Fanny and the Servant Problem [18]
I wish you hadn't asked Newte any questions about me. It would have been so nice to feel that you had married me--just because you couldn't help it--just because I was I and nothing else mattered.
VERNON. Let's forget I ever did. [He kneels beside her.] I didn't do it for my own sake, as you know. A MAN in my position has to think of other people. His wife has to take her place in society. People insist upon knowing something about her. It's not enough for the stupid "County" that she's the cleverest, most bewilderingly beautiful, bewitching lady in the land.
FANNY. And how long will you think all that?
VERNON. For ever, and ever, and ever.
FANNY. Oh, you dear boy. [She kisses him.] You don't know how a woman loves the man she loves to love her. [Laughs.] Isn't that complicated?
VERNON. Not at all. We're just the same. We love to love the woman we love.
FANNY. Provided the "County" will let us. And the County has said: A man may not marry his butler's niece.
VERNON [laughing]. You've got butlers on the brain. If ever I do run away with my own cook or under-housemaid, it will be your doing.
FANNY. You haven't the pluck! The "County" would laugh at you. You men are so frightened of being laughed at.
VERNON [he rises]. Well, if it saves us from making asses of ourselves -
FANNY. Wasn't there a niece of old Bennet's, a girl who had been brought up abroad, and who WASN'T a domestic servant--never had been- -who stayed with them here, at the gardener's cottage, for a short time, some few years ago?
VERNON. You mean poor Rose Bennet's daughter--the one who ran away and married an organ-grinder.
FANNY. An organ-grinder?
VERNON. Something of that sort--yes. They had her over; did all they could. A crazy sort of girl; used to sing French ballads on the village green to all the farm labourers she could collect. Shortened poor Bennet's life by about ten years. [Laughs.] But why? Not going to bully me for not having fallen in love with her, are you? Because that really WASN'T my fault. I never even saw her. 'Twas the winter we spent in Rome. She bolted before we got back. Never gave me a chance.
FANNY. I accept the excuse. [Laughs.] No, I was merely wondering what the "County" would have done if by any chance you had married HER. Couldn't have said you were marrying into your own kitchen in her case, because she was never IN your kitchen--absolutely refused to enter it, I'm told.
VERNON [laughs]. It would have been a "nice point," as they say in legal circles. If people had liked her, they'd have tried to forget that her cousins had ever been scullery-maids. If not, they'd have taken good care that nobody did.
Bennet enters. He brings some cut flowers, with the "placing" of which he occupies himself.
BENNET. I did not know your lordship had returned.
VERNON. Found a telegram waiting for me in the village. What's become of that niece of yours, Bennet--your sister Rose's daughter, who was here for a short time and ran away again? Ever hear anything about her?
BENNET [very quietly he turns, lets his eyes for a moment meet Fanny's. Then answers as he crosses to the windows]. The last I heard about her was that she was married.
VERNON. Satisfactorily?
BENNET. Looking at it from her point of view--most satisfactorily.
VERNON [laughs]. But looking at it from his--more doubtful?
BENNET. She was not without her attractions. Her chief faults, I am inclined to think, were those arising from want of discipline in youth. I have hopes that it is not even yet too late to root out from her nature the weeds of indiscretion.
VERNON. And you think he is the man to do it?
BENNET. Perhaps not. But fortunately there are those about her fully alive to the duty devolving upon them.
VERNON. Um. Sounds a little bit like penal servitude for the poor girl, the way you put it, Bennet.
BENNET. Even penal servitude may be a blessing, if it serves to correct a stubborn spirit.
VERNON. We'll have to make you a J.P., Bennet.
VERNON. Let's forget I ever did. [He kneels beside her.] I didn't do it for my own sake, as you know. A MAN in my position has to think of other people. His wife has to take her place in society. People insist upon knowing something about her. It's not enough for the stupid "County" that she's the cleverest, most bewilderingly beautiful, bewitching lady in the land.
FANNY. And how long will you think all that?
VERNON. For ever, and ever, and ever.
FANNY. Oh, you dear boy. [She kisses him.] You don't know how a woman loves the man she loves to love her. [Laughs.] Isn't that complicated?
VERNON. Not at all. We're just the same. We love to love the woman we love.
FANNY. Provided the "County" will let us. And the County has said: A man may not marry his butler's niece.
VERNON [laughing]. You've got butlers on the brain. If ever I do run away with my own cook or under-housemaid, it will be your doing.
FANNY. You haven't the pluck! The "County" would laugh at you. You men are so frightened of being laughed at.
VERNON [he rises]. Well, if it saves us from making asses of ourselves -
FANNY. Wasn't there a niece of old Bennet's, a girl who had been brought up abroad, and who WASN'T a domestic servant--never had been- -who stayed with them here, at the gardener's cottage, for a short time, some few years ago?
VERNON. You mean poor Rose Bennet's daughter--the one who ran away and married an organ-grinder.
FANNY. An organ-grinder?
VERNON. Something of that sort--yes. They had her over; did all they could. A crazy sort of girl; used to sing French ballads on the village green to all the farm labourers she could collect. Shortened poor Bennet's life by about ten years. [Laughs.] But why? Not going to bully me for not having fallen in love with her, are you? Because that really WASN'T my fault. I never even saw her. 'Twas the winter we spent in Rome. She bolted before we got back. Never gave me a chance.
FANNY. I accept the excuse. [Laughs.] No, I was merely wondering what the "County" would have done if by any chance you had married HER. Couldn't have said you were marrying into your own kitchen in her case, because she was never IN your kitchen--absolutely refused to enter it, I'm told.
VERNON [laughs]. It would have been a "nice point," as they say in legal circles. If people had liked her, they'd have tried to forget that her cousins had ever been scullery-maids. If not, they'd have taken good care that nobody did.
Bennet enters. He brings some cut flowers, with the "placing" of which he occupies himself.
BENNET. I did not know your lordship had returned.
VERNON. Found a telegram waiting for me in the village. What's become of that niece of yours, Bennet--your sister Rose's daughter, who was here for a short time and ran away again? Ever hear anything about her?
BENNET [very quietly he turns, lets his eyes for a moment meet Fanny's. Then answers as he crosses to the windows]. The last I heard about her was that she was married.
VERNON. Satisfactorily?
BENNET. Looking at it from her point of view--most satisfactorily.
VERNON [laughs]. But looking at it from his--more doubtful?
BENNET. She was not without her attractions. Her chief faults, I am inclined to think, were those arising from want of discipline in youth. I have hopes that it is not even yet too late to root out from her nature the weeds of indiscretion.
VERNON. And you think he is the man to do it?
BENNET. Perhaps not. But fortunately there are those about her fully alive to the duty devolving upon them.
VERNON. Um. Sounds a little bit like penal servitude for the poor girl, the way you put it, Bennet.
BENNET. Even penal servitude may be a blessing, if it serves to correct a stubborn spirit.
VERNON. We'll have to make you a J.P., Bennet.