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PLAINTIFF AND DEFENDANT.

Mr. Oscar Wilde yesterday wore a tight-fitting [...] coat, of a dark material, a collar with wide points and black cravat. His hair was banked on the top of his head, and carefully parted down the centre. His manner was confident, and he leaned over the narrow rail which shuts in the witness, toying with a pair of gloves, and in readiness to reply to the leading questions of his counsel. The Marquess, turning slightly round in the dock, faced him with an expression of supreme contempt, supplemented occasionally, as the evidence proceeded, by subdued and angry mutterings.

OSCAR'S "PHILOSOPHY."

Theatre-goers are familiar with those daring and absurd epigrams and paradoxes which abound in Mr. Oscar Wilde's plays. In his evidence yesterday he [...] one of his own characters-somewhat to the astonishment at times of the learned counsel. This is one [...]

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.

Did you say rarely?—I said rarely. I [...] never; not true in the sense of corresponding with the actual facts.

"Religions die when they are proved to be true." Is that true?—Yes, I hold that.

Do you trunk that was a safe axiom to put forward for the use of the young?—It was a most stimulating [...] (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 most physical definition of truth; something so [...] the same truth could never be appreciated by [...]

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.

NOT LIKE OTHER MEN.

In his cross-examination, Mr. Carson asked:

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

Is it the kind of letter a man writes to another man?—It is the kind of letter I wrote to Lord Alfred Douglas. What other men write to other men I know nothing about, nor do I care. It is not like the other—a prose poem.

Have you written others of this class of letter?—There is no class in that letter.

Have you written others like this?—I don't repeat myself in style. (Laughter.)

SHOWING HIS CONTEMPT.

Witness's method of treating a blackmailer was brought out in the following passage:—

Did you give this man, whom you knew as a blackmailer, 10s?—Yes.

Why did you give it him?—I gave it him to show my contempt. (Laughter.)

The way you show your contempt is by giving 10s?—Very often. (Laughter.) I did it really to show I didn't care twopence for him. (Laughter.)

BORROWED FROM SHAKESPEARE!

This passage is also from the evidence:—

You have never known the feelings you describe there?—No. I have never allowed any personality to dominate my art.

The passage I am quoting says, "I quite admit that I adored you madly." Have you had that feeling?—I have never given admiration to any person except myself. (Laughter.) The expression, I regret to say, was borrowed from Shakespeare. (Laughter.)

Then we read, "I want to have you all to myself."—I should consider that an intense bore. (Laughter.)

People who have not the views you have might form another opinion of these passages?—Undoubtedly; but don't cross-examine me about the [...] of other people. (Laughter.) I have a great passion to civilize the community.

APHORISMS IN COURT.

Some more extracts from the evidence:—

It is a handsome stick for a boy of that class?—I do not think it is a beautiful stick [...] (Laughter.)

You dressed him up in a blue [...] suit and a strange hat, in order that he might look more like your equal?—Oh no; he never looked that. (Laughter.) He had been to school, where naturally he had not learned much. (Laughter.)

He often dined with you. Was that an intellectual treat?—Yes, for him. (Laughter.)

Mr. Carson: Was his conversation literary?—Witness: On the contrary, it was quite simple and easy to understand. (Laughter.)

"THE ONLY CRITIC OF THE CENTURY."

In his evidence Mr. Wilde stated that Mr. Walter Pater was the only critic of the century whose opinion he sees high.

THE ORDINARY PERSON.

Oscar's contempt for "ordinary people" does not go the length of forbidding them to buy his books—

You don't prevent the ordinary individual from buying your books?—I have never discouraged it. (Laughter.)

Mr Carson proceeded to cross-examine the witness. He said—You said at the commencement of your examination that you are thirty-nine years of age. I think you are over forty? I do not think so.

You were born, I believe, on October 16, 1854? Yes.

That makes you somewhat over forty? Very well.

Do you know Lord A Douglas’s age? He is, I think, twenty-four.

When you know him he was about twenty or twenty-one? Yes.

Continuing, witness said he had not, previous to the interview, received a letter from the Marquis expressing the wish that the acquaintance with his son should not continue. Witness knew the defendant did not wish the acquaintance to continue.

Mr Carson—And for the reasons he gave you? Yes.

Answering further, witness said he had continued very intimate with Lord A Douglas down to the present moment, and he had been to Oxford, Brighton, Worthing, Cromer, and Torquay with him, but had never taken rooms for him. He had been to various hotels with him, including the Savoy, and had taken rooms for himself at 10 and 11 St James’s place apart from his house in Tite street. Lord Douglas had stopped there, and, as to his poems in the "Chameleon," he thought them exceeding beautiful—the one "In Praise of Shame," and the other "Two Loves." The story objected to in the "Chameleon" was, he thought, from a literary point of view, most objectionable, and he added it was impossible for a man of letters to criticise a work from any other point of view. He did not think there was such a thing as an immoral book. The story in question, "The Priest and the Acolyte.' was, he said, worse. It was badly written.

Do you think the story blasphemous? I think the account of the death violated every artistic canon of poetry.

That is not what I ask. That is the only answer I can give you.

Did you think it blasphemous? I thought it wrong.

I want to see in what position you pose? That is not the way to talk to me. I pose as nothing.

I want to see your position in reference to this line of publication, and I want to know do you consider that story was blasphemous? The emotion produced in my mind was that of disgust. I did not consider the story a blasphemous production. I think it horrible, but the word "blasphemous" is not my word.

Mr Carson read a number of extracts from the article, and said "I think you will admit that anyone who was connected or would allow himself publicly to approve of that article would be posing as a ——?"

The Witness—No, but I would say it was very bad literary taste.

You disapprove of it from a literary point of view. Did you ever inform the public that you disapproved of it? No I never did.

Notwithstanding that the article was in a paper to which you yourself contributed, you did not think it necessary to dissociate yourself from it in any public way? I considered it beneath my dignity to write a letter in regard to an article which was the work of an undergraduate.

Asking questions concerning the "Paraphrases for the Young," written by the witness in the "Chameleon," counsel read this one:—"There is something tragic about the enormous number of young men in England who start life with perfect profiles, and end by adopting some useful profession.'

Witness—The young, I think, have enough sense of humour to see that that is an amusing paradox.

Turning to "Dorian Gray," counsel read an extract, and asked, may I take it that no matter how immoral a book was if it was well written it would be a good book? If it were well written it would produce a sense of beauty, and if badly written a sense of disgust.

Well, if it put forward disgusting views it would be well written? No work of art ever puts forward views.

Is "Dorian Gray" open to the interpretation of being a disgusting book? Only to brutes and the illiterate. You cannot ask about the interpretation of my work. It does not concern me. What concerns me is my view and my feeling. I do not care "tupence" what the Phillistines think about it.

The majority of people would come under your term of illiterates? I have found wonderful exceptions.

Your book might have an improper meaning to the ordinary individual? I have no knowledge of the ordinary individual.

Mr Carson read the description of the artist’s feelings on first meeting "Dorian Gray," and in reply to a question,

Mr Wilde said—I think this is the most perfect description possible of what an artist would feel on meeting a beautiful personality.

You mean a beautiful person? Yes, a beautiful young man if you like.

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.

The book speaks of adoration for the youth Dorian. Have you experienced that? I have never given adoration to anybody but myself (laughter).

I dare say you think that is very smart? Not at all.

Asked a further question, Mr Wilde exclaimed, "I do not know what you are talking about," to which counsel retorted, "Well, I hope I shall make myself very plain before I am done."

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.'

People who have not a high understanding you think, might put it down to something wrong? Undoubtedly. Hallam had done it about Shakespeare’s sonnets.

Turning to the personal letter written by witness to Lord A Douglas, counsel asked—"Was that an ordinary letter?"

Witness—Certainly not. An ordinary letter—no!

Do you mean to tell me this was a natural and proper way to address a young man? You are criticising a poem. If you ask me whether it is proper, you might as well as me whether "King Lear" is proper or a sonnet of Shakespeare proper.

But apart from art? I can’t answer any question apart from art. A man who was not an artist could never have written that letter. He could not have used the language I used unless he was a man of letters and an artist.

Was that the ordinary way in which you carried on your correspondence with Lord A Douglas? One could not write a letter like this every day. It would be like writing a poem every day—you couldn’t do it.

Mr Carson, having quoted from another letter asked—Is that an extraordinary letter? I think everything I write extraordinary. I do not pose as being ordinary. Good heavens! (angrily) ask me any questions you like about it.

Mr Carson—When did the man named Wood first come to you about the letters which he had found in Lord A Douglas’s coat? An appointment was made through Mr A Taylor.

Answering further questions Mr Wilde said he met Wood at the Cafe Royal at Lord A Douglas’s request. He frequently went to 13 Little College street, and had tea there sometimes.

Mr Carson—I think there were all young men at those tea parties? No, not at all.

They were all men? Yes.

Do I understand that the very first day you saw Wood you took him round to the Florence Restaurant? Yes.

Was Taylor also present? No.

In reply to further questions witness emphatically denied having any unlawful relations with Wood. The £15 he gave him was to pay his passage to New York, and witness gave him £5 more the next day.

Did you have a champagne lunch with him before he left for America? Yes.

With the man you thought wanted to blackmail you? Yes.

Answering further questions, witness said Wood called him Oscar. Almost everybody called him by his Christian name. Allen, who brought him the "prose poem," was a notorious blackmailer. He gave him 10s out of contempt. That was one of the best ways to show contempt.

Counsel proceeded to put questions with regard to the "office boy" of witness’s publishers.

Mr Wilde denied that the lad was the office boy, and said he was an assistant. He was not good looking, but had an intellectual face. He had dined with witness at the Albemarle Hotel.

For the purpose of having an intellectual treat? Well, for him, yes (laughter).

Other questions were asked by counsel, and, ultimately, Mr Wilde, turning to the Judge, asked—Is it not sufficient for me to give an entire denial, without being exposed to the ignominy of detail after detail? Why should I be exposed before the whole court in entering into this sort of thing, which cannot possibly be borne?

Mr Carson did not persist.

Cross-examination continued—He became acquainted with a boy named Alfonso Conway, at Worthing, who was about 18 years of age, but had no occupation. He denied having any unlawful relations with him. He had given him a cigarette case with the inscription "Alfonzo: from his friend Oscar Wilde." He had also given this boy his photograph and a book.

Did you bring this boy with you to Brighton? Yes.

You bought him this straw hat and a blue suit to make him look more like your equal? Oh no, he could never look that.

How is it he was so good a companion for you? Because his was a pleasant, bright, simple, nice nature.