The Importance of Being Earnest Page #2

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Bunburyists I know.

What on earth do you mean?

You have invented a very useful

younger brother called Ernest...

in order that you may be able to come

up to London as often as you like.

I have invented an invaluable

permanent invalid called Bunbury...

in order that I may be able to go down

to the country whenever I choose.

Bunbury really is invaluable.

It if wasn't for Bunbury's extraordinary

bad health, for instance,

I wouldn't be able to dine

with you at Willis' tonight,

for I have really been engaged to dine

at Aunt Augusta's for more than a week.

I haven't asked you to dine

with me anywhere tonight.

I know. You are absurdly careless

about sending out invitations.

It's very foolish of you.

Nothing annoys people more

than not receiving invitations.

- Algy!

Seton!

Sir?

Seton, I shall require a fresh gardenia

this afternoon at 4:00 precisely.

- Very good, sir.

Ethel, come here!

Thank you, governor.

Giddap now!

Did you hear

what I was singing, Lane?

I didn't think it polite

to listen, sir.

Sorry about that, for your sake.

I don't sing in tune...

anybody can sing in tune...

but I sing with wonderful feeling.

Yes, sir.

You have got the cucumber sandwiches

for Lady Bracknell?

- Yes, sir.

- Ah!

- Excuse me, sir.

- Have Lady Bracknell

and Miss Fairfax arrived yet, Lane?

- No, sir.

- Mr. Ernest Worthing.

- Jack! I don't seem to remember

inviting you.

No, you're absurdly careless

about sending out invitations.

Cucumber sandwiches? Why such

reckless extravagance in one so young?

Don't you touch them! They're ordered

specially for Aunt Augusta.

- Well, you're eating them.

- That's quite a different matter.

She's my aunt.

Have some bread and butter.

The bread and butter

is for Gwendolen.

Gwendolen is devoted

to bread and butter.

And very good bread and butter

it is too.

My dear fellow, you needn't eat it

as if you were going to eat it all.

You behave exactly as if

you were married to her already.

You are not married to her already,

and I don't think you ever will be.

- Now, Algy...

That must be Aunt Augusta.

Only relatives or creditors

ever ring in that Wagnerian manner.

If I can get her out of the way

for ten minutes...

in order that you may have the

opportunity for proposing to Gwendolen,

may I dine with you

at Willis' tonight?

- I suppose so, if you want to.

- But you must be serious about it.

I hate people who are not serious

about meals.

Lady Bracknell and Miss Fairfax.

Good afternoon, dear Algernon.

I hope you're behaving very well.

- I'm feeling very well, Aunt Augusta.

- Yes, that's not quite the same thing.

In fact, the two things

rarely go together.

Oh. How do you do,

Mr. Worthing.

- Dear me, Gwendolen, you are smart.

- I am always smart.

- Aren't I, Mr. Worthing?

- You are quite perfect, Miss Fairfax.

Oh, I hope I am not that.

It would leave no room

for development,

and I intend to develop

in many directions.

Gwendolen?

Won't you come

and sit here, Gwendolen?

Thank you, Mama.

I am quite comfortable where I am.

I'm sorry if we are

a little late, Algernon.

I was obliged to call

on dear Lady Harbury.

I hadn't been there

since her poor husband's death.

I never saw a woman so altered.

She looks quite 20 years younger.

And now I'll have a cup of tea...

and one of those nice cucumber

sandwiches you promised me.

Certainly, Aunt Augusta.

Good heavens, Lane!

Why are there no cucumber sandwiches?

I ordered them specially.

There were no cucumbers in the market

this morning, sir. I went down twice.

No cucumbers?

No, sir.

Not even for ready money.

Thank you, Lane.

That will do.

I'm greatly distressed,

Aunt Augusta,

about there being no cucumbers,

not even for ready money.

Well, it really makes no matter,

Algernon.

I had some crumpets

with Lady Harbury,

who seems to me to be living

entirely for pleasure now.

I hear her hair has turned

quite gold from grief.

Well, it certainly

has changed its color.

From what cause,

I, of course, cannot say.

Uh, forgive me, Aunt Augusta,

but I'm afraid...

I shall have to give up the pleasure

of dining with you tonight.

Oh, I hope not, Algernon.

'Twould put my table completely out.

Well, the fact is, I have just had

a telegram to say...

that my poor friend Bunbury

is very ill again.

They think I should be with him.

Well, I must say,

I should be much obliged...

if you would ask

Mr. Bunbury from me...

not to have a relapse on Saturday,

for I rely on you to arrange

my music for me.

It is my last reception,

and one wants something...

that will encourage conversation,

particularly at the end

of the season,

when everybody has practically said

whatever they had to say,

which, in most cases,

was probably not much.

I will speak to Bunbury,

Aunt Augusta, if he is still conscious,

and I think I can promise you

that he will be all right by Saturday.

Of course, the music is

a great difficulty,

but I will run over the program

I've worked out...

if you'll come into the other room.

Thank you, Algernon.

That's very thoughtful of you.

I'm sure the program

will be delightful...

after a few expurgations.

French songs

I cannot possibly allow.

People always seem to think

they're improper...

and either look shocked,

which is vulgar,

or laugh, which is worse.

Now, German sounds a thoroughly

respectable language,

and, indeed, I believe, is so.

Gwendolen, you will accompany me.

Certainly, Mama.

Well, here is the program

I suggest, Aunt Augusta.

Charming day it has been,

Miss Fairfax.

Pray don't talk to me

about the weather, Mr. Worthing.

Whenever people talk to me

about the weather,

I always feel quite certain

they mean something else,

and that makes me so nervous.

I do mean something else.

I thought so.

In fact, I'm never wrong.

I would like to be allowed to take

advantage of Lady Bracknell's

temporary absence.

I would certainly advise you

to do so.

Mama has a way of coming back

suddenly into a room...

that I have often had

to speak to her about.

Miss Fairfax, ever since I met you,

I have admired you...

more than any girl I have every met

s-s-since I met you...

Yes, I am quite aware of the fact,

and I often wish that, in public at any

rate, you would be more demonstrative.

For me you have always had

an irresistible fascination.

Even before I met you,

I was far from indifferent to you.

We live, as I hope you know,

Mr. Worthing,

in an age of ideals,

and my ideal has always been

to love someone of the name of Ernest.

There is something in that name

which inspires absolute confidence.

The moment Algernon first mentioned

to me he had a friend called Ernest,

I knew I was destined to love you.

But you...

You really love me,

Gwendolen?

Passionately.

Darling, it...

You don't know how happy

you've made me.

My own Ernest!

But you don't mean to say you couldn't

love me if my name wasn't Ernest?

But your name is Ernest.

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