Copyright 1990 Aufbau-Verlag Berlin.
Copyright 1995 OPA (Overseas Publishing Associates) /
Harwood Academic Publishers, Amsterdam.
Performance rights held by Kiepenheuer Buehnenvertriebs
Berlin.
Place: Camelot.
Act I.
Main hall of Camelot. Guenevere sits at the Round Table reading a book. Enter Jeschute.
Jeschute: I slept in late but I'm still so tired. Good morning, dear. How late is it?
Guenevere: I don't know, Jeschute. Good morning.
They kiss.
Jeschute: Is there any coffee left?
Guenevere: Here you are. Have a croissant, too.
Jeschute: What are you reading?
Guenevere: Oh, nothing. A stupid novel. It's so stupid that I've already forgotten what it's about. Or maybe I'm too stupid to understand it. Did you sleep well?
Jeschute: Like a log. No dreams. I was too drunk for that.
Guenevere: Things ran late last night?
Jeschute: Very late.
Guenevere: It was awfully loud. I heard arguing.
Jeschute: I'm sorry, Guenevere. The men went at it again and started shouting.
Guenevere: As usual.
Jeschute: Right. As usual. Year in, year out, the same arguments, the same stupid bickering. What's happened to us, Guenevere?
Guenevere: We've gotten old.
Jeschute: You mean I've gotten old, don't you? I suppose you're right. I looked in the mirror this morning, good God . . . . When I was a young girl I wanted to die early. I was determined not to grow old. Then I was thirty and forty and finally fifty. Is it really better this way? If I had died young, today they'd be telling stories about young Jeschute, beautiful Jeschute. Instead -- have you heard how the men talk about me?
Guenevere: Forget about them. They're just as old as you are.
Jeschute: Well, I'm not sure that's any comfort. They used to be such handsome men. Just think what handsome admirers we had, Guenevere. Even our husbands used to look pretty good. And now? What a sorry bunch of geezers -- all the time bickering. You hardly want to talk to them anymore.
Guenevere: Was Mordred there last night?
Jeschute: Of course, drinking and shouting with the best of them.
Guenevere: I feel sorry for the boy.
Jeschute: Oh, nonsense. I admit he's a pretty boy, but he bores me to tears with his complaining.
Guenevere: He's confused.
Jeschute: You shouldn't always make excuses for him, Guenevere. He's twenty years old, he's good-looking, he has his whole life ahead of him. Why does he have to go around whining like an old man?
Guenevere: Young people have it harder now. For us it was easy as A-B-C. Nothing means anything to young people today. They question everything. Nothing has value, there's nothing they respect. They're so clever that they see through everything, and that makes them confused and unhappy.
Jeschute: They do nothing, they want nothing, they just suffer. And they blame the world, or society, or us, for their misery. That's not very resourceful, is it? Anyone can sit on his ass and complain. But how about doing something?
Guenevere: You just don't understand them . . . .
Jeschute: That's enough, Guenevere, let's not argue. The two of us at least can remain civil.
She sits down on the high-backed chair by Guenevere. Enter Kay. Jeschute stands up hastily.
Kay: Say -- were you sitting on this chair?
Jeschute: Pardon?
Kay: I asked if you were sitting on this chair. This chair here. He indicates the chair, the Siege Perilous, on which Jeschute had been sitting.
Jeschute: Of course not. I'm neither elect nor crazy nor especially brave. Of course I wasn't sitting on that chair. Ask Guenevere.
Kay: Never mind then. It just seemed to me . . . .
Guenevere: Good morning.
Kay: Good morning, Guenevere. Good morning, Jeschute. I'm sorry, I must be hallucinating. Is there any coffee left?
Guenevere: No, you'll have to make another pot. And make enough for us, please.
Kay: Have you been up long? How late has it gotten? What's that you're reading, can I have a look? He takes Guenevere's book.
Guenevere: It's a novel. Give it back, Kay. It wouldn't interest you anyway.
Kay: Now, now, Guenevere. I used to read quite a lot. It's a pleasant pastime and you can always learn something. Enjoyed in moderation it is very entertaining. Even useful. And for women and children it's better at least than staring into space. Have I offended you?
Guenevere: No, Kay, I'm used to you.
Kay: Laughs. All right, now I'll make us some coffee. He moves to go. You're used to me, that means you can ignore me, doesn't it? Then just tell me what you really get out of books. Beautiful people, beautiful lives -- what good is it? You want your own life to be that way, but since that's impossible you get frustrated and depressed. You make yourself unhappy by reading. The problem with books is that they only speak to the soul. They live from emotion, they cultivate lovely feelings, they make people into monsters of lovely feeling, feeble snivelers with no reason or understanding, with sensitive souls bloated like diseased livers.
Jeschute: Now there's something you would know about.
Guenevere: Let him finish.
Kay: Of course, you can afford to live this way. It goes without saying that Arthur's wife can spend her days lounging on the settee, tending her oh-so-beautiful, oh-so-disconsolate soul. Unfortunately this soul-schmalz has begun to spread among the masses, poisoning perfectly healthy people who should be going about their work or caring for their children.
Jeschute: Bursts out laughing. What an ass!
Kay: Jeschute, you are a stupid cow. Show me the contrary or keep your mouth shut.
Jeschute: A gallant knight, our Kay.
Kay: I will not tolerate insults, not even from a woman. Lately women have been handed every possible privilege because they're so downtrodden. But I'm sorry, I won't be insulted. -- To Guenevere. As I was saying, these books poison the masses with illusions of a false but pleasing world. They hold up one or two very pure, very brave heroes, very honest and very sensitive, while the world they are forced to live in is gloomy, avaricious, cruel, selfish, opportunistic, what you will. In a word, they live among scoundrels and suffer for it. That's the recipe for these novels of yours. The readers learn to empathize, to see themselves as noble, humane victims in a soulless, inhuman world. No brains, but lots of feeling. That's gratifying, of course -- everybody is a victim. And the villains are always the other people. No matter that all the other people get to feel the same way. Now if that isn't opportunism, I don't know what is.
Jeschute: You are remarkable, Kay.
Guenevere: Is that really what you think?
Kay: I'm not only convinced of it, but it's beyond me how other thinking people can refuse to acknowledge the facts of the matter. I once heard one of your artists give a talk. He was asked by one enraptured lady how he could create such great works of art. He told her that one needs to be extremely unhappy.
Guenevere: An intelligent and very beautiful answer.
Kay: Of course, that appeals to you. I thought as much. Let's suppose the man is right and you really do need to be unhappy to produce a work of art. Let's even suppose it's a miraculous work of art without which the world would be a poorer place. What I simply cannot understand is why such a fellow would make himself unhappy just to produce a work of art. Doesn't that seem unnatural?
Guenevere: Maybe he doesn't actually make himself unhappy, Kay. Maybe he has no other choice.
Kay: Yes, yes. But then I wouldn't say he was an artist, I'd say he was unfit for life.
Jeschute: You are an fool, Kay. But it's no surprise that a stupid ass like you can't understand . . .
Kay: I'm tempted to pop you one, but I think your husband will take care of that for me. -- I'm going to make the coffee. Exit.
Jeschute: Piece of shit.
Guenevere: Stop it, Jeschute, please.
Jeschute: Nosy bastard.
Guenevere: Jeschute.
Jeschute: It's true, damn it. What business is it of his.
Guenevere: Did I tell you that Arthur has news from Gawain?
Jeschute: From Gawain? Is he coming back?
Guenevere: I don't know. Arthur hasn't said a word. He stuffed the letter in his pocket without even looking at it.
Jeschute: And Lancelot?
Guenevere: Nothing. Arthur hasn't heard a thing.
Jeschute: Not even a little note for you?
Guenevere: Lights a cigarette. I smoke too much. It's bad for my skin. It shouldn't be too hard to stop. I only smoke out of boredom.
Jeschute: It will never be like the old days. Even if they come back, even if they all come back. The Round Table is finished.
Guenevere: But it can't just end like that.
Jeschute: Why not?
Silence. Enter Aurelius.
Aurelius: Ah, what a beautiful day. A splendid good morning to you both. You shouldn't smoke so much, Guenevere.
Guenevere: Have you been out for your walk in the forest?
Aurelius: Yes indeed. For almost an hour. To Jeschute. Do you have my milk ready?
Jeschute: No.
Aurelius: Then go and warm it. And bring me a croissant.
Exit Jeschute.
Aurelius: When did Jeschute get up?
Guenevere: I wouldn't know.
Aurelius: That I don't believe. You don't always have to make excuses for her. I'm not going to gobble her up. I just don't want her to let herself go.
Guenevere: She does no more and no less than I do.
Aurelius: Maybe so, but I'm not married to you.
Guenevere: True.
Aurelius: Yes, and I'm not as generous as Arthur. I'm not so easy-going. I can't be like Arthur and shut my eyes so I won't have to watch as my own wife . . .
Guenevere: Why don't you go on?
Aurelius: It's none of my business.
Guenevere: Right, it's none of your business, but you can't stop talking about it. It's nobody's business, but all of you constantly waggle your tongues about me. About me and Arthur. How Arthur should defend his honor, his masculine honor. You want to see blood flow like animals, like bloodthirsty animals.
Aurelius: There are some things you can't discuss with a woman.
Guenevere: How boring you are.
Aurelius: I'm conservative, if you call that boring. The fact is we'll never agree on this point. For me there are such things as duty and honor. And despite all that modern claptrap there are still certain differences between the sexes. And that's why I will not discuss a man's duty and honor with a woman.
Guenevere: But you'll pass judgment about my duty and my honor?
Aurelius: Yes, because you are staining Arthur's honor. Please don't forget that we aren't a bunch of petty bourgeois. If we fail to carry out our duty, if this kingdom falls and the Round Table dissolves, then everyone will face ruin.
Guenevere: What about this Round Table of yours you'd sacrifice me for? What has happened to the fame and glory of Camelot? Where did all the knights go? All I see is one jaundiced old man.
Aurelius: I have never insulted you, Guenevere. If you can't do me the same courtesy, please keep quiet.
Guenevere: Broken-down men and faded women. Oh Aurelius, is there really anything left of the Round Table?
After a pause enter Jeschute and Kay.
Kay: To Jeschute. On the contrary, my dear, I venerate you. T'as de beaux yeuxs, tu sais. But unfortunately that's all. To Aurelius. You look exhausted. Don't overdo it with those forest walks.
Jeschute: Here's your milk.
Aurelius: Thank you. I'll eat in my room. Is Arthur up?
Guenevere: Yes, he's working.
Aurelius: That's what I need to do.
Kay: Kicks at the Round Table. A leg falls off. How many years has this leg been broken? Does anybody even know? We have two carpenters at court, but nobody can say anything to them.
Aurelius: It wouldn't help anyway. All Arthur has to do is give the word, but he doesn't dare. He's afraid of them.
Jeschute: Then why don't you speak to them?
Aurelius: Well, they'll pay attention to me.
Enter Kunneware, Perceval, and Mordred.
Kay: A rotten cabbage garnished with two green sprouts. What a sumptuous repast.
Perceval: What are you muttering about, Kay?
Kay: I'm taking a dark look at a darker future. No concern of yours, since you refuse to understand.
Perceval: Still singing the same tune, Kay? Outdated virtues make a nice pillow, and threadbare hopes keep the feet warm. It's time you opened your eyes.
Kay: You gabble like a traitor.
Mordred: Blah blah blah.
Guenevere: Mordred, please.
Jeschute: It's pointless, Guenevere. Let's get out of here. I can't bear to listen. Exit with Guenevere.
Kay: You are a green boy, Mordred, and for your father's sake I will overlook many things. But beware of Perceval. He spreads despair like a paralyzing poison, the sweet poison of gloom and destruction.
Mordred: I'm not a boy, old man, and even if Arthur takes your stale advice, I don't. Pour me some coffee.
Kay: Here you are.
Kunneware: We're supposed to play tennis. You promised me we would play tennis.
Aurelius: It's an outrage.
Kay: Don't get worked up.
Aurelius: You're looking at men who were fighters. Kay and I spilled blood for Arthur, for the kingdom, for the Grail. We stood by our King in countless battles against Klingsor the Merciless, the Bloodthirsty. So we're not going to let ourselves be slandered by a stupid boy who's never left his warm seat by the fire.
Perceval: I fought, too, Aurelius. Don't forget that.
Aurelius: I haven't forgotten, Perceval, but it seems you have. What does the Grail mean to you now? What do all your years of struggle mean?
Mordred: Bloody battles, the implacable foe. It's all so long ago that it's barely real now. And the legendary Grail! When I was a child I used to shit in my pants for dread when you told stories about the Grail. I knew it had to be the most wonderful thing in the world. And all along you didn't even know what it was. Nobody can say what that means: the Grail.
Aurelius: It is something very beautiful, Mordred.
Mordred: A beautiful something that may not even exist.
Aurelius: It is something very, very beautiful, and you, poor boy, will never possess it.
Mordred: Sure, because it doesn't exist. You've spent your lives chasing a phantom. You've beat your heads bloody for a pipe-dream. Just look at your Grail Knights. Worn-out, disgruntled, impotent old coots with a grudge against life. Do you really think I want to end up the same way?
Kay: What about Klingsor? Klingsor the Bloodthirsty, the Treacherous, who threatens our land, who murdered our bravest knights, who ceaselessly raises mercenary armies to burn our villages, murder our peasants, pillage our homes -- is he a phantom, too?
Mordred: I wouldn't know. It's all so long ago. Maybe Klingsor is just another sad old man now, a crotchety, disappointed wreck. I've never seen Klingsor. I only know your stories about him, that he drinks blood, that he loves war. Is he my enemy because you say he is?
Kay: Then may God have mercy on us. We will be delivered defenseless into Klingsor's hands once Arthur is gone and the country falls to these people. Your seed has sprouted, Perceval.
Kunneware: Mordred, Perceval, let's go. You promised me.
Perceval: You're wrong, Kay. The soil for this seed has been prepared by people like you. You scare children with stories and keep young people from thinking for themselves. You cling like mad to the old virtues. But even virtue needs to be tried out occasionally, or it mildews.
Aurelius: Perceval, the Defender of Virtue. And what do you have to show for yourself? Or you, Mordred? Nothing but complaints and dissatisfaction. Your weepiness is revolting. You bore me. Good-bye. I have things to do.
Mordred: Writing your memoirs.
Aurelius: As a matter of fact, yes, Mordred. A worthy and meaningful activity.
Mordred: Who's going to read them, Aurelius? We're already sick to death of your heroic deeds. Nobody wants to hear it any more.
Aurelius: I may not have anything earthshaking to tell, but it's a thousand times better than whining all day. Exit.
Kunneware: I'm going, too. I'm sick of hearing all this.
Perceval: All right, Kunneware, let's go. Exit with Kunneware and Mordred.
Kay: God help us.
Enter Arthur.
Arthur: Kay. Are you alone?
Kay: Yes.
Arthur: How are things going?. Damn, that leg has fallen off again. How many times have I propped it back up these last few months. I keep meaning to tell the carpenters, but I always forget. He puts the leg back in place. There's no excuse for that. The Round Table should always be in good repair. After all, it's not just any piece of furniture.
Kay: God help us. I don't know what we did wrong, but it must have been rank stupidity if people like this are the sole result of our efforts. Nothing has any meaning for them, they spit on the Grail, they mock our ideals. They laugh at us. And why not: we've sacrificed our lives for a future that nobody wants.
Arthur: What's bothering you, Kay?
Kay: I'm afraid, Arthur. I'm afraid of dying.
Arthur: That's only natural.
Kay: I'm afraid of going to my grave and leaving our world to people like your son.
Arthur: Have you been having bad dreams?
Kay: Evil premonitions, let's say. Because I didn't sleep. I saw your grave, Arthur. I saw Mordred, your son, sitting on your throne. I saw the Round Table smashed, I saw a desolate land.
Arthur: What should I do? There's no way I can stop it.
Kay: You can't just close your eyes and let it happen. You're King Arthur. You hold the power and you carry the responsibility.
Arthur: What should I do, Kay?
Kay: Have we made mistakes?
Arthur: I don't know.
Kay: No. We made no mistakes. Not a single one. Step by step we kept to the right path. We had to make painful choices, we even had to spill blood that cost us dearly. But each step was necessary and correct.
Arthur: Perhaps, Kay. Perhaps we haven't made any mistakes. But we've become isolated. No one visits us, the Round Table is shunned. We have only a few friends left.
Kay: Our history is unblemished, our policies were flawless.
Arthur: Yes, those were great times. And we achieved much of what we set out to do. We brought justice and law into the world, we set up a more equitable society. The people grew prosperous, the houses and streets were safe. Who can remember today what hunger is! But are the people happy? We certainly expected that to follow. Yet now I see nothing but dissatisfied faces around me. We did our best, we devoted our lives to finding the Grail. So many knights lost their lives on the quest. Was it all for nothing?
Kay: I plan to make sure it hasn't been, Arthur.
Arthur: But how, Kay? What can we do?
Kay: You must pass laws that will make our labors indestructible. Laws forcing every new generation to continue the search for the Grail . . .
Arthur: A law can't determine the future. Laws are words. Even laws can be destroyed. We have no choice but to trust our children.
Kay: Trust them! I do not trust them. I don't trust your son, Arthur. If we don't find the Grail before these people come to power . . . . You have news from Lancelot? What does he say?
Arthur: You really saw my grave?
Kay: Yes.
Arthur: What did it look like? Did you see the date? No, no, no, don't tell me. I don't want to know. I don't believe in apparitions. We don't understand them, and when we try to decipher them we get tangled in uncertainty. Keep your knowledge to yourself.
Kay: My premonitions have never lied.
Arthur: I don't want to know, Kay.
Kay: It wasn't just your grave I saw. I saw a devastated land. Will you ignore that, too?
Arthur: Yes. It would only drive me to despair. It's odd, Kay, how we want so badly to know what the next day will bring, when we could never live with such knowledge if we had it. We would be paralyzed.
Kay: That's absurd.
Arthur: Don't get angry, Kay. You're clever, you have a sharp mind, but not even you can see the future.
Kay: You talk like a child. We have a country to rule, we must create the future ourselves.
Arthur: Yes, absolutely. -- I sit day in, day out facing stacks of paper. I do my schoolwork. So please allow me now and then to talk like a child.
Kay: I fear for our kingdom.
Arthur: And not just you. -- It is a beautiful table. It pleases me still. And it was a beautiful idea. We have accomplished a great deal. When I think back . . . . Do you know what just occurred to me?
Kay: No.
Arthur: I thought of Guenevere. I still love her. She was a beautiful girl, wasn't she? And she is still a splendid woman. I have every reason to be content. Whatever else happened, and whatever else comes, I've had a good life. -- Why are you angry? -- Have you seen Guenevere?
Kay: Yes. We had coffee.
Arthur: And where is she now?
Kay: I wouldn't know. And I don't care, either. And I don't consider her a splendid woman. Because the chief virtue of a woman is her fidelity, Arthur, her marital fidelity . . .
Arthur: That's enough, Kay, please.
Kay: She's a disgrace to the entire Round Table . . .
Arthur: Silence. -- I love her. I love her above everything and despite everything.
Kay: Oh, the hell with it. I've already had breakfast. Let's get to work. -- Say, do you know what I thought when I came in here a while ago? It seemed to me that Jeschute had been sitting on the Siege Perilous.
Arthur: Where?
Kay: Here on the Siege Perilous.
Arthur: Jeschute? Impossible.
Kay: That's how it seemed to me.
Arthur: But Jeschute certainly can't be the Elect One we've been waiting for. You must be mistaken.
Kay: No doubt. She also swore that she hadn't been sitting on it.
Arthur: She would have died horribly. Like the others.
Kay: Of course.
Arthur: Only the Elect One can sit on the Siege Perilous. You have peculiar dreams.
Kay: True enough, but in the old days women weren't even allowed to sit at the Round Table. And now it's taken for granted.
Arthur: The old days. There used to be a hundred knights here every day. We had to set up extra benches for them and there still wasn't room. Let the women sit where they like. We have plenty of room now. I don't wish to sit across from empty seats.
Enter Aurelius.
Aurelius: I've been looking for you everywhere, Arthur. They all said you were working. I went to your room, I went to the tower, I've been all over Camelot.
Arthur: What is it?
Aurelius: I have an idea, Arthur. I think it's a very good idea. Wait a moment, Kay, I want you to hear it, too. All right: I've been thinking our situation over. Do you know what's missing?
Arthur: What do you have in mind?
Aurelius: You'll be surprised how simple it is. What we need is a tournament.
Arthur: A tournament, Aurelius?
Aurelius: Precisely! It's too long since we had one. The knights, the contests, the crowds, flags and music everywhere, a celebration of struggle and virtue. A celebration of our highest ideals. It will electrify the young people.
Kay: You think so?
Aurelius: No question about it. A tournament will drive them wild. The people have always loved tournaments.
Arthur: I don't know, Aurelius . . .
Aurelius: Oh, I admit, tournaments aren't cheap. But we shouldn't be afraid of cost when the return is so great. We mustn't undervalue the fervor of our young people. We'll be paid back in the end.
Kay: And who will compete? You?
Aurelius: Now you're being tactless. No, I won't be mounting any more horses. I find it too strenuous. But we have enough good people here. I was even thinking of Perceval. Whatever his opinions may be now, he still cuts a dashing figure at a tournament. And anyway, we'll be deluged with contestants when we make the announcement. Every hero in the land.
Arthur: I'm not so sure about that.
Aurelius: When they hear that we're inviting them to a tournament, they'll come.
Arthur: Every time I invite them to sit at the Round Table, they have prior engagements.
Kay: And when will this marvelous tournament take place?
Aurelius: How about when Gawain and Lancelot come back? That would be a good occasion.
Arthur: I haven't heard from Lancelot. I don't even know where he is.
Aurelius: What about Gawain?
Arthur: I don't know. I've been hearing the strangest rumors about him . . .
Kay: I believe he just wrote to you. Don't you have a letter from him?
Arthur: Yes, but I haven't opened it yet. I haven't had time.
Aurelius: You haven't read it? Why not?
Kay: My God, Arthur, now you're afraid to read letters.
Arthur: I'm afraid I already know what he says.
Kay: Give me the letter.
Arthur: No. I'll read it. Right now. What you said is true, Kay. It really is hard for me to open this letter. Exit.
Aurelius: So much for that. A tournament without contestants -- that certainly won't do. At any rate it was a good idea I had. What a shame. Too bad.
Enter Mordred. He walks across the stage, reaches toward the Siege Perilous, bursts out laughing, and exits.
Aurelius: Did you see that, Kay!
Kay: No. Exit Kay.