The San Francisco Examiner - Sunday, April 14, 1895
This report was originally published in English. Machine translations may be available in other languages.
OSCAR WILDE DOOMED.
His Case Is So Black That No Power
Can Save Him From Prison.
NEW YORK, April 13. - The Sun's London correspondent cables: The blow to English national pride inflicted by the exposure of the Oscar Wilde infamies is still producing the strongest manifestations of resentment, shame and alarm in all classes of society. Public curiosity to know the details of the long series of crimes alleged against the prisoner in the Police Court has much abated. Interest is keener than ever, however, in the pursuit of others in high places whom rumor associates with the same black crew. Inquiry is especially directed toward a prominent member of the House of Lords who has left his country for the country's good and who, even if he escapes the fate now hanging over Wilde, will never again enter society.
The blow to English national pride inflicted by the exposure of the Oscar Wilde infamies is still producing the strongest manifestations of resentment, shame and alarm in all classes of society. Interest is keener than ever in the pursuit of others in high places, whom common rumor associates with the same black crew. The inquiry is especially directed toward a prominent member of the house of lords, who has left the country for his country's good, and who, even if he escapes the fate now hanging over Wilde, will never again enter the society of which, 10 days ago, he was a leading member.
Wilde's doom is regarded as sealed. His case is so hopeless that some of the more charitable of those formerly his friends are showing a little pity for the miserable creature, pity based solely on his assumption that his responsibility is somewhat lessened by mental disease. Thus Mr. Labouchere, who has known him for years, says that he has always regarded him as somewhat wrong in the head. The editor of Truth adds: "So strange and wondrous is his mind when in an abnormal condition that it would not surprise me if he were deriving keen enjoyment from a position which most people, whether innocent or guilty, would prefer to die rather than to occupy. He must have known in what a glass house he lived when he challenged investigation in a court of justice. After he had done this he went abroad. Why did he not stay abroad? The possibilities of prison may not be pleasing to him, but I believe the notoriety that has overtaken him has such a charm for him that it outweighs everything else."
His case is so hopeless that some of the more charitable of those formerly his friends are showing a little pity for the miserable creature, pity based solely on the assumption that his responsibility is somewhat lessened by mental disease. Thus Mr. Labouchere who has known him for years, says that he has always regarded him as somewhat wrong in the head. The editor of Truth adds: "So strange and wondrous is his mind when in an abnormal condition, that it would not surprise me if he were deriving keen enjoyment from a position which most people, whether innocent or guilty, would prefer to die rather than to occupy. He must have known in what a glass house he lived when he challenged investigation in a Court of Justice. After he had done this he went abroad. Why did he not stay abroad? The possibilities of prison may not be pleasing to him, but I believe the notoriety that has overtaken him has such a charm for him that it outweighs everything else."
His case is so hopeless that some of the more charitable of those formerly his friends are showing a little pity for the miserable creature, pity based solely on the assumption that his responsibility is somewhat lessened by mental disease. Thus Labouchere, who has known him for years, says that he has always regarded him as somewhat wrong in the head. The editor of Truth adds: "So strange and wondrous is his mind when in an abnormal condition that it would not surprise me if he were deriving keen enjoyment from a position which most people, whether innocent or guilty, would prefer to die rather than occupy. He must have known in what a glass house he lived when he challenged investigation in the court of justice. After he had done this he went abroad. Why did he not stay abroad? The possibilities of prison may not be pleasing to him, but I believe the notoriety that has overtaken him has such a charm for him that it outweighs everything else."
An incident which Mr. Labouchere quotes, however, tends to show much method in Wilde's madness for notoriety. "I remember in the early days of the cult of æstheticism hearing some one ask him how a man of his undoubted capacity could make such a fool of himself. He gave this explanation: He had written, he said, a book of poems. In vain he went from publisher to publisher asking them to bring them out. Not one would even read them for he was unknown. In order to find a publisher he felt he must do something to become a personality. So he hit upon æstheticism. It succeeded. People talked about him and invited him to their houses as a sort of lion. He then took his poems to a publisher, who, still without reading them, gladly accepted them."
An incident which Mr. Labouchere quotes, however, tends to show much method in Wilde's madness for notoriety. "I remember in the early days of the cult of æstheticism hearing someone ask him how a man of his undoubted capacity could make such a fool of himself. He gave this explanation: He had written, he said, a book of poems. In vain he went from publisher to publisher asking them to bring them out. Not one would even read them for he was unknown. In order to find a publisher he felt he must do something to become a personality. So he hit upon æstheticism. It succeeded. People talked about him and invited him to their houses as a sort of lion. He then took his poems to a publisher who, still without reading them, gladly accepted them."
I remember, in the early days of the cult of aestheticism, hearing some one ask him how a man of his undoubted capacity could make such a fool of himself. He gave this explanation. He had written, he said, a book of poems, and he believed in their excellence. In vain he went from publisher to publisher asking them to bring them out; not one would even read them, for he was unknown. In order to find a publisher he felt that he must do something to become a personality. So he hit upon aestheticism. It succeeded. People talked about him; they invited him to their houses as a sort of lion. He then took his poems to a publisher, who—still without reading them—gladly accepted them.
I remember in the early days of the cult of aestheticism, hearing someone ask him how a man of his undoubted capacity could make such a fool of himself. He gave his explanation. He had written, he said, a book of poems, and he believed in their excellence. In vain he went from publisher to publisher asking them to bring them out; not one would even read them, for he was unknown. In order to find a publisher he felt that he must do something to become a personality. So he hit upon aestheticism. It succeeded. People talked about him; they invited him to their homes as a sort of lion. He then took his poems to a publisher, who—still without reading them—gladly accepted them.
In the early days of the cult of aestheticism someone asked Oscar Wilde how a man of his undoubted capacity could make such a fool of himself. He gave this explanation. He had written, he said, a book of poems, and he believed in their excellence. In vain he went from publisher to publisher asking them to bring them out; not one would even read them, for he was unknown. In order to find a publisher he felt that he must do something to become a personality. So he hit upon aestheticism. It succeeded. People talked about him; they invited him to their houses as a sort of lion. He then took his poems to a publisher, who—still without reading them—gladly accepted them.
In the early days of the cult of aestheticism some one asked Oscar Wilde how a man of his undoubted capacity could make such a fool of himself. He gave this explanation. He had written, he said, a book of poems, and he believed in their excellence. In vain he went from publisher to publisher asking them to bring them out; not one would even read them, for he was unknown. In order to find a publisher he felt that he must do something to become a personality. So he hit upon aestheticism. It succeeded. People talked about him; they invited him to their houses as a sort of lion. He then took his poems to a publisher, who—still without reading them—gladly accepted them.
In the early days of the cult of aestheticism someone asked Oscar Wilde how a man of his undoubted capacity could make such a fool of himself. He gave this explanation. He had written, he said, a book of poems, and he believed in their excellence. In vain he went from publisher to publisher asking them to bling them out; not one would even read them, for he was known. In order to find a published he felt that he must do something to become a personality. So he hit upon aestheticism. It succeeded. People talked about him; they invited him to their houses as a sort of lion. He then took his poems to a published, who — still without reading them — gladly accepted them.
In the early days of the cult of æstheticism, some one asked Oscar Wilde how a man of his undoubted capacity could make such a fool of himself. He had written, he said, a book of poems, and he believed in their excellence. In vain he went from publisher to publisher asking them to bring them them out; not one would even read them, for he was unknown. In order to find a publisher he felt that he must do something to become a personality. So he hit upon æstheticism. It succeeded. People talked about him; they invited him to their houses as a sort of lion. He then took his poems to a publisher, who — still without reading them — gladly accepted them.
While the interest in Wilde is rapidly disappearing, there is a strong tendency on the part of aroused public opinion to make the exposure complete as a necessary measure toward eradicating the evil. Many people are already rejoicing in the doom of morbid literature, morbid art, and morbid drama, which they profess to believe is marked by the Old Bailey trial.