Hester. Ah, don’t say that. Hearts live by being wounded. Pleasure may turn a heart to stone, riches may make it callous, but sorrow—oh, sorrow cannot break it. Besides, what sorrows have you now? Why, at this moment you are more dear to him than ever, dear though you have been, and oh! how dear you have been always. Ah! be kind to him.
Gerald. You are my mother and my father all in one. I need no second parent. It was for you I spoke, for you alone. Oh, say something, mother. Have I but found one love to lose another? Don’t tell me that. O mother, you are cruel. [Gets up and flings himself sobbing on a sofa.]
Mrs. Arbuthnot. [To Hester.] But has he found indeed another love?
Hester. You know I have loved him always.
Mrs. Arbuthnot. But we are very poor.
Hester. Who, being loved, is poor? Oh, no one. I hate my riches. They are a burden. Let him share it with me.
Mrs. Arbuthnot. But we are disgraced. We rank among the outcasts. Gerald is nameless. The sins of the parents should be visited on the children. It is God’s law.
Hester. I was wrong. God’s law is only Love.
Mrs. Arbuthnot. [Rises, and taking Hester by the hand, goes slowly over to where Gerald is lying on the sofa with his head buried in his hands. She touches him and he looks up.] Gerald, I cannot give you a father, but I have brought you a wife.
Gerald. Mother, I am not worthy either of her or you.
Mrs. Arbuthnot. So she comes first, you are worthy. And when you are away, Gerald . . . with . . . her—oh, think of me sometimes. Don’t forget me. And when you pray, pray for me. We should pray when we are happiest, and you will be happy, Gerald.
Hester. Oh, you don’t think of leaving us?
Gerald. Mother, you won’t leave us?
Mrs. Arbuthnot. I might bring shame upon you!
Gerald. Mother!
Mrs. Arbuthnot. For a little then: and if you let me, near you always.
Hester. [To Mrs. Arbuthnot.] Come out with us to the garden.
Mrs. Arbuthnot. Later on, later on. [Exeunt Hester and Gerald. Mrs. Arbuthnot goes towards door L.C. Stops at looking-glass over mantelpiece and looks into it. Enter Alice R.C.]
Alice. A gentleman to see you, ma’am.
Mrs. Arbuthnot. Say I am not at home. Show me the card. [Takes card from salver and looks at it.] Say I will not see him.
[Lord Illingworth enters. Mrs. Arbuthnot sees him in the glass and starts, but does not turn round. Exit Alice.] What can you have to say to me to-day, George Harford? You can have nothing to say to me. You must leave this house.
Lord Illingworth. Rachel, Gerald knows everything about you and me now, so some arrangement must be come to that will suit us all three. I assure you, he will find in me the most charming and generous of fathers.
Mrs. Arbuthnot. My son may come in at any moment. I saved you last night. I may not be able to save you again. My son feels my dishonour strongly, terribly strongly. I beg you to go.
Lord Illingworth. [Sitting down.] Last night was excessively unfortunate. That silly Puritan girl making a scene merely because I wanted to kiss her. What harm is there in a kiss?
Mrs. Arbuthnot. [Turning round.] A kiss may ruin a human life, George Harford. I know that. I know that too well.
Lord Illingworth. We won’t discuss that at present. What is of importance to-day, as yesterday, is still our son. I am extremely fond of him, as you know, and odd though it may seem to you, I admired his conduct last night immensely. He took up the cudgels for that pretty prude with wonderful promptitude. He is just what I should have liked a son of mine to be. Except that no son of mine should ever take the side of the Puritans: that is always an error. Now, what I propose is this.
Mrs. Arbuthnot. Lord Illingworth, no proposition of yours interests me.
Lord Illingworth. According to our ridiculous English laws, I can’t legitimise Gerald. But I can leave him my property. Illingworth is entailed, of course, but it is a tedious barrack of a place. He can have Ashby, which is much prettier, Harborough, which has the best shooting in the north of England, and the house in St. James Square. What more can a gentleman require in this world?
Mrs. Arbuthnot. Nothing more, I am quite sure.
Lord Illingworth. As for a title, a title is really rather a nuisance in these democratic days. As George Harford I had everything I wanted. Now I have merely everything that other people want, which isn’t nearly so pleasant. Well, my proposal is this.
Mrs. Arbuthnot. I told you I was not interested, and I beg you to go.
Lord Illingworth. The boy is to be with you for six months in the year, and with me for the other six. That is perfectly fair, is it not? You can have whatever allowance you like, and live where you choose. As for your past, no one knows anything about it except myself and Gerald. There is the Puritan, of course, the Puritan in white muslin, but she doesn’t count. She couldn’t tell the story without explaining that she objected to being kissed, could she? And all the women would think her a fool and the men think her a bore. And you need not be afraid that Gerald won’t be my heir. I needn’t tell you I have not the slightest intention of marrying.
Mrs. Arbuthnot. You come too late. My son has no need of you. You are not necessary.
Lord Illingworth. What do you mean, Rachel?
Mrs. Arbuthnot. That you are not necessary to Gerald’s career. He does not require you.
Lord Illingworth. I do not understand you.
Mrs. Arbuthnot. Look into the garden. [Lord Illingworth rises and goes towards window.] You had better not let them see you: you bring unpleasant memories. [Lord Illingworth looks out and starts.] She loves him. They love each other. We are safe from you, and we are going away.
Lord Illingworth. Where?
Mrs. Arbuthnot. We will not tell you, and if you find us we will not know you. You seem surprised. What welcome would you get from the girl whose lips you tried to soil, from the boy whose life you have shamed, from the mother whose dishonour comes from you?
Lord Illingworth. You have grown hard, Rachel.
Mrs. Arbuthnot. I was too weak once. It is well for me that I have changed.
Lord Illingworth. I was very young at the time. We men know life too early.
Mrs. Arbuthnot. And we women know life too late. That is the difference between men and women. [A pause.]
Lord Illingworth. Rachel, I want my son. My money may be of no use to him now. I may be of no use to him, but I want my son. Bring us together, Rachel. You can do it if you choose. [Sees letter on table.]
Mrs. Arbuthnot. There is no room in my boy’s life for you. He is not interested in you.
Lord Illingworth. Then why does he write to me?
Mrs. Arbuthnot. What do you mean?
Lord Illingworth. What letter is this? [Takes up letter.]
Mrs. Arbuthnot. That—is nothing. Give it to me.
Lord Illingworth. It is addressed to me.
Mrs. Arbuthnot. You are not to open it. I forbid you to open it.
Lord Illingworth. And in Gerald’s handwriting.
Mrs. Arbuthnot. It was not to have been sent. It is a letter he wrote to you this morning, before he saw me. But he is sorry now he wrote it, very sorry. You are not to open it. Give it to me.
Lord Illingworth. It belongs to me. [Opens it, sits down and reads it slowly. Mrs. Arbuthnot watches him all the time.] You have read this letter, I suppose, Rachel?
Mrs. Arbuthnot. No.
Lord Illingworth. You know what is in it?
Mrs. Arbuthnot. Yes!
Lord Illingworth. I don’t admit for a moment that the boy is right in what he says. I don’t admit that it is any duty of mine to marry you. I deny it entirely. But to get my son back I am ready—yes, I am ready to marry you, Rachel—and to treat you always with the deference and respect due to my wife. I will marry you as soon as you choose. I give you my word of honour.
Mrs. Arbuthnot. You made that promise to me once before and broke it.
Lord Illingworth. I will keep it now. And that will show you that I love my son, at least as much as you love him. For when I marry you, Rachel, there are some ambitions I shall have to surrender. High ambitions, too, if any ambition is high.
Mrs. Arbuthnot. I decline to marry you, Lord Illingworth.
Lord Illingworth. Are you serious?
Mrs. Arbuthnot. Yes.
Lord Illingworth. Do tell me your reasons. They would interest me enormously.
Mrs. Arbuthnot. I have already explained them to my son.
Lord Illingworth. I suppose they were intensely sentimental, weren’t they? You women live by your emotions and for them. You have no philosophy of life.
Mrs. Arbuthnot. You are right. We women live by our emotions and for them. By our passions, and for them, if you will. I have two passions, Lord Illingworth: my love of him, my hate of you. You cannot kill those. They feed each other.
Lord Illingworth. What sort of love is that which needs to have hate as its brother?
Mrs. Arbuthnot. It is the sort of love I have for Gerald. Do you think that terrible? Well it is terrible. All love
