SCENE
Morning-room in Algernon’s flat in Half-Moon Street. The room isluxuriously and artistically furnished. The sound of a piano is heardin the adjoining room.
[Lane is arranging afternoon tea on the table, and after the music hasceased, Algernon enters.]
ALGERNON.Did you hear what I was playing, Lane?
LANE.I didn’t think it polite to listen, sir.
ALGERNON.I’m sorry for that, for your sake. I don’t play accurately—any one canplay accurately—but I play with wonderful expression. As far as thepiano 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 cucumbersandwiches 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 theway, Lane, I see from your book that on Thursday night, when LordShoreman and Mr. Worthing were dining with me, eight bottles ofchampagne 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 invariablydrink the champagne? I ask merely for information.
LANE.I attribute it to the superior quality of the wine, sir. I have oftenobserved that in married households the champagne is rarely of afirst-rate brand.
ALGERNON.Good heavens! Is marriage so demoralising as that?
LANE.I believe it is a very pleasant state, sir. I have had very littleexperience of it myself up to the present. I have only been marriedonce. That was in consequence of a misunderstanding between myself anda young person.
ALGERNON.[Languidly.] I don’t know that I am much interested in your familylife, Lane.
LANE.No, sir; it is not a very interesting subject. I never think of itmyself.
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 ordersdon’t set us a good example, what on earth is the use of them? Theyseem, 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 asusual, I see, Algy!
ALGERNON.[Stiffly.] I believe it is customary in good society to take someslight refreshment at five o’clock. Where have you been since lastThursday?
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 excessivelyboring.
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.] Bythe way, Shropshire is your county, is it not?
JACK.Eh? Shropshire? Yes, of course. Hallo! Why all these cups? Why cucumbersandwiches? Why such reckless extravagance in one so young? Who iscoming 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 quiteapprove of your being here.
JACK.May I ask why?
ALGERNON.My dear fellow, the way you flirt with Gwendolen is perfectlydisgraceful. 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 topropose to her.
ALGERNON.I thought you had come up for pleasure? . . . I call that business.
JACK.How utterly unromantic you are!
ALGERNON.
I really don’t see anything romantic in proposing. It is very romantic
to be in love. But there is nothing romantic about a definite proposal.
Why, one may be accepted. One usually is, I believe. Then the
excitement is all over. The very essence of romance is uncertainty. If
ever I get married, I’ll certainly try to forget the fact.
JACK.I have no doubt about that, dear Algy. The Divorce Court was speciallyinvented for people whose memories are so curiously constituted.
ALGERNON.Oh! there is no use speculating on that subject. Divorces are made inHeaven—[Jack puts out his hand to take a sandwich. Algernon at onceinterferes.] Please don’t touch the cucumber sandwiches. They areordered 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 frombelow.] Have some bread and butter. The bread and butter is forGwendolen. Gwendolen is devoted to bread and butter.
JACK.[Advancing to table and helping himself.] And very good bread andbutter it is too.
ALGERNON.Well, my dear fellow, you need not eat as if you were going to eat itall. You behave as if you were married to her already. You are notmarried 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 numberof bachelors that one sees all over the place. In the second place, Idon’t give my consent.
JACK.Your consent!
ALGERNON.My dear fellow, Gwendolen is my first cousin. And before I allow you tomarry 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! Idon’t know any one of the name of Cecily.
[Enter Lane.]
ALGERNON.Bring me that cigarette case Mr. Worthing left in the smoking-room thelast 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 wishto goodness you had let me know. I have been writing frantic letters toScotland 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 hardup.
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 atonce. Lane goes out.]
ALGERNON.I think that is rather mean of you, Ernest, I must say. [Opens case andexamines it.] However, it makes no matter, for, now that I look at theinscription 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 ahundred times, and you have no right whatsoever to read what is writteninside. It is a very ungentlemanly thing to read a private cigarettecase.
ALGERNON.Oh! it is absurd to have a hard and fast rule about what one shouldread and what one shouldn’t. More than half of modern culture dependson what one shouldn’t read.
JACK.I am quite aware of the fact, and I don’t propose to discuss modernculture. It isn’t the sort of thing one should talk of in private. Isimply want my cigarette case back.
ALGERNON.Yes; but this isn’t your cigarette case. This cigarette case is apresent from some one of the name of Cecily, and you said you didn’tknow any one of that name.
JACK.Well, if you want to know, Cecily happens to be my aunt.
ALGERNON.Your aunt!
JACK.Yes. Charming old lady she is, too. Lives at Tunbridge Wells. Just giveit back to me, Algy.
ALGERNON.[Retreating to back of sofa.] But why does she call herself littleCecily 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 isthere in that? Some aunts are tall, some aunts are not tall. That is amatter that surely an aunt may be allowed to decide for herself. Youseem to think that every aunt should be exactly like your aunt! That isabsurd! For Heaven’s sake give me back my cigarette case. [FollowsAlgernon round the room.]
ALGERNON.
Yes. But why does your aunt call you her uncle? ‘From little Cecily,
with her fondest love to her dear Uncle Jack.’ There is no objection, I
admit, to an aunt being a small aunt, but why an aunt, no matter what
her size may be, should call her own nephew her uncle, I can’t quite
make out. Besides, your name isn’t Jack at all; it is Ernest.
JACK.It isn’t Ernest; it’s Jack.
ALGERNON.
You have always told me it was Ernest. I have introduced you to every
one as Ernest. You answer to the name of Ernest. You look as if your
name was Ernest. You are the most earnest-looking person I ever saw in
my life. It is perfectly absurd your saying that your name isn’t
Ernest. It’s on your cards. Here is one of them. [Taking it from case.]
‘Mr. Ernest Worthing, B. 4, The Albany.’ I’ll keep this as a proof that
your name is Ernest if ever you attempt to deny it to me, or to
Gwendolen, or to any one else. [Puts the card in his pocket.]
JACK.Well, my name is Ernest in town and Jack in the country, and thecigarette case was given to me in the country.
ALGERNON.Yes, but that does not account for the fact that your small AuntCecily, 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 veryvulgar to talk like a dentist when one isn’t a dentist. It produces afalse impression.
ALGERNON.Well, that is exactly what dentists always do. Now, go on! Tell me thewhole thing. I may mention that I have always suspected you of being aconfirmed 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 soonas you are kind enough to inform me why you are Ernest in town and Jackin the country.
JACK.Well, produce my cigarette case first.
ALGERNON.Here it is. [Hands cigarette case.] Now produce your explanation, andpray make it improbable. [Sits on sofa.]
JACK.My dear fellow, there is nothing improbable about my explanation atall. In fact it’s perfectly ordinary. Old Mr. Thomas Cardew, whoadopted me when I was a little boy, made me in his will guardian to hisgrand-daughter, Miss Cecily Cardew. Cecily, who addresses me as heruncle from motives of respect that you could not possibly appreciate,lives at my place in the country under the charge of her admirablegoverness, 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 Shropshireon two separate occasions. Now, go on. Why are you Ernest in town andJack 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 verytedious if it were either, and modern literature a completeimpossibility!
JACK.That wouldn’t be at all a bad thing.
ALGERNON.Literary criticism is not your forte, my dear fellow. Don’t try it. Youshould leave that to people who haven’t been at a University. They doit so well in the daily papers. What you really are is a Bunburyist. Iwas quite right in saying you were a Bunburyist. You are one of themost 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 isvery foolish of you. Nothing annoys people so much as not receivinginvitations.
JACK.You had much better dine with your Aunt Augusta.
ALGERNON.
I haven’t the smallest intention of doing anything of the kind. To
begin with, I dined there on Monday, and once a week is quite enough to
dine with one’s own relations. In the second place, whenever I do dine
there I am always treated as a member of the family, and sent down with
either no woman at all, or two. In the third place, I know perfectly
well whom she will place me next to, to-night. She will place me next
Mary Farquhar, who always flirts with her own husband across the
dinner-table. That is not very pleasant. Indeed, it is not even decent
. . . and that sort of thing is enormously on the increase. The amount
of women in London who flirt with their own husbands is perfectly
scandalous. It looks so bad. It is simply washing one’s clean linen in
public. Besides, now that I know you to be a confirmed Bunburyist I
naturally want to talk to you about Bunburying. I want to tell you the
rules.
JACK.
I’m not a Bunburyist at all. If Gwendolen accepts me, I am going to
kill my brother, indeed I think I’ll kill him in any case. Cecily is a
little too much interested in him. It is rather a bore. So I am going
to get rid of Ernest. And I strongly advise you to do the same with Mr.
. . . with your invalid friend who has the absurd name.
ALGERNON.Nothing will induce me to part with Bunbury, and if you ever getmarried, which seems to me extremely problematic, you will be very gladto know Bunbury. A man who marries without knowing Bunbury has a verytedious time of it.
JACK.That is nonsense. If I marry a charming girl like Gwendolen, and she isthe only girl I ever saw in my life that I would marry, I certainlywon’t want to know Bunbury.
ALGERNON.Then your wife will. You don’t seem to realise, that in married lifethree is company and two is none.
JACK.[Sententiously.] That, my dear young friend, is the theory that thecorrupt 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 becynical.
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 notserious 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 andGwendolen.]
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 gotogether. [Sees Jack and bows to him with icy coldness.]
ALGERNON.[To Gwendolen.] Dear me, you are smart!
GWENDOLEN.I am always smart! Am I not, Mr. Worthing?
JACK.You’re quite perfect, Miss Fairfax.
GWENDOLEN.Oh! I hope I am not that. It would leave no room for developments, andI intend to develop in many directions. [Gwendolen and Jack sit downtogether in the corner.]
LADY BRACKNELL.I’m sorry if we are a little late, Algernon, but I was obliged to callon dear Lady Harbury. I hadn’t been there since her poor husband’sdeath. I never saw a woman so altered; she looks quite twenty yearsyounger. And now I’ll have a cup of tea, and one of those nice cucumbersandwiches 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 thereno cucumber sandwiches? I ordered them specially.
LANE.[Gravely.] There were no cucumbers in the market this morning, sir. Iwent down twice.
ALGERNON.No cucumbers!
LANE.No, sir. Not even for ready money.
ALGERNON.That will do, Lane, thank you.
LANE.Thank you, sir. [Goes out.]
ALGERNON.I am greatly distressed, Aunt Augusta, about there being no cucumbers,not even for ready money.
LADY BRACKNELL.It really makes no matter, Algernon. I had some crumpets with LadyHarbury, 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 atreat for you to-night, Algernon. I am going to send you down with MaryFarquhar. 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 ofdining with you to-night after all.
LADY BRACKNELL.[Frowning.] I hope not, Algernon. It would put my table completely out.Your uncle would have to dine upstairs. Fortunately he is accustomed tothat.
ALGERNON.It is a great bore, and, I need hardly say, a terrible disappointmentto me, but the fact is I have just had a telegram to say that my poorfriend Bunbury is very ill again. [Exchanges glances with Jack.] Theyseem to think I should be with him.
LADY BRACKNELL.It is very strange. This Mr. Bunbury seems to suffer from curiously badhealth.
ALGERNON.Yes; poor Bunbury is a dreadful invalid.
LADY BRACKNELL.
Well, I must say, Algernon, that I think it is high time that Mr.
Bunbury made up his mind whether he was going to live or to die. This
shilly-shallying with the question is absurd. Nor do I in any way
approve of the modern sympathy with invalids. I consider it morbid.
Illness of any kind is hardly a thing to be encouraged in others.
Health is the primary duty of life. I am always telling that to your
poor uncle, but he never seems to take much notice . . . as far as any
improvement in his ailment goes. I should be much obliged if you would
ask Mr. Bunbury, from me, to be kind enough not to have a relapse on
Saturday, for I rely on you to arrange my music for me. It is my last
reception, and one wants something that will encourage conversation,
particularly at the end of the season when every one has practically
said whatever they had to say, which, in most cases, was probably not
much.
ALGERNON.I’ll speak to Bunbury, Aunt Augusta, if he is still conscious, and Ithink I can promise you he’ll be all right by Saturday. Of course themusic is a great difficulty. You see, if one plays good music, peopledon’t listen, and if one plays bad music people don’t talk. But I’llrun over the programme I’ve drawn out, if you will kindly come into thenext room for a moment.
LADY BRACKNELL.Thank you, Algernon. It is very thoughtful of you. [Rising, andfollowing Algernon.] I’m sure the programme will be delightful, after afew expurgations. French songs I cannot possibly allow. People alwaysseem to think that they are improper, and either look shocked, which isvulgar, or laugh, which is worse. But German sounds a thoroughlyrespectable language, and indeed, I believe is so. Gwendolen, you willaccompany me.
GWENDOLEN.Certainly, mamma.
[Lady Bracknell and Algernon go into the music-room, Gwendolen remainsbehind.]
JACK.Charming day it has been, Miss Fairfax.
GWENDOLEN.Pray don’t talk to me about the weather, Mr. Worthing. Whenever peopletalk to me about the weather, I always feel quite certain that theymean 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’stemporary absence . . .
GWENDOLEN.I would certainly advise you to do so. Mamma has a way of coming backsuddenly 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 morethan any girl . . . I have ever met since . . . I met you.
GWENDOLEN.
Yes, I am quite well aware of the fact. And I often wish that in
public, at any rate, you had been more demonstrative. For me you have
always had an irresistible fascination. Even before I met you I was far
from indifferent to you. [Jack looks at her in amazement.] We live, as
I hope you know, Mr. Worthing, in an age of ideals. The fact is
constantly mentioned in the more expensive monthly magazines, and has
reached the provincial pulpits, I am told; and my ideal has always been
to love some one of the name of Ernest. There is something in that name
that inspires absolute confidence. The moment Algernon first mentioned
to me that he had a friend called Ernest, I knew I was destined to love
you.
JACK.You really love me, Gwendolen?
GWENDOLEN.Passionately!
JACK.Darling! You don’t know how happy you’ve made me.
GWENDOLEN.My own Ernest!
JACK.But you don’t really mean to say that you couldn’t love me if my namewasn’t Ernest?
GWENDOLEN.But your name is Ernest.
JACK.Yes, I know it is. But supposing it was something else? Do you mean tosay you couldn’t love me then?
GWENDOLEN.[Glibly.] Ah! that is clearly a metaphysical speculation, and like mostmetaphysical speculations has very little reference at all to theactual facts of real life, as we know them.
JACK.Personally, darling, to speak quite candidly, I don’t much care aboutthe 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 ofother 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 atonce. There is no time to be lost.
GWENDOLEN.Married, Mr. Worthing?
JACK.[Astounded.] Well . . . surely. You know that I love you, and you ledme to believe, Miss Fairfax, that you were not absolutely indifferentto me.
GWENDOLEN.I adore you. But you haven’t proposed to me yet. Nothing has been saidat all about marriage. The subject has not even been touched on.
JACK.Well . . . may I propose to you now?
GWENDOLEN.I think it would be an admirable opportunity. And to spare you anypossible disappointment, Mr. Worthing, I think it only fair to tell youquite frankly before-hand that I am fully determined to accept you.
JACK.Gwendolen!
GWENDOLEN.Yes, Mr. Worthing, what have you got to say to me?
JACK.You know what I have got to say to you.
GWENDOLEN.Yes, but you don’t say it.
JACK.Gwendolen, will you marry me? [Goes on his knees.]
GWENDOLEN.Of course I will, darling. How long you have been about it! I am afraidyou have had very little experience in how to propose.
JACK.My own one, I have never loved any one in the world but you.
GWENDOLEN.Yes, but men often propose for practice. I know my brother Gerald does.All my girl-friends tell me so. What wonderfully blue eyes you have,Ernest! They are quite, quite, blue. I hope you will always look at mejust like that, especially when there are other people present. [EnterLady Bracknell.]
LADY BRACKNELL.Mr. Worthing! Rise, sir, from this semi-recumbent posture. It is mostindecorous.
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 finishedyet.
LADY BRACKNELL.Finished what, may I ask?
GWENDOLEN.I am engaged to Mr. Worthing, mamma. [They rise together.]
LADY BRACKNELL.
Pardon me, you are not engaged to any one. When you do become engaged
to some one, I, or your father, should his health permit him, will
inform you of the fact. An engagement should come on a young girl as a
surprise, pleasant or unpleasant, as the case may be. It is hardly a
matter that she could be allowed to arrange for herself . . . And now I
have a few questions to put to you, Mr. Worthing. While I am making
these inquiries, you, Gwendolen, will wait for me below in the
carriage.
GWENDOLEN.[Reproachfully.] Mamma!
LADY BRACKNELL.In the carriage, Gwendolen! [Gwendolen goes to the door. She and Jackblow kisses to each other behind Lady Bracknell’s back. Lady Bracknelllooks vaguely about as if she could not understand what the noise was.Finally turns round.] Gwendolen, the carriage!
GWENDOLEN.Yes, mamma. [Goes out, looking back at Jack.]
LADY BRACKNELL.[Sitting down.] You can take a seat, Mr. Worthing.
[Looks in her pocket for note-book and pencil.]
JACK.Thank you, Lady Bracknell, I prefer standing.
LADY BRACKNELL.
[Pencil and note-book in hand.] I feel bound to tell you that you are
not down on my list of eligible young men, although I have the same
list as the dear Duchess of Bolton has. We work together, in fact.
However, I am quite ready to enter your name, should your answers be
what a really affectionate mother requires. Do you smoke?
JACK.Well, yes, I must admit I smoke.
LADY BRACKNELL.I am glad to hear it. A man should always have an occupation of somekind. There are far too many idle men in London as it is. How old areyou?
JACK.Twenty-nine.
LADY BRACKNELL.A very good age to be married at. I have always been of opinion that aman who desires to get married should know either everything ornothing. 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 duringone’s lifetime, and the duties exacted from one after one’s death, landhas 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 aboutland.
JACK.I have a country house with some land, of course, attached to it, aboutfifteen hundred acres, I believe; but I don’t depend on that for myreal income. In fact, as far as I can make out, the poachers are theonly people who make anything out of it.
LADY BRACKNELL.A country house! How many bedrooms? Well, that point can be cleared upafterwards. You have a town house, I hope? A girl with a simple,unspoiled nature, like Gwendolen, could hardly be expected to reside inthe country.
JACK.Well, I own a house in Belgrave Square, but it is let by the year toLady Bloxham. Of course, I can get it back whenever I like, at sixmonths’ notice.
LADY BRACKNELL.Lady Bloxham? I don’t know her.
JACK.Oh, she goes about very little. She is a lady considerably advanced inyears.
LADY BRACKNELL.Ah, nowadays that is no guarantee of respectability of character. Whatnumber in Belgrave Square?
JACK.149.
LADY BRACKNELL.[Shaking her head.] The unfashionable side. I thought there wassomething. 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, atany rate. Now to minor matters. Are your parents living?
JACK.I have lost both my parents.
LADY BRACKNELL.To lose one parent, Mr. Worthing, may be regarded as a misfortune; tolose both looks like carelessness. Who was your father? He wasevidently a man of some wealth. Was he born in what the Radical paperscall the purple of commerce, or did he rise from the ranks of thearistocracy?
JACK.I am afraid I really don’t know. The fact is, Lady Bracknell, I said Ihad lost my parents. It would be nearer the truth to say that myparents seem to have lost me . . . I don’t actually know who I am bybirth. 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 forthis seaside resort find you?
JACK.[Gravely.] In a hand-bag.
LADY BRACKNELL.A hand-bag?
JACK.[Very seriously.] Yes, Lady Bracknell. I was in a hand-bag—a somewhatlarge, black leather hand-bag, with handles to it—an ordinary hand-bagin fact.
LADY BRACKNELL.In what locality did this Mr. James, or Thomas, Cardew come across thisordinary hand-bag?
JACK.In the cloak-room at Victoria Station. It was given to him in mistakefor his own.
LADY BRACKNELL.The cloak-room at Victoria Station?
JACK.Yes. The Brighton line.
LADY BRACKNELL.
The line is immaterial. Mr. Worthing, I confess I feel somewhat
bewildered by what you have just told me. To be born, or at any rate
bred, in a hand-bag, whether it had handles or not, seems to me to
display a contempt for the ordinary decencies of family life that
reminds one of the worst excesses of the French Revolution. And I
presume you know what that unfortunate movement led to? As for the
particular locality in which the hand-bag was found, a cloak-room at a
railway station might serve to conceal a social indiscretion—has
probably, indeed, been used for that purpose before now—but it could
hardly be regarded as an assured basis for a recognised position in
good society.
JACK.May I ask you then what you would advise me to do? I need hardly say Iwould 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 producethe hand-bag at any moment. It is in my dressing-room at home. I reallythink that should satisfy you, Lady Bracknell.
LADY BRACKNELL.Me, sir! What has it to do with me? You can hardly imagine that I andLord Bracknell would dream of allowing our only daughter—a girl broughtup with the utmost care—to marry into a cloak-room, and form analliance 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 WeddingMarch. Jack looks perfectly furious, and goes to the door.] Forgoodness’ 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 Gwendolenrefused 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 thingthat makes me put up with them at all. Relations are simply a tediouspack 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 aboutthings.
ALGERNON.That is exactly what things were originally made for.
JACK.Upon my word, if I thought that, I’d shoot myself . . . [A pause.] Youdon’t think there is any chance of Gwendolen becoming like her motherin about a hundred and fifty years, do you, Algy?
ALGERNON.All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No mandoes. That’s his.
JACK.Is that clever?
ALGERNON.It is perfectly phrased! and quite as true as any observation incivilised life should be.
JACK.I am sick to death of cleverness. Everybody is clever nowadays. Youcan’t go anywhere without meeting clever people. The thing has becomean absolute public nuisance. I wish to goodness we had a few foolsleft.
ALGERNON.We have.
JACK.I should extremely like to meet them. What do they talk about?
ALGERNON.The fools? Oh! about the clever people, of course.
JACK.What fools!
ALGERNON.By the way, did you tell Gwendolen the truth about your being Ernest intown, and Jack in the country?
JACK.[In a very patronising manner.] My dear fellow, the truth isn’t quitethe sort of thing one tells to a nice, sweet, refined girl. Whatextraordinary 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 ispretty, and to some one else, if she is plain.
JACK.Oh, that is nonsense.
ALGERNON.What about your brother? What about the profligate Ernest?
JACK.Oh, before the end of the week I shall have got rid of him. I’ll say hedied in Paris of apoplexy. Lots of people die of apoplexy, quitesuddenly, don’t they?
ALGERNON.Yes, but it’s hereditary, my dear fellow. It’s a sort of thing thatruns in families. You had much better say a severe chill.
JACK.You are sure a severe chill isn’t hereditary, or anything of that kind?
ALGERNON.Of course it isn’t!
JACK.Very well, then. My poor brother Ernest is carried off suddenly, inParis, by a severe chill. That gets rid of him.
ALGERNON.But I thought you said that . . . Miss Cardew was a little too muchinterested in your poor brother Ernest? Won’t she feel his loss a gooddeal?
JACK.Oh, that is all right. Cecily is not a silly romantic girl, I am gladto say. She has got a capital appetite, goes long walks, and pays noattention 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, andshe is only just eighteen.
ALGERNON.Have you told Gwendolen yet that you have an excessively pretty wardwho is only just eighteen?
JACK.Oh! one doesn’t blurt these things out to people. Cecily and Gwendolenare perfectly certain to be extremely great friends. I’ll bet youanything you like that half an hour after they have met, they will becalling each other sister.
ALGERNON.Women only do that when they have called each other a lot of otherthings first. Now, my dear boy, if we want to get a good table atWillis’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 workwhere 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 toMr. 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. Youare not quite old enough to do that. [Algernon retires to thefireplace.]
JACK.My own darling!
GWENDOLEN.
Ernest, we may never be married. From the expression on mamma’s face I
fear we never shall. Few parents nowadays pay any regard to what their
children say to them. The old-fashioned respect for the young is fast
dying out. Whatever influence I ever had over mamma, I lost at the age
of three. But although she may prevent us from becoming man and wife,
and I may marry some one else, and marry often, nothing that she can
possibly do can alter my eternal devotion to you.
JACK.Dear Gwendolen!
GWENDOLEN.The story of your romantic origin, as related to me by mamma, withunpleasing comments, has naturally stirred the deeper fibres of mynature. Your Christian name has an irresistible fascination. Thesimplicity of your character makes you exquisitely incomprehensible tome. Your town address at the Albany I have. What is your address in thecountry?
JACK.The Manor House, Woolton, Hertfordshire.
[Algernon, who has been carefully listening, smiles to himself, and
writes the address on his shirt-cuff. Then picks up the Railway Guide.]
GWENDOLEN.There is a good postal service, I suppose? It may be necessary to dosomething 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 besurmised that they are bills, as Algernon, after looking at theenvelopes, 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 dressclothes, my smoking jacket, and all the Bunbury suits . . .
LANE.Yes, sir. [Handing sherry.]
ALGERNON.I hope to-morrow will be a fine day, Lane.
LANE.It never is, sir.
ALGERNON.Lane, you’re a perfect pessimist.
LANE.I do my best to give satisfaction, sir.
[Enter Jack. Lane goes off.]
JACK.There’s a sensible, intellectual girl! the only girl I ever cared forin my life. [Algernon is laughing immoderately.] What on earth are youso 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 seriousscrape some day.
ALGERNON.I love scrapes. They are the only things that are never serious.
JACK.Oh, that’s nonsense, Algy. You never talk anything but nonsense.
ALGERNON.Nobody ever does.
[Jack looks indignantly at him, and leaves the room. Algernon lights a
cigarette, reads his shirt-cuff, and smiles.]
ACT DROP
