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

gone to the dogs, a lot of damned nobodies talking about nothing.

      LORD GORING. I love talking about nothing, father. It is the only thing I know anything about.

      LORD CAVERSHAM. You seem to me to be living entirely for pleasure.

      LORD GORING. What else is there to live for, father? Nothing ages like happiness.

      LORD CAVERSHAM. You are heartless, sir, very heartless!

      LORD GORING. I hope not, father. Good evening, Lady Basildon!

      LADY BASILDON. [Arching two pretty eyebrows.] Are you here? I had no idea you ever came to political parties!

      LORD GORING. I adore political parties. They are the only place left to us where people don’t talk politics.

      LADY BASILDON. I delight in talking politics. I talk them all day long. But I can’t bear listening to them. I don’t know how the unfortunate men in the House stand these long debates.

      LORD GORING. By never listening.

      LADY BASILDON. Really?

      LORD GORING. [In his most serious manner.] Of course. You see, it is a very dangerous thing to listen. If one listens one may be convinced; and a man who allows himself to be convinced by an argument is a thoroughly unreasonable person.

      LADY BASILDON. Ah! that accounts for so much in men that I have never understood, and so much in women that their husbands never appreciate in them!

      MRS. MARCHMONT. [With a sigh.] Our husbands never appreciate anything in us. We have to go to others for that!

      LADY BASILDON. [Emphatically.] Yes, always to others, have we not?

      LORD GORING. [Smiling.] And those are the views of the two ladies who are known to have the most admirable husbands in London.

      MRS. MARCHMONT. That is exactly what we can’t stand. My Reginald is quite hopelessly faultless. He is really unendurably so, at times! There is not the smallest element of excitement in knowing him.

      LORD GORING. How terrible! Really, the thing should be more widely known!

      LADY BASILDON. Basildon is quite as bad; he is as domestic as if he was a bachelor.

      MRS. MARCHMONT. [Pressing LADY BASILDON’S hand.] My poor Olivia! We have married perfect husbands, and we are well punished for it.

      LORD GORING. I should have thought it was the husbands who were punished.

      MRS. MARCHMONT. [Drawing herself up.] Oh, dear no! They are as happy as possible! And as for trusting us, it is tragic how much they trust us.

      LADY BASILDON. Perfectly tragic!

      LORD GORING. Or comic, Lady Basildon?

      LADY BASILDON. Certainly not comic, Lord Goring. How unkind of you to suggest such a thing!

      MRS. MARCHMONT. I am afraid Lord Goring is in the camp of the enemy, as usual. I saw him talking to that Mrs. Cheveley when he came in.

      LORD GORING. Handsome woman, Mrs. Cheveley!

      LADY BASILDON. [Stiffly.] Please don’t praise other women in our presence. You might wait for us to do that!

      LORD GORING. I did wait.

      MRS. MARCHMONT. Well, we are not going to praise her. I hear she went to the Opera on Monday night, and told Tommy Rufford at supper that, as far as she could see, London Society was entirely made up of dowdies and dandies.

      LORD GORING. She is quite right, too. The men are all dowdies and the women are all dandies, aren’t they?

      MRS. MARCHMONT. [After a pause.] Oh! do you really think that is what Mrs. Cheveley meant?

      LORD GORING. Of course. And a very sensible remark for Mrs. Cheveley to make, too.

      [Enter MABEL CHILTERN. She joins the group.]

      MABEL CHILTERN. Why are you talking about Mrs. Cheveley? Everybody is talking about Mrs. Cheveley! Lord Goring says — what did you say, Lord Goring, about Mrs. Cheveley? Oh! I remember, that she was a genius in the daytime and a beauty at night.

      LADY BASILDON. What a horrid combination! So very unnatural!

      MRS. MARCHMONT. [In her most dreamy manner.] I like looking at geniuses, and listening to beautiful people.

      LORD GORING. Ah! that is morbid of you, Mrs. Marchmont!

      MRS. MARCHMONT. [Brightening to a look of real pleasure.] I am so glad to hear you say that. Marchmont and I have been married for seven years, and he has never once told me that I was morbid. Men are so painfully unobservant!

      LADY BASILDON. [Turning to her.] I have always said, dear Margaret, that you were the most morbid person in London.

      MRS. MARCHMONT. Ah! but you are always sympathetic, Olivia!

      MABEL CHILTERN. Is it morbid to have a desire for food? I have a great desire for food. Lord Goring, will you give me some supper?

      LORD GORING. With pleasure, Miss Mabel. [Moves away with her.]

      MABEL CHILTERN. How horrid you have been! You have never talked to me the whole evening!

      LORD GORING. How could I? You went away with the child-diplomatist.

      MABEL CHILTERN. You might have followed us. Pursuit would have been only polite. I don’t think I like you at all this evening!

      LORD GORING. I like you immensely.

      MABEL CHILTERN. Well, I wish you’d show it in a more marked way! [They go downstairs.]

      MRS. MARCHMONT. Olivia, I have a curious feeling of absolute faintness. I think I should like some supper very much. I know I should like some supper.

      LADY BASILDON. I am positively dying for supper, Margaret!

      MRS. MARCHMONT. Men are so horribly selfish, they never think of these things.

      LADY BASILDON. Men are grossly material, grossly material!

      [The VICOMTE DE NANJAC enters from the music-room with some other guests. After having carefully examined all the people present, he approaches LADY BASILDON.]

      VICOMTE DE NANJAC. May I have the honour of taking you down to supper, Comtesse?

      LADY BASILDON. [Coldly.] I never take supper, thank you, Vicomte. [The VICOMTE is about to retire. LADY BASILDON, seeing this, rises at once and takes his arm.] But I will come down with you with pleasure.

      VICOMTE DE NANJAC. I am so fond of eating! I am very English in all my tastes.

      LADY BASILDON. You look quite English, Vicomte, quite English.

      [They pass out. MR. MONTFORD, a perfectly groomed young dandy, approaches MRS. MARCHMONT.]

      MR. MONTFORD. Like some supper, Mrs. Marchmont?

      MRS. MARCHMONT. [Languidly.] Thank you, Mr. Montford, I never touch supper. [Rises hastily and takes his arm.] But I will sit beside you, and watch you.

      MR. MONTFORD. I don’t know that I like being watched when I am eating!

      MRS. MARCHMONT. Then I will watch some one else.

      MR. MONTFORD. I don’t know that I should like that either.

      MRS. MARCHMONT. [Severely.] Pray, Mr. Montford, do not make these painful scenes of jealousy in public!

      [They go downstairs with the other guests, passing SIR ROBERT CHILTERN and MRS. CHEVELEY, who now enter.]

      SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. And are you going to any of our country houses before you leave England, Mrs. Cheveley?

      MRS. CHEVELEY. Oh, no! I can’t stand your English house-parties. In England people actually try to be brilliant at breakfast. That is so dreadful of them! Only dull people are brilliant at breakfast. And then the family skeleton is always reading family prayers. My stay in England really depends on