SCENE

_Morning-room at Sir Robert Chiltern’s house_.

[LORD GORING, _dressed in the height of fashion_, _is lounging in anarmchair_. SIR ROBERT CHILTERN _is standing in front of the fireplace_._He is evidently in a state of great mental excitement and distress_._As the scene progresses he paces nervously up and down the room_.]

LORD GORING. My dear Robert, it’s a very awkward business, very awkwardindeed. You should have told your wife the whole thing. Secrets fromother people’s wives are a necessary luxury in modern life. So, atleast, I am always told at the club by people who are bald enough to knowbetter. But no man should have a secret from his own wife. Sheinvariably finds it out. Women have a wonderful instinct about things.They can discover everything except the obvious.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Arthur, I couldn’t tell my wife. When could I havetold her? Not last night. It would have made a life-long separationbetween us, and I would have lost the love of the one woman in the worldI worship, of the only woman who has ever stirred love within me. Lastnight it would have been quite impossible. She would have turned from mein horror . . . in horror and in contempt.

LORD GORING. Is Lady Chiltern as perfect as all that?

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Yes; my wife is as perfect as all that.

LORD GORING. [_Taking off his left-hand glove_.] What a pity! I begyour pardon, my dear fellow, I didn’t quite mean that. But if what youtell me is true, I should like to have a serious talk about life withLady Chiltern.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. It would be quite useless.

LORD GORING. May I try?

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Yes; but nothing could make her alter her views.

LORD GORING. Well, at the worst it would simply be a psychologicalexperiment.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. All such experiments are terribly dangerous.

LORD GORING. Everything is dangerous, my dear fellow. If it wasn’t so,life wouldn’t be worth living. . . . Well, I am bound to say that I thinkyou should have told her years ago.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. When? When we were engaged? Do you think shewould have married me if she had known that the origin of my fortune issuch as it is, the basis of my career such as it is, and that I had donea thing that I suppose most men would call shameful and dishonourable?

LORD GORING. [_Slowly_.] Yes; most men would call it ugly names. Thereis no doubt of that.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [_Bitterly_.] Men who every day do something ofthe same kind themselves. Men who, each one of them, have worse secretsin their own lives.

LORD GORING. That is the reason they are so pleased to find out otherpeople’s secrets. It distracts public attention from their own.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. And, after all, whom did I wrong by what I did? Noone.

LORD GORING. [_Looking at him steadily_.] Except yourself, Robert.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [_After a pause_.] Of course I had privateinformation about a certain transaction contemplated by the Government ofthe day, and I acted on it. Private information is practically thesource of every large modern fortune.

LORD GORING. [_Tapping his boot with his cane_.] And public scandalinvariably the result.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [_Pacing up and down the room_.] Arthur, do youthink that what I did nearly eighteen years ago should be brought upagainst me now? Do you think it fair that a man’s whole career should beruined for a fault done in one’s boyhood almost? I was twenty-two at thetime, and I had the double misfortune of being well-born and poor, twounforgiveable things nowadays. Is it fair that the folly, the sin ofone’s youth, if men choose to call it a sin, should wreck a life likemine, should place me in the pillory, should shatter all that I haveworked for, all that I have built up. Is it fair, Arthur?

LORD GORING. Life is never fair, Robert. And perhaps it is a good thingfor most of us that it is not.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Every man of ambition has to fight his century withits own weapons. What this century worships is wealth. The God of thiscentury is wealth. To succeed one must have wealth. At all costs onemust have wealth.

LORD GORING. You underrate yourself, Robert. Believe me, without wealthyou could have succeeded just as well.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. When I was old, perhaps. When I had lost mypassion for power, or could not use it. When I was tired, worn out,disappointed. I wanted my success when I was young. Youth is the timefor success. I couldn’t wait.

LORD GORING. Well, you certainly have had your success while you arestill young. No one in our day has had such a brilliant success.Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs at the age of forty—that’s goodenough for any one, I should think.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. And if it is all taken away from me now? If I loseeverything over a horrible scandal? If I am hounded from public life?

LORD GORING. Robert, how could you have sold yourself for money?

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [_Excitedly_.] I did not sell myself for money. Ibought success at a great price. That is all.

LORD GORING. [_Gravely_.] Yes; you certainly paid a great price for it.But what first made you think of doing such a thing?

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Baron Arnheim.

LORD GORING. Damned scoundrel!

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. No; he was a man of a most subtle and refinedintellect. A man of culture, charm, and distinction. One of the mostintellectual men I ever met.

LORD GORING. Ah! I prefer a gentlemanly fool any day. There is more tobe said for stupidity than people imagine. Personally I have a greatadmiration for stupidity. It is a sort of fellow-feeling, I suppose.But how did he do it? Tell me the whole thing.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [_Throws himself into an armchair by thewriting-table_.] One night after dinner at Lord Radley’s the Baron begantalking about success in modern life as something that one could reduceto an absolutely definite science. With that wonderfully fascinatingquiet voice of his he expounded to us the most terrible of allphilosophies, the philosophy of power, preached to us the most marvellousof all gospels, the gospel of gold. I think he saw the effect he hadproduced on me, for some days afterwards he wrote and asked me to comeand see him. He was living then in Park Lane, in the house Lord Woolcombhas now. I remember so well how, with a strange smile on his pale,curved lips, he led me through his wonderful picture gallery, showed mehis tapestries, his enamels, his jewels, his carved ivories, made mewonder at the strange loveliness of the luxury in which he lived; andthen told me that luxury was nothing but a background, a painted scene ina play, and that power, power over other men, power over the world, wasthe one thing worth having, the one supreme pleasure worth knowing, theone joy one never tired of, and that in our century only the richpossessed it.

LORD GORING. [_With great deliberation_.] A thoroughly shallow creed.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [_Rising_.] I didn’t think so then. I don’t thinkso now. Wealth has given me enormous power. It gave me at the veryoutset of my life freedom, and freedom is everything. You have neverbeen poor, and never known what ambition is. You cannot understand whata wonderful chance the Baron gave me. Such a chance as few men get.

LORD GORING. Fortunately for them, if one is to judge by results. Buttell me definitely, how did the Baron finally persuade you to—well, to dowhat you did?

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. When I was going away he said to me that if I evercould give him any private information of real value he would make me avery rich man. I was dazed at the prospect he held out to me, and myambition and my desire for power were at that time boundless. Six weekslater certain private documents passed through my hands.

LORD GORING. [_Keeping his eyes steadily fixed on the carpet_.] Statedocuments?

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Yes. [LORD GORING _sighs_, _then passes his handacross his forehead and looks up_.]

LORD GORING. I had no idea that you, of all men in the world, could havebeen so weak, Robert, as to yield to such a temptation as Baron Arnheimheld out to you.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Weak? Oh, I am sick of hearing that phrase. Sickof using it about others. Weak? Do you really think, Arthur, that it isweakness that yields to temptation? I tell you that there are terribletemptations that it requires strength, strength and courage, to yield to.To stake all one’s life on a single moment, to risk everything on onethrow, whether the stake be power or pleasure, I care not—there is noweakness in that. There is a horrible, a terrible courage. I had thatcourage. I sat down the same afternoon and wrote Baron Arnheim theletter this woman now holds. He made three-quarters of a million overthe transaction.

LORD GORING. And you?

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. I received from the Baron £110,000.

LORD GORING. You were worth more, Robert.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. No; that money gave me exactly what I wanted, powerover others. I went into the House immediately. The Baron advised me infinance from time to time. Before five years I had almost trebled myfortune. Since then everything that I have touched has turned out asuccess. In all things connected with money I have had a luck soextraordinary that sometimes it has made me almost afraid. I rememberhaving read somewhere, in some strange book, that when the gods wish topunish us they answer our prayers.

LORD GORING. But tell me, Robert, did you never suffer any regret forwhat you had done?

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. No. I felt that I had fought the century with itsown weapons, and won.

LORD GORING. [_Sadly_.] You thought you had won.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. I thought so. [_After a long pause_.] Arthur, doyou despise me for what I have told you?

LORD GORING. [_With deep feeling in his voice_.] I am very sorry foryou, Robert, very sorry indeed.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. I don’t say that I suffered any remorse. I didn’t.Not remorse in the ordinary, rather silly sense of the word. But I havepaid conscience money many times. I had a wild hope that I might disarmdestiny. The sum Baron Arnheim gave me I have distributed twice over inpublic charities since then.

LORD GORING. [_Looking up_.] In public charities? Dear me! what a lotof harm you must have done, Robert!

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Oh, don’t say that, Arthur; don’t talk like that!

LORD GORING. Never mind what I say, Robert! I am always saying what Ishouldn’t say. In fact, I usually say what I really think. A greatmistake nowadays. It makes one so liable to be misunderstood. Asregards this dreadful business, I will help you in whatever way I can.Of course you know that.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Thank you, Arthur, thank you. But what is to bedone? What can be done?

LORD GORING. [_Leaning back with his hands in his pockets_.] Well, theEnglish can’t stand a man who is always saying he is in the right, butthey are very fond of a man who admits that he has been in the wrong. Itis one of the best things in them. However, in your case, Robert, aconfession would not do. The money, if you will allow me to say so, is. . . awkward. Besides, if you did make a clean breast of the wholeaffair, you would never be able to talk morality again. And in England aman who can’t talk morality twice a week to a large, popular, immoralaudience is quite over as a serious politician. There would be nothingleft for him as a profession except Botany or the Church. A confessionwould be of no use. It would ruin you.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. It would ruin me. Arthur, the only thing for me todo now is to fight the thing out.

LORD GORING. [_Rising from his chair_.] I was waiting for you to saythat, Robert. It is the only thing to do now. And you must begin bytelling your wife the whole story.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. That I will not do.

LORD GORING. Robert, believe me, you are wrong.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. I couldn’t do it. It would kill her love for me.And now about this woman, this Mrs. Cheveley. How can I defend myselfagainst her? You knew her before, Arthur, apparently.

LORD GORING. Yes.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Did you know her well?

LORD GORING. [_Arranging his necktie_.] So little that I got engaged tobe married to her once, when I was staying at the Tenbys’. The affairlasted for three days . . . nearly.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Why was it broken off?

LORD GORING. [_Airily_.] Oh, I forget. At least, it makes no matter.By the way, have you tried her with money? She used to be confoundedlyfond of money.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. I offered her any sum she wanted. She refused.

LORD GORING. Then the marvellous gospel of gold breaks down sometimes.The rich can’t do everything, after all.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Not everything. I suppose you are right. Arthur,I feel that public disgrace is in store for me. I feel certain of it. Inever knew what terror was before. I know it now. It is as if a hand ofice were laid upon one’s heart. It is as if one’s heart were beatingitself to death in some empty hollow.

LORD GORING. [_Striking the table_.] Robert, you must fight her. Youmust fight her.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. But how?

LORD GORING. I can’t tell you how at present. I have not the smallestidea. But every one has some weak point. There is some flaw in each oneof us. [_Strolls to the fireplace and looks at himself in the glass_.]My father tells me that even I have faults. Perhaps I have. I don’tknow.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. In defending myself against Mrs. Cheveley, I have aright to use any weapon I can find, have I not?

LORD GORING. [_Still looking in the glass_.] In your place I don’tthink I should have the smallest scruple in doing so. She is thoroughlywell able to take care of herself.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [_Sits down at the table and takes a pen in hishand_.] Well, I shall send a cipher telegram to the Embassy at Vienna,to inquire if there is anything known against her. There may be somesecret scandal she might be afraid of.

LORD GORING. [_Settling his buttonhole_.] Oh, I should fancy Mrs.Cheveley is one of those very modern women of our time who find a newscandal as becoming as a new bonnet, and air them both in the Park everyafternoon at five-thirty. I am sure she adores scandals, and that thesorrow of her life at present is that she can’t manage to have enough ofthem.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [_Writing_.] Why do you say that?

LORD GORING. [_Turning round_.] Well, she wore far too much rouge lastnight, and not quite enough clothes. That is always a sign of despair ina woman.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [_Striking a bell_.] But it is worth while mywiring to Vienna, is it not?

LORD GORING. It is always worth while asking a question, though it isnot always worth while answering one.

[_Enter_ MASON.]

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Is Mr. Trafford in his room?

MASON. Yes, Sir Robert.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [_Puts what he has written into an envelope_,_which he then carefully closes_.] Tell him to have this sent off incipher at once. There must not be a moment’s delay.

MASON. Yes, Sir Robert.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Oh! just give that back to me again.

[_Writes something on the envelope_. MASON _then goes out with theletter_.]

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. She must have had some curious hold over BaronArnheim. I wonder what it was.

LORD GORING. [_Smiling_.] I wonder.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. I will fight her to the death, as long as my wifeknows nothing.

LORD GORING. [_Strongly_.] Oh, fight in any case—in any case.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [_With a gesture of despair_.] If my wife foundout, there would be little left to fight for. Well, as soon as I hearfrom Vienna, I shall let you know the result. It is a chance, just achance, but I believe in it. And as I fought the age with its ownweapons, I will fight her with her weapons. It is only fair, and shelooks like a woman with a past, doesn’t she?

LORD GORING. Most pretty women do. But there is a fashion in pasts justas there is a fashion in frocks. Perhaps Mrs. Cheveley’s past is merelya slightly décolleté one, and they are excessively popular nowadays.Besides, my dear Robert, I should not build too high hopes on frighteningMrs. Cheveley. I should not fancy Mrs. Cheveley is a woman who would beeasily frightened. She has survived all her creditors, and she showswonderful presence of mind.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Oh! I live on hopes now. I clutch at every chance.I feel like a man on a ship that is sinking. The water is round my feet,and the very air is bitter with storm. Hush! I hear my wife’s voice.

[_Enter_ LADY CHILTERN _in walking dress_.]

LADY CHILTERN. Good afternoon, Lord Goring!

LORD GORING. Good afternoon, Lady Chiltern! Have you been in the Park?

LADY CHILTERN. No; I have just come from the Woman’s LiberalAssociation, where, by the way, Robert, your name was received with loudapplause, and now I have come in to have my tea. [_To_ LORD GORING.]You will wait and have some tea, won’t you?

LORD GORING. I’ll wait for a short time, thanks.

LADY CHILTERN. I will be back in a moment. I am only going to take myhat off.

LORD GORING. [_In his most earnest manner_.] Oh! please don’t. It isso pretty. One of the prettiest hats I ever saw. I hope the Woman’sLiberal Association received it with loud applause.

LADY CHILTERN. [_With a smile_.] We have much more important work to dothan look at each other’s bonnets, Lord Goring.

LORD GORING. Really? What sort of work?

LADY CHILTERN. Oh! dull, useful, delightful things, Factory Acts, FemaleInspectors, the Eight Hours’ Bill, the Parliamentary Franchise. . . .Everything, in fact, that you would find thoroughly uninteresting.

LORD GORING. And never bonnets?

LADY CHILTERN. [_With mock indignation_.] Never bonnets, never!

[LADY CHILTERN _goes out through the door leading to her boudoir_.]

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [_Takes_ LORD GORING’S _hand_.] You have been agood friend to me, Arthur, a thoroughly good friend.

LORD GORING. I don’t know that I have been able to do much for you,Robert, as yet. In fact, I have not been able to do anything for you, asfar as I can see. I am thoroughly disappointed with myself.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. You have enabled me to tell you the truth. That issomething. The truth has always stifled me.

LORD GORING. Ah! the truth is a thing I get rid of as soon as possible!Bad habit, by the way. Makes one very unpopular at the club . . . withthe older members. They call it being conceited. Perhaps it is.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. I would to God that I had been able to tell thetruth . . . to live the truth. Ah! that is the great thing in life, tolive the truth. [_Sighs_, _and goes towards the door_.] I’ll see yousoon again, Arthur, shan’t I?

LORD GORING. Certainly. Whenever you like. I’m going to look in at theBachelors’ Ball to-night, unless I find something better to do. But I’llcome round to-morrow morning. If you should want me to-night by anychance, send round a note to Curzon Street.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Thank you.

[_As he reaches the door_, LADY CHILTERN _enters from her boudoir_.]

LADY CHILTERN. You are not going, Robert?

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. I have some letters to write, dear.

LADY CHILTERN. [_Going to him_.] You work too hard, Robert. You seemnever to think of yourself, and you are looking so tired.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. It is nothing, dear, nothing.

[_He kisses her and goes out_.]

LADY CHILTERN. [_To_ LORD GORING.] Do sit down. I am so glad you havecalled. I want to talk to you about . . . well, not about bonnets, orthe Woman’s Liberal Association. You take far too much interest in thefirst subject, and not nearly enough in the second.

LORD GORING. You want to talk to me about Mrs. Cheveley?

LADY CHILTERN. Yes. You have guessed it. After you left last night Ifound out that what she had said was really true. Of course I madeRobert write her a letter at once, withdrawing his promise.

LORD GORING. So he gave me to understand.

LADY CHILTERN. To have kept it would have been the first stain on acareer that has been stainless always. Robert must be above reproach.He is not like other men. He cannot afford to do what other men do.[_She looks at_ LORD GORING, _who remains silent_.] Don’t you agree withme? You are Robert’s greatest friend. You are our greatest friend, LordGoring. No one, except myself, knows Robert better than you do. He hasno secrets from me, and I don’t think he has any from you.

LORD GORING. He certainly has no secrets from me. At least I don’tthink so.

LADY CHILTERN. Then am I not right in my estimate of him? I know I amright. But speak to me frankly.

LORD GORING. [_Looking straight at her_.] Quite frankly?

LADY CHILTERN. Surely. You have nothing to conceal, have you?

LORD GORING. Nothing. But, my dear Lady Chiltern, I think, if you willallow me to say so, that in practical life—

LADY CHILTERN. [_Smiling_.] Of which you know so little, Lord Goring—

LORD GORING. Of which I know nothing by experience, though I knowsomething by observation. I think that in practical life there issomething about success, actual success, that is a little unscrupulous,something about ambition that is unscrupulous always. Once a man has sethis heart and soul on getting to a certain point, if he has to climb thecrag, he climbs the crag; if he has to walk in the mire—

LADY CHILTERN. Well?

LORD GORING. He walks in the mire. Of course I am only talkinggenerally about life.

LADY CHILTERN. [_Gravely_.] I hope so. Why do you look at me sostrangely, Lord Goring?

LORD GORING. Lady Chiltern, I have sometimes thought that . . . perhapsyou are a little hard in some of your views on life. I think that . . .often you don’t make sufficient allowances. In every nature there areelements of weakness, or worse than weakness. Supposing, for instance,that—that any public man, my father, or Lord Merton, or Robert, say, had,years ago, written some foolish letter to some one . . .

LADY CHILTERN. What do you mean by a foolish letter?

LORD GORING. A letter gravely compromising one’s position. I am onlyputting an imaginary case.

LADY CHILTERN. Robert is as incapable of doing a foolish thing as he isof doing a wrong thing.

LORD GORING. [_After a long pause_.] Nobody is incapable of doing afoolish thing. Nobody is incapable of doing a wrong thing.

LADY CHILTERN. Are you a Pessimist? What will the other dandies say?They will all have to go into mourning.

LORD GORING. [_Rising_.] No, Lady Chiltern, I am not a Pessimist.Indeed I am not sure that I quite know what Pessimism really means. AllI do know is that life cannot be understood without much charity, cannotbe lived without much charity. It is love, and not German philosophy,that is the true explanation of this world, whatever may be theexplanation of the next. And if you are ever in trouble, Lady Chiltern,trust me absolutely, and I will help you in every way I can. If you everwant me, come to me for my assistance, and you shall have it. Come atonce to me.

LADY CHILTERN. [_Looking at him in surprise_.] Lord Goring, you aretalking quite seriously. I don’t think I ever heard you talk seriouslybefore.

LORD GORING. [_Laughing_.] You must excuse me, Lady Chiltern. It won’toccur again, if I can help it.

LADY CHILTERN. But I like you to be serious.

[_Enter_ MABEL CHILTERN, _in the most ravishing frock_.]

MABEL CHILTERN. Dear Gertrude, don’t say such a dreadful thing to LordGoring. Seriousness would be very unbecoming to him. Good afternoonLord Goring! Pray be as trivial as you can.

LORD GORING. I should like to, Miss Mabel, but I am afraid I am . . . alittle out of practice this morning; and besides, I have to be going now.

MABEL CHILTERN. Just when I have come in! What dreadful manners youhave! I am sure you were very badly brought up.

LORD GORING. I was.

MABEL CHILTERN. I wish I had brought you up!

LORD GORING. I am so sorry you didn’t.

MABEL CHILTERN. It is too late now, I suppose?

LORD GORING. [_Smiling_.] I am not so sure.

MABEL CHILTERN. Will you ride to-morrow morning?

LORD GORING. Yes, at ten.

MABEL CHILTERN. Don’t forget.

LORD GORING. Of course I shan’t. By the way, Lady Chiltern, there is nolist of your guests in _The Morning Post_ of to-day. It has apparentlybeen crowded out by the County Council, or the Lambeth Conference, orsomething equally boring. Could you let me have a list? I have aparticular reason for asking you.

LADY CHILTERN. I am sure Mr. Trafford will be able to give you one.

LORD GORING. Thanks, so much.

MABEL CHILTERN. Tommy is the most useful person in London.

LORD GORING [_Turning to her_.] And who is the most ornamental?

MABEL CHILTERN [_Triumphantly_.] I am.

LORD GORING. How clever of you to guess it! [_Takes up his hat andcane_.] Good-bye, Lady Chiltern! You will remember what I said to you,won’t you?

LADY CHILTERN. Yes; but I don’t know why you said it to me.

LORD GORING. I hardly know myself. Good-bye, Miss Mabel!

MABEL CHILTERN [_With a little moue of disappointment_.] I wish you werenot going. I have had four wonderful adventures this morning; four and ahalf, in fact. You might stop and listen to some of them.

LORD GORING. How very selfish of you to have four and a half! Therewon’t be any left for me.

MABEL CHILTERN. I don’t want you to have any. They would not be goodfor you.

LORD GORING. That is the first unkind thing you have ever said to me.How charmingly you said it! Ten to-morrow.

MABEL CHILTERN. Sharp.

LORD GORING. Quite sharp. But don’t bring Mr. Trafford.

MABEL CHILTERN. [_With a little toss of the head_.] Of course I shan’tbring Tommy Trafford. Tommy Trafford is in great disgrace.

LORD GORING. I am delighted to hear it. [_Bows and goes out_.]

MABEL CHILTERN. Gertrude, I wish you would speak to Tommy Trafford.

LADY CHILTERN. What has poor Mr. Trafford done this time? Robert sayshe is the best secretary he has ever had.

MABEL CHILTERN. Well, Tommy has proposed to me again. Tommy really doesnothing but propose to me. He proposed to me last night in themusic-room, when I was quite unprotected, as there was an elaborate triogoing on. I didn’t dare to make the smallest repartee, I need hardlytell you. If I had, it would have stopped the music at once. Musicalpeople are so absurdly unreasonable. They always want one to beperfectly dumb at the very moment when one is longing to be absolutelydeaf. Then he proposed to me in broad daylight this morning, in front ofthat dreadful statue of Achilles. Really, the things that go on in frontof that work of art are quite appalling. The police should interfere.At luncheon I saw by the glare in his eye that he was going to proposeagain, and I just managed to check him in time by assuring him that I wasa bimetallist. Fortunately I don’t know what bimetallism means. And Idon’t believe anybody else does either. But the observation crushedTommy for ten minutes. He looked quite shocked. And then Tommy is soannoying in the way he proposes. If he proposed at the top of his voice,I should not mind so much. That might produce some effect on the public.But he does it in a horrid confidential way. When Tommy wants to beromantic he talks to one just like a doctor. I am very fond of Tommy,but his methods of proposing are quite out of date. I wish, Gertrude,you would speak to him, and tell him that once a week is quite oftenenough to propose to any one, and that it should always be done in amanner that attracts some attention.

LADY CHILTERN. Dear Mabel, don’t talk like that. Besides, Robert thinksvery highly of Mr. Trafford. He believes he has a brilliant futurebefore him.

MABEL CHILTERN. Oh! I wouldn’t marry a man with a future before him foranything under the sun.

LADY CHILTERN. Mabel!

MABEL CHILTERN. I know, dear. You married a man with a future, didn’tyou? But then Robert was a genius, and you have a noble,self-sacrificing character. You can stand geniuses. I have no characterat all, and Robert is the only genius I could ever bear. As a rule, Ithink they are quite impossible. Geniuses talk so much, don’t they?Such a bad habit! And they are always thinking about themselves, when Iwant them to be thinking about me. I must go round now and rehearse atLady Basildon’s. You remember, we are having tableaux, don’t you? TheTriumph of something, I don’t know what! I hope it will be triumph ofme. Only triumph I am really interested in at present. [_Kisses_ LADYCHILTERN _and goes out_; _then comes running back_.] Oh, Gertrude, doyou know who is coming to see you? That dreadful Mrs. Cheveley, in amost lovely gown. Did you ask her?

LADY CHILTERN. [_Rising_.] Mrs. Cheveley! Coming to see me?Impossible!

MABEL CHILTERN. I assure you she is coming upstairs, as large as lifeand not nearly so natural.

LADY CHILTERN. You need not wait, Mabel. Remember, Lady Basildon isexpecting you.

MABEL CHILTERN. Oh! I must shake hands with Lady Markby. She isdelightful. I love being scolded by her.

[_Enter_ MASON.]

MASON. Lady Markby. Mrs. Cheveley.

[_Enter_ LADY MARKBY _and_ MRS. CHEVELEY.]

LADY CHILTERN. [_Advancing to meet them_.] Dear Lady Markby, how niceof you to come and see me! [_Shakes hands with her_, _and bows somewhatdistantly to_ MRS. CHEVELEY.] Won’t you sit down, Mrs. Cheveley?

MRS. CHEVELEY. Thanks. Isn’t that Miss Chiltern? I should like so muchto know her.

LADY CHILTERN. Mabel, Mrs. Cheveley wishes to know you.

[MABEL CHILTERN _gives a little nod_.]

MRS. CHEVELEY [_Sitting down_.] I thought your frock so charming lastnight, Miss Chiltern. So simple and . . . suitable.

MABEL CHILTERN. Really? I must tell my dressmaker. It will be such asurprise to her. Good-bye, Lady Markby!

LADY MARKBY. Going already?

MABEL CHILTERN. I am so sorry but I am obliged to. I am just off torehearsal. I have got to stand on my head in some tableaux.

LADY MARKBY. On your head, child? Oh! I hope not. I believe it is mostunhealthy. [_Takes a seat on the sofa next_ LADY CHILTERN.]

MABEL CHILTERN. But it is for an excellent charity: in aid of theUndeserving, the only people I am really interested in. I am thesecretary, and Tommy Trafford is treasurer.

MRS. CHEVELEY. And what is Lord Goring?

MABEL CHILTERN. Oh! Lord Goring is president.

MRS. CHEVELEY. The post should suit him admirably, unless he hasdeteriorated since I knew him first.

LADY MARKBY. [_Reflecting_.] You are remarkably modern, Mabel. Alittle too modern, perhaps. Nothing is so dangerous as being too modern.One is apt to grow old-fashioned quite suddenly. I have known manyinstances of it.

MABEL CHILTERN. What a dreadful prospect!

LADY MARKBY. Ah! my dear, you need not be nervous. You will always beas pretty as possible. That is the best fashion there is, and the onlyfashion that England succeeds in setting.

MABEL CHILTERN. [_With a curtsey_.] Thank you so much, Lady Markby, forEngland . . . and myself. [_Goes out_.]

LADY MARKBY. [_Turning to_ LADY CHILTERN.] Dear Gertrude, we justcalled to know if Mrs. Cheveley’s diamond brooch has been found.

LADY CHILTERN. Here?

MRS. CHEVELEY. Yes. I missed it when I got back to Claridge’s, and Ithought I might possibly have dropped it here.

LADY CHILTERN. I have heard nothing about it. But I will send for thebutler and ask. [_Touches the bell_.]

MRS. CHEVELEY. Oh, pray don’t trouble, Lady Chiltern. I dare say I lostit at the Opera, before we came on here.

LADY MARKBY. Ah yes, I suppose it must have been at the Opera. The factis, we all scramble and jostle so much nowadays that I wonder we haveanything at all left on us at the end of an evening. I know myself that,when I am coming back from the Drawing Room, I always feel as if I hadn’ta shred on me, except a small shred of decent reputation, just enough toprevent the lower classes making painful observations through the windowsof the carriage. The fact is that our Society is terriblyover-populated. Really, some one should arrange a proper scheme ofassisted emigration. It would do a great deal of good.

MRS. CHEVELEY. I quite agree with you, Lady Markby. It is nearly sixyears since I have been in London for the Season, and I must say Societyhas become dreadfully mixed. One sees the oddest people everywhere.

LADY MARKBY. That is quite true, dear. But one needn’t know them. I’msure I don’t know half the people who come to my house. Indeed, from allI hear, I shouldn’t like to.

[_Enter_ MASON.]

LADY CHILTERN. What sort of a brooch was it that you lost, Mrs.Cheveley?

MRS. CHEVELEY. A diamond snake-brooch with a ruby, a rather large ruby.

LADY MARKBY. I thought you said there was a sapphire on the head, dear?

MRS. CHEVELEY [_Smiling_.] No, lady Markby—a ruby.

LADY MARKBY. [_Nodding her head_.] And very becoming, I am quite sure.

LADY CHILTERN. Has a ruby and diamond brooch been found in any of therooms this morning, Mason?

MASON. No, my lady.

MRS. CHEVELEY. It really is of no consequence, Lady Chiltern. I am sosorry to have put you to any inconvenience.

LADY CHILTERN. [_Coldly_.] Oh, it has been no inconvenience. That willdo, Mason. You can bring tea.

[_Exit_ MASON.]

LADY MARKBY. Well, I must say it is most annoying to lose anything. Iremember once at Bath, years ago, losing in the Pump Room an exceedinglyhandsome cameo bracelet that Sir John had given me. I don’t think he hasever given me anything since, I am sorry to say. He has sadlydegenerated. Really, this horrid House of Commons quite ruins ourhusbands for us. I think the Lower House by far the greatest blow to ahappy married life that there has been since that terrible thing calledthe Higher Education of Women was invented.

LADY CHILTERN. Ah! it is heresy to say that in this house, Lady Markby.Robert is a great champion of the Higher Education of Women, and so, I amafraid, am I.

MRS. CHEVELEY. The higher education of men is what I should like to see.Men need it so sadly.

LADY MARKBY. They do, dear. But I am afraid such a scheme would bequite unpractical. I don’t think man has much capacity for development.He has got as far as he can, and that is not far, is it? With regard towomen, well, dear Gertrude, you belong to the younger generation, and Iam sure it is all right if you approve of it. In my time, of course, wewere taught not to understand anything. That was the old system, andwonderfully interesting it was. I assure you that the amount of things Iand my poor dear sister were taught not to understand was quiteextraordinary. But modern women understand everything, I am told.

MRS. CHEVELEY. Except their husbands. That is the one thing the modernwoman never understands.

LADY MARKBY. And a very good thing too, dear, I dare say. It mightbreak up many a happy home if they did. Not yours, I need hardly say,Gertrude. You have married a pattern husband. I wish I could say asmuch for myself. But since Sir John has taken to attending the debatesregularly, which he never used to do in the good old days, his languagehas become quite impossible. He always seems to think that he isaddressing the House, and consequently whenever he discusses the state ofthe agricultural labourer, or the Welsh Church, or something quiteimproper of that kind, I am obliged to send all the servants out of theroom. It is not pleasant to see one’s own butler, who has been with onefor twenty-three years, actually blushing at the side-board, and thefootmen making contortions in corners like persons in circuses. I assureyou my life will be quite ruined unless they send John at once to theUpper House. He won’t take any interest in politics then, will he? TheHouse of Lords is so sensible. An assembly of gentlemen. But in hispresent state, Sir John is really a great trial. Why, this morningbefore breakfast was half over, he stood up on the hearthrug, put hishands in his pockets, and appealed to the country at the top of hisvoice. I left the table as soon as I had my second cup of tea, I needhardly say. But his violent language could be heard all over the house!I trust, Gertrude, that Sir Robert is not like that?

LADY CHILTERN. But I am very much interested in politics, Lady Markby.I love to hear Robert talk about them.

LADY MARKBY. Well, I hope he is not as devoted to Blue Books as Sir Johnis. I don’t think they can be quite improving reading for any one.

MRS. CHEVELEY [_Languidly_.] I have never read a Blue Book. I preferbooks . . . in yellow covers.

LADY MARKBY. [_Genially unconscious_.] Yellow is a gayer colour, is itnot? I used to wear yellow a good deal in my early days, and would do sonow if Sir John was not so painfully personal in his observations, and aman on the question of dress is always ridiculous, is he not?

MRS. CHEVELEY. Oh, no! I think men are the only authorities on dress.

LADY MARKBY. Really? One wouldn’t say so from the sort of hats theywear? would one?

[_The butler enters_, _followed by the footman_. _Tea is set on a smalltable close to_ LADY CHILTERN.]

LADY CHILTERN. May I give you some tea, Mrs. Cheveley?

MRS. CHEVELEY. Thanks. [_The butler hands_ MRS. CHEVELEY _a cup of teaon a salver_.]

LADY CHILTERN. Some tea, Lady Markby?

LADY MARKBY. No thanks, dear. [_The servants go out_.] The fact is, Ihave promised to go round for ten minutes to see poor Lady Brancaster,who is in very great trouble. Her daughter, quite a well-brought-upgirl, too, has actually become engaged to be married to a curate inShropshire. It is very sad, very sad indeed. I can’t understand thismodern mania for curates. In my time we girls saw them, of course,running about the place like rabbits. But we never took any notice ofthem, I need hardly say. But I am told that nowadays country society isquite honeycombed with them. I think it most irreligious. And then theeldest son has quarrelled with his father, and it is said that when theymeet at the club Lord Brancaster always hides himself behind the moneyarticle in _The Times_. However, I believe that is quite a commonoccurrence nowadays and that they have to take in extra copies of _TheTimes_ at all the clubs in St. James’s Street; there are so many sons whowon’t have anything to do with their fathers, and so many fathers whowon’t speak to their sons. I think myself, it is very much to beregretted.

MRS. CHEVELEY. So do I. Fathers have so much to learn from their sonsnowadays.

LADY MARKBY. Really, dear? What?

MRS. CHEVELEY. The art of living. The only really Fine Art we haveproduced in modern times.

LADY MARKBY. [_Shaking her head_.] Ah! I am afraid Lord Brancasterknew a good deal about that. More than his poor wife ever did.[_Turning to_ LADY CHILTERN.] You know Lady Brancaster, don’t you, dear?

LADY CHILTERN. Just slightly. She was staying at Langton last autumn,when we were there.

LADY MARKBY. Well, like all stout women, she looks the very picture ofhappiness, as no doubt you noticed. But there are many tragedies in herfamily, besides this affair of the curate. Her own sister, Mrs. Jekyll,had a most unhappy life; through no fault of her own, I am sorry to say.She ultimately was so broken-hearted that she went into a convent, or onto the operatic stage, I forget which. No; I think it was decorativeart-needlework she took up. I know she had lost all sense of pleasure inlife. [_Rising_.] And now, Gertrude, if you will allow me, I shallleave Mrs. Cheveley in your charge and call back for her in a quarter ofan hour. Or perhaps, dear Mrs. Cheveley, you wouldn’t mind waiting inthe carriage while I am with Lady Brancaster. As I intend it to be avisit of condolence, I shan’t stay long.

MRS. CHEVELEY [_Rising_.] I don’t mind waiting in the carriage at all,provided there is somebody to look at one.

LADY MARKBY. Well, I hear the curate is always prowling about the house.

MRS. CHEVELEY. I am afraid I am not fond of girl friends.

LADY CHILTERN [_Rising_.] Oh, I hope Mrs. Cheveley will stay here alittle. I should like to have a few minutes’ conversation with her.

MRS. CHEVELEY. How very kind of you, Lady Chiltern! Believe me, nothingwould give me greater pleasure.

LADY MARKBY. Ah! no doubt you both have many pleasant reminiscences ofyour schooldays to talk over together. Good-bye, dear Gertrude! Shall Isee you at Lady Bonar’s to-night? She has discovered a wonderful newgenius. He does . . . nothing at all, I believe. That is a greatcomfort, is it not?

LADY CHILTERN. Robert and I are dining at home by ourselves to-night,and I don’t think I shall go anywhere afterwards. Robert, of course,will have to be in the House. But there is nothing interesting on.

LADY MARKBY. Dining at home by yourselves? Is that quite prudent? Ah,I forgot, your husband is an exception. Mine is the general rule, andnothing ages a woman so rapidly as having married the general rule.[_Exit_ LADY MARKBY.]

MRS. CHEVELEY. Wonderful woman, Lady Markby, isn’t she? Talks more andsays less than anybody I ever met. She is made to be a public speaker.Much more so than her husband, though he is a typical Englishman, alwaysdull and usually violent.

LADY CHILTERN. [_Makes no answer_, _but remains standing_. _There is apause_. _Then the eyes of the two women meet_. LADY CHILTERN _looksstern and pale_. MRS. CHEVELEY _seem rather amused_.] Mrs. Cheveley, Ithink it is right to tell you quite frankly that, had I known who youreally were, I should not have invited you to my house last night.

MRS. CHEVELEY [_With an impertinent smile_.] Really?

LADY CHILTERN. I could not have done so.

MRS. CHEVELEY. I see that after all these years you have not changed abit, Gertrude.

LADY CHILTERN. I never change.

MRS. CHEVELEY [_Elevating her eyebrows_.] Then life has taught younothing?

LADY CHILTERN. It has taught me that a person who has once been guiltyof a dishonest and dishonourable action may be guilty of it a secondtime, and should be shunned.

MRS. CHEVELEY. Would you apply that rule to every one?

LADY CHILTERN. Yes, to every one, without exception.

MRS. CHEVELEY. Then I am sorry for you, Gertrude, very sorry for you.

LADY CHILTERN. You see now, I was sure, that for many reasons anyfurther acquaintance between us during your stay in London is quiteimpossible?

MRS. CHEVELEY [_Leaning back in her chair_.] Do you know, Gertrude, Idon’t mind your talking morality a bit. Morality is simply the attitudewe adopt towards people whom we personally dislike. You dislike me. Iam quite aware of that. And I have always detested you. And yet I havecome here to do you a service.

LADY CHILTERN. [_Contemptuously_.] Like the service you wished torender my husband last night, I suppose. Thank heaven, I saved him fromthat.

MRS. CHEVELEY. [_Starting to her feet_.] It was you who made him writethat insolent letter to me? It was you who made him break his promise?

LADY CHILTERN. Yes.

MRS. CHEVELEY. Then you must make him keep it. I give you tillto-morrow morning—no more. If by that time your husband does notsolemnly bind himself to help me in this great scheme in which I aminterested—

LADY CHILTERN. This fraudulent speculation—

MRS. CHEVELEY. Call it what you choose. I hold your husband in thehollow of my hand, and if you are wise you will make him do what I tellhim.

LADY CHILTERN. [_Rising and going towards her_.] You are impertinent.What has my husband to do with you? With a woman like you?

MRS. CHEVELEY [_With a bitter laugh_.] In this world like meets withlike. It is because your husband is himself fraudulent and dishonestthat we pair so well together. Between you and him there are chasms. Heand I are closer than friends. We are enemies linked together. The samesin binds us.

LADY CHILTERN. How dare you class my husband with yourself? How dareyou threaten him or me? Leave my house. You are unfit to enter it.

[SIR ROBERT CHILTERN _enters from behind_. _He hears his wife’s lastwords_, _and sees to whom they are addressed_. _He grows deadly pale_.]

MRS. CHEVELEY. Your house! A house bought with the price of dishonour.A house, everything in which has been paid for by fraud. [_Turns roundand sees_ SIR ROBERT CHILTERN.] Ask him what the origin of his fortuneis! Get him to tell you how he sold to a stockbroker a Cabinet secret.Learn from him to what you owe your position.

LADY CHILTERN. It is not true! Robert! It is not true!

MRS. CHEVELEY. [_Pointing at him with outstretched finger_.] Look athim! Can he deny it? Does he dare to?

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Go! Go at once. You have done your worst now.

MRS. CHEVELEY. My worst? I have not yet finished with you, with eitherof you. I give you both till to-morrow at noon. If by then you don’t dowhat I bid you to do, the whole world shall know the origin of RobertChiltern.

[SIR ROBERT CHILTERN _strikes the bell_. _Enter_ MASON.]

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Show Mrs. Cheveley out.

[MRS. CHEVELEY _starts_; _then bows with somewhat exaggerated politenessto_ LADY CHILTERN, _who makes no sign of response_. _As she passes by_SIR ROBERT CHILTERN, _who is standing close to the door_, _she pauses fora moment and looks him straight in the face_. _She then goes out_,_followed by the servant_, _who closes the door after him_. _The husbandand wife are left alone_. LADY CHILTERN _stands like some one in adreadful dream_. _Then she turns round and looks at her husband_. _Shelooks at him with strange eyes_, _as though she were seeing him for thefirst time_.]

LADY CHILTERN. You sold a Cabinet secret for money! You began your lifewith fraud! You built up your career on dishonour! Oh, tell me it isnot true! Lie to me! Lie to me! Tell me it is not true!

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. What this woman said is quite true. But, Gertrude,listen to me. You don’t realise how I was tempted. Let me tell you thewhole thing. [_Goes towards her_.]

LADY CHILTERN. Don’t come near me. Don’t touch me. I feel as if youhad soiled me for ever. Oh! what a mask you have been wearing all theseyears! A horrible painted mask! You sold yourself for money. Oh! acommon thief were better. You put yourself up to sale to the highestbidder! You were bought in the market. You lied to the whole world.And yet you will not lie to me.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [_Rushing towards her_.] Gertrude! Gertrude!

LADY CHILTERN. [_Thrusting him back with outstretched hands_.] No,don’t speak! Say nothing! Your voice wakes terrible memories—memoriesof things that made me love you—memories of words that made me loveyou—memories that now are horrible to me. And how I worshipped you! Youwere to me something apart from common life, a thing pure, noble, honest,without stain. The world seemed to me finer because you were in it, andgoodness more real because you lived. And now—oh, when I think that Imade of a man like you my ideal! the ideal of my life!

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. There was your mistake. There was your error. Theerror 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 knowingtheir weaknesses, their follies, their imperfections, love them all themore, it may be, for that reason. It is not the perfect, but theimperfect, who have need of love. It is when we are wounded by our ownhands, or by the hands of others, that love should come to cure us—elsewhat use is love at all? All sins, except a sin against itself, Loveshould forgive. All lives, save loveless lives, true Love should pardon.A man’s love is like that. It is wider, larger, more human than awoman’s. Women think that they are making ideals of men. What they aremaking of us are false idols merely. You made your false idol of me, andI had not the courage to come down, show you my wounds, tell you myweaknesses. I was afraid that I might lose your love, as I have lost itnow. And so, last night you ruined my life for me—yes, ruined it! Whatthis 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 hadthought was buried, rose up in front of me, hideous, horrible, with itshands at my throat. I could have killed it for ever, sent it back intoits tomb, destroyed its record, burned the one witness against me. Youprevented me. No one but you, you know it. And now what is there beforeme but public disgrace, ruin, terrible shame, the mockery of the world, alonely 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 andbow before them, or they may ruin other lives as completely as you—youwhom I have so wildly loved—have ruined mine!

[_He passes from the room_. LADY CHILTERN _rushes towards him_, _but thedoor 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_. _Hersobs are like the sobs of a child_.]

ACT DROP