The Morning Post - Friday, April 5, 1895
This report was originally published in English. Machine translations may be available in other languages.
THE CHARGE AGAINST LORD QUEENSBERRY.
The hearing of the charge against the Marquis of Queensberry of maliciously publishing a false and defamatory libel concerning Mr. Oscar Wilde was resumed yesterday morning before Mr. Justice Collins at the Central Criminal Court.
The hearing of the charge against the Marquis of Queensberry of maliciously publishing a false and defamatory libel concerning Mr. Oscar Wilde was yesterday resumed before Mr. Justice Collins at the Central Criminal Court.
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 for Lord Douglas of Hawick.
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 Douglas of Hawick.
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.
Sir Edward Clarke, Q.C., Mr. Charles Mathews, and Mr. Travers Humphreys appeared for the prosecution; Mr. Carson, Q.C., Mr. C.F. Gill, and Mr. A Gill defended. Mr. Besley, Q.C., and Mr. Monckton watched the case for a person interested.
Sir E. Clarke, Q.C., M.P., with Mr C. Mathews and Mr Travers Humphrey, appeared for the prosecution; Mr Carson, Q.C., Mr C.F. Gill, Q.C., and Mr A. Gill defended; and Mr Besley, Q.C., with Mr Monckton, watched the case on behalf of Lord Douglas Hawick.
Sir Edward Clarke, Q.C., Mr. Charles Mathews, and Mr. Travers Humphreys appeared for the prosecution; Mr. Carson, Q.C., Mr. C. F. Gill, and Mr. A. Gill defended. Mr. Besley, Q.C., Mr. Monckton, and Mr. Leonard Kershaw watched the case for a person interested.
Sir Edward Clarke, Q.C., Mr. Charles Mathews, and Mr. Travers Humphreys, appeared for the prosecution; Mr. Carson, Q.C., Mr. C. F. Gill, and Mr. A. Gill defended. Mr. Besley, Q.C., Mr. Monckton, and Mr. Leonard Kershaw watched the case for a person interested.
Sir Edward Clarke, Q.C. M P; Mr Charles Mathews, and Mr Travers Humphreys are counsel for Mr Oscar Wilde. Mr B. Carson, Q C MP ; Mr G F Gill, and Mr A Gill appeared for the Marquis; and Mr Besley, Q C, and Mr Monckton hold a watching brief for Lord Douglas of Hawick.
Sir Edward Clarke, Q C, M P ; Mr Charles Mathews, and Mr Travers Humphreys are counsel for Mr Oscar Wilde. Mr B Carsons, Q C, M P ; Mr C F Gill, and Mr A Gill appear for the Marquis ; and Mr Besley, Q C, and Mr Menckton hold a watching brief for Lord Douglas of Hawick.
The cross examination of Mr. Wilde by Mr. Carson, which was in progress at the time of the adjournment on Wednesday, was continued. The witness said that he was on intimate terms with Taylor, and so continued until the present time. It was Taylor who arranged to meet him and Wood in reference to the letters at Taylor's house in Little College-street. He had known Taylor since the early part of October of the previous year. Taylor visited him at his house, at his chambers, and at the Savoy Hotel. He occupied the upper part of the house, and might have four rooms. He did not know whether Taylor kept a servant, or whether he used to do his own cooking. Sometimes Taylor and sometimes a friend opened the street door. The rooms were not peculiar, except that they exhibited more taste than was usual in rooms of the kind. They were very pretty.
Is it true that the double curtains were always drawn across the windows, and that candles were lighted both day and night?—Quite untrue, I should say. I can remember seeing daylight in the room. It was about the 12th of March. I went in the middle of the day.
Were the rooms strongly perfumed?—I have known him to burn perfumes in his rooms. I cannot say that it was always so, but it was the same as I used to do in my rooms. I met a man named Mayor there once, and sent Taylor last Sunday to try and find him.
Had you any particular business with Taylor?—No; no business at all. He was a young man of great taste and intelligence. He wrote good English and had been brought up at a good public school. He used to listen well. (Laughter.) We used to discuss artistic subjects.
Was he an artist? —He was not an artist to create anything, but he had great taste, and was intellectual and clever. I did not get him to arrange dinners for me to meet young men, but I have dined with him about 12 times, perhaps, at restaurants in Rupert-street—the Florence, Kettner's, the Solferino—generally in private rooms, as I prefer dining in private rooms.
Did you send him this telegram—"Can you call at six o'clock? Oscar, Savoy?"—Yes; I was staying at the Savoy at the time. I wanted to see him because I had had an anonymous letter saying that Wood was going to blackmail me about letters which had been stolen from Lord Alfred Douglas. The matter was discussed then. "Fred" was a young man to whom I was introduced by a gentleman—a friend of mine. His other name was Atkins.
You were very familiar with him?— What do you mean by familiar? I liked him.
You were very familiar with him ? — What do you mean by being familiar ? I liked him.
You were very familiar with him? - I don't know what you mean. I liked him.
You told me yesterday that you always called people whom you liked by their Christian names.—Yes, I always do when I like a man. I used to meet Fred at Taylor's, but 1 do not know whether I have met him at tea parties there. He used to call me by my Christian name, and Taylor and I used to call him Fred. I never heard that Taylor was being watched by the police; but I did hear that Taylor and Parker were arrested in a raid made by the police on a house in Fitzroy-square. I knew Parker, but I did not see him at Taylor's rooms.
How many young men did Taylor introduce to you?—I should think six, or seven, or eight.
With whom you afterwards became intimate or friendly—I should think about five.
Whom you would call by their Christian names ?—Yes.
Were those young men always about 20 years of age?—Twenty or 22. I like the society of young men.
Were they all about 20 years of age ?— Twenty or 22. I like the society of young men.
Were they all about 20 years of age? - Twenty to 22. I liked the society of young men.
Were they all about twenty years of age? - Twenty to twenty-two. I liked the society of young men.
Were any of them of any occupation?—Really I cannot say. If you ask me in regard to people's occupation I really cannot tell you.
Have you given money to all of the five?—Yes, to all of the five, I should think—I should say money and presents. They gave me nothing. Taylor introduced me to Charles Barker, with whom I became friendly.
Was he a gentleman's servant out of employment?—I have no knowledge; I never heard it.
Was he a gentleman's servant out of employment?—I never heard that, not should I have minded.
Was he a gentleman's servant out of employment?--I never heard that, nor should I have minded.
If you had known that he was a gentleman's servant out of employment, would you have become friendly with him?—I would become friendly with any person whom I liked.
If he had not been a gentleman's servant out of employment you would not have become friendly with him? — I become friendly with anyone I take a liking to.
What was his age?—I do not know. I think he was about 20, but whether he was only 17 or not I do not know. I have never asked him his age. I think it vulgar to ask people their ages.
How old was he ? — Really, I do not keep a census. He may be about 20. He was young, and that was one of his attractions. I have never asked him his age. I think it vulgar to ask people their age.
Was he an artist ?—No. Was he educated?—Culture was not his strong point. (Laughter.) I do not know about his past life. I never inquire about people's past. I have not the remotest idea what he is now. I have lost sight of him. I have given him altogether, perhaps, £4 or £5.
What for?—Because he was poor; and what better reason could I have for giving money. I first met him with Alfred Taylor. His brother was with him.
Did you become friendly with his brother?—They were my guests at the restaurant.
Did you become friendly with his brother ? — They were my guests at table.
Did you become friendly with Parker's brothers?--They were my guests at table.
Did you become friendly with Parker's brothers?--They were my guests at table.
Did you become friendly with Parker's brothers?—They were my guests at table.
On the first occasion that you saw them?—Yes. It was Taylor's birthday, and I asked him to dinner, and told him to bring his friends.
On the first occasion you saw them ? — Yes. It was Taylor's birthday, and I asked him to dinner and told him to bring any of his friends.
Did you know that one of them was a gentleman's valet, and the other a gentleman's groom?—I did not know it, and if I had known it I should not have cared. I do not care twopence about social position.
Did you know that one was a gentleman's valet and the other a gentleman's groom ? — I did not know it, and if I had I should not have cared. I do not care twopence about social position.
Did you know that one was a gentleman's valet and the other a gentleman's groom?—I did not know it nor should I have cared. I do not care "tuppence" for social position.
Did you know that one was a gentleman's valet and the other a gentleman's groom?--I did not know it, nor should I have cared, "I do not care "tuppence" for social position.
Did you know that one was a gentleman's valet and the other a gentleman's groom?--I did not know it nor should I have cared, I do not care "tuppence" for social position.
What was your reason for being with these young men? —The pleasure of being with those who are young, bright, happy, careless, and original.I am surprised at your description of them. They appeared to me to be very pleasant and nice. One of them—Charley Parker—was anxious to go on the stage.
Did you call him "Charley?"—Yes.
Was it a good dinner?—I forget the menu. It was Kettner's best. I entertained Mr. Taylor and his friends in a private room. I should think that was in March, 1893.
The first evening?—Yes.
Did you give them an intellectual treat?—They seemed deeply impressed. (Laughter.)
Did you give them an intellectual treat?—They seemed deeply impressed. (Much laughter.)
Did you give them an intellectual treat? They seemed deeply impressed (much laughter).
Did you give them an intellectual treat? They seemed deeply impressed (much laughter).
Did you give them also an intellectual treat ? — They were deeply impressed (laughter).
Did you give them an intellectual treat? - They seemed deeply impressed.
Did you give them an intellectual treat? - They seemed deeply interested.
During the dinner did you become more intimate with "Charley" than with the others ?—Oh, yes.
Did he call you "Oscar?"—Oh, yes. I told him to. I like to be called either "Oscar" or "Mr. Wilde." I put him at his ease at once.
Did you give them plenty of champagne?—I gave them whatever they wanted to drink. There was no particular kind of drink.
Did you give this valet plenty to drink?—Not an inordinate quantity of drink. They were served the same as I was. I did not stint them. What gentleman would?
No, what gentleman would stint a valet—I strongly object to that sort of question.
What gentleman would stint a valet? - I strongly object to the description.
What gentleman would stint a valet? - I strongly object to the description.
After dinner did you say to Charley, "This is the boy for me?"—No. I went back to the Savoy. I did not take him with me. I did not drive him to the Savoy Hotel. I was staying there, my wife being in Italy.
Did you give Charley iced champagne? Is that a favourite drink of yours?—Yes; strongly against my doctor's orders. I did not give him any money at Kettner's. At no time did he ever come to the Savoy. I saw him afterwards, and it was not until the month of December, 1893, that I gave him any money.
Did you ask Taylor what these young men were?—No. It was sufficient for me to know that they were friends of his. Parker told me that his desire was to go on to the stage, but what the ambition of the others was I do not know. Taylor did not tell me that he met them in the St. James's Restaurant. I had rooms in St. James's-place from October, 1893, to March, 1894, and Parker came there to tea perhaps five or six times. I liked his society. I gave him a Christmas present—not a chain or ring, I gave him a cigarette-case.
Did you give him money ?—Yes, I gave him about £3 or £4. He was hard up and asked me to assist him. Nothing particular occurred on that occasion. He merely had his tea, smoked, and enjoyed himself.
What was there in common between you and a young man in the position of this young man ?—Well, I will tell you. I delight in the society of men younger than myself. I like those who may be glad, young, and careless. I recognise no social distinctions of any kind between them and myself, and to me the mere fact of youth is so wonderful that I would sooner talk to a young man for half an hour than be cross-examined in Court even. (Laughter.)
What was there in common between you and this young man? - Well, I will tell you. I delight in the society of those much younger than myself. I like those who may be called idle and careless. I recognise no social distinctions at all of any kind. The mere fact is that youth is so wonderful I would sooner talk to a young man for half an hour than even be cross-examined in court. (Laughter.) Yes, I would talk to street arab with pleasure.
What was there in common between you and Parker? - Well, I will tell you I delight in the society of those much younger than myself. I like those who may be called idle and careless. I recognise no social distinctions at all of any kind. The mere fact is that youth is so wonderful I would sooner talk to a young man for half an hour than even be cross-examined in court. (Laughter.) Yes, I would talk to a street arab with pleasure.
Mr. Carson: What was there in common between you and these young men? Well, I will tell you. I like the society of people much younger than myself. I recognise no social distinctions at all. The mere effect of youth is so wonderful that I would sooner talk with a young man for half an hour than even be cross-examined in court. (Laughter.)
Mr Carson—What was there in common between you and these young men?—Well, I will tell you. I like the society of people much younger than myself. I recgonize no social distinctions at all. The mere effect of youth is so wonderful that I would sooner talk with a young man for half an hour than ever be cross-examined in court (laughter).
Mr Carson--What was there in common between you and these young men?--Well, I will tell you. I like the society of people much younger than myself. I recognize no social distinctions at all. The mere effect of youth is so wonderful that I would sooner talk with a young man for half an hour than ever been cross-examined in court (laughter).
Mr Carson--What was there in common between you and these young men?--Well, I will tell you. I like the society of people much younger than myself. I recognize no social distinction at all. The mere effect of youth is so wonderful that I would sooner talk with a young man for half an hour then ever be cross-examined in court (laughter).
What did you find attractive in a young man of this class? — I like to be in the society of people much younger than myself. I recognise no social distinctions of any kind, and to me youth, the mere fact of youth, is so wonderful that I would sooner talk to a young man for half an hour than even be examined in court (laughter).
Then do I understand that even a young boy whom you picked up off the street would be a pleasing companion to you?—Oh, I would talk to a street arab with pleasure.
And take him into your rooms ?—Be it so; yes, if he interested me. Parker has lunched with me at the Café Royal, but I have never called upon Charley Parker.
Have you ever written him a beautiful letter?—I do not think that I have ever written Parker a beautiful letter.
Have you any letters from him?—I think there is one.
Will you give it to me?
Sir E. Clarke—After the way in which my learned friend has spoken of this young man, I should like you, my Lord, and the Jury, to see that letter.
Mr. Carson—Yes, the Jury can see it, and, as Parker will be in the box; they can see him too.
Cross-examination continued—I did not visit Parker at 60, Park-walk, Chelsea, in March or April of last year at midnight.
Is his house 10 minutes' walk from Tite-street?—I do not know. I never walk. (Laughter.)
You never walk?—Never.
Then, I suppose, in paying your visits, you would go in a cab?—Yes.
And in paying those visits you would leave the cab outside the door?—Yes, certainly, if it was a good cab. I do not think that I have seen Parker since February of last year. I have heard that he has gone into the Army as a driver. I read in a newspaper that he and Taylor were arrested. I was very much distressed about it, but the Magistrate took a different view and dismissed the case. It made no difference in our acquaintanceship. I wrote to him and he wrote back to me, but I have not got his letter. Taylor came to my house on Tuesday last. I knew Fred Atkins first in 1892. He told me that he was connected with bookmakers. I was introduced to him in the rooms of the gentleman whose name you handed to me yesterday. I have never asked him to dinner or lunch. I have met him at a dinner given by the gentleman referred to—I think at Kettner's. Taylor was there. I became friendly with him at that time. I called him "Fred" and he called me "Oscar." He told me that he had neglected his business.
Did he seem to you to be an idle kind of fellow?—Oh yes, he seemed to have the charm of idleness, with an ambition to go on the music-hall stage.
Did he seem to be an idle kind of fellow? — He seemed to have the charm of idleness. He had an ambition to go on the music-hall stage. I thought him very pleasant.
Did he seem an idle kind of fellow? - Yes! Oh, yes! He seemed idle. With ambition to go to the music-hall stage.
Did you think him charming?—I thought he was very pleasant.
Did you discuss literature with him?—No, I would not allow him to do so.
That was not his line?—No, the art of music-halls was as far as he had got. (Laughter.)
That was not his line?—The art of the music hall was as far as he got.
In reply to further questions, the witness said that Atkins never lunched with him at the Café Royal, though he met him afterwards at lunch with the gentleman who had been referred to. At the suggestion of that gentleman he took Atkins to Paris, where he was going on business, as the gentleman was unable to go until two days later, and Atkins was disappointed at the possible brevity of the holiday. They remained in Paris about a fortnight, going by the Club train, and Atkins's fare was repaid to bim by the gentleman in question. Atkins did not act as his secretary, and went to Paris merely for his own pleasure. They stayed in the Boulevard des Capucines. He took Atkins to the Café Jullien, and paid for his lunch.
After lunch did you suggest to him that he should have his hair curled?—No, I told him that I thought it would be very unbecoming. He suggested it himself.
And you were of opinion that it would be unbecoming?—That was my opinion, which I have never changed.
You thought he looked better without his hair curled?—Yes, it was silly of him. It did not suit him. (Laughter.) I should have been very angry with him if he had done it. I should have been very much annoyed.
Did he get it curled?—I do not think so—not to my recollection. I saw him at dinner.
You gave him an excellent dinner?—Yes.
Plenty of wine?—Why will you ask me that question. Nobody who dines at my table is stinted in wine.
Did you give him a sovereign to go to the Moulin Rouge?—Yes. I went to a French theatre, and when I came back Atkins was in bed. The other gentleman joined us on Wednesday, we having come to Paris on Monday. Shortly after our return to London I wrote to the gentleman and asked him to bring Atkins. I was ill in bed. They both came to see me, and I thought it was very kind of them to come. I afterwards sent him tickets for my theatre and went to see him at his house in Osnaburgh-street. I gave him £3 15s. to buy his first song on the music-hall stage. He told me that poets who wrote for the music-hall stage never took less. (Laughter.)
Did you consider him a moral, respectable young man?—I don't know about respectability. He was a very pleasant, good-natured fellow. I encouraged him, and as he was going on the music-hall stage I bought him a song and went to tea in his rooms in order that I might hear him sing.
The witness, continuing, said that he was introduced to Ernest Scarfe in 1893 by Taylor. He was about 20 years of age. At the time he was doing nothing, but had previously been in Australia. He was not aware that Scarfe also had been a valet, or that his father was a valet. He was a nice, pleasant young man. He did not meet Scarfe in society, but Scarfe was in his (Mr. Wilde's) and Taylor's society. Taylor informed him that Scarfe met Lord Douglas of Hawick while on a voyage to Australia. Scarfe had dined with him. He asked him to do so because he (Mr. Wilde) was very good- natured, and it was one of the best ways of pleasing a person not in one's own social position to ask him to dine. He never gave Scarfe any money, but he gave him a cigarette-case. It was his custom to do that. He had given a great many cigarette-cases as presents. He first knew Sidney Mavor in September, 1892. He was about 25 years old. He was introduced by the gentleman to whom reference had already been made. He had not heard from him for 18 months. Perhaps he did give him a cigarette-case. He gave people cigarette cases because he liked them. He thought a month's knowledge was quite sufficient to enable him to express admiration or liking for a person. Mavor had stayed with him at the hotel in Albemarle-street as a companion for pleasure and amusement. He paid for the man's entertainment, and had dined with him several times. Walter Grainger was a servant at some rooms in High-street, Oxford. He was about 16 years old. He waited at table. He was a particularly plain boy—ugly, in fact. He mentioned that fact because of the insolent question that counsel put to him. Counsel insulted and stung and almost unnerved him by his repeated insolent questions, and there was some excuse if he appeared to answer flippantly. When he went to Goring, Grainger was brought down as under-butler. The boy had asked him to find him a place, and he acted in the matter only out of kindness. He stayed at the Savoy Hotel when his wife was out of town, but never had any boys waiting on him there or in Paris.
Re-examined by Sir E. Clarke—The letters produced were written by Lord Queensberry, and were communicated to him (Mr. Wilde) by the persons who received them with one exception. It was from them that he learned of Lord Queensberry's objection to his intimacy with his son.
Sir E. Clarke read and put in the letters. The first, which was dated April 1, from Parker's Hotel, in Albemarle-street, was addressed by Lord Queensberry to Lord Alfred Douglas. In it Lord Queensberry expressed his pain at having to write in such a strain, and declared that any answer must be delivered in person, as, after "your present hysterically impertinent ones" he declined to read any more letters. "Having had to leave Oxford in disgrace to yourself, the reasons of which were fully explained to me by your tutor, you are now loafing and loling about, doing nothing." The letter afterwards went on to say that Lord Queensberry utterly "declined to supply you with sufficient funds just to enable you to loaf," and added, "You are preparing a wretched future for yourself, and it would be most cruel and wrong for me to encourage you in this." Then came a reference to "your infamous intimacy with this man Wilde." "I am not going," he wrote, "to try to analyse this intimacy, and I make no charge, but my mind to pose as a thing is as bad as to be it." "No wonder people are talking as they are. I hear, on good authority, that his wife is petitioning to divorce him." It further stated :— "If I thought the actual thing was true, and it becomes public property, I should be quite justified in shooting him at sight. These Christian English cowards, and men, as they call themselves, want waking up." This letter was signed, "Your disgusted and so-called father, QUEENSBERRY."
The letters were put in and read by Sir E. Clarke. The first, which was dated April 1, from Parker's Hotel, in Albemarle-street, was addressed by Lord Queensberry to Lord Alfred Douglas. In it Lord Queensberry expressed his pain at having to write in such a strain, and declared that any answer must be delivered in person, as, after "your present hysterically impertinent ones" he declined to read any more letters. " Having had to leave Oxford in disgrace to yourself, the reasons of which were fully explained to me by your tutor, you are now loafing and lolling about, doing nothing." The letter afterwards went on to say that Lord Queensberry utterly "declined to just supply you with just sufficient funds just to enable you to loaf," and added, "You are preparing a wretched future for yourself, and it would be most cruel and wrong for me to encourage you in this." Then came a reference to "your infamous intimacy with this man Wilde." "I am not going" he wrote, "to try to analyse this intimacy, and I make no charge, but to my mind to pose as a thing is as bad as to be it. Never in my experience have I ever seen such a sight as that in your horrible features. No wonder people are talking as they are. I hear, on good authority, that his wife is petitioning to divorce him."
Sir E. Clarke—Is there any truth in the statement about the petition for divorce?— There is not the slightest foundation for the statement.
Sir E. Clarke. — Is there any truth in the statement about the petition for divorce? — There is not the slightest foundation for the statement.
Sir E. Clarke then began to read the second letter to Lord Alfred Douglas. It was dated April 3, and began :—"You impertinent young jackanapes, I request that you will not send such messages to me by telegraph."
Sir E. Clarke then began to read the second letter to Lord Alfred Douglas. It was dated April 3, and began: — "You impertinent young jackanapes, I request that you will not send such messages to me by telegraph."
Mr. Carson—Read the telegram from Lord Alfred Douglas to his father.
Mr. Carson. — Read the telegram from Lord Alfred Douglas to his father.
Sir E. Clarke—Certainly.
The telegram was handed in, and was as follows:— "To Queensberry, Parker's Hotel, Albemarle-street—What a funny little man you are.—ALFRED DOUGLAS."
"To Queensberry. Parker's Hotel, Albemarle-street. — What a funny little man you are. — ALFRED DOUGLAS."
Sir E. Clarke—In the second letter addressed to Lord Alfred Douglas the defendant said that his son's reputation has accounted for a good deal that had happened, and that if he caught him again with "that man" he would make a public scandal of what was at present only a suppressed one. He also threatened to cut off Lord Alfred's allowance. If the defendant was quite certain of the thing he would shoot the fellow on sight, but he (defendant) could only accuse him of posing. He did not believe Wilde would dare defy him. He plainly showed the white feather the other day when the defendant tackled him. In another letter to his son, which began, "You miserable creature," Lord Queensberry said that he had given instructions to tear up all future letters from Lord Alfred, and referred to the "horrible brute" to whom Lord Alfred had fallen a prey. He expressed sorrow for him as a human creature, who must, however, be allowed to "gang his ain gait." It depended upon himself whether his father would recognise him again after his behaviour. He made allowances for him as he thought he was demented, and was therefore sorry for him.
Having regard to the contents of those letters, did you or did you not think it right to disregard the wish referred to?—I thought it right to entirely disregard it.
Sir E. Clarke asked: Having regard to the contents of those letters did you or did you not think it right to disregard the wishes referred to in them? I thought it right to entirely disregard them.
And your friendship with Lady Queensberry and her sons has continued to the present time?—Yes. It was not true that "Dorian Gray" was purged or toned down for the English market. In consequence of what Mr. Pater said to him he modified one passage in the book. He first knew Alfred Taylor in October, 1892. He was introduced to him by the gentleman whose name had been written. That gentleman was of high position, good birth, and repute. He last saw him about February or March, 1894, but he was not available for the purposes of the trial. He knew that Taylor had lost a great deal of money in business. He was educated at Marlborough School, and played the piano very charmingly. He had no reason to believe that Taylor was an immoral or disreputable person. With regard to the arrest, Taylor wrote him that he had been given a ticket for a private benefit, at which he was to play the piano, and two music-hall singers in costume were to appear. They were, however, not in the house at the time the police came in and arrested everyone present. There was no impression left in his mind as to Taylor's impropriety. The suggestion was monstrous. John Lane, the publisher of his works, introduced him to Shelley. He afterwards talked to the young man, who had good literary taste. He saw him when he went from time to time to the house while his books were being printed, as he was often the only person in charge. In February, 1892, "Lady Windermere's Fan" was produced, and he gave Shelley a ticket for the performance. He gave him also some of his books, because Shelley admired his works. After his return from Paris Shelley dined with him and Mrs.Wilde at their house in Tite-street. He was in every way a gentleman.
Sir E. Clarke read several letters from Shelley, complaining of poverty and ill-health, and asking for pecuniary assistance.
Witness identified the letter, and said that in response he gave the man £5.
Was there ever any relation between you and Edward Shelley other than that you have described as the relation between a man of letters and a person who admired his poetry and works, and who had been brought into contact with you?—Never, on any occasion. With regard to the boy Conway he became a great friend of my sons, and went out almost every day with us and our friends. My wife met him on many occasions. Woods I first saw in January, 1893, at the Café Royal. I only saw him once at Taylor's house—on the occasion of the letters. There waa no actual introduction, but whilst at Salisbury I was asked by Lord Alfred Douglas if I could find the man something to do. He was out of employment, and was anxious to obtain a clerkship. As to Charles Parker and his brother, I had no idea whatever what their occupation had been. It was represented to me that their father was a man of means.
When they were introduced to you had you any reason for suspecting that they were disreputable persons?—None whatever. Nothing came to my knowledge tending in any way to destroy their characters. I knew that Charles Parker was arrested on a certain charge, and that the case was dismissed by the magistrates. I never saw Charles Parker at the Savoy Hotel, and I have never in my life been at 7, Camera-square, or at 50, Park-walk.
How was it that after the interview with Lord Queensberry on the 30th of June, and these further letters coming to your knowledge, you took no steps against him?—It was on account of the strong pressure put on me by the Queensberry family.
Did you, early in July, have an interview with a member of Parliament?—Yes; on the Wednesday following the Saturday on which Lord Queensberry's visit to my house occurred. This member of Parliament was a member of Lord Queensberry's family.
Mr. Carson, with the permission of the Judge (over-ruling an objection by Sir E. Clarke), read the following postcard, addressed by Lord A. Douglas to Lord Queensberry:—"As you return 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 Booms, the Café Royal, &c, 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 should 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."
Mr. Carson, again cross-examining, read the following post-card, addressed by Lord A. Douglas to Lord Queensberry : — "As you return my letters unopened I am obliged to write on a post-card. 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, tbe Cafe Royal, &c, 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. Yon 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 should 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 following message sent on a postcard by Lord Alfred Douglas to his father, which was read in court during the case, throws light on the relations existing between the pair:— "As you return 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' Rooms, the Café Royal, &c., 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 should 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 following message was sent on a post card by Lord Alfred Douglas to his father, which was read in Court during the ease, throws light on the relations existing between the pair—"As you return my letters unopened, I am obliged to write on a post card. 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, &c, 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 should 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."
As you return my letters unopened I am obliged to write you 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, &c., 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 should 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.
"As you return 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 Cafe Royal, &c., 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 should be completely justified, as we should be acting in self-defence against a violent and dangerous rouge, and. I think if you were dead not many people would miss you.--A. D."
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.
As you return 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' Rooms, the Café Royal, &, 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 should 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.
As you return 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' Rooms, the Café Royal, etc., and I shall continue to go to any of these places whenever I choose and with whom I choose. 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 should 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.
To this the affectionate son responded with the following, written on a postcard:—"As you have 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, and I shall continue to go to any of those 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 for libel in the criminal courts, you would get seven years' penal servitude for the 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 I'll shoot you, or if he shoot you we will 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."
To this the affectionate son responded with the following, written on a postcard:—"As you have 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, and I shall continue to go to any of those 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 no right over me, either legal or moral. If O.W. was to prosecute you for libel in the criminal courts, you would get seven years' penal servitude for the 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 I'll shoot you, or if he shoot you, we will be completely justified, as we should by acting in self-defence against a violent and dangerous rough; an di think if you were dead not many people would miss you."
As you return my letters unopened I am obliged to write a postcard. I write to inform you that I consider your absurd threats with absolute indifference. Ever since your last exhibition at O.W.'s house I have made a point of appearing with him at many public restaurants—such as the Berkeley, Willis' Rooms, the Café Royal, &c., &c.—and I shall continue to go to these places when and with just 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 rights over me, legal or moral. If O.W. was to prosecute you for libel in the criminal courts 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 I 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 should 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. (Signed, A.D.)
As you return my letters unopened I am obliged to write a postcard. I write to inform you that I consider your absurd threats with absolute indifference. Ever since your last 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., etc.—and I shall continue to go to these places when and with just 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 rights over me, legal or moral. If O.W. was to prosecute you for libel in the criminal courts 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 should 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. (Signed A.D.)
As you return my letters unopened I am obliged to write a postcard. I write to inform you that I consider your absurd threats with absolute indifference. Ever since your last 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, &., &. — and I shall continue to go to these places when and with just 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 rights over me, legal or moral. If O.W. was to prosecute you for libel in the criminal courts 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 [O.W.] shoots you, we should 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. (Signed, A.D.)
Sir E. Clarke—At this stage of the case that is the evidence for the prosecution, my Lord.
SIR E. CLARKE intimated that this concluded the evidence for the prosecution, and
Mr. Carson—At this stage of the case? We take it that the prosecutor's case is closed. He must make his whole case now.
Sir E. Clarke—Subject to this—that evidence may be given which it may be necessary for my client to rebut.
Mr. Justice Collins—It may be that evidence will be sprung upon you. Of course I shall reserve my discretion as to the evidence I shall allow you to submit at any future stage.
Mr. Wilde then left the box, and almost immediately left the Court.
Mr. Wilde then left the box, and shortly afterwards quitted the court.
Mr. Carson then opened the case for the defence. He declared at the outset that, so far as Lord Queensberry was concerned, in every letter he had written and in the charge he had made against Mr. Oscar Wilde, and which had put him into his present position, he withdrew nothing. He had determined at all risks and all hazards to try and save his son. Whether he was right or whether he was wrong the Jury probably now to some extent had information upon which to found a judgment. He (the learned counsel) must claim for Lord Queensberry that, notwithstanding the many elements of prejudice which the prosecution had introduced against him, his conduct in this respect had been absolutely consistent all through, and if the statements which he had made in his letter as to Mr. Wilde's reputation and acts were correct, not only was he justified in doing what he could to put an end to the disastrous acquaintance which existed between Mr. Wilde and his son, but he was bound to take every step which suggested itself to him to bring about at once such an inquiry as would lead to the acts and deeds of Mr. Wilde being made public. According to the case as presented on behalf of Mr. Wilde, there was no personal quarrel or dispute of any kind between Lord Queensberry and the prosecutor, and the only motive the former had in the course he had taken had been to save his son from this intimacy. Mr. Wilde's character was made known to Lord Queensberry in the first place by his writings, and, secondly, in connection with the Savoy Hotel. He could not fail to notice the character which a man in Mr. Wilde's position must have earned for himself when he was leading the kind of life to a portion of which—and only a small portion of which—he had confessed in the witness-box. Mr. Wilde had been going about with young men who were not his co-equals in station or his co-equals in age. He had been associated with men who, it would be proved, he thought, before the case concluded, were some of the worst characters in London. He referred, above all, to Taylor, a notorious character, as the police would tell them. He (the learned counsel) had put a question to Mr. Wilde as to whether Taylor's house was not a den of infamy of the worst description, but notwithstanding this suggestion, and although no longer ago than Tuesday last Taylor was found in company with Mr. Wilde in Tite-street, the prosecution did not venture to put the man into the box. Taylor had been found in company with Parker, who, with a number of other notorious characters, had been arrested on suspicion. His learned friend had said that Parker was acquitted. Yes; but the police did not act in this way without very grave reason, and when Taylor was found associating with him, and it was given in evidence that Taylor was practically the right-hand man of Mr. Wilde in all his orgies with "artists" and valets, at least it might be expected that an opportunity would be given for cross-examining him. Taylor was the pivot of this case. When they had heard the various witnesses, and when, one after another, these were compelled to speak as to the conduct of Oscar Wilde, surely the man- who introduced those persons to Wilde was the man who, above all others, could have thrown light upon the object of such introductions. Taylor was the man best fitted to bear out Mr. Wilde's innocence of the charges made in the plea of justification, but yet he was not, and would not, be produced. A certain name had been written down. When it was convenient to mention anybody that name was mentioned by Mr. Wilde because the man was out of the country; but Taylor was in the country. Taylor was still Mr. Wilde's friend, nothing having happened, as the prosecutor said, to interrupt the friendship. Then why was not Taylor produced? Evidence would be given as to the life this man led; as to the extraordinary den he kept in College-street, with the curtains always drawn, with luxurious hangings to the windows, gorgeous and luxurious furniture, and a perpetual change of varied perfumes—where daylight was never admitted, the only illumination being the shaded light of candles, lamps, or gas. When they heard the extraordinary way Taylor kept his rooms, together with a description of the extraordinary company that there assembled at the innocent afternoon tea parties, the Jury, he thought, would come to the conclusion that he was right when he said that Taylor was the pivot in the case upon which the true relations of Mr. Wilde with various persons must be estimated. As to the high ground taken up by Mr. Wilde—who did not write for "Philistines" or "the illiterate," but only as an artist for artists—there was the greatest contrast between his books and the way he chose his friends. He took up with gentlemen's servants and a newspaper boy, his case no longer being that he was dwelling in the regions of Art (which no one understood but himself and the artist), but that he had such a magnanimous, noble, and democratic soul that he drew no social distinctions, and it gave him exactly the same pleasure to have the sweeping-boy from the streets to lunch or dine with him as the best educated artist or the greatest littérateur in the Kingdom. Mr. Wilde's positions were absolutely irreconcilable. If the defence had rested the case on Mr. Wilde's literature alone they would have been absolutely justified in the course they had taken. The learned counsel then referred at some length to the character of the literary matter in the Chameleon, arguing that the same idea, often similar phrases, ran through that and the two letters written to Lord Alfred Douglas, which had been read in Court—letters which Mr. Wilde described as beautiful, but which he (the learned counsel) considered simply disgusting. The same idea was to be found in "Dorian Gray." The poem written by Lord Alfred Douglas and published in the Chameleon showed the result of the "artistic" education the young man had received, and the domination of Mr. Oscar Wilde over him. No father would be likely to regard such a production on the part of his son without a feeling of horror. Having referred to the manner in which the two letters written by Mr. Wilde to Lord Alfred Douglas had been brought to the front, Mr. Carson said that the man Wood, who was one of the College-street lot, had received £21 from Mr. Wilde, and had been shipped off to America. Probably Mr. Wilde hoped the man would never be heard of again in this country. But he was here; the Jury would have him examined before them. The learned counsel here incidentally remarked that Mr. Beerbohm Tree had cabled from America with reference to the introduction of his name into the case.
Mr. Justice Collins said there was not the slightest ground for suggesting anything against Mr. Tree.
Mr. Carson said that gentleman had acted throughout exactly as he ought to have done.
Mr. Justice Collins—With perfect propriety.
Mr. Carson went on to comment further upon the letters written to Lord Alfred Douglas by Mr. Wilde, declaring that if the Jury accepted the statement that either of the epistles was written as a sonnet to be published he envied them their credulity. The sonnet or prose-poem theory had been invented as a way out of a difficulty, and it was an extraordinary thing that the only letter Mr. Wilde had ever written which he was able to describe as a sonnet was one which had become known to the public. It was also an extraordinary thing that Mr. Wilde should have taken up his residence at the Savoy Hotel whilst his wife was away in Italy, having regard to the facts which he had himself stated that it entailed an outlay of £45 per week, and that he was short of money and without credit.
The learned counsel had not concluded his address when the Court rose.
The Solicitor-General had not concluded his speech when the Court rose.
The Solicitor General replied on behalf of the Crown, and had not concluded his address when the Court rose.
Lord Queensberry was again admitted to bail on his own recognisances.