Preface

Fanny's First Play, being but a potboiler, needs no preface. But its
lesson is not, I am sorry to say, unneeded. Mere morality, or the
substitution of custom for conscience was once accounted a shameful
and cynical thing: people talked of right and wrong, of honor and
dishonor, of sin and grace, of salvation and damnation, not of
morality and immorality. The word morality, if we met it in the
Bible, would surprise us as much as the word telephone or motor car.
Nowadays we do not seem to know that there is any other test of
conduct except morality; and the result is that the young had better
have their souls awakened by disgrace, capture by the police, and a
month's hard labor, than drift along from their cradles to their
graves doing what other people do for no other reason than that other
people do it, and knowing nothing of good and evil, of courage and
cowardice, or indeed anything but how to keep hunger and concupiscence
and fashionable dressing within the bounds of good taste except when
their excesses can be concealed. Is it any wonder that I am driven to
offer to young people in our suburbs the desperate advice: Do
something that will get you into trouble? But please do not suppose
that I defend a state of things which makes such advice the best that
can be given under the circumstances, or that I do not know how
difficult it is to find out a way of getting into trouble that will
combine loss of respectability with integrity of self-respect and
reasonable consideration for other peoples' feelings and interests on
every point except their dread of losing their own respectability.
But when there's a will there's a way. I hate to see dead people
walking about: it is unnatural. And our respectable middle class
people are all as dead as mutton. Out of the mouth of Mrs Knox I have
delivered on them the judgment of her God.

The critics whom I have lampooned in the induction to this play under
the names of Trotter, Vaughan, and Gunn will forgive me: in fact Mr
Trotter forgave me beforehand, and assisted the make-up by which Mr
Claude King so successfully simulated his personal appearance. The
critics whom I did not introduce were somewhat hurt, as I should have
been myself under the same circumstances; but I had not room for them
all; so I can only apologize and assure them that I meant no
disrespect.

The concealment of the authorship, if a _secret de Polichinelle_ can
be said to involve concealment, was a necessary part of the play. In
so far as it was effectual, it operated as a measure of relief to
those critics and playgoers who are so obsessed by my strained
legendary reputation that they approach my plays in a condition which
is really one of derangement, and are quite unable to conceive a