Newsgroup: it.cultura.linguistica.inglese
Titolo: come hanno tradotto tale battuta ?

film POVERE CREATURE , CON BELLA BAXTER :
 
Duncan Wedderburn : Did you see the new show in London by Wilde ?
 
Duncan Wedderburn : marvelously witty
 
Kitty : I loved it, a handbag
 
nel doppiaggio hanno tradotto con UNA BORSETTA. E che vuol dire ???
 
grazie 


Ogni menzione di Oscar Wilde e di "a handbag" deve fare riferimento alla 
famosa battuta della sua commedia "The Importance of Being Earnest" in 
cui Lady Bracknell reagisce a Jack, il suo futuro genero, che rivela di 
essere un bambino trovato in una borsetta in una stazione ferroviaria. 
Lady Bracknell esclama con sorpresa e indignazione "a handbag?" e 
continua a descrivere perché questo non è un'origine accettabile per chi 
vuole sposare sua figlia.
 
https://www.alastairmacaulay.com/all-essays/edith-evans-handbag
 
 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tiNVy5nfbcQ
 
 


 From "The Importance of Being Earnest" by Oscar Wilde.
 
LADY BRACKNELL.
[Sitting down.] You can take a seat, Mr. Worthing.
 
[Looks in her pocket for note-book and pencil.]
 
JACK.
Thank you, Lady Bracknell, I prefer standing.
 
LADY BRACKNELL.
[Pencil and note-book in hand.] I feel bound to tell you that you are 
not down on my list of eligible young men, although I have the same list 
as the dear Duchess of Bolton has. We work together, in fact. However, I 
am quite ready to enter your name, should your answers be what a really 
affectionate mother requires. Do you smoke?
 
JACK.
Well, yes, I must admit I smoke.
 
LADY BRACKNELL.
I am glad to hear it. A man should always have an occupation of some 
kind. There are far too many idle men in London as it is. How old are you?
 
JACK.
Twenty-nine.
 
LADY BRACKNELL.
A very good age to be married at. I have always been of opinion that a 
man who desires to get married should know either everything or nothing. 
Which do you know?
 
JACK.
[After some hesitation.] I know nothing, Lady Bracknell.
 
LADY BRACKNELL.
I am pleased to hear it. I do not approve of anything that tampers with 
natural ignorance. Ignorance is like a delicate exotic fruit; touch it 
and the bloom is gone. The whole theory of modern education is radically 
unsound. Fortunately in England, at any rate, education produces no 
effect whatsoever. If it did, it would prove a serious danger to the 
upper classes, and probably lead to acts of violence in Grosvenor 
Square. What is your income?
 
JACK.
Between seven and eight thousand a year.
 
LADY BRACKNELL.
[Makes a note in her book.] In land, or in investments?
 
JACK.
In investments, chiefly.
 
LADY BRACKNELL.
That is satisfactory. What between the duties expected of one during 
one’s lifetime, and the duties exacted from one after one’s death, land 
has ceased to be either a profit or a pleasure. It gives one position, 
and prevents one from keeping it up. That’s all that can be said about land.
 
JACK.
I have a country house with some land, of course, attached to it, about 
fifteen hundred acres, I believe; but I don’t depend on that for my real 
income. In fact, as far as I can make out, the poachers are the only 
people who make anything out of it.
 
LADY BRACKNELL.
A country house! How many bedrooms? Well, that point can be cleared up 
afterwards. You have a town house, I hope? A girl with a simple, 
unspoiled nature, like Gwendolen, could hardly be expected to reside in 
the country.
 
JACK.
Well, I own a house in Belgrave Square, but it is let by the year to 
Lady Bloxham. Of course, I can get it back whenever I like, at six 
months’ notice.
 
LADY BRACKNELL.
Lady Bloxham? I don’t know her.
 
JACK.
Oh, she goes about very little. She is a lady considerably advanced in 
years.
 
LADY BRACKNELL.
Ah, nowadays that is no guarantee of respectability of character. What 
number in Belgrave Square?
 
JACK.
149.
 
LADY BRACKNELL.
[Shaking her head.] The unfashionable side. I thought there was 
something. However, that could easily be altered.
 
JACK.
Do you mean the fashion, or the side?
 
LADY BRACKNELL.
[Sternly.] Both, if necessary, I presume. What are your politics?
 
JACK.
Well, I am afraid I really have none. I am a Liberal Unionist.
 
LADY BRACKNELL.
Oh, they count as Tories. They dine with us. Or come in the evening, at 
any rate. Now to minor matters. Are your parents living?
 
JACK.
I have lost both my parents.
 
LADY BRACKNELL.
To lose one parent, Mr. Worthing, may be regarded as a misfortune; to 
lose both looks like carelessness. Who was your father? He was evidently 
a man of some wealth. Was he born in what the Radical papers call the 
purple of commerce, or did he rise from the ranks of the aristocracy?
 
JACK.
I am afraid I really don’t know. The fact is, Lady Bracknell, I said I 
had lost my parents. It would be nearer the truth to say that my parents 
seem to have lost me . . . I don’t actually know who I am by birth. I 
was . . . well, I was found.
 
LADY BRACKNELL.
Found!
 
JACK.
The late Mr. Thomas Cardew, an old gentleman of a very charitable and 
kindly disposition, found me, and gave me the name of Worthing, because 
he happened to have a first-class ticket for Worthing in his pocket at 
the time. Worthing is a place in Sussex. It is a seaside resort.
 
LADY BRACKNELL.
Where did the charitable gentleman who had a first-class ticket for this 
seaside resort find you?
 
JACK.
[Gravely.] In a hand-bag.
 
LADY BRACKNELL.
A hand-bag?
 
JACK.
[Very seriously.] Yes, Lady Bracknell. I was in a hand-bag—a somewhat 
large, black leather hand-bag, with handles to it—an ordinary hand-bag 
in fact.
 
LADY BRACKNELL.
In what locality did this Mr. James, or Thomas, Cardew come across this 
ordinary hand-bag?
 
JACK.
In the cloak-room at Victoria Station. It was given to him in mistake 
for his own.
 
LADY BRACKNELL.
The cloak-room at Victoria Station?
 
JACK.
Yes. The Brighton line.
 
LADY BRACKNELL.
The line is immaterial. Mr. Worthing, I confess I feel somewhat 
bewildered by what you have just told me. To be born, or at any rate 
bred, in a hand-bag, whether it had handles or not, seems to me to 
display a contempt for the ordinary decencies of family life that 
reminds one of the worst excesses of the French Revolution. And I 
presume you know what that unfortunate movement led to? As for the 
particular locality in which the hand-bag was found, a cloak-room at a 
railway station might serve to conceal a social indiscretion—has 
probably, indeed, been used for that purpose before now—but it could 
hardly be regarded as an assured basis for a recognised position in good 
society.
 
JACK.
May I ask you then what you would advise me to do? I need hardly say I 
would do anything in the world to ensure Gwendolen’s happiness.
 
LADY BRACKNELL.
I would strongly advise you, Mr. Worthing, to try and acquire some 
relations as soon as possible, and to make a definite effort to produce 
at any rate one parent, of either sex, before the season is quite over.
 
JACK.
Well, I don’t see how I could possibly manage to do that. I can produce 
the hand-bag at any moment. It is in my dressing-room at home. I really 
think that should satisfy you, Lady Bracknell.
 
LADY BRACKNELL.
Me, sir! What has it to do with me? You can hardly imagine that I and 
Lord Bracknell would dream of allowing our only daughter—a girl brought 
up with the utmost care—to marry into a cloak-room, and form an alliance 
with a parcel? Good morning, Mr. Worthing!
 
[Lady Bracknell sweeps out in majestic indignation.]


 
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Sanity is not statistical