An Ideal Husband

AN IDEAL HUSBAND


                                  A PLAY

                                    BY
                               OSCAR WILDE

                                * * * * *

                            METHUEN & CO. LTD.
                           36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
                                  LONDON

                                * * * * *

                _First Published_, _at 1s. net_, _in 1912_

                                * * * * *

_This book was First Published in 1893_

_First Published_ (_Second Edition_) _by      _February_           _1908_
   Methuen & Co._
_Third Edition_                               _October_            _1909_
_Fourth edition_                              _October_            _1910_
_Fifth Edition_                               _May_                _1912_

THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY


THE EARL OF CAVERSHAM, K.G.

VISCOUNT GORING, his Son

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN, Bart., Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs

VICOMTE DE NANJAC, Attaché at the French Embassy in London

MR. MONTFORD

MASON, Butler to Sir Robert Chiltern

PHIPPS, Lord Goring’s Servant

JAMES   }

HAROLD  } Footmen

LADY CHILTERN

LADY MARKBY

THE COUNTESS OF BASILDON

MRS. MARCHMONT

MISS MABEL CHILTERN, Sir Robert Chiltern’s Sister

MRS. CHEVELEY




THE SCENES OF THE PLAY


ACT I.  _The Octagon Room in Sir Robert Chiltern’s House in Grosvenor
Square_.

ACT II.  _Morning-room in Sir Robert Chiltern’s House_.

ACT III.  _The Library of Lord Goring’s House in Curzon Street_.

ACT IV.  _Same as Act II_.

TIME: _The Present_

PLACE: _London_.

     _The action of the play is completed within twenty-four hours_.




THEATRE ROYAL, HAYMARKET


                _Sole Lessee_: _Mr. Herbert Beerbohm Tree_

           _Managers_: _Mr. Lewis Waller and Mr. H. H. Morell_

                          _January_ 3_rd_, 1895

THE EARL OF CAVERSHAM       _Mr. Alfred Bishop_.
VISCOUNT GORING             _Mr. Charles H. Hawtrey_.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN         _Mr. Lewis Waller_.
VICOMTE DE NANJAC           _Mr. Cosmo Stuart_.
MR. MONTFORD                _Mr. Harry Stanford_.
PHIPPS                      _Mr. C. H. Brookfield_.
MASON                       _Mr. H. Deane_.
JAMES                       _Mr. Charles Meyrick_.
HAROLD                      _Mr. Goodhart_.
LADY CHILTERN               _Miss Julia Neilson_.
LADY MARKBY                 _Miss Fanny Brough_.
COUNTESS OF BASILDON        _Miss Vane Featherston_.
MRS. MARCHMONT              _Miss Helen Forsyth_.
MISS MABEL CHILTERN         _Miss Maud Millet_.
MRS. CHEVELEY               _Miss Florence West_.




FIRST ACT


SCENE


_The octagon room at Sir Robert Chiltern’s house in Grosvenor Square_.

[_The room is brilliantly lighted and full of guests_.  _At the top of
the staircase stands_ LADY CHILTERN, _a woman of grave Greek beauty_,
_about twenty-seven years of age_.  _She receives the guests as they come
up_.  _Over the well of the staircase hangs a great chandelier with wax
lights_, _which illumine a large eighteenth-century French
tapestry—representing the Triumph of Love_, _from a design by
Boucher—that is stretched on the staircase wall_.  _On the right is the
entrance to the music-room_.  _The sound of a string quartette is faintly
heard_.  _The entrance on the left leads to other reception-rooms_.  MRS.
MARCHMONT _and_ LADY BASILDON, _two very pretty women_, _are seated
together on a Louis Seize sofa_.  _They are types of exquisite
fragility_.  _Their affectation of manner has a delicate charm_.
_Watteau would have loved to paint them_.]

MRS. MARCHMONT.  Going on to the Hartlocks’ to-night, Margaret?

LADY BASILDON.  I suppose so.  Are you?

MRS. MARCHMONT.  Yes.  Horribly tedious parties they give, don’t they?

LADY BASILDON.  Horribly tedious!  Never know why I go.  Never know why I
go anywhere.

MRS. MARCHMONT.  I come here to be educated.

LADY BASILDON.  Ah! I hate being educated!

MRS. MARCHMONT.  So do I.  It puts one almost on a level with the
commercial classes, doesn’t it?  But dear Gertrude Chiltern is always
telling me that I should have some serious purpose in life.  So I come
here to try to find one.

LADY BASILDON.  [_Looking round through her lorgnette_.]  I don’t see
anybody here to-night whom one could possibly call a serious purpose.
The man who took me in to dinner talked to me about his wife the whole
time.

MRS. MARCHMONT.  How very trivial of him!

LADY BASILDON.  Terribly trivial!  What did your man talk about?

MRS. MARCHMONT.  About myself.

LADY BASILDON.  [_Languidly_.]  And were you interested?

MRS. MARCHMONT.  [_Shaking her head_.]  Not in the smallest degree.

LADY BASILDON.  What martyrs we are, dear Margaret!

MRS. MARCHMONT.  [_Rising_.]  And how well it becomes us, Olivia!

[_They rise and go towards the music-room_.  _The_ VICOMTE DE NANJAC, _a
young attaché known for his neckties and his Anglomania_, _approaches
with a low bow_, _and enters into conversation_.]

MASON.