Taranaki Herald - Monday, June 3, 1895
This report was originally published in English. Machine translations may be available in other languages.
LATE LONDON SCANDAL.
THE LAST ABOUT OSCAR WILDE.
A London correspondent of one of our contemporaries writes:—"I am not going to touch upon the details of the Oscar Wilde case, which has simply poisoned the moral atmosphere of London during the last fortnight. But it is impossible to help reflecting on the extraordinary—the dramatic—change in a man's fortunes which the case reveals. It was my fortune to be present a short time ago at a first night of one of his most successful plays, and I had a chance also of observing for a few moments how he behaved in the dock at Bow-street. No dramatist has ever imagined a greater or more tragic change. In the one case he stood here triumphant, looking condescendingly at the crowded and applauding audience, especially at the well-dressed people in the stalls and boxes, with a lighted cigarette between his fingers and a smile which seemed to say, "It is kind of you, my good people to applaud me in this way, but I quite know my own deserts. You can hardly expect me to excite myself." And in the other case, there he was, an abject prisoner, trying hard to keep up an air of nonchalance, rather roughly treated by the police, and spoken of as "Wilde" and "this man Wilde" by magistrate and counsel. A haggard, unhappy creature he seemed, with dark rims under his eyes, and lines which told of a sleepless night in the police cell, which must have contrasted so strongly with the luxurious abodes to which he was accustomed. People have wondered much how he ever had the audacity to bring his libel action against Lord Queensberry, more especially as these scandals have been socially current for years.
I am not going to touch upon the details of the Oscar Wilde case, which has simply poisoned the moral atmosphere of London during the last fortnight. But it is impossible to help reflecting on the extraordinary—the dramatic—change in a man's fortunes which this case reveals. It was my fortune to be present a short time ago at a first night of one of his most successful plays, and I had a chance also of observing for a few moments how he behaved in the dock at Bow-street. No dramatist has ever imagined a greater or more tragic change. In the one case he stood there triumphant, looking condescendingly at the crowded, and applauding audience, especially at the well-dressed people in the stalls and boxes, with a lighted cigarette between his fingers and a smile which seemed to say, "It is kind of you, my good people, to applaud me in this way, but I quite know my own deserts. You can hardly expect me to excite myself." And in the other case there he was, an abject prisoner, trying hard to keep up an air of nonchalance, rather roughly treated by the police, and spoken to and of as "Wilde" and "this man Wilde" by magistrate and prosecuting counsel. A haggard, unhappy creature he seemed, with dark rims under his eyes, and lines which told of a sleepless night in the police cell, which must have contrasted so strongly with the luxurious abodes to which he was accustomed. People have wondered much how he ever had the audacity to bring his libel action against Lord Queensberry, more especially as these scandals have been socially current for years.
SPEAKING of a now notorious convict, the London correspondent of a contemporary says: - I am not going to touch upon the details of the Oscar Wilde case, which has simply poisoned the moral atmosphere of London during the last fortnight. But it is impossible to help reflecting on the extraordinary - the dramatic - change in a man's fortunes which this case reveals. It was my fortune to be present a short time ago at a first night of one of his most successful plays, and I had a chance also of observing for a few moments how he behaved in the dock at Bow-street. No dramatist has ever imagined a greater or more tragic change. In one case he stood there triumphant, looking condescendingly at the crowded and applauding audience, especially at the well-dressed people in the stalls and boxes, with a lighted cigarette between his fingers and a smile which seemed to say, "It is kind of you, my good people, to applaud me in this way, but I quite know my own deserts. You can hardly expect me to excite myself." And in the other case he was an abject prisoner, trying hard to keep up an air of nonchalance, rather roughly treated by the police, and spoken to and of as "Wilde" and "this man Wilde" by magistrate and prosecuting counsel. A haggard, unhappy creature he seemed, with dark rims under his eyes, and lines which told of a sleepless night in a police cell, which must have contrasted so strongly with the luxurious abodes to which he was accustomed. People have wondered much how he ever had the audacity to bring his libel action against Lord Queensberry, more especially as these scandals have been socially current for years.
But something must be allowed for the over-weening conceit of the man. There is no doubt that he entered the box fully convinced in his own mind that his wits would be more than a match for the counsel engaged to confront him. he did make a very pretty display of wit. But he had mistaken the man he had to deal with in the old class-fellow of his Trinity College (Dublin) days, whom he probably remembered as a rather dull fellow. Mr Carson may be rather deficient in finesse and mental agility, but for dogged, merciless, insistent cross-examination we we have few lawyers now who can equal the "evicting" Irish Q.C. who has recently turned his attention to the English Bar. The truth is that Oscar Wilde has proved to be somewhat of a lath painted to look like an iron, and his sangfroid, which served up to a certain point, has been a poor support in a real emergency. I suppose some people think that we have lost an ornament to literature and the drama; but I confess to never having been able to see his importance to either, in spite of the flippant wit which nobody can deny to him."
But something must be allowed for the over weening conceit of the man. There is no doubt that he entered the box fully convinced in his own mind that [..]its would be more than a match for the co[...] engaged to confront him. He did make a very pretty display of wit. But he had mistaken the man he had to deal with in the old class-fellow of his Trinity College (Dublin) days, whom he probably remembered as a rather dull fellow. Mr. Carson may be rather deficient in finesse and mental agility, but for dogged, merciless, insistent cross-examination we have few lawyers now who can equal the "evicting" Irish Q.C. who has recently turned his attention to the English Bar. The truth is that Oscar Wilde has proved to be somewhat of a lath painted to look like iron, and his sangfroid, which served him up to a certain point, has been a poor support in a real emergency. I suppose some people think that we have lost an ornament to literature and the drama; but I confess to never having been able to see his importance to either, in spite of the flippant wit which nobody can deny to him.