The 1895 production of The Importance of Being Earnest was at the St James’s Theatre, London, on a

really cold Valentine’s Day. Wilde had already had three successful plays in the West End, with The
Ideal Husband still playing round the corner at the Haymarket Theatre.

Reception

The play’s tone was farcical and lighthearted, unlike most theatre of its time, and received mixed
reviews. The audience was famously full of ministers, academics and writers; W.H.Auden described
the performance as ‘pure verbal Opera’, reviewing it among other writers such as Bernard Shaw and
H.G.Wells.

The performance didn’t come without its objections however. There was one notable disruption
from The Marquess of Queensberry, the father of Oscar Wilde’s lover Lord Alfred Douglas, who
planned to throw rotten vegetables at Wilde after the show. The police heard of the plan and barred
him from entering the theatre.

Aftermath

The Marquess continued to intimidate Wilde over the coming days, eventually demanding to speak
to him at the Albemarle Club where he was socialising. The porter refused the Marquess entry, so he
sent a malicious note addressed to ‘Oscar Wilde, posing somdomite’ (a mispelling of ‘sodomite’).
Wilde took the Marquess to trial for harassment but the proceedings were turned around to
investigate his own homosexual affairs and allegations of sodomy; you can read more about the trial
on our About Oscar Wilde page. At the time homosexuality was illegal in Britain and the trial became
a huge public scandal, damaging the reputation of The Importance of Being Earnest. George
Alexander removed Wilde’s name from the poster in an attempt to save the show, but Wilde’s
reputation disgraced the performance and it ran for a mere 86 days. Wilde was imprisoned for two
years following the trial and lived the rest of his life in exile. The play was only revived after his death
in 1900, with the first performance in 1901.

Review of The Importance of Being Earnest (1895)

The dramatic critic is not only a philosopher, moralist, aesthetician and stylist, but also a labourer
working for his hire. In this last capacity he cares nothing for the classifications of Aristotletext
annotation indicator, Polonius, or any other theorist, but instinctively makes a fourfold division of
the works which come within his ken. These are his categories: (1) Plays which are good to see. (2)
Plays which are good to write about. (3) Plays which are both. (4) Plays which are neither. Class 4 is
naturally the largest; Class 3 the smallest; and Classes 1 and 2 balance each other pretty evenly. Mr
Oscar Wilde's new comedy, The Importance of being Earnest, belongs indubitably to the first class. It
is delightful to see it, it sends wave after wave of laughter curling and foaming round the theatre;
but as a text for criticism it is barren and delusive. It is like a mirage-oasis in the desert, grateful and
comforting to the weary eye—but when you come close up to it, behold! it is intangible, it eludes
your grasp. What can a poor critic do with a play which raises no principle, whether of art or morals,
creates its own canons and conventions, and is nothing but an absolutely wilful expression of an
irrepressibly witty personality? Mr Patertext annotation indicator, I think (or is it some one else?),
has an essay on the tendency of all art to verge towards, and merge in, the absolute art—music. He
might have found an example in The Importance of Being Earnest, which imitates nothing,
represents nothing, is nothing, except a sort of rondo capriccioso, in which the artist's fingers run
with crisp irresponsibility up and down the keyboard of life. Why attempt to analyse and class such a
play? Its theme, in other hands, would have made a capital farcetext annotation indicator; but 'farce'
is far too gross and commonplace a word to apply to such an irridescent filament of fantasy.
Incidents of the same nature as Algy Moncrieffe's 'Bunburying' and John Worthing's invention and
subsequent suppression of his scapegoat brother Ernest have done duty in many a French vaudeville
and English adaptation; but Mr Wilde's humour transmutes them into something entirely new and
individual. Amid so much that is negative, however, criticism may find one positive remark to make.
Behind all Mr Wilde's whim and even perversity, there lurks a very genuine science, or perhaps I
should say instinct, of the theatre. In all his plays and certainly not least in this one, the story is
excellently told and illustrated with abundance of scenic detail. Monsieur Sarcey himself (if Mr Wilde
will forgive my saying so) would 'chortle in his joy' over John Worthing's entrance in deep mourning
(even down to his cane) to announce the death of his brother Ernest, when we know that Ernest in
the flesh—a false but undeniable Ernest—is at that moment in the house making love to Cecily. The
audience does not instantly awaken to the meaning of his inky suit, but even as he marches solemnly
down the stage, and before a word is spoken, you can feel the idea kindling from row to row, until a
'sudden glory' of laughter fills the theatre. It is only the born playwright who can imagine and work
up to such an effect. Not that the play is a masterpiece of construction. It seemed to me that the
author's invention languished a little after the middle of the second act, and that towards the close
of that act there were even one or two brief patches of something almost like tediousness. But I
have often noticed that the more successful the play, the more a first-night audience is apt to be
troubled by inequalities of workmanship, of which subsequent audiences are barely conscious. The
most happily-inspired scenes, coming to us with the gloss of novelty upon them, give us such keen
pleasure, that passages which are only reasonably amusing are apt to seem, by contrast, positively
dull. Later audiences, missing the shock of surprise which gave to the master-scenes their keenest
zest, are also spared our sense of disappointment in the flatter passages, and enjoy the play more
evenly all through. I myself, on seeing a play a second time, have often been greatly entertained by
scenes which had gone near to boring me on the first night. When I see Mr Wilde's play again, I shall
no doubt relish the last half of the second act more than I did on Thursday evening; and even then I
differed from some of my colleagues who found the third act tedious. Mr Wilde is least fortunate
where he drops into Mr Gilbert's Palace-of-Truthtext annotation indicator mannerism, as he is apt to
do in the characters of Gwendolen and Cecily. Strange what a fascination this trick seems to possess
for the comic playwright! Mr Pinero, Mr Shaw, and now Mr Wilde have all dabbled in it, never to
their advantage. In the hands of the inventor it produces pretty effects enough:

But Gilbert's magic may not copied be;

Within that circle none should walk but he.

The acting is as hard to write about as the play. It is all good; but there is no opportunity for any
striking excellence. The performers who are most happily suited are clearly Mr Allan Aynesworth and
Miss Rose Leclercq, both of whom are delightful, Mr Alexander gives his ambition a rest, and fills his
somewhat empty party with spirit and elegance. Miss Irene Vanbrugh makes a charmingly
sophisticated maiden of Mayfair, and Miss Evelyn Millard, if not absolutely in her element as the
unsophisticated Cecily, is at least graceful and pleasing. Mrs Canninge and Mr H.H. Vincent complete
a very efficient cast.

The World, 20 February 1895

The Importance of Being Earnest is the most renowned of Oscar Wilde’s comedies. It’s the story of
two bachelors, John ‘Jack’ Worthing and Algernon ‘Algy’ Moncrieff, who create alter egos named
Ernest to escape their tiresome lives. They attempt to win the hearts of two women who,
conveniently, claim to only love men called Ernest. The pair struggle to keep up with their own
stories and become tangled in a tale of deception, disguise and misadventure. The elaborate plot
ridicules Victorian sensibilities with some of the best loved, and indeed bizarre, characters to be
found on the modern stage. Wilde originally wrote it in four acts, but during the first rehearsals
George Alexander persuaded him to shorten it down to three.

Act I

The play begins with Algernon ‘Algy’ Moncrieff welcoming his friend John ‘Jack’ Worthing to his
home, whom he knows as Ernest. ‘Ernest’ has come from his country estate to propose to Algy’s
cousin, Gwendolen. Algy refuses consent until Ernest explains an inscription on his cigarette case
which calls him ‘Uncle Jack’. ‘Ernest’ admits to creating an alter ego. He is Jack in the country,
guardian of his ward Cecily, but regularly leaves for London to visit his pretend brother Ernest.
Whilst in London he pretends to be Ernest, a flirtatious socialite. Algy also admits to creating a
fictitious invalid friend called Mr Bunbury, whom he visits in the country to get away from London.
Gwendolen and her terrifying mother Lady Bracknell arrive to visit Algy. Jack quietly proposes to
Gwendolen, who accepts, saying she could never love a man who wasn’t called Ernest. Lady
Bracknell finds them alone together and quickly interviews Jack for his suitability. She learns he was
adopted after being found in a handbag at Victoria Station, and refuses the marriage because he has
no direct relations. Gwendolen says she still loves Jack and he gives her his country address. Algy
secretly reads it.

Act II

Cecily is studying with her governess, Miss Prism, on her uncle Jack’s esate. Algy arrives and
pretends to be Ernest, Jack’s brother. Cecily has never met Ernest, she falls in love with his secretive
nature and they become engaged. Like Gwendolen, she claims to only love men called Ernest.
Meanwhile, Jack decides to give up his alter ego and arrives on his estate to declare the sudden
death of his brother Ernest. Algy, however, is pretending to be Ernest, so Jack has to go along with
his story for fear of revealing his own lies. Both men secretly plan to be officially christened as
‘Ernest’ by the local vicar Dr Chusable. Gwendolen then arrives at the estate having escaped from
Lady Bracknell. She meets Cecily and they both declare to be engaged to men called Ernest. Jack and
Algy’s lies are exposed.

Act III

Lady Bracknell arrives, having followed her daughter, and is shocked to find Algy and Cecily engaged.
She is easily won over, however, after learning about Cecily’s trust fund. Jack refuses to give consent
unless Lady Bracknell agrees to him marrying Gwendolen. Miss Prism enters and Lady Bracknell
instantly recognises her. She was a family maid who took Lady Bracknell’s baby nephew out in his
pram 28 years ago but mysteriously vanished. Miss Prism admits that she had absentmindedly put a
novel she was writing in the pram, and the baby in her handbag, which she left at Victoria Station.
Jack announces he is the lost baby and therefore Algy’s brother. Lady Bracknell accepts his and
Gwendolen’s marriage because he has found his relations.Gwendolen is confused as to her lover’s
real name. Lady Bracknell says he would have been named after his father, General Moncrieff. Jack
examines the army lists and finds that his father’s name was in fact Ernest. All the couples embrace,
even Miss Prism and Dr Chasuble who have harboured feelings for each other for the entire play.