by Oscar Wilde
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.
Tableau
Curtain
Appendix
The Gribsby Scene from The Importance of Being Earnest
Explanatory Note by H. Montgomery Hyde
For long it was not generally known that the first draft of the play, which Wilde wrote during the summer of 1894 while on holiday with his family, was considerably longer than the version which George Alexander produced at the St. James’s Theatre in London six months later. As stated in the Introduction, the original version consisted of four acts and contained a whole scene with one fresh character, besides a good deal of additional dialogue, all of which Wilde cut out at Alexander’s request, since the producer thought the play, as first written, was too long. Nor did he like the idea of another character who only appeared in one scene. So to oblige him, the author condensed Acts II and III to form a single Act, and dropped the scene with the additional character, whose name was Gribsby.
Shortly after Wilde’s death, the original text, probably a typed copy of the manuscript, found its way to Germany, to which it may have been sent by Wilde’s literary executor Robert Ross, and was published there in a German translation under the title Ernst Sein! in 1903. This publication passed completely unnoticed here, and it was never reprinted in this form. Long afterwards, a copy of the German translation came into the hands of James Agate, the English dramatic critic, who was greatly impressed by it and stated that in his opinion ‘the fun in the scene that Wilde deleted is better than any living playwright can do’. Agate searched for the original English text, but could not find it.
What happened to the manuscript is curious. It consisted of four quarto-size note-books. Somehow they got separated. In 1909, Robert Ross presented a number of Wilde manuscripts to the British Museum, but only the fourth of the note-books was amongst them. The whereabouts of the other three, which included the Gribsby scene, remained a mystery for many years. Apparently they had been borrowed by a friend of Wilde’s named Arthur Clifton, who was also a business associate of Ross, and they were never returned. They came to light on the death of Clifton’s widow, being discovered amongst her effects in an old trunk. They were sold at Sotheby’s in London in 1950, when the present writer had an opportunity of examining them and satisfying himself as to their genuineness. Their eventual purchaser was the American collector, Mr. George Arents, and they are now in the Arents Collection in the New York City Public Library.
If it had been included in the three-act version as given here and as the play is usually performed, the scene would have begun in Act II when Merriman, the butler, comes in and tells Jack Worthing that he has unpacked his fictitious brother Ernest’s luggage and put it in the room next to Jack’s. After Ernest, who is in reality Algernon Moncrieff, says he ‘can’t stay more than a week this time’ the butler turns to him and hands him a card on a silver salver.1
The Gribsby Scene
Enter Merriman.
MERRIMAN. I have put Mr Ernest’s things in the room next to yours, sir. I suppose that is all right?
JACK. What?
MERRIMAN. Mr Ernest’s luggage, sir. I have unpacked it and I have put it in the room next to your own.
ALGERNON. I am afraid I can’t stay more than a week, Jack, this time.
CECILY. A week? Will you really be able to stay over Monday?
ALGERNON. I think I can manage to stop over Monday, now.
CECILY. I am so glad.
MERRIMAN (to ALGERNON). I beg your pardon, sir, there is an elderly gentleman wishes to see you. He has just come in a cab from the station. (Hands card on salver.)
ALGERNON. To see me?
MERRIMAN. Yes, sir.
ALGERNON (reads card). ‘Parker and Gribsby, Solicitors.’ I don’t know anything about them. Who are they?
JACK (takes card). Parker and Gribsby. I wonder who they can be. I expect, Ernest, they have come about some business for your friend Bunbury. Perhaps Bunbury wants to make his will, and wishes you to be executor. (To Merriman:) Show Messrs Parker and Gribsby in at once.
>
MERRIMAN. There is only one gentleman in the hall, sir.
JACK. Show either Mr Parker or Mr Gribsby in.
MERRIMAN. Yes, sir. (Exit.)
JACK. I hope, Ernest, that I may rely on the statement you made to me last week when I finally settled all your bills for you. I hope you have no outstanding accounts of any kind.
ALGERNON. I haven’t any debts at all, dear Jack. Thanks to your generosity I don’t owe a penny, except for a few neckties I believe.
JACK. I am sincerely glad to hear it.
MERRIMAN. Mr Gribsby.
Enter GRIBSBY.
GRIBSBY (to CANON CHASUBLE): Mr Ernest Worthing?
MISS PRISM. This is Mr Ernest Worthing.
GRIBSBY. Mr Ernest Worthing?
ALGERNON. Yes.
GRIBSBY. Of B.4, the Albany –?
ALGERNON. Yes, that is my address.
GRIBSBY. I am very sorry, Mr Worthing, but we have a writ of attachment for 20 days against you at the suit of the Savoy Hotel Co. Limited for £762.14.2.
ALGERNON. What perfect nonsense! I never dine at the Savoy at my own expense. I always dine at Willis’s. It is far more expensive. I don’t owe a penny to the Savoy.
GRIBSBY. The writ is marked as having been [served] on you personally at the Albany on May the 27th. Judgment was given in default against you on the fifth of June. Since then we have written to you no less than thirteen times, without receiving any reply. In the interest of our clients we had no option but to obtain an order for committal of your person. But, no doubt, Mr Worthing, you will be able to settle the account without any further unpleasantness. Seven and six should be added to the bill of costs for expense of the cab which was hired for your convenience in case of any necessity of removal, but that, I am sure, is a contingency that is not likely to occur.
ALGERNON. Removal! What on earth do you mean by removal? I haven’t the smallest intention of going away. I am staying here for a week. I am staying with my brother. (Points to JACK.)
GRIBSBY (to JACK): Pleased to meet you, sir.
ALGERNON (to GRIBSBY): If you imagine I am going up to town the moment I arrive you are extremely mistaken.
GRIBSBY. I am merely a solicitor myself. I do not employ personal violence of any kind. The officer of the court whose function it is to seize the person of the debtor is waiting in the fly outside. He has considerable experience in these matters. In the point of fact he has arrested in the course of his duties nearly all the younger sons of the aristocracy, as well as several eldest sons, besides of course a good many members of the House of Lords. His style and manner are considered extremely good. Indeed, he looks more like a betting man than a court-official. That is why we always employ him. But no doubt you will prefer to pay the bill.
ALGERNON. Pay it? How on earth am I going to do that? You don’t suppose I have got any money? How perfectly silly you are. No gentleman ever has any money.
GRIBSBY. My experience is that it is usually relatives who pay.
JACK. Kindly allow me to see this bill, Mr Gribsby … (Turns over immense folio.) … £762.14.2 since last October. … I am bound to say I never saw such reckless extravagance in all my life. (Hands it to DR CHASUBLE.)
MISS PRISM. 762 pounds for eating! How grossly materialistic! There can be little good in any young man who eats so much, and so often.
CHASUBLE. It certainly is a painful proof of the disgraceful luxury of the age. We are far away from Wordsworth’s plain living and high thinking.
JACK. Now, Dr Chasuble, do you consider that I am in any way called upon to pay this monstrous account for my brother?
CHASUBLE. I am bound to say that I do not think so. It would be encouraging his profligacy.
MISS PRISM. As a man sows, so let him reap. This proposed incarceration might be most salutary. It is to be regretted that [it] is only for 20 days.
JACK. I am quite of your opinion.
ALGERNON. My dear fellow, how ridiculous you are! You know perfectly well that the bill is really yours.
JACK. Mine?
ALGERNON. Yes, you know it is.
CHASUBLE. Mr Worthing, if this is a jest, it is out of place.
MISS PRISM. It is gross effrontery. Just what I expected from him.
CECILY. It is ingratitude. I didn’t expect that.
JACK. Never mind what he says. This is the way he always goes on. You mean now to say that you are not Ernest Worthing, residing at B.4, The Albany? I wonder, as you are at it, that you don’t deny being my brother at all. Why don’t you?
ALGERNON. Oh! I am not going to do that, my dear fellow; it would be absurd. Of course, I’m your brother. And that is why you should pay this bill for me. What is the use of having a brother, if he doesn’t pay one’s bills for one?
JACK. Personally, if you ask me, I don’t see any use in having a brother. As for paying your bill, I have not the smallest intention of doing anything of the kind. Dr Chasuble, the worthy Rector of this parish, and Miss Prism, in whose admirable and sound judgment I place great reliance, are both of the opinion that incarceration would do you a great deal of good. And I think so, too.
GRIBSBY (pulls out watch). I am sorry to disturb this pleasant family meeting, but time presses. We have to be at Holloway not later than four o’clock; otherwise it is difficult to obtain admission. The rules are very strict.
ALGERNON. Holloway!
GRIBSBY. It is at Holloway that detentions of this character take place always.
ALGERNON. Well, I really am not going to be imprisoned in the suburbs for having dined in the West End. It is perfectly ridiculous.
GRIBSBY. The bill is for suppers, not for dinners.
ALGERNON. I really don’t care. All I say is that I am not going to be imprisoned in the suburbs.
GRIBSBY. The surroundings, I admit, are middle-class; but the gaol itself is fashionable and well-aired, and there are ample opportunities of taking exercise at certain stated hours of the day. In the case of a medical certificate, which is always easy to obtain, the hours can be extended.
ALGERNON. Exercise! Good God! No gentleman ever takes exercise. You don’t seem to understand what a gentleman is.
GRIBSBY. I have met so many of them, sir, that I am afraid I don’t. There are the most curious varieties of them. The result of cultivation, no doubt. Will you kindly come now, sir, if it will not be inconvenient to you.
ALGERNON (appealingly). Jack!
MISS PRISM. Pray be firm, Mr Worthing.
CHASUBLE. This is an occasion on which any weakness would be out of place. It would be a form of self-deception.
JACK. I am quite firm; and I don’t know what weakness or deception of any kind is.
CECILY. Uncle Jack! I think you have a little money of mine haven’t you? Let me pay this bill. I wouldn’t like your own brother to be in prison.
JACK. Oh, you can’t pay it, Cecily, that is nonsense.
CECILY. Then you will, won’t you? I think you would be sorry if you thought your own brother was shut up. Of course, I am quite disappointed with him.
JACK. You won’t speak to him again, Cecily, will you?
CECILY. Certainly not, unless, of course, he speaks to me first; it would be very rude not to answer him.
JACK. Well, I’ll take care he doesn’t speak to you. I’ll take care he doesn’t speak to anybody in this house. The man should be cut, Mr Gribsby –
GRIBSBY. Yes, sir.
JACK. I’ll pay this bill for my brother. It is the last bill I shall ever pay for him, too. How much is it?
GRIBSBY. £762.14.2. May I ask your full name, sir?
JACK. Mr John Worthing J.P., The Manor House, Woolton. Does that satisfy you?
GRIBSBY. Oh, certainly, sir certainly! It was a mere formality. (To MISS PRISM.) Handsome place. Ah! the cab will be 5/9 extra – hired for the convenience of the client.
JACK. All right.
MISS PRISM. I must say that I think such generosity quite foolish. Especially paying the cab.
&nb
sp; CHASUBLE (with a wave of the hand). The heart has its wisdom as well as the head, Miss Prism.
JACK. Payable to Gribsby and Parker, I suppose.
GRIBSBY. Yes, sir. Kindly don’t cross the cheque. Thank you.
JACK. You are Gribsby, aren’t you? What is Parker like?
GRIBSBY. I am both, sir. Gribsby when I am on unpleasant business, Parker on occasions of a less serious kind.
JACK. The next time I see you I hope you will be Parker.
GRIBSBY. I hope so, sir. (To DR CHASUBLE.) Good day. (DR CHASUBLE bows coldly.) Good day. (MISS PRISM bows coldly.) Hope I shall have the pleasure of meeting you again. (To ALGERNON.)
ALGERNON. I sincerely hope not. What ideas you have of the sort of society a gentleman wants to mix in. No gentleman ever wants to know a solicitor who wants to imprison one in the suburbs.
GRIBSBY. Quite so, quite so.
ALGERNON. By the way, Gribsby. Gribsby, you are not to go back to the station in that cab. That is my cab. It was taken for my convenience. You and the gentleman who looks like the betting-man have got to walk to the station. And a very good thing, too. Solicitors don’t walk nearly enough. They bolt. But they don’t walk. I don’t know any solicitor who takes sufficient exercise. As a rule they sit in stuffy offices all day long neglecting their business.
JACK. You can take the cab, Mr Gribsby.
GRIBSBY. Thank you, sir. (Exit.)
ALGERNON. Well, I must say that I think you might have let me play my joke on Gribsby. It was rather a good joke in its way. And of course I wasn’t serious about it.
A Woman of No Importance
To
Gladys
Countess De Grey
A Woman of No Importance was first performed at the Theatre Royal, Haymarket, London on 19 April 1893, produced by Beerbohm Tree.
Characters
LORD ILLINGWORTH
Mr Beerbohm Tree
SIR JOHN PONTEFRACT
Mr Holman Clarke
LORD ALFRED RUFFORD