text:
**NEW MERMAIDS**

General editors:
William C. Carroll, Boston University
Brian Gibbons, University of Münster
Tiffany Stern, University of Oxford

Reconstruction of an Elizabethan Theatre
by C. Walter Hodges
**NEW MERMAIDS**

The Alchemist

All for Love

Arden of Faversham

Bartholmew Fair

The Beaux' Stratagem

The Changeling

A Chaste Maid in Cheapside

The Country Wife

The Critic

Dr Faustus

The Duchess of Malfi

The Dutch Courtesan

Eastward Ho!

Edward the Second

Epicoene or The Silent Woman

Every Man In His Humour

Gammer Gurton's Needle

An Ideal Husband

The Importance of Being Earnest

The Jew of Malta

The Knight of the Burning Pestle

Lady Windermere's Fan

Love for Love

The Malcontent

The Man of Mode

Marriage A-la-Mode

A New Way to Pay Old Debts

The Old Wife's Tale

The Playboy of the Western World

The Provoked Wife

The Recruiting Officer

The Relapse

The Revenger's Tragedy

The Rivals

The Roaring Girl

The Rover

The School for Scandal

She Stoops to Conquer

The Shoemaker's Holiday

The Spanish Tragedy

Tamburlaine

Three Late Medieval Morality Plays

Mankind

Everyman

Mundus et Infans

'Tis Pity She's a Whore

Volpone

The Way of the World

The White Devil

The Witch

The Witch of Edmonton

A Woman Killed with Kindness

A Woman of No Importance

Women Beware Women
**NEW MERMAIDS**

**OSCAR WILDE**

# **LADY
WINDERMERE'S
FAN**

edited by Ian Small

Professor of English Literature
University of Birmingham

* * *

## **CONTENTS**

Acknowledgements

Abbreviations

INTRODUCTION

The Author [by Russell Jackson]

The Play

The Play and its Drafts

Note on the Text and Textual and Critical Annotation

Note on the Staging

Further Reading

LADY WINDERMERE'S FAN

Dedication

The Persons of the Play

The Scenes of the Play

Text

Appendix

## **ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS**

I am grateful to Mr Merlin Holland for permission to consult and reproduce copyright material and to the following institutions for making available material in their possession: the British Library; the Harry Ransom Research Center, the University of Texas at Austin; the William Andrews Clark Memorial Library, the University of California at Los Angeles; the Library of Trinity College, Dublin. I am also grateful to the staff of the Inter-Library Loans Department at Birmingham University.

Friends and colleagues have been helpful to me in preparing the annotation. I would like to record my gratitude to James Boulton, Ralph Davies, Tom Davis, Ramon Drewek, Ian Ross and Janet Small. John Stokes and Russell Jackson have given freely of their time and of their expert knowledge of the theatre of the time: I am greatly indebted to both. I am grateful also for the invaluable suggestions and corrections made by Charles Allen and Brian Gibbons.

_Birmingham, March 1980_ | I.S.

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### **NOTE TO THE 1999 REVISED EDITION**

This revision differs from my original 1980 edition of _Lady Windermere's Fan_ in the following respects: the sections entitled 'The Play', 'The Play and its Drafts', the 'Note on the Text and Textual and Critical Annotation' and the 'Note on Staging' have been brought up to date by taking account of developments in recent critical and scholarly writing on Wilde. The biographical account of Wilde (by Russell Jackson), the text of the play, and the textual and critical apparatus remain unchanged, save for the silent correction of errors. I have taken the opportunity of a revised edition to extend and bring up to date the section on 'Further Reading'. I am grateful to Josephine Guy, who read through the revised introductory material and made valuable comments.

_Birmingham, March 1999_ | I.S.

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## **ABBREVIATIONS**

References to _Lady Windermere's Fan_ are to the line numbers of the present edition. Other works by Wilde (except _The Importance of Being Earnest_ ) are referred to by the title of the volume in which they appear in Robert Ross's edition of the _Works_ (14 vols., 1908). Reference to _The Importance of Being Earnest_ is to the edition by Russell Jackson in the New Mermaid series. I have given additional references to the page numbers of the Collins's _Complete Works_ (1967), designated _CW. The Letters of Oscar Wilde_ , ed. R. Hart-Davis (1962; revised edn., 1963) is abbreviated to _Letters_.

The drafts and texts of _Lady Windermere's Fan_ referred to in the edition are as follows:

BL | First manuscript draft under the title of 'Lady Windermere's Fan' at the British Library (BL Add MS 37943).

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Cms | Manuscript entitled 'Lady Windermere's Fan' at the William Andrews Clark Memorial Library (Finzi 2460).

C1 | Typescript entitled 'A Good Woman' at the William Andrews Clark Memorial Library (Finzi 2448).

C2 | Typescript entitled 'Lady Windermere's Fan' at the William Andrews Clark Memorial Library (Finzi 2459).

T | Typescript entitled 'A Good Woman' at the Harry Ransom Humanities Research Center, University of Texas at Austin.

LC | Licensing Copy, British Library (dated 15 February 1892) (BL Add MS 53492).

F | _Lady Windermere's Fan_ by Oscar Wilde (London: Samuel French Ltd., n.d.).

1st ed. | _Lady Windermere's Fan_ by Oscar Wilde (London: Elkin Mathews and John Lane, 1893).

_Other Abbreviations_

_Manners and Rules_ | _Manners and Rules of Good Society_ by A Member of the Aristocracy (1888).

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_Habits_ | _The Habits of Good Society: A Handbook of Etiquette_ (1890).

_OED_ | _Oxford English Dictionary_.

In the notes the names of characters are abbreviated to initials. So, for example, Lady Windermere is Lady W., and the Duchess of Berwick is the Duchess of B.

s.d | stage direction

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_R_. | Right

_L_. | Left

_C_. | Centre

_R.C_. | Right of Centre

_L.C_. | Left of Centre

_R.U.E_. | Right Upper Entrance

_L.U.E_. | Left Upper Entrance

## **INTRODUCTION**

### **The Author**

André Gide describes Oscar Wilde as he appeared in 1891, when 'his success was so certain that it seemed that it preceded [him] and that all he needed to do was go forward and meet it':

... He was rich; he was tall; he was handsome; laden with good fortune and honours. Some compared him to an Asiatic Bacchus; others to some Roman emperor; others to Apollo himself – and the fact is that he was radiant.

The melodramatic contrast between this triumphant figure and the pathetic convict serving two years' hard labour was drawn by Wilde himself in _De Profundis_ , the letter written from prison to his lover, Lord Alfred Douglas. He described his transfer in November 1895 from Wandsworth to Reading Gaol, little care being taken for his privacy:

From two o'clock till half-past two on that day I had to stand on the centre platform at Clapham Junction in convict dress and handcuffed, for the world to look at. I had been taken out of the Hospital Ward without a moment's notice being given to me. Of all possible objects I was the most grotesque. When people saw me they laughed. Each train as it came up swelled the audience. Nothing could exceed their amusement. That was of course before they knew who I was. As soon as they had been informed, they laughed still more. For half an hour I stood there in the grey November rain surrounded by a jeering mob.

Wilde insisted that his life was as much an artistic endeavour as his works – in _De Profundis_ he claimed to have been 'a man who stood in symbolic relations to the art and culture of my age', and in conversation with Gide he remarked that the great drama of his life lay in his having put his talent into his works, and his genius into his life. For an author who returned as often as Wilde did to the proposition that art transforms and is the superior of Nature, such claims were more than boasting – they were an affirmation of faith.

Oscar Wilde was born in Dublin on 16 October 1854, second son of Sir William and Lady Wilde. The father was an eminent surgeon, the mother a poetess and fervent Irish nationalist who wrote as 'Speranza'. To medical distinction Sir William joined notoriety as a philanderer. Both parents were enthusiasts for the study of Irish legend, folk-lore and history, an interest reflected in the first two of the names given to their son, Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde. He was educated at Portora Royal School and Trinity College, Dublin, where he became a protégé of the classicist John Pentland Mahaffy. In 1875 he won a scholarship – a 'Classical Demyship' – to Magdalen College, Oxford, where he subsequently took first-class honours in the final school of _Literae Humaniores_ (Greek and Roman literature, history and philosophy). He picked up a reputation for wit, charm and conversational prowess. Most important, he came under the influence of two eminent writers on art and its relation to life, John Ruskin and Walter Pater. Ruskin, the most distinguished contemporary art critic, championed the moral and social dimensions of art, and its ability to influence men's lives for the better. Under Ruskin's supervision, Wilde and a few other undergraduates had begun the construction of a road near Hinksey, as a practical demonstration of the aesthetic dignity of labour and the workmanlike qualities essential to the labours of the artist. From Pater, Wilde learned a conflicting interpretation of art as a means to the cultivation of the individual, an idea which received its most notorious statement in the 'Conclusion' to Pater's book, _The Renaissance_. There the completely developed sensibility is claimed as the expression of a full existence: 'To burn always with this hard, gem-like flame, to maintain this ecstasy, is success in life'. These two theories of the relation between art and life were to dominate Wilde's writing. The arguments of the painter James McNeill Whistler against conservative critics' insistence on moral significance and pictorial verisimilitude in art also influenced Wilde deeply. The close of his Oxford career was marked by two triumphs – his first-class degree and the Newdigate prize for his poem _Ravenna_ – and two failures. Wilde was not given the Chancellor's English Essay Prize for his essay 'The Rise of Historical Criticism' and he was not offered a fellowship at Magdalen.

Moving to London, Wilde set about making himself a name in the capital's fashionable artistic and literary worlds. He had enough poems to make a collected volume, published at his own expense in 1881, and he was seen at the right parties, first nights and private views. Occasionally he wore the velvet coat and knee-breeches, soft-collared shirt and cravat, that became fixed in the popular imagination as 'aesthetic' dress (and which derived from a fancy-dress ball he had attended when an undergraduate). In December 1881 he embarked on a lecture-tour of the United States organized by the impresario Richard D'Oyly Carte. This was a shrewd back-up to the tour of Gilbert and Sullivan's comic opera _Patience_ , but it was also a simple exploitation of the American appetite for being lectured to. Although _Patience_ , which satirized the Aesthetic Movement, featured rival poets dressed in a costume closely resembling that adopted by Wilde, the lecturer was taken seriously as a prophet of the 'new renaissance' of art. In his lectures he insisted on comparing the new preoccupation with life-styles with the aspirations of the Italian Renaissance and the Romantic Movement – this was 'a sort of new birth of the spirit of man', like the earlier rebirth 'in its desire for a more gracious and comely way of life, its passion for physical beauty, its exclusive attention to form, its seeking for new subjects for poetry, new forms of art, new intellectual and imaginative enjoyment...' The blend of aesthetic theory and enthusiasm for reform of design and colouring in dress and decorative art was derived from a variety of sources, not all successfully synthesized. In addition to Ruskin, Pater and Whistler, Wilde had absorbed the ideas of William Morris and the architect E. W. Godwin. The lectures were exercises in _haute vulgarisation_ and not all the sources were acknowledged. Japanese and other oriental art, eighteenth-century furniture, distempered walls in pastel colours, stylized floral motifs – all had made their appearance in English art before Wilde became their advocate. But the influence of his popularizing talents was, for all that, considerable. 'In fact,' wrote Max Beerbohm in 1895, looking back on 1880 as though it were a remote historical period, 'Beauty had existed long before 1880. It was Mr Oscar Wilde who managed her _début_.'

As well as establishing him as a popular oracle on matters of art and taste Wilde's lecture-tour made him a great deal of badly-needed money – he had no prospect of inheriting a family fortune, and would have to make his own way. On his return the velvet suits were discarded, and his hair, worn long and flowing in his 'Aesthetic' period, was cut short in a style resembling the young Nero. The figure described by Gide was beginning to emerge. After a holiday in Paris, Wilde moved into rooms at 9 Charles Street, Grosvenor Square. He returned briefly to New York for the first performance of his melodrama _Vera; or, the Nihilists_ and then prepared for an autumn lecture-tour of the United Kingdom. On 26 November he became engaged to Constance Lloyd, and they married on 29 May 1884. In January 1885 they moved into a house designed by Godwin at 16 Tite Street, Chelsea. Two sons, Cyril and Vyvyan, were born in 1885 and 1886 respectively. In the early years of his marriage Wilde was working hard as a journalist. He contributed reviews to magazines (including the _Pall Mall Gazette_ and the _Dramatic Review_ ) and for a while even undertook the editorship of one, _Woman's World_ , which he hoped to turn into 'the recognized organ through which women of culture and position will express their views, and to which they will contribute'. By and by Constance came into a small inheritance, but money was never plentiful. The life of a professional journalist was laborious and demanded a high degree of craftsmanship, but it offered a training from which Wilde, like Shaw, Wells, and many others, profited immensely. Wilde became a fastidious and tireless reviser of his own work, and his reviews show him as an acute critic of others.

In 1891 four of Wilde's books appeared, all consisting of earlier work, some of it in a revised form: _Intentions_ , a collection of critical essays; _Lord Arthur Savile's Crime and Other Stories; The Picture of Dorian Gray_ , considerably altered from the version published in _Lippincott's Monthly Magazine_ in 1890; and a collection of children's stories, _A House of Pomegranates_. In the same year a verse tragedy written in 1882, _The Duchess of Padua_ , was produced in New York by Lawrence Barrett under the title _Guido Ferranti_. Like _Vera_ it was poorly received, but Wilde was already turning away from the pseudo-Elizabethan dramatic form that had preoccupied so many nineteenth-century poets and contemplating a newer, more commercially acceptable mode. In the summer of 1891 he began work on the first of a series of successful plays for the fashionable theatres of the West End: _Lady Windermere's Fan_ (St James's, 20 February 1892), _A Woman of No Importance_ (Haymarket, 19 April 1893), _An Ideal Husband_ (Haymarket, 3 January 1895) and _The Importance of Being Earnest_ (St James's, 14 February 1895). The refusal of a performance licence to the exotic biblical tragedy _Salomé_ (in 1892) proved merely a temporary setback: acclaim as a dramatic author confirmed Wilde's career in what seemed an irresistible upward curve.

The summer of 1891 was also remarkable for the beginning of an association that was to be the direct cause of Wilde's downfall: the poet Lionel Johnson introduced him to 'Bosie', Lord Alfred Douglas, the third son of the Marquess of Queensberry. Wilde appears to have been already a practising homosexual, and his marriage was under some strain. The affair with Douglas estranged him further from Constance, and the drain it caused on Wilde's nervous and financial resources was formidable. Douglas was happy to let Wilde spend money on him after his father stopped his allowance; more seriously, he made ceaseless demands on the time set aside for writing. In _De Profundis_ Wilde described his attempts to finish _An Ideal Husband_ in an apartment in St James's Place:

I arrived... every morning at 11.30, in order to have the opportunity of thinking and writing without the interruptions inseparable from my own household, quiet and peaceful as that household was. But the attempt was vain. At twelve o'clock you drove up, and stayed smoking cigarettes and chattering till 1.30, when I had to take you out to luncheon at the Café Royal or the Berkeley. Luncheon with its liqueurs lasted usually till 3.30. For an hour you retired to White's [Club]. At tea-time you appeared again, and stayed until it was time to dress for dinner. You dined with me either at the Savoy or at Tite Street. We did not separate as a rule till after midnight, as supper at Willis's had to wind up the entrancing day.

This was in 1893. A year later Wilde was working on what was to prove his last play, _The Importance of Being Earnest_ , the first draft of which had been composed during a family holiday (largely Douglas-free) at Worthing. In October Constance had returned to London with the children. Wilde and Douglas stayed together in Brighton, first at the Metropole Hotel, and then in private lodgings. Douglas developed influenza and Wilde nursed him through it. He in turn suffered an attack of the virus, and Douglas (by Wilde's account) more or less neglected him. The result was what seemed like an irrevocable quarrel, with Douglas living at Wilde's expense in a hotel but hardly bothering to visit him. In hindsight Wilde claimed that this cruelty afforded him a moment of clear understanding:

Is it necessary for me to state that I saw clearly that it would be a dishonour to myself to continue even an acquaintance with such a one as you had showed yourself to be? That I recognized that ultimate moment had come, and recognized it as being really a great relief? And that I knew that for the future my Art and Life would be freer and better and more beautiful in every possible way? Ill as I was, I felt at ease.

But reconciliation followed.

On 3 January 1895 _An Ideal Husband_ was given its first performance. Meanwhile George Alexander, actor-manager of the St James's Theatre, had turned down _The Importance of Being Earnest_. It found a taker in Charles Wyndham, who intended to bring it out at the Criterion. Then Alexander found himself at a loss for a play to replace Henry James's _Guy Domville_ , which had failed spectacularly. Wyndham agreed to release _The Importance of Being Earnest_ on the condition that he had the option on Wilde's next play, and it was put into rehearsal at the St James's. At first Wilde attended rehearsals, but his continual interruptions made Alexander suggest that he might leave the manager and his company to their own resources. He agreed with good grace and left with Douglas for a holiday in Algeria. There they encountered André Gide, who was told by Wilde that he had a premonition of some disaster awaiting him on his return. Although his artistic reputation was beyond question, and he was shortly to have two plays running simultaneously in the West End, Wilde was already worried by the activities of Douglas's father. Queensberry was a violent, irrational man, who hated his son's lover and who was capable of hurting both parties. Bosie insisted on flaunting his relationship with Wilde to annoy his father and he was reckless of the effect of this public display of unconventional behaviour. Homosexuality was no less a fact of life in 1895 than it is now; moreover, the artistic and theatrical world accommodated it better than society at large. It had a flourishing and varied subculture and a number of sophisticated apologists. The double life that it entailed was by no means a simple matter of deceit and guilt for Wilde: it suited the cultivation of moral independence and detachment from society that he considered essential to art. None the less, if his affair with Douglas should ever come to be more public, and if the law were to be invoked, Wilde would be ruined. There had been scandals and trials involving homosexuals of the upper classes, which had to a degree closed their ranks to protect their own. But Wilde had made powerful enemies in a country whose leaders, institutions and press seemed devoted to Philistinism and where art itself was always suspect as constituting a threat to the moral fibre of the nation. _Dorian Gray_ in particular had aroused violent mistrust, especially in its original form, and a satirical novel by Robert Hichens, _The Green Carnation_ (1894), had hinted at a homosexual relationship between two characters obviously based on Wilde and Douglas. Queensberry had made his feelings about his son's private life well known in Clubland. On the first night of _The Importance of Being Earnest_ , which opened on 14 February 1895, he tried to cause a disturbance at the theatre, but was thwarted by the management. The play was a great success – according to one of the actors, 'The audience rose in their seats and cheered and cheered again'. As it settled down to what promised to be a long run, Wilde's career was at its height.

A fortnight later, on 28 February, Queensberry left a card at the Albemarle Club 'For Oscar Wilde posing as a somdomite' [ _sic_ ]. The club porter put the card in an envelope, noting on the back the time and date, and Wilde was given it when he arrived at the club later that evening. The events that followed ruined him within a few months. Urged on by Douglas, but against the advice of most of his friends, Wilde sued Queensberry for criminal libel. The case went against Wilde, who found himself answering charges under the 1885 Criminal Law Amendment Act, which made both private and public homosexual relations between men illegal. Significantly, the accusations against him did not include his affair with Douglas: he was alleged to have committed acts of gross indecency on a number of occasions and to have conspired to procure the committing of such acts. The men involved were 'renters', young, lower-class, male prostitutes, and there was a strong sense in the proceedings that Wilde was being tried for betraying his class's social as well as sexual ethics. Much was made of the alleged immorality of his works, especially _Dorian Gray_. The jury at what was effectively the second trial of Wilde (after the hearings in his charge against Queensberry) failed to agree, and a retrial was ordered. Finally, on 25 May 1895, Wilde was convicted and sentenced to two years' imprisonment with hard labour. In the autumn he was declared bankrupt and all his effects were auctioned, including drafts and manuscripts of published and unpublished works. On 19 May 1897 he was released and took up residence in France. During his imprisonment he had composed a long, bitter letter to Douglas, later published under the title _De Profundis_. Shortly after his release he completed a narrative poem, _The Ballad of Reading Gaol_. These and a few letters to the press on prison reform apart, Wilde published nothing new after his imprisonment. He did manage to arrange for the publication of _The Importance of Being Earnest_ and _An Ideal Husband_ in 1899. Projects for further plays came to nothing. The affair with Douglas was taken up again and continued sporadically. They led a nomadic life on the Continent, Wilde often chronically in debt despite the good offices of his friends. His allowance from Constance was withdrawn when he resumed living with Bosie. His plays were not yet being revived in England, and what little royalties his published works brought in went to creditors.

Wilde died on 30 November 1900 in Paris, from cerebral meningitis which set in after an operation on his ear. The day before he had been received into the Roman Catholic Church. He was buried at Bagneux, but in 1909 his remains were moved to the Père Lachaise cemetery, where they now rest under a monument by Jacob Epstein.

RJ.

### **The Play**

_Lady Windermere's Fan_ was first staged by George Alexander at the St James's Theatre on 20 February 1892. The play became an immediate success and that success became material for anecdotes about its author, who had been living in the public eye, a prototype of a modern media personality, for over a decade. Press reports of the first night described how, after the applause had died down, the audience called for the author. According to the _Sunday Times_ Wilde appeared on stage nonchalantly smoking and told the audience 'I think that you have enjoyed the performance as much as I have, and I am pleased to believe that you like the piece almost as much as I do myself.' The anecdote illustrates both the reputation for boldness and insouciant wit which Wilde enjoyed in the early 1890s, and the sense of occasion for which first nights at the St James's were celebrated. The theatre was then beginning to acquire its reputation for a reportoire that reflected and endorsed the _mores_ and tastes of its audience, predominantly those of the upper-middle classes residing in or near St James's, Mayfair and Belgravia which the manager of the St James's Theatre, George Alexander, wished to attract. The play ran for 156 performances. It was then taken on a short provincial tour and returned to London to run until early December 1892. _Lady Windermere's Fan_ made Wilde a small fortune. For example, the St James's account sheets show that in the week ending 11 March 1892, the play's total gross was £646 2s. 6d. Wilde's royalty was 5% on the first £600 and 7.5% thereafter; for that week he received in total £43 15s. Id. for 6 performances. Later weeks tell a similar story. The figures for the week ending 25 March 1892 reveal that the play grossed £663 18s. 6d., and that Wilde earned £46 12s. 5d.; by July he was still earning almost £50 a week in royalties. These were large sums for a writer who only a few years earlier had earned a living by reviewing for one or two pounds an article.

Critics were less certain than the first-night audience in their reception of the play. Most acknowledged the brilliance of Wilde's dialogue as the play's most distinctive and admirable feature; some dwelt on its structural similarities to recent French and British drama. The most hostile review, that by the arch-conservative Clement Scott in the _Illustrated London News_ (27 February 1892), criticized the play on the grounds that it did not depict London Society as accurately as other recent pieces of Society Drama. Scott's observation goes to the heart of the play. The term 'Society' appears on several occasions in the play and is central to it. Today critics would interpret Scott's reading as a sociological one, although how they understand and value Wilde's representation of his society is very different. More precisely, the alleged 'misrepresentation' which Scott dwelt upon is translated by modern critical analysis into a discussion of the operation of power in late nineteenth-century British society.

In fact for the first seventy years of the twentieth century, it was more usual for critics to discuss the play's moral issues in isolation from its social reference; so _Lady Windermere's Fan_ was affiliated to a tradition of drama which dealt with what were supposed to be universal moral concerns. Moreover within that tradition it was held to be a minor play because the moral issue which it did discuss – that of sexual equality – had by 1892 become something of a cliché of Victorian melodrama. It is worth remembering that the main interest of feminists in the 1890s had moved from the domestic to the more overtly public and political: the right to vote, to employment, to education. By contrast the conflict between an obligation to self and an obligation to family, or between duty and desire, which forms the moral centre of _Lady Windermere's Fan_ , had been the concern of an earlier generation of women writers, and can be found in any number of mid-Victorian novels, plays and poetry. More recent revaluations of _Lady Windermere's Fan_ , based on a renewed sociological understanding of its reference, emphasize the ironic distance between the morality of the play as whole (and therefore that of its author), and the specific moral decisions made by the characters. The blurred morality which early critics (such as Scott) had seen as a weakness becomes a strength if Wilde is understood to be contesting the conventions which he is using, particularly the moral essentialism on which Victorian melodrama invariably relies.

_'What's the difference between scandal and gossip?_ ' (Act III). Scene from the first production of _Lady Windermere's Fan_ at St James's Theatre in 1892. George Alexander (right) played Lord Windermere. ( _From the Mander and Mitchenson Theatre Collection_ )

This view of Wilde as a dramatist who wished to subvert the representational functions or qualities of late nineteenth-century Society Drama requires an understanding of the complex social and artistic milieux in which his plays were first performed. That understanding can usefully begin with the meanings of the term which Scott uses – 'Society': more exactly, what Society is in the play, and what it is in relation to the individuals who first saw the play – the dazzled first-night audience at the St James's for whom Wilde had written it. The phrase 'London Society', and its more emphatic forms 'Good Society' or 'Best Society', were understood by the late nineteenth century as simply an élite of the most distinguished figures of the nation – distinguished, that is, by political, social and cultural fame, but first and foremost by birth. The justification for the existence of such an élite was rarely, if ever, questioned by its members. Wilde knew this well, and in his next play, _A Woman of No Importance_ , he has Lord Illingworth emphatically tell the young Gerald Arbuthnot:

To be in it is merely a bore. But to be out of it simply a tragedy. Society is a necessary thing. No man has any real success in this world unless he has got women to back him, and women rule society.

Or as Lady Bracknell tells Algernon in _The Importance of Being Earnest_ :

Never speak disrespectfully of Society, Algernon. Only people who can't get into it do that.

A modern sociologist would understand the term 'Society' as referring to a status or interest group regulated by an elaborately coded system of relationships, the main function of which was to provide solidarity and cohesion, as well as to assign position and rank to its members. It was, like all other status groups (as Lord Illingworth in Wilde's play amply knows) almost obsessively concerned with access to or exclusion from its ranks. Indeed, social ostracism, including the ostracism of Mrs Erlynne from London Society in _Lady Windermere's Fan_ , was a common theme in nineteenth-century literature and drama. During the course of the nineteenth century, Society developed an elaborate series of social occasions, the informally but rigorously policed and exclusive London Season to which Dumby and the Duchess of Berwick refer in Act II. The Season was a pattern of social events which included not only private entertainments (like Lady Windermere's ball) but public events like Ascot, Henley and the Private View of the Royal Academy. The central feature of Society, making the exclusiveness of its social events possible, was a tightly regulated code of behaviour which, as much as money or birth, was the defining attribute of Society's members, for it identified them publicly as _ladies_ and _gentlemen_. To deviate from these conventions (as Wilde's heroines do – Mrs Erlynne in _Lady Windermere's Fan_ , and Mrs Arbuthnot in _A Woman of No Importance_ ), was to relinquish that title and the distinction it bestowed and to place oneself outside Society.

The rigid codification of what constituted acceptable behaviour regulated both domestic and social life; as a consequence it produced an intense feeling of community. And so a striking feature of Society Drama is the theme of the social acceptability or otherwise of those characters who do not conform to Society's _mores_. The minute regulation of domestic life in the last half of the nineteenth century was publicly advertised as etiquette, the rules of which constituted an elaborate ceremonial governing all social occasions, public and private. Etiquette, because it controlled domestic and social life rather than commercial or public life, was formalized by women: responsibility for its observation or its policing became peculiarly their province. As its rules were internalized, so they became legitimated as 'natural'. Two claims were made for etiquette as a code of practice: that it could be justified by common-sense, and that it was fundamentally 'natural' courtesy, refined by tradition. Nineteenth-century publishers produced a veritable library of books describing what counted as acceptable behaviour for the aspiring entrant to the world of London Society. One such popular work claimed that:

Our present code of etiquette is constructed upon the refinement, polish, and culture of years, of centuries. Wealth and luxury, and contact with all that is beautiful in art and nature, have in all ages exercised a powerful influence on the manners of men... The word etiquette... must be viewed in a double light, and be taken from a moral point as well as from a conventional one. A kindly nature, and an unselfish spirit are never wanting in true politeness, but the conventionalities of society give the finish and completeness to the whole.

The assertion that there is no real disjunction between morals and manners, between what London's élite did and what it said it did, is one of Wilde's principal themes in _Lady Windermere's Fan_. At the play's centre is an exploration of the possible anatagonism between what was claimed for etiquette as the ethical and social code of London Society and what observing it could actually entail. It is precisely here that the ironic distance between the morality of the play as whole and the specific moral decisions of individual characters, which I mentioned earlier, becomes clear. This ironic distance is taken as evidence by some critics that Wilde saw the behaviour of London's élite as a matter of power, and therefore of politics, rather than of morality.

In order to understand these observations more fully, we need to return to the role which Victorian theatre played within its culture. One of its most striking features was its faithful reflection and endorsement of social class. Issues of class affected every aspect of theatrical production – the building and furnishing of theatres, audience composition, censorship regulations, box-office receipts, reviews and even the content of particular plays. This was particularly true of middle-class influence, because it was largely middle-class patronage which financed the growth of the West-End theatre for which Wilde wrote in the last quarter of the nineteenth century (a middle-class which was then a much smaller proportion of the population than it is today). Theatre building had been funded by the increased disposable income of the middle-classes, and the luxury and taste which characterized the newly refurbished West-End theatres were specifically directed at a middle class clientéle Indeed, Victorian West-End theatre can usefully be thought of as forming part of a larger social round. The theatre offered London Society a largely favourable reflection of itself and of its values; and Society responded by incorporating this theatrical experience into its own norms of behaviour – so much so that 'going to the theatre' became by the last quarter of the century an important social event, one in which the audience, as much as the actors, were on display.

An important consequence was the way in which the values of London Society informed the representation of moral and social issues on the commercial stage. In general terms, moral debates in Society Drama were limited: rather than question the relative merits of one or more courses of action, they restricted themselves to debating how the _given_ morals of a particular class are to be enforced. So for the majority of dramatists, and particularly for writers such as Henry Arthur Jones and Arthur Wing Pinero, the main concern was with the fair implementation of a morality: its existence as a guide to right conduct was never questioned. In this sense, Society Drama more often than not became one of the external confirmations of the social values that London Society had normalized. Society Drama used relatively few motifs and situations. The plays posed familiar moral problems, particularly problems of sexual morality, and resolved them in ways which confirmed the ethics of their audience. The plots of most plays are therefore easily summarized: they concern young men's responsibility for class and country; or the efforts of _parvenus_ or _déclassés_ to penetrate London Society by marriage; or the familiar figure of 'a woman with a past' – a woman (like Mrs Erlynne) whose former sexual conduct disqualifies her from polite society and whose guilty secrets are inevitably revealed during the course of the play. Many of these staple elements find their way into _Lady Windermere's Fan_.

As I have suggested, one such staple is the relationship between marriage and class. The exclusiveness and rigidity of the English class system had been an important topic for fiction from the 1840s onwards. Some of the most familiar examples are Benjamin Disraeli's _Sybil_ (1845), Elizabeth Gaskell's _Mary Barton_ (1848), Charles Dickens's _Our Mutual Friend_ (1864–5), George Eliot's _Middlemarch_ (1871–2), and Thomas Hardy's _Tess of the D'Urbervilles_ (1891). Largely because of the different nature of its audiences, the theatre discussed these themes less thoroughly and turned to them only in the final decades of the century. Society Drama was not concerned with relationships between classes but, as I have noted, with situations and dilemmas within one class. In particular, it was concerned with that familiar solvent of class differences in Victorian fiction, marriage. As Mrs Erlynne in _Lady Windermere's Fan_ knows, the social institution of marriage was one of the most effective ways of moving across social and class barriers and of gaining (in her case of regaining) access to London Society. The consequences of wise and unwise marriages are a constant theme in Society Drama, and the way in which Society policed itself is a recurrent motif. By the 1890s a number of playwrights were attempting to present the subject of sexual equality in a more open, modern way. Class and marriage formed the subject of Arthur Wing Pinero's highly successful _The Second Mrs Tanqueray_ , which George Alexander staged at the St James's in 1893 shortly after _Lady Windermere's Fan_ had been taken off. More specifically, there was a group of plays which raised the issue of Society's unequal treatment of men and women, and some reviewers saw Wilde's play belonging to this group. The theme of equality was rehearsed in Henry Arthur Jones's _The Case of Rebellious Susan_ (Criterion, 1894) and _Mrs Dane's Defence_ (Wyndham's, 1900), as well as in Pinero's _The Notorious Mrs Ebbsmith_ (Garrick, 1895). Jones's characters reiterate the familiar Victorian conviction that sexual inequality was somehow 'natural': as here in _Rebellious Susan_ :

ELAINE SHRIMPTON

Do you deny that Woman has been most shamefully treated by Man?

SIR RICHARD KATO

It isn't Man that's ungallant to Woman. It's Nature that is so ungallant and so unkind to your sex.

ELAINE SHRIMPTON

We will correct Nature.

SIR RICHARD KATO

By changing your sex? What is it that you ladies want? You are evidently dissatisfied with being women. You cannot wish to be anything so brutal and disgusting as a man. And unfortunately there is no neuter sex in the human species.

or here, in _Mrs Dane's Defence_ :

SIR DANIEL CARTERET

A man demands the treasure of a woman's purest love. It's what he buys and pays for with the strength of his arm and the sweat of his brow. It's the condition on which he makes her his wife and fights the world for her and his children. It's his fiercest instinct, and he does well to guard it; for it's the very mainspring of a nation's health and soundness.

This idea of the 'naturalness' of a specific sexual ethic is a question which Wilde raises in _Lady Windermere's Fan_. In fact his interest in the topic of sexual equality pre-dates the play. In May 1889 in the periodical _Woman's World_ (which he then edited) he reviewed a book entitled _Darwinism and Politics_ (1889) by David Ritchie; he agreed with Ritchie that different sexual ethics could not be justified by an appeal to the biological differences between men and women. Wilde argued that 'the cultivation of separate sorts of virtues and separate ideals of duty in men and women has led to the whole social fabric being weaker and unhealthier than it need be.' While such views appear liberal enough, we should be careful not to make Wilde too much of a champion of women's rights. He was more than happy, should the occasion demand, to allow characters to mock feminist opinions, and it is noticeable that in _Lady Windermere's Fan_ the character who most forcefully advocates equality is Lord Darlington, the dandy/seducer. Indeed Wilde's plays in general are much more conservative than his critical writing; _An Ideal Husband_ , for example, enjoins very separate roles for men and women. This apparent discrepancy might not be simply a matter of 'bad faith' on Wilde's part. It might rather be a consequence of the constraints which governed dramatic authorship as opposed to the relative freedom of journalism.

Closely related to – indeed forming part of – this topic of sexual equality was that of adultery and the breakdown of marriage. Once again the theme was a stock element of Society Drama, although it was unusual for the subject to be so central to a play as it is to _Lady Windermere's Fan_. Adultery and divorce were extremely topical issues: they were at the centre of a wide debate about marriage and marriage legislation at the beginning of the 1890s. We ought to remind ourselves of the fact that despite a number of reforms, the laws governing marriage in the late nineteenth century continued to discriminate against the interests of women. Legislation, such as the Married Woman's Property Acts, which entitled married women to become legal agents controlling money and possessing property, had only gradually been put in place over a number of years. Similarly, nineteenth-century legislation on divorce (which had created civil divorce for the first time in English history in 1857) was so one-sided that most women were still effectively trapped inside marriage. Particular cases (such as the Mackenzie Divorce Case, begun in 1891) began to interpret more liberally what constituted cruelty by a husband and therefore what was legally justifiable desertion by the wife. That said, however, the standard by which the marital conduct of men and women was judged was still highly unequal: Lady Windermere's desertion of her husband, child and home would still have been considered far more damaging than her husband's supposed philandering. Exactly the same double standard is the subject of much late nineteenth-century fiction. Hardy's Tess is 'punished' for a premarital sexual relationship in a way that no male character is: sexual knowledge and experience for men and women were still valued very differently. In Act III Lord Windermere's friends joke about the attractions of a woman with a past – that is, a sexually experienced woman; but for Lady Windermere such conduct (particularly if she were to be to be discovered in a man's rooms) would be catastrophic.

In early drafts of the play the opening act quite clearly sets out to renegotiate what the sexual 'purity' of Lady Windermere means; these drafts contrast her unyielding puritan morality with the flagrant immorality of the world in which she moves. Lord Windermere's relationship with Mrs Erlynne is revealed to be a straightforward attempt to protect his wife from potentially contagious contact with a sexually compromised and blackmailing woman. (The offensiveness of a bad woman to the good was a familiar theme in Society Drama, and one example of it, Lady Windermere's resolute desire that Mrs Erlynne should not be invited to her ball, is retained in the performed and published versions of the play). This conventionalized opening, where good and bad are set in a simple and stark opposition, contrasts strikingly with Wilde's early ideas about the play's ending, where the 'purity' of Lady Windermere is eventually shown to be a lie that can only be maintained publicly by deceit. Mrs Erlynne, disgraced and excluded as she is, now becomes a scapegoat, and her reputation is 'sacrificed' to save Lady Windermere's honour. In any meaningful sense, she, the stereotypical villainess, is ultimately judged to be as good as the nominally 'pure' Lady Windermere. In this way, the play's early working title, 'A Good Woman', exemplifies its initial theme, for in its early form the play sets out a conflict in which we learn that the conventionalized categories of good and bad (with respect to sexual ethics) cannot be defined with any certainty. As such, the themes of these early drafts of the play can be seen to form part of a pattern familiar from Wilde's early criticism, particularly the essays in _Intentions_ (1891), where he attempts to redefine accepted values and ethics.

This line of argument would suggest that in the play's first drafts there is a strong implication that London Society's code of sexual ethics was founded on hypocrisy, as well as an implication that 'purity' is itself only a form of self-deceit, albeit a socially sanctioned one. Such an interpretation has the further advantage of fitting pleasingly with what we know about Wilde's own double life at this time. In 1892 Wilde gave the appearance of being a happily married Victorian father; in reality he was leading a homosexual double life – in his own phrase, 'feasting with panthers'. In the first drafts of the play, Mrs Erlynne ruthlessly exploits these double standards of morality in order to re-enter London Society. The play's opening suggests that her attempt to blackmail Lord Windermere is only possible given a corrupt and hypocritical society, one for which respectability – which in the play's (and Society's) terms means good parentage – must be preserved at all costs. In other words, Mrs Erlynne's motives might be corrupt, but the corruption of London Society is deeper. It is tempting to argue, then, that the play as Wilde initially conceived it was radical for the London stage of the early 1890s.

By the time the Licensing Copy was submitted to the Lord Chamberlain's Office, however, Wilde had made a number of significant alterations to these early drafts. Mrs Erlynne became a character much less single-mindedly concerned with money and position, to the extent that the sacrifice of her social ambitions for the sake of her daughter becomes more plausible. Further changes, which have serious implications for how we understand Mrs Erlynne's character, were made after the first performance. In the earliest drafts, the real identity of Mrs Erlynne is not revealed until the play's final scenes. At some early point in the play's genesis Wilde's manager, George Alexander, concluded that there was dramatic advantage to be gained from disclosing to the audience in either Act I or Act II that Mrs Erlynne and Lady Windermere are related, mother and daughter. Alexander's biographer, the playwright A. E. W. Mason, maintains that Wilde was initially unhappy to make the change and quotes a letter from Alexander to Wilde where he emphasizes the benefits which would follow from the change:

I am perfectly certain, too, that for the good of the play the audience should know very early in the second act, or at any rate at the end of it, that Mrs Erlynne is the mother – this too I have impressed upon you over and over again, but you have refused even to discuss it. The interest would be increased by this knowledge and Mrs Erlynne and Lord Windermere would not be in a false position.

The tone of the letter ('this too I have impressed upon you over and over again') implies disagreements between manager and author, and these were to resurface when Alexander staged Wilde's last play, _The Importance of Being Earnest_. However, it is clear that on both occasions Alexander's instinct for better theatrical practice prevailed; the end of the second act of _Lady Windermere's Fan_ was indeed changed, but not until after the first night. It seems that it was not until a public performance of the play that Wilde conceded the rightness of Alexander's judgement. In fact Wilde subsequently wrote to the _St James's Gazette_ denying that the change had been made because of adverse critical comment about the play's structure:

I am bound to state that all my friends, without exception, were of opinion that the psychological interest of the second act would be greatly increased by the disclosure of the actual relationship existing between Lady Windermere and Mrs Erlynne – an opinion, I may add, that had been held strongly and urged by Mr Alexander.

Moreover, Wilde kept Alexander's suggested revision of the revelation of Mrs Erlynne's identity when he came to put together the first book edition of the play. (Similarly he kept Alexander's changes when he prepared the book version of _The Importance of Being Earnest_ in 1899.)

Once Mrs Erlynne has been revealed to the audience as Lady Windermere's mother, the dramatic impetus of the play changes, in the sense that the radical emphasis on hypocrisy in society which characterized the first two acts is replaced by the less challenging concentration on the tensions of a mother/daughter relationship. By explaining Mrs Erlynne's ambitions and motives in terms of maternal instinct, rather than in terms of a ruthless exploition of social hypocrisy, the play's original radicalism may seem to become muted. It is tempting, then, to argue from the evidence of the earliest drafts of the play, and up to its first performance, where Mrs Erlynne is more obviously a ruthless blackmailer, and where her identity as Lady Windermere's mother is withheld until the final act, that Wilde was intending to use his play to challenge contemporary views about equality, divorce and adultery. However, the history of the revisions to the play is more complex than this simple if appealing narrative, of a move from 'radicalism' to 'conservatism', would suggest.

It is true that in what appear to be the earliest drafts of the play information about Mrs Erlynne's identity is withheld until the last act. It is also true that the last drafts (and almost certainly the first-night prompt-copy) keep Mrs Erlynne's identity a secret until Act IV. However, there is a 'middle' group of drafts of the play which reveal it at the end of both Acts I and II. Clearly, then, differences of opinion about the revelation of Mrs Erlynne's identity had been going on for some time, and were not simply the result of any last minute change of mind. Furthermore, the play's radicalism is not wholly compromised by this early revelation, and Wilde's claim that the change was made to enhance the piece's 'psychological interest', rather than representing some form of political compromise, has considerable validity. Certainly the play's themes _are_ changed by our knowledge of Mrs Erlynne's identity. After the disclosure of who she is, the 'point' of her protection of Lady Windermere in Act III is no longer to suggest that the same fundamental frailties exist in both 'good' and 'bad' women. Mrs Erlynne becomes much more than a fallen woman recognizing two basic social truths, that the _appearance_ of morality and purity must be maintained at all costs, by deceit if necessary, and that deceit itself is justified by the hypocrisy of the society in which she lives. As Mrs Erlynne is revealed to be a mother, so the scene takes on a character much more usual in Victorian melodrama – that of a parent protecting a child. As a consequence, rather than evoke sympathy for the social outcast or the social victim (a theme common in Wilde's short fiction) the play becomes more guarded in its social criticism. The revised play, then, does set the selflessness of parental love against the selfish and destructive nature of sexual love. These too are familiar themes elsewhere in Wilde's work, and the change has the effect of making individual behaviour as much a moral as a social issue. However, the conviction that there is some essential relationship between deceit – acting a part – and the demands of public morality was _not_ lost to the play. Rather it was displaced on to another group of characters, the play's dandies – principally Cecil Graham, Dumby and Lord Darlington. (In fact the development of Darlington's character through the remaining drafts, make him more complex than simple villain or dandy). Significantly the invention of Graham and Dumby, who take over the critical role of Darlington, seems to occur in those middle drafts – that is, at precisely the moment when Wilde first considered revealing Mrs Erlynne's real identity in Act II. In the other words, there is evidence that Wilde was fully in control of the play's themes, and was aware of the problems involved in trying to balance dramatic tension with a radical politics.

These three characters (Graham, Dumby and Darlington) belong to a much larger group central to Wilde's other work; they are seen most threateningly in Lord Henry Wotton in _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ (1891) and most entertainingly in Algernon and Jack in _The Importance of Being Earnest_ (performed 1895, published 1899). What is so significant about Lord Henry and his fictional relations is their freedom to flout social conventions. In the plays, however, this freedom is more limited: Wilde's dramatic dandies are free only to _talk about_ breaking moral codes. The freedom which Lord Darlington or Lord Goring (in _An Ideal Husband_ , performed 1895, published 1899) or Lord Illingworth (in _A Woman of No Importance_ , performed 1893, published 1894) enjoy is that of verbal play. Verbally their freedom is absolute and is exercised through Wilde's own favourite conversational device, the paradox. What characterizes the speech of the dandy is its insincerity and its contrivance; effect, rather than truth, is its intention. As such it confirms Wilde's own views about the laws of art. Through a series of highly contrived speeches, Darlington, and later Graham and Dumby, challenge the moral and social expectations of their audience, both on and off the stage. Their flippancies work by exposing the banality and moral complacency of Victorian drawing-room conversation. The consequences of this verbal iconoclasm, however, _are_ restricted. Darlington can utter or hint at immoral sentiments; but he is forbidden to act immorally, for as soon as he actually breaks Society's moral code (in declaring his adulterous love for Lady Windermere), he abandons the pose of the dandy, and to all intents and purposes, ceases to have any significant critical function for the rest of the play. However, in Act III, as I have said, the dandy's role (and the social critique which it embodies) is passed to Cecil Graham and Dumby; their wit balances Darlington's reversion to a conventional melodramatic type, that of the disappointed lover.

Wilde's dandies ruthlessly exploit a feature of behaviour present to a lesser extent in all the other characters of the play – a willingness to lie. All social intercourse in _Lady Windermere's Fan_ seems to work by the convention that an individual character modifies his or her speech in accordance with the expectations of his or her interlocutor. The Duchess of Berwick maintains that her nieces do not talk scandal, but merely 'remark' on what they see 'to everyone'. Lady Jedburgh's nephew, too, is destined for political success because he 'thinks like a Tory and talks like a Radical'. The smooth operation of London Society, with its series of regulated and accepted excuses, is seen to depend upon lies. So the Duchess of Berwick employs a variety of verbal masquerades to ensnare Hopper, with his newly-acquired colonial wealth, as a son-in-law. The Season, too, in Wilde's eyes, both requires and sanctions a variety of verbal deceptions for its success. The polite and successful social tattle at Lady Windermere's ball requires verbal inconsistencies (which in other situations become intended or unwitting lies):

DUMBY

Good evening, Lady Stutfield. I suppose this will be the last ball of the season?

LADY STUTFIELD

I suppose so, Mr Dumby. It's been a delightful season, hasn't it?

DUMBY

Quite delightful. Good evening, Duchess. I suppose this will be the last ball of the season?

THE DUCHESS OF BERWICK

I suppose so, Mr Dumby. It has been a very dull season, hasn't it?

DUMBY

Dreadfully dull! Dreadfully dull!

MRS COWPER-COWPER

Good evening, Mr Dumby. I suppose this will be the last ball of the season?

DUMBY

Oh, I think not. There'll probably be two more.

Indeed, there are only two characters in the play who make consistent attempts at truthfulness: Lady Windermere, who is finally reduced to a form of lying – withholding from Lord Windermere the truth about her presence in Lord Darlington's rooms; and Lord Augustus, who in his attempts to express what he feels is often reduced to mere inarticulacy. The implication of Wilde's emphasis on this particular aspect of London Society is that his dandies not only exploit, but perfect, a feature of social life already present in their world. Wilde's dandies act a role constantly and their performances are consequently more successful than those of their peers. In fact Wilde was only taking to extremes an accepted feature of etiquette. When contemporary manuals of conversation discussed the relationship between truthfulness and successful social intercourse, they were usually ambivalent. In this respect unusually frank advice was offered by J. P. Mahaffy in his _The Principles of the Art of Conversation_ (1887) – a work all the more interesting because Mahaffy was Wilde's old tutor at Trinity College, Dublin. Ideally, Mahaffy maintained, conversation should combine entertainment, moral edification and truthfulness: 'the most solid and lasting recreation [and] the most excellent refreshment of the soul'. In practice, he observed, there would invariably be a tension between truthfulness and social entertainment. In such cases, he advised, the most accomplished conversationalist should aim at entertaining his audience. So Mahaffy's manual at times endorses some of the observations and precepts of Lord Darlington and Cecil Graham:

But on the other hand, there is such a thing in society... as being over-scrupulous in truthfulness. Even a consummate liar, though generally vulgar, and therefore offensive, is a better ingredient in company than the scrupulously truthful man, who weighs every statement, questions every fact, and corrects every inaccuracy. I have heard a witty talker pronounce it the golden rule of conversation _to know nothing accurately_.

Yolanda Vasquez as Lady Windermere and Giles Havergal as Lord Windermere in Philip Prowse's 1988 production at the Glasgow Citizens Theatre. Photograph by John Vere Brown.

As a consequence Mahaffy – like Graham, Dumby and the Duchess of Berwick's nieces – realized the social attractions of gossip and the inevitability of scandal, which 'is deeply interesting to almost everybody, and though by no means improving is always entertaining'. Wilde's dandies have, in a sense, assimilated advice like that offered by Mahaffy, for with them conversation has become an art; consequently the form and the effect of an utterance are its most important aspects. But in so doing, they merely reduce to absurdity a principle which Wilde saw as central to the operation of London Society – the socially effective, and so socially acceptable, lie. As Mrs Erlynne ruthlessly exploits the essential deceitfulness of Society's sexual ethics, so Wilde's dandies absurdly exploit the paradoxes of Society's social ethics. The play itself finally endorses some kinds of concealment not only as considerate and unselfish but also as necessary.

Finally, of course, all these potential contradictions in Society's values are reconciled by the play's happy ending. It is, however, a very partial justice which prevails in the last scene. Lady Windermere's honour is preserved, while Mrs Erlynne remains condemned for exactly the same fault. For all her heroic sacrifice, Mrs Erlynne is given only the dubious reward of a marriage to Lord Augustus. At the same time, Wilde refuses to stereotype the 'fallen' woman as the repentant sinner. Mrs Erlynne recognizes and sets aside the feelings of a parent – 'a heart doesn't suit me, Windermere. Somehow it doesn't go with modern dress'. This inversion of the conventions of Society Drama allows Wilde to expose, but not to disturb, the moral assumptions embedded in it. Darlington is dispatched abroad to work off his illicit and anti-social passion where it can do no harm. And Mrs Erlynne, while she can enjoy her aristocratic match, also has to live abroad. Her goodness might be apparent to Lady Windermere and to the audience, but it is not allowed to threaten the stability of London Society. Wilde's ending is comic in that his characters are all allowed a second chance to make amends for past mistakes; it is also satiric in the sense that it inverts the theatrical conventions with which he was working; but it is far from optimistic.

The ambiguous but none the less comic ending of the play is important because it reminds us of the conventions of the late nineteenth-century stage. Wilde (and Alexander) could mock the values of the audience who supported them, but that mockery had limits. Neither could ever afford the kind of social criticism to be found in the work of Henrik Ibsen or George Bernard Shaw. It is worth remembering that despite his sympathy with radical political views and with the non-profit-making avant-garde theatre clubs of the 1890s (where Ibsen's and Shaw's early work was staged for very small audiences), Wilde craved approbation from those 'best circles' which his plays gently mocked. After all, he had spent the best part of twelve years (since leaving Oxford) trying to be taken seriously by that élite group which Max Beerbohm called the 'upper ten thousand'. It is also worth remembering that as long as those 'best circles' survived as a potent force in British society, Wilde's plays had an audience. Alexander's revivals of _Lady Windermere's Fan_ in 1904 and 1911 were very successful. However those revivals had required costumes, furniture and topical allusions to be updated in order that Edwardian audiences could recognize themselves in the play rather than their late Victorian predecessors.

This need to update the plays, felt as early as four years after Wilde's death, reminds us of the subtlety and intimacy of his relationship to the subject and audience of the Society Comedies. The plays appeared much more dated after the upheavals brought about by the Great War had weakened the position of British social élites. That insecurity derived in part from a growing discrepancy between middle-class and aristocratic (or upper-middle-class) power and aspirations. In the 1890s there had been a much stronger continuity of values between these two social groups, so that middle-class audiences of the West-End theatres in the late nineteenth century could identify with the values represented on the stage. More precisely, the insecurity of the upper-middle classes allowed them to identify with Wilde's satire on the philistinism of lower-middle class values (particularly those of the professional world of bankers, stockbrokers, lawyers, solicitors and the clergy). By 1920, of course, the relative power and status of these groups had changed significantly, and so too had the role and identity of British middle-class society. Theatre audiences of the 1920s no longer necessarily shared the values and aspirations of the characters represented in Wilde's plays. As Joel H. Kaplan has pointed out, by this time it had become very difficult to recapture that sense of contemporaneity where the audience could identify in some sense with what was being enacted on the stage. Put more simply, modern-dress productions of a play such as _Lady Windermere's Fan_ had become virtually impossible: 'Victorian manners in post-war garb created anachronisms too glaring to overlook', Kaplan comments. A sense of anachronism distanced the audience from the stage; more importantly, it disabled the ways in which the play had operated as satire.

Since the 1920s, then, modern directors have had to find innovative ways of staging the play in order to recuperate its original political edge. One interesting if unusual presentation was Ernst Lubitsch's 1925 silent film of the play. As Kaplan observes, by cutting the text Lubitsch could use the language of contemporary Hollywood cinema to evoke a materialism and opulence analogous to the 1890s West End, but relevant and specific to the consumerism of the 1920s. Of course for the theatre, this kind of reinterpretation, where linguistic effects are translated into visual equivalents, is not easy. The most recent productions of _Lady Windermere's Fan_ have concentrated on radical reinterpretations of the text – on reading for what modern literary critics have called the play's subtexts. Invariably this reading has involved locating a subversive sexual politics submerged beneath the polite world of 1890s London Society. More precisely the heterosexual jealousies and insecurities in the play, which centre on issues of adultery and what constitutes a wise marriage, are reinterpreted in terms of the values of homosexual and homosocial societies. So most 1890s audiences saw the exclusive world of the male club and its attitudes to women (in Act III) as something quite innocuous and humorous. That scene takes on entirely different connotations when that exclusive male world is explicitly coded in terms of homosexual camaraderie. Similarly the consistent criticism of marriage and the _mores_ of heterosexual behaviour become pointed when they are aligned directly with the male world of the dandy. Here it is worth reiterating a point made earlier, that Lord Darlington ceases to be an interesting and critical character once he 'comes out' as the heterosexual suitor of Lady Windermere.

The legitimation of these sorts of interpretations is of course one established by new accounts of Wilde's life, which is now impossible to read in terms other than that of the gay icon and the gay martyr. As a consequence, it is equally impossible for modern theatre-goers to see his plays free from the freight which has accrued from a century of speculating about his iconoclastic life and fetishizing his sexuality; we should not be surprised if modern directors have exploited the possibilities in juxtaposing the life and the work. At the same time, we should exercise caution in seeing Wilde in the 1890s in the light of the Wilde of the 1990s. We cannot assume that the radical politics which modern directors and readers find in the play were ever 'intended' by Wilde or available for his contemporary audience. Wilde the subversive writer, who uses but overturns the heterosexual morality of his time, is very much a modern creation: it is one that has been taken seriously only in the last twenty years. Moreover, it is possible to construct the 'subversive' Wilde only by a counter-intuitive reading of the plays – that is, by looking for hidden subtextual or coded meanings. Of course, no simple appeal to evidence can gainsay what is allegedly invisible or hidden (which would have to be explicit to be controverted). Hence it is difficult to disprove these subtextual interpretations. However, we should remember that drama is a performance art. We can be certain that contemporary audiences would not have continued to patronize a play which offended them. The proper distinction to make, then, is not about the existence or otherwise of hidden codes, but the functions which the play possesses within particular cultures at particular moments in time: seen in these terms, Wilde's play continues to work for audiences, even if it requires reinterpretation.

### **The Play and its Drafts**

It is now generally acknowledged that Wilde was a frequent and conscientious reviser of his work. Evidence for Wilde's actual writing practices, however, is rather uneven. More manuscripts and typescript drafts for the four Society Comedies survive than for the earlier works. There are manuscripts for only some of the poems, fewer still for the short stories, and virtually none for Wilde's journalism. One reason for this state of affairs is the bankruptcy proceedings brought against Wilde by the Marquess of Queensberry in 1895, which resulted in the dispersal of much of Wilde's literary property, including his manuscripts and typescripts. A more important reason exists in the collaborative nature of dramatic authorship, where many playwrights were open to suggestions made by the cast and the actor-manager (the end of the second act of _Lady Windermere's Fan_ being a case in point). Rehearsal and part copies, which were kept together by the company and which the modern editor can use to construct a history of a play's evolution, ensure that we have abundant evidence about the way Wilde set about learning the art of playwrighting. The changes made to the work which began life as manuscript notes entitled _A Good Woman_ and which was published as _Lady Windermere's Fan_ by the Bodley Head in 1893 shows how steep that learning curve was.

There are six surviving drafts and one unauthorized edition of _Lady Windermere's Fan_. Most of these differ markedly from each other and all differ significantly from the text that Wilde finally chose to print in 1893. They can be tentatively divided into three groups, each of which represents a major stage in the composition of the final text. The first group comprises the manuscript draft at the British Library (BL) and a typescript under the earlier title of 'A Good Woman' at the William Andrews Clark Memorial Library in UCLA (C1). The second group comprises early acting versions. It includes a version in manuscript (not Wilde's), also at the Clark Library (Cms), and an acting version in typescript, again at the Clark (C2: this text has two separately typed copies of Acts II, III, and IV, but only one of Act I). The C2 typescripts are very similar and it is possible that one was a duplicate of the other. Also in this group we can include the text published in Britain as _Lady Windermere's Fan_ (n.d.) by Samuel French (F). The text of this edition is different from every other surviving acting version or published edition of the play, and appears to be based on an earlier (and perhaps pirated) acting version as it has more textual features in common with C2 and Cms than with either the first edition or with the other acting copies. The third group includes a performance text (revised in manuscript by several hands) in the possession of the University of Texas (T) and the Licensing Copy (LC) – the only one dated, for it bears the receipt-stamp of the Lord Chamberlain's Office for 15 February 1892 (i.e. five days before the first performance). Once again these texts have many elements in common which set them apart from the other drafts.

The various redraftings and revisions of the play reveal certain features which can be used to illustrate its genesis. These include additional characters and changes in characterization and to the play's structure. But they also reveal that Wilde's conception of the play's central theme changed fundamentally during the course of revisions. Although a distinct pattern may be discerned in the revisions to the plot and to the development of the play's comic moments, a reason for this pattern is not easily found. Moreover, the exact revisions which Wilde made to the play are very complex in nature. The order of revision is not a simple chronological progression – that of draft A being revised to draft B, then to draft C and so on. Lines and speeches (and occasionally parts of scenes and act-endings) are discarded from earlier drafts only to be reincorporated into later ones. Each draft of the play gives evidence of Wilde working tentatively but often haphazardly to the final printed edition.

Although it contains some features which Wilde discarded for the later acting versions and revived for the first edition, the BL manuscript draft is markedly different from the other drafts of the play. There are only five characters, including a Lord Robert Erskine (a surname which Wilde had already used in 1889 in 'The Portrait of Mr W. H.'); Mrs Erlynne is Mrs Alwynne and Parker is Barker. The play begins with the entry of Lord Darlington, a character only sketchily drawn and who is more forward in his suggestion of adultery. He is without any of elements of the dandy which distinguish his character in the later drafts. Only some speeches are attributed to characters. The draft has little verbal polish and some of the scenes and characters of the later drafts are absent (such as some of the ballroom scenes of Act II and the characters of Graham, Hopper, Dumby, Lady Agatha and Lady Plymdale). While it has little of the wit of the later versions, the basic features of the plot are in place, but it presents its subject, the irresistible nature of adultery, much more forcefully. There is no indication of Mrs Erlynne's relationship with Lady Windermere until the final act.

By the time the C1 typed draft was complete, the play was much more fully settled in Wilde's mind. The opening exchange between Parker and Lady Windermere is in place, and Lord Darlington is much more fully characterized. Lady Windermere is forthright in her allegations about Mrs Erlynne, who in this draft is an unsophisticated blackmailer. Lord Augustus is more fully drawn and the part of Lady Agatha now has more lines (more in fact than in the first edition). The sequence of scenes in Act II is much altered and contains an additional lengthy altercation between Lord and Lady Windermere. Act IV is much longer and contains a scene where Lady Windermere tries to find a miniature of Mrs Erlynne, who is again revealed as a mother only in this act. The character of Hopper is not yet invented and an additional theme, that of the enduring quality of parental love, emerges.

In the absence of dates, it is difficult to assign to the second group of drafts an order of composition from internal features alone. Structure and characterization is much the same as in the first edition, although the drafts contain between 328 (C2) and 591 (F) substantive differences from it. Hopper is present for the first time, and the comic functions of Lord Augustus are now firmly established. The minor characters, however, are different from the first edition, as are the conclusions of Acts I and II. The obsessively adulterous nature of London Society is still the major theme.

T and LC together represent the closest surviving approximation to the text of the first performance; they do, however, differ from each other. The notion of the fundamental similarity of the 'good' and 'bad' woman is now much more firmly at the play's centre. Both drafts are very different from the first edition.

In 1893, twenty-one months after it was first performed, the first edition of the play (1st ed.) was published by Elkin Mathews and John Lane at the Bodley Head, a firm which had in the early 1890s established itself as a significant literary and dramatic publisher; the firm's list included works by Matthew Arnold, Edward Burne Jones, Sir Frederick (later Lord) Leighton, Christina Rossetti, William Michael Rossetti and John Ruskin. Wilde, however, was one of the Bodley Head's most prized authors – _Salomé_ was to be their single most profitable book and _The Sphinx_ their most expensive. The contract between publisher and writer reflects this prestige: it specified an edition of 500 small-paper and 50 large-paper copies at the respective prices of 7s. 6d. and 15s. net. The books were elaborately produced collectors' items and had gold embossed designs by Charles Shannon. Wilde once more thoroughly revised his text for publication, and it is clear that he returned to earlier drafts for lines (and, indeed, whole speeches) which he had deleted from the second and third group of drafts. As a consequence, the published play is longer and has more characters than any of the drafts. Wilde's revisions from the final acting versions to the first edition are of three kinds. First, there are revisions to the play's structure. One of these was his decision to incorporate Alexander's advice (which is discussed above) by revealing the identity of Mrs Erlynne in Act II; another was the use of more characters (without speaking parts), also in Act II. (Of course, introducing a non-speaking character into a book is a far easier undertaking than hiring an actor for a non-speaking part on the stage.) Secondly, there are a large number of small but important stylistic revisions: the reinstatement of single words (especially adverbs) which change an emphasis or nuance of meaning, and the use of emphatic repetitions not present in the drafts. The third group of revisions concerns the lengthening (at times the doubling) of certain speeches. In general, speeches in the first edition are more melodramatically impassioned and more deliberately rhetorical than in any of the drafts.

### **Note on the Text and Textual and Critical Annotation**

The text printed in this edition follows that of the Elkin Mathews and John Lane (Bodley Head) first edition of the play published in 1893. There is no reason to suppose that the changes incorporated into this edition were not made by Wilde or without his authority. It is clear that this text is in places profoundly different from what we know the text of the first performance must have been. While the case for reproducing a performance text has some force, arguments for reproducing the printed text are stronger, for Wilde had abundant opportunity to consider, and then accept or reject, the changes which were made to the play during rehearsal and its relatively long run. The annotation in the present volume notes the significant differences between the first edition and the nearest surviving approximations of the first performance (T and LC). It also notes what Wilde discarded from the two earliest drafts of the play (BL and C1) and subsequently reintroduced into the first edition. The revisions noted give some indication of Wilde's fidelity to his original conception and of the development of his knowledge of stagecraft. Occasionally, however, I have included what I judge to be a significant revision which appeared in a draft other than those noted above.

Critical annotation of the text has generally been restricted to explaining references or nuances of meaning which a contemporary audience would have readily caught but which are now lost to most readers. Where necessary I have compared Wilde's representation of the etiquette of London Society with two anonymous but popular handbooks of contemporary etiquette: _Manners and Rules of Good Society_ (1888) and _The Habits of Good Society_ (1890).

The punctuation of stage directions has been normalized to accord with New Mermaid practice. The spelling of words ending in _-ise_ and some hyphenated words (for example, 'any-one', 'tonight', 'wide-spread') has been changed to accord with modern practice. Two errors of punctuation in the first edition have been silently emended.

### **Note on the Staging**

George Alexander's prompt-book for _Lady Windermere's Fan_ has not survived. Without the specific information which he would have recorded in it, it is not possible to reconstruct accurately the first staging of the play. However, as both the general principles that informed Alexander's productions and many details about the St James's Theatre are known, it is possible to give a broad outline of the way in which Wilde's play would have been produced in 1892.

The St James's was a small theatre. It had been built in 1843; when it was altered in 1879 it could accommodate an audience of 1,200. The next major alterations took place between 1889 and 1890, the year in which Alexander took over the lease. Alexander himself had the auditorium redecorated, refurnished and electric lighting installed. In keeping with the size of the auditorium, the stage too was small (measuring 26 feet by 42 feet to 60 feet. Alexander's productions reflected the intimate atmosphere of his theatre, for they featured convincingly realistic stage effects. As the plays he produced mirrored the manners and morals of the St James's audience, so his costumes, sets and stage properties exactly reproduced a physical environment with which they also would have been familiar. The realism of Alexander's sets and the meticulous attention he paid to the details of properties and costumes were celebrated at the time. So although the stage directions which Wilde included in the 1893 Mathews and Lane edition of _Lady Windermere's Fan_ differ considerably from the directions found in the acting editions, the precise detail which Wilde specifies almost certainly derives from Alexander's influence and practice.

In the stage directions 'Left' and 'Right' indicate positions on stage as seen by the actors, not the audience.

## FURTHER READING

### _Bibliography_

Ian Fletcher and John Stokes, 'Oscar Wilde', in _Anglo-Irish Literature: A Review of Research_ , ed. R. J. Finneran (New York, 1976)

'Stuart Mason' [C. S. Millard], _Bibliography of Oscar Wilde_ (1908; repr., with an introduction by Timothy D'Arch Smith, 1967)

E. H. Mikhail, _Oscar Wilde: An Annotated Bibliography of Criticism_ (1978)

Thomas A. Mikolyzk, _Oscar Wilde: An Annotated Bibliography_ (1993)

Ian Small, _Oscar Wilde Revalued: An Essay on New Methods and Materials of Research_ (Greensboro, N.C., 1993)

Ian Small, _Oscar Wilde: Recent Research_ (Greensboro, N.C., 2000)

### _Biography_

Davis Coakley, _The Importance of Being Irish_ (Dublin, 1994)

Richard Ellmann, _Oscar Wilde_ (1987)

Rupert Hart-Davis, ed., _The Letters of Oscar Wilde_ (1962; 1963)

Merlin Holland, _The Wilde Album_ (1997)

Merlin Holland and Rupert Hart-Davies, eds., _The Complete Letters of Oscar Wilde_ (2000)

H. Montgomery Hyde, _The Trials of Oscar Wilde_ (1948; repr. New York, 1975)

E. H. Mikhail, ed., _Oscar Wilde, Interviews and Recollections_ (2 vols., 1979)

Richard Pine, _Oscar Wilde_ (Dublin, 1983)

Horst Schroeder, _Additions and Corrections to Richard Ellmann's 'Oscar Wilde_ ' (privately printed, Braunschweig, 1989)

### _Collections of Criticism_

Karl Beckson, ed., _Oscar Wilde: The Critical Heritage_ (1970)

Richard Ellmann, ed., _Oscar Wilde: A Collection of Critical Essays_ (Englewood Cliffs, N.J., 1969; repr. 1986)

Regenia Gagnier, ed., _Critical Essays on Oscar Wilde_ (New York, 1991)

Joel H. Kaplan, ed., _Modern Drama: Special Issue on Wilde_ , 34 (1994)

Peter Raby, ed., _The Cambridge Companion to Oscar Wilde_ (Cambridge, 1997)

George C. Sandelescu, ed., _Rediscovering Oscar Wilde_ , Princess Grace Library Series 8 (Gerrard's Cross, 1994)

William Tydeman, _Wilde: Comedies: A Casebook_ (1982)

### _Criticism_

Karl Beckson, _The Oscar Wilde Encyclopedia_ (New York, 1998)

Alan Bird, _The Plays of Oscar Wilde_ (1977)

Jonathan Dollimore, _Sexual Dissidence: Augustine to Wilde, Freud to Foucault_ (Oxford, 1991)

Regenia Gagnier, _The Idylls of the Marketplace: Oscar Wilde and the Victorian Public_ (Stanford, 1987)

Arthur H. Ganz, 'The Divided Self in the Comedies of Oscar Wilde', _Modern Drama_ , 3 (1960), 16–23

Ian Gregor, 'Comedy and Oscar Wilde', _Sewanee Review_ , 74 (1966), 501–21

Josephine M. Guy and Ian Small, _Oscar Wilde's Profession: Writing and the Culture Industry in the late Nineteenth Century_ (Oxford, 2000)

Joel H. Kaplan, ed., _Modern Drama_ (Special Wilde number), 12, 1 (1994)

Joel H. Kaplan and Sheila Stowell, _Theatre and Fashion: Oscar Wilde to the Suffragettes_ (Cambridge, 1994)

Norbert Kohl, _Oscar Wilde: The Works of a Conformist Rebel_ (Cambridge, 1988)

Jerusha McCormack, 'Masks Without Faces: The Personalities of Oscar Wilde', _English Literature in Transition, 22_ (1979), 253–69

Christopher Nassaar, _Into the Demon Universe: A Literary Exploration of Oscar Wilde_ (New Haven, Conn., 1974)

Kerry Powell, _Oscar Wilde and the Theatre of the 1890s_ (Cambridge, 1990)

Peter Raby, _Oscar Wilde_ (Cambridge, 1988)

Alan Sinfield, _The Wilde Century: Effeminacy, Oscar Wilde and the Queer Movement_ (New York, 1994)

Rodney Shewan, _Art and Egotism_ (1977)

John Stokes, _Oscar Wilde: Myths, Miracles and Imitations_ (Cambridge, 1996)

## [LADY
WINDERMERE'S
FAN](contents.html#ch01)

_A Play About
A Good Woman_

_By_
OSCAR WILDE
To

The dear Memory

of

ROBERT EARL OF LYTTON

In Affection

and

Admiration

_Dedication_ Edward Robert Bulwer, first Earl of Lytton (1831–91) and the son of Bulwer Lytton. Wilde and he 'had become during the last year [of Lytton's life] very great friends' ( _Letters_ , 299). Lytton was British Ambassador in Paris from 1887 until his death in November 1891 (when Wilde was revising and rewriting the play).

## **THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY**

[St James's Theatre, 20 February 1892]

LORD WINDERMERE | _Mr George Alexander_

---|---

LORD DARLINGTON | _Mr Nutcombe Gould_

LORD AUGUSTUS LORTON | _Mr H. H. Vincent_

MR CECIL GRAHAM | _Mr Ben. Webster_

MR DUMBY | _Mr Vane-Tempest_

MR HOPPER | _Mr Alfred Holies_

PARKER ( _Butler_ ) | _Mr V. Sansbury_

LADY WINDERMERE | _Miss Lily Hanbury_

THE DUCHESS OF BERWICK | _Miss Fanny Coleman_

LADY AGATHA CARLISLE | _Miss Laura Graves_

LADY PLYMDALE | _Miss Granville_

LADY JEDBURGH | _Miss B. Page_

LADY STUTFIELD | _Miss Madge Girdlestone_

MRS COWPER-COWPER | _Miss A. De Winton_

MRS ERLYNNE | _Miss Marion Terry_

ROSALIE ( _Maid_ ) | _Miss Winifred Dolan_

_The Persons of the Play_ from the 1st ed.

The names of Darlington and Windermere are present from the play's earliest forms and follow a pattern, frequent in Wilde, of appropriating place names for names of characters. Mrs Erlynne is Mrs Evlynne in early drafts and Lord Augustus Lorton is Lord Augustus Makham in BL. The names and number of the minor characters underwent considerable changes during the play's genesis. There were no Windermeres in the British peerage in the 1890s. The other titles did exist or had existed, but were no longer used, either because they were second or subsequent titles or because they were extinct. (The Darlington title, for example, became extinct in August 1891.)

## **THE SCENES OF THE PLAY**

Act I | _Morning-room in Lord Windermere's house_

---|---

Act II | _Drawing-room in Lord Windermere's house_

Act III | _Lord Darlington's rooms_

Act IV | _Same as Act I_

_Time—The Present
Place—London_

_The action of the play takes place within twenty-four hours, beginning on a Tuesday afternoon at five o'clock, and ending the next day at 1.30 p.m_.

## LADY WINDERMERE'S FAN

### **Act I**

_Scene: Morning-room of_ LORD WINDERMERE _'s house in Carlton House Terrace. Doors C. and R. Bureau with books and papers R. Sofa with small tea-table L. Window opening on to terrace L. Table R_. LADY WINDERMERE _is at table R., arranging roses in a blue bowl_

_Enter_ PARKER

PARKER

|

---|---

Is your ladyship at home this afternoon?

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Yes—who has called?

|

PARKER

|

Lord Darlington, my lady.

|

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Hesitates for a moment_ )

|

Show him up—and I'm at home to anyone who calls.

|

PARKER

|

Yes, my lady. _Exit C_. | 5

LADY WINDERMERE

|

It's best for me to see him before tonight. I'm glad he's come.

|

_Enter_ PARKER _C_.

PARKER

|

---|---

Lord Darlington.

|

_Enter_ LORD DARLINGTON _C. Exit_ PARKER

LORD DARLINGTON

|

---|---

How do you do, Lady Windermere?

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

How do you do, Lord Darlington? No, I can't shake hands | 10

with you. My hands are all wet with these roses. Aren't

|

they lovely? They came up from Selby this morning.

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

They are quite perfect. ( _Sees a fan lying on the table_ ) And

|

what a wonderful fan! May I look at it?

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Do. Pretty, isn't it! It's got my name on it, and everything. | 15

I have only just seen it myself. It's my husband's birthday

|

present to me. You know today is my birthday?

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

No? Is it really?

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Yes, I'm of age today. Quite an important day in my life,

|

isn't it? That is why I am giving this party tonight. Do sit | 20

down. _Still arranging flowers_

|

LORD DARLINGTON ( _Sitting down_ )

|

I wish I had known it was your birthday, Lady Windermere.

|

I would have covered the whole street in front of

|

your house with flowers for you to walk on. They are made

|

for you. _A short pause_ | 25

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Lord Darlington, you annoyed me last night at the Foreign

|

Office. I am afraid you are going to annoy me again.

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

I, Lady Windermere?

|

_Enter_ PARKER _and_ FOOTMAN _C, with tray and tea things_

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Put it there, Parker. That will do. ( _Wipes her hands with her_

|

_pocket-handkerchief, goes to tea-table L., and sits down_ )

|

Won't you come over, Lord Darlington? | 30

_Exit_ PARKER _C_.

|

LORD DARLINGTON ( _Takes chair and goes across L.C_.)

|

I am quite miserable, Lady Windermere. You must tell me

|

what I did. _Sits down at table L_.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Well, you kept paying me elaborate compliments the

|

whole evening.

|

LORD DARLINGTON ( _Smiling_ )

|

Ah, nowadays we are all of us so hard up, that the only | 35

pleasant things to pay _are_ compliments. They're the only

|

things we _can_ pay.

|

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Shaking her head_ )

|

No, I am talking very seriously. You mustn't laugh, I am

|

quite serious. I don't like compliments, and I don't see

|

why a man should think he is pleasing a woman enormously | 40

when he says to her a whole heap of things that he

|

doesn't mean.

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

Ah, but I did mean them. _Takes tea which she offers him_

|

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Gravely_ )

|

I hope not. I should be sorry to have to quarrel with you,

|

Lord Darlington. I like you very much, you know that. | 45

But I shouldn't like you at all if I thought you were what

|

most other men are. Believe me, you are better than most

|

other men, and I sometimes think you pretend to be worse.

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

We all have our little vanities, Lady Windermere.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Why do you make that your special one? | 50

_Still seated at table L_.

|

LORD DARLINGTON ( _Still seated L.C_.)

|

Oh, nowadays so many conceited people go about Society

|

pretending to be good, that I think it shows rather a sweet

|

and modest disposition to pretend to be bad. Besides,

|

there is this to be said. If you pretend to be good, the world

|

takes you very seriously. If you pretend to be bad, it | 55

doesn't. Such is the astounding stupidity of optimism.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Don't you _want_ the world to take you seriously then, Lord

|

Darlington?

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

No, not the world. Who are the people the world takes

|

seriously? All the dull people one can think of, from the | 60

Bishops down to the bores. I should like _you_ to take me

|

very seriously, Lady Windermere, _you_ more than anyone

|

else in life.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Why—why me?

|

LORD DARLINGTON ( _After a slight hesitation_ )

|

Because I think we might be great friends. Let us be great | 65

friends. You may want a friend some day.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Why do you say that?

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

Oh!—we all want friends at times.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

I think we're very good friends already, Lord Darlington.

|

We can always remain so as long as you don't— | 70

LORD DARLINGTON

|

Don't what?

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Don't spoil it by saying extravagant silly things to me. You

|

think I am a Puritan, I suppose? Well, I have something of

|

the Puritan in me. I was brought up like that. I am glad of

|

it. My mother died when I was a mere child. I lived always | 75

with Lady Julia, my father's elder sister you know. She

|

was stern to me, but she taught me, what the world is

|

forgetting, the difference that there is between what is

|

right and what is wrong. _She_ allowed of no compromise. _I_

|

allow of none. | 80

LORD DARLINGTON

|

My dear Lady Windermere!

|

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Leaning back on the sofa_ )

|

You look on me as being behind the age.—Well, I am! I

|

should be sorry to be on the same level as an age like this.

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

You think the age very bad?

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Yes. Nowadays people seem to look on life as a speculation. | 85

It is not a speculation. It is a sacrament. Its ideal is

|

Love. Its purification is sacrifice.

|

LORD DARLINGTON ( _Smiling_ )

|

Oh, anything is better than being sacrificed!

|

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Leaning forward_ )

|

Don't say that.

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

I do say it. I feel it—I know it. | 90

_Enter_ PARKER _C_.

PARKER

|

---|---

The men want to know if they are to put the carpets on the

|

terrace for tonight, my lady?

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

You don't think it will rain, Lord Darlington, do you?

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

I won't hear of its raining on your birthday!

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Tell them to do it at once, Parker. _Exit_ PARKER _C_. | 95

LORD DARLINGTON ( _Still seated_ )

|

Do you think then—of course I am only putting an imaginary

|

instance—do you think that in the case of a young

|

married couple, say about two years married, if the husband

|

suddenly becomes the intimate friend of a woman

|

of—well, more than doubtful character, is always calling | 100

upon her, lunching with her, and probably paying her

|

bills—do you think that the wife should not console herself?

|

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Frowning_ )

|

Console herself?

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

Yes, I think she should—I think she has the right. | 105

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Because the husband is vile—should the wife be vile also?

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

Vileness is a terrible word, Lady Windermere.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

It is a terrible thing, Lord Darlington.

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

Do you know I am afraid that good people do a great deal of

|

harm in this world. Certainly the greatest harm they do is | 110

that they make badness of such extraordinary importance.

|

It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are

|

either charming or tedious. I take the side of the charming,

|

and you, Lady Windermere, can't help belonging to them.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Now, Lord Darlington. ( _Rising and crossing R., front of_ | 115

_him_ ) Don't stir, I am merely going to finish my flowers.

|

_Goes to table R.C_.

|

LORD DARLINGTON ( _Rising and moving chair_ )

|

And I must say I think you are very hard on modern life,

|

Lady Windermere. Of course there is much against it, I

|

admit. Most women, for instance, nowadays, are rather

|

mercenary. | 120

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Don't talk about such people.

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

Well then, setting mercenary people aside, who, of course,

|

are dreadful, do you think seriously that women who have

|

committed what the word calls a fault should never be

|

forgiven? | 125

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Standing at table_ )

|

I think they should never be forgiven.

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

And men? Do you think that there should be the same laws

|

for men as there are for women?

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Certainly!

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

I think life too complex a thing to be settled by these hard | 130

and fast rules.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

If we had 'these hard and fast rules', we should find life

|

much more simple.

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

You allow of no exceptions?

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

None! | 135

LORD DARLINGTON

|

Ah, what a fascinating Puritan you are, Lady Windermere!

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

The adjective was unnecessary, Lord Darlington.

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

I couldn't help it. I can resist everything except temptation. | 140

LADY WINDERMERE

|

You have the modern affectation of weakness.

|

LORD DARLINGTON ( _Looking at her_ )

|

It's only an affectation, Lady Windermere.

|

_Enter_ PARKER _C_.

PARKER

|

---|---

The Duchess of Berwick and Lady Agatha Carlisle.

|

_Enter the_ DUCHESS OF BERWICK _and_ LADY AGATHA CARLISLE _C_.

|

_Exit_ PARKER _C_.

DUCHESS OF BERWICK ( _Coming down C, and shaking hands_ )

|

---|---

Dear Margaret, I am so pleased to see you. You remember

|

Agatha, don't you? ( _Crossing L.C_.) How do you do, Lord | 145

Darlington? I won't let you know my daughter, you are far

|

too wicked.

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

Don't say that, Duchess. As a wicked man I am a complete

|

failure. Why, there are lots of people who say I have never

|

really done anything wrong in the whole course of my life. | 150

Of course they only say it behind my back.

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

Isn't he dreadful? Agatha, this is Lord Darlington. Mind

|

you don't believe a word he says, (LORD DARLINGTON

|

_crosses R.C_.) No, no tea, thank you, dear. ( _Crosses and sits_

|

_on sofa_ ) We have just had tea at Lady Markby's. Such bad | 155

tea, too. It was quite undrinkable. I wasn't at all surprised.

|

Her own son-in-law supplies it. Agatha is looking forward

|

so much to your ball tonight, dear Margaret.

|

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Seated L.C_.)

|

Oh, you mustn't think it is going to be a ball, Duchess. It is

|

only a dance in honour of my birthday. A small and early. | 160

LORD DARLINGTON ( _Standing L.C_.)

|

Very small, very early, and very select, Duchess.

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK ( _On sofa L_.)

|

Of course it's going to be select. But we know _that_ , dear

|

Margaret, about _your_ house. It is really one of the few

|

houses in London where I can take Agatha, and where I

|

feel perfectly secure about dear Berwick. I don't know | 165

what society is coming to. The most dreadful people seem

|

to go everywhere. They certainly come to my parties—the

|

men get quite furious if one doesn't ask them. Really,

|

someone should make a stand against it.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

_I_ will, Duchess. I will have no one in my house about | 170

whom there is any scandal.

|

LORD DARLINGTON ( _R.C_.)

|

Oh, don't say that, Lady Windermere. I should never be

|

admitted! _Sitting_

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

Oh, men don't matter. With women it is different. We're

|

good. Some of us are, at least. But we are positively getting | 175

elbowed into the corner. Our husbands would really forget

|

our existence if we didn't nag at them from time to time,

|

just to remind them that we have a perfect legal right to do

|

so.

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

It's a curious thing, Duchess, about the game of marriage | 180

—a game, by the way, that is going out of fashion—the

|

wives hold all the honours, and invariably lose the odd

|

trick.

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

The odd trick? Is that the husband, Lord Darlington?

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

It would be rather a good name for the modern husband. | 185

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

Dear Lord Darlington, how thoroughly depraved you are!

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Lord Darlington is trivial.

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

Ah, don't say that, Lady Windermere.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Why do you _talk_ so trivially about life, then?

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

Because I think that life is far too important a thing ever to | 190

talk seriously about it. _Moves up C_.

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

What does he mean? Do, as a concession to my poor wits,

|

Lord Darlington, just explain to me what you really mean.

|

LORD DARLINGTON ( _Coming down back of table_ )

|

I think I had better not, Duchess. Nowadays to be intelligible

|

is to be found out. Goodbye! ( _Shakes hands with_ | 195

DUCHESS) And now—( _Goes up stage_ ) Lady Windermere,

|

goodbye. I may come tonight, mayn't I? Do let me come.

|

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Standing up stage with_ LORD DARLINGTON)

|

Yes, certainly. But you are not to say foolish, insincere

|

things to people.

|

LORD DARLINGTON ( _Smiling_ )

|

Ah! you are beginning to reform me. It is a dangerous | 200

thing to reform anyone, Lady Windermere.

|

_Bows, and exit C_.

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK ( _Who has risen, goes C_.)

|

What a charming, wicked creature! I like him so much.

|

I'm quite delighted he's gone! How sweet you're looking!

|

Where _do_ you get your gowns? And now I must tell you

|

how sorry I am for you, dear Margaret. ( _Crosses to sofa and_ | 205

_sits with_ LADY WINDERMERE) Agatha darling!

|

LADY AGATHA

|

Yes, mamma. _Rises_

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

Will you go and look over the photograph album that I see there?

|

LADY AGATHA

|

Yes, mamma. _Goes to table up L_. | 210

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

Dear girl! She is so fond of photographs of Switzerland.

|

Such a pure taste, I think. But I really am so sorry for you,

|

Margaret.

|

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Smiling_ )

|

Why, Duchess?

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

Oh, on account of that horrid woman. She dresses so well, | 215

too, which makes it much worse, sets such a dreadful

|

example. Augustus—you know my disreputable

|

brother—such a trial to us all—well, Augustus is completely

|

infatuated about her. It is quite scandalous, for she

|

is absolutely inadmissible into society. Many a woman has | 220

a past, but I am told that she has at least a dozen, and that

|

they all fit.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Whom are you talking about, Duchess?

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

About Mrs Erlynne.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Mrs Erlynne? I never heard of her, Duchess. And what _has_ | 225

she to do with me?

|

DUCHESS OF WINDERMERE

|

My poor child! Agatha, darling!

|

LADY AGATHA

|

Yes, mamma.

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

Will you go out on the terrace and look at the sunset?

|

LADY AGATHA

|

Yes, mamma. _Exit through window L_. | 230

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

Sweet girl! So devoted to sunsets! Shows such refinement

|

of feeling, does it not? After all, there is nothing like

|

Nature, is there?

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

But what is it, Duchess? Why do you talk to me about this

|

person? | 235

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

Don't you really know? I assure you we're all so distressed

|

about it. Only last night at dear Lady Jansen's everyone

|

was saying how extraordinary it was that, of all men in

|

London, Windermere should behave in such a way.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

My husband—what has _he_ got to do with any woman of | 240

that kind?

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

Ah, what indeed, dear? That is the point. He goes to see

|

her continually, and stops for hours at a time, and while he

|

is there she is not at home to anyone. Not that many ladies

|

call on her, dear, but she has a great many disreputable | 245

men friends—my own brother particularly, as I told

|

you—and that is what makes it so dreadful about Windermere.

|

We looked upon _him_ as being such a model husband,

|

but I am afraid there is no doubt about it. My dear

|

nieces—you know the Saville girls, don't you?—such nice | 250

domestic creatures—plain, dreadfully plain, but so

|

good—well, they're always at the window doing fancy

|

work, and making ugly things for the poor, which I think

|

so useful of them in these dreadful socialistic days, and this

|

terrible woman has taken a house in Curzon Street, right | 255

opposite them—such a respectable street, too. I don't

|

know what we're coming to! And they tell me that Windermere

|

goes there four and five times a week—they _see_

|

him. They can't help it—and although they never talk

|

scandal, they—well, of course—they remark on it to | 260

everyone. And the worst of it all is that I have been told

|

that this woman has got a great deal of money out of

|

somebody, for it seems that she came to London six

|

months ago without anything at all to speak of, and now

|

she has this charming house in Mayfair, drives her ponies | 265

in the Park every afternoon and all—well, all—since she

|

has known poor dear Windermere.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Oh, I can't believe it!

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

But it's quite true, my dear. The whole of London knows

|

it. That is why I felt it was better to come and talk to you, | 270

and advise you to take Windermere away at once to Homburg

|

or to Aix, where he'll have something to amuse him,

|

and where you can watch him all day long. I assure you,

|

my dear, that on several occasions after I was first married,

|

I had to pretend to be very ill, and was obliged to drink the | 275

most unpleasant mineral waters, merely to get Berwick out

|

of town. He was so extremely susceptible. Though I am

|

bound to say he never gave away any large sums of money

|

to anybody. He is far too high-principled for that!

|

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Interrupting_ )

|

Duchess, Duchess, it's impossible! ( _Rising and crossing_ | 280

_stage to C_.) We are only married two years. Our child is but

|

six months old. _Sits in chair R. of L. table_

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

Ah, the dear pretty baby! How is the little darling? Is it a

|

boy or a girl? I hope a girl—Ah, no, I remember it's a boy!

|

I'm so sorry. Boys are so wicked. My boy is excessively | 285

immoral. You wouldn't believe at what hours he comes

|

home. And he's only left Oxford a few months—I really

|

don't know what they teach them there.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Are _all_ men bad?

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

Oh, all of them, my dear, all of them, without any exception. | 290

And they never grow any better. Men become old,

|

but they never become good.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Windermere and I married for love.

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

Yes, we begin like that. It was only Berwick's brutal and

|

incessant threats of suicide that made me accept him at all, | 295

and before the year was out, he was running after all kinds

|

of petticoats, every colour, every shape, every material. In

|

fact, before the honeymoon was over, I caught him winking

|

at my maid, a most pretty, respectable girl. I dismissed

|

her at once without a character.—No, I remember I passed | 300

her on to my sister; poor dear Sir George is so shortsighted,

|

I thought it wouldn't matter. But it did,

|

though—it was most unfortunate. ( _Rises_ ) And now, my

|

dear child, I must go, as we are dining out. And mind you

|

don't take this little aberration of Windermere's too much | 305

to heart. Just take him abroad, and he'll come back to you

|

all right.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Come back to me? _C_.

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK ( _L.C_.)

|

Yes, dear, these wicked women get our husbands away

|

from us, but they always come back, slightly damaged, of | 310

course. And don't make scenes, men hate them!

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

It is very kind of you, Duchess, to come and tell me all this.

|

But I can't believe that my husband is untrue to me.

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

Pretty child! I was like that once. Now I know that all men

|

are monsters, (LADY WINDERMERE _rings bell_ ) The only | 315

thing to do is to feed the wretches well. A good cook does

|

wonders, and that I know you have. My dear Margaret,

|

you are not going to cry?

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

You needn't be afraid, Duchess, I never cry.

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

That's quite right, dear. Crying is the refuge of plain | 320

women but the ruin of pretty ones. Agatha, darling!

|

LADY AGATHA ( _Entering L_.)

|

Yes, mamma. _Stands back of table L.C_.

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

Come and bid goodbye to Lady Windermere, and thank

|

her for your charming visit. ( _Coming down again_ ) And by

|

the way, I must thank you for sending a card to Mr | 325

Hopper—he's that rich young Australian people are taking

|

such notice of just at present. His father made a great

|

fortune by selling some kind of food in circular tins—most

|

palatable, I believe—I fancy it is the thing the servants

|

always refuse to eat. But the son is quite interesting. I | 330

think he's attracted by dear Agatha's clever talk. Of course,

|

we should be very sorry to lose her, but I think that a

|

mother who doesn't part with a daughter every season has

|

no real affection. We're coming tonight, dear. (PARKER

|

_opens C. doors_ ) And remember my advice, take the poor | 335

fellow out of town at once, it is the only thing to do.

|

Goodbye, once more; come, Agatha.

|

_Exeunt_ DUCHESS _and_ LADY AGATHA _C_.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

How horrible! I understand now what Lord Darlington

|

meant by the imaginary instance of the couple not two

|

years married. Oh! it can't be true—she spoke of enormous | 340

sums of money paid to this woman. I know where Arthur

|

keeps his bank book—in one of the drawers of that desk. I

|

might find out by that. I _will_ find out. ( _Opens drawer_ ) No,

|

it is some hideous mistake. ( _Rises and goes C_.) Some silly

|

scandal! He loves _me_! He loves we! But why should I not | 345

look? I am his wife, I have a right to look! ( _Returns to_

|

_bureau, takes out book and examines it, page by page, smiles_

|

_and gives a sigh of relief_ ) I knew it! there is not a word of

|

truth in this stupid story. ( _Puts book back in drawer. As she_

|

_does so, starts and takes out another book_ ) A second

|

book—private—locked! ( _Tries to open it, but fails. Sees_ | 350

_paper knife on bureau, and with it cuts cover from book. Begins_

|

_to start at the first page_ ) 'Mrs Erlynne—£600—Mrs

|

Erlynne—£700—Mrs Erlynne—£400'. Oh! it is true! it is

|

true! How horrible! _Throws book on floor_

|

_Enter_ LORD WINDERMERE _C_.

LORD WINDERMERE

|

---|---

Well, dear, has the fan been sent home yet? ( _Going R.C_.

|

_Sees book_ ) Margaret, you have cut open my bank book. | 355

You have no right to do such a thing!

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

You think it wrong that you are found out, don't you?

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

I think it wrong that a wife should spy on her husband.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

I did not spy on you. I never knew of this woman's existence

|

till half an hour ago. Someone who pitied me was kind | 360

enough to tell me what everyone in London knows

|

already—your daily visits to Curzon Street, your mad

|

infatuation, the monstrous sums of money you squander

|

on this infamous woman! _Crossing L_.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Margaret! don't talk like that of Mrs Erlynne, you don't | 365

know how unjust it is!

|

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Turning to him_ )

|

You are very jealous of Mrs Erlynne's honour. I wish you

|

had been as jealous of mine.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Your honour is untouched, Margaret. You don't think for

|

a moment that— _Puts book back into desk_ | 370

LADY WINDERMERE

|

I think that you spend your money strangely. That is all.

|

Oh, don't imagine I mind about the money. As far as I am.

|

concerned, you may squander everything we have. But

|

what I _do_ mind is that you who have loved me, you who

|

have taught me to love you, should pass from the love that | 375

is given to the love that is bought. Oh, it's horrible! ( _Sits on_

|

_sofa_ ) And it is I who feel degraded! _you_ don't feel anything.

|

I feel stained, utterly stained. You can't realize how hideous

|

the last six months seem to me now—every kiss you

|

have given me is tainted in my memory. | 380

LORD WINDERMERE ( _Crossing to her_ )

|

Don't say that, Margaret. I never loved anyone in the

|

whole world but you.

|

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Rises_ )

|

Who is this woman, then? Why do you take a house for

|

her?

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

I did not take a house for her. | 385

LADY WINDERMERE

|

You gave her the money to do it, which is the same thing.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Margaret, as far as I have known Mrs Erlynne—

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Is there a Mr Erlynne—or is he a myth?

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Her hushand died many years ago. She is alone in the

|

world. | 390

LADY WINDERMERE

|

No relations? _A pause_

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

None.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Rather curious, isn't it? _L_.

|

LORD WINDERMERE ( _L.C_.)

|

Margaret, I was saying to you—and I beg you to listen to

|

me—that as far as I have known Mrs Erlynne, she has | 395

conducted herself well. If years ago—

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Oh! ( _Crossing R.C_.) I don't want details about her life!

|

LORD WINDERMERE ( _C_.)

|

I am not going to give you any details about her life. I tell

|

you simply this—Mrs Erlynne was once honoured, loved,

|

respected. She was well born, she had position—she lost | 400

everything—threw it away, if you like. That makes it all

|

the more bitter. Misfortunes one can endure—they come

|

from outside, they are accidents. But to suffer for one's

|

own faults—ah!—there is the sting of life. It was twenty

|

years ago, too. She was little more than a girl then. She had | 405

been a wife for even less time than you have.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

I am not interested in her—and—you should not mention

|

this woman and me in the same breath. It is an error of

|

taste. _Sitting R. at desk_

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Margaret, you could save this woman. She wants to get | 410

back into society, and she wants you to help her.

|

_Crossing to her_

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Me!

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Yes, you.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

How impertinent of her! _A pause_

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Margaret, I came to ask you a great favour, and I still ask it | 415

of you, though you have discovered what I had intended

|

you should never have known, that I have given Mrs

|

Erlynne a large sum of money. I want you to send her an

|

invitation for our party tonight. _Standing L. of her_

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

You are mad! _Rises_ | 420

LORD WINDERMERE

|

I entreat you. People may chatter about her, do chatter

|

about her, of course, but they don't know anything definite

|

against her. She has been to several houses—not to houses

|

where you would go, I admit, but still to houses where

|

women who are in what is called Society nowadays do go. | 425

That does not content her. She wants you to receive her

|

once.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

As a triumph for her, I suppose?

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

No; but because she knows that you are a good

|

woman—and that if she comes here once she will have a | 430

chance of a happier, a surer life than she has had. She will

|

make no further effort to know you. Won't you help a

|

woman who is trying to get back?

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

No! If a woman really repents, she never wishes to return

|

to the society that has made or seen her ruin. | 435

LORD WINDERMERE

|

I beg of you.

|

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Crossing to door R_.)

|

I am going to dress for dinner, and don't mention the

|

subject again this evening. Arthur ( _Going to him C_.), you

|

fancy because I have no father or mother that I am alone in

|

the world, and that you can treat me as you choose. You are | 440

wrong, I have friends, many friends.

|

LORD WINDERMERE ( _L.C_.)

|

Margaret, you are talking foolishly, recklessly. I won't

|

argue with you, but I insist upon your asking Mrs Erlynne

|

tonight.

|

LADY WINDERMERE ( _R.C_.)

|

I shall do nothing of the kind. _Crossing L.C_. | 445

LORD WINDERMERE

|

You refuse? _C_.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Absolutely!

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Ah, Margaret, do this for my sake; it is her last chance.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

What has that to do with me?

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

How hard good women are! | 450

LADY WINDERMERE

|

How weak bad men are!

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Margaret, none of us men may be good enough for the

|

women we marry—that is quite true—but you don't

|

imagine I would ever—oh, the suggestion is monstrous!

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Why should _you_ be different from other men? I am told | 455

that there is hardly a husband in London who does not

|

waste his life over _some_ shameful passion.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

I am not one of them.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

I am not sure of that!

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

You are sure in your heart. But don't make chasm after | 460

chasm between us. God knows the last few minutes have

|

thrust us wide enough apart. Sit down and write the card.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Nothing in the whole world would induce me.

|

LORD WINDERMERE ( _Crossing to bureau_ )

|

Then I will! _Rings electric bell, sits and writes card_

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

You are going to invite this woman? _Crossing to him_ | 465

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Yes. _Pause_

|

_Enter_ PARKER

Parker!

|

---|---

PARKER

|

Yes, my lord. _Comes down L.C_.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Have this note sent to Mrs Erlynne at No. 84A Curzon

|

Street. ( _Crossing to L.C. and giving note to_ PARKER) There is | 470

no answer! _Exit_ PARKER _C_.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Arthur, if that woman comes here, I shall insult her.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Margaret, don't say that.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

I mean it.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Child, if you did such a thing, there's not a woman in | 475

London who wouldn't pity you.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

There is not a _good_ woman in London who would not

|

applaud me. We have been too lax. We must make an

|

example. I propose to begin tonight. ( _Picking up fan_ ) Yes,

|

you gave me this fan today; it was your birthday present. If | 480

that woman crosses my threshold, I shall strike her across

|

the face with it.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Margaret, you couldn't do such a thing.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

You don't know me! _Moves R_.

|

_Enter_ PARKER

Parker! | 485

---|---

PARKER

|

Yes, my lady.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

I shall dine in my own room. I don't want dinner, in fact.

|

See that everything is ready by half-past ten. And, Parker,

|

be sure you pronounce the names of the guests very distinctly

|

tonight. Sometimes you speak so fast that I miss | 490

them. I am particularly anxious to hear the names quite

|

clearly, so as to make no mistake. You understand, Parker?

|

PARKER

|

Yes, my lady.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

That will do! ( _Exit_ PARKER _C_.) ( _Speaking to_ LORD WINDERMERE)

|

Arthur, if that woman comes here—I warn you— | 495

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Margaret, you'll ruin us!

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Us! From this moment my life is separate from yours. But

|

if you wish to avoid a public scandal, write at once to this

|

woman, and tell her that I forbid her to come here!

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

I will not—I cannot—she must come! | 500

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Then I shall do exactly as I have said. ( _Goes R_.) You leave

|

me no choice. _Exit R_.

|

LORD WINDERMERE ( _Calling after her_ )

|

Margaret! Margaret! ( _A pause_ ) My God! What shall I do?

|

I dare not tell her who this woman really is. The shame

|

would kill her. | 505

_Sinks down into a chair and buries his face in his hands_

|

_Act-Drop_

## **Act II**

_Scene: Drawing-room in_ LORD WINDERMERE _'s house. Door R. U. opening into ballroom, where band is playing. Door L. through which guests are entering. Door L.U. opens on to illuminated terrace. Palms, flowers, and brilliant lights. Room crowded with guests_ , LADY WINDERMERE _is receiving them_

DUCHESS OF BERWICK ( _Up C_.)

|

---|---

So strange Lord Windermere isn't here. Mr Hopper is very

|

late, too. You have kept those five dances for him, Agatha?

|

_Comes down_

|

LADY AGATHA

|

Yes, mamma.

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK ( _Sitting on sofa_ )

|

Just let me see your card. I'm so glad Lady Windermere

|

has revived cards.—They're a mother's only safeguard. | 5

You dear simple little thing! ( _Scratches out two names_ ) No

|

nice girl should ever waltz with such particularly younger

|

sons! It looks so fast! The last two dances you might pass

|

on the terrace with Mr Hopper.

|

_Enter_ MR DUBBY _and_ LADY PLYMDALE _from the ballroom_

|

LADY AGATHA

|

Yes, mamma. | 10

DUCHESS OF BERWICK ( _Fanning herself_ )

|

The air is so pleasant there.

|

PARKER

|

Mrs Cowper-Cowper. Lady Stutfield. Sir James Royston.

|

Mr Guy Berkeley.

|

_These people enter as announced_

DUMBY

|

---|---

Good evening, Lady Stutfield. I suppose this will be the

|

last ball of the season? | 15

LADY STUTFILELD

|

I suppose so, Mr Dubby. It's been a delightful season,

|

hasn't it?

|

DUMBY

|

Quite delightful! Good evening, Duchess. I suppose this

|

will be the last ball of the season?

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

I suppose so, Mr Dubby. It has been a very dull season, | 20

hasn't it?

|

DUMBY

|

Dreadfully dull! Dreadfully dull!

|

MRS COWPER-COWPER

|

Good evening, Mr Dubby. I suppose this will be the last

|

ball of the season?

|

DUMBY

|

Oh, I think not. There'll probably be two more. | 25

_Wanders back to_ LADY PLYMADALE

|

PARKER

|

Mr Rufford. Lady Jedburgh and Miss Graham. Mr Hopper.

|

_These people enter as announced_

HOPPER

|

---|---

How do you do, Lady Windermere? How do you do,

|

Duchess? _Bows to_ LADY AGATHA

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

Dear Mr Hopper, how nice of you to come so early. We all | 30

know how you are run after in London.

|

HOPPER

|

Capital place, London! They are not nearly so exclusive in

|

London as they are in Sydney.

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

Ah! we know your value, Mr Hopper. We wish there were

|

more like you. It would make life so much easier. Do you | 35

know, Mr Hopper, dear Agatha and I are so much

|

interested in Australia. It must be so pretty with all the

|

dear little kangaroos flying about. Agatha has found it on

|

the map. What a curious shape it is! Just like a large

|

packing case. However, it is a very young country, isn't it? | 40

HOPPER

|

Wasn't it made at the same time as the others, Duchess?

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

How clever you are, Mr Hopper. You have a cleverness

|

quite of your own. Now I mustn't keep you.

|

HOPPER

|

But I should like to dance with Lady Agatha, Duchess.

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

Well, I _hope_ she has a dance left. Have you a dance left, | 45

Agatha?

|

LADY AGATHA

|

Yes, mamma.

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

The next one?

|

LADY AGATHA

|

Yes, mamma.

|

HOPPER

|

May I have the pleasure? LADY AGATHA _bows_ | 50

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

Mind you take great care of my little chatterbox, Mr

|

Hopper, LADY AGATHA _and_ MR HOPPER _pass into ballroom_

|

_Enter_ LORD WINDERMERE _L_.

LORD WINDERMERE

|

---|---

Margaret, I want to speak to you.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

In a moment. _The music stops_

|

PARKER

|

Lord Augustus Gorton. | 55

_Enter_ LORD AUGUSTUS

LORD AUGUSTUS

|

---|---

Good evening, Lady Windermere.

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

Sir James, will you take me into the ballroom? Augustus

|

has been dining with us tonight. I really have had quite

|

enough of dear Augustus for the moment.

|

SIR JAMES ROYSTON _gives the_ DUCHESS _his arm and escorts her into the ballroom_

PARKER

|

---|---

Mr and Mrs Arthur Bowden. Lord and Lady Paisley. | 60

Lord Darlington.

|

_These people enter as announced_

LORD AUGUSTUS ( _Coming up to_ LORD WINDERMERE)

|

---|---

Want to speak to you particularly, dear boy. I'm worn to a

|

shadow. Know I don't look it. None of us men do look

|

what we really are. Demmed good thing, too. What I want

|

to know is this. Who is she? Where does she come from? | 65

Why hasn't she got any demmed relations? Demmed nuisance,

|

relations! But they make one so demmed respectable.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

You are talking of Mrs Erlynne, I suppose? I only met her

|

six months ago. Till then, I never knew of her existence. | 70

LORD AUGUSTUS

|

You have seen a good deal of her since then.

|

LORD WINDERMERE ( _Coldly_ )

|

Yes, I have seen a good deal of her since then. I have just seen her.

|

LORD AUGUSTUS

|

Egad! the women are very down on her. I have been dining

|

with Arabella this evening! By Jove! you should have | 75

heard what she said about Mrs Erlynne. She didn't leave a

|

rag on her.... ( _Aside_ ) Berwick and I told her that didn't

|

matter much, as the lady in question must have an

|

extremely fine figure. You should have seen Arabella's

|

expression!... But, look here, dear boy. I don't know | 80

what to do about Mrs Erlynne. Egad

|

to her; she treats me with such demmed indifference.

|

She's deuced clever, too! She explains everything. Egad!

|

she explains you. She has got any amount of explanations

|

for you—and all of them different. | 85

LORD WINDERMERE

|

No explanations are necessary about my friendship with

|

Mrs Erlynne.

|

LORD AUGUSTUS

|

Hem! Well, look here, dear old fellow. Do you think she

|

will ever get into this demmed thing called Society? Would

|

you introduce her to your wife? No use beating about the | 90

confounded bush. Would you do that?

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Mrs Erlynne is coming here tonight.

|

LORD AUGUSTUS

|

Your wife has sent her a card?

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Mrs Erlynne has received a card.

|

LORD AUGUSTUS

|

Then she's all right, dear boy. But why didn't you tell me | 95

that before. It would have saved me a heap of worry and

|

demmed misunderstandings!

|

LADY AGATHA _and_ MR HOPPER _cross and exit on terrace L. U.E_.

|

PARKER

|

Mr Cecil Graham!

|

_Enter_ MR CECIL GRAHAM

CECIL GRAHAM ( _Bows to_ LADY WINDERMERE, _passes over and_

|

---|---

_snakes hands with_ LORD WINDERMERE)

|

Good evening, Arthur. Why don't you ask me how I am? I

|

like people to ask me how I am. It shows a widespread | 100

interest in my health. Now, tonight I am not at all well.

|

Been dining with my people. Wonder why it is one's people

|

are always so tedious? My father would talk morality after

|

dinner. I told him he was old enough to know better. But

|

my experience is that as soon as people are old enough to | 105

know better, they don't know anything at all. Hullo,

|

Tuppy! Hear you're going to be married again; thought

|

you were tired of that game.

|

LORD AUGUSTUS

|

You're excessively trivial, my dear boy, excessively trivial!

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

By the way, Tuppy, which is it? Have you been twice | 110

married and once divorced, or twice divorced and once

|

married? I say you've been twice divorced and once married.

|

It seems so much more probable.

|

LORD AUGUSTUS

|

I have a very bad memory. I really don't remember which.

|

_Moves away R_.

|

LADY PLYMDALE

|

Lord Windermere, I've something most particular to ask | 115

you.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

I am afraid—if you will excuse me—I must join my wife.

|

LADY PLYMDALE

|

Oh, you mustn't dream of such a thing. It's most dangerous

|

nowadays for a husband to pay any attention to his wife

|

in public. It always makes people think that he beats her | 120

when they're alone. The world has grown so suspicious of

|

anything that looks like a happy married life. But I'll tell

|

you what it is at supper. _Moves towards door of ballroom_

|

LORD WINDERMERE ( _C_.)

|

Margaret .

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Will you hold my fan for me, Lord Darlington? Thanks. | 125

_Comes down to him_

|

LORD WINDERMERE ( _Crossing to her_ )

|

Margaret, what you said before dinner was, of course,

|

impossible?

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

That woman is not coming here tonight!

|

LORD WINDERMERE ( _R.C_.)

|

Mrs Erlynne is coming here, and if you in any way annoy

|

or wound her, you will bring shame and sorrow on us both. | 130

Remember that! Ah, Margaret! only trust me! A wife

|

should trust her husband!

|

LADY WINDERMERE ( _C_.)

|

London is full of women who trust their husbands. One

|

can always recognize them. They look so thoroughly

|

unhappy. I am not going to be one of them. ( _Moves up_ ) | 135

Lord Darlington, will you give me back my fan, please?

|

Thanks.... A useful thing a fan, isn't it?... I want a

|

friend tonight, Lord Darlington: I didn't know I would

|

want one so soon.

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

Lady Windermere! I knew the time would come some day; | 140

but why tonight?

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

I _will_ tell her. I must. It would be terrible if there were any

|

scene. Margaret...

|

PARKER

|

Mrs Erlynne!

|

LORD WINDERMERE _starts_. MRS ERLYNNE _enters, very beautifully_

|

_dressed and very dignified_ , LADY WINDERMERE _clutches at_

|

_her fan, then lets it drop on the floor. She bows coldly to_ MRS

|

ERLYNNE, _who bows to her sweetly in turn, and sails into the room_

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

You have dropped your fan, Lady Windermere. | 145

_Picks it up and hands it to her_

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _C_.)

|

How do you do, again, Lord Windermere? How charming

|

your sweet wife looks! Quite a picture!

|

LORD WINDERMERE ( _In a low voice_ )

|

It was terribly rash of you to come!

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _Smiling_ )

|

The wisest thing I ever did in my life. And, by the way,

|

you must pay me a good deal of attention this evening. I am | 150

afraid of the women. You must introduce me to some of

|

them. The men I can always manage. How do you do,

|

Lord Augustus? You have quite neglected me lately. I

|

have not seen you since yesterday. I am afraid you're

|

faithless. Everyone told me so. | 155

LORD AUGUSTUS ( _R_.)

|

Now really, Mrs Erlynne, allow me to explain.

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _R.C_.)

|

No, dear Lord Augustus, you can't explain anything. It is

|

your chief charm.

|

LORD AUGUSTUS

|

Ah! if you find charms in me, Mrs Erlynne—

|

_They converse together_ , LORD WINDERMERE _moves uneasily about the room watching_ MRS ERLYNNE

LORD DARLINGTON ( _To_ LADY WINDERMERE)

|

---|---

How pale you are! | 160

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Cowards are always pale!

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

You look faint. Come out on the terrace.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Yes. ( _To_ PARKER) Parker, send my cloak out.

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _Crossing to her_ )

|

Lady Windermere, how beautifully your terrace is illuminated.

|

Reminds me of Prince Doria's at Rome, (LADY | 165

WINDERMERE _bows coldly, and goes off with_ LORD DARLINGTON)

|

Oh, how do you do, Mr Graham? Isn't that your

|

aunt, Lady Jedburgh? I should so much like to know her.

|

CECIL GRAHAM ( _After a moment's hesitation and embarrassment_ )

|

Oh, certainly, if you wish it. Aunt Caroline, allow me to

|

introduce Mrs Erlynne.

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

So pleased to meet you, Lady Jedburgh. ( _Sits beside her on_ | 170

_the sofa_ ) Your nephew and I are great friends. I am so much

|

interested in his political career. I think he's sure to be a

|

wonderful success. He thinks like a Tory and talks like

|

a Radical, and that's so important nowadays. He's such a

|

brilliant talker, too. But we all know from whom he | 175

inherits that. Lord Allandale was saying to me only yesterday,

|

in the Park, that Mr Graham talks almost as well as his

|

aunt.

|

LADY JEDBURGH ( _R_.)

|

Most kind of you to say these charming things to me!

|

MRS ERLYNNE _smiles, and continues conversation_

|

DUMBY ( _To_ CECIL GRAHAM)

|

Did you introduce Mrs Erlynne to Lady Jedburgh? | 180

CECIL GRAHAM

|

Had to, my dear fellow. Couldn't help it

|

make one do anything she wants. How, I don't know.

|

DUMBY

|

Hope to goodness she won't speak to me!

|

_Saunters towards_ LADY PLYMADALE

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _C. to_ LADY JEDBURGH)

|

On Thursday? With great pleasure. ( _Rises, and speaks to_

|

LORD WINDERMERE, _laughing_ ) What a bore it is to have to be | 185

civil to these old dowagers! But they always insist on it!

|

LADY PLYMDALE ( _To_ MR DUMBY)

|

Who is that well-dressed woman talking to Windermere?

|

DUMBY

|

Haven't got the slightest idea! Looks like an _édition da luxe_

|

of a wicked French novel, meant specially for the English

|

market. | 190

MRS ERLYNNE

|

So that is poor Dubby with Lady Plymdale? I hear she is

|

frightfully jealous of him. He doesn't seem anxious to

|

speak to me tonight. I suppose he is afraid of her. Those

|

straw-coloured women have dreadful tempers. Do you

|

know, I think I'll dance with you first, Windermere. (LORD | 195

WINDERMERE _bites his lip and frowns_ ) It will make Lord

|

Augustus so jealous! Lord Augustus! (LORD AUGUSTUS

|

_comes down_ ) Lord Windermere insists on my dancing with

|

him first, and, as it's his own house, I can't well refuse.

|

You know I would much sooner dance with you. | 200

LORD AUGUSTUS ( _With a low bow_ )

|

I wish I could think so, Mrs Erlynne.

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

You know it far too well. I can fancy a person dancing

|

through life with you and finding it charming.

|

LORD AUGUSTUS ( _Placing his hand on his white waistcoat_ )

|

Oh, thank you, thank you. You are the most adorable of all

|

ladies! | 205

MRS ERLYNNE

|

What a nice speech! So simple and so sincere

|

of speech I like. Well, you shall hold my bouquet. ( _Goes_

|

_towards ballroom on_ LORD WINDERMERE _'s arm_ ) Ah, Mr

|

Dubby, how are you? I am so sorry I have been out the last

|

three times you have called. Come and lunch on Friday. | 210

DUMBY ( _With perfect nonchalance_ )

|

Delighted!

|

LADY PLYMDALE _glares with indignation at_ MR DUMBY. LORD AUGUSTUS _follows_ MRS ERLYNNE _and_ LORD WINDERMERE _into the ballroom holding bouquet_

LADY PLYMDALE ( _To_ MR DUMBY)

|

---|---

What an absolute brute you are! I never can believe a word

|

you say! Why did you tell me you didn't know her? What

|

do you mean by calling on her three times running? You

|

are not to go to lunch there; of course you understand that? | 215

DUBBY

|

My dear Laura, I wouldn't dream of going!

|

LADY PLYMDALE

|

You haven't told me her name yet! Who is she?

|

DUBBY ( _Coughs slightly and smooths his hair_ )

|

She's a Mrs Erlynne.

|

LADY PLYMDALE

|

_That_ woman!

|

DUBBY

|

Yes; that is what everyone calls her. | 220

LADY PAYMDALE

|

How very interesting! How intensely interesting! I really

|

must have a good stare at her. ( _Goes to door of ballroom and_

|

_looks in_ ) I have heard the most shocking things about her.

|

They say she is ruining poor Windermere. And Lady

|

Windermere, who goes in for being so proper, invites her! | 225

How extremely amusing  a thoroughly good

|

woman to do a thoroughly stupid thing. You are to lunch

|

there on Friday!

|

DUBBY

|

Why?

|

LADY PLYMDALE

|

Because I want you to take my husband with you. He has | 230

been so attentive lately, that he has become a perfect

|

nuisance. Now, this woman is just the thing for him. He'll

|

dance attendance upon her as long as she lets him, and

|

won't bother me. I assure you, women of that kind are

|

most useful. They form the basis of other people's marriages. | 235

DUBBY

|

What a mystery you are!

|

LADY PLYMDALE ( _Looking at him_ )

|

I wish _you_ were!

|

DUBBY

|

I am—to myself. I am the only person in the world I should

|

like to know thoroughly; but I don't see any chance of it | 240

just at present.

|

_They pass into the ballroom, and_ LADY WINDERMERE _and_ LORD DARLINGTON _enter from the terrace_

LADY WINDERMERE

|

---|---

Yes. Her coming here is monstrous, unbearable. I know

|

now what you meant today at tea time. Why didn't you tell

|

me right out? You should have!

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

I couldn't! A man can't tell these things about another | 245

man! But if I had known he was going to make you ask her

|

here tonight, I think I would have told you. That insult, at

|

any rate, you would have been spared.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

I did not ask her. He insisted on her coming—against my

|

entreaties—against my commands. Oh! the house is | 250

tainted for me! I feel that every woman here sneers at me as

|

she dances by with my husband. What have I done to

|

deserve this? I gave him all my life. He took it—used

|

it—spoiled it! I am degraded in my own eyes; and I lack

|

courage—I am a coward! _Sits down on sofa_ | 255

LORD DARLINGTON

|

If I know you at all, I know that you can't live with a man

|

who treats you like this! What sort of life would you have

|

with him? You would feel that he was lying to you every

|

moment of the day. You would feel that the look in his eyes

|

was false, his voice false, his touch false, his passion false. | 260

He would come to you when he was weary of others; you

|

would have to comfort him. He would come to you when

|

he was devoted to others; you would have to charm him.

|

You would have to be to him the mask of his real life, the

|

cloak to hide his secret. | 265

LADY WINDERMERE

|

You are right—you are terribly right. But where am I to

|

turn? You said you would be my friend, Lord Darlington.

|

—Tell me, what am I to do? Be my friend now.

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

Between men and women there is no friendship possible.

|

There is passion, enmity, worship, love, but no friendship. | 270

I love you—

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

No, no! _Rises_

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

Yes, I love you! You are more to me than anything in the

|

whole world. What does your husband give you? Nothing.

|

Whatever is in him he gives to this wretched woman, | 275

whom he has thrust into your society, into your home, to

|

shame you before everyone. I offer you my life—

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Lord Darlington!

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

My life—my whole life. Take it, and do with it what you

|

will.... I love you—love you as I have never loved any | 280

living thing. From the moment I met you I loved you,

|

loved you blindly, adoringly, madly! You did not know it

|

then—you know it now! Leave this house tonight. I won't

|

tell you that the world matters nothing, or the world's

|

voice, or the voice of society. They matter a great deal. | 285

They matter far too much. But there are moments when

|

one has to choose between living one's own life, fully,

|

entirely, completely—or dragging out some false, shallow,

|

degrading existence that the world in its hypocrisy

|

demands. You have that moment now. Choose  | 290

love, choose!

|

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Moving slowly away from him, and looking_

|

_at him with startled eyes_ )

|

I have not the courage.

|

LORD DAELINGTON ( _Following her_ )

|

Yes; you have the courage. There may be six months of

|

pain, of disgrace even, but when you no longer bear his

|

name, when you bear mine, all will be well. Margaret, my | 295

love, my wife that shall be some day—yes, my wife! You

|

know it! What are you now? This woman has the place that

|

belongs by right to you. Oh! go—go out of this house, with

|

head erect, with a smile upon your lips, with courage in

|

your eyes. All London will know why you did it; and who | 300

will blame you? No one. If they do, what matter? Wrong?

|

What is wrong? It's wrong for a man to abandon his wife

|

for a shameless woman. It is wrong for a wife to remain

|

with a man who so dishonours her. You said once you

|

would make no compromise with things. Make none now. | 305

Be brave! Be yourself!

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

I am afraid of being myself. Let me think! Let me wait!

|

My husband may return to me. _Sits down on sofa_

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

And you would take him back! You are not what I thought

|

you were. You are just the same as every other woman. | 310

You would stand anything rather than face the censure of a

|

world, whose praise you would despise. In a week you will

|

be driving with this woman in the Park. She will be your

|

constant guest—your dearest friend. You would endure

|

anything rather than break with one blow this monstrous | 315

tie. You are right. You have no courage; none!

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Ah, give me time to think. I cannot answer you now.

|

_Passes her hand nervously over her brow_

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

It must be now or not at all.

|

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Rising from the sofa_ )

|

Then, not at all! _A pause_

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

You break my heart! | 320

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Mine is already broken. _A pause_

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

Tomorrow I leave England. This is the last time I shall

|

ever look on you. You will never see me again. For one

|

moment our lives met—our souls touched. They must

|

never meet or touch again. Goodbye, Margaret. _Exit_ | 325

LADY WINDERMERE

|

How alone I am in life! How terribly alone!

|

_The music stops. Enter the_ DUCHESS OF BERWICK _and_ LORD PAISLEY _laughing and talking. Other guests come on from ballroom_

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

---|---

Dear Margaret, I've just been having such a delightful chat

|

with Mrs Erlynne. I am so sorry for what I said to you this

|

afternoon about her. Of course, she must be all right if _you_

|

invite her. A most attractive woman, and has such sensible | 330

views on life. Told me she entirely disapproved of people

|

marrying more than once, so I feel quite safe about poor

|

Augustus. Can't imagine why people speak against her.

|

It's those horrid nieces of mine—the Saville girls—they're

|

always talking scandal. Still, I should go to Homburg, | 335

dear, I really should. She is just a little too attractive. But

|

where is Agatha? Oh, there she is! (LADY AGATHA _and_ MR

|

HOPPER _enter from terrace L. U.E_.) Mr Hopper, I am very,

|

very angry with you. You have taken Agatha out on the

|

terrace, and she is so delicate. | 340

HOPPER ( _L.C_.)

|

Awfully sorry, Duchess. We went out for a moment and

|

then got chatting together.

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK ( _C_.)

|

Ah, about dear Australia, I suppose?

|

HOPPER

|

Yes!

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

Agatha, darling! _Beckons her over_ | 345

LADY AGATHA

|

Yes, mamma!

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK ( _Aside_ )

|

Did Mr Hopper definitely—

|

LADY AGATHA

|

Yes, mamma.

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

And what answer did you give him, dear child?

|

LADY AGATHA

|

Yes, mamma. | 350

DUCHESS OF BERWICK ( _Affectionately_ )

|

My dear one! You always say the right thing. Mr Hopper!

|

James! Agatha has told me everything. How cleverly you

|

have both kept your secret.

|

HOPPER

|

You don't mind my taking Agatha off to Australia, then,

|

Duchess? | 355

DUCHESS OF BERWICK ( _Indignantly_ )

|

To Australia? Oh, don't mention that dreadful vulgar

|

place.

|

HOPPER

|

But she said she'd like to come with me.

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK ( _Severely_ )

|

Did you say that, Agatha?

|

LADY AGATHA

|

Yes, mamma. | 360

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

Agatha, you say the most silly things possible. I think on

|

the whole that Grosvenor Square would be a more healthy

|

place to reside in. There are lots of vulgar people live in

|

Grosvenor Square, but at any rate there are no horrid

|

kangaroos crawling about. But we'll talk about that | 365

tomorrow. James, you can take Agatha down. You'll come

|

to lunch, of course, James. At half-past one, instead of

|

two. The Duke will wish to say a few words to you, I am

|

sure.

|

HOPPER

|

I should like to have a chat with the Duke, Duchess. He | 370

has not said a single word to me yet.

|

DUCHESS OF BERWICK

|

I think you'll find he will have a great deal to say to you

|

tomorrow. ( _Exit_ LADY AGATHA _with_ MR HOPPER) And now

|

goodnight, Margaret. I'm afraid it's the old, old story,

|

dear. Love—well, not love at first sight, but love at the end | 375

of the season, which is so much more satisfactory.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Goodnight, Duchess.

|

_Exit the_ DUCHESS OF BERWICK _on_ LORD PAISLEY _'s arm_

|

LADY PLYMDALE

|

My dear Margaret, what a handsome woman your husband

|

has been dancing with! I should be quite jealous if I

|

were you! Is she a great friend of yours? | 380

LADY WINDERMERE

|

No!

|

LADY PLYMDALE

|

Really? Goodnight, dear. _Looks at_ MR DUBBY _and exit_

|

DUBBY

|

Awful manners young Hopper has!

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

Ah! Hopper is one of Nature's gentlemen, the worst type

|

of gentleman I know. | 385

DUBBY

|

Sensible woman, Lady Windermere. Lots of wives would

|

have objected to Mrs Erlynne coming. But Lady Windermere

|

has that uncommon thing called common sense.

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

And Windermere knows that nothing looks so like innocence

|

as an indiscretion. | 390

DUBBY

|

Yes; dear Windermere is becoming almost modern. Never

|

thought he would. _Bows to_ LADY WINDERMERE _and exit_

|

LADY JEDBURGH

|

Goodnight, Lady Windermere. What a fascinating woman

|

Mrs Erlynne is! She is coming to lunch on Thursday,

|

won't you come too? I expect the Bishop and dear Lady | 395

Merton.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

I am afraid I am engaged, Lady Jedburgh.

|

LADY JEDBURGH

|

So sorry. Come, dear.

|

_Exeunt_ LADY JEDBURGH _and_ MISS GRAHAM

|

_Enter_ MRS ERLYNNE _and_ LORD WINDERMERE

MRS ERLYNNE

|

---|---

Charming ball it has been! Quite reminds me of old days.

|

( _Sits on sofa_ ) And I see that there are just as many fools in | 400

society as there used to be. So pleased to find that nothing

|

has altered . She's grown quite pretty.

|

The last time I saw her—twenty years ago, she was a fright

|

in flannel. Positive fright, I assure you. The dear Duchess!

|

and that sweet Lady Agatha! Just the type of girl I like! | 405

Well, really, Windermere, if I am to be the Duchess's

|

sister-in-law—

|

LORD WINDERMERE ( _Sitting L. of her_ )

|

But are you—?

|

_Exit_ MR CECIL GRAHAM _with rest of guests_ , LADY WINDERMERE _watches, with a look of scorn and pain_ , MRS ERLYNNE _and her husband. They are unconscious of her presence_

MRS ERLYNNE

|

---|---

Oh, yes! He's to call tomorrow at twelve o'clock! He

|

wanted to propose tonight. In fact he did. He kept on | 410

proposing. Poor Augustus, you know how he repeats himself.

|

Such a bad habit! But I told him I wouldn't give him

|

an answer till tomorrow. Of course I am going to take him.

|

And I daresay I'll make him an admirable wife, as wives

|

go. And there is a great deal of good in Lord Augustus. | 415

Fortunately it is all on the surface. Just where good qualities

|

should be. Of course you must help me in this matter.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

I am not called on to encourage Lord Augustus, I suppose?

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Oh, no! I do the encouraging. But you will make me a

|

handsome settlement, Windermere, won't you? | 420

LORD WINDERMERE ( _Frowning_ )

|

Is that what you want to talk to me about tonight?

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Yes.

|

LORD WINDERMERE ( _With a gesture of impatience_ )

|

I will not talk of it here.

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _Laughing_ )

|

Then we will talk of it on the terrace. Even business should

|

have a picturesque background. Should it not, Windermere? | 425

With a proper background women can do anything.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Won't tomorrow do as well?

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

No; you see, tomorrow I am going to accept him. And I

|

think it would be a good thing if I was able to tell him that I

|

had—well, what shall I say?—£2,000 a year left to me by a | 430

third cousin—or a second husband—or some distant relative

|

of that kind. It would be an additional attraction,

|

wouldn't it? You have a delightful opportunity now of

|

paying me a compliment, Windermere. But you are not

|

very clever at paying compliments. I am afraid Margaret | 435

doesn't encourage you in that excellent habit. It's a great

|

mistake on her part. When men give up saying what is

|

charming, they give up thinking what is charming. But

|

seriously, what do you say to £2,000? £2,500, I think. In

|

modern life margin is everything. Windermere, don't you | 440

think the world an intensely amusing place? I do!

|

_Exit on terrace with_ LORD WINDERMERE. _Music strikes up in ballroom_

LADY WINDERMERE

|

---|---

To stay in this house any longer is impossible. Tonight a

|

man who loves me offered me his whole life. I refused it. It

|

was foolish of me. I will offer him mine now. I will give

|

him mine. I will go to him! ( _Puts on cloak and goes to the_ | 445

_door, then turns back. Sits down at table and writesa letter_,

|

_puts it into an envelope, and leaves it on table_ ) Arthur has

|

never understood me. When he reads this, he will. He may

|

do as he chooses now with his life. I have done with mine as

|

I think best, as I think right. It is he who has broken the

|

bond of marriage—not I. I only break its bondage. | 450

_Exit_

|

PARKER _enters L. and crosses towards the ballroom R. Enter_ MRS ERLYNNE

MRS ERLYNNE

|

---|---

Is Lady Windermere in the ballroom?

|

PARKER

|

Her ladyship has just gone out.

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Gone out? She's not on the terrace?

|

PARKER

|

No, madam. Her ladyship has just gone out of the house.

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _Starts, and looks at the servant with a puzzled_

|

_expression in her face_ )

|

Out of the house? | 455

PARKER

|

Yes, madam—her ladyship told me she had left a letter for

|

his lordship on the table.

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

A letter for Lord Windermere?

|

PARKER

|

Yes, madam.

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Thank you. ( _Exit_ PARKER. _The music in the ballroom stops_ ) | 460

Gone out of her house! A letter addressed to her husband!

|

( _Goes over to bureau and looks at letter. Takes it up and lays it_

|

_down again with a shudder of fear_ ) No, no! It would be

|

impossible! Life doesn't repeat its tragedies like that! Oh,

|

why does this horrible fancy come across me? Why do I

|

remember now the one moment of my life I most wish to | 465

forget? Does life repeat its tragedies? ( _Tears letter open and_

|

_reads it, then sinks down into a chair with a gesture of anguish_ )

|

Oh, how terrible! The same words that twenty years ago I

|

wrote to her father! and how bitterly I have been punished

|

for it! No; my punishment, my real punishment is tonight,

|

is now! _Still seated R_. | 470

_Enter_ LORD WINDERMERE _L.U.E_.

LORD WINDERMERE

|

---|---

Have you said goodnight to my wife? _Comes C_.

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _Crushing letter in her hand_ )

|

Yes.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Where is she?

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

She is very tired. She has gone to bed. She said she had a

|

headache. | 475

LORD WINDERMERE

|

I must go to her. You'll excuse me?

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _Rising hurriedly_ )

|

Oh, no! It's nothing serious. She's only very tired, that is

|

all. Besides, there are people still in the supper room. She

|

wants you to make her apologies to them. She said she

|

didn't wish to be disturbed. ( _Drops letter_ ) She asked me to | 480

tell you!

|

LORD WINDERMERE ( _Picks Up letter_ )

|

You have dropped something.

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Oh yes, thank you, that is mine.

|

_Puts out her hand to take it_

|

LORD WINDERMERE ( _Still looking at letter_ )

|

But it's my wife's handwriting, isn't it?

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _Takes the letter quickly_ )

|

Yes, it's—an address. Will you ask them to call my carriage, | 485

please?

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Certainly. _Goes L. and exit_

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Thanks! What can I do? What can I do? I feel a passion

|

awakening within me that I never felt before. What can it

|

mean? The daughter must not be like the mother—that | 490

would be terrible. How can I save her? How can I save my

|

child? A moment may ruin a life. Who knows that better

|

than I? Windermere must be got out of the house; that is

|

absolutely necessary. ( _Goes L_.) But how shall I do it? It

|

must be done somehow. Ah! | 495

_Enter_ LORD AUGUSTUS _R.U.E. carrying bouquet_

LORD AUGUSTUS

|

---|---

Dear lady, I am in such suspense  not have an

|

answer to my request?

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Lord Augustus, listen to me. You are to take Lord Windermere

|

down to your club at once, and keep him there as

|

long as possible. You understand? | 500

LORD AUGUSTUS

|

But you said you wished me to keep early hours!

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _Nervously_ )

|

Do what I tell you. Do what I tell you.

|

LORD AUGUSTUS

|

And my reward?

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Your reward? Your reward? Oh! ask me that tomorrow.

|

But don't let Windermere out of your sight tonight. If you | 505

do I will never forgive you. I will never speak to you again.

|

I'll have nothing to do with you. Remember you are to

|

keep Windermere at your club, and don't let him come

|

back tonight. _Exit L_.

|

LORD AUGUSTUS

|

Well, really, I might be her husband already. Positively I | 510

might. _Follows her in a bewildered manner_

|

_Act-Drop_

## **Act III**

_Scene_ : LORD DARLINGTON _'s Rooms. A large sofa is in front of fireplace R. At the back of the stage a curtain is drawn across the window. Doors L. and R. Table R. with writing materials. Table C. with syphons, glasses, and Tantalus frame. Table L. with cigar and cigarette-box. Lamps lit_

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Standing by the fireplace_ )

|

---|---

Why doesn't he come? This waiting is horrible. He should

|

be here. Why is he not here, to wake by passionate words

|

some fire within me? I am cold—cold as a loveless thing.

|

Arthur must have read my letter by this time. If he cared

|

for me, he would have come after me, would have taken me | 5

back by force. But he doesn't care. He's entrammelled by

|

this woman—fascinated by her—dominated by her. If a

|

woman wants to hold a man, she has merely to appeal to

|

what is worst in him. We make gods of men and they leave

|

us. Others make brutes of them and they fawn and are | 10

faithful. How hideous life is!... Oh! it was mad of me to

|

come here, horribly mad. And yet, which is the worst, I

|

wonder, to be at the mercy of a man who loves one, or the

|

wife of a man who in one's own house dishonours one?

|

What woman knows? What woman in the whole world? | 15

But will he love me always, this man to whom I am giving

|

my life? What do I bring him? Lips that have lost the note

|

of joy, eyes that are blinded by tears, chill hands and icy

|

heart. I bring him nothing. I must go back—no; I can't go

|

back, my letter has put me in their power—Arthur would | 20

not take me back! That fatal letter! No! Lord Darlington

|

leaves England tomorrow. I will go with him—I have no

|

choice. ( _Sits down for a few moments. Then starts up and puts_

|

_on her cloak_ ) No, no! I will go back, let Arthur do with me

|

what he pleases. I can't wait here. It has been madness my | 25

coming. I must go at once. As for Lord Darlington—Oh!

|

here he is ? What can I say to him? Will he

|

let me go away at all? I have heard that men are brutal,

|

horrible... Oh! _Hides her face in her hands_

|

_Enter_ MRS ERLYNNE _L_.

MRS ERLYNNE

|

---|---

Lady Windermere! (LADY WINDERMERE _starts and looks up_. | 30

_Then recoils in contempt_ ) Thank Heaven I am in time. You

|

must go back to your husband's house immediately.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Must?

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _Authoritatively_ )

|

Yes, you must! There is not a second to be lost. Lord

|

Darlington may return at any moment. | 35

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Don't come near me!

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Oh! You are on the brink of ruin, you are on the brink of a

|

hideous precipice. You must leave this place at once, my

|

carriage is waiting at the corner of the street. You must

|

come with me and drive straight home, (LADY WINDERMERE | 40

_throws off her cloak and flings it on the sofa_ ) What are

|

you doing?

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Mrs Erlynne—if you had not come here, I would have gone

|

back. But now that I see you, I feel that nothing in the

|

whole world would induce me to live under the same roof | 45

as Lord Windermere. You fill me with horror. There is

|

something about you that stirs the wildest—rage within

|

me. And I know why you are here. My husband sent you to

|

lure me back that I might serve as a blind to whatever

|

relations exist between you and him. | 50

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Oh! You don't think that—you can't.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Go back to my husband, Mrs Erlynne. He belongs to you

|

and not to me. I suppose he is afraid of a scandal. Men are

|

such cowards. They outrage every law of the world, and

|

are afraid of the world's tongue. But he had better prepare | 55

himself. He shall have a scandal. He shall have the worst

|

scandal there has been in London for years. He shall see his

|

name in every vile paper, mine on every hideous placard.

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

No—no—

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Yes! he shall. Had he come himself, I admit I would have | 60

gone back to the life of degradation you and he had prepared

|

for me—I was going back—but to stay himself at

|

home, and to send you as his messenger—oh! it was infamous

|

—infamous.

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _C_.)

|

Lady Windermere, you wrong me horribly—you wrong | 65

your husband horribly. He doesn't know you are here—he

|

thinks you are safe in your own house. He thinks you are

|

asleep in your own room. He never read the mad letter you

|

wrote to him!

|

LADY WINDERMERE ( _R_.)

|

Never read it! | 70

MRS ERLYNNE

|

No—he knows nothing about it.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

How simple you think me! ( _Going to her_ ) You are lying to

|

me!

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _Restraining herself_ )

|

I am not. I am telling you the truth.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

If my husband didn't read my letter, how is it that you are | 75

here? Who told you I had left the house you were shameless

|

enough to enter? Who told you where I had gone to?

|

My husband told you, and sent you to decoy me back.

|

_Crosses L_.

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _R.C_.)

|

Your husband has never seen the letter. I—saw it, I

|

opened it. I—read it. | 80

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Turning to her_ )

|

You opened a letter of mine to my husband? You wouldn't

|

dare!

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Dare! Oh! to save you from the abyss into which you are

|

falling, there is nothing in the world I would not dare,

|

nothing in the whole world. Here is the letter. Your husband | 85

has never read it. He never shall read it. ( _Going to_

|

_fireplace_ ) It should never have been written.

|

_Tears it and throws it into the fire_

|

LADY WINDERMERE ( _With infinite contempt in her voice and_

|

_look_ )

|

How do I know that that was my letter after all? You seem

|

to think the commonest device can take me in!

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Oh! why do you disbelieve everything I tell you? What | 90

object do you think I have in coming here, except to save

|

you from utter ruin, to save you from the consequence of a

|

hideous mistake? That letter that is burnt now _was_ your

|

letter. I swear it to you!

|

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Slowly_ )

|

You took good care to burn it before I had examined it. I | 95

cannot trust you. You, whose whole life is a lie, how could

|

you speak the truth about anything? _Sits down_

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _Hurriedly_ )

|

Think as you like about me—say what you choose against

|

me, but go back, go back to the husband you love.

|

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Sullenly_ )

|

I do _not_ love him! | 100

MRS ERLYNNE

|

You do, and you know that he loves you.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

He does not understand what love is. He understands it as

|

little as you do—but I see what you want. It would be a

|

great advantage for you to get me back. Dear Heaven!

|

what a life I would have then! Living at the mercy of a | 105

woman who has neither mercy nor pity in her, a woman

|

whom it is an infamy to meet, a degradation to know, a vile

|

woman, a woman who comes between husband and wife!

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _With a gesture of despair_ )

|

Lady Windermere, Lady Windermere, don't say such terrible

|

things. You don't know how terrible they are, how | 110

terrible and how unjust. Listen, you must listen! Only go

|

back to your husband, and I promise you never to communicate

|

with him again on any pretext—never to see

|

him—never to have anything to do with his life or yours.

|

The money that he gave me, he gave me not through love, | 115

but through hatred, not in worship, but in contempt. The

|

hold I have over him—

|

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Rising_ )

|

Ah! you admit you have a hold!

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Yes, and I will tell you what it is. It is his love for you,

|

Lady Windermere. | 120

LADY WINDERMERE

|

You expect me to believe that?

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

You must believe it! It is true. It is his love for you that has

|

made him submit to—oh! call it what you like, tyranny,

|

threats, anything you choose. But it is his love for you. His

|

desire to spare you—shame, yes, shame and disgrace. | 125

LADY WINDERMERE

|

What do you mean? You are insolent! What have I to do

|

with you?

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _Humbly_ )

|

Nothing. I know it—but I tell you that your husband loves

|

you—that you may never meet with such love again in your

|

whole life—that such love you will never meet—and that if | 130

you throw it away, the day may come when you will starve

|

for love and it will not be given to you, beg for love and it

|

will be denied you—Oh! Arthur loves you!

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Arthur? And you tell me there is nothing between you?

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Lady Windermere, before Heaven your husband is guiltless | 135

of all offence towards you! And I—I tell you that had it

|

ever occurred to me that such a monstrous suspicion would

|

have entered your mind, I would have died rather than

|

have crossed your life or his—oh! died, gladly died!

|

_Moves away to sofa R_.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

You talk as if you had a heart. Women like you have no | 140

hearts. Heart is not in you. You are bought and sold.

|

_Sits L.C_.

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _Starts, with a gesture of pain. Then restrains_

|

_herself, and comes over to where_ LADY WINDERMERE _is sitting_.

|

_As she speaks, she stretches out her hands towards her, but does_

|

_not dare to touch her_ )

|

Believe what you choose about me. I am not worth a

|

moment's sorrow. But don't spoil your beautiful young life

|

on my account! You don't know what may be in store for

|

you, unless you leave this house at once. You don't know | 145

what it is to fall into the pit, to be despised, mocked,

|

abandoned, sneered at—to be an outcast

|

shut against one, to have to creep in by hideous byways,

|

afraid every moment lest the mask should be stripped from

|

one's face, and all the while to hear the laughter, the | 150

horrible laughter of the world, a thing more tragic than all

|

the tears the world has ever shed. You don't know what it

|

is. One pays for one's sin, and then one pays again, and all

|

one's life one pays. You must never know that.—As for me,

|

if suffering be an expiation, then at this moment I have | 155

expiated all my faults, whatever they have been; for

|

tonight you have made a heart in one who had it not, made

|

it and broken it.—But let that pass. I may have wrecked my

|

own life, but I will not let you wreck yours. You—why,

|

you are a mere girl, you would be lost. You haven't got the | 160

kind of brains that enables a woman to get back. You have

|

neither the wit nor the courage. You couldn't stand dishonour.

|

No! Go back, Lady Windermere, to the husband

|

who loves you, whom you love. You have a child, Lady

|

Windermere. Go back to that child who even now, in pain | 165

or in joy, may be calling to you. (LADY WINDERMERE _rises_ )

|

God gave you that child. He will require from you that you

|

make his life fine, that you watch over him. What answer

|

will you make to God if his life is ruined through you? Back

|

to your house, Lady Windermere—your husband loves | 170

you! He has never swerved for a moment from the love he

|

bears you. But even if he had a thousand loves, you must

|

stay with your child. If he was harsh to you, you must stay

|

with your child. If he ill-treated you, you must stay with

|

your child. If he abandoned you, your place is with your | 175

child.

|

LADY WINDERMERE _bursts into tears and buries her face in her hands_

( _Rushing to her_ ) Lady Windermere!

|

---|---

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Holding out her hands to her, helplessly, as a_

|

_child might do_ )

|

Take me home. Take me home.

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _Is about to embrace her. Then restrains herself_.

|

_There is a look of wonderful joy in her face_ )

|

Come! Where is your cloak? ( _Getting it from sofa_ ) Here. Put

|

it on. Come at once! | 180

_They go to the door_

LADY WINDERMERE

|

---|---

Stop! Don't you hear voices?

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

No, no! There is no one!

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Yes, there is! Listen! Oh! that is my husband's voice! He is

|

coming in! Save me! Oh, it's some plot! You have sent for

|

him. _Voices outside_ | 185

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Silence! I'm here to save you, if I can. But I fear it is too

|

late! There! ( _Points to the curtain across the window_ ) The

|

first chance you have, slip out, if you ever get a chance!

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

But you?

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Oh! never mind me. I'll face them. | 190

LADY WINDERMERE _hides herself behind the curtain_

|

LORD AUGUSTUS ( _Outside_ )

|

Nonsense, dear Windermere, you must not leave me!

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Lord Augustus !

|

_Hesitates for a moment, then looks round and sees door R., and exit through it_

_Enter_ LORD DARLINGTON, MR DUMBY, LORD WINDERMERE, LORD AUGUSTUS LORTON, _and_ MR CECIL GRAHAM

DUMBY

|

---|---

What a nuisance their turning us out of the club at this

|

hour! It's only two o'clock. ( _Sinks into a chair_ ) The lively

|

part of the evening is only just beginning. | 195

_Yawns and closes his eyes_

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

It is very good of you, Lord Darlington, allowing Augustus

|

to force our company on you, but I'm afraid I can't stay

|

long.

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

Really! I am so sorry! You'll take a cigar, won't you?

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Thanks! _Sits down_ | 200

LORD AUGUSTUS ( _To_ LORD WINDERMERE)

|

My dear boy, you must not dream of going. I have a great

|

deal to talk to you about, of demmed importance, too.

|

_Sits down with him at L. table_

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

Oh! We all know what that is! Tuppy can't talk about

|

anything but Mrs Erlynne!

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Well, that is no business of yours, is it, Cecil? | 205

CECIL GRAHAM

|

None! That is why it interests me. My own business

|

always bores me to death. I prefer other people's.

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

Have something to drink, you fellows. Cecil, you'll have a

|

whisky and soda?

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

Thanks. ( _Goes to table with_ LORD DARLINGTON) Mrs | 210

Erlynne looked very handsome tonight, didn't she?

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

I am not one of her admirers.

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

I usen't to be, but I am now. Why! she actually made me

|

introduce her to poor dear Aunt Caroline. I believe she is

|

going to lunch there. | 215

LORD DARLINGTON ( _In surprise_ )

|

No?

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

She is, really.

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

Excuse me, you fellows. I'm going away tomorrow. And I

|

have to write a few letters.

|

_Goes to writing table and sits down_

|

DUMBY

|

Clever woman, Mrs Erlynne. | 220

CECIL GRAHAM

|

Hallo, Dumby! I thought you were asleep.

|

DUMBY

|

I am, I usually am!

|

LORD AUGUSTUS

|

A very clever woman. Knows perfectly well what a

|

demmed fool I am—knows it as well as I do myself, (CECIL

|

GRAHAM _comes towards him laughing_ ) Ah! you may laugh, | 225

my boy, but it is a great thing to come across a woman who

|

thoroughly understands one.

|

DUMBY

|

It is an awfully dangerous thing. They always end by

|

marrying one.

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

But I thought, Tuppy, you were never going to see her | 230

again. Yes! you told me so yesterday evening at the club.

|

You said you'd heard— _Whispering to him_

|

LORD AUGUSTUS

|

Oh, she's explained that.

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

And the Wiesbaden affair?

|

LORD AUGUSTUS

|

She's explained that too. | 235

DUMBY

|

And her income, Tuppy? Has she explained that?

|

LORD AUGUSTUS ( _In a very serious voice_ )

|

She's going to explain that tomorrow.

|

CECIL GRAHAM _goes back to C. table_

|

DUMBY

|

Awfully commercial, women nowadays. Our grandmothers

|

threw their caps over the mills, of course, but, by

|

Jove, their granddaughters only throw their caps over | 240

mills that can raise the wind for them.

|

LORD AUGUSTUS

|

You want to make her out a wicked woman. She is not!

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

Oh! Wicked women bother one. Good women bore one.

|

That is the only difference between them.

|

LORD AUGUSTUS ( _Puffing a cigar_ )

|

Mrs Erlynne has a future before her. | 245

DUMBY

|

Mrs Erlynne has a past before her.

|

LORD AUGUSTUS

|

I prefer women with a past. They're always so demmed

|

amusing to talk to.

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

Well, you'll have lots of topics of conversation with _her_ ,

|

Tuppy. _Rising and going to him_ | 250

LORD AUGUSTUS

|

You're getting annoying, dear boy; you're getting demmed

|

annoying.

|

CECIL GRAHAM ( _Puts his hands on his shoulders_ )

|

Now, Tuppy, you've lost your figure and you've lost your

|

character. Don't lose your temper; you have only got one.

|

LORD AUGUSTUS

|

My dear boy, if I wasn't the most good-natured man in | 255

London—

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

We'd treat you with more respect, wouldn't we, Tuppy?

|

_Strolls away_

|

DUMBY

|

The youth of the present day are quite monstrous. They

|

have absolutely no respect for dyed hair.

|

LORD AUGUSTUS _looks round angrily_

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

Mrs Erlynne has a very great respect for dear Tuppy. | 260

DUMBY

|

Then Mrs Erlynne sets an admirable example to the rest of

|

her sex. It is perfectly brutal the way most women nowadays

|

behave to men who are not their husbands.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Dumby, you are ridiculous, and Cecil, you let your tongue

|

run away with you. You must leave Mrs Erlynne alone. | 265

You don't really know anything about her, and you're

|

always talking scandal against her.

|

CECIL GRAHAM ( _Coming towards him L.C_.)

|

My dear Arthur, I never talk scandal. _I_ only talk gossip.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

What is the difference between scandal and gossip?

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

Oh! gossip is charming! History is merely gossip. But | 270

scandal is gossip made tedious by morality. Now, I never

|

moralize. A man who moralizes is usually a hypocrite, and

|

a woman who moralizes is invariably plain. There is

|

nothing in the whole world so unbecoming to a woman as a

|

Nonconformist conscience. And most women know it, I'm | 275

glad to say.

|

LORD AUGUSTUS

|

Just my sentiments, dear boy, just my sentiments.

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

Sorry to hear it, Tuppy; whenever people agree with me, I

|

always feel I must be wrong.

|

LORD AUGUSTUS

|

My dear boy, when I was your age— | 280

CECIL GRAHAM

|

But you never were, Tuppy, and you never will be. ( _Goes_

|

_up C_.) I say, Darlington, let us have some cards. You'll

|

play, Arthur, won't you.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

No, thanks, Cecil.

|

DUMBY ( _With a sigh_ )

|

Good heavens! how marriage ruins a man! It's as | 285

demoralizing as cigarettes, and far more expensive.

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

You'll play, of course, Tuppy?

|

LORD AUGUSTUS ( _Pouring himself out a brandy and soda at_

|

_table_ )

|

Can't, dear boy. Promised Mrs Erlynne never to play or

|

drink again.

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

Now, my dear Tuppy, don't be led astray into the paths of | 290

virtue. Reformed, you would be perfectly tedious. That is

|

the worst of women. They always want one to be good.

|

And if we are good, when they meet us, they don't love us

|

at all. They like to find us quite irretrievably bad, and to

|

leave us quite unattractively good. | 295

LORD DARLINGTON ( _Rising from R. table, where he has been_

|

_writing letters_ )

|

They always do find us bad!

|

DUMBY

|

I don't think we are bad. I think we are all good, except

|

Tuppy.

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

No, we are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at

|

the stars. _Sits down at C. table_ | 300

DUMBY

|

We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the

|

stars? Upon my word, you are very romantic tonight,

|

Darlington.

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

Too romantic! You must be in love. Who is the girl?

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

The woman I love is not free, or thinks she isn't. | 305

_Glances instinctively at_ LORD WINDERMERE _while he speaks_

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

A married woman, then! Well, there's nothing in the world

|

like the devotion of a married woman. It's a thing no

|

married man knows anything about.

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

Oh! she doesn't love me. She is a good woman. She is the

|

only good woman I have ever met in my life. | 310

CECIL GRAHAM

|

The only good woman you have ever met in your life?

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

Yes!

|

CECIL GRAHAM ( _Lighting a cigarette_ )

|

Well, you are a lucky fellow! Why, I have met hundreds of

|

good women. I never seem to meet any but good women.

|

The world is perfectly packed with good women. To know | 315

them is a middle-class education.

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

This woman has purity and innocence. She has everything

|

we men have lost.

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

My dear fellow, what on earth should we men do going

|

about with purity and innocence? A carefully thought-out | 320

buttonhole is much more effective.

|

DUMBY

|

She doesn't really love you then?

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

No, she does not!

|

DUMBY

|

I congratulate you, my dear fellow. In this world there are

|

only two tragedies. One is not getting what one wants, and | 325

the other is getting it. The last is much the worst, the last is

|

a real tragedy  interested to hear she does not love

|

you. How long could you love a woman who didn't love

|

you, Cecil?

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

A woman who didn't love me? Oh, all my life! | 330

DUMBY

|

So could I. But it's so difficult to meet one.

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

How can you be so conceited, Dumby?

|

DUMBY

|

I didn't say it as a matter of conceit. I said it as a matter of

|

regret. I have been wildly, madly adored. I am sorry I

|

have. It has been an immense nuisance. I should like to be | 335

allowed a little time to myself now and then.

|

LORD AUGUSTUS ( _Looking round_ )

|

Time to educate yourself, I suppose.

|

DUMBY

|

No, time to forget all I have learned. That is much more

|

important, dear Tuppy.

|

LORD AUGUSTUS _moves uneasily in his chair_

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

What cynics you fellows are! | 340

CECIL GRAHAM

|

What is a cynic? _Sitting on the back of the sofa_

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

A man who knows the price of everything and the value of

|

nothing.

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

And a sentimentalist, my dear Darlington, is a man who

|

sees an absurd value in everything, and doesn't know the | 345

market price of any single thing.

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

You always amuse me, Cecil. You talk as if you were a man

|

of experience.

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

I am. _Moves up to front of fireplace_

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

You are far too young! | 350

CECIL GRAHAM

|

That is a great error. Experience is a question of instinct

|

about life. I have got it. Tuppy hasn't. Experience is the

|

name Tuppy gives to his mistakes. That is all.

|

LORD AUGUSTUS _looks round indignantly_

|

DUMBY

|

Experience is the name everyone gives to their mistakes.

|

CECIL GRAHAM ( _Standing with his back to the fireplace_ )

|

One shouldn't commit any. | 355

_Sees_ LADY WINDERMERE _'s fan on sofa_

|

DUMBY

|

Life would be very dull without them.

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

Of course you are quite faithful to this woman you are in

|

love with, Darlington, to this good woman?

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

Cecil, if one really loves a woman, all other women in the

|

world become absolutely meaningless to one. Love | 360

changes one— _I_ am changed.

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

Dear me! How very interesting! Tuppy, I want to talk to

|

you. LORD AUGUSTUS _takes no notice_

|

DUMBY

|

It's no use talking to Tuppy. You might just as well talk to

|

a brick wall. | 365

CECIL GRAHAM

|

But I like talking to a brick wall—it's the only thing in the

|

world that never contradicts me! Tuppy!

|

LORD AUGUSTUS

|

Well, what is it? What is it?

|

_Rising and going over to_ CECIL GRAHAM

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

Come over here. I want you particularly. ( _Aside_ ) Darlington

|

has been moralizing and talking about the purity of | 370

love, and that sort of thing, and he has got some woman in

|

his rooms all the time.

|

LORD AUGUSTUS

|

No, really! really!

|

CECIL GRAHAM ( _In a low voice_ )

|

Yes, here is her fan. _Points to the fan_

|

LORD AUGUSTUS ( _Chuckling_ )

|

By Jove! By Jove! | 375

LORD WINDERMERE ( _Up by door_ )

|

I am really off now, Lord Darlington. I am sorry you are

|

leaving England so soon. Pray call on us when you come

|

back! My wife and I will be charmed to see you!

|

LORD DARLINGTON ( _Up Stage With_ LORD WINDERMERE)

|

I am afraid I shall be away for many years. Goodnight!

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

Arthur! | 380

LORD WINDERMERE

|

What?

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

I want to speak to you for a moment. No, do come!

|

LORD WINDERMERE ( _Putting on his coat_ )

|

I can't—I'm off!

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

It is something very particular. It will interest you enormously. | 385

LORD WINDERMERE ( _Smiling_ )

|

It is some of your nonsense, Cecil.

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

It isn't! It isn't really.

|

LORD AUGUSTUS ( _Going to him_ )

|

My dear fellow, you mustn't go yet. I have a lot to talk to

|

you about. And Cecil has something to show you.

|

LORD WINDERMERE ( _Walking over_ )

|

Well, what is it? | 390

CECIL GRAHAM

|

Darlington has got a woman here in his rooms. Here is her

|

fan. Amusing, isn't it? _A pause_

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Good God! _Seizes the fan_ —DUMBY _rises_

|

CECIL GRAHAM

|

What is the matter?

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Lord Darlington! | 395

LORD DARLINGTON ( _Turning round_ )

|

Yes!

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

What is my wife's fan doing here in your rooms? Hands off,

|

Cecil. Don't touch me.

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

Your wife's fan?

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Yes, here it is! | 400

LORD DARLINGTON ( _Walking towards him_ )

|

I don't know!

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

You must know. I demand an explanation. ( _To_ CECIL

|

GRAHAM) Don't hold me you fool.

|

LORD DARLINGTON ( _Aside_ )

|

She is here after all!

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Speak, sir! Why is my wife's fan here? Answer me! By | 405

God! I'll search your rooms, and if my wife's here, I'll—

|

_Moves_

|

LORD DARLINGTON

|

You shall not search my rooms. You have no right to do so.

|

I forbid you!

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

You scoundrel! I'll not leave your room till I have searched

|

every corner of it! What moves behind the curtain? | 410

_Rushes towards the curtain C_.

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _Enters behind R_.)

|

Lord Windermere!

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Mrs Erlynne!

|

_Everyone starts and turns round_ , LADY WINDERMERE _slips out from behind the curtain and glides from the room L_.

MRS ERLYNNE

|

---|---

I am afraid I took your wife's fan in mistake for my own,

|

when I was leaving your house tonight. I am so sorry.

|

_Takes fan from him_. LORD WINDERMERE _looks at her in contempt_. LORD DARLINGTON _in mingled astonishment and anger_. LORD AUGUSTUS _turns away. The other men smile at each other_

_Act-Drop_

## **Act IV**

_Scene: Same as in Act I_

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Lying on sofa_ )

|

---|---

How can I tell him? I can't tell him. It would kill me. I

|

wonder what happened after I escaped from that horrible

|

room. Perhaps she told them the true reason of her being

|

there, and the real meaning of that—fatal fan of mine. Oh,

|

if he knows—how can I look him in the face again? He | 5

would never forgive me. ( _Touches bell_ ) How securely one

|

thinks one lives—out of reach of temptation, sin, folly.

|

And then suddenly—Oh . It rules us, we do

|

not rule it.

|

_Enter_ ROSALIE _R_.

ROSALIE

|

---|---

Did your ladyship ring for me? | 10

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Yes. Have you found out at what time Lord Windermere

|

came in last night?

|

ROSALIE

|

His lordship did not come in till five o'clock.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Five o'clock? He knocked at my door this morning, didn't

|

he? | 15

ROSALIE

|

Yes, my lady—at half-past nine. I told him your ladyship

|

was not awake yet.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Did he say anything?

|

ROSALIE

|

Something about your ladyship's fan. I didn't quite catch

|

what his lordship said. Has the fan been lost, my lady? I | 20

can't find it, and Parker says it was not left in any of the

|

rooms. He has looked in all of them and on the terrace as

|

well.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

It doesn't matter. Tell Parker not to trouble. That will do.

|

_Exit_ ROSALIE

|

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Rising_ )

|

She is sure to tell him. I can fancy a person doing a | 25

wonderful act of self-sacrifice, doing it spontaneously,

|

recklessly, nobly—and afterwards finding out that it costs

|

too much. Why should she hesitate between her ruin and

|

mine?... How strange! I would have publicly disgraced

|

her in my own house. She accepts public disgrace in the | 30

house of another to save me.... There is a bitter irony in

|

things, a bitter irony in the way we talk of good and bad

|

women.... Oh, what a lesson! and what a pity that in life

|

we only get our lessons when they are of no use to us! For

|

even if she doesn't tell, I must. Oh! the shame of it, the | 35

shame of it. To tell it is to live through it all again. Actions

|

are the first tragedy in life, words are the second. Words

|

are perhaps the worst. Words are merciless.... Oh!

|

_Starts as_ LORD WINDERMERE _enters_

|

LORD WINDERMERE ( _Kisses her_ )

|

Margaret—how pale you look!

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

I slept very badly. | 40

LORD WINDERMERE ( _Sitting on sofa with her_ )

|

I am so sorry. I came in dreadfully late, and didn't like to

|

wake you. You are crying, dear.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Yes, I am crying, for I have something to tell you, Arthur.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

My dear child, you are not well. You've been doing too

|

much. Let us go away to the country. You'll be all right at | 45

Selby. The season is almost over. There is no use staying

|

on. Poor darling! We'll go away today, if you like. ( _Rises_ )

|

We can easily catch the 3.40. I'll send a wire to Fannen.

|

_Crosses and sits down at table to write a telegram_

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Yes; let us go away today. No; I can't go today, Arthur.

|

There is someone I must see before I leave town—someone | 50

who has been kind to me.

|

LORD WINDERMERE ( _Rising and leaning over sofa_ )

|

Kind to you?

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Far more than that. ( _Rises and goes to him_ ) I will tell you,

|

Arthur, but only love me, love me as you used to love me.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Used to? You are not thinking of that wretched woman | 55

who came here last night? ( _Coming round and sitting R. of_

|

_her_ ) You don't still imagine—no, you couldn't.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

I don't. I know now I was wrong and foolish.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

It was very good of you to receive her last night—but you

|

are never to see her again. | 60

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Why do you say that? _A pause_

|

LORD WINDERMERE ( _Holding her hand_ )

|

Margaret, I thought Mrs Erlynne was a woman more

|

sinned against than sinning, as the phrase goes. I thought

|

she wanted to be good, to get back into a place that she had

|

lost by a moment's folly, to lead again a decent life. I | 65

believed what she told me—I was mistaken in her. She is

|

bad—as bad as a woman can be.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Arthur, Arthur, don't talk so bitterly about any woman. I

|

don't think now that people can be divided into the good

|

and the bad, as though they were two separate races or | 70

creations. What are called good women may have terrible

|

things in them, mad moods of recklessness, assertion,

|

jealousy, sin. Bad women, as they are termed, may have in

|

them sorrow, repentance, pity, sacrifice. And I don't think

|

Mrs Erlynne a bad woman—I know she's not. | 75

LORD WINDERMERE

|

My dear child, the woman's impossible. No matter what

|

harm she tries to do us, you must never see her again. She

|

is inadmissible anywhere.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

But I want to see her. I want her to come here.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Never! | 80

LADY WINDERMERE

|

She came here once as _your_ guest. She must come now as

|

_mine_. That is but fair.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

She should never have come here.

|

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Rising_ )

|

It is too late, Arthur, to say that now. _Moves away_

|

LORD WINDERMERE ( _Rising_ )

|

Margaret, if you knew where Mrs Erlynne went last night, | 85

after she left this house, you would not sit in the same room

|

with her. It was absolutely shameless, the whole thing.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Arthur, I can't bear it any longer. I must tell you. Last

|

night—

|

_Enter_ PARKER _with a tray on which lie_ LADY WINDERMERE _'s fan and a card_

PARKER

|

---|---

Mrs Erlynne has called to return your ladyship's fan which | 90

she took away by mistake last night. Mrs Erlynne has

|

written a message on the card.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Oh, ask Mrs Erlynne to be kind enough to come up. ( _Reads_

|

_card_ ) Say I shall be very glad to see her. _Exit_ PARKER

|

She wants to see me, Arthur. | 95

LORD WINDERMERE ( _Takes card and looks at it_ )

|

Margaret, I _beg_ you not to. Let me see her first, at any rate.

|

She's a very dangerous woman. She is the most dangerous

|

woman I know. You don't realize what you're doing.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

It is right that I should see her.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

My child, you may be on the brink of a great sorrow. Don't | 100

go to meet it. It is absolutely necessary that I should see her

|

before you do.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Why should it be necessary?

|

_Enter_ PARKER

PARKER

|

---|---

Mrs Erlynne.

|

_Enter_ MRS ERLYNNE

_Exit_ PARKER

|

---|---

MRS ERLYNNE

|

How do you do, Lady Windermere? ( _To_ LORD WINDER- | 105

MERE) How do you do? Do you know, Lady Windermere,

|

I am so sorry about your fan. I can't imagine how I made

|

such a silly mistake. Most stupid of me. And as I was

|

driving in your direction, I thought I would take the

|

opportunity of returning your property in person with | 110

many apologies for my carelessness, and of bidding you

|

goodbye.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Goodbye? ( _Moves towards sofa with_ MRS ERLYNNE _and sits down beside her_ ) Are you going away, then, Mrs Erlynne?

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Yes; I am going to live abroad again. The English climate | 115

doesn't suit me. My—heart is affected here, and that I

|

don't like. I prefer living in the south. London is too full of

|

fogs and—and serious people, Lord Windermere.

|

Whether the fogs produce the serious people or whether

|

the serious people produce the fogs, I don't know, but the | 120

whole thing rather gets on my nerves, and so I'm leaving

|

this afternoon by the Club Train.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

This afternoon? But I wanted so much to come and see

|

you.

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

How kind of you! But I am afraid I have to go. | 125

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Shall I never see you again, Mrs Erlynne?

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

I am afraid not. Our lives lie too far apart. But there is a

|

little thing I would like you to do for me. I want a photograph

|

of you, Lady Windermere—would you give me one?

|

You don't know how gratified I should be. | 130

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Oh, with pleasure. There is one on that table. I'll show it to you.

|

_Goes across to the table_

|

LORD WINDERMERE ( _Coming up to_ MRS ERLYNNE _and speaking_

|

_in a low voice_ )

|

It is monstrous your intruding yourself here after your

|

conduct last night.

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _With an amused smile_ )

|

My dear Windermere, manners before morals! | 135

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Returning_ )

|

I'm afraid it is very flattering—I am not so pretty as that.

|

_Showing photograph_

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

You are much prettier. But haven't you got one of yourself

|

with your little boy?

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

I have. Would you prefer one of those?

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Yes. | 140

LADY WINDERMERE

|

I'll go and get it for you, if you'll excuse me for a moment. I

|

have one upstairs.

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

So sorry, Lady Windermere, to give you so much trouble.

|

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Moves to door R_.)

|

No trouble at all, Mrs Erlynne.

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Thanks so much. _Exit_ LADY WINDERMERE _R_. | 145

You seem rather out of temper this morning, Windermere.

|

Why should you be? Margaret and I get on charmingly

|

together.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

I can't bear to see you with her. Besides, you have not told

|

me the truth, Mrs Erlynne. | 150

MRS ERLYNNE

|

I have not told _her_ the truth, you mean.

|

LORD WINDERMERE ( _Standing C_.)

|

I sometimes wish you had. I should have been spared then

|

the misery, the anxiety, the annoyance of the last six

|

months. But rather than my wife should know—that the

|

mother whom she was taught to consider as dead, the | 155

mother whom she has mourned as dead, is living—a

|

divorced woman, going about under an assumed name, a

|

bad woman preying upon life, as I know you now to

|

be—rather than that, I was ready to supply you with

|

money to pay bill after bill, extravagance after extravagancé, | 160

to risk what occurred yesterday, the first quarrel I

|

have ever had with my wife. You don't understand what

|

that means to me. How could you? But I tell you that the

|

only bitter words that ever came from those sweet lips of

|

hers were on your account, and I hate to see you next her. | 165

You sully the innocence that is in her. ( _Moves L.C_.) And

|

then I used to think that with all your faults you were frank

|

and honest. You are not.

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Why do you say that?

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

You made me get you an invitation to my wife's ball. | 170

MRS ERLYNNE

|

For my daughter's ball—yes.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

You came, and within an hour of your leaving the house

|

you are found in a man's rooms—you are disgraced before

|

everyone. _Goes up stage C_.

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Yes. | 175

LORD WINDERMERE ( _Turning round on her_ )

|

Therefore I have a right to look upon you as what you

|

are—a worthless, vicious woman. I have the right to tell

|

you never to enter this house, never to attempt to come

|

near my wife—

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _Coldly_ )

|

My daughter, you mean. | 180

LORD WINDERMERE

|

You have no right to claim her as your daughter. You left

|

her, abandoned her when she was but a child in the cradle,

|

abandoned her for your lover, who abandoned you in turn.

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _Rising_ )

|

Do you count that to his credit, Lord Windermere—or to

|

mine? | 185

LORD WINDERMERE

|

To his, now that I know you.

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Take care—you had better be careful.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Oh, I am not going to mince words for you. I know you

|

thoroughly.

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _Looking steadily at him_ )

|

I question that. | 190

LORD WINDERMERE

|

I _do_ know you. For twenty years of your life you lived

|

without your child, without a thought of your child. One

|

day you read in the papers that she had married a rich man.

|

You saw your hideous chance. You knew that to spare her

|

the ignominy of learning that a woman like you was her | 195

mother, I would endure anything. You began your blackmailing.

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _Shrugging her shoulders_ )

|

Don't use ugly words, Windermere. They are vulgar. I

|

saw my chance, it is true, and took it.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Yes, you took it—and spoiled it all last night by being | 200

found out.

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _With a strange smile_ )

|

You are quite right, I spoiled it all last night.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

And as for your blunder in taking my wife's fan from here

|

and then leaving it about in Darlington's rooms, it is

|

unpardonable. I can't bear the sight of it now. I shall never | 205

let my wife use it again. The thing is soiled for me. You

|

should have kept it and not brought it back.

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

I think I _shall_ keep it. ( _Goes up_ ) It's extremely pretty.

|

( _Takes up fan_ ) I shall ask Margaret to give it to me.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

I hope my wife will give it you. | 210

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Oh, I'm sure she will have no objection.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

I wish that at the same time she would give you a miniature

|

she kisses every night before she prays—It's the miniature

|

of a young innocent-looking girl with beautiful dark hair.

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Ah, yes, I remember. How long ago that seems! ( _Goes to_ | 215

_sofa and sits down_ ) It was done before I was married. Dark

|

hair and an innocent expression were the fashion then,

|

Windermere! _A pause_

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

What do you mean by coming here this morning? What is

|

your object? _Crossing L.C. and sitting_ | 220

MRS ERLYNNE ( _With a note of irony in her voice_ )

|

To bid goodbye to my dear daughter, of course, (LORD

|

WINDERMERE _bites his under-lip in anger_ , MRS ERLYNNE _looks_

|

_at him, and her voice and manner become serious. In her accents_

|

_as she talks there is a note of deep tragedy. For a moment she_

|

_reveals herself_ ) Oh, don't imagine I am going to have a

|

pathetic scene with her, weep on her neck and tell her who

|

I am, and all that kind of thing. I have no ambition to play

|

the part of a mother. Only once in my life have I known a | 225

mother's feelings. That was last night. They were terrible

|

—they made me suffer—they made me suffer too

|

much. For twenty years, as you say, I have lived childless,

|

—I want to live childless still. ( _Hiding her feelings with_

|

_a trivial laugh_ ) Besides, my dear Windermere, how on | 230

earth could I pose as a mother with a grown-up daughter?

|

Margaret is twenty-one, and I have never admitted that I

|

am more than twenty-nine, or thirty at the most.

|

Twenty-nine when there are pink shades, thirty when

|

there are not. So you see what difficulties it would involve. | 235

No, as far as I am concerned, let your wife cherish the

|

memory of this dead, stainless mother. Why should I

|

interfere with her illusions? I find it hard enough to keep

|

my own. I lost one illusion last night. I thought I had no

|

heart. I find I have, and a heart doesn't suit me, Winder- | 240

mere. Somehow it doesn't go with modern dress. It makes

|

one look old. ( _Takes up hand-mirror from table and looks into_

|

_it_ ) And it spoils one's career at critical moments.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

You fill me with horror—with absolute horror.

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _Rising_ )

|

I suppose, Windermere, you would like me to retire into a | 245

convent or become a hospital nurse, or something of that

|

kind, as people do in silly modern novels. That is stupid of

|

you, Arthur; in real life we don't do such things—not as

|

long as we have any good looks left, at any rate. No—what

|

consoles one nowadays is not repentance, but pleasure. | 250

Repentance is quite out of date. And besides, if a woman

|

really repents, she has to go to a bad dressmaker, otherwise

|

no one believes in her. And nothing in the world would

|

induce me to do that. No; I am going to pass entirely out of

|

your two lives. My coming into them has been a mistake—I | 255

discovered that last night.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

A fatal mistake.

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _Smiling_ )

|

Almost fatal.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

I am sorry now I did not tell my wife the whole thing at

|

once. | 260

MRS ERLYNNE

|

I regret my bad actions. You regret your good ones—that is

|

the difference between us.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

I don't trust you. I _will_ tell my wife. It's better for her to

|

know, and from me. It will cause her infinite pain—it will

|

humiliate her terribly, but it's right that she should know. | 265

MRS ERLYNNE

|

You propose to tell her?

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

I am going to tell her.

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _Going up to him_ )

|

If you do, I will make my name so infamous that it will mar

|

every moment of her life. It will ruin her, and make her

|

wretched. If you dare to tell her, there is no depth of | 270

degradation I will not sink to, no pit of shame I will not

|

enter. You shall not tell her—I forbid you.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Why?

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _After a pause_ )

|

If I said to you that I cared for her, perhaps loved her

|

even—you would sneer at me, wouldn't you? | 275

LORD WINDERMERE

|

I should feel it was not true. A mother's love means devotion,

|

unselfishness, sacrifice. What could you know of

|

such things?

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

You are right. What could I know of such things? Don't let

|

us talk any more about it—as for telling my daughter who I | 280

am, that I do not allow. It is my secret, it is not yours. If I

|

make up my mind to tell her, and I think I will, I shall tell

|

her before I leave the house—if not, I shall never tell her.

|

LORD WINDERMERE ( _Angrily_ )

|

Then let me beg of you to leave our house at once. I will

|

make your excuses to Margaret. | 285

_Enter_ LADY WINDERMERE _R. She goes over to_ MRS ERLYNNE

|

_with the photograph in her hand_. LORD WINDERMERE _moves to_

|

_back of sofa, and anxiously watches_ MRS ERLYNNE _as the scene_

|

_progresses_

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

I am so sorry, Mrs Erlynne, to have kept you waiting. I

|

couldn't find the photograph anywhere. At last I discovered

|

it in my husband's dressing-room—he had stolen

|

it.

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _Takes the photograph from her and looks at it_ )

|

I am not surprised—it is charming. ( _Goes over to sofa with_ | 290

LADY WINDERMERE, _and sits down beside her. Looks again at_

|

_the photograph_ ) And so that is your little boy! What is he

|

called?

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Gerard, after my dear father.

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _Laying the photograph down_ )

|

Really?

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Yes. If it had been a girl, I would have called it after my | 295

mother. My mother had the same name as myself, Margaret.

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

My name is Margaret too.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Indeed!

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Yes. ( _Pause_ ) You are devoted to your mother's memory, | 300

Lady Windermere, your husband tells me.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

We all have ideals in life. At least we all should have. Mine

|

is my mother.

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Ideals are dangerous things. Realities are better. They

|

wound, but they're better. | 305

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Shaking her head_ )

|

If I lost my ideals, I should lose everything.

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Everything?

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Yes. _Pause_

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Did your father often speak to you of your mother?

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

No, it gave him too much pain. He told me how my mother | 310

had died a few months after I was born. His eyes filled with

|

tears as he spoke. Then he begged me never to mention her

|

name to him again. It made him suffer even to hear it. My

|

father—my father really died of a broken heart. His was the

|

most ruined life I know. | 315

MRS ERLYNNE ( _Rising_ )

|

I am afraid I must go now, Lady Windermere.

|

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Rising_ )

|

Oh no, don't.

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

I think I had better. My carriage must have come back by

|

this time. I sent it to Lady Jedburgh's with a note.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Arthur, would you mind seeing if Mrs Erlynne's carriage | 320

has come back?

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Pray don't trouble, Lord Windermere.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Yes, Arthur, do go, please.

|

LORD WINDERMERE _hesitates for a moment and looks at_ MRS

|

ERLYNNE. _She remains quite impassive. He leaves the room_

|

( _To_ MRS ERLYNNE) Oh! What am I to say to you? You saved

|

me last night. _Goes towards her_ | 325

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Hush—don't speak of it.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

I must speak of it. I can't let you think that I am going to

|

accept this sacrifice. I am not. It is too great. I am going to

|

tell my husband everything. It is my duty.

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

It is not your duty—at least you have duties to others | 330

besides him. You say you owe me something?

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

I owe you everything.

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Then pay your debt by silence. That is the only way in

|

which it can be paid. Don't spoil the one good thing I have

|

done in my life by telling it to anyone. Promise me that | 335

what passed last night will remain a secret between us. You

|

must not bring misery into your husband's life. Why spoil

|

his love? You must not spoil it. Love is easily killed. Oh!

|

how easily love is killed! Pledge me your word, Lady

|

Windermere, that you will _never_ tell him. I insist upon it. | 340

LADY WINDERMERE ( _With bowed head_ )

|

It is your will, not mine.

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Yes, it is my will. And never forget your child—I like to

|

think of you as a mother. I like you to think of yourself as

|

one.

|

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Looking up_ )

|

I always will now. Only once in my life I have forgotten my | 345

own mother—that was last night. Oh, if I had remembered

|

her I should not have been so foolish, so wicked.

|

MRS ERLYNNE ( _With a slight shudder_ )

|

Hush, last night is quite over.

|

_Enter_ LORD WINDERMERE

LORD WINDERMERE

|

---|---

Your carriage has not come back yet, Mrs Erlynne.

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

It makes no matter. I'll take a hansom. There is nothing in | 350

the world so respectable as a good Shrewsbury and Talbot.

|

And now, dear Lady Windermere, I am afraid it is really

|

goodbye. ( _Moves up C_.) Oh, I remember. You'll think me

|

absurd, but do you know I've taken a great fancy to this fan

|

that I was silly enough to run away with last night from | 355

your ball. Now, I wonder would you give it to me? Lord

|

Windermere says you may. I know it is his present.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Oh, certainly, if it will give you any pleasure. But it has my

|

name on it. It has 'Margaret' on it.

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

But we have the same Christian name. | 360

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Oh, I forgot. Of course, do have it. What a wonderful

|

chance our names being the same!

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

Quite wonderful. Thanks—it will always remind me of

|

you. _Shakes hands with her_

|

_Enter_ PARKER

PARKER

|

---|---

Lord Augustus Lorton. Mrs Erlynne's carriage has come. | 365

_Enter_ LORD AUGUSTUS

LORD AUGUSTUS

|

---|---

Good morning, dear boy. Good morning, Lady Windermere.

|

( _Sees_ MRS ERLYNNE) Mrs Erlynne!

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

How do you do, Lord Augustus? Are you quite well this

|

morning?

|

LORD AUGUSTUS ( _Coldly_ )

|

Quite well, thank you, Mrs Erlynne. | 370

MRS ERLYNNE

|

You don't look at all well, Lord Augustus. You stop up too

|

late—it is so bad for you. You really should take more care

|

of yourself. Goodbye, Lord Windermere. ( _Goes towards_

|

_door with a bow to_ LORD AUGUSTUS. _Suddenly smiles and_

|

_looks back at him_ ) Lord Augustus! Won't you see me to my

|

carriage? You might carry the fan. | 375

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Allow me!

|

MRS ERLYNNE

|

No; I want Lord Augustus. I have a special message for

|

the dear Duchess. Won't you carry the fan, Lord Augustus?

|

LORD AUGUSTUS

|

If you really desire it, Mrs Erlynne. | 380

MRS ERLYNNE ( _Laughing_ )

|

Of course I do. You'll carry it so gracefully. You would

|

carry off anything gracefully, dear Lord Augustus.

|

_When she reaches the door she looks back for a moment at_ LADY

|

WINDERMERE. _Their eyes meet. Then she turns, and exit C_.

|

_followed by_ LORD AUGUSTUS

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

You will never speak against Mrs Erlynne again, Arthur,

|

will you?

|

LORD WINDERMERE ( _Gravely_ )

|

She is better than one thought her. | 385

LADY WINDERMERE

|

She is better than I am.

|

LORD WINDERMERE ( _Smiling as he strokes her hair_ )

|

Child, you and she belong to different worlds. Into your

|

world evil has never entered.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

Don't say that, Arthur. There is the same world for all of

|

us, and good and evil, sin and innocence, go through it | 390

hand in hand. To shut one's eyes to half of life that one may

|

live securely is as though one blinded oneself that one

|

might walk with more safety in a land of pit and precipice.

|

LORD WINDERMERE ( _Moves down with her_ )

|

Darling, why do you say that?

|

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Sits on sofa_ )

|

Because I, who had shut my eyes to life, came to the brink. | 395

And one who had separated us—

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

We were never separated.

|

LADY WINDERMERE

|

We never must be again. Oh Arthur, don't love me less,

|

and I will trust you more. I will trust you absolutely. Let

|

us go to Selby. In the Rose Garden at Selby the roses are | 400

white and red.

|

_Enter_ LORD AUGUSTUS _C_.

LORD AUGUSTUS

|

---|---

Arthur, she has explained everything! (LADY WINDERMERE

|

_looks horribly frightened at this_ , LORD WINDERMERE _starts_.

|

LORD AUGUSTUS _takes_ WINDERMERE _by the arm and brings_

|

_him to front of stage. He talks rapidly and in a low voice_ , LADY

|

WINDERMERE _stands watching them in terror_ ) My dear fellow,

|

she has explained every demmed thing. We all

|

wronged her immensely. It was entirely for my sake she | 405

went to Darlington's rooms. Called first at the Club—fact

|

is, wanted to put me out of suspense—and being told I had

|

gone on—followed—naturally frightened when she heard a

|

lot of us coming in—retired to another room—I assure you,

|

most gratifying to me, the whole thing. We all behaved | 410

brutally to her. She is just the woman for me. Suits me

|

down to the ground. All the conditions she makes are that

|

we live entirely out of England. A very good thing, too.

|

Demmed clubs, demmed climate, demmed cooks,

|

demmed everything. Sick of it all! | 415

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Frightened_ )

|

Has Mrs Erlynne—?

|

LORD AUGUSTUS ( _Advancing towards her with a low bow_ )

|

Yes, Lady Windermere—Mrs Erlynne has done me the

|

honour of accepting my hand.

|

LORD WINDERMERE

|

Well, you are certainly marrying a very clever woman!

|

LADY WINDERMERE ( _Taking her husband's hand_ )

|

Ah, you're marrying a very good woman! | 420

_Act-Drop_

## APPENDIX

Two episodes have been selected from Act II to demonstrate the care with which Wilde undertook revisions. The first is the entry of Mrs Erlynne as it appears in Cl, C2, and LC. The second is the end of Act II as it appears in Cl, C2 and Cms, F, and T. The changes that occur in these passages are quite typical of the revisions that the play underwent as a whole. (Obvious errors of punctuation have been silently emended.)

### **The Entry of Mrs Erlynne (Evlynne)**

_C1_ (A Good Woman: _Clark Library_ )

BARKER

Lady Tedburgh and Lady Caroline Graham.

LADY JANSEN

Now wasn't that a most curious coincidence, Lord Windermere, and I haven't told you the most interesting part yet. The clergyman turned out to be the rector of our own parish, or the son of the rector, I forget which.

BARKER

Mrs Evlynne.

LORD WINDERMERE _starts_ , MRS EVLYNNE _enters very beautifully dressed and very dignified_ , LADY WINDERMERE _clutches her fan. Then lets it drop on the floor. She bows coldly to_ MRS EVLYNNE, _who bows to her sweetly and sails into the room_

LORD DAR

You have dropped your fan, Lady Windermere. ( _Picks it up and hands it to her_ ) But how pale you are.

LADY WIN

Cowards are always pale.

MRS EVLYNNE

How do you do, Lord Windermere? How charming...

your wife looks to-night? Quite a picture.

LORD WIN ( _In a low voice_ )

How rash of you to come.

MRS EVLYNNE ( _Smiling_ )

Oh! No, it was the wisest thing I ever did in my life. And by the way you must pay me a good deal of attention to-night. I know scarcely anyone here, and I am afraid of the women. You must introduce me to some of them. The men I can manage.

BARKER

Sir James and Lady Royston.

LORD WIN

You don't know what has happened. Someone has told my wife....

MRS EVLYNNE

What? Not everything? No one knows.

LORD WIN

Not everything, I am glad to say, but my wife has seen my bank book with all....

MRS EVLYNNE

Yes; yes. That is rather annoying, well, what did you say? Didn't you tell her you were my trustee, or something of that kind.

LORD WIN

No, it never occurred to me.

BARKER

Mr & Mrs Arthur Rowley, Lady Lennox.

MRS EVLYNNE

Men have no brains. I have got out of fifty scrapes worse than that.

BARKER

Lord & Lady Plymdale. Sir Hector Erskine.

LORD WIN

You don't know what I have been going through.

MRS EVLYNNE ( _Shrugging her shoulders_ )

My dear boy, I am very sorry for you, but my coming here was absolutely necessary. I don't think I'll trouble you much again. Tonight is my night of victory, a very critical night. After this I shall be able to take care of myself.

BARKER

Sir George and Lady B. The Misses B.

MRS EVLYNNE

That is Lord Augustus, isn't it?

LORD WIN

Yes, is he going to propose?

MRS EVLYNNE

No, but I am. How do you do Lord Augustus. You have quite neglacted [ _sic_ ] me lately. I have not seen you since yesterday.

LORD AUG

My dear Mrs Evlynne... I assure you...

MRS EV

No. I see you're faithless. Every-one told me so.

LORD AUG

Now really...

LORD DAR

You look faint, Lady Windermere. Come out on the terrace. The air is lovely there.

LADY WIN

Yes; I will come out. Barker send my cloak out to the terrace.

_C2_ (Lady Windermere's Fan: _Clark Library_ )

LORD W ( _Standing R.C_.)

I must tell her the truth. If anything were to happen here, it would be terrible.

LADY W

I want a friend to-night, Lord Darlington. I didn't know I would want one so soon.

LORD D

Lady Windermere, I knew the time would come some day; but why to-night?

LORD W

I'll tell her now.

PARKER

Mrs Erlynne!

LORD WINDERMERE _starts_ , MRS ERLYNNE _enters L. very beautifully dressed and very dignified_ , LADY W _clutches at her fan, then lets it drop on the floor. She bows coldly to_ MRS E, _who bows to her sweetly, and sails into the room_

MRS E ( _Crossing C_.)

How do you do, Lord Windermere?

LORD AUGUSTUS _enters R_. LORD D _picks up fan and hands it to_ LADY W

MRS E ( _C_.)

How charming Margaret looks to-night. Quite a picture!

LORD W ( _C. in a low voice_ )

It was terribly rash of you to come!

MRS E ( _Smiling_ )

It was the wisest thing I ever did in my life. And, by the way, you must pay me a good deal of attention this evening. I am afraid of the women. You must introduce me to some of them. The men I can always manage. (LORD W _goes up and watches_ MRS E) ( _To_ LORD A _who is R_.) How do you do, Lord Augustus? You have quite neglected me lately. I have not seen you since yesterday. I am afraid you're faithless. Everyone told me so.

LORD A ( _R_.)

Now really, Mrs Erlynne, let me explain!

MRS E ( _R.C_.)

No, dear Lord Augustus, you can't explain anything. It is your chief charm.

LORD A

Ah! if you find charms in me, Mrs Erlynne—

LORD D

How pale you are.

LADY W

Cowards are always pale.

MR B _enters with_ JEDBURG

LORD D

Come out on the terrace.

LADY W

Yes. ( _To_ PARKER _who is standing L_.) Parker, send my cloak out.

_LC_ ( _Licensing Copy of_ Lady Windermere's Fan: _British Library_ )

LADY W ( _C_.)

... I want a friend to-night, Lord Darlington. I didn't know I would want one so early.

LORD [D]

Lady Windermere, I knew the time would come someday: but why to-night?

PARKER

Mrs Erlynne.

LORD WINDERMERE _starts_ , MRS ERLYNNE _enters L., very beautifully dressed and very dignified_. LADY W _clutches at her fan, then lets it drop on the floor. She bows coldly to_ MRS E, _who bows to her sweetly, and sails into the room_

MRS E ( _Crossing C_.)

How do you do, Lord Windermere?

LORD D

You have dropped your fan, Lady Windermere. ( _Picks it up and hands it to her_ ) But how pale you are!

LADY W

Cowards are always pale!

MRS E ( _C_.)

How charming your wife looks to-night. Quite a picture!

LORD W ( _C. in a low voice_ )

It was terribly rash of you to come.

MRS E ( _Smiling_ )

It was the wisest thing I ever did in my life. And by the way, you must pay me a good deal of attention this evening. I am afraid of the women. You must introduce me to some of them. The men I can always manage. ( _To_ LORD A _who is R_. LORD W _goes up and watches_ MRS E) How do you do, Lord Augustus? You have quite neglected me lately. I have not seen you since yesterday. I am afraid you're faithless. Every one told me so.

LORD A ( _R_.)

Now really, Mrs Erlynne, let me explain.

MRS E ( _R.C_.)

No, dear Lord Augustus, you can't explain anything. It is your chief charm.

LORD A

Ah, if you find charms in me, Mrs Erlynne—

_Goes to_ LADY J, _R. corner_

LORD D

You look faint, Lady Windermere. I understand everything now. Shall we go on the terrace?

LADY W

Yes, I'll come. ( _To_ PARKER, _who is standing L_.) Parker, send my cloak out.

### **The End of Act II**

_Cl_ (A Good Woman: _Clark Library_ )

MRS EV

A letter addressed to her husband! ( _Takes up letter_ )... No, no. It would be impossible. Life doesn't repeat its tragedies, like that. I must see what is in it. I must. ( _Opens letter_ ) Oh! ( _Sinks into a chair_ ) How terrible. The same letter that twenty years ago I wrote to my husband, and how bitterly I have been punished for it... No. My punishment, my real punishment, is tonight, is now. What shall I do. How terrible! How terrible.

_Enter_ LORD WINDERMERE

LORD WIN

Have you bid good-night to my wife?

MRS EV ( _Crushing letter in her hand_ )

Yes.

LORD WIN

Where is she?

MRS EV

Oh! she is very tired. She has gone to bed. She said she had a slight headache, and... didn't wish to be disturbed.

LORD WIN

I must go to her.

MRS EV

Oh, no. Its [ _sic_ ] nothing, nothing serious. She's only tired, that is all. Besides, there are heaps of people still in the supper room. She wants you to make her excuses to them. ( _Drops letter_ ) She asked me to tell you.

LORD WIN

You have dropped something. _Picks up letter_

MRS EV

Oh! yes. Thank you, that is mine. _Takes letter_

LORD WIN

But its [ _sic_ ] my wife's handwriting, isn't it?

MRS EV

Yes, its [ _sic_ ]... something I asked her to write down for me... an address.

LORD WIN

She was charming to you?

MRS EV

Quite charming.

LORD WIN

You're faint.

MRS EV

No: its [ _sic_ ] nothing. Will you ask them to call my carriage please.

LORD WIN

Certainly.

MRS EV

Thanks. ( _Exit_ LORD WINDERMERE) What can I do? I must get Windermere out of the house somehow, or he will discover everything.

_Enter_ LORD AUGUSTUS

LORD AUG

Dear Lady, I have been looking all over the place, for you. May I not have the honour of seeing you home.

MRS EV

Lord Augustus, listen to me. You are to take Lord Windermere down to your Club to-night, at once, and keep him there as long as possible. You understand.

LORD AUG

But I don't understand. Why should I take Windermere?

MRS EV

Oh! don't ask why. Do what I tell you.

LORD AUG

And my reward?

BARKER

Mrs Evlynne's carriage is waiting.

MRS EV

Oh! You bother me. But don't let Windermere out of your sight. If you do I shall never forgive you. _Exit_

LORD AUG

Well, really upon my word... this is dammed extraordinary.

_C2 and Cms_ (Lady Windermere's Fan: _Clark Library_ )

MRS E

Gone out of her house! A letter addressed to her husband! ( _Takes up letter_ ) No, no! It would be impossible! Life doesn't repeat its tragedies like that! Oh why does this horrible fancy come across me? Why do I remember now the one moment of my life I most wish to forget? _Does_ life repeat its tragedies? I must see what is in it, I must. ( _Goes to table and opens letter_ ) Oh! ( _Sinks into a chair_ ) How terrible! The same words that twenty years ago I wrote to her father, and how bitterly I have been punished for it! No, my punishment, my real punishment is to-night, is now! _Still seated R_.

( _Enter_ LORD WINDERMERE _L.U.E_.)

LORD W

Have you said good-night to my wife? _Comes C_.

MRS E ( _Crushing letter in her hand_ )

Yes.

LORD W

Where is she?

MRS E

Oh! she is very tired. She has gone to bed. She said she had a headache.

LORD W

I must go to her. ( _Moves L.C_.) You'll excuse me?

MRS E ( _Rising and going R.C_.)

Oh no! It's nothing serious. She's only very tired, that is all. Besides, there are people still in the supper room. She wants you to make her apologies to them. She said she didn't wish to be disturbed. ( _Drops letter_ ) She asked me to tell you!

LORD W ( _Picks up letter_ )

You have dropped something.

MRS E

Oh yes. Thank you, this is mine. _Takes it_

LORD W

But it's my wife's handwriting, isn't it?

MRS E

Yes, it's an address. Will you ask them to call my carriage please?

LORD W

Certainly. _Goes L. and exits_

MRS E

Thanks! What can I do? What can I do? I feel a passion awaking within me that I never felt before. What can it mean? The daughter must not be like the mother—that would be terrible. How can I save her? A moment may ruin a life. Who knows that better than I? Windermere must be got out of the house—( _Enter_ LORD AUGUSTUS, _R.U.E., carrying bouquet_ ) that is absolutely necessary. ( _Goes L_.) But how shall I do it? It must be done somehow.

_Goes R_.

LORD A

Dear lady, I am in such suspense! I haven't had a single dance with you.

MRS E

Lord Augustus, listen to me. You are to take Lord Windermere down to your Club to-night, at once. Keep him there as long as possible. You understand?

LORD A ( _R.C_.)

But I don't understand.

MRS E ( _Crossing L.C_.)

Do what I tell you. Keep him at your club. Keep him there for hours. Don't let him out of your sight. If you do I'll never forgive you. I'll never speak to you again. Remember you're to keep Windermere at your club. And don't let him come back to this house to-night! _Exit L_.

_F_ (Lady Windermere's Fan: _French's Acting Edition_ )

MRS E

Gone out of the house! A letter addressed to her husband! ( _Takes up letter_ ) No, no! It would be impossible. ( _Sits_ ) Life doesn't repeat its tragedies like that. Oh! why does this horrible fancy come across me? Why do I remember now the one moment of my life I most wish to forget? _Does_ life repeat its tragedies? ( _Opens letter_ ) Oh, how terrible! ( _Sinks into a chair_ ) The same words that twenty years ago I wrote to her father; and how bitterly I have been punished for it! No; my punishment is to-night—is now!

_Still seated R_.

_Enter_ LORD WINDERMERE _L.U.E_.

LORD W ( _Coming C_.)

Have you said 'Good-night' to my wife?

MRS E ( _Crushing letter in her hand_ )

Yes. _Hides letter under her fan_

LORD W

Where is she?

MRS E

Oh, she is very tired. She has gone to bed. She said she had a headache.

LORD W

I must go to her. ( _Moves L.C_.) You'll excuse me?

MRS E ( _Rising and going R.C_.)

Oh, no! It's nothing serious. She's only very tired, that is all. Besides, there are people still in the supper room. She wants you to make her apologies to them. She said she didn't wish to be disturbed. ( _Drops letter_ ) She asked me to tell you.

LORD W ( _Picks up letter_ )

But you have dropped something.

MRS E

Oh, yes, thank you; that is mine. _Takes it_

LORD W

But it's my wife's handwriting, isn't it?

MRS E

Yes; it's—an address. Will you ask them to call my carriage, please?

LORD W

Certainly. _Goes L. and exit_

MRS E

What can I do? What can I do? I feel a passion awakening within me that I never felt before. What can it mean? The daughter must not be like the mother—that would be terrible. How can I save her? A moment may ruin a life. Who knows that better than I? Windermere must be got out of the house, that is absolutely necessary. ( _Goes up_ ) But how shall I do it? It must be done somehow. _Goes R_.

_Enter_ LORD AUGUSTUS _R.U.E., carrying bouquet_

LORD L[ORTON]

Dear lady, I am in such suspense! I haven't had a single dance with you. _L.C_.

MRS E ( _R.C_.)

Lord Augustus, listen to me. You are to take Lord Windermere down to your club to-night, at once. Keep him there as long as possible.

LORD L[ORTON] ( _C_.)

But you said you wished me to keep early hours!

MRS E

Do what I tell you!

LORD L[ORTON]

And my reward?

MRS E

Oh! ask me that to-morrow, but don't let Windermere out of your sight to-night. If you do I will never forgive you. I will never speak to you again. I'll have nothing to do with you. Remember, you are to keep Windermere at your club. And don't let him come back to-night.

_Exit C_.; LORD AUGUSTUS _rushes after her, meets_ PARKER _in door, drops flowers and exits_ ; PARKER _picks them up and goes off_

_T_ (A Good Woman: _University of Texas_ )

(the ms revisions to this draft are not noted)

MRS E

Gone out of her house! A letter addressed to her husband! ( _Takes up letter_ ) No, no! It would be impossible. ( _Sits_ ) Life doesn't repeat its tragedies like that. I must see what is in it. I must! ( _Opens letter_ ) Oh! ( _Sinks into a chair_ ) How terrible! The same letter that twenty years ago I wrote to my husband, and how bitterly I have been punished for it! No; my punishment, my real punishment is to-night, is now! _Still seated_

_Enter_ LORD WINDERMERE, _L_.

LORD W

Have you bid good-night to my wife?

MRS E ( _Crushing letter in her hand_ )

Yes.

LORD W

Where is she?

MRS E

Oh! she is very tired. She has gone to bed. She said she had a headache, and didn't wish to be disturbed.

LORD W

I must go to her. You'll excuse me?

MRS E

Oh no! It's nothing serious. She's only very tired, that is all. Besides, there are people still in the supper room. She wants you to make her apologies to them. ( _Drops letter_ ) She asked me to tell you.

LORD W

You have dropped something. _Picks up letter_

MRS E

Oh yes, thank you, that is mine.

LORD W

But it's my wife's handwriting, isn't it?

MRS E

Yes; it's—an address. ( _Takes letter_ ) Will you ask them to call my carriage, please?

LORD W

Certainly!

MRS E

Thanks! ( _Exit_ LORD W: _L_.) What can I do? What can I do? I must get Windermere out of the house somehow, or he will discover everything.

_Enter_ LORD AUGUSTUS _R.U.E_.

LORD A

Dear lady, I have been looking all over the place for you. May I not have the honour of seeing you home? I am in such suspense!

MRS E

Lord Augustus, listen to me. You are to take Lord Windermere down to your Club to-night, at once, and keep him there as long as possible. Keep him there till morning, if you can. You understand?

LORD A

But I don't understand. You said you wished me to keep early hours!

MRS E

Oh, don't bother me! ( _Crossing L.C_.) Do what I tell you.

_Enter_ PARKER _L_.

PARKER

Mrs Erlynne's carriage. _Exits L_.

LORD A

And my reward?

MRS E

Your reward! Oh! ask me that to-morrow, but don't let Windermere out of your sight to-night. If you do, I shall never forgive you. _Exit_

LORD A

Well, really, upon my word—I suppose this should be damned gratifying to me; I am not sure that it is.
 s.d. In the acting drafts of the play, these are much more detailed. They all mention specifically Lady Windermere's fan placed on a table. All that is retained here is the address, and addresses are usually important in Wilde's plays as they signify fine nuances of social discrimination. This address places the play politically and socially: close to prestigious clubs, Carlton House Terrace contained the residences of distinguished diplomats and statesmen. A late 19th-century audience would identify it with high diplomatic circles (Palmerston, for example, had lived there).

1 _at home_ the question anticipates the tension between Lord D and Lady W later in the scene. The term indicated willingness to receive calls by visitors. Calls were made between 3 and 6 o'clock in the afternoon. The time of the call varied with the degree of intimacy of the visitor : little-known acquaintances from 3 to 4 ; better-known acquaintances from 4 to 5 ; close friends from 5 to 6—the hour of Lord D's visit. Calls by men on their own were rare. Parker's question intimates that he knows of some coldness in Lady W's attitude:

If a servant is not sure as to whether his mistress wishes to see visitors or not, it is almost a direct offence to the... [caller] if he hesitates as to his answer, and leaves [him]... standing in the hall, while 'He will see if his mistress is "at home," ' perhaps returning with the unsatisfactory answer that she is 'Not at home'; in which case the intimation is... received as a personal exclusion'. ( _Manners and Rides_ , 41).

Servants would usually announce other visitors without further enquiry. Lady W is therefore _clearly_ insisting that her interview with Lord D is _not_ private.

10 _shake hands_ the greeting was quite usual in late 19th-century Society and not so formal as it might now seem. However, Lady W's reply suggests that Lord D has offered _his_ hand first—once more suggesting (in terms of late 19th-century manners) undue forwardness on Lord D's part, for 'a man has no right to take a lady's hand until it is offered' ( _Habits_ , 287).

12 _Selby_ Selby is mentioned three times during the play—here, and in Act IV. It is clearly intended to be the Windermeres' country estate. More specifically the emphasis on the rural aspects of Selby invokes the idea of a pastoral retreat from the moral complexity of the city. Actually the town of Selby had no estate of the size intended here by Wilde, although the famous abbey was owned by the Petre family. (Its restoration in 1871–73 by G. Gilbert Scott and 1889–90 by J. Oldrid Scott made the town topical.) Wilde presumably chose Selby to indicate distance (both physical and metaphorical) from London, but the detail is very plausible. The Great Northern, the fastest railway in the world in 1889, advertised expresses from King's Cross to Selby in a little over 3 hours: hence Lord W's suggestion that he and Lady W catch the 3.40 (IV, 48) is quite feasible. Dorian Gray's country estate is Selby Royal.

12 _this morning_ only in 1st ed.

13 _quite_ only in 1st ed. and C1.

19 _of age_ i.e., twenty-one, an age specified in the early drafts of the play. At the time of the play's composition there was intense public debate about married women's rights—particularly property rights.

26–7 _the Foreign Office_ entertainments at official institutions (in a semi-private capacity) formed part of the London Season (and hence the organization of those institutions was synchronized with it, as were the church and parliamentary calendars and the university year).

46–7 _what most other men are_ announces a theme familiar in Society Drama, that of the innate propensity of men to sexual immorality and hence of the necessity of a dual standard of sexual ethics, cf. Lady Windermere below : 'Are _all_ men bad?' (I, 289).

55–6 _it doesn't_ only in 1st ed.; in all drafts 'they don't'.

56 _astounding_ only in 1st ed.

60–1 _from the Bishops... bores_ only in 1st ed.

76 _Lady Julia_ only in 1st ed. and C1; 'my aunt' in early drafts.

82 _behind the age_ modernity was a topical issue in the 1880s and 1890s, not only among the artistic avant-garde but in Society as well. But to be abreast of the times (and fashions of conduct as well as of dress) involved also the implication of immorality.

86 _speculation_ the eligibility of men and women depended heavily, although not exclusively, on their property; hence the metaphor from financial capitalism. Sufficient wealth could compensate for the lack of family connections (cf. the Duchess of B's attitude to Hopper). Lady W later pointedly asserts: 'Windermere and I married for love' (I, 293).

100–2 _doubtful character... paying her bills_ Lord D is of course alluding to Mrs E. The implication is that she is a kept mistress.

106 _should the wife be vile also?_ on the idea of woman paying back the man in kind, see Jones's _The Case of Rebellious Susan_ (Criterion, 1894), I, particularly:

LADY DARBY

Mr Harabin may have been indiscreet... and infatuated... and led away!

LADY SUSAN

Very well. I'm going to be indiscreet, and infatuated, and the rest of it.

112 _good and bad_ ironically precisely Lady W's revised view in Act IV. Lord D's avowal of attitudes the play finally endorses illustrates the ambivalence of the portrayal of both characters.

127 _same laws_ cf _A Woman of No Importance_ , II:

HESTER

Don't have one law for men and another for women.

You are unjust to women in England.

( _A Woman of No Importance_ , 72 ( _CW_ , 450))

134 _no exceptions_ it is significant that Lord D's usual role as the spokesman for 'advanced' opinions has been reversed and Lady W given views on the equality of the sexes that were much more radical than those generally held; here in fact Lady W is expressing Wilde's own views on equality.

138 _The adjective_ in all drafts this speech also has the sentence 'You've forgotten your promise'.

139–40 _I can resist... temptation_ perhaps the most famous paradox of the play; it recurs in slightly different forms in the other plays, cf. _A Woman Of No Importance_ , III:

KELVIL

The secret of life is to resist temptation, Lady Stutfield.

LORD ILLINGWORTH

... Life's aim, if it has one, is simply to be always looking for temptations. There are not nearly enough. I sometimes pass a whole day without coming across a single one.

( _A Woman of No Importance_ , 126 ( _CW_ , 464))

143–6 _Duchess... Darlington_ Wilde's application of titles is strictly accurate. So 'an English duchess should be addressed as "Duchess" by all persons conversing with her belonging to the upper classes, and as "Your Grace" by all other classes' ( _Manners and Rules_ , 54). In the matter of introductions, sex always took precedence over rank, and so the Duchess of B introduces Lord D _to_ her daughter, albeit very casually.

157 _son-in-law_ the implication is that the son-in-law is in trade and therefore of little or no social significance. See _A Woman Of No Importance_ , I:

LADY CAROLINE

... In my young days, Miss Worsley, one never met any one in society who worked for their living.

( _A Woman of No Importance_ , 4 ( _CW_ , 432))

Ironically the Duchess changes her attitude when it comes to her own son-in-law to be (the son of a canned food merchant).

159 _ball_ towards the end of the century private functions became more exclusive as Society became more numerous. The difference between a ball and a dance is therefore a significant one: 'at a dance the number of the guests varies from eighty to two hundred; at a ball... from two hundred to five hundred' ( _Manners and Rules_ , 88). Earlier authorities made the distinction at about 100 guests. The scale of entertaining also varied. The irony of the following lines is clear. Balls existed in the main to introduce girls (like Agatha) to eligible partners, who duly signed the girl's card. Balls were _not_ for introducing the (ineligible) Mrs Erlynnes of the 1890s into Society.

159–60 _It is only a dance_ LC adds 'a small dance'.

160 _early_ i.e., will finish early. The polite time for guests to depart was midnight; the more fashionable time between 2.00 and 3.00 a.m. Lady W's modesty and decorum is being emphasized.

163–4 _one of the few houses_ the Duchess of B is expressing what was a widely held fear. As more people were deemed eligible for acceptance into Society, so it became increasingly difficult to know in person everyone taking part in the London Season.

182–3 _the odd trick_ the reference is to whist or the early varieties of bridge (which had been invented in 1886). To lose the 'odd' trick is to lose by six tricks to seven.

190–1 _life is... to talk seriously about it_ a favourite paradox, cf. _A Woman Of No Importance_ , I:

LORD ILLINGWORTH

Taking sides is the beginning of sincerity, and earnestness follows shortly afterwards, and the human being becomes a bore.

( _A Woman Of No Importance_ , 21 ( _CW_ , 437))

197 _Do let me come_ only in 1st ed.

204 _Where_ do _you get your gowns?_ only in 1st ed.

212–13 _sorry for you, Margaret_ Cms, C1, F, have 'sorry for you, dear'.

220–2 _Many a woman... they all fit_ Mrs E's past should, of course, have been with a Mr E. Hence Lady W's question below:

'Is there a Mr Erlynne—or is he a myth?' (I, 388)

'Mrs' invariably indicated to theatre audiences a woman who had compromised herself. But Wilde is making light of these expectations, cf. below:

LORD AUGUSTUS

I prefer women with a past. They're always so demmed amusing to talk to. (III, 247–8)

and cf. _An Ideal Husband_ , II:

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN

... She looks like a woman with a past, doesn't she?

LORD GORING

Most pretty women do.

( _An Ideal Husband_ , 92 ( _CW_ , 509))

231–3 _devoted to Sunsets... Nature, is there?_ the primacy of the natural world as a moral agent was familiar in 19th-century culture from Wordsworth to Ruskin. It was a belief that writers who were associated with Aestheticism, particularly Wilde, questioned increasingly, cf. 'The Decay Of Lying': 'Nature, no less than life, is an imitation of Art' ( _Intentions_ , 41 ( _CW_ , 984)). Wilde is using 'refinement' in a double sense: the notion of the 'socially correct' with an allusion (perhaps ironic) to the Paterian notion of the cultivation of sensibility.

251–2 _plain... so good_ the relationship between morality and physical unattractiveness is a constant theme in the plays, cf III, 274, where Graham comments: 'a woman who moralizes is invariably plain'; and _An Ideal Husband_ , III:

LORD GORING

But women who have common-sense are so curiously plain, father, aren't they?

( _An Ideal Husband_ , 156 ( _CW_ , 527))

255 _Curzon Street_ in Mayfair, and so a respectable address: the detail places Mrs Erlynne as a parvenu. BL makes the point more emphatically when Lady W later says: 'I didn't know people of that kind lived in our part of town. I thought they lived north of the Park'—i.e., Bayswater, a recent speculative development.

266 _Park_ i.e., Hyde Park. 'From 3 to 6.30 are the received hours for the afternoon drive during the summer, and from 2.30 to 4.30 during the winter.... A married lady can, as a matter of course, drive unaccompanied' ( _Manners and Rules_ , 203–4).

266–7 _since she has known_ another suggestion that Mrs E is Lord W's (kept) mistress.

271 _away at once_ C1 and T add 'not to the country—men get so bored there, if they are not firing their horrid guns off'.

271 _Homburg_ in July 1892, Wilde himself took the waters at Homburg. It was in the 1890s a favourite spa of the English aristocracy and Royalty.

275–6 _drink... waters_ a continental spa is being alluded to. The usual way of removal from Society and possible embarrassment was to go abroad. So Lord A and Mrs E decide to live Out of England' in IV, 413.

277 _extremely_ added to 1st ed.

285 _Boys are so wicked_ the Duchess's relish in proclaiming the proclivities of brother and son further illustrates the dual standard towards sexual behaviour in men and women.

287 _Oxford a few months_ i.e., that he has only recently finished his education and that he has thus achieved full age. But Wilde is being ironic. In the late 1870s and 1880s Oxford was the cradle of the Aesthetic Movement and was thus associated with the charges of moral decadence that that movement attracted, cf. the ironic reference in _The Importance of Being Earnest_ , HI, 221:

LADY BERACKNELL

Untruthful! My nephew Algernon? Impossible! He is an Oxonian.

( _CW_ , 375).

There is perhaps a private joke in these references to Oxford. By the early 1890s Wilde was visiting Oxford to solicit undergraduates.

289 _Are_ all _men bad?_ this picks up a central theme of Society Drama: that the different moral codes of men and women are the consequences of different emotional and physical constitutions. See Introduction.

304 _dining out_ T adds 'and I know it will take me two hours to get into my new dress. It seems to me that the dresses get tighter and tighter every year. Have you remarked that?' (C1 is substantially the same.) The Duchess's comments were correct for fashionable dress in the early 1890s (a 19-inch waist was the ambition of the fashionable). It is interesting that Wilde discarded the joke in the 1st ed.

306 _Just take him abroad_ the Duchess of B reiterates the common theatrical advice to the victim of adultery; it involved forgiveness conditional upon a trip abroad (i.e., temporary removal from Society).

311 _men hate them_ BL, C1, and T in slightly differing forms add: 'No, tomorrow tell Windermere's valet to pack up his master's things and to carry the wretch off to Homburg'.

316 _wretches_ only in 1st ed., in other versions 'brutes'. Another example of Wilde's stylistically precise revision for the 1st ed.

325 _a card_ see as well below (Mrs Erlynne's invitation). 'The invitation card is the usual "at home" card, the word "Dancing" being printed in the corner of the card' ( _Manners and Rules_ , 96). Invitations were issued in the name of the hostess only, hence Lord W's request that Lady W invite Mrs E (below). It was quite normal for a lady to ask for an invitation for a friend or acquaintance—although rarely with the transparency of the Duchess of B's motives.

334 _real affection_ F, T, Cms, C2, and LC add (in slightly differing forms) 'or no real brains, which is worse'.

335–6 _take the poor fellow... do_ not in LC.

337 _Goodbye_ T, F, and LC have: 'Come, Agatha; goodbye again till tonight' following this.

350 s.d. _paper knife_ C1 and T: 'Moorish paper knife'.

356 _no right_ the obvious and primary meaning is that Lady W has no _moral_ right. Ironically the line is literally true as well, for until recently a married woman's property was her husband's.

356 _to do such a thing_ T: 'to open my bureau, or to meddle into any of my private affairs'. C1 is substantially the same.

371 _I think that you spend_ BL has: 'I think that you go for your amours to an expensive market'. C1 is similar.

376 _the love that is bought_ making explicit the allusions made throughout the act that Mrs E is being kept by Lord W.

378 _utterly stained_ only in 1st ed.

391–2 _No relations... None_ only in 1st ed., C1, and BL (in a slightly different form). Entrance to Society consisted partly in the establishing of the credentials of the whole family. (So, for example, a gentleman would be presented at court by his prospective wife's most distinguished _male_ relative.) The topic is familiar in Society Drama. In Jones's _Mrs Dane's Defence_ Miss Hindemarsh personates the dead Mrs Dane in order to gain entry into Society. The whole of that play is quasi-judicial examination of her credentials. Lord A makes the same point: 'Demmed nuisance relations! But they make one so demmed respectable'. Cf. also Lady Bracknell's interrogation of Jack in _The Importance of Being Earnest_ , especially I, 584–5:

LADY BRACKNELL

I would strongly advise you, Mr Worthing, to try and acquire some relations as soon as possible.

( _CW_ , 334)

469 _No. 84A_ early drafts have different numbers (BL and C1: '12': T and LC: '99'). There was no such number in 1892. It is clear that Wilde's first alteration was intended to avoid any reference to a specific house.

473–4 _Margaret, don't say that... mean it_ not in LC.

486 _Yes, my lady_ after this line T has:

LADY WINDERMERE

And hand me that fan.

[PARKER _goes to table, takes fan and gives it to_ LADY W. LORD W _makes a gesture to stop him—then restrains himself_.]

C1, F, and LC are similar.

488 _half-past ten_ the usual time for balls to begin.

503–5 _Margaret... kill her_ one of the most famous revisions in the play. Alexander wanted Mrs E's real identity revealed at this point (as did some critics later)—and indeed such a revelation seems to have been at one point Wilde's original intention. So C2, Cms, F (in slightly differing forms) have:

I daren't tell her that this woman is her own mother.

Both BL and C1 keep Mrs E's identity a secret until Act IV; so do T and LC, which have only 'Margaret—My God! What shall I do?' As it is, the real relationship between Mrs E and Lady W is strongly hinted at.
1 s.d. Lady Windermere's 'small and early' is much grander than the dance envisaged in Act I.

All drafts except BL describe the room as follows: 'Style Louis Seize. White walls. Red and gold furniture'. Moreover, a boudoir is specified as one of the adjoining rooms in all these drafts.

4–5 _I'm so glad... safeguard_ young ladies' cards allowed chaperones to scrutinize dancing (and hence prospective or possible marriage) partners; hence the Duchess of B's attitude to Lady Agatha is making explicit the reasons for the more formal 'policing' of Society, for younger sons stood to inherit less than the eldest. The irony of the speech is in the Duchess's automatic assumption of the self-evident ineligibility of younger sons. Another indication of the slightly 'old-fashioned' morality of Lady W's house is the reference to the waltz, which was declining in popularity as a _fashionable_ dance in the last decades of the century.

11 s.d. _Fanning herself the_ stuffiness of ballrooms and the consequent inconvenience for guests were a topic that exercised many writers of etiquette manuals.

12–13 _Mrs Cowper-Cowper... Berkeley_ the number and names of these characters differ greatly in the early versions. In F, T, and LC there is no Lady Stutfield, her speeches being given to Lady AW in FA and to Lady Jedburgh in T and AC.

26–7 _Mr Rufford... Mr Hopper_ in F, T, and LC only Hopper is announced; in Cms Hopper is announced in a separate speech, perhaps to indicate Wilde's intention that he should be differentiated from the other guests—indicated too by a ms addition to T: 'guests shd be announced before Hopper'.

31 _run after_ F, T, Cms, C2, and LC: 'so run after'. Part of the point of the Duchess of B's speech is that she takes over the role of welcoming H from the hostess.

32 _Capital_ in all drafts 'Jolly'.

54 _In a moment_ T has a ms note: 'Lady AW does not know Mrs E is coming, so does not think she needs Lord Darlington's aid'. At this point in LC Parker announces Lord D.

57 _Sir James_ in early versions other characters are addressed; F: 'Lord Plimdale' [ _sic_ ]; T, Cms, and LC: 'Mr Dumby'.

60–1 _Mr and Mrs Arthur Bowden... Darlington_ this speech is not in LC.

64 _Demmed_ the prolific use of 'damned' as a verbal mannerism for Lord A is only in C1 in the early drafts. Consistently omitted from other drafts, and changed to 'demmed' in ms in T and incorporated into 1st ed. This use of specific stage slang identifies Lord A as a man-about-town or a 'masher'.

81–2 _I might be... indifference_ a familiar quip in the plays, cf., for example, _A Woman Of No Importance_ , II:

LADY HUNSTANTON

... I am told that, nowadays, all the married men live like bachelors, and all the bachelors like married men.

( _A Woman Of No Importance_ , 52 ( _CW_ , 444))

cf. also Lady P's paradox that indifference is a binding cement: 'women of that kind... form the basis of other people's marriages' (II, 234–6).

91 _confounded_ only in 1st ed.

104–6 _I told him... anything at all_ another familiar paradox. Wilde habitually emphasized the merits of youth and frequently represented himself as being younger than he actually was. cf. _An Ideal Husband_ , IV:

LORD CAVERSHAM

Why don't you try to do something useful in life?

LORD GORING

I am far too young.

LORD CAVERSHAM ( _testily_ )

I hate this affectation of youth, sir. It is a great deal too prevalent nowadays.

LORD GORING

Youth isn't an affectation. Youth is an art.

( _An Ideal Husband_ , 199 ( _CW_ , 539))

cf. also _The Importance of Being Earnest_ , I, 703–4:

GWENDOLEN

The old-fashioned respect for the young is fast dying out. ( _CW_ , 338)

115–23 _Lord Windermere... is at supper_ a late revision which is only in 1st ed. and LC. In T Lady P's speech occurs just before Mrs E's entrance.

124 _I_ must _speak to you_ not in LC.

137 _A useful thing a fan, isn't it?_ not in F, Cms, or C2. Cms and C2 have instead: 'LORD W: I must tell her the truth. If anything were to happen here it would be terrible'. F has 'LORD W: I must tell her this woman is her own mother'. See Introduction.

142–8 _I_ will _tell her... to come_ the order and composition of these speeches underwent heavy revisions in all versions. See Appendix ( _The Entrance of Mrs Erlynne_ ).

162 _You look faint_ only in 1st ed. and T where it is deleted in ms. This and previous two speeches underwent much revision in the drafts.

165 _Doria's_ in all early versions 'Dorian's'. After this speech, T has (deleted in ms)

LORD D

I understand everything now.

LADY W

Hush!

168 _Caroline_ 'Emily' in early drafts.

168–9 _allow me to introduce Mrs Erlynne_ Graham breaks the usual rules governing introduction by ignoring precedence, for the person of highest rank (here Lady Jedburgh) decides whether an introduction should take place; the correct order of introduction, however, _is_ observed.

181–2 _That woman... don't know_ only in 1st ed.

188–90 _édition da luxe... English market_ in the last two decades of the century, the immoral influence of French fiction was a topical issue. In Vernon Lee's _Miss Brown_ , for example, Edmund Lewis tries to proposition Anne Brown by giving her a copy of Gautier's _Mademoiselle de Maupin_ and in Wilde's _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ it is implied that Huysmans's _A Rebours_ serves a similarly demoralizing purpose.

193 _I suppose he is afraid of her_ LC has: 'Rather impertinent of him'.

193–5 _Those straw-coloured... I think_ only in 1st ed. T has as a ms addition: 'It's quite brutal the way women behave nowadays to men who are not their husbands, isn't it?'

194–5 _Do you know_ only in 1st ed.

202–3 _I can fancy... charming_ here LC has: 'But you are to have the next, and the one after too, if you like.'

206–7 _Just the sort of speech I like_ only in 1st ed.

210 _Friday_ after this AC has:

DUBBY

I'm afraid I can't.

MRS ERLYNNE

Saturday—Sunday?

DUBBY

Delighted.

LORD AUGUSTUS

Dubby!

The effect of the revisions of this scene is to present Mrs Erlynne as a much less mercenary and flirtatious figure.

216 _My dear Laura_ only in 1st ed. T (in a ms revision) and C1 have: 'My dear child'. Both forms emphasize the illicit (because adulterous) intimacy between the two.

218 _She's a Mrs Erlynne_ before this LC has:

DUBBY

I quite forget her name. How stupid of me.

LADY PLIMDALE

Tell me at once, or I shall leave the house.

DUBBY

If I do tell you, I think you _will_ leave the house[.]

220 _Yes; that is... calls her_ only in 1st ed.

224 _poor Windermere_ after this sentence, C1 and T (deleted in ms) have: 'and she is absolutely unscrupulous'.

226–7 _It takes... stupid thing_ only in 1st ed.

230 _my husband with you_ at this point in LC Dubby says: 'I shall be delighted'.

231 _so attentive_ extending the recurrent joke on marital indifference, and both a foil to Lady W's sense of neglect and turning round Lord D's arguments for the legitimacy of taking 'consolation' when deserted.

232 _thing for him_ after this sentence T and LC have: 'He never parts with a penny, so she won't get anything out of him'.

235–6 _They form the basis... marriages_ not in LC.

242 _Her coming... unbearable_ in F this sentence is given to Lord D. It is not in LC.

250–1 _Oh! the house... for me_ only in 1st ed.

264–5 _the cloak... secret_ only in 1st ed., BL, and C1. Wilde's revision emphasizes the significance of concealment in the play, for Lord W is already his wife's cloak to hide the secret of her relationship to Mrs E, just as Mrs E becomes the cloak to hide Lady W's secret and Lady W hides Mrs E's secret from Lord A.

266 _you are terribly right_ only in 1st ed.

268 _Be my friend now_ only in 1st ed.

273 _Yes, I love you_ Lord D's declaration is of course the dramatic climax of the act, but the most important consequence in terms of the play's structure is that by becoming so deeply involved in breaking Society's sexual _mores_ , he abandons the role of dandy, which now passes to Graham.

275–7 _Whatever is in him... before everyone_ only in 1st ed.

289–90 _that the world... demands_ only in 1st ed. and C1 (in a slightly different form).

290–1 _Oh, my love, choose!_ only in 1st ed. and C1. The revisions to these speeches between Lord D and Lady W have the effect of making them more impassioned and more studiedly rhetorical.

297–8 _the place that belongs by right to you_ LC: 'your place'.

312 _you would despise_ T: 'you affect to despise'. LC: 'you despise'.

312–16 _In a week... monstrous tie_ only here and in C1, T, and (in a different, shorter form) LC.

323–5 _For one moment... touch again_ not in Cms, C2, or LC; in C1 and a ms addition to T (in a slightly different form).

327–8 _I've just been... with Mrs Erlynne_ not in LC.

329 _must be all right_ the light reversal of attitudes to Mrs E is an ironic parallel to the later volte-face in Lord and Lady W's attitudes.

330–3 _and has such... poor Augustus_ only in 1st ed. (The whole speech is much changed in T.)

344 _Yes_. in T this speech is Lady A's.

350 _Yes, mamma_ in T: 'I said "yes", mamma'.

353 _your secret_ after this LC has: 'Well, I suppose it must be so. We'll see'.

364 _Grosvenor Square_ an ironic reference; the address was eminently respectable in the 1890s. Wilde himself had lived there in the 1880s. In 1892 Grosvenor Square had 51 addresses. 22 of these had titled tenants.

368–70 _The Duke will wish... chat with the Duke, Duchess_ i.e., in order to seek permission for, and arrange the terms of, the marriage.

375–6 _love at the end of the season_ once again making clear the central reason for the London Season, for Hopper is the best 'catch' financially. The scenes concerning the marrying-off of Lady A ironically comment upon the main action by seeing sexual relationships primarily in a financial rather than in an emotional or ethical context.

387–8 _But Lady Windermere has... common sense_ LC has 'But Lady Windermere is a woman of common sense'.

402–4 _Except Margaret... I assure you_ not in LC. The effect of the omission in LC is to remove any suspicion of maternal feeling in Mrs E's comments.

406–7 _Duchess's sister-in-law_ and so be in Society.

419–20 _a handsome settlement_ i.e., for a dowry.

423–6 LORD WINDERMERE

_I will not talk... can do anything_ only in 1st ed.

430–1 _£2,000 a year... third cousin_ i.e., a sizeable sum, the income from an estate of between one and two thousand acres. In all early drafts the cousin is a 'rich aunt'.

432–9 _It would be... what do you say to_ only in 1st ed. and (in a shorter form) C1.

440 _margin is everything_ after this LC has 'Let's go on the terrace', so leading the audience to believe that her relationship with Lord W _is_ illicit.

458–9 _A letter for... Yes, madam_ only in 1st ed.

463–6 _Oh, why does... to forget_ not in LC. The speech in LC is substantially different: Lady W's father is called 'my husband', and so the real relationship is still hidden. See Introduction and Appendix.

488–93 _I feel a passion... better than I_ not in LC.

496–7 _May I... my request_ only in 1st ed.

502 _Do what I tell you_ LC has instead: 'Oh, don't bother me!'

504–11 _Your reward... I might_ Mrs E's speech is very different in all the early drafts of the play. For an account of the revision of these lines see Introduction. For some of the textual revisions see Appendix.
s.d. These are changed in all drafts of the play. The reference to the Tantalus frame and its contents is only in 1st ed. It is a 'stand containing usually three cut-glass decanters which, although apparently free, cannot be withdrawn until the grooved bar which engages the stoppers is raised' ( _OED_ ).

1–2 _This waiting... be here_ only in 1st ed. and C1.

9 _We make gods of men_ cf. _An Ideal Husband_ , II:

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN

... Women think that they are making ideals of men. What they are making of us are false idols merely.

( _An Ideal Husband_ , 132 ( _CW_ , 521))

an inversion of the more usual formula of Society Drama.

11–15 _Oh! it was... whole world?_ only in 1st ed. and C1.

18–19 _chill hands and an icy heart_ not in LC.

27–9 _What shall I do?... Oh_! only in 1st ed. and (in a slightly different form) C1.

37–8 _you are on... precipice_ only in 1st ed., C1, and BL. Mrs E ironically anticipates Lord W in Act IV: 'you may be on the brink of a great sorrow' (viz. the possibility of discovering her mother to have been compromised in exactly this way).

49–50 _a blind to whatever... you and him_ a similar sort of domestically convenient _ménage à trots_ is proposed in Pinero's _The Notorious Mrs Ebbsmith_ (Garrick, 1895), where for Lucas Cleeve's political success the appearance of domestic happiness is essential.

51 _Oh! You don't_ before this LC has: 'The relations that exist between him and me!'

54–5 _They outrage... world's tongue_ only in 1st ed., C1, BL, and T.

57–60 _He shall see his name... Yes! he shall_ only in 1st ed., C1, and BL.

95–6 _I cannot trust you_ re-emphasizing the failure of trust which is the root of the play's crisis.

96–7 _how could you speak the truth about anything?_ only in 1st ed. and C1.

109 _Lady Windermere, Lady Windermere_ the repetition is only in 1st ed.

128 _Nothing_ Wilde is deliberately reversing a common 19th-century literary device—the revelation of a blood tie. The plot of _The Importance of Being Earnest_ parodies this convention.

134 _Arthur?_ for Mrs E to call Lord W by his Christian name would be proper only if Mrs E, Lady W, and Lord W were intimately acquainted with each other, and even then it would be more usual for the absent husband to be referred to by his surname or title.

141 _Heart is not... bought and sold_ only in 1st ed., C1, and BL.

147–50 _to find the door... and all the while_ only in 1st ed. and (in a slightly different form) C1.

162 _neither the wit nor the courage_ it is precisely Mrs E's wit and courage that Lord and Lady W acknowledge in the final two lines of the play.

164–5 _You have a child, Lady Windermere_ only in 1st ed.

178 _Take me home. Take me home_ repetition only in 1st ed., C1, and BL.

183 _Yes, there is! Listen!_ after this speech T and LC have:

LORD WINDERMERE ( _Outside_ )

I don't think I can come in.

190 _Oh! never mind me_ only in 1st ed. and BL. (C1 has 'Never mind about me.')

192 _Then it is I who am lost_ because, being in Lord D's room, she would be taken to be his mistress, especially by Lord A.

209 _whisky and soda_ another example of the 'modernity' of Lord D and his friends. The more usually accepted drink had been brandy and soda until the mid-1880s—as, in fact, Lord A drinks below.

212 _I am not one_ all drafts have 'I daresay' preceding this line.

214 _Caroline_ in all drafts (except C1 where no name is specified) 'Emily'.

226–7 _a woman... understands one_ picks up Lord D's desire to be misunderstood in Act I and thereby sets Lord A in an ironic contrast with him.

228 _awfully_ only in 1st ed.

238–40 _Our grandmothers... their granddaughters_ only in 1st ed. and C1. The sentiment looks proverbial, but is not recorded. Colloquially the phrase 'to throw one's cap over the [wind]mill' is used to indicate over-ambition. After the speech, C1 has an exchange suggesting the crudest of mercenary motives in Mrs E's interest in Lord A (so have T and LC) :

LORD AUG

Mrs Erlynne knows I haven't got anything.

C. GRAHAM

How does she know?

LORD AUG

Told her so myself.

C. GRAHAM

If you told her so yourself, she won't believe you Tuppy. No one believes what you say. You have such a poetic, vivid imagination. That is where your real fascination lies. Mrs Erlynne probably thinks you have millions.

245–6 _Mrs Erlynne has a future... past before her_ earlier versions of this exchange reveal the way Wilde's witticisms were carefully refined, C1 has:

LORD AUGUSTUS

She's no ordinary woman. She has a future. I believe she has a future.

LORD DUMBY

She's got a past.

And T has:

LORD A

She's no ordinary woman, I can tell you. She's got a future before her—a very remarkable future.

DUMBY

She's got a past, a very remarkable past.

247 _demmed_ only in 1st ed. and C1. The following exchange was much revised in the drafts.

261–4 _Then Mrs Erlynne... you are ridiculous_ only in 1st ed.

268 _talk scandal_ LC has after this: 'I wouldn't do such a stupid thing'.

284 _No, thanks, Cecil_ here C1 and LC add: 'I never touch cards now'. The line appears in T, but is deleted.

286 _far more expensive_ here LC adds:

LORD WINDERMERE

My dear fellow, cards don't interest me. ( _L_.) Besides, it's awfully late. I must be getting home. _Rises_

CECIL GRAHAM ( _Coming down L_.)

Oh, nonsense, nonsense. The night is only time worth living in. One exists during the day, but one lives at night. Well, you'll play of course, Tuppy?

C1 is virtually the same.

304 _Who is the girl?_ after this line T (deleted in pencil) has the following exchange (BL and C1 are similar):

LORD AUGUSTUS

He doesn't love girls.

DUMBY

Quite right. I never love girls. They know either too much or too little.

The deletion points to a feature of other drafts—the representation of London Society as obsessed with adultery despite its rigid sexual _mores_.

315–16 _To know them is a middle-class education_ the allusion here is to Sir Richard Steele's famous 'To love her is a liberal education' in the _Tatler_ , 49 (2 August 1709); Steele's essay is on the difference between love and lust.

317 _This woman has purity_ before this BL, C1, and LC have (in slightly differing forms): 'This woman makes one better than one is of one's self'.

320–1 _A carefully thought-out... much more effective_ cf. _A Woman of No Importance_ , III:

LORD ILLINGWORTH

The future belongs to the dandy. It is the exquisites who are going to rule.

( _A Woman of No Importance_ , 109 ( _CW_ , 459)).

cf. also _The Importance of Being Earnest_ , III, 28–9:

GWENDOLEN

... style, not sincerity, is the vital thing.

( _CW_ , 371).

After the speech BL, C1, and LC have the following exchange:

LORD DARLINGTON

How corrupt you are, Cecil!

MR GRAHAM

You mean how civilised I am!

327–8 _But I am... does not love you_ only in 1st ed., and a ms addition to T.

339 _dear Tuppy_ only in 1st ed.

341 _What is a cynic?_ a much less polished version of this appears in BL:

LORD DARLINGTON

Ah! What a young cynic you are!

MR CECIL GRAHAM

I know the price of everything.

LORD DARLINGTON

And the value of nothing.

359 _Cecil, if one really_ before this speech LC has the following exchange:

LORD DARLINGTON

Do you think that a mistake?

MR GRAHAM

Don't love anyone else? C1 is similar.

368 _What is it?_ Before this speech LC has the following exchange:

LORD AUGUSTUS ( _Still seated at table L.C_.)

I'm having a serious conversation; I don't want to be disturbed.

MR GRAHAM

Serious conversation is bad for you. It makes you stout.

374 _here is her fan_ the presence of a woman's jewellery in a man's room (which would be construed as evidence of an adulterous relationship) was a stock dramatic mechanism. The use of a fan was not original; contemporary reviewers saw Haddon Chambers's _The Idler_ as a source in this respect. Alexander had produced _The Idler_ at the St James's a year earlier (in 1891). But the use of a missing object had a long tradition in 19th-century theatre: it was particularly a feature of recent French drama (in, for example, Sardou's work).

414 s.d. T and C1 add as a speech at the end of the Act:

LORD AUGUSTUS

Oh! this is damned—( _pauses for a word_ )—damned!

and so repeat the pattern of a comic ending that Alexander had demanded for the end of Act II.
1 s.d. _Scene_ Cl, T, and LC set the act in Lady W's boudoir.

8–9 _Life is terrible... not rule it_ Lady W's sentiment contrasts strongly with those of the dandy, whose control over life has an analogue in the artist's control over his material.

25 _She is sure to tell him_ before this LC has: 'Perhaps he's gone to Curzon Street!' C1 is similar.

29–34 _How strange... no use to us_ only in 1st ed. and (in a slightly different form) C1.

45–6 _Let us go away... almost over_ another socially precise comment, for usually members of Society spent the Season in London and then returned to their country homes for various country sports (like shooting) and to attend to country affairs. For the way in which Selby is used in the play see note to 1, 12.

46–7 _staying on_ following this sentence, LC has:

We'll go next week.

LADY WINDERMERE

Oh, before that! I am bewildered with life—it frightens me!

C1 is substantially the same.

68–74 _I don't think... repentance, pity, sacrifice_ of the drafts, only in BL, C1, LC, and T (where it occurs in a slightly different form). This constitutes the most overt statement of the play's central theme of the possible discrepancy between social and moral values.

77–8 _she is inadmissible anywhere_ of the drafts, only in T and C1 (but the early part of the speech is substantially altered in both drafts). The 1st ed. draws upon elements in all mss.

97–8 _She is the most dangerous woman I know_ only in 1st ed. and C1.

103 _Why should it be necessary?_ LC has simply 'Why?'

108–9 I _was driving in your direction_ only in 1st ed.

110 _in person_ only in 1st ed.

114 _then_ only in 1st ed. The additions to the 1st ed. once more reveal Wilde's care in revision.

115 _to live abroad again_ the reference to foreign travel as a socially convenient device is made explicit in Mrs E's ironic reference to her 'heart'.

117–20 _London is too full of fogs... produce the fogs_ a familiar joke. cf. 'The Decay of Lying':

VIVIAN

... Where, if not from the Impressionists, do we get those wonderful brown fogs that come creeping down our streets.

( _Intentions_ , 41 ( _CW_ , 986))

118 _serious people_ cf. Lord D's affectation of flippancy to safeguard a private seriousness: 'Life is far too important a thing ever to talk seriously about it' (I, 190–1). Mrs E's frivolity is also more literally a fidelity to serious feeling by protecting her daughter.

122 _by the Club Train_ T, BL, C1, LC make the last sentence another speech for Mrs E. 'Club trains' were luxurious expresses from London's Cannon Street to Dover, inaugurated to connect London with Paris for the 1889 Paris Exhibition. They left London at 4.00 p.m. and arrived in Paris at 11.30 p.m. They ran between 1889 and 1893.

135 _My dear Windermere, manners before morals_ another reference to the central theme. Mrs E is right, for the host (Lord W) is insulting her (the guest). T and LC have simply 'Really!'

147 _Margaret and I_ only in 1st ed.; in most early drafts 'your wife'.

152 _I sometimes wish you had_ in the LC text this speech is the first revelation of the real identity of Mrs E.

158 _preying upon life_ only in 1st ed., BL, and C1.

166–7 _And then_ only in 1st ed., BL, and C1.

167 _with all your faults_ only in 1st ed.

175 _Yes_ LC has: 'that is no doubt true'. C1 is similar.

194 _hideous_ only in 1st ed. and C1.

202 _You are quite right_ only in 1st ed.; T, F, Cms, C2, and LC simply have: 'Yes.'

210 _I hope my wife will give it you_ T and C1 have: 'I hope to goodness she will'.

214 _beautiful dark hair_ T: 'dark hair'; C2: 'wonderful black hair'; F and LC have: 'wonderful dark hair'.

217 _fashion then, Windermere_ 'Windermere' only in 1st ed.

221 _To bid_ T and C1 (deleted in pencil) have: 'I came simply to bid'.

222–43 _Oh, don't imagine... critical moments_ the situation that Wilde is exploiting is one very familiar in 19th-century fiction and drama—the final and climactic revelation of a blood-tie that explains hitherto bizarre actions. But by avoiding a declaration of the real relationship, Wilde is resisting the sentimentality of the convention.

242 _look old_ following this sentence T and C1 have 'Yes; it positively gives one wrinkles under one's eyes. Those who live for pleasure, Windermere, as I do—as all sensible people do—should have no hearts'. Its deletion makes Mrs E a much less mercenary figure.

247 _silly modern novels_ T and C1 have 'silly English novels and silly French plays'. Perhaps the reference to French plays would have reminded a contemporary audience of the origins of some of the features of Wilde's play.

248–9 _in real life... at any rate_ T and C1 have in addition: 'We go to Homburg, or Paris, or Aix, or some place where we can amuse ourselves'.

254 _induce me to do that_ not in LC. After the line T has: 'Believe me, my dear Windermere, you take life too seriously and so does your wife. Nothing matters much in the nineteenth century, except want of money.

LORD WINDERMERE

I suppose you have come for that.

MRS ERLYNNE

No: oddly enough, I haven't. I am never going to ask you for any money again.'

BL, Cms, C1, and C2 are substantially the same.

257–8 _A fatal mistake... Almost fatal_ only in 1st ed. The next lines are substantially different in T. Instead of this exchange LC has:

LORD WINDERMERE

I'm glad you have that amount of feeling in you.

MRS ERLYNNE

I have that amount! And so, Arthur, when my daughter comes back I will bid you both goodbye, and I don't think we shall ever meet again.

LORD WINDERMERE

I am very glad to hear it. But you don't realize what you have made me go through.

MRS ERLYNNE

The worries of other people can hardly be supposed to interest a woman like me.

C1 is substantially the same.

268 _my name so infamous_ once more, Mrs E is playing private morality against public reputation. For a similar ploy see C. H. Hazlewood's adaptation of Mary Braddon's _Lady Audley's Secret_ (Royal Victoria, 1863) II, i:

LADY AUDLEY

... Even if your suspicions are right, what good will it do you? I will tell you; it will break your uncle's heart, and disgrace his family, tarnish the escutcheon of the proud Audley family, tarnish the escutcheon of the proud Audley family, and leave a stain on the race forever.

268–9 _mar every moment... her life_ for this LC has: 'it will be a daily horror to her'.

270–2 _If you dare to tell her... enter_ only in 1st ed. and C1.

276 _not true_ after this sentence C1, T, and LC have: 'What could you understand of the sort of love a mother should have for her child? Nothing! Love like that means things that are hidden from you, that will be always hidden from you'.

281 _not yours_ after this LC has 'and if I choose to forget it, you have nothing to say in the matter'.

310 _too much pain_ C1 and T add here: 'I remember once when I was about six years of age asking him why all the other children I used to play with had mothers while I had none.

MRS ERLYNNE

And what did he say?

LADY WINDERMERE

He told me...'

LC is similar.

314–15 _His was the most ruined life I know_ of early drafts only in Cl, T, and LC. The following lines are very different in C1.

322–4 _Pray don't trouble... Oh!_ not in F or LC; ms addition to T. In II Lord W willingly (and, according to etiquette, correctly) calls Mrs E's carriage at her request. Here, of course, not only does he believe that she has relinquished her right to be so treated, but he doesn't want to leave Mrs E alone with Lady W since he still takes her to be a corrupting influence.

324–5 _You saved me last night_, after this T has: 'you sacrificed yourself for me. You bore the burden of my sin'.

333–4 _That is the only... be paid_ not in LC.

335 _telling it to anyone_ in C1 the speech ends here. T is more elaborate and has: 'Besides a scandal is my proper ending, I fear, Lady Windermere' (C1 also has this line).

338–9 _Oh! how easily love is killed_ only in 1st ed.

341 _It is your... mine_ before this sentence, LC has: 'I pledge you my word'.

342–4 _And never... as one_ instead of this speech LC has: 'And never forget you are a mother. There was a woman I knew once—but never mind about her. You must always remember that you are a mother'.

350–1 _There is nothing... a Shrewsbury and Talbot_ only in 1st ed. Lord Shrewsbury and Talbot's rubber-tyred and luxuriously appointed cabs were introduced about 1880. They were the quietest and most comfortable cabs of the time. As the wheels were noiseless, the cabs were immensely popular.

365 _Mrs Erlynne's carriage has come_ only in 1st ed.

367 _Mrs Erlynne!_ Cl, T, and LC have instead: 'Good—good Heavens!'

375 _might carry the fan_ C1 and LC have: 'Won't you see me to my brougham? You might carry the fan. I think you'd look delightful carrying the fan'.

381–2 _You would carry... dear Lord Augustus_ not in LC.

405 _wronged her immensely_ after this sentence T, C1, and LC have: 'we are greatly to blame'.

411 _brutally to her_ after this sentence T and LC have: 'Egad! if anyone says anything against her now, I'll call him out, my boy. I'm damned if I won't. Even if it's a case of pistols for two and coffee for nobody afterwards'. C1 is similar.

418 _accepting my hand_ after this speech C1 and T have:

LADY WINDERMERE

Oh! I am so pleased!
 André Gide, 'In Memoriam' from _Oscar Wilde_ , translated Bernard Frechtman (New York, 1949); quoted from the extract in Richard Ellmann, ed., _Oscar Wilde: A Collection of Critical Essays_ (Englewood Cliffs, N.J., 1969), 25–34. The principal sources for the present account of Wilde's career are H. Montgomery Hyde, _Oscar Wilde_ (1975), Richard Ellmann, _Oscar Wilde_ (1987), and Rupert Hart-Davis, ed., _The Letters of Oscar Wilde_ (revised edn., 1963). Subsequent references to Wilde's _Letters_ are to this edition.

 Wilde, _Letters_ , 490–1. This long letter was written in Reading Gaol in January–March 1897. An abridged version was published by Robert Ross in 1905 as _De Profundis_ ; the fullest version is that contained in _Letters_ , 423–511.

 Wilde, _Letters_ , 466; Gide, 'In Memoriam', ed. cit., 34.

 On Sir William and Lady Wilde, see Terence de Vere White, _Parents of Oscar Wilde_ (1967).

 Walter Pater, _The Renaissance_ (1873; Library edn., 1910), 236. This 'Conclusion' was omitted in the second edition (1877) and restored, in a modified form, in the third edition (1888).

 Whistler later quarelled with Wilde, accusing him of plagiarism. Some of their exchanges appeared in Whisder's _The Gentle Art of Making Enemies_ (1890) and in _Wilde vs. Whistler_ (1906).

 Wilde, 'The English Renaissance of Art', in Robert Ross's edition of his _Essays and Lectures_ (1909), lllf. The text was edited by Ross from four drafts of a lecture given in New York on 9 January 1882.

 Max Beerbohm, _Works_ (1922), 39.

 Wilde, _Letters_ , 202 (to Mrs Alfred Hunt, August, 1887).

 Wilde, _Letters_ , 426.

 Wilde, _Letters_ , 438.

 'I am not claiming that Wilde clearly saw prison rising up before him; but I do assert that the dramatic turn which surprised and astounded London, abruptly turning Wilde from accuser to accused, did not, strictly speaking, cause him any surprises' (Gide, 'In Memoriam', ed. cit., 34).

 Allen Aynesworth, quoted by Hesketh Pearson, _The Life of Oscar Wilde_ (1946), 257.

 _Sunday Times_ , 21 February 1892, 5.

 There is, however, quite a lot of evidence that some members of the London working classes did attend West-End entertainments. See Joseph W. Donohue, Jr., 'Recent Studies of Oscar Wilde', _Nineteenth Century Theatre_ , 16, 2 (1988), 123–36.

 In pre-decimal coinage, one shilling (1s.) was 5 new pence; 2.4 old pennies (2.4d.) were equivalent to one new penny. To give a context to Wilde's earnings from the play: £80 per year would have represented a good working-class wage; the lowest middle class salary (for, say, a clerk) was between £75 and a £120 per year.

 _A Woman of No Importance_ , III, 78–81 ( _CW_ , 460).

 _The Importance of Being Earnest_ , III, 188–9 (CW, 374).

 _Manners and Rules_ , p. 3.

 Henry Arthur Jones, _The Case of Rebellious Susan_ (1899), 100.

 Henry Arthur Jones, _Mrs Dane's Defence_ (1905), 109.

 Oscar Wilde, _Reviews_ , 488.

 A. E. W. Mason, _Sir George Alexander and the St James's Theatre_ (1935), 37–8.

 _Letters_ , 313. H. Montgomery Hyde suggests that the change was made after four or five performances (see H. Montgomery Hyde, _Oscar Wilde_ (1976), 138). In his correspondence, Wilde seems to hint at a change after the first night, a detail since corroborated by Joel H. Kaplan. See Joel H. Kaplan, 'A Puppet's Power: George Alexander, Clement Scott, and the Replotting of _Lady Windermere's Fan_ ', _Theatre Notebook_ , 46, 2 (1992), 59–73.

 The relationship between the drafts and the first edition is discussed more fully in 'The Play and its Drafts', below.

 See II, 14–25.

 J. P. Mahaffy, _The Principles of the Art of Conversation_ (1887), 158–9.

 ibid., 78. The importance of effect rather than accuracy is a sentiment often expressed in Wilde's plays.

 ibid., 163.

 Joel H. Kaplan, 'Wilde on the stage', in _The Cambridge Companion to Oscar Wilde_ , ed. Peter Raby (1997), 249–75 (p. 260).

 Recently Joseph Bristow has cautioned modern readers from assuming that Wilde would have understood himself in terms of the categories derived from modern gay theories; he has also reminded us of recent 'painstaking discussion [by historians] of how a category such as "homosexuality" came into being in the first place, and why it might not readily apply to the life and works of Wilde'. Joseph Bristow, ' "A complex multiform creature": Wilde's sexual identities', in _The Cambridge Companion to Oscar Wilde_ , ed. Peter Raby (1997), 195–218 (p. 196).

 The following emendations have been made to the first edition: II, 488: ' _Thanks_!' for ' _Thanks_?' (the emended form occurs most frequently in the drafts); IV, 325: ' _night_.' for ' _night_?'

 See Diana Howard, _London Theatres and Music Halls 1850–1950_ (1970).

 For a general account of the relationship between theatrical fashions and public taste, see Joel H. Kaplan and Sheila Stowell, _Theatre and Fashion: Oscar Wilde to the Suffragettes_ (1994).

 For details, see W. Macqueen Pope, _St James's: Theatre of Distinction_ (1958), and Mason, _Sir George Alexander and the St James's Theatre_.
 The s.d. in the two C2 typescripts differ slightly.

 There are very slight differences in the punctuation and the s.d. in these drafts. The text given is the second typescript in C2.
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