An interesting account of Oscar Wilde, at the time of his American tour,
was given in the _Lady’s Pictorial_ a few weeks after his arrival in New
York, the city which he described as “one huge Whiteley’s shop.”
[Sidenote: His Abode.]
He was interviewed in a room which was intensely warm and the sofa on
which the poet reclined was drawn up to the fire. An immense wolf rug,
bordered with scarlet, was thrown over it and half-encircled his
graceful form in its warm embrace. Wilde was wearied. In a languid, half
enervated manner he gently sipped hot chocolate from a cup by his side.
Occasionally he inhaled a long, deep whiff from a smouldering cigarette
held lightly in his white and shapely hand.
[Sidenote: His Dress.]
He was attired in a smoking suit of dark brown velvet faced with lapels
of red quilted silk. The ends of a long dark necktie floated over the
facing like sea-weed on foam tinged by the dying sun. Dark brown nether
garments, striped with red up the seam, and patent leather shoes with
light cloth uppers completed the rest of the poet’s costume.
His favourite colour is said to have been something between brown and
green, a tint “that never was on sea or sky,” and he had a complete suit
made of it. A white walking-stick which he was in the habit of carrying
was presented to him at the Acropolis and was said to have been cut from
the olive groves of the Academia. Only in the evening was he wont to don
knee breeches, “but evening and morning alike,” adds his interviewer,
“find him neither more nor less than a man, and always a perfect
gentleman.”
[Sidenote: His appearance.]
Long masses of dark brown hair, parted in the middle, fell in odd curves
of beauty over his broad shoulders. He wore neither beard nor moustache.
The full, rather sensuous lips, now pressed close together with
momentary tension, now parted in kindly smile, showed to perfection the
nobility of his countenance.
A Grecian nose and a well-tinged flush of health on the poet’s face
added all that was required to make it a truly remarkable one. The eyes
were large, dark[6] and ever-changing in expression. He was a charming
companion who could tell racy stories and repeat _bons mots_ of those
whom society delighted to honour, and at the same time could cap
quotations from Greek authors.