The Evening Star - Saturday, July 20, 1895
This report was originally published in English. Machine translations may be available in other languages.
OUR LONDON LETTER.
ANGLO-COLONIAL NOTES.
Had Oscar Wilde escaped through a second disagreement of the jury (even his relatives did not anticipate an acquittal) it was arranged he should start at once for Australia with Percy Douglas (otherwise Lord Douglas, of Hawick), and reside somewhere quietly "up country" till time had obscured folks' memories of the recent scandals. But though "the mills of God grind slowly they grid exceeding small." Twenty-five years' immunity did not mean Wilde was to escape the fruit of his evil deeds. The great law of retribution was steadily working itself out. A mistaken sense of safety begot a suicidal carelessness, and his colossal vanity and overweening self-confidence actually led at last to the wretched man complacently slipping over his neck the noose which has strangled him for ever. Let me dismiss the subject here with an apropos quotation from an article by the convict himself in the 'Nineteenth Century': "The things people say of a man," wrote Oscar, "do not alter a man. He is what he is. Public opinion is of no value whatever. After all, even in prison a man can be free—his soul can be free. His personality can be untroubled. He can be at peace." Let us hope, for his own sake, that Wilde may be able to practically demonstrate the truth of these statements. Conscience, one has heard, makes cowards even of philosophers.
Had Oscar Wilde escaped through a second disagreement of the jury — even his relatives did not anticipate an acquittal — it was arranged he should start at once for Australia with Percy Douglas (otherwise Lord Douglas of Hawick) and reside somewhere quietly "up country" till time had obscured folks' memories of the recent scandals. But though "the mills of God grind slowly they grind exceeding small." Twenty-five years immunity did not mean Wilde was to escape the fruits of his evil deeds. The great law of retribution was steadily working itself out. A mistaken sense of safety begot a suicidal carelessness, and his colossal vanity and overweening self-confidence actually led at last to the wretched man complacently slipping over his neck the noose which has strangled him for ever. Let me dismiss the subject here with an apropos quotation from an article by the unhappy convict himself in the Nineteenth Century: — "The things people say of a man," wrote Oscar Wilde, "do not alter a man. He is what he is. Public opinion is of no value whatever. After all, even in prison, a man can be free. His soul can be free. His personality can be untroubled. He can be at peace." Let us hope, for his own sake, Wilde may be able to practically demonstrate the truth of these sentiments. Conscience, one has heard, makes cowards even of philosophers.