Lady Windermere's Fan
to-night. I suppose he is afraid of her. Those straw-coloured women
have dreadful tempers. Do you know, I think I’ll dance with you first,
Windermere. [LORD WINDERMERE _bites his lip and frowns_.] It will make
Lord Augustus so jealous! Lord Augustus! [LORD AUGUSTUS _comes down_.]
Lord Windermere insists on my dancing with him first, and, as it’s his
own house, I can’t well refuse. You know I would much sooner dance with
you.
LORD AUGUSTUS. [_With a low bow_.] I wish I could think so, Mrs.
Erlynne.
MRS. ERLYNNE. You know it far too well. I can fancy a person dancing
through life with you and finding it charming.
LORD AUGUSTUS. [_Placing his hand on his white waistcoat_.] Oh, thank
you, thank you. You are the most adorable of all ladies!
MRS. ERLYNNE. What a nice speech! So simple and so sincere! Just the
sort of speech I like. Well, you shall hold my bouquet. [_Goes towards
ball-room on_ LORD WINDERMERE’S _arm_.] Ah, Mr. Dumby, how are you? I
am so sorry I have been out the last three times you have called. Come
and lunch on Friday.
DUMBY. [_With perfect nonchalance_.] Delighted!
[LADY PLYMDALE _glares with indignation at_ MR. DUMBY. LORD AUGUSTUS
_follows_ MRS. ERLYNNE _and_ LORD WINDERMERE _into the ball-room holding
bouquet_.]
LADY PLYMDALE. [_To_ MR. DUMBY.] What an absolute brute you are! I
never can believe a word you say! Why did you tell me you didn’t know
her? What do you mean by calling on her three times running? You are
not to go to lunch there; of course you understand that?
DUMBY. My dear Laura, I wouldn’t dream of going!
LADY PLYMDALE. You haven’t told me her name yet! Who is she?
DUMBY. [_Coughs slightly and smooths his hair_.] She’s a Mrs. Erlynne.
LADY PLYMDALE. That woman!
DUMBY. Yes; that is what every one calls her.
LADY PLYMDALE. How very interesting! How intensely interesting! I
really must have a good stare at her. [_Goes to door of ball-room and
looks in_.] I have heard the most shocking things about her. They say
she is ruining poor Windermere. And Lady Windermere, who goes in for
being so proper, invites her! How extremely amusing! It takes a
thoroughly good woman to do a thoroughly stupid thing. You are to lunch
there on Friday!
DUMBY. Why?
LADY PLYMDALE. Because I want you to take my husband with you. He has
been so attentive lately, that he has become a perfect nuisance. Now,
this woman is just the thing for him. He’ll dance attendance upon her as
long as she lets him, and won’t bother me. I assure you, women of that
kind are most useful. They form the basis of other people’s marriages.
DUMBY. What a mystery you are!
LADY PLYMDALE. [_Looking at him_.] I wish _you_ were!
DUMBY. I am—to myself. I am the only person in the world I should like
to know thoroughly; but I don’t see any chance of it just at present.
[_They pass into the ball-room_, _and_ LADY WINDERMERE _and_ LORD
DARLINGTON _enter from the terrace_.]
LADY WINDERMERE. Yes. Her coming here is monstrous, unbearable. I know
now what you meant to-day at tea-time. Why didn’t you tell me right out?
You should have!
LORD DARLINGTON. I couldn’t! A man can’t tell these things about
another man! But if I had known he was going to make you ask her here
to-night, I think I would have told you. That insult, at any rate, you
would have been spared.
LADY WINDERMERE. I did not ask her. He insisted on her coming—against
my entreaties—against my commands. Oh! the house is tainted for me! I
feel that every woman here sneers at me as she dances by with my husband.
What have I done to deserve this? I gave him all my life. He took
it—used it—spoiled it! I am degraded in my own eyes; and I lack
courage—I am a coward! [_Sits down on sofa_.]
LORD DARLINGTON. If I know you at all, I know that you can’t live with a
man who treats you like this! What sort of life would you have with him?
You would feel that he was lying to you every moment of the day. You
would feel that the look in his eyes was false, his voice false, his
touch false, his passion false. He would come to you when he was weary
of others; you would have to comfort him. He would come to you when he
was devoted to others; you would have to charm him. You would have to be
to him the mask of his real life, the cloak to hide his secret.
LADY WINDERMERE. You are right—you are terribly right. But where am I
to turn? You said you would be my friend, Lord Darlington.—Tell me, what
am I to do? Be my friend now.
LORD DARLINGTON. Between men and women there is no friendship possible.
There is passion, enmity, worship, love, but no friendship. I love you—
LADY WINDERMERE. No, no! [_Rises_.]
LORD DARLINGTON. Yes, I love you! You are more to me than anything in
the whole world. What does your husband give you? Nothing. Whatever is
in him he gives to this wretched woman, whom he has thrust into your
society, into your home, to shame you before every one. I offer you my
life—
LADY WINDERMERE. Lord Darlington!
LORD DARLINGTON. My life—my whole life. Take it, and do with it what
you will. . . . I love you—love you as I have never loved any living
thing. From the moment I met you I loved you, loved you blindly,
adoringly, madly! You did not know it then—you know it now! Leave this
house to-night. I won’t tell you that the world matters nothing, or the
world’s voice, or the voice of society. They matter a great deal. They
matter far too much. But there are moments when one has to choose
between living one’s own life, fully, entirely, completely—or dragging
out some false, shallow, degrading existence that the world in its
hypocrisy demands. You have that moment now. Choose! Oh, my love,
choose.
LADY WINDERMERE. [_Moving slowly away from him_, _and looking at him
with startled eyes_.] I have not the courage.
LORD DARLINGTON. [_Following her_.] Yes; you have the courage. There
may be six months of pain, of disgrace even, but when you no longer bear
his name, when you bear mine, all will be well. Margaret, my love, my
wife that shall be some day—yes, my wife! You know it! What are you
now? This woman has the place that belongs by right to you. Oh! go—go
out of this house, with head erect, with a smile upon your lips, with
courage in your eyes. All London will know why you did it; and who will
blame you? No one. If they do, what matter? Wrong? What is wrong?
It’s wrong for a man to abandon his wife for a shameless woman. It is
wrong for a wife to remain with a man who so dishonours her. You said
once you would make no compromise with things. Make none now. Be brave!
Be yourself!
LADY WINDERMERE. I am afraid of being myself. Let me think! Let me
wait! My husband may return to me. [_Sits down on sofa_.]
LORD DARLINGTON. And you would take him back! You are not what I
thought you were. You are just the same as every other woman. You would
stand anything rather than face the censure of a world, whose praise you
would despise. In a week you will be driving with this woman in the
Park. She will be your constant guest—your dearest friend. You would
endure anything rather than break with one blow this monstrous tie. You
are right. You have no courage; none!
LADY WINDERMERE. Ah, give me time to think. I cannot answer you now.
[_Passes her hand nervously over her brow_.]
LORD DARLINGTON. It must be now or not at all.
LADY WINDERMERE. [_Rising from the sofa_.] Then, not at all! [_A
pause_.]
LORD DARLINGTON. You break my heart!
LADY WINDERMERE. Mine is already broken. [_A pause_.]
LORD DARLINGTON. To-morrow I leave England. This is the last time I
shall ever look on you. You will never see me again. For one moment our
lives met—our souls touched. They must never meet or touch again.
Good-bye, Margaret. [_Exit_.]
LADY WINDERMERE. How alone I am in life! How terribly alone!
[_The music stops_. _Enter the_ DUCHESS OF BERWICK _and_ LORD PAISLEY
_laughing and talking_. _Other guests come on from ball-room_.]
DUCHESS OF BERWICK. Dear Margaret, I’ve just been having such a
delightful chat with Mrs. Erlynne. I am so sorry for what I said to you
this afternoon about her. Of course, she must be all right if _you_
invite her. A most attractive woman, and has such sensible views on
life. Told me she entirely disapproved of people marrying more than
once, so I feel quite safe about poor Augustus. Can’t imagine why people
speak against her. It’s those horrid nieces of mine—the Saville
girls—they’re always talking scandal. Still, I should go to Homburg,
dear, I really should. She is just a little too attractive. But where
is Agatha? Oh, there she is: [LADY AGATHA _and_ MR. HOPPER _enter from
terrace L.U.E._] Mr. Hopper, I am very, very angry with you. You have
taken Agatha out on the terrace, and she is so delicate.
HOPPER. Awfully sorry, Duchess. We went out for a moment and then got
chatting together.
DUCHESS OF BERWICK. [_C._] Ah, about dear Australia, I suppose?
HOPPER. Yes!
DUCHESS OF BERWICK. Agatha, darling! [_Beckons her over_.]
LADY AGATHA. Yes, mamma!
DUCHESS OF BERWICK. [_Aside_.] Did Mr. Hopper definitely—
LADY AGATHA. Yes, mamma.
DUCHESS OF BERWICK. And what answer did you give him, dear child?
LADY AGATHA. Yes, mamma.
DUCHESS OF BERWICK. [_Affectionately_.] My dear one! You always say
the right thing. Mr. Hopper! James! Agatha has told me everything.
How cleverly you have both kept your secret.
HOPPER. You don’t mind my taking Agatha off to Australia, then, Duchess?
DUCHESS OF BERWICK. [_Indignantly_.] To Australia? Oh, don’t mention
that dreadful vulgar place.
HOPPER. But she said she’d like to come with me.
DUCHESS OF BERWICK. [_Severely_.] Did you say that, Agatha?
LADY AGATHA. Yes, mamma.
DUCHESS OF BERWICK. Agatha, you say the most silly things possible. I
think on the whole that Grosvenor Square would be a more healthy place to
reside in. There are lots of vulgar people live in Grosvenor Square, but
at any rate there are no horrid kangaroos crawling about. But we’ll talk
about that to-morrow. James, you can take Agatha down. You’ll come to
lunch, of course, James. At half-past one, instead of two. The Duke
will wish to say a few words to you, I am sure.
HOPPER. I should like to have a chat with the Duke, Duchess. He has not
said a single word to me yet.
DUCHESS OF BERWICK. I think you’ll find he will have a great deal to say
to you to-morrow. [_Exit_ LADY AGATHA _with_ MR. HOPPER.] And now
good-night, Margaret. I’m afraid it’s the old, old story, dear.
Love—well, not love at first sight, but love at the end of the season,
which is so much more satisfactory.
LADY WINDERMERE. Good-night, Duchess.
[_Exit the_ DUCHESS OF BERWICK _on_ LORD PAISLEY’S _arm_.]
LADY PLYMDALE. My dear Margaret, what a handsome woman your husband has
been dancing with! I should be quite jealous if I were you! Is she a
great friend of yours?
LADY WINDERMERE. No!
LADY PLYMDALE. Really? Good-night, dear. [_Looks at_ MR. DUMBY _and
exit_.]
DUMBY. Awful manners young Hopper has!
CECIL GRAHAM. Ah! Hopper is one of Nature’s gentlemen, the worst type
of gentleman I know.
DUMBY. Sensible woman, Lady Windermere. Lots of wives would have
objected to Mrs. Erlynne coming. But Lady Windermere has that uncommon
thing called common sense.
CECIL GRAHAM. And Windermere knows that nothing looks so like innocence
as an indiscretion.
DUMBY. Yes; dear Windermere is becoming almost modern. Never thought he
would. [_Bows to_ LADY WINDERMERE _and exit_.]
LADY JEDBURGH. Good night, Lady Windermere. What a fascinating woman