认真的重要性 英文版 The Importance of Being Earnest
奥斯卡.王尔德 Oscar Wilde
FIRST ACT Page 2
ALGERNON. I'll speak to Bunbury, Aunt Augusta, if he is stillconscious, and I think I can promise you he'll be all right bySaturday. Of course the music is a great difficulty. You see, ifone plays good music, people don't listen, and if one plays badmusic people don't talk. But I'll ran over the programme I'vedrawn out, if you will kindly come into the next room for a moment.
LADY BRACKNELL. Thank you, Algernon. It is very thoughtful ofyou. (Rising, and following ALGERNON. ) I'm sure the programmewill be delightful, after a few expurgations. French songs Icannot possibly allow. People always seem to think that they areimproper, and either look shocked, which is vulgar, or laugh, whichis worse. But German sounds a thoroughly respectable language, andindeed, I believe is so. Gwendolen, you will accompany me.
GWENDOLEN. Certainly, mamma.
(LADY BRACKNELL and ALGERNON go into the music-room, GWENDOLENremains behind. )
JACK. Charming day it has been, Miss Fairfax.
GWENDOLEN. Pray don't talk to me about the weather, Mr. Worthing.Whenever people talk to me about the weather, I always feel quitecertain that they mean something else. And that makes me sonervous.
JACK. I do mean something else.
GWENDOLEN. I thought so. In fact, I am never wrong.
JACK. And I would like to be allowed to take advantage of LadyBracknell's temporary absence . . .
GWENDOLEN. I would certainly advise you to do so. Mamma has a wayof coming back suddenly into a room that I have often had to speakto her about.
JACK. (Nervously. ) Miss Fairfax, ever since I met you I haveadmired you more than any girl . . . I have ever met since . . . Imet you.
GWENDOLEN. Yes, I am quite well aware of the fact. And I oftenwish that in public, at any rate, you had been more demonstrative.For me you have always had an irresistible fascination. Evenbefore I met you I was far from indifferent to you. (JACK looks ather in amazement. ) We live, as I hope you know, Mr Worthing, in anage of ideals. The fact is constantly mentioned in the moreexpensive monthly magazines, and has reached the provincialpulpits, I am told; and my ideal has always been to love some oneof the name of Ernest. There is something in that name thatinspires absolute confidence. The moment Algernon first mentionedto me that he had a friend called Ernest, I knew I was destined tolove you.
JACK. You really love me, Gwendolen?
GWENDOLEN. Passionately!
JACK. Darling! You don't know how happy you've made me.
GWENDOLEN. My own Ernest!
JACK. But you don't really mean to say that you couldn't love meif my name wasn't Ernest?
GWENDOLEN. But your name is Ernest.
JACK. Yes, I know it is. But supposing it was something else? Doyou mean to say you couldn't love me then?
GWENDOLEN. (Glibly. ) Ah! that is clearly a metaphysicalspeculation, and like most metaphysical speculations has verylittle reference at all to the actual facts of real life, as weknow them.
JACK. Personally, darling, to speak quite candidly, I don't muchcare about the name of Ernest . . . I don't think the name suits meat all.
GWENDOLEN. It suits you perfectly. It is a divine name. It has amusic of its own. It produces vibrations.
JACK. Well, really, Gwendolen, I must say that I think there arelots of other much nicer names. I think Jack, for instance, acharming name.
GWENDOLEN. Jack? . . . No, there is very little music in the nameJack, if any at all, indeed. It does not thrill. It producesabsolutely no vibrations . . . I have known several Jacks, and theyall, without exception, were more than usually plain. Besides,Jack is a notorious domesticity for John! And I pity any woman whois married to a man called John. She would probably never beallowed to know the entrancing pleasure of a single moment'ssolitude. The only really safe name is Ernest
JACK. Gwendolen, I must get christened at once - I mean we mustget married at once. There is no time to be lost.
GWENDOLEN. Married, Mr. Worthing?
JACK. (Astounded. ) Well . . . surely. You know that I love you,and you led me to believe, Miss Fairfax, that you were notabsolutely indifferent to me.
GWENDOLEN. I adore you. But you haven't proposed to me yet.Nothing has been said at all about marriage. The subject has noteven been touched on.
JACK. Well . . . may I propose to you now?
GWENDOLEN. I think it would be an admirable opportunity. And tospare you any possible disappointment, Mr. Worthing, I think itonly fair to tell you quite frankly before-hand that I am fullydetermined to accept you.
JACK. Gwendolen!
GWENDOLEN. Yes, Mr. Worthing, what have you got to say to me?
JACK. You know what I have got to say to you.
GWENDOLEN. Yes, but you don't say it.
JACK. Gwendolen, will you marry me? (Goes on his knees. )
GWENDOLEN. Of course I will, darling. How long you have beenabout it! I am afraid you have had very little experience in howto propose.
JACK. My own one, I have never loved any one in the world but you.
GWENDOLEN. Yes, but men often propose for practice. I know mybrother Gerald does. All my girl-friends tell me so. Whatwonderfully blue eyes you have, Ernest! They are quite, quite,blue. I hope you will always look at me just like that, especiallywhen there are other people present. (Enter LADY BRACKNELL. )
LADY BRACKNELL. Mr. Worthing! Rise, sir, from this semi-recumbentposture. It is most indecorous.
GWENDOLEN. Mamma! (He tries to rise; she restrains him. ) I mustbeg you to retire. This is no place for you. Besides, Mr.Worthing has not quite finished yet.
LADY BRACKNELL. Finished what, may I ask?
GWENDOLEN. I am engaged to Mr. Worthing, mamma. (They risetogether. )
LADY BRACKNELL. Pardon me, you are not engaged to any one. Whenyou do become engaged to some one, I, or your father, should hishealth permit him, will inform you of the fact. An engagementshould come on a young girl as a surprise, pleasant or unpleasant,as the case may be. It is hardly a matter that she could beallowed to arrange for herself . . . And now I have a few questionsto put to you, Mr. Worthing. While I am making these inquiries,you, Gwendolen, will wait for me below in the carriage.
GWENDOLEN. (Reproachfully. ) Mamma!
LADY BRACKNELL. In the carriage, Gwendolen! (GWENDOLEN goes tothe door. She and JACK blow kisses to each other behind LADYBRACKNELL'S back. LADY BRACKNELL looks vaguely about as if shecould not understand what the noise was. Finally turns round. )Gwendolen, the carriage!
GWENDOLEN. Yes, mamma. (Goes out, looking back at JACK. )
LADY BRACKNELL. (Sitting down. ) You can take a seat, Mr.Worthing.
(Looks in her pocket for note-book and pencil. )
JACK. Thank you, Lady Bracknell, I prefer standing.
LADY BRACKNELL. (Pencil and note-book in hand. ) I feel bound totell you that you are not down on my list of eligible young men,although I have the same list as the dear Duchess of Bolton has.We work together, in fact. However, I am quite ready to enter yourname, should your answers be what a really affectionate motherrequires. Do you smoke?
JACK. Well, yes, I must admit I smoke.
LADY BRACKNELL. I am glad to hear it. A man should always have anoccupation of some kind. There are far too many idle men in Londonas it is. How old are you?
JACK. Twenty-nine.
LADY BRACKNELL. A very good age to be married at. I have alwaysbeen of opinion that a man who desires to get married should knoweither everything or nothing. Which do you know?
JACK. (After some hesitation. ) I know nothing, Lady Bracknell.
LADY BRACKNELL. I am pleased to hear it. I do not approve ofanything that tampers with natural ignorance. Ignorance is like adelicate exotic fruit; touch it and the bloom is gone. The wholetheory of modern education is radically unsound. Fortunately inEngland, at any rate, education produces no effect whatsoever. Ifit did, it would prove a serious danger to the upper classes, andprobably lead to acts of violence in Grosvenor Square. What isyour income?
JACK. Between seven and eight thousand a year.
LADY BRACKNELL. (Makes a note in her book. ) In land, or ininvestments?
JACK. In investments, chiefly.
LADY BRACKNELL. That is satisfactory. What between the dutiesexpected of one during one's lifetime, and the duties exacted fromone after one's death, land has ceased to be either a profit or apleasure. It gives one position, and prevents one from keeping itup. That's all that can be said about land.
JACK. I have a country house with some land, of course, attachedto it, about fifteen hundred acres, I believe; but I don't dependon that for my real income. In fact, as far as I can make out, thepoachers are the only people who make anything out of it.
LADY BRACKNELL. A country house! How many bedrooms? Well, thatpoint can be cleared up afterwards. You have a town house, I hope?A girl with a simple, unspoiled nature, like Gwendolen, couldhardly be expected to reside in the country.
JACK. Well, I own a house in Belgrave Square, but it is let by theyear to Lady Bloxham. Of course, I can get it back whenever Ilike, at six months' notice.
LADY BRACKNELL. Lady Bloxham? I don't know her.
JACK. Oh, she goes about very little. She is a lady considerablyadvanced in years.
LADY BRACKNELL. Ah, nowadays that is no guarantee ofrespectability of character. What number in Belgrave Square?
JACK. 149.
LADY BRACKNELL. (Shaking her head. ) The unfashionable side. Ithought there was something. However, that could easily bealtered.
JACK. Do you mean the fashion, or the side?
LADY BRACKNELL. (Sternly. ) Both, if necessary, I presume. Whatare your polities?
JACK. Well, I am afraid I really have none. I am a LiberalUnionist.
LADY BRACKNELL. Oh, they count as Tories. They dine with us. Orcome in the evening, at any rate. Now to minor matters. Are yourparents living?
JACK. I have lost both my parents.
rid of him.I'll say he died in .
LADY BRACKNELL. To lose one parent, Mr. Worthing, may be regardedas a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness. Who wasyour father? He was evidently a man of some wealth. Was he bornin what the Radical papers call the purple of commerce, or did herise from the ranks of the aristocracy?
JACK. I am afraid I really don't know. The fact is, LadyBracknell, I said I had lost my parents. It would be nearer thetruth to say that my parents seem to have lost me . . . I don'tactually know who I am by birth. I was . . . well, I was found.
LADY BRACKNELL. Found!
JACK. The late Mr. Thomas Cardew, an old gentleman of a verycharitable and kindly disposition, found me, and gave me the nameof Worthing, because he happened to have a first-class ticket forWorthing in his pocket at the time. Worthing is a place in Sussex.It is a seaside resort.
LADY BRACKNELL. Where did the charitable gentleman who had afirst-class ticket for this seaside resort find you?
JACK. (Gravely. ) In a hand-bag.
LADY BRACKNELL. A hand-bag?
JACK. (Very seriously. ) Yes, Lady Bracknell. I was in a hand-bag- a somewhat large, black leather hand-bag, with handles to it - anordinary hand-bag in fact.
LADY BRACKNELL. In what locality did this Mr. James, or Thomas,Cardew come across this ordinary hand-bag?
JACK. In the cloak-room at Victoria Station. It was given to himin mistake for his own.
LADY BRACKNELL. The cloak-room at Victoria Station?
JACK. Yes. The Brighton line.
LADY BRACKNELL. The line is immaterial. Mr. Worthing, I confess Ifeel somewhat bewildered by what you have just told me. To beborn, or at any rate bred, in a hand-bag, whether it had handles ornot, seems to me to display a contempt for the ordinary decenciesof family life that reminds one of the worst excesses of the FrenchRevolution. And I presume you know what that unfortunate movementled to? As for the particular locality in which the hand-bag wasfound, a cloak-room at a railway station might serve to conceal asocial indiscretion - has probably, indeed, been used for thatpurpose before now-but it could hardly be regarded as an assuredbasis for a recognised position in good society.
JACK. May I ask you then what you would advise me to do? I needhardly say I would do anything in the world to ensure Gwendolen'shappiness.
LADY BRACKNELL. I would strongly advise you, Mr. Worthing, to tryand acquire some relations as soon as possible, and to make adefinite effort to produce at any rate one parent, of either sex,before the season is quite over.
JACK. Well, I don't see how I could possibly manage to do that. Ican produce the hand-bag at any moment. It is in my dressing-roomat home. I really think that should satisfy you, Lady Bracknell.
LADY BRACKNELL. Me, sir! What has it to do with me? You canhardly imagine that I and Lord Bracknell would dream of allowingour only daughter - a girl brought up with the utmost care - tomarry into a cloak-room, and form an alliance with a parcel? Goodmorning, Mr. Worthing!
(LADY BRACKNELL sweeps out in majestic indignation. )
JACK. Good morning! (ALGERNON, from the other room, strikes upthe Wedding March. Jack looks perfectly furious, and goes to thedoor. ) For goodness' sake don't play that ghastly tune, Algy. Howidiotic you are!
(The music stops and ALGERNON enters cheerily. )
ALGERNON. Didn't it go off all right, old boy? You don't mean tosay Gwendolen refused you? I know it is a way she has. She isalways refusing people. I think it is most ill-natured of her.
JACK. Oh, Gwendolen is as right as a trivet. As far as she isconcerned, we are engaged. Her mother is perfectly unbearable.Never met such a Gorgon . . . I don't really know what a Gorgon islike, but I am quite sure that Lady Bracknell is one. In any case,she is a monster, without being a myth, which is rather unfair . .. I beg your pardon, Algy, I suppose I shouldn't talk about yourown aunt in that way before you.
ALGERNON. My dear boy, I love hearing my relations abused. It isthe only thing that makes me put up with them at all. Relationsare simply a tedious pack of people, who haven't got the remotestknowledge of how to live, nor the smallest instinct about when todie.
JACK. Oh, that is nonsense!
ALGERNON. It isn't!
JACK. Well, I won't argue about the matter. You always want toargue about things.
ALGERNON. That is exactly what things were originally made for.
JACK. Upon my word, if I thought that, I'd shoot myself . . . (Apause. ) You don't think there is any chance of Gwendolen becominglike her mother in about a hundred and fifty years, do you, Algy?
ALGERNON. All women become like their mothers. That is theirtragedy. No man does. That's his.
JACK. Is that clever?
ALGERNON. It is perfectly phrased! and quite as true as anyobservation in civilised life should be.
JACK. I am sick to death of cleverness. Everybody is clevernowadays. You can't go anywhere without meeting clever people.The thing has become an absolute public nuisance. I wish togoodness we had a few fools left.
ALGERNON. We have.
JACK. I should extremely like to meet them. What do they talkabout?
ALGERNON. The fools? Oh! about the clever people, of course.
JACK. What fools!
ALGERNON. By the way, did you tell Gwendolen the truth about yourbeing Ernest in town, and Jack in the country?
JACK. (In a very patronising manner. ) My dear fellow, the truthisn't quite the sort of thing one tells to a nice, sweet, refinedgirl. What extraordinary ideas you have about the way to behave toa woman!
ALGERNON. The only way to behave to a woman is to make love toher, if she is pretty, and to some one else, if she is plain.
JACK. Oh, that is nonsense.
ALGERNON. What about your brother? What about the profligateErnest?
JACK. Oh, before the end of the week I shall have got rid of him.I'll say he died in Paris of apoplexy. Lots of people die ofapoplexy, quite suddenly, don't they?
ALGERNON. Yes, but it's hereditary, my dear fellow. It's a sortof thing that runs in families. You had much better say a severechill.
JACK. You are sure a severe chill isn't hereditary, or anything ofthat kind?
ALGERNON. Of course it isn't!
JACK. Very well, then. My poor brother Ernest to carried offsuddenly, in Paris, by a severe chill. That gets rid of him.
ALGERNON. But I thought you said that . . . Miss Cardew was alittle too much interested in your poor brother Ernest? Won't shefeel his loss a good deal?
JACK. Oh, that is all right. Cecily is not a silly romantic girl,I am glad to say. She has got a capital appetite, goes long walks,and pays no attention at all to her lessons.
ALGERNON. I would rather like to see Cecily.
JACK. I will take very good care you never do. She is excessivelypretty, and she is only just eighteen.
ALGERNON. Have you told Gwendolen yet that you have an excessivelypretty ward who is only just eighteen?
ALGERNON. Women only do that when they have called each other alot of other things first. Now, my dear boy, if we want to get agood table at Willis's, we really must go and dress. Do you knowit is nearly seven?
JACK. (Irritably. ) Oh! It always is nearly seven.
ALGERNON. Well, I'm hungry.
JACK. I never knew you when you weren't . . .
ALGERNON. What shall we do after dinner? Go to a theatre?
JACK. Oh no! I loathe listening.
ALGERNON. Well, let us go to the Club?
JACK. Oh, no! I hate talking.
JACK. Oh, no! I can't bear looking at things. It is so silly.
ALGERNON. Well, what shall we do?
JACK. Nothing!
ALGERNON. It is awfully hard work doing nothing. However, I don'tmind hard work where there is no definite object of any kind.
(Enter LANE. )
LANE. Miss Fairfax.
(Enter GWENDOLEN. LANE goes out. )
ALGERNON. Gwendolen, upon my word!
GWENDOLEN. Algy, kindly turn your back. I have something veryparticular to say to Mr. Worthing.
ALGERNON. Really, Gwendolen, I don't think I can allow this atall.
GWENDOLEN. Algy, you always adopt a strictly immoral attitudetowards life. You are not quite old enough to do that. (ALGERNONretires to the fireplace. )
JACK. My own darling!
GWENDOLEN. Ernest, we may never be married. From the expressionon mamma's face I fear we never shall. Few parents nowadays payany regard to what their children say to them. The old-fashionedrespect for the young is fast dying out. Whatever influence I everhad over mamma, I lost at the age of three. But although she mayprevent us from becoming man and wife, and I may marry some oneelse, and marry often, nothing that she can possibly do can altermy eternal devotion to you.
JACK. Dear Gwendolen!
GWENDOLEN. The story of your romantic origin, as related to me bymamma, with unpleasing comments, has naturally stirred the deeperfibres of my nature. Your Christian name has an irresistiblefascination. The simplicity of your character makes youexquisitely incomprehensible to me. Your town address at theAlbany I have. What is your address in the country?
JACK. The Manor House, Woolton, Hertfordshire.
(ALGERNON, who has been carefully listening, smiles to himself, andwrites the address on his shirt-cuff. Then picks up the RailwayGuide. )
GWENDOLEN. There is a good postal service, I suppose? It may benecessary to do something desperate. That of course will requireserious consideration. I will communicate with you daily.
JACK. My own one!
GWENDOLEN. How long do you remain in town?
JACK. Till Monday.
GWENDOLEN. Good! Algy, you may turn round now.
ALGERNON. Thanks, I've turned round already.
GWENDOLEN. You may also ring the bell.
JACK. You will let me see you to your carriage, my own darling?
GWENDOLEN. Certainly.
JACK. (To LANE, who now enters. ) I will see Miss Fairfax out.
LANE. Yes, sir. (JACK and GWENDOLEN go off. )
(LANE presents several letters on a salver to ALGERNON. It is tobe surmised that they are bills, as ALGERNON, after looking at theenvelopes, tears them up. )
ALGERNON. A glass of sherry, Lane.
LANE. Yes, sir.
LANE. Yes, sir.
ALGERNON. I shall probably not be back till Monday. You can putup my dress clothes, my smoking jacket, and all the Bunbury suits .. .
LANE. Yes, sir. (Handing sherry. )
ALGERNON. I hope to-morrow will be a fine day, Lane.
LANE. It never is, sir.
ALGERNON. Lane, you're a perfect pessimist.
LANE. I do my best to give satisfaction, sir.
(Enter JACK. LANE goes off. )
Reproachfully. ) Mamma!
JACK. There's a sensible, intellectual girl! the only girl I evercared for in my life. (ALGERNON is laughing immoderately. ) Whaton earth are you so amused at?
ALGERNON. Oh, I'm a little anxious about poor Bunbury, that inall.
JACK. If you don't take care, your friend Bunbury will get youinto a serious scrape some day.
ALGERNON. I love scrapes. They are the only things that are neverserious.
JACK. Oh, that's nonsense, Algy. You never talk anything butnonsense.
ALGERNON. Nobody ever does.
(JACK looks indignantly at him, and leaves the room. ALGERNONlights a cigarette, reads his shirt-cuff, and smiles. )
ACT DROP