The Boston Globe - Sunday, August 25, 1895
This report was originally published in English. Machine translations may be available in other languages.
OSCAR WILDE IN PRISON.
Paris Correspondent, Who Says He Has
Seen Him, Describes the Crumbling of
the
Once Petted Apostle of Aestheti-
cism - A Painful Picture.
The London correspondent for a Paris paper has had the good fortune to see Oscar Wilde as he is in Wormwood Scrubs prison, but was not permitted to talk with him. This is how the representative of the press found him.
The London correspondent for a Paris paper has had the good fortune to see Oscar Wilde as he is in Wormwood Scrubs prison, but was not permitted to talk with him. This is how the representative of the press found him.
It is 10 o'clock. At the first stroke of the bell the heavy oaken door is opened and a large dimly lighted hall opens to our view. The warden’s clerk tells me that Wilde is now on his way from the chapel to the courtyard, where he encounters no one, but is nevertheless under constant and vigilant espionage. As soon as he arrives in the courtyard the doors seem to close automatically, and a solitary silent guard is stationed near the door to watch the promenader.
It is 10 o’clock. At the first stroke of the bell the heavy oaken door is opened, and a large, dimly lighted hall opens to our view. The Warden’s clerk tells me that Wilde is now on his way from the chapel to the courtyard, where he encounters no one, but is nevertheless under constant and vigilant espionage. As soon as he arrives in the courtyard the doors seem to close automatically, and a solitary silent guard is stationed near the door to watch the promenader.
It is 10 o'clock. At the first stroke of the bell the heavy oaken door is opened and a large, dimly lighted hall opens to our view. The warden’s clerk tells us that Wilde is now on his way from the chapel to the courtyard, where he encounters no one, but is nevertheless under constant and vigilant espionage. As soon as he arrives in the courtyard the doors seem to close automatically, and a solitary, silent guard is stationed near the door to watch the promenader.
We have a good view of him already as he slowly descends the heavy staircase near the oaken door. He walks in his stocking feet, holds his sabots in his left hand, and glides his right over the balustrade. On the threshold of the open door he steps into his wooden shoes, and descends to the courtyard. A sharp whistle and the door is closed. This is Wilde.
We have a good view of him already as he slowly descends the heavy staircase near the oaken door. He walks in his stocking feet, holds his sabots in his left hand and glides his right over the balustrade. On the threshold of the oaken door he steps into his wooden shoes and descends to the courtyard. A sharp whistle and the door is closed. This is Wilde.
We have a good view of him already as he slowly descends the heavy staircase near the oaken door. He walks in his stocking feet, holds his sabots in his left hand, and glides his right over the balustrade. On the threshold of the oaken door he steps into his wooden shoes and descends to the courtyard. A sharp whistle and the door is closed. This is Wilde.
In his first movements he draws himself to his full length, stretches his arms, then removes his cap. I can hardly recognize the erstwhile genteel personage. He has not grown thin. To me he appeared even larger and more broad-shouldered than in his better days, and I believe that he has gained in averdupois. Yet the change is awful. That unnatural yellow paleness, the hideously shaven face, the shorn locks, made all the difference. What a stupid contrast - this expressionless, stupid, bloated physiognomy, with its prison tonsure and discolored flesh, to the buoyant countenance, flushed with success and happiness which I beheld five years before in Stratford!
In his first movements he draws himself to his full length, stretches his arms, then removes his cap. I can hardly recognize the erstwhile genteel personage. He has not grown thin. To me he appeared even larger and more broad shouldered than in his better days, and I believe that he has gained in avoirdupois. Yet the change is awful. That unnatural yellow paleness, the hideously shaven face, the shorn locks, made all the difference. What a contrast - this expressionless, stupid, bloated physiognomy, with its prison tonsure and discolored flesh, to the buoyant countenance flushed with success and happiness which I beheld five years before in Stratford.
In his first movements he draws himself to his full length, stretches his arms, then removes his cap. I can hardly recognize the erstwhile genteel personage. He has not grown thin. To me he appeared even larger and more broad-shouldered than in his better days, and I believe that he has gained in avoirdupois. Yet the change is awful. That unnatural yellow paleness, the hideously shaven face, the shorn locks, made all the difference. What a contrast—this expressionless, stupid, bloated physiognomy, with its prison tonsure and discolored flesh, to the buoyant countenance, flushed with success and happiness, which I beheld five years before in Stratford!
The prisoner now begins his exercise, first with a brisk trot with the object of using his time - one hour per week - to the best advantage; then slower, and finally, it is changed to a languid step.
The prisoner now begins his exercise, first with a brisk trot with the object of using his time—one hour per week—to the best advantage; then slower, and, finally, it is changed to a languid step.
There is a small shade near the wall, and under it a stone bench. Wilde sits down. His movements are like those of a man who thinks himself alone, unobserved.
There is a small shade near the wall, and under it a stone bench. Wilde sits down. His movements are like those of a man who thinks himself alone unobserved.
Finally he seems thoroughly fatigued, his head falls back against the wall and he falls asleep.
Finally he seems thoroughly fatigued, his head falls back against the wall and he falls asleep.
At first we doubt it, and think he is only resting, but his regular respirations soon undeceive us.
At first we doubt it, and think he is only resting, but his regular respirations soon undeceive us.
Poor devil! Has he not suffered enough? We think so in France, and surely England’s morals are nothing to brag of that it should continue to throw stones at this fallen apostle.
Poor devil! Has he not suffered enough? We think so in France, and surely England’s morals are nothing to brag of that it should continue to throw stones at this fallen apostle.
Released or in prison, society has forever discarded him, and in his own body and soul he carries to his dying hour the rewards of his misdeeds.
Released or in prison, society has forever discarded him, and in his own body and soul he carries to his dying hour the rewards of his misdeeds.
Let mercy prevent his further degradation and ruin!