The Evening Hill Diaries: October 2016

A trip to Reading.

Exhausted by the labour of love which was my blog about the North Coast 500, I've rarely felt the need to immortalise anything since, despite a great experience at the Tour de France in Normandy (watching Cav pull on the Maillot Jaune was very special), and some decent Craic in County Clare and West Cork. But this weekend was something which I want to record - irrespective of whether anyone reads it.

I have to admit I was dubious when Lindsay announced that she had managed to get one ticket to hear Ralph Fiennes read 'De Profundis' in the very prison in which Oscar Wilde wrote it. 'Do you know how long it is?' I asked. About 5 hours she replied. In the event, she could not go. It was something of an endurance test for all concerned, not least Mr Fiennes. Here is how it was:

The chapel is how one imagines it to be. High ceilinged, painted wooden beams, slightly longer than wide, high leaded light windows. Like the windows in the cells, it is not really possible to see anything but what Oscar called 'That little tent of blue, the sky'. There are about 180 small wooden chapel chairs. Fiennes is sitting, dressed seemingly in prison uniform, on a dais. On further perusal of the programme it turns out that this is a sculpture by Jean-Michel Pancin. The dais has the exact depth and width of one of the cells. Mounted at the back is an old prison door, which turns out to be Wilde's. This is the extent of the sculpture. On the table in front of the reader is a large volume, the collected works of Oscar Wilde, and a glass of water. Fiennes reads from a manuscript in loose leaf. He wears reading glasses. On closer inspection, he is wearing a charcoal/black jacket, a black shirt, and rather ill fitting jeans which are of a very dark blue colour. There is a sort of prison garb appearance to it, whether intended or not. He looks careworn and older than his 53 years.

He starts to read. His voice is conversational, and one has to strain to hear. On reflection, it would be impossible to 'produce' the voice in an actor's declamatory style over the four and a half hours which it takes him to read 'De Profundis'. Much of the letter has a conversational tone to it. Only when one hears the whole letter read continuously (with two short breaks) can one appreciate the differences of style and content within it.

You can study the details much more fully elsewhere. The letter is to his nemesis and young lover, Lord Alfred Douglas, known as Bosie. In parts it is extremely painful to hear. The rejection of Wilde by Bosie (he never visited him, never wrote to him) was complete, and extraordinarily painful for Oscar. Fiennes reads for an hour and half. This first section details the numerous occasions of Oscar's generosity to one who was clearly intellectually inferior, but who was vain and indulged by all including his family. Dates, places (Goring, Hove, Oxford, Tite Street, the Savoy, the Cafe Royal, Willis's), people, times, accounts, specific menus and vintages of champagne are all detailed, with Bosie sponging shamelessly off Wilde. Having recently seen 'The Deep Blue Sea' again, one can't help but bewail, 'But why didn't you leave him?' Despite his childish behaviour Bosie must have had some fatal charm for Wilde. And indeed Wilde did try to leave him (or so he says) many a time. Wilde points out that Bosie gave no consideration for his need for peace and isolation to work. While together he produced nothing. He indulged him by allowing him to translate Salome (which Wilde originally wrote in French) and clearly Bosie's attempts at literature and poetry were terrible.

In the next section, lasting about one a quarter hours, Wilde's imagination takes a completely different tack, and he becomes philosophical, arrogant, and penitent, in quick succession. His penitence however seems not to be for the things he has done, more a sense of self pity. At times his tone is unpleasant and superior. He views himself as the artist in literature of his age - a sort of vessel through which genius can flow. In fact, his genius he asserts, is an excuse for any lack of morality. There is a very long section in which he discusses Jesus Christ and appears to stand in relation to him as the epitome of the romantic artist. (This section is somewhat hard to follow, and indeed, hard to take.)

Finally, he returns to specifics, the awful experience of his bankruptcy, the fact that his royalties will have to go to pay the enormous legal bills of his lover's father, the unpleasant Marquis of Queensberry. The details of his downfall are piteous to hear, the complete estrangement from his wife and his children, and his ridicule to all. For example we hear about his transfer to Reading from London, where, manacled to a policeman he was kept standing in the rain on Clapham Common station, laughed at by an increasingly large crowd.

At the end, he views his two years in prison as a catharsis, a making of him as a better person, not because of his punishment, but because he bore it. It is clear at the end that he hoped to see Bosie, though his other friends were the only ones who remained with him when he sought exile in Paris. Apart from De Profundis (not his original name for the letter), the only work he wrote after prison was the Ballad of Reading Gaol.

When Ralph Fiennes finished reading many of us were in tears. His nearest approach to not being able to go on came within about 15 to 20 minutes before the end. The relief and release of tension was palpable. We all stood and applauded. If was clear that Ralph Fiennes could say nothing more. He put his hand over his heart, bowed very slightly, and then stood still. Then he walked to the back of the dais and left the room.

Here are some images from the day: