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The Importance of Being Earnest
A Trivial
Comedy for Serious People
Oscar Wilde
Lady Bracknell.
[Starting.] Miss Prism! Did I hear you mention a Miss Prism?
Chasuble. Yes, Lady
Bracknell. I am on my way to join her.
Lady Bracknell. Pray
allow me to detain you for a moment.
This matter may prove to be one of vital importance to Lord Bracknell
and myself. Is this Miss Prism a female
of repellent aspect, remotely connected with education?
Chasuble. [Somewhat
indignantly.] She is the most cultivated
of ladies, and the very picture of respectability.
Lady Bracknell. It is
obviously the same person. May I ask
what position she holds in your household?
Chasuble.
[Severely.] I am a celibate,
madam.
Jack.
[Interposing.] Miss Prism, Lady
Bracknell, has been for the last three years Miss Cardew's esteemed governess
and valued companion.
Lady Bracknell. In
spite of what I hear of her, I must see her at once. Let her be sent for.
Chasuble. [Looking
off.] She approaches; she is nigh.
[Enter Miss Prism hurriedly.]
Miss Prism. I was told
you expected me in the vestry, dear Canon.
I have been waiting for you there for an hour and three-quarters. [Catches sight of Lady Bracknell, who has
fixed her with a stony glare. Miss Prism
grows pale and quails. She looks
anxiously round as if desirous to escape.]
Lady Bracknell. [In a
severe, judicial voice.] Prism! [Miss Prism bows her head in shame.] Come here, Prism! [Miss Prism approaches in a humble
manner.] Prism! Where is that baby? [General consternation. The Canon starts back in horror. Algernon and Jack pretend to be anxious to shield
Cecily and Gwendolen from hearing the details of a terrible public scandal.] Twenty-eight years ago, Prism, you left Lord
Bracknell's house, Number 104, Upper Grosvenor Street, in charge of a
perambulator that contained a baby of the male sex. You never returned. A few weeks later, through the elaborate
investigations of the Metropolitan police, the perambulator was discovered at midnight,
standing by itself in a remote corner of Bayswater. It contained the manuscript of a three-volume
novel of more than usually revolting sentimentality. [Miss Prism starts in involuntary
indignation.] But the baby was not
there! [Every one looks at Miss Prism.]
Prism! Where is that baby? [A pause.]
Miss Prism. Lady Bracknell, I admit with shame that I do
not know. I only wish I did. The plain facts of the case are these. On the morning of the day you mention, a day
that is for ever branded on my memory, I prepared as usual to take the baby out
in its perambulator. I had also with me
a somewhat old, but capacious hand-bag in which I had intended to place the
manuscript of a work of fiction that I had written during my few unoccupied
hours. In a moment of mental
abstraction, for which I never can forgive myself, I deposited the manuscript
in the basinette, and placed the baby in the hand-bag.
Jack. [Who has been listening attentively.] But where did you deposit the hand-bag?
Miss Prism. Do not ask me, Mr. Worthing.
Jack. Miss Prism, this is a matter of no small
importance to me. I insist on knowing
where you deposited the hand-bag that contained that infant.
Miss Prism. I left it in the cloak-room of one of the
larger railway stations in London.
Jack. What railway station?
Miss Prism. [Quite crushed.] Victoria.
The Brighton line. [Sinks into a
chair.]
Jack. I must retire to my room for a moment. Gwendolen, wait here for me.
Gwendolen. If you are not too long, I will wait here for
you all my life. [Exit Jack in great
excitement.]
Chasuble. What do you think this means, Lady Bracknell?
Lady Bracknell. I dare not even suspect, Dr. Chasuble. I need hardly tell you that in families of
high position strange coincidences are not supposed to occur. They are hardly considered the thing.
[Noises heard
overhead as if some one was throwing trunks about. Every one looks up.]
Cecily. Uncle Jack seems strangely agitated.
Chasuble. Your guardian has a very emotional nature.
Lady Bracknell. This noise is extremely unpleasant. It sounds as if he was having an
argument. I dislike arguments of any
kind. They are always vulgar, and often
convincing.
Chasuble. [Looking up.]
It has stopped now. [The noise is
redoubled.]
Lady Bracknell. I wish he would arrive at some conclusion.
Gwendolen. This suspense is terrible. I hope it will last. [Enter Jack with a hand-bag of black leather
in his hand.]
Jack. [Rushing over to Miss Prism.] Is this the hand-bag, Miss Prism? Examine it
carefully before you speak. The
happiness of more than one life depends on your answer.
Miss Prism. [Calmly.]
It seems to be mine. Yes, here is
the injury it received through the upsetting of a Gower Street omnibus in
younger and happier days. Here is the
stain on the lining caused by the explosion of a temperance beverage, an
incident that occurred at Leamington.
And here, on the lock, are my initials.
I had forgotten that in an extravagant mood I had had them placed
there. The bag is undoubtedly mine. I am delighted to have it so unexpectedly
restored to me. It has been a great
inconvenience being without it all these years.
Jack. [In a pathetic voice.] Miss Prism, more is restored to you than this
hand-bag. I was the baby you placed in
it.
Miss Prism. [Amazed.]
You?
Jack. [Embracing her.] Yes . . . mother!
Miss Prism. [Recoiling in indignant astonishment.] Mr. Worthing!
I am unmarried!
Jack. Unmarried!
I do not deny that is a serious blow.
But after all, who has the right to cast a stone against one who has
suffered? Cannot repentance wipe out an
act of folly? Why should there be one
law for men, and another for women?
Mother, I forgive you. [Tries to
embrace her again.]
Miss Prism. [Still more indignant.] Mr. Worthing, there is some error. [Pointing
to Lady Bracknell.] There is the lady
who can tell you who you really are.
Jack. [After a pause.] Lady Bracknell, I hate to seem inquisitive,
but would you kindly inform me who I am?
Lady Bracknell. I am afraid that the news I have to give you
will not altogether please you. You are
the son of my poor sister, Mrs. Moncrieff, and consequently Algernon's elder
brother.
Jack. Algy's elder brother! Then I have a brother after all. I knew I had a brother! I always said I had a brother! Cecily,--how could you have ever doubted that
I had a brother? [Seizes hold of
Algernon.] Dr. Chasuble, my unfortunate
brother. Miss Prism, my unfortunate
brother. Gwendolen, my unfortunate brother.
Algy, you young scoundrel, you will have to treat me with more respect
in the future. You have never behaved to
me like a brother in all your life.
Algernon. Well, not till to-day, old boy, I admit. I did my best, however, though I was out of
practice.
[Shakes hands.]
Gwendolen. [To Jack.]
My own! But what own are
you? What is your Christian name, now
that you have become some one else?
Jack. Good heavens! .
. . I had quite forgotten that point.
Your decision on the subject of my name is irrevocable, I suppose?
Gwendolen. I never
change, except in my affections.
Cecily. What a noble
nature you have, Gwendolen!
Jack. Then the
question had better be cleared up at once.
Aunt Augusta, a moment. At the
time when Miss Prism left me in the hand-bag, had I been christened already?
Lady Bracknell. Every
luxury that money could buy, including christening, had been lavished on you by
your fond and doting parents.
Jack. Then I was
christened! That is settled. Now, what name was I given? Let me know the worst.
Lady Bracknell. Being
the eldest son you were naturally christened after your father.
Jack.
[Irritably.] Yes, but what was my
father's Christian name?
Lady Bracknell.
[Meditatively.] I cannot at the
present moment recall what the General's Christian name was. But I have no doubt he had one. He was
eccentric, I admit. But only in later
years. And that was the result of the
Indian climate, and marriage, and indigestion, and other things of that kind.
Jack. Algy! Can't you recollect what our father's
Christian name was?
Algernon. My dear
boy, we were never even on speaking terms.
He died before I was a year old.
Jack. His name would
appear in the Army Lists of the period, I suppose, Aunt Augusta?
Lady Bracknell. The
General was essentially a man of peace, except in his domestic life. But I have no doubt his name would appear in
any military directory.
Jack. The Army Lists
of the last forty years are here. These
delightful records should have been my constant study. [Rushes to bookcase and tears the books
out.] M. Generals . . . Mallam, Maxbohm,
Magley, what ghastly names they have--Markby, Migsby, Mobbs, Moncrieff! Lieutenant 1840, Captain, Lieutenant-Colonel,
Colonel, General 1869, Christian names, Ernest John. [Puts book very quietly down and speaks quite
calmly.] I always told you, Gwendolen,
my name was Ernest, didn't I? Well, it is Ernest after all. I mean it naturally is Ernest.
Lady Bracknell. Yes,
I remember now that the General was called Ernest, I knew I had some particular
reason for disliking the name.
Gwendolen.
Ernest! My own Ernest! I felt from the first that you could have no
other name!
Jack. Gwendolen, it
is a terrible thing for a man to find out suddenly that all his life he has
been speaking nothing but the truth. Can
you forgive me?
Gwendolen. I
can. For I feel that you are sure to
change.
Jack. My own one!
Chasuble. [To Miss
Prism.] Laetitia! [Embraces her]
Miss Prism.
[Enthusiastically.]
Frederick! At last!
Algernon.
Cecily! [Embraces her.] At last!
Jack. Gwendolen! [Embraces her.] At last!
Lady Bracknell. My
nephew, you seem to be displaying signs of
triviality.
Jack. On the
contrary, Aunt Augusta, I've now realised for the first
time in my life the vital Importance of Being Earnest.
TABLEAU
