On a recent trip to Paris, I wasn't going to miss the opportunity to visit the grave of Oscar Wilde. In college, I studied everything he wrote. I studied his life, his tragic death, the circumstances of his court trial, and I became obsessed. In case you're unfamiliar, he was Irish by birth, and he was at the height of his career in London during the 1890's with "The Picture of Dorian Gray," and hit plays, like, "The Importance of Being Earnest," and "Salome." A philosophical writer with depth and a humorous wit that cracked like a whip, he was fortunate enough in his lifetime to see his works be appreciated and valued by the masses, but unfortunate enough to be publicly outed as a homosexual. He was criminally charged and prosecuted as a homosexual and sentenced to two years of hard labor. Prison destroyed him. Impoverished and shunned by his countrymen, he was welcomed in Paris, and that's where he spent the final three years of his life. He died in 1900 at the age of 46. In his final years, he wrote of personal struggles, the rewards of finding beauty in the world, and spiritual growth, but he never lost the wit that could make the world chuckle. One of my favorite quotes from just before his death was, "My wallpaper and I are fighting a duel to the death. One of us has got to go."
The Père Lachaise Cemetery is actually incredible. Walking through is like exploring a miniature village, but the buildings are tombs and little monuments. It's housing for the deceased, but breathtakingly beautiful, and if you take your time strolling through, you will ultimately be inspired. My dear friend, Yael Dray, tried to express this to me, and when I suggested that we might want to swing by the Père Lachaise together, she said "Absolutely, no!" I love my friend Yael for all the things she contributes to the world. She's a brilliant musician, which is something I am not, but aside from that, Yael interacts with the world in a way which is uniquely personal. She leaves her imprint with everyone she touches. She told me about the surprising moment she experienced when she stood at the foot of the grave of one of her heroes. "Go," Yael said to me, "and have your own personal moment."
To take a moment to admire the names of those permanently resting in the Père Lachaise Cemetery, one can get starstruck. Some of my heroes who were on my "Must-See" list were Molière and Sarah Bernhardt (amongst others).
Then came the moment when I had to go see the man who wrote, "The Importance of Being Earnest," Oscar Wilde.
His monument was much larger than I had previously imagined. As I took it in visually, I became aware that suddenly, I felt small, like a child looking up to a teacher. I had this moment alone, which I would later discover is a rarity as his gravesite is one of the most visited in the cemetery. The carved stone image of a winged angel ascending with beauty and strength was impressive, and I walked around to the back to see it from every angle. Etched into the back of the monument was carved a brief tribute to his history and legacy, but beneath the epitaph was a quote from one of Oscar's own poems. From the Ballad of Reading Goal,
"And alien tears will fill for him
Pity's long-broken urn,
For his mourners will be outcast men,
And outcasts always mourn."
It dawned on me suddenly in that moment, through my own tears, I was once again shaken and inspired by how much Oscar Wilde changed the shape of the world we live in. In fact, the mere presence of his grave defied the circumstances of the way he died. He was impoverished and shunned by his own society, yet this beautiful mammoth of a monument stood in glorious tribute as if he had been able to afford to flaunt in the face of his oppressors. Years after his death, this gravesite was created by artists who loved him. His tribute was built by the outcasts who will always mourn. I, a fellow outcast who loved him, stood at his grave, now surrounded by plexiglass to protect it more than a century after his death, and I saw how important it is to emulate the qualities I admire in my heroes.
In this case, I see a man who confidently stepped into a world that would never accept him, and he chose to see the beauty in it anyway. He gave his gift and love of words to the people who had words of hate to assign to him. With his stories, he allowed the world to laugh at its own reflection, and by stroking the same pen, he could create something beautiful enough to break a reader's heart. He was brave, bold, witty, but refused to retract or deny the truth, even about a love that dared not speak its name. He wrote many times about being one's natural self, and the discomfort and disapproval that entails. The world we live in today is still full of people who would take away a person's right to be one's own self, even if that self-identity is a beautiful contribution to the tapestry of humankind.
I walked away from the cemetery that day more alert than I was when I walked in. I remembered the advice from my dear friend Yael about having a private experience at the cemetery. I may never stop thanking her for that suggestion. It was conversations in the company of the dead that would bring this piece of me to life. Heroes don't identify themselves but are created and identified by those who recognize and admire their heroism. I choose to continue to be inspired, and to continue to be creative and expressive in the face of an oppressive world. I'm no Oscar Wilde, but I will continue to create my own version of the world I want to live in. I believe that by emulating the qualities we identify in our heroes, we can realize the importance of being heroic.
