Hedda Gabler (NHB Modern Plays)

Henrik Ibsen, Richard Eyre

• Editore: Nick Hern Books
• Anno: 2016
• ISBN:
  9781788500708
• Argomento: Littérature
• Categoria: Théâtre britannique

Richard Eyre's high-profile adaptation of Ibsen's famous 'problem play' about a headstrong woman's determination to control those around her.

Arriving home after an extended honeymoon, Hedda struggles with an existence that is, for her, devoid of excitement and enchantment. Filled with a passion for life that cannot be confined by her marriage or 'perfect home', Hedda strives to find a way to fulfil her desires by manipulating those around her.

Richard Eyre's adaptation of Ibsen's Hedda Gabler was premiered at the Almeida Theatre, London, in 2005.

'A triumph... Eyre's dialogue is forceful, clear, with just enough idiomatic dash' - Observer

'Hedda is often regarded as the female Hamlet. But Eyre reminds us that it is a great polyphonic play as well as a commanding title-role' - Guardian

'Hedda Gabler still has the power to shock' - Independent on Sunday

'thrilling... re-administers, as if for the first time, the devastating shock and the sheer affront of Ibsen's drama' - Independent

ACT ONE

A large, elegant, well-furnished, contemporary (1890) drawing room: a sofa, a round table and chairs, an armchair and footstool by a large porcelain stove, an upright piano. Fine carpets. It’s a room clearly intended for entertaining. A smaller room lies beyond, where a large portrait of a good-looking military officer can be seen. There are fresh flowers in vases and bouquets on tables all over the room.

Morning light floods through French windows. It’s autumn.

A small woman in her mid-sixties, MISS TESMAN, tiptoes into the room. She’s wearing a hat and carrying a parasol. She’s followed by a plump middle-aged woman, BERTHE, the maid, who is carrying a bunch of flowers.

MISS TESMAN (whispering). Well . . . I don’t think they’re up yet.

BERTHE (whispering). ’S’what I said. Still, the boat was late wa’n it and – God – the stuff she wanted to unpack before she’d go to bed.

MISS TESMAN. Well, let’s have some fresh air to welcome them.

She opens the French windows. BERTHE looks to her for advice, shrugs and puts the flowers on the piano.

BERTHE (in tears). I don’t know where to put nothing.

MISS TESMAN. Berthe . . . It broke my heart to lose you.

BERTHE. I worked for you and your sister for . . .

MISS TESMAN. I know, dear, but there’s no alternative. George needs you, he must have you, you’ve been looking after him since he was little.

BERTHE. What with poor Miss Rena being sick – she can’t do for herself at all . . .

MISS TESMAN. Oh, I’ll manage.

BERTHE. . . . and I might not be up to scratch for Georgie’s wife, I mean for Miss Hedda, Mrs Tesman, I mean . . .

MRS ELVSTED. At the beginning there’s bound –

BERTHE. . . . she can be quite mardy, I’ve heard.

MISS TESMAN. Well, she’s a general’s daughter, she’s used to fine things and things just so. That black riding dress, you remember . . . She used to ride out with her father –

BERTHE. With a feather in her hat like the Queen of Sheba. Never thought Georgie’d –

MISS TESMAN. Berthe, you must call him ‘Doctor’ now.

BERTHE. Doctor. Aye. She said that last night. Just as soon as she stepped in the door.

MISS TESMAN. They made him a doctor in Germany. ‘I’m Doctor Tesman now, Aunt Juju!’ he told me when he came down the gangway.

BERTHE. He could be whatever he wanted. Mind, I never had him for a medical man, too dainty for that . . .

MISS TESMAN. No no, he’s not that sort of doctor, Lord no. But he might have an even more important title soon . . .

BERTHE. What’s that, then?

MISS TESMAN (smiling, she puts her finger to her lips). Mum. If only my sweet brother could have lived to see – (She stops.) Berthe?

BERTHE. Miss Juju?

MISS TESMAN. What have you done?

BERTHE. Miss Juju?

MISS TESMAN. You’ve taken the covers off the furniture.

BERTHE. Madam said I should. Said she couldn’t be doing with covers on furniture.

MISS TESMAN. But they can’t be going to use this room for every day . . .

BERTHE. Madam is. Georgie – the Doctor – didn’t say.

GEORGE TESMAN comes into the back room holding an empty, open suitcase. He’s a young-looking 33, round-faced, glasses, bearded, a little plump, casually dressed.

MISS TESMAN. Good morning, George.

TESMAN. Aunt Juju. You’re so early and you must be so tired.

MISS TESMAN. I had to see you settled in . . .

TESMAN. And all the way from the port last night, there and back, no?

MISS TESMAN. It’s good for me.

TESMAN. We were so sorry we couldn’t take you in the carriage . . .

MISS TESMAN. Oh, goodness, the Judge looked after me, he saw me home.

TESMAN. Hedda’s bags were . . .

MISS TESMAN. What a mountain! I’ve never seen such a . . . mountain.

BERTHE. Shall I help Madam?

TESMAN. No, you’re not to disturb her. She’ll ring if she wants you.

BERTHE starts to go.

Oh, take this will you, Berthe?

BERTHE. I’ll put it in the attic.

BERTHE goes out.

TESMAN. Amazing, Aunt Juju, that case was crammed with papers. Incredible, what I found. The archives, you know, in the museums. Notes, documents – things people didn’t know existed, I even found –

MISS TESMAN. You didn’t waste your time on your honeymoon.

TESMAN. Not a moment. Oh Aunt Juju, do take your hat off. Here, let me, yes?

MISS TESMAN (as he takes the hat off). Dear Georgie . . . it’s like being at home.

TESMAN. Lovely hat, Aunt Juju.

MISS TESMAN. It’s for Hedda.

TESMAN. Hedda?

MISS TESMAN. So she won’t be ashamed of me if we’re ever walking together.

TESMAN (stroking her cheek). Aunt Juju, you’re a marvel. Let’s chat before Hedda appears.

He puts the hat down on an armchair. She puts her parasol in the corner of the sofa. She takes both his hands in hers and they sit side by side.

MISS TESMAN. Dear Georgie, you’re the living image of my dear brother. I feel safe now, it’s such a blessing to have you back with us.

TESMAN. It is for me, you’re my family, Aunt Juju, you and Aunt Rena.

MISS TESMAN. And I know you’ll go on caring for us, even, well . . .

TESMAN. She’s no better?

MISS TESMAN (tearful). She’s . . . I hope she lasts longer, I don’t know what I’d do without her now I haven’t got you to look after.

TESMAN (patting her back). You’ll always have me.

MISS TESMAN (pulling herself together). No, you’ve got a w...