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An Ideal Husband (O. Wilde)
LADY MARKBY. Good evening, dear Gertrude!
So kind of you to let me
bring my friend, Mrs. Cheveley. Two such
charming women should know
each other!
LADY CHILTERN. [Advances towards MRS.
CHEVELEY with a sweet smile.
Then suddenly stops, and bows rather
distantly.] I think Mrs.
Cheveley and I have met before. I did not
know she had married a
second time.
LADY MARKBY. [Genially.] Ah, nowadays
people marry as often as they
can, don't they? It is most fashionable.
[To DUCHESS OF
MARYBOROUGH.] Dear Duchess, and how is the
Duke? Brain still weak,
I suppose? Well, that is only to be
expected, is it not? His good
father was just the same. There is nothing
like race, is there?
MRS. CHEVELEY. [Playing with her fan.] But
have we really met
before, Lady Chiltern? I can't remember
where. I have been out of
England for so long.
LADY CHILTERN. We were at school together,
Mrs. Cheveley.
MRS. CHEVELEY [Superciliously.] Indeed? I
have forgotten all about
my schooldays. I have a vague impression
that they were detestable.
LADY CHILTERN. [Coldly.] I am not
surprised!
MRS. CHEVELEY. [In her sweetest manner.]
Do you know, I am quite
looking forward to meeting your clever
husband, Lady Chiltern. Since
he has been at the Foreign Office, he has
been so much talked of in
Vienna. They actually succeed in spelling
his name right in the
newspapers. That in itself is fame, on the
continent.
LADY CHILTERN. I hardly think there will
be much in common between
you and my husband, Mrs. Cheveley! [Moves
away.]
VICOMTE DE NANJAC. Ah! chere Madame, queue
surprise! I have not
seen you since Berlin!
MRS. CHEVELEY. Not since Berlin, Vicomte.
Five years ago!
VICOMTE DE NANJAC. And you are younger and
more beautiful than ever.
How do you manage it?
MRS. CHEVELEY. By making it a rule only to
talk to perfectly
charming people like yourself.
VICOMTE DE NANJAC. Ah! you flatter me. You
butter me, as they say
here.
MRS. CHEVELEY. Do they say that here? How
dreadful of them!
VICOMTE DE NANJAC. Yes, they have a
wonderful language. It should
be more widely known.
[SIR ROBERT CHILTERN enters. A man of
forty, but looking somewhat
younger. Clean-shaven, with finely-cut
features, dark-haired and
dark-eyed. A personality of mark. Not popular
- few personalities
are. But intensely admired by the few, and
deeply respected by the
many. The note of his manner is that of
perfect distinction, with a
slight touch of pride. One feels that he
is conscious of the success
he has made in life. A nervous
temperament, with a tired look. The
firmly-chiselled mouth and chin contrast
strikingly with the romantic
expression in the deep-set eyes. The
variance is suggestive of an
almost complete separation of passion and
intellect, as though
thought and emotion were each isolated in
its own sphere through some
violence of will-power. There is
nervousness in the nostrils, and in
the pale, thin, pointed hands. It would be
inaccurate to call him
picturesque. Picturesqueness cannot
survive the House of Commons.
But Vandyck would have liked to have
painted his head.]
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Good evening, Lady
Markby! I hope you have
brought Sir John with you?
LADY MARKBY. Oh! I have brought a much
more charming person than
Sir John. Sir John's temper since he has taken
seriously to politics
has become quite unbearable. Really, now
that the House of Commons
is trying to become useful, it does a
great deal of harm.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. I hope not, Lady
Markby. At any rate we do our
best to waste the public time, don't we?
But who is this charming
person you have been kind enough to bring
to us?
LADY MARKBY. Her name is Mrs. Cheveley!
One of the Dorsetshire
Cheveleys, I suppose. But I really don't
know. Families are so
mixed nowadays. Indeed, as a rule,
everybody turns out to be
somebody else.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Mrs. Cheveley? I seem
to know the name.
LADY MARKBY. She has just arrived from
Vienna.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Ah! yes. I think I
know whom you mean.
LADY MARKBY. Oh! she goes everywhere
there, and has such pleasant
scandals about all her friends. I really
must go to Vienna next
winter. I hope there is a good chef at the
Embassy.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. If there is not, the
Ambassador will certainly
have to be recalled. Pray point out Mrs.
Cheveley to me. I should
like to see her.
LADY MARKBY. Let me introduce you. [To
MRS. CHEVELEY.] My dear,
Sir Robert Chiltern is dying to know you!
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [Bowing.] Every one
is dying to know the
brilliant Mrs. Cheveley. Our attaches at
Vienna write to us about
nothing else.
MRS. CHEVELEY. Thank you, Sir Robert. An
acquaintance that begins
with a compliment is sure to develop into
a real friendship. It
starts in the right manner. And I find
that I know Lady Chiltern
already.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Really?
MRS. CHEVELEY. Yes. She has just reminded
me that we were at school
together. I remember it perfectly now. She
always got the good
conduct prize. I have a distinct
recollection of Lady Chiltern
always getting the good conduct prize!
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [Smiling.] And what
prizes did you get, Mrs.
Cheveley?
MRS. CHEVELEY. My prizes came a little
later on in life. I don't
think any of them were for good conduct. I
forget!
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. I am sure they were
for something charming!
MRS. CHEVELEY. I don't know that women are
always rewarded for being
charming. I think they are usually
punished for it! Certainly, more
women grow old nowadays through the
faithfulness of their admirers
than through anything else! At least that
is the only way I can
account for the terribly haggard look of
most of your pretty women in
London!
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. What an appalling
philosophy that sounds! To
attempt to classify you, Mrs. Cheveley,
would be an impertinence.
But may I ask, at heart, are you an
optimist or a pessimist? Those
seem to be the only two fashionable
religions left to us nowadays.
MRS. CHEVELEY. Oh, I'm neither. Optimism
begins in a broad grin,
and Pessimism ends with blue spectacles.
Besides, they are both of
them merely poses.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. You prefer to be natural?
MRS. CHEVELEY. Sometimes. But it is such a
very difficult pose to
keep up.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. What would those
modern psychological
novelists, of whom we hear so much, say to
such a theory as that?
MRS. CHEVELEY. Ah! the strength of women
comes from the fact that
psychology cannot explain us. Men can be
analysed, women . . .
merely adored.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. You think science
cannot grapple with the
problem of women?
MRS. CHEVELEY. Science can never grapple
with the irrational. That
is why it has no future before it, in this
world.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. And women represent
the irrational.
MRS. CHEVELEY. Well-dressed women do.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [With a polite bow.]
I fear I could hardly
agree with you there. But do sit down. And
now tell me, what makes
you leave your brilliant Vienna for our
gloomy London - or perhaps
the question is indiscreet?
MRS. CHEVELEY. Questions are never
indiscreet. Answers sometimes
are.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Well, at any rate,
may I know if it is politics
or pleasure?
MRS. CHEVELEY. Politics are my only
pleasure. You see nowadays it
is not fashionable to flirt till one is
forty, or to be romantic till
one is forty-five, so we poor women who
are under thirty, or say we
are, have nothing open to us but politics
or philanthropy. And
philanthropy seems to me to have become
simply the refuge of people
who wish to annoy their fellow-creatures.
I prefer politics. I
think they are more . . . becoming!
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. A political life is a
noble career!
MRS. CHEVELEY. Sometimes. And sometimes it
is a clever game, Sir
Robert. And sometimes it is a great
nuisance.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Which do you find it?
MRS. CHEVELEY. I? A combination of all
three. [Drops her fan.]
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [Picks up fan.] Allow
me!
MRS. CHEVELEY. Thanks.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. But you have not told
me yet what makes you
honour London so suddenly. Our season is
almost over.
MRS. CHEVELEY. Oh! I don't care about the
London season! It is too
matrimonial. People are either hunting for
husbands, or hiding from
them. I wanted to meet you. It is quite
true. You know what a
woman's curiosity is. Almost as great as a
man's! I wanted
immensely to meet you, and . . . to ask
you to do something for me.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. I hope it is not a
little thing, Mrs. Cheveley.
I find that little things are so very
difficult to do.
