Fannys First Play | Page 6

Bannal. [The four critics enter. Trotter wears a diplomatic
dress, with sword and three-cornered hat. His age is about 50. Vaughan
is 40. Gunn is 30. Flawner Bannal is 20 and is quite unlike the others.
They can be classed at sight as professional men: Bannal is obviously
one of those unemployables of the business class who manage to pick
up a living by a sort of courage which gives him cheerfulness,
conviviality, and bounce, and is helped out positively by a slight turn
for writing, and negatively by a comfortable ignorance and lack of
intuition which hides from him all the dangers and disgraces that keep
men of finer perception in check. The Count approaches them
hospitably].
SAVOYARD. Count O'Dowda, gentlemen. Mr Trotter.
TROTTER. [looking at the Count's costume] Have I the pleasure of
meeting a confrere?
THE COUNT. No, sir: I have no right to my costume except the right
of a lover of the arts to dress myself handsomely. You are most
welcome, Mr Trotter. [Trotter bows in the French manner].
SAVOYARD. Mr Vaughan.
THE COUNT. How do you do, Mr Vaughan?
VAUGHAN. Quite well, thanks.
SAVOYARD. Mr Gunn.
THE COUNT. Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr Gunn.

GUNN. Very pleased.
SAVOYARD. Mr Flawner Bannal.
THE COUNT. Very kind of you to come, Mr Bannal.
BANNAL. Dont mention it.
THE COUNT. Gentlemen, my daughter. [They all bow]. We are very
greatly indebted to you, gentlemen, for so kindly indulging her whim.
[The dressing bell sounds. The Count looks at his watch]. Ah! The
dressing bell, gentlemen. As our play begins at nine, I have had to put
forward the dinner hour a little. May I shew you to your rooms? [He
goes out, followed by all the men, except Trotter, who, going last, is
detained by Fanny].
FANNY. Mr Trotter: I want to say something to you about this play.
TROTTER. No: thats forbidden. You must not attempt to souffler the
critic.
FANNY. Oh, I would not for the world try to influence your opinion.
TROTTER. But you do: you are influencing me very shockingly. You
invite me to this charming house, where I'm about to enjoy a charming
dinner. And just before the dinner I'm taken aside by a charming young
lady to be talked to about the play. How can you expect me to be
impartial? God forbid that I should set up to be a judge, or do more
than record an impression; but my impressions can be influenced; and
in this case youre influencing them shamelessly all the time.
FANNY. Dont make me more nervous than I am already, Mr Trotter. If
you knew how I feel!
TROTTER. Naturally: your first party: your first appearance in
England as hostess. But youre doing it beautifully. Dont be afraid.
Every nuance is perfect.
FANNY. It's so kind of you to say so, Mr Trotter. But that isnt whats

the matter. The truth is, this play is going to give my father a dreadful
shock.
TROTTER. Nothing unusual in that, I'm sorry to say. Half the young
ladies in London spend their evenings making their fathers take them to
plays that are not fit for elderly people to see.
FANNY. Oh, I know all about that; but you cant understand what it
means to Papa. Youre not so innocent as he is.
TROTTER. [remonstrating] My dear young lady--
FANNY. I dont mean morally innocent: everybody who reads your
articles knows youre as innocent as a lamb.
TROTTER. What!
FANNY. Yes, Mr Trotter: Ive seen a good deal of life since I came to
England; and I assure you that to me youre a mere baby: a dear, good,
well-meaning, delightful, witty, charming baby; but still just a wee
lamb in a world of wolves. Cambridge is not what it was in my father's
time.
TROTTER. Well, I must say!
FANNY. Just so. Thats one of our classifications in the Cambridge
Fabian Society.
TROTTER. Classifications? I dont understand.
FANNY. We classify our aunts into different sorts. And one of the
sorts is the "I must says."
TROTTER. I withdraw "I must say." I substitute "Blame my cats!" No:
I substitute "Blame my kittens!" Observe, Miss O'Dowda: kittens. I say
again in the teeth of the whole Cambridge Fabian Society, kittens.
Impertinent little kittens. Blame them. Smack them. I guess what is on
your conscience. This play to which you have lured me is one of those
in which members of Fabian Societies instruct their grandmothers in

the art of milking ducks. And you are afraid it will shock your father.
Well, I hope it will. And if he consults me about it I shall recommend
him to smack you soundly and pack you off to bed.
FANNY. Thats one of your prettiest literary attitudes, Mr Trotter; but it
doesnt take