Complete Works of Oscar Wilde

by Oscar Wilde

  Enter CECILY.

  CECILY: I promised Uncle Jack that I wouldn’t speak to you again, unless you asked me a question. I can’t understand why you don’t ask me a question of some kind. I am afraid you are not quite so intellectual as I thought you were at first.

  ALGERNON: Cecily, mayn’t I come in to lunch?

  CECILY: I wonder you can look me in the face after your conduct.

  ALGERNON: I love looking you in the face.

  CECILY: But why did you try to put your horrid bill on poor Uncle Jack? I think that was inexcusable of you.

  ALGERNON: I know it was; but the fact is I have a most wretched memory. I quite forgot I owed the Savoy £762 14s. 2d.

  CECILY: Well, I admit I am glad to hear that you have a bad memory. Good memories are not a quality that women admire much in men.

  ALGERNON: Cecily, I am fearfully hungry.

  CECILY: I can’t understand your being so hungry, considering all you have had to eat since last October.

  ALGERNON: Oh! Those suppers were for poor Bunbury. Late suppers are the only things his doctor allows him to eat.

  CECILY: Well, I don’t wonder then that Mr. Bunbury is always so ill, if he eats suppers for six or eight people every night of the week.

  ALGERNON: That is what I always tell him. But he seems to think his doctors know best. He’s perfectly silly about doctors.

  CECILY: Of course I don’t want you to starve, so I have told the butler to send you out some lunch.

  ALGERNON: Cecily, what a perfect angel you are! May I not see you again before I go?

  CECILY: Miss Prism and I will be here after lunch. I always have my afternoon noon lessons under the yew-tree.

  ALGERNON: Can’t you invent something to get Miss Prism out of the way?

  CECILY: Do you mean invent a falsehood?

  ALGERNON: Oh! Not a falsehood, of course. Simply something that is not quite true, but should be.

  CECILY: I am afraid I couldn’t possibly do that. I shouldn’t know how. People never think of cultivating a young girl’s imagination. It is the great defect of modern education. Of course, if you happened to mention that dear Dr. Chasuble was waiting somewhere to see Miss Prism, she would certainly go to meet him. She never likes to keep him waiting. And she has so few opportunities of doing so.

  ALGERNON: What a capital suggestion!

  CECILY: I didn’t suggest anything, Cousin Ernest. Nothing would induce me to deceive Miss Prism in the smallest detail. I merely pointed out that if you adopted a certain line of conduct, a certain result would follow.

  ALGERNON: Of course. I beg your pardon, Cousin Cecily. Then I shall come here at half-past three. I have something very serious to say to you.

  CECILY: Serious?

  ALGERNON: Yes: very serious.

  CECILY: In that case I think we had better meet in the house. I don’t like talking seriously in the open air. It looks so artificial.

  ALGERNON: Then where shall we meet?

  Enter JACK.

  JACK: The dog-cart is at the door. You have got to go. Your place is by Bunbury. (Sees Cecily.) Cecily! Don’t you think, Cecily, that you had better return to Miss Prism and Dr. Chasuble?

  CECILY: Yes, Uncle Jack. Good-bye, Cousin Ernest. I am afraid I shan’t see you again, as I shall be doing my lessons with Miss Prism in the drawing-room at half-past three.

  ALGERNON: Good-bye, Cousin Cecily. You have been very kind to me.

  CECILY goes out.

  JACK: Now look here, Algy. You have got to go, and the sooner you go the better. Bunbury is extremely ill, and your place is by his side.

  ALGERNON: I can’t go at the present moment. I must first just have my second lunch. And you will be pleased to hear that Bunbury is very much better.

  JACK: Well, you will have to go at three-fifty, at any rate. I ordered your things to be packed and the dog-cart to come round.

  ACT DROP

  ACT THREE

  SCENE: The drawing-room at the Manor House. CECILY and MISS PRISM discovered; each writing at a separate table.

  MISS PRISM: Cecily! (CECILY makes no answer.) Cecily! You are again making entries in your diary. I think I have had occasion more than once to speak to you about that morbid habit of yours.

  CECILY: I am merely, as I always do, taking you for my example, Miss Prism.

  MISS PRISM: When one has thoroughly mastered the principles of Bimetallism one has the right to lead an introspective life. Hardly before. I must beg you to return to your Political Economy.

  CECILY: In one moment, dear Miss Prism. The fact is I have only chronicled the events of to-day up till two-fifteen, and it was at two-thirty that the fearful catastrophe occurred.

  MISS PRISM: Pardon me, Cecily, it was exactly at two-forty-five that Dr. Chasuble mentioned the very painful views held by the Primitive Church on Marriage.

  CECILY: I was not referring to Dr. Chasuble at all. I was alluding to the tragic exposure of poor Mr. Ernest Worthing.

  MISS PRISM: I highly disapprove of Mr. Ernest Worthing. He is a thoroughly bad young man.

  CECILY: I fear he must be. It is the only explanation I can find of his strange attractiveness.

  MISS PRISM (rising): Cecily, let me entreat of you not to be led away by whatever superficial qualities this unfortunate young man may possess.

  CECILY: Ah! Believe me, dear Miss Prism, it is only the superficial qualities that last. Man’s deeper nature is soon found out.

  MISS PRISM: Child! I do not know where you get such ideas. They are certainly not to be found in any of the improving books that I have procured for you.

  CECILY: Are there ever any ideas in improving books? I fear not. I get my ideas…in the garden.

  MISS PRISM: Then you should certainly not be so much in the open air. The fact is, you have fallen lately, Cecily, into a bad habit of thinking for yourself. You should give it up. It is not quite womanly…Men don’t like it.

  Enter ALGERNON.

  Mr. Worthing, I thought, I may say I was in hopes that you had already returned to town.

  ALGERNON: My departure will not long be delayed. I have come to bid you good-bye, Miss Cardew. I am informed that a dog-cart has been already ordered for me. I have no option but to go back again into the cold world.

  CECILY: I hardly know, Mr. Worthing, what you can mean by using such an expression. The day, even for the month of July, is unusually warm.

  MISS PRISM: Profligacy is apt to dull the senses.

  ALGERNON: No doubt. I am far from defending the weather. I think however that it is only my duty to mention to you, Miss Prism, that Dr. Chasuble is expecting you in the vestry.

  MISS PRISM: In the vestry! That sounds serious. It can hardly be for any trivial purpose that the Rector selects for an interview a place of such peculiarly solemn associations. I do not think that it would be right to keep him waiting, Cecily?

  CECILY: It would be very, very wrong. The vestry is, I am told, excessively damp.

  MISS PRISM: True! I had not thought of that, and Dr. Chasuble is sadly rheumatic. Mr. Worthing, we shall probably not meet again. You will allow me, I trust, to express a sincere hope that you will now turn over a new leaf in life.

  ALGERNON: I have already begun an entire volume, Miss Prism.

  MISS PRISM: I am delighted to hear it. (Puts on a large unbecoming hat.) And do not forget that there is always hope even for the most depraved. Do not be idle, Cecily.

  CECILY: I have no intention of being idle. I realise only too strongly that I have a great deal of serious work before me.

  MISS PRISM: Ah! that is quite as it should be, dear.

  MISS PRISM goes out.

  ALGERNON: This parting, Miss Cardew, is very painful.

  CECILY: It is always painful to part from people whom one has known for a very brief space of time. The absence of old friends one can endure with equanimity. But even a momentary separation from anyone to whom one has just been introduced is almost unbearable.

  ALGERNON: Thank you.


  Enter MERRIMAN.

  MERRIMAN: The dog-cart is at the door, sir.

  ALGERNON looks appealing at CECILY.

  CECILY: It can wait, Merriman, for five minutes.

  MERRIMAN: Yes, Miss.

  Exit MERRIMAN.

  ALGERNON: I hope, Cecily, I shall not offend you if I state quite frankly and openly that you seem to me to be in every way the visible personification of absolute perfection.

  CECILY: I think your frankness does you great credit, Ernest. If you will allow me, I will copy your remarks into my diary. (Goes over to table and begins writing in diary.)

  ALGERNON: Do you really keep a diary? I’d give anything to look at it. May I?

  CECILY: Oh, no. (Puts her hand over it.) You see, it is simply a very young girl’s record of her own thoughts and impressions, and consequently meant for publication. When it appears in volume form I hope you will order a copy. But pray, Ernest, don’t stop. I delight in taking down from dictation. I have reached ‘absolute perfection’. You can go on. I am quite ready for more.

  ALGERNON: (somewhat taken aback): Ahem! Ahem!

  CECILY: Oh, don’t cough, Ernest. When one is dictating one should speak fluently and not cough. Besides, I don’t know how to spell a cough. (Writes as ALGERNON speaks.)

  ALGERNON: (speaking very rapidly): Miss Cardew, ever since half-past twelve this afternoon, when I first looked upon your wonderful and incomparable beauty, I have not merely been your abject slave and servant, but, soaring upon the pinions of a possibly monstrous ambition, I have dared to love you wildly, passionately, devotedly, hopelessly.

  CECILY: (laying down her pen): Oh! please say that all over again. You speak far too fast and far too indistinctly. Kindly say it all over again.

  ALGERNON: Miss Cardew, ever since you were half-past twelve – I mean ever since it was half-past twelve, this afternoon, when I first looked upon your wonderful and incomparable beauty…

  CECILY: Yes, I have got that, all right.

  ALGERNON: (stammering): I – I –

  CECILY lays down her pen and looks reproachfully at him.

  (Desperately.) I have not merely been your abject slave and servant, but, soaring on the pinions of a possibly monstrous ambition, I have dared to love you wildly, passionately, devotedly, hopelessly. (Takes out his watch and looks at it.)

  CECILY (after writing for some time, looks up): I have not taken down ‘hopelessly’. It doesn’t seem to make much sense, does it? (A slight pause.)

  ALGERNON: (starting back): Cecily!

  CECILY: Is that the beginning of an entirely new paragraph? Or should it be followed by a note of admiration?

  ALGERNON: (rapidly and romantically): It is the beginning of an entirely new existence for me, and it shall be followed by such notes of admiration that my whole life shall be a subtle and sustained symphony of Love, Praise and Adoration combined.

  CECILY: Oh, I don’t think that makes any sense at all. The fact is that men should never try to dictate to women. They never know how to do it, and when they do do it, they always say something particularly foolish.

  ALGERNON: I don’t care whether what I say is foolish or not. All that I know is that I love you, Cecily. I love you, I want you. I can’t live without you, Cecily! You know I love you. Will you marry me? Will you be my wife? (Rushes over to her and puts his hand on hers.)

  CECILY: (rising): Oh, you have made me make a blot! And yours is the only real proposal I have ever had in all my life. I should like to have entered it neatly.

  Enter MERRIMAN.

  MERRIMAN: The dog-cart is waiting, sir.

  ALGERNON: Tell it to come round next week at the same hour.

  MERRIMAN: (looks at CECILY who makes no sign): Yes, sir. (Merriman retires)

  CECILY: Uncle Jack would be very much annoyed if he knew you were staying on till next week, at the same hour.

  ALGERNON: Oh! I don’t care about Jack! I don’t care for anybody in the whole world but you. I love you. Cecily! you will marry me, won’t you?

  CECILY: You silly boy! Of course. Why, we have been engaged for the last three months.

  ALGERNON: For the last three months?

  CECILY: Three months all but a few days. (Looks at diary, turns over page.) Yes; it will be exactly three months on Thursday.

  ALGERNON: I didn’t know.

  CECILY: Very few people nowadays ever realise the position in which they are placed. The age is, as Miss Prism often says, a thoughtless one.

  ALGERNON: But how did we become engaged?

  CECILY: Well, ever since dear Uncle Jack first confessed to us that he had a younger brother who was very wicked and bad, you of course have formed the chief topic of conversation between myself and Miss Prism. And of course a man who is much talked about is always very attractive. One feels there must be something in him, after all. I dare say it was foolish of me, but I fell in love with you, Ernest.

  ALGERNON: Darling! And when was the engagement actually settled?

  CECILY: On the 14th of February last. Worn out by your entire ignorance of my existence, I determined to end the matter one way or the other, and after a long struggle with myself I accepted you one evening in the garden. The next day I bought this little ring in your name. You see I always wear it, Ernest, and though it shows that you are sadly extravagant, still I have long ago forgiven you for that. Here in this drawer are all the little presents I have given you from time to time, neatly numbered and labelled. This is the pearl necklace you gave me on my birthday. And this is the box in which I keep all your letters. (Opens box and produces letters tied up with blue ribbon.)

  ALGERNON: My letters! But my own sweet Cecily, I have never written you any letters.

  CECILY: You need hardly remind me of that, Ernest. I remember it only too well. I grew tired of asking the postman every morning if he had a London letter for me. My health began to give way under the strain and anxiety. So I wrote your letters for you, and had them posted to me in the village by my maid. I wrote always three times a week and sometimes oftener.

  ALGERNON: Oh, do let me read them, Cecily.

  CECILY: Oh, I couldn’t possibly. They would make you far too conceited. The three you wrote me after I had broken off the engagement are so beautiful and so badly spelt that even now I can hardly read them without crying a little.

  ALGERNON: But was our engagement ever broken off?

  CECILY: Of course it was. On the 22nd of last March. You can see the entry if you like. (Shows Diary.) ‘Today I broke off my engagement with Ernest. I feel it is better to do so. The weather still continues charming.’

  ALGERNON: But why on earth did you break it off? What had I done? I had done nothing at all. Cecily, I am very much hurt indeed to hear you broke it off. Particularly when the weather was so charming.

  CECILY: Men seem to forget very easily. I should have thought you would have remembered the violent letter you wrote to me because I danced with Lord Kelso at the county ball.

  ALGERNON: But I did take it all back, Cecily, didn’t I?

  CECILY: Of course you did. Otherwise I wouldn’t have forgiven you or accepted this little gold bangle with the turquoise and diamond heart, that you sent me the next day. (Shows bangle.)

  ALGERNON: Did I give you this, Cecily? It’s very pretty, isn’t it?

  CECILY: Yes. You have wonderfully good taste, Ernest. I have always said that of you. It’s the excuse I’ve always given for your leading such a bad life.

  ALGERNON: My own one! So we have been engaged for three months, Cecily!

  CECILY: Yes; how the time has flown, hasn’t it?

  ALGERNON: I don’t think so. I have found the days very long and very dreary without you.

  CECILY: You dear romantic boy…(puts her fingers through his hair.) I hope your hair curls naturally. Does it?

  ALGERNON: Yes darling, with a little help from others.

  CECILY: I am so glad.

  ALGERNON: You’ll never break off our engagement again, Cecily?


  CECILY: I don’t think that I could break it off now that I have actually met you. Besides, of course, there is the question of your name.

  ALGERNON: Yes, of course. (Nervously.)

  CECILY: You must not laugh at me, darling, but it had always been a girlish dream of mine to love some one whose name was Ernest.

  ALGERNON rises, CECILY also.

  There is something in that name that seems to inspire absolute confidence. I pity any poor married woman whose husband is not called Ernest.

  ALGERNON: But, my dear child, do you mean to say you could not love me if I had some other name?

  CECILY: But what name?

  ALGERNON: Oh, any name you like – Algernon – for instance…

  CECILY: But I don’t like the name of Algernon.

  ALGERNON: Well, my own dear, sweet, loving little darling, I really can’t see why you should object to the name of Algernon. It is not at all a bad name. In fact, it is rather an aristocratic name. Half of the chaps who get into the Bankruptcy Court are called Algernon. But seriously, Cecily – (moving to her) – if my name was Algy, couldn’t you love me?

  CECILY: (rising): I might respect you, Ernest, I might admire your character, but I fear that I should not be able to give you my undivided attention.

  ALGERNON: Ahem! Cecily! (Picking up hat.) Your Rector here is, I suppose, thoroughly experienced in the practice of all the rites and ceremonials of the Church?

  CECILY: Oh, yes. Dr. Chasuble is a most learned man. He has never written a single book, so you can imagine how much he knows.

  ALGERNON: I must see him at once on a most important christening – I mean on most important business.

  CECILY: Oh!

  ALGERNON: I shan’t be away more than half an hour.