Some circumstances were in his favour. Though the artistic movement
inaugurated years before by the Pre-Raphaelites was still laughed at
and scorned by the many as a craze, a few had stood firm, and slowly
the steadfast minority had begun to sway the majority as is often the
case in democracies. Oscar Wilde profited by the victory of these
art-loving forerunners. Here and there among the indifferent public,
men were attracted by the artistic view of life and women by the
emotional intensity of the new creed. Oscar Wilde became the prophet
of an esoteric cult. But notoriety even did not solve the monetary
question, which grew more and more insistent. A dozen times he waved
it aside and went into debt rather than restrain himself. Somehow or
other he would fall on his feet, he thought. Men who console
themselves in this way usually fall on someone else's feet and so did
Oscar Wilde. At twenty-six years of age and curiously enough at the
very moment of his insolent-bold challenge of the world with
fantastic dress, he stooped to ask his mother for money, money which
she could ill spare, though to do her justice she never wasted a
second thought on money where her affections were concerned, and she
not only loved Oscar but was proud of him. Still she could not give
him much; the difficulty was only postponed; what was to be done?

His vanity had grown with his growth; the dread of defeat was only a
spur to the society favourite; he cast about for some means of
conquering the Philistines, and could think of nothing but his book of
poems. He had been trying off and on for nearly a year to get it
published. The publishers told him roundly that there was no money in
poetry and refused the risk. But the notoriety of his knee-breeches
and silken hose, and above all the continual attacks in the society
papers, came to his aid and his book appeared in the early summer of