Oscar Wilde, Volume 2 | Page 4

like to," he said, "it is all so dreadful--and ugly and painful, I
would rather not think of it," and he turned away despairingly.
"You must tell me, or I shall not be able to help you." Bit by bit I won
the confession from him.
"At first it was a fiendish nightmare; more horrible than anything I had

ever dreamt of; from the first evening when they made me undress
before them and get into some filthy water they called a bath and dry
myself with a damp, brown rag and put on this livery of shame. The
cell was appalling: I could hardly breathe in it, and the food turned my
stomach; the smell and sight of it were enough: I did not eat anything
for days and days, I could not even swallow the bread; and the rest of
the food was uneatable; I lay on the so-called bed and shivered all night
long.... Don't ask me to speak of it, please. Words cannot convey the
cumulative effect of a myriad discomforts, brutal handling and slow
starvation. Surely like Dante I have written on my face the fact that I
have been in hell. Only Dante never imagined any hell like an English
prison; in his lowest circle people could move about; could see each
other, and hear each other groan: there was some change, some human
companionship in misery...."
"When did you begin to eat the food?" I asked.
"I can't tell, Frank," he replied. "After some days I got so hungry I had
to eat a little, nibble at the outside of the bread, and drink some of the
liquid; whether it was tea, coffee or gruel, I could not tell. As soon as I
really ate anything it produced violent diarrhoea and I was ill all day
and all night. From the beginning I could not sleep. I grew weak and
had wild delusions.... You must not ask me to describe it. It is like
asking a man who has gone through fever to describe one of the
terrifying dreams. At Wandsworth I thought I should go mad;
Wandsworth is the worst: no dungeon in hell can be worse; why is the
food so bad? It even smelt bad. It was not fit for dogs."
"Was the food the worst of it?" I asked.
"The hunger made you weak, Frank; but the inhumanity was the worst
of it; what devilish creatures men are. I had never known anything
about them. I had never dreamt of such cruelties. A man spoke to me at
exercise. You know you are not allowed to speak. He was in front of
me, and he whispered, so that he could not be seen, how sorry he was
for me, and how he hoped I would bear up. I stretched out my hands to
him and cried, 'Oh, thank you, thank you.' The kindness of his voice
brought tears into my eyes. Of course I was punished at once for

speaking; a dreadful punishment. I won't think of it: I dare not. They
are infinitely cunning in malice here, Frank; infinitely cunning in
punishment.... Don't let us talk of it, it is too painful, too horrible that
men should be so brutal."
"Give me an instance," I said, "of something less painful; something
which may be bettered."
He smiled wanly. "All of it, Frank, all of it should be altered. There is
no spirit in a prison but hate, hate masked in degrading formalism.
They first break the will and rob you of hope, and then rule by fear.
One day a warder came into my cell.
"'Take off your boots,' he said.
"Of course I began to obey him; then I asked:
"'What is it? Why must I take off my boots?'
"He would not answer me. As soon as he had my boots, he said:
"'Come out of your cell.'
"'Why?' I asked again. I was frightened, Frank. What had I done? I
could not guess; but then I was often punished for nothing: what was it?
No answer. As soon as we were in the corridor he ordered me to stand
with my face to the wall, and went away. There I stood in my stocking
feet waiting. The cold chilled me through; I began standing first on one
foot and then on the other, racking my brains as to what they were
going to do to me, wondering why I was being punished like this, and
how long it would last; you know the thoughts fear-born that plague the
mind.... After what seemed an eternity I heard him coming back. I did
not dare to move or even look. He came up to me; stopped by me for a
moment; my heart stopped; he threw down a pair