Fanny’s First Play

the daughter I had him. He has a daughter of his own. Wouldn’t hear of payment! Offered to come just to please her! Quite human. I was surprised. The Count Extremely kind of him. Savoyard Then I went to Vaughan, because he does music as well as the drama: and you said you thought there would be music. I told him Trotter would feel lonely without him; so he promised like a bird. Then I thought you’d like one of the latest sort: the chaps that go for the newest things and swear they’re old-fashioned. So I nailed Gilbert Gunn. The four will give you a representative team. By the way looking at his watch they’ll be here presently. The Count Before they come, Mr. Savoyard, could you give me any hints about them that would help me to make a little conversation with them? I am, as you said, rather out of it in England; and I might unwittingly say something tactless. Savoyard Well, let me see. As you don’t like English people, I don’t know that you’ll get on with Trotter, because he’s thoroughly English: never happy except when he’s in Paris, and speaks French so unnecessarily well that everybody there spots him as an Englishman the moment he opens his mouth. Very witty and all that. Pretends to turn up his nose at the theatre and says people make too much fuss about art the Count is extremely indignant. But that’s only his modesty, because art is his own line, you understand. Mind you don’t chaff him about Aristotle. The Count Why should I chaff him about Aristotle? Savoyard Well, I don’t know; but its one of the recognized ways of chaffing him. However, you’ll get on with him all right: he’s a man of the world and a man of sense. The one you’ll have to be careful about is Vaughan. The Count In what way, may I ask? Savoyard Well, Vaughan has no sense of humor; and if you joke with him he’ll think you’re insulting him on purpose. Mind: it’s not that he doesn’t see a joke: he does; and it hurts him. A comedy scene makes him sore all over: he goes away black and blue, and pitches into the play for all he’s worth. The Count But surely that is a very serious defect in a man of his profession? Savoyard Yes it is, and no mistake. But Vaughan is honest, and don’t care a brass farthing what he says, or whether it pleases anybody or not; and you must have one man of that sort to say the things that nobody else will say. The Count It seems to me to carry the principle of division of labor too far, this keeping of the honesty and the other qualities in separate compartments. What is Mr. Gunn’s speciality, if I may ask? Savoyard Gunn is one of the intellectuals. The Count But aren’t they all intellectuals? Savoyard Lord! no: heaven forbid! You must be careful what you say about that: I shouldn’t like anyone to call me an Intellectual: I don’t think any Englishman would! They don’t count really, you know; but still it’s rather the thing to have them. Gunn is one of the young intellectuals: he writes plays himself. He’s useful because he pitches into the older intellectuals who are standing in his way. But you may take it from me that none of these chaps really matter. Flawner Bannal’s your man. Bannal really represents the British playgoer. When he likes a thing, you may take your oath there are a hundred thousand people in London that’ll like it if they can only be got to know about it. Besides, Bannal’s knowledge of the theatre is an inside knowledge. We know him; and he knows us. He knows the ropes: he knows his way about: he knows what he’s talking about. The Count With a little sigh. Age and experience, I suppose? Savoyard Age! I should put him at twenty at the very outside, myself. It’s not an old man’s job after all, is it? Bannal may not ride the literary high horse like Trotter and the rest; but I’d take his opinion before any other in London. He’s the man in the street; and that’s what you want. The Count I am almost sorry you didn’t give the gentleman his full terms. I should not have grudged the fifty guineas for a sound opinion. He may feel shabbily treated. Savoyard Well, let him. It was a bit of side, his asking fifty. After all, what is he? Only a pressman. Jolly good business for him to earn ten guineas: he’s done the same job often enough for half a quid, I expect. Fanny O’Dowda comes precipitately through the curtains, excited and nervous. A girl of nineteen in a dress synchronous with her father’s. Fanny Papa, papa, the critics have come. And one of them has a cocked hat and sword like a⁠—she notices Savoyard Oh, I beg your pardon. The Count This is Mr. Savoyard, your impresario, my dear. Fanny Shaking hands. How do you do? Savoyard Pleased to meet you, Miss O’Dowda. The cocked hat is all right. Trotter is a member of the new Academic Committee. He induced them to go in for a uniform like the French Academy; and I asked him to wear it. The Footman Announcing. Mr. Trotter, Mr. Vaughan, Mr. Gunn, Mr. Flawner 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