SECOND ACTSCENEGarden at the Manor House. A flight of grey stone stepsleads up to the house. The garden, an old-fashioned one,full of roses. Time of year, July. Basket chairs, anda table covered with books, are set under a large yew-tree.
[Miss Prism discovered seated at the table. Cecily is at the back watering flowers.]
Miss Prism. [Calling.] Cecily,Cecily! Surely such a utilitarian occupation as thewatering of flowers is rather Moulton’s duty thanyours? Especially at a moment when intellectual pleasuresawait you. Your German grammar is on the table. Prayopen it at page fifteen. We will repeat yesterday’slesson.
Cecily. [Coming over very slowly.] But Idon’t like German. It isn’t at all a becominglanguage. I know perfectly well that I look quite plainafter my German lesson.
Miss Prism. Child, you know how anxious yourguardian is that you should improve yourself in every way. He laid particular stress on your German, as he was leaving fortown yesterday. Indeed, he always lays stress on yourGerman when he is leaving for town.
Cecily. Dear Uncle Jack is so very serious! Sometimes he is so serious that I think he cannot be quitewell.
Miss Prism. [Drawing herself up.] Yourguardian enjoys the best of health, and his gravity of demeanouris especially to be commended in one so comparatively young as heis. I know no one who has a higher sense of duty andresponsibility.
Cecily. I suppose that is why he often looks alittle bored when we three are together.
Miss Prism. Cecily! I am surprised atyou. Mr. Worthing has many troubles in his life. Idlemerriment and triviality would be out of place in hisconversation. You must remember his constant anxiety aboutthat unfortunate young man his brother.
Cecily. I wish Uncle Jack would allow thatunfortunate young man, his brother, to come down heresometimes. We might have a good influence over him, MissPrism. I am sure you certainly would. You knowGerman, and geology, and things of that kind influence a man verymuch. [Cecily begins to write in her diary.]
Miss Prism. [Shaking her head.] I do notthink that even I could produce any effect on a character thataccording to his own brother’s admission is irretrievablyweak and vacillating. Indeed I am not sure that I woulddesire to reclaim him. I am not in favour of this modernmania for turning bad people into good people at a moment’snotice. As a man sows so let him reap. You must putaway your diary, Cecily. I really don’t see why youshould keep a diary at all.
Cecily. I keep a diary in order to enter thewonderful secrets of my life. If I didn’t write themdown, I should probably forget all about them.
Miss Prism. Memory, my dear Cecily, is the diarythat we all carry about with us.
Cecily. Yes, but it usually chronicles the thingsthat have never happened, and couldn’t possibly havehappened. I believe that Memory is responsible for nearlyall the three-volume novels that Mudie sends us.
Miss Prism. Do not speak slightingly of thethree-volume novel, Cecily. I wrote one myself in earlierdays.
Cecily. Did you really, Miss Prism? Howwonderfully clever you are! I hope it did not endhappily? I don’t like novels that end happily. They depress me so much.
Miss Prism. The good ended happily, and the badunhappily. That is what Fiction means.
Cecily. I suppose so. But it seems veryunfair. And was your novel ever published?
Miss Prism. Alas! no. The manuscriptunfortunately was abandoned. [Cecily starts.] I use the word in the sense of lost or mislaid. To yourwork, child, these speculations are profitless.
Cecily. [Smiling.] But I see dear Dr.Chasuble coming up through the garden.
Miss Prism. [Rising and advancing.] Dr.Chasuble! This is indeed a pleasure.
[Enter Canon Chasuble.]
Chasuble. And how are we this morning? MissPrism, you are, I trust, well?
Cecily. Miss Prism has just been complaining of aslight headache. I think it would do her so much good tohave a short stroll with you in the Park, Dr. Chasuble.
Miss Prism. Cecily, I have not mentioned anythingabout a headache.
Cecily. No, dear Miss Prism, I know that, but Ifelt instinctively that you had a headache. Indeed I wasthinking about that, and not about my German lesson, when theRector came in.
Chasuble. I hope, Cecily, you are notinattentive.
Cecily. Oh, I am afraid I am.
Chasuble. That is strange. Were I fortunateenough to be Miss Prism’s pupil, I would hang upon herlips. [Miss Prism glares.] I spokemetaphorically.—My metaphor was drawn from bees. Ahem! Mr. Worthing, I suppose, has not returned from townyet?
Miss Prism. We do not expect him till Mondayafternoon.
Chasuble. Ah yes, he usually likes to spend hisSunday in London. He is not one of those whose sole aim isenjoyment, as, by all accounts, that unfortunate young man hisbrother seems to be. But I must not disturb Egeria and herpupil any longer.
Miss Prism. Egeria? My name isLætitia, Doctor.
Chasuble. [Bowing.] A classical allusionmerely, drawn from the Pagan authors. I shall see you bothno doubt at Evensong?
Miss Prism. I think, dear Doctor, I will have astroll with you. I find I have a headache after all, and awalk might do it good.
Chasuble. With pleasure, Miss Prism, withpleasure. We might go as far as the schools and back.
Miss Prism. That would be delightful. Cecily, you will read your Political Economy in my absence. The chapter on the Fall of the Rupee you may omit. It issomewhat too sensational. Even these metallic problems havetheir melodramatic side.
[Goes down the garden with Dr. Chasuble.]
Cecily. [Picks up books and throws them back ontable.] Horrid Political Economy! HorridGeography! Horrid, horrid German!
[Enter Merriman with a card on a salver.]
Merriman. Mr. Ernest Worthing has just drivenover from the station. He has brought his luggage withhim.
Cecily. [Takes the card and reads it.] ‘Mr. Ernest Worthing, B. 4, The Albany, W.’ Uncle Jack’s brother! Did you tell him Mr. Worthingwas in town?
Merriman. Yes, Miss. He seemed very muchdisappointed. I mentioned that you and Miss Prism were inthe garden. He said he was anxious to speak to youprivately for a moment.
Cecily. Ask Mr. Ernest Worthing to comehere. I suppose you had better talk to the housekeeperabout a room for him.
Merriman. Yes, Miss.
[Merriman goes off.]
Cecily. I have never met any really wicked personbefore. I feel rather frightened. I am so afraid hewill look just like every one else.
[Enter Algernon, very gay and debonnair.] Hedoes!
Algernon. [Raising his hat.] You are mylittle cousin Cecily, I’m sure.
Cecily. You are under some strange mistake. I am not little. In fact, I believe I am more than usuallytall for my age. [Algernon is rather takenaback.] But I am your cousin Cecily. You, I see fromyour card, are Uncle Jack’s brother, my cousin Ernest, mywicked cousin Ernest.
Algernon. Oh! I am not really wicked at all,cousin Cecily. You mustn’t think that I amwicked.
Cecily. If you are not, then you have certainlybeen deceiving us all in a very inexcusable manner. I hopeyou have not been leading a double life, pretending to be wickedand being really good all the time. That would behypocrisy.
Algernon. [Looks at her in amazement.] Oh! Of course I have been rather reckless.
Cecily. I am glad to hear it.
Algernon. In fact, now you mention the subject, Ihave been very bad in my own small way.
Cecily. I don’t think you should be soproud of that, though I am sure it must have been verypleasant.
Algernon. It is much pleasanter being here withyou.
Cecily. I can’t understand how you are hereat all. Uncle Jack won’t be back till Mondayafternoon.
Algernon. That is a great disappointment. Iam obliged to go up by the first train on Monday morning. Ihave a business appointment that I am anxious . . . to miss?
Cecily. Couldn’t you miss it anywhere butin London?
Algernon. No: the appointment is in London.
Cecily. Well, I know, of course, how important itis not to keep a business engagement, if one wants to retain anysense of the beauty of life, but still I think you had betterwait till Uncle Jack arrives. I know he wants to speak toyou about your emigrating.
Algernon. About my what?
Cecily. Your emigrating. He has gone up tobuy your outfit.
Algernon. I certainly wouldn’t let Jack buymy outfit. He has no taste in neckties at all.
Cecily. I don’t think you will requireneckties. Uncle Jack is sending you to Australia.
Algernon. Australia! I’d soonerdie.
Cecily. Well, he said at dinner on Wednesdaynight, that you would have to choose between this world, the nextworld, and Australia.
Algernon. Oh, well! The accounts I havereceived of Australia and the next world, are not particularlyencouraging. This world is good enough for me, cousinCecily.
Cecily. Yes, but are you good enough for it?
Algernon. I’m afraid I’m notthat. That is why I want you to reform me. You mightmake that your mission, if you don’t mind, cousinCecily.
Cecily. I’m afraid I’ve no time, thisafternoon.
Algernon. Well, would you mind my reformingmyself this afternoon?
Cecily. It is rather Quixotic of you. But Ithink you should try.
Algernon. I will. I feel betteralready.
Cecily. You are looking a little worse.
Algernon. That is because I am hungry.
Cecily. How thoughtless of me. I shouldhave remembered that when one is going to lead an entirely newlife, one requires regular and wholesome meals. Won’tyou come in?
Algernon. Thank you. Might I have abuttonhole first? I never have any appetite unless I have abuttonhole first.
Cecily. A Marechal Niel? [Picks upscissors.]
Algernon. No, I’d sooner have a pinkrose.
Cecily. Why? [Cuts a flower.]
Algernon. Because you are like a pink rose,Cousin Cecily.
Cecily. I don’t think it can be right foryou to talk to me like that. Miss Prism never says suchthings to me.
Algernon. Then Miss Prism is a short-sighted oldlady. [Cecily puts the rose in hisbuttonhole.] You are the prettiest girl I ever saw.
Cecily. Miss Prism says that all good looks are asnare.
Algernon. They are a snare that every sensibleman would like to be caught in.
Cecily. Oh, I don’t think I would care tocatch a sensible man. I shouldn’t know what to talkto him about.
[They pass into the house. Miss Prism and Dr.Chasuble return.]
Miss Prism. You are too much alone, dear Dr.Chasuble. You should get married. A misanthrope I canunderstand—a womanthrope, never!
Chasuble. [With a scholar’s shudder.] Believe me, I do not deserve so neologistic a phrase. Theprecept as well as the practice of the Primitive Church wasdistinctly against matrimony.
Miss Prism. [Sententiously.] That isobviously the reason why the Primitive Church has not lasted upto the present day. And you do not seem to realise, dearDoctor, that by persistently remaining single, a man convertshimself into a permanent public temptation. Men should bemore careful; this very celibacy leads weaker vessels astray.
Chasuble. But is a man not equally attractivewhen married?
Miss Prism. No married man is ever attractiveexcept to his wife.
Chasuble. And often, I’ve been told, noteven to her.
Miss Prism. That depends on the intellectualsympathies of the woman. Maturity can always be dependedon. Ripeness can be trusted. Young women aregreen. [Dr. Chasuble starts.] I spokehorticulturally. My metaphor was drawn from fruits. But where is Cecily?
Chasuble. Perhaps she followed us to theschools.
[Enter Jack slowly from the back of the garden. He is dressed in the deepest mourning, with crape hatband andblack gloves.]
Miss Prism. Mr. Worthing!
Chasuble. Mr. Worthing?
Miss Prism. This is indeed a surprise. Wedid not look for you till Monday afternoon.
Jack. [Shakes Miss Prism’s hand in atragic manner.] I have returned sooner than Iexpected. Dr. Chasuble, I hope you are well?
Chasuble. Dear Mr. Worthing, I trust this garb ofwoe does not betoken some terrible calamity?
Jack. My brother.
Miss Prism. More shameful debts andextravagance?
Chasuble. Still leading his life of pleasure?
Jack. [Shaking his head.] Dead!
Chasuble. Your brother Ernest dead?
Jack. Quite dead.
Miss Prism. What a lesson for him! I trusthe will profit by it.
Chasuble. Mr. Worthing, I offer you my sincerecondolence. You have at least the consolation of knowingthat you were always the most generous and forgiving ofbrothers.
Jack. Poor Ernest! He had many faults, butit is a sad, sad blow.
Chasuble. Very sad indeed. Were you withhim at the end?
Jack. No. He died abroad; in Paris, infact. I had a telegram last night from the manager of theGrand Hotel.
Chasuble. Was the cause of death mentioned?
Jack. A severe chill, it seems.
Miss Prism. As a man sows, so shall he reap.
Chasuble. [Raising his hand.] Charity, dearMiss Prism, charity! None of us are perfect. I myselfam peculiarly susceptible to draughts. Will the intermenttake place here?
Jack. No. He seems to have expressed adesire to be buried in Paris.
Chasuble. In Paris! [Shakes hishead.] I fear that hardly points to any very serious stateof mind at the last. You would no doubt wish me to makesome slight allusion to this tragic domestic affliction nextSunday. [Jack presses his hand convulsively.] My sermon on the meaning of the manna in the wilderness can beadapted to almost any occasion, joyful, or, as in the presentcase, distressing. [All sigh.] I have preached it atharvest celebrations, christenings, confirmations, on days ofhumiliation and festal days. The last time I delivered itwas in the Cathedral, as a charity sermon on behalf of theSociety for the Prevention of Discontent among the UpperOrders. The Bishop, who was present, was much struck bysome of the analogies I drew.
Jack. Ah! that reminds me, you mentionedchristenings I think, Dr. Chasuble? I suppose you know howto christen all right? [Dr. Chasuble looksastounded.] I mean, of course, you are continuallychristening, aren’t you?
Miss Prism. It is, I regret to say, one of theRector’s most constant duties in this parish. I haveoften spoken to the poorer classes on the subject. But theydon’t seem to know what thrift is.
Chasuble. But is there any particular infant inwhom you are interested, Mr. Worthing? Your brother was, Ibelieve, unmarried, was he not?
Jack. Oh yes.
Miss Prism. [Bitterly.] People who liveentirely for pleasure usually are.
Jack. But it is not for any child, dearDoctor. I am very fond of children. No! the fact is,I would like to be christened myself, this afternoon, if you havenothing better to do.
Chasuble. But surely, Mr. Worthing, you have beenchristened already?
Jack. I don’t remember anything aboutit.
Chasuble. But have you any grave doubts on thesubject?
Jack. I certainly intend to have. Of courseI don’t know if the thing would bother you in any way, orif you think I am a little too old now.
Chasuble. Not at all. The sprinkling, and,indeed, the immersion of adults is a perfectly canonicalpractice.
Jack. Immersion!
Chasuble. You need have no apprehensions. Sprinkling is all that is necessary, or indeed I thinkadvisable. Our weather is so changeable. At what hourwould you wish the ceremony performed?
Jack. Oh, I might trot round about five if thatwould suit you.
Chasuble. Perfectly, perfectly! In fact Ihave two similar ceremonies to perform at that time. A caseof twins that occurred recently in one of the outlying cottageson your own estate. Poor Jenkins the carter, a mosthard-working man.
Jack. Oh! I don’t see much fun inbeing christened along with other babies. It would bechildish. Would half-past five do?
Chasuble. Admirably! Admirably! [Takes out watch.] And now, dear Mr. Worthing, I will notintrude any longer into a house of sorrow. I would merelybeg you not to be too much bowed down by grief. What seemto us bitter trials are often blessings in disguise.
Miss Prism. This seems to me a blessing of anextremely obvious kind.
[Enter Cecily from the house.]
Cecily. Uncle Jack! Oh, I am pleased to seeyou back. But what horrid clothes you have got on! Dogo and change them.
Miss Prism. Cecily!
Chasuble. My child! my child! [Cecily goes towards Jack; he kisses her brow in amelancholy manner.]
Cecily. What is the matter, Uncle Jack? Dolook happy! You look as if you had toothache, and I havegot such a surprise for you. Who do you think is in thedining-room? Your brother!
Jack. Who?
Cecily. Your brother Ernest. He arrivedabout half an hour ago.
Jack. What nonsense! I haven’t got abrother.
Cecily. Oh, don’t say that. Howeverbadly he may have behaved to you in the past he is still yourbrother. You couldn’t be so heartless as to disownhim. I’ll tell him to come out. And you willshake hands with him, won’t you, Uncle Jack? [Runsback into the house.]
Chasuble. These are very joyful tidings.
Miss Prism. After we had all been resigned to hisloss, his sudden return seems to me peculiarly distressing.
Jack. My brother is in the dining-room? Idon’t know what it all means. I think it is perfectlyabsurd.
[Enter Algernon and Cecily hand in hand. They come slowly up to Jack.]
Jack. Good heavens! [MotionsAlgernon away.]
Algernon. Brother John, I have come down fromtown to tell you that I am very sorry for all the trouble I havegiven you, and that I intend to lead a better life in thefuture. [Jack glares at him and does not take hishand.]
Cecily. Uncle Jack, you are not going to refuseyour own brother’s hand?
Jack. Nothing will induce me to take hishand. I think his coming down here disgraceful. Heknows perfectly well why.
Cecily. Uncle Jack, do be nice. There issome good in every one. Ernest has just been telling meabout his poor invalid friend Mr. Bunbury whom he goes to visitso often. And surely there must be much good in one who iskind to an invalid, and leaves the pleasures of London to sit bya bed of pain.
Jack. Oh! he has been talking about Bunbury, hashe?
Cecily. Yes, he has told me all about poor Mr.Bunbury, and his terrible state of health.
Jack. Bunbury! Well, I won’t have himtalk to you about Bunbury or about anything else. It isenough to drive one perfectly frantic.
Algernon. Of course I admit that the faults wereall on my side. But I must say that I think that BrotherJohn’s coldness to me is peculiarly painful. Iexpected a more enthusiastic welcome, especially considering itis the first time I have come here.
Cecily. Uncle Jack, if you don’t shakehands with Ernest I will never forgive you.
Jack. Never forgive me?
Cecily. Never, never, never!
Jack. Well, this is the last time I shall ever doit. [Shakes with Algernon and glares.]
Chasuble. It’s pleasant, is it not, to seeso perfect a reconciliation? I think we might leave the twobrothers together.
Miss Prism. Cecily, you will come with us.
Cecily. Certainly, Miss Prism. My littletask of reconciliation is over.
Chasuble. You have done a beautiful actionto-day, dear child.
Miss Prism. We must not be premature in ourjudgments.
Cecily. I feel very happy. [They all go offexcept Jack and Algernon.]
Jack. You young scoundrel, Algy, you must get outof this place as soon as possible. I don’t allow anyBunburying here.
[Enter Merriman.]
Merriman. I have put Mr. Ernest’s things inthe room next to yours, sir. I suppose that is allright?
Jack. What?
Merriman. Mr. Ernest’s luggage, sir. I have unpacked it and put it in the room next to your own.
Jack. His luggage?
Merriman. Yes, sir. Three portmanteaus, adressing-case, two hat-boxes, and a large luncheon-basket.
Algernon. I am afraid I can’t stay morethan a week this time.
Jack. Merriman, order the dog-cart at once. Mr. Ernest has been suddenly called back to town.
Merriman. Yes, sir. [Goes back into thehouse.]
Algernon. What a fearful liar you are,Jack. I have not been called back to town at all.
Jack. Yes, you have.
Algernon. I haven’t heard any one callme.
Jack. Your duty as a gentleman calls youback.
Algernon. My duty as a gentleman has neverinterfered with my pleasures in the smallest degree.
Jack. I can quite understand that.
Algernon. Well, Cecily is a darling.
Jack. You are not to talk of Miss Cardew likethat. I don’t like it.
Algernon. Well, I don’t like yourclothes. You look perfectly ridiculous in them. Whyon earth don’t you go up and change? It is perfectlychildish to be in deep mourning for a man who is actually stayingfor a whole week with you in your house as a guest. I callit grotesque.
Jack. You are certainly not staying with me for awhole week as a guest or anything else. You have got toleave . . . by the four-five train.
Algernon. I certainly won’t leave you solong as you are in mourning. It would be mostunfriendly. If I were in mourning you would stay with me, Isuppose. I should think it very unkind if youdidn’t.
Jack. Well, will you go if I change myclothes?
Algernon. Yes, if you are not too long. Inever saw anybody take so long to dress, and with such littleresult.
Jack. Well, at any rate, that is better thanbeing always over-dressed as you are.
Algernon. If I am occasionally a littleover-dressed, I make up for it by being always immenselyover-educated.
Jack. Your vanity is ridiculous, your conduct anoutrage, and your presence in my garden utterly absurd. However, you have got to catch the four-five, and I hope you willhave a pleasant journey back to town. This Bunburying, asyou call it, has not been a great success for you.
[Goes into the house.]
Algernon. I think it has been a greatsuccess. I’m in love with Cecily, and that iseverything.
[Enter Cecily at the back of the garden. Shepicks up the can and begins to water the flowers.] But Imust see her before I go, and make arrangements for anotherBunbury. Ah, there she is.
Cecily. Oh, I merely came back to water theroses. I thought you were with Uncle Jack.
Algernon. He’s gone to order the dog-cartfor me.
Cecily. Oh, is he going to take you for a nicedrive?
Algernon. He’s going to send me away.
Cecily. Then have we got to part?
Algernon. I am afraid so. It’s a verypainful parting.
Cecily. It is always painful to part from peoplewhom one has known for a very brief space of time. Theabsence of old friends one can endure with equanimity. Buteven a momentary separation from anyone to whom one has just beenintroduced is almost unbearable.
Algernon. Thank you.
[Enter Merriman.]
Merriman. The dog-cart is at the door, sir. [Algernon looks appealingly at Cecily.]
Cecily. It can wait, Merriman for . . . fiveminutes.
Merriman. Yes, Miss. [ExitMerriman.]
Algernon. I hope, Cecily, I shall not offend youif I state quite frankly and openly that you seem to me to be inevery way the visible personification of absolute perfection.
Cecily. I think your frankness does you greatcredit, Ernest. If you will allow me, I will copy yourremarks into my diary. [Goes over to table and beginswriting in diary.]
Algernon. Do you really keep a diary? I’d give anything to look at it. May I?
Cecily. Oh no. [Puts her hand overit.] You see, it is simply a very young girl’s recordof her own thoughts and impressions, and consequently meant forpublication. When it appears in volume form I hope you willorder a copy. But pray, Ernest, don’t stop. Idelight in taking down from dictation. I have reached‘absolute perfection’. You can go on. Iam quite ready for more.
Algernon. [Somewhat taken aback.] Ahem! Ahem!
Cecily. Oh, don’t cough, Ernest. Whenone is dictating one should speak fluently and not cough. Besides, I don’t know how to spell a cough. [Writesas Algernon speaks.]
Algernon. [Speaking very rapidly.] Cecily,ever since I first looked upon your wonderful and incomparablebeauty, I have dared to love you wildly, passionately, devotedly,hopelessly.
Cecily. I don’t think that you should tellme that you love me wildly, passionately, devotedly,hopelessly. Hopelessly doesn’t seem to make muchsense, does it?
Algernon. Cecily!
[Enter Merriman.]
Merriman. The dog-cart is waiting, sir.
Algernon. Tell it to come round next week, at thesame hour.
Merriman. [Looks at Cecily, who makes nosign.] Yes, sir.
[Merriman retires.]
Cecily. Uncle Jack would be very much annoyed ifhe knew you were staying on till next week, at the same hour.
Algernon. Oh, I don’t care aboutJack. I don’t care for anybody in the whole world butyou. I love you, Cecily. You will marry me,won’t you?
Cecily. You silly boy! Of course. Why, we have been engaged for the last three months.
Algernon. For the last three months?
Cecily. Yes, it will be exactly three months onThursday.
Algernon. But how did we become engaged?
Cecily. Well, ever since dear Uncle Jack firstconfessed to us that he had a younger brother who was very wickedand bad, you of course have formed the chief topic ofconversation between myself and Miss Prism. And of course aman who is much talked about is always very attractive. Onefeels there must be something in him, after all. I daresayit was foolish of me, but I fell in love with you, Ernest.
Algernon. Darling! And when was theengagement actually settled?
Cecily. On the 14th of February last. Wornout by your entire ignorance of my existence, I determined to endthe matter one way or the other, and after a long struggle withmyself I accepted you under this dear old tree here. Thenext day I bought this little ring in your name, and this is thelittle bangle with the true lover’s knot I promised youalways to wear.
Algernon. Did I give you this? It’svery pretty, isn’t it?
Cecily. Yes, you’ve wonderfully good taste,Ernest. It’s the excuse I’ve always given foryour leading such a bad life. And this is the box in whichI keep all your dear letters. [Kneels at table, opens box,and produces letters tied up with blue ribbon.]
Algernon. My letters! But, my own sweetCecily, I have never written you any letters.
Cecily. You need hardly remind me of that,Ernest. I remember only too well that I was forced to writeyour letters for you. I wrote always three times a week,and sometimes oftener.
Algernon. Oh, do let me read them, Cecily?
Cecily. Oh, I couldn’t possibly. Theywould make you far too conceited. [Replaces box.] Thethree you wrote me after I had broken off the engagement are sobeautiful, and so badly spelled, that even now I can hardly readthem without crying a little.
Algernon. But was our engagement ever brokenoff?
Cecily. Of course it was. On the 22nd oflast March. You can see the entry if you like. [Showsdiary.] ‘To-day I broke off my engagement withErnest. I feel it is better to do so. The weatherstill continues charming.’
Algernon. But why on earth did you break itoff? What had I done? I had done nothing atall. Cecily, I am very much hurt indeed to hear you brokeit off. Particularly when the weather was so charming.
Cecily. It would hardly have been a reallyserious engagement if it hadn’t been broken off at leastonce. But I forgave you before the week was out.
Algernon. [Crossing to her, and kneeling.] What a perfect angel you are, Cecily.
Cecily. You dear romantic boy. [He kissesher, she puts her fingers through his hair.] I hope yourhair curls naturally, does it?
Algernon. Yes, darling, with a little help fromothers.
Cecily. I am so glad.
Algernon. You’ll never break off ourengagement again, Cecily?
Cecily. I don’t think I could break it offnow that I have actually met you. Besides, of course, thereis the question of your name.
Algernon. Yes, of course. [Nervously.]
Cecily. You must not laugh at me, darling, but ithad always been a girlish dream of mine to love some one whosename was Ernest. [Algernon rises, Cecilyalso.] There is something in that name that seems toinspire absolute confidence. I pity any poor married womanwhose husband is not called Ernest.
Algernon. But, my dear child, do you mean to sayyou could not love me if I had some other name?
Cecily. But what name?
Algernon. Oh, any name youlike—Algernon—for instance . . .
Cecily. But I don’t like the name ofAlgernon.
Algernon. Well, my own dear, sweet, loving littledarling, I really can’t see why you should object to thename of Algernon. It is not at all a bad name. Infact, it is rather an aristocratic name. Half of the chapswho get into the Bankruptcy Court are called Algernon. Butseriously, Cecily . . . [Moving to her] . . . if my name wasAlgy, couldn’t you love me?
Cecily. [Rising.] I might respect you,Ernest, I might admire your character, but I fear that I shouldnot be able to give you my undivided attention.
Algernon. Ahem! Cecily! [Picking uphat.] Your Rector here is, I suppose, thoroughlyexperienced in the practice of all the rites and ceremonials ofthe Church?
Cecily. Oh, yes. Dr. Chasuble is a mostlearned man. He has never written a single book, so you canimagine how much he knows.
Algernon. I must see him at once on a mostimportant christening—I mean on most importantbusiness.
Cecily. Oh!
Algernon. I shan’t be away more than halfan hour.
Cecily. Considering that we have been engagedsince February the 14th, and that I only met you to-day for thefirst time, I think it is rather hard that you should leave mefor so long a period as half an hour. Couldn’t youmake it twenty minutes?
Algernon. I’ll be back in no time.
[Kisses her and rushes down the garden.]
Cecily. What an impetuous boy he is! I likehis hair so much. I must enter his proposal in mydiary.
[Enter Merriman.]
Merriman. A Miss Fairfax has just called to seeMr. Worthing. On very important business, Miss Fairfaxstates.
Cecily. Isn’t Mr. Worthing in hislibrary?
Merriman. Mr. Worthing went over in the directionof the Rectory some time ago.
Cecily. Pray ask the lady to come out here; Mr.Worthing is sure to be back soon. And you can bringtea.
Merriman. Yes, Miss. [Goes out.]
Cecily. Miss Fairfax! I suppose one of themany good elderly women who are associated with Uncle Jack insome of his philanthropic work in London. I don’tquite like women who are interested in philanthropic work. I think it is so forward of them.
[Enter Merriman.]
Merriman. Miss Fairfax.
[Enter Gwendolen.]
[Exit Merriman.]
Cecily. [Advancing to meet her.] Pray letme introduce myself to you. My name is Cecily Cardew.
Gwendolen. Cecily Cardew? [Moving to herand shaking hands.] What a very sweet name! Somethingtells me that we are going to be great friends. I like youalready more than I can say. My first impressions of peopleare never wrong.
Cecily. How nice of you to like me so much afterwe have known each other such a comparatively short time. Pray sit down.
Gwendolen. [Still standing up.] I may callyou Cecily, may I not?
Cecily. With pleasure!
Gwendolen. And you will always call me Gwendolen,won’t you?
Cecily. If you wish.
Gwendolen. Then that is all quite settled, is itnot?
Cecily. I hope so. [A pause. Theyboth sit down together.]
Gwendolen. Perhaps this might be a favourableopportunity for my mentioning who I am. My father is LordBracknell. You have never heard of papa, I suppose?
Cecily. I don’t think so.
Gwendolen. Outside the family circle, papa, I amglad to say, is entirely unknown. I think that is quite asit should be. The home seems to me to be the proper spherefor the man. And certainly once a man begins to neglect hisdomestic duties he becomes painfully effeminate, does henot? And I don’t like that. It makes men sovery attractive. Cecily, mamma, whose views on educationare remarkably strict, has brought me up to be extremelyshort-sighted; it is part of her system; so do you mind mylooking at you through my glasses?
Cecily. Oh! not at all, Gwendolen. I amvery fond of being looked at.
Gwendolen. [After examining Cecilycarefully through a lorgnette.] You are here on a shortvisit, I suppose.
Cecily. Oh no! I live here.
Gwendolen. [Severely.] Really? Yourmother, no doubt, or some female relative of advanced years,resides here also?
Cecily. Oh no! I have no mother, nor, infact, any relations.
Gwendolen. Indeed?
Cecily. My dear guardian, with the assistance ofMiss Prism, has the arduous task of looking after me.
Gwendolen. Your guardian?
Cecily. Yes, I am Mr. Worthing’s ward.
Gwendolen. Oh! It is strange he nevermentioned to me that he had a ward. How secretive ofhim! He grows more interesting hourly. I am not sure,however, that the news inspires me with feelings of unmixeddelight. [Rising and going to her.] I am very fond ofyou, Cecily; I have liked you ever since I met you! But Iam bound to state that now that I know that you are Mr.Worthing’s ward, I cannot help expressing a wish youwere—well, just a little older than you seem tobe—and not quite so very alluring in appearance. Infact, if I may speak candidly—
Cecily. Pray do! I think that whenever onehas anything unpleasant to say, one should always be quitecandid.
Gwendolen. Well, to speak with perfect candour,Cecily, I wish that you were fully forty-two, and more thanusually plain for your age. Ernest has a strong uprightnature. He is the very soul of truth and honour. Disloyalty would be as impossible to him as deception. Buteven men of the noblest possible moral character are extremelysusceptible to the influence of the physical charms ofothers. Modern, no less than Ancient History, supplies uswith many most painful examples of what I refer to. If itwere not so, indeed, History would be quite unreadable.
Cecily. I beg your pardon, Gwendolen, did you sayErnest?
Gwendolen. Yes.
Cecily. Oh, but it is not Mr. Ernest Worthing whois my guardian. It is his brother—his elderbrother.
Gwendolen. [Sitting down again.] Ernestnever mentioned to me that he had a brother.
Cecily. I am sorry to say they have not been ongood terms for a long time.
Gwendolen. Ah! that accounts for it. Andnow that I think of it I have never heard any man mention hisbrother. The subject seems distasteful to most men. Cecily, you have lifted a load from my mind. I was growingalmost anxious. It would have been terrible if any cloudhad come across a friendship like ours, would it not? Ofcourse you are quite, quite sure that it is not Mr. ErnestWorthing who is your guardian?
Cecily. Quite sure. [A pause.] Infact, I am going to be his.
Gwendolen. [Inquiringly.] I beg yourpardon?
Cecily. [Rather shy and confidingly.] Dearest Gwendolen, there is no reason why I should make a secretof it to you. Our little county newspaper is sure tochronicle the fact next week. Mr. Ernest Worthing and I areengaged to be married.
Gwendolen. [Quite politely, rising.] Mydarling Cecily, I think there must be some slight error. Mr. Ernest Worthing is engaged to me. The announcement willappear in the Morning Post on Saturday at the latest.
Cecily. [Very politely, rising.] I amafraid you must be under some misconception. Ernestproposed to me exactly ten minutes ago. [Shows diary.]
Gwendolen. [Examines diary through her lorgnetttecarefully.] It is certainly very curious, for he asked meto be his wife yesterday afternoon at 5.30. If you wouldcare to verify the incident, pray do so. [Produces diary ofher own.] I never travel without my diary. One shouldalways have something sensational to read in the train. Iam so sorry, dear Cecily, if it is any disappointment to you, butI am afraid I have the prior claim.
Cecily. It would distress me more than I can tellyou, dear Gwendolen, if it caused you any mental or physicalanguish, but I feel bound to point out that since Ernest proposedto you he clearly has changed his mind.
Gwendolen. [Meditatively.] If the poorfellow has been entrapped into any foolish promise I shallconsider it my duty to rescue him at once, and with a firmhand.
Cecily. [Thoughtfully and sadly.] Whateverunfortunate entanglement my dear boy may have got into, I willnever reproach him with it after we are married.
Gwendolen. Do you allude to me, Miss Cardew, asan entanglement? You are presumptuous. On an occasionof this kind it becomes more than a moral duty to speakone’s mind. It becomes a pleasure.
Cecily. Do you suggest, Miss Fairfax, that Ientrapped Ernest into an engagement? How dare you? This is no time for wearing the shallow mask of manners. When I see a spade I call it a spade.
Gwendolen. [Satirically.] I am glad to saythat I have never seen a spade. It is obvious that oursocial spheres have been widely different.
[Enter Merriman, followed by the footman. Hecarries a salver, table cloth, and plate stand. Cecily is about to retort. The presence of theservants exercises a restraining influence, under which bothgirls chafe.]
Merriman. Shall I lay tea here as usual,Miss?
Cecily. [Sternly, in a calm voice.] Yes, asusual. [Merriman begins to clear table and laycloth. A long pause. Cecily andGwendolen glare at each other.]
Gwendolen. Are there many interesting walks inthe vicinity, Miss Cardew?
Cecily. Oh! yes! a great many. From the topof one of the hills quite close one can see five counties.
Gwendolen. Five counties! I don’tthink I should like that; I hate crowds.
Cecily. [Sweetly.] I suppose that is whyyou live in town? [Gwendolen bites her lip, andbeats her foot nervously with her parasol.]
Gwendolen. [Looking round.] Quite awell-kept garden this is, Miss Cardew.
Cecily. So glad you like it, Miss Fairfax.
Gwendolen. I had no idea there were any flowersin the country.
Cecily. Oh, flowers are as common here, MissFairfax, as people are in London.
Gwendolen. Personally I cannot understand howanybody manages to exist in the country, if anybody who isanybody does. The country always bores me to death.
Cecily. Ah! This is what the newspaperscall agricultural depression, is it not? I believe thearistocracy are suffering very much from it just atpresent. It is almost an epidemic amongst them, I have beentold. May I offer you some tea, Miss Fairfax?
Gwendolen. [With elaborate politeness.] Thank you. [Aside.] Detestable girl! But Irequire tea!
Cecily. [Sweetly.] Sugar?
Gwendolen. [Superciliously.] No, thankyou. Sugar is not fashionable any more. [Cecilylooks angrily at her, takes up the tongs and puts four lumps ofsugar into the cup.]
Cecily. [Severely.] Cake or bread andbutter?
Gwendolen. [In a bored manner.] Bread andbutter, please. Cake is rarely seen at the best housesnowadays.
Cecily. [Cuts a very large slice of cake, andputs it on the tray.] Hand that to Miss Fairfax.
[Merriman does so, and goes out with footman. Gwendolen drinks the tea and makes a grimace. Putsdown cup at once, reaches out her hand to the bread and butter,looks at it, and finds it is cake. Rises inindignation.]
Gwendolen. You have filled my tea with lumps ofsugar, and though I asked most distinctly for bread and butter,you have given me cake. I am known for the gentleness of mydisposition, and the extraordinary sweetness of my nature, but Iwarn you, Miss Cardew, you may go too far.
Cecily. [Rising.] To save my poor,innocent, trusting boy from the machinations of any other girlthere are no lengths to which I would not go.
Gwendolen. From the moment I saw you I distrustedyou. I felt that you were false and deceitful. I amnever deceived in such matters. My first impressions ofpeople are invariably right.
Cecily. It seems to me, Miss Fairfax, that I amtrespassing on your valuable time. No doubt you have manyother calls of a similar character to make in theneighbourhood.
[Enter Jack.]
Gwendolen. [Catching sight of him.] Ernest! My own Ernest!
Jack. Gwendolen! Darling! [Offers tokiss her.]
Gwendolen. [Draws back.] A moment! May I ask if you are engaged to be married to this younglady? [Points to Cecily.]
Jack. [Laughing.] To dear littleCecily! Of course not! What could have put such anidea into your pretty little head?
Gwendolen. Thank you. You may! [Offers her cheek.]
Cecily. [Very sweetly.] I knew there mustbe some misunderstanding, Miss Fairfax. The gentleman whosearm is at present round your waist is my guardian, Mr. JohnWorthing.
Gwendolen. I beg your pardon?
Cecily. This is Uncle Jack.
Gwendolen. [Receding.] Jack! Oh!
[Enter Algernon.]
Cecily. Here is Ernest.
Algernon. [Goes straight over to Cecilywithout noticing any one else.] My own love! [Offersto kiss her.]
Cecily. [Drawing back.] A moment,Ernest! May I ask you—are you engaged to be marriedto this young lady?
Algernon. [Looking round.] To what younglady? Good heavens! Gwendolen!
Cecily. Yes! to good heavens, Gwendolen, I meanto Gwendolen.
Algernon. [Laughing.] Of course not! What could have put such an idea into your pretty littlehead?
Cecily. Thank you. [Presenting her cheek tobe kissed.] You may. [Algernon kissesher.]
Gwendolen. I felt there was some slight error,Miss Cardew. The gentleman who is now embracing you is mycousin, Mr. Algernon Moncrieff.
Cecily. [Breaking away fromAlgernon.] Algernon Moncrieff! Oh! [Thetwo girls move towards each other and put their arms round eachother’s waists as if for protection.]
Cecily. Are you called Algernon?
Algernon. I cannot deny it.
Cecily. Oh!
Gwendolen. Is your name really John?
Jack. [Standing rather proudly.] I coulddeny it if I liked. I could deny anything if I liked. But my name certainly is John. It has been John foryears.
Cecily. [To Gwendolen.] A grossdeception has been practised on both of us.
Gwendolen. My poor wounded Cecily!
Cecily. My sweet wronged Gwendolen!
Gwendolen. [Slowly and seriously.] You willcall me sister, will you not? [They embrace. Jack and Algernon groan and walk up and down.]
Cecily. [Rather brightly.] There is justone question I would like to be allowed to ask my guardian.
Gwendolen. An admirable idea! Mr. Worthing,there is just one question I would like to be permitted to put toyou. Where is your brother Ernest? We are bothengaged to be married to your brother Ernest, so it is a matterof some importance to us to know where your brother Ernest is atpresent.
Jack. [Slowly and hesitatingly.] Gwendolen—Cecily—it is very painful for me to beforced to speak the truth. It is the first time in my lifethat I have ever been reduced to such a painful position, and Iam really quite inexperienced in doing anything of thekind. However, I will tell you quite frankly that I have nobrother Ernest. I have no brother at all. I never hada brother in my life, and I certainly have not the smallestintention of ever having one in the future.
Cecily. [Surprised.] No brother at all?
Jack. [Cheerily.] None!
Gwendolen. [Severely.] Had you never abrother of any kind?
Jack. [Pleasantly.] Never. Not evenof an kind.
Gwendolen. I am afraid it is quite clear, Cecily,that neither of us is engaged to be married to any one.
Cecily. It is not a very pleasant position for ayoung girl suddenly to find herself in. Is it?
Gwendolen. Let us go into the house. Theywill hardly venture to come after us there.
Cecily. No, men are so cowardly, aren’tthey?
[They retire into the house with scornful looks.]
Jack. This ghastly state of things is what youcall Bunburying, I suppose?
Algernon. Yes, and a perfectly wonderful Bunburyit is. The most wonderful Bunbury I have ever had in mylife.
Jack. Well, you’ve no right whatsoever toBunbury here.
Algernon. That is absurd. One has a rightto Bunbury anywhere one chooses. Every serious Bunburyistknows that.
Jack. Serious Bunburyist! Good heavens!
Algernon. Well, one must be serious aboutsomething, if one wants to have any amusement in life. Ihappen to be serious about Bunburying. What on earth youare serious about I haven’t got the remotest idea. About everything, I should fancy. You have such anabsolutely trivial nature.
Jack. Well, the only small satisfaction I have inthe whole of this wretched business is that your friend Bunburyis quite exploded. You won’t be able to run down tothe country quite so often as you used to do, dear Algy. And a very good thing too.
Algernon. Your brother is a little off colour,isn’t he, dear Jack? You won’t be able todisappear to London quite so frequently as your wicked customwas. And not a bad thing either.
Jack. As for your conduct towards Miss Cardew, Imust say that your taking in a sweet, simple, innocent girl likethat is quite inexcusable. To say nothing of the fact thatshe is my ward.
Algernon. I can see no possible defence at allfor your deceiving a brilliant, clever, thoroughly experiencedyoung lady like Miss Fairfax. To say nothing of the factthat she is my cousin.
Jack. I wanted to be engaged to Gwendolen, thatis all. I love her.
Algernon. Well, I simply wanted to be engaged toCecily. I adore her.
Jack. There is certainly no chance of yourmarrying Miss Cardew.
Algernon. I don’t think there is muchlikelihood, Jack, of you and Miss Fairfax being united.
Jack. Well, that is no business of yours.
Algernon. If it was my business, I wouldn’ttalk about it. [Begins to eat muffins.] It is veryvulgar to talk about one’s business. Only people likestock-brokers do that, and then merely at dinner parties.
Jack. How can you sit there, calmly eatingmuffins when we are in this horrible trouble, I can’t makeout. You seem to me to be perfectly heartless.
Algernon. Well, I can’t eat muffins in anagitated manner. The butter would probably get on mycuffs. One should always eat muffins quite calmly. Itis the only way to eat them.
Jack. I say it’s perfectly heartless youreating muffins at all, under the circumstances.
Algernon. When I am in trouble, eating is theonly thing that consoles me. Indeed, when I am in reallygreat trouble, as any one who knows me intimately will tell you,I refuse everything except food and drink. At the presentmoment I am eating muffins because I am unhappy. Besides, Iam particularly fond of muffins. [Rising.]
Jack. [Rising.] Well, that is no reason whyyou should eat them all in that greedy way. [Takes muffins fromAlgernon.]
Algernon. [Offering tea-cake.] I wish youwould have tea-cake instead. I don’t liketea-cake.
Jack. Good heavens! I suppose a man may eathis own muffins in his own garden.
Algernon. But you have just said it was perfectlyheartless to eat muffins.
Jack. I said it was perfectly heartless of you,under the circumstances. That is a very differentthing.
Algernon. That may be. But the muffins arethe same. [He seizes the muffin-dish from Jack.]
Jack. Algy, I wish to goodness you would go.
Algernon. You can’t possibly ask me to gowithout having some dinner. It’s absurd. Inever go without my dinner. No one ever does, exceptvegetarians and people like that. Besides I have just madearrangements with Dr. Chasuble to be christened at a quarter tosix under the name of Ernest.
Jack. My dear fellow, the sooner you give up thatnonsense the better. I made arrangements this morning withDr. Chasuble to be christened myself at 5.30, and I naturallywill take the name of Ernest. Gwendolen would wishit. We can’t both be christened Ernest. It’s absurd. Besides, I have a perfect right to bechristened if I like. There is no evidence at all that Ihave ever been christened by anybody. I should think itextremely probable I never was, and so does Dr. Chasuble. It is entirely different in your case. You have beenchristened already.
Algernon. Yes, but I have not been christened foryears.
Jack. Yes, but you have been christened. That is the important thing.
Algernon. Quite so. So I know myconstitution can stand it. If you are not quite sure aboutyour ever having been christened, I must say I think it ratherdangerous your venturing on it now. It might make you veryunwell. You can hardly have forgotten that some one veryclosely connected with you was very nearly carried off this weekin Paris by a severe chill.
Jack. Yes, but you said yourself that a severechill was not hereditary.
Algernon. It usen’t to be, I know—butI daresay it is now. Science is always making wonderfulimprovements in things.
Jack. [Picking up the muffin-dish.] Oh,that is nonsense; you are always talking nonsense.
Algernon. Jack, you are at the muffinsagain! I wish you wouldn’t. There are only twoleft. [Takes them.] I told you I was particularlyfond of muffins.
Jack. But I hate tea-cake.
Algernon. Why on earth then do you allow tea-caketo be served up for your guests? What ideas you have ofhospitality!
Jack. Algernon! I have already told you togo. I don’t want you here. Why don’t yougo!
Algernon. I haven’t quite finished my teayet! and there is still one muffin left. [Jackgroans, and sinks into a chair. Algernon stillcontinues eating.]
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