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 1881 with all the importance that imposing form, good paper,
broad margins, and high price (10/6) could give it. The truth was, he paid for
the printing and production of the book himself, and David Bogue, the publisher,
put his name on for a commission.

Oscar had built high fantastic hopes on this book. To the very end of his
life he believed himself a poet and in the creative sense of the word he was
assuredly justified, but he meant it in the singing sense as well, and there his
claim can only be admitted with serious qualifications. But whether he was a
singer or not the hopes founded on this book were extravagant; he expected to
make not only reputation by it, but a large amount of money, and money is not
often made in England by poetry.

The book had an extraordinary success, greater, it may safely be said, than any
first book of real poetry has ever had in England or indeed is ever likely to
have: four editions were sold in a few weeks. Two of the Sonnets in the book
were addressed to Ellen Terry, one as "Portia," the other as "Henrietta Maria";