Despite its general avoidance of poetic descriptions, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead provides a moment of vivid visual imagery as its protagonists inch ever closer to their fate. While Hamlet meets with Fortinbras’s nephew in Act 2, Guildenstern and Rosencrantz discuss the changing seasons among themselves. The conversation prompts Guildenstern to a reflection on the coming of fall:
Guil: Autumnal—nothing to do with leaves. It is to do with a certain brownness at the edges of the day…Brown is creeping up on us, take my word for it…Russets and tangerine shades of old gold flushing the very outside edges of the senses…deep shining ochres, burnt umber and parchments of baked earth—reflecting on itself and through itself, filtering the light.
The pensive Guildenstern unleashes an impressively colorful diction that conjures a classic fall afternoon. Here, a work that otherwise skimps on visual description invites the reader to picture “russets,” “tangerine,” “gold,” “ochres,” and “umber”—recasting the world with brilliant shades and a startling poetry. Guildenstern colors in a scene with the mere texture and form of these words. The descriptions have “nothing to do with leaves,” and yet they almost unavoidably plant an impression of fallen leaves.
The same words that pay homage to life end up commenting about the end of it. Guildenstern’s arresting portrait of fall ultimately draws upon the season’s association with death. He constructs a breathtaking fall tableau, if only to acknowledge life’s fragility and fleetingness. He subtly likens himself to the dying leaves: the colors “creep” upon him and “[flush]” the outer edges of his senses. The visual imagery basks in its vividness and anticipates the fast-approaching end of their lives, showing how beauty is sometimes inseparable from death.