He had said, on that
first meeting, 'The basis of literary friendship is mixing the
poisoned bowl;' and for a few weeks Henley and he became close
friends till, the astonishment of their meeting over, diversity of
character and ambition pushed them apart, and, with half the
cavern helping, Henley began mixing the poisoned bowl for Wilde.
Yet Henley never wholly lost that first admiration, for after
Wilde's downfall he said to me: 'Why did he do it? I told my lads
to attack him and yet we might have fought under his banner.'
VII
It became the custom, both at Henley's and at Bedford Park, to say
that R. A. M. Stevenson, who frequented both circles, was the
better talker. Wilde had been trussed up like a turkey by
undergraduates, dragged up and down a hill, his champagne emptied
into the ice tub, hooted in the streets of various towns and I
think stoned, and no newspaper named him but in scorn; his manner
had hardened to meet opposition and at times he allowed one to see
an unpardonable insolence. His charm was acquired and systematised,
a mask which he wore only when it pleased him, while the charm
of Stevenson belonged to him like the colour of his hair.
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