Oscar Wilde’s Italian Dream 1875-1900

One of the most pervasive myths about the Irish playwright Oscar Wilde is that prison destroyed him and that his remaining couple of years of life after release were a sorry saga of penury and ill health, leading to an early death in Paris. But as Oscar said himself, truth is never pure and rarely simple. Behind the bare facts of this decline lies the reality of many months of enjoyable travels and hedonistic pleasures, not least in Italy. Like many Victorians, Wilde was attracted by the warm climate, classical legacy and artistic treasures of Italy, in his case supplemented by the welcoming smiles of local youths, especially in the south. Though Naples was the scene of much tension as he tried cohabitation with Lord Alfred “Bosie” Douglas for one last time, he found much delightful companionship to console himself there, as indeed in Sicily and Rome. His letters from Italy to his devoted friend, erstwhile lover and literary executor, Robbie Ross, bubble and fizz with the joy of so much adventure. These letters — quoted extensively — form the backbone of Renato Miracco’s new book, Oscar Wilde’s Italian Dream 1875-1900 (Damiani, £22), the rest of the skeleton mainly provided by further Wilde letters and quotations from other writer’s books, including one of mine.

For the dedicated Wildean, therefore, there is very little that is new, the notable exception being translations of some interviews Oscar gave to Italian journalists, mainly in Naples. It is interesting to note how many of them reported inaccurately, or made things up. Miracco’s original commentary is by comparison slender and contains a few glaring errors, the oddest being his placing of Wilde’s arrest at the Cadogan Hotel in London after his being found guilty of  gross indecency. There are, however, many attractive photographs in the book, not least the sepia neo-classical portraits by Wilhelm von Gloeden of youths in Sicily (where Wilde did visit von Gloeden). The finest of these is the wrap around printed on the book’s hard binding. But it is rather sad when one has to admit that the best thing about a book is its cover.