De l'importance d'être Constant : Une comédie futile pour des gens sérieux

Part 3

Algernon strikes up the Wedding March; Jack, furious, begs him to stop. When Algernon enters, Jack explains Gwendolen accepted him but her mother is “a perfect Gorgon.” Algernon loves hearing relations abused—“a tedious pack of people” with no instinct about when to die. Jack calls this nonsense; Algernon retorts things were originally made for argument. They spar about Gwendolen becoming her mother in a hundred and fifty years. Algernon observes “all women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That’s his.” Jack is sick to death of cleverness; Algernon mourns the lack of fools. They turn to disposing of fictional Ernest, whom Jack plans to have die in Paris of apoplexy. Algernon warns apoplexy is hereditary—a severe chill would be safer. Jack accepts, then warns Algernon away from Cecily, “excessively pretty, and only just eighteen.”

Lane announces Miss Fairfax. Gwendolen returns, sends Algernon to the fireplace, confesses they may never marry, but nothing her mother does “can alter my eternal devotion.” She extracts Jack’s country address—the Manor House, Woolton, Hertfordshire. Algernon listens, smiles, and writes the address on his shirt-cuff. Gwendolen will communicate daily, then permits Algernon to turn round. Jack escorts her to the carriage.

Lane brings Algernon letters—evidently bills—which he tears up unread. He orders sherry and announces he is going Bunburying tomorrow, possibly not back until Monday, requiring dress clothes, smoking jacket, and Bunbury suits. When he hopes for a fine day, Lane observes it never is. Algernon calls him a perfect pessimist; Lane replies he does his best to give satisfaction.

Jack returns, enraptured by his “sensible, intellectual girl” and baffled by Algernon’s laughter. He warns that Bunbury will get him into a serious scrape; Algernon replies he loves scrapes because they are the only things never serious. Nobody ever talks anything but nonsense, he concludes, lights a cigarette, reads his shirt-cuff, and smiles. The act drops.

The second act opens in the Woolton garden in July. Miss Prism sits beneath a yew-tree; Cecily waters flowers behind. Miss Prism summons her for German, but Cecily protests the language is unbecoming and makes her look plain. Miss Prism defends Jack’s grave demeanour and anxiety about wicked brother Ernest. Cecily wishes Uncle Jack would let Ernest visit, suggesting German and geology might improve him. She opens her diary, prompting Miss Prism to declare memory is the diary we all carry—Cecily retorts memory chronicles things that never happened. She asks about Miss Prism’s three-volume novel. Miss Prism primly replies the good ended happily, the bad unhappily—that is what Fiction means. Her own manuscript was “abandoned,” lost or mislaid.

Cecily spots Dr. Chasuble approaching and conspiratorially pretends Miss Prism has a headache so they might stroll together. Chasuble apologises for the classical reference to “Egeria.” When he and Miss Prism depart, Cecily hurls her books onto the table in despair.

Merriman appears with a card: Mr. Ernest Worthing has just driven over from the station. Cecily, startled—Uncle Jack’s brother!—asks Merriman to bring him to the garden, having never met a really wicked person. She is almost disappointed when Algernon enters, gay and debonnair, looking like everyone else. He calls her his little cousin Cecily; she corrects him—she is not little—and welcomes wicked cousin Ernest. She hopes he has not been leading a double life—pretending to be wicked while good would be hypocrisy. Algernon, amazed, confesses he has been reckless. Cecily says Uncle Jack wants to discuss his emigrating—Jack has gone to buy his outfit. Algernon is incredulous: Australia! He would sooner die.

Part 4

The garden scene at Jack’s country estate deepens into romantic mischief as Algernon, lounging among the flowers, confesses to Cecily that he wants to be reformed. When she points out he might not be good enough for the world, he pleads that she make his redemption her mission. Cecily, perfectly composed, replies that she has no time that afternoon, then suggests he try reforming himself. Algernon declares he feels better already, and Cecily sweetly observes that he looks “a little worse” because he is hungry. She invites him inside, but not before he requests a buttonhole first—a Marechal Niel, no, on second thought, a pink rose, because she is like one. Cecily blushes, citing Miss Prism’s warning that all good looks are a snare, and Algernon replies that such snares are precisely what every sensible man would like to be caught in. They disappear into the house together as Miss Prism and Dr. Chasuble return.

The two older figures fall into a spirited debate about matrimony. Miss Prism scolds the clergyman for being too much alone and declares that a permanently single man becomes “a permanent public temptation.” Chasuble counters that the Primitive Church distinctly disapproved of marriage, prompting Miss Prism’s devastating retort: “That is obviously the reason why the Primitive Church has not lasted up to the present day.” When Chasuble suggests married men might be equally attractive, she informs him coldly that no married man is ever attractive except to his wife—and often, she has been told, not even to her. She adds, with botanical finality, that young women are green and only ripeness can be trusted, explaining primly that she spoke “horticulturally.”

Their theological skirmish is interrupted by the arrival of Jack, dressed in deepest mourning with crape hatband and black gloves. The dramatic news follows swiftly: his brother Ernest is dead, having perished in Paris from a severe chill. Miss Prism hopes the rake will profit by it; Chasuble offers condolences and mentions his adaptable sermon on the manna in the wilderness. But Jack has not merely come to mourn—he wishes to be christened himself, this very afternoon, if Chasuble has nothing better to do. The rector, somewhat bewildered, agrees, and they settle on half-past five, well away from the Jenkins twins.

Cecily then bursts from the house to announce the real surprise: her Uncle Jack’s brother Ernest has arrived and is in the dining-room. Jack’s horror is absolute—he has no brother. But Cecily pleads with him, invoking the fictional invalid Mr. Bunbury as evidence of Ernest’s goodness. Jack refuses to take his brother’s hand, calls his presence disgraceful, but finally relents under Cecily’s threat never to forgive him. Chasuble beams at the “perfect reconciliation,” and the two clergymen lead Cecily away.

Once alone, Jack denounces Algernon as a scoundrel and demands he leave on the four-five train. Algernon, equally immovable, declares he cannot abandon a host in mourning and refuses to depart unless Jack changes his ridiculous clothes. The butler Merriman compounds the chaos by reporting that Ernest’s luggage has been unpacked next to Jack’s room. The two men volley insults—vanity, ridiculousness, grotesque mourning—until Jack storms inside. Algernon, left alone, admits he is hopelessly in love with Cecily and must see her again before going.