between truth and fiction. With Wilde we cannot see one without the other.

What follows is selected extracts from a translation I have made of Oscar Wilde, tel que je l'ai connu by Alin Caillas, published by La Pensée Universelle(2) in Paris in 1971. The book is prefaced by the well-known French writer Robert Merle, and makes considerable use of Merle's Oscar Wilde et la destinée de l'homosexuel(3) . Caillas's memoir is referred to in a footnote in H. Montgomery Hyde's biography(4) , and in the notes to Richard Ellmann's more comprehensive biography(5) . Alin Caillas was living temporarily at Berneval in Normandy in 1897, at the time of Oscar Wilde's stay there upon his release from Reading Jail, and was one of a group of gamins(6) invited by Wilde to celebrate the Jubilee of Queen Victoria in June of that year. He was not quite ten years old at the time. His account, written when he was 84, suffers from inaccuracy and a certain amount of embellishment. Only some sections, those in which he appears to write either from first-hand experience or on the basis of local gossip and hearsay, are of interest to the scholar: these sections I have translated and cross-referenced with other contemporary accounts and with the biographies of Wilde, in order to arrive at a fair account of Wilde's stay at Berneval.

Caillas, as a child and as an adult, appears to have known Berneval and its inhabitants well. His book is interesting for the way it portrays Wilde, the scandalous English gentleman, through the eyes of the villagers of the time. However, the account is padded out with an opinionated biography of Wilde, an analysis of Wilde's handwriting and an appendix which attempts to inform the reader about homosexuality, "inversion", etc. in a pseudo-liberal manner which even for 1971 seems dated.

As far as I know we have only two other glimpses of Oscar Wilde through the eyes of a child (leaving aside the writings of his son, Vyvyan Holland) - a vignette by Forrest Reid in his memoirs, Apostate(7) , and an account of the destitute Wilde in Paris by a boy "of about Vyvyan's and Cyril's age"(8) who observed and was spoken to by Wilde in a restaurant where the boy frequently went with his mother. It is well to remember that Wilde is an enduring and much-loved children's writer(9) .

Apart from the charm of the child's-eye view that this text, in its limited way, allows us, it also frames and illuminates the last period of creativity that Oscar Wilde enjoyed, the composition of The Ballad of Reading Gaol(10) . Indeed, this period of approximately four months in Normandy was one of intense activity for Wilde. He was busy socially and as a writer: the list of people he met and entertained is both impressive and exhausting(11) , and the volume of correspondence testifies to his initial attempt to remake a shattered life. The two long letters he wrote to the Daily Chronicle(12) , within days of his release, concerning prison conditions, in particular those of children, have had important consequences for prison reform. The Ballad of Reading Gaol, though flawed, is his best poem and certainly a new departure, as all his works tended to be. The poem is weakened by its lapses into sentimentality and long-windedness, and by its divided purpose, as Wilde himself recognised(13) , and as Yeats also did by including only an abridged version in his Oxford Book of Irish Verse (1936). This fractured sense of the self, and recourse to religiosity and sentimentality, while not new in Wilde(14) , comes to the fore in his life at this time. Caillas's account gives us glimpses of Wilde's floundering attempts at reconciling his different selves, public and private. That a convicted corruptor of youth, within weeks of his release from Her Majesty's pleasure and two years of hard labour, should be celebrating the same Queen's Jubilee with gusto and cake in the company of fifteen schoolboys, is one of the supreme paradoxes in a paradoxical life.

After Berneval Wilde did not write again. His Jubilee party, then, can be seen as his last public flourish before choosing to rejoin Douglas and the life of "errancy" and "debauchery"(15) of his last years in Italy and Paris. It is tempting to see this party as Wilde cocking a snook at the society across the channel which had rejected him, and with an eye to the balcony of history as well. It may also be seen as a celebration of his newfound but short-lived creativity since, two days before the party, he wrote to Robbie Ross "the poem is nearly finished."(16)

The Translation

He was 44 years old at the time and the effects of debauchery and his period in prison had turned him into "the fat man", as I nicknamed him then. Even though the swimming suits of the day were designed to cover up as much as possible, bathing at Berneval - as I will explain later - revealed the full extent of his physical decline.(17) [...]

When he arrived at Berneval, the coachman pointed out the Hotel de la Plage. Wilde booked a room for himself and one for his manservant(18) . Later, Lord Douglas was to join him(19) when Oscar deemed that he had nothing to fear in the way of malicious rumour mongering. Hotel de la Plage, a very decent hotel, was owned and managed by Mr. O. J. Bonnet who humbly referred to himself as its "founder".

It was the end of May and already high summer; Normandy was a lush green; everywhere apple trees were in blossom. The ex-convict of Reading Jail, C.33, must have been delighted to taste freedom(20) again after two years confined within the walls of his cell and the prison yard.

A few yards from the hotel, on the western edge of the square fronting the terrace, on the path descending to the beach, there was a small chapel, Notre-Dame de Liesse, which Oscar particularly liked. Though an atheist, prison had changed him, and he would have preferred if Fr. Trophardy(21) , parish priest at the time, could have said mass there, so that Oscar wouldn't have to attend the village church. But it wasn't possible, since the priest was busy.[...]

Oscar quickly got to know the few village worthies, as well as the fishermen, customs men (at that time the post was manned by a sergeant and four officers), farmers and also the children.

In short, there was general euphoria for a few weeks, and on 22 June Oscar threw a party in honour of the Jubilee of Queen Victoria, whose portrait hung in his room(22) .

All the boys from the school were invited to the party, and, enrolled at the school on a short-term basis, I was also invited. I shall describe this party, in 1970 still vivid in the minds of those Berneval inhabitants who had heard about it, since, apart from myself, everybody from that time is dead and buried in the village graveyard.

Despite being entirely satisfied with the Hotel de la Plage(23) , where he stayed with his servant and Lord Douglas, Oscar, ever changeable, wanted to feel less constrained(24) . Why keep a servant and not make use of him?

After about three weeks at "old Bonnet's place", Oscar asked him to find a chalet where he would have more room, and also a plot where he could build his very own dream house, since he had decided to end his days at Berneval.

A chalet was quickly found, less than 100 meters from the Hotel de la Plage, called the Chalet Bourgeat, after its owner, Mr. Bourgeat.

It was a big two-story house, with a fine dining room, a large kitchen and three bedrooms. Both floors had balconies, which Oscar particularly liked. It wasn't too far either from Notre-Dame de Liesse, the small chapel for which he seemed to have such affection.

He quit the Hotel de la Plage on 15 June 1897 and wasn't long in settling in to the Chalet. Perhaps Oscar had, as they say, something in mind, and wanted to be able to celebrate properly the Jubilee of Queen Victoria on 22 June 1897.

On that day he planned a big party and invited only the local boys and their schoolmaster, Mr. Hossein.

For him, girls didn't exist, and we know the reasons why.

*

On the day of the party, June 22 1897, the weather at Berneval was splendid, which delighted us fifteen or sixteen primary school pupils, and sharpened our anticipation, even though, despite Mr. Hossein's best efforts to explain, the full import of the occasion was beyond us.

The Bourgeat Chalet(25) garden was ideal for our little get-together. Besides us schoolboys, Oscar Wilde, Lord Douglas(26) and our teacher, of course, were present.

Oscar wanted a festive setting, so he had hired Marcel Bary, the local joiner, grandson of old Mrs. Darcy, who ran the Café-Tabac de la Paix. This café still exists at Grand Berneval, and has been renamed Au Rendez-vous des Gourmets. Marcel Bary had hung garlands, lanterns (which we were not supposed to light) and numerous little French and English flags in advance of the Entente cordiale(27) .

Oscar liked the rustic manners and good will of this French village of small farmers, fishermen and customs men (one of whom was called Saint-Saëns, a distant relative of the famous musician). Now and again Oscar liked to invite the customs men for a game of cards, or dominoes, the national passtime of the Normans.

In a village of less than five hundred inhabitants, at that time, an English "gentleman" who spoke fluent French, distinguished and sumptuous in manner, accompanied by a secretary and a servant, quickly won over the inhabitants.

Now to the little ceremony which was due to start at four thirty. Everybody was on time and, escorted by our teacher, we sat round the tables decorated with flowers, under the garlands and flags.

It was a big spread: strawberries and cream, cakes, chocolate, all washed down with grenadine syrup and a few bottles of homemade cider.

The centerpiece of the table was an enormous cake, a true masterpiece baked by Mr. Lauvergeat, the pastry chef at the Hotel de la Plage. It was a biscuit de Savoie, skilfully decorated with little red and green sugar roses and with Jubilé de la Reine Victoria in red icing round the edge.

But, besides the cake, there was a surprise. Oscar Wilde - excuse me, Sebastian Melmoth - wanted to do things right. In a large chest was a pile of musical instruments: accordions, trumpets, bugles, a drum and a kettledrum. We drew lots, and whatever the outcome, everybody was perfectly satisfied. Félicien Bellêtre(28) got an accordion - which he didn't know how to play - and I got a magnificent kettledrum which was much easier to play! As for the others, I don't remember and, indeed, it's of little importance.

The cake eaten, the prize giving over, Sebastian Melmoth asked our teacher to have us sing the Marseillaise, which we did without too much difficulty. But when, to balance things out, Mr. Melmoth requested God Save the Queen, it was a different story, and we acquitted ourselves with great difficulty despite all the good will of our host.

Anyway, we tried our best, a poor best, and, proper little French boys that we were, we sang King instead of Queen, which didn't quite fit since it was Queen Victoria in this particular case and there wasn't, at that time, a King of England.

Then the English and French paper flags were distributed, and after loudly declaiming "Long Live the Queen of England" and "Long Live the President of the Republic", our little group assembled outside the house of the mayor, Mr. Lamarche, and waved as best we could our flags, all shouting at the tops of our voices "Long Live the Mayor!" The mayor was totally dumbfounded.

It was, thereabouts, a kind of mini-revolution, still spoken about today, by hearsay, of course. But these events have entered the annals of Berneval's local history.

*

This party, rather than spreading joy as he had intended, had unfortunate consequences for Oscar Wilde, since people began to gossip(29) .

First of all, why had he only invited the boys and not the girls and their schoolmistress? Why this ostracism?[...]

Then, one day - it's unclear how - we learned that our Mr. Sebastian Melmoth was not at all Sebastian Melmoth but, in fact, Oscar Wilde, whose prison sentence was still fresh in people's minds.

The villagers began to be worried. No more domino games with the customs men, no more friendly chats with Father Trophardy or with old Bonnet. Parents forbade their children - taking their lead from the schoolmaster - to have anything to do with a man hiding under an alias and attempting to smother a recent scandal, which many still remembered and, as the song used to go - "that's how people got to know."

If Sebastian Melmoth honoured Berneval by his presence when we were unaware of his true identity, Oscar Wilde shamed us. We steered clear of him now that he was unmasked. To a lesser extent, with slighter day-to-day consequences for himself, the snubs of London and Dieppe(30) started up again.

"Woe to him through whom the scandal cometh."

Oscar moved around a lot. He was often in Dieppe: at the Café Suisse, which he was particularly fond of, or at the Café des Tribunaux (these two cafés still exist). He wasn't averse to touching his English friends in Dieppe for a few pounds from time to time, which wasn't conducive to maintaining friendly relations.

Since his guests at the Hotel de la Plage frequently included, for example, André Gide(31) or, at the Bourgeat Chalet, his English friends, a strain was put on Oscar's meagre resources.

He wrote many letters to Robbie and his English friends. Often enough they helped him out, but Robbie was far from rich and was no banker.

From time to time he received a cheque and his mood was buoyant again briefly, until the money ran out, without any corresponding diminishment of his lifestyle.[...]

As a child I knew Oscar Wilde, first of all because I was invited to his party and, later, because the bathing hut he rented from Mrs. Bérard, Château de Vargemont, was next to that of my parents on the beach at Berneval.

At first, when they happened to be at the bathing huts at the same time as Oscar, the latter kept himself to himself. He was 43 years old and my father was 57. So there was quite a difference in their respective ages. Oscar looked much older than his years and his time in prison had marked his appearance.

Eventually, seeing each other almost daily at the time of their afternoon dip, the ice was broken. One fine day Oscar and Douglas couldn't open the door to their hut. My father, easy-going and obliging, succeeded in releasing the lock which had rusted up, and Oscar was extremely grateful.

Little by little, they got talking, and Oscar, whose true identity was now known, kept up his gentlemanly front. One day he made a complete confession to my father, recounting, with great eloquence, all his woes, and going so far as to divulge his money problems, telling my father that he was always waiting on cheques which didn't turn up and if the good Mr. Caillas could only lend him...

My father, who related this anecdote to me when I was a young man, let him have about 100 francs or 5 sovereigns, at the time about £4, which, of course, he never saw again... [...]

His "relationship" with Douglas, meanwhile, was faring badly. They had their ups and downs, and frequent, often futile, arguments. It was always Douglas who started these scenes which resounded well beyond the walls of Bourgeat Chalet.

Oscar always gave way to his friend, conceding all authority. Implicitly, recklessly, he put himself in the weaker position.

The days went by and the two men practically shut themselves off from the outside world. It was the end of August, and the nights were drawing in.

Oscar grew tired of Berneval. The numerous visitors he entertained at the Hotel de la Plage did nothing to relieve his boredom. He went often to Dieppe, to the Casino near the old castle which adorns this pretty seaport.

"One morning in August, while the orchestra played one of Arban's waltzes, the horn player, Aubrey Beardsley, sick and shivering, was drinking a glass of milk and soda on the Casino terrace. He'd just come across a copy of Mémoires pour servir à l'Histoire de la Ville de Dieppe by Denys Guibert and was showing it to Oscar. Beardsley and Oscar, seated together, were laughing out loud at the role of the English in the wars of religion." [footnote in the text] This wasn't very tactful towards the French customers at neighbouring tables.

The weather at Berneval and Dieppe worsened as the summer advanced. Even though he had brought his small library, which accompanied him everywhere, as well as the portrait of Queen Victoria which he hung in his bedroom, boredom still crept up on Oscar.

He had read and re-read the gospels and Renan's La Vie de Jésus, the works of Dostoevsky(32) , which he particularly liked, but the cold and the rain sapped his morale.

One day, not for the first time, André Gide arrived on a visit. Wilde accompanied him back to Dieppe, from where Oscar returned to Berneval late at night, soaked through from the rain, shivering, and in a particularly downcast mood.

A hot toddy revived him but he finally realised, because of his almost total isolation, that his days at Berneval were numbered. He no longer loaned the customs men the novels of Alexander Dumas to help them pass the long nights on duty, waiting on smugglers who never ventured onto that forbidding coastline.

[...]

It was time to head off and, if possible, find somewhere more amenable. So he left and put up for a few days at the Grand Hotel de France in Rouen. But he must have forgotten that Rouen is known hereabouts as "the chamberpot of Normandy". He was drifting from Charybdis to Scylla.

Oscar was in search of the sun, and at that time of year he wasn't going to find it in Normandy.

On 15 September 1897, after four months in Berneval, during which he had known equal measure of joy and boredom, he left the Chalet Bourgeat for good and went to Paris for a few days, where he stayed at the Hotel d'Espagne, rue Taitbout. Then, still in search of the sun, he left for Naples and Capri after a short stay in La Napoule and Corsica.

He had itchy feet, as they say. Avid for new places, he quickly became jaded and moved on elsewhere, fleeing from his deplorable past.

[...]

The beautiful beach at Berenval, as it was formerly, was swept away in a storm in 1915. Nothing remains: the customs hut, the baths, the bathing huts are all gone.

The sea is a cruel foe. On that stretch of the Normandy coast, so picturesque with its high chalk cliffs, the sea encroaches on the land on average 20 centimeters a year. Over the 77 years I have frequented this charming spot the sea has risen 15 meters [...]

The Hotel de la Plage and all the villas of petit Berneval were rased to the ground in the Allied bombing of 6 June 1944. In Vol. LXV of Amys du Vieux Dieppe, Roger Dusiquet writes as follows:

"No trace remains of Oscar Wilde's stay. But for the discerning, Berneval is still a shrine to great poetry, because here a great misfortune tragically unravelled and was inscribed forever in the stanzas of The Ballad of Reading Gaol."

Notes

(1) . "It is important to remember that Wilde, throughout his three trials, was lying all the time. He denied or distorted the significance of the texts, incidents and relationships described in evidence against him, knowing all the time what was their "true meaning". He was a sodomite." Who Was That Man? A Present for Mr. Oscar Wilde, Neil Bartlett. Serpent's Tail, London, 1988.

(2) . A recognised vanity press.

(3) . Oscar Wilde et la destinée de l'homosexuel, Robert Merle. Gallimard, 1965.

(4) . Oscar Wilde, H. Montgomery Hyde, Straus & Giroux, New York, 1975. p.329n.

(5) . Oscar Wilde, Richard Ellmann, 1987. p.

(6) . The term used by Wilde himself on this occasion. Letters.

(7) . "... just outside the tall iron gates [of the Linen Hall Library, Belfast], I beheld my first celebrity. Not that I knew him to be celebrated, but I could see for myself his appearance was remarkable. I had been taught that it was rude to stare, but on this occasion, though I was with my mother, I could not help staring, and even feeling I was intended to do so. He was, my mother told me, a Mr. Oscar Wilde: and she added by way of explanation I suppose, that he was aesthetic, like Bunthorne, in Patience.

It was years before I heard his name again ... at the time I saw him, he was the guest of a Mrs. Thompson of College Gardens whose two bouncing daughters bore a distinct resemblance to my early vision of the nieces at Bootle. Flaxen haired and voluble, with their mother they got into the carriage now, while the aesthete climbed up on to the box seat beside the coachman." Apostate, Forrest Reid. Constable, London, 1926. p.54.

(8) . "But Monsieur Sébastian turned to my mother and said: "Be patient with your little boy. One must always be patient with them. If, one day, you should find yourself separated from them..." I did not give him time to finish his sentence, but asked him: "Have you got a little boy?" "I've got two," he said... Then he took my hand, drew me to him and kissed me on both cheeks. I bade him farewell, and then I saw that he was crying. And we left.

While kissing me, he had said a few words which I did not understand. But on the following day we arrived before him and a Bank employee who used to sit at the table on the other side of us asked us: "Did you understand what Monsieur Sébastian said last evening?" "No," we replied. "He said, in English: 'Oh, my poor dear boys!'" Time Remembered: After Père Lachaise, Vyvyan Holland. 1967. pp.11-12. Cited in The Stranger Wilde: Interpreting Oscar, Gary Schmidgall. Abacus, London, 1994. pp.139-140.

(9) . "With children he was very popular, and in their company he lost much of his poseur manner; his smile became infectious in its gaiety, and his small eyes twinkled with merriment." Mrs J. Comyns Carr's Reminiscences (1926), p.86. Cited in Schmidgall, idem. p.131.

(10) . Wilde began The Ballad of Reading Gaol on 1 June 1897. "I have begun something that I think will be very good."(Letters) The first draft was completed in about 6 weeks. He read some of the verses to the Irish-American poet Vincent O'Sullivan, who was visiting Wilde in Dieppe. At the suggestion of Ross, the publisher and pornographer Leonard Smithers became interested. "He [Smithers] loves first editions, especially of women - little girls are his passion - he is the most learned erotomaniac in Europe."(Letters) On 24 August Wilde sent his first draft to Smithers. On 13 February 1898 it was published in London and sold out within the week.(Oscar Wilde, H. Montgomery Hyde)

(11) . These included: André Gide, Ernest Dowson, Dalhousie Young, Will Rothenstein, Charles Condor, Leonard Smithers, Arthur Cruttenden (fresh from Reading Jail and staying a week), Vincent O'Sullivan and Robbie Ross.

(12) . Letters.

(13) . idem.

(14) . Oscar Wilde: Eros and Aesthetics, Patricia Flanagan Behrendt. St. Martin's Press, New York, 1991. Flanagan Behrendt suggests that Wilde was "both in and out of artistic control over his material." Her taking to task of what she perceives as Ellmann's bias in the treatment of Wilde's homosexuality is admirable.

(15) . "Implicit...is the idea that sex is something either low or trivial to which some otherwise elevated matter can be reduced." Oscar Wilde: Eros and Aesthetics, Patricia Flanagan Behrendt. St. Martin's Press, New York, 1991.

(16) . Letters.

(17) . Other accounts contradict this. "He looked markedly better, slighter, younger than he had two years previously."(Ada Leverson);"...he looked as he must have looked at Oxford in the early days before I knew him and as he only looked again after death."(Robbie Ross)

(18) . This elusive manservant appears anonymously in several accounts of Wilde's last years. Wilde kept a manservant at the Hôtel d'Alsace in Paris and was billed for the latter's board and keep by Monsieur Edouard Dupoirier, Wilde's kindly propriétaire. The manservant referred to here by Caillas is perhaps Robbie Ross, who stayed with Wilde during his first few days at Berneval. However, Wilde himself, in a letter from Berneval mentions a "man-servant". (cited in Oscar Wilde, Montgomery Hyde). Gide also mentions "son domestique". Oscar Wilde: In Memoriam, André Gide. Mercure de France, Paris, 1947. p.35. Ellmann says: "He permitted himself a valet, but the problem of finding the right one gave him some amusement." Ellmann goes on to cite Wilde's Letters: ..."Now he is dismissed and I have found another one. The next book I write will be about the effect of the colour blue on men."

(19) . Caillas's memory is faulty here. Wilde and Douglas were not reunited until the autumn, at Rouen. In a letter to Edward Strangeman, written on 11 June, 1897, Wilde writes: "I have not seen him [Douglas] yet, but I am going to let him come and see me in a few days." Letters. The French press had announced Wilde's release from prison while Douglas was in Paris, giving interviews "in an embroidered silk waistcoat and silk trousers." Oscar Wilde, Jacques de Langlade. Mazarine, Paris, 1987. "In the meanwhile I had been informed that he had 'turned against me' and did not wish ever to see me again." Oscar Wilde: A Summing Up, Lord Alfred Douglas, The Richards Press, London, 1940. However, Douglas does reproduce a facsimile of a letter from Wilde written "in the early part of September 1897," which reveals the tone of their relationship at the time:

"My own Darling Boy, I got your telegram half an hour ago, and just send you a line to say that I feel that my only hope of again doing beautiful work in Art is being with you. It was not so in the old days, but now it is different, and you can really recreate in me that energy and sense of joyous power on which Art depends. Everyone is furious with me for going back to you, but they don't understand us. I feel it is only with you that I can do anything at all. Do remake my ruined life for me, and then our friendship and love will have a different meaning to the world. I wish that when we met at Rouen we had not parted at all. There are such wide abysses now of space and land between us. But we love each other. Goodnight, dear, Yr. Oscar."

(20). "On the other side of the prison wall there are some poor black soot-besmirched trees that are just breaking out into buds of an almost shrill green. I know quite well what they are going through. They are finding expression." Letters (April 1st. 1897).

(21) . Gide relates Wilde's mischievous comment that Fr. Trophardy had offered him (Wilde) a pew in perpetuity in the choir ("le curé m'a offert ce matin une stalle perpétuelle dans le choeur!") Oscar Wilde: In Memoriam, André Gide. Mercure de France, Paris, 1947. p. 38.

(22) . A portrait by Nicholson. Gide's account confirms this and it is highly probable that Caillas's information here is based on Gide's (sometimes untrustworthy) recollections.

(23) . "The accumulated hotel bills were awful, and the proprietress, of course, turned out to be a Shylock." Wilde. Douglas clippings, n.d. (Ross Collection, Bodleian). Cited in Ellmann.

(24) . A revealing comment in one of Wilde's letters to Ross supports this: "I have many irons and a huge fire. But to work I must be isolated ... Overhead here is a lady with two children - perfect darlings - and their racket is appalling. There is no peace except in one's own home." Letters

(25) . Wilde's first day in residence at Berneval, at the Hotel de la Plage, was 27 May 1897 (Caillas incorrectly states it as 30 May). On 1 June he began The Ballad of Reading Gaol. On 15 June he had secured the Chalet Bourgeat, 100m. from the hotel, which had a large writing room where he wrote for about an hour and a half a day, but continued to take his main meals and to entertain guests at the Hotel de la Plage.

(26) . See note #19 above. Douglas and Wilde were not reunited until 4 September 1897 at Rouen. H. Montgomery Hyde states that Bosie and Oscar "had narrowly missed meeting at Berneval in June when Douglas was on the point of coming to stay at the Chalet Bourgeat and was put off at the last moment by Wilde." Oscar Wilde, H. Montgomery Hyde. Pg.335. It seems curious that Caillas makes repeated references to Douglas at Berneval, such as the following: "... Lord Douglas was always there. I knew him as well as I knew Oscar Wilde, because one was never seen without the other. Lord Douglas was officially the 'secretary'." Caillas seems to be confusing Douglas with Robbie Ross, who stayed with Wilde until the end of May at Berneval, or simply inventing.

(27) . The understanding reached by France and Britain in April, 1904, over colonial disputes.

(28) . Félicien Bellêtre was the village postmaster and was interviewed by Robert Merle in 1938 for an article which I have been unable to trace. Ellmann situates the party "in the banqueting room at the Hôtel de la Plage." Oscar Wilde, Richard Ellmann, 1987.

(29) . Wilde himself appears not to have been completely unaware of the precariousness of his position: "It was an amusing experience as I am hardly more than a month out of gaol.

They stayed from 4:30 to seven o'clock and played games: on leaving I gave them each a basket with a jubilee cake frosted pink and inscribed, and bonbons.[...] I tremble at my position." Letters

(30) . Dieppe had about 12,000 English tourists during the summer months in the late 19th. century and was a thriving artists colony. Wilde and Constance had spent a week in Dieppe, on honeymoon, in June, 1884. Oscar Wilde, Richard Ellmann, 1987. For the Jubilee of Queen Victoria, "shopkeepers put out British flags, ... fireworks in the parks ... played God Save The Queen at the casino." Oscar Wilde, Jacques de Langlade. Mazarine, Paris, 1987. One of the reasons Wilde went to Berneval was, uncharacteristically, to escape notice in Dieppe. He kept returning there, however, and was frequently snubbed.

(31) . Gide appears to have visited Wilde at Berneval only once.

(32) . Gide recalls Wilde's comments on the Russian writers. Oscar Wilde: In Memoriam, André Gide. Mercure de France, Paris, 1947. p. 39.

Bibliography

Oscar Wilde, tel que je l'ai connu, Alin Caillas. La Pensée Universelle, Paris, 1971.

Oscar Wilde: A Summing Up, Lord Alfred Douglas. The Richards Press, London, 1940.

Oscar Wilde: In Memoriam, André Gide. Mercure de France, Paris, 1947.

Oscar Wilde, Vyvyan Holland. Thames & Hudson, London, 1966.

Feasting With Panthers, Rupert Croft-Cooke. Holt, Rinehart, Winston, Chicago & San Francisco, 1967.

Oscar Wilde, H. Montgomery Hyde. Farrar, Straus and Giroux, New York, 1975.

The Life of Oscar Wilde, Hesketh Pearson. Macdonald and Co., London, 1975.

Oscar Wilde, Jacques de Langlade. Mazarine, Paris, 1987.

"A Good Man and a Perfect Play", Gore Vidal. Times Literary Supplement, Oct.2-8 1987, 1063.

Who Was That Man? A Present for Mr. Oscar Wilde, Neil Bartlett. Serpent's Tail, London, 1988.

Oscar Wilde: Eros and Aesthetics, Patricia Flanagan Behrendt. St. Martin's Press, New York, 1991.