Oscar Wilde and the Nest of Vipers Read online

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Principal characters in the narrative

  Preface Paris, 1900

  Grosvenor Square London, 1890

  1

  2 From the Daily Chronicle, first edition, Friday, 14 March 1890

  3 From the notebooks of Robert Sherard

  4 From the diary of Rex LaSalle

  5 Letter from Arthur Conan Doyle to his younger brother, Innes Conan Doyle

  6 From the Evening News, London, Friday, 14 March 1890

  7 From the notebooks of Robert Sherard

  Marlborough House

  8 Telegram delivered to Oscar Wilde at 16 Tite Street, Chelsea, on Friday, 14 March 1890 at 8.15 a.m.

  9 Note from Oscar Wilde to Arthur Conan Doyle, delivered by hansom cab to the Langham Hotel at 9.15 a.m.

  10 From the journal of Arthur Conan Doyle

  11 From the diary of Rex LaSalle

  12 From the notebooks of Robert Sherard

  13 From the journal of Arthur Conan Doyle

  14 The Telephone Room

  15 From the notebooks of Robert Sherard

  16 From the journal of Arthur Conan Doyle

  17 Notes written by Oscar Wilde on the back of the supper menu at Solferino’s restaurant in Rupert Street

  18 From the diary of Rex LaSalle

  Vermin in Grosvenor Square

  19 Telegram delivered to Constance Wilde at 16 Tite Street, Chelsea, on Friday, 14 March 1890 at 10 p.m.

  20 Letter from Arthur Conan Doyle to his wife, Louisa ‘Touie’ Conan Doyle

  21 From the notebooks of Robert Sherard

  The Savoy Hotel

  22 Letter from Bram Stoker to his wife, Florence, delivered by messenger at 11.45 p.m. on Friday, 14 March 1890

  23 Notes from the journal of Arthur Conan Doyle on the subject of ‘Hysteria in Women’

  24 From the diary of Rex LaSalle

  25 From the notebooks of Robert Sherard

  High Tea

  26 Telegram delivered to Oscar Wilde at the Albemarle Club, Albemarle Street, London W., at 11 a.m. on Saturday, 15 March 1890

  27 Letter from Oscar Wilde to Rex LaSalle, care of 17 Wardour Street, Soho, delivered by messenger

  28 Letter from Arthur Conan Doyle to his wife, Louisa ‘Touie’ Conan Doyle

  29 Letter from Bram Stoker to his wife, Florence, delivered by messenger at 6 p.m. on Saturday, 15 March 1890

  30 From the notebooks of Robert Sherard

  31 From the notebook of Inspector Hugh Boone of Scotland Yard, Saturday, 15 March 1890

  Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde

  32 From the diary of Rex LaSalle

  33 From the journal of Arthur Conan Doyle

  ‘We All Have Secrets’

  34 From Reynolds’s Newspaper, Sunday, 16 March 1890

  35 From the notebooks of Robert Sherard

  Mortlake

  36 From the diary of Rex LaSalle

  37 Letter from Bram Stoker to his wife, Florence, delivered by messenger at 9 a.m. on Monday, 17 March 1890

  38 From the journal of Arthur Conan Doyle

  39 From the notebooks of Robert Sherard

  40 From the notebook of Inspector Hugh Boone of Scotland Yard, Monday, 17 March 1890

  Duke of Clarence

  41 From the notebooks of Robert Sherard

  Muswell Manor

  42 Postcard from Arthur Conan Doyle to his wife, Louisa ‘Touie’ Conan Doyle, postmarked Monday, 17 March 1890, London W., 10 a.m.

  43 Letter from Constance Wilde to her mother-in-law, Lady Wilde

  44 Letter from Oscar Wilde to Rex LaSalle, care of 17 Wardour Street, Soho, delivered by messenger

  45 Notes made by Arthur Conan Doyle following his visit to the Charcot Clinic at Muswell Manor, Monday, 17 March 1890

  ‘I am a Vampire’

  46 From the notebooks of Robert Sherard

  Leicester Square

  47 From the diary of Rex LaSalle

  48 Letter from Arthur Conan Doyle to his wife, Louisa ‘Touie’ Conan Doyle

  49

  50 Extract from a letter from Bram Stoker to his wife, Florence, delivered by messenger in the early hours of Wednesday, 19 March 1890

  A Duty to the Truth

  51 From the Daily Chronicle, final edition, Wednesday, 19 March 1890

  52 From the journal of Arthur Conan Doyle

  53 Telegram from Arthur Conan Doyle to his wife, Louisa ‘Touie’ Conan Doyle, despatched on Wednesday, 19 March 1890, at 7.30 a.m.

  54 Telegram delivered to Oscar Wilde at 16 Tite Street, Chelsea, on Wednesday, 19 March 1890, at 7.30 a.m.

  55 From the diary of Rex LaSalle

  56 From the notebooks of Robert Sherard

  57 The Dark Penumbra From the notebook of Inspector Hugh Boone of Scotland Yard, Tuesday, 18 March 1890

  58 From the journal of Arthur Conan Doyle

  59 From The Times, Wednesday, 19 March 1890

  60 From the notebooks of Robert Sherard

  61 The Jersey Lily Telegram delivered to Constance Wilde at 16 Tite Street, Chelsea, on Wednesday, 19 March 1890 at 6 p.m.

  62 Telegram delivered to Louisa ‘Touie’ Conan Doyle in Southsea, on Wednesday, 19 March 1890 at 6 p.m.

  63 From the diary of Rex LaSalle

  Upper Swandam Lane

  64 From the journal of Arthur Conan Doyle

  65 From the Evening News, late edition, Wednesday, 19 March 1890

  66 From the notebooks of Robert Sherard

  67 From the notebook of Inspector Hugh Boone of Scotland Yard, Wednesday, 19 March 1890

  68 From the diary of Rex LaSalle

  Jane Avril

  69 From the notebooks of Robert Sherard

  Curious Questions

  70 Telegram from Oscar Wilde, Gare du Nord, Paris, to Lord Yarborough, 117 Harley Street, London W., despatched at 1 p.m. on Thursday, 20 March 1890

  71 Telegram from Oscar Wilde, Gare du Nord, Paris, to Constance Wilde, 16 Tite Street, Chelsea, despatched at 1 p.m. on Thursday, 20 March 1890

  72 From the journal of Arthur Conan Doyle

  73 From the diary of Rex LaSalle

  74 Letter from Constance Wilde to Oscar Wilde, care of Arthur Conan Doyle at the Langham Hotel, Langham Place, London, W.

  75 From the notebooks of Robert Sherard

  A Nest of Vipers

  76 From the journal of Arthur Conan Doyle

  77 Letter from Bram Stoker to his wife, Florence, delivered by messenger at 6 p.m. on Friday, 21 March 1890

  78 Letter from Professor August Onofroff sent to Oscar Wilde, care of Arthur Conan Doyle at the Langham Hotel, London W.

  79 From the notebooks of Robert Sherard

  ‘This is Where it Ends’

  80 From the journal of Arthur Conan Doyle

  The Truth

  81 From the journal of Arthur Conan Doyle

  Case Closed

  82 From the notebooks of Robert Sherard

  83 Telegram sent to Constance Wilde at 16 Tite Street, Chelsea, at midnight on Friday, 21 March 1890

  84 From the Evening News, London, first edition, Saturday, 22 March 1890

  85 Telegram sent from the Langham Hotel, London, to Louisa ‘Touie’ Conan Doyle in Southsea, at 9 a.m. on Saturday, 22 March 1890

  Author’s Note

  OSCAR

  WILDE

  and the

  Nest of Vipers

  Gyles Brandreth

  www.johnmurray.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain in 2010 by John Murray (Publishers)

  An Hachette UK Company

  © Gyles Brandreth 2010

&
nbsp; The right of Gyles Brandreth to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  All characters in this publication – other than the obvious historical figures – are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

  Epub ISBN 978-1-84854-459-8

  Book ISBN 978-1-84854-247-1

  John Murray (Publishers)

  338 Euston Road

  London NW1 3BH

  www.johnmurray.co.uk

  In memory of my mother

  Alice Mary Addison

  1914–2010

  Freedom is the only law which genius knows.

  Oscar Wilde (1854–1900)

  Oscar Wilde and the Nest of Vipers

  Drawn from the previously unpublished memoirs of

  Robert Sherard (1861–1943),

  Oscar Wilde’s friend and his first and most

  prolific biographer

  Principal characters in the narrative

  London, 1890

  Oscar Wilde, poet and playwright

  Constance Wilde, his wife

  Robert Sherard, journalist

  Arthur Conan Doyle, author and physician

  Bram Stoker, theatre manager

  HRH the Prince of Wales

  HRH Prince Albert Victor, his son

  General Sir Dighton Probyn VC, Comptroller

  and Treasurer of the Prince of Wales’s Household

  Harry Tyrwhitt Wilson, equerry

  Frank Watkins, page

  The Duke and Duchess of Albemarle

  Mr Parker, butler at 40 Grosvenor Square

  Nellie Atkins, the Duchess of Albemarle’s maid

  Lord Yarborough, psychiatrist

  Rex LaSalle, artist

  Father John Callaghan, priest

  Sister Agnes, nurse

  Antonin Dvorak, composer

  Louisa Lavallois, dancer

  Professor Onofroff, mind-reader

  Mrs Lillie Langtry, actress

  Jane Avril, dancer

  Inspector Hugh Boone, Metropolitan Police

  Preface

  Paris, 1900

  ‘I remember nothing.’

  ‘You must remember the nest of vipers.’

  ‘I remember nothing. That is my rule.’

  ‘Don’t be absurd, Oscar.’

  My friend smiled and ran his forefinger slowly around the rim of his glass of absinthe. He gazed at me, his eyes full of tears. ‘What else should I be, Robert? I am absurd. Look at me.’

  I looked at him as he sat slumped on the banquette like a debauched tart in a painting by Toulouse-Lautrec. His face was grey, blotchy, with patches of green and ochre beneath his eyes and starbursts of crimson where veins had broken in his cheeks. His auburn hair, once so lustrous, was lank. His uneven teeth were stained with mercury and nicotine. His body had run to fat. His appearance had gone to seed. Two years in prison, with hard labour, and three years in exile, without employment, had brought him to this.

  ‘I remember nothing,’ he repeated, ‘as a matter of policy. The artist must destroy memory, Robert, and interest himself only in the moment – the hour that is passing, the very second as it occurs. The man who thinks of his past has no future.’ He raised his now-empty glass towards the barman. ‘Personally, I give myself absolutely to the present.’

  We were in Paris, the city of light, sitting in semi-darkness at the back of the old Café Hugo on boulevard Montmartre. It was Friday, 16 March 1900 – five months to the day since his forty-fifth birthday; eight months and a half before his untimely death. We were having lunch: bread, cheese, salami. I had finished mine; Oscar had not touched his. He preferred absinthe. ‘It makes the heart grow fonder,’ he said, smiling and pressing his hand over mine.

  Oscar Wilde and I were not lovers, but we were the best of friends. We met in Paris in the spring of 1883, when I was young and idolatrous and he was on the brink of becoming the literary sensation of the age. I was flattered by his friendship (I was twenty-one at the time), charmed by his generosity (Oscar was a profligate spender), and overwhelmed by the brilliance of his intellect and his way with words. From the day of our first encounter I kept a journal of our times together. In due course, I published Oscar Wilde: The Story of an Unhappy Friendship (1902) and The Life of Oscar Wilde (1906). In 1900 I hoped to publish the tale of Oscar Wilde and the Nest of Vipers.

  ‘It is an extraordinary story, Oscar,’ I said. ‘Lurid, bizarre.’

  ‘I don’t recall, Robert.’

  ‘You must,’ I persisted. ‘It’s only ten years ago. If I write it up now and get it published, we can share the proceeds. You are in want of funds, Oscar.’

  ‘That I do recall.’ My friend laughed and gazed into his refilled glass of absinthe.

  ‘Think how much Arthur Conan Doyle is making with Sherlock Holmes,’ I continued, pressing home my advantage. ‘He gets a pound a word, I’m told.’

  Oscar swirled the green-gold liquid in his glass. ‘I’ve not seen Arthur in a year and he rarely writes. I think he regards my condition as pathological. He pities me: he does not condemn. He is a decent fellow. You know that he has a sick wife to whom he is devoted and a young friend who is the love of his life – and they are not the same person. That is a difficulty for a gentleman like Arthur.’

  ‘Arthur is part of the story, of course. That will add to its allure.’

  Oscar put down his glass and looked towards me steadily, a sudden gleam in his watery eyes. ‘You cannot publish the story, Robert. Not in your lifetime. Not in my lifetime. Not in the lifetime of the Prince of Wales. Nor for a hundred years thereafter. You know that.’

  ‘You see,’ I said, smiling. ‘You do remember.’

  ‘I remember nothing,’ he insisted. ‘But I do know that you can’t disguise the Prince of Wales as the Prince of Carpathia or Bohemia or some such nonsense. That’s what Conan Doyle does and Conan Doyle is writing fiction – while this is fact, is it not?’

  ‘Yes, that’s what makes it so remarkable. It is a murder mystery and yet it’s fact, beyond dispute. I have gathered all the papers – the cuttings, the correspondence. Arthur will allow us to quote from his journals. I have LaSalle’s diary and Bram’s letters – and even one of the policeman’s notebooks. I have included the telegrams from Marlborough House. It’s all here.’

  From the floor beneath my chair I produced a foolscap file, two inches deep.

  Oscar was laughing at me now and, at the same time, lighting one of his favourite Turkish cigarettes. ‘You cannot publish, Robert.’

  ‘Who is to stop me?’

  ‘In England? The courts.’

  ‘And here? In France? In America? Doyle was paid ten thousand dollars for his last book.’

  Oscar blew a thin plume of blue smoke into the air and grinned. ‘Indeed. I had heard it wasn’t very good.’

  ‘I have all the papers,’ I bleated, ‘in chronological order.’

  ‘I am sure that you do, my dear friend. Chronology has always been one of your longer suits. Keep the papers safe.’

  ‘I have done that,’ I said, tapping my file of foolscap with my forefinger. ‘But I need your help, Oscar. I need to provide a linking narrative.’

  ‘Oh no, Robert. Spare us the linking narrative! Present your evidence, lay out your material in chronological order, and leave it at that. Let the facts speak for themselves.’

  ‘In that case,’ I said, sliding the file across the table towards my friend, ‘the book is done. Here they are – the facts. Make of them what you will.’

  Oscar stubbed out his cigarette on a small circle of salami an
d sat forward to look me in the eye. ‘You are proposing that I should read this material, Robert?’

  ‘I am, Oscar – if you would be so kind.’

  ‘It is a true story, you say?’

  ‘It is – and you are part of it.’

  ‘And you wish me to read it? Today? This very afternoon? When Dante calls and Baudelaire lies waiting?’

  ‘Yes, Oscar, today – this very afternoon. Dante and Baudelaire will still be here tomorrow.’

  ‘In that case, Robert,’ he said, his fingers slowly untying the red ribbon around the file, ‘I’ll succumb to the temptation. Fetch me one more glass of absinthe, mon ami, and I will begin. As I remember nothing, the story will at least have the charm of the unexpected.’

  Grosvenor Square London, 1890

  1

  TO HAVE THE HONOUR OF MEETING

  THEIR ROYAL HIGHNESSES

  THE PRINCE OF WALES AND PRINCE ALBERT VICTOR

  THE DUCHESS OF ALBEMARLE

  AT HOME

  THURSDAY, 13TH MARCH

  RSVP

  TEN O’CLOCK

  40 GROSVENOR SQUARE, LONDON W.

  DECORATIONS

  2

  From the Daily Chronicle, first edition, Friday, 14 March 1890

  HRH the Prince of Wales honoured the Duke and Duchess of Albemarle with his presence last night at a reception at Their Graces’ London residence, 40 Grosvenor Square, W. HRH Prince Albert Victor, newly returned from India, accompanied his father. General Sir Dighton Probyn VC, treasurer and comptroller of His Royal Highness’s household, and Mr Harry Tyrwhitt Wilson, equerry, were in attendance.

  Among the many guests, representing the worlds of art and science, were Lord Leighton, President of the Royal Academy, and Sir George Stokes, President of the Royal Society, as well as such notabilities as Professor Jean-Martin Charcot from the Pitié-Salpêtrière Hospital in Paris, Lord Yarborough, the physician and nerve specialist, Mr Oscar Wilde, the poet, and Dr Arthur Conan Doyle, creator of the popular detective, ‘Sherlock Holmes’.