The Importance of Being Earnest: A Trivial Comedy for Serious People
By
Oscar Wilde
Transcription, correction, and markup by Students, Staff, and Faculty at George Mason University, and the
University of Virginia, Jen Fehsenfeld, Stephanie Grimm, Tonya Howe, John O'Brien, Christine Ruotolo, Humzah Syed, Alok Yadav
[Title Page]
THE
IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST
A TRIVIAL COMEDY FOR
SERIOUS PEOPLE
BY
THE AUTHOR OF
LADY WINDERMERE'S FAN
London
Printed by LEONARD SMITHERS AND CO
5 Old Bond Street W,
MDCCCXCIX.
[Dedication] TO
ROBERT BALDWIN ROSS
IN APPRECIATION
IN AFFECTION
[Printing Note]
Lessee and Manager: Mr. George Alexander
February 14th, 1895
[unpaginated]
FIRST ACT
1
SCENE--Morning-room in Algernon's flat in Half Moon Street. The room is
luxuriously and artistically furnished. The sound of a piano is heard in the
adjoining room. [Lane is arranging afternoon tea on the table, and after the music
has ceased, Algernon enters.]
2
3
[Lane goes out.]
[Enter Lane.]
4
[Enter Jack.]
5
6
7
8
[Enter Lane]
Well, I wish you would offer one. I happen to be more than usually hard up.
[Enter Lane with the cigarette case on a salver. Algernon takes it at once.
Lane goes out.]
10
11
14
15
16
17
19
[Enter Lane.]
[Algernon goes forward to meet them. Enter Lady Bracknell and
Gwendolen.]
20
21
22
23
25
[Lady Bracknell and Algernon go into the music-room,
Gwendolen remains behind.]
26
27
28
29
30
[Enter Lady Bracknell.]
31
32
33
35
36
37
39
[Lady Bracknell sweeps out in majestic indignation.]
[The music stops, and Algernon enters cheerily.]
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
[Jack looks indignantly at him, and leaves the room. Algernon lights a
cigarette, reads his shirt-cuff, and smiles.]
ACT-DROP.
[53]
SECOND ACT
55
SCENE--Garden at the Manor House. A flight of gray stone steps leads up to the
house. The garden, an old-fashioned one, full of roses. Time of year, July. Basket
chairs, and a table covered with books, are set under a large yew tree.
[Miss Prism discovered seated at the table. Cecily is at the back watering
flowers.]
56
57
59
[Enter Canon Chasuble.]
60
[Enter Merriman with a card on a salver.]
[Merriman goes off.]
64
65
66
67
68
[They pass into the house. Miss Prism and Dr. Chasuble return.]
69
70
71
72
73
74
[Enter Cecily from the house.]
76
77
[Enter Algernon and Cecily hand in hand. They come slowly up to Jack.]
[Jack glares at him and does not take his hand.]
78
79
80
[Enter Merriman.]
81
82
83
[Enter Merriman.]
[Algernon looks appealingly at
Cecily.]
85
[Exit Merriman.]
86
[Enter Merriman.]
87
[Merriman retires.]
88
89
90
91
92
93
[Enter Merriman.]
94
[Goes out.]
[Enter Merriman.]
[Enter Gwendolen.] [Exit Merriman.]
95
96
[A pause. They both sit down together.]
97
99
100
101
102
[Enter Merriman, followed by the footman. He carries a salver, table cloth,
and plate stand. Cecily is about to retort. The presence of the servants exercises
a restraining influence, under which both girls chafe.]
[Merriman begins to clear table and lay cloth. A long pause. Cecily and
Gwendolen glare at each other.]
103
[Merriman does so, and goes out with footman. Gwendolen drinks the tea and
makes a grimace. Puts down cup at once, reaches out her hand to the bread and
butter, looks at it, and finds it is cake. Rises in indignation.]
105
[Enter Jack.]
106
107
[Enter Algernon.]
108
109
111
[They retire into the house with scornful looks.]
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
[Jack groans, and sinks into a chair. Algernon still continues
eating.]
ACT-DROP.
[119]
THIRD ACT
[120]
121
SCENE--Morning-room at the Manor House.
[Gwendolen and Cecily are at the window, looking out into the garden.]
122
[Enter Jack followed by Algernon. They whistle some dreadful popular air from
a British Opera.]
123
124
125
[Enter Merriman. When he enters he coughs loudly, seeing the
situation.]
[Enter Lady Bracknell. The couples separate in alarm. Exit Merriman.]
127
128
130
[Jack looks perfectly furious, but restrains
himself.]
131
133
135
[Algernon and Cecily look at him in indignant amazement.]
136
138
139
[Enter Dr. Chasuble.]
142
[Enter Miss Prism hurriedly.]
143
145
[Exit Jack in great excitement.]
146
[Enter Jack with a hand-bag of black leather in his hand.]
142
148
149
150
152
TABLEAU.
CURTAIN. TABLEAU.
CURTAIN.
IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST
A TRIVIAL COMEDY FOR
SERIOUS PEOPLE
BY
THE AUTHOR OF
LADY WINDERMERE'S FAN
London
Printed by LEONARD SMITHERS AND CO
5 Old Bond Street W,
MDCCCXCIX.
[Dedication] TO
ROBERT BALDWIN ROSS
IN APPRECIATION
IN AFFECTION
[Printing Note]
One thousand copies of this edition have been printed,
of which
this is No. 335
Lessee and Manager: Mr. George Alexander
February 14th, 1895
- Mr. George Alexander
- JOHN WORTHING, J.P.
- Mr. Allen Aynesworth
- ALGERNON MONCRIEFF
- Mr. H. H. Vincent
- REV. CANON CHAUSBLE, D.D.
- Mr. Frank Dyall
- MERRIMAN (Butler)
- Mr. F. Kinsey Peile
- LANE (Manservant)
- Miss Rose Leclercq
- LADY BRACKNELL
- Miss Irene Vanbrugh
- HON. GWENDOLEN FAIRFAX
- Miss Evelyn Millard
- CECILY CARDEW
- Mrs. George Canninge
- MISS PRISM (Governess)
ALGERNON
Did you hear what I was playing, Lane?
LANE
I didn't think it polite to listen, sir.
ALGERNON
I'm sorry for that, for your sake. I don't play accurately--anyone can play
accurately--but I play with wonderful expression. As far as the piano is
concerned, sentiment is my forte. I keep science for Life.
LANE
Yes, sir.
ALGERNON
And, speaking of the science of Life, have you got the cucumber sandwiches cut
for Lady Bracknell?
LANE
Yes, sir.
ALGERNON
[Inspects them, takes two, and sits down on the sofa.] Oh! . . . by the way,
Lane, I see from your book that on Thursday night, when Lord Shoreman and Mr.
Worthing were dining with me, eight bottles of champagne are entered as having
been consumed.
LANE
Yes, sir; eight bottles and a pint.
ALGERNON
Why is it that at a bachelor's establishment the servants invariably drink the
champagne? I ask merely for information.
LANE
I attribute it to the superior quality of the wine, sir. I have often observed
that in married households the champagne is rarely of a first-rate brand.
ALGERNON
Good Heavens! Is marriage so demoralizing as that?
LANE
I believe it is a very pleasant state, sir. I have had
very little experience of it myself up to the present. I have only been married
once. That was in consequence of a misunderstanding between myself and a young
person.
ALGERNON
[Languidly.] I don’t know that I am much interested in your
family life, Lane.
LANE
No, sir; it is not a very interesting subject. I never think of it myself.
ALGERNON
Very natural, I am sure. That will do, Lane, thank you.
LANE
Thank you, sir.
ALGERNON
Lane's views on marriage seem somewhat lax. Really, if the lower orders don’t
set us a good example, what on earth is the use of them? They seem, as a class,
to have absolutely no sense of moral responsibility.
LANE
Mr. Ernest Worthing.
ALGERNON
How are you, my dear Ernest? What brings you up to town?
JACK
Oh, pleasure, pleasure! What else should bring one anywhere? Eating as usual, I
see, Algy!
ALGERNON
[Stiffly.] I believe it is customary in good society to take
some slight refreshment at five o’clock. Where have you been since last
Thursday?
JACK
[Sitting down on the sofa.] In the country.
ALGERNON
What on earth do you do there?
JACK
[Pulling off his gloves.] When one is in town one amuses
oneself. When one is in the country one amuses other people. It is excessively
boring.
ALGERNON
And who are the people you amuse?
JACK
[Airily.] Oh, neighbours, neighbours.
ALGERNON
Got nice neighbours in your part of Shropshire?
JACK
Perfectly horrid! Never speak to one of them.
ALGERNON
How immensely you must amuse them! [Goes over and takes sandwich.] By the way,
Shropshire is your county,
is it not?
JACK
Eh? Shropshire? Yes, of course.
Hallo! Why all these cups? Why cucumber sandwiches? Why such reckless
extravagance in one so young? Who is coming to tea?
ALGERNON
Oh! merely Aunt Augusta and Gwendolen.
JACK
How perfectly delightful!
ALGERNON
Yes, that is all very well; but I am afraid Aunt Augusta won’t quite approve of
your being here.
JACK
May I ask why?
ALGERNON
My dear fellow, the way you flirt with Gwendolen is perfectly disgraceful. It
is almost as bad as the way Gwendolen flirts with you.
JACK
I am in love with Gwendolen. I have come up to town expressly to propose to
her.
ALGERNON
I thought you had come up for pleasure? . . . I call that business.
JACK
How utterly unromantic you are!
ALGERNON
I really don’t see anything romantic in proposing. It is very romantic to be in
love. But there is nothing romantic about a definite proposal. Why, one may be
accepted. One usually is, I believe. Then the excitement is all over. The very
essence of romance is uncertainty. If ever I get married, I’ll certainly try to
forget the fact.
JACK
I have no doubt about that, dear Algy. The Divorce Court was specially invented
for people whose memories are so curiously constituted.
ALGERNON
Oh! there is no use speculating on that subject. Divorces are made in Heaven-- Please don’t touch the cucumber sandwiches. They are ordered specially for Aunt
Augusta. [Takes one and eats it.]
JACK
Well, you have been eating them all the time.
ALGERNON
That is quite a different matter. She is my aunt. [Takes plate from
below.] Have some bread and butter. The bread and butter is for
Gwendolen. Gwendolen is devoted to bread and butter.
JACK
[Advancing to table and helping himself.] And very good bread
and butter it is too.
ALGERNON
Well, my dear fellow, you need not eat as if you were going to eat it all. You
behave as if you were married to her already. You are not married to her
already, and I don’t think you ever will be.
JACK
Why on earth do you say that?
ALGERNON
Well, in the first place girls never marry the men they flirt with. Girls don’t
think it right.
JACK
Oh, that is nonsense!
ALGERNON
It isn’t. It is a great truth. It accounts for the extraordinary number of
bachelors that one sees all over the place. In the second place, I don’t give
my consent.
JACK
Your consent!
ALGERNON
My dear fellow, Gwendolen is my first cousin. And before I allow you to marry
her, you will have to clear up the whole question of Cecily. [Rings bell.]
JACK
Cecily! What on earth do you mean? What
9 do you mean, Algy, by Cecily? I
don't know anyone of the name of Cecily.
ALGERNON
Bring me that cigarette case Mr. Worthing left in the smoking-room the last
time he dined here.
LANE
Yes, sir. [Lane goes out.]
JACK
Do you mean to say you have had my cigarette case all this time? I wish to
goodness you had let me know. I have been writing frantic letters to Scotland
Yard about it. I was very nearly offering a large reward.
ALGERNON
JACK
There is no good offering a large reward now that the thing is found.
ALGERNON
I think that is rather mean of you, Ernest, I must say. [Opens case and
examines it.] However, it makes no matter, for, now that I look at
the inscription inside, I find that the thing isn’t yours after all.
JACK
Of course it’s mine. [Moving to him.] You have seen me with it a
hundred times, and you have no right whatsoever to read what is written inside.
It is a very ungentlemanly thing to read a private cigarette case.
ALGERNON
Oh! it is absurd to have a hard-and-fast rule about what one should read and
what one shouldn’t. More than half of modern culture depends on what one
shouldn’t read.
JACK
I am quite aware of the fact, and I don’t propose to discuss modern culture. It
isn’t the sort of thing one should talk of in private. I simply want my
cigarette case back.
ALGERNON
Yes; but this isn’t your cigarette case. This cigarette case is a present from
someone of the name of Cecily, and you said you didn’t know anyone of that
name.
JACK
Well, if you want to know, Cecily happens to be my aunt.
ALGERNON
Your aunt!
JACK
Yes. Charming old lady she is, too. Lives at Tunbridge Wells. Just give it back
to me, Algy.
ALGERNON
[Retreating to back of sofa.] But why does she call herself
little Cecily if she is your aunt and lives at Tunbridge Wells? Reading: "From
little Cecily with her fondest love."
JACK
[Moving to sofa and kneeling upon it.] My dear fellow, what on
earth is there in that? Some aunts are tall, some aunts are not tall. That is a
matter that surely an aunt may be allowed to decide for herself. You seem to
think that every aunt should be exactly like your aunt! That is absurd! For
Heaven's sake give me back my cigarette case. [Follows Ernest round the
room.]
ALGERNON
Yes. But why does your aunt call you her uncle? "From little Cecily, with her
fondest love 12 to her dear Uncle
Jack." There is no objection, I admit, to an aunt being a small aunt, but why
an aunt, no matter what her size may be, should call her own nephew her uncle,
I can't quite make out. Besides, your name isn't Jack at all; it is Ernest.
JACK
It isn't Ernest; it's Jack.
ALGERNON
You have always told me it was Ernest. I have introduced you to everyone as
Ernest. You answer to the name of Ernest. You look as if your name was Ernest.
You are the most earnest looking person I ever saw in my life. It is perfectly
absurd your saying that your name isn't Ernest. It's on your cards. Here is one
of them. Taking it from case. "Mr. Ernest Worthing, B.4, The Albany." I'll keep
this as a proof that your name is Ernest if ever you attempt to deny it to me,
or to Gwendolen, or to anyone else. [Puts the card in his
pocket.]
JACK
Well, my name is Ernest in town and Jack in the country, and the cigarette
case was given to me in the country.
ALGERNON
Yes, but that does not account for the fact that 13 your small Aunt Cecily, who lives at
Tunbridge Wells, calls you her dear uncle. Come, old boy, you had much better
have the thing out at once.
JACK
My dear Algy, you talk exactly as if you were a dentist. It is very vulgar to
talk like a dentist when one isn't a dentist. It produces a false
impression.
ALGERNON Well, that is exactly what dentists always do. Now, go on! Tell me the whole
thing. I may mention that I have always suspected you of being a confirmed and
secret Bunburyist; and I am quite sure of it now.
JACK
Bunburyist? What on earth do you mean by a Bunburyist?
ALGERNON
I'll reveal to you the meaning of that incomparable expression as soon as you
are kind enough to inform me why you are Ernest in town and Jack in the
country.
JACK
Well, produce my cigarette case first.
ALGERNON
Here it is. [Hands cigarette case.] Now produce your
explanation, and pray make it improbable. [Sits on sofa.]
JACK
My dear fellow, there is nothing improbable about my explanation at all. In
fact it's perfectly ordinary. Old Mr. Thomas Cardew, who adopted me when I was
a little boy, made me in his will guardian to his grand-daughter, Miss Cecily
Cardew. Cecily, who addresses me as her uncle from motives of respect that you
could not possibly appreciate, lives at my place in the country under the
charge of her admirable governess, Miss Prism.
ALGERNON
Where is that place in the country, by the way?
JACK
That is nothing to you, dear boy. You are not going to be invited. . . . I may
tell you candidly that the place is not in Shropshire.
ALGERNON
I suspected that, my dear fellow! I have Bunburyed all over Shropshire on two
separate occasions. Now, go on. Why are you Ernest in town and Jack in the
country?
JACK
My dear Algy, I don't know whether you will be able to understand my real
motives. You are hardly serious enough. When one is placed in the position of
guardian, one has to adopt a very high moral tone on all subjects. It's one's
duty to do so. And as a high moral tone can hardly be said to conduce very much
to either one's health or one's happiness, in order to get up to town I have
always pretended to have a younger brother of the name of Ernest, who lives in
the Albany, and gets into the most dreadful scrapes. That, my dear Algy, is the
whole truth pure and simple.
ALGERNON
The truth is rarely pure and never simple. Modern life would be very tedious if
it were either, and modern literature a complete impossibility!
JACK
That wouldn't be at all a bad thing.
ALGERNON
Literary criticism is not your forte, my dear fellow. Don't try it. You should
leave that to people who haven't been at a University. They do it so well in
the daily papers. What you really are is a Bunburyist. I was quite right in
saying you were a Bunburyist. You are one of the most advanced Bunburyists I
know.
JACK
What on earth do you mean?
ALGERNON
You have invented a very useful younger brother called Ernest, in order that
you may be able to come up to town as often as you like. I have invented an
invaluable permanent invalid called Bunbury, in order that I may be able to go
down into the country whenever I choose. Bunbury is perfectly invaluable. If it
wasn’t for Bunbury’s extraordinary bad health, for instance, I wouldn’t be able
to dine with you at Willis’s to-night, for I have been really engaged to Aunt
Augusta for more than a week.
JACK
I haven't asked you to dine with me anywhere to-night.
ALGERNON
I know. You are absurdly careless about sending out invitations. It is very
foolish of you. Nothing annoys people so much as not receiving invitations.
JACK
You had much better dine with your Aunt Augusta.
ALGERNON
I haven’t the smallest intention of doing anything of the kind. To begin with,
I dined there on Monday, and once a week is quite enough to dine with one’s own
relations. In the second place, whenever I do dine there I am always treated as
a member of the family, and sent down with either no woman at all, or two. In
the third place, I know perfectly well whom she will place me next to,
to-night. She will place me next Mary Farquhar, who always flirts with her own
husband across the dinner-table. That is not very pleasant. Indeed, it is not
even decent . . . and that sort of thing is enormously on the increase. The
amount of women in London who
flirt with their own husbands is perfectly scandalous. It looks so bad. It is
simply washing one’s clean linen in public. Besides, now that I know you to be
a confirmed Bunburyist I naturally want to talk to you about Bunburying. I want
to tell you the rules.
JACK
I’m not a Bunburyist at all. If Gwendolen accepts me, I am going to kill my
brother, indeed I think I’ll kill him in any case. Cecily is a little too much
interested in him. It is rather a bore. So I am going to get rid of Ernest. And
I strongly advise you to do the same with Mr. . . . with your invalid friend
who has the absurd name.
ALGERNON
Nothing will induce me to part with Bunbury, and 18 if you ever get married, which seems to me
extremely problematic, you will be very glad to know Bunbury. A man who marries
without knowing Bunbury has a very tedious time of it.
JACK
That is nonsense. If I marry a charming girl like Gwendolen, and she is the
only girl I ever saw in my life that I would marry, I certainly won’t want to
know Bunbury.
ALGERNON
Then your wife will. You don’t seem to realize, that in married life three is
company and two is none.
JACK
That, my dear young friend, is the theory that the corrupt French Drama has
been propounding for the last fifty years.
ALGERNON
Yes; and that the happy English home has proved in half the time.
JACK
For heaven’s sake, don’t try to be cynical. It’s perfectly easy to be cynical.
ALGERNON
My dear fellow, it isn’t easy to be anything now-a-days. There’s such a lot of
beastly competition about. [The sound of an electric bell is
heard.] Ah! that must be Aunt Augusta. Only relatives, or creditors,
ever ring in that Wagnerian manner. Now, if I get her out of the way for ten
minutes, so that you can have an opportunity for proposing to Gwendolen, may I
dine with you to-night at Willis’s?
JACK
I suppose so, if you want to.
ALGERNON
Yes, but you must be serious about it. I hate people who are not serious about
meals. It is so shallow of them.
LANE
Lady Bracknell and Miss Fairfax.
LADY BRACKNELL
Good afternoon, dear Algernon, I hope you are behaving very well.
ALGERNON
I’m feeling very well, Aunt Augusta.
LADY BRACKNELL
That’s not quite the same thing. In fact the two things rarely go together.
ALGERNON
Dear me, you are smart!
GWENDOLEN
I am always smart! Aren’t I, Mr. Worthing?
JACK
You’re quite perfect, Miss Fairfax.
GWENDOLEN
Oh! I hope I am not that. It would leave no room for developments, and I intend
to develop in many directions.
LADY BRACKNELL
I’m sorry if we are a little late, Algernon, but I was obliged to call on dear
Lady Harbury. I hadn’t been there since her poor husband’s death. I never saw a
woman so altered ; she looks quite twenty years younger. And now I’ll have a
cup of tea, and one of those nice cucumber sandwiches you promised me.
ALGERNON
Certainly, Aunt Augusta.
LADY BRACKNELL
Won’t you come and sit here, Gwendolen?
GWENDOLEN
Thanks, mamma, I’m quite comfortable where I am.
ALGERNON
Good heavens! Lane! Why are there no cucumber sandwiches? I ordered them
specially.
LANE
There were no cucumbers in the market this morning, sir. I went down twice.
ALGERNON
No cucumbers!
LANE
No, sir. Not even for ready money.
ALGERNON
That will do, Lane, thank you.
LANE
Thank you, sir.
ALGERNON
I am greatly distressed, Aunt Augusta, about there being no cucumbers, not even
for ready money.
LADY BRACKNELL
It really makes no matter, Algernon. I had some crumpets with Lady Harbury, who
seems to me to be living entirely for pleasure now.
ALGERNON
I hear her hair has turned quite gold from grief.
LADY BRACKNELL
It certainly has changed its colour. From what cause I, of course, cannot say.
[Algernon crosses and hands tea.] Thank you. I’ve quite a
treat for you to-night, Algernon. I am going to send you down with Mary
Farquhar. She is such a nice woman, and so attentive to her husband. It’s
delightful to watch them.
ALGERNON
I am afraid, Aunt Augusta, I shall have to give up the pleasure of dining with
you to-night after all.
LADY BRACKNELL
I hope not, Algernon. It would put my table completely out. Your uncle would
have to dine upstairs. Fortunately he is accustomed to that.
ALGERNON
It is a great bore, and, I need hardly say, a terrible disappointment to me,
but the fact is I have just had a telegram to say that my poor friend Bunbury
is very ill again. [Exchanges glances with Jack.] They seem to
think I should be with him.
LADY BRACKNELL
It is very strange. This Mr. Bunbury seems to suffer from curiously bad health.
ALGERNON
Yes; poor Bunbury is a dreadful invalid.
LADY BRACKNELL
Well, I must say, Algernon, that I think it is high time that Mr. Bunbury made
up his mind whether he was going to live or to die. This shilly-shallying with
the question is absurd. Nor do I in any way approve of the modern sympathy with
invalids. I consider it morbid. Illness of any kind is hardly a thing to be
encouraged in others. Health is the primary duty of life. I am always telling
that to your poor uncle, but he never seems to take much notice . . . as far as
any improvement in his ailments 24
goes. I should be much obliged if you would ask Mr. Bunbury, from me, to be
kind enough not to have a relapse on Saturday, for I rely on you to arrange my
music for me. It is my last reception, and one wants something that will
encourage conversation, particularly at the end of the season when everyone has
practically said whatever they had to say, which, in most cases, was probably
not much.
ALGERNON
I’ll speak to Bunbury, Aunt Augusta, if he is still conscious, and I think I
can promise you he’ll be all right by Saturday. Of course the music is a great
difficulty. You see, if one plays good music, people don’t listen, and if one
plays bad music people don’t talk. But I’ll run over the programme I’ve drawn
out, if you will kindly come into the next room for a moment.
LADY BRACKNELL
Thank you, Algernon. It is very thoughtful of you. [Rising, and
following Algernon.] I’m sure the programme will be delightful,
after a few expurgations. French songs I cannot possibly allow. People always
seem to think that they are improper, and either look shocked, which is vulgar,
or laugh, which is worse. But German sounds a thoroughly respectable language,
and indeed, I believe is so. Gwendolen, you will accompany me.
GWENDOLEN
Certainly, mamma.
JACK
Charming day it has been, Miss Fairfax.
GWENDOLEN
Pray don’t talk to me about the weather, Mr. Worthing. Whenever people talk to
me about the weather, I always feel quite certain that they mean something
else. And that makes me so nervous.
JACK
I do mean something else.
GWENDOLEN
I thought so. In fact, I am never wrong.
JACK
And I would like to be allowed to take advantage of Lady Bracknell’s temporary
absence . . .
GWENDOLEN
I would certainly advise you to do so. Mamma has a way of coming back suddenly
into a room that I have often had to speak to her about.
JACK
[Nervously.] Miss Fairfax, ever since I
met you I have admired you more than any girl . . . I have ever met since . . .
I met you.
GWENDOLEN
Yes, I am quite aware of the fact. And I often wish that in public, at any
rate, you had been more demonstrative. For me you have always had an
irresistible fascination. Even before I met you I was far from indifferent to
you. [Jack looks at her in amazement.] We
live, as I hope you know, Mr. Worthing, in an age of ideals. The fact is
constantly mentioned in the more expensive monthly magazines, and has reached
the provincial pulpits I am told; and my ideal has always been to love some one
of the name of Ernest. There is something in that name that inspires absolute
confidence. The moment Algernon first mentioned to me that he had a friend
called Ernest, I knew I was destined to love you.
JACK
You really love me, Gwendolen?
GWENDOLEN
Passionately!
JACK
Darling! You don't know how happy you've made me.
GWENDOLEN
My own Ernest!
JACK
But you don't really mean to say that you couldn't love me if my name wasn't
Ernest?
GWENDOLEN
But your name is Ernest.
JACK
Yes, I know it is. But supposing it was something else? Do you mean to say you
couldn't love me then?
GWENDOLEN
[Glibly.] Ah! that is clearly a
metaphysical speculation, and like most metaphysical speculations has very
little reference at all to the actual facts of real life, as we know them.
JACK
Personally, darling, to speak quite candidly, I don't much care about the name
of Ernest . . . I don't think the name suits me at all.
GWENDOLEN
It suits you perfectly. It is a divine name. It has a music of its own. It
produces vibrations.
JACK
Well, really, Gwendolen, I must say that I think there are lots of other much
nicer names. I think Jack, for instance, a charming name.
GWENDOLEN
Jack? . . . No, there is very little music in the name Jack, if any at all,
indeed. It does not thrill. It produces absolutely no vibrations . . . I have
known several Jacks, and they all, without exception, were more than usually
plain. Besides, Jack is a notorious domesticity for John! And I pity any woman
who is married to a man called John. She would probably never be allowed to
know the entrancing pleasure of a single moment's solitude. The only really
safe name is Ernest.
JACK
Gwendolen, I must get christened at once--I mean we must get married at once.
There is no time to be lost.
GWENDOLEN
Married, Mr. Worthing?
JACK
[Astounded.] Well . . . surely. You know
that I love you, and you led me to believe, Miss Fairfax, that you were not
absolutely indifferent to me.
GWENDOLEN
I adore you. But you haven't proposed to me yet. Nothing has been said at all
about marriage. The subject has not even been touched on.
JACK
Well . . . may I propose to you now?
GWENDOLEN
I think it would be an admirable opportunity. And to spare you any possible
disappointment, Mr. Worthing, I think it only fair to tell you quite frankly
beforehand that I am fully determined to accept you.
JACK
Gwendolen!
GWENDOLEN
Yes, Mr. Worthing, what have you got to say to me?
JACK
You know what I have got to say to you.
GWENDOLEN
Yes, but you don't say it.
JACK
Gwendolen, will you marry me? [Goes on his
knees.]
GWENDOLEN
Of course I will, darling. How long you have been about it! I am afraid you
have had very little experience in how to propose.
JACK
My own one, I have never loved anyone in the world but you.
GWENDOLEN
Yes, but men often propose for practice. I know my brother Gerald does. All my
girl-friends tell me so. What wonderfully blue eyes you have, Ernest! They are
quite, quite, blue. I hope you will always look at me just like that,
especially when there are other people present.
LADY BRACKNELL
Mr. Worthing! Rise, sir, from this semi-recumbent posture. It is most
indecorous.
GWENDOLEN
Mamma! [He tries to rise; she restrains
him.] I must beg you to retire. This is no place for you.
Besides, Mr. Worthing has not quite finished yet.
LADY BRACKNELL
Finished what, may I ask?
GWENDOLEN
I am engaged to Mr. Worthing, mamma. [They rise
together.]
LADY BRACKNELL
Pardon me, you are not engaged to anyone. When you do become engaged to some
one, I, or your father, should his health permit him, will inform you of the
fact. An engagement should come on a young girl as a surprise, pleasant or
unpleasant, as the case may be. It is hardly a matter that she could be allowed
to arrange for herself. . . . And now I have a few questions to put to you, Mr.
Worthing. While I am making these inquiries, you, Gwendolen, will wait for me
below in the carriage.
GWENDOLEN
[Reproachfully.] Mamma!
LADY BRACKNELL
In the carriage, Gwendolen!Gwendolen, the carriage!
GWENDOLEN
Yes, mamma.
LADY BRACKNELL
[Sitting down.] You can take a seat, Mr.
Worthing.
JACK
Thank you, Lady Bracknell, I prefer standing.
LADY BRACKNELL
[Pencil and note-book in hand.] I feel
bound to tell you that you are not down on my list of eligible young men,
although I have the same list as the dear Duchess of Bolton has. We work
together, in fact. However, I am quite ready to enter your name, should your
answers be what a really affectionate mother requires. Do you smoke?
JACK
Well, yes, I must admit I smoke.
LADY BRACKNELL
I am glad to hear it. A man should always have an occupation of some kind.
There are far too many idle men in London as it is. How old are you?
JACK
Twenty-nine.
LADY BRACKNELL
A very good age to be married at. I have always been of opinion that a man who
desires to get married should know either everything or nothing. Which do you
know?
JACK
[After some hesitation.]I know nothing, Lady Bracknell.
LADY BRACKNELL
I am pleased to hear it. I do not approve of anything that tampers with
natural ignorance. Ignorance is like a delicate exotic fruit; touch it and the
bloom is gone. The whole theory of modern education is radically unsound.
Fortunately in England, at any rate, education produces no effect whatsoever.
If it did, it would prove a serious danger to the upper classes, and probably
lead to acts of violence in Grosvenor Square. What is your income?
JACK
Between seven and eight thousand a year.
LADY BRACKNELL
[Makes a note in her book.]In land, or in investments?
JACK
In investments, chiefly.
LADY BRACKNELL
That is satisfactory. What between the duties expected of one during one's
lifetime, and the duties exacted from one after one's death, land has ceased
34 to be either a profit or a pleasure.
It gives one position, and prevents one from keeping it up. That's all that can
be said about land.
JACK
I have a country house with some land, of course, attached to it, about
fifteen hundred acres, I believe; but I don't depend on that for my real
income. In fact, as far as I can make out, the poachers are the only people who
make anything out of it.
LADY BRACKNELL
A country house! How many bedrooms? Well, that point can be cleared up
afterwards. You have a town house, I hope? A girl with a simple, unspoiled
nature, like Gwendolen, could hardly be expected to reside in the country.
JACK
Well, I own a house in Belgrave Square, but it is let by the year to Lady
Bloxham. Of course, I can get it back whenever I like, at six months' notice.
LADY BRACKNELL
Lady Bloxham? I don't know her.
JACK
Oh, she goes about very little. She is a lady considerably advanced in years.
LADY BRACKNELL
Ah, now-a-days that is no guarantee of respectability of character. What
number in Belgrave Square?
JACK
149
LADY BRACKNELL
The unfashionable side. I thought there was something. However, that could
easily be altered.
JACK
Do you mean the fashion, or the side?
LADY BRACKNELL
[Sternly.] Both, if necessary, I presume. What are your
politics?
JACK
Well, I am afraid I really have none. I am a Liberal Unionist.
LADY BRACKNELL
Oh, they count as Tories. They dine with us. Or come in the evening, at any
rate. Now to minor matters. Are your parents living?
JACK
I have lost both my parents.
LADY BRACKNELL
Both? . . . That seems like carelessness. Who was your father? He was evidently
a man of some wealth. Was he born in what the Radical papers call the purple of
commerce, or did he rise from the ranks of the aristocracy?
JACK
I am afraid I really don’t know. The fact is, Lady Bracknell, I said I had
lost my parents. It would be nearer the truth to say that my parents seem to
have lost me . . . I don’t actually know who I am by birth. I was . . . well, I was
found.
LADY BRACKNELL
Found!
JACK
The late Mr. Thomas Cardew, an old gentleman of a very charitable and kindly
disposition, found me, and gave me the name of Worthing, because he happened to
have a first-class ticket for Worthing in his pocket at the time. Worthing is a
place in Sussex. It is a seaside resort.
LADY BRACKNELL
Where did the charitable gentleman who had a first-class ticket for this
seaside resort find you?
JACK
[Gravely.] In a hand-bag.
LADY BRACKNELL
A hand-bag?
JACK
[Very seriously.] Yes, Lady Bracknell. I was in a hand-bag--a
somewhat large, black leather hand-bag, with handles to it--an ordinary
hand-bag in fact.
LADY BRACKNELL
In what locality did this Mr. James, or Thomas, Cardew come across this
ordinary hand-bag?
JACK
In the cloak-room at Victoria Station. It was given to him in mistake for his
own.
LADY BRACKNELL
The cloak-room at Victoria Station?
JACK
Yes. The Brighton line.
LADY BRACKNELL
The line is immaterial. Mr. Worthing, I confess I feel somewhat bewildered by
what you have just 38 told me. To be
born, or at any rate bred, in a hand-bag, whether it had handles or not, seems
to me to display a contempt for the ordinary decencies of family life that
remind one of the worst excesses of the French Revolution. And I presume you
know what that unfortunate movement led to? As for the particular locality in
which the hand-bag was found, a cloak-room at a railway station might serve to
conceal a social indiscretion--has probably, indeed, been used for that purpose
before now--but it could hardly be regarded as an assured basis for a
recognized position in good society.
JACK
May I ask you then what you would advise me to do? I need hardly say I would
do anything in the world to ensure Gwendolen’s happiness.
LADY BRACKNELL
I would strongly advise you, Mr. Worthing, to try and acquire some relations
as soon as possible, and to make a definite effort to produce at any rate one
parent, of either sex, before the season is quite over.
JACK
Well, I don’t see how I could possibly manage to do that. I can produce the
hand-bag at any moment. It is in my dressing-room at home. I really think that
should satisfy you, Lady Bracknell.
LADY BRACKNELL
Me, sir! What has it to do with me? You can hardly imagine that I and Lord
Bracknell would dream of allowing our only daughter--a girl brought up with the
utmost care--to marry into a cloak-room, and form an alliance with a parcel?
Good morning, Mr. Worthing!
JACK
Good morning! For goodness’ sake don’t play that ghastly tune, Algy! How idiotic you are!
ALGERNON
Didn’t it go off all right, old boy? You don’t mean to say Gwendolen refused
you? I know it is a way she has. She is always refusing people. I think it is
most ill-natured of her.
JACK
Oh, Gwendolen is as right as a trivet. As far as she is concerned, we are
engaged. Her mother is perfectly unbearable. Never met such a Gorgon. . . I
don’t really know what a Gorgon is like, but I am quite sure that Lady
Bracknell is one. In any case, she is a monster, without being a myth, which is
40 rather unfair . . . I beg your pardon,
Algy, I suppose I shouldn’t talk about your own aunt in that way before you.
ALGERNON
My dear boy, I love hearing my relations abused. It is the only thing that
makes me put up with them at all. Relations are simply a tedious pack of
people, who haven’t got the remotest knowledge of how to live, nor the smallest
instinct about when to die.
JACK
Oh, that is nonsense!
ALGERNON
It isn’t!
JACKALGERNONJACK
Well, I won’t argue about the matter. You always want to argue about things. That is exactly what things were originally made for. Upon my word, if I thought that, I’d shoot myself . . . [A
pause.] You don’t think there is any chance of Gwendolen becoming
like her mother in about a hundred and fifty years, do you Algy?
ALGERNON
All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That’s
his.
JACK
Is that clever?
ALGERNON
It is perfectly phrased! and quite as true as any observation in civilized life
should be.
JACK
I am sick to death of cleverness. Everybody is clever now-a-days. You can’t go
anywhere without meeting clever people. The thing has become an absolute public
nuisance. I wish to goodness we had a few fools left.
ALGERNON
We have.
JACK
I should extremely like to meet them. What do they talk about?
ALGERNON
The fools? Oh! about the clever people, of course.
JACK
What fools!
ALGERNON
By the way, did you tell Gwendolen the truth about your being Ernest in town,
and Jack in the country?
JACK
[In a very patronising manner.] My dear fellow, the truth isn’t
quite the sort of thing one tells to a nice sweet refined girl. What
extraordinary ideas you have about the way to behave to a woman!
ALGERNON
The only way to behave to a woman is to make love to her, if she is pretty,
and to someone else if she is plain.
JACK
Oh, that is nonsense.
ALGERNON
What about your brother? What about the profligate Ernest?
JACK
Oh, before the end of the week I shall have got rid of him. I’ll say he died in
Paris of apoplexy. Lots of people die of apoplexy, quite suddenly, don’t
they?
ALGERNON
Yes, but it’s hereditary, my dear fellow. It’s a sort of thing that runs in
families. You had much better say a severe chill.
JACK
You are sure a severe chill isn’t hereditary, or anything of that kind?
ALGERNON
Of course it isn’t!
JACK
Very well, then. My poor brother Ernest is carried off suddenly in Paris, by a
severe chill. That gets rid of him.
ALGERNON
But I thought you said that . . . Miss Cardew was a little too much interested in
your poor brother Ernest? Won’t she feel his loss a good deal?
JACK
Oh, that is all right. Cecily is not a silly romantic girl, I am glad to say.
She has got a capital appetite, goes long walks, and pays no attention at all
to her lessons.
ALGERNON
I would rather like to see Cecily.
JACK
I will take very good care you never do. She is excessively pretty, and she is
only just eighteen.
ALGERNON
Have you told Gwendolen yet that you have an excessively pretty ward who is
only just eighteen?
JACK
Oh! one doesn’t blurt these things out to people. Cecily and Gwendolen are
perfectly certain to be extremely great friends. I’ll bet you anything you like
that half an hour after they have met, they will be calling each other
sister.
ALGERNON
Women only do that when they have called each other a lot of other things
first. Now, my dear boy, if we want to get a good table at Willis’s, we really
must go and dress. Do you know it is nearly seven?
JACK
[Irritably.] Oh! it always is nearly seven.
ALGERNON
Well, I’m hungry.
JACK
I never knew you when you weren’t...
ALGERNON
What shall we do after dinner? Go to a theatre?
JACK
Oh no! I loathe listening.
ALGERNON
Well, let us go to the Club?
JACK
Oh, no! I hate talking.
ALGERNON
Well, we might trot round to the Empire at ten?
JACK
Oh no! I can’t bear looking at things. It is so silly.
ALGERNON
Well, what shall we do?
JACK
Nothing!
ALGERNON
It is awfully hard work doing nothing. However, I don’t mind hard work where
there is no definite object of any kind.
LANE
Miss Fairfax.
Gwendolen, upon my word!
GWENDOLEN
Algy, kindly turn your back. I have something very particular to say to Mr.
Worthing.
ALGERNON
Really, Gwendolen, I don’t think I can allow this at all.
GWENDOLEN
Algy, you always adopt a strictly immoral attitude towards life. You are not
quite old enough to do that. [Algernon retires to the fireplace.]
JACK
My own darling!
GWENDOLEN
Ernest, we may never be married. From the expression on mamma’s face I fear we
never shall. Few parents now-a-days pay any regard to what their children say
to them. The old-fashioned respect for the young is fast dying out. Whatever
influence I ever had over mamma, I lost at the age of three. But although she
may prevent us from becoming man and wife, and I may marry someone else, and
marry often, nothing that she can possibly do can alter my eternal devotion to
you.
JACK
Dear Gwendolen!
GWENDOLEN
The story of your romantic origin, as related to me by mamma, with unpleasing
comments, has naturally stirred the deeper fibres of my nature. Your Christian
name has an irresistible fascination. The simplicity of your character makes
you exquisitely incomprehensible to me. Your town address at the Albany I have.
What is your address in the country?
JACK
The Manor House, Woolton, Hertfordshire.
GWENDOLEN
There is a good postal service, I suppose? It may be necessary to do something
desperate. That of course will require serious consideration. I will
communicate with you daily.
JACK
My own one!
GWENDOLEN
How long do you remain in town?
JACK
Till Monday.
GWENDOLEN
Good! Algy, you may turn round now.
ALGERNON
Thanks, I’ve turned round already.
GWENDOLEN
You may also ring the bell.
JACK
You will let me see you to your carriage, my own darling?
GWENDOLEN
Certainly.
JACK
[To Lane, who now enters.] I will see Miss Fairfax out.
LANE
Yes, sir. [Jack and Gwendolen go off.]
[Lane presents several letters on a salver to Algernon.] [It is to be
surmised that they are bills, as Algernon after looking at the envelopes,
tears them up.]
ALGERNON
A glass of sherry, Lane.
LANE
Yes, sir.
ALGERNON
To-morrow, Lane, I’m going Bunburying.
LANE
Yes, sir.
ALGERNON
I shall probably not be back till Monday. You can put up my dress clothes, my
smoking jacket, and all the Bunbury suits...
LANE
Yes, sir. [Handing sherry.]
ALGERNON
I hope to-morrow will be a fine day, Lane.
LANE
It never is, sir.
ALGERNON
Lane, you're a perfect pessimist.
LANE
I do my best to give satisfaction, sir.
JACK
There’s a sensible, intellectual girl! the only girl I ever cared for in my
life. [Algernon is laughing immoderately.] What on earth are you
so amused at?
ALGERNON
Oh, I’m a little anxious about poor Bunbury, that is all.
JACK
If you don’t take care, your friend Bunbury will get you into a serious scrape
some day.
ALGERNON
I love scrapes. They are the only things that are never serious.
JACK
Oh, that’s nonsense, Algy. You never talk anything but nonsense.
ALGERNON
Nobody ever does.
MISS PRISM
[Calling.] Cecily, Cecily! Surely such a utilitarian occupation
as the watering of flowers is rather Moulton’s duty than yours? Especially at a
moment when intellectual pleasures await you. Your German grammar is on the
table. Pray open it at page fifteen. We will repeat yesterday’s lesson.
CECILY
[Coming over very slowly.] But I don’t like German. It isn’t at
all a becoming language. I know perfectly well that I look quite plain after my
German lesson.
MISS PRISM
Child, you know how anxious your guardian is that you should improve yourself
in every way. He laid particular stress on your German, as he was leaving for
town yesterday. Indeed, he always lays stress on your German when he is leaving
for town.
CECILY
Dear Uncle Jack is so very serious! Sometimes he is so serious that I think he
cannot be quite well.
MISS PRISM
[Drawing herself up.] Your guardian enjoys the best of health,
and his gravity of demeanour is especially to be commended in one so
comparatively young as he is. I know no one who has a higher sense of duty and
responsibility.
CECILY
I suppose that is why he often looks a little bored when we three are
together.
MISS PRISM
Cecily! I am surprised at you. Mr. Worthing has many troubles in his life. Idle
merriment and triviality would be out of place in his conversation. You must
remember his constant anxiety about that unfortunate young man his brother.
CECILY
I wish Uncle Jack would allow that unfortunate young man, his brother, to come
down here sometimes. We might have a good influence over him, Miss Prism. I am
sure you certainly would. You know German, and geology, and things of that kind
influence a man very much. [Cecily begins to write in her
diary.]
MISS PRISM
[Shaking her head.] I do not think that even I could produce any
effect on a character that according to his own brother's admission is
irretrievably weak and vacillating. Indeed I am not sure that I would desire to
reclaim him. I am not in favour of this modern mania for turning bad people
into good people at a moment's notice. As a man sows so let him reap. You must
put away your diary, Cecily. I really don't see why you should keep a diary at
all.
CECILY
I keep a diary in order to enter the wonderful secrets of my life. If I didn't
write them down I should probably forget all about them.
MISS PRISM
Memory, my dear Cecily, is the diary that we all carry about with us.
CECILY
Yes, but it usually chronicles the things that have 58 never happened, and couldn't possibly have
happened. I believe that Memory is responsible for nearly all the three-volume
novels that Mudie sends us.
MISS PRISM
Do not speak slightingly of the three-volume novel, Cecily. I wrote one myself
in earlier days.
CECILY
Did you really, Miss Prism? How wonderfully clever you are! I hope it did not
end happily? I don't like novels that end happily. They depress me so much.
MISS PRISM
The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily. That is what Fiction means.
CECILY
I suppose so. But it seems very unfair. And was your novel ever published?
MISS PRISM
Alas! no. The manuscript unfortunately was abandoned. I use the word in the
sense of lost or mislaid. To your work, child, these speculations are
profitless.
CECILY
[Smiling.] But I see dear Dr. Chasuble coming up through the
garden.
MISS PRISM
[Rising and advancing.] Dr. Chasuble! This is indeed a
pleasure.
CHASUBLE
And how are we this morning? Miss Prism, you are, I trust, well?
CECILY
Miss Prism has just been complaining of a slight headache. I think it would do
her so much good to have a short stroll with you in the Park, Dr. Chasuble.
MISS PRISM
Cecily, I have not mentioned anything about a headache.
CECILY
No, dear Miss Prism, I know that, but I felt instinctively that you had a
headache. Indeed I was thinking about that, and not about my German lesson,
when the Rector came in.
CHASUBLE
I hope Cecily, you are not inattentive.
CECILY
Oh, I am afraid I am.
CHASUBLE
That is strange. Were I fortunate enough to be Miss Prism's pupil, I would hang
upon her lips. [Miss Prism glares.] I spoke metaphorically.--My
metaphor was drawn from bees. Ahem! Mr. Worthing I suppose, has not returned
from town yet?
MISS PRISM
We do not expect him till Monday afternoon.
CHASUBLE
Ah yes, he usually likes to spend his Sunday in London. He is not one of those whose sole aim is
enjoyment, as, by all accounts, that unfortunate young man his brother seems to
be. But I must not disturb Egeria and her pupil any longer.
MISS PRISM
Egeria? My name is Laetitia, Doctor.
CHASUBLE
[Bowing.] A classical allusion merely, drawn from the Pagan
authors. I shall see you both no doubt at Evensong?
MISS PRISM
I think, dear Doctor, I will have a stroll with you. I find I have a headache
after all, and a walk might do it good.
CHASUBLE
With pleasure, Miss Prism, with pleasure. We might go as far as the schools and
back.
MISS PRISM
That would be delightful. Cecily, you will read your Political Economy in my
absence. The chapter on the Fall of the Rupee you may omit. It is somewhat too
sensational. Even these metallic problems have their melodramatic side.
CECILY
Horrid Political Economy! Horrid Geography! Horrid, horrid German!
MERRIMAN
Mr. Ernest Worthing has just driven over from the station. He has brought his
luggage with him.
CECILY
[Takes the card and reads it.]“Mr. Ernest Worthing, B. 4 The
Albany, W." Uncle Jack’s brother! Did you tell him Mr. Worthing was in
town?
MERRIMAN
Yes, Miss. He seemed very much disappointed. I mentioned that you and Miss
Prism were in the garden. He said he was anxious to speak to you privately for
a moment.
CECILY
Ask Mr. Ernest Worthing to come here. I suppose you had better talk to the
housekeeper about a room for him.
MERRIMAN
Yes, Miss.
CECILY
I have never met any really wicked person before. I feel rather frightened. I
am so afraid he will look just like everyone else. JHe does!
ALGERNON
[Raising his hat.] You are my little cousin Cecily, I’m sure.
CECILY
You are under some strange mistake. I am not little. In fact, I believe I am
more than usually tall for my age. [Algernon is rather taken
aback.] But I am your cousin Cecily. You, I see from your 63 card, are Uncle Jack’s brother, my cousin
Ernest, my wicked cousin Ernest.
ALGERNON
Oh! I am not really wicked at all, cousin Cecily. You mustn’t think that I am
wicked.
CECILY
If you are not, then you have certainly been deceiving us all in a very
inexcusable manner. I hope you have not been leading a double life, pretending
to be wicked and being really good all the time. That would be hypocrisy.
ALGERNON
[Looks at her in amazement.]Oh! Of course I have been rather
reckless.
CECILY
I am glad to hear it.
ALGERNON
In fact, now you mention the subject, I have been very bad in my own small way.
CECILY
I don’t think you should be so proud of that, though I am sure it must have
been very pleasant.
ALGERNON
It is much pleasanter being here with you.
CECILY
I can’t understand how you are here at all. Uncle Jack won’t be back till
Monday afternoon.
ALGERNON
That is a great disappointment. I am obliged to go up by the first train on
Monday morning. I have a business appointment that I am anxious . . . to miss.
CECILY
Couldn’t you miss it anywhere but in London.
ALGERNON
No: the appointment is in London.
CECILY
Well, I know, of course, how important it is not to keep a business engagement,
if one wants to retain any sense of the beauty of life, but still I think you
had better wait till Uncle Jack arrives. I know he wants to speak to you about
your emigrating.
ALGERNON
About my what?
CECILY
Your emigrating. He has gone up to buy your outfit.
ALGERNON
I certainly wouldn’t let Jack buy my outfit. He has no taste in neckties at
all.
CECILY
I don’t think you will require neckties. Uncle Jack is sending you to
Australia.
ALGERNON
Australia! I’d sooner die.
CECILY
Well, he said at dinner on Wednesday night, that you would have to choose
between this world, the next world, and Australia.
ALGERNON
Oh, well! The accounts I have received of Australia and the next world, are not particularly encouraging.
This world is good enough for me, cousin Cecily.
CECILY
Yes, but are you good enough for it?
ALGERNON
I’m afraid I’m not that. That is why I want you to reform me. You might make
that your mission, if you don’t mind, cousin Cecily.
CECILY
I’m afraid I’ve no time, this afternoon.
ALGERNON
Well, would you mind my reforming myself this afternoon?
CECILY
It is rather Quixotic of you. But I think you should try.
ALGERNON
I will. I feel better already.
CECILY
You are looking a little worse.
ALGERNON
That is because I am hungry.
CECILY
How thoughtless of me. I should have remembered that when one is going to lead
an entirely new life, one requires regular and wholesome meals. Won’t you come
in?
ALGERNON
Thank you. Might I have a button-hole first? I never have any appetite unless I
have a button-hole first.
CECILY
A Maréshale Niel?[Picks up scissors.]
ALGERNON
No, I’d sooner have a pink rose.
CECILY
Why?[Cuts a flower.]
ALGERNON
Because you are like a pink rose, Cousin Cecily.
CECILY
I don’t think it can be right for you to talk to me like that. Miss Prism never
says such things to me.
ALGERNON
Then Miss Prism is a short-sighted old lady.[Cecily puts the rose in his
button-hole.] You are the prettiest girl I ever saw.
CECILY
Miss Prism says that all good looks are a snare.
ALGERNON
They are a snare that every sensible man would like to be caught in.
CECILY
Oh! I don’t think I would care to catch a sensible man. I shouldn’t know what
to talk to him about.
MISS PRISM
You are too much alone, dear Dr. Chasuble. You should get married. A
misanthrope I can understand--a womanthrope, never!
CHASUBLE
Believe me, I do not deserve so neologistic a phrase. The precept as well as
the practice of the Primitive Church was distinctly against matrimony.
MISS PRISM
That is obviously the reason why the Primitive Church has not lasted up to the
present day. And you do not seem to realize, dear Doctor, that by persistently
remaining single, a man converts himself into a permanent public temptation.
Men should be more careful; this very celibacy leads weaker vessels astray.
CHASUBLE
But is a man not equally attractive when married?
MISS PRISM
No married man is ever attractive except to his wife.
CHASUBLE
And often, I’ve been told, not even to her.
MISS PRISM
That depends on the intellectual sympathies of the woman. Maturity can always
be depended on. Ripeness can be trusted. Young women are green.[Dr.
Chasuble starts.]I spoke horticulturally. My metaphor was drawn from
fruits. But where is Cecily?
CHASUBLE
Perhaps she followed us to the schools.
MISS PRISM
Mr. Worthing!
CHASUBLE
Mr. Worthing?
MISS PRISM
This is indeed a surprise. We did not look for you till Monday afternoon.
JACK
I have returned sooner than I expected. Dr. Chasuble, I hope you are well?
CHASUBLE
Dear Mr. Worthing, I trust this garb of woe does not betoken some terrible
calamity?
JACK
My brother.
MISS PRISM
More shameful debts and extravagance?
CHASUBLE
Still leading his life of pleasure?
JACK
Dead!
CHASUBLE
Your brother Ernest dead?
JACK
Quite dead.
MISS PRISM
What a lesson for him! I trust he will profit by it.
CHASUBLE
Mr. Worthing, I offer you my sincere condolence. You have at least the
consolation of knowing that you were always the most generous and forgiving of
brothers.
JACK
Poor Ernest! He had many faults, but it is a sad, sad blow.
CHASUBLE
Very sad indeed. Were you with him at the end?
JACK
No. He died abroad; in Paris,
in fact. I had a telegram last night from the manager of the Grand Hotel.
CHASUBLE
Was the cause of death mentioned?
JACK
A severe chill, it seems.
MISS PRISM
As a man sows, so shall he reap.
CHASUBLE
Charity, dear Miss Prism, charity! None of us are perfect. I myself am
peculiarly susceptible to draughts. Will the interment take place here?
JACK
No. He seemed to have expressed a desire to be buried in Paris.
CHASUBLE
In Paris![Shakes his
head.] I fear that hardly points to any very serious state of mind
at the last. You would no doubt wish me to make some slight allusion to this
tragic domestic affliction next Sunday.[Jack presses his hand
convulsively.] My sermon on the meaning of the manna in the
wilderness can be adapted to almost any occasion, joyful, or, as in the present
case, distressing. [All sigh.] I have preached it at harvest
celebrations, christenings, confirmations, on days of humiliation and festal
days. The last time I delivered it was in the Cathedral, as a charity sermon on
behalf of the Society for the Prevention of Discontent among the Upper Orders.
The Bishop, who was present, was much struck by some of the analogies I
drew.
JACK
Ah! that reminds me, you mentioned christenings I think, Dr. Chasuble? I
suppose you know how to christen all right?[Dr. Chasuble looks
astounded.] I mean, of course, you are continually christening,
aren’t you?
MISS PRISM
It is, I regret to say, one of the Rector’s most constant duties in this
parish. I have often spoken to the poorer classes on the subject. But they
don’t seem to know what thrift is.
CHASUBLE
But is there any particular infant in whom you are interested, Mr. Worthing?
Your brother was, I believe, unmarried, was he not?
JACK
Oh yes.
MISS PRISM
[Bitterly.] People who live entirely for pleasure usually
are.
JACK
But it is not for any child, dear Doctor. I am very fond of children. No! the
fact is, I would like to be christened myself, this afternoon, if you have
nothing better to do.
CHASUBLE
But surely, Mr. Worthing, you have been christened already?
JACK
I don’t remember anything about it.
CHASUBLE
But have you any grave doubts on the subject?
JACK
I certainly intend to have. Of course I don’t know if the thing would bother
you in any way, or if you think I am a little too old now.
CHASUBLE
Not at all. The sprinkling, and, indeed, the immersion of adults is a perfectly
canonical practice.
JACK
Immersion!
CHASUBLE
You need have no apprehensions. Sprinkling is all that is necessary, or indeed
I think advisable. Our weather is so changeable. At what hour would you wish
the ceremony performed?
JACK
Oh, I might trot round about five if that would suit you.
CHASUBLE
Perfectly, perfectly! In fact I have two similar ceremonies to perform at that
time. A case of twins that occurred recently in one of the outlying
cottages
75
on your own estate. Poor Jenkins the carter, a most hard-working man.
JACK
Oh! I don’t see much fun in being christened along with other babies. It would
be childish. Would half-past five do?
CHASUBLE
Admirably! Admirably! [Takes out watch.] And now, dear Mr.
Worthing, I will not intrude any longer into a house of sorrow. I would merely
beg you not to be too much bowed down by grief. What seem to us bitter trials
are often blessings in disguise.
MISS PRISM
This seems to me a blessing of an extremely obvious kind.
CECILY
Uncle Jack! Oh, I am pleased to see you back. But what horrid clothes you have
got on! Do go and change them.
MISS PRISM
Cecily!
CHASUBLE
My child! my child!
CECILY
What is the matter, Uncle Jack? Do look happy! You look as if you had
toothache, and I have got such a surprise for you. Who do you think is in the
dining-room? Your brother!
JACK
Who?
CECILY
Your brother Ernest. He arrived about half an hour ago.
JACK
What nonsense! I haven’t got a brother.
CECILY
Oh, don’t say that. However badly he may have behaved to you in the past he is
still your brother. You couldn’t be so heartless as to disown him. I’ll tell
him to come out. And you will shake hands with him, won’t you, Uncle Jack?
[Runs back into the house.]
CHASUBLE
These are very joyful tidings.
MISS PRISM
After we had all been resigned to his loss, his sudden return seems to me
peculiarly distressing.
JACK
My brother is in the dining-room? I don’t know what it all means. I think it is
perfectly absurd.
JACK
Good heavens!
ALGERNON
Brother John, I have come down from town to tell you that I am very sorry for
all the trouble I have given you, and that I intend to lead a better life in
the future.
CECILY
Uncle Jack, you are not going to refuse your own brother’s hand?
JACK
Nothing will induce me to take his hand. I think his coming down here
disgraceful. He knows perfectly well why.
CECILY
Jack, do be nice. There is some good in everyone. Ernest has just been telling
me about his poor invalid friend Mr. Bunbury whom he goes to visit so often.
And surely there must be much good in one who is kind to an invalid, and leaves
the pleasures of London to sit
by a bed of pain.
JACK
Oh! he has been talking about Bunbury has he?
CECILY
Yes, he has told me all about poor Mr. Bunbury, and his terrible state of
health.
JACK
Bunbury! Well, I won’t have him talk to you about Bunbury or about anything
else. It is enough to drive one perfectly frantic.
ALGERNON
Of course I admit that the faults were all on my side. But I must say that I
think that Brother John’s coldness to me is peculiarly painful. I expected a
more enthusiastic welcome, especially considering it is the first time I have
come here.
CECILY
Uncle Jack, if you don’t shake hands with Ernest I will never forgive you.
JACK
Never forgive me?
CECILY
Never, never, never!
JACK
Well, this is the last time I shall ever do it.
CHASUBLE
It’s pleasant, is it not, to see so perfect a reconciliation? I think we might
leave the two brothers together.
MISS PRISM
Cecily, you will come with us.
CECILY
Certainly, Miss Prism. My little task of reconciliation is over.
CHASUBLE
You have done a beautiful action to-day, dear child.
MISS PRISM
We must not be premature in our judgments.
CECILY
I feel very happy.
JACK
You young scoundrel, Algy, you must get out of this place as soon as possible.
I don’t allow any Bunburying here.
MERRIMAN
I have put Mr. Ernest’s things in the room next to yours, sir. I suppose that
is all right?
JACK
What?
MERRIMAN
Mr. Ernest’s luggage, sir. I have unpacked it and put it in the room next to
your own.
JACK
His luggage?
MERRIMAN
Yes, sir. Three portmanteaus, a dressing-case, two hat-boxes, and a large
luncheon-basket.
ALGERNON
I am afraid I can’t stay more than a week this time.
JACK
Merriman, order the dog-cart at once. Mr. Ernest has been suddenly called back
to town.
MERRIMAN
Yes, sir. [Goes back into the house.]
ALGERNON
What a fearful liar you are, Jack. I have not been called back to town at
all.
JACK
Yes, you have.
ALGERNON
I haven’t heard anyone call me.
JACK
Your duty as a gentleman calls you back.
ALGERNON
My duty as a gentleman has never interfered with my pleasures in the smallest
degree.
JACK
I can quite understand that.
ALGERNON
Well, Cecily is a darling.
JACK
You are not to talk of Miss Cardew like that. I don’t like it.
ALGERNON
Well, I don’t like your clothes. You look perfectly ridiculous in them. Why on
earth don’t you go up and change? It is perfectly childish to be in deep
mourning for a man who is actually staying for a whole week with you in your
house as a guest. I call it grotesque.
JACK
You are certainly not staying with me for a whole week as a guest or anything
else. You have got to leave . . . by the four-five train.
ALGERNON
I certainly won’t leave you so long as you are in mourning. It would be most
unfriendly. If I were in mourning you would stay with me, I suppose. I should
think it very unkind if you didn’t.
JACK
Well, will you go if I change my clothes?
ALGERNON
Yes, if you are not too long. I never saw anybody take so long to dress, and
with such little result.
JACK
Well, at any rate, that is better than being always over-dressed as you
are.
ALGERNON
If I am occasionally a little over-dressed, I make up for it by being always
immensely over-educated.
JACK
Your vanity is ridiculous, your conduct an outrage, and your presence in my
garden utterly absurd. However, you have got to catch the four-five, and I hope
you will have a pleasant journey back to town. This Bunburying, as you call it,
has not been a great success for you. [Goes into the house.]
ALGERNON
I think it has been a great success. I’m in love with Cecily, and that is
everything.But I must see her before I go, and make arrangements for another Bunbury. Ah,
there she is.
CECILY
Oh, I merely came back to water the roses. I thought you were with Uncle
Jack.
ALGERNON
He’s gone to order the dog-cart for me.
CECILY
Oh, is he going to take you for a nice drive?
ALGERNON
He’s going to send me away.
CECILY
Then have we got to part?
ALGERNON
I am afraid so. It’s a very painful parting.
CECILY
It is always painful to part from people whom one has known for a very brief
space of time. The absence of old friends one can endure with equanimity. But
even a momentary separation from anyone to whom one has just been introduced is
almost unbearable.
ALGERNON
Thank you.
MERRIMAN
The dog-cart is at the door, sir.
CECILY
It can wait, Merriman . . . for . . . five minutes.
MERRIMAN
Yes, Miss.
ALGERNON
I hope, Cecily, I shall not offend you if I state quite frankly and openly that
you seem to me to be in every way the visible personification of absolute
perfection.
CECILY
I think your frankness does you great credit, Ernest. If you will allow me I
will copy your remarks into my diary. [Goes over to table and begins
writing in diary.]
ALGERNON
Do you really keep a diary? I’d give anything to look at it. May I?
CECILY
Oh no. [Puts her hand over it.] You see, it is simply a very
young girl’s record of her own thoughts and impressions, and consequently meant
for publication. When it appears in volume form I hope you will order a copy.
But pray, Ernest, don’t stop. I delight in taking down from dictation. I have
reached “absolute perfection." You can go on. I am quite ready for more.
ALGERNON
[Somewhat taken aback.] Ahem! Ahem!
CECILY
Oh, don’t cough, Ernest. When one is dictating one should speak fluently and
not cough. Besides, I don’t know how to spell a cough. [Writes as
Algernon speaks.]
ALGERNON
[Speaking very rapidly.] Cecily, ever since I first looked upon
your wonderful and incomparable beauty, I have dared to love you wildly,
passionately, devotedly, hopelessly.
CECILY
I don’t think that you should tell me that you love me wildly, passionately,
devotedly, hopelessly. Hopelessly doesn’t seem to make much sense, does it?
ALGERNON
Cecily!
MERRIMAN
The dog-cart is waiting, sir.
ALGERNON
Tell it to come round next week, at the same hour.
MERRIMAN
[Looks at Cecily, who makes no sign.] Yes, sir.
CECILY
Uncle Jack would be very much annoyed if he knew you were staying on till next
week, at the same hour.
ALGERNON
Oh, I don’t care about Jack. I don’t care for anybody in the whole world but
you. I love you, Cecily. You will marry me, won’t you?
CECILY
You silly boy! Of course. Why, we have been engaged for the last three months.
ALGERNON
For the last three months?
CECILY
Yes, it will be exactly three months on Thursday.
ALGERNON
But how did we become engaged?
CECILY
Well, ever since dear Uncle Jack first confessed to us that he had a younger
brother who was very wicked and bad, you of course have formed the chief topic
of conversation between myself and Miss Prism. And of course a man who is much
talked about is always very attractive. One feels there must be something in
him after all. I daresay it was foolish of me, but I fell in love with you,
Ernest.
ALGERNON
Darling! And when was the engagement actually settled?
CECILY
On the 14th of February last. Worn out by your entire ignorance of my
existence, I determined to end the matter one way or the other, and after a
long struggle with myself I accepted you under this dear old tree here. The
next day I bought this little ring in your name, and this is the little bangle
with the true lovers’ knot I promised you always to wear.
ALGERNON
Did I give you this? It’s very pretty, isn’t it?
CECILY
Yes, you’ve wonderfully good taste, Ernest. It’s the excuse I’ve always given
for your leading such a bad life. And this is the box in which I keep all your
dear letters. [Kneels at table, opens box, and produces letters tied up
with blue ribbon.]
ALGERNON
My letters! But my own sweet Cecily, I have never written you any letters.
CECILY
You need hardly remind me of that, Ernest. I remember only too well that I was
forced to write your letters for you. I wrote always three times a week, and
sometimes oftener.
ALGERNON
Oh, do let me read them, Cecily?
CECILY
Oh, I couldn’t possibly. They would make you far too conceited.
[Replaces box.] The three you wrote me after I had broken off
the engagement are so beautiful, and so badly spelled, that even now I can
hardly read them without crying a little.
ALGERNON
But was our engagement ever broken off?
CECILY
Of course it was. On the 22nd of last March. You can see the entry if you like.
[Shows diary.]
CECILY
“To-day I broke off my engagement with Ernest. I feel it is better to do so.
The weather still continues charming."
ALGERNON
But why on earth did you break it off? What had I done? I had done nothing at
all. Cecily, I am very much hurt indeed to hear you broke it off. Particularly
when the weather was so charming.
CECILY
It would hardly have been a really serious engagement if it hadn’t been broken
off at least once. But I forgave you before the week was out.
ALGERNON
[Crossing to her, and kneeling.] What a perfect angel you are,
Cecily.
CECILY
You dear romantic boy. [He kisses her, she puts her fingers through his
hair.] I hope your hair curls naturally, does it?
ALGERNON
Yes, darling, with a little help from others.
CECILY
I am so glad.
ALGERNON
You’ll never break off our engagement again, Cecily?
CECILY
I don’t think I could break it off now that I have actually met you. Besides,
of course, there is the question of your name.
ALGERNON
Yes, of course. [Nervously.]
CECILY
You must not laugh at me, darling, but it had always been a girlish dream of
mine to love some one whose name was Ernest. [Algernon rises, Cecily
also.] There is something in that name that seems to inspire
absolute confidence. I pity any poor married woman whose husband is not called
Ernest.
ALGERNON
But, my dear child, do you mean to say you could not love me if I had some
other name?
CECILY
But what name?
ALGERNON
Oh, any name you like--Algernon--for instance . . .
CECILY
But I don’t like the name of Algernon.
ALGERNON
Well, my own dear, sweet, loving little darling, I really can’t see why you
should object to the name of Algernon. It is not at all a bad name. In fact, it
is rather an aristocratic name. Half of the chaps who get into the Bankruptcy
Court are called Algernon. But seriously, Cecily . . . [Moving to
her] . . . if my name was Algy, couldn’t you love me?
CECILY
[Rising.] I might respect you, Ernest, I might admire your
character, but I fear that I should not be able to give you my undivided
attention.
ALGERNON
Ahem! Cecily! [Picking up hat.] Your Rector here is, I suppose,
thoroughly experienced in the practice of all the rites and ceremonials of the
Church?
CECILY
Oh yes. Dr. Chasuble is a most learned man. He has never written a single
book, so you can imagine how much he knows.
ALGERNON
I must see him at once on a most important christening--I mean on most
important business.
CECILY
Oh!
ALGERNON
I shan’t be away more than half an hour.
CECILY
Considering that we have been engaged since February the 14th, and that I only
met you to-day for the first time, I think it is rather hard that you should
leave me for so long a period as half an hour. Couldn’t you make it twenty
minutes?
ALGERNON
I’ll be back in no time. [Kisses her and rushes down the
garden.]
CECILY
What an impetuous boy he is! I like his hair so much. I must enter his proposal
in my diary.
MERRIMAN
A Miss Fairfax has just called to see Mr. Worthing. On very important business
Miss Fairfax states.
CECILY
Isn’t Mr. Worthing in his library?
MERRIMAN
Mr. Worthing went over in the direction of the Rectory some time ago.
CECILY
Pray ask the lady to come out here; Mr. Worthing is sure to be back soon. And
you can bring tea.
MERRIMAN
Yes, Miss.
CECILY
Miss Fairfax! I suppose one of the many good elderly women who are associated
with Uncle Jack in some of his philanthropic work in London. I don’t quite like women who are
interested in philanthropic work. I think it is so forward of them.
MERRIMAN
Miss Fairfax.
CECILY
[Advancing to meet her.] Pray let me introduce myself to you. My
name is Cecily Cardew.
GWENDOLEN
Cecily Cardew? [Moving to her and shaking hands.] What a very
sweet name! Something tells me that we are going to be great friends. I like
you already more than I can say. My first impressions of people are never
wrong.
CECILY
How nice of you to like me so much after we have known each other such a
comparatively short time. Pray sit down.
GWENDOLEN
[Still standing up.] I may call you Cecily, may I not?
CECILY
With pleasure!
GWENDOLEN
And you will always call me Gwendolen, won’t you.
CECILY
If you wish.
GWENDOLEN
Then that is all quite settled, is it not?
CECILY
I hope so.
GWENDOLEN
Perhaps this might be a favourable opportunity for my mentioning who I am. My
father is Lord Bracknell. You have never heard of papa, I suppose?
CECILY
I don’t think so.
GWENDOLEN
Outside the family circle, papa, I am glad to say, is entirely unknown. I think
that is quite as it should be. The home seems to me to be the proper sphere for
the man. And certainly once a man begins to neglect his domestic duties he
becomes painfully effeminate, does he not? And I don’t like that. It makes men
so very attractive. Cecily, mamma, whose views on education are remarkably
strict, has brought me up to be extremely short-sighted; it is part of her
system; so do you mind my looking at you through my glasses?
CECILY
Oh! not at all, Gwendolen. I am very fond of being looked at.
GWENDOLEN
[After examining Cecily carefully through a lorgnette.] You are
here on a short visit I suppose.
CECILY
Oh no! I live here.
GWENDOLEN
[Severely.] Really? Your mother, no doubt, or some female
relative of advanced years, resides here also?
CECILY
Oh no! I have no mother, nor, in fact, any relations.
GWENDOLEN
Indeed?
CECILY
My dear guardian, with the assistance of Miss Prism, has the arduous task of
looking after me.
GWENDOLEN
Your guardian?
CECILY
Yes, I am Mr. Worthing’s ward.
GWENDOLEN
Oh! It is strange he never mentioned to me that he had a ward. How secretive of
him! He grows more interesting hourly. I am not sure, however, that the news
inspires me with feelings of 98
unmixed delight. [Rising and going to her.] I am very fond of
you, Cecily; I have liked you ever since I met you! But I am bound to state
that now that I know that you are Mr. Worthing’s ward, I cannot help expressing
a wish you were--well just a little older than you seem to be--and not quite so
very alluring in appearance. In fact, if I may speak candidly--
CECILY
Pray do! I think that whenever one has anything unpleasant to say, one should
always be quite candid.
GWENDOLEN
Well, to speak with perfect candour, Cecily, I wish that you were fully
forty-two, and more than usually plain for your age. Ernest has a strong
upright nature. He is the very soul of truth and honour. Disloyalty would be as
impossible to him as deception. But even men of the noblest possible moral
character are extremely susceptible to the influence of the physical charms of
others. Modern, no less than Ancient History, supplies us with many most
painful examples of what I refer to. If it were not so, indeed, History would
be quite unreadable.
CECILY
I beg your pardon, Gwendolen, did you say Ernest?
GWENDOLEN
Yes.
CECILY
Oh, but it is not Mr. Ernest Worthing who is my guardian. It is his brother--his
elder brother.
GWENDOLEN
Ernest never mentioned to me that he had a brother.
CECILY
I am sorry to say they have not been on good terms for a long time.
GWENDOLEN
Ah! that accounts for it. And now that I think of it I have never heard any man
mention his brother. The subject seems distasteful to most men. Cecily, you
have lifted a load from my mind. I was growing almost anxious. It would have
been terrible if any cloud had come across a friendship like ours, would it
not? Of course you are quite, quite sure that it is not Mr. Ernest Worthing who
is your guardian?
CECILY
Quite sure. [A pause.] In fact, I am going to be his.
GWENDOLEN
I beg your pardon?
CECILY
Dearest Gwendolen, there is no reason why I should make a secret of it to you.
Our little county newspaper is sure to chronicle the fact next week. Mr. Ernest
Worthing and I are engaged to be married.
GWENDOLEN
My darling Cecily, I think there must be some slight error. Mr. Ernest Worthing
is engaged to me. The announcement will appear in the “Morning Post” on
Saturday at the latest.
CECILY
I am afraid you must be under some misconception. Ernest proposed to me exactly
ten minutes ago. [Shows diary.]
GWENDOLEN
It is certainly very curious, for he asked me to be his wife yesterday
afternoon at 5.30. If you would care to verify the incident, pray do so.
[Produces diary of her own.] I never travel without my diary.
One should always have something sensational to read in the train. I am so
sorry, dear Cecily, if it is any disappointment to you, but I am afraid I have
the prior claim.
CECILY
It would distress me more than I can tell you, dear Gwendolen, if it caused
you any mental or physical anguish, but I feel bound to point out that since
Ernest proposed to you he clearly has changed his mind.
GWENDOLEN
If the poor fellow has been entrapped into any foolish promise I shall consider
it my duty to rescue him at once, and with a firm hand.
CECILY
Whatever unfortunate entanglement my dear boy may have got into, I will never
reproach him with it after we are married.
GWENDOLEN
Do you allude to me, Miss Cardew, as an entanglement? You are presumptuous. On
an occasion of this kind it becomes more than a moral duty to speak one’s mind.
It becomes a pleasure.
CECILY
Do you suggest, Miss Fairfax, that I entrapped Ernest into an engagement? How
dare you? This is no time for wearing the shallow mask of manners. When I see a
spade I call it a spade.
GWENDOLEN
I am glad to say that I have never seen a spade. It is obvious that our social
spheres have been widely different.
MERRIMAN
Shall I lay tea here as usual, Miss?
CECILY
Yes, as usual.
GWENDOLEN
Are there many interesting walks in the vicinity, Miss Cardew?
CECILY
Oh! yes! a great many. From the top of one of the hills quite close one can see
five counties.
GWENDOLEN
Five counties! I don’t think I should like that. I hate crowds.
CECILY
I suppose that is why you live in town?
GWENDOLEN
Quite a well-kept garden this is, Miss Cardew.
CECILY
So glad you like it, Miss Fairfax.
GWENDOLEN
I had no idea there were any flowers in the country.
CECILY
Oh, flowers are as common here, Miss Fairfax, as people are in London.
GWENDOLEN
Personally I cannot understand how anybody manages to exist in the country, if
anybody who is anybody does. The country always bores me to death.
CECILY
Ah! This is what the newspapers call agricultural depression, is it not? I
believe the aristocracy are suffering very much from it just at present. It 104 is almost an epidemic
amongst them, I have been told. May I offer you some tea, Miss Fairfax?
GWENDOLEN
Thank you. [Aside.] Detestable girl! But I require tea!
CECILY
Sugar?
GWENDOLEN
No, thank you. Sugar is not fashionable any more.
CECILY
[Severely.] Cake or bread and butter?
GWENDOLEN
[In a bored manner.] Bread and butter, please. Cake is rarely
seen at the best houses nowadays.
CECILY
[Cuts a very large slice of cake, and puts it on the tray.] Hand
that to Miss Fairfax.
GWENDOLEN
You have filled my tea with lumps of sugar, and though I asked most distinctly
for bread and butter, you have given me cake. I am known for the gentleness of
my disposition, and the extraordinary sweetness of my nature, but I warn you,
Miss Cardew, you may go too far.
CECILY
To save my poor, innocent, trusting boy from the machinations of any other girl
there are no lengths to which I would not go.
GWENDOLEN
From the moment I saw you I distrusted you. I felt that you were false and
deceitful. I am never deceived in such matters. My first impressions of people
are invariably right.
CECILY
It seems to me, Miss Fairfax, that I am trespassing on your valuable time. No
doubt you have many other calls of a similar character to make in the
neighbourhood.
GWENDOLEN
Ernest! My own Ernest!
JACK
Gwendolen! Darling! [Offers to kiss her.]
GWENDOLEN
A moment! May I ask if you are engaged to be married to this young lady?
[Points to Cecily.]
JACK
To dear little Cecily! Of course not! What could have put such an idea into
your pretty little head?
GWENDOLEN
Thank you. You may!
CECILY
I knew there must be some misunderstanding, Miss Fairfax. The gentleman whose
arm is at present round your waist is my dear guardian, Mr. John Worthing.
GWENDOLEN
I beg your pardon?
CECILY
This is Uncle Jack.
GWENDOLEN
Jack! Oh!
CECILY
Here is Ernest.
ALGERNON
My own love! [Offers to kiss her.]
CECILY
A moment, Ernest! May I ask you--are you engaged to be married to this young
lady?
ALGERNON
To what young lady? Good heavens! Gwendolen!
CECILY
Yes! to good heavens, Gwendolen, I mean to Gwendolen.
ALGERNON
Of course not! What could have put such an idea into your pretty little head?
CECILY
Thank you.You may.
GWENDOLEN
I felt there was some slight error, Miss Cardew. The gentleman who is now
embracing you is my cousin, Mr. Algernon Moncrieff.
CECILY
Algernon Moncrieff! Oh!
CECILY
Are you called Algernon?
ALGERNON
I cannot deny it.
CECILY
Oh!
GWENDOLEN
Is your name really John?
JACK
I could deny it if I liked. I could deny anything if I liked. But my name
certainly is John. It has been John for years.
CECILY
A gross deception has been practised on both of us.
GWENDOLEN
My poor wounded Cecily!
CECILY
My sweet wronged Gwendolen!
GWENDOLEN
You will call me sister, will you not?
CECILY
There is just one question I would like to be allowed to ask my guardian.
GWENDOLEN
An admirable idea! Mr. Worthing, there is just one question I would like to be
permitted to put to you. Where is your brother Ernest? We are both engaged to
be married to your brother Ernest, so it is a matter of some importance to us
to know where your brother Ernest is at present.
JACK
Gwendolen--Cecily110--it is very
painful for me to be forced to speak the truth. It is the first time in my life
that I have ever been reduced to such a painful position, and I am really quite
inexperienced in doing anything of the kind. However I will tell you quite
frankly that I have no brother Ernest. I have no brother at all. I never had a
brother in my life, and I certainly have not the smallest intention of ever
having one in the future.
CECILY
No brother at all?
JACK
None!
GWENDOLEN
Had you never a brother of any kind?
JACK
Never. Not even of any kind.
GWENDOLEN
I am afraid it is quite clear, Cecily, that neither of us is engaged to be
married to anyone.
CECILY
It is not a very pleasant position for a young girl suddenly to find herself
in. Is it?
GWENDOLEN
Let us go into the house. They will hardly venture to come after us there.
CECILY
No, men are so cowardly, aren’t they?
JACK
This ghastly state of things is what you call Bunburying, I suppose?
ALGERNON
Yes, and a perfectly wonderful Bunbury it is. The most wonderful Bunbury I have
ever had in my life.
JACK
Well, you’ve no right whatsoever to Bunbury here.
ALGERNON
That is absurd. One has a right to Bunbury anywhere one chooses. Every serious
Bunburyist knows that.
JACK
Serious Bunburyist! Good heavens!
ALGERNON
Well, one must be serious about something, if one wants to have any amusement
in life. I happen to be serious about Bunburying. What on earth you are serious
about I haven’t got the remotest idea. About everything, I should fancy. You
have such an absolutely trivial nature.
JACK
Well, the only small satisfaction I have in the whole of this wretched business
is that your friend Bunbury is quite exploded. You won’t be able to run down to
the country quite so often as you used to do, dear Algy. And a very good thing
too.
ALGERNON
Your brother is a little off colour, isn’t he, dear Jack? You won’t be able to
disappear to London quite so
frequently as your wicked custom was. And not a bad thing either.
JACK
As for your conduct towards Miss Cardew, I must say that your taking in a
sweet, simple, innocent girl like that is quite inexcusable. To say nothing of
the fact that she is my ward.
ALGERNON
I can see no possible defence at all for your deceiving a brilliant, clever,
thoroughly experienced
young lady like Miss Fairfax. To say nothing of the fact that she is my
cousin.
JACK
I wanted to be engaged to Gwendolen, that is all. I love her.
ALGERNON
Well, I simply wanted to be engaged to Cecily. I adore her.
JACK
There is certainly no chance of your marrying Miss Cardew.
ALGERNON
I don’t think there is much likelihood, Jack, of you and Miss Fairfax being
united.
JACK
Well, that is no business of yours.
ALGERNON
If it was my business, I wouldn’t talk about it. [Begins to eat
muffins.] It is very vulgar to talk about one’s business. Only
people like stockbroker’s do that, and then merely at dinner parties.
JACK
How can you sit there, calmly eating muffins when
we are in this horrible trouble, I can’t make out. You seem to me to be
perfectly heartless.
ALGERNON
Well, I can’t eat muffins in an agitated manner. The butter would probably get
on my cuffs. One should always eat muffins quite calmly. It is the only way to
eat them.
JACK
I say it’s perfectly heartless your eating muffins at all, under the
circumstances.
ALGERNON
When I am in trouble, eating is the only thing that consoles me. Indeed, when I
am in really great trouble, as anyone who knows me intimately will tell you, I
refuse everything except food and drink. At the present moment I am eating
muffins because I am unhappy. Besides, I am particularly fond of muffins.
[Rising.]
JACK
[Rising.] Well, that is no reason why you should eat them all in
that greedy way. [Takes muffins from Algernon.]
ALGERNON
[Offering tea-cake.] I wish you would have tea-cake instead. I
don’t like tea-cake.
JACK
Good heavens! I suppose a man may eat his own muffins in his own garden.
ALGERNON
But you have just said it was perfectly heartless to eat muffins.
JACK
I said it was perfectly heartless of you, under the circumstances. That is a
very different thing.
ALGERNON
That may be. But the muffins are the same. [He seizes the muffin-dish
from Jack.]
JACK
Algy, I wish to goodness you would go.
ALGERNON
You can’t possibly ask me to go without having some dinner. It’s absurd. I
never go without my dinner. No one ever does, except vegetarians and people
like that. Besides I have just made arrangements with Dr. Chasuble to be
christened at a quarter to six under the name of Ernest.
JACK
My dear fellow, the sooner you give up that nonsense the better. I made
arrangements this morning with Dr. Chasuble to be christened myself at 5.30,
and I naturally will take the name of Ernest. Gwendolen would wish it. We can’t
both be christened Ernest. It’s absurd. Besides, I have a perfect right to be
christened if I like. There is no evidence at all that I ever have been
christened by anybody. I should think it extremely probable I never was, and so
does Dr. Chasuble. It is entirely different in your case. You have been
christened already.
ALGERNON
Yes, but I have not been christened for years.
JACK
Yes, but you have been christened. That is the important thing.
ALGERNON
Quite so. So I know my constitution can stand it. If you are not quite sure
about your ever having been christened, I must say I think it rather dangerous
your venturing on it now. It might make you very unwell. You can hardly have
forgotten that someone very closely connected with you was very nearly carried
off this week in Paris by a
severe chill.
JACK
Yes, but you said yourself that a severe chill was not hereditary.
ALGERNON
It usen’t to be, I know--but I daresay it is now. Science is always making
wonderful improvements in things.
JACK
[Picking up the muffin-dish.] Oh, that is nonsense; you are
always talking nonsense.
ALGERNON
Jack, you are at the muffins again! I wish you wouldn’t. There are only two
left. [Takes them.] I told you I was particularly fond of
muffins.
JACK
But I hate tea-cake.
ALGERNON
Why on earth then do you allow tea-cake to be served up for your guests? What
ideas you have of hospitality!
JACK
Algernon! I have already told you to go. I don’t want you here. Why don’t you
go!
ALGERNON
I haven’t quite finished my tea yet! and there is still one muffin left.
GWENDOLEN
The fact that they did not follow us at once into the house, as anyone else
would have done, seems to me to show that they have some sense of shame
left.
CECILY
They have been eating muffins. That looks like repentance.
GWENDOLEN
[After a pause.] They don’t seem to notice us at all. Couldn’t
you cough?
CECILY
But I haven’t got a cough.
GWENDOLEN
They’re looking at us. What effrontery!
CECILY
They’re approaching. That’s very forward of them.
GWENDOLEN
Let us preserve a dignified silence.
CECILY
Certainly. It’s the only thing to do now.
GWENDOLEN
This dignified silence seems to produce an unpleasant effect.
CECILY
A most distasteful one.
GWENDOLEN
But we will not be the first to speak.
CECILY
Certainly not.
GWENDOLEN
Mr. Worthing, I have something very particular to ask you. Much depends on your
reply.
CECILY
Gwendolen, your common sense is invaluable. Mr. Moncrieff, kindly answer me the
following question. Why did you pretend to be my guardian’s brother?
ALGERNON
In order that I might have an opportunity of meeting you.
CECILY
That certainly seems a satisfactory explanation, does it not?
GWENDOLEN
Yes, dear, if you can believe him.
CECILY
I don’t. But that does not affect the wonderful beauty of his answer.
GWENDOLEN
True. In matters of grave importance, style, not sincerity is the vital thing.
Mr. Worthing, what explanation can you offer to me for pretending to have a
brother? Was it in order that you might have an opportunity of coming up to
town to see me as often as possible?
JACK
Can you doubt it, Miss Fairfax?
GWENDOLEN
I have the gravest doubts upon the subject. But I intend to crush them. This is
not the moment for German scepticism. [Moving to Cecily.] Their
explanations appear to be quite satisfactory, especially Mr. Worthing’s. That
seems to me to have the stamp of truth upon it.
CECILY
I am more than content with what Mr. Moncrieff said. His voice alone inspires
one with absolute credulity.
GWENDOLEN
Then you think we should forgive them?
CECILY
Yes. I mean no.
GWENDOLEN
True! I had forgotten. There are principles at stake that one cannot surrender.
Which of us should tell them? The task is not a pleasant one.
CECILY
Could we not both speak at the same time?
GWENDOLEN
An excellent idea! I nearly always speak at the same time as other people.
Will you take the time from me?
CECILY
Certainly.
GWENDOLEN and CECILY
Your Christian names are still an insuperable barrier. That is all!
JACK and ALGERNON
Our Christian names! Is that all? But we are going to be christened this
afternoon.
GWENDOLEN
For my sake you are prepared to do this terrible thing?
JACK
I am.
CECILY
To please me you are ready to face this fearful ordeal?
ALGERNON
I am!
GWENDOLEN
How absurd to talk of the equality of the sexes! 126 Where questions of self-sacrifice are
concerned, men are infinitely beyond us.
JACK
We are.
CECILY
They have moments of physical courage of which we women know absolutely
nothing.
GWENDOLEN
Darling!
ALGERNON
Darling!
MERRIMAN
Ahem! Ahem! Lady Bracknell!
JACK
Good heavens!
LADY BRACKNELL
Gwendolen! What does this mean?
GWENDOLEN
Merely that I am engaged to be married to Mr. Worthing, mamma.
LADY BRACKNELL
Come here. Sit down. Sit down immediately. Hesitation of any kind is a sign of
mental decay in the young, of physical weakness in the old. [Turns to
Jack.] Apprised, sir, of my daughter's sudden flight by her trusty
maid, whose confidence I purchased by means of a small coin, I followed her at
once by a luggage train. Her unhappy father is, I am glad to say, under the
impression that she is attending a more than usually lengthy lecture by the
University Extension Scheme on the Influence of a permanent income on Thought.
I do not propose to undeceive him. Indeed I have never undeceived him on any
question. I would consider it wrong. But of course, you will clearly understand
that all communication between yourself and my daughter must cease immediately
from this moment. On this point, as indeed on all points, I am firm.
JACK
I am engaged to be married to Gwendolen, Lady Bracknell!
LADY BRACKNELL
You are nothing of the kind, sir. And now, as regards Algernon! . . .
Algernon!
ALGERNON
Yes, Aunt Augusta.
LADY BRACKNELL
May I ask if it is in this house that your invalid friend Mr. Bunbury resides?
ALGERNON
Oh! No! Bunbury doesn’t live here. Bunbury is somewhere else at present. In
fact, Bunbury is dead.
LADY BRACKNELL
Dead! When did Mr. Bunbury die? His death must have been extremely sudden.
ALGERNON
Oh! I killed Bunbury this afternoon. I mean poor Bunbury died this afternoon.
LADY BRACKNELL
What did he die of?
ALGERNON
Bunbury? Oh, he was quite exploded.
LADY BRACKNELL
Exploded! Was he the victim of a revolutionary outrage? I was not aware that
Mr. Bunbury was 129 interested in
social legislation. If so, he is well punished for his morbidity.
ALGERNON
My dear Aunt Augusta, I mean he was found out! The doctors found out that
Bunbury could not live, that is what I mean--so Bunbury died.
LADY BRACKNELL
He seems to have had great confidence in the opinion of his physicians. I am
glad, however, that he made up his mind at the last to some definite course of
action, and acted under proper medical advice. And now that we have finally got
rid of this Mr. Bunbury, may I ask, Mr. Worthing, who is that young person
whose hand my nephew Algernon is now holding in what seems to me a peculiarly
unnecessary manner?
JACK
That lady is Miss Cecily Cardew, my ward.
ALGERNON
I am engaged to be married to Cecily, Aunt Augusta.
LADY BRACKNELL
I beg your pardon?
CECILY
Mr. Moncrieff and I are engaged to be married, Lady Bracknell.
LADY BRACKNELL
[With a shiver, crossing to the sofa and sitting
down.] I do not know whether there is anything peculiarly
exciting in the air of this particular part of Hertfordshire, but the number of engagements that
go on seems to me considerably above the proper average that statistics have
laid down for our guidance. I think some preliminary enquiry on my part would
not be out of place. Mr. Worthing, is Miss Cardew at all connected with any of
the larger railway stations in London? I merely desire information. Until yesterday I had no
idea that there were any families or persons whose origin was a Terminus.
JACK
[In a clear, cold voice.] Miss Cardew is
the granddaughter of the late Mr. Thomas Cardew of 149, Belgrave Square, S.W.;
Gervase Park, Dorking,
Surrey; and the Sporran,
Fifeshire, N.B.
LADY BRACKNELL
That sounds not unsatisfactory. Three addresses always inspire confidence, even
in tradesmen. But what proof have I of their authenticity?
JACK
I have carefully preserved the Court Guides of the period. They are open to
your inspection, Lady Bracknell.
LADY BRACKNELL
[Grimly.] I have known strange errors in
that publication.
JACK
Miss Cardew's family solicitors are Messrs. Markby, Markby, and Markby.
LADY BRACKNELL
Markby, Markby, and Markby? A firm of the very highest position in their
profession. Indeed I am told that one of the Mr. Markbys is occasionally to be
seen at dinner parties. So far I am satisfied.
JACK
[Very irritably.] How extremely kind of
you, Lady Bracknell! I have also in my possession, you will be pleased to hear,
certificates of Miss Cardew's birth, baptism, whooping cough, registration,
vaccination, confirmation, and the measles; both the German and the English
variety.
LADY BRACKNELL
Ah! A life crowded with incident, I see; though 132 perhaps somewhat too exciting for a young
girl. I am not myself in favour of premature experiences. [Rises, looks at her watch.] Gwendolen! the
time approaches for our departure. We have not a moment to lose. As a matter of
form, Mr. Worthing, I had better ask you if Miss Cardew has any little fortune?
JACK
Oh! about a hundred and thirty thousand pounds in the Funds. That is all.
Good-bye, Lady Bracknell. So pleased to have seen you.
LADY BRACKNELL
[Sitting down again.] A moment, Mr.
Worthing. A hundred and thirty thousand pounds! And in the Funds! Miss Cardew
seems to me a most attractive young lady, now that I look at her. Few girls of
the present day have any really solid qualities, any of the qualities that
last, and improve with time. We live, I regret to say, in an age of surfaces.
[To Cecily.] Come over here, dear.
[Cecily goes across.] Pretty child!
your dress is sadly simple, and your hair seems almost as Nature might have
left it. But we can soon alter all that. A thoroughly experienced French maid
produces a really marvellous result in a very brief space of time. I remember
recommending one to young Lady Lancing, and after three months her own husband
did not know her.
JACK
[Aside.] And after six months nobody knew
her
LADY BRACKNELL
[Glares at Jack for a few moments. Then bends, with a
practised smile, to Cecily.] Kindly turn round, sweet child.
[Cecily turns completely round.]
No, the side view is what I want. [Cecily presents her
profile.] Yes, quite as I expected. There are distinct
social possibilities in your profile. The two weak points in our age are its
want of principle and its want of profile. The chin a little higher, dear.
Style largely depends on the way the chin is worn. They are worn very high,
just at present. Algernon!
ALGERNON
Yes, Aunt Augusta!
LADY BRACKNELL
There are distinct social possibilities in Miss Cardew's profile.
ALGERNON
Cecily is the sweetest, dearest, prettiest girl in the whole world. And I don't
care twopence about social possibilities.
LADY BRACKNELL
Never speak disrespectfully of Society, Algernon. Only people who can't get
into it do that. [To Cecily.] Dear child,
of course you know that Algernon has nothing but his debts to depend upon. But
I do not approve of mercenary marriages.134 When I married Lord Bracknell I had no
fortune of any kind. But I never dreamed for a moment of allowing that to stand
in my way. Well, I suppose I must give my consent.
ALGERNON
Thank you, Aunt Augusta.
LADY BRACKNELL
Cecily, you may kiss me!
CECILY
[Kisses her.] Thank you, Lady Bracknell.
LADY BRACKNELL
You may also address me as Aunt Augusta for the future.
CECILY
Thank you, Aunt Augusta.
LADY BRACKNELL
The marriage, I think, had better take place quite soon.
ALGERNON
Thank you, Aunt Augusta.
CECILY
Thank you, Aunt Augusta.
LADY BRACKNELL
To speak frankly, I am not in favour of long engagements. They give people the
opportunity of finding out each other's character before marriage, which I
think is never advisable.
JACK
I beg your pardon for interrupting you, Lady Bracknell, but this engagement is
quite out of the question. I am Miss Cardew's guardian, and she cannot marry
without my consent until she comes of age. That consent I absolutely decline to
give.
LADY BRACKNELL
Upon what grounds may I ask? Algernon is an extremely, I may almost say an
ostentatiously, eligible young man. He has nothing, but he looks everything.
What more can one desire?
JACK
It pains me very much to have to speak frankly to you, Lady Bracknell, about
your nephew, but the fact is that I do not approve at all of his moral
character. I suspect him of being untruthful.
LADY BRACKNELL
Untruthful! My nephew Algernon? Impossible! He is an Oxonian.
JACK
I fear there can be no possible doubt about the matter. This afternoon, during
my temporary absence in London
on an important question of romance, he obtained admission to my house by means
of the false pretence of being my brother. Under an assumed name he drank, I’ve
just been informed by my butler, an entire pint bottle of my Perrier-Jouet,
Brut, ’89; a wine I was specially reserving for myself. Continuing his
disgraceful deception, he succeeded in the course of the afternoon in
alienating the affections of my only ward. He subsequently stayed to tea, and
devoured every single muffin. And what makes his conduct all the more heartless
is, that he was perfectly well aware from the first that I have no brother,
that I never had a brother, and that I don’t intend to have a brother, not even
of any kind. I distinctly told him so myself yesterday afternoon.
LADY BRACKNELL
Ahem! Mr. Worthing, after careful consideration I have decided entirely to
overlook my nephew’s conduct to you.
JACK
That is very generous of you, Lady Bracknell. 137 My own decision, however, is unalterable.
I decline to give my consent.
LADY BRACKNELL
[To Cecily.] Come here, sweet child.
[Cecily goes over.] How old are
you, dear?
CECILY
Well, I am really only eighteen, but I always admit to twenty when I go to
evening parties.
LADY BRACKNELL
You are perfectly right in making some slight alteration. Indeed, no woman
should ever be quite accurate about her age. It looks so calculating.
[In a meditative manner.] Eighteen,
but admitting to twenty at evening parties. Well, it will not be very long
before you are of age and free from the restraints of tutelage. So I don’t
think your guardian’s consent is, after all, a matter of any importance.
JACK
Pray excuse me, Lady Bracknell, for interrupting you again, but it is only fair
to tell you that according to the terms of her grandfather’s will Miss Cardew
does not come legally of age till she is thirty-five.
LADY BRACKNELL
That does not seem to me to be a grave objection. Thirty-five is a very
attractive age. London society
is full of women of the very highest birth who have, of their own free choice,
remained thirty-five for years. Lady Dumbleton is an instance in point. To my
own knowledge she has been thirty-five ever since she arrived at the age of
forty, which was many years ago now. I see no reason why our dear Cecily should
not be even still more attractive at the age you mention than she is at
present. There will be a large accumulation of property.
CECILY
Algy, could you wait for me till I was thirty-five?
ALGERNON
Of course I could, Cecily. You know I could.
CECILY
Yes, I felt it instinctively, but I couldn’t wait all that time. I hate waiting
even five minutes for anybody. It always makes me rather cross. I am not
punctual myself, I know, but I do like punctuality in others, and waiting, even
to be married, is quite out of the question.
ALGERNON
Then what is to be done, Cecily?
CECILY
I don’t know, Mr. Moncrieff.
LADY BRACKNELL
My dear Mr. Worthing, as Miss Cardew states positively that she cannot wait
till she is thirty-five--a remark which I am bound to say seems to me to show a
somewhat impatient nature--I would beg of you to reconsider your decision.
JACK
But my dear Lady Bracknell, the matter is entirely in your own hands. The
moment you consent to my marriage with Gwendolen, I will most gladly allow your
nephew to form an alliance with my ward.
LADY BRACKNELL
[Rising and drawing herself up.] You must
be quite aware that what you propose is out of the question.
JACK
Then a passionate celibacy is all that any of us can look forward to.
LADY BRACKNELL
That is not the destiny I propose for Gwendolen. Algernon, of course, can
choose for himself. [Pulls out her
watch.] Come, dear; [Gwendolen
rises] we have already missed five, if not six, trains. To
140
miss any more might expose us to comment on the platform.
CHASUBLE
Everything is quite ready for the christenings.
LADY BRACKNELL
The christenings, sir! Is not that somewhat premature?
CHASUBLE
[Looking rather puzzled, and pointing to Jack and Algernon.]
Both these gentlemen have expressed a desire for immediate baptism.
LADY BRACKNELL
At their age? The idea is grotesque and irreligious! Algernon, I forbid you to
be baptised. I will not hear of such excesses. Lord Bracknell would be highly
displeased if he learned that that was the way in which you wasted your time
and money.
CHASUBLE
Am I to understand then that there are to be no christenings at all this
afternoon?
JACK
I don’t think that, as things are now, it would be of much practical value to
either of us, Dr. Chasuble.
CHASUBLE
I am grieved to hear such sentiments from you, Mr. Worthing. They savour of the
heretical views of the Anabaptists, views that I have completely refuted in
four of my unpublished sermons. However, as your present mood seems to be one
peculiarly secular, I will return to the church at once. Indeed, I have just
been informed by the pew-opener that for the last hour and a half Miss Prism
has been waiting for me in the vestry.
LADY BRACKNELL
[Starting.] Miss Prism! Did I hear you mention a Miss Prism?
CHASUBLE
Yes, Lady Bracknell. I am on my way to join her.
LADY BRACKNELL
Pray allow me to detain you for a moment. This matter may prove to be one of
vital importance to Lord Bracknell and myself. Is this Miss Prism a female of
repellent aspect, remotely connected with education?
CHASUBLE
[Somewhat indignantly.] She is the most cultivated of ladies,
and the very picture of respectability.
LADY BRACKNELL
It is obviously the same person. May I ask what position she holds in your
household?
CHASUBLE
[Severely.] I am a celibate, madam.
JACK
[Interposing.]Miss Prism, Lady Bracknell, has been for the last
three years Miss Cardew's esteemed governess and valued companion.
LADY BRACKNELL
In spite of what I hear of her, I must see her at once. Let her be sent
for.
CHASUBLE
[Looking off.] She approaches; she is nigh.
MISS PRISM
I was told you expected me in the vestry, dear Canon. I have been waiting for
you there for an hour and three quarters. [Catches sight of Lady
Bracknell who has fixed her with a stony glare. Miss Prism grows pale and
quails. She looks anxiously round as if desirous to escape.]
LADY BRACKNELL
[In a severe, judicial voice.] Prism! [Miss Prism bows
her head in shame.] Come here, Prism! [Miss Prism approaches
in a humble manner.] Prism! Where is that baby? [General
consternation. The Canon starts back in horror. Algernon and Jack pretend to
be anxious to shield Cecily and Gwendolen from hearing the details of a
terrible public scandal.] Twenty eight years ago, Prism, you left
Lord Bracknell's house, Number 104, Upper Grosvenor Street, in charge of a
perambulator that contained a baby, of the male sex. You never returned. A few
weeks later, through the elaborate investigations of the Metropolitan police,
the perambulator was discovered at midnight, standing by itself in a remote
corner of Bayswater. It contained the manuscript of a three-volume novel of
more than usually revolting sentimentality. [Miss Prism starts in
involuntary indignation.] But the baby was not there!
[Everyone looks at Miss Prism.] Prism! Where is that baby?
[A pause.]
MISS PRISM
Lady Bracknell, I admit with shame that I do not know. I only wish I did. The
plain facts of the case are these. On the morning of the day you mention, a day
that is for ever branded on my memory, I prepared as usual to take the baby out
in its perambulator. I had also with me a somewhat old, but capacious hand-bag
in which I had intended to place the manuscript of a work of fiction that I had
written during my few unoccupied hours. 144 In a moment of mental abstraction, for
which I never can forgive myself, I deposited the manuscript in the bassinette,
and placed the baby in the hand-bag.
JACK
[Who has been listening attentively.] But where did you deposit
the hand-bag?
MISS PRISM
Do not ask me, Mr. Worthing.
JACK
Miss Prism, this is a matter of no small importance to me. I insist on knowing
where you deposited the hand-bag that contained that infant.
MISS PRISM
I left it in the cloak room of one of the larger railway stations in London.
JACK
What railway station?
MISS PRISM
[Quite crushed.] Victoria. The Brighton line. [Sinks into
a chair.]
JACK
I must retire to my room for a moment. Gwendolen, wait here for me.
GWENDOLEN
If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life.
CHASUBLE
What do you think this means, Lady Bracknell?
LADY BRACKNELL
I dare not even suspect, Dr. Chasuble. I need hardly tell you that in families
of high position strange coincidences are not supposed to occur. They are
hardly considered the thing.
CECILY
Uncle Jack seems strangely agitated.
CHASUBLE
Your guardian has a very emotional nature.
LADY BRACKNELL
This noise is extremely unpleasant. It sounds as if he was having an argument.
I dislike arguments of any kind. They are always vulgar, and often convincing.
CHASUBLE
[Looking up.] It has stopped now. [The noise is
redoubled.]
LADY BRACKNELL
I wish he would arrive at some conclusion.
GWENDOLEN
This suspense is terrible. I hope it will last.
JACK
[Rushing over to Miss Prism.] Is this the hand-bag, Miss Prism?
Examine it carefully before you speak. The happiness of more than one life
depends on your answer.
MISS PRISM
[Calmly.] It seems to be mine. Yes, here is the injury it
received through the upsetting of a Gower Street omnibus in younger and happier
days. Here is the stain on the lining caused by the explosion of a temperance
beverage, an incident that occurred at Leamington. And here, on the lock, are
my initials. I had forgotten that in an extravagant mood I had had them placed
there. The bag is undoubtedly mine. I am delighted to have it so unexpectedly
restored to me. It has been a great inconvenience being without it all these
years.
JACK
[In a pathetic voice.] Miss Prism, more is restored to you than
this hand-bag. I was the baby you placed in it.
MISS PRISM
[Amazed.] You?
JACK
[Embracing her.] Yes . . . mother!
MISS PRISM
[Recoiling in indignant astonishment.] Mr. Worthing! I am
unmarried!
JACK
Unmarried! I do not deny that is a serious blow. But after all, who has the
right to cast a stone against one who has suffered? Cannot repentance wipe out
an act of folly? Why should there be one law for men, and another for women?
Mother, I forgive you. [Tries to embrace her again.]
MISS PRISM
[Still more indignant.] Mr. Worthing, there is some error.
[Pointing to Lady Bracknell.] There is the lady who can tell
you who you really are.
JACK
[After a pause.] Lady Bracknell, I hate to seem
inquisitive, but would you kindly inform me who I am?
LADY BRACKNELL
I am afraid that the news I have to give you will not altogether please you.
You are the son of my poor sister, Mrs. Moncrieff, and consequently Algernon’s
elder brother.
JACK
Algy’s elder brother! Then I have a brother after all. I knew I had a brother!
I always said I had a brother! Cecily,--how could you have ever doubted that I
had a brother. [Seizes hold of Algernon.] Dr. Chasuble, my
unfortunate brother, Miss Prism, my unfortunate brother. Gwendolen, my
unfortunate brother. Algy, you young scoundrel, you will have to treat me with
more respect in the future. You have never behaved to me like a brother in all
your life.
ALGERNON
Well, not till to-day, old boy, I admit. I did my best, however, though I was
out of practice. [Shakes hands.]
GWENDOLEN
[To Jack.] My own! But what own are you? What is your Christian
name, now that you have become someone else?
JACK
Good heavens! . . . I had quite forgotten that point. Your decision on the
subject of my name is irrevocable, I suppose?
GWENDOLEN
I never change, except in my affections.
CECILY
What a noble nature you have, Gwendolen!
JACK
Then the question had better be cleared up at once. Aunt Augusta, a moment. At
the time when Miss Prism left me in the hand-bag, had I been christened
already?
LADY BRACKNELL
Every luxury that money could buy, including christening, had been lavished on
you by your fond and doting parents.
JACK
Then I was christened! That is settled. Now, what name was I given? Let me know
the worst.
LADY BRACKNELL
Being the eldest son you were naturally christened after your father.
JACK
[Irritably.] Yes, but what was my father’s Christian name?
LADY BRACKNELL
[Meditatively.] I cannot at the present moment recall what the
General’s Christian name was. But I have no doubt he had one. He was eccentric,
I admit. But only in later years. And that was the result of the Indian
climate, and marriage, and indigestion, and other things of that kind.
JACK
Algy! Can’t you recollect what our father’s Christian name was?
ALGERNON
My dear boy, we were never even on speaking terms. He died before I was a year
old.
JACK
His name would appear in the Army Lists of the period, I suppose, Aunt
Augusta?
LADY BRACKNELL
The General was essentially a man of peace, except in his domestic life. But I
have no doubt his name would appear in any military directory.
JACK
The Army Lists of the last forty years are here. 151 These delightful records should have been
my constant study. [Rushes to bookcase and tears the books out.]
M. Generals . . . . Mallam, Maxbohm, Magley, what ghastly names they have--Markby,
Migsby, Mobbs, Moncrieff! Lieutenant 1840, Captain, Lieutenant-Colonel,
Colonel, General 1869, Christian names, Ernest John. [Puts book very
quietly down and speaks quite calmly.] I always told you, Gwendolen,
my name was Ernest, didn’t I? Well, it is Ernest after all. I mean it naturally
is Ernest.
LADY BRACKNELL
Yes, I remember now that the General was called Ernest. I knew I had some
particular reason for disliking the name.
GWENDOLEN
Ernest! My own Ernest! I felt from the first that you could have no other
name!
JACK
Gwendolen, it is a terrible thing for a man to find out suddenly that all his
life he has been speaking nothing but the truth. Can you forgive me?
GWENDOLEN
I can. For I feel that you are sure to change.
JACK
My own one!
CHASUBLE
[To Miss Prism.] Laetitia! [Embraces her.]
MISS PRISM
[Enthusiastically.] Frederick! At last!
ALGERNON
Cecily! [Embraces her.] At last!
JACK
Gwendolen! [Embraces her.] At last!
LADY BRACKNELL
My nephew, you seem to be displaying signs of triviality.
JACK
On the contrary, Aunt Augusta, I’ve now realized for the first time in my life
the vital Importance of Being Earnest.
CURTAIN. TABLEAU.
CURTAIN.
CHISWICK PRESS:--CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO TOOKS COURT,
CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.