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diff --git a/old/844.txt b/old/844.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 554b433..0000000 --- a/old/844.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3496 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Importance of Being Earnest, by Oscar -Wilde - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - - - - -Title: The Importance of Being Earnest - A Trivial Comedy for Serious People - - -Author: Oscar Wilde - - - -Release Date: August 29, 2006 [eBook #844] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST*** - - - - - - -Transcribed from the 1915 Methuen & Co. Ltd. edition by David Price, -email ccx074@pglaf.org - - - - - -The Importance of Being Earnest -A Trivial Comedy for Serious People - - -THE PERSONS IN THE PLAY - - -John Worthing, J.P. -Algernon Moncrieff -Rev. Canon Chasuble, D.D. -Merriman, Butler -Lane, Manservant -Lady Bracknell -Hon. Gwendolen Fairfax -Cecily Cardew -Miss Prism, Governess - - - - -THE SCENES OF THE PLAY - - -ACT I. Algernon Moncrieff's Flat in Half-Moon Street, W. - -ACT II. The Garden at the Manor House, Woolton. - -ACT III. Drawing-Room at the Manor House, Woolton. - -TIME: The Present. - - - - -LONDON: ST. JAMES'S THEATRE - - -Lessee and Manager: Mr. George Alexander - -February 14th, 1895 - -* * * * * - -John Worthing, J.P.: Mr. George Alexander. -Algernon Moncrieff: Mr. Allen Aynesworth. -Rev. Canon Chasuble, D.D.: Mr. H. H. Vincent. -Merriman: Mr. Frank Dyall. -Lane: Mr. F. Kinsey Peile. -Lady Bracknell: Miss Rose Leclercq. -Hon. Gwendolen Fairfax: Miss Irene Vanbrugh. -Cecily Cardew: Miss Evelyn Millard. -Miss Prism: Mrs. George Canninge. - - - - -FIRST ACT - - -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.] - -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--any one 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. [Hands them on a salver.] - -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 demoralising 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. [Lane goes out.] - -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. - -[Enter Lane.] - -Lane. Mr. Ernest Worthing. - -[Enter Jack.] - -[Lane goes out_._] - -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--[Jack puts out his hand to take a sandwich. Algernon at -once interferes.] 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 do you mean, Algy, by -Cecily! I don't know any one of the name of Cecily. - -[Enter Lane.] - -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. Well, I wish you would offer one. I happen to be more than -usually hard up. - -Jack. There is no good offering a large reward now that the thing is -found. - -[Enter Lane with the cigarette case on a salver. Algernon takes it at -once. Lane goes out.] - -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 some one of the name of Cecily, and you said you didn't -know any one 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 Algernon round the room.] - -Algernon. Yes. But why does your aunt call you her uncle? 'From little -Cecily, with her fondest love 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 every one 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 any one 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 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 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 realise, that in -married life three is company and two is none. - -Jack. [Sententiously.] 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 nowadays. 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. - -[Enter Lane.] - -Lane. Lady Bracknell and Miss Fairfax. - -[Algernon goes forward to meet them. Enter Lady Bracknell and -Gwendolen.] - -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. [Sees Jack and bows to him with icy coldness.] - -Algernon. [To Gwendolen.] Dear me, you are smart! - -Gwendolen. I am always smart! Am I not, 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. [Gwendolen and -Jack sit down together in the corner.] - -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. [Goes over to tea-table.] - -Lady Bracknell. Won't you come and sit here, Gwendolen? - -Gwendolen. Thanks, mamma, I'm quite comfortable where I am. - -Algernon. [Picking up empty plate in horror.] Good heavens! Lane! Why -are there no cucumber sandwiches? I ordered them specially. - -Lane. [Gravely.] 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. [Goes out.] - -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. [Frowning.] 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 ailment 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 every one 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. - -[Lady Bracknell and Algernon go into the music-room, Gwendolen remains -behind.] - -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 well 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 before-hand 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 any one 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. [Enter Lady Bracknell.] - -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 any one. 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 goes to the -door. She and Jack blow kisses to each other behind Lady Bracknell's -back. Lady Bracknell looks vaguely about as if she could not understand -what the noise was. Finally turns round.] Gwendolen, the carriage! - -Gwendolen. Yes, mamma. [Goes out, looking back at Jack.] - -Lady Bracknell. [Sitting down.] You can take a seat, Mr. Worthing. - -[Looks in her pocket for note-book and pencil.] - -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 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, nowadays that is no guarantee of respectability of -character. What number in Belgrave Square? - -Jack. 149. - -Lady Bracknell. [Shaking her head.] 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. To lose one parent, Mr. Worthing, may be regarded as a -misfortune; to lose both looks 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 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 reminds -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 recognised 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! - -[Lady Bracknell sweeps out in majestic indignation.] - -Jack. Good morning! [Algernon, from the other room, strikes up the -Wedding March. Jack looks perfectly furious, and goes to the door.] For -goodness' sake don't play that ghastly tune, Algy. How idiotic you are! - -[The music stops and Algernon enters cheerily.] - -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 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! - -Jack. Well, I won't argue about the matter. You always want to argue -about things. - -Algernon. That is exactly what things were originally made for. - -Jack. 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 civilised life should be. - -Jack. I am sick to death of cleverness. Everybody is clever nowadays. -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 some one 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 to 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. - -[Enter Lane.] - -Lane. Miss Fairfax. - -[Enter Gwendolen. Lane goes out.] - -Algernon. 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 nowadays 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 some one 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. - -[Algernon, who has been carefully listening, smiles to himself, and -writes the address on his shirt-cuff. Then picks up the Railway Guide.] - -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. - -[Enter Jack. Lane goes off.] - -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. - -[Jack looks indignantly at him, and leaves the room. Algernon lights a -cigarette, reads his shirt-cuff, and smiles.] - -ACT DROP - - - - -SECOND ACT - - -SCENE - - -Garden at the Manor House. A flight of grey 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.] - -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 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. -[Cecily starts.] 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. - -[Enter Canon Chasuble.] - -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. - -[Goes down the garden with Dr. Chasuble.] - -Cecily. [Picks up books and throws them back on table.] Horrid -Political Economy! Horrid Geography! Horrid, horrid German! - -[Enter Merriman with a card on a salver.] - -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. - -[Merriman goes off.] - -Cecily. I have never met any really wicked person before. I feel rather -frightened. I am so afraid he will look just like every one else. - -[Enter Algernon, very gay and debonnair.] He 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 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 buttonhole first? I never have any -appetite unless I have a buttonhole first. - -Cecily. A Marechal 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 buttonhole.] 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. - -[They pass into the house. Miss Prism and Dr. Chasuble return.] - -Miss Prism. You are too much alone, dear Dr. Chasuble. You should get -married. A misanthrope I can understand--a womanthrope, never! - -Chasuble. [With a scholar's shudder.] 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. [Sententiously.] That is obviously the reason why the -Primitive Church has not lasted up to the present day. And you do not -seem to realise, 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. - -[Enter Jack slowly from the back of the garden. He is dressed in the -deepest mourning, with crape hatband and black gloves.] - -Miss Prism. Mr. Worthing! - -Chasuble. Mr. Worthing? - -Miss Prism. This is indeed a surprise. We did not look for you till -Monday afternoon. - -Jack. [Shakes Miss Prism's hand in a tragic manner.] 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. [Shaking his head.] 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. [Raising his hand.] 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 seems 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 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. - -[Enter Cecily from the house.] - -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 goes towards Jack; he kisses her -brow in a melancholy manner.] - -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. - -[Enter Algernon and Cecily hand in hand. They come slowly up to Jack.] - -Jack. Good heavens! [Motions Algernon away.] - -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. [Jack glares at him and does not take -his hand.] - -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. Uncle Jack, do be nice. There is some good in every one. 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. [Shakes with -Algernon and glares.] - -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. [They all go off except Jack and Algernon.] - -Jack. You young scoundrel, Algy, you must get out of this place as soon -as possible. I don't allow any Bunburying here. - -[Enter Merriman.] - -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 any one 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. - -[Enter Cecily at the back of the garden. She picks up the can and begins -to water the flowers.] 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. - -[Enter Merriman.] - -Merriman. The dog-cart is at the door, sir. [Algernon looks appealingly -at Cecily.] - -Cecily. It can wait, Merriman for . . . five minutes. - -Merriman. Yes, Miss. [Exit Merriman.] - -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! - -[Enter Merriman.] - -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. - -[Merriman retires.] - -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 lover's 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.] '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. - -[Enter Merriman.] - -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. [Goes out.] - -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. - -[Enter Merriman.] - -Merriman. Miss Fairfax. - -[Enter Gwendolen.] - -[Exit Merriman.] - -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. [A pause. They both sit down together.] - -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 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. [Sitting down again.] 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. [Inquiringly.] I beg your pardon? - -Cecily. [Rather shy and confidingly.] 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. [Quite politely, rising.] 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. [Very politely, rising.] I am afraid you must be under some -misconception. Ernest proposed to me exactly ten minutes ago. [Shows -diary.] - -Gwendolen. [Examines diary through her lorgnettte carefully.] 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. [Meditatively.] 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. [Thoughtfully and sadly.] 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. [Satirically.] I am glad to say that I have never seen a -spade. It is obvious that our social spheres have been widely different. - -[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. Shall I lay tea here as usual, Miss? - -Cecily. [Sternly, in a calm voice.] Yes, as usual. [Merriman begins to -clear table and lay cloth. A long pause. Cecily and Gwendolen glare at -each other.] - -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. [Sweetly.] I suppose that is why you live in town? [Gwendolen -bites her lip, and beats her foot nervously with her parasol.] - -Gwendolen. [Looking round.] 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 is almost an epidemic amongst them, I have been -told. May I offer you some tea, Miss Fairfax? - -Gwendolen. [With elaborate politeness.] Thank you. [Aside.] Detestable -girl! But I require tea! - -Cecily. [Sweetly.] Sugar? - -Gwendolen. [Superciliously.] No, thank you. Sugar is not fashionable -any more. [Cecily looks angrily at her, takes up the tongs and puts four -lumps of sugar into the cup.] - -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. - -[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.] - -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. [Rising.] 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. - -[Enter Jack.] - -Gwendolen. [Catching sight of him.] Ernest! My own Ernest! - -Jack. Gwendolen! Darling! [Offers to kiss her.] - -Gwendolen. [Draws back.] A moment! May I ask if you are engaged to be -married to this young lady? [Points to Cecily.] - -Jack. [Laughing.] To dear little Cecily! Of course not! What could -have put such an idea into your pretty little head? - -Gwendolen. Thank you. You may! [Offers her cheek.] - -Cecily. [Very sweetly.] I knew there must be some misunderstanding, -Miss Fairfax. The gentleman whose arm is at present round your waist is -my guardian, Mr. John Worthing. - -Gwendolen. I beg your pardon? - -Cecily. This is Uncle Jack. - -Gwendolen. [Receding.] Jack! Oh! - -[Enter Algernon.] - -Cecily. Here is Ernest. - -Algernon. [Goes straight over to Cecily without noticing any one else.] -My own love! [Offers to kiss her.] - -Cecily. [Drawing back.] A moment, Ernest! May I ask you--are you -engaged to be married to this young lady? - -Algernon. [Looking round.] To what young lady? Good heavens! -Gwendolen! - -Cecily. Yes! to good heavens, Gwendolen, I mean to Gwendolen. - -Algernon. [Laughing.] Of course not! What could have put such an idea -into your pretty little head? - -Cecily. Thank you. [Presenting her cheek to be kissed.] You may. -[Algernon kisses her.] - -Gwendolen. I felt there was some slight error, Miss Cardew. The -gentleman who is now embracing you is my cousin, Mr. Algernon Moncrieff. - -Cecily. [Breaking away from Algernon.] Algernon Moncrieff! Oh! [The -two girls move towards each other and put their arms round each other's -waists as if for protection.] - -Cecily. Are you called Algernon? - -Algernon. I cannot deny it. - -Cecily. Oh! - -Gwendolen. Is your name really John? - -Jack. [Standing rather proudly.] 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. [To Gwendolen.] A gross deception has been practised on both of -us. - -Gwendolen. My poor wounded Cecily! - -Cecily. My sweet wronged Gwendolen! - -Gwendolen. [Slowly and seriously.] You will call me sister, will you -not? [They embrace. Jack and Algernon groan and walk up and down.] - -Cecily. [Rather brightly.] 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. [Slowly and hesitatingly.] Gwendolen--Cecily--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. [Surprised.] No brother at all? - -Jack. [Cheerily.] None! - -Gwendolen. [Severely.] Had you never a brother of any kind? - -Jack. [Pleasantly.] 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 any one. - -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? - -[They retire into the house with scornful looks.] - -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 stock-brokers 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 any one 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 have ever 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 some one 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. [Jack groans, and sinks into a chair. Algernon still -continues eating.] - -ACT DROP - - - - -THIRD ACT - - -SCENE - - -Morning-room at the Manor House. - -[Gwendolen and Cecily are at the window, looking out into the garden.] - -Gwendolen. The fact that they did not follow us at once into the house, -as any one 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. [Enter Jack followed -by Algernon. They whistle some dreadful popular air from a British -Opera.] - -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. [To Gwendolen.] 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 beats time with uplifted finger.] - -Gwendolen and Cecily [Speaking together.] Your Christian names are still -an insuperable barrier. That is all! - -Jack and Algernon [Speaking together.] Our Christian names! Is that -all? But we are going to be christened this afternoon. - -Gwendolen. [To Jack.] For my sake you are prepared to do this terrible -thing? - -Jack. I am. - -Cecily. [To Algernon.] 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! Where -questions of self-sacrifice are concerned, men are infinitely beyond us. - -Jack. We are. [Clasps hands with Algernon.] - -Cecily. They have moments of physical courage of which we women know -absolutely nothing. - -Gwendolen. [To Jack.] Darling! - -Algernon. [To Cecily.] Darling! [They fall into each other's arms.] - -[Enter Merriman. When he enters he coughs loudly, seeing the situation.] - -Merriman. Ahem! Ahem! Lady Bracknell! - -Jack. Good heavens! - -[Enter Lady Bracknell. The couples separate in alarm. Exit Merriman.] - -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. [Stammering.] 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. [Airily.] 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 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. [Lady Bracknell bows -coldly to Cecily.] - -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 inquiry 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 looks perfectly -furious, but restrains himself.] - -Jack. [In a clear, cold voice.] Miss Cardew is the grand-daughter 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. -Markby's 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 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. Goodbye, 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. 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. 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. [Algernon -and Cecily look at him in indignant amazement.] - -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; 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. 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 miss any more might expose us to comment on the platform. - -[Enter Dr. Chasuble.] - -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 baptized. 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. - -[Enter Miss Prism hurriedly.] - -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! -[Every one 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. In a moment of mental abstraction, for which I -never can forgive myself, I deposited the manuscript in the basinette, -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. [Exit Jack in great excitement.] - -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. - -[Noises heard overhead as if some one was throwing trunks about. Every -one looks up.] - -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. [Enter Jack -with a hand-bag of black leather in his hand.] - -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 some one 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. 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 realised for the first -time in my life the vital Importance of Being Earnest. - -TABLEAU - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST*** - - -******* This file should be named 844.txt or 844.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/8/4/844 - - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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You can also find out about how to make a -donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. - - -**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** - -**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** - -*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** - - -Title: The Importance of Being Earnest - -Author: Oscar Wilde - -Release Date: March, 1997 [EBook #844] -[This file was first posted on March 8, 1997] -[Most recently updated: June 2, 2004] - -Edition: 10 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST *** - - - - - -Transcribed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk - - - - - -The Importance of Being Earnest -A Trivial Comedy for Serious People - - - - -THE PERSONS IN THE PLAY - - -John Worthing, J.P. -Algernon Moncrieff -Rev. Canon Chasuble, D.D. -Merriman, Butler -Lane, Manservant -Lady Bracknell -Hon. Gwendolen Fairfax -Cecily Cardew -Miss Prism, Governess - - - - -THE SCENES OF THE PLAY - - -ACT I. Algernon Moncrieff's Flat in Half-Moon Street, W. - -ACT II. The Garden at the Manor House, Woolton. - -ACT III. Drawing-Room at the Manor House, Woolton. - -TIME: The Present. - - - - -LONDON: ST. JAMES'S THEATRE - - -Lessee and Manager: Mr. George Alexander - -February 14th, 1895 - -* * * * * - -John Worthing, J.P.: Mr. George Alexander. -Algernon Moncrieff: Mr. Allen Aynesworth. -Rev. Canon Chasuble, D.D.: Mr. H. H. Vincent. -Merriman: Mr. Frank Dyall. -Lane: Mr. F. Kinsey Peile. -Lady Bracknell: Miss Rose Leclercq. -Hon. Gwendolen Fairfax: Miss Irene Vanbrugh. -Cecily Cardew: Miss Evelyn Millard. -Miss Prism: Mrs. George Canninge. - - - - -FIRST ACT - - -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.] - -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--any one 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. [Hands them on a salver.] - -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 demoralising 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. [Lane goes out.] - -Algernon. Lanes 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. - -[Enter Lane.] - -Lane. Mr. Ernest Worthing. - -[Enter Jack.] - -[Lane goes out.] - -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--[Jack puts out his hand to take a -sandwich. Algernon at once interferes.] 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 do you mean, Algy, -by Cecily! I don't know any one of the name of Cecily. - -[Enter Lane.] - -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. Well, I wish you would offer one. I happen to be more -than usually hard up. - -Jack. There is no good offering a large reward now that the thing -is found. - -[Enter Lane with the cigarette case on a salver. Algernon takes it -at once. Lane goes out.] - -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 some one of the name of Cecily, and you said -you didn't know any one 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 Algernon round the room.] - -Algernon. Yes. But why does your aunt call you her uncle? 'From -little Cecily, with her fondest love 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 every one 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 any one 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 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 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 realise, that in -married life three is company and two is none. - -Jack. [Sententiously.] 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 nowadays. -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. - -[Enter Lane.] - -Lady Bracknell and Miss Fairfax. - -[Algernon goes forward to meet them. Enter Lady Bracknell and -Gwendolen.] - -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. [Sees Jack and bows to him with icy -coldness.] - -Algernon. [To Gwendolen.] Dear me, you are smart! - -Gwendolen. I am always smart! Am I not, 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. -[Gwendolen and Jack sit down together in the corner.] - -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. [Goes over to tea-table.] - -Lady Bracknell. Won't you come and sit here, Gwendolen? - -Gwendolen. Thanks, mamma, I'm quite comfortable where I am. - -Algernon. [Picking up empty plate in horror.] Good heavens! Lane! -Why are there no cucumber sandwiches? I ordered them specially. - -Lane. [Gravely.] 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. [Goes out.] - -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. [Frowning.] 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 ailment 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 every one 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. - -[Lady Bracknell and Algernon go into the music-room, Gwendolen -remains behind.] - -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 well 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 before-hand 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 any one 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. [Enter Lady Bracknell.] - -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 any one. 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 goes to the -door. She and Jack blow kisses to each other behind Lady -Bracknell's back. Lady Bracknell looks vaguely about as if she -could not understand what the noise was. Finally turns round.] -Gwendolen, the carriage! - -Gwendolen. Yes, mamma. [Goes out, looking back at Jack.] - -Lady Bracknell. [Sitting down.] You can take a seat, Mr. Worthing. - -[Looks in her pocket for note-book and pencil.] - -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 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, nowadays that is no guarantee of respectability -of character. What number in Belgrave Square? - -Jack. 149. - -Lady Bracknell. [Shaking her head.] 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 polities? - -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. To lose one parent, Mr. Worthing, may be regarded -as a misfortune; to lose both looks 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 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 reminds 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 recognised 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! - -[Lady Bracknell sweeps out in majestic indignation.] - -Jack. Good morning! [Algernon, from the other room, strikes up the -Wedding March. Jack looks perfectly furious, and goes to the door.] -For goodness' sake don't play that ghastly tune, Algy. How idiotic -you are! - -[The music stops and Algernon enters cheerily.] - -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 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! - -Jack. Well, I won't argue about the matter. You always want to -argue about things. - -Algernon. That is exactly what things were originally made for. - -Jack. 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 civilised life should be. - -Jack. I am sick to death of cleverness. Everybody is clever -nowadays. 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 some one 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 to 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. - -[Enter Lane.] - -Lane. Miss Fairfax. - -[Enter Gwendolen. Lane goes out.] - -Algernon. 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 nowadays 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 some one -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. - -[Algernon, who has been carefully listening, smiles to himself, and -writes the address on his shirt-cuff. Then picks up the Railway -Guide.] - -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. - -[Enter Jack. Lane goes off.] - -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. - -[Jack looks indignantly at him, and leaves the room. Algernon -lights a cigarette, reads his shirt-cuff, and smiles.] - -ACT DROP - - - - -SECOND ACT - - -SCENE - -Garden at the Manor House. A flight of grey 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.] - -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 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. -[Cecily starts.] 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. - -[Enter Canon Chasuble.] - -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. - -[Goes down the garden with Dr. Chasuble.] - -Cecily. [Picks up books and throws them back on table.] Horrid -Political Economy! Horrid Geography! Horrid, horrid German! - -[Enter Merriman with a card on a salver.] - -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. - -[Merriman goes off.] - -Cecily. I have never met any really wicked person before. I feel -rather frightened. I am so afraid he will look just like every one -else. - -[Enter Algernon, very gay and debonnair.] He 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 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 buttonhole first? I never -have any appetite unless I have a buttonhole first. - -Cecily. A Marechal 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 buttonhole.] 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. - -[They pass into the house. Miss Prism and Dr. Chasuble return.] - -Miss Prism. You are too much alone, dear Dr. Chasuble. You should -get married. A misanthrope I can understand--a womanthrope, never! - -Chasuble. [With a scholar's shudder.] 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. [Sententiously.] That is obviously the reason why the -Primitive Church has not lasted up to the present day. And you do -not seem to realise, 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. - -[Enter Jack slowly from the back of the garden. He is dressed in -the deepest mourning, with crape hatband and black gloves.] - -Miss Prism. Mr. Worthing! - -Chasuble. Mr. Worthing? - -Miss Prism. This is indeed a surprise. We did not look for you -till Monday afternoon. - -Jack. [Shakes Miss Prism's hand in a tragic manner.] 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. [Shaking his head.] 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. [Raising his hand.] 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 seems 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 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. - -[Enter Cecily from the house.] - -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 goes towards Jack; he kisses -her brow in a melancholy manner.] - -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. - -[Enter Algernon and Cecily hand in hand. They come slowly up to -Jack.] - -Jack. Good heavens! [Motions Algernon away.] - -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. [Jack glares at him and -does not take his hand.] - -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. Uncle Jack, do be nice. There is some good in every one. -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. [Shakes with -Algernon and glares.] - -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. [They all go off except Jack and -Algernon.] - -Jack. You young scoundrel, Algy, you must get out of this place as -soon as possible. I don't allow any Bunburying here. - -[Enter Merriman.] - -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 any one 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. - -[Enter Cecily at the back of the garden. She picks up the can and -begins to water the flowers.] 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. - -[Enter Merriman.] - -Merriman. The dog-cart is at the door, sir. [Algernon looks -appealingly at Cecily.] - -Cecily. It can wait, Merriman for . . . five minutes. - -Merriman. Yes, Miss. [Exit Merriman.] - -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! - -[Enter Merriman.] - -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. - -[Merriman retires.] - -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 -lover's 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 of 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.] '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. - -[Enter Merriman.] - -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. [Goes out.] - -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. - -[Enter Merriman.] - -Merriman. Miss Fairfax. - -[Enter Gwendolen.] - -[Exit Merriman.] - -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. [A pause. They both sit down together.] - -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 -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. [Sitting down again.] 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. [Inquiringly.] I beg your pardon? - -Cecily. [Rather shy and confidingly.] 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. [Quite politely, rising.] 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. [Very politely, rising.] I am afraid you must be under -some misconception. Ernest proposed to me exactly ten minutes ago. -[Shows diary.] - -Gwendolen. [Examines diary through her lorgnettte carefully.] 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. [Meditatively.] 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. [Thoughtfully and sadly.] 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. [Satirically.] I am glad to say that I have never seen -a spade. It is obvious that our social spheres have been widely -different. - -[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. Shall I lay tea here as usual, Miss? - -Cecily. [Sternly, in a calm voice.] Yes, as usual. [Merriman -begins to clear table and lay cloth. A long pause. Cecily and -Gwendolen glare at each other.] - -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. [Sweetly.] I suppose that is why you live in town? -[Gwendolen bites her lip, and beats her foot nervously with her -parasol.] - -Gwendolen. [Looking round.] 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 is almost an epidemic amongst -them, I have been told. May I offer you some tea, Miss Fairfax? - -Gwendolen. [With elaborate politeness.] Thank you. [Aside.] -Detestable girl! But I require tea! - -Cecily. [Sweetly.] Sugar? - -Gwendolen. [Superciliously.] No, thank you. Sugar is not -fashionable any more. [Cecily looks angrily at her, takes up the -tongs and puts four lumps of sugar into the cup.] - -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. - -[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.] - -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. [Rising.] 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. - -[Enter Jack.] - -Gwendolen. [Catching sight of him.] Ernest! My own Ernest! - -Jack. Gwendolen! Darling! [Offers to kiss her.] - -Gwendolen. [Draws back.] A moment! May I ask if you are engaged -to be married to this young lady? [Points to Cecily.] - -Jack. [Laughing.] To dear little Cecily! Of course not! What -could have put such an idea into your pretty little head? - -Gwendolen. Thank you. You may! [Offers her cheek.] - -Cecily. [Very sweetly.] I knew there must be some -misunderstanding, Miss Fairfax. The gentleman whose arm is at -present round your waist is my guardian, Mr. John Worthing. - -Gwendolen. I beg your pardon? - -Cecily. This is Uncle Jack. - -Gwendolen. [Receding.] Jack! Oh! - -[Enter Algernon.] - -Cecily. Here is Ernest. - -Algernon. [Goes straight over to Cecily without noticing any one -else.] My own love! [Offers to kiss her.] - -Cecily. [Drawing back.] A moment, Ernest! May I ask you--are you -engaged to be married to this young lady? - -Algernon. [Looking round.] To what young lady? Good heavens! -Gwendolen! - -Cecily. Yes! to good heavens, Gwendolen, I mean to Gwendolen. - -Algernon. [Laughing.] Of course not! What could have put such an -idea into your pretty little head? - -Cecily. Thank you. [Presenting her cheek to be kissed.] You may. -[Algernon kisses her.] - -Gwendolen. I felt there was some slight error, Miss Cardew. The -gentleman who is now embracing you is my cousin, Mr. Algernon -Moncrieff. - -Cecily. [Breaking away from Algernon.] Algernon Moncrieff! Oh! -[The two girls move towards each other and put their arms round each -other's waists protection.] - -Cecily. Are you called Algernon? - -Algernon. I cannot deny it. - -Cecily. Oh! - -Gwendolen. Is your name really John? - -Jack. [Standing rather proudly.] 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. [To Gwendolen.] A gross deception has been practised on -both of us. - -Gwendolen. My poor wounded Cecily! - -Cecily. My sweet wronged Gwendolen! - -Gwendolen. [Slowly and seriously.] You will call me sister, will -you not? [They embrace. Jack and Algernon groan and walk up and -down.] - -Cecily. [Rather brightly.] 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. [Slowly and hesitatingly.] Gwendolen--Cecily--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. [Surprised.] No brother at all? - -Jack. [Cheerily.] None! - -Gwendolen. [Severely.] Had you never a brother of any kind? - -Jack. [Pleasantly.] Never. Not even of an kind. - -Gwendolen. I am afraid it is quite clear, Cecily, that neither of -us is engaged to be married to any one. - -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? - -[They retire into the house with scornful looks.] - -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 stock-brokers 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 any one -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 have ever -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 some -one 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. [Jack groans, and sinks into a chair. Algernon -still continues eating.] - -ACT DROP - - - - -THIRD ACT - - -SCENE - -Morning-room at the Manor House. - -[Gwendolen and Cecily are at the window, looking out into the -garden.] - -Gwendolen. The fact that they did not follow us at once into the -house, as any one 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. [Enter Jack -followed by Algernon. They whistle some dreadful popular air from a -British Opera.] - -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. [To Gwendolen.] 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 beats time with uplifted finger.] - -Gwendolen and Cecily [Speaking together.] Your Christian names are -still an insuperable barrier. That is all! - -Jack and Algernon [Speaking together.] Our Christian names! Is -that all? But we are going to be christened this afternoon. - -Gwendolen. [To Jack.] For my sake you are prepared to do this -terrible thing? - -Jack. I am. - -Cecily. [To Algernon.] 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! Where -questions of self-sacrifice are concerned, men are infinitely beyond -us. - -Jack. We are. [Clasps hands with Algernon.] - -Cecily. They have moments of physical courage of which we women -know absolutely nothing. - -Gwendolen. [To Jack.] Darling! - -Algernon. [To Cecily.] Darling! [They fall into each other's -arms.] - -[Enter Merriman. When he enters he coughs loudly, seeing the -situation.] - -Merriman. Ahem! Ahem! Lady Bracknell! - -Jack. Good heavens! - -[Enter Lady Bracknell. The couples separate in alarm. Exit -Merriman.] - -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. [Stammering.] 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. [Airily.] 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 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. [Lady Bracknell -bows coldly to Cecily.] - -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 inquiry 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 looks perfectly furious, but -restrains himself.] - -Jack. [In a clear, cold voice.] Miss Cardew is the grand-daughter -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. Markby's 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 -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. Goodbye, 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. 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. 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. -[Algernon and Cecily look at him in indignant amazement.] - -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; 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. 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 miss any more might expose us to comment on the -platform. - -[Enter Dr. Chasuble.] - -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 baptized. 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 bear 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. - -[Enter Miss Prism hurriedly.] - -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! [Every one 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. In a -moment of mental abstraction, for which I never can forgive myself, -I deposited the manuscript in the basinette, 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. [Exit Jack in great excitement.] - -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. - -[Noises heard overhead as if some one was throwing trunks about. -Every one looks up.] - -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. [Enter -Jack with a hand-bag of black leather in his hand.] - -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 some one 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. 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 realised for the -first time in my life the vital Importance of Being Earnest. - -TABLEAU - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST *** - -This file should be named tiobe10.txt or tiobe10.zip -Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, tiobe11.txt -VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, tiobe10a.txt - -Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US -unless a copyright notice is included. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END* - diff --git a/old/tiobe10.zip b/old/tiobe10.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index f26c5d5..0000000 --- a/old/tiobe10.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/tiobe10h.htm b/old/tiobe10h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index ce38f42..0000000 --- a/old/tiobe10h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2787 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html - PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html> -<head> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> -<title>The Importance of Being Earnest</title> - <style type="text/css"> -/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ -<!-- - P { margin-top: .75em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .75em; - } - H1, H2, H3, H4 { - text-align: center; /* all headings aligned centered */ - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - } - BODY{margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; - } - .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ - // --> - /* XML end ]]>*/ - </style> -</head> -<body> -<h2> -<a href="#startoftext">The Importance of Being Earnest, by Oscar Wilde</a> -</h2> -<pre> -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Importance of Being Earnest, by Oscar Wilde - -Copyright laws are changing all over the world. 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You can also find out about how to make a -donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. - - -**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** - -**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** - -*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** - - -Title: The Importance of Being Earnest - -Author: Oscar Wilde - -Release Date: March, 1997 [EBook #844] -[This file was first posted on March 8, 1997] -[Most recently updated: June 2, 2004] - -Edition: 10 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: US-ASCII -</pre> -<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> -<p>Transcribed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> -<h1>The Importance of Being Earnest<br /> -A Trivial Comedy for Serious People</h1> -<h2>THE PERSONS IN THE PLAY</h2> -<p>John Worthing, J.P.<br /> -Algernon Moncrieff<br /> -Rev. Canon Chasuble, D.D.<br /> -Merriman, Butler<br /> -Lane, Manservant<br /> -Lady Bracknell<br /> -Hon. Gwendolen Fairfax<br /> -Cecily Cardew<br /> -Miss Prism, Governess</p> -<h2>THE SCENES OF THE PLAY</h2> -<p>ACT I. Algernon Moncrieff’s Flat in Half-Moon Street, -W.</p> -<p>ACT II. The Garden at the Manor House, Woolton.</p> -<p>ACT III. Drawing-Room at the Manor House, Woolton.</p> -<p>TIME: The Present.</p> -<h2>LONDON: ST. JAMES’S THEATRE</h2> -<p>Lessee and Manager: Mr. George Alexander</p> -<p>February 14th, 1895</p> -<p>* * * * *</p> -<p>John Worthing, J.P.: Mr. George Alexander.<br /> -Algernon Moncrieff: Mr. Allen Aynesworth.<br /> -Rev. Canon Chasuble, D.D.: Mr. H. H. Vincent.<br /> -Merriman: Mr. Frank Dyall.<br /> -Lane: Mr. F. Kinsey Peile.<br /> -Lady Bracknell: Miss Rose Leclercq.<br /> -Hon. Gwendolen Fairfax: Miss Irene Vanbrugh.<br /> -Cecily Cardew: Miss Evelyn Millard.<br /> -Miss Prism: Mrs. George Canninge.</p> -<h2>FIRST ACT</h2> -<h3>SCENE</h3> -<p>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.</p> -<p>[<b>Lane</b> is arranging afternoon tea on the table, and after the -music has ceased, <b>Algernon</b> enters.]</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Did you hear what I was playing, Lane?</p> -<p><b>Lane.</b> I didn’t think it polite to listen, sir.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> I’m sorry for that, for your sake. -I don’t play accurately—any one 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.</p> -<p><b>Lane.</b> Yes, sir.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> And, speaking of the science of Life, have -you got the cucumber sandwiches cut for Lady Bracknell?</p> -<p><b>Lane.</b> Yes, sir. [Hands them on a salver.]</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> [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.</p> -<p><b>Lane.</b> Yes, sir; eight bottles and a pint.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Why is it that at a bachelor’s establishment -the servants invariably drink the champagne? I ask merely for -information.</p> -<p><b>Lane.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Good heavens! Is marriage so demoralising -as that?</p> -<p><b>Lane.</b> I believe it <i>is</i> 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> [Languidly.] I don’t know that -I am much interested in your family life, Lane.</p> -<p><b>Lane.</b> No, sir; it is not a very interesting subject. -I never think of it myself.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Very natural, I am sure. That will do, -Lane, thank you.</p> -<p><b>Lane.</b> Thank you, sir. [<b>Lane</b> goes out.]</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Lanes 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.</p> -<p>[Enter <b>Lane</b>.]</p> -<p><b>Lane.</b> Mr. Ernest Worthing.</p> -<p>[Enter <b>Jack</b>.]</p> -<p>[<b>Lane</b> goes out.]</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> How are you, my dear Ernest? What brings -you up to town?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Oh, pleasure, pleasure! What else should -bring one anywhere? Eating as usual, I see, Algy!</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> [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?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [Sitting down on the sofa.] In the country.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> What on earth do you do there?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> And who are the people you amuse?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [Airily.] Oh, neighbours, neighbours.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Got nice neighbours in your part of Shropshire?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Perfectly horrid! Never speak to one of -them.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> How immensely you must amuse them! [Goes -over and takes sandwich.] By the way, Shropshire is your county, -is it not?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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?</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Oh! merely Aunt Augusta and Gwendolen.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> How perfectly delightful!</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Yes, that is all very well; but I am afraid -Aunt Augusta won’t quite approve of your being here.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> May I ask why?</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> My dear fellow, the way you flirt with Gwendolen -is perfectly disgraceful. It is almost as bad as the way Gwendolen -flirts with you.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> I am in love with Gwendolen. I have come -up to town expressly to propose to her.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> I thought you had come up for pleasure? . -. . I call that business.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> How utterly unromantic you are!</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> I have no doubt about that, dear Algy. The -Divorce Court was specially invented for people whose memories are so -curiously constituted.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Oh! there is no use speculating on that subject. -Divorces are made in Heaven—[<b>Jack</b> puts out his hand to -take a sandwich. <b>Algernon</b> at once interferes.] Please -don’t touch the cucumber sandwiches. They are ordered specially -for Aunt Augusta. [Takes one and eats it.]</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Well, you have been eating them all the time.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [Advancing to table and helping himself.] -And very good bread and butter it is too.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Why on earth do you say that?</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Well, in the first place girls never marry -the men they flirt with. Girls don’t think it right.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Oh, that is nonsense!</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Your consent!</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.]</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Cecily! What on earth do you mean? -What do you mean, Algy, by Cecily! I don’t know any one -of the name of Cecily.</p> -<p>[Enter <b>Lane</b>.]</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Bring me that cigarette case Mr. Worthing -left in the smoking-room the last time he dined here.</p> -<p><b>Lane.</b> Yes, sir. [<b>Lane</b> goes out.]</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Well, I wish you would offer one. I -happen to be more than usually hard up.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> There is no good offering a large reward now that -the thing is found.</p> -<p>[Enter <b>Lane</b> with the cigarette case on a salver. <b>Algernon</b> -takes it at once. <b>Lane</b> goes out.]</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Yes; but this isn’t your cigarette case. -This cigarette case is a present from some one of the name of Cecily, -and you said you didn’t know any one of that name.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Well, if you want to know, Cecily happens to be -my aunt.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Your aunt!</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Yes. Charming old lady she is, too. -Lives at Tunbridge Wells. Just give it back to me, Algy.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> [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.’</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [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 <b>Algernon</b> -round the room.]</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Yes. But why does your aunt call you -her uncle? ‘From little Cecily, with her fondest love 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> It isn’t Ernest; it’s Jack.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> You have always told me it was Ernest. -I have introduced you to every one 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 any one else. -[Puts the card in his pocket.]</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Well, my name is Ernest in town and Jack in the -country, and the cigarette case was given to me in the country.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Yes, but that does not account for the fact -that 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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,</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Bunburyist? What on earth do you mean by a Bunburyist?</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Well, produce my cigarette case first.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Here it is. [Hands cigarette case.] -Now produce your explanation, and pray make it improbable. [Sits -on sofa.]</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Where is that place in the country, by the -way?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> The truth is rarely pure and never simple. -Modern life would be very tedious if it were either, and modern literature -a complete impossibility!</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> That wouldn’t be at all a bad thing.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> What on earth do you mean?</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> I haven’t asked you to dine with me anywhere -to-night.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> You had much better dine with your Aunt Augusta.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Nothing will induce me to part with Bunbury, -and 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Then your wife will. You don’t -seem to realise, that in married life three is company and two is none.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [Sententiously.] That, my dear young friend, -is the theory that the corrupt French Drama has been propounding for -the last fifty years.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Yes; and that the happy English home has proved -in half the time.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> For heaven’s sake, don’t try to be -cynical. It’s perfectly easy to be cynical.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> My dear fellow, it isn’t easy to be -anything nowadays. 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?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> I suppose so, if you want to.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Yes, but you must be serious about it. -I hate people who are not serious about meals. It is so shallow -of them.</p> -<p>[Enter <b>Lane</b>.]</p> -<p>Lady Bracknell and Miss Fairfax.</p> -<p>[<b>Algernon</b> goes forward to meet them. Enter <b>Lady Bracknell</b> -and <b>Gwendolen</b>.]</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> Good afternoon, dear Algernon, I hope -you are behaving very well.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> I’m feeling very well, Aunt Augusta.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> That’s not quite the same thing. -In fact the two things rarely go together. [Sees <b>Jack</b> and -bows to him with icy coldness.]</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> [To <b>Gwendolen</b>.] Dear me, you -are smart!</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> I am always smart! Am I not, Mr. Worthing?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> You’re quite perfect, Miss Fairfax.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> Oh! I hope I am not that. It would -leave no room for developments, and I intend to develop in many directions. -[<b>Gwendolen</b> and <b>Jack</b> sit down together in the corner.]</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Certainly, Aunt Augusta. [Goes over -to tea-table.]</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> Won’t you come and sit here, Gwendolen?</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> Thanks, mamma, I’m quite comfortable -where I am.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> [Picking up empty plate in horror.] -Good heavens! Lane! Why are there no cucumber sandwiches? -I ordered them specially.</p> -<p><b>Lane.</b> [Gravely.] There were no cucumbers in the -market this morning, sir. I went down twice.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> No cucumbers!</p> -<p><b>Lane.</b> No, sir. Not even for ready money.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> That will do, Lane, thank you.</p> -<p><b>Lane.</b> Thank you, sir. [Goes out.]</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> I am greatly distressed, Aunt Augusta, about -there being no cucumbers, not even for ready money.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> It really makes no matter, Algernon. -I had some crumpets with Lady Harbury, who seems to me to be living -entirely for pleasure now.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> I hear her hair has turned quite gold from -grief.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> It certainly has changed its colour. -From what cause I, of course, cannot say. [<b>Algernon</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> I am afraid, Aunt Augusta, I shall have to -give up the pleasure of dining with you to-night after all.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> [Frowning.] I hope not, Algernon. -It would put my table completely out. Your uncle would have to -dine upstairs. Fortunately he is accustomed to that.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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 <b>Jack</b>.] They seem to think I should be with -him.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> It is very strange. This Mr. Bunbury -seems to suffer from curiously bad health.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Yes; poor Bunbury is a dreadful invalid.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> 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 ailment -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 every one has practically said whatever they -had to say, which, in most cases, was probably not much.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> Thank you, Algernon. It is very -thoughtful of you. [Rising, and following <b>Algernon</b>.] -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.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> Certainly, mamma.</p> -<p>[<b>Lady Bracknell</b> and <b>Algernon</b> go into the music-room, -<b>Gwendolen</b> remains behind.]</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Charming day it has been, Miss Fairfax.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> I do mean something else.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> I thought so. In fact, I am never wrong.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> And I would like to be allowed to take advantage -of Lady Bracknell’s temporary absence . . .</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [Nervously.] Miss Fairfax, ever since I -met you I have admired you more than any girl . . . I have ever met -since . . . I met you.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> Yes, I am quite well 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. [<b>Jack</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> You really love me, Gwendolen?</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> Passionately!</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Darling! You don’t know how happy -you’ve made me.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> My own Ernest!</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> But you don’t really mean to say that you -couldn’t love me if my name wasn’t Ernest?</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> But your name is Ernest.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Yes, I know it is. But supposing it was -something else? Do you mean to say you couldn’t love me -then?</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> [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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> It suits you perfectly. It is a divine -name. It has a music of its own. It produces vibrations.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> 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</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Gwendolen, I must get christened at once—I -mean we must get married at once. There is no time to be lost.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> Married, Mr. Worthing?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [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.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Well . . . may I propose to you now?</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> 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 before-hand that I am fully determined -to accept you.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Gwendolen!</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> Yes, Mr. Worthing, what have you got to say -to me?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> You know what I have got to say to you.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> Yes, but you don’t say it.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Gwendolen, will you marry me? [Goes on his -knees.]</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> My own one, I have never loved any one in the -world but you.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> 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. [Enter <b>Lady Bracknell</b>.]</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> Mr. Worthing! Rise, sir, from -this semi-recumbent posture. It is most indecorous.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> Finished what, may I ask?</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> I am engaged to Mr. Worthing, mamma. -[They rise together.]</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> Pardon me, you are not engaged to any -one. 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.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> [Reproachfully.] Mamma!</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> In the carriage, Gwendolen! [<b>Gwendolen</b> -goes to the door. She and <b>Jack</b> blow kisses to each other -behind <b>Lady Bracknell’s</b> back. <b>Lady Bracknell</b> -looks vaguely about as if she could not understand what the noise was. -Finally turns round.] Gwendolen, the carriage!</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> Yes, mamma. [Goes out, looking back -at <b>Jack</b>.]</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> [Sitting down.] You can take a -seat, Mr. Worthing.</p> -<p>[Looks in her pocket for note-book and pencil.]</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Thank you, Lady Bracknell, I prefer standing.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> [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?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Well, yes, I must admit I smoke.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> 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?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Twenty-nine.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> 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?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [After some hesitation.] I know nothing, -Lady Bracknell.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> 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?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Between seven and eight thousand a year.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> [Makes a note in her book.] In -land, or in investments?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> In investments, chiefly.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> 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 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> Lady Bloxham? I don’t know -her.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Oh, she goes about very little. She is a -lady considerably advanced in years.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> Ah, nowadays that is no guarantee of -respectability of character. What number in Belgrave Square?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 149.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> [Shaking her head.] The unfashionable -side. I thought there was something. However, that could -easily be altered.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Do you mean the fashion, or the side?</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> [Sternly.] Both, if necessary, -I presume. What are your polities?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Well, I am afraid I really have none. I -am a Liberal Unionist.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> 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?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> I have lost both my parents.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> To lose one parent, Mr. Worthing, may -be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks 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?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> Found!</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> Where did the charitable gentleman who -had a first-class ticket for this seaside resort find you?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [Gravely.] In a hand-bag.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> A hand-bag?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [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.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> In what locality did this Mr. James, -or Thomas, Cardew come across this ordinary hand-bag?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> In the cloak-room at Victoria Station. It -was given to him in mistake for his own.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> The cloak-room at Victoria Station?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Yes. The Brighton line.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> The line is immaterial. Mr. Worthing, -I confess I feel somewhat bewildered by what you have just 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 reminds 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 -recognised position in good society.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> 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!</p> -<p>[<b>Lady Bracknell</b> sweeps out in majestic indignation.]</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Good morning! [<b>Algernon</b>, from the -other room, strikes up the Wedding March. Jack looks perfectly -furious, and goes to the door.] For goodness’ sake don’t -play that ghastly tune, Algy. How idiotic you are!</p> -<p>[The music stops and <b>Algernon</b> enters cheerily.]</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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 rather unfair . . . I beg your pardon, Algy, I suppose I shouldn’t -talk about your own aunt in that way before you.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Oh, that is nonsense!</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> It isn’t!</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Well, I won’t argue about the matter. -You always want to argue about things.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> That is exactly what things were originally -made for.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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?</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> All women become like their mothers. -That is their tragedy. No man does. That’s his.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Is that clever?</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> It is perfectly phrased! and quite as true -as any observation in civilised life should be.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> I am sick to death of cleverness. Everybody -is clever nowadays. 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> We have.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> I should extremely like to meet them. What -do they talk about?</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> The fools? Oh! about the clever people, -of course.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> What fools!</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> By the way, did you tell Gwendolen the truth -about your being Ernest in town, and Jack in the country?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [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!</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> The only way to behave to a woman is to make -love to her, if she is pretty, and to some one else, if she is plain.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Oh, that is nonsense.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> What about your brother? What about -the profligate Ernest?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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?</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> You are sure a severe chill isn’t hereditary, -or anything of that kind?</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Of course it isn’t!</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Very well, then. My poor brother Ernest -to carried off suddenly, in Paris, by a severe chill. That gets -rid of him.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> I would rather like to see Cecily.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> I will take very good care you never do. -She is excessively pretty, and she is only just eighteen.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Have you told Gwendolen yet that you have -an excessively pretty ward who is only just eighteen?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [Irritably.] Oh! It always is nearly -seven.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Well, I’m hungry.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> I never knew you when you weren’t . . .</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> What shall we do after dinner? Go to -a theatre?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Oh no! I loathe listening.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Well, let us go to the Club?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Oh, no! I hate talking.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Well, we might trot round to the Empire at -ten?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Oh, no! I can’t bear looking at things. -It is so silly.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Well, what shall we do?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Nothing!</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> It is awfully hard work doing nothing. -However, I don’t mind hard work where there is no definite object -of any kind.</p> -<p>[Enter <b>Lane</b>.]</p> -<p><b>Lane.</b> Miss Fairfax.</p> -<p>[Enter <b>Gwendolen</b>. <b>Lane</b> goes out.]</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Gwendolen, upon my word!</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> Algy, kindly turn your back. I have -something very particular to say to Mr. Worthing.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Really, Gwendolen, I don’t think I can -allow this at all.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> Algy, you always adopt a strictly immoral -attitude towards life. You are not quite old enough to do that. -[<b>Algernon</b> retires to the fireplace.]</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> My own darling!</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> Ernest, we may never be married. From -the expression on mamma’s face I fear we never shall. Few -parents nowadays 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 -some one else, and marry often, nothing that she can possibly do can -alter my eternal devotion to you.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Dear Gwendolen!</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> 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?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> The Manor House, Woolton, Hertfordshire.</p> -<p>[<b>Algernon</b>, who has been carefully listening, smiles to himself, -and writes the address on his shirt-cuff. Then picks up the Railway -Guide.]</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> My own one!</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> How long do you remain in town?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Till Monday.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> Good! Algy, you may turn round now.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Thanks, I’ve turned round already.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> You may also ring the bell.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> You will let me see you to your carriage, my own -darling?</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> Certainly.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [To <b>Lane</b>, who now enters.] I will -see Miss Fairfax out.</p> -<p><b>Lane.</b> Yes, sir. [<b>Jack</b> and <b>Gwendolen</b> -go off.]</p> -<p>[<b>Lane</b> presents several letters on a salver to <b>Algernon</b>. -It is to be surmised that they are bills, as <b>Algernon</b>, after -looking at the envelopes, tears them up.]</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> A glass of sherry, Lane.</p> -<p><b>Lane.</b> Yes, sir.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> To-morrow, Lane, I’m going Bunburying.</p> -<p><b>Lane.</b> Yes, sir.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> I shall probably not be back till Monday. -You can put up my dress clothes, my smoking jacket, and all the Bunbury -suits . . .</p> -<p><b>Lane.</b> Yes, sir. [Handing sherry.]</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> I hope to-morrow will be a fine day, Lane.</p> -<p><b>Lane.</b> It never is, sir.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Lane, you’re a perfect pessimist.</p> -<p><b>Lane.</b> I do my best to give satisfaction, sir.</p> -<p>[Enter <b>Jack</b>. <b>Lane</b> goes off.]</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> There’s a sensible, intellectual girl! the -only girl I ever cared for in my life. [<b>Algernon</b> is laughing -immoderately.] What on earth are you so amused at?</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Oh, I’m a little anxious about poor -Bunbury, that is all.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> If you don’t take care, your friend Bunbury -will get you into a serious scrape some day.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> I love scrapes. They are the only things -that are never serious.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Oh, that’s nonsense, Algy. You never -talk anything but nonsense.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Nobody ever does.</p> -<p>[<b>Jack</b> looks indignantly at him, and leaves the room. -<b>Algernon</b> lights a cigarette, reads his shirt-cuff, and smiles.]</p> -<p>ACT DROP</p> -<h2>SECOND ACT</h2> -<h3>SCENE</h3> -<p>Garden at the Manor House. A flight of grey 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.</p> -<p>[<b>Miss Prism</b> discovered seated at the table. <b>Cecily</b> -is at the back watering flowers.]</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> [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.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> [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.</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Dear Uncle Jack is so very serious! Sometimes -he is so serious that I think he cannot be quite well.</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> [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.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> I suppose that is why he often looks a little -bored when we three are together.</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> 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. [<b>Cecily</b> begins to write in her diary.]</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> [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.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> Memory, my dear Cecily, is the diary that -we all carry about with us.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Yes, but it usually chronicles the things that -have 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.</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> Do not speak slightingly of the three-volume -novel, Cecily. I wrote one myself in earlier days.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily. -That is what Fiction means.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> I suppose so. But it seems very unfair. -And was your novel ever published?</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> Alas! no. The manuscript unfortunately -was abandoned. [<b>Cecily</b> starts.] I use the word in -the sense of lost or mislaid. To your work, child, these speculations -are profitless.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> [Smiling.] But I see dear Dr. Chasuble -coming up through the garden.</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> [Rising and advancing.] Dr. Chasuble! -This is indeed a pleasure.</p> -<p>[Enter <b>Canon Chasuble</b>.]</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> And how are we this morning? Miss Prism, -you are, I trust, well?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> Cecily, I have not mentioned anything about -a headache.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> I hope, Cecily, you are not inattentive.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Oh, I am afraid I am.</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> That is strange. Were I fortunate enough -to be Miss Prism’s pupil, I would hang upon her lips. [<b>Miss -Prism</b> glares.] I spoke metaphorically.—My metaphor was -drawn from bees. Ahem! Mr. Worthing, I suppose, has not -returned from town yet?</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> We do not expect him till Monday afternoon.</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> Egeria? My name is Lætitia, -Doctor.</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> [Bowing.] A classical allusion merely, -drawn from the Pagan authors. I shall see you both no doubt at -Evensong?</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> With pleasure, Miss Prism, with pleasure. -We might go as far as the schools and back.</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> 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.</p> -<p>[Goes down the garden with <b>Dr. Chasuble</b>.]</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> [Picks up books and throws them back on table.] -Horrid Political Economy! Horrid Geography! Horrid, horrid -German!</p> -<p>[Enter <b>Merriman</b> with a card on a salver.]</p> -<p><b>Merriman</b>. Mr. Ernest Worthing has just driven over from -the station. He has brought his luggage with him.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> [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?</p> -<p><b>Merriman</b>. 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.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Ask Mr. Ernest Worthing to come here. -I suppose you had better talk to the housekeeper about a room for him.</p> -<p><b>Merriman</b>. Yes, Miss.</p> -<p>[<b>Merriman</b> goes off.]</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> I have never met any really wicked person before. -I feel rather frightened. I am so afraid he will look just like -every one else.</p> -<p>[Enter <b>Algernon</b>, very gay and debonnair.] He does!</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> [Raising his hat.] You are my little -cousin Cecily, I’m sure.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> You are under some strange mistake. I -am not little. In fact, I believe I am more than usually tall -for my age. [<b>Algernon</b> is rather taken aback.] But -I am your cousin Cecily. You, I see from your card, are Uncle -Jack’s brother, my cousin Ernest, my wicked cousin Ernest.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Oh! I am not really wicked at all, cousin -Cecily. You mustn’t think that I am wicked.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> [Looks at her in amazement.] Oh! -Of course I have been rather reckless.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> I am glad to hear it.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> In fact, now you mention the subject, I have -been very bad in my own small way.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> I don’t think you should be so proud of -that, though I am sure it must have been very pleasant.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> It is much pleasanter being here with you.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> I can’t understand how you are here at -all. Uncle Jack won’t be back till Monday afternoon.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Couldn’t you miss it anywhere but in London?</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> No: the appointment is in London.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> About my what?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Your emigrating. He has gone up to buy -your outfit.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> I certainly wouldn’t let Jack buy my -outfit. He has no taste in neckties at all.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> I don’t think you will require neckties. -Uncle Jack is sending you to Australia.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Australia! I’d sooner die.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Well, he said at dinner on Wednesday night, -that you would have to choose between this world, the next world, and -Australia.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Yes, but are you good enough for it?</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> I’m afraid I’ve no time, this afternoon.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Well, would you mind my reforming myself this -afternoon?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> It is rather Quixotic of you. But I think -you should try.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> I will. I feel better already.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> You are looking a little worse.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> That is because I am hungry.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> 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?</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Thank you. Might I have a buttonhole -first? I never have any appetite unless I have a buttonhole first.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> A Marechal Niel? [Picks up scissors.]</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> No, I’d sooner have a pink rose.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Why? [Cuts a flower.]</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Because you are like a pink rose, Cousin Cecily.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> I don’t think it can be right for you -to talk to me like that. Miss Prism never says such things to -me.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Then Miss Prism is a short-sighted old lady. -[<b>Cecily</b> puts the rose in his buttonhole.] You are the prettiest -girl I ever saw.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Miss Prism says that all good looks are a snare.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> They are a snare that every sensible man would -like to be caught in.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Oh, I don’t think I would care to catch -a sensible man. I shouldn’t know what to talk to him about.</p> -<p>[They pass into the house. <b>Miss Prism</b> and <b>Dr. Chasuble</b> -return.]</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> You are too much alone, dear Dr. Chasuble. -You should get married. A misanthrope I can understand—a -womanthrope, never!</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> [With a scholar’s shudder.] 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.</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> [Sententiously.] That is obviously -the reason why the Primitive Church has not lasted up to the present -day. And you do not seem to realise, 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.</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> But is a man not equally attractive when married?</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> No married man is ever attractive except -to his wife.</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> And often, I’ve been told, not even -to her.</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> That depends on the intellectual sympathies -of the woman. Maturity can always be depended on. Ripeness -can be trusted. Young women are green. [<b>Dr. Chasuble</b> -starts.] I spoke horticulturally. My metaphor was drawn -from fruits. But where is Cecily?</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> Perhaps she followed us to the schools.</p> -<p>[Enter <b>Jack</b> slowly from the back of the garden. He is -dressed in the deepest mourning, with crape hatband and black gloves.]</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> Mr. Worthing!</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> Mr. Worthing?</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> This is indeed a surprise. We did -not look for you till Monday afternoon.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [Shakes <b>Miss Prism’s</b> hand in a tragic -manner.] I have returned sooner than I expected. Dr. Chasuble, -I hope you are well?</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> Dear Mr. Worthing, I trust this garb of woe -does not betoken some terrible calamity?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> My brother.</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> More shameful debts and extravagance?</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> Still leading his life of pleasure?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [Shaking his head.] Dead!</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> Your brother Ernest dead?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Quite dead.</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> What a lesson for him! I trust he -will profit by it.</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Poor Ernest! He had many faults, but it -is a sad, sad blow.</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> Very sad indeed. Were you with him at -the end?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> No. He died abroad; in Paris, in fact. -I had a telegram last night from the manager of the Grand Hotel.</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> Was the cause of death mentioned?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> A severe chill, it seems.</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> As a man sows, so shall he reap.</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> [Raising his hand.] Charity, dear Miss -Prism, charity! None of us are perfect. I myself am peculiarly -susceptible to draughts. Will the interment take place here?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> No. He seems to have expressed a desire -to be buried in Paris.</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> 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. [<b>Jack</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Ah! that reminds me, you mentioned christenings -I think, Dr. Chasuble? I suppose you know how to christen all -right? [<b>Dr. Chasuble</b> looks astounded.] I mean, of -course, you are continually christening, aren’t you?</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> But is there any particular infant in whom -you are interested, Mr. Worthing? Your brother was, I believe, -unmarried, was he not?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Oh yes.</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> [Bitterly.] People who live entirely -for pleasure usually are.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> But surely, Mr. Worthing, you have been christened -already?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> I don’t remember anything about it.</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> But have you any grave doubts on the subject?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> Not at all. The sprinkling, and, indeed, -the immersion of adults is a perfectly canonical practice.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Immersion!</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> 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?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Oh, I might trot round about five if that would -suit you.</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> 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 on your own estate. -Poor Jenkins the carter, a most hard-working man.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Oh! I don’t see much fun in being -christened along with other babies. It would be childish. -Would half-past five do?</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> This seems to me a blessing of an extremely -obvious kind.</p> -<p>[Enter <b>Cecily</b> from the house.]</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Uncle Jack! Oh, I am pleased to see you -back. But what horrid clothes you have got on! Do go and -change them.</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> Cecily!</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> My child! my child! [<b>Cecily</b> goes -towards <b>Jack</b>; he kisses her brow in a melancholy manner.]</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> 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!</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Who?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Your brother Ernest. He arrived about -half an hour ago.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> What nonsense! I haven’t got a brother.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> 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.]</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> These are very joyful tidings.</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> After we had all been resigned to his loss, -his sudden return seems to me peculiarly distressing.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> My brother is in the dining-room? I don’t -know what it all means. I think it is perfectly absurd.</p> -<p>[Enter <b>Algernon</b> and <b>Cecily</b> hand in hand. They -come slowly up to <b>Jack</b>.]</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Good heavens! [Motions <b>Algernon</b> away.]</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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. [<b>Jack</b> -glares at him and does not take his hand.]</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Uncle Jack, you are not going to refuse your -own brother’s hand?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Nothing will induce me to take his hand. -I think his coming down here disgraceful. He knows perfectly well -why.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Uncle Jack, do be nice. There is some -good in every one. 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Oh! he has been talking about Bunbury, has he?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Yes, he has told me all about poor Mr. Bunbury, -and his terrible state of health.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Bunbury! Well, I won’t have him talk -to you about Bunbury or about anything else. It is enough to drive -one perfectly frantic.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Uncle Jack, if you don’t shake hands with -Ernest I will never forgive you.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Never forgive me?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Never, never, never!</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Well, this is the last time I shall ever do it. -[Shakes with <b>Algernon</b> and glares.]</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> It’s pleasant, is it not, to see so -perfect a reconciliation? I think we might leave the two brothers -together.</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> Cecily, you will come with us.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Certainly, Miss Prism. My little task -of reconciliation is over.</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> You have done a beautiful action to-day, dear -child.</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> We must not be premature in our judgments.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> I feel very happy. [They all go off except -<b>Jack</b> and <b>Algernon</b>.]</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> You young scoundrel, Algy, you must get out of -this place as soon as possible. I don’t allow any Bunburying -here.</p> -<p>[Enter <b>Merriman</b>.]</p> -<p><b>Merriman</b>. I have put Mr. Ernest’s things in the -room next to yours, sir. I suppose that is all right?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> What?</p> -<p><b>Merriman.</b> Mr. Ernest’s luggage, sir. I have -unpacked it and put it in the room next to your own.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> His luggage?</p> -<p><b>Merriman.</b> Yes, sir. Three portmanteaus, a dressing-case, -two hat-boxes, and a large luncheon-basket.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> I am afraid I can’t stay more than a -week this time.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Merriman, order the dog-cart at once. Mr. -Ernest has been suddenly called back to town.</p> -<p><b>Merriman.</b> Yes, sir. [Goes back into the house.]</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> What a fearful liar you are, Jack. I -have not been called back to town at all.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Yes, you have.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> I haven’t heard any one call me.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Your duty as a gentleman calls you back.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> My duty as a gentleman has never interfered -with my pleasures in the smallest degree.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> I can quite understand that.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Well, Cecily is a darling.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> You are not to talk of Miss Cardew like that. -I don’t like it.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Well, will you go if I change my clothes?</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Yes, if you are not too long. I never -saw anybody take so long to dress, and with such little result.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Well, at any rate, that is better than being always -over-dressed as you are.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> If I am occasionally a little over-dressed, -I make up for it by being always immensely over-educated.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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.</p> -<p>[Goes into the house.]</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> I think it has been a great success. -I’m in love with Cecily, and that is everything.</p> -<p>[Enter <b>Cecily</b> at the back of the garden. She picks up -the can and begins to water the flowers.] But I must see her before -I go, and make arrangements for another Bunbury. Ah, there she -is.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Oh, I merely came back to water the roses. -I thought you were with Uncle Jack.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> He’s gone to order the dog-cart for -me.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Oh, is he going to take you for a nice drive?</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> He’s going to send me away.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Then have we got to part?</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> I am afraid so. It’s a very painful -parting.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Thank you.</p> -<p>[Enter <b>Merriman</b>.]</p> -<p><b>Merriman.</b> The dog-cart is at the door, sir. [<b>Algernon</b> -looks appealingly at <b>Cecily</b>.]</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> It can wait, Merriman for . . . five minutes.</p> -<p><b>Merriman.</b> Yes, Miss. [Exit <b>Merriman</b>.]</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> 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.]</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Do you really keep a diary? I’d -give anything to look at it. May I?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> [Somewhat taken aback.] Ahem! -Ahem!</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> 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 <b>Algernon</b> -speaks.]</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> [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.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> 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?</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Cecily!</p> -<p>[Enter <b>Merriman</b>.]</p> -<p><b>Merriman.</b> The dog-cart is waiting, sir.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Tell it to come round next week, at the same -hour.</p> -<p><b>Merriman.</b> [Looks at <b>Cecily</b>, who makes no sign.] -Yes, sir.</p> -<p>[<b>Merriman</b> retires.]</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Uncle Jack would be very much annoyed if he -knew you were staying on till next week, at the same hour.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> You silly boy! Of course. Why, we -have been engaged for the last three months.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> For the last three months?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Yes, it will be exactly three months on Thursday.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> But how did we become engaged?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Darling! And when was the engagement -actually settled?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> 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 -lover’s knot I promised you always to wear.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Did I give you this? It’s very -pretty, isn’t it?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> 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.]</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> My letters! But, my own sweet Cecily, -I have never written you any letters.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Oh, do let me read them, Cecily?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Oh, I couldn’t possibly. They would -make you far too conceited. [Replaces box.] The three you -wrote me after I had broken of the engagement are so beautiful, and -so badly spelled, that even now I can hardly read them without crying -a little.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> But was our engagement ever broken off?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Of course it was. On the 22nd of last -March. You can see the entry if you like. [Shows diary.] -‘To-day I broke off my engagement with Ernest. I feel it -is better to do so. The weather still continues charming.’</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> [Crossing to her, and kneeling.] What -a perfect angel you are, Cecily.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> You dear romantic boy. [He kisses her, -she puts her fingers through his hair.] I hope your hair curls -naturally, does it?</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Yes, darling, with a little help from others.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> I am so glad.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> You’ll never break off our engagement -again, Cecily?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Yes, of course. [Nervously.]</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> 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. [<b>Algernon</b> rises, <b>Cecily</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> But, my dear child, do you mean to say you -could not love me if I had some other name?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> But what name?</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Oh, any name you like—Algernon—for -instance . . .</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> But I don’t like the name of Algernon.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> [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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Oh, yes. Dr. Chasuble is a most learned -man. He has never written a single book, so you can imagine how -much he knows.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> I must see him at once on a most important -christening—I mean on most important business.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Oh!</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> I shan’t be away more than half an hour.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> 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?</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> I’ll be back in no time.</p> -<p>[Kisses her and rushes down the garden.]</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> What an impetuous boy he is! I like his -hair so much. I must enter his proposal in my diary.</p> -<p>[Enter <b>Merriman</b>.]</p> -<p><b>Merriman.</b> A Miss Fairfax has just called to see Mr. -Worthing. On very important business, Miss Fairfax states.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Isn’t Mr. Worthing in his library?</p> -<p><b>Merriman.</b> Mr. Worthing went over in the direction of -the Rectory some time ago.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Pray ask the lady to come out here; Mr. Worthing -is sure to be back soon. And you can bring tea.</p> -<p><b>Merriman.</b> Yes, Miss. [Goes out.]</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> 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.</p> -<p>[Enter <b>Merriman</b>.]</p> -<p><b>Merriman.</b> Miss Fairfax.</p> -<p>[Enter <b>Gwendolen</b>.]</p> -<p>[Exit <b>Merriman</b>.]</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> [Advancing to meet her.] Pray let me introduce -myself to you. My name is Cecily Cardew.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> How nice of you to like me so much after we -have known each other such a comparatively short time. Pray sit -down.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> [Still standing up.] I may call you -Cecily, may I not?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> With pleasure!</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> And you will always call me Gwendolen, won’t -you?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> If you wish.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> Then that is all quite settled, is it not?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> I hope so. [A pause. They both sit -down together.]</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> 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?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> I don’t think so.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> 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?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Oh! not at all, Gwendolen. I am very fond -of being looked at.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> [After examining <b>Cecily</b> carefully -through a lorgnette.] You are here on a short visit, I suppose.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Oh no! I live here.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> [Severely.] Really? Your mother, -no doubt, or some female relative of advanced years, resides here also?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Oh no! I have no mother, nor, in fact, -any relations.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> Indeed?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> My dear guardian, with the assistance of Miss -Prism, has the arduous task of looking after me.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> Your guardian?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Yes, I am Mr. Worthing’s ward.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> 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 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 -</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Pray do! I think that whenever one has -anything unpleasant to say, one should always be quite candid.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> I beg your pardon, Gwendolen, did you say Ernest?</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> Yes.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Oh, but it is not Mr. Ernest Worthing who is -my guardian. It is his brother—his elder brother.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> [Sitting down again.] Ernest never -mentioned to me that he had a brother.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> I am sorry to say they have not been on good -terms for a long time.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> 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?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Quite sure. [A pause.] In fact, -I am going to be his.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> [Inquiringly.] I beg your pardon?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> [Rather shy and confidingly.] 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.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> [Quite politely, rising.] My darling -Cecily, I think there must be some slight error. Mr. Ernest Worthing -is engaged to me. The announcement will appear in the <i>Morning -Post</i> on Saturday at the latest.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> [Very politely, rising.] I am afraid you -must be under some misconception. Ernest proposed to me exactly -ten minutes ago. [Shows diary.]</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> [Examines diary through her lorgnettte carefully.] -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.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> [Meditatively.] 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.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> [Thoughtfully and sadly.] Whatever unfortunate -entanglement my dear boy may have got into, I will never reproach him -with it after we are married.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> [Satirically.] I am glad to say that -I have never seen a spade. It is obvious that our social spheres -have been widely different.</p> -<p>[Enter <b>Merriman</b>, followed by the footman. He carries -a salver, table cloth, and plate stand. <b>Cecily</b> is about -to retort. The presence of the servants exercises a restraining -influence, under which both girls chafe.]</p> -<p><b>Merriman.</b> Shall I lay tea here as usual, Miss?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> [Sternly, in a calm voice.] Yes, as usual. -[<b>Merriman</b> begins to clear table and lay cloth. A long pause. -<b>Cecily</b> and <b>Gwendolen</b> glare at each other.]</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> Are there many interesting walks in the vicinity, -Miss Cardew?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Oh! yes! a great many. From the top of -one of the hills quite close one can see five counties.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> Five counties! I don’t think -I should like that; I hate crowds.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> [Sweetly.] I suppose that is why you live -in town? [<b>Gwendolen</b> bites her lip, and beats her foot nervously -with her parasol.]</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> [Looking round.] Quite a well-kept -garden this is, Miss Cardew.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> So glad you like it, Miss Fairfax.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> I had no idea there were any flowers in the -country.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Oh, flowers are as common here, Miss Fairfax, -as people are in London.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> 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 is almost an epidemic amongst -them, I have been told. May I offer you some tea, Miss Fairfax?</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> [With elaborate politeness.] Thank -you. [Aside.] Detestable girl! But I require tea!</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> [Sweetly.] Sugar?</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> [Superciliously.] No, thank you. -Sugar is not fashionable any more. [<b>Cecily</b> looks angrily at her, -takes up the tongs and puts four lumps of sugar into the cup.]</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> [Severely.] Cake or bread and butter?</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> [In a bored manner.] Bread and butter, -please. Cake is rarely seen at the best houses nowadays.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> [Cuts a very large slice of cake, and puts it -on the tray.] Hand that to Miss Fairfax.</p> -<p>[<b>Merriman</b> does so, and goes out with footman. <b>Gwendolen</b> -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.]</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> [Rising.] To save my poor, innocent, trusting -boy from the machinations of any other girl there are no lengths to -which I would not go.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> 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.</p> -<p>[Enter <b>Jack</b>.]</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> [Catching sight of him.] Ernest! -My own Ernest!</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Gwendolen! Darling! [Offers to kiss -her.]</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> [Draws back.] A moment! May I -ask if you are engaged to be married to this young lady? [Points -to <b>Cecily</b>.]</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [Laughing.] To dear little Cecily! -Of course not! What could have put such an idea into your pretty -little head?</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> Thank you. You may! [Offers her -cheek.]</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> [Very sweetly.] I knew there must be some -misunderstanding, Miss Fairfax. The gentleman whose arm is at -present round your waist is my guardian, Mr. John Worthing.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> I beg your pardon?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> This is Uncle Jack.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> [Receding.] Jack! Oh!</p> -<p>[Enter <b>Algernon</b>.]</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Here is Ernest.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> [Goes straight over to <b>Cecily</b> without -noticing any one else.] My own love! [Offers to kiss her.]</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> [Drawing back.] A moment, Ernest! -May I ask you—are you engaged to be married to this young lady?</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> [Looking round.] To what young lady? -Good heavens! Gwendolen!</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Yes! to good heavens, Gwendolen, I mean to Gwendolen.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> [Laughing.] Of course not! What -could have put such an idea into your pretty little head?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Thank you. [Presenting her cheek to be -kissed.] You may. [<b>Algernon</b> kisses her.]</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> I felt there was some slight error, Miss -Cardew. The gentleman who is now embracing you is my cousin, Mr. -Algernon Moncrieff.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> [Breaking away from <b>Algernon</b>.] -Algernon Moncrieff! Oh! [The two girls move towards each -other and put their arms round each other’s waists protection.]</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Are you called Algernon?</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> I cannot deny it.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Oh!</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> Is your name really John?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [Standing rather proudly.] 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.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> [To <b>Gwendolen</b>.] A gross deception -has been practised on both of us.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> My poor wounded Cecily!</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> My sweet wronged Gwendolen!</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> [Slowly and seriously.] You will call -me sister, will you not? [They embrace. <b>Jack</b> and -<b>Algernon</b> groan and walk up and down.]</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> [Rather brightly.] There is just one question -I would like to be allowed to ask my guardian.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [Slowly and hesitatingly.] Gwendolen—Cecily—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.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> [Surprised.] No brother at all?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [Cheerily.] None!</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> [Severely.] Had you never a brother -of any kind?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [Pleasantly.] Never. Not even of an -kind.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> I am afraid it is quite clear, Cecily, that -neither of us is engaged to be married to any one.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> It is not a very pleasant position for a young -girl suddenly to find herself in. Is it?</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> Let us go into the house. They will -hardly venture to come after us there.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> No, men are so cowardly, aren’t they?</p> -<p>[They retire into the house with scornful looks.]</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> This ghastly state of things is what you call -Bunburying, I suppose?</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Yes, and a perfectly wonderful Bunbury it -is. The most wonderful Bunbury I have ever had in my life.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Well, you’ve no right whatsoever to Bunbury -here.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> That is absurd. One has a right to Bunbury -anywhere one chooses. Every serious Bunburyist knows that.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Serious Bunburyist! Good heavens!</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> I wanted to be engaged to Gwendolen, that is all. -I love her.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Well, I simply wanted to be engaged to Cecily. -I adore her.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> There is certainly no chance of your marrying -Miss Cardew.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> I don’t think there is much likelihood, -Jack, of you and Miss Fairfax being united.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Well, that is no business of yours.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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 stock-brokers -do that, and then merely at dinner parties.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> I say it’s perfectly heartless your eating -muffins at all, under the circumstances.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> When I am in trouble, eating is the only thing -that consoles me. Indeed, when I am in really great trouble, as -any one 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.]</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [Rising.] Well, that is no reason why you -should eat them all in that greedy way. [Takes muffins from <b>Algernon</b>.]</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> [Offering tea-cake.] I wish you would -have tea-cake instead. I don’t like tea-cake.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Good heavens! I suppose a man may eat his -own muffins in his own garden.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> But you have just said it was perfectly heartless -to eat muffins.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> I said it was perfectly heartless of you, under -the circumstances. That is a very different thing.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> That may be. But the muffins are the -same. [He seizes the muffin-dish from <b>Jack</b>.]</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Algy, I wish to goodness you would go.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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 have ever 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Yes, but I have not been christened for years.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Yes, but you have been christened. That -is the important thing.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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 some one very closely connected with you was very -nearly carried off this week in Paris by a severe chill.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Yes, but you said yourself that a severe chill -was not hereditary.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> It usen’t to be, I know—but I -daresay it is now. Science is always making wonderful improvements -in things.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [Picking up the muffin-dish.] Oh, that is -nonsense; you are always talking nonsense.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> But I hate tea-cake.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Why on earth then do you allow tea-cake to -be served up for your guests? What ideas you have of hospitality!</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Algernon! I have already told you to go. -I don’t want you here. Why don’t you go!</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> I haven’t quite finished my tea yet! -and there is still one muffin left. [<b>Jack</b> groans, and sinks -into a chair. <b>Algernon</b> still continues eating.]</p> -<p>ACT DROP</p> -<h2>THIRD ACT</h2> -<h3>SCENE</h3> -<p>Morning-room at the Manor House.</p> -<p>[<b>Gwendolen</b> and <b>Cecily</b> are at the window, looking out -into the garden.]</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> The fact that they did not follow us at once -into the house, as any one else would have done, seems to me to show -that they have some sense of shame left.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> They have been eating muffins. That looks -like repentance.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> [After a pause.] They don’t seem -to notice us at all. Couldn’t you cough?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> But I haven’t got a cough.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> They’re looking at us. What effrontery!</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> They’re approaching. That’s -very forward of them.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> Let us preserve a dignified silence.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Certainly. It’s the only thing to -do now. [Enter <b>Jack</b> followed by <b>Algernon</b>. -They whistle some dreadful popular air from a British Opera.]</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> This dignified silence seems to produce an -unpleasant effect.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> A most distasteful one.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> But we will not be the first to speak.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Certainly not.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> Mr. Worthing, I have something very particular -to ask you. Much depends on your reply.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Gwendolen, your common sense is invaluable. -Mr. Moncrieff, kindly answer me the following question. Why did -you pretend to be my guardian’s brother?</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> In order that I might have an opportunity -of meeting you.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> [To <b>Gwendolen</b>.] That certainly -seems a satisfactory explanation, does it not?</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> Yes, dear, if you can believe him.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> I don’t. But that does not affect -the wonderful beauty of his answer.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> 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?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Can you doubt it, Miss Fairfax?</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> I have the gravest doubts upon the subject. -But I intend to crush them. This is not the moment for German -scepticism. [Moving to <b>Cecily</b>.] Their explanations -appear to be quite satisfactory, especially Mr. Worthing’s. -That seems to me to have the stamp of truth upon it.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> I am more than content with what Mr. Moncrieff -said. His voice alone inspires one with absolute credulity.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> Then you think we should forgive them?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Yes. I mean no.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Could we not both speak at the same time?</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> An excellent idea! I nearly always -speak at the same time as other people. Will you take the time -from me?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Certainly. [<b>Gwendolen</b> beats time -with uplifted finger.]</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen</b> and <b>Cecily</b> [Speaking together.] Your -Christian names are still an insuperable barrier. That is all!</p> -<p><b>Jack</b> and <b>Algernon</b> [Speaking together.] -Our Christian names! Is that all? But we are going to be -christened this afternoon.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> [To <b>Jack</b>.] For my sake you are -prepared to do this terrible thing?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> I am.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> [To <b>Algernon</b>.] To please me you -are ready to face this fearful ordeal?</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> I am!</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> How absurd to talk of the equality of the -sexes! Where questions of self-sacrifice are concerned, men are -infinitely beyond us.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> We are. [Clasps hands with <b>Algernon</b>.]</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> They have moments of physical courage of which -we women know absolutely nothing.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> [To <b>Jack</b>.] Darling!</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> [To <b>Cecily</b>.] Darling! [They -fall into each other’s arms.]</p> -<p>[Enter <b>Merriman</b>. When he enters he coughs loudly, seeing -the situation.]</p> -<p><b>Merriman.</b> Ahem! Ahem! Lady Bracknell!</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Good heavens!</p> -<p>[Enter <b>Lady Bracknell</b>. The couples separate in alarm. -Exit <b>Merriman</b>.]</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> Gwendolen! What does this mean?</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> Merely that I am engaged to be married to -Mr. Worthing, mamma.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> 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 <b>Jack</b>.] -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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> I am engaged to be married to Gwendolen Lady Bracknell!</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> You are nothing of the kind, sir. -And now, as regards Algernon! . . . Algernon!</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Yes, Aunt Augusta.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> May I ask if it is in this house that -your invalid friend Mr. Bunbury resides?</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> [Stammering.] Oh! No! Bunbury -doesn’t live here. Bunbury is somewhere else at present. -In fact, Bunbury is dead,</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> Dead! When did Mr. Bunbury die? -His death must have been extremely sudden.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> [Airily.] Oh! I killed Bunbury -this afternoon. I mean poor Bunbury died this afternoon.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> What did he die of?</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Bunbury? Oh, he was quite exploded.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> Exploded! Was he the victim of -a revolutionary outrage? I was not aware that Mr. Bunbury was -interested in social legislation. If so, he is well punished for -his morbidity.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> 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?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> That lady is Miss Cecily Cardew, my ward. -[<b>Lady Bracknell</b> bows coldly to <b>Cecily</b>.]</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> I am engaged to be married to Cecily, Aunt -Augusta.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> I beg your pardon?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Mr. Moncrieff and I are engaged to be married, -Lady Bracknell.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> [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 inquiry 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. [<b>Jack</b> looks perfectly furious, -but restrains himself.]</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [In a clear, cold voice.] Miss Cardew is -the grand-daughter of the late Mr. Thomas Cardew of 149 Belgrave Square, -S.W.; Gervase Park, Dorking, Surrey; and the Sporran, Fifeshire, N.B.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> That sounds not unsatisfactory. -Three addresses always inspire confidence, even in tradesmen. -But what proof have I of their authenticity?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> I have carefully preserved the Court Guides of -the period. They are open to your inspection, Lady Bracknell.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> [Grimly.] I have known strange -errors in that publication.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Miss Cardew’s family solicitors are Messrs. -Markby, Markby, and Markby.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> Markby, Markby, and Markby? A -firm of the very highest position in their profession. Indeed -I am told that one of the Mr. Markby’s is occasionally to be seen -at dinner parties. So far I am satisfied.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [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.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> Ah! A life crowded with incident, I -see; though 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?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Oh! about a hundred and thirty thousand pounds -in the Funds. That is all. Goodbye, Lady Bracknell. -So pleased to have seen you.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> [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 <b>Cecily</b>.] Come over here, dear. [<b>Cecily</b> -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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> And after six months nobody knew her.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> [Glares at <b>Jack</b> for a few moments. -Then bends, with a practised smile, to <b>Cecily</b>.] Kindly -turn round, sweet child. [<b>Cecily</b> turns completely round.] -No, the side view is what I want. [<b>Cecily</b> 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!</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Yes, Aunt Augusta!</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> There are distinct social possibilities -in Miss Cardew’s profile.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Cecily is the sweetest, dearest, prettiest -girl in the whole world. And I don’t care twopence about -social possibilities.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> Never speak disrespectfully of Society, -Algernon. Only people who can’t get into it do that. -[To <b>Cecily</b>.] Dear child, of course you know that Algernon -has nothing but his debts to depend upon. But I do not approve -of mercenary marriages. 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Thank you, Aunt Augusta.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> Cecily, you may kiss me!</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> [Kisses her.] Thank you, Lady Bracknell.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> You may also address me as Aunt Augusta -for the future.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Thank you, Aunt Augusta.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> The marriage, I think, had better take -place quite soon.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Thank you, Aunt Augusta.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Thank you, Aunt Augusta.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> 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?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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. [<b>Algernon</b> and <b>Cecily</b> look at him in -indignant amazement.]</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> Untruthful! My nephew Algernon? -Impossible! He is an Oxonian.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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; 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.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> Ahem! Mr. Worthing, after careful -consideration I have decided entirely to overlook my nephew’s -conduct to you.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> That is very generous of you, Lady Bracknell. -My own decision, however, is unalterable. I decline to give my -consent.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> [To <b>Cecily</b>.] Come here, -sweet child. [<b>Cecily</b> goes over.] How old are you, -dear?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Well, I am really only eighteen, but I always -admit to twenty when I go to evening parties.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Algy, could you wait for me till I was thirty-five?</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Of course I could, Cecily. You know -I could.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Then what is to be done, Cecily?</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> I don’t know, Mr. Moncrieff.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> [Rising and drawing herself up.] -You must be quite aware that what you propose is out of the question.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Then a passionate celibacy is all that any of -us can look forward to.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> That is not the destiny I propose for -Gwendolen. Algernon, of course, can choose for himself. -[Pulls out her watch.] Come, dear, [<b>Gwendolen</b> rises] we -have already missed five, if not six, trains. To miss any more -might expose us to comment on the platform.</p> -<p>[Enter <b>Dr. Chasuble</b>.]</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> Everything is quite ready for the christenings.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> The christenings, sir! Is not -that somewhat premature?</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> [Looking rather puzzled, and pointing to <b>Jack</b> -and <b>Algernon</b>.] Both these gentlemen have expressed a desire -for immediate baptism.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> At their age? The idea is grotesque -and irreligious! Algernon, I forbid you to be baptized. -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.</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> Am I to understand then that there are to -be no christenings at all this afternoon?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> I don’t think that, as things are now, it -would be of much practical value to either of us, Dr. Chasuble.</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> [Starting.] Miss Prism! -Did I bear you mention a Miss Prism?</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> Yes, Lady Bracknell. I am on my way -to join her.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> 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?</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> [Somewhat indignantly.] She is the most -cultivated of ladies, and the very picture of respectability.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> It is obviously the same person. -May I ask what position she holds in your household?</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> [Severely.] I am a celibate, madam.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [Interposing.] Miss Prism, Lady Bracknell, -has been for the last three years Miss Cardew’s esteemed governess -and valued companion.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> In spite of what I hear of her, I must -see her at once. Let her be sent for.</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> [Looking off.] She approaches; she is -nigh.</p> -<p>[Enter <b>Miss Prism</b> hurriedly.]</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> 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 <b>Lady Bracknell</b>, who has -fixed her with a stony glare. <b>Miss Prism</b> grows pale and -quails. She looks anxiously round as if desirous to escape.]</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> [In a severe, judicial voice.] -Prism! [<b>Miss Prism</b> bows her head in shame.] Come -here, Prism! [<b>Miss Prism</b> approaches in a humble manner.] -Prism! Where is that baby? [General consternation. -The <b>Canon</b> starts back in horror. <b>Algernon</b> and <b>Jack</b> -pretend to be anxious to shield <b>Cecily</b> and <b>Gwendolen</b> 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. [<b>Miss -Prism</b> starts in involuntary indignation.] But the baby was -not there! [Every one looks at <b>Miss Prism</b>.] Prism! -Where is that baby? [A pause.]</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> 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. -In a moment of mental abstraction, for which I never can forgive myself, -I deposited the manuscript in the basinette, and placed the baby in -the hand-bag.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [Who has been listening attentively.] But -where did you deposit the hand-bag?</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> Do not ask me, Mr. Worthing.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> I left it in the cloak-room of one of the -larger railway stations in London.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> What railway station?</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> [Quite crushed.] Victoria. The -Brighton line. [Sinks into a chair.]</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> I must retire to my room for a moment. Gwendolen, -wait here for me.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> If you are not too long, I will wait here -for you all my life. [Exit <b>Jack</b> in great excitement.]</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> What do you think this means, Lady Bracknell?</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> 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.</p> -<p>[Noises heard overhead as if some one was throwing trunks about. -Every one looks up.]</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> Uncle Jack seems strangely agitated.</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> Your guardian has a very emotional nature.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> [Looking up.] It has stopped now. -[The noise is redoubled.]</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> I wish he would arrive at some conclusion.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> This suspense is terrible. I hope it -will last. [Enter <b>Jack</b> with a hand-bag of black leather -in his hand.]</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [Rushing over to <b>Miss Prism</b>.] Is -this the hand-bag, Miss Prism? Examine it carefully before you -speak. The happiness of more than one life depends on your answer.</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> [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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [In a pathetic voice.] Miss Prism, more -is restored to you than this hand-bag. I was the baby you placed -in it.</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> [Amazed.] You?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [Embracing her.] Yes . . . mother!</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> [Recoiling in indignant astonishment.] -Mr. Worthing! I am unmarried!</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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.]</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> [Still more indignant.] Mr. Worthing, -there is some error. [Pointing to <b>Lady Bracknell</b>.] -There is the lady who can tell you who you really are.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [After a pause.] Lady Bracknell, I hate -to seem inquisitive, but would you kindly inform me who I am?</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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 <b>Algernon</b>.] -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.</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Well, not till to-day, old boy, I admit. -I did my best, however, though I was out of practice.</p> -<p>[Shakes hands.]</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> [To <b>Jack</b>.] My own! But -what own are you? What is your Christian name, now that you have -become some one else?</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Good heavens! . . . I had quite forgotten that -point. Your decision on the subject of my name is irrevocable, -I suppose?</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> I never change, except in my affections.</p> -<p><b>Cecily.</b> What a noble nature you have, Gwendolen!</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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?</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> Every luxury that money could buy, including -christening, had been lavished on you by your fond and doting parents.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Then I was christened! That is settled. -Now, what name was I given? Let me know the worst.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> Being the eldest son you were naturally -christened after your father.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> [Irritably.] Yes, but what was my father’s -Christian name?</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> [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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Algy! Can’t you recollect what our -father’s Christian name was?</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> My dear boy, we were never even on speaking -terms. He died before I was a year old.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> His name would appear in the Army Lists of the -period, I suppose, Aunt Augusta?</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> 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.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> The Army Lists of the last forty years are here. -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.</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> Yes, I remember now that the General -was called Ernest, I knew I had some particular reason for disliking -the name.</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> Ernest! My own Ernest! I felt -from the first that you could have no other name!</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> 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?</p> -<p><b>Gwendolen.</b> I can. For I feel that you are sure -to change.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> My own one!</p> -<p><b>Chasuble.</b> [To <b>Miss Prism</b>.] Lætitia! -[Embraces her]</p> -<p><b>Miss Prism.</b> [Enthusiastically.] Frederick! -At last!</p> -<p><b>Algernon.</b> Cecily! [Embraces her.] At last!</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> Gwendolen! [Embraces her.] At last!</p> -<p><b>Lady Bracknell.</b> My nephew, you seem to be displaying -signs of triviality.</p> -<p><b>Jack.</b> On the contrary, Aunt Augusta, I’ve now -realised for the first time in my life the vital Importance of Being -Earnest.</p> -<p>TABLEAU</p> -<p>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST ***</p> -<pre> - -******This file should be named tiobe10h.htm or tiobe10h.zip****** -Corrected EDITIONS of our EBooks get a new NUMBER, tiobe11h.htm -VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, tiobe10ah.htm - -Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US -unless a copyright notice is included. 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