Страница:
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, CUIL 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 ail? 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.
GUIL: 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 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.
GUIL: To himself?
ROS: Yes.
(Pause. ROS makes to leave.)
ROS: 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.
GUIL: 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'I 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.
GUIL: 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 areas in the game of tag ... the players will hold their
positions until the music starts.... I think I'll spend 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 chance of angle to it: we may seize the moment, toss it around while
the moment 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, are taking Hamlet to England.
(By which time, ROS has returned, tiptoeing with great import, teeth
clenched for secrecy, get to GUIL, points surreptitiously behind him - and a
tight whisper:)
ROS: I say - he's here!
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.
GUIL: 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 of 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 fist.)
(ROS opens it to show a coin. He gives it to GUIL.)
(Repeat.)
(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 off?
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. And 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. (Considers 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 just 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 -
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 halfback. 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 then again, what is so terrible about death? As
Socrates so philosophically put it, since we don't know what death is, it is
illogical to fear it. It might be... very nice. Certainly it is a release
from the burden of life, and, for the godly, a 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 designs 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.)t
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 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 tight 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, if they have loose ends. We could have done worse. I
don't think we missed any chance... 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?
(They listen to the music.)
GUIL (excitedly): Out of the void, finally, a sound; while on a boat
(admittedly) outside the action (admittedly) the perfect 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 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.
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-I-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, 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.
PLAYER: Naturally-we didn't get paid, owing to circumstances ever so
slightly beyond our control, and all the money we had we lost betting on
certainties. Life is a 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
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 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.
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 PLAYER draw swords and rush upstage, collision.
HAMLET turns his back up. They turn back down. Collision. By which time
there is general panic right upstage. All four charge upstage with ROS, GUIL
and PLAYER shouting:
At last!
To arms!
Pirates!
Up there!
Down there!
To my sword's length!
Action!
(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. 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 look 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?
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!
GUIL: What are we supposed to do?
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, CUIL 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 ail? 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.
GUIL: 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 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.
GUIL: To himself?
ROS: Yes.
(Pause. ROS makes to leave.)
ROS: 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.
GUIL: 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'I 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.
GUIL: 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 areas in the game of tag ... the players will hold their
positions until the music starts.... I think I'll spend 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 chance of angle to it: we may seize the moment, toss it around while
the moment 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, are taking Hamlet to England.
(By which time, ROS has returned, tiptoeing with great import, teeth
clenched for secrecy, get to GUIL, points surreptitiously behind him - and a
tight whisper:)
ROS: I say - he's here!
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.
GUIL: 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 of 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 fist.)
(ROS opens it to show a coin. He gives it to GUIL.)
(Repeat.)
(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 off?
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. And 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. (Considers 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 just 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 -
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 halfback. 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 then again, what is so terrible about death? As
Socrates so philosophically put it, since we don't know what death is, it is
illogical to fear it. It might be... very nice. Certainly it is a release
from the burden of life, and, for the godly, a 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 designs 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.)t
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 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 tight 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, if they have loose ends. We could have done worse. I
don't think we missed any chance... 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?
(They listen to the music.)
GUIL (excitedly): Out of the void, finally, a sound; while on a boat
(admittedly) outside the action (admittedly) the perfect 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 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.
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-I-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, 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.
PLAYER: Naturally-we didn't get paid, owing to circumstances ever so
slightly beyond our control, and all the money we had we lost betting on
certainties. Life is a 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
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 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.
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 PLAYER draw swords and rush upstage, collision.
HAMLET turns his back up. They turn back down. Collision. By which time
there is general panic right upstage. All four charge upstage with ROS, GUIL
and PLAYER shouting:
At last!
To arms!
Pirates!
Up there!
Down there!
To my sword's length!
Action!
(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. 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 look 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?
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!
GUIL: What are we supposed to do?