Some time later, after he had been transferred to Reading Gaol, bad news leaked out, news that he was breaking up, was being punished, persecuted.  His friends came to me, asking:  could anything be done?  As usual my only hope was in the supreme authority.  Sir Evelyn Ruggles Brise was the head of the Prison Commission; after the Home Secretary, the most powerful person, the permanent official behind the Parliamentary figure-head; the man who knew and acted behind the man who talked.  I sat down and wrote to him for an interview:  by return came a courteous note giving me an appointment.

I told him what I had heard about Oscar, that his health was breaking down and his reason going, pointed out how monstrous it was to turn prison into a torture-chamber.  To my utter astonishment he agreed with me, admitted, even, that an exceptional man ought to have exceptional treatment; showed not a trace of pedantry; good brains, good heart.  He went so far as to say that Oscar Wilde should be treated with all possible consideration, that certain prison rules which pressed very hardly upon him should be interpreted as mildly as possible.  He admitted that the punishment was much more severe to him than it would be to an ordinary criminal, and had nothing but admiration for his brilliant gifts.

“It was a great pity,” he said, “that Wilde ever got into prison, a great pity.”

I was pushing at an open door; besides the year or so which had elapsed since the condemnation had given time for reflection.  Still, Sir Ruggles Brise’s attitude was extraordinary, sympathetic at once and high-minded:  another true Englishman at the head of affairs:  infinite hope in that fact, and solace.

I had stuck to my text that something should be done at once to give Oscar courage and hope; he must not be murdered or left to despair.

Sir Ruggles Brise asked me finally if I would go to Reading and report on Oscar Wilde’s condition and make any suggestion that might occur to me.  He did not know if this could be arranged; but he would see the Home Secretary and would recommend it, if I were willing.  Of course I was willing, more than willing.  Two or three days later, I got another letter from him with another appointment, and again I went to see him.  He received me with charming kindness.  The Home Secretary would be glad if I would go down to Reading and report on Oscar Wilde’s state.

“Everyone,” said Sir Ruggles Brise, “speaks with admiration and delight of his wonderful talents.  The Home Secretary thinks it would be a great loss to English literature if he were really injured by the prison discipline.  Here is your order to see him alone, and a word of introduction to the Governor, and a request to give you all information.”

I could not speak.  I could only shake hands with him in silence.

What a country of anomalies England is!  A judge of the High Court a hard self-satisfied pernicious bigot, while the official in charge of the prisons is a man of wide culture and humane views, who has the courage of a noble humanity.