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, cluthes 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 still congratulating him. The PLAYER approaches GUIL, who stands rooted, holding the dagger.
PLAYER: 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 occassions! Deaths by suspension, convulsion, consumption, incision, execution, asphyxiation and malnutrition --! Climactic carnage, by poison and by steel --! Double deaths by duel -- ! Show! --
ALFRED, still in his Queen's costime, dies by poison: the PLAYER, with rapier, kills the "KING" and duels with a fourth TRAGEDIAN, inflicting and receivign 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 . . .
GUL (tired, drained, but still 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 of never coming back . . a gap you can't see, and when the wind blows trough it, it makes no sound . . . .
The light has gone upstage. Only GUIL and ROS are visible as ROS's clapping falters to silence.
ROSENCRANTZ & GUILDENSTERN ARE DEAD - TOM STOPPARD
It's the same thing. Reading this 20 hours later is equally enlightening as Arcadia
. In the middle of the recent hot, hot nights, in the midst of studying and in between the sweaty, sporadic naps, I've been wondering a lot. Gazing out of my window, I know what I can see and what I choose to see. I know what I can afford to lose and what I can't. Or do I?
Eating Pocky now. Om nom.