An Ideal Husband - 2

sir robert chiltern.  Believe me, Mrs. Cheveley, it is a swindle.  Let us call things by their proper names.  It makes matters simpler.  We have all the information about it at the Foreign Office.  In fact, 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.  The whole thing is a second Panama, and with not a quarter of the chance of success that miserable affair ever had.  I hope you have not invested in it.  I am sure you are far too clever to have done that.
mrs. cheveley.  I have invested very largely in it.
sir robert chiltern.  Who could have advised you to do such a foolish thing?
mrs. cheveley.  Your old friend—and mine.
sir robert chiltern.  Who?
mrs. cheveley.  Baron Arnheim.
sir robert chiltern.  [Frowning.]  Ah! yes.  I remember hearing, at the time of his death, that he had been mixed up in the whole affair.
mrs. cheveley.  It was his last romance.  His last but one, to do him justice.
sir robert chiltern.  [Rising.]  But you have not seen my Corots yet.  They are in the music-room.  Corots seem to go with music, don’t they?  May I show them to you?
mrs. cheveley.  [Shaking her head.]  I am not in a mood to-night for silver twilights, or rose-pink dawns.  I want to talk business.  [Motions to him with her fan to sit down again beside her.]
sir robert chiltern.  I fear I have no advice to give you, Mrs. Cheveley, except to interest yourself in something less dangerous.  The success of the Canal depends, of course, on the attitude of England, and I am going to lay the report of the Commissioners before the House to-morrow night.
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 reasons to believe that the Commissioners have been prejudiced or misinformed, or something.  Then I want you to say a few words to the effect that the Government is going to reconsider the question, and that you have reason to believe that the Canal, if completed, will be of great international value.  You know the sort of things ministers say in cases of this kind.  A few ordinary platitudes will do.  In modern life nothing produces such an effect as a good platitude.  It makes the whole world kin.  Will you do that for me?
sir robert chiltern.  Mrs. Cheveley, you cannot be serious in making me such a proposition!
mrs. cheveley.  I am quite serious.
sir robert chiltern.  [Coldly.]  Pray allow me to believe that you are not.
mrs. cheveley.  [Speaking with great deliberation and emphasis.]  Ah! but I am.  And if you do what I ask you, I . . . will pay you very handsomely!
sir robert chiltern.  Pay me!
mrs. cheveley.  Yes.
sir robert chiltern.  I am afraid I don’t quite understand what you mean.
mrs. cheveley.  [Leaning back on the sofa and looking at him.]  How very disappointing!  And I have come all the way from Vienna in order that you should thoroughly understand me.
sir robert chiltern.  I fear I don’t.
mrs. cheveley.  [In her most nonchalant manner.]  My dear Sir Robert, you are a man of the world, and you have your price, I suppose.  Everybody has nowadays.  The drawback is that most people are so dreadfully expensive.  I know I am.  I hope you will be more reasonable in your terms.
sir robert chiltern.  [Rises indignantly.]  If you will allow me, I will call your carriage for you.  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.
sir robert chiltern.  [Biting his lip.]  What do you mean?
mrs. cheveley.  [Rising and facing him.]  I mean that I know the real origin of your wealth and your career, and I have got your letter, too.
sir robert chiltern.  What letter?
mrs. cheveley.  [Contemptuously.]  The letter you wrote to Baron Arnheim, when you were Lord Radley’s secretary, telling the Baron to buy Suez Canal shares—a letter written three days before the Government announced its own purchase.
sir robert chiltern.  [Hoarsely.]  It is not true.
mrs. cheveley.  You thought that letter had been destroyed.  How foolish of you!  It is in my possession.
sir robert chiltern.  The affair to which you allude was no more than a speculation.  The House of Commons had not yet passed the bill; it might have been rejected.
mrs. cheveley.  It was a swindle, Sir Robert.  Let us call things by their proper names.  It makes everything simpler.  And now I am going to sell you that letter, and the price I ask for it is your public support of the Argentine scheme.  You made your own fortune out of one canal.  You must help me and my friends to make our fortunes out of another!
sir robert chiltern.  It is infamous, what you propose—infamous!
mrs. cheveley.  Oh, no!  This is the game of life as we all have to play it, Sir Robert, sooner or later!
sir robert chiltern.  I cannot do what you ask me.
mrs. cheveley.  You mean you cannot help doing it.  You know you are standing on the edge of a precipice.  And it is not for you to make terms.  It is for you to accept them.  Supposing you refuse—
sir robert chiltern.  What then?
mrs. cheveley.  My dear Sir Robert, what then?  You are ruined, that is all!  Remember to what a point your Puritanism in England has brought you.  In old days nobody pretended to be a bit better than his neighbours.  In fact, to be a bit better than one’s neighbour was considered excessively vulgar and middle-class.  Nowadays, with our modern mania for morality, every one has to pose as a paragon of purity, incorruptibility, and all the other seven deadly virtues—and what is the result?  You all go over like ninepins—one after the other.  Not a year passes in England without somebody disappearing.  Scandals used to lend charm, or at least interest, to a man—now they crush him.  And yours is a very nasty scandal. You couldn’t survive it.  If it were known that as a young man, secretary to a great and important minister, you sold a Cabinet secret for a large sum of money, and that that was the origin of your wealth and career, you would be hounded out of public life, you would disappear completely.  And after all, Sir Robert, why should you sacrifice your entire future rather than deal diplomatically with your enemy?  For the moment I am your enemy.  I admit it!  And I am much stronger than you are.  The big battalions are on my side.  You have a splendid position, but it is your splendid position that makes you so vulnerable.  You can’t defend it!  And I am in attack.  Of course I have not talked morality to you.  You must admit in fairness that I have spared you that.  Years ago you did a clever, unscrupulous thing; it turned out a great success.  You owe to it your fortune and position.  And now you have got to pay for it.  Sooner or later we have all to pay for what we do.  You have to pay now.  Before I leave you to-night, you have got to promise me to suppress your report, and to speak in the House in favour of this scheme.
sir robert chiltern.  What you ask is impossible.
mrs. cheveley.  You must make it possible.  You are going to make it possible.  Sir Robert, you know what your English newspapers are like.  Suppose that when I leave this house I drive down to some newspaper office, and give them this scandal and the proofs of it!  Think of their loathsome joy, of the delight they would have in dragging you down, of the mud and mire they would plunge you in.  Think of the hypocrite with his greasy smile penning his leading article, and arranging the foulness of the public placard.
sir robert chiltern.  Stop!  You want me to withdraw the report and to make a short speech stating that I believe there are possibilities in the scheme?
mrs. cheveley.  [Sitting down on the sofa.]  Those are my terms.
sir robert chiltern.  [In a low voice.]  I will give you any sum of money you want.
mrs. cheveley.  Even you are not rich enough, Sir Robert, to buy back your past.  No man is.
sir robert chiltern.  I will not do what you ask me.  I will not.
mrs. cheveley.  You have to.  If you don’t . . . [Rises from the sofa.]
sir robert chiltern.  [Bewildered and unnerved.]  Wait a moment!  What did you propose?  You said that you would give me back my letter, didn’t you?
mrs. cheveley.  Yes.  That is agreed.  I will be in the Ladies’ Gallery to-morrow night at half-past eleven.  If by that time—and you will have had heaps of opportunity—you have made an announcement to the House in the terms I wish, I shall hand you back your letter with the prettiest thanks, and the best, or at any rate the most suitable, compliment I can think of.  I intend to play quite fairly with you.  One should always play fairly . . . when one has the winning cards.  The Baron taught me that . . . amongst other things.
sir robert chiltern.  You must let me have time to consider your proposal.
mrs. cheveley.  No; you must settle now!
sir robert chiltern.  Give me a week—three days!
mrs. cheveley.  Impossible!  I have got to telegraph to Vienna to-night.
sir robert chiltern.  My God! what brought you into my life?
mrs. cheveley.  Circumstances.  [Moves towards the door.]
sir robert chiltern.  Don’t go.  I consent.  The report shall be withdrawn.  I will arrange for a question to be put to me on the subject.
mrs. cheveley.  Thank you.  I knew we should come to an amicable agreement.  I understood your nature from the first.  I analysed you, though you did not adore me.  And now you can get my carriage for me, Sir Robert.  I see the people coming up from supper, and Englishmen always get romantic after a meal, and that bores me dreadfully.  [Exit sir robert chiltern.]
[Enter Guests, lady chiltern, lady markby, lord caversham, lady basildon, mrs. marchmont, vicomte de nanjac, mr. montford.]
lady markby.  Well, dear Mrs. Cheveley, I hope you have enjoyed yourself.  Sir Robert is very entertaining, is he not?
mrs. cheveley.  Most entertaining!  I have enjoyed my talk with him immensely.
lady markby.  He has had a very interesting and brilliant career.  And he has married a most admirable wife.  Lady Chiltern is a woman of the very highest principles, I am glad to say.  I am a little too old now, myself, to trouble about setting a good example, but I always admire people who do.  And Lady Chiltern has a very ennobling effect on life, though her dinner-parties are rather dull sometimes.  But one can’t have everything, can one?  And now I must go, dear.  Shall I call for you to-morrow?
mrs. cheveley.  Thanks.
lady markby.  We might drive in the Park at five.  Everything looks so fresh in the Park now!
mrs. cheveley.  Except the people!
lady markby.  Perhaps the people are a little jaded.  I have often observed that the Season as it goes on produces a kind of softening of the brain.  However, I think anything is better than high intellectual pressure.  That is the most unbecoming thing there is.  It makes the noses of the young girls so particularly large.  And there is nothing so difficult to marry as a large nose; men don’t like them.  Good-night, dear!  [To lady chiltern.]  Good-night, Gertrude!  [Goes out on lord caversham’s arm.]
mrs. cheveley.  What a charming house you have, Lady Chiltern!  I have spent a delightful evening.  It has been so interesting getting to know your husband.
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 Canal scheme, of which I dare say 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!
lady chiltern.  There must be some mistake.  That scheme could never have my husband’s support.
mrs. cheveley.  Oh, I assure you it’s all settled.  I don’t regret my tedious journey from Vienna now.  It has been a great success.  But, of course, for the next twenty-four hours the whole thing is a dead secret.
lady chiltern.  [Gently.]  A secret?  Between whom?
mrs. cheveley.  [With a flash of amusement in her eyes.]  Between your husband and myself.
sir robert chiltern.  [Entering.]  Your carriage is here, Mrs. Cheveley!
mrs. cheveley.  Thanks!  Good evening, Lady Chiltern!  Good-night, Lord Goring!  I am at Claridge’s.  Don’t you think you might leave a card?
lord goring.  If you wish it, Mrs. Cheveley!
mrs. cheveley.  Oh, don’t be so solemn about it, or I shall be obliged to leave a card on you.  In England I suppose that would hardly be considered en règle.  Abroad, we are more civilised.  Will you see me down, Sir Robert?  Now that we have both the same interests at heart we shall be great friends, I hope!
[Sails out on sir robert chiltern’s arm.  lady chiltern goes to the top of the staircase and looks down at them as they descend.  Her expression is troubled.  After a little time she is joined by some of the guests, and passes with them into another reception-room.]
mabel chiltern.  What a horrid woman!
lord goring.  You should go to bed, Miss Mabel.
mabel chiltern.  Lord Goring!
lord goring.  My father told me to go to bed an hour ago.  I don’t see why I shouldn’t give you the same advice.  I always pass on good advice.  It is the only thing to do with it.  It is never of any use to oneself.
mabel chiltern.  Lord Goring, you are always ordering me out of the room.  I think it most courageous of you.  Especially as I am not going to bed for hours.  [Goes over to the sofa.]  You can come and sit down if you like, and talk about anything in the world, except the Royal Academy, Mrs. Cheveley, or novels in Scotch dialect.  They are not improving subjects.  [Catches sight of something that is lying on the sofa half hidden by the cushion.]  What is this?  Some one has dropped a diamond brooch!  Quite beautiful, isn’t it?  [Shows it to him.]  I wish it was mine, but Gertrude won’t let me wear anything but pearls, and I am thoroughly sick of pearls.  They make one look so plain, so good and so intellectual.  I wonder whom the brooch belongs to.
lord goring.  I wonder who dropped it.
mabel chiltern.  It is a beautiful brooch.
lord goring.  It is a handsome bracelet.
mabel chiltern.  It isn’t a bracelet.  It’s a brooch.
lord goring.  It can be used as a bracelet.  [Takes it from her, and, pulling out a green letter-case, puts the ornament carefully in it, and replaces the whole thing in his breast-pocket with the most perfect sang froid.]
mabel chiltern.  What are you doing?
lord goring.  Miss Mabel, I am going to make a rather strange request to you.
mabel chiltern.  [Eagerly.]  Oh, pray do!  I have been waiting for it all the evening.
lord goring.  [Is a little taken aback, but recovers himself.]  Don’t mention to anybody that I have taken charge of this brooch.  Should any one write and claim it, let me know at once.
mabel chiltern.  That is a strange request.
lord goring.  Well, you see I gave this brooch to somebody once, years ago.
mabel chiltern.  You did?
lord goring.  Yes.
[lady chiltern enters alone.  The other guests have gone.]
mabel chiltern.  Then I shall certainly bid you good-night.  Good-night, Gertrude!  [Exit.]
lady chiltern.  Good-night, dear!  [To lord goring.]  You saw whom Lady Markby brought here to-night?
lord goring.  Yes.  It was an unpleasant surprise.  What did she come here for?
lady chiltern.  Apparently to try and lure Robert to uphold some fraudulent scheme in which she is interested.  The Argentine Canal, in fact.
lord goring.  She has mistaken her man, hasn’t she?
lady chiltern.  She is incapable of understanding an upright nature like my husband’s!
lord goring.  Yes.  I should fancy she came to grief if she tried to get Robert into her toils.  It is extraordinary what astounding mistakes clever women make.
lady chiltern.  I don’t call women of that kind clever.  I call them stupid!
lord goring.  Same thing often.  Good-night, Lady Chiltern!
lady chiltern.  Good-night!
[Enter sir robert chiltern.]
sir robert chiltern.  My dear Arthur, you are not going?  Do stop a little!
lord goring.  Afraid I can’t, thanks.  I have promised to look in at the Hartlocks’.  I believe they have got a mauve Hungarian band that plays mauve Hungarian music.  See you soon.  Good-bye!
[Exit]
sir robert chiltern.  How beautiful you look to-night, Gertrude!
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, Mrs. Cheveley, as she calls herself now.  She seemed to taunt me with it.  Robert, I know this woman.  You don’t.  We were at school together.  She was untruthful, dishonest, an evil influence on every one whose trust or friendship she could win.  I hated, I despised her.  She stole things, she was a thief.  She was sent away for being a thief.  Why do you let her influence you?
sir robert chiltern.  Gertrude, what you tell me may be true, but it happened many years ago.  It is best forgotten!  Mrs. Cheveley may have changed since then.  No one should be entirely judged by their past.
lady chiltern.  [Sadly.]  One’s past is what one is.  It is the only way by which people should be judged.
sir robert chiltern.  That is a hard saying, Gertrude!
lady chiltern.  It is a true saying, Robert.  And what did she mean by boasting that she had got you to lend your support, your name, to a thing I have heard you describe as the most dishonest and fraudulent scheme there has ever been in political life?
sir robert chiltern.  [Biting his lip.]  I was mistaken in the view I took.  We all may make mistakes.
lady chiltern.  But you told me yesterday that you had received the report from the Commission, and that it entirely condemned the whole thing.
sir robert chiltern.  [Walking up and down.]  I have reasons now to believe that the Commission was prejudiced, or, at any rate, misinformed.  Besides, Gertrude, public and private life are different things.  They have different laws, and move on different lines.
lady chiltern.  They should both represent man at his highest.  I see no difference between them.
sir robert chiltern.  [Stopping.]  In the present case, on a matter of practical politics, I have changed my mind.  That is all.
lady chiltern.  All!
sir robert chiltern.  [Sternly.]  Yes!
lady chiltern.  Robert!  Oh! it is horrible that I should have to ask you such a question—Robert, are you telling me the whole truth?
sir robert chiltern.  Why do you ask me such a question?
lady chiltern.  [After a pause.]  Why do you not answer it?
sir robert chiltern.  [Sitting down.]  Gertrude, truth is a very complex thing, and politics is a very complex business.  There are wheels within wheels.  One may be under certain obligations to people that one must pay.  Sooner or later in political life one has to compromise.  Every one does.
lady chiltern.  Compromise?  Robert, why do you talk so differently to-night from the way I have always heard you talk?  Why are you changed?
sir robert chiltern.  I am not changed.  But circumstances alter things.
lady chiltern.  Circumstances should never alter principles!
sir robert chiltern.  But if I told you—
lady chiltern.  What?
sir robert chiltern.  That it was necessary, vitally necessary?
lady chiltern.  It can never be necessary to do what is not honourable.  Or if it be necessary, then what is it that I have loved!  But it is not, Robert; tell me it is not.  Why should it be?  What gain would you get?  Money?  We have no need of that!  And money that comes from a tainted source is a degradation.  Power?  But power is nothing in itself.  It is power to do good that is fine—that, and that only.  What is it, then?  Robert, tell me why you are going to do this dishonourable thing!
sir robert chiltern.  Gertrude, you have no right to use that word.  I told you it was a question of rational compromise.  It is no more than that.
lady chiltern.  Robert, that is all very well for other men, for men who treat life simply as a sordid speculation; but not for you, Robert, not for you.  You are different.  All your life you have stood apart from others.  You have never let the world soil you.  To the world, as to myself, you have been an ideal always.  Oh! be that ideal still.  That great inheritance throw not away—that tower of ivory do not destroy.  Robert, men can love what is beneath them—things unworthy, stained, dishonoured.  We women worship when we love; and when we lose our worship, we lose everything.  Oh! don’t kill my love for you, don’t kill that!
sir robert chiltern.  Gertrude!
lady chiltern.  I know that there are men with horrible secrets in their lives—men who have done some shameful thing, and who in some critical moment have to pay for it, by doing some other act of shame—oh! don’t tell me you are such as they are!  Robert, is there in your life any secret dishonour or disgrace?  Tell me, tell me at once, that—
sir robert chiltern.  That what?
lady chiltern.  [Speaking very slowly.]  That our lives may drift apart.
sir robert chiltern.  Drift apart?
lady chiltern.  That they may be entirely separate.  It would be better for us both.
sir robert chiltern.  Gertrude, there is nothing in my past life that you might not know.
lady chiltern.  I was sure of it, Robert, I was sure of it.  But why did you say those dreadful things, things so unlike your real self?  Don’t let us ever talk about the subject again.  You will write, won’t you, to Mrs. Cheveley, and tell her that you cannot support this scandalous scheme of hers?  If you have given her any promise you must take it back, that is all!
sir robert chiltern.  Must I write and tell her that?
lady chiltern.  Surely, Robert!  What else is there to do?
sir robert chiltern.  I might see her personally.  It would be better.
lady chiltern.  You must never see her again, Robert.  She is not a woman you should ever speak to.  She is not worthy to talk to a man like you.  No; you must write to her at once, now, this moment, and let your letter show her that your decision is quite irrevocable!
sir robert chiltern.  Write this moment!
lady chiltern.  Yes.
sir robert chiltern.  But it is so late.  It is close on twelve.
lady chiltern.  That makes no matter.  She must know at once that she has been mistaken in you—and that you are not a man to do anything base or underhand or dishonourable.  Write here, Robert.  Write that you decline to support this scheme of hers, as you hold it to be a dishonest scheme.  Yes—write the word dishonest.  She knows what that word means.  [sir robert chiltern sits down and writes a letter.  His wife takes it up and reads it.]  Yes; that will do.  [Rings bell.]  And now the envelope.  [He writes the envelope slowly.  Enter mason.]  Have this letter sent at once to Claridge’s Hotel.  There is no answer.  [Exit mason.  lady chiltern kneels down beside her husband, and puts her arms around him.]  Robert, love gives one an instinct to things.  I feel to-night that I have saved you from something that might have been a danger to you, from something that might have made men honour you less than they do.  I don’t think you realise sufficiently, Robert, that you have brought into the political life of our time a nobler atmosphere, a finer attitude towards life, a freer air of purer aims and higher ideals—I know it, and for that I love you, Robert.
sir robert chiltern.  Oh, love me always, Gertrude, love me always!
lady chiltern.  I will love you always, because you will always be worthy of love.  We needs must love the highest when we see it!  [Kisses him and rises and goes out.]
[sir robert chiltern walks up and down for a moment; then sits down and buries his face in his hands.  The Servant enters and begins pulling out the lights.  sir robert chiltern looks up.]
sir robert chiltern.  Put out the lights, Mason, put out the lights!
[The Servant puts out the lights.  The room becomes almost dark.  The only light there is comes from the great chandelier that hangs over the staircase and illumines the tapestry of the Triumph of Love.]
Act Drop
SECOND ACT
SCENE
Morning-room at Sir Robert Chiltern’s house.
[lord goring, dressed in the height of fashion, is lounging in an armchair.  sir robert chiltern is standing in front of the fireplace.  He is evidently in a state of great mental excitement and distress.  As the scene progresses he paces nervously up and down the room.]
lord goring.  My dear Robert, it’s a very awkward business, very awkward indeed.  You should have told your wife the whole thing.  Secrets from other people’s wives are a necessary luxury in modern life.  So, at least, I am always told at the club by people who are bald enough to know better.  But no man should have a secret from his own wife.  She invariably finds it out.  Women have a wonderful instinct about things.  They can discover everything except the obvious.
sir robert chiltern.  Arthur, I couldn’t tell my wife.  When could I have told her?  Not last night.  It would have made a life-long separation between us, and I would have lost the love of the one woman in the world I worship, of the only woman who has ever stirred love within me.  Last night it would have been quite impossible.  She would have turned from me in horror . . . in horror and in contempt.
lord goring.  Is Lady Chiltern as perfect as all that?
sir robert chiltern.  Yes; my wife is as perfect as all that.
lord goring.  [Taking off his left-hand glove.]  What a pity!  I beg your pardon, my dear fellow, I didn’t quite mean that.  But if what you tell me is true, I should like to have a serious talk about life with Lady Chiltern.
sir robert chiltern.  It would be quite useless.
lord goring.  May I try?
sir robert chiltern.  Yes; but nothing could make her alter her views.
lord goring.  Well, at the worst it would simply be a psychological experiment.
sir robert chiltern.  All such experiments are terribly dangerous.
lord goring.  Everything is dangerous, my dear fellow.  If it wasn’t so, life wouldn’t be worth living. . . . Well, I am bound to say that I think you should have told her years ago.
sir robert chiltern.  When?  When we were engaged?  Do you think she would have married me if she had known that the origin of my fortune is such as it is, the basis of my career such as it is, and that I had done a thing that I suppose most men would call shameful and dishonourable?
lord goring.  [Slowly.]  Yes; most men would call it ugly names.  There is no doubt of that.
sir robert chiltern.  [Bitterly.]  Men who every day do something of the same kind themselves.  Men who, each one of them, have worse secrets in their own lives.
lord goring.  That is the reason they are so pleased to find out other people’s secrets.  It distracts public attention from their own.
sir robert chiltern.  And, after all, whom did I wrong by what I did?  No one.
lord goring.  [Looking at him steadily.]  Except yourself, Robert.
sir robert chiltern.  [After a pause.]  Of course I had private information about a certain transaction contemplated by the Government of the day, and I acted on it.  Private information is practically the source of every large modern fortune.
lord goring.  [Tapping his boot with his cane.]  And public scandal invariably the result.
sir robert chiltern.  [Pacing up and down the room.]  Arthur, do you think that what I did nearly eighteen years ago should be brought up against me now?  Do you think it fair that a man’s whole career should be ruined for a fault done in one’s boyhood almost?  I was twenty-two at the time, and I had the double misfortune of being well-born and poor, two unforgiveable things nowadays.  Is it fair that the folly, the sin of one’s youth, if men choose to call it a sin, should wreck a life like mine, should place me in the pillory, should shatter all that I have worked for, all that I have built up.  Is it fair, Arthur?
lord goring.  Life is never fair, Robert.  And perhaps it is a good thing for most of us that it is not.
sir robert chiltern.  Every man of ambition has to fight his century with its own weapons.  What this century worships is wealth.  The God of this century is wealth.  To succeed one must have wealth.  At all costs one must have wealth.
lord goring.  You underrate yourself, Robert.  Believe me, without wealth you could have succeeded just as well.