Mythological Aspects

of Derek Walcott's D r a m a
R O B E R T D. H A M N E R

T o speak of the need for m y t h , i n the case of the i m a g i n a t i v e

writer, is a s i g n of his felt need for c o m m u n i o n w i t h his society,
for a recognized status as artist f u n c t i o n i n g w i t h i n society. 1

A S I D E f r o m the general necessity for m y t h i n any

culture, the w r i t e r i n t h e W e s t Indies m u s t contend
w i t h the shattered h i s t o r y of transplantation, i m p e r i a l
subjugation, and colonial neglect. V . S. N a i p a u l complained
i n The Middle Passage: " L i v i n g i n a borrowed culture, the
West Indian, more t h a n most, needs w r i t e r s to tell h i m who
he is and where he stands. H e r e the W e s t I n d i a n w r i t e r s
have f a i l e d . " N a i p a u l m i g r a t e d , b u t he and others, some
2

of w h o m remained behind or l a t e r returned home, have

not ignored the challenge of p i e c i n g together the fragments
of social and c u l t u r a l i d e n t i t y t h a t are left i n the w a k e of
slavery, indentured servitude, the decline of empire, and
the b i r t h of the T h i r d W o r l d .
F o r n e a r l y twenty years t h i s task has been an i n t e g r a l
part of the w o r k produced b y St. L u c i a - b o r n D e r e k Walcott.
T h i s is not to say that W a l c o t t has always intended to
create m y t h s ; but, at times deliberately and at other times
by i m p l i c a t i o n only, he delineates the innermost character
of a people, the essence of w h a t it means to have been
b o r n West Indian. I n a b r o a d sense this is a p r i m a r y
function of m y t h . T h e t e r m has been used i n too m a n y
peculiar ways to be n a r r o w l y applied i n the W e s t Indian
situation. W a l c o t t is mythopoetic because there are motifs,
characters, actions, and symbols i n his poetry a n d d r a m a
that provide coherent patterns of belief, explanations of a
w a y of life.
36 ROBERT D. HAMNER

I n d i v i d u a l poems and even titles of collections of his

poetry reflect the areas of m e a n i n g that come into focus at
various stages of his career. T h e title hi a Green Night
(1962), taken f r o m M a r v e l l ' s " B e r m u d a s , " reflects the bias
of Walcott's classical education. Steeped i n the civilizations
of Greece, Rome, and B r i t a i n d u r i n g his school days, he
admits to seeing himself as an extension of M a r l o w e and
M i l t o n . E v e n though set i n the islands, m u c h of his e a r l y
3

poetry displays the intellectual discipline of E l i z a b e t h a n

courtiers. W e s t e r n classics, however, constitute but one
side of his m y t h i c pantheon: A f r i c a furnishes the other,
thus the prevalence of " m u l a t t o a n g s t " i n a poem l i k e " A
F a r C r y from A f r i c a " :
I who a m poisoned w i t h the blood of both,
W h e r e s h a l l I turn, divided in the v e i n ?

Between this A f r i c a and the E n g l i s h tongue I love?

B e t r a y them both, or give back w h a t they g i v e ?
H o w can I face such slaughter and be cool?
H o w can I t u r n f r o m A f r i c a a n d l i v e ?
4

The Castaway (1965), r e p r i n t i n g m u c h of Selected Poems

(1962), and The Gulf (1969) c o n t a i n i n g selections f r o m
The Castaway, are laced w i t h the concerns of a m a n
abandoned i n a w o r l d not of his choosing. T h e emblematic
figure i n these books is Crusoe, " f r o m shipwreck, hewing
a prose as odorous as r a w wood to the adze." T h e figure 5

grows i n the concluding poem of The Gulf into the con-

fessional poet determined to lift the burden of fate by
merging with it:
I pretended subtly to lose m y s e l f in crowds
k n o w i n g m y passage w o u l d a l t e r their reflection,
I was that muscle s h o u l d e r i n g the grass
t h r o u g h o r d i n a r y earth,
c o m m o n e r t h a n w a t e r I sank to lose m y name,
this was m y second b i r t h . 0

T h a t second b i r t h results i n Another Life (1972), a v i r t u a l

p o r t r a i t of the artist as a y o u n g m a n . W i t h o u t losing the
preciseness of w o r d and image, but w i t h i n an i d i o m and a
r h y t h m more closely a p p r o x i m a t i n g those of his island back-
ground, W a l c o t t re-creates the conflicting forces that shape
 DEREK WALCOTT 37

his w o r l d . T h e c h i l d of m i x e d blood and heritage, exper-

iencing the tutelage of peasant, friend, and priest, learns
to live t h r o u g h art. H e is conscious, throughout, that what
he is dealing w i t h is the r a w m a t e r i a l of an u n w r i t t e n epic;
yet he m a i n t a i n s the essential distance of an artist. Self-
deprecating honesty preserves e q u i l i b r i u m as he concludes
Part One:
P r o v i n c i a l i s m loves the pseudo-epic,
so i f these heroes h a v e been g i v e n a stature
disproportionate to their c r a m p e d lives,
r e m e m b e r I beheld them at knee-height,
and that their thunderous exchanges
r u m b l e d like gods about another life. 7

T h e n concluding the poem w i t h an oblique t r i b u t e to his de-

ceased mentor H a r r y S i m m o n s and to his friend " G r e g o r i a s " ,
a cool solemnity prevails: " W e were blest w i t h a v i r g i n a l ,
unpainted w o r l d / w i t h A d a m ' s task of g i v i n g t h i n g s t h e i r
n a m e s " (p. 152).
Sea Grapes, W a l c o t t ' s latest book of poetry, extends the
themes projected i n his e a r l y poems. H i s C a r i b b e a n islands
are at the crossroads of c i v i l i z a t i o n . S i t u a t e d between the
O l d and the N e w W o r l d s , between the N o r t h and S o u t h
A m e r i c a n continents, the West I n d i a n is afforded a unique
perspective on h i s t o r y and on modern life. T h e concluding
stanza of " N e w W o r l d " reads:
A d a m had a n idea.
H e and the snake w o u l d share
the loss of E d e n for a profit.
So both m a d e the N e w World. A n d it looked good. 8

Thus, for Walcott, c o m i n g together i n the a r c h e t y p a l figure

of A d a m are the disparate roles of the outcast ( v i c t i m of
oppression), the poet (giver of names), the conqueror (who
imposes l a w ) , and the exploiter (who exacts p r o f i t ) .
S u c h a sketchy resumé as is attempted here is u n f a i r
to the depth and r i c h v a r i e t y of W a l c o t t ' s poetry, but it
serves to isolate some of the touchstones of his mythology.
In one guise or another, i n v a r i o u s contexts are the linea-
ments of the N e w W o r l d A d a m , the divided m a n , the fallen
dreamer. T h e descendant of slaves a n d conquistadors, this
A d a m is forced to build, l i k e M i l t o n ' s Satan, w i t h the spoils
38 ROBERT D. HAMNER

of defeat. W a l c o t t has no grandiose image of an E d e n

w h i c h can be reclaimed f r o m the past. In fact, i n his essay,
" W h a t the T w i l i g h t S a y s , " he chides A f r i c a n pastoralists
whose d a y d r e a m of a lost mother prevents their a t t e m p t i n g
a new f u s i o n :
W h a t is needed is not new names for old things, or old
n a m e s for old things, but the faith of u s i n g the old names
anew, so that m o n g r e l as I a m , s o m e t h i n g prickles i n me
w h e n I see the w o r d A s h a n t i as w i t h the w o r d W a r w i c k -
shire . . . both b a p t i s i n g . . . this hybrid, this W e s t
Indian, (p. 10)
W a l c o t t explains the problem. T h e slave has proved to
be as avaricious as his enslaver. R e n u n c i a t i o n of the master
then exchanging places w i t h h i m — w h i t e for black power
— is no solution. T h e N e w W o r l d N e g r o establishes his
r i g h t f u l place not b y p u r s u i n g E u r o p e a n whiteness or
A f r i c a n blackness, but t h r o u g h the
. . . f o r g i n g of a l a n g u a g e that went beyond m i m i c r y , a
dialect w h i c h h a d the force of revelation as it invented
names for things . . . settled on its own mode of in-
flection, and w h i c h began to create an o r a l culture of
chants, jokes, folk-songs a n d fables; this, not m e r e l y the
debt of history was his p r o p e r c l a i m to the N e w W o r l d ,
(p. 17)
A l t h o u g h W a l c o t t denies poverty as a virtue, he recognizes
a latent n o b i l i t y i n the poor w h o cannot escape their island
exile. H e sees these as h a v i n g the theatre of t h e i r d a i l y
lives. E v e n though they are trapped, he calls them heroic
"because they have kept the sacred urge of actors every-
w h e r e : to record the anguish of the r a c e " (p. 5 ) .
T o define goals and assert values is an essential step; the
achievement of tangible results is another matter. In order
to effect his p l a n m o r e deliberately, W a l c o t t co-founded, i n
1950, the A r t s G u i l d of St. L u c i a , and then he established
the T r i n i d a d Theatre W o r k s h o p i n 1959. T h e t r a n s i t i o n
f r o m a discussion of his poetry to his d r a m a is facilitated
b y the fact t h a t his plays are poetic — especially the latest
plays w h i c h are l i k e n a r r a t i v e poems generously inter-
spersed w i t h song.
If the impact of the plays is greater t h a n that of the
poems (and the m a t t e r is c e r t a i n l y not settled), then i t is
 DEREK WALCOTT 39

probably because the stage is a m o r e d y n a m i c and p h y s i c a l

m e d i u m of expression. I n his collection of essays entitled
The Use of Poetry, T. S. E l i o t asserts, " t h e ideal m e d i u m
for poetry, to m y m i n d , and the most direct means of social
'usefulness' for poetry, is the t h e a t r e . " T h e play invites
9

more immediate c o m m u n a l p a r t i c i p a t i o n ; more of the senses

are engaged as the audience shares an experience that is
h a r d l y one remove f r o m r i t u a l . W a l c o t t k n o w s his audience,
and the theory behind his productions is aimed at precise
impressions. F e e l i n g that the besetting sin of West I n d i a n
a r t is self-indulgent exuberance, W a l c o t t wants disciplined
theatre. A t the same t i m e he wishes to r e t a i n the v i t a l
earthiness that permeates W e s t I n d i a n folklore. C o m p a r i n g
St. L u c i a n mountains, trees and local legends w i t h those of
Ireland, W a l c o t t establishes precedent for the regional
characteristics of his plays. H i s precedent for discipline
comes c i r c u i t o u s l y t h r o u g h the example of B e r t o l t B r e c h t ' s
epic theatre. A f t e r r e a d i n g B r e c h t , W a l c o t t learned to ap-
preciate the emphatic power of r h y t h m , f o r m , gesture, and
restraint exemplified i n the N o h a n d K a b u k i plays. J u s t
as the West I n d i a n populace is a m i x t u r e of A f r i c a n , Chinese,
Indian, and C a u c a s i a n strains, he draws f r o m divergent
traditions. These are explained i n a 1970 Savacou article,
" M e a n i n g s " : f r o m E u r o p e there is classical l i t e r a t u r e ; f r o m
A f r i c a a n d A s i a there are elements of dance, mime, and
narrative. 10
T h e t h i r d m a j o r element i n the f o r m u l a is a
positive " m a s c u l i n e v i r i l i t y , " whose m e a n i n g is clear enough.
R a t h e r t h a n a static, introverted play, W a l c o t t wants asser-
tive, p h y s i c a l strength w i t h emphasis less on psychology
t h a n on open conflict. T h r o u g h a merger of two strains —
one more dependent on l o g i c a l exposition, the other r e l y i n g
heavily on expressive movement — a n a t i o n a l theatre could
be generated, one equally adept at Shakespeare and C a l y p s o .

A poet-playwright t u r n e d manager, director and producer

of epic theatre r i s k s over-extending himself, is i n danger of
over-burdening the symbols and motifs that arise n a t u r a l l y
f r o m t h e context of a p a r t i c u l a r life experience. W a l c o t t ' s
40 ROBERT D. H A M N E R

success at t r a n s m u t i n g h i s personal experience into a n art-

istic one c a n be measured b y the steady g r o w t h of a
receptive audience, both at home and abroad, and b y the
a u t h o r i t a t i v e r i n g of t r u t h as the implications of his themes
emerge more a n d m o r e clearly. Unfortunately, a major
obstacle to r e a c h i n g a broad overview of Walcott's d r a m a
is the fact that only four of h i s plays have been published
b y a major c o m m e r c i a l press. E a r l y ones exist i n m a n u -
11

script (some incomplete) ; others i n l i m i t e d editions were

p r i n t e d b y the E x t r a - M u r a l Department of the U n i v e r s i t y
of the W e s t Indies a n d b y s m a l l regional publishers; the
most recent are still i n a state of e v o l u t i o n : W a l c o t t seems
reluctant to accept a version as absolutely finished. I n spite
of the difficulties, however, i t is possible to f i n d a sufficient
n u m b e r of lesser-known plays w h i l e w i s h i n g they were
more r e a d i l y available.
T h e r e are at least s i x titles t h a t predate Henri Christophe
(1950), but since W a l c o t t refers to i t as his first full-length
play, i t is the most logical place to begin searching out
the m y t h o l o g i c a l elements i n h i s d r a m a . Henri Christophe
and Drums and Colours (a play commissioned for the open-
ing of the f i r s t P a r l i a m e n t of t h e W e s t Indies i n 1958, and
subtitled " A n E p i c D r a m a " ) are unique among W a l c o t t ' s
m y t h i c a l l y - o r i e n t e d plays i n that they are based on legen-
d a r y figures f r o m a c t u a l history. A s a y o u n g m a n of nine-
teen, W a l c o t t saw H a i t i ' s r e v o l u t i o n a r y heroes — Toussaint,
Dessalines, C h r i s t o p h e — " m a g n i f i e d into m y t h . " T h e y
had presumed to challenge a n ordered universe, a n d the
G o d of that universe exacted severe r e t r i b u t i o n as a master
chastises h i s disobedient slave. H e w a s correct i n depicting
t h e i r self-contempt a n d t h e i r foreshadowing of the " c o n t r a -
dictions of being w h i t e i n m i n d a n d black i n body," b u t he
later realized that t h e i r tragedy w a s not a simple matter
of t h e i r blackness: " N o w , one m a y see such heroes as
squalid fascists w h o chained t h e i r o w n people." 12
Y e t their
violent attempt t o break a n old servitude w a s a necessary
 DEREK WALCOTT 41

prelude to self-discovery, to the even more tragic realization

that t y r a n n y knows no complexion.
Henri Christophe follows i m p o r t a n t h i s t o r i c a l events, but
the play itself does not c a r r y the conviction of inner t r u t h .
One problem is w i t h the Renaissance polish on words and
images that seems inconsistent w i t h the rough anguish and
d i g n i t y of the characters being described. T h e r e is fine
poetry i n the lines C h r i s t o p h e uses to express his grief
upon l e a r n i n g of Toussaint's death. T h e sentiment rings
hollow more for the archaic language than for the fact t h a t
C h r i s t o p h e is himself one of Toussaint's betrayers:
Christophe: F o l d up y o u r hopes to show t h e m to your
children,
Because the sun has settled now
B e h i n d the h o r i z o n of our bold history.
N o w no m a n can measure the horizon
O f his a g o n y ; this grief is wide, wide,
A r a g g e d futility that beats against these rocks,
like Sea-bell's angelus.
T h e m a n is dead, h i s t o r y has b e t r a y e d us. 13

E v e n a l l o w i n g for poetic convention, there is l i t t l e evidence

i n this play of the sweat that C h r i s t o p h e celebrates l a t e r :
" T h e nigger smell, that even k i n g s must wear, / Is bread
and wine to l i f e " (p. 50).
Perhaps for this reason, W a l c o t t ' s next play, Harry
Dernier, a tour de force for r a d i o production, shifts toward
the vernacular, though it is still l i t e r a r y i n style and h i g h l y
metaphysical i n tone. I n places it approaches the s y n t a x
of The Waste Land. N o t inconsequentially the protagonist
is the u l t i m a t e wastelander. Instead of d r a w i n g upon an
imposing figure f r o m the past, W a l c o t t looks f o r w a r d t o
the last m a n on E a r t h . D e r n i e r is introspective, r a i s i n g
the existential questions about the essence of life, death,
sin, God, and his own being. A l l are issues central to m y t h -
ology and t h e i r e x p l i c i t treatment i n t h i s early play signals
the foundation of W a l c o t t ' s developing mythopoeia. The
play r u n s only twenty minutes, but the h i s t o r y of m a n k i n d
flashes by t h r o u g h a catalogue of names f r o m A d a m to
E i n s t e i n , r a n g i n g t h r o u g h artists, scientists, philosophers,
and G r e e k gods. D e r n i e r ' s greatest temptation, encouraged
42 ROBERT D. HAMNER

b y a female voice, is to re-create life. " L i l y the L a d y "

represents the life force a n d the o r d e r i n g p r i n c i p l e of c i v i l i -
zation w h i c h , i r o n i c a l l y , drives m a n to f i n a l destruction.
T h e confirmed misanthrope argues:
H a v e n ' t y o u seen plagues, explosions, m a n ' s k n o w l e d g e ?
S u r e l y the w o m b is the m e a n i n g of war.
Repent, repent . . . I w i l l not be tempted a g a i n . . . .
P e r h a p s now, self m u r d e r is in order . . .
Y o u h e a r God's vultures c r e a k i n g in the sky, and they obey
God's own laws too.
O u r sin is f l e s h .14

B o t h D e r n i e r and L i l y look for causes of the holocaust i n

the C h r i s t i a n t r a d i t i o n : he cites p r i d e ; she, p u n n i n g heavily,
refers to the T r e e of K n o w l e d g e :
. . . W h y did the w o r l d end?
Sin, I suppose; they new [sic] too m u c h
A e o n s t a i n [sic], and O p e n h i m m e l [sic] . . . It's a n i g h t m a r e ,
like one of those
D e s e r t i s l a n d gags. B u t I'm alive, (p. 7)

W h a t e v e r the cause, D e r n i e r ' s solution is death. H e despises

the positive-negative split w i t h i n his person; he is sick of
loneliness, a n d he cannot bear the responsibility and g u i l t
inherent i n choice.
Harry Dernier is a significant prelude to W a l c o t t ' s sub-
sequent plays because i t demonstrates the broader h u m a n
implications of his d r a m a even as that d r a m a adapts more
and more to the r a c i a l and social b a c k g r o u n d of the W e s t
Indian scene. F o r the most part, leading characters i n the
plays since 1951 have tended to be developed i n either of
two directions. O n the one hand, W a l c o t t calls f o r t h the
u n d e r l y i n g strength and grace w h i c h sustain men i n the
lowest stations of life; on the other, he exposes t h e super-
n a t u r a l essence of an unusual m a n involved i n the r e a l m
of h u m a n action — these, w i t h o u t the idealization of either
the lower classes or of t h e hero.
Seven years after Harry Dernier, i n Drums and Colours,
W a l c o t t ' s second r e t u r n to W e s t I n d i a n history, the F r e n c h
G e n e r a l L e C l e r c spells out the f a l l i b i l i t y of that sacred
construct, " t h e people":
 DEREK WALCOTT 43

T h e people have a l w a y s chosen their p a r t i c u l a r demon,

T h e y created their C a e s a r as they created N a p o l e o n .
B u t y o u have been r e a d i n g R o u s s e a u a n d Montesquieu,
T h e y are r o m a n t i c s overcome by the odours of the m o b . 15

L e C l e r c goes o n to a d m i t that he is a cynic, that as a

former advocate of liberté, égalité, fraternité, he is dis-
illusioned b y democratic despotism. H e predicts the out-
come of the H a i t i a n revolt:
T h e r e w i l l not be liberty but mere patterns of revenge.
T h e history of m a n is founded o n h u m a n nature, a n d
W e cannot exorcise the guilt of o r i g i n a l sin. (p. 61)
Because their situations are r a d i c a l l y different, L e Clerc's
pessimism is more moderate t h a n H a r r y D e r n i e r ' s . B u t
there is a pervasive sadness i n Drums and Colours w h i c h
contrasts i r o n i c a l l y w i t h the actions of discovery and devel-
opment that a r e being dramatized. T h e contrast is subtle
and effective. C h r i s t o p h e r C o l u m b u s , r e t u r n i n g to E u r o p e
i n chains, wonders w h a t w i l l be made of t h e w o r l d he dis-
covered. A t r i b a l k i n g , enslaved, is transported t h r o u g h
the middle passage. Inspired b y tales of a fabulous, golden
c i t y i n the jungles of G u i a n a , S i r W a l t e r R a l e i g h sacrifices
fortune, reputation, h i s son, a n d f i n a l l y h i s life p u r s u i n g
the d r e a m of conquest. I n a comic interlude, a B a r b a d i a n
slave, houseproud a n d jealous of the d i g n i t y of i m p e r i a l
sway, castigates a d r u n k e n B r i t i s h sailor f o r conduct u n -
becoming a g u a r d i a n of colonial decency. Toussaint
L ' O u v e r t u r e , sick of bloodshed, is betrayed b y his generals
Dessalines a n d Christophe. I n J a m a i c a , George W i l l i a m
G o r d o n , a w h i t e m a n , is executed f o r advocating emancipa-
tion. F a l l e n upon economic a n d p o l i t i c a l hardships, a
g u e r i l l a band made up of a w h i t e land-owner, h i s mulatto
mistress, a Negro, an E a s t I n d i a n and a Chinese cook share
a pot of calaloo.
C o m i c scenes and touches of h u m o r intersperse the play
to m i t i g a t e the somber picture of exploitation, betrayal,
and deprivation. I n the concluding scene, a character named
M a n o offers a positive m o r a l — t h a t l i t t l e men are as w o r t h -
w h i l e as the great — and t h e chorus ties u p t h e scattered
fragments of h i s t o r y :
44 ROBERT D. HAMNER

T h a t web C o l u m b u s shuttled took its weave,

S k e i n over skein to knit this various race,
T h o u g h w a r r i n g elements of the past compounded
T o coin our b r o t h e r h o o d in this little place, (p. 100)

Drums and Colours, then, appears as a pageant w i t h a did-

actic purpose. It combines the h i s t o r i c a l thrust of Henri
Christophe w i t h the existential anguish of H a r r y D e r n i e r ;
and as the chorus indicates i n concluding P a r t One, the
n a r r a t i v e contains the m a t r i x of W e s t Indian life: " H o w
shall we live, t i l l these ghosts b i d us l i v e ? " (p. 57).
T h i s m a t r i x has given life to each of Walcott's plays
whether he p o r t r a y s the downtrodden man, the restless
colonizer, or the larger-than-life hero of legend. H i s journey
into the innermost regions of the W e s t Indian psyche is
m a r k e d by the g r a d u a l evolution of his p a r t i c u l a r style
of d r a m a t i c expression. T h e Sea at Dauphin (1954), the
most perfectly executed of his e a r l y plays, is a confessed
i m i t a t i o n of Synge's Riders to the Sea. W a l c o t t could
h a r d l y have found a m o r e compatible predecessor. I n the
preface to The Playboy of the Western World, Synge ac-
knowledges his debt to the language and folk i m a g i n a t i o n
of the fishermen, peasants, and ballad-singers along the I r i s h
coast. H e says a l l a r t is collaboration, t h a t " i n a good play
every speech should be as f u l l y flavoured as a nut or apple,
and such speeches cannot be w r i t t e n by anyone who w o r k s
among people w h o have shut t h e i r lips on p o e t r y . " In
16

the W e s t Indies, as i n Synge's Ireland, the folk i d i o m and

i m a g i n a t i o n are v i b r a n t l y alive. T h e r e is something about
plays l i k e Riders to the Sea and The Sea at Dauphin that is
elemental, close to the source of life. T o speak of their
mythopoetic quality, however, is to speak more of symbol
and atmosphere t h a n of the machinations of gods.
I n these plays the sea represents the unpredictable forces
of nature w i t h w h i c h men have to contend for t h e i r lives.
T h e i r s is a d a i l y battle w h i c h , i f unspectacular, is still no
less heroic t h a n the theft of the fire f r o m the gods. S u c h
a comparison is not as u n w a r r a n t e d as i t sounds on the
surface. Walcott's A f a , a fisherman, engages i n repartee
 DEREK WALCOTT 45

w i t h other villagers i n a m i x e d patois of F r e n c h and English.

H e w o r k s h a r d and receives little r e t u r n ; he recounts the
l i t a n y of his failures and of the fishermen who have died,
but even i n the face of inevitable defeat, he defies the sea
and the G o d w h o ignores his prayers.
G o d is a white m a n . T h e sky is his blue eye,
H i s spit on D a u p h i n people is the sea.
D o n ' t ask me w h y a m a n must w o r k so h a r d
T o eat for w o r m to get m o r e fat. M a y b e I bewitch.
Y o u never curse God, I curse h i m , and cannot die,
Until His t i m e . "
T h e name of A f a ' s boat, " O u r D a i l y B r e a d , " is both meta-
phor and l i t e r a l fact. A f a ' s r e c i t a t i o n of the names of fisher-
men who have lost their lives at sea is a chronicle of the
village's past. G r o w i n g out of t h i s blending of metaphor
and r e a l i t y is an image of the c y c l i c a l nature of existence.
Individuals come and pass; t h e i r legacy is the name and the
m e m o r y t h e y leave behind. T h e i r collective record spells
out the terms of D a u p h i n life. D u r i n g the action of the
play, one aged m a n , H o u n a k i n , chooses death i n the sea
over continued suffering. W h a t saves the plot f r o m tragedy
and sends it off into yet another cycle is the appearance
of y o u n g Jules. Jules, son of H a b a l , the m a n w h o f i r s t took
A f a out to sea, comes to h i m for w o r k . A t this point A f a ,
childless, an unfeeling outcast, begins the i n i t i a t i o n of the
next generation. T o Jules' advocate he says,
tell the boy it m a k e y o u sour and old a n d good for n o t h i n g
s t a n d i n g on two feet w h e n f o r t y years you have. . . . A s k
h i m if he r e m e m b e r H a b a l , a n d then Bolo. If he say yes,
tell h i m he must b r a v e like H o u n a k i n , f r o m y o u n g he is.
B r a v e like H a b a l to fight sea at D a u p h i n . T h i s piece of
coast is m a k e for men like that. T e l l h i m A f a do it for his
f a t h e r sake. (p. 76)

W i t h its fullness of character and theme, and its terse,

simple development, The Sea at Dauphin is a fine, one-act
play. It also serves as a good i n t r o d u c t i o n to the language
and life of Walcott's native island.
lone (1957) moves deeper into St. L u c i a n folk t r a d i t i o n
w i t h the i n t r o d u c t i o n of a greater n u m b e r of characters,
i n c l u d i n g a n old prophetess, Teresine. Passions r u n h i g h i n
46 ROBERT D. HAMNER

this play, and the presence of the supernatural is emphasized

not only by Teresine, but also by the almost casual manner
i n w h i c h lone, her sister Helene, and others court disaster.
T h e y function according to drives and feelings t h a t are
greater t h a n they can control. T h e central conflict is be-
tween two m o u n t a i n families over land. T h e i r uneasy peace
turns to violence because of m a r i t a l infidelity and the
t h i r s t for revenge. Several details such as talk of the r e m -
nants of noble A f r i c a n ancestry, of the r i g h t s of the
stronger r i v a l to dominate the land, the appearance of a
" c i v i l i z e d " black school teacher w h o claims i m m u n i t y to
the t r i b a l conflict, a n d the blond A m e r i c a n who has aban-
doned lone w i t h his u n b o r n child, a l l contribute to the
definition of place i n this d r a m a . W h a t is noteworthy is
t h a t i n spite of the concrete setting (local characters,
idiom, and themes), the i n e v i t a b i l i t y of brooding fate, the
women's chorus, a n d the G r e e k names of several of the
characters generate a mood that is r e m a r k a b l y s i m i l a r to
C l a s s i c a l tragedy.
T h i s last observation is c e r t a i n l y no indictment, but
s i m p l y recognizes the d u a l i t y of W a l c o t t ' s a r t at this point.
W i t h i n the y e a r f o l l o w i n g f i r s t p r o d u c t i o n of lone, he dis-
covered the f o r m u l a t h a t best suited his d r a m a t i c purposes.
H e records the event i n " M e a n i n g s " :
T h e first r e a l experience I had of w r i t i n g a stylized W e s t
I n d i a n p l a y was . . . a W e s t I n d i a n fable called Ti-Jean and
His Brothers. F o r the first time I used songs a n d dances
and a n a r r a t o r i n a text. . . . Out of that play, I k n e w
w h a t I wanted, (p. 46)

Ti-Jean and His Brothers (first production, 1958) m a r k s

a t u r n i n g point. W a l c o t t continues to w o r k on basic themes
and characters w h i c h seem uniquely suited to the West
Indies. W h a t changes is the expanded f o r m of presentation
18

as, for the f i r s t time, he adopts w h a t he has learned

t h r o u g h B r e c h t a n d O r i e n t a l theatre. G i v e n the importance
of n a r r a t i v e , dance, and song i n the C a r i b b e a n islands, the
old message takes on a new dimension — a r i c h e r mode of
preconscious expressiveness.
 DEREK WALCOTT 47

A l b e r t A s h a o l u sees no fewer t h a n s i x allegories i n Ti-

Jean: allegories of the artist, history, politics, m o r a l i t y ,
C h r i s t i a n i t y , and social c l a s s .
19
Theodore Colson counts
only two levels of meaning, but his categories are m u c h
broader: man's confrontation w i t h evil, and more p a r t i c u -
l a r l y the slave's confrontation w i t h the w h i t e m a s t e r . 20

H o w e v e r one approaches the matter, the play reveals inner

t r u t h s that m a y be discussed i n terms of m y t h . Walcott's
use of a frog as n a r r a t o r creates an i n i t i a l impression of
the folktale w i t h echoes of the A f r i c a n a n i m a l fable and,
b y m e n t i o n i n g A e s c h y l u s , an open i n v i t a t i o n to c o m p a r i -
sons w i t h Greek choruses. A f t e r that the story itself is a
fantasy w i t h characters w h o are obviously " s t y l i z e d " types
as a n i m a l s are i n fables. A t the deepest level the decep-
t i v e l y simple tale is about the existence of evil, and man's
comportment toward G o d i n a less t h a n perfect universe.
T h e D e v i l , unable to enjoy h i s o w n vices because he can-
not feel h u m a n passion, challenges three brothers to a test
of will-power. E i t h e r w a y the t r i a l goes, the D e v i l stands
to w i n : if a brother arouses h i s anger, he w i l l have the
satisfaction of feeling passion; i f a b r o t h e r loses his temper
first, the D e v i l gets to eat h i m . T h e eldest, Gros Jean,
depends exclusively on his strength to overcome the D e v i l ,
w h o appears i n the mask of a w h i t e plantation owner.
W h e n he fails, the second brother, M i - J e a n , attempts to
bargain, u s i n g his l e a r n i n g . H i s defeat leaves the task i n
the hands of T i - J e a n w h o c l a i m s neither power n o r know-
ledge. I n t h e D e v i l ' s words, T i - J e a n ' s strength lies i n
m a n - w i t or c o m m o n sense. A n o t h e r w a y to describe it,
that takes into account the p a r a d o x i c a l n a t u r e of life, is
to say that T i - J e a n ' s weakness is h i s strength. H e has suf-
ficient h u m i l i t y to respect h i s enemy and a sense of h u m o r
that never allows his values to become distorted. A s the
D e v i l attempts to m a k e h i m a n g r y (to lose self-control) and
thus lose the contest, T i - J e a n follows t h e advice of his aged
mother (experience) and of l o w l y a n i m a l s (instinct) f r o m
w h o m he learns to respect nature and to use his w i t s . W h e n
48 ROBERT D. H A M N E R

the D e v i l assigns h i m impossible tasks — c o u n t i n g the leaves

i n a cane field, t e t h e r i n g o n oversexed goat that w i l l not
stay tied, s i n g i n g as h i s m o t h e r dies — T i - J e a n outdoes
h i m b y b u r n i n g t h e cane and the plantation, b y c a s t r a t i n g
and later eating t h e goat, and b y s i n g i n g as tears f a l l f r o m
his eyes.
Ti-Jean's t r i c k s a n d h i s resilience cause t h e D e v i l to
laugh, rage, a n d c r y i n t u r n . T h u s T i - J e a n w i n s t h e con-
test; b u t as a poor loser, the D e v i l concedes T i - J e a n ' s prize
of one w i s h only, l e a v i n g the door open f o r future encounters.
T h e beauty of T i - J e a n ' s h u m a n i t y i s nowhere more evident
t h a n when he uses his one w i s h , not selfishly but b y heeding
the plea of the B o l o m ( a n u n b o r n foetus) f o r the gift of life.
F o r the a m b i g u i t y i n t h a t gift i t i s necessary only to recall
the mother's words i n Scene T h r e e : " h a v e I not given /
B i r t h and death to the d e a d ? " 21
I n spite of t h e necessary
l i n k a g e of death w i t h life, t h e B o l o m chooses life w i t h its
j o y and sorrow, a n d he c l a i m s T i - J e a n as his n e w brother.
N o prose s u m m a t i o n does justice to t h e movement a n d
color of dance, music, a n d h u m o r of Ti-Jean. Moreover,
since both vehicle and message a r e so uniquely W e s t I n d i a n
i n flavor, this play stands as W a l c o t t ' s earliest, thoroughly
integrated West I n d i a n d r a m a . A s such i t contains m a n y
of t h e p r o m i n e n t candidates f o r W a l c o t t ' s pantheon. M i s -
guided pride i n strength a n d knowledge follows the same
pattern set b y the clansmen and t h e " c i v i l i z e d " teacher i n
lone. A l s o , l i k e t h e prophetess i n lone, t h e mother is as
closely attuned t o the processes o f life as a n y earth-mother.
E v i l , no longer a n impersonal force, is compressed i n the
D e v i l w h o i n t u r n assumes the guise of the ubiquitous w h i t e
overlord. M o s t i m p o r t a n t of a l l , i n T i - J e a n himself is the
character of the t r i c k s t e r hero, one o f t h e most popular
figures i n W e s t I n d i a n stories. T h e r e t o tell the story is
also t h e omniscient n a r r a t o r of o r a l t r a d i t i o n . A d d to these
the figure of C h a n t a l t h e m a d m a n f r o m Malcochon (1959)
and t h e cast i s prepared f o r W a l c o t t ' s most famous play,
Dream on Monkey Mountain.
I
DEREK WALCOTT 49

Dream on Monkey Mountain, w h i c h received an Obie

a w a r d i n N e w Y o r k i n 1970, was begun i n 1959 and pro-
duced for the first t i m e i n 1967. I n Ti-Jean W a l c o t t found
the style of theatre he was seeking. W i t h M a k a k , the m a i n
character of Dream, he creates the heroic w a r r i o r figure
that he missed i n the folklore of slave t r a d i t i o n . T h e model
for his fallen w a r r i o r is t a k e n f r o m childhood m e m o r y :
T h e person I saw was this degraded, humble, lonely, isolated
f i g u r e of the woodcutter. I c a n see h i m for w h a t he is
now, a b r a w l i n g , r u d d y d r u n k . . . T h i s was a degraded
m a n , but he h a d some e l e m e n t a l force i n h i m that is still
terrifying; i n another society he w o u l d h a v e been a
warrior. 2 2

A t the heart of M a k a k ' s d r e a m is a u n i f y i n g quest motif.

T h e r e a l goal, his b i r t h r i g h t , is not realized f r o m the outset
because he is distracted b y two of the most seductive
illusions i n g r a i n e d i n the N e w W o r l d Negro's psyche: the
illusions of i d e n t i t y either i n E u r o p e a n whiteness, o r i n
A f r i c a n blackness. P a r a d o x i c a l l y these opposites come to
M a k a k i n the mysterious v i s i o n of a w h i t e goddess who
reveals t h a t he is descended f r o m a f a m i l y of lions and kings.
D r e a m and r e a l i t y coalesce w h e n she commands h i m to
r e t u r n to A f r i c a , old and u g l y as he believes himself to be.
Innocuous as the goddess m a y seem, there is danger i n
her v e r y whiteness. M a k a k is slow to see this, but the
audience is made conscious of the danger t h r o u g h the
character of C o r p o r a l Lestrade.
L e s t r a d e is a mulatto policeman w h o has been educated
into a respect for the w h i t e man's l a w a n d into contempt
for N e g r o backwardness. A s he sets out to recapture M a k a k
and t w o other escaped prisoners, L e s t r a d e voices h i s acquired
perspective:
T h e r e ' s n o t h i n g quite so exciting as p u t t i n g d o w n the
natives. E s p e c i a l l y after reason and l a w have failed. . . .
T h e n I'll have good reason for shooting t h e m d o w n . S h a r p -
v i l l e ? . . . A t t e m p t i n g to escape f r o m the p r i s o n of their
lives. T h a t ' s the most dangerous crime. It b r i n g s about
revolution. 23

O n the t r a i l of M a k a k , Lestrade's veneer of c i v i l i z a t i o n

wears off and he "goes n a t i v e . " A second character, whose
50 ROBERT D. HAMNER

exploits also reveal the f u t i l i t y of assumed identities, is

M a k a k ' s t r a v e l i n g companion, Moustique. W i t h Moustique,
the standard figure of the t r i c k s t e r is introduced. I n differ-
ent segments of M a k a k ' s d r e a m sequence Moustique is
k i l l e d twice. T h e f i r s t time, he is beaten to death b y angry
villagers w h o discover that he is a fraud, not the m i r a c l e -
w o r k i n g M a k a k he pretends to be. The second time, he is
executed by Lestrade on M a k a k ' s orders for h a v i n g betrayed
the d r e a m of A f r i c a n salvation. B y this point i n the play,
M a k a k a n d Lestrade are both vengeful fanatics: Lestrade
because he hates w h a t the h i s t o r y of w h i t e d o m i n a t i o n has
done to his self-esteem, M a k a k because he finds the same
c o r r u p t i o n and selfishness he wished to escape a m o n g his
o w n black followers. F e e l i n g the bitter irony, M a k a k des-
cribes the f i g h t i n g a m o n g his people as "progress." Lest-
rade calls i t the l a w of the jungle. A t h i r d archetypal
figure emerges i n the person of B a s i l the carpenter. Since
one b r a n c h of B a s i l ' s trade is i n coffins, he serves as a
n a t u r a l death figure. It is appropriate, not only for the
action of one late scene b u t for the theme of the entire
play, that B a s i l is responsible for reading off the r o l l of
a l l those w h o stand r a c i a l l y g u i l t y i n M a k a k ' s d r e a m of
blackness. B a s i l ' s list, one of the wittiest spots i n the
production, includes N o a h , (but not the son of H a m ) , A b r a -
h a m L i n c o l n , R o b e r t E . Lee, M a n d r a k e the M a g i c i a n , A l
Jolson, a n d others — a l l of w h o m are indisputably con-
demned for being w h i t e (p. 312).
M a k a k ' s p r o g r a m to rectify h i s t o r y and erase the slate of
the past results i n the judgment against his closest friend
Moustique. A s is often the case i n W e s t Indian folk tales,
the t r i c k s t e r initiates the process of disillusionment w h i c h
u l t i m a t e l y awakens M a k a k to the false t u r n his quest has
taken. Moustique asks whether it is not M a k a k himself
w h o really betrays the true d r e a m of M o n k e y M o u n t a i n .
M a k a k begins w i t h something positive, but now the feeling
i n the heart is gone, replaced by hatred and revenge. Before
he dies, Moustique judges h i m to be more of an ape, a
 DEREK WALCOTT 51

puppet, t h a n he was before he dreamed of a s s u m i n g a new

A f r i c a n identity. T h e w h i t e goddess has saved h i m from
his o r i g i n a l m i s t a k e of seeing himself w i t h a w h i t e m i n d i n a
black body, but the v i s i o n she substitutes becomes equally
false. M a k a k is West Indian, the mixed-blooded descendant
of blacks and whites, not p u r e l y one o r the other. In a
momentous symbolic act, it is necessary that he r i d h i m -
self of h i s a p p a r i t i o n . H e must behead the w h i t e goddess
w i t h his own sword. In M a k a k ' s dream, the words to des-
cribe the significance of his act are placed i n the m o u t h of
Lestrade, the most blatant example of M a k a k ' s distorted
vision.
She is the colour of the law, religion, paper, art, and if
y o u w a n t peace, if y o u w a n t to discover the beautiful depth
of y o u r blackness, nigger, chop off her h e a d ! W h e n y o u
do this, y o u w i l l k i l l Venus, the V i r g i n , the Sleeping
B e a u t y . She is the w h i t e l i g h t that p a r a l y s e d y o u r mind,
that led y o u into this confusion. It is y o u who created
her, so k i l l her! k i l l her! T h e l a w has spoken, (p. 319)

T h e powerful i r o n y of Lestrade's pronouncement is that,

as correct as i t m a y be, he is not f u l l y aware of the deeper
implications. T h e last act ends w i t h the beheading of the
goddess, but i n the epilogue, w i t h the d r e a m ended and
M a k a k s t i l l i n C o r p o r a l Lestrade's j a i l cell, M a k a k has
reached the goal of a quest that lies deeper t h a n a m a n l i k e
Lestrade could understand. L e s t r a d e needs an ordered
w o r l d , a system of l a w that tells h i m r i g h t f r o m wrong.
H e w i l l never be free f r o m slavery to one master o r another.
M a k a k on the other hand has not o n l y cut t h r o u g h the
strings of his w h i t e puppet-master, he has also cut the
controls of the black master as w e l l . H e needs the " A f r i c a
of his m i n d " i n so f a r as i t keeps h i m i n t o u c h w i t h his
origins, but t h a t is no end i n itself as i t is for Lestrade.
B y the f i n a l speech of the play, M a k a k has remembered
that h i s r e a l name is F e l i x H o b a i n , a n d he has found that
his t r u e home is back on the m o u n t a i n .

T h e branches of m y fingers, the roots of m y feet, could

g r i p nothing, but now, God, they h a v e found g r o u n d . . . .
M a k a k lives w h e r e he has a l w a y s lived, i n the d r e a m of
52 ROBERT D. HAMNER

his people. . . . O t h e r prophets w i l l come, and they w i l l

be stoned, and mocked, and betrayed, but now this old
h e r m i t is g o i n g back home, b a c k to the beginning, to the
green b e g i n n i n g of this w o r l d . Come, Moustique, we g o i n g
home. (p. 326)

It is not merely r a c i a l roots t h a t M a k a k has found, but

generic roots. H e is a m a n , his o w n independent self, free
to begin anew.
A s W a l c o t t demonstrates t h r o u g h M a k a k , the d r e a m is
necessary; but i t is as conducive to delusion as to revelation.
W i t h Dream, W a l c o t t culminates the essential West I n d i a n
d r a m a that he has been e x p l o r i n g since at least as e a r l y
as The Sea at Dauphin. F i t t i n g l y , the next d r a m a t i c w o r k
he undertakes, The Joker of Seville, builds on the foundation
of Dream on Monkey Mountain.
The Joker of Seville (1975) is a n adaptation of T i r s o
deMolina's seventeenth-century El Burlador de Sevilla.
W a l c o t t was commissioned b y E n g l a n d ' s R o y a l Shakespeare
company to re-create a modern version of the legendary
D o n J u a n . O n several counts, W a l c o t t is especially suited
for just such a fusion of the past w i t h the present, of old
and new worlds. H e is on record as h a v i n g s a i d t h a t West
I n d i a n artists are adept a s s i m i l a t o r s ; he has experience i n
b r i n g i n g together threads of diverse cultures; and he lives
i n a social context that is r e m a r k a b l y s i m i l a r to t h a t of
D o n J u a n ' s S p a i n . I n fact, i n The Middle Passage V . S.
N a i p a u l d r a w s v i v i d parallels between places i n the West
Indies today and S p a i n i n the 1500's:
S l a v e r y , the m i x e d population, the absence of national
pride and the closed colonial system h a v e to a r e m a r k a b l e
degree re-created the attitudes of the S p a n i s h p i c a r o o n
w o r l d . T h i s was a n u g l y w o r l d , a jungle, w h e r e the p i c a r o o n
hero starved unless he stole, was beaten almost to death
w h e n found out, and had therefore to get in his blows first
w h e n e v e r possible; where the weak were h u m i l i a t e d ; w h e r e
the powerful never a p p e a r e d and were beyond r e a c h ; w h e r e
no one was allowed a n y d i g n i t y and everyone had to
impose himself. . . . (p. 73)

T h e D o n J u a n figure is of course legendary. W i t h his

established m y t h i c proportions, he provides an ideal vehicle
for demonstrating the fact that W e s t I n d i a n experience is
 DEREK WALCOTT 53

not necessarily as unique as its exotic appearance m a y

suggest. W h i l e M a k a k exemplifies the e x t r a o r d i n a r y qual-
ities of a humble woodcutter, D o n J u a n w o r k s i n the
opposite d i r e c t i o n : the embodiment of a supernatural i m -
pulse, the u l t i m a t e i n masculine sexuality. A m o n g the
components of the D o n J u a n archetype are the lover, the
rebel, the trickster, the D i o n y s i a n liberator, and s a c r i f i c i a l
god. W a l c o t t does not add to the n u m b e r of dimensions,
but he broadens the field of action to include the N e w
W o r l d , and he provides m o r e character exposition than
T i r s o does. Yet, even t h o u g h W a l c o t t ' s J u a n is more
introspective t h a n T i r s o ' s o r i g i n a l , he remains a provocative
enigma. A n attempt to understand his m o t i v a t i o n requires
i n q u i r y into at least four central issues: the nature of his
quest, the lessons provided b y the w o m e n he seduces, the
parallels d r a w n between the O l d and N e w Worlds, and the
terms of his tragic e n d i n g . 24

W h e n they are about to b o a r d ship for the N e w W o r l d ,

C a t a l i n i o n asks J u a n w h a t he is seeking. J u a n answers he
really seeks nothing, but t h a t men want to hear that his
quest is for the bitter g r a i l of remorse. M u c h later i n con-
versation w i t h one of the men he has cuckolded, he
elaborates:
I serve one principle! T h a t of
the g e n e r a t i n g e a r t h whose laws
compel the l o p i n g lion to m o v e
towards the f a l l o w lioness,
who in this second, embodied
his b u c k l i n g stagger, I
fought for that f r e e d o m delivered
after E d e n . If I defy y o u r
principles because I served
nature, that was c h i v a l r y
less u n - n a t u r a l t h a n y o u r own. (II, vii)

F r o m t h i s passage several points emerge. J u a n embodies

a n i r r a t i o n a l force: he champions man's urge to obey i m -
pulses and to defy prohibitions, such as the one imposed
i n E d e n a n d those imposed b y society; he, as n a t u r a l m a n ,
stands outside i n s t i t u t i o n a l values. T h e terms of h i s quest
require that he use every t r i c k i n his arsenal to conquer
54 ROBERT D. HAMNER

each female that he encounters. A s i t turns out, however,

the women he seduces are not enslaved, but are liberated
by h i s violation. T h e i r o n y of i t is that each w o m a n bears
some of the responsibility for her fate because of a weakness
i n her o w n m o r a l i t y . Isabella and A n a are deceived b y
J u a n ' s disguises w h e n he enters t h e i r chambers, but each
of her own v o l i t i o n has i n v i t e d a m a n to m a k e love to her.
T i s b e a i n the pride of her beauty disdains a l l suitors of
her own social level, and is thus susceptible to the approach
of a gentleman. A m i n t a allows herself to be w o n over by
J u a n ' s argument t h a t the love of the heart transcends
m a r r i a g e vows (and h i s argument is not weakened b y the
prospect he offers of a m o r e noble m a t c h ) .
A f t e r long contemplation i n monastic seclusion, Isabella
comes t o see her loss of m a i d e n l y innocence i n a l i g h t re-
m a r k a b l y s i m i l a r to the h u m a n freedom purchased by
disobedience i n E d e n . S p e a k i n g to A n a a n d A m i n t a , she
explains how chastity, self-denial, and c o n f o r m i t y to the
dictates of p r o p r i e t y are denials of life a n d freedom:
. . . H e h a d t a u g h t us choice,
he, the great J o k e r of Seville,
whose mischief is s i m p l y a boy's
has m a d e us women, that is all.

L i s t e n A n a , don't y o u see
that w h a t he's shown the lot of us
is that our lust for p r o p r i e t y
as wives, Is just as lecherous
as his? O u r protestations
a l l m a r k e t a b l e chastity?
S u c h tireless dedication's
a l m o s t h o l y ! H e set us free
A n a , he t a u g h t us choice! (II, iii)

S u c h hard-earned detachment assuages the grief of Isabella,

A n a , and to some extent A m i n t a , but i t does not help
Tisbea, w h o r a s h l y c o m m i t s suicide w h e n J u a n dashes her
hopes of u p w a r d m o b i l i t y t h r o u g h m a r r i a g e .
W h e n J u a n f i r s t comes upon Tisbea, i n w h a t he takes to
be a n uncorrupted, v i r g i n land, he m i s t a k e n l y t h i n k s that
a p r e - F a l l E d e n m a y be i n the offing. H i s reaction is bitter
w h e n she speaks of m a r r i a g e and he is bent on love.
 DEREK WALCOTT 55

A Wife! Y o u c a l c u l a t i n g bitch

G o d y o u beasts must love y o u r cages!

M a r r y a man Tisbea; I am a
force, a principle, the rest
are husbands, fathers, sons, I'm none
of these. A t that she shields her breast
i n shame. . . .

I'm g o i n g back on the next ship.

Old World, New World. They're all one.
D a m m i t ! I hate a wasted trip.
Catalinion! Catalinion! (I, vii)

B e h i n d J u a n ' s back, his slave C a t a l i n i o n has already a r t i c u -

lated the p l i g h t that is symbolized b y Tisbea's E u r o p e a n
pretentions. D i s c u s s i n g the m e a n i n g of freedom w i t h two
West Indians he has befriended, C a t a l i n i o n points out the
fatal delusion under w h i c h colonial subjects operate. W i t h
the opportunity to begin a new life, they have settled for
the borrowed role of "free S p a n i a r d s . " C a t a l i n i o n warns,

Y o u ' r e w a t c h i n g the r a p e of the New World, but you're

too close to notice. . . .

. . . Y o u h a v e a chance to r e m a k e
things instead you accept them. T h a t ' s disgraceful. (I, vi)

In his wake, J u a n leaves m a n y disappointed expectations

and sometimes death, as w i t h Tisbea and A n a ' s father D o n
Gonzalo, but one result of his t r i c k e r y is the revelation of
t r u t h . C a t a l i n i o n , Isabella, and t h r o u g h them the audience,
come to a deeper understanding of J u a n and of t h e i r own
h u m a n i t y . T h i s is t h e i r privilege and t h e i r r e w a r d — a
r e w a r d not for J u a n Tenorio. One of the early songs i n
the d r a m a carries the c h o r a l r e f r a i n " s a n s humanité."
T h e r e i n lies J u a n ' s tragic fate. A s J u a n r e m a r k s more than
once, he is a principle, a force l a r g e r than life; therefore,
l i k e T i - J e a n ' s white planter-devil he cannot experience love
( H , v i i ) , and he admits t h a t he has no heart (I, x ) . H i s
eternal siege on maidenhood and a u t h o r i t y is fruitless for
h i m , though others benefit along the way. T o compound
the f a t a l irony, J u a n the arch-liberator is himself a prisoner,
trapped i n the irreverent role he has always played. W h e n
56 ROBERT D. HAMNER

the vengeful statue of D o n Gonzalo summons h i m to hell,

he is ready to go:
Y o u see here a m a n b o r n empty,
w i t h a heart as h e a v y as y o u r s ;
there's no hell y o u could offer me,
sir, that's equal to its h o r r o r s . (II, vii)

Y e t as J u a n ' s corpse is borne off b y a s t i c k f i g h t e r chorus

to a n insistent C a l y p s o r h y t h m , death itself assumes a
joker's role: "If there is resurrection, death is a joker, /
sans humanité!" (I, v i i ) . J u a n ' s r e w a r d , l i k e M a k a k ' s , is
to become i m m o r t a l as a d r e a m image. U n l i k e M a k a k ,
however, J u a n cannot descend f r o m t h e r e a l m of the ideal
to the mundane tasks of day-to-day l i v i n g . A f t e r his
dream, M a k a k c a n r e t u r n to his c h a r c o a l b u r n i n g and his
home on M o n k e y M o u n t a i n .
T h e significance of t h i s d i s t i n c t i o n should not be over-
looked. W a l c o t t ' s latest p l a y O Babylon!, about the
R a s t a f a r i a n s i n J a m a i c a , treats another humble m a n l i k e
M a k a k whose d r e a m of r e t u r n i n g to A f r i c a does not m a -
terialize. R u f u s J o h n s o n , the wood-carver, recovers f r o m
despair and is saved at the last m o m e n t f r o m suicide i n
order to realize t h a t f a i t h can outlive a fading dream. H e
welcomes back P r i s c i l l a , the w o m a n w h o h a d deserted h i m
w h i l e he was i n j a i l :
M e g l a d y o u come back. T h e others gone, but
M e don't envy t h e m no more. Z i o n is a n y w h e r e
a m a n can stand root like a tree
a n d believe i n h i m brethren. N o w , look y o u r
trowels. P l a n t a n y t h i n g , g y a l .
2 5

O u t of endings l i k e those for Dream on Monkey Mountain,

The Joker of Seville, and O Babylon! i t is possible for life
to grow. A f t e r each failure, m a n faces the task of b u i l d i n g
anew. D o n J u a n is a s y m b o l as appropriate as Prometheus,
Satan, o r S i s y p h u s i n representing the compulsion of the
descendants of A d a m t o resist a n y obstacle.
I n one f o r m o r another, W a l c o t t i n v a r i a b l y comes back
to the c e n t r a l theme of a spoiled W e s t I n d i a n E d e n , and
to the c e n t r a l character of the N e w W o r l d A d a m . It w o u l d
 DEREK WALCOTT 57

seem that the h u m a n i m p l i c a t i o n s of t h e image are p r a c t i -

cally inexhaustible. N o r t h r o p F r y e for one sees A d a m as
the " a r c h e t y p e of the inevitably ironic, . . . h u m a n n a t u r e
under sentence of d e a t h . " A c c i d e n t s of h i s t o r y m a y ac-
26

count for t h e present W e s t I n d i a n situation, but W a l c o t t

is to be credited w i t h recognizing i n h i s native islands a
m i c r o c o s m of the contingencies of freedom and guilt, a n d
the existential placelessness of m o d e r n m a n .

NOTES

!René Wellek, A u s t i n W a r r e n , Theory of Literature, revised ed.

(New Y o r k : H a r c o u r t , B r a c e a n d W o r l d , 1956), p. 192.
2
V. S. N a i p a u l , The Middle Passage (London: Andre Deutsch,
1962), p. 68.
3
D e r e k W a l c o t t , " W h a t the T w i l i g h t S a y s , " i n Dream on Monkey
Mountain and Other Plays (New Y o r k : F a r r a r , Straus and
Giroux, 1970), p. 31.
4
W a l c o t t , In a Green Night ( L o n d o n : J o n a t h a n Cape, 1962), p. 18.
5
W a l c o t t , " C r u s o e ' s J o u r n a l , " i n The Castaway and Other Poems
( L o n d o n : J o n a t h a n Cape, 1965), p. 51.
«Waleott, " H i c J a c e t , " i n The Gulf ( N e w Y o r k : F a r r a r , Straus a n d
G i r o u x , 1970), p. 111.
' W a l c o t t , Another Life ( N e w Y o r k : F a r r a r , S t r a u s a n d Giroux,
1973), p. 41.
sWalcott, Sea Grapes ( L o n d o n : J o n a t h a n Cape, 1976), p. 19.
9
T . S. E l i o t , The Use of Poetry ( L o n d o n : F a b e r a n d F a b e r , 1933),
p. 153.
inWalcott, " M e a n i n g s . " Savacou, 2 (1970), 48.
" A p a r t i a l list of W a l c o t t ' s p l a y s to date n u m b e r s at least
twenty-one. S o m e of the dates of the f o l l o w i n g p l a y s are
a p p r o x i m a t e ; others a p p l y to latest versions of p l a y s w h i c h
were w r i t t e n earlier. F o r example, Dream on Monkey
Mountain was begun i n 1959 a n d not produced u n t i l 1967.
Another World for the Lost (c. 1947), A Simple Cornada
(c. 1947), The Matadors (c. 1947), The Price of Mercy (c.
1948) , Flight and Sanctuary (c. 1949), Cry for a Leader (c.
1949) , Henri Christophe (I960), Harry Dernier (1951), The Sea
at Dauphin (1954), Wine of the Country (1956), lone (1957),
Crossroads (1957), Ti-Jean and His Brothers (1958), Drums
and Colours (1958), Malcochon (1959), Jourmard (1967),
Dream on Monkey Mountain (Obie a w a r d , 1970), In a Fine
Castle (1970), Franklin (1973), The Joker of Seville (1975),
0 Babylonl (1976).
" W a l c o t t , Twilight Says, pp. 12-13.
58 R O B E R T D. H A M N E R

13
W a l c o t t , Henri Christophe (Bridgetown, Barbados: Advocate
C o m p a n y , 1950), p. 10.
1 4
Walcott, Harry Dernier (Bridgetown: Advocate Company,
[1951]), p. 9.
15
W a l c o t t , Drums and Colours, 7, N o s . 1 a n d 2 ( M a r c h - J u n e 1961),
60.
1 6
J . M . Synge, The Complete Works of John M. Synge (New York:
R a n d o m House, 1935), pp. 3-4.
" W a l c o t t , The Sea at Dauphin, i n Dream , . . and Other Plays,
p. 61.
1 8
T w o of W a l c o t t ' s p l a y s w r i t t e n since his t r a n s i t i o n to musicals
i n 1958 m a k e negligible use of m u s i c or story-telling — In
a Fine Castle (for television i n 1970), Franklin (revised 1973)
— but since they b r e a k no new ground, they w i l l not be
e x a m i n e d here.
1 9
A l b e r t A s h a o l u , " A l l e g o r y i n Ti-Jean and His Brothers," WLWE
( A p r i l 1977). M y i n f o r m a t i o n comes f r o m a typescript p r i o r
to a c t u a l publication of the article.
20
T h e o d o r e Colson, " D e r e k Walcott's Plays: Outrage and Com-
passion," WLWE, 12, N o . 1 ( A p r i l 1973), 83.
21
W a l c o t t , Ti-Jean and His Brothers, i n Dream . . . and Other
Plays, p. 134.
22
W a l c o t t , " M e a n i n g s , " p. 50.
23
W a l c o t t , Dream on Monkey Mountain, i n Dream . . . and Other
Plays, pp. 286-87.
24
W a l c o t t , The Joker of Seville. References to this as yet un-
published p l a y are t a k e n f r o m a n actor's typescript. ( A c t a n d
scene n u m b e r s w i l l be noted p a r e n t h e t i c a l l y i n m y text.) I
a m g r a t e f u l to M r . W a l c o t t for his p e r m i s s i o n to photocopy
this w o r k a n d O Babylon'.
28
W a l c o t t , O Babylonl (author's typescript).
2 6
N o r t h r o p F r y e , Anatomy of Criticism (Princeton: Princeton
U n i v e r s i t y Press, 1957), p. 42.