Amédée, The New Tenant, Victims of Duty

Three Plays

Eugène Ionesco, Donald Watson

• Verlag: Grove Press
• Jahr: 2015
• ISBN:
  9780802190789
• Thema: Littérature
• Thema: Théâtre européen

Three hilarious and provocative plays by the absurdist pioneer who remains "one of the most important and influential figures in the modern theater" ( Library Journal ). The author of such modern classics as The Bald Soprano, Exit the King, Rhinoceros, and The Chairs, Eugene Ionesco's plays have become emblematic of Absurdist theatre and the French avant-garde. This essential collection combines The New Tenant with Amédée and Victims of Duty —plays Richard Gilman has called, along with The Killer, Ionesco's "greatest plays, works of the same solidity, fulness, and permanence as [those of] his predecessors in the dramatic revolution that began with Ibsen and is still going on." In Amédée, the title character and his wife have a problem—not so much the corpse in their bedroom as the fact that it's been there for fifteen years and is now growing, slowly but surely crowding them out of their apartment. In The New Tenant, a similar crowding is caused by an excess of furniture—as Harold Hobson said in the London Times, "there is not a dramatist... who can make furniture speak as eloquently as Ionesco, and here he makes it the perfect, the terrifying symbol of the deranged mind." In Victims of Duty, Ionesco parodies the conformity of modern life by plunging his characters into an obscure search for "mallot with a t."

AMÉDÉE OR HOW TO GET RID OF IT

A COMEDY

SCENE: An unpretentious dining-room, drawing-room and office combined.

On the right, a door.

On the left, another door.

Backstage centre, a large window with closed shutters; the space between the slats is, however, wide enough to let in sufficient light.

Left centre, a small table strewn with notebooks and pencils. On the right, against the wall, between the window and the right-hand door, a small table, with a telephone switchboard on it, and a chair. Another chair also close to the centre table. An old armchair well down stage. There should be no other furniture in the first act, except a clearly visible clock, with hands that move.

ACT ONE

[As the curtain rises AMÉDÉE BUCCINIONI is walking nervously round and about the furniture, with his head bent and his hands clasped behind his back, thinking hard. He is of middle age, a petit bourgeois, preferably bald, with a small greying moustache, wearing spectacles, dressed in a dark jacket and black striped trousers, a butterfly collar and black tie. Every now and again he goes to the centre table, opens a notebook, picks up a pencil and tries to write (he is a playwright); but he has no success, or writes, perhaps, one word which he at once crosses out. It is obvious that he is not at ease: he is also casting occasional glances at the door on the left, which is half open. His anxiety and nervousness are steadily growing. While he is walking round the room, his eyes fixed on the floor, he suddenly bends down and snatches up something from behind the chair.]

AMÉDÉE: A mushroom! Well, really! If they’re going to start growing in the dining-room! [He straightens up and inspects the mushroom.] It’s the last straw ! . . . Poisonous, of course !

[He puts the mushroom down on a corner of the table and gazes at it sourly; he starts pacing about again, becoming more and more agitated, gesticulating and muttering to himself; he glances more frequently towards the door on the left, goes and writes another word, which he crosses out, then sinks into his armchair. He is worn out.]

Oh, that Madeleine, that Madeleine! Once she gets into that bedroom, she’s there for ever ! [Plaintively] She must have seen enough by now ! We’ve both seen enough of him ! Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear !

[He says no more, he’s quite overcome. A pause. From the right, on the landing, voices can he heard. It is obviously the concierge and a neighbour talking.]

THE VOICE OF THE CONCIERGE: So you’re back from your holidays, Monsieur Victor !

THE NEIGHBOUR’S VOICE: Yes, Madame Coucou. Just back from the North Pole.

THE VOICE OF THE CONCIERGE: I don’t suppose you had it very warm there.

THE NEIGHBOUR’S VOICE: Oh, the weather wasn’t too bad. But it’s true, for someone like you who comes from the South . . .

THE VOICE OF THE CONCIERGE: I’m no southerner, Monsieur Victor. My grandmother’s midwife came from Toulon, but my grandmother’s always lived in Lille . . .

[Suddenly, on the word ‘Lille‘, AMÉDÉE, who can stand it no longer, gets up and moves to the left-hand door, opens it still wider and calls out.]

AMÉDÉE: Madeleine, for Heaven’s sake, Madeleine, what are you doing? Haven’t you finished yet? Hurry up !

MADELEINE: [appears. She is the same age as her husband, just as tall or even slightly taller, a hard-looking, rough-tempered woman; she has an old shawl over her head and is wearing a wrapper for thé housework; she is rather thin and almost grey. Her husband moves aside fairly quickly to allow her to pass; she leaves the door still half open.] What’s the matter with you now? I can’t leave you alone for a second! You needn’t think I’ve been enjoying myself!

AMÉDÉE: Don’t spend all your time in his room, then! It’s not doing you any good ! . . . You’ve seen quite enough of him. It’s too late now.

MADELEINE: I’ve got to sweep up, haven’t I? After all, someone’s got to look after the house. We’ve no maid and there’s no one to help me. And I’ve got to earn a living for both of us.

AMÉDÉE: I know. I know we haven’t a maid. You never stop reminding me . . .

MADELEINE: [setting to work, sweeping or dusting the room] Naturally, no one’s even the right to complain where you’re concerned . . .

AMÉDÉE: Look here, Madeleine, don’t be so unfair . . .

MADELEINE: That’s right, go on! Now tell me it’s my fault!

AMÉDÉE: You know perfectly well, my dear, that I’m the first to sympathize with you, and what’s more I’m the only one; I find the whole situation most unsettling, I blame myself, but . . . I think, after all, you might . . . well, for instance, you take a quarter of an hour to clean out a room this size, and when it comes to his room, which is smaller, a couple of hours is not long enough . . . you hang about in there, just gazing at him . . .

MADELEINE: So now you’re timing me! Now I’m supposed to make my lord and master a recital of everything I do, account for every second of my life. I don’t belong to myself any more, I’m not myself any more, I’m a slave . . .

AMÉDÉE: Slavery has been abolished, my love . . .

MADELEINE: I’m not your love . . .

AMÉDÉE: Slaves belong to the past . . .

MADELEINE: Well, I’m a modern slave, then!

AMÉDÉE: You don’t try to understand. It’s just because I’m sorry for you that . . .

MADELEINE: I don’t want your pity. Hypocrite! Liar!

AMÉDÉE: You see, it’s because I’m really sorry for yoü that I won’t have . . . oh dear . . ....