The Blacks

A Clown Show

Jean Genet

• Editorial: Grove Press
• Año: 1994
• ISBN:
  9780802194282
• Categoría: Literature
• Categoría: European Drama

An English translation of Genet's classic symbolic drama, first performed in Paris in 1959. France's master of the absurd explores racial prejudice and stereotypesusing the framework of a play within a play. The New York Times hailed The Blacks as "one of the most original and stimulating evenings Broadway or Off Broadway has to offer, " while Newsweek raved that Genet's plays "constitute a body of work unmatched for poetic and theatrical power." "Genet's investigation of the color black begins where most plays of this burning theme leave off.... This vastly gifted Frenchman uses shocking words and images to cry out at the pretensions and injustices of our world." —Howard Taubman, The New York Times

The members of the Court, all standing on the same tier, seem interested in the spectacle of the dancing Negroes, who suddenly stop short, breaking off the minuet. The Negroes approach the footlights, make a ninety degree turn, and bow ceremoniously to the Court,¹ then to the audience. One of them steps forth and speaks, addressing now the audience, now the Court:

ARCHIBALD: Ladies and gentlemen . . . (The Court burst into very shrill, but very well orchestrated laughter. It is not free and easy laughter. This laughter is echoed by the same but even shriller laughter of the Negroes who are standing about Archibald. The Court, bewildered, becomes silent.) . . . My name is Archibald Absalom Wellington. (He bows, then moves from one to the other, naming each in turn.) . . . This is Mr. Deodatus Village (he bows) . . . Miss Adelaide Bobo (she bows) . . .

Mr. Edgar Alas Newport News (he bows) . . . Mrs. Augusta Snow (she remains upright) . . . well . . . well . . . madam (roaring angrily) bow! (she remains upright) . . . I'm asking you, madam, to bow! (extremely gentle, almost grieved) I'm asking you, madam, to bow–it's a performance. (Snow bows) . . . Mrs. Felicity Trollop Pardon (she bows) . . . and Miss Diop–Stephanie Virtue Secret-rose Diop.

DIOUF: And me.

ARCHIBALD: And he.–As you see, ladies and gentlemen, just as you have your lilies and roses, so we–in order to serve you–shall use our beautiful, shiny black make-up. It is Mr. Deodatus Village who gathers the smoke-black and Mrs. Felicity Trollop Pardon who thins it out in our saliva. These ladies help her. We embellish ourselves so as to please you. You are white. And spectators. This evening we shall perform for you . . .

THE QUEEN ( interrupting the speaker): Bishop! Bishop-at-large!

THE MISSIONARY (leaning toward her, though without changing place): Hallelujah!

THE QUEEN (plaintively): Are they going to kill her? (The Negroes below burst into the same shrill and orchestrated laughter as before. But Archibald silences them.)

ARCHIBALD: Be quiet. If all they have is their nostalgia, let them enjoy it.

SNOW: Grief, sir, is another of their adornments . . .

THE VALET (looking about him): What's happened to my chair?

THE MISSIONARY (doing the same): And to mine? Who took it?

THE VALET (to the Missionary, querulously): If my chair hadn't disappeared too, you'd have suspected me. It was my turn to sit down, but I don't know where the hell my chair is. You can count on my good humor and devotion if I have to remain standing all through the show.

THE QUEEN (increasingly languid): I repeat–are they going to kill her?

THE MISSIONARY (very somberly): But Madam . . . (A pause.) she's dead!

THE VALET: Is that all you can say to your sovereign? (as if to himself) This crowd could stand a good clouting.

THE MISSIONARY: The poor unfortunate has been in my prayers since this morning. In the very forefront.

THE QUEEN (leaning forward to call Snow): Is it true, young lady, that all we have left is our sadness and that it's one of our adornments?

ARCHIBALD: And we haven't finished embellishing you. This evening we've come again to round out your grief.

THE GOVERNOR (shaking his fist and making as if to descend): If I let you!

THE VALET (holding him back): Where are you going?

THE GOVERNOR (with a martial air): To stamp out the Blacks!

(The Negroes below shrug their shoulders in unison.)

ARCHIBALD: Be quiet. (to the audience): This evening we shall perform for you. But, in order that you may remain comfortably settled in your seats in the presence of the drama that is already unfolding here, in order that you be assured that there is no danger of such a drama's worming its way into your precious lives, we shall even have the decency–a decency learned from you–to make communication impossible. We shall increase the distance that separates us–a distance that is basic–by our pomp, our manners, our insolence–for we are also actors. When my speech is over, everything here–(he stamps his foot in a gesture of rage) here!–will take place in the delicate world of reprobation. If we sever bonds, may a continent drift off and may Africa sink or fly away . . .

(For some moments, the Governor, who had taken a paper from his pocket, has been reading in a low voice.)

THE QUEEN: May it flyaway–was that a metaphor?

THE GOVERNOR (reading more and more loudly): “. . . when I fall to earth, scurvily pierced by your spears, look closely, you will behold my ascension. (in a thundering voice) My corpse will be on the ground, but my soul and body will rise into the air . . . “

THE VALET (shrugging his shoulders): Learn your role backstage. As for that last sentence, it oughtn't to be rolled off as if it were a proclamation.

THE GOVERNOR (turning to the Valet): I know what I'm doing. (He resumes his reading.) "You'll see them and you'll die of fright. First, you'll turn pale, and then you'll fall, and you'll be dead . . .” (He folds the paper and puts it back into his pocket very conspicuously.) That was a device to let them know that we know. And we know that we've come to attend our own funeral rites. They think they're compelling us, but it is owing to our good breeding that we shall descend to death. Our suicide . . .

THE QUEEN (touching the Governor with her fan): . . . Preparations for it have begun, but let the Negro speak. Look at that poor, gaping mouth of his, and those columns of flies streaming out of it . . . (she looks more closely, leaning forward) . . . or swarming into it. (to Archibald): Continue.

ARCHIBALD (after bowing to the Queen): . . . sink or fly away. (The members of the Court protect their faces, as if a bird were flying at them.) . . . but let it be off! (A pause.) When we leave this stage, we are involved in your life. I am a cook, this lady is a sewing-maid, this gentleman is a medical student, this gentleman is a curate at St. Anne's, this lady . . . skip it. Tonight, our sole concern will be to entertain you. So we have killed this white woman. There she lies. (He points to the catafalque. The me...