The Haitian Trilogy: Plays: Henri Christophe, Drums and Colours, and The Haytian Earth

by Derek Walcott

  SYLLA

  Christophe will work a civil war against it.

  DESSALINES

  Who is Christophe? My victory over Rochambeau

  Here at Cap Haitien rides freshly on my crest.

  We have beaten the French, splintered

  Napoleon’s indestructibles, fever has furrowed them,

  Sickness scythed them in harvest …

  Think, gentlemen, a black nobility, the white flower destroyed.

  But keep this in the antechambers of your secrecy.

  Crack Christophe’s spirit in open policy,

  Force painful petitions from peasant mouths,

  Force favour from fools, to make me King

  Christophe cannot query petitions.

  Publish a monarchy in your quiet hope.

  SYLLA

  We have spent the night making ourselves miserable

  With riches; there is no hope in the grey dawn spreading

  On a halcyon sea where dreams shrivel.

  DESSALINES

  What dreams? What dreams, old man?

  SYLLA

  They reassemble after Angelus;

  When the drums beat a skull of death, they rustle sheets,

  And utter blood to the moon—that same sharp moon

  That is a scythe to clouds—clawing the sky.

  I have had all these dreams in my sleeping tent.

  We have all been great generals, but idleness

  Is settling on us like a grave disease,

  While Time is turning us from prowess to politics,

  And age, advancing his last insignia, plants white-haired surrender,

  Raises citadels of fatigue over the rubble;

  Time has white hairs.

  My eyes are sick, and I have dreams in this waste

  After long war.

  This is a silence that is more deadly

  Than the silence smoking over the burnt city,

  The dead corruption hanging over toothless walls, the heavy

  Heat in air, over the burnt city;

  We have no activity, only

  Corrupted purposes.

  PÉTION

  These, at least, are old soldier’s dreams,

  Easily explained.

  We must dress for the early Memorial Mass.

  SYLLA

  I wonder how the dawn breaks

  For Christophe; what comfort does it afford

  His soldier’s repose?

  DESSALINES

  For an old man, you certainly talk

  A lot of bloody rubbish.

  I shall have coffee served, and then to church,

  To pray for Toussaint grinning among

  Pink idle angels …

  PÉTION

  Yes, Your Majesty.

  (DESSALINES looks at him cautiously, then smiles, then bursts into laughter, as the bell sounds and the lights fade out.)

  Scene 2

  CHRISTOPHE’s camp at Les Cayes. Dusk. The sonorous tolling of the cathedral bell in the preceding scene is imitated by the sound of a ship’s bell in the distance. Three SOLDIERS are facing the gentle suspiration of an open tent, quietly, as though expecting someone to emerge. A flag with an escutcheon streams on the strong sea wind.

  FIRST SOLDIER

  The news is good, I feel it in my bones.

  SECOND SOLDIER

  These messengers are too circumspect; they

  Could have told the officers.

  THIRD SOLDIER

  I wonder what has become of Toussaint.

  FIRST SOLDIER

  I cannot wait to hear what I fear and expect,

  That if Toussaint is dead, we have lost our respect.

  We stand like gargoyles in the Angelus

  That speaks a cruelty we cannot endure, and the ship’s bell

  Clappers a lost creed to a ruined army.

  I seem to see, now that the sky bleeds, spreading

  The sea with a luxurious death, I think I see

  Hope falling like the sun from the empty air.

  SECOND SOLDIER

  Toussaint is dead.

  If he were living, Christophe would have said.

  FIRST SOLDIER

  We talk nonsense.

  Dessalines has sent the last standards scattering

  North at Le Cap, flung their strength from the last promontory,

  Split their authority over the narrow sea.

  Napoleon is numb, although he has Toussaint.

  If Toussaint returns, and that is impossible …

  Dessalines meditating monarchy in the burnt city,

  And Christophe here, far from a corrupt city,

  Thinks of the day his sun alone shall hang

  In the sky’s arena, without

  Dessalines’s interference.

  THIRD SOLDIER

  I cannot imagine Toussaint dead.

  Here is the general.

  CHRISTOPHE (Coming from his tent.)

  Why are the men here?

  THIRD SOLDIER

  For news, any news, General;

  We saw the ship anchor hours ago,

  Saw you hold conference with heaviness;

  Curiosity and love laid us close;

  We wait here, hoping.

  CHRISTOPHE

  Fold up your hopes to show them to your children,

  Because the sun has settled now

  Behind the horizon of our bold history.

  Now no man can measure the horizon

  Of his agony; this grief is wide, wide,

  A ragged futility that beats against these rocks, like

  Sea-bell’s Angelus.

  The man is dead, history has betrayed us …

  FIRST SOLDIER

  You talk of duplicity; you yourself betrayed him.

  I think we mock-turtle him with tears.

  CHRISTOPHE

  These sharp tears that prick my heart are genuine,

  And as for betrayal, who has not betrayed?

  Mainvielle the archbishop, Ogé, Dessalines, Telemaque,

  And I, time, I.

  Toussaint …

  I cannot list his braveries, I can only tell

  Things that the memory shudders to remember,

  Hurt by its love. He broke three nations,

  He disrupted intrigues, curbed civil wars;

  He was no hammock general directing fools

  Into a cannon’s yawn, he rode to wars with you,

  He held his generals, although they were refractory,

  Like those who triumphed in Troy after

  The duplicity of the horse—

  Sylla, Maurepas, Dessalines, Pétion;

  He forded rivers, a furious forager.

  But now, they tell me, he, made limp in spirit,

  Crucified in a winter’s stubborn nails,

  An old man dancing on a stick of time, all skin and groan,

  Wearing respectability to rags, died,

  Coughing on a stone floor.

  All this because a man was black.

  But we must triumph. Under that winter death

  I will perform the rites of spring, if

  You will let me, or let Dessalines …

  We need more than a wavering sceptre in this twilight.

  Slavery must never hold us again, not while

  I live.

  (They cheer.)

  Call in the chaplain, or the priest at Les Cayes, let

  The quartermaster distribute no more liquor, call

  Mourning through the regiment, and tell the chaplain,

  Conduct a Mass under the mourning trees.

  Make sorrow severe as it suits a soldier.

  I want to see my captains. To your offices.

  Today we break camp for Cap Haitien. Where

  Are my lieutenants?

  (The SOLDIERS leave. VASTEY and another GENERAL who have emerged quietly during CHRISTOPHE’s elegy remain behind. With the SOLDIERS gone, CHRISTOPHE’s whole bearing changes immediately.)

  Why wa
s I not informed earlier?

  Here there is only talk of intrigues, policies,

  While Dessalines rules. Caution and discussion

  Are fatal. We have slipped the chance to hold time by the tail,

  Bystanders at our own loss.

  GENERAL

  Has this affected us so much?

  VASTEY

  Dessalines is dangerous. Restless rulers

  Dream to their pillows of personal power.

  Now that Toussaint’s dead, the choice is open

  To the strong man.

  CHRISTOPHE

  Do you advocate rebellion

  Against the republic?

  VASTEY

  No, General, you misunderstand. I do not consider

  Dessalines democratic as, say, Toussaint taught:

  He nurses whispers, imperial ambitions;

  He will work without council, and oppress the poor.

  GENERAL

  He will want to be King. Toussaint

  Never assumed this.

  CHRISTOPHE

  History has duped me; I, who was a leader,

  Shall now play school to a pawn, a breeder

  Of petty hates in which I am part.

  Pétion is an actor, he too is no pawn.

  If we could assemble and wait …

  GENERAL

  What does the general decide, after all:

  Will he wrench the fruit green from the stalk,

  Or will he wait for it to rot, and fall?

  VASTEY

  My personal advice is: In your talk,

  Do not be too smooth, show your discontent

  At being brushed off the chessboard of history;

  But play the pieces on the board with duplicity,

  Until you are King by the hand of history.

  CHRISTOPHE

  You are fools; I do not tie the shoelaces of history;

  I am the history of which you speak.

  VASTEY

  Yet I know our army to be far from weak;

  Civil war, I think, should crown us in a week.

  CHRISTOPHE

  But the country is much too paupered by malevolences,

  Conquests, fevers, ruins, to stand a war of brother against brother.

  We must try other ways, other chances.

  So this is the waste country I inherit,

  A stepping-stone to former slaves …

  GENERAL

  Were we not all slaves, General?

  CHRISTOPHE

  A king flows in me.

  You have seen me command,

  Cruel and kingly when I burned Le Cap,

  Rochambeau realmless, harried to France.

  I judge my conduct

  In a king’s eyes and find this failure.

  VASTEY

  The riot we expected is routed. Why idle here?

  You love your country; but that should not disfigure

  Self-love out of proportion.

  Pétion is placed as awkwardly as we are.

  I would advise a secret exchange of views

  On the possibilities of a joint control.

  CHRISTOPHE

  I understand your philosophy, put the self first.

  No, gentlemen, the soldiers are sick of savagery;

  We will sit outside the chambers of their policy.

  When Dessalines is deposed

  By his own despair,

  We shall wear popularity openly like the sun.

  Command the removal of this regiment to the north;

  We’ll see what Dessalines is worth.

  I’m for some sleep inside.

  … Good night.

  (He exits.)

  GENERAL

  Christophe is a two-sided mirror; under

  His easy surface, ripples of dark

  Strive with the light, or like a coin’s two sides,

  Or like the world half-blind when moons are absent,

  And brilliant in the glare of sun.

  Under that certain majesty he hides

  The teaching of Toussaint, the danger of Dessalines.

  VASTEY

  I am tired of war; I want a little money.

  But I’d make war to get money.

  Christophe loves Haiti, like himself, cruelly.

  But like a well-intentioned physician, he bleeds

  It too much.

  But we had better sleep before the march;

  Tomorrow, three days late, we will ride under an arch

  Garlanded with plots, festooned with cruelty and screens

  Of treachery, hear people shouting,

  “Long live Dessalines…”

  Does that frighten you, m’sieur?

  (They exit. The GENERAL lingers, thinking, then goes out slowly, as the lights fade.)

  Scene 3

  The conference room, or the same as Scene 1. VASTEY taking dictation laboriously from CHRISTOPHE at a desk. Through a middle curtain half-opened, the throne can be seen, patient and empty. From time to time, CHRISTOPHE casts glances at it.

  CHRISTOPHE

  “… all applications to be forwarded to the office of the

  Commissioner of Internal Affairs, Cap Haitien. By order,

  Henri Christophe. For Jacques le Premier.” Good, Vastey?

  I have noticed the present conduct of this King;

  He rules with a drunkard hand, heavily,

  Knowing only a government by guile.

  Have you seen the estates, Vastey?

  (VASTEY proffers the document, which he signs awkwardly.)

  The grass overruns the aristocratic urns,

  The weeds grow between broken coachwheels

  That the wind spins in an empty season, the rich ruined.

  Toussaint would have liked that: but no flowering

  Peace, only poverty, a souring

  Idle crop, an overpowering

  Stench of tyranny.

  VASTEY

  Yes, sir. This copy …

  (CHRISTOPHE waves it aside vaguely.)

  CHRISTOPHE

  Do you mock me?

  (He says this indulgently.)

  You know I cannot read.

  Reread them, are they intact?

  I hope you have not obscured plain fact

  In a smoke of Latin expressions?

  VASTEY

  There are no digressions.

  Shall I read it to you, sir?

  CHRISTOPHE

  Oh Lord, no.

  (He sits down.)

  Today, another meeting. I am ashamed, recalling councils

  Of war, before Pierrot, and when we splintered

  Them at Ennery, now up to my neck

  In paper, a tired commissioner.

  I think that if I went to war again,

  I would bleed ink, so many papers, white men’s ways.

  Where are the others?

  Get the notes for my report.

  Locked in these laces, captive in silk …

  Colourless courtesan of a rival ruler,

  Old dog with no teeth …

  VASTEY

  The King, look at the throne, is

  Out again killing offenders,

  Washing his pity in blood.

  Will he be here?

  CHRISTOPHE

  Don’t know. Go for the notes.

  VASTEY

  Here come the others, but

  No King.

  (He exits.)

  CHRISTOPHE

  Come in, gentlemen, the King

  Will come.

  (Enter SYLLA, PÉTION, and a GENERAL.)

  Good evening, gentlemen, sit down.

  How are you, m’sieu, m’sieu, and you, General Pétion?

  What are you smiling at, General?

  PÉTION

  Your new role, Henri; you wear it so mildly

  It breeds suspicions. You must not preside

  With such superior sarcasm.

  (General laughter as they sit.)

  CHRISTOPHE (Wryly amused)

&nbs
p; I have sent my secretary for a statement

  Concerning the finances; you have observed the state

  Of the country? The old plantations

  Stand haggard as prisoners, the windmills have broken arms,

  The soldiers not sent home, murmurs mounting,

  While the King wastes money like blood,

  Slaughtering his “enemies.”

  SYLLA

  Who are our enemies?

  Not complexions, heresies, but time;

  The gusts of years, the …

  (He says this almost privately, but they listen.)

  CHRISTOPHE

  I am his enemy, if he continues.

  Do not interrupt, old man;

  Kings rule and grow corrupt,

  Absolute authority can only disrupt

  The church and state. Murmurs erupt

  To anarchy, the peasants will kill.

  PÉTION

  You talk like Brelle.

  Have you gone to church lately?

  (Laughter.)

  CHRISTOPHE

  You are a mulatto, you must hate me

  For this insolent love.

  I am only a soldier, a poor fish; you are all whales

  Thrashing about in political machinations.

  I have done as the constitution has demanded,

  My men dismissed, my power disbanded.

  SYLLA

  Not disbanded, but cut down.

  Are you not safe? The French are far,

  The treasury is without the wherewithal

  To equip soldiers who should be on plantations,

  The war is long over.

  You have been identified as your country’s lover.

  Discard the despair of ceaseless argument;

  If the farmers dispute the open property,

  The land will fester under those who love her,

  The plough hidden in the tall grasses, ruin, the cabin

  Remain with unhinged doors, the children

  Play in the pools of blood in front of the door.

  Where is this peace that the French used to mock?

  We pull a rock

  On our heads, if we starve a tired people.

  CHRISTOPHE

  You should have chosen the soapbox

  Or the steeple. Thank you.

  (He notices VASTEY.)

  Come. Vastey, help me distribute testaments

  Of our poverty. Read these, gentlemen,

  And observe our industry.

  (He distributes papers, which provoke a mild consternation, which petrifies as soon as he says …)

  His Majesty, the King of Haiti.

  (They rise. The whole gesture is one of mock solemnity that irritates DESSALINES.)