by the same author

plays

ROSENCRANTZ AND GUILDENSTERN ARE

ENTER A FREE MAN

TRAVESTIES

NIGHT AND DAY

"ROUGH CROSSING and ON THE RAZZLE

(adapted from Ferenc Molnar's play At the Castle

and Johann Nestroy's Einen Jux Will Er Sich Machen)

THE REAL THING

HAPGOOD

JUMPERS

DALLIANCE and UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY

ARCADIA

INDIAN INK

(an adaptation of In the Native State)

THE INVENTION OF LOVE

VOYAGE (The Coast of Utopia Part I)

SHIPWREAK (The Coast of Utopia Part II)

SALVAGE (The Coast of Utopia Part I)

PIRANDELLO'S HENRY IV (a new version)

TOM STOPPARD: PLAYS ONE

(The Real Inspector Hound, After Magritte, Dirty Linen,

New-Found-land, Dogg's Hamlet, Cahoor's Macbeth)

TOM STOPPARD: PLAYS TWO

(The Dissolution of Dominic Boot, 'M' is for Moon Among Other Things,

If You're Glad, I'U Be Frank, Albert's Bridge, Where Are They Now?,

Artist Descending a Staircase, The Dog It Was that Died, In the Native State)

TOM STOPPARD: PLAYS THREE

(A Separate Peace, Teeth, Another Moon Called Earth,

Neutral Ground, Professional Foul, Squaring the Circle)

TOM STOPPARD: PLAYS FOUR

(Dalliance, Undiscovered Country, Rough Grossing,

On the Razzle, The Seagull)

TOM STOPPARD: PLAYS FIVE

(Arcadia, Indian Ink, Night and Day, The Real Thing, Hapgood)

screenplays

ROSENCRANTZ AND GUILDENSTERN ARE DEAD: THE FILM

SHAKESPEARE IN LOVE (with Marc Norman)

fiction

LORD MALQUIST AND MR MOON

TOM STOPPARD

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern

Are Dead

faber and faber

First published in 1967

by Faber and Faber Limited

3 Queen Square London WCIN 3AU

This paperback edition first published in 1968

Reset in 2000

Photoset by Parker Typesetting Service, Leicester

Printed in England by Mackays of Chatham PLC

All rights whatsoever in this play are strictly reserved and professional

applications for permission to perform it, etc., must be made in advance,

before rehearsals begin, to Peters, Fraser and Dunlop, Drury House,

34-43 Russell Street, London WC2B SHA, and amateur applications for

permission to perform it, etc., must be made in advance, before

rehearsals begin, to Samuel French Ltd, 52 Fitzroy Street,

London WIP 6JR

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not,

by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out

or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in

any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is

published and without a similar condition including this

condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN 0-571-08182-7

34 36 38 40 39 37 35

The first major production of Rosencrantz and

Guildenstern Are Dead was first performed by the Royal

National Theatre on It April 1967. The cast was as

follows:

Rosencrantz John Stride

Guildenstern Edward Petherbridge

The Player Graham Crowden

Players Alan Adams, Oliver Cotton, Neil Fitzpatrick,

Luke Hardy, Roger Kemp

Hamlet John McEnery

Ophelia Caroline John

Claudius Kenneth Mackintosh

Gertrude Mary Griffiths

Polonius Peter Cellier

Fortinbras David Bailie

Horatio David Hargreaves

Ambassador David Ryall

Courtiers and Attendants David Bailie, Petronella Barker,

David Belcher, Margo Cunningham, Denis de Marne,

Kay Gailie, Reginald Green, David Hargreaves, William

Hobbs, Richard Kay, Lee Menzies, Leonard Pearce, Ron

Pember, Frederick Pyne, Maggie Riley, David Ryall,

Christopher Timothy

Player-Musicians Lawrence Kennedy (flute), Laurie

Morgan (drums), Stephen Nagy (oboe),

Offstage Musicians Malcolm Hall, Edward Wilson

Directed by Derek Goldby

Lighting by Richard Pilbrow

Music and sound effects by Marc Wilkinson

The action takes place within and around the action of

Hamlet.

Act One

Two Elizabethans passing the time in a place without any

visible character.

They are well dressed - hats, cloaks, sticks and all.

Each of them has a large leather money bag.

Guildenstern's bag is nearly empty.

Rosencrantz's bag is nearly full.

The reason being: they are betting on the toss of a coin,

in the following manner: Guildenstern (hereafter 'Guil')

takes a coin out of his bag, spins it, letting it fall.

Rosencrantz (hereafter 'Ros') studies it, announces it as

"heads' (as it happens) and puts it into his own bag. Then

they repeat the process. They have apparently been doing

this for some time.

The run of 'heads' is impossible, yet Ros betrays no

surprise at all - he feels none. However, he is nice enough

to feel a little embarrassed at taking so much money off his

friend. Let that be his character note.

Guil is well alive to the oddity of it. He is not worried

about the money, but he is worried by the implications;

aware but not going to panic about it - his character note.

Guil sits. Ros stands (he does the moving, retrieving

coins).

Guil spins. Ros studies coin.

Ros Heads.

He picks it up and puts it in his bag. The process is

repeated.

Heads.

Again.

Heads.

Again.

Heads.

Again.

Heads.

Guil (flipping a coin) There is an art to the building up of

suspense.

Ros Heads.

Guil (flipping another) Though it can be done by luck

alone.

Ros Heads.

Guil If that's the word I'm after.

Ros (raises his head at Guil) Seventy-six love.

Guil gets up but has nowhere to go. He spins another

coin over his shoulder without looking at it, his

attention being directed at his environment or lack of it.

Heads.

Guil A weaker man might be moved to re-examine his

faith, if in nothing else at least in the law of probability.

He flips a coin over his shoulder as he goes to look

upstage.

Ros Heads.

Guil, examining the confines of the stage, flips over two

more coins as he does so, one by one of course. Ros

announces each of them as "heads'.

Guil (musing) The law of probability, it has been oddly

asserted, is something to do with the proposition that if six

monkeys (He has surprised himself.) ... if six monkeys

were ...

Ros Game?

Guil Were they?

Ros Are you?

Guil (understanding) Game. (Flips a coin.) The law of

averages, if I have got this right, means that if six monkeys

were thrown up in the air for long enough they would

land on their tails about as often as they would land on

their -

Ros Heads. (He picks up the coin.)

Guil Which even at first glance does not strike one as a

particularly rewarding speculation, in either sense, even

without the monkeys. I mean you wouldn't bet on it. I

mean I would, but you wouldn't... (As he flips a coin.)

Ros Heads.

Guil Would you? (Flips a coin.)

Ros Heads.

Repeat.

Heads. (He looks up at Guil - embarrassed laugh.) Getting

a bit of a bore, isn't it?

Guil (coldly) A bore?

Ros Well...

Guil What about the suspense?

Ros (innocently) What suspense?

Small pause.

Guil It must be the law of diminishing returns ... I feel

the spell about to be broken. (Energizing himself

somewhat.)

He takes out a coin, spins it high, catches it, turns it

over on to the back of his other hand, studies the coin -

and tosses it to Ros. His energy deflates and he sits.

Well, it was an even chance ... if my calculations are

correct.

Ros Eighty-five in a row - beaten the record!

Guil Don't be absurd.

Ros Easily!

Guil (angry) Is that it, then? Is that all?

Ros What?

Guil A new record? Is that as far as you are prepared to

до?

Ros Well . ..

Guil No questions? Not even a pause?

Ros You spun them yourself.

Guil Not a flicker of doubt?

Ros (aggrieved, aggressive) Well. I won - didn't I?

Guil (approaches him - quieter) And if you'd lost? If

they'd come down against you, eighty-five times, one after

another, just like that?

Ros (dumbly) Eighty-five in a row? Tails?

Guil Yes! What would you think?

Ros (doubtfully) Well... (jocularly) Well, I'd have a good

look at your coins for a start!

Guil (retiring) I'm relieved. At least we can still count on

self-interest as a predictable factor... I suppose it's the

last to go. Your capacity for trust made me wonder if

perhaps... you, alone ... (He turns on him suddenly

reaches out a hand.) Touch. (Ros clasps his hand. Guil

pulls him up to him. More intensely) We have been

spinning coins together since - (He releases him almost as

violently.) This is not the first time we have spun coins!

Ros Oh no - we've been spinning coins for as long as I

remember.

Guil How long is that?

Ros I forget. Mind you - eighty-five times!

Guil Yes?

Ros It'll take some beating, I imagine.

Guil Is that what you imagine? Is that it? No fear?

Ros Fear?

Guil (in fury - flings a coin on the ground) Fear! The

crack that might flood your brain with light!

Ros Heads... (He puts it in his bag.)

Guil sits despondently. He takes a coin, spins it, lets it

fall between his feet. He looks at it, picks it up, throws it

to Ros, who puts it in his bag.

Guil takes another coin, spins it, catches it, turns it

over on to his other hand, looks at it, and throws it to

Ros who puts it in his bag.

Guil takes a third coin, spins it, catches it in his right

hand, turns it over on to his left wrist, lobs it in the air,

catches it with his left hand, raises his left leg, throws

the coin up under it, catches it and turns it over on to

the top of his head, where it sits. Ros comes, looks at it,

puts it in his bag.

Ros I'm afraid -

Guil So am I

Ros I'm atraid it isn't your day.

Guil I'm afraid it is.

Small pause.

Ros Eighty-nine.

Guil It must be indicative of something, besides the

redistribution of wealth. (He muses.) List of possible

explanations.

One. I'm willing it. Inside where nothing shows, I am

the essence of a man spinning double-headed coins, and

betting against himself in private atonement for an

unremembered past. (He spins a coin at Ros.)

Ros Heads.

Guil Two. Time has stopped dead, and the single

experience of one coin being spun once has been repeated

ninety times. . . (He flips a coin, looks at it, tosses it to

Ros.) On the whole, doubtful. Three. Divine intervention,

that is to say, a good turn from above concerning him, cf.

children of Israel, or retribution from above concerning

me, cf. Lot's wife. Four. A spectacular vindication of the

principle that each individual coin spun individually (He

spins one) is as likely to come down heads as tails and

therefore should cause no surprise each individual time it

does. (It does. He tosses it to Ros.)

Ros I've never known anything like it!

Guil And a syllogism: One, he had never known anything

like it. Two, he has never known anything to write home

about. Three, it is nothing to write home about... Home

.. What's the first thing you remember?

Ros Oh, let's see... The first thing that comes into my

head, you mean?

Guil No - the first thing you remember.

Ros Ah. (Pause.) No, it's no good, it's gone. It was a long

time ago.

Guil (patient but edged) You don't get my meaning. What

is the first thing after all the things you've forgotten?

Ros Oh I see. (Pause.) I've forgotten the question. (Guil

leaps up and paces.)

Guil Are you happy?

Ros What?

Gull Content? At ease?

Ros I suppose so.

Guil What are you going to do now?

Ros I don't know. What do you want to do?

Guil I have no desires. None. (He stops pacing dead.)

There was a messenger... that's right. We were sent for.

(He wheels at Ros and raps out -) Syllogism the second:

one, probability is a factor which operates within natural

forces. Two, probability is not operating as a factor. Three,

we are now within un-, sub- or supernatural forces.

Discuss. (Ros is suitably startled - Acidly) Not too

heatedly.

Ros I'm sorry I - What's the matter with you?

Guil The scientific approach to the examination of

phenomena is a defence against the pure emotion of fear.

Keep tight hold and continue while there's time. Now -

counter to the previous syllogism: tricky one, follow me

carefully, it may prove a comfort. If we postulate, and we

just have, that within un-, sub- or supernatural forces the

probability is that the law of probability will not operate

as a factor, then we must accept that the probability of the

first part will not operate as a factor, in which case the law

of probability will operate as a factor within un-, sub- or

supernatural forces. And since it obviously hasn't been

doing so, we can take it that we are not held within un-,

sub- or supernatural forces after all; in all probability, that

is. Which is a great relief to me personally. (Small pause.)

Which is all very well, except that - (He continues with

tight bysteria, under control.) We have been spinning coins

together since I don't know when, and in all that time (if it

is all that time) I don't suppose either of us was more than

a couple of gold pieces up or down. I hope that doesn't

sound surprising because its very unsurprisingness is

something I am trying to keep hold of. The equanimity of

your average tosser of coins depends upon the law, or

rather a tendency, or let us say a probability, or at any rate

a mathematically calculable chance, which ensures that he

will not upset himself by losing too much nor upset his

opponent by winning too often. This made for a kind of

harmony and a kind of confidence. It related the fortuitous

and the ordained into a reassuring union which we

recognized as nature. The sun came up about as often as it

went down, in the long run, and a coin showed heads

about as often as it showed tails. Then a messenger

arrived. We had been sent for. Nothing else happened.

Ninety-two coins spun consecutively have come down

heads ninety-two consecutive times... and for the last

three minutes on the wind of a windless day I have heard

the sound of drums and flute...

Ros (cutting his fingernails) Another curious scientific

phenomenon is the fact that the fingernails grow after

death, as does the beard.

Guil What?

Ros (loud) Beard!

Guil But you're not dead.

Ros (irritated) I didn't say they started to grow after

death! (Pause, calmer.) The fingernails also grow before

birth, though not the beard.

Guil What?

Ros (shouts) Beard! What's the matter with you?

(reflectively) The toenails, on the other hand, never grow

at all.

Guil (bemused) The toenails on the other hand never

grow at all?

Ros Do they? It's a funny thing - I cut my fingernails all

the time, and every time I think to cut them, they need

cutting. Now, for instance. And yet, I never, to the best of

my knowledge, cut my toenails. They ought to be curled

under my feet by now, but it doesn't happen. I never think

about them. Perhaps I cut them absent-mindedly, when I'm

thinking of something else.

Guil (tensed up by this rambling) Do you remember the

first thing that happened today?

Ros (promptly) I woke up, I suppose. (Triggered.) Oh -

I've got it now - that man, a foreigner, he woke us up -

Guil A messenger. (He relaxes, sits.)

Ros That's it - pale sky before dawn, a man standing on

his saddle to bang on the shutters - shouts - What's all the

row about?! Clear off! - But then he called our names.

You remember that - this man woke us up.

Guil Yes.

Ros We were sent for.

Guil Yes.

Ros That's why we're here. (He looks round, seems

doubtful, then the explanation.) Travelling.

Guil Yes.

Ros (dramatically) It was urgent - a matter of extreme

urgency, a royal summons, his very words: official business

and no questions asked - lights in the stableyard, saddle

up and off headlong and hotfoot across the land, our

guides outstripped in breakneck pursuit of our duty!

Fearful lest we come too late!! (Small pause.)

Guil Too late for what?

Ros How do I know? We haven't got there yet.

Guil Then what are we doing here, I ask myself.

Ros You might well ask.

Guil We better get on.

Ros You might well think.

Guil We better get on.

Ros (actively) Right! (Pause.) On where?

Guil Forward.

Ros (forward to footlights) Ah. (Hesitates.) Which way do

we - (He turns round.) Which way did we - ?

Guil Practically starting from scratch ... An awakening,

a man standing on his saddle to bang on the shutters, our

names shouted in a certain dawn, a message, a summons

... A new record for heads and tails. We have not been

... picked out... simply to be abandoned . . . set loose

to find our own way... We are entitled to some direction

... I would have thought.

Ros (alert, listening) I say - ! I say -

Guil Yes?

Ros I can hear - I thought I heard - music.

Guil raises himself.

Guil Yes?

Ros Like a band. (He looks around, laughs

embarrassedly, expiating himself.) It sounded like - a

band. Drums.

Guil Yes.

Ros (relaxes) It couldn't have been real.

Guil 'The colours red, blue and green are real. The colour

yellow is a mystical experience shared by everybody' -

demolish.

Ros (at edge of stage) It must have been thunder. Like

drums...

By the end of the next speech, the band is faintly

audible.

Guil A man breaking his journey between one place and

another at a third place of no name, character, population

or significance, sees a unicorn cross his path and

disappear. That in itself is startling, but there are

precedents for mystical encounters of various kinds of, to

be less extreme, a choice of persuasions to put it down to

fancy; until - 'My God,' says a second man, 'I must be

dreaming, I thought I saw a unicorn. At which point, a

dimension is added that makes the experience as alarming

as it will ever be. A third witness, you understand, adds no

further dimension but only spreads it thinner, and a fourth

thinner still, and the more witnesses there are the thinner it

gets and the more reasonable it becomes until it is as thin

as reality, the name we give to the common experience . .

'Look, look!' recites the crowd. 'A horse with an arrow in

its forehead! It must have been mistaken for a deer.'

Ros (eagerly) I knew all along it was a band.

Guil (tiredly) He knew all along it was a band.

Ros Here they come!

Guil (at the last moment before they enter - wistfully) I'm

sorry it wasn't a unicorn. It would have been nice to have

unicorns.

The Tragedians are six in number, including a small boy

(Alfred). Two pull and push a cart piled with props and

belongings. There is also a Drummer, a Horn-Player

and a Flautist. The Spokesman ('the Player') has no

instrument. He brings up the rear and is the first to

notice them.

Player Halt!

The Group turns and halts.

(joyously) An audience!

Ros and Guil half rise.

Don't move!

They sink back. He regards them fondly.

Perfect! A lucky thing we came along.

Ros For us?

Player Let us hope so. But to meet two gentlemen on the

road - we would not hope to meet them off it.

Ros No?

Player Well met, in fact, and just in time.

Ros Why's that?

Player Why, we grow rusty and you catch us at the very

point ot decadence - by this time tomorrow we might have

forgotten everything we ever knew. That's a thought, isn't

it? (He laughs generously.) We'd be back where we started

- improvising.

Ros Tumblers, are you?

Player We can give you a tumble if that's your taste, and

times being what they are . .. Otherwise, for a jingle of

coin we can do you a selection of gory romances, full of

fine cadence and corpses, pirated from the Italian; and it

doesn't take much to make a jingle - even a single coin has

music in it.

They all flourish and bow, raggedly.

Tragedians, at your command.

Ros and Guil have got to their feet.

Ros My name is Guildenstern, and this is Rosencrantz.

(Guil confers briefly with him.)

(without embarrassment) I'm sorry - his name's

Guildenstern, and I'm Rosencrantz.

Player A pleasure. We've played to bigger, of course, but

quality counts for something. I recognized you at once -

Ros And who are we?

Player - as fellow artists.

Ros I thought we were gentlemen.

Player For some of us it is performance, for others,

patronage. They are two sides of the same coin, or, let us

say, being as there are so many of us, the same side of two

coins. (Bows again.) Don't clap too loudly - it's a very old

world.

I 3

Ros What is your line?

Player Tragedy, sir. Deaths and disclosures, universal and

particular, dénouements both unexpected and inexorable,

transvestite melodrama on all levels including the

suggestive. We transport you into a world of intrigue and

illusion. . . clowns, if you like, murderers - we can do you

ghosts and battles, on the skirmish level, heroes, villains,

tormented lovers - set pieces in the poetic vein; we can do

you rapiers or rape or both, by all means, faithless wives

and ravished virgins - flagrante delicto at a price, but that

comes under realism for which there are special terms.

Getting warm, am I?

Ros (doubtfully) Well, I don't know...

Player It costs little to watch, and little more if you

happen to get caught up in the action, if that's your taste

and times being what they are.

Ros What are they?

Player Indifferent.

Ros Bad?

Player Wicked. Now what precisely is your pleasure? (He

turns to the Tragedians.) Gentlemen, disport yourselves.

(The Tragedians shuffle into some kind of line.) There! See

anything you like?

Ros (doubtful, innocent) What do they do?

Player Let your imagination run riot. They are beyond

surprise.

Ros And how much?

Player To take part?

Ros To watch.

Player Watch what?

Ros A private performance.

Player How private?

Ros Well, there are only two of us. Is that enough?

Player For an audience, disappointing. For voyeurs, about

average.

Ros What's the difference?

Player Ten guilders.

Ros (horrified) Ten guilders!

Player I mean eight.

Ros Together?

Player Each. I don't think you understand -

Ros What are you saying?

Player What am I saying - seven.

Ros Where have you been?

Player Roundabout. A nest of children carries the custom

of the town. Juvenile companies, they are the fashion. But

they cannot match our repertoire. . . we'll stoop to

anything if that's your bent.

He regards Ros meaningfully but Ros returns the stare

blankly.

Ros They'll grow up.

Player (giving up) There's one born every minute. (to

Tragedians) On-ward!

The Tragedians start to resume their burdens and their

journey. Guil stirs himself at last.

Guil Where are you going?

Player Ha-alt!

They halt and turn.

Home, sir.

Guil Where from?

Player Home. We're travelling people. We take our

chances where we find them.

Guil It was chance, then?

Player Chance?

Guil You found us.

Player Oh yes.

Guil You were looking?

Player Oh no.

Guil Chance, then.

Player Or fate.

Guil Yours or ours?

Player It could hardly be one without the other.

Guil Fate, then.

Player Oh yes. We have no control. Tonight we play to the

court. Or the night after. Or to the tavern. Or not.

Guil Perhaps I can use my influence.

Player At the tavern?

Guil At the court. I would say I have some influence.

Player Would you say so?

Guil I have influence yet.

Player Yet what?

Guil seizes the Player violently.

Guil I have influence!

The Player does not resist. Guil loosens his hold. More

calmly.

You said something - about getting caught up in the

action -

Player (gaily freeing himself) I did! - I did! - You're

quicker than your friend. . . (confidingly) Now for a

handful of guilders I happen to have a private and uncut

performance of the Rape of the Sabine Women - or rather

woman, or rather Alfred - (over his shoulder) Get your

skirt on, Alfred -

The Boy starts struggling into a female robe.

.. and for eight you can participate.

Guil backs, Player follows.

... taking either part.

Guil backs.

... or both for ten.

Guil tries to turn away. Player holds his sleeve.

... with encores -

Guil smashes the Player across the face. The Player

recoils. Guil stands trembling.

(resigned and quiet) Get your skirt off, Alfred ...

Alfred struggles out of his half-on robe.

Guil (shaking with rage and fright) It could have been - it

didn't have to be obscene... It could have been - a bird

out of season, dropping bright-feathered on my shoulder

... It could have been a tongueless dwarf standing by the

road to point the way... I was prepared. But it's this, is

it? No enigma, no dignity, nothing classical, portentous,

only this - a comic pornographer and a rabble of

prostitutes...

Player (acknowledging the description with a sweep of his

hat, bowing: sadly) You should have caught us in better

times. We were purists then. (Straightens up.) On-ward.

The Players make to leave.

Ros (his voice has changed: he has caught on) Excuse me!

Player Ha-alt!

They halt.

A-al-l-fred!

Alfred resumes the struggle. The Player comes forward.

Ros You're not - ah - exclusively players, then?

Player We're inclusively players, sir.

Ros So you give - exhibitions?

Player Performances, sir.

Ros Yes, of course. There's more money in that, is there?

Player There's more trade, sir.

Ros Times being what they are.

Player Yes.

Ros Indifferent.

Player Completely.

Ros You know I'd no idea -

Player No.

Ros I mean, I've heard of - but I've never actually -

Player No.

Ros I mean, what exactly do you do?

Player We keep to our usual stuff, more or less, only

inside out. We do on stage the things that are supposed to

happen off. Which is a kind of integrity, if you look on

every exit being an entrance somewhere else.

Ros (nervy, loud) Well, I'm not really the type of man

who - no, but don't hurry off - sit down and tell us about

some of the things people ask you to do - (The Player

turns away.)

Player On-ward!

Ros just a minute!

They turn and look at him without expression.

Well, all right - I wouldn't mind seeing - just an idea of

the kind of - (bravely) What will you do for that? (And

tosses a single coin on the ground between them. The

Player spits at the coin, from where he stands. The

Tragedians demur, trying to get at the coin. He kicks and

cuffs them back.)

Player On!

Alfred is still half in and out of his robe. The Player

cuffs him. To Alfred.

What are you playing at?

Ros is shamed into fury.

Ros Filth! Disgusting - I'll report you to the authorities -

perverts! I know your game all right, it's all filth!

The Players are about to leave. Guil has remained

detached.

Guil (casually) Do you like a bet?

The Tragedians turn and look interested. The Player

comes forward.

Player What kind of bet did you have in mind?

Guil walks half the distance towards the Player, stops

with his foot over the coin.

Guil Double or quits.

Player Well... heads.

Guil raises his foot. The Player bends. The Tragedians

crowd round. Relief and congratulations. The Player

picks up the coin. Guil throws him a second coin.

Guil Again?

Some of the Tragedians are for it, others against.

Evens.

The Player nods and tosses the coin.

Heads.

It is. He picks it up.

Again.

Guil spins coin.

Player Heads.

It is. The Player picks up coin. He has two coins again.

He spins one.

Guil Heads.

It is. Guil picks it up. Then tosses it immediately.

Player (fractional hesitation) Tails.

But it's heads. Guil picks it up. The Player tosses down

his last coin by way of paying up, and turns away. Guil

doesn't pick it up; he puts his foot on it.

Guil Heads.

Player No!

Pause. The Tragedians are against this. Apologetically.

They don't like the odds.

Guil (lifts his foot, squats; picks up the coin still squatting;

looks up) You were right - heads. (Spins it, slaps his hand

on it, on the floor.) Heads I win.

Player No.

Guil (uncovers coin) Right again. (Repeat.) Heads I win.

Player No.

Guil (uncovers coin) And right again. (Repeat.) Heads I

win.

Player No!

He turns away, the Tragedians with him. Guil stands

up, comes close.

Guil Would you believe it? (Stands back, relaxes, smiles.)

Bet me the year of my birth doubled is an odd number.

Player Your birth - !

Guil If you don't trust me don't bet with me.

Player Would you trust me?

Guil Bet me then.

Player My birth?

Guil Odd numbers you win.

Player You're on -

The Tragedians have come forward, wide awake.

Guil Good. Year of your birth. Double it. Even numbers 1

win, odd numbers I lose.

Silence. An awful sigh as the Tragedians realize that any

number doubled is even. Then a terrible row as they

object. Then a terrible silence.

Player We have no money.

Guil turns to him.

Guil Ah. Then what have you got?

The Player silently brings Alfred forward. Guil regards

Alfred sadly.

Was it for this?

Player It is the best we've got.

Guil (looking up and around) Then the times are bad

indeed.

The Player starts to speak, protestation, but Guil turns

on him viciously.

The very air stinks.

The Player moves back. Guil moves down to the

footlights and turns.

Come here, Alfred.

Alfred moves down and stands, frightened and small.

Gently.

Do you lose often?

Alfred Yes, sir.

Guil Then what could you have left to lose?

Alfred Nothing, sir.

Pause. Guil regards him.

Guil Do you like being . . . an actor?

Alfred No, sir.

Guil looks around, at the audience.

Guil You and I, Alfred - we could create a dramatic

precedent here.

And Alfred, who has been near to tears, starts to sniffle.

Come, come, Alfred, this is no way to fill the theatres of

Europe.

The Player has moved down, to remonstrate with

Alfred. Guil cuts him off again. Viciously.

Do you know any good plays?

Player Plays?

Ros (coming forward, faltering shyly) Exhibitions...

Guil I thought you said you were actors.

Player (dawning) Oh. Oh well, we are. We are. But there

hasn't been much call -

Guil You lost. Well then - one of the Greeks, perhaps?

You're familiar with the tragedies of antiquity, are you?

The great homicidal classics? Matri, patri, fratri, sorori,

uxori and it goes without saying -

Ros Saucy -

Guil - Suicidal - hm? Maidens aspiring to godheads -

Ros And vice versa -

Guil Your kind of thing, is it?

Player Well, no, I can't say it is, really. We're more of the

blood, love and rhetoric school.

Guil Well, I'll leave the choice to you, if there is anything

to choose between them.

Player They're hardly divisible, sir - well, I can do you

blood and love without the rhetoric, and I can do you

blood and rhetoric without the love, and I can do you all

three concurrent or consecutive, but I can't do you love

and rhetoric without the blood. Blood is compulsory -

they're all blood, you see.

Guil Is that what people want?

Player It's what we do.

Small pause. He turns away. Guil touches Alfred on the

shoulder.

Guil (wry, gentle) Thank you; we'll let you know.

The Player has moved upstage. Alfred follows.

Player (to Tragedians) Thirty-eight!

Ros (moving across, fascinated and hopeful) Position?

Player Sir?

Ros One of your - tableaux?

Player No, sir.

Ros Oh.

Player (to the Tragedians, now departing with their cart,

already taking various props off it) Entrances there and

there (Indicating upstage).

The Player has not moved his position for his last four

lines. He does not move now. Guil waits.

Guil Well... aren't you going to change into your

costume?

Player I never change out of it, sir.

Guil Always in character.

Player That's it.

Pause.

Guil Aren't you going to - come on?

Player 1 am on.

Guil But if you are on, you can't come on. Can you?

Player I start on.

Guil But it hasn't started. Go on. We'll look out for you.

Player I'll give you a wave.

He does not move. His immobility is now pointed, and

getting awkward. Pause. Ros walks up to him till they

are face to face.

Ros Excuse me.

Pause. The Player lifts his downstage foot. It was

covering Guil's coin. Ros puts his foot on the coin.

Smiles.

Thank you.

The Player turns and goes. Ros has bent for the coin.

Guil (moving out) Come on.

Ros I say - that was lucky.

Guil (turning) What?

Ros It was tails.

He tosses the coin to Guil who catches it.

Simultaneously - a lighting change sufficient to alter the

exterior mood into interior, but nothing violent. And

Ophelia runs on in some alarm, holding up her skirts -

followed by Hamlet.

Ophelia has been sewing and she holds the garment.

They are both mute. Hamlet, with his doublet all

unbraced, no hat upon his head, his stockings fouled,

ungartered and down-gyved to his ankle, pale as his

shirt, his knees knocking each other... and with a look

so piteous, he takes her by the wrist and holds her hard,

then he goes to the length of his arm, and with his other

hand over his brow, falls to such perusal of her face as

he would draw it... At last, with a little shaking of his

arm, and thrice his head waving up and down, he raises

a sigh so piteous and profound that it does seem to

shatter all his bulk and end his being. That done he lets

her go, and with his head over his shoulder turned, he

goes out backwards without taking his eyes off her ...

she runs off in the opposite direction.

Ros and Guil have frozen. Guil unfreezes first. He

jumps at Ros.

Guil Come on!

But a flourish - enter Claudius and Gertrude, attended.

Claudius Welcome, dear Rosencrantz... (He raises a

hand at Guil while Ros bows - Guil bows late and .

hurriedly) ... and Guildenstern.

He raises a hand at Ros while Guil bows to him - Ros is

still straightening up from his previous bow and half

way up he bows down again. With his head down, he

twists to look at Guil, who is on the way up.

Moreover that we did much long to see you,

the need we have to use you did provoke

our hasty sending.

Ros and Guil still adjusting their clothing for Claudius's

presence.

Something have you heard

Of Hamlet's transformation, so call it,

Sith nor th'exterior nor the inward man

Resembles that it was. What it should be,

More than his tather's death, that thus hath put him,

So much from th'understanding of himselt,

I cannot dream of. I entreat you both

That, being of so young days brought up with him

And sith so neighboured to his youth and haviour

That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court

Some little time, so by your companies

To draw him on to pleasures, and to gather

So much as from occasion you may glean,

Whether aught to us unknown afflicts him thus,

That opened lies within our remedy.

Gertrude Good (fractional suspense) gentlemen... (They

both bow.)

He hath much talked of you,

And sure I am, two men there is not living

To whom he more adheres. If it will please you

• to expar

For the supply and profit of our hope,

Your visitation shall receive such thanks

As fits a king's remembrance.

Ros Both your majesties

Might, by the sovereign power you have of us,

Put your dread pleasures more into command

Than to entreaty.

Guil We both obey,

And here give up ourselves in the full bent

To lay our service freely at your feet,

To be commanded.

Claudius Thanks, Rosencrantz (Turning to Ros who is

caught unprepared, while Guil bows.) and gentle

Guildenstern (Turning to Guil who is bent double).

Gertrude (correcting) Thanks, Guildenstern (Turning to

Ros, who bows as Guil checks upward movements to bow

too - both bent double, squinting at each other.) ... and

gentle Rosencrantz. (Turning to Guil, both straightening

up - Guil checks again and bows again.)

And I beseech you instantly to visit

My too much changed son. Go, some of you,

And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is.

Two Attendants exit backwards, indicating that Ros

and Guil should follow.

Guil Heaven make our presence and our practices

Pleasant and helpful to him.

Gertrude Ay, amen!

Ros and Guil move towards a downstage wing. Before

they get there, Polonius enters. They stop and bow to

him. He nods and hurries upstage to Claudius. They

turn to look at him.

Polonius The ambassadors from Norway, my good lord,

are joyfully returned.

Claudius Thou still hast been the father of good news.

Polonius Have I, my lord? Assure you, my good liege,

I hold to my duty as I hold my soul,

Both to my God and to my gracious King;

And I do think, or else this brain of mine

Hunts not the trail of policy so sure

As it hath used to do, that I have found

The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy...

Exeunt - leaving Ros and Guil.

Ros I want to go home.

Guil Don't let them confuse you.

Ros I'm out of my step here -

Guil We'll soon be home and high - dry and home - I'll -

Ros It's all over my depth -

Guil I'll hie you home and -

Ros - out of my head -

Guil - dry you high and -

Ros (cracking, high) - over my step over my head body! -

I tell you it's all stopping to a death, it's boding to a depth,

stepping to a head, it's all heading to a dead stop -

Guil (the nursemaid) There! . . . and we'll soon be home

and dry... and high and dry ... (rapidly) Has it ever

happened to you that all of a sudden and for no reason at

all you haven't the faintest idea how to spell the word -

'wife' - or 'house' - because when you write it down you

just can't remember ever having seen those letters in that

order before...?

Ros I remember -

Guil Yes?

Ros I remember when there were no questions.

Guil There were always questions. To exchange one set

for another is no great matter.

Ros Answers, yes. There were answers to everything.

Guil You've forgotten.

Ros (flaring) I haven't forgotten - how I used to remember

my own name - and yours, oh yes! There were answers

everywhere you looked. There was no question about it -

people knew who I was and if they didn't they asked and I

told them.

Guil You did, the trouble is, each of them is ...

plausible, without being instinctive. All your life you live

so close to truth, it becomes a permanent blur in the

corner of your eye, and when something nudges it into

outline it is like being ambushed by a grotesque. A man

standing in his saddle in the half-lit half-alive dawn

banged on the shutters and called two names. He was just

a hat and a cloak levitating in the grey plume of his own

breath, but when he called we came. That much is certain

- we came.

Ros Well I can tell you I'm sick to death of it. I don't care

one way or another, so why don't you make up your mind.

Guil We can't afford anything quite so arbitrary. Nor did

we come all this way for a christening. All that - preceded

us. But we are comparatively fortunate; we might have

been left to sift the whole field of human nomenclature,

like two blind men looting a bazaar for their own portraits

• . . At least we are presented with alternatives.

Ros Well as from now -

Guil - But not choice.

Ros You made me look ridiculous in there.

Guil I looked just as ridiculous as you did.

Ros (an anguished cry) Consistency is all I ask!

Guil (low, wry rhetoric) Give us this day our daily mask.

Ros (a dying fall) I want to go home. (Moves.) Which way

did we come in? I've lost my sense of direction.

Guil The only beginning is birth and the only end is death

- if you can't count on that, what can you count on?

They connect again.

Ros We don't owe anything to anyone.

Guil We've been caught up. Your smallest action sets off

another somewhere else, and is set off by it. Keep an eye

open, an ear cocked. Tread warily, follow instructions.

We'll be all right.

Ros For how long?

Guil Till events have played themselves out. There's a

logic at work - it's all done for you, don't worry. Enjoy it.

Relax. To be taken in hand and led, like being a child

again, even without the innocence, a child - It's like being

given a prize, an extra slice of childhood when you least

expect it, as a prize for being good, or compensation for

never having had one... Do I contradict myself?

Ros I can't remember... What have we got to go on?

Guil We have been briefed. Hamlet's transformation.

What do you recollect?

Ros Well, he's changed, hasn't he? The exterior and

inward man fails to resemble -

Guil Draw him on to pleasures - glean what afflicts him.

Ros Something more than his father's death -

Guil He's always talking about us - there aren't two

people living whom he dotes on more than us.

Ros We cheer him up - find out what's the matter -

Guil Exactly, it's a matter of asking the right questions

and giving away as little as we can. It's a game.

Ros And then we can go?

Guil And receive such thanks as fits a king's

remembrance.

Ros I like the sound of that. What do you think he means

by remembrance?

Guil He doesn't forget his friends.

Ros Would you care to estimate?

Guil Difficult to say, really - some kings tend to be

amnesiac, others I suppose - the opposite, whatever that

is ...

Ros Yes - but -

Guil Elephantine . ..?

Ros Not how long - how much?

Guil Retentive - he's a very retentive king, a royal

retainer...

Ros What are you playing at?

Guil Words, words. They're all we have to go on.

Pause.

Ros Shouldn't we be doing something - constructive?

Guil What did you have in mind? ... A short, blunt

human pyramid...?

Ros We could go.

Guil Where?

Ros After him.

Guil Why? They've got us placed now - if we start

moving around, we'll all be chasing each other all night.

Hiatus.

Ros (at footlights) How very intriguing! (Turns.) I feel like

a spectator - an appalling prospect. The only thing that

makes it bearable is the irrational belief that somebody

interesting will come on in a minute...

Guil See anyone?

Ros No. You?

Guil No. (At footlights) What a fine persecution - to be

kept intrigued without ever quite being enlightened...

(Pause.) We've had no practice.

Ros We could play at questions.

Guil What good would that do?

Ros Practice!

Guil Statement! One-love.

Ros Cheating!

Guil How?

Ros I hadn't started yet.

Guil Statement. Two-love.

Ros Are you counting that?

Guil What?

Ros Are you counting that?

Guil Foul! No repetitions. Three-love. First game to ...

Ros I'm not going to play if you're going to be like that.

Guil Whose serve?

Ros Hah?

Guil Foul! No grunts. Love-one.

Ros Whose go?

Guil Why?

Ros Why not?

Guil What for?

Ros Foul! No synonyms! One-all.

Guil What in God's name is going on?

Ros Foul! No rhetoric. Two-one.

Guil What does it all add up to?

Ros Can't you guess?

Guil Were you addressing me?

Ros Is there anyone else?

Guil Who?

Ros How would I know?

Guil Why do you ask?

Ros Are you serious?

Guil Was that rhetoric?

Ros No.

Guil Statement! Two-all. Game point.

Ros What's the matter with you today?

Guil When?

Ros What?

Guil Are you deaf?

Ros Am I dead?

Guil Yes or no?

Ros Is there a choice?

Guil Is there a God?

Ros Foul! No non sequiturs, three-two, one game all.

Guil (seriously) What's your name?

Ros What's yours?

Guil I asked first.

Ros Statement. One-love.

Guil What's your name when you're at home?

Ros What's yours?

Guil When I'm at home?

Ros Is it different at home?

Guil What home?

Ros Haven't you got one?

Guil Why do you ask?

Ros What are you driving at?

Guil (with emphasis) What's your name?!

Ros Repetition. Two-love. Match point to me.

Guil (seizing him violently) WHO DO YOU THINK

YOU ARE?

Ros Rhetoric! Game and match! (Pause.) Where's it going

to end?

Guil That's the question.

Ros It's all questions.

Guil Do you think it matters?

Ros Doesn't it matter to you?

Guil Why should it matter?

Ros What does it matter why?

Guil (teasing gently) Doesn't it matter why it matters?

Ros (rounding on him) What's the matter with you?

Pause.

Guil It doesn't matter.

Ros (voice in the wilderness) ... What's the game?

Guil What are the rules?

Enter Hamlet behind, crossing the stage, reading a book

- as he is about to disappear Guil notices him.

Guil (sharply) Rosencrantz!

Ros (jumps) What!

Hamlet goes. Triumph dawns on them, they smile.

Guil There! How was that?

Ros Clever!

Guil Natural?

Ros Instinctive.

Guil Got it in your head?

Ros I take my hat off to you.

Guil Shake hands.

They do.

Ros Now I'll try you - Guil -!

Guil - Not yet - catch me unawares.

Ros Right. (They separate. Pause. Aside to Guil) Ready?

Guil (explodes) Don't be stupid.

Ros Sorry.

Pause.

Guil (snaps) Guildenstern!

Ros (jumps) What? (He is immediately crestfallen, Guil is

disgusted.)

Guil Consistency is all I ask!

Ros (quietly) Immortality is all I seek...

Guil (dying fall) Give us this day our daily week ...

Beat.

Ros Who was that?

Guil Didn't you know him?

Ros He didn't know me.

Guil He didn't see you.

Ros 1 didn't see him.

Guil We shall see. I hardly knew him, he's changed.

Ros You could see that?

Guil Transformed.

Ros How do you know?

Guil Inside and out.

Ros I see.

Guil He's not himself.

Ros He's changed.

Guil I could see that. (Beat.) Glean what afflicts him.

Ros Me?

Guil Him.

Ros How?

Guil Question and answer. Old ways are the best ways.

Ros He's afflicted

Guil You question, I'll answer.

Ros He's not himself, you know.

Guil I'm him, you see.

Beat.

Ros Who am I then?

Guil You're yourself.

Ros And he's you?

Guil Not a bit of it.

Ros Are you afflicted?

Guil That's the idea. Are you ready?

Ros Let's go back a bit.

Guil I'm afflicted.

Ros 1 see.

Guil Glean what afflicts me.

Ros Right.

Guil Question and answer.

Ros How should I begin?

Guil Address me.

Ros My dear Guildenstern!

Guil (quietly) You've forgotten - haven't you?

Ros My dear Rosencrantz!

Guil (great control) I don't think you quite understand.

What we are attempting is a hypothesis in which I answer

for him, while you ask me questions.

Ros Ah! Ready?

Guil You know what to do?

Ros What?

Guil Are you stupid?

Ros Pardon?

Guil Are you deaf?

Ros Did you speak?

Guil (admonishing) Not now -

Ros Statement.

Guil (shouts) Not now! (Pause.) If I had any doubts, or

rather hopes, they are dispelled. What could we possibly

have in common except our situation? (They separate and

sit.) Perhaps he'll come back this way.

Ros Should we go?

Guil Why?

Pause.

Ros (starts up. Snaps fingers) Oh! You mean - you

pretend to be him, and I ask you questions!

Guil (dry) Very good.

Ros You had me confused.

Guil I could see I had.

Ros How should I begin?

Guil Address me.

They stand and face each other, posing.

Ros My honoured Lord!

Guil My dear Rosencrantz!

rause.

Ros Am I pretending to be you, then?

Guil Certainly not. If you like. Shall we continue?

Ros Question and answer.

Guil Right.

Ros Right. My honoured lord!

Guil My dear fellow!

Ros How are you?

Gull Afflicted!

Ros Really? In what way?

Guil Transformed.

Ros Inside or out?

Guil Both.

Ros I see. (Pause.) Not much new there.

Guil Go into details. Delve. Probe the background,

establish the situation.

Ros So - so your uncle is the king of Denmark?!

Guil And my father before him.

Ros His father before him?

Guil No, my father before him.

Ros But surely -

Guil You might well ask.

Ros Let me get it straight. Your father was king. You were

his only son. Your father dies. You are of age. Your uncle

becomes king.

Guil Yes.

Ros Unorthodox.

Guil Undid me.

Ros Undeniable. Where were you?

Guil In Germany.

Ros Usurpation, then.

Guil He slipped in.

Ros Which reminds me.

Guil Well, it would.

Ros I don't want to be personal.

Guil It's common knowledge.

Ros Your mother's marriage.

Guil He slipped in.

Beat.

Ros (lugubriously) His body was still warm.

Guil So was hers.

Ros Extraordinary.

Guil Indecent.

Ros Hasty.

Guil Suspicious.

Ros It makes you think.

Guil Don't think I haven't thought of it.

Ros And with her husband's brother.

Guil They were close.

Ros She went to him -

Guil - Too close -

Ros - for comfort.

Guil It looks bad.

Ros It adds up.

Guil Incest to adultery.

Ros Would you go so far?

Guil Never.

Ros To sum up: your father, whom you love, dies, you are

his heir, you come back to find that hardly was the corpse

cold before his young brother popped on to his throne and

into his sheets, thereby offending both legal and natural

practice. Now why exactly are you behaving in this

extraordinary manner?

Guil I can't imagine! (Pause.) But all that is well known,

common property. Yet he sent for us. And we did come.

Ros (alert, ear cocked) I say! I heard music -

Guil We're here.

Ros - Like a band - I thought I heard a band.

Gull Rosencrantz. . .

Ros (absently, still listening) What?

Pause, short.

Guil (gently wry) Guildenstern . . .

Ros (irritated by the repetition) What?

Guil Don't you discriminate at all?

Ros (turning dumbly) Wha'?

Pause.

Guil Go and see if he's there.

Ros Who?

Guil There.

Ros goes to an upstage wing, looks, returns, formally

making his report.

Ros Yes.

Guil What is he doing?

Ros repeats movement.

Ros Talking.

Gull To himself?

Ros starts to move. Guil cuts in impatiently.

Is he alone?

Ros No.

Guil Then he's not talking to himself, is he?

los Not by himselt

shiftily) Should we go: Coming this way, I think.

Guil Why? We're marked now.

Hamlet enters, backwards, talking, followed by

Polonius, upstage. Ros and Guil occupy the two

downstage corners looking upstage.

Hamlet . . . for you yourself, sir, should be as old as I am

if like a crab you could go backward.

Polonius (aside) Though this be madness, yet there is

method in it. Will you walk out of the air, my lord?

Hamlet Into my grave.

Polonius Indeed, that's out of the air.

Hamlet crosses to upstage exit, Polonius asiding

unintelligibly until -

My lord, I will take my leave of you.

Hamlet You cannot take from me anything that I will

more willingly part withal - except my life, except my life,

except my life...

Polonius (crossing downstage) Fare you well, my lord. (to

Ros) You go to seek Lord Hamlet? There he is.

Ros (to Polonius) God save you sir.

Polonius goes.

Guil (calls upstage to Hamlet) My honoured lord!

Ros My most dear lord!

Hamlet centred upstage, turns to them.

Hamlet My excellent good friends! How dost thou

Guildenstern?

Coming downstage with an arm raised to Ros, Guil

meanwhile bowing to no greeting. Hamlet corrects

himself. Still to Ros.

Ah Rosencrantz!

They laugh good-naturedly at the mistake. They all meet

midstage, turn upstage to walk, Hamlet in the middle,

arm over each shoulder.

Hamlet Good lads, how do you both?

Blackout.

Act Two

Hamlet, Ros and Guil talking, the continuation of the

previous scene. Their conversation, on the move, is

indecipherable at first. The first intelligible line is Hamlet's,

coming at the end of a short speech - see Shakespeare Act

Il, scene u.

Hamlet S'blood, there is something in this more than

natural, if philosophy could find it out.

A flourish from the Tragedians' band.

Guil There are the players.

Hamlet Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. Your

hands, come then. (He takes their hands.) The appurtenance

of welcome is fashion and ceremony. Let me comply with

you in this garb, lest my extent to the players (which I tell

you must show fairly outwards) should more appear like

entertainment than yours. You are welcome. (about to

leave) But my uncle-father and aunt-mother are deceived.

Guil In what, my dear lord?

Hamlet I am but mad north north-west; when the wind is

southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw.

Polonius enters as Guil turns away.

Polonius Well be with you gentlemen.

Hamlet (to Ros) Mark you, Guildenstern (uncertainly to

Guil) and you too; at each ear a hearer. That great baby

you see there is not yet out of his swaddling clouts ...

He takes Ros upstage with him, talking together.

Polonius My Lord! I have news to tell you.

Hamlet (releasing Ros and mimicking) My lord, I have

news to tell you... When Roscius was an actor in

Rome ...

Ros comes downstage to re-join Guil.

Polonius (as he follows Hamlet out) The actors are come

hither my lord.

Hamlet Buzz, buzz.

Exeunt Hamlet and Polonius.

Ros and Guil ponder. Each reluctant to speak first.

Guil Hm?

Ros Yes?

Guil What?

Ros I thought you . . .

Guil No.

Ros Ah.

Pause.

Guil I think we can say we made some headway.

Ros You think so?

Guil I think we can say that.

Ros I think we can say he made us look ridiculous.

Guil We played it close to the chest of course.

Ros (derisively) 'Question and answer. Old ways are the

best ways'! He was scoring off us all down the line.

Guil He caught us on the wrong foot once or twice,

perhaps, but I thought we gained some ground.

Ros (simply) He murdered us.

Guil He might have had the edge.

Ros (roused) Twenty-seven-three, and you think he might

have had the edge?! He murdered us.

Guil What about our evasions?

Ros Oh, our evasions were lovely. 'Were you sent for?' he

says. 'My lord, we were sent for..? I didn't know where

to put myself.

Guil He had six rhetoricals -

Ros It was question and answer, all right. Twenty-seven

questions he got out in ten minutes, and answered three. I

was waiting for you to delve. 'When is he going to start

delving?' I asked myself.

Guil - And two repetitions.

Ros Hardly a leading question between us.

Guil We got his symptoms, didn't we?

Ros Half of what he said meant something else, and the

other half didn't mean anything at all.

Guil Thwarted ambition - a sense of grievance, that's my

diagnosis.

Ros Six rhetorical and two repetition, leaving nineteen of

which we answered fifteen. And what did we get in

return? He's depressed! ... Denmark's a prison and he'd

rather live in a nutshell; some shadow-play about the

nature of ambition, which never got down to cases, and

finally one direct question which might have led

somewhere, and led in fact to his illuminating claim to tell

a hawk from a handsaw.

Pause.

Guil When the wind is southerly.

Ros And the weather's clear.

Guil And when it isn't he can't.

Ros He's at the mercy of the elements. (Licks his finger

and holds it up - facing audience.) Is that southerly? (They

stare at audience.)

Guil It doesn't look southerly. What made you think so?

Ros I didn't say I think so. It could be northerly for all I

know.

Guil I wouldn't have thought so.

Ros Well, if you're going to be dogmatic.

Guil Wait a minute - we came from roughly south

according to a rough map.

Ros I see. Well, which way did we come in? (Guil looks

round vaguely.) Roughly.

Guil (clears his throat) In the morning the sun would be

easterly. I think we can assume that.

Ros That it's morning?

Guil If it is, and the sun is over there (his right as he faces

the audience) for instance, that (front) would be northerly.

On the other hand, if it is not morning and the sun is over

there (his left) ... that... (lamely) would still be

northerly. (Picking up.) To put it another way, if we came

from down there (front) and it is morning, the sun would

be up there (his left), and if it is actually over there (bis

right) and it's still morning, we must have come from up

there (behind him, and if that is southerly (his left) and

the sun is really over there (front), then it's the afternoon.

However, it none of these is the case -

Ros Why don't you go and have a look?

Guil Pragmatism?! - is that all you have to offer? You

seem to have no conception of where we stand! You won't

find the answer written down for you in the bowl of a

compass - I can tell you that. (Pause.) Besides, you can

never tell this far north - it's probably dark out there.

Ros I merely suggest that the position of the sun, if it is

out, would give you a rough idea of the time; alternatively,

the clock, if it is going, would give you a rough idea of the

position of the sun. I forget which you're trying to

establish.

Guil I'm trying to establish the direction of the wind.

Ros There isn't any wind. Draught, yes.

Guil In that case, the origin. Trace it to its source and it

might give us a rough idea of the way we came in - which

might give us a rough idea of south, for further reference.

Ros It's coming up through the floor. (He studies the

floor.) That can't be south, can it?

Guil That's not a direction. Lick your toe and wave it

around a bit.

Ros considers the distance of his foot.

Ros No, I think you'd have to lick it for me.

Pause.

Guil I'm prepared to let the whole matter drop.

Ros Or I could lick yours, of course.

Guil No thank you.

Ros I'll even wave it around for you.

Guil (down Ros's throat) What in God's name is the

matter with you?

Ros Just being friendly.

Guil (retiring) Somebody might come in. It's what we're

counting on, after all. Ultimately.

Good pause.

Ros Perhaps they've all trampled each other to death in

the rush ... Give them a shout. Something provocative.

Intrigue them.

Guil Wheels have been set in motion, and they have their

own pace, to which we are . . . condemned. Each move is

dictated by the previous one - that is the meaning of order.

If we start being arbitrary it'll just be a shambles: at least,

let us hope so. Because it we happened

I, just happened to

discover, or even suspect, that our spontaneity was part of

their order, we'd know that we were lost. (He sits.) A

Chinaman of the T'ang Dynasty - and, by which

definition, a philosopher - dreamed he was a butterfly, and

from that moment he was never quite sure that he was not

a butterfly dreaming it was a Chinese philosopher. Envy

him; in his two-fold security.

A good pause. Ros leaps up and bellows at the

audience.

Ros Fire!

Guil jumps up.

Guil Where?

Ros It's all right - I'm demonstrating the misuse of free

speech. To prove that it exists. (He regards the audience,

that is the direction, with contempt - and other directions,

then front again.) Not a move. They should burn to death

in their shoes.

Ros takes out one of his coins. Spins it. Catches it.

Looks at it. Replaces it.

Guil What was it?

Ros What?

Guil Heads or tails?

Ros Oh. I didn't look.

Guil Yes you did.

Ros Oh, did I? (He takes out a coin, studies it.) Quite

right - it rings a bell.

Guil What's the last thing you remember?

Ros I don't wish to be reminded of it.

Guil We cross our bridges when we come to them and

burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our

progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a

presumption that once our eyes watered.

Ros approaches him brightly, holding a coin between

finger and thumb. He covers it with his other hand,

draws his fists apart and holds them for Guil. Guil

considers them. Indicates the left hand, Ros opens it to

show it empty.

Ros No.

Repeat process. Guil indicates left hand again. Ros

shows it empty.

Double bluff!

Repeat process - Guil taps one hand, then the other

hand, quickly. Ros inadvertently shows that both are

empty. Ros laughs as Guil turns upstage. Ros stops

laughing, looks around his feet, pats his clothes,

puzzled.

Polonius breaks that up by entering upstage followed

by the Tragedians and Hamlet.

Polonius (entering) Come sirs.

Hamlet Follow him, friends. We'll hear a play tomorrow.

Aside to the Player, who is the last of the Tragedians.

Dost thou hear me, old friend? Can you play "The Murder

of Gonzago'?

Player Ay, my lord.

Hamlet We'll ha't tomorrow night. You could for a need

study a speech of some dozen or sixteen lines which I

would set down and insert in't, could you not?

Player Ay, my lord.

Hamlet Very well. Follow that lord, and look you mock

him not.

The Player crossing downstage, notes Ros and Guil.

Stops. Hamlet crossing downstage addresses them

without pause.

Hamlet My good friends, I'll leave you till tonight. You

are welcome to Elsinore.

Ros Good, my lord.

Hamlet goes.

Guil So you've caught up.

Player (coldly) Not yet, sir.

Guil Now mind your tongue, or we'll have it out and

throw the rest of you away, like a nightingale at a Roman

feast.

Ros Took the very words out of my mouth.

Guil You'd be lost for words.

Ros You'd be tongue-tied.

Guil Like a mute in a monologue.

Ros Like a nightingale at a Roman feast.

Guil Your diction will go to pieces.

Ros Your lines will be cut.

Guil To dumbshows.

Ros And dramatic pauses.

Guil You'll never find your tongue.

Ros Lick your lips.

Guil Taste your tears.

Ros Your breakfast.

Guil You won't know the difference.

Ros There won't be any.

Guil We'll take the very words out of your mouth.

Ros So you've caught on.

Guil So you've caught up.

Player (tops) Not yet! (bitterly) You left us.

Guil Ah! I'd forgotten - you performed a dramatic

spectacle on the way. Yes, I'm sorry we had to miss it.

Player (bursts out) We can't look each other in the face!

(Pause, more in control.) You don't understand the

humiliation of it - to be tricked out of the single

assumption which makes our existence viable - that

somebody is watching... The plot was two corpses gone

before we caught sight of ourselves, stripped naked in the

middle of nowhere and pouring ourselves down a

bottomless well.

Ros Is that thirty-eight?

Player (lost) There we were - demented children mincing

about in clothes that no one ever wore, speaking as no

man ever spoke, swearing love in wigs and rhymed

couplets, killing each other with wooden swords, hollow

protestations of faith hurled after empty promises of

vengeance - and every gesture, every pose, vanishing into

the thin unpopulated air. We ransomed our dignity to the

clouds, and the uncomprehending birds listened. (He

rounds on them.) Don't you see?! We're actors - we're the

opposite of people!

They recoil nonplussed, his voice calms.

Think, in your head, now, think of the most ... private

... secret... intimate thing you have ever done secure in

the knowledge of its privacy..

He gives them - and the audience - a good pause. Ros

takes on a shifty look.

Are you thinking of it? (He strikes with his voice and his

head.) Well, I saw you do it!

Ros leaps up, dissembling madly.

Ros You never! It's a lie! (He catches himself with a giggle

in a vacuum and sits down again.)

Player We're actors... We pledged our identities, secure

in the conventions of our trade; that someone would be

watching. And then, gradually, no one was. We were

caught, high and dry. It was not until the murderer's long

soliloquy that we were able to look around; frozen as we

were in profile, our eyes searched you out, first confidently,

then hesitantly, then desperately as each patch of turf, each

log, every exposed corner in every direction proved

uninhabited, and all the while the murderous King

addressed the horizon with his dreary interminable guilt

... Our heads began to move, wary as lizards, the corpse

of unsullied Rosalinda peeped through his fingers, and the

King faltered. Even then, habit and a stubborn trust that

our audience spied upon us from behind the nearest bush,

forced our bodies to blunder on long after they had

emptied of meaning, until like runaway carts they dragged

to a halt. No one came forward. No one shouted at us.

The silence was unbreakable, it imposed itself upon us; it

was obscene. We took off our crowns and swords and

cloth of gold and moved silent on the road to Elsinore.

Silence. Then Guil claps solo with slow measured irony.

Guil Brilliantly re-created - if these eyes could weep!...

Rather strong on metaphor, mind you. No criticism - only

a matter of taste. And so here you are - with a vengeance.

That's a figure of speech... isn't it? Well let's say we've

made up for it, for you may have no doubt whom to thank

for your performance at the court.

Ros We are counting on you to take him out of himself.

You are the pleasures which we draw him on to - (He

escapes a fractional giggle but recovers immediately.) and

by that I don't mean your usual filth; you can't treat

royalty like people with normal perverted desires. They

know nothing of that and you know nothing of them, to

suer me to sure val. Store bi aged assured you'll be

playing the tavern tonight.

Guil Or the night after.

Ros Or not.

Player We already have an entry here. And always have

had.

Guil You've played for him before?

Player Yes, sir.

Ros And what's his bent?

Player Classical.

Ros Saucy!

Guil What will you play?

Player 'The Murder of Gonzago'.

Guil Full of fine cadence and corpses.

Player Pirated from the Italian...

Ros What is it about?

Player It's about a King and Queen...

Guil Escapism! What else?

Player Blood -

Guil - Love and rhetoric.

Player Yes. (Going.)

Guil Where are you going?

Player I can come and go as I please.

Guil You're evidently a man who knows his way around.

Player I've been here before.

Guil We're still finding our feet.

Player I should concentrate on not losing your heads.

Guil Do you speak from knowledge?

Player Precedent.

Guil You've been here before.

Player And I know which way the wind is blowing.

Guil Operating on two levels, are we?! How clever! I

expect it comes naturally to you, being in the business so

to speak

The Player's grave face does not change. He makes to

move off again. Gull for the second time cuts him off

The truth is, we value your company, for want of any

other. We have been left so much to our own devices -

after a while one welcomes the uncertainty of being left to

other people's.

Player Uncertainty is the normal state. You're nobody

special.

He makes to leave again. Guil loses his cool.

Guil But for God's sake what are we supposed to do!

Player Relax. Respond. That's what people do. You can't

go through life questioning your situation at every turn.

Guil But we don't know what's going on, or what to do

with ourselves. We don't know how to act.

Player Act natural. You know why you're here at least.

Guil We only know what we're told, and that's little

enough. And for all we know it isn't even true.

Player For all anyone knows, nothing is. Everything has to

be taken on trust; truth is only that which is taken to be

true. It's the currency of living. There may be nothing

behind it, but it doesn't make any difference so long as it is

honoured. One acts on assumptions. What do you

assume?

Ros Hamlet is not himself, outside or in. We have to glean

what afflicts him.

Guil He doesn't give much away.

Player Who does, nowadays?

Guil He's - melancholy.

Player Melancholy?

Ros Mad.

Player How is he mad?

Ros Ah. (to Guil) How is he mad?

Guil More morose than mad, perhaps.

Player Melancholy.

Guil Moody.

Ros He has moods.

Player Of moroseness?

Guil Madness. And yet.

Ros Quite.

Guil For instance.

Ros He talks to himself, which might be madness.

Guil If he didn't talk sense, which he does.

Ros Which suggests the opposite.

Player Of what?

Small pause.

Guil I think I have it. A man talking sense to himself is no

madder than a man talking nonsense not to himself.

Ros Or just as mad.

Guil Or just as mad.

Ros And he does both.

Guil So there you are.

Ros Stark raving sane.

Pause.

Player Why?

Guil Ah. (to Ros) Why?

Ros Exactly.

Guil Exactly what?

Ros Exactly why.

Guil Exactly why what?

Ros What?

Gull Why?

Ros Why what, exactly?

Guil Why is he mad?!

Ros I don't know!

Beat.

Player The old man thinks he's in love with his daughter.

Ros (appalled) Good God! We're out of our depth here.

Player No, no, no - he hasn't got a daughter - the old

man thinks he's in love with his daughter.

Ros The old man is?

Player Hamlet, in love with the old man's daughter, the

old man thinks.

Ros Ha! It's beginning to make sense! Unrequited passion!

The Player moves.

Guil (fascist) Nobody leaves this room! (Pause, lamely.)

Without a very good reason.

Player Why not?

Guil All this strolling about is getting too arbitrary by half

- I'm rapidly losing my grip. From now on reason will

prevail.

Player I have lines to learn.

Guil Pass!

The Player passes into one of the wings. Ros cups his

hands and shouts into the opposite one.

Ros Next!

But no one comes.

Guil What did you expect?

Ros Something... someone... nothing.

They sit facing front.

Are you hungry?

Guil No, are you?

Ros (thinks) No. You remember that coin.

Guil No.

Ros I think I lost it.

Guil What coin?

Ros I don't remember exactly.

Pause.

Guil Oh, that coin... clever.

Ros I can't remember how I did it.

Guil It probably comes natural to you.

Ros Yes, I've got a show-stopper there.

Guil Do it again.

Slight pause.

Ros We can't afford it.

Guil Yes, one must think of the future.

Ros It's the normal thing.

Guil To have one. One is, after all, having it all the

time... now... and now... and now..

Ros It could go on for ever. Well, not for ever, I suppose.

(Pause.) Do you ever think of yourself as actually dead,

lying in a box with a lid on it?

Guil No.

Ros Nor do I, really... It's silly to be depressed by it. I

mean one thinks of it like being alive in a box, one keeps

forgetting to take into account the fact that one is dead

... which should make a difference . . . shouldn't it? I

mean, you'd never know you were in a box, would you? It

would be just like being asleep in a box. Not that I'd like

to sleep in a box, mind you, not without any air - you'd

wake up dead, for a start and then where would you be?

Apart from inside a box. That's the bit I don't like, frankly.

That's why I don't think of it ...

Guil stirs restlessly, pulling his cloak round him.

Because you'd be helpless, wouldn't you? Stuffed in a box

like that, I mean you'd be in there for ever. Even taking

into account the fact that you're dead, really ... ask

yourself, if I asked you straight off - I'm going to stuff you

in this box now, would you rather be alive or dead?

Naturally, you'd prefer to be alive. Life in a box is better

than no life at all. I expect. You'd have a chance at least.

You could lie there thinking - well, at least I'm not dead!

In a minute someone's going to bang on the lid and tell me

to come out. (Banging on the floor with his fists.) 'Hey

you, whatsyername! Come out of there!'

Guil (jumps up savagely) You don't have to flog it to

death!

Pause.

Ros I wouldn't think about it, if I were you. You'd only

get depressed. (Pause.) Eternity is a terrible thought. I

mean, where's it going to end? (Pause, then brightly.) Two

early Christians chanced to meet in Heaven. 'Saul of Tarsus

yet!' cried one. 'What are you doing here?!' ... "Tarsus-

Schmarsus', replied the other, 'I'm Paul already? (He stands

up restlessly and flaps his arms.) They don't care. We count

for nothing. We could remain silent till we're green in the

face, they wouldn't.come.

Guil Blue, red

Ros A Christian, a Moslem and a Jew chanced to meet in

a closed carriage... 'Silverstein!' cried the Jew, 'Who's

your friend?' ... 'His name's Abdullah',

', replied the

Moslem, 'but he's no friend of mine since he became a

convert. (He leaps up again, stamps his foot and shouts

into the wings.) All right, we know you're in there! Come

Out talking! (Pause.) We have no control. None at all ...

(He paces.) Whatever became of the moment when one

first knew about death? There must have been one, a

moment, in childhood when it first occurred to you that

you don't go on for ever. It must have been shattering -

stamped into one's memory. And yet I can't remember it. It

never occurred to me at all. What does one make of that?

We must be born with an intuition of mortality. Before we

know the words for it, before we know that there are

words, out we come, bloodied and squalling with the

knowledge that for all the compasses in the world, there's

only one direction, and time is its only measure. (He

reflects, getting more desperate and rapid.) A Hindu, a

Buddhist and a lion-tamer chanced to meet, in a circus on

the Indo-Chinese border. (He breaks out.) They're taking

us for granted! Well, I won't stand for it! In future, notice

will be taken. (He wheels again to face into the wings.)

Keep out, then! I forbid anyone to enter! (No one comes -

Breathing heavily) That's better...

Immediately, behind him a grand procession enters,

principally Claudius, Gertrude, Polonius and Ophelia.

Claudius takes Ros's elbow as he passes and is

immediately deep in conversation: the context is

Shakespeare Act III, scene i. Guil still faces front as

Claudius, Ros, etc., pass upstage and turn.

Guil Death followed by eternity... the worst of both

worlds. It is a terrible thought.

He turns upstage in time to take over the conversation

with Claudius. Gertrude and Ros head downstage.

Gertrude Did he receive you well?

Ros Most like a gentleman.

Guil (returning in time to take it up) But with much

forcing of his disposition.

Ros (a flat lie and he knows it and shows it, perhaps

catching Guil's eye) Niggard of question, but of our

demands most free in his reply.

Gertrude Did you assay him to any pastime?

Ros Madam, it so fell out that certain players

We o'erraught on the way: of these we told him

And there did seem in him a kind of joy

To hear of it. They are here about the court,

And, as I think, they have already order

This night to play before him.

Polonius 'Tis most true.

And he beseeched me to entreat your Majesties

To hear and see the matter.

Claudius With all my heart, and it doth content me

To hear him so inclined.

Good gentlemen, give him a further edge

And drive his purpose into these delights.

Ros We shall, my lord.

Claudius (leading out procession)

Sweet Gertrude, leave us, too,

For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither,

That he, as t'were by accident, may here

Affront Ophelia...

Exeunt Ophelia and Gertrude.

Ros (peevish) Never a moment's peace! In and out, on and

off, they're coming at us from all sides

Guil You're never satisfied.

Ros Catching us on the trot... Why can't we go by

them?

Guil What's the difference?

Ros I'm going.

Ros pulls his cloak round him. Guil ignores him.

Without confidence Ros heads upstage. He looks out

and comes back quickly.

He's coming.

Guil What's he doing?

Ros Nothing.

Guil He must be doing something.

Ros Walking.

Guil On his hands?

Ros No, on his feet.

Guil Stark naked?

Ros Fully dressed.

Guil Selling toffee apples?

Ros Not that I noticed.

Guil You could be wrong?

Ros I don't think so.

Pause.

Guil I can't for the life of me see how we're going to get

into conversation.

Hamlet enters upstage, and pauses, weighing up the

pros and cons of making his quietus.

Ros and Guil watch him.

Ros Nevertheless, I suppose one might say that this was a

chance . . . One might well . . . accost him ... Yes, it

definitely looks like a chance to me ... Something on the

lines of a direct informal approach... man to man ..

straight from the shoulder... Now look here, what's it all

about ... sort of thing. Yes. Yes, this looks like one to be

grabbed with both hands, I should say... if I were asked

. No point in looking at a gift horse till you see the

whites of its eyes, etcetera.

He moves towards Hamlet but his nerve fails. He

returns.

We're overawed, that's our trouble. When it comes to the

point we succumb to their personality.

Ophelia enters, with prayerbook, a religious procession

of one.

Hamlet Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remembered.

At his voice she has stopped for him, he catches her up.

Ophelia Good my lord, how does your honour for this

many a day?

Hamlet I humbly thank you - well, well, well.

They disappear talking into the wing.

Ros It's like living in a public park!

Guil Very impressive. Yes, I thought your direct informal

approach was going to stop this thing dead in its tracks

there. If I might make a suggestion - shut up and sit down.

Stop being perverse.

Ros (near tears) I'm not going to stand for it!

A female figure, ostensibly the Queen, enters. Ros

marches up behind her, puts his hands over her eyes and

says with a desperate frivolity.

Guess who?!

Player (having appeared in a downstage corner) Alfred!

Ros lets go, spins around. He had been holding Alfred,

in his robe and blond wig. The Player is in the

downstage corner still. Ros comes down to that exit.

The Player does not budge. He and Ros stand toe to toe.

Ros Excuse me.

The Player lifts his downstage foot. Ros bends to put his

hand on the floor. The Player lowers his foot. Ros

screams and leaps away.

Player (gravely) I beg your pardon.

Guil (to Ros) What did he do?

Player I put my foot down.

Ros My hand was on the floor!

Guil You put your hand under his foot?

Ros I-

Guil What for?

Ros I thought - (Grabs Guil.) Don't leave me!

He makes a break for an exit. A Tragedian dressed as a

King enters. Ros recoils, breaks for the opposite wing.

Two cloaked Tragedians enter. Ros tries again but

another Tragedian enters, and Ros retires to midstage.

The Player claps his hands matter-of-factly.

Player Right! We haven't got much time.

Guil What are you doing?

Player Dress rehearsal. Now if you two wouldn't mind

just moving back. there. good.. (to the

Tragedians) Everyone ready? And for goodness sake,

remember what we're doing. (to Ros and Guil) We always

use the same costumes more or less, and they forget what

they are supposed to be in you see... Stop picking your

nose, Alfred. When Queens have to they do it by a

cerebral process passed down in the blood... Good.

Silence! Off we go!

Player-King Full thirty times hath Phoebus' cart -

The Player jumps up angrily.

Player No, no, no! Dumbshow first, your confounded

majesty! (to Ros and Guil) They're a bit out of practice,

but they always pick up wonderfully for the deaths - it

brings out the poetry in them.

Guil How nice.

Player There's nothing more unconvincing than an

unconvincing death.

Guil I'm sure.

The Player claps his hands.

Player Act One - moves now.

The mime. Soft music from a recorder. Player-King and

Player-Queen embrace. She kneels and makes a show of

protestation to him. He takes her up, declining his head

upon her neck. He lies down. She, seeing him asleep,

leaves him.

Guil What is the dumbshow for?

Player Well, it's a device, really - it makes the action that

follows more or less comprehensible; you understand, we

are tied down to a language which makes up in obscurity

what it lacks in style.

The mime (continued) - enter another. He takes off the

Sleeper's crown, kisses it. He had brought in a small

bottle of liquid. He pours the poison in the Sleeper's ear,

and leaves him. The Sleeper convulses heroically, dying.

Ros Who was that?

Player The King's brother and uncle to the Prince.

Guil Not exactly fraternal.

Player Not exactly avuncular, as time goes on.

The Queen returns, makes passionate action, finding the

King dead. The Poisoner comes in again, attended by two

others (the two in cloaks). The Poisoner seems to console

with her. The dead body is carried away. The Poisoner

woos the Queen with gifts. She seems harsh awhile but in

the end accepts his love. End of mime, at which point, the

wail of a woman in torment and Ophelia appears,

wailing, closely followed by Hamlet in a hysterical state,

shouting at her, circling her, both midstage.

Hamlet Go to, I'll no more on't; it hath made me mad!

She falls on her knees weeping

I say we will have no more marriage! (His voice drops to

include the Tragedians, who have frozen.) Those that are

married already (He leans close to the Player-Queen and

the Poisoner, speaking with quiet edge.) all but one shall

live. (He smiles briefly at them without mirth, and starts to

back out, his parting shot rising again.) The rest shall keep

as they are. (As he leaves, Ophelia tottering upstage, he

speaks into her ear a quick clipped sentence.) To a

nunnery, go.

He goes out. Ophelia falls on her knees upstage, her

sobs barely audible. A slight silence.

Player-King Full thirty times hath Phoebus' cart -

Claudius enters with Polonius and goes over to Ophelia

and lifts her to her feet. The Tragedians jump back with

heads inclined

Claudius Love? His affections do not that way tend,

Or what he spake, though it lacked form a little,

Was not like madness. There's something

in his soul o'er which his melancholy sits on

brood, and I do doubt the hatch and the

disclose will be some danger; which for to

prevent I have in quick determination thus set

it down: he shall with speed to England...

Which carries the three of them - Claudius, Polonius,

Ophelia - out of sight. The Player moves, clapping his

hands for attention.

Player Gentlemen! (They look at him.) It doesn't seem to

be coming. We are not getting it at all. (to Guil) What did

you think?

Guil What was I supposed to think?

Player (to Tragedians) You're not getting across!

Ros had gone half way up to Ophelia; he returns.

Ros That didn't look like love to me.

Guil Starting from scratch again . . .

Player (to Tragedians) It was a mess.

Ros (to Guil) It's going to be chaos on the night.

Guil Keep back - we're spectators.

Player Act two! Positions!

Guil Wasn't that the end?

Player Do you call that an ending? - with practically

everyone on his feet? My goodness no - over your dead

body.

Guil How am I supposed to take that?

Player Lying down. (He laughs briefly and in a second has

never laughed in his life.) There's a design at work in all

art - surely you know that? Events must play themselves

out to aesthetic, moral and logical conclusion.

Guil And what's that, in this case?

Player It never varies - we aim at the point where

everyone who is marked for death dies.

Guil Marked?

Player Between 'just deserts' and 'tragic irony' we are

given quite a lot of scope for our particular talent.

Generally speaking, things have gone about as far as they

can possibly go when things have got about as bad as they

reasonably get. (He switches on a smile.)

Guil Who decides?

Player (switching off his smile) Decides? It is written.

(He turns away. Guil grabs him and spins him back

violently. Unflustered.) Now if you're going to be subtle,

we'll miss each other in the dark. I'm referring to oral

tradition. So to speak.

Guil releases him.

We're tragedians, you see. We tollow directions - there is

no choice involved. The bad end unhappily, the good

unluckily. That is what tragedy means. (Calling) Positions!

The Tragedians have taken up positions for the

continuation of the mime: which in this case means a

love scene, sexual and passionate, between the Queen

and the Poisoner/King.

Player Go!

The lovers begin. The Player contributes a breathless

commentary for Ros and Guil.

Having murdered his brother and wooed the widow - the

poisoner mounts the throne! Here we see him and his

queen give rein to their unbridled passion! She little

knowing that the man she holds in her arms - !

Ros Oh, I say - here - really! You can't do that!

Player Why not?

Ros Well, really - I mean, people want to be entertained -

they don't come expecting sordid and gratuitous filth.

Player You're wrong - they do! Murder, seduction and

incest - what do you want - jokes?

Ros I want a good story, with a beginning, middle and end.

Player (to Guil) And you?

Guil I'd prefer art to mirror life, if it's all the same to you.

Player It's all the same to me, sir. (to the grappling Lovers)

All right, no need to indulge yourselves. (They get up - to

Guil) I come on in a minute. Lucianus, nephew to the king!

(Turns his attention to the Tragedians.) Next!

They disport themselves to accommodate the next piece

of mime, which consists of the Player himself exhibiting

an excitable anguish (choreographed, stylized) leading

to an impassioned scene with the Queen (cf. 'The Closet

Scene', Shakespeare Act III, scene iv) and a very stylized

reconstruction of a Polonius figure being stabbed behind

the arras (the murdered King to stand in for Polonius)

while the Player himself continues his breathless

commentary for the benefit of Ros and Guil.

Player Lucianus, nephew to the king ... usurped by his

uncle and shattered by his mother's incestuous marriage

... loses his reason... throwing the court into turmoil

and disarray as he alternates between bitter melancholy

and unrestricted lunacy... staggering from the suicidal

(a pose) to the homicidal (Here he kills 'Polonius'.) ... he

at last confronts his mother and in a scene of provocative

ambiguity - (a somewhat oedipal embrace) begs her to

repent and recant -

He springs up, still talking.

The King - (He pushes forward the Poisoner/King.)

tormented by guilt - haunted by fear - decides to despatch

his nephew to England - and entrusts this undertaking to

two smiling accomplices - friends - courtiers - to two

spies -

He has swung round to bring together the Poisoner!

King and the two cloaked Tragedians; the latter kneel

and accept a scroll from the King.

- giving them a letter to present to the English court - !

And so they depart - on board ship -

The two Spies position themselves on either side of the

Player, and the three of them sway gently in unison, the

motion of a boat; and then the Player detaches himself.

- and they arrive -

One Spy shades his eyes at the horizon.

- and disembark - and present themselves before the

English King - (He wheels round.) The English King -

An exchange of headgear creates the English King from

the remaining player - that is, the Player who played the

original murdered king.

But where is the Prince? Where indeed? The plot has

thickened - a twist of fate and cunning has put into their

hands a letter that seals their deaths!

The two Spies present their letter; the English King

reads it and orders their deaths. They stand up as the

Player whips off their cloaks preparatory to execution.

Traitors hoist by their own petard? - or victims of the

Gods? - we shall never know!

The whole mime has been fluid and continuous but now

Ros moves forward and brings it to a pause. What

brings Ros forward is the fact that under their cloaks

the two Spies are wearing coats identical to those worn

by Ros and Guil, whose coats are now covered by their

cloaks. Ros approaches 'his' Spy doubtfully. He does

not quite understand why the coats are familiar. Ros

stands close, touches the coat, thoughtfully...

Ros Well, if it isn't -! No, wait a minute, don't tell me -

it's a long time since - where was it? Ah, this is taking me

back to - when was it? I know you, don't I? I never forget

a face - (He looks into the Spy's face.) ... not that I know

yours that is. For a moment I thought - no, I don't know

you, do I? Yes, I'm afraid you're quite wrong. You must

have mistaken me for someone else.

Guil meanwhile has approached the other Spy, brow

creased in thought.

Player (to Guil) Are you familiar with this play?

Guil No.

Player A slaughterhouse - eight corpses all told. It brings

out the best in us.

Guil (tense, progressively rattled during the whole mime

and commentary) You! - What do you know about death?

Player It's what the actors do best. They have to exploit

whatever talent is given to them, and their talent is dying.

They can die heroically, comically, ironically, slowly,

suddenly, disgustingly, charmingly, or from a great height.

My own talent is more general. I extract significance from

melodrama, a signitcance which it does not in fact

contain; but occasionally, from out of this matter, there

escapes a thin beam of light that, seen at the right angle,

can crack the shell of mortality.

Ros Is that all they can do - die?

Player No, no - they kill beautifully. In fact some of them

kill even better than they die. The rest die better than they

kill. They're a team.

Ros Which ones are which?

Player There's not much in it.

Guil (fear, derision) Actors! The mechanics of cheap

melodrama! That isn't death! (more quietly) You scream

and choke and sink to your knees, but it doesn't bring

death home to anyone - it doesn't catch them unawares

and start the whisper in their skulls that says - 'One day

you are going to die.' (He straightens up.) You die so many

times; how can you expect them to believe in your death?

Player On the contrary, it's the only kind they do believe.

They're conditioned to it. I had an actor once who was

condemned to hang for stealing a sheep - or a lamb, I

forget which - so I got permission to have him hanged in

the middle of a play - had to change the plot a bit but I

thought it would be effective, you know - and you

wouldn't believe it, he just wasn't convincing! It was

impossible to suspend one's disbelief - and what with the

audience jeering and throwing peanuts, the whole thing

was a disaster! - he did nothing but cry all the time - right

out of character - just stood there and cried... Never

again.

In good humour he has already turned back to the

mime: the two Spies awaiting execution at the hands of

the Player.

Audiences know what to expect, and that is all that they

are prepared to believe in. (to the Spies) Show!

The Spies die at some length, rather well.

The light has begun to go, and it fades as they die,

and as Guil speaks.

Guil No, no, no... you've got it all wrong... you can't

act death. The fact of it is nothing to do with seeing it

happen - it's not gasps and blood and falling about - that

isn't what makes it death. It's just a man failing to

reappear, that's all - now you see him, now you don't,

that's the only thing that's real: here one minute and gone

the next and never coming back - an exit, unobtrusive and

unannounced, a disappearance gathering weight as it goes

on, until, finally, it is heavy with death.

I he two spies he still, barely visible. I be Player comes

forward and throws the spies' cloaks over their bodies.

Ros starts to clap, slowly.

Blackout.

A second of silence, then much noise. Shouts ... 'The

King rises!'... 'Give o'er the play!'... and cries for

'Lights, lights, lights!'

When the light comes, after a few seconds, it comes as

a sunrise. The stage is empty save for two cloaked

Figures sprawled on the ground in the approximate

positions last held by the dead Spies. As the light grows,

they are seen to be Ros and Guil, and to be resting quite

comfortably. Ros raises himself on his elbows and

shades his eyes as he stares into the auditorium. Finally:

Ros That must be east, then. I think we can assume that.

Guil I'm assuming nothing.

Ros No, it's all right. That's the sun. East.

Guil (looks up) Where?

Ros I watched it come up.

Guil No... it was light all the time, you see, and you

opened your eyes very, very slowly. If you'd been facing

back there you'd be swearing that was east.

Ros (standing up) You're a mass of prejudice.

Guil I've been taken in before.

Ros (looks out over the audience) Rings a bell.

Guil They're waiting to see what we're going to do.

Ros Good old east.

Guil As soon as we make a move they'll come pouring in

from every side, shouting obscure instructions, confusing

us with ridiculous remarks, messing us about from here to

breakfast and getting our names wrong.

Ros starts to protest but he has hardly opened his

mouth before:

Claudius (off-stage - with urgency) Ho, Guildenstern!

Guil is still prone. Small pause.

Ros and Guil You're wanted ...

Guil furiously leaps to his feet as Claudius and Gertrude

enter. They are in some desperation.

Claudius Friends both, go join you with some further aid:

Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain, and from his

mother's closet hath he dragged him. Go seek him out;

speak fair and bring the body into the chapel. I pray you

haste in this. (As he and Gertrude are hurrying out.)

Come, Gertrude, we'll call up our wisest friends and let

them know both what we mean to do ...

They've gone.

Ros and Guil remain quite still.

Guil Well...

Ros Quite ...

Guil Well, well.

Ros Quite; quite. (Nods with spurious confidence.) Seek

him out. (Pause.) Etcetera.

Guil Quite.

Ros Well. (Small pause.) Well, that's a step in the right

direction.

Guil You didn't like him?

Ros Who?

Guil Good God, I hope more tears are shed for us! ...

Ros Well, it's progress, isn't it? Something positive. Seek

him out. (Looks round without moving his feet.) Where

does one begin...? (Takes one step towards the wings

and halts.)

Guil Well, that's a step in the right direction.

Ros You think so? He could be anywhere.

Guil All right - you go that way, I'll go this way.

Ros Right.

They walk towards opposite wings. Ros halts.

No.

Guil halts.

You go this way - I'll go that way.

Gul All right.

They march towards each other, cross. Ros halts.

Ros Wait a minute.

Guil halts.

I think we should stick together. He might be violent.

Guil Good point. I'll come with you.

Guil marches across to Ros. They turn to leave. Ros

halts.

Ros No, I'll come with you.

Guil Right.

They turn, march across to the opposite wing. Ros halts.

Guil halts.

Ros I'll come with you, my way.

Gull All right.

They turn again and march across. Ros halts. Guil halts.

Ros I've just thought. If we both go, he could come here.

That would be stupid, wouldn't it?

Guil All right - I'll stay, you go.

Ros Right.

Guil marches to midstage.

I say.

Guil wheels and carries on marching back towards Ros

who starts marching downstage. They cross. Ros halts.

I've just thought.

Guil halts.

We ought to stick together; he might be violent.

Guil Good point.

Guil marches down to join Ros. They stand still for a

moment in their original positions.

Well, at last we're getting somewhere.

Pause.

Guil Of course, he might not come.

Ros (airily) Oh, he'll come.

Guil We'd have some explaining to do.

Ros He'll come. (Airily wanders upstage.) Don't worry -

take my word for it - (Looks out - is appalled.) He's

coming!

Guil What's he doing?

Ros Walking.

Guil Alone?

Ros No.

Guil Who's with him?

Ros The old man.

Guil Walking?

Ros No.

Guil Not walking?

Ros No.

Guil Ah. That's an opening if ever there was one. (And is

suddenly galvanized into action.) Let him walk into the

trap!

Ros What trap?

Guil You stand there! Don't let him pass!

He positions Ros with his back to one wing, facing

Hamlet's entrance.

Guil positions himself next to Ros, a few feet away,

so that they are covering one side of the stage, facing the

opposite side. Guil unfastens his belt. Ros does the

same. They join the two belts, and hold them taut

between them. Ros's trousers slide slowly down. Hamlet

enters opposite, slowly, dragging Polonius's body. He

enters upstage, makes a small arc and leaves by the same

side, a few feet downstage.

Ros and Guil, holding the belts taut, stare at him in

some bewilderment.

Hamlet leaves, dragging the body. They relax the

strain on the belts.

Ros That was close.

8 I

Guil There's a limit to what two people can do.

They undo the belts: Ros pulls up his trousers.

Ros (worriedly - he walks a few paces towards Hamlet's

exit) He was dead.

Guil Of course he's dead!

Ros (turns to Guil) Properly.

Guil (angrily) Death's death, isn't it?

Ros falls silent. Pause.

Perhaps he'll come back this way.

Ros starts to take off his belt.

No, no, no! - if we can't learn by experience, what else

have we got?

Ros desists. Pause.

Ros Give him a shout.

Guil I thought we'd been into all that.

Ros (shouts) Hamlet!

Guil Don't be absurd.

Ros (shouts) Lord Hamlet!

Hamlet enters. Ros is a little dismayed.

What have you done, my lord, with the dead body?

Hamlet Compounded it with dust, whereto 'tis kin.

Ros Tell us where 'tis, that we may take it thence and bear

it to the chapel.

Hamlet Do not believe it.

Ros Believe what?

Hamlet That I can keep your counsel and not mine own.

Besides, to be demanded of a sponge, what replication

should be made by the son of a king?

Ros Take you me for a sponge, my lord?

Hamlet Ay, sir, that soaks up the King's countenance, his

rewards, his authorities. But such officers do the King best

service in the end. He keeps them, like an ape, in the

corner of his jaw, first mouthed, to be last swallowed

When he needs what you have gleaned, it is but squeezing

you and, sponge, you shall be dry again.

Ros I understand you not, my lord.

Hamlet I am glad of it: a knavish speech sleeps in a

foolish ear.

Ros My lord, you must tell us where the body is and go

with us to the King.

Hamlet The body is with the King, but the King is not

with the body. The King is a thing -

Guil A thing, my lord -?

Hamlet Of nothing. Bring me to him.

Hamlet moves resolutely towards one wing. They move

with him, shepherding. Just before they reach the exit,

Hamlet, apparently seeing Claudius approaching from off

stage, bends low in a sweeping bow. Ros and Guil, cued

by Hamlet, also bow deeply - a sweeping ceremonial bou

with their cloaks swept round them. Hamlet, however,

continues the movement into an about-turn and walks off

in the opposite direction. Ros and Guil, with their heads

low, do not notice. No one comes on. Ros and Guil squint

upwards and find that they are bowing to nothing.

Claudius enters behind them. At his first words they

leap up and do a double-take.

Claudius How now? What hath befallen?

Ros Where the body is bestowed, my lord, we cannot get

from him.

Claudius But where is he?

Ros (fractional hesitation) Without, my lord; guarded to

know your pleasure.

Claudius (moves) Bring him before us.

This hits Ros between the eyes but only his eyes show it.

Again his hesitation is fractional. And then with great

deliberation he turns to Guil.

Ros Ho! Bring in the lord.

Again there is a fractional moment in which Ros is

smug, Guil is trapped and betrayed. Guil opens his

mouth and closes it.

The situation is saved:

Hamlet, escorted, is marched in just as Claudius

leaves.

Hamlet and his Escort cross the stage and go out,

following Claudius.

Lighting changes to exterior.

Ros (moves to go) All right, then?

Guil (does not move: thoughtfully) And yet it doesn't

seem enough; to have breathed such significance. Can that

be all? And why us? - anybody would have done. And we

have contributed nothing.

Ros It was a trying episode while it lasted, but they've

done with us now.

Guil Done what?

Ros I don't pretend to have understood. Frankly, I'm not

very interested. If they won't tell us, that's their affair. (He

wanders upstage towards the exit.) For my part, I'm only

glad that that's the last we've seen of him -

And he glances offstage and turns front, his face

betraying the fact that Hamlet is there.

Guil I knew it wasn't the end ..

Ros (high) What else?!

Guil We're taking him to England. What's he doing?

Ros goes upstage and returns.

Ros Talking.

Gull To himself?

Ros makes to go, Guil cuts him off.

Is he alone?

Ros No, he's with a soldier.

Guil Then he's not talking to himself, is he?

Ros Not by himself... Should we go?

Guil Where?

Ros Anywhere.

Guil Why?

Ros puts up his head listening.

Ros There it is again. (in anguish) All I ask is a change of

ground!

Guil (coda) Give us this day our daily round ...

Hamlet enters behind them, talking with a soldier in

arms. Ros and Guil don't look round.

Ros They'll have us hanging about till we're dead. At

least. And the weather will change. (Looks up.) The spring

can't last for ever.

Hamlet Good sir, whose powers are these?

Soldier They are of Norway, sir.

Hamlet How purposed, sir, I pray you?

Soldier Against some part of Poland.

Hamlet Who commands them, sir?

Soldier The nephew to old Norway, Fortinbras.

Ros We'll be cold. The summer won't last.

Guil It's autumnal.

Ros (examining the ground) No leaves.

Guil Autumnal - nothing to do with leaves. It is to do

with a certain brownness at the edges of the day . ..

Brown is creeping up on us, take my word for it ...

Russets and tangerine shades of old gold flushing the very

outside edge of the senses... deep shining ochres, burnt

umber and parchments of baked earth - reflecting on itself

and through itself, filtering the light. At such times,

perhaps, coincidentally, the leaves might fall, somewhere,

by repute. Yesterday was blue, like smoke.

Ros (head up, listening) I got it again then.

They listen - faintest sound of the Tragedians' band.

Hamlet I humbly thank you, sir.

Soldier God by you, sir. (Exit.)

Ros gets up quickly and goes to Hamlet.

Ros Will it please you go, my lord?

Hamlet I'll be with you straight. Go you a little before.

Hamlet turns to face upstage. Ros returns down. Guil

faces front, doesn't turn.

Guil Is he there?

Ros Yes.

Guil What's he doing?

Ros looks over his shoulder.

Ros Talking.

Gull To himself?

Ros Yes. (Pause. He makes to leave.)

He said we can go. Cross my heart.

Guil I like to know where I am. Even if I don't know

where I am, I like to know that. If we go there's no

knowing.

Ros No knowing what?

Guil If we'll ever come back.

Ros We don't want to come back.

Guil That may very well be true, but do we want to go?

Ros We'll be free.

Guil I don't know. It's the same sky.

Ros We've come this far.

He moves towards exit. Guil follows him.

And besides, anything could happen yet.

They go.

Blackout.

Act Three

Opens in pitch darkness.

Soft sea sounds.

After several seconds of nothing, a voice from the

dark...

Guil Are you there?

Ros Where?

Guil (bitterly) A flying start ...

Pause.

Ros Is that you?

Guil Yes.

Ros How do you know?

Guil (explosion) Oh-for-God's-sake!

Ros We're not finished, then?

Guil Well, we're here, aren't we?

Ros Are we? I can't see a thing.

Guil You can still think, can't you?

Ros I think so.

Guil You can still talk.

Ros What should I say?

Guil Don't bother. You can feel, can't you?

Ros Ah! There's life in me yet!

Guil What are you feeling?

Ros A leg. Yes, it feels like my leg.

Guil How does it feel?

Ros Dead

Gul Dead?

Ros (panic) I can't feel a thing!

Guil Give it a pinch! (Immediately he yelps.)

Ros Sorry.

Guil Well, that's cleared that up.

Longer pause: the sound builds a little and identifies

itself- the sea. Ship timbers, wind in the rigging, and

then shouts of sailors calling obscure but inescapably

nautical instructions from all directions, far and near: A

short list:

Hard a larboard!

Let go the stays!

Reef down me hearties!

Is that you, cox'n?

Hel-llo! Is that you?

Hard a port!

Easy as she goes!

Keep her steady on the lee!

Haul away, lads!

(Snatches of sea shanty maybe.)

Fly the jib!

Tops'l up, me maties!

When the point has been well made and more so.

Ros We're on a boat. (Pause.) Dark, isn't it?

Guil Not for night.

Ros No, not for night.

Guil Dark for day.

Pause.

Ros Oh yes, it's dark for day.

Guil We must have gone north, of course.

Ros Off course?

Guil Land of the midnight sun, that is.

Ros Of course.

Some sailor sounds.

A lantern is lit upstage - in fact by Hamlet.

The stage lightens disproportionately.

Enough to see:

Ros and Guil sitting downstage.

Vague shapes of rigging, etc., behind.

I think it's getting light.

Guil Not for night.

Ros This far north.

Guil Unless we're off course.

Ros (small pause) Of course.

A better light - Lantern? Moon? ... Light.

Revealing, among other things, three large man-sized

casks on deck, upended, with lids. Spaced but in line.

Behind and above - a gaudy striped umbrella, on a pole

stuck into the deck, tilted so that we do not see behind it

- one of those huge six-foot diameter jobs.

Still dim upstage.

Ros and Guil still facing front.

Ros Yes, it's lighter than it was. It'll be night soon. This

far north. (dolefully) I suppose we'll have to go to sleep.

(He yawns and stretches.)

Guil Tired?

Ros No... I don't think I'd take to it. Sleep all night,

can't see a thing all day... Those eskimos must have a

quiet life.

Gull Where?

Ros What?

Guil I thought you - (Relapses.) I've lost all capacity for

disbelief. I'm not sure that I could even rise to a little

gentle scepticism.

Pause.

Ros Well, shall we stretch our legs?

Guil I don't feel like stretching my legs.

Ros I'll stretch them for you, if you like.

Guil No.

Ros We could stretch each other's. That way we wouldn't

have to go anywhere.

Guil (pause) No, somebody might come in.

Ros In where?

Guil Out here.

Ros In out here?

Guil On deck.

Ros considers the floor: slaps it.

Ros Nice bit of planking, that.

Guil Yes, I'm very fond of boats myself. I like the way

they're - contained. You don't have to worry about which

way to go, or whether to go at all - the question doesn't

arise, because you're on a boat, aren't you? Boats are safe

posins eithe fuse state player i hope h most

of my life on boats.

Ros Very healthy.

Ros inhales with expectation, exhales with boredom.

Guil stands up and looks over the audience.

Guil One is free on a boat. For a time. Relatively.

Ros What's it like?

Guil Rough.

Ros joins him. They look out over the audience.

Ros I think I'm going to be sick.

Guil licks a finger, holds it up experimentally.

Guil Other side, I think.

Ros goes upstage: Ideally a sort of upper deck joined to

the downstage lower deck by short steps. The umbrella

being on the upper deck. Ros pauses by the umbrella

and looks behind it.

Guil meanwhile has been resuming his own theme -

looking out over the audience -

Free to move, speak, extemporise, and yet. We have not

been cut loose. Our truancy is defined by one fixed star,

and our drift represents merely a slight change of angle to

it: we may seize the moment, toss it around while the

moments pass, a short dash here, an exploration there, but

we are brought round full circle to face again the single

immutable fact - that we, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern,

bearing a letter from one king to another, are taking

Hamlet to England.

By which time, Ros has returned, tiptoeing with great

import, teeth clenched for secrecy, gets to Guil, points

surreptitiously behind him - and a tight whisper:

Ros I say - he's there!

Guil (unsurprised) What's he doing?

Ros Sleeping.

Guil It's all right for him.

Ros What is?

Guil He can sleep.

Ros It's all right for him.

Gull He's got us now.

Ros He can sleep.

Guil It's all done for him.

Ros He's got us.

Guil And we've got nothing. (a cry) All I ask is our

common due!

Ros For those in peril on the sea . . .

Guil Give us this day our daily cue.

Beat, pause. Sit. Long pause.

Ros (after shifting, looking around) What now?

Guil What do you mean?

Ros Well, nothing is happening.

Guil We're on a boat.

Ros I'm aware of that.

Guil (angrily) Then what do you expect? (unhappily) We

act on scraps of information . . . sifting half-remembered

directions that we can hardly separate from instinct.

Ros puts a hand into his purse, then both hands behind

his back, then holds his fists out.

Guil taps one fist.

Ros opens it to show a coin.

He gives it to Guil.

He puts. his hand back into his purse. Then both

hands behind his back, then holds his fists out.

Guil taps one.

Ros opens it to show a coin. He gives it to Guil.

Repeat.

Guil getting tense. Desperate to lose.

Repeat.

Guil taps a hand, changes his mind, taps the other,

and Ros inadvertently reveals that he has a coin in both

fists.

Guil You had money in both hands.

Ros (embarrassed) Yes.

Guil Every time?

Ros Yes.

Guil What's the point of that?

Ros (pathetic) I wanted to make you happy.

Beat.

Guil How much did he give you?

Ros Who?

Guil The King. He gave us some money.

Ros How much did he give you?

Guil I asked you first.

Ros I got the same as you.

Guil He wouldn't discriminate between us.

Ros How much did you get?

Guil The same.

Ros How do you know?

Guil You just told me - how do you know?

Ros He wouldn't discriminate between us.

Guil Even if he could

Ros Which he never could.

Guil He couldn't even be sure of mixing us up.

Ros Without mixing us up.

Guil (turning on him furiously) Why don't you say

something original! No wonder the whole thing is so

stagnant! You don't take me up on anything - you just

repeat it in a different order.

Ros I can't think of anything original. I'm only good in

support.

Guil I'm sick of making the running.

Ros (humbly) It must be your dominant personality.

(almost in tears) Oh, what's going to become of us! (And

Guil comforts him, all harshness gone.)

Guil Don't cry... it's all right... there . . . there, I'll see

we're all right.

Ros But we've got nothing to go on, we're out on our own.

Guil We're on our way to England - we're taking Hamlet

there.

Ros What for?

Guil What for? Where have you been?

Ros When? (Pause.) We won't know what to do when we

get there.

Guil We take him to the King.

Ros Will he be there?

Guil No - the King of England.

Ros He's expecting us?

Guil No.

Ros He won't know what we're playing at. What are we

going to say?

Guil We've got a letter. You remember the letter.

Ros Do I?

Guil Everything is explained in the letter. We count on

that.

Ros Is that it, then?

Guil What?

Ros We take Hamlet to the English King, we hand over

the letter - what then?

Guil There may be something in the letter to keep us

going a bit.

Ros And if not?

Guil Then that's it - we're finished.

Ros At a loose end?

Guil Yes.

Pause.

Ros Are there likely to be loose ends? (Pause.) Who is the

English King?

Guil That depends on when we get there.

Ros What do you think it says?

Guil Oh. . . greetings. Expressions of loyalty. Asking of

favours, calling in of debts. Obscure promises balanced by

vague threats... Diplomacy. Regards to the family.

Ros And about Hamlet?

Guil Oh yes.

Ros And us - the full background?

Guil I should say so.

Pause.

Ros So we've got a letter which explains everything.

Guil You've got it.

Ros takes that literally. He starts to pat his pockets, etc.

What's the matter?

Ros The letter.

Guil Have you got it?

Ros (rising fear) Have I? (Searches frantically.) Where

would I have put it?

Guil You can't have lost it.

Ros I must have!

Guil That's odd - I thought he gave it to me.

Ros looks at him hopefully.

Ros Perhaps he did.

Guil But you seemed so sure it was you who hadn't got it.

Ros (high) It was me who hadn't got it!

Guil But if he gave it to me there's no reason why you

should have had it in the first place, in which case I don't

see what all the fuss is about you not having it.

Ros (pause) I admit it's confusing.

Guil This is all getting rather undisciplined . . . The boat,

the night, the sense of isolation and uncertainty . . . all

these induce a loosening of the concentration. We must not

lose control. Tighten up. Now. Either you have lost the

letter or you didn't have it to lose in the first place, in

which case the king never gave it to you, in which case he

gave it to me, in which case I would have put it into my

inside top pocket in which case (Calmly producing the

letter.) ... it will be ... here. (They smile at each other.)

We mustn't drop off like that again.

Pause. Ros takes the letter gently from him.

Ros Now that we have found it, why were we looking for

it?

Guil (thinks) We thought it was lost.

Ros Something else?

Guil No.

Deflation.

Ros Now we've lost the tension.

Guil What tension?

Ros What was the last thing I said before we wandered

Guil When was that?

Ros (helplessly) I can't remember.

Guil (leaping up) What a shambles! We're just not getting

anywhere.

Ros (mournfully) Not even England. I don't believe in it

anyway.

Guil What?

Ros England.

Guil Just a conspiracy of cartographers, you mean?

Ros I mean I don't believe it! (calmer) I have no image. I

try to picture us arriving, a little harbour perhaps...

roads... inhabitants to point the way . . . horses on the

road... riding for a day or a fortnight and then a palace

and the English King . . . That would be the logical kind

of thing ... But my mind remains a blank. No. We're

slipping off the map.

Guil Yes..

yes... (Rallying.) But you don't believe

anything till it happens. As it has all happened. Hasn't it?

Ros We drift down time, clutching at straws. But what

good's a brick to a drowning man?

Guil Don't give up, we can't be long now.

Ros We might as well be dead. Do you think death could

possibly be a boat?

Guil No, no, no. .. Death is . . . not. Death isn't. You

take my meaning. Death is the ultimate negative. Not-

being. You can't not-be on a boat.

Ros I've frequently not been on boats.

Guil No, no, no - what you've been is not on boats.

Ros I wish I was dead. (Considering the drop.) I could

jump over the side. That would put a spoke in their wheel.

Guil Unless they're counting on it.

Ros I shall remain on board. That'll put a spoke in their

wheel. (the futility of it, fury) All right! We don't question,

we don't doubt. We perform. But a line must be drawn

somewhere, and I would like to put it on record that I

have no confidence in England. Thank you. (Thinks about

this.) And even if it's true, it'll be another shambles.

Guil I don't see why.

Ros (furious) He won't know what we're talking about -

What are we going to say?

Guil We say - Your majesty, we have arrived!

Ros (kingly) And who are you?

Guil We are Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

Ros (barks) Never heard of you!

Guil Well, we're nobody special -

Ros (regal and nasty) What's your game?

Guil We've got our instructions -

Ros First I've heard of it -

Guil (angrily) Let me finish - (humble) We've come from

Denmark.

Ros What do you want?

Guil Nothing - we're delivering Hamlet -

Ros Who's he?

Guil (irritated) You've heard of him -

Ros Oh, I've heard of him all right and I want nothing to

do with it.

Guil But -

IOO

Ros You march in here without so much as a by your

leave and expect me to take every lunatic you try to pass

off with a lot of unsubstantiated -

Guil We've got a letter -

Ros snatches it and tears it open.

Ros (efficiently) I see... I see . . . well, this seems to

support your story such as it is - it is an exact command

from the King of Denmark, for several different reasons,

importing Denmark's health and England's too, that on the

reading of this letter, without delay, I should have Hamlet's

head cut off -!

Guil snatches the letter. Ros, doubletaking, snatches it

back, Guil snatches it half back. They read it together,

and separate. Pause.

They are well downstage looking front.

Ros The sun's going down. It will be dark soon.

Guil Do you think so?

Ros I was just making conversation. (Pause.) We're his

friends.

Guil How do you know?

Ros From our young days brought up with him.

Guil You've only got their word for it.

Ros But that's what we depend on.

Guil Well, yes, and then again no. (airily) Let us keep

things in proportion. Assume, if you like, that they're

going to kill him. Well, he is a man, he is mortal, death

comes to us all, etcetera, and consequently he would have

died anyway, sooner or later. Or to look at it from the

social point of view - he's just one man among many, the

loss would be well within reason and convenience. And

IOI

then again, what is so terrible about death? As Socrates so

philosophically put it, since we don't know what death is,

• . very nice. Certainl

it is illogical to fear it. It might be

it is a release from the burden of life, and, for the godly,

haven and a reward. Or to look at it another way - we are

little men, we don't know the ins and outs of the matter,

there are wheels within wheels, etcetera - it would be

presumptuous of us to interfere with the design of fate or

even of kings. All in all, I think we'd be well advised to

leave well alone. Tie up the letter - there - neatly - like

that - They won't notice the broken seal, assuming you

were in character.

Ros But what's the point?

Guil Don't apply logic.

Ros He's done nothing to us.

Guil Or justice.

Ros It's awful.

Guil But it could have been worse. I was beginning to

think it was.

And his relief comes out in a laugh. Behind them

Hamlet appears from behind the umbrella. The light has

been going. Slightly. Hamlet is going to the lantern.

Ros The position as I see it, then. We, Rosencrantz and

Guildenstern, from our young days brought up with him,

awakened by a man standing on his saddle, are

summoned, and arrive, and are instructed to glean what

afflicts him and draw him on to pleasures, such as a play,

which unfortunately, as it turns out, is abandoned in some

confusion owing to certain nuances outside our

appreciation - which, among other causes, results in,

among other effects, a high, not to say, homicidal,

excitement in Hamlet, whom we, in consequence, are

I02

escorting, for his own good, to England. Good. We're on

top of it now.

Hamlet blows out the lantern. The stage goes pitch

black. The black resolves itself to moonlight, by which

Hamlet approaches the sleeping Ros and Guil. He

extracts the letter and takes it behind his umbrella; the

light of his lantern shines through the fabric, Hamlet

emerges again with a letter, and replaces it, and retires,

blowing out his lantern.

Morning comes.

Ros watches it coming - from the auditorium. Behind

him is a gay sight. Beneath the re-tilted umbrella,

reclining in a deckchair, wrapped in a rug, reading a

book, possibly smoking, sits Hamlet.

Ros watches the morning come, and brighten to high

noon.

Ros I'm assuming nothing. (He stands up. Guil wakes.)

The position as I see it, then. That's west unless we're off

course, in which case it's night; the King gave me the same

as you, the King gave you the same as me; the King never

gave me the letter, the King gave you the letter, we don't

know what's in the letter; we take Hamlet to the English

King, it depending on when we get there who he is, and

we hand over the letter, which may or may not have

something in it to keep us going, and if not, we are

finished and at a loose end. We could have done worse. I

don't think we missed any chances... Not that we're

getting much help. (He sits down again. They lie down -

prone.) If we stopped breathing we'd vanish.

The muffled sound of a recorder. They sit up with

disproportionate interest.

Here we go.

Yes, but what?

103

They listen to the music.

Guil (excitedly) Out of the void, finally, a sound; while on

a boat (admittedly) outside the action (admittedly) the

pertect and absolute silence of the wet lazy slap of water

against water and the rolling creak of timber - breaks;

giving rise at once to the speculation or the assumption or

the hope that something is about to happen; a pipe is

heard. One of the sailors has pursed his lips against a

woodwind, his fingers and thumb governing, shall we say,

the ventages, whereupon, giving it breath, let us say, with

his mouth, it, the pipe, discourses, as the saying goes, most

eloquent music. A thing like that, it could change the

course of events. (Pause.) Go and see what it is.

Ros It's someone playing on a pipe.

Guil Go and find him.

Ros And then what?

Guil I don't know - request a tune.

Ros What for?

Guil Quick - before we lose our momentum.

Ros Why! - something is happening. It had quite escaped

my attention!

He listens: Makes a stab at an exit. Listens more carefully:

Changes direction:

Guil takes no notice.

Ros wanders about trying to decide where the music

comes from. Finally he tracks it down - unwillingly - to

the middle barrel. There is no getting away from it. He

turns to Guil who takes no notice. Ros, during this

whole business, never quite breaks into articulate

speech. His face and his hands indicate his incredulity.

He stands gazing at the middle barrel. The pipe plays on

IO4

within. He kicks the barrel. The pipe stops. He leaps

back towards Guil. The pipe starts up again. He

approaches the barrel cautiously. He lifts the lid. The

music is louder. He slams down the lid. The music is

softer. He goes back towards Guil. But a drum starts,

muffled. He freezes. He turns. Considers the left-hand

barrel. The drumming goes on within, in time to the

flute. He walks back to Guil. He opens his mouth to

speak. Doesn't make it. A lute is heard. He spins round

at the third barrel. More instruments join in. Until it is

quite inescapable that inside the three barrels,

distributed, playing together a familiar tune which has

been heard three times before, are the Tragedians.

They play on.

Ros sits beside Guil. They stare ahead.

The tune comes to an end.

Pause.

Ros I thought I heard a band. (in anguish) Plausibility is

all i presume!

Guil (coda) Call us this day our daily tune...

The lid of the middle barrel flies open and the Player's

head pops out.

Player Aha! All in the same boat, then! (He climbs out. He

goes round banging on the barrels.) Everybody out!

Impossibly, the Tragedians climb out of the barrels.

With their instruments, but not their cart. A few

bundles. Except Alfred. The Player is cheerful.

To Ros:

Where are we?

Ros Travelling.

Player Of course, we haven't got there yet.

IOS

Ros Are we all right for England?

Player You look all right to me. I don't think they're very

particular in England. Al-l-fred!

Alfred emerges from the Player's barrel.

Guil What are you doing here?

Player Travelling. (to Tragedians) Right - blend into the

background!

The Tragedians are in costume (from the mime): A King

with crown, Alfred as Queen, the Poisoner and the two

Cloaked figures.

They blend.

To Guil:

Pleased to see us? (Pause.) You've come out of it very well,

so far.

Guil And you?

Player In disfavour. Our play offended the King.

Guil Yes.

Player Well, he's a second husband himself. Tactless,

really.

Ros It was quite a good play nevertheless.

Player We never really got going - it was getting quite

interesting when they stopped it. (Looks up at Hamlet.)

That's the way to travel...

Guil What were you doing in there?

Player Hiding. (Indicating costumes) We had to run for it

just as we were.

Ros Stowaways.

106

Player Naturally - we didn't get paid, owing to

Ircumstances ever so slightly beyond our control, and a

he money we had we lost betting on certainties. Life is

gamble, at terrible odds - if it was a bet you wouldn't take

it. Did you know that any number doubled is even?

Ros Is it?

Player We learn something every day, to our cost. But we

troupers just go on and on. Do you know what happens to

old actors?

Ros What?

Player Nothing. They're still acting. Surprised, then?

Guil What?

Player Surprised to see us?

Guil I knew it wasn't the end.

Player With practically everyone on his feet. What do you

make of it, so far?

Guil We haven't got much to go on.

Player You speak to him?

Ros It's possible.

Guil But it wouldn't make any difference.

Ros But it's possible.

Guil Pointless.

Ros It's allowed.

Guil Allowed, yes. We are not restricted. No boundaries

have been defined, no inhibitions imposed. We have, for

the while, secured, or blundered into, our release, for the

while. Spontaneity and whim are the order of the day.

Other wheels are turning but they are not our concern. We

I07

can breathe. We can relax. We can do what we like and

say what we like to whomever we like, without restriction.

Ros Within limits, of course.

Guil Certainly within limits.

Hamlet comes down to footlights and regards the

audience. The others watch but don't speak. Hamlet

clears his throat noisily and spits into the audience. A

split second later he claps his hand to his eye and wipes

himself. He goes back upstage.

Ros A compulsion towards philosophical introspection is

his chief characteristic, if I may put it like that. It does not

mean he is mad. It does not mean he isn't. Very often, it

does not mean anything at all. Which may or may not be a

kind of madness.

Guil It really boils down to symptoms. Pregnant replies,

mystic allusions, mistaken identities, arguing his father is

his mother, that sort of thing; intimations of suicide,

forgoing of exercise, loss of mirth, hints of claustrophobia,

not to say delusions of imprisonment; invocations of

camels, chameleons, capons, whales, weasels, hawks,

handsaws - riddles, quibbles and evasions; amnesia,

paranoia, myopia; day-dreaming, hallucinations; stabbing

his elders, abusing his parents, insulting his lover, and

appearing hatless in public - knock-kneed, droop-

stockinged and sighing like a love-sick schoolboy, which at

his age is coming on a bit strong.

Ros And talking to himself.

Guil And talking to himself.

Ros and Guil move apart together.

Well, where has that got us?

Ros He's the Player.

I08

Guil His play offended the King -

Ros - offended the King -

Guil - who orders his arrest -

Ros - orders his arrest -

Guil - so he escapes to England -

Ros On the boat to which he meets -

Guil Guildenstern and Rosencrantz taking Hamlet -

Ros - who also offended the King -

Guil - and killed Polonius -

Ros - offended the King in a variety of ways -

Guil - to England. (Pause.) That seems to be it.

• Ros jumps up.

Ros Incidents! All we get is incidents! Dear God, is it too

much to expect a little sustained action?!

And on the word, the Pirates attack. That is to say:

Noise and shouts and rushing about. 'Pirates'.

Everyone visible goes frantic. Hamlet draws his

sword and rushes downstage. Guil, Ros and the Player

draw swords and rush upstage. Collision. Hamlet turns

back up. They turn back down. Collision. By which

time there is general panic right upstage. All four charge

upstage with Ros, Guil and the Player shouting:

At last!

To arms!

Pirates!

Up there!

Down there!

To my sword's length!

Action!

I09

All four reach the top, see something they don't like,

waver, run for their lives downstage:

Hamlet, in the lead, leaps into the left barrel. The

Player leaps into the right barrel. Ros and Guil leap into

the middle barrel. All closing the lids after them.

The lights dim to nothing while the sound of fighting

continues.

The sound fades to nothing. The lights come up.

The middle barrel (Ros's and Guil's) is missing

The lid of the right-hand barrel is raised cautiously,

the heads of Ros and Guil appear.

The lid of the other barrel (Hamlet's) is raised. The

head of the Player appears.

All catch sight of each other and slam down lids.

Pause.

Lids raised cautiously.

Ros (relief) They've gone. (He starts to climb out). That

was close. I've never thought quicker.

They are all three out of barrels. Guil is wary and

nervous. Ros is light-headed. The Player is phlegmatic.

They note the missing barrel.

Ros looks round.

Ros Where's -?

The Player takes off his hat in mourning.

Player Once more, alone - on our own resources.

Guil (worried) What do you mean? Where is he?

Player Gone.

Guil Gone where?

Player Yes, we were dead lucky there. If that's the word

I'm after.

Ros (not a pick up) Dead?

IIO

Player Lucky.

Ros (he means) Is he dead?

Player Who knows?

Guil (rattled) He's not coming back?

Player Hardly.

Ros He's dead then. He's dead as far as we're concerned.

Player Or we are as far as he is. (He goes and sits on the

floor to one side.) Not too bad, is it?

Guil (rattled) But he can't - We're supposed to be - We've

got a letter - We're going to England with a letter for the

King -

Player Yes, that much seems certain. I congratulate you on

the unambiguity of your situation.

Guil But you don't understand - it contains - we've had

our instructions - The whole thing's pointless without him.

Player Pirates could happen to anyone. Just deliver the

letter. They'll send ambassadors from England to explain

...

Guil (worked up) Can't see - the pirates left us home and

high - dry and home - drome - (furiously) The pirates left

us high and dry!

Player (comforting) There...

Guil (near tears) Nothing will be resolved without

him ...

Player There..!

Guil We need Hamlet for our release!

Player There!

III

Guil What are we supposed to do?

Player This.

He turns away, lies down if he likes. Ros and Guil

apart.

Ros Saved again.

Guil Saved for what?

Ros sighs.

Ros The sun's going down. (Pause.) It'll be night soon.

(Pause.) If that's west. (Pause.) Unless we've -

Guil (shouts) Shut up! I'm sick of it! Do you think

conversation is going to help us now?

Ros (hurt, desperately ingratiating) I - I bet you all the

money I've got the year of my birth doubled is an odd

number.

Gull (moan) No-o.

Ros Your birth!

Guil smashes him down.

Guil (broken) We've travelled too far, and our momentum

has taken over; we move idly towards eternity, without

possibility of reprieve or hope of explanation.

Ros Be happy - If you're not even happy what's so good

about surviving? (He picks himself up.) We'll be all right. I

suppose we just go on.

Guil Go where?

Ros To England.

Guil England! That's a dead end. I never believed in it

anyway.

II2

Ros All we've got to do is make our report and that'll be

that. Surely.

Guil I don't believe it - A shore, a harbour, say - and we

get off and we stop someone and say - Where's the King?

- And he says, oh, you follow that road there and take the

first left and - (furiously) I don't believe any of it!

Ros It doesn't sound very plausible.

Guil And even if we came face to face, what do we say?

Ros We say - We've arrived!

Guil (kingly) And who are you?

Ros We are Guildenstern and Rosencrantz.

Guil Which is which?

Ros Well, I'm - You're -

Guil What's it all about? -

Ros Well, we were bringing Hamlet - but then some

pirates -

Guil I don't begin to understand. Who are all these

people, what's it got to do with me? You turn up out of the

blue with some cock and bull story -

Ros (with letter) We have a letter -

Guil (snatches it, opens it) A letter - yes - that's true. That's

something . . . a letter. .. (Reads). 'As England is Denmark's

faithful tributary. .. as love between them like the palm

might flourish, etcetera... that on the knowing of this

contents, without delay of any kind, should those bearers,

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, put to sudden death -

He double takes. Ros snatches the letter. Guil snatches it

back. Ros snatches it half back. They read it again and

look up.

II3

The Player gets to his feet and walks over to his barrel

and kicks it and shouts into it.

Player They've gone - It's all over!

One by one the Players emerge, impossibly, from the

barrel, and form a casually menacing circle round Ros

and Guil who are still appalled and mesmerised.

Guil (quietly) Where we went wrong was getting on a

boat. We can move, of course, change direction, rattle

about, but our movement is contained within a larger one

that carries us along as inexorably as the wind and

current . . .

Ros They had it in for us, didn't they? Right from the

beginning. Who'd have thought that we were so

important?

Guil But why? Was it all for this? Who are we that so

much should converge on our little deaths? (in anguish to

the Player) Who are we?

Player You are Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. That's

enough.

Guil No - it is not enough. To be told so little - to such an

end - and still, tinally, to be denied an explanation . . .

Player In our experience, most things end in death.

Guil (fear, vengeance, scorn) Your experience? - Actors!

He snatches a dagger from the Player's belt and holds

the point at the Player's throat: the Player backs and

Guil advances, speaking more quietly.

I'm talking about death - and you've never experienced

that. And you cannot act it. You die a thousand casual

deaths - with none of that intensity which squeezes out life

... and no blood runs cold anywhere. Because even as

I14

you die you know that you will come back in a different

hat. But no one gets up after death - there is no applause -

there is only silence and some second-hand clothes, and

that's - death -

And he pushes the blade in up to the hilt. The Player

stands with huge, terrible eyes, clutches at the wound as

the blade withdraws: he makes small weeping sounds

and falls to his knees, and then right down.

While he is dying, Guil, nervous, high, almost

hysterical, wheels on the Tragedians -

If we have a destiny, then so had he - and if this is ours,

then that was his - and if there are no explanations for us,

then let there be none for him -

The Tragedians watch the Player die: they watch with

some interest. The Player finally lies still. A short

moment of silence. Then the Tragedians start to applaud

with genuine admiration. The Player stands up,

brushing himself down.

Player (modestly) Oh, come, come, gentlemen - no flattery

- it was merely competent -

The Tragedians are still congratulating him. The Player

approaches Guil, who stands rooted, holding the dagger.

What did you think? (Pause.) You see, it is the kind they

do believe in - it's what is expected.

He holds his hand out for the dagger. Guil slowly puts

the point of the dagger on to the Player's hand, and

pushes... the blade slides back into the handle. The

Player smiles, reclaims the dagger.

For a moment you thought I'd - cheated.

Ros relieves his own tension with loud nervy laughter.

Ros Oh, very good! Very good! Took me in completely -

II S

didn't he take you in completely - (Claps his hands.)

Encore! Encore!

Player (activated, arms spread, the professional) Deaths

for all ages and occasions! Deaths by suspension,

convulsion, consumption, incision, execution,

asphyxiation and malnutrition - ! Climactic carnage, by

poison and by steel - ! Double deaths by duel - ! Show!

Alfred, still in his queen's costume, dies by poison: the

Player, with rapier, kills the 'King' and duels with a

fourth Iragedian, inflicting and recewing a wound: the

two remaining Tragedians, the two 'Spies' dressed in the

same coats as Ros and Guil, are stabbed, as before.

And the light is fading over the deaths which take

place right upstage.

Dying amid the dying - tragically; romantically.

So there's an end to that - it's commonplace: light goes

with life, and in the winter of your years the dark comes

early...

Guil (tired, drained, but still an edge of impatience; over

the mime) No... no ... not for us, not like that. Dying is

not romantic, and death is not a game which will soon be

over... Death is not anything... death is not : .. It's the

absence of presence, nothing more ... the endless time of

never coming back... a gap you can't see, and when the

wind blows through it, it makes no sound ...

The light has gone upstage. Only Guil and Ros are

visible as Ros's clapping falters to silence.

Small pause.

Ros That's it, then, is it? (No answer, he looks out front.)

The sun's going down. Or the earth's coming up, as the

fashionable theory has it. (Small pause.) Not that it makes

any difference. (Pause.) What was it all about? When did

it begin? (Pause, no answer.) Couldn't we just stay put? I

I 16

mean no one is going to come on and drag us off...

They'll just have to wait. We're still young ... fit..

we've got years... (Pause. No answer.) (A cry) We've

done nothing wrong! We didn't harm anyone. Did we?

Guil I can't remember.

Ros pulls himself together.

Ros All right, then. I don't care. I've had enough. To tell

you the truth, I'm relieved.

And he disappears from view.

Guil does not notice.

Guil Our names shouted in a certain dawn. . . a message

... a summons . .. there must have been a moment, at

the beginning, where we could have said - no. But

somehow we missed it. (He looks round and sees he is

alone.) Rosen -? Guil - ? (He gathers himself.) Well, we'll

know better next time. Now you see me, now you -

And disappears.

Immediately the whole stage is lit up, revealing,

upstage, arranged in the approximate positions last held

by the dead Tragedians, the tableau of court and

corpses which is the last scene of Hamlet.

That is: The King, Queen, Laertes and Hamlet all

dead. Horatio holds Hamlet. Fortinbras is there.

So are two Ambassadors from England.

Ambassador The sight is dismal;

And our affairs from England come too late.

The ears are senseless that should give us hearing

To tell him his commandment is fulfilled,

That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead.

Where should we have our thanks?

Horatio Not from his mouth,

Had it the ability of life to thank you:

IIT

He never gave commandment for their death.

But since, so jump upon this bloody question,

You from the Polack wars, and you from England,

Are here arrived, give order that these bodies

High on a stage be placed to the view;

And let me speak to the yet unknowing world

How these things came about: so shall you hear

Of carnal, bloody and unnatural acts,

Of accidental judgments, casual slaughters,

Of deaths put on by cunning and forced cause,

And, in this upshot, purposes mistook

Fallen on the inventors' heads: all this can I

Truly deliver.

But during the above speech the play fades, overtaken

by dark and music.

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