Fannys First Play | Page 8

these entertainments are not plays, I dont mean in my sense
of the word, but in the sense given to it for all time by the immortal
Stagirite.
FANNY. Who is the Stagirite?
TROTTER. [shocked] You dont know who the Stagirite was?
FANNY. Sorry. Never heard of him.

TROTTER. And this is Cambridge education! Well, my dear young
lady, I'm delighted to find theres something you don't know; and I shant
spoil you by dispelling an ignorance which, in my opinion, is highly
becoming to your age and sex. So we'll leave it at that.
FANNY. But you will promise to tell my father that lots of people
write plays just like this one--that I havnt selected it out of mere
heartlessness?
TROTTER. I cant possibly tell you what I shall say to your father about
the play until Ive seen the play. But I'll tell you what I shall say to him
about you. I shall say that youre a very foolish young lady; that youve
got into a very questionable set; and that the sooner he takes you away
from Cambridge and its Fabian Society, the better.
FANNY. It's so funny to hear you pretending to be a heavy father. In
Cambridge we regard you as a bel esprit, a wit, an Irresponsible, a
Parisian Immoralist, tres chic.
TROTTER. I!
FANNY. Theres quite a Trotter set.
TROTTER. Well, upon my word!
FANNY. They go in for adventures and call you Aramis.
TROTTER. They wouldnt dare!
FANNY. You always make such delicious fun of the serious people.
Your insouciance--
TROTTER. [frantic] Stop talking French to me: it's not a proper
language for a young girl. Great heavens! how is it possible that a few
innocent pleasantries should be so frightfully misunderstood? Ive tried
all my life to be sincere and simple, to be unassuming and kindly. Ive
lived a blameless life. Ive supported the Censorship in the face of
ridicule and insult. And now I'm told that I'm a centre of Immoralism!

of Modern Minxism! a trifler with the most sacred subjects! a
Nietzschean!! perhaps a Shavian!!!
FANNY. Do you mean you are really on the serious side, Mr Trotter?
TROTTER. Of course I'm on the serious side. How dare you ask me
such a question?
FANNY. Then why dont you play for it?
TROTTER. I do play for it--short, of course, of making myself
ridiculous.
FANNY. What! not make yourself ridiculous for the sake of a good
cause! Oh, Mr Trotter. Thats vieux jeu.
TROTTER. [shouting at her] Dont talk French. I will not allow it.
FANNY. But this dread of ridicule is so frightfully out of date. The
Cambridge Fabian Society--
TROTTER. I forbid you to mention the Fabian Society to me.
FANNY. Its motto is "You cannot learn to skate without making
yourself ridiculous."
TROTTER. Skate! What has that to do with it?
FANNY. Thats not all. It goes on, "The ice of life is slippery."
TROTTER. Ice of life indeed! You should be eating penny ices and
enjoying yourself. I wont hear another word.
The Count returns.
THE COUNT. We're all waiting in the drawing-room, my dear. Have
you been detaining Mr Trotter all this time?
TROTTER. I'm so sorry. I must have just a little brush up: I [He hurries

out].
THE COUNT. My dear, you should be in the drawing-room. You
should not have kept him here.
FANNY. I know. Dont scold me: I had something important to say to
him.
THE COUNT. I shall ask him to take you in to dinner.
FANNY. Yes, papa. Oh, I hope it will go off well.
THE COUNT. Yes, love, of course it will. Come along.
FANNY. Just one thing, papa, whilst we're alone. Who was the
Stagirite?
THE COUNT. The Stagirite? Do you mean to say you dont know?
FANNY. Havnt the least notion.
THE COUNT. The Stagirite was Aristotle. By the way, dont mention
him to Mr Trotter.
They go to the dining-room.

THE PLAY

ACT I
_In the dining-room of a house in Denmark Hill, an elderly lady sits at
breakfast reading the newspaper. Her chair is at the end of the oblong
dining-table furthest from the fire. There is an empty chair at the other
end. The fireplace is behind this chair; and the door is next the fireplace,
between it and the corner. An arm-chair stands beside the coal-scuttle.
In the middle of the back wall is the sideboard, parallel to the table. The

rest of the furniture is mostly dining-room chairs, ranged against the
walls, and including a baby rocking-chair on the lady's side of the room.
The lady is a placid person. Her husband, Mr Robin Gilbey, not at all
placid, bursts violently into the room with a letter in his hand._
GILBEY. [grinding his teeth] This is a nice