"WILDE IN AMERICA"

We are very pleased to publish by kind permission of the author the scenario and Part 1 of Wilde in America, a play written for television by Walter J. Walker.

Mr. Walker is happy to receive critiques of the work and can be reached at wjwalker@optonline.net.  A short biography of Mr. Walker is at the foot of the piece.

Wilde in America is ©Copyright 1999 Walter W. J. Walker

SYNOPSIS HERE

PART I BELOW

PART II HERE

---

WILDE IN AMERICA

Travels with Oscar Fingal O’Flahertie Wills Wilde -1882

 

A Mini-Series in Six Parts

PART I
Declaration of Genius

 

 

by

Walter W.J. Walker

 

© 2003 Walter W.J. Walker

1155 Warburton Ave.  Apt. 4S

Yonkers, NY 10701

(914) 969-2721 

e-mail: wjwalker@optonline.net

 

FADE IN:

EXT - PARIS, BAGNEUX CEMETERY, GRAVE OF OSCAR WILDE - MORNING

INSERT: 'BAGNEUX, PARIS:  DECEMBER 3, 1900'

A small crowd of men and women stand huddled before an open grave.  A coffin is lying next to the grave covered in chintz tablecloth with a blue and white tea service on top. A part of the small crowd is a nervous LORD ALFRED DOUGLAS, 30, with blonde hair and handsome boyish face, He is fidgeting with a single stem red rose. He pricks his thumb on a thorn and sticks his bleeding thumb in his mouth. ROBERT ROSS, a stylish gentleman in his early 40s, stares at Douglas. MAGGIE HAYLE, plain 43 year-old, stands next to Ross; she too is staring at Douglas. THE REVEREND CUTHBERT DUNNE, a stout clergyman in his 60s presides over the funeral.

 

MAGGIE

(VO)

December 3, 1900 was a grim day for those of us who remained loyal to Oscar Fingal O’Flahertie Wills Wilde. I stood in the rain behind a handful of close friends at Bagneux to bear witness as Oscar was laid to rest. I wasn’t among his close friends. I was but an acquaintance. I’d like to think that looking down from some place on high, he would have been pleasantly surprised to see me in attendance. He never tired of parties and receptions in his honor. He took great delight in seeing who would showed up. Andre Gide was there. And so was Robbie Ross. God bless Robbie; he did more to comfort Oscar during his infernal slide towards death than any other friend or family member. Lord Alfred Douglas stood closest to the grave and shed the most tears.  Were those tears for Oscar or for himself? Bosie, as Oscar always referred to him, was certainly shaken by the loss of his dear friend. But in expressing his grief, Lord Alfred Douglas invariably focused on the loss of great social occasions and entertainments—the spice of life that Oscar contributed to his less than remarkable existence…

 

 

 

CUTHBERT DUNNE

God take this humble man to your side. His hour has come and he has asked forgiveness for his trespasses. He seeks your mercy. Forgive him in death as you would in life…

MAGGIE

(Aloud, but to herself)

Humble is not an adjective I'd use to describe Oscar Wilde -- even in death.

ROSS

Excuse me; I don't believe we've met.  My name is Robert Ross.

MAGGIE

Oh, Maggie Hayle, I'm a reporter for The Chicago Tribune.

ROSS

How did you know him?

 

MAGGIE

I met him in America.

 

ROSS

Did you meet him in ‘82?

MAGGIE

The entire nation met him that year.

GRAVEDIGGERS remove burial cloth and lower Oscar's coffin into the grave.  Coffin gets hung up on side of the grave.  Ross shoots a look of alarm in Hayle's direction.  One of the gravediggers jumps into the hole with a shovel and trims away a root and some soil.

MAGGIE (cont'd)

Just like Oscar – he never knew when it was time to leave.

ROSS

Certainly the case if he had an attentive audience. Did you know well?

MAGGIE

Not that well. Oscar wasn’t one to get too close to the press. When I first met him I was with The Washington Post. He was a relatively quiet sensation back then. His professional life and career had only just begun.

CUTHBERT DUNNE

Ashes to ashes…dust to dust. Let the Lord hear our prayers…

ALL

Our Father, who art in heaven…

Lord Alfred Douglas, crying, steps forward to watch Wilde's coffin being lowered to the bottom of the grave. Douglas loses his balance; his foot slips over the edge of the grave. The man standing next to him steadies him.

MAGGIE

(whispering)

I can only assume Oscar's spirit was behind the little imp giving him a good push.

ROSS

(whispering)

You're also familiar with the players, I see.

MAGGIE

(whispering)

I covered the trial.

ROSS

(whispering)

Would you join me for lunch Miss or is it Mrs. Hayle?

MAGGIE

(whispering)

It's Miss.

 

ROSS

(whispering)

Well Miss Hayle, I'd love to hear more of Oscar's time in America.

MAGGIE

(whispering)

It would be my pleasure, Mr. Ross.

 

 

ALL

For thine is the Kingdom and the power and the glory forever and ever, Amen.

Ross turns and escorts Hayle to a waiting carriage.

INT - PARIS CAFE NEAR BAGNEUX CEMETERY - CONTINUOUS

Café is bustling with luncheon crowd. ROBERT ROSS and MAGGIE HAYLE sit at a small table near the window. A youthful WAITER attends to their needs: pouring wine and serving foie gras and toast.

 

ROSS

You seemed harsh toward Bosie back there.

 

MAGGIE

I have nothing but contempt for that little gadfly, Mr. Ross.

 

ROSS

He’s the dog everyone likes to kick. But I’m not sure he is entirely to blame. Oscar served time for his own crimes not Bosie’s.

 

MAGGIE

Do you think it fair that only Oscar was convicted of gross indecency and not his primary accomplice?

 

ROSS

Before the law, the accomplice was Alfred Taylor, who was, indeed, convicted and received the same two-year sentence. The prosecution did consider leveling charges against Bosie, but it was determined that they did not have sufficient evidence to convict.

 

MAGGIE

That didn’t stop them in Oscar’s case.

 

 

 ROSS

Miss Hayle, that this case was a miscarriage of justice will be an argument heard long after you and I are gone. But it doesn’t change things.  Oscar was, undoubtedly, made an example. I only wish we could have kept him from putting his head into the trap set by duplicitous prosecutors. But what’s done is done and may God have mercy on his soul.  He was a very good man and a very dear friend, who will be missed by all his fair-minded peers and most adore good theatre and literature.

 

MAGGIE

Fair enough, but answer me this Mr. Ross, had Oscar never met Lord Alfred Douglas would any measure of this disaster have befallen him.

 

 

ROSS

If only Caesar had opened his eyes to Marcus Brutus. If Othello hadn’t listened to Iago. Oscar, I’m afraid, was a wandering Saracen in search of a bewitching sorcerer. If not Bosie, he would have found his undoing in some other equally handsome Adonis. But tell me about the Oscar you knew. Tell me of the happier times. He must have been a spectacle to you Americans. How did your paths cross?

 

MAGGIE

It was in Washington. As I mentioned, I was with the Post, at the time. Col. Cockerill was desk editor. Cockerill was an irascible old sod. The Guiteau trial was underway and he had little time for Oscar. He thought him a charlatan and reluctantly saw him as a news item. To Oscar’s disappointment he was a second page story. There’s no way advice on flower arrangements and china selection was going to take space away from the trial of the century. I was to cover him for the society pages.

 

ROSS

Remind, the Guiteau Trial?

 

 

MAGGIE

Charles Guiteau, the madman who assassinated President James Garfield.

 

ROSS

Ah yes, of course… And that was the first time you met him.

MAGGIE

Yes, but not the first time I had seen him. 

DISSOLVE

 

EXT - LONDON, NEW BOND ST. GROSVENOR GALLERY – DAY

 

INSERT: ‘LONDON, MAY 1, 1877 THE GROSVENOR GALLERY’

 

A light rain falls as the hansoms and broughams pull up in an orderly fashion at 135 New Bond Street disembarking their elegant passengers. A woman in a raglan cloak, over billowing folds of satin, taffeta, silk and calico steps out of her carriage. A coachmen shields her with an umbrella in one hand, while offering another to assist with her descent. A gentleman in morning suit, overcoat and top hat follows her.

 

INT - LONDON, NEW BOND ST. GROSVENOR GALLERY – CONTINUOUS

 

A series of shots:

1.      A pan across a crowded Victorian picture gallery taking in the works of Pre-Raphaelite and Etruscan painters

2.      Elegant Victorian gallery patrons in formal attire talking among themselves

3.      MAGGIE HAYLE stands in front of Nocturnes by James McNeill Whistler taking notes. An intimidating WHISTLER is standing to one side of his paintings glaring at the gallery goers.

 

MAGGIE (VO)

My first introduction to Oscar was in May of ’77. It was at the Grosvenor Gallery opening.  We didn’t actually meet on this occasion, but I was given a very flamboyant demonstration of his social panache.

It is fair to say that the Grosvenor Gallery opening was one of the crowning moments of the aesthetic movement. Pre-Raphaelite and Etruscan painters had been assembled in this remarkable new gallery of Sir Coutts and Lady Blanche Lindsay. The works on display were far too controversial for the Royal Academy. New paintings by Edward Burne Jones, Lawrence Alma-Tadema, George Frederic Watts and many others reflected the aesthetic standards for beauty and elegance. Many of these paintings had never before been hung in a London gallery.

 

4.      The crowd parts as the tall (6’3”), young OSCAR WILDE enters wearing his famous “cello” coat. Wilde strolls through the gallery stopping to admire individual works 

5.      Well-dressed Victorian couples tap one another on the shoulder and turn from the paintings to view the amusing spectacle of Wilde in has harlequinesque attire  

 

 

MAGGIE (VO)

In 1877 Oscar was a precocious Oxford undergraduate. He valued much more the importance of being seen than that of being earnest.  I was standing in front of James McNeill Whistler’s Nocturnes, where the air was thick with whispered comments of dismay and incomprehension. Whistler was standing to one side daring patrons to step forward and ask him about his work. Suddenly, all heads turned and the crowd’s attention was focused on the center of the room. There stood Oscar in his ludicrous “cello” frock coat. There was polite laughter and some indignation expressed as the young aesthete gravitated toward Whistler’s paintings. Oscar had achieved what he had come for and to round out the afternoon he would engage the testy James Whistler. He was not the least bit afraid of the intimidating American painter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

WILDE

(to Whistler)

These are by far the most unique and exotic paintings of the exhibition.

 

WHISTLER

And yours, sir, is the most unique and exotic frock coat.

 

WILDE

Thank you. Now, tell me is it your intention to pull the viewer closer to nature with this picture or cast him adrift?

 

WHISTLER

Like your frock coat, my paintings exist to provoke comment. Some will speak of temporal conclusions; others see eternity in my work. Now, you must tell me the motivation for this musical coat.

 

WILDE

It’s quite simple Mr. Whistler, one should either be a work of art or wear one. 

 

 

MAGGIE (VO)

I remember thinking how cheeky and confident this young Oxford pup. In spite of his attempts to the contrary, one would have had to predict a life of some outrageous fortune for one so gallant. He hardly seemed the type to marry and quietly skulk off to some dusty library for a life of letters.

 

     

INT - ENGLAND, LANCASTER GATE, LLOYD HOUSEHOLD, PARLOR - DAY

INSERT: 'LANCASTER GATE: NOVEMBER 5, 1881'

CONSTANCE LLOYD is a tall (5'8") attractive 24-year-old. She wears her long chestnut-colored hair up. She sits on the settée next to OSCAR WILDE. He wears his long straight brown hair parted in the center. A MAID serves the couple tea.

WILDE

There's not much I can do. No play can endure such ill-timing.

CONSTANCE

But don't you think people would separate the two and realize that you wrote your play long before this tragic event.

WILDE

My dear Constance, you are presuming reason. One can assign many attributes to a modern theater audience, reason is not among them.

CONSTANCE

What if someone from Oxford or a fellow playwright were to explain things?… give your play an approval so to speak.

WILDE

Oh you dear, dear innocent. Henry V will ride into battle again before that happens. I have written a drama for which the central plot is the assassination of a Russian Czar. Given the untimely assassination of Alexander II and the overwhelming Royal empathy for the Czar’s family, my play is about as popular as a new piece of tax legislation. 

 

CONSTANCE

Oscar you exaggerate. You must use your connections to better position your work.  Why not go to the Prince of Wales? He'd be flattered to think you'd consult with him on an artistic matter.

WILDE

My dear girl I am not making myself clear! The Royal Boy is married to the sister of the Czar's widow. The family is in mourning. I’d be tossed in the street faster than a common costermonger.

 

CONSTANCE

So it's dead? Your play is to be buried?

 

WILDE

I would say it's in a moribund state. If it could be staged outside of this country, it might breath anew.

CONSTANCE

So what is next for you?

 

WILDE

I am not sure what the appropriate duration of mourning is for a work of art. But once over it,  I shall move on and write something else.

 

 

CONSTANCE

But you say it is not dead.  

 

WILDE

No, but it lies in that desk drawer that has become my literary infirmary. And I do grieve for it.

 

CONSTANCE

You’re so dramatic Oscar.

 

WILDE

What better compliment for a dramatist. 

 

CONSTANCE

Now, is that what you are? I thought you set out to be a poet.

 

 

WILDE

One does not set out to be a poet. One either is or is not. The challenge is how to nurture the poetic disposition. It is, by design, an idle comportment. Good poets are neither barristers, doctors, legislators, soldiers nor men of action. And while, often idle, the lower classes generally lack the aesthetic sensibility for the craft. As for the privileged, one would like to think that this would be the fons poeta, but of course the privileged classes are far too pre-occupied with impressing or entertaining each other. They might make time to read or listen to a poem. But who has time in a busy social schedule to write one.  No, the burden falls to the scholar, where contemplation is a daily vigil. How then does one replicate that life outside of an Oxford or Cambridge? Who pays for room and board, while the poet has his nose in a book and his head in the clouds? A poet of modest means may set out to write poetry, but along the way he will have to take up some sympathetic avocation to keep body and soul together.  Unless, of course, he can secure a patron. 

 

CONSTANCE

You might consider marrying well.

 

WILDE

I don’t seem to be able to pass the qualifying exams where marriage is concerned. 

 

CONSTANCE

Oscar, I know that romance and you have not been the best of dance partners. I can see where you have been the escort in the quadrille, stepping aside for another man’s waltz. I assure you, you can be that waltz partner for the right woman.

 

WILDE

I’m not much of a dancer. Most of my entertainment at society occasions is derived from the sedentary role of the observer.

 

 

CONSTANCE

What utter nonsense. I’ve seen you in such settings; you’re usually the center of attention.

 

WILDE

Perhaps so. But as they watch me, I am watching them. Exhibitionism and voyeurism, my dear Constance, are but two sides of the same coin.

 

 

CONSTANCE

You are a most curious fellow. Like so many women I find myself attracted to you. Why do you think that is?

 

 

WILDE

Curiosity!

 

CONSTANCE

You might think to barter some of your curiousness for some stability.  As mediocre as it may seem, the modern woman seeks a steadfast quality in a worthy suitor.

 

WILDE

Curiosity in exchange for stability is not a barter; it’s a swindle.

 

 

CONSTANCE

You’re a dear and charming soul, Oscar, and I so admire your mother. I hope we will remain friends always.

 

 

WILDE

Constance, there is no friendship between man and woman. There is only passion, love, worship, enmity, disdain or detachment.  

 

 

 

 CONSTANCE

And which is it to be between us? 

 

 

WILDE

There is, perhaps, an ember of passion burning here, I think you will agree.

 

 

CONSTANCE

I hardly know you.

 

 

WILDE

That’s makes two of us, my dear. Perhaps we can get to know me together. For now I must take my leave. I have a dinner engagement with Oscar Browning. I must try to persuade him to change his first name.

Wilde kisses her hand and takes his leave.

EXT - LONDON, CHELSEA - DUSK

LAMPLIGHTER illuminates gas street lamps. The tall dark figure of WILDE approaches from down the street.

LAMPLIGHTER

e'venen Gov’nor!

Wilde briskly tips top hat; turns into front gate at No. 3. Tite Street, Chelsea. Before opening thedoor, he stoops to pick up an envelope.

INSERT: Envelope Address:

 

‘Oscar F.O. W. Wilde, Esq.,

#3 Tite Street, Chelsea’

 with Return  Address: 

'Mr. Michael J. Portsman, Solicitor

32 Marble Arch, London'

Wilde opens door and steps into the front hallway

INT - LONDON, CHELSEA #3 TITE STREET  - CONTINUOUS

WILDE

Invoices! When will London learn that it is Oscar Wilde who is owed?

Apartment door in hallway opens. Enter FRANK MILES, 29, steps into the hallway and closes the door behind him.  He is wearing a painter's smock covered in paint.

 

MILES

Fosco, can I have a minute of your time?

 

WILDE

Time, my good Miles, is the only commodity with which I can afford to be charitable.

MILES

I want to have a word with you... It's a matter of some delicacy.

The pair re-enters Miles room where SALLY HIGGINS, 16, is pulling on her clothes.

WILDE

Frank, it is a rare event in your life that does not require delicacy.

MILES

It's not what you think....

MILES (CONT'D)

(to Sally)

Run along, while I have a word with Oscar.

 

Sally grabs her shawl and exits.

 

WILDE

Congratulations Frank, she's not coming out material, but at least this one is old enough.

 

MILES

It is nothing serious.

Wilde raises the back of his hand to cover his discolored teeth[1]  as he laughs.

WILDE

Nothing with you ever is, Frank.

 

MILES

Father has written a letter.

Wilde takes off his gloves

WILDE

Oh my word, an epistle from the Great Canon Miles!  And you need some help with those large ecumenical words he flings across the page.

MILES

Please Oscar, be straight with me for a minute. This is serious. The letter concerns you.

WILDE

Ahh! Then one presumes it’s an essay of the most resplendent compliment.

MILES

Oscar, what my father has written is in no way flattering.

WILDE

Well if that's the case, let's see if we can trap the old prebendary[2] in a libel. I'm in need of a few quid to meet this month’s rent.

Wilde walks to the mantle; stares at a portrait of Frank's father.

WILDE (cont'd)

What's the nature of his deposition? Has he discovered Beelzebub in my Charmides[3]?

MILES

Yes, your poetry is partly the issue.

 

WILDE

Partly the issue Frank?

 

 

MILES

Yes. Well he objects to the lascivious nature of the poems and has great concern for the hand that wrote them. 

 

 

WILDE

I see…

 

Wilde begins to pace

 

WILDE (cont’d)

So if I were to cut off my writing hand, then I might appease him or is it Him with a capital ‘H’.

 

. MILES

(gritting teeth)

Oscar!

 

 

WILDE

No, do fill me my painterly companion. I’ll want to get this right. I must have missed the latest C of E bulletin announcing the return of the Inquisition – My God what will this mean for you – an accomplice – hot wax poured over the tender parts of your body? Flagellation? Fingernails pulled?

 

 

MILES

Oscar stop this. Not every one has patience for your sarcasm. 

 

 

WILDE

Nor my poetry it would seem. Alas, patience is less of a pre-requisite than an aesthetic education.

 

 

MILES

Oscar, he wants you to leave!   

 

WILDE

Leave? … Leave this house?… My home?

MILES

He's got it into his head that having you here, under the same roof, is bad for my reputation.

 

WILDE

I beg your pardon! Your reputation? Oh spare me my dear boy. If you were concerned for your reputation, then you’d stop romancing school-age trollops like that one out in the hall.

Miles takes up a dry paintbrush and nervously flicks the bristles.

MILES

Be that as it may, my father has it in his head that your work is blasphemous. I know that will seem ridiculous to you. But there is no quarrelling with him. He fears that your unscrupulousness taints everything and everyone about you.

WILDE

And did you side with your father Miles?  Did you tell him that it was Oscar who introduced you to Sally and dozens of others like her? That it was Oscar compromised your eye for beauty and steered you towards peasant lust? That it was Oscar turned your canvas into flesh?

MILES

I told him nothing. My father is irrevocable when he makes his mind up about sin. He wants you out from under this roof.

WILDE

So, you're tossing me into the streets?

 

MILES

Well no… I just want you to make arrangements to room with some else. That's all. I mean there might be someone right here in Chelsea who would accommodate you.

 

WILDE

(with a sneer and a cold stare)

Ah, I see someone here in Chelsea to take me in – someone you could fawn me off on like a house cat that sheds its fur, or a dog in need of house-training. Perhaps we could post billets in the street. “One novice poet with aesthetic habits to good home, attentive and yet independent.” You might do a little door-to-door solicitation. You could approach your friend, Mr. James Whistler. He might make be a charitable keeper.

MILES

Jimmy? I dare say he is not the type to have roommates.

WILDE

(with increasing outrage)

Jimmy, you say. You know him well? You know his habits, his likes, his dislikes.

 

MILES

I’ve known him – going on three years now. It is I who introduced you to him.

 

 

WILDE

Indeed it was. But why do you think he continues to accept invitations to tea, here at Keates House? And how is it possible that so humble a domicile, as this, has seen an endless succession of other eminent visitors: the Prince of Wales, the Laboucheres, Oscar Browning Madame Modjeska, Lillie Langtry, Henry Irving, Ellen Terry, Sarah Bernhardt – do you think they return here, time and again, to revisit your pictures? You paint them Frank, but who amuses them? When they have there picture, what purpose is served by a return visit to Keates House? Do you think Lillie Langtry stops round to see yet another charcoal image of herself— same as the last one? The woman owns a mirror, Frank. She doesn’t need you. This house is a mausoleum without me and you are nothing but one of its lingering shadows.

 

MILES

You needn’t be so cruel. How can I be anything but humbled to have to put you out?  Do you think I extract any pleasure or pride from such an onerous deed?  .

 

WILDE

(enraged)

Au contraire Monsieur Miles, you'll take great pride in having thrown me out. You'll parade this triumph in your father’s circle with the self-righteous zeal of a reformed man.  I can hear your boast: “that's right.  I threw the knave out on his ear.”  You'll take it for the bravest thing you’ve ever done --- which it most certainly will be. But trust me, Frank, no one of consequence will consider you brave.  In the social circles that you strive for, this will be perceived as an act of cowardice and it will mar you worse than any scar.

Wilde heads for door.

MILES

Oh Oscar, it’s not that I want this, it's just that my father...

Wilde reaches the door and turns, interrupting Frank.

 

WILDE

(shouting)

...is an ass, Frank. A Royal knob among the certifiably mundane.  And you! You're a mess, Frank. If my conduct, moral or otherwise, offends your father's good name, than you should take extra caution to keep him ignorant of your ways. God have more mercy on your perverted soul if the good Canon ever finds out about your other roommates.

MILES

Oscar, have pity. Without father, there is no money. You cannot expect me to throw everything aside for some hard bitten principles.

WILDE

Frank, I expect very little of you and so far you've meticulously lived up to my expectations. You're only concern is for currency, and, let me say that, with it you've bought yourself a perfectly counterfeit life.

 

Wilde storms past the trembling artist and out the door. He casts a disdainful  eye on Sally and he quickly turns back to Miles, who stands in the doorway.

WILDE (cont'd)

Reputation?  Who do you think you're kidding?

MILES

Oscar, maybe we can work something out in a couple of weeks when father cools off.

Wilde pulls on his coat and gloves; wraps a yellow cashmere scarf around his neck and reaches for his ashplant. He grabs his top hat, turns to Miles, and shakes the ashplant in his former roommate’s face.

WILDE

No Frank. This is the last you will see of me. I am finished with you. I do not expect to hear from you and I forbid you to engage me at any time in the future.

Wilde takes a deep breath.

WILDE (cont'd)

I will send a cab to fetch my trunk and my furnishings.

EXT - LONDON, CHELSEA OUTSIDE #3 TITE STREET - CONTINUOUS

Wilde walks into the street; turns for one last look at Miles, who is clutching Sally Higgins to his side.

 

 

WILDE (CONT'D)

(shaking his head)

Utterly pathetic.

 

EXT - LONDON, CHELSEA IN TITE STREET - CONTINUOUS

Wilde walks briskly down the street; elderly GENTLEMAN and LADY approaches from the opposite direction.

 

GENTLEMAN

(tipping his hat)

Evening Master Wilde.

Wilde ignores the greeting and walks with his head erect, staring straight ahead, clicking his ashplant along the cobblestone.

 

GENTLEMAN (CONT'D)

(to his lady companion)

 That's that poet chap they were talking about at dinner last evening.

 

 

LADY

Well good heavens, how far does he expect to get with manners like that?

INT - NEW YORK, STANDARD THEATER - NIGHT

INSERT: 'Standard Theater, New York: November 1881'

On-stage actors perform scene from Gilbert & Sullivan's PATIENCE. Scene features Bunthorne (a caricature of Wilde) Cut to a Two-shot of MRS. FRANK LESLIE, widow and owner of Leslie's Illustrated Newspapers, sitting in a box with HELEN LENOIR, a junior associate in the Richard D'Oyly Carte Opera Company.

 

MRS. LESLIE

They say he quite adores this portrait of himself.

 

MISS LENOIR

 

Who is he?

 

MRS. LESLIE

Oh, Oscar, of course ----Oscar Wilde.

 

MISS LENOIR

Yes, yes. But do you think the caricature is well-recognized here in New York.

 

 

MRS. LESLIE

Hear me out. In the first instance the piece is pure song and dance – and we all know what an insatiable appetite this town has for song and dance. But then there is the comedy. I’m not sure that the audience is specifically aware of Oscar Wilde, but they recognize the aesthetic persona and they understand the Gilbert & Sullivan mockery. With a little publicity the play could be the season’s biggest hit.

 

MISS LENOIR

Do you think so?

 

MRS LESLIE

Oh, my word yes. It has everything going for it. Colorful costumes, glamorous lead actress, music, dance and frivolity at the expense of Oxford toadies.

 

Mrs. Leslie looks away from the stage and down to her program.

 

 

MRS LESLIE (cont.)

(excited)

Good heavens, of course, America should meet the genuine article.

 

.

MISS LENOIR

I beg your pardon?

 

 

MRS LESLIE

Oscar. America must meet Oscar Wilde.

Miss Lenoir stares at the character of Bunthorne and back to Mrs. Leslie

 

MISS LENOIR

What are you saying?

 

 

MRS LESLIE

I’m saying Richard must bring Oscar to New York.

MISS LENOIR

Have you met him, Mrs. Leslie?

 

MRS LESLIE

Of course my dear, anyone who visits London these days meets the affable and outrageous Oscar Wilde.  Furthermore, I am an acquaintance of his brother, and an admirer of his mother, Lady Wilde—-Speranza, the Irish patriot and poet.

 

MISS LENOIR

They say he is the most popular unpublished literary man in all of London.

MRS LESLIE

That’s not true. He has just brought out a colorful little volume of poetry---not entirely noteworthy. But published nevertheless.

 

MISS LENOIR

So what is it that recommends him?

 

MRS. LESLIE

Oh, Oscar is his own recommendation. He'll walk into a room attired in some outrageous garment and draw the attentions of both sexes. Five minutes in his company and he'll convince you he's the man of the hour. Give him ten minutes and he’ll convince you he’s the man of the century. No one is more charming, more erudite or more entertaining than Oscar. Women adore him and flock to him like ravens to a silver bangle.

MISS LENOIR

He sounds quite the dandy. I'm not sure American women are as vulnerable to such dandyism.

 

MRS. LESLIE

Trust me my dear, within two weeks of his arrival every society woman in this town will be clamoring for one of his calling cards.

 

MISS LENOIR

Yes, but how will that sit with their spouses? They’ll run him out of town.

Crowd roars with laughter at antics of Bunthorne and Grosvenor on stage.

MRS. LESLIE

Will they now? I can assure you, Oscar’s way with the ladies poses no threat to the American sense of masculinity. On the contrary, I predict that men will line up alongside their womenfolk  to gawk at the young fop who inspired the outrageousness of Gilbert and Sullivan’s  Bunthorne.

MISS LENOIR

Hmmm, you may have a point, Mrs. Leslie.

 

MRS. LESLIE

I know I am right! I should not have to tell you your business, Miss Lenoir. Look here, this theater is roaring with laughter, but only three-quarters full. You and Richard need to make some news about this play. There can be no better news-maker than the man who inspired Bunthorne.

 

INT - STAGE OF STANDARD THEATER  - CONTINUOUS

Characters of BUNTHORNE and GROSVENOR occupy center stage as they sing their duet from G&S' PATIENCE

INT - LOGE IN STANDARD THEATER  - CONTINUOUS

Return to two-shot of Mrs. Leslie and Miss Lenoir

MISS LENOIR

An interesting notion.

 

MRS. LESLIE

It is all about headlines, Miss Lenoir. Headlines that can sell newspapers and headliners that can sell theater tickets. It is why Leslie's Illustrated is the most popular paper in town.  You have a word with dear Richard and assure him the newspapers would cover a tour of Oscar Wilde.

 

MISS LENOIR

I shall speak with Mr. D'Oyly Carte in the morning.

EXT - LONDON, CHELSEA, JAMES WHISTLER'S HOME - EVENING

WILDE storms up the walkway, knocks on front door. YASHI, a petite female Japanese servant, 40s, answers.

WILDE

Yashi is he home?

YASHI

(with Japanese accent)

Oh, Mister Wilde. He reads now. Does not like visitor.

INT - LONDON, CHELSEA, JAMES WHISTLER'S HOME - CONTINUOUS

Wilde enters and takes off his coat, hat and scarf.

WILDE

Yashi, I’m not a visitor. I am an unexpected guest. Where is he, in the study?

 

YASHI

(with Japanese accent)

No, sunroom.

INT - LONDON, CHELSEA, WHISTLER'S HOME SUNROOM - CONTINUOUS

JAMES WHISTLER, is sitting in a recliner in front of the fireplace. He is reading and drinking tea by low candlelight. Cigarette burns in the ashtray. Enter Wilde.

WILDE

Good Lord, James what are you doing taking your tea in a sunroom without sun?

WHISTLER

Oh it’s you…. I was told that by taking tea under the cover of darkness I could avoid interruptions from solicitors, politicians, lawyers and poets. Obviously, I was misinformed … Yashi, be so kind as to get the man a chair and another place setting. I'll not have him standing between me and the available light.

 

Wilde moves to intercept Yashi who is struggling with a wicker chair.

WILDE

There now my dear woman let me handle this.

 

WILDE (cont'd)

(to Whistler)

I see you're reading the new Symons.

 

WHISTLER

Yes, and I don't want it spoiled with any of your criticism.

 

 

WILDE

None shall be offered.

 

 

 

WHISTLER

Here now, what’s purpose of this visit? I'd like to think that by opening a volume of new poetry I haven't somehow summoned you. What's on your mind?

Wilde takes out his silver case and offers a cigarette to Whistler, who takes it while putting out the one smoldering in an ashtray.

WILDE

Oh, it's all too tiresome.

WHISTLER

Tiresome, dear Oscar, is having you interrupt a perfectly tranquil evening.

 

WILDE

I've been shut out of Tite Street.

 

WHISTLER

I'm not surprised… when did you last pay that man his rent?

 

WILDE

Oh, no, it's not that. It's Miles – or at least his pig-headed father. Seems the old blackguard has taken a dislike to my comportment.

 

WHISTLER

Some specifics Oscar!  I wouldn’t have thought your comportment consistent enough to warrant criticism.

 

WILDE

Jimmy,  I'm not in the mood for your diminishments. The good Canon has been reading my poetry.

 

WHISTLER

 Well bless my soul! Does that mean you have a sale?

WILDE looks to the ceiling and shakes his head.

 

 

WILDE

Would it be possible for you to just listen? Perhaps take some interest in something other than yourself.

 

WHISTLER

You're asking a lot of this friendship.

 

WILDE

He has been reading my Charmides...

 

WHISTLER

Oh oh! Nothing good can come of that.

 

WILDE

Frank, the fool, probably gave it to him to prove that I had been occupied.

 

WHISTLER

Pre-occupied is more like it.

 

WILDE

The Canon found it to be profane and told Miles to refrain from any further association with me. Feels I'll tarnish his reputation.

 

WHISTLER

How do you tarnish something, which is already besmirched?

WILDE

That was my point, but it's of no consequence now. This is the last thing I need. I've been pushing to get my play, Vera, to the stage and that no longer seems likely. Oxford has rejected my Poems ---this after the University librarian requested that I submit it.  I'm down to my last few pounds and now I'm without a roof over my head. What have I done to deserve this?

 

WHISTLER

What have you done to prevent it? You can't strut about London the rest of your life living off of your scintillating conversation. This play won't see the stage if, like everything else you do, it's another of your illustrative yarns. More idle banter to be used to reinforce one of those Oxford platitudes about art or social responsibility, I suspect.

 

 

WILDE

(smoking anxiously) 

 

Must you be so harsh, so callous. I've written Vera as a play about the recent past and as an admonishment for the future ---a future that has so inconveniently arrived today.  It is filled with compassionate Russian players striving for social change---heroic revolutionaries, who will lay their lives down for their cause. This is not a work of idleness. And if there hadn't been these untimely assassinations the public and the Royal family would have found my play to be both illuminating and stimulating.

WHISTLER

Please… in reading it I longed for the assassin's bullet myself.

 

WILDE

I cannot accept your criticism; I'm sure you never got beyond the first act.

 

WHISTLER

And what does that tell you? Listen to me, young Oscar. Your work is not profane, it's passive. It's observation from the greatest distance possible. It's almost hearsay.  You're not so much writing as repeating what’ve you’ve heard. You've got a head full of Pater and Ruskin and you sound like an overwrought lecturer. My advice is to get away from all of that. You've got some talent, now off you go and learn how to use it. And do it now while you are still a young man. 

 

WILDE

I don’t see how such a harsh lecture is possibly going to help. I came to looking for some solace and sage advice.

 

WHISTLER

For solace, you’ve knocked on the wrong door. As for advice, there you have it. Stop moping about feeling sorry for yourself. Go about your business, Oscar. Write something that warrants an encore. In the meantime, please leave me to my reading and what little light is left.

Wilde gets up to leave.

WHISTLER (CONT'D)

By the way, what are you doing about Constance Lloyd?  That's a good woman who would steer you right.   Marry her, Oscar! She’ll cultivate and preserve the gentleman you’re so desperate to become. 

Wilde walks to door with back to Whistler.

WILDE

I wish I could.

 

WHISTLER

Have you asked her?

 

WILDE

I can't just yet. 

 

WHISTLER

Well heavens man, why not?

 

WILDE

It’s complicated.

 

WHISTLER

Oh, be off with you Oscar, you are the idlest man I know. If you don't propose to that woman and make her your wife, you'll be beyond redemption.

Wilde exits.

INT - LONDON, LADY WILDE'S HOUSE, DINING ROOM - MORNING

Enter LADY JANE WILDE, Oscar's mother, a tall statuesque woman in her late 50s. She is dressed in a green and black taffeta gown. She wears an enormous wool shawl. She sets a tray, with a service, down on the dining room table and walks to the nearby stairwell. 

LADY WILDE

(calling upstairs)

Oscar, your tea is getting cold.

INT - LONDON, LADY WILDE'S HOUSE, BATHROOM - CONTINUOUS

WILDE stands in front of the mirror in his nightshirt. He pulls back his long black bangs to examine his hairline.  He then looks at his darkening teeth with disgust.

WILDE

Damn! – I’ll be there in minute Mother.

He reaches for mercury pills and swallows two with a glass of water.[4]

INT - LONDON, LADY WILDE'S HOUSE, DINING ROOM  - CONTINUOUS

Wilde enters wearing brown suit trousers, with matching waistcoat, a linen shirt with a stiff color and a cravat. Lady Wilde picks up a letter addressed to Wilde and places it against flower vase on the table.

 

LADY WILDE

What's kept you son?

 

 

 

WILDE

I’m just not feeling myself. And a man needs a little time for his toilet---grooming is the only thing that truly separates us from the beasts.

 

LADY WILDE

Makes no difference if it’s your toilet or some other distraction you'll be late for your own funeral Oscar Fingal O’Flahertie Wills Wilde.

 

WILDE

Not a social occasion, one exactly marks the calendar for, Mother. I can't imagine being in a room with everyone talking about me and not being able get a word in edge-wise. 

 

LADY WILDE

In life and in death, always the center of attention, I don't know who you get this from.

 

WILDE

Come now, Mother, I'm a mere lunar orb in the presence of your celestial dominance.

 

LADY WILDE

Hmmm! And what do the planets hold in store for you today, my son?

 

WILDE

I’m not in the habit of consulting the planets, dear mother. As for my calendar I have scheduled a less fateful appointment with Edward Smythe-Piggot, who is going to share his assessment of Vera.

 

LADY WILDE

Does Mr. Smythe-Piggot have a reputation for political plays such as Vera?

 

WILDE

Well, as the Examiner of Plays for Lord Chamberlain, we can be sure of one thing: he is most definitely political.

 

 

 

LADY WILDE

Bon chance, mon fils. Now, to subjects more affected by the stars, tell me what has become of the lovely Miss Lloyd? I haven’t heard you mention that sweet child in days.

 

WILDE

I speak of Miss Lloyd all the time – you’re not always there to hear me on the subject. How is it that all of London seems bent on pushing me into the arms of Miss Lloyd? Are we certain this is in Miss Lloyd's best interests?

 

LADY WILDE

You know she's right for you Oscar. You'd do well by that pretty young thing. She will provide up-keep for all the facets of your improvident life.

 

WILDE

(exasperated)

Yes, Mother.

LADY WILDE

You're going to ask her to marry you, are you not?

 

WILDE

Indeed, Mother.

 

LADY WILDE

When?

WILDE

Perhaps we should permit Miss Lloyd to have a say in the matter.

 

LADY WILDE

And so she shall as soon as you ask the question of her.

 

WILDE

The question you speak of is not intended to elicit opinion, mother. There are but two responses. Neither of which I am entirely prepared to accommodate, at this time.

 

LADY WILDE

You mustn’t be reticent, Oscar. I believe Miss Lloyd will be favorable.

 

WILDE

When the time comes, mother, I shall be as bold as new paint. 

Wilde reaches for letter.

WILDE (cont'd)

What's this?

 

LADY WILDE

Oh, yes, of course, that is the cable from America.  It arrived late yesterday afternoon.  If you're not to be married, perhaps Broadway will have you?

Wilde reads the return address before opening the cablegram.

 

INSERT: D'Oyly Carte's Opera Companies Central Office, 1267 Broadway, New York

 

WILDE

Mother, your sarcasm is never more endearing than when it speaks the truth.

Lady Wilde puts down her teacup.

LADY WILDE

You don't mean to say it is an offer?

 

WILDE

Calm yourself.

 

LADY WILDE

Well, is it?

 

WILDE

It is the strangest thing – it seems D'Oyly Carte's Opera Company wants me for a lecture tour in America.

Wilde reads.

WILDE (cont'd)

'Responsible agent asks me to inquire if you will consider the offer he makes by letter for fifty readings beginning November first.  This is confidential.  Answer.'

LADY WILDE

A lecture tour! …. Now, I have heard it all.

 

WILDE

Yes, well, apparently the same is not true for our American cousins.  They have yet to partake of the charm, wit and erudition of Oscar Wilde.

 

LADY WILDE

Heaven save us. You are not thinking of accepting, are you?

WILDE

Mother, is your concern for my welfare or that of America?

 

LADY WILDE

Both. The combination is volatile. But if you go, I shan’t lie awake at night worrying about you.

WILDE

I should think the prospect of your son being gainfully employed would put your mind to rest.  Pass me some writing paper and a pen.

Lady Wilde reaches for paper and pen on the sideboard behind her.   Wilde writes his response.

INSERT: Yes, if offer is good.

EXT - LONDON, PICCADILLY CIRCUS - DAY

WILDE, dressed in billowing green satin cloak and brown velvet suit walks jauntily through the crowds in Regent Street. His dapper literary disciple, RENNELL RODD,25, accompanies him. Rodd has taken up Wilde's vacated post as honorary aesthete at Oxford.

WILDE

It's all perfectly explained in Keats' Sleep And Poetry; read it dear boy.

 

RODD

Oh Keats, Keats, Keats, why must everything come down to Keats for you?

 

WILDE

Up! my good Rennell – everything should measure up to Keats. There's no descent in approaching the definitive  poet of our times.  It was Keats who opened the windows and let in the light so that the Pre-Raphaelites could shimmer. It was Keats, and his flawless sense of beauty, that sanctified a separate realm for the imagination.   

O Poesy for thee I hold my pen  

EDDY, a tough unkempt cockney in his early 20s, enters from an alley. He is with his buddy GAVIN, also in his 20s. Both men are drinking, but not entirely drunk. The pair spots Wilde and Rodd.

GAVIN

Wohooh, Eddy, have a look at this dandy.

Eddy approaches Wilde.

EDDY

Marrryyy Ann. Whose sister are you?

Eddy and Gavin laugh. Wilde ignores them and continues walking and reciting Keats.

WILDE

That I am not yet a glorious denizen

 Of thy wide heaven ---Should I rather kneel

EDDY

I'll give you something to kneel for you big Abigail[5].

WILDE

Upon some mountain top until I feel

EDDY

(grabs his groin…laughs)

Feel this, you raving tart.

 

WILDE

 A glowing splendor round about me hung,

 

EDDY

(to Gavin)

Glow'n splendor is that what you call this gt-up. Ya stick a couple of plumes in 'er arse and she'll be a bleedin peacock on Whit Sunday.

 

WILDE

(still ignoring Eddy)

And echo back the voice of thine own tongue?

Wilde suddenly turns and confronts his assailants

WILDE (CONT'D)

Rennell, do you think these young Bassarids are deserving of their own poem… You there ---is it Eddy?  A poem in your honor, young cock of the town---come close so that you catch its meaning.

Eddy steps toward Wilde.

WILDE (CONT'D)

Let me see if I have something that would strike a chord....ah yes... 

From curb to curb his domain did stretch

As far as the flea could see.

This knave, an ignoble gutter wretch

Was the tyrant of Piccadilly. 

One day a bard walked cross his path,

Who the knave thought to ridicule

But it was the Bard who cut a swathe

Using stick, not pen, to win his duel.

Wilde raises his ashplant (cane) and raps the Eddy on his head. The young hoodlum stumbles and struts forward to grab Wilde. Wilde, having the advantage of height over his adversary, pushes him back with his ashplant. Eddy slips in a pile of horse manure and lands on his ass. Wilde and Rodd laugh as they exit. The jubilant pair turns the corner and enters Nathanial Gregory’s haberdashery.

INT - NATHANIAL GREGORY'S HABERDASHERY - CONTINUOUS

 

WILDE and RODD make a thunderous entrance: laughing and carrying on.

 

RODD

Oscar, I've never seen such a display. I commend your use of force. It was just the medicine for those two scoundrels.

 

 

 

WILDE

Our Oxford deacons have led us to believe that words are a gentlemen's weapon of choice. But just how is one supposed to fight a battle of wits with illiterate street vermin. The mistake these toddies make is to assume that handsome attire and charismatic carriage bespeak cowardice. That rube will think twice before he tangles with his next poet. Now, where is our tailor? Nate, where are you? Nate, there is no use hiding, my credit is good again and I have come for you and you alone.

WILDE (cont'd)

(to Rodd)

... It is really quite hysterical but this little tailor is petrified of me.

 

RODD

I am not sure I blame him.

 

NATHANIAL GREGORY steps onto the floor from behind a brown velvet curtain.

NATHANIEL

Oh, it is you, Mr. Wilde, how nice to see you.

 

WILDE

Nonsense, Nate! You were hoping you had seen the last of me.

 

NATHANIEL

Oh, no. Mr. Wilde, it is always my pleasure. I was just saying to the Mrs...

 

WILDE

Nathanial, let's not be false with each other over matters of affection. Neither of us has time for such petty deceits. I am here about a coat, Nate. I want something special – something the world has yet to see. I am going to America. And I want to remind the colonials that we Celts are the essence of style. There should be nothing false about this coat.

Nathanial holds up a bolt of deerskin.

NATHANIEL

This shade of blue is proving to be very popular. I can make a nice overcoat out of this – single- breasted or double-breasted – for, say, 20 guineas.

 

WILDE

A blue overcoat! Oh, Nathanial, let’s be serious. The object is to make me look obvious not dress me in the obvious.

 

NATHANIEL

We have done our experimenting before, sir. You know I am not given to the exotic. I am a moderate tailor.

WILDE

Nonsense, Nathanial. Moderation is a fatal thing. Nothing succeeds like excess.[6]  You just need a little inspiration.

Wilde picks out a bolt of green velvet.

WILDE (CONT'D)

What have we here?

 

RODD

Looks like the beginnings of a coronation gown.

 

NATHANIEL

Yes, that is a fine piece of cloth, though, I would not necessarily select it for coat material.

 

WILDE

Well, now this is where I question your skill as a distinctive tailor. I cannot imagine wasting such a fine weave on an over-ripe Royal.

Wilde picks up a corner of the fabric and rubs it against his cheek.

WILDE (CONT'D)

My coat is in here.Would you have some otter for a collar and trim?

NATHANIEL

Yes, that can be arranged.

 

WILDE

Oh, and a matching hat, Nathaniel – one of those Polish caps to protect my brow from the frontier frost. It will be perfect. All of America will seek you out for this coat and hat. The President himself will want one.

 

NATHANIEL

Certainly, if his ambition is to make himself an easier target than the last one?

 

WILDE

(laughing)

Very good, my tailor has a reluctant, but no less, wicked sense of humor.  

 

WILDE (cont'd)

(to Rodd)

See that, my wit and good humor is positively contagious.

 

RODD

Very catchy Oscar, very catchy.

 

 

WILDE

Tell me Monsieur Rodd, do you think my aesthetic charm potent enough to contaminate America?

 

RODD

You’ll bring them to their knees.

 

 

WILDE

We need only bring them to their senses.

FADE TO BLACK

FADE UP

INT - NEW YORK, OFFICES OF D'OLYLY CARTE OPERA COMPANY - DAY

INSERT: NEW YORK: JANUARY 2, 1882

RICHARD D’OYLY CARTE (37) sits at his desk studying Wilde's itinerary. ISABEL(20s), Carte's secretary, sits at a desk just outside his office, stuffing envelopes.

D’OYLY CARTE

Isabel, call Morse in here.

ISABEL

Yes, sir.

Isabel leaves her desk. D'Oyly Carte turns his chair and looks out the window over Broadway. MORSE (40s) enters smoking a pipe.

D’OYLY CARTE

Sit down Col…

Carte hands an itinerary to Morse

D’OYLY CARTE (cont'd)

So there's his itinerary, we've got almost 40 bookings to start. That takes us out to St. Patrick's Day.

 

COL. MORSE

That's marvelous Mr. Carte.

 

D’OYLY CARTE

Not bad, considering nobody on this side of the Atlantic knew the toff a month and a half ago.

 

COL. MORSE

If we can make $500 a lecture, this will be a profitable little venture.

 

D’OYLY CARTE

Yes, but you keep an eye on him. My sources say he lives high. Don't let him run up frivolous hotel bills.

COL. MORSE

I'll do everything I can.

 

D’OYLY CARTE

Do more than you can, Colonel.Your bonus comes out of those profits. So, you'll go out to the Arizona tonight and introduce yourself.

COL. MORSE

She weighs anchor at 8:30. I'll arrange for a skiff.

D’OYLY CARTE

Good. If we can make this work. We'll extend him out West.

 

COL. MORSE

I should think that will be up to Mr. Wilde.

 

D’OYLY CARTE

Nonsense! Never let the talent influence any of the economics. The talent are sheep. Don't you forget that. If there are 50 mores cities to be booked at a profit, we will decide and share our good fortune with Mr. Wilde. I'll meet him at Delmonico's tomorrow. It's just a  brunch,  nevertheless tell him to dress in formal attire. All of New York will likely be there.

COL. MORSE

Understood.

D’OYLY CARTE

Way you go then. We'll see you at Delmonico's.

Morse exits.

EXT - NEW YORK, HUDSON RIVER, SS ARIZONA  - NIGHT

MORSE boards SS Arizona from small skiff. A JUNIOR OFFICER in the ship's company reaches out to steady Morse, when he slips on the icy deck.

 

JUNIOR OFFICER

Steady she goes there, sir. These decks are like ice rinks.

COL. MORSE

Thank you, lad. I can see that now.

 

JUNIOR OFFICER

Is it any warmer ashore?

 

COL. MORSE

Only for them with wives, laddie. Now, where can I find this Irishman, Wilde? 

 

JUNIOR OFFICER

The poetry fella?  He's aft, down behind his cabin. Ya can't miss h'm.

Morse walks to stern to find a throng of reporters gathered around a tall green fur-trimmed shape.  WILDE hears Morse approach and turns to face him. After the brief distraction Wilde turns his attention back to the reporters.

 

EVENING POST REPORTER

Mr. Wilde, did you bring any family with you?

 

WILDE

No, sir, I am very much my own family.

 

EVENING POST REPORTER

Ah, so you are a bachelor?

 

WILDE

Indeed, that is the case.

 

EVENING POST REPORTER

So, are you in the market for an American wife?

 

WILDE

No, and I didn't realize wives were a commodity in this country.

 

EVENING POST REPORTER

That's what them Europeans comes here for. Them lesser barons and dukes fancy our colonial ladies.

 

WILDE

Really, I would have thought lesser barons would have sought out lesser women. They are usually required to marry within their own class.  

Reporters laugh.

 

NY HERALD REPORTER

What kind of women do you fancy Mr. Wilde? 

 

WILDE

Oh, the decorative kind I should think ---a woman with enough flair and good taste to complement my appearance.

Reporters laugh.

NY HERALD REPORTER

Is that compliment with an ‘i’ or complement with two ‘e’s.

 

WILDE

Why both, of course. 

More Laughter

CHRONICLE REPORTER

This is for Chronicle readers, sir; is it true that you have written a crude poem about an alabaster statue.

 

WILDE

Firstly, she is marble---the statute that is.

And secondly what is your definition of crude.

 

CHRONICLE REPORTER

Good sir, I couldn't possibly define that word here in public. 

 

WILDE

But you use the word in public. Surely you're not going to toss it about and then mask its meaning.

 

CHRONICLE REPORTER

I'm a married man, sir. In this particular context, crude is a word I am not comfortable explaining.

 

WILDE

So crudeness should be relegated to the domain of the bachelor poet. When you bring some meaning to your question, I will be happy to answer it.

 

CHRONICLE REPORTER

My question is quite simple, sir, did you or did you not write an immoral poem?

 

WILDE

Mr. Chronicle, if I may address you thusly, there is no such thing as a moral or immoral poem. There is only a good or bad poem. I choose to write the former.

 

WORLD REPORTER

Mr. Wilde, how old are you?

 

WILDE

I was 26 this past October. And, yes, I look much younger than my years.

 

 

NY SUN REPORTER

Mr. Wilde, answer me a serious question.

 

 

WILDE

Am I to assume that the question about my age was a frivolous one?

 

NY SUN REPORTER

Didn’t say that.

 

 

 

WILDE

Good, because age is a very serious matter, sir. Age can be the making or the ruin of a man. You want to have it on your side when you set out to make something of yourself. But one can be too young to hold opinions of consequence. On the other hand, one can be too old to have opinions that matter.

 

NY SUN REPORTER

There you go. So you should be old enough to hold some intelligent opinion on the subject of the Atlantic Ocean? Whad ‘ ya think of ‘er?

 

WILDE

I beg your pardon.

 

NY SUN REPORTER

What’s say you to the Atlantic Ocean and how was your crossing?

 

WILDE

Well truth be told, I am not entirely impressed with this ocean. It is not as majestic as I expected. The sea seemed far too tame. The roaring ocean does not roar. I would characterize my reaction to the Atlantic as one of disappointment.

All reporters feverishly copy down the poet's words.

 

WORLD REPORTER

Mr. Wilde, they tell us you are you here to lecture on aesthetics.  Would you define aestheticism as a philosophy?

WILDE

Most certainly it is a philosophy. It is the study of what may be found in art. It is the pursuit of one of life’s greatest secrets. In great art there resides eternal truth. So far, aestheticism may be held to be the study of the truth in art.[7]

 

WORLD REPORTER

Is it not a subjective science and prone to idiosyncratic interpretations?  And has this movement not fostered a myriad of inconsistent interpretations?

 

Wilde takes a deep breath.

WILDE

You might say that it has. But then all movements develop the characteristics of the individuals taking part in them. A movement that did not would be of little worth.

 

Morse works his way through the throng of reporters to reach Oscar's side. He presents Wilde with his card.

 

COL. MORSE

Mr. Wilde, allow me to present myself, I'm Col. W. F. Morse.  I have been assigned to handle your business affairs by the D'Oyly Carte Opera Company. Welcome to America.

 

Morse shakes Wilde's hand.

 

WILDE

Why, thank you, Col. Morse. How good of you to venture out onto the river to greet me.

 

COL. MORSE

Not at all, sir. Now, if I might suggest, let's bring this conference to a close and reconvene in the morning.

 

WILDE

You will have no argument from me.

 

COL. MORSE

All right, boys, let's pack this up for tonight. We will no doubt see you all again on the dock first thing in the morning.

 

As reporters disperse, Morse turns to Wilde.

COL. MORSE (cont'd)

Well, now, young man, you seemed to handle that pretty well. I can only assume this was not the first time you have faced a press court.

 

WILDE

Like a pack of wild dogs, you must never let them smell your fear. I must admit I am more accustomed to confrontations with one or two at a time. Never a herd such as this. 

 

COL. MORSE

Welcome to America, where very little transpires ' one or two at a time.' You'll soon learn that the American way is en-masse. You'll find us to be a big country, with big voices, big ideas and big audiences.  Make a quiet entrance and you might as well not have come at all. Now, what say you and I have a brief nightcap in the ship's wardroom before you retire?

WILDE

An excellent idea. Your management style agrees with me Colonel Morse.

Exit Wilde and Morse.

INT - SS ARIZONA, SHIP'S WARDROOM - CONTINUOUS

Wilde and Morse enter empty wardroom and take seats at a table. Morse lights his pipe.

WILDE (cont'd)

With everything taking place in America on such Brobdingnagian proportions, how does one get heard?

COL. MORSE

That's how folks like me earn a living. It's my job to give you a stage, a blow-horn and help you get across a message that won't be forgotten... Brob –ding – naggy - what?

 

WILDE

Brobdingnagian. Large, gigantic it's by the hand of his Lordship Jonathan Swift – Gulliver’s Travels you must know it. He speaks of the land of Brobdingnag. Surely you've read this marvelous Irish satire.

 

COL. MORSE

Can't say that I have and I wouldn't count on it being a popular bedside read here in the colonies. One of the keys to good American speech giving, Mr. Wilde, is loud and simple vocabulary.

 

WILDE

Hmmm. How very dull. I'm not sure I have the appropriate training. My delivery is less than fortissimo. I am more of a mezzo piano orator. I expect an audience to take pleasure in what I say, not in how loud I say it.

 

COL. MORSE

There’s little pleasure to be had in the unheard and the uncertain.

 

WILDE

The simple and honest truth, Colonel Morse, is that I'm probably a little too subtle for this assignment. I've never lectured in front of a large audience before.

 

COL. MORSE

For the love of Christ, how the hell did you get this engagement?

 

Morse signals BARKEEP.

 

WILDE

I can assure you He had nothing to do with it.

 

COL. MORSE

Whiskey okay with you, Mr. Wilde?

 

WILDE

Whiskey will do just fine.

 

COL. MORSE

So enlighten me Mr. Wilde, how is it a man with no lecturing experience is hired to tour the country as a lecturer?

 

WILDE

Oh I'm not bereft of skills of oratory. One does not graduate from Oxford without learning something about the art of public address. This tour is merely my first commercial undertaking.

 

 

COL. MORSE

It's a little different this. What with the Gilbert & Sullivan send-up this is as much about entertainment as it is enlightenment.

 

 

 

WILDE

Entertainment is not my forte, Col. Morse. I should hope this was explained to you.

 

BARKEEP sets down two whiskeys and a pitcher of water.  Morse pays him.

COL. MORSE

See here, I understand yours is an earnest lecture, but like everything Mr. D'Oyly Carte produces there has to be an element of showmanship.

 

WILDE

I am painfully aware that my engagement is owed, largely, to this retrograde play of Mssrs.  Gilbert & Sullivan.  Having said that, you should know I am ill-equipped to perform any antics akin to opera buffa.  I carry a tune with less comfort than I carry my own luggage.  I am comedic but not comical. I dance, but only in the company of elegantly dressed women – and as for my costume, though sometimes regarded as colorful – it  should not be taken for that of a harlequin. 

 

COL. MORSE

No likelihood of you working with dancing bears, acrobatic elephants or singing dogs, then?

 

WILDE

You're joking of course?

 

COL. MORSE

Circus acts are really only mandatory west of the Mississippi. These first 40 engagements in the East won’t require anything quite so sensational.

Wilde downs his whiskey, Morse signals for another.

 

COL. MORSE (cont'd)

Don't fret, Mr. Wilde you're in good hands.  Now tomorrow, I'll meet you right after you clear customs. I'll take you first to Delmonico's for breakfast. I have hired a valet, by the name of Davenport, who you will meet in the morning. Davenport will see that your things are taken to the Grand Hotel, where a suite of rooms has been prepared for you. I think you’ll find the accommodations more than satisfactory. You should take a day or two to settle yourself with the new surroundings and then we'll start reviewing your lecture script. Do you have it with you?

 

WILDE

It's in my cabin.

 

COL. MORSE

I should like to take it and have copies made.

 

WILDE

Given this evening's comments, it may require a little fine-tuning.

 

COL. MORSE

Very well, Mr. Wilde.

 

WILDE

Oscar. Call me Oscar!

 

COL. MORSE

Oscar it is. My friends call me Colonel.

 

 

WILDE

Most agreeable. If you're to be in charge, it'll be best if you out-rank me.

 

COL. MORSE

You're a curious fellow Oscar, but there's no chore in liking you.

 

WILDE

Trust me, Colonel, eventually you will see me as a chore and then some. Everyone does.

Morse raises his glass.

COL. MORSE

Well until then, here's to a successful tour.

EXT – NEW YORK, CASTLE GARDEN, BATTERY PARK DOCKS - MORNING

SS Arizona is being pushed into her berth by a tug. Snow is gently falling, brightening the otherwise grey scene.

INT – NEW YORK, CASTLE GARDEN CUSTOM HOUSE - CONTINUOUS

Large crowd of reporters and on-lookers gathering on the floor of the custom/warehouse. COL. MORSE stands in the center of the throng. SKETCH ARTISTS are preparing backgrounds for illustrations. SEVERAL PHOTOGRAPHERS stand by with tripods and box cameras. Morse moves to the head of the crowd to address a POLICE OFFICER.

 

COL. MORSE

Excuse me, sir. Excuse me!

 

POLICE OFFICER

(with thick Irish accent)

What’s your business, sir?

 

COL. MORSE

I'm Colonel W.F. Morse and I'm here to meet a very important dignitary. His name is Oscar Wilde. I'd like to wait for him over by your customs desk.

 

POLICE OFFICER

(with thick Irish accent)

Wait behind the gate with the rest.

The Colonel presents his card.

COL. MORSE

Sir, I'm Mr. Wilde's manager. He's expecting to see me when he gets off the boat.

 

POLICE OFFICER

(with thick Irish accent)

Is this the actor everyone's waiting for?

 

COL. MORSE

Critic, poet and lecturer, actually.

 

POLICE OFFICER

(allowing Morse to pass)

Seems this entire mob is waiting for him. The sooner you get him on his way the better off we'll all be.  Why's he so famous?

 

COL. MORSE

I'm not entirely sure.

EXT –HUDSON RIVER DOCK, DECKS OF SS ARIZONA - CONTINUOUS

SAILORS secure lines. A gangway is put in place. A small group of passengers, and crewmembers carrying luggage, make their way down the gangway.  Cut to WILDE, standing at the railing surveying the scene below. He stands out in his green fur-trimmed overcoat, fur hat, white gloves, a sky-blue necktie and a long white silk scarf. His coat is open showing off his trademark knee-britches and green velvet suit.  The aesthete pauses at the top of the gangway to take in the New York skyline through the snowfall.   A PORTER trails behind him with a huge trunk on a handcart.

 

 

PORTER

Watch your foot'n captain --these planks get pretty damn slippery this time of year. You don't want your arse to be the first thing to touch American soil.

 

WILDE

How courteous of you.

INT – CASTLE GARDEN, CUSTOM HOUSE - CONTINUOUS

Police Officer holding back crowd of reporters turns to McFEE, a reporter for the WORLD, at head of pack.

POLICE OFFICER

Just what is it you fellas want with this Wild bugger?

 

MCFEE

He's this week's news. Our editors want something concern'n his first steps on American soil. Let us through and I'll write it up so that you made an heroic effort to keep us back.

 

POLICE OFFICER

(with thick Irish accent)

You'd use my name in the paper?

 

MCFEE

Absolutely, let me get it down so's we spell it right.

McFee takes up his pad and pencil.

 

POLICE OFFICER

(with thick Irish accent)

It's Officer Mooney, M-O-O-N-Y – Edgar Mooney

Police Officer lets the throng pass on to the floor of the customs house.

MCFEE

Officer Money, with two o's. You’re a Prince.

Cut to Morse, where crowd is now assembled behind him. Wilde approaches CUSTOMS OFFICER.

 

CUSTOMS OFFICER

Next! – Papers!

 

Wilde hands over his passport and visa.

 

CUSTOMS OFFICER (CONT'D)

You English?

 

WILDE

I beg your pardon sir, Irish.

 

CUSTOMS OFFICER

Ahh, makes no difference.

 

 

WILDE

On the contrary sir, it makes an enormous difference.

CUSTOMS OFFICER

Trust me lad, you're better off stepping ashore, in this town, as a humble Englishman than a proud Irishman.

 

MCFEE

(shouting from the throng of reporters)

Oscar, give us a first impression for the World. What's your opinion of New York?

Wilde ignores McFee.

 

CUSTOMS OFFICER

Purpose of your visit?

 

WILDE

I'm here to give a lecture tour.

 

MCFEE

Tell us what your lecture is about.

 

Customs Officer turns glares at McFee and then addresses him directly.

 

CUSTOMS OFFICER

Look here, I'm interview'n this passenger. You stand behind that line and wait your turn or I'll have the whole lot of ya turned out.

Customs Officer turns attention back to Wilde.

 

CUSTOMS OFFICER (cont'd)

Now, how long will you be staying?

 

WILDE

Perhaps two months, maybe longer.

 

 

CUSTOMS OFFICER

Depends on whether anyone will listen to your lecture, right?

 

WILDE

That will have a certain bearing on my plans.

 

Customs Officer grabs Wilde's passport and opens it.

 

 

CUSTOMS OFFICER

All right. Mr. Wilde, do you have anything to declare?

 

WILDE

 Nothing but my genius sir!

 

 

Crowd laughs aloud and repeats the remark among themselves.

Customs Officer looks up from passport; rolls his eyes and then hands Wilde his passport.

 

CUSTOMS OFFICER

See here, Mr. Wilde we’re well supplied with that particular commodity.

 

WILDE

Ah, but I bring you a rare Oxford extraction, much in demand in other parts of the world.

Crowd roars again. Custom Officer smiles and waves Wilde through. Wilde meets Morse who is flanked by McFee and a throng of reporters.

 

COL. MORSE

Welcome to America, once again. You do know how to make an entrance, young man. I’ll grant you that.

 

WILDE

Yes, my good Col; Bold but not Loud.

 

 

MCFEE

Mr. Wilde! Mr. Wilde! for The World, give us that line again--- what was it you declared?

 

WILDE

My good man, that was a private declaration to an officer of your government, you will have to subpoena the records.

 

NY SUN REPORTER

Mr. Wilde, are you really a man of genius?

 

WILDE

I should think that would be self-evident sir.

 

NY HERALD REPORTER

Mr.Wilde, tell the people what you think of America?

 

WILDE

In a word, impatient. You are a very impatient nation. I have spent exactly 15 minutes on your shore and you expect me to formulate an intelligent opinion of your country.

 

NY HERALD REPORTER

(making notes and without looking up)

And you've done just that  --- bully for you, Mr. Wilde.

 

Wilde smiles.

 

LESLIE'S ILLS. REPORTER

Mr. Wilde, where's your lily? Why aren't you cloaked in flowers?

 

WILDE

Given temperatures such as you have here, a heavy coat was recommended.

 

EVENING POST REPORTER

Can you give us a little of Bunthorne's song and dance?

 

WILDE

Ah, now that would be from the work of Messieurs Gilbert & Sullivan. And you will have to import their particular genius for that undertaking.

 

EVENING POST REPORTER

But you must know some of the words?

 

WILDE

No, I am afraid I do not do show tunes, gentlemen.

 

CHRONICLE REPORTER

If you're not a song and dance man, why not dress like a regular person?

 

WILDE

Why not interview a regular person, sir?

 

1ST PHOTOGRAPHER

Hey, Mr. Wilde, how 'bout a photo --dressed as you are, sir?

 

WILDE

I should hope so, because I have no intention of changing.

 

Morse pushes back photographers.

 

COL. MORSE

Now hold your horses boys.

 

 

WILDE

Colonel, it's all right, I'll pose for a photo.

 

 

COL. MORSE

No it's not all right.  You don't understand...

 

WILDE

What's there to understand? The man wants a photo. I am willing to indulge him, so long as he spells my name correctly.

 

COL. MORSE

Yes, but...

 

WILDE

Ah, ah, Colonel Morse! Creating a public image is part of my genius. Please allow me to go to work. I believe this is one of the reasons I am here. Am I becoming a chore, yet?

 

1ST PHOTOGRAPHER

Right! Why don't you stand next to your trunk? One leg up on it.

 

Wilde strikes a pose and the illustrators work feverishly to capture it.

 

1ST PHOTOGRAPHER (cont'd)

This will only take a few minutes.  Hold still while I get things arranged.

 

 

WILDE

Very well, but be quick about it. I have an eager manager, who has made a different set of arrangements.

 

A 2nd PHOTOGRAPHER takes up a position. Wilde is primed and his coat and hat are adjusted.  The 1ST Photographer is in discussion with Morse but neither the audience nor Wilde can hear what is being said.

 

MCFEE

So, what are ya Mr. Wilde ...you an actor or are you a poet?

 

WILDE

When a man acts, he is a puppet. When a man describes, he is a poet[8]. You'll find me to be almost entirely the latter. 

 

MCFEE

So, you must have some poetry you can read to us?

 

WILDE

Most certainly. What sort of poem would you like to hear?

 

MCFEE

Oh, give us one of your love poems. The ladies can't get enough of those.

 

 

WILDE

Very well.

Wilde pulls his book of poetry from his coat pocket.

WILDE (CONT'D)

Here's a simple little poem I've called Chanson:

 

A ring of gold and a milk-white dove

Are goodly gifts for thee,

And a hempen rope for your own love

To hang upon a tree

 

For you a House of Ivory,

(Roses are white in the rose-bower)!

A narrow bed for me to lie,

(White, O white, is the hemlock flower)!

 

Myrtle and jessamine for you

(O the red rose is fair to see)!

For me the cypress and the rue,

(Finest of all is rosemary)!

 

For you three flowers of your hand,

(Green grass where a man lies dead)!

For me three paces on the sand,

(Plant lilies at my head)!

 

MCFEE

Bravo, sir. That was marvelous. May I copy it for my paper?

 

WILDE

And what will be my compensation?

 

MCFEE

Compensation?

 

WILDE

Yes, what will your paper pay me for the use of my poem?

 

1ST PHOTOGRAPHER

Hold still, Mr. Wilde.  That's the stuff.

MCFEE

Well, nothing, sir. I thought you might share your work with my readers as a taste for what you have to offer.

 

WILDE

Why should your editor use my poetry to sell his newspaper and not pay me?  He compensates you for your reportage does he not?

 

MCFEE

My payment is only modestly better than the offer I make to you.

 

WILDE

Fine, I'll take the equivalent. Pay me for my poetry what you will earn for this morning's column.

 

MCFEE

I'll discuss it with my editor and get you a reply.

 

WILDE

I look forward to hearing from you. What paper did you say you were with?

 

 

MCFEE

The World, Jay Gould's World, to be sure!

 

COL. MORSE

If you boys want exclusives, stop by the offices of D'Oyly Carte on Broadway and make an appointment. Mr. Wilde’s first appearance is scheduled for Sunday, January 9th, at Chickering Hall. Feel free to make mention of his engagement in your columns.  Thank you, gentlemen, and good day.

 

Morse escorts Wilde to a queue of cabs, where a dapper, but awkward, African American is waiting.

 

COL. MORSE (cont'd)

Oscar, this is Davenport. He will attend to all of your domestic needs day and night.

 

WILDE

How do you do?

 

Davenport tips his hat.

DAVENPORT

Pleasure, sir.

 

COL. MORSE

Take Mr. Wilde's things to his hotel and unpack his trunk. We'll be along in a few hours time.

Wilde and Morse approach a cab drawn by a white horse. Wilde stops short.

 

WILDE

Let us not take this cab.

 

COL. MORSE

Is there a problem with this particular cab?

 

WILDE

A white horse can only lead its passengers to discord. I know it's not at all scientific[9], but in my experience this is a fact.

 

COL. MORSE

Very well, it's not a difficult issue to resolve. We'll take this one here.

Morse extends an arm and directs Wilde to a cab drawn by a black horse. The pair climbs into the hack and it pulls away.

INT - HANSOM CAB - CONTINUOUS

TWO-SHOT: Wilde and Morse sitting in the cab.

 

COL. MORSE (CONT'D)

Now, back to matters of commerce. Let me enlighten you on the commercial aspects of that last encounter with the press.

 

WILDE

Please do.

 

COL. MORSE

I objected to the photograph because that particular transaction can be profitable to us. Your photo circulated as a postcard at local stands, bookshops and art shops will quite possibly generate more than publicity for you.  Postcards of famous personages are sold here in America. The proceeds can fetch a tidy sum if the personage is famous enough. I have arranged a session for you at Sarony's Studio for just this purpose.

 

WILDE

Goodness, am I to be a collectible?

 

COL. MORSE

If we play our cards right Mr. Wilde your postcard will be much coveted on Broadway this season! On the other hand, you should give your poetry freely to the newspapers and encourage them to use all that they want. They will never pay for it. Poetry is not going to make you money in this country. Women are the primary audience, and then only the most cultivated. The market is very small and the prospects very grim indeed.

 

 

WILDE

It's so sad that poetry can't find a larger following. It is truly man's most noble writing, would you not agree, Col?

 

COL. MORSE

Can't say, my boy; I never read the stuff.

 

Two young STREET VENDORS approach the hack with picture postcards. Both run along side flashing picture postcards of women in various states of undress.

 

1ST STREET VENDOR

You gents want to buy some pictures? Prettiest you'll find in all of New York. 

 

WILDE

Heavens, is this Mr. Sarony's work?

 

COL. MORSE

Hardly.  Mr. Sarony is a respectable photographer.

Morse waves off vendors.

COL. MORSE (CONT'D)

Get away. We're not interested…

Morse thumps his fist on roof of cab.

COL. MORSE (CONT'D)

Step it up driver! And keep us away from the solicitors.

EXT - NEW YORK, DELMONICO'S RESTAURANT – MORNING[10]

 

Cab stops in front of Delmonico's. WILDE gets out and is escorted by a waiting doorman. MORSE follows.

INT - NEW YORK, DELMONICO'S RESTAURANT - CONTINUOUS

Doors open and Wilde passes through the elaborate Art Nouveau entrance. DOORMAN takes Wilde's coat, hat and ashplant.  He is then led through doors into large and elaborate dining room. Wilde stands with Morse and silence slowly falls on the room. All heads turn to Wilde. RICHARD D’OYLY CARTE jumps to his feet to greet Wilde.

 

D’OYLY CARTE

Mr. Wilde, welcome to New York, welcome to America – I’m Richard D'Oyly Carte – ladies and gentlemen, England's crown Prince of the aesthetes and gentleman poet – may I present Mr. Oscar Wilde.

Applause.

WILDE

Mr. D'Oyly Carte and citizens of New York, thank you for having me. I don't mean to take you from your meals.   I'm afraid I'm ill-prepared for any speech-giving.

 

All eyes are on Wilde.

 

D’OYLY CARTE

Nonsense, my good man, there is no speech required here. But look how you've stopped everyone in their tracks without so much as a paragraph.

 

WILDE

I seemed to have created a similar stir down at your docks this morning. I hope my occupation here in America will not be that of a traffic obstruction.

 

JAY GOULD(45), a small balding man with black beard and intense dark, eyes stands and approaches Wilde

 

 

GOULD

(taking Wilde's hand)

Mr. Wilde, the name's Gould – Jay Gould. As publisher of the city’s most popular newspaper, it is an honor to welcome you to our fair city. Furthermore, if you'll allow me, I'd like to play reporter…

 

Gould's rival JOSEPH PULITZER (34), thick mop of dark hair and a red beard, jumps to his feet from a nearby table.

 

PULITZER

See here, Gould, owning a newspaper doesn’t make you a newspaperman. Mr. Wilde if there’s any reporting to be done here, I hope you’ll rely on the fair and accurate coverage of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. I’m Joseph Pulitzer owner and publisher. Mr. Gould, here, uses his newspaper as an instrument of influence. The news in that rag is as outrageous its cover price.

 

GOULD

Sit yourself down, Joseph. In Delmonico’s, Mr. Wilde is a New York story requiring the expertise of a cosmopolitan paper. Penny circulars from out of town must wait their turn.

 

 

PULITZER

I fail to see what interest your readers could have in aesthetics and art. What has either got to do with the price of gold?

 

 

GOULD

My readers are always interested in the things gold can buy. How else is one to measure the purchasing power of precious metals?

 

 

PULITZER

If you’re embarking on another of your autocratic market adjustments, you’d do well to give everyone in this room advance notice.[11]

 

 

GOULD

And you, sir, if you’re such a good newspaperman, report the news and stop dwelling on the past.

 

 

Older man sitting with Pulitzer tugs at his sleeve and urges him to sit down. Pulitzer reluctantly complies but not without making remarks to his table.

 

 

PULITZER

Newspaperman… he’s nothing but an influence peddler.  I shall have that man’s paper, mark my words.[12]

 

 

GOULD

Now then, where was I? Ah, yes, are you surprised by all this attention?

 

WILDE

No more or less surprised than you sir. It’s your newspapers that create the commotion. 

 

GOULD

Indeed, Mr. Wilde. I suppose that is true. Still there has to be a reason for us to pay attention to you. Can you explain the allure?

 

WILDE

I am a figure of some note in London society where I am regarded for my opinion on art and literature.  As to why newspapers regard me, I haven’t a clue. I have never understood the motivations of your profession. I see that you provide a service in that you satisfy the public’s insatiable curiosity to know everything except what is worth knowing. I very much doubt that your paper will devote more than a single sentence to the subject of my lecture. But I will not be surprised to read an entire paragraph about my cravat.

 

 

GOULD

You are a cynic, sir.

 

 

WILDE

Perhaps. My apologies to you and Mr. Pulitzer, but in my experience newspapers serve up only the opinions of the uneducated, thereby keeping us in touch with the ignorance of the community.[13]

 

PULITZER

Bravo, Mr. Wilde. You have certainly captured the mandate of The World.

 

 

 WILDE

The World,  So it is you who owns  The World, Mr. Gould?

 

GOULD

In a manner of speaking. An apt name for a paper of the most ambitious scope, wouldn’t you say, Mr. Wilde?

 

 

WILDE

Most appropriate. Remarkably, it seems that your paper is about to take a very provocative step towards enlightenment. And as a consequence, you and I have some business to discuss.

 

 

GOULD

 How is that?

 

 

WILDE

One of your reporters has requested permission to reproduce one of my poems in your newspaper. I wonder if we might negotiate a fee.

 

GOULD

By all means, we'll settle up after brunch. One never does business on an empty stomach.

 

 

WILDE

On the contrary, an empty stomach is most conducive to the writing of good poetry.

 

GOULD

Well sir that might account for the paucity of poetry in this country.

 

 

Mild laughter and applause from the seated diners.

 

 

 

 WILDE

If I accomplish nothing during my visit it will be to disprove that statement. A nation that has given the world Walt Whitman and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ought to proudly lay claim to a rich poetic heritage. 

 

 

GOULD

I bow to your superior literary judgment, Mr. Wilde. And now, before we all turn into poets, please be seated. You're our guest at New York's finest restaurant. I suggest you set aside your poetic inclinations and indulge yourself. When finished, you and I can talk about your business proposition over cigars and coffee[14], although they tell me your preference in drink is for something stronger.

 

WILDE

Without the fortitude of poetry one draws on many different resources for strength.

 

D’OYLY CARTE

(pulling out a chair at the table)

Yes, Oscar be seated. I think you'll find the fare here at Delmonico's most agreeable.

Wilde takes his seat

SERIES OF SHOTS: Wilde DINIING

1.Wilde being served champagne   

2.Wilde being served steamed mussels 

3.Wilde being toasted by the table  

4.Wilde ordering  

5.Wilde being served lamb and mint jelly 

6.Wilde talking

 

WILDE

Will I be dinning like this every evening Mr. D'Oyly Carte?

 

D’OYLY CARTE

Almost certainly – now don't turn around but the man approaching the table is Andrew Carnegie.  Made his fortune in steel. Don’t be taken in by his diminutive stature. He is one of the largest and richest personages in the city.

 

ANDREW CARNEGIE, a small elegantly dressed man in his late 40s, approaches the table followed by LOUISE WHITFIELD, in her late 20s.

 

CARNEGIE

Mr. Wilde sir, I'm Andrew Carnegie.

 

Wilde moves his chair back to stand.

CARNEGIE(cont'd)

No, don't get up, son. You keep doing that, you'll never get a bite to eat.

 

WILDE

Thank you. This delightful concern for my appetite is most endearing.

 

 

CARNEGIE

Yes well, I want to welcome you and wish you good fortune. This is Miss Louise Whitfield.

Wilde stands and takes Miss Whitfield white-gloved hand and kisses it.

 

MISS WHITFIELD

A pleasure, Mr. Wilde. Now please, Andrew is right, take your seat and enjoy your meal.

 

 

 

 

CARNEGIE

Now see here, the two of us are greatly in favor of any man who brings a measure of civility to this town.

 

WILDE

Thank you for being so gracious, Mr. Carnegie, Miss Whitfield. I trust my performance on Sunday night will meet with the high standards of civility to which you subscribe.

 

MISS. WHITFIELD

Sadly, we won't be able to attend. Your speech is on the same night as the Patriarch's Ball. We never miss the Ball.

Wilde can't take his eyes off the enormous diamond pendant hanging from Miss Whitfield's neck.

CARNEGIE

My dear, that has yet to be determined. Mr. Wilde's address will no doubt be much more stimulating than that foolish square dance.

 

WILDE

Your vote of confidence is most gratifying. I had no idea I was playing opposite such a prominent social occasion.

 

CARNEGIE

Not to worry Mr. Wilde, the social calendar in this town can never be too full. You'll be well received. For many a flat-footed old patriarch – such as myself – this damn Ball is pure tedium.

 

WILDE

(raising his glass)

Thank you, sir.

 

CARNEGIE

(to D'Oyly Carte)

Richard, see that you keep this man fit and content. He has an enormous task before him.

 

D’OYLY CARTE

I'll do my best Andrew.

Exit Carnegie and Miss Whitfield. Wilde turns to D'Oyly Carte

WILDE

That bauble dangling from Miss Whitfield's neck, how many full stomachs would you guess that represented?

 

D’OYLY CARTE

I should think every citizen in New York could dine out for a week on the price of that gem.

 

 

WILDE

Am I to take it that they are betrothed?

 

 

D’OYLY CARTE

Not in his mother’s eyes, they are not. Hard to imagine a man of his wealth still answers to his mother’s wishes. One day he’ll be liberated from his mother’s grasp only to fall into the clutches of the future Mrs. Carnegie.

 

 

WILDE

Mothers and wives, the tethers that keep men of inflated ambition anchored to the earth.

 

 

D’OYLY CARTE

Quite so Mr. Wilde.

SERIES OF SHOTS: VARIOUS CELEBRITY PATRONS  

1.      Table with Wilde seated and talking with William Vanderbilt 60s, D'Oyly Carte, Col. Morse, Jay Gould, J. CLEVELAND CADY (50) (architect for the Metropolitan Opera House[15])  

 

2.      Table with Joseph Pulitzer talking with J. P. MORGAN, 60s, and wife, 60s, JOHN HAY, 50s, (former secretary to Lincoln and arts advocate[16]), WILLIAM CULLEN BYRANT, 50s (poet-chairman of art museum committee funded by Morgan)

 

3.      Table with EDWARD "NED " HARRIGAN 40s and TONY HART, 40s, (playwrights) SAM WARD, 60s (Washington lobbyist and international businessman) and EDMUND STEDMAN, 30s (poet/critic)

 

At HARRIGAN/HART table Edmund Stedman is visibly upset.

 

STEDMAN

This is absurd. The entire town has been turned upside down by this ponce.

 

HARRIGAN

He's turned London upside down, why should New York be any different.

 

STEDMAN

The man's a damn fool. He has not written a single thing of note. This volume of poems he totes was rejected by his own college. “Unfit for the Oxford Library,” they said.

 

 

HART

I suppose we should ask after his play – what was the title Ned – Veronica? or Ursula? – I know it was named for a woman.

 

HARRIGAN

Vera. It’s political piece, set in Russia. Ellen Terry has read it. She doesn't see how it will ever find its way to the stage. There's not a note of music in the whole thing.

 

STEDMAN

Can’t you see this man is a poser? He should be stopped. This whole lecture business is absurd.

 

HART

Just a minute Stedman, no one has, as yet, heard the man speak. You can’t review a man’s work without allowing him the courtesy of a performance.

 

Stedman gives a disgusted nod in Wilde’s direction.

 

 

STEDMAN

Just look at him. He is playing this crowd like a maestro plays a concertina.

 

 

 HART

I quite enjoy concertina music.

 

Cut to Wilde talking with Vanderbilt, Jay Gould, Sam Ward and D'Oyly Carte. All but D'Oyly Carte are smoking cigars and drinking brandy.

 

VANDERBILT

It's a new Opera House Mr. Wilde. We're building an entirely new theater from the ground up. We'll have our own loges. We'll import the finest talent on both continents.  The Astors and Morgans can have their little Academy of Music. We will have the Metropolitan Opera.

 

WILDE

A performer's dream-- multiple benefactors competing for services and loyalties. This will bring a new level of excitement to New York and the arts.

 

VANDERBILT

No doubt about it, competition and opportunity are what brings out the best in us. It's not about money, lad. It's about success. About making a success of oneself. You'll find America is a thoroughly good place to make a success of yourself if you’re willing to roll up your sleeves.

 

WILDE

My dear Mr. Vanderbilt, I believe in the importance of appropriate attire for all occasions. If you have fashion tips more conducive to the art of making money, I am all ears.

 

VANDERBILT

Young man, fashion has nothing to do with it. Fashion is for the vain, not the rich.

 

 

 WILDE

Pray, tell me the two are not mutually exclusive, sir. Nothing could disappoint me more.

 

Wilde turns to Jay Gould.

 

WILDE

Mr. Gould, I am going to look to you for my first practical lesson at American commerce.  I'd like to negotiate that little matter of a poem that we talked about.

 

GOULD

(placing his cigar in the ashtray)

Yes. Yes of course. Used to be a man wrote for the pleasure it gave him.

 

 

 

WILDE

There is pleasure in the result. Getting the correct words down on the page can be arduous, sir. And just like any aesthetic creation, writing is an art. It should be valued accordingly.

 

 

GOULD

And this poetry of yours, is it worth hundreds... thousands?

 

WILDE

That determination rests with you sir.

 

GOULD

Let us hear a stanza.

 

WILDE

Very well. This is something called Madonna Mia…  

 

Lily girl, not made for this world's pain,

With brown, soft hair close braided by her ears,

And longing eyes half veiled by slumberous tears

Like bluest water seen through mists of rain:

 

Pale cheeks whereon no love hath left its stain,

Red underlip drawn in for fear of love,

And white throat, whiter than the silvered dove,

Through whose wan marble creeps one purple vein

 

Yet, though my lips shall praise her without cease,

Even to kiss her feet I am not bold,

Being o'ershadowed by the wings of awe.

Like Dante, when he stood with Beatrice

 

Beneath the flaming Lion's breast, and saw

The seventh Crystal, and the Stair of Gold.

Polite applause from table

 

GOULD

Now I'm not much of a judge of art, but that seems a pretty piece.  And when it comes to pretty things – especially women – I  pay more than I should. I'm going to give you $200 for your poem, Mr. Wilde. I'm not sure that a single poem of yours will ever sell for that much money again.  But you can always say that you once sold a poem to a wealthy American for $200. I'll be satisfied with the knowledge that I contributed to your fame. If you should sell other poems for more, then I'll be satisfied that I bought one at a bargain price.

 

Wilde is shaken and takes a deep breath.

 

WILDE

Who would ever presume to doubt the business wisdom of Jay Gould, sir? I feel a little guilty however… for  $200 I shall give you a signed edition of the entire opus.

Wilde reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a copy of his book simply titled Poems and signs it.  It passes it to Gould, who raises his glass.

 

GOULD

Thank you sir…To Mr. Wilde, may he prosper as a man of words and remember us when his success carries him away…as it most surely will.

SAM WARD[17] steps forward and introduces himself. Wilde gets out of his seat.

 

WARD

Mr. Wilde, I am Sam Ward. The Prince of Wales has spoken of you many times and has written me a note saying you were coming to our shores. I have to say, there hasn't been a syllable of hyperbole in his accounts. That was a divine little poem you just read.

 

WILDE

Thank you, Mr. Ward. Won't you please sit down? One hears a great deal about Sam Ward in London these days.

Ward takes a seat.

WARD

Well now, truth of it is, I'm not over there as much as I was previously the case. Business affairs in Washington keep me anchored on this side of the Atlantic. But before I forget I want you to clear your schedule for the evening hours after your lecture. I'm arranging a small reception for you. I think you'll find the guest list worthy of your time sir.

 

WARD (cont'd)

(waving his hand across the expanse of the room)

You can bet all of these rogues and charlatans are invited.

 

GOULD

Who better to entertain rogues and charlatans, than the Chief Exploiter of the Public Purse? Do you know our Uncle Sam here Mr. Wilde?

 

WARD

Be off with you Jay. Aren't you behind your time? The market opened hours ago.

 

GOULD

There's more to life than money Sam.

 

WARD

Jay Gould interested in something other than money? Somebody call one of his reporters, we have the front-page story for the morning edition.

 

GOULD

See here, I just bought a poem from this young fellow. Paid $200.

 

 

WARD

Yes, I was a witness. New York will be over-wrought with poets once word of this transaction reaches the street.

 

 

GOULD

It seems like poetry – at least Mr. Wilde’s poetry.

 

WARD

I must be on my way. I'm late for an appointment with a Texas real estate broker. Like Mr. Gould, here, the man has more money than he knows what to do with. You mustn't disappoint me, Mr. Wilde. I've promised to take care of your introductions here in New York as well as Washington and Boston.

 

WILDE

I'm flattered that you would trouble yourself.  I will most certainly hold my evening open.

 

WARD

You do that.  I'll have a formal invitation sent around in the morning and your secretary can mark your diary.  Enjoy your brandy and cigarettes, but don't put much stock in whatever yarns these cads spin. 

 

Wilde shakes Ward's hand.

WILDE

Thank you and good day to you, sir.

 

WARD

Best of luck, Mr.Wilde.

 

Ward steps to one side address Vanderbilt privately.

 

WARD (cont'd)

 William did I hear correctly? Is Morgan backing this young Edison chap?

 

VANDERBILT

Yes, it would appear he has need of even more power.

 

WARD

Surely, this man's inventions are still of a speculative nature.

 

VANDERBILT

Go speculate for yourself; he's been demonstrating his electric street lamp down on Water Street every night at dusk.

 

WARD

This city never ceases to amaze me. You've got Oscar Wilde on one corner and electric street lamps on the other.

 

VANDERBILT

We are headed for a brilliant new century. Either that or we're going to hell in handcart.

FADE TO BLACK

FADE UP

INT - GRAND HOTEL, WILDE'S ROOM - MORNING

WILDE paces about his room in his dressing gown. A copy of the morning edition of The World in his right hand… a breakfast pastry in his left. He reads aloud, while DAVENPORT, wearing his wool suit (minus the coat), is laying out Wilde's attire on the bed. 

WILDE

Mr. Oscar Wilde expressed his "disappointment in the Atlantic. Interviewed by a group of reporters aboard the SS Arizona while he was held in quarantine, Wilde said the ocean was not nearly as ferocious as he had been led to believe. He recounted how he had been much more taken with the high sea storms of the Mediterranean…

Wilde drops newspaper and picks up his teacup to take a sip.

WILDE (CONT'D)

Davenport, you see, there are my remarks about the Atlantic carried on the front page. Yesterday, a reporter asked me why I thought anyone would want to listen to me on the subject of aesthetics. And here this morning, the papers are giving my comments about the damn ocean front-page coverage. It's a fool of a world we're living in, Davenport.

 

DAVENPORT

Yes, sir.

Wilde takes another sip of tea and makes a face of disgust.

 

WILDE

If nothing else, I will teach you colonials how to brew a pot of tea before I depart.

 

DAVENPORT

It's not a particularly popular beverage here.

 

WILDE

No, I suspect the workingman prefers beer with his breakfast.

 

DAVENPORT

That or whiskey. They say that strong drink is corroding the very soul of this country.

 

WILDE

The soul of this country and all similar capitalist nations is being sold to the politicians and the industrialists. It's only fitting that they should receive damaged goods.

 

DAVENPORT

I suppose so, sir. But there is a great deal of poverty and suffering that affects the practical side of everyday living.

 

WILDE

You're quite right. But I'm not sure that drink is the cause. Drink is more the painkiller.

 

Wilde leafs through the small stack of letters on the table.

 

WILDE (cont'd)

We're very popular, Davenport.

 

DAVENPORT

Yes, sir.

WILDE

Ah ha! Here's Sam Ward's invitation. A champagne reception, how very elegant. Mark the calendar.

Wilde hands the invitation to Davenport.

 

DAVENPORT

Yes, sir.

 

WILDE

And as for this morning, I want to see the town. I'll get dressed and you fetch us a cab and driver. I want to drive through every street and lane in the city. Show me New York.

 

DAVENPORT

Very well sir, but I'm not much of a guide.

 

WILDE

Then we shall get lost. That will be every bit as exciting.

Wilde starts to get into the clothes that Davenport has laid out on the bed.

EXT - NEW YORK, FRONT ENTRANCE OF GRAND HOTEL  - MORNING

 WILDE saunters along a sidewalk that has been cleared of snow. He approaches DAVENPORT who is holding open the door of a cab. WILDE is wearing a dark blue velvet suit, his green coat, white gloves, a red cravat and top hat. He peers around Davenport to check on the color of the horse before entering the cab.  Davenport follows him into the cab and shuts the door. Cab departs.

INT - CAB ON STREETS OF NYC - CONTINUOUS

 

SERIES OF SHOTS WITH MAGGIE HAYLE VO: WILDE AND DAVENPORT ON TOUR.

 

MAGGIE (VO)

In 1882, New York was like a giant theater undergoing a constant set change. Chaotic stage direction was provided by the 100s of ready-made millionaires who descended on the city, bringing their personal prescriptions for progress and civility. The noise and soot from the overhead railways was unbearable to Oscar. He abhorred the American propensity for outdoor advertising. To his great despair,

1.                   Overhead trains and machinery. Wilde covers his ears.

2.                  Metropolitan Opera House under construction (Broadway & Seventh).

 

Broadway had all the appeal of a patchwork quilt, a hoary assembly of painted marquees. The signs and placards were like architectural blemishes to the young aesthete.

 

3.                  Notorious Haymarket Dance Hall (at West 29^th & Sixth) and the Tenderloin district (23^rd street to 42^nd street between Fifth and Eighth Ave).

4.                  The theater district— Dalys (at Broadway & 29th St.) the marquee advertises Kit, The Arkansas Traveler.  

5.                  Further south, it’s is Booth's Theater. Billboard reads: ‘The Squatter Sovereignty, starring Edward Harrigan as Felix McIntyre, Tony Hart as the Widow Nolan, music composer Mr. Dave Braham.’  

6.                  Wallack’s Theater is new and the brightly painted marquee reads: 'Coming soon- School for Scandal starring Rose Coghlan.'  

7.                  Standard Theater, Patience is playing starring Lillian Russell[18].  

8.                  At the Madison Square Theater, it’s Esmeralda by Frances Hodgson Burnett; starring Annie Russell. 

9.                  Koster and Bials (seedy concert hall) at West 23rd

 

Yet he marveled at the wealth and the abundance of new construction. New wealth brought elegant Opera Houses as well as garish dance halls—-- many of them doubling as carnal marketplaces where a gentlemen and scoundrels negotiated private indulgences. Commercial excess spilled into the streets along Ladies Mile.

 

10.              Lord & Taylor, Tiffany's, Matthew Brady are the stores on Ladies Mile.  

11.              The exclusive Rialto District (14^th Street from 3^rd Ave to Broadway and Union Square), en route they pass Delmonico’s Restaurant and the Chickering Theater where Wilde will lecture.

12.              $2 million Collis Huntington house, unoccupied. 

 

 

Further south into the Rialto District, Oscar would discover neighborhoods more akin to his beloved Chelsea.

 

13.              Madison Square:  Wilde gets out of the cab. He walks around Madison Square and examines the enormous copper arm, hand and torch of the soon to be assembled Statue of Liberty.

14.              The Academy of Music, on 14^th and Irving Place.

 

Monumental symbols of America’s hope and promise were rarely subtle.

 And yet there was ample evidence in many neighborhoods (the Bowery) that dreams of untold prosperity were just that---dreams.

 

15.              The Bowery, where prostitutes walk the streets.  

 

 

 Like any tourist, Oscar was impressed with the colossal engineering feat of the Brooklyn Bridge. Only a year from completion, the bridge stood as two towering stanchions, spanned by a precarious footbridge. Not every pedestrian had the stomach for such a crossing.

 

16.              South Seaport where the Brooklyn Bridge dominates the skyline (now only 12 months from opening).  Cab stops and Wilde and Davenport get out. Wilde walks to the edge of the construction and is visibly taken aback by the astounding dimension and ambition of the construction. He stares at the top of the Manhattan stone stanchion, which disappears into a small shroud of clouds 

17.              A foundry where the doors are open and Wilde peers onto a shop floor filled with smoke and steam. There is a loud din of scraping and clanking metal against metal.

 

 

He was not fond of the output of the industrial age, but the process drew is attention.  And at the front door of American capitalism, shone the light of new industrialism.    

 

18.              Tour ends at Wall Street, at dusk, and Wilde witnesses the illumination of Edison’s street lamps.  

 

DAVENPORT

Look there sir, Mr. Edison's electric street lamps.

 

WILDE

Incredible! Under the glow of artificial light this entire city becomes a burlesque house.

EXT - NEW YORK, 37 UNION SQUARE SARONY STUDIOS - DAY

Cab pulls up outside Sarony Studios WILDE, COL.. MORSE and DAVENPORT get out. The CABDRIVER struggles with a trunk, which he offloads and carries into the Studio.

INT - SARONY STUDIOS - CONTINUOUS

Wilde walks about the studio admiring the portraits of great theater talent: actress Helena Modejska, actor Forbes-Robertson, Sarah Bernhardt, Lillian Russell, Mrs. Patrick Campbell, Mrs. Kendal, Henry Irving and Ellen Terry. Wilde stops and stares at the Ellen Terry portrait. Morse sits on a bench, against the far wall, smoking a cigarette. Davenport is busy emptying the trunk and hanging the clothes in the dressing room.

 

WILDE

(craning to address Col. Morse)

What an astonishing face she has. Colonel, have you ever seen a face like that on or off the stage?

 

COL. MORSE

She's a beauty, lad, to be sure.

 

WILDE

I still want her for Vera, more than any man could want her for a lover.

 

COL. MORSE

You might refrain from using that particular comparison in your negotiations.

 

WILDE

Why?  It's the perfect pedestal for Miss Terry. Her beauty is for the stage – for every man and no man. She should never be tainted by a loving touch, only caressed by the longing of men's hearts.

 

COL. MORSE

Aye you're the poet Oscar, and I guess you know best what the fair sex likes to hear.

 

Enter NAPOLEON SARONY with his young son OTTO.

 

SARONY

I'm sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen. Once we start in the dark room, there can be no interruptions until we’re finished.

 

WILDE

To wait here among your photographs is hardly an imposition Mr. Sarony.

 

Sarony looks Wilde over and extends his hand.

 

SARONY

I take it you're Mr. Oscar Wilde.

 

WILDE

Scholar, poet, lecturer and playwright: portray me as you wish. Do you know my manager Col. Morse?

 

Sarony shakes hands with Morse.

 

SARONY

I feel certain we have met.

 

COL. MORSE

Yes, I brought you Mary Anderson some years ago; at that time, she was playing Pauline in The Lady of Lyons.

 

SARONY

Of course, I must apologize. I have a much better memory for faces than names. It’s an occupational hazard.

 

 

COL. MORSE

No need to apologize, Mary was the beauty and, by any standards, the more memorable of the two of us.

 

SARONY

And this is my son, Otto.

Otto makes a slight bow of acknowledgement. Sarony approaches Wilde and scratches his head as he studies the poet more closely.

 

 

 

SARONY (CONT'D)

Now you, Mr. Wilde, have an interesting face. We can do quite a lot with your look.

 

WILDE

Thank you, I'll take that as compliment and try to refrain from spoiling your portrait with a fat head.

 

SARONY

No need, young man. Your look isn't so much handsome as it is arresting. I can make you enchanting, sinister, droopy or plaintive. Each would probably be a suitable pose for a man of letters. The decision is yours.

 

WILDE

There, you see; with men it always comes down to an expression of mood and character.  Notable women, on the other hand, are graced with an expression of beauty – ‘her looks are that of a classic beauty’ – ‘an exquisite flower,’ ‘an exotic temptress.’ Men of note are portrayed as either ‘broody,’  ‘arrogant,’ or ‘self-assured.’ One presumes it was a very overcast day when God created Adam and a day of sunshine and spring flowers when He crafted Eve.

 

SARONY

To some extent the camera can re-do God's handiwork. I can shoot you in any pose you care to strike. And if it’s to be a beautiful portrait, we can work with some make-up, lighting and costuming to achieve such a goal.

 

WILDE

Thank you, Mr. Sarony. Let us work with what we have and go for something that speaks to my intell-i-gent,  sens-i-tive nature.

 

 

SARONY

Intelligent and sensitive it is. Otto put the settee over against that backdrop.

 

SERIES OF SHOTS: Wilde BEING PHOTOGRAPHED

1.                  Wilde in his green coat with the fur collar.

2.                  Wilde in an evening tuxedo with waistcoat and knee breeches.

3.                  Wilde in a green smoking jacket with matching waistcoat. 

4.                  Wilde in a black cape and wide-brimmed hat.

5.                  The session finishes with Wilde lounging on a settee.

 

SARONY (CONT'D)

That should do it, young man. There have to be one or two portraits in this series that you will favor. 

 

WILDE

The choice will be the Colonel’s. I'm inclined to dislike any portrait of myself, in so far as it is an accurate likeness.

 

COL. MORSE

You are far too critical.

 

WILDE

With good reason. It has been a pleasure, Mr. Sarony. You are a true artist sir and I will only be flattered if one of my portraits ends up on your wall in this illustrious company.

 

SARONY

The pleasure has been all mine. Good luck next Sunday.

 

WILDE

Thank you and thank you, Otto, for your silent assistance.

 

OTTO

(shyly)

You're welcome.

 

WILDE

Come now Colonel, what's my next assignment?

 

COL. MORSE

You're free to relax until dinner. At 6:30 p.m. we head downtown to the Hayes residence.

 

WILDE

And who are the Hayes?

 

COL. MORSE

Society of course. He's a travel writer and she's his devoted reader. You'll meet the American frontier poet, Joaquin Miller, our first lady of literature, Louisa May Alcott and I believe Mrs. Frank Leslie the widow proprietor of Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper.

 

WILDE

I’m already acquainted with Mrs. Leslie---a remarkable woman. Let us hope that the others are equally fit company.

 

INT - NYC, HOME OF A. HAYES HOME (11 EAST 29TH ST.), PARLOR  - NIGHT

INSERT: Home of Augustus Hayes

WILDE, dressed in white-tie formal attire with a bright green handkerchief protruding from his breast pocket, stands amidst several dinner guests. He is speaking with JOHN BIGELOW (former editor of The Evening Post and one-time Minister to France).  Two women, both in their 20s and both attractive are standing with the pair listening to the conversation. A young gentleman also listens without commenting. LOUISA MAY ALCOTT(49), the author of Little Women is seated on a nearby settee.  An older gentleman is engaged in conversation with Louisa May Alcott. The room is filled with another dozen or so guests including JOAQUIN MILLER (41) (frontier poet dressed in rawhide jacket -the Lord Byron of the Frontier), JOHN BURROUGHS (45) (amateur nature writer), STEELE MACKAYE (30s) (theatrical producer), JEREMY LYTHGOE (50s) (financier & lawyer), MRS. LESLIE, AUGUSTUS HAYES (50s)  (travel writer and host), MRS. HAYES (40s) (Hayes’ wife and hostess), HIS HONOR MAYOR WILLIAM GRACE (49). Maids are serving cocktails and hors d'ouevres.

 

WILDE

It's a remarkable invention and if properly handled it can only improve our lives.

 

BIGELOW

And in what ways could it be handled to our detriment, Mr. Wilde?

 

WILDE

Quite simply if used to excess. One can envision an environment where the natural beauties and tranquility of our nocturnal existence are completely erased.

 

BIGELOW

Surely that requires more electricity than any man or machine could produce.

 

WILDE

Wealth and commerce would seem to be without limits in your country. Dangle enough money in front of men of business and this planet could be brighter than the sun itself.

 

 

BIGELOW

That's why we have government.

 

 

 

WILDE

Government, sir, will put a street lamp in every man's front yard and tax him each time he switches it on.

 

Cut to John Burroughs (nature writer), slightly built man in tweed suit, conversing with Joaquin Miller, dressed in black suit, vest and knee high boots.

 

BURROUGHS

I feel that the oak is the most majestic tree in the forest, Mr. Miller, would you not agree?

 

Miller pays little attention to Burroughs; he is straining to overhear Wilde's conversation with Bigelow.

 

MILLER

(turning back to Burroughs)

Oh yes, the most majestic.

 

BURROUGHS

We must plant more of them here in New York. The city is to be the foundation of our country's wealth and no tree expresses endurance and security like the oak – am I not right, Mr. Miller?

 

MILLER

(looking in Wilde's direction)

Ahhh, never more so Mr. Burroughs.  Listen would you kindly excuse me, I promised Alice Hayes I would make an introduction.

 

BURROUGHS

Oh, but I had so much more to say. I feel our conversation was just getting underway.

 

 

MILLER

Yes, and sadly, I must postpone this lively exchange. See that woman over there…

 

 

Miller points to stout middle-aged woman.

 

MILLER (cont’d)

…when I came in the room she was going on about the pruning job that was done in Gramercy Park. I can’t imagine a woman in the room better equipped to take up the subject of flora.

 

BURROUGHS

Oh, yes, they made a botch of that. Took all the wrong limbs…

 

Miller backs away from Burroughs while making a sweeping motion with the back of his hand, urging the nature writer to introduce himself to the stout woman. Joaquin Miller approaches Louisa May Alcott, who is seated within earshot of Wilde.

 

MILLER

Miss Alcott, permit me to introduce myself; I am Joaquin Miller, poet and writer.

 

 

MISS ALCOTT

Are you, now! Everyone is a poet or writer these days.

 

MILLER

Yes, well there are never enough good books to read, now, are there?

 

 

MISS ALCOTT

No but far too many bad ones.

 

MILLER

Ah, the bad writers don't survive, Madam. They are weeded out.

 

MISS ALCOTT

You must be joking. They get more encouragement than good writers do. They spend more time talking about their works than writing. Inevitably, they are men of means and writing is their passion. You're not one those writers are you Mr. – err – what did you say your name was?

 

MILLER

Miller. I am a man of very modest means if that somehow qualifies me as a writer.

 

MISS ALCOTT

Not on your life. There are plenty of impoverished bad writers. They are the biggest fools of all.

 

MILLER

I’d like to think I'm neither a fool nor a bad writer. I have had several volumes published both here and in England. All have sold well.

 

 

MISS ALCOTT

Forgive me, Mr. Miller. I'm an middle-aged woman. And like most women past their prime, my patience has worn thin. I'm here as a guest of Augustus to welcome this new marvel, Mr. Oscar Wilde. He looks to be a successful young writer, but I see nothing in these Poems of his to suggest that is the case.

MILLER

Don't judge him too swiftly, Madam; he may surprise you.

 

MISS ALCOTT

At my age, Mr. Miller, there are no longer any surprises, only occasional affirmations.

 

Cut to Wilde and STEELE MACKAYE, who introduces himself.

 

MACKAYE

(taking Oscar's hand)

Oscar Wilde, Steele Mackaye. I see that Mr. D'Oyly Carte has you billed as a poet and an aesthete, but am I to understand that you've come to America with a play in tow?

 

WILDE

Mr. Mackaye, I wouldn't know how to go about towing anything, much less a play. I am, however, seeking a suitable opportunity to premiere Vera on the Broadway stage.

 

MACKAYE

Vera?

 

WILDE

Yes, Vera is the central character in the play that bears her name. The play is subtitled Or The Nihilists, which aptly describes Vera and her young brood of revolutionaries. It is set in Russia. It's about anarchists, assassination and adoration – elements that form nothing short of a volatile mix.

 

MACKAYE

It sounds most intriguing. I am a stage manager and producer. I have had considerable experience in theater. I ran the Madison Square Theater, until recently.

 

LYTHGOE

Ran it into the ground you should say.

 

MACKAYE

I'm sorry, Jeremy; I didn't see you standing there. You become even more transparent with each passing year.  Oscar Wilde, Jeremy Lithgow, a man better known on Wall Street, than Broadway.

 

WILDE

(shaking Lithgow’s hand)

Mr. Lithgow.

 

LYTHGOE

A pleasure, Mr.Wilde. I'll leave you to Mr. Mackaye's rather one-sided view of the city’s theatrical community – the man is brilliant on the boards, but remarkably careless with other people's money.

 

WILDE

Art is a reckless affair, Mr. Lithgow. It is often best to fund it with other people's money.

 

LYTHGOE

By George, you and Mr. Mackaye should get on like a house on fire.

Exit Lithgow.

 

MACKAYE

Every theater has its Shylock. Lithgow serves all of Broadway in that regard. Now, where were we – ah yes, let’s you and I have dinner one night and discuss your Vera.

 

WILDE

Would you agree to read it first?

 

MACKAYE

Naturally.

 

WILDE

Then I shall have my man drop it off at your offices. Once you've read it, I'd be delighted to dine with you, Mr. Mackaye.

 

MACKAYE

I look forward to it, sir. You must also meet my friend, Louis Tiffany, a fellow aesthete and brilliant artist. Louis and I are collaborating on a theater design. The Lyceum Theater will be like no other theater in the world. You must see the plans. You'll love Louis' work.

 

WILDE

I have seen a great deal of evidence of Mr. Tiffany's talents. I would love to meet him.

 

MACKAYE

He's away in St. Louis this month, but perhaps I could arrange a meeting in February.

 

WILDE

I look forward to it.

 

Miller seizes a break in the conversation to introduce himself.

 

MILLER

(extending his hand to Wilde)

Mr. Wilde, the name's Joaquin Miller.

 

WILDE

But of course the bard of the Wild West.

Miller smiles.

 

MILLER

So you’ve heard of me.

 

 

WILDE

Naturally, one reads and hears a great deal about the Lord Byron of the frontier.

 

 

MILLER

It's an advertising age we live in Mr. Wilde, what can I say?

 

WILDE

Yes, but in your case there seems to be some truth in advertising. I've read many of your poems.  You're a very rare talent, indeed, sir.

 

MILLER

Kind of you to say, Mr. Wilde.  I'm only introducing myself to be of service. If there is anything I can say or do to introduce you to folks out West, please let me know.

 

WILDE

How very kind of you Mr. Miller. If this tour ventures out of the Colonial States you can rest assured I'll need some direction. Not that I'm particularly sure of myself in this town.

 

MILLER

Look to me as your scout. I'll give you fair warning on any city you care to venture to.

Enter BUTLER

BUTLER

Ladies and gentlemen dinner is served.

MRS. HAYES approaches Wilde and takes his arm.

 

MRS. HAYES

Now, Mr. Wilde, I have a place for you.

 

WILDE

So long as it is not the head of the table. It’s the one station of honor that holds no benefits. One leads in prayer, leads in toasts, but is always the last one served.

 

MRS. HAYES

(laughing)

No, it's not the head of the table.  I want you to sit opposite Louisa May Alcott.  You will have much to discuss with her.

 

WILDE

But of course, the Little woman herself. But I've only glanced at her work. I hope she won't take offense.

 

MRS. HAYES

 Louisa May, allow me to introduce Mr. Oscar Wilde.

 

Wilde reaches across the table for Miss Alcott's hand, which he kisses

WILDE

This is indeed a delight and an honor, Miss Alcott; such a pleasure to meet the woman who has done so much to mold modern feminism.

 

 

 

MISS ALCOTT

See here, young man, I haven't molded anything. I am a writer, not a sculptor.

 

 

WILDE

Surely, you take some credit for the monumental influence that Mrs. March and her four daughters have had on young English-speaking women, the world-over.

 

MISS ALCOTT

My books are well read, Mr. Wilde, but they are but single voices in a cacophony of modern opinions.  It is an audacious and entirely unlikely notion that my words have molded anything or anyone.

 

WILDE

You're too modest Miss Alcott.

 

MISS ALCOTT

And you are far too presumptuous, Mr. Wilde.

 

WILDE

Presumptuous?  I'm also told I am perceptive.  Two sides of the same coin actually.    One of the most expedient ways to ascertain the essence of something is to first make a presumption about it.   Inevitably, one is quickly corrected if one's presumptions are off base.  If accurate, one earns a reputation for perception.  It pleases me to report that I am regarded as more perceptive than presumptuous.

 

MISS ALCOTT

Well, now I've changed my opinion of you Mr. Wilde.  You are positively preposterous!

 

WILDE

Ah, there is growing support for that opinion of me as well. 

Mrs. Hayes appears anxious.

MRS. HAYES

Oscar, you have not yet met His Honor Mayor William Grace.

 

WILDE

How do you do Your Honor?

 

GRACE

Welcome to New York, young man; they tell me you're creating quite a stir.

 

WILDE

I can't imagine my presence being anything more than a minor current in the torrential flows of your city's day-to-day existence.

 

GRACE

Not true! New York is very much abuzz with your arrival; we're all anxious to hear what you have to say for yourself.

 

WILDE

Except perhaps Miss Alcott here.

 

Louisa May Alcott is talking to Bigelow and no longer paying attention to Wilde. Mrs. Leslie wearing a peacock hat leans back in her chair and reaches behind Mackaye Steele to touch Wilde on the shoulder.

 

MRS. LESLIE

Oscar, I haven't had a chance to wish you well. How is Lady Wilde and that charming brother of yours?

WILDE

Mrs. Leslie, of course. Mother and brother are splendid. I wasn't sure if that was you. Something new about your appearance.

MRS. LESLIE

Oh, it's probably nothing more than this hat. Not sure that it does anything other than get in the way of one's appearance.

 

WILDE

My dear Mrs. Leslie, for a man a hat is a mere accessory, for a woman it is a veritable disguise.

 

MRS. LESLIE

(laughing)

No doubt the case. The Atlantic crossing has not stunted your charm or insight, Oscar. You know it was my paper that ran a small campaign to have you brought to America. 

 

WILDE

I must congratulate you and your paper for impeccable taste and responsible news coverage.

 

MRS. LESLIE

Are you reading a lot of newspapers, Oscar?

 

WILDE

Only those that write favorably of me.

 

MRS. LESLIE

I see, well, Leslie's Illustrated strives for fair reportage. We're not about publishing viciousness and idle gossip.

 

 

WILDE

A noble aspiration Mrs. Leslie and like the well-behaved schoolboy … commendable, but largely overlooked, I fear.

 

MRS. LESLIE

Our circulation is the fastest growing of any newspaper in the city.

 

WILDE

Then your editors must be doing something right. And no doubt quite contrary to your principles.

 

MRS. LESLIE

Oscar you're incorrigible and much more personable than your caricature in Patience.  The public is going to be largely displeased with you. Then again, they should be delighted.

 

WILDE

I'm afraid the public will have me at an advantage; I've largely ignored Messieurs Gilbert and Sullivan’s portrayal of myself.

 

MRS. LESLIE

Do you mean you have not seen the comedy?

 

WILDE

Oh, no. I attended one of the first performances in the West End, with George Grossmith in the role of Bunthorne. I had a volume of Swinburne's poetry with me at the time and found it more engaging.

 

MRS. LESLIE

So you sat in the theater and read poetry?

WILDE

Yes, it was rude of me and I'm very ashamed of myself. Please don't let on to Mr. Swinburne.

 

Mrs. Leslie leans out into the table to address Augustus Hayes.

 

MRS. LESLIE

That's unacceptable. You must understand what all the fuss is about. Augustus – Augustus.

 

AUGUSTUS HAYES

Yes, Mrs. Leslie?

 

MRS. LESLIE

Our Mr. Wilde must see a performance of Patience. I want to arrange a special excursion.  I'll have the box set aside for tomorrow evening. You and Mrs. Hayes must attend. Will tomorrow evening be appropriate Mr. Wilde?

 

WILDE

Mrs. Leslie, I shall enjoy the company more than the play. And for that, I accept with enthusiasm.

 

MRS. LESLIE

You will leave Mr. Swinburne's poetry at home, young man.

 

WILDE

Messieurs. Gilbert and Sullivan will have my undivided attention.

 

MRS. LESLIE

I'll have Richard D'Oyly Carte make the arrangements. We'll create an entourage for you.  Is there anyone you wish to invite Mr. Wilde?

WILDE

(turning to Mackaye)

Perhaps Mr. Mackaye would like to join us?

 

MACKAYE

Splendid idea.

 

MRS. LESLIE

Steele Mackaye, of course.

 

WILDE

And Mr. Miller, the very charming and elegant chap that he is.

Joaquin Miller nods.

 

WILDE (cont'd)

(turning to Louisa May Alcott)

And what about yourself Miss Alcott would you like to attend a performance of Patience?

 

MISS ALCOTT

Mr. Wilde, at my age, patience is not a characteristic I subscribe to in theatre or in life. Gilbert and Sullivan farces are for you young folk. Leave me to my Wagner and Mozart.

 

WILDE

Madam, if youth is relegated to Gilbert & Sullivan, while maturity holds entitlement to Wagner and Mozart, what melodies would you prescribe for middle age?

 

MISS ALCOTT

(casually)

What with family obligations and work I should think they have little time for theatre and concerts.

 

 

WILDE

Miss Alcott, I don’t believe I could embrace your social order.

 

 

MISS ALCOTT

Mr. Wilde, I don’t believe I have invited you to do so.

 

Wilde accepts his place and nods in resignation. Mrs. Leslie moves the conversation forward.

MRS. LESLIE

Anyone else care to join us? This shall be a thoroughly spirited occasion. Oh, but Miss Lenoir is out of town.  She'll be disappointed to have missed this. Such a pity.

 

WILDE

Miss Lenoir?

 

MRS. LESLIE

She's one of Richard's managers. At my suggestion, she was the one who persuaded Mr. D'Oyly Carte to contact you.

 

WILDE

The provocateur of this whole mis-deed;  I must meet this Miss Lenoir, she is no doubt a woman of great persuasion.

 

MRS. LESLIE

I'm sure you'll meet her in due course. But for now the important thing is to have you witness, first-hand, the extraordinary American reception to Patience. You must understand this before you undertake to lecture in our fair nation. 

 

 

SERIES OF SHOTS: DINNER IS SERVED. 

1.                  Wilde chatting with Mrs. Hayes, on his right.

2.                  Wilde talking with Mackaye on his, while eating soup

3.                  Wilde chatting and joking with Joaquin Miller who sits opposite him and next to Louisa May Alcott's

4.                  Slow pan of the entire colorful table of diners.

 

EXT - NYC, SIDEWALK IN FRONT OF HAYES HOUSE - CONTINUOUS

EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN (30s) (poet and literary critic) and MRS. STEDMAN(30s) walk down East 29th Street. Their attention is drawn by the clamor of laughter and conversation coming from the brightly lit home.

 

STEDMAN

What is this all about? That's Augustus Hayes' home, isn't it?

 

MRS. STEDMAN

Yes.

 

STEDMAN

What on earth is he up to?

 

MRS. STEDMAN

He is receiving Oscar Wilde; an announcement appeared in the yesterday's social pages.

 

STEDMAN

Of course. I should have guessed. That little sybarite would be all over Oscar Wilde. It's absolutely disgusting to think that the city's so-called cultured classes are being taken in by this charlatan. No one has taken the time to examine the man's credentials.

 

MRS. STEDMAN

Edmund, stop it.  The man has a degree from Oxford.

 

 

STEDMAN

That only says he's a clever fraud. He has no claim to art. He's written a schoolboy's volume of licentious poems. Most of which he should be publicly flogged for, and here they throw the man receptions and dinner parties like he was the damn poet laureate.

 

MRS. STEDMAN

Be quiet now Clarence. You don’t want to create a scene here in the street.

 

STEDMAN

I’ll do more than create a scene. I’m going to express my displeasure in a letter to the Times.

 

MRS. STEDMAN

You'll do no such thing.

 

STEDMAN

I most certainly will woman. I'm not alone. Many members of this city's literary and arts community share my view.

 

MRS. STEDMAN

Oh Edmund, I wish you'd keep your head when it comes to such matters.

 

 

STEDMAN

It's New York that needs to keep its head. This Philistine town is making a fool of itself over Oscar Wilde. Mark my words, within two weeks we'll be showing Mr. Wilde the way home.

 

 

 

END OF PART I

 

---

[1] Wilde’s teeth were blackened; the result of mercury treatments. OSCAR WILDE by Richard Ellmann, p 89

 

[2] Canons were sometimes called prebendaries referring to the prebend or share of the endowment given to the Cathedral.

[3] The lead poem in Wilde’s first, and thus far, only volume of poems reveals a sailor’s amorous activities with a female nude statue. 

[4] Mercury was a common treatment in the 19^th Century for syphilis. There is much controversy as to whether Wilde died of syphilis. In a recent analysis of the medical evidence, one set of experts ruled this was not the case. His death was attributed to a chronic ear infection. It’s still not clear as to why he was taking mercury. Had he had syphilis, or were there the suspicion of an  STD, doctors of the 19^th Century would have restricted Wilde from pursuing any matrimonial plans.

[5] A lady’s maid

[6] A Woman of No Importance

[7]  Paraphrased from Life of Oscar Wilde by Robert Harborough Sherard p. 194-195

[8] The Wit and Humor pg. 33

 

[9] Wilde is superstitious of white horses Oscar Wilde The Double Image by  George Woodcock pg. 35

[10] This scene is 90% fiction.  Delmonico’s was the leading restaurant and would have attracted NYC’s wealthiest. Wilde did go to brunch there on the morning of his arrival. Doyle Carte wanted to impress him and likely showed him off.  In reality this was a relatively quieter affair. I’ve taken dramatic license in introducing Wilde to the historic tycoons of the era.  I think it justified since it was impossible to ignore Wilde’s presence in the city and the upper classes would have had an opinion about him.  With this scene the viewer gets to witness, first-hand, the aristocracy’s likely response to Wide’s arrival.

[11] Jay Gould was infamous for having manipulated the price of gold in the late 1860s with the cooperation of the Federal Reserve.

[12] Pulitzer bought  The World from Jay Gould in 1883.

[13] The Critic as Artist

[14] Gould was not a drinker.

[15] The Epic of New York City by Edward Robb Ellis , p 378

[16] The Epic of New York City by Edward Robb Ellis , p 362

[17] Lobbyist and international business man. The caricature of Uncle Sam is often attributed to Sam Ward. He was a poet, wit and bon vivant, known on both sides of the Atlantic – friend of the Prince of Wales and Prime Minister Gladstone.

[18] Lillian Russell was not starring in Patience at this time. She was working at a review elsewhere in the city where she sang songs from Gilbert & Sullivan production. For the purpose of this production, I gave her the lead in the G&S musical.

I hold a Bachelor of Arts Degree, from the University of Victoria, in Victoria, B.C. Canada. The practical side of me majored in Economics, I allowed the passionate side to dictate a minor in English Literature. I was introduced to Wilde through a course in Victorian Literature. Like many of us, with an ounce of civility, I found his wit, his flare and his remarkable talent as a playwright and novelist captivating. After a year of study in Paris, I moved to Toronto where I initiatally worked as a freelance journalist. While working an assignment for Toronto Life magazine, I discovered that Oscar Wilde had visited Canada's mecca. Moreover he had visited most of central and eastern Canada. I became infatuated with his 1882 lecture tour of North America and felt the material was worthy of either a cinematic or broadcast presentation.

While working on Wilde In America and other writing projects, I spent 12 years working in publishing, in the role of marketing executive. I was Director of Marketing for McClelland & Stewart and worked directly for Jack McClelland who was the pre-eminent Canadian publisher of such notable authors as Margaret Atwood, Mordecai Richler, Leonard Cohen, Farley Mowat, Jane Urquhart and Michael Ondaatje. From 1988 to 2000 I served as Vice President of Marketing for various divisions of Simon & Schuster, Inc., in New York. I recently served as Vice President of Strategic Marketing for Reciprocal,Inc., a software company supplying copy-protected technology and clearinghouse services for the on-line of copyrighted digital media. I am currently working on a commercial screenplay and a novel.

 I am currently working on a commercial screenplay and a novel.

       Walter W.J. Walker
       1155 Warburton Ave. Apt. 4S
       Yonkers, NY 10701
       Ph. (914) 969-2721
       Mob.(914) 310-6205
       e-mail: wjwalker@optonline.net