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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.)

London, April 5.

The criminal proceedings for libel which Mr Oscar Fingall O'Flahertie Wilde has set in motion against John Sholto Douglas, Marquis of Queensberry, commenced on Wednesday at the Old Bailey. Public interest in the case has been enormous. Long before the hour appointed for the opening of the court doors their vicinity was thick with humanity, and five minutes after they had been thrown open the court was crammed to suffocation. So it was on Wednesday and Thursday, and so it will be till twelve good men and true have driven Oscar into the dock or declared the Marquis a foul traducer.

When the court opened on Wednesday the Marquis lost no time in stepping into the dock. The indictment was gabbled over to him, and he pleaded "Not guilty," that the libel was true, and that it was for the public benefit that it was printed. Sir Edward Clarke opened the case for Oscar. He told how the Marquis had left a card with the hall porter of the Albemarle Club, addressed "To Oscar Wilde," whereon were words gross and libellous. The accusation against Wilde was one of the gravest that could be made, but the plea put before the Court raised a much graver issue. There was no accusation in the plea that Wilde had been guilty of a criminal offence, but there were given a number of names of persons whom he was accused of inciting to commit such offences, and with whom he was charged with improper conduct. Having said so much, Sir Edward sketched Oscar's career for the benefit of those who knew not Oscar prior to the æsthetic craze period. And then he came to speak of the circumstances under which the various parties in the present action became acquainted, and dwelt upon transactions connected with certain letters and other incidents about which Wilde spoke freely in his examination later on. One of these letters, addressed by Oscar to young Lord Douglas, was read out by Sir Edward. It ran thus:—

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.

A review of the meetings between the Marquis and Oscar concluded a very long and able opening, and after the Albemarle porter had proved the Marquis's call, etc., came the real beginning of the case. Oscar, cool as a cucumber and fatter than ever, glided gracefully into the box. Sir Edward Clarke having examined him as to his relations with the Douglas family and as to the attempts of Woods and others to blackmail him on the strength of certain letters found in the pockets of Lord Alfred Douglas's cast-off clothing, and having obtained his denial to the insinuation of the Marquis that he had ever been kicked out of the Savoy Hotel, he gave the prophet of æstheticism over to the tender mercies of Mr Carson, Q.C. Counsel commenced to cross-examine Oscar somewhat minutely as to his literary output, but more especially in regard to certain poetic contributions of his to a fin de siecle magazine called 'The Chameleon.' Mr Carson suggested that these contributions were improper ones, but Oscar gave an emphatic denial to the suggestion. He considered them exceedingly beautiful poems. He also denied that he was the author of a story entitled 'The Priest and the Acolyte,' saying that, though it was badly written, he would not call it either immoral or blasphemous. Then 'Dorian Grey' was introduced, and Oscar remarked that the book could only be called vicious when misinterpreted by the vulgar and the illiterate. Oscar added that he did not write for the ordinary individual, which brought from Mr Carson the remark that the novelist did not mind the ordinary individual who bought his books. "I have never discouraged him," replied Oscar loftily. Asked if he had ever experienced the sentiments of the painter Basil, and whether he thought them unnatural, Oscar answered: "I should think it perfectly natural to intensely love and adore a younger man; it is an incident in the life of almost every artist." Mr Carson then wanted to know if Oscar had himself "adored madly" a man twenty years his junior? He replied that he had loved one—not madly—but loved just one. "Adoration" was a quality he reserved for himself. He had, however, never been jealous. "Jealousy is an intense nuisance," said he. Then Mr Carson came to the novelist's letter to young Lord Douglas. The one quoted, Mr Carson suggested, was an improper letter to write to any young man, but Oscar could not see eye to eye with his tormentor. The letter was a "prose poem," "beautiful," "unique," but not as the Q.C. read it. "You read it very badly, Mr Carson," said Oscar blandly; "you are not an artist." "I do not profess to be an artist, Mr Wilde; and sometimes when I hear your evidence I am glad I am not one," responded the Q.C. gravely. He then read another of Oscar's "prose poems," which ran thus:—

Dearest of Old Boys,—Your letter was delightful red and yellow wine to me, but I am sad and out of sorts. Poesy, you must not make scenes with me. They kill me, they wreck the loveliness of life. I can see you, so Greek and great, contorted by passion. I cannot see your rosy lips and listen to you; you break my heart. I must see you. You are the divine thing I want—the 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 is £45 for the week. I have a sitting room over the Fens. But you, where are you, my heart, my dear, my wonderful boy? I fear almost to live—no money, no credit, and a heart of lead.—Ever your own Oscar.

"An extraordinary letter," commenced Oscar, softly. "Everything I write is extraordinary. I do not pose as being ordinary." Mr Carson next read a number of letters from persons whose names were mentioned, Wood and Taylor being among them, but Oscar said that they were in the main attempts to levy blackmail, though he had admitted having given Wood various sums, amounting to over £30, "out of pure kindness." He also admitted that, though believing Wood to have been levying blackmail, he privileged him to use his (Wilde's) Christian name. "But you see, everybody calls me Oscar." Sir Edward, in re-examining Oscar, read several letters from the Marquis to his son, and their tenor was that His Lordship deemed is son's close acquaintance with Wilde such a terrible thing that it must be broken, no matter what it cost. The re-examination proper enabled Oscar to deny the Marquis's statement that Mrs Wilde was seeking a divorce.

Here are some of the passages at arms between Wilde and his "tormentor":—

You are of opinion that there is no such thing as an immoral book?—Yes.

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 or immorality?—I do not know whether you use the word pose in any particular sense.

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.

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.

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.

Do you think that was a safe axiom to put forward for the philosophy of the young?—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.

It is good for the young?—Anything is good that stimulates thought in whatever age.

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 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.

"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.

"The condition of perfection is idleness.—Oh, yes, I think so. Half of it is true. The life of contemplation is the highest life.

"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.

You think that is humorous?—I think it is an amusing paradox.

Do you call 'Dorian Gray' and objectionable book?—Only to brutes and the illiterates. To Philistines it might seem immoral; to the incalculably stupid it might appear to be anything. The view of the Philistine troubles me not. The ordinary individual does not appeal to me; I have no knowledge of him. What appeals to me is my work, my art.

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.)

The jury having asked a few questions relative to the publication of the 'Chameleon,' the case for the prosecution was closed.

Mr Carson then addressed the jury on the more serious side of the justification of the libel, and a scathing address it was. So far as Lord Queensberry was concerned, of any act he had done he withdrew nothing. He acted with premeditation, determined at all risks and hazards to save his son.

Towards the close of the case for the prosecution counsel for the defence read the following postcard, addressed by Lord A. Douglas to his father, Lord Queensberry:—

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.

THE VERDICT.

This (Friday) morning the case came to an abrupt, but perhaps not unexpected, ending. Mr Carson was continuing his vigorous denunciation of Wilde and his works (Oscar was not in court) when Sir Edward Clarke touched his arm and whispered in his ear. Mr Carson sat down, and Sir Edward, rising, said he was prepared to accept a verdict of "not guilty" on behalf of his client. The judge put two things to the jury—viz, that the justification set up by the Marquis of Queensberry was true in substance and in fact, and that the Marquis's statement was published in such a manner as to be for the public benefit. Amid loud applause the jury intimated that they considered both these things to be fact, and a few minutes later the court was empty.

So ended the great case of Wilde v. Queensberry, which must have unpleasant consequences for the former, since the Marquis has placed the whole of his evidence in the hands of the Public Prosecutor.