Oscar Wilde Part 10

Whereupon his future prospects brighten up considerably. But when Mrs Arbuthnot discovers that Lord Illingworth is no other than the man who had wronged her, she does all in her power to persuade her (and his) son to refuse the offer, and, driven to extremity in her distress, tells Gerald her own history, as that of another woman. Her efforts are futile. The boy only says that the woman must have been as bad as the man, and that, as far as he can see, Lord Illingworth is now a very good fellow, and so he means to stick to him. Consequently, when his lordship insists upon Gerald keeping to the bargain, and reminds his mother that the boy will be her "judge as well as her son," should the truth of her past be brought to light, Mrs Arbuthnot is induced to hold it still secret. Unfortunately for this secret, Mrs Allonby, one of Lady Hunstanton's guests, has goaded Lord Illingworth into promising to kiss Miss Hester Worsley. This he does, much to the disgust of the fair Puritan, who loudly announces that she has been insulted. Gerald's eyes are suddenly opened to Lord Illingworth's turpitude, and with the unbridled pa.s.sion of the headstrong lover cries out that he will kill him! Which, apparently, he would have done, had not Mrs Arbuthnot stepped forward, and to everybody's surprise intervened with the dramatic: "No--he is your father!"

_Tableau._ In the final act Hester Worsley, now that she knows Mrs Arbuthnot, and is determined in spite of all to marry Gerald, solves every difficulty by carrying off the mother and son to her home in the New World, where we may presume the young couple marry, and live happily ever afterwards. Before her departure from England, however, Mrs Arbuthnot, maddened by the cynical offer of tardy reparation by marriage on the part of Lord Illingworth, strikes him across the face with a glove, and at the end of the play alludes to him as "a man of no importance"; which balances his earlier description of her as "a woman of no importance."

As I have pointed out elsewhere, many of the epigrams in this play were lifted bodily from "The Picture of Dorian Gray," but after these are eliminated there remain enough to establish the reputation of any dramatist as a wit and epigrammatist of the very first rank. Much would be forgiven for one definition alone, that of the foxhunter--"the unspeakable in pursuit of the uneatable." And Sheridan himself might envy the p.r.o.nouncement that "the youth of America is its oldest tradition."

But apart from brilliant repartee and amusing paradox, the piece is full of pa.s.sages of rare beauty and moments of touching pathos. Hester Worsley's speech anent Society, which she describes as being "like a leper in purple," "a dead thing smeared with gold," is as finely written a piece of declamation as any actress could desire, apart from its high literary qualities; and Mrs Arbuthnot's confession to her boy and her appeal to him for mercy are conceived in a spirit of delicacy and reticence that only the highest art can attain. Her pathetic peroration: "Child of my shame, be still the child of my shame," touches the deepest chords of human sorrow and anguish. With a masterly knowledge of what the theatre requires, he gives us Hester at the beginning of the play inveighing against any departure from the moral code and quoting the Old Testament anent the sins of the father being visited on the children. "It is G.o.d's law," she ends up--"it is G.o.d's terrible law." Later, when she begs Mrs Arbuthnot to come away to other climes, "where there are green valleys and fresh waters" and the poor woman for whom the world is shrivelled to a palm's breadth confronts her with her own p.r.o.nouncement, how beautifully introduced is her recantation: "Don't say that, G.o.d's law is only love." It has been objected to Hester that she is a prig, but no girl could be a prig who could utter a sentiment like that. She is a fine specimen of the girlhood of the late nineteenth century, travelled, cultured, frank, and fearless, and above all pure. In the artificial atmosphere of Hunstanton, where the guests are all mere worldlings, her purity and goodness stand out in high relief. If there is a prig it is Gerald who, whether he be listening to Lord Illingworth's worldly teaching as to "a well-tied tie being the first serious step in life," or hearing the story of his mother's sin, is a singularly uninteresting and commonplace young man. As to the other characters they are all admirable sketches of Society folk. Lady Caroline Pontefract tyrannising over her husband and making that gay old gentleman put on his goloshes and m.u.f.fler is a delightful type of those old-fashioned _grandes dames_ who have the peerage at their fingers' ends. Nothing could be more delightfully characteristic than her opining, when Hester tells her that some of the States of America are as big as France and England put together, that they must find it very draughty. Lady Hunstanton too, who prattles away about everybody and everything and gets mixed up in all her statements, as for instance, when referring to somebody as a clergyman who wanted to be a lunatic, she is uncertain if it was not a lunatic who wanted to be a clergyman, but who at anyrate wore straws in his hair or something equally odd, is drawn with a fidelity to nature that shows what a really great student of character Oscar Wilde was. No less admirable a portrayal is that of the worldly archdeacon whose wife is almost blind, quite deaf and a confirmed invalid, yet, nevertheless, is quite happy, for though she can no longer hear his sermons she reads them at home.

He it is whom Lord Illingworth shocks so profoundly, first by his a.s.sertion that every saint has a past and every sinner has a future, and finally by the flippant remark that the secret of life is to be always on the lookout for temptations, which are becoming so exceedingly scarce that he sometimes pa.s.ses a whole day without coming across one. As literature alone, the play deserves to live, and will live, as a _piece de theatre_. It has met with more success than any play of the first cla.s.s within the last twenty years. The reason for that is not far to seek--it is essentially human, and the woman's interest--the keynote of the story--appeals to man and woman equally. I have seen rough Lancashire audiences, bucolic boors in small country towns, and dour hard-headed Scotsmen, sit spellbound as the story of the woman's sin and her repentance was unfolded before them. A play that can do that is imperishable, and it is no disparagement to the other brilliant dramatic works of the author that, as a popular play which will ever find favour with audiences of every cla.s.s and kind, on account of its human interest and its pathos, "A Woman Of No Importance" is certain of immortality.

"THE IDEAL HUSBAND"

(_First produced at the Haymarket Theatre, under the management of Mr Lewis Waller and Mr H. H. Morell on 3rd January 1895_)

This, the third of Oscar Wilde's plays in their order of production, is undoubtedly the most dramatic. The action is rapid, the interest of the story sustained to the very end, and the dialogue always to the point.

Each of the princ.i.p.al characters concerned in the carrying out of the plot is a distinct individualised type. What each one says or does is entirely in keeping with his, or her, personality. And that personality is in each case a well-marked and skilfully drawn one. The four _personae_ who are engaged in conducting the intrigue of this comedy are Sir Robert Chiltern, Lady Chiltern (his wife), Lord Goring, and Mrs Cheveley. A charming _ingenue_ in the person of Miss Mabel Chiltern (Sir Robert's sister) is also instrumental in bringing the love-interest to a happy hymeneal issue. The author of their being has handed down to us, in his own inimitable way, his conception of them. Here it is:

"_Sir Robert Chiltern._ A man of forty, but looking somewhat younger.

Clean-shaven, with finely-cut features, dark-haired and dark-eyed. A personality of mark. Not popular--few personalities are. But intensely admired by the few, and deeply respected of the many. The note of his manner is that of perfect distinction, with a slight touch of pride. One feels that he is conscious of the success he has made in life. A nervous temperament, with a tired look. The firmly-chiselled mouth and chin contrast strikingly with the romantic expression in the deep-set eyes.

The variance is suggestive of an almost complete separation of pa.s.sion and intellect, as though thought and emotion were each isolated in its own sphere through some violence of will-power. There is no nervousness in the nostrils, and in the pale, thin, pointed hands. It would be inaccurate to call him picturesque. Picturesqueness cannot survive the House of Commons. But Vandyck would have liked to paint his head."

Of _Lady Chiltern_ we do not get more than that she is "a woman of grave Greek beauty about twenty-seven years of age."

This is _Lord Goring_: "Thirty-four, but always says he is younger. A well-bred expressionless face. He is clever, but would not like to be thought so. A flawless dandy, he would be annoyed if he were considered romantic. He plays with life, and is on perfectly good terms with the world. He is fond of being misunderstood. It gives him a post of vantage."

_Mrs Cheveley_, the _ame damee_ of the plot, is thus portrayed: "Tall, and rather slight. Lips very thin and highly coloured, a line of scarlet on a pallid face. Venetian red hair, aquiline nose, a long throat. Rouge accentuates the natural paleness of her complexion. Grey-green eyes that move restlessly. She is in heliotrope, with diamonds. She looks rather like an orchid, and makes great demands on one's curiosity. In all her movements she is extremely graceful. A work of art on the whole, but showing the influence of too many schools."

In these delicious word-pictures we gain for once an idea as to how the author considered his characters, both physically and psychically. It is interesting to note that of the four published plays this is the only one in which such intimate directions are to be found. Was the author, for once in a way, allowing himself a measure of poetic licence, and giving free but eminently unpractical play to his imagination? Who may tell? At anyrate, however high he may have soared in his requirements of the performers, he comes down steadily to earth in his management of the plot, which is acted out on these lines.

In the first act we find Lady Chiltern, whose husband is Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs, giving a party at her house in Grosvenor Square.

Here, among other fashionable folk who flit across the scene, we are introduced to Lord Goring, between whom and Mabel Chiltern there is evidently a more or less serious flirtation going on, especially on the young lady's side. Shortly after his first entrance Lord Goring "saunters over to Mabel Chiltern."

_Mabel Chiltern._ You are very late!

_Lord Goring._ Have you missed me?

_Mabel Chiltern._ Awfully!

_Lord Goring._ Then I am sorry I did not stay away longer. I like being missed.

_Mabel Chiltern._ How very selfish of you.

_Lord Goring._ I am very selfish.

_Mabel Chiltern._ You are always telling me of your bad qualities, Lord Goring.

_Lord Goring._ I have only told you half of them as yet, Miss Mabel....

_Mabel Chiltern._ Well, I delight in your bad qualities. I wouldn't have you part with one of them.

_Lord Goring._ How very nice of you! But then you are always nice.

By the way, I want to ask you a question, Miss Mabel. Who brought Mrs Cheveley here? That woman in heliotrope who has just gone out of the room with your brother?

_Mabel Chiltern._ Oh, I think Lady Markby brought her. Why do you ask?

_Lord Goring._ I hadn't seen her for years, that is all.

But Lord Goring did not say, of course, all he knew about the brilliant Mrs Cheveley, who is very _repondue_ in the diplomatic world at Vienna, and has, in her day, been the heroine of much pretty gossip. The object of her present visit to London is to obtain an introduction to Sir Robert Chiltern, and it is when they first meet that the dramatic interest of the story commences. The lady, it appears, has invested largely, too largely, in a great political and financial scheme called the Argentine Ca.n.a.l Company, acting on the advice of a certain Baron Arnheim, now dead, who was also a friend of Sir Robert Chiltern's. When Mrs Cheveley informs Sir Robert what her position is, he denounces the scheme as "a commonplace Stock Exchange swindle."

_Sir Robert Chiltern._ Believe me, Mrs Cheveley, it is a swindle.... I sent out a special commission to inquire into the matter privately and they report that the works are hardly begun, and as for the money already subscribed, no one seems to know what has become of it.

A little later on he says "the success of the Ca.n.a.l depends of course on the att.i.tude of England, and I am going to lay the report of the Commissioners before the House of Commons."

_Mrs Cheveley._ That you must not do. In your own interests, Sir Robert, to say nothing of mine, you must not do that.

_Sir Robert Chiltern._ (_Looking at her in wonder._) In my own interests? My dear Mrs Cheveley, what do you mean? (_Sits down beside her._)

_Mrs Cheveley._ Sir Robert, I will be quite frank with you. I want you to withdraw the report that you had intended to lay before the House, on the ground that you have reason to believe that the Commissioners had been prejudiced or misinformed or something....

Will you do that for me? (_Naturally Sir Robert is indignant at the proposition, and proposes to call the lady's carriage for her._)

_Sir Robert Chiltern._ You have lived so long abroad, Mrs Cheveley, that you seem to be unable to realise that you are talking to an English gentleman.

_Mrs Cheveley._ (_Detains him by touching his arm with her fan, and keeping it there while she is talking._) I realise that I am talking to a man who laid the foundation of his fortune by selling to a Stock Exchange speculator a Cabinet secret.

This is unfortunately only too true. For, years ago, when secretary to Lord Radley, "a great important minister," Sir Robert has written to Baron Arnheim a letter telling the Baron to buy Suez Ca.n.a.l shares--a letter written three days before the Government announced its own purchase, and which letter also is in Mrs Cheveley's possession! Here is a fine situation with a vengeance! By threatening to publish the scandal and the proofs of it in some leading newspaper, Mrs Cheveley induces the unfortunate Sir Robert to consent to withdraw the report, and state in the House that he believes there are possibilities in the scheme. In return for which she will give him back the compromising letter. So far, so good. She has won her cause. But, true woman as she is, she cannot conceal her triumph from Lady Chiltern as she is leaving the party.

_Lady Chiltern._ Why did you wish to meet my husband, Mrs Cheveley?

_Mrs Cheveley._ Oh, I will tell you. I wanted to interest him in this Argentine Ca.n.a.l Scheme, of which I daresay you have heard. And I found him most susceptible--susceptible to reason,--I mean. A rare thing in a man. I converted him in ten minutes. He is going to make a speech in the House to-morrow night, in favour of the idea.

We must go to the Ladies' Gallery and hear him. It will be a great occasion.

And so she goes gaily away, leaving her hostess perplexed and troubled.

But in weaving her web round the hapless husband, she had not reckoned on the influence of the wife to disentangle it, and set the victim free.

Yet, in a finely-conceived, and equally well-written, scene this is what actually happened. The company have all departed and they are alone together.

_Lady Chiltern._ Robert, it is not true, is it? You are not going to lend your support to this Argentine speculation? You couldn't.

_Sir Robert Chiltern._ (_Starting._) Who told you I intended to do so?

_Lady Chiltern._ That woman who has just gone out.... Robert, I know this woman. You don't. We were at school together.... She was sent away for being a thief. Why do you let her influence you?

Then after much painful probing as to why he has so suddenly changed his att.i.tude towards the scheme, she elicits the reason.

_Sir Robert Chiltern._ But if I told you----

_Lady Chiltern._ What?