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An Ideal Husband

Oscar Wilde

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN.  You think science cannot grapple with the
problem of women?

MRS. CHEVELEY.  Science can never grapple with the irrational.  That
is why it has no future before it, in this world.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN.  And women represent the irrational.

MRS. CHEVELEY.  Well-dressed women do.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN.  [With a polite bow.]  I fear I could hardly
agree with you there.  But do sit down.  And now tell me, what makes
you leave your brilliant Vienna for our gloomy London - or perhaps
the question is indiscreet?

MRS. CHEVELEY.  Questions are never indiscreet.  Answers sometimes
are.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN.  Well, at any rate, may I know if it is politics
or pleasure?

MRS. CHEVELEY.  Politics are my only pleasure.  You see nowadays it
is not fashionable to flirt till one is forty, or to be romantic till
one is forty-five, so we poor women who are under thirty, or say we
are, have nothing open to us but politics or philanthropy.  And
philanthropy seems to me to have become simply the refuge of people
who wish to annoy their fellow-creatures.  I prefer politics.  I
think they are more . . . becoming!

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN.  A political life is a noble career!

MRS. CHEVELEY.  Sometimes.  And sometimes it is a clever game, Sir
Robert.  And sometimes it is a great nuisance.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN.  Which do you find it?

MRS. CHEVELEY.  I?  A combination of all three.  [Drops her fan.]

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN.  [Picks up fan.]  Allow me!

MRS. CHEVELEY.  Thanks.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN.  But you have not told me yet what makes you
honour London so suddenly.  Our season is almost over.

MRS. CHEVELEY.  Oh! I don't care about the London season!  It is too
matrimonial.  People are either hunting for husbands, or hiding from
them.  I wanted to meet you.  It is quite true.  You know what a
woman's curiosity is.  Almost as great as a man's!  I wanted
immensely to meet you, and . . . to ask you to do something for me.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN.  I hope it is not a little thing, Mrs. Cheveley.
I find that little things are so very difficult to do.

MRS. CHEVELEY.  [After a moment's reflection.]  No, I don't think it
is quite a little thing.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN.  I am so glad.  Do tell me what it is.

MRS. CHEVELEY.  Later on.  [Rises.]  And now may I walk through your
beautiful house?  I hear your pictures are charming.  Poor Baron
Arnheim - you remember the Baron? - used to tell me you had some
wonderful Corots.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN.  [With an almost imperceptible start.]  Did you
know Baron Arnheim well?

MRS. CHEVELEY.  [Smiling.]  Intimately.  Did you?

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN.  At one time.

MRS. CHEVELEY.  Wonderful man, wasn't he?

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN.  [After a pause.]  He was very remarkable, in
many ways.

MRS. CHEVELEY.  I often think it such a pity he never wrote his
memoirs.  They would have been most interesting.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN.  Yes:  he knew men and cities well, like the old
Greek.

MRS. CHEVELEY.  Without the dreadful disadvantage of having a
Penelope waiting at home for him.

MASON.  Lord Goring.

[Enter LORD GORING.  Thirty-four, but always says he is younger.  A
well-bred, expressionless face.  He is clever, but would not like to
be thought so.  A flawless dandy, he would be annoyed if he were
considered romantic.  He plays with life, and is on perfectly good
terms with the world.  He is fond of being misunderstood.  It gives
him a post of vantage.]

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN.  Good evening, my dear Arthur!  Mrs. Cheveley,
allow me to introduce to you Lord Goring, the idlest man in London.

MRS. CHEVELEY.  I have met Lord Goring before.

LORD GORING.  [Bowing.]  I did not think you would remember me, Mrs.
Cheveley.

MRS. CHEVELEY.  My memory is under admirable control.  And are you
still a bachelor?

LORD GORING.  I . . . believe so.

MRS. CHEVELEY.  How very romantic!

LORD GORING.  Oh!  I am not at all romantic.  I am not old enough.  I
leave romance to my seniors.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN.  Lord Goring is the result of Boodle's Club,
Mrs. Cheveley.

MRS. CHEVELEY.  He reflects every credit on the institution.

LORD GORING.  May I ask are you staying in London long?

MRS. CHEVELEY.  That depends partly on the weather, partly on the
cooking, and partly on Sir Robert.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN.  You are not going to plunge us into a European
war, I hope?

MRS. CHEVELEY.  There is no danger, at present!

[She nods to LORD GORING, with a look of amusement in her eyes, and
goes out with SIR ROBERT CHILTERN.  LORD GORING saunters over to
MABEL CHILTERN.]

MABEL CHILTERN.  You are very late!

LORD GORING.  Have you missed me?

MABEL CHILTERN.  Awfully!

LORD GORING.  Then I am sorry I did not stay away longer.  I like
being missed.

MABEL CHILTERN.  How very selfish of you!

LORD GORING.  I am very selfish.

MABEL CHILTERN.  You are always telling me of your bad qualities,
Lord Goring.

LORD GORING.  I have only told you half of them as yet, Miss Mabel!

MABEL CHILTERN.  Are the others very bad?

LORD GORING.  Quite dreadful!  When I think of them at night I go to
sleep at once.

MABEL CHILTERN.  Well, I delight in your bad qualities.  I wouldn't
have you part with one of them.

LORD GORING.  How very nice of you!  But then you are always nice.
By the way, I want to ask you a question, Miss Mabel.  Who brought
Mrs. Cheveley here?  That woman in heliotrope, who has just gone out
of the room with your brother?

MABEL CHILTERN.  Oh, I think Lady Markby brought her.  Why do you
ask?

LORD GORING.  I haven't seen her for years, that is all.

MABEL CHILTERN.  What an absurd reason!

LORD GORING.  All reasons are absurd.

MABEL CHILTERN.  What sort of a woman is she?

LORD GORING.  Oh! a genius in the daytime and a beauty at night!

MABEL CHILTERN.  I dislike her already.

LORD GORING.  That shows your admirable good taste.

VICOMTE DE NANJAC.  [Approaching.]  Ah, the English young lady is the
dragon of good taste, is she not?  Quite the dragon of good taste.

LORD GORING.  So the newspapers are always telling us.

VICOMTE DE NANJAC.  I read all your English newspapers.  I find them
so amusing.

LORD GORING.  Then, my dear Nanjac, you must certainly read between
the lines.

VICOMTE DE NANJAC.  I should like to, but my professor objects.  [To
MABEL CHILTERN.]  May I have the pleasure of escorting you to the
music-room, Mademoiselle?

MABEL CHILTERN.  [Looking very disappointed.]  Delighted, Vicomte,
quite delighted!  [Turning to LORD GORING.]  Aren't you coming to the
music-room?

LORD GORING.  Not if there is any music going on, Miss Mabel.

MABEL CHILTERN.  [Severely.]  The music is in German.  You would not
understand it.

[Goes out with the VICOMTE DE NANJAC.  LORD CAVERSHAM comes up to his
son.]

LORD CAVERSHAM.  Well, sir! what are you doing here?  Wasting your
life as usual!  You should be in bed, sir.  You keep too late hours!
I heard of you the other night at Lady Rufford's dancing till four
o'clock in the morning!

LORD GORING.  Only a quarter to four, father.

LORD CAVERSHAM.  Can't make out how you stand London Society.  The
thing has gone to the dogs, a lot of damned nobodies talking about
nothing.

LORD GORING.  I love talking about nothing, father.  It is the only
thing I know anything about.

LORD CAVERSHAM.  You seem to me to be living entirely for pleasure.

LORD GORING.  What else is there to live for, father?  Nothing ages
like happiness.

LORD CAVERSHAM.  You are heartless, sir, very heartless!

LORD GORING.  I hope not, father.  Good evening, Lady Basildon!

LADY BASILDON.  [Arching two pretty eyebrows.]  Are you here?  I had
no idea you ever came to political parties!

LORD GORING.  I adore political parties.  They are the only place
left to us where people don't talk politics.

LADY BASILDON.  I delight in talking politics.  I talk them all day
long.  But I can't bear listening to them.  I don't know how the
unfortunate men in the House stand these long debates.

LORD GORING.  By never listening.

LADY BASILDON.  Really?

LORD GORING.  [In his most serious manner.]  Of course.  You see, it
is a very dangerous thing to listen.  If one listens one may be
convinced; and a man who allows himself to be convinced by an
argument is a thoroughly unreasonable person.

LADY BASILDON.  Ah! that accounts for so much in men that I have
never understood, and so much in women that their husbands never
appreciate in them!

MRS. MARCHMONT.  [With a sigh.]  Our husbands never appreciate
anything in us.  We have to go to others for that!

LADY BASILDON.  [Emphatically.]  Yes, always to others, have we not?

LORD GORING.  [Smiling.]  And those are the views of the two ladies
who are known to have the most admirable husbands in London.

MRS. MARCHMONT.  That is exactly what we can't stand.  My Reginald is
quite hopelessly faultless.  He is really unendurably so, at times!
There is not the smallest element of excitement in knowing him.

LORD GORING.  How terrible!  Really, the thing should be more widely
known!

LADY BASILDON.  Basildon is quite as bad; he is as domestic as if he
was a bachelor.

MRS. MARCHMONT.  [Pressing LADY BASILDON'S hand.]  My poor Olivia!
We have married perfect husbands, and we are well punished for it.

LORD GORING.  I should have thought it was the husbands who were
punished.

MRS. MARCHMONT.  [Drawing herself up.]  Oh, dear no!  They are as
happy as possible!  And as for trusting us, it is tragic how much
they trust us.

LADY BASILDON.  Perfectly tragic!

LORD GORING.  Or comic, Lady Basildon?

LADY BASILDON.  Certainly not comic, Lord Goring.  How unkind of you
to suggest such a thing!

MRS. MARCHMONT.  I am afraid Lord Goring is in the camp of the enemy,
as usual.  I saw him talking to that Mrs. Cheveley when he came in.

LORD GORING.  Handsome woman, Mrs. Cheveley!

LADY BASILDON.  [Stiffly.]  Please don't praise other women in our
presence.  You might wait for us to do that!

LORD GORING.  I did wait.

MRS. MARCHMONT.  Well, we are not going to praise her.  I hear she
went to the Opera on Monday night, and told Tommy Rufford at supper
that, as far as she could see, London Society was entirely made up of
dowdies and dandies.

LORD GORING.  She is quite right, too.  The men are all dowdies and
the women are all dandies, aren't they?

MRS. MARCHMONT.  [After a pause.]  Oh! do you really think that is
what Mrs. Cheveley meant?

LORD GORING.  Of course.  And a very sensible remark for Mrs.
Cheveley to make, too.

[Enter MABEL CHILTERN.  She joins the group.]

MABEL CHILTERN.  Why are you talking about Mrs. Cheveley?  Everybody
is talking about Mrs. Cheveley!  Lord Goring says - what did you say,
Lord Goring, about Mrs. Cheveley?  Oh!  I remember, that she was a
genius in the daytime and a beauty at night.

LADY BASILDON.  What a horrid combination!  So very unnatural!

MRS. MARCHMONT.  [In her most dreamy manner.]  I like looking at
geniuses, and listening to beautiful people.

LORD GORING.  Ah! that is morbid of you, Mrs. Marchmont!

MRS. MARCHMONT.  [Brightening to a look of real pleasure.]  I am so
glad to hear you say that.  Marchmont and I have been married for
seven years, and he has never once told me that I was morbid.  Men
are so painfully unobservant!

LADY BASILDON.  [Turning to her.]  I have always said, dear Margaret,
that you were the most morbid person in London.

MRS. MARCHMONT.  Ah! but you are always sympathetic, Olivia!

MABEL CHILTERN.  Is it morbid to have a desire for food?  I have a
great desire for food.  Lord Goring, will you give me some supper?

LORD GORING.  With pleasure, Miss Mabel.  [Moves away with her.]

MABEL CHILTERN.  How horrid you have been!  You have never talked to
me the whole evening!

LORD GORING.  How could I?  You went away with the child-diplomatist.

MABEL CHILTERN.  You might have followed us.  Pursuit would have been
only polite.  I don't think I like you at all this evening!

LORD GORING.  I like you immensely.

MABEL CHILTERN.  Well, I wish you'd show it in a more marked way!
[They go downstairs.]
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