Mr. Carson brought out that Oscar Wilde was forty years of age and Lord Alfred Douglas twenty-four.  Down to the interview in Tite Street Lord Queensberry had been friendly with Mr. Wilde.

“Had Mr. Wilde written in a publication called The Chameleon?”

“Yes.”

“Had he written there a story called ’The Priest and the Acolyte’?”

“No.”

“Was that story immoral?”

Oscar amused everyone by replying: 

“Much worse than immoral, it was badly written,” but feeling that this gibe was too light for the occasion he added: 

“It was altogether offensive and perfect twaddle.”

He admitted at once that he did not express his disapproval of it; it was “beneath him to concern himself with the effusions of an illiterate undergraduate.”

“Did Mr. Wilde ever consider the effect in his writings of inciting to immorality?”

Oscar declared that he aimed neither at good nor evil, but tried to make a beautiful thing.  When questioned as to the immorality in thought in the article in The Chameleon, he retorted “that there is no such thing as morality or immorality in thought.”  A hum of understanding and approval ran through the court; the intellect is profoundly amoral.

Again and again he scored in this way off Mr. Carson.

“No work of art ever puts forward views; views belong to the Philistines and not to artists."...

“What do you think of this view?”

“I don’t think of any views except my own.”

All this while Mr. Carson had been hitting at a man on his own level; but Oscar Wilde was above him and not one of his blows had taken effect.  Every moment, too, Oscar grew more and more at his ease, and the combat seemed to be turning completely in his favour.  Mr. Carson at length took up “Dorian Gray” and began cross-examining on passages in it.

“You talk about one man adoring another.  Did you ever adore any man?”

“No,” replied Oscar quietly, “I have never adored anyone but myself.”

The Court roared with laughter.  Oscar went on: 

“There are people in the world, I regret to say, who cannot understand the deep affection that an artist can feel for a friend with a beautiful personality.”

He was then questioned about his letter (already quoted here) to Lord Alfred Douglas.  It was a prose-poem, he said, written in answer to a sonnet.  He had not written to other people in the same strain, not even to Lord Alfred Douglas again:  he did not repeat himself in style.

Mr. Carson read another letter from Oscar Wilde to Lord Alfred Douglas, which paints their relations with extraordinary exactness.  Here it is: 

     SAVOY HOTEL,
     VICTORIA EMBANKMENT, LONDON.

     DEAREST OF ALL BOYS,—­