Fanny’s First Play

to say. Bannal Why are you so down on Pinero? And what about that touch that Gunn spotted? the Frenchman’s long speech. I believe it’s Shaw. Gunn Rubbish! Vaughan Rot! You may put that idea out of your head, Bannal. Poor as this play is, there’s the note of passion in it. You feel somehow that beneath all the assumed levity of that poor waif and stray, she really loves Bobby and will be a good wife to him. Now I’ve repeatedly proved that Shaw is physiologically incapable of the note of passion. Bannal Yes, I know. Intellect without emotion. That’s right. I always say that myself. A giant brain, if you ask me; but no heart. Gunn Oh, shut up, Bannal. This crude medieval psychology of heart and brain⁠—Shakespeare would have called it liver and wits⁠—is really schoolboyish. Surely we’ve had enough of secondhand Schopenhauer. Even such a played-out old back number as Ibsen would have been ashamed of it. Heart and brain, indeed! Vaughan You have neither one nor the other, Gunn. You’re decadent. Gunn Decadent! How I love that early Victorian word! Vaughan Well, at all events, you can’t deny that the characters in this play were quite distinguishable from one another. That proves it’s not by Shaw, because all Shaw’s characters are himself: mere puppets stuck up to spout Shaw. It’s only the actors that make them seem different. Bannal There can be no doubt of that: everybody knows it. But Shaw doesn’t write his plays as plays. All he wants to do is to insult everybody all round and set us talking about him. Trotter Wearily. And naturally, here we are all talking about him. For heaven’s sake, let us change the subject. Vaughan Still, my articles about Shaw⁠— Gunn Oh, stow it, Vaughan. Drop it. What I’ve always told you about Shaw is⁠— Bannal There you go, Shaw, Shaw, Shaw! Do chuck it. If you want to know my opinion about Shaw⁠— Yelling. Trotter No, please, we don’t. Vaughan Shut your head, Bannal. Gunn Oh, do drop it. The deafened Count puts his fingers in his ears and flies from the centre of the group to its outskirts, behind Vaughan. Bannal Sulkily. Oh, very well. Sorry I spoke, I’m sure. Beginning again simultaneously. Trotter Shaw⁠— Vaughan Shaw⁠— Gunn Shaw⁠— They are cut short by the entry of Fanny through the curtains. She is almost in tears. Fanny Coming between Trotter and Gunn. I’m so sorry, gentlemen. And it was such a success when I read it to the Cambridge Fabian Society! Trotter Miss O’Dowda: I was about to tell these gentlemen what I guessed before the curtain rose: that you are the author of the play. General amazement and consternation. Fanny And you all think it beastly. You hate it. You think I’m a conceited idiot, and that I shall never be able to write anything decent. She is almost weeping. A wave of sympathy carries away the critics. Vaughan No, no. Why, I was just saying that it must have been written by Pinero. Didn’t I, Gunn? Fanny Enormously flattered. Really? Trotter I thought Pinero was much too popular for the Cambridge Fabian Society. Fanny Oh yes, of course; but still⁠—Oh, did you really say that, Mr. Vaughan? Gunn I owe you an apology, Miss O’Dowda. I said it was by Barker. Fanny Radiant. Granville Barker! Oh, you couldn’t really have thought it so fine as that. Bannal I said Bernard Shaw. Fanny Oh, of course it would be a little like Bernard Shaw. The Fabian touch, you know. Bannal Coming to her encouragingly. A jolly good little play, Miss O’Dowda. Mind: I don’t say it’s like one of Shakespeare’s⁠—Hamlet or The Lady of Lyons, you know⁠—but still, a first-rate little bit of work. He shakes her hand. Gunn Following Bannal’s example. I also, Miss O’Dowda. Capital. Charming. He shakes hands. Vaughan With maudlin solemnity. Only be true to yourself, Miss O’Dowda. Keep serious. Give up making silly jokes. Sustain the note of passion. And you’ll do great things. Fanny You think I have a future? Trotter You have a past, Miss O’Dowda. Fanny Looking apprehensively at her father. Sh-sh-sh! The Count A past! What do you mean, Mr. Trotter? Trotter To Fanny. You can’t deceive me. That bit about the police was real. You’re a Suffragette, Miss O’Dowda. You were on that Deputation. The Count Fanny: is this true? Fanny It is. I did a month with Lady Constance Lytton; and I’m prouder of it than I ever was of anything or ever shall be again. Trotter Is that any reason why you should stuff naughty plays down my throat? Fanny Yes: it’ll teach you what it feels like to be forcibly fed. The Count She will never return to Venice. I feel now as I felt when the Campanile fell. Savoyard comes in through the curtains. Savoyard To the Count. Would you mind coming to say a word of congratulation to the company? They’re rather upset at having had no curtain call. The Count Certainly, certainly. I’m afraid I’ve been rather remiss. Let us go on the stage, gentlemen. The curtains are drawn, revealing the last scene of the play and the actors on the stage. The Count, Savoyard, the critics, and Fanny join them, shaking hands and congratulating. The Count Whatever we may think of the play, gentlemen, I’m sure you will agree with me that there can be only one opinion about the acting. The critics Hear, hear! They start the applause.

Ayot St. Lawrence, March 1911.

Colophon

Fanny’s First Play
was published in 1914 by
George Bernard Shaw.

This ebook was produced for
Standard Ebooks
by
Asher Smith,
and is based on a transcription produced in 2004 by
Ron Burkey and David Widger
for
Project Gutenberg
and on digital scans from the
Internet Archive.

The cover page is adapted from
Music Hall Audience,
a painting completed between 1926⁠–⁠1945 by
Thérèse Lessore.
The cover and title pages feature the
League Spartan and Sorts Mill Goudy
typefaces created