Besides, I said to myself, the governing class in England is steeped in aristocratic prejudice, and particularly when threatened by democratic innovations, all superiorities, whether of birth or wealth, or talent, are conscious of the same raison d’etre and have the same self-interest.  The lord, the millionaire and the genius have all the same reason for standing up for each other, and this reason is usually effective.  Everyone knows that in England the law is emphatically a respecter of persons.  It is not there to promote equality, much less is it the defender of the helpless, the weak and the poor; it is a rampart for the aristocracy and the rich, a whip in the hands of the strong.  It is always used to increase the effect of natural and inherited inequality, and it is not directed by a high feeling of justice; but perverted by aristocratic prejudice and snobbishness; it is not higher than democratic equality, but lower and more sordid.

The case was just a case where an aristocratic society could and should have shown its superiority over a democratic society with its rough rule of equality.  For equality is only half-way on the road to justice.  More than once the House of Commons has recognised this fundamental truth; it condemned Clive but added that he had rendered “great and distinguished services to his country”; and no one thought of punishing him for his crimes.

Our time is even more tolerant and more corrupt.  For a worse crime than extortion Cecil Rhodes was not even brought to trial, but honoured and feted, while his creatures, who were condemned by the House of Commons Committee, were rewarded by the Government.

Had not Wilde also rendered distinguished services to his country?  The wars waged against the Mashonas and Matabeles were a doubtful good; but the plays of Oscar Wilde had already given many hours of innocent pleasure to thousands of persons, and were evidently destined to benefit tens of thousands in the future.  Such a man is a benefactor of humanity in the best and truest sense, and deserves peculiar consideration.

To the society favourite the discredit of the trial with Lord Queensberry was in itself a punishment more than sufficient.  Everyone knew when Oscar Wilde left the court that he left it a ruined and disgraced man.  Was it worth while to stir up all the foul mud again, in order to beat the beaten?  Alas! the English are pedants, as Goethe saw; they think little of literary men, or of merely spiritual achievements.  They love to abide by rules and pay no heed to exceptions, unless indeed the exceptions are men of title or great wealth, or “persons of importance” to the Government.  The majority of the people are too ignorant to know the value of a book and they regard poetry as the thistle-down of speech.  It does not occur to Englishmen that a phrase may be more valuable and more enduring in its effects than a long campaign and a dozen victories.  Yet, the sentence, “Let him that is without sin among you first cast the stone,” or Shakespeare’s version of the same truth:  “if we had our deserts which of us would escape whipping?” is likely to outlast the British Empire, and prove of more value to humanity.