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• The New Comedy : ACT ONE Scene One , ACT ONE Scene Three, excerpt 1 , ACT ONE Scene Three, excerpt 2 , ACT TWO Scene Eight

The New Comedy, translated by Gwynneth Dowling

ACT ONE Scene One

Context:

Don Antonio is bothered by the noise above him in the café. The waiter Pipi informs him that a celebration is taking place in honour of that evening’s new play.

Sample text

DON ANTONIO:

Who on earth’s up there? Madmen?

PIPI:

No, sir. It’s writers … poets.

DON ANTONIO:

Writers?

PIPI:

Oh yes, sir! If only I could be one! Wouldn’t that be something? And they’ve had such a grand dinner … wine, liqueurs …

DON ANTONIO:

And what’s the occasion?

PIPI:

I’m not exactly sure, but I suppose it’s to celebrate the new play that’s on tonight. One of them wrote it.

DON ANTONIO:

So they’ve written a play? Scamps!

PIPI:

You mean you didn’t know?

DON ANTONIO:

No.

PIPI:

It’s here, in the paper.

DON ANTONIO:

Indeed, here it is. (Reading the newspaper that’s on the table.) ‘NEW PLAY ANNOUNCED: THE GREAT SIEGE OF VIENNA.’ Well isn’t that something! They’re turning a city into a play. Nonsense. Better to be a waiter than a ridiculous playwright any day, Pipi!

PIPI:

Well, the truth is that I’d love to learn how to do something like that.

DON ANTONIO:

Like what?

PIPI:

Write dramatic poetry! I love it so much.

DON ANTONIO:

Oh yes, a good verse or two is to be respected, but so few people nowadays know how to write. Very few, very few.

Copyright

The above sample taken from the translation The New Comedy by Gwynneth Dowling is licensed under a Creative Commons License.

ACT ONE Scene Three, excerpt 1

Context:

Don Antonio chances upon Don Pedro in the café. Pedro is a kind and cultured man, although he does not suffer fools gladly.

Sample text

DON ANTONIO:

How are you, Don Pedro? (DON ANTONIO takes a seat near DON PEDRO.)

DON PEDRO:

Antonio! I didn’t see you there. I’m well.

DON ANTONIO:

I’m surprised to see you here at this time of day.

DON PEDRO:

Indeed, it’s unusual. I ate nearby, but an argument broke out at another table between two literary fellows who hardly knew how to read. They were talking such nonsense that I got fed up and came here.

DON ANTONIO:

You’ve such a strange temperament, you’ll end up like a little island.

DON PEDRO:

Not at all. I’m the first to agree to see a show, or go for a walk, or have fun. But I like to study as well as to enjoy myself. I’ve few friends, but very good ones, to whom I owe some of the happiest moments of my life. I’m sorry if I sometimes come off a little strange in company. But what can I do? I won’t lie and I can’t pretend. To me, it’s the duty of a decent man to speak frankly and honestly at all times.

DON ANTONIO:

Yes, but what if the truth’s hard to hear. What do you do then?

DON PEDRO:

I hold my tongue.

DON ANTONIO:

And what if keeping quiet makes things worse?

DON PEDRO:

I leave.

DON ANTONIO:

It’s not always that easy to jump ship, so …

DON PEDRO:

Well, in that case I tell the truth.

DON ANTONIO:

I’ve heard what they say about you, even in here. Everyone admires your abilities, your integrity, what you have to say about things … But they’re always surprised at how offhand you can be.

DON PEDRO:

Why? Because I don’t hold forth in the café? Because I don’t spend the night spewing out all I’ve learnt during the day? Because I don’t argue, or spout ridiculous rhetoric, unlike one or two pedants I could mention, who waste their days in here, to the admiration of idiots and the derision of sensible men? That’s why they call me cold and offhand? I hardly care. I’m happy with the opinion I’ve always had, that a café’s not the place for a prudent man to speak.

DON ANTONIO:

What’s the café for then?

DON PEDRO:

Having a coffee.

DON ANTONIO:

Hah! But on another note, what are you doing this evening?

DON PEDRO:

Going to see a play.

DON ANTONIO:

The new one, I suppose?

DON PEDRO:

What? They’ve changed what’s on? In that case, I’m not going.

DON ANTONIO:

But why ever not? You see how strange you can be? (PIPI comes out of the door at the back with a tray, bottles and glasses that he will leave on the counter.)

DON PEDRO:

Do you really have to ask? You only have to look at the list of new plays they put on each year to understand exactly why I’ll not be going to see tonight’s offering.

Copyright

The above sample taken from the translation The New Comedy by Gwynneth Dowling is licensed under a Creative Commons License.

ACT ONE Scene Three, excerpt 2

Context:

Don Eleuterio reads from his forthcoming play. Antonio makes fun of the predictable characterisation. Eleuterio does not realise that Antonio thinks his play is terrible.

Sample text

DON ELEUTERIO:

How’s that? Don’t you think it’s good, sir? (Addressing DON PEDRO.)

DON PEDRO:

Me? What?

DON ELEUTERIO:

I’m glad you like it. Hang on, there’s a really good bit at the start of Act Two. Take a look for yourself … here … it must be about here. When the lady falls down, dead from starvation.

DON ANTONIO:

Dead?

DON ELEUTERIO:

Yes, sir. Dead.

DON ANTONIO:

How funny! And here, these insults of hers. Who are they aimed at?

DON ELEUTERIO:

The Vizier. He’s starved her for six days because she’s refused to be his concubine.

DON ANTONIO:

Poor thing! I get it, the Vizier’s the villain.

DON ELEUTERIO:

Yes, sir.

DON ANTONIO:

Fire in his belly, eh?

DON ELEUTERIO:

Yes, sir.

DON ANTONIO:

A licentious brute, horrifically ugly, is that it?

DON ELEUTERIO:

Exactly.

DON ANTONIO:

Big, dark, squinty-eyed, huge moustache …

DON ELEUTERIO:

Yes exactly, sir! That’s the way I picture him, too.

Copyright

The above sample taken from the translation The New Comedy by Gwynneth Dowling is licensed under a Creative Commons License.

ACT TWO Scene Eight

Context:

Eleuterio and his party have returned to the café. The performance has been a disaster, much to Eleuterio’s surprise. Hermogenes distances himself from his supposed friend.

Sample text

DON ELEUTERIO:

Damn them! When have they seen a better play!?

DON PEDRO:

I still don’t understand.

DOÑA MARIQUITA:

It’s very simple, sir. This is my brother, husband of that woman and author of the damned play that was on tonight. We all went to see it – it was already well into the second act by the time we got there. There was a storm … then a council of war … then a dance … then a funeral. And at the end of all this hurly-burly the lady of the piece came out, a little boy’s hand in hers. She and the boy starving to death. The boy said ‘Mother, please give me bread’. And she called out to the demons Demogorgon and Ceberos. We arrived just at the start of this bit between mother and son. The theatre was dreadful – what an audience! Sneezing and coughing and yawning. Such a lot of noise! Well, sir, as I was saying, the lady came out and she’d hardly finished saying she’d been starving for six days, and the boy had hardly started asking for bread, and she’d hardly finished saying she’d none, when the audience, already battered by the storm, the war council, the dance and the funeral started up another ruckus. The noise got louder and louder; bellows and shouts from all around. Then they started up a slow hand clap, banging on the seats and railings. I thought they were going to bring the house down! The curtain dropped, they opened the theatre doors and everyone left, grumbling. My sister’s heart gave out … so that … well, she’s better now. That’s the main thing. It’s a blur, sitting in our box and seeing all that happening … it flew by. All at once. My God, look where all this has got us! I told you it was impossible that … (She sits down beside DOÑA AGUSTINA.)

DON ELEUTERIO:

And there was absolutely no need for it all! Don Hermogenes, my good friend Don Hermogenes, you know the play very well. Tell these good men. Here. (He gets out the play text and hands it to DON HERMOGENES.) Read them the second act and they can tell me if it’s not right that a woman who hasn’t eaten for six days should die from hunger, or if it’s strange that a four-year-old boy would ask his mother for bread. Read it, read it, and then tell me if they had any justification for punishing me this way.

DON HERMOGENES:

At this moment in time, Don Eleuterio … my old friend … I cannot undertake to read the play. (He puts the play back on the table. PIPI the waiter takes it, sits on a chair a little apart and reads.) I’m in a hurry. We’ll catch up another day and …

DON ELEUTERIO:

You’re going?

DOÑA MARIQUITA:

You’re leaving us in this state?

DON HERMOGENES:

If my presence could in any way relieve your suffering, I wouldn’t move a muscle, but …

DOÑA MARIQUITA:

Don’t go.

DON HERMOGENES:

It’s painful to be any part of this cruel affair; I’ve things to do. As for the play, there’s nothing more to say. It died. It will not be resurrected. Although since I’m currently writing a defence of theatre, I’ll give it a positive mention. I’ll say that there’s worse out there, that although it’s incoherent, its author is a great man. I’ll play down its defects.

DON ELEUTERIO:

What defects?

DON HERMOGENES:

It’s got a few.

DON PEDRO:

You weren’t saying that earlier.

DON HERMOGENES:

I wanted to encourage him.

Copyright

The above sample taken from the translation The New Comedy by Gwynneth Dowling is licensed under a Creative Commons License.

Entry written by Gwynneth Dowling. Last updated on 24 May 2011.

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Kitty wrote 24 Jul 2015, 7:47 a.m.

Translation Is there a full translation from Gwynneth available? The samples provided are only a tease...I have not ever read a better translation! Well done...