ESTRAGON: Why doesn’t he put down his bags?
POZZO: But that would surprise me.
VLADIMIR: You’re being asked a question.
POZZO: [Delighted.] A question! Who? What? A moment ago you were calling me sir, in fear and trembling. Now you’re asking me questions. No good will come of this!
VLADIMIR: [To ESTRAGON.] I think he’s listening.
ESTRAGON: [Circling about LUCKY.] What?
VLADIMIR: You can ask him now. He’s on the alert.
ESTRAGON: Ask him what?
VLADIMIR: Why he doesn’t put down his bags.
ESTRAGON: I wonder.
VLADIMIR: Ask him, can’t you?
POZZO: [Who has followed these exchanges with anxious attention, fearing lest the question get lost.] You want to know why he doesn’t put down his bags, as you call them?
VLADIMIR: That’s it.
POZZO: [To ESTRAGON.] You are sure you agree with that?
ESTRAGON: He’s puffing like a grampus.
POZZO: The answer is this. [To ESTRAGON.] But stay still, I beg of you, you’re making me nervous!
VLADIMIR: Here.
ESTRAGON: What is it?
VLADIMIR: He’s about to speak.
[ESTRAGON goes over beside VLADIMIR. Motionless, side by side, they wait.]
POZZO: Good. Is everybody ready? Is everybody looking at me? [He looks at LUCKY, jerks the rope. LUCKY raises his head.] Will you look at me, pig! [LUCKY looks at him.] Good. [He puts his pipe in his pocket, takes out a little vaporizer and sprays his throat, puts back the vaporizer in his pocket, clears his throat, spits, takes out the vaporizer again, sprays his throat again, puts back the vaporizer in his pocket.] I am ready. Is everybody listening? Is everybody ready? [He looks at them all in turn, jerks the rope.] Hog! [LUCKY raises his head.] I don’t like talking in a vacuum. Good. Let me see.
[He reflects.]
ESTRAGON: I’m going.
POZZO: What was it exactly you wanted to know?
VLADIMIR: Why he –
POZZO: [Angrily.] Don’t interrupt me! [Pause. Calmer.] If we all speak at once we’ll never get anywhere. [Pause.] What was I saying? [Pause. Louder.] What was I saying? [VLADIMIR mimics one carrying a heavy burden, POZZO looks at him, puzzled.]
ESTRAGON: [Forcibly.] Bags. [He points at LUCKY.] Why? Always hold. [He sags, panting.] Never put down. [He opens his hands, straightens up with relief.] Why?
POZZO: Ah! Why couldn’t you say so before? Why he doesn’t make himself comfortable? Let’s try and get it clear. Has he not the right to? Certainly he has. It follows that he doesn’t want to. There’s reasoning for you. And why doesn’t he want to? [Pause.] Gentlemen, the reason is this.
VLADIMIR: [To ESTRAGON.] Make a note of this.
POZZO: He wants to impress me, so that I’ll keep him.
ESTRAGON: What?
POZZO: Perhaps I haven’t got it quite right. He wants to mollify me, so that I’ll give up the idea of parting with him. No, that’s not exactly it either.
VLADIMIR: You want to get rid of him?
POZZO: He wants to cod me, but he won’t.
VLADIMIR: You want to get rid of him?
POZZO: He imagines that when I see how well he carries I’ll be tempted to keep him on in that capacity.
ESTRAGON: You’ve had enough of him?
POZZO: In reality he carries like a pig. It’s not his job.
VLADIMIR: You want to get rid of him?
POZZO: He imagines that when I see him indefatigable I’ll regret my decision. Such is his miserable scheme. As thought I were short of slaves! [All three look at LUCKY.] Atlas, son of Jupiter! [Silence.] Well, that’s that I think. Anything else? [Vaporizer.]
VLADIMIR: You want to get rid of him?
POZZO: Remark that I might just as well have been in his shoes and he in mine. If chance had not willed otherwise. To each one his due.
VLADIMIR: You waagerrim?
POZZO: I beg your pardon?
VLADIMIR: You want to get rid of him?
POZZO: I do. But instead of driving him away as I might have done, I mean instead of simply kicking him out on his arse, in the goodness of my heart I am bringing him to the fair, where I hope to get a good price for him. The truth is you can’t drive such creatures away. The best thing would be to kill them.
[LUCKY weeps.]
ESTRAGON: He’s crying.
POZZO: Old dogs have more dignity. [He proffers his handkerchief to ESTRAGON.] Comfort him, since you pity him. [ESTRAGON hesitates.] Come on. [ESTRAGON takes the handkerchief.] Wipe away his tears, he’ll feel less forsaken.
[ESTRAGON hesitates.]
VLADIMIR: Here, give it to me, I’ll do it.
[ESTRAGON refuses to give the handkerchief Childish gestures.]
POZZO: Make haste, before he stops, [ESTRAGON approaches LUCKY and makes to wipe his eyes. LUCKY kicks him violently in the shins. ESTRAGON drops the handkerchief, recoils, staggers about the stage howling with pain.] Hanky!
[LUCKY puts down bag and basket, picks up handkerchief, gives it to POZZO, goes back to his place, picks up bag and basket.]
ESTRAGON: Oh the swine! [He pulls up the leg of his trousers.] He’s crippled me!
POZZO: I told you he didn’t like strangers.
VLADIMIR: [To ESTRAGON.] Show. [ESTRAGON shows his leg. To POZZO, angrily.] He’s bleeding!
POZZO: It’s a good sign.
ESTRAGON: [On one leg.] I’ll never walk again!
VLADIMIR: [Tenderly.] I’ll carry you. [Pause.] If necessary.
POZZO: He’s stopped crying. [To ESTRAGON.] You have replaced him as it were. [Lyrically.] The tears of the world are a constant quantity. For each one who begins to weep, somewhere else another stops. The same is true of the laugh. [He laughs.] Let us not then speak ill of our generation, it is not any unhappier than its predecessors. [Pause.] Let us not speak well of it either. [Pause.] Let us not speak of it at all. [Pause. Judiciously.] It is true the population has increased.
VLADIMIR: Try and walk.
[ESTRAGON takes a few limping steps, stops before LUCKY and spits on him, then goes and sits down on the mound.]
POZZO: Guess who taught me all these beautiful things. [Pause. Pointing to LUCKY.] My Lucky!
VLADIMIR: [Looking at the sky.] Will night never come?
POZZO: But for him all my thoughts, all my feelings, would have been of common things. [Pause. With extraordinary vehemence.] Professional worries! [Calmer.] Beauty, grace, truth of the first water, I knew they were all beyond me. So I took a knook.
VLADIMIR: [Startled from his inspection of the sky.] A knook?
POZZO: That was nearly sixty years ago … [He consults his watch] … yes, nearly sixty. [Drawing himself up proudly.] You wouldn’t think it to look at me, would you? Compared to him I look like a young man, no? [Pause.] Hat! [LUCKY puts down the basket and takes off his hat. His long white hair falls about his face. He puts his hat under his arm and picks up the basket.] Now look. [POZZO takes off his hat.1 He is completely bald. He puts on his hat again.] Did you see?
VLADIMIR: And now you turn him away? Such an old and faithful servant.
ESTRAGON: Swine!
[POZZO more and more agitated.]
VLADIMIR: After having sucked all the good out of him you chuck him away like a … like a banana skin. Really ….
POZZO: [Groaning, clutching his head.] I can’t bear it … any longer … the way he goes on … you’ve no idea … it’s terrible … he must go … [He waves his arms] … I’m going mad … [He collapses, his head in his hands] … I can’t bear it … any longer …
[Silence. All look at POZZO.]
VLADIMIR: He can’t bear it.
ESTRAGON: Any longer.
VLADIMIR: He’s going mad.
ESTRAGON: It’s terrible.
VLADIMIR: [To LUCKY.] How dare you! It’s abominable! Such a good master! Crucify him like that! After so many years! Really!
POZZO: [Sobbing.] He used to be so kind
… so helpful … and entertaining … my good angel … and now … he’s killing me.
ESTRAGON: [To VLADIMIR.] Does he want to replace him?
VLADIMIR: What?
ESTRAGON: Does he want someone to take his place or not?
VLADIMIR: I don’t think so.
ESTRAGON: What?
VLADIMIR: I don’t know.
ESTRAGON: Ask him.
POZZO: [Calmer.] Gentlemen, I don’t know what came over me. Forgive me. Forget all I said. [More and more his old self.] I don’t remember exactly what it was, but you may be sure there wasn’t a word of truth in it. [Drawing himself up, striking his chest.] Do I look like a man that can be made to suffer? Frankly? [He rummages in his pockets.] What have I done with my pipe?
VLADIMIR: Charming evening we’re having.
ESTRAGON: Unforgettable.
VLADIMIR: And it’s not over.
ESTRAGON: Apparently not.
VLADIMIR: It’s only beginning.
ESTRAGON: It’s awful.
VLADIMIR: Worse than the pantomime.
ESTRAGON: The circus.
VLADIMIR: The music-hall.
ESTRAGON: The circus.
POZZO: What can I have done with that briar?
ESTRAGON: He’s a scream. He’s lost his dudeen.
[Laughs noisily.]
VLADIMIR: I’ll be back.
[He hastens towards the wings.]
ESTRAGON: End of the corridor, on the left.
VLADIMIR: Keep my seat.
[Exit VLADIMIR.]
POZZO: I’ve lost my Kapp and Peterson!
ESTRAGON: [Convulsed with merriment.] He’ll be the death of me!
POZZO: [Looking up.] You didn’t by any chance see – [He misses VLADIMIR.] Oh! He’s gone! Without saying good-bye! How could he! He might have waited!
ESTRAGON: He would have burst.
POZZO: Oh! [Pause.] Oh well then of course in that case …
ESTRAGON: Come here.
POZZO: What for?
ESTRAGON: You’ll see.
POZZO: You want me to get up?
ESTRAGON: Quick! [POZZO gets up and goes over beside ESTRAGON. ESTRAGON points off.] Look!
POZZO: [Having put on his glasses.] Oh I say!
ESTRAGON: It’s all over.
[Enter VLADIMIR, sombre. He shoulders LUCKY out of his way, kicks over the stool, comes and goes agitatedly.]
POZZO: He’s not pleased.
ESTRAGON: [To VLADIMIR.] You missed a treat. Pity. [VLADIMIR halts, straightens the stool, comes and goes, calmer.]
POZZO: He subsides. [Looking round.] Indeed all subsides. A great calm descends. [Raising his hand.] Listen! Pan sleeps.
VLADIMIR: Will night never come?
[All three look at the sky.]
POZZO: You don’t feel like going until it does?
ESTRAGON: Well you see –
POZZO: Why it’s very natural, very natural. I myself in your situation, if I had an appointment with a Godin … Godet … Godot … anyhow, you see who I mean, I’d wait till it was black night before I gave up. [He looks at the stool.] I’d like very much to sit down, but I don’t quite know how to go about it.
ESTRAGON: Could I be of any help?
POZZO: If you asked me perhaps.
ESTRAGON: What?
POZZO: If you asked me to sit down.
ESTRAGON: Would that be a help?
POZZO: I fancy so.
ESTRAGON: Here we go. Be seated, sir, I beg of you.
POZZO: No, no, I wouldn’t think of it! [Pause. Aside.] Ask me again.
ESTRAGON: Come come, take a seat, I beseech you, you’ll get pneumonia.
POZZO: You really think so?
ESTRAGON: Why it’s absolutely certain.
POZZO: No doubt you are right. [He sits down.] Done it again! [Pause.] Thank you, dear fellow. [He consults his watch.] But I must really be getting along, if I am to observe my schedule.
VLADIMIR: Time has stopped.
POZZO: [Cuddling his watch to his ear.] Don’t you believe it, sir, don’t you believe it. [He puts his watch back in his pocket.] Whatever you like, but not that.
ESTRAGON: [To POZZO.] Everything seems black to him today.
POZZO: Except the firmament! [He laughs, pleased with this witticism.] But I see what it is, you are not from these parts, you don’t know what our twilights can do. Shall I tell you? [Silence, ESTRAGON is fiddling with his boot again, VLADIMIR with his hat.] I can’t refuse you. [Vaporizer.] A little attention, if you please. [VLADIMIR and ESTRAGON continue their fiddling, LUCKY is half asleep, POZZO cracks his whip feebly.] What’s the matter with this whip? [He gets up and cracks it more vigorously, finally with success. LUCKY jumps. VLADIMIR’s hat, ESTRAGON’s boot, LUCKY’s hat, fall to the ground. POZZO throws down the whip.] Worn out, this whip. [He looks at VLADIMIR and ESTRAGON.] What was I saying?
VLADIMIR: Let’s go.
ESTRAGON: But take the weight off your feet, I implore you, you’ll catch your death.
POZZO: True. [He sits down. To ESTRAGON.] What is your name?
ESTRAGON: Adam.
POZZO: [Who hasn’t listened.] Ah, yes! The night. [He raises his head.] But be a little more attentive, for pity’s sake, otherwise we’ll never get anywhere. [He looks at the sky.] Look. [All look at the sky except LUCKY who is dozing off again, POZZO jerks the rope.] Will you look at the sky, pig! [LUCKY looks at the sky.] Good, that’s enough. [They stop looking at the sky.] What is there so extraordinary about it? Qua sky. It is pale and luminous like any sky at this hour of the day. [Pause.] In these latitudes. [Pause.] When the weather is fine. [Lyrical.] An hour ago [He looks at his watch, prosaic] roughly [Lyrical] after having poured forth ever since [He hesitates, prosaic] say ten o’clock in the morning [Lyrical] tirelessly torrents of red and white light it begins to lose its effulgence, to grow pale [Gesture of the two hands lapsing by stages], pale, ever a little paler, a little paler until [Dramatic pause, ample gesture of the two hands flung wide apart] pppfff! finished! it comes to rest. But – [Hand raised in admonition] – but behind this veil of gentleness and peace night is charging [Vibrantly] and will burst upon us [Snaps his fingers] pop! like that! [His inspiration leaves him] just when we least expect it. [Silence. Gloomily.] That’s how it is on this bitch of an earth.
[Long silence.]
ESTRAGON: So long as one knows.
VLADIMIR: One can bide one’s time.
ESTRAGON: One knows what to expect.
VLADIMIR: No further need to worry.
ESTRAGON: Simply wait.
VLADIMIR: We’re used to it.
[He picks up his hat, looks inside it, shakes it, puts it on.]
POZZO: How did you find me? [VLADIMIR and ESTRAGON look at him blankly.] Good? Fair? Middling? Poor? Positively bad?
VLADIMIR: [First to understand.] Oh very good, very very good.
POZZO: [To ESTRAGON.] And you, sir?
ESTRAGON: Oh tray bong, tray tray tray bong.
POZZO: [Fervently.] Bless you, gentlemen, bless you! [Pause.] I have such need of encouragement! [Pause.] I weakened a little towards the end, you didn’t notice?
VLADIMIR: Oh perhaps just a teeny weeny little bit.
ESTRAGON: I thought it was intentional.
POZZO: You see my memory is defective.
[Silence.]
ESTRAGON: In the meantime nothing happens.
POZZO: You find it tedious?
ESTRAGON: Somewhat.
POZZO: [To VLADIMIR.] And you, sir?
VLADIMIR: I’ve been better entertained.
[Silence, POZZO struggles inwardly.]
POZZO: Gentlemen, you have been … civil to me.
ESTRAGON: Not at all.
VLADIMIR: What an idea!
POZZO: Yes yes, you have been correct. So that I ask myself is there anything I can do in my turn for these honest fellows who are having such a dull, dull time.
ESTRAGON: Even ten francs would be welcome.
VLADIMIR: We are not
beggars!
POZZO: Is there anything I can do, that’s what I ask myself, to cheer them up? I have given them bones, I have talked to them about this and that, I have explained the twilight, admittedly. But is it enough, that’s what tortures me, is it enough?
ESTRAGON: Even five.
VLADIMIR: [To ESTRAGON, indignantly.] That’s enough!
ESTRAGON: I couldn’t accept less.
POZZO: Is it enough? No doubt. But I am liberal. It’s my nature. This evening. So much the worse for me. [He jerks the rope. LUCKY looks at him.] For I shall suffer, no doubt about that. [He picks up the whip.] What do you prefer? Shall we have him dance, or sing, or recite, or think, or –
ESTRAGON: Who?
POZZO: Who! You know how to think, you two?
VLADIMIR: He thinks?
POZZO: Certainly. Aloud. He even used to think very prettily once, I could listen to him for hours. Now … [He shudders.] So much the worse for me. Well, would you like him to think something for us?
ESTRAGON: I’d rather he’d dance, it’d be more fun?
POZZO: Not necessarily. estragon: Wouldn’t it, Didi, be more fun?
VLADIMIR: I’d like well to hear him think.
ESTRAGON: Perhaps he could dance first and think afterwards, if it isn’t too much to ask him.
VLADIMIR: [To POZZO.] Would that be possible?
POZZO: By all means, nothing simpler. It’s the natural order.
[He laughs briefly.]
VLADIMIR: Then let him dance.
[Silence.]
POZZO: Do you hear, hog?
ESTRAGON: He never refuses?
POZZO: He refused once. [Silence.] Dance, misery! [LUCKY puts down the basket, advances towards front, turns to POZZO. LUCKY dances. He stops.]
ESTRAGON: Is that all?
POZZO: Encore!
[LUCKY executes the same movements, stops.]
ESTRAGON: Pooh! I’d do as well myself. [He imitates LUCKY, almost falls.] With a little practice.
POZZO: He used to dance the farandole, the fling, the brawl, the jig, the fandango, and even the hornpipe. He capered. For joy. Now that’s the best he can do. Do you know what he calls it?
ESTRAGON: The Scapegoat’s Agony.
VLADIMIR: The Hard Stool.
The Complete Dramatic Works of Samuel Beckett Page 3