The Chicago Tribune - Monday, July 1, 1895

ALONE WITH A BIBLE.
HOW OSCAR WILDE SPENDS HIS TIME
IN PENTONVILLE PRISON.
Many Stories He Has Lost His Mind, but
He Has Not - Seldom Roused from a
Dazed, Trance-like Condition in Which
He Remains Most of the Time - Tried
on the Treadwheel, but Falls in a
Swoon - His Characteristic Interview
with the Prison Chaplain.

London, June 21. - [New York World Letter.] - How is Oscar Wilde bearing the strain of his new life as a convict in dreary Pentonville prison? is the question often asked nowadays by thousands over here who were edified or scandalized by his epigrams, said or written. So far there has been no authentic answer. It has come in the way of the present writer to find out something about it that can be relied upon, as it comes from the best possible source. A interesting and, in one way terrible, story it makes. The cell into which they put him is very small, perfectly bare, made even more hideous by a rough coating of whitewash. There is a wretched hard bed and a table, with no cloth to cover its plain board top. On the table is the only literature permitted him - a copy of the Bible. He must read this or he may not read at all.

He rises at 6 a.m., and before breakfast he must clean his cell, sweep it, make the bed, and in every way get it into condition for the sharp eyes of the inspector. Then, at 7:30, he has breakfast. At 8:45 he goes to prayers, standing in the files with several hundred other convicts, and compelled to an attitude of reverence. At noon he has his two course dinner, which varies regularly with the day of the week. At 6 p.m. he has supper, a daily repetition of the frugal breakfast. Between supper and bed he may meditate as he sits in his cell or he may read the Bible. At 8:30 p.m. lights must be out and every convict, including Convict Wilde, must be stretched out in bed.

In a Trance-Like Condition.

There have been many stories that he has lost his mind. But the truth is he is still sane, but in a dazed, trance-like condition, from which he is seldom roused.

The first time he showed any signs of a realization of the depth to which he has sunk was the second day of his imprisonment, when he was put upon the treadwheel. The second day, Wilde, dazed and automatic, was led out and put upon the wheel. Mechanically he trod the steps for 15 minutes, took the five minutes’ rest, and began again. In the second fifteen minutes he stopped, threw up his arms, gave vent to a horrible scream of anguish, and fell in a swoon. The prison surgeon examined him and said his heart was in such a condition it would be dangerous to put him on the wheel again. So Wilde is allowed to sit in his cell. They throw in a quantity of oakum every morning, but he need not pick it unless he wishes to do so. Of late he has begun to pick the oakum. Any occupation is better than sitting idle and thinking.

The second arousing came through their gentle, earnest old chaplain, the Rev. W. Frederick Stockton. Wilde had not been in Pentonville many days before the old clergyman pushed timidly into his cell.

Angry at the Intrusion.

Wilde, seated at the table with his face buried in his hands, glanced at the old man, saw his occupation in the cut of his cloth, and flushed angrily.

"What do you mean by intruding yourself upon me?" he demanded.

"I hope you are not unrepentant," the old clergyman ventured.

Wilde jumped to his feet in a rage. "Unrepentant?" he said angrily; "What do you mean? How dare you insult me in this fashion? I am innocent of the crimes of which I am accused. You will kindly leave me alone."

Mr. Stockton insisted no further. He is waiting now for Wilde to get to work at the Bible. He feels that sooner or later he must read it, and, reading, soften to a more receptive frame of mind. Wilde still has friends who believe in his innocence, among them several women well known as writers. Oscar Wilde's wife is not one of these believers in him. She has taken another name, and with the children has gone away to a quiet place on the continent.

Wilde will not hear from the outside world for three months. Many people believe he will go mad long before that time. But others think, and with reason, he is so facile an adaptable he will gradually and easily slip into the prison routine and get his mind balanced by the entertainment his well-stored memory and vigorous imagination can give him.