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.
GUIL (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.
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 halfback. They read it again and look up.)
(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, finally, 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
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 stilt 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 - 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-! Climatic 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 TRAGEDIAN, inflicting and
receiving 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 stilt 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 mean no one is going to come on and drag
us off.... They Ml just have to wait. We're still young ... fit... we've got
years...
(Pause. No answer.)
(A cry.) We've 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.)
AMBASSADORS: The signal 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:
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
judgements, 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.)
THE END
(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.
GUIL (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.
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 halfback. They read it again and look up.)
(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, finally, 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
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 stilt 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 - 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-! Climatic 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 TRAGEDIAN, inflicting and
receiving 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 stilt 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 mean no one is going to come on and drag
us off.... They Ml just have to wait. We're still young ... fit... we've got
years...
(Pause. No answer.)
(A cry.) We've 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.)
AMBASSADORS: The signal 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:
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
judgements, 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.)
THE END