Dance on the Volcano

by Marie Vieux-Chauvet

  “You don’t find it rather bold to compare yourself to a Queen?” he asked her.

  “Yes, Monsieur. But, like her Majesty, I’m proud to appreciate costly and beautiful things.”

  “That’s no reason not to heed my advice,” he answered her. “And I’ll not leave you in peace, for that matter, if you don’t obey. Battle your rivals onstage with skillful arms and you’ll beat them.”

  He brought her home and kissed her hand before taking his leave.

  “Farewell, young lady. I hope I’ve not disappointed you,” he said with a strange little smile.

  “You’ve been very kind, Monsieur.”

  And for the first time, she smiled sincerely and so merrily that he almost did not recognize her.

  “This evening will have been one of the most delightful of my life. Thank you, Monsieur.”

  She hurried away and Mozard, left standing alone, shook his head as if mulling over some very private thoughts.

  XXV

  THE MAROONS continued to terrorize people in the plains and in the towns. They had only been feigning submission. They were now streaming down from the hills in screeching gangs, pillaging the workhouses, which they often would set afire.

  Sometimes, during the night, the horns and the drums launched their rallying cries, frightened Whites gathered up their arms, the slaves in the workhouses perked up their ears, and the freedmen – heads lowered, seemingly unmoved – just waited.

  One day, news spread that two maroon leaders had just been brought before the Governor. The crowd hurried over and, despite the constabulary’s efforts to hold them back, people camped out in front of the Governor’s mansion for hours.

  When the door opened and the maroon leaders appeared, escorted by a white colonist and two armed guards, a sudden excitement arose among the spectators. What did the rebels want? Why had the Governor received them with honor and respect? A white woman held out her hand to one of the guards, called him by name and shouted:

  “Tell me what’s going on, Roland?”

  “You’re far too curious, my dear,” he answered.

  She ran to him, took his arm familiarly and repeated:

  “Come on, tell me what’s going on – tell me!”

  Annoyed by her persistence, the young soldier finally told her everything.

  “Monsieur Desmarrates,” he whispered, pointing to the planter, “has just brought these two maroon leaders here. We’ve signed a treaty with them. We officially recognize their freedom, and in exchange they stop raiding our plantations.”

  The woman nearly keeled over from shock.

  “Oh! Oh!” she exclaimed, bringing her hand to her mouth, “give those wild dogs their freedom – why, it’s madness!”

  She immediately released the soldier’s arm and ran back to the crowd. The news spread like wildfire.

  Joseph Ogé was among the freedmen gathered on a corner of the street. As soon as the news reached him, he ran to the Lamberts’, where he found Beauvais and Louise Rasteau.

  Ever since he had been rendered incapable of speaking, his face had taken on a strained, almost tragic expression. His gentle eyes were open exaggeratedly wide, as if he were making a constant effort to express the intensity of his soul. He looked at Lambert with his expression of a hunted animal, mechanically removed the pad and pencil Minette had given him from his pocket, and wrote:

  Santyague has just surrendered and the Governor has recognized officially the freedom of the Bahoruco slaves.

  The two men rose and looked at one another, then Beauvais spoke:

  “The Whites are more and more afraid.”

  At that time, a new, subtler kind of marooning had become rampant. After fleeing the plantations, slaves would go into town, where they would blend in, dressed as freedmen. These slaves made a dangerous group of outlaws. Lying in ambush in the woods, they attacked travelers, pillaged and robbed anyone who fell within their grasp. Hunted by the constabulary, they would then return to town, where they would blend in with the crowd, dressed as freedmen to throw off suspicion.

  The planters, faced with their impotence to combat these new rebels, organized hunts, during which they often slaughtered perfectly innocent Blacks and mixed-bloods. The tension between the Whites and the latter group was getting worse and worse. The hatred on either side had reached its apogee. The slaves, seen as little more than beasts of burden in the eyes of their masters, had no opportunity to imagine, think about, or prepare any uprisings. Despite the example of the slaves of Bahoruco, the Whites remained skeptical regarding the intelligence and initiative of Africans. So the mixed-bloods were blamed for everything. More than ever, they were humiliated, repressed, and ridiculed. More than ever, the slaves were beaten, tortured, and killed. Slaveholding Blacks and Mulattos, fearing the disappearance of their own slaves, reacted just as brutally toward their black brothers. Proud of the social position their wealth seemed to assure them, they wanted only one thing: to become richer. In this, they so closely resembled the white planters that the latter, always jealous when it came to their exclusivity, had begun to take offense.

  One can survive fairly smoothly in the midst of hatred, for habit is a powerful thing. Despite certain suspicious elements, life went on without any great upset. These suspicious elements no longer came from the hills, where a heavy silence reigned now that the lambi horns had gone quiet. But it had become visible in thousands of tiny ways – in people’s eyes, attitudes, and gestures. The freedmen’s silent reproaches turned into a heavy and painful hostility. They gritted their teeth and lowered their eyes beneath the boots and gold-buckled shoes of the important white planters. Cravenly ignoring certain worrisome or unpleasant thoughts, the wealthy planters persuaded themselves that everything was perfectly fine, just to be able to live in peace. And their feasts, their merriment, and their pleasures augmented daily.

  For Minette, as for everyone, the years passed with no great shocks. Ever since she had been granted Mozard’s protection, she sang, acted, and was paid regularly. She had reached the heights of fame. Young Jean was growing up and Lise continued her successes in Léogane. Everything was going for the best, was it not? In her heart, the memory of Jean-Baptiste Lapointe was little more than a slight shadow that Claude Goulard’s affection could not manage to make fade away entirely. At times, she was tempted to fall for him. Yet, her repugnance at the prospect of his kisses and embraces made clear to her that she could be nothing more than a devoted and charming friend to him.

  Joseph’s suffering, the Whites’ haughtiness, the planters’ whips – they had all ended up adopting the stunned face of routine and resignation. Strangely, in order to awaken whatever was alive in the depths of people’s hearts, the lash of some sort of extraordinary event was needed – something that, with brutal shock, could bring the thousands of dulled consciousnesses out of their torpor.

  At the end of that year, Lise returned from Léogane. She brought with her details, news, and a little bag of money, which she proudly showed to her mother and Minette.

  “I could buy myself a slave, if I wanted to,” she said with a little arrogant tone.

  She had grown taller and plumper; her success had brought her confidence and it showed – a bit too much, in Minette’s opinion.

  The evening of her arrival, she organized a little party, to which she invited Nicolette, Goulard, Joseph, the Acquaires, and a rich young freedwoman named Angevine Roselin, whom she had met in Léogane and about whom she spoke with pride.

  “Why Angevine?” protested Minette. “We hardly know her.”

  “I’ve got to start frequenting other sorts of people now. Angevine is very rich, you understand?”

  No. Minette did not understand at all. But it was not her party and Lise was free to do as she pleased.

  “She’s a lovely person, you’ll see. She came to see me backstage one day, after the performance of Thérèse and Jeannot.”

  So Angevine was invited. She arrived by carriage, escorted by two slave girls
. The carriage was driven by a Mulatto in livery who waited for his “mistress” outside the house, which piqued the curiosity of the neighbors on Traversière Street. Angevine wore a magnificent white silk dress, imported from France and ordered by a white boutique owner who worked for her in secret. She was pretty and often showed her perfect teeth in a joyful smile. Nicolette, devouring her with her eyes, noticed her flirting with Goulard. She immediately set out to seduce the young actor herself. Speaking Creole, playing with their fans, they overwhelmed him with batting eyelashes and compliments.

  An hour later, Goulard, seduced by Nicolette’s expert flirtation, completely abandoned Angevine. Nicolette was right to think herself unbeatable at that particular game.

  Minette watched Angevine and her two slave girls, both attentive to her slightest gesture. It reminded her of something she had very nearly managed to forget. The little house in Boucassin, Marie-Rose and the Saint-Ars, Mlle de Caradeux…All those rich slave-owners, served by slaves on their knees, enriched on the backs of slaves. Despite her dark skin, was Angevine not, in a way, in the same position as Mlle de Caradeux? It was money that had performed that miracle. What did it matter that she had to obey certain restrictions if her carriage was just like those of the wealthy white planters, adorned with lace from Utrecht and driven by a coachman in full livery! It was certainly better than nearly being ruined by the hooves of a horse that an impertinent young White laughingly held by the reins as it trampled a poor street vendor’s stand. The memory of that scene made her heart beat faster. Yet, it had been some time since they had replaced the stand and refilled it with the best wares in the country. Lise, in her letters, had often slipped in a few crisp bills, and for months they had been eating their fill in the little house on Traversière Street.

  During the party, someone asked the two sisters to sing. Lise announced that she would do a whole scene for them. She ran to shut herself up in the bedroom and came back wearing a heavy canvas skirt bunched up at the waist. Barefoot, a pipe in her mouth, and her head wrapped in a red madras scarf, she imitated the gait of workhouse slaves singing a sweet, sad melody.

  Suddenly, she fell to her knees, interrupting the song with moans and sobs. Her gestures were perfect and everyone could understand what they meant. She was being hit and trying to dodge the blows. Badly beaten, she lay prostrate and kissed the ground in two places, as if kissing someone’s feet. Then, rising, she began to dance a calenda, singing and clapping her hands.

  Minette looked at her mother: her forehead was covered in sweat. Who knows whether she herself had perhaps twisted like that under someone’s blows, moaning and sobbing! Who knew whether, after being beaten, she had had to beg forgiveness and get back in her master’s good graces, kissing his feet – her back still bloody – then dancing and singing to amuse him! She put her hands in front of her face and cried:

  “Enough!…”

  Lise, mute with surprise, looked at her for a moment.

  “You don’t like that scene? Well, it was a real hit in Léogane…”

  Angevine and Nicolette applauded, doubled over with laughter. The two slave girls, crouched in a corner of the room, giggled into their hands as they nibbled on pieces of cake Jasmine had given them. Joseph and Goulard, each with one of Saint-Martin’s children on his lap, looked at Lise without flinching, and M Acquaire’s tic went wild as he exchanged meaningful glances with his wife.

  “And besides, not everyone can sing opera,” Lise added, angered. “Just because you opted for high art doesn’t mean you should look down on the local plays.”

  Unable to respond, Minette busied herself serving refreshments. Handing a glass to Joseph, she noticed his lips trembling.

  To lighten the mood, Goulard announced that the Comédie hoped to present very soon an Indian ballet in full costumes, and proceeded to give all the details.

  The evening ended without further incident, other than the fact that Goulard quietly slipped away with Nicolette, which made Minette smile.

  The next day, they learned that Angevine had been abandoned by her two slaves on the way home and raped by the driver, who had also run away. That morning, Angevine’s enraged parents arrived at Jasmine’s house, looking for answers.

  “What time did she leave here?”

  “How were her slaves acting during the party?”

  “Were subversive comments made in front of them?”

  Angevine’s father was a heavyset, light-skinned Mulatto, bearded and potbellied, who spoke a Frenchified Creole and wore boots like those of the wealthy planters. While his wife cried her eyes out, lamenting that her daughter had been a virgin, the black planter screamed and shouted, swearing by all the gods that he would make his other slaves pay for this crime.

  “I swear to God, I’ll beat and torture them until my anger has been spent!”

  They went away, leaving Jasmine stunned.

  On hearing the news, Nicolette let out a sarcastic little laugh.

  “And so what now? No reason to get all worked up. That Angevine isn’t going to die. As for her parents, they should just go ahead and have her bled a bit – that’ll calm her down.”

  Everyone was talking about the incident. Laughing at Angevine, a few young Whites improvised a song about “her virginity, lost in the arms of a handsome slave,” and then all was forgotten.

  One scandal easily came along to replace another: duels, rapes, hunting down debtors, and the vengeful blows of cuckolded husbands were all the rage. A few days after that, M Brousse swore he would monitor Magdeleine. He followed her, lay in wait for her, and caught her a second time kissing a young officer, who brandished his weapon on seeing him, then burst out laughing at the flabbergasted look on the poor man’s face. That time, he would not forgive her and went straight to the public prosecutor to complain about his wife’s behavior. Magdeleine Brousse was arrested at the theater in the middle of a rehearsal and, despite her tears and the protests of the other actors, she was brought to prison. The billboards had announced an upcoming opera: Nina or the Love-Crazed Woman. Minette was meant to receive the profits from that performance. Magdeleine Brousse’s arrest dealt her a harsh blow. The question on everyone’s mind: who could replace her? Depoix wrote to Mme de Vanancé, who was vacationing in Cap-Français, asking her to return as soon as possible. Magdeleine Brousse ended up performing the role herself, for she returned two days later, dark circles beneath her eyes and a smile on her lips.

  “They took pity on me,” she said, wringing her hands with false candidness. “They took pity on me and let me escape. Ah, those officers are decent guys!”

  Everyone was so happy to see her that they welcomed her with shouts of joy. The reason behind her liberation was a secret they were perfectly happy to keep. Rehearsals began again with all of the actors in place, and the night of the performance arrived.

  It was the month of May. A radiant sky, shining with stars, welcomed a happy, well-dressed, and excited crowd. There were many people gathered outside the Comédie. A half hour before curtain, the actors arrived in their costumes and, as always, caused quite a sensation in the street.

  That evening was one of the greatest successes of Minette’s entire career. An article signed by Mozard noted as much the following day, while another – signed by François Mesplès – suggested that she would also do well in one of the local plays.

  “After all,” said Mesplès, “this young person is more capable than anyone else of performing certain Negro sentiments, since she is herself of that race. Mme Marsan,” he continued, “performed just as beautifully, just as perfectly in both local plays and the great classics. Why would this young freedwoman have such disdain for something that, at the end of the day, is really her birthright?…”

  Those sorts of plays were more popular than ever. M Acquaire himself wrote them in secret, hoping someday to have them performed on the stage. Was Mesplès also writing them? Was he trying to force Minette to change her mind by frightening her? Hundreds of Whites had fashion
ed themselves as authors and were writing plays that the Comédie often turned down. The youngest writers believed themselves to be poets and the older thought they were dramatic authors. Minette’s good taste rebelled at the very reading of such disasters. She stood her ground with Mesplès and refused to accept the role he offered her in Julien and Zila, a Creole translation of Blaise and Babette.

  “I’d be terrible in the role,” she repeated stubbornly.

  Aside from the fact that it displeased her to play what she knew from experience to be tragic roles in these ephemeral plays, she was ashamed to speak Creole in public, even onstage. Was it not so that the language of black Africans had become a symbol of degradation? She held firm. Mesplès dressed her down in front of the other actors.

  “Just who do you think you are to pick your genre?” he shouted.

  “An artist, Monsieur.”

  “An artist of color, accepted in a white company out of pure condescension.”

  “Yes, Monsieur, but your condescension has been overcome by the public’s enthusiasm.”

  She took out her gloves, announced that she had had enough and that she planned to quit the Comédie for good.

  “And I don’t want anyone coming after me!” she declared.

  Mesplès called her impertinent – and a “descendant of gens de la côte.”

  Despite the pleadings of the Acquaires and Goulard, she went back home, determined never to set foot in the Comédie again unless M Mesplès himself begged her. She felt certain that day would come.

  XXVI

  FROM THEN ON, she attended the performances with her mother and Joseph, seated in the upper tier in the part of the theater the Whites called “freedmen’s heaven.” She watched the actors perform, their faces and hands slathered with soot in plays the public seemed to find more and more appealing. She watched them perform new operas in which numerous admirers noted her absence, though Mme Marsan’s supporters ultimately won the day. After a few days, an article signed by Mozard called for her return to the theater, demanding – on behalf of the public – a reprisal of The Statue Lover. The Acquaires, Goulard, and Magdeleine – sent by Depoix and Favart – arrived one morning at Jasmine’s house. Neither Mozard’s article nor Goulard’s pleadings could change her mind. She refused to return to the theater. As if to call for her return itself, the audience became more and more scarce. They abandoned the Comédie in favor of the Vaux-Halls. After just a few days, the cashbox was empty. Depoix and Favart gambled desperately and lost. Over the course of the next month, debts went unpaid. Depoix insulted Mesplès, who in turn reproached him for not making enough effort. Favart took his partner’s side and, enraged, the two friends also quit the Comédie, leaving M Acquaire to take up the role of director. Depoix and Favart left to go on tour in Saint-Marc, and brought Lise with them. A wave of discouragement crashed over the actors. In an attempt to raise morale, M Acquaire announced a special evening, during which they would give an array of performances.