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

itself to death in some empty hollow.

      LORD GORING. [Striking the table.] Robert, you must fight her. You must fight her.

      SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. But how?

      LORD GORING. I can’t tell you how at present. I have not the smallest idea. But every one has some weak point. There is some flaw in each one of us. [Strolls to the fireplace and looks at himself in the glass.] My father tells me that even I have faults. Perhaps I have. I don’t know.

      SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. In defending myself against Mrs. Cheveley, I have a right to use any weapon I can find, have I not?

      LORD GORING. [Still looking in the glass.] In your place I don’t think I should have the smallest scruple in doing so. She is thoroughly well able to take care of herself.

      SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [Sits down at the table and takes a pen in his hand.] Well, I shall send a cipher telegram to the Embassy at Vienna, to inquire if there is anything known against her. There may be some secret scandal she might be afraid of.

      LORD GORING. [Settling his buttonhole.] Oh, I should fancy Mrs. Cheveley is one of those very modern women of our time who find a new scandal as becoming as a new bonnet, and air them both in the Park every afternoon at five-thirty. I am sure she adores scandals, and that the sorrow of her life at present is that she can’t manage to have enough of them.

      SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [Writing.] Why do you say that?

      LORD GORING. [Turning round.] Well, she wore far too much rouge last night, and not quite enough clothes. That is always a sign of despair in a woman.

      SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [Striking a bell.] But it is worth while my wiring to Vienna, is it not?

      LORD GORING. It is always worth while asking a question, though it is not always worth while answering one.

      [Enter MASON.]

      SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Is Mr. Trafford in his room?

      MASON. Yes, Sir Robert.

      SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [Puts what he has written into an envelope, which he then carefully closes.] Tell him to have this sent off in cipher at once. There must not be a moment’s delay.

      MASON. Yes, Sir Robert.

      SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Oh! just give that back to me again.

      [Writes something on the envelope. MASON then goes out with the letter.]

      SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. She must have had some curious hold over Baron Arnheim. I wonder what it was.

      LORD GORING. [Smiling.] I wonder.

      SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. I will fight her to the death, as long as my wife knows nothing.

      LORD GORING. [Strongly.] Oh, fight in any case — in any case.

      SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [With a gesture of despair.] If my wife found out, there would be little left to fight for. Well, as soon as I hear from Vienna, I shall let you know the result. It is a chance, just a chance, but I believe in it. And as I fought the age with its own weapons, I will fight her with her weapons. It is only fair, and she looks like a woman with a past, doesn’t she?

      LORD GORING. Most pretty women do. But there is a fashion in pasts just as there is a fashion in frocks. Perhaps Mrs. Cheveley’s past is merely a slightly décolleté one, and they are excessively popular nowadays. Besides, my dear Robert, I should not build too high hopes on frightening Mrs. Cheveley. I should not fancy Mrs. Cheveley is a woman who would be easily frightened. She has survived all her creditors, and she shows wonderful presence of mind.

      SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Oh! I live on hopes now. I clutch at every chance. I feel like a man on a ship that is sinking. The water is round my feet, and the very air is bitter with storm. Hush! I hear my wife’s voice.

      [Enter LADY CHILTERN in walking dress.]

      LADY CHILTERN. Good afternoon, Lord Goring!

      LORD GORING. Good afternoon, Lady Chiltern! Have you been in the Park?

      LADY CHILTERN. No; I have just come from the Woman’s Liberal Association, where, by the way, Robert, your name was received with loud applause, and now I have come in to have my tea. [To LORD GORING.] You will wait and have some tea, won’t you?

      LORD GORING. I’ll wait for a short time, thanks.

      LADY CHILTERN. I will be back in a moment. I am only going to take my hat off.

      LORD GORING. [In his most earnest manner.] Oh! please don’t. It is so pretty. One of the prettiest hats I ever saw. I hope the Woman’s Liberal Association received it with loud applause.

      LADY CHILTERN. [With a smile.] We have much more important work to do than look at each other’s bonnets, Lord Goring.

      LORD GORING. Really? What sort of work?

      LADY CHILTERN. Oh! dull, useful, delightful things, Factory Acts, Female Inspectors, the Eight Hours’ Bill, the Parliamentary Franchise… . Everything, in fact, that you would find thoroughly uninteresting.

      LORD GORING. And never bonnets?

      LADY CHILTERN. [With mock indignation.] Never bonnets, never!

      [LADY CHILTERN goes out through the door leading to her boudoir.]

      SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [Takes LORD GORING’S hand.] You have been a good friend to me, Arthur, a thoroughly good friend.

      LORD GORING. I don’t know that I have been able to do much for you, Robert, as yet. In fact, I have not been able to do anything for you, as far as I can see. I am thoroughly disappointed with myself.

      SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. You have enabled me to tell you the truth. That is something. The truth has always stifled me.

      LORD GORING. Ah! the truth is a thing I get rid of as soon as possible! Bad habit, by the way. Makes one very unpopular at the club … with the older members. They call it being conceited. Perhaps it is.

      SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. I would to God that I had been able to tell the truth … to live the truth. Ah! that is the great thing in life, to live the truth. [Sighs, and goes towards the door.] I’ll see you soon again, Arthur, shan’t I?

      LORD GORING. Certainly. Whenever you like. I’m going to look in at the Bachelors’ Ball tonight, unless I find something better to do. But I’ll come round tomorrow morning. If you should want me tonight by any chance, send round a note to Curzon Street.

      SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Thank you.

      [As he reaches the door, LADY CHILTERN enters from her boudoir.]

      LADY CHILTERN. You are not going, Robert?

      SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. I have some letters to write, dear.

      LADY CHILTERN. [Going to him.] You work too hard, Robert. You seem never to think of yourself, and you are looking so tired.

      SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. It is nothing, dear, nothing.

      [He kisses her and goes out.]

      LADY CHILTERN. [To LORD GORING.] Do sit down. I am so glad you have called. I want to talk to you about … well, not about bonnets, or the Woman’s Liberal Association. You take far too much interest in the first subject, and not nearly enough in the second.

      LORD GORING. You want to talk to me about Mrs. Cheveley?

      LADY CHILTERN. Yes. You have guessed it. After you left last night I found out that what she had said was really true. Of course I made Robert write her a letter at once, withdrawing his promise.

      LORD GORING. So he gave me to understand.

      LADY CHILTERN. To have kept it would have been the first stain on a career that has been stainless always. Robert must be above reproach. He is not like other men. He cannot afford to do what other men do. [She looks at LORD GORING, who remains silent.] Don’t you agree with me? You are Robert’s greatest friend. You are our greatest friend, Lord Goring. No one, except myself, knows Robert