Tom Stoppard. Rozenkranc i Gindel'stejn mertvy (engl)


        Tom Stoppard. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead


     The Play

     <u><i>Act One</u></i>
     <i>Two</i> ELIZABETHANS <i>passing 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</i>  (<i>hereafter  '</i>GUIL<i>'</i>) <i>takes a  coin out of his
bag,  spins it, letting  it fall. Rosencrantz</i> (<i>hereafter '</i>ROS<i>'</i>)  <i>studies it,
announces it as  "heads"</i> (<i>as it happens</i>)  <i>and puts it into his own bag. Then
they repeat the process. They have apparently been doing it for some time.
     The run of "heads" is impossible, yet</i> ROS  <i>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.</i>
     GUIL <i>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.</i>
     GUIL <i>sits.</i> ROS <i>stands</i> (<i>he does the moving, retrieving coins</i>)<i>.</i>
     GUIL <i>spins.</i> ROS <i>studies coin.</i>

     <B>ROS</B>: Heads.
     (<i>He picks it up and puts it in his money bag. The process is repeated.</i>)
     Heads.
     (<i>Again.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>: Heads.
     (<i>Again.</i>)
     Heads.
     (<i>Again.</i>)
     Heads.
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>flipping a coin</i>): There is an art to the building up of suspense.
     <B>ROS</B>: Heads.
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>flipping another</i>): Though it can be done by luck alone.
     <B>ROS</B>: Heads.
     <B>GUIL</B>: If that's the word I'm after.
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>raises his head at</i> GUIL): Seventy-six love.
     (GUIL  <i>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.</i>)
     Heads.
     <B>GUIL</B>: A  weaker  man  might  be  moved  to re-examine  his faith, if in
nothing else at least in the law of probability.
     (<i>He slips a coin over his shoulder as he goes to look upstage.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>: Heads.
     (GUIL<i>, examining the confines of the stage,  flips over two more coins,
as he does so, one by one of course.</i> ROS <i>announces each of them as "heads".</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>musing</i>): The law of probability,  as it  has been oddly asserted,
is  something  to do  with  the  proposition that  if  six  monkeys  (<i>he has
surprised himself</i>)... if six monkeys were...
     <B>ROS</B>: Game?
     <B>GUIL</B>: Were they?
     <B>ROS</B>: Are you?
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>understanding</i>): Games.  (<i>Flips a coin.</i>) 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 -
     <B>ROS</B>: Heads. (<i>He picks up the coin.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B>: Which at  first  glance  does  not  strike one  as a particularly
rewarding speculation, in either sense, even without the monkeys. I mean you
wouldn't  <i>bet</i>  on it.  I  mean  <I>I</I> would, but <i>you</i> wouldn't... (<i>As  he flips a
coin.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>: Heads.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Would you? (<i>Flips a coin.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>: Heads.
     (<i>Repeat.</i>)
     Heads. (<i>He looks up at</i>  GUIL <i>- embarrassed laugh.</i>) Getting  a bit of  a
bore, isn't it?
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>coldly</i>): A bore?
     <B>ROS</B>: Well...
     <B>GUIL</B>: What about suspense?
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>innocently</i>): What suspense?
     (<i>Small pause.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B>:  It must be the law of  diminishing returns... I  feel the  spell
about to be broken. (<i>Energising himself somewhat.</i>)
     (<i>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</i> ROS<i>. His
energy deflates and he sits.</i>)
     Well, it was a even chance... if my calculations are correct.
     <B>ROS</B>: Eighty-five in a row - beaten the record!
     <B>GUIL</B>: Don't be absurd.
     <B>ROS</B>: Easily!
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>angry</i>): Is the <i>it,</i> then? Is that all?
     <B>ROS</B>: What?
     <B>GUIL</B>: A new record? Is that as far as you prepared to go?
     <B>ROS</B>: Well...
     <B>GUIL</B>: No questions? Not even a pause?
     <B>ROS</B>: You spun it yourself.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Not a flicker of doubt?
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>aggrieved, aggressive</i>): Well, I won - didn't I?
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>approaches him - quieter</i>): And if you'd lost? If they'd come down
against you, eighty -five times, one after another, just like that?
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>dumbly</i>): Eighty-five in a row? <i>Tails</i>?
     <B>GUIL</B>: Yes! What would you think?
     <B>ROS</B>  (<i>doubtfully</i>):  Well... (<i>Jocularly.</i>) Well, I'd have a  good look at
your coins for a start!
     <B>GUIL</B>  (<i>retiring</i>):  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...
     (<i>He turns on him suddenly, reaches out a hand.</i>) Touch.
     (ROS <i>claps his hand.</i> GUIL <i>pulls him up to him.</i>)
     (<i>More  intensely</i>): We  have  been spinning coins together  since  - (<i>He
releases him almost as violently.</i>) This is not the first time we spun coins!
     <B>ROS</B>: Oh no - we've been spinning coins for as long as I remember.
     <B>GUIL</B>: How long is that?
     <B>ROS</B>: I forget. Mind you - eighty-five times!
     <B>GUIL</B>: Yes?
     <B>ROS</B>: It'll take some time beating, I imagine.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Is <i>that</i> what you imagine? Is that it? No <i>fear</i>?
     <B>ROS</B>: Fear?
     <B>GUIL</B>  (<i>in fury -  flings  a coin on the  ground</i>): Fear! The crack  that
might flood your brain with light!
     <B>ROS</B>: Heads... (<i>He puts it in his bag.</i>)
     (GUIL <i>sits  despondently.  He takes  a  coin,  spins  it, lets  it fall
between his feet. He looks at it, picks it up; throws it to</i> ROS<i>, who puts it
in his bag.</i>)
     (GUIL <i>takes another coin, spins it, catches it, turns it over on to his
other hand, looks at it, and throws it to</i> ROS <i>who puts it in his bag.</i>)
     (GUIL <i>tales a third coin, spins it, catches it in his right hand, turns
it over on to his loft 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.</i> ROS <i>comes, looks  at it,
puts it in his bag.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>: I'm afraid -
     <B>GUIL</B>: So am I.
     <B>ROS</B>: I'm afraid it isn't your day.
     <B>GUIL</B>: I'm afraid it is.
     (<i>Small pause.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>: Eighty-nine.
     <B>GUIL</B>: It must be indicative of something, besides the redistribution of
wealth. (<i>He  muses.</i>) List  of  possible explanations. One:  I'm willing  it.
Inside where nothing shows,  I'm the essence of a man spinning double-headed
coins, and betting against himself in private  atonement for an unremembered
past. (<i>He spins a coin at</i> ROS<i>.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>: Heads.
     <B>GUIL</B>:  Two: time has stopped  dead, and a single experience of one coin
being spun once has been repeated ninety times... (<i>He flips a coin, looks at
it, tosses it to</i> ROS<i>.</i>)  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  (<i>he spins one</i>)  is as likely to come down  heads  as tails and
therefore should cause no surprise that each  individual  time it  does. (<i>It
does. He tosses it to</i> ROS<i>.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>: I've never known anything like it!
     <B>GUIL</B>: And syllogism: One, he has never known anything like  it. Two: he
has never known anything  to write home about. Three, it's  nothing to write
home about... Home... What's the first thing you remember?
     <B>ROS</B>: Oh, let's see...The first thing that comes into my head, you mean?
     <B>GUIL</B>: No - the first thing you remember.
     <B>ROS</B>: Ah. (<i>Pause.</i>) No, it's no good, it's gone. It was a long time ago.
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>patient but edged</i>): You don't  get my meaning.  What is the first
thing after all the things you've forgotten?
     <B>ROS</B>: Oh. I see. (<i>Pause.</i>) I've forgotten the question.
     <B>GUIL</B>: How long have you suffered from a bad memory?
     <B>ROS</B>: I can't remember.
     (GUIL <i>paces.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B>: Are you happy?
     <B>ROS</B>: What?
     <B>GUIL</B>: Content? At ease?
     <B>ROS</B>: I suppose so.
     <B>GUIL</B>: What are you going to do now?
     <B>ROS</B>: I don't know. What do you want to do?
     <B>GUIL</B>: I  have no  desires. None. (<i>He  stops pacing  dead.</i>)  There was a
messenger... that's right.  We  were  sent for.  (<i>He  wheels at</i> ROS <i>and raps
out.</i>) 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.  (<B>ROS</B> <i>is
suitably startled - Acidly.</i>) Not too heatedly.
     <B>ROS</B>: I'm sorry, I - What's the matter with you?
     <B>GUIL</B>: A  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  <i>the probability is</i>  that the law of
probability will  not operate  as  a factor, then we  must accept  that  the
probability  of the <i>first</i>  part will not operate as a factor,  in which case
the  law  of  probability <i>will</i>  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.
(<i>Small  pause.</i>)  Which  is all very well, except that -  (<i>He continues  with
tight hysteria, under control.</i>) We have been spinning coins together since I
don't  know  when, and  in all that time (if it  <i>is</i>  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  it's  very unsurprisingness is
something I am  trying  to  keep  hold of.  The  equanimity of your  average
pitcher and tosser of coins depends upon a 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 ordained into a reassuring
union which  we  recognised 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 sun 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...
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>cutting his fingernails</i>): Another curious scientific phenomenon is
the fact that the fingernails grow after death, as does the beard.
     <B>GUIL</B>: What?
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>loud</i>): Beard!
     <B>GUIL</B>: But you're not dead.
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>irritated</i>): I didn't say they <i>started</i> to grow after death! (<i>Pause,
calmer.</i>) The fingernails also grow before birth, though <i>not</i> the beard.
     <B>GUIL</B>: <i>What?</i>
     <B>ROS</B>  (<i>shouts</i>): Beard! What's  the matter  with you? (<i>Reflectively.</i>) The
toenails, on the other hand, never grow at all.
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>bemused</i>): The toenails never grow at all?
     <B>ROS</B>: 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.
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>tensed up by this rambling</i>): Do you remember the first thing that
happen today?
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>promptly</i>): I woke up, I suppose. (<i>Triggered.</i>) Oh - I've got it now
- that man, a foreigner, he woke us up -
     <B>GUIL</B>: A messenger. (<i>He relaxes, sits.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>: 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.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Yes.
     <B>ROS</B>: We were sent for.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Yes.
     <B>ROS</B>: That's  why we're here. (<i>He looks round, seems doubtful, then  the
explanation.</i>) Travelling.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Yes.
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>dramatically</i>):  It was  urgent -  a  matter of extreme urgency,  a
royal summons, his very words: official business and  no  questions  asked -
lights in the stable-yard; 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.
     (<i>Small pause.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B>: Too late for what?
     <B>ROS</B>: How do I know? We haven't got there yet.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Then what are we doing here, I ask myself.
     <B>ROS</B>: You might well ask.
     <B>GUIL</B>: We better get on.
     <B>ROS</B>: You might well think.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Without much conviction; we better get on.
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>actively</i>): Right! (<i>Pause.</i>) On where?
     <B>GUIL</B>: Forward.
     <B>ROS</B>  (<i>forward to footlights</i>): Ah. (<i>Hesitates.</i>) Which way  do  we  - (<i>He
turns round.</i>) Which way did we - ?
     <B>GUIL</B>: 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 pitch and toss. 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.
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>alert, listening</i>): I say - ! I say -
     (GUIL <i>rises himself.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B>: Yes?
     <B>ROS</B>:  Like  a band.  (<i>He looks  around, laughs embarrassedly, expiating
himself.</i>) It sounded like - a band. Drums.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Yes.
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>relaxes</i>): It couldn't have been real.
     <B>GUIL</B>: "The colours red, blue and green are real. The colour yellow is a
mystical experience shared by everybody" - demolish.
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>at edge of stage</i>): It must have been thunder. Like drums...
     (<i>By the end of the next speech, the band is faintly audible.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B>:  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,  or  to be  less
extreme, a choice of persuasions to  put it down to fancy; until - "My God,"
says the  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."
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>eagerly</i>): I knew all along it was a band.
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>tiredly</i>): He knew all along it was a band.
     <B>ROS</B>: Here they come!
     <B>GUIL</B>  (<i>at the last moment before they enter - wistfully</i>):  I'm sorry it
wasn't the unicorn. It would have been nice to have unicorns.
     (<i>The</i>  TRAGEDIANS <i>are  six in number, including a small</i> BOY(ALFRED)<i>. Two
pull a  cart piled up with props and belongings. There is also a</i>  DRUMMER<i>, a</i>
HORN-PLAYER <i>and a</i>  FLAUTIST<i>. The</i> SPOKESMAN (<i>"the</i> PLAYER<i>"</i>) <i>has no instrument.
He brings up the rear and is the first to notice them.</i>)
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Halt!
     (<i>The</i> GROUP <i>turns and halts.</i>)
     (<i>Joyously.</i>) An audience!
     (ROS <i>and</i> GUIL <i>half rise.</i>)
     Don't move!
     (<i>They sink back. He regards them fondly.</i>)
     Perfect! A lucky thing we came along.
     <B>ROS</B>: For us?
     <B>PLAYER</B>:  Let us  hope so. But to meet  two  gentlemen on the  road - we
would not hope to meet them off it.
     <B>ROS</B>: No?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Well met, in fact, and just in time.
     <B>ROS</B>: Why's that?
     <B>PLAYER</B>:  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? (<i>He laughs generously.</i>) We'd be back where
we started - improvising.
     <B>ROS</B>: Tumblers, are you?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: 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 Italian;
and it doesn't take much to  make a jingle - even a single coin has music in
it.
     (<i>They</i> ALL <i>flourish and bow, raggedly.</i>)
     Tragedians, at your command.
     (ROS <i>and</i> GUIL <i>have got to their feet.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>: My name is Guildenstern, and this is Rosencrantz.
     (GUIL <i>confers briefly with him.</i>)
     (<i>Without  embarrassment.</i>) I'm sorry - <i>his</i>  name's Guildenstern, and <i>I'm</i>
Rosencrantz.
     <B>PLAYER</B>:  A pleasure.  We've played to bigger,  of course,  but  quality
counts for something. I recognised you at once -
     <B>ROS</B>: And who are we?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: - as fellow artists.
     <B>ROS</B>: I thought we were gentlemen.
     <B>PLAYER</B>: 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. (<i>Bows again.</i>) Don't clap  too loudly -
it's a very old world.
     <B>ROS</B>: What is your line?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: 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 the world of intrigue
and illusion... clowns,  if you like, murderers  - we can do you  ghosts and
battles, on  the skirmish levels,  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?
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>doubtfully</i>): Well, I don't know...
     <B>PLAYER</B>: It costs little to watch, and little more  if you happen to get
caught up in the action, if that's you taste and times being what they are.
     <B>ROS</B>: What are they?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Indifferent.
     <B>ROS</B>: Bad?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Wicked. Now  what precisely is your pleasure? (<i>He turns to  the</i>
TRAGEDIANS.) Gentlemen, disport yourselves.
     (<i>The</i> TRAGEDIANS <i>shuffle into some kind of a line.</i>)
     There! See anything you like?
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>doubtful, innocent</i>): What do they do?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Let your imagination run riot. They are beyond surprise.
     <B>ROS</B>: And how much?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: To take part?
     <B>ROS</B>: To watch.
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Watch what?
     <B>ROS</B>: A private performance.
     <B>PLAYER</B>: How private?
     <B>ROS</B>: Well, there are only two of us. Is that enough?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: For an audience, disappointing. For voyeurs, about average.
     <B>ROS</B>: What's the difference?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Ten guilders.
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>horrified</i>): Ten <i>guilders</i>!
     <B>PLAYER</B>: I mean eight.
     <B>ROS</B>: Together?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Each. I don't think you understand -
     <B>ROS</B>: What are you <i>saying</i>?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: What am I saying - seven.
     <B>ROS</B>: Where have you <i>been</i>?
     <B>PLAYER</B>:  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... (<i>He regards</i> ROS
<i>meaningfully but</i> ROS <i>returns the stare blankly.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>: They'll row up.
     <B>PLAYER</B>  (<i>giving  up</i>):  There's   one  being   born  every  minute.  (<i>To</i>
TRAGEDIANS.) On-ward!
     (<i>The</i>  TRAGEDIANS <i>start to resume their  burdens and their journey.</i> GUIL
<i>stirs himself at last.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B>: Where are you going?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Ha-alt!
     (<i>They halt and turn.</i>)
     Home, sir.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Where from?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Home.  We're travelling people.  We take  our  chances where we
find them.
     <B>GUIL</B>: It was the chance, then?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Chance?
     <B>GUIL</B>: You found us.
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Oh yes.
     <B>GUIL</B>: You were looking?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Oh no.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Chance, then.
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Or fate.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Yours or ours?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: It could hardly be one without the other.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Fate, then.
     <B>PLAYER</B>:  Oh, yes. We have no control. Tonight we play  to the court. Or
the night after. Or to the tavern. Or not.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Perhaps I can use my influence.
     <B>PLAYER</B>: At the tavern?
     <B>GUIL</B>: At the court. I would say I have some influence.
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Would you say so?
     <B>GUIL</B>: I have influence yet.
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Yet what?
     (GUIL <i>seizes the</i> PLAYER <i>violently.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B>: I have influence!
     (<i>The</i> PLAYER <i>does not resist.</i> GUIL <i>loosens his hold.</i>)
     (<i>More  calmly.</i>)  You said something  -  about getting caught up in  the
action -
     <B>PLAYER</B> (<i>gaily freeing himself</i>): I did! -  I did! -  You're quicker than
your friend... (<i>Confidingly.</i>) 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 - (<i>Over his shoulder.</i>) Get your skirt on, Alfred -
     (<i>The</i> BOY <i>starts struggling into a female robe.</i>)
     ... and for eight you can participate.
     (GUIL <i>backs,</i> PLAYER <i>follows.</i>)
     ... taking either part.
     (GUIL <i>backs.</i>)
     ... or both for ten.
     (GUIL <i>tries to turn away,</i> PLAYER <i>holds his sleeve.</i>)
     ... with encores -
     (GUIL  <i>smashes the</i>  PLAYER <i>across  the face. The</i>  PLAYER  <i>recoils.</i> GUIL
<i>stands trembling.</i>)
     (<i>Resigned and quiet.</i>) Get your skirt off, Alfred...
     (ALFRED <i>struggles out of his half-on robe.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>shaking with rage  and fright</i>): It could have  been -  it  didn't
have to be <i>obscene</i>... 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 <i>prepared</i>. But  it's  this,
isn't it? No enigma, no dignity, nothing classical, portentous, only this  -
a comic pornographer and a rabble of prostitutes...
     <B>PLAYER</B>  (<i>acknowledging the description with a sweep of his hat, bowing:
sadly</i>):  You  should have caught us  in better times. We were purists  then.
(<i>Straightens up.</i>) On-ward.
     (<i>The</i> PLAYERS <i>make to leave.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>his voice has changed: he has caught on</i>): Excuse me!
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Ha-alt!
     (<i>They halt.</i>)
     A-al-l-fred!
     (ALFRED <i>resumes the struggle. The</i> PLAYER <i>comes forward.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>: You're not - ah - exclusively players, then?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: We're inclusively players, sir.
     <B>ROS</B>: So you give - exhibitions?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Performances, sir.
     <B>ROS</B>: Yes, of course. There's more money in that, is there?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: There's more trade, sir.
     <B>ROS</B>: Times being what they are.
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Yes.
     <B>ROS</B>: Indifferent.
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Completely.
     <B>ROS</B>: You know I'd no idea -
     <B>PLAYER</B>: No -
     <B>ROS</B>: I mean, I've <i>heard</i> of - but I've never actually -
     <B>PLAYER</B>: No.
     <B>ROS</B>: I mean, what exactly do you <i>do</i>?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: 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.
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>nervy, loud</i>): 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 -
     (<i>The</i> PLAYER <i>turns away.</i>)
     <B>PLAYER</B>: On-ward!
     <B>ROS</B>: Just a minute!
     (<i>They turn and look at him without expression.</i>)
     Well, all  right - I wouldn't mind seeing - just an idea of the kind of
- (<i>bravely</i>).  What  will you  do for that? (<i>And tosses a single  coin on the
ground between them.</i>)
     (<i>The</i> PLAYER <i>spits at the coin from where he stands.</i>)
     <B>PLAYER</B>  (<i>to</i>  ROS<i>, coldly</i>): Leave it lying there. Perhaps  when  we come
back this way we'll be that muck cheaper.
     (<i>The</i> TRAGEDIANS <i>demur, trying to  get the coin. He kicks and cuffs them
back.</i>)
     On!
     (ALFRED <i>is still half  in and  half out of his  robe. The</i> PLAYER  <i>cuffs
him.</i>)
     (<i>To</i> ALFRED) What are you playing at?
     (ROS <i>is shamed into fury.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>: Filth! Disgusting - oh, I know the kind  of  filth you trade in  -
I'll report you to  the authorities -  <i>perverts</i>! I know your game all right,
it's all filth!
     (<i>The</i> PLAYERS <i>are about to leave.</i> GUIL <i>remained detached.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>casually</i>): Do you like a bet?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Ha-alt!
     (<i>The</i> TRAGEDIANS <i>look interested. The</i> PLAYER <i>comes forward.</i>)
     <B>PLAYER</B>: What kind of bet do you have in mind?
     (GUIL <i>walks  half the distance towards the</i> PLAYER<i>, stops  with his foot
over the coin.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B>: Double or quits.
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Well... heads.
     (<B>GUIL</B>  <i>raises  his  foot. The</i> PLAYER <i>bends. The</i> TRAGEDIANS <i>crowd round.
Relief and congratulations. The</i> PLAYER  <i>picks up the coin.</i> GUIL <i>throws him a
second coin.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B>: Again?
     (<i>Some of the</i> TRAGEDIANS <i>are for it, others against. The</i> PLAYER <i>nods and
tosses the coin.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B>: Heads.
     (<i>It is. H picks it up.</i>)
     Again.
     (GUIL <i>spins the coin.</i>)
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Heads.
     (<i>It is.</i> PLAYER <i>picks up coin. He has two coins again. He spins one.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B>: Heads.
     (<i>It is.</i> GUIL <i>picks it up. Then tosses immediately.</i>)
     <B>PLAYER</B> (<i>fractional hesitation</i>): Tails.
     (<i>But it's heads.</i> GUIL <i>picks it up.</i> PLAYER  <i>tosses down his last coin by
the  way of paying it up, and turns away.</i> GUIL <i>doesn't  pick it up; he  puts
his foot on it.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B>: Heads.
     <B>PLAYER</B>: No!
     (<i>Pause. The</i> TRAGEDIANS <i>are against this.</i>)
     (<i>Apologetically.</i>) They don't like the odds.
     <B>GUIL</B>: After six in a row? I'd say they were in your favor.
     <B>PLAYER</B>: No.
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>lifts his foot; squats;  picks up the coin still squatting; looks
up</i>): You were right - heads. (<i>Spins it, slaps his hand on it, on the floor.</i>)
     Heads I win.
     <B>PLAYER</B>: No.
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>uncovers coin</i>): Right again. (<i>Repeat.</i>) Heads I win.
     <B>PLAYER</B>: No.
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>uncovers coin</i>): And right again. (<i>Repeat.</i>) Heads I win.
     <B>PLAYER</B>: <i>No!</i>
     (<i>He turns away, the</i> TRAGEDIANS <i>with him.</i> GUIL <i>stands up, comes close.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B>: Would you believe it? (<i>Stands back, relaxes, smiles.</i>) Bet me  the
year of my birth doubled is an odd number.
     <B>PLAYER</B>: <i>Your</i> birth - !
     <B>GUIL</B>: If you don't trust me don't bet with me.
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Would you trust <i>me</i>?
     <B>GUIL</B>: <i>Bet</i> me then.
     <B>PLAYER</B>: My birth?
     <B>GUIL</B>: Odd numbers you win.
     <B>PLAYER</B>: You're on -
     (<i>The</i> TRAGEDIANS <i>have come forward, wide awake.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B>:  Good.  Year of your birth. Double it. Even  numbers  I  win, odd
numbers I lose.
     (<i>Silence.  An awful  sigh  as the</i>  TRAGEDIANS  <i>realise  that any number
doubled is  even.  Then  a  terrible row as  they  object. Then  a  terrible
silence.</i>)
     <B>PLAYER</B>: We have no money.
     (GUIL <i>turns to him.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B>: Ah. Then what <i>have</i> you got?
     (<i>The</i> PLAYER <i>silently brings</i> ALFRED <i>forward.</i> GUIL <i>regards</i> ALFRED <i>sadly.</i>)
     Was it for this?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: It's the best we've got.
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>looking up and around</i>): Then the times are bad indeed.
     (<i>The</i>  PLAYER  <i>starts  to  speak, protestation, but</i>  GUIL <i>turns  on  him
viciously.</i>)
     The very <i>air</i> stinks.
     (<i>The</i> PLAYER <i>moves back.</i> GUIL <i>moves down to the footlight and turns.</i>)
     Come here, Alfred.
     (ALFRED <i>moves down and stands, frightened and small.</i>)
     (<i>Gently</i>): Do you lose often?
     Alfred: Yes, sir.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Then what could you have to lose?
     Alfred: Nothing, sir.
     (<i>Pause.</i> GUIL <i>regards him.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B>: Do you like being... an actor?
     Alfred: No, sir.
     (GUIL <i>looks around him, at the audience.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B>: You and I, Alfred - we could create a dramatic precedent here.
     (<i>And</i> ALFRED<i>, who has been near tears, starts to sniffle.</i>)
     Come, come, Alfred, this is no way to fill the theatres of Europe.
     (<i>The</i> PLAYER <i>has moved down, to remonstrate with</i> ALFRED<i>.</i>  GUIL  <i>cuts him
off again.</i>)
     (<i>Viciously</i>) Do you know any good plays?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Plays?
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>coming forward, flattering shyly</i>): Exhibitions...
     <B>GUIL</B>: I thought you were actors.
     <B>PLAYER</B> (<i>dawning</i>):  Oh.  Oh,  well, we <i>are</i>. We are. But  there been much
call -
     <B>GUIL</B>:  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, sorrori, uxori and it goes without saying -
     <B>ROS</B>: Saucy -
     <B>GUIL</B>: - Suicidal - hm? Maidens aspiring to godheads -
     <B>ROS</B>: And vice versa -
     <B>GUIL</B>: Your kind of thing, is it?
     <B>PLAYER</B>:  Well, no, I can't say it is, really. We're more of  the blood,
love and rhetoric school.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Well,  I'll leave  the choice  to  you,  if there  is anything to
choose between them.
     <B>PLAYER</B>:  They're hardly divisible, sir - well, I can  do  you blood and
love without rhetoric, and I can do you blood and rhetoric without love, and
I  can do you all three concurrent or  consecutive, but I can't do you  love
and  rhetoric without blood.  Blood  is compulsory -  they're all blood, you
see.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Is this what people want?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: It's what we do. (<i>Small pause. He turns away.</i>)
     (GUIL <i>touches Alfred on the shoulder.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>wry, gentle</i>): Thank you, we'll let you know.
     (<i>The</i> PLAYER <i>has moved upstage. Alfred follows.</i>)
     <B>PLAYER</B> (<i>to</i> TRAGEDIANS): Thirty-eight!
     <B>ROS</B> (<i>moving across, fascinated and hopeful</i>): <i>Position?</i>
     <B>PLAYER</B>: Sir?
     <B>ROS</B>: One of your - tableaux?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: No, sir.
     <B>ROS</B>: Oh.
     <B>PLAYER</B> (<i>to</i> TRAGEDIANS<i>, now  departing with their cart,  already  taking
various props off it.</i>) Entrances there and there (<i>indicating upstage</i>).
     (<i>The</i> PLAYER <i>has not moved his position for his last four lines. He does
not move now.</i> GUIL <i>waits.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B>: Well... aren't you going to change into costume?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: I never change out, sir.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Always in character.
     <B>PLAYER</B>: That's it.
     (<i>Pause.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B>: Aren't you going to - come <i>on</i>?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: I <i>am</i> on.
     <B>GUIL</B>: But if you <i>are</i> on, you can't <i>come</i> on. <i>Can</i> you?
     <B>PLAYER</B>: I <i>start</i> on.
     <B>GUIL</B>: But it hasn't <i>started</i>. Go on. We'll look out for you.
     <B>PLAYER</B>: I'll give you a wave.
     (<i>He doesn't move.  His  immobility is now pointed  and getting awkward.
Pause.</i> ROS <i>walks up to him till they are face to face.</i>)
     <B>ROS</B>: Excuse me.
     (<i>Pause. The</i>  PLAYER <i>lifts his downstage  foot. It was  covering</i>  GUIL<i>'s
coin.</i> ROS <i>puts his foot on the coin. Smiles.</i>)
     Thank you.
     (<i>The</i> PLAYER <i>turns and goes.</i> ROS <i>has bent for the coin.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>moving out</i>): Come on.
     <B>ROS</B>: I say - that was lucky.
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>turning</i>): What?
     <B>ROS</B>: It was tails.
     (<i>He tosses the coin to</i> GUIL <i>who catches it. Simultaneously - a lighting
change  sufficient to  alter the exterior mood into  interior,  but  nothing
violent.</i>)
     <i>And OPELIA runs on in some alarm, holding up her skirts  -  followed by</i>
HAMLET<i>.
     Note: The resemblance between</i> HAMLET <i>and  The</i> PLAYER <i>is superficial but
noticeable.</i>
     (<i>OPHELIA has been sewing and she holds the garment. They are both mute.</i>
HAMLET<i>, with  his  doublet all unbraced, no hat upon his head, his stockings
fouled,  ungartered and double-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 backwards without taking his eyes
off her... she runs off in the opposite direction.</i>)
     (ROS <i>and</i> GUIL <i>have frozen.</i> GUIL <i>unfreezes first. He jumps at</i> ROS<i>.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B>: Come on!
     (<i>But a flourish - enter</i> CLAUDIUS <i>and</i> GERTRUDE<i>, attended.</i>)
     <B>CLAUDIUS</B>: Welcome, dear Rosencrantz... (<i>he raises  a hand at</i> GUIL <i>while</i>
ROS <i>bows -</i> GUIL <i>bows late and hurriedly.</i>)... and Guildenstern.
     (<i>He  raises  a hand  at</i>  ROS  <i>while</i> GUIL  <i>bows  to him  -</i>  ROS <i>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</i> GUIL<i>, who is on the way up.</i>)
     Moreover that we did much long to see you,
     The need we have to use you did provoke
     Our hasty sanding.
     (ROS <i>and</i> GUIL <i>still adjusting their clothing for</i> CLAUDIUS<i>'s presence.</i>)
     Something have you heard
     Of Hamlet's transformation, so call it,
     Sith nor th'exterior nor inward man
     Resembles that it was. What it should be,
     More than his father's death, that thus hath put him,
     So much from th'understanding of himself,
     I cannot dream of. I entreat you both
     That, being of so young days brought up with him
     And sith so neighbored to his youth and haviour
     That you ... safe your rest here on 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 ought to us unknown afflicts him thus,
     That opened lies within our remedy.
     <B>GERTRUDE</B>: Good (<i>fractional suspense</i>) gentlemen...
     (<i>They both bow.</i>)
     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 show us so much gentry and good will
     As to expand your time with us awhile
     For the supply and profit of our hope,
     Your visitation shall receive such thanks
     As fits the king's remembrance.
     <B>ROS</B>: Both your majesties
     Might, by the sovereign power you have on us,
     Put your dread pleasure more into command
     Than to entreaty.
     <B>GUIL</B>: But we both obey,
     And here give up ourselves in the full bent
     To lay our service freely at your feet,
     To be commanded.
     <B>CLAUDIUS</B>: Thanks, Rosencrantz (<i>turning to</i> ROS <i>who is caught unprepared,
while</i> GUIL <i>bows</i>)  and  gentle  Guildenstern  (<i>turning  to</i>  GUIL <i>who is  bent
double</i>).
     <B>GERTRUDE</B>  (<i>correcting</i>): Thanks, Guildenstern (<i>turning to</i> ROS<i>, who  bows
as</i> GUIL <i>checks upward movement  to bow too - both  bent double, squinting at
each other</i>)... and gentle Rosencrantz. (<i>Turning to</i> GUIL<i>,  both straightening
up -</i> GUIL <i>checks again and bows again.</i>)
     And I beseech you instantly to visit
     My too much changed son. Go, some of you,
     And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is.
     (<i>To ATTENDANTS  exit backwards,  indicating  that</i>  ROS  <i>and</i> GUIL <i>should
follow.</i>)
     <B>GUIL</B>: Heaven make our presence and our practices
     Pleasant and helpful to him.
     <B>GERTRUDE</B>: Ay, amen!
     (ROS <i>and</i> GUIL <i>move  towards and downstage wing.  Before they get there,</i>
POLONIUS <i>enters. They stop and bow to  him. He nods and  hurries  upstage to</i>
CLAUDIUS<i>. They  turn  to  look  at  him but lose  interest  and come down to
footlights.</i> POLINIUS <i>meanwhile calling to</i> CLAUDIUS<i>.</i>)
     <B>POLONIUS</B>:  The  ambassadors from  Norway,  my good lord,  are  joyfully
returned.
     <B>CLAUDIUS</B>: Thou still hast been the father of good news.
     <B>POLONIUS</B>: Have I, my lord? Assure you, my good liege,
     I hold 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 for sure
     As it hath used to do, that I have found
     The very cause of Hamlet's lunacy...
     (<i>Exeunt - leaving</i> ROS <i>and</i> GUIL)
     <B>ROS</B>: I want to go home.
     <B>GUIL</B>: Don't let them confuse you.
     <B>ROS</B>: I'm out of my step here -
     <B>GUIL</B>: We'll soon be home and high - dry and home - I'll -
     <B>ROS</B>: It's all over my <i>depth</i> -
     <B>GUIL</B>: I'll hie you home and -
     <B>ROS</B>: - out of my head -
     <B>GUIL</B>: - dry you high and -
     <B>ROS</B>  (<i>cracking, high</i>): - 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 -
     <B>GUIL</B> (<i>the nursemaid</i>): There!... and we'll soon be home  and  dry... and