The Haitian Trilogy: Plays

by Derek Walcott

  SERGEANT

  What are you looking for?

  YETTE

  I found it, it’s a Spanish coin.

  It belongs to a friend of mine that’s ruined.

  (A SOLDIER comes up.)

  SOLDIER

  We’re ready to move on now, Sergeant.

  SERGEANT

  You go on ahead, Corporal. A coin?

  YETTE (Holding up the coin.)

  It’s been worn and rubbed and abused, worn shiny

  Like some of the good women in the world. Make a good chain, though.

  Oh, look at poor Pompey, left alone in the dimming field.

  Good night, poor sergeant.

  SERGEANT

  There’s the bugler. Why poor?

  I’d as soon be back home, cold as it is at this time o’ year,

  And not conquering the heathen but defending me own hearth.

  I had nothing against the little fellow, but my job.

  And that I can’t think about. I’m sure you’ll win, though.

  There’s many in England and all over the world

  Who wish you the best. Good dusk to you, then. March!

  (Exit PATROL to slow drum.)

  EPILOGUE

  Night: The field. Enter MANO, YETTE, RAM, CALICO, GENERAL YU looking for the body of POMPEY.

  MANO

  All you fan over this field, but watch out for soldiers.

  This Pompey so troublesome, you can’t find him when he dead,

  Like he misplace his own corpse? Anybody see him?

  YETTE

  See him here, Commander, serious as a stone. Ram, the spade,

  This have to be one rapid burial, and don’t make no noise.

  RAM

  A man supposed to be buried sitting up, in my religion.

  YU (Holding the body.)

  Nonsense, burning the body is custom, then scatter ashes

  Of this salt of the earth, as the wind shall see fit.

  RAM

  Leggo, leggo the body, you foolish Chineeman. I say leggo …

  CALICO

  But anyone know what religion Pompey practised?

  MANO

  Pompey was an everythingist, now he is a nowherian.

  But too much contention, we giving him general burial.

  Lord, can’t a man even get a good rest when he dead?

  YETTE

  Well then, blow the bugle faintly, and, Mano, say some words.

  MANO

  Kneel in your own peculiar fashion, enough of the wrangling.

  All the nations of this earth is compounded in one man.

  YETTE

  Don’t shout, man, the soldiers.

  (They all kneel.)

  MANO

  I going say all that I can quick.

  In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost;

  In the name of Tamoussi, Siva, Buddha, Mahomet, Abraham,

  And the multitude of names for the eternal God,

  Amen. O God, this dust was once mankind and none will listen,

  We are gathered together, before whose eyes there is no night,

  To bury one significant fragment of this earth, no hero,

  But Pompey … Corporal Pompey, the hotheaded shoemaker.

  But Pompey was as good as any hero that pass in history,

  For this is the hinge on which great nations revolve,

  For Pompey’s squingy eyes perceived the salvation,

  Which Thou preparedst in the presence of our enemies,

  Before the face of all people …

  RAM

  Hurry up, hurry up.

  MANO

  Before Calico people, and General Yu people, and

  Before Yette kin, and Ram generation. Now you all.

  (They file past the corpse.)

  YETTE

  I remember him pinching my flank and stealing the supplies.

  RAM

  I remember him who loved peace, compelled to play soldier.

  CALICO

  I remember how he forgave me, though I didn’t do him nothing.

  MANO

  General Yu?

  YU

  Remember he couldn’t eat, heart full of sorrow.

  RAM

  What happen now, you done?

  MANO

  Put this dust back in the earth.

  (They lower the body through the trapdoor.)

  YETTE

  Bury him with the coin that Calico gave him.

  MANO

  Fling it to hell, into darkness and oblivion, for this is the enemy that bring man into division. Look, it mark “In God We Trust,” but a man face carved on it.

  (He tries to get the coin from YETTE.)

  YETTE

  Mano, this is only a symbol. It not evil in itself. And it have its good uses, if power won’t abuse it. Think, Mano, you ain’t never going to be so rich as to know how strong it is.

  MANO

  Is only sometimes I can’t bear our history, our poverty, and the wrangling of them fellers. And we part of the world, girl? What we could do without power?

  RAM

  We only a poor barefoot nation, small, a sprinkling of islands, with a canoe navy, a John Crow air force, and a fête father philosophy, but in the past we was forged, Mano, and, oh, I can’t talk enough to tell you, but for this Pompey dead, stupid as he did seem. I wish I could talk. Oh, where the feller with the language to explain to this man?

  YETTE

  All you taking this too serious, is only a play.

  Pompey boy, get off the ground, before you catch cold.

  RAM

  I ain’t like the way he quiet, yes?

  YETTE

  Shout in his ear, that the emancipation going come,

  That the bells going ring out, and a new age begin. Pompey!

  You holding up the works.

  (The bells start ringing.)

  Oh God, the battle won, the emancipation beginning.

  RAM

  You mean all the history of our past going fuss over one man?

  A poorakey shoemaker who can’t even act good?

  (CROWD comes on, curious.)

  POMPEY (Suddenly jumping up.)

  Who the hell can’t act good, and who you calling poorakey?

  And how is emancipation, today is federation.

  You there, Sergeant, you had no right to hit me so hard.

  (He runs among the CROWD.)

  MANO

  Lord, trouble again, trouble again. Thank God the little men of this world will never keep still.

  (The CHORUS appears above.)

  POMPEY

  How you mean, man? The man nearly mash up me memory.

  But I feel it coming back.

  CHORUS

  That web Columbus shuttled took its weave,

  Skein over skein to knit this various race,

  Though warring elements of the past compounded

  To coin our brotherhood in this little place.

  And now, Time’s steward, memory, hoists his mace,

  Quadrado’s ghosts whirl backwards in a wind,

  The foam laurels those sailors fished so deep,

  Those marching men, those horns and seas we sounded,

  That all night long split the unquiet sky,

  Faint, in the dim shell of the echoing mind,

  And the past turns to its forgetful sleep.

  Return again, where buried actions lie,

  For time is such, alternate joy and pain,

  Those dead I raised have left us vows to keep.

  Look, a new age breaks in the east again.

  (Lights full up. Quatro music. MASKERS dance down steps and up aisles.)

  POMPEY (Leading the carnival.)

  So, you men of every creed and class,

  We know you is brothers, when you playing Mass,

  White dance with black, black with Indian, but long time

  Was rebellion,

  No matter what your colour, now is steel and dru
ms.

  We dancing together with open arms.

  Look on our stage now and you going see

  The happiness of a new country

  When it was:

  CROWD

  Bend the angle on them is to blow them down, is to blow them down.

  Bend the angle on them is to blow them down, is to blow them down.

  When the bayonet charge is the rod of correction.

  Shout it everyone, when the bayonet charge is the rod of correction,

  Full rebellion.

  (All go out dancing except POMPEY.)

  POMPEY

  Mano, Ram, Yu, Yette, wait for me, wait for me.

  Don’t leave me behind, the most important man in this country!

  (Carnival music.)

  (Fade-out.)

  THE HAITIAN EARTH

  The play was produced on the Morne, Castries, St. Lucia, by the government of St. Lucia on August 1–5, 1984, to commemorate the 150th anniversary of Emancipation. Directed by Derek Walcott. Set design was by Richard Montgomery, costumes by Sally Montgomery. The cast, in order of appearance, was as follows:

  DESSALINES—Gandolph St. Clair

  BOAR—Anthony Lamontagne

  CHORUS—Sixtus Jeanne Charles

  BARONESS—Caroline McNamara

  ANTON—Jon Clitter

  TOUSSAINT—Arthur Jacobs

  MATRON—Julia Bird

  CALIXTE-BREDA—Bernard Mogal

  BARON—David Frank

  CLERK—Dunstan Fontenelle

  PROPRIETOR—Irvin Norville

  STUDENT—Irvin John

  VASTEY—John Vitalis

  CHRISTOPHE—McDonald Dixon

  MARIE-LOUISE—Hermia Norton-Anthony

  DRIVER—Irvin Norville

  YETTE—Norline Metivier

  POMPEY—Augustin Compton

  ANGELLE—Anne Daniel

  BOUKMANN—Eric Branford

  BIASSOU—Irvin Norville

  MOISE—George “Fish” Alphonse

  SERGEANT—Dunstan Fontenelle

  OGÉ—Malcolm Alexander

  CHAVANNES—Ricardo Didier

  LECLERC—Yves Roques

  PAULINE—Caroline McNamara

  SECRETARY—David Frank

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  JOHN JACQUES DESSALINES, a slave, then first Emperor of Haiti

  THE CHORUS, a peasant woman in martial costume

  A BARON, a visitor to Haiti

  BARONESS DE ROUVRAY

  CALIXTE-BREDA, owner of the Breda plantation

  ANTON CALIXTE, illegitimate son of Calixte-Breda

  TOUSSAINT L’OUVERTURE, Calixte-Breda’s coachman; afterwards a commander of the Haitian Army

  A PROPRIETOR

  A STUDENT

  VASTEY, secretary to Christophe

  HENRI CHRISTOPHE, a waiter; later a general; then King of Haiti

  MARIE-LOUISE, his wife

  A PRIEST

  YETTE, a mulattress

  POMPEY, a slave; later heir to the Breda plantation

  ANGELLE, a slave

  BOUKMANN, a slave leader of the revolt

  BIASSOU, a slave general

  MOISE, slave nephew of Toussaint; afterwards a general

  A SERGEANT

  OGÉ AND MULATTO DELEGATES TO THE FRENCH ASSEMBLY

  CHAANNES

  GENERAL LECLERC, Napoleon’s commander in Haiti

  PAULINE LECLERC, his wife

  A SECRETARY TO LECLERC

  ACT I

  Scene 1

  Dawn. The sound of hungry cattle, a small herd, in the darkness, and in between, the sound of the sea. San Domingo. A wide, wild beach.

  DESSALINES, as a boucanier (buccaneer), a dirty rag around his forehead, a jacket of untanned leather, animal skin for sandals, is turning a carcass of wild meat on a spit. A huge boar lumbers up among a shale of rocks, fierce-eyed, slavering, with long white tusks.

  DESSALINES

  Venir! Venir, salaud!

  (He withdraws a knife and walks towards the boar, which cowers, its tusks bared, its lips snarled back.)

  Hai!

  (The boar charges. DESSALINES leaps aside and falls as the boar spins around and charges again, its tusk ripping his calf. The boar wheels again and stands, watching. DESSALINES, eyes wide open in angry astonishment, rubs his lacerated calf and shakes a bloody finger at the animal. He talks to it softly in Creole.)

  You come here, you see me minding my cows,

  Trying to make a life, you black like me,

  And now you cut me. I do you anything?

  Eh?

  (He walks towards the boar.)

  Now the Frenchmen will come here, and they will see

  That they had a nigger here, and I won’t be able to run fast

  Because you cut me, you, a nigger like myself. Eh! Eh!

  (The boar lunges again and DESSALINES lets out a scream that rips the whole beach as he and the boar tangle in the sand, man and animal grunting and honking in the spraying sand. DESSALINES cuts the boar’s throat. He wipes the blood on his mouth.)

  I had this wild dream that I would kill a boar.

  I had it sleeping on this wild beach last night.

  I’ll tell you, cochon, the sea frothed like your mouth.

  And I have magic in me, and power, to kill the sea.

  (The boar, dying, grunting in death spasms, stretches out. Still.)

  My friend, I think God send you as a sign.

  Nothing can kill me. My name is Dessalines.

  Jean Jacques Dessalines. Nothing can kill me.

  (He looks around, sees the wide empty beach, the herd of wild cattle. The lonely desolation of it all. He shouts. There is no echo because of the sea. He shouts louder. He shouts again.)

  You all can have it! I don’t want it.

  Take it! Take all of it!

  I will drive the French pigs into that sea,

  And when I come back here, on this same beach,

  I not going to look like this.

  The next time you see me, I will be a king!

  The hills, the sea, will echo with my name.

  DESSALINES! DESSALINES!

  (His figure recedes down the wild beach. Music begins.)

  CHORUS

  L’heure la couronne fumée,

  Ka monter la montagne

  Oui ça i ka chanter?

  CHORUS OF PEASANTS

  Toussaint!

  Toussaint!

  CHORUS

  Et l’heure tonnère, en ciel,

  Ka secouer nos collines,

  Et l’éclair fait un signe,

  Oui moune nous ka songer?

  CHORUS OF PEASANTS

  Dessalines!

  Dessalines!

  CHORUS

  When that big drum,

  The thunder shake Haiti,

  When we see the

  Lightning flash his signal,

  What man we does remember?

  CHORUS OF PEASANTS

  Christophe! Henri Christophe!

  (DESSALINES nods to the mounted SOLDIERS. Confidently he moves to the front of the group and chains himself.)

  Scene 2

  Noon. The long, hot road. The SLAVES; DESSALINES, lost among them, walking, receding. Dust. They pass Belle Maison, the Calixte-Breda mansion. Some miles out of Le Cap.

  A garden. ANTON, a young mulatto, watching a group of SLAVES. A young white woman, the BARONESS, finely dressed, is coming towards him. He waits. The BARONESS draws alongside the young man. They watch the group.

  BARONESS

  Who are they?

  ANTON

  Who?… They’re slaves,

  Baroness.

  BARONESS (Affectionately)

  Idiot, I know that. I mean

  Where are they going?

  ANTON

  To the spectacle, I imagine.

  You’ll see them tomorrow.

  BARONESS

  They looked quite happy.

  ANTON

  It’s
a break for them.

  BARONESS

  You look upset. Isn’t this a common sight?

  ANTON

  In a time when the reek of massacre

  Is on every napkin, when the stench of sweat

  Floats over the dinner linen from the compounds,

  I’m tempted to write out my thoughts, but thought

  Is like a thicket without a clearing,

  And I begin, then my wrist is paralysed.

  I look at my hand and I abhor my own colour;

  It is mixed, a compound, like the colour of the earth.

  And I put my pen aside, and I live apart

  From thought. I have read all of them,

  Rousseau, Voltaire, but it is as if I’m not entitled

  To thought, to ideas. Entitlement, entitlement,

  Enlightenment, enlightenment. White

  Is the colour of thought, black of action.

  And I’m paralysed, madame, between thought and action.

  Perhaps I should not be a writer but a soldier.

  Perhaps I should be there with them. A bastard.

  BARONESS

  Perhaps it’s that which I find so attractive.

  ANTON

  Perhaps I’m very tired of Western culture

  And its privilege of ideas, perhaps,

  Except for art, I see the whole technological

  Experience as failure, but true or not,

  I have no wish to go back to the bush.

  I think their African nostalgia is rubbish.

  But I’m not going to be drawn in by a drawing room.

  No doubt, Baroness, you think I must either hate it

  Or envy it, which amount to the same.

  I must think of these things.

  BARONESS

  Why, dear boy?

  ANTON

  Because I’m a bastard, a mulatto,

  A man without rights.

  (DESSALINES, walking, has moved up to the front, nearer the SOLDIERS. He whistles happily. He gets nearer to a young slave, JACKO, who is manacled by the neck to one of the SOLDIERS’ horses.)

  DESSALINES

  You still troublesome, Jacko?

  (JACKO turns his head.)

  JACKO

  Dessalines? What you doing here, my man?

  DESSALINES

  You shut your arse, nigger. Paix chou’ous, garçon!