Pirandello’s Henry IV
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*Available from Grove Press
Pirandello’s Henry IV
BY LUIGI PIRANDELLO
A NEW VERSION BY TOM STOPPARD
New Version copyright © 2004 by Tom Stoppard
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CAUTION: Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that Pirandello’s Henry IV is subject to a royalty. It is fully protected under the copyright laws of the United States, Canada, United Kingdom, and all British Commonwealth countries, and all countries covered by the International Copyright Union, the Pan-American Copyright Convention, and the Universal Copyright Convention. All rights, including professional, amateur, motion picture, recitation, public reading, radio broadcasting, television, video or sound taping, all other forms of mechanical or electronic reproduction, such as information storage and retrieval systems and photocopying, and rights of translation into foreign languages, are strictly reserved.
First-class professional, stock, and amateur applications for permission to perform it, and those other rights stated above, must be made in advance to Peters, Fraser & Dunlop, Drury House, 34–43 Russell Street, London, WC2B 5HA, England, ATTN: Kenneth Ewing, and paying the requisite fee, whether the play is presented for charity or gain and whether or not admission is charged.
Printed in the United States of America
FIRST EDITION
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Stoppard, Tom.
Pirandello’s Henry IV I by Luigi Pirandello ; a new version by Tom Stoppard.— 1st ed.
p. cm.
eBook ISBN-13: 978-0-8021-9534-0
1. Henry IV, Holy Roman Emperor, 1050–1106—Drama. 2. Psychotherapist and patient—Drama. 3. Aristocracy (Social class)—Drama. 4. Italy—Drama. I. Title: Pirandello’s Henry the Fourth. II. Stoppard, Tom. III. Pirandello, Luigi, 1867–1936. Enrico IV. English. V. Title.
PR6069.T6P57 2005
822′.914—dc22
2004063842
Grove Press
an imprint of Grove/Atlantic, Inc
841 Broadway
New York, NY 10003
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This version was prepared with the help of a literal translation by Francesca Albini, commissioned by the Donmar Theatre, and with further assistance from Simonetta Wenkert. I take sole responsibility for the departures from Pirandello.
Tom Stoppard’s new version of Henry IV by Luigi Pirandello was commissioned by and first performed at the Donmar Warehouse, London, on April 29, 2004. Michael Grandage, artistic director; Nick Frankfort, executive producer; Tobias Round, general manager. The cast was as follows:
HENRY IV Ian McDiarmid
LANDOLF James Lance
HAROLD Stuart Burt
ORDULF Neil McDermott
BERTOLD Nitzan Sharron
GIOVANNI Brian Poyser
DI NOLLI Orlando Wells
BELCREDI David Yelland
DOCTOR Robert Demeger
MATILDA Francesca Annis
FRIDA Tania Emery
It was directed by Michael Grandage; the designer was Christopher Oram; the lighting design was by Neil Austin; the music and sound score was by Adam Cork; and the sound designer was Fergus O’Hare.
Pirandello’s Henry IV
ACT ONE
The throne room. There are two full-length, life-size modern portraits of a young man and a young woman dressed as Henry IV and Matilda, Countess of Tuscany. HAROLD, LANDOLF, ORDULF, and BERTOLD—wearing the costumes of eleventh-century German knights—enter.
LANDOLF Next—the throne room!
HAROLD The throne room of the Emperor’s Palace at Goslar!
ORDULF Or could be Hartzburg . . .
HAROLD . . . or Worms, depending.
LANDOLF Depending on where we are in the story—he keeps us on the hop.
ORDULF Saxony . . .
HAROLD Lombardy . . .
LANDOLF The Rhine . . .
ORDULF Keep your voice down.
LANDOLF He’s asleep.
BERTOLD Hang about. I’m confused. I thought we were doing Henry IV.
LANDOLF So?
BERTOLD Well, this place, these getups—it’s not him.
ORDULF Who?
BERTOLD The King of France, Henry IV.
LANDOLF Whoops.
ORDULF He thought it was the French one.
LANDOLF Wrong country, mate, wrong century, wrong Henry.
HAROLD It’s the German Henry IV, Salian Dynasty.
ORDULF The Holy Roman Emperor.
LANDOLF The Canossa one—walked to Canossa to get absolution from the Pope. Church v. State, that’s the game round here, day in, day out.
ORDULF Emperor at home to Pope—
HAROLD Pope away to Anti-Pope—
LANDOLF King away to Anti-King—
ORDULF Like war with Saxony—
HAROLD Plus with revolting barons—
LANDOLF His own kids . . .
BERTOLD Now I know why I’ve been feeling wrong in these clothes; these are not your French 1580s.
HAROLD Forget the 1580s.
ORDULF Think the ten hundreds.
LANDOLF Work it out; if Canossa was January 1077 . . .
BERTOLD I’m fucked.
ORDULF Royally.
BERTOLD I’ve been reading up the wrong . . .
LANDOLF Sad. We’re four hundred years behind you. Ahead of you. You’re not even a twinkle in our eye.
BERTOLD (angered) You got any idea how much stuff I read in the last two weeks about Henry IV of France?
HAROLD Didn’t you know Tony was our Adalbert, Bishop of Bremen?
BERTOLD What Adalbert?—no one told me anything!
LANDOLF Well, when Tony died, at first the young Count . . .
BERTOLD The Count Di Nolli? He’s the one who gave me the job. Why didn’t he . . . ?
ORDUL
F He must have thought you knew.
LANDOLF . . . first he thought the three of us would do. Then Himself started moaning—“They’ve driven out Adalbert!”—he didn’t realise “Adalbert” had died on us, he thought the bishops of Cologne and Mainz had booted him out, Tony I mean—all clear so far?
BERTOLD Wait. Bishop Tony of what?
ORDULF You’re fucked.
HAROLD Forget the bishops. The bishops are not the problem, the problem is we don’t know who you are.
BERTOLD So what am I playing?
ORDULF Um, Bertold.
BERTOLD Bertold who? Why Bertold?
LANDOLF Himself kept yelling, “They’ve driven out Adalbert, so get me Bertold! I want Bertold!”
HAROLD We eyeballed each other—who dat?
LANDOLF Never heard of him.
ORDULF And here you are.
LANDOLF You’ll be great.
BERTOLD No, I won’t, which way’s out?
HAROLD No, no, relax.
LANDOLF This’ll cheer you up—we don’t know who we are either. He’s Harold, he’s Ordulf, I’m Landolf, that’s what he calls us so that’s who we are, you get used to it, but it’s a puppet show. Who are we really? . . . Just names of the period. Same with you, I suppose, Bertold. Tony was the only one with a proper character, the Bishop of Bremen. He was a good bishop, too, God rest him.
HAROLD Always reading himself up.
LANDOLF And he bossed Himself about, not himself, Himself, His Majesty; he was like his teacher. With us, we’re his Privy Counsellors but we’re only here to take up space. It’s in the books—the barons had it in for Henry for surrounding himself with young bloods not quite premier league, so that’s us. Royal hangers-on, do anything for him, like a drink, a few laughs . . .
BERTOLD Laughs?
HAROLD Just do what we do.
ORDULF It’s not as easy as it looks.
LANDOLF Bit of a waste really. We’ve got the scenery, we’ve got the costumes, we could put on proper shows, history’s always popular, and there’s enough stuff in Henry IV for several tragedies. But us four—we’re stranded, nobody gives us our moves, nothing to act, it’s that old form-without-content. We’re worse off than the real ones. They were given sod-all to play, true, but they didn’t know that, so they just did what they did because that’s what they did. Life. Which means, look after number one. They sold titles and stuff. And here we are, great outfits, handsome surroundings, shame about the puppets.
HAROLD No, fair do’s, you have to be ready to come out with the right answer or you’re in trouble.
LANDOLF Yeah, that’s true.
BERTOLD Well, that’s it, innit? How’m I supposed to give him the right answer when I’ve been learning the wrong Henry?
HAROLD You’ll have to put that right right off.
ORDULF We’ll all pitch in.
HAROLD There’s lots of stuff on him, a quick skim will do you for now.
(indicating portrait) Here’s one . . . who’s the skirt, do you know?
BERTOLD Her? Well, spot the deliberate mistake . . . she doesn’t belong, for a start, a modern picture like that . . .
HAROLD You’re not wrong, you’re right.
LANDOLF But here’s the thing—it’s only a mistake if you think of them as portraits.
BERTOLD Which is what they are.
LANDOLF They are and they aren’t. To Himself, seeing as he never touches them—
BERTOLD So what are they to him?
LANDOLF This is just my theory but I bet I’m right—to him they’re more like representations of—what you’d see in a mirror. That one is him just as he is, same clothes, in this throne room, which is right in every detail, no surprises. If it was a mirror, you’d see yourself in the eleventh century. So that’s what he sees. Himself. So it’s like mirrors reflecting back a world which comes to life in them, like it will for you, you’ll see, don’t worry.
BERTOLD Don’t worry?
HAROLD It’s a laugh.
BERTOLD So how did you get to be so into it . . . ?
LANDOLF Over nine hundred years of experience.
ORDULF Take your cue from us.
BERTOLD What about her—the Emperor’s wife?
HAROLD Not at all. His wife is Bertha of Susa, sister of Amadeus II of Savoy.
ORDULF He can’t stand her. He wants to dump her. He likes being one of the lads, like us.
LANDOLF (indicating portrait) That’s his sworn enemy—Matilda, the Countess of Tuscany.
HAROLD The one who put the Pope up.
LANDOLF At Canossa.
ORDULF Pope Gregory VII. We hate him. (a bell tolls) You’re on. Go out there an unknown, come back a star. Let’s go.
They brace themselves to go “onstage,” move to exit, but GIOVANNI enters, in modern dress.
GIOVANNI (hurried and anxious) Hey . . . psst—Franco! Lolo!
HAROLD What’s up?
BERTOLD Hey. What’s he doing here?
LANDOLF Wrong century—get out!
ORDULF Get thee hence!—emissary of Gregory VII!
HAROLD Be gone!
GIOVANNI Leave off!
ORDULF ’Tis forbidden!
HAROLD This be sorcery!
LANDOLF (to Bertold) A spirit conjured up by the Wizard of Rome! Quick, draw your sword.
GIOVANNI (yelling) Stop taking the piss. The young Count has arrived . . . with a party . . .
LANDOLF Ah! Great! Any women?
ORDULF Good-looking?
GIOVANNI There’s two gentlemen.
HAROLD What about the women?
GIOVANNI The Countess and her daughter.
LANDOLF (surprised) Oh!—how come?
ORDULF The Countess?
GIOVANNI That’s right—the Countess.
LANDOLF (to Bertold) Her daughter is engaged to the young Count.
HAROLD And the men?
GIOVANNI I don’t know them.
HAROLD (to Bertold) A bit of content.
ORDULF Messengers from the Pope—this is more like it.
GIOVANNI Will you let me tell you?
HAROLD Go on, then.
GIOVANNI I think one’s a doctor.
LANDOLF Oh, right, another doctor.
HAROLD (to Bertold) You brought us luck!
LANDOLF Watch us work the doctor.
BERTOLD I think I’m out of my depth.
GIOVANNI Listen—they want to come in.
LANDOLF Here? She can’t come in here.
HAROLD Now that’s what I’d call content.
LANDOLF We’d have a real tragedy on our hands.
BERTOLD Why’s that?
ORDULF (pointing at the portrait) It’s her, don’t you see?
HAROLD What do they want in here?
ORDULF If Himself sees her he’ll blow his lid.
LANDOLF That’s if he still knows her.
GIOVANNI If he wakes up, you’re to keep him out.
ORDULF Oh, easy!—and how’re we supposed to do that?
GIOVANNI Bloody hell—use force if you have to. I’ve been told—get on with it.
HAROLD He could already be awake.
ORDULF Let’s go.
LANDOLF Tell us later what’s going on.
GIOVANNI Lock the door and take the key out.
Landolf, Harold, Ordulf, and Bertold leave. DI NOLLI comes in.
DI NOLLI All clear?
GIOVANNI Yes, my lord.
Di Nolli exits for a moment to invite the others in. The first to enter is BARON TITO BELCREDI, followed by DOCTOR DIONISIO GENONI, then COUNTESS MATILDA and her daughter FRIDA. Giovanni bows and exits. Matilda is about forty-five years old; she is still beautiful although she repairs the inevitable damage with heavy but expert makeup. Belcredi is lean, prematurely grizzled, slightly younger. Frida is only nineteen. She’s already engaged to Count Carlo Di Nolli, a stiff young man in full mourning. They enter nervously, looking at the room with curiosity (except for Di Nolli) and almost whispering to begin with.
; BELCREDI Incredible . . .
DOCTOR Fascinating! The dementia carried through to the last detail.
MATILDA Ah, there it is. Yes, yes . . . Look at it . . . My God . . . Frida, look . . .
FRIDA Oh, your portrait!
MATILDA No. Look. It’s not me, it’s you.
DI NOLLI What did I tell you?
MATILDA But it’s uncanny! Look, Frida—can’t you see it’s you?
FRIDA Well . . . really I . . .
MATILDA Look, Tito.
BELCREDI Wouldn’t dream of it, on principle.
MATILDA Idiot! He thinks he’s being gall-ant. You tell her, Doctor.
BELCREDI Psst—Doctor—for pity’s sake—don’t get involved in this.
DOCTOR In what?
MATILDA Ignore him. He’s insufferable.
FRIDA He plays the fool for his supper, didn’t you know?
BELCREDI Watch where you’re putting your feet!
DOCTOR Why?
BELCREDI Hobnailed boots.
DOCTOR Really?
BELCREDI And you’re about to step on somebody’s toes.
DOCTOR Oh . . . come on . . . what’s so strange about a daughter looking like her mother?
BELCREDI Crunch, too late!
MATILDA Why, what did he say?
DOCTOR Nothing special.
BELCREDI He said there was nothing strange about it. In which case, why did you act so stunned?
MATILDA (enraged) For the very reason that the resemblance is so natural—fool!—because that’s my portrait and to see my daughter looking back at me was an amazing thing, so I was amazed—all right?—and you can keep your insinuations to yourself.
Embarrassed silence.
FRIDA Oh God, it always ends in a row.
BELCREDI (apologetically) I wasn’t insinuating anything. I just happened to notice you didn’t share your mother’s amazement. If you were surprised at anything, it was at your mother being amazed.
MATILDA Well, obviously! She didn’t know me when I was her age. But I caught sight of myself and I saw I was . . . just like she is now.
DOCTOR No more than one would expect. Because for the daughter it’s just a picture, a moment caught and complete in itself. . . while for the mother it comes with a whole string of associations—how she moved, gestured, smiled, spoke, everything which isn’t in the portrait . . .
MATILDA Exactly.
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