An ideal husband
_Then she flings herself down beside a sofa and buries her face_. _Her
sobs are like the sobs of a child_.]
ACT DROP.
THIRD ACT
SCENE
_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!
PHIPPS. His lordship told me to ask you, madam, to be kind enough to
wait in the drawing-room for him. His lordship will come to you there.
MRS. CHEVELEY. [_With a look of surprise_.] Lord Goring expects me?
PHIPPS. Yes, madam.
MRS. CHEVELEY. Are you quite sure?
PHIPPS. His lordship told me that if a lady called I was to ask her to
wait in the drawing-room. [_Goes to the door of the drawing-room and
opens it_.] His lordship’s directions on the subject were very precise.
MRS. CHEVELEY. [_To herself_] How thoughtful of him! To expect the
unexpected shows a thoroughly modern intellect. [_Goes towards the
drawing-room and looks in_.] Ugh! How dreary a bachelor’s drawing-room
always looks. I shall have to alter all this. [PHIPPS _brings the lamp
from the writing-table_.] No, I don’t care for that lamp. It is far too
glaring. Light some candles.
PHIPPS. [_Replaces lamp_.] Certainly, madam.
MRS. CHEVELEY. I hope the candles have very becoming shades.