Arthur & George E-Book

Julian Barnes

• Herausgeber: Nick Hern Books
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Beschreibung

The gripping story of the sensational, real-life case in which Sir Arthur Conan Doyle found himself playing detective - based on Julian Barnes's Booker Prize-nominated novel. In 1903, Birmingham solicitor George Edalji was found guilty of a terrible crime and sentenced to seven years' imprisonment. Desperate to prove his innocence, he recruited Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, creator of Sherlock Holmes, to help solve his mysterious case and win him a pardon. As absorbing as any Sherlock Holmes mystery, Arthur & George also raises many questions about guilt and innocence, identity, nationality and race. This stage adaptation of Arthur & George, by acclaimed playwright David Edgar, was first performed at Birmingham Rep and Nottingham Playhouse in 2010.

Leseprobe

Julian Barnes

ARTHUR & GEORGE

adapted for the stage by

David Edgar

NICK HERN BOOKS

London

www.nickhernbooks.co.uk

Contents

Title Page

Original Production

Dedication

Characters

Arthur & George

Afterword

About the Author

Copyright and Performing Rights Information

Arthur & George was first performed at the Birmingham Repertory Theatre, on 19 March 2010. The cast was as follows:

DOORMAN/CAMPBELL/BUTTER/

Richard Attlee

GREATOREX/STOKER

WOODIE

William Beck

UPTON/VACHELL/ANSON/PARKER

Simon Coates

WAITER/MEEK/BELLBOY/WYNN/

Daniel Crowder

STATIONMASTER/JEROME

JEAN

Kirsty Hoiles

ARTHUR

Adrian Lukis

GEORGE

Chris Nayak

MAUD

Anneika Rose

Director

Rachel Kavanaugh

Designer

Ruari Murchison

Assistant Director

Kane Desborough

Lighting Designer

Tim Mitchell

Composer

Terry Davies

Projection and Video Designer

Barret Hodgson

Dialect Coach

Charmian Hoare

Sound Designer

Dan Hoole

To Chris and Trevor

Characters

JEAN, thirty-four MAUD, twenty-five, half-Indian GEORGE, thirty-one, half-Indian, a solicitor DOORMAN ARTHUR, forty-seven,a writer WAITER WOODIE, thirties, Arthur’s secretary UPTON, forties, apolice sergeant CAMPBELL, forty, a police inspector MEEK, thirties, a solicitor VACHELL, fifties, a barrister BELLBOY BUTTER, fifties, a police surgeon ANSON, fifties, Chief Constable of Staffordshire WYNN, late twenties GREATOREX, late middle-age STATIONMASTER JEROME K. JEROME, forty-eight SIR GEORGE PARKER, forty-five, Canadian BRAM STOKER, sixty, Irish

Doubling

The play is written for eight actors. Arthur, George, Jean, Maud and Woodie do not double.

The other parts are played by two men in middle to late middle age, and a younger man, doubling as follows:

Doorman / Campbell / Butter / Greatorex / Stoker

Upton / Vachell / Anson / Parker

Waiter / Meek / Bellboy / Wynn / Stationmaster / Jerome

Setting

The play is set in London and the West Midlands. Most of the action is in late 1906 and early 1907. The characters’ ages are for late 1906.

Notation

A dash ( – ) means that a character is interrupted.

A slash ( / ) means that the next character to speak starts speaking at that point (what follows the slash need not be completed, it is there to indicate the character’s train of thought).

Ellipses (…) indicate that a character has interrupted him or herself.

ACT ONE

Scene One

In fact, a bedroom in the Hotel Metropole, London, September 1907. But currently, a darkness, through which we see the ghostly vision of a woman of thirty-four, her dark gold hair fallen, dressed in a white slip and holding a horseshoe of white heather.JEANis of Scottish descent.

JEAN. How did it begin? It began as everything begins. A child wants to see.

JEANis joined by a woman of twenty-five, plainly but formally dressed, carrying a suit of women’s clothes. She is half-Indian and her name isMAUD.JEANhands her the horseshoe.

Apparently, he’d just learnt to walk. A door there to be pushed; he pushes it, walks in, and looks.

MAUD. And what did he…?

JEAN. A room, closed curtains, and the bed. And what was on the bed.

MAUD (handingJEANitems of clothing whichJEANputs on). And what was on the…?

JEAN. His first memory.

MAUD (helpingJEANinto her suit). You know, I’m not sure George has a first memory. And, in our house, making things up was not encouraged.

JEAN (toMAUD). Of course not.

MAUD. Fibbers. Tellers of tall tales.

JEAN. Indeed. Whereas, with Arthur, it was different.

Behind the two women, another scene is emerging: the foyer of another London hotel.

A man who’ll spend his life telling stories of unnatural death. Who will eventually decide that death is not a locked door, but a door left ajar. His first memory: the dead body of his grandmother.

MAUDhandsJEANan item of clothing.

MAUD. And that’s how it began?

MAUDcarries on helpingJEANto dress as we move into:

Scene Two

The foyer of the Grand Hotel, Charing Cross. Ten months earlier, December 1906. The foyer consists of tables, chairs, sofas, desks, lamps and hatstands.GEORGEenters and peers about. He is a man of thirty-one, half-Indian, behatted, neatly and respectably dressed, and carrying a case of papers. The hotelDOORMANapproaches.

DOORMAN. May I assist you?

GEORGE. This is the Charing Cross Hotel?

DOORMAN. It is.

GEORGE. I am–I have an appointment to meet someone. In the lobby?

TheDOORMANgestures round the stage.GEORGEpeers.

I would imagine, in his later forties. A literary personage. With, I understand, a considerable moustache.

TheDOORMANlooks round.

DOORMAN. I fear there is no personage of that description.

GEORGE. Then I’ll wait.

GEORGEgoes to a winged armchair and sits, facing away from the entrance. He thinks of opening his case, but changes his mind. Picking up a newspaper, he reads that instead, holding it at a strange angle. At the same time,ARTHURenters the hotel. He is a large, burly man of forty-seven, with a still-distinct Scottish accent and – as predicted – an impressive moustache. He carries a package.

ARTHUR. Good afternoon.

DOORMAN (recognisingARTHUR). Ah, good afternoon, Sir–

ARTHURraises a finger to his lips, stopping theDOORMANin his tracks.

ARTHUR. Thank you. I am meeting a young man. Of–I would imagine–Hindoo appearance.

DOORMAN (moving to escortARTHUR). He’s over here, sir.

ARTHUR. No.

ARTHURcan see some ofGEORGE, but not enough to see why the newspaper is at a peculiar angle. So he takes a chair, stands on it, and looks atGEORGE. TheDOORMANis taken aback byARTHUR’s behaviour.

(To theDOORMAN.) Is there a private room I could use to conduct an interview?

DOORMAN. I’m sure there’s somewhere, Sir–

ARTHUR (interrupting again). Well, good.

(Insistent.) Thank you so much.

TheDOORMANgoes in search of a private room, as:

JEAN. So, yes, that’s how it began. Like this.

Looking atARTHUR.

The small boy stared, and, forty-five years on…

ARTHUR, satisfied with his covert inspection ofGEORGE, descends from the chair and heads over to him.

MAUD (looking atGEORGE). …the grown man was still staring.

JEANandMAUDdisappear asARTHURreachesGEORGE.

ARTHUR (pronouncing the name ‘ee-dal-jee’). Mr Edalji, my name is / Arthur–

GEORGE. Yes, I know.

He puts down his newspaper, stands, and puts out his hand. The two men shake.

ARTHUR. I’m very pleased to meet you.

GEORGE. As am I.

TheDOORMANreappears.

ARTHUR. Success?

DOORMAN. Sir, there’s a writing room.

ARTHUR (both an order to theDOORMANand an offer toGEORGE). And, perhaps, a whisky and water?

TheDOORMANturns and waves to an offstageWAITER.

GEORGE. Uh, no.

ARTHUR. Or something else?

AWAITERappears.

GEORGE. No, thank you.

ARTHUR. Then, just one for me.

TheDOORMANmouths ‘whisky and water’ to theWAITER, and gestures the two men to the writing room. TheWAITERgoes.

DOORMAN. This way, gentlemen.

ARTHUR (gesturing for him to precede him, once again stressing the second syllable). Please, Mr Edalji.

They go into a downstage area representing the writing room, with a table, chairs and a hatstand. AsARTHURtips the doorman.

(Gesturing to the hatstand.) Would you care to…?

GEORGE. No, I am quite comfortable.

ARTHUR. I’m very glad.

As theDOORMANgoes out,ARTHURtosses his hat onto the hatstand.GEORGEnotes the protocol, takes his own hat off, puts it on the table, and sits.ARTHURtakes off his overcoat and hangs it up.

Have you come far?

GEORGE. Not very. I have lodgings in East Kilburn.

ARTHUR. Convenient for Lord’s.

GEORGE. The House of Lords?

ARTHUR. The Marylebone Cricket Club.

Slight pause. He mimes a drive to silly mid-off.GEORGEdoesn’t seem to get it, soARTHURhands him the package.

But I imagine you know me for my other claim to fame.

GEORGE. Of course.

ARTHUR. I have brought you–I hope you will forgive me–a copy of a book of mine.

GEORGE. I’m very grateful.

ARTHURgestures thatGEORGEshould open it. He does.

ARTHUR. It is–I’ve signed it.

GEORGE.The White Company.

ARTHUR. You don’t possess it?

GEORGE. No. It is, presumably, about the great detective–

ARTHUR. No, it is not about‘the great detective’.

GEORGE. Oh, I… apol/ogise–

ARTHUR. It is set in the medieval period. It is a tale of gallant knights and their heroic deeds. It is my finest work.

GEORGE. You think so?

ARTHUR. I know so.

Pause.

(Still mispronouncing.) But perhaps, now, Mr Edalji, to the matter in hand.

GEORGE. In fact, if you don’t mind, it’s actually –(‘Ay-dal-ji’.) Edalji.

A moment.

ARTHUR. I apologise.

GEORGE. No matter. I mean, it does matter. But I’m used to it.

ARTHUR. Of course.

Slight pause.

(Waving his pipe.) Do you mind?

GEORGE. Of course.

ARTHURstarts to put his pipe away.

(Quickly.) I mean, of course not. Please.

TheWAITERenters with a tray of whisky and water.

WAITER. Your whisky, Sir Arthur.

ARTHUR. Thank you very much.

TheWAITERputs the tray on the table and goes out. The two men speak simultaneously.

GEORGE. Um, now, Sir Ar –

ARTHUR. So. Mr Ed –

They both stop. Another go:

GEORGE. Please, do–

ARTHUR. Go on.

They stop again.ARTHURconcedes ‘defeat’.

(Lighting his pipe, and pronouncingGEORGE’s name correctly:)Mr Edalji, there is a tradition in my detective stories…

GEORGE. Yes, I fear that, although I know about / your work…

ARTHUR. …that they start with somebody describing a preceding chain of circumstance. The chain of circumstance which brought them…

GEORGE. Sir Arthur, I wrote you a letter.

ARTHUR. Yes.

GEORGE. Which describes the‘chain of circumstance’in full.

ARTHUR. I have no doubt.

GEORGE. Then, why–

ARTHUR. I haven’t read your letter.

GEORGE. You haven’t / read my–

ARTHUR. Or rather, I’ve read the first paragraph. From which I concluded that it was worth seeing you.

GEORGE. The first paragraph merely summarises the outcome of my case.

ARTHUR. Yes. That is usually my place to start.

GEORGE. I see.

ARTHUR (pats his pocket). I still have the letter, should I need it.

GEORGE. Well…

ARTHUR. But now, I’d like you to return to the beginning.

GEORGE (with a slight note of sarcasm). The beginning. Well, my father was born as a Parsee in Bombay.

Slight pause.

ARTHUR. A Parsee. Yes.

Slight pause.

GEORGE. He converted to the Anglican faith, and took Holy Orders. My mother, on the other hand, is a Scot by birth, though her father held a living in the Shropshire town of Ketley, hence my father being appointed to the parish of Great Wyrley.

ARTHUR. I meant, the beginning of the affair you wrote to me about.

Slight pause.

GEORGE. This is, all in…

ARTHUR. But even so.

GEORGE (again, finding it hard to conceal an element of tetchiness). Well, I suppose the‘affair’began with a disquieting incident, which occurred in 1892. When I was sixteen.

ARTHUR. Which was?

GEORGE. The discovery of a strange object on our doorstep.

ARTHUR. This being, the doorstep of…

GEORGE. …my father’s vicarage, in Great Wyrley, Staffordshire.

ARTHUR. And the object was?

GEORGE. A key.

ARTHUR. A key.

GEORGE. Belonging to a school I had attended at Walsall.

ARTHUR. You mean, previously.

GEORGE. By now, I was studying Law in Birmingham.

ARTHUR. Good, good. And did you know who placed the key…?

GEORGE. No, we had no idea.

ARTHUR. But why‘disquieting’?