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 a 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.”
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 FLAUTIST. 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 Tragedians shuffle 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. I don’t think you understand—
ROS 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-alt!
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