algernon moncrieff, act 2

Yes, but I have not been christened for years.

... Besides, I have a perfect right to be christened if I like. There is no evidence at all that I have ever been christened by anybody. I should think it extremely probable I never was, and so does Dr. Chasuble. It is entirely different in your case. You have been christened already.

No, I'd sooner have a pink rose.

A Marechal Niel? [Picks up scissors.]

I haven't quite finished my tea yet! and there is still one muffin left. [Jack groans, and sinks into a chair. Algernon still continues eating.]

Algernon! I have already told you to go. I don't want you here. Why don't you go!

You can't possibly ask me to go without having some dinner. It's absurd. I never go without my dinner. No one ever does, except vegetarians and people like that. Besides I have just made arrangements with Dr. Chasuble to be christened at a quarter to six under the name of Ernest.

Algy, I wish to goodness you would go.

I cannot deny it.

Are you called Algernon?

I can see no possible defence at all for your deceiving a brilliant, clever, thoroughly experienced young lady like Miss Fairfax. To say nothing of the fact that she is my cousin.

As for your conduct towards Miss Cardew, I must say that your taking in a sweet, simple, innocent girl like that is quite inexcusable. To say nothing of the fact that she is my ward.

Of course I admit that the faults were all on my side. But I must say that I think that Brother John's coldness to me is peculiarly painful. I expected a more enthusiastic welcome, especially considering it is the first time I have come here.

Bunbury! Well, I won't have him talk to you about Bunbury or about anything else. It is enough to drive one perfectly frantic.

Well, my own dear, sweet, loving little darling, I really can't see why you should object to the name of Algernon. It is not at all a bad name. In fact, it is rather an aristocratic name. Half of the chaps who get into the Bankruptcy Court are called Algernon. But seriously, Cecily . . . [Moving to her] . . . if my name was Algy, couldn't you love me?

But I don't like the name of Algernon.

Why on earth then do you allow tea-cake to be served up for your guests? What ideas you have of hospitality!

But I hate tea-cake.

Oh, any name you like—Algernon—for instance . . .

But what name?

I'll be back in no time. [Kisses her and rushes down the garden.]

Considering that we have been engaged since February the 14th, and that I only met you to-day for the first time, I think it is rather hard that you should leave me for so long a period as half an hour. Couldn't you make it twenty minutes?

No: the appointment is in London.

Couldn't you miss it anywhere but in London?

But you have just said it was perfectly heartless to eat muffins.

Good heavens! I suppose a man may eat his own muffins in his own garden.

Brother John, I have come down from town to tell you that I am very sorry for all the trouble I have given you, and that I intend to lead a better life in the future. [Jack glares at him and does not take his hand.]

Good heavens! [Motions Algernon away.]

[Goes straight over to Cecily without noticing any one else.] My own love! [Offers to kiss her.]

Here is Ernest.

Well, I can't eat muffins in an agitated manner. The butter would probably get on my cuffs. One should always eat muffins quite calmly. It is the only way to eat them.

How can you sit there, calmly eating muffins when we are in this horrible trouble, I can't make out. You seem to me to be perfectly heartless.

Thank you. Might I have a buttonhole first? I never have any appetite unless I have a buttonhole first.

How thoughtless of me. I should have remembered that when one is going to lead an entirely new life, one requires regular and wholesome meals. Won't you come in?

In fact, now you mention the subject, I have been very bad in my own small way.

I am glad to hear it.

You'll never break off our engagement again, Cecily?

I am so glad.

Well, Cecily is a darling.

I can quite understand that.

That is a great disappointment. I am obliged to go up by the first train on Monday morning. I have a business appointment that I am anxious . . . to miss?

I can't understand how you are here at all. Uncle Jack won't be back till Monday afternoon.

You are certainly not staying with me for a whole week as a guest or anything else. You have got to leave . . . by the four-five train.

I certainly won't leave you so long as you are in mourning. It would be most unfriendly. If I were in mourning you would stay with me, I suppose. I should think it very unkind if you didn't.

Yes, of course. [Nervously.]

I don't think I could break it off now that I have actually met you. Besides, of course, there is the question of your name.

Then Miss Prism is a short-sighted old lady. [Cecily puts the rose in his buttonhole.] You are the prettiest girl I ever saw.

I don't think it can be right for you to talk to me like that. Miss Prism never says such things to me.

Cecily!

I don't think that you should tell me that you love me wildly, passionately, devotedly, hopelessly. Hopelessly doesn't seem to make much sense, does it?

It is much pleasanter being here with you.

I don't think you should be so proud of that, though I am sure it must have been very pleasant.

Australia! I'd sooner die.

I don't think you will require neckties. Uncle Jack is sending you to Australia.

You are my little cousin Cecily, I'm sure.

I have never met any really wicked person before. I feel rather frightened. I am so afraid he will look just like every one else. [Enter Algernon, very gay and debonnair.] He does!

That may be. But the muffins are the same. [He seizes the muffin-dish from Jack.]

I said it was perfectly heartless of you, under the circumstances. That is a very different thing.

When I am in trouble, eating is the only thing that consoles me. Indeed, when I am in really great trouble, as any one who knows me intimately will tell you, I refuse everything except food and drink. At the present moment I am eating muffins because I am unhappy. Besides, I am particularly fond of muffins. [Rising.]

I say it's perfectly heartless your eating muffins at all, under the circumstances.

Do you really keep a diary? I'd give anything to look at it. May I?

I think your frankness does you great credit, Ernest. If you will allow me, I will copy your remarks into my diary. [Goes over to table and begins writing in diary.]

Well, I simply wanted to be engaged to Cecily. I adore her.

I wanted to be engaged to Gwendolen, that is all. I love her.

Well, would you mind my reforming myself this afternoon?

I'm afraid I've no time, this afternoon.

[Looks at her in amazement.] Oh! Of course I have been rather reckless.

If you are not, then you have certainly been deceiving us all in a very inexcusable manner. I hope you have not been leading a double life, pretending to be wicked and being really good all the time. That would be hypocrisy.

Thank you.

It is always painful to part from people whom one has known for a very brief space of time. The absence of old friends one can endure with equanimity. But even a momentary separation from anyone to whom one has just been introduced is almost unbearable.

I will. I feel better already.

It is rather Quixotic of you. But I think you should try.

What a perfect angel you are, Cecily.

It would hardly have been a really serious engagement if it hadn't been broken off at least once. But I forgave you before the week was out.

They are a snare that every sensible man would like to be caught in.

Miss Prism says that all good looks are a snare.

But why on earth did you break it off? What had I done? I had done nothing at all. Cecily, I am very much hurt indeed to hear you broke it off. Particularly when the weather was so charming.

Of course it was. On the 22nd of last March. You can see the entry if you like. [Shows diary.] 'To-day I broke off my engagement with Ernest. I feel it is better to do so. The weather still continues charming.'

[Somewhat taken aback.] Ahem! Ahem!

Oh no. [Puts her hand over it.] You see, it is simply a very young girl's record of her own thoughts and impressions, and consequently meant for publication. When it appears in volume form I hope you will order a copy. But pray, Ernest, don't stop. I delight in taking down from dictation. I have reached 'absolute perfection'. You can go on. I am quite ready for more.

I shan't be away more than half an hour.

Oh!

But was our engagement ever broken off?

Oh, I couldn't possibly. They would make you far too conceited. [Replaces box.] The three you wrote me after I had broken off the engagement are so beautiful, and so badly spelled, that even now I can hardly read them without crying a little.

He's gone to order the dog-cart for me.

Oh, I merely came back to water the roses. I thought you were with Uncle Jack.

[Speaking very rapidly.] Cecily, ever since I first looked upon your wonderful and incomparable beauty, I have dared to love you wildly, passionately, devotedly, hopelessly.

Oh, don't cough, Ernest. When one is dictating one should speak fluently and not cough. Besides, I don't know how to spell a cough. [Writes as Algernon speaks.]

He's going to send me away.

Oh, is he going to take you for a nice drive?

I must see him at once on a most important christening—I mean on most important business.

Oh, yes. Dr. Chasuble is a most learned man. He has never written a single book, so you can imagine how much he knows.

Did I give you this? It's very pretty, isn't it?

On the 14th of February last. Worn out by your entire ignorance of my existence, I determined to end the matter one way or the other, and after a long struggle with myself I accepted you under this dear old tree here. The next day I bought this little ring in your name, and this is the little bangle with the true lover's knot I promised you always to wear.

Well, one must be serious about something, if one wants to have any amusement in life. I happen to be serious about Bunburying. What on earth you are serious about I haven't got the remotest idea. About everything, I should fancy. You have such an absolutely trivial nature.

Serious Bunburyist! Good heavens!

Tell it to come round next week, at the same hour.

The dog-cart is waiting, sir.

I am afraid so. It's a very painful parting.

Then have we got to part ways

I don't think there is much likelihood, Jack, of you and Miss Fairfax being united.

There is certainly no chance of your marrying Miss Cardew

Yes, and a perfectly wonderful Bunbury it is. The most wonderful Bunbury I have ever had in my life.

This ghastly state of things is what you call Bunburying, I suppose?

Oh, I don't care about Jack. I don't care for anybody in the whole world but you. I love you, Cecily. You will marry me, won't you?

Uncle Jack would be very much annoyed if he knew you were staying on till next week, at the same hour.

About my what?

Well, I know, of course, how important it is not to keep a business engagement, if one wants to retain any sense of the beauty of life, but still I think you had better wait till Uncle Jack arrives. I know he wants to speak to you about your emigrating.

If I am occasionally a little over-dressed, I make up for it by being always immensely over-educated.

Well, at any rate, that is better than being always over-dressed as you are.

Darling! And when was the engagement actually settled?

Well, ever since dear Uncle Jack first confessed to us that he had a younger brother who was very wicked and bad, you of course have formed the chief topic of conversation between myself and Miss Prism. And of course a man who is much talked about is always very attractive. One feels there must be something in him, after all. I daresay it was foolish of me, but I fell in love with you, Ernest.

Oh, well! The accounts I have received of Australia and the next world, are not particularly encouraging. This world is good enough for me, cousin Cecily.

Well, he said at dinner on Wednesday night, that you would have to choose between this world, the next world, and Australia.

If it was my business, I wouldn't talk about it. [Begins to eat muffins.] It is very vulgar to talk about one's business. Only people like stock-brokers do that, and then merely at dinner parties.

Well, that is no business of yours.

Your brother is a little off colour, isn't he, dear Jack? You won't be able to disappear to London quite so frequently as your wicked custom was. And not a bad thing either.

Well, the only small satisfaction I have in the whole of this wretched business is that your friend Bunbury is quite exploded. You won't be able to run down to the country quite so often as you used to do, dear Algy. And a very good thing too.

Yes, if you are not too long. I never saw anybody take so long to dress, and with such little result.

Well, will you go if I change my clothes?

That is absurd. One has a right to Bunbury anywhere one chooses. Every serious Bunburyist knows that.

Well, you've no right whatsoever to Bunbury here.

Because you are like a pink rose, Cousin Cecily.

Why? [Cuts a flower.]

[Laughing.] Of course not! What could have put such an idea into your pretty little head?

Yes! to good heavens, Gwendolen, I mean to Gwendolen.

I hope, Cecily, I shall not offend you if I state quite frankly and openly that you seem to me to be in every way the visible personification of absolute perfection.

Yes, Miss. [Exit Merriman.]

I'm afraid I'm not that. That is why I want you to reform me. You might make that your mission, if you don't mind, cousin Cecily.

Yes, but are you good enough for it?

Quite so. So I know my constitution can stand it. If you are not quite sure about your ever having been christened, I must say I think it rather dangerous your venturing on it now. It might make you very unwell. You can hardly have forgotten that some one very closely connected with you was very nearly carried off this week in Paris by a severe chill.

Yes, but you have been christened. That is the important thing.

It usen't to be, I know—but I daresay it is now. Science is always making wonderful improvements in things.

Yes, but you said yourself that a severe chill was not hereditary.

But how did we become engaged?

Yes, it will be exactly three months on Thursday.

I am afraid I can't stay more than a week this time.

Yes, sir. Three portmanteaus, a dressing-case, two hat-boxes, and a large luncheon- basket.

What a fearful liar you are, Jack. I have not been called back to town at all.

Yes, sir. [Goes back into the house.]

I haven't heard any one call me.

Yes, you have.

My letters! But, my own sweet Cecily, I have never written you any letters.

Yes, you've wonderfully good taste, Ernest. It's the excuse I've always given for your leading such a bad life. And this is the box in which I keep all your dear letters. [Kneels at table, opens box, and produces letters tied up with blue ribbon.]

That is because I am hungry.

You are looking a little worse.

Well, I don't like your clothes. You look perfectly ridiculous in them. Why on earth don't you go up and change? It is perfectly childish to be in deep mourning for a man who is actually staying for a whole week with you in your house as a guest. I call it grotesque.

You are not to talk of Miss Cardew like that. I don't like it.

Oh! I am not really wicked at all, cousin Cecily. You mustn't think that I am wicked.

You are under some strange mistake. I am not little. In fact, I believe I am more than usually tall for my age. [Algernon is rather taken aback.] But I am your cousin Cecily. You, I see from your card, are Uncle Jack's brother, my cousin Ernest, my wicked cousin Ernest.

Yes, darling, with a little help from others.

You dear romantic boy. [He kisses her, she puts her fingers through his hair.] I hope your hair curls naturally, does it?

But, my dear child, do you mean to say you could not love me if I had some other name?

You must not laugh at me, darling, but it had always been a girlish dream of mine to love some one whose name was Ernest. [Algernon rises, Cecily also.] There is something in that name that seems to inspire absolute confidence. I pity any poor married woman whose husband is not called Ernest.

Oh, do let me read them, Cecily?

You need hardly remind me of that, Ernest. I remember only too well that I was forced to write your letters for you. I wrote always three times a week, and sometimes oftener.

For the last three months?

You silly boy! Of course. Why, we have been engaged for the last three months.

My duty as a gentleman has never interfered with my pleasures in the smallest degree.

Your duty as a gentleman calls you back.

I certainly wouldn't let Jack buy my outfit. He has no taste in neckties at all.

Your emigrating. He has gone up to buy your outfit.

I think it has been a great success. I'm in love with Cecily, and that is everything. [Enter Cecily at the back of the garden. She picks up the can and begins to water the flowers.] But I must see her before I go, and make arrangements for another Bunbury. Ah, there she is.

Your vanity is ridiculous, your conduct an outrage, and your presence in my garden utterly absurd. However, you have got to catch the four-five, and I hope you will have a pleasant journey back to town. This Bunburying, as you call it, has not been a great success for you. [Goes into the house.]

[Looking round.] To what young lady? Good heavens! Gwendolen!

[Drawing back.] A moment, Ernest! May I ask you—are you engaged to be married to this young lady?

Jack, you are at the muffins again! I wish you wouldn't. There are only two left. [Takes them.] I told you I was particularly fond of muffins.

[Picking up the muffin-dish.] Oh, that is nonsense; you are always talking nonsense.

Ahem! Cecily! [Picking up hat.] Your Rector here is, I suppose, thoroughly experienced in the practice of all the rites and ceremonials of the Church?

[Rising.] I might respect you, Ernest, I might admire your character, but I fear that I should not be able to give you my undivided attention.

[Offering tea-cake.] I wish you would have tea-cake instead. I don't like tea-cake.

[Rising.] Well, that is no reason why you should eat them all in that greedy way. [Takes muffins from Algernon.]