CAST
Lord Arthur Savile
Miss Sybil Merton
The Dean of Chichester
Lady Windermere
Mr. Septimus Podgers
Lady Clementina Beauchamp
Herr Winckelkopf
London, 1891
ACT ONE
SCENE 1
The conservatory of Lady Windermere’s house.
The sound of music is audible from a nearby room. LORD ARTHUR SAVILE is pacing nervously up and down. Enter SYBIL MERTON.
SYBIL: Lord Arthur?
LORD ARTHUR: Miss Merton! (Pause. They look at each other.) This is one of Lady Windermere’s best receptions, wouldn’t
you say?
SYBIL: It has certainly attracted a remarkable medley of people. I am told the supper room is absolutely crammed
with geniuses.
LORD ARTHUR: Who told you that?
SYBIL: One of the geniuses.
LORD ARTHUR: I saw several Royal Academicians on the staircase.
SYBIL: Really? I thought they were artists.
LORD ARTHUR: The Princess Sophia of Carlsrhue is here. Did you see her wonderful emeralds?
SYBIL: Yes. She is in the picture gallery, talking bad French at the top of her voice, and laughing immoderately
at everything that is said to her. But you did not ask me to join you in the conservatory to talk about the
Princess Sophia of Carlsrhue’s emeralds.
LORD ARTHUR: You are quite right, Miss Merton.
SYBIL: I am always right, Lord Arthur. Your sweet little message said you have something very particular to say to
me in private.
LORD ARTHUR: Indeed I have.
SYBIL: Then I suggest you say it at once. Your note was handed to me while the dear Dean of Chichester was telling
me a fascinating story about a French carriage clock, and I suspect that he may pursue me here to finish his narrative.
LORD ARTHUR: I am not sure that Uncle George’s story of the French carriage clock is quite suitable for the ears
of such a charming young lady as yourself.
SYBIL: Nonsense. How else is a charming young lady like me to protect herself from the wickedness of this world
if she does not learn from such stories as that of the French carriage clock? (She sits down.) Now, Lord Arthur,
what is it that you wish to say to me?
LORD ARTHUR: Miss Merton, you cannot be unaware of the deep admiration I have for you -
SYBIL: Indeed not, Lord Arthur. Your public displays of admiration have excited the most gratifying jealousy on the
part of all my girl-friends. Pray continue.
LORD ARTHUR: Miss Merton, ever since I met you I have regarded you as the ideal of everything I could wish for in a
young lady. For me you are the personification of absolute perfection.
SYBIL: I am pleased to hear it. Perfection is a rare thing in this age of ours, when so many women are either over
life-size or insignificant.
LORD ARTHUR: (Sitting next to her an taking her hand.) The mere touch of your fingers makes every nerve of my body
thrill with exquisite joy.
SYBIL: Yes, Lord Arthur, I am very well aware of the fact. But should you be holding my hand in quite such a familiar manner?
LORD ARTHUR: Miss Merton, I love you to distraction.
SYBIL: Of course you, do, dear boy. How long it has taken you to realise it.
LORD ARTHUR: And you, Miss Merton have led me to believe that you might not be entirely indifferent to me.
SYBIL: I adore you, Arthur.
LORD ARTHUR: Sybil!
SYBIL: Yes, Lord Arthur? (Dropping a cushion on the floor at her feet and pointing to it.) What do you wish to say to me?
LORD ARTHUR: Oh! Um… (He kneels on the cushion.)
SYBIL: Come, Lord Arthur: hesitation in a member of the aristocracy might be construed as a sign of degeneracy.
Am I to infer that the beautiful boyish insouciance which so attracted me to you when we first met is a mask
for some fearful secret sin?
LORD ARTHUR: No, certainly not!
SYBIL: I am sorry to hear that. The reformation of a degenerate husband is the sacred duty of every married woman.
LORD ARTHUR: Oh, Sybil! Darling!
SYBIL: Yes, Lord Arthur?
LORD ARTHUR: Sybil, will you marry me?
SYBIL: Of course I will, dearest.
LORD ARTHUR: Darling! You have made me the happiest man in the world! May I kiss you?
SYBIL: You may. (They kiss.)
Enter the DEAN OF CHICHESTER.
DEAN: Ah, there you are, dear Miss Merton. I was telling you the story of my French carriage clock. Oh! I’m sorry,
Arthur, my boy. I didn’t see you there. Please forgive me.
LORD ARTHUR: (Rising.) It’s all right, Uncle George.
SYBIL: Lord Arthur has just proposed to me, Dean. We are engaged to be married.
DEAN: My dear, how wonderful for you! Congratulations, my boy. (He shakes his hand.)
LORD ARTHUR: You will perform the ceremony, won’t you, Uncle George?
DEAN: Yes, of course I will; I should be delighted. My sermon entitled “Is Licence Liberty?” always produces a
suitably joyful effect on these happy occasions.
Enter LADY WINDERMERE.
LADY WINDERMERE: Has anybody seen my cheiromantist?
DEAN: Dear Lady Windermere, such wonderful news! These two young people are engaged to be married.
LADY WINDERMERE: Engaged to be married?
SYBIL: Lord Arthur has just proposed to me, Lady Windermere, and I have accepted him.
LADY WINDERMERE: Congratulations, my dear. I would advise you to get married as soon as possible. I am not
in favour of long engagements, they give people the opportunity of finding out each other’s character before
marriage, which I think is never advisable.
LORD ARTHUR: I would happily marry Sybil tomorrow!
LADY WINDERMERE: That might be a little too soon, Lord Arthur. It would excite unsavoury gossip in the vulgar
society newspapers. I suggest next month would be suitable.
SYBIL: I shall instruct papa to make the necessary arrangements. If you come round at eleven o’clock tomorrow
morning, Arthur, he will be ready to give you his consent to our marriage one month from today.
LORD ARTHUR: A month! I am not sure I can wait a whole month.
LADY WINDERMERE: Really, Lord Arthur, that seems to me to indicate a somewhat impatient nature.
DEAN: It is merely the pulse and passion of youth, Lady Windermere.
LADY WINDERMERE: Ah, youth! A time of such reckless escapades!
DEAN: Really, Lady Windermere?
LADY WINDERMERE: Yes. The less said about youth, the better. Now, where is my cheiromantist?
SYBIL: Your what, Lady Windermere?
LADY WINDERMERE: My cheiromantist; I can’t live without him at present.
DEAN: Dear Lady Windermere! You are always so original.
SYBIL: (Aside to LORD ARTHUR) I do hope a cheiromantist is not the same as a cheiropodist.
LADY WINDERMERE: He comes to see my hand twice a week regularly, and is most interesting about it.
SYBIL: Good heavens! He is a sort of cheiropodist. How very dreadful. I hope he is a foreigner at any rate. It
wouldn’t be quite so bad then.
LADY WINDERMERE: I must certainly introduce him to you.
SYBIL: Introduce him! You don’t mean to say he is here?
LADY WINDERMERE: Of course he is here; I would not dream of giving a party without him. He tells me I have a pure
psychic hand, and that if my thumb had been the least little bit shorter, I should have been a confirmed pessimist,
and gone into a convent.
SYBIL: Oh, I see! He tells fortunes!
LADY WINDERMERE: And misfortunes, too, any amount of them. For instance, he told poor Lady Fermor, right out
before every one, that she did not care a bit for music, but was extremely fond of musicians.
DEAN: Are people not afraid of what he might reveal about them?
LADY WINDERMERE: Only if they have something to hide. Monsieur Koloff, the Russian Ambassador, entirely declined
to have his past or his future exposed, and nothing I could do would induce him even to take his gloves off.
DEAN: Very sensible. There is no knowing what trifling indiscretions might be exposed to public censure.
LADY WINDERMERE: My dear Dean, nothing looks so like innocence as an indiscretion. Surely you, as a member of the
clergy, are aware of that?
DEAN: Really, Lady Windermere, you do say the most scandalous things.
LADY WINDERMERE: That is the privilege of those who have themselves ceased to be the subject of scandal. Do you know
that next year, I am in great danger, both by land and sea, so I am going to live in a balloon, and draw up my dinner
in a basket every evening. It is all written down on my little finger, or on the palm of my hand, I forget which.
DEAN: It seems to me that cheiromancy is a most dangerous science, and one that ought not to be encouraged.
LADY WINDERMERE: Nonsense, Dean. I think every one should have their hands told once a month, so as to know what not to
do. Of course, one does it all the same, but it is so pleasant to be warned.
DEAN: But is that not tempting Providence, Lady Windermere?
LADY WINDERMERE: My dear Dean, surely Providence can resist temptation by this time. Now if some one doesn’t go and
fetch Mr. Podgers at once, I shall have to go myself.
LORD ARTHUR: Let me go, Lady Windermere.
LADY WINDERMERE: Thanks so much, Lord Arthur; but I am afraid you wouldn’t recognise him.
LORD ARTHUR: If he is as wonderful as you say, Lady Windermere, I couldn’t well miss him. Tell me what he is like,
and I’ll bring him to you at once.
LADY WINDERMERE: Well, he is not a bit like a cheiromantist. I mean he is not mysterious, or esoteric, or romantic-looking.
He looks like something between a family doctor and a country attorney.
SYBIL: How disappointing.
LADY WINDERMERE: I’m really very sorry, but it is not my fault. People are so annoying. All my pianists look exactly
like poets, and all my poets look exactly like pianists; and I remember last season asking a most dreadful conspirator
to dinner, a man who had blown up ever so many people, and always wore a coat of mail, and carried a dagger up his
shirt-sleeve; and do you know that when he came he looked just like a nice old clergyman, and cracked jokes all the
evening? Of course, he was very amusing, and all that, but I was awfully disappointed; and when I asked him about
the coat of mail, he only laughed, and said it was far too cold to wear in England.
Enter MR. PODGERS
Ah, here is Mr. Podgers! Now, Mr. Podgers, I want you to tell Miss Sybil Merton’s hand. Sybil, you must take your glove off. No, not the left hand, the other.
SYBIL: Dear Lady Windermere, I really don’t think it is quite right.
LADY WINDERMERE: Nothing interesting ever is. But I must introduce you. Sybil, this is Mr. Podgers, my pet cheiromantist.
Mr. Podgers, this is Miss Sybil Merton, who has just become engaged to Lord Arthur Savile, and if you say that she has
a larger mountain of the moon than I have, I will never believe in you again.
SYBIL: I am sure there is nothing of the kind in my hand.
PODGERS: (Looking at Sybil’s right hand.) You are quite right, the mountain of the moon is not developed. The line of
life, however, is excellent. Kindly bend the wrist. Thank you. Three distinct lines on the rascette! You will live to
a great age, Miss Merton, and be extremely happy. Ambition - very moderate, line of intellect not exaggerated, line of
heart -
LADY WINDERMERE: Now, do be indiscreet, Mr. Podgers.
PODGERS: Nothing would give me greater pleasure, if Miss Merton ever had been, but I am sorry to say that I see great
permanence of affection, combined with a strong sense of duty.
SYBIL: Pray go on, Mr. Podgers.
PODGERS: You like comfort, and modern improvements, and hot water laid on in every bedroom. You are quite right.
Comfort is the only thing our civilisation can give us.
LADY WINDERMERE: You have told Sybil’s character admirably, Mr. Podgers. And now you must tell the Dean of Chichester’s.
DEAN: Lady Windermere, I really don’t think … a man of the cloth …
LADY WINDERMERE: Nonsense, Dean. Show Mr. Podgers your hand.
PODGERS: (Looking at the Dean’s hand.) A strong Conservative, very punctual, and with a passion for collecting clocks.
Had a severe illness between the ages sixteen and eighteen. Great aversion to cats and Radicals.
DEAN: Extraordinary!
LADY WINDERMERE: There, Dean, what did I tell you? But you must read some more hands for us.
LORD ARTHUR: Would Mr. Podgers read my hand, Lady Windermere?
LADY WINDERMERE: Of course he will! That is what he is here for. But I must warn you beforehand, Lord Arthur, that if
Mr. Podgers finds out that you have a bad temper, or a tendency to gout, or a wife living in Bayswater, I shall
certainly not let Sybil marry you!
LORD ARTHUR: I am not afraid. Sybil knows me as well as I know her.
LADY WINDERMERE: Ah! I am a little sorry to hear you say that. The proper basis for marriage is a mutual misunderstanding.
DEAN: Aren’t you being rather cynical, Lady Windermere?
LADY WINDERMERE: No, I am not at all cynical, I have merely got experience, which, however, is very much the same thing.
Now, Mr. Podgers, be sure and tell us something nice. Lord Arthur is one of my special favourites.
(PODGERS looks at Lord Arthur’s right hand, then his left, and shudders.)
LORD ARTHUR: I am waiting, Mr. Podgers.
LADY WINDERMERE: We are all waiting. Why, Mr. Podgers, you have gone quite pale. What do you see in Lord Arthur’s hand?
(PODGERS quickly recovers his sang-froid, and looks up at Lady Windermere with a forced smile.)
PODGERS: It is the hand of a charming young man.
LADY WINDERMERE: Of course it is! But will he be a charming husband? That is what I want to know.
PODGERS: All charming young men are.
LADY WINDERMERE: But what I want are details. Details are the only things that interest. What is going to happen
to Lord Arthur?
PODGERS: Well, within the next few months Lord Arthur will go on a voyage.
LADY WINDERMERE: Oh yes, his honeymoon, of course!
PODGERS: And lose a relative.
LADY WINDERMERE: Not a close relative, I hope?
PODGERS: A distant relative merely.
LADY WINDERMERE: Well, I am dreadfully disappointed. No one cares about distant relatives nowadays. They went out
of fashion years ago. However, I suppose Sybil had better have a black silk by her; it always does for church,
you know. And now let us go to supper. They are sure to have eaten everything up, but we may find some hot soup.
Francois used to make excellent soup once, but he is so agitated about politics at present, that I never feel
quite certain about him. Sybil, I am sure you are tired?
SYBIL: Not at all, dear Lady Windermere. I have enjoyed myself immensely, and the cheiropodist, I mean the
cheiromantist, is most interesting.
DEAN: (Offering her his arm.) Allow me, miss Merton.
SYBIL: Thank you, Dean.
DEAN: Now, I was telling you about my French carriage clock….
(Exit DEAN with SYBIL.)
LADY WINDERMERE: Come along, Lord Arthur.
LORD ARTHUR: I shall follow you in a moment, Lady Windermere.
LADY WINDERMERE: Well mind that you do, or I shall tell Sybil that you have lost interest in her.
(Exit LADY WINDERMERE with MR. PODGERS. LORD ARTHUR stares intently at the palm of his hand, then shakes his head
in despair.)
LORD ARTHUR: What did he see? Could it be that written on my hand, in characters that I cannot read myself, is
some terrible tragedy?
(Re-enter MR. PODGERS.)
PODGERS: Oh! Lord Arthur! Lady Windermere has left her fan here, and has asked me to bring it to her. Ah, I
see it on the seat! Good evening.
LORD ARTHUR: Mr. Podgers, I must insist on your giving me a straightforward answer to a question I am going
to put to you.
PODGERS: Another time, Lord Arthur. Lady Windermere is anxious, and I am afraid I must go.
LORD ARTHUR: (Blocking his way.) You shall not go. Lady Windermere is in no hurry.
PODGERS: Ladies should not be kept waiting, Lord Arthur, The fair sex is apt to be impatient.
LORD ARTHUR: (Holding his hand out.) Tell me what you saw there. Tell me the truth. I must know it. I am not a child.
PODGERS: What makes you think that I saw anything in your hand, Lord Arthur, more than I told you?
LORD ARTHUR: I know you did, and I insist on your telling me what it was. I will pay you.
PODGERS: How much?
LORD ARTHUR: I will give you a cheque for a hundred pounds.
PODGERS: Guineas?
LORD ARTHUR: Certainly. I will send you the cheque to-morrow. What is your address?
PODGERS: Allow me to give you my card. (He hands his card to Lord Arthur with a low bow.) My hours are from ten to
four, and I make a reduction for families.
LORD ARTHUR: (Holding his hand out.) Be quick.
PODGERS: It will take a little time, Lord Arthur, you had better sit down.
LORD ARTHUR: Be quick, sir.
PODGERS: (He puts down Lady Windermere’s fan.) I am quite ready. (He studies Lord Arthur’s right hand, followed by
his left.)
LORD ARTHUR: Well?
PODGERS: You have lived the delicate and luxurious life of a young man of birth and fortune, a life exquisite in
its freedom from sordid care.
LORD ARTHUR: I know that already. What is there in my destiny that made you shudder, and turned your face to a
white mask of horror?
PODGERS: Are you sure you wish me to tell you, Lord Arthur?
LORD ARTHUR: Absolutely.
PODGERS: Very well. Written in your hand is the blood-red sign of crime.
LORD ARTHUR: Crime? Ridiculous! What crime?
PODGERS: You are destined to commit a murder.
LORD ARTHUR: Murder!
PODGERS: Yes. Murder.
LORD ARTHUR: You are certain? You could not be mistaken?
PODGERS: No. I am never wrong. We are all predestined to our end, Lord Arthur; vessels the potter fashions at his fancy,
for honour or for shame.
LORD ARTHUR: Yes, already I have a sickening sense of coming evil, the feeling that some tragedy is hanging over me; that
I have been suddenly called upon to bear an intolerable burden.
PODGERS: The world is a stage, Lord Arthur, but the play is badly cast. We are merely puppets in a monstrous show.
LORD ARTHUR: Actors are so fortunate. They can choose whether they will appear in tragedy or in comedy, whether they
will suffer or make merry, laugh or shed tears.
PODGERS: But in real life it is different. Most men and women are forced to perform parts for which they have no
qualifications.
LORD ARTHUR: Is there no escape possible?
PODGERS: None. That is the terrible mystery of Destiny, the awful meaning of Doom.
LORD ARTHUR: It’s mad! Monstrous! (He looks at his hands.) And yet already I seem to see the stain of blood upon
my hands! No! My reason revolts against it! I cannot stay here! I must get out! I must have time to think!
(LORD ARTHUR rushes out. PODGERS picks up Lady Windermere’s fan. Enter LADY WINDERMERE.)
LADY WINDERMERE: Mr. Podgers, how long you have been. Everyone is asking where you are. Have you found my fan?
PODGERS: Yes, Lady Windermere, I have it here. (He gives her the fan.)
LADY WINDERMERE: Thank you. Where is Lord Arthur?
PODGERS: He … had to leave.
LADY WINDERMERE: Leave? That was rather sudden, wasn’t it?
PODGERS: Yes, indeed, Lady Windermere. Urgent business, I believe. So sorry. I must go myself. Please excuse me. Such a pleasant evening. Thank you so much.
LADY WINDERMERE: You can’t go yet, Mr. Podgers. I want you to read Lady Flora’s hand. Such an awkward girl. An excellent pianist, but hardly a musician.
PODGERS: Perhaps next time, Lady Windermere. Please accept my most humble apologies. Good night.
(Exit.)
LADY WINDERMERE: How very provoking!
(Enter SYBIL.)
SYBIL: Lady Windermere, have you seen Arthur?
LADY WINDERMERE: He had to leave - quite suddenly.
SYBIL: He said nothing to me about leaving early. Perhaps he has some dark secret after all. How exciting. I had always
thought of him as such an open book.
LADY WINDERMERE: All men are open books, Sybil; but a woman must learn not to read too much between the lines.
SYBIL: But Arthur has such a highly moral character.
LADY WINDERMERE: It is a lamentable fact that young men of a highly moral character are never happier than when
suspected of disreputable tendencies.
SYBIL: I am sure that cannot be true of Arthur. Did you and Lord Windermere have secrets from each other?
LADY WINDERMERE: Of course we did. One of the charms of marriage is that it makes a life of deception absolutely
necessary for both parties.
SYBIL: I am sure that Arthur and I will have no secrets from each other.
LADY WINDERMERE: Ah, we all begin like that, my dear, but experience soon shows us the error of our ways. After
the first two years of our marriage I never knew what Windermere was doing, and he never knew where I was.
On the occasions that we dined together we would tell each other the most absurd stories with the most serious faces.
Windermere was not very good at it - he used to get confused over his dates.
SYBIL: Did you make a row when you found him out?
LADY WINDERMERE: No. I just laughed at him. Men hate that.
SYBIL: I believe you were probably a very good wife, Lady Windermere, but that you are thoroughly ashamed of your own
virtues.
LADY WINDERMERE: Perhaps. Unfortunately, nowadays, virtue is no basis for a lasting reputation in respectable society.
SYBIL: But where has Arthur gone? You don’t suppose your chieropodist told him something else after we went in to supper
do you? I passed him as I came in here, and he looked quite agitated.
LADY WINDERMERE: Mr. Podgers was certainly most anxious to leave.
SYBIL: Perhaps he told Arthur something that upset him.
LADY WINDERMERE: That is better than telling him something that would upset you, my dear. He told dear Lady Jedburgh
that she would go on the stage. She was quite delighted with the idea, but her husband was so incensed that I had to
take Mr. Podgers away immediately.
SYBIL: I shall make it my mission to find out what Mr. Podgers has told Arthur.
LADY WINDERMERE: Believe me, Sybil, you would be better advised to ignore the whole thing and take him abroad
as soon as you are married. Venice is quite charming at this time of year. In the mornings you can ride on the
Lido, or glide up and down the canals in those long black gondolas, and in the afternoon you can entertain visitors,
then dine at Florian’s in the evening. That will soon dispel any worries about what Mr. Podgers may have told Lord Arthur.
Now, I must get back to my other guests, and you must come to lunch with me tomorrow to talk about bonnets.
SYBIL: How very kind of you, Lady Windermere. I should love to.
(Exeunt.)
SCENE 2
Mr. Podgers’ Consulting Room on West Moon Street.
Enter MR. PODGERS, showing in LORD ARTHUR SAVILE.
PODGERS: Lord, Arthur! This is an honour. I had not expected you to bring your cheque personally.
LORD ARTHUR: I have come for another consultation, Mr. Podgers.
PODGERS: But, Lord Arthur, there is nothing more that I can tell you.
LORD ARTHUR: (Handing Podgers the cheque.) You will see that the cheque is made out for two hundred guineas.
PODGERS: Well, I will do what I can for you, of course. Please do sit down.
LORD ARTHUR: (Sits down and holds out his hand.)There is something I must know.
PODGERS: (Examining the hand.) What is that, Lord Arthur?
LORD ARTHUR: Who is my destined victim?
PODGERS: I am most terribly sorry, but that is not revealed in your hand.
LORD ARTHUR: It’s not Sybil, is it?
PODGERS: Oh, no, Lord Arthur. Miss Merton’s line of life is strong. You need not fear for her.
LORD ARTHUR: Well, that, at any rate, is a blessing. But how can I marry her with the doom of murder hanging
over my head?
PODGERS: You might have many years of happiness together before you are called upon to carry out the prophecy
written in your hand.
LORD ARTHUR: But what manner of life would be ours while Fate still held that fearful fortune in the scales?
Her father agreed to our marriage this morning, but if I do not fulfil my destiny within the next month I feel
it will be my duty to postpone the wedding until I have done the murder.
PODGERS: I do admire your sense of duty, Lord Arthur.
LORD ARTHUR: I admit that at first I had a natural repugnance against what I am required to do, but it soon passed
away. My heart told me that it is not a sin but a sacrifice. There is no other course open.
PODGERS: (Looking at Lord Arthur’s hand again.) It is fortunate for you that you are no mere dreamer or idle
dilettante, my lord. You do not hesitate like Hamlet, and let irresolution mar your purpose. You are essentially
practical. Life, to you, means action rather than thought. You have that rarest of all things, common sense.
LORD ARTHUR: I admit that I look back with shame on my turbid feelings of last night, my mad wanderings through
the streets, my fierce emotional agony.
PODGERS: The very sincerity of your sufferings makes them seem unreal to you now.
LORD ARTHUR: I wonder how I could have been so foolish as to rant and rave about the inevitable.
PODGERS: Quite so, Lord Arthur. We are no better than chessmen, moved by an unseen power.
LORD ARTHUR: The only question that troubles me now is whom to make away with.
PODGERS: Ah, yes. Murder, like the religions of the Pagan world, requires a victim as well as a priest. Do
you have any enemies, Lord Arthur?
LORD ARTHUR: None that I am aware of. In any case, I feel that this is not the time for the gratification of
personal pique or dislike. My mission is one of great and grave solemnity.
PODGERS: As I told you last night, your hand does indicate the death of a distant relative. Do you have any
elderly or ailing relations? Perhaps you could expedite matters and bring one of them to a happy release?
LORD ARTHUR: Well, I am not sure … I suppose there is Lady Clem.
PODGERS: Who?
LORD ARTHUR: Lady Clementina Beauchamp, a dear old lady who lives in Curzon Street, and is my second cousin by
my mother’s side.
PODGERS: Would you derive any vulgar monetary advantage from her death, Lord Arthur?
LORD ARTHUR: None at all. Why do you ask?
PODGERS: It would be better if you had no motive for killing her.
LORD ARTHUR: Oh, I see. No, I have always been very fond of Lady Clem. In fact, the more I think over the matter,
the more she seems to me to be just the right person.
PODGERS: Then I suggest you make your arrangements at once, Lord Arthur.
LORD ARTHUR: The problem is, I find anything like personal violence extremely distasteful.
PODGERS: It might also attract public attention.
LORD ARTHUR: Yes. I should hate to be lionised at Lady Windermere’s, or see my name figuring in the vulgar society
newspapers.
PODGERS: And there is Miss Merton to consider, and, of course, her family.
LORD ARTHUR: Quite. Her father is rather old-fashioned, and might object to the marriage if there were anything
like a scandal. I need a method which does away with the necessity of painful scenes: something safe, sure and quiet.
PODGERS: May I suggest that poison would be the best means to adopt in this troublesome business?
LORD ARTHUR: The very thing! The problem is, I know absolutely nothing of the science of poisons.
PODGERS: I think I might be able to help you there, my lord. (He fetches a book.) Erskine’s Toxicology, edited by
Sir Matthew Reid, the President of the Royal College of Physicians.
LORD ARTHUR: Really? Isn’t that rather an odd book for a cheiromantist?
PODGERS: It was my mother’s. She had a violent aversion to small rodents.
LORD ARTHUR: Oh! I see. (He looks through the book.) There seem to be rather a lot of technical terms. How I wish
I had paid more attention to my classics at Oxford. Wait a minute, what’s this? Aconite … swift … indeed almost
immediate in its effect … perfectly painless - good, I would not wish Lady Clem to suffer - and when taken in the
form of a gelatine capsule, not by any means unpalatable.
PODGERS: That would seem to be exactly the poison you need, my lord.
LORD ARTHUR: Yes. But how to obtain it?
PODGERS: May I suggest Pestle and Humbey’s, the chemists on St. James’s Street?
LORD ARTHUR: But doesn’t one require a medical certificate, or something of the sort, to obtain poisons?
PODGERS: Ask for Mr. Pestle himself, he is always most obliging, and never made any difficulty with mother.
He will be only too willing to supply your need if you offer a plausible explanation for requiring the poison.
LORD ARTHUR: The extermination of rats, perhaps?
PODGERS: Or possibly a large dog, to justify the amount of aconite necessary for a fatal dose.
LORD ARTHUR: How about a Norwegian mastiff?
PODGERS: The very thing. You might also create some circumstantial detail to add verisimilitude to your request.
LORD ARTHUR: I could say that it shows signs of incipient rabies.
PODGERS: Exactly so.
LORD ARTHUR: And has already bitten the coachman twice in the calf of the leg.
PODGERS: You are really getting into the spirit of the exercise. Lord Arthur.
LORD ARTHUR: Thank you, Mr. Podgers. You have been most helpful.
PODGERS: Always happy to oblige, my lord.
LORD ARTHUR: Good day to you. I will see myself out.
PODGERS: Good day, Lord Arthur.
LORD ARTHUR: I don’t think we shall be seeing each other again.
(Exit LORD ARTHUR. PODGERS looks at Lord Arthur’s cheque and smiles.)
PODGERS: I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Lord Arthur!
SCENE 3
A room in Lady Clementina Beauchamp’s house on Curzon Street.
Enter LORD ARTHUR SAVILE and LADY CLEMENTINA BEAUCHAMP.
LADY CLEMENTINA: Well, you naughty boy, why haven’t you been to see me all this time?
LORD ARTHUR: My dear Lady Clem, I never have a moment to myself.
LADY CLEMENTINA: I am not surprised. I hear you have become engaged to Miss Sybil Merton - and about time too!
LORD ARTHUR: Whoever told you that?
LADY CLEMENTINA: Lady Jansen called on me yesterday to announce the news.
LORD ARTHUR: Lady Jansen would make an excellent correspondent for the society newspapers.
LADY CLEMENTINA: You shouldn’t mock the society newspapers, Arthur. They are the only truly original works of
fiction left to us nowadays. But why haven’t you brought Sybil to see me?
LORD ARTHUR: She is visiting her milliners, Lady Clem. As far as I can make out, she belongs entirely to her milliners.
LADY CLEMENTINA: And I suppose you go about all day long with her, buying bonnets and talking nonsense? I cannot
understand why young people make such a fuss about being married. In my day we never dreamed of billing and
cooing in public, or in private for that matter.
LORD ARTHUR: I assure you I have not seen Sybil for twenty-four hours, Lady Clem.
LADY CLEMENTINA: Of course; that is the only reason you come to see a poor rheumatic creature like myself, with a
false front and a bad temper. Why, if it were not for dear Lady Jansen, who brings me all the worst French novels
she can find, I don’t think I could get through the day. Doctors are no use at all, except to get fees out of one.
They can’t even cure my heartburn.
LORD ARTHUR: I have brought you a cure for that, Lady Clem. It is a wonderful thing, invented by an American.
LADY CLEMENTINA: I don’t think I like American inventions, Arthur. I am quite sure I don’t. I remember poor Dartmoor
married an American girl.
LORD ARTHUR: Was she pretty?
LADY CLEMENTINA: She behaved as if she was beautiful. Most American women do. Why can’t they stay in their own country?
They are always telling us that it is the Paradise for women.
LORD ARTHUR: Perhaps that is the reason why, like Eve, they are so excessively anxious to get out of it.
LADY CLEMENTINA: And she had no family to speak of. Her father kept an American dry-goods store!
LORD ARTHUR: What are American dry-goods?
LADY CLEMENTINA: American novels, I shouldn’t wonder. I read an American novel lately, and it was quite nonsensical.
LORD ARTHUR: Oh, but there is no nonsense at all about this, Lady Clem! I assure you it is a perfect cure. You must
promise to try it. (He brings a little box out of his pocket, and hands it to her.)
LADY CLEMENTINA: Well, the box is charming, Arthur. Is it really a present? That is very sweet of you. And is this
the wonderful medicine? It looks like a bonbon. I’ll take it at once.
LORD ARTHUR: Good heavens! Lady Clem, (He catches hold of her hand.) you mustn’t do anything of the kind. It is a
homoeopathic medicine, and if you take it without having heartburn, it might do you no end of harm. Wait till you have
an attack, and take it then.
You will be astonished at the result.
LADY CLEMENTINA: I should like to take it. I am sure it is delicious. The fact is that, though I hate doctors, I love medicines. However, I’ll keep it till my next attack.
LORD ARTHUR: And when will that be? Will it be soon?
LADY CLEMENTINA: I hope not for a week. I had a very bad time yesterday morning with it. But one never knows.
LORD ARTHUR: You are sure to have one before the end of the month then, Lady Clem?
LADY CLEMENTINA: I am afraid so. But how sympathetic you are to-day, Arthur! Really, Sybil has done you a great deal of good. And now you must run away, for I am dining with some very dull people, who won’t talk scandal, and I know that if I don’t get my sleep now I shall never be able to keep awake during dinner. Good-bye, Arthur, give my love to Sybil, and thank you so much for the American medicine.
LORD ARTHUR: You won’t forget to take it, Lady Clem, will you?
LADY CLEMENTINA: Of course I won’t, you silly boy. I think it is most kind of you
to think of me, and I shall write and tell you if I want any more.
(Exeunt.)
SCENE 4
The conservatory of Lady Windermere’s house.
Enter LADY WINDERMERE, THE DEAN OF CHICHESTER and SYBIL MERTON.
LADY WINDERMERE: Where is Lord Arthur, Sybil? I had expected him to be with you. There will be ample time for you
to avoid each other after you are married.
SYBIL: He will be joining us later, Lady Windermere. He had to call on Lady Clem’s solicitor.
LADY WINDERMERE: Lady Clem?
SYBIL: Lady Clementina Beauchamp.
LADY WINDERMERE: Ah! of course. I had completely forgotten about her. She has not been seen much in society lately.
SYBIL: I am afraid she will never be seen again, Lady Windermere. She died quite suddenly on the night of the 17th.
LADY WINDERMERE: I cannot say that I am surprised. When one is tired of society, one is usually tired of life. But
what has this to do with Lord Arthur?
DEAN: Lady Clem was a distant relative of his on his mother’s side.
LADY WINDERMERE: So Mr Podgers was right!
DEAN: Podgers? Do you mean that fortune-telling chap?
LADY WINDERMERE: Yes. He foretold the death of one of Lord Arthur’s relatives.
DEAN: So he did. I’m glad it didn’t turn out to be me!
LADY WINDERMERE: Of what did she die? Some form of creeping boredom, I should imagine.
DEAN: Not at all, Lady Windermere. On the night in question, she dined with the Duchess of Paisley, where I understand
she delighted every one by her wit and esprit.
SYBIL: She went home somewhat early, complaining of heartburn, and in the morning she was found dead in her bed.
DEAN: Sir Mathew Reid was sent for at once, but, of course, there was nothing to be done.
SYBIL: Apparently she suffered no pain.
DEAN: She is to be buried on the 22nd at Beauchamp Chalcote, where I shall have the melancholy duty of performing
the ceremony. My sermon on “Is Licence Liberty?” always produces a suitably mournful effect on these sad occasions.
SYBIL: But, Dean, is that not the sermon you are proposing to use at our wedding on the 24th?
DEAN: It is adaptable to all occasions, my dear, either happy, or, as in the present case, sad.
LADY WINDERMERE: But none of this explains why Lord Arthur has to call so urgently upon Lady Clementina’s solicitor.
SYBIL: Something to do with her will, I believe. I am sure Arthur will enlighten us when he gets here. He was
particularly fond of Lady Clem.
LADY WINDERMERE: He must be very upset by her death.
SYBIL: Strangely, not. He seemed to have been somewhat preoccupied over the past few weeks, and I was becoming most
concerned about him. I suspected that he really was concealing some terrible secret. But when he received the news of
Lady Clem’s death, it was as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders.
LADY WINDERMERE: Mr. Podger’s prediction!
SYBIL: What do you mean?
LADY WINDERMERE: Lord Arthur must have been preoccupied with Mr. Podgers’ prediction that he would lose a relative, and when Lady Clementina died he had nothing more to worry about.
SYBIL: Of course. How clever of you, Lady Windermere. You have quite set my mind at rest.
(Enter LORD ARTHUR SAVILE.)
LORD ARTHUR: So sorry to be late, Lady Windermere.
LADY WINDERMERE: I think I may forgive you on this occasion, Lord Arthur. Sybil has been telling me about your sad loss.
LORD ARTHUR: Sad loss?
LADY WINDERMERE: Lady Clementina Beauchamp.
LORD ARTHUR: Oh! Lady Clem! Yes. Sad. Very sad. Mr. Podgers has a great deal to answer for.
LADY WINDERMERE: Mr. Podgers?
LORD ARTHUR: Yes. I can’t help thinking that if he had not predicted that I would … lose a distant relative,
Lady Clem would still be alive.
LADY WINDERMERE: Mr. Podgers does not make things happen, he merely foretells events that are predestined.
DEAN: I cannot approve of Mr. Podgers and his absurd views of life. They smack rather too much of the impious
doctrines of the Calvinists; doctrines against which I have argued vehemently in five of my published sermons.
LADY WINDERMERE: Perhaps we should leave such metaphysical speculations for the radical newspapers to wrangle
about, I am told that they do it so well.
SYBIL: About what did Lady Clem’s solicitor wish to see you, Arthur?
LORD ARTHUR: A few days before she died she made her will, and left me her little house in Curzon Street, and
all her furniture, personal effects, and pictures
DEAN: She was always extremely fond of you, my boy.
SYBIL: She left you everything?
LORD ARTHUR: Yes, with the exception of her collection of miniatures, which is to go to her sister, Lady Margaret
Rufford, and her amethyst necklace, which she has left to you, Sybil.
SYBIL: How sweet of her.
LADY WINDERMERE: I hope you do not intend to wear the necklace, Sybil. Amethysts always make one look so old.
SYBIL: Lady Jedburgh wears amethysts all the time.
LADY WINDERMERE: And as a result, she has looked middle-aged ever since she was seventeen. But tell me, is Lady
Clementina’s estate of much value?
LORD ARTHUR: Sadly, not, Lady Windermere.
SYBIL: Then why was Mr. Mansfield, so anxious for you to call on him?
LORD ARTHUR: Unfortunately, there are a great many bills to be paid.
DEAN: Dear Lady Clem never kept any regular accounts.
LADY WINDERMERE: That is the trouble with distant relatives. They are of no use to one when they are alive, and
yet when they die they become a financial burden.
SYBIL: Will you have to pay all her bills, Arthur?
LORD ARTHUR: Mr. Mansfield thinks not. The sale of the house and effects should cover the outstanding debts,
together with his fees.
LADY WINDERMERE: Like all solicitors, I imagine he will help you to sort out your inheritance and then keep it for himself.
LORD ARTHUR: He suggested that I should look through her effects and remove any items of a personal nature that
I might like to keep as mementoes. He has given me Lady Clem’s keys and suggested that I should look over the
property as soon as possible.
LADY WINDERMERE: No doubt he is anxious for you to settle his account as soon as possible.
LORD ARTHUR: I thought I might go round there now, if you will excuse me, Lady Windermere?
SYBIL: I shall come with you, Arthur.
LORD ARTHUR: Are you sure, Sybil? It will be a melancholy visit.
SYBIL: I feel it is my duty to help you in this, as Lady Clem was so kind as to leave me her amethyst necklace.
LORD ARTHUR: Very well. Good day, Lady Windermere; Uncle George.
LADY WINDERMERE: Good bye, Lord Arthur, Sybil. Don’t forget, I expect you for dinner this evening.
SYBIL: We won’t forget, Lady Windermere. Good bye.
(Exeunt LORD ARTHUR and SYBIL.)
DEAN: It is pleasant, is it not, to see two young people with such a strong sense of duty?
LADY WINDERMERE: Yes, duty is always an admirable quality in other people.
DEAN: So many young people nowadays imagine that money is everything.
LADY WINDERMERE: And when they grow old they know it is.
DEAN: Lady Windermere, I believe that you delight in saying shocking things.
LADY WINDERMERE: Only because I do not believe a word of them, Dean.
(Exeunt.)
SCENE 5
A room in Lady Clementina Beauchamp’s house on Curzon Street.
Enter SYBIL MERTON with a box containing an amethyst necklace and LORD ARTHUR SAVILE with a sheaf of papers.
SYBIL: I know this amethyst necklace will make me look hideously old, but I feel it is my duty to wear it at Lady Clem’s funeral. What do you think, Arthur?
LORD ARTHUR: It might be appropriate, Sybil.
SYBIL: What have you there?
LORD ARTHUR: Bills. I cannot work out which have been paid and which have not.
SYBIL: Why don’t you leave them for Mr. Mansfield to sort out? After all, he will charge an exorbitant fee for his services, so he might as well earn it.
LORD ARTHUR: Perhaps you are right, dearest.
SYBIL: (Picks up the silver bonbonniere that Arthur gave to Lady Clementina.) Oh, how pretty!
LORD ARTHUR: What have you found, Sybil?
SYBIL: This lovely little silver bonbonniere. Isn’t it quaint and Dutch? Do give it to me! After all,
I know amethysts won’t become me till I am over eighty.
LORD ARTHUR: Of course you can have it, Sybil. I gave it to poor Lady Clem myself.
SYBIL: Oh! thank you, Arthur; and may I have the bonbon too? I had no notion that Lady Clementina liked
sweets. I thought she was far too intellectual.
LORD ARTHUR: Bonbon, Sybil? What do you mean?
SYBIL: There is one in it, that is all.
LORD ARTHUR: She didn’t take it!
SYBIL: Of course she didn’t, you silly boy. It looks quite delicious. I wonder what it tastes like.
LORD ARTHUR: Sybil! No! (He grabs the capsule from her and throws it away.)
SYBIL: Arthur!
LORD ARTHUR: You wouldn’t have liked it, Sybil. It was a medicine. For Lady Clem’s heartburn. It tasted horrible.
SYBIL: I had not the slightest intention of eating it. It looked quite old and dusty. What is the matter with you,
Arthur? How white you look!
LORD ARTHUR: Sybil, I suddenly find myself in a position of terrible difficulty.
SYBIL: What do you mean?
LORD ARTHUR: It is a position from which my duty will not allow me to recede.
SYBIL: If your duty calls, then of course you must obey. Will you be back in time for dinner this evening?
Lady Windermere is expecting us.
LORD ARTHUR: No, you don’t understand, Sybil. We must put off our marriage for the present.
SYBIL: But all the arrangements have been made.
LORD ARTHUR: Nevertheless, it must be postponed. Until I have got rid of my fearful entanglements, I am not a free man.
SYBIL: What entanglements, Arthur? You are beginning to alarm me. You don’t really have a wife in Bayswater, do you?
LORD ARTHUR: No! Of course not! It is nothing like that. I implore you to trust me, Sybil.
SYBIL: How can I trust you if you will not tell me what is the matter?
LORD ARTHUR: You must have no doubts about our future together. You will just have to trust me and be patient.
SYBIL: It is very difficult to trust you when you will not tell me anything, Arthur.
LORD ARTHUR: Believe me, Sybil, I would tell you if I could. It is a matter of honour and duty.
SYBIL: How long must we postpone our marriage?
LORD ARTHUR: A few weeks - a month perhaps.
SYBIL: A whole month! Mother’s new dress, which she ordered specially, will be quite out of fashion.
LORD ARTHUR: I know it is a long time, Sybil, but it is necessary, believe me. It is my love for you that makes the
postponement necessary.
SYBIL: I am sorry, Arthur, but this really is too much. How can I believe that you love me if you will not confide in me?
LORD ARTHUR: Everything will come right, dearest, believe me, but there is something I must do first.
SYBIL: Then you had better go and do it, Arthur. And when you have done it be so good as to let me know, and I will
decide whether or not I still wish to marry you!
(Exit.)
LORD ARTHUR: Sybil! Oh, how tempting it would be to go on as if there were no such person as Mr. Podgers in the world.
But that would be to play the coward’s part. To wreck so fair a life as Sybil’s for a few months pleasure, would be a
wrong thing to do. To marry her, with the predestined horror of murder hanging over my head, would be a betrayal like
that of Judas, a sin worse than any the Borgia ever dreamed of. My conscience will not allow it. Before I marry Sybil,
my duty demands that I commit the murder!
(CURTAIN.)
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