Tom Stoppard - Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead

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 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 chances… Not that we're getting much help. ( He sits down again. They lie downprone. ) If we stopped breathing we'd vanish.

The muffled sound of a recorder. They sit up with disproportionate interest.

GUIL: Here we go.

ROS: 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! No 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 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 towards 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: Ahal 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 PLAYERis 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-l-fred!

ALFRED emerges from the PLAYERS 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, ALFREDas 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 an say what we like to whomever we like, without restriciton.

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 not 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 116 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.

ROS and GUILmove apart together.

Well, where has that got US?

ROS: He's the Player.

GUIL: His play offended the King-

ROS:-offended the King