by Jean Cocteau
ARTHUR. You talk very well, Madam, and you talk a great deal; a great deal for a person who is dying of sleep.
GUINEVERE. Arthur.
ARTHUR. I’ve had enough of this. I’m not asking for advice. I’m asking for a simple direct answer. It’s true that a bat is partly responsible for my change of attitude, but I’m not accusing the Queen without grave reasons.
GUINEVERE. Sir, if it is true that bats can carry messages, would not such nocturnal messages be the ideal vehicle for libel and slander?
ARTHUR. You keep on trying to sidetrack me instead of giving a straight answer. Don’t let this doubt take root, this ugly stain grow any bigger. Answer me, I tell you, answer me.
GUINEVERE. You know quite well why I put off answering. I have been hoping that you would come to your senses before being forced to ask my pardon.
ARTHUR. Stop trying to confuse me. I would like to believe that your prevarications are not the wiles of a woman, and that your evasions proceed from a distaste for defending yourself. I would like to believe it. But whatever the consequences of my actions may be, I will accept them rather than suffer as I am suffering, rather than endure a doubt which has poisoned both the past and the future.
GUINEVFRF. Haven’t I given you an answer?
ARTHUR. No. What I ask and insist upon hearing from your own lips is the truth about Launcelot and yourself. Are you in love with Launcelot?
GUINEVERE. Suppose I were?
ARTHUR. Ha!
GUINEVERE. Let me say a word, for a change. Suppose I were: would that make me a criminal? You talked me into agreeing to a marriage without love. I felt the greatest friendliness and respect for you. I told you quite frankly why I held back, my aversion to committing myself without knowing what might happen to my heart. You overrode my objections. You told me that my heart remained my own, that love would come by degrees, that if it didn’t come through you, you would be content with a chaste friendship, that I was too young to understand such matters. Then Launcelot arrived from the Lake. He was surrounded by an air of daring and magic, a sort of phosphorescence, He was young, handsome, brave, irresistible. No one, least of all yourself, could resist his prestige. You loved him, we all loved him, I loved him. What objection have you to my loving someone whom you and everyone else love, to my admiring someone who is admired by all?
ARTHUR. No, Madam. That won’t wash: you’re taking advantage of the fact that I recoil from asking the real question which is sticking in my throat and tearing at my heartstrings. I should never dream of objecting to your sharing my own feeling for Launcelot. And even if Launcelot had aroused in you a feeling which was a little… a little too warm … a regret, shall I say, at not being free … your heart was your own and there was nothing I could say to that. No, Madam, the question I am asking is whether this castle has become the home of lies and adultery, whether my wife and my friend have been taking advantage of a blind trust and made a fool of me by their sustained and cunning treachery. I ask you whether you are Launcelot’s mistress.
He hides his face in his hands.
GUINEVERE. If you have ceased to believe in me, why should you believe in me this time? If I am guilty, it wouldn’t be very hard to add one more lie to all the others, and tell you no.
ARTHUR. I won’t accept your evasions any longer. I refuse to follow your twists and turns. I order you to answer.
He grips her arm.
Are you Launcelot’s mistress? Is Launcelot your lover? Answer! Answer! Will you answer me?
GUINEVERE. You’d better ask Launcelot. I wonder if you will treat him as you treat a woman.
ARTHUR, breaking down. Oh God! I am all alone in the world, confronted by a secret which the executioner could not drag out of her, and if I’m wrong she will punish me by leaving me in doubt, in this vague, sickening, monstrous doubt.
He falls on his knees.
Please, Guinevere, please. I’ve no pride left. Look, I’m kneeling before you, to beg forgiveness for my violence, I implore you — listen to me — I implore you to give me an answer, to answer yes or no. If it’s yes, I’ll disappear, I’ll go away, I’ll fade out of the picture. If it’s no, I’ll put on a hair shirt, I’ll enter a monastery, I’ll set you free. But not this doubt… not this torture of doubt… Have pity, Guinevere, have pity.
GUINEVERE, coldly. I feel sorry for you.
ARTHUR, getting up and banging the table. Your audacity goes too far. Generosity is stupid and only puts a weapon into the hands of those who should be begging for mercy. I won’t be made a dupe. I want to know and I will. If you refuse to tell me, I shall challenge Launcelot. And I shan’t have long to wait, either. I know he’s hiding somewhere nearby, waiting for the right moment, taking advantage of this famous sleepiness of yours and the trusting sleepiness into which he has lulled me for — who knows? — perhaps seventeen years. Are there any clean hearts left? Why shouldn’t I find that Blandine … that Segramor, that Gawain even. Suppose Gawain has been your accomplice. “Dear Uncle isn’t there, come, dear Uncle has gone out. Look out, dear Uncle is coming.” No. No. No. I won’t have it. It’s too much. I can’t suffer so much. Monsters. Monsters. Monsters.
GUINEVERE. You’ve gone mad.
ARTHUR. The traitor. He’s going to come. I can feel it. I’m certain. I know he’s hiding somewhere waiting for a signal from you.
GUINEVERE. Launcelot is with the others at the Dark Tower. You know that perfectly well. They will all return together. You’ve gone mad.
ARTHUR. Suppose I countered tricks with a trick, treacheries with treachery. Suppose I dictated a letter from you to Launcelot which said: “Come up to my room. I shall be alone. Approach the bed and say three times, Guinevere, darling.” And suppose I made you pin this letter to the door of the porch and suppose I lay down in your place, and suppose I received Launcelot?
GUINEVERE, smiling. Try it, then, and see. I’ll write this letter and pin it to the door of the porch and give you my room. I’ll use yours instead. Launcelot is at the Dark Tower seeking adventure. All I want is sleep. I’m very sleepy.
ARTHUR. You’re thinking to yourself: “If I treat the whole thing lightly, he’ll find the scheme inept and drop it.” Well, you’re very mistaken.
He fetches her parchment, pen, and ink.
Write.
GUINEVERE, shrugging her shoulders. Just as you please, on condition that the letter is short and the servants don’t learn about it in the morning.
ARTHUR. If you are innocent, you need have no fear for your honor. Either Launcelot will find this letter, or I will take it away myself. Take this down. “Come up to my room. I’m in bed alone. Open the door quietly and slip in. Approach the bed and whisper three times: Guinevere, darling.”
GUINEVERE. Now I sign, I suppose.
Contemptuously.
What an ingenious trap!
ARTHUR. There’s no harm done in setting a trap. If the animal lets itself be caught, the trap is a good one.
GUINEVERE. Poor Launcelot.
ARTHUR. Mock away. I shan’t listen. I shall only listen to the voice of my instinct. If Launcelot is a villain, it won’t embarrass him much to tangle the threads still further and continue the comedy. It’s only by a surprise that I shall learn my woe. And woe to him if he denounces you.
GUINEVERE. He’s miles away.
ARTHUR. I hope so, for his sake.
GUINEVERE. Have I your permission to sleep when I’ve pinned up your parchment?
ARTHUR. Go, Madam… . Guinevere!
GUINEVERE. Sir.
ARTHUR. Once more, for the last time, do you refuse to give me a straight answer, an answer which will exonerate you. I will believe you, Guinevere. I’ll believe your word, I promise I will.
GUINEVERE, at the open door. It’s no use now. Things can never be the same between us. You can be proud of your work. I’ve nothing to say.
ARTHUR, losing all control. So much the worse for you, then. I’ll break down your resistance. You think I’m old and fee
ble and that you can outface me, despise me, insult your King. But I shall get the better of your abominable obstinacy, I shall break down your resistance, I shall break you down.
At this moment the Queen turns around, hearing Blandine’ s voice.
BLANDINE. What’s the matter?
She enters, wearing a long chemise.
ARTHUR. confused. Blandine, my child.
BLANDINE. What’s the matter? I couldn’t sleep. I heard comings and goings and then I thought I heard shouting. The voice sounded like Father’s. I was frightened.
ARTHUR. It was nothing.
To the Queen.
Go, Guinevere, and then come back to fetch Blandine. Your mother was just going to look for something.
He shuts the door and comes back with his daughter.
BLANDINE. Father, Father. Your eyes look so terrifying.
ARTHUR. This quest has upset us all completely. Your mother has been calming me down and I have been reassuring your mother.
BLANDINE. They haven’t really gone, have they, Father? They’re going to return to us?
ARTHUR. I’ve arranged matters behind their backs so that they’ll return and leave Galahad to continue the Quest of the Grail by himself.
BLANDINE. But mightn’t the Quest be the saving of Gawain? Mightn’t it get him out of his bad habits? Segramor says that he behaved so wonderfully. What do you think?
ARTHUR. We shall see.
BLANDINE. And all the other knights. They can’t always stay in one place. They get bored and think up silly games to pass the time. Gawain was taking to drink.
ARTHUR. He’s young and full of fun. One glass makes him tipsy. Blandine, I want to ask you something.
BLANDINE. What, Father?
ARTHUR. Do you miss Segramor?
BLANDINE. Of course I do.
ARTHUR. And … Launcelot?
BLANDINE. All of them.
ARTHUR. Do you love Launcelot?
BLANDINE. Naturally. Why do you ask me in such a strange tone of voice?
ARTHUR. And does Launcelot love you…. Has he ever told you so?
BLANDINE. Why, yes.
ARTHUR. Has he told you so … often? Whom do you think he loves most, you or Segramor? At times I’ve thought he preferred Segramor. Have you noticed any preference?
BLANDINE. Good Heavens no.
ARTHUR, taking Blandine by the shoulders and looking into her eyes. Has he ever told you that he preferred you to Segramor? That you were his little girl? That he loved you better than Segramor? Has he ever told you that he loves you more than me?
BLANDINE, frightened. Father.
ABTHUR. Let me see your eyes. Yes, your eyes are like mine. Everyone finds that we have the same eyes, don’t they? And Segramor…. He has my gestures…. Don’t you find that he has my gestures and my walk? That he walks like me? Let me see your eyes.
BLANDINE, crying out. Father! Father! Let me go. You’re frightening me.
The door opens. The King lets go of Blandine.
GUINEVERE. Arthur! Have you gone out of your mind?
BLANDINE, running to her mother for protection. Mother!
GUINEVERE. There, there. There’s nothing to be frightened of. I’m going to sleep in your room.
BLANDINE. Really and truly?
GUINEVERE. We’re both going to sleep there. Run along. I’ll come in a moment. Your father is going to sleep in this room, and I in yours.
Exit Blandine.
ARTHUR. You’ve done what I told you?
GUINEVERE, icily. I’ve put your ridiculous letter in its place, but I forbid you to frighten Blandine. She’s in a nervous enough state as it is because of Gawain. Good night. I’ve given in to your wishes and you may do whatever you think right, but I won’t have you troubling a little girl with the phantoms of your imagination.
Exit Guinevere.
The King stands for a moment listening at the door. He covers his face with his hands and moves slowly across the room to the window. He presses one cheek against the window and looks out. Silence. Then suddenly, we hear what the King hears in his mind, a whispered dialogue between the Queen and Launcelot.
VOICE OF GUINEVERE. Take care, darling. He’s returning from the hunt. He might see you.
VOICE OF LAUNCELOT. Let me hold your hand. Look at me. I love you.
VOICE OF GUINEVERE. I love you.
The King gives a sigh of rage and suffering. He leaves the window and looks at the loom, touches the wool. He stands staring at the unfinished tapestry.
VOICE OF GUINEVERE. My darling. Help me. Hold out your hands. No, no, let go. I don’t want you to hold my hands, I want you to hold the wool for me.
VOICE OF LAUNCELOT. I love you.
VOICE OF GUINEVERE. Clumsy.
VOICE OF LAUNCELOT. Put your work down. Take me in your arms.
VOICE OF GUINEVERE. My dearest.
ARTHUR. Ha! The whole place is poisoned. The air is poisoned by words. I shall never hear anything else again. You, disloyal! You, a scoundrel! You, the friend of friends. Launcelot of the Lake! My Launcelot!
He crosses the room toward the bed and touches it.
Guinevere. My wife, my Guinevere. It’s impossible … impossible. I can’t. I won’t. I won’t listen. I won’t hear.
He presses his fingers to his ears.
VOICE OF GUINEVERE. Hurry, darling, come here quickly.
VOICE OF LAUNCELOT. How pale you look against the pillow.
VOICE OF GUINEVERE. Warm me.
VOICE OF LAUNCELOT. Your body. Your little body which calls to mine. My darling.
VOICE OF GUINEVERE. My darling. My darling.
ARTHUR. No. No. Have pity. My heart is in my mouth. It’s choking me. It’s breaking. I can’t go on living and hearing them everywhere. This torture can’t go on. Where is the Grail? Animals are looked after, but who looks after men? No one. They remain alone, alone, alone.
He staggers downstage right, and sits facing the audience as if before an imaginary fireplace.
VOICE OF LAUNCELOT. The firelight dances on your face, on your hair, on your dress.
VOICE OF GUINEVERE. It’s so good to be alone with you in my room.
VOICE OF LAUNCELOT. It’s snowing outside. Arthur has gone hunting.
VOICE OF GUINEVERE. The firelight dances on your coat of mail. It’s quite warm.
VOICE OF LAUNCELOT. You have put up your hair.
VOICE OF GUINEVERE. Don’t undo it. My face is burning. My heart is burning.
VOICE OF LAUNCELOT. My darling.
The King stands stunned and motionless for a moment. Then he rises abruptly and turns his back to the audience.
ARTHUR. Lord, give me strength. Grant, Lord, that I may find strength. Lord, do not forsake me.
He advances toward a prie-dieu and kneels, his face in his hands.
VOICE OF GUINEVERE. Almighty God,
ARTHUR. Almighty God, calm my anger. I ask in the name…
VOICE OF GUINEVERE. Almighty God, protect Launcelot, protect our love —
ARTHUR. I ask … in the name … I ask … Almighty God.
VOICE OF FALSE GAWAIN. Auntie dear, Auntie dear. Excuse me for disturbing you at your prayers. Get up quickly. My uncle is out of the house. I persuaded him to go for a walk. Launcelot is waiting for you in his room.
VOICE OF GUINEVERE. Thank you. Oh, Gawain, I’m so happy. Thank you.
The King jumps up.
ARTHUR. No. No. Not him, not you, not Gawain. I refuse. Liars, filthy liars. I shall learn everything. No more weakness; it’s no use trying to behave decently. I’ll beat her. I’ll drag her along the floor. I’ll make her talk. Bitch!
He rushes to the door.
Why is life so cruel? I’ve been cut in two like a wasp and still go on living.
VOICE OF GUINEVERE. We must watch out. Let me see first if the coast is clear.
VOICE OF LAUNCELOT. Why must there always be this hiding and slinking around corners.
VOICE OF GUINEVERE. To protect you, to pr
otect our love, I would stoop to any baseness. Don’t be a fool.
VOICE OF LAUNCELOT. My little foolish one.
VOICE OF GUINEVERE. My darling.
VOICE OF LAUNCELOT. My darling.
As if he saw red, the King rushes to the door, opens it, and listens.
ARTHUR. I was right.
He closes the door again softly, hurries to the alcove, goes inside, and draws the curtains. Silence. Then Launcelot slowly opens the door, enters, closes it carefully, and walks on tiptoe toward the bed. He is wearing neither helmet, shield, nor armor, just a simple tunic with a dagger at the waist.
LAUNCELOT. Guinevere, darling. Guinevere, darling.
The third time close to the curtain.
Guinevere, darling.
VOICE OF ARTHUR, imitating the Queen. Yes …
Launcelot inspects the room, then slips between the curtains of the alcove. He is heard saying, “Guinevere, how did you know?” Then the fight begins.
VOICE OF ARTHUR. Take that. It is I. It’s Arthur who strikes you. Take that and that and that, you thief. Here’s another.
VOICE OF LAUNCELOT. You. My King and my friend.
VOICE OF ARTHUR. A loyal sort of friend you were.
VOICE OF LAUNCELOT. Forgive me….As I forgive you.
Pause. The curtains part and Arthur appears. He looks at his right hand and takes one or two steps forward into the room.
ARTHUR. My King and my friend. Take that and that, you thief. Here’s another.
He falls on his knees.
I’ve killed him. Everything is so still.
He calls.
Launcelot!
Louder.
Launcelot! It’s a dream, a horrible dream.
He rises.
Sometimes I dream I’m dreaming. I must have got my hand wet and am dreaming that it’s blood. Blood. Real blood. There’s blood all over me, on my clothes, on my face. …
Crying out.
Launcelot! Launcelot!
He rushes to the door.
Murder! Help! Help! Arrest me! Arrest the murderer! Hang me! My head swims. Have pity. Guinevere! Guinevere! Quick! Quick!