The Importance of Being Earnest Page #10

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that Algernon...

has nothing but his debts

to depend upon?

But I do not approve

of mercenary marriages.

When I married Lord Bracknell,

I had no fortune of any kind,

but I never dreamed

of allowing that to stand in my way.

Well, I suppose

I must give my consent.

- Thank you, Aunt Augusta.

- Cecily, you may kiss me.

Thank you, Lady Bracknell.

And you may address me

as Aunt Augusta for the future.

Thank you, Aunt Augusta.

The marriage, I think,

had better take place quite soon.

Thank you, Aunt Augusta.

To speak frankly,

I am not in favor of long engagements.

They give people an opportunity...

of finding out each other's characters

before marriage,

which I think is never advisable.

I beg your pardon

for interrupting you, Lady Bracknell,

but this engagement

is quite out of the question.

I am Miss Cardew's guardian,

and she cannot marry without my consent

until she comes of age.

That consent

I absolutely decline to give.

Upon what grounds, may I ask?

Algernon is an extremely...

one might almost say ostentatiously...

eligible young man.

He has nothing and looks everything.

What more could one desire?

It pains me very much

to have to speak frankly to you,

Lady Bracknell, about your nephew,

but the fact is that I do not

approve at all of his moral character.

- I suspect him of being untruthful.

- Untruthful?

My nephew Algernon, untruthful?

Impossible.

He was at Oxford.

I fear there can be

no possible doubt about the matter.

This afternoon, during

my temporary absence in London...

on an important question

of... romance,

he obtained admission to my house...

by means of the false pretense

of being my brother.

Under an assumed name, he drank,

I have just been informed by my butler,

an entire pint bottle

of Perrier-Jouet, Brut '89,

a wine that I was specially

reserving for myself.

Continuing his disgraceful deception,

he succeeded, during the course

of the afternoon,

in alienating the affections

of my only ward.

He subsequently stayed to tea

and devoured every single muffin,

and what makes his conduct

all the more heartless

is that he was perfectly well aware...

from the first that I have no brother,

that I never had a brother...

and I don't intend to

have a brother... not even of any kind.

Mm-hmm!

Mr. Worthing,

after careful consideration,

I have decided entirely to overlook

my nephew's conduct towards you.

That is very generous of you,

Lady Bracknell.

My own decision, however,

is unalterable.

I decline to give my consent.

Come here, sweet child.

How old are you?

Well, I'm really only 18,

but I always admit to 20

when I go to evening parties.

You are perfectly right

to make some slight alteration.

A woman should never be

really accurate about her age.

It looks so calculating.

Eighteen, admitting to twenty

at evening parties.

Well, you will soon be of age and free

from the restraints of tutelage.

So I do not think your guardian's

consent is a matter of any importance.

Pray excuse me for interrupting you

once again, Lady Bracknell,

but I think it is only fair...

to point out that under the terms

of her grandfather's will,

Miss Cardew does not

legally come of age...

until she is 35.

That doesn't seem to me

to be a very grave objection.

Thirty-five is a very attractive age.

London society is full of women

of the highest birth...

who, of their own free choice,

have remained 35 for years.

Lady Dumbleton

is an instance in point.

To my own knowledge she's been 35

ever since she arrived at the age of 40,

which is many years ago now.

I see no reason why our dear Cecily

should not be even more attractive...

at the age you mention

than she is at present.

There will be a large accumulation

of property.

Algy, could you wait for me

till I was 35?

Of course I could, Cecily.

You know I could.

Yes, I felt that... instinctively.

But I couldn't wait all that time.

- But Cecily!

- My dear Mr. Worthing,

as Miss Cardew states positively

that she cannot wait until she is 35,

a remark which I am bound to say...

seems to me to show

a somewhat impatient nature,

I would beg of you

to reconsider your decision.

But, my dear Lady Bracknell, the matter

is entirely in your own hands.

The moment you consent

to my marriage with Gwendolen,

I will most gladly allow your nephew

to form an alliance with my ward.

That is not the destiny

I propose for Gwendolen.

Algernon, of course,

can choose for himself.

Come, dear. We've already missed

five, if not six, trains.

To miss any more might expose us

to comment on the platform.

Uh, everything is quite ready

for the christenings.

The christenings, sir?

Is not this somewhat premature?

Both these gentlemen have expressed

their desire for immediate baptism.

At their age?

The idea is grotesque

and irreligious.

Algernon, I forbid you to be baptized.

I will not hear of such excesses.

Am I to understand

there are to be...

no christenings at all

this afternoon?

I don't think that

with things as they are, Dr. Chasuble,

they would be of much practical value

to either of us.

As your present mood seems to be

one peculiarly secular,

I will return to the church at once.

Indeed, I've just been informed

Miss Prism has been waiting for me.

Miss Prism?

Did I hear you mention a Miss Prism?

Yes, indeed.

I am on my way to join her.

Kindly allow me to detain you

for one moment.

Is this Miss Prism

a female of repellent aspect...

remotely connected with education?

She is the most cultivated of ladies

and the very picture of respectability.

It is obviously the same person.

May I ask what is her position

in your household?

Miss Prism, Lady Bracknell,

has for the last three years been...

Miss Cardew's esteemed governess

and valued companion.

In spite of what I hear of her,

I must see her at once.

- Let her be sent for.

- Oh, she approaches.

She is nigh.

I was told you expected me

in the vestry, dear Canon.

I have been waiting for you there

for an hour and three-quarters.

Prism?

Come here, Prism.

Prism, where is that baby?

Twenty-eight years ago, Prism,

you left Lord Bracknell's house...

in charge of a perambulator

containing an infant of the male sex.

You never returned.

Some few weeks later, the perambulator

was discovered at midnight...

standing by itself

in a remote corner of Bayswater.

It contained the manuscript

of a three-volume novel...

of more than

usually revolting sentimentality.

- Ohh.

- But the baby was not there.

Prism, where is that baby?

Where is that baby, Prism?

Lady Bracknell, I admit with shame

that I do not know.

I only wish I did.

The plain facts of the case

are these:

On the morning

of the day you mention,

a day that is forever branded

on my memory,

I prepared as usual to take

the baby out in its perambulator.

I had also with me a somewhat old

but capacious handbag...

in which I had intended to place

the manuscript of a work of fiction...

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