Oscar Wilde: The Complete Works. Knowledge house

when you were mother’s own boy. [Gerald sits down beside his mother. She runs her fingers through his hair, and strokes his hands.] Gerald, there was a girl once, she was very young, she was little over eighteen at the time. George Harford—that was Lord Illingworth’s name then—George Harford met her. She knew nothing about life. He—knew everything. He made this girl love him. He made her love him so much that she left her father’s house with him one morning. She loved him so much, and he had promised to marry her! He had solemnly promised to marry her, and she had believed him. She was very young, and—and ignorant of what life really is. But he put the marriage off from week to week, and month to month.—She trusted in ·116· him all the while. She loved him.—Before her child was born—for she had a child—she implored him for the child’s sake to marry her, that the child might have a name, that her sin might not be visited on the child, who was innocent. He refused. After the child was born she left him, taking the child away, and her life was ruined, and her soul ruined, and all that was sweet, and good, and pure in her ruined also. She suffered terribly—she suffers now. She will always suffer. For her there is no joy, no peace, no atonement. She is a woman who drags a chain like a guilty thing. She is a woman who wears a mask, like a thing that is a leper. The fire cannot purify her. The waters cannot quench her anguish. Nothing can heal her! no anodyne can give her sleep! no poppies forgetfulness! She is lost! She is a lost soul!—That is why I call Lord Illingworth a bad man. That is why I don’t want my boy to be with him.

      gerald

      My dear mother, it all sounds very tragic, of course. But I dare say the girl was just as much to blame as Lord Illingworth was.—After all, would a really nice girl, a girl with any nice feelings at all, go away from her home with a man to whom she was not married, and live with him as his wife? No nice girl would.

      mrs. arbuthnot

      [After a pause.] Gerald, I withdraw all my ·117· objections. You are at liberty to go away with Lord Illingworth, when and where you choose.

      gerald

      Dear mother, I knew you wouldn’t stand in my way. You are the best woman God ever made. And, as for Lord Illingworth, I don’t believe he is capable of anything infamous or base. I can’t believe it of him—I can’t.

      hester

      [Outside.] Let me go! Let me go!

      [Enter Hester in terror, and rushes over to Gerald and flings herself in his arms.]

      hester

      Oh! save me—save me from him!

      gerald

      From whom?

      hester

      He has insulted me! Horribly insulted me! Save me!

      gerald

      Who? Who has dared——?

      [Lord Illingworth enters at back of stage. Hester breaks from Gerald’s arms and points to him.]

      ·118· gerald [He is quite beside himself with rage and indignation.]

      Lord Illingworth, you have insulted the purest thing on God’s earth, a thing as pure as my own mother. You have insulted the woman I love most in the world with my own mother. As there is a God in heaven, I will kill you!

      mrs. arbuthnot

      [Rushing across and catching hold of him.] No! no!

      gerald

      [Thrusting her back.] Don’t hold me, mother. Don’t hold me—I’ll kill him!

      mrs. arbuthnot

      Gerald!

      gerald

      Let me go, I say!

      mrs. arbuthnot

      Stop, Gerald, stop! He is your own father!

      [Gerald clutches his mother’s hands and looks into her face. She sinks slowly on the ground in shame. Hester steals towards the door. Lord Illingworth frowns and bites his lip. After a time Gerald raises his mother up, puts his arm round her, and leads her from the room.]

      Act-drop.

       

·119· Fourth Act.

      ·121· SCENE—Sitting-room at Mrs. Arbuthnot’s. Large open French window at back, looking on to garden. Doors R.C. and L.C.

      [Gerald Arbuthnot writing at table.]

      [Enter Alice R.C. followed by Lady Hunstanton and Mrs. Allonby.]

      alice

      Lady Hunstanton and Mrs. Allonby.

      [Exit L.C.]

      lady hunstanton

      Good morning, Gerald.

      gerald

      [Rising.] Good morning, Lady Hunstanton. Good morning, Mrs. Allonby.

      lady hunstanton

      [Sitting down.] We came to inquire for your dear mother, Gerald. I hope she is better?

      ·122· gerald

      My mother has not come down yet, Lady Hunstanton.

      lady hunstanton

      Ah, I am afraid the heat was too much for her last night. I think there must have been thunder in the air. Or perhaps it was the music. Music makes one feel so romantic—at least it always gets on one’s nerves.

      mrs. allonby

      It’s the same thing, now-a-days.

      lady hunstanton

      I am so glad I don’t know what you mean, dear. I am afraid you mean something wrong. Ah, I see you’re examining Mrs. Arbuthnot’s pretty room. Isn’t it nice and old-fashioned?

      mrs. allonby

      [Surveying the room through her lorgnette.] It looks quite the happy English home.

      lady hunstanton

      That’s just the word, dear; that just describes it. One feels your mother’s good influence in everything she has about her, Gerald.

      mrs. allonby

      Lord Illingworth says that all influence is bad, ·123· but that a good influence is the worst in the world.

      lady hunstanton

      When Lord Illingworth knows Mrs. Arbuthnot better, he will change his mind. I must certainly bring him here.

      mrs. allonby

      I should like to see Lord Illingworth in a happy English home.

      lady hunstanton

      It would do him a great deal of good, dear. Most women in London, now-a-days, seem to furnish their rooms with nothing but orchids, foreigners, and French novels. But here we have the room of a sweet saint. Fresh natural flowers, books that don’t shock one, pictures that one can look at without blushing.

      mrs. allonby

      But I like blushing.

      lady hunstanton

      Well, there is a good deal to be said for blushing, if one can do it at the proper moment. Poor dear Hunstanton used to tell me I didn’t blush nearly often enough. But then he was so very particular. He wouldn’t let me know any of his men friends, except those who were over seventy, ·124· like poor Lord Ashton: who afterwards, by the way, was brought into the Divorce Court. A most unfortunate case.

      mrs. allonby

      I delight in men over seventy. They always offer one the devotion of a lifetime. I think seventy an ideal age for a man.

      lady