Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead (3 page)

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 of 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.

ROS
: What is your line?

PLAYER
: Tragedy, sir. Deaths and disclosures, universal and particular, denouements 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 11 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
.

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
.