He stopped and leaned abruptly down to her:
“I’d like to see you again.”
“If you’d like, Captain.”
“I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
Kiss-Me-Lips arrived at that moment and, under the pretext of wanting to talk to Minette, began mincing about, eyelashes batting and voice lilting.
“Hello, Captain, Monsieur. Minette is a dear friend of mine. Oh, what heat! What terrible heat!”
She fanned herself while eyeing the officer seductively. Annoyed, the latter observed her coldly.
“Are you that hot?” he asked her.
“Yes, Captain,” she responded, undulating like a snake.
“Well, then you should go have a bath.”
And he turned on his heels after calling for Simon, and glanced once more at Minette.
“You see,” said Kiss-Me-Lips, “you made him run away, with your standoffish attitude.”
Minette did a bit more shopping then headed back home, where she found Joseph. He had received a letter from his brother Vincent, who hoped soon to be able to return from France. He had asked Joseph to go to Dondon to see their elderly mother and let her know about his imminent return.
“Are you happy to have news from your brother?”
He nodded his head, then took a little book, half torn, from his pocket and perused it with his eyes. It was one of Bossuet’s sermons. Minette remembered the sound of his voice when he used to recite certain passages of those sermons and her heart tightened in her chest.
She left the room but ran back when she heard sobs. Joseph, his face hidden in his book, was weeping like a child.
XXVII
MLLE NOËL WAS meant to return to Cap-Français; M Acquaire decided to have her perform in The Statue Lover one last time. Unfortunately, she was an unpredictable actress. She did not perform nearly as well, and the public – demanding more from this person who had eclipsed Minette than she was actually capable of giving – was displeased and booed her. The audience drowned out her voice with cries of: “We want Mademoiselle Minette, we want Mademoiselle Minette.” It was a real scandal and quite a victory. Unfortunately, though, Minette missed it all. Young Jean was ill and she had stayed home to care for him after having sent for the neighborhood healer, who had prescribed a purge and some herbal infusions.
Beside himself with joy, Goulard came knocking at her door that night to announce the defeat of Mlle Noël.
“The gods are with you, because that actress really is a great talent,” he said.
“But what happened?”
“She took a few liberties and our public is demanding, as you well know. Those young people make enough noise to bring down the whole house and they called for you at the top of their lungs.”
“My Lord!”
“Will you come back to the Comédie, Minette?”
“Well, I should think so.”
In her joy, she threw her arms around Goulard’s neck and kissed him. He held her close.
“Has your heart been healed yet?”
“Oh, Claude…Claude…”
“I love you, Minette.”
“I know.”
“When will you answer, ‘I love you, too,’ instead of ‘I know?’ ”
“I’d give anything…”
“Oh, hush, just hush.”
He pushed her away abruptly and ran off.
The following day, M Acquaire came to see her early in the morning to tell her what had happened at the Comédie the night before.
“Mademoiselle Noël leaves for Cap-Français this morning. The Comédie awaits you, Minette,” he told her.
He was counting on bringing her back, triumphantly, to that inconstant public that had once again called for her to perform. He had just finished writing his local play: Harlequin, Mulatress Protected by Makandal, in which he hoped to have Lise perform. Minette’s last triumph, which he himself had made happen at the Comédie, had made him bold and he had plans to have other actors of color perform. Mme Acquaire wrote a letter to Lise, calling her back to the city. Seduced by the idea of being applauded at the Comédie in Port-au-Prince, she returned immediately, accompanied by a young griffe named Julien, who she was more or less in love with, and a few white actors.
Julien was a handsome fellow, had a lovely voice, and played the violin. M Acquaire, encouraged by Minette, hired him immediately to perform in his Creole play alongside Lise. The program for the holidays that week was varied and very promising. Some English horsemen had just come ashore and were beginning to set up camp in an enclosure near the King’s Garden. Everyone was talking about their feats of dressage on horses running at full gallop. In addition the municipality had announced an exposition of pyrotechnics in honor of the King, and the Vaux-Halls were organizing their usual balls for Whites and for people of color. There were already more than enough options without the theatrical performance M Acquaire was intent on making “especially sensational.”
The billboards announced Harlequin, Mulatress Protected by Makandal as an Indian ballet of a new sort; also billed was a musical comedy titled Renaud from Ast by Aleyrac, in which Minette would play the lead role. M Acquaire was relying heavily on Lise’s youth and talent. Moreover, he meant to prove that henceforth Negro actors would have to be welcomed on the stage to perform in these local comedies, rather than engaging Whites in blackface. Rehearsals for the Creole play got started without M Acquaire letting the theater stakeholders know of his plan, just as they had done for Minette’s debut. Mme Marsan was being roundly praised at the time for her performance in The Beautiful Arsène. Minette had the program changed at the very last minute, abruptly announcing her own return to stage in the same role in The Beautiful Arsène. The public ate up this rivalry, and Minette and Mme Marsan’s respective supporters bet wildly on one or the other of the two actresses.
The excitement had reached its peak when it became known that Mme Marsan had arrived in Port-au-Prince. When the news was announced, it was like a gust of sheer madness at the Comédie. Minette cried from nervousness during a rehearsal, and M Acquaire – with his tic, to boot – tried to manage his nerves by adopting François Ribié’s despotic style. During one of the stormier sessions, Durand stepped in, interrupting all the criticisms, tears, and protests:
“I would like to say something,” he said with his lovely voice and perfect diction. “If you all do not calm down, Madame Marsan will have a fine time watching you all fail. As for you, Minette, if you do not manage to get a hold of yourself, your rival will return to Cap-Français in triumph…”
These wise words had the effect of a cold shower, and M Acquaire himself, too nervous to reprimand the others, turned to Durand for assistance, which was very effective.
Minette had Jasmine prepare infusions of calming herbs for her, and from then on the rehearsals took place in a calm and orderly fashion. It was time. The date of the performance was nearly upon them and the delinquent subscriptions were being paid by those who did not want to miss this extraordinary evening.
“Madame Marsan has come to watch Minette perform.” That latest bit of gossip made the rounds.
Mme Marsan was staying at the “Golden Lion Inn” and had holed herself up there. No one had gotten a glimpse of her. The night of the performance, despite the English horsemen, the fireworks, and the Vaux-Halls with their devilish music, a special garrison had to be arranged to accommodate the great crowds pressing toward the theater entrance.
Five minutes before curtain, the white actress made her appearance in a special box that had been reserved for her near the Governor. Beautiful, calm, smiling, dressed in a sumptuous ensemble adorned with precious stones, she was cheered by the delirious crowd. Minette, hearing the applause, felt a moment of panic – just as she had on the night of her debut. She grabbed Goulard as if he were some sort of life preserver.
“Come, come now, you’ve got to stay calm. I have every confidence in you,” he said, caressing her h
air.
M Mesplès himself had come out of his shell that evening. Passing near Minette, radiant in her costume, he looked her over from head to toe.
“Keep in mind that the Comédie’s reputation is on the line tonight,” he let drop, as if reluctantly.
Minette did not let her chance slip. She looked the loan-shark right in the eyes.
“Am I to believe, Monsieur, that its honor depends on me?”
“It would seem so,” answered the white man, defeated.
She smiled. She felt revitalized by the warm, gentle wave of pride that rose in her heart. She took a deep breath.
Macarty went out in front of the closed curtains to speak a few humorous words of welcome to the Governor and to ask for everyone’s indulgence and goodwill. He then performed a flute solo, which Nelanger interrupted by breaking in with his guitar. They were cheered enthusiastically. Once they had returned to the wings, Lise and her young griffe were ready to go onstage to perform Harlequin, Mulatress Protected by Makandal.
If no one booed at the play, M Acquaire owed it all to Lise and her partner’s talent. The latter was a smash. It was the first time a dark-skinned person had performed on the stage of the Comédie. Everyone found the idea very original and applauded it as much as they praised the talent of the two young colored actors. M and Mme Acquaire, thrilled, threw themselves into one another’s arms and even thumbed their noses at the astonished M Mesplès.
At last, the curtains parted to reveal the set of The Beautiful Arsène. When Minette came onstage, the white actress flinched unwittingly and leaned out of her box for a moment.
With the first notes, she raised her head and clasped her hands as if listening intently. She remained this way until the end of the little aria, which she applauded, on her feet along with the rest of the delirious crowd. Then she hastily left her box. Everyone thought she had left and they cheered Minette even more enthusiastically. The curtains were closed. They opened for a fourth time to reveal Minette and Mme Marsan, embracing. The crowd’s enthusiasm reached a pinnacle. A few young people attempted to climb onto the stage like acrobats and were intercepted by the bodyguards. Two such hoodlums, standing on their seats, had drawn their swords, while a woman waved her arms and shouted: “Watch out for the spectators – go fight somewhere else.” With her gesture, the white actress had just paid sincere and fervent tribute to Minette’s talent. Acquaire rushed to the orchestra and they planted a few chords. Silence was reestablished. The violins proposed the first notes of a melody and the voices of the two artists rose in harmony. Then Minette went quiet and Mme Marsan finished the little aria on her own. Her voice was also astonishingly pure and rich. Neither Mlle Dubuisson, nor Mlle Thibault, nor Mlle Noël had that timber. Minette realized this and, in her joy at finding such a perfect equal in the white songstress, idol of Cap-Français, she threw herself into Mme Marsan’s arms and burst into tears. The curtain was lowered on this final tableau.
For a week, the paper wrote incessantly about that evening. Minette and Mme Marsan were unanimously praised to the high heavens and no more foolish comparisons were made to divide the two artists, placed side by side on the same pedestal in the name of artistry, which had triumphed over the law.
At the same time that it lauded the talents of the other colored artists presented for the first time at the Comédie, the paper did not miss the opportunity to provoke the forces of law-and-order with a warning: “Are we prepared to see ourselves overrun by these people?” protested the article’s author. “Let us content ourselves with nourishing and favoring a talent like that of Mlle Minette, but do spare us this horde of freedmen with their mediocre talent.” The commentary was unfair. Lise – and even Julien – deserved to be encouraged. M Acquaire did not dare object and he urged Lise and Julien to return to touring in less strict towns.
Captain Desroches, sincerely taken by Minette since having seen her perform at the Comédie, began to court her in earnest. He sent her love letters, wreaths of flowers, poems, and love songs.
He was a good poet, and Minette was grateful to him. She agreed to go for walks with him on public holidays and days of celebration. Goulard took offense and made a jealous scene.
“So you prefer white boys who’ve earned a few stripes, do you?”
“I don’t prefer anyone.”
“I get the picture, my dear – you’re following along with the likes of Nicolette and Kiss-Me-Lips. But what’s wrong with me, what’s so wrong with me that you can’t love me, too?”
“I’ll never love again.”
He stared at her angrily.
“You’re exaggerating.”
“It isn’t my fault.”
“Of course not. To each his own little ways.”
That was where they had left off when the door opened and a young soldier entered. Minette looked at him for a moment without recognizing him.
“Pitchoun!” she finally exclaimed.
The soldier took a step backward, brought his hand to his cap and, clacking his heels noisily, said with a smile:
“Officer Alexandre Pétion.”
Minette threw herself into his arms.
“Where’d you come up with that name?”
He was of medium height but well proportioned. Black curls brushed his intelligent forehead, half covered by his cap. The blue nankeen cloth of his uniform flattered his bronze skin tone and brought out the elegance of his waist and his limbs.
“My word, what a handsome soldier you make!” exclaimed Minette, slightly amused.
Her frankness showed him that she still looked at him like a little brother.
“So have these years in the barracks been tough, young man?” asked Goulard.
“Yes and no, Monsieur,” answered the soldier. “I find heavy artillery fascinating and I love my job.”
Nicolette, who had seen him enter Jasmine’s home, ran over with Kiss-Me-Lips on her heels. They both began turning around him and, because they were calling him Pitchoun, he once again clacked his heels and for the second time introduced himself by the name he had chosen.
“Alexandre Pétion – what a lovely name!” singsonged Nicolette, eyes batting.
“What a grand name,” stated Goulard. “Tell me, young man, did you choose it thinking of the King of Macedonia?”
“No, Monsieur,” he answered simply. “Madame Guiole suggested I adopt the name, thinking it would suit me well.”
Minette canceled her plans with Captain Desroches in order to go out with Pitchoun. Together they watched the spectacle of the acrobats who had come from France, they laughed over the performance of the show ponies, and they went to dance at the colored balls at the Vaux-Halls.
Everyone in high society was talking about Beautiful Eloise and Margot the Mender, at that time, so the trend was to master the art of gracefully swooning in the arms of a gentleman.
It was for this reason that, for the last little while, ladies had been going to do their graceful fainting in the home of a charlatan named Rosaldo, an adept of the occult sciences whom ladies consulted, accompanied by a gentleman, to have their future told to them.
One morning, a very excited Nicolette arrived at Minette’s and began telling her about the famous fortune-teller’s predictions.
“He told me, ‘You will die a violent death,’ ” she confided to her friend, shivering. “He told Kiss-Me-Lips about her past and said that a man had died of love for her. And that’s true.”
“And how did he say she would die?”
“Violently,” said Nicolette, horrified.
“He’s a performing fortune-teller,” declared Minette laughingly.
Nonetheless, when Nicolette had left she continued to think about him. Her superstitious nature getting the better of her, she decided to go see the fortune-teller and dragged Pitchoun along with her.
They entered into a room where several ladies and their beaus were already waiting. A door opened, leading to an adjoining room, and a man came out, carrying a passed-out wo
man in his arms. Minette and Pitchoun glanced worriedly at one another. What was the fortune-teller saying to his customers that put them in such a state?
“Let’s go,” Pitchoun whispered. “You aren’t too scared?”
She shook her head no.
A second woman came out in tears. Her partner was passing a vial of smelling salts under her nose to keep her from fainting.
The third woman was stoic. She was inhaling smelling salts on her own and refused to take her partner’s arm.
Soon it was Minette and Pitchoun’s turn to enter into the mysterious room.
A completely bald, elderly man was seated at a round table. Placed on the table were a compass and an open book, on which he held open his large hands as he looked straight ahead.
Nothing in the room was very unusual aside from the old man himself. He looked up at Minette and Pitchoun with two immense, rheumy eyes that seemed to be looking for a source of light unknown to men.
“Sit down,” he said to them.
His voice was deep and quavering, like that of all old men in this world.
“I’m looking at you,” he said, “but I do not see you. My eyes are blind to the light of men but they see much further.”
He held out two long hands, yellow and veiny.
“Each of you must place a hand in mine,” he ordered with his tremulous voice.
Minette and Pitchoun obeyed.
Suddenly, a shiver ran through the old man’s body and was transmitted to the two young people.
“I have two large hands in my hands,” he stated. “One of these hands is that of a great artist, the other is that of a great man.”
Despite his emotion, Pitchoun made a face at Minette, as if to say that the notorious fortune-teller was nothing but a sweet old fool.
“Do not make faces, young man, my eyes are blind but I feel your skepticism. You will someday be a great man and your name will go down in history. You love the military and you will soon prove yourself on the battlefield. That is how your career shall begin.”
He suddenly let drop Pitchoun’s hand and kept Minette’s in his.
“As for you, young lady, you are bound by a terrible love. Artist and lover, this will be your lot on this earth. But terrible events will upend your life and you will die one day of a violent death.”
Dance on the Volcano Page 33
