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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. Be sure to check the -copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing -this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. - -This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project -Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the -header without written permission. - -Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the -eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is -important information about your specific rights and restrictions in -how the file may be used. 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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