The Trials of Oscar Wilde (1960) - full transcript

Get me a cab, will you?
- Yes, sir.

The most brilliantly written
play I've seen in years.

The man's a born wit.

The whole play was
tremendously exciting.

I hear he's writing a new one.

I can hardly wait to see it.

Cab!

Well, gentlemen, the English theater
has just given birth to a genius.

I feel sure Wilde would be the
first to agree with you, Harry.

I wish I could approve of the playwright
as much as I approve of his play.

Who cares about him as long as he
continues to give us plays like this?



Well, Oscar, how does
it feel to be a success?

Did you have
any doubts, Robbie?

Congratulations, Oscar.
Brilliant play! Brilliant!

Ah, there I'm bound to
agree with you, Lord Sonning.

My dear Mr. Wilde,
I was simply delighted with your play.

I even enjoyed the interval.

Dear Lady Sonning, she has
the remains of a remarkable ugliness.

I've always been a great
admirer of your work, Mr. Wilde.

And I've always been a great
admirer of my work, Mr. Shaw.

Frank!
- Oscar!

Wonderful play.
- Thank you.

My dear lady mother.
- Oscar.

My dear boy, a triumph.
A magnificent triumph.

Ada, what are you going to say about my
play in that woman's magazine you run?



I shall praise it as highly
as you would yourself, Oscar.

You've always been the
best critic of my work.

But I never criticize
your work. - Exactly.

I'm so proud, Oscar.

And I'm so proud of you.

You look wonderful.

Oscar, people are watching.

I hardly think Oscar
is the type of man

to worry about
his behavior in public.

And how did brother
Willie like the play?

Or couldn't you
see it from the bar?

Ooh, I'm perfectly sober,
thank you, Oscar.

I've ordered a table
at the Savoy.

Get a cab, Robbie, there's
a good chap. - Of course.

Constance, you
don't mind not coming.

But you know, these
supper parties. - Very well, Oscar.

Mother will take you. Now,
won't you, Mother? - Yes, of course.

Willie, get my wrap.
- Goodbye, my dear.

Ada.

Come along, Bosie.

Good night, Mrs. Wilde.

Good night, Bosie.

A green carnation.
How delightfully eccentric.

Damned ridiculous,
if you ask me.

But who's the handsome
young boy with him?

Good heavens, Edith,
you are out of touch.

Why, the whole of London
is talking about them.

It's a damn disgrace the way
the fellow is carrying on.

These artistic fellows think
they can get away with anything.

But who is he? Well, you...

He's Lord Alfred Douglas.
Queensberry's son.

If I were Queensberry, I'd...

You'd do what, sir?
What would you do?

What would you do?

Excuse me.

Lord Alfred, you
remember my daughter?

Oh, Mrs. Somers.
How do you do? - Phyllis.

Poor Mrs. Somers.

Still trying to get that
daughter off her hands.

Well, she's wasting
her time with him.

Oh, my lord.

You wicked man.

Bosie!

Don't you even
acknowledge me anymore?

What do you want, Father?

Have you any idea
how sick it makes me

to watch you making
a fool of yourself?

A fine spectacle you are, sir, fawning
and crawling round this fellow, Wilde,

like some damn little lapdog.

Are we going to have another
one of your scenes, Father?

Scenes or no scenes, sir.
I'll not tolerate this behavior.

Would you sooner I went around with
professional boxers and sporting gentry?

At least my friends
behave like men.

Father, I'm over 21...
- Only just.

I don't see that I have to
answer to you for my behavior,

nor seek your permission
for the choice of my friends.

You are a disgrace to
the name of Queensberry!

I really don't have...
Bosie, is the cab ready yet?

Oscar, this unpleasant
little man is my father.

Lord Queensberry?
- Yes.

Pleasure to meet you, sir.

The pleasure is
entirely yours, Mr. Wilde.

Oscar, let's go.
- Just a minute.

I have a few things to say
to this gentleman. - Father!

You listen to me, sir.
- Oh, really, Lord Queensberry.

I think the public have had
enough play acting for one night.

I demand to be heard!

You are being heard, sir,
by the entire theater. I should...

Well done, Wilde.

Most entertaining. We both
thought so, didn't we, my dear?

You're very flattering,
Your Royal Highness.

And Mrs. Langtry,
you're very beautiful.

I adore flattery almost
as much as you do, Oscar.

I didn't know you were a
patron of the arts, Queensberry.

I thought fist fighting
was more in your line.

Well, thank you for a most
enjoyable evening, Wilde.

We shall look forward
to the next play.

Good night, sir.

You coming, Bosie?

Let me just say this, Father.
You've been hounding me long enough.

If you try and interfere
with me again,

or write anymore of
your abusive letters,

I shall have no hesitation in
seeking the protection of the law.

You may have the law on your hands
much sooner than you think, my boy.

Good morning, Edward.

Good morning, Mr. Wilde, sir.
Lovely morning.

Yes, I think I'll
walk a little. Follow.

Where to, sir?

The Cafe Royal.

Cafe Royal? Very good, sir.

Mr. Wilde. Mr. Wilde, sir.

Mr. Wilde, one thing my
readers are anxious to learn.

What paper do you write for, sir?
- The Echo, sir.

Well, if your readers were
anxious to learn anything,

they wouldn't take the Echo.

May I ask you, sir, why do you
always wear a green carnation?

Mr. Wilde,
your book Dorian Gray...

Wait a minute.
What did you say, sir?

Why do you always
wear a green carnation?

I consider nature
to be quite inadequate.

Why she never thought of a
green carnation, I can't imagine.

Mr. Wilde. No doubt she
will get around to it in time.

Mr. Wilde, your book Dorian
Grayhas been severely criticized.

Not by me.

Yes, but, many people
do consider it immoral.

Ah, now, sir. What is immorality?
I consider that to conform

to the narrow moral standards
of this Victorian age

the grossest form
of immorality.

Yes, but, you know,
it is said, sir,

that much of your writing and
indeed your basic philosophy

is fundamentally immoral.
What have you to say to that?

I may have offended
some people,

but I'm sure that in 50 years,

the works of Oscar Wilde
will be standard literature

for every fifth form schoolboy.

Hear! Hear!

My only regret is
that I shan't be there

to collect the royalties.

I must say I hardly
think a newspaperman

is in a position to
speak of immorality.

What?
- Indeed, Lord Alfred.

Well, what could be more
immoral than a newspaper?

It condemns gambling
on the front page

and prints racing tips
on the back.

Brilliant, Bosie.
I wish I'd said that.

You will, Oscar. You will.

When you go back to Oxford,
you can say you outwitted Oscar Wilde.

If I ever go back,
I certainly will.

What do you mean?

Well, didn't you know?
I've been sent down.

Congratulations!

All the best people are
being sent down these days.

What did you do, Bosie?
Set fire to the dean's trousers?

Waiter! Waiter!
More champagne.

Frankly I believe too much
education's a bad thing.

Don't you agree, Oscar?

I certainly do.

Ignorance is a delicate blossom.
Touch it and it's gone.

You didn't tell me
that you'd been sent down.

Didn't I?
- No.

Oh.
- Why?

It was all rather tedious.

Tedious or not,
I'd like to hear about it.

Well, there was some scandal
over a boy in the town.

You know how provincial
Oxford can be in some ways.

Frankly,
I find the whole thing rather amusing,

but unfortunately
my father didn't.

He was so disgusted with his
"so called son" as he put it,

that he's disowned
me completely.

So now, I haven't
a penny in the world.

Frank, you're drunk.

Drunk? Who's drunk?

Oscar, have you ever seen me when
I had more than I could carry?

No, but I've seen you when you
should have taken more than one trip.

Why didn't you tell
me about this before?

Well, you were so busy,
what, with your play and...

If you're in any trouble,
you only have to come to me.

And if it's money you need,
you needn't worry.

You're very kind to me, Oscar.

I'm very fond of you.

Besides, what is
friendship for?

Come on, Mr. Wilde,
we're running out of conversation.

As long as we're not
running out of wine.

Waiter! Waiter!

You know, gentlemen,
in the past few years,

I've made
a remarkable discovery.

What was that, Oscar?

Alcohol, if taken in
sufficient quantities,

produces all the effects
of intoxication.

Gentlemen, I give you a toast.

To youth.

Oscar,
you talk as if you're an old man.

I am. I'd do anything
to regain my lost youth

except take up exercise or
get up early in the morning.

Waiter! Waiter,
where's that champagne?

Ah, thank you.
Here we are.

Good evening, sir.
- Hello, Arthur.

Oscar! You said
you'd be in for lunch.

Yes, I had a meeting
with my publisher.

The children have
been asking for you.

Oh.

They refuse to go to sleep
until you tell them a story.

Oh, very well.

Daddy! Daddy!

Now, what's all
this about your not sleeping?

We want you to tell us a story.

I see.

Well, now,
what shall I tell you tonight about?

Not too long, Oscar.

Giants or dragons?

You told us the story
about giants last night.

Well, have I told you the
story about the Happy Prince?

No.

High above the city
on a tall column

stood the statue
of the Happy Prince.

He was gilded all over with
thin leaves of fine gold.

For eyes he had
two bright sapphires

and a large red ruby
glowed on his sword hilt.

He was as beautiful
as a weather cock.

Yes, sir?

Mr. Oscar Wilde?

I don't know that
he's at home, sir.

Ah. My name is Wood.

Wood, sir?
- Yes.

I'm a friend of
Lord Alfred Douglas.

Oh, I see, sir.
Would you step inside, sir?

I'll enquire if Mr. Wilde
will see you, sir.

"Dear little swallow",
said the prince.

"You tell me marvelous things,

"but more marvelous
than anything

"is the suffering
of men and women."

Excuse me, sir.
There's a person to see you, sir.

Very well.

He gave his name as Wood, sir.
- Wood?

Said he was a friend
of Lord Alfred's, sir.

Oh, I see.

He's in the front room, sir.

Thank you, Arthur.

Mr. Wood?

That's right, sir.

Oh. Very delicate.
Very delicate indeed.

I understand you are
a friend of Lord Alfred's.

Uh, well, I suppose you might say that,
sir, yes.

A very friendly gentleman,
His Lordship, sir, very friendly.

Well, he didn't mention you,
Mr. Wood, but...

Uh, Alfred Wood, sir.

Same name as His Lordship, sir.

I'm no lord, of course, sir,

but as a poet like yourself might say,
"What's in a name?"

Cognac, Mr. Wood?

Thank you, sir.

You knew Lord Alfred at Oxford?

Well, not
exactly at Oxford, sir.

No, sir,
not in the way that you might mean.

I used to do odd jobs
for His Lordship.

Oh, very kind he
was to me, sir. Yes.

A gentleman like yourself,
sir, in every particular.

Thank you, sir. Well, I'm very glad
to meet any friend of Bosie's.

Bosie?

Oh.

Yes, of course, sir.

Your health, sir.

Very fine brandy this, sir.
Drives the cold from the bones.

Well, I, uh...

I won't beat about the bush,
sir, as the saying goes.

Quite by accident, sir,
I assure you, I a...

I came across that letter from
you to Lord Alfred Douglas.

Very beautiful letter,
if I might say so, sir.

Only I think that perhaps

there are parts that could be "misconstrued",
I think is the word, sir.

How did you come by this?

Ah, yes, well, I used to...

Used to press
Lord Alfred's clothes.

Very particular
about his clothes, sir.

As well you may know.

I, uh, found it
in one of his pockets.

Are you asking me to purchase my own work,
Mr. Wood?

Well, sir, I...
Come, sir, that's not very sound economics.

Well,
I've already been offered L60 for it, sir.

Then I suggest that
you sell it at once.

I myself have seldom
been offered so much

for a prose work
of that length.

You take the letter, sir.

It was stupid of me
to try and rent you.

The thing is, sir,
that I'm desperate for money and...

A hungry man gets
driven to do stupid things.

Oh, would you like
a ham sandwich?

Now you're making
fun of me, sir.

On the
contrary, Mr. Wood.

You're doing
remarkably well yourself.

Well, I think I'll
be going now, sir.

No, no, no, no.
Please stay and finish your drink.

That's very kind of you.

You're a very poor criminal,
Mr. Wood, if I may say so.

The fact is I came to London
to look for some work.

Ah, work, Mr. Wood, is the
curse of the drinking classes.

The secret of maintaining youth

is an inordinate
passion for pleasure.

L40, sir?

I'm going out to dine in a moment.
Perhaps you'd care to join me.

Well, that's very kind
of you, sir.

There's a fascinating charm

about your halfhearted criminal tendencies,
Mr. Wood.

I suspect that you lead
a wonderfully wicked life.

Ah, well,
there's good and bad in all of us, sir.

Mr. Wood, you're
a born philosopher.

I'm sure we shall
get along extremely well.

Your health, sir.

Shall I serve dinner, madam?

I can't understand it.
I'm sure Mr. Wilde said

he would be in for dinner.

Well, perhaps he's been
detained on business, madam.

Yes.

Shall we wait?

No, Arthur, I'll dine alone.

Very well, madam.

Bosie, you're
nearly an hour late.

Yes, I know.

Oh, I know what
that face means.

It usually heralds
an unpleasant scene.

It would be nice
if it could be avoided.

I'm in a singularly good mood.

Are you?
- I was.

No doubt, having entertained your
friend at the Savoy last night.

You mean Mr. Wood?

Really, Oscar, have
you no sense of propriety?

The man is a valet.

A very amusing valet.

Thank heavens, Bosie,
I am not inhibited by your sense of class.

So it seems.

Anyway, he was your friend.

I hardly knew the man.

That's not the impression
that he gave to me.

Good morning, My Lord.

What did he want anyway?

Money. What do
the poor usually want?

Would you like to
order now, My Lord?

And you gave it to him?

For a valuable
piece of property.

A letter I wrote you at Oxford.

May I recommend
the lobster, My Lord?

I'll have the sole meuniere.
- Very good.

Do you mean he blackmailed you?

Leaving that letter around for anyone
to find was not only careless of you,

but singularly
lacking in respect

for something that I'd hoped
was private and personal.

Waiter, bring some
champagne right away.

Very good, My Lord.

It'd seem, Bosie,
that I am forever paying

for your indiscretions
and your extravagances.

Money, is that all
you ever think of?

Ah, when I was young I
thought money was everything.

Now that I'm older
I know that it is.

My God, Oscar,
you're never satisfied.

You have a successful book out,

a play running
in the West End...

Playing to packed
houses of creditors.

Have you any idea how much money I've
spent since we've been together?

I'm sure you've
kept an account.

Luncheon every day here,
dinner at the Savoy, supper at...

Oh, look what you've done.
- I'm sorry, sir.

Please.
- Oh, go away, stop fussing.

And always the best champagne

because you have
a very delicate palate.

Bosie, you seem to think that you
have a right to live at my expense

in a profuse luxury to which
you have never been accustomed.

I pay your hotel bills,
your tailor's bill,

your gambling debts.

You demand without grace and
you receive without thanks.

Have you finished?

Now tell me honestly, Oscar.
What did you expect, hmm?

Did you think I was
some common street Arab

to be bought
with cheap trinkets

and an occasional supper
in some Soho restaurant?

I've given you my friendship for two years,
Oscar.

I've admired your genius,
laughed at your jokes, flattered your vanity.

And now you question the
price of such a friendship.

It isn't worthy of you, Oscar.

Good evening, Mr. Wilde.
- Evening, William.

Sydney.

Thank you, sir.

Good evening, Mr. Wilde.
- Good evening.

I want you to take
this to this address.

It's just around the corner.

Straight away, hmm?
- Right away, sir.

Hello, Robbie.

Hello, Oscar.

What will you have?

Brandy, and a large one.

John. A large brandy.

Give me a cigarette,
there's a dear fellow.

I seem to have
left mine at home.

What?
- A cigarette.

Oh, yes, of course.

Thank you.

What is it, Oscar?
Are you not well?

No, just very tired,
that's all.

Your brandy, sir.

Thank you.

Oscar, did you know that
some of the club members

have approached the Committee
to get you to resign?

Well, I hope not. I shall
have to find somewhere else

to sleep in the afternoons.

Have you any idea how much
people are talking about you

or what they are saying?

I adore scandal
about other people,

but about myself
I find it extremely dull.

It hasn't the charm of novelty.

I don't think you'll
find this gossip dull.

Robbie, are you being
solicitous about my welfare?

That is very
impertinent of you.

I don't mean to be.

Oscar, I realize that much
of your extravagant behavior

is done purely for effect.
You're an artist.

The public expects
you to be different.

But you're no longer an ascetic
young poet just down from Oxford.

Relax.
- You're a highly successful playwrighter

at the peak of your career.

You dine with royalty.
You mix in the highest social circles.

Ah.

You're walking along
a precipice, Oscar.

Just as long as you continue
to play court jester,

society will accept you.

But tax their tolerance too far

and they'll send you
crashing from the heights

to the depths of obscurity.
- Oh, really.

A halo doesn't have to fall very far,
Oscar, to become a noose.

Really, Robbie,
this all very tedious.

Just tell me one thing.

These stories I hear about you.

There isn't any truth
in them, is there?

As I don't know
what the stories are,

I'm hardly in a position
to answer you.

They say that you...

You're being blackmailed because
of your association with Bosie.

That you consort with
criminals, stable boys.

This sounds all very
exciting and intriguing.

Do go on.

I just want to hear
you tell me it isn't true.

Robbie,

I'm deeply hurt that you use our
friendship to pry into my private life.

I thought you were a gentleman.
I now see that you are not.

I just want to
hear you deny it, Oscar.

You must think
what you will, Robbie.

Mr. Wood to see you, sir.

Thank you.

Robbie, because
I'm very fond of you

I shall forget everything
you've said tonight.

Good night.

Good night.

Hello, Oscar.

Lovely club you've got here.

I like that.

I'd like some
champagne tonight.

Oh, you shouldn't
have bothered.

You must eat something.

All right?

You know, I've eaten in all of
the best restaurants in Europe

but I've never tasted anything
like your sweetbreads.

Where's the wine?

They didn't deliver
any this week.

For heaven's sake, why not?

Perhaps the fact that we
owe the wine merchant L85

might have something
to do with it.

We're living on credit, Oscar,
and that can't go on much longer.

Well, if I can finish this play,
everything will be all right.

If that's Bosie,
tell him I'm not at home.

I wish
to see Mr. Oscar Wilde.

I'm sorry, sir,
but Mr. Wilde is not at home.

Well, I'm sorry,
but I demand to see him.

You can't go in there, sir.

If you please, sir.

Wilde, I want to have
a word with you. Sit down.

Well, Lord Queensberry.
It's all right, Arthur, you can go.

It seems the peerage don't have
a monopoly of good manners.

To hell with good manners, sir.

What I have to say to you has very
little to do with good manners.

Indeed? And I presume you've
brought your ugly friend

to lend you moral support.

When it comes to morals,
I have all the support I need,

thank you very much.

I've seldom come across anybody in
whom the moral sense was dominant

who was not heartless, cruel,
vindictive and completely lacking

in the smallest sense of humanity,
Lord Queensberry.

Personally,
I'd sooner have 50 unnatural vices

than one unnatural virtue.

Yes, I can well believe that.
Now, you listen to me, sir.

I presume you have
come to make a speech.

If so, I hope it's a short
one because I have work to do.

Wilde.

Wilde.

I've come here today
to protest against

your disgusting
relationship with my son.

That is a revolting
and slanderous statement,

and I demand an apology.

I refuse to apologize.

I refuse to apologize for saying
something which is common knowledge

to every cab driver and
messenger boy in London.

Lord Queensberry,
are you seriously suggesting that

there is improper conduct
between your son and myself?

I do not say that you are.

I say that you look it,
which is just as bad.

But I'll tell you this.

If I catch you
two again together,

I shall take a whip to you, sir,
and I shall thrash you to the ground.

I see that when
it comes to fighting,

you choose to ignore
the Queensberry rules.

Yes, well, I give you fair warning.
- And I give you fair warning.

If you're not out of my house in
two minutes, I shall throw you out.

I refuse to leave
until I've had my say.

On the contrary, sir,
you are leaving now.

Hit him! Hit him!

Arthur, open the door!
This gentleman is leaving.

Gladly, sir.

This, Arthur,
is the Marquis of Queensberry.

The most infamous brute in London and
you're never to let him in my house again.

Is that clear?
- Perfectly, sir.

Now get out.

Very well.

But you'll regret this,
I promise you.

I promise you.

Go back to your room
this instant.

Will that be all, sir?

I hope so, Arthur.

Now, this has got to stop.

You are the only one
who can stop it, Oscar.

My God, am I not allowed to
get on with my work in peace?

What with creditors
knocking at the door

and Bosie dropping in as if
this was some sort of club.

And now this coarse brute
with his hired pugilists.

I can stand brute force,
but brute reason is quite intolerable.

It's like hitting
below the intellect.

Oscar, I beg of you to give up
this friendship with Bosie.

Not for me,
but for your own sake.

He takes up
too much of your time,

demands too much
of your emotions.

I know.

The truth is the boy has a
strange fascination for me

that I can't get free of.

He needs you more
than you need him.

He needs you because he
is weak and conceited.

And you give him a stature he
could never acquire alone.

And he will go on taking and taking
until there's nothing left.

He'll destroy you, Oscar.

When I married you,

I didn't believe it was possible to
love anybody more than I loved you.

I still love you, darling.

To me you are higher and greater
than any man in the world.

Help me, Constance.

Help me.

Why not go away
for a little while?

At least until you
have finished your play.

Maybe it will give you a
chance to think more clearly.

Yes, I may.

You always liked the sea.
Why not go down to Brighton?

It should be very quiet
at this time of year.

It's a wonderful idea,
Constance,

but we've hardly enough money to pay
the tradesmen, let alone hotel bills.

I haven't touched my father's
allowance for some months.

It isn't very much, I'm afraid.
- No, no, Constance.

Please. Please.

I love you.

I love you.

Goodness Lordy, Mr. Wilde,
wherever have you been?

I've been conversing with the elements,
Mrs. Burgess.

Oh, goodness me,
you're soaked to the skin.

Listening to the wisdom
of the sea, Mrs. B.

Out all night
in weather like this.

Now, you come upstairs and
we'll get those wet clothes off

before you catch your death.
- It's all here.

Every word and every epigram,
Mrs. Burgess.

Oh, I'm very glad, Mr. Wilde,
but do come on.

Every move and every curtain.

It's all here.

And the important thing
is who is Ernest.

Oh, yes, that will be nice.

Ernest and his little aunt...

But upstairs now, like a good boy,
please, Mr. Wilde.

You're very kind, Mrs. Burgess.

Well, if we can't show a
little kindness on this earth,

we might as well not be here,
that's the way I see it.

Now, you keep nice and warm.

Are you sure this is the right place,
my dear chap?

This is where I brung him, sir.
No mistaking him.

Proper artistic
gentleman he was.

Just wait here, will you?

Right, sir.

Good morning, madam.

Is it remotely possible you have
a Mr. Oscar Wilde staying here?

Why, yes, sir.

How extraordinary.

Ah, may I step inside?
- Certainly, sir.

Which is his room?

It's just at
the top of the stairs.

Oh, but I'd rather
you didn't disturb him, sir.

You see, he was out all night
and he's not at all well.

Indeed?

I was wondering if
I'd send for the doctor.

A doctor, madam,
would probably prescribe

a little less brandy
in his soda.

Well.

So this is where you've
been hiding yourself, hmm?

Bosie.

Really, Oscar, you are
the most tedious person.

I've been all over Brighton.

From one hotel to another,

tracking you down like
some private detective.

What do you want?
- What?

What do I want?

I don't want a thing,
I came to see you.

Good heavens,
it's so dark in here.

Well,
I must say you don't look any too good.

Oh, yeah.

I think I've got a chill, I...

You must be out of your mind
coming to a place like this.

I can't imagine what
the food must be like.

Of course,
as soon as I knew you were in Brighton,

I naturally went
straight to The Grand.

Naturally.

I have a most delightful suite
there overlooking the sea.

And I shall get the bill,
no doubt, in due course.

Seriously though, Os,
I won't allow you to stay

in this dreary little hovel
another minute.

Besides, the most fascinating
people are staying at The Grand.

Just look
at this picture, really.

Bosie, can't you understand

that I came here to finish
my play in peace and quiet?

I was driven nearly frantic in
London with you and your father.

Bosie, I've got to work.

I'm the last person in the world to
want to interfere with your work.

Whether you mean it or not,
you do.

What are you looking for?

I'm looking for my handkerchief.
What do you think I'm looking for?

Here it is, for heaven's sake.

Really, Oscar, when you are ill,
you're singularly unamusing.

I can't help being ill.

But you can help being a bore.

Is this your new play?

"The Importance
of Being Earnest."

Yes, it's nearly finished.

I'm glad to hear it.
Poverty ill becomes you.

Frankly, I think you're being very
unreasonable about this whole thing.

You disappear,
leaving me in town without a penny piece.

Are you trying to end
this relationship, Oscar?

Is that what you want?

I don't know what I want.
I just want to be left in peace.

"Thank you for your company.

"It was charming while it
lasted. Now kindly get out."

Bosie, can't you see that I'm ill
and I hardly know what I'm doing?

And what about me?

I don't care what you do,

but as long as you go
away and leave me alone.

You mean for good?

It can't go on,
your insane tantrums and your extravagances.

It's got to stop, Bosie.

Wouldn't my father
be delighted to think

he'd finally broken up
our friendship?

My God, it is stuffy in here.

I don't know
how you can breathe.

Once and for all, I'm sick
to death of being a cat's-paw

in this terrible war between
you and your father.

And for heaven's sake,
close the window.

Am I to be held responsible for
the ravings of my lunatic father?

I sometimes think there's very little
difference between him and you.

You're both insane.
Bosie, the window.

My God, I've had just about had
as much as I can stand of this.

Oh, my God.
- Is this the thanks I get

for devoting myself to you these past two years?
- My God!

What is happening to me?

How I ever came to think
you were so marvelous...

Bosie, for God's sake, go away.
- Oscar Wilde, the great genius,

the great wit.

Idol of society. And look at you
sniveling like some kicked dog.

Do you think I'm going to let
you end this so easily, Oscar?

You're not going
to throw me aside

because you've
no further use for me.

You're not my father!

Bosie, are you insane?

Didn't you know?
It runs in the family.

Bosie, put it down.

Bosie, please!

How insignificant you look
when you're afraid, Oscar.

I never thought
you'd be afraid of me.

Oh, this place depresses me.

Oh, um...

I don't suppose you could let me have
some money to pay the cab, could you? I...

Oh, well.

Wait for me, will you?

Yes, ma'am.

Good afternoon, madam.
Good afternoon, Arthur.

Is Mr. Wilde at home?

Yes, he's working
at the moment, madam.

But Mrs. Wilde is
in the front room.

Mrs. Leverson, madam.
- Ada!

My dear,
I hope you don't mind my just dropping in.

Of course not.
Arthur, may we have some tea, please?

Certainly, madam.

How nice to see you.
Good heavens, you're freezing.

Come and get warm by the fire.

I was just embroidering my
birthday present for Oscar.

Do you think
he's going to like it?

Oh, I'm sure he will,
it's most handsome.

Oscar has the most expensive tastes,
even in the simplest things.

How is Oscar?

Oh, much better.

He just needed
looking after properly.

What about Bosie?

That's all over now, thank God.

I can't tell you
what it was like, Ada.

To have a woman come between
yourself and your husband,

that's something
a wife can understand.

But another man.

Constance,
is that Ada's voice I hear?

Yes, it is, dearest.

I must hide this, I don't
want to spoil the surprise.

Ada, my dear.

You're looking
wonderful, Oscar.

Mm, what a delicious hat!

Constance, where's that bottle
of champagne I've been hoarding?

Oscar, you're not going
to start drinking so early.

Of course I am.
This is a celebration.

You finished the play?

The curtain fell
on the third act of

The Importance of Being
Earnest as the doorbell rang.

I'll get the champagne.

Ada, your timing is impeccable.

Is it a good play?
- Quite extraordinary.

Ada, I'm happier than
I've been for years.

I'm working.
I'm seeing more of the children.

Constance is a guardian angel.

In fact, I believe I'm getting
dull and bourgeois and very old.

You miss him, don't you?

Yes.

Sometimes when I see the
sunlight on an evening sky

or wander by the river
and watch the dark waters,

I seem to see him flitting
by me in the darkness,

and then I feel terribly alone.

Have you seen this?

Couldn't find
the champagne glasses.

It's been such a long
time since we used them.

Oscar, what on earth is it?

Bosie's elder brother was killed
yesterday in a hunting accident.

Oh, how terrible.

That would be Francis,
wouldn't it?

Bosie was very fond
of him, wasn't he?

Arthur.
- Sir?

I want you to go to the post office
presently and send a telegram.

Very good, sir.

I think he may need me.

For as much as it has pleased
Almighty God

to take unto himself the soul
of our dear brother departed,

we therefore commit
his body to the ground.

Well...

It would seem it takes
a death to bring about

a family reunion in this house.

You're all very silent.

I've just lost a son.

Doesn't that mean
anything to any of you?

Hmm?

You're his mother.
Don't you weep for your son?

The only real male son
you ever bore.

Really, Father...
- The only real man among the three of you!

Goodbye, Mother.

Goodbye, Bosie.

Bosie!

Where the devil do
you think you're going?

I've buried my brother.

There's nothing
to keep me here any longer.

This is
your home, damn you!

You belong here!

You were born here!

Kinmount has been the House of
Douglas for more than 300 years.

Goodbye, Percy.
- Bosie!

Bosie.

Don't go, boy. Stay here.

Just for a few days, eh?

It gets so lonely
here sometimes and...

Well, just for a few days,
eh, Son?

You call me son?

I'm not your son.

You disowned me,
or had you forgotten?

You disowned me just as you've
disowned the whole family.

You drove Mother
out of this house

with your abuse
and your immorality.

You persecuted me until I
had to keep away from you

for fear of what I might do if I
were here to lay hands on you.

I tried to make
a man out of you.

I tried to protect you
against yourself.

It's no more than any other
self-respecting father would do.

You lost your self respect the day
you threw my mother out of this house

and brought your mistress
here to live with you.

Damn your insolence!
- Please!

I ought to take a whip
and thrash you to the ground.

I would welcome the opportunity,
believe me.

You talk to me
of the moral issue.

For heaven's sake,
- Father!

Well, what about him and
that damned Wilde fellow?

Thank God I succeeded
in putting an end to that.

One of these days
you'll get down on your knees

and you'll thank me for it.

He sent me a telegram
this morning.

At least he has more sympathy with my
bereavement than you seem to have.

I'm going back to London this afternoon,
and I warn you,

if ever you try and interfere
in my private affairs again,

I'll buy myself a pistol and
I'll hunt you down and kill you.

Bosie!

Bosie!

Bosie!

You're no son of mine,
do you hear?

You're not my son!

Go back to your
precious friend,

but, I warn you,
I haven't finished with you yet!

Or him!

I'll see you both behind bars!

Do you hear?

Behind bars!

I have a great deal to
make up to you for, Oscar.

I've been perfectly
horrible to you in the past.

No, don't mention it anymore.

Sometimes it takes
a good row to clear the air.

What are we going to
do about your father?

Believe me, it's
only because of you

that I haven't taken some sort
of legal action against him.

And involve your whole
family in a scandal?

That wouldn't help anybody
except perhaps the journalists.

Just so long as he leaves me alone,
that's all.

Good heavens,
what are we talking about my father for?

Your new play
opens on Saturday.

We should be drinking
to its success.

Its success?

My dear boy,
you don't doubt it'll be a success, do you?

To The Importance
of Being Earnest.

To the importance
of friendship.

Wait there.
- Yes, sir.

Lord Queensberry, sir?

Yes.

I'm sorry, sir, I've strict instructions
not to let you into the theater.

You must be out of your senses.

I'm sorry, sir.

Who the devil are you anyway?

I'm a police officer, sir.

Are you indeed?

Police officer, are you?

Are you?

Don't forget the cripple, sir.

I'm sorry, sir.

No unauthorized persons are
permitted to enter the theater.

Do you realize
who you're talking to?

Oh, I do indeed, Your Lordship.

Now look here, My Lord, why don't you
run along and forget the whole thing?

You don't want to go in there
and spoil everybody's enjoyment.

I'm not completely
without influence.

I'm quite sure
you're not, My Lord.

No, I shall report you to
your senior officer, sir.

Bit loose in the upper story,
wouldn't you say, sir?

Hmm.

Well, let's hope that's the
last we've seen of him tonight.

Ladies and gentlemen,
I have enjoyed this evening immensely.

The actors have given a charming
rendering of a delightful play.

And your appreciation
has been most intelligent.

I congratulate you on the
success of your performance,

which proves to me

that you think almost as
highly of the play as I do.

That's quite a wit...
- Cab!

There's Queensberry.

Queensberry? What's he up to?

Mad as ever, I suppose.

Mad.

Excuse me! Excuse me!

Mr. Wilde,
may I present you with this, sir?

How charming.

Every time I smell them,
I shall think of you, Lord Queensberry.

The Albemarle Club.

Hurry. Hurry!

Can I help you, sir?

Give me a pen.

Now, I want you

to give this message

to Mr. Oscar Wilde.

Very good, sir.

Here you are, Edward.

Thank you, Mr. Wilde, sir.

Good morning, Wilde.
- Congratulations!

Thank you.
- Cab!

Wilde, my dear fellow.

Saw your play last night.
Laughed myself sick.

You seem to have made
a remarkable recovery, Major.

Oh, Mr. Wilde. A gentleman left
this for you last night, sir.

Oh.
- I hear your play was a big success, sir.

Congratulations,
if I may say so.

Thank you, Sydney.

Hello, old chap.
Enjoyed your play...

Well, there's no doubt,
Mr. Wilde,

on the basis of what is
written on this card alone,

you have the strongest
possible grounds

for an action against Lord
Queensberry for criminal libel.

Does that mean, Sir Edward,
that you will take the case?

Well, the question is,
of course,

do you want to proceed
with this action?

Well, of course!

Why do you ask that,
Sir Edward?

Well, no doubt,
Queensberry's defense

will be that the libelous
statement complained of

was justified
and in effect true.

It most certainly isn't true.

Nevertheless, the defense will make
every effort to prove that it is,

and that could be extremely
embarrassing for Mr. Wilde.

I agree. Oscar,
it simply isn't worth it.

Queensberry's
obviously a lunatic.

To take an action against him
is exactly what he wants.

That's why he left that card.

But if we let him get away with this,
there'll be no holding him.

We have to draw a line somewhere.
It's a matter of principle.

I'm afraid Lord Alfred
is right.

The man must be
stopped somewhere.

Then you wish to proceed
with this action?

I do.

Can't wait to see my father's face
when I go into the witness box.

When I tell...

You're not going into
the witness box, Bosie.

Are you mad, Oscar?

I've only got to tell
them how he's...

How he's persecuted me
these past two years,

how he drove my mother out of the
house with his insane ravings.

I'm not having
you involved, Bosie.

I'm afraid, Mr. Wilde,
that Lord Alfred is already involved.

Well, of course I'm involved.

I'm not having you exposed to
more scandal than is necessary.

Oscar, don't you realize...

Bosie, you're not going into the
witness box and that is final.

You'll have to forgive Bosie.
He's a little impulsive.

So it would seem.

Anyway, you have a very
strong case, Mr. Wilde.

What's the matter, Robbie?

Are you determined to bring about
your own destruction, Oscar?

Is that what you're
trying to do?

I don't understand.

I used to think you had
a mind of your own.

A great mind. Oh, really.

Oscar, you mustn't let Bosie
push you into this thing.

What's the alternative?
- Go abroad.

Let Queensberry and his son
fight their quarrel without you.

They're well-matched.

It's too late, Robbie.

Well, Sir Edward,
I'm entirely at your disposal.

Any further information
you need?

There is one question
I feel compelled to ask.

Please do.

I can only accept
this brief, Mr. Wilde,

if you assure me on your
honor as an English gentleman

that there is no truth in
the charges made against you.

I assure you as
an Irish gentleman

that there's no truth
whatever in any of them.

Well, then, shall we say here
tomorrow morning at 10:30, Mr. Wilde?

Good. Mr. Humphries.

Paper! Queensberry arrested!

Paper! Paper! Special edition!

Queensberry arrested!

Paper! Paper, sir! Paper!

Silence!

That's Edward Carson,
defending Queensberry.

We went to
Trinity College together.

No doubt he'll perform his task with all
the added bitterness of an old friend.

Silence!

Be upstanding in court.

All persons who
have anything to do

before My Lords,
the Queen's justices of oyer and terminer

and general gaol delivery for the
jurisdiction of the Central Criminal Court,

draw near and give your attendance.
God save the Queen.

Put up John Sholto Douglas,
Marquis of Queensberry.

John Sholto Douglas,
Marquis of Queensberry.

Are you John Sholto Douglas,
Marquis of Queensberry?

I am, sir.

"The jurors for Our Lady,
the Queen, upon their oath present

"that John Sholto Douglas,
Marquis of Queensberry,

"contriving and maliciously
intending to injure one

"Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie
Wills Wilde,

"and to excite him to
commit a breach of peace,

"and to bring him into public contempt,
scandal and disgrace,

"did on the 14th day of February
in the year of our Lord 1895,

"and within the jurisdiction
of this court

"unlawfully, wickedly and
maliciously write and publish

"a false and scandalous,

"malicious and defamatory libel,
in the form of a card,

"directed to the said Oscar
Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde,

"on which were
written the words,

"'To Oscar Wilde,
posing as a sodomite.'"

Silence in court.

"To the great damage,
scandal and disgrace

"of the said Oscar Fingal
O'Flahertie Wills Wilde

"and against the peace of our said
Lady the Queen, her crown and dignity,

"John Sholto Douglas,
Marquis of Queensberry,

"upon the aforesaid indictment,
how do you plead?"

Guilty or not guilty?

Not guilty, My Lord.

If it please you, My Lord,

it is my client's plea
that the alleged libel

according to the natural
meaning of the words thereof

is true in substance
and in fact,

and that it was for the
public benefit and interest

that the matter contained in the
alleged libel should be published.

Such a plea has been
filed with this court?

It has, My Lord.

Thank you, Mr. Carson.
Let the jury be sworn.

Take the Bible in your right
hand and read from the card.

"I swear by Almighty God
that I will well and truly..."

I put the card in an envelope,

which I addressed
to Mr. Oscar Wilde

and when Mr. Wilde
came into the club,

I handed it to him saying that Lord
Queensberry had asked me to give it to him.

And did you look at this card when
Lord Queensberry gave it to you?

I did, sir.

Thank you, Mr. Wright.

I have no questions, My Lord.

The witness may stand down.

I don't think there's
any suggestion by the defense

that Lord Queensberry did not leave
this card at the Albemarle Club,

nor that he wrote upon it the
words complained of by my client.

In his plea of justification

in which the defendant seeks to malign
the character of Mr. Oscar Wilde,

the defendant put
in evidence a letter

written by Mr. Oscar Wilde
to Lord Alfred Douglas,

the son of the accused.

I now propose to read the
letter to the court, My Lord.

"My own boy, your
sonnet is quite lovely,

"and it is a marvel that those
red rose leaf lips of yours

"should have been made no less for music
of song than for madness of kisses.

"Your slim guilt soul walks
between passion and poetry.

"I know Hyacinthus,
whom Apollo loved so madly,

"was you in Greek days.

"Always with undying love,
yours, Oscar."

The words contained in that letter
may appear somewhat extravagant

for those normally engaged in the
writing of commercial correspondence.

Silence!

But Mr. Wilde is a poet

and that letter is considered
by him to be a prose sonnet,

and one in which
he is no way ashamed.

I now ask Mr. Oscar Wilde
to go into the witness box.

Take the Bible in your right
hand and read from the card.

"I swear by Almighty God that the
evidence I give to this court

"shall be the truth, the whole truth,
and nothing but the truth,

"so help me God."

You are Mr. Oscar Wilde and you
are the prosecutor in this case.

I am.

How old are you, Mr. Wilde?

I'm 39.

Are you married, Mr. Wilde?

I am, and I have two children,
one aged nine and the other eight.

And when did you first become
acquainted with Lord Alfred Douglas?

In 1891.

A friend
brought him to my house.

And since that time you
have become close friends?

He was a guest at
my house many times.

A guest of yourself
and your wife?

Certainly.

In March 1893,

did it come to your notice that a letter
addressed by you to Lord Alfred Douglas

had come into the hands
of a certain person?

Yes, a man named Wood
came to me

and said that he'd found it in a suit
of clothes belonging to Lord Alfred.

Did he demand money
for that letter?

He said a man had
offered him L60 for it.

And what did you say to that?

I said I'd never received
so large an amount

for a prose work
of that length,

and I advised him to sell
it to the man at once.

Prior to this time, you had been
subjected to considerable annoyance

by Lord Queensberry,
had you not?

Oh, yes.

He'd written several abusive
letters to myself and my friends

and on one occasion,
he forced his way into my house

and I was compelled
to eject him.

And what took place
on that occasion?

He made certain accusations about
my relationship with Lord Alfred

and I said to him,

"Lord Queensberry, do you seriously accuse
your son and me of improper conduct?"

And what did he say to that?

He said, "I don't say you are,
but I say you look it."

Silence in court!

If there is the slightest
disturbance again,

I shall have the court cleared.

Mr. Wilde, your attention has
been drawn to certain statements

made in the plea
of justification

filed by the defendant,
Lord Queensberry,

with reference to different persons
impugning your conduct with them.

Yes.

Mr. Wilde,

is there any truth whatever
in any of those accusations?

None whatever in any of them.

Thank you, Mr. Wilde.

Mr. Wilde,
you stated earlier that your age was 39.

Is that correct?
- Yes.

You were born in 1854.
That makes you over 40, doesn't it?

Oh, very well.

Hmm.

At what age was Lord Alfred
Douglas when you first met him?

He was between 20 and 21.

Not yet 21. Hmm.

And since that time you
have been close friends?

Yes.

You've stayed with
him at many places?

Yes.

At Oxford, Brighton,
on several occasions?

Yes.

And at various
hotels in London?

Yes.

You've also been abroad
with him several times.

Yes, to Egypt,
Paris and Monte Carlo.

One could therefore describe
your friendship as intimate?

Yes, very.

Indeed.

I have here a magazine
called The Chameleon,

in which is
an article by yourself.

Also,
two poems contributed by Lord Alfred Douglas.

Yes, I thought them
exceedingly beautiful.

Did you?

Do you remember the titles of
these two poems, Mr. Wilde?

Yes. One was called
In Praise of Shame,

and the other, Two Loves.

Thank you.

These two loves,
they were two boys, weren't they?

Yes.

One boy calls his love true love and
the other boy calls his love shame.

That is correct.

Do you think that made
any improper suggestion?

No, not at all.

Hmm.

There's another article
in this magazine

entitled The Priest and the Acolyte.
Have you read that?

I have.

Did you consider that this
article was in any way immoral?

It was worse.
It was very badly written.

Was it not the story of a priest
who fell in love with an altar boy?

Well, I read it only once and nothing
would induce me to read it again.

Do you think the
story blasphemous?

I think it violates every
artistic canon of beauty.

That is not an answer.

That's the only answer
I can give.

I wish to know whether you
thought the story blasphemous?

It disgusted me,
and the end was completely wrong.

Will you answer the question?

Did you or did you not consider
the story blasphemous?

I thought it was horrid.
Blasphemous is not a word of mine.

I see.

Now, from the same
magazine here

are some of the phrases and
philosophies for the use of the young

which you contributed.

"Wickedness is a myth
invented by good people

"to account for the curious
attractiveness of others."

Do you think that true?

I rarely think anything
I write is true.

"Religions die hard when
they are proved to be true."

Is that true?

Yes, I hold to that,

but it's too big a
question to go into here.

Did you think
that was a safe axiom

to put forward for the
philosophy of the young?

I think it's most stimulating.

"If one tells the truth,
one is sure sooner or later to be found out."

A pleasing paradox, but I do not set
very much store on it as an axiom.

Whether moral or immoral?

There is no morality
or immorality in thought.

There are immoral emotions.

Quite so.

Now then.

This is the introduction to your book,
The Picture of Dorian Gray.

"There is no such thing
as a moral or immoral book.

"Books are well written
or badly written."

That expresses your view?

My view on art, yes.

Then no matter how immoral a book may be,
if it is well written,

it is in your opinion
a good book.

If it is well written so as
to produce a sense of beauty.

Then a well written book

putting forward perverted moral
views may be a good book?

A work of art doesn't
put forward views.

Views are for people.

A perverted novel
might be a good book?

I don't know what you
mean by a perverted novel.

Then, I will suggest
The Picture of Dorian Gray

as being open to the interpretation
of being such a book.

Only to brutes and illiterates.

The affection and love of the
artist for the youth, Dorian Gray,

might lead
an ordinary individual

to believe that it might
have a certain tendency.

I have no knowledge of the
views of ordinary individuals.

Hmm.

I propose, if I may, to quote

a few passages from this book.

The artist Hallward is
speaking to Dorian Gray.

"It is quite true
that I have worshiped you

"with far more romance than a
man usually gives to a friend.

"I have never loved a woman.

"From the moment I met you,

"your personality had the most
extraordinary influence over me.

"I quite admit I adored you madly,
extravagantly, absurdly."

Do you mean to
say that that passage

describes the natural feeling
of one man towards another?

Dorian Gray's was
a remarkable personality.

May I take it that you as an artist have
never known the feeling described here?

No. It is a work of fiction.

Let us go over it
phrase by phrase.

"I quite admit that I
have adored you madly."

What do you say to that?
Have you ever adored a young man madly?

I've never given
adoration to anyone.

Except myself.

I suppose you think
that a very smart thing?

Not at all.

"I have adored
you extravagantly."

Do you mean financially?

Oh, yes, financially!

Do you think that we
are talking about finance?

I don't know what
you're talking about.

Don't you?

Then I hope that I shall make myself
very plain before I have done.

And we come now to the letter which
you wrote to Lord Alfred Douglas.

It begins, "My own boy."

Now, why should a man of
your age address a young boy

nearly 20 years younger as
"My own boy"?

I was fond of him.
I've always been fond of him.

Did you adore him?

No, I like him.

And that's not
an ordinary letter.

You might as well
cross examine me

as to whether a Shakespeare
sonnet was improper.

Suppose a man who was not an
artist had written this letter.

Would you say that
this was a proper letter?

A man who was not an artist
wouldn't have written that letter.

Well, I can suggest, for
the sake of your reputation,

that there's nothing
very wonderful in this.

"Those red rose
leaf lips of yours..."

It largely depends on
how it's read.

"Your slim guilt soul walks
between passion and poetry."

Is that a beautiful phrase,
Mr. Wilde?

Not as you read it, Mr. Carson.
You read it very badly.

I do not profess to be an artist,
Mr. Wilde.

And when I hear
you give evidence,

I'm very glad that I am not.

My Lord, I don't think my learned
friend should talk like that.

May I suggest, Mr. Carson,

that you do not air your
personal opinions in this court?

It is very difficult, My Lord.

Yet nevertheless.

Where did you first meet
the man Wood, Mr. Wilde?

He came to my house.
I think it was in January of 1893.

And on the same evening,
you took him out to supper?

Yes.

Did you consider that
he'd come to levy blackmail?

I did, and I was
determined to face it.

By taking him out to
supper and giving him L40?

Well,
I saw that the letter was of no value,

and I gave him the money after
he told me a pitiful tale

about being out of work.

I suggest that you
had immoral relations

with him first and
then gave him the money.

My Lord, I really must protest

at my learned friend's method
of questioning the witness.

I do not see that Mr. Carson
is in any way out of order.

Thank you, My Lord.

Do you know a man named
Charles Parker, Mr. Wilde?

The witness will
answer the question.

Yes, he was a friend
of Lord Alfred's.

And a man named Atkin?

Yes, he was a friend
of Parker's.

A man named Grainger?

Yes,
he was a manservant of Lord Alfred's.

And Taylor, Mr. Wilde.
Do you know anyone called Taylor?

Yes, I have been to parties
at his house. We...

Were all these, with the exception of Taylor,
young men of about 20?

I like the society
of young men.

Have you given money
to any of them?

I may have.

Or presents?

A silver cigarette case
for Mr. Taylor,

gold-topped walking
stick for Mr. Parker,

a book for Mr. Wood inscribed,
"To Alfred from Oscar."

Did you know, Mr. Wilde,

that Wood had been
unemployed for three years,

that Parker was a valet,
and that the man Taylor was also out of work?

That would not have affected
my friendship with them.

And yet you gave them presents and entertained
them to supper on diverse occasions.

No doubt you drank
wine and champagne.

Iced champagne is a
favorite drink of mine,

much against
my doctor's orders.

Never mind
your doctor's orders.

I never do.

And at these supper parties

your guests no doubt
had plenty of champagne.

I didn't press them to drink.

You did not stint them?

What gentleman
would stint his guests?

What gentleman would stint his
valet and a groom, Mr. Wilde?

My Lord, I really must protest at my
learned friend's sneering remarks.

Mr. Carson, I suggest you confine
yourself to questions, not opinions.

Very well, My Lord.

Did you know, Mr. Wilde,

that Taylor, Atkin and Parker

had been arrested in a raid
on a house in Fitzroy Square?

Yes, I read about that.

You know that they were charged
with felonious practices?

I understand that the magistrate
dismissed the charge.

About the young man Grainger.

Have you ever dined with him?

No, never.

But you know him?

Yes, he was a manservant at
Lord Alfred's house in Oxford.

So you saw him on
several occasions?

I stayed in the house
on several occasions.

Grainger waited at table.

Did you ever kiss him,
Mr. Wilde?

Oh, dear, no.
He was extremely ugly.

Is that the reason
you did not kiss him?

Mr. Carson,
you are very insolent.

Did you say that
you never kissed him?

It's a foolish question.

Then why, sir, did you mention
that this boy was extremely ugly?

I don't know why I
mentioned that he was ugly

except that you stunned me
with your insolent remark

and the insulting way you've
treated me during this hearing.

Why did you mention
his ugliness?

It was simply that I...

Why? Why? Why?

"I didn't kiss Grainger
because he was ugly."

Quite untrue...
I protest, My Lord, at his accusations.

My learned friend puts words
into the witness' mouth.

The witness is putting
words into his own mouth.

I object.
- I will not have this brawling between counsels.

If I may say so, My Lord,

my learned friend has no right to make
suggestions of a certain behavior

with a group of persons not
represented in this court

and whose evidence
we have not heard.

But you will hear it,
Sir Edward.

It is my intention to produce every
one of the persons mentioned here

just now in this courtroom
tomorrow morning.

Wood, Parker, Atkin,
Grainger and Taylor

will relate their loathsome experiences
at the hands of the witness.

By your own admission, a group of
blackmailers and police suspects, sir.

Nevertheless,
they'll be here to give their testimony,

testimony that will prove my
client's plea of justification

beyond any possible shadow
of a doubt.

Silence in court.

I think this would be an
appropriate moment to adjourn.

The witness may stand down.

The court will reconvene
at 10:00 a. m. tomorrow.

Be upstanding in court.

All persons who have
anything further to do

before My Lords,
the Queen's justices of oyer and terminer...

Before this unfortunate
trial started,

you gave me your word that
there was no truth whatever

in any of these
dreadful accusations.

I know, Sir Edward. It was
unforgivably stupid of me,

but I was afraid you
wouldn't take the case.

As it is,
you realize you've already lost this case.

But what is
infinitely more serious

is that when Carson puts these
young men into the witness box,

as he obviously intends to do,

their evidence will inevitably
result in your being arrested

on some extremely
grave charges.

Sir Edward,
may I just say one thing?

Please do.

The whole case started with my father
accusing Mr. Wilde of carrying on an...

An immoral relationship
with me, isn't that so?

Yes.

Then why in heaven's name can
I not go into the witness box

and deny this disgusting accusation?
- Bosie, for the last time.

But it isn't true, Oscar.
- You know it isn't.

Such a denial
would undoubtedly add

considerable weight, Mr. Wilde.

In my opinion, not to put Lord Alfred
into the box would be a grave mistake.

One that you might regret
for the rest of your life.

Gentlemen, I have infinite faith in
the good sense of the common man,

and if, as you say,
this case hangs

on the evidence
of paid informers

and criminals
like Wood and Parker,

I cannot conceive that a British jury
would take their word before mine.

I wish I could
share your faith.

Well, what must be must be.

But I want you to understand
that Lord Alfred is not

to give evidence at this trial.

Very well.

Well, I shall endeavor to salvage
what is left of your reputation

by withdrawing from the case
first thing in the morning.

Incidentally, there's no need for
you to be present in court tomorrow.

Indeed there's no need for you
to be present in this country.

There is a boat train leaving for
Calais at 10:00 tonight, Mr. Wilde.

You'd be well advised
to be on it.

Before you condemn
Lord Queensberry,

I ask you to consider whether
the gorge of any father ought

not to rise in
such circumstances.

I ask you to bear in mind
that Lord Queensberry's son

was so dominated by Wilde that he
threatened to shoot his own father.

I now have a more painful
part of the case to approach.

It's my unhappy duty to
bring before you young men...

Did Wilde get away?
- No.

...to tell their
miserable tales.

I first call Charles Parker.

May I claim Your Lordship's
indulgence while I interpose

to make a statement,
which is, of course,

made under a feeling
of great responsibility?

By all means, Sir Edward.

Forgive me, Mr. Carson.

I'm sure it must be
apparent to Your Lordship

that those who represent
Mr. Wilde in this case

have before them
a terrible anxiety.

A verdict given in favor of
the defendant Lord Queensberry

might be interpreted as conclusive proof
as to the accusations of impropriety

brought against the plaintiff,
Mr. Oscar Wilde

and thus, we would be
going through,

day after day, an investigation of
matters of the most appalling nature.

Under these circumstances,

I feel I am not going beyond
the bounds of my duty

if I now interpose and say
on behalf of Mr. Wilde

that I would ask to
withdraw from the prosecution.

If that is your wish,
Sir Edward, so be it.

Silence.

And if I may say so
in the circumstances,

I think you have
made a wise decision.

Are you taking a cab?
Yes, come on.

Get this to the office
as soon as you can.

"Oscar Wilde
withdraws from case."

Take a cab and hurry.
- Yes, sir.

Either the words complained of
were justified or they were not.

If they were, then the statement,
"posing as a sodomite"

is true and the publication
was for the public benefit.

You will now consider
your verdict.

We've already agreed
upon a verdict, My Lord.

The prisoner will rise.

Gentlemen of the jury,
do you find

the plea of justification
has been proved or not?

We do.

And do you find the defendant
guilty or not guilty?

Not guilty, My Lord.

Silence in court!
Silence! Silence!

Usher, silence the court.

Usher!

Well, they haven't
wasted any time.

Why, what do you mean?

A copy of the evidence
has already been sent

to the Director of
Public Prosecutions.

Bosie, for God's sake,
stop walking up and down.

Oh.

Oh, you haven't
eaten a thing, sir.

I don't really want it.

Thank you, Arthur.

Oscar, I've just heard
from one of the reporters.

There's a warrant
out for your arrest.

What about Constance
and the children?

I saw them off
on the train myself.

Thank you, Robbie.

Oscar, I beg of you.

There's still time to
catch the 10:00 train.

I have a cab waiting outside.

You're wasting
your time, Robbie.

I've been trying
for the past two hours.

Oscar, will you
please listen to me?

It's too late.
- It's not too late, I tell you.

Look, it's 9:35.
- Oh, Robbie, have a drink.

In three hours
we can be in France.

You look as if you need it.

Mr. Wilde?
- Yes.

We're police officers.
We hold a warrant for your arrest.

Really?

I must ask you to accompany
us to the police station.

Bosie, do something for me.

Anything.

Leave the country.
If possible, tonight.

I can't desert you.
- Bosie, please.

Very well.

So it's goodbye, hmm?

Oscar, I can't believe...
- Goodbye.

We'll come with you.

There'll be no need for that, sir.
- Thank you.

Why do you look
at me like that?

It's not my fault.

I loved him just as much
as you did.

Don't you think if there
was anything I could have...

You can do as
Oscar says, Bosie.

Leave the country.

And the sooner the better,
I should say.

"Lord Queensberry
is triumphant.

"Mr. Oscar Wilde is
damned and done forever."

And about time.

"Public morality will be vindicated."
- Hear, hear.

"And this evil in our midst will,
I hope, be removed forever."

Damn good thing, too.
I never liked the fellow from the first.

Couldn't stand his plays.
Lot of immoral rubbish.

Damn it all, Bentley,
the fellow hasn't been tried yet.

Innocent until proved guilty
and all that sort of...

If he'd been in
my regiment, sir,

he'd have been lashed to
a gun carriage and flogged.

These artistic chaps
are all the same.

A lot of long-haired
degenerates.

I think you fellows are taking the
whole damn thing too seriously.

Live and let live,
that's what I say.

Anyway, I don't care
what they do

as long as they don't do it in the
street and frighten the horses.

All right.

Do you want me to
burn them, Mr. Brace?

Good heavens, no.
Fellow might get off.

Mr. Humphries.

Sir Edward.

I... They didn't
tell me that it was you.

Mr. Wilde.

I don't know what arrangements
you've made about your defense,

but if you wish it,

Sir Edward and I would be most
happy to act on your behalf.

Thank you, I'm...
I'm very grateful.

There are certain legal aspects of this case,
Mr. Wilde,

that have shocked me greatly.

The prosecution has based its entire
case on the evidence of witnesses

who admitted crimes ranging from assault,
petty larceny to blackmail.

Yet the Crown has no intention of
prosecuting any of these witnesses.

They are to go scot-free.

Such a state of affairs
has profoundly shaken

my inherent faith
in British justice.

In these circumstances,
I would consider it an honor,

if you'll permit me
to offer my services.

Thank you.

I'm afraid the cost of the
other case is still unpaid,

and I'm in considerable debt.

Mr. Wilde,

Sir Edward and I are agreed that
there is no question of a fee.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Well, there are many matters
we should discuss, Mr. Wilde.

Put up Oscar Fingal
O'Flahertie Wills Wilde.

Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie
Wills Wilde.

Silence in court. Silence!
Order. Order.

Are you Oscar Fingal
O'Flahertie Wills Wilde?

I am.

Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie
Wills Wilde,

you stand charged on 25 counts.

On the first count, the jurors for Our Lady,
the Queen, upon their oath

present that Oscar Fingal
O'Flahertie Wills Wilde,

on 14th day of March in
the year of Our Lord 1893,

in the County of London and within
the jurisdiction of this court,

being a male person,
unlawfully did commit acts of gross indecency

with another male person,
one Alfred Wood.

And against the form of the statuette
in such case made and provided,

and against the peace
of Our Lady the Queen,

her crown and dignity.

On the second count,
the juries aforesaid...

...against the form of the statute
in such case made and provided

and against the peace of our said Lady
the Queen, her crown and dignity.

Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie
Wills Wilde,

on the aforesaid indictments,
how do you plead?

Guilty or not guilty?

Not guilty.

My Lord, gentlemen of the jury,

the first nine counts in the indictment
refer to the prisoner's misconduct

with a young man
named Alfred Wood.

The next three
to Frederick Atkin.

Two to the man Taylor.
Three to Charles Parker.

And the last to Wilde's conduct
with a lad named Shelley.

It will be shown that Wilde
systematically endeavored

to influence these young men's
minds towards vicious causes.

And to mold them to
his own depraved will.

Gentlemen of the jury, when you have
heard the evidence of these men,

I assure you that
you will be justified

in finding the prisoner
guilty on all counts.

I call first Alfred Wood.

Call Alfred Wood.

Alfred Wood.

Take the Bible in your right
hand and read from the card.

"I swear by Almighty God that the
evidence I give to this court

"shall be the truth,
the whole truth and nothing but the truth,

"so help me, God."

In all my years at the bar,
I cannot remember coming face to face

with such a miserable
collection of witnesses.

Wood, Parker, Atkin.

The prosecution
must have scraped

the bottom of the barrel
to get that lot together.

What I cannot understand is how a
man of Wilde's taste and breeding

can come to associate
with such people.

Well, to understand that,
Charles,

you'd have to understand the
nature of Wilde's perversion.

And I'm a lawyer, not a doctor.

To me, it's loathsome,
degenerate and unnatural.

Yet I feel so sorry for him.

It is a terrible thing, Charles,
when a man of Wilde's talents and genius

is slowly crucified by a lot of
blackmailers and common criminals.

There's very little hope
for an acquittal, is there?

Well, the case has already been
judged by the press and the public.

As far as they're concerned,
Wilde is guilty.

It only remains for him
to be sentenced.

The most we can hope for is that,
out of this hysteria of prejudice and hatred,

there might shine a glimmer of
Christian charity and forgiveness.

Do I understand you to say then,
Mr. Wilde,

that there is no truth whatsoever
in the evidence of Alfred Wood?

It's true that we
had supper together,

but the accusations of
impropriety are quite untrue.

Charles Parker,
what part of his evidence is untrue?

He never came
to the hotel with me.

He never had dinner with me
and he never came to my room.

We had tea at the St. James's once,
but all of the rest...

Is untrue.

Then, Atkin.
What of his evidence?

My Lord,
my learned friend seems to have forgotten

that the witness Atkin
perjured himself in the box.

Your Lordship dismissed
this witness for that reason.

The witness's evidence was not
struck from the record, Sir Edward.

In my humble submission,
My Lord, it should have been.

That is for me to decide.

As Your Lordship pleases.

What of Atkins'
evidence, Mr. Wilde?

The accusations of indecency
are quite untrue.

In fact, these witnesses,
according to you,

have lied throughout the trial.

With remarkable ease.

As an experienced
writer and storyteller,

I'm lost in admiration
of their inventiveness.

You seem also to have been lost in
admiration for their youth, sir.

I'm a lover of youth.

Yes, we have gathered that.

Now, let us turn to this
publication, The Chameleon.

My Lord,
are we to be subjected to a further discourse

on the literary morals
of the defendant?

I understood from my learned friend
that he's going to confine himself

to the specific charges
made in the indictment.

This is cross examination as to credit,
My Lord.

I feel obliged to say that questions
which learned counsel thinks

should go to credit,
he is entitled to put.

I shall not keep you long,
Mr. Wilde.

I trust not, Mr. Gill.

In this magazine, to
which you made a contribution,

there appears a poem
by Lord Alfred Douglas

entitled Two Loves.

It contains these lines.

"Sweet youth,

"tell me why, sad and sighing,

"does thou rove
these pleasant realms?

"I pray, tell me sooth.
What is thy name?

"He said, 'My name is Love.'

"Then straight the first
did turn himself to me

"and cried, 'He lieth,
for his name is Shame.

"'But I am Love, and I was to
be alone in this fair garden,

"'till he came
unasked by night.

"'I am true Love.

"'I fill the hearts of boy
and girl with mutual flame.'

"Then, sighing, said the other,

"'Have thy will,

"'I am the love that
dare not speak its name.'"

And what, Mr. Wilde,
is the love that dare not speak its name?

The love that dare not speak its name,
in this century,

is such a great affection
of an elder for a younger man.

As there was between
David and Jonathan.

Such as Plato made
the very basis of philosophy

and such as you will find in the sonnets
of Michelangelo and Shakespeare.

It is a deep,
spiritual affection

that is as perfect
as it is pure.

It is in this century misunderstood,
so much misunderstood

that it may be called the love
that dare not speak its name.

And on account of it,
I'm placed where I am today.

But it is beautiful,

it is fine,

it is the noblest
form of affection.

There is nothing
unnatural about it.

It is intellectual.

And is repeatedly to be found
between an elder and a younger man

when the elder man has intellect and the
younger man has all the hope and joy

and glamour of life before him.

But it is so the world
does not understand.

The world mocks at it.

And sometimes puts one
in the pillory for it.

Silence in court.

Rubbish!

Silence in court!
Sit down, sir!

If there is the slightest manifestation
of feeling like this again,

I shall have the court cleared.

I have no further
questions, My Lord.

The witness
may stand down.

That concludes the case for the prosecution,
My Lord.

May it please you, My Lord,
gentlemen of the jury,

this is a serious and grave
question for you to decide.

And yours is a position
of great responsibility.

Now, a great deal of public feeling
has been excited against Mr. Wilde

by the quotation of passages
of poetry and literature

and in particular from Mr. Wilde's book,
The Picture of Dorian Gray.

Now I ask you,
members of the jury,

is an author to be judged on the
morals of the characters of his book?

Was Stevenson accused of being
a lustful and depraved monster

because he wrote
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?

As to the affection which Mr.
Wilde expressed in his letters,

he himself has described it as pure,
true affection,

absolutely unconnected with
and completely alien to the

filthy practices
described in this court

by the prosecution's
band of criminals.

Mr. Wilde is not
an ordinary man.

He is a man who has
written poetry and prose,

brilliant dramas,
charming essays.

He writes letters in a tone
which to most of us may appear

high-flown, inflated,
exaggerated, even absurd.

But he's not ashamed or afraid
to produce those letters.

When a man comes forward with
letters such as these and says,

"I do not shrink from the judgment of
the world upon these productions",

has he not given the
best proof of his innocence?

Innocence, gentlemen of the jury,
has courage and faith

in the ultimate
judgment of mankind.

As to the evidence of the youths,
Parker, Atkin, Wood

and their associates,

I respectfully submit that
no jury can find a man guilty

on their tainted evidence.

It deepens one's horror to
think the prisoner's freedom

is at the peril
of such persons.

Before you consider
this case, therefore,

I implore you to let your judgment
only be affected by those witnesses

of whom you,
as true and honorable men

can say, with a clear
conscience have given

true, honest and
honorable testimony.

And if, upon the examination of the evidence,
you find it your duty to say

that the charges against the
prisoner have not been proved,

I know you'll be glad
that that bright reputation,

so nearly quenched
in a torrent of prejudice,

will have been saved by your
verdict from absolute ruin.

And that
it will leave Mr. Wilde, a distinguished man of letters,

to live a life
of honor and repute

and to give, in the maturity of his genius,
gifts to our literature

of which, already,
he has shown such brilliant promise.

Be
upstanding in court.

Gentlemen of the jury, I understand that
you are unable to arrive at a verdict.

That is so, My Lord.

Is there any prospect
that if you retired

and continued your
deliberations a little longer,

you'll be able to
come to some agreement?

We have considered the question
for three hours, My Lord.

And the only result we have come
to is that we cannot agree.

Yes,
I have no doubt that you have tried very hard

to come to some agreement,
but on the other hand,

the inconveniences of another
trial are very great.

My Lord, I fear there is
no chance of an agreement.

Then, gentlemen,
you are discharged.

Thank you, My Lord.

My Lord, on the
question of bail,

it may be some weeks
before a retrial...

Retrial! Retrial! Retrial! Retrial!
Retrial! Retrial! Retrial!

Hello, Robbie.

Mr. Wilde, we managed
to raise bail.

Come on, Oscar.
Let me take you home.

Who put up the money
for my bail?

Bosie's brother Percy
put up most of the money.

Percy? How kind.

The rest was put up
by the Reverend Headlam.

L5.000 in all.

It's preposterous. A common felon
would not be so heavily penalized.

The Reverend Headlam? Mmm-hmm.

Extraordinary!
I hardly know him.

Oscar, let's go to a hotel.
- No!

Mr. Wilde!

Mr. Wilde.
Oh, sir, I've done everything I could.

Your manuscripts.
I've managed to save some of them,

but they've been going through
the house like vultures, sir.

L20! 25!

L25 I'm bid for this priceless first
edition by Walt Whitman, whoever he may be.

Now, now, come along,
gentlemen. Do I hear L30?

L30, 30. L35.

L35, 35. Come along,
we haven't got all night.

Going then at L30.
Going once, twice, three times.

Charles, the gent
over there with the cigar.

Now then. Hello, hello, hello.
What have we got here?

A painting of
the dear boy himself.

Very pretty, I'm sure.
Very pretty.

Now what am I bid for this masterpiece?
Do I hear 10 shillings?

Ten shillings.
Ten shillings I'm bid.

Do I hear a pound?

L1.
- L1!

L1, 1.

Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,
I think we have company.

Perhaps His Eminence will bid
for this artistic painting.

What about 30 bob, sir?

Come on, Oscar.
Haven't you seen enough?

No?

Well, all right, then.
Going at a pound. Going, going...

40 guineas!

40 guineas.

Well, then.
Any advance on 40 guineas?

All right.
Sold to His Lordship for 40 guineas.

Charlie, give the
gentleman his painting.

40 guineas.
- Thank you, My Lord.

Thank you.
- What are you going to do with it now you've bought it?

Hang it in the bathroom!

Aw, blimey, governor.
What a waste of 40 quid.

I say, a little
bit rash, what?

I feel like a drink.

Excuse me, please.

Excuse me. Thank you.
Excuse me, madam.

Excuse me. Thank you.

Excuse me.

Come on, Oscar.

Well,
we weren't very quick there.

We should have asked His Eminence
to autograph a few books, eh?

Now then, an original manuscript
of that uproarious comedy,

The Importance of Being
Earnestby the late Oscar Wilde.

Now, then, do I hear L10?

Mr. Wilde.

I'm most dreadfully
sorry about this, sir,

but I'm afraid
we must ask you to leave.

Ask us to leave?
But how dare you come up...

I'm very sorry, sir.
- Don't you realize that Mr. Wilde's...

It's all right, Robbie.

Let's go.

Remarkable, the sort of people
they allow in here these days!

I thought it was
a high-class place!

I think it's
blooming disgusting.

Come on, my friends, drink up.
Pay the bill, will you, Freddie?

Why, certainly, Q.

Cab!

God bless you, Mr. Wilde.

Hello, Amy.

Knightsbridge, cabby.

Yes, sir.

Blimey! It's raining!

Get my carriage.

So long, Oscar!

Are we going to have
a bit of sport then?

Yes, I think so.

Come on, there we go,
let's get in.

Come on.

Follow him. As fast as you can.

Tallyho!

By God, they're following us.
The man must be mad.

I should have thought it was
common knowledge by now, Robbie.

Go faster, driver!

Tallyho!

Faster, driver, faster!

Tallyho!

This is madness. I'm going to walk.
Stop the cab, driver!

Oscar, don't be foolish.

I'm not going to put
you through all this.

Oscar, where will you be?

I'm going to my mother.
- Right.

Carry on, driver.

Well, now, my old darling,
where's your friend?

Why are you doing this,
Queensberry?

Why are you hounding
this man in this way?

Haven't you had
your pound of flesh?

You don't know me very well,
do you, Mr. Ross?

I'm not so easily satisfied.

That's quite evident.

Tell Wilde that
I shall not be happy

until I see him under
six feet of earth.

Six feet of earth,
Lord Queensberry,

puts us all very much
on the same level.

I've not finished with him yet!

I shall hound him
until his dying day!

Until his dying day!

Well, what now, Q?
Is the hunt still on?

Let's go to The Savoy.

Ah, let's go to The Savoy.
Go to The Savoy.

Oscar!

Oscar, is that you?

Willie!

Dear darling Mother.
Yes, what is it?

Dearest Mother,
you know you should have been an actress.

I doubt if the great
Sarah Bernhardt herself

made a more imposing
Lady Macbeth.

But aren't you just a little
premature to wear mourning?

Oscar isn't quite
dead yet, you know.

They crucified him.

Now, Mother,
if you're going to go on like this, I...

Who's there?

Willie, let me in,
for God's sake.

Willie, let me stay.
Let me stay.

Or I shall die on the streets.

Are you drunk?

Here you are.

Is this my son?

Is this Oscar Wilde, cringing in
the dark like a frightened animal?

Mother, for heaven's sake!

Stand up, sir.

Stand up and face them, sir!

For God's sake,
don't let them in, Willie.

Willie, open the door.

My son is ready for them.

Robbie. Thank God you've come.

Ada.

Robbie, what's to become of me?
- It's all right.

Couldn't you have taken his coat off?
He's soaked to the skin.

He's ill. He should be in bed.

But he... He can't stay here, you know.
Well...

I mean, it would be awkward,
you see.

There's been mobs hanging
about in the street all day,

and if they were to
find out he was here,

well, there's no
knowing what they'd do.

My son is not afraid of them!

He'll stand up and face them

like a true Irish gentleman.

I can find him a bed
at my house. Come, Oscar.

Don't sit up too late, my son.

You need all the sleep
you can get

in this terrible time
we're all passing through.

Come on, Oscar.

I'm not thinking of
myself, you understand.

He is my brother.
But it's my mother.

She's not very well and
any sudden shock might...

The prisoner will rise.

Gentlemen of the jury,
have you agreed upon a verdict?

We have.

Do you find the prisoner at
the bar guilty or not guilty?

Guilty, My Lord.

Silence in court!

And is that
the verdict of you all?

Yes. Guilty.

Silence!

Oscar Wilde,
the crime for which you have been convicted

is so bad that one has to put a
stern restraint upon one's self

to avoid describing,
in language I would rather not use,

the sentiments that must rise in
the breasts of every man of honor

who has listened to the details
of these terrible trials.

That you have been
the center of a circle

of the most terrible
corruption among young men,

it is impossible to doubt.

And under the circumstances, I shall pass
the severest sentence the law allows.

Although, in my judgment

it is totally inadequate
for a case of this sort.

Sentence of the court is
that you go to imprisonment

and be kept to hard
labor for two years.

Silence!

Be upstanding in court.

All persons having anything
further to do before My Lords...

Come on, back! Back.
Come on, back!

He'll get his hair cut now,
won't he?

"I never saw sad men who
looked with such a wistful eye

"upon that little tent of blue
we prisoners call the sky,

"and at every happy cloud that
passed in such strange fre edom by."

My dearest, your hands.

I've never been so idle
and worked so hard.

Please, my dear,
we have so little time.

Oh, Constance, I've waited all
these months for you to come.

I would've come
before, Oscar, only...

I don't know, it's all been
so confusing.

Why have you come now?

I have some bad news
for you, Oscar.

I didn't want you to hear it
from anyone else.

Your mother...

She's dead, Oscar.

There was no pain.
She passed away in her sleep.

I wish I could
leave here in that way.

No, Oscar, you mustn't say that.
You must be patient.

It's not patience that's
needed here, it's apathy.

And apathy is the
most pitiful of vices.

Constance, I don't think I can
survive another year of this.

Oh, my dear.
It's only the thought of the children

that keeps me alive in these
terrible months of waiting.

How are they?

They're well.

It'll be
Vyvyan's birthday soon.

Oscar, I...
- Is he 9 or 10?

The time passes so slowly.

Oscar,
I cannot allow you to see the children again.

I'm only trying to do
what I think is right.

I've thought and thought
about it and I...

Forgive me, my dearest.

Please. Forgive me.

Oscar.

I brought you some cigarettes

and some delicacies,
some chicken.

I know what the food
must be like.

Goodbye, my dear.

Will he have time to catch
the boat train?

If we hurry.

Goodbye, Mr. Wilde, sir.

Goodbye, Dick. Thank you.

Thank you, my dear.

Oscar.

Come on, we must hurry.

You look well, Oscar.

The children send their love.

Thank you.

I told them you were very ill.
I hope you understand.

Yes, of course.

Well,
I suppose we'd better get down to business.

There isn't very much time.

I've arranged with my lawyer
to pay you L150 a year.

It's not much, I'm afraid,
but it's all I can afford.

I am very grateful
to you, Constance.

Only I'm sorry I had
to make one condition.

If you see or communicate with Bosie again,
the payments will stop.

Yes, I... I understand.

I know that may sound harsh,

but I promise you
I'm doing it to help you.

Hmm.

Porter.

Boat train, sir?
- Yes.

Ada.

You look lovelier than ever.

Oh, it's good
to see you, Oscar.

Ticket, madam?

The gentleman has them.
Thank you.

Oh, Robbie,
I can't bear to see him looking so ill.

I was talking to the
prison doctor yesterday.

Another six months in there
and he'd never come out alive.

Constance.

I want you to remember this.

I have always loved you,
and I always will.

You talk as if...
You're going to get well again

and you'll forget
about these past two years.

You'll start work again.

I know you too well, Oscar.
Once you start writing, you...

Ada, don't be so depressed
on my behalf.

What better reward for one's
sins than to be exiled to Paris?

Where no doubt I shall die as
I have lived, beyond my means.

What a gorgeous hat.

Oh, Oscar.

Goodbye, my dear.

Take care of the children.

Hello, Oscar.

I never understood it, Ada.

I just never understood it.

"Yet each man
kills the thing he loves.

"By each let this be heard.

"Some do it with a bitter look,

"some with a flattering word.

"A coward does it with a kiss,

"the brave man with a sword."