Identify clothes mentioned in the scene below
Lane. Yes, sir. [Lane goes out.]
Jack. Do you mean to say you have had my cigarette case all this time? I
wish to goodness you had let me know. I have been writing frantic letters to
Scotland Yard about it. I was very nearly offering a large reward.
Algernon. Well, I wish you would offer one. I happen to be more than
usually hard up.
Jack. There is no good offering a large reward now that the thing is found.
[Enter Lane with the cigarette case on a salver. Algernon takes it at
once. Lane goes out.]
Algernon. I think that is rather mean of you, Ernest, I must say. [Opens case
and examines it.] However, it makes no matter, for, now that I look at the
inscription inside, I find that the thing isn’t yours after all.
Jack. Of course it’s mine. [Moving to him.] You have seen me with it a
hundred times, and you have no right whatsoever to read what is written
inside. It is a very ungentlemanly thing to read a private cigarette case.
Algernon. Oh! it is absurd to have a hard and fast rule about what one
should read and what one shouldn’t. More than half of modern culture
depends on what one shouldn’t read.
Jack. I am quite aware of the fact, and I don’t propose to discuss modern
culture. It isn’t the sort of thing one should talk of in private. I simply want
my cigarette case back.
Algernon. Yes; but this isn’t your cigarette case. This cigarette case is a
present from some one of the name of Cecily, and you said you didn’t know
any one of that name.
Jack. Well, if you want to know, Cecily happens to be my aunt.
Algernon. Your aunt!
Jack. Yes. Charming old lady she is, too. Lives at Tunbridge Wells. Just give
it back to me, Algy.
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Algernon. [Retreating to back of sofa.] But why does she call herself little
Cecily if she is your aunt and lives at Tunbridge Wells? [Reading.] ‘From little
Cecily with her fondest love.’
Jack. [Moving to sofa and kneeling upon it.] My dear fellow, what on earth
is there in that? Some aunts are tall, some aunts are not tall. That is a
matter that surely an aunt may be allowed to decide for herself. You seem
to think that every aunt should be exactly like your aunt! That is absurd! For
Heaven’s sake give me back my cigarette case. [Follows Algernon round the
room.]
Algernon. Yes. But why does your aunt call you her uncle? ‘From little
Cecily, with her fondest love to her dear Uncle Jack.’ There is no objection, I
admit, to an aunt being a small aunt, but why an aunt, no matter what her
size may be, should call her own nephew her uncle, I can’t quite make
out. Besides, your name isn’t Jack at all; it is Ernest.
Jack. It isn’t Ernest; it’s Jack.
Algernon. You have always told me it was Ernest. I have introduced you to
every one as Ernest. You answer to the name of Ernest. You look as if your
name was Ernest. You are the most earnest-looking person I ever saw in my
life. It is perfectly absurd your saying that your name isn’t Ernest. It’s on
your cards. Here is one of them. [Taking it from case.] ‘Mr. Ernest
Worthing, B. 4, The Albany.’ I’ll keep this as a proof that your name is Ernest
if ever you attempt to deny it to me, or to Gwendolen, or to any one
else. [Puts the card in his pocket.]
Jack. Well, my name is Ernest in town and Jack in the country, and the
cigarette case was given to me in the country.
Algernon. Yes, but that does not account for the fact that your small Aunt
Cecily, who lives at Tunbridge Wells, calls you her dear uncle. Come, old boy,
you had much better have the thing out at once.
Jack. My dear Algy, you talk exactly as if you were a dentist. It is very vulgar
to talk like a dentist when one isn’t a dentist. It produces a false impression.
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Algernon. Well, that is exactly what dentists always do. Now, go on! Tell
me the whole thing. I may mention that I have always suspected you of
being a confirmed and secret Bunburyist; and I am quite sure of it now.
Jack. Bunburyist? What on earth do you mean by a Bunburyist?
Algernon. I’ll reveal to you the meaning of that incomparable expression as
soon as you are kind enough to inform me why you are Ernest in town and
Jack in the country.
Jack. Well, produce my cigarette case first.
Algernon. Here it is. [Hands cigarette case.] Now produce your
explanation, and pray make it improbable. [Sits on sofa.]
Jack. My dear fellow, there is nothing improbable about my explanation at
all. In fact it’s perfectly ordinary. Old Mr. Thomas Cardew, who adopted me
when I was a little boy, made me in his will guardian to his grand-daughter,
Miss Cecily Cardew. Cecily, who addresses me as her uncle from motives of
respect that you could not possibly appreciate, lives at my place in the
country under the charge of her admirable governess, Miss Prism.
Algernon. Where is that place in the country, by the way?
Jack. That is nothing to you, dear boy. You are not going to be invited . . . I
may tell you candidly that the place is not in Shropshire.
Algernon. I suspected that, my dear fellow! I have Bunburyed all over
Shropshire on two separate occasions. Now, go on. Why are you Ernest in
town and Jack in the country?
Jack. My dear Algy, I don’t know whether you will be able to understand my
real motives. You are hardly serious enough. When one is placed in the
position of guardian, one has to adopt a very high moral tone on all
subjects. It’s one’s duty to do so. And as a high moral tone can hardly be
said to conduce very much to either one’s health or one’s happiness, in
order to get up to town I have always pretended to have a younger brother
of the name of Ernest, who lives in the Albany, and gets into the most
dreadful scrapes. That, my dear Algy, is the whole truth pure and simple.
8
Algernon. The truth is rarely pure and never simple. Modern life would be
very tedious if it were either, and modern literature a complete impossibility!
Jack. That wouldn’t be at all a bad thing.
Algernon. Literary criticism is not your forte, my dear fellow. Don’t try
it. You should leave that to people who haven’t been at a University. They
do it so well in the daily papers. What you really are is a Bunburyist. I was
quite right in saying you were a Bunburyist. You are one of the most
advanced Bunburyists I know.
Jack. What on earth do you mean?
Algernon. You have invented a very useful younger brother called Ernest, in
order that you may be able to come up to town as often as you like. I have
invented an invaluable permanent invalid called Bunbury, in order that I may
be able to go down into the country whenever I choose. Bunbury is
perfectly invaluable. If it wasn’t for Bunbury’s extraordinary bad health, for
instance, I wouldn’t be able to dine with you at Willis’s to-night, for I have
been really engaged to Aunt Augusta for more than a week.
Jack. I haven’t asked you to dine with me anywhere to-night.
Algernon. I know. You are absurdly careless about sending out
invitations. It is very foolish of you. Nothing annoys people so much as not
receiving invitations.
Jack. You had much better dine with your Aunt Augusta.
Algernon. I haven’t the smallest intention of doing anything of the kind. To
begin with, I dined there on Monday, and once a week is quite enough to
dine with one’s own relations. In the second place, whenever I do dine
there I am always treated as a member of the family, and sent down with
either no woman at all, or two. In the third place, I know perfectly well
whom she will place me next to, to-night. She will place me next Mary
Farquhar, who always flirts with her own husband across the dinner�table. That is not very pleasant. Indeed, it is not even decent . . . and that
sort of thing is enormously on the increase. The amount of women in
London who flirt with their own husbands is perfectly scandalous. It looks
9
so bad. It is simply washing one’s clean linen in public. Besides, now that I
know you to be a confirmed Bunburyist I naturally want to talk to you about
Bunburying. I want to tell you the rules.
Jack. I’m not a Bunburyist at all. If Gwendolen accepts me, I am going to kill
my brother, indeed I think I’ll kill him in any case. Cecily is a little too much
interested in him. It is rather a bore. So I am going to get rid of Ernest. And
I strongly advise you to do the same with Mr. . . . with your invalid friend
who has the absurd name.
Algernon. Nothing will induce me to part with Bunbury, and if you ever get
married, which seems to me extremely problematic, you will be very glad to
know Bunbury. A man who marries without knowing Bunbury has a very
tedious time of it.
Jack. That is nonsense. If I marry a charming girl like Gwendolen, and she is
the only girl I ever saw in my life that I would marry, I certainly won’t want
to know Bunbury.
Algernon. Then your wife will. You don’t seem to realise, that in married life
three is company and two is none.
Jack. [Sententiously.] That, my dear young friend, is the theory that the
corrupt French Drama has been propounding for the last fifty years.
Algernon. Yes; and that the happy English home has proved in half the time.
Jack. For heaven’s sake, don’t try to be cynical. It’s perfectly easy to be
cynical.
Algernon. My dear fellow, it isn’t easy to be anything nowadays. There’s
such a lot of beastly competition about. [The sound of an electric bell is
heard.] Ah! that must be Aunt Augusta. Only relatives, or creditors, ever
ring in that Wagnerian manner. Now, if I get her out of the way for ten
minutes, so that you can have an opportunity for proposing to Gwendolen,
may I dine with you to-night at Willis’s?
Jack. I suppose so, if you want to.
The scene does not mention any specific clothes.
Clothes mentioned in the scene:
1. Cigarette case
2. Cards (Mr. Ernest Worthing's cards)
3. Aunt Cecily's letter or note
In the given scene from the play "The Importance of Being Earnest" by Oscar Wilde, the mentioned clothes are cigarette case and cards.
1. Cigarette Case: In the dialogue, Algernon takes Jack's cigarette case from Lane on a salver and examines it. Later, they argue about the ownership of the case. The cigarette case is described as having an inscription inside and being a present from someone named Cecily.
2. Cards: When Algernon questions Jack about his name, he takes out one of Jack's cards from the case and reads it. The card reads, "Mr. Ernest Worthing, B. 4, The Albany."
To identify the clothes mentioned in a scene or text, it is important to carefully read the dialogue and description provided. Pay attention to any specific phrases or words that refer to clothes or accessories. In this case, the mention of a cigarette case and a card containing Jack's name helps identify the relevant clothes in the scene.