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This page compares two reports at the paragraph level. The column on the left shows the first report in its entirety, and the column in the middle identifies paragraphs from the second report with significant matching content. The column on the right highlights any differences between the two matching paragraphs: pink shows differences in the first report and purple in the second report. The Match percentage underneath each comparison row in this column shows the percentage of similarity between the two paragraphs.
Original paragraph in
The Cincinnati Enquirer - Saturday, August 31, 1895
The Cincinnati Enquirer - Saturday, August 31, 1895
Most similar paragraph from
The Boston Post - Monday, August 12, 1895
The Boston Post - Monday, August 12, 1895
Difference
[Boston Herald.]
The London correspondent for a Paris paper has had the good fortune to see Oscar Wilde as he is in Wormwood Scrubs prison, but was not
permitted to talk with him. This is how the representative of the press found him.
It is 10 o’clock. At the first stroke of the bell the heavy oaken door is opened, and a large, dimly lighted hall opens to our view.
The Warden’s clerk tells me that Wilde is now on his way from the chapel to the courtyard, where he encounters no one, but is nevertheless under constant
and vigilant espionage. As soon as he arrives in the courtyard the doors seem to close automatically, and a solitary silent guard is stationed near the
door to watch the promenader.
It is 10 o'clock. At the first stroke of the bell the heavy oaken door is opened and a large, dimly lighted hall opens to our view. The
warden’s clerk tells us that Wilde is now on his way from the chapel to the courtyard, where he encounters no one, but is nevertheless under constant and
vigilant espionage. As soon as he arrives in the courtyard the doors seem to close automatically, and a solitary, silent guard is stationed near the door
to watch the promenader.
We have a good view of him already as he slowly descends the heavy staircase near the oaken door. He walks in his stocking feet, holds
his sabots in his left hand, and glides his right over the balustrade. On the threshold of the oaken door he steps into his wooden shoes and descends to
the courtyard. A sharp whistle and the door is closed. This is Wilde.
We have a good view of him already as he slowly descends the heavy staircase near the oaken door. He walks in his stocking feet, holds
his sabots in his left hand and glides his right over the balustrade. On the threshold of the oaken door he steps into his wooden shoes and descends to
the courtyard. A sharp whistle and the door is closed. This is Wilde.
In his first movements he draws himself to his full length, stretches his arms, then removes his cap. I can hardly recognize the
erstwhile genteel personage. He has not grown thin. To me he appeared even larger and more broad-shouldered than in his better days, and I believe that he
has gained in avoirdupois. Yet the change is awful. That unnatural yellow paleness, the hideously shaven face, the shorn locks, made all the difference.
What a contrast—this expressionless, stupid, bloated physiognomy, with its prison tonsure and discolored flesh, to the buoyant countenance, flushed with
success and happiness, which I beheld five years before in Stratford!
In his first movements he draws himself to his full length, stretches his arms, then removes his cap. I can hardly recognize the
erstwhile genteel personage. He has not grown thin. To me he appeared even larger and more broad shouldered than in his better days, and I believe that he
has gained in avoirdupois. Yet the change is awful. That unnatural yellow paleness, the hideously shaven face, the shorn locks, made all the difference.
What a contrast - this expressionless, stupid, bloated physiognomy, with its prison tonsure and discolored flesh, to the buoyant countenance flushed with
success and happiness which I beheld five years before in Stratford.
The prisoner now begins his exercise, first with a brisk trot with the object of using his time—one hour per week—to the best
advantage; then slower, and, finally, it is changed to a languid step.
There is a small shade near the wall, and under it a stone bench. Wilde sits down. His movements are like those of a man who thinks
himself alone unobserved.
Finally he seems thoroughly fatigued, his head falls back against the wall and he falls asleep.
At first we doubt it, and think he is only resting, but his regular respirations soon undeceive us.
Poor devil! Has he not suffered enough? We think so in France, and surely England’s morals are nothing to brag of that it should
continue to throw stones at this fallen apostle.
Released or in prison, society has forever discarded him, and in his own body and soul he carries to his dying hour the rewards of his
misdeeds.
Let mercy prevent his further degradation and ruin!