Delphi Complete Works of Oscar Wilde (Illustrated) (56 page)

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. There was your mistake. There was your error. The error all women commit. Why can’t you women love us, faults and all? Why do you place us on monstrous pedestals? We have all feet of clay, women as well as men; but when we men love women, we love them knowing their weaknesses, their follies, their imperfections, love them all the more, it may be, for that reason. It is not the perfect, but the imperfect, who have need of love. It is when we are wounded by our own hands, or by the hands of others, that love should come to cure us — else what use is love at all? All sins, except a sin against itself, Love should forgive. All lives, save loveless lives, true Love should pardon. A man’s love is like that. It is wider, larger, more human than a woman’s. Women think that they are making ideals of men. What they are making of us are false idols merely. You made your false idol of me, and I had not the courage to come down, show you my wounds, tell you my weaknesses. I was afraid that I might lose your love, as I have lost it now. And so, last night you ruined my life for me — yes, ruined it! What this woman asked of me was nothing compared to what she offered to me. She offered security, peace, stability. The sin of my youth, that I had thought was buried, rose up in front of me, hideous, horrible, with its hands at my throat. I could have killed it for ever, sent it back into its tomb, destroyed its record, burned the one witness against me. You prevented me. No one but you, you know it. And now what is there before me but public disgrace, ruin, terrible shame, the mockery of the world, a lonely dishonoured life, a lonely dishonoured death, it may be, some day? Let women make no more ideals of men! let them not put them on alters and bow before them, or they may ruin other lives as completely as you — you whom I have so wildly loved — have ruined mine!

[
He passes from the room
. LADY CHILTERN
rushes towards him
,
but the door is closed when she reaches it
.
Pale with anguish
,
bewildered
,
helpless
,
she sways like a plant in the water
.
Her hands
,
outstretched
,
seem to tremble in the air like blossoms in the mind
.
Then she flings herself down beside a sofa and buries her face
.
Her sobs are like the sobs of a child
.]

ACT DROP

THIRD AC
T

The Library in Lord Goring’s house
.
An Adam room
.
On the right is the door leading into the hall
.
On the left
,
the door of the smoking-room
.
A pair of folding doors at the back open into the drawing-room
.
The fire is lit
.
Phipps
,
the butler
,
is arranging some newspapers on the writing-table
.
The distinction of Phipps is his impassivity
.
He has been termed by enthusiasts the Ideal Butler
.
The Sphinx is not so incommunicable
.
He is a mask with a manner
.
Of his intellectual or emotional life
,
history knows nothing
.
He represents the dominance of form
.

[
Enter
LORD GORING
in evening dress with a buttonhole
.
He is wearing a silk hat and Inverness cape
.
White-gloved
,
he carries a Louis Seize cane
.
His are all the delicate fopperies of Fashion
.
One sees that he stands in immediate relation to modern life
,
makes it indeed
,
and so masters it
.
He is the first well-dressed philosopher in the history of thought
.]

LORD GORING. Got my second buttonhole for me, Phipps?

PHIPPS. Yes, my lord.
[Takes his hat, cane, and cape, and presents new buttonhole on salver.]

LORD GORING. Rather distinguished thing, Phipps. I am the only person of the smallest importance in London at present who wears a buttonhole.

PHIPPS. Yes, my lord. I have observed that,

LORD GORING.
[Taking out old buttonhole.]
You see, Phipps, Fashion is what one wears oneself. What is unfashionable is what other people wear.

PHIPPS. Yes, my lord.

LORD GORING. Just as vulgarity is simply the conduct of other people.

PHIPPS. Yes, my lord.

LORD GORING.
[Putting in a new buttonhole.]
And falsehoods the truths of other people.

PHIPPS. Yes, my lord.

LORD GORING. Other people are quite dreadful. The only possible society is oneself.

PHIPPS. Yes, my lord.

LORD GORING. To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance, Phipps.

PHIPPS. Yes, my lord.

LORD GORING.
[Looking at himself in the glass.]
Don’t think I quite like this buttonhole, Phipps. Makes me look a little too old. Makes me almost in the prime of life, eh, Phipps?

PHIPPS. I don’t observe any alteration in your lordship’s appearance.

LORD GORING. You don’t, Phipps?

PHIPPS. No, my lord.

LORD GORING. I am not quite sure. For the future a more trivial buttonhole, Phipps, on Thursday evenings.

PHIPPS. I will speak to the florist, my lord. She has had a loss in her family lately, which perhaps accounts for the lack of triviality your lordship complains of in the buttonhole.

LORD GORING. Extraordinary thing about the lower classes in England — they are always losing their relations.

PHIPPS. Yes, my lord! They are extremely fortunate in that respect.

LORD GORING.
[Turns round and looks at him. PHIPPS remains impassive.]
Hum! Any letters, Phipps?

PHIPPS. Three, my lord.
[Hands letters on a salver.]

LORD GORING.
[Takes letters.]
Want my cab round in twenty minutes.

PHIPPS. Yes, my lord.
[Goes towards door.]

LORD GORING.
[Holds up letter in pink envelope.]
Ahem! Phipps, when did this letter arrive?

PHIPPS. It was brought by hand just after your lordship went to the club.

LORD GORING. That will do.
[Exit PHIPPS.]
Lady Chiltern’s handwriting on Lady Chiltern’s pink notepaper. That is rather curious. I thought Robert was to write. Wonder what Lady Chiltern has got to say to me?
[Sits at bureau and opens letter, and reads it.]
‘I want you. I trust you. I am coming to you. Gertrude.’
[Puts down the letter with a puzzled look. Then takes it up, and reads it again slowly.]
‘I want you. I trust you. I am coming to you.’ So she has found out everything! Poor woman! Poor woman!
[ Pulls out watch and looks at it.]
But what an hour to call! Ten o’clock! I shall have to give up going to the Berkshires. However, it is always nice to be expected, and not to arrive. I am not expected at the Bachelors’, so I shall certainly go there. Well, I will make her stand by her husband. That is the only thing for her to do. That is the only thing for any woman to do. It is the growth of the moral sense in women that makes marriage such a hopeless, one-sided institution. Ten o’clock. She should be here soon. I must tell Phipps I am not in to any one else.
[Goes towards bell]

[Enter PHIPPS.]

PHIPPS. Lord Caversham.

LORD GORING. Oh, why will parents always appear at the wrong time? Some extraordinary mistake in nature, I suppose.
[Enter LORD CAVERSHAM.]
Delighted to see you, my dear father.
[Goes to meet him.]

LORD CAVERSHAM. Take my cloak off.

LORD GORING. Is it worth while, father?

LORD CAVERSHAM. Of course it is worth while, sir. Which is the most comfortable chair?

LORD GORING. This one, father. It is the chair I use myself, when I have visitors.

LORD CAVERSHAM. Thank ye. No draught, I hope, in this room?

LORD GORING. No, father.

LORD CAVERSHAM.
[Sitting down.]
Glad to hear it. Can’t stand draughts. No draughts at home.

LORD GORING. Good many breezes, father.

LORD CAVERSHAM. Eh? Eh? Don’t understand what you mean. Want to have a serious conversation with you, sir.

LORD GORING. My dear father! At this hour?

LORD CAVERSHAM. Well, sir, it is only ten o’clock. What is your objection to the hour? I think the hour is an admirable hour!

LORD GORING. Well, the fact is, father, this is not my day for talking seriously. I am very sorry, but it is not my day.

LORD CAVERSHAM. What do you mean, sir?

LORD GORING. During the Season, father, I only talk seriously on the first Tuesday in every month, from four to seven.

LORD CAVERSHAM. Well, make it Tuesday, sir, make it Tuesday.

LORD GORING. But it is after seven, father, and my doctor says I must not have any serious conversation after seven. It makes me talk in my sleep.

LORD CAVERSHAM. Talk in your sleep, sir? What does that matter? You are not married.

LORD GORING. No, father, I am not married.

LORD CAVERSHAM. Hum! That is what I have come to talk to you about, sir. You have got to get married, and at once. Why, when I was your age, sir, I had been an inconsolable widower for three months, and was already paying my addresses to your admirable mother. Damme, sir, it is your duty to get married. You can’t be always living for pleasure. Every man of position is married nowadays. Bachelors are not fashionable any more. They are a damaged lot. Too much is known about them. You must get a wife, sir. Look where your friend Robert Chiltern has got to by probity, hard work, and a sensible marriage with a good woman. Why don’t you imitate him, sir? Why don’t you take him for your model?

LORD GORING. I think I shall, father.

LORD CAVERSHAM. I wish you would, sir. Then I should be happy. At present I make your mother’s life miserable on your account. You are heartless, sir, quite heartless.

LORD GORING. I hope not, father.

LORD CAVERSHAM. And it is high time for you to get married. You are thirty-four years of age, sir.

LORD GORING. Yes, father, but I only admit to thirty-two — thirty-one and a half when I have a really good buttonhole. This buttonhole is not . . . trivial enough.

LORD CAVERSHAM. I tell you you are thirty-four, sir. And there is a draught in your room, besides, which makes your conduct worse. Why did you tell me there was no draught, sir? I feel a draught, sir, I feel it distinctly.

LORD GORING. So do I, father. It is a dreadful draught. I will come and see you to-morrow, father. We can talk over anything you like. Let me help you on with your cloak, father.

LORD CAVERSHAM. No, sir; I have called this evening for a definite purpose, and I am going to see it through at all costs to my health or yours. Put down my cloak, sir.

LORD GORING. Certainly, father. But let us go into another room.
[Rings bell.]
There is a dreadful draught here.
[Enter PHIPPS.]
Phipps, is there a good fire in the smoking-room?

PHIPPS. Yes, my lord.

LORD GORING. Come in there, father. Your sneezes are quite heartrending.

LORD CAVERSHAM. Well, sir, I suppose I have a right to sneeze when I choose?

LORD GORING.
[Apologetically.]
Quite so, father. I was merely expressing sympathy.

LORD CAVERSHAM. Oh, damn sympathy. There is a great deal too much of that sort of thing going on nowadays.

LORD GORING. I quite agree with you, father. If there was less sympathy in the world there would be less trouble in the world.

LORD CAVERSHAM.
[Going towards the smoking-room.]
That is a paradox, sir. I hate paradoxes.

LORD GORING. So do I, father. Everybody one meets is a paradox nowadays. It is a great bore. It makes society so obvious.

LORD CAVERSHAM.
[Turning round, and looking at his son beneath his bushy eyebrows.]
Do you always really understand what you say, sir?

LORD GORING.
[After some hesitation.]
Yes, father, if I listen attentively.

LORD CAVERSHAM.
[Indignantly.]
If you listen attentively! . . . Conceited young puppy!

[Goes off grumbling into the smoking-room. PHIPPS enters.]

LORD GORING. Phipps, there is a lady coming to see me this evening on particular business. Show her into the drawing-room when she arrives. You understand?

PHIPPS. Yes, my lord.

LORD GORING. It is a matter of the gravest importance, Phipps.

PHIPPS. I understand, my lord.

LORD GORING. No one else is to be admitted, under any circumstances.

PHIPPS. I understand, my lord.
[Bell rings.]

LORD GORING. Ah! that is probably the lady. I shall see her myself.

[Just as he is going towards the door LORD CAVERSHAM enters from the smoking-room.]

LORD CAVERSHAM. Well, sir? am I to wait attendance on you?

LORD GORING.
[Considerably perplexed.]
In a moment, father. Do excuse me.
[LORD CAVERSHAM goes back.]
Well, remember my instructions, Phipps — into that room.

PHIPPS. Yes, my lord.

[LORD GORING goes into the smoking-room. HAROLD, the footman shows MRS. CHEVELEY in. Lamia-like, she is in green and silver. She has a cloak of black satin, lined with dead rose-leaf silk.]

HAROLD. What name, madam?

MRS. CHEVELEY.
[To PHIPPS, who advances towards her.]
Is Lord Goring not here? I was told he was at home?

PHIPPS. His lordship is engaged at present with Lord Caversham, madam.

[Turns a cold, glassy eye on HAROLD, who at once retires.]

MRS. CHEVELEY.
[To herself.]
How very filial!