Auckland Star - Saturday, June 8, 1895
This report was originally published in English. Machine translations may be available in other languages.
LONDON TABLE TALK.
(From Our Special Correspondent.)
London, April 26.
IN THE DOCK.
The apostle of culture, whose dicta on Art (don't forget the big A) have for nearly a quarter of a century been accepted unchallenged by one of the largest sections of London society, stands to-day in the dock at the grimy, grisly and painfully prosaic Old Bailey. The historic fall of Humpty Dumpty was a trifle to Oscar Wilde's, but the catastrophes are alike in one respect. Not all the Queen's horses nor all the Queen's men could set this fallen prophet on his pedestal again. The jury may conceivably (though I don't think it likely) refuse to convict him on the evidence of such creatures as Parker, Mavor, and Company; but the public have already tried and sentenced the man, and whether found innocent or guilty at the Central Criminal Court, his doom is sealed. How he could live if acquitted, I can't imagine. Bankrupt in money and friends, and with his remarkable literary and dramatic gifts rendered valueless and his notorious personality become a curse to him, where could he go–what asylum could he seek? The British public, now passing through one of its occasional spasms of rigid puritanism, won't even read the accused man's art criticisms or be entertained by his innocent plays. These were in the height of prosperous runs when Wilde was arrested, and (business having fallen to nothing) both were taken off.
The apostle of culture, whose dicta on Art (don't forget the big A) have for nearly a quarter of a century been accepted unchallenged by one of the largest sections of London society, stands to-day in the dock at the grimy, grisly, and painfully prosaic Old Bailey. The historic fall of Humpty Dumpty was a trifle to Oscar Wilde's, but the catastrophes are alike in one respect. Not all the queen's horses nor all the queen's men could set this fallen prophet on his pedestal again. The jury may conceivably — though I don't think it likely — refuse to convict him on the evidence by such unspeakable swine as Parker, Mavor, and Co. But the public have already tried and sentenced the man, and whether found innocent or guilty at the Central Criminal Court his doom is sealed. How he could live if acquitted I can't imagine. Bankrupt in money and friends, and with his remarkable literary and dramatic gifts rendered valueless, and his notorious personality become a curse to him, where could he go? What asylum could he seek? The British public now passing through one of its occasional spasms of rigid puritanism won't even read the accused man's art criticisms or be entertained by his innocent plays. These were in the height of prosperous runs when Wilde was arrested, and, business having fallen to nothing, both were taken off.
The apostle of culture, whose dicta on Art (don't forget the big A) have for nearly a quarter of a century been accepted unchallenged by one of the largest sections of London society, stands to-day in the dock at the grimy, grisly, and painfully prosaic Old Bailey. The historic fall of Humpty Dumpty was a trifle to Oscar Wilde's, but the catastrophes are alike in one respect. Not all the queen's horses nor all the queen's men could set this fallen prophet on his pedestal again. The jury may conceivably — though I don't think it likely — refuse to convict him on the evidence by such unspeakable swine as Parker, Mavor, and Co. But the public have already tried and sentenced the man, and whether found innocent or guilty at the Central Criminal Court his doom is sealed. How he could live if acquitted I can't imagine. Bankrupt in money and friends, and with his remarkable literary and dramatic gifts rendered valueless, and his notorious personality become a curse to him, where could he go? What asylum could he seek? The British public now passing through one of its occasional spasms of rigid puritanism won't even read the accused man's art criticisms or be entertained by his innocent plays. These were in the height of prosperous runs when Wilde was arrested, and, business having fallen to nothing, both were taken off.
The apostle of culture, whose dicta on Art (don't forget the big A) have for nearly a quarter of a century been accepted unchallenged by one of the largest sections of London society, stands to day in the dock at the grimy, grisly, and painfully prosaic Old Bailey. The historic fall of Humpty Dumpty was a trifle compared to Oscar Wilde's, but the catastrophes are alike in one respect. Not all the Queen's horses nor all the Queen's men could set this fallen prophet on his pedestal again. The jury may conceivably (though I don't think it is likely) refuse to convict him on the evidence of such unspeakable swine as Parker, Mavor, and Co; but the public have already tried and sentenced the man, and whether found innocent or guilty at the Central Criminal Court his doom is sealed. How he could live if acquitted I can't imagine. Bankrupt in money and friends, and with his remarkable literary and dramatic gifts rendered valueless and his notorious personality become a curse to him, where could he go, what asylum could he seek? The British Public, now passing through one of its occasional spasms of rigid puritanism, won't even read the accused man's criticisms or be entertained by his innocent plays. These were in the height of prosperous runs when Wilde was arrested and arraigned, and business having fallen to nothing, both were taken off.