University of Virginia Library

SECOND TABLEAU.

Enter Queen, meeting Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
Q.
Have you as yet planned aught that may relieve
Our poor afflicted son's despondency?

Ros.
Madam, we've lost no time. Already we
Are getting up some Court theatricals
In which the Prince will play a leading part.

Q.
That's well-bethought—it will divert his mind.
But soft—he comes.

Ros.
How gloomily he stalks,
As one o'erwhelmed with weight of anxious care.
He thrusts his hand into his bosom—thus—
Starts—looks around—then, as if reassured,
Rumples his hair and rolls his glassy eyes!

Q.
(appalled).
That means—he's going to soliloquize!
Prevent this, gentlemen, by any means!

Guild.
We will, but how?

Q.
Anticipate his points,
And follow out his argument for him;
Thus will you cut the ground from 'neath his feet
And leave him nought to say.

Ros. and Guild.
We will!—we will!

[They kneel.
Q.
A mother's blessing be upon you, sirs!

[Exit.
Ros.
(both rising).
Now, Guildenstern, apply thee to this task.

Music. Enter Hamlet. He stalks to chair, throws himself into it.
Ham.
To be—or not to be!

Ros.
Yes—that's the question—
Whether he's bravest who will cut his throat
Rather than suffer all—

Guild.
Or suffer all
Rather than cut his throat?

Ham.
(annoyed at interruption, says, “Go away—go away!” then resumes).
To die—to sleep—

Ros.
It's nothing more—Death is but sleep spun out—
Why hesitate?

[Offers him a dagger.
Guild.
The only question is
Between the choice of deaths, which death to choose.

[Offers a revolver.
Ham.
(in great terror).
Do take those dreadful things away. They make
My blood run cold. Go away—go away! (They turn aside. Hamlet resumes).
To sleep, perchance to—

Ros.
Dream.
That's very true. I never dream myself,
But Guildenstern dreams all night long out loud.

Guild.
(coming down and kneeling).
With blushes, sir, I do confess it true!

Ham.
This question, gentlemen, concerns me not.
(Resumes.)
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time—

Ros.
(as guessing a riddle).
Who'd bear the whips and scorns? Now, let me see.
Who'd bear them, eh?

Guild.
(same business).
Who'd bear the scorns of time?

Ros.
(correcting him).
The whips and scorns.

Guild.
The whips and scorns, of course.
[Hamlet about to protest.
Don't tell us—let us guess—the whips of time?

Ham.
Oh, sirs, this interruption likes us not.
I pray you give it up.

Ros.
My lord, we do.
We cannot tell who bears these whips and scorns:

Ham.
(not heeding them, resumes).
But that the dread of something after death—

Ros.
That's true—post mortem and the coroner—
Felo-de-se—cross roads at twelve P.M.—
And then the forfeited life policy—
Exceedingly unpleasant.

Ham.
(really angry).
Gentlemen,
It must be patent to the merest dunce
Three persons can't soliloquize at once!
[Rosencrantz and Guildenstern retire, Guildenstern goes off.
(Aside.)
They're playing on me! Playing upon me
Who am not fashioned to be played upon!
Show them a pipe—a thing of holes and stops
Made to be played on—and they'll shrink abashed
And swear they have not skill on that! Now mark—
(Aloud.)
Rosencrantz! Here!
[Producing a flute as Rosencrantz comes.
This is a well-toned flute;
Play me an air upon it. Do not say
You know not how!
(Sneeringly.)

Ros.
Nay, but I do know how.
I'm rather good upon the flute—Observe—

[Plays eight bars of hornpipe, then politely returns flute to Hamlet.
Ham.
(peevishly).
Oh, thankye. (Aside.)
Everything goes wrong!

[Retires, and throws himself on dais, as if buried in soliloquy.
Enter Ophelia, white with terror, holding a heavy MS.
Oph.
Rosencrantz!

Ros.
Well?

Oph.
(in a stage-whisper).
I've found the manuscript,
But never put me to such work again!

Ros.
Why, what has happened that you tremble so?

Oph.
Last night I stole down from my room alone
And sought my father's den. I entered it!
The clock struck twelve, and then—oh, horrible!—
From chest and cabinet there issued forth
The mouldy spectres of five thousand plays,
All dead and gone—and many of them damned!
I shook with horror! They encompassed me,
Chattering forth the scenes and parts of scenes
Which my poor father wisely had cut out.
Oh, horrible—oh, 'twas most horrible!

[Covering her face.
Ros.
What was't they uttered?

Oph.
(severely).
I decline to say.
The more I heard the more convinced was I
My father acted most judiciously;
Let that suffice thee.

Ros.
Give me, then, the play,
And I'll submit it to the Prince.

Oph.
(crossing to him).
But stay,
Do not appear to urge him—hold him back,
Or he'll decline to play the piece—I know him.

Ham.
(who has been soliloquizing under his breath).
And lose the name of action!
(Rises and comes down.)
Why, what's that?

Ros.
We have been looking through some dozen plays
To find one suited to our company.
This is, my lord, a five-act tragedy.
'Tis called “Gonzago”—but it will not serve—
'Tis very long.

Ham.
Is there a part for me?

Oph.
There is, my lord, a most important part—
A mad Archbishop who becomes a Jew
To spite his diocese.

Ham.
That's very good!

Ros.
(turning over the pages).
Here you go mad—and then, soliloquize:
Here you are the sane again—and then you don't:
Then, later on, you stab your aunt, because—
Well, I can't tell you why you stab your aunt,
But still—you stab her.

Ham.
That is quite enough.

Ros.
Then you become the leader of a troop
Of Greek banditti—and soliloquize—
After a long and undisturbed career
Of murder (tempered by soliloquy)
You see the sin and folly of your ways
And offer to resume your diocese;
But, just too late—for, terrible to tell,
As you're repenting (in soliloquy)
The Bench of Bishops seize you unawares
And blow you from a gun!

[During this Hamlet has acted in pantomime the scenes described.
Ham.
(excitedly).
That's excellent.
That's very good indeed—we'll play this piece!

[Taking MS. from Rosencrantz.
Oph.
But, pray consider—all the other parts
Are insignificant.

Ham.
What matters that?
We'll play this piece.

Ros.
The plot's impossible,
And all the dialogue bombastic stuff.

Ham.
I tell you, sir, that we will play this piece.
Bestir yourselves about it, and engage
All the most fairly famed tragedians
To play the small parts—as tragedians should.
A mad Archbishop! Yes, that's very good!

[Picture. Hamlet, reading the MS., with limelight on him. Rosencrantz at entrance, Ophelia at entrance.