Compare Documents

London, Wednesday.—The Marquis of Queensberry surrendered to his bail to-day at the Central Criminal Count, London, indicted for publishing a defamatory libel on Oscar Wilde, by addressing to him a postcard at the Albemarle Club. There was a crowded attendance of the public.

On taking his place in the dock, Lord Queensberry answered the indictment by pleading first "not guilty," and, secondly, that the libel was true, and was published for the public benefit.

Sir E. Clarke, in opening for the prosecution, said that a very grave issue had been raised, because the defendant in the pleadings alleged that the plaintiff had for some time solicited persons named to commit indecent offences. Certain letters addressed by the plaintiff to Lord A. Douglas were brought to him by a man who said he was in distress, and Mr. Wilde gave him £15 or £20 to pay his passage to America. Another letter came to plaintiff through Mr. Tree, the actor. It was handed to that gentleman, who in turn gave it to plaintiff. It was couched in extravagant terms, but it did not bear the suggestion made in this case. Coming to Lord Queensberry's action, the learned counsel said the jury might have doubts whether defendant was responsible for his actions. Plaintiff was examined by Sir Edward Clarke at length on the subject of the letters, which, he said, he did not regard as important. He described a stormy interview in his own house with Lord Queenberry, who accused him of a nameless offence. He told defendant he did not know what the Queensberry rules were, but the Oscar Wilde rule was to shoot at sight. In ordering defendant out of the house he described him as the most infamous brute in London. There was no foundation for the suggestions in the pleadings.

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.

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 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.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 the end of March, 1894. Lord Douglas stayed in those chambers, which were not far from Piccadilly. I bad been abroad with him several times, and even lately to Monte Carlo. With reference to those 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 A. 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.You read "The Priest and the Acolyte?" Yes.You have no doubt whatever that was an improper story? From the literary point of view it was highly improper.You are of opinion 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.)

Mr. Carson was proceeding to examine as to the contents of the story, when Sir Edward Clarke objected, but His Lordship held that Mr. Carson had a perfect right to examine as to the reasons for the witness's disapproval of the book.

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.Do you think the story blasphemous? I think it violated every artistic canon of beauty.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 th way. I wish to know whether you thought the story blasphemous? The storv filled me with disgust.Answer the question, sir. Did you or did you not consider the story blasphemous? I did not consider the story blaspnemous.I am satisfied with that. You know that when the priest in the story administers poison to the boy he uses the words of the sacrament of the Church of England? That I entirely forget.Do you consider that blasphemous? I think it is horrible; blasphemous is not the word.

Mr. Carson was again proceeding to examine in passages in the story, when Sir E. Clarke objected, but Mr. Carson's course was upheld by his Lordship.

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.Am I right in-saying that 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 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 am not 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 "phases and philosophies for the use of the young"—"Wickedness is a myth invented by good people to account for the curious attractiveness of others." Yon think that 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."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 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 cut." That is a pleasing paradox, but I do not set very high store on it as an axiom.Is it 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 tbat 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 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."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 humour.You think that is humorous? I think it is an amusing paradox.What would anybody say would be the effect of "phrases and philosophies" taken in connection with such an article as "the priest and the acolyte?" Undoubtedly: it was the idea that might be formed that made me object so strongly to the story. I saw at once that maxims that were perfectly nonsensical, paradoxical, or anything you like might be read in conjunction with it.After the criticisms that were passed on "Dorian Grey" was it modified a good deal? No; additions were made.

Mr. Carson read the description of the artist's feelings on first meeting "Dorian Grey," 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 natural feelings of one man towards another? It describes the influence produced on an artist by a beautiful personality.A person? I said personality. You can describe it as you like. Answering another question, witness said he did not think the feeling described was a natural or a moral feeling, but the work was a work of fiction.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 tbat 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."Do you sympathise with, "I want to have you all to myself?" I should consider it an intense bore.

Replying to a question of Mr. Carson, witness said, "There is no such thing as bad influence in the world."A man never corrupts a youth? I think not. Nothing could do it. It is quite impossible psychologically.

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 that 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 ask 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 use 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 that every day. It would be like writing a poem every day. Yon couldn't do it.Do you write to other persons in the same way? Oh, never.Have you written other letters in the same style as this? I do not repeat myself in style.Well, here is another letter written by you to Lord Alfred from the Savoy Hotel—"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 yon so, Greek and gracious, distorted with passion. I cannot listen 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 the divine thing I want, the thing I grace, but I don't know how to do it. Shall I come to Salisbury? My bill here is £49 for a week. (Laughter.) Why is it you are not here, my dear, my wonderful boy? I fear I must have no money, no credit. Your own Oscar."

Mr. Carson—Is that an extraordinary letter? I think everything I write extraordinary. I do not pose as being ordinary. Good heavens—

Mr. Carson—When did the man named Wood first come to you about the letters which he had found in Lord A. Douglas' coat? An appointment was made through Mr. A. Taylor.Before you brought about the appointment through Taylor did you get Sir G. Lewis to write a letter to Wood? Yes.Did Wood refuse to go to Sir George Lewis? I do not know.He did not go? No.Then you made an appointment to meet Taylor? Yes.Were you anxious about these letters? I should think so. What private gentleman wants his private correspondence made public?

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 they were all young men at those tea parties? No, not all.They were all men? Yes.Did you dine at the Florence Restaurant, in Regent Street, with Wood? No, I have never dined with him. I asked him whether he had any dinner or supper, and I ordered some.What was Wood? As far as I can make out he was looking for some situation. He told me he had had a clerkship.What was his age at that time? I should think about twenty-three or twenty-four.Do I understand, that the very first day you saw Wood you took him round to the Florence Restaurant? Yes.Was Taylor also present? There was no one else present.

In reply to further questions, witness emphatically denied having any unlawful relations with Wood.

As to the letters which Wood brought to witness, they were, said witness, "letters of no importance." The £15 he gave him was to pay his passage to New York, and witness gave him £5 more the next day.Do you suggest to the jury that this was done out of charity? It is hardly for me to make suggestions to the jury.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. Continuing, witness said 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.I suppose he was pleased with your contempt? He was apparently pleased with my kindness. Clyborn, said witness, was another blackmailer for whom he showed contempt.Mr. Carson—With the exception of your letter that was found out was any other one turned into a sonnet? I should require to read a great deal of modern poetry before I could answer that question. (Laughter.)

Counsel then 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 he 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.)

Cross-examination continued—He became acquainted with a boy named Alfonzo Conway at Worthing, who was abont eighteen years of age, but had no occupation. He denied having any unlawful relations with him. He had given him a cigarette case, with the incription, "Alfonso, from his friend, Oscar Wilde." He had also given this boy his photograph, a book, and a walking stick. He took him to Brighton, and gave him a new suit of clothes and a straw hat.

Mr. Carson—You dressed him up in order that he might look something more like your equal. I did it in order that he might not be ashamed of his shabby clothes.

The case was adjourned until to-morrow.

At the Central Criminal Court yesterday, before Mr. Justice Collins, "John Sholto Douglas, Marquis of Queensberry," surrendered to his bail to answer an indictment charging him with "maliciously writing and publishing a false and defamatory libel of and concerning Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde."

Sir Edward Clarke, Q.C., Mr. C. Mathews, and Mr. Travers Humphreys appeared for the prosecution; Mr. Carson, Q.C., Mr. C. F. Gill, and Mr. A. Gill for the defence; and Mr. Besley, Q.C., and Mr. Monckton watched the case on behalf of Lord Drumlanrig, the eldest son of the defendant.

In answer to the formal indictment, which was read by the Clerk of Arraigns, Lord Queensberry pleaded not guilty, adding that his statement was true, and that its publication was for the public benefit.

Sir E. Clarke, in opening the case for the prosecution, said that the libel complained of was published on an ordinary visiting-card, and was left with the porter of the Albemarle Club, of which Mr. Wilde and his wife were members. It was a matter of serious moment to a gentleman of high reputation that a libel of this kind should be published respecting him, as it was calculated to gravely affect his character and position, and such action as that of Lord Queensberry could only be justified on the ground that it was absolutely true. The matter did not stop at the question whether the defendant committed the wrongful act under strong but mistaken feelings, for by the plea which he had put before the Court a much graver issue was raised. He said that his statement was true, and that it was made for the public benefit, and he furnished particulars of matters which he alleged bore out that statement. With regard to the earlier plea, which dealt with names and dates and places, it was for those who had undertaken the grave responsibility of formulating the allegations to satisfy the Jury, if they could, by means of credible witnesses that the allegations were true. Mr. Wilde, after a distinguished career at Dublin University and Magdalen College, Oxford, devoted himself to literature on its artistic side; and had written poems, many essays, and some years ago became a very public person indeed—laughed at by some and appreciated by many people—as representing a special and particular aspect of artistic literature. In the year 1884 he had the happy fortune to marry the daughter of the late Horace Lloyd, Q.C., and from that time to the present he had lived with his wife in Tite-street, Chelsea, where two sons had been born to them, and where he and his wife had been in the habit of receiving their many friends. Among those friends were Lord Alfred Douglas, who was introduced to him in the year 1801, and his brothers and Lady Queensberry, their mother. He had visited Lady Queensberry at her own home, and he and Lord Alfred Douglas had met at various places in London, as well as at Cromer, Worthing, and other places in the country. Until 1892 Mr. Wilde did not know the defendant at all, with the exception of having once met him casually in 1881, but in November, 1892, while Mr. Wilde and Lord Alfred Douglas were lunching at the Café Royal, Lord Queensberry entered the room. Mr. Wilde was aware that there had been differences between the father and the son, and suggested to Lord Alfred that the opportunity was a good one for bringing about a reconciliation. Lord Alfred acted on the suggestion, shook hands with his father, and introduced him to Mr. Wilde, Lord Queensberry recalling the fact that some years previously they had met at a friend's house. Lord Queensberry partook of luncheon with him, remained in conversation for some time after Lord Alfred had left, and expressed hope that they should meet again at Torquay. In the early part of 1894 Mr. Wilde became aware that certain statements affecting his character were being circulated, and subsequently a man named Wood brought him some letters which Mr. Wilde had written to Lord Alfred Douglas, and for which he asked to be paid. Mr. Wilde gave him £15 or £20 to enable him to go to America, and received from him some letters of no importance. The play "A Woman of No Importance" was being prepared at the time for Mr. Tree's theatre, and there came into that gentleman's hands a document purporting to be a copy of a letter by Mr. Wilde, which had apparently been retained by the persons concerned in the matter. That was sent by Mr. Tree to Mr. Wilde, and shortly afterwards a man named Allen called upon Mr. Wilde, and said that he had the original of that letter, which he wanted Mr. Wilde to buy. That, however, Mr. Wilde absolutely refused to do, saying, "I have got a copy of the letter, and the original is of no use to me. I look upon it as a work of art, but as you have been good enough to send me a copy I do not want the original." He thereupon gave Allen a sovereign, or something of that kind, and sent him away. Shortly afterwards a man named Clyburn brought Mr. Wilde the original of the letter, which, he said, Allen had sent to him, as he appreciated his kindness, and Mr. Wilde gave Clyburn a sovereign also. Mr. Wilde was anxious about this particular letter because it was supposed to be of an incriminating character, and copies of it had been circulated with a view to damaging his character. Mr. Wilde, however, looked upon it as a sort of prose sonnet, and he told Allen that in all probability it would appear in sonnet form. It did so appear as a matter of fact, being published on the 4th of May, 1894, in the Spirit Lamp—an aesthetic, literary, and critical magazine—edited by Lord Alfred Douglas. On the first page was a sonnet in French, described as "A letter written in prose poetry by Oscar Wilde to a friend, and translated into rhymed poetry by a poet of no importance." It was not an exact reproduction, but a paraphrase of the letter, which was as follows:—

"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."

The words of that letter might appear extravagant to those who were in the habit of writing ordinary or commercial correspondence, but Mr. Wilde called it a prose sonnet, and one that he was in no way ashamed of. In the early part of 1894 Lord Queensberry again met Mr. Wilde and Lord Alfred Douglas at lunch in the Café Royal, and shortly afterwards Mr. Wilde became aware that the defendant was writing letters that affected his character, and at an interview that took place in Tite-street Mr. Wilde gave instructions in Lord Queensberry's hearing that he was not to be admitted into his house. In February, 1895, another play of Mr. Oscar Wilde's—"The Importance of Being Earnest "—was about to be produced at St. James's Theatre, and information reached the management of certain intentions on the part of Lord Queensberry, who, it was remembered, made some observations in the theatre after the performance of "The Promise of May" by the late Lord Tennyson. With a view to the avoidance of any disturbance on the night of production Lord Queensberry's money was returned to him, and instructions were given that he was not to be ad-mitted. He, however, made several attempts to get into the theatre, bringing with him a bouquet made of vegetables. (Laughter.) On the 28th of February Mr. Wilde went to the Albemarle Club, and there received from the porter the card complained of, which had been left by Lord Queensberry on the 18th of the month. Proceedings were immediately taken, as the libel was direct and did not touch the relationship between Lord Queensberry and his family, and on the 2nd of March the defendant was arrested on a warrant. There were two gross allegations at the end of the plea in relation to a book entitled "The Picture of Dorian Gray" and a magazine called the Chameleon, to which Mr. Wilde contributed "Phrases and Philosophies for the Use of the Young." It was difficult to see why those allegations were made, and he should be surprised if his learned friend could get from them anything hostile to the character of Mr. Wilde. Mr. Wilde was merely a contributor to the magazine, and directly he saw a story in it entitled "The Priest and the Acolyte," which was a disgrace to literature, he wrote to the editor, and upon his insistence the magazine was withdrawn. With regard to "Dorian Gray'' it was a book that had been in circulation for five years. It was a story of a young man of good birth, great wealth, and personal beauty, whose friend painted his picture. Dorian Gray desired to remain as in the picture, which, however, aged with years. His wish was granted, and upon the picture the scars of trouble and bad conduct fell. In the end he stabbed the picture and fell dead. The picture was restored to its pristine beauty, and the friends of Dorian Gray found on the floor the body of a hideous old man. He should be surprised if his learned friend could pitch upon any passage in that book which did more than describe, as novelists and dramatists must describe, the passions and fashions of life. The learned counsel then proceeded to call witnesses.

Sidney Wright, examined by Mr. Mathews, deposed that he was hall porter at the Albemarle Club, of which both Mr. and Mrs. Wilde were members. The defendant on the 18th of February called at the Club and handed him the card produced, upon which he had previously written some words. He asked that it should be given to Oscar Wilde. He (witness) wrote the date on the card and enclosed it in an envelope, which, on the 28th of February, he handed to Mr. Wilde, giving him Lord Queensberry's message at the same time.

Mr. Carson asked no questions.

Mr. Oscar Wilde, examined by Sir E. Clarke, said—I am the prosecutor in this case, and am 39 years of age. My father was Sir William Wilde, surgeon, of Dublin, and Chairman of the Census Commission. He died when I was at Oxford. I was a student at Trinity College, Dublin, where I took a classical scholarship and the Gold Medal for Greek. I then went to Magdalen College, Oxford, where I took a classical scholarship, a first in "Mods," and a first in "Greats," and the Newdigate Prize for English verse. I took my degree in 1878, and came down at once. From that time I have devoted myself to art and literature. In 1882 I published a volume of poems, and afterwards lectured in England and America. I have written many essays of different kinds, and during the last few years have devoted myself to dramatic literature. In 1884 I married Miss Lloyd, and from that date till now have lived with her in Tite-street, Chelsea. I have two sons, the eldest of whom will be 10 in June and the second nine in November.

In 1891 did you make the acquaintance of Lord Alfred Douglas?—Yes, he was brought to my house by a mutual friend. Before then I had not been acquainted with Lady Queensberry, but since then I have, and have been a guest in her house many times. I also knew Lord Douglas of Hawick and the late Lord Drumlanrig. Lord Alfred had dined with me from time to time at my house and at the Albemarle Club, of which my wife is a member, and has stayed with us at Cromer, Goring, Worthing, and Torquay. In November, 1892, I was lunching with him at the Café Royal, where we met Lord Queensberry, and on my suggestion Lord Alfred went to him and shook hands. I was aware that there had been some estrangement between the two. Lord Queensberry joined us, and remained chatting with me until Lord Alfred had left. From the 3rd of November, 1892, till March, 1894, I did not see the defendant, but in 1893 I heard that some letters that I had addressed to Lord Alfred Douglas had come into the hands of certain persons.

Did anyone say that he had found letters of yours?—Yes, a man named Wood saw me and told me that he had found some letters in a suit of clothes that Lord A. Douglas had been good enough to give him.

Did he ask for anything?—l don't think he made a direct demand.

What happened?—When he entered the room he said, "I suppose you will think very badly of me." I replied, "I hear that you have letters of mine to Lord Alfred Douglas, which you ought to have handed back to him." He handed me three or four letters, and said that they were stolen from him the day before yesterday by a man named Allen, and that he had to employ a detective to get them back. I read the letters, and said that I did not think them of any importance. He said, "I am very much afraid of staying in London on account of this man, and I want money to go to America." I asked what better opening as a clerk he could have in America than in England, and he replied that he was anxious to get out of London, in order to escape the man who had taken the letters from him. He also said that he could find nothing to do in London. I gave him £15. The letters remained in my hand all the time.

Did some man eventually come with another letter?—A man called, and told me that the letter was not in his possession. His name was Allen.

What happened at that interview?—I felt that this was the man who wanted money from me, and said, "I suppose you have come about my beautiful letter to Lord A. Douglas. If you had not been so foolish as to send a copy of it to Mr. Beerbohm Tree, I would gladly have paid you a very large sum of money for the letter, as I consider it to be a work of art." He said, "A very curious construction could be put on that letter." I said in reply, "Art is rarely intelligible to the criminal classes." He said, "A man has offered me £60 for it." I said to him, "If you take my advice you will go to that man and sell my letter to him for £60. I myself have never received so large a sum for any prose work of that length; but I am glad to find that there is someone in England who considers a letter of mine worth £60." He was somewhat taken aback by the manner, perhaps, and said, "The man is out of town." I replied, "He is sure to come back," and advised him to get the £60. He then changed his manner, saying that he had not a single penny, and that he had been on many occasions trying to find me. I said that I could not guarantee his cab expenses, but that I would gladly give him half a sovereign. He took the money and went away.

Was anything said about a sonnet?—Yes. I said, "The letter, which is a prose poem, will shortly be published in sonnet form in a delightful magazine, and I will send you a copy of it."

As a matter of fact, the letter was the basis of the French poem that was published in the Spirit Lamp?—Yes.

It is signed "Pierre Louys;" is that the nom de plume of a friend of yours?—A young French poet of great distinction who has lived in England. About six minutes afterwards another man came whose name was Clyburn. He produced the letter from his pocket and said that Allen wanted him to take it. I said, "Why?" He said, "Well, he says you were kind to him, and there is no use in trying to 'rent' you, as you only laugh at us." I looked at the letter, and it was extremely soiled. I said, "I feel it quite unpardonable that better care was not taken of a manuscript of mine." (Laughter.) He said that he was very sorry, but it had been through so many hands. I took the letter; then I said, "Well, I accept the letter back, and you can thank Mr. Allen from me for all the anxiety he has shown about this letter." I gave him half a sovereign for his trouble, and then said, "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.

Has the letter remained in your possession ever since?—Yes. I produce it here to-day.

I pass to the end of 1893. Did Lord Alfred Douglas go to Cairo then?—Yes, in December, 1893.

On his return were you lunching together in the Café Royal when Lord Queensberry came in?—Yes. He shook hands, and joined us, and we were on perfectly friendly terms.

Shortly after that meeting did you become aware that he was making suggestions with regard to your character and behaviour?—Yes. Those suggestions were not contained in letters to me. About the end of June there was an interview between Lord Queensberry and myself in my house. He called upon me, not by appointment, about four o'clock in the afternoon, accompanied by a gentleman with whom I was not acquainted. The interview took place in my library. Lord Queensberry was standing by the window. I walked over to the fire-place, and he said to me, "Sit down." I said to him, "I do not allow anyone to talk like that to me in my house or anywhere else. I suppose you have come to apologise for the statement you made about my wife and myself in a letter you wrote to your son." I said, "I should have the right any day I choose to prosecute you for criminal libel for writing such a letter." He said, "The letter was privileged, as it was written to my son." I said, "How dare you say such things to me about your son and me?" He said, "You were both kicked out of the Savoy Hotel at a moment's notice." I said, "That is a lie. Somebody has been telling you an absurd set of lies about your son and me." He said. "I hear you were well blackmailed for a letter you wrote to my son." I said, "The letter was a beautiful one and I never write except for publication." He said, "If I catch you and my son together again in a public restaurant I will thrash you." I said, "I do not know what Queensberry rules are, but the Oscar Wilde rule is to shoot at sight." I then told Lord Queensberry to leave my house. He said he would not do so. I told him that I would have him put out by the police. He said, "It is a disgusting scandal." I said, "If it be so you are the author of that scandal, and no one else." I then went into the hall and pointed him out to my servant. I said, "This is the Marquis of Queensberry, the most infamous brute in London; you are never to allow him to enter my house again." It is not true that I was expelled from the Savoy Hotel at the time. I was at the theatre on the opening night of the play "The Importance of Being Earnest," and was called before the curtain. The play was successful. Lord Queensberry did not obtain admission to the theatre. I was acquainted with the fact that he had brought a bunch of vegetables. I went to the Albemarle Club on the 28th of February, and received from the porter the card which has been produced. I had seen communications from Lord Queensberry, not to his sons, but to a third party. A warrant was issued on the 2nd of March.

It is suggested that you are responsible for the publication of the magazine Chameleon, on the front page of which some aphorisms of yours appear. Beyond sending that contribution had you anything to do with the preparation or the publication of that magazine?—No; nothing whatever.

Did you approve of the story of the "Priest and the Acolyte?"—I think it bad and indecent, and I strongly disapproved of it.

Was that disapproval expressed to the editor?—Yes. The other question relates to the book "Dorian Grey." Was that first published in magazines?—lt was first published in Lippincott's, and afterwards in book form with three additional chapters. It was much reviewed, and is still in circulation.

Your attention has been called to the plea and to the names of persons with whom your conduct is impugned. Is there any truth in these allegations?—There is no truth whatever in any one of them.

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.

That makes you more than 40?—Ah!

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. I have stayed with him at Oxford, Brighton, Worthing, Cromer, and Torquay, and at hotels in Albemarle-street and Dover-street; also at the Savoy. I never took rooms for him. I had rooms in St. Jaines's-place from October, 1893, to the end of March, 1894, and Lord Alfred has stayed in those rooms. I have been abroad with him several times; even lately to Monte Carlo. There were contributions by Lord Alfred Douglas in the Chameleon, and I thought that they were exceedingly beautiful poems. I saw no improper suggestion in them.

You have read "The Priest and the Acolyte?"—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 and the subject rotten.

You are of opinion 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?—lt was worse, it was badly written. (Laughter.)

In further cross-examination, the witness at first said that he did not think the story blasphemous, but on being reminded that when the priest administered poison to the boy he used the words of the Sacrament, he said he thought it was horrible—blasphemous was not the word. He strongly objected to the whole story, but took no steps to express disapproval of the Chameleon because it would have been beneath his dignity as a man of letters to associate himself with an Oxford undergraduate's productions. He did not believe that any book or work of art ever had any effect on morality. He had no "pose" in the matter. In writing a play or a book he was concerned entirely with literature—that was with Art. He did not aim at doing good or evil but at trying to make a thing that would have some quality of beauty.

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 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.

Is it 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 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.

"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 humour.

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

What would anybody say would be the effect of "Phrases and Philosophies" taken in connection with such an article as "The Priest and the Acolyte?"—Undoubtedly it was the idea that might be formed that made me object so strongly to the story. I saw at once that maxims that were perfectly nonsensical, paradoxical, or anything you like, might be read in conjunction with it.

After the criticisms that were passed on "Dorian Grey" was it mollified a good deal? —No. Additions were made. In one case it was pointed out to me—not in a newspaper or anything of that sort, but by the only critic of the century whose opinion I set high, Mr. Walter Pater—that a certain passage was liable to misconstruction, and I made one addition.

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.

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. Con- tinuing, witness said that the views of illiterates on art were unaccountable. He was only concerned with his view of art, and did not care twopence what other people thought of it. He was afraid that the majority of people were not cultivated enough to live up to the position he was giving—not cultivated enough to draw a distinction between a good and a bad book. The extract read by counsel from "Dorian Grey" he considered to be 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. With regard to another extract, he thought it described the influence produced on an artist by a beautiful personality. He had never allowed any personality to dominate his heart.

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. "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 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.

"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.

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 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.

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 choose. I am not concerned with the ignorance of others. In reference to another passage in "Dorian Gray," in which he receives a book, Mr. Wilde declined to be cross-examined upon the work of another artist. It was, he said, an impertinence and a vulgarity. He did not think there was any bad influence in the world, or that one person influenced another.

As to the letter beginning "My own Boy," addressed to Lord Alfred Douglas, the witness said that it was a poem. It was not an ordinary letter. It was a beautiful letter. He had always been fond of the young man, though he could not say that he adored him. A man who was not an artist could not have written that letter. A great deal depended on the way in which the quotations were read. He never wrote to any other young man in the same way.

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.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.)

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.

What would you pay for that beautiful letter?—I could not get a copy.

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—but it was a beautiful letter.

In further cross-examination the witness said that he met Wood at the end of January, 1893. Lord Alfred Douglas asked him to do what he could for Wood, who was seeking a post as clerk. He knew also a man named Taylor, and had been to tea parties at his house. He had given Wood supper because he was asked to be kind to him, but had never taken him to his house. He thought that Wood came to levy blackmail when he brought the letters to him, and he gave him £20 to go to America because of his pitiful tale. Wood used to call him "Oscar," and he called Wood "Alfred." Allen, he was told, was also a blackmailer. He gave him 10s. out of contempt. He was acquainted with a young man named Shelley, who was a great admirer of his works. He had given him money and presents to help him, as he was poor. There was a lad named Alphonse Conway whose acquaintance he had also made, and in whom he took some interest when at Worthing. The lad had assisted him with his boat there, and he gave him some presents and took him for a trip to Brighton on one occasion. He was a bright, simple, agreeable lad. He did not remember any other youth whom he took about in the same way.

At this point the further hearing was adjourned to this morning, Lord Queensberry being liberated on the same bail as before.