Probably best known for The Picture of Dorian Gray, Wilde wrote novels, short stories, essays, screenplays, and poems. He was a man ahead of his time and his works were labeled immoral by the amoral.
Lovingly known (by those who loved him) for his "wit, flamboyance, and affairs with men," Oscar was arrested in 1895 and charged with 'perversion' (a.k.a. sodomy) for having an affair with a wealthy man's son. He was found guilty and sentenced to two years of hard labor. This lusty thinker died penniless three years after his release from prison at the age of 46.
To celebrate his life, let's read one of his short stories, called The Model Millionaire. Here are the first few paragraphs and a link to the WikiSource page with the entire story. The link also has an audio version, in case you just want to sit back, sip green beer, eat green cupcakes, and listen.
The Model Millionaire by Oscar Wilde
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| Oscar Wilde |
Unless one is wealthy there is no use in being a charming fellow. Romance is the privilege of the rich, not the profession of the unemployed. The poor should be practical and prosaic. It is better to have a permanent income than to be fascinating. These are the great truths of modern life which Hughie Erskine never realised. Poor Hughie! Intellectually, we must admit, he was not of much importance. He never said a brilliant or even an ill-natured thing in his life. But then he was wonderfully good-looking, with his crisp brown hair, his clear-cut profile, and his grey eyes. He was as popular with men as he was with women and he had every accomplishment except that of making money. His father had bequeathed him his cavalry sword and a History of the Peninsular War in fifteen volumes. Hughie hung the first over his looking-glass, put the second on a shelf between Ruff’s Guide and Bailey’s Magazine, and lived on two hundred a year that an old aunt allowed him. He had tried everything. He had gone on the Stock Exchange for six months; but what was a butterfly to do among bulls and bears? He had been a tea-merchant for a little longer, but had soon tired of pekoe and souchong. Then he had tried selling dry sherry. That did not answer; the sherry was a little too dry. Ultimately he became nothing, a delightful, ineffectual young man with a perfect profile and no profession.
To make matters worse, he was in love. The girl he loved was Laura Merton, the daughter of a retired Colonel who had lost his temper and his digestion in India, and had never found either of them again. Laura adored him, and he was ready to kiss her shoe-strings. They were the handsomest couple in London, and had not a penny-piece between them. The Colonel was very fond of Hughie, but would not hear of any engagement.
