Earnest UIL Lines

Jack

ALGERNON: How are you, my dear Ernest? What brings you up to town?

JACK: Oh pleasure, pleasure! What else should bring one anywhere? Eating as usual, I see, Algy!

ALGERNON: I believe it is customary in good society to take some slight refreshment at five o’clock. Where have you been since last thursday?

JACK: Oh! In the country.

ALGERNON: What on earth do you do there?

JACK: When one is in town one amuses oneself. When one is in the country one amuse other people. It is excessively boring.

ALGERNON: And who are the people you amuse?

JACK: Oh, Neighbors, neighbors.

ALGERNON: Got nice neighbors in your part of Shropshire? Shropshire is your county, is it not?

JACK: Eh? Shropshire? Yes, of course. Hello! Why all these cups? Why cucumber sandwiches? Why such reckless extravagance in one so young? Who is coming to tea?

ALGERNON: Oh, merely Aunt Augusta and Gwendolen.

JACK: How perfectly delightful!

ALGERNON: Yes, that is all very well; but I am afraid Aunt Augusta won’t quite approve of your being here.

JACK: May I ask why?

ALGERNON: My dead fellow, the way you flirt with Gwendolen is perfectly disgraceful. It is almost as bad as the way she flirts with you.

JACK: I am in love with Gwendolen. I have come up to town expressly to propose to her.

ALGERNON: I thought you had come up for pleasure? I call that business.

JACK: How utterly unromantic you are!

ALGERNON: You behave as if you were married to her already. You are not married to her already, and I don’t think you ever will be.

JACK: Why on earth do you say that?

ALGERNON: Well, in the first place girls never marry the men they flirt with. Girls don’t think it right. In the second place, I don’t give my consent.

JACK: Your consent! What utter nonsense you talk!

ALGERNON: My dear fellow, Gwendolen is my first cousin. And before I allow you to marry her, you will have to clear up the whole question of Cecily.

JACK: Cecily! What on earth do you mean? What do you mean, Algy, by Cecily! I don’t know anyone of the name of Cecily… as far as I remember.

ALGERNON reveals a cigarrette case

JACK: Do you mean to say you have had my cigarette case all this time? I wish to goodness you had let me know. I was very nearly offering a large reward.

ALGERNON: Well, I wish you would offer one. I happen to be more

than usually hard up.

JACK: There is no good offering a large reward now that the thing is

found.

ALGERNON: I think that is rather mean of you, Ernest, I must say.

(Opens case and examines it.) However, it makes no matter, for, now

that I look at the inscription inside, I find that the thing isn’t yours

after all.

JACK: Of course it’s mine. You have seen me with it a hundred times,

and you have no right whatsoever to read what is written inside. It is

a very ungentlemanly thing to read a private cigarette case.

ALGERNON: Yes; but this isn’t your cigarette case. This cigarette case

is a present from someone of the name of Cecily, and you said you

didn’t know anyone of that name.

JACK: Well, if you want to know, Cecily happens to be my aunt.

ALGERNON: Your aunt!

JACK: Yes. Charming old lady she is, too. Just give it back to me, Algy.

ALGERNON (retreating to back of sofa.): But why does she call herself

little Cecily if she is your aunt? (Reading) “From little Cecily with her

fondest love.”

JACK: My dear fellow, what on earth is there in that? Some aunts are

tall, some aunts are not tall. That is a matter that surely an aunt may

be allowed to decide for herself. Now, for Heaven’s sake, give me

back my cigarette case.

ALGERNON: Yes, but why does your aunt call you her uncle? “From

little Cecily, with her fondest love to her dear Uncle Jack.” There is no

objection, I admit, to an aunt being a small aunt, but why an aunt, no

matter what her size may be, should call her own nephew her uncle, I

can’t quite make out. Besides, your name isn’t Jack at all; it is Ernest.

JACK: It isn’t Ernest; it’s Jack.

ALGERNON: You have always told me it was Ernest. I have introduced

you to everyone as Ernest. You answer to the name of Ernest. You

look as if your name was Ernest. You are the most earnest-looking

person I ever saw in my life. It is perfectly absurd you saying your

2name isn’t Ernest. It’s on your cards. Here is one of them. (Taking it

from case.) “Mr. Ernest Worthing, B4, The Albany.” I’ll keep this as

proof that your name I Ernest if ever you attempt to deny it to me, or

to Gwendolen, or to anyone else. (Puts the card in his pocket.)

ACK: Well, my name is Ernest in town and Jack in the country, and

the cigarette case was given to me in the country.

ALGERNON: Yes, but that does not account for the fact that your

small Aunt Cecily calls you her uncle. Now, go on! Tell me the whole

thing. I may

mention that I have always suspected you of being a confirmed and

secret Bunburyist; and I am quite sure of it now.

JACK: Bunburyist? What on earth do you mean by a Bunburyist?

ALGERNON: I’ll reveal to you the meaning of that incomparable

expression as soon as you are kind enough to inform me why you are

Ernest in town and Jack in the country.

JACK: Well, produce my cigarette case first.

ALGERNON: Here it is. Now produce your explanation, and pray make

it improbable.

JACK: My dear fellow, there is nothing improbable about my

explanation at all. In fact, it’s perfectly ordinary. Old Mr. Thomas

Cardew, who adopted me when I was a little boy, made me in his will

guardian to his granddaughter, Miss Cecily Cardew. Cecily, who

addresses me as her uncle from motives of respect that you could not

possibly appreciate, lives at my place in the country under the charge

of her admirable governess, Miss Prism.

ALGERNON: Where is that place in the country, by the way?

JACK: That is nothing to you, dear boy. You are not going to be

invited… I may tell you candidly that the place is not in Shropshire.

ALGERNON: I suspected that, my dear fellow! I have Bunburyed all

over Shropshire on two separate occasions. Now, go on. Why are you

Ernest in town and Jack in the country?

JACK: My dear Algy, I don’t know whether you will be able to

understand my real motives. You are hardly serious enough. When

one is placed in the position of guardian, one has to adopt a high

moral tone on all subjects. It’s one’s duty to do so. And as a high

moral tone can hardly be said to conduce very much to either one’s

health or one’s happiness if carried to excess. In order to get up to

town I have always pretended to have a younger brother of the name

of Ernest, who lives in Albany, and gets into the most dreadful

scrapes. That, my dear Algy, is the whole truth pure and simple.

ALGERNON: The truth is rarely pure and never simple. Modern life

would be very tedious if it were either. What you are is a Bunburyist. I

was quite right in saying you were a Bunburyist. You are one of the

most advanced Bunburyists I know.

JACK: What on earth do you mean?

ALGERNON: You have invented a very useful younger brother called

Ernest, in order that you may be able to come up to town. I have

invented an invaluable permanent invalid called Bunbury, in order

that I may be able to go down to the country.

JACK: What nonsense.

ALGERNON: It isn’t nonsense. Bunbury is perfectly invaluable. If it

wasn’t for Bunbury’s extraordinary bad health, for instance, I

wouldn’t be able to dine with you at the Savoy tonight, for I have

been really engaged to Aunt Augusta for more than a week.

JACK: I haven’t asked you to dine with me anywhere tonight.

ALGERNON: I know. You are absurdly careless about sending out

invitations. It is very foolish of you. Nothing annoys people so much

as not receiving invitations.

JACK: You had much better dine with your Aunt Augusta.

ALGERNON: I haven’t the smallest intention of doing anything of the

kind. I dined there on Monday, and once a week is quite enough to

dine with one’s own relations. Besides, now that I know you to be a

confirmed Bunburyist I naturally want to talk to you about

Bunburying. I want to tell you the rules.

JACK: I am not a Bunburyist at all. If Gwendolen accepts me, I am

going to kill my brother, indeed I think I’ll kill him in any case. Cecily is

a little too much interested in him. And I strongly advise you to do the

same with Mr. … with your invalid friend who has the absurd name.

ALGERNON: Nothing will induce me to part with Bunbury, and if you

ever get married, which seems to me extremely problematic, you will

be very glad to know Bunbury. A man who marries without knowing

Bunbury has a very tedious time of it.

JACK: That is nonsense. If I marry a very charming girl like Gwendolen,

and she is the only girl in my life that I would marry, I certainly won’t

want to know Bunbury.

ALGERNON: Ah! That must be Aunt Augusta! Now, if I get her out of

the way for ten minutes, so that you can have an opportunity for

proposing to Gwendolen, may I dine with you tonight?

JACK: I suppose so, if you want to.

(LADY BRACKNELL and ALGERNON go into the next room.

GWENDOLEN remains behind.)

JACK: Charming day it has been, Miss Fairfax.

GWENDOLEN: Pray, don’t talk to me about the weather, Mr.

Worthing. Whenever people talk to me about the weather, I always

feel quite certain they mean something else. And that makes me so

nervous.

JACK: I do mean something else.

GWENDOLEN: I thought so. In fact, I am never wrong.

JACK: And I would like to be allowed to take advantage of Lady

Bracknell’s temporary absence…

GWENDOLEN: I would certainly advise you to do so. Mamma has a

way of coming back suddenly into a room that I have often had to

speak to her about.

JACK (nervously): Miss Fairfax, ever since I met you I have admired

you more than any girl… I have ever met since… I met you.

GWENDOLEN: Yes, I am quite well aware of the fact. And I often wish

that in public, at any rate, you had been more demonstrative. For me

you have always had an irresistible fascination. Even before I met you,

I was far from indifferent to you. We live, as I hope you know, Mr.

Worthing, in an age of ideals. And my ideal has always been to love

someone of the name Ernest. There is something in that name that

inspires absolute confidence. The moment Algernon mentioned to

me that he had a friend called Ernest, I knew I was destined to love

you.

JACK: You really love me, Gwendolen?

GWENDOLEN: Passionately!

JACK: Darling! You don’t know how happy you’ve made me.

GWENDOLEN: My own Ernest!

JACK: But you don’t really mean to say that you couldn’t love me if my

name wasn’t Ernest?

GWENDOLEN: But your name is Ernest.

JACK: Yes, I know it is. Personally, darling, to speak quite candidly, I

don’t much care about the name of Ernest… I don’t think the name

suits me at all.

GWENDOLEN: It suits you perfectly. It is a divine name. It has a music

of its own. It produces vibrations.

JACK: Well, really, Gwendolen, I must say that I think there are lots of

other much nicer names. I think Jack, for instance, a charming name.

GWENDOLEN: Jack? … No, there is very little music in the name Jack.

It does not thrill. It produces absolutely no vibrations. The only really

safe name is Ernest.

JACK: Gwendolen, I must get christened at once--- I mean, we must

be married at once. There is no time to be lost. Gwendolen, will you

marry me? (Goes on his knees.)

GWENDOLEN: Of course I will, darling. How long you have been about

it! I am afraid you have had very little experience in how to propose.

JACK: My own one, I have never loved anyone in the world but you.

LADY BRACKNELL: Pardon me, you are not engaged to anyone. When

you do become engaged to someone, I, or your father, will inform you

of the fact. An engagement should come on a young girl as a surprise,

pleasant or unpleasant, as the case may be… And now I have a few

questions to put to you, Mr. Worthing!

JACK: I shall be charmed to reply to any questions, Lady Bracknell.

LADY BRACKNELL: You can take a seat, Mr. Worthing. (Looks in her

pocket for notebook and pencil.)

JACK: Thank you, Lady Bracknell, I prefer standing.

LADY BRACKNELL (pencil and notebook in hand): I feel bound to tell

you that you are not down on my list of eligible young men. However,

I am quite ready to enter your name, should your answers be what a

really affectionate mother requires. Do you smoke?

JACK: Well, yes, I must admit I smoke.

LADY BRACKNELL: I am glad to hear it. A man should always have an

occupation of some kind. I have always been of the opinion that a

man who desires to get married should know either everything or

nothing. Which do you know?

JACK (after some hesitation): I know nothing, Lady Bracknell.

LADY BRACKNELL: I am pleased to hear it. I do not approve of

anything that tampers with natural ignorance. Ignorance is like a

delicate exotic fruit; touch it and the bloom is gone. Are your parents

living?

JACK: I have lost both my parents.

LADY BRACKNELL: Both?... To lose one parent may be regarded as a

misfortune… to lose both seems like carelessness. Who was your

father?

JACK: I am afraid I really don’t know. The fact is, Lady Bracknell, I said

I had lost my parents. It would be nearer the truth to say that my

parents seemed to have lost me… I don’t actually know who I am by

birth. I was… well, I was found.

LADY BRACKNELL: Found!

JACK: The late Mr. Thomas Cardew, an old gentleman of a very

charitable and kindly disposition, found me, and gave me the name of

Worthing, because he happened to have a first-class ticket for

Worthing in his pocket at the time. Worthing is a place in Sussex. It is

a seaside resort.

LADY BRACKNELL: Where did the charitable gentleman who had a

first-class ticket for this seaside resort find you?

JACK (gravely): In a handbag.

LADY BRACKNELL: A handbag?

JACK (very seriously): Yes, Lady Bracknell. I was in a handbag--- a

somewhat large black leather handbag, with handles to it--- an

ordinary handbag in fact.

LADY BRACKNELL: In what locality did this Mr. Thomas Cardew come

across this ordinary handbag?

JACK: In the cloakroom at Victoria Station. It was given to him in

mistake for his own.

LADY BRACKNELL: The cloakroom at Victoria Station?

JACK: Yes. The Brighton Line.

LADY BRACKNELL: The line immaterial. Mr. Worthing, I confess I feel

somewhat bewildered by what you have just told me. To be born, or

at any rate bred, in a handbag, whether it had handles or not, seems

to me to display a contempt for the ordinary decencies of family life.

JACK: May I ask you then what you would advise me to do? I need

hardly say I would do anything in the world to ensure Gwendolen’s

happiness.

LADY BRACKNELL: I would strongly advise you, Mr. Worthing, to try

and acquire some relations as soon as possible, and to make a

definite effort to produce at any rate one parent, of either sex, before

the season is quite over.

JACK: Well, I don’t see how I could possible manage to do that. I can

produce the handbag at any moment. I really think that should satisfy

you, Lady Bracknell.

LADY BRACKNELL: You can hardly imagine that I and Lord Bracknell

would dream of allowing our only daughter--- a girl brought up with

the utmost care--- to marry into a cloakroom and form and alliance

with a parcel. (Jack starts indignantly.) Kindly open the door for me

sir. You will of course understand that for the future there is to be no

communication of any kind between you and Miss Fairfax.

JACK: For goodness sake don’t play that ghastly tune, Algy! How

idiotic you are!

ALGERNON: Didn’t it go off all right, old boy? You don’t mean to say

Gwendolen refused you? I know it is a way she has. She is always

refusing people. I think it is most ill natured of her.

JACK: As far as Gwendolen is concerned, we are engaged. Her mother

is perfectly unbearable. She is a monster, without being a myth,

which is rather unfair… I beg your pardon, Algy, I suppose I shouldn’t

talk about your own aunt in that way before you.

ALGERNON: My dear boy, I love hearing my relations abused. It is the

only thing that makes me put up with them at all. Relations are simply

a tedious pack of people, who haven’t got the remotest knowledge of

how to live, no the smallest instinct about when to die.

JACK: You don’t think there is any chance of Gwendolen becoming

like her mother in about a hundred and fifty years, do you, Algy?

ALGERNON: All women become like their mothers. That is their

tragedy. No man does. That’s his.

JACK: Is that clever? I am sick to death of cleverness. Everybody is

clever nowadays. You can’t go anywhere without meeting clever

8people. The thing has become an absolute public nuisance. I wish to

goodness we had a few fools left.

ALGERNON: We have.

JACK: I should extremely like to meet them. What do they talk about?

ALGERNON: The fools? Oh! About the clever people of course.

JACK: What fools.

ALGERNON: By the way, did you tell Gwendolen the truth about you

being Ernest in town and Jack in the country?

JACK (in a very patronizing manner): My dear fellow, the truth isn’t

quite the sort of thing one tells to a nice, sweet, refined girl. What

extraordinary ideas you have about the way to behave to a woman!

ALGERNON: The only way to behave to a woman is to make love to

her, if she is pretty, and to someone else, if she is plain.

JACK: Oh, that is nonsense. Before the end of the week I shall have

got rid of my brother Ernest… I think I’ll probably kill him in Paris.

ALGERNON: Why Paris?

JACK: Oh! Less trouble: no nonsense abut a funeral and that sort of

thing--- yes, I’ll kill him in Paris… Apoplexy will do perfectly well. Lots

of people die of apoplexy, quite suddenly, don’t they?

ALGERNON: Yes, but it’s hereditary, my dear fellow. It’s a sort of thing

that runs in families.

JACK: Good heavens! Then I certainly won’t choose that. What can I

say?

ALGERNON: Oh, say influenza.

JACK: Oh, no! That wouldn’t sound probable at all. Far too many

people have had it.

ALGERNON: Oh well! Say anything you choose. Say a severe chill.

That’s all right.

JACK: You are sure a severe chill isn’t hereditary, or anything dreadful

of that kind?

ALGERNON: Of course it isn’t.

JACK: Very well then. That is settled.

ALGERNON: But I thought you said that… Miss Cardew was a little too

much interested in your poor brother Ernest? Won’t she feel his loss a

good deal?

JACK: Oh, that is all right. Cecily is not a silly romantic girl, I am glad to

say. She has got a capital appetite, goes long walks, and pays no

attention at all to her lessons.

ALGERNON: I would rather lie to see Cecily.

JACK:I will take very good care you never do. She happens to be

excessively pretty, and she is only just eighteen.

ALGERNON: Have you told Gwendolen yet that you have an

excessively pretty ward who is only just eighteen?

JACK: Oh! One doesn’t blurt these things out to people. Life is a

question of tact. One leads up to the thing gradually. Cecily and

Gwendolen are perfectly certain to be extremely great friends. I’ll bet

you anything you like that half an hour after they have met, the will

be calling each other sister.

GWENDOLEN: Algy, kindly turn your back. I have something very

particular to say to Mr. Worthing. As it is somewhat of a private

matter, you will of course listen.

JACK: My own darling.

GWENDOLEN: Ernest, we may never be married. From the expression

on mamma’s face I fear we never shall. Few parents nowadays pay

any regard to what their children say to them. The old-fashioned

respect for the young is fast dying out. Whatever influence I ever had

over mamma, I lost at the age of three. But although she may prevent

us from becoming man and wife, and I may marry someone else, and

marry often, nothing that she can possibly do can alter my eternal

devotion to you.

JACK: Dear Gwendolen!

GWENDOLEN: The story of you romantic origin, as related to me by

mamma, with unpleasing comments, has naturally stirred the deeper

fibers of my nature. Your Christian name has an irresistible

fascination. The simplicity of your character makes you exquisitely

incomprehensible to me. Your town address at the Albany I have.

What is you address in the country?

JACK: The Manor House, Woolton, Hertfordshire.

GWENDOLEN: There is a good postal service, I suppose? It may be

necessary to do something desperate. That, of course, will require

serious consideration. I will communicate with you daily.

JACK: My own one!

GWENDOLEN: How long do you remain in town?

JACK: Till Monday.

GWENDOLEN: You may also ring the bell

JACK: You will let me see you to your carriage, my own darling?

GWENDOLEN: Certainly

JACK: I will see Miss Fairfax out.

ALGERNON: Oh, I’m a little anxious about poor Bunbury, that is all.

JACK: If you don’t take care, your friend Bunbury will get you into a serious scrape someday.

ALGERNON: I love scrapes. They are the only things that are never serious.

JACK: Oh, that’s nonsense, Algy. You never talk anything but nonsense.

CHASUBLE: Dear Mr. Worthing, I trust this garb of woe does not betoken some terrible calamity?

JACK: My brother.

CHASUBLE: Still leading his life of pleasure?

JACK: Dead!

CHASUBLE: Your brother Ernest dead?

JACK: Quite dead.

CHASUBLE: Death is the inheritance of us all, Miss Prism. Life were incomplete without it… Mr. Worthing, I offer you my sincere condolence.

JACK: Poor Ernest! He had many faults, but it is a sad sad blow.

CHASUBLE: Very sad indeed. Were you with him at the end?

JACK: No. He died abroad, in Paris. I had a telegram last night from the manager of the Grand Hotel.

CHASUBLE: Was the cause of death mentioned?

JACK: A severe chill, it seems.

CHASUBLE: Charity, dead Miss Prism, charity! You would no doubt wish me to make some sight allusion to this tragic domestic affliction next Sunday.

JACK: Ah! That reminds me, I suppose you know how to christen all right? I mean, of course, you are continually christening, aren’t you?

CHASUBLE: Is there any particular infant in whom you are interested, Mr. Worthing?

JACK: It is not for any child, dead Doctor. No! The fact is, I would like to be christened myself, this afternoon, if you have nothing better to do.

CHASUBLE: But surely, Mr. Worthing, you have been christened already?

JACK: I have the very gravest doubts. There are circumstances, unnecessary to mention at present, connected with my birth and early life that make me think I was a good deal neglected.

CHASUBLE: At what hour would you with the ceremony to be performed?

JACK: Would have-past five do?

CECILY: What is the matter, Uncle Jack? Do look happy! I have got such a surprise for you. Who do you think is in the dining room? Your brother!

JACK: Who?

CECILY: Your brother Ernest.

JACK: What nonsense! I haven’t got a brother.

MISS PRISM: After we had all been resigned to his loss, his sudden return seems to me peculiarly distressing/

JACK: My brother is in the dining room? I don’t know what it all means. I think it is perfectly absurd.

ENTER ALGERNON AND CECILY HAND IN HAND

JACK: Good heavens!

CECILY: Uncle Jack, you are not going to refuse your own brother’s hand?

JACK: Nothing will induce me to take his hand. I think his coming down here disgraceful. He knows perfectly well why.

CECILY: Uncle Jack, do be nice. There is some good in everyone. Ernest has just been telling me about his poor invalid friend Bunbury whom he goes to visit so often.

JACK: Bunbury! Well, I won’t have him talk to you about Bunbury or anything else. It is enough to drive one perfectly frantic.

CECILY: Uncle Jack, if you don’t shake hands with Ernest I will never forgive you.

JACK: Never forgive me?

CECILY: Never, never, never!

JACK: I suppose I must then. You young scoundrel! You must get out of this place as soon as possible. I don’t allow Bunburying here.

MERRIMAN: I have put Mr. Ernest’s things in the room next to yours, sir. I suppose that is all right?

JACK: What?