The Importance of Being Earnest: And Other Plays

by Oscar Wilde

  SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. What you ask is impossible.

  MRS. CHEVELEY. You must make it possible. You are going to make it possible. Sir Robert, you know what your English newspapers are like. Suppose that when I leave this house I drive down to some newspaper office, and give them this scandal and the proofs of it! Think of their loathsome joy, of the 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 the 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 you want.

  MRS. CHEVELEY. Even you are not rich 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 from the sofa.)

  SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. (Bewildered and unnerved.) Wait a moment! What did you propose? You said that you would give me back my letter, didn’t you?

  MRS. CHEVELEY. Yes. That is agreed. I will be in the Ladies’ Gallery to-morrow night at half-past eleven. If by that time—and you will have had heaps of opportunity—you have made 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 have 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 tonight.

  SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. My God! what brought 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 The report shall be withdrawn.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 be put to me on the subject.

  MRS. CHEVELEY. Thank you. I knew we should come to an amicable agreement. I understood your nature from the first. I analyzed 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 Guests, Lady Chiltern, Lady Markby, Lord Caversham, Lady Basildon, Mrs. Marchmont, Vicomte de Nanjac, Mr. Montford.)

  LADY MARKBY. Well, dear Mrs. Cheveley, I hope you have enjoyed yourself. Sir Robert is very entertaining, is he not?

  MRS. CHEVELEY. Most entertaining! I have enjoyed my talk with him immensely.

  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 very 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. But 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!

  LADY MARKBY. Perhaps the people are a little jaded. I have often observed that the season as it goes on produces a kind of softening of the brain. However, I think anything is better than high intellectual pressure. That is the most unbecoming thing there is. It makes the noses of the young girls so particularly large. And there is nothing so difficult to marry as a large nose, men don’t like them. Good-night, dear! (To Lady Chiltern.) Good-night, Gertrude! (Goes out on Lord Caversham’s arm.)

  MRS. CHEVELEY. What a charming house you have, Lady Chiltern! I have spent a delightful evening. It has been 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 Argentine 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. He is going to make a speech in the House to-morrow night in favour of the idea. We must go to the Ladies’ Gallery and hear him! It will be a great occasion!

  LADY CHILTERN. There must be some mistake. That scheme could never 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 twenty-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.) Between your husband and myself.

  SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. (Entering.) Your carriage is here, Mrs. Cheveley!

  MRS. CHEVELEY. Thanks! Good evening, Lady Chiltern! Goodnight, Lord Goring! I am at Claridge’s. Don’t you think you might leave 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 be hardly considered en règle. Abroad, we are more civilized. Will you see me down, sir Robert? 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 them 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 is 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 bed for hours. (Goes over to the sofa.) You can come and sit down if you like, and talk about anything in the world, except the Royal Academy, Mrs. Cheveley, or novels in Scotch dialect. They are not improving subjects. (Catches sight of something that is lying on the sofa half-hidden by the cushion.) What is this? Some one has dropped a diamond brooch! 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 brooch.

  LORD GORING. It is a handsome bracelet.

  MABEL CHILTERN. 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 sangfroid.)

  MABEL CHILTERN. What are you doing?

  LORD GORING. Miss Mabel, I am going 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 aback, but recovers himself.) Don’t mention to anybody that I have taken charge of this brooch. should anyone 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 Chiltern enters alone. The other guests have gone.)

  MABEL CHILTERN. Then I shall certainly bid you good-night. Good-night, Gertrude! (Exit.)

  LADY CHILTERN. Good-night, dear! (To Lord Goring.) You saw whom Lady Markby brought here to-night.

  LORD GORING. Yes. It was an unpleasant surprise. What did she come here for?

  LADY CHILTERN. Apparently to try and lure Robert to uphold some fraudulent scheme in which she is interested. The Argentine Canal, in fact.

  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 if 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 them 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!

  LORD GORING. Afraid I can’t, thanks. I have promised to look in at the Hartlocks. I believe they have got a mauve Hungarian band that plays mauve Hungarian music. See you soon. Good-bye!

  (Exit.)

  SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. How beautiful you look to-night, Gertrude!

  LADY CHILTERN. Robert, it is not true, is it? You are not going to lend your support to this Argentine speculation? You couldn’t!

  SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. (Starting.) Who told you I intended to do so?

  LADY CHILTERN. That woman who has just gone out, Mrs. Cheveley, as she calls herself now. She seemed to taunt me with it. Robert, I know this woman. You don’t. We were at school together. She was untruthful, dishonest, an evil influence on everyone whose trust or friendship she could win. I hated, I despised her. She stole things, she was a thief. She was sent away for being a thief. Why do you let her influence you?

  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 since then. No one should be entirely 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 saying, 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 heard you describe as the most dishonest and fraudulent scheme there has ever been 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 yesterday 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 of 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 have to ask you such a question—Robert, are you telling me the whole truth?

  SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Why do you ask me such a question?

  LADY CHILTERN. (After a pause.) Why do you not answer it?

  SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. (Sitting down.) Gertrude, truth is a very complex thing, and politics is a very complex business. There are wheels within wheels. one may be under certain obligations to people that one must pay. Sooner or later in political life one has to compromise. Everyone does.

  LADY CHILTERN. Compromise? Robert, why do you talk so differently 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——

  LADY CHILTERN. What?

  SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. That it was necessary, vitally necessary.

  LADY CHILTERN. It can never be necessary to do what is not honourable. Or if it be necessary, then what is it that I have loved! But it is not, Robert; tell me it is not. Why should it be? What gain would you get? Money? We have no need of that! And money that comes from a tainted source is a degradation. Power? But power is nothing in itself. It is power to do good that is fine—that, and that only. What is it, then? Robert, tell me why you are going to do this dishonourable thing?

  SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Gertrude, you have no right to use that word. I told you it was a question of rational compromise. 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. You have never let the world soil you. To the world, as to myself, you have been an ideal always. Oh! be that ideal still. That great inheritance throw not away—that tower of ivory do not destroy. Robert, men can love what is beneath them—things unworthy, stained, dishonoured. We women worship when we love; and when we lose our worship, we lose everything. Oh! don’t kill my love for you, don’t kill that!

  SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Gertrude!

  LADY CHILTERN. I know that there are 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 other 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 me, tell me at once, that——

  SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. That what?

  LADY CHILTERN. (Speaking very slowly.) That our lives may drift apart.

  SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Drift apart?

  LADY CHILTERN. That they may be entirely 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, Robert. 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 tell her that?

  LADY CHILTERN. Surely, Robert! What else is there to do?

  SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. I might see her personally. It would be better.

  LADY CHILTERN. You must never see her again, Robert. She is not a woman 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, this moment, and let your letter show her that your decision is quite irrevocable!

  SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Write this moment!

  LADY CHILTERN. Yes.

  SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. But it is too late. 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. Write 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 sits down and writes a letter. His wife takes it up and reads it.) Yes; that will do. (Rings bell.) And now the envelope. (He writes the envelope slowly. Enter Mason.) Have this letter sent at once to Claridge’s Hotel. There is no answer. (Exit Mason. LADY CHILTERN kneels down beside h
er husband and puts her arms round him.) Robert, love gives one a sort of instinct to things. I feel to-night that I have saved you from something that might have been a danger to you, from something that might have made men honour you less than they do. I don’t think you realize sufficiently, Robert, that you have brought into the political life of our time a nobler atmosphere, a finer attitude towards life, a freer air of purer aims and higher ideals—I know it, and for that I love you, Robert.

  SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Oh, love me always, Gertrude, love me always!

  LADY CHILTERN. I will love you always, 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 putting out the lights. Sir Robert Chiltern looks up.)

  SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Put out the lights, Mason, put out the lights! (The Servant 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.)

  ACT-DROP

  SECOND ACT

  SCENE: Morning-room at Sir Robert Chiltern’s house. Lord Goring, dressed in the height of fashion, in 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.