by David Hare
Ross I can only say if you do not leave quickly – if you do not leave in the next five minutes, in fact – the chances are that tonight you will spend your first night in prison. This is a prospect I do not believe you have faced.
Wilde is silent a moment.
Wilde I have faced it.
Ross puts the bag down, intense, serious.
Ross I have been waiting, I have been standing here desperately, trying not to say this all week. You are locked in a quarrel not of your making! You have done all you have to. Your duty is over and now you must leave!
Wilde sinks deeper into his chair, resentful.
Your friends, yes, your real friends have all tried to tell you …
Wilde I have not lacked for the telling!
Ross They have tried to warn you. You have walked open-eyed towards this disaster.
He is nodding, not to be diverted.
If you just stop, if you stop and consider, if you give a moment’s thought to how Bosie has actually behaved … what he has wanted all along … his sole and single intention has always been to make his father respond.
Wilde looks at him, not able to reply.
Yes, and when he had succeeded, when he had goaded his father to a point which he simply could not ignore, then it was not Bosie who was threatened. It was not Bosie who had to risk all in court. Oh no! Instead the boy turns to his dearest friend Oscar and says: ‘Could you possibly do this on my behalf?’
Wilde That isn’t true.
Ross Oh, isn’t it? And that you, Oscar Wilde, so puissant, so brilliant, should be pulled along like a poodle! Where are you? Where is the Oscar we knew?
Ross has hurt Wilde, but goes on regardless.
And now you’re delaying because he wants you to stay here! Of course! Stay here in England? Why not? It’s your life, not his. You are to stay here and confront this famous list of immoral young men. Yet one thing we’re forgetting: how did you meet them? I’m asking. How did you meet them?
Wilde looks sullen, not answering.
You choose not to answer because you know full well you cannot.
Wilde All right!
Ross You choose not to say it but you met them through him. Yes! And will he face prosecution?
Wilde Now Robbie …
Ross Will his life be dragged through the courts? No, of course not. He escapes. When he has done these same things and with these same men.
Ross is upset by his own cruelty.
Why does Bosie escape prosecution?
Wilde Robbie …
Ross He escapes prosecution because he’s a lord! Well, it’s true and you know it! When you and I were together, you knew none of these young men. It was Bosie who drew you into this trade. And why? Because Bosie withheld himself.
Wilde turns angrily, having finally lost his temper.
Wilde What is the fatal human passion? What is the source of all sin on this earth? This propensity in all human beings to indulge in the improper rapture, the gratuitous pleasure of giving others advice. Yes, I had rather swim neck-deep in London’s arterial sewer, I had rather give up my body to every diseased and indigent tramp in the street, than surrender to this abominable indulgence of telling other people what they should do.
He throws his coat down.
You demand that I make a decision. Here is my decision. I refuse to go until Bosie returns.
Ross leaves the room. Wilde gets up and pours himself another glass of wine. He stands at the table, the meal cooling in front of him. Then Ross returns.
Ross He will not be long.
Ross sits on the bed.
Oscar, there are other people who love you. Perhaps you should remember there are others as well.
Wilde looks at him, then speaks quietly.
Wilde It is not kind. It is not kind of you, Robbie. Is there not some small part of us which is purely our own? Which is our soul? Which is our innermost being? And which we alone should control? You bombard me. It is not fair. In any civilised war unfortified places are respected. I knew what you thought. You did not need to tell me. You know full well: I have done what I did out of love.
Ross looks back at him, saying nothing.
Do not … do not seek to destroy me by laying out what you call the facts. It is cruel of you, Robbie, it is cruel when you do such a thing. I have acted out of love. I have defended this love which exists between us, the purest I have known in my life. More perfect, more vital, more telling, more various, richer, more vibrant, more sweet. The redeeming fact of my life.
He turns and looks at Ross.
It is what I have left. It is what remains to me. All else has now been taken away. So you would now take even that from me. You would tell me I have been deceived and used in all this? Consider what you are saying. If the love between us is not as I think it, then I shall have suffered to no purpose at all.
Bosie appears. His manner has changed completely. The certainty has been replaced by a considerate gentleness.
Bosie Oscar …
Wilde Ah, Bosie …
Bosie I’m sorry. I have kept you too long.
Wilde Not at all.
Bosie I have been talking to George in the corridor.
Wilde Well?
Bosie I’m afraid his news is not helpful. He has failed. He says that you will be arrested.
There is a slight pause, as Bosie waits for Wilde to take this in.
He says however there is one further thing you should know.
Wilde What is that?
Bosie They are deliberately choosing to delay.
Wilde They’re delaying?
Bosie Yes. Till this evening. George says they are employing a sporting metaphor. The fox must be given its chance to escape.
Wilde is taken aback, but he sounds distant when he replies.
Wilde Oh, I see.
Bosie They would prefer it. It would suit them better if you would flee. This brief opening is offered.
Wilde How considerate! And, Bosie, tell me, what do you think I should do?
Bosie shifts and looks round. Wilde takes his cue from Bosie’s look.
Ross Excuse me.
Reluctantly Ross goes out of the room.
Wilde No, really. I’m asking. No, truly.
Bosie But surely you must decide.
Wilde Surely. But you must still have an opinion. Well?
Bosie You know I would prefer you to stay here. Nothing George tells me has changed how I think. I still am persuaded that if we pursue it with vigour, there is no question the case can be won.
Wilde Yes.
Bosie But the point is that just at this moment … just at this moment itself … George is saying that when they come to arrest you, it is in nobody’s interest that I myself should be here.
Wilde nods judiciously.
Wilde No.
Bosie If it is known … if it is known in the newspapers that you and I were together at the time of arrest …
Wilde Yes, of course …
Bosie Then that is something which George says will surely further inflame my father and therefore make this whole matter worse.
Wilde I see.
Wilde looks at him, thoughtful.
Bosie Now look … I have said … if you want me to stay with you, there is no question I will. I belong at your side. But in what he’s suggesting I confess I do see a sort of brutal wisdom.
Wilde Yes. I discern that brutal wisdom myself.
Bosie takes a step towards him.
Bosie Be clear. I’m not for one second abandoning you.
Wilde No.
Bosie I hope you know me.
Wilde I know you, of course.
Bosie I am leaving for only this interval. I say again. This brief interval, no more and no less.
Bosie looks down before giving more news.
George wants me to go with him to Westminster. He wants me to work with him on your behalf. He thinks he may secure you bail for tonight. Assuming of course that you do not
flee.
Wilde looks at him, almost as if not understanding.
Wilde We could meet tonight?
Bosie Yes.
Wilde We could meet this evening?
Bosie If you stay, nothing changes. We meet as we always have done. You may be assured. It is the wish of my heart.
Bosie hesitates before more bad news.
George is saying … he is saying my family would like me to travel. They would prefer it if I too went away. But I have told him: no, if Oscar stays, then I shall stay with him.
He has moved closer to Wilde and now looks straight at him.
I shall not leave you.
Wilde No.
Wilde is strangely absent, as if looking at Bosie properly for the first time.
Bosie Have you decided?
Wilde I’m sorry?
Bosie Today. Will you stay or go?
Wilde Oh. I am in the process, Bosie. Kiss me.
Bosie moves across to him and kisses him. The kiss deepens. Then Wilde withdraws a little and hugs him. There is silence.
It is what we fear which happens to us.
Arthur knocks, then opens the door. Ross returns behind him.
Arthur Sir, excuse me, it’s Mr Wyndham. He says Lord Alfred must join him now. He says it’s urgent. He cannot wait any longer.
Wilde Yes, thank you, Arthur.
Arthur He asked me to insist Lord Alfred must leave here at once.
Arthur stands waiting.
Bosie I’m sorry …
Wilde I know. You have no time now. Bosie …
Bosie Yes. I must leave.
Wilde spreads his arms in a sudden access of cheerfulness.
Wilde So. We shall meet again but we cannot say when. However. My darling, may it be soon.
Bosie I must go. I must go.
He smiles helplessly, boyish now, laughing at the absurdity of it.
Oh God, what a business! No, truly. Yes, may it be soon. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. As the French say, à bientôt.
He goes out, all breathless charm, and Arthur closes the door.
Wilde So. They choose to offer me this opening. The whole world wants me to go.
Ross Yes.
Wilde The world persists in thinking me shallow. They think me feckless. They consider me weak. Flee, and I hand them this ready opinion. Do you know I think I may have decided?
He moves to the wine, resolved.
Open my case, I beg you. I wish to sit here. I wish to read. I shall not run down this hole they have dug for me. I will not stoop to leave on all fours.
Ross puts the cases back on the bed in despair.
Yes. I can run but I choose not to. Die of embarrassment in some hovel abroad? Admit to society they have driven me out? No, I will not give them that pleasure. I am going to do the single thing which will drive them to frenzied distraction: I am going to sit down and get on with my lunch.
He sits rather clumsily down at the table and contemplates the meal in front of him.
My mind is made up. Good. A book. Yes, a book please, Robbie.
Ross reopens the case to get him a book. Wilde lifts his knife and fork, but for a moment they are suspended.
If I run now, my story is finished. For as long as I stay, it is not at an end. I prefer my story unfinished.
He turns and looks at Ross.
Robbie, we shall not discuss it. I shall eat and the train will make its own way. Do you hear? Do you hear that whistle?
He lifts a hand to his ear and waits.
Do you hear the wheels running away down the track? What is that? The train is departing. Do you sense the life that we did not live?
He starts to tuck happily into the lobster.
This lobster’s good.
Ross It was better earlier.
Wilde I’m sure. I could not eat it before.
Ross moves across the room, in agony.
Robbie, you know you must leave me also. It is not safe for you here.
Ross I know that.
Wilde You have done enough. You must not be found with me.
Ross No. I promised my mother …
Wilde You as well …
Ross Yes. This morning I promised. If you were arrested, I promised I would not be there. She said if I am with you when you are arrested I will be ruined for ever.
Wilde goes on eating contentedly.
Wilde I’m sure your mother knows about these things.
Ross Well, I have always done what my mother said.
Ross has said this with a smile. Now he takes off his topcoat.
But if Bosie cannot be with you. If it seems that Bosie cannot stay …
Wilde looks up from his eating. Ross sits down in an armchair.
Ross Then I am not willing to leave you.
Wilde Good. I shall not be alone.
He puts down his knife and fork.
The food is good. The book is excellent. We know the police have been delayed. Once more it seems I have no alternative. I have no other option. It is clear. The moment has come when I must sleep.
Ross You cannot sleep!
Wilde Why not?
Ross They will come to arrest you.
Wilde I am tired.
He has got up from table and lain down on the sofa with only his wine beside him.
Ross They will find you like this.
Wilde It suits me. I do not care for their judgement at all.
He closes his eyes. The room grows dark. Music has started to play quietly again.
Ross I’ll sit.
Wilde Let us sleep. Let us hear that metal clacking along the track.
He is about to fall asleep on the sofa. Ross sits, keeping guard over him.
For as long as we sleep we are in safety. The train is going. And I shall sleep.
The music begins to fill out. The room is darkened, but light comes again from the high window and sweeps round in a circle, like the transit of the sun, catching the dust in the air, or the deep yellow beam of a lighthouse, highlighting the room exquisitely as it passes and dies. Then, after a while, light returns to the room itself. They have not yet lit the lamps, so they are silhouetted by the light of a cold London afternoon from the window. Ross does not realise that Wilde has opened his eyes.
SCENE TWO
Wilde You are still here.
Ross Yes.
Wilde Do you remember? Do you remember when we first met?
Ross Yes.
Wilde You seduced me.
Ross Yes.
Wilde You were the first man I slept with.
Ross I was.
Wilde Yet I imagined I knew more than you.
There is a knock and Arthur is again at the door.
Arthur Sir …
Ross Yes?
Arthur There’s a reporter. He says the police are just about to arrive. They are coming upstairs to take you. He says they are on their way.
Wilde Thank you, Arthur. Will you light the lamps for us?
Arthur goes round and lights the lamps in the room. Wilde has sat up on the sofa and now he gets up. Ross does not move.
I am well ready. Robbie?
Ross Yes.
Wilde You are at my side.
Arthur goes on lighting lamps.
Arthur, when the police arrive, then please admit them.
Arthur Yes sir.
Wilde takes the book Ross gave him earlier.
Wilde Ready?
Ross Yes.
Arthur stands at the door waiting. Wilde sits down, and starts reading the book. It is an image of the solidest Victorian contentment. Wilde turns a page, calm.
Wilde Let them come in.
End of Act One.
Act Two: Deciding to Leave
SCENE ONE
Friday, 3 December 1897. The music is serene as Italian light floods into the Villa Guidice at Posillipo, near Naples. It is late afternoon. The sun is an astonishing wintry gold outside the double doors which lead onto the balcony. The style is seaside vernacul
ar. You can see a white metal rail. There is a sense of sun, sea and the horizon. Inside, modernism. The walls are white. The sparse furniture of the rented house looks forward, in its coolness and pallor, to the twentieth century. The main door gives onto a small hallway, with stairs beyond. The room is uncluttered, with one small table on which there are a pot of coffee, some cups and some sugared buns.
Wilde is sitting in a chair reading. He is dressed like an English gentleman in very formal, dark clothes, which make no concessions to the Mediterranean. His body has grown slack and fat and his face is ravaged by deprivation and alcohol. There is a tension in his movements which is new. Behind him on a pale sofa two men are sleeping under a sheet. They have plainly been there some time. There are clothes on the floor. One of them stirs, and we see that it is Bosie. He is now past his mid-twenties and still good-looking, but no longer radiant with youth. Bosie sits up, taking a moment to wake, but Wilde just carries on reading.
Bosie We never made it upstairs.
Wilde It does not bother me at what level you do it. Please perform at any elevation you choose. To me it’s a matter of consummate indifference.
Bosie has sat up. The Young Man stirs beside him. A mop of thick, curly dark hair, and a body plainly young and fit.
Your friend looks like the young fisherman.
Bosie He is. That’s who he is. That’s what he does.
Wilde Can you ask him: is there any chance of a red mullet?
Wilde lights a cigarette.
It would be nice for the whole household to profit from the encounter.
Bosie He doesn’t fish red mullet.
Wilde Ah. Choosy, is he? A herring, then?
The Young Man has woken, and gets out of bed. Naked but not fazed, he sees Wilde.
Good afternoon. I am the great Irish poet and dramatist, Oscar Wilde.
Young Man Mi scusi. Sono venuto a casa sua senza invito.
Wilde Non fa niente. Lei e il benvenuto a casa mia.
They have shaken hands. The Young Man goes unselfconsciously out onto the balcony to stretch.
Ah, all the modesty of an Italian, I see. A generative organ like a rope that has been dipped in pitch, and, to judge from the look on your face, also the deep, instinctive understanding of the needs of English aristocracy necessary to go with it.
Bosie How you love that word.
Wilde Which word?
Bosie Aristocracy.
Bosie has wrapped the sheet round himself and gone over to the little table.
