The Importance of Being Earnest (4 page)

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
.
(Interrupting.)
Duchess, Duchess, it’s
impossible! (Rising and crossing stage to C.)
We are only married two years. Our child is but six months old.
(Sits in chair R. of L. table.)

D
UCHESS OF
B
ERWICK
. Ah, the dear pretty baby! How is the little darling? is it a boy or a girl? I hope a girl—Ah, no, I remember it’s a boy! I’m so sorry. Boys are so wicked. My boy is excessively immoral. You wouldn’t believe at what hours he comes home. And he’s only left oxford a few months—I really don’t know what they teach them there.

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
. Are
all
men bad?

D
UCHESS OF
B
ERWICK
. Oh, all of them, my dear, all of them, without any exception. And they never grow any better. Men become old, but they never become good.

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
. Windermere and I married for love.

D
UCHESS OF
B
ERWICKES
. Yes, we begin like that. It was only Berwick’s brutal and incessant threats of suicide that made me accept him at all, and before the year was out, he was running after all kinds of petticoats, every colour, every shape, every material. In fact, before the honeymoon was over, I caught him winking at my maid, a most pretty, respectable girl. I dismissed her at once without a character.—No, I remember I passed her on to my sister; poor dear Sir George is so short-sighted, I thought it wouldn’t matter. But it did, though—it was most unfortunate.
(Rises.)
And now, my dear child, I must go, as we are dining out. And mind you don’t take this little aberration of Windermere’s too much to heart. Just take him abroad, and he’ll come back to you all right.

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
. Come back to me?
(C.)

D
UCHESS OF
B
ERWICK
.
(L.C.)
Yes, dear, these wicked women get our husbands away from us, but they always come back, slightly damaged, of course. And don’t make scenes, men hate them!

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
. It is very kind of you, Duchess, to come and
tell me all this. But I can’t believe that my husband is untrue to me.

D
UCHESS OF
B
ERWICK
. Pretty child! I was like that once. Now I know that all men are monsters.
(Lady Windermere rings bell.)
The only thing to do is to feed the wretches well. A good cook does wonders, and that I know you have. My dear Margaret, you are not going to cry?

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
. You needn’t be afraid, Duchess, I never cry.

D
UCHESS OF
B
ERWICK
. That’s quite right, dear. Crying is the refuge of plain women but the ruin of pretty ones. Agatha, darling!

L
ADY
A
GATHA
.
(Entering L.)
Yes, mamma.
(Stands back of table L.C.)

D
UCHESS OF
B
ERWICK
. Come and bid good-bye to Lady Windermere, and thank her for your charming visit.
(Coming down again.)
And by the way, I must thank you for sending a card to Mr. Hopper—he’s that rich young Australian people are taking such notice of just at present. His father made a great fortune by selling some kind of food in circular tins—most palatable, I believe—I fancy it is the thing the servants always refuse to eat. But the son is quite interesting. I think he’s attracted by dear Agatha’s clever talk. Of course, we should be very sorry to lose her, but I think that a mother who doesn’t part with a daughter every season has no real affection. We’re coming to-night, dear.
(Parker opens C. doors.)
And remember my advice, take the poor fellow out of town at once, it is the only thing to do. Good-bye, once more; come, Agatha.

(Exeunt Duchess and Lady Agatha C.)

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE.
How horrible! I understand now what Lord Darlington meant by the imaginary instance of the couple not two years married. oh! it can’t be true—she spoke of enormous sums of money paid to this woman. I know where Arthur keeps his bank book—in one of the drawers of that desk. I might find out by that. I
will
find out.
(Opens drawer.)
No, it is some hideous mistake.
(Rises and goes C.)
Some silly scandal! He loves
me
! He loves
me!
But why should I not look? I am his wife, I have a right to look!
(Returns to bureau, takes out book and examines it, page by page, smiles and gives a sigh of relief.)
I knew it! there is not a word of
truth in this stupid story.
(Puts book back in drawer. As she does so, starts and takes out another book.)
A second book—private—locked!
(Tries to open it, but fails. Sees paper knife on bureau, and with it cuts cover from book. Begins to start at the first page.)
“Mrs. Erlynne—£600—Mrs. Erlynne—£700—Mrs. Erlynne—£400.” Oh! it is true! it is true! How horrible!
(Throws book on floor.) (Enter Lord Windermere C.)

L
ORD
W
INDERMERE
. Well, dear, has the fan been sent home yet?
(Going R.C. Sees book.)
Margaret, you have cut open my bank book. You have no right to do such a thing!

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
. You think it wrong that you are found out, don’t you?

L
ORD
W
INDERMERE
. I think it wrong that a wife should spy on her husband.

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
. I did not spy on you. I never knew of this woman’s existence till half an hour ago. Some one who pitied me was kind enough to tell me what every one in London knows already—your daily visits to Curzon Street, your mad infatuation, the monstrous sums of money you squander on this infamous woman!
(Crossing L.)

L
ORD
W
INDERMERE
. Margaret! don’t talk like that of Mrs. Erlynne, you don’t know how unjust it is!

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
.
(Turning to him.)
You are very jealous of Mrs. Erlynne’s honour. I wish you had been as jealous of mine.

L
ORD
W
INDERMERE
. Your honour is untouched, Margaret. You don’t think for a moment that——
(Puts book back into desk.)

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
. I think that you spend your money strangely. That is all. Oh, don’t imagine I mind about the money. As far as I am concerned, you may squander everything we have. But what I
do
mind is that you who have loved me, you who have taught me to love you, should pass from the love that is given to the love that is bought. Oh, it’s horrible!
(Sits on sofa.)
And it is I who feel degraded!
You
don’t feel anything. I feel stained, utterly stained. You can’t realise how hideous the last six months seem to me now—every kiss you have given me is tainted in my memory.

L
ORD
W
INDERMERE
.
(Crossing to her.)
Don’t say that, Margaret. I never loved any one in the whole world but you.

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
.
(Rises.)
Who is this woman, then? Why do you take a house for her?

L
ORD
W
INDERMERE
. I did not take a house for her.

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
. You gave her the money to do it, which is the same thing.

L
ORD
W
INDERMERE
. Margaret, as far as I have known Mrs. Erlynne——

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
. Is there a Mr. Erlynne—or is he a myth?

L
ORD
W
INDERMERE
. Her husband died many years ago. She is alone in the world.

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
. No relations?
(A pause.)

L
ORD
W
INDERMERE
. None.

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
. Rather curious, isn’t it?
(L.)

L
ORD
W
INDERMERE
.
(L.C.)
Margaret, I was saying to you—and I beg you to listen to me—that as far as I have known Mrs. Erlynne, she has conducted herself well. If years ago——

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
. Oh!
(Crossing R.C.)
I don’t want details about her life!

L
ORD
W
INDERMERE
.
(C.)
I am not going to give you any details about her life. I tell you simply this—Mrs. Erlynne was once honoured, loved, respected. She was well born, she had position—she lost everything—threw it away, if you like. That makes it all the more bitter. Misfortunes one can endure—they come from outside, they are accidents. But to suffer for one’s own faults—ah!—there is the sting of life. It was twenty years ago, too. She was little more than a girl then. She had been a wife for even less time than you have.

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
. I am not interested in her—and—you should not mention this woman and me in the same breath. It is an error of taste.
(Sitting R. at desk.)

L
ORD
W
INDERMERE
. Margaret, you could save this woman. She wants to get back into society, and she wants you to help her.
(Crossing to her.)

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
. Me!

L
ORD
W
INDERMERE
. Yes, you.

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
. How impertinent of her!
(A pause.)

L
ORD
W
INDERMERE
. Margaret, I came to ask you a great favour, and I still ask it of you, though you have discovered what I had intended you should never have known, that I have given Mrs. Erlynne a large sum of money. I want you to send her an invitation for our party to-night.
(Standing L. of her.)

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
. You are mad!
(Rises.)

L
ORD
W
INDERMERE
. I entreat you. People may chatter about her, do chatter about her, of course, but they don’t know anything definite against her. She has been to several houses—not to houses where you would go, I admit, but still to houses where women who are in what is called Society now-a-days do go. That does not content her. She wants you to receive her once.

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
. As a triumph for her, I suppose?

L
ORD
W
INDERMERE
. No; but because she knows that you are a good woman—and that if she comes here once she will have a chance of a happier, a surer life than she has had. She will make no further effort to know you. Won’t you help a woman who is trying to get back?

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
. No! If a woman really repents, she never wishes to return to the society that has made or seen her ruin.

L
ORD
W
INDERMERE
. I beg of you.

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
.
(Crossing to door R.)
I am going to dress for dinner, and don’t mention the subject again this evening. Arthur
(Going to him C.)
, you fancy because I have no father or mother that I am alone in the world, and that you can treat me as you choose. You are wrong, I have friends, many friends.

L
ORD
W
INDERMERE
.
(L.C.)
Margaret, you are talking foolishly, recklessly. I won’t argue with you, but I insist upon your asking Mrs. Erlynne to-night.

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
.
(R.C.)
I shall do nothing of the kind.
(Crossing L.C.)

L
ORD
W
INDERMERE
. You refuse?
(C.)

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
. Absolutely!

L
ORD
W
INDERMERE
. Ah, Margaret, do this for my sake; it is her last chance.

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
. What has that to do with me?

L
ORD
W
INDERMERE
. How hard good women are!

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
. How weak bad men are!

L
ORD
W
INDERMERE
. Margaret, none of us men may be good enough for the women we marry—that is quite true—but you don’t imagine I would ever—oh, the suggestion is monstrous!

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
. Why should
you
be different from other men? I am told that there is hardly a husband in London who does not waste his life over
some
shameful passion.

L
ORD
W
INDERMERE
. I am not one of them.

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
. I am not sure of that!

L
ORD
W
INDERMERE
. You are sure in your heart. But don’t make chasm after chasm between us. God knows the last few minutes have thrust us wide enough apart. Sit down and write the card.

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
. Nothing in the whole world would induce me.

L
ORD
W
INDERMERE
.
(Crossing to bureau.)
Then I will!
(Rings electric bell, sits and writes card.)

L
ADY
W
INDERMERE
. You are going to invite this woman?
(Crossing to him.)