Complete Works of Oscar Wilde

by Oscar Wilde

  ALGERNON (furiously): Upon my word Jack!

  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 (to JACK): You are quite sure that I can’t marry without your consent till I am thirty-five?

  JACK: That is the wise provision of your grandfather’s will, Cecily. He undoubtedly foresaw the sort of difficulty that would be likely to occur.

  CECILY: Then grandpapa must have had a very extraordinary imagination. Algy…could you wait for me till I was thirty-five? Don’t speak hastily. It is a very serious question, and much of my future happiness, as well as all of yours, depends on your answer.

  ALGERNON: Of course I could, Cecily. How can you ask me such a question? I could wait for ever for you. 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 Cecily 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 gentleman 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 excess. 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. Baptismal regeneration is not to be lightly spoken of. Indeed by the unanimous opinion of the fathers, baptism is a form of new birth. However, where adults are concerned, compulsory christening, except in the case of savage tribes, is, I regret to say, uncanonical, so I shall 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, 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 th
e larger railway stations in London.

  JACK: What railway station?

  MISS PRISM (quite crushed): Victoria. The Brighton line. (Sinks into a chair.)

  LADY BRACKNELL (looking at JACK): I sincerely hope nothing improbable is going to happen. The improbable is always in bad, or at any rate, questionable taste.

  JACK: I must retire to my room for a moment.

  CHASUBLE: This news seems to have upset you, Mr. Worthing. I trust your indisposition is merely temporary.

  JACK: I will be back in a few moments, dear Canon. 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 with the furniture. I dislike arguments of any kind. They are always vulgar, and often convincing.

  CHASUBLE: (looking up): It has stopped now. (The noise is re-doubled.)

  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): But Mr. Worthing, there is some error. Maternity has never been an incident in my life. The suggestion, if it were not made before such a large number of people, would be almost indelicate. (Pointing to LADY BRACKNELL.) There stands the lady who can tell you who you really are. (Retires to back of stage.)

  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. (Shakes hands.) I did my best, however, though I was out of practice.

  GWENDOLEN (to JACK): Darling!

  JACK: Darling!

  LADY BRACKNELL: Under these strange and unforeseen circumstances you can kiss your Aunt Augusta.

  JACK: (staying where he is): I am dazed with happiness. (Kisses GWENDOLEN) I hardly know who I am kissing.

  ALGERNON takes the opportunity to kiss CECILY.

  GWENDOLEN: I hope that will be the last time I shall ever hear you make such an observation.

  JACK: It will, darling.

  MISS PRISM (advancing, after coughing slightly): Mr. Worthing, – Mr. Moncrieff as I should call you now – after what has just occurred I feel it my duty to resign my position in this household. Any inconvenience I may have caused you in your infancy through placing you inadvertently in this hand-bag I sincerely apologise for.

  JACK: Don’t mention it, dear Miss Prism. Don’t mention anything. I am sure I had a very pleasant time in your nice hand-bag in spite of the slight damage it received through the overturning of an omnibus in your happier days. As for leaving us, the suggestion is absurd.

  MISS PRISM: It is my duty to leave. I have really nothing more to teach dear Cecily. In the very difficult accomplishment of getting married I fear my sweet and clever pupil has far outstripped her teacher.

  CHASUBLE: A moment – Laetitia!

  MISS PRISM: Dr. Chasuble!

  CHASUBLE: Laetitia, I have come to the conclusion that the Primitive Church was in error on certain points. Corrupt readings seem to have crept into the text. I beg to solicit the honour of your hand.

  MISS PRISM: Frederick, at the present moment words fail me to express my feelings. But I will forward you, this evening, the three last volumes of my diary. In these you will be able to peruse a full account of the sentiments that I have entertained towards you for the last eighteen months.

  Enter MERRIMAN.

  MERRIMAN: Lady Bracknell’s flyman says he cannot wait any longer.

  LADY BRACKNELL (rising): True! I must return to town at once. (Pulls out watch.) I see I have now missed no less than nine trains. There is only one more.

  MERRIMAN goes out. LADY BRACKNELL moves towards the door.

  Prism, from your last observation to Dr. Chasuble, I learn with regret that you have not yet given up your passion for fiction in three volumes. And, if you really are going to enter into the state of matrimony which at your age seems to me, I feel bound to say, rather like flying in the face of an all-wise Providence, I trust you will be more careful of your husband than you were of your infant charge, and not leave poor Dr. Chasuble lying about at railway stations in hand-bags or receptacles of any kind. Cloak-rooms are notoriously draughty places. (MISS PRISM bows her head meekly.) Dr. Chasuble, you have my sincere good wishes, and if baptism be, as you say it is, a form of new birth, I would strongly advise you to have Miss Prism baptised without delay. To be born again would be of considerable advantage to her. Whether such a procedure be in accordance with the practice of the Primitive Church I do not know. But it is hardly probable, I should fancy, that they had to grapple with such extremely advanced problems. (Turning sweetly to CECILY and patting her cheek.) Sweet child! We will expect you at Upper Grosvenor Street in a few days.

  CECILY: Thank you, Aunt Augusta!

  LADY BRACKNELL: Come, Gwendolen.

  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? Pray be calm, Aunt Augusta. This is a terrible crisis and much depends on your answer.

  LADY BRACKNELL
(quite calmly): 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 (after a pause): Being the eldest son you were naturally christened after your father.

  JACK (irritably): Yes, but what was my father’s Christian name? Pray don’t be so calm, Aunt Augusta. This is a terrible crisis and everything hangs on the nature of your reply. What was my father’s Christian name?

  LADY BRACKNELL (meditatively): I cannot at the present moment recall what the General’s Christian name was. Your poor dear mother always addressed him as ‘General’. That I remember perfectly. Indeed, I don’t think she would have dared to have called him by his Christian name. But I have no doubt he had one. He was violent in his manner, but there was nothing eccentric about him in any way. That was rather the result of the Indian climate, and marriage, and indigestion, and other things of that kind. In fact he was rather a martinet about the little details of daily life. Too much so, I used to tell my sister.

  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 for the last forty years are here. (Rushes to the book-case and tears the books out. Distributes them rapidly.) Here, Dr. Chasuble – Miss Prism, two for you – Cecily, Cecily, an Army List. Make a precis of it at once. Algernon, pray search English history for our father’s Christian name if you have the smallest filial affection left. Aunt Augusta, I beg you to bring your masculine mind to bear on this subject. Gwendolen – no, it would agitate you too much. Leave these researches to less philosophic natures like ours.