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    The Fight For Barbara: “It's not art for art's sake, it's art for my sake. ”
    The Fight For Barbara: “It's not art for art's sake, it's art for my sake. ”
    The Fight For Barbara: “It's not art for art's sake, it's art for my sake. ”
    Ebook73 pages1 hour

    The Fight For Barbara: “It's not art for art's sake, it's art for my sake. ”

    By D. H. Lawrence

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    About this ebook

    For many of us DH Lawrence was a schoolboy hero. Who can forget sniggering in class at the mention of Women In Love or Lady Chatterley’s Lover? Lawrence was a talented if nomadic writer whose novels were passionately received, suppressed at times and generally at odds with Establishment values. This of course did not deter him. At his death in 1930 at the young age of 44 he was more often thought of as a pornographer but in the ensuing years he has come to be more rightly regarded as one of the most imaginative writers these shores have produced. As well as his novels and of course his poetry - he wrote in excess of 800 of them he was also a very talented playwright. These works have not been given quite the attention they deserve. Here we publish 'The Fight For Barbara'.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCopyright Group
    Release dateNov 19, 2013
    ISBN9781783946341
    The Fight For Barbara: “It's not art for art's sake, it's art for my sake. ”
    Author

    D. H. Lawrence

    David Herbert (D. H.) Lawrence was a prolific English novelist, essayist, poet, playwright, literary critic and painter. His most notable works include Lady Chatterley’s Lover, The Rainbow, Sons and Lovers and Women in Love.

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      Book preview

      The Fight For Barbara - D. H. Lawrence

      The Fight For Barbara by D.H. Lawrence

      A COMEDY IN FOUR ACTS

       For many of us DH Lawrence was a schoolboy hero. Who can forget sniggering in class at the mention of Women In Love or Lady Chatterley’s Lover?   Lawrence was a talented if nomadic writer whose novels were passionately received, suppressed at times and generally at odds with Establishment values.  This of course did not deter him.   At his death in 1930 at the young age of 44 he was more often thought of as a pornographer but in the ensuing years he has come to be more rightly regarded as one of the most imaginative writers these shores have produced.  As well as his novels he was also a masterful poet and wrote over 800 of them.  Here we publish his plays. Once again Lawrence shows his hand as a brilliant writer. Delving into situations and peeling them back to reveal the inner heart.

      Index Of Contents

      Characters

      Act I

      Act II

      Act II

      Act IV

      Anthony Trollope – A Short Biography

      Anthony Trollope – A Concise Bibliography

      CHARACTERS

      FRANCESCA

      WESSON

      BARBARA

      DR FREDERICK TRESSIDER

      LADY CHARLCOTE

      Scene: A Villa in Italy

      ACT I

      8.30 in the morning. The kitchen of an Italian villa, a big open fire-place of stone, with a little charcoal grate, fornello, on either side, cupboards, table, rush-bottom chairs with high backs, many bright copper pans of all sizes hanging up. The door-bell rings in the kitchen, rings hard, after a minute a door is heard to bang.

      Enter WESSON, in dressing-gown and pyjamas: a young man of about twenty-six, with thick hair ruffled from sleep. He crosses and goes through door R. Sounds of voices. Re-enter WESSON, followed by Italian maid-servant, FRANCESCA, young, fair, pretty, wears a black lace scarf over her head. She carries a saucepan full of milk. On the table stand a soup-tureen and an enamel jug.

      FRANCESCA: Questa? (Puts her hand on the jug.)

      WESSON: No, in the other. (She pours the milk into the tureen.)

      FRANCESCA (smiling): Abondante misura!

      WESSON: What's that? Come?

      FRANCESCA: Abondante misura latte!

      WESSON: Oh, full measure. Si! running over!

      FRANCESCA: Ranning ova. (Both laugh.)

      WESSON: Right you are, you're learning English.

      FRANCESCA: Come?

      WESSON: Vous apprenez anglais, voi, inglese!

      FRANCESCA: O, non, niente inglese!

      WESSON: Nothing English? Oh yes! Er, fa tempo cattivo!

      FRANCESCA: Tempo cattivo, si.

      WESSON: Rotten weather

      FRANCESCA: Come?

      WESSON: It's all the same. (She puts the lid on her saucepan and turns away.) Er, what day is it? er, giorno che giorno?

      FRANCESCA: Oggi? Domenica.

      WESSON: Domenica! dimanche, Sonntag, Sunday.

      FRANCESCA: Come?

      WESSON: Sunday!

      FRANCESCA: Sendy!

      WESSON: That's it. (Both laugh, she blushes and turns away, bows.)

      FRANCESCA: Buon giorno, Signore.

      WESSON: Buon giorno.

      Exit FRANCESCA R. He drinks some milk, wipes his mouth and begins to whistle: Put me among the girls! takes some branches of olive and ilex from a box near the fire, puts them in the fireplace. As he is so doing, enter Left, BARBARA, age about twenty-six, fair, rather a fine young woman, holding her blue silk dressing-gown about her. She stands in the doorway L., holding up her finger.

      BARBARA: Yes, you may well whistle that! I heard you, Giacometti.

      WESSON (turning round): And did it fetch you out of bed?

      BARBARA: Yes, it did. I heard your dulcet tones.

      WESSON: They were no dulcetter than usual.

      BARBARA: And, pray, what right had they to be as dulcet! (draws herself up) to a little servant-maid, indeed!

      WESSON: She's awfully nice, and quite a lady.

      BARBARA: Yes, yes, I know you! She's pretty, is she?

      WESSON: Awfully pretty! (Lighting the heap of branches in the fire.) These matches are the stinking devil.

      BARBARA: Aren't they! I tried to light a cigarette with them, and I thought I should have died!

      WESSON: You should have waited till the sulphur had burned away (laughing). And the pretty maid had got a mantilla on this morning.

      BARBARA: Ah! I suppose the poor thing had been to church.

      WESSON: It took my breath away when I opened the door, and I said Oh!

      BARBARA: Giacomo!

      WESSON: Do call me Jimmy, I hate to be Italianized! and she blushed like fury.

      BARBARA: Poor thing! Really, Giacometti, really, you are impossible.

      WESSON: What for?

      BARBARA: Fancy saying Oh! to the young maid! Remember, you're a gentleman in her eyes.

      WESSON: And what's wrong with saying Oh! when she's got a fascinating mantilla on? I can't say delicate things in Italian, and, Oh!, who can't say Oh! after all, what is there in it?

      BARBARA: What could have been more expressive! Think of the poor thing, how embarrassed she must feel.

      The fire blazes up in the big chimney.

      Oh, how beautiful! Now that makes me perfectly happy. How gorgeous! How adorable! No, but, Wesson, I don't like it.

      WESSON: What's that, the fire?

      BARBARA: No, the little servant-maid. And you made her feel so uncomfortable.

      WESSON: I didn't.

      BARBARA: You must have done! Think, to her, at any rate, you're a gentleman.

      WESSON: A thundering lot of a gentleman, when she finds me lighting the fire and grinding the coffee

      BARBARA: Yes,

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