The Philadelphia Inquirer - Sunday, June 30, 1895
This report was originally published in English. Machine translations may be available in other languages.
HOW OSCAR WILDE BEARS PRISON LIFE
HE SWOONED ON THE TREADMILL AND WAS RELIEVED OF THAT WORK.
HIS HEART SAID
TO BE WEAK
Now He Picks Oakum in His Lonely Cell, But He Refuses to Receive the Chaplain—His
Wife Changes Her Name.
Special Correspondence of The Inquirer.
LONDON, June 21.— How is Oscar Wilde bearing the strain of his new life as a convict in dreary Pentonville Prison? That is the question often asked nowadays by thousands over here who were dogged or scandalized by his epigrams, said or written. It has come in the way of the present writer to find out something about it that can be relied upon, as it comes from the best possible source.
The bare cell in which he has been confined, the limited diet, the hard routine of daily labor and the restriction in enjoyment to the reading of the Bible are detestable enough to the brutal and ignorant wretches—those "criminal classes" about whose knowledge of aesthetics Wilde spoke with such contempt. To Wilde it is so hideous that he cannot yet believe that he is not under the spell of some frightful dream. He is still sane, but in a dazed, trance-like condition from which he is seldom roused.
ON THE TREADMILL.
The first time he showed any sign of a realization of the depths to which he had sunk was the second day of his imprisonment, when he was put upon the treadmills. This awful remnant of prison discipline in former years has a wheel which the convict must climb for six hours a day, three hours in the forenoon and three hours in the afternoon.
The speed of the wheel is thirty-two feet a minute, and the convict who pauses while the wheel is in motion is struck and bruised by the edges of the ever-descending steps. At the end of every fifteen minutes there is a rest of five minutes. The second day Wilde, dazed and automatic, was led out and put upon the wheel. Mechanically he trod the step for fifteen minutes, took the five minutes rest and began again. In the second fifteen minutes he stopped, threw up his arms, gave vent to a horrible scream of anguish and fell in a swoon.
The prison surgeon examined him and said his heart was in such a condition that it would be dangerous to put him on the wheel again. So Wilde is allowed to sit in his cell. They throw in a quantity of oakum every morning, but he need not pick it unless he wishes to do so. Of late he has begun to pick the oakum. Any occupation is better than being idle and thinking, thinking, thinking.
THE CHAPLAIN'S VISIT.
The second arousing came through the gentle, earnest old plain, Rev. W. Frederick Stockton, whose duty as well as pleasure is to labor spiritually with the convicts. Wilde had not been in Pentonville many days before the old clergyman pushed timidly into his cell. Wilde flushed angrily.
The second arousing came through their gentle, earnest old chaplain, the Rev. W. Frederick Stockton. Wilde had not been in Pentonville many days before the old clergyman pushed timidly into his cell.
"What do you mean by intruding yourself upon me?" he demanded.
The old man looked sympathetically at the fallen Pagan, and said in his gentlest voice:
The old man looked sympathetically at the fallen pagan and said in his gentlest voice:
"I wish to offer you the consolation of religion and to help you to reflect upon your condition."
"I wish to offer you the consolations of religion and to help you to reflect upon your condition."
"I do not need the consolation of religion, and I am still capable of conducting my own reflections," said Oscar, sneeringly.
"I do not need the consolations of religion, and I am still capable of conducting my own reflections," said Oscar sneeringly.
"I do not need the consolations of religion and I am still capable of conducting my own reflections," said Oscar sneeringly.
"I hope you are not unrepentent," the old clergyman next ventured. Wilde jumped to his feet in a rage.
"Unrepentant," he said, angrily, "What do you mean? How dare you insult me in this fashion? I am innocent of the crimes of which I am accused. You will kindly leave me alone."
"Unrepentant?" he said angrily. "What do you mean? How dare you insult me in this fashion? I am innocent of the crimes of which I am accused. You will kindly leave me alone."
Wilde jumped to his feet in a rage. "Unrepentant?" he said angrily; "What do you mean? How dare you insult me in this fashion? I am innocent of the crimes of which I am accused. You will kindly leave me alone."
Wilde jumped to his feet in a rage. "Impenitent?" he said, angrily. "What do you mean? How dare you insult me in this fashion? I am innocent of the crimes of which I am accused. You will kindly leave me at once."
Mr. Stockton insisted no further. He is waiting now for Wilde to get to work at the Bible. He feels that sooner or later he must read it, and reading, soften to a more receptive frame of mind. He hopes also that Wilde will send for him. For he is allowed to see no one from the exterior world, but the Chaplain or some other minister of revealed religion. And under the prison rules, which are strictly enforced, even the clergyman may not tell him any news, bring him any messages or talk to him on any subject not directly bearing upon the salvation of his soul.
Mr. Stockton insisted no further. He is waiting now for Wilde to get to work at the Bible. He feels that sooner or later he must read it, and, reading, soften to a more receptive frame of mind. He hopes also that Wilde will send for him. For he is allowed to see no one from the exterior world but the chaplain or some other minister of religion. And under the prison rules, which are strictly enforced, even the clergyman may not tell him any news, bring him any messages or talk to him on any subject not directly bearing upon the salvation of his soul.
Mr. Stockton insisted no further. He is waiting now for Wilde to get to work at the Bible. He feels that, sooner or later, he must read it, and, reading, soften to a more receptive frame of mind. He hopes also that Wilde will send for him. For he is allowed to see no one yet from the outside world but the chaplain or some other minister of revealed religion. And under the prison rules, which are strictly enforced, even the clergyman may not tell him any news, bring him any message, or talk to him on any subject not directly bearing upon the salvation of his soul.
Oscar Wilde's wife is now a believer in him. She has taken another name, and with the children has gone away to some quiet place on the Continent. She is a clever woman and purposes to let no one know of her whereabouts and to make the new name an honorable one for the children. It is said that no one is in her secret.
Oscar Wilde's wife is not one of these believers in him. She has taken another name and, with the children, has gone away to a quiet place on the Continent. She is a clever woman, and proposes to let no one know of her whereabouts and to make the new name an honorable one for the children. It is said that no one is in her secret.
Wilde will not hear from the outside world for three months. Many people believe he will go mad long before that time. But others think, and with reason, that he is so facile and adaptable that he will gradually and easily slip into the prison routine.
Wilde will not hear from the outside world for three months. Many people believe he will go mad long before that time. But others think, and with reason, he is so facile and adaptable that he will gradually and easily slip into the prison routine and get his mind balanced by the entertainment his well-stored memory and vigorous imagination can give him.
Wilde will not hear from the outside world for three months. Many people believe he will go mad long before that time. But others think, and with reason, he is so facile an adaptable he will gradually and easily slip into the prison routine and get his mind balanced by the entertainment his well-stored memory and vigorous imagination can give him.