Transcribed from the [1922] Methuen and Co./Jarrold and Sonsedition ,
A BURMESE MASQUE
by
OSCAR WILDE
methuen &co. ltd.
36 essex street w.c.
london
p. iiFirstPublished by Methuen & Co. Ltd. in 1922
This Edition on handmade paperis limited to 1000 copies
The very interesting and richly coloured masque or pantomimicplay which is here printed in book form for the first time, wasinvented sometime in 1894 or possibly a little earlier. Itwas written, not for publication, but as a personal gift to theauthor’s friend and friend of his family, Mrs. Chan Toon,and was sent to her with the letter that follows and explains itsorigin.
Mrs. Chan Toon, before her marriage to Mr. Chan Toon, aBurmese gentleman, nephew of the King of Burma and a barrister ofthe Middle Temple, was Miss p. ivMabelCosgrove, the daughter of Mr. Ernest Cosgrove of Lancaster Gate,a friend of Sir William and Lady Wilde, and herself brought upwith Oscar and his brother Willie.
For a long while Mrs. Chan Toon, who after her husband’sdeath became Mrs. Woodhouse-Pearse, refused to permit the masqueto be printed. The late Robert Ross much wanted to includeit in an edition of Wilde’s works, of which it now forms apart, but he could not obtain its owner’s consent. Anarrangement, however, having been completed, the play is now madepublic.
p. vTite Street, Chelsea,
November 27, 1894My dear Mrs. Chan Toon,
I am greatly repentant being so long in acknowledgingreceipt of “Told on the Pagoda.” I enjoyed reading the stories, and much admired theirquaint and delicate charm. Burmah calls tome.
Under another cover I am sending you a fairy playentitled “For Love of the King,” justfor your own amusement. It is the outcome of longand luminous talks p. viwith your distinguished husband inthe Temple and on the river, in the days when I wasmeditating writing a novel as beautiful and as intricate as aPersian praying-rug. I hope that I have caught theatmosphere.
I should like to see it acted in your Garden House on somenight when the sky is a sheet of violet and the stars likewomen’s eyes. Alas, it is notlikely.
I am in the throes of a new comedy. I met aperfectly wonderful person the other day who unconsciously hasirradiated my present with sinuous suggestion: a SwedishBaron, French in manner, Athenian in mind,and Oriental in morals. His society is a seriesof revelations. . . .
I was at Oakley Street on Thursday; my mother tellsme she sends you a letter nearly every week.
p.viiConstance desires to be warmly remembered,while I, who am bathing my brow in the perfume ofwater-lilies, lay myself at the feet of you andyours.
OSCAR WILDE