fective attention to them. If
Dreyfus had been convicted in England, it is probable that no voice
would ever have been raised in his favour; it is absolutely certain
that there would never have been a second trial. A keen sense of
abstract justice is only to be found in conjunction with a rich fount
of imaginative sympathy. The English are too self-absorbed to take
much interest in their neighbours' affairs, too busy to care for
abstract questions of right or wrong.

Before the trial of Oscar Wilde I still believed that in a criminal
case rough justice would be done in England. The bias of an English
judge, I said to myself, is always in favour of the accused. It is an
honourable tradition of English procedure that even the Treasury
barristers should state rather less than they can prove against the
unfortunate person who is being attacked by all the power and
authority of the State. I was soon forced to see that these honourable
and praiseworthy conventions were as withes of straw in the fire of
English prejudice. The first thing to set me doubting was that the
judge did not try to check the cheering in Court after the verdict in
favour of Lord Queensberry. English judges always resent and resist
such popular outbursts: why not in this case? After all, no judge
could think Queensberry a hero: he was too well known for that, and
yet the cheering swelled again and again, and the judge gathered up
his papers without a word and went his way as if he were deaf. A
dreadful apprehension crept over me: in spite of myself I began to
realise that my belief in English justice might be altogether
mistaken. It was to me as if the solid earth had become a quaking bog,
or indeed as if a child had suddenly discovered its parent to be
shameless. The subsequent trials are among the most painful
experiences of my life. I shall try to set down all the incidents
fairly.

One peculiarity had first struck me in the conduct of the case between
Oscar Wilde and Lord Queensberry that did not seem to occur to any of
the numberless journalists and writers who commented on the trial. It
was apparent from his letter to his son (which I published in a
previous chapter), and from the fact that he called at Oscar Wilde's
house that Lord Queensberry at the beginning did not believe in the
truth of his accusations; he set them forth as a violent man sets
forth hearsay and suspicion, knowing that as a father he could do this
with impunity, and accordin