The Importance of being earnest. Wilde Oscar

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СКАЧАТЬ [Frowning.] I hope not, Algernon. It would put my table completely out. Your uncle would have to dine upstairs. Fortunately he is accustomed to that.

      Algernon. It is a great bore, and, I need hardly say, a terrible disappointment to me, but the fact is I have just had a telegram to say that my poor friend Bunbury is very ill again. [Exchanges glances with Jack.] They seem to think I should be with him.

      Lady Bracknell. It is very strange. This Mr. Bunbury seems to suffer from curiously bad health.

      Algernon. Yes; poor Bunbury is a dreadful invalid.

      Lady Bracknell. Well, I must say, Algernon, that I think it is high time that Mr. Bunbury made up his mind whether he was going to live or to die. This shilly–shallying with the question is absurd. Nor do I in any way approve of the modern sympathy with invalids. I consider it morbid. Illness of any kind is hardly a thing to be encouraged in others. Health is the primary duty of life. I am always telling that to your poor uncle, but he never seems to take much notice…as far as any improvement in his ailment goes. I should be much obliged if you would ask Mr. Bunbury, from me, to be kind enough not to have a relapse on Saturday, for I rely on you to arrange my music for me. It is my last reception, and one wants something that will encourage conversation, particularly at the end of the season when every one has practically said whatever they had to say, which, in most cases, was probably not much.

      Algernon. I’ll speak to Bunbury, Aunt Augusta, if he is still conscious, and I think I can promise you he’ll be all right by Saturday. Of course the music is a great difficulty. You see, if one plays good music, people don’t listen, and if one plays bad music people don’t talk. But I’ll run over the programme I’ve drawn out, if you will kindly come into the next room for a moment.

      Lady Bracknell. Thank you, Algernon. It is very thoughtful of you. [Rising, and following Algernon.] I’m sure the programme will be delightful, after a few expurgations. French songs I cannot possibly allow. People always seem to think that they are improper, and either look shocked, which is vulgar, or laugh, which is worse. But German sounds a thoroughly respectable language, and indeed, I believe is so. Gwendolen, you will accompany me.

      Gwendolen. Certainly, mamma.

      [Lady Bracknell and Algernon go into the music–room, Gwendolen remains 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 quite certain that they mean something else. And that makes me so nervous.

      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 Lady Bracknell’s temporary absence . . .

      Gwendolen. I would certainly advise you to do so. Mamma has a way of coming back suddenly into a room that I have often had to speak to her about.

      Jack. [Nervously.] Miss Fairfax, ever since I met you I have admired you more than any girl…I have ever met since…I met you.

      Gwendolen. Yes, I am quite well aware of the fact. And I often wish that in public, at any rate, you had been more demonstrative. For me you have always had an irresistible fascination. Even before I met you I was far from indifferent to you. [Jack looks at her in amazement.] We live, as I hope you know, Mr. Worthing, in an age of ideals. The fact is constantly mentioned in the more expensive monthly magazines, and has reached the provincial pulpits, I am told; and my ideal has always been to love some one of the name of Ernest. There is something in that name that inspires absolute confidence. The moment Algernon first mentioned to me that he had a friend called Ernest, I knew I was destined to love 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 me if my name wasn’t Ernest?

      Gwendolen. But your name is Ernest.

      Jack. Yes, I know it is. But supposing it was something else? Do you mean to say you couldn’t love me then?

      Gwendolen. [Glibly.] Ah! that is clearly a metaphysical speculation, and like most metaphysical speculations has very little reference at all to the actual facts of real life, as we know them.

      Jack. Personally, darling, to speak quite candidly, I don’t much care about the name of Ernest…I don’t think the name suits me at all.

      Gwendolen. It suits you perfectly. It is a divine name. It has a music of its own. It produces vibrations.

      Jack. Well, really, Gwendolen, I must say that I think there are lots of other much nicer names. I think Jack, for instance, a charming name.

      Gwendolen. Jack?…No, there is very little music in the name Jack, if any at all, indeed. It does not thrill. It produces absolutely no vibrations…I have known several Jacks, and they all, without exception, were more than usually plain. Besides, Jack is a notorious domesticity for John! And I pity any woman who is married to a man called John. She would probably never be allowed to know the entrancing pleasure of a single moment’s solitude. The only really safe name is Ernest

      Jack. Gwendolen, I must get christened at once—I mean we must get 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 not absolutely 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 not even been touched on.

      Jack. Well…may I propose to you now?

      Gwendolen. I think it would be an admirable opportunity. And to spare you any possible disappointment, Mr. Worthing, I think it only fair to tell you quite frankly before–hand that I am fully determined 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 been about it! I am afraid you have had very little experience in how to 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 my brother Gerald does. All my girl–friends tell me so. What wonderfully blue eyes you have, Ernest! They are quite, quite, blue. I hope you will always look at me just like that, especially when there are other people present. [Enter Lady Bracknell.]

      Lady Bracknell. Mr. Worthing! Rise, sir, from this semi–recumbent posture. It is most indecorous.

      Gwendolen. Mamma! [He tries to rise; she restrains him.] I must beg you to retire. This is no place for you. Besides, СКАЧАТЬ