9 October 1900

 

Here is an extraordinary thing.  I was walking by the Seine this morning, when a young couple approached me.  I am always wary of such encounters, and I watched them with a cold eye as they came up to me.

      'Do I 'ave the pleasure of seeing Mr Oscar Wilde?' the young man said to me.  I told him the pleasure was all mine.

      'I just want to shake your 'and, Mr Wilde,' he said.  His wife kept on opening and closing her eyes, as if the sight was too much for her.

      'Well, Mr Wilde, we've read all about your misfortunate time, 'aven't we, Margaret?  But are you 'appy now, 'ave you become more like your old self?'

      They were good-hearted people, and I told them I was much recovered.

      'It was a terrible thing what they did to yer.'

      'You meant no 'arm,' the wife said quite suddenly.

      'And a writing chap like you needs 'is bit of fun, don't he?'

      It was difficult to disagree with the young man and, in any event, he had a charming and obviously new moustache.

      'That's what we said at the time, didn't we, Margaret?'  His wife batted her eyelids again.  'There was no end of a lot of trouble about yer in the pub, Mr Wilde.  Do you 'appen to know the Globe in Forest Hill?'

      I said that I could not place it quite.

      'We 'ad a good old argument about you there, didn't we, Margaret?  Some of them said they should 'ave 'anged yer, but I stuck to me guns.  I said to 'em, I said, "'E's done no 'arm.  What 'arm's 'e done?"  Most of us there were on your side if the truth be known, Mr Wilde.  We couldn't see the sense of 'ounding yer.  I said to 'em, "What's 'e done which thousands ain't?"  And they 'ad to agree, didn't they?'

      I was delighted.  I could have spent the entire morning discussing my martyrdom with them, but they were in Paris only for a short time and wished to see the other sights.  They young man shook me warmly by the hand, and his wife brandished a copy of a women's magazine and asked me if I would very kindly sign it for her.

      'Good luck to yer, Mr Wilde,' he said as we parted, 'and may I wish yer 'appy days and many of 'em.'  I was deeply touched and I watched them as they walked together, arm in arm, along the Seine.  I would have given anything, at that moment, to have been that young woman.