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Act II, Scene ii
HAMLET: is melodramatic. Although technically 30 years old, he should be played in this scene as a bit immature, prone to wild exaggerations, moody, restless pessimism, and world-weary sighing. He is childish and, at the same time, quite logical and mindful... although he may be too mindful at times, for he will become suddenly confrontational when he feels that the wool is being pulled over his eyes. Indeed, he may be too willing to pounce upon any sort of perceived attempts at deception, and this makes him appear somewhat paranoid, but one gets the impression that he isn't entirely neurotic, that he knows what's going on. The main paradox of his character should be his juvenility and his simultaneous cunning – and of course, the ever-present cloud of madness hanging round his head (throughout the scene, it seems that Hamlet delights in freaking out his friends). Additionally, there is little sincerity in his cheerful expressions; his smile, whenever it appears, should seem somewhat ironic, as if he is continually mocking his own happiness.
THE SCENE: begins in a small library. As it is nighttime, the only illumination comes from the three lit candles that flicker atop the heavy wooden table in the center of the room. A single window, its blurry glass framed by intersecting metal bars, adorns the far wall; every square inch of the other three, including the space surrounding the iron-hinged door, are faced with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A scholarly globe is perched to the right of the table, supported by a fine mahogany stand. Various pieces of parchment lie strewn, forgotten, across the table. Outside the library, the muted babble of voices echoes happily throughout the palace, but inside all is silent, as if to mimic the desolate solitude of Hamlet's mind.
Hamlet is seated in a large, expensively-upholstered chair, one elbow propped on the table, his head resting on a cupped hand. With the finger of his other hand, he traces lazy circles on the tabletop, gazing absently into space.
GUILDENSTERN
[Sweeping jubilantly through the large wooden door, hands outstretched in greeting] My honoured lord!
ROSENCRANTZ
[Following close behind, beaming] My most dear lord!
Hamlet is startled out of his reverie, and turns around quickly, his mouth open and ready to shout in annoyance. Upon recognizing his visitors, however, his irritated expression morphs quickly into (a rather forced) jubilation. He rises slowly from his chair and spreads his arms, welcoming.
HAMLET
My excellent good friends! [Laughs briefly in a feigned, "what-a-pleasant-surprise" manner] How dost thou, Guildenstern? Ah, Rosencrantz! Good lads, how do ye both?
ROSENCRANTZ
[Casually, smiling] As the indifferent children of the earth.
Hamlet nods slowly, contemplatively; already his interest in his newly-arrived friends seems to be waning. He turns to one of the bookshelves lining the walls and selects a book at random, studying its gilt-edged spine with bleak curiosity. Impassively, he opens the book to its index, briefly scans the yellowed page... then lets his gaze drifts off to the side as he stares towards, at some distant point, lost in his own thoughts.
GUILDENSTERN
[Adds – a bit louder, noticing Hamlet's distraction] Happy, in that we are not over-happy; On fortune's cap we are not the very button.
HAMLET
[Tilts his head curiously, looking up] Nor the soles of her shoe? [Begins strolling leisurely about the room, still holding the open book in the crook of one arm]
ROSENCRANTZ
[Keeping a careful eye on Hamlet] Neither, my lord.
HAMLET
[Raises a teasing eyebrow, glancing over his shoulder] Then you live about her waist, or in the middle of her favours?
GUILDENSTERN
'Faith, her privates we. [Grins suggestively]
HAMLET
In the secret parts of fortune? [Chuckling] O, most true; she is a strumpet.
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern both dissolve into giggles – mainly for Hamlet's benefit, who does not seem to be fooled. He pauses as their laughter dies down, his smile slowly fading. Then, growing pensive again, he turns to half-face the two, attempting to sound interested and failing.
What's the news?
ROSENCRANTZ
None, my lord, but that the world's grown honest.
HAMLET
[Smiles dourly] Then is doomsday near: but your news is not true. Let me question more in particular. [His voice dripping with irony] What have you, my good friends, deserved at the hands of fortune, that she sends you to prison hither? [Rolls his eyes upwards to indicate their current surroundings]
GUILDENSTERN
Prison, my lord! [Laughs, glancing around, not quite understanding]
HAMLET
[Sullen] Denmark's a prison.
ROSENCRANTZ
Then is the world one.
HAMLET
[Conceding] A goodly one... [qualifies, sulkily] ... in which there are many confines, wards and dungeons. [Scowling] Denmark being one o' the worst.
ROSENCRANTZ
[Placidly] We think not so, my lord.
HAMLET
[Waves a dismissive hand, almost mockingly] Why, then, 'tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.
He slumps back into the chair with a discontented sigh.
To me it is a prison.
ROSENCRANTZ
[Calmly, reasonably] Why then, your ambition makes it one. 'Tis too narrow for your mind.
HAMLET
[Shouts, suffused with sudden emotion] O God, I could be bounded in a nut shell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have...
His outburst subsiding as quickly as it came, he puts an elbow on the table and leans forward, putting his forehead in his hand, finishes in a weary grumble.
... bad dreams.
GUILDENSTERN
[Shrugging, speaking sympathetically but helplessly, as if he cannot figure out Hamlet's problem] Which dreams indeed are ambition, for the very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream.
HAMLET
His back still to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, he folds both arms on the table and gingerly lays his head, sideways, upon them. Almost childlike, he stares unhappily into the candlelight that flickers before him, as if its flame represents the burning dream of happiness which is now unfamiliar to him. His voice is quiet and petulant.
A dream itself is but a shadow.
ROSENCRANTZ
Truly... [Smiles self-deprecatingly] And I hold ambition of so airy and light a quality that it is but a shadow's shadow.
HAMLET
Again he pauses, unmoved by his friend's light-hearted words, and studies the lit candle with a combination of joy and loathing. With a single deliberate movement, he reaches across the table and snuffs out the flame with the palm of his hand. The act brings a cheerless smile to his face. Now surrounded by an even thicker darkness than before, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern exchange glances and shuffle about in slight embarrassment. Hamlet continues, with an air of dull finality.
Then are our beggars bodies, and our monarchs and outstretched heroes the beggars' shadows.
He falls silent for a moment. He then sighs again and decides to change the subject, sounding less than enthused.
Shall we to the court? for, by my fay, I cannot reason.
ROSENCRANTZ & GUILDENSTERN
[Their expressions brighten noticeably, grateful for the distraction – they approach Hamlet] We'll wait upon you.
HAMLET
[Brushes them off absently] No such matter: I will not sort you with the rest of my servants, for, to speak to you like an honest man... [Glances around in distaste] ... I am most dreadfully attended.
He turns slowly, and fixes them both with a piercing stare.
But, in the beaten way of friendship... [Pause for effect] ... what make you at Elsinore?
ROSENCRANTZ
[Seeming to wilt under Hamlet's gaze, sounding utterly flustered] To visit you, my lord; no other occasion.
HAMLET
[Smiles, albeit warily] Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks; but I thank you: and sure, dear friends, my thanks are too dear a halfpenny. [Folds his arms] Were you not sent for? Is it your own inclining? Is it a free visitation? [Makes a come-hither motion, almost challengingly] Come, deal justly with me: come, come; nay, speak.
GUILDENSTERN
[Glances over at Rosencrantz, then back at Hamlet, wide-eyed and guileless] What should we say, my lord?
HAMLET
Why, any thing, but to the purpose. [Smiles in angry triumph, shakes an accusing finger at him] You were sent for; and there is a kind of confession in your looks which your modesties have not craft enough to colour.
He leans in closer and speaks in a low, conspiratorial murmur, still smiling reproachfully.
I know the good king and queen have sent for you.
ROSENCRANTZ
[Throws up his hands in apparent bewilderment] To what end, my lord?
HAMLET
That you must teach me.
He fixes them with another aquiline stare. His voice grows quieter still, but retains its insistent edge. He pauses between every phrase, and with each one takes a small, almost menacing step towards them.
But let me conjure you: by the rights of our fellowship, by the consonancy of our youth, by the obligation of our ever-preserved love... and by what more dear a better proposer could charge you withal... [Stops, now only a foot or two from Rosencrantz and Guildenstern] Be even and direct with me. Whether you were sent for... or no?
ROSENCRANTZ
[Keeping his wary gaze on Hamlet, mutters to Guildenstern] What say you?
HAMLET
[Shaking his head, as if in resignation, his eyes on the floor] Nay, then, I have an eye of you. [Brings his gaze up] If you love me... hold not off.
GUILDENSTERN
[Haltingly, as if fearing Hamlet's reaction] My lord... we were sent for.
HAMLET
He leans back slightly, inclining his chin a bit as if to prove he'd known this all along. Gathering his thoughts for a moment, he points a trembling finger at Guildenstern and speaks, knowingly, in a tone of quiet, barely restrained emotion.
I will tell you why. [Pause] So shall my anticipation prevent your discovery, and your secrecy to the king and queen moult no feather.
Silence for a moment, as Hamlet frowns in concentration, searching for words. He proceeds falteringly, looking rather lost.
I have of late— [scratches his head in honest bewilderment, sighs sadly and gestures helplessly] but wherefore I know not— lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises... [Hesitates, then adds, louder, as if becoming more certain of his thoughts] And indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth... [Now wide-eyed with growing fervor] ... seems to me a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy, the air...
He trails into silence for a moment and looks about in frantic bewilderment, groping for words. Inspiration alights in his eyes: in a quick stride he crosses the small library and flings open the iron-wrought window with a wild laugh – Rosencrantz and Guildenstern cringe at the cold blast of air from the winter night – and gestures emphatically towards the midnight sky, his face more animated than ever before.
Look you! This... brave o'erhanging firmament, this... majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears...
Again he pauses, this time to catch his breath. The excitement in his eyes is quickly replaced by the cold glaze of hopelessness. His voice is devoid of emotion – as apathetic as it was passionate only a moment ago – and he seems detached, as if viewing his own despair from a great distance.
...it appears no other thing to me than a foul and...
Another short hesitation as he looks intently over at his friends, studying their expressions for a moment. His hand darts out and quickly extinguishes the second candle; instantly, the room is nearly pitch-black. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern exchange another worried, wondering glance.
...pestilent... [uneven smile] ...congregation of vapours.
Silence again. Hamlet's expression grows oddly peaceful, as he turns gradually and leans out the open window. Now he speaks, more to himself and the night sky than to his friends, in a reverential, almost mesmerized whisper.
What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! [His voice gradually increasing in volume, growing more excited with each proclamation] In form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like... [smiles euphorically] an angel... [Flings his arms wide as if to encompass the entire sky, his entire upper torso now leaning out the window, cries out ecstatically] In apprehension how like a god!
Pulling himself inside, he wheels around suddenly to face Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, a manic smile on his face.
The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals! And yet—!
He trails off with a single laugh, as if amazed by the absurdity of it all, and is seemingly tongue-tied.
And yet... to me... [Looks imploringly towards Guildenstern, as if begging him to answer his question] ... what is this quintessence of dust?
His energy finally spent, he leans heavily against the wall and shakes his head slowly, wearily.
Man delights not me—
Rosencrantz chuckles quietly to himself. Hamlet turns towards him, dragged from his melodramatic reverie, and frowns at his friend's attempt to make light of serious concerns.
No, nor woman, neither. [Glares at him] Though by your smiling you seem to say so.
ROSENCRANTZ
[Still mischievous, but careful, so as not to excite Hamlet's temper] My lord, there was no such stuff in my thoughts.
HAMLET
[Suspiciously] Why did you laugh then, when I said 'man delights not me'?
ROSENCRANTZ
To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, what lenten entertainment the players shall receive from you. [Grinning, certain that his surprise will delight Hamlet] We coted them on the way; and hither are they coming, to offer you service.
HAMLET
He blinks at Rosencrantz, mildly startled and caught slightly off-guard. For almost ten seconds he stands there, arms crossed, as if contemplating his next strategic move. Then, suddenly, his face shines with exuberance and he laughs, all traces of his prior despondence gone. Smiling, he raises an arm in tribute and launches into a grand address.
He that plays the king shall be welcome! His majesty shall have tribute of me! The adventurous knight shall use his foil and target; the lover shall not sigh gratis; the humourous man shall end his part in peace; the clown shall make those laugh whose lungs are tickled o' the sere; and the lady shall say her mind freely, or the blank verse shall halt for't!
He pauses to take a breath, pleased to see he's convinced his friends, and continues in a jovial tone.
What players are they?
ROSENCRANTZ
[Smirks] Even those you were wont to take delight in, the tragedians of the city.
HAMLET
[Frowns at Rosencrantz's insinuation, but continues on anyway, his interest apparently piqued] How chances it they travel? their residence, both in reputation and profit, was better both ways.
ROSENCRANTZ
[Wryly] I think their inhibition comes by the means of the late innovation.
HAMLET
Do they hold the same estimation they did when I was in the city? are they so followed?
ROSENCRANTZ
No, indeed, are they not.
HAMLET
[Palms upturned, expecting an answer] How comes it? do they grow rusty?
ROSENCRANTZ
[Seemingly affronted by Hamlet's disregard for their talent] Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace. [Quickly forgets his annoyance, eager to tell his story] But there is, sir, an aery of children, little... [makes a fluttering motion with his hands and laughs in outrage] ... little eayases, that cry out on the top of question, and are most tyrannically clapped for't. [Dourly] These are now the fashion, and so berattle the common stages— [another incredulous laugh] so they call them—that many wearing rapiers are afraid of goose-quills and dare scarce come thither.
HAMLET
[Puts a dismayed hand to his forehead] What, are they children? who maintains 'em? how are they escoted? Will they pursue the quality no longer than they can sing? [Turns around slowly, his arms out in supplication, secretly enjoying his own little drama] Will they not say afterwards, if they should grow themselves to common players—as it is most like, if their means are no better—their writers do them wrong, to make them exclaim against their own succession?
ROSENCRANTZ
[Sighs, nodding] 'Faith, there has been much to do on both sides; and the nation holds it no sin to tarre them to controversy. [Ruefully] There was, for a while, no money bid for argument, unless the poet and the player went to cuffs in the question.
HAMLET
[Laughs coldly] Is't possible?
GUILDENSTERN
[Rolls his eyes] O, there has been much throwing about of brains.
HAMLET
Do the boys carry it away?
ROSENCRANTZ
Ay, that they do, my lord. Hercules and his load too.
HAMLET
[Shrugging with arch disdain] It is not very strange; for mine uncle is king of Denmark, and those that would make mows at him while my father lived, give twenty, forty, fifty, an hundred ducats a-piece for his picture in little. [His mouth twists into a sardonic sneer, mutters quietly to himself and shakes his head] 'Sblood, there is something in this more than natural, if philosophy could find it out.
His musings are interrupted by a sudden clamor from outside. Swords, luggage and armor bang noisily about.
GUILDENSTERN
He looks up at the noise, strides across the room to the heavy door, and pushes it open. A small triangle of light spills into the darkened library. He peers outside and smiles.
There are the players.
HAMLET
Glances out towards the door, outside of which a commotion has begun to arise – laughter, the clapping of hands on backs, etceteras – as the actors are greeted. He sighs and spreads his arms in a conciliatory manner, his manner once again cheerful, as if he has decided to forget his melancholy anxieties for the moment and get back to business.
Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. [Beams] Your hands, come then.
He extends his own hands and takes one of Guildenstern's and Rosencrantz's in each, squeezing them warmly for a brief second. They both smile, albeit a bit warily, at Hamlet's apparent change of mood. They remain hand-in-hand for a moment longer – then Hamlet draws back, as if to study his friend's appearance one last time.
The appurtenance of welcome is fashion and ceremony. [Glances down apologetically at his own attire and grins apologetically] Let me comply with you in this garb... lest my extent to the players—which, I tell you [chuckles knowingly] must show fairly outward—should more appear like entertainment than yours. [Eyes shining with mirth]
Rosencrantz laughs heartily, glad to find Hamlet in better spirits already. They exchange a final amicable grin. Then, after a moment, Hamlet assumes a comically serious expression, eyebrows furrowed, and makes a shooing motion – Rosencrantz obliges with a smile, bows, and exits the library, leaving Guildenstern alone with Hamlet. The two face each other in the dark, silent room, as Hamlet's false cheer slowly melts away. Now the gleam in his eyes is almost malevolent, and though he continues to smile, his expression reveals a sort of malignant glee. Guildenstern must now be aware that Hamlet's previous show of happiness was merely an act – albeit a clever one.
[Nods to Guildenstern] You are welcome. [Smirks deviously] But my uncle-father and aunt-mother are deceived.
GUILDENSTERN
[Slowly, not knowing what to expect] In what, my dear lord?
HAMLET
He stops. Turning around slowly, he raises an eyebrow, looks towards his friend and smiles, irony, pathos, and a bit of lunacy all mingled in his gaze. Almost playfully, he reaches over to the last candle. He pauses a moment, gazing into the bright flame, before extinguishing the light between two fingers. The room and its two occupants are plunged into a final, complete darkness. Hamlet's disembodied voice– ringing with somber amusement – emerges from the gloom.
I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw.
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