And if you are an artist, prison will be more to you than this; an
astonishing vital and novel experience, accorded only to the chosen.
What will you make of it? That's the question for you. It is a wonderful
opportunity. Seen truly, a prison's more spacious than a palace; nay,
richer, and for a loving soul, a far rarer experience. Thank then the
spirit which steers men for the divine chance which has come to you;
henceforth the prison shall be your domain; in future men will not think
of it without thinking of you. Others may show them what the good things
of life do for one; you will show them what suffering can do, cold and
regretful sleepless hours and solitude, misery and distress. Others will
teach the lessons of joy. The whole vast underworld of pity and pain,
fear and horror and injustice is your kingdom. Men have drawn darkness
about you as a curtain, shrouded you in blackest night; the light in you
will shine the brighter. Always provided of course that the light is not
put out altogether.

Hammer or anvil? How would Oscar Wilde take punishment?

* * * * *

We could not know for months. Yet he was an artist by nature--that gave
one a glimmer of hope. We needed it. For outside at first there was an
icy atmosphere of hatred and contempt. The mere mention of his name was
met with expressions of disgust, or frozen silence.

One bare incident will paint the general feeling more clearly than pages
of invective or description. The day after Oscar's sentence Mr. Charles
Brookfield, who, it will be remembered, had raked together the witnesses
that enabled Lord Queensberry to "justify" his accusation; assisted by