The Tragedy of King Christophe

"There's the situation: Christophe and Pétion , two great fighting cocks, two calojies, as they say in the islands."

Aimé Césaire's The Tragedy of King Christophe,  translated by Ralph Manheim, is a dense play for its 96 pages. Clearly taking from Shakespeare to write a tragedy inspired by the historical Henri Christophe of Haiti, the play also reflects Aimé Césaire's leftist sympathies and Négritude writtings. For instance, Africans appear in the play multiple times and there are Diasporic calls for black pride and unity, the symbolism of Haiti as a way for all 'black girls to never feel ashamed of their skin,' to paraphrase Vastey. The author also toys with history (for example, Christophe knows how to read in this play) but manages to still adhere to the facts on the literary and political achievements of Christophe's state (the humorous play by Juste Chanlatte about rum as the national beverage clearly adheres to developing the Haitian nation, a national poetry or literary identity) while creating a nuanced portrait of the Haitian leader. 

Unlike some of Walcott's Haitian Trilogy, Césaire successfully creates a nuanced vision of Christophe, Vastey, and numerous historical actors in his retelling of Christophe's fall. Moreover, the play begins after the assassination of Dessalines, thereby removing Dessalines and Toussaint Louverture from the play entirely, and solely focusing on Christophe (with only brief scenes for Pétion and his republic in the South, also described as lacking true democracy in a powerful scene with the Senate in Port-au-Prince). Moreover, both Césaire and Walcott clearly use the metaphor of the citadel and the symbolism of the Haitian earth itself when describing the rise and fall of Christophe, with Walcott's Haitian Earth  coming closest to matching the diversity of social classes and interests of the peasants versus elites that Cesaire encapsulates so brilliantly. 

The peasants want to take the earth as a wife as their recompense for driving the whites to the sea during the Haitian Revolution, they want to nurture and love the earth whereas Christophe only sees dust, nothing permanent to erect a strong, proud people, thereby driving his need to complete the citadel as a symbolic and physical defense. This ties in with the author's main assertion that, despite Christophe becoming tyrannical, placing himself above religion, and pushing the laborers too hard, he wanted to build a strong, stone foundation for Haiti, for the black race, to help Haiti become a powerful state like those of the West. Thus, noble in his vision and long-term plans, Christophe ultimately alienates the lower class by refusing to place their worldview and vision for Haiti with that of his own, comparing peasant farming to anarchy. Therein lies the ultimate tragedy, the inability of Christophe to synthesize his vision of Haiti with those of the ex-slaves who made it possible, to combine European tradition with that of the local (despite a few references to Vodou by Christophe himself, it is only associated with the peasantry and Hugonin, who later reveals himself to be Baron Samedi, lwa associated with death).

As a reader, I particularly enjoyed the author's familiarity with Haitian culture and religion, incorporating Baron Samedi into the story as a source of humor and spirituality (with consistent critiques of Christophe through song and proverb). Hugonin, appointed as Minister of Public Morality, certainly speaks to the sense of humor that is pervasive in this tragedy, but also a rejection of Christianity as Christophe has Archbishop Brelle murdered and places himself above the Virgin Mary, thereby placing himself above God. In the same manner, even Hugonin's character changes to conform to Christophe's model and expectations of his court (which, in some hilarious scenes, is clearly satirical of monarchies and the fact that Europe would only send a Master of Ceremonies instead of technicians to help build a new Haiti). 

In addition, Vodou themes are important for the peasantry, who cling to the land as a source of life and decry the harsh working conditions (although, one must mention Christophe's principles, since he has Bazin punished for working the peasants like slaves, showing nuance). Even Madame Christophe seems to align with the peasantry in her vision of a proper monarchy, which provides shade like the mombin tree in the savannah and allows others to grow, not a fig tree that drains the life out of nearby vegetation (this is a central conflict in many African historical kingdoms, such as the Kongo, where scholars like John K. Thornton have explained how royal power worked in that society along a continuum between absolute monarchy and democratic or decentralized authority). For his principles and tough rule, the African page in the play's concluding scene compares Christophe to Shango, the Yoruba orisha associated with thunder (relevant to the section of the play indicating how unrealistic Christophe is, forcing the laborers to continue working on the citadel during a thunderstorm), showing how Christophe was perhaps too much like thunder and lacked the levity of Baron Samedi or Eshu to show the people through the crossroads of national identity. In this regard, the fact that this play functions on so many levels reveals how it surpasses most of Walcott's Haitian Trilogy which is, at times, too harsh, or pessimistic. 

Overall, a short but ideologically dense work exploring history, the symbol of Haiti, African Diasporic ceremonies, and how power and the vision of a hero can isolate one from the masses the hero claims to protect. Christophe veers too far to the side of Shango, and certain 'forms' (again, paraphrasing Vastey) of rule along European models, which, combined with the various political intrigues of his court, the lack of support from Europe, and the central contradiction of his style of leadership with the rural masses he aims to build, provide a root for, Christohe's utter complexity as a full-fleshed out human being shines throughout this work. 

Favorite Quotes

Christophe: "Freedom, yes, but not an easy freedom. Which means that they need a State. Yes, my philosophjer friend, something that will enable this transplanted people to strike roots, to burgeon and flower, to fling the fruits and perfumes of its flowering into the face of the world, something which, to speak plainly, will oblige our people, by force if need be, to be born to itself, to surpass itself."

Christophe: Poor Africa! Poor Haiti, I mean. Anyway, it's the same thing. There: tribes, languages, rivers, castes, the jungle, village against village. Here: blacks, mulattoes, quadroons, witchdoctors and heaven knows what else, clans, castes, shades of color, distrust and competition, cock fights, docgs, fighting over bones, flea fights! (Roaring) Dust! Dust! All dust. No stone. Dust! Shit and dust!

Chanlatte: 

Oh sweet reeds ripening in the yellow plain!

Far off I hear a hundred presses sigh

Crushing the nectar fromt he knotted cane

Transformed to sugar, it glitters to the eye

Or trickling golden from the spigot hole

It bubbles up and overflows the bowl.

Second Peasant: But here's what I've been saying to myself: when we threw the whites into ht sea, it was to have this land for ourselves, not to slave for other people, even if they're as black as we are, but to have the land for ourselves like a wife.

Christophe: My court is a theatre of shadows.

Chanlatte:

Ye haughty foe of our triumphant rights

Abjure your errors and renounce your plans.

What can avail the poison of your helpless

Fury against the rock that bears this isle?

Vainly the winds rile up against King Neptune

One glance from him and all the oceans smile.