“Baudelaire called his poems Fleurs du Mal, I shall call your drawings Fleurs du Peche—­flowers of sin.

“When I have before me one of your drawings I want to drink absinthe, which changes colour like jade in sunlight and takes the senses thrall, and then I can live myself back in imperial Rome, in the Rome of the later Caesars.”

“Don’t forget the simple pleasures of that life, Oscar,” said Aubrey; “Nero set Christians on fire, like large tallow candles; the only light Christians have ever been known to give,” he added in a languid, gentle voice.

This talk gave me the key.  In personal intercourse Oscar Wilde was more English than the English:  he seldom expressed his opinion of person or prejudice boldly; he preferred to hint dislike and disapproval.  His insistence on the naked expression of lust and cruelty in Beardsley’s drawings showed me that direct frankness displeased him; for he could hardly object to the qualities which were making his own “Salome” world-famous.

The complete history of the relations between Oscar Wilde and Beardsley, and their mutual dislike, merely proves how difficult it is for original artists to appreciate one another:  like mountain peaks they stand alone.  Oscar showed a touch of patronage, the superiority of the senior, in his intercourse with Beardsley, and often praised him ineptly, whereas Beardsley to the last spoke of Oscar as a showman, and hoped drily that he knew more about literature than he did about art.  For a moment, they worked in concert, and it is important to remember that it was Beardsley who influenced Oscar, and not Oscar who influenced Beardsley.  Beardsley’s contempt of critics and the public, his artistic boldness and self-assertion, had a certain hardening influence on Oscar:  as things turned out a most unfortunate influence.

In spite of Mr. Robert Ross’s opinion I regard “Salome,” as a student work, an outcome of Oscar’s admiration for Flaubert and his “Herodias,” on the one hand, and “Les Sept Princesses,” of Maeterlinck on the other.  He has borrowed the colour and Oriental cruelty with the banquet-scene from the Frenchman, and from the Fleming the simplicity of language and the haunting effect produced by the repetition of significant phrases.  Yet “Salome” is original through the mingling of lust and hatred in the heroine, and by making this extraordinary virgin the chief and centre of the drama Oscar has heightened the interest of the story and bettered Flaubert’s design.  I feel sure he copied Maeterlinck’s simplicity of style because it served to disguise his imperfect knowledge of French and yet this very artlessness adds to the weird effect of the drama.

The lust that inspires the tragedy was characteristic, but the cruelty was foreign to Oscar; both qualities would have injured him in England, had it not been for two things.  First of all only a few of the best class of English people know French at all well, and for the most part they disdain the sex-morality of their race; while the vast mass of the English public regard French as in itself an immoral medium and is inclined to treat anything in that tongue with contemptuous indifference.  One can only say that “Salome” confirmed Oscar’s growing reputation for abnormal viciousness.