Now to refuse bail in cases of serious crime may be defended, but in the case of indecent conduct it is usually granted.  To run away is regarded as a confession of guilt, and what could one wish for more than the perpetual banishment of the corrupt liver, consequently there is no reason to refuse bail.  But in this case, though bail was offered to any amount, it was refused peremptorily in spite of the fact that every consideration should have been shown to an accused person who had already had a good opportunity to leave the country and had refused to budge.  Moreover, Oscar Wilde had already been criticised and condemned in a hundred papers.  There was widespread prejudice against him, no risk to the public in accepting bail, and considerable injury done to the accused in refusing it.  His affairs were certain to be thrown into confusion; he was known not to be rich and yet he was deprived of the power to get money together and to collect evidence just when the power which freedom confers was most needed by him.

The magistrate was as prejudiced as the public; he had no more idea of standing for justice and fair play than Pilate; probably, indeed, he never gave himself the trouble to think of fairness in the matter.  A large salary is paid to magistrates in London, L1,500 a year, but it is rare indeed that any of them rises above the vulgarest prejudice.  Sir John Bridge not only refused bail but he was careful to give his reasons for refusing it:  he had not the slightest scruple about prejudicing the case even before he had heard a word of the defence.  After hearing the evidence for the prosecution he said: 

“The responsibility of accepting or refusing bail rests upon me.  The considerations that weigh with me are the gravity of the offences and the strength of the evidence.  I must absolutely refuse bail and send the prisoners for trial.”

Now these reasons, which he proffered voluntarily, and especially the use of the word “absolutely,” showed not only prejudice on the part of Sir John Bridge, but the desire to injure the unfortunate prisoner in the public mind and so continue the evil work of the journalists.

The effect of this prejudice and rancour on the part of the whole community had various consequences.

The mere news that Oscar Wilde had been arrested and taken to Holloway startled London and gave the signal for a strange exodus.  Every train to Dover was crowded; every steamer to Calais thronged with members of the aristocratic and leisured classes, who seemed to prefer Paris, or even Nice out of the season, to a city like London, where the police might act with such unexpected vigour.  The truth was that the cultured aesthetes whom I have already described had been thunderstruck by the facts which the Queensberry trial had laid bare.  For the first time they learned that such houses as Taylor’s were under police supervision, and that creatures like Wood and Parker were classified and watched.  They had imagined that in “the home of liberty” such practices passed unnoticed.  It came as a shock to their preconceived ideas that the police in London knew a great many things which they were not supposed to concern themselves with, and this unwelcome glare of light drove the vicious forth in wild haste.