THE WILDE GAME
by André Machado

ACT II

SCENE
Heavy torrents of rain fall over Baker Street. It is the night of September, 28, 1900, and a cold wind sweeps all over London. The Victorian houses face the street menancingly as lightning turns their austere façades on. A tall, fat man with a black overcoat and top hat crosses hurriedly the street and halts at the door of number 221-B. He looks back for a moment, and one can see the black, vigorous beard and the pince-nez that adorn his face.
In response to his knocking, an old lady, dressed in full Victorian attire, opens the door. She has a tired face, but when she smiles, it lightens up and reveals the remains of long lost beauty. For a moment, however, the lady frowns and examines the stranger more than she usually does.

THE LADY
(Murmuring to herself) ...Upon my word, isn't he that... (Talking to her visitor) Good evening, sir. I'm Mrs. Hudson, and I own this place. May I be of any help? Perhaps the gentleman wants to see one of my apartments? In that case I shall recommend that you come mornings; the sunlight will give you-
THE MAN
Please. I apologize, madam. It is a little late, I concede... but I'm here to talk to Mr. Holmes. A matter of life and death, you see. Would you kindly announce that Mr. Sebastian Melmoth would be honoured to have a word with him and Dr. Watson?
MRS. HUDSON
In a moment, sir. (Exits.)
THE MAN
Oh, dear, how I missed this weather! The wind! The rain! The smell of gas from the lamps! The sound of British cabs, of British horses! Ave Imperatrix! Where are my friends now? Maybe at the Savoy, or at the Café Royal... maybe at Fitzroy Square, alas! O London of charms, O city of kings and tigers! At long last, I am back!
(As the words die, the stage falls in utter darkness. From the right corner a violin-completely out of tune- is then heard; when it silences, its owner's voice thunders and frightens the house.)
THE VOICE
Ah! Watson! Wasn't it splendid? Better than Paganini! What would Vivaldi say?
(Lights. They illuminate now the living-room of 221-B, Baker Street. The place is the perfect mirror of the description given by Conan Doyle in A Study In Red. . Right, stands Sherlock Holmes, holding a violin and the bow. Left, comfortably seated on an armchair, a cigar in his hand, is Dr. James Watson, clearly trying not to burst into outright laughter.)
WATSON
Well, Holmes, I certainly can't imagine what Vivaldi would say. But if the violin could speak, it would utter 'no more' and try to take its own life.
HOLMES (frowning)
Nonsense! My dear friend, you have been in the most strange mood these last few days. You used to love my music.
WATSON
That was when you paid the rent.
HOLMES
Good heavens! what bad temper! Hmm... let me see (takes a good look at his friend). No, she won't accept your proposal unless you go to Tintagel one more time. She is very hard-headed about your directly proposing to her at King Arthur's castle, and-yes, she completely fell for you, old chum!
WATSON (rising. His face is dominated by anger)
How dare you...! Reading my mail after all these years!
HOLMES
What mail? Do you really think me capable of wasting my time with silly love letters?
WATSON
But how come-
HOLMES
Now come. Look at your pocket. It contains not a handkerchief, but a worn-out piece of paper. First: the letters men usually read too much are from their beloved ones or from family, and as you have no relatives left... Second: you have been away for some days, and upon your return left some traces of mud on the carpet. I happened to examine them, and found some tiny fragments of leaves from plants-bushes that exist only in the moors. Third: I found on this very table a very interesting open copy of Mort D'Arthur. That edition, acquired recently if one shall judge from its almost untouched cover and pages, was issued at the beginning of this month at Tintagel during a well-publicized celebration of the Arthurian legends.
WATSON
But how do you know I proposed to her?
HOLMES
Why, you have been doing this to almost every fair lady that have come to me seeking help since we've been together. You have even disclosed it all to the public in The Sign of Four. Aren't you ashamed? (Watson blushes instantly). And it's obvious she refused at first. You were so nervous you burned your hand in the fireplace while reading that letter.
WATSON
And the castle?
HOLMES
It's the only romantic place in Tintagel. That is, if ruins are romantic at all.
WATSON
I suppose you discovered she is completely in love with me by examining some other clues at the microscope...
HOLMES
Indeed. A trace of lipstick in one of your shirts. Good-quality lipstick, I daresay. Not used by harlots.
WATSON
Holmes! Oh!...
HOLMES
What?
WATSON (keeping in control)
...You could not possibly know she is hard-headed.
HOLMES
Oh yes, she is. Miss Vera Stratford is one of the most stubborn ladies I have ever... met.
WATSON (completely taken aback)
Was she here?
HOLMES
No. We met by chance in the National Bank. I overheard her name. I saw dignity and strength during the little argument she had with the clerk. And she absolutely refused to talk to me when her purse fell and I helped to collect her things-including a charming photograph of yours. Besides, she has red hair. Have you ever seen a peaceful, easygoing woman with red hair?
WATSON
Never in my life. But that's what I adore most.
HOLMES
The hair or the personality?
WATSON
Both, my friend.
(At this moment a faint knock at the door is heard. Holmes opens it to Mrs. Hudson.)
MRS. HUDSON
Excuse me, Mr. Holmes, but there is a certain Mr. Melmoth at the door. He says he needs to talk to you at once. Shall I let the gentleman in?
HOLMES (frowning)
A very curious name indeed. Yes... kindly do it, Mrs. Hudson.
(She exits. Moments later, enters the man.)
THE MAN
Mr. Holmes, I presume? (Holmes nods. The man offers his hand). I wish to apologize for coming-
HOLMES (sitting down and leaving the other's hand alone)
Please leave this house now, sir.
WATSON (rising)
Holmes!
(The man bows his head, and puts his hand in the coat's pockets. He says nothing.)
HOLMES
Pray do it fast.
WATSON
How can you, Holmes! Treating the gentleman like an animal! (To the man) I beg your pardon, mr.-Melmoth, isn't it?
HOLMES
This, Watson, is no Mr. Melmoth. He is the infamous Oscar Wilde. No house in London will open its doors to him. How dare you come to me under this ridiculous false name! Sebastian Melmoth, from Melmoth The Wanderer, by Maturin! You are so disgusting!
WATSON
I still don't see what the point is. Didn't you deem all his trials deplorable? Did you not quarrel with some of your best friends in the Yard over this? Jesus, how many times you quotedThe Critic as an Artist to me!
HOLMES (letting go of the violin and bow quite abruptly, and taking his coat, gloves and hat. He speaks looking straight at Wilde.)
I am going out on some errands. When I get back, I expect to see you no more. (Exits.)
WATSON
How rude can he be sometimes! (Shaking Wilde's hand) It's an honour to have you here, Mr. Wilde. Please sit down. I have not recognized you with this beard and glasses.
WILDE (removing the beard and glasses)
That was what I expected your friend to do. Anyway I'm glad to get rid of these things. You know, Dr. Watson, Mr. Holmes has a far better reason for contempt than the sheer morality he tried to convey.
WATSON (offering him a cigar, which he accepts)
Is that so? In that case I confess I would love to hear it all.
WILDE
Well, remember the Marquess of Queensberry? Before deciding to sue him, I sent a message to Mr. Holmes. Upon my word of honour, I was absolutely straightforward about the situation. I never lied to Mr. Holmes as I did to my lawyers. I asked him to follow the marquis and maybe discover something irregular that would set me free from that horrid ape. Your friend did his utmost, and found Queensberry had some unfinished business with an unscrupulous fighter accused of trying to kill a very young lady who used to be the marquis' lover. In fact, Douglas was charged with the murder of the girl, but there was no proof, so the case was forgotten. But Holmes visited the crime scene (the girl's house, where, the marquis claimed, he had never entered) and later, when we met at the Albemarle Club, produced all the evidence we needed-a tiny fibre from Douglas' whip. "I found it on the very carpet where she lay dead", he pronounced triumphantly.
WATSON
And then...?
WILDE
(Sighing) And then I committed the greatest mistake of my life. I kissed him.
WATSON (in utter astonishment)
You kissed Holmes?
WILDE
Yes, I did. I was so excited I couldn't resist it. I embraced him and kissed him, murmuring, "Thank you, thank you..." And then came the worst. He began to shiver, and he responded to it-passionately. Oh, Dr. Watson, you must not crucify the man you are so devoted to: for he is one of us. He yearns for the love that dare not say its name, but has no courage to yield to it.
WATSON
(Standing absolutely still, eyes wide open in amazement) Lord God...
WILDE
And then he fled. And then he helped Queensberry win the first trial. And then he helped get me imprisoned. And my life was over.
WATSON
That can't be true, Mr. Wilde.
WILDE
It is, it is. That's why he can't even stand looking at a book of mine.
WATSON
If so, why did he defend you with such intense emotion afterwards? I was witness to that.
WILDE
How could I possibly know? Only the superficial know themselves.
(Enter Holmes, just in time to hear the last few words exchanged between Watson and Wilde. They don't notice the detective. He looks quite different from the adamant, tight-lipped man who left a couple of minutes ago. Wet, hazard-looking, he looks at the writer with a face overwhelmed with sorrow and shame. Hesitatingly standing by the door, Holmes at last gathers courage to respond.)
HOLMES
... And I'm certainly not one of them, right, Mr. Wilde?
WILDE and WATSON
Holmes!
WILDE (rising)
I suppose I must go now, doctor.
HOLMES
I beg you, wait a little longer. My conduct was unforgivable. (The other sits down in silence. The detective does the same.) Should I not help you in such a time of distress, I would not be worthy of any of my victories against evil.
WILDE
Well, I daresay the creatures you help to defeat are sometimes the perfect mirrors of our souls. Crime-the unpunished version-roams these wastelands since Genesis.
HOLMES (sitting down)
I see you haven’t lost your abilities as a charmeur, Mr. Wilde.
WILDE
That is a great compliment. For, you know, given the Phillistine conditions of life in paradise, I shouldn’t be able to utter a single word. Thank the gods for the Sphinx over there.
WATSON
I beg your pardon? Have you said... paradise? Are you telling us you’re dead?
WILDE (looking confused)
I speak metaphorically. I’m long dead for Britain, aren’t I?
WATSON
Oh.
HOLMES (smiling)
Then... there is life after death. I could never imagine that.
WILDE
Nor did I. And to call it ‘life’ would be like calling a chimpanzee Adonis.
WATSON
Well, Holmes, won’t you hear what our guest came here for?
HOLMES (blushing)
Of course. Mr. Wilde, if you please...
WILDE
I’ve come to find... an old friend. The situation is as follows...
(As he explains it all, Mozart’s Simphony No. 40 fills the stage. At length, Wilde draws his story to an end. The music then fades smoothly, and Holmes rises.)
HOLMES
Very well then. Please join me and Dr. Watson, sir. We are going to Paris.
(Complete darkness. When the lights return, the three men are in Wilde’s rooms at the Rue des Beaux-Arts, in Paris. Holmes is examining something on the mantelpiece)
WILDE (to himself)
Beloved Zeus, what a task hath thou given me! I shall fight for my soul and therefore I must die in this horrid place once again. Whereas my alter ego yearns for life-I can fully understand his reasons! How many more punishments must I endure? I ought to think of Robbie... Only Robbie would smile when I wouldn’t anymore, and he would say in that suave mocking tone: "It could be worse, dear. Remember this. You could have been sentenced to read George Moore’s books for the rest of eternity."
HOLMES
Yes! This is it!
WATSON
Has the man gone to America?
HOLMES
No, not yet. Mr. Wilde, you may find him right here in Paris.
WILDE
Where?
HOLMES
Well, by the state of the mantelpiece-
WATSON
Enough, Holmes! Just say it! Don’t you see the man is desperate?
HOLMES
I suppose I owe him. (To Wilde) He is at the Louvre.

END OF ACT II