It might seem odd to say this, but the year is 1895.
This means that even though I've spent a haphazard six months under the protection of Mr. Miller, time has moved on, and modern history is proceeding according to its timeline.
Even from just skimming through the newspapers, many of the stories are familiar.
In Asia, the Qing Dynasty was defeated by Japan and lost Taiwan, leading to the signing of the Treaty of Shimonoseki.
In France, the Dreyfus Affair erupted, and the Lumière brothers advertised their first film, Arrival of a Train.
In the United States, the Olympia Theatre, the first theater in Times Square, opened, and in the Middle East, the Ottomans carried out a massacre of Armenians.
Among the unfamiliar stories, there was one particularly striking account: a man in Ireland had been imprisoned for killing his wife and burning the body to destroy evidence.
The problem was that whether the man was trying to cover up his crime or was genuinely insane, he testified that his wife had gone to the fairy forest with Peter Perry. It was utterly baffling.
If this were the 21st century, there might have been a ruckus about violent novels inspiring imitation crimes. But now, it's the late 19th century.
—"Don't worry, author. The Rothschild's' personal lawyers are already prepared to charge him with insults, obstruction of justice, and other offences. We've already spread the word through the press that he's just a lunatic babbling nonsense."
They stamped it out with the efficiency of Disney.
Shouldn't they take responsibility for what they bring upon themselves?
I mean, if Peter Perry were actually a violent novel, I wouldn't even mention it.
"Please ensure that such nonsense does not arise again."
—"Trust the Rothschild's, author."
Of course, I trust them. In this era of extreme capitalism, if you don't trust the most powerful financial group in history, who can you trust?
Anyway, due to this, after going out to enforce justice and return, I ended up encountering another madman.
"So…"
I folded my arms and looked at Richard Strauss.
What kind of calamity has this person brought with him?
"How did things end up like this?"
"Oh, I-I'm sorry, author. I got entangled in this matter somehow, so I can't explain exactly…"
"Ha…"
I sighed inwardly.
I came to the courtroom to check how things would be handled and ended up entangled with a strange person.
It was none other than Strauss, who was supposed to be working on the music for my play, and the self-styled genius of Ireland, though in ragged clothes, had a very conspicuous cane.
Recognizing each other, we ended up renting a nearby room to talk.
In the meantime, my afternoon tea seemed to be going in either my mouth or my nose.
Anyway, I glanced between the people before me.
This is a rather peculiar combination.
And…
"Haha! It's inevitable that my eyes are drawn to you. But falling for you would be a problem. You're not my type."
"... I'm sorry, but I'm not interested in that sort of thing."
I shot a firm rebuke at the man with the wavy bob cut who was speaking strange words.
Where did this fellow bring such a bombshell from?
Oscar Wilde.
The most successful playwright of the Victorian era.
In modern literary history, geniuses like him are truly rare.
In Korea, perhaps like Lee Sang, in the Netherlands like Andersen, in the United States like O. Henry, in France like Maupassant, or in Russia like Anton Chekhov?
Yes… he is indeed a genius, a genius.
The problem is that Oscar Wilde belongs to that extreme type of genius whose mind has truly gone awry.
"Mr. Strauss."
"Yes, author."
"Do you know what kind of case this… human scum is involved in?"
"No, I only know he is Oscar Wilde, the author of The Picture of Dorian Gray…"
"Human scum! Listen here, you! I was given a talent by God to praise art, and I just want this talent not to be crushed by the brutal judiciary…"
"What kind of nonsense is this perverted gay scum spouting about being charged for fornication and prostitution?!"
Ah, I'm furious.
I couldn't help but lash out in anger.
Oscar Wilde seemed to realize his guilt, and he lowered his head slightly.
Strauss glanced between me and Oscar Wilde, then subtly moved away from Wilde and approached me.
"So, how did you meet this person? I thought he'd be in prison by now."
"I ran into him on the street. Apparently, the verdict has not yet been reached."
"Why am I guilty! This country's judiciary does not consider homosexuality a crime!"
Well, that's true.
But adultery, prostitution, and even homosexuality would be subject to harsher penalties.
I looked at Oscar Wilde with a very cold gaze, and once again, he seemed to shrink immediately.
"Hmm…"
Well, there's a chance for some leniency.
Apart from the adultery, in a way, this person ended up being caught by a malevolent character, becoming a victim.
It sounds a bit odd to say a man was victimized, but anyway, he ended up giving money, love, and playing the role of a wallet, only to lose everything.
Still, it's true that I don't want to get entangled with such a person. Nevertheless, the only reason I haven't left this place immediately is because of one thing.
'His talent is truly, genuinely, too valuable to waste…'
The author possesses what can only be described as a devilish talent.
In this era, there are indeed many geniuses.
Especially among writers at the cutting edge. There are certainly many who write better than Oscar Wilde.
But many of them become fools once they step outside their realm.
A prime example is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. He failed in historical novels, plays, and in fact, everything except detective stories, sci-fi, and critiques.
It's only natural.
A genius actor can mess up dubbing, and a genius comedian doesn't necessarily make a great serious play.
Everyone has their own speciality.
But this person… simply excels at everything.
Poetry, fairy tales, short stories, novels, plays. He's touched them all and succeeded spectacularly in each.
Moreover, with his striking appearance and eloquence, he was a top socialite before this scandal broke out. Even now, although not as much as before, he's still somewhat influential.
So, his talent alone is incredibly valuable.
Especially for me, with my play currently facing numerous problems!
I glanced at Strauss for a moment.
He seemed uneasy, fidgeting with his fingers, perhaps realizing his mistake.
I pondered over it carefully.
If, if I were to include Oscar Wilde in the yet-to-be-determined Savoy Theatre's Peter Perry screenplay…
Couldn't that help balance out the current imbalances?
Various conditions began to fit together in my mind.
I took a sip of my now-cold Assam tea and spoke in a measured tone.
"First, Mr. Wilde."
"Hmm, please address me with more respect, Oscar Wilde, sir…"
"'Mr.' is quite respectful enough, so please bear with it."
I set down my teacup decisively.
"Mr. Wilde, you're aware that you're about to enter prison, right?"
"Prison! I'm innocent! Homosexuality was recorded in Ancient Greece…"
"Be quiet."
I maintained a cold gaze as I stared at him.
"I already know everything. About the courtroom slip of the tongue."
As I mentioned earlier, this era allows you to do anything if you have money and power.
But if you lack both? It's like wandering a battlefield without a bulletproof vest. It's even scarier than the 21st century.
And there's no news more entertaining than the fall of the top socialite blue-chip.
Every word he utters has been exaggerated and spread throughout London by hyena-like reporters.
Yes… he was so intoxicated by his own talent that, in modern trials, he got caught in leading questions and ended up in ruin with a remark like 'The boy was too ugly to even think of kissing him.'
This is why the principle of silence in Miranda rights is so important.
I examined his appearance once more.
His clothes were filthy, stained with grime, and his eyes were hollow.
His skin was dry, and his once-popular Nero-style hair now looked just… rotten.
"If you continue like this, you'll be convicted of adultery and prostitution. Well, no wife would tolerate such a husband, so no-contact orders are likely, and a divorce might even follow, right?"
"No, that can't be! Constance… Constance!!"
Wilde seemed to realize his wrongs, but he could only call out his wife's name while failing to deny it.
I thought about how Oscar Wilde had fallen.
He ended up in prison, which was one thing.
But Oscar Wilde. This man was a genius with a fragile body, not a strong spirit.
He lost his genius after injuring his ears during labour in prison.
He's not a fool and knows well what his future holds.
He just wanted to deny it due to his narcissistic tendencies and aestheticism.
And now, his gilding is slowly peeling away. Just like in the story of The Happy Prince.
I exploited that gap.
I smiled as I looked at him.
"So."
I stood up and glanced around. Yes, as expected, there was a place to leave notes near the courthouse.
"I have a proposal for you."
"A proposal?"
"Yes."
I took the note and quickly drafted a contract using the fountain pen that had been left at my home by the late Prince George.
"Here. Just sign here."
"Wh-what is this?"
"Your only lifeline."
An offer he could not refuse.
***
To repeat, this era is one where, if you have money and power, most problems can be resolved effortlessly.
"The defendant, Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde, is sentenced to three years in prison. However, taking into account mitigating circumstances, the execution of this sentence will be suspended for one year from the date of this judgment."
Bang—! Bang—! Bang—!
"Damn it, has the judiciary in this country gone to hell!"
I sighed as I watched an aristocrat among the audience, visibly enraged.
That must be the Marquess of Queensberry, the father of the man who trapped Oscar Wilde.
Indeed, as Wilde himself pointed out, the laws of this country do not criminalize homosexual prostitution.
However, they do prohibit 'excessive indecent conduct,' which includes adultery.
This is a very vague prohibition, and with a skilled lawyer, it could be mitigated in some way.
So why did he have to make things complicated by getting involved in something that wasn't even his speciality? Oh, was he in such dire straits that he had to cancel the defamation trial and ended up destitute?
All of this was thanks to the Rothschilds' influence. Ah, truly the world's greatest financial dynasty.
Of course, this only pertains to the trial involving the Marquess of Queensberry.
So, while his adultery case related to that will continue in the civil court, he will still need to face it.
He was indeed guilty, wasn't he? He'll have to pay for it.
Despite that, since he loved his wife and children, it seems they decided to wait until his sentence is over without divorcing.
For now, there's a restraining order in place. Both sides will need time anyway.
And that time…
"So, according to the contract. You need to write for me."
"W-wait a minute!!"
" 'Wait a minute'? If you write less than I do in a month, you'll find yourself without food!!"
Since I'm bankrupt, it needs to be filled in, right?
Work, slave.
< Oscar Wilde > End