An ideal husband
the day, and I acted on it. Private information is practically the
source of every large modern fortune.
LORD GORING. [_Tapping his boot with his cane_.] And public scandal
invariably the result.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [_Pacing up and down the room_.] Arthur, do you
think that what I did nearly eighteen years ago should be brought up
against me now? Do you think it fair that a man’s whole career should be
ruined for a fault done in one’s boyhood almost? I was twenty-two at the
time, and I had the double misfortune of being well-born and poor, two
unforgiveable things nowadays. Is it fair that the folly, the sin of
one’s youth, if men choose to call it a sin, should wreck a life like
mine, should place me in the pillory, should shatter all that I have
worked for, all that I have built up. Is it fair, Arthur?
LORD GORING. Life is never fair, Robert. And perhaps it is a good thing
for most of us that it is not.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Every man of ambition has to fight his century with
its own weapons. What this century worships is wealth. The God of this
century is wealth. To succeed one must have wealth. At all costs one
must have wealth.
LORD GORING. You underrate yourself, Robert. Believe me, without wealth
you could have succeeded just as well.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. When I was old, perhaps. When I had lost my
passion 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 time
for success. I couldn’t wait.
LORD GORING. Well, you certainly have had your success while you are
still young. No one in our day has had such a brilliant success.
Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs at the age of forty—that’s good
enough for any one, I should think.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. And if it is all taken away from me now? If I lose
everything 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. I
bought 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 refined
intellect. A man of culture, charm, and distinction. One of the most
intellectual men I ever met.
LORD GORING. Ah! I prefer a gentlemanly fool any day. There is more to
be said for stupidity than people imagine. Personally I have a great
admiration 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 the
writing-table_.] One night after dinner at Lord Radley’s the Baron began
talking about success in modern life as something that one could reduce
to an absolutely definite science. With that wonderfully fascinating
quiet voice of his he expounded to us the most terrible of all
philosophies, the philosophy of power, preached to us the most marvellous
of all gospels, the gospel of gold. I think he saw the effect he had
produced on me, for some days afterwards he wrote and asked me to come
and see him. He was living then in Park Lane, in the house Lord Woolcomb
has now. I remember so well how, with a strange smile on his pale,
curved lips, he led me through his wonderful picture gallery, showed me
his tapestries, his enamels, his jewels, his carved ivories, made me
wonder at the strange loveliness of the luxury in which he lived; and
then told me that luxury was nothing but a background, a painted scene in
a play, and that power, power over other men, power over the world, was
the one thing worth having, the one supreme pleasure worth knowing, the
one joy one never tired of, and that in our century only the rich
possessed it.
LORD GORING. [_With great deliberation_.] A thoroughly shallow creed.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [_Rising_.] I didn’t think so then. I don’t think
so now. Wealth has given me enormous power. It gave me at the very
outset of my life freedom, and freedom is everything. You have never
been poor, and never known what ambition is. You cannot understand what
a 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. But
tell me definitely, how did the Baron finally persuade you to—well, to do
what you did?
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. When I was going away he said to me that if I ever
could give him any private information of real value he would make me a
very rich man. I was dazed at the prospect he held out to me, and my
ambition and my desire for power were at that time boundless. Six weeks
later certain private documents passed through my hands.
LORD GORING. [_Keeping his eyes steadily fixed on the carpet_.] State
documents?
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Yes. [LORD GORING _sighs_, _then passes his hand
across his forehead and looks up_.]
LORD GORING. I had no idea that you, of all men in the world, could have
been so weak, Robert, as to yield to such a temptation as Baron Arnheim
held out to you.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Weak? Oh, I am sick of hearing that phrase. Sick
of using it about others. Weak? Do you really think, Arthur, that it is
weakness that yields to temptation? I tell you that there are terrible
temptations that it requires strength, strength and courage, to yield to.
To stake all one’s life on a single moment, to risk everything on one
throw, whether the stake be power or pleasure, I care not—there is no
weakness in that. There is a horrible, a terrible courage. I had that
courage. I sat down the same afternoon and wrote Baron Arnheim the
letter this woman now holds. He made three-quarters of a million over
the 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, power
over others. I went into the House immediately. The Baron advised me in
finance from time to time. Before five years I had almost trebled my
fortune. Since then everything that I have touched has turned out a
success. In all things connected with money I have had a luck so
extraordinary that sometimes it has made me almost afraid. I remember
having read somewhere, in some strange book, that when the gods wish to
punish us they answer our prayers.
LORD GORING. But tell me, Robert, did you never suffer any regret for
what you had done?
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. No. I felt that I had fought the century with its
own weapons, and won.
LORD GORING. [_Sadly_.] You thought you had won.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. I thought so. [_After a long pause_.] Arthur, do
you despise me for what I have told you?
LORD GORING. [_With deep feeling in his voice_.] I am very sorry for
you, 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 have
paid conscience money many times. I had a wild hope that I might disarm
destiny. The sum Baron Arnheim gave me I have distributed twice over in
public charities since then.
LORD GORING. [_Looking up_.] In public charities? Dear me! what a lot
of 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 I
shouldn’t say. In fact, I usually say what I really think. A great
mistake nowadays. It makes one so liable to be misunderstood. As
regards 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 be
done? What can be done?
LORD GORING. [_Leaning back with his hands in his pockets_.] Well, the
English can’t stand a man who is always saying he is in the right, but
they are very fond of a man who admits that he has been in the wrong. It
is one of the best things in them. However, in your case, Robert, a
confession 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 whole
affair, you would never be able to talk morality again. And in England a
man who can’t talk morality twice a week to a large, popular, immoral
audience is quite over as a serious politician. There would be nothing
left for him as a profession except Botany or the Church. A confession
would be of no use. It would ruin you.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. It would ruin me. Arthur, the only thing for me to
do now is to fight the thing out.
LORD GORING. [_Rising from his chair_.] I was waiting for you to say
that, Robert. It is the only thing to do now. And you must begin by
telling 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 myself
against 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 to
be married to her once, when I was staying at the Tenbys’. The affair
lasted 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 confoundedly
fond 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. I
never knew what terror was before. I know it now. It is as if a hand of
ice were laid upon one’s heart. It is as if one’s heart were beating
itself to death in some empty hollow.
LORD GORING. [_Striking the table_.] Robert, you must fight her. You
must fight her.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. But how?
LORD GORING. I can’t tell you how at present. I have not the smallest
idea. But every one has some weak point. There is some flaw in each one
of 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’t
know.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. In defending myself against Mrs. Cheveley, I have a
right to use any weapon I can find, have I not?
LORD GORING. [_Still looking in the glass_.] In your place I don’t
think I should have the smallest scruple in doing so. She is thoroughly
well able to take care of herself.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [_Sits down at the table and takes a pen in his
hand_.] Well, I shall send a cipher telegram to the Embassy at Vienna,
to inquire if there is anything known against her. There may be some
secret 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 new
scandal as becoming as a new bonnet, and air them both in the Park every
afternoon at five-thirty. I am sure she adores scandals, and that the
sorrow of her life at present is that she can’t manage to have enough of
them.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [_Writing_.] Why do you say that?
LORD GORING. [_Turning round_.] Well, she wore far too much rouge last