I told him I was sure of it, sure, and begged him to believe, that if I were able to do anything for him, at any time, I’d be glad, and gave him my address.  He was not even listening—­an honest, good man, full of the milk of human kindness.  How kind deeds shine starlike in this prison of a world.  That warder and Sir Ruggles Brise each in his own place:  such men are the salt of the English world; better are not to be found on earth.

FOOTNOTES: 

[1] Some years ago The Daily Chronicle proved that though the general standard of living is lower in Germany and in France than in England; yet the prison food in France and especially in Germany is far better than in England and the treatment of the prisoners far more humane.

[2] He was referring, I suppose, to the solitary confinement in a dark cell, which English ingenuity has invented and according to all accounts is as terrible as any of the tortures of the past.  For those tortures were all physical, whereas the modern Englishman addresses himself to the brain and nerves, and finds the fear of madness more terrifying than the fear of pain.  What a pity it is that Mr. Justice Wills did not know twenty-four hours of it, just twenty-four hours to teach him what “adequate punishment” for sensual self-indulgence means, and adequate punishment, too, for inhuman cruelty.

CHAPTER XVIII

On my return to London I saw Sir Ruggles Brise.  No one could have shown me warmer sympathy, or more discriminating comprehension.  I made my report to him and left the matter in his hands with perfect confidence.  I took care to describe Oscar’s condition to his friends while assuring them that his circumstances would soon be bettered.  A little later I heard that the governor of the prison had been changed, that Oscar had got books and writing materials, and was allowed to have the gas burning in his cell to a late hour when it was turned down but not out.  In fact, from that time on he was treated with all the kindness possible, and soon we heard that he was bearing the confinement and discipline better than could have been expected.  Sir Evelyn Ruggles Brise had evidently settled the difficulty in the most humane spirit.

Later still I was told that Oscar had begun to write “De Profundis” in prison, and I was very hopeful about that too:  no news could have given me greater pleasure.  It seemed to me certain that he would justify himself to men by turning the punishment into a stepping-stone.  And in this belief when the time came I ventured to call on Sir Ruggles Brise with another petition.

“Surely,” I said, “Oscar will not be imprisoned for the full term; surely four or five months for good conduct will be remitted?”

Sir Ruggles Brise listened sympathetically, but warned me at once that any remission was exceptional; however, he would let me know what could be done, if I would call again in a week.  Much to my surprise, he did not seem certain even about the good conduct.