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Dramatis Personae
The Earl of Caversham, K.G.
Viscount Goring, his Son
Sir Robert Chiltern, Bart., Undersecretary for Foreign Affairs
Vicomte De Nanjac, Attaché at the French Embassy in London
Mr. Montford
Mason, Butler to Sir Robert Chiltern
Phipps, Lord Goring’s Servant
James
Footmen
Harold
Lady Chiltern
Lady Markby the Countess of Basildon
Mrs. Marchmont
Miss Mabel Chiltern, Sir Robert Chiltern’s Sister
Mrs. Cheveley
Time: The Present
Place: London
The Action of the Play is completed within twenty-four hours.
An Ideal Husband
ActI
The octagon room at Sir Robert Chiltern’s house in Grosvenor Square.
The room is brilliantly lighted and full of guests. At the top of the staircase stands Lady Chiltern, a woman of grave Greek beauty, about twenty-seven years of age. She receives the guests as they come up. Over the well of the staircase hangs a great chandelier with wax lights, which illumine a large eighteenth-century French tapestry—representing the Triumph of Love, from a design by Boucher—that is stretched on the staircase wall. On the right is the entrance to the music room. The sound of a string quartette is faintly heard. The entrance on the left leads to other reception rooms. Mrs. Marchmont and Lady Basildon, two very pretty women, are seated together on a Louis Seize sofa. They are types of exquisite fragility. Their affectation of manner has a delicate charm. Watteau would have loved to paint them.
Mrs. Marchmont
Going on to the Hartlocks’ tonight, Margaret?
Lady Basildon
I suppose so. Are you?
Mrs. Marchmont
Yes. Horribly tedious parties they give, don’t they?
Lady Basildon
Horribly tedious! Never know why I go. Never know why I go anywhere.
Mrs. Marchmont
I come here to be educated.
Lady Basildon
Ah! I hate being educated!
Mrs. Marchmont
So do I. It puts one almost on a level with the commercial classes, doesn’t it? But dear Gertrude Chiltern is always telling me that I should have some serious purpose in life. So I come here to try to find one.
Lady Basildon
Looking round through her lorgnette. I don’t see anybody here tonight whom one could possibly call a serious purpose. The man who took me in to dinner talked to me about his wife the whole time.
Mrs. Marchmont
How very trivial of him!
Lady Basildon
Terribly trivial! What did your man talk about?
Mrs. Marchmont
About myself.
Lady Basildon
Languidly. And were you interested?
Mrs. Marchmont
Shaking her head. Not in the smallest degree.
Lady Basildon
What martyrs we are, dear Margaret!
Mrs. Marchmont
Rising. And how well it becomes us, Olivia!
They rise and go towards the music room. The Vicomte de Nanjac, a young attaché known for his neckties and his Anglomania, approaches with a low bow, and enters into conversation.
Mason
Announcing guests from the top of the staircase. Mr. and Lady Jane Barford. Lord Caversham.
Enter Lord Caversham, an old gentleman of seventy, wearing the riband and star of the Garter. A fine Whig type. Rather like a portrait by Lawrence.
Lord Caversham
Good evening, Lady Chiltern! Has my good-for-nothing young son been here?
Lady Chiltern
Smiling. I don’t think Lord Goring has arrived yet.
Mabel Chiltern
Coming up to Lord Caversham. Why do you call Lord Goring good-for-nothing?
Mabel Chiltern is a perfect example of the English type of prettiness, the apple-blossom type. She has all the fragrance and freedom of a flower. There is ripple after ripple of sunlight in her hair, and the little mouth, with its parted lips, is expectant, like the mouth of a child. She has the fascinating tyranny of youth, and the astonishing courage of innocence. To sane people she is not reminiscent of any work of art. But she is really like a Tanagra statuette, and would be rather annoyed if she were told so.
Lord Caversham
Because he leads such an idle life.
Mabel Chiltern
How can you say such a thing? Why, he rides in the Row at ten o’clock in the morning, goes to the Opera three times a week, changes his clothes at least five times a day, and dines out every night of the season. You don’t call that leading an idle life, do you?
Lord Caversham
Looking at her with a kindly twinkle in his eyes. You are a very charming young lady!
Mabel Chiltern
How sweet of you to say that, Lord Caversham! Do come to us more often. You know we are always at home on Wednesdays, and you look so well with your star!
Lord Caversham
Never go anywhere now. Sick of London Society. Shouldn’t mind being introduced to my own tailor; he always votes on the right side. But object strongly to being sent down to dinner with my wife’s milliner. Never could stand Lady Caversham’s bonnets.
Mabel Chiltern
Oh, I love London Society! I think it has immensely improved. It is entirely composed now of beautiful idiots and brilliant lunatics. Just what Society should be.
