by Jean Cocteau
SEGRAMOR. Blandine and I were counting on him to decorate the porch for the holiday.
FALSE GAWAIN. That’s the servants’ job. You can see to it yourselves. The birds are being blinded for hunting and I wouldn’t miss that operation for the world.
BLANDINE. How horrid!
ARTHUR. This operation on the birds sound interesting. I’ll come with you.
FALSE GAWAIN, annoyed. But, er, it’s hardly …
MERLIN, quickly. What Gawain wants to say, Your Majesty, but is afraid to, is that perhaps the kennels are not the place for you to visit.
ARTHUR. Nobody wants me to have any fun. Everybody tries to prevent me having any
FALSE GAWAIN. Uncle.
ARTHUR. Very well. Very well. I’ll just go part way with you.
To Merlin.
Come, my dear minister, drag me away and compel me to occupy myself with the most boring business of my kingdom.
He bows to the Queen, Blandine, and Segramor.
Make a nice triumphal arch before the unknown knight arrives and dress it with lots of garlands of flowers.
BLANDINE. But … Father … Flowers don’t grow in Camelot any more.
ARTHUR. Oh dear, no, they don’t. I forgot. Then you must cut some out of wastepaper instead. I know you have good taste, so I needn’t worry.
Exeunt Arthur, Gawain, and Merlin, left. Merlin bows to the Queen before leaving. The door closes.
BLANDINE. Oh, Mother, Mother! It’s so awful!
GUINEVERE. Please, Blandine, please don’t be upset.
SEGRAMOR. She has the right to be upset. I was itching to knock him down.
GUINEVERE. Control yourself, Segramor. You mustn’t strike a friend of the King.
SEGRAMOR. There are limits.
BLANDINE. You saw how he behaved. How cruel and insolent and pretentious he was!
GUINEVERE. I simply can’t understand it.
BLANDINE. He doesn’t seem the same person. It’s as if some monster had taken his place and was making fun of us.
SEGRAMOR. I questioned Merlin in private, as you asked me to: he is convinced that Gawain is putting it on to test you.
BLANDINE. To test me?
SEGRAMOR. You’ve been engaged since you were small children. Perhaps he wants to find out if your love is only a habit, or whether you would love him in spite of everything.
BLANDINE. Everything he says hurts me. All his gestures annoy me. He has taken on the ways of those brutes with whom he prefers to spend his days and nights. He doesn’t even speak correctly any more.
SEGRAMOR. He stinks of liquor.
GUINEVERE. And he used to be so sober and sensible and nice mannered. Is he ill? Or mad? Do think he should be exorcised? Perhaps he is possessed by a devil who wants to do him harm.
BLANDINE. The way he looks at me makes me shiver. There’s no tenderness in it at all.
SEGRAMOR. But we must remember what Merlin says.
BLANDINE. Oh! Merlin. I hate him.
GUINEVERE. But Blandine, he’s never done anything to you.
BLANDINE. No, Mother, but instinctively I hate him. I get goose flesh whenever he comes near me. Since he came into our lives two years ago, nothing has been the same. For instance, Gawain hasn’t been himself for almost a year now.
GUINEVERE. Now really, Blandine, you can’t hold our steward responsible for the change in Gawain.
BLANDINE. There are times when I think he’s responsible for every bad thing that has happened to us.
GUINEVERE. But your father has the highest opinion of him.
BLANDINE. Oh, Father.….Father’s changed too. Haven’t you noticed? He used to be fond of Gawain, I grant you, just as he was fond of all his other knights and, besides, he was his nephew and his future son-in-law. But now, when Gawain is degrading himself and estranged from us, he can’t bear to let him out of his sight. It’s not natural.
Seriously, Mother, don’t you think that Gawain and he must be the victims of magic? Every time Gawain behaves outrageously, the King seems to like it. This absurd caprice of attending the Round Table Council dressed as a kennel-boy is only one example. There have been dozens of others. I adore my father but where Gawain is concerned he seems to be blind and allows himself to be led by the nose.
GUINEVERE. Try to be a bit more tolerant, Blandine. Your father is infatuated with the idea of youth. His own boyhood was quite incredible and both you and Segramor are serious by nature. Gawain, since his mysterious crisis, has led him a dance which prevents him seeing things clearly. But one day Gawain will become his old self again and then your father will get over his infatuation and feel ashamed of himself for having been so silly.
BLANDINE. I only know one thing. Gawain doesn’t love me any more.
GUINEVERE. He’ll come back to you. He’s just sowing his wild oats. The wisest thing for you to do is to shut your eyes and let him have his fling.
BLANDINE. I don’t think I’m brave enough to do that.
GUINEVERE. Nonsense, Blandine, of course you are. This crisis won’t last much longer.
She embraces her daughter.
You run along and decorate the porch.
The door, right, opens. Enter Launcelot.
I shall stay here and talk to Launcelot.
SEGRAMOR. Get Mother to tell you about the latest fashion.
LAUNCELOT, to Guinevere. What sort of fashion is he referring to?
GUINEVERE. Gawain’s latest little idea. He is going to attend the Council dressed as a kennelboy.
LAUNCELOT, laughing. Oh, is that all? Come, come, Blandine, you mustn’t let it upset you. I’ve done lots of similar things in my time and am none the worse a knight for that.
SEGRAMOR, as he and Blandine go out. You’re the noblest of them all.
The door shuts.
GUINEVERE, in a low voice. Launcelot, my dear, I never see you alone now.
LAUNCELOT. Be careful.
GUINEVERE. I never thought I should hear you talk about being careful.
LAUNCELOT. I’m always afraid that someone may be eavesdropping.
GUINEVERE. It isn’t that. You’ve never been afraid of anything. Launcelot, you don’t love me any more.
LAUNCELOT. Darling, you’re crazy.
GUINEVERE. Yesterday, neither of us would have talked about being careful.
LAUNCELOT. Yesterday was yesterday. I’m thinking of eighteen years of faithful love. Our love has survived all tests. For that very reason we cannot go on living in this state of uneasiness and insecurity.
GUINEVERE. When love starts being reasonable, it’s no longer the same thing. You don’t love me as much as you used to.
LAUNCELOT. I love you more. We were crazy.
GUINEVERE. Crazy about each other. Now you’ve become sensible and I am still crazy. That’s all.
LAUNCELOT. Nonsense. I adore you, but I get exasperated by your passionate refusal to look at facts. It’s a real madness, I tell you, a madness which turns you against yourself, against me, against the two of us, and now begins to accuse me of not loving you.
GUINEVERE. Our lives were so happy.
LAUNCELOT. We tried to force them to be happy. We succeeded, and our guilty life became the life of this castle. But don’t you realize that everything has subtly changed. This castle is no longer awake, but asleep, and we are its dreams. Life is dead, dead, dead, I tell you. It’s no good your thinking that the sun of our love can alter that. It can’t. Life is dead all around us and perhaps because of us.
GUINEVERE. I see it all now. These past two years, which for me seemed so wonderful, you have been chafing because you were kept at home instead of seeking adventure. You want to break a tie which has become irksome to you, and go out into the world.
LAUNCELOT. Our love would be better for it. It’s true, I admit. I would like to follow the example of my comrades if only they didn’t run into ladies who change into hyenas, invisible knights in armor, and battlements which vanish at dawn.
GUINEVERE. It’s
the Grail’s fault.
LAUNCELOT. Oh, the Grail. The Grail. It’s always the Grail. I refuse to put down every incomprehensible thing that happens to the Grail. It’s too easy. Its mysteries provide an opportunity for other mysteries of a much less supernatural character which in time I’m going to clear up.
GUINEVERE. Don’t be blasphemous.
She crosses herself.
LAUNCELOT. I’m not being blasphemous. The Castle of Carbonek contains the cup in which Joseph of Arimathea preserved the blood of Christ, and this cup has the power to work miracles or bring down disasters. That’s what the Grail is. Any enemy who wants to mix up the cards has the game in his handes. Two years ago the Grail stopped giving its blessings to Britain. Why? Why has it become a synonym for dread? Has a single one of us asked himself if his own deeds were not the real reason for this change? Has a single one of us reformed his life? Has a single one of us cared to consider the possibility that he might be responsible for this disaster?
GUINEVERE. Love has never been caused by the devil, that I know of.
LAUNCELOT. I’m certain, too, that our love is from God. But it lies and deceives. Segramor is the son of our sin. He thought he was pure in heart and he had good reason to think so. The lance which struck him in the Siege Perilous was our doing; it was striking at adultery. You know that as well as I do.
GUINEVERE. Stop, Launcelot, stop. I won’t think about it.
LAUNCELOT. That’s exactly what I complain about.
GUINEVERE. I adore you.
LAUNCELOT. It’s because I adore you that I insist on your facing facts. We are deceiving the simplest of men, my host, my friend, my King. It’s come to the point where I ask myself whether the only decent thing to do wouldn’t be to kneel at his feet, confess our unhappiness, and beg for advice and forgiveness.
GUINEVERE. It would be madness.
LAUNCELOT. Not so mad as the state we’re in now. I haven’t got that facility which women seem to have of inventing happiness whenever they want it. I want a real happiness, a real love, a real castle, a real earth where the sun alternates with the moon, real seasons follow each other in the proper order, real fish live in the rivers and real birds fly in the sky, real snow melts, revealing real flowers, and everything is real, real, real and genuine. I’m fed up with a sad twilight which is neither day nor night, a barren landscape in which only the most ferocious and greedy creatures can survive and the laws of nature no longer function.
GUINEVERE. I carry a real sun in my heart.
LAUNCELOT. I don’t know yet whom I’m fighting against, but I’m in the fight. I lodge a protest against a person or persons unknown.
GUINEVERE. There’s nothing I can say. I only know that when you are with me, I cannot be sad.
LAUNCELOT. But look at the faces of Blandine and Segramor. They’ve forgotten how to smile.
GUINEVERE. Segramor is wretched over his defeat and his wound, Blandine on Gawain’s account.
LAUNCELOT. Now, Guinevere, wait a moment. Hasn’t this wonderful love of yours made you a little selfish? Think! First Segramor, then Blandine. Two victims already. And then, haven’t you, yourself, at Merlin’s suggestion, encouraged this infatuation of Arthur’s which makes him look ridiculous and is the gossip of the servants’ hall?
GUINEVERE. I wanted to keep Arthur occupied … to distract his attention from us.
LAUNCELOT. With the result that Blandine is in despair. I suspect that if a nephew hadn’t done the trick, you would have got hold of a mistress for him.
GUINEVERE, laughing. I would much rather it were our nice-looking nephew, I asssure you.
LAUNCELOT. I share Blandine’s fears. I’m inclined to believe that Gawain is a pawn in the hands of some evil power which is being remorselessly directed against us.
GUINEVERE. You’re exaggerating and being overdramatic. Your mood makes you see everything in dark colors.
LAUNCELOT. You think so, do you? Then look about you. In the old days one met honest faces which smiled and greeted one when they passed. But ever since Merlin came to live here and got in with Gawain, I only come across sinister faces that keep their hats on and give me impudent stares.
GUINEVERE. Have the courage to stand by what you have done and stop looking for scapegoats. When the King married me, he knew that I was not in love with him. He was willing to marry me all the same and to leave my heart free. The love I feel for you and have always felt since we first met is from Heaven. Circumstances, alas, have involved us in deceit, but I warn you, Launcelot, that if you once start thinking that this love comes from the devil, you will never surrender to it or taste its sweetness again.
LAUNCELOT, passionately. Guinevere.
GUINEVERE. Let me go. I know that you do love me. But we don’t love each other in the same way. I dare say that your love is a better kind than mine. I love you, nevertheless. You accuse me of being blind. I see one thing, alas, only too clearly. You’re bored.
LAUNCELOT. My dear child, what are you making up now?
GUINEVERE. You’re bored, Launcelot of the Lake, you miss the lake and you’re bored.
LAUNCELOT. You don’t know what you’re saying.
GUINEVERE. Elfin blood runs in your veins and, because of our sin, in Segramor’s too. A son of the elves, brought up by elves in the enchanted lake, the husband of Melusine. You miss them all and you miss the son of your elfin marriage. In comparison, everything here seem dull. Aren’t I right?
LAUNCELOT. I swear by the Grail that you’re wrong. Elfin blood cannot overcome my dislike of elfin tricks. I shall always avoid them. I left Melusine with my eyes open. When I broke the pact, I was warned that the break would be final. Now and then I think of my son, I admit, but I can’t imagine that shocks you.
GUINEVERE. No child ever had so many godparents round his cradle. You needn’t worry about him.
LAUNCELOT. I didn’t say I worried, I said I thought about him. Since we are talking of the lake — you promised me you would never mention it again — there is one thing I ought to tell you. I was often warned in those days against a certain old magician. When he takes a place over, he puts it to sleep and lays it waste by sucking the juices from all the living creatures in it He lives there like a spider at the center of its web. His name is a rather curious one … Merlin.
GUINEVERE. Poor old Merlin. Why not accuse Arthur of sorcery?
LAUNCELOT. I’m not accusing anyone in particular, but until further notice I accuse everyone. Everyone is suspect.
GUINEVERE. What do you hope will happen?
LAUNCELOT. I put my hope on the knight we are expecting, and whatever happens I ask you to have faith in me and not become mistrustful.
GUINEVERE. I shall never mistrust you. I only know of one charm: that which binds us together. One spell: the spell you have cast over me. One magic: yours.
LAUNCELOT. Kiss me.
Their faces come close. Suddenly the Queen draws back.
GUINEVERE, in a low voice. Arthur.
LAUNCELOT, in a low voice. Keep your head.
They draw apart. The door left opens: Arthur enters, backward, speaking into the wings.
ARTHUR. I’m not going to say a thing. It’s a surprise.
LAUNCELOT. Your Majesty.
ARTHUR, turning. I’m sorry, Launcelot. I didn’t know you were here.
Merlin enters.
GUINEVERE. Am I allowed to ask, Arthur, what this surprise of yours is?
ARTHUR. A big surprise. Our steward friend would dearly like to know, but I’ve kept my secret since yesterday. Admit, Merlin, my surprise has you guessing?
MERLIN. I’m not very fond of surprises. Experience has taught me to distrust them.
ARTHUR. He’s jealous! He’s jealous. Our alchemist is jealous.
LAUNCELOT. Will you tell us, all the same?
ARTHUR. The surprise has been sent me by King Bagdemagus. The Round Table has so many empty chairs. The old magician King cannot come, but he has sent me in his place a kind of box.
That’s all I’m going to tell you now. This box will enhance the prestige of our ceremony.
GUINEVERE. A box?
ARTHUR. Yes, madam, a box, just a box. A box which I shall open in due time.
He goes to the window.
Where is Gawain?
Through the window.
Gawain! Gawain!
He comes back.
Is he in the house?
Silence.
Oh dear oh dear, of course. I forgot that he went out with bare legs and that our prudish friends refuse to look at him.
GUINEVERE. Arthur, couldn’t we talk of something else besides Gawain’s bare legs?
ARTHUR, jovially. Now it’s the Queen who’s jealous! First my alchemist, then my Queen. Everybody in the castle seems to be jealous today.
MERLIN. Sir, shall I go and look for your nephew?
ARTHUR. Do, and tell him first of all to carry up our magician’s box; no one else is to touch it. Tell him to be careful as it is fragile. Thank you.
Exit Merlin left. Trumpets are heard.
LAUNCELOT. At last.
ARTHUR. The knight is arriving. Segramor! Segramor!
To the Queen.
I’m sorry, Guinevere, but I must ask you to leave the room.
By custom no women may be present at our Council.
GUINEVERE. I know. I was just getting ready to go back to my room.
In a quick whisper to Launcelot.
I shall be there watching from the turret.
Aloud.
Good luck and God be with us.
She gives her hand to Launcelot who kisses it, curtsies to the King, and exits right.
ARTHUR. She looks poorly.
LAUNCELOT. We’re all a bit pale, Arthur. And with reason. Still, this time I am very hopeful.
ARTHUR. Launcelot, my good friend. We’ve seen too many who fancied themselves worthy but were struck by the lance.
LAUNCELOT. Ssh! Segramor.
Enter Segramor right. Merlin and Gawain left. Gawain carries in front of him with stretched arms a large square box.
FALSE GAWAIN. Pouf. It’s heavy.
ARTHUR. Here you are at last, you little monkey. Wouldn’t you like to know what’s inside it.
FALSE GAWAIN. Where am I to put it?
ARTHUR. On the table facing Bagdemagus’ chair.