The Importance of Being Earnest

by Oscar Wilde

Third Act

Third Part

Scene. Morning-room at the Manor House.

(Lady Bracknell is taking Gwendolen away. Dr. Chasuble has entered.)
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(Enter Dr. Chasuble.)

Chasuble. Everything is quite ready for the christenings.

Lady Bracknell. The christenings, sir! Is not that somewhat premature?

Chasuble. (Looking rather puzzled, and pointing to Jack and Algernon.) Both
these gentlemen have expressed a desire for immediate baptism.

Lady Bracknell. At their age? The idea is grotesque and irreligious!
Alogernon, I forbid you to be baptized. I will not hear of such excesses.
Lord Bracknell would be highly displeased if he learned that that was the
way in which you wasted your time and money.

Chasuble. Am I to understand then that there are to be no christenings at
all this afternoon?

Jack. I don't think that, as things are now, it would be of much practical
value to either of us, Dr. Chasuble.

Chasuble. I am grieved to hear such sentiments from you, Mr. Worthing. They
savour of the heretical views of the Anabaptists, views that I have
completely refuted in four of my unpublished sermons. However, as your
present mood seems to be one peculiarly secular, I will return to the
church at once. Indeed, I have just been informed by the pew-opener that
for the last hour and a half Miss Prism has been waiting for me in the
vestry.

Lady Bracknell. (Starting.) Miss Prism! Did I hear you mention a Miss
Prism?

Chasuble. Yes, Lady Bracknell. I am on my way to join her.

Lady Bracknell. Pray allow me to detain you for a moment. This matter may
prove to be one of vital importance to Lord Bracknell and myself. Is this
Miss Prism a female of repellent aspect, remotely connected with education?

Chasuble. (Somewhat indignantly.) She is the most cultivated of ladies, and
the very picture of respectability.

Lady Bracknell. It is obviously the same person. May I ask what position
she holds in your household?

Chasuble. (Severely.) I am a celibate, madam.

Jack. (Interposing.) Miss Prism, Lady Bracknell, has been for the last
three years Miss Cardew's esteemed governess and valued companion.

Lady Bracknell. In spit of what I hear of her, I must see her at once. Let
her be sent for.

Chasuble. (Looking off.) She approaches; she is nigh.

(Enter Miss Prism hurriedly.)

Miss Prism. I was told you expected me in the vestry, dear Canon. I have
been waiting for you there for an hour and three quarters. (Catches sight
of Lady Bracknell who has fixed her with a stony glare. Miss Prism grows
pale and quails. She looks anxiously round as if desirous to escape.)

Lady Bracknell. (In a sever, judicial voice.) Prism! (Miss Prism bows her
head in shame.) Come here, Prism! (Miss Prism approaches in a humble
manner.) Prism! Where is that baby? (General consternation. The Canon
starts back in horror. Algernon and Jack pretend to be anxious to shield
Cecily and Gwendolen from hearing the details of a terrible public
scandal.) Twenty-eight years ago, Prism, you left Lord Bracknell's house,
Number 104, Upper Grosvenor Street, in charge of a perambulator that
contained a baby, of the male sex. You never returned. A few weeks later,
through the elaborate investigations of the Metropolitan police, the
perambulator was discovered at midnight, standing by itself in a remote
corner of Bayswater. It contained the manuscript of a three-volume novel of
more than usually revolting sentimentality. (Miss Prism starts in
involuntary indignation.) But the baby was not there! (Everyone looks at
Miss Prism.) Prism! Where is that baby? (A pause.)

Miss Prism. Lady Bracknell, I admit with shame that I do not know. I only
wish I did. The plain facts of the case are these. On the morning of the
day you mention, a day that is for ever branded on my memory, I prepared as
usual to take the baby out in its perambulator. I had also with me a
somewhat old, but capacious handbag, in which I had intended to place the
manuscript of a work of fiction that I had written during my few unoccupied
hours. In a moment of mental abstraction, for which I never can forgive
myself, I deposited the manuscript in the bassinette, and placed the baby
in the handbag.

Jack. (Who has been listening attentively.) But where did you deposit the
handbag?

Miss Prism. Do not ask me, Mr. Worthing.

Jack. Miss Prism, this is a matter of no small importance to me. I insist
on knowing where you deposited the handbag that contained that infant.

Miss Prism. I left it in the cloakroom of one of the larger railway
stations in London.

Jack. What railway station?

Miss Prism. (Quite crushed.) Victoria. The Brighton line. (Sinks into a
chair.)

Jack. I must retire to my room for a moment. Gwendolen, wait here for me.

Gwendolen. If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life.
(Exit Jack in great excitement.)

Chasuble. What do you think this means, Lady Bracknell?

Lady Bracknell. I dare not even suspect, Dr. Chasuble. I need hardly tell
you that in families of high position strange coincidences are not supposed
to occur. They are hardly considered the thing.

(Noises heard overhead as if someone was throwing trunks about. Everyone
looks up.)

Cecily. Uncle Jack seems strangely agitated.

Chasuble. Your guardian has a very emotional nature.

Lady Bracknell. This noise is extremely unpleasant. It sounds as if he was
having an argument. I dislike arguments of any kind. They are always
vulgar, and often convincing.

Chasuble. (Looking up.) It has stopped now. (The noise is redoubled.)

Lady Bracknell. I wish he would arrive at some conclusion.

Gwendolen. The suspense is terrible. I hope it will last.

(Enter Jack with a handbag of black leather in his hand.)

Jack. (Rushing over to Miss Prism.) Is this the handbag, Miss Prism?
Examine it carefully before you speak. The happiness of more than one life
depends on your answer.

Miss Prism. (Calmly.) It seems to be mine. Yes, here is the injury it
received through the upsetting of a Gower Street omnibus in younger and
happier days. Here is the stain on the lining caused by the explosion of a
temperance beverage, an incident that occurred at Leamington. And here, on
the lock, are my initials. I had forgotten that in an extravagant mood I
had had them placed there. The bag is undoubtedly mine. I am delighted to
have it so unexpectedly restored to me. It has been a great inconvenience
being without it all these years.

Jack. (In a pathetic voice.) Miss Prism, more is restored to you than this
handbag. I was the baby you placed in it.

Miss Prism. (Amazed.) You?

Jack. (Embracing her.) Yes ... mother!

Miss Prism. (Recoiling in indignant astonishment.) Mr. Worthing! I am
unmarried!

Jack. Unmarried! I do not deny taht is a serious blow. But after all, who
has the right to cast a stone against one who has suffered? Cannot
repentance wipe out an act of folly? Why should there be one law for men,
and another for women? Mother, I forgive you. (Tries to embrace her again.)

Miss Prism. (Still more indignant.) Mr. Worthing, there is some error.
(Pointing to Lady Bracknell.) There is the lady who can tell you who you
really are.

Jack. (After a pause.) Lady Bracknell, I hate to seem inquisitive, but
would you kindly inform me who I am?

Lady Bracknell. I am afraid that the news I have to give you will not
altogether please you. You are the son of my poor sister, Mrs. Moncrieff,
and consequently Algernon's elder brother.

Jack. Algy's elder brother! Then I have a brother after all. I knew I had a
brother! I always said I had a brother! Cecily,--how could you have ever
doubted that I had a brother? (Siezes hold of Algernon.) Dr. Chasuble, my
unfortunate brother. Miss Prism, my unfortunate brother. Gwendolen, my
unfortunate brother. Algy, you young scoundrel, you will have to treat me
with more respect in the future. You have never behaved to me like a
brother in all your life.

Algernon. Well, not till today, old boy, I admit. I did my best, however,
though I was out of practice. (Shakes hands.)

Gwendolen. (To Jack.) My own! But what own are you? What is your Christian
name, now that you have become someone else?

Jack. Good heavens! ... I had quite forgotten that point. Your decision on
the subject of my name is irrevocable, I suppose?

Gwendolen. I never change, except in my affections.

Cecily. What a noble nature you have, Gwendolen!

Jack. Then the question had better be cleared up at once. Aunt Augusta, a
moment. At the time when Miss Prism left me in the handbag, had I been
christened already?

Lady Bracknell. Every luxury that money could buy, including christening,
had been lavished on you by your fond and doting parents.

Jack. Then I was christened! That is settled. Now, what name was I given?
Let me know the worst.

Lady Bracknell. Being the eldest son you were naturally christened after
your father.

Jack. (Irritably.) Yes, but what was my father's Christian name?

Lady Bracknell. (Meditatively.) I cannot at the present moment recall what
the General's Christian name was. But I have no doubt he had one. He was
eccentric, I admit. But only in later years. And that was the result of the
Indian climate, and marriage, and indigestion, and other things of that
kind.

Jack. Algy! Can't you recollect what our father's Christian name was?

Algernon. My dear boy, we were never even on speaking terms. He died before
I was a year old.

Jack. His name would appear in the Army Lists of the period, I suppose,
Aunt Augusta.

Lady Bracknell. The General was essentially a man of peace, except in his
domestic life. But I have no doubt his name would appear in any military
directory.

Jack. The Army Lists of the last forty years are here. These delightful
records should have been my constant study. (Rushes to bookcase and tears
the books out.) M. Generals ... Mallam, Maxbohm, Magley, what ghastly names
they have--Markby, Migsby, Mobbs, Moncrieff! Lieutenant 1840, Captain,
Lieutenant-Colonel, Colonel, General 1869, Christian names, Ernest John.
(Puts book very quietly down and speaks quite calmly.) I always told you,
Gwendolen, my name was Ernest, didn't I? Well, it is Ernest after all. I
mean it naturally is Ernest.

Lady Bracknell. Yes, I remember now that the General was called Ernest. I
knew I had some particular reason for disliking the name.

Gwendolen. Ernest! My own Ernest! I felt from the first that you could have
no other name!

Jack. Gwendolen, it is a terrible thing for a man to find out suddenly that
all his life he has been speaking nothing but the truth. Can you forgive
me?

Gwendolen. I can. For I feel that you are sure to change.

Jack. My own one!

Chasuble. (To Miss Prism.) Ltitia! (Embraces her.)

Miss Prism. (Enthusiastically.) Frederick! At last!

Algernon. Cecily! (Embraces her.) At last!

Jack. Gwendolen! (Embraces her.) At last!

Lady Bracknell. My nephew, you seem to be displaying signs of triviality.

Jack. On the contrary, Aunt Augusta, I've now realized for the first time
in my life the vital Importance of Being Earnest.

   * Curtain

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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.
   * Act III: Drawing-Room at the Manor House, Woolton
        o Part 1
        o Part 2

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