In 1895 Oscar Wilde was the most famous man in London.
His lover was Bosie Douglas,
son of the notorious Marquess of Queensberry.
Enraged by their affair Queensberry left a card at Wilde's club
addressed 'To Oscar Wilde posing as a sodomite'.
- Good evening, Monsieur Melmoth. - Good evening.
Any news of your bank draft today?
Alas no, Monsieur Dupoirier,
but fear not, Monsieur Ross arrives tomorrow
with royalties,
contracts
and cash.
Excellent news, Monsieur Melmoth!
Stop crying.
What's going on?
Weep no more. I beg! What's the matter?
The nuns from the orphanage came for him and all his matches got nicked.
Don't let them take me back there, Jo. I'll be more careful, I promise.
It could be better for everyone.
You'll be safe and I won't be worrying.
It's getting too dangerous around here.
But we're brothers. We should be together.
Well, this is too frightful!
But I too have news.
A sudden windfall enables me to offer you both at least
absinthe
and cocaine
on the eve of departure
and a purple moment for me,
if, Leon, you will lend me your relation for the usual consideration.
Twenty minutes then. And you have to finish that story.
You know,
I don't think I've ever been happier in my life.
In this room.
At this moment.
The light from the street.
What light?
It carves you...
in marble, dear boy!
We are lost in our own world.
I know you love me, Johnny,
even though our purple hours
are sullied by green notes.
But what can one do?
That was nearly an hour. Story time.
Where was I?
Under the bridge.
Oh yes, under the bridge.
Under the bridge two little boys
were lying in one another's arms
to try and keep themselves warm.
How hungry we are, they said.
You must not lie here,
shouted the watchman,
and they wandered out into the rain.
The swallow flew back and told the prince what he had seen.
I am covered with fine gold, said the prince.
You must take it off leaf by leaf
and give it to the poor;
the living always think
that gold can make them happy.
Boudicca.
- We're three. - No children, Oscar.
He's not a child.
He's a dwarf.
Very famous in Poland.
Good evening, Sir.
Absinthe.
A beer.
You're really too young to be drinking beer,
but who cares! It's a holiday.
I love this song.
Maurice, mon Iegionnaire!
Come here immediately and ravish me!
I didn't know you were here.
Revolting pig!
Going back to your own vomit!
You insult my friend, Monsieur.
Apologise now or I'll kill you.
Get your hands off me, filth!
How could I resist.
Look, the profile of Napoleon...
without any of the more disappointing features!
Stop!
You, out!
Take your tart with you! Soldier, sit down!
Madame Boudicca,
a few ruffled plumes, nothing more.
Who's paying the damage?
I am. I shall sing for you.
Shut up, Oscar! Sit down!
May I?
What do you say? Sing or pay?
Sing!
Your friend is here.
Shall we take your valuables, your papers, Sir,
and keep them in our safe?
They're in my cabin trunk.
That the delicate buds of French art
should find their way to this desert outpost,
in order to welcome and raise this
bruised and trodden Iin,
from the slough of despond
fills it with the tremulous hope
that it could still live and bloom again
on the double peak of Parnassus.
Your bill, Sir.
Did I ask for that?
Please give this to Monsieur WILDE.
Is he alright?
Can I help?
He's had some bad news.
I'm so sorry.
Very bad news.
- What's your name? - Felice.
This is Signor Melmoth.
My name is Alfred.
I've seen you at the beach.
You have a strong chest and shoulders.
It's for good luck.
Jokanaan.
I have kissed your mouth,
there was a bitter taste on your lips.
Perchance it was the taste of love.
They say that love has a bitter taste.
Happy Christmas Signor!
How dare you. Look at her!
Your wife! How can you insult us like this?
What are you doing, Mama?
I know what's going on here.
Where are the harlots?
Show them to me.
I will drag them onto the street by the hair.
Afterwards my husband will castrate you!
But, Signora. There are no women here.
This is a gentlemen's party.
Liar!
- What's wrong with her? - She's mad.
Signor Melmoth, I'm sorry.
I thought there were women here.
- But I see I was wrong. - It couldn't matter less.
Bless you, Signor.
We will leave you.
Don't make a noise when you come in, ciccio.
You think I don't have the balls?
Come on. I'll show you.
Felice caro, believe me he isn't worth it.
Shall I take that?
- What does he owe you? - My honour.
We're rather strapped for cash at present
but this should see you through
until tomorrow.
Take it.
Thank you, Signor Melmoth.
You're a gentleman,
but this, this is a pig!
Well spotted. So clever of you to notice!
- He doesn't know the value of anything. - Nor the price, unfortunately.
Now let's find your coat.
Your wife will be getting worried.
A bunch of flowers, Sir.
Two for a centime.
Snowdrops.
The frozen tears of God.
I'll have them all.
What's your name?
Jean, Sir.
Jean.
Sit down.
Have a drink to warm you up.
Not here, Sir.
But you can buy me one later
at the Calisaya, if you like.
I used to be quite famous, you know.
Oh yes?
When was that?
You don't believe me but it's true.
I was so famous,
I was once even lowered down a mine
in a bucket.
A mine?
What for?
The dear miners had invited me to dinner.
Yes, indeed.
I travelled the length and breadth of the Americas.
My own train.
The interior, upholstered in green morocco.
Your very good health!
He's awake.
Where am I?
And who are you?
You're in Clignancourt.
I'm Jean. And this is my brother Leon.
Extremely glad to know you, Monsieur.
Give me some money.
Behave.
I was going to cook him an egg.
How kind.
Now where is my pocket book?
I'm afraid last night is rather a blur.
I like your brother.
He shouldn't be here.
I haven't seen him in five years.
Then one day he just turns up.
All the way from Lille.
Family.
So important.
Is that your mother?
Was.
I have two sons.
What?
Nothing. I've got quite a head.
Shall I tell you a story?
I'm rather good at stories.
We don't have time for stories,
we have to work.
Another time, perhaps.
Perhaps.
How much do we owe you?
Monsieur Melmoth!
We've been worried about you.
All well with Madame Piquot?
Have you seen the boys?
They were here yesterday.
Oh Maurice, where have you been all my life?
What a marvelous surprise.
The boys!
How's life on the boulevard?
All well in the underworld?
- We heard you're ill. - Are you dying?
If you are, you have to finish the story.
And you still owe us ten francs, you know!
Dear boys,
you shall have your story,
we shall have champagne,
cocaine,
and perhaps one last mauve moment for me...
It was a joke!
Where was I?
The two emeralds.
It is winter,
said the swallow.
In Egypt the sun is warm.
My companions are building a nest
in the Temple of Baalbec,
and pink and white doves are watching them,
and cooing softly to each other.
Dear Prince,
I must leave you,
but I will never forget you
and next spring
I shall bring you back two beautiful jewels
in place of those you have given away.
Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow,
said the Happy Prince.
In the square below, there stands a little match boy.
His matches have fallen in the gutter,
and they are all spoiled.
His brother will beat him
if he does not bring home some money,
and he is crying.
He has no shoes
or stockings
and his little head is bare.
Pluck out my emerald eyes
and give them to him,
and his brother will not beat him.
Then the swallow came back to the Prince.
You are blind now, he said,
so I will stay with you always.
Then the snow came,
and after the snow came the frost.
At last the swallow knew
that he was going to die.
It is not to Egypt I am going.
It is to the House of Death.
Death is the brother of sleep, is he not?
And he kissed the Happy Prince on the lips
and fell down dead
at his feet.
Robbie paid off Oscar's debts and dedicated the rest of his life
to reviving his friend's work and reputation.
He died in 1918. His ashes are buried with Oscar.
Bosie died penniless and alone in 1945.
Along with 75000 other men convicted for homosexuality
Oscar was pardoned in 2017.