The Importance of Being Earnest

O >> Oscar Wilde >> The Importance of Being Earnest


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

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

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

Jack. And after six months nobody knew her.

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

Algernon. Yes, Aunt Augusta!

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

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

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

Algernon. Thank you, Aunt Augusta.

Lady Bracknell. Cecily, you may kiss me!

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

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

Cecily. Thank you, Aunt Augusta.

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

Algernon. Thank you, Aunt Augusta.

Cecily. Thank you, Aunt Augusta.

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

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

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

Jack. It pains me very much to have to speak frankly to you, Lady
Bracknell, about your nephew, but the fact is that I do not approve at
all of his moral character. I suspect him of being untruthful. [Algernon
and Cecily look at him in indignant amazement.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Algernon. Then what is to be done, Cecily?

Cecily. I don't know, Mr. Moncrieff.

Lady Bracknell. My dear Mr. Worthing, as Miss Cardew states positively
that she cannot wait till she is thirty-five--a remark which I am bound
to say seems to me to show a somewhat impatient nature--I would beg of
you to reconsider your decision.

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

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

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

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

[Enter Dr. Chasuble.]

Chasuble. Everything is quite ready for the christenings.

Lady Bracknell. The christenings, sir! Is not that somewhat premature?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Enter Miss Prism hurriedly.]

Miss Prism. I was told you expected me in the vestry, dear Canon. I
have been waiting for you there for an hour and three-quarters. [Catches
sight of Lady Bracknell, who has fixed her with a stony glare. Miss
Prism grows pale and quails. She looks anxiously round as if desirous to
escape.]

Lady Bracknell. [In a severe, judicial voice.] Prism! [Miss Prism bows
her head in shame.] Come here, Prism! [Miss Prism approaches in a
humble manner.] Prism! Where is that baby? [General consternation. The
Canon starts back in horror. Algernon and Jack pretend to be anxious to
shield Cecily and Gwendolen from hearing the details of a terrible public
scandal.] Twenty-eight years ago, Prism, you left Lord Bracknell's
house, Number 104, Upper Grosvenor Street, in charge of a perambulator
that contained a baby of the male sex. You never returned. A few weeks
later, through the elaborate investigations of the Metropolitan police,
the perambulator was discovered at midnight, standing by itself in a
remote corner of Bayswater. It contained the manuscript of a
three-volume novel of more than usually revolting sentimentality. [Miss
Prism starts in involuntary indignation.] But the baby was not there!
[Every one looks at Miss Prism.] Prism! Where is that baby? [A pause.]

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

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

Miss Prism. Do not ask me, Mr. Worthing.

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

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

Jack. What railway station?

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

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

Gwendolen. If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my
life. [Exit Jack in great excitement.]

Chasuble. What do you think this means, Lady Bracknell?

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

[Noises heard overhead as if some one was throwing trunks about. Every
one looks up.]

Cecily. Uncle Jack seems strangely agitated.

Chasuble. Your guardian has a very emotional nature.

Lady Bracknell. This noise is extremely unpleasant. It sounds as if he
was having an argument. I dislike arguments of any kind. They are
always vulgar, and often convincing.

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

Lady Bracknell. I wish he would arrive at some conclusion.

Gwendolen. This suspense is terrible. I hope it will last. [Enter Jack
with a hand-bag of black leather in his hand.]

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

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

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

Miss Prism. [Amazed.] You?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Shakes hands.]

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

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

Gwendolen. I never change, except in my affections.

Cecily. What a noble nature you have, Gwendolen!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lady Bracknell. The General was essentially a man of peace, except in
his domestic life. But I have no doubt his name would appear in any
military directory.

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

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

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

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

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

Jack. My own one!

Chasuble. [To Miss Prism.] Laetitia! [Embraces her]

Miss Prism. [Enthusiastically.] Frederick! At last!

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

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

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

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

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