Truth - Thursday, June 13, 1895

There is absolutely no truth in the reports recently published with regard to the prisoner Wilde and his mental condition. He is perfectly sound in mind and body. This I have on the highest and most unimpeachable authority. No doubt at first he suffered acutely. While Taylor took his sentence as coolly as an old hand, Wilde was terribly cast down, and was in a state of semi-collapse in his cell at Newgate prior to his transfer to Pentonville. But there he rapidly recovered himself, and something of that jaunty, rather defiant, demeanour which he displayed at the first trial reappeared. He is now, to all appearances, reconciled to his fate. His conduct is good, exemplary indeed ; he gives but little trouble, and abides by the rules, which become, no doubt, less irksome in consequence. So far from his being any worse for the imprisonment, there seems every reason to anticipate that he will benefit by it physically, if not morally.

No apprehension whatever need be felt that Wilde will not receive every care and attention to which he is entitled, for both Governor and Medical Officer at Pentonville are officials of long experience and known humanity. Mr. Manning, the Governor, is generally admitted to be one of the best in the prison service. He is judicious, even-tempered, having due regard to the maintenance of discipline, yet with a kindly heart. Dr. Innes, who served with distinction in the Cavalry and in the old 52nd, is not only painstaking and careful, and thoroughly efficient in his profession, but he is a man of the world, and every prisoner, whatever his class or character, is perfectly certain to get proper treatment.

I have received a long letter from Lord Alfred Douglas, in which he says, after explaining that he will not enter into discussion with me on a subject upon which I am "quite bigotted," and deploring "the cruelty and prejudice" which condemns Oscar Wilde "to the treatment of felons," that I am unfair on him in terming him a coward. He continues:—

I stayed for three weeks after Mr. Wilde’s arrest, and visited him every day, and I did everything my mind could devise to help him, and I left on the day before his trial at his own most urgent request, and at the equally urgent request of his legal advisers, who assured me that my presence in the country could only do him harm, and that if I were called as a witness I should infallibly destroy what small chance he had of acquittal. Mr. Wilde’s own counsel absolutely declined to call me as a witness, fearing the harm I might do him in cross-examination, so that had I been called as a witness at all, it would have only been under a subpoena from the prosecution. Now, sir, you must give the devil his due, and granting, for the sake of argument, that I am an exception young scoundrel, you have no right to call me a coward. Perhaps you will pause to consider whether or not it is consistent with cowardice to do what I did—remain for three weeks in London with the daily and momentary expectation of being arrested and consigned to a fate like Mr. Wilde’s, receiving every day letters of warning, implored by all my friends and relations to go and save myself, and held up to execration by every catchpenny rag in England.

Certainly this exceptional moralist has the courage of his opinions, but, these opinions being what they are, it is to be regretted that he is not afforded an opportunity to meditate on them in the seclusion of Pentonville.