The Importance of Being Earnest

by Oscar Wilde

Second Act

Third Part

Scene. Garden at the Manor House. A flight of grey stone steps leads up to
the house. The garden, an old-fashioned one, full of roses. Time of year,
July. Basket chairs, and a table covered with books, are set under a large
yew tree. Cecily and Algernon pass into the house. Miss Prism and Dr.
Chasuble return.
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Miss Prism. You are too much alone, dear Dr. Chasuble. You should bet
married. A misanthrope I can understand--a womanthrope, never!

Chasuble. (With a scholar's shudder.) Believe me, I do not deserve so
neologistic a phrase. The precept as well as the practice of the Primitive
Church was distinctly against matrimony.

Miss Prism. (Sententiously.) That is obviously the reason why the Primitive
Church has not lasted up to the present day. And do you not seem to
realize, dear Doctor, that by persistently remaining single, a man converts
himself into a permanent public temptation. Men should be more careful;
this very celibacy leads weaker vessels astray.

Chasuble. But is a man not equally attractive when married?

Miss Prism. No married man is ever attractive except to his wife.

Chasuble. And often, I've been told, not even to her.

Miss Prism. That depends on the intellectual sympathies of the woman.
Maturity can always be depended on. Ripeness can be trusted. Young women
are green. (Dr. Chasuble starts.) I spoke horticulturally. My metaphor was
drawn from fruits. But where is Cecily?

Chasuble. Perhaps she followed us to the schools.

(Enter Jack slowly from the back of the garden. He is dressed in the
deepest mourning, with crape hatband and black gloves.)

Miss Prism. Mr. Worthing!

Chasuble. Mr. Worthing!

Miss Prism. This is indeed a surprise. We did not look for you till Monday
afternoon.

Jack. (Shakes Miss Prism's hand in a tragic manner.) I have returned sooner
than I expected. Dr. Chasuble, I hope you are well?

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

Jack. My brother.

Miss Prism. More shameful debts and extravagance?

Chasuble. Still leading his life of pleasure?

Jack. (Shaking his head.) Dead!

Chasuble. Your brother Ernest dead?

Jack. Quite dead.

Miss Prism. What a lesson for him! I trust he will profit by it.

Chasuble. Mr. Worthing, I offer you my sincere condolence. You have at
least the consolation of knowing that you were always the most generous and
forgiving of brothers.

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, in fact. I had a telegram last night
from the manager of the Grand Hotel.

Chasuble. A severe chill, it seems.

Miss Prism. As a man sows, so shall he reap.

Chasuble. (Raising his hand.) Charity, dear Miss Prism, charity! None of us
are perfect. I myself am peculiarly susceptible to draughts. Will the
interment take place here?

Jack. No. He seemed to have expressed a desire to be buried in Paris.

Chasuble. In Paris! (Shakes his head.) I fear that hardly points to any
very serious state of mind at the last. You would no doubt wish me to make
some slight allusion to this tragic domestic afflication next Sunday. (Jack
presses his hand convulsivel.) My sermon on the meaning of the manna in the
wilderness can be adapted to almost any occasion, joyful, or, as in the
present case, distressing. (All sigh.) I have preached it at harvest
celebrations, christenings, confirmations, on days of humiliation and
festal days. The last time I delivered it was in the Cathedral, as a
charity sermon on behalf of the Society for the Prevention of Discontent
among the Upper Orders. The Bishop, who was present, was much struck by
some of the analogies I drew.

Jack. Ah! that reminds me, you mentioned christenings, I think, Dr.
Chasuble? I suppose you know how to christen all right? (Dr. Chasuble looks
astounded.) I mean, of course, you are continually christening, aren't you?

Miss Prism. It is, I regret to say, one of the Rector's most constant
duties in this parish. I have often spoken to the poorer classes on the
subject. But they don't seem to know what thrift is.

Chasuble. But is there any particularly infant in whome you are interested,
Mr. Worthing? Your brother was, I believe, unmarried, was he not?

Miss Prism. (Bitterly.) People who live entirely for pleasure usually are.

Jack. But it is not for any child, dear Doctor. I am very fond of children.
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 don't remember anything about it.

Chasuble. But have you any grave doubts on the subject?

Jack. I certainly intend to have. Of course I don't know if the thing would
bother you in any way, or if you think I am a little too old now.

Chasuble. Not at all. The sprinkling, and, indeed, the immersion of adults
is a perfectly canonical practice.

Jack. Immersion!

Chasuble. You need have no apprehensions. Sprinkling is all that is
necessary, or indeed I think advisable. Our wather is so changeable. At
what hour would you wish the ceremony performed?

Jack. Oh, I might trot round about five if that would suit you.

Chasuble. Perfectly, perfectly! In fact I have two similar ceremonies to
perform at that time. A case of twins that occurred recently in one of the
outlying cottages on your own estate. Poor Jenkins the carter, a most
hard-working man.

Jack. Oh! I don't see much fun in being christened along with other babies.
It would be childish. Would half-past five do?

Chasuble. Admirably! Admirably! (Takes out watch.) And now, dear Mr.
Worthing, I will not intrude any longer into a house of sorrow. I would
merely beg you not to be too much bowed down by grief. What seems to us
bitter trials are often blessings in disguise.

Miss Prism. This seems to me a blessing of an extremely obvious kind.

(Enter Cecily from the house.)

Cecily. Uncle Jack! Oh, I am pleased to see you back. But what horrid
clothes you have got on! Do go and change them.

Miss Prism. Cecily!

Chasuble. My child! my child! (Cecily goes towards Jack; he kisses her brow
in a melancholy manner.)

Cecily. What is the matter, Uncle Jack? Do look happy! You look as if you
had toothache, and 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. He arrived about half an hour ago.

Jack. What nonsense! I haven't got a brother!

Cecily. Oh, don't say that. However badly he may have behaved to you in the
past he is still your brother. You couldn't be so heartless as to disown
him. I'll tell him to come out. And you will shake hands with him, won't
you, Uncle Jack? (Runs back into the house.)

Chasuble. These are very joyful tidings.

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. They come slowly up to Jack.)

Jack. Good heavens! (Motions Algernon away.)

Algernon. Brother John, I have come down from town to tell you that I am
very sorry for all the trouble I have given you, and that I intend to lead
a better life in the future. (Jack glares at him and does not take his
hand.)

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 Mr. Bunbury whom he goes
to visit so oftne. And surely there must be much good in one who is kind to
an invalid, and leaves the pleasures of London to sit by a bed of pain.

Jack. Oh! he has been talking about Bunbury, has he?

Cecily. Yes, he has told me all about poor Mr. Bunbury, and his terrible
state of health.

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

Algernon. Of course I admit that the faults were all on my side. But I must
say that I think that Brother John's coldness to me is peculiarly painful.
I expected a more enthusiastic welcome, especially considering it is the
first time I have come here.

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. Well, this is the last time I shall ever do it. (Shakes hands with
Algernon and glares.)

Chasuble. It's pleasant, is it not, to see so perfect a reconciliation? I
think we might leave the two brothers together.

Miss Prism. Cecily, you will come with us.

Cecily. Certainly, Miss Prism. My little task of reconciliation is over.

Chasuble. You have done a beautiful action today, dear child.

Miss Prism. We must not be premature in our judgments.

Cecily. I feel very happy. (They all go off.)

   * Next: Act II, Part IV

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The Scenes of the Play

   * Act I: Algernon Moncrieff's Flat in Half-Moon Street, W.
   * Act II: The Garden at the Manor House, Woolton.
        o Part 1
        o Part 2
        o Part 4
        o Part 5
        o Part 6
        o Part 7
   * Act III: Drawing-Room at the Manor House, Woolton

Transcription and organization by Jerry Stratton, for FireBlade
Publications. If you have any comments or questions, please let us know!
Jerry
jerry@acusd.edu
