The Importance of Being Earnest Page #3

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Yes, I know it is, but...

but supposing it wasn't?

Supposing it was something else?

Do you mean to say

you couldn't love me then?

Ah, this is clearly

a metaphysical speculation,

and, like most metaphysical

speculations,

has very little reference at all...

to the actual facts

of real life as we know them.

Well, personally, darling,

to speak candidly,

I don't much care

for the name of Ernest.

I really don't think

it suits me at all.

It suits you perfectly.

It's a divine name.

It has music of its own.

It... It produces vibrations.

Well, I must say, Gwendolen,

I think there are lots

of other much nicer names.

I think, um, Jack, for instance,

a charming name.

Jack? Oh, no.

There's very little music in the name

of Jack, if any at all, indeed.

I have known several Jacks,

and they all, without exception,

were more than usually plain.

Besides, Jack is a notorious

domesticity for "John,"

and I pity any woman

who is married to a man called John.

No, the only really safe name

is Ernest.

Gwendolen, I...

I must get christened at once.

I mean, we must

get married at once.

Married, Mr. Worthing?

Well, surely.

You know that I love you, and you have

led me to believe, Miss Fairfax,

that you are not

entirely indifferent to me.

I adore you, but you haven't

proposed to me yet.

Well,

May I propose to you now?

I think it would be

an admirable opportunity.

And to spare you any possible

disappointment, Mr. Worthing,

I think it only fair to tell you

quite frankly beforehand...

that I'm fully determined

to accept you.

Gwendolen.

Yes, Mr. Worthing?

What have you got to say to me?

Well, you know

what I've got to say to you.

Yes, but you don't say it.

Gwendolen, will you marry me?

Of course I will, darling.

How long you've been about it!

I'm afraid you've had

very little practice in how to propose.

My own one, I've never loved

anyone in the world but you.

Yes, but men often propose

for practice.

I know my brother does.

All my girlfriends tell me so.

What wonderfully blue eyes

you have, Ernest.

They're quite, quite blue.

I hope you will always

look at me just like that,

especially when there are

other people present.

Mr. Worthing.

Rise, sir, from this

semirecumbent posture.

It is most indecorous.

Mama, I must beg you to retire.

This is no place for you.

Besides, Mr. Worthing has not

quite finished yet.

Finished what, may I ask?

I am engaged to Mr. Worthing, Mama.

Pardon me?

You are not engaged to anyone.

When you do become

engaged to someone,

I or your father,

should his health permit him,

will inform you of the fact.

An engagement should come

upon a young girl as a surprise,

pleasant or unpleasant

as the case may be.

'Tis hardly a matter that she could

be allowed to arrange for herself.

And now I have a few questions

to put to you, Mr. Worthing.

While I am making these inquiries,

you, Gwendolen, will wait for me

below in the carriage.

- Mama.

- In the carriage, Gwendolen.

Gwendolen, the carriage.

Yes, Mama.

You can take a seat,

Mr. Worthing.

Thank you, Lady Bracknell.

I prefer standing.

I feel bound to tell you...

that you are not down on my list

of eligible young men,

though I have the same list

as the dear Duchess of Bolton has.

We work together, in fact.

But I am quite ready

to enter your name,

should your answers be what

a really affectionate mother requires.

Do you smoke?

Well, yes, I must admit I smoke.

I'm glad to hear it.

A man should have

an occupation of some kind.

I have always been of opinion

that a man who desires to get married...

should either know everything

or nothing.

Which do you know?

- I know nothing, Lady Bracknell.

- I am pleased to hear it.

I do not approve of anything

that tampers with natural ignorance.

Ignorance is like

a delicate exotic fruit:

Touch it and the bloom is gone.

The whole theory of modern education

is radically unsound.

Fortunately, in England at any rate,

education produces no effect whatsoever.

What is your income?

Between 7,000 and 8,000 a year.

In land or in investments?

- In investments, chiefly.

- That is satisfactory.

What between the duties expected

of one during one's lifetime...

and the duties exacted from one

after one's death,

land has ceased to be

either a profit or a pleasure.

It gives one position

but prevents one from keeping it up.

That's all that can be said

about land.

I have a country house with some land,

of course, attached to it.

About 1,500 acres, I believe,

but I don't depend on that

for my real income.

In fact, as far as I can make out,

the poachers are the only people

who make anything out of it.

You have a town house, I hope.

A girl with a simple, unspoiled

nature like Gwendolen...

can hardly be expected

to reside in the country.

Well, I own a house

in Belgrave Square,

but it is let by the year

to Lady Bloxham.

Lady Bloxham?

No, I don't know her.

Oh, she goes about very little.

She's a lady considerably

advanced in years.

Ah, nowadays that is no guarantee...

of respectability of character.

What are your politics?

Well, I am afraid

I really have none.

I am a liberal.

Oh, they count as Tories.

They dine with us

or come in the evening, at any rate.

Now to minor matters.

Are your parents living?

I have lost both my parents.

To lose one parent, Mr. Worthing,

may be regarded as a misfortune.

To lose both

looks like carelessness.

Who was your father?

Well, I'm afraid I really don't know.

The fact is, Lady Bracknell,

I said I had lost both my parents.

It would be nearer the truth

to say my parents seem to have lost me.

I don't actually know

who I am by birth.

I was...

Well, I was found.

Found?

The late Mr. Thomas Cardew,

an old gentleman of most charitable

and kindly disposition,

found me and gave me

the name of Worthing...

because he happened to have

a first-class ticket for Worthing...

in his pocket at the time.

Worthing is a place in Sussex.

It is a seaside resort.

And where did

the charitable gentleman...

who had a first-class ticket

for this seaside resort...

find you?

In a handbag.

A handbag?

Yes, Lady Bracknell,

I was in a handbag.

A somewhat large

black leather handbag...

with handles to it.

An ordinary handbag, in fact.

In what locality...

did this Mr. James

or Thomas Cardew...

come across this ordinary handbag?

In the cloakroom at Victoria Station.

It was given him in mistake for his own.

The cloakroom

at Victoria Station?

Yes, the Brighton line.

The line is immaterial.

Mr. Worthing,

I confess I feel somewhat bewildered

by what you have just told me.

To be born or, at any rate, bred

in a handbag,

whether it had handles or not,

seems to me to display contempt for

the ordinary decencies of family life...

that reminds one of the worst

excesses of the French Revolution,

and I presume you know what

that unfortunate movement led to.

Well, may I ask, then,

what you advise me to do?

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