(He smiles suddenly from ear to ear, keeps smiling, ceases as suddenly.) It’s not the same thing. VLADIMIR: One daren’t even laugh any more. Vladimir breaks into a hearty laugh which he immediately stifles, his hand pressed to his pubis, his face contorted. (He reflects.) We wouldn’t have to go into the details. Vladimir deep in thought, Estragon pulling at his toes.) One of the thieves was saved. (He takes off his hat again, peers inside it, feels about inside it, knocks on the crown, blows into it, puts it on again.) This is getting alarming. VLADIMIR: There’s man all over for you, blaming on his boots the faults of his feet.
He peers inside it, feels about inside it, turns it upside down, shakes it, looks on the ground to see if anything has fallen out, finds nothing, feels inside it again, staring sightlessly before him.) Well?ĮSTRAGON: (examining his foot). (Estragon with a supreme effort succeeds in pulling off his boot. (He knocks on the crown as though to dislodge a foreign body, peers into it again, puts it on again.) Nothing to be done. (He takes off his hat again, peers inside it.) Funny. (He takes off his hat, peers inside it, feels about inside it, shakes it, puts it on again.) How shall I say? Relieved and at the same time. VLADIMIR: Sometimes I feel it coming all the same. (He meditates.) Hope deferred maketh the something sick, who said that? (He buttons his fly.) Never neglect the little things of life.ĮSTRAGON: What do you expect, you always wait till the last moment. Hurts! He wants to know if it hurts!ĮSTRAGON: (pointing). I’d like to hear what you’d say if you had what I have. Why don’t you listen to me?ĮSTRAGON: (angrily). VLADIMIR: Boots must be taken off every day, I’m tired telling you that. (Estragon tears at his boot.) What are you doing?ĮSTRAGON: Taking off my boot. VLADIMIR: Hand in hand from the top of the Eiffel Tower, among the first. We should have thought of it a million years ago, in the nineties.ĮSTRAGON: Ah stop blathering and help me off with this bloody thing. Cheerfully.) On the other hand what’s the good of losing heart now, that’s what I say. (Decisively.) You’d be nothing more than a little heap of bones at the present minute, no doubt about it. May one inquire where His Highness spent the night?ĮSTRAGON: Beat me? Certainly they beat me. But how? (He reflects.) Get up till I embrace you. VLADIMIR: Together again at last! We’ll have to celebrate this. Turning to Estragon.) So there you are again. All my life I’ve tried to put it from me, saying Vladimir, be reasonable, you haven’t yet tried everything. I’m beginning to come round to that opinion. VLADIMIR: (advancing with short, stiff strides, legs wide apart). He gives up, exhausted, rests, tries again.ĮSTRAGON: (giving up again).
The English language version was premiered in London in 1955.Įstragon, sitting on a low mound, is trying to take off his boot. The original French text was composed between 9 October 1948 and 29 January 1949. Waiting for Godot is Beckett’s translation of his own original French version, En attendant Godot, and is subtitled (in English only) “a tragicomedy in two acts”. Waiting for Godot is an absurdist play by Samuel Beckett, in which two characters, Vladimir and Estragon, wait endlessly and in vain for the arrival of someone named Godot.
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