Les Blancs

by Lorraine Hansberry

  (To himself)

  If only we had a manual. Does one bake the clay before or after it’s dry? There is a point at which the clay must be put into—a kiln? … “Kiln”!?

  (He clears his throat and looks up)

  Yes, well, in any event—remember yesterday we gathered clay at the riverbank?

  (Holding up a handful of clay)

  Repeat it: “Clay.”

  CHILDREN

  CLAY!

  HERMIT

  Very good. Clay. And I did this to it—

  (Holds up the clay pot)

  CHILDREN

  CLAY!

  (He points again to the pot for a further answer)

  POT!

  HERMIT

  … And we set it in the sun. “Sun.”

  (He points overhead)

  CHILDREN

  SUN!

  HERMIT

  And now, see, it is hard. And now it is possible for one to carry not only one object—but several. Now this process is called …

  (He makes as if he is fashioning the pot again)

  “Work.” Say it.

  CHILDREN

  WORK!

  HERMIT

  And with “clay” and “work,” you can make all you need of these. So that you can “use” it. “Use” it … “use” …

  (The class is puzzled. He demonstrates by putting objects into the pot and taking them out)

  Well, this, I will admit, is something of an abstract concept … but it is a vital one and you will have to master it quickly. “Use” … “use” …

  (The CHILDREN are silent; it is too abstract. And he goes through it again. Then, with great excitement as CHARLIE raises his hand)

  You got it, Charlie? Good boy! Come and show me what to “use” something means.

  (The youngster gets up, picks up the pot and puts things in it)

  Good … good …

  (CHARLIE carries them back to where he sat and takes them out and looks at the teacher for his approval)

  Capital!

  (Pleased, CHARLIE puts them back in the pot and hands it back to the teacher)

  Very good, Charlie!

  (To the class)

  Charlie has “used” the pot.

  (He takes out his knife and whittles a twig)

  I am “using” the knife.

  (With a sense of urgency)

  It is such a vital verb, you must master it.

  (A beat)

  Well, on with the weaving.

  (He sits down, crosses his legs contentedly and picks up, as do the CHILDREN, the beginnings of the baskets they are making)

  Cross one over, bring the other through, then—

  Dimout

  SCENE 3

  As the lights come up this time: stone implements, baskets and hoes as well as drying meats are in evidence. The Master and the CHILDREN come on far right; they are rather more frolicsome than we would have supposed they could be. And, for the first time, LILY is the only one with long hair. The boys have been barbered and are dressed in foliage or animal skins now.

  HERMIT (Pausing at the garden)

  By heaven, those are most attractive radishes, Thomas. Very good! Come along now, time for class.

  (The CHILDREN moan)

  How quickly you learn! Come along, or you’ll get a caning.

  (They obey and take the positions of the prior scene)

  Well, now, you’ve made such—

  (He considers them doubtfully)—

  —admirable progress that I think you are ready to graduate to an area of knowledge which, sadly enough, used to be known as “the humanities.” And, in that connection, Charlie and I have prepared a surprise for you. A “surprise” is something that you do not know is coming and, in life, most “surprises” are quite unpleasant—but every now and then, there are those which are pleasant indeed, and they generally have to do with another abstraction which you do not know how to call by name but which you have already experienced—

  (Touching one of them)

  —by your nose, your eyes, and way, deep inside you. It is called: “beauty.” Say it.

  CHILDREN (Shouting, out of habit)

  BEAUTY!

  HERMIT

  My word, you needn’t shout it! “Beauty” is just as well acknowledged softly as loudly. Say it like this so the word itself is beautiful—

  (Sweetly, lifting his head back and gesturing)

  “Beau-ty.”

  CHILDREN (In dead-earnest mimicry)

  Beau-ty.

  HERMIT

  Again.

  CHILDREN

  Beau-ty.

  HERMIT

  Lovely. You see, your very voices have this abstraction in them. Now—

  (He picks up the pot)

  —here is our dear and useful friend the pot again.

  CHILDREN

  POT.

  HERMIT

  Which, as we have learned, “works” for us, when we have worked to make it. Now, we have also learned that we can “use” it to carry all sorts of things: the berries we have picked; the water we wish to carry somewhere … but also—

  (He lifts up a little bouquet of wildflowers)

  —we may use it simply to hold that which we “enjoy” because—

  (He puts the flowers into the pot)

  —they have “beauty.” Like these flowers, which are almost as beautiful as our little Lily, which is why we have named her after them.

  (LILY promptly preens herself before the boys. WILLIAM raises his hand)

  William?

  WILLIAM (Loudly)

  USE?

  HERMIT

  What use are flowers?!

  (A bit thrown)

  Well … there were, in the old days, certain perfectly tasteless individuals who insisted on making wine out of them. But that was not a use—it was a violation! Ah, but the uses of flowers are infinite! One may smell them—

  (He inhales deeply, then holds them out to the CHILDREN, who inhale deeply in imitation)

  One may touch their petals and feel heaven—

  (He touches them)

  Or one may write quite charming verses about them—

  (Abruptly, to head them off)

  —now, do not ask me what verses are! When you have become proficient in language, I’m afraid no power on earth will be able to stop you from composing them! All right, now on to the surprise. I think that it will be perhaps the most satisfying thing I shall ever be able to teach you …

  (He turns upstage, draws himself up, makes several false starts and finally, turning back, begins to sing—horribly)

  Alas, my lo-ove, you do me wro-ong—

  (The CHILDREN giggle at the curious sound—he hesitates with embarrassment, but continues)

  To cast me out discourteously

  When I have lo-oved you so lo-ong

  Deli-ighting i-in your company.

  (They giggle again, but he presses on and at last they hush and listen, caught in the phenomenon of the human voice lifted in song. He sings crudely but sweetly, gaining confidence)

  Greensleeves was my deli-ight

  And Greensleeves was all my joy

  Greensleeves was my song of so-ongs

  And who but my La-ay-dy Greensleeves.

  (He is momentarily overcome with the realization that such notes may never in fact be heard on this earth again. Then, recovering)

  Well, that—loosely speaking—is what is called a “melody.” It belongs—well, properly sung, it belongs—to a great body of pleasure which is called “music” …

  CHILDREN

  Music.

  HERMIT (He nods)

  However, melodies do not necessarily need to be sung. Sometimes they can provide as much beauty when … ah, but that is Charlie’s surprise. Charlie.

  (He beckons to the boy, who hesitates. Reassuringly)

  Come along, lad.

  (CHARLIE steps forward, as nervous as a performer has ever been and reveals a reed instrument which is a
crude but competent flute. He lifts it to his lips and haltingly plays the first stanza of “Greensleeves.” The CHILDREN’s faces reflect the miracle. As CHARLIE begins the chorus, the HERMIT stops him)

  That was lovely, Charlie. Lovely. Now—

  (To the CHILDREN)

  —you try it with us …

  (He sings the melody to CHARLIE’s accompaniment and conducts, expecting the CHILDREN to join in. They do not. Undaunted)

  Come on, children … sing! … sing!

  (He begins once more, louder and more urgently, as if by sheer force of will to sweep them along. There is no response and at last he stops. Helplessly)

  Try …

  (Silence. He turns away in defeat. Suddenly one takes up the song, then another, and another, and finally all—tentatively at first, then with growing conviction as the Master conducts, quite carried away, exultant)

  Good … good! Yes, yes … keep to the tempo now! Good … good …

  (Suddenly peering forward as LILY raises her hand)

  Yes, Lily?

  LILY

  USE?

  HERMIT

  Use? What use is MUSIC???

  (At a loss for words, he gropes)

  Well, there are many uses … there are different kinds of uses … Yes, well—

  (Decisively: an order)

  —YOU JUST SING!

  (As the voices rise to their fullest, he grins)

  Tomorrow—Beethoven’s Ninth!

  Blackout

  SCENE 4

  In the darkness, CHARLIE’s primitive flute begins, very slowly and haltingly, the first measures of Beethoven’s Ninth, the Choral; and presently, over it, we hear the HERMIT’s voice:

  HERMIT

  Yes, Charlie … there! I told you you could do it! You’re playing Beethoven, boy! Beethoven!

  (The notes become firmer, more controlled, as if we are experiencing the learning process in microcosm, until finally they are rendered almost perfectly in the temper of the Hymn to Joy as we know it, the tempo addressed to the spirit of man: martial, certain, aspirational)

  … He couldn’t hear, you know? But that didn’t stop him! … We’ll do it, Charlie! You will teach the others the melody and I shall teach them the words! Well, that is—as soon as I can recall them well enough to translate from the German—I simply have no strength left for the declensions!

  (As the lights come up, Schiller’s flash of ecstasy is shouted out by the old man, and the CHILDREN’s voices burst forth. They are arranged in that stiff self-conscious grouping which is the style and posture of all choruses—except that LILY is beating time to CHARLIE’s accompaniment on a great drum of clay, while the others add flourishes of their own on improvised instruments. They sing with pride and vigor—and what we should be forced to thrillingly feel is childhood’s assumption of the inevitability of the statement. And through it all the Master stands facing upstage, waving his hands in accurate tempo and lacking only flowing black robes)

  HERMIT (Shouting)

  Joy, thou source of light immortal!

  CHILDREN

  Joy, thou source of light immortal!

  HERMIT

  Daughter of Elysium!

  CHILDREN

  Daughter of Elysium!

  ALL

  Touched with fire, to the portal

  Of thy radiant shrine we come.

  Thy pure magic frees all others

  Held in Custom’s rigid rings;

  Men throughout the world are brothers

  In the haven of thy wings …

  HERMIT

  Bravo, children. Bravo!

  (He bows to them and they, formally, to him)

  As the poet Emerson said to Walt Whitman upon the publication of Leaves of Grass: “I greet you at the start of a great career!”

  (The group disperses and various ones settle down to different onstage activities)

  Uh, Charlie. I should very much like to talk with you.

  (The Master ushers CHARLIE into his lean-to, with oddly deliberate social mannerisms all of a sudden)

  Have a seat, won’t you?

  (This lean-to is not, of course, what man or child can stand up in fully, and the “seats” are well-placed flat rocks)

  Would you care for some water?

  (The boy signifies “no” with his head and looks at the Master curiously)

  (Shoving a mug of water on him)

  No, you must say Yes, Charlie.

  (Passing some grapes)

  Because we are not pupil and Master just now—we are friends and—

  (Settling down on one rock after forcing CHARLIE to sit on another and to accept the water and grapes)

  —what we are doing now—

  (Taking a grape himself and smacking over it elaborately)

  —is “socializing.” And, you see, since this is my home, it is my obligation to make you feel welcome and even to entertain you and give you refreshments. And, under the last codes that I recall, it was more graceful to accept than not. Though I will admit such rules frequently reversed themselves.

  CHARLIE

  How—you—?

  HERMIT

  “Socialize”? Exactly like this. We sit and we look at one another and eventually begin to tell one another perfectly outlandish stories, you see. It was a kind of ritual. But I shall have to teach you quite what a joke is. The last one I recall—well—oh, yes, Why does a chicken cross the road? That is to say, Why does the wild guinea hen that we eat, you know, why does it run across the path? You are supposed to say: “I don’t know, sir.”

  CHARLIE

  Why?

  HERMIT

  Because if you don’t say that, I shan’t have an altogether logical reason to give you the answer and it was the answers, I gather, which were purportedly the point of these quite extraordinary exercises of the human mind.

  CHARLIE (Stiffly)

  “I-don’t-know-sir.”

  HERMIT

  Well, a chicken crosses the road to get to the other side.

  (They stare at one another)

  Now you do this, lad.

  (Holding his stomach like jolly old St. Nick in order to instruct)

  “Ho, ho, ho, ho!”

  CHARLIE (Frowning mightily and imitating with exactitude)

  Ho, ho, ho, ho!

  HERMIT

  Show your teeth rather more, I think. And throw back your head. Yes, very good. That will do.

  (Looking down at his hands with sudden seriousness)

  Look here, there’s another reason for our little get-together this afternoon. And it has to do with something fairly serious. And this really is the proper setting, because what we are having here is a sort of cocktail party, you see, which is where most really important matters were generally decided. Under circumstances quite like this—I mean with people chatting amicably and drinking things. Be that as it may. I want to try to discuss something rather serious and rather difficult with you—and, well, the fact of the matter is that I don’t really, to tell the absolute truth, know how to go about it.

  (Blurting suddenly)

  Not that I didn’t know one hell of a lot about women myself, you see! But, with the young, we traditionally preferred to make an awkward process out of it. And I don’t seem to know how to reverse the custom.

  (The child simply stares at him)

  What I am trying to say is: do you know why I did not cut Lily’s hair?

  (As quickly realizing the futility of that approach)

  Oh, no, no—! Listen, let us approach it this way: you are a leader, Charlie, and there are some things which … you poor fellow, I shall have to hope that you take responsibility for when I will—have gone away.

  CHARLIE (Jumping up)

  Gone? Where?

  HERMIT (Quietly)

  That will have to be a different lesson one day soon. But, we still have time … and for the moment this other matter is more imperative—so that when I do go away … What it has to do with is—

&nbs
p; (Looking at the boy with serious eyes)

  —the survival of—

  (His lips fall with the weight of the impossibility of trying to suggest to a ten-year-old that the perpetuation of the human race could possibly be his responsibility.

  Throughout the prior scene the following has been occurring outside at right: of two boys making pottery, one has proven more an artist than the other, and thus the first has simply reached out and claimed one or two of the other’s pots, and the other fellow has retaliated by yanking them back, for which he is socked—which now launches a grim, stark and savage fight with one bashing the other’s head until it is red with blood and the other as passionately trying to choke all life out of the first. It is the fight of savages who mean to maim or destroy.

  As they tussle, they crash a lean-to here and some pots there. As it is not yet spectacle or sport in their society, the CHILDREN do not pay the fighters the least bit of attention; but merely move out of the way when they roll their way and go on with whatever they are doing.

  Hearing a crash finally, the HERMIT looks out to see what is happening)

  HERMIT (Seeing and screaming at them)

  Animals …!

  (He runs to them and tries to tear them apart; they snarl and tear at him viciously in their eagerness to get at one another again)

  Animals, I say! … Will you never change!

  (Now he is also being covered with the blood of one of them as he is flung about trying to tear them apart)