ROS (eagerly) : I knew all along it was a band.
GUIL: (tiredly) : He knew all along it was a band.
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 FLUTIST. 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 TRAGEDIANSshuffle 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.
ROS: I don't think you understand– 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'll 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-altl 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. GUILloosens 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…
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… I could have been a tongueless dwarf standing by the road 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 he bowing; sadly) : You should have caught us in better times. We were purists then. (Straightens up.) On-ward.