A WOMAN OF NO IMPORTANCE (1893)
They rise and proceed to go off. SIR JOHN offers to carry LADY STUTFIELD’s cloak.
LADY CAROLINE: John! If you would allow your nephew to look after Lady Stutfield’s cloak, you might help me with my work-basket.
Enter LORD ILLINGWORTH and MRS. ALLONBY.
SIR JOHN: Certainly, my love.
Exeunt.
MRS. ALLONBY: Curious thing, plain women are always jealous of their husbands, beautiful women never are!
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Beautiful women never have time. They are always so occupied in being jealous of other people’s husbands.
MRS. ALLONBY: I should have thought Lady Caroline would have grown tired of conjugal anxiety by this time! Sir John is her fourth!
LORD ILLINGWORTH: So much marriage is certainly not becoming. Twenty years of romance make a woman look like a ruin; but twenty years of marriage make her something like a public building.
MRS. ALLONBY: Twenty years of romance! Is there such a thing?
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Not in our day. Women have become too brilliant. Nothing spoils a romance so much as a sense of humour in the woman.
MRS. ALLONBY: Or the want of it in the man.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: You are quite right. In a Temple every one should be serious, except the thing that is worshipped.
MRS. ALLONBY: And that should be man?
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Women kneel so gracefully; men don’t.
MRS. ALLONBY: You are thinking of Lady Stutfield!
LORD ILLINGWORTH: I assure you I have not thought of Lady Stutfield for the last quarter of an hour.
MRS. ALLONBY: Is she such a mystery?
LORD ILLINGWORTH: She is more than a mystery—she is a mood.
MRS. ALLONBY: Moods don’t last.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: It is their chief charm.
Enter HESTER and GERALD.
GERALD: Lord Illingworth, every one has been congratulating me, Lady Hunstanton and Lady Caroline, and … every one. I hope I shall make a good secretary.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: You will be the pattern secretary, Gerald. (Talks to him.)
MRS. ALLONBY: You enjoy country life, Miss Worsley?
HESTER: Very much, indeed.
MRS. ALLONBY: Don’t find yourself longing for a London dinner-party?
HESTER: I dislike London dinner-parties.
MRS. ALLONBY: I adore them. The clever people never listen, and the stupid people never talk.
HESTER: I think the stupid people talk a great deal.
MRS. ALLONBY: Ah, I never listen!
LORD ILLINGWORTH: My dear boy, if I didn’t like you I wouldn’t have made you the offer. It is because I like you so much that I want to have you with me.
Exit HESTER with GERALD.
Charming fellow, Gerald Arbuthnot!
MRS. ALLONBY: He is very nice; very nice indeed. But I can’t stand the American young lady.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Why?
MRS. ALLONBY: She told me yesterday, and in quite a loud voice too, that she was only eighteen. It was most annoying.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: One should never trust a woman who tells one her real age. A woman who would tell one that, would tell one anything.
MRS. ALLONBY: She is a Puritan besides-----
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Ah, that is inexcusable. I don’t mind plain women being Puritans. It is the only excuse they have for being plain. But she is decidedly pretty. I admire her immensely. (Looks steadfastly at MRS. Allonby.)
MRS. ALLONBY: What a thoroughly bad man you must be!
LORD ILLINGWORTH: What do you call a bad man?
MRS. ALLONBY: The sort of man who admires innocence.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: And a bad woman?
MRS. ALLONBY: Oh! the sort of woman a man never gets tired of.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: You are severe—on yourself.
MRS. ALLONBY: Define us as a sex.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Sphinxes without secrets.
MRS. ALLONBY: Does that include the Puritan women?
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Do you know, I don’t believe in the existence of Puritan women? I don’t think there is a woman in the world who would not be a little flattered if one made love to her. It is that which makes women so irresistibly adorable.
MRS. ALLONBY: You think there is no woman in the world who would object to being kissed?
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Very few.
MRS. ALLONBY: Miss Worsley would not let you kiss her.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Are you sure?
MRS. ALLONBY: Quite.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: What do you think she’d do if I kissed her?
MRS. ALLONBY: Either marry you, or strike you across the face with her glove. What would you do if she struck you across the face with her glove?
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Fall in love with her, probably.
MRS. ALLONBY: Then it is lucky you are not going to kiss her!
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Is that a challenge?
MRS. ALLONBY: It is an arrow shot into the air.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Don’t you know that I always succeed in whatever I try ?
MRS. ALLONBY: I am sorry to hear it. We women adore failures. They lean on us.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: You worship successes. You cling to them.
MRS. ALLONBY: We are the laurels to hide their baldness.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: And they need you always, except at the moment of triumph.
MRS. ALLONBY: They are uninteresting then.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: How tantalising you are? (A pause.)
MRS. ALLONBY: Lord Illingworth, there is one thing I shall always like you for.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Only one thing? And I have so many bad qualities.
MRS. ALLONBY: Ah, don’t be too conceited about them. You may lose them as you grow old.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: I never intend to grow old. The soul is born old but grows young. That is the comedy of life.
MRS. ALLONBY: And the body is born young and grows old. That is life’s tragedy.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Its comedy also, sometimes. But what is the mysterious reason why you will always like me?
MRS. ALLONBY: It is that you have never made love to me.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: I have never done anything else.
MRS. ALLONBY: Really? I have not noticed it.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: How unfortunate! It might have been a tragedy for both of us.
MRS. ALLONBY: We should each have survived.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: One can survive everything nowadays, except death, and live down anything except a good reputation.
MRS. ALLONBY: Have you tried a good reputation?
LORD ILLINGWORTH: It is one of the many annoyances to which I have never been subjected.
MRS. ALLONBY: It may come.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Why do you threaten me?
MRS. ALLONBY: I will tell you when you have kissed the Puritan.
Enter Footman.
FRANCIS: Tea is served in the Yellow Drawing-room, my lord.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Tell her ladyship we are coming in.
FRANCIS: Yes, my lord. (Exit.)
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Shall we go in to tea?
MRS. ALLONBY: Do you like such simple pleasures?
LORD ILLINGWORTH: I adore simple pleasures. They are the last refuge of the complex. But, if you wish, let us stay here. Yes, let us stay here. The Book of Life begins with a man and a woman in a garden.
MRS. ALLONBY: It ends with Revelations.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: You fence divinely. But the button has come off your foil.
MRS. ALLONBY: I have still the mask.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: It makes your eyes lovelier.
MRS. ALLONBY: Thank you. Come.
LORD ILLINGWORTH (sees MRS. Arbuthnot’s letter on table, and takes it up and looks at envelope): What a curious handwriting! It reminds me of the handwriting of a woman I used to know years ago.
MRS. ALLONBY: Who?
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Oh! no one. No one in particular. A woman of no impor
tance. (Throws letter down, and passes up the steps of the terrace with MRS. Allonby. They smile at each other.)
THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST (1895)
LADY BRACKNELL and Algernon go into the music-room, Gwendolen remains behind.
JACK: Charming day it has been, Miss Fairfax.
GWENDOLEN: Pray don’t talk to me about the weather, Mr. Worthing. Whenever people talk to me about the weather, I always feel quite certain that they mean something else. And that makes me so nervous.
JACK: I do mean something else.
GWENDOLEN: I thought so. In fact, I am never wrong.
JACK: And I would like to be allowed to take advantage of Lady Bracknell’s temporary absence …
GWENDOLEN: I would certainly advise you to do so. Mamma has a way of coming back suddenly into a room that I have often had to speak to her about.
JACK (nervously): Miss Fairfax, ever since I met you I have admired you more than any girl… I have ever met since … I met you.
GWENDOLEN: Yes, I am quite well aware of the fact. And I often wish that in public, at any rate, you had been more demonstrative. For me you have always had an irresistible fascination. Even before I met you I was far from indifferent to you. (Jack looks at her in amazement.) We live, as I hope you know, Mr. Worthing, in an age of ideals. The fact is constantly mentioned in the more expensive monthly magazines, and has now 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. The name, fortunately for my peace of mind, is, as far as my own experience goes, extremely rare.
JACK: You really love me, Gwendolen?
GWENDOLEN: Passionately!
JACK: Darling! You don’t know how happy you’ve made me.
GWENDOLEN: My own Ernest! (They embrace.)
JACK: But you don’t really mean to say that you couldn’t love me if my name wasn’t Ernest?
GWENDOLEN: But your name is Ernest.
JACK: Yes, I know it is. But supposing it was something else? Do you mean to say you couldn’t love me then?
GWENDOLEN (glibly): Ah! that is clearly a metaphysical speculation, and like most metaphysical speculations has very little reference at all to the actual facts of real life, as we know them.
JACK: Personally, darling, to speak quite candidly, I don’t much care about the name of Ernest.... I don’t think the name suits me at all.
GWENDOLEN: It suits you perfectly. It is a divine name. It has a music of its own. It produces vibrations.
JACK: Well, really, Gwendolen, I must say that I think there are lots of other much nicer names. I think Jack, for instance, a charming name.
GWENDOLEN: Jack? … No, there is very little music in the name Jack, if any at all, indeed. It does not thrill. It produces absolutely no vibrations.... I have known several Jacks, and they all, without exception, were more than usually plain. Besides, Jack is a notorious domesticity for John! And I pity any woman who is married to a man called John. She would have a very tedious life with him. She would probably never be allowed to know the entrancing pleasure of a single moment’s solitude. The only really safe name is Ernest.
JACK: Gwendolen, I must get christened at once—I mean we must get married at once. There is no time to be lost.
GWENDOLEN: Married, Mr. Worthing?
JACK (astounded): Well… surely. You know that I love you, and you led me to believe, Miss Fairfax, that you were not absolutely indifferent to me.
GWENDOLEN: I adore you. But you haven’t proposed to me yet. Nothing has been said at all about marriage. The subject has not even been touched on.
JACK: Well… may I propose to you now?
GWENDOLEN: I think it would be an admirable opportunity. And to spare you any possible disappointment, Mr. Worthing, I think it only fair to tell you quite frankly beforehand that I am fully determined to accept you.
JACK: Gwendolen!
GWENDOLEN: Yes, Mr. Worthing, what have you got to say to me?
JACK: You know what I have got to say to you.
GWENDOLEN: Yes, but you don’t say it.
JACK: Gwendolen, will you marry me? (Goes on his knees.)
GWENDOLEN: Of course I will, darling. How long you have been about it! I am afraid you have had very little experience in how to propose.
JACK: My own one, I have never loved anyone in the world but you.
GWENDOLEN: Yes, but men often propose for practice. I know my brother Gerald does. All my girl-friends tell me so. What wonderfully blue eyes you have, Ernest! They are quite, quite blue. I hope you will always look at me just like that, especially when there are other people present.
Enter LADY BRACKNELL.
LADY BRACKNELL: Mr. Worthing! Rise, sir, from this semi-recumbent posture. It is most indecorous.
GWENDOLEN: Mamma! (He tries to rise; she restrains him.) I must beg you to retire. This is no place for you. Besides, Mr. Worthing has not quite finished yet.
LADY BRACKNELL: Finished what, may I ask?
GWENDOLEN: I am engaged to Mr. Worthing, mamma. (They rise together.)
LADY BRACKNELL: Pardon me, you are not engaged to any one. When you do become engaged to some one, I, or your father, should his health permit him, will inform you of the fact. An engagement should come on a young girl as a surprise, pleasant or unpleasant, as the case may be. It is hardly a matter that she could be allowed to arrange for herself…. And now I have a few questions to put to you, Mr. Worthing!
JACK: I shall be charmed to reply to any questions, Lady Bracknell.
GWENDOLEN: You mean if you know the answers to them. Mamma’s questions are sometimes peculiarly inquisitorial.
LADY BRACKNELL: I intend to make them very inquisitorial. And while I am making these inquiries, you, Gwendolen, will wait for me below in the carriage.
Gwendolen (reproachfully): Mamma!
LADY BRACKNELL: In the carriage, Gwendolen!
GWENDOLEN goes to the door. She and Jack blow kisses to each other behind Lady Bracknell’s back. Lady Bracknell looks vaguely about as if she could not understand what the noise was. Finally turns round.
Gwendolen, the carriage!
GWENDOLEN: Yes, mamma. (Goes out, looking back at Jack.) Lady Bracknell (sitting down): You can take a seat, Mr. Worthing.
Looks in her pocket for note-book and pencil.
JACK: Thank you, Lady Bracknell, I prefer standing.
LADY BRACKNELL (pencil and note-book in hand): I feel bound to tell you that you are not down on my list of eligible young men, although I have the same list as the dear Duchess of Bolton has. We work together, in fact. However, I am quite ready to enter your name, should your answers be what a really affectionate mother requires. Do you smoke?
JACK: Well, yes, I must admit I smoke.
LADY BRACKNELL: I am glad to hear it. A man should always have an occupation of some kind. There are far too many idle men in London as it is. How old are you?
JACK: Twenty-nine.
LADY BRACKNELL: A very good age to be married at. I have always been of opinion that a man who desires to get married should know either everything or nothing. Which do you know?
JACK (after some hesitation): I know nothing, Lady Bracknell.
LADY BRACKNELL: I am pleased to hear it. I do not approve of anything that tampers with natural ignorance. Ignorance is like a delicate exotic fruit; touch it and the bloom is gone. The whole theory of modern education is radically unsound. Fortunately in England, at any rate, education produces no effect whatsoever. If it did, it would prove a serious danger to the upper classes, and probably lead to acts of violence in Grosvenor Square. What is your income?
JACK: Between seven and eight thousand a year.
LADY BRACKNELL (makes a note in her book): In land, or in investments?
JACK: In investments, chiefly.
LADY BRACKNELL:
That is satisfactory. What between the duties expected of one during one’s lifetime, and the duties exacted from one after one’s death, land has ceased to be either a profit or a pleasure. It gives one position, and prevents one from keeping it up. That’s all that can be said about land.
JACK: I have a country house with some land, of course, attached to it, about fifteen hundred acres, I believe; but I don’t depend on that for my real income. In fact, as far as I can make out, the poachers are the only people who make anything out of it.
The Wisdom of Oscar Wilde Page 11