GUIL: IS that what people want?
PLAYER : It’s what we do. (Small pause. He turns away.)
GUIL touches ALFRED on the shoulder.
GUIL (wry, gentle): Thank you; we’ll let you know.
The PLAYER has moved upstage. ALFRED follows.
PLAYER (toTRAGEDIANS): Thirty-eight!
ROS (moving across, fascinated and hopeful): Position?
PLAYER : Sir?
ROS : One of your—tableaux?
PLAYER : No, sir.
ROS : Oh.
PLAYER (to the TRAGEDIANS, now departing with their cart, already taking various props off it): Entrances there and there (indicating upstage).
The PLAYER has not moved his position for his last four lines. He does not move now. GUIL waits.
GUIL : Well. . . aren’t you going to change into your costume?
PLAYER : I never change out of it, sir.
GUIL : Always in character.
PLAYER : That’s it.
Pause.
GUIL : Aren’t you going to—come on!
PLAYER : I am on.
GUIL : But if you are on, you can’t come on. Can you?
PLAYER : I start on.
GUIL : But it hasn’t started. Go on. Well look out for you.
PLAYER : I’ll give you a wave.
He does not move. His immobility is now pointed, and getting awkward. Pause. ROS walks up to him till they are face to face.
ROS : Excuse me.
Pause. The PLAYER lifts his downstage foot It was covering GUIL’S coin, ROS puts his foot on the coin. Smiles.
Thank you.
The PLAYER turns and goes, ROS has bens for the coin.
GUIL (moving out): Come on.
ROS: I say—that was lucky.
GUIL (turning): What?
ROS : It was tails.
He tosses the coin to GUIL who catches it. Simultaneously— a lighting change sufficient to alter the exterior mood into interior, but nothing violent.
And OPHELIA runs on in some alarm, holding up her skirts-followed by HAMLET.
OPHELIA has been sewing and she holds the garment. They are both mute, HAMLET, with his doublet all unbraced, no hat upon his head, his stockings fouled, ungartered and down-gyved to his ankle, pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other . . . and with a look so piteous, he takes her by the wrist and holds her hard, then he goes to the length of his arm, and with his other hand over his brow, falls to such perusal of her face as he would draw it. . . . At last, with a little shaking of his arm, and thrice his head waving up and down, he raises a sigh so piteous and profound that it does seem to shatter all his bulk and end his being. That done he lets her go, and with his head over his shoulder turned, he goes out backwards without taking his eyes off her . . . she runs off in the opposite direction.
ROS and GUIL have frozen, GUIL unfreezes first. He jumps atROS.
GUIL : Come on!
But a flourish—enter CLAUDIUS and GERTRUDE, attended.
CLAUDIUS : Welcome, dear Rosencrantz . . . (he raises a hand at GUIL while ROS bows —GUIL bows late and hurriedly) . . . and Guildenstern.
He raises a hand at ROS while GUIL bows to him —ROS is still straightening up from his previous bow and halfway up he bows down again. With his head down, he twists to look at GUIL, who is on the way up.
Moreover that we did much long to see you,
The need we have to use you did provoke
Our hasty sending.
ROS and GUIL still adjusting their clothing for CLAUDIUS’presence.
Something have you heard
Of Hamlet’s transformation, so call it,
Sith nor th’exterior nor the inward man
Resembles that it was. What it should be,
More than his 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 neighboured to his youth and haviour
That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court
Some little time, so by your companies
To draw him on to pleasures, and to gather
So much as from occasion you may glean,
Whether aught to us unknown afflicts him thus,
That opened lies within our remedy.
GERTRUDE : Good (fractional suspense) gentlemen . . .
They both bow.
He hath much talked of you,
And sure I am, two men there is not living
To whom he more adheres. If it will please you
To show us so much gentry and goodwill
As to expand your time with us awhile
For the supply and profit of our hope,
Your visitation shall receive such thanks
As fits a king’s remembrance.
ROS : Both your majesties
Might, by the sovereign power you have of us,
Put your dread pleasures more into command
Than to entreaty.
GUIL : But we both obey,
And here give up ourselves in the full bent
To lay our service freely at your feet,
To be commanded.
CLAUDIUS : Thanks, Rosencrantz (turning ‘o ROS who is caught unprepared, while GUIL bows) and gentle Guildenstern (turning to GUIL who is bent double).
GERTRUDE (correcting): Thanks Guildenstern (turning to ROS, who bows as GUIL checks upward movement to bow too— both bent double, squinting at each other). . . and gentle Rosencrantz (turning to GUIL, both straightening up— GUIL checks again and bows again).
And I beseech you instantly to visit
My too much changed son. Go, some of you,
And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is.
Two ATTENDANTS exit backwards, indicating that ROS and GUIL should follow.
GUIL : Heaven make our presence and our practices Pleasant and helpful to him.
GERTRUDE : Ay, amen!
ROS and GUIL move towards a downstage wing. Before they get there, POLONIUS enters. They stop and bow to him. He nods and hurries upstage to CLAUDIUS. They turn to look at him.
POLONIUS : The ambassadors from Norway, my good lord, are joyfully returned.
CLAUDIUS : Thou still hast been the father of good news.
POLONIUS : Have I, my lord? Assure you, my good liege,
I hold my duty as I hold my soul,
Both to my God and to my gracious King;
And I do think, or else this brain of mine
Hunts not the trail of policy so sure
As it hath used to do, that I have found
The very cause of Hamlet’s lunacy. . . .
Exeunt—leaving ROS andGUIL.
ROS : I want to go home.
GUIL : Don’t let them confuse you.
ROS : I’m out of my step here——
GUIL : We’ll soon be home and high—dry and home—I’ll——
ROS : It’s all over my depth——
GUIL : —I’ll hie you home and——
ROS : —out of my head——
GUIL : —dry you high and——
ROS (cracking, high):—over my step over my head body!—I tell you it’s all stopping to a death, it’s boding to a depth, stepping to a head, it’s all heading to a dead stop——
GUIL (the nursemaid): There!. . . . and we’ll soon be home and dry. . . and high and dry (Rapidly.) Has it ever happened to you that all of a sudden and for no reason at all you haven’t the faintest idea how to spell the word— “wife”—or “house”—because when you write it down you just can’t remember ever having seen those letters in that order before . . . ?
ROS : I remember——
GUIL : Yes?
ROS : I remember when there were no questions.
GUIL : There were always questions. To exchange one set for another is no great matter.
ROS : Answers, yes. There were answers to everything.
<
br /> GUIL : You’ve forgotten.
ROS (flaring): I haven’t forgotten—how I used to remember my own name—and yours, oh yes! There were answers everywhere you looked. There was no question about it— people knew who I was and if they didn’t they asked and I told them.
GUIL: YOU did, the trouble is, each of them is . . . plausible, without being instinctive. All your life you live so close to truth, it becomes a permanent blur in the corner of your eye. and when something nudges it into outline it is like being ambushed by a grotesque. A man standing in his saddle in the half-lit half-alive dawn banged on the shutters and called two names. He was just a hat and a cloak levitating in the grey plume of his own breath, but when he called we came. That much is certain—we came.
ROS : Well I can tell you I’m sick to death of it. I don’t care one way or another, so why don’t you make up your mind.
GUIL : We can’t afford anything quite so arbitrary. Nor did we come all this way for a christening. All that—preceded us. But we are comparatively fortunate; we might have been left to sift the whole field of human nomenclature, like two blind men looting a bazaar for their own portraits. . . . At least we are presented with alternatives.
ROS : Well as from now——
GUIL : —But not choice.
ROS : You made me look ridiculous in there.
GUIL : I looked just as ridiculous as you did.
ROS (an anguished cry): Consistency is all I ask!
GUIL (low, wry rhetoric): Give us this day our daily mask.
ROS (a dying fall): I want to go home. (Moves.) Which way did we come in? I’ve lost my sense of direction.
GUIL : The only beginning is birth and the only end is death—if you can’t count on that, what can you count on?
They connect again.
ROS : We don’t owe anything to anyone.
GUIL : We’ve been caught up. Your smallest action sets off another somewhere else, and is set off by it. Keep an eye open, an ear cocked. Tread warily, follow instructions. We’ll be all right.
ROS : For how long?
GUIL : Till events have played themselves out. There’s a logic at work—it’s all done for you, don’t worry. Enjoy it. Relax. To be taken in hand and led, like being a child again, even without the innocence, a child—it’s like being given a prize, an extra slice of childhood when you least expect it, as a prize for being good, or compensation for never having had one. . . . Do I contradict myself?
ROS : I can’t remember. . . . What have we got to go on?
GUIL : We have been briefed. Hamlet’s transformation. What do you recollect?
ROS : Well, he’s changed, hasn’t he? The exterior and inward man fails to resemble
GUIL : Draw him on to pleasures—glean what afflicts him.
ROS : Something more than his father’s death——
GUIL : He’s always talking about us—there aren’t two people living whom he dotes on more than us.
ROS : We cheer him up—find out what’s the matter——
GUIL : Exactly, it’s a matter of asking the right questions and giving away as little as we can. It’s a game.
ROS : And then we can go?
GUIL : And receive such thanks as fits a king’s remembrance.
ROS : I like the sound of that. What do you think he means by remembrance?
GUIL : He doesn’t forget his friends.
ROS : Would you care to estimate?
GUIL : Difficult to say, really—some kings tend to be amnesiac, others I suppose—the opposite, whatever that is. . . .
ROS : Yes—but——
GUIL : Elephantine . . . ?
ROS : Not how long—how much?
GUIL: Retentive—he’s a very retentive king, a royal retainer. . . .
ROS : What are you playing at?
GUIL : Words, words. They’re all we have to go on.
Pause.
ROS : Shouldn’t we be doing something—constructive?
GUIL : What did you have in mind? . . . A short, blunt human pyramid . . . ?
ROS : We could go.
GUIL : Where?
ROS : After him.
GUIL : Why? They’ve got us placed now—if we start moving around, we’ll all be chasing each other all night.
Hiatus.
ROS (at footlights): How very intriguing! (Turns.) I feel like a spectator—an appalling business. The only thing that makes it bearable is the irrational belief that somebody interesting will come on in a minute. . . .
GUIL : See anyone?
ROS: NO. YOU?
GUIL: NO. (At footlights.) What a fine persecution—to be kept intrigued without ever quite being enlightened. . . . (Pause.) We’ve had no practice.
ROS: We could play at questions.
GUIL : What good would that do?
ROS : Practice!
GUIL : Statement! One—love.
ROS : Cheating!
GUIL : How?
ROS : I hadn’t started yet.
GUIL : Statement. Two—love.
ROS : Are you counting that?
GUIL : What?
ROS : Are you counting that?
GUIL : Foul! No repetitions. Three—love. First game to.
ROS: I’m not going to play if you’re going to be like that.
GUIL : Whose serve?
ROS : Hah?
GUIL : Foul! No grunts. Love—one.
ROS : Whose go?
GUIL : Why?
ROS : Why not?
GUIL : What for?
ROS : Foul! No synonyms! One—all.
GUIL : What in God’s name is going on?
ROS : Foul! No rhetoric. Two—one.
GUIL : What does it all add up to?
ROS : Can’t you guess?
GUIL : Were you addressing me?
ROS: IS there anyone else?
GUIL : Who?
ROS: HOW would I know?
GUIL : Why do you ask?
ROS : Are you serious?
GUIL : Was that rhetoric?
ROS: NO.
GUIL : Statement! Two—all. Game point.
ROS : What’s the matter with you today?
GUIL : When?
ROS : What?
GUIL : Are you deaf?
ROS : Am I dead?
GUIL : Yes or no?
ROS: IS there a choice?
GUIL: IS there a God?
ROS : Foul! No non sequiturs, three—two, one game all.
GUIL (seriously): What’s your name?
ROS : What’s yours?
GUIL: I asked you first.
ROS : Statement. One—love.
GUIL : What’s your name when you’re at home?
ROS : What’s yours?
GUIL : When I’m at home?
ROS : Is it different at home?
GUIL : What home?
ROS : Haven’t you got one?
GUIL : Why do you ask?
ROS : What are you driving at?
GUIL (with emphasis): What’s your name?!
ROS : Repetition. Two—love. Match point to me.
GUIL {seizing him violently): WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?
ROS : Rhetoric! Game and match! (Pause.) Where’s it going to end?
GUIL : That’s the question.
ROS : It’s all questions.
GUIL : Do you think it matters?
ROS : Doesn’t it matter to you ?
GUIL : Why should it matter?
ROS : What does it matter why?
GUIL (teasing gently): Doesn’t it matter why it matters?
ROS (rounding on him): What’s the matter with you?
Pause.GUIL : It doesn’t matter.
ROS ( voice in the wilderness): . . . What’s the game?
GUIL : What are the rules?
Enter HAMLET behind, crossing the stage, reading a book—as he is about to disappear GUIL notices him.
GUIL (sharply): Rosencrantz!
ROS (jumps): What!
HAMLET goes. Triumph dawns on them,
they smile.
GUIL : There! How was that?
ROS : Clever!
GUIL : Natural?
ROS : Instinctive.
GUIL : Got it in your head?
ROS : I take my hat off to you.
GUIL : Shake hands.
They do.
ROS : Now I’ll try you—Guil—!
GUIL : —Not yet—catch me unawares.
ROS : Right.
They separate. Pause. Aside toGUIL.
Ready?
GUIL (explodes): Don’t be stupid. ROS : Sorry.
Pause.
GUIL (snaps): Guildenstern!
ROS (jumps): What?
He is immediately crestfallen, GUIL is disgusted.
GUIL : Consistency is all I ask!
ROS (quietly): Immortality is all I seek. . . .
GUIL (dying fall): Give us this day our daily week. . . .
Beat.
ROS : Who was that?
OUIL : Didn’t you know him?
ROS : He didn’t know me.
GUIL : He didn’t see you.
ROS : I didn’t see him.
GUIL : We shall see. I hardly knew him. he’s changed.
ROS : You could see that?
GUIL : Transformed.
ROS: HOW do you know?
GUIL : Inside and out.
ROS : I see.
GUIL : He’s not himself.
ROS : He’s changed.
GUIL : I could see that.
Beat.
Glean what afflicts him.
ROS : Me?
GUIL : Him.
ROS: HOW?
GUIL : Question and answer. Old ways are the best ways.
ROS : He’s afflicted.
GUIL: YOU question, I’ll answer.
ROS : He’s not himself, you know.
GUIL : I’m him, you see.
Beat.
ROS : Who am I then?
OUIL : You’re yourself.
ROS : And he’s you?
GUIL : Not a bit of it.
ROS : Are you afflicted?
GUIL : That’s the idea. Are you ready?
ROS : Let’s go back a bit.
GUIL : I’m afflicted.
ROS : I see.
GUIL : Glean what afflicts me.
ROS : Right.
GUIL : Question and answer.
ROS: HOW should I begin?
GUIL : Address me.
ROS : My dear Guildenstern!
GUIL (quietly): You’ve forgotten—haven’t you?
ROS : My dear Rosencrantz!
GUIL (great control): I don’t think you quite understand. What we are attempting is a hypothesis in which / answer for him, while you ask me questions.