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LADY BRACKNELL. In what locality did this Mr. James, or Thomas,
Cardew come across this ordinary hand-bag?

JACK. In the cloak-room at Victoria Station. It was given to him
in mistake for his own.

LADY BRACKNELL. The cloak-room at Victoria Station?
JACK. Yes. The Brighton line.

LADY BRACKNELL. The line is 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 hand-bag, whether it had handles or
not, seems to me to display a contempt for the ordinary decencies

of family life that reminds one of the worst excesses of the French
Revolution. And I presume you know what that unfortunate movement

led to? As for the particular locality in which the hand-bag was
found, a cloak-room at a railway station might serve to conceal a

social indiscretion - has probably, indeed, been used for that
purpose before now-but it could hardly be regarded as an assured

basis for a recognised position in good society.
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 stronglyadvise 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 possibly manage to do that. I
can produce the hand-bag at any moment. It is in my dressing-room

at home. I really think that should satisfy you, Lady Bracknell.
LADY BRACKNELL. Me, sir! What has it to do with me? 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 cloak-room, and form an alliance with a parcel? Good
morning, Mr. Worthing!

[LADY BRACKNELL sweeps out in majestic indignation.]
JACK. Good morning! [ALGERNON, from the other room, strikes up

the Wedding March. Jack looks perfectlyfurious, and goes to the
door.] For goodness' sake don't play that ghastly tune, Algy. How

idiotic you are!
[The music stops and ALGERNON enters cheerily.]

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. Oh, Gwendolen is as right as a trivet. As far as she is

concerned, we are engaged. Her mother is perfectly unbearable.
Never met such a Gorgon . . . I don't really know what a Gorgon is

like, but I am quite sure that Lady Bracknell is one. In any case,
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, nor the smallest instinct about when to

die.
JACK. Oh, that is nonsense!

ALGERNON. It isn't!
JACK. Well, I won't argue about the matter. You always want to

argue about things.
ALGERNON. That is exactly what things were originally" target="_blank" title="ad.本来;独创地">originally made for.

JACK. Upon my word, if I thought that, I'd shoot myself . . . [A
pause.] 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?

ALGERNON. It is perfectly phrased! and quite as true as any
observation in civilised life should be.

JACK. I am sick to death of cleverness. Everybody is clever
nowadays. You can't go anywhere without meeting clever people.

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 your

being Ernest in town, and Jack in the country?
JACK. [In a very patronising 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 some one else, if she is plain.
JACK. Oh, that is nonsense.

ALGERNON. What about your brother? What about the profligate
Ernest?

JACK. Oh, before the end of the week I shall have got rid of him.
I'll say he died in Paris of apoplexy. 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. You had much better say a severe
chill.

JACK. You are sure a severe chill isn't hereditary, or anything of
that kind?

ALGERNON. Of course it isn't!
JACK. Very well, then. My poor brother Ernest to carried off

suddenly, in Paris, by a severe chill. That gets rid of him.
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 like to see Cecily.

JACK. I will take very good care you never do. She is 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. 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, they will be calling each other sister.

ALGERNON. Women only do that when they have called each other a
lot of other things first. Now, my dear boy, if we want to get a

good table at Willis's, we really must go and dress. Do you know
it is nearly seven?

JACK. [Irritably.] Oh! It always is nearly seven.
ALGERNON. Well, I'm hungry.

JACK. I never knew you when you weren't . . .
ALGERNON. What shall we do after dinner? Go to a theatre?

JACK. Oh no! I loathe listening.
ALGERNON. Well, let us go to the Club?

JACK. Oh, no! I hate talking.
ALGERNON. Well, we might trot round to the Empire at ten?

JACK. Oh, no! I can't bear looking at things. It is so silly.
ALGERNON. Well, what shall we do?

JACK. Nothing!
ALGERNON. It is awfully hard work doing nothing. However, I don't

mind hard work where there is no definite object of any kind.
[Enter LANE.]

LANE. Miss Fairfax.
[Enter GWENDOLEN. LANE goes out.]

ALGERNON. Gwendolen, upon my word!
GWENDOLEN. Algy, kindly turn your back. I have something very

particular to say to Mr. Worthing.
ALGERNON. Really, Gwendolen, I don't think I can allow this at

all.
GWENDOLEN. Algy, you always adopt a strictly immoral attitude

towards life. You are not quite old enough to do that. [ALGERNON
retires to the fireplace.]

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 some one
else, and marry often, nothing that she can possibly do can alter

my eternaldevotion to you.
JACK. Dear Gwendolen!

GWENDOLEN. The story of your romanticorigin, as related to me by
mamma, with unpleasing comments, has naturally stirred the deeper

fibres 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 your address in the country?

JACK. The Manor House, Woolton, Hertfordshire.
[ALGERNON, who has been carefully listening, smiles to himself, and

writes the address on his shirt-cuff. Then picks up the Railway
Guide.]

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. Good! Algy, you may turn round now.
ALGERNON. Thanks, I've turned round already.

GWENDOLEN. You may also ring the bell.
JACK. You will let me see you to your carriage, my own darling?

GWENDOLEN. Certainly.
JACK. [To LANE, who now enters.] I will see Miss Fairfax out.

LANE. Yes, sir. [JACK and GWENDOLEN go off.]
[LANE presents several letters on a salver to ALGERNON. It is to

be surmised that they are bills, as ALGERNON, after looking at the
envelopes, tears them up.]

ALGERNON. A glass of sherry, Lane.
LANE. Yes, sir.

ALGERNON. To-morrow, Lane, I'm going Bunburying.
LANE. Yes, sir.

ALGERNON. I shall probably not be back till Monday. You can put
up my dress clothes, my smoking jacket, and all the Bunbury suits .

. .
LANE. Yes, sir. [Handing sherry.]

ALGERNON. I hope to-morrow will be a fine day, Lane.
LANE. It never is, sir.

ALGERNON. Lane, you're a perfect pessimist.
LANE. I do my best to give satisfaction, sir.

[Enter JACK. LANE goes off.]
JACK. There's a sensible, intellectual girl! the only girl I ever

cared for in my life. [ALGERNON is laughing immoderately.] What
on earth are you so amused at?

ALGERNON. Oh, I'm a little anxious about poor Bunbury, that in
all.

JACK. If you don't take care, your friend Bunbury will get you
into a serious scrape some day.

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.

ALGERNON. Nobody ever does.


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