by Oscar Wilde
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Rachel, at the present moment you are not necessary to Gerald’s career; I am. There is nothing more to be said on the subject.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: I will not let him go.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Here is Gerald. He has a right to decide for himself.
Enter GERALD.
GERALD: Well, dear mother, I hope you have settled it all with Lord Illingworth?
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: I have not, Gerald.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Your mother seems not to like your coming with me, for some reason.
GERALD: Why, mother?
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: I thought you were quite happy here with me, Gerald. I didn’t know you were so anxious to leave me.
GERALD: Mother, how can you talk like that? Of course I have been quite happy with you. But a man can’t stay always with his mother. No chap does. I want to make myself a position, to do something. I thought you would have been proud to see me Lord Illingworth’s secretary.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: I do not think you would be suitable as a private secretary to Lord Illingworth. You have no qualifications.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: I don’t wish to seem to interfere for a moment, Mrs. Arbuthnot, but as far as your last objection is concerned, I surely am the best judge. And I can only tell you that your son has all the qualifications I had hoped for. He has more, in fact, than I had even thought of. Far more. (MRS. ARBUTHNOT remains silent.) Have you any other reason, Mrs. Arbuthnot, why you don’t wish your son to accept this post?
GERALD: Have you, mother? Do answer.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: If you have, Mrs. Arbuthnot, pray, pray say it. We are quite by ourselves here. Whatever it is, I need not say I will not repeat it.
GERALD: Mother?
LORD ILLINGWORTH: If you would like to be alone with your son, I will leave you. You may have some other reason you don’t wish me to hear.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: I have no other reason.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Then, my dear boy, we may look on the thing as settled. Come, you and I will smoke a cigarette on the terrace together. And Mrs. Arbuthnot, pray let me tell you, that I think you have acted very, very wisely.
Exit with GERALD. MRS. ARBUTHNOT is left alone. She stands immobile with a look of unutterable sorrow on her face.
ACT DROP
ACT THREE
SCENE: The Picture Gallery at Hunstanton Chase. Door at back leading on to terrace.
LORD ILLINGWORTH and GERALD, R.C. LORD ILLINGWORTH lolling on a sofa. GERALD in a chair.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Thoroughly sensible woman, your mother, Gerald. I knew she would come round in the end.
GERALD: My mother is awfully conscientious, Lord Illingworth, and I know she doesn’t think I am educated enough to be your secretary. She is perfectly right, too. I was fearfully idle when I was at school, and I couldn’t pass an examination now to save my life.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: My dear Gerald, examinations are of no value whatsoever. If a man is a gentleman, he knows quite enough, and if he is not a gentleman, whatever he knows is bad for him.
GERALD: But I am so ignorant of the world, Lord Illingworth.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Don’t be afraid, Gerald. Remember that you’ve got on your side the most wonderful thing in the world – youth! There is nothing like youth. The middle-aged are mortgaged to Life. The old are in life’s lumber-room. But youth is the Lord of Life. Youth has a kingdom waiting for it. Every one is born a king, and most people die in exile, like most kings. To win back my youth, Gerald, there is nothing I wouldn’t do – except take exercise, get up early, or be a useful member of the community.
GERALD: But you don’t call yourself old, Lord Illingworth?
LORD ILLINGWORTH: I am old enough to be your father, Gerald.
GERALD: I don’t remember my father; he died years ago.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: So Lady Hunstanton told me.
GERALD: It is very curious, my mother never talks to me about my father. I sometimes think she must have married beneath her.
LORD ILLINGWORTH (winces slightly): Really? (Goes over and puts his hand on GERALD’S shoulder.) You have missed not having a father, I suppose, Gerald?
GERALD: Oh, no; my mother has been so good to me. No one ever had such a mother as I have had.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: I am quite sure of that. Still I should imagine that most mothers don’t quite understand their sons. Don’t realise, I mean, that a son has ambitions, a desire to see life, to make himself a name. After all, Gerald, you couldn’t be expected to pass all your life in such a hole as Wrockley, could you?
GERALD: Oh, no! It would be dreadful!
LORD ILLINGWORTH: A mother’s love is very touching, of course, but it is often curiously selfish. I mean, there is a good deal of selfishness in it.
GERALD (slowly): I suppose there is.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Your mother is a thoroughly good woman. But good women have such limited views of life, their horizon is so small, their interests are so petty, aren’t they?
GERALD: They are awfully interested, certainly, in things we don’t care much about.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: I suppose your mother is very religious, and that sort of thing.
GERALD: Oh, yes, she’s always going to church.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Ah! She is not modern, and to be modern is the only thing worth being nowadays. You want to be modern, don’t you, Gerald? You want to know life as it really is. Not to be put off with any old-fashioned theories about life. Well, what you have to do at present is simply to fit yourself for the best society. A man who can dominate a London dinner-table can dominate the world. The future belongs to the dandy. It is the exquisites who are going to rule.
GERALD: I should like to wear nice things awfully, but I have always been told that a man should not think so much about his clothes.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: People nowadays are so absolutely superficial that they don’t understand the philosophy of the superficial. By the way, Gerald, you should learn how to tie your tie better. Sentiment is all very well for the buttonhole. But the essential thing for a necktie is style. A well-tied tie is the first serious step in life.
GERALD (laughing): I might be able to learn how to tie a tie, Lord Illingworth, but I should never be able to talk as you do. I don’t know how to talk.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Oh! Talk to every woman as if you loved her, and to every man as if he bored you, and at the end of your first season you will have the reputation of possessing the most perfect social tact.
GERALD: But it is very difficult to get into society, isn’t it?
LORD ILLINGWORTH: To get into the best society, nowadays, one has either to feed people, amuse people, or shock people – that is all!
GERALD: I suppose society is wonderfully delightful!
LORD ILLINGWORTH: To be in it is merely a bore. But to be out of it simply a tragedy. Society is a necessary thing. No man has any real success in this world unless he has got women to back him, and women rule society. If you have not got women on your side you are quite over. You might just as well be a barrister or a stockbroker, or a journalist at once.
GERALD: It is very difficult to understand women, is it not?
LORD ILLINGWORTH. You should never try to understand them. Women are pictures. Men are problems. If you want to know what a woman really means – which, by the way, is always a dangerous thing to do – look at her, don’t listen to her.
GERALD: But women are awfully clever, aren’t they?
LORD ILLINGWORTH: One should always tell them so. But, to the philosopher, my dear Gerald, women represent the triumph of matter over mind – just as men represent the triumph of mind over morals.
GERALD: How then can women have so much power as you say they have?
LORD ILLINGWORTH: The history of women is the history of the worst form of tyranny the world has ever known. The tyranny of the weak over the strong. It is the only tyranny that lasts.
GERALD: But haven’t women got a refining influence?
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Noth
ing refines but the intellect.
GERALD: Still, there are many different kinds of women, aren’t there?
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Only two kinds in society: the plain and the coloured.
GERALD: But there are good women in society, aren’t there?
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Far too many.
GERALD: But do you think women shouldn’t be good?
LORD ILLINGWORTH: One should never tell them so, they’d all become good at once. Women are a fascinatingly wilful sex. Every woman is a rebel, and usually in wild revolt against herself.
GERALD: You have never been married, Lord Illingworth, have you?
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Men marry because they are tired; women because they are curious. Both are disappointed.
GERALD: But don’t you think one can be happy when one is married?
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Perfectly happy. But the happiness of a married man, my dear Gerald, depends on the people he has not married.
GERALD: But if one is in love?
LORD ILLINGWORTH: One should always be in love. That is the reason one should never marry.
GERALD: Love is a very wonderful thing, isn’t it?
LORD ILLINGWORTH: When one is in love one begins by deceiving oneself. And one ends by deceiving others. That is what the world calls a romance. But a really grande passion is comparatively rare nowadays. It is the privilege of people who have nothing to do. That is the one use of the idle classes in a country, and the only possible explanation of us Harfords.
GERALD: Harfords, Lord Illingworth?
LORD ILLINGWORTH: That is my family name. You should study the Peerage, Gerald. It is the one book a young man about town should know thoroughly, and it is the best thing in fiction the English have ever done. And now, Gerald, you are going into a perfectly new life with me, and I want you to know how to live.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT appears on terrace behind.
For the world has been made by fools that wise men should live in it!
Enter L. C. LADY HUNSTANTON and DOCTOR DAUBENY.
LADY HUNSTANTON: Ah! Here you are, dear Lord Illingworth. Well, I suppose you have been telling our young friend, Gerald, what his new duties are to be, and giving him a great deal of good advice over a pleasant cigarette.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: I have been giving him the best of advice, Lady Hunstanton, and the best of cigarettes.
LADY HUNSTANTON: I am so sorry I was not here to listen to you, but I suppose I am too old now to learn. Except from you, dear Archdeacon, when you are in your nice pulpit. But then I always know what you are going to say, so I don’t feel alarmed. (Sees MRS. ARBUTHNOT.) Ah! Dear Mrs. Arbuthnot, do come and join us. Come, dear.
Enter MRS. ARBUTHNOT.
Gerald has been having such a long talk with Lord Illingworth; I am sure you must feel very much flattered at the pleasant way in which everything has turned out for him. Let us sit down. (They sit down.) And how is your beautiful embroidery going on?
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: I am always at work, Lady Hunstanton.
LADY HUNSTANTON: Mrs. Daubeny embroiders a little, too, doesn’t she?
THE ARCHDEACON: She was very deft with her needle once, quite a Dorcas. But the gout has crippled her fingers a good deal. She has not touched the tambour frame for nine or ten years. But she has many other amusements. She is very much interested in her own health.
LADY HUNSTANTON: Ah! That is always a nice distraction, is it not? Now, what are you talking about, Lord Illingworth? Do tell us.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: I was on the point of explaining to Gerald that the world has always laughed at its own tragedies, that being the only way in which it has been able to bear them. And that, consequently, whatever the world has treated seriously belongs to the comedy side of things.
LADY HUNSTANTON: Now I am quite out of my depth. I usually am when Lord Illingworth says anything. And the Humane Society is most careless. They never rescue me. I am left to sink. I have a dim idea, dear Lord Illingworth, that you are always on the side of the sinners, and I know I always try to be on the side of the saints, but that is as far as I get. And after all, it may be merely the fancy of a drowning person.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: The only difference between the saint and the sinner is that every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future.
LADY HUNSTANTON: Ah! That quite does for me. I haven’t a word to say. You and I, dear Mrs. Arbuthnot, are behind the age. We can’t follow Lord Illingworth. Too much care was taken with our education, I am afraid. To have been well brought up is a great drawback nowadays. It shuts one out from so much.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: I should be sorry to follow Lord Illingworth in any of his opinions.
LADY HUNSTANTON: You are quite right, dear.
GERALD shrugs his shoulders and looks irritably over at his mother. Enter LADY CAROLINE.
LADY CAROLINE: Jane, have you seen John anywhere?
LADY HUNSTANTON: You needn’t be anxious about him, dear. He is with Lady Stutfield; I saw them some time ago, in the Yellow Drawing-room. They seem quite happy together. You are not going, Caroline? Pray sit down.
LADY CAROLINE: I think I had better look after John.
Exit LADY CAROLINE.
LADY HUNSTANTON: It doesn’t do to pay men so much attention. And Caroline has really nothing to be anxious about. Lady Stutfield is very sympathetic. She is just as sympathetic about one thing as she is about another. A beautiful nature.
Enter SIR JOHN and MRS. ALLONBY.
Ah! Here is Sir John! And with Mrs. Allonby too! I suppose it was Mrs. Allonby I saw him with. Sir John, Caroline has been looking everywhere for you.
MRS. ALLONBY: We have been waiting for her in the Music-room, dear Lady Hunstanton.
LADY HUNSTANTON: Ah! The Music-room, of course. I thought it was the Yellow Drawing-room, my memory is getting so defective. (To the ARCHDEACON) Mrs. Daubeny has a wonderful memory, hasn’t she?
THE ARCHDEACON: She used to be quite remarkable for her memory, but since her last attack she recalls chiefly the events of her early childhood. But she finds great pleasure in such retrospections, great pleasure.
Enter LADY STUTFIELD and MR. KELVIL.
LADY HUNSTANTON: Ah! Dear Lady Stutfield! And what has Mr. Kelvil been talking to you about?
LADY STUTFIELD: About Bimetallism, as well as I remember.
LADY HUNSTANTON: Bimetallism! Is that quite a nice subject? However, I know people discuss everything very freely nowadays. What did Sir John talk to you about, dear Mrs. Allonby?
MRS. ALLONBY: About Patagonia.
LADY HUNSTANTON: Really? What a remote topic! But very improving, I have no doubt.
MRS. ALLONBY: He has been most interesting on the subject of Patagonia. Savages seem to have quite the same views as cultured people on almost all subjects. They are excessively advanced.
LADY HUNSTANTON: What do they do?
MRS. ALLONBY: Apparently everything.
LADY HUNSTANTON: Well, it is very gratifying, dear Archdeacon, is it not, to find that Human Nature is permanently one. On the whole, the world is the same world, is it not?
LORD ILLINGWORTH: The world is simply divided into two classes – those who believe the incredible, like the public – and those who do the improbable –
MRS. ALLONBY: Like yourself?
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Yes; I am always astonishing myself. It is the only thing that makes life worth living.
LADY STUTFIELD: And what have you been doing lately that astonishes you?
LORD ILLINGWORTH: I have been discovering all kinds of beautiful qualities in my own nature.
MRS. ALLONBY: Ah! Don’t become quite perfect all at once. Do it gradually!
LORD ILLINGWORTH: I don’t intend to grow perfect at all. At least, I hope I shan’t. It would be most inconvenient. Women love us for our defects. If we have enough of them, they will forgive us everything, even our gigantic intellects.
MRS. ALLONBY: It is premature to ask us to forgive analysis. We forgive adoration; that is quite as much as shoul
d be expected from us.
Enter LORD ALFRED. He joins LADY STUTFIELD.
LADY HUNSTANTON: Ah! We women should forgive everything, shouldn’t we, dear Mrs. Arbuthnot? I am sure you agree with me in that.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: I do not, Lady Hunstanton. I think there are many things women should never forgive.
LADY HUNSTANTON: What sort of things?
MRS. ARBUTHNOT: The ruin of another woman’s life. (Moves slowly away to back of stage.)
LADY HUNSTANTON: Ah! Those things are very sad, no doubt, but I believe there are admirable homes where people of that kind are looked after and reformed, and I think on the whole that the secret of life is to take things very, very easily.
MRS. ALLONBY: The secret of life is never to have an emotion that is unbecoming.
LADY STUTFIELD: The secret of life is to appreciate the pleasure of being terribly, terribly deceived.
KELVIL: The secret of life is to resist temptation, Lady Stutfield.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: There is no secret of life. Life’s aim, if it has one, is simply to be always looking for temptations. There are not nearly enough. I sometimes pass a whole day without coming across a single one. It is quite dreadful. It makes one so nervous about the future.
LADY HUNSTANTON (shakes her fan at him): I don’t know how it is, Lord Illingworth, but everything you have said to-day seems to me excessively immoral. It has been most interesting, listening to you.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: All thought is immoral. Its very essence is destruction. If you think of anything, you kill it. Nothing survives being thought of.
LADY HUNSTANTON: I don’t understand a word, Lord Illingworth. But I have no doubt it is all quite true. Personally, I have very little to reproach myself with, on the score of thinking. I don’t believe in women thinking too much. Women should think in moderation, as they should do all things in moderation.
LORD ILLINGWORTH: Moderation is a fatal thing, Lady Hunstanton. Nothing succeeds like excess.
LADY HUNSTANTON: I hope I shall remember that. It sounds an admirable maxim. But I’m beginning to forget everything. It’s a great misfortune.
