ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

FOR A COMPLETE SCRIPT AND PRODUCTIONS RIGHTS, CONTACT MR. TURNEY

As the houselights dim to half, Two Ladies cross the stage to their box seats in the audience, greeting friends and acquaintances in the house as they go. When they are seated, the stage goes to black and the specials on their seats come up for the following bit of dialogue:

Mrs. Marchmont: Going to the Hartlock's to-night, Margaret?

Lady Basildon: I suppose so. Are you?

Mrs. Marchmont: Yes. Horribly tedious parties they give, don't they?

Lady Basildon: Horribly tedious! Never know why I go. Never know why I go anywhere.

Mrs. Marchmont: I come here to be educated.

Lady Basildon: Ah! I hate being educated!

Mrs. Marchmont: So do I. It puts one almost on a level with the commercial classes, doesn't it? But dear Gertrude Chiltern is always telling me that I should have some serious purpose in life. So I come here to try to find one.

Lady Basildon: (looking round through her lorgnette) I don't see anybody here to-night whom one could possibly call a serious purpose. The man who took me to dinner talked to me about his wife the whole time.

Mrs. Marchmont: How very trivial of him!

Lady Basildon: Terribly trivial! What did your man talk about?

Mrs. Marchmont: About myself.

Lady Basildon: (languidly) And were you interested?

Mrs. Marchmont: Not in the smallest degree.

Lady Basildon: What martyrs we are, dear Margaret!

Mrs. Marchmont: And how well it becomes us, Olivia!

Lady Basildon: Shh! It's starting. I certainly hope you'll be "educated." If that truly is what you want.

Act I

(A very dignified Butler steps into a light which has come up onstage and announces the guests:)

Butler: Mr. Robert Ross (Ross enters.)

Voice Over: Known to his intimates as "Robbie," Ross is an attractive dandy who often acts as procurer and go-between for Oscar. It is said he introduced Oscar to the world of underground clubs in London. He is witty and urbane in his own right.

(Looking around, he hands his hat or whatever to the Butler and asks somewhat plaintively:)

Ross: Am I the first?

Butler: Yes sir. Shall I bring you some ... sherry, isn't it, sir?

Ross: How nice of you to remember. Yes. Do. Thank you. I could use a sherry to get through this. (Butler departs. Ross wanders about looking for a place to sit. To himself.)
I see Oscar's furniture hasn't arrived yet. Again. If there is any furniture left. Ah, well.

Butler: Mr. and Mrs. Frank Harris. (The Harris's enter.)

Voice Over: Frank is an outspoken, extremely neat and tidy man's man who nonetheless adores Shakespeare and quotes him as often as possible. He has a talent for mimicking the famous and infamous. Nellie is a nervous woman who adores her husband and has literally sacrificed her life on the altar of Frank Harris.

Butler: (Crosses to Ross with a sherry on a silver salver) Your sherry, Mr. Ross.

Ross: Thank you, er ...

Butler: Lane, sir.

Ross: Yes, of course. Lane. Thank you, Lane.

Butler: And may I bring you something as well?

Frank: Scotch. Neat. Nothing for the lady.

Butler : Very good, sir. (He exits. There is an awkward silence.)

Frank: What brings you here, Robbie?

Ross: (Waves a formal looking invitation.) I imagine the same thing that brought you here, Frank.

Frank: I hope he can afford to feed us. I'm starved. The Mrs. wouldn't fix me anything before we came.

Mrs. Harris: Now Frank.

Frank: Don't 'Now, Frank' me, Nellie. I'm hungry.

Butler: Mr. Aubrey Beardsley (Mrs. Harris gasps audibly. Aubrey enters. )

Voice Over : On the verge of his great success as an illustrator, he is a very thin fellow with a face Oscar described as a "silver hatchet." Ambivalent in orientation and defensive, Aubrey delights in amateur theatricals and musical entertainments.

Frank: I don't believe it.

Ross: (To Frank Harris) Down, old boy. (To Beardsley) Aubrey! What a delightful surprise. Have you brought any of those charming little pictures with you? (Frank guffaws loudly.) I do so want Oscar to see them. (Aubrey glares at Harris.)

Mrs. Harris: Frank, please.

Ross: What did I say? Lane, bring Mr. Beardsley a ...

Aubrey: Nothing, thanks, Lane. I won't be staying long, I don't imagine.

Mrs. Harris: Have you any new illustrations coming out Mr. Beardsley? I'm so very fond of your work. It really is Art, you know.

Frank: (Harumphing.) Art.

Aubrey: (Ignoring him) Thank you, ma'am. You're very kind. In answer to your question: Yes, I have. Old Smithers is getting up a new rag to replace The Savoy. He's going to call it The Peacock.

Mrs. Harris: The Peacock! Oh! I hope you do the cover! I can only imagine what a peacock of yours would be like!

Frank: (pseudo-sotto voce) A black and white peacock. Very nice.

Aubrey: Anyway, he's asked me for few illustrations.

Mrs. Harris: May I presume, since you're here, that these illustrations have something to do with our dear Oscar?

Aubrey: You may not. I told Smithers I would draw for his measly little Peacock only if it is quite agreed that Oscar Wilde contributes nothing to the magazine anonymously, pseudonymously or otherwise. (Frank guffaws again.)

Mrs. Harris: I ... see. (Another awkward silence falls. Aubrey eventually takes out a sketchpad and doodles. At last the silence is broken:)

Mrs. Marchmont: What's the matter? Do you think they've forgotten their lines?

Lady Basildon: Sh!

Butler: Mr. Richard Le Gallienne. (Richard Le Gallienne, dressed for the Opera, appears. Richard is a bit of a dandy with very long curly hair. He is delayed at the door while Butler helps him off with his cape and gloves.)

Voice Over: Despite an elegant affectation, Richard Le Gallienne is a font of good sense and morality.

Mrs. Harris: Isn't Mildred with him!? Am I to be the only woman? Frank!

Frank: Don't whine, woman. This is Oscar's party. You won't be the only woman here regardless of what the other guests have between their legs.

Mrs. Harris: Frank, do hold down your voice. Everyone will hear!

Frank: I would do them good! At least when I speak, it's something worth hearing! The truth never hurt anybody!

Le Gallienne: Oscar said once, "If one tells the truth one is sure, sooner or later, to be found out!"

Mrs. Marchmont: I don't get it.

Ross: Richard! How good to see you.

Le Gallienne: This is like old times, eh, Robbie? Where's his Nibs? Fashionably late for his own party, I see?

Ross: Yes. Frightfully clever of him, don't you think.

Le Gallienne: Well, frightful at least.

Frank: Don't fret so Richard. Oscar is a genius, after all.

Le Gallienne: Indeed, the world has, one may think, quite enough genius to go on with. It could well do with a few more gentlemen.

Ross: Richard!

Frank: Are you suggesting ...

Le Gallienne: I wouldn't dream of suggesting anything. I merely state that the superstition of genius under which this age labours is growing a bit threadbare.

Ross: If that last metaphor weren't so oddly mixed, I'd swear you wrote out everything before you spoke.

Frank: Don't try to be clever, Robbie. You're not very good at it.

Butler: Mr. Sidney Mavor

Voice Over: Sidney Mavor, known as "Jenny" wanted, more than anything else in life, to go on the Music Hall stage, an ambition which made him somewhat attractive in its own right.

Jenny: (... enters jauntily) Hello, hello, hello!

Ross: Jenny! No show tonight?

Jenny: No, Guv. I'm between engagements just now. Oscar said to come 'round for a free meal. You know me. How could I refuse?

Ross: How indeed.

Jenny: Maybe I'll even sing for my supper: I learned a new one this week. Got it off of George Leybourne himself: (Sings) Champagne Charlie is my name; Champagne Charlie is my na -- Now there's a man what knows his cue! (Butler appears with a ready glass of champagne on a salver stopping the number just in time.)

Ross: Do you know everybody, Jenny?

Jenny: I can't say as I do. This doesn't look like the regular lot here at Oscar's.

Ross: Let me introduce you. Everybody! This is Sidney Mavor, well-known artiste on the music hall stage.

Jenny: And one of Mr. Wilde's closest friends.

Ross: No need to be too clinical, dear boy. We're all Oscar's dearest friend. Sidney, these are Mr. and Mrs. Frank Harris.

Jenny: Howdjado?

Ross: Frank, here, insists the only good playwright is a dead playwright. Except for Shakespeare, who, in spite of all empirical evidence, Frank insists is alive.

Frank: Ever done any Shakespeare, boy?

Jenny: Not Hardly. The Theatre's a bit high toned for me. I wouldn't mind being in a play of Oscar's though.

Frank: Where are you from, boy?

Jenny: 'Riginally from up country. Me mum said I was born in the shadow of Norfolk Castle.

La Gallienne: Really. Frank, here, has been a guest at Norfolk Castle, haven't you Frank?

Frank: Indeed I have.

La Gallienne: Frank has been to all the great houses -- once.

Ross: Mr. Richard Le Gallienne.

Jenny: Pleasure, sir.

Le Gallienne: And don't forget Aubrey.

Ross: Mr. Aubrey Beardsley, illustrator extraordinaire. (Aubrey nods.)

Jenny: You're an artist, ain't you! Draw my picture won't you? Oscar says I have a Apollonian profile. Whatever that is. Oscar speaks ever so lovely, don't you think. I only understand about half of what he says. But it's always every so witty and thought provoking even if I don't understand it. (Begins posing in the way only tawdry exhibitionists can.)

Frank: Speak of the devil! (Oscar sweeps into the room accompanied by two handsome, somewhat underdressed youths. Without acknowledging their presence on his arm, he goes directly to Richard.)

Voice Over : He is, well, he is Oscar.

OSCAR:
My dear Richard, where have you been? It seems as if we hadn't met for years. Now tell me what you have been doing. Oh, yes! I remember, I have a crow to pick with you. Yes, you have recently published a book called The Religion of a Literary Man. (La Galliene nods) Well, you were very unkind to me in that book. Most unkind.

La Gallienne: My dear Oscar --

OSCAR: Oh, yes, you were, and you know it.

La Gallienne: I unkind to you!

OSCAR: Most unkind. I could not believe it of you -- so unkind to so true a friend.

La Gallienne: Why, Oscar, I don't know what you mean. Unkind to you in The Religion of a Literary Man ... why, I can't remember that I even mentioned your name in it.

OSCAR: Ah! Richard, that was just it. (Laughter all around) But do tell me, what else have you been writing?

La Gallienne: Among other things, an essay on loving one's enemies.

OSCAR: That's a great theme! I should like to write one on that too. For, do you know, all my life I have been looking for twelve men who didn't believe in me. ... and, so far, I have only found eleven. Nellie, Darling! Who's this scruffy little beast you dragged in with you? (Mrs. Harris fiddles nervously with her reticule and stammers inaudibly.)

Frank:
(Booming with laughter) How are you Oscar? And, who are your friends here, I don't think we've met. : ... or perhaps the question is indiscreet?

Oscar: Questions are never indiscreet. Answers sometimes are. Next Question, please. (Frank guffaws.) Lane! (Lane helps him out of his coat etc., during the following exchange.)

Mrs. Harris: (Innocently) Well, who are they? (Frank guffaws again.)

Frank: Nellie, you are too much. They're renters, of course.

Mrs. Harris: Renters? I didn't know Mr. Wilde was a landlord! I thought he was hard up!

Frank: Yes, well, my dear, Oscar does the renting. By the evening. Or maybe by the hour. (He whispers the awful truth to Nellie who must be told again before the light dawns.)

Oscar:
Robbie. (Hugging one of the two young things) You see I got your message. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I hope you came hungry.

Ross: You mean you're actually going to feed us?

Oscar: We shall see, Robbie. We shall see.

Mrs. Harris: (At last she grasps it) What a truly wicked man!

Oscar: Nellie. Dear. Wickedness is a myth ... invented by good people to account for the curious attractiveness of others. (Nellie is again dumbstruck)

Frank: (Guffaws, then roars out) Don't dither, Darling. Drinks!

Oscar: Where's Ada? I need my Sphinx tonight, of all nights! Mrs. Leverson's not here, Lane?

Butler: No, sir. She hasn't arrived yet.

Oscar: You're sure she got my invitation?

Butler: I took it round myself this morning. Perhaps she's out of town, sir?

Oscar: How very thoughtless of her to be out of town when I need her at table!

Ross: Where is the table, by the way, dear boy?

Oscar: Lane will see to it when it's needed.

Aubrey: Oh, yes. He hasn't enough to do already.

Oscar: Aubrey! Robbie tells me you have some fabulous new drawings for Salome to show me.

Aubrey: I have a few things to show you, yes.

Oscar: Good. We'll have them after dinner.

Butler:
Lord Alfred Douglas (This announcement causes a general surprised stir. Everyone looks to see Oscar's reaction. Even Oscar takes a moment to collect himself)

Voice Over: Lord Alfred Douglas, known from infancy as "Bosie," is extremely handsome, sensitive, blond, spoiled, a bit of a pagan, and utterly devoted to Oscar. He is the only person, other than himself, who Oscar ever truly loved.

Oscar: Bosie! Darling boy! What a surprise. I thought Mumsy had sent you off to North Africa.

Bosie: I've come back. Apparently just in time.

Oscar: I hadn't planned on this. Lane. Set another place for dinner, will you?

Butler: Another, sir? Oh, yes, of course, sir. Another. (He exits puzzled.)

Frank: Well, I'll be hanged. This is developing into an interesting evening after all. I'll be hanged.

Oscar: What a dreadful turn of phrase.

Frank: What? Being hanged?

Jenny: However "well."

Frank: What's the matter with hanging, Oscar? Dancing on the air, as the saying goes. Eh?

Oscar: Enough of this! I'm choking!

Frank: A foolish figure. But farewell it. For I will use no art!

Oscar: Art! That's it! Art. Realism is the Enemy of ART! (He takes stage and waves his hands frantically as if conjuring an all powerful muse. When nothing happens, he claps his hands, does a little dance step and wills a big change in lighting.) LET US COMMIT -- ART! (Obediently and with great suddenness, the men of the assembled throng -- all except Bosie-- assemble themselves into a Chorus with bits and pieces of Dragoon costumes on their persons, singing in apparent earnest:)

Chorus: The soldiers of our Queen etc...

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

FOR A COMPLETE SCRIPT AND PRODUCTIONS RIGHTS, CONTACT MR. TURNEY