TIME: _The Present_.
PLACE: _The Shires_.
_The action of the play takes place within twenty-four hours_.
LONDON: HAYMARKET THEATRE
_Lessee and Manager_: _Mr. H Beerbohm Tree_
_April_ 19_th_, 1893
LORD ILLINGWORTH _Mr. Tree_.
SIR JOHN PONTEFRACT _Mr. E. Holman Clark_.
LORD ALFRED RUFFORD _Mr. Ernest Lawford_.
MR. KELVIL, M.P. _Mr. Charles Allan_.
THE VEN. ARCHDEACON DAUBENY, D.D. _Mr. Kemble_.
GERALD ARBUTHNOT _Mr. Terry_.
FARQUHAR (_Butler_) _Mr. Hay_.
FRANCIS (_Footman_) _Mr. Montague_.
LADY HUNSTANTON _Miss Rose Leclercq_.
LADY CAROLINE PONTEFRACT _Miss Le Thière_.
LADY STUTFIELD _Miss Blanche Horlock_.
MRS. ALLONBY _Mrs. Tree_.
MISS HESTER WORSLEY _Miss Julia Neilson_.
ALICE (_Maid_) _Miss Kelly_.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT _Mrs. Bernard-Beere_.
FIRST ACT
SCENE
_Lawn in front of the terrace at Hunstanton_.
[SIR JOHN _and_ LADY CAROLINE PONTEFRACT, MISS WORSLEY, _on chairs under
large yew tree_.]
LADY CAROLINE. I believe this is the first English country house you
have stayed at, Miss Worsley?
HESTER. Yes, Lady Caroline.
LADY CAROLINE. You have no country houses, I am told, in America?
HESTER. We have not many.
LADY CAROLINE. Have you any country? What we should call country?
HESTER. [_Smiling_.] We have the largest country in the world, Lady
Caroline. They used to tell us at school that some of our states are as
big as France and England put together.
LADY CAROLINE. Ah! you must find it very draughty, I should fancy.
[_To_ SIR JOHN.] John, you should have your muffler. What is the use of
my always knitting mufflers for you if you won’t wear them?
SIR JOHN. I am quite warm, Caroline, I assure you.
LADY CAROLINE. I think not, John. Well, you couldn’t come to a more
charming place than this, Miss Worsley, though the house is excessively
damp, quite unpardonably damp, and dear Lady Hunstanton is sometimes a
little lax about the people she asks down here. [_To_ SIR JOHN.] Jane
mixes too much. Lord Illingworth, of course, is a man of high
distinction. It is a privilege to meet him. And that member of
Parliament, Mr. Kettle—
SIR JOHN. Kelvil, my love, Kelvil.
LADY CAROLINE. He must be quite respectable. One has never heard his
name before in the whole course of one’s life, which speaks volumes for a
man, nowadays. But Mrs. Allonby is hardly a very suitable person.
HESTER. I dislike Mrs. Allonby. I dislike her more than I can say.
LADY CAROLINE. I am not sure, Miss Worsley, that foreigners like
yourself should cultivate likes or dislikes about the people they are
invited to meet. Mrs. Allonby is very well born. She is a niece of Lord
Brancaster’s. It is said, of course, that she ran away twice before she
was married. But you know how unfair people often are. I myself don’t
believe she ran away more than once.
HESTER. Mr. Arbuthnot is very charming.
LADY CAROLINE. Ah, yes! the young man who has a post in a bank. Lady
Hunstanton is most kind in asking him here, and Lord Illingworth seems to
have taken quite a fancy to him. I am not sure, however, that Jane is
right in taking him out of his position. In my young days, Miss Worsley,
one never met any one in society who worked for their living. It was not
considered the thing.
HESTER. In America those are the people we respect most.
LADY CAROLINE. I have no doubt of it.
HESTER. Mr. Arbuthnot has a beautiful nature! He is so simple, so
sincere. He has one of the most beautiful natures I have ever come
across. It is a privilege to meet _him_.
LADY CAROLINE. It is not customary in England, Miss Worsley, for a young
lady to speak with such enthusiasm of any person of the opposite sex.
English women conceal their feelings till after they are married. They
show them then.
HESTER. Do you, in England, allow no friendship to exist between a young
man and a young girl?
[_Enter_ LADY HUNSTANTON, _followed by Footman with shawls and a
cushion_.]
LADY CAROLINE. We think it very inadvisable. Jane, I was just saying
what a pleasant party you have asked us to meet. You have a wonderful
power of selection. It is quite a gift.
LADY HUNSTANTON. Dear Caroline, how kind of you! I think we all do fit
in very nicely together. And I hope our charming American visitor will
carry back pleasant recollections of our English country life. [_To
Footman_.] The cushion, there, Francis. And my shawl. The Shetland.
Get the Shetland. [_Exit Footman for shawl_.]
[_Enter_ GERALD ARBUTHNOT.]
GERALD. Lady Hunstanton, I have such good news to tell you. Lord
Illingworth has just offered to make me his secretary.
LADY HUNSTANTON. His secretary? That is good news indeed, Gerald. It
means a very brilliant future in store for you. Your dear mother will be
delighted. I really must try and induce her to come up here to-night.
Do you think she would, Gerald? I know how difficult it is to get her to
go anywhere.
GERALD. Oh! I am sure she would, Lady Hunstanton, if she knew Lord
Illingworth had made me such an offer.
[_Enter Footman with shawl_.]
LADY HUNSTANTON. I will write and tell her about it, and ask her to come
up and meet him. [_To Footman_.] Just wait, Francis. [_Writes
letter_.]
LADY CAROLINE. That is a very wonderful opening for so young a man as
you are, Mr. Arbuthnot.
GERALD. It is indeed, Lady Caroline. I trust I shall be able to show
myself worthy of it.
LADY CAROLINE. I trust so.
GERALD. [_To_ HESTER.] _You_ have not congratulated me yet, Miss
Worsley.
HESTER. Are you very pleased about it?
GERALD. Of course I am. It means everything to me—things that were out
of the reach of hope before may be within hope’s reach now.
HESTER. Nothing should be out of the reach of hope. Life is a hope.
LADY HUNSTANTON. I fancy, Caroline, that Diplomacy is what Lord
Illingworth is aiming at. I heard that he was offered Vienna. But that
may not be true.
LADY CAROLINE. I don’t think that England should be represented abroad
by an unmarried man, Jane. It might lead to complications.
LADY HUNSTANTON. You are too nervous, Caroline. Believe me, you are too
nervous. Besides, Lord Illingworth may marry any day. I was in hopes he
would have married Lady Kelso. But I believe he said her family was too
large. Or was it her feet? I forget which. I regret it very much. She
was made to be an ambassador’s wife.
LADY CAROLINE. She certainly has a wonderful faculty of remembering
people’s names, and forgetting their faces.
LADY HUNSTANTON. Well, that is very natural, Caroline, is it not? [_To
Footman_.] Tell Henry to wait for an answer. I have written a line to
your dear mother, Gerald, to tell her your good news, and to say she
really must come to dinner.
[_Exit Footman_.]
GERALD. That is awfully kind of you, Lady Hunstanton. [_To_ HESTER.]
Will you come for a stroll, Miss Worsley?
HESTER. With pleasure. [_Exit with_ GERALD.]
LADY HUNSTANTON. I am very much gratified at Gerald Arbuthnot’s good
fortune. He is quite a _protégé_ of mine. And I am particularly pleased
that Lord Illingworth should have made the offer of his own accord
without my suggesting anything. Nobody likes to be asked favours. I
remember poor Charlotte Pagden making herself quite unpopular one season,
because she had a French governess she wanted to recommend to every one.
LADY CAROLINE. I saw the governess, Jane. Lady Pagden sent her to me.
It was before Eleanor came out. She was far too good-looking to be in
any respectable household. I don’t wonder Lady Pagden was so anxious to
get rid of her.
LADY HUNSTANTON. Ah, that explains it.
LADY CAROLINE. John, the grass is too damp for you. You had better go
and put on your overshoes at once.
SIR JOHN. I am quite comfortable, Caroline, I assure you.
LADY CAROLINE. You must allow me to be the best judge of that, John.
Pray do as I tell you.
[SIR JOHN _gets up and goes off_.]
LADY HUNSTANTON. You spoil him, Caroline, you do indeed!
[_Enter_ MRS. ALLONBY _and_ LADY STUTFIELD.]
[_To_ MRS. ALLONBY.] Well, dear, I hope you like the park. It is said
to be well timbered.
MRS. ALLONBY. The trees are wonderful, Lady Hunstanton.
LADY STUTFIELD. Quite, quite wonderful.
MRS. ALLONBY. But somehow, I feel sure that if I lived in the country
for six months, I should become so unsophisticated that no one would take
the slightest notice of me.
LADY HUNSTANTON. I assure you, dear, that the country has not that
effect at all. Why, it was from Melthorpe, which is only two miles from
here, that Lady Belton eloped with Lord Fethersdale. I remember the
occurrence perfectly. Poor Lord Belton died three days afterwards of
joy, or gout. I forget which. We had a large party staying here at the
time, so we were all very much interested in the whole affair.
MRS. ALLONBY. I think to elope is cowardly. It’s running away from
danger. And danger has become so rare in modern life.
LADY CAROLINE. As far as I can make out, the young women of the present
day seem to make it the sole object of their lives to be always playing
with fire.
MRS. ALLONBY. The one advantage of playing with fire, Lady Caroline, is
that one never gets even singed. It is the people who don’t know how to
play with it who get burned up.
LADY STUTFIELD. Yes; I see that. It is very, very helpful.
LADY HUNSTANTON. I don’t know how the world would get on with such a
theory as that, dear Mrs. Allonby.
LADY STUTFIELD. Ah! The world was made for men and not for women.
MRS. ALLONBY. Oh, don’t say that, Lady Stutfield. We have a much better
time than they have. There are far more things forbidden to us than are
forbidden to them.
LADY STUTFIELD. Yes; that is quite, quite true. I had not thought of
that.
[_Enter_ SIR JOHN _and_ MR. KELVIL.]
LADY HUNSTANTON. Well, Mr. Kelvil, have you got through your work?
KELVIL. I have finished my writing for the day, Lady Hunstanton. It has
been an arduous task. The demands on the time of a public man are very
heavy nowadays, very heavy indeed. And I don’t think they meet with
adequate recognition.
LADY CAROLINE. John, have you got your overshoes on?
SIR JOHN. Yes, my love.
LADY CAROLINE. I think you had better come over here, John. It is more
sheltered.
SIR JOHN. I am quite comfortable, Caroline.
LADY CAROLINE. I think not, John. You had better sit beside me. [SIR
JOHN _rises and goes across_.]
LADY STUTFIELD. And what have you been writing about this morning, Mr.
Kelvil?
KELVIL. On the usual subject, Lady Stutfield. On Purity.
LADY STUTFIELD. That must be such a very, very interesting thing to
write about.
KELVIL. It is the one subject of really national importance, nowadays,
Lady Stutfield. I purpose addressing my constituents on the question
before Parliament meets. I find that the poorer classes of this country
display a marked desire for a higher ethical standard.
LADY STUTFIELD. How quite, quite nice of them.
LADY CAROLINE. Are you in favour of women taking part in politics, Mr.
Kettle?
SIR JOHN. Kelvil, my love, Kelvil.
KELVIL. The growing influence of women is the one reassuring thing in
our political life, Lady Caroline. Women are always on the side of
morality, public and private.
LADY STUTFIELD. It is so very, very gratifying to hear you say that.
LADY HUNSTANTON. Ah, yes!—the moral qualities in women—that is the
important thing. I am afraid, Caroline, that dear Lord Illingworth
doesn’t value the moral qualities in women as much as he should.
[_Enter_ LORD ILLINGWORTH.]
LADY STUTFIELD. The world says that Lord Illingworth is very, very
wicked.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. But what world says that, Lady Stutfield? It must be
the next world. This world and I are on excellent terms. [_Sits down
beside_ MRS. ALLONBY.]
LADY STUTFIELD. Every one _I_ know says you are very, very wicked.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. It is perfectly monstrous the way people go about,
nowadays, saying things against one behind one’s back that are absolutely
and entirely true.
LADY HUNSTANTON. Dear Lord Illingworth is quite hopeless, Lady
Stutfield. I have given up trying to reform him. It would take a Public
Company with a Board of Directors and a paid Secretary to do that. But
you have the secretary already, Lord Illingworth, haven’t you? Gerald
Arbuthnot has told us of his good fortune; it is really most kind of you.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. Oh, don’t say that, Lady Hunstanton. Kind is a
dreadful word. I took a great fancy to young Arbuthnot the moment I met
him, and he’ll be of considerable use to me in something I am foolish
enough to think of doing.
LADY HUNSTANTON. He is an admirable young man. And his mother is one of
my dearest friends. He has just gone for a walk with our pretty
American. She is very pretty, is she not?
LADY CAROLINE. Far too pretty. These American girls carry off all the
good matches. Why can’t they stay in their own country? They are always
telling us it is the Paradise of women.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. It is, Lady Caroline. That is why, like Eve, they are
so extremely anxious to get out of it.
LADY CAROLINE. Who are Miss Worsley’s parents?
LORD ILLINGWORTH. American women are wonderfully clever in concealing
their parents.
LADY HUNSTANTON. My dear Lord Illingworth, what do you mean? Miss
Worsley, Caroline, is an orphan. Her father was a very wealthy
millionaire or philanthropist, or both, I believe, who entertained my son
quite hospitably, when he visited Boston. I don’t know how he made his
money, originally.
KELVIL. I fancy in American dry goods.
LADY HUNSTANTON. What are American dry goods?
LORD ILLINGWORTH. American novels.
LADY HUNSTANTON. How very singular! . . . Well, from whatever source her
large fortune came, I have a great esteem for Miss Worsley. She dresses
exceedingly well. All Americans do dress well. They get their clothes
in Paris.
MRS. ALLONBY. They say, Lady Hunstanton, that when good Americans die
they go to Paris.
LADY HUNSTANTON. Indeed? And when bad Americans die, where do they go
to?
LORD ILLINGWORTH. Oh, they go to America.
KELVIL. I am afraid you don’t appreciate America, Lord Illingworth. It
is a very remarkable country, especially considering its youth.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. The youth of America is their oldest tradition. It
has been going on now for three hundred years. To hear them talk one
would imagine they were in their first childhood. As far as civilisation
goes they are in their second.
KELVIL. There is undoubtedly a great deal of corruption in American
politics. I suppose you allude to that?
LORD ILLINGWORTH. I wonder.
LADY HUNSTANTON. Politics are in a sad way everywhere, I am told. They
certainly are in England. Dear Mr. Cardew is ruining the country. I
wonder Mrs. Cardew allows him. I am sure, Lord Illingworth, you don’t
think that uneducated people should be allowed to have votes?
LORD ILLINGWORTH. I think they are the only people who should.
KELVIL. Do you take no side then in modern politics, Lord Illingworth?
LORD ILLINGWORTH. One should never take sides in anything, Mr. Kelvil.
Taking sides is the beginning of sincerity, and earnestness follows
shortly afterwards, and the human being becomes a bore. However, the
House of Commons really does very little harm. You can’t make people
good by Act of Parliament,—that is something.
KELVIL. You cannot deny that the House of Commons has always shown great
sympathy with the sufferings of the poor.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. That is its special vice. That is the special vice of
the age. One should sympathise with the joy, the beauty, the colour of
life. The less said about life’s sores the better, Mr. Kelvil.
KELVIL. Still our East End is a very important problem.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. Quite so. It is the problem of slavery. And we are
trying to solve it by amusing the slaves.
LADY HUNSTANTON. Certainly, a great deal may be done by means of cheap
entertainments, as you say, Lord Illingworth. Dear Dr. Daubeny, our
rector here, provides, with the assistance of his curates, really
admirable recreations for the poor during the winter. And much good may
be done by means of a magic lantern, or a missionary, or some popular
amusement of that kind.
LADY CAROLINE. I am not at all in favour of amusements for the poor,
Jane. Blankets and coals are sufficient. There is too much love of
pleasure amongst the upper classes as it is. Health is what we want in
modern life. The tone is not healthy, not healthy at all.
KELVIL. You are quite right, Lady Caroline.
LADY CAROLINE. I believe I am usually right.
MRS. ALLONBY. Horrid word ‘health.’
LORD ILLINGWORTH. Silliest word in our language, and one knows so well
the popular idea of health. The English country gentleman galloping
after a fox—the unspeakable in full pursuit of the uneatable.
KELVIL. May I ask, Lord Illingworth, if you regard the House of Lords as
a better institution than the House of Commons?
LORD ILLINGWORTH. A much better institution, of course. We in the House
of Lords are never in touch with public opinion. That makes us a
civilised body.
KELVIL. Are you serious in putting forward such a view?
LORD ILLINGWORTH. Quite serious, Mr. Kelvil. [_To_ MRS. ALLONBY.]
Vulgar habit that is people have nowadays of asking one, after one has
given them an idea, whether one is serious or not. Nothing is serious
except passion. The intellect is not a serious thing, and never has
been. It is an instrument on which one plays, that is all. The only
serious form of intellect I know is the British intellect. And on the
British intellect the illiterates play the drum.
LADY HUNSTANTON. What are you saying, Lord Illingworth, about the drum?
LORD ILLINGWORTH. I was merely talking to Mrs. Allonby about the leading
articles in the London newspapers.
LADY HUNSTANTON. But do you believe all that is written in the
newspapers?
LORD ILLINGWORTH. I do. Nowadays it is only the unreadable that occurs.
[_Rises with_ MRS. ALLONBY.]
LADY HUNSTANTON. Are you going, Mrs. Allonby?
MRS. ALLONBY. Just as far as the conservatory. Lord Illingworth told me
this morning that there was an orchid there as beautiful as the seven
deadly sins.
LADY HUNSTANTON. My dear, I hope there is nothing of the kind. I will
certainly speak to the gardener.
[_Exit_ MRS. ALLONBY _and_ LORD ILLINGWORTH.]
LADY CAROLINE. Remarkable type, Mrs. Allonby.
LADY HUNSTANTON. She lets her clever tongue run away with her sometimes.
LADY CAROLINE. Is that the only thing, Jane, Mrs. Allonby allows to run
away with her?
LADY HUNSTANTON. I hope so, Caroline, I am sure.
[_Enter_ LORD ALFRED.]
Dear Lord Alfred, do join us. [LORD ALFRED _sits down beside_ LADY
STUTFIELD.]
LADY CAROLINE. You believe good of every one, Jane. It is a great
fault.
LADY STUTFIELD. Do you really, really think, Lady Caroline, that one
should believe evil of every one?
LADY CAROLINE. I think it is much safer to do so, Lady Stutfield.
Until, of course, people are found out to be good. But that requires a
great deal of investigation nowadays.
LADY STUTFIELD. But there is so much unkind scandal in modern life.
LADY CAROLINE. Lord Illingworth remarked to me last night at dinner that
the basis of every scandal is an absolutely immoral certainty.
KELVIL. Lord Illingworth is, of course, a very brilliant man, but he
seems to me to be lacking in that fine faith in the nobility and purity
of life which is so important in this century.
LADY STUTFIELD. Yes, quite, quite important, is it not?
KELVIL. He gives me the impression of a man who does not appreciate the
beauty of our English home-life. I would say that he was tainted with
foreign ideas on the subject.
LADY STUTFIELD. There is nothing, nothing like the beauty of home-life,
is there?
KELVIL. It is the mainstay of our moral system in England, Lady
Stutfield. Without it we would become like our neighbours.
LADY STUTFIELD. That would be so, so sad, would it not?
KELVIL. I am afraid, too, that Lord Illingworth regards woman simply as
a toy. Now, I have never regarded woman as a toy. Woman is the
intellectual helpmeet of man in public as in private life. Without her
we should forget the true ideals. [_Sits down beside_ LADY STUTFIELD.]
LADY STUTFIELD. I am so very, very glad to hear you say that.
LADY CAROLINE. You a married man, Mr. Kettle?
SIR JOHN. Kelvil, dear, Kelvil.
KELVIL. I am married, Lady Caroline.
LADY CAROLINE. Family?
KELVIL. Yes.
LADY CAROLINE. How many?
KELVIL. Eight.
[LADY STUTFIELD _turns her attention to_ LORD ALFRED.]
LADY CAROLINE. Mrs. Kettle and the children are, I suppose, at the
seaside? [SIR JOHN _shrugs his shoulders_.]
KELVIL. My wife is at the seaside with the children, Lady Caroline.
LADY CAROLINE. You will join them later on, no doubt?
KELVIL. If my public engagements permit me.
LADY CAROLINE. Your public life must be a great source of gratification
to Mrs. Kettle.
SIR JOHN. Kelvil, my love, Kelvil.
LADY STUTFIELD. [_To_ LORD ALFRED.] How very, very charming those
gold-tipped cigarettes of yours are, Lord Alfred.
LORD ALFRED. They are awfully expensive. I can only afford them when
I’m in debt.
LADY STUTFIELD. It must be terribly, terribly distressing to be in debt.
LORD ALFRED. One must have some occupation nowadays. If I hadn’t my
debts I shouldn’t have anything to think about. All the chaps I know are
in debt.
LADY STUTFIELD. But don’t the people to whom you owe the money give you
a great, great deal of annoyance?
[_Enter Footman_.]
LORD ALFRED. Oh, no, they write; I don’t.
LADY STUTFIELD. How very, very strange.
LADY HUNSTANTON. Ah, here is a letter, Caroline, from dear Mrs.
Arbuthnot. She won’t dine. I am so sorry. But she will come in the
evening. I am very pleased indeed. She is one of the sweetest of women.
Writes a beautiful hand, too, so large, so firm. [_Hands letter to_ LADY
CAROLINE.]
LADY CAROLINE. [_Looking at it_.] A little lacking in femininity, Jane.
Femininity is the quality I admire most in women.
LADY HUNSTANTON. [_Taking back letter and leaving it on table_.] Oh!
she is very feminine, Caroline, and so good too. You should hear what
the Archdeacon says of her. He regards her as his right hand in the
parish. [_Footman speaks to her_.] In the Yellow Drawing-room. Shall
we all go in? Lady Stutfield, shall we go in to tea?
LADY STUTFIELD. With pleasure, Lady Hunstanton. [_They rise and proceed
to go off_. SIR JOHN offers to carry LADY STUTFIELD’S cloak.]
LADY CAROLINE. John! If you would allow your nephew to look after Lady
Stutfield’s cloak, you might help me with my workbasket.
[_Enter_ LORD ILLINGWORTH _and_ MRS. ALLONBY.]
SIR JOHN. Certainly, my love. [_Exeunt_.]
MRS. ALLONBY. Curious thing, plain women are always jealous of their
husbands, beautiful women never are!
LORD ILLINGWORTH. Beautiful women never have time. They are always so
occupied in being jealous of other people’s husbands.
MRS. ALLONBY. I should have thought Lady Caroline would have grown tired
of conjugal anxiety by this time! Sir John is her fourth!
LORD ILLINGWORTH. So much marriage is certainly not becoming. Twenty
years of romance make a woman look like a ruin; but twenty years of
marriage make her something like a public building.
MRS. ALLONBY. Twenty years of romance! Is there such a thing?
LORD ILLINGWORTH. Not in our day. Women have become too brilliant.
Nothing spoils a romance so much as a sense of humour in the woman.
MRS. ALLONBY. Or the want of it in the man.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. You are quite right. In a Temple every one should be
serious, except the thing that is worshipped.
MRS. ALLONBY. And that should be man?
LORD ILLINGWORTH. Women kneel so gracefully; men don’t.
MRS. ALLONBY. You are thinking of Lady Stutfield!
LORD ILLINGWORTH. I assure you I have not thought of Lady Stutfield for
the last quarter of an hour.
MRS. ALLONBY. Is she such a mystery?
LORD ILLINGWORTH. She is more than a mystery—she is a mood.
MRS. ALLONBY. Moods don’t last.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. It is their chief charm.
[_Enter_ HESTER _and_ GERALD.]
GERALD. Lord Illingworth, every one has been congratulating me, Lady
Hunstanton and Lady Caroline, and . . . every one. I hope I shall make a
good secretary.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. You will be the pattern secretary, Gerald. [_Talks to
him_.]
MRS. ALLONBY. You enjoy country life, Miss Worsley?
HESTER. Very much indeed.
MRS. ALLONBY. Don’t find yourself longing for a London dinner-party?
HESTER. I dislike London dinner-parties.
MRS. ALLONBY. I adore them. The clever people never listen, and the
stupid people never talk.
HESTER. I think the stupid people talk a great deal.
MRS. ALLONBY. Ah, I never listen!
LORD ILLINGWORTH. My dear boy, if I didn’t like you I wouldn’t have made
you the offer. It is because I like you so much that I want to have you
with me.
[_Exit_ HESTER _with_ GERALD.]
Charming fellow, Gerald Arbuthnot!
MRS. ALLONBY. He is very nice; very nice indeed. But I can’t stand the
American young lady.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. Why?
MRS. ALLONBY. She told me yesterday, and in quite a loud voice too, that
she was only eighteen. It was most annoying.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. One should never trust a woman who tells one her real
age. A woman who would tell one that, would tell one anything.
MRS. ALLONBY. She is a Puritan besides—
LORD ILLINGWORTH. Ah, that is inexcusable. I don’t mind plain women
being Puritans. It is the only excuse they have for being plain. But
she is decidedly pretty. I admire her immensely. [_Looks steadfastly
at_ MRS. ALLONBY.]
MRS. ALLONBY. What a thoroughly bad man you must be!
LORD ILLINGWORTH. What do you call a bad man?
MRS. ALLONBY. The sort of man who admires innocence.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. And a bad woman?
MRS. ALLONBY. Oh! the sort of woman a man never gets tired of.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. You are severe—on yourself.
MRS. ALLONBY. Define us as a sex.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. Sphinxes without secrets.
MRS. ALLONBY. Does that include the Puritan women?
LORD ILLINGWORTH. Do you know, I don’t believe in the existence of
Puritan women? I don’t think there is a woman in the world who would not
be a little flattered if one made love to her. It is that which makes
women so irresistibly adorable.
MRS. ALLONBY. You think there is no woman in the world who would object
to being kissed?
LORD ILLINGWORTH. Very few.
MRS. ALLONBY. Miss Worsley would not let you kiss her.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. Are you sure?
MRS. ALLONBY. Quite.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. What do you think she’d do if I kissed her?
MRS. ALLONBY. Either marry you, or strike you across the face with her
glove. What would you do if she struck you across the face with her
glove?
LORD ILLINGWORTH. Fall in love with her, probably.
MRS. ALLONBY. Then it is lucky you are not going to kiss her!
LORD ILLINGWORTH. Is that a challenge?
MRS. ALLONBY. It is an arrow shot into the air.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. Don’t you know that I always succeed in whatever I
try?
MRS. ALLONBY. I am sorry to hear it. We women adore failures. They
lean on us.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. You worship successes. You cling to them.
MRS. ALLONBY. We are the laurels to hide their baldness.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. And they need you always, except at the moment of
triumph.
MRS. ALLONBY. They are uninteresting then.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. How tantalising you are! [_A pause_.]
MRS. ALLONBY. Lord Illingworth, there is one thing I shall always like
you for.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. Only one thing? And I have so many bad qualities.
MRS. ALLONBY. Ah, don’t be too conceited about them. You may lose them
as you grow old.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. I never intend to grow old. The soul is born old but
grows young. That is the comedy of life.
MRS. ALLONBY. And the body is born young and grows old. That is life’s
tragedy.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. Its comedy also, sometimes. But what is the
mysterious reason why you will always like me?
MRS. ALLONBY. It is that you have never made love to me.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. I have never done anything else.
MRS. ALLONBY. Really? I have not noticed it.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. How fortunate! It might have been a tragedy for both
of us.
MRS. ALLONBY. We should each have survived.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. One can survive everything nowadays, except death, and
live down anything except a good reputation.
MRS. ALLONBY. Have you tried a good reputation?
LORD ILLINGWORTH. It is one of the many annoyances to which I have never
been subjected.
MRS. ALLONBY. It may come.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. Why do you threaten me?
MRS. ALLONBY. I will tell you when you have kissed the Puritan.
[_Enter Footman_.]
FRANCIS. Tea is served in the Yellow Drawing-room, my lord.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. Tell her ladyship we are coming in.
FRANCIS. Yes, my lord.
[_Exit_.]
LORD ILLINGWORTH. Shall we go in to tea?
MRS. ALLONBY. Do you like such simple pleasures?
LORD ILLINGWORTH. I adore simple pleasures. They are the last refuge of
the complex. But, if you wish, let us stay here. Yes, let us stay here.
The Book of Life begins with a man and a woman in a garden.
MRS. ALLONBY. It ends with Revelations.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. You fence divinely. But the button has come off your
foil.
MRS. ALLONBY. I have still the mask.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. It makes your eyes lovelier.
MRS. ALLONBY. Thank you. Come.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. [_Sees_ MRS. ARBUTHNOT’S _letter on table_, _and takes
it up and looks at envelope_.] What a curious handwriting! It reminds
me of the handwriting of a woman I used to know years ago.
MRS. ALLONBY. Who?
LORD ILLINGWORTH. Oh! no one. No one in particular. A woman of no
importance. [_Throws letter down_, _and passes up the steps of the
terrace with_ MRS. ALLONBY. _They smile at each other_.]
ACT DROP.
SECOND ACT
SCENE
_Drawing-room at Hunstanton_, _after dinner_, _lamps lit_. _Door_ L.C.
_Door_ R.C.
[_Ladies seated on sofas_.]
MRS. ALLONBY. What a comfort it is to have got rid of the men for a
little!
LADY STUTFIELD. Yes; men persecute us dreadfully, don’t they?
MRS. ALLONBY. Persecute us? I wish they did.
LADY HUNSTANTON. My dear!
MRS. ALLONBY. The annoying thing is that the wretches can be perfectly
happy without us. That is why I think it is every woman’s duty never to
leave them alone for a single moment, except during this short breathing
space after dinner; without which I believe we poor women would be
absolutely worn to shadows.
[_Enter Servants with coffee_.]
LADY HUNSTANTON. Worn to shadows, dear?
MRS. ALLONBY. Yes, Lady Hunstanton. It is such a strain keeping men up
to the mark. They are always trying to escape from us.
LADY STUTFIELD. It seems to me that it is we who are always trying to
escape from them. Men are so very, very heartless. They know their
power and use it.
LADY CAROLINE. [_Takes coffee from Servant_.] What stuff and nonsense
all this about men is! The thing to do is to keep men in their proper
place.
MRS. ALLONBY. But what is their proper place, Lady Caroline?
LADY CAROLINE. Looking after their wives, Mrs. Allonby.
MRS. ALLONBY. [_Takes coffee from Servant_.] Really? And if they’re
not married?
LADY CAROLINE. If they are not married, they should be looking after a
wife. It’s perfectly scandalous the amount of bachelors who are going
about society. There should be a law passed to compel them all to marry
within twelve months.
LADY STUTFIELD. [_Refuses coffee_.] But if they’re in love with some
one who, perhaps, is tied to another?
LADY CAROLINE. In that case, Lady Stutfield, they should be married off
in a week to some plain respectable girl, in order to teach them not to
meddle with other people’s property.
MRS. ALLONBY. I don’t think that we should ever be spoken of as other
people’s property. All men are married women’s property. That is the
only true definition of what married women’s property really is. But we
don’t belong to any one.
LADY STUTFIELD. Oh, I am so very, very glad to hear you say so.
LADY HUNSTANTON. But do you really think, dear Caroline, that
legislation would improve matters in any way? I am told that, nowadays,
all the married men live like bachelors, and all the bachelors like
married men.
MRS. ALLONBY. I certainly never know one from the other.
LADY STUTFIELD. Oh, I think one can always know at once whether a man
has home claims upon his life or not. I have noticed a very, very sad
expression in the eyes of so many married men.
MRS. ALLONBY. Ah, all that I have noticed is that they are horribly
tedious when they are good husbands, and abominably conceited when they
are not.
LADY HUNSTANTON. Well, I suppose the type of husband has completely
changed since my young days, but I’m bound to state that poor dear
Hunstanton was the most delightful of creatures, and as good as gold.
MRS. ALLONBY. Ah, my husband is a sort of promissory note; I’m tired of
meeting him.
LADY CAROLINE. But you renew him from time to time, don’t you?
MRS. ALLONBY. Oh no, Lady Caroline. I have only had one husband as yet.
I suppose you look upon me as quite an amateur.
LADY CAROLINE. With your views on life I wonder you married at all.
MRS. ALLONBY. So do I.
LADY HUNSTANTON. My dear child, I believe you are really very happy in
your married life, but that you like to hide your happiness from others.
MRS. ALLONBY. I assure you I was horribly deceived in Ernest.
LADY HUNSTANTON. Oh, I hope not, dear. I knew his mother quite well.
She was a Stratton, Caroline, one of Lord Crowland’s daughters.
LADY CAROLINE. Victoria Stratton? I remember her perfectly. A silly
fair-haired woman with no chin.
MRS. ALLONBY. Ah, Ernest has a chin. He has a very strong chin, a
square chin. Ernest’s chin is far too square.
LADY STUTFIELD. But do you really think a man’s chin can be too square?
I think a man should look very, very strong, and that his chin should be
quite, quite square.
MRS. ALLONBY. Then you should certainly know Ernest, Lady Stutfield. It
is only fair to tell you beforehand he has got no conversation at all.
LADY STUTFIELD. I adore silent men.
MRS. ALLONBY. Oh, Ernest isn’t silent. He talks the whole time. But he
has got no conversation. What he talks about I don’t know. I haven’t
listened to him for years.
LADY STUTFIELD. Have you never forgiven him then? How sad that seems!
But all life is very, very sad, is it not?
MRS. ALLONBY. Life, Lady Stutfield, is simply a _mauvais quart d’heure_
made up of exquisite moments.
LADY STUTFIELD. Yes, there are moments, certainly. But was it something
very, very wrong that Mr. Allonby did? Did he become angry with you, and
say anything that was unkind or true?
MRS. ALLONBY. Oh dear, no. Ernest is invariably calm. That is one of
the reasons he always gets on my nerves. Nothing is so aggravating as
calmness. There is something positively brutal about the good temper of
most modern men. I wonder we women stand it as well as we do.
LADY STUTFIELD. Yes; men’s good temper shows they are not so sensitive
as we are, not so finely strung. It makes a great barrier often between
husband and wife, does it not? But I would so much like to know what was
the wrong thing Mr. Allonby did.
MRS. ALLONBY. Well, I will tell you, if you solemnly promise to tell
everybody else.
LADY STUTFIELD. Thank you, thank you. I will make a point of repeating
it.
MRS. ALLONBY. When Ernest and I were engaged, he swore to me positively
on his knees that he had never loved any one before in the whole course
of his life. I was very young at the time, so I didn’t believe him, I
needn’t tell you. Unfortunately, however, I made no enquiries of any
kind till after I had been actually married four or five months. I found
out then that what he had told me was perfectly true. And that sort of
thing makes a man so absolutely uninteresting.
LADY HUNSTANTON. My dear!
MRS. ALLONBY. Men always want to be a woman’s first love. That is their
clumsy vanity. We women have a more subtle instinct about things. What
we like is to be a man’s last romance.
LADY STUTFIELD. I see what you mean. It’s very, very beautiful.
LADY HUNSTANTON. My dear child, you don’t mean to tell me that you won’t
forgive your husband because he never loved any one else? Did you ever
hear such a thing, Caroline? I am quite surprised.
LADY CAROLINE. Oh, women have become so highly educated, Jane, that
nothing should surprise us nowadays, except happy marriages. They
apparently are getting remarkably rare.
MRS. ALLONBY. Oh, they’re quite out of date.
LADY STUTFIELD. Except amongst the middle classes, I have been told.
MRS. ALLONBY. How like the middle classes!
LADY STUTFIELD. Yes—is it not?—very, very like them.
LADY CAROLINE. If what you tell us about the middle classes is true,
Lady Stutfield, it redounds greatly to their credit. It is much to be
regretted that in our rank of life the wife should be so persistently
frivolous, under the impression apparently that it is the proper thing to
be. It is to that I attribute the unhappiness of so many marriages we
all know of in society.
MRS. ALLONBY. Do you know, Lady Caroline, I don’t think the frivolity of
the wife has ever anything to do with it. More marriages are ruined
nowadays by the common sense of the husband than by anything else. How
can a woman be expected to be happy with a man who insists on treating
her as if she were a perfectly rational being?
LADY HUNSTANTON. My dear!
MRS. ALLONBY. Man, poor, awkward, reliable, necessary man belongs to a
sex that has been rational for millions and millions of years. He can’t
help himself. It is in his race. The History of Woman is very
different. We have always been picturesque protests against the mere
existence of common sense. We saw its dangers from the first.
LADY STUTFIELD. Yes, the common sense of husbands is certainly most,
most trying. Do tell me your conception of the Ideal Husband. I think
it would be so very, very helpful.
MRS. ALLONBY. The Ideal Husband? There couldn’t be such a thing. The
institution is wrong.
LADY STUTFIELD. The Ideal Man, then, in his relations to _us_.
LADY CAROLINE. He would probably be extremely realistic.
MRS. ALLONBY. The Ideal Man! Oh, the Ideal Man should talk to us as if
we were goddesses, and treat us as if we were children. He should refuse
all our serious requests, and gratify every one of our whims. He should
encourage us to have caprices, and forbid us to have missions. He should
always say much more than he means, and always mean much more than he
says.
LADY HUNSTANTON. But how could he do both, dear?
MRS. ALLONBY. He should never run down other pretty women. That would
show he had no taste, or make one suspect that he had too much. No; he
should be nice about them all, but say that somehow they don’t attract
him.
LADY STUTFIELD. Yes, that is always very, very pleasant to hear about
other women.
MRS. ALLONBY. If we ask him a question about anything, he should give us
an answer all about ourselves. He should invariably praise us for
whatever qualities he knows we haven’t got. But he should be pitiless,
quite pitiless, in reproaching us for the virtues that we have never
dreamed of possessing. He should never believe that we know the use of
useful things. That would be unforgiveable. But he should shower on us
everything we don’t want.
LADY CAROLINE. As far as I can see, he is to do nothing but pay bills
and compliments.
MRS. ALLONBY. He should persistently compromise us in public, and treat
us with absolute respect when we are alone. And yet he should be always
ready to have a perfectly terrible scene, whenever we want one, and to
become miserable, absolutely miserable, at a moment’s notice, and to
overwhelm us with just reproaches in less than twenty minutes, and to be
positively violent at the end of half an hour, and to leave us for ever
at a quarter to eight, when we have to go and dress for dinner. And
when, after that, one has seen him for really the last time, and he has
refused to take back the little things he has given one, and promised
never to communicate with one again, or to write one any foolish letters,
he should be perfectly broken-hearted, and telegraph to one all day long,
and send one little notes every half-hour by a private hansom, and dine
quite alone at the club, so that every one should know how unhappy he
was. And after a whole dreadful week, during which one has gone about
everywhere with one’s husband, just to show how absolutely lonely one
was, he may be given a third last parting, in the evening, and then, if
his conduct has been quite irreproachable, and one has behaved really
badly to him, he should be allowed to admit that he has been entirely in
the wrong, and when he has admitted that, it becomes a woman’s duty to
forgive, and one can do it all over again from the beginning, with
variations.
LADY HUNSTANTON. How clever you are, my dear! You never mean a single
word you say.
LADY STUTFIELD. Thank you, thank you. It has been quite, quite
entrancing. I must try and remember it all. There are such a number of
details that are so very, very important.
LADY CAROLINE. But you have not told us yet what the reward of the Ideal
Man is to be.
MRS. ALLONBY. His reward? Oh, infinite expectation. That is quite
enough for him.
LADY STUTFIELD. But men are so terribly, terribly exacting, are they
not?
MRS. ALLONBY. That makes no matter. One should never surrender.
LADY STUTFIELD. Not even to the Ideal Man?
MRS. ALLONBY. Certainly not to him. Unless, of course, one wants to
grow tired of him.
LADY STUTFIELD. Oh! . . . yes. I see that. It is very, very helpful.
Do you think, Mrs. Allonby, I shall ever meet the Ideal Man? Or are
there more than one?
MRS. ALLONBY. There are just four in London, Lady Stutfield.
LADY HUNSTANTON. Oh, my dear!
MRS. ALLONBY. [_Going over to her_.] What has happened? Do tell me.
LADY HUNSTANTON [_in a low voice_] I had completely forgotten that the
American young lady has been in the room all the time. I am afraid some
of this clever talk may have shocked her a little.
MRS. ALLONBY. Ah, that will do her so much good!
LADY HUNSTANTON. Let us hope she didn’t understand much. I think I had
better go over and talk to her. [_Rises and goes across to_ HESTER
WORSLEY.] Well, dear Miss Worsley. [_Sitting down beside her_.] How
quiet you have been in your nice little corner all this time! I suppose
you have been reading a book? There are so many books here in the
library.
HESTER. No, I have been listening to the conversation.
LADY HUNSTANTON. You mustn’t believe everything that was said, you know,
dear.
HESTER. I didn’t believe any of it.
LADY HUNSTANTON. That is quite right, dear.
HESTER. [_Continuing_.] I couldn’t believe that any women could really
hold such views of life as I have heard to-night from some of your
guests. [_An awkward pause_.]
LADY HUNSTANTON. I hear you have such pleasant society in America.
Quite like our own in places, my son wrote to me.
HESTER. There are cliques in America as elsewhere, Lady Hunstanton. But
true American society consists simply of all the good women and good men
we have in our country.
LADY HUNSTANTON. What a sensible system, and I dare say quite pleasant
too. I am afraid in England we have too many artificial social barriers.
We don’t see as much as we should of the middle and lower classes.
HESTER. In America we have no lower classes.
LADY HUNSTANTON. Really? What a very strange arrangement!
MRS. ALLONBY. What is that dreadful girl talking about?
LADY STUTFIELD. She is painfully natural, is she not?
LADY CAROLINE. There are a great many things you haven’t got in America,
I am told, Miss Worsley. They say you have no ruins, and no curiosities.
MRS. ALLONBY. [_To_ LADY STUTFIELD.] What nonsense! They have their
mothers and their manners.
HESTER. The English aristocracy supply us with our curiosities, Lady
Caroline. They are sent over to us every summer, regularly, in the
steamers, and propose to us the day after they land. As for ruins, we
are trying to build up something that will last longer than brick or
stone. [_Gets up to take her fan from table_.]
LADY HUNSTANTON. What is that, dear? Ah, yes, an iron Exhibition, is it
not, at that place that has the curious name?
HESTER. [_Standing by table_.] We are trying to build up life, Lady
Hunstanton, on a better, truer, purer basis than life rests on here.
This sounds strange to you all, no doubt. How could it sound other than
strange? You rich people in England, you don’t know how you are living.
How could you know? You shut out from your society the gentle and the
good. You laugh at the simple and the pure. Living, as you all do, on
others and by them, you sneer at self-sacrifice, and if you throw bread
to the poor, it is merely to keep them quiet for a season. With all your
pomp and wealth and art you don’t know how to live—you don’t even know
that. You love the beauty that you can see and touch and handle, the
beauty that you can destroy, and do destroy, but of the unseen beauty of
life, of the unseen beauty of a higher life, you know nothing. You have
lost life’s secret. Oh, your English society seems to me shallow,
selfish, foolish. It has blinded its eyes, and stopped its ears. It
lies like a leper in purple. It sits like a dead thing smeared with
gold. It is all wrong, all wrong.
LADY STUTFIELD. I don’t think one should know of these things. It is
not very, very nice, is it?
LADY HUNSTANTON. My dear Miss Worsley, I thought you liked English
society so much. You were such a success in it. And you were so much
admired by the best people. I quite forget what Lord Henry Weston said
of you—but it was most complimentary, and you know what an authority he
is on beauty.
HESTER. Lord Henry Weston! I remember him, Lady Hunstanton. A man with
a hideous smile and a hideous past. He is asked everywhere. No
dinner-party is complete without him. What of those whose ruin is due to
him? They are outcasts. They are nameless. If you met them in the
street you would turn your head away. I don’t complain of their
punishment. Let all women who have sinned be punished.
[MRS. ARBUTHNOT _enters from terrace behind in a cloak with a lace veil
over her head_. _She hears the last words and starts_.]
LADY HUNSTANTON. My dear young lady!
HESTER. It is right that they should be punished, but don’t let them be
the only ones to suffer. If a man and woman have sinned, let them both
go forth into the desert to love or loathe each other there. Let them
both be branded. Set a mark, if you wish, on each, but don’t punish the
one and let the other go free. Don’t have one law for men and another
for women. You are unjust to women in England. And till you count what
is a shame in a woman to be an infamy in a man, you will always be
unjust, and Right, that pillar of fire, and Wrong, that pillar of cloud,
will be made dim to your eyes, or be not seen at all, or if seen, not
regarded.
LADY CAROLINE. Might I, dear Miss Worsley, as you are standing up, ask
you for my cotton that is just behind you? Thank you.
LADY HUNSTANTON. My dear Mrs. Arbuthnot! I am so pleased you have come
up. But I didn’t hear you announced.
MRS. ALLONBY. Oh, I came straight in from the terrace, Lady Hunstanton,
just as I was. You didn’t tell me you had a party.
LADY HUNSTANTON. Not a party. Only a few guests who are staying in the
house, and whom you must know. Allow me. [_Tries to help her_. _Rings
bell_.] Caroline, this is Mrs. Arbuthnot, one of my sweetest friends.
Lady Caroline Pontefract, Lady Stutfield, Mrs. Allonby, and my young
American friend, Miss Worsley, who has just been telling us all how
wicked we are.
HESTER. I am afraid you think I spoke too strongly, Lady Hunstanton.
But there are some things in England—
LADY HUNSTANTON. My dear young lady, there was a great deal of truth, I
dare say, in what you said, and you looked very pretty while you said it,
which is much more important, Lord Illingworth would tell us. The only
point where I thought you were a little hard was about Lady Caroline’s
brother, about poor Lord Henry. He is really such good company.
[_Enter Footman_.]
Take Mrs. Arbuthnot’s things.
[_Exit Footman with wraps_.]
HESTER. Lady Caroline, I had no idea it was your brother. I am sorry
for the pain I must have caused you—I—
LADY CAROLINE. My dear Miss Worsley, the only part of your little
speech, if I may so term it, with which I thoroughly agreed, was the part
about my brother. Nothing that you could possibly say could be too bad
for him. I regard Henry as infamous, absolutely infamous. But I am
bound to state, as you were remarking, Jane, that he is excellent
company, and he has one of the best cooks in London, and after a good
dinner one can forgive anybody, even one’s own relations.
LADY HUNSTANTON [_to_ MISS WORSLEY] Now, do come, dear, and make friends
with Mrs. Arbuthnot. She is one of the good, sweet, simple people you
told us we never admitted into society. I am sorry to say Mrs. Arbuthnot
comes very rarely to me. But that is not my fault.
MRS. ALLONBY. What a bore it is the men staying so long after dinner! I
expect they are saying the most dreadful things about us.
LADY STUTFIELD. Do you really think so?
MRS. ALLONBY. I was sure of it.
LADY STUTFIELD. How very, very horrid of them! Shall we go onto the
terrace?
MRS. ALLONBY. Oh, anything to get away from the dowagers and the
dowdies. [_Rises and goes with_ LADY STUTFIELD _to door_ L.C.] We are
only going to look at the stars, Lady Hunstanton.
LADY HUNSTANTON. You will find a great many, dear, a great many. But
don’t catch cold. [_To_ MRS. ARBUTHNOT.] We shall all miss Gerald so
much, dear Mrs. Arbuthnot.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT. But has Lord Illingworth really offered to make Gerald
his secretary?
LADY HUNSTANTON. Oh, yes! He has been most charming about it. He has
the highest possible opinion of your boy. You don’t know Lord
Illingworth, I believe, dear.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT. I have never met him.
LADY HUNSTANTON. You know him by name, no doubt?
MRS. ARBUTHNOT. I am afraid I don’t. I live so much out of the world,
and see so few people. I remember hearing years ago of an old Lord
Illingworth who lived in Yorkshire, I think.
LADY HUNSTANTON. Ah, yes. That would be the last Earl but one. He was
a very curious man. He wanted to marry beneath him. Or wouldn’t, I
believe. There was some scandal about it. The present Lord Illingworth
is quite different. He is very distinguished. He does—well, he does
nothing, which I am afraid our pretty American visitor here thinks very
wrong of anybody, and I don’t know that he cares much for the subjects in
which you are so interested, dear Mrs. Arbuthnot. Do you think,
Caroline, that Lord Illingworth is interested in the Housing of the Poor?
LADY CAROLINE. I should fancy not at all, Jane.
LADY HUNSTANTON. We all have our different tastes, have we not? But
Lord Illingworth has a very high position, and there is nothing he
couldn’t get if he chose to ask for it. Of course, he is comparatively a
young man still, and he has only come to his title within—how long
exactly is it, Caroline, since Lord Illingworth succeeded?
LADY CAROLINE. About four years, I think, Jane. I know it was the same
year in which my brother had his last exposure in the evening newspapers.
LADY HUNSTANTON. Ah, I remember. That would be about four years ago.
Of course, there were a great many people between the present Lord
Illingworth and the title, Mrs. Arbuthnot. There was—who was there,
Caroline?
LADY CAROLINE. There was poor Margaret’s baby. You remember how anxious
she was to have a boy, and it was a boy, but it died, and her husband
died shortly afterwards, and she married almost immediately one of Lord
Ascot’s sons, who, I am told, beats her.
LADY HUNSTANTON. Ah, that is in the family, dear, that is in the family.
And there was also, I remember, a clergyman who wanted to be a lunatic,
or a lunatic who wanted to be a clergyman, I forget which, but I know the
Court of Chancery investigated the matter, and decided that he was quite
sane. And I saw him afterwards at poor Lord Plumstead’s with straws in
his hair, or something very odd about him. I can’t recall what. I often
regret, Lady Caroline, that dear Lady Cecilia never lived to see her son
get the title.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT. Lady Cecilia?
LADY HUNSTANTON. Lord Illingworth’s mother, dear Mrs. Arbuthnot, was one
of the Duchess of Jerningham’s pretty daughters, and she married Sir
Thomas Harford, who wasn’t considered a very good match for her at the
time, though he was said to be the handsomest man in London. I knew them
all quite intimately, and both the sons, Arthur and George.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT. It was the eldest son who succeeded, of course, Lady
Hunstanton?
LADY HUNSTANTON. No, dear, he was killed in the hunting field. Or was
it fishing, Caroline? I forget. But George came in for everything. I
always tell him that no younger son has ever had such good luck as he has
had.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT. Lady Hunstanton, I want to speak to Gerald at once.
Might I see him? Can he be sent for?
LADY HUNSTANTON. Certainly, dear. I will send one of the servants into
the dining-room to fetch him. I don’t know what keeps the gentlemen so
long. [_Rings bell_.] When I knew Lord Illingworth first as plain
George Harford, he was simply a very brilliant young man about town, with
not a penny of money except what poor dear Lady Cecilia gave him. She
was quite devoted to him. Chiefly, I fancy, because he was on bad terms
with his father. Oh, here is the dear Archdeacon. [_To Servant_.] It
doesn’t matter.
[_Enter_ SIR JOHN _and_ DOCTOR DAUBENY. SIR JOHN _goes over to_ LADY
STUTFIELD, DOCTOR DAUBENY _to_ LADY HUNSTANTON.]
THE ARCHDEACON. Lord Illingworth has been most entertaining. I have
never enjoyed myself more. [_Sees_ MRS. ARBUTHNOT.] Ah, Mrs. Arbuthnot.
LADY HUNSTANTON. [_To_ Doctor Daubeny.] You see I have got Mrs.
Arbuthnot to come to me at last.
THE ARCHDEACON. That is a great honour, Lady Hunstanton. Mrs. Daubeny
will be quite jealous of you.
LADY HUNSTANTON. Ah, I am so sorry Mrs. Daubeny could not come with you
to-night. Headache as usual, I suppose.
THE ARCHDEACON. Yes, Lady Hunstanton; a perfect martyr. But she is
happiest alone. She is happiest alone.
LADY CAROLINE. [_To her husband_.] John! [SIR JOHN _goes over to his
wife_. Doctor Daubeny _talks to_ LADY HUNSTANTON _and_ MRS. ARBUTHNOT.]
[MRS. ARBUTHNOT watches LORD ILLINGWORTH the whole time. He has passed
across the room without noticing her, and approaches MRS. ALLONBY, who
with LADY STUTFIELD is standing by the door looking on to the terrace.]
LORD ILLINGWORTH. How is the most charming woman in the world?
MRS. ALLONBY. [Taking LADY STUTFIELD by the hand.] We are both quite
well, thank you, Lord Illingworth. But what a short time you have been
in the dining-room! It seems as if we had only just left.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. I was bored to death. Never opened my lips the whole
time. Absolutely longing to come in to you.
MRS. ALLONBY. You should have. The American girl has been giving us a
lecture.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. Really? All Americans lecture, I believe. I suppose
it is something in their climate. What did she lecture about?
MRS. ALLONBY. Oh, Puritanism, of course.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. I am going to convert her, am I not? How long do you
give me?
MRS. ALLONBY. A week.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. A week is more than enough.
[_Enter_ GERALD _and_ LORD ALFRED.]
GERALD. [_Going to_ MRS. ARBUTHNOT.] Dear mother!
MRS. ARBUTHNOT. Gerald, I don’t feel at all well. See me home, Gerald.
I shouldn’t have come.
GERALD. I am so sorry, mother. Certainly. But you must know Lord
Illingworth first. [_Goes across room_.]
MRS. ARBUTHNOT. Not to-night, Gerald.
GERALD. Lord Illingworth, I want you so much to know my mother.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. With the greatest pleasure. [_To_ MRS. ALLONBY.]
I’ll be back in a moment. People’s mothers always bore me to death. All
women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy.
MRS. ALLONBY. No man does. That is his.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. What a delightful mood you are in to-night! [_Turns
round and goes across with_ GERALD _to_ MRS. ARBUTHNOT. _When he sees
her_, _he starts back in wonder_. _Then slowly his eyes turn towards_
GERALD.]
GERALD. Mother, this is Lord Illingworth, who has offered to take me as
his private secretary. [MRS. ARBUTHNOT _bows coldly_.] It is a
wonderful opening for me, isn’t it? I hope he won’t be disappointed in
me, that is all. You’ll thank Lord Illingworth, mother, won’t you?
MRS. ARBUTHNOT. Lord Illingworth is very good, I am sure, to interest
himself in you for the moment.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. [_Putting his hand on_ GERALD’S _shoulder_.] Oh,
Gerald and I are great friends already, Mrs . . . Arbuthnot.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT. There can be nothing in common between you and my son,
Lord Illingworth.
GERALD. Dear mother, how can you say so? Of course Lord Illingworth is
awfully clever and that sort of thing. There is nothing Lord Illingworth
doesn’t know.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. My dear boy!
GERALD. He knows more about life than any one I have ever met. I feel
an awful duffer when I am with you, Lord Illingworth. Of course, I have
had so few advantages. I have not been to Eton or Oxford like other
chaps. But Lord Illingworth doesn’t seem to mind that. He has been
awfully good to me, mother.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT. Lord Illingworth may change his mind. He may not really
want you as his secretary.
GERALD. Mother!
MRS. ARBUTHNOT. You must remember, as you said yourself, you have had so
few advantages.
MRS. ALLONBY. Lord Illingworth, I want to speak to you for a moment. Do
come over.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. Will you excuse me, Mrs. Arbuthnot? Now, don’t let
your charming mother make any more difficulties, Gerald. The thing is
quite settled, isn’t it?
GERALD. I hope so. [LORD ILLINGWORTH _goes across to_ MRS. ARBUTHNOT.]
MRS. ALLONBY. I thought you were never going to leave the lady in black
velvet.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. She is excessively handsome. [_Looks at_ MRS.
ARBUTHNOT.]
LADY HUNSTANTON. Caroline, shall we all make a move to the music-room?
Miss Worsley is going to play. You’ll come too, dear Mrs. Arbuthnot,
won’t you? You don’t know what a treat is in store for you. [_To_
Doctor Daubeny.] I must really take Miss Worsley down some afternoon to
the rectory. I should so much like dear Mrs. Daubeny to hear her on the
violin. Ah, I forgot. Dear Mrs. Daubeny’s hearing is a little
defective, is it not?
THE ARCHDEACON. Her deafness is a great privation to her. She can’t
even hear my sermons now. She reads them at home. But she has many
resources in herself, many resources.
LADY HUNSTANTON. She reads a good deal, I suppose?
THE ARCHDEACON. Just the very largest print. The eyesight is rapidly
going. But she’s never morbid, never morbid.
GERALD. [_To_ LORD ILLINGWORTH.] Do speak to my mother, Lord
Illingworth, before you go into the music-room. She seems to think,
somehow, you don’t mean what you said to me.
MRS. ALLONBY. Aren’t you coming?
LORD ILLINGWORTH. In a few moments. Lady Hunstanton, if Mrs. Arbuthnot
would allow me, I would like to say a few words to her, and we will join
you later on.
LADY HUNSTANTON. Ah, of course. You will have a great deal to say to
her, and she will have a great deal to thank you for. It is not every
son who gets such an offer, Mrs. Arbuthnot. But I know you appreciate
that, dear.
LADY CAROLINE. John!
LADY HUNSTANTON. Now, don’t keep Mrs. Arbuthnot too long, Lord
Illingworth. We can’t spare her.
[_Exit following the other guests_. _Sound of violin heard from
music-room_.]
LORD ILLINGWORTH. So that is our son, Rachel! Well, I am very proud of
him. He is a Harford, every inch of him. By the way, why Arbuthnot,
Rachel?
MRS. ARBUTHNOT. One name is as good as another, when one has no right to
any name.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. I suppose so—but why Gerald?
MRS. ARBUTHNOT. After a man whose heart I broke—after my father.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. Well, Rachel, what is over is over. All I have got to
say now in that I am very, very much pleased with our boy. The world
will know him merely as my private secretary, but to me he will be
something very near, and very dear. It is a curious thing, Rachel; my
life seemed to be quite complete. It was not so. It lacked something,
it lacked a son. I have found my son now, I am glad I have found him.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT. You have no right to claim him, or the smallest part of
him. The boy is entirely mine, and shall remain mine.
LORD ILLINGWORTH. My dear Rachel, you have had him to yourself for over
twenty years. Why not let me have him for a little now? He is quite as
much mine as yours.