Infernal Machine by Jean Cocteau

Author:Jean Cocteau
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: A New Directions Book
Published: 1963-10-23T04:00:00+00:00

ACT TWO

The scene shows the hall of a ruined castle. When the curtain rises the stage is empty. Suddenly a chair standing against the wall slides slowly across the room and stops behind a table downstage. Chessmen which are lying on the table in a heap take up positions as if a match were in progress. The door, center, opens of itself. Launcelot and Segramor appear. They walk around gingerly inspecting the décor. The door shuts.

LAUNCELOT. Another door.

SEGRAMOR. That makes five, not counting the front gates. And every one of them opened by itself.

LAUNCELOT. Apart from a few squeaking hinges, the magic machinery still works pretty well.

SEGRAMOR. Both its old name, the Tower of Wonders, and its present one, The Dark Tower, seem apt enough. I suppose Mother has some feminine superstition about it, but it’s a funny sort of place to stop at. After riding for twenty-four hours, a ruin full of disgusting creatures and ghosts is not exactly where I would choose to dismount. Whether it’s fatigue or sleepiness which has got me down, I don’t know, but I hate these doors. I’ve the feeling that invisible servants are opening and shutting them and following us about.

LAUNCELOT. The doors must date from Klingsor’s time. I agree with you, I wouldn’t care to live here but I don’t mind just having a look at it.

Segramor jumps.

SEGRAMOR. What was that?

LAUNCELOT. Only a rat. Keep cool. We must be the first arrivals.

SEGRAMOR. I may be a coward but I do wish that Galahad would hurry up with returning the flower and join us again. I wish, too, that Merlin and Gawain would arrive and that we weren’t going to stay here at all.

LAUNCELOT. There’s never been any question of our staying. It’s only a rendezvous where we can work out exactly what to do.

SEGRAMOR. All the same, everything about this place is sinister. If Mother could just see what sort of meeting place she picked for us, she’d have a fit. And I would bet, Launcelot, that, in your heart of hearts, you agree with me and are only putting up a bold front.

LAUNCELOT. Well, Segramor, your mother’s choice does rather surprise me, I must admit, but, ghosts or no ghosts, the one thing I can think of just now is sleep.

SEGRAMOR. Sleep! Here!

LAUNCELOT. Why not? The sort of ghost who politely opens doors isn’t going to disturb a visitor’s sleep. Take my hand and we’ll make a tour of inspection. I’ll prove to you that this ruin is uninhabited. The machinery may still function but its old owner is not still here to work it.

He takes Segramor’s hand. They walk around the room and suddenly come across the chessboard.

SEGRAMOR. Chessmen.

LAUNCELOT. That’s odd.

SEGRAMOR. And what chessmen! Here, Launcelot, just look at this piece. I’ve never seen such beautiful figures, or such big ones.

He picks up a queen and shows it to Launcelot.

LAUNCELOT. Neither have I. But put back that queen or you’ll ruin the game. It looks as if we’d interrupted some players or other in a match.

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