The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde
Autor: Claudio Martins | Publicado: 2012-03-01T11:27:00-04:00



The Importance of Being Earnest

Author: Oscar Wilde




FIRST ACT

Scene Morning-room in
Algernon's flat in Half-Moon Street. The room is luxuriously and artistically
furnished. The sound of a piano is heard in the adjoining room. Lane
is arranging afternoon tea on the table, and after the music has ceased,
Algernon enters.

Algernon. 

Did you hear what I was playing,
Lane?

Lane. 

I didn't think it polite to
listen, sir.

Algernon. 

I'm sorry for that, for your
sake. I don't play accurately---anyone can play accurately---but I play with
wonderful expression. As far as the piano is concerned sentiment is my forte. I keep science for Life.

Lane. 

Yes, sir.

Algernon. 

And, speaking of the science of
Life, have you got the cucumber sandwiches cut for Lady Bracknell?

Lane. 

Yes, sir.

[Hands them on a salver.]

Algernon. 

[[Inspects them, takes two,
and sits down on the sofa.]] Oh! . . . by the way, Lane, I see
from your book that on Thursday night, when Lord Shoreman and Mr. Worthing were
dining with me, eight bottles of champagne are entered as having been consumed.

Lane. 

Yes, sir; eight bottles and a
pint.

Algernon. 

Why is it that at a bachelor's
establishment the servants invariably drink the champagne? I ask merely for
information.

Lane. 

I attribute it to the superior
quality of the wine, sir. I have often observed that in married households the
champagne is rarely of a first-rate brand.

Algernon. 

Good Heavens! Is marriage so
demoralizing as that?

Lane. 

I believe it is a very
pleasant state, sir. I have had very little experience of it myself up to the
present. I have only been married once. That was in consequence of a
misunderstanding between myself and a young person.

Algernon. 

[[Languidly.]] I
don't know that I am much interested in your family life, Lane.

Lane. 

No, sir; it is not a very
interesting subject. I never think of it myself.

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Algernon. 

Very natural, I am sure. That
will do, Lane, thank you.

Lane. 

Thank you, sir.

[Lane goes out.]

Algernon. 

Lane's views on marriage seem
somewhat lax. Really, if the lower orders don't set us a good example, what on
earth is the use of them? They seem, as a class, to have absolutely no sense of
moral responsibility.

Enter Lane.

Lane. 

Mr. Ernest Worthing.

Enter Jack.

[Lane goes out.]

Algernon. 

How are you, my dear Ernest? What
brings you up to town?

Jack. 

Oh, pleasure, pleasure! What else
should bring one anywhere? Eating as usual, I see, Algy!

Algernon. 

[[Stiffly.]] I
believe it is customary in good society to take some slight refreshment at five
o'clock. Where have you been since last Thursday?

Jack. 

[[Sitting down on the sofa.]]
In the country.

Algernon. 

What on earth do you do there?

Jack. 

[[Pulling off his gloves.]]
When one is in town one amuses oneself. When one is in the country one amuses
other people. It is excessively boring.

Algernon. 

And who are the people you amuse?

Jack. 

[[Airily.]] 

Oh, neighbours, neighbours.

Algernon. 

Got nice neighbours in your part
of Shropshire?

Jack. 

Perfectly horrid! Never speak to
one of them.

Algernon. 

How immensely you must amuse
them!

[Goes over and takes
sandwich.]

By the way, Shropshire is your
county, is it not?

Jack. 

Eh? Shropshire? Yes, of course.
Hallo! Why all these cups? Why cucumber sandwiches? Why such reckless
extravagance in one so young? Who is coming to tea?

Algernon. 

Oh! merely Aunt Augusta and
Gwendolen.

Jack. 

How perfectly delightful! 

Algernon. 

Yes, that is all very well; but I
am afraid Aunt Augusta won't quite approve of your being here.

Jack. 

May I ask why?

Algernon. 

My dear fellow, the way you flirt
with Gwendolen is 

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perfectly disgraceful. It is
almost as bad as the way Gwendolen flirts with you. 

Jack. 

I am in love with Gwendolen. I
have come up to town expressly to propose to her.

Algernon. 

I thought you had come up for pleasure?
. . . I call that business.

Jack. 

How utterly unromantic you are!

Algernon. 

I really don't see anything
romantic about proposing. It is very romantic to be in love. But there is
nothing romantic about a definite proposal. Why, one may be accepted. One
usually is, I believe. Then the excitement is all over. The very essence of
romance is uncertainty. If ever I get married, I'll certainly try to forget the
fact.

Jack. 

I have no doubt about that, dear
Algy. The Divorce Court was specially invented for people whose memories are so
curiously constituted.

Algernon. 

Oh! there is no use speculating
on that subject. Divorces are made in Heaven--- [[Jack puts out his hand to
take a sandwich. Algernon at once interferes.]] Please don't touch
the cucumber sandwiches. They are ordered specially for Aunt Augusta.

[Takes one and eats it.]

Jack. 

Well, you have been eating them
all the time.

Algernon. 

That is quite a different matter.
She is my aunt. [[Takes plate from below.]] Have some bread and butter.
The bread and butter is for Gwendolen. Gwendolen is devoted to bread and
butter.

Jack. 

[[Advancing to table and
helping himself.]] And very good bread and butter it is too.

Algernon. 

Well, my dear fellow, you need
not eat as if you were going to eat it all. You behave as if you were married
to her already. You are not married to her already, and I don't think you ever
will be.

Jack. 

Why on earth do you say that?

Algernon. 

Well, in the first place girls
never marry the men they flirt with. Girls don't think it right.

Jack. 

Oh, that is nonsense!

Algernon. 

It isn't. It is a great truth. It
accounts for the extraordinary number of bachelors that one sees all over the
place. In the second place, I don't give my consent.

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Jack. 

Your consent!

Algernon. 

My dear fellow, Gwendolen is my
first cousin. And before I allow you to marry her, you will have to clear up
the whole question of Cecily.

[Rings bell.]

Jack. 

Cecily! What on earth do you
mean? What do you mean, Algy, by Cecily! I don't know anyone by the name of
Cecily.

[Enter Lane.]

Algernon. 

Bring me that cigarette case Mr.
Worthing left in the smoking-room the last time he dined here.

Lane. 

Yes, sir.

[Lane goes out.]

Jack. 

Do you mean to say you have had
my cigarette case all this time? I wish to goodness you had let me know. I have
been writing frantic letters to Scotland Yard about it. I was very nearly
offering a large reward.

Algernon. 

Well, I wish you would offer one.
I happen to be more than usually hard up.

Jack. 

There is no good offering a large
reward now that the thing is found.

[Enter Lane with the
cigarette case on a salver. Algernon takes it at once. Lane goes out.]

Algernon. 

I think that is rather mean of
you, Ernest, I must say. [[Opens case and examines it.]]
However, it makes no matter, for, now that I look at the inscription inside, I
find that the thing isn't yours after all.

Jack. 

Of course it's mine. [[Moving
to him.]] You have seen me with it a hundred times, and you have
no right whatsoever to read what is written inside. It is a very ungentlemanly
thing to read a private cigarette case.

Algernon. 

Oh! it is absurd to have a
hard-and-fast rule about what one should read and what one shouldn't. More than
half of modern culture depends on what one shouldn't read.

Jack. 

I am quite aware of the fact, and
I don't propose to discuss modern culture. It isn't the sort of thing one
should talk of in private. I simply want my cigarette case back.

Algernon. 

Yes; but this isn't your
cigarette case. This cigarette case is a present from someone of the name of
Cecily, and you said you didn't know anyone of that name.

Jack. 

Well, if you want to know, Cecily
happens to be my aunt.

Algernon. 

Your aunt!

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Jack. 

Yes. Charming old lady she is,
too. Lives at Tunbridge Wells. Just give it back to me, Algy.

Algernon. 

[[Retreating to back of sofa.]]
But why does she call herself Cecily if she is your aunt and lives at Tunbridge
Wells? [[Reading.]] `From little Cecily with her fondest
love.'

Jack. 

[[Moving to sofa and kneeling
upon it.]] My dear fellow, what on earth is there in that? Some
aunts are tall, some aunts are not tall. That is a matter that surely an aunt
may be allowed to decide for herself. You seem to think that every aunt should
be exactly like your aunt! That is absurd! For Heaven's sake give me back my
cigarette case. 

[Follows Algernon round the
room.]

Algernon. 

Yes. But why does your aunt call
you her uncle? `From little Cecily, with her fondest love to her dear Uncle
Jack.' There is no objection, I admit, to an aunt being a small aunt, but why
an aunt, no matter what her size may be, should call her own nephew her uncle,
I can't quite make out. Besides, your name isn't Jack at all; it is Ernest.

Jack. 

It isn't Ernest; it's Jack.

Algernon. 

You have always told me it was
Ernest. I have introduced you to everyone as Ernest. You answer to the name of
Ernest. You look as if your name was Ernest. You are the most earnest looking
person I ever saw in my life. It is perfectly absurd your saying that your name
isn't Ernest. It's on your cards. Here is one of them. [[Taking it from case.]]
`Mr. Ernest Worthing, B. 4, The Albany.' I'll keep this as a proof that your
name is Ernest if ever you attempt to deny it to me, or to Gwendolen, or to
anyone else.

[Puts the card in his pocket.]

Jack. 

Well, my name is Ernest in town
and Jack in the country, and the cigarette case was given to me in the country.

Algernon. 

Yes, but that does not account
for the fact that your small Aunt Cecily, who lives at Tunbridge Wells, calls
you her dear uncle. Come, old boy, You had much better have the thing out at
once.

Jack. 

My dear Algy, you talk exactly as
if you were a dentist. It is very vulgar to talk like a dentist when one isn't
a dentist. It produces a false impression.

Algernon. 

Well, that is exactly what
dentists always do. Now, go on! Tell me the whole thing. I may mention that I
have always 

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p.456

suspected you of being a
confirmed and secret Bunburyist; and I am quite sure of it now. 

Jack. 

Bunburyist? What on earth do you
mean by a Bunburyist?

Algernon. 

I'll reveal to you the meaning of
that incomparable expression as soon as you are kind enough to inform me why
you are Ernest in town and Jack in the country.

Jack. 

Well, produce my cigarette case
first.

Algernon. 

Here it is. [[Hands cigarette case.]]
Now produce your explanation, and pray make it improbable.

[Sits on sofa.]

Jack. 

My dear fellow, there is nothing
improbable about my explanation at all. In fact, it's perfectly ordinary. Old
Mr. Thomas Cardew, who adopted me when I was a little boy, made me in his will
guardian to his granddaughter, Miss Cecily Cardew. Cecily, who addresses me as
her uncle from motives of respect that you could not possible appreciate, lives
at my place in the country under the charge of her admirable governess, Miss
Prism.

Algernon. 

Where is that place in the
country, by the way?

Jack. 

That is nothing to you, dear boy.
You are not going to be invited. . . . I may tell you candidly that the place
is not in Shropshire.

Algernon. 

I suspected that, my dear fellow!
I have Bunburyed all over Shropshire on two separate occasions. Now, go on. Why
are you Ernest in town and Jack in the country?

Jack. 

My dear Algy, I don't know
whether you will be able to understand my real motives. You are hardly serious
enough. When one is placed in the position of guardian, one has to adopt a very
high moral tone on all subjects. It's one's duty to do so. And as a high moral
tone can hardly be said to conduce very much to either one's health or one's
happiness, in order to get up to town I have always pretended to have a younger
brother of the name of Ernest, who lives in the Albany, and gets into the most
dreadful scrapes. That, my dear Algy, is the whole truth pure and simple.

Algernon. 

The truth is rarely pure and
never simple. Modern life would be very tedious if it were either, and modern
literature a complete impossibility!

Jack. 

That wouldn't be at all a bad
thing.

Algernon. 

Literary criticism is not your forte, my dear fellow. 

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p.457

Don't try it. You should leave
that to people who haven't been at a University. They do it so well in the
daily papers. What you really are is a Bunburyist. I was quite right in saying
you were a Bunburyist. You are one of the most advanced Bunburyists I know. 

Jack. 

What on earth do you mean?

Algernon. 

You have invented a very useful
younger brother called Ernest, in order that you may be able to come up to town
as often as you like. I have invented an invaluable permanent invalid called
Bunbury, in order that I may be able to go down into the country whenever I
choose. Bunbury is perfectly invaluable. If it wasn't for Bunbury's
extraordinary bad health, for instance, I wouldn't be able to dine with you at
Willis's to-night, for I have been really engaged to Aunt Augusta for more than
a week.

Jack. 

I haven't asked you to dine with
me anywhere to-night.

Algernon. 

I know. You are absurdly careless
about sending out invitations. It is very foolish of you. Nothing annoys people
so much as not receiving invitations.

Jack. 

You had much better dine with
your Aunt Augusta.

Algernon. 

I haven't the smallest intention
of doing anything of the kind. To begin with, I dined there on Monday, and once
a week is quite enough to dine with one's own relations. In the second place,
whenever I do dine there I am always treated as a member of the family, and
sent down with either no woman at all, or two. In the third place, I know
perfectly well whom she will place me next to, to-night. She will place me next
Mary Farquhar, who always flirts with her own husband across the dinner-table.
That is not very pleasant. Indeed, it is not even decent . . . and that sort of
thing is enormously on the increase. The amount of women in London who flirt
with their own husbands is perfectly scandalous. It looks so bad. It is simply
washing one's clean linen in public. Besides, now that I know you to be a
confirmed Bunburyist, I naturally want to talk to you about Bunburying. I want
to tell you the rules.

Jack. 

I'm not a Bunburyist at all. If
Gwendolen accepts me, I am going to kill my brother, indeed I think I'll kill
him in any case. Cecily is a little too much interested in him. It is rather a
bore. So I am going to get rid of Ernest. And I strongly advise you to 

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do the same with Mr. . . . with
your invalid friend who has the absurd name. 

Algernon. 

Nothing will induce me to part
with Bunbury, and if you ever get married, which seems to me extremely
problematic, you will be very glad to know Bunbury. A man who marries without
knowing Bunbury has a very tedious time of it.

Jack. 

That is nonsense. If I marry a
charming girl like Gwendolen, and she is the only girl I ever saw in my life
that I would marry, I certainly won't want to know Bunbury.

Algernon. 

Then your wife will. You don't
seem to realize, that in married life three is company and two is none.

Jack. 

[[Sententiously]]
That, my dear young friend, is the theory that the corrupt French Drama has
been propounding for the last fifty years.

Algernon. 

Yes; and that the happy English
home has proved in half the time.

Jack. 

For heaven's sake, don't try to
be cynical. It's perfectly easy to be cynical.

Algernon. 

My dear fellow, it isn't easy to
be anything nowadays. There's such a lot of beastly competition about.

[The sound of an electric
bell is heard.]

Ah! that must be Aunt Augusta.
Only relatives, or creditors, ever ring in that Wagnerian manner. Now, if I get
her out of the way for ten minutes, so that you can have an opportunity for
proposing to Gwendolen, may I dine with you to-night at Willis's?

Jack. 

I suppose so, if you want to.

Algernon. 

Yes, but you must be serious
about it. I hate people who are not serious about meals. It is so shallow of
them.

Enter Lane.

Lane. 

Lady Bracknell and Miss Fairfax.

[Algernon goes forward to
meet them. Enter Lady Bracknell and Gwendolen.]

Lady Bracknell. 

Good afternoon, dear Algernon, I
hope you are behaving very well.

Algernon. 

I'm feeling very well, Aunt
Augusta.

Lady Bracknell. 

That's not quite the same thing.
In fact the two things rarely go together.

[Sees Jack and bows to him
with icy coldness.]

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Algernon. 

[[To Gwendolen.]]
Dear me, you are smart!

Gwendolen. 

I am always smart! Aren't I, Mr.
Worthing?

Jack. 

You're quite perfect, Miss
Fairfax.

Gwendolen. 

Oh! I hope I am not that. It
would leave no room for developments, and I intend to develop in many
directions.

[Gwendolen and Jack sit down
together in the corner.]

Lady Bracknell. 

I'm sorry if we are a little
late, Algernon, but I was obliged to call on dear Lady Harbury. I hadn't been
there since her poor husband's death. I never saw a woman so altered; she looks
quite twenty years younger. And now I'll have a cup of tea, and one of those
nice cucumber sandwiches you promised me.

Algernon. 

Certainly, Aunt Augusta.

[Goes over to tea-table.]

Lady Bracknell. 

Won't you come and sit here,
Gwendolen?

Gwendolen. 

Thanks, Mamma, I'm quite
comfortable where I am.

Algernon. 

[[Picking up empty plate in
horror.]] Good heavens! Lane! Why are there no cucumber
sandwiches? I ordered them specially.

Lane. 

[[Gravely.]]
There were no cucumbers in the market this morning, sir. I went down twice.

Algernon. 

No cucumbers!

Lane. 

No, sir. Not even for ready
money.

Algernon. 

That will do, Lane, thank you.

Lane. 

Thank you, sir.

Algernon. 

I am greatly distressed, Aunt
Augusta, about there being no cucumbers, not even for ready money.

Lady Bracknell. 

It really makes no matter,
Algernon. I had some crumpets with Lady Harbury, who seems to me to be living
entirely for pleasure now.

Algernon. 

I hear her hair has turned quite
gold from grief.

Lady Bracknell. 

It certainly has changed its
colour. From what cause I, of course, cannot say. [[Algernon crosses and hands
tea.]] Thank you. I've quite a treat for you to-night, Algernon. I
am going to send you down with Mary Farquhar. She is such a nice woman, and so
attentive to her husband. It's delightful to watch them.

Algernon. 

I am afraid, Aunt Augusta, I
shall have to give up the pleasure of dining with you to-night after all.

Lady Bracknell. 

[[Frowning.]] I
hope not, Algernon. It would put my 

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table completely out. Your uncle
would have to dine upstairs. Fortunately he is accustomed to that. 

Algernon. 

It is a great bore, and, I need
hardly say, a terrible disappointment to me, but the fact is I have just had a
telegram to say that my poor friend Bunbury is very ill again. [[Exchanges
glances with Jack.]] They seem to think I should be with him.

Lady Bracknell. 

It is very strange. This Mr.
Bunbury seems to suffer from curiously bad health.

Algernon. 

Yes; poor Bunbury is a dreadful
invalid.

Lady Bracknell. 

Well, I must say, Algernon, that
I think it is high time that Mr. Bunbury made up his mind whether he was going
to live or to die. This shilly-shallying with the question is absurd. Nor do I
in any way approve of the modern sympathy with invalids. I consider it morbid.
Illness of any kind is hardly a thing to be encouraged in others. Health is the
primary duty of life. I am always telling that to your poor uncle, but he never
seems to take much notice . . . as far as any improvement in his ailments goes.
I should be obliged if you would ask Mr. Bunbury, from me, to be kind enough
not to have a relapse on Saturday, for I rely on you to arrange my music for
me. It is my last reception, and one wants something that will encourage
conversation, particularly at the end of the season when everyone has
practically said whatever they had to say, which, in most cases, was probably
not much.

Algernon. 

I'll speak to Bunbury, Aunt
Augusta, if he is still conscious, and I think I can promise you he'll be all
right by Saturday. Of course the music is a great difficulty. You see, if one
plays good music, people don't listen, and if one plays bad music, people don't
talk. But I'll run over the programme I've drawn out, if you will kindly come
into the next room for a moment.

Lady Bracknell. 

Thank you, Algernon. It is very
thoughtful of you. [[Rising, and following Algernon.]] I'm sure the
programme will be delightful, after a few expurgations. French songs I cannot
possibly allow. People always seem to think that they are improper, and either
look shocked, which is vulgar, or laugh, which is worse. But German sounds a
thoroughly respectable language, and indeed, I believe it is so. Gwendolen, you
will accompany me.

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p.461

Gwendolen. 

Certainly, Mamma.

[Lady Bracknell and Algernon
go into the music-room, Gwendolen remains behind.]

Gwendolen. 

Pray don't talk to me about the
weather, Mr. Worthing. Whenever people talk to me about the weather, I always
feel quite certain that they mean something else. And that makes me so nervous.

Jack. 

I do mean something else.

Gwendolen. 

I thought so. In fact, I am never
wrong.

Jack. 

And I would like to be allowed to
take advantage of Lady Bracknell's temporary absence . . .

Gwendolen. 

I would certainly advise you to
do so. Mamma has a way of coming back suddenly into a room that I have often
had to speak to her about.

Jack. 

[[Nervously.]]
Miss Fairfax, ever since I met you I have admired you more than any girl . . .
I have ever met since . . . I met you.

Gwendolen. 

Yes, I am quite aware of the
fact. And I often wish that in public, at any rate, you had been more
demonstrative. For me you have always had an irresistible fascination. Even
before I met you I was far from indifferent to you. [[Jack looks at her in
amazement.]] We live, as I hope you know, Mr. Worthing, in an age
of ideals. The fact is constantly mentioned in the more expensive monthly
magazines, and has reached the provincial pulpits I am told: and my ideal has
always been to love someone of the name of Ernest. There is something in that
name that inspires absolute confidence. The moment Algernon first mentioned to
me that he had a friend called Ernest, I knew I was destined to love you.

Jack. 

You really love me, Gwendolen?

Gwendolen. 

Passionately!

Jack. 

Darling! You don't know how happy
you've made me.

Gwendolen. 

My own Ernest!

Jack. 

But you don't really mean to say
that you couldn't love me if my name wasn't Ernest?

Gwendolen. 

But your name is Ernest.

Jack. 

Yes, I know it is. But supposing
it was something else? Do you mean to say you couldn't love me then?

Gwendolen. 

[[Glibly.]] Ah!
that is clearly a metaphysical explanation, 

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and like most metaphysical
speculations has very little reference at all to the actual facts of real life,
as we know them. 

Jack. 

Personally, darling, to speak
quite candidly, I don't much care about the name of Ernest . . . I don't think
the name suits me at all.

Gwendolen. 

It suits you perfectly. It is a
divine name. It has a music of its own. It produces vibrations.

Jack. 

Well, really, Gwendolen, I must
say that I think there are lots of other much nicer names. I think Jack, for
instance, a charming name.

Gwendolen. 

Jack? . . . No, there is very
little music in the name Jack, if any at all, indeed. It does not thrill. It
produces absolutely no vibrations. . . . I have known several Jacks, and they
all, without exception, were more than usually plain. Besides, Jack is a
notorious domesticity for John! And I pity any woman who is married to a man called
John. She would probably never be allowed to know the entrancing pleasure of a
single moment's solitude. The only really safe name is Ernest.

Jack. 

Gwendolen, I must get christened
at once---I mean we must get married at once. There is no time to be lost.

Gwendolen. 

Married, Mr. Worthing?

Jack. 

[[Astounded.]]
Well . . . surely. You know that I love you, and you led me to believe, Miss
Fairfax, that you were not absolutely indifferent to me.

Gwendolen. 

I adore you. But you haven't
proposed to me yet. Nothing has been said at all about marriage. The subject
has not even been touched on.

Jack. 

Well . . . may I propose to you
know?

Gwendolen. 

I think it would be an admirable
opportunity. And to spare you any possible disappointment, Mr. Worthing, I think
it only fair to tell you quite frankly before hand that I am fully determined
to accept you.

Jack. 

Gwendolen!

Gwendolen. 

Yes, Mr. Worthing, what have you
got to say to me?

Jack. 

You know what I have got to say
to you.

Gwendolen. 

Yes, but you don't say it.

Jack. 

Gwendolen, will you marry me?

[Goes on his knees.]

Gwendolen. 

Of course I will, darling. How
long you have been 

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about it! I am afraid you have
had very little experience in how to propose. 

Jack. 

My own one, I have never loved
anyone in the world but you.

Gwendolen. 

Yes, but men often propose for
practice. I know my brother Gerald does. All my girlfriends tell me so. What
wonderfully blue eyes you have, Ernest! They are quite, quite blue. I hope you
will always look at me just like that, especially when there are other people
present.

Enter Lady Bracknell.

Lady Bracknell. 

Mr. Worthing! Rise, sir, from
this semi-recumbent posture. It is most indecorous.

Gwendolen. 

Mamma! [[He tries to rise; she
restrains him.]] I must beg you to retire. This is no place for
you. Besides, Mr. Worthing has not quite finished yet.

Lady Bracknell. 

Finished what, may I ask?

Gwendolen. 

I am engaged to Mr. Worthing,
Mamma.

[They rise together.]

Lady Bracknell. 

Pardon me, you are not engaged to
anyone. When you do become engaged to someone, I, or your father, should his
health permit him, will inform you of the fact. An engagement should come on a
young girl as a surprise, pleasant or unpleasant, as the case may be. It is
hardly a matter that she could be allowed to arrange for herself. . . . And now
I have a few questions to put to you, Mr. Worthing. While I am making these
inquiries, you, Gwendolen, will wait for me below in the carriage.

Gwendolen. 

[[Reproachfully.]]
Mamma!

Lady Bracknell. 

In the carriage, Gwendolen! [[Gwendolen
goes to the door. She and Jack blow kisses to each other behind Lady
Bracknell's back. Lady Bracknell looks vaguely about as if she could not
understand what the noise was. Finally turns round.]] Gwendolen,
the carriage!

Lady Bracknell. 

[[Sitting down.]]
You can take a seat, Mr. Worthing.

[Looks in her pocket for
note-book and pencil.]

Jack. 

Thank you, Lady Bracknell, I
prefer standing.

Lady Bracknell. 

[[Pencil and note-book in
hand.]] I feel bound to tell 

&nbsp;


p.464

you that you are not down on my
list of eligible young men, although I have the same list as the dear Duchess
of Bolton has. We work together, in fact. However, I am quite ready to enter
your name, should your answers be what a really affectionate mother requires. Do
you smoke? 

Jack. 

Well, yes, I must admit I smoke.

Lady Bracknell. 

I am glad to hear it. A man
should always have an occupation of some kind. There are far too many idle men
in London as it is. How old are you?

Jack. 

Twenty-nine.

Lady Bracknell. 

A very good age to be married at.
I have always been of opinion that a man who desires to get married should know
either everything or nothing. Which do you know?

Jack. 

[[After some hesitation.]]
I know nothing, Lady Bracknell.

Lady Bracknell. 

I am pleased to hear it. I do not
approve of anything that tampers with natural ignorance. Ignorance is like a
delicate exotic fruit; touch it and the bloom is gone. The whole theory of
modern education is radically unsound. Fortunately in England, at any rate,
education produces no effect whatsoever. If it did, it would prove a serious
danger to the upper classes, and probably lead to acts of violence in Grosvenor
Square. What is your income?

Jack. 

Between seven and eight thousand
a year.

Lady Bracknell. 

[[Makes a note in her book.]]
In land, or in investments?

Jack. 

In investments, chiefly.

Lady Bracknell. 

That is satisfactory. What
between the duties expected of one during one's lifetime, and the duties
exacted from one after one's death, land has ceased to be either a profit or a
pleasure. It gives one position, and prevents one from keeping it up. That's
all that can be said about land.

Jack. 

I have a country house with some
land, of course, attached to it, about fifteen hundred acres, I believe; but I
don't depend on that for my real income. In fact, as far as I can make out, the
poachers are the only people who make anything out of it.

Lady Bracknell. 

A country house! How many
bedrooms? Well, that point can be cleared up afterwards. You have a town house,
I hope? A girl with a simple, unspoiled nature, like Gwendolen, could hardly be
expected to reside in the country.

&nbsp;


p.465

Jack. 

Well, I own a house in Belgrave
Square, but it is let by the year to Lady Bloxham. Of course, I can get it back
whenever I like, at six months' notice.

Lady Bracknell. 

Lady Bloxham? I don't know her.

Jack. 

Oh, she goes about very little.
She is a lady considerable advanced in years.

Lady Bracknell. 

Ah, nowadays that is no guarantee
of respectability of character. What number in Belgrave Square?

Jack. 

149.

Lady Bracknell. 

[[Shaking her head.]]
The unfashionable side. I thought there was something. However, that could
easily be altered.

Jack. 

Do you mean the fashion, or the
side?

Lady Bracknell. 

[[Sternly.]]
Both, if necessary, I presume. What are your politics?

Jack. 

Well, I am afraid I really have
none. I am a Liberal Unionist.

Lady Bracknell. 

Oh, they count as Tories. They
dine with us. Or come in the evening, at any rate. Now to minor matters. Are
your parents living.

Jack. 

I have lost both my parents.

Lady Bracknell. 

To lose one parent, Mr Worthing,
maybe 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
aristocracy?

Jack. 

I am afraid I really don't know.
The fact is, Lady Bracknell, I said I had lost my parents. It would be nearer
the truth to say that my parents seem to have lost me. . . . I don't actually
know who I am by birth. I was . . . well, I was found.

Lady Bracknell. 

Found!

Jack. 

The late Mr. Thomas Cardew, an
old gentleman of a very charitable and kindly disposition, found me, and gave
me the name of Worthing, because he happened to have a first-class ticket for
Worthing in his pocket at the time. Worthing is a place in Sussex. It is a
seaside resort.

Lady Bracknell. 

Where did the charitable
gentleman who had a first-class ticket for this seaside resort find you?

Jack. 

[[Gravely.]] In a
hand-bag.

Lady Bracknell. 

A hand-bag?

&nbsp;


p.466

Jack. 

[[Very seriously.]]
Yes, Lady Bracknell. I was in a hand-bag---a somewhat large, black leather
hand-bag, with handles to it---an ordinary hand-bag, in fact.

Lady Bracknell. 

In what locality did this Mr.
James, or Thomas, Cardew come across this ordinary hand-bag?

Jack. 

In the cloak-room at Victoria
Station. It was given to him in mistake for his own.

Lady Bracknell. 

The cloak-room at Victoria
Station?

Jack. 

Yes. The Brighton Line.

Lady Bracknell. 

The line is immaterial. Mr.
Worthing, I confess I feel somewhat bewildered by what you have just told me.
To be born, or at any rate, bred in a hand-bag, whether it had handles or not,
seems to me to display a contempt for the ordinary decencies of family life
that remind one of the worst excesses of the French Revolution. And I presume
you know what that unfortunate movement led to? As for the particular locality
in which the hand-bag was found, a cloak-room at a railway station might serve
to conceal a social indiscretion---has probably, indeed, been used for that
purpose before now---but it could hardly be regarded as an assured basis for a
recognized position in good society.

Jack. 

May I ask you then what you would
advise me to do? I need hardly say I would do anything in the world to ensure
Gwendolen's happiness.

Lady Bracknell. 

I would strongly advise you, Mr.
Worthing, to try and acquire some relations as soon as possible, and to make a
definite effort to produce at any rate one parent, of either sex, before the
season is quite over.

Jack. 

Well, I don't see how I could
possibly manage to do that. I can produce the hand-bag at any moment. It is in
my dressing-room at home. I really think that should satisfy you, Lady
Bracknell.

Lady Bracknell. 

Me, sir! What has it to do with
me? You can hardly imagine that I and Lord Bracknell would dream of allowing
our only daughter---a girl brought up with the utmost care---to marry into a
cloak-room, and form an alliance with a parcel? Good morning, Mr. Worthing!

[Lady Bracknell sweeps out in
majestic indignation.]

Jack. 

Good morning! [[Algernon,
from the other room, strikes up the 

&nbsp;


p.467

Wedding March. Jack looks perfectly furious, and goes to the door.]]
For goodness' sake don't play that ghastly tune, Algy! How idiotic you are! 

[The music stops, and
Algernon enters cheerily.]

Algernon. 

Didn't it go off all right, old
boy? You don't mean to say Gwendolen refused you? I know it is a way she has.
She is always refusing people. I think it is most ill-natured of her.

Jack. 

Oh, Gwendolen is as right as a
trivet. As far as she is concerned, we are engaged. Her mother is perfectly
unbearable. Never met such a Gorgon . . . I don't really know what a Gorgon is
like, but I am quite sure that Lady Bracknell is one. In any case, she is a
monster, without being a myth, which is rather unfair . . . I beg your pardon,
Algy, I suppose I shouldn't talk about your own aunt in that way before you.

Algernon. 

My dear boy, I love hearing my
relations abused. It is the only thing that makes me put up with them at all.
Relations are simply a tedious pack of people who haven't got the remotest
knowledge of how to live, nor the smallest instinct about when to die.

Jack. 

Oh, that is nonsense!

Algernon. 

It isn't!

Jack. 

Well, I won't argue about the
matter. You always want to argue about things.

Algernon. 

That is exactly what things were
originally made for.

Jack. 

Upon my word, if I thought that,
I'd shoot myself. . . . [[A pause.]] You don't think
there is any chance of Gwendolen becoming like her mother in about a hundred
and fifty years, do you, Algy?

Algernon. 

All women become like their
mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That's his.

Jack. 

Is that clever?

Algernon. 

It is perfectly phrased! and
quite as true as any observation in civilized life should be.

Jack. 

I am sick to death of cleverness.
Everybody is clever nowadays. You can't go anywhere without meeting clever
people. The thing has become an absolute public nuisance. I wish to goodness we
had a few fools left.

Algernon. 

We have.

&nbsp;


p.468

Jack. 

I should extremely like to meet
them. What do they talk about?

Algernon. 

The fools! Oh! about the clever
people, of course.

Jack. 

What fools!

Algernon. 

By the way, did you tell
Gwendolen the truth about your being Ernest in town, and Jack in the country?

Jack. 

[[In a very patronizing
manner.]] My dear fellow, the truth isn't quite the sort of thing
one tells to a nice, sweet, refined girl. What extraordinary ideas you have
about the way to behave to a woman!

Algernon. 

The only way to behave to a woman
is to make love to her, if she is pretty, and to someone else, if she is plain.

Jack. 

Oh, that is nonsense!

Algernon. 

What about your brother? What
about the profligate Ernest?

Jack. 

Oh, before the end of the week I
shall have got rid of him. I'll say he died in Paris of apoplexy. Lots of
people die of apoplexy, quite suddenly, don't they?

Algernon. 

Yes, but it's hereditary, my dear
fellow. It's a sort of thing that runs in families. You had much better say a
severe chill.

Jack. 

You are sure that a severe chill
isn't hereditary, or anything of that kind?

Algernon. 

Of course it isn't!

Jack. 

Very well, then. My poor brother
Ernest is carried off suddenly, in Paris, by a severe chill. That gets rid of
him.

Algernon. 

But I thought you said that . . .
Miss Cardew was a little too much interested in your poor brother Ernest? Won't
she feel his loss a good deal?

Jack. 

Oh, that is all right. Cecily is
not a silly romantic girl, I am glad to say. She has got a capital appetite,
goes long walks, and pays no attention at all to her lessons.

Algernon. 

I would rather like to see
Cecily.

Jack. 

I will take very good care you
never do. She is excessively pretty, and she is only just eighteen.

Algernon. 

Have you told Gwendolen yet that
you have an excessively pretty ward who is only just eighteen?

Jack. 

Oh! one doesn't blurt these
things out to people. Cecily and Gwendolen are perfectly certain to be
extremely great friends. 

&nbsp;


p.469

I'll bet you anything you like
that half an hour after they have met, they will be calling each other sister. 

Algernon. 

Women only do that when they have
called each other a lot of other things first. Now, my dear boy, if we want to
get a good table at Willis's, we really must go and dress. Do you know it is
nearly seven?

Jack. 

[[Irritably.]]
Oh! it always is nearly seven.

Algernon. 

Well, I'm hungry.

Jack. 

I never knew you when you
weren't. . . .

Algernon. 

What shall we do after dinner? Go
to a theatre?

Jack. 

Oh, no! I loathe listening.

Algernon. 

Well, let us go to the Club?

Jack. 

Oh, no! I hate talking.

Algernon. 

Well, we might trot round to the
Empire at ten?

Jack. 

Oh, no! I can't bear looking at
things. It is so silly.

Algernon. 

Well, what shall we do?

Jack. 

Nothing!

Algernon. 

It is awfully hard work doing
nothing. However, I don't mind hard work where there is no definite object of
any kind.

Enter Lane.

Lane. 

Miss Fairfax.

Enter Gwendolen. Lane goes out.

Algernon. 

Gwendolen, upon my word!

Gwendolen. 

Algy, kindly turn your back. I
have something very particular to say to Mr. Worthing.

Algernon. 

Really, Gwendolen, I don't think
I can allow this at all.

Gwendolen. 

Algy, you always adopt a strictly
immoral attitude towards life. You are not quite old enough to do that.

[Algernon retires to the
fireplace.]

Jack. 

My own darling!

Gwendolen. 

Ernest, we may never be married.
From the expression on mamma's face I fear we never shall. Few parents nowadays
pay any regard to what their children say to them. The old-fashioned respect
for the young is fast dying out. Whatever influence I ever had over mamma, I
lost at the age of three. But although she may prevent us from becoming man and
wife, and 

&nbsp;


p.470

I may marry someone else, and
marry often, nothing that she can possibly do can alter my eternal devotion to
you. 

Jack. 

Dear Gwendolen!

Gwendolen. 

The story of your romantic
origin, as related to me by mamma, with unpleasing comments, has naturally
stirred the deeper fibres of my nature. Your Christian name has an irresistible
fascination. The simplicity of your character makes you exquisitely
incomprehensible to me. Your town address at the Albany I have. What is your
address in the country?

Jack. 

The Manor House, Woolton,
Hertfordshire.

[Algernon, who has been
carefully listening, smiles to himself, and writes the address on his
shirtcuff. Then picks up the Railway Guide.]

Gwendolen. 

There is a good postal service, I
suppose? It may be necessary to do something desperate. That of course will
require serious consideration. I will communicate with you daily.

Jack. 

My own one!

Gwendolen. 

How long do you remain in town?

Jack. 

Till Monday.

Gwendolen. 

Good! Algy, you may turn round
now.

Algernon. 

Thanks, I've turned round
already.

Gwendolen. 

You may also ring the bell.

Jack. 

You will let me see you to your
carriage, my own darling?

Gwendolen. 

Certainly.

Jack. 

[[To Lane, who now enters.]]
I will see Miss Fairfax out.

Lane. 

Yes, sir.

[Jack and Gwendolen go off.]

[Lane presents several
letters on a salver to Algernon. It is to be surmised that they are bills, as
Algernon after looking at the envelopes, tears them up.]

Algernon. 

A glass of sherry, Lane.

Lane. 

Yes, sir.

Algernon. 

To-morrow, Lane, I'm going
Bunburying.

Lane. 

Yes, sir.

Algernon. 

I shall probably not be back till
Monday. You can put up my dress clothes, my smoking jacket, and all the Bunbury
suits . . .

Lane. 

Yes, sir.

[Handing sherry.]

Algernon. 

I hope to-morrow will be a fine
day, Lane.

Lane. 

It never is, sir.

Algernon. 

Lane, you're a perfect pessimist.

&nbsp;


p.471

Lane. 

I do my best to give
satisfaction, sir.

[Enter Jack. Lane goes off.]

Jack. 

There's a sensible, intellectual
girl! The only girl I ever cared for in my life. [[Algernon is laughing
immoderately.]] What on earth are you so amused at?

Algernon. 

Oh, I'm a little anxious about
poor Bunbury, that is all.

Jack. 

If you don't take care, your
friend Bunbury will get you into a serious scrape some day.

Algernon. 

I love scrapes. They are the only
things that are never serious.

Jack. 

Oh, that's nonsense, Algy. You
never talk anything but nonsense.

Algernon. 

Nobody ever does. [[Jack
looks indignantly at him, and leaves the room. Algernon lights a cigarette,
reads his shirtcuff, and smiles.]] [Act Drop]

Second Act

Scene Garden at the Manor
House. A flight of grey stone steps leads up to the house. The garden, an
old-fashioned one, full of roses. Time of year, July. Basket-chairs, and a
table covered with books, are set under a large yew-tree.

[Miss Prism discovered seated
at the table. Cecily is at the back watering flowers.]

Miss Prism. 

[[Calling.]]
Cecily, Cecily! Surely such a utilitarian occupation as the watering of flowers
is rather Moulton's duty than yours? Especially at a moment when intellectual
pleasures await you. Your German grammar is on the table. Pray open it at page
fifteen. We will repeat yesterday's lesson.

Cecily. 

[[Coming over very slowly.]]
But I don't like German. It isn't at all a becoming language. I know perfectly
well that I look quite plain after my German lesson.

Miss Prism. 

Child, you know how anxious your
guardian is that you should improve yourself in every
way. He laid particular stress on your German, as he was leaving for town
yesterday. Indeed, he always lays stress on your German when he is leaving for
town. 

Cecily. 

Dear Uncle Jack is so very
serious! Sometimes he is so serious that I think he cannot be quite well.

Miss Prism. 

[[Drawing herself up.]]
Your guardian enjoys the best of health, and his gravity of demeanour is
especially to be commended in one so comparatively young as he is. I know no
one who has a higher sense of duty and responsibility.

Cecily. 

I suppose that is why he often
looks a little bored when we three are together.

Miss Prism. 

Cecily! I am surprised at you.
Mr. Worthing has many troubles in his life. Idle merriment and triviality would
be out of place in his conversation. You must remember his constant anxiety
about that unfortunate young man his brother.

Cecily. 

I wish Uncle Jack would allow
that unfortunate young man, his brother, to come down here sometimes. We might
have a good influence over him, Miss Prism. I am sure you certainly would. You
know German, and geology, and things of that kind influence a man very much.

[Cecily begins to write in
her diary.]

Miss Prism. 

[[Shaking her head.]]
I do not think that even I could produce any effect on a character that
according to his own brother's admission is irretrievably weak and vacillating.
Indeed I am not sure that I would desire to reclaim him. I am not in favour of
this modern mania for turning bad people into good people at a moment's notice.
As a man sows so let him reap. You must put away your diary, Cecily. I really
don't see why you should keep a diary at all.

Cecily. 

I keep a diary in order to enter
the wonderful secrets of my life. If I didn't write them down I should probably
forget all about them.

Miss Prism. 

Memory, my dear Cecily, is the
diary that we all carry about with us.

Cecily. 

Yes, but it usually chronicles
the things that have never happened, and couldn't possibly have happened. I
believe that Memory is responsible for nearly all the three-volume novels that
Mudie sends us.

&nbsp;


p.473

Miss Prism. 

Do not speak slightingly of the
three-volume novel, 

Cecily. 

I wrote one myself in earlier
days.

Cecily. 

Did you really, Miss Prism? How
wonderfully clever you are! I hope it did not end happily? I don't like novels
that end happily. They depress me so much.

Miss Prism. 

The good ended happily, and the
bad unhappily. That is what Fiction means.

Cecily. 

I suppose so. But it seems very
unfair. And was your novel ever published?

Miss Prism. 

Alas! no. The manuscript
unfortunately was abandoned. [[Cecily starts.]] I use the
word in the sense of lost or mislaid. To your work, child; these speculations
are profitless.

Cecily. 

[[Smiling.]] But
I see dear Dr. Chasuble coming up through the garden.

Miss Prism. 

[[Rising and advancing.]]
Dr. Chasuble! This is indeed a pleasure.

Enter Canon Chasuble.

Chasuble. 

And how are we this morning? Miss
Prism, you are, I trust, well?

Cecily. 

Miss Prism has just been
complaining of a slight headache. I think it would do her so much good to have
a short stroll with you in the Park, Dr. Chasuble.

Miss Prism. 

Cecily, I have not mentioned
anything about a headache.

Cecily. 

No, dear Miss Prism, I know that,
but I felt instinctively that you had a headache. Indeed I was thinking about
that, and not about my German lesson, when the Rector came in.

Chasuble. 

I hope, Cecily, you are not
inattentive.

Cecily. 

Oh, I am afraid I am.

Chasuble. 

That is strange. Were I fortunate
enough to be Miss Prism's pupil, I would hang upon her lips. [[Miss
Prism glares.]] I spoke metaphorically.---My metaphor was drawn
from bees. Ahem! Mr. Worthing, I suppose, has not returned from town yet?

Miss Prism. 

We do not expect him till Monday
afternoon.

Chasuble. 

Ah yes, he usually likes to spend
his Sunday in London. He is not one of those whose sole aim is enjoyment, as,
by all 

&nbsp;


p.474

accounts, that unfortunate young
man his brother seems to be. But I must not disturb Egeria and her pupil any
longer. 

Miss Prism. 

Egeria? My name is Lætitia,
Doctor.

Chasuble. 

[[Bowing.]] A
classical allusion merely, drawn from the pagan authors. I shall see you both
no doubt at Evensong?

Miss Prism. 

I think, dear Doctor, I will have
a stroll with you. I find I have a headache after all, and a walk might do it
good.

Chasuble. 

With pleasure, Miss Prism, with
pleasure. We might go as far as the schools and back.

Miss Prism. 

That would be delightful. Cecily,
you will read your Political Economy in my absence. The chapter on the Fall of
the Rupee you may omit. It is somewhat too sensational. Even these metallic
problems have their melodramatic side.

[Goes down the garden with
Dr. Chasuble.]

Cecily. 

[[Picks up books and throws
them back on table.]] Horrid Political Economy! Horrid Geography!
Horrid, horrid German!

Enter Merriman with a card on a salver.

Merriman. 

Mr. Ernest Worthing has just
driven over from the station. He has brought his luggage with him.

Cecily. 

[[Takes the card and reads it.]]
`Mr. Ernest Worthing, B. 4 The Albany, W.' Uncle Jack's brother! Did you tell
him Mr. Worthing was in town?

Merriman. 

Yes, Miss. He seemed very much
disappointed. I mentioned that you and Miss Prism were in the garden. He said
he was anxious to speak to you privately for a moment.

Cecily. 

Ask Mr. Ernest Worthing to come
here. I suppose you had better talk to the housekeeper about a room for him.

Merriman. 

Yes, Miss.

[Merriman goes off.]

Cecily. 

I have never met any really
wicked person before. I feel rather frightened. I am so afraid he will look
just like everyone else. [[Enter Algernon, very gay and debonair.]]
He does!

Algernon. 

[[Raising his hat.]]
You are my little cousin Cecily, I'm sure.

Cecily. 

You are under some strange
mistake. I am not little. In fact, I believe I am more than usually tall for my
age. [[Algernon is rather taken aback.]] But I am your
cousin Cecily. You, I see from your card, are Uncle Jack's brother, my cousin
Ernest, my wicked cousin Ernest.

&nbsp;


p.475

Algernon. 

Oh! I am not really wicked at
all, cousin Cecily. You mustn't think that I am wicked.

Cecily. 

If you are not, then you have
certainly been deceiving us all in a very inexcusable manner. I hope you have
not been leading a double life, pretending to be wicked and being really good
all the time. That would be hypocrisy.

Algernon. 

[[Looks at her in amazement.]]
Oh! Of course I have been rather reckless.

Cecily. 

I am glad to hear it.

Algernon. 

In fact, now you mention the
subject, I have been very bad in my own small way.

Cecily. 

I don't think you should be so
proud of that, though I am sure it must have been very pleasant.

Algernon. 

It is much pleasanter being here
with you.

Cecily. 

I can't understand how you are
here at all. Uncle Jack won't be back till Monday afternoon.

Algernon. 

That is a great disappointment. I
am obliged to go up by the first train on Monday morning. I have a business
appointment that I am anxious . . . to miss!

Cecily. 

Couldn't you miss it anywhere but
in London?

Algernon. 

No: the appointment is in London.

Cecily. 

Well, I know of course, how
important it is not to keep a business engagement, if one wants to retain any
sense of the beauty of life, but still I think you had better wait till Uncle
Jack arrives. I know he wants to speak to you about your emigrating.

Algernon. 

About my what?

Cecily. 

Your emigrating. He has gone up
to buy your outfit.

Algernon. 

I certainly wouldn't let Jack buy
my outfit. He has no taste in neckties at all.

Cecily. 

I don't think you will require
neckties. Uncle Jack is sending you to Australia.

Algernon. 

Australia! I'd sooner die.

Cecily. 

Well, he said at dinner on
Wednesday night, that you would have to choose between this world, the next
world, and Australia.

Algernon. 

Oh, well! The accounts I have
received of Australia and the next world are not particularly encouraging. This
world is good enough for me, cousin Cecily.

&nbsp;


p.476

Cecily. 

Yes, but are you good enough for
it?

Algernon. 

I'm afraid I'm not that. That is
why I want you to reform me. You might make that your mission, if you don't
mind, cousin Cecily.

Cecily. 

I'm afraid I've no time, this
afternoon.

Algernon. 

Well, would you mind my reforming
myself this afternoon?

Cecily. 

It is rather Quixotic of you. But
I think you should try.

Algernon. 

I will. I feel better already.

Cecily. 

You are looking a little worse.

Algernon. 

That is because I am hungry.

Cecily. 

How thoughtless of me! I should
have remembered that when one is going to lead an entirely new life, one
requires regular and wholesome meals. Won't you come in?

Algernon. 

Thank you. Might I have a
buttonhole first? I never have any appetite unless I have a buttonhole first.

Cecily. 

A Maréchal Niel?

[Picks up scissors.]

Algernon. 

No, I'd sooner have a pink rose.

Cecily. 

Why?

[Cuts a flower.]

Algernon. 

Because you are like a pink rose,
Cousin Cecily.

Cecily. 

I don't think it can be right for
you to talk to me like that. Miss Prism never says such things to me.

Algernon. 

Then Miss Prism is a
short-sighted old lady. [[Cecily puts the rose in his buttonhole.]]
You are the prettiest girl I ever saw.

Cecily. 

Miss Prism says that all good
looks are a snare.

Algernon. 

They are a snare that every
sensible man would like to be caught in.

Cecily. 

Oh! I don't think I would care to
catch a sensible man. I shouldn't know what to talk to him about.

[They pass into the house.
Miss Prism and Dr. Chasuble return.]

Miss Prism. 

You are too much alone, dear Dr.
Chasuble. You should get married. A misanthrope I can understand---a
womanthrope, never!

Chasuble. 

[[With a scholar's shudder.]]
Believe me, I do not deserve so neologistic a phrase. The precept as well as
the practice of the Primitive Church was distinctly against matrimony.

Miss Prism. 

[[Sententiously.]]
That is obviously the reason why the Primitive Church has not lasted up to the
present day. And do you not seem to realize, dear Doctor, that by persistently 

&nbsp;


p.477

remaining single, a man converts
himself into a permanent public temptation. Men should be more careful; this
very celibacy leads weaker vessels astray. 

Chasuble. 

But is a man not equally
attractive when married?

Miss Prism. 

No married man is ever attractive
except to his wife.

Chasuble. 

And often, I've been told, not
even to her.

Miss Prism. 

That depends on the intellectual
sympathies of the woman. Maturity can always be depended on. Ripeness can be
trusted. Young women are green. [[Dr. Chasuble starts.]] I
spoke horticulturally. My metaphor was drawn from fruits. But where is Cecily?

Chasuble. 

Perhaps she followed us to the
schools.

Enter Jack slowly from the back of the garden. He is dressed in the
deepest mourning, with crape hatband and black gloves.

Miss Prism. 

Mr. Worthing!

Chasuble. 

Mr. Worthing?

Miss Prism. 

This is indeed a surprise. We did
not look for you till Monday afternoon.

Jack. 

[[Shakes Miss Prism's hand in
a tragic manner.]] I have returned sooner than I expected. Dr.
Chasuble, I hope you are well?

Chasuble. 

Dear Mr. Worthing, I trust this
garb of woe does not betoken some terrible calamity?

Jack. 

My brother.

Miss Prism. 

More shameful debts and
extravagance?

Chasuble. 

Still leading his life of
pleasure?

Jack. 

[[Shaking his head.]]
Dead!

Chasuble. 

Your brother Ernest dead?

Jack. 

Quite dead.

Miss Prism. 

What a lesson for him! I trust he
will profit by it.

Chasuble. 

Mr. Worthing, I offer you my
sincere condolence. You have at least the consolation of knowing that you were
always the most generous and forgiving of brothers.

Jack. 

Poor Ernest! He had many faults,
but it is a sad, sad blow.

Chasuble. 

Very sad indeed. Were you with
him at the end?

Jack. 

No. He died abroad; in Paris, in
fact. I had a telegram last night from the manager of the Grand Hotel.

Chasuble. 

Was the cause of death mentioned?

&nbsp;


p.478

Jack. 

A severe chill, it seems.

Miss Prism. 

As a man sows, so shall he reap.

Chasuble. 

[[Raising his hand.]]
Charity, dear Miss Prism, charity! None of us are perfect. I myself am
peculiarly susceptible to draughts. Will the interment take place here?

Jack. 

No. He seemed to have expressed a
desire to be buried in Paris.

Chasuble. 

In Paris! [[Shakes his head.]]
I fear that hardly points to any very serious state of mind at the last. You
would no doubt wish me to make some slight allusion to this tragic domestic
affliction next Sunday. [[Jack presses his hand convulsively.]]
My sermon on the meaning of the manna in the wilderness can be adapted to
almost any occasion, joyful, or, as in the present case, distressing. [[All
sigh.]] I have preached it at harvest celebrations, christenings,
confirmations, on days of humiliation and festal days. The last time I
delivered it was in the Cathedral, as a charity sermon on behalf of the Society
for the Prevention of Discontent among the Upper Orders. The Bishop, who was
present, was much struck by some of the analogies I drew.

Jack. 

Ah! that reminds me, you
mentioned christenings, I think, Dr. Chasuble? I suppose you know how to
christen all right? [[Dr. Chasuble looks astounded.]]
I mean, of course, you are continually christening, aren't you?

Miss Prism. 

It is, I regret to say, one of
the Rector's most constant duties in this parish. I have often spoken to the
poorer classes on the subject. But they don't seem to know what thrift is.

Chasuble. 

But is there any particular
infant in whom you are interested, Mr. Worthing? Your brother was, I believe,
unmarried, was he not?

Jack. 

Oh, yes.

Miss Prism. 

[[Bitterly.]]
People who live entirely for pleasure usually are.

Jack. 

But it is not for any child, dear
Doctor. I am very fond of children. No! the fact is, I would like to be christened
myself, this afternoon, if you have nothing better to do.

Chasuble. 

But surely, Mr. Worthing, you
have been christened already?

Jack. 

I don't remember anything about
it.

Chasuble. 

But have you any grave doubts on
the subject?

Jack. 

I certainly intend to have. Of
course I don't know if the thing 

&nbsp;


p.479

would bother you in any way, or
if you think I am a little too old now. 

Chasuble. 

Not at all. The sprinkling, and,
indeed, the immersion of adults is a perfectly canonical practice.

Jack. 

Immersion!

Chasuble. 

You need have no apprehensions.
Sprinkling is all that is necessary, or indeed I think advisable. Our weather
is so changeable. At what hour would you wish the ceremony performed?

Jack. 

Oh, I might trot round about five
if that would suit you.

Chasuble. 

Perfectly, perfectly! In fact I
have two similar ceremonies to perform at that time. A case of twins that
occurred recently in one of the outlying cottages on your own estate. Poor
Jenkins the carter, a most hard-working man.

Jack. 

Oh! I don't see much fun in being
christened along with other babies. It would be childish. Would half-past five
do?

Chasuble. 

Admirably! Admirably!

[Takes out watch.]

And now, dear Mr. Worthing, I
will not intrude any longer into a house of sorrow. I would merely beg you not
to be too much bowed down by grief. What seems to us bitter trials are often
blessings in disguise.

Miss Prism. 

This seems to me a blessing of an
extremely obvious kind.

Enter Cecily from the house.

Cecily. 

Uncle Jack! Oh, I am pleased to see
you back. But what horrid clothes you have got on! Do go and change them.

Miss Prism. 

Cecily!

Chasuble. 

My child! my child!

[Cecily goes towards Jack; he
kisses her brow in a melancholy manner.]

Cecily. 

What is the matter, Uncle Jack?
Do look happy! You look as if you had toothache, and I have got such a surprise
for you. Who do you think is in the dining-room? Your brother!

Jack. 

Who?

Cecily. 

Your brother Ernest. He arrived
about half an hour ago.

Jack. 

What nonsense! I haven't got a
brother!

Cecily. 

Oh, don't say that. However badly
he may have behaved to you in the past he is still your brother. You couldn't
be so 

&nbsp;


p.480

heartless as to disown him. I'll
tell him to come out. And you will shake hands with him, won't you, Uncle Jack?


[Runs back into the house.]

Chasuble. 

These are very joyful tidings.

Miss Prism. 

After we had all been resigned to
his loss, his sudden return seems to me peculiarly distressing.

Jack. 

My brother is in the dining-room?
I don't know what it all means. I think it is perfectly absurd.

[Enter Algernon and Cecily
hand in hand. They come slowly up to Jack.]

Jack. 

Good heavens!

[Motions Algernon away.]

Algernon. 

Brother John, I have come down
from town to tell you that I am very sorry for all the trouble I have given you,
and that I intend to lead a better life in the future.

[Jack glares at him and does
not take his hand.]

Cecily. 

Uncle Jack, you are not going to
refuse your own brother's hand?

Jack. 

Nothing will induce me to take
his hand. I think his coming down here disgraceful. He knows perfectly well
why.

Cecily. 

Uncle Jack, do be nice. There is
some good in everyone. Ernest has just been telling me about his poor invalid
friend Mr. Bunbury whom he goes to visit so often. And surely there must be
much good in one who is kind to an invalid, and leaves the pleasures of London
to sit by a bed of pain.

Jack. 

Oh! he has been talking about
Bunbury, has he?

Cecily. 

Yes, he has told me all about
poor Mr. Bunbury, and his terrible state of health.

Jack. 

Bunbury! Well, I won't have him
talk to you about Bunbury or about anything else. It is enough to drive one
perfectly frantic.

Algernon. 

Of course I admit that the faults
were all on my side. But I must say that I think that Brother John's coldness
to me is peculiarly painful. I expected a more enthusiastic welcome, especially
considering it is the first time I have come here.

Cecily. 

Uncle Jack, if you don't shake
hands with Ernest, I will never forgive you.

Jack. 

Never forgive me?

Cecily. 

Never, never, never!

Jack. 

Well, this is the last time I
shall ever do it.

&nbsp;


p.481

[Shakes hands with Algernon
and glares.]

Chasuble. 

It's pleasant, is it not, to see
so perfect a reconciliation? I think we might leave the two brothers together.

Miss Prism. 

Cecily, you will come with us.

Cecily. 

Certainly, Miss Prism. My little
task of reconciliation is over.

Chasuble. 

You have done a beautiful action
today, dear child.

Miss Prism. 

We must not be premature in our
judgments.

Cecily. 

I feel very happy.

[They all go off except Jack
and Algernon.]

Jack. 

You young scoundrel, Algy, you
must get out of this place as soon as possible. I don't allow any Bunburying
here. [Enter Merriman.] 

Merriman. 

I have put Mr. Ernest's things in
the room next to yours, sir. I suppose that is all right?

Jack. 

What?

Merriman. 

Mr. Ernest's luggage, sir. I have
unpacked it and put it in the room next to your own.

Jack. 

His luggage?

Merriman. 

Yes, sir. Three portmanteaux, a
dressing-case, two hat-boxes, and a large luncheon-basket.

Algernon. 

I am afraid I can't stay more
than a week this time.

Jack. 

Merriman, order the dog-cart at
once. Mr. Ernest has been suddenly called back to town.

Merriman. 

Yes, sir.

[Goes back into the house.]

Algernon. 

What a fearful liar you are,
Jack. I have not been called back to town at all.

Jack. 

Yes, you have.

Algernon. 

I haven't heard anyone call me.

Jack. 

Your duty as a gentleman calls
you back.

Algernon. 

My duty as a gentleman has never
interfered with my pleasures in the smallest degree.

Jack. 

I can quite understand that.

Algernon. 

Well, Cecily is a darling.

Jack. 

You are not to talk of Miss
Cardew like that. I don't like it.

Algernon. 

Well, I don't like your clothes.
You look perfectly ridiculous in them. Why on earth don't you go up and change?
It is perfectly childish to be in deep mourning for a man who is 

&nbsp;


p.482

actually staying for a whole week
with you in your house as a guest. I call it grotesque. 

Jack. 

You are certainly not staying
with me for a whole week as a guest or anything else. You have got to leave . .
. by the four-five train.

Algernon. 

I certainly won't leave you so
long as you are in mourning. It would be most unfriendly. If I were in mourning
you would stay with me, I suppose. I should think it very unkind if you didn't.

Jack. 

Well, will you go if I change my
clothes?

Algernon. 

Yes, if you are not too long. I
never saw anybody take so long to dress, and with such little result.

Jack. 

Well, at any rate, that is better
than being always over-dressed as you are.

Algernon. 

If I am occasionally a little
over-dressed, I make up for it by being always immensely over-educated.

Jack. 

Your vanity is ridiculous, your
conduct an outrage, and your presence in my garden utterly absurd. However, you
have got to catch the four-five, and I hope you will have a pleasant journey
back to town. This Bunburying, as you call it, has not been a great success for
you.

[Goes into the house.]

Algernon. 

I think it has been a great
success. I'm in love with Cecily, and that is everything.

Enter Cecily at the back of the garden. She picks up the can and begins
to water the flowers.

But I must see her before I go,
and make arrangements for another Bunbury. Ah, there she is.

Cecily. 

Oh, I merely came back to water
the roses. I thought you were with Uncle Jack.

Algernon. 

He's gone to order the dog-cart
for me.

Cecily. 

Oh, is he going to take you for a
nice drive?

Algernon. 

He's going to send me away.

Cecily. 

Then have we got to part?

Algernon. 

I am afraid so. It's very painful
parting.

Cecily. 

It is always painful to part from
people whom one has known for a very brief space of time. The absence of old
friends one can endure with equanimity. But even a momentary 

&nbsp;


p.483

separation from anyone to whom
one has just been introduced is almost unbearable. 

Algernon. 

Thank you.

Enter Merriman.

Merriman. 

The dog-cart is at the door, sir.

[Algernon looks appealingly
at Cecily.]

Cecily. 

It can wait, Merriman . . . for .
. . five minutes.

Merriman. 

Yes, Miss.

[Exit Merriman.]

Algernon. 

I hope, Cecily, I shall not offend
you if I state quite frankly and openly that you seem to me to be in every way
the visible personification of absolute perfection.

Cecily. 

I think your frankness does you
great credit, Ernest. If you will allow me, I will copy your remarks into my diary.

[Goes over to table and
begins writing in diary.]

Algernon. 

Do you really keep a diary? I'd
give anything to look at it. May I?

Cecily. 

Oh no. [[Puts her hand over it.]]
You see, it is simply a very young girl's record of her own thoughts and impressions,
and consequently meant for publication. When it appears in volume form I hope
you will order a copy. But pray, Ernest, don't stop. I delight in taking down
from dictation. I have reached `absolute perfection.' You can go on. I am quite
ready for more.

Algernon. 

[[Somewhat taken aback.]]
Ahem! Ahem!

Cecily. 

Oh, don't cough, Ernest. When one
is dictating one should speak fluently and not cough. Besides, I don't know how
to spell a cough.

[Writes as Algernon speaks.]

Algernon. 

[[Speaking very rapidly.]]
Cecily, ever since I first looked upon your wonderful and incomparable beauty,
I have dared to love you wildly, passionately, devotedly, hopelessly.

Cecily. 

I don't think that you should
tell me that you love me wildly, passionately, devotedly, hopelessly.
Hopelessly doesn't seem to make much sense, does it?

Algernon. 

Cecily!

Enter Merriman.

Merriman. 

The dog-cart is waiting, sir.

Algernon. 

Tell it to come round next week,
at the same hour.

&nbsp;


p.484

Merriman. 

[[Looks at Cecily, who makes
no sign.]] Yes, sir.

[Merriman retires.]

Cecily. 

Uncle Jack would be very much
annoyed if he knew you were staying on till next week, at the same hour.

Algernon. 

Oh, I don't care about Jack. I
don't care for anybody in the whole world but you. I love you, Cecily. You will
marry me, won't you?

Cecily. 

You silly boy! Of course. Why, we
have been engaged for the last three months.

Algernon. 

For the last three months?

Cecily. 

Yes, it will be exactly three
months on Thursday.

Algernon. 

But how did we become engaged?

Cecily. 

Well, ever since dear Uncle Jack
first confessed to us that he had a younger brother who was very wicked and
bad, you of course have formed the chief topic of conversation between myself
and Miss Prism. And of course a man who is much talked about is always very
attractive. One feels there must be something in him after all. I daresay it
was foolish of me, but I fell in love with you, Ernest.

Algernon. 

Darling! And when was the
engagement actually settled?

Cecily. 

On the 14th of February last. Worn
out by your entire ignorance of my existence, I determined to end the matter
one way or the other, and after a long struggle with myself I accepted you
under this dear old tree here. The next day I bought this little ring in your
name, and this is the little bangle with the true lover's knot I promised you
always to wear.

Algernon. 

Did I give you this? It's very
pretty, isn't it?

Cecily. 

Yes, you've wonderfully good
taste, Ernest. It's the excuse I've always given for your leading such a bad
life. And this is the box in which I keep all your dear letters.

[Kneels at table, opens box,
and produces letters tied up with blue ribbon.]

Algernon. 

My letters! But my own sweet
Cecily, I have never written you any letters.

Cecily. 

You need hardly remind me of
that, Ernest. I remember only too well that I was forced to write your letters
for you. I always wrote three times a week, and sometimes oftener.

Algernon. 

Oh, do let me read them, Cecily!

Cecily. 

Oh, I couldn't possibly. They
would make you far too 

&nbsp;


p.485

conceited. [[Replaces box.]]
The three you wrote me after I had broken off the engagement are so beautiful,
and so badly spelled, that even now I can hardly read them without crying a
little. 

Algernon. 

But was our engagement ever
broken off?

Cecily. 

Of course it was. On the 22nd of
last March. You can see the entry if you like. [[Shows diary.]]
`Today I broke off my engagement with Ernest. I feel it is better to do so. The
weather still continues charming.'

Algernon. 

But why on earth did you break it
off? What had I done? I had done nothing at all. Cecily, I am very much hurt
indeed to hear you broke it off. Particularly when the weather was so charming.

Cecily. 

It would hardly have been a
really serious engagement if it hadn't been broken off at least once. But I
forgave you before the week was out.

Algernon. 

[[Crossing to her, and
kneeling.]] What a perfect angel you are, Cecily!

Cecily. 

You dear romantic boy. [[He
kisses her, she puts her fingers through his hair.]] I hope your
hair curls naturally, does it?

Algernon. 

Yes, darling, with a little help
from others.

Cecily. 

I am so glad.

Algernon. 

You'll never break off our
engagement again, Cecily?

Cecily. 

I don't think I could break it
off now that I have actually met you. Besides, of course, there is the question
of your name.

Algernon. 

Yes, of course.

[Nervously.]

Cecily. 

You must not laugh at me,
darling, but it had always been a girlish dream of mine to love someone whose
name was Ernest. [[Algernon rises, Cecily also.]] There is something in
that name that seems to inspire absolute confidence. I pity any poor married
woman whose husband is not called Ernest.

Algernon. 

But, my dear child, do you mean
to say you could not love me if I had some other name?

Cecily. 

But what name?

Algernon. 

Oh, any name you
like---Algernon---for instance . . .

Cecily. 

But I don't like the name of
Algernon.

Algernon. 

Well, my own dear, sweet, loving
little darling, I really can't see why you should object to the name of
Algernon. It is not at all a bad name. In fact, it is rather an aristocratic
name. 

&nbsp;


p.486

Half of the chaps who get into
the Bankruptcy Court are called Algernon. But seriously, Cecily . . . [[Moving
to her.]] . . . if my name was Algy, couldn't you love me? 

Cecily. 

[[Rising.]] I
might respect you, Ernest, I might admire your character, but I fear that I
should not be able to give you my undivided attention.

Algernon. 

Ahem! Cecily! [[Picking
up hat.]] Your Rector here is, I suppose, thoroughly experienced
in the practice of all the rites and ceremonials of the Church?

Cecily. 

Oh, yes. Dr. Chasuble is a most
learned man. He has never written a single book, so you can imagine how much he
knows.

Algernon. 

I must see him at once on a most
important christening---I mean on most important business.

Cecily. 

Oh!

Algernon. 

I shan't be away more than half
an hour.

Cecily. 

Considering that we have been
engaged since February the 14th, and that I only met you today for the first
time, I think it is rather hard that you should leave me for so long a period
as half an hour. Couldn't you make it twenty minutes?

Algernon. 

I'll be back in no time.

[Kisses her and rushes down
the garden.]

Cecily. 

What an impetuous boy he is! I
like his hair so much. I must enter his proposal in my diary.

Enter Merriman.

Merriman. 

A Miss Fairfax has just called to
see Mr. Worthing. On very important business Miss Fairfax states.

Cecily. 

Isn't Mr. Worthing in his
library?

Merriman. 

Mr. Worthing went over in the
direction of the Rectory some time ago.

Cecily. 

Pray ask the lady to come out
here; Mr. Worthing is sure to be back soon. And you can bring tea.

Merriman. 

Yes, Miss.

[Goes out.]

Cecily. 

Miss Fairfax! I suppose one of
the many good elderly women who are associated with Uncle Jack in some of his
philanthropic work in London. I don't quite like women who are interested in
philanthropic work. I think it is so forward of them.

&nbsp;


p.487

Enter Merriman.

Merriman. 

Miss Fairfax.

Enter Gwendolen.

[Exit Merriman.]

Cecily. 

[[Advancing to meet her.]]
Pray let me introduce myself to you. My name is Cecily Cardew.

Gwendolen. 

Cecily Cardew? [[Moving
to her and shaking hands.]] What a very sweet name! Something
tells me that we are going to be great friends. I like you already more than I
can say. My first impressions of people are never wrong.

Cecily. 

How nice of you to like me so
much after we have known each other such a comparatively short time. Pray sit
down.

Gwendolen. 

[[Still standing up.]]
I may call you Cecily, may I not?

Cecily. 

With pleasure!

Gwendolen. 

And you will always call me
Gwendolen, won't you?

Cecily. 

If you wish.

Gwendolen. 

Then that is all quite settled,
is it not?

Cecily. 

I hope so.

[A pause. They both sit down
together.]

Gwendolen. 

Perhaps this might be a
favourable opportunity for my mentioning who I am. My father is Lord Bracknell.
You have never heard of papa, I suppose?

Cecily. 

I don't think so.

Gwendolen. 

Outside the family circle, papa,
I am glad to say, is entirely unknown. I think that is quite as it should be.
The home seems to me to be the proper sphere for the man. And certainly once a
man begins to neglect his domestic duties he becomes painfully effeminate, does
he not? And I don't like that. It makes men so very attractive. Cecily, mamma,
whose views on education are remarkably strict, has brought me up to be
extremely short-sighted; it is part of her system; so do you mind my looking at
you through my glasses?

Cecily. 

Oh! not at all, Gwendolen. I am
very fond of being looked at.

Gwendolen. 

[[After examining Cecily
carefully through a lorgnette.]] You are here on a short visit, I
suppose.

Cecily. 

Oh no! I live here.

Gwendolen. 

[[Severely.]]
Really? Your mother, no doubt, or some female relative of advanced years,
resides here also?

&nbsp;


p.488

Cecily. 

Oh no! I have no mother, nor, in
fact, any relations.

Gwendolen. 

Indeed?

Cecily. 

My dear guardian, with the
assistance of Miss Prism, has the arduous task of looking after me.

Gwendolen. 

Your guardian?

Cecily. 

Yes, I am Mr. Worthing's ward.

Gwendolen. 

Oh! It is strange he never mentioned
to me that he had a ward. How secretive of him! He grows more interesting
hourly. I am not sure, however, that the news inspires me with feelings of
unmixed delight. [[Rising and going to her.]] I am very fond of you,
Cecily; I have liked you ever since I met you! But I am bound to state that now
that I know that you are Mr. Worthing's ward, I cannot help expressing a wish
you were---well just a little older than you seem to be---and not quite so very
alluring in appearance. In fact, if I may speak candidly---

Cecily. 

Pray do! I think that whenever
one has anything unpleasant to say, one should always be quite candid.

Gwendolen. 

Well, to speak with perfect
candour, Cecily, I wish that you were fully forty-two, and more than usually
plain for your age. Ernest has a strong upright nature. He is the very soul of
truth and honour. Disloyalty would be as impossible to him as deception. But
even men of the noblest possible moral character are extremely susceptible to
the influence of the physical charms of others. Modern, no less than Ancient
History, supplies us with many most painful examples of what I refer to. If it
were not so, indeed, History would be quite unreadable.

Cecily. 

I beg your pardon, Gwendolen, did
you say Ernest?

Gwendolen. 

Yes.

Cecily. 

Oh, but it is not Mr. Ernest
Worthing who is my guardian. It is his brother---his elder brother.

Gwendolen. 

[[Sitting down again.]]
Ernest never mentioned to me that he had a brother.

Cecily. 

I am sorry to say they have not
been on good terms for a long time.

Gwendolen. 

Ah! that accounts for it. And now
that I think of it I have never heard any man mention his brother. The subject
seems distasteful to most men. Cecily, you have lifted a load from my mind. I
was growing almost anxious. It would have 

&nbsp;


p.489

been terrible if any cloud had
come across a friendship like ours, would it not? Of course you are quite,
quite sure that it is not Mr. Ernest Worthing who is your guardian? 

Cecily. 

Quite sure. [[A pause.]] In
fact, I am going to be his.

Gwendolen. 

[[Inquiringly.]]
I beg your pardon?

Cecily. 

[[Rather shy and confidingly.]]
Dearest Gwendolen, there is no reason why I should make a secret of it to you.
Our little county newspaper is sure to chronicle the fact next week. Mr. Ernest
Worthing and I are engaged to be married.

Gwendolen. 

[[Quite politely, rising.]]
My darling Cecily, I think there must be some slight error. Mr. Ernest Worthing
is engaged to me. The announcement will appear in the Morning
Post on Saturday at the latest.

Cecily. 

[[Very politely, rising.]]
I am afraid you must be under some misconception. Ernest proposed to me exactly
ten minutes ago.

[Shows diary.]

Gwendolen. 

[[Examines diary through her
lorgnette carefully.]] It is certainly very curious, for he asked
me to be his wife yesterday afternoon at 5.30. If you would care to verify the
incident, pray do so. [[Produces diary of her own.]]
I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational
to read in the train. I am so sorry, dear Cecily, if it is any disappointment
to you, but I am afraid I have the prior claim.

Cecily. 

It would distress me more than I
can tell you, dear Gwendolen, if it caused you any mental or physical anguish,
but I feel bound to point out that since Ernest proposed to you he clearly has
changed his mind.

Gwendolen. 

[[Meditatively.]]
If the poor fellow has been entrapped into any foolish promise I shall consider
it my duty to rescue him at once, and with a firm hand.

Cecily. 

[[Thoughtfully and sadly.]]
Whatever unfortunate entanglement my dear boy may have got into, I will never
reproach him with it after we are married.

Gwendolen. 

Do you allude to me, Miss Cardew,
as an entanglement? You are presumptuous. On an occasion of this kind it
becomes more than a moral duty to speak one's mind. It becomes a pleasure.

Cecily. 

Do you suggest, Miss Fairfax,
that I entrapped Ernest into an engagement? How dare you? This is no time for
wearing the 

&nbsp;


p.490

shallow mask of manners. When I
see a spade I call it a spade. 

Gwendolen. 

[[Satirically.]]
I am glad to say that I have never seen a spade. It is obvious that our social
spheres have been widely different.

Enter Merriman, followed by the footman. He carries a salver, table
cloth, and plate stand. Cecily is about to retort. The presence of the servants
exercises a restraining influence, under which both girls chafe.

Merriman. 

Shall I lay tea here as usual,
Miss?

Cecily. 

[[Sternly, in a calm voice.]]
Yes, as usual.

[Merriman begins to clear
table and lay cloth. A long pause. Cecily and Gwendolen glare at each other.]

Gwendolen. 

Are there many interesting walks
in the vicinity, Miss Cardew?

Cecily. 

Oh! yes! a great many. From the
top of one of the hills quite close one can see five counties.

Gwendolen. 

Five counties! I don't think I
should like that; I hate crowds.

Cecily. 

[[Sweetly.]] I
suppose that is why you live in town?

[Gwendolen bites her lip, and
beats her foot nervously with her parasol.]

Gwendolen. 

[[Looking round.]]
Quite a well-kept garden this is, Miss Cardew.

Cecily. 

So glad you like it, Miss
Fairfax.

Gwendolen. 

I had no idea there were any
flowers in the country.

Cecily. 

Oh, flowers are as common here,
Miss Fairfax, as people are in London.

Gwendolen. 

Personally I cannot understand
how anybody manages to exist in the country, if anybody who is anybody does.
The country always bores me to death.

Cecily. 

Ah! That is what the newspapers
call agricultural depression, is it not? I believe the aristocracy are
suffering very much from it just at present. It is almost an epidemic amongst
them, I have been told. May I offer you some tea, Miss Fairfax?

Gwendolen. 

[[With elaborate politeness.]]
Thank you. [[Aside.]] Detestable girl! But I require tea!

Cecily. 

[[Sweetly.]]
Sugar?

Gwendolen. 

[[Superciliously.]]
No, thank you. Sugar is not fashionable any more.

&nbsp;


p.491

[Cecily looks angrily at her,
takes up the tongs and puts four lumps of sugar into the cup.]

Cecily. 

[[Severely.]]
Cake or bread and butter?

Gwendolen. 

[[In a bored manner.]]
Bread and butter, please. Cake is rarely seen at the best houses nowadays.

Cecily. 

[[Cuts a very large slice of
cake, and puts it on the tray.]] Hand that to Miss Fairfax.

[Merriman does so, and goes
out with footman. Gwendolen drinks the tea and makes a grimace. Puts down cup
at once, reaches out her hand to the bread and butter, looks at it, and finds
it is cake. Rises in indignation.]

Gwendolen. 

You have filled my tea with lumps
of sugar, and though I asked most distinctly for bread and butter, you have
given me cake. I am known for the gentleness of my disposition, and the
extraordinary sweetness of my nature, but I warn you, Miss Cardew, you may go
too far.

Cecily. 

[[Rising.]] To
save my poor, innocent, trusting boy from the machinations of any other girl
there are no lengths to which I would not go.

Gwendolen. 

From the moment I saw you I
distrusted you. I felt that you were false and deceitful. I am never deceived
in such matters. My first impressions of people are invariably right.

Cecily. 

It seems to me, Miss Fairfax,
that I am trespassing on your valuable time. No doubt you have many other calls
of a similar character to make in the neighbourhood.

Enter Jack.

Gwendolen. 

[[Catching sight of him.]]
Ernest! My own Ernest!

Jack. 

Gwendolen! Darling!

[Offers to kiss her.]

Gwendolen. 

[[Drawing back.]]
A moment! May I ask if you are engaged to be married to this young lady?

[Points to Cecily.]

Jack. 

[[Laughing.]] To
dear little Cecily! Of course not! What could have put such an idea into your
pretty little head?

Gwendolen. 

Thank you. You may!

[Offers her cheek.]

Cecily. 

[[Very sweetly.]]
I knew there must be some misunderstanding, Miss Fairfax. The gentleman whose
arm is at present round your waist is my dear guardian, Mr. John Worthing.

Gwendolen. 

I beg your pardon?

&nbsp;


p.492

Cecily. 

This is Uncle Jack.

Gwendolen. 

[[Receding.]]
Jack! Oh!

Enter Algernon.

Cecily. 

Here is Ernest.

Algernon. 

[[Goes straight over to Cecily
without noticing anyone else.]] My own love!

[Offers to kiss her.]

Cecily. 

[[Drawing back.]]
A moment, Ernest! May I ask you---are you engaged to be married to this young
lady?

Algernon. 

[[Looking round.]]
To what young lady? Good heavens! Gwendolen!

Cecily. 

Yes! to good heavens, Gwendolen,
I mean to Gwendolen.

Algernon. 

[[Laughing.]] Of
course not! What could have put such an idea into your pretty little head?

Cecily. 

Thank you. [[Presenting her cheek to be
kissed.]] You may.

[Algernon kisses her.]

Gwendolen. 

I felt there was some slight
error, Miss Cardew. The gentleman who is now embracing you is my cousin, Mr.
Algernon Moncrieff.

Cecily. 

[[Breaking away from Algernon.]]
Algernon Moncrieff! Oh!

[The two girls move towards
each other and put their arms round each other's waists as if for protection.]

Cecily. 

Are you called Algernon?

Algernon. 

I cannot deny it.

Cecily. 

Oh!

Gwendolen. 

Is your name really John?

Jack. 

[[Standing rather proudly.]]
I could deny it if I liked. I could deny anything if I liked. But my name
certainly is John. It has been John for years.

Cecily. 

[[To Gwendolen.]]
A gross deception has been practised on both of us.

Gwendolen. 

My poor wounded Cecily!

Cecily. 

My sweet wronged Gwendolen!

Gwendolen. 

[[Slowly and seriously.]]
You will call me sister, will you not?

[They embrace. Jack and
Algernon groan and walk up and down.]

Cecily. 

[[Rather brightly.]]
There is just one question I would like to be allowed to ask my guardian.

Gwendolen. 

An admirable idea! Mr. Worthing,
there is just one 

&nbsp;


p.493

question I would like to be
permitted to put to you. Where is your brother Ernest? We are both engaged to
be married to your brother Ernest, so it is a matter of some importance to us
to know where your brother Ernest is at present. 

Jack. 

[[Slowly and hesitatingly.]]
Gwendolen---Cecily---it is very painful for me to be forced to speak the truth.
It is the first time in my life that I have ever been reduced to such a painful
position, and I am really quite inexperienced in doing anything of the kind.
However I will tell you quite frankly that I have no brother Ernest. I have no
brother at all. I never had a brother in my life, and I certainly have not the
smallest intention of ever having one in the future.

Cecily. 

[[Surprised.]] No
brother at all?

Jack. 

[[Cheerily.]]
None!

Gwendolen. 

[[Severely.]] Had
you never a brother of any kind?

Jack. 

[[Pleasantly.]]
Never. Not even of any kind.

Gwendolen. 

I am afraid it is quite clear,
Cecily, that neither of us is engaged to be married to anyone.

Cecily. 

It is not a very pleasant
position for a young girl suddenly to find herself in. Is it?

Gwendolen. 

Let us go into the house. They
will hardly venture to come after us there.

Cecily. 

No, men are so cowardly, aren't
they?

[They retire into the house
with scornful looks.]

Jack. 

This ghastly state of things is
what you call Bunburying, I suppose?

Algernon. 

Yes, and a perfectly wonderful
Bunbury it is. The most wonderful Bunbury I have ever had in my life.

Jack. 

Well, you've no right whatsoever
to Bunbury here.

Algernon. 

That is absurd. One has a right
to Bunbury anywhere one chooses. Every serious Bunburyist knows that.

Jack. 

Serious Bunburyist! Good heavens!

Algernon. 

Well, one must be serious about
something, if one wants to have any amusement in life. I happen to be serious
about Bunburying. What on earth you are serious about I haven't got the
remotest idea. About everything, I should fancy. You have such an absolutely
trivial nature.

Jack. 

Well, the only small satisfaction
I have in the whole of this wretched business is that your friend Bunbury is
quite exploded. 

&nbsp;


p.494

You won't be able to run down to
the country quite so often as you used to do, dear Algy. And a very good thing
too. 

Algernon. 

Your brother is a little off
colour, isn't he, dear Jack? You won't be able to disappear to London quite so
frequently as your wicked custom was. And not a bad thing either.

Jack. 

As for your conduct towards Miss
Cardew, I must say that your taking in a sweet, simple, innocent girl like that
is quite inexcusable. To say nothing of the fact that she is my ward.

Algernon. 

I can see no possible defence at
all for your deceiving a brilliant, clever, thoroughly experienced young lady
like Miss Fairfax. To say nothing of the fact that she is my cousin.

Jack. 

I wanted to be engaged to
Gwendolen, that is all. I love her.

Algernon. 

Well, I simply wanted to be
engaged to Cecily. I adore her.

Jack. 

There is certainly no chance of
your marrying Miss Cardew.

Algernon. 

I don't think there is much
likelihood, Jack, of you and Miss Fairfax being united.

Jack. 

Well, that is no business of
yours.

Algernon. 

If it was my business, I wouldn't
talk about it. [[Begins to eat muffins.]] It is very vulgar to talk
about one's business. Only people like stockbrokers do that, and then merely at
dinner-parties.

Jack. 

How you can sit there, calmly
eating muffins when we are in this horrible trouble, I can't make out. You seem
to me to be perfectly heartless.

Algernon. 

Well, I can't eat muffins in an
agitated manner. The butter would probably get on my cuffs. One should always
eat muffins quite calmly. It is the only way to eat them.

Jack. 

I say it's perfectly heartless
your eating muffins at all, under the circumstances.

Algernon. 

When I am in trouble, eating is
the only thing that consoles me. Indeed, when I am in really great trouble, as
anyone who knows me intimately will tell you, I refuse everything except food
and drink. At the present moment I am eating muffins because I am unhappy.
Besides, I am particularly fond of muffins.

[Rising.]

Jack. 

[[Rising.]] Well,
that is no reason why you should eat them all in that greedy way.

[Takes muffins from Algernon.]

&nbsp;


p.495

Algernon. 

[[Offering tea-cake.]]
I wish you would have tea-cake instead. I don't like tea-cake.

Jack. 

Good heavens! I suppose a man may
eat his own muffins in his own garden.

Algernon. 

But you have just said it was perfectly
heartless to eat muffins.

Jack. 

I said it was perfectly heartless
of you, under the circumstances. That is a very different thing.

Algernon. 

That may be. But the muffins are
the same. [[He seizes the muffin-dish from Jack.]]

Jack. 

Algy, I wish to goodness you
would go.

Algernon. 

You can't possibly ask me to go
without having some dinner. It's absurd. I never go without my dinner. No one
ever does, except vegetarians and people like that. Besides I have just made
arrangements with Dr. Chasuble to be christened at a quarter to six under the
name of Ernest.

Jack. 

My dear fellow, the sooner you
give up that nonsense the better. I made arrangements this morning with Dr.
Chasuble to be christened myself at 5.30, and I naturally will take the name of
Ernest. Gwendolen would wish it. We can't both be christened Ernest. It's
absurd. Besides, I have a perfect right to be christened if I like. There is no
evidence at all that I ever have been christened by anybody. I should think it
extremely probable that I never was, and so does Dr. Chasuble. It is entirely
different in your case. You have been christened already.

Algernon. 

Yes, but I have not been
christened for years.

Jack. 

Yes, but you have been
christened. That is the important thing.

Algernon. 

Quite so. So I know my
constitution can stand it. If you are not quite sure about your ever having
been christened, I must say I think it rather dangerous your venturing on it
now. It might make you very unwell. You can hardly have forgotten that someone
very closely connected with you was very nearly carried off this week in Paris
by a severe chill.

Jack. 

Yes, but you said yourself that a
severe chill was not hereditary.

Algernon. 

It usen't to be, I know---but I
daresay it is now. Science is always making wonderful improvements in things.

&nbsp;


p.496

Jack. 

[[Picking up the muffin-dish.]]
Oh, that is nonsense; you are always talking nonsense.

Algernon. 

Jack, you are at the muffins
again! I wish you wouldn't. There are only two left. [[Takes them.]] I
told you I was particularly fond of muffins.

Jack. 

But I hate tea-cake.

Algernon. 

Why on earth then do you allow
tea-cake to be served up for your guests? What ideas you have of hospitality!

Jack. 

Algernon! I have already told you
to go. I don't want you here. Why don't you go!

Algernon. 

I haven't quite finished my tea
yet! and there is still one muffin left. [[Jack groans, and sinks into a chair,
Algernon still continues eating.]] [Act Drop]

Third Act

Scene Morning-room at the
Manor House.

[Gwendolen and Cecily are at
the window, looking out into the garden.]

Gwendolen. 

The fact that they did not follow
us at once into the house, as anyone else would have done, seems to me to show
that they have some sense of shame left.

Cecily. 

They have been eating muffins. That
looks like repentance.

Gwendolen. 

[[After a pause.]]
They don't seem to notice us at all. Couldn't you cough?

Cecily. 

But I haven't got a cough!

Gwendolen. 

They're looking at us. What
effrontery!

Cecily. 

They're approaching. That's very
forward of them.

Gwendolen. 

Let us preserve a dignified
silence.

Cecily. 

Certainly. It's the only thing to
do now.

Enter Jack followed by Algernon. They whistle some dreadful popular air
from a British Opera.

Gwendolen. 

This dignified silence seems to
produce an unpleasant effect.

&nbsp;


p.497

Cecily. 

A most distasteful one.

Gwendolen. 

But we will not be the first to
speak.

Cecily. 

Certainly not.

Gwendolen. 

Mr. Worthing, I have something
very particular to ask you. Much depends on your reply.

Cecily. 

Gwendolen, your common sense is
invaluable. Mr. Moncrieff, kindly answer me the following question. Why did you
pretend to be my guardian's brother?

Algernon. 

In order that I might have an
opportunity of meeting you.

Cecily. 

[[To Gwendolen.]]
That certainly seems a satisfactory explanation, does it not?

Gwendolen. 

Yes, dear, if you can believe
him.

Cecily. 

I don't. But that does not affect
the wonderful beauty of this answer.

Gwendolen. 

True. In matters of grave
importance, style, not sincerity is the vital thing. Mr. Worthing, what
explanation can you offer to me for pretending to have a brother? Was it in
order that you might have an opportunity of coming up to town to see me as
often as possible?

Jack. 

Can you doubt it, Miss Fairfax?

Gwendolen. 

I have the gravest doubts upon
the subject. But I intend to crush them. This is not the moment for German
scepticism. [[Moving to Cecily.]] Their explanations appear to be
quite satisfactory, especially Mr. Worthing's. That seems to me to have the
stamp of truth upon it.

Cecily. 

I am more than content with what
Mr. Moncrieff said. His voice alone inspires one with absolute credulity.

Gwendolen. 

Then you think we should forgive
them?

Cecily. 

Yes. I mean no.

Gwendolen. 

True! I had forgotten. There are
principles at stake that one cannot surrender. Which of us should tell them?
The task is not a pleasant one.

Cecily. 

Could we not both speak at the
same time?

Gwendolen. 

An excellent idea! I nearly
always speak at the same time as other people. Will you take the time from me?

Cecily. 

Certainly. [[Gwendolen beats time with
uplifted finger.]] 

Gwendolen and Cecily. 

[[Speaking together.]]
Your Christian names are still an insuperable barrier. That is all!

&nbsp;


p.498

Jack and Algernon. 

[[Speaking together.]]
Our Christian names! Is that all? But we are going to be christened this
afternoon.

Gwendolen. 

[[To Jack.]] For
my sake you are prepared to do this terrible thing?

Jack. 

I am.

Cecily. 

[[To Algernon.]]
To please me you are ready to face this fearful ordeal?

Algernon. 

I am!

Gwendolen. 

How absurd to talk of the
equality of the sexes! Where questions of self-sacrifice are concerned, men are
infinitely beyond us.

Jack. 

We are.

[Clasps hands with Algernon.]

Cecily. 

They have moments of physical
courage of which we women know absolutely nothing.

Gwendolen. 

[[To Jack.]]
Darling!

Algernon. 

[[To Cecily.]]
Darling!

[They fall into each other's
arms.]

Enter Merriman. When he enters he coughs loudly, seeing the situation.

Merriman. 

Ahem! Ahem! Lady Bracknell!

Jack. 

Good heavens!

Enter Lady Bracknell. The couples separate in alarm.

[Exit Merriman.]

Lady Bracknell. 

Gwendolen! What does this mean?

Gwendolen. 

Merely that I am engaged to be
married to Mr. Worthing, mamma.

Lady Bracknell. 

Come here. Sit down. Sit down
immediately. Hesitation of any kind is a sign of mental decay in the young, of
physical weakness in the old. [[Turns to Jack.]] Apprised,
sir, of my daughter's sudden flight by her trusty maid, whose confidence I
purchased by means of a small coin, I followed her at once by a luggage train.
Her unhappy father is, I am glad to say, under the impression that she is
attending a more than usually lengthy lecture by the University Extension
Scheme on the Influence of a permanent income on Thought. I do not propose to
undeceive him. Indeed I have never undeceived him on any question. I would
consider it wrong. But of course, you will clearly 

&nbsp;


p.499

understand that all communication
between yourself and my daughter must cease immediately from this moment. On
this point, as indeed on all points, I am firm. 

Jack. 

I am engaged to be married to
Gwendolen, Lady Bracknell!

Lady Bracknell. 

You are nothing of the kind, sir.
And now, as regards Algernon! . . . Algernon!

Algernon. 

Yes, Aunt Augusta.

Lady Bracknell. 

May I ask if it is in this house
that your invalid friend Mr. Bunbury resides?

Algernon. 

[[Stammering.]]
Oh! No! Bunbury doesn't live here. Bunbury is somewhere else at present. In
fact, Bunbury is dead.

Lady Bracknell. 

Dead! When did Mr. Bunbury die?
His death must have been extremely sudden.

Algernon. 

[[Airily.]] Oh! I
killed Bunbury this afternoon. I mean poor Bunbury died this afternoon.

Lady Bracknell. 

What did he die of?

Algernon. 

Bunbury? Oh, he was quite
exploded.

Lady Bracknell. 

Exploded! Was he the victim of a
revolutionary outrage? I was not aware that Mr. Bunbury was interested in
social legislation. If so, he is well punished for his morbidity.

Algernon. 

My dear Aunt Augusta, I mean he
was found out! The doctors found out that Bunbury could not live, that is what
I mean---so Bunbury died.

Lady Bracknell. 

He seems to have had great
confidence in the opinion of his physicians. I am glad, however, that he made
up his mind at the last to some definite course of action, and acted under
proper medical advice. And now that we have finally got rid of this Mr.
Bunbury, may I ask, Mr. Worthing, who is that young person whose hand my nephew
Algernon is now holding in what seems to me a peculiarly unnecessary manner?

Jack. 

That lady is Miss Cecily Cardew,
my ward. [[Lady Bracknell bows coldly to Cecily.]]

Algernon. 

I am engaged to be married to
Cecily, Aunt Augusta.

Lady Bracknell. 

I beg your pardon?

Cecily. 

Mr. Moncrieff and I are engaged
to be married, Lady Bracknell.

Lady Bracknell. 

[[With a shiver, crossing to
the sofa and sitting down.]] I do not know whether there is
anything peculiarly exciting in the air of this particular part of
Hertfordshire, but the number of 

&nbsp;


p.500

engagements that go on seems to
me considerably above the proper average that statistics have laid down for our
guidance. I think some preliminary enquiry on my part would not be out of
place. Mr. Worthing, is Miss Cardew at all connected with any of the larger
railway stations in London? I merely desire information. Until yesterday I had
no idea that there were any families or persons whose origin was a Terminus. 

[Jack looks perfectly
furious, but restrains himself.]

Jack. 

[[In a clear, cold voice.]]
Miss Cardew is the granddaughter of the late Mr. Thomas Cardew of 149 Belgrave
Square, S.W.; Gervase Park, Dorking, Surrey; and The Sporran, Fifeshire, N.B.

Lady Bracknell. 

That sounds not unsatisfactory.
Three addresses always inspire confidence, even in tradesmen. But what proof
have I of their authenticity?

Jack. 

I have carefully preserved the
Court Guides of the period. They are open to your inspection, Lady Bracknell.

Lady Bracknell. 

[[Grimly.]] I
have known strange errors in that publication.

Jack. 

Miss Cardew's family solicitors
are Messrs. Markby, Markby, and Markby.

Lady Bracknell. 

Markby, Markby, and Markby? A
firm of the very highest position in their profession. Indeed I am told that
one of the Mr. Markbys is occasionally to be seen at dinner parties. So far I
am satisfied.

Jack. 

[[Very irritably.]]
How extremely kind of you, Lady Bracknell! I have also in my possession, you
will be pleased to hear, certificates of Miss Cardew's birth, baptism, whooping
cough, registration, vaccination, confirmation, and the measles; both the
German and the English variety.

Lady Bracknell. 

Ah! A life crowded with incident,
I see; though perhaps somewhat too exciting for a young girl. I am not myself
in favour of premature experiences. [[Rises, looks at her watch.]]
Gwendolen! the time approaches for our departure. We have not a moment to lose.
As a matter of form, Mr. Worthing, I had better ask you if Miss Cardew has any
little fortune?

Jack. 

Oh! about a hundred and thirty
thousand pounds in the Funds. That is all. Good-bye, Lady Bracknell. So pleased
to have seen you.

&nbsp;


p.501

Lady Bracknell. 

[[Sitting down again.]]
A moment, Mr. Worthing. A hundred and thirty thousand pounds! And in the Funds!
Miss Cardew seems to me a most attractive young lady, now that I look at her.
Few girls of the present day have any really solid qualities, any of the qualities
that last, and improve with time. We live, I regret to say, in an age of
surfaces. [[To Cecily.]] Come over here, dear. [[Cecily
goes across.]] Pretty child! your dress is sadly simple, and your
hair seems almost as Nature might have left it. But we can soon alter all that.
A thoroughly experienced French maid produces a really marvellous result in a
very brief space of time. I remember recommending one to young Lady Lancing,
and after three months her own husband did not know her.

Jack. 

And after six months nobody knew
her.

Lady Bracknell. 

[[Glares at Jack for a few
moments. Then bends, with a practised smile, to Cecily.]] Kindly
turn round, sweet child. [[Cecily turns completely round.]]
No, the side view is what I want. [[Cecily presents her profile.]]
Yes, quite as I expected. There are distinct social possibilities in your
profile. The two weak points in our age are its want of principle and its want
of profile. The chin a little higher, dear. Style largely depends on the way
the chin is worn. They are worn very high, just at present. Algernon!

Algernon. 

Yes, Aunt Augusta!

Lady Bracknell. 

There are distinct social
possibilities in Miss Cardew's profile.

Algernon. 

Cecily is the sweetest, dearest,
prettiest girl in the whole world. And I don't care twopence about social
possibilities.

Lady Bracknell. 

Never speak disrespectfully of
Society, Algernon. Only people who can't get into it do that. [[To
Cecily.]] Dear child, of course you know that Algernon has nothing
but his debts to depend upon. But I do not approve of mercenary marriages. When
I married Lord Bracknell I had no fortune of any kind. But I never dreamed for
a moment of allowing that to stand in my way. Well, I suppose I must give my
consent.

Algernon. 

Thank you, Aunt Augusta.

Lady Bracknell. 

Cecily, you may kiss me!

Cecily. 

[[Kisses her.]]
Thank you, Lady Bracknell.

Lady Bracknell. 

You may also address me as Aunt
Augusta for the future.

&nbsp;


p.502

Cecily. 

Thank you, Aunt Augusta.

Lady Bracknell. 

The marriage, I think, had better
take place quite soon.

Algernon. 

Thank you, Aunt Augusta.

Cecily. 

Thank you, Aunt Augusta.

Lady Bracknell. 

To speak frankly, I am not in
favour of long engagements. They give people the opportunity of finding out
each other's character before marriage, which I think is never advisable.

Jack. 

I beg your pardon for
interrupting you, Lady Bracknell, but this engagement is quite out of the
question. I am Miss Cardew's guardian, and she cannot marry without my consent
until she comes of age. That consent I absolutely decline to give.

Lady Bracknell. 

Upon what grounds may I ask?
Algernon is an extremely, I may almost say an ostentatiously, eligible young
man. He has nothing, but he looks everything. What more can one desire?

Jack. 

It pains me very much to have to
speak frankly to you, Lady Bracknell, about your nephew, but the fact is that I
do not approve at all of his moral character. I suspect him of being
untruthful.

[Algernon and Cecily look at
him in indignant amazement.]

Lady Bracknell. 

Untruthful! My nephew Algernon?
Impossible! He is an Oxonian.

Jack. 

I fear there can be no possible
doubt about the matter. This afternoon, during my temporary absence in London
on an important question of romance, he obtained admission to my house by means
of the false pretence of being my brother. Under an assumed name he drank, I've
just been informed by my butler, an entire pint bottle of my Perrier-Jouet,
Brut, '89; a wine I was specially reserving for myself. Continuing his
disgraceful deception, he succeeded in the course of the afternoon in
alienating the affections of my only ward. He subsequently stayed to tea, and
devoured every single muffin. And what makes his conduct all the more heartless
is, that he was perfectly well aware from the first that I have no brother,
that I never had a brother, and that I don't intend to have a brother, not even
of any kind. I distinctly told him so myself yesterday afternoon.

&nbsp;


p.503

Lady Bracknell. 

Ahem! Mr. Worthing, after careful
consideration I have decided entirely to overlook my nephew's conduct to you.

Jack. 

That is very generous of you,
Lady Bracknell. My own decision, however, is unalterable. I decline to give my
consent.

Lady Bracknell. 

[[To Cecily.]]
Come here, sweet child. [[Cecily goes over.]] How
old are you, dear?

Cecily. 

Well, I am really only eighteen,
but I always admit to twenty when I go to evening parties.

Lady Bracknell. 

You are perfectly right in making
some slight alteration. Indeed, no woman should ever be quite accurate about
her age. It looks so calculating. . . . [[In a meditative manner.]]
Eighteen, but admitting to twenty at evening parties. Well, it will not be very
long before you are of age and free from the restraints of tutelage. So I don't
think your guardian's consent is, after all, a matter of any importance.

Jack. 

Pray excuse me, Lady Bracknell,
for interrupting you again, but it is only fair to tell you that according to
the terms of her grandfather's will Miss Cardew does not come legally of age
till she is thirty-five.

Lady Bracknell. 

That does not seem to me to be a
grave objection. Thirty-five is a very attractive age. London society is full
of women of the very highest birth who have, of their own free choice, remained
thirty-five for years. Lady Dumbleton is an instance in point. To my own
knowledge she has been thirty-five ever since she arrived at the age of forty,
which was many years ago now. I see no reason why our dear Cecily should not be
even still more attractive at the age you mention than she is at present. There
will be a large accumulation of property.

Cecily. 

Algy, could you wait for me till
I was thirty-five?

Algernon. 

Of course I could, Cecily. You
know I could.

Cecily. 

Yes, I felt it instinctively, but
I couldn't wait all that time. I hate waiting even five minutes for anybody. It
always makes me rather cross. I am not punctual myself, I know, but I do like
punctuality in others, and waiting, even to be married, is quite out of the
question.

Algernon. 

Then what is to be done, Cecily?

Cecily. 

I don't know, Mr. Moncrieff.

Lady Bracknell. 

My dear Mr. Worthing, as Miss
Cardew states positively that she cannot wait till she is thirty-five---a
remark 

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p.504

which I am bound to say seems to
me to show a somewhat impatient nature---I would beg of you to reconsider your decision.


Jack. 

But my dear Lady Bracknell, the
matter is entirely in your own hands. The moment you consent to my marriage
with Gwendolen, I will most gladly allow your nephew to form an alliance with
my ward.

Lady Bracknell. 

[[Rising and drawing herself
up.]] You must be quite aware that what you propose is out of the
question.

Jack. 

Then a passionate celibacy is all
that any of us can look forward to.

Lady Bracknell. 

That is not the destiny I propose
for Gwendolen. Algernon, of course, can choose for himself. [[Pulls
out her watch.]] Come, dear, [[Gwendolen rises]] we have
already missed five, if not six, trains. To miss any more might expose us to
comment on the platform.

Enter Dr. Chasuble.

Chasuble. 

Everything is quite ready for the
christenings.

Lady Bracknell. 

The christenings, sir! Is not
that somewhat premature?

Chasuble. 

[[Looking rather puzzled, and
pointing to Jack and Algernon.]] Both these gentlemen have
expressed a desire for immediate baptism.

Lady Bracknell. 

At their age? The idea is
grotesque and irreligious! Algernon, I forbid you to be baptized. I will not
hear of such excesses. Lord Bracknell would be highly displeased if he learned
that that was the way in which you wasted your time and money.

Chasuble. 

Am I to understand then that
there are to be no christenings at all this afternoon?

Jack. 

I don't think that, as things are
now, it would be of much practical value to either of us, Dr. Chasuble.

Chasuble. 

I am grieved to hear such
sentiments from you, Mr. Worthing. They savour of the heretical views of the
Anabaptists, views that I have completely refuted in four of my unpublished
sermons. However, as your present mood seems to be one peculiarly secular, I
will return to the church at once. Indeed, I have just been informed by the
pew-opener that for 

&nbsp;


p.505

the last hour and a half Miss
Prism has been waiting for me in the vestry. 

Lady Bracknell. 

[[Starting.]]
Miss Prism! Did I hear you mention a Miss Prism?

Chasuble. 

Yes, Lady Bracknell. I am on my
way to join her.

Lady Bracknell. 

Pray allow me to detain you for a
moment. This matter may prove to be one of vital importance to Lord Bracknell
and myself. Is this Miss Prism a female of repellent aspect, remotely connected
with education?

Chasuble. 

[[Somewhat indignantly.]]
She is the most cultivated of ladies, and the very picture of respectability.

Lady Bracknell. 

It is obviously the same person.
May I ask what position she holds in your household?

Chasuble. 

[[Severely.]] I
am a celibate, madam.

Jack. 

[[Interposing.]]
Miss Prism, Lady Bracknell, has been for the last three years Miss Cardew's
esteemed governess and valued companion.

Lady Bracknell. 

In spite of what I hear of her, I
must see her at once. Let her be sent for.

Chasuble. 

[[Looking off.]]
She approaches; she is nigh.

Enter Miss Prism hurriedly.

Miss Prism. 

I was told you expected me in the
vestry, dear Canon. I have been waiting for you there for an hour and three
quarters.

[Catches sight of Lady
Bracknell who has fixed her with a stony glare. Miss Prism grows pale and
quails. She looks anxiously round as if desirous to escape.]

Lady Bracknell. 

[[In a severe, judicial voice.]]
Prism! [[Miss Prism bows her head in shame.]] Come here,
Prism! [[Miss Prism approaches in a humble manner.]] Prism!
Where is that baby? [[General consternation. The Canon starts
back in horror. Algernon and Jack pretend to be anxious to shield Cecily and
Gwendolen from hearing the details of a terrible public scandal.]]
Twenty-eight years ago, Prism, you left Lord Bracknell's house, Number 104,
Upper Grosvenor Street, in charge of a perambulator that contained a baby of
the male sex. You never returned. A few weeks later, through the elaborate
investigations of the Metropolitan police, the perambulator was discovered at
midnight standing by itself in a 

&nbsp;


p.506

remote corner of Bayswater. It
contained the manuscript of a three-volume novel of more than usually revolting
sentimentality. [[Miss Prism starts in involuntary indignation.]] But
the baby was not there. [[Everyone looks at Miss Prism.]]
Prism! Where is that baby? [[A pause.]] 

Miss Prism. 

Lady Bracknell, I admit with
shame that I do not know. I only wish I did. The plain facts of the case are
these. On the morning of the day you mention, a day that is for ever branded on
my memory, I prepared as usual to take the baby out in its perambulator. I had
also with me a somewhat old, but capacious hand-bag, in which I had intended to
place the manuscript of a work of fiction that I had written during my few
unoccupied hours. In a moment of mental abstraction, for which I never can
forgive myself, I deposited the manuscript in the bassinette, and placed the
baby in the hand-bag.

Jack. 

[[Who has been listening
attentively.]] But where did you deposit the hand-bag?

Miss Prism. 

Do not ask me, Mr. Worthing.

Jack. 

Miss Prism, this is a matter of
no small importance to me. I insist on knowing where you deposited the hand-bag
that contained that infant.

Miss Prism. 

I left it in the cloak-room of
one of the larger railway stations in London.

Jack. 

What railway station?

Miss Prism. 

[[Quite crushed.]]
Victoria. The Brighton line. [[Sinks into a chair.]]

Jack. 

I must retire to my room for a
moment. Gwendolen, wait here for me.

Gwendolen. 

If you are not too long, I will
wait here for you all my life.

[Exit Jack in great
excitement.]

Chasuble. 

What do you think this means,
Lady Bracknell?

Lady Bracknell. 

I dare not even suspect, Dr.
Chasuble. I need hardly tell you that in families of high position strange
coincidences are not supposed to occur. They are hardly considered the thing.

[Noises heard overhead as if
someone was throwing trunks about. Everyone looks up.]

Cecily. 

Uncle Jack seems strangely
agitated.

Chasuble. 

Your guardian has a very
emotional nature.

Lady Bracknell. 

This noise is extremely
unpleasant. It sounds as if he 

&nbsp;


p.507

was having an argument. I dislike
arguments of any kind. They are always vulgar, and often convincing. 

Chasuble. 

[[Looking up.]]
It has stopped now. [[The noise is redoubled.]]

Lady Bracknell. 

I wish he would arrive at some
conclusion.

Gwendolen. 

The suspense is terrible. I hope
it will last.

Enter Jack with a hand-bag of black leather in his hand.

Jack. 

[[Rushing over to Miss Prism.]]
Is this the hand-bag, Miss Prism? Examine it carefully before you speak. The
happiness of more than one life depends on your answer.

Miss Prism. 

[[Calmly.]] It
seems to be mine. Yes, here is the injury it received through the upsetting of
a Gower Street omnibus in younger and happier days. Here is the stain on the
lining caused by the explosion of a temperance beverage, an incident that
occurred at Leamington. And here, on the lock, are my initials. I had forgotten
that in an extravagant mood I had had them placed there. The bag is undoubtedly
mine. I am delighted to have it so unexpectedly restored to me. It has been a
great inconvenience being without it all these years.

Jack. 

[[In a pathetic voice.]]
Miss Prism, more is restored to you than this hand-bag. I was the baby you
placed in it.

Miss Prism. 

[[Amazed.]] You?

Jack. 

[[Embracing her.]]
Yes . . . mother!

Miss Prism. 

[[Recoiling in indignant
astonishment.]] Mr. Worthing! I am unmarried!

Jack. 

Unmarried! I do not deny that is
a serious blow. But after all, who has the right to cast a stone against one
who has suffered? Cannot repentance wipe out an act of folly? Why should there
be one law for men, and another for women? Mother, I forgive you. [[Tries
to embrace her again.]]

Miss Prism. 

[[Still more indignant.]]
Mr. Worthing, there is some error. [[Pointing to Lady Bracknell.]]
There is the lady who can tell you who you really are.

Jack. 

[[After a pause.]]
Lady Bracknell, I hate to seem inquisitive, but would you kindly inform me who
I am?

Lady Bracknell. 

I am afraid that the news I have
to give you will not altogether please you. You are the son of my poor sister,
Mrs. Moncrieff, and consequently Algernon's elder brother.

&nbsp;


p.508

Jack. 

Algy's elder brother! Then I have
a brother after all. I knew I had a brother! I always said I had a brother!
Cecily,---how could you have ever doubted that I had a brother? [[Siezes
hold of Algernon.]] Dr. Chasuble, my unfortunate brother. Miss
Prism, my unfortunate brother. Gwendolen, my unfortunate brother. Algy, you
young scoundrel, you will have to treat me with more respect in the future. You
have never behaved to me like a brother in all your life.

Algernon. 

Well, not till to-day, old boy, I
admit. I did my best, however, though I was out of practice.

[Shakes hands.]

Gwendolen. 

[[To Jack.]] My
own! But what own are you? What is your Christian name, now that you have
become someone else?

Jack. 

Good heavens! . . . I had quite
forgotten that point. Your decision on the subject of my name is irrevocable, I
suppose?

Gwendolen. 

I never change, except in my
affections.

Cecily. 

What a noble nature you have,
Gwendolen!

Jack. 

Then the question had better be
cleared up at once. Aunt Augusta, a moment. At the time when Miss Prism left me
in the hand-bag, had I been christened already?

Lady Bracknell. 

Every luxury that money could
buy, including christening, had been lavished on you by your fond and doting
parents.

Jack. 

Then I was christened! That is
settled. Now, what name was I given? Let me know the worst.

Lady Bracknell. 

Being the eldest son you were
naturally christened after your father.

Jack. 

[[Irritably.]]
Yes, but what was my father's Christian name?

Lady Bracknell. 

[[Meditatively.]]
I cannot at the present moment recall what the General's Christian name was.
But I have no doubt he had one. He was eccentric, I admit. But only in later
years. And that was the result of the Indian climate, and marriage, and
indigestion, and other things of that kind.

Jack. 

Algy! Can't you recollect what
our father's Christian name was?

Algernon. 

My dear boy, we were never even
on speaking terms. He died before I was a year old.

Jack. 

His name would appear in the Army
Lists of the period, I suppose, Aunt Augusta.

Lady Bracknell. 

The General was essentially a man
of peace, except 

&nbsp;


p.509

in his domestic life. But I have
no doubt his name would appear in any military directory. 

Jack. 

The Army Lists of the last forty
years are here. These delightful records should have been my constant study. [[Rushes
to bookcase and tears the books out.]] M. Generals . . . Mallam,
Maxbohm, Magley, what ghastly names they have---Markby, Migsby, Mobbs,
Moncrieff! Lieutenant 1840, Captain, Lieutenant-Colonel, Colonel, General 1869,
Christian names, Ernest John. [[Puts book very quietly down and speaks
quite calmly.]] I always told you, Gwendolen, my name was Ernest,
didn't I? Well, it is Ernest after all. I mean it naturally is Ernest.

Lady Bracknell. 

Yes, I remember now that the
General was called Ernest. I knew I had some particular reason for disliking
the name.

Gwendolen. 

Ernest! My own Ernest! I felt
from the first that you could have no other name!

Jack. 

Gwendolen, it is a terrible thing
for a man to find out suddenly that all his life he has been speaking nothing
but the truth. Can you forgive me?

Gwendolen. 

I can. For I feel that you are
sure to change.

Jack. 

My own one!

Chasuble. 

[[To Miss Prism.]]
Lætitia! [[Embraces her.]]

Miss Prism. 

[[Enthusiastically.]]
Frederick! At last!

Algernon. 

Cecily! [[Embraces her.]]
At last!

Jack. 

Gwendolen! [[Embraces her.]]
At last!

Lady Bracknell. 

My nephew, you seem to be
displaying signs of triviality.

Jack. 

On the contrary, Aunt Augusta,
I've now realized for the first time in my life the vital Importance of Being
Earnest.

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