The Collected Works of Oscar Wilde: 250+ Titles in One Edition. Оскар Уайльд

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СКАЧАТЬ a flash of genius.

      MABEL CHILTERN. Your first.

      LORD GORING. [With determination.] My last.

      MABEL CHILTERN. I am delighted to hear it. Now don’t stir. I’ll be back in five minutes. And don’t fall into any temptations while I am away.

      LORD GORING. Dear Mabel, while you are away, there are none. It makes me horribly dependent on you.

      [Enter LADY CHILTERN.]

      LADY CHILTERN. Good morning, dear! How pretty you are looking!

      MABEL CHILTERN. How pale you are looking, Gertrude! It is most becoming!

      LADY CHILTERN. Good morning, Lord Goring!

      LORD GORING. [Bowing.] Good morning, Lady Chiltern!

      MABEL CHILTERN. [Aside to LORD GORING.] I shall be in the conservatory under the second palm tree on the left.

      LORD GORING. Second on the left?

      MABEL CHILTERN. [With a look of mock surprise.] Yes; the usual palm tree.

      [Blows a kiss to him, unobserved by LADY CHILTERN, and goes out.]

      LORD GORING. Lady Chiltern, I have a certain amount of very good news to tell you. Mrs. Cheveley gave me up Robert’s letter last night, and I burned it. Robert is safe.

      LADY CHILTERN. [Sinking on the sofa.] Safe! Oh! I am so glad of that. What a good friend you are to him — to us!

      LORD GORING. There is only one person now that could be said to be in any danger.

      LADY CHILTERN. Who is that?

      LORD GORING. [Sitting down beside her.] Yourself.

      LADY CHILTERN. I? In danger? What do you mean?

      LORD GORING. Danger is too great a word. It is a word I should not have used. But I admit I have something to tell you that may distress you, that terribly distresses me. Yesterday evening you wrote me a very beautiful, womanly letter, asking me for my help. You wrote to me as one of your oldest friends, one of your husband’s oldest friends. Mrs. Cheveley stole that letter from my rooms.

      LADY CHILTERN. Well, what use is it to her? Why should she not have it?

      LORD GORING. [Rising.] Lady Chiltern, I will be quite frank with you. Mrs. Cheveley puts a certain construction on that letter and proposes to send it to your husband.

      LADY CHILTERN. But what construction could she put on it? … Oh! not that! not that! If I in — in trouble, and wanting your help, trusting you, propose to come to you … that you may advise me … assist me … Oh! are there women so horrible as that …? And she proposes to send it to my husband? Tell me what happened. Tell me all that happened.

      LORD GORING. Mrs. Cheveley was concealed in a room adjoining my library, without my knowledge. I thought that the person who was waiting in that room to see me was yourself. Robert came in unexpectedly. A chair or something fell in the room. He forced his way in, and he discovered her. We had a terrible scene. I still thought it was you. He left me in anger. At the end of everything Mrs. Cheveley got possession of your letter — she stole it, when or how, I don’t know.

      LADY CHILTERN. At what hour did this happen?

      LORD GORING. At half-past ten. And now I propose that we tell Robert the whole thing at once.

      LADY CHILTERN. [Looking at him with amazement that is almost terror.] You want me to tell Robert that the woman you expected was not Mrs. Cheveley, but myself? That it was I whom you thought was concealed in a room in your house, at half-past ten o’clock at night? You want me to tell him that?

      LORD GORING. I think it is better that he should know the exact truth.

      LADY CHILTERN. [Rising.] Oh, I couldn’t, I couldn’t!

      LORD GORING. May I do it?

      LADY CHILTERN. No.

      LORD GORING. [Gravely.] You are wrong, Lady Chiltern.

      LADY CHILTERN. No. The letter must be intercepted. That is all. But how can I do it? Letters arrive for him every moment of the day. His secretaries open them and hand them to him. I dare not ask the servants to bring me his letters. It would be impossible. Oh! why don’t you tell me what to do?

      LORD GORING. Pray be calm, Lady Chiltern, and answer the questions I am going to put to you. You said his secretaries open his letters.

      LADY CHILTERN. Yes.

      LORD GORING. Who is with him to-day? Mr. Trafford, isn’t it?

      LADY CHILTERN. No. Mr. Montford, I think.

      LORD GORING. You can trust him?

      LADY CHILTERN. [With a gesture of despair.] Oh! how do I know?

      LORD GORING. He would do what you asked him, wouldn’t he?

      LADY CHILTERN. I think so.

      LORD GORING. Your letter was on pink paper. He could recognise it without reading it, couldn’t he? By the colour?

      LADY CHILTERN. I suppose so.

      LORD GORING. Is he in the house now?

      LADY CHILTERN. Yes.

      LORD GORING. Then I will go and see him myself, and tell him that a certain letter, written on pink paper, is to be forwarded to Robert to-day, and that at all costs it must not reach him. [Goes to the door, and opens it.] Oh! Robert is coming upstairs with the letter in his hand. It has reached him already.

      LADY CHILTERN. [With a cry of pain.] Oh! you have saved his life; what have you done with mine?

      [Enter SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. He has the letter in his hand, and is reading it. He comes towards his wife, not noticing LORD GORING’S presence.]

      SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. ‘I want you. I trust you. I am coming to you. Gertrude.’ Oh, my love! Is this true? Do you indeed trust me, and want me? If so, it was for me to come to you, not for you to write of coming to me. This letter of yours, Gertrude, makes me feel that nothing that the world may do can hurt me now. You want me, Gertrude?

      [LORD GORING, unseen by SIR ROBERT CHILTERN, makes an imploring sign to LADY CHILTERN to accept the situation and SIR ROBERT’S error.]

      LADY CHILTERN. Yes.

      SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. You trust me, Gertrude?

      LADY CHILTERN. Yes.

      SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Ah! why did you not add you loved me?

      LADY CHILTERN. [Taking his hand.] Because I loved you.

      [LORD GORING passes into the conservatory.]

      SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [Kisses her.] Gertrude, you don’t know what I feel. When Montford passed me your letter across the table — he had opened it by СКАЧАТЬ