Reynolds's Newspaper - Sunday, April 7, 1895
This report was originally published in English. Machine translations may be available in other languages.
MARQUIS AND OSCAR WILDE.
CRIMINAL LIBEL ACTION--
VERDICT.
POET'S OPINION OF IMMORALITY.
EXTRAORDINARY LETTERS OF
"ART".
WHO IS "B."?.
GLADSTONE, ROSEBERY, AND
THE QUEEN.
QUEENSBERRY'S LETTERS TO HIS
SON.
SENSATIONAL TERMINATION OF
THE CASE.
OSCAR WILDE ARRESTED.
Not for years has the Central Criminal Court been so densely crowded as it was on Wednesday morning. People begged, bullied, and bribed for admission, and the junior bar passed in on his wig and choked all the passage ways. The indictment charges John Sholto Douglas Marquis of Queensberry with writing and publishing a false and defamatory libel of and concerning Oscar Fingall O'Flaherty Wilde. This, however, will become the smallest part of the case. The defendant has undertaken to justify the libel, and, if rumour is to be trusted in the smallest degree, the plea of justification, which was delivered on the previous Saturday, involves charges of the most serious kind against Mr. Wilde.
Not for years has the Central Criminal Court at the Old Bailey been so densely crowded as it was this morning. People begged, bullied, and bribed for admission and the junior Bar passed in on its wig and choked all the passage ways. The indictment charges John Sholto Douglas, marquess of Queensberry, with writing and publishing a false and defamatory libel of and concerning Oscar Fingall O'Flaherty Wilde. This, however, will become the smallest part of the case. The defendant has undertaken to justify the libel, and if rumor is to be trusted in the smallest degree the plea of justification, which was delivered on Saturday, involves charges of the most serious kind against Mr. Wilde. Counsel for the plaintiff are Sir Edward Clarke Q.C., and Mr. Charles Mathews. Lord Queensberry is represented by Mr. Carson, Q.C., C.F. Gill, and Mr. A. Gill, M. Besley Q.C., with whom is Mr. Monckton holds a watching brief for Lord Douglas of Hawick, elder son of the Marquess. The judge, Mr. Justice Collins, arrived at half-past ten. Mr. C. F. Gill was the first of the councel to arrive.
Counsel for the plaintiff are Sir Edward Clarke, Q.C., and Mr. Charles Matthews. Lord Queensberry is represented by Mr. Carson, Q.C., Mr. C.F. Gill, and Mr. A Gill. Mr. Besley, Q.C., with whom is Mr. Monckton, holds a watching brief for Lord Douglas of Harwick, elder son of the Marquis. The judge, Mr. Justice Collins, arrived at half-past ten.mr. C.F. Gill was the first of the counsel to arrive.
MR. WILDE ENTERED
the court, accompanied by Mr. C.F. Humphreys, his solicitor, about a quarter-past ten.He wore a dark Chesterfield coat, and silk hat, and dark tie. He did not on this occasion sport the white flower which was conspicuous in his lapel at the police court. So crowded was the court that some difficulty was experienced in finding place for a mere principal. As soon as the Judge had take his seat, defendant was called upon to surrender and entered the dock by the steps at the left-hand side of the dock. Standing there is a dark blue overcoat, short and dark, and mutton-chop whiskered, with his arms on the ledge at the front of the dock, while the clerk read to him the indictment, he pleaded "Not guilty" to the charge of libelling the plaintiff, and that the publication of the words complained was for the public benefit.
the court accompanied by Mr. C. F. Humphreys, his solicitor about a quarter past ten. He wore a dark Chesterfield coat and silk hat and a dark tie. He did not on this occasion sport the white flower which was conspicuous in his lapel at the police-court. So crowded was the court that some difficulty was experienced in finding a place for a mere principal. A commonplace-looking jury was sworn in. As soon as the judge had taken his seat, the defendant was called upon to surrender, and entered the dock by the steps at the left-hand side of the dock. Standing there in a dark-blue overcoat, short and dark, and mutton chop whiskered, with his arms on the ledge at the front of the dock, while the clerk read to him the indictment. He pleaded not guilty to the charge of libelling the plaintiff, and that the publication of the words complained of was for the public benefit.
OPENING OF THE CASE.
Sir Edward Clarke at once opened the case. He first read to the jury the card which Lord Queensberry left open with the porter of the Albemarle Club for the plaintiff-containing a very grave and serious allegation against Mr. Wilde's character-and pointed out that it seemed to stop short of actually charging the plaintiff with the commission of one of the most serious of offences. By the pleas which the defendant had put before the court a much graver one was raised. Mr. Oscar Wilde was a gentleman thirty-eight years of age, the son of Sir William Wilde, a very distinguished Irish surgeon and oculist, who died some years ago. The plaintiff's mother, Lady Wilde, is still living. Mr. Oscar Wilde devoted himself to literature in its artistic side, and many years ago became a very public person indeed laughed at by some, appreciated by many, as representing a particular aspect of culture-the aesthetic cult. A man named wood had been given some clothes by Lord Alfred Douglas, and he alleged that he found in the pocket of a coat
FOUR LETTERS FROM MR. WILDE TO LORD ALFRED DOUGLAS
Whether he did find them there or whether he stole them is a matter of speculation, but the letters were handed about, and Wood asked Mr. Wilde to buy them back. He represented himself as being in need and wanting to go to America. Mr. Wilde handed him £15 or £20, and received from him three of somewhat ordinary importance. It afterwards appeared that only the letters of no importance had been given up (Sir Edward Clarke made the remark quite innocently), and the letter of some importance had been retained. At that time, "A Woman of No Importance" was in rehearsal at the Haymarket Theatre, and there came to Mr. Wilde through Mr. Beerbohm Tree a document which purported to be a copy of the retained letter. It had two headings-one Rabbicombe Cliff, Torquay, and the other 16, Tite-street. Shortly afterwards a man named Allan called on Mr. Wikde and demanded ransom for the original of the letter. Mr. Wilde peremptorily refused. He said, "I look upon the letter as a work of art. Now I have got a copy I do not desire the original. Go." Almost immediately afterwards a man named Claburn bought the original and surrendered it, saying it was sent by Mr. Wood. Mr. Wilde gave him a sovereign for his trouble. It was supposed to be
Whether he did find them there or whether he stole them is matter for speculation, but the letters were handed about, and Wood asked Mr. Wilde to buy them back. He represented himself as being in need and wanting to go to America. Mr. Wilde handed him £15 or £20, and received from him three of somewhat ordinary importance. It afterwards appeared that only the letters of no importance had been given up (Sir Edward Clarke made the remark quite innocently) and the letter of some importance had been retained. At that time "A Woman of No Importance" was in rehearsal at the Haymarket Theatre, and there came to Mr. Wilde through Mr. Beerbohm Tree a document which purported to be a copy of the retained letter. It had two headings—one Babbicombe Cliff, Torquay, and the other 16 Tite-street. Shortly afterwards a man named Allan called on Mr. Wilde, and demanded ransom for the original of the letter. Mr. Wilde peremptorily refused. He said, "I look upon the letter as a work of art. Now I have got a copy I do not desire the original. Go." Almost immediately afterwards a man named Claburn brought the original and surrendered it, saying it was sent by Mr. Wood. Mr. Wilde gave him a sovereign for his trouble. The letter was as follows:—
A LETTER OF INCRIMINATING CHARACTER,
and someone had taken the trouble to copy it, with mistakes, and put it about. Mr. Wilde still says that he looks upon this letter as being a kind of prose sonnet, and, on May 4, 1893, it was published in sonnet form in the Spirit Lamp, an aesthetical and satirical magazine, edited by Lord Alfred Douglas. Here is the letter:-
My Own Boy, - Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red roseleaf
lips of yours should be made no less for the
madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim gilt soul walks
between passion and poetry. I know Hyacinthus who Apollo loved so
madly was you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury?
Do go there and cool your hands in the gray twilight of Gothic
things. Come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place, and only lacks you. But
go to Salisbury first. Always with undying love. - Yours,
OSCAR.
My Own Boy,—Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red rose-leaf lips of yours should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim-built soul walks between passion and poetry. I know Hyacinthus, whom Apollo loved so madly, was you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things. Come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place, and only lacks you. But go to Salisbury first. Always with undying love.—Yours, Oscar.
MY OWN BOY—Your sonnet is quite lovely and it is a marvel that those red roseleaf lips of yours should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim-built soul walks between passion and poetry. I know Hyacinthus, whom Apollo loved so madly, was you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things. Come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place, and only lacks you. But go to Salisbury first. Always with undying love.—Yours, OSCAR.
My Own Boy,— Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red-roseleaf lips of yours should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim gilt soul walks between passion and poetry. I know Hyacinthus whom Apollo loved so madly was you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you go there and cool your hands in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place, and only lacks you. But go to Salisbury first. Always with undying love.—Yours, OSCAR.
My Own Boy—Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red roseleaf lips of yourself should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim-built soul walks between passion and poetry. I know Hyacinthus, whom Apollo loved so madly, was you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things. Come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place, and only lacks you. But go to Salisbury first. Always with undying love.—Yours, Oscar.
My own boy,—Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red roseleaf lips of yours should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim-built soul walks between passion and poetry. No Hyacinthus followed love so madly as you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things. Come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place, and only lacks you. But go to Salisbury first. Always with undying love yours, Oscar.
"My own Boy, - Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red-rose leaf lips of yours should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim-built soul walks between passion and poetry. No Hyacinthus followed Love so madly as you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the gray twilight of Gothic things. Come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place and only lacks you. But go to Salisbury first. Always with undying love, Yours, Oscar."
"My Own boy,-Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red-roseleaf lips of yours should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim-built soul walks between passion and poetry. No Hyacinthus followed Love and so madly as you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things. Come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place and only lacks you. But go to Salisbury first. Always with undying love. -Yours, OSCAR."
My Own Boy,—Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red-roseleaf lips of yours should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim-gilt soul walks between passion and poetry. I know Hyacinthus loved by Apollo was you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things. Come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place and only lacks you. But go to Salisbury first. Always with undying love.—Yours, Oscar.
"My own Boy--Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red-roseleaf lips should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim-built soul walks between passion and poetry. No Hyacinthus followed Love so madly as you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the gray twilight of Gothic-things. Come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place and only lacks you. But go to Salisbury first. Always with undying love, Yours, OSCAR."
"Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red-roseleaf lips of yours should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim-built soul walks between passion and poetry. No Hyacinthus followed Love so madly as you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things. Come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place and only lacks you. But go to Salisbury first. Always with undying love.—YOURS, OSCAR."
My own dear boy-
Your sonnet is quite lovely and it is a marvel that those red roseleaf lips of yours should be made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim gilt soul walks between passion and poetry. I know that Hyacinthus, whom Apollo loved so madly, was you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things and come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place; it only lacks you, but to Salisbury first. Always with undying love, yours
Oscar.
My own dear boy — Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red roseleaf lips of yours should be made no less for music of song than for madness of kissing. Your slim-gilt soul walks between passion and poetry. I know Hyacinthus, whom Apollo loved so madly, was you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things, and come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place. It only lacks you. But go to Salisbury first. Always with undying love, yours, OSCAR.
My own dear boy — Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red roseleaf lips of yours should be made no less for music of song than for madness of kissing. Your slim-gilt soul walks between passion and poetry. I know Hyacinthus, whom Apollo loved so madly, was you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things, and come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place. It only lacks you. But go to Salisbury first. Always with undying love, yours, OSCAR.
"My own dear Boy,— Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red-rose lips of yours should be made no less for music of song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim-gilt soul walks between passion and poetry. I know Hyacinthus, whom Apollo loved so madly, was you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London? When do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things and come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place. It only lacks you; but go to Salisbury first—Always, with undying love, yours, OSCAR."
My own boy, — Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red roseleaf lips of yours should have been made no less for music of song than for madness of kisses. Your slim gilt soul walks between passion and poetry. I know Hyacinthus, whom Apollo loved so madly, was you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there to cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things, and come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place — it only lacks you; but go to Salisbury first. — Always with undying love, yours, OSCAR."
My own boy,—Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red roseleaf lips of yours should have been made no less for music of song than for madness of kisses. Your slim gilt soul walks between passion and poetry. I know Hyacinthus, whom Apollo loved so madly, was you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there to cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things, and come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place—it only lacks you; but go to Salisbury first.—Always with undying love, yours, Oscar."
My Dear Boy: Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your rose-leaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks betweens poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London and when do you go to. Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of the Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first. With undying love,
OSCAR.
"MY OWN BOY: Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your rose-leaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first."
"My dear boy: Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your rose-leaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first."
"MY DEAR BOY: Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your rose-leaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like but go to Salisbury first."
My Dear Boy - Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your roseleaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first.
"My Dear Boy,- Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your rose-leaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first."
My Dear Boy, - Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your roseleaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first.
My Dear Boy: Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your rose-leaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first.
"My dear boy - Your sonnet is quite lively. Your roseleaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first."
"My dear boy - Your sonnet is quite lively. Your roseleaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first."
"MY DEAR BOY: Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your rose-leaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who loved Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first."
"MY DEAR BOY Your sonnet is quite lovely. your roseleaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim. gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come where whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first."
"My Dear Boy: Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your roseleaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim-gill soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthu, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first."
Mr Dear Boy: Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your roseleaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was like you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first.
"My dear boy: Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your roseleaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks betweens poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London and when do you go to. Salisbury? Do you sleep fih the gray twilight of the Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first."
"My Dear Boy--Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your roseleaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London and when you do you go to Swisburne? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first."
When Sir Edward Clarke read this letter there was a momentary and involuntary outburst of merriment. Sir Edward said it might provoke mirth in those used only to the terms of commercial correspondence, but Mr. Wilde denied that it was open to any unclean interpretation, or was more than the letter of one poet to another. On February 14 another play of Mr. Wilde's, "The Importance of Being Earnest," was about to be produced at the St. James's Theatre. In the course of the day certain information was given to the management of certain intentions of Lord Queensberry. It is a matter of history (said Sir Edward) that when the late Laureate's play, "The Promise of May," was produced Lord Queensberry got up in the theatre, and, in
HIS CHARACTER AS AN AGNOSTIC.
took objection to the exposition which had been made of Agnostic principles in the play in the character played by Mr. Hermann Verin. It would have been still more serious to have had a scene and charges affecting Mr. Wilde's character made in the theatre. Lord Queensberry had booked a seat, but his money was returned and the police were retained at the theatre in the evening. Lord Queensberry attended, with a large bouquet made of vegetables. His intention can only be conjectured, but when he was refused admission to the theatre he left the bouquet at the box-office "for Mr. Wilde." Sir Edward could not understand how his lordship could condescend to such a pantomimic expedient, even if he had cause for attacking the character of Mr. Wilde, and whether Lord Queensberry was always and altogether responsible for his actions would be open to doubt on the part of the jury before the case ended. No notice was taken of this intended insult. He tried to get into the gallery, but the police had their instructions and he was not able to get into any part of the theatre. On February 28 Mr. Wilde went to the Albemarle Club, where the porter handed him an envelope containing a card he had received from Lord Queensberrry as long before as the 18th. This was the first publication by Lord Queensberry of the accusation he was making against Mr. Wilde, and it now incumbent on Mr. Wilde to take action in the matter. Short of actual publication Mr. Wilde would not have done anything to bring into prominence the relations between Lord Queensberry and his family, and would not now do so more than was actually necessary.
The next day Lord Queensberry was arrested. The police court proceedings are already public property.
The next day Lord Queensberry was arrested. The police-court proceedings are already public property.
Sidney Wright, porter, of the Albemarle Club, was the first witness. He deposed that on February 18 the defendant handed to him a card on which were written the words complained of, saying, "Give that to Oscar Wilde." Witness made a note of the day and hour at the back of the card, and placed it in an envelope, which he handed to Mr. Wilde on February 28, which was the first occasion on which he saw the prosecutor.
Sidney Wright, porter, of the Albemarle Club, was the first witness. He deposed that on 18 Feb. the defendant handed to him a card on which were written the words complained of saying "Give that to Oscar Wilde." Witness made a note of the day and hour at the back of the card, and placed it in an envelope, which he handed to Mr. Wilde on 28 Feb., which was the first occasion on which he saw the prosecutor.
OSCAR WILDE'S EVIDENCE.
Mr. Oscar Wilde was himself the next witness. Ponderous and fleshy, his face a dusky red, and his hair brushed away from a middle-parting in smooth waves, he folded his hands on the front of the witness-box, and replied in carefully-modulated monosyllables, accentuated by nods of the head, to Sir Edward Clarke's leading questions. Concerning the episode of the four letters, he said the man Wood had found them in a suit of clothes which Lord Alfred Douglas had given him. "I read the letters," said Mr. Wilde" and I said, "I do not consider these letters of any importance." Wood said, "They were stolen from me by a man named Allan, and I have been employed to get them back, as they wished to extort money from you." Witness repeated that they were of no use, and Wood proceeded, "I am very much afraid as they are threatening me. I want to get away to America." "He made a very strong appeal to me to enable him to go to New York, as he could find nothing to do in London. I gave him £15." Long afterwards on April 23, 1893, Mr. Beerbohm Tree handed him the copy of the other letter which has been read, and a man named Allan afterwards called, and witness said, "I suppose you have come about
MY BEAUTIFUL LETTER
to Lord Alfred Douglas. If you had not been so foolish as to send a copy of it to Mr. Beerbohm Tree I would gladly have paid a very large sum of money for the letter, as I consider it to be a work of art." He replied, "A very curious construction has been put on that letter." Witness replied, "Ah, art is rarely intelligible to the criminal classes." Allan said he had been offered £20 for it. "He was somewhat taken aback," added Oscar. "I said, 'I can only assure you on my word of honour that I will not pay one penny for that letter, so if you dislike this man very much you should sell my letter to him for £60.' He then, changing his manner, said he hadn't a single penny, was very poor, and had been many times to try and find me. I said I could not guarantee his expenses, but I would gladly give him half a sovereign. He took it and went away. I also told him; 'This letter, which is a prose poem, will shortly be published in sonnet form in a delightful magazine, and I will send you a copy.' In fact, the letter was made
handed him the copy of the other letter which has been read, and a man named Allan afterwards called and witness said, "I suppose you have come about my beautiful letter to Lord Alfred Douglas. If you had not been so foolish as to send a copy of it to Mr. Beerbohm Tree I would gladly have paid a very large sum of money for the letter, as I consider it is be a work of art." He replied, "A very serious construction has been put on that letter." Witness replied, "Ah, art is rarely intelligible to the criminal classes." Allan said he had been offered £80 for it. Witness said,"Take my advice. Go to that man and sell my letter to him for £80. I myself have never received so large a sum for any prose work, and that very small work, but I am glad to find there is anyone in England who considers that a letter of mine is worth £80." "He was somewhat taken aback," added Oscar. "I said 'I can only assure you on my word of honor that I will not pay one penny for that letter, so if you dislike this man very much you should sell my letter to him for £80.' He then, changing his manner, said he hadn't a single penny, was very poor and had been many times to try and find me. I said I could not guarantee his expenses but I would gladly give him half a sovereign. He took it and went away. I also told him, 'This letter, which is a prose poem, will shortly be published in sonnet form in a delightful magazine and I will send you a copy.' In fact the letter was made
THE BASIS OF A SONNET
in French, which was published in the Spirit Lamp. Allan had no sooner gone than the man Claburn came with the letter. He said, 'Allan said you were kind to him, and there is no good trying to "rent" you, as you only laugh at us.' The letter was very much soiled, and I said, 'I think it quite unpardonable that better care was not taken of a manuscript of mine.' (Laughter.) He said he was very sorry, but it had been in so many hands. I said to him, 'I am afraid you are leading a wonderfully wicked life.' He said, 'There is good and bad in every one of us.' I told him he was a born philosopher--(laughter)--and he then left."
in French, which was published in the Chameleon. Allan had no sooner gone than the man Cliburn came with the letter. He said, 'Allan said you were kind to him, and there is no good trying to "rent" you, as you only laugh at us. The letter was very much soiled and I said, "I think it quite unpardonable that better care was not taken of a manuscript of mine." He said he was very sorry, but it had been in so many hands I said to him 'I am afraid you are leading a wonderfully wicked life.' He said, 'There is good and bad in every one of us.' I told him that was more than possible."
All this Oscar told with the blandest air of sangfroid, caressing his tan gloves between his hands. Sir Edward passed on to the incidents of 1894. At the end of June, there was an interview at 16, Tito-street, with Lord Queensberry and another gentleman-- "whose name is of no importance." Lord Queensberry said, " Sit down!" Oscar replied, "I don't allow you to talk to me like that. I suppose you have come to apologize for the statements you have made about my wide and me in relation to your son. I could prosecute you any day I chose for criminal libel for writing such letters. How dare you say such things about your son and me?" Lord Queensherry replied. "You were both kicked out of the Savoy Hotel at a moment's notice for your disgusting conduct." Oscar said, "That's a lie!" Lord Queensberry continued, "You have taken and furnished rooms for him in Piccadilly." Oscar replied, "Someone has been telling you a series of lies." Lord Queensberry said, "I hear you were thoroughly well blackmailed last year for a disgusting letter that you wrote to my son." Oscar replied, "The letter was
All this Oscar told with the blandest air of sangfroid, caressing his tan gloves between his hands. Sir Edward passed on to the incidents of 1894. At the end of June there was in interview at 16, Tite-st. with Lord Queensberry and another gentleman -"whose name is of no importance." Lord Queensberry said, "Sit down" Oscar replied, "I don't allow you to talk to me like that. I suppose you have come to apologise for the statements you have made about my wife and me in relation to your son. I could have you up any day I choose for criminal libel for writing such letters. How dare you say such things about your son and me?" Lord Queensberry replied, "You were both kicked out of the Savoy Hotel at a moment's notice for your scandalous conduct." Oscar said, "That is a lie!" Lord Queensberry continued,"You have taken and furnished rooms for him in Piccadilly." Oscar replied, "Someone has been telling you a series of lies." Lord Queensberry said, "I hear you were thoroughly well blackmailed last year for a disgusting letter that you wrote to my son." Oscar replied, "The letter was
A BEAUTIFUL LETTER,
and I never write except for publication." Oscar said, "You accuse me of leading your son into vice." Lord Queensberry replied, "I don't say you are it, but you look it and you pose as it." (Laughter)
and I never write except for publication." Oscar said, "You accuse me of leading your son into vice." Lord Queensberry replied, "I don't say you did it, but you look it and you pose as it."
An applause tapping in the gallery followed this statement.
"If I hear the slightest repetition of that noise I will have the court cleared," said the Judge.
An applausive tapping in the gallery followed this statement. "If I hear the slightest repetition of that noise I will have the court cleared," said the judge.
Mr. Wilde continued, "Lord Queensberry said, 'If I catch you and my son together again I will thrash you.' I said, 'I do not know what the Queensberry rules are, but the Oscar Wilde rule is to shoot on sight.' I then told him to leave my house. He said he would not do so. I told him I would have him put out by the police. Mr. Wilde then went into the hall, and said to his servant, "This is the Marquis of Queensberry, the
Mr. Wilde continued, "Lord Queensberry said, 'If I catch you and my son together again I will thrash you." I said, 'I do not know what the Queensberry rules are, but the Oscar Wilde rule is to shoot at sight.' I then told him to leave my house. He said he would not do so. Itold him I would have him put out by the police." The scene ended with recriminations of a similar kind. Mr. Wilde went into the hall and said to his servant, "This is the Marquess of Queensberry, the most infamous brute in London. Never allow him to enter my house again. Should he attempt to come in you may send for the police."
MOST INFAMOUS BRUTE IN LONDON.
Never allow him to enter my house again. Should he attempt to come in you may send for the police."
Was it a fact that you had taken rooms in the Piccadilly for his son? - No.
Was there any foundation of any kind for the statement that you and any of his sons were expelled from the Savoy Hotel? - It is perfectly untrue.
Was there any foundation of any kind for the statement that you and any of his sons were expelled from the Savoy Hotel? -It is perfectly untrue.
Next Sir Edward turned to the production of "The Importance of Being Earnest," and the incident of
Next Sir Edward turned to the production of "The Importance of Being Earnest," and the incident of
THE VEGETABLE BOUQUET.
He said the production was very successful, and he was afterwards called, and bowed his acknowledgments. Mr. Wilde briefly denied responsibility for the character of the Chameleon, and said he knew nothing about the story of "The Priest and the Acolyte" till he saw the magazine, and expressed his disapproval of it to tho editor. As to "Dorian Gray," the moral of that was that the man who tried to destroy his conscience destroyed himself. There was no truth whatsoever in any one of the accusations of misconduct made in the plea of justification.
He said the production was very successful, and he was afterwards called, and bowed his acknowledgments. Mr. Wilde briefly denied responsibility for the character of the Chameleon, and said he knew nothing about the story of "The Priest and the Acolyte" till he saw the magazine, and expressed his disapproval of it to the editor. As to "Dorian Grey," the moral of that was that the man who tried to destroy his conscience destroyed himself. There was no truth whatsoever in any one of the accusation of misconduct made in the plea of justification.
CROSS-EXAMINATION
Cross-examined by Mr. Carson: You stated that your age was thirty-nine. I think you are over forty. You were born on October 16, 1854? - I had no wish to pose as being young.
Cross-examined by Mr. Carson—You stated that your age was 39. I think you are over 40. You were born on October 16, 1854?—I had no wish to pose as being young.
Cross-examined by Mr. Carson. — You stated that your age was 39. I think you are over 40. You were born on Oct. 16, 1854? — I had no wish to pose as being young.
Cross-examined by Mr Carson: You stated that your age was 39, I think you are over 40. You were born on 16th October, 1854? — I had no wish to pose as being young.
Cross-examined by Mr. Carson—You stated that your age was thirty-nine? I think you are over forty. You were born on October 16, 1854? I had no wish to pose as being young.
That makes you more than forty? Ah.
That makes you more than forty? - Ah!.
In reply to further questions, the Prosecutor said: Lord Alfred Douglas is about twenty-four, and was between twenty and twenty-one years of age when I first knew him. Down to the interview in Tite-street Lord Queensberry had been friendly. I did not receive a letter on April 3 in which Lord Queensberry desired that my acquaintance with his son should cease. After the interview I had no doubt that such was Lord Queensberry's desire. Notwithstanding Lord Queensberry's protest my intimacy with Lord A. Douglas continued to the present moment.
In reply to further questions, the Prosecutor said:— Lord Alfred Douglas is about 24, and was between 20 and 21 years of age when I first knew him. Down to the interview in Tite-street Lord Queensbsrry had been friendly. I did not receive a letter on April 3 in which Lord Queensberry desired that my acquaintance with his son should cease. After the interview I had no doubt that such was Lord Queensberry's desire. Notwithstanding Lord Queensberry's protest, my intimacy with Lord A. Douglas continues to the present moment.
In reply to further questions the prosecutor said: Lord Alfred Douglas is about 24, and was between 20 and 21 years of age when I first knew him. Down to the interview in Tite street Lord Queensberry had been friendly. I did not receive a letter on April 3 in which Lord Queensberry desired that my acquaintance with his son should cease. After the interview I had no doubt that such was Lord Queensberry's desire. Notwithstanding Lord Queensberry's protest my intimacy with Lord A. Douglas continues to the present moment.
You have stayed with him at many places? - Yes.
At Oxford, Brighton--on several occasions--Worthing? - Yes.
You never took rooms for him? - No
Were you at other places with him? - Cromer, Torquay.
And in various hotels in London? - Yes. One in Albemarle-street and in Dover-street, and at the Savoy.
And in various hotels in London? — Yes. One in Albemarle street, and in Dover street and at the Savoy.
Did you ever take rooms yourself in addition to your house in Tile-street? - Yes, at 10 and 11, St. James's-place. I kept the rooms from the month of October, 1893, to the end of March, 1894. Lord Douglas had stayed in those chambers, which were not far from Piccadilly. I had been abroad with him several times, and even lately to Monte Carlo. With reference to these books, it was not at Brighton in 20, King's-road that I wrote my article in the Chameleon. I observed that there were also contributions from Lord Alfred Douglas, but these were not written at Brighton. I had seen them. I thought them exceedingly beautiful poems; one was in "Praise of Shame," the other "Two Loves." One spoke of his love, boy and girl, love as true love, and other boys' love as shame. Did you see in that any improper suggestion? - None whatever.
Did you ever take rooms yourself in addition to your house in Tite street? — Yes, at 10 and 51, St. James's place. I kept the rooms from the month of October, 1893, to the end of March, 1894. Lord Douglas had stayed in those chambers, which were not far from Piccadilly. I had been abroad with him several times, and even lately to Monte Carlo. With reference to these books, it was not at Brighton in 20 King's road that I wrote my article in the "Chameleon." I observed that there were also contributions from Lord Alfred Douglas, but these were not written at Brighton. I had seen them. I thought them exceedingly beautiful poems. One was in "Praise of Shame," the other "Two Loves." One spoke of his love, and other boy's love as shame. Did you see in that any improper suggestion? — None whatever.
Did you ever take rooms yourself in addition to your house in Tite-street ?— Yes, at 10 and 11, St. James's-place. I kept the rooms from the month of October, 1893, to tbe end of March, 1894. Lord A. Douglas had stayed in those chambers, which were not far from Piccadilly. I had been abroad with him several times, and even lately to Monte Carlo. With reference to these books, it was not at Brighton, in 20, Kings-road, that I wrote my article in the Chameleon. I observed that there were also contributions from Lord Alfred Douglas, but these were not written at Brighton. I had seen them. I thought them exceedingly beautiful poems, one was "In Praise of Shame," the other "Two Loves." One spoke of his love, boy and girl love as true love, and other boys' love as shame.
You read "The Priest and the Acolyte"? - Yes.
You have no doubt whatever that was an improper story? - From the literary point of view
You have no doubt whatever that was an improper story? — From the literary point of view
You have no doubt whatever that was an improper story? — From the literary point of view, it was highly improper.
IT WAS HIGHLY IMPROPER
It is impossible for a man of literature to judge otherwise, by literature meaning treatment, selection of subject, and the like. I thought the treatment rotten and the subject rotten.
It is impossible for a man of literature to judge it otherwise, by literature meaning treatment, selection of subject, and the like. I thought the treatment rotten and the subject rotten.
You are of opinion there is no such thing as an immoral book? — Yes.
You have no doubt whatever that was an improper story ?— From the literary point of view, it was highly improper. It is impossible for a man of literature to judge it otherwise, by literature meaning treatment, selection of subject, and the like. I thought the treatment rotten and the subject rotten.
You are of opinion there is no such thing as an immoral book? - Yes
You are of opinion there is no such thing as an immoral book?—Yes.
You are of opinion there is no such thing as an immoral book ? — Yes.
You are of opinion there is no such thing as an immoral book?—Yes.
You are of opinion that there is no such thing as an immoral book?—Yes.
You are of opinion that there is no such thing as an immoral book?—Yes.
You are of opinion that there is no such thing as an immoral book?—Yes.
You are of opinion that there is no such thing as an immoral book?—Yes.
You think, I believe, that there is no such thing as an immoral book? - Yes.
May I take it that you think "The Priest and the Acolyte" was not immoral? - It was worse, it was badly written. (Laughter)
May I take it that you think "The Priest and the Acolyte" was not immoral? — It was worse, it was badly written. (Laughter.)
May I take it that you think "The Priest and the Acolyte " was not immoral?—lt was worse, it was badly written. (Laughter.)
May I take it that you think "The Priest and the Acolyte " was not immoral ? — lt was worse, it was badly written (laughter).
May I take it that you think the priest and the accolade was not immoral?—It was worse, it was badly written." (Laughter.)
May I take it that you think the story was not immoral? — It was worse, it was badly written. (Laughter.)
Was the "Priest and the Acolyte" immoral?—lt was worse—it was badly written. (Laughter.)
Mr. Carson asked if the story was not that of a priest who fell in love with a boy who served him on the alter, and who was discovered by the Rector in the priest's room, and a scandal arose.
Mr. Carson asked if the story was not that of a priest who fell in love with a boy who served him on the altar, and who was discovered by the rector in the priest's room, and a scandal arose.
Mr. Carson asked if the story was not that of a priest who fell in love with a boy who served him on the altar, and who was discovered by the rector in the priest's room, and a scandal arose.
The Witness: I have only read it once, in last November, and nothing will induce me to read it again.
The Witness. — I have only read it once, in last November, and nothing will induce me to read it again.
Do you think the story blasphemous? - I think it violated every artistic canon of beauty.
Do you think the story blasphemous ? — I think it violated evcery artistic canon of beauty.
Do you think the story blasphemous? I think the account of the death violated every artistic canon of poetry.
Do you think the story blasphemous? I think the account of the death violated every artistic canon of poetry.
Do you think the story blasphemous? — I think it violated every artistic cannon of beauty. I did not consider the story blasphemous.
That is not an answer. - It is the only one I can give.
I want to see the position you pose as. - I do not think you should use that.
I have said nothing out of the way. I wish to know whether you thought the story blasphemous? - The story filled me with disgust.
I wish to know whether you thought the story blasphemous ? — The story filled me with disgust.
Answer the question, sir, did you or did you not consider the story blasphemous? - I did not consider the story blasphemous.
Answer the question, sir. Did you or did you not consider the story blasphemous ? — I did not consider the story blasphemous.
You know that when the priest in the story administers poison to the boy that he uses the words of the Sacrament of the Church of England? - That I entirely forgot.
I am satisfied with that. You know when the priest in the story administers poison to the boy that he uses the words of the Sacrament of the Church of England ? — That I entirely forgot.
Do you consider that blasphemous? - I think it is horrible; blasphemous is not the word.
Do you consider that blasphemous ? — I think it is horrible ; blasphemous is not the word.
Mr. Carson read the words describing the administration of the poison in the Sacrament, and the death scene on the alter, and asked Mr. Wilde did he disapprove of them.
Mr. Carson read the words describing the administration of the poison in the Sacrament, and the death scene on the altar, and asked Mr. Wilde did he disapprove of them.
Mr. Carson read the words describing the administration of the poison in the sacrament and tlie death scene on the altar, and asked Mr. Wilde did he disapprove of them.
The Witness: I think them disgusting and perfect twaddle.
I think you will admit that anyone who would approve of such an article would pose as guilty of certain practices? - I do not think so in the person of another contributor to the magazine. It would show very bad literary taste. I strongly object to the whole stOry. I took no steps to express disapproval of the Chameleon, because I think it would have been
BENEATH MY DIGNITY
as a man of letters to associate myself with an Oxford undergraduate's productions. I am aware that the magazine might have been circulated among the undergraduates of Oxford. I do not believe that any book or work of art ever had any effect on morality whatever.
The Witness. — I think them disgusting and perfect twaddle. I took no steps to express disapproval of the Chameleon, because I think it would have been beneath my dignity as a man of letters to associate myself with an Oxford undergraduate's productions. I am aware that the magazine might have been circulated among the undergraduates of Oxford. I do not believe that any book or work of art ever had any effect on morality whatever.
Am I right in saying that you do not consider the effect in creating morality or immorality? - Certainly, I do not.
Am I right in saying that you do not consider the effect in creating morality or immorality? — Certainly, I do not.
Am I right in saying that you do not consider the effect in creating morality or immorality ?— Certainly, I do not.
Am I right in saying you do not consider the effect in creating morality or immorality?—Certainly I do not.
Am I right in saying you do not consider the effect in creating morality or immorality?—Certainly I do not.
Am I right in saying you do not consider the effect in creating morality or immorality?—Certainly I do not.
Am I right in saying you do not consider the effect in creating morality or immorality?—Certainly I do not.
So far as your work is concerned you pose as not being concerned about morality and immorality? - I do not know whether you use the word "pose" in any particular sense.
So far as your work is concerned, you pose as not being concerned about morality or immorality?—I do not know whether you use the word pose in any particular sense.
So far as your work is concerned, you pose as not being concerned about morality or immorality?—I do not know whether you use the word pose in any particular sense.
So far as your work is concerned you pose as not being concerned about morality or immorality?—I do not know whether you use the word "pose" in any particular sense.
So far as your work is concerned, you pose as not being concerned about morality or immorality ? — I do not know whether you use the word "pose "in any particular sense.
So far as your work is concerned, you pose as not being concerned about morality or immorality?—I do not know whether you use the word pose in any particular sense.
So far as your work is concerned, you pose as not being concerned about morality or immorality?—I do not know whether you use the word pose in any particular sense.
Is it a favourite word of your own? - Is it? I have no pose in this matter. In writing a play, or a book, or anything, I am concerned entirely with literature, that is, with art. I aim not at doing good or evil, but in trying to make a thing that will have some quality of beauty.
It is a favourite word of your own?—Is it? I have no pose in this matter. In writing a play, or a book, or anything, I am concerned entirely with literature, that is with art. I aim not at doing good or evil, but in trying to make a thing that will have some quality of beauty.
It is a favourite word of your own?—Is it? I have no pose in this matter. In writing a play, or a book, or anything, I am concerned entirely with literature, that is with art. I aim not at doing good or evil, but in trying to make a thing that will have some quality of beauty.
It is a favorite word of your own? — Is it? I have no pose in this matter. In writing a play, or a book, or anything, I am concerned entirely with literature, that is, with art. I aim not at doing good or evil, but in trying to make a thing that will have some quality of beauty.
It is a favourite word of your own ? — ls it ? I have no pose in this matter. In writing a play, or a book, or anything, I am concerned entirely with literature — that is, with art. I aim not at doing good or evil, but in trying to make a thing that will have some quality of beauty.
It is a favorite word of your own?—It is? I have no pose in this matter. In writing a play, or a book, or anything, I am concerned entirely with literature—that is, with art. I aim not at doing good or evil, but in trying to make a thing that will have some quality of beauty.
It is a favourite word of your own!—Is it? I have no pose in this matter. In writing a play, or a book, or anything, I am concerned entirely with literature […] with art. I aim not at doing good or evil, but in trying to make a thing that will have some quality of beauty.
Listen, Sir.Here is one of the "Phrases and Philosophies for the Use of the Young"; "Wickedness is a myth invented by good people to account for the curious attractiveness of others" You think that true? - I rarely think anything I write is true.
Listen, sir. Here is one of the "Phrases and Philosophies for the Use of the Young": "Wickedness is a myth invented by good people to account for the curious attractiveness of others." You think that true?—I rarely think that anything I write is true.
Listen, sir. Here is one of the "Phrases and Philosophies for the use of the Young"; "Wickedness is a myth invented by good people to account for the curious attractiveness of others." You think that true? — I rarely think that anything I write is true.
Listen sir. Here is one of the "Phrases and Philosophies for the Use of the Young": Wickedness is a myth invented by good people to account for the curious attractiveness of others." You think that true?—I rarely think that anything I write is true.
Listen, sir. Here is one of the "Phrases and Philoso- phies for the Use of the Young" : "Wickedness is a myth invented by good people to account for the curious attractiveness of others." You think that true ?— I rarely think that anything I write is true.
Listen, sir. Here is one of the 'Phrases and Philosophies for the Use of the Young': "Wickedness is a myth invented by good people to account for the curious attractiveness of others." You think that true?—I rarely thing that anything I write is true.
Listen, Sir. Here is one of the "Phrases and Philosophies for the Use of the Young": "Wickedness is a myth invented by good people to account for the curious attractiveness of others." You think that is true?—I rarely think that anything I write is true.
Here is one of the "Phrases and Philosophies for the Use of the Young": "Wickedness is a myth invented by good people to account for the curious attractiveness of others." You think that true?—I rarely think that anything I write is true.
Mr. Carson—Here is one of your phrases in philosophy for the young— "Wickedness is a myth, invented by good people to account for the curious attractiveness of others." (Laughter.) Do you think that is true?
"Wickedness is a myth invented by good people to account for the curious attractiveness of others." You think that is true?—I rarely think that anything I write is true.
Did you say rarely? - I said rarely. I might have said never; not true in the actual sense of the word.
Did you say rarely?—I said rarely. I might have said never; not true in the actual sense of the word.
Did you say rarely?—I said rarely. I might have said never; not true in the actual sense of the word.
Did you say rarely?—I said rarely. I might have said never; not true in the actual sense of the word.
Did you say rarely? — I said rarely. I might have said never; not true in the actual sense of the word.
Did you say rarely ?— I said rarely. I might have said never ; not true in the actual sense of the word.
Did you say rarely?—I said rarely. I might have said never; not true in the actual sense of the word.
Did you say rarely?—I said rarely. I might have said never; not true in the actual sense of the word.
Did you say rarely?— I said rarely. I might have said never, not true in the actual sense of the word.
"Religions die when they are proved to be true." Is that true? -Yes, I hold that. It is a suggestion towards a philosophy of the absorption of religions by science, but it is too big a question to go into now.
"Religions die when they are proved to be true." Is that true?—Yes, I hold that. It is a suggestion towards a philosophy of the absorption of religions by science, but it is too big a question to go into now.
"Religions die when they are proved to be true." Is that true?—Yes, I hold that. It is a suggestion towards a philosophy of the absorption of religions by science, but it is too big a question to go into now.
"Religions die when they are proved to be true." Is that true? — Yes, I hold that. It is a suggestion towards a philosophy of the absorption of religions by science, but it is too big a question to go into now.
"Religions die when they are proved to be true." Is that true ?— Yes, I hold that. It is a suggestion towards a philosophy of the absorption of religions by science, but it is too big a question to go into now.
"Religions die when they are proved to be true." Is that true?—Yes, I hold that. It is a suggestion towards a philosophy of the absorption of religions by science, but it is too big a question to go into now.
"Religions die when they are proved to be true." Is that true?—Yes, I hold that. It is a suggestion towards a philosophy of the absorption of religions by science, but it is too big a question to go into now.
"Religions die when they are proved to be true." Is that true?—Yes, I hold that. It is a suggestion towards a philosophy of the absorpion of religions by science, but it is too big a question to go into now.
"Religions die when they are proved to be true." Is that true?—Yes, I hold that. It is a suggestion towards the philosophy of the absorption of religions by science, but it is too big a question to go into now.
Do you think that was a safe axiom to put forward for the philosophy of the young? - Most stimulating. (Laughter)
Do you think that was a safe axiom to put forward for the philosophy of the young?—Most stimulating. (Laughter.)
Do you think that was a safe axiom to put forward for the philosophy of the young?—Most stimulating. (Laughter.)
Do you think that was a safe axiom to put forward for the philosophy of the young?—Most stimulating. (Laughter.)
Do you think that was a safe axiom to put forward for the philosophy of the young?—Most stimulating. (Laughter.)
Do you think that was a safe axiom to put forward for the philosophy of the young?— Most stimulating (laughter).
Do you think that was a safe axiom to put forward for the philosophy of the young?—Most stimulating. (Laughter.)
Do you think that was a safe axiom to put forward for the philosophy of the young?—Most stimulating.—(Laughter.)
Do you think that was a safe axiom to put forward for the philosophy of the young?—Most stimulating.(Laughter.)
Do you trunk that was a safe axiom to put forward for the use of the young?—It was a most stimulating [...] (Laughter.)
"If one tells the truth one is sure, sooner or later, to be found out." - That is a pleasing paradox, but I do not set very high store on it as an axiom.
"If one tells the truth one is sure, sooner or later, to be found out."—That is a pleasing paradox, but I do not set very high store on it as an axiom.
"If one tells the truth one is sure, sooner or later, to be found out."—That is a pleasing paradox, but I do not set very high store on it as an axiom.
"If one tells the truth one is sure, sooner or later, to be found out."—That is a pleasing paradox, but I do not set very high store on it as an axiom.
"If one tells the truth one is sure, sooner or later, to be found out." — That is a pleasing paradox, but I do not set very high store on it as an axiom.
"If one tells the truth one is sure, sooner or later, to be found out."—That is a pleasing paradox, but I do not set very high store on it as an axiom.
"If one tells the truth, one is sure, sooner or later, to be found out."—That is a pleasing paradox, but I do not set very high store on it as an axiom.
"If one tells tbe truth, one is sure, sooner or later, to be found out."— That is a pleasing paradox, hut I do not set very high store on it as an axiom.
"If one tells the truth one is sure, sooner or later, to be found out." That is a very pleasing paradox, but I do not set very high store on it as an axiom. (Laughter.)
Is it good for the young? - Anything is good that stimulates art in whatever age.
Is it good for the young? — Anything is good that stimulates art in whatever age.
Is it good for the young?—Anything is good that stimulates thought, in whatever age.
Is it good for the young?—Anything is good that stimulates thought in whatever age.
Is it good for the young?—Anything is good that stimulates thought in whatever age.
Is it good for the young?—Anything is good that stimulates thought, in whatever age.
Is it good for tbe young ?— Anything is good that stimulates thought in whatever age.
It is good for the young?—Anything is good that stimulates thought in whatever age.
Is it good for the young?—Anything is good that stimulates thought, in whatever age. (Laughter.)
Whether moral or immoral? - There is no such thing as morality or immorality in art. There is immoral emotion.
Whether moral or immoral? — There is no such thing as morality or immorality in art. There is immoral emotion.
Whether moral or immoral?—There is no such thing as morality or immorality in thought. There is immoral emotion.
Whether moral or immoral?—There is no such thing as morality or immorality in thought. There is immoral emotion.
Whether moral or immoral?—There is no such thing as morality or immorality in thought. There is immoral emotion.
Whether moral or immoral ?— There is no such thing as morality or immorality in thought. There is immoral emotion.
Whether moral or immoral?—There is no such thing as morality or immorality in thought. There is immoral emotion.
Whether moral or immoral?—There is no such thing as morality or immorality in thought. There is immoral emotion.
Whether moral or immoral?—There is no such thing as morality or immorality in thought. There is immoral emotion.
"Pleasure is the only thing one should live for." - I think that the realization of one's self is the prime aim of life, and to realise one's self through pleasure is finer than to do so through pain. I am on that point entirely on the side of the ancients--the Greeks.
"Pleasure is the only thing one should live for." — I think that the realisation of one's self is the prime aim of life, and to realise one's self through pleasure is finer than to do so through pain. I am on that point entirely on the side of the ancients—the Greeks.
"Pleasure is the only thing one should live for."—I think that the realisation of oneself is the prime aim of life, and to realise oneself through pleasure is finer than to do so through pain. I am on that point entirely on the side of the ancients—the Greeks.
"Pleasure is the only thing one should live for."—I think that the realisation of oneself is the prime aim of life, and to realise oneself through pleasure is finer than to do so through pain. I am on that point entirely on the side of the ancients—the Greeks.
"Pleasure is the only thing one should live for."—I think that the realisation of oneself is the prime aim of life, and to realise oneself through pleasure is finer than to do so through pain. I am on that point entirely on the side of the ancients—the Greeks.
"Pleasure is the only thing one should live for."—I think that the realisation of oneself is the prime aim of life, and to realise oneself through pleasure is finer than to do so through pain. I am on that point entirely on the side of the ancients—the Greeks.
"Pleasure is the only thing one should live for."—I think that the realisation of oneself is the prime aim of life, and to realise oneself through pleasure is finer than to do so through pain. I am on that point entirely on the side of the ancients—the Greeks.
"Pleasure is the only thing one should live for."— I think that the realisation of oneself is the prime aim of life, and to realise oneself through pleasure is finer than to do so through pain. I am on that point entirely on the side ot the ancients — the Greeks.
"Pleasure is the only thing one should live for"?—I think that the realisation of oneself is the prime aim of life, and to realise oneself through pleasure is finer than to do so through pain. I am on that point entirely on the side of the ancients—the Greeks. (Laughter.)
"Pleasure is the only thing one should live for. Nothing else ages like happiness"?—I think that the realization of oneself is the prime aim of life, and to realize oneself through pleasure is finer than to do so through pain. I am on that point entirely on the side of the ancients.
A truth ceases to be true when more than one person believes it?" - Perfectly. That would be my metaphysical definition of truth: somewhat so personal that the same truth could never be appreciated by two minds.
"A truth ceases to be true when more than one person believes it?" — Perfectly. That would be my metaphysical definition of truth; somewhat so personal that the same truth could never be appreciated by two minds.
"A truth ceases to be true when more than one person believes it?"—Perfectly. That would be my metaphysical definition of truth; something so personal that the same truth could never be appreciated by two minds.
"A truth ceases to be true when more than one person believes it?"—Perfectly. That would be my metaphysical definition of truth; something so personal that the same truth could never be appreciated by two minds.
"A truth ceases to be true when more than one person believes it?"—Perfectly. That would be my metaphysical definition of truth; something so personal that the same truth could never be appreciated by two minds.
"A truth ceases to be true when more than one per-son believes it ?" — Perfectly. That would be my metaphysical definition of truth: something so personal that the same truth could never be appreciated by two minds.
"A truth ceases to be true when more than one person believes it?"—Perfectly. That would be my metaphysical definition of truth; something so personal that the same truth could never be appreciated by two minds.
"A truth ceases to be true when ore than one person believes it."—Perfectly That would be my metaphysical definition of truth; something so personal that the same truth could never be appreciated by two minds.
"A truth ceases to be true when more than one person believes it?"— Perfectly. That would be my metaphysical definition of truth; Something so personal that the same truth could never be appreciated by two minds. (Laughter.)
"A truth ceases to be true when more than one person believes it"? —Perfectly. That would be my most physical definition of truth; something so [...] the same truth could never be appreciated by [...]
"The condition of perfection is idleness?" - Oh yes, I think so. Half of it is true. The life of contemplation is the highest life.
"The condition of perfection is idleness?"—Oh yes, I think so. Half of it is true. The life of contemplation is the highest life.
"The condition of perfection is idleness?"—Oh yes, I think so. Half of it is true. The life of contemplation is the highest life.
"The condition of perfection is idleness?"—Oh, yes, I think so. Half of it is true. The life of contemplation is the highest life.
"The condition of perfection is idleness?" — Oh, yes, I think so. Half of it is true. The life of contemplation is the highest life.
"The condition of perfection is idleness ?" — Oh, yes, I think so. Half of it is true. The life of contemplation is the highest life. "
"The condition of perfection is idleness?" Oh, yes, I think so. Half of it is true. The life of contemplation is the highest life.
"The condition of perfection is idleness.—Oh, yes, I think so. Half of it is true. The life of contemplation is the highest life.
"The condition of perfection is idleness?"—Oh ,yes, I think so. Half of it is true. The life of contemplation is the highest life.
The condition of perfection is idleness."?—[...] Yes, I think so. Half of it is true. The life of contemplation is the highest life, and so recognized by the philosopher.
"There is something tragic about the enormous number of young men there are in England at the present moment who start life with perfect profiles, and end by adopting some useful profession." - I should think that the young have enough sense of humour.
"There is something tragic about the enormous number of young men there are in England at the present moment who start life with perfect profiles, and end by adopting some useful profession."—I should think that the young have enough sense of humour.
"There is something tragic about the enormous number of young men there are in England at the present moment who start life with perfect profiles, and end by adopting some useful profession."—I should think that the young have enough sense of humour.
"There is something tragic about the enormous number of young men there are in England at the present moment who start life with perfect profiles and end by adopting some useful profession."—I should think that the young have enough sense of humour.
"There is something tragic about the enormous number of young men there are in England at the present moment who start life with perfect profiles, and end by adopting some useful profession." — I should think that the young have enough sense of humour.
"There is something tragic about the enormous number of young men there are in England at the present moment who start life with perfect profiles, and end by adopting some useful profession."—I should think that the young have enough sense of humour.
"There is something tragic about the enormous number of young men there are in England at the present moment who start life with perfect profiles and end by adopting some useful profession."—I should think that the young have enough sense of humor.
"There is something tragic about the enormous number of young men there are in England at the present moment who start life with perfect profiles, and end by adopting some useful professions." — I should think that the young have enough sense of humor.
"There is something tragic about the enormous number of young men there are in England in the present who start life with perfect profiles, and end by adopting some useful profession." (Laughter.)—I should think that the young have enough sense of humour to know what is meant by that.
You think that is humorous? - I think it is an amusing paradox.
OSCAR'S BRILLIANT REPARTEE.
This is your introduction to "Dorian Grey": There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written or badly written." - That expresses my view on art.
This is your introduction to " Dorian Grey ":—"There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written or badly written."—That expresses my view on art.
This is your introduction to "Dorian Gray :— "There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are well written or badly written. — That expresses my view on art.
Mr. Carson: In your introduction to "Dorian Gray" you say there is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book. Books are either well or badly written?
I take it that, no matter how immoral a book may be, if it is well written it is, in your opinion, a good book? - If it were well written, so as to produce a sense of beauty, which is the highest sense of which a human being can be capable. 1f it was badly written it would produce a sense of disgust.
I take it that, no matter how immoral a book may be, if it is well written it is, in your opinion, a good book?—If it were well written, so as to produce a sense of beauty, which is the highest sense of which a human being can be capable. If it was badly written it would produce a sense of disgust.
I take it that, no matter how immoral a book may be, if it is well written it is, in your opinion, a good book ? — If it were well written, so as to produce a sense of beauty, which is the highest sense of which a human being can be capable. If it was badly written it would produce a sense of disgust.
Then a well-written book putting forward certain views may be a good book? - No work of art ever puts forward views. Views belong to people who are not artists.
Then a well-written book putting forward certain views may be a good book ? — No work of art ever puts forward views. Views belong to people who are not artists.
A ---- novel might be a good book? - I don't know what you mean by a ---- novel.
A --- novel might be a good book ? — I don't know what you mean by a --- novel.
Then I will suggest "Dorian Grey" as open to the interpretation of being a ---- novel. - That could be only to brutes and illiterates.
Then I will suggest "Dorian Gray" as open to the interpretation of being a --- novel? — That could be only to brutes and illiterates.
An illiterate person reading "Dorian Grey" might consider it such a novel? - The views of illiterates on art are unaccountable. I am concerned only with my view on art. I don't care twopence what other people think of it.
An illiterate person reading "Dorian Gray" might consider it such a novel? — The views of illiterates on art are unaccountable. I am concerned only with my view of art. I don't care twopence what other people think of it.
In answer to other questions, he said: The views of illiterates on art are unaccountable. I am concerned only with my view of art. I don't care twopence what other people think of it.
The majority of people would come under your definition of Philistines and illiterates? - I have found wonderful exceptions.
The majority of people would come under your definition of Philistines and illiterates? — I have found wonderful exceptions.
The majority of people would come under your definition of Philistines and illiterates ? - I have found wonderful exceptions.
The majority of people would come under your term of illiterates? I have found wonderful exceptions.
The majority of people would come under your term of illiterates? I have found wonderful exceptions.
Do you think that the majority of people live up to the position you are giving us? - I am afraid they are not cultivated enough.
Do you think that the majority of people live up to the position you are giving us? — I am afraid they are not cultivated enough.
Do you think that the majority of people live up to the position you are giving us ? — I am afraid they are not cultivated enough.
You do not think the majority of people live up to the views you are giving us, Mr Wilde?—I am afraid they are not cultivated enough. (Laughter.)
You do not think the majority of people live up to the views you are giving us, Mr. Wilde?—I am afraid they are not cultivated enough. (Laughter.)
You do not think the majority of people live up to the views you are giving us, Mr Wilde?—I am afraid they are not cultivated enough.—(Laughter.)
Do the majority of people take up the "pose" you are giving us ?—I am afraid not. I am afraid they are not cultivated enough.
Not cultivated enough to draw the distinction you have drawn between a good and a bad book? - Certainly not.
Not cultivated enough to draw the distinction you have drawn between a good and a bad book? — Certainly not.
Not cultivated enough to draw the distinction you have drawn between a good and a bad book ? Certainly not.
The affection and love of the artists of Dorian Grey might lead an ordinary individual to believe that it might have a certain tendency? - I have no knowledge of the views of ordinary individuals.
The affection and love of the artists of Dorian Grey might lead an ordinary individual to believe that it might have a certain tendency? — I have no knowledge of the views of ordinary individuals.
The affection and love of the artists of "Dorian Gray" might lead an ordinary individual to believe, that it might have a certain tendency ? – I have no knowledge of the views of ordinary individuals.
You did not prevent the ordinary individual from buying your book? - I have never discouraged him.
You did not prevent the ordinary individual from buying your book? — I have never discouraged him.
You did not prevent the ordinary individual from buying your book ? — I have never discouraged him.
You don't prevent the ordinary individual from buying your books?—I have never discouraged it. (Laughter.)
Mr. Carson read an extract extending to several pages from Mr. Wilde's book, using the copy which appeared in Lippincott's Magazine, of the meeting of Dorian Grey and the painter, Basil Hallward. Now, I ask you, "Mr. Wilde, do you consider that that description of the feeling of one man towards a youth just grown up was
Mr. Carson read an extract extending to several pages from Mr. Wilde's book, using the copy which appeared in Lippincotts Magazine, of the meeting of Dorian Gray and tbe painter Basil Hallward. Now, I ask you, Mr. Wilde, do you consider that that description of the feeling of one man towards a youth just grown up was a proper or improper feeling ? – I think it is the most perfect description possible ot what an artist would feel on meeting a beautitul personality which was in some way necessary to his art and life.
A PROPER OR IMPROPER FEELING?
I think it is the most perfect description possible of what an artist would feel on meeting a beautiful personality which was in some way necessary to his art and life.
You think that is a feeling a young man should have towards another? - Yes; as an artist.
You think that is a feeling a young man should have towards another ? — Yes; as an artist.
Mr. Carson proceeded to read another long extract. Mr. Wilde asked for a copy, and was given one of the English editions. Mr. Carson, calling his attention to the place, remarked, "I believe it was left out of the purged edition?"
Witness: I do not call it purged.
Mr. Carson: Yes, I know that; but we will see.
Mr. Carson read a lengthy passage from "Dorian Grey" as originally published. Do you mean to say that that passage describes the mutual feeling of one man towards another? - It would be the influence produced on an artist by a beautiful personality.
Mr. Carson read a lengthy passage from "Dorian Gray" as originally published. Do you mean to say that that passage describes the natural feeling ot one man towards another ? — It would be the influence produced on an artist by a beautiful personality.
Having read another passage, Mr. Carson asked: Do you mean to say that that describes the natural feeling of one man towards another? - It describes the influence produced on an artist by a beautiful personality.
Having read another passage, Mr Carson asked — Do you mean to say that that describes the National feeling of one man towards another? It describes the influence produced on an artist by a beautiful personality.
Having read another passage, Mr Carson asked—Do you mean to say that that describes the National of one man towards another? It describes the influence produced on an artist by a beautiful personality.
A beautiful person? - I said a beautiful personality. You can describe it as you like. Dorian Grey was a most remarkable personality.
A beautiful person ? — I said a beautiful personality. You can describe it as you like. Dorian Gray was a most remarkable personality.
May I take it that you as an artist have never known the feeling described here? - I have never allowed any personality to dominate my heart.
May I take it that you as an artist have never known the feeling described here ? — l have never allowed any personality to dominate my heart.
You have never known the feelings you describe there?—No. I have never allowed any personality to dominate my art.
Then you have never known the feeling you describe? - No; it is a work of fiction.
Then you have never known the feeling you describe ? — No ; it is a work of fiction.
Then you have never known the feeling you described?—No, it is a work of fiction.
So far as you are concerned, you have no experience as to its being a natural feeling? - I think it is perfectly natural for any artist to intensely admire and love a young man. It is an incident in the life of almost every artist. But let us go over it phrase by phrase.
So far as you are concerned, you have no experience as to its being a natural feeling ? — I think it is perfectly natural for any artist to intensely admire and love a young man. It is an incident in the life of almost every artist. But let us go over it phrase by phrase.
So far as you are concerned, you have no experience as to its being a natural feeling?—I think it is perfectly natural for any artist to intensely admire and love a young man. It is an incident in the life of almost every artist.
"I quite admit that I adored you madly." Have you ever adored a young man madly? - No, not madly. I prefer a love that is higher.
"I quite admit that I adored you madly. Have you ever adored a young man madly ? — No, not madly. I prefer a love that is higher.
But let us go over it phrase by phrase. "I quite admit that I adored you madly." Have you ever adored a young man madly?—No, not madly. I prefer a love that is higher.
Never mind about that. Let us keep down to the love we are at now. - I have never given adoration to anybody except myself. (Loud laughter.)
Never mind about that. Let us keep down to the level we are at now. — l have never given adoration to anybody except myself (loud laughter).
Never mind about that. Let us keep down to the level we are at now.—I have never given adoration to anybody except myself.(Laughter.)
I am sure you think that a very smart thing? - Not at all.
Then you have never had that feeling? - No, it was borrowed from Shakespeare, I regret to say; yes, from Shakespeare's sonnets.
Then you have never had that feeling ? — No, it was borrowed from Shakespeare, I regret to say ; yes, from Shakespeare's sonnets.
I am sure you think that a very smart thing?—Not at all. Then you have never had that feeling?—No, it was borrowed from Shakespeare, I regret to say; yes, from Shakespeare's sonnets.
"I have adored you extravagantly." - Do you mean financially?
Oh, yes, financially! Do you think we are talking about finance? - I don't know what you are talking about.
Oh, yes, financially. Do you think we are talking about finance ? — I don't know what your are talking about.
Do you think we are talking about finance?—I don't know what you are talking about.
Don't you? Well, I hope I shall make myself very plain before I have done. "I was jealous of everyone to whom you spoke." Have you ever been jealous? -Never in my life.
Don't you. Well, I hope I shall make myself very plain before I have done. "I was jealous of everyone to whom you spoke." Have you ever been jealous?—Never in my life.
"I want you all to myself." Did you ever have that feeling? - I should consider it an intense nuisance-an intense bore.
"I want you all to myself." Did you ever have that feeling?—I should consider it an intense nuisance—an intense bore.
"I want you all to myself." Did you ever have that feeling ? — I should consider it an intense nuisance — an intense bore.
"I grew afraid that the world would know of my idolatry." Why should he grow afraid that the world should know it? - Because there are people in the world who cannot understand the intense devotion, affection, and admiration that an artist can feel for a wonderful and beautiful personality. These are the conditions under which we live. I regret them.
"I grew afraid that the world would know of my idolatry." Why should he grow afraid that the world should know of it?—Because there are people in the world who cannot understand the intense devotion, affection, and admiration that an artist can feel for a wonderful and beautiful personality. These are the conditions under which we live. I regret them.
"I grew afraid that the world would know of my idolatry." Why should he grow afraid that the world should know of it ? — Because there are people in the world who cannot understand the intense devotion, affection, and admiration that an artist can feel for a wonderful and beautiful personality. These are the conditions under which we live. I regret them.
Later witness said he borrowed the sensations described in the book from Shakespeare's sonnets, and added — "There are people in the world who cannot understand the intense devotion, affection, and adoration that an artist can feel for either a wonderful and beautiful person or a wonderful and beautiful friend. Those are the conditions under which we live. I regret them."
Later witness said he borrowed the sensations described in the book from Shakespeare’s sonnets, and added—"There are people in the world who cannot understand the intense devotion, affection, and adoration that an artist can feel for either a wonderful and beautiful person or a wonderful and beautiful friend. Those are the conditions under which we live. I regret them.'
These unfortunate people that have not the high understanding that you have might put it down to be something wrong? - Undoubtedly. To any point they chose. I am not concerned with the ignorance of others.
These unfortunate people that have not the high understanding that you have might put it down to be something wrong ? — Undoubtedly. To any point they chose. I am not concerned with the ignorance of others.
In another passage Dorian Grey receives a book. Was the book you referred to a moral book? - Not well written.
In another passage Dorian Gray receives a book. Was the book to which you referred a moral book ? — Not well written.
Further pressed upon this point, and as to whether the book he had in mind was not of a certain tendency, Mr. Wilde declined, with some warmth, to be cross-examined upon the work of another artist. It was, he said, "An impertinence and vulgarity."
Further pressed upon this point, and as to whether the book he had in his mind was not of a certain tendency, Mr. Wilde declined, with some warmth, to be cross-examined upon the work of another artist. It was, he said, "An impertinence and a vulgarity."
Mr. Carson then quoted another extract from the Lippincott version of "Dorian Grey" in which the artist tells Dorian of the scandals about him, and finally asks, "Why is your friendship so fatal to young men?"
Mr. Carson quoted another extract from the Lippincott version of Dorian Gray, in which the artist tells Dorian of the scandals about him, and finally asks, "Why is your friendship so fatal to young men ?"
Mr Carson then quoted an abstract from the Lippincott version of Dorian Gray, in which the artist tells Dorian of the scandals about him, and finally asks, "Why is your friendship so fatal to young men?"
Asked whether the passage in its ordinary meaning did not suggest a certain charge, Witness stated that it described Dorian Grey as
A MAN OF VERY CORRUPT INFLUENCE,
though there was no statement as to the nature of this influence. "Nor do I think," he added, "that there is any bad influence in the world."
A man never corrupts a youth? - I think not.
Nothing he could do would corrupt him? - If you talk of separate ages.
Nothing he could do would corrupt him ? — If you talk of separate ages.
Nothing he could do would corrupt him? — If you talk of separate ages.
Mr. Carson: No, sir; I am talking common sense.
Witness: I don't think that one person influences another.
You don't think that flattering a young man, making love to him in fact, would be likely to corrupt him? - No.
You don't think that flattering a young man, making love to him in fact, would be likely to corrupt him ? — No.
You don't think that flattering a young man, making love to him, in fact, would be likely to corrupt him? — No.
Where was Lord Alfred Douglas staying when you wrote that letter to him? -At the Savoy, and I was at Torquay.
Where was Lord Alfred Douglas staying when you wrote that letter to him ? — At the Savoy, and I was at Torquay.
Where was Lord Alfred Douglas staying when you wrote that letter to him? — At the Savoy, and I was at Torquay.
It was a letter in answer to something he had sent you? - Yes, a poem.
It was a letter in answer to something he had sent you? — Yes, a poem.
It was a letter in answer to something be bad sent you ? — Yes, a poem.
Was that an ordinary letter? - Certainly not.
"My own boy." Was that ordinary? - No, I have said it was not an ordinary letter.
"My own boy." Was that ordinary? — No. I have said it was not an ordinary letter.
Yes, but I wish to know in what it is extraordinary. Why should a man of your age address a boy nearly twenty years younger like that? - I was fond of hum. I have always been fond of him.
Yes, but I wish to know in what it was extraordinary. Why should a man of your age address a boy nearly 20 years younger like that? — I was fond of him. I have always been fond of him.
Why should a man of your age address a boy nearly 20 years younger as - My own boy ?" — I was fond of him. I have always been fond of him.
Do you adore him? - No; but I have always liked him. I think it is a beautiful letter. It is a poem. You might as well cross-examine me as to whether "King Lear" or a sonnet of Shakespeare was proper.
Do you adore him ? — No ; but I have always liked him. I think it is a beautiful letter. It is a poem. You might as well cross-examine me as to whether King Lear or a sonnet of Shakespeare was proper.
Do you adore him? — No, but I have always liked him. I think it is a beautiful letter. It is a poem. You might as well cross-examine me as to whether "King Lear" or a sonnet of Shakapeare was proper.
Apart from art, Mr. Wilde? - I cannot answer apart from art.
Suppose a man who was not an artist had written this letter, would you say it was a proper letter? - A man who was not an artist could not have written that letter. (Laughter.)
Suppose a man who was not an artist had written this letter, would you say it was a proper letter ? — A man who was not an artist could not have written that letter (laughter).
Suppose a man who was not an artist had written this letter, would you say it was a proper letter? — A man who was not an artist could not have written that letter. (Laughter).
Why? - Because nobody but an artist could write it. He certainly could not write the language unless he was a man of letters.
Why ? — Because nobody but an artist could write it. He certainly could not write the language unless he was a man of letters.
Why? — Because nobody but an artist could write it. He certainly could not write the language unless he was a man of letters.
I can suggest, for the sake of reputation, that there is nothing very wonderful in this "rose red lips of yours." - A great deal depends on the way it is read.
I can suggest, for the sake of your reputation, that there is nothing very wonderful in this "rose red lips of yours." — A great deal depends on the way it is read.
"Your slim-gilt soul walks between passion and poetry"; is that a beautiful phrase? - Not as you read it, Mr. Carson.
"Your slim, gilt soul walks between passion and poetry;" is that a beautiful phrase ? — Not as you read it, Mr. Carson.
I do not profess to be an artist, and when I hear you give evidence I am glad I am not.
I do not profess to be an artist, and when I hear you give evidence I am glad I am not.
Sir Edward Clarke: I don't think my friend should talk like that.(To Mr. Wilde) Pray do not criticize my friend's reading again.
Sir Edward Clarke. — l don't think my friend should talk like that. (To Mr. Wilde) Pray do not criticise my friend's reading again.
Mr. Carson referred to various passages in the letter, and asked: Is that not an exceptional letter? - It is unique, I should say. (Laughter.)
Mr. Carson referred to various passages in the letter, and asked : Is that not an exceptional letter ? — lt is unique, I should say (laughter).
Was that the ordinary way in which you carried on your correspondence? - No; but I have often written to Lord Alfred Douglas. I never wrote to any other man in the same way.
Was that the ordinary way in which you carried on your correspondence ? — No ; but I have often written to Lord Alfred Douglas. I never wrote to another young man in the same way.
Have you often written letters in the same style as this? - I don't repeat myself in style.
Have you often written letters in the same style as this ? — I don't repeat myself in style.
Have you often written letters in the same style as this? — I don't repeat myself in style.
Here is another letter which I believe you also wrote to Lord Alfred Douglas. Will you read it? - No, I decline; I don't see why I should.
Here is another letter which I believe you also wrote to Lord Alfred Douglas. Will you read it?—No, I decline; I don't see why I should.
Here is another letter which I believe you also wrote to Lord Alfred Douglas. Will you read it ? — No, I decline ; I don't see why I should.
Here is another letter which I believe you also wrote to Lord Alfred Douglas. Will you read it? — No, I decline; I don't see why I should.
Then I will:-
Savoy Hotel, Thames Embankment, W.C.
Dearest of all boys, - Your letter was delightful, red and yellow wine to me, but
I am sad and out of sorts. Bosey, you must not make
scenes with me. They kill me, they wreck the loveliness of life. I cannot see you,
so Greek and gracious, distorted with passion. I cannot listen to your
young lips saying hideous things to me. I would sooner -
Here a word is indecipherable, but I will ask the witness-
than have you bitter,
unjust, hating. I must see you soon. You are the divine thing I want, the thing of
grace, but I don't know how to do it. Shall I come to Salisbury. My
bill here is £49 for a week. Why is it you are not here, my dear, wonderful boy? I
fear I must have no money, no credit. - Your own OSCAR.
Savoy Hotel, Thames Embankment, W.C. — Dearest of all boys, — Your letter was delightful, red and yellow wine to me, but I am sad and out of sorts. Boysie you must not make scenes with me. They kill me, they wreck the loveliness of life. I cannot see you, so Greek and gracious, distorted with passion. I cannot listen to your curved lips saying hideous things to me. I would sooner — [here a word is indecipherable] — than have you bitter, unjust, hating. I must see you soon. You are the divine thing I want, the thing of grace and beauty, but I don't know how to do it. Shall I come to Salisbury. My bill here is £49 for a week. (Laughter.) I have also got a new sitting room. Why are you not here, my dear, my wonderful boy? I fear I must leave. No money, no credit. — Your own OSCAR.
Savoy Hotel, Thames Embankment, W.C.—Dearest of all boys,—Your letter was delightful, red and yellow wine to me, but I am sad and out of sorts. Boysie you must not make scenes with me. They kill me, they wreck the loveliness of life. I cannot see you, so Greek and gracious, distorted with passion. I cannot listen to your curved lips saying hideous things to me. I would sooner—[here a word is indecipherable]—than have you bitter, unjust, hating. I must see you soon. You are the divine thing I want, the thing of grace and beauty, but I don't know how to do it. Shall I come to Salisbury. My bill here is £49 for a week. (Laughter). I have also got a new sitting-room. Why are you not here, my dear, my wonderful boy? I fear I must leave. No money, no credit.—Your own Oscar.
"Savoy Hotel, Thames Embankment, W.C. Dearest of all boys.—Your letter was delightful red and yellow wine to me, but I am sad and out of sorts. Boysey, you must not make scenes with me. They kill me; they wreck the loveliness of life. I cannot see you, so Greek and gracious, distorted by passion. I cannot listen to your young curved lips saying hideous things to me. I would sooner"- here a word is undecipherable, but I will ask the witness—"than have you bitter, unjust, hating. You break my heart. I must see you soon. You are the divine thing I want, the thing of grace and genius, but I don't know how to do it. Shall I come to Salisbury? My bill here is £49 for a week. (Laughter.) I have also a new sitting-room over the Thames. Why is it you are not here, my dear, my wonderful boy? I fear almost to live—no money, no credit, and a heart of lead. Ever your own, OSCAR."
"Savoy Hotel, Thames Embankment, W.C. Dearest of all boys.—Your letter was delightful, red and yellow wine to me, but I am sad and out of sorts. Boysey, you must not make scenes with me. They kill me; they wreck the loveliness of life. I cannot see you, so Greek and gracious, distorted by passion. I cannot listen to your young curved lips saying hideous things to me. I would sooner"—here a word is undecipherable, but I will ask the witness—"than have you bitter, unjust, hating. You break my heart. I must see you soon. You are the divine thing I want, the thing of grace and genius, but I don't know how to do it. Shall I come to Salisbury. My bill here is £49 for a week. (Laughter.) I have also a new sitting-room over the Thames. Why is it you are not here my dear, my wonderful boy? I fear almost to live—no money, no credit, and a heart of lead. Ever your own, Oscar."
"Savoy Hotel, Thames Embankment, W.C. Dearest of all boys.—Your letter was delightful red and yellow wine to me, but I am sad and out of sorts. Boysey, you must not make scenes with me. They kill me; they wreck the loveliness of life. I cannot see you, so Greek and gracious, distorted by passion. I cannot listen to your young curved lips saying hideous things to me. I would sooner,"—here a word is undecipherable, but I will ask the witness—"than have you bitter, unjust, hating. You break my heart. I must see you soon. You are the divine thing I want, the thing of grace and genius, but I don't know how to do it. Shall I come to Salisbury? My bill here is L49 for a week. (Laughter). I have also a new sitting room over the Thames. Why is it you are not here, my dear, my wonderful boy? I fear almost to live—no money, no credit, and a heart of lead. Ever your own, Oscar."
Then I will :— " Savoy Hotel, Thames Embankment, W.C. — Dearest of all boys, — Your letter was delightful, red and yellow wine to me, but I am sad and out of sorts. Boysie you must not make scenes with me. They kill me, they wreck the loveliness of life. I cannot see you, so Greek and gracious, distorted with passion. I cannot listen to your curved lips saying hideous things to me. I would sooner" — here a word is indecipherable, but I will ask the Witness — "than have you bitter, uujust, hating. I must see you soon. You are the divine thing I want, the thing of grace and beauty, but I don't know how to do it. Shall I come to Salisbury. My bill here is 49l. for a week (laughter). I have also got a new sitting-roam. Why are you not here my dear, my wonderful boy ? I fear I must leave. No money, no credit. Your own Oscar." Is that an ordinary letter? — Everything I write is extraordinary. I do not pose as being ordinary (laughter).
Then I will:—"Savoy Hotel, Thames-embankment, W.O.—Dearest of all boys,— Your letter was delightful, red and yellow wine to me, but I am sad and out of sorts. You must not make scenes with me. They kill me, they wreck the loveliness of like. I cannot see you, so Greek and gracious, distorted with passion. I cannot listen to your young lips saying hideous things to me. I would sooner"—here a word is undecipherable, but I will ask the witness—" than have you bitter, unjust, hating. I must see you soon. You are the divine thing I want, the thing of grace and genius, but I don't know how to do it. Shall I come to Salisbury? There are many difficulties. My bill here is £49 for a week. (Laughter.) I have also got a new sitting-room. But why is it you are not here, my dear, my wonderful boy? I fear I must leave; no money, no credit, only a heart of lead.—Ever your own Oscar." Is that an ordinary letter?—Everything I write is extraordinary. I do not pose as being ordinary. (Laughter.)
"Savoy Hotel.
"Dearest of all Boys, -- Your letter was delightful red and yellow wine to me, and I am sad and out of sorts. Boysey, you must not make scenes with me ; they kill me; they wreck the loveliness of life. I cannot see you, so Greek and gracious, distorted by passion. I cannot listen to your curved lips saying hideous things to me. Don't do it It breaks my heart. I must see you soon. You are the divine thing I want of grace and genius. But I don't know how to do it. There are many difficulties. My bill here is £49 for the week. My dear, my wonderful boy, I fear I must leave. No money, no credit, and a heart of lead.--From your own OSCAR."
"Dearest of all boys,—Your letter was delightful, and it was red and yellow wine to me, for I am sadly out of sorts. You must not make scenes with me. They kill me, they wreck the loveliness of life. I cannot see you, so Greek and gracious. Distorted by passion, I cannot listen to your curved lips saying hideous things to me. Don't do it. You break my heart. I must see you soon. You are the divine thing I want, a thing of grace and genius, but I do not know how to do it. Shall I come to Salisbury? There are many difficulties. My bill here is £49 for the week. I have also a new sitting-room over the Thames for you. Why are you not here my dear, my wonderful boy? I fear I must leave. No money, no credit, aud a heart of lead.—Ever your own, Oscar.
"Dearest of old boys," read on Sir Frank, "your letter was delightful red and yellow wine for me, but I am sad and out of sorts, Bosey. You must not make scenes with me. They wreck the loveliness of life. I cannot see you, Greek and gracious, distorted by passion. I cannot listen to your curved lips say hideous things to me. Don’t do it: you break my heart, and I must see you soon. You are the divine thing I want, the thing of grace and genius. But I don’t know how to do it. Shall I come to Salisbury? There are many difficulties; my bill here is £49"—that I suppose is true? That is, not poetic?—Oh! no, no! (Laughter suppressed.)
"Dearest of all boys," read on Sir Frank, "your letter was delightful red and yellow wine for me, but I am sad and out of sorts, Bosey. You must not make scenes with me. They wreck the loveliness of life. I cannot see you, Greek and gracious, distorted by passion. I cannot listen to your curved lips say hideous things to me. Don't do it; you break my heart, and I must see you soon. You are the divine thing I want, the thing of grace and genius. But I don't know how to do it. Shall I come to Salisbury? There are many difficulties. My bill here is £40."
Dearest of all boys, your letter was delightful. Red and yellow wine to me. But I am out of sorts. You must not make scenes with me. They kill me. They wreck the loveliness of life. I cannot see you so Greek and gracious, distorted by passion. I cannot listen to your curved lips saying hideous things to me. You break my heart. I must see you soon. You are the divine thing. I want a thing of grace and genius, but I do not know how to do it. Shall I come to Salisbury? There are many difficulties; my bill here (at Goring) is £49 for the week. I have got a new sitting-room, over the Thames. But, you, why are you not here, my dear, my beautiful boy? I fear I must leave. No money, no credit, and a heart of lead. -Ever your own, OSCAR.
Dearest of all boys, your letter was delightful. Red and yellow wine to me. But I am out of sorts. You must not make scenes with me. They kill me. They wreck the loveliness of life. I cannot see you so Greek and gracious, distorted by passion. I cannot listen to your curved lips saying hideous things to me. You break my heart. I must see you soon. You are the divine thing. I want a thing of grace and genius, but I do not know how to do it. Shall I come to Salisbury? There are many difficulties; my bill here (at Goring) is £49 for the week. I have got a new sitting-room, over the Thames. But, you, why are you not here, my dear, my beautiful boy? I fear I must leave. No money, no credit, and a heart of lead. -Ever your own, OSCAR.
Is it an ordinary letter? - Everything I write is extraordinary. I do not pose as being ordinary. (Laughter.)
Is that an ordinary letter? — Everything I write is extraordinary. I do not pose as being ordinary. (Laughter.)
Is that an ordinary letter? — Everything I write is extraordinary. I do not pose as being ordinary. (Laughter.)
Don't you call that an extraordinary letter?—Everything I write is extraordinary. I do not pose as being ordinary. (Laughter)
Don't you call that an extraordinary letter:—Everything I write is extraordinary. I do not pose as being ordinary. (Laughter).
Was that an extraordinary letter? - I think everything I write is extraordinary. I do not pose as being ordinary. Ask me anything you like.
Mr. Carson—Is that an extraordinary letter? I think everything I write extraordinary. I do not pose as being ordinary. Good heavens—
[…]you call that an extraordinary […] Everything I write is extraordinary […] not pose as being ordinary.
Is that an extraordinary letter?—I think everything I write is extraordinary. I don't pose as being ordinary, great heavens! Ask me any question you like
Have you got his letter in reply? - I do not recollect what letter it was.
Have you got his letter in reply?—I do not recollect what letter it was.
Have you got his letter in reply?—I do not recollect what letter it was.
Have you got his letter in reply?—I do not recollect what letter it was.
Have you got his letter in reply? — I do not recollect what letter it was.
Have you got his letter in reply? — I do not recollect what letter it was.
It was not a beautiful letter?; - I do not remember the letter.
You describe it as "delightful red and yellow wine to you"? - Oh, of course, a beautiful letter, certainly.
You describe it as "delightful red and yellow wine to you?"—Oh, of course, a beautiful letter, certainly.
You describe it as "delightful, red, and yellow wine to you" ?—Oh, of course, a beautiful letter, certainly.
You describe it as "delightful red and yellow wine to you?" — Oh, of course, a beautiful letter, certainly.
You describe it as "delightful red and yellow wine to you"? — Oh, of course, a beautiful letter, certainly.
You describe it as "delightful red and yellow wine to you?"—Oh, of course, a a beautiful letter, certainly.
It was not a beautiful letter?—I do not remember the letter. You describe it as "delightful red and yellow wine to you?"—Oh, of course, a beautiful letter, certainly.
What would you pay for that beautiful letter? - I could not get a copy.
What would you pay for that beautiful letter?—I could not get a copy.
What would you pay for that beautiful letter? — I could not get a copy.
What would you pay for that beautiful letter? — I could not get a copy.
Have much would you give if you could get a copy? - Oh, I do not know.
How much would you give if you could get a copy?—Oh, I do not know.
How much would you give if you could get a copy? — Oh, I do not know.
How much would you give if you could get a copy? — Oh, I do not know.
Was this one of yours a beautiful letter? - Yes; it was a tender expression of my great admiration for Lord Alfred Douglas. It was not like the other--a prose poem.
Was this one of yours a beautiful letter?—Yes; it was a tender expression of my great admiration for Lord Alfred Douglas. It was not like the other—a prose poem.
Was this one of yours a beautiful letter?—Yes; it was a tender expression of my great admiration for Lord Alfred Douglas. It was not like the other—a prose poem.
Was this one of yours a beautiful letter? — Yes; it was a tender expression of my great admiration for Lord Alfred Douglas. It was not like the other—a prose poem.
Was this one of yours a beautiful letter?—Yes; it was a tender expression of my great admiration for Lord Alfred Douglas. It was not like the other—a prose poem.
Was this one of yours a beautiful letter ? — Yes ; it was a tender expression of my great admiration for Lord Alfred Douglas. It was not like the other — a prose poem.
Was this one of yours a beautiful letter? — Yes; it was a tender expression of my great admiration for Lord Alfred Douglas. It was not like the other — a prose poem.
Was this one of yours a beautiful letter?—Yes; it was a tender expression of my great admiration for Lord Alfred Douglas. It was not like the other—a prose poem—but it was a beautiful letter.
Were you living at the Savoy? - Yes; I was there for about a month, and had also my house in Tite-street. Lord Alfred had been staying at the Savoy with me immediately before that.
Were you living at the Savoy ? — Yes ; I was there for about a month, and had also my house in Tite-street. Lord Alfred had been staying at the Savoy with me immediately before that.
How long had you known Wood? - I think I met him at the end of January, 1893. I met him at the Café Royal, where he was sent to find me by Lord Alfred Douglas, who telegraphed from Salisbury. Lord Alfred asked me to do what I could for Wood, who was seeking a post as a clerk. I do not know where he was living at that time. Taylor was loving at 13, Little College-street, and I have been there to tea parties on many occasions. They were
How long had you known Wood ? — I think I met him at the end of January, 1893. I met him at the Cafe Royal, where he was sent to find me by Lord Alfred Douglas, who telegraphed from Salisbury. Lord Alfred asked me to do what I could for Wood, who was seeking a post as clerk. I do not know where he was living at that time. Taylor was living at 13, Little College-street, and I have been there to tea parties on many occasions. They were all men at the parties, but not all young men. I took Wood to Slipper at the Florence Restaurant, Rupert-street, because Lord Alfred had asked me to be kind with him.
ALL MEN AT THE PARTIES,
but not all young men. I took Woods to supper at the Florence Restaurant, Rupert-street, because Lord Alfred had asked me to be kind with him.
Who was Wood? - So far as I could make out, he had no occupation, but was looking for a situation. He told me that he had a clerkship. At that time he was about twenty-three years of age.
Who was Wood ? — So far as I could make out, he had no occupation, but was looking for a situation. He told me that he had had a clerkship. At that time he was about 23 years of age.
Then do I understand that the first time you met him you took him to supper? - Yes; because I had been asked to be kind to him, otherwise it was rather a bore.
Then do I understand that the first time you met him you took him to supper? — Yes, because I had been asked to he kind to him : otherwise it was rather a bore.
"Was Taylor or anybody else there? - No.
Wood was not moving in the society that you do? - No; certainly not. I only saw him about three times. I never asked him to my house, or to meet me at the corner or Tite-street. My wife and family were away at Torquay at that time. I swear that I did not arrange for Wood to meet me at the corner of the street, and that he never went into the house with me.
In reply to further questions, Mr. Wilde absolutely denied that he had been guilty of improper conduct towards Wood.
In reply to further questions, Mr. Wilde absolutely denied that he had been guilty of improper conduct towards Wood.
Had you a private room at the Florence? - Yes
How much did you give Wood then? - Two pounds.
Why? - Because Lord Alfred Douglas asked me to be kind to him. I don't care about different social positions.
Why ? — Because Lord Alfred Douglas asked me to be kind to him. I don't care about different social positions.
When he came to you about these letters did you consider that he had come to levy blackmail? - I did, and I determined to face it.
When he came to you about these letters did you consider that he had come to levy blackmail ? — I did, and I determined to face it.
A LITTLE LUNCH AT THE FLORENCE.
And the way you faced it was by giving him £16 to go to America? - That is an inaccurate description. I saw that the letters were of no value, and I have him the money after he told me the pitiful tale about himself.
And the way you faced it was by giving him 16l. to go to America? — That is an inaccurate description. I saw that the letters were of no value, and I gave him the money after he had told me the pitiful tale ahout himself.
I suggest that you gave him £30. Did you give him £5 more next day? - Yes; he told me that, after paying his passage to America, he would be left almost penniless. I have him £5.
I suggest that you gave him 30l. Did you give him 5l. more next day ? — Yes ; he told me that, after paying his passage to America, he would be left almost penniless. I gave him 5l.
Had you a farewell lunch at the Florence? - Yes.
A farewell lunch with the man who had tried to blackmail you? - He had convinced me that such was not his intention.
A farewell lunch with the man who had tried to blackmail you ? — He had convinced me that such was not his intention.
The lunch was in a private room? - Yes.
And it was after lunch that you gave him £5? - Yes.
After Woods went to America, did he ask you for money? - No.
Did Wood call Taylor by his name? - Yes.
Did Wood call you Oscar? - Yes.
And what did you call Wood? - Alfred.
Did you not think it a curious thing that a man with whom you were on such intimate terms should try to blackmail you? - I thought it infamous, but Wood convinced me that such had not been his intention, though it was the intention of other people. Wood assured me that he had recovered all of the letters.
Did you not think it a curious thing that a man with whom you were on such intimate terms should try to blackmail yon? — I thought it infamous, but Wood convinced me that such had not been his intention, though it was the intention of other people. Wood assured me that he had recovered all the letters.
And then Allan came with a letter, possession of which you knew he had secured improperly? - Yes.
And then Allan came with a letter, possession of which you knew he had secured improperly ? — Yes.
What was Allan? - I am told he was a blackmailer.
Was he a blackmailer? - I never heard of him except as a blackmailer.
The you began to explain to the blackmailer what a loss your beautiful MS was? - I described it as a beautiful work of art.
Then you began to explain to the blackmailer what a loss your beautiful MS. was ? — I described it as a beautiful work of art.
May I ask why you gave this man, who you knew was a blackmailer, 10s? - I gave it out of contempt. (Laughter.)
May I ask you why you gave this man, who you knew was a blackmailer, 10s. ? — I gave it out of contempt (laughter).
Then the way you show your contempt is by paying 10s? - Yes, very often. (Laughter.)
Then the way yon show your contempt is by paying 10s.? — Yes, very often (laughter).
Mr. Carson's next questions referred to Edmund Shelley, a publisher's employé.
Did you make him a present of your various works? - Yes, four or five.
Did you inscribe in one book, "To dear Edward Shelley"? - It was a joke, and nonsense. At that time he had high literary ambition.
Did you become intimate with a lad named Alphonso Conway? - Yes.
Did he sell newspapers on the pier at Worthing? - No; he enjoyed the luxury of being idle.
He was a loafer at Worthing? - He had a happy, idle nature.
But he had no money nor occupation? - No.
Was he a literary character? - Not at all. (Laughter.)
Or an artist? - No.
What age was he? -About eighteen. He went out sailing with us every day, and we became great friends. He dined with me at my house and at an hotel.
Was his conversation intellectual? - He was a pleasant, nice creature and he was useful to my children.
Did you give him sums of money, from time to time, amounting to £15? -No.
And a cigarette case and a handsome stick? - Yes. I also gave him my photo and a book.
What did you call him? - Alphonso.
Were you fond of the boy? - He was my companion for six weeks. He had no occupation or profession of any kind.
You took this boy to Brighton? - Yes, and we stayed that night at an hotel there. I have him new clothes and a hat.
In order to look more like your equal? - Oh, no; he could never do that. (Laughter.)
What did you take him to Brighton for? - Because I had promised him a treat. We returned to Worthing the next day.
At this stage the Court was adjourned.
The Central Criminal Court was again crowded to its utmost capacity on Thursday morning when the trial was resumed. The public galleries in the court would appear to have been filled with persons having privilege passes, and these it is understood consisted almost entirely of friends of Oscar Wilde or of the Marquis of Queensberry. There were no ladies or children in the court.
Mr. Wilde, again wearing a high silk hat and an ordinary black Chesterfield overcoat, entered the court at a quarter-past ten. He was soon afterwards followed by the Marquis of Queensberry, who walked into the dock and took his stand with the same air of self-composure as marked his conduct on the previous day. He was again attired in a dark blue overcoat and carried in his hand a small felt hat.
Resuming his cross-examination by Mr. Carson, Prosecutor said it was Taylor who brought about his introduction to Wood. He had frequently been to Taylor's house for afternoon tea at 13, Little College-street. Witness did not think Taylor kept any servants. The furniture did not appear luxurious, but was in good taste. He had certainly been to see him when the gas and candles were not lit. It would not be true to my that the gas and candles were always alight. He believed that once in the month of March he saw him about twelve, when there was no light. Taylor was in the habit of burning perfumes in the room. He knew that Taylor and Parker were afterwards arrested by the police. He knew Parker well, and had invited him to his house. Parker's brother came and had dinner with him the first time they met. When he met Parker it was at a dinner. Parker's brother was with him. He did not take tho one ho called Charlie with him to the Savoy Hotel that night, nor did he give him any money. He first gave him money on December 1, 1893. That was at a private dinner. Between October, 1893, and February, 1894, he had rooms at St. James's-street, though he still lived in Iite-street. He remembered Parker coming there to tea on four or five occasions. Sometimes Parker would be alone, and sometimes with Taylor. He had given him money to the extent of £3, but no impropriety had taken place.
He had never visited Park-walk at twelve o'clock at night to see Parker. He had not seen him since February, 1893, but he believed he had enlisted in the army. When Parker and Taylor were arrested they were in women's clothes and charged with felonious practices.
Mr. Carson: When you read of Taylor's arrest did it make any difference in your friendship towards him? Witness: I was greatly distressed, and wrote to him, but it had made no difference. The man Fred Atkins was in the employ of a bookmaker, Witness first met Atkins at the rooms of the gentleman whose name had been handed to the Judge. He met him at a dinner where Taylor was present. He felt friendly towards him and called him by his christian name. They went to Paris and stayed together, he (witness) paying the fare. This, however, was subsequently repaid him, but not by Atkins. No impropriety took place while there, and it would be an infamous lie for anyone to say so. They stayed together in Paris until Saturday. Continuing, Witness said he had simply taken Atkins to Paris to please his friend and not disappoint the lad. After he came back he was very ill and confined to his bed, and Atkins and the gentleman who had introduced them came to see him in his room. He would swear that Atkins was not in the room alone. He gave Atkins £3 15s. and some presents, and took tea with him twice in his rooms. That was to hear him sing, as he said he wished to go on the music hall stage.
Was not Taylor notorious for introducing young men to older men? - I have never heard that in my life.
Was not Taylor notorious for introducing young men to older men? - I never heard that in my life.
Was not Tayler notorious for introducing young men to older men ? — No ; I have never beard that in my life. He has introduced young men to me.
How many young men did he introduce to you--young men with whom you afterwards became intimate? - You mean friendly. I should think about five.
How many young men did he introduce to you - young men with whom you afterwards became intimate? - You mean friendly. I should think about five.
Were they all about twenty years of age? - Twenty to twenty-two. I liked the society of young men.
Were they all about 20 years of age? - Twenty to 22. I liked the society of young men.
Were they all about 20 years of age ?— Twenty or 22. I like the society of young men.
Were those young men always about 20 years of age?—Twenty or 22. I like the society of young men.
Lord Queensberry
BROKE INTO A BROAD GRIN
at this and for a moment relaxed his fixed stare at the witness to gaze round the court, as though inviting attention to this answer.
at this, and for a moment relaxed his fixed stare at the witness to gaze round the court as though inviting attention to this answer.
Oscar continued that he had given money or presents to all five of these young men, none of whom appeared to have any employment or means. He said he had no knowledge that Charles Parker was a gentleman's servant also out of employ.
Oscar continued that he had given money or presents to all five of these young men, none of whom appeared to have any employment or means. He said he had no knowledge that Charles Parker was a gentleman's servant out of employ.
Was he an educated man? - Culture was not his strong point. (Laughter.)
Was he an educated man? Culture was not his strong point (laughter).
Was he an educated man ? — Culture was not his strong point (laughter).
Was he an educated man? - Culture was not his strong point. (Laughter.)
Was he a literary man?—Witness (airily): Culture was not his strong point (Laughter.)
Was he an artist or a literary man? — Culture was not his strong point, replied Oscar, lightly.
There was a little dinner at Kettner's in Soho, to which Oscar invited Taylor on his birthday, to bring any friends he liked. He brought Charlie Parker and his brother.
There was a little dinner at Kettner's in Soho, to which Oscar invited Taylor on his birthday, to bring any friends he liked. He brought Charlie Parker and his brother.
Did you know one was a gentleman's valet and the other a gentleman's groom? - I did not know nor should I have cared, sir.
Did you know one was a gentleman's valet and the other a gentleman's groom? - I did not know nor should I have cared, sir.
Did you know that one was a gentleman's valet and the other a gentleman's groom?—I did not know it nor should I have cared. I do not care "tuppence" for social position.
Did you know that one was a gentleman's valet and the other a gentleman's groom?--I did not know it, nor should I have cared, "I do not care "tuppence" for social position.
Did you know that one was a gentleman's valet and the other a gentleman's groom?--I did not know it nor should I have cared, I do not care "tuppence" for social position.
Did you know that one was a gentleman's valet and the other a gentleman's groom ? — I did not know it, and if I had I should not have cared. I do not care twopence about social position.
What pleasure had you in the company of men like them? - The pleasure of being with those who are
What pleasure had you in the company of men like them? - The pleasure of being with those who are
YOUNG, BRIGHT, HAPPY, FAIR.
I don't like the sensible and I don't like the old. I do-not-like-either. (Oscar became almost emphatic.)
I don't like the sensible, and I don't like the old. I do-not-like-either. (Oscar became almost emphatic.)
It was a good dinner; they had whatever they wanted--Kettner's best fare and Kettner's best wine.
It was a good dinner, they had whatever they wanted, Kettner's best fare and Kettner's best wine.
Did you give them an intellectual treat? - They seemed deeply impressed.
Did you give them an intellectual treat? - They seemed deeply interested.
Did you give them an intellectual treat?—They seemed deeply impressed. (Laughter.)
Did you give them an intellectual treat?—They seemed deeply impressed. (Much laughter.)
Did you give them an intellectual treat? They seemed deeply impressed (much laughter).
Did you give them an intellectual treat? They seemed deeply impressed (much laughter).
Did you give them also an intellectual treat ? — They were deeply impressed (laughter).
You did not stint them? - What gentleman would stint his guests.
What gentleman would stint a valet? - I strongly object to the description.
What gentleman would stint a valet? - I strongly object to the description.
No, what gentleman would stint a valet—I strongly object to that sort of question.
Oscar denied that after dinner he said of Charlie Parker, "This is the boy for me," or that they went together to the Savoy Hotel, or that any kind of impropriety occurred.
What was there in common between you and Parker? - Well, I will tell you I delight in the society of those much younger than myself. I like those who may be called idle and careless. I recognise no social distinctions at all of any kind. The mere fact is that youth is so wonderful I would sooner talk to a young man for half an hour than even be cross-examined in court. (Laughter.) Yes, I would talk to a street arab with pleasure.
What was there in common between you and this young man? - Well, I will tell you. I delight in the society of those much younger than myself. I like those who may be called idle and careless. I recognise no social distinctions at all of any kind. The mere fact is that youth is so wonderful I would sooner talk to a young man for half an hour than even be cross-examined in court. (Laughter.) Yes, I would talk to street arab with pleasure.
What was there in common between you and a young man in the position of this young man ?—Well, I will tell you. I delight in the society of men younger than myself. I like those who may be glad, young, and careless. I recognise no social distinctions of any kind between them and myself, and to me the mere fact of youth is so wonderful that I would sooner talk to a young man for half an hour than be cross-examined in Court even. (Laughter.)
Mr. Carson: What was there in common between you and these young men? Well, I will tell you. I like the society of people much younger than myself. I recognise no social distinctions at all. The mere effect of youth is so wonderful that I would sooner talk with a young man for half an hour than even be cross-examined in court. (Laughter.)
Mr Carson--What was there in common between you and these young men?--Well, I will tell you. I like the society of people much younger than myself. I recognize no social distinctions at all. The mere effect of youth is so wonderful that I would sooner talk with a young man for half an hour than ever been cross-examined in court (laughter).
Mr Carson--What was there in common between you and these young men?--Well, I will tell you. I like the society of people much younger than myself. I recognize no social distinction at all. The mere effect of youth is so wonderful that I would sooner talk with a young man for half an hour then ever be cross-examined in court (laughter).
Mr Carson—What was there in common between you and these young men?—Well, I will tell you. I like the society of people much younger than myself. I recgonize no social distinctions at all. The mere effect of youth is so wonderful that I would sooner talk with a young man for half an hour than ever be cross-examined in court (laughter).
Witness knew a young man named Scarfe, but denied all impropriety. A young man named Mavor had stayed with him at an hotel, though he lived in London at the time. He was very nice and charming, and he gave him a cigarette case value £4.
Returning to the case of Sidney Mavor, Mr. Carson found that he was introduced to Oscar by a gentleman at Margaret-street. Oscar gave him a cigarette case which cost £4 11s. 6d., and invited him to stay with him at the hotel in Albemarle-street. It was simply for companionship.
Returning to the case of Sindey Maher, Mr. Carson found that he was introduced to Oscar by the Nameless Gentleman at Margaret-st. Oscar gave him a cigarette case which cost £4 11s. 5d., and invited him to stay with him at the hotel in Albemarle-st. It was simply for companionship.
He did not stay all night for companionship, did he? It was for the pleasure of his company during the evening, and we breakfasted together next morning. I like to have people staying with me. It amused and pleased him that I should ask him to be my guest-a very nice, charming fellow.
He did not stay all night for companionship, did he? - It was for the pleasure of his company during the evening, and we breakfasted together next morning. I like to have people staying with me. It amused and pleased him that I should ask him to be my guest - a very nice charming fellow.
Walter Granger, a lad of sixteen, servant in the rooms of Lord Alfred Douglas at High-street, Oxford, was the next subject of inquiry, and for the first time Oscar lost his head, and made a tactical blunder.
"Have you ever kissed this boy?" asked Mr. Carson.
Witness: No, never; certainly not. He was an extremely ugly boy.
Mr. Carson: Was that the reason why you did not kiss him? Witness: Oh, Mr. Carson, you are pertinently insolent!
Mr. Carson: Why, sir, did you mention that this boy was extremely ugly? Witness: I do not know why I mentioned that he was ugly except that I was stung by the insolent questions you put to me, and the way you have insulted me throughout this hearing.
Mr. Carson passed on to occurrences at the Savoy Hotel. Oscar had been under treatment of a masseur named Midgen at the hotel, but he denied that he had taken boys there. He absolutely denied that one of the masseurs at the Savoy Hotel had ever seen him in bed with a boy, or that any misconduct had ever taken place with a man called Scarfe.
At half-past twelve the cross-examination came to
A SOMEWHAT SUDDEN TERMINATION,
and Sir Edward Clarke rose to re-examine.
First Sir Edward read three letters from Lord Queensberry to Lord Alfred Douglas and other members of his family which preceded the alleged libel. The first was a letter dated Sunday, April 1, from Carter's Hotel, Albemarle-street. It began, "Alfred, - It is extremely painful to me to have to write to you in the terms I must," and said Lord Alfred must understand that no answers in writing would be received, or if received would be burnt unread. "After your previous hysterically impertinent one, I refuse to be annoyed with such, and must ask you, if you have anything to say to me, to come here and say it in person." His Lordship asked if he was to understand that his son, having
First sir Edward read three letters from Lord Queensberry to Lord Alfred Douglas and other members of his family which preceded the alleged libel. The first was a letter dated Sunday, 1 April, from Carter's Hotel, Albemarle-st. It began, " Alfred,--it is extremely painful to me to have to write to you in the terms I must." and said Lord Alfred must understand that no answers in writing would be received, or if received would be burnt unread. "After your previous hysterically impertinent one, I refuse to be annoyed with such, and must ask you, if you have anything to say to me to come here and say it in person." His lordship asked if he was to understand that his son, having
Letters from Lord Queensberry to Lord Alfred Douglas were read in Court. The first was a letter dated Sunday, 1st April, from Carter's Hotel, Albemarle-street. It began, "Alfred,—It is extremely painful to me to have to write to you in the terms I must," and said Lord Alfred must understand that no answers in writing would be received, or if received would be burnt unread. "After your previous hysterically impertinent one, I refuse to be annoyed with such, and must ask you, if you have anything to say to me, to come here and say it in person." His lordship, after asking if he was to understand that his son, having left Oxford in disgrace, and fallen away from his intention to enter the Civil Service or the Foreign Office, intended to take up any serious line of life, proceeded:—
Letters from Lord Queensberry to Lord Alfred Douglas were read in court. The first was a letter dated Sunday, 1st April, from Carter's Hotel, Albemarle-street. It began, "Alfred, — It is extremely painful to me to have to write to you in the terms I must," and said Lord Alfred must understand that no answers in writing would be received, or if received would be burnt unread. " After your previous hysterically impertinent one, I refuse to be annoyed with such, and must ask you, if you have anything to say to me, to come here and say it in person." His lordship, after asking if he was to understand that his son, having left Oxford in disgrace, and fallen away from his intention to enter the Civil Service or the Foreign Office, intended to take up any other serious line of life, proceeded: —
LEFT OXFORD IN DISGRACE,
and fallen away from his intention to enter the Civil Service or the Foreign Office, intended to take up any serious line of life, as "I decline to supply you with finds to loaf and loll. You are preparing a wretched future for yourself, and it would be cruel and wrong of me to encourage you in this. Secondly, I come to the more painful part of this letter--your infamous intimacy with this man Wilde must cease, or I will disown you and stop all supplies .... I am not going to analyze this intimacy and I make no accusations; but, to my mind, to pose as a thing is as bad as to be the real thing. With my own eyes I saw you both in the most loathsome and disgusting relationship as expressed by your manner and expression. Never in my experience have I ever seen such a sight as that in your horrible features. No wonder people are talking as they are. I hear, on good authority, that his wife is petitioning to divorce him for . . . and other crimes." I further stated: "If I thought the actual thing was true, and it becomes public property, I should be quite justified in shooting him at sight. These Christian English cowards, and men, as they call themselves, want waking up." This letter was signed, "Your disgusted and so-called father, QUEENSBERRY."
and fallen away from his intention to enter the Civil Service or the Foreign Office, intended to take up any other serious line of life, as "I decline to supply you with funds to loaf and loll. You are preparing a wretched future for yourself, and it would be (***) and wrong of me to encourage you in this. Secondly, I come to the more painful part of this letter--your infamous intimacy with this man Wilde must cease, or I will disown you and stop all supplies.... I am not going to analyze this intimacy and I make no accusations; but, to my mind, to pose as a thing is as bad as to be the real thing. With my own eyes I saw you both in the most loathsome and disgusting relationship as expressed by your manner and expression. Never in my experience have I ever seen such a sight as that in your horrible features. . . . I hear, on good authority, that his wife is going to divorce him on grounds of unnatural crimes. Is this right, and if so do you know of it, going about as you do with him? If I thought the actual thing was true, and it becomes public property, I should be quite justified in
I decline to supply you with funds to loaf and loll. You are preparing a wretched future for yourself, and it would be cruel and wrong of me to encourage you in this. Secondly, I come to the more painful part of this letter — your infamous intimacy with this man Wilde must cease, or I will disown you and stop all supplies...I'm not going to analyse this intimacy, and I make no accusations, but to my mind to pose as a thing is as bad as to be the real thing. I saw you from my own window only yesterday with this man. It simply turned my blood cold. Never in my human experience have I seen such a sight as I saw in your horrible faces...I hear on good authority that his wife is going to divorce him on grounds of unnatural crimes. Is this right, and if so do you know of it, going about as you do with him? If I thought the thing was true and it becomes public property, I should be quite justified in shooting him at sight. — Your disgusted so-called father, QUEENSBERRY.
I decline to supply you with the funds to loaf and loll. You are preparing a wretched future for yourself, and it would be cruel and wrong of me to encourage you in this. Secondly, I come to the more painful part of this letter—your infamous intimacy with this man Wilde must cease, or I will disown you and stop all supplies. I am not going to analyse this intimacy, and I make no accusations, but to my mind to pose as a thing is as bad as to be the real thing. I saw you from my own window only yesterday with this man. It simply turned my blood cold. Never in my human experience have I seen such a sight as I saw in your horrible faces. . . . I hear on good authority that his wife is going to divorce him on grounds of unnatural crimes. Is this right, and if so do you know of it, going about as you do with him? If I thought the thing was true and it becomes public property, I should be quite justified in shooting him at sight.—Your disgusted so-called father, Queensberry.
In reply to this, Lord Alfred telegraphed: "To Lord Queensberry, Carter's Hotel, Albemarle-street, - What a funny little man you are."
In reply to this, Lord Alfred telegraphed:- "To Lord Queensberry, Carter's Hotel, Albemarle-street, - What a funny little man you are."
To Lord Queensberry, Carter's Hotel, Albemarle-street. — What a funny little man you are.
To Lord Queensberry, Carter's Hotel, Albemarle-street.—What a funny little man you are.
ROSEBERY, GLADSTONE, AND THE QUEEN.
Sir E. Clarke: The next letter from Lord Queensberry, dated July 6, was to the father of Lady Queensberry, who was divorced from him, in which he said
He had been much upset by what had happened in the last ten days, and that Lady Queensberry had been stirring his son up to defy him. She telegraphed on the subject to the defendant the previous night a very equivocating telegram, saying that the boy denied having been at the Savoy Hotel last year. He asked why sent the telegram unless the boy could deny that he was ever there with Mr. Wilde. As a matter of fact he did so, and there had been a stinking scandal. Lady Queensberry must be mad to behave so. If the defendant was quite certain of the thing he would shoot the fellow on sight, but he (defendant) could only accuse him of posing. He did not believe Wilde would dare defy him. He plainly showed the white feather the other day when the defendant tackled him-cur and coward of the Rosebery type. He was now fully convinced that the Rosebery-Gladstine-royal insult that came to him through his other son that she (Lady Queensberry) worked that. He saw Drumlanrig on the river (he was writing from Maidenhead), which rather upset me. "It shall be known some day by all that Rosebery not only insulted me by lying to the Queen, which she knows, which makes her as bad as him and Gladstone, but also has made a life-long quarrel between son and I."
Other letters were read to his son, in which he used very strong language about his wife.
Mr. Wilde said those were the letters which first communicated to him the fact that Lord Queensberry objected to his friendship with his son.
Mr. Wilde said those were the letters which first communicated to him the fact that Lord Queensberry objected to his friendship for his son.
WHO IS THE GENTLEMAN?
In the course of the re-examination the Witness said that Taylor was introduced to him in October, 1892, by the gentleman whose name had been written down. That gentleman was a person in high position, of good birth and repute. It was now two years since he had been in England or since witness had seen him. He knew Taylor had lost a great deal of money that he had inherited, bit had still a share in a very important business. He was educated at Marlborough. With regard to the arrest of Taylor and Parker in Fitzroy-square, he believed that they were charged with assembling for a felonious purpose, but the charge against them was dismissed.
In the course of the re-examination the Witness said that Taylor was introduced to him in October, 1892, by the gentleman whose name bad been written down. That gentleman was a person in high position, of good birth and good repute. It was now two years since he had been in England or since Witness had seen him. He knew that Taylor had lost a great deal of money that he had inherited, but had still a share in a very important business. He was educated at Marlborough. With regard to the arrest of Taylor and Parker in Fitzroy-square, be believed that tbey were charged with assembling for a felonious purpose, but the charge against them was dismissed.
With regard to Alfonso Conway, did you ever hear that he had been employed as a newspaper boy? - No, I never heard that he was connected with literature in any form. (Laughter.)
With regard to Alfonso Conway, did you ever hear that he had been employed as a newspaper boy?—No, I never heard that he was connected with literature in any form. (Laughter.)
With regard to Alfonzo Conway, did you ever hear that he hail been employed as a newspaper boy ? — No, I never heard that he was connected with literature in any form (laughter).
Did Mrs. Wilde see Conway? - Oh yes, constantly. She knew him quite well. I have not seen him since I was at Worthing, but I wrote him a letter in November with reference to his entering the merchant service.
Had you any idea of what the occupation had been of the Parkers? - They told me they were looking for employment. It was represented to me that their father was a man of means, who made them allowances.
Had you any idea what the occupation had been of the Parkers ? — They told me they were looking for employment. It was represented to me that their father was a man of means, who made them allowances.
When these young men were introduced to you, had you any reason to suspect them of being immoral or disreputable persons? - Nothing whatever. Nothing has come to my knowledge that led me ti think anything against their character.
When these young men were introduced to you. had you any reason for suspecting them of being immoral or disreputable persons ? — Nothing whatever. Nothing has come to my knowledge that led me to think anything against their character.
Have you ever seen Charles Parker in the Savoy? - Never in my life.
How was it that after your interview with Lord Queensberry and the letters coming to your knowledge did you not take steps earlier? - On account of the very strong pressure put upon me by the Queensberry family, which I did not feel myself able to resist.
How was it that after your interview with Lord Queensberry and the letters coming to your knowledge you did not take steps earlier ? — On account of the very strong pressure put upon me by the Queensberry family, which I did not feel myself able to resist.
Mr. Carson, again cross-examining, read the following postcard, addressed by Lord A. Douglas to Lord Queensberry:-
Mr. CARSON read the following postcard, addressed by Lord A. Douglas to Lord Queensberry:--
Towards the close of the case for the prosecution counsel for the defence read the following postcard, addressed by Lord A. Douglas to Lord Queensberry:—
As you return my letters unopened I am obliged to write you a postcard. I write to inform you that I treat your absurd threats with absolute indifference. Ever since your exhibition at O.W.'s house I have made a point of appearing with him at many public restaurants such as the Berkeley, Willis's Rooms, the Café Royal, &c., and I shall continue to go to any of these places whenever I choose and with whom I choose. I am of age and my own master; you have disowned me at least a dozen times, and have very meanly deprived me of money. You have therefore no right over me, either legal or moral. If O.W. was to prosecute you in the criminal courts for libel you would get seven years' penal servitude for your outrageous libels. Much as I detest you I am anxious to avoid this for the sake of the family; but if you try to assault me I shall defend myself with a loaded revolver, which I always carry; and if I shoot you, or if he shoots you, we should be completely justified, as we should be acting in self-defence against a violent and dangerous rough, and I think if you were dead not many people would miss you. A.D.
"As you return my letters unopened, I am obliged to write on a postcard. I write to inform you that I treat your absurd threats with absolute indifference. Ever since your exhibition at O.W.'s house I have made a point of appearing with him at many public restaurants, such as the Berkeley, Willis's Rooms, the Cafe Royal, &c., and I shall continue to go to any of these places whenever I choose and with whom I choose. I am of age and my own master. You have disowned me at least a dozen times, and have very meanly deprived me of money. You have, therefore, no right over me, either legal or moral. If O.W. was to prosecute you in the criminal Courts for libel you would get seven years penal servitude for your outrageous libels. Much as I detest you, I am anxious to avoid this for the sake of the family; but if you try to assault me I shall defend myself with a loaded revolver, which I always carry; and if I shoot you, or if he shoots you, we should be completely justified, as we should be acting in self-defence against a violent and dangerous rouge, and. I think if you were dead not many people would miss you.--A. D."
As you return my letters unopened I am obliged to write on a postcard. I write to inform you that I treat your absurd threats with absolute indifference. Ever since your exhibition at O.W.'s house I have made a point of appearing with him at many public restaurants, such as the Berkeley, Willis' Rooms, the Café Royal, &, and I shall continue to go to any of these places whenever I choose and with whom I choose. I am of age and my own master; you have disowned me at least a dozen times, and have very meanly deprived me of money. You have therefore no right over me, either legal or moral. If O.W. was to prosecute you in the criminal courts for libel you would get seven years penal servitude for your outrageous libels. Much as I detest you, I am anxious to avoid this for the sake of the family; but if you try to assault me I shall defend myself with a loaded revolver, which I always carry; and if I shoot you, or if he shoots you, we should be completely justified, as we should be acting in self-defence against a violent and dangerous rough, and I think if you were dead not many people would miss you.
As you returned my letters unopened I am obliged to write on a postcard. I write to inform you that I treat your absurd threats with absolute indifference. Ever since your exhibition at O. W.'s house I have made a point of appearing with him at many public restaurants, such as the Berkeley, Willis's Rooms, the Café Royal, etc., and I shall continue to go to any of these places whenever I choose and with whom I choose. I am of age and my own master. You have disowned me at least a dozen times, and have very meanly deprived me of money. You have, therefore, no right over me, either legal or moral. If O. W. was to prosecute you in the criminal courts for libel you would get seven years' penal servitude for your outrageous libels. Much as I detest you, I am anxious to avoid this for the sake of the family, but if you try to assault me, I shall defend myself with a loaded revolver which I always carry; and if I shoot you, or if he shoots you, we shall be completely justified, as we should be acting in self-defence against a violent and dangerous rough, and I think if you were dead not many people would miss you. A.D.
As you return my letters unopened I am obliged to write on a postcard. I write to inform you that I treat your absurd threats with absolute indifference. Ever since your exhibition at O.W.'s house I have made a point of appearing with him at many public restaurants, such as the Berkeley, Willis' Rooms, the Café Royal, etc., and I shall continue to go to any of these places whenever I choose and with whom I choose. You have disowned me at least a dozen times, and have very meanly deprived me of money. You have therefore no right over me, either legal or moral. If O.W. was to prosecute you in the criminal courts for libel you would get seven years' penal servitude for your outrageous libels. Much as I detest you, I am anxious to avoid this for the sake of the family, but if you try to assault me, I shall defend myself with a loaded revolver which I always carry; and if I shoot you, or if he shoots you, we should be completely justified, as we should be acting in self-defence against a violent and dangerous rough, and I think if you were dead not many people would miss you. A.D.
As you return my letters unopened I am obliged to write a postcard. I write to inform you that I consider your absurd threats with absolute indifference. Ever since your last exhibition at O.W.'s house I have made a point of appearing with him at many public restaurants—such as the Berkeley, Willis' Rooms, the Café Royal, &c., &c.—and I shall continue to go to these places when and with just whom I choose. I am of age, and my own master. You have disowned me at least a dozen times, and have very meanly deprived me of money. You have, therefore, no rights over me, legal or moral. If O.W. was to prosecute you for libel in the criminal courts you would get seven years' penal servitude for your outrageous libels. Much as I detest you, I am anxious to avoid this for the sake of the family, but I you try to assault me I shall defend myself with a loaded revolver, which I always carry, and if I shoot you, or if he shoots you, we should be completely justified, as we should be acting in self-defence against a violent and dangerous rough; and I think if you were dead not many people would miss you. (Signed, A.D.)
As you return my letters unopened I am obliged to write a postcard. I write to inform you that I consider your absurd threats with absolute indifference. Ever since your last exhibition at O.W.'s house I have made a point of appearing with him at many public restaurants—such as the Berkeley, Willis's Rooms, the Café Royal, etc., etc.—and I shall continue to go to these places when and with just whom I choose. I am of age, and my own master. You have disowned me at least a dozen times, and have very meanly deprived me of money. You have, therefore, no rights over me, legal or moral. If O.W. was to prosecute you for libel in the criminal courts you would get seven years' penal servitude for your outrageous libels. Much as I detest you I am anxious to avoid this for the sake of the family, but if you try to assault me I shall defend myself with a loaded revolver, which I always carry, and if I shoot you, or if he shoots you, we should be completely justified, as we should be acting in self-defence against a violent and dangerous rough; and I think if you were dead not many people would miss you. (Signed A.D.)
As you return my letters unopened I am obliged to write a postcard. I write to inform you that I consider your absurd threats with absolute indifference. Ever since your last exhibition at O.W.'s house I have made a point of appearing with him at many public restaurants — such as the Berkeley, Willis's Rooms, the Café Royal, &., &. — and I shall continue to go to these places when and with just whom I choose. I am of age, and my own master. You have disowned me at least a dozen times, and have very meanly deprived me of money. You have, therefore, no rights over me, legal or moral. If O.W. was to prosecute you for libel in the criminal courts you would get seven years’ penal servitude for your outrageous libels. Much as I detest you I am anxious to avoid this for the sake of the family, but if you try to assault me I shall defend myself with a loaded revolver, which I always carry, and if I shoot you, or [O.W.] shoots you, we should be completely justified, as we should be acting in self defence against a violent and dangerous rough; and I think if you were dead not many people would miss you. (Signed, A.D.)
Mr. Carson, again cross-examining, read the following post-card, addressed by Lord A. Douglas to Lord Queensberry : — "As you return my letters unopened I am obliged to write on a post-card. I write to inform you that I treat your absurd threats with absolute indifference. Ever since your exhibition at O. W's house I have made a point of appearing with him at many public restaurants such as the Berkeley, Willis's Rooms, tbe Cafe Royal, &c, and I shall continue to go to any of these places whenever I choose, and with whom I choose. I am of age and my own master ; you have disowned me at least a dozen times, and have very meanly deprived me of money. Yon have therefore no right over me, either legal or moral. If O.W. was to prosecute you in the criminal courts for libel you would get seven years' penal servitude for your outrageous libels. Much as I detest you, I am anxious to avoid this for the sake of the family ; but if you try to assault me I shall defend myself with a loaded revolver, which I always carry ; and if I shoot you, or if he shoots you, we should be completely justified, as we should be acting in self-defence against a violent and dangerous rough, and I think if you were dead not many people would miss you. — A. D."
Mr. Carson, with the permission of the Judge (over-ruling an objection by Sir E. Clarke), read the following postcard, addressed by Lord A. Douglas to Lord Queensberry:—"As you return my letters unopened I am obliged to write on a postcard. I write to inform you that I treat your absurd threats with absolute indifference. Ever since your exhibition at O.W.'s house I have made a point of appearing with him at many public restaurants, such as the Berkeley, Willis's Booms, the Café Royal, &c, and I shall continue to go to any of these places whenever I choose, and with whom I choose. I am of age and my own master; you have disowned me at least a dozen times, and have very meanly deprived me of money. You have, therefore, no right over me, either legal or moral. If O. W. was to prosecute you in the criminal courts for libel you would get seven years' penal servitude for your outrageous libels. Much as I detest you, I am anxious to avoid this for the sake of the family; but if you try to assault me I shall defend myself with a loaded revolver, which I always carry; and if I shoot you, or if he shoots you, we should be completely justified, as we should be acting in self-defence against a violent and dangerous rough, and I think if you were dead not many people would miss you.—A.D."
The following message sent on a postcard by Lord Alfred Douglas to his father, which was read in court during the case, throws light on the relations existing between the pair:— "As you return my letters unopened, I am obliged to write on a postcard. I write to inform you that I treat your absurd threats with absolute indifference. Ever since your exhibition at O.W.'s house I have made a point of appearing with him at many public restaurants, such as the Berkeley, Willis' Rooms, the Café Royal, &c., and I shall continue to go to any of these places whenever I choose and with whom I choose. I am of age and my own master. You have disowned me at least a dozen times, and have very meanly deprived me of money. You have therefore no right over me either legal or moral. If O.W. was to prosecute you in the Criminal Courts for libel you would get seven years' penal servitude for your outrageous libels. Much as I detest you, I am anxious to avoid this for the sake of the family, but if you try to assault me I shall defend myself with a loaded revolver which I always carry; and if I shoot you, or if he shoots you, we should be completely justified, as we should be acting in self-defence against a violent and dangerous rough, and I think if you were dead not many people would miss you.—A.D."
The following message was sent on a post card by Lord Alfred Douglas to his father, which was read in Court during the ease, throws light on the relations existing between the pair—"As you return my letters unopened, I am obliged to write on a post card. I write to inform you that I treat your absurd threats with absolute indifference. Ever since your exhibition at O W's house I have made a point of appearing with him at many public restaurants, such as the Berkeley, Willis's Rooms, the Café Royal, &c, and I shall continue to go to any of these places whenever I choose and with whom I choose. I am of age and my own master. You have disowned me at least a dozen times, and have very meanly deprived me of money. You have, therefore, no right over me either legal or moral. If O. W. was to prosecute you in the criminal courts for libel you would get seven years' penal servitude for your outrageous libels. Much as I detest you, I am anxious to avoid this for the sake of the family, but if you try to assault me I shall defend myself with a loaded revolver which I always carry; and if I shoot you, or if he shoots you, we should be completely justified, as we should be acting in self defence against a violent and dangerous rough, and I think if you were dead not many people would miss you.—A.D."
To this the affectionate son responded with the following, written on a postcard:—"As you have returned my letters unopened, I am obliged to write on a postcard. I write to inform you that I treat your absurd threats with absolute indifference. Ever since your exhibition at O.W.'s house I have made a point of appearing with him at many public restaurants, and I shall continue to go to any of those places whenever I choose, and with whom I choose. I am of age, and my own master. You have disowned me at least a dozen times, and have very meanly deprived me of money. You have therefore no right over me, either legal or moral. If O.W. was to prosecute you for libel in the criminal courts, you would get seven years' penal servitude for the outrageous libels. Much as I detest you I am anxious to avoid this for the sake of the family, but if you try to assault me I shall defend myself with a loaded revolver, which I always carry, and I'll shoot you, or if he shoot you we will be completely justified, as we should be acting in self-defence against a violent and dangerous rough; and I think if you were dead not many people would miss you."
To this the affectionate son responded with the following, written on a postcard:—"As you have returned my letters unopened, I am obliged to write on a postcard. I write to inform you that I treat your absurd threats with absolute indifference. Ever since your exhibition at O.W.'s house I have made a point of appearing with him at many public restaurants, and I shall continue to go to any of those places whenever I choose, and with whom I choose. I am of age, and my own master. You have disowned me at least a dozen times, and have very meanly deprived me of money. You have no right over me, either legal or moral. If O.W. was to prosecute you for libel in the criminal courts, you would get seven years' penal servitude for the outrageous libels. Much as I detest you I am anxious to avoid this for the sake of the family, but if you try to assault me I shall defend myself with a loaded revolver, which I always carry, and I'll shoot you, or if he shoot you, we will be completely justified, as we should by acting in self-defence against a violent and dangerous rough; an di think if you were dead not many people would miss you."
Sir E. Clarke intimated that his case was closed.
Mr. Wilde then left the box, and shortly afterwards quitted the court.
Mr. Wilde then left the box, and almost immediately left the Court.
THE DEFENCE.
Mr. Carson, in addressing the jury for the defence, said that Lord Queensberry withdrew nothing that he had said or written, having done everything with premeditation and a determination at all risks and hazards to try and save his son. He (Mr. Carson) was glad that his learned friend had read the letters mentioning names of distinguished persons, as it would remove any impression that might exist to their being mixed up in the matter that was now being investigated. These references were of a purely political character, arising out of the fact that the late Lord Drumlanrig, the eldest son of the Marquis, was made a member of the House of Lords while Lord Queensberry was not a member, and that he felt aggrieved that the honour should have been conferred to his son while it was not given to him. From the beginning to end Lord Queensberry had been influenced with regard to Mr. Oscar Wilde by the one hope alone of saving his son. Mr. Wilde had been going about with young men who were not his equals either in position or education. He thought it would be proved that some of these men were known as some of
THE MOST DANGEROUS CHARACTERS IN LONDON
and he specially referred to Taylor, who was the right man to assist Wilde in all these orgies with artists and valets. Had they been able to cross-examine Taylor, they would have learned what went on. Taylor was the pivot of the case, for the simple reason that when they heard the witnesses examined--and he would be unfortunately compelled to examine them on the filthy and immoral practices of Mr. Oscar Wilde--it would be found that Taylor was the man who introduced them to Wilde. When Mr. Wilde wanted to show that someone was present, he mentioned a gentleman who could not be called, because he was out of the country, but Taylor was in the country, and could have been called; they were told that the friendship of Wilde and Taylor had not been interrupted. He took up with Charlie Parker, a gentleman's servant whose brother is a gentleman's servant; with young Conway, whose brother sold papers on the pier at Worthing; and with Sacrfe, also a gentleman's servant. Then his excuse was no longer that he was dwelling in regions of art, but that he had such a noble, such a Democratic soul--(laughter)--that he drew no social distinctions, and that it was quite as much pleasure to have the sweeping boy from the streets to lunch or dine with him as the greatest litterateur or artist. He (Mr. Carson) considered the positions absolutely irreconcilable. There was in the Chameleon a poem which showed some justification for the frightful anticipations which Lord Queensberry entertained for his son. The poem was written by Lord Alfred Douglas and was seen by Mr. Wilde before its publication. Was it not a terrible thing that a young man on the threshold of life, who had been for several years dominated by Oscar Wilde, and who had been "adored and loved" by Oscar Wilde, as the two letters proved, should thus show the tendency of his mind upon this frightful subject? What would the horror of any man whose son wrote such a poem? Witnesses would be brought to describe the extraordinary den--the perfumed, ever-curtained rooms which Taylor kept in Little College-street. This was the place where Mr. Wilde made visits to meet these young men. Witnesses would be brought to prove the fearful practices of this man, Oscar Wilde. Why was a gentleman spoken of in the case as nameless? Because the man was out of the country. (Sensation.) The poem, "Two Loves," by Lord Alfred Douglas, published in the Chameleon, and spoken of by Mr. Wilde as beautiful, was not beautiful, but filthy. Mr. Carson then took up "Dorian Grey," and described the teaching in it, reading long extracts from the work. The book alone supplied enough to justify the complaint made by Lord Queensberry.
Counsel having dealt with other matters, and said he would prove the charges made up to the hilt, the Court adjourned at 4 30, the Marquis of Queensberry being allowed bail as before.
FINAL DAY OF THE TRIAL.
The trial was resumed on Friday before Mr. Justice Collins at the Old Bailey.
No sooner were the doors of the court opened than the public gallery was again besieged and quickly crowded.
When the proceedings commenced, Mr. Carson rose to resume his opening speech for the defence. He at once passed on from the consideration of the literature and the letters with which the case was connected and proceeded to what he described as a more painful part of the case-that which concerned Mr. Wilde's character. It would be, he said, his painful duty to bring forward one after another witnesses who had been mentioned to tell their tale. Mr. Carson the subjected to the most scathing criticism the explanations given by Mr. Wilde of his conduct. Servants from the Savoy Hotel and other would be called; and when the jury heard the evidence that would be given they would wonder why this man Wilde had been tolerated in London for so long. Mr. Carson next dealt with Wilde's proceedings at Worthing and elsewhere, and spoke in the most trenchant terms of the disgraceful audacity of the man.
STARTLING DEVELOPMENT.
At this point Sir Edward Clarke intervened to make a statement. Mr. Carson had, he said, referred to certain literature and letters. He said that he hoped he had said enough to convince the jury of that alone, without dealing with other issues. Lord Queensberry, in the libel complained of, had used the word "posing." Without expecting to obtain a verdict in this case, he knew and his colleagues knew that they would be going through an awful ordeal day by day. They felt that they could not resist a verdict of "Not guilty" in this case taking into consideration the word "posing." He now said that on behalf of Mr. Oscar Wilde he would ask to
WITHDRAW FROM THE PROSECUTION.
And if, at this stage of the case, that were not allowed, he was prepared to accept a verdict of "Not guilty" on the evidence brought forward in the litigation in question.
Mr. Carson, Q.C., said he did not think he had any right whatever to interfere in any way with such an application. He could only say that, as far as Lord Queensberry was concerned, if there was to be a verdict of "Not guilty" the verdict must involve that his lordship had succeeded in his plea of justification. With that understanding, he (the learned counsel) would be quite satisfied to adopt the course proposed.
Mr. Carson, Q.C, said he did not think that he had any right whatever to interfere in any way with such an application his learned friend had made. He could only say that, as far as Lord Queensberry was concerned, if there was to be a verdict of "not guilty," the verdict must involve that his Lordship had succeeded in his plea of justification. With that understanding he (the learned counsel) would be quite satisfied to adopt the course proposed. Of course, his learned friend would admit they must succeed on that plea, and that being so it rested entirely with his Lordship as to whether the course suggested by his learned friend was to be adopted.
His Lordship said that as the prosecutor was willing of acquiesce in a verdict of "Nor guilty" against the defendant, it was not for the Judge and jury to interfere. He could not, however, make any distinction on any particular point in the case. The verdict must be given on the words of the libel, and must simply be either "Guilty" or "Not Guilty." If he had has to sum up in the case he would have had to say that the libel was justified, and had been published for the public good. The verdict of "Not guilty" would mean that the statement was true in substance and in fact.
NOT GUILTY
After a few moments' consultation together on the part of the jury, the foreman intimated that they had arrived at their verdict.
After a few moments' consultation together on the part of the jury, the foreman intimated that they had arrived at their verdict.
After a few moments consultation together on the part of the jury, the foreman intimated that they had arrived at their verdict that the libel was true.
The Clerk of the Arraigns: Do you find the plea of justification proved? - Yes.
The Clerk of Arraigns : Do you find the plea of justification proved?—Yes.
The Clerk of Arraigns.— Do you find the complete justification proved or not ?
The Clerk of Arraigns—Do you find the complete justification proved or not?
And do you find the defendant "Not guilty"? - Yes.
And that is the verdict of you all? - Yes.
And also that it was published for the public benefit? - Yes.
The result was received with loud cheers by the crowded Court.
The Marquis of Queensberry was then formally discharged and left the dock.
The Marquis of Queensberry was then formally discharged, and left the dock.
The Marquis of Queensberry was present. During the morning Wilde was ill and left the court.
LETTER TO THE PUBLIC PROSECUTOR.
On leaving the court, Mr. Charles Russell, Lord Queensberry's solicitor, addressed the following letter to the Public Prosecutor:-
On leaving the court Lord Queensberry's solicitor addressed the following letter to the Public Prosecutor:-
At the conclusion of the trial at the Central Criminal Court yesterday morning, Mr. Charles Russell, Lord Queensberry's solicitor, addressed the following letter to the Public Prosecutor:—
37, Norfolk-street, Strand.
The Hon Hamilton Caffe, Esq.,
Director of Prosecutions.
Dear Sir,- In order that there
may be a miscarriage of justice, I think it my duty at once to send you a copy of
our witness's statements, together with a copy of the shorthand notes of
the trial. -Yours faithfully,
CHARLES RUSSELL
The Treasury, Whitehall.
37, Norfolk Street, Strand. The Hon. Hamilton Cuffe, E-q., Director of Prosecutions. Dear Sir,—In order that there may be no miscarriage of justice, I think it my duty at once to send you a copy of all our witnesses' statements together with a copy of the shorthand notes of the trial.—Yours faithfully, Charles Russell. The Treasury, Whitehall.
37, Norfolk-street, Strand.
To the Hon. HAMILTON CUFFE, Director of Prosecutions.
DEAR SIR,-In order that there may be no miscarriage of justice, I think it my duty at once to send you a copy of all our witness's statements, together with a copy of the shorthand notes of the trial.-Yours faithfully,
CHARLES RUSSELL.
To the Hon. HAMILTON CUFFE, Director of Prosecutions.
DEAR SIR,--In order that there may be no miscarriage of justice, I think it my duty at once to send you a copy of all our witness's statements, together with a copy of the shorthand notes of the trial.
Yours faithfully, CHARLES RUSSELL.
"Dear Sir—In order that there may be no miscarriage of justice I think it my duty at once to send you a copy of all our witnesses statements, together with a copy of the shorthand notes of the trial.
"Yours faithfully,
CHARLES RUSSELL,
"The Treasury, Whitehall."
"37, Norfolk-street. Strand.
" Dear Sir,— In order that there may be no miscarriage of justice. I think it my duty at once to send you a copy of all our Witnesses' statements, together with a copy of the shorthand notes of trial. — Yours faithfully,
"Charles Russell."
Before Lord Queensberry and his counsel left the Court the following letter was written to the Hon. Hamilton Cuffe, Director of Public Prosecutions:--
Dear Sir,--In order that there may be no miscarriage of justice, I think it my duty at once to send you a copy of all our witnesses' statements, together with a copy of the shorthand notes of the trial.--Yours faithfully,
Charles Russell.
On leaving the court this forenoon, Mr. Charles Russell, Lord Queensberry's solicitor, addressed the following letter to the Public Prosecutor:—"37, Norfolk Street, Strand.
"The Honourable Hamilton Cuffe, Esq., Director of Prosecutions. "Dear Sir—In order that there may be no miscarriage of justice, I think it my duty at once to send you a copy of all our witnesses' statements, together with a copy of the shorthand notes of the trial.
Yours faithfully, Charles Russell.
"The Treasury, Whitehall."
"Dear Sir,—In order that there may be no miscarriage of justice, I think it my duty at once to send you a copy of all our witnesses' statements, together with a copy of the shorthand notes of the trial—Yours faithfully,
A WARRANT GRANTED.
It is understood that a warrant in connection with this case was applied for at five o'clock on Friday evening, and it is believed that it was granted. The application was made to Sir John Bridge in his private room. Mr. Charles Russell-son of the Lord Chief Justice--and Mr. Angus Lewis--of the treasury--were in attendance, and it is understood that the application for the warrant was made by them.
The Central News says:—It is understood that a warrant in connection with the libel case was applied for at five o'clock this evening, and it is believed that the application was granted. The application was made in Sir John Bridge's private room, and the officials are reticent on the subject. Mr. Charles Russell and Mr. Angus Lewis, of the Treasury, were in attendance, and it is further understood that the application for the warrant was made by them.
A report from Bow Street states—"It is understood that a warrant in connection with the Wilde case was applied for at five o'clock thia afternoon, and it is believed that it was granted. The application was made to Sir John Bridge in his private room, and the officials were naturally reticent on the subject. Mr. Charles Russell (son of the Lord Chief Justice) and Mr. Angus Lewis of the Treasury, with two witnesses, were in attendance, and it is understood that the application for the warrant was made by them.
The Press Association says its is understood in connection with this case that a warrant was applied for at five o’clock this afternoon and it is believed that it was granted. The application was to Sir John Bridge in his private room, Mr Charles Russell (son of the Lord Chief Justice) and Mr Angus Lewis, of the Treasury, being in attendance. The officials were naturally reticent on the subject.
OSCAR WILDE'S MOVEMENTS.
It appears that Mr. Wilde had been somewhere in the precincts of the court during the hearing of the case. His brougham was in waiting, and he stepped rapidly into it, calling to the coachman to drive to the Viaduct Hotel. Before the carriage had stopped at the door of the hotel he thrust his arm and a gold-headed cane out of the window, and signalling to a man who stood there, apparently waiting, hoarsely cried, "The verdict, not guilty!" Afterwards Lord Alfred Douglas was also seen to go to the hotel.
It appeared that Mr. Oscar Wilde had been somewhere in the precincts of the court. His brougham was in waiting, and he stepped rapidly into it, calling to the coachman to drive to the Holdorn Viaduct Hotel. Before the carriage had stopped at the door of the hotel he thrust his arm and a gold-headed cane out of the window, and signalling to a man who stood there, apparently waiting, hoarsely cried, "The verdict, not guilty ?" Afterwards Lord Alfred Douglas was also seen to go into the hotel.
It appeared that Mr. Oscar Wilde had been somewhere in the precincts of the court. His brougham was in waiting, and he stepped rapidly into it, calling to the coachman to drive to the Holborn Viaduct Hotel. Before the carriage had stopped at the door of the hotel he thrust his arm and a gold-headed cane out of the window, and signalling to a man who stood here apparently waiting, hoarsely cried, "The verdict not guilty." They entered the hotel together, and shortly afterwards Lord Alfred Douglas was also seen to go into the hotel.
There is some ground for supposing that the "prosecutor" had appointed the Viaduct Hotel as a rendezvous with his particular friends. Within half an hour of his arrival there several gentlemen arrived hurriedly and were conducted at once to the rooms which have been reserved for Mr. Wilde since Thursday. The brougham, with two smart little brown horses, was driven slowly up and down the viaduct, pausing once while the coachman received instructions from Lord Alfred Douglas, who came out bareheaded with the hall porter. These movements were closely watched in a number of interests, and it is recorded that Scotland Yard was keeping a provisional eye on the hotel.
There is some ground for supposing that the "prosecutor" had appointed the Viaduct libel as a rendezvous with his particular friends. Within half an hour of his arrival there several gentlemen arrived hurriedly and were conducted at once to the rooms which have been reserved for Mr. Wilde since yesterday. The brougham, with two smart little brown horses, was driven slowly up and down the Viaduct, pausing once while the coachman received instructions from Lord Alfred Douglas, who came out bareheaded with the hall porter. These movements were closely watched, in a number of interests, and it is reported that Scotland-yard was keeping a provisional eye on the hotel.
There is some ground for supposing that the "Prosecutor" had appointed the Viaduct Hotel as a rendezvous with his particular friends. Within half-an-hour of his arrival there several gentlemen arrived hurriedly, and were conducted at once to the rooms which had been reserved for Mr. Wilde since yesterday. The brougham, with two smart little brown horses, was driven slowly up and down the Viaduct, pausing once while the coachman received instructions from Lord Alfred Douglas, who came out bareheaded with the hall porter. These movements were closely watched in a number of interests, and it is reported that Scotland Yard was keeping a provisional eye on the hotel. The hotel, it may be stated, is at the terminus of a railway running to the Continent.
Lord Alfred Douglas and a friend left the hotel and drove to the London and Westminster bank, St. James's-square. They were seen to enter and draw money at the counter.
Lord Alfred Douglas and a friend left the hotel and drove to the London and Westminster Bank. St. James's-sq. They were seen to enter and draw money at the counter.
THE DOUGLAS FAMILY AND OSCAR.
A representative of the Sun called at the Holborn-viaduct Hotel soon after the collapse of the suit, with the object of obtaining from Mr. Wilde his own statement as to why he had decided to withdraw the prosecution and consent to a verdict against himself. Lord Douglas of Harwick said Mr. Wilde felt quite unable at the moment to bear seeing anyone. The young lord, however, added that on Mr. Wilde's behalf he was willing to answer any questions he could. He was, he said, himself, together with his brother, Lord Alfred, under subpoena for the prosecution. He himself would have been quite willing to go into the box, and his brother was most anxious to be allowed to do so, and was exceedingly aggrieved that Mr. Wilde had prevented him. It was to prevent that - and because he felt that "no man could bear to have every little act and indiscretion of his life, and every word and thought produced against him they perverted in the basest way and placed in their worst possible light," that Mr. Wilde had resolved to retire from the prosecution.
"You may say from me myself," went on Lord Douglas of Harwick, "that I, and every member of our family, excepting my father, disbelieve absolutely and entirely the allegations of the defence. It is, in my opinion, simply a part of the persecution which my father has carried out ever since I can remember. I think Mr. Wilde and his counsel are to blame for not showing, as they could have done, what was the fact."
"You may say from me myself," said Lord Douglas of Hawick to an interview yesterday afternoon, "that I and every member of our family, excepting my father, disbelieve absolutely and entirely the allegations of the defence. It is in my opinion, simply a part of the persecution which my father has carried on against us ever since I can remember. I think Mr. Wilde and his counsel to blame for not showing as they could have done, that was the fact."
"Myself and every member of the family, except father, disbelieve absolutely and entirely all the charges. We think them simply part of the persecution father has carried on against us as long as I can remember, and that Mr. Wilde and his counsel are to blame for not showing, as they could have done, that that was the fact."
"I and every member of the family except father disbelieve absolutely and entirely all the charges. We think them simply part of the persecution father has carried on against us as long as I can remember, and that Mr. Wilde and his counsel are to blame for not showing, as they could have done, that that was the fact."
The Leader published an interview with Lord Douglas, in which the latter says: "Myself and every member of the family except father disbelieve all the charges. We think them simply part of the persecution father has carried on against us ever since I can remember, and that Mr. Wilde and his counsel are to blame for not showing, as they should have done, that that was the fact."
The "Leader" published an interview with Lord Douglas, in which the latter says: "Myself and every member of the family except father disbelieve all the charges. We think them simply part of the persecution father has carried on against us ever since I can remember, and that Mr Wilde and his counsel are to blame for not showing, as they should have done, that that was the fact."
The Leader published an interview with Lord Douglas, in which the latter says: "Myself and every member of the family except father disbelieve all the charges. We think them simply part of the persecution father has carried on against us ever since I can remember, and that Mr Wilde and his counsel are to blame for not showing, as they should have done, that that was the fact."
The Leader publishes an interview with Lord Douglass, in which the latter says: "Myself and every member of the family except father, disbelieve all the charges. We think them simply part of the persecution father has carried on against us ever since I can remember, and that Mr. Wilde and his counsel are to blame for not showing as they should have done, that that was the fact."
His Lordship cited several alleged circumstances in support of his statement, and concluded by asserting with considerable emotion that scandal after scandal had been heaped upon them till he felt utterly unable to hold up his head.
Then, in answer to a question, Lord Douglas added that with Mr. Wilde's full authority he could state that Mr. Wilde had no thoughts of immediately leaving London, and would stay to face whatever might be the result of the proceedings.
OSCAR WILDE'S EXPLANATION.
Oscar Wilde has written the following letter to the Evening News:-
It would have been impossible for me to have proved my case without putting Lord Alfred
Douglas in the witness-box against his
father.
Lord Alfred Douglas was extremely anxious to go into the box, but I would not let
him do so.
Rather than put him in so painful a
position I determined to retire from the case, and to bear on my own shoulders whatever
ignominy and shame might result from my prosecuting Lord
Queensberry. OSCAR WILDE
To the Editor,—It would have been impossible for me to have proved my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness-box against his father. Lord Alfred Douglas was extremely anxious to go into the box, but I would not let him do so. Rather than put him in so painful a position I determined to retire from the case, and to bear on my own shoulders whatever ignominy and shame might result from my prosecuting Lord Queensberry. Oscar Wilde.
"TO THE EDITOR-
"It would have been impossible for me to have proved my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness-box against his father.
"Lord Alfred Douglas was extremely anxious to go into the box, but I would not let him do so.
"Rather than put him in so painful a position, I determined to retire from the case, and to bear on my own shoulders whatever ignominy and shame might result from my prosecuting Lord Queensberry.
OSCAR WILDE."
"TO THE EDITOR—It would be impossible for me to prove my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness box against his father. Lord Alfred Douglas was extremely anxious to go into the box, but I would not let him do so, rather than put him in so painful a position I determined to retire from the case and to bear on my own shoulders whatever ignominy and shame might result from my prosecuting Lord Queensberry."
"It would have been impossible for me to have proved my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness box against his father. He was extremely anxious to go into the witness box, but I would not let him. Rather than put him in so painful a position I determined to withdraw from the case, and bear upon my own shoulders whatever ignominy and shame might result from my prosecution of the Marquis of Queensberry. "Oscar Wilde."
"It would have been impossible for me to have proved my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness box against his father. He was extremely anxious to go into the witness box, but I would not let him. Rather than put him in so painful a position I determined to withdraw from the case and bear upon my own shoulders whatever ignominy and shame might result from my prosecution of the marquis of Queensberry. OSCAR WILDE."
It would have been impossible for me to have proved my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness box against his father. He was extremely anxious to go into the witness box, but I would not let him. Rather than put him in so painful a position I determined to withdraw from the case and bear upon my own shoulders whatever ignominy and shame might result from my prosecution of the marquis of Queensberry.
OSCAR WILDE.
It would have been impossible for me to have proved my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness box against his father. He was extremely anxious to go into the witness box, but I would not let him. Rather than put him in so painful a position I determined to withdraw from the case and bear upon my own shoulders whatever ignominy and shame might result from my prosecution of the Marquis of Queensberry.
OSCAR WILDE.
"It would have been impossible for me to have proved my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness-box against his father. He was extremely anxious to go into the witness-box, but I would not let him. Rather than put him in so painful a position, I determined to withdraw from the case, and bear upon my own shoulders whatever ignominy and shame might result from my prosecution of the Marquis of Queensberry.
"(Signed), OSCAR WILDE."
"It would have been impossible for me to have proved my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness box against his father. He was extremely anxious to go into the witness box, but I would not let him. Rather than put him in so painful a position, I determined to withdraw from the case and bear upon my own shoulders whatever ignominy and shame might result from my prosecution of the marquis of Queensberry.
(Signed)
"Oscar Wilde."
"It would have been impossible for me to have proved my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglass in the witness box against his father. He was extremely anxious to go into the witness box, but I would not let him. Rather than put him in so painful a position, I determined to withdraw from the case and bear upon my own shoulders whatever ignominy and shame might result from my prosecution of the Marquis of Queensberry.
"(Signed) OSCAR WILDE."
"It would have been impossible for me to have proved my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness box against his father. He was extremely anxious to go into the witness box, but I would not let him. Rather than put him in so painful a position I determined to withdraw from the case and bear upon my own shoulders whatever ignominy and shame might result from my prosecution of the Marquis of Queensberry."
"It would have been impossible for me to have proved my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness box against his father. He was extremely anxious to go into the witness box, but I would not let him. Rather than put him in so painful a position, I determined to withdraw from the case, and bear upon my own shoulders whatever ignominy and shame might result from my prosecution of the Marquis of Queensberry.
"It was impossible to prove my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness-box against his father. Lord Alfred was extremely anxious to go into the box, but I would not allow it. Rather than put him in such a painful position I determined to retire from the case and bear upon my own shoulders whatever shame and ignominy might result from not prosecuting the Marquis of Queensberry."
It was not possible to prove my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness-box against his father. Lord Alfred was extremely anxious to go into the box, but I would not allow it. Rather than put him in such a painful position I determined to retire from the case, and bear upon my own shoulders whatever shame and ignominy might result from not prosecuting the Marquis of Queensberry.
"It was impossible to prove my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness box against his father. Lord Alfred was extremely anxious to go into the box, but I would not allow it. Rather than put him in such a painful position I determined to retire from the case and bear upon my own shoulders whatever shame and ignominy might result from not prosecuting the Marquis of Queensberry."
"It was impossible to prove my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness box against his father. Lord Alfred was extremely anxious to go into the box, but I would not allow it. Rather than put him in such a painful position I determined to retire from the case and bear upon my own shoulders whatever shame and ignominy might result from not prosecuting the Marquis of Queensberry."
"It was not possible to prove my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglass in the witness box against his father. Lord Alfred was extremely anxious to go into the box, but I would not allow it. Rather than put him in such a painful position, I determined to retire from the case and bear upon my own shoulders whatever shame and ignominy might result from my prosecution of the Marquis of Queensberry."
"It was not possible to prove my case without putting Lord Alfrad Douglass in the witness-box against his father Lord Alfred was extremely anxious to go into the box, but I would not allow it. Rather than put him in such a painful position I determined to retire from the case and bear upon my own shoulders whatever shame and ignominy might result from my prosecution of the Marquis of Queensbury."
"It was impossible to prove my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness box against his father. Lord Alfred was extremely anxious to go into the box, but I would not allow it. Rather than put him in such a painful position I determined to retire from the case and bear upon my own shoulders whatever shame and ignominy might result form not prosecuting the Marquis of Queensberry."
It was impossible to prove my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness box against his father. Lord Alfred was extremely anxious to go into the box, but I would not allow it. Rather than put him in such a painful position I determined to retire from the case, bear upon my own shoulders whatever shame and ignominy might result from not prosecuting the Marquis of Queensberry.
"It was not possible to prove my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglass in the witness box against his father. Lord Alfred was extremely anxious to go into the box, but I would not allow it. Rather than put him in such a painful position, I determined to retire the case and bear upon my own shoulders whatever shame and ignominy might result from not prosecuting the Marquis of Queensberry."
The London Evening News states that it has received four letters from Mr Oscar Wilde, written on the notepaper of a Holborn Hotel."TO THE EDITOR."It would be impossible for me to prove my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness box against his father. Lord Alfred Douglas was extremely anxious to go into the box, but I would not let him do so. Rather than put him in so painful a position I determined to retire from the case, and to bear on my own shoulders whatever ignominy and shame might result from my prosecuting Lord Queensberry."
The London Evening News states that it has received four letters from Mr Oscar Wilde written on notepaper of a Holborn hotel:—"To the Editor—It would be impossible for me to prove my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness box against his father. Lord Alfred Douglas was extremely anxious to go into the witness box, but I would not let him do so. Rather than put him in so painful a position I determined to retire from the case and to bear on my own shoulders whatever ignomy and shame might result from my prosecuting Lord Queensberry."
The London "Evening News" states that it has received four letters from Mr Oscar Wilde, written on the notepaper of a Holborn hotel: "To the Editor—It would be impossible for me to prove my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness box against his father. Lord Alfred Douglas was trembly anxious to go into the box, and I would not let him do so. Rather than put him in so painful a position I determined to retire from the case, and to bear on my own shoulders whatever ignominy and shame might result from my prosecuting Lord Queensberry."
"It was impossible to prove my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglass in the witness box against his father. Lord Alfred was anxious to go into the box, but I would not permit it. Rather than put him in such a painful position I determined to retire and let fall upon my shoulders whatever shame and ignomy that might result from not prosecuting the Marquis of Queensberry."
Oscar Wilde has written a letter to the newspapers, in which he says: "It was not possible to prove my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness-box against his father. Lord Alfred was extremely anxious to go into the box, but I would not allow it. Rather than put him in such a painful position I determined to retire from the case-to bear upon my own shoulders whatever shame and ignominy might result from not prosecuting the Marquis of Queensberry."
Oscar Wilde has written a letter to newspapers, in which he says: "It was not possible to prove my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness box against his father. Lord Alfred was extremely anxious to go into the box, but I would not allow it. Rather than put him in such a painful position I determined to retire from the case, bear upon my own shoulders whatever shame and ignominy might result from not prosecuting the Marquis of Queensberry."
Oscar Wilde has written a letter to the newspapers in which he says: "It was not possible to prove my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglass in the witness box against his father. Lord Alfred was extremely anxious to go into the box, but I would not allow it. Rather than put him in such a painful position, I determined to retire from the case and bear upon my own shoulders whatever shame and ignominy which might result from not prosecuting the Marquis of Queensberry."
The 'Evening News' to-day received the following letter from Oscar Wilde, written upon note paper of the Holborn Hotel:—"It would have been impossible for me to have proved my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness-box against his father. He was extremely anxious to go into the witness-box but, I would not let him. Rather than put him in so painful a position I determined to withdraw from the case and bear upon my own shoulders whatever ignominy and shame might result from my prosecution of the Marquis of Queensberry."—Oscar Wilde.
The Evening News to-day received the following letter from Oscar Wilde, written upon note paper of the Holborn Hotel:—"It would have been impossible for me to have proved my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness box against his father. He was extremely anxious to go into the witness box, but I would not let him. Rather than put him in so painful a position I determined to withdraw from the case and bear upon my own shoulders whatever ignominy and shame might result from my prosecution of the Marquis of Queensberry."—Oscar Wilde.
The Evening News to day received the following letter from Oscar Wilde, written upon note paper of the Holborn Hotel: "It would have been impossible for me to have proved my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness-box against his father. He was extremely anxious to go into the witness-box but I would not let him. rather than put him in so painful a position I determined to withdraw from the case and bear upon my own shoulders whatever ignominy and shame might result from my persecution of the Marquis of Queensberry."—Oscar Wilde.
The Evening News has received the following letter from Oscar Wilde, written upon the note […] of Holburn Viaduct Hotel:- "It would have been impossible for me to have proved my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness box against his father. He was extremely anxious to go into the witness box, but I would not let him. Rather than put him in so painful a position I determined to withdraw from the case and bear upon my own shoulders whatever ignominy and shame might result from my prosecution of the Marquis of Queensberry. (Sgd.) Oscar Wilde."
Previous to his arrest Wilde wrote a letter to the newspapers in which he says: "It was impossible to prove my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness box against his father. Lord Alfred was extremely anxious to go into the box, but I would not allow it. Rather than put him in such a painful position I determined to retire from the case and bear upon my own shoulders whatever shame and ignominy might result from not prosecuting the Marquis of Queensberry."
The Evening News received the following letter from Oscar Wilde, written upon note paper of the Holborn Hotel:— "It would have been impossible for me to have proved my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness box against his father. He was extremely anxious to go into the witness box, but I would not let him. Rather than put him in so painful a position I determined to withdraw from the case and hear upon my own shoulders whatever ignominy and shame might result from the prosecution of the Marquis of Queensberry. (Signed) Oscar Wilde."
The Evening News has received the following letter from Oscar Wilde, written upon the note paper of the Holborn Viaduct Hotel: "It would have been impossible for me to have proved my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness box against his father. He was extremely anxious to go into the witness box, but I would not let him. Rather than put him in so painful at position I determined to withdraw from the case and bear upon my own shoulders whatever ignominy and shame might result from my prosecution of the Marquis of Queensberry. OSCAR WILDE."
"The Evening News" has received the following letter from Oscar Wilde, written upon the notepaper of the Holborn Viaduct Hotel: "It would have been impossible for me to have proved my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness-box against his father. He was extremely anxious to go into the witness-box, but I would not let him. Rather than put him in so painful a position, I determined to withdraw from the case and bear upon my own shoulders whatever ignominy and shame might result from my persecution of the Marquis of Queensberry."
LONDON, April 5. - Oscar Wilde was arrested at Cadogan Hotel today. Oscar Wilde has written a letter to a newspaper in which he says: "It was not possible to prove my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness box against his father. Lord Alfred was extremely anxious to go into the box, but I would not allow it. Rather than put him in such a painful position I determined to retire from the case and bear upon my own shoulders whatever shame and ignominy might result from not prosecuting the Marquis of Queensberry."
Oscar Wilde has written a letter to the newspapers, in which he says: "It was impossible to prove my case without putting Lord Alfred Douglas in the witness-box agains his father. Lord Alfred was extremely anxious to go into the box against his father. Lord Alfred was extremely anxious to go into the box, but I would not allow it. Rather than put him in such a painful position, I determined to retire from the case and bear upon my shoulders whatever shame and ignominy might result from not prosecuting the Marquis of Queensberry."
WHO IS "B?"
"B" has been referred to throughout this hideous trial, but the Judge, counsel, and all concerned have allowed B's name to be suppressed. Who is "B."? "B." stands for Bertie; and Bertie is--who? Why this scandalous suppression of a name in connection with a trial in which, it is alleged, criminal proceedings are to be instituted against the prosecutor? We repeat, who is "B"? And why was his name suppressed?
ARREST OF OSCAR WILDE.
Oscar Wilde was arrested shortly after seven o'clock on Friday evening, and taken to Scotland Yard. There he was formally charged with the commission of unnatural offences with the lad Wood and others. He was charged at Bow-street Police Court yesterday morning, and a report of the proceedings appear in another column.