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An Ideal Husband
By
Oscar Wilde
Contents
THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY=
span>
THE EARL OF CAVERSHAM, K.G.
VISCOUNT
GORING, his Son
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN, Bart., Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs
VICOMTE DE
NANJAC, Attaché at the French Embassy in London
MR. MONTFO=
RD
MASON, But=
ler
to Sir Robert Chiltern
PHIPPS, Lo=
rd
Goring’s Servant
JAMES }
HAROLD } Footmen
LADY CHILT=
ERN
LADY MARKB=
Y
THE COUNTE=
SS
OF BASILDON
MRS. MARCH=
MONT
MISS MABEL
CHILTERN, Sir Robert Chiltern’s Sister
MRS. CHEVE=
LEY
ACT I. The Octagon Room in Sir Robert
Chiltern’s House in Grosvenor Square.
ACT II.
ACT III. The Library of Lord Goring’s=
House
in Curzon Street.
ACT IV.
TIME: The
Present
PLACE: Lon=
don.
The action of th=
e play
is completed within twenty-four hours.
SCENE
The octagon room at Sir Robert
Chiltern’s house in Grosvenor Square.
[The room =
is
brilliantly lighted and full of guests.&nb=
sp;
At the top of the staircase stands LADY CHILTERN, a woman of grave G=
reek
beauty, about twenty-seven years of age.&n=
bsp;
She receives the guests as they come up. Over the well of the staircase han=
gs a
great chandelier with wax lights, which illumine a large eighteenth-century
French tapestry—representing the Triumph of Love, from a design by Bo=
ucher—that
is stretched on the staircase wall.
On the right is the entrance to the music-room. The sound of a string quartette is
faintly heard. The entrance o=
n the
left leads to other reception-rooms.
MRS. MARCHMONT and LADY BASILDON, two very pretty women, are seated =
together
on a Louis Seize sofa. They a=
re
types of exquisite fragility. Their
affectation of manner has a delicate charm. Watteau would have loved to pai=
nt
them.]
MRS.
MARCHMONT. Going on to the
Hartlocks’ to-night, Margaret?
LADY
BASILDON. I suppose so. Are you?
MRS.
MARCHMONT. Yes. Horribly tedious parties they give,
don’t they?
LADY
BASILDON. Horribly tedious! Never know why I go. Never know why I go anywhere.
MRS.
MARCHMONT. I come here to be
educated.
LADY
BASILDON. Ah! I hate being
educated!
MRS.
MARCHMONT. So do I. It puts one almost on a level with=
the commercial
classes, doesn’t it? Bu=
t dear
Gertrude Chiltern is always telling me that I should have some serious purp=
ose
in life. So I come here to tr=
y to
find one.
LADY
BASILDON. [Looking round thro=
ugh
her lorgnette.] I don’t=
see anybody
here to-night whom one could possibly call a serious purpose. The man who t=
ook
me in to dinner talked to me about his wife the whole time.
MRS.
MARCHMONT. How very trivial o=
f him!
LADY
BASILDON. Terribly trivial! What did your man talk about?
MRS.
MARCHMONT. About myself.
LADY
BASILDON. [Languidly.] And were you interested?
MRS.
MARCHMONT. [Shaking her head.=
] Not in the smallest degree.
LADY
BASILDON. What martyrs we are=
, dear
Margaret!
MRS.
MARCHMONT. [Rising.] And how well it becomes us, Olivia=
!
[They rise=
and
go towards the music-room. The
VICOMTE DE NANJAC, a young attaché known for his neckties and his
Anglomania, approaches with a low bow, and enters into conversation.]
MASON. [Announcing guests from the top of=
the
staircase.] Mr. and Lady Jane
Barford. Lord Caversham.
[Enter LORD
CAVERSHAM, an old gentleman of seventy, wearing the riband and star of the
Garter. A fine Whig type. Rather like a portrait by Lawrence=
.]
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Good evening, Lady
Chiltern! Has my good-for-not=
hing young
son been here?
LADY
CHILTERN. [Smiling.] I don’t think Lord Goring has
arrived yet.
MABEL
CHILTERN. [Coming up to LORD
CAVERSHAM.] Why do you call L=
ord Goring
good-for-nothing?
[MABEL
CHILTERN is a perfect example of the English type of prettiness, the apple-=
blossom
type. She has all the fragran=
ce and
freedom of a flower. There is
ripple after ripple of sunlight in her hair, and the little mouth, with its
parted lips, is expectant, like the mouth of a child. She has the fascinating tyranny of
youth, and the astonishing courage of innocence. To sane people she is not reminisc=
ent of
any work of art. But she is r=
eally
like a Tanagra statuette, and would be rather annoyed if she were told so.]=
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Because he leads s=
uch an
idle life.
MABEL CHIL=
TERN. How can you say such a thing? Why, he rides in the Row at ten
o’clock in the morning, goes to the Opera three times a week, changes=
his
clothes at least five times a day, and dines out every night of the
season. You don’t call =
that
leading an idle life, do you?
LORD
CAVERSHAM. [Looking at her wi=
th a
kindly twinkle in his eyes.] You are a very charming young lady!
MABEL
CHILTERN. How sweet of you to=
say
that, Lord Caversham! Do come=
to us
more often. You know we are a=
lways
at home on Wednesdays, and you look so well with your star!
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Never go anywhere
now. Sick of London Society. =
Shouldn’t
mind being introduced to my own tailor; he always votes on the right side.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> But object strongly to being sent =
down
to dinner with my wife’s milliner.&n=
bsp;
Never could stand Lady Caversham’s bonnets.
MABEL
CHILTERN. Oh, I love London
Society! I think it has immen=
sely improved. It is entirely composed now of bea=
utiful
idiots and brilliant lunatics. Just
what Society should be.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Hum! Which is Goring? Beautiful idiot, or the other thin=
g?
MABEL
CHILTERN. [Gravely.] I have been obliged for the presen=
t to
put Lord Goring into a class quite by himself. But he is developing charmingly!
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Into what?
MABEL
CHILTERN. [With a little
curtsey.] I hope to let you k=
now
very soon, Lord Caversham!
MASON. [Announcing guests.] Lady Markby. Mrs. Cheveley.
[Enter LADY
MARKBY and MRS. CHEVELEY. LADY
MARKBY is a pleasant, kindly, popular woman, with gray hair à la
marquise and good lace. MRS. CHEVELEY, who accompanies her, is tall and rat=
her
slight. Lips very thin and
highly-coloured, a line of scarlet on a pallid face. Venetian red hair,
aquiline nose, and long throat.
Rouge accentuates the natural paleness of her complexion. Gray-green eyes that move
restlessly. She is in heliotr=
ope,
with diamonds. She looks rath=
er
like an orchid, and makes great demands on one’s curiosity. In all her movements she is extrem=
ely
graceful. A work of art, on t=
he
whole, but showing the influence of too many schools.]
LADY
MARKBY. Good evening, dear
Gertrude! So kind of you to l=
et me bring
my friend, Mrs. Cheveley. Two=
such
charming women should know each other!
LADY
CHILTERN. [Advances towards M=
RS.
CHEVELEY with a sweet smile. Then suddenly stops, and bows rather
distantly.] I think Mrs. Chev=
eley
and I have met before. I did =
not
know she had married a second time.
LADY
MARKBY. [Genially.] Ah, nowadays people marry as often=
as
they can, don’t they? I=
t is
most fashionable. [To DUCHESS=
OF
MARYBOROUGH.] Dear Duchess, and how is the Duke? Brain still weak, I suppose? Well, that is only to be expected,=
is it
not? His good father was just=
the same. There is nothing like race, is the=
re?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [Playing with her
fan.] But have we really met
before, Lady Chiltern? I
can’t remember where. I=
have
been out of England for so long.
LADY
CHILTERN. We were at school
together, Mrs. Cheveley.
MRS. CHEVE=
LEY
[Superciliously.] Indeed? I have forgotten all about my scho=
oldays. I have a vague impression that the=
y were
detestable.
LADY
CHILTERN. [Coldly.] I am not surprised!
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [In her sweetest
manner.] Do you know, I am qu=
ite looking
forward to meeting your clever husband, Lady Chiltern. Since he has been at the Foreign O=
ffice,
he has been so much talked of in Vienna. They actually succeed in spelling =
his
name right in the newspapers. That in
itself is fame, on the continent.
LADY
CHILTERN. I hardly think ther=
e will
be much in common between you and my husband, Mrs. Cheveley! [Moves away.]
VICOMTE DE
NANJAC. Ah! chère Mada=
me,
queue surprise! I have not se=
en you
since Berlin!
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Not since Berlin,
Vicomte. Five years ago!
VICOMTE DE
NANJAC. And you are younger a=
nd
more beautiful than ever. How do you manage it?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. By making it a rule=
only
to talk to perfectly charming people like yourself.
VICOMTE DE
NANJAC. Ah! you flatter me. You butter me, as they say here.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Do they say that
here? How dreadful of them!
VICOMTE DE
NANJAC. Yes, they have a wond=
erful
language. It should be more w=
idely
known.
[SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN enters. A man of for=
ty,
but looking somewhat younger.
Clean-shaven, with finely-cut features, dark-haired and dark-eyed. A personality of mark. Not popular—few personalitie=
s are. But intensely admired by the few, =
and
deeply respected by the many. The
note of his manner is that of perfect distinction, with a slight touch of
pride. One feels that he is
conscious of the success he has made in life. A nervous temperament, with a tired
look. The firmly-chiselled mouth and chin contrast strikingly with the roma=
ntic
expression in the deep-set eyes.
The variance is suggestive of an almost complete separation of passi=
on
and intellect, as though thought and emotion were each isolated in its own
sphere through some violence of will-power. There is nervousness in the nostri=
ls,
and in the pale, thin, pointed hands.
It would be inaccurate to call him picturesque. Picturesqueness cannot survive the=
House
of Commons. But Vandyck would have liked to have painted his head.]
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Good evening, Lady
Markby! I hope you have broug=
ht Sir
John with you?
LADY
MARKBY. Oh! I have brought a =
much
more charming person than Sir John.
Sir John’s temper since he has taken seriously to politics has=
become
quite unbearable. Really, now=
that
the House of Commons is trying to become useful, it does a great deal of ha=
rm.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. I hope not, Lady
Markby. At any rate we do our=
best
to waste the public time, don’t we?&=
nbsp;
But who is this charming person you have been kind enough to bring to
us?
LADY
MARKBY. Her name is Mrs.
Cheveley! One of the Dorsetsh=
ire Cheveleys,
I suppose. But I really don=
8217;t
know. Families are so mixed n=
owadays. Indeed, as a rule, everybody turns=
out
to be somebody else.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Mrs. Cheveley? I seem to know the name.
LADY
MARKBY. She has just arrived =
from
Vienna.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Ah! yes. I think I know whom you mean.
LADY
MARKBY. Oh! she goes everywhe=
re
there, and has such pleasant scandals about all her friends. I really must go to Vienna next wi=
nter. I
hope there is a good chef at the Embassy.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. If there is not, the
Ambassador will certainly have to be recalled. Pray point out Mrs. Cheveley to me=
. I should like to see her.
LADY
MARKBY. Let me introduce you.=
[To MRS. CHEVELEY.] My dear, Sir Robert Chiltern is dy=
ing to
know you!
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Bowing.] Every one is dying to know the bri=
lliant
Mrs. Cheveley. Our attach&eac=
ute;s
at Vienna write to us about nothing else.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Thank you, Sir
Robert. An acquaintance that =
begins
with a compliment is sure to develop into a real friendship. It starts in the right manner. And I find that I know Lady Chilte=
rn already.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Really?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Yes. She has just reminded me that we w=
ere at
school together. I remember it
perfectly now. She always got=
the
good conduct prize. I have a
distinct recollection of Lady Chiltern always getting the good conduct priz=
e!
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Smiling.] And what prizes did you get, Mrs. =
Cheveley?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. My prizes came a li=
ttle
later on in life. I don’=
;t
think any of them were for good conduct.&n=
bsp;
I forget!
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. I am sure they were=
for
something charming!
MRS.
CHEVELEY. I don’t know =
that
women are always rewarded for being charming. I think they are usually punished =
for
it! Certainly, more women gro=
w old
nowadays through the faithfulness of their admirers than through anything
else! At least that is the on=
ly way
I can account for the terribly haggard look of most of your pretty women in
London!
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. What an appalling
philosophy that sounds! To at=
tempt
to classify you, Mrs. Cheveley, would be an impertinence. But may I ask, at heart, are you an
optimist or a pessimist? Thos=
e seem
to be the only two fashionable religions left to us nowadays.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Oh, I’m
neither. Optimism begins in a=
broad
grin, and Pessimism ends with blue spectacles. Besides, they are both of them mer=
ely
poses.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. You prefer to be na=
tural?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Sometimes. But it is such a very difficult po=
se to
keep up.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. What would those mo=
dern
psychological novelists, of whom we hear so much, say to such a theory as t=
hat?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Ah! the strength of=
women
comes from the fact that psychology cannot explain us. Men can be analysed, women . . . m=
erely adored.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. You think science c=
annot
grapple with the problem of women?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Science can never g=
rapple
with the irrational. That is =
why it
has no future before it, in this world.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. And women represent=
the
irrational.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Well-dressed women =
do.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [With a polite bow.=
] I fear I could hardly agree with y=
ou
there. But do sit down. And now tell me, what makes you le=
ave your
brilliant Vienna for our gloomy London—or perhaps the question is ind=
iscreet?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Questions are never
indiscreet. Answers sometimes=
are.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Well, at any rate, =
may I
know if it is politics or pleasure?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Politics are my only
pleasure. You see nowadays it=
is not
fashionable to flirt till one is forty, or to be romantic till one is forty=
-five,
so we poor women who are under thirty, or say we are, have nothing open to =
us
but politics or philanthropy. And
philanthropy seems to me to have become simply the refuge of people who wis=
h to
annoy their fellow-creatures. I
prefer politics. I think they=
are
more . . . becoming!
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. A political life is=
a
noble career!
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Sometimes. And sometimes it is a clever game,=
Sir Robert. And sometimes it is a great nuisan=
ce.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Which do you find i=
t?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. I? A combination of all three. [Drops her fan.]
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Picks up fan.] Allow me!
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Thanks.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. But you have not to=
ld me
yet what makes you honour London so suddenly. Our season is almost over.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Oh! I don’t c=
are
about the London season! It i=
s too matrimonial. People are either hunting for husb=
ands,
or hiding from them. I wanted=
to
meet you. It is quite true. You know what a woman’s curi=
osity
is. Almost as great as a man&=
#8217;s! I wanted immensely to meet you, an=
d . .
. to ask you to do something for me.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. I hope it is not a =
little
thing, Mrs. Cheveley. I find =
that
little things are so very difficult to do.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [After a momentR=
17;s
reflection.] No, I don’t
think it is quite a little thing.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. I am so glad. Do tell me what it is.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Later on. [Rises.] And now may I walk through your be=
autiful
house? I hear your pictures a=
re
charming. Poor Baron Arnheim&=
#8212;you
remember the Baron?—used to tell me you had some wonderful Corots.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [With an almost
imperceptible start.] Did you=
know
Baron Arnheim well?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [Smiling.] Intimately. Did you?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. At one time.
MRS. CHEVE=
LEY. Wonderful man, wasn’t he?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [After a pause.]
MRS.
CHEVELEY. I often think it su=
ch a
pity he never wrote his memoirs. They would have been most interesting.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Yes: he knew men and
cities well, like the old Greek.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Without the dreadful
disadvantage of having a Penelope waiting at home for him.
MASON. Lord Goring.
[Enter LORD
GORING. Thirty-four, but alwa=
ys
says he is younger. A well-bred, expressionless face. He is clever, but would not like t=
o be
thought so. A flawless dandy,=
he
would be annoyed if he were considered romantic. He plays with life, and is on perf=
ectly good
terms with the world. He is f=
ond of
being misunderstood. It gives=
him a
post of vantage.]
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Good evening, my de=
ar
Arthur! Mrs. Cheveley, allow =
me to
introduce to you Lord Goring, the idlest man in London.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. I have met Lord Gor=
ing
before.
LORD
GORING. [Bowing.] I did not think you would remember=
me,
Mrs. Cheveley.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. My memory is under
admirable control. And are you
still a bachelor?
LORD
GORING. I . . . believe so.
MRS. CHEVELEY. How very romantic!<= o:p>
LORD
GORING. Oh! I am not at all
romantic. I am not old enough=
. I leave romance to my seniors.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Lord Goring is the =
result
of Boodle’s Club, Mrs. Cheveley.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. He reflects every c=
redit
on the institution.
LORD
GORING. May I ask are you sta=
ying
in London long?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. That depends partly=
on
the weather, partly on the cooking, and partly on Sir Robert.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. You are not going to
plunge us into a European war, I hope?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. There is no danger,=
at
present!
[She nods =
to
LORD GORING, with a look of amusement in her eyes, and goes out with SIR RO=
BERT
CHILTERN. LORD GORING saunter=
s over
to MABEL CHILTERN.]
MABEL CHILTERN. You are very late!<= o:p>
LORD
GORING. Have you missed me?
MABEL
CHILTERN. Awfully!
LORD
GORING. Then I am sorry I did=
not
stay away longer. I like bein=
g missed.
MABEL
CHILTERN. How very selfish of=
you!
LORD
GORING. I am very selfish.
MABEL
CHILTERN. You are always tell=
ing me
of your bad qualities, Lord Goring.
LORD
GORING. I have only told you =
half
of them as yet, Miss Mabel!
MABEL CHIL=
TERN. Are the others very bad?
LORD
GORING. Quite dreadful! When I think of them at night I go=
to sleep
at once.
MABEL
CHILTERN. Well, I delight in =
your
bad qualities. I wouldn’=
;t
have you part with one of them.
LORD
GORING. How very nice of you!=
But then you are always nice. By the way, I want to ask you a
question, Miss Mabel. Who bro=
ught
Mrs. Cheveley here? That woma=
n in
heliotrope, who has just gone out of the room with your brother?
MABEL CHILTERN. Oh, I think Lady Ma= rkby brought her. Why do you ask?<= o:p>
LORD
GORING. I haven’t seen =
her
for years, that is all.
MABEL
CHILTERN. What an absurd reas=
on!
LORD
GORING. All reasons are absur=
d.
MABEL
CHILTERN. What sort of a woma=
n is
she?
LORD
GORING. Oh! a genius in the d=
aytime
and a beauty at night!
MABEL
CHILTERN. I dislike her alrea=
dy.
LORD
GORING. That shows your admir=
able
good taste.
VICOMTE DE
NANJAC. [Approaching.] Ah, the English young lady is the =
dragon
of good taste, is she not? Qu=
ite
the dragon of good taste.
LORD GORIN=
G. So the newspapers are always telli=
ng us.
VICOMTE DE
NANJAC. I read all your Engli=
sh
newspapers. I find them so am=
using.
LORD
GORING. Then, my dear Nanjac,=
you
must certainly read between the lines.
VICOMTE DE
NANJAC. I should like to, but=
my
professor objects. [To MABEL
CHILTERN.] May I have the ple=
asure
of escorting you to the music-room, Mademoiselle?
MABEL
CHILTERN. [Looking very
disappointed.] Delighted, Vic=
omte, quite
delighted! [Turning to LORD
GORING.] Aren’t you com=
ing to
the music-room?
LORD
GORING. Not if there is any m=
usic
going on, Miss Mabel.
MABEL
CHILTERN. [Severely.] The music is in German. You would not understand it.
[Goes out =
with
the VICOMTE DE NANJAC. LORD
CAVERSHAM comes up to his son.]
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Well, sir! what ar=
e you
doing here? Wasting your life=
as
usual! You should be in bed,
sir. You keep too late hours!=
I heard of you the other night at =
Lady
Rufford’s dancing till four o’clock in the morning!
LORD
GORING. Only a quarter to fou=
r,
father.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Can’t make o=
ut how
you stand London Society. The=
thing
has gone to the dogs, a lot of damned nobodies talking about nothing.
LORD
GORING. I love talking about
nothing, father. It is the on=
ly
thing I know anything about.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. You seem to me to =
be
living entirely for pleasure.
LORD
GORING. What else is there to=
live
for, father? Nothing ages lik=
e happiness.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. You are heartless,=
sir,
very heartless!
LORD
GORING. I hope not, father. Good evening, Lady Basildon!
LADY
BASILDON. [Arching two pretty
eyebrows.] Are you here? I had no idea you ever came to pol=
itical
parties!
LORD
GORING. I adore political
parties. They are the only pl=
ace
left to us where people don’t talk politics.
LADY
BASILDON. I delight in talking
politics. I talk them all day=
long.
But I can’t bear listening to them.&=
nbsp;
I don’t know how the unfortunate men in the House stand these =
long
debates.
LORD
GORING. By never listening.
LADY
BASILDON. Really?
LORD
GORING. [In his most serious
manner.] Of course. You see, it is a very dangerous th=
ing to
listen. If one listens one ma=
y be
convinced; and a man who allows himself to be convinced by an argument is a=
thoroughly
unreasonable person.
LADY
BASILDON. Ah! that accounts f=
or so
much in men that I have never understood, and so much in women that their
husbands never appreciate in them!
MRS.
MARCHMONT. [With a sigh.] Our husbands never appreciate anyt=
hing in
us. We have to go to others f=
or
that!
LADY
BASILDON. [Emphatically.] Yes, always to others, have we not=
?
LORD
GORING. [Smiling.] And those are the views of the two
ladies who are known to have the most admirable husbands in London.
MRS.
MARCHMONT. That is exactly wh=
at we
can’t stand. My Reginal=
d is quite
hopelessly faultless. He is r=
eally
unendurably so, at times! There is not the smallest element of excitement in
knowing him.
LORD
GORING. How terrible! Really, the thing should be more w=
idely known!
LADY
BASILDON. Basildon is quite a=
s bad;
he is as domestic as if he was a bachelor.
MRS. MARCHMONT. [Pressing LADY BASILDON’S hand.] My po= or Olivia! We have married perfect husbands, and we are well punished for it.<= o:p>
LORD
GORING. I should have thought=
it
was the husbands who were punished.
MRS.
MARCHMONT. [Drawing herself
up.] Oh, dear no! They are as happy as possible! And as for trusting us, it is trag=
ic how
much they trust us.
LADY
BASILDON. Perfectly tragic!
LORD
GORING. Or comic, Lady Basild=
on?
LADY
BASILDON. Certainly not comic=
, Lord
Goring. How unkind of you to =
suggest
such a thing!
MRS.
MARCHMONT. I am afraid Lord G=
oring
is in the camp of the enemy, as usual.&nbs=
p;
I saw him talking to that Mrs. Cheveley when he came in.
LORD
GORING. Handsome woman, Mrs.
Cheveley!
LADY
BASILDON. [Stiffly.] Please don’t praise other wo=
men in
our presence. You might wait =
for us
to do that!
LORD
GORING. I did wait.
MRS.
MARCHMONT. Well, we are not g=
oing
to praise her. I hear she wen=
t to
the Opera on Monday night, and told Tommy Rufford at supper that, as far as=
she
could see, London Society was entirely made up of dowdies and dandies.
LORD
GORING. She is quite right,
too. The men are all dowdies =
and
the women are all dandies, aren’t they?
MRS.
MARCHMONT. [After a pause.] Oh! do you really think that is wh=
at Mrs.
Cheveley meant?
LORD
GORING. Of course. And a very sensible remark for Mrs.
Cheveley to make, too.
[Enter MAB=
EL
CHILTERN. She joins the group=
.]
MABEL
CHILTERN. Why are you talking=
about
Mrs. Cheveley? Everybody is t=
alking
about Mrs. Cheveley! Lord Gor=
ing
says—what did you say, Lord Goring, about Mrs. Cheveley? Oh! I remember, that she was a gen=
ius in
the daytime and a beauty at night.
LADY
BASILDON. What a horrid
combination! So very unnatura=
l!
MRS.
MARCHMONT. [In her most dreamy
manner.] I like looking at ge=
niuses,
and listening to beautiful people.
LORD
GORING. Ah! that is morbid of=
you,
Mrs. Marchmont!
MRS.
MARCHMONT. [Brightening to a =
look
of real pleasure.] I am so gl=
ad to
hear you say that. Marchmont =
and I
have been married for seven years, and he has never once told me that I was
morbid. Men are so painfully
unobservant!
LADY
BASILDON. [Turning to her.] I have always said, dear Margaret,=
that
you were the most morbid person in London.
MRS.
MARCHMONT. Ah! but you are al=
ways
sympathetic, Olivia!
MABEL
CHILTERN. Is it morbid to hav=
e a
desire for food? I have a gre=
at desire
for food. Lord Goring, will y=
ou
give me some supper?
LORD
GORING. With pleasure, Miss
Mabel. [Moves away with her.]=
MABEL
CHILTERN. How horrid you have
been! You have never talked t=
o me the
whole evening!
LORD
GORING. How could I? You went away with the
child-diplomatist.
MABEL
CHILTERN. You might have foll=
owed
us. Pursuit would have been o=
nly
polite. I don’t think I=
like
you at all this evening!
LORD
GORING. I like you immensely.=
MABEL
CHILTERN. Well, I wish you=
217;d
show it in a more marked way! [They
go downstairs.]
MRS.
MARCHMONT. Olivia, I have a c=
urious
feeling of absolute faintness. I think I should like some supper very
much. I know I should like so=
me supper.
LADY
BASILDON. I am positively dyi=
ng for
supper, Margaret!
MRS.
MARCHMONT. Men are so horribly
selfish, they never think of these things.
LADY
BASILDON. Men are grossly mat=
erial,
grossly material!
[The VICOM=
TE
DE NANJAC enters from the music-room with some other guests. After having carefully examined al=
l the
people present, he approaches LADY BASILDON.]
VICOMTE DE
NANJAC. May I have the honour=
of
taking you down to supper, Comtesse?
LADY
BASILDON. [Coldly.] I never take supper, thank you, Vi=
comte.
[The VICOMTE is about to retire.
LADY BASILDON, seeing this, rises at once and takes his arm.] But I will come down with you with=
pleasure.
VICOMTE DE
NANJAC. I am so fond of
eating! I am very English in =
all my
tastes.
LADY
BASILDON. You look quite Engl=
ish,
Vicomte, quite English.
[They pass
out. MR. MONTFORD, a perfectly
groomed young dandy, approaches MRS. MARCHMONT.]
MR.
MONTFORD. Like some supper, M=
rs.
Marchmont?
MRS.
MARCHMONT. [Languidly.] Thank you, Mr. Montford, I never t=
ouch supper. [Rises hastily and takes his arm.]=
But I will sit beside you, and wat=
ch
you.
MR.
MONTFORD. I don’t know =
that I
like being watched when I am eating!
MRS.
MARCHMONT. Then I will watch =
some
one else.
MR.
MONTFORD. I don’t know =
that I
should like that either.
MRS.
MARCHMONT. [Severely.] Pray, Mr. Montford, do not make th=
ese painful
scenes of jealousy in public!
[They go
downstairs with the other guests, passing SIR ROBERT CHILTERN and MRS.
CHEVELEY, who now enter.]
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. And are you going t=
o any
of our country houses before you leave England, Mrs. Cheveley?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Oh, no! I can’t stand your English
house-parties. In England peo=
ple
actually try to be brilliant at breakfast.=
That is so dreadful of them!
Only dull people are brilliant at breakfast. And then the family skeleton is al=
ways
reading family prayers. My st=
ay in
England really depends on you, Sir Robert.=
[Sits down on the sofa.]
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Taking a seat besi=
de
her.] Seriously?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Quite seriously.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. What a tedious, pra=
ctical
subject for you to talk about, Mrs. Cheveley!
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Oh, I like tedious,
practical subjects. What I
don’t like are tedious, practical people. There is a wide difference. Beside=
s, you
are interested, I know, in International Canal schemes. You were Lord Radley’s secre=
tary,
weren’t you, when the Government bought the Suez Canal shares?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Yes. But the Suez Canal was a very grea=
t and splendid
undertaking. It gave us our d=
irect
route to India. It had imperi=
al
value. It was necessary that =
we
should have control. This Arg=
entine
scheme is a commonplace Stock Exchange swindle.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. A speculation, Sir
Robert! A brilliant, daring s=
peculation.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Believe me, Mrs.
Cheveley, it is a swindle. Le=
t us call
things by their proper names. It
makes matters simpler. We hav=
e all
the information about it at the Foreign Office. In fact, I sent out a special Comm=
ission
to inquire into the matter privately, and they report that the works are ha=
rdly
begun, and as for the money already subscribed, no one seems to know what h=
as
become of it. The whole thing=
is a
second Panama, and with not a quarter of the chance of success that miserab=
le
affair ever had. I hope you h=
ave
not invested in it. I am sure=
you
are far too clever to have done that.
MRS. CHEVE=
LEY. I have invested very largely in it=
.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Who could have advi=
sed
you to do such a foolish thing?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Your old friendR=
12;and
mine.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Who?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Baron Arnheim.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Frowning.] Ah! yes. I remember hearing, at the time of=
his
death, that he had been mixed up in the whole affair.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. It was his last
romance. His last but one, to=
do
him justice.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Rising.] But you have not seen my Corots ye=
t. They
are in the music-room. Corots=
seem
to go with music, don’t they? May I show them to you?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [Shaking her head.]=
I am not in a mood to-night for si=
lver
twilights, or rose-pink dawns. I
want to talk business. [Motions to him with her fan to sit down again beside
her.]
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. I fear I have no ad=
vice
to give you, Mrs. Cheveley, except to interest yourself in something less
dangerous. The success of the=
Canal
depends, of course, on the attitude of England, and I am going to lay the
report of the Commissioners before the House to-morrow night.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. That you must not
do. In your own interests, Sir
Robert, to say nothing of mine, you must not do that.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Looking at her in
wonder.] In my own interests?=
My
dear Mrs. Cheveley, what do you mean?
[Sits down beside her.]
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Sir Robert, I will =
be
quite frank with you. I want =
you to
withdraw the report that you had intended to lay before the House, on the
ground that you have reasons to believe that the Commissioners have been
prejudiced or misinformed, or something.&n=
bsp;
Then I want you to say a few words to the effect that the Government=
is
going to reconsider the question, and that you have reason to believe that =
the
Canal, if completed, will be of great international value. You know the sort of things minist=
ers
say in cases of this kind. A =
few
ordinary platitudes will do. =
In
modern life nothing produces such an effect as a good platitude. It makes the whole world kin. Will you do that for me?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Mrs. Cheveley, you =
cannot
be serious in making me such a proposition!
MRS.
CHEVELEY. I am quite serious.=
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Coldly.] Pray allow me to believe that you =
are not.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [Speaking with grea=
t deliberation
and emphasis.] Ah! but I am.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> And if you do what I ask you, I . =
. .
will pay you very handsomely!
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Pay me!
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Yes.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. I am afraid I don=
8217;t
quite understand what you mean.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [Leaning back on th=
e sofa
and looking at him.] How very
disappointing! And I have com=
e all
the way from Vienna in order that you should thoroughly understand me.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. I fear I don’=
t.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [In her most noncha=
lant
manner.] My dear Sir Robert, =
you
are a man of the world, and you have your price, I suppose. Everybody has
nowadays. The drawback is tha=
t most
people are so dreadfully expensive.
I know I am. I hope yo=
u will
be more reasonable in your terms.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Rises indignantly.=
] If you will allow me, I will call =
your
carriage for you. You have li=
ved so
long abroad, Mrs. Cheveley, that you seem to be unable to realise that you =
are
talking to an English gentleman.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [Detains him by tou=
ching
his arm with her fan, and keeping it there while she is talking.] I realise that I am talking to a m=
an who
laid the foundation of his fortune by selling to a Stock Exchange speculato=
r a
Cabinet secret.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Biting his lip.] What do you mean?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [Rising and facing
him.] I mean that I know the =
real origin
of your wealth and your career, and I have got your letter, too.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. What letter?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [Contemptuously.] The letter you wrote to Baron Arnh=
eim, when
you were Lord Radley’s secretary, telling the Baron to buy Suez Canal
shares—a letter written three days before the Government announced its
own purchase.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Hoarsely.] It is not true.
MRS. CHEVELEY. You thought that le= tter had been destroyed. How fooli= sh of you! It is in my possession.<= o:p>
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. The affair to which=
you
allude was no more than a speculation.&nbs=
p;
The House of Commons had not yet passed the bill; it might have been
rejected.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. It was a swindle, S=
ir
Robert. Let us call things by=
their
proper names. It makes everyt=
hing
simpler. And now I am going t=
o sell
you that letter, and the price I ask for it is your public support of the
Argentine scheme. You made yo=
ur own
fortune out of one canal. You must help me and my friends to make our fortu=
nes
out of another!
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. It is infamous, wha=
t you
propose—infamous!
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Oh, no! This is the game of life as we all=
have
to play it, Sir Robert, sooner or later!
SIR ROBERT=
CHILTERN. I cannot do what you ask me.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. You mean you cannot=
help
doing it. You know you are st=
anding
on the edge of a precipice. A=
nd it
is not for you to make terms. It is
for you to accept them. Suppo=
sing
you refuse—
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. What then?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. My dear Sir Robert,=
what
then? You are ruined, that is=
all! Remember to what a point your Puri=
tanism
in England has brought you. I=
n old
days nobody pretended to be a bit better than his neighbours. In fact, to be a bit better than
one’s neighbour was considered excessively vulgar and middle-class. Nowadays, with our modern mania for
morality, every one has to pose as a paragon of purity, incorruptibility, a=
nd
all the other seven deadly virtues—and what is the result? You all go over like ninepins̵=
2;one
after the other. Not a year p=
asses
in England without somebody disappearing.&=
nbsp;
Scandals used to lend charm, or at least interest, to a man—now
they crush him. And yours is =
a very
nasty scandal. You couldn’t survive it. If it were known that as a young m=
an,
secretary to a great and important minister, you sold a Cabinet secret for a
large sum of money, and that that was the origin of your wealth and career,=
you
would be hounded out of public life, you would disappear completely. And after all, Sir Robert, why sho=
uld
you sacrifice your entire future rather than deal diplomatically with your =
enemy? For the moment I am your enemy.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. What you ask is
impossible.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. You must make it
possible. You are going to ma=
ke it possible. Sir Robert, you know what your Eng=
lish
newspapers are like. Suppose that when I leave this house I drive down to s=
ome
newspaper office, and give them this scandal and the proofs of it! Think of their loathsome joy, of t=
he
delight they would have in dragging you down, of the mud and mire they would
plunge you in. Think of the
hypocrite with his greasy smile penning his leading article, and arranging =
the
foulness of the public placard.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Stop! You want me to withdraw the report=
and
to make a short speech stating that I believe there are possibilities in th=
e scheme?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [Sitting down on the
sofa.] Those are my terms.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [In a low voice.] I will give you any sum of money y=
ou
want.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Even you are not ri=
ch
enough, Sir Robert, to buy back your past.=
No man is.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. I will not do what =
you
ask me. I will not.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. You have to. If you don’t . . . [Rises fr=
om the
sofa.]
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Bewildered and
unnerved.] Wait a moment! What did you propose? You said that you would give me ba=
ck my
letter, didn’t you?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Yes. That is agreed. I will be in the Ladies’ Gal=
lery to-morrow
night at half-past eleven. If=
by
that time—and you will have had heaps of opportunity—you have m=
ade
an announcement to the House in the terms I wish, I shall hand you back your
letter with the prettiest thanks, and the best, or at any rate the most
suitable, compliment I can think of.
I intend to play quite fairly with you. One should always play fairly . . =
. when
one has the winning cards. The
Baron taught me that . . . amongst other things.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. You must let me hav=
e time
to consider your proposal.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. No; you must settle=
now!
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Give me a
week—three days!
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Impossible! I have got to telegraph to Vienna
to-night.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. My God! what brough=
t you
into my life?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Circumstances. [Moves towards the door.]
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Don’t go. I consent. The report shall be withdrawn. I will arrange for a question to b=
e put
to me on the subject.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Thank you. I knew we should come to an amicab=
le agreement. I understood your nature from the
first. I analysed you, though=
you
did not adore me. And now you=
can
get my carriage for me, Sir Robert.
I see the people coming up from supper, and Englishmen always get
romantic after a meal, and that bores me dreadfully. [Exit SIR ROBERT CHILTERN.]
[Enter Gue=
sts,
LADY CHILTERN, LADY MARKBY, LORD CAVERSHAM, LADY BASILDON, MRS. MARCHMONT,
VICOMTE DE NANJAC, MR. MONTFORD.]
LADY
MARKBY. Well, dear Mrs. Cheve=
ley, I
hope you have enjoyed yourself. Sir Robert is very entertaining, is he not?=
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Most entertaining!<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> I have enjoyed my talk with him im=
mensely.
LADY
MARKBY. He has had a very
interesting and brilliant career.
And he has married a most admirable wife. Lady Chiltern is a woman of the ve=
ry highest
principles, I am glad to say. I am
a little too old now, myself, to trouble about setting a good example, but I
always admire people who do. =
And
Lady Chiltern has a very ennobling effect on life, though her dinner-parties
are rather dull sometimes. Bu=
t one
can’t have everything, can one?
And now I must go, dear.
Shall I call for you to-morrow?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Thanks.
LADY
MARKBY. We might drive in the=
Park
at five. Everything looks so =
fresh
in the Park now!
MRS. CHEVELEY. Except the people!<= o:p>
LADY
MARKBY. Perhaps the people ar=
e a
little jaded. I have often ob=
served
that the Season as it goes on produces a kind of softening of the brain.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. What a charming hou=
se you
have, Lady Chiltern! I have s=
pent a
delightful evening. It has be=
en so
interesting getting to know your husband.
LADY
CHILTERN. Why did you wish to=
meet
my husband, Mrs. Cheveley?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Oh, I will tell you=
. I wanted to interest him in this A=
rgentine
Canal scheme, of which I dare say you have heard. And I found him most
susceptible,—susceptible to reason, I mean. A rare thing in a man. I converted him in ten minutes.
LADY
CHILTERN. There must be some
mistake. That scheme could ne=
ver
have my husband’s support.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Oh, I assure you
it’s all settled. I
don’t regret my tedious journey from Vienna now. It has been a great success. But, of course, for the next twent=
y-four
hours the whole thing is a dead secret.
LADY
CHILTERN. [Gently.] A secret? Between whom?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [With a flash of
amusement in her eyes.] Betwe=
en
your husband and myself.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Entering.] Your carriage is here, Mrs. Chevel=
ey!
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Thanks! Good evening, Lady Chiltern! Good-night, Lord Goring! I am at Claridge’s. Don’t you think you might le=
ave a
card?
LORD
GORING. If you wish it, Mrs.
Cheveley!
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Oh, don’t be =
so
solemn about it, or I shall be obliged to leave a card on you. In England I suppose that would ha=
rdly
be considered en règle.
Abroad, we are more civilised.
Will you see me down, Sir Robert?&n=
bsp;
Now that we have both the same interests at heart we shall be great
friends, I hope!
[Sails out=
on
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN’S arm.
LADY CHILTERN goes to the top of the staircase and looks down at the=
m as
they descend. Her expression =
is
troubled. After a little time=
she
is joined by some of the guests, and passes with them into another
reception-room.]
MABEL
CHILTERN. What a horrid woman=
!
LORD
GORING. You should go to bed,=
Miss
Mabel.
MABEL
CHILTERN. Lord Goring!
LORD
GORING. My father told me to =
go to
bed an hour ago. I don’=
t see why
I shouldn’t give you the same advice. I always pass on good advice. It i=
s the
only thing to do with it. It =
is
never of any use to oneself.
MABEL
CHILTERN. Lord Goring, you are
always ordering me out of the room. I think it most courageous of you. Especially as I am not going to be=
d for
hours. [Goes over to the
sofa.] You can come and sit d=
own if
you like, and talk about anything in the world, except the Royal Academy, M=
rs.
Cheveley, or novels in Scotch dialect.&nbs=
p;
They are not improving subjects.&nb=
sp;
[Catches sight of something that is lying on the sofa half hidden by=
the
cushion.] What is this? Some one has dropped a diamond bro=
och! Quite beautiful, isn’t it? [Shows it to him.] I wish it was mine, but Gertrude
won’t let me wear anything but pearls, and I am thoroughly sick of
pearls. They make one look so
plain, so good and so intellectual.
I wonder whom the brooch belongs to.
LORD
GORING. I wonder who dropped =
it.
MABEL
CHILTERN. It is a beautiful b=
rooch.
LORD
GORING. It is a handsome brac=
elet.
MABEL CHIL=
TERN. It isn’t a bracelet. It’s a brooch.
LORD
GORING. It can be used as a
bracelet. [Takes it from her,=
and, pulling
out a green letter-case, puts the ornament carefully in it, and replaces the
whole thing in his breast-pocket with the most perfect sang froid.]
MABEL
CHILTERN. What are you doing?=
LORD
GORING. Miss Mabel, I am goin=
g to
make a rather strange request to you.
MABEL
CHILTERN. [Eagerly.] Oh, pray do! I have been waiting for it all the
evening.
LORD
GORING. [Is a little taken ab=
ack,
but recovers himself.] Don=
217;t mention
to anybody that I have taken charge of this brooch. Should any one write and claim it,=
let
me know at once.
MABEL
CHILTERN. That is a strange
request.
LORD
GORING. Well, you see I gave =
this
brooch to somebody once, years ago.
MABEL
CHILTERN. You did?
LORD
GORING. Yes.
[LADY CHIL=
TERN
enters alone. The other guest=
s have
gone.]
MABEL
CHILTERN. Then I shall certai=
nly
bid you good-night. Good-nigh=
t, Gertrude! [Exit.]
LADY
CHILTERN. Good-night, dear! [To LORD GORING.] You saw whom Lady Markby brought h=
ere
to-night?
LORD
GORING. Yes. It was an unpleasant surprise. What did she come here for?
LADY
CHILTERN. Apparently to try a=
nd
lure Robert to uphold some fraudulent scheme in which she is interested.
LORD
GORING. She has mistaken her =
man,
hasn’t she?
LADY
CHILTERN. She is incapable of
understanding an upright nature like my husband’s!
LORD
GORING. Yes. I should fancy she came to grief i=
f she
tried to get Robert into her toils.
It is extraordinary what astounding mistakes clever women make.
LADY
CHILTERN. I don’t call =
women
of that kind clever. I call t=
hem stupid!
LORD
GORING. Same thing often. Good-night, Lady Chiltern!
LADY
CHILTERN. Good-night!
[Enter SIR
ROBERT CHILTERN.]
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. My dear Arthur, you= are not going? Do stop a little!<= o:p>
LORD
GORING. Afraid I can’t,
thanks. I have promised to lo=
ok in
at the Hartlocks’. I be=
lieve
they have got a mauve Hungarian band that plays mauve Hungarian music. See you soon. Good-bye!
[Exit]
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. How beautiful you l=
ook
to-night, Gertrude!
LADY
CHILTERN. Robert, it is not t=
rue,
is it? You are not going to l=
end your
support to this Argentine speculation?&nbs=
p;
You couldn’t!
SIR ROBERT= CHILTERN. [Starting.] Who told you I intended to do so?<= o:p>
LADY
CHILTERN. That woman who has =
just
gone out, Mrs. Cheveley, as she calls herself now. She seemed to taunt me with it.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Gertrude, what you =
tell
me may be true, but it happened many years ago. It is best forgotten! Mrs. Cheveley may have changed sin=
ce
then. No one should be entire=
ly
judged by their past.
LADY
CHILTERN. [Sadly.] One’s past is what one is. It is the only way by which people
should be judged.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. That is a hard sayi=
ng,
Gertrude!
LADY
CHILTERN. It is a true saying,
Robert. And what did she mean=
by boasting
that she had got you to lend your support, your name, to a thing I have hea=
rd
you describe as the most dishonest and fraudulent scheme there has ever bee=
n in
political life?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Biting his lip.] I was mistaken in the view I took.=
We all may make mistakes.
LADY
CHILTERN. But you told me yes=
terday
that you had received the report from the Commission, and that it entirely
condemned the whole thing.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Walking up and
down.] I have reasons now to =
believe
that the Commission was prejudiced, or, at any rate, misinformed. Besides,
Gertrude, public and private life are different things. They have different laws, and move=
on
different lines.
LADY
CHILTERN. They should both
represent man at his highest. I see
no difference between them.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Stopping.] In the present case, on a matter o=
f practical
politics, I have changed my mind.
That is all.
LADY
CHILTERN. All!
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Sternly.] Yes!
LADY
CHILTERN. Robert! Oh! it is horrible that I should h=
ave to
ask you such a question—Robert, are you telling me the whole truth?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Why do you ask me s=
uch a
question?
LADY
CHILTERN. [After a pause.]
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Sitting down.] Gertrude, truth is a very complex =
thing,
and politics is a very complex business.&n=
bsp;
There are wheels within wheels.&nbs=
p;
One may be under certain obligations to people that one must pay.
LADY
CHILTERN. Compromise? Robert, why do you talk so differe=
ntly to-night
from the way I have always heard you talk?=
Why are you changed?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. I am not changed. But circumstances alter things.
LADY
CHILTERN. Circumstances should
never alter principles!
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. But if I told you=
8212;
LADY
CHILTERN. What?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. That it was necessa=
ry,
vitally necessary?
LADY
CHILTERN. It can never be nec=
essary
to do what is not honourable. Or if it be necessary, then what is it that I
have loved! But it is not, Ro=
bert;
tell me it is not. Why should=
it be? What gain would you get? Money?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Gertrude, you have =
no
right to use that word. I tol=
d you
it was a question of rational compromise.&=
nbsp;
It is no more than that.
LADY
CHILTERN. Robert, that is all=
very
well for other men, for men who treat life simply as a sordid speculation; =
but
not for you, Robert, not for you.
You are different. All=
your
life you have stood apart from others.&nbs=
p;
You have never let the world soil you. To the world, as to myself, you ha=
ve
been an ideal always. Oh! be =
that
ideal still. That great inher=
itance
throw not away—that tower of ivory do not destroy. Robert, men can lo=
ve
what is beneath them—things unworthy, stained, dishonoured. We women worship when we love; and=
when
we lose our worship, we lose everything.&n=
bsp;
Oh! don’t kill my love for you, don’t kill that!
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Gertrude!
LADY
CHILTERN. I know that there a=
re men
with horrible secrets in their lives—men who have done some shameful
thing, and who in some critical moment have to pay for it, by doing some ot=
her
act of shame—oh! don’t tell me you are such as they are! Robert, is there in your life any =
secret
dishonour or disgrace? Tell m=
e,
tell me at once, that—
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. That what?
LADY
CHILTERN. [Speaking very
slowly.] That our lives may d=
rift apart.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Drift apart?
LADY
CHILTERN. That they may be en=
tirely
separate. It would be better =
for us
both.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Gertrude, there is
nothing in my past life that you might not know.
LADY
CHILTERN. I was sure of it, R=
obert,
I was sure of it. But why did=
you
say those dreadful things, things so unlike your real self? Don’t let us ever talk about=
the
subject again. You will write,
won’t you, to Mrs. Cheveley, and tell her that you cannot support this
scandalous scheme of hers? If=
you
have given her any promise you must take it back, that is all!
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Must I write and te=
ll her
that?
LADY
CHILTERN. Surely, Robert! What else is there to do?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. I might see her
personally. It would be bette=
r.
LADY
CHILTERN. You must never see =
her
again, Robert. She is not a w=
oman you
should ever speak to. She is =
not
worthy to talk to a man like you. No; you must write to her at once, now, t=
his
moment, and let your letter show her that your decision is quite irrevocabl=
e!
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Write this moment!<= o:p>
LADY
CHILTERN. Yes.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. But it is so late.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> It is close on twelve.
LADY
CHILTERN. That makes no
matter. She must know at once=
that
she has been mistaken in you—and that you are not a man to do anything
base or underhand or dishonourable.
Write here, Robert. Wr=
ite
that you decline to support this scheme of hers, as you hold it to be a
dishonest scheme. Yes—write the word dishonest. She knows what that word means.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Oh, love me always,
Gertrude, love me always!
LADY
CHILTERN. I will love you alw=
ays,
because you will always be worthy of love.=
We needs must love the highest when we see it! [Kisses him and rises and goes out=
.]
[SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN walks up and down for a moment; then sits down and buries his face=
in
his hands. The Servant enters=
and
begins pulling out the lights. SIR
ROBERT CHILTERN looks up.]
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Put out the lights,
Mason, put out the lights!
[The Serva=
nt
puts out the lights. The room
becomes almost dark. The only light there is comes from the great chandelier
that hangs over the staircase and illumines the tapestry of the Triumph of
Love.]
=
&nb=
sp;
ACT DROP
SCENE
Morning-room at Sir Robert
Chiltern’s house.
[LORD GORI=
NG,
dressed in the height of fashion, is lounging in an armchair. SIR ROBERT CHILTERN is standing in=
front
of the fireplace. He is evidently in a state of great mental excitement and
distress. As the scene progresses he paces nervously up and down the room.]=
LORD
GORING. My dear Robert, it=
217;s
a very awkward business, very awkward indeed. You should have told your wife the=
whole
thing. Secrets from other
people’s wives are a necessary luxury in modern life. So, at least, I am always told at =
the
club by people who are bald enough to know better. But no man should have a secret fr=
om his
own wife. She invariably find=
s it
out. Women have a wonderful
instinct about things. They can discover everything except the obvious.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Arthur, I couldn=
217;t
tell my wife. When could I ha=
ve told
her? Not last night. It would have made a life-long
separation between us, and I would have lost the love of the one woman in t=
he
world I worship, of the only woman who has ever stirred love within me. Last night it would have been quite
impossible. She would have tu=
rned
from me in horror . . . in horror and in contempt.
LORD
GORING. Is Lady Chiltern as p=
erfect
as all that?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Yes; my wife is as
perfect as all that.
LORD
GORING. [Taking off his left-=
hand
glove.] What a pity! I beg your pardon, my dear fellow,=
I
didn’t quite mean that. But
if what you tell me is true, I should like to have a serious talk about life
with Lady Chiltern.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. It would be quite
useless.
LORD
GORING. May I try?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Yes; but nothing co=
uld
make her alter her views.
LORD
GORING. Well, at the worst it=
would
simply be a psychological experiment.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. All such experiment=
s are
terribly dangerous.
LORD
GORING. Everything is dangero=
us, my
dear fellow. If it wasn’=
;t so,
life wouldn’t be worth living. . . . Well, I am bound to say that I t=
hink
you should have told her years ago.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. When? When we were engaged? Do you think she would have marrie=
d me
if she had known that the origin of my fortune is such as it is, the basis =
of
my career such as it is, and that I had done a thing that I suppose most men
would call shameful and dishonourable?
LORD
GORING. [Slowly.] Yes; most men would call it ugly
names. There is no doubt of t=
hat.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Bitterly.] Men who every day do something of =
the
same kind themselves. Men who=
, each
one of them, have worse secrets in their own lives.
LORD
GORING. That is the reason th=
ey are
so pleased to find out other people’s secrets. It distracts public attention from=
their
own.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. And, after all, who=
m did
I wrong by what I did? No one=
.
LORD
GORING. [Looking at him
steadily.] Except yourself, R=
obert.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [After a pause.]
LORD
GORING. [Tapping his boot wit=
h his
cane.] And public scandal inv=
ariably
the result.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Pacing up and down=
the
room.] Arthur, do you think t=
hat
what I did nearly eighteen years ago should be brought up against me now? Do you think it fair that a man=
217;s
whole career should be ruined for a fault done in one’s boyhood
almost? I was twenty-two at t=
he time,
and I had the double misfortune of being well-born and poor, two unforgivea=
ble
things nowadays. Is it fair t=
hat
the folly, the sin of one’s youth, if men choose to call it a sin, sh=
ould
wreck a life like mine, should place me in the pillory, should shatter all =
that
I have worked for, all that I have built up. Is it fair, Arthur?
LORD
GORING. Life is never fair,
Robert. And perhaps it is a g=
ood
thing for most of us that it is not.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Every man of ambiti=
on has
to fight his century with its own weapons.=
What this century worships is wealth. The God of this century is wealth.=
To succeed one must have wealth. At all costs one must have wealth.=
LORD
GORING. You underrate yoursel=
f,
Robert. Believe me, without w=
ealth you
could have succeeded just as well.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. When I was old,
perhaps. When I had lost my p=
assion
for power, or could not use it.
When I was tired, worn out, disappointed. I wanted my success when I was
young. Youth is the time for
success. I couldn’t wai=
t.
LORD GORIN=
G. Well, you certainly have had your
success while you are still young.
No one in our day has had such a brilliant success. Under-Secretary =
for
Foreign Affairs at the age of forty—that’s good enough for any =
one,
I should think.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. And if it is all ta=
ken
away from me now? If I lose e=
verything
over a horrible scandal? If I=
am
hounded from public life?
LORD
GORING. Robert, how could you=
have
sold yourself for money?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Excitedly.] I did not sell myself for money. I bought success at a great price.=
That is all.
LORD
GORING. [Gravely.] Yes; you certainly paid a great pr=
ice
for it. But what first made you think of doing such a thing?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Baron Arnheim.
LORD
GORING. Damned scoundrel!
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. No; he was a man of=
a
most subtle and refined intellect.
A man of culture, charm, and distinction. One of the most intellectual men I=
ever
met.
LORD
GORING. Ah! I prefer a gentle=
manly
fool any day. There is more t=
o be
said for stupidity than people imagine.&nb=
sp;
Personally I have a great admiration for stupidity. It is a sort of fellow-feeling, I
suppose. But how did he do it? Tell
me the whole thing.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Throws himself int=
o an
armchair by the writing-table.] One
night after dinner at Lord Radley’s the Baron began talking about suc=
cess
in modern life as something that one could reduce to an absolutely definite
science. With that wonderfully
fascinating quiet voice of his he expounded to us the most terrible of all =
philosophies,
the philosophy of power, preached to us the most marvellous of all gospels,=
the
gospel of gold. I think he sa=
w the
effect he had produced on me, for some days afterwards he wrote and asked m=
e to
come and see him. He was livi=
ng
then in Park Lane, in the house Lord Woolcomb has now. I remember so well how, with a str=
ange
smile on his pale, curved lips, he led me through his wonderful picture
gallery, showed me his tapestries, his enamels, his jewels, his carved ivor=
ies,
made me wonder at the strange loveliness of the luxury in which he lived; a=
nd then
told me that luxury was nothing but a background, a painted scene in a play,
and that power, power over other men, power over the world, was the one thi=
ng
worth having, the one supreme pleasure worth knowing, the one joy one never
tired of, and that in our century only the rich possessed it.
LORD
GORING. [With great
deliberation.] A thoroughly s=
hallow
creed.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Rising.] I didn’t think so then. I don’t think so now. Wealth has given me enormous power=
. It gave me at the very outset of m=
y life
freedom, and freedom is everything.
You have never been poor, and never known what ambition is. You cannot understand what a wonde=
rful
chance the Baron gave me. Suc=
h a
chance as few men get.
LORD
GORING. Fortunately for them,=
if
one is to judge by results. B=
ut tell
me definitely, how did the Baron finally persuade you to—well, to do =
what
you did?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. When I was going aw=
ay he
said to me that if I ever could give him any private information of real va=
lue
he would make me a very rich man. =
span>I
was dazed at the prospect he held out to me, and my ambition and my desire =
for
power were at that time boundless.
Six weeks later certain private documents passed through my hands.
LORD
GORING. [Keeping his eyes ste=
adily
fixed on the carpet.] State d=
ocuments?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Yes. [LORD GORING sighs, then passes hi=
s hand
across his forehead and looks up.]
LORD
GORING. I had no idea that yo=
u, of
all men in the world, could have been so weak, Robert, as to yield to such a
temptation as Baron Arnheim held out to you.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Weak? Oh, I am sick of hearing that
phrase. Sick of using it about
others. Weak? Do you really think, Arthur, that =
it is weakness
that yields to temptation? I =
tell
you that there are terrible temptations that it requires strength, strength=
and
courage, to yield to. To stake all one’s life on a single moment, to =
risk
everything on one throw, whether the stake be power or pleasure, I care
not—there is no weakness in that.&nb=
sp;
There is a horrible, a terrible courage. I had that courage. I sat down the same afternoon and =
wrote
Baron Arnheim the letter this woman now holds. He made three-quarters of a millio=
n over
the transaction.
LORD GORIN=
G. And you?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. I received from the=
Baron
£110,000.
LORD
GORING. You were worth more,
Robert.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. No; that money gave=
me
exactly what I wanted, power over others.&=
nbsp;
I went into the House immediately.&=
nbsp;
The Baron advised me in finance from time to time. Before five years I had almost tre=
bled
my fortune. Since then everyt=
hing
that I have touched has turned out a success. In all things connected with money=
I
have had a luck so extraordinary that sometimes it has made me almost
afraid. I remember having read
somewhere, in some strange book, that when the gods wish to punish us they
answer our prayers.
LORD
GORING. But tell me, Robert, =
did
you never suffer any regret for what you had done?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. No. I felt that I had fought the centu=
ry
with its own weapons, and won.
LORD
GORING. [Sadly.] You thought you had won.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. I thought so. [After a long pause.] Arthur, do you despise me for what=
I
have told you?
LORD
GORING. [With deep feeling in=
his
voice.] I am very sorry for y=
ou,
Robert, very sorry indeed.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. I don’t say t=
hat I
suffered any remorse. I
didn’t. Not remorse in the ordinary, rather silly sense of the word.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> But I have paid conscience money m=
any times. I had a wild hope that I might dis=
arm destiny. The sum Baron Arnheim gave me I ha=
ve
distributed twice over in public charities since then.
LORD
GORING. [Looking up.] In public charities? Dear me! what a lot of harm you mu=
st
have done, Robert!
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Oh, don’t say=
that,
Arthur; don’t talk like that!
LORD
GORING. Never mind what I say,
Robert! I am always saying wh=
at I shouldn’t
say. In fact, I usually say w=
hat I
really think. A great mistake
nowadays. It makes one so lia=
ble to
be misunderstood. As regards =
this
dreadful business, I will help you in whatever way I can. Of course you know
that.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Thank you, Arthur, =
thank
you. But what is to be done?<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> What can be done?
LORD
GORING. [Leaning back with hi=
s hands
in his pockets.] Well, the En=
glish
can’t stand a man who is always saying he is in the right, but they a=
re
very fond of a man who admits that he has been in the wrong. It is one of the best things in
them. However, in your case,
Robert, a confession would not do.
The money, if you will allow me to say so, is . . . awkward. Besides, if you did make a clean b=
reast
of the whole affair, you would never be able to talk morality again. And in England a man who can’=
;t
talk morality twice a week to a large, popular, immoral audience is quite o=
ver
as a serious politician. There
would be nothing left for him as a profession except Botany or the Church.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> A confession would be of no use. It would ruin you.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. It would ruin me. Arthur, the only thing for me to d=
o now
is to fight the thing out.
LORD
GORING. [Rising from his
chair.] I was waiting for you=
to
say that, Robert. It is the o=
nly
thing to do now. And you must=
begin
by telling your wife the whole story.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. That I will not do.=
LORD
GORING. Robert, believe me, y=
ou are
wrong.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. I couldn’t do
it. It would kill her love fo=
r me. And
now about this woman, this Mrs. Cheveley.&=
nbsp;
How can I defend myself against her? You knew her before, Arthur, appar=
ently.
LORD
GORING. Yes.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Did you know her we=
ll?
LORD
GORING. [Arranging his
necktie.] So little that I got
engaged to be married to her once, when I was staying at the
Tenbys’. The affair las=
ted
for three days . . . nearly.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Why was it broken o=
ff?
LORD
GORING. [Airily.] Oh, I forget. At least, it makes no matter. By t=
he
way, have you tried her with money?
She used to be confoundedly fond of money.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. I offered her any s=
um she
wanted. She refused.
LORD
GORING. Then the marvellous g=
ospel
of gold breaks down sometimes. The rich can’t do everything, after al=
l.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Not everything. I suppose you are right. Arthur, I feel that public disgrac=
e is
in store for me. I feel certa=
in of
it. I never knew what terror =
was
before. I know it now. It is as if a hand of ice were lai=
d upon
one’s heart. It is as if
one’s heart were beating itself to death in some empty hollow.
LORD
GORING. [Striking the table.]=
Robert, you must fight her. You must fight her.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. But how?
LORD
GORING. I can’t tell yo=
u how
at present. I have not the sm=
allest
idea. But every one has some =
weak
point. There is some flaw in =
each
one of us. [Strolls to the
fireplace and looks at himself in the glass.] My father tells me that even I
have faults. Perhaps I have.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> I don’t know.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. In defending myself
against Mrs. Cheveley, I have a right to use any weapon I can find, have I =
not?
LORD
GORING. [Still looking in the
glass.] In your place I don=
8217;t
think I should have the smallest scruple in doing so. She is thoroughly well able to tak=
e care
of herself.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Sits down at the t=
able
and takes a pen in his hand.] Well,
I shall send a cipher telegram to the Embassy at Vienna, to inquire if ther=
e is
anything known against her. T=
here
may be some secret scandal she might be afraid of.
LORD
GORING. [Settling his
buttonhole.] Oh, I should fan=
cy
Mrs. Cheveley is one of those very modern women of our time who find a new =
scandal
as becoming as a new bonnet, and air them both in the Park every afternoon =
at
five-thirty. I am sure she ad=
ores
scandals, and that the sorrow of her life at present is that she can’t
manage to have enough of them.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Writing.] Why do you say that?
LORD
GORING. [Turning round.] Well, she wore far too much rouge =
last night,
and not quite enough clothes. That
is always a sign of despair in a woman.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Striking a bell.]<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> But it is worth while my wiring to
Vienna, is it not?
LORD
GORING. It is always worth wh=
ile
asking a question, though it is not always worth while answering one.
[Enter MAS=
ON.]
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Is Mr. Trafford in =
his
room?
MASON. Yes, Sir Robert.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Puts what he has w=
ritten
into an envelope, which he then carefully closes.] Tell him to have this sent off in =
cipher
at once. There must not be a
moment’s delay.
MASON. Yes, Sir Robert.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Oh! just give that =
back to
me again.
[Writes
something on the envelope. MA=
SON
then goes out with the letter.]
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. She must have had s=
ome
curious hold over Baron Arnheim. I
wonder what it was.
LORD
GORING. [Smiling.] I wonder.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. I will fight her to=
the
death, as long as my wife knows nothing.
LORD
GORING. [Strongly.] Oh, fight in any case—in any=
case.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [With a gesture of
despair.] If my wife found ou=
t,
there would be little left to fight for.&n=
bsp;
Well, as soon as I hear from Vienna, I shall let you know the
result. It is a chance, just =
a chance,
but I believe in it. And as I
fought the age with its own weapons, I will fight her with her weapons. It is only fair, and she looks lik=
e a
woman with a past, doesn’t she?
LORD
GORING. Most pretty women do.=
But there is a fashion in pasts ju=
st as
there is a fashion in frocks.
Perhaps Mrs. Cheveley’s past is merely a slightly
décolleté one, and they are excessively popular nowadays. Bes=
ides,
my dear Robert, I should not build too high hopes on frightening Mrs.
Cheveley. I should not fancy =
Mrs.
Cheveley is a woman who would be easily frightened. She has survived all her creditors=
, and
she shows wonderful presence of mind.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Oh! I live on hopes=
now. I clutch at every chance. I feel li=
ke a
man on a ship that is sinking. The
water is round my feet, and the very air is bitter with storm. Hush! I hear my wife’s voice=
.
[Enter LADY
CHILTERN in walking dress.]
LADY
CHILTERN. Good afternoon, Lord
Goring!
LORD
GORING. Good afternoon, Lady
Chiltern! Have you been in the
Park?
LADY
CHILTERN. No; I have just com=
e from
the Woman’s Liberal Association, where, by the way, Robert, your name=
was
received with loud applause, and now I have come in to have my tea. [To LORD GORING.] You will wait an=
d have
some tea, won’t you?
LORD
GORING. I’ll wait for a=
short
time, thanks.
LADY
CHILTERN. I will be back in a
moment. I am only going to ta=
ke my hat
off.
LORD
GORING. [In his most earnest
manner.] Oh! please
don’t. It is so pretty.=
One of the prettiest hats I ever
saw. I hope the Woman’s=
Liberal
Association received it with loud applause.
LADY
CHILTERN. [With a smile.] We have much more important work t=
o do than
look at each other’s bonnets, Lord Goring.
LORD
GORING. Really? What sort of work?
LADY
CHILTERN. Oh! dull, useful,
delightful things, Factory Acts, Female Inspectors, the Eight Hours’
Bill, the Parliamentary Franchise. . . . Everything, in fact, that you would
find thoroughly uninteresting.
LORD
GORING. And never bonnets?
LADY
CHILTERN. [With mock
indignation.] Never bonnets, =
never!
[LADY CHIL=
TERN
goes out through the door leading to her boudoir.]
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Takes LORD
GORING’S hand.] You hav=
e been
a good friend to me, Arthur, a thoroughly good friend.
LORD
GORING. I don’t know th=
at I
have been able to do much for you, Robert, as yet. In fact, I have not been able to do
anything for you, as far as I can see.&nbs=
p;
I am thoroughly disappointed with myself.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. You have enabled me=
to
tell you the truth. That is s=
omething. The truth has always stifled me.
LORD
GORING. Ah! the truth is a th=
ing I
get rid of as soon as possible! Bad habit, by the way. Makes one very unpopular at the cl=
ub . .
. with the older members. The=
y call
it being conceited. Perhaps i=
t is.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. I would to God that=
I had
been able to tell the truth . . . to live the truth. Ah! that is the great thing in lif=
e, to live
the truth. [Sighs, and goes t=
owards
the door.] I’ll see you=
soon
again, Arthur, shan’t I?
LORD
GORING. Certainly. Whenever you like. I’m going to look in at the =
Bachelors’
Ball to-night, unless I find something better to do. But I’ll come round to-morrow
morning. If you should want me
to-night by any chance, send round a note to Curzon Street.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Thank you.
[As he rea=
ches
the door, LADY CHILTERN enters from her boudoir.]
LADY
CHILTERN. You are not going,
Robert?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. I have some letters=
to
write, dear.
LADY
CHILTERN. [Going to him.] You work too hard, Robert. You seem never to think of yoursel=
f, and
you are looking so tired.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. It is nothing, dear,
nothing.
[He kisses=
her
and goes out.]
LADY
CHILTERN. [To LORD GORING.] Do sit down. I am so glad you have called. I want to talk to you about . . . =
well,
not about bonnets, or the Woman’s Liberal Association. You take far too much interest in =
the first
subject, and not nearly enough in the second.
LORD
GORING. You want to talk to me
about Mrs. Cheveley?
LADY
CHILTERN. Yes. You have guessed it. After you left last night I found =
out
that what she had said was really true.&nb=
sp;
Of course I made Robert write her a letter at once, withdrawing his
promise.
LORD
GORING. So he gave me to unde=
rstand.
LADY
CHILTERN. To have kept it wou=
ld
have been the first stain on a career that has been stainless always. Robert must be above reproach. He =
is not
like other men. He cannot aff=
ord to
do what other men do. [She looks at LORD GORING, who remains silent.] Don’t you agree with me? You are Robert’s greatest
friend. You are our greatest
friend, Lord Goring. No one, =
except
myself, knows Robert better than you do.&n=
bsp;
He has no secrets from me, and I don’t think he has any from y=
ou.
LORD
GORING. He certainly has no s=
ecrets
from me. At least I don’=
;t think
so.
LADY
CHILTERN. Then am I not right=
in my
estimate of him? I know I am =
right. But speak to me frankly.
LORD
GORING. [Looking straight at
her.] Quite frankly?
LADY
CHILTERN. Surely. You have nothing to conceal, have =
you?
LORD
GORING. Nothing. But, my dear Lady Chiltern, I thin=
k, if
you will allow me to say so, that in practical life—
LADY
CHILTERN. [Smiling.] Of which you know so little, Lord
Goring—
LORD
GORING. Of which I know nothi=
ng by
experience, though I know something by observation. I think that in practical life the=
re is something
about success, actual success, that is a little unscrupulous, something abo=
ut
ambition that is unscrupulous always.
Once a man has set his heart and soul on getting to a certain point,=
if
he has to climb the crag, he climbs the crag; if he has to walk in the
mire—
LADY
CHILTERN. Well?
LORD
GORING. He walks in the mire.=
Of course I am only talking genera=
lly
about life.
LADY
CHILTERN. [Gravely.] I hope so. Why do you look at me so strangely=
, Lord
Goring?
LORD
GORING. Lady Chiltern, I have
sometimes thought that . . . perhaps you are a little hard in some of your
views on life. I think that .=
. . often
you don’t make sufficient allowances. In every nature there are elements=
of
weakness, or worse than weakness.
Supposing, for instance, that—that any public man, my father, =
or
Lord Merton, or Robert, say, had, years ago, written some foolish letter to
some one . . .
LADY
CHILTERN. What do you mean by=
a
foolish letter?
LORD
GORING. A letter gravely
compromising one’s position.
I am only putting an imaginary case.
LADY
CHILTERN. Robert is as incapa=
ble of
doing a foolish thing as he is of doing a wrong thing.
LORD
GORING. [After a long pause.]=
Nobody is incapable of doing a foo=
lish
thing. Nobody is incapable of=
doing
a wrong thing.
LADY
CHILTERN. Are you a Pessimist=
? What will the other dandies say? T=
hey
will all have to go into mourning.
LORD
GORING. [Rising.] No, Lady Chiltern, I am not a Pess=
imist.
Indeed I am not sure that I quite know what Pessimism really means. All I do know is that life cannot =
be
understood without much charity, cannot be lived without much charity. It is love, and not German philoso=
phy, that
is the true explanation of this world, whatever may be the explanation of t=
he
next. And if you are ever in
trouble, Lady Chiltern, trust me absolutely, and I will help you in every w=
ay I
can. If you ever want me, com=
e to
me for my assistance, and you shall have it. Come at once to me.
LADY
CHILTERN. [Looking at him in
surprise.] Lord Goring, you a=
re talking
quite seriously. I don’t
think I ever heard you talk seriously before.
LORD
GORING. [Laughing.] You must excuse me, Lady Chiltern.=
It won’t occur again, if I c=
an
help it.
LADY
CHILTERN. But I like you to be
serious.
[Enter MAB=
EL
CHILTERN, in the most ravishing frock.]
MABEL
CHILTERN. Dear Gertrude,
don’t say such a dreadful thing to Lord Goring. Seriousness would be very unbecomi=
ng to
him. Good afternoon Lord
Goring! Pray be as trivial as=
you
can.
LORD
GORING. I should like to, Miss
Mabel, but I am afraid I am . . . a little out of practice this morning; and
besides, I have to be going now.
MABEL
CHILTERN. Just when I have co=
me
in! What dreadful manners you=
have! I am sure you were very badly brou=
ght
up.
LORD
GORING. I was.
MABEL
CHILTERN. I wish I had brough=
t you
up!
LORD
GORING. I am so sorry you
didn’t.
MABEL
CHILTERN. It is too late now,=
I
suppose?
LORD
GORING. [Smiling.] I am not so sure.
MABEL
CHILTERN. Will you ride to-mo=
rrow
morning?
LORD
GORING. Yes, at ten.
MABEL
CHILTERN. Don’t forget.=
LORD
GORING. Of course I
shan’t. By the way, Lady
Chiltern, there is no list of your guests in The Morning Post of to-day.
LADY
CHILTERN. I am sure Mr. Traff=
ord
will be able to give you one.
LORD
GORING. Thanks, so much.
MABEL
CHILTERN. Tommy is the most u=
seful
person in London.
LORD GORING
[Turning to her.] And who is =
the
most ornamental?
MABEL CHIL=
TERN
[Triumphantly.] I am.
LORD
GORING. How clever of you to =
guess
it! [Takes up his hat and can=
e.] Good-bye, Lady Chiltern! You will remember what I said to y=
ou, won’t
you?
LADY
CHILTERN. Yes; but I don̵=
7;t
know why you said it to me.
LORD
GORING. I hardly know myself.=
Good-bye, Miss Mabel!
MABEL CHIL=
TERN
[With a little moue of disappointment.]&nb=
sp;
I wish you were not going. =
span>I
have had four wonderful adventures this morning; four and a half, in fact.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> You might stop and listen to some =
of
them.
LORD
GORING. How very selfish of y=
ou to
have four and a half! There w=
on’t
be any left for me.
MABEL
CHILTERN. I don’t want =
you to
have any. They would not be g=
ood for
you.
LORD
GORING. That is the first unk=
ind
thing you have ever said to me. How charmingly you said it! Ten to-morrow.
MABEL
CHILTERN. Sharp.
LORD
GORING. Quite sharp. But don’t bring Mr. Trafford=
.
MABEL
CHILTERN. [With a little toss=
of
the head.] Of course I shan=
8217;t
bring Tommy Trafford. Tommy
Trafford is in great disgrace.
LORD
GORING. I am delighted to hear
it. [Bows and goes out.]
MABEL
CHILTERN. Gertrude, I wish you
would speak to Tommy Trafford.
LADY
CHILTERN. What has poor Mr.
Trafford done this time? Robe=
rt
says he is the best secretary he has ever had.
MABEL
CHILTERN. Well, Tommy has pro=
posed
to me again. Tommy really doe=
s nothing
but propose to me. He propose=
d to
me last night in the music-room, when I was quite unprotected, as there was=
an
elaborate trio going on. I
didn’t dare to make the smallest repartee, I need hardly tell you.
LADY
CHILTERN. Dear Mabel, donR=
17;t talk
like that. Besides, Robert th=
inks very
highly of Mr. Trafford. He be=
lieves
he has a brilliant future before him.
MABEL
CHILTERN. Oh! I wouldn’t
marry a man with a future before him for anything under the sun.
LADY
CHILTERN. Mabel!
MABEL CHIL=
TERN. I know, dear. You married a man with a future,
didn’t you? But then Ro=
bert
was a genius, and you have a noble, self-sacrificing character. You can stand geniuses. I have no character at all, and Ro=
bert
is the only genius I could ever bear.
As a rule, I think they are quite impossible. Geniuses talk so much, don’t=
they?
Such a bad habit! And they are
always thinking about themselves, when I want them to be thinking about
me. I must go round now and
rehearse at Lady Basildon’s.
You remember, we are having tableaux, don’t you? The Triumph of something, I don=
217;t
know what! I hope it will be
triumph of me. Only triumph I=
am
really interested in at present.
[Kisses LADY CHILTERN and goes out; then comes running back.] Oh, Gertrude, do you know who is c=
oming
to see you? That dreadful Mrs.
Cheveley, in a most lovely gown.
Did you ask her?
LADY
CHILTERN. [Rising.] Mrs. Cheveley! Coming to see me? Impossible!
MABEL
CHILTERN. I assure you she is
coming upstairs, as large as life and not nearly so natural.
LADY
CHILTERN. You need not wait,
Mabel. Remember, Lady Basildo=
n is expecting
you.
MABEL
CHILTERN. Oh! I must shake ha=
nds
with Lady Markby. She is deli=
ghtful. I love being scolded by her.
[Enter MAS=
ON.]
MASON. Lady Markby. Mrs. Cheveley.
[Enter LADY
MARKBY and MRS. CHEVELEY.]
LADY
CHILTERN. [Advancing to meet
them.] Dear Lady Markby, how =
nice of
you to come and see me! [Shak=
es
hands with her, and bows somewhat distantly to MRS. CHEVELEY.] Won’t you sit down, Mrs. Che=
veley?
MRS. CHEVE=
LEY. Thanks. Isn’t that Miss Chiltern?
LADY
CHILTERN. Mabel, Mrs. Cheveley
wishes to know you.
[MABEL
CHILTERN gives a little nod.]
MRS. CHEVE=
LEY
[Sitting down.] I thought your
frock so charming last night, Miss Chiltern. So simple and . . . suitable.
MABEL
CHILTERN. Really? I must tell my dressmaker. It will be such a surprise to her.=
Good-bye, Lady Markby!
LADY
MARKBY. Going already?
MABEL
CHILTERN. I am so sorry but I=
am
obliged to. I am just off to =
rehearsal. I have got to stand on my head in =
some
tableaux.
LADY
MARKBY. On your head, child?<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Oh! I hope not. I believe it is most unhealthy.
MABEL
CHILTERN. But it is for an
excellent charity: in aid of the Undeserving, the only people I am really
interested in. I am the secre=
tary,
and Tommy Trafford is treasurer.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. And what is Lord Go=
ring?
MABEL
CHILTERN. Oh! Lord Goring is
president.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. The post should sui=
t him
admirably, unless he has deteriorated since I knew him first.
LADY
MARKBY. [Reflecting.] You are remarkably modern, Mabel.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> A little too modern, perhaps. Nothing is so dangerous as being t=
oo
modern. One is apt to grow old-fashioned quite suddenly. I have known many instances of it.=
MABEL
CHILTERN. What a dreadful pro=
spect!
LADY
MARKBY. Ah! my dear, you need=
not
be nervous. You will always b=
e as
pretty as possible. That is t=
he
best fashion there is, and the only fashion that England succeeds in settin=
g.
MABEL
CHILTERN. [With a curtsey.] Thank you so much, Lady Markby, fo=
r England
. . . and myself. [Goes out.]=
LADY
MARKBY. [Turning to LADY
CHILTERN.] Dear Gertrude, we =
just called
to know if Mrs. Cheveley’s diamond brooch has been found.
LADY CHILT=
ERN. Here?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Yes. I missed it when I got back to
Claridge’s, and I thought I might possibly have dropped it here.
LADY CHILTERN. I have heard nothing about it. But I will send for= the butler and ask. [Touches the bell.]<= o:p>
MRS. CHEVE=
LEY. Oh, pray don’t trouble, Lady
Chiltern. I dare say I lost i=
t at
the Opera, before we came on here.
LADY
MARKBY. Ah yes, I suppose it =
must
have been at the Opera. The f=
act is,
we all scramble and jostle so much nowadays that I wonder we have anything =
at
all left on us at the end of an evening.&n=
bsp;
I know myself that, when I am coming back from the Drawing Room, I
always feel as if I hadn’t a shred on me, except a small shred of dec=
ent
reputation, just enough to prevent the lower classes making painful observa=
tions
through the windows of the carriage.
The fact is that our Society is terribly over-populated. Really, some one should arrange a =
proper
scheme of assisted emigration. It
would do a great deal of good.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. I quite agree with =
you, Lady
Markby. It is nearly six years
since I have been in London for the Season, and I must say Society has beco=
me
dreadfully mixed. One sees the
oddest people everywhere.
LADY
MARKBY. That is quite true,
dear. But one needn’t k=
now
them. I’m sure I don=
217;t
know half the people who come to my house.=
Indeed, from all I hear, I shouldn’t like to.
[Enter MAS=
ON.]
LADY
CHILTERN. What sort of a broo=
ch was
it that you lost, Mrs. Cheveley?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. A diamond snake-bro=
och
with a ruby, a rather large ruby.
LADY
MARKBY. I thought you said th=
ere
was a sapphire on the head, dear?
MRS. CHEVE=
LEY
[Smiling.] No, lady Markby=
212;a
ruby.
LADY
MARKBY. [Nodding her head.] And very becoming, I am quite sure=
.
LADY
CHILTERN. Has a ruby and diam=
ond
brooch been found in any of the rooms this morning, Mason?
MASON. No, my lady.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. It really is of no
consequence, Lady Chiltern. I=
am so
sorry to have put you to any inconvenience.
LADY
CHILTERN. [Coldly.] Oh, it has been no inconvenience.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> That will do, Mason. You can bring tea.
[Exit MASO=
N.]
LADY
MARKBY. Well, I must say it i=
s most
annoying to lose anything. I =
remember
once at Bath, years ago, losing in the Pump Room an exceedingly handsome ca=
meo
bracelet that Sir John had given me.
I don’t think he has ever given me anything since, I am sorry =
to
say. He has sadly degenerated=
. Really, this horrid House of Commo=
ns
quite ruins our husbands for us. I
think the Lower House by far the greatest blow to a happy married life that
there has been since that terrible thing called the Higher Education of Wom=
en
was invented.
LADY
CHILTERN. Ah! it is heresy to=
say
that in this house, Lady Markby. Robert is a great champion of the Higher
Education of Women, and so, I am afraid, am I.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. The higher educatio=
n of
men is what I should like to see. Men need it so sadly.
LADY
MARKBY. They do, dear. But I am afraid such a scheme woul=
d be quite
unpractical. I don’t th=
ink
man has much capacity for development. He has got as far as he can, and tha=
t is
not far, is it? With regard t=
o women,
well, dear Gertrude, you belong to the younger generation, and I am sure it=
is
all right if you approve of it. In
my time, of course, we were taught not to understand anything. That was the old system, and wonde=
rfully
interesting it was. I assure =
you
that the amount of things I and my poor dear sister were taught not to
understand was quite extraordinary.
But modern women understand everything, I am told.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Except their
husbands. That is the one thi=
ng the
modern woman never understands.
LADY
MARKBY. And a very good thing=
too,
dear, I dare say. It might br=
eak up
many a happy home if they did. Not
yours, I need hardly say, Gertrude.
You have married a pattern husband.=
I wish I could say as much for myself. But since Sir John has taken to
attending the debates regularly, which he never used to do in the good old
days, his language has become quite impossible. He always seems to think that he i=
s addressing
the House, and consequently whenever he discusses the state of the agricult=
ural
labourer, or the Welsh Church, or something quite improper of that kind, I =
am
obliged to send all the servants out of the room. It is not pleasant to see one̵=
7;s
own butler, who has been with one for twenty-three years, actually blushing=
at
the side-board, and the footmen making contortions in corners like persons =
in
circuses. I assure you my lif=
e will
be quite ruined unless they send John at once to the Upper House. He won’t take any interest in
politics then, will he? The H=
ouse
of Lords is so sensible. An
assembly of gentlemen. But in=
his present
state, Sir John is really a great trial.&n=
bsp;
Why, this morning before breakfast was half over, he stood up on the
hearthrug, put his hands in his pockets, and appealed to the country at the=
top
of his voice. I left the tabl=
e as
soon as I had my second cup of tea, I need hardly say. But his violent language could be =
heard
all over the house! I trust, Gertrude, that Sir Robert is not like that?
LADY
CHILTERN. But I am very much
interested in politics, Lady Markby. I love to hear Robert talk about them.=
LADY
MARKBY. Well, I hope he is no=
t as
devoted to Blue Books as Sir John is.
I don’t think they can be quite improving reading for any one.=
MRS. CHEVE=
LEY
[Languidly.] I have never rea=
d a
Blue Book. I prefer books . .=
. in
yellow covers.
LADY
MARKBY. [Genially
unconscious.] Yellow is a gay=
er
colour, is it not? I used to =
wear
yellow a good deal in my early days, and would do so now if Sir John was no=
t so
painfully personal in his observations, and a man on the question of dress =
is
always ridiculous, is he not?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Oh, no! I think men are the only authoriti=
es on
dress.
LADY
MARKBY. Really? One wouldn’t say so from the=
sort
of hats they wear? would one?
[The butler
enters, followed by the footman.
Tea is set on a small table close to LADY CHILTERN.]
LADY
CHILTERN. May I give you some=
tea,
Mrs. Cheveley?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Thanks. [The butler hands MRS. CHEVELEY a =
cup of
tea on a salver.]
LADY CHILT=
ERN. Some tea, Lady Markby?
LADY
MARKBY. No thanks, dear. [The servants go out.] The fact is, I have promised to go=
round
for ten minutes to see poor Lady Brancaster, who is in very great trouble.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Her daughter, quite a well-brought=
-up girl,
too, has actually become engaged to be married to a curate in Shropshire. It is very sad, very sad indeed. I can’t understand this mode=
rn
mania for curates. In my time=
we
girls saw them, of course, running about the place like rabbits. But we never took any notice of th=
em, I
need hardly say. But I am tol=
d that
nowadays country society is quite honeycombed with them. I think it most irreligious. And then the eldest son has quarre=
lled
with his father, and it is said that when they meet at the club Lord Branca=
ster
always hides himself behind the money article in The Times. However, I believe that is quite a
common occurrence nowadays and that they have to take in extra copies of Th=
e Times
at all the clubs in St. James’s Street; there are so many sons who wo=
n’t
have anything to do with their fathers, and so many fathers who won’t
speak to their sons. I think
myself, it is very much to be regretted.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. So do I. Fathers have so much to learn from=
their
sons nowadays.
LADY
MARKBY. Really, dear? What?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. The art of living.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> The only really Fine Art we have p=
roduced
in modern times.
LADY
MARKBY. [Shaking her head.] Ah!
I am afraid Lord Brancaster knew a good deal about that. More than his poor wife ever did. =
[Turning
to LADY CHILTERN.] You know L=
ady
Brancaster, don’t you, dear?
LADY
CHILTERN. Just slightly. She was staying at Langton last au=
tumn, when
we were there.
LADY
MARKBY. Well, like all stout =
women,
she looks the very picture of happiness, as no doubt you noticed. But there are many tragedies in he=
r family,
besides this affair of the curate.
Her own sister, Mrs. Jekyll, had a most unhappy life; through no fau=
lt
of her own, I am sorry to say. She ultimately was so broken-hearted that she
went into a convent, or on to the operatic stage, I forget which. No; I think it was decorative art-=
needlework
she took up. I know she had l=
ost
all sense of pleasure in life.
[Rising.] And now, Ger=
trude,
if you will allow me, I shall leave Mrs. Cheveley in your charge and call b=
ack
for her in a quarter of an hour. Or
perhaps, dear Mrs. Cheveley, you wouldn’t mind waiting in the carriage
while I am with Lady Brancaster. As
I intend it to be a visit of condolence, I shan’t stay long.
MRS. CHEVE= LEY [Rising.] I don’t mind waiting in the carriage at all, provided there is somebody to look at one.<= o:p>
LADY
MARKBY. Well, I hear the cura=
te is
always prowling about the house.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. I am afraid I am no=
t fond
of girl friends.
LADY CHILT=
ERN
[Rising.] Oh, I hope Mrs. Che=
veley
will stay here a little. I sh=
ould
like to have a few minutes’ conversation with her.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. How very kind of yo=
u,
Lady Chiltern! Believe me, no=
thing would
give me greater pleasure.
LADY
MARKBY. Ah! no doubt you both=
have
many pleasant reminiscences of your schooldays to talk over together. Good-bye, dear Gertrude! Shall I see you at Lady Bonar̵=
7;s
to-night? She has discovered a
wonderful new genius. He does=
. . .
nothing at all, I believe. Th=
at is
a great comfort, is it not?
LADY
CHILTERN. Robert and I are di=
ning
at home by ourselves to-night, and I don’t think I shall go anywhere
afterwards. Robert, of course=
, will
have to be in the House. But =
there
is nothing interesting on.
LADY
MARKBY. Dining at home by
yourselves? Is that quite
prudent? Ah, I forgot, your h=
usband
is an exception. Mine is the
general rule, and nothing ages a woman so rapidly as having married the gen=
eral
rule. [Exit LADY MARKBY.]
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Wonderful woman, La=
dy
Markby, isn’t she? Talk=
s more
and says less than anybody I ever met.&nbs=
p;
She is made to be a public speaker. Much more so than her husband,
though he is a typical Englishman, always dull and usually violent.
LADY
CHILTERN. [Makes no answer, b=
ut
remains standing. There is a =
pause. Then the eyes of the two women
meet. LADY CHILTERN looks ste=
rn and
pale. MRS. CHEVELEY seem rath=
er
amused.] Mrs. Cheveley, I thi=
nk it
is right to tell you quite frankly that, had I known who you really were, I
should not have invited you to my house last night.
MRS. CHEVE=
LEY
[With an impertinent smile.]
Really?
LADY
CHILTERN. I could not have do=
ne so.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. I see that after all
these years you have not changed a bit, Gertrude.
LADY
CHILTERN. I never change.
MRS. CHEVE=
LEY
[Elevating her eyebrows.] The=
n life
has taught you nothing?
LADY
CHILTERN. It has taught me th=
at a
person who has once been guilty of a dishonest and dishonourable action may=
be
guilty of it a second time, and should be shunned.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Would you apply tha=
t rule
to every one?
LADY CHILT=
ERN. Yes, to every one, without excepti=
on.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Then I am sorry for=
you,
Gertrude, very sorry for you.
LADY
CHILTERN. You see now, I was =
sure,
that for many reasons any further acquaintance between us during your stay =
in
London is quite impossible?
MRS. CHEVE=
LEY
[Leaning back in her chair.] =
Do you
know, Gertrude, I don’t mind your talking morality a bit. Morality is simply the attitude we=
adopt
towards people whom we personally dislike.=
You dislike me. I am q=
uite
aware of that. And I have alw=
ays
detested you. And yet I have =
come
here to do you a service.
LADY
CHILTERN. [Contemptuously.] Like the service you wished to ren=
der my
husband last night, I suppose.
Thank heaven, I saved him from that.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [Starting to her fe=
et.] It was you who made him write that
insolent letter to me? It was=
you
who made him break his promise?
LADY
CHILTERN. Yes.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Then you must make =
him
keep it. I give you till to-m=
orrow
morning—no more. If by =
that
time your husband does not solemnly bind himself to help me in this great
scheme in which I am interested—
LADY
CHILTERN. This fraudulent
speculation—
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Call it what you
choose. I hold your husband i=
n the hollow
of my hand, and if you are wise you will make him do what I tell him.
LADY
CHILTERN. [Rising and going t=
owards
her.] You are impertinent. Wh=
at has
my husband to do with you? Wi=
th a
woman like you?
MRS. CHEVE=
LEY
[With a bitter laugh.] In this
world like meets with like. I=
t is
because your husband is himself fraudulent and dishonest that we pair so we=
ll
together. Between you and him=
there
are chasms. He and I are clos=
er
than friends. We are enemies =
linked
together. The same sin binds =
us.
LADY
CHILTERN. How dare you class =
my
husband with yourself? How da=
re you
threaten him or me? Leave my
house. You are unfit to enter=
it.
[SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN enters from behind. =
He
hears his wife’s last words, and sees to whom they are addressed. He grows deadly pale.]
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Your house! A house bought with the price of
dishonour. A house, everything in which has been paid for by fraud. [Turns round and sees SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN.] Ask him what the o=
rigin
of his fortune is! Get him to=
tell
you how he sold to a stockbroker a Cabinet secret. Learn from him to what y=
ou
owe your position.
LADY
CHILTERN. It is not true! Robert! It is not true!
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [Pointing at him wi=
th
outstretched finger.] Look at=
him! Can he deny it? Does he dare to?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Go! Go at once. You have done your worst now.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. My worst? I have not yet finished with you, =
with
either of you. I give you bot=
h till
to-morrow at noon. If by then=
you
don’t do what I bid you to do, the whole world shall know the origin =
of
Robert Chiltern.
[SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN strikes the bell. En=
ter
MASON.]
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Show Mrs. Cheveley =
out.
[MRS. CHEV=
ELEY
starts; then bows with somewhat exaggerated politeness to LADY CHILTERN, who
makes no sign of response. As=
she
passes by SIR ROBERT CHILTERN, who is standing close to the door, she pauses
for a moment and looks him straight in the face. She then goes out, followed by the
servant, who closes the door after him.&nb=
sp;
The husband and wife are left alone. LADY CHILTERN stands like some one=
in a dreadful
dream. Then she turns round a=
nd
looks at her husband. She loo=
ks at
him with strange eyes, as though she were seeing him for the first time.]
LADY
CHILTERN. You sold a Cabinet =
secret
for money! You began your lif=
e with
fraud! You built up your care=
er on
dishonour! Oh, tell me it is =
not
true! Lie to me! Lie to me! Tell me it is not true!
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. What this woman sai=
d is
quite true. But, Gertrude, li=
sten
to me. You don’t realis=
e how
I was tempted. Let me tell yo=
u the whole
thing. [Goes towards her.]
LADY
CHILTERN. Don’t come ne=
ar
me. Don’t touch me. I feel as if you had soiled me for
ever. Oh! what a mask you hav=
e been
wearing all these years! A ho=
rrible
painted mask! You sold yourse=
lf for
money. Oh! a common thief wer=
e better. You put yourself up to sale to the
highest bidder! You were boug=
ht in
the market. You lied to the w=
hole
world. And yet you will not lie to me.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Rushing towards
her.] Gertrude! Gertrude!
LADY
CHILTERN. [Thrusting him back=
with
outstretched hands.] No, don&=
#8217;t
speak! Say nothing! Your voice wakes terrible
memories—memories of things that made me love you—memories of w=
ords
that made me love you—memories that now are horrible to me. And how I worshipped you! You were to me something apart from
common life, a thing pure, noble, honest, without stain. The world seemed to me finer becau=
se you
were in it, and goodness more real because you lived. And now—oh, when I think tha=
t I made
of a man like you my ideal! the ideal of my life!
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. There was your
mistake. There was your error=
. The error all women commit. Why can’t you women love us,
faults and all? Why do you place us on monstrous pedestals? We have all feet of clay, women as=
well
as men; but when we men love women, we love them knowing their weaknesses,
their follies, their imperfections, love them all the more, it may be, for =
that
reason. It is not the perfect=
, but
the imperfect, who have need of love.
It is when we are wounded by our own hands, or by the hands of other=
s,
that love should come to cure us—else what use is love at all? All sins, except a sin against its=
elf,
Love should forgive. All live=
s,
save loveless lives, true Love should pardon. A man’s love is like
that. It is wider, larger, mo=
re
human than a woman’s. W=
omen
think that they are making ideals of men.&=
nbsp;
What they are making of us are false idols merely. You made your false idol of me, an=
d I
had not the courage to come down, show you my wounds, tell you my weaknesse=
s. I was afraid that I might lose your
love, as I have lost it now. =
And
so, last night you ruined my life for me—yes, ruined it! What this woman asked of me was no=
thing
compared to what she offered to me. She offered security, peace,
stability. The sin of my yout=
h, that
I had thought was buried, rose up in front of me, hideous, horrible, with i=
ts hands
at my throat. I could have ki=
lled
it for ever, sent it back into its tomb, destroyed its record, burned the o=
ne
witness against me. You preve=
nted
me. No one but you, you know
it. And now what is there bef=
ore me
but public disgrace, ruin, terrible shame, the mockery of the world, a lone=
ly
dishonoured life, a lonely dishonoured death, it may be, some day? Let women
make no more ideals of men! let them not put them on alters and bow before
them, or they may ruin other lives as completely as you—you whom I ha=
ve
so wildly loved—have ruined mine!
[He passes
from the room. LADY CHILTERN =
rushes
towards him, but the door is closed when she reaches it. Pale with anguish, bewildered, hel=
pless,
she sways like a plant in the water.
Her hands, outstretched, seem to tremble in the air like blossoms in=
the
mind. Then she flings herself down beside a sofa and buries her face. Her sobs are like the sobs of a ch=
ild.]
=
=
ACT
DROP
SCENE
The Library in Lord Goring’s
house. An Adam room. On the right is the door leading i=
nto
the hall. On the left, the do=
or of
the smoking-room. A pair of f=
olding
doors at the back open into the drawing-room. The fire is lit. Phipps, the butler, is arranging s=
ome
newspapers on the writing-table.
The distinction of Phipps is his impassivity. He has been termed by
enthusiasts the Ideal Butler. The Sphinx
is not so incommunicable. He =
is a
mask with a manner. Of his in=
tellectual
or emotional life, history knows nothing.&=
nbsp;
He represents the dominance of form.
[Enter LORD
GORING in evening dress with a buttonhole.=
He is wearing a silk hat and Inverness cape. White-gloved, he carries a Louis S=
eize
cane. His are all the delicate
fopperies of Fashion. One sees that he stands in immediate relation to mode=
rn
life, makes it indeed, and so masters it.&=
nbsp;
He is the first well-dressed philosopher in the history of thought.]=
LORD
GORING. Got my second buttonh=
ole
for me, Phipps?
PHIPPS.
LORD
GORING. Rather distinguished =
thing,
Phipps. I am the only person =
of the
smallest importance in London at present who wears a buttonhole.
PHIPPS.
LORD
GORING. [Taking out old
buttonhole.] You see, Phipps,
Fashion is what one wears oneself.
What is unfashionable is what other people wear.
PHIPPS.
LORD
GORING. Just as vulgarity is =
simply
the conduct of other people.
PHIPPS.
LORD
GORING. [Putting in a new
buttonhole.] And falsehoods t=
he
truths of other people.
PHIPPS.
LORD
GORING. Other people are quite
dreadful. The only possible s=
ociety
is oneself.
PHIPPS.
LORD
GORING. To love oneself is the
beginning of a lifelong romance, Phipps.
PHIPPS.
LORD
GORING. [Looking at himself i=
n the
glass.] Don’t think I q=
uite like
this buttonhole, Phipps. Make=
s me
look a little too old. Makes =
me almost
in the prime of life, eh, Phipps?
PHIPPS.
LORD
GORING. You don’t, Phip=
ps?
PHIPPS.
LORD
GORING. I am not quite sure.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> For the future a more trivial butt=
onhole,
Phipps, on Thursday evenings.
PHIPPS.
LORD GORING. Extraordinary thing a= bout the lower classes in England—they are always losing their relations.<= o:p>
PHIPPS.
LORD
GORING. [Turns round and look=
s at
him. PHIPPS remains impassive=
.] Hum! Any letters, Phipps?
PHIPPS.
LORD
GORING. [Takes letters.] Want my cab round in twenty minute=
s.
PHIPPS.
LORD
GORING. [Holds up letter in p=
ink
envelope.] Ahem! Phipps, when did this letter arriv=
e?
PHIPPS.
LORD
GORING. That will do. [Exit PHIPPS.] Lady Chiltern’s handwriting =
on
Lady Chiltern’s pink notepaper.
That is rather curious. I thought Robert was to write. Wonder what Lady Chiltern has got =
to say
to me? [Sits at bureau and op=
ens
letter, and reads it.] ‘=
;I
want you. I trust you. I am coming to you. Gertrude.’ [Puts down the letter with a puzzl=
ed
look. Then takes it up, and r=
eads
it again slowly.] ‘I wa=
nt you. I trust you. I am coming to you.’ So she has found out everything! Poor woman! Poor woman! [ Pulls out watch and looks at it.=
] But what an hour to call! Ten o’clock! I shall have to give up going to t=
he
Berkshires. However, it is al=
ways
nice to be expected, and not to arrive.&nb=
sp;
I am not expected at the Bachelors’, so I shall certainly go
there. Well, I will make her =
stand
by her husband. That is the only thing for her to do. That is the only thing for any wom=
an to
do. It is the growth of the m=
oral
sense in women that makes marriage such a hopeless, one-sided institution.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Ten o’clock. She should be here soon. I must tell Phipps I am not in to =
any
one else. [Goes towards bell]
[Enter
PHIPPS.]
PHIPPS.
LORD
GORING. Oh, why will parents =
always
appear at the wrong time? Som=
e extraordinary
mistake in nature, I suppose.
[Enter LORD CAVERSHAM.] Delighted to see you, my dear father. [Goes to meet him.]
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Take my cloak off.=
LORD
GORING. Is it worth while, fa=
ther?
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Of course it is wo=
rth
while, sir. Which is the most=
comfortable
chair?
LORD
GORING. This one, father. It is the chair I use myself, when=
I have
visitors.
LORD CAVERSHAM. Thank ye. No draught, I hope, in this room?<= o:p>
LORD GORIN=
G. No, father.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. [Sitting down.]
LORD
GORING. Good many breezes, fa=
ther.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Eh? Eh?
Don’t understand what you mean. Want to have a serious conversatio=
n with
you, sir.
LORD
GORING. My dear father! At this hour?
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Well, sir, it is o=
nly
ten o’clock. What is yo=
ur objection
to the hour? I think the hour=
is an
admirable hour!
LORD
GORING. Well, the fact is, fa=
ther,
this is not my day for talking seriously.&=
nbsp;
I am very sorry, but it is not my day.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. What do you mean, =
sir?
LORD
GORING. During the Season, fa=
ther,
I only talk seriously on the first Tuesday in every month, from four to sev=
en.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Well, make it Tues=
day, sir,
make it Tuesday.
LORD
GORING. But it is after seven,
father, and my doctor says I must not have any serious conversation after
seven. It makes me talk in my=
sleep.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Talk in your sleep,
sir? What does that matter? You are not married.
LORD
GORING. No, father, I am not
married.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Hum! That is what I have come to talk t=
o you
about, sir. You have got to g=
et
married, and at once. Why, wh=
en I
was your age, sir, I had been an inconsolable widower for three months, and=
was
already paying my addresses to your admirable mother. Damme, sir, it is your duty to get
married. You can’t be a=
lways
living for pleasure. Every man of position is married nowadays. Bachelors are not fashionable any
more. They are a damaged lot.=
Too much is known about them. You must get a wife, sir. Look where your friend Robert Chil=
tern
has got to by probity, hard work, and a sensible marriage with a good
woman. Why don’t you im=
itate
him, sir? Why don’t you=
take
him for your model?
LORD GORIN=
G. I think I shall, father.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. I wish you would,
sir. Then I should be happy.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> At present I make your mother̵=
7;s
life miserable on your account. You
are heartless, sir, quite heartless.
LORD
GORING. I hope not, father.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. And it is high tim=
e for
you to get married. You are t=
hirty-four
years of age, sir.
LORD
GORING. Yes, father, but I on=
ly
admit to thirty-two—thirty-one and a half when I have a really good
buttonhole. This buttonhole i=
s not
. . . trivial enough.
LORD CAVER=
SHAM. I tell you you are thirty-four,
sir. And there is a draught i=
n your
room, besides, which makes your conduct worse. Why did you tell me there was no
draught, sir? I feel a draugh=
t,
sir, I feel it distinctly.
LORD
GORING. So do I, father. It is a dreadful draught. I will come and see you to-morrow,
father. We can talk over anyt=
hing
you like. Let me help you on =
with
your cloak, father.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. No, sir; I have ca=
lled
this evening for a definite purpose, and I am going to see it through at all
costs to my health or yours. =
Put
down my cloak, sir.
LORD
GORING. Certainly, father.
PHIPPS.
LORD
GORING. Come in there, father=
. Your sneezes are quite heartrendin=
g.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Well, sir, I suppo=
se I
have a right to sneeze when I choose?
LORD GORING. [Apologetically.] Quite so, father. I was merely expressing sympathy.<= o:p>
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Oh, damn sympathy.=
There is a great deal too much of =
that
sort of thing going on nowadays.
LORD
GORING. I quite agree with yo=
u,
father. If there was less sym=
pathy in
the world there would be less trouble in the world.
LORD CAVER=
SHAM. [Going towards the smoking-room.]<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> That is a paradox, sir. I hate paradoxes.
LORD
GORING. So do I, father. Everybody one meets is a paradox n=
owadays. It is a great bore. It makes society so obvious.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. [Turning round, and
looking at his son beneath his bushy eyebrows.] Do you always really understand wh=
at you
say, sir?
LORD
GORING. [After some
hesitation.] Yes, father, if I
listen attentively.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. [Indignantly.] If you listen attentively! . . . C=
onceited
young puppy!
[Goes off
grumbling into the smoking-room.
PHIPPS enters.]
LORD
GORING. Phipps, there is a la=
dy
coming to see me this evening on particular business. Show her into the drawing-room whe=
n she
arrives. You understand?
PHIPPS.
LORD
GORING. It is a matter of the
gravest importance, Phipps.
PHIPPS.
LORD
GORING. No one else is to be
admitted, under any circumstances.
PHIPPS.
LORD
GORING. Ah! that is probably =
the
lady. I shall see her myself.=
[Just as h=
e is
going towards the door LORD CAVERSHAM enters from the smoking-room.]
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Well, sir? am I to=
wait
attendance on you?
LORD
GORING. [Considerably
perplexed.] In a moment,
father. Do excuse me. [LORD CAVERSHAM goes back.] Well, remember my instructions,
Phipps—into that room.
PHIPPS.
[LORD GORI=
NG
goes into the smoking-room. H=
AROLD,
the footman shows MRS. CHEVELEY in.
Lamia-like, she is in green and silver. She has a cloak of black satin, li=
ned
with dead rose-leaf silk.]
HAROLD.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [To PHIPPS, who adv=
ances
towards her.] Is Lord Goring =
not
here? I was told he was at ho=
me?
PHIPPS.
[Turns a c=
old,
glassy eye on HAROLD, who at once retires.]
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [To herself.] How very filial!
PHIPPS.
MRS. CHEVE=
LEY. [With a look of surprise.] Lord Goring expects me?
PHIPPS.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Are you quite sure?=
PHIPPS.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [To herself] How thoughtful of him! To expect the unexpected shows a
thoroughly modern intellect. =
[Goes
towards the drawing-room and looks in.]&nb=
sp;
Ugh! How dreary a
bachelor’s drawing-room always looks. I shall have to alter all this.
PHIPPS.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. I hope the candles =
have
very becoming shades.
PHIPPS.
[Passes in=
to
the drawing-room and begins to light the candles.]
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [To herself.] I wonder what woman he is waiting =
for to-night. It will be delightful to catch him=
. Men always look so silly when they=
are
caught. And they are always b=
eing
caught. [Looks about room and
approaches the writing-table.] What
a very interesting room! What a very interesting picture! Wonder what his correspondence is =
like. [Takes
up letters.] Oh, what a very
uninteresting correspondence! Bills and cards, debts and dowagers! Who on earth writes to him on pink=
paper? How silly to write on pink paper!<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> It looks like the beginning of a m=
iddle-class
romance. Romance should never=
begin
with sentiment. It should beg=
in
with science and end with a settlement.&nb=
sp;
[Puts letter down, then takes it up again.] I know that handwriting. That is Gertrude Chiltern’s.=
I remember it perfectly. The ten commandments in every stro=
ke of
the pen, and the moral law all over the page. Wonder what Gertrude is writing to=
him
about? Something horrid about=
me, I
suppose. How I detest that
woman! [Reads it.] ‘I trust you. I want you. I am coming to you. Gertrude.’ ‘I trust you. I want you. I am coming to you.’
[A look of
triumph comes over her face. =
She is
just about to steal the letter, when PHIPPS comes in.]
PHIPPS.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Thank you. [Rises hastily and slips the letter
under a large silver-cased blotting-book that is lying on the table.]
PHIPPS.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [With a smile.] Then I am sure they will be perfec=
tly right.
PHIPPS.
[MRS. CHEV=
ELEY
goes into the drawing-room. P=
HIPPS
closes the door and retires. =
The
door is then slowly opened, and MRS. CHEVELEY comes out and creeps stealthi=
ly
towards the writing-table. Su=
ddenly
voices are heard from the smoking-room.&nb=
sp;
MRS. CHEVELEY grows pale, and stops. The voices grow louder, and she go=
es
back into the drawing-room, biting her lip.]
[Enter LORD
GORING and LORD CAVERSHAM.]
LORD
GORING. [Expostulating.] My dear father, if I am to get mar=
ried, surely
you will allow me to choose the time, place, and person? Particularly the
person.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. [Testily.] That is a matter for me, sir. You would probably make a very poor
choice. It is I who should be
consulted, not you. There is
property at stake. It is not a
matter for affection. Affection comes later on in married life.
LORD
GORING. Yes. In married life affection comes wh=
en
people thoroughly dislike each other, father, doesn’t it? [Puts on LORD CAVERSHAM’S cl=
oak
for him.]
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Certainly, sir.
LORD
GORING. But women who have co=
mmon
sense are so curiously plain, father, aren’t they? Of course I only speak from hearsa=
y.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. No woman, plain or
pretty, has any common sense at all, sir.&=
nbsp;
Common sense is the privilege of our sex.
LORD
GORING. Quite so. And we men are so self-sacrificing=
that
we never use it, do we, father?
LORD
CAVERSHAM. I use it, sir. I use nothing else.
LORD
GORING. So my mother tells me=
.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. It is the secret o=
f your
mother’s happiness. You=
are very
heartless, sir, very heartless.
LORD
GORING. I hope not, father.
[Goes out =
for
a moment. Then returns, looki=
ng
rather put out, with SIR ROBERT CHILTERN.]
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. My dear Arthur, wha=
t a
piece of good luck meeting you on the doorstep! Your servant had just told me you =
were
not at home. How extraordinary!
LORD
GORING. The fact is, I am hor=
ribly
busy to-night, Robert, and I gave orders I was not at home to any one. Even my father had a comparatively=
cold
reception. He complained of a
draught the whole time.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Ah! you must be at =
home
to me, Arthur. You are my best
friend. Perhaps by to-morrow =
you
will be my only friend. My wi=
fe has
discovered everything.
LORD
GORING. Ah! I guessed as much=
!
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Looking at him.] Really! How?
LORD
GORING. [After some
hesitation.] Oh, merely by
something in the expression of your face as you came in. Who told her?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Mrs. Cheveley
herself. And the woman I love=
knows
that I began my career with an act of low dishonesty, that I built up my li=
fe
upon sands of shame—that I sold, like a common huckster, the secret t=
hat
had been intrusted to me as a man of honour. I thank heaven poor Lord Radley di=
ed
without knowing that I betrayed him.
I would to God I had died before I had been so horribly tempted, or =
had
fallen so low. [Burying his face in his hands.]
LORD
GORING. [After a pause.] You have heard nothing from Vienna=
yet, in
answer to your wire?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Looking up.] Yes; I got a telegram from the fir=
st
secretary at eight o’clock to-night.
LORD
GORING. Well?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Nothing is absolute=
ly
known against her. On the con=
trary,
she occupies a rather high position in society. It is a sort of open secret that B=
aron
Arnheim left her the greater portion of his immense fortune. Beyond that I can learn nothing.
LORD
GORING. She doesn’t tur=
n out
to be a spy, then?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Oh! spies are of no=
use
nowadays. Their profession is=
over.
The newspapers do their work
instead.
LORD
GORING. And thunderingly well=
they
do it.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Arthur, I am parche=
d with
thirst. May I ring for someth=
ing? Some hock and seltzer?
LORD
GORING. Certainly. Let me. [Rings the bell.]
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Thanks! I don’t know what to do, Art=
hur, I
don’t know what to do, and you are my only friend. But what a friend you are—th=
e one
friend I can trust. I can tru=
st you
absolutely, can’t I?
[Enter
PHIPPS.]
LORD
GORING. My dear Robert, of co=
urse. Oh!
[To PHIPPS.] Bring som=
e hock
and seltzer.
PHIPPS.
LORD
GORING. And Phipps!
PHIPPS.
LORD
GORING. Will you excuse me fo=
r a
moment, Robert? I want to giv=
e some
directions to my servant.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Certainly.
LORD
GORING. When that lady calls,=
tell
her that I am not expected home this evening. Tell her that I have been suddenly
called out of town. You understand?
PHIPPS.
LORD
GORING. You did perfectly
right. [Exit PHIPPS.] What a mess I am in. No; I think I shall get through it=
. I’ll give her a lecture thro=
ugh
the door. Awkward thing to ma=
nage,
though.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Arthur, tell me wha=
t I
should do. My life seems to h=
ave
crumbled about me. I am a ship
without a rudder in a night without a star.
LORD
GORING. Robert, you love your=
wife,
don’t you?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. I love her more than
anything in the world. I used=
to
think ambition the great thing. It
is not. Love is the great thi=
ng in
the world. There is nothing b=
ut
love, and I love her. But I a=
m defamed
in her eyes. I am ignoble in =
her
eyes. There is a wide gulf be=
tween
us now. She has found me out,
Arthur, she has found me out.
LORD
GORING. Has she never in her =
life
done some folly—some indiscretion—that she should not forgive y=
our
sin?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. My wife! Never! She does not know what weakness or
temptation is. I am of clay l=
ike
other men. She stands apart a=
s good
women do—pitiless in her perfection—cold and stern and without
mercy. But I love her, Arthur. We
are childless, and I have no one else to love, no one else to love me. Perhaps if God had sent us childre=
n she might
have been kinder to me. But G=
od has
given us a lonely house. And =
she
has cut my heart in two.
Don’t let us talk of it.
I was brutal to her this evening.&n=
bsp;
But I suppose when sinners talk to saints they are brutal always.
LORD
GORING. Your wife will forgive
you. Perhaps at this moment s=
he is forgiving
you. She loves you, Robert. Why should she not forgive?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. God grant it! God grant it! [Buries his face in his hands.]
[Enter PHI=
PPS
with drinks.]
PHIPPS.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Thank you.
LORD GORIN=
G. Is your carriage here, Robert?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. No; I walked from t=
he
club.
LORD
GORING. Sir Robert will take =
my
cab, Phipps.
PHIPPS.
LORD
GORING. Robert, you don’=
;t
mind my sending you away?
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Arthur, you must le= t me stay for five minutes. I have= made up my mind what I am going to do to-night in the House. The debate on the Argentine Canal = is to begin at eleven. [A chair fal= ls in the drawing-room.] What is that?<= o:p>
LORD
GORING. Nothing.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. I heard a chair fal=
l in
the next room. Some one has b=
een
listening.
LORD
GORING. No, no; there is no o=
ne
there.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. There is some one.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> There are lights in the room, and =
the
door is ajar. Some one has be=
en
listening to every secret of my life.
Arthur, what does this mean?
LORD
GORING. Robert, you are excit=
ed,
unnerved. I tell you there is=
no one
in that room. Sit down, Robert.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Do you give me your=
word
that there is no one there?
LORD GORIN=
G. Yes.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Your word of honour=
? [Sits down.]
LORD
GORING. Yes.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Rises.] Arthur, let me see for myself.
LORD
GORING. No, no.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. If there is no one =
there
why should I not look in that room?
Arthur, you must let me go into that room and satisfy myself. Let me
know that no eavesdropper has heard my life’s secret. Arthur, you don’t realise wh=
at I
am going through.
LORD
GORING. Robert, this must
stop. I have told you that th=
ere is
no one in that room—that is enough.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Rushes to the door=
of
the room.] It is not enough.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> I insist on going into this room.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> You have told me there is no one t=
here,
so what reason can you have for refusing me?
LORD
GORING. For God’s sake,=
don’t! There is some one there. Some one whom you must not see.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Ah, I thought so!
LORD
GORING. I forbid you to enter=
that
room.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Stand back. My life is at stake. And I don’t care who is
there. I will know who it is =
to
whom I have told my secret and my shame.&n=
bsp;
[Enters room.]
LORD
GORING. Great heavens! his own
wife!
[SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN comes back, with a look of scorn and anger on his face.]
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. What explanation ha=
ve you
to give me for the presence of that woman here?
LORD
GORING. Robert, I swear to yo=
u on
my honour that that lady is stainless and guiltless of all offence towards =
you.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. She is a vile, an
infamous thing!
LORD
GORING. Don’t say that,
Robert! It was for your sake =
she
came here. It was to try and =
save
you she came here. She loves =
you
and no one else.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. You are mad. What have I to do with her intrigu= es with you? Let her remain your mistress! You are well suited= to each other. She, corrupt and shameful—you, false as a friend, treacherous as an enemy even—<= o:p>
LORD
GORING. It is not true,
Robert. Before heaven, it is =
not
true. In her presence and in =
yours
I will explain all.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Let me pass, sir. You have lied enough upon your wor=
d of
honour.
[SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN goes out. LORD GORING
rushes to the door of the drawing-room, when MRS. CHEVELEY comes out, looki=
ng
radiant and much amused.]
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [With a mock
curtsey] Good evening, Lord G=
oring!
LORD
GORING. Mrs. Cheveley! Great heavens! . . . May I ask wha=
t you were
doing in my drawing-room?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Merely listening. I have a perfect passion for liste=
ning through
keyholes. One always hears su=
ch
wonderful things through them.
LORD GORIN=
G. Doesn’t that sound rather li=
ke
tempting Providence?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Oh! surely Providen=
ce can
resist temptation by this time. [Makes a sign to him to take her cloak off,
which he does.]
LORD
GORING. I am glad you have
called. I am going to give yo=
u some
good advice.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Oh! pray
don’t. One should never=
give
a woman anything that she can’t wear in the evening.
LORD
GORING. I see you are quite as
wilful as you used to be.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Far more! I have greatly improved. I have had more experience.
LORD
GORING. Too much experience i=
s a
dangerous thing. Pray have a =
cigarette. Half the pretty women in London sm=
oke
cigarettes. Personally I pref=
er the
other half.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Thanks. I never smoke. My dressmaker wouldn’t like =
it, and
a woman’s first duty in life is to her dressmaker, isn’t it?
LORD
GORING. You have come here to=
sell
me Robert Chiltern’s letter, haven’t you?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. To offer it to you =
on
conditions. How did you guess=
that?
LORD
GORING. Because you havenR=
17;t
mentioned the subject. Have y=
ou got
it with you?
MRS. CHEVELEY. [Sitting down.] Oh, no! A well-made dress has no pockets.<= o:p>
LORD
GORING. What is your price fo=
r it?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. How absurdly Englis=
h you
are! The English think that a=
cheque-book
can solve every problem in life.
Why, my dear Arthur, I have very much more money than you have, and
quite as much as Robert Chiltern has got hold of. Money is not what I want.
LORD GORIN=
G. What do you want then, Mrs. Chevel=
ey?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Why don’t you=
call
me Laura?
LORD
GORING. I don’t like the
name.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. You used to adore i=
t.
LORD
GORING. Yes: that’s why=
. [MRS. CHEVELEY motions to him to s=
it down
beside her. He smiles, and do=
es
so.]
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Arthur, you loved me
once.
LORD
GORING. Yes.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. And you asked me to=
be
your wife.
LORD
GORING. That was the natural =
result
of my loving you.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. And you threw me ov=
er
because you saw, or said you saw, poor old Lord Mortlake trying to have a
violent flirtation with me in the conservatory at Tenby.
LORD
GORING. I am under the impres=
sion
that my lawyer settled that matter with you on certain terms . . . dictated=
by
yourself.
MRS. CHEVE=
LEY.
At that time I was poor; you =
were
rich.
LORD
GORING. Quite so. That is why you pretended to love =
me.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [Shrugging her
shoulders.] Poor old Lord Mor=
tlake,
who had only two topics of conversation, his gout and his wife! I never could quite make out which=
of
the two he was talking about. He
used the most horrible language about them both. Well, you were silly, Arthur. Why,=
Lord
Mortlake was never anything more to me than an amusement. One of those utterly tedious amuse=
ments
one only finds at an English country house on an English country Sunday.
LORD GORING. Yes. I know lots of people think that.<= o:p>
MRS.
CHEVELEY. I loved you, Arthur=
.
LORD
GORING. My dear Mrs. Cheveley=
, you
have always been far too clever to know anything about love.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. I did love you. And you loved me. You know you loved me; and love is=
a
very wonderful thing. I suppo=
se
that when a man has once loved a woman, he will do anything for her, except
continue to love her? [Puts h=
er
hand on his.]
LORD
GORING. [Taking his hand away
quietly.] Yes: except that.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [After a pause.]
LORD
GORING. Now?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [Smiling.] To-morrow.
LORD
GORING. Are you really seriou=
s?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Yes, quite serious.=
LORD
GORING. I should make you a v=
ery
bad husband.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. I don’t mind =
bad
husbands. I have had two. They amused me immensely.
LORD
GORING. You mean that you amu=
sed
yourself immensely, don’t you?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. What do you know ab=
out my
married life?
LORD
GORING. Nothing: but I can re=
ad it
like a book.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. What book?
LORD
GORING. [Rising.] The Book of Numbers.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Do you think it is =
quite
charming of you to be so rude to a woman in your own house?
LORD
GORING. In the case of very
fascinating women, sex is a challenge, not a defence.
MRS. CHEVE=
LEY.
I suppose that is meant for a
compliment. My dear Arthur, w=
omen
are never disarmed by compliments.
Men always are. That i=
s the
difference between the two sexes.
LORD
GORING. Women are never disar=
med by
anything, as far as I know them.
MRS. CHEVE=
LEY. [After a pause.] Then you are going to allow your g=
reatest
friend, Robert Chiltern, to be ruined, rather than marry some one who really
has considerable attractions left.
I thought you would have risen to some great height of self-sacrific=
e,
Arthur. I think you should. And the rest of your life you could
spend in contemplating your own perfections.
LORD
GORING. Oh! I do that as it
is. And self-sacrifice is a t=
hing
that should be put down by law. It
is so demoralising to the people for whom one sacrifices oneself. They always go to the bad.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. As if anything could
demoralise Robert Chiltern! Y=
ou seem
to forget that I know his real character.
LORD
GORING. What you know about h=
im is
not his real character. It wa=
s an
act of folly done in his youth, dishonourable, I admit, shameful, I admit,
unworthy of him, I admit, and therefore . . . not his true character.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. How you men stand u=
p for
each other!
LORD
GORING. How you women war aga=
inst
each other!
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [Bitterly.] I only war against one woman, agai=
nst Gertrude
Chiltern. I hate her. I hate her now more than ever.
LORD
GORING. Because you have brou=
ght a
real tragedy into her life, I suppose.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [With a sneer.] Oh, there is only one real tragedy=
in a
woman’s life. The fact =
that
her past is always her lover, and her future invariably her husband.
LORD
GORING. Lady Chiltern knows n=
othing
of the kind of life to which you are alluding.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. A woman whose size =
in
gloves is seven and three-quarters never knows much about anything. You know Gertrude has always worn =
seven and
three-quarters? That is one o=
f the
reasons why there was never any moral sympathy between us. . . . Well, Arth=
ur,
I suppose this romantic interview may be regarded as at an end. You admit it was romantic, donR=
17;t you? For the privilege of being your wi=
fe I
was ready to surrender a great prize, the climax of my diplomatic career. You decline. Very well. If Sir Robert doesn’t uphold=
my
Argentine scheme, I expose him. Voilà tout.
LORD
GORING. You mustn’t do
that. It would be vile, horri=
ble,
infamous.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [Shrugging her
shoulders.] Oh! don’t u=
se big
words. They mean so little. I=
t is a
commercial transaction. That =
is
all. There is no good mixing up sentimentality in it. I offered to sell Robert Chiltern a
certain thing. If he won̵=
7;t
pay me my price, he will have to pay the world a greater price. There is no more to be said. I must go. Good-bye. Won’t you shake hands?
LORD
GORING. With you? No.
Your transaction with Robert Chiltern may pass as a loathsome commer=
cial
transaction of a loathsome commercial age; but you seem to have forgotten t=
hat
you came here to-night to talk of love, you whose lips desecrated the word
love, you to whom the thing is a book closely sealed, went this afternoon to
the house of one of the most noble and gentle women in the world to degrade=
her
husband in her eyes, to try and kill her love for him, to put poison in her
heart, and bitterness in her life, to break her idol, and, it may be, spoil=
her
soul. That I cannot forgive
you. That was horrible. For that there can be no forgivene=
ss.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Arthur, you are unj=
ust to
me. Believe me, you are quite=
unjust
to me. I didn’t go to t=
aunt
Gertrude at all. I had no ide=
a of doing
anything of the kind when I entered.
I called with Lady Markby simply to ask whether an ornament, a jewel,
that I lost somewhere last night, had been found at the Chilterns’. If you don’t believe me, you=
can
ask Lady Markby. She will tel=
l you
it is true. The scene that oc=
curred
happened after Lady Markby had left, and was really forced on me by
Gertrude’s rudeness and sneers.
I called, oh!—a little out of malice if you like—but rea=
lly
to ask if a diamond brooch of mine had been found. That was the origin of t=
he
whole thing.
LORD
GORING. A diamond snake-brooc=
h with
a ruby?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Yes. How do you know?
LORD
GORING. Because it is found.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> In point of fact, I found it mysel=
f, and
stupidly forgot to tell the butler anything about it as I was leaving. [Goes over to the writing-table and
pulls out the drawers.] It is in this drawer. No, that one. This is the brooch, isn’t it=
? [Holds
up the brooch.]
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Yes. I am so glad to get it back. It was . . a present.
LORD
GORING. Won’t you wear =
it?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Certainly, if you p=
in it
in. [LORD GORING suddenly cla=
sps it
on her arm.] Why do you put i=
t on
as a bracelet? I never knew it
could he worn as a bracelet.
LORD
GORING. Really?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [Holding out her ha=
ndsome
arm.] No; but it looks very w=
ell on
me as a bracelet, doesn’t it?
LORD
GORING. Yes; much better than=
when
I saw it last.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. When did you see it=
last?
LORD
GORING. [Calmly.] Oh, ten years ago, on Lady Berkshi=
re,
from whom you stole it.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [Starting.] What do you mean?
LORD
GORING. I mean that you stole=
that
ornament from my cousin, Mary Berkshire, to whom I gave it when she was
married. Suspicion fell on a =
wretched
servant, who was sent away in disgrace.&nb=
sp;
I recognised it last night.
I determined to say nothing about it till I had found the thief. I h=
ave
found the thief now, and I have heard her own confession.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [Tossing her head.]=
It is not true.
LORD
GORING. You know it is true.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Why, thief is written across your =
face
at this moment.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. I will deny the who=
le
affair from beginning to end. I will
say that I have never seen this wretched thing, that it was never in my
possession.
[MRS. CHEV=
ELEY
tries to get the bracelet off her arm, but fails. LORD GORING looks on
amused. Her thin fingers tear=
at
the jewel to no purpose. A cu=
rse
breaks from her.]
LORD
GORING. The drawback of steal=
ing a
thing, Mrs. Cheveley, is that one never knows how wonderful the thing that =
one
steals is. You can’t ge=
t that
bracelet off, unless you know where the spring is. And I see you don’t know whe=
re the
spring is. It is rather diffi=
cult
to find.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. You brute! You coward! [She tries again to unclasp the br=
acelet,
but fails.]
LORD
GORING. Oh! don’t use b=
ig
words. They mean so little.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [Again tears at the
bracelet in a paroxysm of rage, with inarticulate sounds. Then stops, and looks at LORD GORI=
NG.] What
are you going to do?
LORD
GORING. I am going to ring fo=
r my
servant. He is an admirable s=
ervant. Always comes in the moment one rin=
gs for
him. When he comes I will tel=
l him
to fetch the police.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [Trembling.] The police? What for?
LORD
GORING. To-morrow the Berkshi=
res
will prosecute you. That is w=
hat the
police are for.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [Is now in an agony=
of
physical terror. Her face is =
distorted. Her mouth awry. A mask has fallen from her. She it, for the moment, dreadful t=
o look
at.] Don’t do that. I will do anything you want. Anything in the world you want.
LORD
GORING. Give me Robert
Chiltern’s letter.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Stop! Stop! Let me have time to think.
LORD
GORING. Give me Robert
Chiltern’s letter.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. I have not got it w=
ith
me. I will give it to you to-=
morrow.
LORD
GORING. You know you are
lying. Give it to me at once.=
[MRS. CHEVELEY pulls the letter ou=
t, and
hands it to him. She is horri=
bly pale.] This is it?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [In a hoarse voice.=
] Yes.
LORD
GORING. [Takes the letter, ex=
amines
it, sighs, and burns it with the lamp.]&nb=
sp;
For so well-dressed a woman, Mrs. Cheveley, you have moments of
admirable common sense. I
congratulate you.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [Catches sight of L=
ADY
CHILTERN’S letter, the cover of which is just showing from under the
blotting-book.] Please get me=
a glass
of water.
LORD
GORING. Certainly. [Goes to the corner of the room and
pours out a glass of water. W=
hile
his back is turned MRS. CHEVELEY steals LADY CHILTERN’S letter. When LORD GORING returns the glass=
she refuses
it with a gesture.]
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Thank you. Will you help me on with my cloak?=
LORD
GORING. With pleasure. [Puts her cloak on.]
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Thanks. I am never going to try to harm Ro=
bert
Chiltern again.
LORD
GORING. Fortunately you have =
not
the chance, Mrs. Cheveley.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Well, if even I had=
the
chance, I wouldn’t. On =
the contrary,
I am going to render him a great service.
LORD
GORING. I am charmed to hear
it. It is a reformation.
MRS.
CHEVELEY. Yes. I can’t bear so upright a
gentleman, so honourable an English gentleman, being so shamefully deceived,
and so—
LORD
GORING. Well?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. I find that somehow
Gertrude Chiltern’s dying speech and confession has strayed into my
pocket.
LORD
GORING. What do you mean?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [With a bitter note=
of
triumph in her voice.] I mean=
that
I am going to send Robert Chiltern the love-letter his wife wrote to you
to-night.
LORD
GORING. Love-letter?
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [Laughing.] ‘I want you. I trust you. I am coming to you. Gertrude.’
[LORD GORI=
NG
rushes to the bureau and takes up the envelope, finds is empty, and turns
round.]
LORD
GORING. You wretched woman, m=
ust
you always be thieving? Give =
me back
that letter. I’ll take =
it
from you by force. You shall =
not
leave my room till I have got it.
[He rushes
towards her, but MRS. CHEVELEY at once puts her hand on the electric bell t=
hat
is on the table. The bell sounds with shrill reverberations, and PHIPPS
enters.]
MRS.
CHEVELEY. [After a pause.]
[Goes out
followed by PHIPPS. Her face =
it
illumined with evil triumph. =
There
is joy in her eyes. Youth see=
ms to
have come back to her. Her la=
st
glance is like a swift arrow. LORD
GORING bites his lip, and lights his a cigarette.]
=
&nb=
sp;
ACT DROPS
SCENE
Same as Act II.
[LORD GORI=
NG
is standing by the fireplace with his hands in his pockets. He is looking rather bored.]
LORD
GORING. [Pulls out his watch,
inspects it, and rings the bell.]
It is a great nuisance. I
can’t find any one in this house to talk to. And I am full of interesting
information. I feel like the =
latest
edition of something or other.
[Enter
servant.]
JAMES. Sir Robert is still at the Foreign
Office, my lord.
LORD
GORING. Lady Chiltern not dow=
n yet?
JAMES. Her ladyship has not yet left her
room. Miss Chiltern has just =
come
in from riding.
LORD
GORING. [To himself.] Ah! that is something.
JAMES. Lord Caversham has been waiting so=
me
time in the library for Sir Robert.
I told him your lordship was here.
LORD
GORING. Thank you! Would you kindly tell him I’=
ve
gone?
JAMES. [Bowing.] I shall do so, my lord.
[Exit
servant.]
LORD
GORING. Really, I don’t=
want to
meet my father three days running. It is a great deal too much excitement f=
or
any son. I hope to goodness he
won’t come up. Fathers =
should
be neither seen nor heard. Th=
at is
the only proper basis for family life.&nbs=
p;
Mothers are different.
Mothers are darlings.
[Throws himself down into a chair, picks up a paper and begins to re=
ad
it.]
[Enter LORD
CAVERSHAM.]
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Well, sir, what ar=
e you
doing here? Wasting your time=
as
usual, I suppose?
LORD
GORING. [Throws down paper and
rises.] My dear father, when =
one pays
a visit it is for the purpose of wasting other people’s time, not one=
’s
own.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Have you been thin=
king
over what I spoke to you about last night?
LORD
GORING. I have been thinking =
about
nothing else.
LORD CAVER=
SHAM. Engaged to be married yet?
LORD
GORING. [Genially.] Not yet: but I hope to be before
lunch-time.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. [Caustically.] You can have till dinner-time if i=
t would
be of any convenience to you.
LORD
GORING. Thanks awfully, but I=
think
I’d sooner be engaged before lunch.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Humph! Never know when you are serious or=
not.
LORD
GORING. Neither do I, father.=
[A pause.]=
LORD
CAVERSHAM. I suppose you have=
read
The Times this morning?
LORD
GORING. [Airily.] The Times? Certainly not. I only read The Morning Post. All that one should know about mod=
ern
life is where the Duchesses are; anything else is quite demoralising.
LORD CAVERSHAM. Do you mean to say= you have not read The Times leading article on Robert Chiltern’s career?<= o:p>
LORD
GORING. Good heavens! No.
What does it say?
LORD
CAVERSHAM. What should it say,
sir? Everything complimentary=
, of course. Chiltern’s speech last night=
on
this Argentine Canal scheme was one of the finest pieces of oratory ever
delivered in the House since Canning.
LORD
GORING. Ah! Never heard of Canning. Never wanted to. And did . . . did Chiltern uphold =
the
scheme?
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Uphold it, sir?
LORD
GORING. I sincerely hope not,=
father. However, I am delighted at what yo=
u tell
me about Robert, thoroughly delighted.&nbs=
p;
It shows he has got pluck.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. He has got more th=
an
pluck, sir, he has got genius.
LORD
GORING. Ah! I prefer pluck. It is not so common, nowadays, as =
genius
is.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. I wish you would g=
o into
Parliament.
LORD
GORING. My dear father, only =
people
who look dull ever get into the House of Commons, and only people who are d=
ull
ever succeed there.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Why don’t yo=
u try
to do something useful in life?
LORD
GORING. I am far too young.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. [Testily.] I hate this affectation of youth,
sir. It is a great deal too
prevalent nowadays.
LORD
GORING. Youth isn’t an
affectation. Youth is an art.=
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Why don’t you
propose to that pretty Miss Chiltern?
LORD
GORING. I am of a very nervous
disposition, especially in the morning.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. I don’t supp=
ose
there is the smallest chance of her accepting you.
LORD
GORING. I don’t know ho=
w the
betting stands to-day.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. If she did accept =
you
she would be the prettiest fool in England.
LORD
GORING. That is just what I s=
hould
like to marry. A thoroughly s=
ensible
wife would reduce me to a condition of absolute idiocy in less than six mon=
ths.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. You don’t de=
serve
her, sir.
LORD
GORING. My dear father, if we=
men
married the women we deserved, we should have a very bad time of it.
[Enter MAB=
EL
CHILTERN.]
MABEL
CHILTERN. Oh! . . . How do yo=
u do,
Lord Caversham? I hope Lady C=
aversham
is quite well?
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Lady Caversham is =
as
usual, as usual.
LORD
GORING. Good morning, Miss Ma=
bel!
MABEL
CHILTERN. [Taking no notice a=
t all
of LORD GORING, and addressing herself exclusively to LORD CAVERSHAM.] And Lady Caversham’s bonnets=
. . .
are they at all better?
LORD
CAVERSHAM. They have had a se=
rious
relapse, I am sorry to say.
LORD
GORING. Good morning, Miss Ma=
bel!
MABEL
CHILTERN. [To LORD CAVERSHAM.=
] I hope an operation will not be ne=
cessary.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. [Smiling at her
pertness.] If it is, we shall=
have
to give Lady Caversham a narcotic.
Otherwise she would never consent to have a feather touched.
LORD
GORING. [With increased
emphasis.] Good morning, Miss
Mabel!
MABEL
CHILTERN. [Turning round with
feigned surprise.] Oh, are yo=
u here? Of course you understand that afte=
r your
breaking your appointment I am never going to speak to you again.
LORD
GORING. Oh, please don’=
t say
such a thing. You are the one
person in London I really like to have to listen to me.
MABEL
CHILTERN. Lord Goring, I never
believe a single word that either you or I say to each other.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. You are quite righ=
t, my
dear, quite right . . . as far as he is concerned, I mean.
MABEL
CHILTERN. Do you think you co=
uld
possibly make your son behave a little better occasionally? Just as a change.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. I regret to say, M=
iss
Chiltern, that I have no influence at all over my son. I wish I had. If I had, I know what I would make=
him
do.
MABEL
CHILTERN. I am afraid that he=
has
one of those terribly weak natures that are not susceptible to influence.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. He is very heartle=
ss,
very heartless.
LORD
GORING. It seems to me that I=
am a
little in the way here.
MABEL
CHILTERN. It is very good for=
you
to be in the way, and to know what people say of you behind your back.
LORD
GORING. I don’t at all =
like
knowing what people say of me behind my back. It makes me far too conceited.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. After that, my dea=
r, I
really must bid you good morning.
MABEL
CHILTERN. Oh! I hope you are =
not
going to leave me all alone with Lord Goring? Especially at such an early hour i=
n the
day.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. I am afraid I
can’t take him with me to Downing Street. It is not the Prime
Minster’s day for seeing the unemployed.
[Shakes ha=
nds
with MABEL CHILTERN, takes up his hat and stick, and goes out, with a parti=
ng
glare of indignation at LORD GORING.]
MABEL
CHILTERN. [Takes up roses and
begins to arrange them in a bowl on the table.] People who don’t keep their =
appointments
in the Park are horrid.
LORD
GORING. Detestable.
MABEL
CHILTERN. I am glad you admit
it. But I wish you wouldnR=
17;t
look so pleased about it.
LORD
GORING. I can’t help it=
. I always look pleased when I am wi=
th
you.
MABEL
CHILTERN. [Sadly.] Then I suppose it is my duty to re=
main
with you?
LORD
GORING. Of course it is.
MABEL
CHILTERN. Well, my duty is a =
thing
I never do, on principle. It =
always
depresses me. So I am afraid =
I must
leave you.
LORD
GORING. Please don’t, M=
iss
Mabel. I have something very
particular to say to you.
MABEL
CHILTERN. [Rapturously.] Oh! is it a proposal?
LORD
GORING. [Somewhat taken
aback.] Well, yes, it is̵=
2;I am
bound to say it is.
MABEL
CHILTERN. [With a sigh of
pleasure.] I am so glad. That makes the second to-day.
LORD
GORING. [Indignantly.] The second to-day? What conceited ass has been impert=
inent
enough to dare to propose to you before I had proposed to you?
MABEL
CHILTERN. Tommy Trafford, of
course. It is one of Tommy=
217;s
days for proposing. He always
proposes on Tuesdays and Thursdays, during the Season.
LORD
GORING. You didn’t acce=
pt
him, I hope?
MABEL
CHILTERN. I make it a rule ne=
ver to
accept Tommy. That is why he =
goes
on proposing. Of course, as y=
ou
didn’t turn up this morning, I very nearly said yes. It would have been an excellent le=
sson
both for him and for you if I had.
It would have taught you both better manners.
LORD
GORING. Oh! bother Tommy
Trafford. Tommy is a silly li=
ttle
ass. I love you.
MABEL
CHILTERN. I know. And I think you might have mention=
ed it
before. I am sure I have given you heaps of opportunities.
LORD
GORING. Mabel, do be serious.=
Please be serious.
MABEL
CHILTERN. Ah! that is the sor=
t of
thing a man always says to a girl before he has been married to her. He never says it afterwards.
LORD
GORING. [Taking hold of her
hand.] Mabel, I have told you=
that
I love you. Can’t you l=
ove me
a little in return?
MABEL
CHILTERN. You silly Arthur! If you knew anything about . . . a=
nything,
which you don’t, you would know that I adore you. Every one in London knows it except
you. It is a public scandal t=
he way
I adore you. I have been going about for the last six months telling the wh=
ole
of society that I adore you. I
wonder you consent to have anything to say to me. I have no character left at all. At least, I feel so happy that I am
quite sure I have no character left at all.
LORD
GORING. [Catches her in his a=
rms
and kisses her. Then there is=
a
pause of bliss.] Dear! Do you know I was awfully afraid of
being refused!
MABEL
CHILTERN. [Looking up at him.=
] But you never have been refused ye=
t by
anybody, have you, Arthur? I
can’t imagine any one refusing you.
LORD
GORING. [After kissing her
again.] Of course I’m n=
ot
nearly good enough for you, Mabel.
MABEL
CHILTERN. [Nestling close to
him.] I am so glad, darling.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> I was afraid you were.
LORD
GORING. [After some
hesitation.] And I’m . =
. .
I’m a little over thirty.
MABEL
CHILTERN. Dear, you look weeks
younger than that.
LORD
GORING. [Enthusiastically.] How sweet of you to say so! . . . =
And it
is only fair to tell you frankly that I am fearfully extravagant.
MABEL
CHILTERN. But so am I, Arthur=
. So we’re sure to agree. And now I must go and see Gertrude=
.
LORD
GORING. Must you really? [Kisses her.]
MABEL
CHILTERN. Yes.
LORD
GORING. Then do tell her I wa=
nt to
talk to her particularly. I h=
ave
been waiting here all the morning to see either her or Robert.
MABEL
CHILTERN. Do you mean to say =
you
didn’t come here expressly to propose to me?
LORD
GORING. [Triumphantly.] No; that was a flash of genius.
MABEL
CHILTERN. Your first.
LORD
GORING. [With determination.]=
My last.
MABEL
CHILTERN. I am delighted to h=
ear
it. Now don’t stir. I’ll be back in five minutes=
. And don’t fall into any
temptations while I am away.
LORD
GORING. Dear Mabel, while you=
are
away, there are none. It make=
s me
horribly dependent on you.
[Enter LADY
CHILTERN.]
LADY
CHILTERN. Good morning, dear!=
How pretty you are looking!
MABEL
CHILTERN. How pale you are lo=
oking,
Gertrude! It is most becoming=
!
LADY
CHILTERN. Good morning, Lord
Goring!
LORD
GORING. [Bowing.] Good morning, Lady Chiltern!
MABEL
CHILTERN. [Aside to LORD
GORING.] I shall be in the co=
nservatory
under the second palm tree on the left.
LORD
GORING. Second on the left?
MABEL
CHILTERN. [With a look of mock
surprise.] Yes; the usual pal=
m tree.
[Blows a k=
iss
to him, unobserved by LADY CHILTERN, and goes out.]
LORD
GORING. Lady Chiltern, I have=
a
certain amount of very good news to tell you. Mrs. Cheveley gave me up Robert=
217;s
letter last night, and I burned it.
Robert is safe.
LADY
CHILTERN. [Sinking on the
sofa.] Safe! Oh! I am so glad of that. What a good friend you are to
him—to us!
LORD
GORING. There is only one per=
son
now that could be said to be in any danger.
LADY
CHILTERN. Who is that?
LORD
GORING. [Sitting down beside
her.] Yourself.
LADY
CHILTERN. I? In danger? What do you mean?
LORD
GORING. Danger is too great a
word. It is a word I should n=
ot have
used. But I admit I have some=
thing
to tell you that may distress you, that terribly distresses me. Yesterday evening you wrote me a v=
ery beautiful,
womanly letter, asking me for my help.&nbs=
p;
You wrote to me as one of your oldest friends, one of your husband=
8217;s
oldest friends. Mrs. Cheveley=
stole
that letter from my rooms.
LADY
CHILTERN. Well, what use is i=
t to
her? Why should she not have =
it?
LORD
GORING. [Rising.] Lady Chiltern, I will be quite fra=
nk
with you. Mrs. Cheveley puts a certain construction on that letter and prop=
oses
to send it to your husband.
LADY
CHILTERN. But what constructi=
on
could she put on it? . . . Oh! not that! not that! If I in—in trouble, and want=
ing
your help, trusting you, propose to come to you . . . that you may advise m=
e .
. . assist me . . . Oh! are there women so horrible as that . . .? And she proposes to send it to my
husband? Tell me what
happened. Tell me all that
happened.
LORD
GORING. Mrs. Cheveley was con=
cealed
in a room adjoining my library, without my knowledge. I thought that the person who was
waiting in that room to see me was yourself. Robert came in unexpectedly. A chair or something fell in the
room. He forced his way in, a=
nd he
discovered her. We had a terrible scene.&n=
bsp;
I still thought it was you.
He left me in anger. A=
t the
end of everything Mrs. Cheveley got possession of your letter—she sto=
le
it, when or how, I don’t know.
LADY
CHILTERN. At what hour did th=
is
happen?
LORD
GORING. At half-past ten. And now I propose that we tell Rob=
ert the
whole thing at once.
LADY
CHILTERN. [Looking at him with
amazement that is almost terror.] You want me to tell Robert that the woman=
you
expected was not Mrs. Cheveley, but myself? That it was I whom you thought was
concealed in a room in your house, at half-past ten o’clock at
night? You want me to tell him
that?
LORD
GORING. I think it is better =
that
he should know the exact truth.
LADY
CHILTERN. [Rising.] Oh, I couldn’t, I couldnR=
17;t!
LORD
GORING. May I do it?
LADY
CHILTERN. No.
LORD GORIN=
G. [Gravely.] You are wrong, Lady Chiltern.
LADY
CHILTERN. No. The letter must be intercepted.
LORD
GORING. Pray be calm, Lady
Chiltern, and answer the questions I am going to put to you. You said his secretaries open his
letters.
LADY
CHILTERN. Yes.
LORD
GORING. Who is with him
to-day? Mr. Trafford, isnR=
17;t
it?
LADY
CHILTERN. No. Mr. Montford, I think.
LORD
GORING. You can trust him?
LADY CHILTERN. [With a gesture of despair.] Oh! how do I know?<= o:p>
LORD
GORING. He would do what you =
asked
him, wouldn’t he?
LADY
CHILTERN. I think so.
LORD
GORING. Your letter was on pi=
nk
paper. He could recognise it =
without
reading it, couldn’t he? By
the colour?
LADY
CHILTERN. I suppose so.
LORD
GORING. Is he in the house no=
w?
LADY
CHILTERN. Yes.
LORD
GORING. Then I will go and se=
e him
myself, and tell him that a certain letter, written on pink paper, is to be
forwarded to Robert to-day, and that at all costs it must not reach him.
LADY
CHILTERN. [With a cry of
pain.] Oh! you have saved his=
life;
what have you done with mine?
[Enter SIR
ROBERT CHILTERN. He has the l=
etter
in his hand, and is reading it. He
comes towards his wife, not noticing LORD GORING’S presence.]
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. ‘I want you.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> I trust you. I am coming to you. Gertrude.̵=
7; Oh, my love! Is this true? Do you indeed trust me, and want m=
e? If so, it was for me to come to yo=
u, not
for you to write of coming to me.
This letter of yours, Gertrude, makes me feel that nothing that the
world may do can hurt me now. You
want me, Gertrude?
[LORD GORI=
NG,
unseen by SIR ROBERT CHILTERN, makes an imploring sign to LADY CHILTERN to
accept the situation and SIR ROBERT’S error.]
LADY
CHILTERN. Yes.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. You trust me, Gertr=
ude?
LADY
CHILTERN. Yes.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Ah! why did you not=
add
you loved me?
LADY
CHILTERN. [Taking his hand.]<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Because I loved you.
[LORD GORI=
NG
passes into the conservatory.]
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Kisses her.] Gertrude, you don’t know wha=
t I feel. When Montford passed me your letter
across the table—he had opened it by mistake, I suppose, without look=
ing
at the handwriting on the envelope—and I read it—oh! I did not =
care
what disgrace or punishment was in store for me, I only thought you loved me
still.
LADY
CHILTERN. There is no disgrac=
e in
store for you, nor any public shame.
Mrs. Cheveley has handed over to Lord Goring the document that was in
her possession, and he has destroyed it.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Are you sure of thi=
s,
Gertrude?
LADY
CHILTERN. Yes; Lord Goring ha=
s just
told me.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Then I am safe! Oh! what a wonderful thing to be s=
afe! For two days I have been in terror=
. I am safe now. How did Arthur destroy my letter?<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Tell me.
LADY
CHILTERN. He burned it.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. I wish I had seen t=
hat
one sin of my youth burning to ashes.
How many men there are in modern life who would like to see their pa=
st
burning to white ashes before them!
Is Arthur still here?
LADY
CHILTERN. Yes; he is in the
conservatory.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. I am so glad now I =
made
that speech last night in the House, so glad. I made it thinking that public dis=
grace
might be the result. But it h=
as not
been so.
LADY
CHILTERN. Public honour has b=
een
the result.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. I think so. I fear so, almost. For although I am safe from detect=
ion,
although every proof against me is destroyed, I suppose, Gertrude . . . I
suppose I should retire from public life?&=
nbsp;
[He looks anxiously at his wife.]
LADY
CHILTERN. [Eagerly.] Oh yes, Robert, you should do that=
. It is your duty to do that.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. It is much to surre=
nder.
LADY
CHILTERN. No; it will be much=
to
gain.
[SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN walks up and down the room with a troubled expression. Then comes over to his wife, and p=
uts
his hand on her shoulder.]
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. And you would be ha=
ppy
living somewhere alone with me, abroad perhaps, or in the country away from
London, away from public life? You
would have no regrets?
LADY
CHILTERN. Oh! none, Robert.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Sadly.] And your ambition for me? You used to be ambitious for me.
LADY
CHILTERN. Oh, my ambition!
[LORD GORI=
NG
returns from the conservatory, looking very pleased with himself, and with =
an
entirely new buttonhole that some one has made for him.]
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Going towards him.=
] Arthur, I have to thank you for wh=
at you
have done for me. I don’=
;t
know how I can repay you. [Shakes hands with him.]
LORD
GORING. My dear fellow, IR=
17;ll
tell you at once. At the pres=
ent moment,
under the usual palm tree . . . I mean in the conservatory . . .
[Enter MAS=
ON.]
MASON. Lord Caversham.
LORD
GORING. That admirable father=
of
mine really makes a habit of turning up at the wrong moment. It is very heartless of him, very =
heartless
indeed.
[Enter LORD
CAVERSHAM. MASON goes out.]
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Good morning, Lady
Chiltern! Warmest congratulat=
ions
to you, Chiltern, on your brilliant speech last night. I have just left the Prime Ministe=
r, and
you are to have the vacant seat in the Cabinet.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [With a look of joy=
and
triumph.] A seat in the Cabin=
et?
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Yes; here is the P=
rime
Minister’s letter. [Han=
ds letter.]
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Takes letter and r=
eads
it.] A seat in the Cabinet!
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Certainly, and you=
well
deserve it too. You have got =
what
we want so much in political life nowadays—high character, high moral
tone, high principles. [To LO=
RD
GORING.] Everything that you =
have
not got, sir, and never will have.
LORD
GORING. I don’t like
principles, father. I prefer
prejudices.
[SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN is on the brink of accepting the Prime Minister’s offer, whe=
n he
sees wife looking at him with her clear, candid eyes. He then realises that=
it
is impossible.]
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. I cannot accept this
offer, Lord Caversham. I have=
made
up my mind to decline it.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Decline it, sir!
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. My intention is to =
retire
at once from public life.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. [Angrily.] Decline a seat in the Cabinet, and
retire from public life? Never
heard such damned nonsense in the whole course of my existence. I beg your pardon, Lady Chiltern.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Chiltern, I beg your pardon. [To LORD GORING.] Don’t grin like that, sir.
LORD
GORING. No, father.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Lady Chiltern, you=
are a
sensible woman, the most sensible woman in London, the most sensible woman I
know. Will you kindly prevent=
your
husband from making such a . . . from taking such . . . Will you kindly do
that, Lady Chiltern?
LADY
CHILTERN. I think my husband =
in right
in his determination, Lord Caversham.
I approve of it.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. You approve of it?=
Good heavens!
LADY
CHILTERN. [Taking her
husband’s hand.] I admi=
re him
for it. I admire him immensel=
y for
it. I have never admired him =
so
much before. He is finer than even I thought him. [To SIR ROBERT CHILTERN.] You will go and write your letter =
to the
Prime Minister now, won’t you? Don’t hesitate about it, Robert.=
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [With a touch of
bitterness.] I suppose I had =
better
write it at once. Such offers=
are
not repeated. I will ask you =
to
excuse me for a moment, Lord Caversham.
LADY
CHILTERN. I may come with you,
Robert, may I not?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Yes, Gertrude.
[LADY CHIL=
TERN
goes out with him.]
LORD
CAVERSHAM. What is the matter=
with
this family? Something wrong =
here,
eh? [Tapping his forehead.] Idiocy? Hereditary, I suppose. Both of the=
m,
too. Wife as well as husband.=
Very sad. Very sad indeed! And they are not =
an old
family. Can’t understan=
d it.
LORD
GORING. It is not idiocy, fat=
her, I
assure you.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. What is it then, s=
ir?
LORD
GORING. [After some
hesitation.] Well, it is what=
is
called nowadays a high moral tone, father.=
That is all.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Hate these new-fan=
gled
names. Same thing as we used =
to call
idiocy fifty years ago.
Shan’t stay in this house any longer.
LORD
GORING. [Taking his arm.] Oh! just go in here for a moment, =
father. Third palm tree to the left, the u=
sual
palm tree.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. What, sir?
LORD
GORING. I beg your pardon, fa=
ther,
I forgot. The conservatory, f=
ather,
the conservatory—there is some one there I want you to talk to.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. What about, sir?
LORD
GORING. About me, father,
LORD
CAVERSHAM. [Grimly.] Not a subject on which much eloque=
nce is
possible.
LORD
GORING. No, father; but the l=
ady is
like me. She doesn’t ca=
re
much for eloquence in others. She
thinks it a little loud.
[LORD
CAVERSHAM goes out into the conservatory.&=
nbsp;
LADY CHILTERN enters.]
LORD
GORING. Lady Chiltern, why ar=
e you
playing Mrs. Cheveley’s cards?
LADY
CHILTERN. [Startled.] I don’t understand you.
LORD
GORING. Mrs. Cheveley made an
attempt to ruin your husband.
Either to drive him from public life, or to make him adopt a
dishonourable position. From =
the latter
tragedy you saved him. The fo=
rmer
you are now thrusting on him. Why
should you do him the wrong Mrs. Cheveley tried to do and failed?
LADY
CHILTERN. Lord Goring?
LORD
GORING. [Pulling himself toge=
ther
for a great effort, and showing the philosopher that underlies the dandy.]<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Lady Chiltern, allow me. You wrote me a letter last night in
which you said you trusted me and wanted my help. Now is the moment when you really =
want
my help, now is the time when you have got to trust me, to trust in my coun=
sel
and judgment. You love Robert=
. Do you want to kill his love for
you? What sort of existence w=
ill he
have if you rob him of the fruits of his ambition, if you take him from the
splendour of a great political career, if you close the doors of public life
against him, if you condemn him to sterile failure, he who was made for tri=
umph
and success? Women are not me=
ant to
judge us, but to forgive us when we need forgiveness. Pardon, not punishment, is their
mission. Why should you scour=
ge him
with rods for a sin done in his youth, before he knew you, before he knew
himself? A man’s life is of more value than a woman’s. It has larger issues, wider scope,
greater ambitions. A woman=
217;s
life revolves in curves of emotions.
It is upon lines of intellect that a man’s life progresses. Do=
n’t
make any terrible mistake, Lady Chiltern.&=
nbsp;
A woman who can keep a man’s love, and love him in return, has
done all the world wants of women, or should want of them.
LADY
CHILTERN. [Troubled and
hesitating.] But it is my hus=
band himself
who wishes to retire from public life.&nbs=
p;
He feels it is his duty. It was he who first said so.
LORD
GORING. Rather than lose your=
love,
Robert would do anything, wreck his whole career, as he is on the brink of
doing now. He is making for y=
ou a
terrible sacrifice. Take my a=
dvice,
Lady Chiltern, and do not accept a sacrifice so great. If you do, you will live to repent=
it bitterly. We men and women are not made to a=
ccept
such sacrifices from each other. We
are not worthy of them. Besid=
es,
Robert has been punished enough.
LADY
CHILTERN. We have both been
punished. I set him up too hi=
gh.
LORD
GORING. [With deep feeling in=
his
voice.] Do not for that reaso=
n set
him down now too low. If he h=
as
fallen from his altar, do not thrust him into the mire. Failure to Robert would be the ver=
y mire
of shame. Power is his passion. He
would lose everything, even his power to feel love. Your husband’s life is at th=
is
moment in your hands, your husband’s love is in your hands. Don’t mar both for him.
[Enter SIR
ROBERT CHILTERN.]
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Gertrude, here is t=
he
draft of my letter. Shall I r=
ead it
to you?
LADY
CHILTERN. Let me see it.
[SIR ROBERT
hands her the letter. She rea=
ds it,
and then, with a gesture of passion, tears it up.]
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. What are you doing?=
LADY
CHILTERN. A man’s life =
is of
more value than a woman’s. It
has larger issues, wider scope, greater ambitions. Our lives revolve in curves of
emotions. It is upon lines of
intellect that a man’s life progresses. I have just learnt this, and much =
else
with it, from Lord Goring. An=
d I
will not spoil your life for you, nor see you spoil it as a sacrifice to me=
, a
useless sacrifice!
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Gertrude! Gertrude!
LADY
CHILTERN. You can forget. Men easily forget. And I forgive. That is how women help the world.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> I see that now.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Deeply overcome by
emotion, embraces her.] My wi=
fe! my
wife! [To LORD GORING.] Arthur, it seems that I am always =
to be
in your debt.
LORD
GORING. Oh dear no, Robert. Your debt is to Lady Chiltern, not=
to me!
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. I owe you much. And now tell me what you were goin=
g to
ask me just now as Lord Caversham came in.
LORD
GORING. Robert, you are your
sister’s guardian, and I want your consent to my marriage with her. That is all.
LADY
CHILTERN. Oh, I am so glad! I am so glad! [Shakes hands with LORD GORING.]
LORD
GORING. Thank you, Lady Chilt=
ern.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [With a troubled
look.] My sister to be your w=
ife?
LORD
GORING. Yes.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Speaking with great
firmness.] Arthur, I am very =
sorry,
but the thing is quite out of the question. I have to think of Mabel’s f=
uture
happiness. And I don’t =
think
her happiness would be safe in your hands.=
And I cannot have her sacrificed!
LORD
GORING. Sacrificed!
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Yes, utterly
sacrificed. Loveless marriage=
s are horrible. But there is one thing worse than =
an
absolutely loveless marriage. A
marriage in which there is love, but on one side only; faith, but on one si=
de
only; devotion, but on one side only, and in which of the two hearts one is
sure to be broken.
LORD
GORING. But I love Mabel. No other woman has any place in my=
life.
LADY
CHILTERN. Robert, if they lov=
e each
other, why should they not be married?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Arthur cannot bring=
Mabel
the love that she deserves.
LORD
GORING. What reason have you =
for
saying that?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [After a pause.]
LORD GORIN=
G. Certainly I do.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. As you choose. When I called on you yesterday eve=
ning I
found Mrs. Cheveley concealed in your rooms. It was between ten and eleven
o’clock at night. I do =
not
wish to say anything more. Your relations with Mrs. Cheveley have, as I sai=
d to
you last night, nothing whatsoever to do with me. I know you were engaged to be marr=
ied to
her once. The fascination she
exercised over you then seems to have returned. You spoke to me last night of her =
as of
a woman pure and stainless, a woman whom you respected and honoured. That may be so. But I cannot give my sister’=
s life
into your hands. It would be =
wrong
of me. It would be unjust, infamously unjust to her.
LORD
GORING. I have nothing more t=
o say.
LADY
CHILTERN. Robert, it was not =
Mrs.
Cheveley whom Lord Goring expected last night.
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. Not Mrs. Cheveley!<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Who was it then?
LORD
GORING. Lady Chiltern!
LADY
CHILTERN. It was your own
wife. Robert, yesterday after=
noon
Lord Goring told me that if ever I was in trouble I could come to him for h=
elp,
as he was our oldest and best friend.
Later on, after that terrible scene in this room, I wrote to him tel=
ling
him that I trusted him, that I had need of him, that I was coming to him for
help and advice. [SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN takes the letter out of his pocket.] Yes, that letter. I didn’t go to Lord
Goring’s, after all. I =
felt
that it is from ourselves alone that help can come. Pride made me think that. Mrs. Che=
veley
went. She stole my letter and=
sent
it anonymously to you this morning, that you should think . . . Oh! Robert,=
I
cannot tell you what she wished you to think. . . .
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. What! Had I fallen so low in your eyes t=
hat
you thought that even for a moment I could have doubted your goodness? Gert=
rude,
Gertrude, you are to me the white image of all good things, and sin can nev=
er
touch you. Arthur, you can go=
to
Mabel, and you have my best wishes!
Oh! stop a moment. The=
re is
no name at the beginning of this letter.&n=
bsp;
The brilliant Mrs. Cheveley does not seem to have noticed that. There should be a name.
LADY
CHILTERN. Let me write yours.=
It is you I trust and need. You and none else.
LORD
GORING. Well, really, Lady
Chiltern, I think I should have back my own letter.
LADY
CHILTERN. [Smiling.] No; you shall have Mabel. [Takes the letter and writes her
husband’s name on it.]
LORD
GORING. Well, I hope she
hasn’t changed her mind.
It’s nearly twenty minutes since I saw her last.
[Enter MAB=
EL
CHILTERN and LORD CAVERSHAM.]
MABEL
CHILTERN. Lord Goring, I thin=
k your
father’s conversation much more improving than yours. I am only going to talk to Lord
Caversham in the future, and always under the usual palm tree.
LORD
GORING. Darling! [Kisses her.]
LORD
CAVERSHAM. [Considerably taken
aback.] What does this mean, =
sir? You
don’t mean to say that this charming, clever young lady has been so f=
oolish
as to accept you?
LORD
GORING. Certainly, father!
LORD
CAVERSHAM. I am very glad to =
hear
that, Chiltern . . . I congratulate you, sir. If the country doesn’t go to=
the
dogs or the Radicals, we shall have you Prime Minister, some day.
[Enter MAS=
ON.]
MASON. Luncheon is on the table, my Lady!=
[MASON goe=
s out.]
MABEL
CHILTERN. You’ll stop to
luncheon, Lord Caversham, won’t you?
LORD
CAVERSHAM. With pleasure, and
I’ll drive you down to Downing Street afterwards, Chiltern. You have a great future before you=
, a
great future. Wish I could sa=
y the
same for you, sir. [To LORD
GORING.] But your career will have to be entirely domestic.
LORD
GORING. Yes, father, I prefer=
it
domestic.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. And if you donR=
17;t
make this young lady an ideal husband, I’ll cut you off with a shilli=
ng.
MABEL
CHILTERN. An ideal husband! Oh, I don’t think I should l=
ike
that. It sounds like something in the next world.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. What do you want h=
im to
be then, dear?
MABEL
CHILTERN. He can be what he
chooses. All I want is to be =
. . .
to be . . . oh! a real wife to him.
LORD
CAVERSHAM. Upon my word, ther=
e is a
good deal of common sense in that, Lady Chiltern.
[They all =
go
out except SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. He
sinks in a chair, wrapt in thought.
After a little time LADY CHILTERN returns to look for him.]
LADY
CHILTERN. [Leaning over the b=
ack of
the chair.] Aren’t you =
coming
in, Robert?
SIR ROBERT
CHILTERN. [Taking her hand.]<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Gertrude, is it love you feel for =
me, or
is it pity merely?
LADY
CHILTERN. [Kisses him.] It is love, Robert. Love, and only love. For both of us a new life is begin=
ning.
=
&nb=
sp;
CURTAIN