The New York Herald (European Edition) - Thursday, April 4, 1895
This report was originally published in English. Machine translations may be available in other languages.
LORD QUEENSBERRY IN THE DOCK.
Mr. Oscar Wilde's Action for Criminal Libel Begun at the Old Bailey.
A
"CAUSE CELEBRE."
The Court Crowded in Every Part by Barristers, Solicitors and Public.
SOME REMARKABLE LETTERS.
Counsel Reads the
Prosecutor's Correspondence with Lord Alfred Douglas
SEVERE CROSS-EXAMINATION.
[BY THE HERALD'S SPECIAL WIRE]
London, April 4.-For the first time in the history of the Old Bailey the dock of that Court was yesterday, occupied by a peer of the realm. This was John Shelton Douglas, Marquis of Queensberry, who stood there to answer a charge of criminal libel against Mr. Oscar Wilde, yet though it was the marquis who was technically in the dock it was quite evident that before the day's proceedings finished it was his accuser, the heavily jowled, broad-shouldered person lounging ungracefully over the front of the witness-box, who really stood on his defence before the world. The case was interesting throughout. The trial, as the day waned and the centre of gravity, as it were, shifted from the defendant to the prosecutor, became absolutely dramatic, and I have never seen so crowded a court preserve such absolute silence as during the half-hour of Mr.Wilde's cross-examination.
Crowded is hardly the term to apply to the courtroom; it was absolutely suffocatingly packed. According to Under-Sheriff Beard, who has much experience in these matters, no notable case of the last decade has attracted quite so many spectators and as the body of the Court was very much monopolized by briefless barristers and very juvenile juniors, the public gallery served as an overflow from the Bench and solicitors' table, and was jammed tight with notabilities of every description.
THE MARQUIS IN THE DOCK.
When Justice Henn Collins took his seat at half-past ten, the Marquis of Queensberry, whose blue hunting stock and closely trimmed muttonchop whiskers gave him a somewhat horsey appearance, moved from his position at the end of the solicitor's table, where he sat eying Mr. Wilde, who sat at the same place with an expression of grave anxiety in his heavy features, and stepped quietly into the dock where, refusing with quiet dignity the offer of a chair made to him, he stood throughout the long day.
As he stood there he, in company with the crowd in the Court, listened first to the indictment charging him with libelling Mr.O. Wilde on a card, and then after pleading justification, heard Sir Edward Clarke deliver the long statement with which the trial opened. From this it was seen "as through a glass darkly" what form the plea of justification was going to assume. After referring in eulogistic terms to the career of the prosecutor, and mentioning the circumstances under which he had formed Lord Alfred Douglas's acquaintance, Sir E. Clarke referred in careful terms to the blackmailing scandal in which Mr. Wilde had been concerned some two years ago, and which concerned itself with a letter written by him to Lord A. Douglas, which had found its way into the possession of a man named Wood with whom, as it subsequently appeared, Mr. Wilde had some acquaintance.
THE FOURTH LETTER.
Other letters addressed to the same person were given up by Wood to Mr. Wilde, who thereupon paid his passage to America and gave him some money in addition, but a fourth letter was kept back, a copy of it being subsequently sent anonymously to Mr. Beerbohm Tree, who Forwarded it on to Mr. Wilde. A man named Allen next brought the original of the fourth letter and wanted to sell it to Mr. Wilde, but Mr. Wilde refused saying: "I now have the copy, the original is of no use. I look upon it as a work of art. Now you have sent me a copy, I don't want the original."
He gave Allen half a sovereign and sent him away with the original, and to a man named Clyburn, who next came and returned Mr. Wilde the original, he gave another half sovereign. This letter, according to his counsel, Mr. Wilde regarded as a prose sonnet, and indeed, since then, in May, 1893, it had appeared in sonnet form in the Spirit Lamp, an aesthetic magazine edited by Lord A. Douglas. The letter was as follows, written from Torquay:-
My own dear boy-
Your sonnet is quite lovely and it is a marvel that those red roseleaf lips of yours should be made no less
for the music of song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim gilt soul walks between passion and poetry. I know that Hyacinthus, whom Apollo loved so
madly, was you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic
things and come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place; it only lacks you, but to Salisbury first. Always with undying love, yours
Oscar.
My own dear boy — Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red roseleaf lips of yours should be made no less for music of song than for 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, and 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.
My own dear boy — Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red roseleaf lips of yours should be made no less for music of song than for 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, and 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.
"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."
My own boy, — Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red roseleaf lips of yours should have been made no less for music of song than for madness of kisses. 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, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there to 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."
My own boy,—Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red roseleaf lips of yours should have been made no less for music of song than for madness of kisses. 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, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there to 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."
My Own Boy,—Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red rose-leaf lips of yours should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim-built 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, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things. Come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place, and only lacks you. But go to Salisbury first. Always with undying love.—Yours, Oscar.
My Own Boy, - Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red roseleaf lips of yours should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim gilt soul walks between passion and poetry. I know Hyacinthus who Apollo loved so madly was you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the gray twilight of Gothic things. Come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place, and only lacks you. But go to Salisbury first. Always with undying love. - Yours, OSCAR.
MY OWN BOY—Your sonnet is quite lovely and it is a marvel that those red roseleaf lips of yours should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim-built 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, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things. Come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place, and only lacks you. But go to Salisbury first. Always with undying love.—Yours, OSCAR.
My Own Boy,— Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red-roseleaf lips of yours should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim gilt soul walks between passion and poetry. I know Hyacinthus whom Apollo loved so madly was you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you go there and cool your hands in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place, and only lacks you. But go to Salisbury first. Always with undying love.—Yours, OSCAR.
My Own Boy—Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red roseleaf lips of yourself should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim-built 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, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things. Come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place, and only lacks you. But go to Salisbury first. Always with undying love.—Yours, Oscar.
My own boy,—Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red roseleaf lips of yours should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim-built soul walks between passion and poetry. No Hyacinthus followed love so madly as you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things. Come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place, and only lacks you. But go to Salisbury first. Always with undying love yours, Oscar.
"My own Boy, - Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red-rose leaf lips of yours should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim-built soul walks between passion and poetry. No Hyacinthus followed Love so madly as you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the gray twilight of Gothic things. Come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place and only lacks you. But go to Salisbury first. Always with undying love, Yours, Oscar."
"My Own boy,-Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red-roseleaf lips of yours should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim-built soul walks between passion and poetry. No Hyacinthus followed Love and so madly as you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things. Come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place and only lacks you. But go to Salisbury first. Always with undying love. -Yours, OSCAR."
My Own Boy,—Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red-roseleaf lips of yours should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim-gilt soul walks between passion and poetry. I know Hyacinthus loved by Apollo was you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things. Come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place and only lacks you. But go to Salisbury first. Always with undying love.—Yours, Oscar.
"Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red-roseleaf lips of yours should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim-built soul walks between passion and poetry. No Hyacinthus followed Love so madly as you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the grey twilight of Gothic things. Come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place and only lacks you. But go to Salisbury first. Always with undying love.—YOURS, OSCAR."
"My own Boy--Your sonnet is quite lovely, and it is a marvel that those red-roseleaf lips should be made no less for the madness of music and song than for the madness of kissing. Your slim-built soul walks between passion and poetry. No Hyacinthus followed Love so madly as you in Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do go there and cool your hands in the gray twilight of Gothic-things. Come here whenever you like. It is a lovely place and only lacks you. But go to Salisbury first. Always with undying love, Yours, OSCAR."
My Dear Boy: Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your rose-leaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks betweens poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London and when do you go to. Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of the Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first. With undying love, OSCAR.
"My dear boy: Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your rose-leaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first."
"MY DEAR BOY: Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your rose-leaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like but go to Salisbury first."
My Dear Boy - Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your roseleaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first.
"My Dear Boy,- Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your rose-leaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first."
My Dear Boy, - Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your roseleaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first.
My Dear Boy: Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your rose-leaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first.
"MY OWN BOY: Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your rose-leaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first."
"My dear boy - Your sonnet is quite lively. Your roseleaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first."
"My dear boy - Your sonnet is quite lively. Your roseleaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first."
"MY DEAR BOY: Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your rose-leaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who loved Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first."
"MY DEAR BOY Your sonnet is quite lovely. your roseleaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim. gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come where whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first."
"My Dear Boy: Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your roseleaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim-gill soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthu, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first."
Mr Dear Boy: Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your roseleaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was like you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London, and when do you go to Salisbury? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first.
"My dear boy: Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your roseleaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks betweens poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London and when do you go to. Salisbury? Do you sleep fih the gray twilight of the Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first."
"My Dear Boy--Your sonnet is quite lovely. Your roseleaf lips seem made no less for the music of song than for the madness of kisses. Your slim, gilt soul walks between poetry and passion. I know that Hyacinthus, who was loved by Apollo, was you in the Greek days. Why are you alone in London and when you do you go to Swisburne? Do you sleep in the gray twilight of Gothic things? Come here whenever you like, but go to Salisbury first."
THE MARQUIS AT THE ST. JAMES'S.
In mentioning later on the fact that the Marquis went to St. James's Theatre on the first night of "The Importance of Being Earnest," carrying a bouquet of vegetables he was refused admittance, Sir E. Clarke suggested that there was doubt as to whether the Marquis was always responsible for his actions. He then took up the last two statements added to the plea of justification, which were to the effect that Mr. Wilde in July, 1890, wrote and published a certain immoral obscene work in the form of a narrative entitled The Picture of Dorian Grey, and that in December, 1894, was published a certain other immoral and obscene work in the form of a magazine, entitled The Chameleon, which contained divers obscene matters, and that he contributed thereto certain immoral maxims as the introduction to the same under the title of "Phrases and Philosophies for the Use of the Young."
The gist of this last accusation, as Sir Edward pointed out, was that one contribution to the magazine in question was entitled "The Priest and the Acolyte," which was of such nature that even Mr. Wilde's counsel characterized it as a disgrace to literature, expressing his amazement that anyone should write it, and his still greater announcement that any decent publishers should publish it. Sir Edward wound up his address by giving with effective skill, which did not, however (as he was careful later on to make clear) quite satisfy Mr. Wilde's artistic judgment, a synopsis of the plot of Dorian Grey, which he said was the story of a young man of good birth, great wealth and much personal beauty.
Certainly, the vices in which this youth eventually indulges were hinted at, said Sir Edward, but he should be surprised if his learned friend could point to any passage which did more than describe, as novelists and dramatists must, passions and vice of life which they might desire to reproduce in a work of art.
EVIDENCE OF THE LIBEL.
This ended Sir Edward's address, and after calling the porter of the Albemarle Club to give formal evidence as to the publication of the libel, Mr. O. Wilde was asked to step into the witness box. He strode deliberately thereinto and occupied a few seconds after he sworn in arranging, in convenient proximity to his elbow, a glass of water. He then lounged over the rail of the stand, as I have already said, in a clumsy posture, clasping his hands nervously in font of him over a pair of dogskin gloves he held, and occasionally wiping his forehead with his hand or with his handkerchief.
He was asked to take a seat but preferred the ungraceful posture which I have described. Close behind him sat the fragile-looking Lord A. Douglas and the sturdier and more manly looking Lord Douglas of Hawick. With an occasional suggestion of flippancy he bore out the opening statement of his counsel as regards Lord Alfred and his dealings with the alleged blackmailers. He then detailed the incidents if the call made upon him by Lord Queensberry at his Tite-Street residence in 1894, in course of which he said to him: "Lord Queensberry, do you seriously accuse your son and me?" to which the Marquis replied: "I do not say you are what people allege, but you look it and you pose as it, which is just as bad."
THREATENED TO TRASH HIM.
At this Lord Queensberry, from his place in the dock, smiled gently and the crowd in the Court burst into a murmur of applause, which was instantly suppressed at the stern instance of the judge. According to the prosecutor the interview ended by Lord Queensberry threatening to trash him if he caught him at any public restaurant with his son, and Mr. Wilde replied: "I don't know what the Queensberry rules are, but the Wilde rules are to shoot at sight."
With regard to the Chameleon Mr. Wilde said he had no connection with it, except as a contributor, and disapproved of "The Priest and the Acolyte."
Mr. Carson, in quietly measured but perceptibly Irish accent, then took the witness in hand. Mr. Wilde had given his age as thirty-nine: It appeared from a birth certificate that he was over forty, and that when he first made the acquaintance of Lord Alfred Douglas the latter was twenty or twenty-one. It appeared that the two had stayed together not only at Oxford, Brighton, Worthing, Cromer and other country places, but also at various London hotels and had also stopped in chambers in St. James's-place, occupied by Mr. Wilde in addition to his house in Tite-street, while he had also been abroad several times. When asked whether he approved of Lord Alfred's two poems published in The Chameleon, one of which was entitled "In Praise of Shame," Mr. Wilde replied that he thought them exceedingly beautiful poems, but in the face of extracts read therefrom that there was nothing immoral in them. He did not even think "The Priest and the Acolyte" immoral, but that it was worse; it was badly written. He would not call it blasphemous, however, but only disgusting twaddle. He had never publicly disclaimed connection with The Chameleon.
CROSS-EXAMINED ON "DORIAN GREY."
For nearly an hour Mr. Carson cross-examined Mr. Wilde upon his own book of Dorian Grey, the cross-examination eliciting from Mr.
Wilde such would-be epigrammatic statements as that: views belong to people who are not artists," "I have no knowledge of the ordinary individual,"
"everything
I write is extraordinary," "I have never given adoration to anyone but myself," "I have never been jealous," "I do not think anything I
have ever written is true," and so forth and so on.
His remark that everything he wrote was extraordinary was called forth by the reading of a letter from him to Lord Alfred, which began--
Savoy Hotel
Dearest of all boys,
Your letter was delightful red and yellow wine to me, for I am sad and out of
sorts.
And ended--
My bill here is £49 for a week, but why are you not here, my dear own boy? Fear I must leave. No money, no credit, and a
heart of lead.
From your own
Oscar.
In regard to one of the alleged blackmailers, named Wood, Mr. Wilde admitted he had met him at the Cafe Royal, and on the first night he saw him he took him to supper in a private room at the Hotel Florence, in Rupert-street, and gave him £2, though he was neither an artist nor a literary man, nor a man of his own social position. He also admitted that afterwards he gave Wood £2, with which to go to America. He also gave him a farewell luncheon. He called Wood Alfred and Wood called him Oscar, as did also the other blackmailer Taylor. He also admitted that none of his many letters to Alfred save the one which was discovered had been subsequently turned into sonnets or characterised by him as prose poems. All the letters, however, were beautiful.
FURTHER CROSS-EXAMINATION.
Leaving discussion of Mr. Wilde's literature aside for the moment Mr. Carson proceeded to question him as to his intimacy with a young man in the employment of Messrs. Elkin Matthew and John Lane, publishers of the Yellow Book. Mr. Wilde objected to the youth being termed an office boy, but admitted he was very fond of him and had taken him to the theatre, to the Lyric Club, to the Cafe Royal and to a private room at Kettmans' and also the Albemarle Hotel, and had on various occasions given him money.
He also admitted he knew a lad at Worthing, named Alfonso Conway, who, according to Mr. Carson, sold newspapers at that place and "enjoyed himself in being idle." He was a lad of no literary ambition and of but little education. He had given him a suit of clothes, a walking stick, which was produced in court, a straw hat, which was likewise on exhibit, and a cigarette case and a photograph of himself, not to make him look like his equal, "for he could never look like that, but because he was a pleasant nice creature."
THE CASE ADJOURNED
At this point the case was adjourned, the defendant, somewhat significantly, being allowed to depart on his own recognisances in the sum of £500, a reduction from the former bail of £2,000.
The enormous crowd then filtered out of the stuffy court-room to spread the gossip and striking features of the day's hearing in every direction. Among the minor incidents worth notice I may mention a curious slip made by Sir Edward Clarke in his opening, when he referred to the defendant as Lord Rosebery and lost his temper to such an extent that he testily admonished the spectators for tittering at his mistake.
I may also refer to the calmness with which Mr. Wilde answered question after question, which must to all appearance seriously damage his case. Finally the extreme cleverness of Mr. Carson's cross-examination was the general theme of admiration. The dramatic manner in which he at first played around the more trivial affairs of Mr. Wilde's books and articles, as if these were of chief importance, and finally brought out his really serious points with sledgehammer directness and solemnity, was regarded by his fellow barristers as masterly.
Naturally rumors of all sorts were flying round last night, some of them connecting, so far as could be found, names of various prominent people with the case. The most important and most apparently vague was to the effect that Mr. Wilde left London by the night mail to Dover on his way to Ostend. It is at least certain that Mr. Wilde was to be found last night neither at Tite-street nor at any of his usual resorts.
At one o'clock this morning Lord Queensberry had heard nothing definite either in confirmation or denial of the rumor.