University of Iowa
Iowa Research Online
Theses and Dissertations
Summer 2015
Infiltrating the colonial city through the imaginaries
of Metissage: Saint-Louis (Senegal), Saint-Pierre
(Martinique) and Jeremie (Haiti)
Avonelle Pauline Remy
University of Iowa
Copyright 2015 Avonelle Pauline Remy
This dissertation is available at Iowa Research Online: http://ir.uiowa.edu/etd/1896
Recommended Citation
Remy, Avonelle Pauline. "Infiltrating the colonial city through the imaginaries of Metissage: Saint-Louis (Senegal), Saint-Pierre
(Martinique) and Jeremie (Haiti)." PhD (Doctor of Philosophy) thesis, University of Iowa, 2015.
http://ir.uiowa.edu/etd/1896.
Follow this and additional works at: http://ir.uiowa.edu/etd
Part of the French and Francophone Language and Literature Commons
INFILTRATING THE COLONIAL CITY THROUGH THE IMAGINARIES OF
METISSAGE: SAINT-LOUIS (SENEGAL), SAINT-PIERRE (MARTINIQUE) AND
JÉRÉMIE (HAITI)
by
Avonelle Pauline Remy
A thesis submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the Doctor of Philosophy
degree in French and Francophone World Studies in the Graduate College of The
University of Iowa
August 2015
Thesis Supervisor: Associate Professor Anny Dominique Curtius
Copyright by
AVONELLE PAULINE REMY
2015
All Rights Reserved
Graduate College
The University of Iowa
Iowa City, Iowa
CERTIFICATE OF APPROVAL
PH.D. THESIS
This is to certify that the Ph.D. thesis of
Avonelle Pauline Remy
has been approved by the Examining Committee for the thesis requirement for the
Doctor of Philosophy degree in French and Francophone World Studies at the
August 2015 graduation.
Thesis Committee:
Anny D. Curtius, Thesis Supervisor
Roxanna Curto
Mary-Lou Emery
David Hagan
Michel Laronde
ABSTRACT
In this dissertation, I investigate the ways in which the phenomenon of racial and cultural
hybridity inform and alter the social, political and cultural fabric of three creole cities of
significant colonial influence, namely Saint-Louis of Senegal, Saint-Pierre of Martinique and
Jérémie of Haiti during and after the colonial era. In particular, I examine the relevance of the
French colonial city not only as a nexus of relational complexity but also as an ambiguous center
of attraction and exclusion where multiple identities are created and recreated according to the
agendas that influence these constructions. In order to articulate the main hypotheses of my thesis,
I explore the key historical and social catalysts that have led to the emergence of Saint-Louis,
Saint-Pierre and Jérémie as original creole cities.
Through the critical analyses of contemporary literatures from Senegal, Martinique and
Haiti by Fanon, Sadji, Boilat, Mandeleau, Confiant, Chamoiseau, Salavina, Bonneville, Moreau
de Saint-Méry, Desquiron, and Chauvet and films by Deslauriers and Palcy, I illustrate the
dynamics of creolization within the context of the French colonial city. I argue that the city
engenders new narratives and interpretations of métissage that scholars have often associated
with the enclosed space of the plantation.
My dissertation intends to prove that the three French colonial cities of Saint-Louis,
Saint-Pierre and Jérémie offer distinct interpretations and practices of processes of cultural and
ethnic métissage. I propose that a correlation albeit a dialectical one, exists between the
development of the French colonial city and the emergence of the mulattoes as a distinct class,
conscious of its economic, sexual and political agency. I suggest that the French colonial city,
represents both a starting point and a space of continuity that permits new forms of ethnic and
ii
cultural admixture. The articulation of such mixtures is made evident by the strategic positioning
and creative agency of the mulatto class within the colonial city.
The phenomenon of métissage is certainly not a novel subject as evidenced by the
plethora of theories and studies advanced by scholars and intellectuals. My research is thus part
of an existing critical literary corpus in Postcolonial and Francophone Studies and is inscribed
within the theoretical framework of Creolization. My research observes from a historical,
comparative and literary perspective, metis presence and consciousness in three specific spaces
where colonial authority has been imposed, challenged, resisted and even overpowered (in the
case of Haiti). My study therefore analyses the creative agency articulated by the metis
ethnoclass in the colonial city and counters the claim of a passive assimilated group.
As an in-between group, mulatto’s access to social, economic and political upward
mobility are impeded by their ambiguous positioning within the larger community.
Consequently, they resort to unconventional means that I refer to rather as creative ingeniousness
in order to survive. Scholars usually focus on these “unconventional” practices as immoral rather
than as strategies of self-reinvention and revalorization. As a result, representations of cultural
and ethnic interconnections and hybridity are often projected in fragmentary ways. The figure of
the metis women for example is overly represented in studies on métissage while metis men
receive very little attention. My thesis thus intends to decenter narratives on métissage from the
women and implicate equally the creative agency of metis males.
My thesis expands on the complexities that inform processes of métissage during precolonial Saint-Louis in the early seventeenth century, Saint-Pierre from the period 1870-1902
and Jérémie during the dictatorship of Francois Duvalier. It examines further the city as a space
that engenders new narratives and interpretations of the processes of creolization. Processes of
iii
métissage or creolization have often been described as the results of violent encounters that were
colonial and imperial. Moreover, these clashes were inscribed within the enclosed space of the
plantation.
The city, representation of European pride and greed is an ambiguous space that attracts
even as it excludes. Projected as an active commercial, economic and cultural hub, the city is
soon engulfed by mass emigration. That site where the European image and culture is imposed,
quickly evolves into a complex and chaotic web of human and material interaction giving rise to
a complex creolized atmosphere. I propose that practices of métissage in the city are distinct
from those generated in the belly of the slave ships, in the trading houses of Sub-Saharan Africa
and on the sugar plantations of the French Antilles.
I conclude with a look at the present context of métissage, I rethink the significance of
racial and cultural hybridity in relation to contemporary cultural and social theories such as
creolization, creoleness, and transculturation in articulating, interpreting and decoding a world in
constant transformation.
iv
PUBLIC ABSTRACT
This dissertation investigates the ways in which the phenomenon of racial and cultural
hybridity informed and altered the social, political and cultural fabric of three urban spaces of
significant colonial influence, namely Saint-Louis of Senegal, Saint-Pierre of Martinique and
Jérémie of Haiti during and after the colonial era.
Focusing on a rich textual corpus written by Senegalese, Martinican and Haitian authors I
reexamine the dynamics of creolization within the urban space. I argue that the city engenders
new interpretations of inter-ethnic, inter-racial and inter-cultural relationships that scholars have
often associated within the enclosed space of the plantation.
The city, representative of European pride and greed is inundated by thousands lured by
the active commercial and political scene, the modernized infrastructure and the hope of
becoming rich. That site where the European image and culture is imposed, quickly evolves into
a chaotic web of human and material interaction giving rise to a complex creolized atmosphere. I
propose that practices of métissage in the city are distinct from those generated in the belly of the
slave ships, in the trading houses of Sub-Saharan Africa and on the sugar plantations of the
French Antilles.
I conclude with a look at the present context of métissage, I rethink the significance of
racial and cultural hybridity in relation to contemporary cultural and social theories such as
creolization, creoleness, and transculturation in articulating, interpreting and decoding a world in
constant transformation.
v
TABLE OF CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION THE CREOLIZATION OF THE COLONIAL SPACE ......................1
Imagined communities: the colonial city as a representation of race and space .....9
The Historical contextualization of Métissage ......................................................16
Redefining Creolization .........................................................................................23
CHAPTER ONE MIMICRY AND AMBIVALENCE: RE-READING METISSAGE
IN SAINT-LOUIS OF SENEGAL .....................................................................................33
Geography of Saint-Louis ......................................................................................34
From Ndar to the birth of Saint-Louis ...................................................................35
The choice of a deserted island ..............................................................................38
The development of the city ..................................................................................43
Saint-Louis: an ambiguous space...........................................................................45
Assimilation or female agency? The rise of the signares ......................................49
Etymology of the term signuare ............................................................................59
Signareship .............................................................................................................62
The rise of an original metis society ......................................................................67
Signare Anna ..........................................................................................................72
The multifaceted layers of métissage .....................................................................79
Nini ........................................................................................................................90
Survival through métissage ..................................................................................105
CHAPTER TWO COMMERCE, POLITICS AND ERUPTION: MAPPING THE
PROBLEMATICS OF METISSAGE IN THE ENCHANTED CITY ..........................111
The Lota affair .....................................................................................................114
Relational ambiguities .........................................................................................116
The Paris of the Antilles ......................................................................................120
A multi-cultural experience .................................................................................123
Social balls/dances ...............................................................................................124
Biguine .................................................................................................................126
Saint-Pierre’s carnival ..........................................................................................130
Saint-Pierre’s theatre ............................................................................................140
The mulâtresse .....................................................................................................143
Eglantine: the doudou Kréyol ..............................................................................157
Mulatto masculinity and respectability ................................................................167
CHAPTER THREE FROM ETHNIC RISING TO ETHNIC CLEANSING:
THE TRAGIC EXPERIENCE OF THE MULATTO CASTE OF JÉRÉMIE ...............183
The rise of the mulatto caste ................................................................................196
History..................................................................................................................198
Mimic spaces .......................................................................................................201
The creolization of libertinage .............................................................................204
The ideology of color ...........................................................................................213
The marassa trois: Cocotte, Violaine and Alexandre...........................................217
Les Chemins.........................................................................................................223
The benevolent and malevolent roles of Vodou ..................................................233
Amour ..................................................................................................................240
Claire’s dreams ....................................................................................................251
vi
CONCLUSION ................................................................................................................256
GLOSSARY ....................................................................................................................264
REFERENCES ................................................................................................................265
vii
INTRODUCTION
THE CREOLIZATION OF THE COLONIAL SPACE
In this dissertation, I am investigating the ways in which the phenomenon of racial and cultural
hybridity has informed and altered the social, political and cultural fabric of three cities of
significant colonial influence, namely Saint-Louis of Senegal, Saint-Pierre of Martinique and
Jérémie of Haiti during and after the colonial era. In particular, I am examining the relevance of
the French colonial town not only as a nexus of interethnic relationships and multicultural
diversity but also as an ambiguous center of attraction and exclusion where multiple identities
are created and recreated according to the agendas that influence these constructions. In order to
articulate the main hypotheses of my thesis, I examine the key historical and social catalysts that
have led to the emergence of Saint-Louis, Saint-Pierre and Jérémie as original creole societies.
I begin my analysis with the town of Saint-Louis. This city is known and celebrated as la
cité creole of Senegal due to complex relationships between Senegalese women called signares,
European males, Muslim traders, African Kings from the interior of Senegal, and slaves. Two
important historical periods inform the evolution of Saint-Louis into an urbanized creole space.
The first is the precolonial era, from the early seventeenth century to mid-eighteenth century and
marks the birth of Saint-Louis, its transition into a fortified trading post and the rise of the
signares. The signares, women of African and European descent are particularly important to
Saint-Louis’s business life and are key figures of the local Saint-Louisian community. In the
second historic phase, circa 1850 to early twentieth century, Saint-Louis becomes the site of an
ambitious colonial program, the laboratory for a more vigorous and extensive capitalist project.
1
It is in 1885 that the Berlin conference under the chancellorship of Bismarck, formalized the
division of Africa among European powers. Incidentally, this period crystalizes the
transformation of Saint-Louis into a federal capital and French colony.
For my analysis of the town of Saint-Pierre, I concentrate in particular on the period
1870-1902, an epoch marked by significant economic, political and social transformations which
altered the landscape of the Paris of the Antilles. This era coincides with the decline of the sugar
industry on a global as well as local scale, the rise of the Third French Republic and the
destruction of the city of Saint-Pierre by the 1902 eruption of Mount Pelée. These social,
economic, political and geological transformations have lasting repercussions on the inhabitants
of Martinique particularly those of Saint-Pierre. This period is specifically important to my study
because it commemorates the social and political emergence of the mulatto class and the
significant role that this class of individuals plays in the urbanization of Saint-Pierre.
Although the city of Jérémie has not been represented historically as a major colonial
enterprise, it is nonetheless an important symbol of French assimilation and a space particularly
cited for its class and color prejudice. Like the cities of Saint-Louis and Saint-Pierre, the city of
Jérémie inherits a colonial past that has contributed significantly to its complex ethnic and
cultural landscape. The socioeconomic conditions of slaves in Haiti leads to the first ever
successful slave-led rebellion in 1791 and culminates in the elimination of slavery. This period
marks a turning point for blacks on the colony of Saint-Domingue where Negritude stood up for
the first time according to Césaire. The fight for freedom ultimately leads to the 1804 Haitian
independence. This spectacular moment in Haitian history is as a result of the combined efforts
of blacks and mulattoes in their fight against white hegemony.
2
The aftermath of the Haitian Revolution and Independence however pitted Blacks against
Mulattoes in the struggle for power. Class and color politics set the tone for power and black
Haitian masses, now former slaves, are once again the site of prejudice because of their skin
tone. Although white hegemony has toppled, the same parameters of race and class
discrimination are strongly upheld and enforced by the mulatto ruling class. Their political
ambitions afford them top positions as presidents, lawyers and government workers. Sadly, the
rise of the Mulatto ethnoclass increases tensions and conflicts of class, race and color among
Haitians.
I identify Jérémie as one of the colonial cities where a caste-like metis identity and
consciousness evolve. Jérémie becomes the birthplace of a large number of affluent metis
families and is reputed to be a site of deep prejudice. The exclusivity that defines mulatto
identity in Jérémie/Haiti generates a counter discourse of the color politics, equally idealistic and
absurd but with a deadly and radical agenda. This period is marked by the rise of the Noirist
movement, a reactionary movement against the powerful mulatto elite; a movement that is fueled
to bloody proportions with the dictatorship of François Duvalier and his morbid politics of ethnic
cleansing. Unlike Negritude which is rooted in culture and which celebrates the affirmation of
black pride and identity, Noirisme originates from a latent desire for vengeance from power
hungry dark-skinned leaders. Mulattoes are subsequently hunted down and massacred for the
sole reason of being mulattoes. The 1964 massacre of 27 mulattoes of the city of Jérémie is
indeed a reflection of the depths of color and class cleavage in Jérémie.
Through a socio-historical and literary comparative approach, my dissertation shows that
French colonial societies offer distinct interpretations and practices of processes of cultural and
ethnic métissage. I argue that a correlation albeit a dialectical one, exists between the
3
development of the French colonial city and the emergence of the mulattoes as a distinct class,
conscious of its economic, sexual and political agency. I contend further that the city, that is, the
French colonial space, represents both a starting point and a space of continuity that permits new
forms of ethnic and cultural métissage. The articulation of such mixtures is made evident by the
strategic positioning and creative agency of the mulatto class within that space.
The establishment of the mulattoes as a distinct and recognized class is made possible
only through the transition of the colony from trading post (Senegal) and plantation regime
(Martinique and Haiti) to the status of city. In other words, a shift from rurality to urbanity is
necessary to effect the transformation from enslavement state to free independent agent. It is
within the free and public space of the city, that the mulatto ethnoclass rose from its
disadvantaged positioning and recreated a zone to manifest its visibility against European
superiority. Even as the mulatto ethnoclass strengthens as a collectivity within its own unit,
relationships and contact persist across other ethnic groups. Processes and practices of
interethnic entanglements remain high within the space of the city despite the abolition of slavery
and the dismantling of the sugar plantations. This interesting continuity illustrates that alternative
factors influence the processes of miscegenation within the city other than those attributed to the
unequal relationship of power between colonizers and colonized peoples.
Scholarly discourses have often inscribed the phenomenon of interracial hybridity or
miscegenation within the violent space of the plantation and as such, have consequently
subjected the rising class of mulattoes among the population of African slaves and European
slave masters, to a state of victimization—having no agency, completely fixed in a state of
limbo. Indeed, miscegenation, initially a violent act of possession of and power over the enslaved
or colonized African female body by European slave masters and colonial officers, persisted on
4
the sugar plantations of the French Antilles and in the trading houses of Sub-Saharan Africa. The
phenomenon pervaded the colonies to such an extent that French colonial authorities put
measures in place to curb the ever increasing proliferation of mulatto offspring.
Within the confines of the plantation, colonial sexual desire transgresses the very
boundaries that are erected to prevent ethnic mixing. Slave women’s bodies are thus daily
subjected to violation and rape often resulting in procreation. Not only are slaves and slave
women in particular denied their right to control what happened to their bodies, they have limited
spatial mobility within the enclosed plantation. Slave owners and colonizers on the other hand
had no such restrictions despite the hierarchized structure of the plantation and therefore desire
and possess as they see fit across racial lines. Such initial contact borne out of violence,
transitions into relationships of compromise between disparate groups living in the same
indigenous space. Interdependence and survival thrust groups into relationships with each other
that are not necessarily consensual or harmonious.
The plantation system as a space that promoted enslavement, forced labor, physical and
sexual exploitation all for the purpose of European material extraction, imposed and controlled
patterns of behavior and lifestyle choices. The enslaved and colonized populations and to some
extent colonial employees whose displacement to the island colonies was controlled by the
authorities, had very little or no influence in the way their future turned out. Their fate was
determined in advance by conditions set and enforced by imperial powers. The mutation from
the rural areas to the colonial center as a result of significant sociopolitical transformations
opened avenues for self-reinvention and revalorization. Though the colonial center was a highly
selective and exclusionary construct, the disenfranchised rural masses intruded and appropriated
it.
5
The city was in no way a welcome space for the subaltern, especially former black slaves.
The mulattoes, some of whom had been freed by their white fathers many years before the onset
of the abolition of slavery, had grown into a formidable opponent of the dominant white class.
Their presence in the city was regarded as a threat but nonetheless they were able to climb the
social and economic ladder and establish themselves as a visible agentive force. Equipped with
substantial material wealth and social and political clout, the mulattoes established their legacy
as a cultured, respectable bourgeoisie. Yet, despite their rising prominence as a class apart and
amidst persisting racial tensions in the city, miscegenation continued among the population.
As I mentioned earlier, these practices of ethnic mixing in the city need to be reexamined
from a new dialectical standpoint. How does one explain the continuity of miscegenation in the
city center, a space that connotes freedom, liberty of movement and thus access to more
opportunities? Moreover, shouldn’t the increased presence of European women in the colonies
post-emancipation lead to a significant reduction in miscegenation? Instead, interracial
concubinage continues concurrently with legitimate unions in the city. Considered a moral
offense and an act of racial degeneration (Du Tertre, Moreau, Gobineau…), miscegenation was
abhorred and feared. Interestingly, this practice is tolerated and even encouraged on the
plantations as it fit into the strategic functioning of imperialist demands and profit-making. The
sale of slaves of mixed ancestry yielded much more on the market than an African slave. Mulatto
women were even more valuable to the plantation economy. The dynamics of the sugar
plantation obscured and justified colonial libertinage and debauchery. Although the practice of
miscegenation was common then, its visibility was shadowed by its reproductive and productive
functionality.
6
The city, while still largely dependent on a plantation-based economy notably in
Martinique, was a free public space where women and especially mulatto women had
considerable freedom and spatial mobility. Moreover, women had regained some measure of
control over their bodies and were independent sexual agents. A reversal of sexual power
dynamics between white men and mulatto women was articulated as younger generations of
mulatto women conscious of their power, seek higher favors and privileges for themselves and
their children.
The continuity of interracial concubinage in the city is to be understood as conscious,
subversive acts engineered by a new generation of freed men and women completely aware of
their disadvantaged positioning. These relationships were willfully pursued by the
disenfranchised population and in particular the mulatto class to gain visibility in the political,
economic and social scene from which they have been excluded. It is critical to understand that
the cohabitation between white men and women of color were mutual agreements and extended
beyond sexual favors. Despite the rivalry that pitted white men and mulattoes against each other,
they did collaborate to ensure the survival of the colony. As my dissertation shows, the
antagonistic and agonistic character of the French colonial city is a manifestation of its
creoleness—a creoleness that disturbs the clearly defined geography of French colonial space in
Saint-Louis, Senegal, Saint-Pierre, Martinique and Jérémie, Haiti. By focusing on these three
spaces of complex colonial influence, I examine the willful incursion by subaltern populations
into the carefully planned but exclusionary precincts of the colonial city.
In both Martinique and Haiti, the dismantling of the plantation system effected the
collapse of the opposition between rural and urban space. For the newly emancipated population
of Martinique, access to the city was no longer hindered by the chains of slavery. In theory, all
7
citizens regardless of skin color were equally free under the abolition laws of 1848. The Haitian
Revolution of 1791 and its attendant independence of 1804 that had liberated Haitians and ousted
white rule years before, witnessed a complete reversal of power with the Mulattoes at the head of
the newly established republic. In both cases, the social and racial landscape altered and the
dynamics of relationships between occupier and occupied shifted.
The colony of Senegal had no plantation system, however as a trading post in the mid
nineteenth century, the end of slavery and the decline of the sugar industry impacted the
commercial activities in Saint-Louis, principally the trade of slaves, the stronghold of the local
economy. The collapse of the slave market propelled the colonial authorities in Saint-Louis to
turn to an agriculture- based colonization. Saint-Louis would soon transition from simple trading
post to a veritable colonial laboratory, the seat of economic and political power controlled by
both Europeans and the Senegalese mulatto bourgeoisie.
The shift to the city was thus closely linked to the significant economic, political and
social changes affecting the sites of colonial interests. Before Saint-Louis, Saint-Pierre and
Jérémie evolved into colonial spaces of significant economic worth, they were mostly isolated
terrains with little to offer but their ideal geopolitical positioning. The subsequent “discovery”
and conquest of these “New World” locations promoted by European imperial and expansion
designs, resulted in the creation of colonial societies. Saint-Louis, Saint-Pierre and Jérémie
consequently did not just emerge as historic cities—they were strategically selected as
laboratories for the colonizing mission. Their location within the boundaries of the Atlantic slave
route is certainly not a mere coincidence.
By the calculated manipulations of European super powers these foreign territories were
promptly appropriated and imposed new functions and identities—loci of production and symbol
8
of European wealth and glory. The production of such wealth depended on the proliferation of
the rural plantation economy through an inexhaustible workforce--a workforce that was
systematically excluded from the center which it created.
Imagined communities: the colonial city as a representation of race in space
Colonial cities were invented not only as representational spaces of metropolitanism but
more so as emblems of political and cultural nationalism. It could be said that colonial cities
were constituted metonymically-- as extensions of European metropolises. In that end they were
intended as Dawson states “to cater to the needs of metropolitan capital for resource extraction.”1
(22). Dawson further elaborates that the city is the space in which citizenship is realized. Such a
statement evokes the profound values of legitimacy, paternity and sovereignty attached to the
production of the colonial city and the consolidation of nation building. The imposition of a
space that oversees and exploits the production and extraction of wealth is constructed around
ideologies of particularism as the city, regardless of its size is built to limit access to its center
hence the erection of hierarchical structures and boundaries and the imposition of town versus
country dichotomy. Such boundaries however, are all the more elusive and porous because of the
mutual dependency between the plantation space and the city. As the site of the plantation
economy, the countryside represents property wealth, products of the soil and attachment to the
land (some of the wealthiest colonials were plantation owners).
On the other hand, the countryside is a manifestation of the unequal distribution of wealth
and power between the colonizers and the colonized peoples. The bulk of the poor masses
inhabit the rural zones, forbidden access to the city. The link between city and country though
1
Ashley Dawson. “Squatters, Space and Belonging in the underdeveloped city”. Social Text, 81 (Volume 22,
Number 4), Winter 2004, pp. 17-34.
9
expressly dialectical, is without a doubt an essential one. This relationship of mutual dependency
forces compromises that aim at the satisfaction of economic, political, sexual, or social agendas.
The city thus represents different things for different interest groups.
To understand the dynamics of the French colonial space, it is critical to examine the
socio-political and historical contexts that determined the creation of the city. The colonial city is
above all an urban myth, a projection of nationalist ideology of representational space—representation of its political, commercial and cultural presence within the global environment.
The creation of this representational space is dependent on its success. Nationalist pride aims to
build and expand empire through any means necessary. New territory, raw materials and lowcost labor are thus underhandedly conquered, exploited and controlled for imperial purposes. The
concept of production emerges concurrently with ideologies of conquest and expansion. As
explorers and sea-faring adventurers make distant lands and civilizations accessible to scrutiny,
the element of shock upon the discovery of the “New World”, provokes discourses and actions
that lead to the construction of Manichean models of homogeneity of Self and the heterogeneity
of the Other. Such models affirm narcissistic ideologies of superiority and consequently endorse
and justify the civilizing mission.
The re-presentation of European metropolises in the “New World” is manifested as
utopic communities enriched by fantastical narratives of exoticism, mysticism and productivism
of the new geographical space. The construction of the colonial city is thus located within
nature—a nature that ironically characterizes rurality. The colonial city is political as it is
commercial. As a political entity, it controls and exploits its surroundings for the benefit of the
state. It imposes itself as center, “writing its own blueprints and creating a new identity for
10
itself…”2 (p.106). Indeed “the essential aspect of the urban phenomenon is its centrality, but a
centrality that is understood in conjunction with the dialectical movement that creates or destroys
it” (116).
The production of the colonial center necessarily implies its corollary—the periphery,
consisting of the indigenous population or the peasantry. Centrality is established to extract
material resources, while excluding the workforce that produced it, hence the erection of bastions
and fortresses. Nonetheless, these boundaries erected as separations between spaces represent in
fact, an ambiguous continuity. Moreover, the urban space is urban only because of the existing
polarized other. The exploitation of the workforce and raw materials is crucial to the survival of
the colony represented by the center. As Lefebvre observes:
The city is not only a devouring activity, consumption; it becomes productive (means of
production) but initially does so by bringing together the elements of production. It
combines markets (the inventory includes the market for agricultural and industrial
products—local, regional, national, global: capital markets, labor markets, markets for
the land itself, for signs and symbols). The city brings together whatever is engendered
somewhere else, by nature or labor: fruits and objects, products and producers, works and
creations, activities and situations. What does the city create? Nothing. It centralizes
creation. And yet it creates everything. Nothing exists without exchange, without union,
without proximity, that is without relationships. (117)
Indeed, the concept of the production of space is thus intricately connected to “the
ideology of productivism, from a crude and brutal economism whose aim is to annex it for its
own purposes.” The urban societies evolve into spaces that represent colonial and nationalistic
wealth and glory. The protection and conservation of productivism and economism are assumed
by the political authority that occupies the center. “The political city is inconceivable without
writing: documents, laws, inventories, tax collection. It is completely given over to orders and
2
. Lefebvre, Henri. Trans. Robert Bononno. 2003. The Urban Revolution. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota
Press.
11
decrees, to power” (8). The structural hierarchy of the city protects the social order but does not
prevent the incursion of cross-cultural contact. The rise of the commercial capital and the
existence of the markets negate the notion of boundary. In such an environment, trade and
exchange expand, forcing compromise between the center and the periphery. The dichotomy
town/country becomes blurred as both spaces converge. Lefebvre shows that:
The city could no longer appear as an urban island in a rural ocean, it would no longer
seem a paradox, a monster, a hell or heaven that contrasted sharply with village or
country life in a natural environment. It entered people’s awareness and understanding as
one of the terms in opposition between town and country. Country? It is now no more—
nothing more than—the town’s environment,” its horizon, its limits. (11)
Mercantilism shapes and refashions the colonial city, transforming it into a global or
pluralized society. The increased commercialization of the urban environment quickly dilutes the
notion of the center—the production and extraction of goods and resources both material and
human, though processed in the countryside are absorbed into the city where consumption,
income distribution, labor divisions and class strata are decided by the decision-making entity.
The prosperity of the French colonial cities of Saint-Louis, Saint-Pierre and
Jérémie/Saint-Domingue is thus largely attributed to their functions as port cities strategically
positioned to absorb the constant traffic and exchange of material and human merchandise and
services between Europe and Sub-Saharan Africa. The boom of the slave trade and the sugar
plantations ensure the efficient functionality of this global capitalism. Consequently, waves of
ships and peoples from all over the world converge into these hubs transforming them into
flourishing commercial centers.
The city becomes consumed by these constant fluxes and circulation of merchandise and
humans and is forced to compromise. Centrality implies dialectical movements and relationships
that can create it or destroy it. According to Lefebvre, the specificity of the urban city is
12
manifested by the “piles of objects and products in warehouses, mounds of fruits in the
marketplace, crowds, pedestrians, goods of various kinds, juxtaposed, superimposed,
accumulated” (116). Indeed, the chaos that creates or destroys the urban environment negates the
particularism of the center, initially built to exclude. The onset of commercialization alters the
landscape of the center and turns it into a space of encounter, assembly and simultaneity—in
other words, a complex space. Lefebvre’s observation puts into perspective the inevitability of
entanglements in the formation of the urban space:
That there is nothing harmonious about the urban form and reality, for it also incorporates
conflict, including class conflict. What is more, it can only be conceptualized in
opposition to segregation, which attempts to resolve conflicts by separating the elements
in space. This segregation produces disaggregation of material and social life. To avoid
contradiction, to achieve a purported sense of harmony, a certain form of urbanism
prefers the disaggregation of the social bond. The urban presents itself as a place of
conflict and confrontation, a unity of contradictions. (175)
In fact, it is this ambiguous, conflictual confluence within the colonial urban center that
informs the second problematic of my dissertation--the configuration of differences. There is
certainly a relation of cause and effect between the social ascension of the mulatto class and the
production of the third space—term proposed by Bhabha and also discussed by Glissant. For
Glissant the third space is an indigenous space marked by the fusion of disparate ethnicities and
cultural elements but resulting in a configuration in which these elements though not equal can
no longer exist in their original forms. He sees the modern city as representative of that third
space. The conflicts and sufferings of plantation based societies do not disappear with the
appearance of the modern city.
The tensions between city dwellers and newly arrived “squatters” are exacerbated by the
need to protect the center from subversive incursions and the need to belong and be part of that
wider citizenry. The hierarchical structures thus established to segregate and exclude, collapses
13
as the masses intrude, usurp and appropriate. The once imagined homogenized community is
forced to admit its inefficiency as representational space. As it imposes itself within the
interstices of the city, the third space not only doubles that originary point of reference but it
mocks it and alters it. That space is thus transformed into a potent discursive space in which
denied identities are articulated. As Bhabha3 argues:
The intervention of the Third space of enunciation, which makes the structure of meaning
and reference an ambivalent process, destroys this mirror of representation in which
cultural knowledge is customarily revealed as an integrated, open, expanding code. Such
an intervention quite properly challenges our sense of the historical identity of culture as
a homogenizing, unifying force, authenticated by the originary Past, kept alive in the
national tradition of the People.
Indeed, though presented as free and public, the city is an exclusionary space—almost a
part of but not quite. Mulattoes partially belonged in that center because of their assumed
assimilation. However, the strong political and economic positioning of mulatto men combined
with the ambiguous sexual power of mulatto women upset the social order and threaten French
political, paternal, economic and cultural identities. A totalitarian society is untenable when
diverse social groups and cultures collide. Loop-holes will emerge and new identities will be
recreated and invented. As Bhabha has further observed:
It is significant that the productive capacities of this Third space have a colonial or
postcolonial provenance. For a willingness to descend into that alien territory…may
reveal that the theoretical recognition of the split-space of enunciation may open way to
conceptualizing an international culture, based not the exoticism of multiculturalism or
the diversity of cultures, but on the inscription and articulation of culture’s hybridity. To
that end we should remember that it is the “inter”—the cutting edge of translation and
negotiation, the in-between space—that carries the burden of the meaning of culture. It
makes it possible to being envisaging national, anti-nationalist histories of the ‘people’.
And by exploring this Third Space, we may elude the politics of polarity and emerge as
the others of our selves (38-39)
3
Homi Bhabha K. 2004. The Location of Culture. London; New York: Routledge.
14
In Glissant’s essay Traité du Tout-Monde,4 the city is the space that nurtures differences.
He posits that : “Une ville, une ville moderne, est un terroir, une identité racine, mais non pas
unique, non pas racine unique, elle est aussi une identité de relation” (p.150)—A city, a modern
city, is a land, a root identity, not a unique root, it is also an identity of relation”5. The city
articulates the relational through its antitheses: harmonious yet disharmonious, inclusion versus
exclusion, material wealth amid abject poverty, repulsion and sexual attraction to name a few.
Glissant proposes thus a third space that is admittedly chaotic but in which the chaos is construed
as a unifying force through its multiplicity. The French towns of Saint-Louis, Saint-Pierre and
Jérémie functioned and prospered because disparate groups understood their mutual dependence
on each other.
The commercializing of the city for example, leads to massive fluxes intent on satisfying
their own agendas and a shift in spatial dynamics is effected-- the city is reappropriated and
promptly altered by these vibrant groups. Although French colonial urban milieus tended to
include a significant number of mulattoes, the subaltern masses, a vital source of labor and
production, represented an unwelcome presence in the body politic especially in the towns of
Saint-Pierre and Jérémie. Their presence in the city should not be glossed over however, as they
played an instrumental role in the creolization of the urban environment through acts of
subversion, mimicry, resistance and revolution.
The Historical contextualization of Métissage
4
Glissant, Edouard. 1997. Traité du tout-monde. Paris : Gallimard.
5
. My translation
15
In this section, I examine the different social practices and cultural patterns articulated in
the urban space and the role that they played in the constructions of new communities and
identities in that space. In order to formulate my thesis, I reinscribe the phenomenon of ethnic
and cultural admixture within its French socio-historic and political context. In that regard, I am
using the French terms métissage and its metaphoric extensions: Métis, Métisse, Mulâtre,
Mulâtresse, Gens de couleur, Signare, Signareship, Câpre, Câpresse, Chabin, Chabine,
Négresse, Nègre, Créole and Créolization to draw attention to the fluidity and inconsistency of
individual and collective identities and communities in these three colonial French cities.
Although some of these designations connate pejorative and obsolete markers of identity to
contemporary readers, historically they symbolize acceptable realities in the colonial
communities. These markers are by no means definitive and they should be understood as social
constructions formulated by colonials and the likes of Moreau de Saint-Méry to “classify” a
biological reality that in itself defies classification. Sexual unions of Whites and Blacks produces
offspring that naturally inherit their parents’ genetic traits. By attempting to classify these
offspring into categories reveals not only the prejudiced thinking of the colonial era but also the
fear and anxiety of miscegenation. To facilitate the understanding of these terms, a succinct
description and definition of each is provided in the glossary on page 264.
The French term Métissage still used today in works of contemporary theorists and
intellectuals, dates back to a phenomenon that emerged within the context of colonial conquest
and expansion. Métissage was first manifested as a biological process to describe the genetic
crossing that produced distinctive physical and chromatic characteristics from the initial racial
origins. These differences proving impossible to classify within the racial and color spectrum,
were imagined as defective and were promptly projected on the African mother. Father Jean-
16
Baptiste Labat clearly exemplifies that trend of thought: “[…] Une Négresse ferait toujours des
enfants noirs, de telle couleur que pût être le mâle...” A Negress would always give birth to black
children regardless of the skin color of the male. The white male is thus freed from playing any
role in this “monstrous” procreation and his sexual libertinage is thus justified while the blame of
anomaly falls on the black body, imprisoning it within narratives of inferiority and contempt.
This biological reality projected on the African mother becomes a socially defining concept upon
which the social order was founded. This color ideology that englobed other features such as hair
color and texture, facial characteristics, eye color… would eventually serve as signifiers of
identity to stigmatize, enslave and exclude during the eras of slavery and colonization.
Nonetheless, the devaluation of the black skin dates much further than European
imperialism and enslavement. It is linked to early Christianity’s opposition of the white/black
couple. In biblical symbolism, white connotes purity, while black is associated with sin. In
conjunction with this prejudiced biblical perception of chromatic difference, the curse
pronounced on Ham’s generation for spying on his father’s nakedness--"Cursed be Canaan; a
slave of slaves shall he be to his brothers” (Gen. 9:25) has been used as a basis for additional
prejudice against Blacks of the African continent.
The discovery of the “New World” brought civilizations together that for centuries had
remained unknown to each other. The shock of the discovery of the new world populations
provoked discourses of alterity and otherness concepts that were grounded in ideologies of race
and color. Blackness was thus determined as the consequence of some abnormality. The fear of
the Other however certainly did not hinder the onslaught of violence. Naturally, children were
born from these violent encounters, a phenomenon that provoked perplexed scientists and
sociologists to spread unfounded theories of the sterility of such unions. From the sixteenth
17
century a specialized lexicon would be invented to class and identity these mishaps, these
abnormalities of nature. Words such as métis, nègre, mulâtre, caste, race… appeared in popular
language consequently universalized centuries later in popular French discourses.
Ideologies of ethnic and national purity popularized by pseudo-scientists and
institutionalized by the French Crown rapidly permeated the mentality of the French people
encouraging attitudes of discrimination and exclusion. What first emerged as a biological
phenomenon would soon be inscribed within a racial and social framework with the legal
backing of the judicial system. Article XI of the Black Code Noir of 1685 expressly forbade
sexual intimacy between white subjects and their female slaves:
White men would be fined for having children with slave concubines owned by another
man, as would the slave concubine's master. If the man who engaged in sexual relations
with a slave was the master of the slave concubine, the slave and any resulting children
would be removed from his ownership. If a free, unmarried black man should have
relations with a slave owned by him, he should then be married to the slave concubine,
thus freeing her and any resulting child from slavery.
The Black Code however was reinforced by a new ordinance in March, 1724 and the sixth
provision prohibited marriage as well as concubinage between the races.
These laws served to maintain the African slave in his subaltern state but more so sought
to prevent any transgression of racial boundaries and subversion of white authority. Gobineau in
his essay on the Inequality of the Human Races proposes a pseudo-scientific reason for this
inequality and argues that sexual contact between two different races would only lead to a
monstrous hybridity. He also blames the phenomenon of métissage for the degeneration of
superior civilizations. Despite racial and color prejudices, the phenomenon persisted in the
French metropolis and its colonies. Not only did it resist the strictures of social boundaries but it
continued to shape and inform French colonial structures.
18
The creation of a term to classify a phenomenon borne out of a biological reality finds its
meaning and significance within a social and cultural paradigm and would later determine one’s
place in society. The classification of humans into races and ethnicities; in other words into fixed
types perceived as different due to distinctive traits between ancestries was socially created to
valorize one group as superior and is thus inscribed within the racial politics of the colonial era.
The problem of “identifying” the in-between group challenged the clearly defined demarcation.
Métissage as well as the markers “Black”, “White” and “pure” were also socially created to
identify social groups based on a taxonomical index. This classification is usually contingent on
the degree of proximity or distance to the initial type. The proximity here refers to the nuances of
the skin. What then is métissage? Is it a distinct notion from the term metis or are they
interchangeable concepts?
The terms related to métissage appeared in the French language between the beginning of
the sixteenth century and the first quarter of the seventeenth century. Understandably, the usage
of the term “mulâtre” of Iberian origin (it was used in Spanish under the form mulato from as
early as 1525) precedes that of métissage. It appears in Cape Verde in 1554. Cape Verde was an
essential point of passage for ships during that time. The French terms appeared under the forms
“astre” or “âtre” from the very beginning and were no doubt linked to the suffixes that
designated color categorizations (noir/noirâtre) (Chaudenson, 1992). The animalization of the
term is quite evident in its reference to the mule, the hybrid offspring of a mare and a donkey.
The parallel between métissage and hybridization is made even more evocative as mules are by
nature sterile animals.
The word métis appears at a much recent date in 1598. It is also of Iberian origin and is
interpreted in Spanish as mestizo (“mixed-blood”), in Portuguese as mestiço from Late Latin
19
mixicius. The appellation metis might have been used firstly to designate offspring of Indians and
Europeans. In the beginning of the seventeenth century, the form mestif was used in the West
Indies to designate exclusively children born from unions with Amerindian women
(Chaudenson, 1992). From these examples one can therefore conclude that metis is the product
of a white parent, usually male and a native Indian female. The usage of the term has evolved
and in more recent contexts, has been attributed to identify either cultural or ethnic admixture. In
my dissertation while I will use mulatto/mulâtre to refer to ethnically mixed populations and to
describe multicultural diversity, I will often use the term metis.
The use of the term mulâtre was popularized in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries
in the French colonies to signify specifically the offspring of European males and African slave
women. The concept then is linked to the plantation society and slavery and evokes the sexual
exploitation of the slave woman by the master. Many children born from these unions are often
denied paternity and remain illegitimate since it was inconceivable that a union between a white
and black parent could produce a white child. Colonial prejudice claims that it is only within
white endogamous relationships that white children can be procreated (Moreau). The
construction of the identity mulâtre evokes the fear of miscegenation which apparently leads to
degeneration and the threat to the supremacy of white rule in the slave based societies of
Martinique and Saint-Domingue.
As I mentioned before, the use of the term mulâtre alludes to the sterility of the mule
which itself is the product of two different animal species. The mulattoes are thus animalized in
an attempt to prove their inevitable sterility. Du Tertre on commenting on the phenomenon noted
that “These poor children are engendered from a white male and a black female, just as the mule
20
is the product of two animals of different species.”6 Not only does he claim that the products of
such unions are infertile he also proposes that whites and blacks are two distinct species, thus
supporting the theory of polygenesis. The multiplicity of the mulatto phenomenon within the
colony however, contests the notion of sterility. To protect white genealogy and more so white
paternity from these shameful and illegitimate births, the nature of the black women is called into
play. Labat posits that the Negresses are very lascivious and the white men equally lascivious,
find it easy to satisfy their passions with these creatures. Although Labat places responsibility on
both the white men and black women, he later justifies white debauchery on the rarity of white
women in the colony and the close confines of the plantation.
The term mulâtre however, as with all other socially constructed identities is not fixed or
easily definable. The proliferation of interracial union in the plantation societies of Martinique
and Haiti as well is in the trading post of Senegal engendered the formation of a mixed
population which became over the years a formidable force, owning land and slaves. The threat
of this ethnoclass to white supremacy prompted the latter to seek a solution to control the transfer
of heredity. The famous ligne de couleur or color demarcation founded on Moreau de St. Mery’s
exhaustive tabular, arithmetic and narrative typology of “nuances of the skin” along a continuum
between white and black was devised. It classified an individual into 128 parts. According to this
gradation, the first combination, that of a white man and black woman, produced a mulatto with
64 equal parts representing each ancestry.
Clearly, this classification does not take into account the admixtures that refuse such
categorization. The outcome of certain combinations were often deceptive and Câpre/Câpresse
6
Du Tertre Jean-Baptiste.1667-71. Histoire générale des Antilles habités par les Français. 3 vols. Paris : Thomas
Jolly. (2 :478)
21
for example (the product of a mulatto and a black) based on the nuance of the skin could very
well pass for a mulatto or vice versa. As we will see in throughout each chapter, this type of
classification is arbitrary at best. The Signares, Senegalese women entrepreneurs were not all
mulattoes, yet the collectivity of signares were classified as mulattoes. The mulatto bourgeoisie
in Saint-Domingue and Saint-Pierre sometimes consisted of educated blacks who had either
acquired manumission or lived in a post-slavery societies. In fact the designation Gens de
couleur proves the inconsistency of identities in the colonies. During the eighteenth century,
gens de couleur could be interpreted either as people of mixed ancestry (European, African,
Indian) or Blacks. In most contexts they are used to refer to the free population of mixed and
black population.
This clearly shows that the construction of identities is slippery and is influenced by
complex, often conflicting realities. Social rank plays an important role in the formation of social
groups within the colonial and post-colonial contexts. As the sayings go “Money whitens” or “a
rich black is a mulatto and a poor mulatto is a black.” The appreciation or devaluation of
métissage is dependent on whether it poses a threat to the social order or it valorizes it. In precolonial Senegal, métissage posed very little problem, no doubt the absence of the plantation
system and a relatively peaceful transaction between signares, Europeans and African traders and
Kings facilitated contact and relational communication. Color politics was manifestly not a
problem during the reign of the Signares.
As I mentioned before, métissage was first manifested as a biological process to describe
genetic crossing that produced phenotypically distinct characteristics. These traits later served as
social and racial markers of identity to stigmatize and exclude. Métissage then is from its
inception affiliated to “race”. The use of the term is extended beyond the biological to describe
22
also the fusion of cultural and linguistic elements within the indigenous space. This term, created
to explain a rapidly evolving phenomenon posed a threat to racial hegemony and purity and as
such was greatly devalued throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, epochs that
represented the apex of Western and in particular European imperialism. The stigmatization of
the concept of métissage is all the more pervasive as it marks the desire to transgress cultural and
ethnic cleavages.
Redefining Creolization
If today the term métissage enjoys success, it is because it has been revalorized through
the concept of creolization, a term that has been made popular in recent postcolonial studies and
literary criticisms to explain the new forms of cultural and ethnic entanglements that have
emerged with the advent of globalization. Martinican theorist and poet Edouard Glissant for
example uses the term creole to describe the “relation” between different cultures forced into
contact in the colonial context. For him, creolization represents the cultural and linguistic
métissage that results from the chaotic relational encounters of different cultures in the same
space. In Glissant’s terms, the struggles and tensions associated with slavery and colonialism
were necessary conditions for the emergence of the creole. By proposing the notions of rhizome
and relational identity Glissant exalts the notion of errantry as opposed to roots, filiation and
exile to transcribe the multiform reality of the Caribbean. He goes a step further in Poetics of
Relation and extracts the concept from its complex particulars of Caribbean reality and extends it
to a vision of a world in transformation.
The Martinican writers of in Praise of Creolenes, Patrick Chamoiseau, Raphael Confiant
and Jean Bernabé advocate for a more geographic specificity of the concept and have thus
adopted the term créolité or creoleness. In their words creoleness is defined as the “interactional
23
or transactional aggregate of Caribbean, European, African, Asian, and Levantine cultural
elements, united on the same soil by the yoke of history.” (87)7 It is also “the world diffracted
but recomposed. Créolité is first and foremost a Martinican literary and intellectual movement
that seeks, but never really succeeds to theoretically reach out to other creole cultural and literary
realities. Although Bernabé, Chamoiseau and Confiant do export their créolité to the Indian
Ocean, in opposition to creolization which may potentially be extended beyond the Caribbean
region, créolité is location-specific and has not been transported to Saint-Louis Senegal. The
Caribbean region is the crucible where “languages, races, religions, customs, ways of being from
around the world were brutally uprooted and transplanted to”. (88) In other words, authentic
creoleness emerges within this complex muddle that is the Caribbean.
Khan and Palmié, in particular, by examining the very different domains and
circumstances in which these processes take place, have given the term creolization new
significance by inscribing it within a historical and theoretical specificity. Aisha Khan8,
Trinidadian scholar and anthropologist takes an objective stance on the concept of creolization.
Neither a proponent nor a dissident of the concept, she questions the usefulness of creolization in
cultural criticism and considers other terms such as Callaloo—“mixed and creole in the sense of
juxtaposed and tolerated differences rather than commingled” (656) and dougla (offspring of a
black parent and an Indian one) as more representative of Trinidadian multicultural and ethnic
diversity. She challenges the efficacy of the concept as a metaphor for the creole world and is
concerned that creolization has been pitched as an idealized solution to diversifying
7
. Bernabé, Jean. 1993. Eloge de la Créolité. Paris: Gallimard.
8
Khan, Aisha. 2007. “Good to Think?: Creolization, Optimism, and Agency”. Current Anthropology. Vol. 48. No.
5:653-673
24
communities. She suggests that creolization can be effective when the subaltern alterity is
construed as a transformative, robust and imaginative dynamism rather than a passive one.
In his article, Creolization and Its Discontents9, Stephan Palmié expresses anxiety
towards the extrapolation of the concept of creolization beyond its context-specific uses:
“Creolization” may appear to remedy certain deficits in long-standing anthropological agendas,
the current unreflexive use of it is neither defensible on empirical grounds nor theoretically well
advised” (433). Though Palmié’s concern is legitimate, it fails to consider the possibilities that
other societies outside the realm of the Caribbean and the Indian Ocean have had to grapple with
the same issues of power and entanglements. The colonial societies of Senegal and in particular
Saint-Louis, have been eclipsed in the whole debate of creolization. Narratives of an assimilated
and harmonized community of Europeans and Africans in Saint-Louis have obscured the
dynamics of inequality, hierarchization and domination that persist in any colonial society. That
relationships in Saint-Louis were tolerated and accepted between the European population and
the signares is a manifestation of the mises en relation that Glissant discourses and the possibility
of creating productive forms of contact. As Francoise Vergès puts it:
There is nothing in the process and practices of creolization that can teach other groups
and individuals who are caught in the maelstrom of globalization today…There are
strategies that have emerged…strategies of resistance, of inventiveness, of creativity in
the arts, music, and even in the political discourse that would give, or rather allow
comparisons, or transfers of tools…exchange rather than hegemonization
In the book The Creolization of Theory, Francoise Lionnet and Shu-mei Shih use
creolization as a theoretical approach to investigate the entanglements of contemporary academic
disciplines. By advancing a common way to intersect the literary currents that have inundated
9
. Palmié, Stephan. 2006. “Creolization and Its Discontents”. Annual Review of Anthropology. Vol. 35: 433-456
25
academic circles, they propose the concept of creolization: “Our goal is to theorize rationality in
a way that can encourage scholars to see historical, social, political, and cultural issues as
forming a part of a creolized system of knowledge. Our project is thus part intellectual history,
part critique of the exclusiveness of Theory—or more specifically of that theoretical discourse
that has, of late, become asphyxiated in its own abstract universe, and whose death is chronically
being foretold” (3)10. These theories are clearly interlinked with the historical events that have
led to their emergence. Lionnet and Shu –mei Shi thus envision that Theory can draw on its
similarities and differences in order to pursue the same objectives.
In my thesis, by extending the phenomenon to explain and interpret the forced encounters
and creative re-inventions engendered by the metis group in Saint-Louis, Senegal, I challenge the
geographical specificity within which the concept has been fixed. In the discourses on
creolization as metaphoric explanation of cultural and ethnic mixtures and entanglements, the
focus has always been limited to areas greatly influenced by slavery, imperialism and
colonialism namely the Caribbean, the Mascarenes and the Indian Ocean rim. Sub-Saharan
Africa has been excluded from the equation. By integrating Saint-Louis within that geography, I
not only show that colonialism had a profound effect on multiculturalism in Senegal but that
Saint-Louis and by extension Senegal subscribes to the contextual and historical specificity of
creolization. The vibrant metis town of Saint-Louis is the result of its disparate elements thrust
together in order to satisfy individual and collective ambitions.
Despite its modernized vision, creolization has its origin in history. The term “creole”
from which creolization derived, was coined in the early colonial period to define the offspring
10
. Lionnet, Francoise and Shu-mei Shi. 2011. The Creolization of Theory. Durham [N.C.]: Duke University Press.
26
of Old World progenitors who were born and raised in the New World. From this initial
denotation, the term has evolved and been adapted to designate other realities of transculturation
and identities. The concepts of creole and creolization are not static and have meant different
things at different times. For example, in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, being creole
implied purity of descent whereas in the early twentieth century it meant mixture. It is therefore
impossible to fix these notions within any given trajectory. The English term creole comes from
French créole, which is cognate with the Spanish term criollo and Portuguese crioulo, all
descending from the verb criar ('to breed' or 'to raise'), all coming from Latin creare ('to produce,
create').
The specific meaning of the term was coined in the 16th and 17th century, during
European expansion. The terms criollo and crioulo were originally qualifiers used throughout the
Spanish and Portuguese colonies to distinguish the members of an ethnic group who were born
and raised locally from those who immigrated as adults. They were most commonly applied to
nationals of the colonial power, e.g. to distinguish españoles criollos (people born in the colonies
from Spanish ancestors) from españoles peninsulares (those born in Spain). However in Brazil
the term was also used to distinguish between negros crioulos (blacks born in Brazil from
African slave ancestors) and negros africanos (born in Africa). Over time, the term and its
derivatives (Creole, Kréol, Kreyol, Kriol, Krio etc.) lost the generic meaning and became the
proper name of many distinct ethnic groups that developed locally from immigrant communities.
In the Caribbean in recent times the noun creole was used to denote descendants of any
European settlers, but commonly now the term is used more largely to refer to all the people,
whatever their class or ancestry—European, African, Asian, Indian—who are part of the
Caribbean culture. In French Guiana the term refers to those who, whatever the color of their
27
skin, have adopted a European way of life; in neighboring Suriname it refers to descendants of
African slaves. In Louisiana it refers, in some contexts, to French-speaking white descendants of
early French and Spanish settlers and, in other contexts, to mulattos speaking a form of French
and Spanish. The term creole has also been used interchangeable with metis to designate the
mixed population of Saint-Louis Senegal.
The word creole has equally been extended to the linguistic context. There are many
different creole languages which indicate again the inconsistency of creole identities. All French
based creoles, for example are not identical. In different locales, the word creole refers not only
to different ethnic groups but to the combination of different language systems as well
(European, African, South Asian, Carib) that came together in the contact zones to constitute a
lingua franca in the crucible of colonization. It is important to note that although the metis
ethnoclass of Saint-Louis were referred to as creole, no creole language was documented for
them. Europeans in Saint-Louis either used interpreters while their Senegalese counterpart
adopted the European languages. The signares, for example managed to switch easily between
French, English and Portuguese. Creolization in its most general sense thus refers to the results
of a history of contact and to the subsequent processes of indigenization of European settlers. It
underscores racial and cultural mixing due to colonization, slavery and migration.
To explore the dynamics of processes of intermixture and creolization within the three
colonial cities of Saint-Louis, Jérémie and Saint-Pierre, my dissertation is divided into three
major chapters excluding the introduction. In chapter one, I examine the city of Saint-Louis
celebrated as an elite metis space as a result of complex relationships between Senegalese
women called signares, European males, Muslim traders, Kings from the interior of Senegal and
slaves. I cite these relationships as causes of the multidimensional layers of métissage.
28
Particularly, I highlight the role and place of the signares as major agents of successful métissage
through the propagation of bourgeois values as well as through preservation of traditional
African values. They were central agents in the transformation of Saint-Louis into a modernized
urban space while upholding ties with African traditions and values. Through the works of
Frantz Fanon (Peau noire, masques blancs), Abdoulaye Sadji (Nini) and Tita Mandeleau
(Signare Anna) I analyze the complexities of this ethnoclass in their different interactions within
colonial Saint-Louis.
The second chapter studies the city of Saint-Pierre, its ethnic and political rivalries and its
ascension as an elite metis enclave. Known as the tropical Venus, Saint-Pierre evolved into a
prosperous commercial urban enclave thanks to its booming sugar industry and the slave trade
By focusing on works by Lafcadio Hearn (Two Years in the French West Indies), René
Bonneville (Le Triomphe d’Eglantine), Virgile Savane (La Venise Tropicale) and Raphael
Confiant (Les Saint-Aubert) as well as Guy Deslauriers’ film, (Biguine), I consider the conditions
that led to the rise of Saint-Pierre as the nexus of cultural métissage not only in Martinique but
within the Caribbean region. I question the insignificant recognition given to women as
important contributors to cultural development. I examine the significant political and economic
role of mulatto men and their constant struggle for visibility within a plantation based society
where white creoles, though representing a numerical minority, still enjoy economic hegemony
in the town. I interrogate further the Békés’, (descendants of white planters born in the French
colonies of Martinique and Guadeloupe) perception of métissage and their reactions to it
especially in light of their persistent desire for race preservation. I consider the role of the
eruption and its destructive consequences on Saint-Pierre as a defining moment for not only the
29
metis but for the Martinican people as it relates to their attempt at self-redefinition, rebirth and
reconciliation.
In my third and final chapter, I focus on Jérémie as a city that has a recurring presence in
novels and critical texts alike as the birthplace of the mulatto caste. I examine the complex
relationships forged between mulattoes and the black masses in the first ever black Republic in
the Western Hemisphere. I evoke the ideologies of “mulâtrisme” and “noirisme” as opposing
ideologies in within the destructive color politics. I invoke the racially stratified colonial system
as an essential factor in the determining one’s class, race and color in Haiti. I show that in
comparison to Saint-Louis where the dynamics of métissage was relatively harmonious, the
problematics of mixtures articulated in Jérémie was fraught with tension, conflicts, self-loathing,
exclusion and zombification. I analyze this thorny and tragic métissage by critically examining
the texts of Moreau de Saint-Méry (Description…), Lilas Desquiron (Les Chemins de LokoMiroir) and Marie Vieux-Chauvet (Amour) I investigate the socio-political tensions of the town
of Jérémie. I show finally that the tragic history of métissage in Jérémie is a symbolism of the
deeper issues affecting Haiti, its relationship with France and other Western countries, its
exclusion after its independence as a pertinent and important player in the global scene.
The phenomenon of métissage is certainly not a novel subject as evidenced by the
plethora of theories and studies advanced by scholars and intellectuals. My research is thus part
of an existing critical literary corpus in Postcolonial and Francophone Studies and is inscribed
within the theoretical framework of Creolization. My research examines from a comparative
perspective, metis presence consciousness in three specific urban spaces where colonial authority
was imposed, challenged, resisted and even overpowered (in the case of Haiti). My study
therefore analyses the agency articulated by the metis group despite claims of passivity and an
30
inherent tendency to lasciviousness. As a liminal group, their access to social, economic and
political upward mobility were greatly impeded by their ambiguous positioning within the larger
community. Consequently, they resorted to unconventional means that I refer to rather as
creative ingeniousness in order to survive. Scholars usually focus on these “unconventional”
means as a means in itself rather than as strategies of self-reinvention and revalorization. As a
result, representations of cultural and ethnic interconnections and hybridity are often projected in
fragmentary ways. Metis women and men for example are more often than not represented as the
antithesis of each other rather than complementary wholes. My thesis thus serves to decenter
narratives on métissage from the women and implicate equally the creative agency of metis
males.
My thesis expands on the complexities that inform processes of métissage under and after
colonial rule in the urban spaces of Saint-Louis, Jérémie and Saint-Pierre and it examines further
the city as space that engenders new narratives and interpretations of the processes of
creolization. Processes of métissage or creolization have often been described as the results of
violent encounters that were colonial and imperial. Moreover, these clashes were inscribed
within the enclosed space of the plantation.
The city, representation of European pride and greed is an ambiguous space that attracts
even as it excludes. Projected as active commercial and economic and cultural hubs, the center is
soon engulfed with mass emigration. That site where the European image and culture is imposed,
quickly evolves into a complex and chaotic web of human and material interaction giving rise to
a complex creolized atmosphere. The city manifests a radical shift from the violent onset of
miscegenation that originated in the belly of the slave ships and persisted on the sugar
plantations of the French Antilles and in the trading houses of Sub-Saharan Africa.
31
I conclude with a look at the contemporary context of métissage, I rethink the
significance of racial and cultural hybridity as determining factors of métissage in the postcolonial space.
32
CHAPTER ONE
MIMICRY AND AMBIVALENCE: RE-READING METISSAGE IN SAINT-LOUIS OF
SENEGAL
In this chapter, I am focusing on Saint-Louis-du-Senegal not merely as the birthplace of French
colonialism in Sub-Saharan Africa but mainly as a site known and celebrated for its métissage.
Although the theme of métissage has been widely explored within the domains of Postcolonial
and Francophone studies, Anthropology, and Psychoanalysis, its scope has largely been confined
to the Caribbean, Latin America, and the Indian Ocean Rim. The phenomenon of métissage
which is also present in Sub-Saharan Africa has not been given equal attention.
Indeed, Senegal and in particular the towns of Saint-Louis and Gorée island, were pivotal
hubs where multiple worlds clashed and intermingled over a long period of time dating back to
the fifteenth century before the British and French Trading Companies exercised their hegemony
in Senegal up till the independence era and beyond.
My thesis thus reestablishes and reemphasizes the important role that métissage played in
Senegal, particularly in Saint-Louis, by examining the socio-economic and political rise of the
metis population of Saint-Louis. A distinct social class or ethnicity arose from the interweaving
of disparate groups of European men and Senegalese women. I place particular emphasis on the
signares, Senegalese women whose sense of Teranga11, elegance, good taste, and shrewd
business minds transformed Saint-Louis into an original society. They were also active
11
Wolof term used commonly by Saint-Louisians to mean hospitability
33
participants during the era of the transatlantic slave trade, a role that not only transgressed but
subverted gendered and racialized norms of that time.
However, to understand the socio-political composition and complexity of métissage in
Senegal, it is important to examine the history of the town of Saint-Louis. Saint-Louis along with
Gorée Island was during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries the only two French colonies
in Senegal. The rest of the country, constituting Kingdoms of African royalty, was still resistant
to colonialism. In addition to being the only two French colonies in Senegal, Saint-Louis and
Gorée share a similar unique trait in that they had distinct metis populations. Although both
islands frame métissage in almost identical terms, my research focuses solely on Saint-Louis.
Saint-Louis is the object of my study primarily because my research is based on the one hand, on
fictional and non-fictional narratives that deal specifically with the metis of Saint-Louis and on
the other hand, on first hand data collected during six weeks of field work in Saint-Louis,
Senegal.
Geography of Saint-Louis
Saint-Louis or Ndar as it is called in Wolof, is the capital of Senegal’s Saint-Louis
Region. Located in the northwest of Senegal, near the mouth of the Senegal River, and 320 km
north of Senegal’s capital city Dakar, it has an estimated population of 176,000 (according to a
2005 census). Saint-Louis was the capital of the French colony of Senegal from 1673 until 1902
and French West Africa from 1895 until 1902, when the capital was moved to Dakar. From 1920
to 1957, it also served as the capital of the neighboring colony of Mauritania.12
12
Boilat, David. Esquisses Sénégalaises.
34
The heart of this old colonial city is located on a narrow island (just over 2 km long and
about 400 m wide) in the Senegal River, 25 km from its mouth. At this point, the river is
separated from the Atlantic Ocean to the west by a narrow sand spit, the Langue de Barbarie
(300 m wide). Another part of the city, Sor, lies on the eastern mainland and is nearly surrounded
by tidal marshes. Saint-Louis is situated on the Mauritanian border, though the border crossing is
at Rosso, 100 km upstream. Its terrain is quite sandy but adequate for farming. The city occupies
the entire island from the Pointe Sud up to the promenades called Pointe du nord.13
From Ndar to the birth of Saint-Louis
14
Before becoming a prominent colonial capital during the nineteenth century, Saint-
Louis was nothing more than an isolated island hidden by thick vegetation. Furthermore, the
turbulent current that characterized the estuary of the Senegal River provided a natural protection
of the island from invaders. Thus, many attempts by navigators were met with resistance from
the unyielding current. As a result, the island remained deserted and undiscovered. According to
numerous accounts by historians and writers alike including Camille Camara (Saint-Louis DuSénégal, Evolution d’une ville en milieu africain, 1968), Portuguese navigators located the
mouth of the Senegal River in 1445 before actually discovering Saint-Louis. In the sixteenth
century, encouraged by the Portuguese’ example, the Normans followed that same route upriver,
the only means of accessing the interior of the continent. Only their lighter fleets succeeded in
crossing the dangerous current to reach the points of trade. Despite these transactions, Saint-
13
Boilat, David. Esquisses Sénégalaises.
14
Most of the information in this section is taken from works by Camille Camara (Saint-Louis du Sénégal, évolution
d’une ville, Saint-Louis du Sénégal, Etude du développement urbain)
35
Louis remained uninhabited for all of the sixteenth century. Only two little villages hidden
amidst thick vegetation were spotted by the navigators.
According to local lore,15 the first village in the neighboring region along the mouth of
the Senegal River was founded by Yammone Yalla who came from Woul (Ouli) country with his
wife Ndyenne Foul Dyop and a few other family members. Upon arrival on the river banks, they
drank some water that they found to be sweet and good. Yammone then declared: “Voici quel
sera à l’avenir notre ndâ”. In other words: “This is what the future reserves for our Ndâ “. A
village was thus created and was known as Ndâ and became the first market of the country. Ndâ
signifies large earthenware vase. In this context however, the term takes on the meaning of
reservoir of water. It is from this word that the Wolof name for Saint-Louis derives. Ndâ became
Ndar.
The year 1633 contributed significantly to the development of the island of Saint-Louis.
Cardinal Richelieu sought to restore France’s image by establishing colonies on the African
continent. In order to attain maximum economic gains for the French Crown, Richelieu insisted
upon two very important requirements: that the French become a superior naval force by
developing sea warfare and that they create large trading companies like the Dutch and the
British. From then on, about twenty companies emerged from 1626 to 1661 with the Normand
charter being the first French company to be implanted in West Africa.
In 1658, the Compagnie du Cap Vert (the Company of the Cape Verde Islands) replaced
the Normans and received a charter that allowed merchant-investors from Rouen exclusive rights
to trade along the Senegal River. Saint-Louis’s first function was thus that of trading post. In
5. Rousseau R., Le Sénégal autrefois, BCEHS, AOF, 1931. Cited by Abdoul Hadir Aïdara (Saint-Louis du Sénégal,
d’hier a aujourd’hui)
36
1659, Louis Caullier, agent of the Cape-Verde and Senegal Company, received authorization
from the brack, (Walo or Waalo king) to construct a dwelling (habitation) that would later be
named Fort Saint-Louis. In exchange, the representative of the company had to honor the annual
tradition: “de trois pièces de guinées, un tiers d’aulne de drap écarlate, sept barres de fer longues,
dix pintes d’eau de vie”16.However, the first fortified structure was established some twenty
years prior on the island of Bocos, located about 5 km to the south of Saint-Louis. The
construction was destroyed by frequent flooding and battering of the sea. As noted by Fadel
Dia17, the trading post that represented the island of Saint-Louis at the time was born under the
star of the Louis; it was bought by Louis Caullier, under the reign of King Louis (XIV), and was
baptized in honor of Louis (IX).
However the company still was unable to set up permanent and stable trading posts.
Besides being frequently inundated by floods, the makeshift fort could not provide the means to
repair nor to replenish the ships and crew. As a result, merchants and sailors had to establish
contact with the local people in order to secure resources that were indispensable to survival. At
the same time, they had to find ways to protect themselves both on land and on sea from thieves
and pirates. The fort functioned as a trading post and developed quite well especially during the
time of the Compagnie des Indes (1718-1767), a company commissioned by the Crown.
European merchants and traders began settling down more permanently and it seemed that
mercantilism had taken off on a good foot.
6. Guinea coins (British gold coins used from 1663-1813), a scarlet sheet, 7 bars of long iron, 10 pints eau-de-vie
(My translation)
7. La Société Créole à Saint-Louis, des origines à 1914 : synopsis, document dactylographié, CRDS, 1991. Cited by
Aïdara., p. 10
37
Despite the apparent success of the trading post, Saint-Louis was still a modest village
throughout much of the eighteenth century with just a few red brick houses near the fort and a
proliferation of straw huts scattered around. Interestingly, it was among this crucible of brick and
straw that the fusion of two civilizations originated giving rise to a metis population among
whom would emerge important traders and businessmen and women. Thanks to the signares,
progenitors of this intermediary group, the embryonic phase of a town began to emerge in SaintLouis. They established a type of original society that mimicked in part, European styles and
customs but still maintained a very African/Senegalese aspect. They constructed two-story
houses that functioned as rental properties for Company workers who were on contract in the
colony. These colonial-style houses would change the face of Saint-Louis and remain up to this
day, a symbol of Saint-Louisian pride.
The choice of a deserted island
Despite its modest origins, Saint-Louis was coveted by numerous interest groups who
braved the pesky currents in a bid to develop colonial empires and to acquire personal wealth.
Saint-Louis was by no means a paradisiacal destination. Unfavorable climatic conditions,
inhospitable coasts, and innumerable tropical diseases decimated the new comers into Senegal.
Nonetheless these threats did not deter the constant flow of Europeans and other ethnic groups
up the Senegal River to participate in and benefit from the relatively lucrative commercial
activities that took place along the River. Saint-Louis’ strategic positioning between the Senegal
River and the Atlantic Ocean made it a prime spot for trade. Jean-Pierre Donzon18 affirmed that
18
Saint-Louis du Sénégal, Palimpseste d’une ville, p.11
38
Saint-Louis is first and foremost a configuration of lands and water, a world turned towards vast
marine horizons, an immense River and vast Regions.
Yet in spite of its insularity, it seemed to be closed off. Indeed, a fluvial island constituted
a guaranteed protection against attacks from enemy ethnic groups or rival Europeans.
Additionally, the rip current at the river mouth provided a natural obstruction that the enemy
rarely chanced to cross. During high tide, ships would have to wait for at least a month or more
before they could cross, thus giving the Saint-Louisians enough time to arm themselves and
defend the river.
As I mentioned earlier, Saint-Louis started off as a trading post and became an attractive
market, especially with the installation of European merchants and traders on the island. For a
long time, Saint-Louis was the most important trading post along the African coasts where
multiple Companies succeeded one another for over 150 years, trading diverse tropical products
and slaves. It then functioned as a docking spot for colonial vessels especially during the second
half of the nineteenth century. Several factors contributed to the successful development of
Saint-Louis: the vast range of local actors, an effective support system, and of course lucrative
merchandise. The latter of course being the triggering factor of the other two. Besides the
trading of slaves or bois d’ebène as they were locally referred to, a variety of other precious
goods and tropical products were exchanged up till the middle of the nineteenth century. The
French possessed numerous slave ports in Senegambia during the eighteenth century such as
Gorée, Joal, Portudal, and Rufisque.
Saint-Louis, however, was the sole trading post which offered a variety of products
including gold, ivory, ostrich feathers, skins, wax, but particularly Arabic gum that was used in
Europe in the textile and pharmaceutical industries and in confectionery manufacturing. Such
39
diversification of the economic and professional activities in Saint-Louis contributed favorably
to its growth and triggered waves of movement from the African coasts to Europe into the
‘town”. Saint-Louis transitioned into the primary point of all sorts of contacts and encounters
both good and bad but to classify it at that point as a town in the Western interpretation of the
word would be a bit anachronic if you will, especially in the pre-colonial African context.
Up till 1817, during 19Schmaltz’s governance, Saint-Louis remained essentially the fort.
Schmaltz who took over after the departure of the British20 met Saint-Louis in ruins. He observes
that “ Les Etablissements m’ont été remis dans un état de dégradation et même de dévastation
par le Commandant Anglais que les réparations les plus indispensables nécessiteront de grandes
dépenses… la plupart des portes et fenêtres ont été brisées et presque toutes les serrures sont
enlevées »21. The degradation of which he spoke were essentially that of the fort and the few
public buildings surrounding it, including the church. With the help of the Administration, he
was able to procure funds to begin reconstruction.
The Reconstruction of the fort proved difficult as the materials for building had to be
brought in from afar, often by boat. Bricks and tiles for instance were imported from France.
Nevertheless, a new plan was drawn up that would transform the appearance of Saint-Louis. The
construction of a number of public buildings added a certain urban allure to the Fort. The church
which was ruined at the same time as the other buildings, was completely remodeled and was
19
Julien Schmaltz was a French colonial administrator and governor of Senegal from 1816 to 1820.
20
The British invaded Saint-Louis three times during France’s possession of the island.
21
The establishments handed over to me by the British Commandant were in such a state of degradation and even
devastation that large sums were needed to take care of the most important repairs…the majority of the windows
and doors were broken and almost all the locks were removed. (My translation) Cited by Hardy G. La mise en
valeur du Sénégal de 1817-1854, Paris, Larose 1921.
40
dedicated in 1828 in the presence of administrative personnel and military representatives. It was
the first Catholic church of West Africa22. Saint-Louisians were proud of the facelift given to
their land. Besides the church, other important buildings stood out among the huts. Two prisons,
Rognard-Sud and Rognard-Nord23 completed in 1830, surrounding the parade grounds, the Court
house, the hospital, and the big mosque completed in 1847, all contributed to the majestic
appearance of the fort. In addition to these structures, other buildings emerged around the fort,
especially in the quartier Sud (southern district). By 1838, out of the 320 houses, 229 of them
had second floors.
This progression towards urbanization was hindered, however, by the increasing number
of huts that littered the island especially since the suppression of slavery. Upon their arrival in
Senegal, the clergy bought and freed a large number of slaves who consequently occupied huts
on the island. Just south of the island of Saint-Louis, another district called Sor emerged and was
used for the construction of “vacation homes”. At the same time however, former Bambaras24
slaves were also building huts there. To deter the accumulation of shacks among the brick
structures, another section just north of Saint-Louis on the Langue de Barbarie25, called N’Dar
Toute was created as a “village de liberté” or liberty village.
The island extended to a certain extent in terms of topographical dimension but was still
far from constituting a town. The shacks were a real threat to urbanization in general and to the
colonial design in particular. Their construction did not follow any particular plan and they
22
Annales paroissiales de Saint-Louis.
23
L’Abbé Boilat : Esquisses Sénégalaises
24
Ethnic group from Mali
25
A thin sandy strip that separates Saint-Louis from the Atlantic Ocean
41
constituted an eyesore, a chaotic mess amidst the carefully planned and structured colonial
buildings. Additionally, the material used to build the huts were a fire hazard that constantly
endangered its occupants but also the very existence of the colonial city. Other factors
contributed to the slow metamorphosis of Saint-Louis into an urbanized space. The Fort, the
center and soul of colonial authority, was also at risk from flooding. Threatened on all sides by
the opposing elements of water and fire, the materialization of the little city seemed elusive.
Saint-Louis also had the misfortune of lacking good drinking water especially during the six
months of the dry season.
These drawbacks did not dampen the pride and importance that Saint-Louisians held for
their town. The population increased steadily; ships were calling into the port turning the little
town into an economic capital where commerce blossomed. This initial manifestation of
prosperity led to the creation of a Trading Committee (Comité Commercial). Elementary schools
opened their doors on the island and soon Boilat opened the first secondary school in SubSaharan Africa. Such economic and social development encouraged Saint-Louisians to petition
for a change of status for their town. They affirmed that Saint-Louis should no longer be
considered a trading post but rather a colony in charge of a vast continent. At about the same
time, Faidherbe was recommended and nominated governor. Saint-Louis’s destiny would be
altered forever.
The development of the city
Indeed, Faidherbe played an instrumental role in the transformation of Saint-Louis from
trading post to capital city. For the first time, Saint-Louis ceased to be an island closed-in on
itself but became rather an economically viable state, a gateway to the rest of Senegal as well as
other African lands. Several bridges including the spectacular Faidherbe Bridge, pride and joy of
42
Saint-Louisians, were installed on the island. The Faidherbe Bridge linked the island to the
mainland and the village of Sor, while Servatius Bridge (Pont Servatius) linked the island to the
Langue de Barbarie. These bridges served two main purposes. On the one hand, they served as
forms of defense especially against the Moors formidable enemies of Senegalese and on the
other hand, they facilitated trade. The bridges also increased the flow of peoples, goods, and
ideas into the island.
Saint-Louis seemed almost conformed to the image of a capital city except for the
accumulation of shacks that contrasted unfavorably with the urban physiognomy that the colonial
authority envisioned for the island. Saint-Louis had to get rid of these shacks, especially those in
the city center, a space which represented colonial authority, order, and design. Saint-Louis
could not fully represent French civilization and industrialized France, if this problem was not
solved. Faidherbe waged constant wars against their construction, replacing the rewards that
were initially offered to those who built solid houses with a decree that ordered the demolition of
the shacks within the period of three months at the risk of imprisonment. The war was partially
won as ten streets along the town center were cleared of huts. However, Saint-Louisians found
ways to bypass the strict laws, building their shacks out of boards or a combination of straw and
sheet metal. Fines, punishments, and imprisonment threatened the recalcitrant inhabitants and
eventually, the city center was completely rid of the huts up till today. Following this
transformation, the streets and sidewalks were enlarged giving importance to traffic and
pedestrians. Trees were planted along the sidewalks creating shade and a bit of greenery in the
city center.
The new city started fully functioning as a capital thanks to the numerous institutions and
public services that were established there. During his governance, Faidherbe also helped
43
develop commercial activities in the city. A new cash crop, peanut, was introduced and rapidly
became a major source of income in Saint-Louis quickly making up for the loss the economy
suffered after the abolition of slavery, the drastic drop in gum prices as well as the failed attempt
of establishing a form of colonization based on farming26. Economic growth in Saint-Louis was
remarkable as evidenced by the increased flow of ships and people in and out of the port. A
marked increase of 37 different transactions in and out of the port was recorded in 1858
compared to 1857. In the same internal, the capacity that was transported spiked from 23 000 to
35 000 tons. Business sales between 1853 and 1862 averaged 32 million francs for the entire
colony, 18 million of which belonged to Saint-Louis. By 1869, sales were averaging 40 million
with the majority coming from commercial activities in the capital city. The rapid economic
prosperity of the city occasioned the creation of the Bank of Senegal (Banque du Sénégal), an
institution in which Saint-Louisian business men played a major role.27 The Chamber of
Commerce was also created in that same year (qtd. in Saint Louis du Senegal, Brigaud Y, p.15).
The transformation of Saint-Louis from periphery to center promoted Saint-Luis to the
status of capital creating simultaneously a sense of pride and unique identity among SaintLouisians. However, the strategic shift to center fulfilled in part the civilizing mission as SaintLouis would be considered a sort of laboratory of the new French imperialism in Africa, a vital
part of Senegal’s historical, conveniently occulted by idealized representations of “la vieille
Cité”. Faidherbe’s success in Saint-Louis and by extension Senegal is a classic example of the
“forked tongue”, Bhabha’s term, for the colonial mission. Faidherbe’s idea of colonial politics
26
Moniteur du Sénégal, n° 147 du janvier 1859 (original source). (qtd. by Camara, C : Saint-Louis du Sénégal, p. 61
27
Moniteur du Sénégal, n° 461, p. 15 du janvier 1865 (original source). «Camara Op. cit », p. 61-62
44
ran counter to his predecessor’s, and in appearance favored the wellbeing of Saint-Louis and
Saint-Louisians. The outcome proved that Faidherbe like those before him never lost sight of the
economic and political agendas of the mission. His tactic was nonetheless genius in that he
capitalized on his predecessors’ failures to colonize Senegal by adopting strategies of negotiation
and creating opportunities for mutual dialogues in his transactions with the Senegalese people.
When Faidherbe took up office as governor (1854-1865), he immediately abandoned the get rich
quick principles that characterized the colonial system and adopted a system which seemed to
cater directly to the needs of the Senegalese. His novel politics, no doubt, facilitated the
colonizing process in Senegal to the benefit of France but to the detriment of Senegal and other
African states that would eventually fall under French subjugation.
Saint-Louis-an ambiguous space
The avid desire of French colonial authority to restructure the topography of Saint-Louis
was articulated around imperial, economic, and political agendas that implicated the total
conquest of Senegal with little or no regard for the inhabitants of the land. However, history
shows that Saint-Louisians equally participated in fulfilling some of these very agendas. SaintLouis’ geographical attributes, its lucrative mercantile activities as well as the hospitable nature
of its inhabitants made it a prime target for colonization. As Jean-Pierre Donzon points out,
Saint-Louis’s singular and major characteristic lies in its dual implication in two French colonial
empires. The first involves the Ancien Regime whose agenda at the time was concentrated
primarily in the race to expand the French empire from sugar rich plantations of the Caribbean,
notably Saint-Domingue and to a lesser extent the Mascarene Islands. Senegal and in particular
the colonial city Saint-Louis was a major player in the Atlantic trade acting as auxiliaries to the
French and other European actors.
45
The slave trade as well as other mercantile economic activities in Africa and along the
Atlantic were often considered a masculine domain as merchants, traders, and slave owners were
essentially men. Very few accounts acknowledged the participation of women in the Atlantic
trade. Many slaves were of course women, but there were also women who owned, sold, and
rented out slaves as the need arises. The signares, for example, accrued their vast fortune because
of the slave trade. Saint-Louis’s first role as imposed by the French was first and foremost a
trading post with the bois d’ebène as its most precious merchandise. This tragic layer of SaintLouis’s past is often forgotten, giving precedence instead to the flattering image of cité créole,
lieu d’élégance et de bonne manière et de teranga.
The second wave of French imperialism took place under the Third Republic, a regime
which was particularly invested in securing a vast African empire. Saint-Louis was once again at
the center of this economic and political playing field. As a previously lucrative entrepot, SaintLouis then morphed into the main point of contact for colonial conquests, a role which earned it
the administrative status of capital of Senegal as well as capital of the Federation of French West
Africa (AOF-Afrique Occidentale Francaise) in 1895. It is interesting to note that just a decade
before, the major European capitalists disputed the division of Africa among themselves in the
famous Berlin Conference of 1885. It is not surprising that Saint-Louis, the first designated
“colony” of France in West Africa would be accorded the status of administrative capital. SaintLouis was in fact the laboratory for the civilizing process, the germination ground where the
seeds of colonization were planted and dispersed throughout the rest of Senegal and West Africa.
It could be assumed that Saint-Louis played a great role in its own economic and political
downfall and in retrospect might have been a liability rather than an asset to Senegal.
46
Faidherbe’s large-scale developmental projects (bridges, railroad Saint-Louis-Dakar)
opened out the island and increased the traffic of merchandise in and out of the island, enriching
Europeans and Saint-Louisians alike. His political discourse, however, camouflaged the real
intention of the mission. Saint-Louis alone was not enough to fulfill the ambitious intentions of
the colonial mission. These gateways led into Saint-Louis, but most importantly, they led out
into untapped areas and resources. Faidherbe played right into the hearts of Saint-Louisians,
speaking their language, encouraging his Company employers to adapt their practices to those of
the Senegalese, and helping to modernize the cité. He led by example, intermingling with the
local populations and even marrying “a la mode du pays”, his Senegalese partner and mother of
his son.
Ultimately, Saint-Louis would suffer significant decline when the capital of the
Federation of French West African colonies was transferred to Dakar whose port could
accommodate steamships and other larger vessels. The very same rip current that made SaintLouis an appealing place became one of the reasons for its demise. Aïdara (15) observed that the
conditions in Saint-Louis did not favor the increasing tonnage of ships. The rip current at the
river mouth was posing problems for the ease of movement along the river limiting the traffic of
peanut, the new cash crop.
The welfare of Saint-Louis’s economy was certainly not the priority of the French
administration, building a vast African empire was, and had always been the motivating factor of
France’s interest in Saint-Louis. The pauperization of Saint-Louis was made even more
pervasive by the migration of the rich metis families to Dakar and to France between the 1920s
and 1930s. However, the fatal blow that led to the collapse of the city was the transfer of the
government of Senegal to Dakar after Senegal gained its independence in 1957. Stripped of its
47
economic, political, and even cultural functions, Saint-Louis as a model of French representation
was significantly reduced. Abandoned by the French authorities and by the Senegalese
government whose main focus was on Dakar, the colonial city fell into a comatose state.
The marginalization of Saint-Louis comes as no surprise however and according to Homi
Bhabha, it is the ultimate effect of mimicry on colonial states. Saint-Louis is a perfect example of
a reformed space, a space that was created not to represent colonial authority but to mimic
Frenchness and French ideologies. The desired outcome was a state that in theory is recognized
as French but in reality was alienated from the privileges and rights that French authority confers
on its citizens. Although the racial barriers that usually informed colonial states seemed absent in
Saint-Louis, the eventual dismantling of Saint-Louis was partly because of the affluence and
unusual economic and political power of the metis and black elite, a situation that altered the
status quo, and threatened the traditional hierarchy. From the seventeenth century up till 1914,
metis families held significant economic and political clout in Saint-Louis, competing with and
even outclassing their French counterparts.
This local influence largely determined the initial failure of colonization in Senegal.
Having appropriated the Saint-Louisian language, customs, and strategies, the French succeeded
in minimizing the risks that previously deterred the colonizing mission. In so doing, they were
able to eliminate the competition and fully occupy Senegal and ultimately, parts of West Africa.
Samuel Weber’s formulation of the marginalizing vison of castration illustrates in part, the
lethargy that defined Saint-Louis then and even today. As I mentioned earlier, Saint-Louis was
the site of fertile relations, on a human as well as economic and material scale. By extracting the
source of its virility, the seat of its power, Saint-Louis was automatically emasculated and
diminished.
48
Sadly, evidence of decadence and decline is still visible in the “vieille cité” today.
Amazingly, the lingering presence of the colonial era is paradoxically still preserved today
amidst modernized structures and dilapidated houses. Saint-Louis today is more a reflection of a
vast African village rather than an urbanized town. Stripped from its administrative status, SaintLouis has been pushed out from the center, back into the periphery where it belonged. The
signares and the metis elite appropriated the center and participated in its transformation.
However, with the arrival of the French women and the decline of the cultural, economic, and
political functions of Saint-Louis, Saint-Louis was relegated back to the periphery. It still
remains, however, a space of ambivalence and recurring métissage though on a much different
level.
Assimilation or female agency? - The rise of the Signares
Despite its failing economy, Saint-Louis is still symbolically the creole city and its
glorious past continues to resonate among its inhabitants. The cultural memories and traditions
linger and is replicated notably in the dress, elegance, and mannerisms of the people. Evidence of
the multifaceted aspects of the town is still apparent. The French name Saint-Louis is used
interchangeably with the Wolof term Ndar, evoking the French and African affiliations that have
defined and continue to define Saint-Louis and Saint-Louisians. While Saint-Louisians remain
predominantly Muslims, a small minority are fervent observers of the Catholic faith. Muslims
and Catholics cohabit mutually amidst the traditional religious practices of animism creating a
space that is multidimensional yet mutually accommodating and tolerant.
This apparent cultural adroitness is largely influenced by the signares, Senegalese women
whose astute sense of tolerance, understanding, and accommodation engendered an original
metis society in Saint-Louis. Just as Senegal’s history is intricately enmeshed with that of Saint-
49
Louis, so too is the history of Saint-Louis intimately entangled with the emergence and evolution
of the metis. The vast economic fortune and political power of this ethnoclass cannot however be
determined without a thorough look into the life and lifestyle of the signares. Very little is known
of métissage in Sub-Saharan Africa as compared to the plethora of studies carried out on the
subject in the Caribbean, Latin America, and the Indian Ocean Rim. Scholarship on the signares
is even more uncommon in academic circles of North America. The next few paragraphs are
dedicated to a detailed examination of the signares.
As a French colony, Saint-Louis was expected to replicate certain patterns and behaviors
of the “mother country”, France. One of the intentions of the civilizing mission was to ascertain a
certain level of representation of the French metropolis among its subjects. In other words, the
said subjects of French colonies assumed a partial identification with the French, without being
wholly French; almost the same but not quite. Numerous interpretations have been used to
explain this pattern of behavior. Terms such as assimilation, acculturation, lactification (Fanon),
or even mimicry (Bhabha) have been advanced in determining the complex patterns of behaviors
that peoples of colonized states exhibit. Saint-Louis has often been cited as the space par
excellence of assimilation.
How does assimilation play out in Saint-Louis and among Saint-Louisians? Is there one
type of assimilation or can it be manifested in different ways? Is assimilation in Saint-Louis
articulated the same manner as in other French colonies? Can the term assimilation be used
interchangeably with its synonyms acculturation and lactification to describe relationships
between signares/metis and Europeans? The difficulty of receiving a determinate answer to any
of these questions suggests the timely need for reassessing notion of assimilation and métissage
in Saint-Louis. Outward portrayal of assimilation by Saint-Louisians have often led to skewed
50
interpretations of their interactions and patterns of relationships. The manifestation of substantial
evidence of the effects of assimilation in Saint-Louis and among Saint-Louisians is only a
stratum of the palimpsest that is Saint-Louis.
Catholicism, for example, was considered one of the primary reflections of assimilation
in Saint-Louis. In the eighteenth and nineteenth century, Saint-Louisians had adopted the religion
of the Frenchman and had become thereafter fervent practicing Catholics and even retained firm
allegiance for a prolonged period of time – during the British Occupation of the island (17581778, 1809-1817) when there were no resident clergy. Although the British governors at the time
attempted to convert them to Protestantism, Saint-Louisians stood firm in their catholic faith
gathering regularly for prayers in the chapel in the absence of the priest. What then motivated
this dogged constancy to Catholicism and rejection of Protestantism? As declared French
citizens, it made sense that Saint-Louisians adopted the religion of the “mother country”. It is
also possible that Saint-Louisians had established deeper commercial and social ties with the
French. On a practical note, converts of Catholicism were automatically freed from slavery and
enjoyed the status of French citizen. Saint-Louisians then did not just become subservient
converts of a European religion. There were benefits to be had from converting and therefore
they capitalized on that opportunity.
The signares also play a great role in facilitating Catholicism as they themselves are
fervent Catholics. As I have already mentioned, interpreting assimilation in Saint-Louis is a
complex and ambiguous process since things are not always as they seem. Saint-Louis is a
melting pot of peoples, cultures, ideas, and religions. Despite its very Catholic toponym, SaintLouis is also home to Muslims. The majority of traders from Mauritania and Morocco are
Muslims and practice Islam fervently as the Catholics their religion. On the other hand, among
51
the ethnic majority, Wolof, many practice both Islam and animism. Amidst this conflation of
religions, it is hard to fix Saint-Louisians as wholly assimilated. Saint-Louis is preferably a space
of religious syncretism where Muslims, Christians, and animists interact and collaborate on a
daily basis.
Perhaps the most damning evidence of French assimilation points to the signares who
were portrayed in colonial and even contemporary narratives as completely assimilated women.
For instance, Régine Goutalier28 declares that the occultation of the signares is as a result of their
total integration into the colonial group to the point of losing their identity. 29 Remarks such as
these are indeed reductionist and limit the signares to their relationship with European males,
specifically their relationship as concubines or mistresses to these men as well as their absorption
into European culture.
In other words, the signares are framed within the same parameters as the black or metis
colonized female figure of the “New World”, considered simultaneously as victim and temptress
of the European male and totally devoted to the culture and customs of the colonizer to the
detriment of their own identity. Restricting the signares only to this unilateral view indeed
obscures and discredits their role as astute businesswomen and active participants in the Atlantic
slave trade and gum trade. As such, their relationships transcended the purely sexual to extend to
activities of economic, social, and cultural importance. Moreover, their interactions were not
limited only to European administrators and soldiers, but to a vast array of African players
including rulers and middlemen. The inadvertent and intentional motivation to assimilate
28
.« Splendeur et déclin des signares au Sénégal », Le Mois en Afrique, nº 217-218, XIXe année, 02-03/1984, p.
118. Qtd. by Guillaume Vial. Les signares à Saint-Louis du Sénégal au XIXe siècle…
19. « […] l’éclipse des signares est due à la totale intégration au groupe des colonisateurs au point d’y perdre leur
identité. »
52
signares only within a European context unjustly disassociates them from the African context
which on the contrary is so central to signares and to Saint-Louisians in general. Nathalie Rhyss
observes:
Les Métis et les noirs très superstitieux, ressentaient le besoin de garder un contact
physique avec l’Afrique profonde, par le biais des habitudes alimentaires, mais aussi par
l’achat de toutes sortes d’amulettes et de gris-gris. […] la nécessité de conserver les
traditions du pays, le contact se faisait toujours par les marchandes wolofs (Saint-Louis
du Sénégal à l’époque précoloniale 201).
Métis and blacks of Saint-Louis were very superstitious and felt the need to maintain
physical contact with Africa notably via food but also by arming themselves with all sorts
of talisman and gris-gris. The necessity to conserve the traditions of the country was
always done through contact with Wolof market women. 30
This citation alludes to the centrality of African traditions and values to the signares and
by extension to the metis ethnoclass. It places emphasis on African women as necessary
repositories of African values and the market place as a space that maintains close connections
and continuity to the African context. Signares clearly represent this dual functionality as being
both women and traders. More importantly, in their role as traders, they crossed boundaries and
transgressed traditional gendered norms of patriarchy both within the French colonial system and
traditional African society. Despite this uncommon role reversal, signares were respected by
Africans and Europeans alike. It is noteworthy to mention that these women would in fact mark
an era of matriarchy, female solidarity, and agency in Saint-Louis for almost two centuries.
Certainly, they adopted and imitated French customs but it is not enough to classify them as
perfect representatives of French values and culture. Upon closer observation, one is fascinated
by the clever ways in which signares manipulated to their advantage, their multiplicity. Any
30
Unless otherwise noted, all translations are mine.
53
attempt at relegating signares to one particular mold defies all logic as these women remain
ambiguous today.
Who are the signares? Mythicized equally by Europeans and Senegalese alike, signares
have been framed as stereotyped subjects of the imaginary in both past and contemporary
narratives and visual depictions. Moreover, they have been reduced to sexualized, racialized, and
gendered types, where they are deliberately recast within the same marginalized, suspended
locus as the tragic mulatto female figure of the new world. Such were the descriptions used to
identify signares. These depictions albeit reductive, focusing primarily on the outward
appearance, ultimately helped endorse and construct signare identity, collapsing the image of the
fractured female figure. Attributing particular codes and patterns of behaviors to the signares
allows them to be recast as a collectivity. That collective image however can contribute either
positively or negatively to the construction of these unique women.
On the positive side, being cast as a collectivity informs female solidarity and strength in
a phallocentric universe and voids the notion that the signare/mulâtresse is without community
and cast out because her skin tone denotes an ambiguous and therefore suspicious genealogy
(Winters, 2005). On the other hand, classing the signares as one entity pins them as stereotypes,
consequently effacing their individuality and obliterating the individual agentive role that each
woman played in the development of Saint-Louis in the eighteenth century. Had it not been for
the role that African women played in facilitating commerce, providing domestic services for
European men, and producing a class of individuals with the cultural dexterity to serve as
intermediaries and cultural brokers, Saint-Louis would not have existed.
The depictions of the signares focused primarily on their physical appearance. These
portraits are generally fragmented in a gendered and sexualized manner and therefore do not give
54
homage to the significant place of the signare in the Saint-Louisian society. More often than not,
signares are portrayed as part of the décor; an exotic embellishment whose body becomes the site
for the perverse fracturing male gaze. It is not surprising that the images that are passed down to
us are paintings and portraits, classical mediums of European male domination over the female
body. The lingering gaze covets and dominates the female body fixing it in a static silent pose.
The pens and paintbrushes, phallic symbolizations of male power, rivet the female body in time
and place.
Such unrealistic portraitures replicate the traditional white-authored pathologizations of
racial hybridity and arouse the imaginative phantasy of the desiring male/empire. Mixed-raced
bodies have engendered narratives that fix the mulatto female figure in liminal marginalized
spaces, where any effort at self-affirmation is silenced by patriarchal narratives. Mixed-race
bodies are thus reduced to operating as either victim or collaborator. That is, within a bipartite
racial and gender classification system, a Black female body involved in a sexual relationship
with a white male body functioned as either rape victim or mistress. This perception implies that
in such a system, the Black female body has no agency.
However, can this portrayal of the tragic passive mulâtresse be projected unto the
Signares within a pre-colonial context, where the balance of power was so ambiguous? European
colonization pervaded the continent of Africa, yet in its initial stages, power and authority shifted
and were wielded by African tradesmen, Wolof Kings, Muslim traders, and of course, African
middlewomen or signares. The roles of the signares in socio-economic development are so
submerged by the lingering reveling in their exotic beauty that the dynamics of their
relationships with Europeans are obscured rather than revealed.
55
The conjuncture of signares as successful entrepreneurs who capitalized on their
sexuality or conspirators who facilitated and profited from slave trade that drew European men to
Senegal’s island towns limits the signares to their race and gender. It neglects their attempts at
de-marginalization and self-affirmation in ways that are ambiguous and contradictory. The
signare’s conversion to Christianity or her imitation of French fashion or even her marriage to a
European officer was by no means evidence of her assimilation into French culture. All these
were strategies of self-reconstruction; of her quest for social visibility and upward mobility.
That Signares intentionally solicit the hand of a European through seductive measures may
not be entirely untrue, however it was more a means of consolidating wealth than an attempt at
self-effacement through whitening or lactification as Fanon suggests. Signares capitalized on the
new cultural influences coming from the Atlantic world but also upheld continuity with the
social and cultural values of Senegal’s mainland. That Saint-Louis developed as a result of
European imperialism and Atlantic commerce is without a doubt essential, however the roles that
signares, habitants, grumets, free Muslim traders, and slaves played should not be discounted as
insignificant. The partnership between company workers and the African community made
Saint-Louis into a hybrid society.
Were signares mulattoes, meaning of European and Senegalese ancestry or were they purely
Senegalese? In some accounts by colonial writers, historians, and even contemporary narratives,
signares were described as mulattoes. Sadji’ for example postulated in a footnote that signares
were “grandes dames métisses…” (Nini Mulâtresse du Sénégal, p.11). Senghor31 on the other
hand, sung the praises of a black African woman: « Signare, je chanterai ta grâce, ta beauté […]
31
Chants pour Signare, in Nocturnes, 1961.
56
Paroles de pourpre à te parer, Princesse noire d’Elissa. Signare, I will sing your grace, your
beauty […] Words of purple to adorn you, black Princess of Elissa.”
Centuries removed from the era of the signares, both Senegalese writers differ on their
interpretation of the signares. Interestingly, the two belonged to the same generation and were
fervent proponents of the Negritude movement. Sadji was also a strong critique of cultural
métissage. Mulâtresses were often accused of assimilation much like the main character Nini, in
Sadji’s eponymous novel. In many narratives, signares were seen as synonymous to French
women so it not surprising that in Sadji’s view, signare and mulâtresse were one and the same.
As for Senghor, his lyrical praise of the signare is simply another way of reaffirming black
identity and culture, an ideology that was popularized during the interwar period.
The question of race as it regards signareship is particularly fuzzy since signares whether
black or mulâtresse were all métissée or hybrid. I use the term “métissée” here in a context that
transcends sexual intermixture but considers all types of contacts or clashes between peoples,
cultures, customs, and ideas. The intermediary positioning of signares as middlewomen made
them excellent representatives of métissage. As such signares can indeed be identified as metis.
However, if the term métisse (feminine form of metis in French) is used indistinctly with the
term mulâtresse to designate signares, then the dynamics changes and it becomes an issue of
race. Many narratives32 have indeed defined signares as descendants of European men—usually
company workers, traders, merchants, and Senegalese women.
Whereas these discourses may not be unfounded, they only account for the existence of
signares during the eighteenth and nineteenth century. During that epoch, metis families had
32
David Boilat. Esquisses Sénégalaises
57
grown through endogamous alliances and strategic marriages and consequently became a
formidable and visible force in society. This period marks the establishment of Franco-British
colonies in Saint-Louis and the heyday of the signares. Signares’ existence and origins are
generally associated with that period because the French and less importantly, the British were
the European super powers having kicked out the Portuguese. Biondi observes, however, that
signares existed before that era, in the sixteenth century in the trading posts of the Portuguese.
Barbot, a French historian of the seventeenth century reportedly knew a signare in 1681:
Donna Catalina, dame noire de jolie prestance au caractère enjoué, veuve d’un portugais
de marque et catholique romaine, m’invita à diner à Rio Fresco ou elle vivait alors,
entourée de l’estime des noirs, mais toujours vêtue a la portugaise.
Donna Catalina, a black dame with a beautiful presence and cheerful personality, widow
of a high-ranking Portuguese and Roman Catholic, invited me to dinner in Rio Fresco
(Rufisque) where she then lived, enveloped in the respect of the blacks, but always
dressed in Portuguese fashion.33
We can conclude then that signares preceded the arrival of the French, which means that
métissage was already happening at an earlier time between Portuguese merchants and Wolof
and Fula women of Senegal. Reyss claims too that the Portuguese baptized them and lived with
them34. We can infer too that the first signares were blacks but embraced a hybrid lifestyle as
evidenced by the quote above “enveloped in the respect of the blacks but they always dressed a
la Portuguese”. It appears then that the signare was never alienated from the African context
despite her adoption of a new culture. Goutalier writes :
Les signares—du portugais senhoras—désignaient les compagnes locales des Européens,
d’abord portugais, puis hollandais, anglais et français établis pour un temps plus ou
33
Jean Barbot. Writings of Jean Barbot on West Africa
34
Saint-Louis du Sénégal à l’époque précoloniale, p. 50
58
moins long sur la côte occidentale d’Afrique. Il y eut des signares depuis la fin du XVe
siècle, dans les sites très divers […].”35
Signares—from the Portuguese senhoras—referred to the local companions of
Europeans, firstly the Portuguese, then the Dutch, the British and the French who had
settled for period of time along the West coast of Africa. There had been signares since
the end of the fifteenth century in very diverse areas […].
The French may have led to the popularization and francization of the term signare, but
from these accounts, it is evident that their contact with Senegal and its inhabitants were
preceded by several other European groups. It is interesting that among this rich tapestry of
cultural influences that it is the French layer that dominated and still persists today. I contend
then that the signares owe their origins to the Portuguese who are the first recorded source to
have introduced them to history. Incidentally, the term signare is derived from Portuguese.
Etymology of the term signare
How did signares become instruments of such significant change in eighteenth century
Saint-Louis? How did they emerge as the driving force of a unique métissage that remains
unrivaled even today? Before contemplating these questions, it would be worthwhile to examine
the meaning of the term signare. 36Its etymology derives from the Indo-European root sen which
signifies old. In Latin two terms are used: senex (old) and senior (the oldest). The latter term has
given rise to the Italian word senior (the eldest), and particularly signore and its Spanish
equivalent señor which has two meanings: lord and more recently, sir.37
35
Yvonne Knibiehler et Régine Goutalier. La femme au temps des colonies, Paris Stock, 1985, p. 53.
36
Description and definition cited by Guillaume Vial. Les signares à Saint-Louis du Sénégal au dix-neuvième siècle,
p.15-17.
37
R. Grandsaignes D’Hauterive, Dictionnaire des racines des langues européennes : grec, latin, ancien français,
français, espagnol, italien, anglais, allemand, Paris, Larousse, 1948, rééd. 1994, p. 186.
59
The word gave rise to the Portuguese senhora from which signare is derived. However,
the term “signare” has not remained static. It has undergone several transformations and
deformations. The chevalier de Boufflers in 1780 and captain Levasseur (1808) for example,
used the term “signore” when referring to the signare. Pierre Loti wrote in 1881 “signaraes” and
“signardes”38 and R. Randau39 “seniare” in 1910. It is reported that during the course of the
nineteenth century, the term sustained interesting semantic shifts. Raffernel40 in 1846 proposed a
curious transformation of the meaning of the term that challenges what we have studied so far:
[…]. Nous donnons asile à la mère d’un de nos jeunes Sénégalais, pauvre veille femme qui
nous arrive très malade d’un de nos navires de traite qui font route vers nous. A bord, elle
sera loin d’être bien, mais elle s’y trouvera toujours incomparablement mieux que sur un
navire de nègres : c’est une signari.
[…].We are giving asylum to the mother of one of our young Senegalese men, a poor old
woman who is very ill and who comes to us from one of our slave ships traveling towards us.
On board, she will be far from well, but she will certainly feel better than on the slave ship:
she is a signar.
In her citation, Raffernel references the term “signar” with a footnote that reads:
On donne ce nom, au Sénégal, aux femmes qui proviennent du croisement de la race
blanche avec la race noire a quelque degré que soit parvenu le mélange du sang. Il y a des
signars [sic] blanches [sic] et il y en aussi de noires ou presque noires; généralement elles
ont une couleur jaunâtre, à peu près café au lait. Ce mot, emprunté des Portugais, est
évidemment une corruption du mot senhora, qui comme on sait, se prononce segnora.
In Senegal, we give this name to women originating from the crossbreeding of the white
race with the black race or however the degree of mixing is achieved. There are white
signars and there are also black ones or almost black ones; generally they have a
yellowish hue, more or less white coffee. Borrowed from the Portuguese, this word is
obviously a corruption of the term senhora, which as we know, is pronounced segnora.
38
Pierre Loti. Le roman d’un spahi. P.168
39
R. Randau. Le Commandant et les Foube, Paris, Sansot, 1910, p. 359.
40
Anne Raffernel. Voyage dans l’Afrique occidentale, p. 68
60
From this citation, it is apparent that signare has become synonymous with métisse or
mulâtresse and reaffirms my argument that race does not determine membership in the
signareship. Additionally, Raffernel confirms the theories that signares are necessarily women,
when she stated: “On donne ce nom au Sénégal, aux femmes…” The elimination of the e in
French from a word whose gender is feminine generally indicates that the substantive is
masculine. Thus signar would be, according to French grammar rules, the masculine equivalent
of signare. However, from Raffernel’s hypothesis, we learn that the signar’s son is referred to as
Senegalese.
As the years evolved, reports indicated that signares were mulattoes and not black
women. These theories came about towards the end of the nineteenth century. A. Bouet41 for
example writes that “ La signare ou femme de couleur est la grande dame du pays ». « The
signare or the woman of color is the great lady of the country”. In nineteenth century Senegal,
“femmes de couleur” meant mulatresse or métisse and was used in opposition to “femmes
noires”, while “homme de couleur” signified mulatto. The semantics displayed here challenge
rather than clarify the conceptualization of these women. From her conclusion as well as theories
advanced by so many writers, one can safely argue that there were no male signares.
Signareship
Although I do not deny the color factor that defined signares, I argue that this racial
category is insufficient to determine the true identity of these women. In fact, color becomes a
non-issue when we take into consideration the fact that both black and metis Senegalese women
were signares. Interpreting signareship is therefore much more complex. Several salient factors
41
A. Bouet. “Côtes occidentales d’Afrique: Sénégal, Saint-Louis et le fleuve », L’illustration : Journal universel,
Paris, Vol. 15, 368, 1850, p.171.
61
must be analyzed in order to understand the full implication of the term. First of all, signare is
concurrently a title and a social function. In order words, “signare” could be considered an
honorary title, akin to British titles such as “Dame”, Earl”, Sir” conferred on the Senegalese
woman who upheld particularly exceptional functions that indicate distinction. Narratives often
paint signares as influential economic, social, and cultural agents during the era of the African
trading posts and colonial towns.
Secondly, signareship is geographically and gender specific and not accessible to all
women, although most Senegalese women wanted to be signares. Signare presence has so far
been only identified in two locations in Senegal; Gorée Island and Saint-Louis. In fact these two
spaces have unique historical ties. They are both linked to the trans-Atlantic trade in which
signares played major roles as middlewomen. Signares are thus unique only to Senegal and to a
larger French West African context. The title signare was only designated to a certain category of
women. An in-depth study of the signares reveal, however, that despite their originality, they
share similar traits with women, both in Africa and elsewhere. Women in different societies have
contributed significantly to nation building but their contributions like the signares’ have been
occulted by men’s public roles.
Signareship does not only define a collectivity as most accounts relate; it applies to the
individual woman first, before it defines the group. For instance, Anne Pepin and Dona Catarina
are Senegalese women whose names immortalized the singularity and formidable agency of each
signare. Doña Catarina or “signora Catti” as she was fondly called, is referred to as the
“gouvernante” of Rufisque and hosted many Company workers in the seventeenth century. She
62
is also mentioned as acting as a business “agente” for the Cayor42 king. Indeed, this intermediary
positioning manifests the signare’s dual allegiance to both European and African powers and
thus negates the claims of her assimilation into Frenchness. Anne Pepin, chevalier de Boufflers’
lover is a reputed business woman who works in collusion with British or French merchants. Her
ambiguous complicity with both European powers plays out her business adroitness rather than
her sexual promiscuity. This ambivalent positioning also complicates the assertion of French
assimilation. Signares are more often than not associated with Frenchness to the detriment of the
other cultures that significantly influenced their lives.
Signares identify with each other and form a unique community, a sisterhood.
Signareship is defined by distinct set of codified values. These values are intimately associated
with the economic, cultural, and sexual roles that signares are assumed to have exercised.
Signares are collectively identified by distinct factors: their dress code, their social mannerisms
and behaviors, their marital rites, their allegiance to Catholicism, and their prowess at business.
However, this typecasting needs to be reexamined since signareship implies more than just
belonging to a group.
Moreover, the distinguishing markers that identify signareship are usually all subversive
tactics used by the signares to attain certain benefits. Each signare within the collectivity is an
individual characterized by her particularities. Although not overtly mentioned, there is indeed a
significant level of rivalry among signares. Signareship is above all a social rank and functions as
a hierarchy, therefore not all signares share the same social status.
42
The kingdom of Cayor (1549-1879) was the largest and most powerful kingdom split off from the Empire of
Diolof in what is now Senegal. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cayor)
63
To classify all signares together based on seemingly common social codes and values
results in an overgeneralized view of them and negates the specific details that evoke the
uniqueness of each signare. As noted earlier, signareship signifies a social rank, which means
that not all signares enjoy the same privileges. Signare privilege is contingent upon her net worth
and her net worth determines her position in the hierarchy. The most affluent signares outclassed
their rivals by their vast fortune, which they may have inherited from rich parents or amassed
through strategic partnering with high ranking European officers. Upon returning to Europe, the
latter would bequeath his riches to his lover, usually with whom he has children. A signare’s net
worth is measured by the number of slaves that she possesses, ownership of permanent houses
(usually of brick or stone), her vast fortune in gold and other precious metals, her collection of
jewelry, and her rich clothing.
Dress codes and social etiquette becomes more sophisticated the further up the social
ladder a signare goes. One common denominator of signare identity is their sumptuous costumes
and ostentatious jewelry. A reexamination of signare sociability reveals however that there are
indeed distinction of dress between different classes of signares.
Signare status in the hierarchy is also determined by heritage. A very rich signare whose
“husband” is a high ranking officer will leave a hefty inheritance for her daughter upon her
death. That daughter will automatically inherit the title and function of a great signare. On the
other hand, a captive who marries a European employee is automatically freed particularly if she
bares him a child. That former captive is also eligible for signareship if her “husband” possesses
enough riches to offer as a dowry and builds her a house. Owning a home is at the foundation of
signareship. On many fronts owning a house is profitable to signare status. First, it is a means to
64
attract European workers seeking lodging. These lodgers would ultimately form partnerships,
sexual and business with the property owners –the signares.
It is a win-win situation since the houses are usually set up comfortably to accommodate
Europeans who sought ways of adapting to the new environment. Signares benefited as realtors
too and offered other services to these Europeans. For example, signares hired out a number of
their own slaves who were trained as laptots—sailors employed as navigators on the river, as
well as interpreters, laundresses, etc. Of course, the sexual union between the two often resulted
in children and the European offered his name and fortune to his children and concubine/wife.
Chevalier de Boufflers for example, was first a host at Anne Pepin’s home before he became her
lover. Signares who acquired their riches that way could aspire to the upper class.
I conclude then that signares were of purely African descent and belonged to the group
that identified themselves with the signareship. A signare belonged to the metis community
which indicates that membership to that community is based on other elements besides color or
race. Therefore, signares are the progenitors of the first metis generation. However, let me hasten
to say that color was not exempt from determining identity in Saint-Louis because the closer one
is in color to the dominant group, the more opportunities she had. However, at the time, race was
not a discriminating factor in Saint-Louis as it was in the French colonies of the Caribbean.
Economic and cultural factors blurred the color lines and contributed significantly to the creation
of the metis society of Saint-Louis.
The notion of gender also plays an integral part in defining and determining metis
identity and wealth in Saint-Louis. The signare always and necessarily is female. There were no
male signare. The habitant and gourmet share the closest ranks socially with the signares. This
gendered agency subverts commonly accepted myths of the tragic mulâtresse and instead, recasts
65
the black or metis woman as a strong, creative force, essential to the development of
urbanization in Saint-Louis. I argue then, that métissage in Saint-Louis diverges from that seen in
Saint-Pierre and Jérémie, the two other metis societies that I am analyzing in my thesis. My
argument is founded on the remarkable role that the signare played in the redefinition and
transformation of the Saint-Louisian society both on a cultural and economic level.
Whether represented as the paradigm of French assimilation or as a powerful class of
businesswomen or as models of timeless exotic beauty, signares have often been depicted in
eighteenth and nineteenth century discourses in a differentiated manner. This image obscures
rather than reveals the real essence of the signares. Moreover, most of these discourses have
alienated the signares from their economic and cultural functions and have inscribed them as
sexualized bodies. As there are no accounts of works produced by signares themselves, the
narratives perpetuated about them do not fully appreciate their significant roles under colonial
rule. The majority of these narratives comes from European travelers, novelists, filmmakers, and
historians whose views are perceived through the lens of male power and privilege. Besides,
many literary narratives depicted idealized portraits of African and European romance while
works such as Loti’s Roman d’un Spahi evoked colonial nostalgia. Tita Mandeleau, in Signare
Anna is one of the few who extrapolated from the norm and placed signare agency at the center
of her novel.
Signare agency and power increased rapidly and spanned through both the European
populations settled in the colony as well as the local Senegalese population. Signare expertise
and power knocked down boundaries and facilitated bridges of communication and exchange in
an environment of tolerance and hospitality. It was through a combination of gendered and
sexualized power dynamics that signares articulated the move from periphery to colonial center
66
or the fort. They gained entry into a quintessential masculine enclave of authority and
appropriated not only the space but also challenged the power dynamics of gender and race and
still managed to maintain the respect of European male authority.
As African women, signares highly esteemed the traditions of their country and
conserved them as much as possible. This mystical link to the African culture was kept and
perpetuated by the women. For example, signares inherited the gift of the guerisseuse or healer
from their female ancestors and were able to treat and take care of newly arrived whites who
were dying from diseases and epidemics. Natalie Reyss observes that signares used the barks of
trees such as the cinchona as laxatives, the juice of the tamarind fruit as an enema as well as
other bitter roots and the fruit of the baobab in medicinal concoctions that helped ease the
discomforts of European the same herbs used by French doctors trained in France.
Indeed, signares might have been mistresses to European males but were not sexually
submissive; their role as mistresses was rather one of empowerment. Signares were figures of
authority who held ownership and were in control.
Signare agency rivaled that of male
representation of power and through this excessive power dynamics, one of the most formidable
creole societies emerged.
The rise of the an original metis society
Matriarchs and mother of all metis in eighteenth century Saint-Louis, Senegal, signares
paved the way for the development of an original society in Saint-Louis. I say original because
no other society with similar patterns of racial and cultural infiltration articulated métissage with
the same level of tolerance and accommodation as Saint-Louis and Gorée did. Despite the strict
regulations prohibiting intimate contact between French colonial employees and indigenous
women in the colonies, the two communities entertained relationships with each other anyway,
67
producing children of mixed ancestries. The emergence of these “interracial” children resulted
from the brutal reality of rape and violation engendered by slavery and colonization. In order
words, the resulting métissage was certainly not something that was planned. Mazet43 posits that
“le métissage n’est pas la suite du fait réfléchit, c’est un accident”.
Indeed, the processes of métissage in colonial and postcolonial societies such as the
French Caribbean and Haiti have undergone varying degrees of conflicts, violent clashes,
compromise, negotiations, and renegotiations in their efforts at building relationships and nation
states. Thus according to Mazet and the proponents of creolization theories, métissage is
necessarily chaotic, unplanned, and accidental, even. However, the metis society of eighteen
century Saint-Louis of Senegal invalidates this notion of accidental circumstances and proves
that métissage is in fact “le fruit de la volonté des hommes blancs comme des femmes noires:
seul moyen de survie pour les uns et enrichissement pour les autres” (Reyss, 10).
It is upon this mutual understanding based on economics and survival that the metis
society in Saint-Louis was forged. Senegalese women constantly in contact with European
merchants and traders through commercial exchanges, take on the responsibility of resupplying
the trading post and taking care of sick, frustrated men. Located within the periphery of the
colonial seat, they would eventually break down the boundary that separated colonial space from
indigenous space and move in together with the European men through local marital rites known
as “mariage à la mode du pays” or marriage according to Senegalese customs.
Signares not only appropriated the center, but they also imposed their customs onto the
male symbol of paternalistic authority. From the very beginning, all children born from these
Jacques Mazet. La Condition Juridique des métis dans les possessions françaises. Thèse de doctorat en droit, Paris,
1932
68
unions were recognized by their white fathers and given their names. They were considered as
legitimate children and inherited their fathers’ possessions upon the termination of the latter’s
contract in the colony. The children were then baptized into Catholicism and given French
names. The majority of these children would become the foundation of formidable metis
dynasties of Saint-Louis. Names such as Andre, Dubois, Pellerin, Porquet and Thevenot were
indicative of the richest metis families, while Lemaire, Dubellay, Levins, were sons of company
directors.44
Metis sons inherited a keen sense of money and business savvy from their parents and
actively participated in the economic and political affairs of the colony. In times of economic
difficulties, the metis because of their numbers and fortune were indispensable to the survival of
the colony. Their dual ascendency fortified their position as intermediaries. Being able to speak
both Wolof and French, they acted as interpreters for neighboring Africans kings as well as for
French merchants. Many had ethnic ties to the kings of Senegal’s interior through their mother’s
lineage and consequently were able to contract their own personal alliances. They had become
such a formidable competitor to the Company that private traders were proposing that they
associate with them.
On the other hand, Metis girls were raised close to their mothers and were initiated into
the execution of household tasks from a young age. Their “training” was in preparation for
marriage to a colonial employee or to a young metis male from the first generation. Young
female servants who were also part of the signare household were raised in the ways of the
signares too. It may be that in this context that the term signare might hide another ambiguous
44
Jean Bernard Lacroix. Les Français au Sénégal au temps de la Compagnie des Indes de 1719 à 1758, p. 38
69
meaning, that of “madam, a term that evokes mistress of a household and brothel keeper.
Mother/daughter and mistress/slave relationships hint to relations of a salacious kind rather than
one of nurturing and question the moral integrity of the signares. The topographies of their
bodies, intertwined with the geography of the slave trade make for a reasonable hypothesis of
proxenetism between daughters and young female captives and European merchants/slave
traders. Furthermore, the Europeanized image of the signare as a formidable figure of seduction
and eroticism in combination with their sweet nature exacerbates the notion of prostitution.
M’Baye45 whose sources remain unknown, crystallizes this point:
Sous le régime de l’esclavage les maisons des signares pullulaient de jeunes esclaves
employées aux travaux domestiques. Elles étaient entourées de la surveillance intéressée
de leurs maitresses qui attendaient le moment de leur mariage pour faire d’elles un
véritable objet de commerce.
Under the slavery regime the household of the signares crowded with young female
captives employed as housemaids. They were surrounded by the attentive supervision of
their mistresses who awaited the occasion of their marriage to turn them into veritable
objects of trade.
Nonetheless, the idea that young captives and even less so young daughters of signares
could have been prostitutes is far-fetched since according to most accounts, signares never sold
their captives into slavery. For example, Vial claimed that during that period « captives et
signares font presque corps, ne sont presque pas dissociables » (72). Reyss corroborated that
point by confirming that « contrary to the French Caribbean, the domesticity (captives or griots)
were closely integrated in the house and were generally treated well. She added that in principal,
they were never sold nor were their families separated” (103).
45
Guèye M’Baye, “la fin de l’esclavage à Saint-Louis et à Gorée en 1848”, Bulletin de l’I.F.A.N., n◦3 3-4, sér. B,
07-10/1966, p. 653.
70
Moreover, female captives known as rapareille were usually freed upon their baptism
and many of them chose to remain with the European master who freed them. Most of them
eventually became the concubines of their owners and upon the birth of a child would become
their wives if the master was single or a widower. With her marriage to the European, the young
housemaid would become a first-class signare.
On that account, signares’ relationship to their daughters and housemaids were more like
a sisterhood with a vested interest in getting rich. Marriages may or may not have been founded
on love but the in the end, they turned out to be strategies to acquiring and maintaining wealth.
Despite the seemingly opposing public and private roles of metis sons and daughters, Reyss
observed that women were equally as rich as the men and that there were no gendered
segregation, at least not on the level of wealth and even family members had equal fortune (144).
In other words, metis sons did not dominate the wealth nor did they inherit all the wealth as is
often the case in patrilineal societies. It came as no surprise then that newly arrived merchants
from Europe contracted unions with rich metis girls.
Metis affluence and importance burgeoned over two centuries not only through
inheritances and marriages in which the bride receives dowry and gifts, but also through the
purchase of furniture and buildings that were auctioned off at the end of the contract of a colonial
worker. They also purchased goods that were pirated from ship wrecks. An exclusive community
emerged as the need to consolidate wealth within families increased. As such, interfamilial links
were sought and maintained. The metis also formed alliances with free blacks who had acquired
vast fortunes. These relationships solidified the Saint-Louisian society on an economic level and
created a society whose riches was founded on solid commercial ties rather than on skin color.
Signare Anna
71
The historic novel, Signare Anna by Tita Mandeleau depicts to perfection the rising
eminence of the metis family of Saint-Louis. Set in historical and colonial Saint-Louis in the
mid-eighteenth century, Signare Anna is the saga of the "Children of Ndar"46 and in particular
the saga of the Gerbigny family whose rise to prominence was largely as a result of strategic
family interconnections and “mariages à la mode du pays”. Anna is the matriarch of the
Gerbigny's compound. She belongs to a select group of signares and not only hold sway over the
economic, social, cultural, and political life on the island, but also play a pivotal role in all the
many trades that take place along the Senegal River: slaves, gold, gum, ivory.
Through this epic novel, Tita paints a vivid picture of life in mid-eighteenth century
Saint-Louis where the paths of Europeans, signares, slaves, and traders met and collided and
resisted and accepted. Through this anachronic universe, Tita manages to capture the reality of
Saint-Louisian society caught at the crossroads of two colonial powers whose rivalries have left
indelible imprints on the town and its inhabitants. She records the details of these events through
the epic journey of the Gerbigny" family - Signare Anna, Pierre Gerbigny, Eliza, the adopted
daughter and possible illegitimate daughter of Pierre, Lulu, Pierre’s son with his concubine who
died under mysterious circumstances, as well as a host of other actors whose presence
intertwined with the lives of the Gerbigny family on a daily basis.
The Gerbigny family is vital in the construction and evolution of this story. In particular,
the matriarch Anna assumes the central role in this saga as she is the dominant figure that assures
cultural and economic continuity in her home and community. It is therefore not surprising that
the title revolves around her. Anna exemplifies the complexities of métissage, embracing her
46
Ndar= Wolof name for Saint-Louis
72
dual heritage, capitalizing on attributes from each side to become an astute businesswoman.
Mandeleau also captures the romantic involvement between the English officer William and the
young Eliza in order to explore the value placed on the rites of marriage within the community of
signares. By incorporating William and Eliza’s love interest in her story, Mandeleau sticks to the
historical script and demonstrates through the pair, the purpose and role of these “mariages à la
mode du pays”, a strategic medium to maintaining and acquiring economic stability and one of
the fundamental principles to signareship.
Anna is proof of these strategic alliances. Her mother, Mariama or Marianne (after her
baptism) is a captive of one of the Company workers. She rises from the status of captive to
concubine and eventually becomes the legitimate wife of her lover after her baptism. Through
her newly acquired status of “wife” she is eligible to be a signare. She accumulates a vast fortune
and has many slaves. Her husband dies and leaves her with two daughters. Mandeleau articulates
quite vividly the transfer of wealth and status from mother to daughter in this portrait: « A ses
deux filles mulâtresses, elle légua à sa mort, outre son prénom qu’elle avait scindé en Anna et
Marie, une concession dans le sud de l’ile de Ndar, une vingtaine d’esclaves des deux sexes et
une profusion de bijoux en or du Ngalam47.
Besides her name that she split into Anna and Marie, at her death, she bequeathed to her
two metis daughters, a compound in the south of Ndar, about twenty slaves of both gender, and a
profusion of gold jewelry from the kingdom of Ngalam” (Signare Anna, 14). This clearly shows
that Anna was born into signareship and formed part of the most prominent elite. It is interesting
to note that Anna does not marry a white European but rather another metis. However, Pierre
47
Kingdom of Senegal
73
comes from money. Their marriage is symbolic of the unions that were occurring more and more
between the rapidly growing mulatto families. These unions are also indicative of the exclusivity
of the metis community. Mandeleau touches on a subject that Sadji explores in much blatant
details in his novel, Nini. She observes that:
Les alliances entre les familles de sang-mêlé se compliquaient de plus en plus maintenant
qu’elles commençaient à tenir le haut du pavé. Chaque chef de concession, chaque vieille
signare, gardait dans un coin de sa mémoire la généalogie précise de la famille d’à côté et
gare à celui ou à celle dont la lignée s’avérait douteuse. Deux tourtereaux auraient beau
s’aimer de l’amour le plus fervent, si leur ascendance présentait la plus petite anomalie, le
verdict tombait implacable. Mariage impossible (Anna, 16).
Alliances between metis families become more and more complex now that they are on
top. Each compound chief, each elderly signare keeps in a corner of his/her memory the
exact genealogy of the family next door and is on guard against anyone (man or woman)
whose lineage proves uncertain. However much in love two love birds could be, if their
ancestry presents the slightest anomaly, then the verdict is inevitable. Marriage not
possible.
This excerpt complicates and even negates to some degree, the narratives of the “perfect”
métissage in Saint-Louis Senegal. Indeed, color and race discrimination do not figure explicitly
in this passage, but they certainly invoke the classist structure of this community. Since class is
often linked to “race” and color, the Senegalese masses are doubly alienated since not only are
they poor but they are black. Although the Saint-Louisian metis society is certainly more
accommodating of its multiplicity compared to other societies like those in in the French
Caribbean, it does exhibit patterns of behavior that are unfortunately inevitable in colonial
structures. Certain discourses that had been perpetuated throughout the eighteenth century are
replayed within the Saint-Louisian metis context and Mandeleau reveals that in the following
passage: « Il fallait éviter les écueils de la consanguinité, les tares de maladies, les aléas
d’héritages trop succincts, et voilà que maintenant on commençait à y ajouter le mépris d’un
métissage trop récent ou les doutes sur une conversion à la religion chrétienne trop tardive.
74
Not only was it necessary to avoid the pitfall of consanguinity, the defects of diseases,
and the risks of incest and now the situation becomes complicated by the added scorn attached to
a métissage that is viewed as too recent or a conversion that happened too late” (16).
Interestingly, the very same words and arguments advanced by European scientists and theorists
like Buffon and Gobineau on the monstrosity of métissage echo uncannily in this excerpt and
could reasonably lead to the conclusion that Saint-Louisians were ideal models of assimilation.
The novel also highlights the kinship ties that bind the metis community to the traditions
of Africa. During the absence of her husband who went on a six month long trade expedition
along with the majority of the men of Ndar to Galam, signare Anna feels the weight of the
absence of the men especially at a time when the British had invaded the little island again. She
seeks comfort in her faith: Pierre était parti. Anna toucha discrètement le gris-gris contre le
mauvais sort qu’elle cachait sous sa camisole brodée [...] (101). The gris-gris that she discretely
touches evokes her Allegiance to her African traditional religion. A little later “elle avait priez
[…] pour que la Sainte Mère de Dieu veillât sur cet homme auquel elle avait lie sa vie. Elle
s’était assurée la protection des génies de la Rivière en versant la nuit dernière […] le lait caillé,
les dattes et le fin couscous de mil dont raffolait Maam Koumba Mbang, la déesse de l’eau
(Anna, 102).
The symbiosis of Catholicism and animism is particularly palpable and underlines the
important role of the signare as perpetuator of cultural influences that surrounds her. This
apparent mark of acceptance and tolerance of existing cultures in Saint-Louis extends to all
aspect of social life. For example.during the invasion of the British, Mandeleau highlights the
unification of differences that characterizes the specificity of Saint-Louisians: “Chaque Notable
(the elite of Saint-Louis) voulant exposer ses craintes, ils parlaient tous à la fois, mulâtres et
75
noirs, mahométans et chrétiens confondus” (59). Mulattoes, blacks, Muslims, and Christians
raised their voices in unison against the invading British power.
Mandeleau also examines the costumes of the signares and the importance placed on the
intricate and often difficult task of preparation that takes place in transforming the fabric into
wearable costumes. Though signare Anna does not do the work herself, she delegates the task to
her adopted daughter Eliza whom she is preparing to be a signare. Eliza finds the task distasteful,
but she fulfills it with dedication and diligence. She dyes the fabric, the most precious of which
was the “guinee bleue” from Pondicherry. Eliza admits to appreciating the soft silky feel of the
fabric against her skin, however, “elle préférait à toutes ces toiles importées, la texture rigide et
rêche du coton “dargo” que tissaient les femmes du Waalo. Of all the imported fabric, Eliza
prefers the rigid, rough texture of cotton that the Waalo women spun (Signare Anna, p.10). As
evidenced in this example, imported products though highly appreciated among the signares do
not obliterate their interests for local merchandise. If their interest for local products has waned a
bit, it is probably as a result of the mediocre quality of cotton due to frequent raids by thieves
from the Grande Terre. One signare noted that if these barbarians continue to ravage the country,
burn the fields, and take prisoners everywhere that they passed, not a single stem will remain
standing (Signare Anna, p. 10).
Mandeleau fleshes out various aspects of metis presence and function in the development
of Saint-Louis, but her novel’s primary concern is to these formidable Senegalese women who
succeeded in changing the society around them on so many levels. The centrality of the signares
in this text is played out in several ways. The eponymous title Signare Anna, not only announces
the character that holds the title role in the novel, but it also identifies her social rank and status.
Anna belongs to the upper echelon of society since the term signare juxtaposed to her name is an
76
indicator of high rank. Given the role that she plays, the title of dame/signare is rightfully
conferred to Anna. Furthermore, she merits that honor because of her ownership of a large
number of captives. It is said that one became a signare by owning captives. “La propriétaire des
captifs devenaient une dame, une signare qui mettait au monde une race nouvelle… » (Signare
Anna, 15). Anna’s role as mistress of her household comes into play during the long absence of
her husband. Her responsibilities included taking care of a large number of slaves and
emancipated workers of both sexes who crowded the compound, safe-keeping the warehouse and
the docks, overseeing ongoing business, and disciplining her children. Of course, no matter the
task at hand, she did with the help of her saints and gris-gris.
Despite being illiterate “Anna ne savait ni lire ni ecrire” (155), she allies intelligence and
charm with a ferocious determination to ensure the long term social and financial success of her
family. Her shrewdness is evoked not only through her business deals but also in her family life.
The death of her only daughter and the threat of being superseded by her husband's mistresses
leads her, for example, to eliminate her rivals, but to also to adopt their children as her own and
to provide them with the best opportunities. She was very pragmatic in her approach to all her
decisions. Her attitude towards the English invasion of Ndar is no different. She soon realizes
that the English are there to stay and that London can offer the same opportunities as Paris if she
manages to build strong ties with the English Gentlemen sojourning on the island. Thus, her
positive answer to the new Governor's request to host officers with local families.
For Signare Anna, "French or British, what's the difference apart, from the language they
speak? Whites always came to this country for the same reason: Trade! She says ... and the only
way to relieve their fear of the unknown and to get them under control is women... Today's
British officers are fathering tomorrow's children's of Ndar. And, like the French before them,
77
they will need them in the years ahead to trade with the remote interior"(p.151). Her unmarried
daughter, Eliza is perfectly poised to conquer the heart of the Commodore of the Royal Navy,
William MacPherson, who is sent to live with the Gerbignys and falls for the young lady,
promising to marry her, "à la mode du pays".
Signare Anna manages also to hire his services to teach English to her fifteen year old
son and the pair rapidly become good friends. Eliza's charm and the cozy family atmosphere
make MacPherson, called "Wally" part of the family. Signare Anna is an amazing reflection of a
historical past that recasts the signare as subjects and thus reestablishes the forgotten successes of
these Senegalese women in the transformation of their society. When faced with challenges of
powerful invading forces, signares like Anna made the best of horrible situations. Indeed, she
exposes the ravages of the British on the small island, an aspect of Saint-Louisian history that is
most often shrouded by romanticized narratives of Senegalese women and European men.
"Drunk from dawn to dusk, English soldiers spread over the island like dirty water, the narrators
says, and decent women have to hide behind the walls of their homesteads, protected by an army
of male slaves. As their daughters are being assaulted, their houses burned, their poultry
enclosures plundered, the population of Ndar slowly begins to organize resistance ... and punitive
expeditions" (74).
The multifaceted layers of métissage
Few books though evoke the violence that normally occurs between usurper and victim.
In fact, Boilat and a few other writers claim that the nature of relationship between the metis and
Europeans in Saint-Louis was harmonious. “Comme les préjugés de couleur sont inconnus au
78
Sénégal, ils vivent en bon concitoyen avec les Européens… » (Esquisses Sénegalaises: 209). In
situations of conquest, initial contact and exchanges are often violently articulated. Although
violence in Saint-Louis has often been underrated, one must not assume that it did not occur.
Fanon claims in Black Skin, White Masks (1952) that these “relationships” represented another
category of the violence of imperial conquest and that because of unequal power relations, the
European male was allowed to initiate relationships in ways that would not have been the same
in France.
Although Fanon’s argument is representative of the European male/African female
relationship, it rests upon the Manichean model and does not fully account for the intricacies of
the processes of métissage in Saint-Louis. On the other hand, Boilat’s utopian notion of the
phenomena rejects the incidences of confrontations and tensions upon which such cohabitations
exist. In Fanon’s argument, the European/French male initiated these relationships because “he is
master”. However, for many Europeans, making their way in an unfamiliar environment,
emotional vulnerability could be interpreted as a counterpart to power. And even the notion of
power is fuzzy as one must first determine the differing power dynamics when referring to
unequal relations in Saint-Louis. When the Europeans first arrived upon unfamiliar territory, they
had to yield to the African women whose influence, intelligence, and tolerance contributed to
their survival. It could be surmised that in this situation there is indeed unequal power relations
but contrary to what many writers propose, power was wielded not by Europeans but by the
signares. This role reversal, however, is not fixed since the goal of the European is the colonial
mission and once he becomes familiar to his surroundings that initial vulnerability fades and the
avid desire for empire returns undoing the trending power relations again.
79
I argue however that during the first attempts of imperialism by the French in the
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, Saint-Louisians resisted becoming colonial objects and as
such it is impossible to fix Saint-Louisians as totally assimilated people. Although they adopted
strong French culture and customs, their attachment to African values and traditions were no less
powerful. In Saint-Louis, the African population remained predominantly Wolof, a factor that
led to the strengthening of kinship ties as well as the upholding and perpetuating of African
belief systems across the town. Their tight-knit bonds to the African community made total
assimilation of French civilization a difficult task and moreover countered the commonly held
beliefs that colonized peoples denigrate and alienate their ancestry to espouse the dominating
invading one.
I conclude then that in Saint-Louis, multiplicity was embraced at a level unheard of in
colonial states. I employ the term multiplicity as opposed to duality because of the many layers
of interconnectedness that defined the town and its occupants. Metis identity in Saint-Louis is
multidimensional. Therefore, it is not enough to associate its mixed populations solely to sexual
contact between Senegalese women and European colonial male figures. Métissage in SaintLouis transcends the purely sexual to embrace a much wider scope of relations. Based on recent
studies by historians and scholars such as Hilary Jones, Saint-Louis became the nexus of metis
identity around the eighteenth century, in other words, at about the time of French and British
colonization in Senegal. The métissage to which I am about to refer is not informed by colonial
rule or by rulers of empire. History has always fixed métissage to geopolitical situations that had
at their core colonialism. This was not so in the following situation.
The inhabitants of Saint-Louis or Ndar were already forging relations and creating forms
of métissage with other peoples such as the Portuguese and the Moors way back in the fifteenth
80
century. Terms such as “signoras” from which the term signare was derived, Gourmet (young
free black catholic slave), mulâtre (muletto or mule) used in Saint-Louis have all evolved from
Portuguese. This confirms therefore a Portuguese presence dating back to centuries that still
lingered in the area. Similarly, Moorish terms were also integrated in the language of the SaintLouisian people. A few examples of these are: beïdane (word which means “white” that the
Moors used to refer to themselves as opposed to haratan which means black, or élimane which is
a derivation of Imam. Saint-Louis constituted the terminus for Moorish tradesmen and their
camels long before the arrival of Europeans. The first set of métissage could thus be attributed to
alliances formed between important Wolof families of the Waalo kingdom and Moorish princes
from the neighboring tribe of Trarzas (a region in Mauritania).
These fluxes of human and mercantile transactions in and out of Saint-Louis added new
dimensions to mixing and complicated the notion of métissage. However, these dated forms of
métissage remain obscured and forgotten upon the arrival of the French and British. The
métissage produced between Africans and the French/British automatically took precedence over
the pre-existing ones. That forgotten métissage is still relevant and informs the mixed society of
Saint-Louis. It is the palimpsest to which Khan (2007) refers. Though it may have been eclipsed
by the new wave of relations, there is evidence of “active layering of cultural meanings in the
material and habitual world of the everyday”. Linguistic transformation is one example of
multiplicity of Saint-Louisians. Though the elite spoke European languages such as French and
English later on, Wolof was and would remain the lingua franca of all Saint-Louisians. Other
ethnic languages such as Bambara and Serere often joined the confusion of voices that interacted
through mercantile exchanges in the markets.
81
As I mentioned before, religious syncretism is certainly not to be neglected since this
plurality of beliefs is attributed in part to resistance to French assimilation. The people of SaintLouis not only practiced their own African religions, but many of them had strong allegiances to
Islam and would later convert to Catholicism without necessarily giving up Islamic practices. As
the priest Aristide (former president of the Haitian Republic) once said “dans la veine du vaudou
coule un sang chrétien”48. In other words it is not surprising to witness the conflation of several
religious practices. The signares, for example, were known to possess gris-gris and consult with
marabouts while remaining staunch Catholics.
This type of syncretism impacted the religious just as much as it did the social. In many
instances, allegiance to one religious faction or the other was simply a matter of propriety and of
being a good neighbor rather than acquiring a new belief. Religious purity as western ideology
would have it, proved completely illogical in Saint-Louis and found its very essence sabotaged
and disrupted within the very framework that it sought to uphold. Today, Islam is the
predominant religion in Senegal. Approximately 94 percent of the population practice Islam.
Only about five percent are Christians. This alarming discrepancy in numbers reflects the
resilience of the Senegalese people to French rule and the assimilation process and their strong
allegiance to their own.
Saint-Louis may have opposed French assimilation to a certain degree but there is
without a doubt, infiltration of French influence throughout the town and among the population.
The town and its inhabitants, especially the metis have often been identified with the French
metropolis, a factor which led to the effacing of other layers of their métissage. However, fixing
48
Christian blood flows within the veins of Voodoo. (My translation)
82
this mixed population into a specific mold proved challenging at best. Whereas physically some
were black, others appeared white, while others took on a range of nuances within the color
spectrum. Some adhered closely to colonial structures, while others broke from the
administration and metropolitan merchants. Cultural practices in Saint-Louis were equally
heterogeneous. One must be mindful of notions of binaries that defined so hermetically western
standards. With métissage, one cannot truthfully speak of homogeneity neither of hegemony of
one culture over the other. Nothing is really absolute or definite or fixed. All is movement and
exchange and adaptation and adoption. So although French culture tended to obscure the
workings of other cultures in Saint-Louis, the French were equally adapting to and adopting
cultural practices other than theirs. Transgressions and transformations were taking place within
the two camps that recreated the entire social habitus albeit via incongruous means.
Examples of such cultural configurations and reconfigurations within Saint-Louis are
reflected by the lifestyle of the signares who according to literature were representatives par
excellence of French culture and assimilation and to which I will disagree at least to some
measure. When La Courbe one of the many French Company directors in Saint-Louis visited the
island he described the dress of a certain signare “la Belinguere” in this fashion: “Elle estoit
habillee d’une chemise d’homme fort fine, et d’un petit corset a la portuguaise qui luy marquoit
fort la taille, et avait pour juppe une belle pagne de negre… Elle avoit a l’entour de la teste une
mousseline fort fine…et parlois bon Portuguais, Francois et Anglois” 49[sic].
From this example, the clothing that the signare was wearing reflected a successful
process of transculturation. The signare was not merely adopting the European mode of dress
49
She was dressed in a very delicate man’s shirt and had on a small girdle made in Portuguese style that accentuated
her waist very remarkably, for a skirt she was wearing a beautiful negro loin-cloth… she had a very delicate chiffon
head tie around her head…and she spoke good Portuguese, French and English. (My translation)
83
and rejecting her own, rather she merged items of clothing from the cultures with which she was
in constant contact and interaction and consequently created a new cultural identity through her
dress code and in so doing challenged the argument of signares as perfect models of French
assimilation. Other illustrations of cultural métissage were portrayed through the construction of
houses as well as certain mannerisms of the Saint-Louisian elite, notably the signares. La Courbe
continues his description of “La Belinguere” by referencing her habitation. “Elle habite une case
a la portugaise”, she lived in a hut built according to Portuguese architectural style.
His juxtaposition of two antithetic terms “case” and “portugaise” underscores the
association of disparate styles and consequently reveals the creative agency of the signares as
opposed to the passive mimicry that so often defines them. Customs within the interior of the
homes also attest to this conflation of practices. It was conventional for Africans to sit on the
floor while eating and conversing. Women would usually remain bare breasted. However to
accommodate their European guests, these women would cover up with a pagne (loin-cloth) and
get stools from outside for their guests to sit on while they continued to sit on the floor. The
Europeans were also given kitchen cutlery while the Africans ate from their plates using their
hands.
The fluidity with which Saint-Louisians participate within these layers of cultural
influences reflects the natural tendency of people in general to resolve conflicts that arise
especially in contexts of unequal power relations. These surprising associations of differences
have indeed informed and shaped métissage in Saint-Louis but these situations still do not fully
account for the scope and range that it entails and any rash attempt at fixing métissage within a
particular mold is to restrict its creative genius.
84
As noted earlier, métissage in Saint-Louis is multidimensional, so it is not sufficient to
attribute its evolution within the city only to the receiving culture. People living in close
proximity to colonial powers interpreted the discourse of colonialism to their advantage.
Marriage and inheritance therefore served as mechanisms for reproducing wealth and power
among the elite of Saint-Louis as they did for the French. When Europeans first arrived in SaintLouis, they were dying off at an alarming rate. In order to survive, they conformed to the terms
and conditions of cohabitation or as the Saint-Louisians called it: mariages à la mode du pays or
(Marriages according to the customs of the country).
These types of relationships ranged from casual connections that could and often did
involve some form of coercion to longer-term unions that could last weeks, months or even years
to a few permanent unions of full legal standing. Most were often based on mutual interest of
financial stability rather than on love, but métissage isn’t a harmonious process. It is founded on
relations of survival, on dialogues that are often discordant; and on finding ways of
accommodation that for the most part are ambivalent. It is never whole or complete; it is lived on
the edges, in the interstices. It is a means to an end, never an end in itself.
In these African-style marriages, the husband adapts to traditions that are strange to him
in order to attain the goals of the Empire as well as his personal goals. He has to pay a brideprice to the girl’s parents and observe certain rites before he can marry his bride. These
relationships had the capacity to change them in ways they did not expect. It is said that these
marriages were exploitative and that the Europeans did not consider them to be real marriages.
The use of the term exploitative is deployed quite ambiguously because in this situation, one
cannot justifiably point out who the victim of exploitation is. The colonial mind may welcome or
85
tolerate these unions for practical reasons, but the Saint-Louisian woman benefits equally. She
ensures financial continuity and an inheritance for herself and her offspring. .
Similarly, designating a specific term to describe the metis invites further interrogation.
Throughout my dissertation, I have been using the French term “metis” simply because it is not
fraught with negative connotations as the word mulâtre or mulatto. It is also the term widely
deployed in reference to this population of multiple ancestry. The term mulâtre has been used by
several Senegalese writers including Sadji Abdoulaye (Nini: mulâtresse du Sénégal) and David
Boilat, a local priest of mixed African (his mother was a signare) and French descent to refer to
the mixed population of Saint-Louis. However, it is not surprising that the terminology, mulatto
was used throughout Senegal even in Saint-Louis, since it was inherited from the Portuguese
(who were said to have first discovered Senegal) and then translated in Wolof as militaar and
consequently became a part of Wolof spoken in Saint-Louis. The métis community of SaintLouis has also been given other appellations in literature such as Signares, Eur-African, AfroEuropean or even Creole, nevertheless, their identity remains a troubling one especially as it
relates to racial classification in colonial Senegal.
By virtue of a peculiar trait, metis identity in Saint-Louis is complicated to an even
greater level compared to that of other metis populations in Saint-Pierre and Jérémie. The
majority of the metis of Saint-Louis all carried the names of their European fathers who were
French, British, Irish, Alsatian, Portuguese, and American while most were children of African
women who came to Saint-Louis from Wolof, Soninke, Peul, Sere, or Lebu extraction. To
compound the issue of metis identity, official records never used the terms mulâtre or métis, but
usually employed français or indigène to distinguish between European and African inhabitants
86
of the colonial towns. Consequently, the metis easily became conflated with metropolitan French
men and women (Jones, Metis, 9).
Partly because of their education and partly because of their juridical status, their mental
disposition and predilection for French things, the mulattoes were thought of as a thoroughly
'assimilated' community. Through their fathers, they were French citizens by birth. They
regarded and described themselves as Français; they endeavored to behave as Frenchmen and
considered themselves as fully entitled to the same rights and privileges as their counterparts in
metropolitan France. However, through their mothers they were Senegalese, abiding and
adhering to the traditions of Africa.
Color lines between Frenchmen and metis in Saint-Louis were blurred, collapsing the
strict rules of demarcations that defined colonial structures and consequently allowing the metis
easy mobility between racial categories and subsequently to favorable economic and political
situations. An example of the slippery nature of racial categorizing under colonial rule is that of
Alfred Gasconi who just by reading his name, one would assume that he is European. Gasconi
was identified by Gorée residents in the 1960s as a metropolitan Frenchman even though he was
born in Saint-Louis, the son of a naval captain from Marseille and a signare. He served as
Senegal’s representative in Paris from 1879-1889. It is stated further that in Senegal, Gasconi
referred to himself as a lawyer from Marseille and when he died in France, his death notice
recorded him as being “Français.
My question therefore is what makes métissage in Saint-Louis more accommodating than
elsewhere where the same phenomena happened? Métissage was forbidden in the French
Caribbean colonies. Nevertheless, confrontations and dialogues between humans and cultures
prove inevitable and métissage took place. The tell-tale sign of these unions namely the mixed
87
offspring indicates the porosity of boundary lines. Thus, in an attempt to curb the rise of the
metis population and prevent potential problems for administrators, heredity was closely guarded
in the French colonies in the Caribbean by institutionalizing strict laws that prohibited mixed
marriages or concubinage. These laws apparently were not adhered to in Saint-Louis as children
of Frenchmen and African women continued to be born and the fathers recognized their children.
Not only did they legitimize their children but Frenchmen were marrying the mothers of their
mixed offering, thus conferring legitimacy to the mothers as well.
To return to my question, could it be that having a name and having been brought up in a
“legitimate” household albeit temporary, deciding factors to the presumed acceptance of
métissage in Saint-Louis? Many of the “gens de couleur” of the French Caribbean did not
possess a name and the black woman is denied marriage to a white man. She is necessarily his
concubine, but is never offered the luxury of being his wife. What’s in a name, one might
wonder? Names are used for identification, for showing belonging. Without a name, one is lost
and therefore powerless. In biblical tradition, naming had powerful attributes.
By invoking a god or spirit by name, one was thought to be able to summon that spirit's
power for some kind of miracle or magic. The power is in the name of that being that is invoked.
Naming therefore gives importance and agency to actors on whom it is conferred. Name denotes
social rank. It also indicates status, thus a change of name indicates a change of status. The metis
of Saint-Louis by being named by their French fathers were consequently identified as French
citizens. Of course having French citizenship didn’t automatically allow them the rights due to
French men or women. Tensions arose and the metis had to fight for these rights. However,
French identity gives to them an advantage over those who were denied paternity.
88
Mayotte, the main character of Je suis Martiniquaise dreams of marrying a white, blond
Frenchman with blue eyes, but she never does. Her lover, Andre left before their son was born
denying him paternal recognition. Mayotte, unlike the signares who married European men, is
not financially independent. Her utility to the French man is purely sexual and physical. She does
not contribute to the financial stability of the French man. The signares, on the other hand,
possesses more than just physical attributes. They are self-made entrepreneurs whose business
acumen procure them wealth that rivaled that of the metropolitan man. Their economic status
places them on equal playing fields with male colonials and most times their affluence far
outranked that of the Europeans. Marrying and legitimizing a signare and her sons are financial
strategies for the European male figures in Saint-Louis. Their sons would join forces with them
and together they would own and control major trading houses in Saint-Louis.
Many writers, scholars, and anthropologists have forwarded theories condemning black
or metis women within colonial structures for their desire to marry white men; the metis women
of Saint-Louis were on the receiving end of these accusations. Fanon in his psychoanalytical text
Black Skin White Masks explains this behavior as pathologic. He identifies the symptoms of
colonized peoples as that of complexes of inferiority and alienation due expressly to their
rejection of their cultural origin. Similarly, Abdoulaye Sadji in his first novel Nini mulâtresse du
Sénégal rejects that behavior. In both works, colonized women are the expressed targets. On the
other hand, Homi Bhabha has given agency to colonized peoples arguing that through mimicry
and ambivalence many have successfully resisted the power of the colonizer. In the next few
pages, I analyze the theories of Sadji, Fanon, and Bhabha through representations of Sadji’s
principal character Nini and via the portrayal of the signares.
Nini
89
Nini, the eponymous character of Sadji’s first novel comes from a long generation of
signares. However, Nini is not a signare; she is a post-signare since her depiction comes
centuries after the glory days of the signareship. I will therefore clearly argue here that Nini’s
character is a counter discourse to the true representation of the signares. In his novel, Sadji
evokes the colonial situation in the Saint-Louisian society of the 1930s. His story takes place in
colonial Saint-Louis in the former capital of Senegal, Saint-Louis. The story centers on Virginie
Maerle, a mulâtresse, known familiarly as Nini. She lives with her two surviving relations, her
aunt Hortense, and her grandmother Helene, the last remaining descendants of signares. Nini
begins dating a co-worker, a Frenchman Jean Martineau. Their relationship evolves on an
intimate level but Nini’s wishes to marry a white man but the move to France remains an
illusion. Martineau and his friend Perrin, both employers for the company “Entrepises fluviales”
get laid off and the two must return to France. Upon his arrival in France, Martineau promptly
forgets Nini and marries a Frenchwoman. Soon after, Nini’s grandmother falls sick and dies. To
escape the ridicule of her small community, Nini sells her inheritance and moves to France.
The situation in Sadji’s era is far removed from the colonial context of 1800s and 1900s.
Social change around the world at the turn of the twentieth century provoked discourses that
inspire the rethinking of racism and the stereotypes which had developed during the eighteenth
and nineteenth centuries. Cultural and literary movements such as Surrealism and Negritude
become mediums for expressing new and complex identities. Sadji is a strong proponent of the
Negritude movement and vehemently hostile against the notion of métissage. The cutting
accusations in his novel are not solely against Nini the individual, but against a whole
community of mulâtresses. Sadji’s critique of the utopian ideal of métissage or its equally
90
illusionary corollary of the dilution of cultures proposed by colonial discourses certainly
warrants our attention.
In analyzing his arguments, it is obvious that Sadji’s vendetta excludes the male mulatto
figure. I deploy several theories to explain my observations. First, I examine the manner in which
Sadji negates the mulâtresse through the title: Nini mulâtresse du Sénégal. The post-position of
the name Nini to the rest of the title shows conflation of an individual with her social milieu. In
other words, there is no distinction between Nini and Senegal; she is defined by her surroundings
excluding any interference of external influences. Nini is portrayed as the mulâtresse of Senegal
as an individual. But there is also allusion to a collectivity. By juxtaposing “mulâtresse” and “of
Senegal”, Sadji includes the collectivity of mulatto females in all of Senegal whereas on reading
the novel we learn that Nini hails from Saint-Louis. Was this a sincere error or blatant omission?
There is certainly no ambiguity in Sadji’s message. His accusation is against the mulâtresse of
Senegal or his title would have read: Les mulâtres et mulâtresses du Sénégal.
Besides the title, Sadji uses the diminutive “Nini” to castigate the female figure even
more overtly. Using a diminutive of a name can convey familiarity, affection, or contempt. The
latter quality seems more apt of his description of Nini since her aunt and grandmother address
her as Virginia rather than Nini, thus barring the notion of familiarity. Additionally, the term
could also express insignificance. Nini’s full name is intentionally ignored. The only mention of
her full name appears in the second half of the novel and is revealed by Nini when she was asked
her name by her boss. ”Je m’appelle Virginie Maerle”, Nini replies.
Nini has to present herself to us via her boss in an attempt to be fully recognized, almost
to the end of the novel. She is subsumed in her “role” as mulâtresse and as a result, her full
identity remains a mystery to us until the end. This attempt of effacement might be Sadji’s way
91
of portraying Nini’s own effacement of her African heritage. Her last name “Maerle” is
referenced earlier in the novel on p. 37 by her boss. He refers to her as mademoiselle (miss)
Maerle. Her colleagues address her as mademoiselle Nini. In these two instances, Nini, her
employer, and colleagues share a work relationship that commands a level of respect based on
work etiquette. However, it’s ironic that the two men whom she seeks to impress refuse the use
of “Mademoiselle Maerle” which would have been more appropriate in a work setting than
“mademoiselle Nini”. Sadji portrays Nini as being so besotted with the white male that she is
blind to the ways by which she is ridiculed and belittled by him. Paradoxically, it is her selfalienation that alienates the white man, Martineau from her.
Additionally, by resorting to the use of the terminology “mulâtresse” instead of
“métisse”, Sadji inscribes the mulâtresse within a very reductive framework. The term mulatto,
although used and revalorized in some settings such as in the French-speaking Caribbean for
example, is still heavily charged and most modern-day writers tend towards the less derogative
“metis”. Although both terms have been used by Senegalese authors, Sadji’s preference for
“mulâtresse” is intentional. Not only does he desire to diminish Nini’s significance as an
individual, but also the entire female mulatto figures of Senegal/Saint-Louis. He does so through
the diminutives that he confers unto the other mulâtresses: Nénée, Madou, Dédée, Nana, Riri,
Mimi, Nenette... This recourse to diminutives not only serves at reducing this class of women
whose attitude aims at self-aggrandizement and who intentionally abase their dark-skinned
brothers and sisters, but it aims at ridiculing them for their attitude of alienation that Fanon
rejects so vehemently. Nini as well as the majority of the female mulatto community in SaintLouis were said to be repulsed by darker-skinned men.
92
Interestingly though, when Sadji refers to the members of the African/Saint-Louisian
community that Nini and the rest of the mulatto clan reject, he deploys either their complete
name or their first name. Furthermore, their social rank doesn’t exclude them from being
recognized by name. Bakery, the young servant boy of the Maerle family is constantly debased
by Nini whose prejudice fixes him into a state of perpetual slavery and servitude despite her
pretentions of being modern and educated. Her reduction of Bakery is as a result of the hue of his
skin. Bakery represents the bottom rung of the social pyramid and Nini ensures that he remains
there. She presents him to her white friends as “le fils d’un ancien esclave de la famille très […]
(142). Bakary has no voice and Nini reminds the reader and her French guests of her superiority
as opposed to the inferiority of this child of a slave. In my opinion, Bakery and other characters
in the novel who epitomize the poor black in Saint-Louis are elevated through the recognition of
their first names.
Fatou Fall who is Nini’s cousin belongs to the domesticity because she is black.
However, she is depicted as the antithesis of Nini through several ways. First, she is admired by
Martineau and Perrin, Nini’s two French colleagues and whom she desperately aims to please
and impress. Fatou Fall’s simple unassuming elegance fascinates the French men. Sadji presents
a favorable portrait of her: “Ses traits fins et purs étonnent les deux blancs qui répriment mal un
movement de surprise […] Sous la lumière éclatante ses formes voilées par des vêtements
combinés avec un bon goût sénégalais ont quelque chose de majestueux et d’attirant”(143).
Contrary to the mulâtresses and in particular Nini, whose desire for complete assimilation
into whiteness leads them to excessive use of cosmetics, Fatou Fall’s comeliness is natural and
simple and she is admired by these men. Nini is perplexed that her future lover Martineau as well
as his friend Perrin could in reality appreciate this “enfant de la maison,”(144), an expression
93
used by Saint-Louisians and in particular the mulâtresses to refer to any blacks visiting or
working in their homes. Sadji thus condemns her contemptuous behavior by reducing her and
uplifting Fatou Fall. Perrin and Martineau mock Nini by openly flirting and admiring Fatou.
Perrin exclaims that she is “rudiment belle” and Martineau acquiesces with an equally flirtatious
remark: “Oui, follement seduisante” (143).
Like Fatou Fall, Khady is a close relative of Nini’s grandmother and very poor. She is
depicted as a shadowy presence in the novel since she only appears at night and her function is
one of mystery and suspicion. She appears when Nini’s grandmother, Helene wishes to visit with
the Marabout Manding another ghostly figure in the novel and who like Khady represents the
ambiguous relationships between the metis and black communities in Saint-Louis. Although
deeply catholic Helene, resorts to the Marabout (an antithetical figure of the Catholic clergy) for
help in matters that not even the colonial religion could resolve. As Nini’s aspirations to gain the
admiration and ultimately the hand of Martineau proved futile, a solution had to be sought to
remedy the situation. Helene resorts to that hidden often ridiculed part of her African ancestry to
solve Nini’s relationship problems.
Helene, unlike Nini believes in the power of the African deities but must underplay such
inclinations to maintain a proper image befitting the Saint-Louisian bourgeoisie. Her relationship
to her darker skinned relative, Khady is of significance to her only because the latter has direct
access to the Marabout. Khady symbolizes the black parentage that one seeks out only when
other solutions fail. Her ties to the Marabout and to the secrets of his science that the metis
community rejects but secretly craves, elevate her to a state of superiority that commands a level
of recognition even from Nini as she reluctantly submits to the magic of the marabout whose
power is able to gain her Martineau’s love: “Dès le jour suivant Nini se baigne avec l’eau du
94
premier flocon. Et chaque matin […] elle s’humecte le visage avec celle du deuxieme flocon
avant de voir la première clarté de l’aube” (129). Nini only reestablishes contact with her
African tradition because she believes that the blessed water would melt Martineau’s heart.
Khady is the only link between the Marabout and the Maerle family. As Helene is the one
who believes, she is therefore respected. In turn, she acts as an intermediary between the world
of the highly prejudiced metis and the despised black community. Helene, like Nini once aspired
to marry white, however her many rejections left her disillusioned and alone. Consequently, her
mentality towards her African heritage shifted, although she still holds some reserve to the
underworld of the black community, a world that was despised and debased by the teachings of
Catholicism. She therefore opts to visit the formidable Marabout at night through the
intermediary of her cousin Khady who refers to her as a sister in order that the Marabout accepts
her request. Sadji shows that through the dynamics of métissage, it is the darker parentage
through qualities of acceptance and tolerance that would allow for the reconciliation of identities.
Despite his critique of Nini, Sadji’s opinion of métissage is not static. His desire for
reconciliation does not include the absorption of one identity by the other as exemplified by Nini
and the other mulâtresses, but rather he envisages recognition of the African entity as an equally
significant part of the society. However, he sees this happening mainly through the medium of
the African. When Helene goes to visit the Marabout, it is Khady who exposes the situation,
stating : “Je vous amène ma sœur…Bien qu’elle soit plus claire que moi nous sommes de la
même famille et avons les mêmes grands-parents du côté noir. Elle c’est moi, et moi c’est
elle…» (Nini, 118). Khady identifies Helene as her sister, when they are in fact cousins and
although she acknowledges the difference in skin color, she doesn’t allow it to dictate her
relationship with Helene. This claim to sisterhood reiterates the latter part of her statement “elle
95
c’est moi, et moi c’est elle” reestablishing a unity that was once severed. Helene and Khady
symbolize another layer of métissage in Saint-Louis, one founded on differences within families
that can be resolved by mutual respect and understanding. It shows that through compromise and
acceptance of the other, it is possible to get along. Helene’s thought of the other has shifted
significantly because she has finally understood and accepted her full identity. As Laplatine et al
affirm:
L’identité “propre” conçue comme propriété d’un groupe exclusif serait inertie, car n’être
que soi-même, identique à ce que l’on était hier, immuable et immobile, c’est n’être pas,
ou plutôt n’être plus, c’est-à-dire mort. Car être, c’est être avec, c’est être ensemble, c’est
partager--le plus souvent conflictuellement--l’existence. (Le Métissage, 76)
This argument corroborates Khady’s earlier statement « elle c’est moi, et moi c’est elle ».
Helene realizes that by banishing the other half of her identity, she is not only alienating that part
of her identity, but she is denying her total person. And although Helene’s relationship to her
darker-skinned relatives is usually based on the services that the latter can offer in difficult times,
it is obvious that this older generation who enjoyed the glory days of the Signares recognizes and
accepts their dual origins. During her illness, she requests the help of the marabout when the
French doctor’s medications proved futile. When she is near death, she breaks into a tantrum like
a child and smashes the vials and drugs brought to her by the white doctor claiming that they
contain “l’âme du demon” (181), the devil’s soul.
She reclaims the marabout Manding alleging that only he could save her from the demon.
She then categorically refuses all visits from white persons to her house: “Plus de Blancs ici […].
Ils nous ont menti, violées, délaissées. Ils ont rendu jaloux et méchants nos parents noirs et nos
génies tutélaires. Et maintenant ils veulent venir me soigner? Ah! Ah! Ah! (182). In her final
hours, Helene painfully reveals the reality of the relationships between Senegalese women and
Europeans and the disastrous divide that ensued between Senegalese and their traditions. Helene
96
finally requests that the same sacrifices that were performed on her ancestors be done to her or
else she will die.
Helene’s reaction seems rather tragic. I say tragic because despite Sadji’s claim of
reconciling both identities, Helene renounces one part to elevate the other. Smashing the
medications symbolizes rupture from her European heritage. The vials were said to contain the
demon’s soul. Her actions also serve as an act of exorcism, exorcising the demons that haunted
her; demons of deception, alienation, betrayal, and lies, demons that seem attached to her white
origins. Additionally, her refusal of all white presence in her home is indicative of her complete
alienation of her white identity. Helene is portrayed as the typical tragic mulâtresse whose
confusion over her mixed identity impels her to valorize one over the other.
By denying her European origins, she is denying the whole person like Nini who
renounces her African ancestry. There is also a degree of pathos to Helene’s reaction in that it is
impossible not to sympathize with this old woman who is still struggling with her métissage as
she lies dying. Her life flashes before her, wasted away from waiting for the eternal white knight
who came but left with pieces of her heart. Helene’s reaction is also her last hope to save Nini
from her own delusions but when the marabout’s concoction fails to retain Martineau in SaintLouis and save her grandmother’s life, Nini’s resignations about her African ancestry were all
the more justified.
Nini has little regard for the science of the marabout, thinking it inferior to the white
man’s science and thus incapable of doing any good. However, Sadji elevates the marabout to a
plane of superiority by inscribing his work within the framework of modern sciences. Through
the thoughts of Nini’s aunt Hortense, Sadji allows an insight into the two worlds. She posits that
the white doctor cures with elements taken from the physical realm: “Le médecin blanc soigne
97
avec les éléments tirés du domaine physique.” But she recognizes another power, one that
transcends the purely physical and material to aspire to a spiritual plane that the common senses
cannot comprehend; “Mais au-dessus de la matière il y a l’esprit; l’esprit est supérieur à la
matière” (Nini, 184). The superiority of the supernatural gains respect through the medium of
Nini’s aunt and grandmother, the last generation of signares, but there is a final attempt at
reconciling the modern and traditional. When Nini persists on denying the tradition, her aunt
Hortense chastises her saying: « Pour ma part j’estime que nous avons tout fait pour sauver ta
grand-mère qui est avant tout ma tante: toi avec tes médecins blancs et moi avec mes
marabouts » (195).
She hopes that Nini accepts her hybridity, but in Nini’s close-mindedness, Bakary,
Khady, and especially the Marabout do not belong in her perfect bourgeois world. For her, there
is no place for in-betweenness or for any hue that is not white or almost white. But Nini is indeed
an in-between and according to Sadji a “café au lait”. “Il est vrai que Nini est “café au lait”
presque blanche, un “café au lait” dans lequel le café a été nettement absorbé, assimilé par le lait.
Un miracle de la nature a voulu qu’elle soit blonde aux yeux bleus » (Nini, 41). Sadji claims that
it is true that Nini is almost white or “white coffee”, or, coffee which has been completely
absorbed by the milk. A miracle of nature made her blond with blue eyes. These traits allowed
Nini to claim whiteness and an attitude of superiority. Nini abhors her Africanness and in so
doing her métissage. She is unable to reconcile her dual origins because in order to do so would
mean recognizing and exalting her Africanity as much as she does her Europeanness.
Instead, Nini adopts a Eurocentric lifestyle and attitude that she hopes will obliterate all
traces of her African identity. Her claim to superiority is not only as a result of her “whiteness”
but results from her education and upbringing. Her relationship to her African kin is only based
98
on servility since the latter is seen only as “enfant de la maison”. However, when Matar NDiaye,
a distinguished man from Dakar who symbolizes the educated black elite of Saint-Louis declares
his love to Nini via a letter, she was otherwise indignant. The signature at the end of the missive
was initially mysterious but upon further examination, Nini affirms that: “Il n’y a point de doute,
ce nom n’est pas celui d’un Blanc, fut-il russe, hollandaise ou esquimau. C’est bien d’un nègre
qu’il s’agit” (62). The name Matar NDiaye was certainly not white and Nini’s demeanor
transformed from one of perplexity to total disbelief to one of condescension and finally to
violent contempt.
Her disbelief was aroused because a black man had dared to address her and even more
so to declare his love to her. In Nini’s prejudiced mind, only a white man was worthy of her love.
Her condescension was incited because Matar NDiaye was a man of means; he was an executive
whom her colleagues Martineau and Perrin respected. Nini abased the blacks due to their lack of
education and culture. This man was educated and well cultured, therefore Nini had no excuse.
Her only reason for rejecting his declaration was based solely on the color of his skin. Unable to
efface his position as an executive, she attempts to debase him by rejecting him, bruising his ego,
and emasculating him. NDiaye proved however to be a better person as he showed no prejudice
towards the young mulâtresse. Her disdain towards him came as a surprise since his declaration
though passionate was pure and noble, void of any insincerity.
Sadji’s critique of Nini and the other mulâtresses might be justified because of the
prejudiced attitude that these women displayed but this justification does not discount his bias
towards the mulâtresse. Sadji casts all the mulâtresses in the same mold and does not account for
the cultural and social influences that might have informed the contemporary society in which
Nini lived. Furthermore, he completely ignores those mulâtresses who embrace their hybridity.
99
Contrary to Fanon and Sadji’s discourses, Mayotte and Nini are not representative of the
black or mulatto woman’s desire for whiteness. Both writers approach the problem of alienation
in a biased and somewhat misogynic manner. In the chapter entitled “The man of Color and the
White Woman”, Fanon is not as critical of Jean Veneuse, the protagonist of Rene Maran’s novel
Un homme pareil aux autres as he is of Mayotte and Nini. Jean Veneuse valorizes white culture,
suffers from racial inferiority, and yearns for a white wife, yet Fanon feels sympathy towards
him. He sees Jean Veneuse as a victim, as a searcher: “Jean Veneuse would like to be the same
as any other man, but he knows his situation is false. He’s a searcher. He is searching for serenity
and permission in the eyes of the white man---for Jean Veneuse is “the Other” (Black skin 57).
Whereas Jean Veneuse is seen as a searcher, Mayotte and Nini are reduced to racial types, when
indeed they all are searchers. Fanon describes this desire as pathological and though Doane
confirms that notion, she goes a step further and links the problem to both sexes and sees it as
mimicry:
The Black’s confrontation with whiteness is automatically pathological and most
frequently takes the form of a certain mimicry. This mimicry is characteristic of both
sexes and Fanon devotes a separate chapter to each, making his analysis circulate around
a literary text in each instance. (Doane, “Dark Continents” 219)
Psychoanalysis as a theory of subjectivity examines the construction of gender, sexuality,
and agency and is thus suited to interrogate racial identity. In his discourse, Fanon transposes a
theory of subject formation based on sexual difference to account for racial identity. By so doing,
he constructs a paradigm shift that enables a psychoanalytical critique of racism. While the use
of psychoanalysis suitably provided explanations to racial subjectivity and social power, it
seemed to confine the pathology solely to metis and black women as we’ve observed from
Fanon’s cutting criticism of Mayotte and Nini. As Doane points out, Fanon sees the black
woman’s desire as representative of a black pathology which he despises” (Dark Continents”
100
219)50. Gwen Bergner argues that “Fanon aligns the reader with his own masculine subject
position, and renders the black woman --rather than the white man--the demonized other.
Neither Sadji nor Fanon chastise the French men for their abandonment of these women.
In fact, Sadji’s depiction of Perrin and Martineau as well as other males were quite sympathetic.
Although Mayotte and Nini did valorize whiteness in their aspirations to privilege, their sociosexual behavior is largely influenced by the economic and sexual politics of a racist, patriarchal
society. It is not fair that Nini be cast within the same mold as Mayotte because although both
characters symbolize colonized people’s behavior, they each inherited different sociocultural
backgrounds. Nini evolves in a space whose culture was significantly influenced and defined by
the era of the signare.
During their reign, women married Europeans for economic reasons. This trend was
handed down from one generation to the next. It was expected of women in Saint-Louis to marry
wisely and strategically meaning that they either married European men or metis men who were
well-off to maintain the wealth within the family. Nini still gloried in that prestige, thanks to her
grandmother and aunt, last surviving signares. However, the society that Sadji depicted was one
that had undergone drastic changes under a revitalized colonial system and no longer reflected
the heyday of the signares. Nini’s behavior is thus a reflection of the new colonial era under
which Sadji and Fanon lived. The neocolonialism of the twentieth century inherited and
perpetuated racial discourses that Nini reproduces.
Sadji’s critique appeared two years after Fanon’s and it is likely that both authors were
part of the same circle of scholars. It is not surprising that Fanon cites Sadji in his work “Qu’il se
50
. Doane, Mary Ann. Femmes fatales: feminism, film theory, psychoanalysis. New York: Routledge, 1991.
101
soit agi de Mayotte Capécia la Martiniquaise ou de Nini la Saint-Louisienne, le même processus
s’est retrouvé” (Fanon, 48). Fanon refers here to the phenomenon of lactification51. His critique,
however, targets an author whose pen name is Mayotte Capecia52 but who uses that same
pseudonym for her main character. In referencing Nini, Fanon reduces her into the same
racialized type as Mayotte who is in fact Lucette Céranus Combette. Fanon conflates two
fictional characters, Nini and Mayotte in his criticism of the author. Sadji does not mention
Mayotte but his remarks echoes quite clearly those of Fanon. Sadji blatantly omits the male
mulatto figure in his critique and like Fanon, fixes Nini and all mulâtresses into an immutable
continuum. His analogy of Nini as “café au lait” alludes to her total assimilation into whiteness
and her rebuke of her African heritage and by extension he asserts that all Senegalese women
have resorted to mimicry.
Like Nini, the metis women of Saint-Louis have indeed demonstrated mimicry of the
French culture in their dress code, material culture and religion, and other social habits.
However, not all can be accused of total French assimilation. The society of Saint-Louis during
the reign of the signares is far removed from the society that Sadji described in his novel. The
mimicry that took place then was always ambiguous in that its reproductions or representations
51
The desire of some colonized blacks or metis to inhabit whiteness through a socio-sexual relationship with a white
partner.
52
. It is important to note that the novel Je suis Martiniquaise (1948) and its sequel La Négresse Blanche (1950)
were not at all written by Capécia or Lucette Céranus Combette. Christiane Makward reveals in her text Mayotte
Capécia ou l’aliénation selon Fanon that the novels, confounded as autobiographies of the main character’s life, are
in fact manuscripts written by Combette’s French lover André, supposedly in dedication to her, and were published
by Corrêa. The content of the book as well as its supposed author, Mayotte, came under harsh criticism from the
likes of Fanon. Furthermore, James Arnold in his article entitled « Frantz Fanon, Lafcadio Hearn et la Superchérie
de “Mayotte Capécia” » claims that the first section of the book Je suis Martiniquaise was plagiarized. That section
which exposed essentially the way of life of Martinicans, apparently was copied right off the pages of Lafcadio
Hearn’s, Two Years in the French West Indies. That the fictitious character Mayotte, comes under attack by critics
and readers alike the majority of whom were male, exposes a deeper hidden subtext of misogyny and also recasts the
often repeated narrative of the tragic mulatto woman whose only salvation is through the white man.
102
always contained a form of distortion or subversion that disrupted the colonizer’s model. This
subversion of the colonialist’s authority reveals the complexity of the assimilation process, but it
also leads to the deconstruction of the colonial discourse whose perverse intention was to
maintain the colonized peoples in a perpetual state of otherness, of partial presence.
Although Saint-Louisians have been described as the example of French assimilation in
appearance, within the colonial structure, they have resisted being framed as the metonymy of
presence by appropriating the colonial gaze, a gaze that was meant for surveillance and
assurance of appropriate performance through representation of slippages. Ironically, it is the
authorizing figure that represents the presence of metonymy within the colonial context in SaintLouis since the displaced gaze of the partial other is now fixed on him and scrutinizes his
actions. A presence that was meant to represent absence by systematic denial of the right to look
is now looking.
There is power in looking and for too long the dominating presence used his gaze to
subdue and repress colonized people’s right to gaze. The colonial mind knew and understood
that the oppositional gaze would not only stare back defiantly in rebellion but would ultimately
look to change reality. Bell Hooks53 in his article maintains that “even in the worst circumstances
of domination, the ability to manipulate one’s gaze in the face of structures of domination that
would contain it, opens up the possibility of agency.” The metis of Saint-Louis have effectively
articulated agency by becoming appropriate spectators. Their transformation from simple traders
or slaves to bourgeois educated elite is proof of the power of the gaze to change reality. As a
53
“The oppositional gaze : Black female spectators,” Black looks: Race and Representation,115-31
103
colonial subject, the colonialist will never shed his role as a privileged being albeit an
illegitimate one because as Albert Memmi asserts that:
He, the colonizer knows also that the most favored colonized (the colonized bourgeois
whose affluence equals or exceeds that of the colonizer) will never be anything but
colonized people, in other words, that certain rights will forever be refused them, and that
certain advantages are reserved strictly for him (The colonizer and the colonized, 9).
However, in Saint-Louis metis agency threatens and disrupts the status quo. Colonization
initially failed in Saint-Louis because Saint-Louisians possess as much power as Europeans
sometimes even more power. By imposing their own rules and standards upon the European
traders and colonial workers, the latter is forced into negotiating and renegotiating new terms in
order to attain their own agendas.
It is within this ambivalence that the metis of Saint-Louis becomes an important actor. I
insist therefore that resemblance to the colonial subject whether culturally or phenotypically does
not necessarily translate as automatic assimilation into the colonial world. That the metis are a
self-conscious and self-proclaimed oligarchy with an exclusive identity is due only to the
mimicking of French ways is not tenable. That they articulate their agency within a pendulum of
mimicry and mockery in order to defy and threaten colonial authority should by no means be
neglected. By negotiating their way into the French education system, by adopting the French
value systems, metis men of Saint-Louis participated fully in and influenced colonial affairs, thus
providing avenues for social and economic mobility.
Jones continues that “although the metis attended French schools, adopted French dress,
and identified closely with the ideals espoused by the Third Republic they also transformed these
cultural idioms to serve their purposes” (Metis, 96). They obtained a level of economic success
that superseded Muslim traders and grumets (Black elite, usually converted Catholics) who were
considered their most note-worthy rivals. They also exercised prominent roles on the governor’s
104
advisory council, as mayors of the town and also in the General Council. In 1848, metis Durand
Valantin54 represented Senegal in Paris when the Second Republic established a seat. One would
assume that for at least during the early eighteenth century and mid-way through the nineteenth
century, the metis appeared to be controlling affairs in Saint-Louis thereby redefined the notion
of colonial space. Their intermediary position as persons of mixed race offered a level of
flexibility and knowledge that placed them in an advantageous situation countering the colonial’s
discourse of almost nothing but not quite to become instead a difference that is almost total but
not quite. The metis uses his intermediary position as an agentive way of accessing both sides of
his ancestry. As a son of a French man, he makes use of his access to metropolitan capital and
familiarizes himself with French industry; as a son of an African woman, he possesses
knowledge of the landscape and customs of Senegal’s interior.
Survival through métissage
This is where Biondi’s55 expression “la survie par le métissage” survival through
métissage becomes interesting for my thesis. In other words, this relationship between French
company workers and African women that was categorically prohibited by strict measures
implemented in France became survival’s last hope. Ironically, it is this same black body/skin,
the locus of apprehension and repulsion under racist lenses that would strengthen the otherwise
whole white body. The Black Code, though not applicable to Senegal, was implemented anyway
via Company representatives as a form of sexual control of the slave and the black body in
54
Valantin, son of a signare epitomizes metis ascendency in the period. His father, a merchant from Marseille, had
him and 13 others with a certain Signare Rosalie Aussenac (Hilary Jones, The Metis of Senegal).
55
Biondi, Jean-Pierre. Saint-Louis du Sénégal: mémoires d’un métissage.
105
general. The dark female skin/body does not merely represent the sexualized female, but it also
represents the female as the source of corruption and disease.
It is interestingly this projection of uncleanliness and diseases onto the black female body
that haunts and terrorizes the imagination of the European. Bhabha theorizes that “black skin
splits under the racist gaze, displaced into signs of bestiality, genitalia, grotesquerie, which
reveal the phobic myth of the undifferentiated whole white body” (Location, 131). The racist
male gaze constantly split black females and fixes them as grotesque and fearful, yet this same
gaze seeks out the black skin in order to survive. The black body was perceived by racist lenses
as diseased due to pathologies that were endemic to the dark skin. For example, Jordan56
theorizes that “skin color and attendant physiognomy of the blacks are the result of congenital
leprosy.”
Diseases such as syphilis have since then been seen as a form of leprosy that had long
been present in Africa and had spread into Europe in the Middle Ages rather than a disease
brought into Europe by Christopher Columbus’s sailors.57 Based on these conjectures, one can
surmise that sexually related diseases reduce and alter the dark body rendering it differentiated,
whereas the white body refuses that differentiation and remains whole because it belongs to the
differentiating gaze. The trajectory of that gaze is never self-reflexive and that is why despite
illness, the narcissistic whole being triumphs. If I were to be the devil’s advocate and propose a
possibly splitting of the white skin/body, it would be from the perspective of the oppositional
displacing gaze. And even then, the gaze of authority, though cognizant of its illness would not
56
White over Black: American attitudes toward the Negro, 1550-1812, pp.3-43
57
Bloch, Iwan. The sexual life of our time in its relations to modern civilization. New York : Allied, 1925.
106
internalize it as a perpetual condition; instead he would resort to strategies of trickery and
ambivalent discourses in order to reconcile the present body to the previous. In comparison, the
black skin’s condition has been fixed from without and internalized within. Racist ideology, that
product of social idealism renders non-white bodies reducible in order to uphold narcissistic
ideals of wholeness and purity.
Paradoxically, it was by unconventional means that is, by way of métissage that the
colonizer in Saint-Louis sought to reconcile his body. How can a process that was deemed
degenerate and sterile translate into a process of rebirth, rehabilitation, and reconciliation of
diseased European bodies? Métissage thus emerges as a curative, purifying measure and counters
the notions of impurity, degeneracy, and sterility. Fertility was born in Saint-Louis. Proof of that
fertility lies not only in the offspring of Europeans and Africans but notably in the fruitful
economic profits that their interactions engendered.
Signares have proved that acceptance and tolerance of the other are prerequisites for
understanding differences and creating new identities in a vastly complex society. In that light,
they can be considered as precursors to contemporary theorists whose views on creolization,
hybridity, and transculturation have been essential in examining the way cultures have been
defined, transformed, rescued, and allocated. Martinican theorist and poet Edouard Glissant and
the writers of Eloge de la Créolité, Chamoiseau, Confiant and Bernabé have theorized the
concept of creolization to designate those processes of cultural blending characterized by the
continuities of identities. In Poetics of Relation Glissant goes a step further extracting the
concept from its complex particulars of Caribbean reality and extending it to a vision of a world
in transformation. Bhabha in The Location of culture uses hybridity to examine the dynamics of
mixture upon identity and culture. He theorizes that colonial authority is threatened by the
107
hybridizing processes and its outcomes. His arguments however, do not necessarily account for
the flows of cultures and their interactions. Khan, Palmié, Vergès among other distinguished
scholars, by examining the very different domains and circumstances in which the processes take
place, have given the term creolization new significance by inscribing it within a historical and
theoretical specificity.
Although these contemporary theories diverge in varying degrees, the overall vision
intends to valorize these phenomena that are rapidly shaping our world. Although signares left
no written trace of themselves, since they were illiterate, their legacy has traced a model for our
world in constant transformation. They embraced their multiplicity teaching European tastes and
values to their children while at the same time reinforcing the link between coastal people and
African societies in the mainland. In so doing, they contributed to the formation of Saint-Louis
as a third space- one that neither mimicked French society nor neatly corresponded to Wolof
societies. I therefore offer a re-reading of métissage in Saint-Louis in light of the dynamics of
relationship and history that have been articulated through the figures of the signares and through
fictional characters such as Nini. The signares unfix the labels of specter and object of spectators
and give new perspectives to desire, identity, female agency and solidarity, and métissage.
Furthermore, they complicate the notion of métissage as they represent ambiguous figures
depicting many faces: middlewomen, realtors, slave owners, and wives constantly disrupting the
relations of power, desire and agency in such roles.
The colonial city of Saint-Louis and by extension the African continent have often been
perceived as a mythical, hostile, and threatening space yet simultaneously coveted and desired
for conquest and imperialistic design. Like the African woman, black or metis, the African
continent (Saint-Louis) becomes the site of the ambivalent desire of the perverse male gaze. The
108
processes of métissage of the Saint-Louisian population and the space it occupies thus generates
an interesting debate and discourse on the nature of the encounters and relationships between
European male Company employees and African/ Senegalese women and the African continent.
I contend that despite the external manifestation of Frenchness that the Senegalese population of
Saint-Louis exhibits, internally, within the confines of the “colonial space”, radical
transformations were taking place that require a reinterpretation of Saint-Louis and SaintLouisians as perfect examples of French assimilation.
In fact, the very notion of “colonial space” needs to be revisited as at the time of colonial
presence, Saint-Louis depicted multiple faces, functions, and roles. Jean-Pierre Donzon in his
book, Saint-Louis du Senegal Palimpseste d’une ville (p. 21) describes Saint-Louis as a
“hyperlieu”, a term that echoes Gerard Genette’s “hypertext”. Saint-Louis is as ambiguous as its
French toponym. This toponym obviously implicates its ties to France, yet at the same time
obscures the British, Dutch, Portuguese, and Moorish layers that also had ongoing relationships
with Senegal and Saint-Louis long before the French arrived on the scene. France’s ties to
Senegal has proven however to have far-reaching influence in Senegal/Saint-Louis than the
others and retained hegemony until the end of colonization. Saint-Louis is nonetheless a
palimpsest whose layers reveal the resistance and creative agency of the Senegalese peoples as
opposed to the portrait often conveyed of passive assimilated people, victims of European
invasion and civilization.
The veiled intention of the civilizing mission had not been fully materialized as expected,
at least not in its initial phases. Resistance from the local population countered and hindered the
civilizing process, engendering instead a relationship of complicity and tolerance thus
complicating the Manichean dialectic upon which colonial states were built. I argue then that
109
Saint-Louis disrupts the dichotomous European model and articulates from within, a shift from
the purely white/black binary to a mosaic backdrop that recasts the notion of the dominant
“model”.
Whereas in this chapter other factors besides color and race are considered as the guiding
principles of métissage, in the following chapter on Saint-Pierre, race and color politics are at the
center of relational dynamics. Like in Saint-Louis, mulatto women play a significant role in the
creolization process in Saint-Pierre. However contrary to the signares of Saint-Louis, female
agency is not fully defined and celebrated in Saint-Pierre. Consequently, the trope of the doudou
is a recurring theme in this chapter. Attempts have also been made to represent more thoroughly
mulatto male masculinity and respectability a tasks that proves daunting due to the paucity of
narratives on mulatto men.
110
CHAPTER TWO
COMMERCE, POLITICS AND ERUPTION: MAPPING THE
PROBLEMATICS OF METISSAGE IN THE ENCHANTED CITY
“Saint-Pierre est une véritable Créole”
Louis Maynard de Queilhe
This chapter investigates the articulations of métissage in the town of Saint-Pierre by examining
in particular the ethnic and political rivalries between the dominant white creoles or Békés and
the emerging class of mulattoes. In this chapter, I also interrogate the dialectical relationship
between the center and the rise of the third space. I show how the subaltern alterity employs
subversive strategies to gain entry into a space that denies its discursive values. Finally, I analyze
the eruption of Mount Pelée and its aftermath not as an end to the unique multicultural
experience of the city but as a reflection for different dialogues on cohabiting with one’s
multiplicities. With the annihilation of the Paris of the Antilles Fort-de-France, the administrative
capital not only became a place of refuge for the displaced survivors of the catastrophe but it also
assumed the new role of cultural center.
The colonial city of Saint-Pierre has historically been identified as the quintessential site
of French vanity, embourgeoisement and métissage and for good reason. The city today is no
longer the bastion of economic and cultural pride however, traces of its illustrious past still linger
among its ruins and its relics, in the personal exhibits frozen in time in its museums, in the
memories of its citizens and certainly in the artistic representations that serve to immortalize the
“Paris of the Caribbean” forever.
The glory days of Saint-Pierre dates from the seventeenth century to early twentieth
century. For the interest of my topic I am concentrating in particular on the period 1870-1902, an
111
epoch marked by significant economic, political and social transformations that altered the
landscape of the Pearl of the Antilles. This era coincides with the decline of the sugar industry on
a global as well as local scale, the rise of the Third French Republic and the total destruction of
the town of Saint-Pierre engendered by the eruption of Mount Pelée. These social, economic,
political and geological transformations had lasting repercussions on the inhabitants of
Martinique particularly those of Saint-Pierre. This period is specifically important to my study
because it commemorates the social and political emergence of the mulatto class and the
significant role that this class of individuals played in the urbanization of Saint-Pierre. It also
brings to bear the bitter racial and class tensions that pit the dominant class of former white
planters or Békés against the rapidly growing influence of the mulatto elite.
The promulgation of the abolition laws of 1848 had brought an end to slavery and
consequently emancipated blacks and mulattoes in Martinique, but the colonial order however
was little effected by these changes. Saint-Pierre, the seat of colonial economic, social and
political power and privilege remained unshakable. The society and economy of the island
remained dominated by the class of white creoles who continued to laud their supremacy over
the Blacks and Mulattoes. Unlike Saint-Domingue where the Haitian revolution and its attendant
independence had completely toppled white rule, white creoles in Martinique held on to their
plantations and expanded their economic autonomy in the increasingly powerful sugar factories
that were established in the city center. Confident behind the protection of their aristocratic
legacy, white creoles did not consider the possibility that their hegemony was about to be
threatened. That self-assurance would soon quiver under the tenacious ambitions of the
mulattoes.
112
Indeed, the advent of the Third French Republic with its radical democratic reform would
severely undermine the colonial order in Martinique menacing the supremacy of the white
creoles. Sugar production, the source of their wealth, prestige and power had suffered a steady
and worrisome decline as a result of overproduction on the world market and in particular and
the increased popularity of the rival beet. Moreover, the Békés had to contend with the
possibility of the imminent abolition of the institution of indentured labor, a cheap, reliable work
force that benefited their capitalist agendas. Their economic stability was being severely tested.
To add insult to injury, the békés were also losing their political stronghold to the mulatto
republicans who had gained significant influence since the emancipation revolution of 1848.
The reforms applied by the Third Republic only strengthened their position. Indeed, the
provisions of the Third Republic (1871-1881) impacted in significantly the French colonies.
Equal political rights for all French citizens, universal suffrage, the establishment of a secular or
public school system, parliamentary representation, liberty of the press were among some of the
legislations voted by the Third Republic and promulgated in the island. Conscious of these new
rights the freed Blacks and especially Mulattoes capitalized on the universal suffrage in
particular to gain control of the political sphere. Motivated by their political ambitions and
confident in their numbers and support of the black masses, the mulatto republicans took over the
top political positions at the local, colonial and national level.
This relevant victory for the Mulattoes dealt a significant blow to the white Creoles who
saw their aristocracy undermined by a spirit of popular republicanism.58 This new state of affairs
rekindled hostilities and rivalries of race and color as white Creoles fought back to maintain their
58
René Achéen. « Les Blancs Créoles de Saint-Pierre au début de la troisième République » : essai d’analyse
historique d’un comportement et d’une idéologie. Compte-rendu des travaux du colloque de Saint-Pierre 14, 15, 16
décembre 1973. Les presses de l’Imprimerie Antillaise Saint-Paul, 1975.
113
economic dominance and race supremacy while the mulattoes resisted, supported by the black
masses fighting violently to overpower white privilege. The dramatic events that unfolded in
Saint-Pierre on the 18th and 19th of July 1881 reveal the magnitude of racial tensions that
continually menace social relationships in Saint-Pierre.
The Lota Affair
Virgile Savane59 otherwise known as Salavina gives a vivid description of “The Lota
Affair” or (L’affaire Lota) and it is his version of things that I report in these few paragraphs.
The unfortunate events of 1881 were thus triggered by the rising political power of the mulatto
republicans. Confronted by the emerging prominence of this class/race, the white creoles took to
defending their aristocratic legacy by the most violent means. The press, another bastion of
colonial domination not only echoed their ultra-conservative tendencies but also became a
medium for the most debasing invectives against the blacks and mulattoes. The mulatto
republicans retaliated, equally aggressive through a rival newspaper (Les Colonies) run by a
young, rich mulatto Marius Hurard. Son of fruit vender and wealthy tailor, he rapidly gained
popularity among the proletarians.
Hurard was a lawyer and journalist but it was his journalistic skill that made him a
favorite not only among his peers but also among the masses. As a member of the Republican
Party, he defended the Democratic interests promulgated through its reform and in so doing
defended the interests of his race and his class. He fought tirelessly for a more secular society
advocating for the establishment of public schools in Saint-Pierre much to the indignation of the
conservative békés. His excessive ambition and audaciousness made him a leader among the
59
Virgile, Savane. Saint-Pierre: La Venise Tropicale (1870-1902). Paris: Editions Caribéennes, 1986. (107-121)
114
more timorous contemporaries. He was nominated president of the departmental Council and
went to France to recruit teachers for the public high school that was eventually established in
Saint-Pierre, a school that was meant to replace the Catholic-run frères de Ploërmel.
Not surprisingly, Marius became a much hated target of the Réactionnaires, fervent
contributors to the dominant press: the “Propagateur”, the “Bien Public” and “Les Antilles”.
Through the trio of reactionary newspaper they viciously attacked their opponents and tried
ardently to impose the old colonial order and defend their privilege. The counter attacks by
Marius in “Les Colonies” were no less caustic. The war waged via the medium of the press
would soon culminate in a vicious physical scuffle between a certain doctor Lota and Marius
Hurard. Doctor Lota, a white Corsican aristocrat who was despised by the local populace took
over the redaction of the “Bien Public”, formerly a religious paper run by a certain priest called
Coss. In the absence of the latter, the initial intent of the newspaper suddenly shifted and became
a militant organ. It was across the medium of these two opposing newspapers “Bien Public” and
“Les Colonies” that doctor Lota and Hurard would star in the most virulent theatrical
performance.
On the morning of July 18th 1881, Hurard, makes his way to the office of “Les Colonies”
situated on the grand ‘Rue. On his way he sees doctor Lota’s car coming from the opposite
direction. Upon seeing his nemesis, with his proud, arrogant allure and greeted by all, a crazy fit
of rage took over the doctor. He stopped his car, hopped onto the pavement and approached
Hurard screaming furiously at him. He then proceeded to slap him on the head. Hurard surprised,
retaliated with a swift blow with his umbrella. Lota the stronger of the two quickly disarmed
Hurard. A scuffle ensued with both men rolling around on the ground. The spectacle soon
attracted an excited crowd spurring on the opponents as would any Antillean crowd. The fight
115
was eventually broken up and the two men went their separate ways. Hurard immediately
pressed charges against Lota. Soon thereafter rumors of Hurard’s death spread like wild fire
around the town.
The assault against Hurard inflamed already sensitized emotions and the population
gathered in retaliation against Lota reclaiming his death. Lota, scared to death sought refuge in
his home which was promptly attacked and pillaged by the aggressive crowd. He was able to
escape safe and sound and in turn pressed charges against Hurard, and all the Republicans who
assisted in the pillage were arrested but were later found not guilty by the jury. Saint-Pierre
celebrated this victory as one of the best victories of the democracy over aristocracy.
Relational ambiguities
Despite the humor surrounding this event, the underlying thematic is far from amusing.
It exposes deeper troubling tensions that today still haunts and impacts social relations in
Martinique. It is within this powerful dynamics of political and journalistic ambitions set against
the backdrop of color, class and race prejudice that I examine the problematics of métissage in
the town of Saint-Pierre. Abolition rights unfortunately did not alter the colonial structure of
Saint-Pierre. In fact, the newly found freedom of the marginalized class deepened the social gap
between white creoles and the people of color denying mutual relations of equality. While the
white Creoles fight to hold on to their reign of superiority, the people of color clamor to
appropriate that prestige and privilege to become as powerful as their rivals. This type of psychosocial behavior is best described by Fanon as double narcissism. “Le Blanc est enfermé dans sa
blancheur. Le Noir dans sa noirceur…C’est un fait : des blancs s’estiment supérieurs aux Noirs.
C’est encore un fait : des Noirs veulent démontrer aux Blancs coûte que coûte la richesse de leur
pensée, l’égale puissance de leur esprit ». (Peau noire, 7)
116
The vicious cycle of race superiority however was unable to maintain disparate groups
apart. The very nature of the town of Saint-Pierre as a busy commercial port city inadvertently
and deliberately brought into contact various stakeholders who needed each other. Cross-cultural
relationships in Saint-Pierre were thrust into being as a result of mutual or imposed economic,
commercial, sexual or political agendas. The significantly high volume of activities occurring in
Saint-Pierre created a space where people of all walks of life converged, intermingled,
transacted, coveted and competed for the fame, fortune, cultural experience and debauchery that
the bustling sugar industries and lucrative trade afforded.
Unlike the closed space of the plantation, the city center offers liberty of movement and
access to economic and other opportunities. Peoples of all color and race compete for similar
opportunities and especially with the new institutions voted in parliament, blacks as well as
mulattoes had an equal shot at the chances of their white peers. As the hub of economic and
mercantile activities, Saint-Pierre attracted ships and peoples from many nations to its ports.
These flows of peoples brought with them not only goods and articles for trade but they also
shared in the new space current news of world events, new ideas, new religions, languages and
other cultural elements from their homeland.
Thanks to the new reforms of Republican France, children from all ranks in the colony
had rights to an education in the public school system, a reality that was impossible under the
conservative Catholic school system. The colonial aristocracy had enjoyed full support of the
clergy. Up until the 1880, the church had sole control of primary and secondary education
(Achéen, Les Blancs Créoles, 58). At the elementary level, les Frères de Ploërimel (school for
young boys) and les Sœurs de Saint-Joseph de Cluny (school for young girls) segregation was
not as heavily apparent as in the secondary school. Education was distributed in 1881 to 11 680
117
children from all classes in society –appartenant…à toutes les classes de la société, les plus
humbles comme les plus elevees”. (59) The secondary school (le College diocésain de SaintPierre) the only institution of its kind before 1881 was highly selective and admitted mainly the
legitimate sons of white creoles although some concessions were made illegitimate for sons and
children of rich mulattoes. In most of these institutions despite the “inclusion” of all ranks,
children of white creoles were generally given favor over children of color. The advent of the
public education system and its anti-clerical teachers permitted children of “color” the possibility
of full access to an education and the chances of rivaling and even surpassing their white
classmates as was the case on many occasions.
Secularism grew exponentially in Saint-Pierre despite the strong foothold of Catholicism.
No longer bound by the dictates of the church which had manipulated plantation space as a form
of social control, many former slaves sought their “salvation” in various secular activities that
the open space of the town enabled. The craft of freemasonry for example, formally a fraternity
that initiated heads of countries and governments as well as colonists, attracted many affluent
former slaves, notably mulattoes to its lodges. These lodges introduced by sailors, businessmen
and travelers from other countries were established on the island around the eighteenth century.
The organization appealed to newly emancipated Blacks and mulattoes since it espoused the
ideals of the Enlightenment advocating the dignity of man, liberty of the individual and
challenged the authority of Catholic institutions. The organization also favored democratic
governments and supported public education.
The development of the city impacted greatly the religiosity of the colony. Despite its
very catholic denomination, Saint-Pierre had become a pleasure-seeking hub. Taverns and
brothels were on the rise, revealing the decadence and debauchery of a town and people caught
118
up in the throes of capitalist greed. The excesses exhibited by the wealthy upper class enticed not
only the marginalized masses but also the poor whites who wallowed in extreme misery as well.
The hierarchical structure of the colonial system was established to systematically keep the
riches and privileges of the high ranking planter class within the group. That privileged group
was highly exclusive and only a fortunate few had access to the wealth of the colony. The riches
that seemed to overflow from the colony attracted thousands to the port of Saint-Pierre but the
majority of fortune seekers did not get rich and were forced to live in abject squalor. Many
resorted to becoming proprietors of brothels, taverns and other disreputable businesses in order
to survive. In this dog eat dog world, any activity that yielded profitable returns was considered.
Carnival is probably one of the greatest manifestation of pleasure in Saint-Pierre. An
annual street festival, carnival erases social barriers of class, color, gender and race and bring
together white creoles, mulattoes, blacks, men and women in orgies of hedonistic revelry and
devilry. Virgile describes Saint-Pierre’s carnival as often licentious but always ardent and
enthusiastic (La Venise tropicale, 217). He compares Pierrotins’ anticipation for the approach of
carnival as the Jews would their Messiah (217-218). The juxtaposition of Carnival with Messiah
is in fact a travesty if not an outright sacrilege. Indeed, carnival is the embodiment of the
burlesque, a stark contrast to the order and rigidity that characterize the aristocratic lifestyle. The
masks, costumes and nuanced songs integrated into the carnival event, all aim at subverting and
mocking the social and religious order. Religious institutions and institutions of authority are the
usual targets of ridicule. In fact no one escaped the merciless jibes of pranksters during carnival.
The church in particular was a common target as revelers often mask themselves as members of
the clergy dancing and writhing to unholy tempos. As a space of cultural and artistic creations,
carnival was also a time where the artists of Saint-Pierre displayed their talents. Costume makers,
119
drummers, trumpeters, violinists, flutists, stilt dancers, singers… all converged in an infernal
cacophony that somehow managed to harmonize the distinct aspects of Saint-Pierre.
The Paris of the Antilles
In order to understand the social, economic and political dynamics in Saint-Pierre, I
briefly examine the role of colonial history and its implications in the transformation of the
island into a space of production for the sole intention of enhancing French pride and supporting
the privileged lifestyle of the colonial aristocracy. The towns, headquarters of colonial
administrative and judicial authority were established to preserve, guard and multiply colonial
wealth. As such, they represent the hub of economic and social life in the colony. Saint-Pierre as
most other colonial towns, was a port city and a major outlet for the absorption of goods
produced on the plantations. The town thus ensured the smooth functioning of the plantations
and the colony by supplying the necessary capital and labor force. The landscape of the colonial
town would soon change as hotels, town halls, theatres, fountains, markets emerged to
accommodate the aesthetic tastes of European administrators nostalgic for the lifestyle left
behind in Europe.
The increased modernization of these island towns thus articulates the desire to recreate
Europe in the island colony. The denomination “Paris of the Antilles” or “Tropical Venice” is
certainly not by chance. Venice and Paris are quintessential European cities of high culture,
romance and reverie and by juxtaposing these grand metropolises with the words “tropical” and
“Antilles” the colonial imaginary inscribes the colony into a space of luxury accessible to a
privileged few hence the remodeling of town into microcosms of Europe. In reality, these islands
were nothing more than deserted areas but were great prospects for building European empires.
Saint-Pierre possessed abundant advantages that earned it its name as the Paris of the Antilles.
120
Saint-Pierre 60was first founded in 1635 by Pierre Belain d’Esnambuc a French trader and
adventurer and became the first permanent French colony in Martinique. At the end of the
seventeenth century, Saint-Pierre benefited from the influx of colonists who had withdrawn from
Saint-Christophe now Saint-Kitts. The governor general of the Lesser Antilles whose
headquarters was in Saint-Christophe was later transferred to Martinique. This change greatly
impacted the colony which became the administrative center of the French Antilles. Saint-Pierre,
its main port subsequently grew into the major hub of French trade in the Caribbean. Saint-Pierre
owes its fortune to its geostrategic positioning which facilitated direct access to the triangular
slave trade from Europe and Africa. Saint-Pierre also possessed a beautiful harbor that provided
a suitable haven for foreign ships. Its calm seas, its sandy and large terrain, its abundance of
freshwater, and its large supply of wood made Saint-Pierre a favorable destination for numerous
interest groups. Most importantly, Saint-Pierre profited from its location near the richest sugar
plantations on the island.
Saint-Pierre also owes its initial development stages to the active participation of
buccaneers who took advantage of the unrest of the wars to conduct illegal mercantile
transactions with France’s competitors. Many of these sea thugs were privateers authorized by
their governments to loot foreign vessels while others smuggled goods for their own profits. It is
in part through this trafficking of merchandise that slaves and food supply were introduced in the
town ensuring the smooth running of the plantations. By the late 1700s a considerable number of
privateers coming mainly from Saint-Christophe and Guadeloupe settled with their families in
Saint-Pierre. The establishment of houses, shops and nightclubs transformed the landscape of the
60
Butel, Paul. Histoire des Antilles françaises : XVIIe-XXe siècle. Paris : Perrin, 2002.
121
town attracting the most powerful merchants and ship-owners to the town. Business in SaintPierre around that time period was phenomenal. Indeed, the following citation from a colonial
administrator roughly describes the volume of activity in and out of Saint-Pierre:
Le bourg de Saint-Pierre est le centre de presque tout le commerce qui se fait aux iles
françaises de Vent de l’Amérique. C’est à la rade de ce bourg qu’abordent tous les
vaisseaux venant d’Europe, du Canada, du Mississipi et autres lieux. C’est de là que, par
le moyen de deux à trois cent barques de toutes grandeurs, l’on envoie dans les différents
quartiers de cette ile et des iles voisines les marchandises que les navires apportent. Ces
barques en retour rapportent les différentes denrées telles que sucre, coton, café, cacao,
gingembre et autre, de la fabrication des habitants. Ces denrées sont remises à une sorte
de négociants que l’on nomme commissionnaires qui les reçoit, les vend, en fait les
retours a chacun des habitants en l’espèce de marchandises qu’il demande et en argent.
(128)61
The town of Saint-Pierre was the hub of almost all the trade occurring in the French
Windward Islands. All ships coming from Europe, Canada and Mississippi docked at its
harbor. From there, two to three hundred boats of varying sizes transport the merchandize
from the larger vessels to other parts of the island as well as to neighboring islands. On
their return voyage these boats bring produce such as back sugar, cotton, coffee, cocoa
and ginger manufactured on the plantations. These goods are then processed by
intermediary personnel or agents who sell them and make their profits by demanding a
return of goods and cash from each planter.62
Despite the natural and physical handicaps such as hurricanes that constantly threaten the
town, Saint-Pierre increasingly became very prosperous thanks to its booming sugar industry and
its active maritime commercial activities. As the town grew in economic importance, its physical
landscape underwent a spectacular transformation. Saint-Pierre like other colonial French towns
initially did not reflect the economic status of the colony. In reality these colonial capitals could
not truly be identified as cities. Pluchon in his voluminous text, Histoire de la Colonisation
Francaise, evokes the impressions of foreigners visiting the colonial towns. They lamented the
61
Pérotin-Dumon (Anne). 2000. La ville aux Iles, la ville dans l'ile: Basse-Terre et Pointe-à-Pitre, Guadeloupe,
1650-1820. Paris: Edition Karthala.
62
My translation
122
lack of cathedrals, public squares, universities, libraries, specialized schools, palaces, mansions,
majestic fountains. “Elles [les villes] ne recèlent ni cathédrales, églises ou chapelles… Point de
ces places vastes, de ces universités nombreuses et antiques parfois comme celles de Mexico et
Lima…, point de bibliothèques, de ces écoles spécialisées, de ces arsenaux, comme à la Havane,
point de ces palais altiers, de ces beaux hôtels particuliers, point de ces fontaines
majestueuses… ». (389) All the trappings of a glamorous colonial city, were absent in the French
colonial towns. Spain had made enormous strides towards urbanization, spending considerable
sums to develop its colonies while the French colonies reflected mediocrity, “désordre et lignes
droites, amas de dépôts et de maisons ». (Pluchon, 389)
To bridge the dissymmetry between the economic success of Saint-Pierre and the lack of
its esthetic appeal, French colonial administrators ordered the structural improvement of the
town. Streets were widened, sidewalks and public squares adorned with fountains were
constructed. Concrete houses, villas and luxurious mansions flaunted the wealth of the colony. In
addition to the increasing architectural improvement, a spectacular cultural explosion inundated
the city.
A multi-cultural experience
Saint-Pierre’s cultural scene is unique as it is complex. Notwithstanding the colonial
organization that still informs much of the social space and restricts human relationships and
interactions, the cultural products of Saint-Pierre defy the limitations of particularism and
explode into a potpourri of chaotic interconnectedness. I contend that three major activities in
particular have influenced the multi-cultural landscape of Saint-Pierre: dances/balls, theatre and
carnival. Outside the economic gratification of the work space, amusement within the colony
was limited. The introduction of these cultural products are initially reserved for the white
123
aristocracy. Still very attached to their Old Regime ideals, the colonial aristocracy reproduced
many events reminiscent of the monarchy.
Recreating the moments of bygone days not only reaffirmed their supremacy but it also
gives them a sense of identity and belonging at a time when the very core of their authority was
shaken. The fancy balls, banquets, theatrical representations and carnival in the form of the
masked ball were all transplants of the mother country and were meant for their enjoyment.
However, these representations were in turn mimicked, appropriated and reinvented by the
marginalized gaze. It is not surprising that within the confusion of cultures, ideological barriers
persist.
Social balls/dances
These were organized sometime after the Lenten season and more or less adhered to the
traditional social structure. The Cercle de l’Hermine, exclusive club of the white aristocracy was
not surprisingly the selected site of these dances some of which were held in honor of the royal
family. Indeed an occasion fit for royalty as guests glided in arrayed in the trappings of pure
luxury and waltzed to the finest melody played by the orchestra. The erection of protective
railings around the club affirms the exclusiveness of its members but certainly could not restrict
the mimicking gaze. Huge crowds would gather around obviously impressed by the elegance and
finery of this class. Many would attempt to sneak through windows or even climb the railings to
glimpse into the lifestyle of the rich so far removed from theirs.
The Békés were not the only class in Saint-Pierre marked by classist and colorist ideals.
The mulatto class, in particular those who had acquired social, political and economic
prominence, exhibited similar attitudes of exclusivism. Wanting white approval and acceptance,
mulatto’s lives revolved around competing against their rivals at each possible turn. The Cercle
124
de la Martinique was established not only as a means of displaying their fortune but it was a way
of showing their rivals who refused to acknowledge them within their ranks despite their
economic accomplishments, that they could be just as good and classy. It was within the stylish
interior of the Cercle de la Martinique that the who’s who of the metis class, equally elegant in
attire as they waltz to perfection to the sounds of the orchestra.
The order and stiffness that characterize clubs of this nature is emphasized even further
by the classical waltz, a dance form that personifies graceful moves and thus restricts body
movements and contact. As expected these European dances were appropriated by the masses
but were infused with African, and Amerindian inspired folk dances such as the quadrille,
merengue, and beguine to name a few. In fact the creole balls, generic term to classify the dances
organized by the populace was the event par excellence of cultural extravaganza. Two types of
dances are worthy of mention. One, usually following the festivities of Carnival Tuesday known
as the theatre dance. These were held in the lower level of the theatre at the same time that the
representations of plays were taking place. Both dancers and spectators enter through the same
door and pay the same entrance fee. However the two groups part ways, one going upstairs and
the other downstairs. Indeed this carnivalesque spectacle is a symbolic profanity of the
“sacredness” and place of “high culture”. Another took place on the streets accommodating
dancers who could not afford to pay the entrance fee. Interestingly the site of this particular
street-side ball faced the Church and often conflicted with the priest’s liturgy on Sunday
mornings. Coincidence or act of sheer subversion? The masses also held their dances in the
former Union lodge (freemasonry Temple) situated on Petit-Versailles Street. This former
Temple was transformed into a ballroom where the local populace, soldiers and sailors
“s’amusaient rageusement” (La Venise Tropicale, 234)
125
These spaces usurped by the masses ironically evokes their marginalized position within
the city limits. Ostracized from the ritzy milieu of high society, the masses are forced to reinvent
themselves within the liminality of society. The theatre basement, the street, the abandoned
building all symbolize the “border zones” into which the masses are suppressed. It is as a result
of this imposed invisibility maintained by metropolitan typifications that informs and engenders
radical and sacrilegious practices in the center. The Theatre, the Church, the Masonic Lodge are
representative of powerful institutions that segregate, humiliate, and denigrate the working class.
The triumphant outcome of this vicious system is the remarkable fusion that persists creating a
society unique in its chaotic confusion.
Biguine
The culture of the masses is heavily accented by music and dance accompanied by an
array of musical instruments. Many folk dances such as biguine and the creole waltz play an
integral role in the festivities of the populace. What is the Biguine? Eric Prieto63 gives the
following account of the beginnings of the Biguine:
The Biguine for example originated in the French Antilles in the eighteenth and
nineteenth centuries. It is first and foremost a dance music and has its origins in a
combination of European society dances and African rhythms and was shaped by the
lifestyle and patterns of social interaction typical of a plantation economy. Biguine is thus
like mazurk and valse, descendants of the mazurka and the waltz that have entered into
the musical vernacular of the islands. Although these forms evolved out of European
sources they are no longer considered to be imported or imitated forms but part of the
folkloric heritage. Performed by instruments that were readily available to or could be
made by slaves, the musical styles, dance steps, and performance practices of the source
material were modified to better fit the social and cultural patterns of rural laborers. As
one would expect, the polished sheen of the educated elite was replaced by a more rustic,
rambunctious flavor characteristic of hard working folk with little or no formal education
or musical training. Moreover, the relatively stable set of stylistic conventions that
63
Prieto, Eric. « Alexandre Stellio and the Beginnings of the Biguine. Nottingham French Studies. Vol. 43 No.1
Spring 2004
126
governed the European forms began to be replaced by a widely divergent set of
independently developed idioms, as isolated communities (grouped around plantations)
developed their own variations, transforming the music beyond recognition.
This early phase of creolization was followed in Martinique by a period of stylistic
consolidation, which took place, notably, in the city of St. Pierre following the definitive
abolition of slavery in 1848. As newly liberated slaves left the plantation-era biguine
began to coalesce into a new, more stable local style, associated with St. Pierre.
Moreover, as the identity of the new style solidified, it began attract the attention of the
mulatto and the white elites. Indeed, despite the social stigma attached to the darker skin
and Creole culture of the lower classes, the new style was eventually able to compete
successfully with the prestigious European forms, albeit for different reasons. (31-32)
Although Biguine originated on the plantation as an expression of slaves’ attempts at
reclaiming a forgotten culture through the juxtaposition of fragmented memory and mimicry, it
was in the city that Biguine evolved into a recognized folk-dance, enjoyed and appreciated by all
classes. The vibrant groups that erupted into the city with their equally vibrant music and dance
forms represented a stark contrast to the stiff formality that defined European dance forms. The
success of Biguine over these classic dances not only celebrates multiplicity over particularism
but it also symbolizes the reassertion and revalorization of the silenced voice and subdued bodies
of the subaltern alterity.
To dance the Biguine or “biguiner’ as the local creoles of Saint-Pierre call it, is to
completely liberate the mind and body from all restraints through disorderly movements,
gestures, mischievous poses, convulsive twists… « de mouvements désordonnés, de gestes, de
poses canailles, d’écarts convulsifs… (Virgile, 241). He claims further that in order to dance the
biguine « il faut être musicien, avoir du soleil en tête, de l’amour au cœur, et du rhum un peu
partout » (241). In other words, to biguine is to escape momentarily from the rigors of life and
what better modes of escape than art/music, island heat, women and alcohol… Baudelairian
127
forms of evasion. However, dancing the Biguine is not always frenzied movements. As Nardal64
observes, the biguine “can express both a languorous grace and an extreme liveliness according
to the changes in its tempo” (122). The creole waltz like the biguine deviated from the norm.
Virgile described the movement as diabolic, dizzying, and outrageous. Couples did not waltz
gracefully but rather “voltigent dans un vaste potpourri” move about erratically. The grotesque
caricature that emphasizes these dances mocks the so-called French high culture. The cacophony
of sounds from the simple beat of the tam-tam to the soulful sounds of the saxophone, to the
clamor of the clarinet, the trombone and trumpet all combine to recreate a space of identity and
belonging.
These instruments interestingly deviates from the traditional African percussions. The
composite landscape of the city increasingly demands new forms of negotiations in order to
survive. The tam-tams of the plantations, though not entirely abandoned in the city are
substituted by stringed and brass instruments that initially represented the colonial orchestra.
Interestingly, these instruments are appropriated by the local masses who create their own
creolized orchestras or bands reintegrating the tam-tams into their repertoire. Westernized ideals,
in particular French ideals of high culture is set as the model in opposition to the barbaric culture
of the border zones. French theories of cultural assimilation aimed at transforming colonized
“citizens” into mimic French men and women may have well produced a group of évolués, (the
bourgeoisie made up principally of mulattoes and a few blacks) well versed in Moliere’s tongue
and quite “assimilated” to French cultural practices but they have not managed to dispose of
creole cultural patterns which exists concurrently with the “dominant’ culture. Evidence of the
64
. Nardal, Andrée. « Étude sur la Biguine Créole. » La Revue du Monde Noir. Collection complète N. 1-6
128
triumph of multiculturalism over particularism is manifested in the multiple configurations of
layers that characterize the city. The spectacular shift in demography in the town of Saint-Pierre
is a startling consequence of its complex cultural patterns. Many people migrated to Saint-Pierre
because they felt that the city offered opportunities for self-reinvention. Such was the case for the
main protagonists of Guy Deslaurier’s 2004 eponymous film Biguine.
Set in Martinique in the late 1870s, the film addresses three concurrent subtexts. Through
the main characters of Hermansia and Tiquitaque, Biguine evokes the social, economic and
cultural transformations of colonial Martinique from the decline of the sugar plantations and the
mass exodus of former plantation workers and slaves into Saint-Pierre to the increasingly
industrialized landscape of the city to its vibrant cultural scene. The film also follows the
struggles of the couple as they abandon the plantation where they work in pursuit of their dreams
of a career as musicians in the cultural capital of the Caribbean. They wanted to introduce their
folklore accompanied by the drums (tambour) to the Békés and the mulattoes but their hopes
come crashing down as they are thrust into the realization that the city has no place for plantation
folklore. Western representations of cultural esthetics had been imposed as king. Shocked by
these new and conflicting value systems, the heroes are engulfed into the fast-paced world of city
life only to be spewed out and abandoned.
To survive the harsh world of Saint-Pierre, Hermansia and Tiquitaque are forced to
negotiate new patterns of survival and forge novel musical identities. Hermansia saves her hard
earned money and offers Tiquitaque a clarinet as a gift, but Tiquitaque, unfamiliar with this new
city instrument, is unable to play it and rejects it. The couple discovers that they must adapt their
lifestyle to the new system and Tiquitaque seeks out people that can help him. He eventually
learns to play the clarinet but has to abandon his old bamboo flute, an instrument that was
129
cherished on the plantations but ridiculed in the city. Hermansia soon realizes that she can adopt
a different persona by adapting her voice to the new songs and learning to dance to the rhythm of
biguine, this new artistic creole expression that was the rage in Saint-Pierre. Interestingly, they
also realize that even if they had to reject the drum, its sounds lived within them. They could
recreate biguine by mixing the sounds of the clarinet, with bélé (from the French bel air; folk
dance and instrument invented on the plantation). The film as its name suggests is above all a
celebration of biguine music and dancing, an artistic fusion of sounds and rhythms from Europe
and Africa but also infused with bits and pieces from around the world. In that vein, the film
engages a discourse that valorizes the multilingual and multiethnic character of the creole
cultures in Saint-Pierre and by extension the rest of Martinique and the wider Caribbean.
Saint-Pierre’s Carnival
Alexandre65 describes carnival as:
Fureurs! Explosions! Enthousiasme! Un tourbillon qui allie le sacré et le profane,
l’inconscient collectif et individuel dans un défoulement obsessionnel qui brise les
archétypes de la société, fustige les valeurs morales tout en juxtaposant la transgression
de l’interdit et l’inversion de la morale sous l’autorité de sa majesté Vaval. Eloge des
corps et célébration de la vie dans un désordre en fait très codifié.
Fury! Explosions! Enthusiasm! A whirlwind that brings together the sacred and the
profane, the collective and the individual unconsciousness in an obsessional liberation
that transgresses society’s archetypes, denounces moral values while juxtaposing the
transgression of the forbidden and the reversal of morals under the authority of his
majesty Vaval66. The praise of bodies and celebration of life in a disorderly but organized
fashion.
Carnival is another aspect of Martinican history that has greatly influenced the cultural
patterns of Martinicans and in particular, the inhabitants of Saint-Pierre. Carnival is an integral
65
Blerald, Monique. 2011. Carnival guyanais : traversée littéraire. Courbeyre: Nestor. Preface by Rodolphe
Alexandre (Ph.D. History).
66
a giant papier-mâché effigy of Vaval that symbolizes the end of the festival and the start of Lent
130
part of Martinican life. Like the public balls, discussed previously, carnival was introduced to the
colonies by European colonial powers as a form of social entertainment for its employees but
also as a form social control of slaves…and other disenfranchised peoples who were forced to
interiorize their master’s way of doing things. These spectacles supposedly kept peace within the
colony as they provided a civilized form of entertainment for the enslaved population who were
denied from engaging in any practices that were deemed barbaric. The Code Noir imposed laws
preventing slaves from gathering together in any festive mode. Their sole model of
representation then were the numerous performances put forward by their masters. Although
eventually slaves were authorized to organize their own forms of festivities, they had to follow
the model of their masters.
Carnival debuted as grandiose festival in which members of the royal Parisian courts of
yesteryear celebrated royal entrees, pageantries, and marriage processes disguised in masks and
costumes, carnival traditionally took the forms of masked balls or masquerades. For the
aristocracy of Saint-Pierre, reproducing these activities on the colony was not only a means to
reaffirm their Old Regime values and cling to their identity which was rapidly being absorbed
into the new environment but it was also a way to make visible their social and cultural
distinction and prestige.
Carnival in Saint-Pierre evolved over time and became a festival that the entire
population participated in. The appropriation of carnival by the non-white populace was
articulated after the abolition of slavery and the shift from the plantation system to the
industrialized city. I maintain that given the control imposed on the very existence of non-whites
during slavery, the appropriation, misappropriation and reappropriation of French cultural
131
practices that had begun on the plantation could only be fully actualized in the city. Jolivet67
confirms this fluidity of the urban space : “les gens de couleur purent commencer, dans un
rapport privilégie aux villes et à la métropole, une ascendance sociale que les Békés n’étaient
plus en mesure de juguler....” (White Creoles were no longer in a position to curb people of
color’s social ascent thanks to the privileged relationships that the cities and metropolitan France
made possible to the latter…”).
The close affiliation of the towns to la mère patrie, privileges the ambitions to social
ascendency of non-whites in particular the bourgeois mulatto class. It is in the city that the
mulattoes can finally affirm themselves as an intermediary class. The spatial transition from the
plantation to the city had not significantly affected white supremacy nor the hierarchical social
structure of the colony and the class of mulattoes supported by the republican ideals that were
applied to the colonies struggled constantly against resisting white creoles to establish their
rights to be recognized as freed men. The fever of Republicanism pushed this class for total
assimilation to the French demanding full political equality with their counterparts.
Having established themselves as equally cultured as their French counterparts, thanks to
their advanced level of education, their domination of the liberal professions as well as their
possession of significant properties, the mulatto class distanced themselves from the working
class in an effort to gain approbation from the whites. Despite having perfected the French
language and culture which, as per the civilizing mission is a successful articulation of its
project, the mulatto bourgeoisie ironically were despised for their near perfect assimilation of
Frenchness. As much as the civilizing mission desires a reformed recognizable Other to re-
67
Jolivet, Marie-José. « Culture et bourgeoisie créoles: A partir des cas compares de la Guyane et de la
Martinique ». Ethnologie française, nouvelle série 1. T. 20. No. 1: 49-61.
132
present the prototype, its intention is not to recreate sameness but rather “a subject of difference
that is almost the same, but not quite” (Location of Culture, 86). By desiring and appropriating
the Frenchness which la mère patrie duplicitously made available to her colonial daughter, the
ambitious mulatto ethnoclass of Saint-Pierre transgresses the social order.
Bhabha uses the term mimicry to discuss parallel articulation of colonial ambivalence in
British and Indian contexts. He proposes mimicry as a strategic tool that colonial authority
employs to protect its racial and cultural hegemony. He asserts that in order “for mimicry to be
effective, it must continually produce its slippage, its excess, its difference” (86). Many
mulattoes in Saint-Pierre possessed similar physical traits of their white ancestry and many of
them even rivaled white Creoles for economic and political positions. Yet their racial inbetweenness nullifies them as really white and thus bars them from ever fitting in or belonging to
the dominant ethnoclass and culture. Confident in its resemblance as a narcissistic double of
sameness, the mulattoes constitute a constant threat that has to be contained. Denial of political
rights to men yet recruiting them in the fight against black insurgents and later as soldiers in the
French army ; cohabiting with mulatto women yet refusing them marriage are manifestations of
the perception of the colonial subject as a “partial” presence: “almost the same but not quite,
almost the same but not white” (89). Bhabha posits that:
The visibility of mimicry is always produced at the site of interdiction. It is a form of
colonial discourse that is uttered inter dicta: a discourse at the crossroads of what is
known and permissible and that which though known must be kept concealed; a
discourse uttered between the lines and as such both against the rules and within them.
The question of representation of difference is therefore always also a problem of
authority. The “desire” of mimicry which is Freud’s “striking feature” that reveals so
little but makes such a big difference, is not merely that the impossibility of the Other
which repeatedly resists signification. The desire of colonial mimicry—an interdictory
desire—may not have an object, but it has strategic objectives that I shall call the
metonymy of presence (89).
133
Colonial authority depends on the incomplete almost invisible presence of the colonial
subject in order to establish its power and superiority. Its strategy however fails, as the displaced
gaze of the Other not only mimics but mocks the prototype. Bhabha continues that “the look of
the surveillance returns as the displacing gaze of the disciplined, where the observer becomes the
observed and “partial” representation rearticulates the whole notion of identity and alienates it
from the essence”(89). The city of Saint-Pierre, the site par excellence of the “paraître”, where
material wealth, political ambitions and desire are commoditized, privileges the construction of
new identities that invalidate the notion of the homogeneity of the same. The inscription of
partial presence becomes unfixed as the subaltern alterity appropriate the center, establishing
itself as a visible disturbing presence. Bhabha’s concept of mimicry fits into the framework of
colonial dynamics in Saint-Pierre. In essence, mulattoes mimicked Frenchness as a strategy of
survival and as a way of claiming their rights as French citizens.
The claim that the mulattoes were a completely assimilated ethno group thus must be
reexamined on the basis that it was a political strategy as any other to attain social and political
ascendency but especially to be recognition as world citizens. It is important to note that they
appropriated rather than assimilated the French language and culture. The process of
appropriation certainly negates the perception of total absorption into the “dominant” culture.
What transpires in Saint-Pierre is the deliberate and inadvertent interference of cultural elements
that are in constant contact. The process towards Frenchness or by extension Europeanness
cannot be articulated without questioning the influence of creolization. Both the linguistic and
socio-cultural ramifications of creolization must be given due consideration when considering
the so-called assimilation process.
134
The cultural practices on the island are infused with so many conflicting elements, that it
is not enough to attribute the cultural experience of the mulatto bourgeoisie to a French or
Eurocentric model. However perfectly they might have appeared to appropriate the French
language and culture, in essence, the mulatto bourgeoisie cannot escape being creole. The use of
the term appropriation in itself contests the purely unilateral influence of any dominant culture
especially in the town of Saint-Pierre. Appropriation signifies taking something from someone
without his/her permission and making it yours. By appropriating certain elements of the
dominant culture, non-whites including the mulatto elite, transformed it, altered it to suit their
particular tastes.
This process can be interpreted as the double articulation of adaptation. One adapts to his
adopted milieu through a series of implicit and explicit creative actions that I refer to as
strategies in order to affirm or reaffirm one’s visibility and belonging in a particular community.
The once disenfranchised population of non-whites assert themselves as equal citizens in the city
center. The process of adaptation is manifested primarily across the cultural practices on the
island. Carnival constitutes a hybridized festival that conflates all classes, color and race, albeit
in segregated fashion. Carnival was initially reserved for rich colonists with elegant receptions in
costumes and only became democratized and creolized after the abolition of slavery in 1848.
Despite its creolized aspect, the carnival scene was still overshadowed by the discrimination of
the time. In effect, one side of the colony celebrated with masked balls, private banquettes and
luxurious costumes whilst the other side of the island celebrated the vidés nègres68. A four day
68
Street parade of the masses
135
event beginning just before Lent and ending on its first day, with the burning of Vaval 69 Carnival
is the quintessential parody of life in Saint-Pierre.
Virgile, otherwise known as Salavina in his historical documentary, Saint-Pierre: La
Venise tropicale 1870-1902, gives a vivid account of his firsthand experience of Saint-Pierre’s
carnival before the 1902 eruption of Mount Pelée. Born in Saint-Pierre in 1866 of a mulatto
father and a creole mother (white), Salavina represents the ambiguous hybrid positioning as his
native Martinique. As a young boy growing up in his beloved Saint-Pierre, Salavina like most
young people and in particular young men of his class developed the love for the arts. SaintPierre indeed was the center of the arts. In Saint-Pierre one was born an artist, “à Saint-Pierre, on
naissait artiste”70(In Saint-Pierre everyone is born an artist) and it was no surprise that musicians,
writers, poets and artists of all kind saturated the center. Carnival season plays an essential role
in displaying the multiple artistic talents of Saint-Pierre highlighting in particular musicians and
costume and masks designers.
In addition to its function as the locus of creative cultural hybridity, the specificity of
Carnival lies in its subversive nature. Carnival from its origin has often been represented by
masked balls or masquerade in which royal subjects disguised themselves under a shroud of
mystery. In eighteenth century Europe, these masquerades evolved from glamourous balls to
sinister events, where noblemen used the masks to fatally attack their opponents. The
transplantation of the festival to Saint-Pierre maintained much of its Parisian traditions since it
was heavily controlled by the colonial aristocracy. However, the carnival celebration described
69
A satirical mannequin symbolizing a politician, public figure or an institution
70
Salavina. Trente Ans de Saint-Pierre (Martinique). Souvenirs. Edition Deslandes, 1910
136
by Salavina manifests of the shift from Eurocentric traditions to creolized bacchanal. The
continuity of the masks is an essential component of carnival festivities in Saint-Pierre. Its
inflated representations oversteps the boundary of decency and in so doing elevates mockery to a
higher plain.
The mask can also be interpreted as a parody of life in the colonies and notably the city
center. The mask symbolizes the society of the “paraître” and the city embodies to perfection
that notion of the “paraître”, where everyone acts at being someone he is not and where the
social habitus—class, gender, race is rearticulated into complex social structures that despite its
intent to essentialism reemerges as multiform constructs that shed the originary form. Skin color,
social ascendency and material wealth are examples of social habitus which I interpret as the
various masks worn by the elite of Saint-Pierre. Saint-Pierre itself is inscribed within the
parameters of the paraître in as much as its appellations “Paris of the Antilles’, or “the Tropical
Venice” evoke the European cities that it was meant to represent. By inscribing the European
capitals on the landscape of the colonial town, the cruel and inhumane reality of the colonial
system is effectively masked through a systematic imposition of codified behavior patterns and
cultural traditions.
This mask of spatial mimicry is the overarching impetus that triggers a domino effect on
the population. White creoles reproduce the lifestyle of the French aristocracy in the creole town
which is in turn mimicked by the aspiring mulatto bourgeois class who successively is imitated
by the working class. An allegorical comparison can indeed be drawn between the notion of the
mask and the ambivalence of the creole space and its creative products.
As I have mentioned before, Carnival in Saint-Pierre is above all a travesty of colonial
order and formality. It stands for chaos, bacchanal, deception…a true representation of
137
masquerading. It depicts devils and gods, priests and the profane, royalty and servants. Normal
life is grotesquely transformed with little regard for serious repercussions. For four days, the
inhabitants of Saint-Pierre seem to surrender their very soul to the infernal cacophony of the
street festival. The crowd following the music turn into a monstrous, unspeakable beast thrashing
about crazily to the beats and rhythm of the creole music described as “vive, pétulante, ironique,
spirituelle, ailée” (lively, exuberant, spiritual, winged) Venise Tropicale, (230). Carnival is also
the incarnation of devilry not only because of the representation of costumed horned devils but
more so because of the excessive indulgences that are permitted which under normal
circumstances would be severely forbidden. Another layer of irony is the positioning of the last
day of carnival on the first day of the Lenten Season and approximately six weeks before Easter
season. Lent is the period of fasting and abstinence and coincides with the dry season on
Martinique. Tradition requires that one does not dance, listen to music until after Lent. Lent thus
serves as a cleansing period after the four days of absolute gluttony and debauchery which leads
me to conclude that carnival is in effect counter Christianity. Interestingly, it was first introduced
in the colony by French Catholics.
Carnival celebrations in Saint-Pierre usually coincides with masked performances at the
theatre and for good reason. Theatre, like carnival, engages exaggerated performances. The
staging and productions of plays are allegorical interpretations of real-life or imagined situations
that are meant to please, entertain and inform. It is also inscribed within the society of the
paraître. Social status in the new society was the ambition of everyone in the colony and was
reflected by the constant rivalries between white creoles and non-whites especially the mulatto
bourgeois class. To assert superiority of their culture, the white aristocracy imported actors,
actresses and other artists from France. The theatre then became a repository of French high
138
culture where performers perfected their acts to win the approval and appreciation from an
equally egocentric and narcissistic public whose presence at the theatre is an outward show of
social respectability, refined tastes and of course opulence. Attendance and participation in these
French events played an important social role in that it marked certain levels of social distinction
and prestige.
Before the abolition of slavery non-whites were forced to attend these activities but were
allocated seats according to the color of their skin. The upper loges were reserved for the white
aristocracy, the second tier for the mulattoes while the parterre was reserved for the standing
spectators, the majority of whom were the dark-skinned slaves. In Deslaurier’s film Biguine, the
two main protagonists, Tiquitaque and Hermansia, former slaves who recently left the plantation
to relocate to Saint-Pierre, discover to their disappointment that the city is not an inclusive space
as they had imagined. The theatre opens its doors to all classes, but Tiquitaque and Hermansia
are shocked to find themselves not sitting in the audience like the rest of the freed population, but
in the throng of standing black spectators crushing each other in an attempt to participate in this
display of high culture. Sadly, they realize that emancipation and the shift to the city have in no
way altered the classification system.
Such arrangements helped maintain respect for the social hierarchy and illustrated the
French view of the performing arts as a positive motivating influence on the individual. Clearly
the Old Regime’s perception of the theater as a medium to please and educate (plaire et
instruire) has been retained and implemented in the colony as indicated by an official document
which addressed the need for a theater in Saint-Pierre in which the directors stated that because
of the constant exposure to French theater free men of color had lost much of the “barbarity of
139
their origin and, thus, had become civilized in their manners and customs”.71The elements of art
and stagecraft employed in these performances were of the most sophisticated kind to better
emphasize the high esteem in which the French regarded the theater and the need to extol its
superiority. Immortalized during the reign of the Sun King, French classical tragedies were the
pleasure of the French aristocracy of the Old Regime. Not surprisingly, the performing arts in all
its forms: operas, concerts and the spoken theater were among the primary cultural elements
transplanted to Saint-Pierre.
Saint-Pierre’s theatre
To fully respect and recreate these French cultural art forms, a theatre worthy of those of
upper class Parisian circles had to be constructed. Exemplified as a work of art in itself, SaintPierre’s theatre like all other imported French institutions is inscribed within the framework of
spatial mimicry. Saint-Pierre boasts of one of the most elaborate theaters in the American
colonies. Built in 1786 in Saint-Pierre, it has a seating capacity for 800 spectators. According to
a Danish official attending an opera performance there in 1787, this theater was very elegant:
[It] surpasses in grandeur and taste the most renowned structures of this kind in Europe. It
has a vast courtyard and in front of the main door a portal where litter bearers ascend to
the upper level when they arrive and take the lower level when they return. It has four
tiers of boxes, the first of which has an outside gallery all around where one can amuse
oneself until the spectacle begins. People go out there also between acts for a little fresh
air without losing their place in the box. There is no separation in the tiers or boxes, and
each person can take the place that suits them best. (Isert 1793, 339-341)
The place of the theatre has always been in the city. Therefore participation and
attendance (as a participant or audience member) was an important part of citizenship (Pelling,
2005, 83). Evidently this theory does not apply to enslaved non-whites who although forced to
71
Mémoire concernant l’établissement d’un spectacle à Saint-Pierre de la Martinique. 1780.
140
perform in ballets, operas and the theater could not claim French citizenship. Slaves who could
dance, sing, or perform well on the violin or other European instruments enhanced the prestige of
the master’s house (Powers, 1998, 237) and in so doing responded to the dictates of the civilizing
mission. The ambiguity of the colonial discourse is certainly clear here since the slave like the
colony is the material medium by which white superiority is elevated and asserted while African
cultural heritage is denied and denigrated.
Citizenship was never meant to be accessible to non-whites, but the 1789 French
revolution made reservations for freed people of color or mulattoes who struggled constantly for
equal rights. The abolition laws dismantled the institution of slavery and inadvertently opened
access to the city. Despite the principles of republicanism, the social hierarchical structure was
maintained in Saint-Pierre and the separation between whites and non-whites is still clearly
evident. The endogamous practices of the white creoles closely emulated by the mulatto
bourgeoisie constituted a caste-like system in Martinique and in particular in Saint-Pierre.
Evidently, this segregation is reflected in all aspects of society. The theater was no exception.
Ironically, segregation proves to be a permeable barrier in Saint-Pierre, and is unable to
filter cross-cultural contamination. Cultural activities are thus colorful and creolized rather than
purely European. Slaves’ participation in these performances has certainly had a significant
impact on the interpretation of French theatrical productions. It would be negligent to think that
the slaves did not incorporate aspects of their own African cultural heritage into the European
pieces. It is in fact memories of these very performances that the now freed men and women
living in the city reenacted in severely altered and misappropriated ways to suit their own tastes.
Not even the white creoles can deny the infiltration of creolization in their productions.
141
In fact, the illustrious Moreau de Saint-Méry during his stay in the colonies commented
on the grotesquerie of the tragedies that the public enjoyed which indicates that in the colonies,
there was a shift from the rules or codes that governed theatrical performances of the classical
period. This shift could be attributed to the considerable sums invested on the shows. Indeed the
theatre became a money-making enterprise when colonists and wealthy planters began
speculating on the various shows performed at the theatre. Each performance represented shares
worth three thousand pounds each (Butel, 200). As a space of material and capitalist greed it is
not surprising that pleasure was intimately linked to profit-making. Because money was so
heavily invested in the performing arts, performances had to adapt to the esthetics of the creole
population who were far removed in time and space from Corneille and Racine.
The location of the theatre in the city is certainly not coincidental but an intentional act
towards establishing French supremacy. These business transactions were controlled by top
colonial officials like the governor general and the quartermaster who were treated with great
respect since they were the ones responsible for animating the cultural scene in the town.
Without their authorization, public performances could not take place in the city.
The performing arts were such a delight for both whites and non-whites that they
attracted people from all parts of Martinique to the colonial center. The performers came from all
classes and not solely imported from France. Non-whites displayed spectacular talents as
evidenced by the brilliant music career of the mulatto Joseph Bologne de Saint-George or
Chevalier de Saint-George of Guadeloupe. In fact Salavina observed that the directors of the
theatre recruited members of the choir or back-up vocalists from among the working class. As a
musician, Salavina admitted that he and his friends, also artists, sometimes replaced musicians in
the orchestra when the latter were too sick to perform (La Venise Tropicale, 169-178).
142
Saint-Pierre’s theatre thus functioned as a multi-purpose space, a microcosm of social life
in the city where composite groups converge either for the purpose of pleasure or business or for
both. Indeed men met there to discuss business and women aspired to get a rich husband or vice
versa. The theatre was a prelude to romantic liaisons between women and men. Women flaunted
their sexuality in revealing outfits, hoping to catch the eye of a young creole or administration
worker capable of giving them a better life. These young men, some of whom were unmarried
sought the pleasure and companionship of the young mulatto girls and women mythicized in
numerous narratives as creatures of unearthly beauty and lasciviousness.
The mulâtresse
A veritable cult of the mulatto female figure developed during the seventeenth and
eighteenth century among slave owners, colonists and abolitionists alike. She embodies
perfection in beauty, grace and elegance but on the other hand she incarnates vice and lust
(Cohen 1999: 138). The ambiguous positioning of the mulatto woman is both her ruin and her
salvation. Conscious of her sexual desirability to the collective male gaze, the metis woman uses
her femininity and sexuality to gain economic and social stature. Public events such as the
theatre available in the city, created avenues in which these women acquired visibility. Women
had a great deal of mobility and freedom in the city and used these to their advantage. The rapid
increase of the mulatto class is largely attributed to the intelligence and power wielded by the
woman of color. Determined to upgrade her social status and that of her children, she makes
conscientious decisions in her choice of men. She embodies an independent sexual agent and
thus counters the image of the victimized tragic woman at the mercy of colonial lust. Her sexual
independence however is quite damning to her as she is credited for her callous treatment of
white males, whom she uses and disposes of at will.
143
Her innate sexuality is necessarily linked to her strong inclination to luxury consumerism.
Not only is she guilty of seducing and reducing her white lovers to whimpering play things, the
mulatto woman is often accused for her materialism. Colonial writers at the time including
Moreau de Saint-Méry, Wimpffen to name a few noted the women of color penchant for
expensive silk head wraps and gold jewelry. Their extravagance and high tastes caused quite a
stir in the colonies and prompted white women, their jealous rivals to copy their fashions
(Wimpffen). His descriptions are of the mulatto women of Saint-Domingue but a parallel can
certainly be made between women in the colonies. Mulatto women in the French colonies of the
Caribbean and Sub-Saharan Africa (Senegal) were in any case reduced to a single type in
colonial narratives and discourses. Therefore Moreau’s description could certainly be applicable
to the women of Saint-Pierre.
The cult of the mulâtresse of Saint-Pierre is evoked in many colonial narratives, but
Lafcadio Hearn who spent two years in Martinique and fell under the charm of the tropics goes
to a new level in the description of the woman of color, la fille de couleur. Hearn is an
international travel writer born in Lefkas, Greece. He is a son of an army doctor Charles Hearn
from Ireland and a Greek woman Rosa Cassimati. After making remarkable works in America as
a journalist, he went to Japan in 1890 as a journey report writer of a magazine. He is well-known
for his works on Japan. Sent to the West Indies as a correspondent for Harper’s Weekly (an
American political magazine based in New York) in 1887, he spent two years in Martinique. His
book, Two Years in the French West Indies, published in 1880, presents evocative sketches of
Martinique seen and experienced by the author during his two years there.
His keen observation of the culture and people of Martinique and in particular SaintPierre where he spent two years seems genuine at best and somewhat digresses from the norm of
144
colonial writers whose portrayal of life in the colonies is often distorted. Hearn paints a realistic
picture of what he observes and manifests a genuine interest of the Martinican culture by
adopting it and adapting his lifestyle to its distinctive creole characteristic. His immersion in the
colony is experienced in rather interesting ways. Akin to an ethnographer, he uses close
observation methods and interviews, to really understand and appreciate the way of life of the
local people. His keen interest in the Martinican people is reflected in an entire chapter, entitled
Ma Bonne that he dedicates to his maid, Cyrillia.
This chapter is clearly a demonstration of the successful articulation of transculturation.
Although Hearn teaches Cyrillia the “Westernized” way of doing things—for example he tries to
teach her the time by using the clock…a task which proves futile since Cyrillia’s clock is the
cabritt-bois, the sounds of the cricket (359) — he does not impose his culture on her. Rather, he
engages in objective intellectual enquiries to understand her way of doing things by observing
her and questioning her. (Aimé Césaire refers to him as “le questionneur étrange”). Hearn learns
from her, especially about creole cooking, mangé-créole and its peculiarities, and of course the
people. Cyrillia72 proves to be a good interpreter and translator of the nuances and ambiguities
that characterize the creole existence. Hearn’s linguistic adaptation of the creole language is
indicative of his willingness to understand the local populace and communicate with them on
their level. Unlike the majority of colonial narratives, in which the creole language is perceived
as barbaric and therefore not worthy of mention, Hearn’s work is infused with creole
terminologies and expressions that are clearly manifestations of the high esteem he attaches to
72
Césaire, Ina. 2009. Moi, Cyrillia, gouvernante de Lafcadio Hearn. Bordeaux: Elytis.
145
the language. It is certainly not by chance that he leaves the reader with a small repertoire of
creole melodies in the appendix of his chronicles.
Clearly, Hearn shares some of his contemporaries’ exoticized perceptions of the
mulâtresse but his descriptions do not reduce the woman of color uniquely to her sexual body. In
fact Hearn’s perception of the mulatto creole woman is more spiritual than physical. He deifies
her, transcending her to an ethereal sphere. In his description of a young nurse or da his words
tell as much:
I saw one young da73, thus garbed, scarcely seemed of the earth and earthly;-- there was
an Oriental something in her appearance difficult to describe,-- something that made you
think of the Queen of Sheba going to visit Solomon. (314)
His biblical reference here is interesting as it is ambiguous. From a Christian point of
view, the story of King Solomon is a testament of God’s power and generosity to those who
serve Him. The Queen of Sheba, wanting to witness for herself the King’s great wisdom and
grandeur came to visit with camels bearing countless gifts of spices, gold and precious stone,
gifts similar to what the Magi much later on brought for the baby Jesus. (1 Kings 10:2). The
Queen of Sheba who is assumed to be the queen of both Ethiopia and Egypt was reportedly a
black woman and very beautiful: “I am black but comely…” (Song of Solomon 1: 5). Biblical
scholars have not been unanimous as to the object of Solomon’s love in the chapter of the Song
of Solomon. Some claim that it could have been the queen of Sheba, others thought that she
might have been one of pharaoh’s daughters.
Whatever the case may have been, one can deduce from these assumptions that the
relationship between the Queen and Solomon might have been more than just strictly business.
73
A wet-nurse who breastfed children of the Béké ethnoclass.
146
Another layer of ambiguity needs to be addressed here since no one is sure of the authorship of
Song of Solomon and therefore the male lover referenced in the book may or may not have been
Solomon. Moreover, the real signification of the book of songs is not clear as it has been
subjected to several interpretations. It was designated as the only book of the Bible that overtly
celebrates sexual love74. However, later Jewish traditions interpreted it as an allegory of the
relationship between God and Israel.75
Hearn’s comparison of the young wet- nurse to the queen of Sheba certainly gives her an
air of otherworldliness but it also engages a discourse on exoticism and orientalism. “The East”
has often been grossly romanticized in Western discourses and these images have served as
implicit justifications for colonial and imperial ambitions of the West. The imagery of the Queen
of Sheba and the type of gifts that she brings to the King, certainly conjures up the notion of
political power, imperialism and servility. Edward Saïd76 in his discussion on orientalism
observes that:
To speak of Orientalism is to speak mainly, although not exclusively, of British and
French cultural enterprise, a project whose dimensions take in such disparate realms as
the imagination itself, the whole of India and the Levant, the Biblical texts and the
Biblical lands, the spice trade, colonial armies and a long tradition of colonial
administrators, a formidable scholarly corpus, innumerable Oriental “experts” and
“hands,” an Oriental professorate, a complex array of Oriental ideas (Oriental despotism,
Oriental splendor, cruelty, sensuality)… (4).
That the black woman is inscribed within the dynamics of this landscape is no
coincidence since the woman and the land have always been the hidden agenda behind the
74
Garrett, Duane. Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Song of Songs. B&H Publishing Group, 1993.
75
Sweeney, Marvin A. Tanak: A Theological and Critical Introduction to the Jewish Bible. Minneapolis: Fortress
Press, 2011
76
Said, Edward. 2003. Orientalism. New York: Vintage Books.
147
civilizing mission. Evidently Hearn is influenced by his travels and by the perceptions of his
contemporaries. Male paternalism often obliterates well-intentioned project and Hearn subjects
the woman of color to similar narratives as his peers. Earlier on, in describing the costume that
the worn by the young das, he commented that:
If tall, young, graceful, with a rich gold tone of skin, the effect of the costume is dazzling
as that of a Byzantine Virgin (314)
The convenient post-positioning of Byzantine and Virgin alludes to European imperialism
and the conquest of the land/woman. By casting the young wet-nurse as an iconographic figure
of the byzantine era, Hearn attempts to distance himself from colonial writers’ eroticized
imagery of the mulâtresses. Yet his perceptions are not very different from those of his
contemporaries since in both narratives, the women are framed within an imagined discourse of
otherness. Moreover, by subsuming the image of the byzantine Madonna into the body of the
Martinican mulâtresse, Hearn is doubly implicated as an agent of Caribbean exoticism and
orientalism. Through the imaginary positioning of the woman of color, he bridges the distance
between two geographical zones that incidentally are the object of vigorous Western designs.
The author is evidently a product of his era, class and sex. In the chapter captioned La
fille de Couleur, Hearn describes quite exhaustively the costumes worn by these women. He
captures details of the women that very few other writers have; from the intricate designs of the
head dress and the entire ensemble of creole wear, to the type of fabric used, to the significance
of each piece, to the creole names given to each piece of garment and accessory. Hearn
showcases a creole wardrobe that is quickly disappearing and being replaced by European
models. He comments that: “more and more young colored girls are being élevées en chapeau
(“brought up in a hat”) –-i.e., dressed and educated like the daughters of the whites.” (315).
Hearn’s thorough depiction of a dying creole cultural element, shows the methodical research he
148
effected to recreate that cultural aspect but in so doing he romanticizes and exoticizes the creole
women who wear these costumes. In male European’s imaginary, mulatto women are often
reduced to their sex appeal and beauty, typifications that frequently result in jealous rivalries
between white women (Creole or French) and women of color. Hearn unfortunately engages that
trend of thinking when he intentionally [?] through the means of dress and fashion compares the
women:
These [mulatto women] it must be confessed, look far less attractive in the latest Paris
fashion, unless white as the whites themselves: on the other hand, few white girls could
look well in douillette and mouchoir, --not merely because of color contrast, but because
they have not that amplitude of limb and particular cambering of the torso peculiar to the
half-breed race, with its large bulk and stature. Attractive as coolie women are, I
observed that all who have adopted the Martinican costume look badly in it: they are too
slender of body to wear it to advantage (315)
This quote is particularly troubling not only because it evokes Westernized cult of the
metis woman, but it also maintains the social and racial hierarchy of the era. Despite his attempt
at valorizing the “half-breed” woman through her dress and body, it is interesting to note the
social and racial positioning of the three women in the quote. Whiteness occupies the top of the
hierarchy, while the coolie, the Indian woman whose displacement to the French Caribbean
colonies as a result of the indentured contract system, occupies the bottom stratum. The mulatto
woman is curiously the intermediary figure, a position that has been imposed on her because of
her ambiguous identity. Moreover, the use of the terms white (repeated 3 times), half-breed and
coolie does convey racial undertones which may in fact not have been the author’s intentions.
Whether or not Hearn has prejudiced views is not particularly the question, what interests
me are his perceptions regarding the fille de couleur or mulatto girl/woman. Hearn does
acknowledge the racial and social prejudices existing in the colony and as a result, shows
sympathy for the fille de couleur and does not chastise her for wanting to improve her condition.
149
He recognizes the debauchery on the colony and the ambiguous relationships between rich white
creole males and local women. He observes that: “outward decorum might be to some degree
maintained; but there was no great restraint of any sort upon private lives: it was not uncommon
for a rich man to have many “natural” families; and almost every individual had children of
color.” (326)
Indeed, desire in the colony knows no boundaries and is not limited to the plantations.
Even after the abolition of slavery, white creoles and women of color continue to engage in
sexual relations. The power dynamics between master-slave shifts in the public space of the city
even though social connections between the two continued to be ambivalent. The black woman
or mulâtresse still clings to the white man, because through him she hopes to improve her
situation, provide higher education for her children, whom she hopes to free from the curse of
prejudice. The more predominant the white element in the child, the more likely that child could
“pass” for white and therefore be spared the humiliation of discrimination and prejudice. Hearn
notes that for the mulâtresses whose color gradation favors white, she is always the local
preference. He observes that:
A white creole, as a general rule, deigns only thus to distinguish those who are nearly
white,--more usually he refers to the whole class as mulâtresses. Those women whom
wealth and education have placed in a social position parallel with that of the daughters
of creole whites are in some cases allowed to pass for white,--or at the very worst, are
only referred to in a whisper as being de couleur. (327-328)
The prejudice of color is clearly still present in post-emancipation SaintPierre/Martinique. Identifying the whole class as mulâtresse is ambivalent in itself since
according to the socially constructed color taxonomy, not all mulâtresses can “pass”
imperceptibly for white since there is a vast range of hues from the very dark to the very light
that disavows the overgeneralization of this class of women. Undoubtedly, color classification is
150
an arbitrary social construct that writers such as Moreau de Saint-Méry institutionalizes in their
works.
It is interesting to note that the color designation favors mulatto women over men since
hardly any colonial writings describe mulatto men as passing for white. Indeed in the colony,
mulatto women also formed unions with mulatto men, especially in the city where more and
more mulatto males had acquired significant social and political status. However there is little
mention of sexual unions between mulatto men and white creole women and even far less
mention of marriages. Notwithstanding, the lack of evidence to show the contrary does not
eliminate the presence of such occurrences on the island.
The unrestrained violence by the slave master on the Negress initially engendered the
mulatto race. Mulatto women unlike their male counterparts quickly learned of their power to
please the male gaze. Their perceived physical beauty made them the absolute object of masters’
crazed lust. General Romanet77 who visited Martinique at the end of the nineteenth century made
some interesting remarks regarding the gendered idolization of the mulatto woman. He reflected
that manumission taxes for mulatto women should be higher than that of the males. According to
him mulatto men “have no greater advantage than being useful; whereas the women know how
to please.” He adds further that:
They have those rights and privileges which the whole world allows to their sex; they
know how to make even the fetters of slavery serve them for adornments. They may be
seen placing upon their proud tyrants the same chains worn by themselves, and making
them kiss the marks left thereby; the master becomes the slave, and purchases another’s
liberty only to lose his own. (106)
77
J.R., Général de Brigade. « Voyage à la Martinique. » Paris : An. XII., 1804
151
Clearly as a colonist, the governor engages the propaganda of his race and caste. Not only
does he claim that mulatto women had rights and privileges during the context of slavery but he
dares romanticize the subjective and dehumanizing situation of slave women whose bodies were
subjected doubly enslaved as tools of production and reproduction. It is interesting that he shifts
the fetters of slavery unto the slave masters themselves and inadvertently frames the women of
color as the “tyrant”. What should be understood as acts of female agency, as strategies of
survival is perceived as vice which the mulatto woman embodies in her nature.
The mulatto woman like the mulatto man still works at seeking approbation from whites.
His political ambitions gain him some leverage over his white rival but he is never allowed into
that aristocratic class. The woman of color on the hand, will enjoy some privileges as the
concubine of her white lover but she will never become his wife.78 Despite abolition laws, the
Code Noir influences the imaginary and behavior of white creole. The mulatto body despite its
high percentage of whiteness is still the object of contempt and the image of European/French
shame. In cases where genuine love prevails over social obligations, marriage may occur but as
Lafcadio remarks they were very rare. He notes the incongruence between the number of
legitimate children and illegitimate ones. He observed that sixty-percent of illegitimate births had
been officially reported, but that the actual figure was nearer seventy-five and eighty percent. He
stated that “it was very common to see in the local papers such announcements as: Enfants
légitimes: 1 (one birth announced); enfants naturels. 25. (327). These figures are clear
indications that the mulatto woman is only as useful as her body and face allows.
78
The film Rue Cases-Nègre by Euzhan Palcy, illustrates quite clearly the ambivalence of colonial desire. Léopold,
the rich friend of the main character Jose, is the son of a Câpresse and a white creole planter. Though the mother
enjoys a privileged bourgeois lifestyle, as a Câpresse, she is refused marriage to her white lover.
152
The trope of the body as a sexual and reproductive vessel changes very little in the city.
In fact the city enables the visibility of the mulatto woman who is able to flaunt her looks at
public events adorned in the latest fashions. As a free sexual agent, she is in charge of her body
and actively seeks her suitors amongst white creole or visiting Europeans who are able to
ameliorate her condition and “improve” her race. To some measure she exerts control over the
male body given the number of European/creole males allegedly consumed with desire for her.
Desire however does not translate into marriage. Marriage and desire symbolize two
distinct things for white creoles. One marries within the race, a situation that has not changed
within the Béké ethnoclass. The institution of marriage legitimizes filial origins which cannot be
reproduced through miscegenation. The white family stock has to be preserved and can only be
regenerated through the white woman. Concubinage on the other hand was widely accepted and
the birth of children did not change the white creole’s mindset. Social conventions informed
caste-like constructions in Saint-Pierre enforcing ideologies of endogamy amongst the class of
Békés.
René Bonneville in his novella, La Triompe d’Eglantine, examines precisely this
problematic through his characters Raoul and Eglantine. A detailed analysis of this thematic will
be given subsequently. Endogamy was not practiced only by the békés, the mulatto bourgeoisie
interiorized these behaviors and attempted to reproduce them within their own class. Such
patterns of particularism were however not strictly respected within the mulatto class as
relationships sometimes extended across different ethnicities as manifested by the familial drama
Les Saint-Aubert written by Raphaël Confiant.
Hearn gives a thorough description of the perceptions that his contemporaries had
regarding race and color politics in Martinique and it seems that he distanced himself from their
153
views presenting his observations as an objective writer. As I have already mentioned his
sketches are that of an artist who paints what he sees. However, it is sometimes difficult to
disassociate Hearn’s own narratives from those of the writers he quotes. There seems to be some
overlap between his point of view and theirs. The reader is often left to wonder whether he is
objectively reporting comments expressed by prejudiced writers or whether he engages likeminded opinions. When commenting on the fille de couleur, it becomes evident that Hearn is
also culpable of idolizing and romanticizing the mulatto woman. The following quote for
example is one of many where the author’s discourse is absorbed into the narratives of colonial
writers:
Physically, the typical fille de couleur may certainly be classed, as white writers have not
hesitated to class her, with the “most beautiful women of the human race”. She has
inherited not only the finer bodily characteristics of either parent race, but something else
belonging originally to neither, and created by special climatic and physical conditions, -a grace, a suppleness of form, a delicacy of extremities (so that all the lines described by
the bending of limbs or fingers are parts of clean curves), a satiny smoothness and fruit
tint of skin, -- solely West Indian… (328-329)
In the first sentence of the quote, the author distances himself from other white writers by
inserting their comments in quotes. In addition to the quotation marks, he makes use of the
auxiliary may which detracts judgement away from him. However, the insertion of the adverb
certainly reduces any doubts as to Hearn’s point of the view; he is also of the opinion that
women of color are the most beautiful women of the human race. The rest of the quote is without
a doubt Hearn’s own interpretation of color dynamics in the tropics. He apparently seems to
share the theory of environmental and climatic determinism espoused by natural scientists and
historians as well as their proponents from the Enlightenment as defining factors of the evolution
of the race. He reasons that only the West Indian has the smooth satiny and fruit tint skin, a
statement that subtly casts the West Indian as a civilized human being, proof that the civilizing
154
mission was indeed necessary for the transformation of barbaric Africans to refined humans. The
displacement of Africans to the colonies is then justified as the end products is the source of
colonial pride and lust.
There is no indication that Hearn had a mulatto concubine or wife during the two years
spent in Martinique. He integrated well into the Martinican culture and society so it is very
possible that he may have had a concubine. One does get the impression that Hearn deifies the
woman of color to such an extent that she is rendered as inaccessible to him as a sexual being. In
some cases, she is presented with child-like qualities that makes her all the more forbidden:
Even when totally uneducated, she had a peculiar charm, --that charm of childishness
which has power to win sympathy from the rudest natures. One could not but feel
attracted towards this naïf being, docile as an infant, and as easily pleased or as easily
pained, --artless in her goodnesses as in her faults, to all outward appearance; willing to
give her youth, her beauty, her caresses to someone in exchange for the promise to love
her, --perhaps also to care for a mother, or younger brother. (329)
Hearn poses as the father figure to the fille de couleur.79 Moreover, the use of the term
fille as opposed to femme underscores this father-daughter relationship not dissimilar to the
father/mother-daughter relationship that France engages with Martinique. By portraying the fille
de couleur as docile, naïve and easy to please, the author asserts himself as her father figure,
nurturer and protector, characteristics that defined the hierarchical-parental relationship of
colonial and later Republican France with Martinique. The desire to be loved and caressed
further highlights the fille de couleur’s need to be accepted and identified with the parental
79
Lafcadio not only poses as a father figure to the fille de couleur but he is also cited as a literary reference. As I
explained in chapter one, James Arnold, in his article “Frantz Fanon, Lafcadio Hearn et la superchérie de Mayotte
Capécia “, posits that Lafcadio’s Two Years in the French West Indies was plagiarized in the novel Je suis
Martiniquaise attributed to Mayotte Capécia, the narrator and main character. The authorship has since been debated
since it was unlikely that the narrator and the author were the same person.
155
figure. In his essay,80 Burton presents a rather candid assessment of the relationship dynamics
between France and her children:
[…] the desire of black and colored French West Indians…for complete union with la
mère-patrie took on an almost pathological dimension, with the colonies cast now in the
role of children clamoring for their mother’s breast (which is constantly offered them and
just as constantly refused), now that of a woman longing for her man to take her, which,
needless to say, he willingly does but forever refuses to make her his bride.
Indeed republican France temptingly opened its maternal arms to its colonial daughters
and the latter clamored for those arms by way of assimilation but has always been refused
complete acceptance into the family. The parallel between Martinique and the fille de couleur is
all the more revealing even as it evokes images of the quintessential doudou Kréyol mythicized
in colonial narratives. The doudou was a frequent character in the repertoire of French imperial
mythology. Burton describes the figure of the doudou81 as “the smiling, sexually available black
or colored woman (usually the latter) who gives herself heart, mind, and body to a visiting
Frenchman (usually a soldier or colonial official) and is left to desolate when her lover abandons
her to return to France, having, of course, refused to marry her though often leaving her with a
child who will at least “lighten the race”. The stereotype of the doudou goes back to the
eighteenth century and received its classic formulation in what is without a doubt the best-known
song in the French West Indies, “Adieu foulards, adieu madras,” believed to be have been
written by the governor of Guadeloupe, de Boullée in 1769. (81).
80
Richard D. E. Burton. “Maman-France”: Images in French West Indian Colonial Discourse. Diacritics, Vol. 23,
No. 3, Histoires Coloniales (Autumn, 1993), p. 79
81
Lafcadio Hearn in the Chapter captioned « Ma Bonne » (my Maid), offers a different interpretation of the term
doudou. Spelt with an x at the end, the word (doudoux) derived from the adjective doux (French for sweet) has two
meanings, the corossole fruit (creole for the soursop fruit) and sweetheart. (349)
156
Hearn is not a French colonist. He is a highly-esteemed journalist and writer whose
works are worthy of acclaim. However, as a European male writing in the nineteenth century, his
work does reflect aspects of colonial perceptions especially in regards to the métisse Créole
woman. It may be that in his sketches, he attempts to contest this imagery in light of his efforts to
capture the complexities of the Martinican woman by representing her in several different
frames: the porters (les porteuses), the washerwomen (les blanchisseuses), his maid (ma bonne)
and of course la fille de couleur. Despite his noble intentions, Hearn’s work reinstates the
mulatto woman within the trope the doudou Kréyol.
Eglantine-the doudou Kréyol
The trope of the doudou Kréyol is a recurring theme in writings of the eighteenth and
nineteenth century and René Bonneville’s Le Triomphe d’Eglantine 82is no exception.
Bonneville, a white creole of Saint-Pierre relates a romanticized but realistic picture of creole
mores and way of life in Saint-Pierre. He captures the social, political and economic
complexities that inform and influence the multi-dimensional landscape of the city. Bonneville’s
novel invokes in particular a society eroded by race and color politics where the mulâtresse is the
object of white creole’s lust but is forever refused as his bride. Bonneville’s protagonist Raoul
Cauvert is a young white creole who in the beginning defies the wrath of his caste and milieu by
publicly cohabiting with a young creole metisse woman with whom he would eventually have
two children.
82
I must mention here that Le Triomphe d’Églantine is a fictionalized autobiographical novel. The main theme
addressed, the love interest between the son of a Béké and a mulâtresse, indeed invokes aspects of the author’s life.
René Bonneville is the son of a white Creole who belonged to the conservative aristocratic class of Saint-Pierre.
René espouses the cause of the Republican class and participated in the political struggle as a partisan of the people
of color. He falls in love with a young mulâtresse and when his family and class rejects his choice, he travels to the
neighboring island of Saint-Lucia and marries her. René later perishes in the 1902 eruption.
157
Concubinage with the mulâtresse poses no problem since it was a very common practice
in the colony. The young man having failed his baccalaureate exams occupied as he was with
thoughts of the young Eglantine, was quickly provided a job by his father at a large trading
enterprise. At age twenty-one, Raoul was earning enough to offer a home to his mistress. Raoul’s
failure at his exams was unsurprisingly blamed on the woman who at first resisted his advances.
Raoul was annoyed, discouraged, even tormented by the desire of the young woman which
burned him to the bones (“ennuyé, découragé…tourmenté du désir de cette jeune femme qui le
brulait jusqu’aux os”). He often returned to that sensuous and unrestrained love that had bitten
him in the heart (“cet amour sensual et effrené qui l’avait mordu au coeur…”) (130).
Raoul first sees Eglantine at the beach with her mother and a few other friends. He is
instantly under her charm by just one glimpse from her: “Cette brunette surtout, dont les grands
yeux noirs l’avaient fixé, une seconde…l’avaient subitement conquis” (122-123). Eglantine,
even from a distance is the embodiment of the beguiling enchantress, a trait commonly inscribed
onto the mulâtresse. Despite her bewitching good looks, Raoul cannot approach her without the
intermediary of her mother. The black or metisse women in colonial societies played a critical
role in the establishment of the bourgeoisie class. In Saint-Pierre like Saint-Louis and Jérémie,
she exercised such power and influence that she succeeded in gaining material wealth and social
standing from her wealthy white or metis lovers. Eglantine’s mother Chotte, aware of Raoul’s
intentions towards her daughter, protected her daughter’s virtue just until Raoul was able to
provide for her (Raoul was a high school student at the time). Eglantine had no control over such
decisions, her life belonged to her mother until a man worthy and wealthy enough makes her his.
It was indeed the duty of black and métisse creole mothers to ensure a good future for their
158
daughters. Chotte is able to manipulate Raoul into respecting her daughter. She employs the
strategy of her daughter’s youth to satisfy her own wishes:
Plus tard, plus tard; lorsqu’il serait en position; quand il pourrait mettre Eglantine dans
ses meubles. On ne prend pas femme, à moins de pouvoir disposer d’un revenu ferme par
mois. Alors il serait temps. Sa fille était encore on ti manmaille !
Later, later; when he has a good position, when he is able to provide a furnished home for
Eglantine. One doesn’t take a mistress until he is able to have a solid monthly revenue.
There would be time. Her daughter was still a child.
Chotte’s strategy might be interpreted not only as a calculating scheme to eventually gain
material support from Raoul but it also seems that she is prostituting her daughter. While there
might be some truth to these interpretations, one must not forget the struggles of the non-white
woman in post-slavery and colonial contexts. Very few of them had access to an education and
many were marginalized, engaging in any activity that would allow them to survive. The transfer
from the plantation to the city did little to change her condition. It was even harder to compete
against the large numbers of disenfranchised that crowded the city all in the pursuit of fortune. In
the city the survival of the fittest prevails, thus women of color aware of their unique advantage
over other women, used it to their advantage. Experience had also taught them that they could
never be the white creole’s wife, therefore they selected men whose financial stability could
afford them a good future even after he abandons them which is so often the case.
Raoul finally saves enough to rent un petit pavillon, comfortably and elegantly furnished
for his mistress, who he managed to seduce despite the best efforts of her mother. The couple is
happy despite the disapproval of Raoul’s milieu. His father, the embodiment of aristocratic
conventions, dares not confront his son on such a delicate subject but his female cousins,
malicieuses comme des créoles, do not hesitate to ridicule him. In a society where concubinage
abounds, Raoul expects that his lifestyle choice would go unnoticed. However, Eglantine soon
159
gets pregnant and upsets the order of things. Raoul’s father decides that he must end the
relationship without no regard that his own grandchild would be without a father. Evidently, the
illegitimate child is a non-issue.
The act of concubinage in itself poses no problem; it is even sought after and is inscribed
within the economy of colonial desire. What really constitutes a problem is the persistent fear of
miscegenation; the fear of compromising French/white paternity. Within the endogamous society
of white creoles in Saint-Pierre, it’s inconceivable that the superior lineage be passed on to
children outside that closed-off circle. The younger generation of white creole men growing up
alongside other ethnic groups in Saint-Pierre may initially disregard some of these sexual taboos,
but members of legitimate family and members of the caste usually intervene and compel the
young man to conform to the conventions and traditions of the class. The status and privilege of
the caste had to be protected but Raoul’s unfortunate union was compromising not only the
family name but also his own chances of marriage: “C’est très gênant pour ta famille, ces choseslà…ta manière de vivre peut porter un tort considerable à ta soeur. Ta mère est désolée. Toimême, quand tu voudras te marrier…” (153)
The aristocratic ideals must not be compromised. They must be preserved at all cost. The
father promises to use any means possible to get his son to submit to his wishes but Raoul is
determined never to abandon Eglantine. Years later Raoul, Eglantine and their son Isidore
continue to live in peaceful tranquility. Raoul quickly climbs the social ladder becoming a
prominent menber of the aristocratic society : « un citoyen considérable et un membre très
important, très influent de la société pierrotine de la Codfish, membre de l’aristocratic Club de
l’Hermine ». (158) His social upgrade marks his transition into the affluent clubs of Saint-Pierre
and evidently places him among the eligible suitors for marriageable young creole women of his
160
rank and caste. However, Raoul is not concerned about marriage and formalizes his union with
Eglantine by buying her the house that they had been renting.
Eglantine’s consequent embourgeoisement is certainly not to be neglected. Thanks to a
weekly income and lavish gifts from her lover, she transitions into a respectable member of the
mulatto bourgeoisie class. Her upgraded status however makes little impression on her lover’s
family and milieu. Raoul’s father persists in his quest to persuade his son but the latter remains
indifferent. The father assumes that with maturity Raoul will eventually recognize the need of
creating a legitimate family:
Après tout, mon Dieu, tout cela n’avait rien de bien extraordinaire, et lorsque Raoul serait
devenu plus âgé, plus posé, lorsqu’il comprendrait la nécessité de se créer une famille
légitime, une place dans la société, il ferait simplement ce que tant d’autres avaient fait
avant lui: une petite pension à la maîtresse abandonnée. (160)
After all, my God, this situation is far from unusual, and as Raoul became older and more
self-assured, when he understood the necessity of creating a legitimate family, of having
a place in society, he would simply do as so many others before him had done: offer a
small pension to the abandoned mistress.
Clearly, the fear of misalliance weighs heavily on the father’s mind especially when
faced with his son’s stubborn resistance but he is confident that Raoul like so many others before
him will ultimately reject his mulâtresse and marry one of his own. However, that firm
confidence gets shaken to the core when Eglantine gets pregnant the second time. A second child
in this union poses a serious problem as the family fears that Raoul would feel obligated to his
mistress and his children. The fear that he might consider legitimizing his mistress by marrying
her was an alarming threat to the social order of the caste and had to stopped. The father employs
all the means necessary to abort that danger immediately. Raoul is pulled into a web of licentious
activities organized by his family and milieu with the firm purpose of putting him in contact with
161
young women of his caste and rank. He gives in the pleasures of this libidinous lifestyle and soon
realizes that he no longer loves Eglantine.
Raoul’s decision to abandon Eglantine after six years of cohabitation is certainly
influenced by the pressure to conform to the tradition of the caste but it is also a clear indication
of the arbitrariness of longstanding conventions that inform and dictate social interactions and
relationships in Saint-Pierre. Raoul could have legitimized his union with Eglantine, but he is the
product of his society and thus gets sucked into the social and racial politics as expected of a
young aristocrat of Saint-Pierre.
Could he have reversed the norm and become the anti-hero of his milieu? The modernday reader could have hoped for a reconciliation of the races through marriage but Raoul’s
abandonment of Eglantine under the pressure of his family reaffirms the social and racial
prejudices of the period and rejects the possibility of assimilation through marriage. Besides,
Raoul’s perception of the mulâtresse at the beginning of the novel changes little as the plot
evolves; she is the objectified Other that has to be possessed. Eglantine is just a child when he
glimpses her for the first time half naked in the water at the beach. He manages to seduce her
despite her mother efforts to protect her daughter. Plying both mother and daughter with alcohol,
Raoul kidnaps Eglantine and the two engages in sexual intercourse. Raoul is pleasantly surprised
that Eglantine was a virgin (surprise charmante pour Raoul, Eglantine était vierge). This trope
often repeated, of the mulatto woman as naturally libidinous is confirmed by Moreau de SaintMéry83 who pretends to be an expert on mulatto lifestyle:
83
Description topographique, physique, civile, politique et historique de la partie française de l’Isle SaintDomingue. Translated, abridged and edited by Ivor. D. Spencer
162
Remember that I cited the mulâtresses as the most precocious of the creole women. This
quality, their natural disposition, the accounts of the seductions of men by their female
acquaintances, and, the effect of a reputation which attaches to the entire class, are causes
enough to make them pledge themselves at an early age to a life of love-making (82).
From the very inception Eglantine embodied sexual pleasure; her body, a site of lust and
seduction, ready for possession.
Les cuisses étaient petites et serrées, bien dodues, et, dans le dos, la colonne vertébrale se
creusait délicatement. Un lourd tignon de cheveux ruisselants, brillants et bouclés,
s’écrasait sur la nuque. Elle était vraiment séduisante... (126)
Her legs were small and pressed together, plump and, in her back, her vertebral column
dipped delicately. A head of heavy dripping, shiny curls fell against her nape. She was
really seductive…
Indeed, Eglantine does possess that child-like body since according to Moreau’s quote,
mulâtresses pledge themselves to love-making at an early age. In other words, Raoul’s actions
are justified since he is incapable of containing his desire even if he tried. Once conquered and
plundered, the body, like the land loses its utility and is rejected and abandoned. The following
passage evokes that very behavior and places Raoul at the heart of colonial ambivalent discourse:
Au fond, il avait cessé d’aimer Eglantine d’amour. Six ans de possession avaient étouffé
toute charnelle passion au fond de son cœur. Il l’affectionnait aujourd’hui en bonne
camarade estimée, et sans ces sacrés gosses qui poussaient sans que personne les eût
demandés ou désirés, sa position eût été sans tracas (161).
Deep down, he had stopped loving Eglantine. Six years of possession had stifled his
sexual passions deep down in his heart. Today, his fondness for her is like that of an
esteemed friend, and without these darned kids who sprouted without anyone asking for
them or desiring them, he would not have had these worries.
Églantine on the other hand is placed in a macabre impasse. Her relationship with an
affluent white Creole affords her a life of respectability and material comfort but unfortunately
bars her from being elevated to the rank of whiteness. Her bi-racial children, her one remaining
bargaining chip are unable to gain her access into the sacred world of white creole aristocracy in
163
Saint-Pierre as even the circumstance of their birth is demonized and nullified by their natural
father.
Stripped of her virginity and possessed repeatedly by Raoul, Églantine loses her appeal in
his eyes and in his heart. His heart now beats for Cecile Cauvert, his white virginal cousin
described not as a lascivious seductress but as a divine virgin, cette vierge divine. Unlike
Églantine, Cecile’s virginity remains intact until the wedding night. The sacredness attached to
Cecile is clearly opposed to Eglantine’s innate libertine qualities. While the ambivalent
positioning of the mulâtresse inscribes her within an eroticized and demonized framework, the
white creole woman is deified in her whiteness. Whereas her virginity is described as divine and
her naked breasts compared to those of a vaporous angel, (la poitrine nue de l’ange vaporeux)
(163), Eglantine’s virginity was discovered as “une surprise charmante” (139).
The reification of Églantine is her apparent downfall. Fixed within this mold by the
desiring colonial gaze, she is unable to break the paralyzing hold of that gaze and consciously
internalizes the tropes of the exotic and erotic woman of color, typifications that deny her
transcendence into the spiritual realm. Her eroticization renders her morally deficient and thus
unacceptable and unsuitable as Raoul’s wife. Raoul must chose a wife that is perceived as
perfect, beyond reproach, spiritual, characteristics that Églantine rejects through her sensuous,
defective body. Raoul’s abandonment of Églantine thus serves as a prerequisite to the
reestablishment of order within his caste. The restoration of order is imposed by institutions of
higher order; institutions upon which the ideals of white aristocracy in Saint-Pierre are
structured. Raoul’s decision to leave Églantine is justified as it is sanctioned by these institutions,
veritable bastions of age-old traditions and conventions. The following passage is particularly
164
symbolic in that, it positions intimately the celestial realm with its earthly representations thereby
creating a complicit front with Raoul at the moment of his stealthy departure:
Et un soir, sous un ciel pur, criblé d’étincelantes étoiles, un lambeau de la voûte blanche
par la longue trainée de poussière blanche de la Voie Lactée—La Société, La Famille, La
Religion, Le Monde le poussant par les épaules—Raoul s’embarqua lâchement, sans dire
adieu à Églantine…(165).
And one evening, beneath a pure sky, filled with bright stars, a strip of vault whitened by
the long trail of white dust from the Milky Way—and The Society, The Family, Religion,
The World, pushing him by his shoulders—Raoul escaped cowardly, without saying
good bye to Eglantine…
The notions of purity and whiteness evoked by the use of a specific lexicon: pure sky,
whitened, white dust, Milky Way are symbolic in that, they reaffirm the ideology of ethnic
superiority and purity maintained and perpetuated by colonial discourses through the institutions
of the legitimate family, the society and the Church. In theory, the fear of miscegenation
strengthens these social and racial myths but the practicality of colonial desire of the racialized
Other ironically nullifies the existence of ethnic purity in Saint-Pierre. Refusal of interracial
marriage remains intact within the white creole caste as evidenced by the patterns of endogamy
practiced within the group.
The fear of miscegenation may freeze white creoles within their cocoon of exclusivity,
however a threat more palpable informs their interactions with other ethnic groups, in particular
the mulattoes. The rapid eminence of the mulatto class is a formidable force that they must
contend with. Driven by economic, sexual, social and political ambitions, ethnic groups in SaintPierre were forced into contact with each other. In many cases contact between interest groups
were also intentional and consensual. Relationships for the most part were superficial and were
entertained for the personal benefit of either party. Relationships founded on mutual trust and
friendship between white creoles and the people of color were rare. White creoles were
165
perceived as the elusive class that refuses non-whites from total assimilation. Alternatively, the
mulattoes were viewed as avaricious social climbers, avidly usurping white supremacy. As for
the black masses, they were the bane and bête noire of both groups. Nonetheless, the unique
creolization of Saint-Pierre would not exist without the cohabitation-- consensual or otherwise,
of these composite groups.
Essentialist ideologies established by the colonial system and maintained throughout the
colony could not deter the manifestation of métissage. Colorist and classist ideals interiorized
and institutionalized by the mulatto bourgeoisie were also imposed as deterrents to boundary
crossing but could not stifle the inevitable creation of a composite society. The transformation of
Saint-Pierre into a multiethnic and multicultural space is as a direct result of the resilience of
processes of transculturation and ethnic blending against the structures of particularism. The
pervasiveness of the phenomenon could only be curtailed by a far superior force of nature.
Indeed, the real threat to the rich cultural, artistic, intellectual and, ethnic mosaic that made the
town of Saint-Pierre a beacon of métissage, was the great eruption of Mount Pelée.
Confiant in his epic saga Les Saint-Aubert84: dramatizes the unfortunate destruction of a
cultural phenomenon at the peak of its glory. Related through the characters of a prominent
mulatto family, Confiant’s saga epitomizes the symbolic triumph and decline of métissage in the
town of Saint-Pierre. Through the portrayal of this first generation family of the mulatto middle
class, Confiant sketches a colorful social and political painting of the Paris of the Antilles on the
heels of its commercial and economic efflorescence.
84
Confiant, Raphael. 2012. Les Saint-Aubert (tome 1), L’en-allée du siècle, 1900-1920. Paris : Écriture
166
Mulatto masculinity and respectability
Ferdinand Saint-Aubert, patriarch of the Saint-Aubert family is a prominent member of
the mulatto elite of Saint-Pierre. His social ascendency is largely attributed to his brilliant career
as a lawyer, an occupation among liberal professions highly coveted by the mulatto bourgeoisie.
The provisions of the French Republic applicable in the colony made access to these professions
easier to non-whites, especially the males. The desire to succeed and surpass their rivals who
held economic hegemony in Saint-Pierre, propelled ambitious non-white males to excel in these
areas. Whereas mulâtresses during the slave era managed to assert their visibility through the
stereotyped imagery of their femininity, mulatto men were constantly barred from real power in
the colonies. Before the 1789 French revolution, mulatto males were banned from the right to
vote, to inherit, from bearing arms and excluded from many occupations and professions. In
essence, they were stripped from the symbols of power that represented masculinity. Under the
yoke of slavery, both male and female were effectively feminized. The end of slavery and the
provisions of republicanism effected a transformation in the social dynamics in the colony.
Enjoying a numerical majority and having successfully risen up the social ladder, mulatto
males rapidly monopolized the liberal fields and the political life of Saint-Pierre becoming a
formidable opponent to white masculinity. Those who aspired to these ranks as well as a few
planters and property owners formed a veritable mulatto aristocracy avidly competing against the
békés in a ferocious battle of color supremacy and economic superiority.
Ferdinand embodies this aura of mulatto masculinity in Saint-Pierre. Ferdinand descends
from an important lineage of lawyers and as such inherits his position among the elite.
Constituted as a veritable dynasty of lawyers, the Saint-Aubert family is equally hated and
envied by békés and mulattoes alike (145). Ferdinand’s initial interest in becoming an
167
archeologist was instantly opposed by his father for whom only legal career can translate into
real power against the dominant planter class. As the only son and heir, his duties are to uphold
the family’s legacy:
Les Saint-Aubert sont des juristes, avait coutume de déclarer Xavier, et ils le resteront car
il s’agit de la plus noble des professions. (180)
Xavier had the habit of declaring that the Saint-Aubert family are lawyers, and will
always be because it is the noblest of all professions.
Doing otherwise would be considered a betrayal of the family traditions. Ferdinand thus
follows in his father’s footsteps and establishes himself as one of the best lawyer in Saint-Pierre.
By becoming a lawyer, Ferdinand not only honors the legacy of his family and ethnoclass but he
gains the reluctant respect of the Békés. Ferdinand’s choice of spouse however, would
undermine the status of respectability and honor that he had erected through his profession and
ultimately question his masculinity since he was often subjected to the jibes and ridicule of both
his class and the white Creoles.
Against the conventions of his class and family, the brilliant future lawyer falls in love
with and marries Marie-Elodie a beautiful Negress from the countryside. The laws of his class
dictate that mariages remain within the group: « Dans la bourgeoisie de couleur, les épousailles
de Ferdinand et Marie-Elodie avaient été considérées comme rien moins qu’une incongruité. Pis:
une mésalliance…le jeune homme et brillant avocat préféra non seulement une négresse, amis
aussi une campagnarde. » (73-74). The union between Ferdinand and Marie-Elodie is missmatched, a misalliance and goes against the color ideals of the mulatto bourgeoisie. Evidently,
color is not the sole factor that condemns Marie-Elodie as an unsuitable spouse but her
background as a girl from the countryside is also invoked as part of her flaws.
168
Class and color politics continue to inform relationships and interactions in Saint-Pierre
and even though slavery had been abolished for some time, blackness constitutes a defective
element in the mindset of the prejudiced classes. The rural space is clearly still intimately linked
to the plantation and thus to servility. The newly freed Blacks of Saint-Pierre may be liberated
from the chains of slavery, but ethnic prejudice in the town reimposes new forms of bondage on
them. The black body in post- slavery Saint-Pierre is never free from the initial stain that
enslavement imposed on it and moreover, it does not belong to the city.
Marie-Elodie is condemned by the mulatto elite because of her skin color. She is
nevertheless a cultivated woman. As a young girl, she is sent to live with a prominent mulatto
family after some years of elementary education. There, she learns to speak French eloquently
and becomes a successful seamstress. That fact did little to influence positive attitude towards
her. On the very day of their wedding, Ferdinand’s mother attempts to dissuade her son from
marrying the Negress but her pleas fell on death ears:
--Mon fils, il est encore temps de revenir sur ta décision. Tu ne vas tout de même pas
retourner en arrière ! Les Saint-Aubert étaient libres longtemps avant l’abolition, nous
n’avons rien à voir avec ces nègres qui devront mettre au moins un siècle avant de se
civiliser…As-tu pensé à tes enfants ? Quelle couleur auront-ils ? Tu crois que je pourrais
supporter des petits négrillons noirs comme hier soir et avec des cheveux grainés, hein ?
(42)
--My son, there is still time to change your mind. You really do not intend to regress! The
Saint-Aubert family has been free long before the abolition of slavery, we are not like
these Negroes, who will have to wait a whole century to become civilized…Have you
thought of your children? What will their skin color be? Do you think that I could stand
these little Negroes dark as night with kinky hair?
Ferdinand’s mother’s words can be construed as a script taken right off the pages of
colonial narratives. Her fear of miscegenation is illogical however since being a mulâtresse,
daughter of a Negress and a Béké who incidentally denied her paternity, she epitomizes hybridity
and bastardy. The real fear expressed by the mother and shared by the rest of the mulatto elite of
169
Saint-Pierre is the fear of appearing too African and thus too barbaric. By marrying a Negress,
Ferdinand uncovers hidden shameful truths of an ancestry that was not only African but
enslaved. Marrying white was the ultimate solution to improving the race, however as the white
ethnoclass of Saint-Pierre socially ostracized other ethnic groups, the next best solution was to
procreate and marry within the mulatto group.
The idea of marriage to a Negress was preposterous and perceived as a sign of regression.
The color of the skin, the hair texture, and the obvious somatic characteristics of Africans have
been established from the likes of Buffon, Gobineau and other proponents of the ideology of the
superiority of the white race as markers of inferiority. This type of behavior was interiorized and
reproduced by colonized peoples especially the évolués or non-white bourgeoisie. Ferdinand’s
mother’s reaction is a manifestation of the behavior that Fanon describes as pathological.
Ferdinand however rejects the conventions of his class and marries Marie-Elodie:
Ferdinand ne céda point. Il épousa, lui, le mulâtre promis à un avenir radieux, la
bellissime négresse Marie-Elodie, campagnarde au teint d’ébène, le 16 avril 1876. Cette
manière d’événement n’eut pas lieu à la cathédrale de Saint-Pierre, le curé des lieux
s’étant refusé à bénir ce qu’il considérait comme une mésalliance […] (42)
Ferdinand did not give in. He, the mulatto with a promising brilliant future, married the
beautiful Negress Marie-Elodie, dark-skin country girl on the 16 of April 1876. This type
of arrangement could not take place in the cathedral in Saint-Pierre, since the local priest
refused to bless what he considered a misalliance.
Unlike Raoul who sways under the persuasion of the institutions of the church and the
family, bastions of colonial society and a complicit force against ethic unity, Ferdinand defies
both family and church and thus declares himself a free and independent thinker, unperturbed by
the arbitrary conventions of his society. Indeed, Ferdinand like most men of the mulatto
bourgeoisie of the post-abolition epoch had adopted a republic mindset and rejected old regime
views. The French republic had revolutionized the French society and extended universal
170
suffrage and free obligatory instruction to its citizens in the colonies. Bolstered by the spirit of
republicanism, the rising class of mulattoes especially the most affluent males gained control of
the political field and became formidable economic rivals.
As laicization settles in, provoking open conflicts with the Catholic Church, a certain
radicalization pervades the mentality of the bourgeoisie. Many mulatto men joined the fraternal
order of Freemasons, an organization that espoused the philosophies and ideals of the
Enlightenment and encouraged its members to pursue lives filled with integrity, honesty,
tolerance and love for all humankind. It also encouraged principles of liberty in all its forms and
equality. It is not surprising that the non-white elite of Martinique and in particular those of
Saint-Pierre clamored to associate themselves with causes that support their ambitions of power
and visibility in a society where injustice, intolerance, cultural and ethnic superiority reigned
supreme. Ferdinand, the prominent lawyer was a freemason and inveterate atheist a lifestyle
choice that free and public space of the city center allow. In denouncing Catholicism to become a
freemason, Ferdinand hopes to reassert his masculinity.
Saint-Pierre is nonetheless a town largely influenced by the Catholic Church. Five
churches, several convents and a diocese were reportedly erected in the town85. Before the
introduction of secular schools, all schools were controlled by the clergy and classes taught by
them. The catholicization of Saint-Pierre is indeed the manifestation of the pervasive influence of
colonial institution on the culture and mindset of the enslaved population. The abolition of
slavery did not diminish the power of these institutions. Catholicism persisted and interestingly
was propagated by the women.
85
Chauleau, Liliane. 2002. Pierrotins et Saint-Pierrais: la vie quotidienne dans la ville de Saint-Pierre avant
l’éruption de la montagne Pelée de 1902. Paris: L’Harmattan.
171
Colonized women in concubinage with white men or domestics working for white
families are usually more prone to copy the practices and pass them on to the children. Mulatto
women in particular wanting to portray themselves as equally cultured and respectable as their
white rivals often manifested a fervent devotion to the church. Marie-Elodie contrary to her
husband was a devout catholic. Having been educated in the catholic school for girls and raised
by an affluent mulatto family, I imagine that she was immersed into the religion just as she was
in the French language:
Elle fréquentait assidument le presbytère, où elle s’occupait d’œuvres de charités avec
d’autres dames de la bonne société pierrotine, Bekées et mulâtresses exceptionnellement
mêlées, et le dimanche matin, à l’église, elle se montrait d’une piété sans égale. (73)
She diligently visited the presbytery, where she immersed herself in charitable work
along with the other ladies of Saint-Pierre’s high society, white creoles and mulâtresses
unusually mingled together, and on Sundays at church, she demonstrated supreme
devotion.
Marie-Elodie exhibits patterns of alienation and clings to the Europeanized models as a
strategy to fit in in a society that rejects her. Marie-Elodie’s absorption of the French culture is
thus a means to seek approbation from her husband’s milieu, the class that she has adopted as her
own. Despite her husband’s successful legal career, her eloquence in French and cultured
manners, Marie-Elodie’s dark skin is a constant barrier to Saint-Pierre’s high society. Even the
church to which she devotes her all, accepts her as a welcomed member. Ferdinand paid to have
the fourth pew engraved with the family’s name, but Marie-Elodie has to constantly fight to
preserve this distinguished honor.
She merits a place in the upper class as she is a member of the elite society thanks in part
to her husband. Race and color ideologies however are stronger markers that determine one’s
place in this town and unfortunately, Marie-Elodie’s dark skin color automatically denies her a
place in that enclave. The articulation of métissage is constantly threatened by the acerbic
172
atmosphere created by race and color politics. Neither the class of Békés nor the class of
mulattoes can see past their prejudice and jealous rivalries to engender a community united by its
differences. Meanwhile, the black masses, dispossessed and ignored, are pushed farther and
further into the fringes of society.
The governor’s ball, a sumptuous occasion supposedly organized to bridge the
segregation gap in Saint-Pierre, goes counter to the initial intent and instead reaffirms patterns of
particularism. Only the who’s who of Saint-Pierre’s high society gets invited and even so, skin
color remains a prerequisite for getting an invitation to the ball. As a prominent lawyer of SaintPierre’s high society, Ferdinand becomes a guest by default. His rank and color render him an
acceptable guest of honor. Although he is not white, his economic status elevates him to the
socially to the status of the white creole aristocracy. Clearly, he is an asset to the respectability
and the success of the French town. He epitomizes French assimilation and its triumph.
Several incidents however reveal glaringly the ambivalence of French assimilation in
Saint-Pierre and by extension in Martinique. Firstly, on the envelope that bears the invitation that
Ferdinand receives, appears two expressions that mutually cancel each other. At the very top is
written République Française” and right at the bottom of this inscription is written in italicized
letters: “Colonie de la Martinique” (p.99). Martinicans have always clamored for total
assimilation with the French and even though theoretically, “la mère patrie” has liberated her
colonies, her daughters, through the means of the Declaration of the Rights of Man and its
Citizens and its tripartite proclamations of liberty, equality and fraternity and through its
republican-democratic regimes, in practice “she binds and infantilizes those she has “freed” in a
new kind of subjection and dependency.
173
The 1848 promulgation of abolition did not fundamentally change the mentality of white
creoles towards the people of color. In fact, Martinique remained up till 194686 a sugar-based
society ruled by the white planter class. As would be expected many of the black masses and
former slaves still labored on these plantations while others worked in the sugar industries
constructed in the town or as domestics of the white creoles and the non-white bourgeoisie
earning wages so low that they were forced to live in abject poverty. Their children who
supposedly had access to free and obligatory public education were denied formal instruction or
simply pulled out of school at an early age to work alongside their mothers.87 Clearly, education
for the poor working class came at a price. The creole language, native tongue of the working
class had to be sacrificed for the good of French. Children incapable of suppressing their native
idiom in the classroom were punished by their teachers (330). Indeed, the sub-standard condition
of the poor working class attests of the continuity of oppression.
Another incident that highlights the ambiguity of the assimilation process is its blatant
prejudice against the darker-skinned population. Ferdinand, the eminent mulatto lawyer is a
guest of honor at the governor’s ball, his wife, Marie-Elodie however has never been extended
an invitation: “chaque année, c’était là une violente dispute avec son épouse, au motif, que cette
dernière, à cause de sa couleur, n’y était jamais conviée.” (95) Evidently, in the dynamics of
race and color politics in Saint-Pierre, social rank or class becomes null and void especially
86
On the 19th of March, 1946 Martinique and Guadeloupe along with French Guiana and Reunion Island attained the
status of department. Aimé Césaire, then elected Mayor of Fort-de-France pushed to have the law of
departmentalization (loi de départementalisation) pass in the French Assembly. Departmentalization was intended
by Césaire to eliminate the particularistic institutions of the Third Republic colonialism such as the colonial
gouverneur with structures systematically equivalent to those of metropolitan France: the préfet and the conseil
général, and an identical legal code and judicial system.
87
The 1950 novel, La Rue Cases Nègres by Joseph Zobel, later set to film (1983) by Euzhan Palcy, recounts the
struggles of the impoverished sugarcane plantation workers in post-slavery Martinique and one grandmother’s
stubborn ambition to put her grandchild, the main character through school.
174
where it concerns the Negress. Contrary to Saint-Louis (Senegal) where both blacks and mulatto
women could aspire to become signares since signareship was contingent upon a number of
factors including social standing, in post-slavery Saint-Pierre, the Negress, regardless of her high
social rank and métissage by marriage could not gain access into that class of mulatto elite:
L’étonnante noirceur de son épiderme lui interdisait également l’entrée de la plupart des
salons mulâtres, les rares qui toléraient sa présence ne dissimulant guère leur mépris à
son endroit.
The surprising blackness of her epidermis also forbade her entry at the majority of
mulatto salons, the few who tolerated her presence hardly concealed their contempt of
her.
Marie-Elodie is an outcast. Since there were few other Negresses of her social standing,
she is forced to recreate herself ironically into a perfect replica of Frenchness. Marie-Elodie
alienates as much as possible the color that continually incriminates her. She knows from a very
young age of her “flaw” described so often by others as “le péché mortel” (mortal sin) (25). She
is also aware that more than anyone else she has to fight to survive. At school, being the only
Negress she strives to be a good student and excels (30). She learns by memory verses of
Lamartine and even helps her father learn some rudimentary French upon his request. The tragic
end of her formal education comes when her father decapitates her mother right before her eyes.
With her father behind bars, her siblings are adopted by relatives but Marie-Elodie’s teacher
suggests that she be placed at a rich mulatto family’s home:
Ce serait un véritable gâchis! lança la mère supérieure aux gendarmes à cheval. Cette
enfant est fort studieuse et je pense que la meilleure solution pour elle est de la placer. »
(41)
It would be a veritable waste! declared the Mother Superior to the police officer on
horseback. This child is very studious and I think that the best solution is to place her as a
domestic.
175
The ambiguity of colonial authority knows no end. Marie-Elodie is described by the
mother superior as “fort studieuse”, yet her suggestion creates no opportunity for the continuity
of Marie-Elodie’s formal education. Instead she is thrust into the role of servility where she is
“taught” to cook, iron, scrub, change baby diapers, and comb her mistress’s hair. Moreover,
Marie-Elodie «n’avait pas droit à la parole. Elle n’était qu’une petite négresse de rien du tout »
(41). Marie-Elodie learns to sew and becomes an excellent seamstress but she also learns to
speak French eloquently. As a black girl destined for absolute poverty, these two skills were
indeed the stepping stone to a better social condition.
Her marriage to Ferdinand concretized her transformation into a respectable, cultured
woman but could not obliterate her stain. Her dogged attempt to fit in persists in her dress, her
contempt for the creole language and her attachment to Saint-Pierre, the town where the
appreciation for the French culture can be honed to perfection. Marie-Elodie uses creole only to
address the help and even so, her creole was considered “moins rude”, less harsh. She uses the
“fameux créole du salon” (creole used in literary and social clubs of the upper class) ou “créole
mulâtre” qui exhibait d’insolites “u”, “e”, et “u” (132). Marie-Elodie’s conflict with herself, her
inability to reconcile the African element with its European counterpart is a reflection of the
broader society projected unto her.
Ferdinand struggles against the hypocrisy and superficiality of his milieu and his own
passive indifference to injustices meted out by the békés. His first son’s radical views and
acerbic condemnation of the békés for their ill-treatment of the plantation workers jolts
Ferdinand out of his comatose state and forces him to reflect on his own inaction:
Me Saint-Aubert regardait dans le vide. Non qu’il craignit d’affronter le regard de
l’entremetteur, mais il se sentait envahit par une brusque lassitude. Tenir en permanence
son rang, surveiller son langage, se soumettre aux rituels de la classe bourgeoise,
176
accepter sans broncher la présence d’importuns tels que l’homme qui lui faisait face, tout
cela commençait à lui peser plus que de raison. (95)
Mr. Saint-Aubert stared into space. Not that he was scared to meet the gaze of the
mediator, but he felt overwhelmed by a sudden lassitude. Having to constantly maintain
the pretenses of his social rank, to watch his language, comply with the rituals of the
bourgeois class, accept without any opposition the unwelcome presence such as this man
opposite him, started to weigh heavily on him.
A mediator asks the hand of Euphrasie, Ferdinand’s only daughter for his fiend. The
suitor is twice the age of Euphrasie but Ferdinand is too polite to reject the arbitrary conventions
that his class imposes on young girls. Against his better judgment, the proposal takes place and
Euphrasie unhappily accepts behaving according to the dictates of her class. Ferdinand is aware
of his wife’s humiliation each year that he gets an invitation to the governor’s ball and she
doesn’t, yet his rank and class obliges him to attend this charade where white creoles and
mulattoes are pitted against each other. The following conversation between a béké and
Ferdinand is a striking example of the existing tension between the two classes:
J’ai toujours été partisan, mon cher Saint-Aubert, de la collaboration entre les deux
classes dirigeantes de notre colonie…Je précise bien collaboration et pas forcément
entente, car Blancs créoles et mulâtres n’ont évidemment pas les mêmes intérêts. Pas
exactement en tout cas. Pris d’une gêne qui menaçait de le paralyser, l’avocat hocha la
tête sans qu’on put savoir s’il approuvait ou non de tels propos. (109)
My dear Saint-Aubert, I have always been in favor of the collaboration between the two
leading classes of our colony…I emphasize collaboration and not necessarily agreement,
since white creoles and mulattoes obviously do not have the same interests. At least not
exactly. Seized by an embarrassment that threatened to paralyze him, the lawyer hung his
head without one knowing whether or not he agreed with such remarks.
Ferdinand does not want to attend the ball in the first place but pride, appearances and the
principles of propriety of his class is unable to stand up to the Béké. Propriety prompt him to
attend these events. Clearly these invitations are markers of forced sociability and not necessarily
attempts at real dialogue. Ferdinand’s humiliation is made even more apparent by the béké’s
condescending attitude. The prominent lawyer is reduced to a child-like state, before the
177
formidable opponent. Ferdinand’s masculinity vacillates throughout the novel, a manifestation of
the uncertain positioning of his in-betweenness: almost French but not quite. Ferdinand perishes
in the eruption but leaves behind his wife and four children.
Ferdinand’s eldest sons Saint-Just and Tertulien are presented as contradictory extensions
of the mulatto legacy. Saint-Just is the antithesis of his father. His candor and revolutionary
views fan the flames of hatred between the two dominant rival classes. Unlike his father, he
openly castigates the injustices occurring in his town. Rejecting the legal path of his father,
Saint-Just opts instead to pursue a career in journalism, which by the way, is also a profession
favored by the non-white elite males of Saint-Pierre. Through his paper L’Echo de la Martinique,
he becomes a voice for the working class and the poor against white creole domination and
injustices. In fact in one of his famous article he accuses some white creoles of plotting to
assassinate workers who had organized a strike. One of the workers was shot and killed and
Saint-Just exposed the name of the white creole responsible for the death in his article. A virulent
riposte ensues via La Défense coloniale that culminates in a duel between Saint-Just and the
white creole. Saint-Just shoots first and fatally wounds his rival further deepening the wounds of
hatred between the two dominant classes.
Saint-Just embodies quite well the figure of mulatto masculinity. The pen that he uses to
demand justice for the oppressed and the gun with which he shoots and kills his opponent are
both phallic symbols par excellence. His reaction after his killing of the white creole leaves one
to ponder the stability of masculinity among mulattoes. Instead of celebrating his victory, SaintJust goes into a state of lethargy neglecting his writing for a while. The increasing emission of
gas and smoke from Mount Pelée suddenly inspired him to return seriously to journalism. In his
visceral tone he accused the ministers and the representatives of the colony as well as some
178
members of the population being occupied with the upcoming legislative elections and for
ignoring these warning signs. His caustic report was never published however since the editor in
chief destroyed it. The transfer to Fort-de-France after the destruction of Saint-Pierre completely
destabilizes Saint-Just. Unable to connect with the urban new space, he abandons his journalistic
career, takes the teaching certification test and becomes a teacher. Saint-Just abandons the city of
Fort-de-France and his family and cohabites with a Negress in the countryside.
Tertullien, the second son and a student in law, like Ferdinand, honored the patrilineal
traditions. The polar opposite of Saint-Just, he follows and maintains class conventions to the
letter. Even before being established as a lawyer, Ferdinand allows him to take on a high profile
case which he brilliantly wins. Clearly, Tertullien had a prominent legal career ahead of him.
Questions surrounding Tertulilen’s sexuality and thus his masculinity arose as the young man,
though a brilliant student, showed no interest in women, unlike Saint-Just who often frequented
the local brothels. Tertullien integrated quickly and much easier into the city of Fort-de-France
than his brother. In less than a decade he was able to reestablish himself as a formidable lawyer
in the Fort-de-France’s bar despite the opposition by the natives of Fort-de-France. As a native of
Saint-Pierre and a mulatto, he was targeted as an outcast especially as Saint-Pierre was known
for its prejudices. In a town that is progressively more tolerant to color and class differences,
Tertullien’s arrogance is not tolerated.
Tertullien’s ostracism was made all the more apparent as rumors of his supposed
homosexuality circulated. Preoccupied with his new clientele, Tertullien had little time for
women (il ne diposait pas du temps necessaire pour les frivolités (296)). I must mention here that
for the younger generation of freed men, committed relationships and marriage were not the
ultimate goal. The city attracted young, single freed men whose ambitions were to start their
179
fortunes. Akin to their white counterparts who immigrated to the colonies in search of adventure
and fortune, very few young mulattoes wanted to be encumbered by a wife and children. The city
provided opportunities for getting rich, and earning power. In opposition to mulatto women who
gained power and social visibility through their stereotyped sexuality and femininity, mulatto
men were driven by political, commercial and economic aspirations. Tertullien clearly privileged
building his legal empire over creating a family. Interestingly, none of Ferdinand’s sons got
married. His only daughter Euphrasie marries not the man chosen for her by the mulatto
bourgeoisie conventions but a young man of her own choosing; a musician of Martinican and
Cuban heritage.
Tertullien enlisted in the first ever Creole battalion during the First World War. For the
first time French Antilleans were recruited to defend the mother country. What better way to
defend and prove his masculinity than to be part of a structure that symbolize masculine power to
its extreme? Whether or not these rumors pushed him to enlist in the army remains uncertain, but
after the news of his mobilization was known, the gossip stopped and Tertullien became a hero:
“l’avocat et le musicien, devinrent aux yeux de tous, des héros, alors même qu’ils n’avaient pas
encore tiré leur premier feu.” (298) (even before, they had fired the first shot, the lawyer and the
musician (Euphrasie’s husband), became heros in the eyes of all. By defending la mere patrie,
Tertulien reasserts and reclaims his masculinity doubly. Not only does he silence the rumors
about his sexuality but he hopes to finally access to full status of Frenchman:
Il estimait avoir un combat à mener: celui de la pleine égalité entre les habitants de la
colonie et ceux de la métropole. Et, pour ce faire, la première chose était d’obtenir la
conscription obligatoire pour les Martiniquais, afin qu’ils puissent « payer l’impôt du
sang », expression qui faisait florès et désignait le fait de mourir sur le champ de bataille
pour remercier la France d’avoir octroyé, un certain jour de mai 1848, et cela grâce à
l’infatigable combat de Papa Schœlcher, l’Alsacien au grand cœur, la citoyenneté
françaises aux descendants d’esclaves noirs et mulâtres. (314)
180
He felt that he had a battle to fight: that of assuring the inhabitants of Martinican had full
equality as those of France. And, in order to do that, the first thing was to obtain
compulsory enrollment for Martinicans, so that they can “pay their blood tribute,” a
flowery expression that signifies dying on the battle field to thank France for granting
French citizenship to the descendants of black and mulatto slaves on a certain day of May
1848 thanks to the untiring battle led by Daddy Schœlcher.
This homage to Victor Schœlcher and to France was to assure tighter union to France and
be accepted as legitimate adults of an active fraternity and no longer as adopted or bastards.
Indeed, the war is over and the musician and the lawyer paid their blood tribute to mother
France. The musician lost his life and the telegram reads: Ricardo Mendez, sergent au 17e
régiment de Salonique, a fait preuve, à l’instar de tous les soldats créoles d’un courage et d’un
dévouement exemplaire sous le feu de l’ennemi… Criblé de balles par un tir incessant de
mitrailleuses, il s’est sacrifié, grenade à la main… » (338). Ricardo Mendez, sergeant of the 17th
regiment of Salonique, like all the creole soldiers, displayed exemplary courage and dedication
under the enemy’s fire...Riddled with bullets from the non-stop shots of the machine guns, he
sacrificed himself, a grenade in his hands… The lawyer, Tertullien, returns a war hero, maimed
for the cause of la mère patrie: « Il a le bras gauche sectionne, il n’y voit plus que d’un oeil et a
la poitrine couverte de cicatrices… » (344). His left arm is sectioned off, and he sees only out of
one eye and his chest is covered with scars… » Tertullien restores mulatto pride and masculinity
and by so doing, he also restores the lost legacy of Saint-Pierre which was destroyed with the
eruption sixteen years before.
The 8th of May 1902 however, decides the fate of the rivals. On that day, day of the
legislative elections in Martinique as in France, the fate of Martinique would be decided. Would
it be the White creoles or the mulattoes leading the island into the new century? « Jour
d’élections législatives, en Martinique tout comme en France, serait décisif, proclamait-on, car ce
181
jour-là on saurait qui des Blancs créoles ou des mulâtres guiderait l’avenir de la Martinique au
cours du siècle qui venait de s’ouvrir, vingtième du nom. » (231)
Indeed, on that fateful day, white creoles, mulattoes and blacks converged in the town on
the occasion of the arrival of the governor of the colony. The latter, who left his residence in
Fort-de France arrived in the Paris of the Antilles to discuss with political partisans and to
reassure the population that the emissions of gas and smoke from Mount Pelée was normal. The
unification of the population culminated in an infernal festivity around the governor. Moments
later, the belly of the volcano bursts open, and a gigantic cloud—of fire, gas, ashes, red-hot rocks
hurtled down its side and engulfed the population.
The 8th of May, 1902 thus marks not only the destruction of the Paris of the Antilles and
thirty thousand of its inhabitants, but also the annihilation of a rich cultural, artistic and
intellectual repository. The subsequent transfer of the cultural capital to Fort-de-France certainly
could not restore that unique tapestry but fragments of Saint-Pierre’s métissage resumed under
altered forms in Fort-de-France through the memories of those who survived the catastrophe.
Jérémie, like Saint-Pierre shares a thorny relationship with its different cultural and
ethnic components. Similarly, métissage in Jérémie is threatened not by a geologic disaster but
by corrupt dictatorships. Unlike Saint-Pierre where the white planters or Békés pose an
additional threat to tolerable cohabitation of differences, Jeremieans constitute the source of their
own peril. The overthrow of white rule vacated the positions for power hungry mulatto and black
leaders who cannot see past their greed to lead the republic as a team. Consequently color
politics pitted light skin and dark skin Haitians against each other.
182
CHAPTER THREE
FROM ETHNIC RISING TO ETHNIC CLEANSING: THE TRAGIC EXPERIENCE OF
THE MULATTO CASTE OF JEREMIE
This chapter underscores and examines the complexity of cultural and ethnic hybridity in the
Haitian town of Jérémie. It explores in particular the dynamics of color, “race”, class, and
religion within the ambiguous space of the town or the center. The colonial space is the site par
excellence of white paternalistic authority and hegemony and consequently inaccessible and
inadmissible to non-whites. In other words, to people in positions of subordination as were the
African slaves and freed mulattoes reduced to the peripheral plantation, a practical arrangement
that allowed for the facile continuity of capital. The colonial center, like the forbidden fruit is
secretly observed and coveted by the marginalized gaze that in turn is systematically shut out by
imposed boundaries of race, class, and gender. The marginalized gaze however, is not the only
wondering eye. Indeed, the perverse gaze of authority knows no limits or boundaries and has the
power of freedom and mobility. The lines between periphery and center prove permeable at best
and before long, the center becomes the periphery and the periphery the center, hence the
creolized space.
Given the ambiguity of the creole space, in this context, Jérémie reflects the complex
relations of its inhabitants. As I will explain later, Jérémie has been known as the birthplace of
the mulatto caste and the site of much ethnic and cultural tensions. Processes of métissage are
made especially difficult through imagined and constructed ideologies of somatic differences
between dark skin blacks and lighter skin mulattoes. However, beneath the veneer of color
politics lurks its insidious and sinister corollary: class politics. Color prejudice and class
consciousness are intimately entwined in Jérémie and are the overarching factors that influence
183
and hinder relational dynamics in the town and by extension the nation. The struggle for political
power between the dominant classes made of elite mulattoes and blacks has maintained a wedge
between the two groups as both attempt to impose their hegemony on the other. Ever since the
overthrowing of white rule, a legacy of political and economic dominance has systematically
opposed blacks and mulattoes. Their only point of convergence is articulated in their joint efforts
at ostracizing the black masses through economic exploitation, political oppression, and modernday enslavement.
Human interactions and relationships in Haiti from the post-revolution era (1804) to the
period of Duvalier’s dictatorship (1957-1971) have been punctuated by intervals of color and
class tensions. Jérémie’s geostrategic position near the coast and its resources created a hub
where diverse stakeholders interacted across commercial, economic, and cultural activities. The
level of production and urbanization going on in colonial spaces such as Jérémie altered the
landscape, making those centers points of interests for diverse groups of people. High production
yields from sugar, cotton, indigo, and coffee meant that fortune could be made. The town was
thus a locus of reinvention, of survival, and of competitive capitalism; in other words a place
where the economically and politically strong survive.
Like most colonial cities of Haiti, Jérémie inherited many wealthy mulatto families.
Many owed their fortunes to paternal inheritance, but others worked hard and were able to
procure for themselves extensive property, a number of plantations, country houses or villas, and
even slaves. Members of this bourgeois circle were also blacks who had risen to power. Elite
mulattoes and blacks rubbed shoulders and interacted on a fairly normal basis with each other.
Although marriages between wealthy mulattoes remained for the most part endogamous, it was
not uncommon for a mulatto from an upper class to marry a black who were equally rich or
184
richer or vice versa. A Haitian adage popularized by Jean-Jacques Acaau88 “le noir riche est un
mulâtre; le mulâtre pauvre est un noir”89 shakes to the core the very foundation of the color
debate and projects class as the real cause of the schism within Haitian society.
Colonial cities were noticeably culpable of maintaining and perpetuating a certain
bourgeois lifestyle based on color and class hierarchy, traits inherited from the stratified colonial
system. The town of Jérémie was no different and has often been represented as the space where
the assimilation of French bourgeois values were the most crystallized. Often cited as the
birthplace of the mulatto caste, many mulattoes of Jérémie may have possessed phenotypic traits
that placed them closer to whites than blacks within the “color spectrum”. Labelle references
Jérémie in her works as “un bastion réputé du préjugé de couleur, où les mulâtres, dit-on étaient
souvent très clairs et avaient des yeux bleus”.90 Moreau de Saint-Méry briefly cited Jérémie in
Description as space where French values played out well. He mentioned the presence of an
active amateur theatrical society as well as a Vauxhall in Jérémie. Theatrical productions were
performances par excellence of the Old Regime France and its transposition in the tropical island
colony articulates the manner in which both colonized and colonizer use mimicry to transform
colonial centers into urban spaces.
Moreau de Saint-Méry observed as well that dancing was popular and many balls were
organized as entertainment in Jérémie. Women are often the organizers of these events which
were avenues for forging alliances among high ranking colonial officials and wealthy
88
Leader of the 1843 peasant class rebellion that led to the ousting of then Haitian president Jean-Pierre Boyer
89
The rich black man is a mulatto and the poor mulatto is a black man
90
A bastion reputed for its color prejudice, where the mulattoes it seems were often very clear-skinned and had blue
eyes. Micheline Labelle. Idéologie de couleur et classes sociales en Haïti. Montréal : Presses de l’Université de
Montréal, c1978
185
mulâtresses. These cultural and economic activities, absent from the rural areas make the
colonial center appealing and attractive. Haitian elites gravitate towards the center, abandoning
the rural areas to the peasant masses that were primarily represented by the majority black
populace. The gulf between the elite class and peasant class widens as the former fights among
themselves to secure political power and subsequently economic gains while systematically
pushing the peasant masses further into the fringes of society, denying them access to the city.
The latter are forced into the rural zone, often living in abject poverty. The demonization of rural
communities is exacerbated by the practice of Vodou, the creolized religion practiced primarily
by the Haitian masses and scorned by the elite who secretly worship Vodou loas (gods).
Jeremieans’ relationship with its diversity is the groundwork for a much broader and
deeper discourse on Haiti’s affinities to its African, European, and indigenous Indian heritage.
Métissage in Haiti is indeed multilayered and particularly complex; the complexity stems from a
past marked by centuries of Western domination, influence, and enslavement. Cultural and
ethnic tensions in Jérémie and to a larger extent in Haiti did not emerge post revolution as a
result of inept leaders at the realm of the newly formed Black Republic. Were these leaders
inculpable of perpetuating Western patterns of governing? Au contraire! Toussaint, Christophe
Dessalines, Pétion as well as the Duvalier (father and son) repeated and imposed similar patterns
of domination in the young Republic. The ensuing slave revolt of 1791-1804 is in effect a direct
consequence of Western cultural influence as well as worldwide perceptions of hierarchy of
races, religions, and cultures. The subjugation of certain peoples was justified based on the
paradigms of civilized versus uncivilized. The superiority of the “West” defined by its
differential accumulation of technology among other evaluative tools of advancement as well as
its perceived notion of a somatic norm-image (H. Hoetink, 1967) as the ideal of physical beauty,
186
creates distinctions between “us” and “them’. Africans characterized as monsters and demons
would ultimately become prime candidates for the civilizing mission and enslavement.
The Haitian Revolution of 1791 and its resulting independence in 1804 ultimately
succeeded in reversing these western claims of superiority and restored human dignity to a
people whose basic human rights were stripped. The success of the 1791 Haitian slave revolt,
however, was denied recognition among similar revolutionary world events like the French
Revolution of 1789 and the American War of Independence from 1775-1782. In fact, the slave
revolt was thought of as a scandal, the unthinkable act. Humiliated and defeated by insurgent
slaves and emancipated mulattoes, the French vowed revenge. In an attempt to salvage her loss
and to recover from her shame, France would not only attempt to reestablish its imperial
sovereignty over the island, but would deny Haiti its rightful place as a nation by delaying
recognition of its independence. It is not until 1825 that France is formally recognized Haiti as an
independent state but at a cost of 150 million francs. Not only was the newly established nation
left in insurmountable debts, but France/ Europe and the rest of the Western world ensured that
Haiti remain the counter example to other colonies. Haiti encountered diplomatic isolation,
neglect, ostracism, and indifference and indeed had to pay and has paid for doing the
unthinkable, that of dismantling white supremacist hegemony. Fatton Jr. points out that:
The year 1804 symbolized the most radical democratic moment that the world had
hitherto known. It embodied a violent rupture with authoritarianism and hierarchy and the
unambiguous and path-breaking embrace of citizenship for all human beings irrespective
of race and color. It trespassed the “thinkable” and established the principle of equality
that has become the leitmotiv of democratic theory (The roots of Haitian despotism, viii).
But alas, the Haitian revolution symbol of liberty and equality has left a legacy of
authoritarian politics that would ultimately lead to the downfall of the Haitian nation and its
people. What a tragic irony: the very spirit of patriotism and brotherly solidarity that drove slaves
187
and emancipated slaves (mainly mulattoes) in a concerted effort of rebellion against the rulingclass white plantocracy would later transform into a spirit of strife and dissension pitting brother
against brother over somatic differences. How does race become a factor of alterity and division
among people of the same ethnicity? Unfortunately, racial, color, and class prejudices are the
overarching hurdles impeding Haiti’s social and economic development. The distinction between
noirs and mulâtres is a fundamental aspect of life in Haiti and dominates the country’s whole
existence. A notable Haitian thinker, Alcius Charmant sums up the color issue in Haiti as “… the
supreme evil of our Republic, the virus that ravages it, and the road to its ruin.”
The concept of race as a marker of social classification is often dismissed in today’s
discourses as taboo or passé. However, it is impossible to examine the social politics of Jérémie
and by extension Haiti without reevaluating these social markers. Jérémie/Haiti’s outcome is
largely conditioned by her past, thus to deal with the present situation I must invoke the past.
Jérémie/Haiti’s ills are deep-seated in color and class tensions and these tensions surely did not
emerge post-independence.
The patterns of authoritarianism, color, and class prejudices did not suddenly emerge in
Haiti after its independence. Haiti inherited its patterns of dictatorship and discrimination from
the colonial plantation regime which was structured on slavery and on white supremacist values.
As Trouillot rightly argues, “the color question is etched within the framework of an
international hierarchy that was formalized well before the Haitian independence.” (Haiti State
against Nation, 111-112). Unfortunately, after centuries of being indoctrinated and brainwashed
within a value system that discriminated and segregated, colonized peoples tend to mimic and
reproduce the very same political and social power dynamics that once subjugated them.
188
The social structure of Haiti during slavery and colonization was highly stratified
according to race and class. A pyramidal triad was established with the whites at the top of the
stratum, the free people of color in the middle, and the slaves at the bottom. However, even
within each stratum, systems of divisions were erected; the grands blancs (planters and
government officials) held higher social importance than the petits blancs (poor whites). The free
people of color made up the second stratum. These were the descendants and off-spring of white
fathers and Negro or mulatto mothers. This emancipated class held substantial economic power
and had strong roots in the colony. Many had been free for generations, owned considerable
property, and were educated in France. They enjoyed many privileges but were excluded from
public office and medical and legal occupations. Many were slave owners and identified with the
whites rather than the Negro slaves and desired access to titles of nobility, political offices, and
full political and civil rights. Others were artisans whose social aspirations were with the whites
but were forced at times to identify with the slaves. The third stratum comprised the slaves who
were further grouped by house servants and field hands and those born on the island (creoles)
and the newcomers (bossales).
The colonial stratification pattern thus sets the stage from which subsequently evolves the
present day Haitian class system. As Wingfield and Parenton point out: “The class structure
divides the society roughly into two social groups the "haves and have nots" and permeates all
other social institutions such as the family, economy, politics, religion, education, folkways, and
value system. A process of de-africanization occurs as one moves up from the black peasant
mass to the urban mulatto bourgeoisie” (“Class Structure and Class Conflict in Haitian Society”,
338).
189
How does colonial stratification impact post-independent Haiti? Wasn’t the basis of the
Haitian Revolution a move towards social and political equality? The revolution indeed led to the
extermination of white supremacy however, it could not eliminate the profound wounds of racial
and class enmity inherited from the colonial period. As Fatton Jr. argues “the divisions between
mulattoes and blacks, Creoles and Bossales, military leaders and soldiers, and rulers and ruled
were a chasm that neither the war nor independence would ever bridge” (The Roots of Haitian
Despotism, 53). This gulf between classes was not just in the imaginary but persisted within the
very psyche of the people. David argues that the classes in Saint-Domingue were bitterly hostile
to each other (Héritage Colonial en Haïti, p. 8). He posits further that these antagonisms were
desired, provoked, and maintained in order to guarantee peace in the colony. With time, these
antagonistic relationships strengthened into deep-seated prejudices and brought about the most
hardened particularism among the people of Saint-Domingue.
It is not surprising that such a bitter inheritance engendered an atmosphere of hostility in
post-colonial Haiti threatening the intricate web of human and cultural connectivity and
continuity. However, forging interlocking relations and cross-cultural exchanges cannot be
avoided despite the chaos and challenges. Articulating peaceful processes of métissage in Haiti is
difficult and almost impossible for some classes. Boundary crossing was extremely restricted and
even prohibited especially from the lower stratum to the upper crust of society. Social and
economic upward mobility are impeded if not prohibited to the black masses or former slaves.
They are fixed into the bottom rung of the ladder, unseen, unheard and marginalized. On the
other hand, the mulattoes see themselves as equals to the whites and thus superior to the blacks.
However, the vicious cycle of prejudice persists as rich whites could not see past the skin color
to openly embrace the mulatto elite in their midst. As Ott puts it:
190
The great desire of the gens de couleur was to obtain equal status with the whites, especially
the grands blancs, and to blot out their Negro past. In fact, there were grounds for an alliance
between the grands blancs and the gens de couleur: both were often large property holders,
both disliked the petits blancs, and both desired French acculturation. On the other hand,
their greatest divisive factor was skin color; the grands blancs could never quite overcome
their prejudice (The Haitian Revolution, p. 13).
With the white planters defeated, the mulattoes and black elite moved in to occupy the
vacant spots. The postcolonial state mirrored its predecessors and imposed analogous values of
authoritarianism and prejudice. Unfortunately, emancipation did not erase inequality; it only
changed the racial composition of those at the top.
The consolidation of ruling-class bourgeoisie ideals becomes the focus of the newly
instated leaders undermining the very foundation of emancipation. The efforts at establishing
their hegemony in the new state not only turned out to be counterintuitive but failed. The nation
was impoverished, unstable, ostracized from the global scene, and in desperate need of leaders
who could transform it into a united and coherent state. The culture and ideals of the bourgeois
lifestyle created an obstacle to state-building. The powers that be, sons of former slaves could
not get past the feeling of grandeur to consider the rapid deterioration of the country. Once that
realization sets in, it is too late and leaders are forced to militarize and exercise brute force to
protect their interests and control the starving population.
Unfortunately, leaders of the new Republic mimicked the brutal measures that their
predecessors used and imposed them on the masses. As Fanon rightly said: “the battle against
colonialism does not run straight away along the lines of nationalism” (Wretched of the Earth,
p.121). The vision for nation-building and national unity is sidetracked by narcissistic desires to
replace the vacant spot of the French bourgeoisie. However, Fanon concludes that this national
middle-class is bound to fail as it lacks the economic power and intellectual agency to succeed.
Indeed, the structures and powers of colonialism may have toppled, but its spirit is embedded in
191
the mannerism and psyche of the new leaders. The once sought after vision of a nation “is passed
over for the race” (Wretched, p.121).
If the image of the ideal persists so profoundly through neo-constructions of
particularisms in Haiti, how are we to interpret the continuity of métissage? Is it possible then for
hybridity to exist concurrently with the prototype? If métissage exists, can one still refer to the
ideal? Métissage in its inception was a corporeal transgression in the belly of the plantation. It
was first manifested as brutal violence against the female dominated body that often resulted in
the birth of offspring of mixed ancestry. The term métissage would later embrace a wider
network of inter-mixtures within the (post)colonial space. It therefore stands to represent notions
of malfunction, debauchery, imperfection, flaws, in-between-ness, inter-connectedness, and
ambivalence and thus debunks the myths of absolutism. It also transcends the spatial context of
the plantation and thus the initial acts of violence against the victimized female black body and is
reinscribed in singular ways within the urban space as intentional acts of agency. I argue then
that the urban space offers several reinterpretations of métissage that refute earlier notions of the
nature of interracial unions, the tragic mulâtresse, métissage as an unnatural accidental
occurrence, and the unfortunate assimilation of mulattoes into Frenchness.
Haiti is the eldest daughter of France and Africa, as Robert and Nancy Heinl (1984) put
it. In addition to her dual origins, Haiti’s identity is also traced to her indigenous roots. Haiti is
therefore metis, a paradoxical space where the affirmation of superiority of one group is
determined by the faction that is in power at the time. The ideology of color is therefore not fixed
to the mulattoes. Indeed, mulattoes became the dominant class upon Haiti’s independence with
the decline of the white plantocracy. However, with the rise of the black elite and notably the
dictatorship of the Duvalier’s family, a counter hegemony was established that imposed an
192
alternative value system equally divisive that advocated complete revalorization and recognition
of the black Haitian people.
Both value systems exposed the struggling state to the most vicious cruelty. Fatton Jr.
observes that color has been used as a historic weapon in the struggle for power between mulatto
and black elites. He continues that “both have manipulated color to fully benefit from the spoils
of la politique du ventre.” (Haitian Despotism, 98). The political and economic agendas of the
Duvalier dictatorship then were no different from that of their predecessors. The noiriste
movement mandated by François Duvalier was no less self-serving and corrupt than the politics
of mulâtrisme. It promoted the very same dualistic ideals that it claimed to annihilate, turning the
state into a bloody battleground. As Péan explains:
The economic motive for corruption can be found between the need to give something
“to the poor blacks whose fathers are in Africa,” as noirisme wants it, and the desire to
create a rich class of Haitians, as mulâtrisme understands it. The difference between
noirisme and mulâtrisme is here a difference of degree and in no way a difference in
substance. The two devour society with the same voraciousness. If noirisme is devoid of
hypocrisy and says “pluck the chicken” mulâtrisme presents itself more subtly in its
predations. It is what tends to make noirisme more odious in the embezzlement of state
coffers. But in fact, corruption, whether carried out in brutal or in a policed manner, is the
same. From this perspective, one can understand the original purpose of corruption as the
creation and consolidation of elites, its evolution, its relevance to the stability of the
social system, and especially why this umbilical cord of ”pluck the chicken” was never
cut. (Haiti: économie politique de la corruption, p. 146)
Noirisme and mulâtrisme were no more than gimmicks employed by opposing political
factions who exploited the color issue for political ends. Established as a veritable aristocracy
first by Pétion and then during the long dictatorial presidency of Boyer (1818-1843), the mulatto
class reigned supreme in Haiti, lauding its supremacy and privileges over the class of blacks. Not
surprisingly, the legacy of this aristocracy of color generated resentment and frustration among
the black population. Fueled by black political enthusiasts vying for state control, the black
citizenry attacked the mulatto minority who since the Haitian independence has enjoyed
193
monopoly of status, wealth, and privileges while the poor black majority sunk deeper into the
pits of destitution. The noiriste movement arose precisely as a direct discourse against mulatto
privilege. Its partisans hoped to usurp the same privileges and political power enjoyed by their
clear skin nemeses while claiming to have the interests of the nation at heart. Noirisme pretends
to be an offshoot of the indigéniste91 movement launched by Jean-Price Mars in his book Ainsi
Parla l’Oncle (1928), but in reality its intensions clearly do not subscribe to Haitian nationalism
nor do they cater to the peasantry. As Trouillot contends, noirisme was “a strictly political
ideology rooted in claims of “natural” legitimacy and calling for a color quota within the state
apparatus” (State against Nation, 131). Noirisme is essentially corrupt, self-serving in nature, and
envisions control of the state by whatever means possible. In that end, its leaders necessarily
establish their stronghold in the urban arena, a space symbolic of successions of ruling-class
hegemony.
The terrorizing of the mulatto class under the Duvalier regime is evidence of the pivotal
role that color played in the deep-seated hatred among Haitians. The exploitation of color for the
interest of one faction or the other questions and shakes the very foundation of métissage. Can
métissage survive in such a hostile environment? Certainly, it can because it is inevitable. The
confining space of the colonial structure enabled the conditions that generated miscegenation.
Ironically, this same authority would attempt at effacing the “monstrous hybridity” (Gobineau)
that it forcefully initiated. To what extent can Haiti/Jérémie claim its hybridity? As previously
91
A series of attempts put forward by both black and mulatto intellectuals to reevaluate the national Haitian culture.
These writers critiqued the elite for their Eurocentric leanings and subsequent alienation of peasant culture. Their
narratives thus emphasize the need to study the peasantry, make an inventory of its practices and to recognize the
African roots of Haitian culture. It is important to note that indigénisme was based on cultural nationalism and had
no political program, but regrouped intellectuals from different political persuasions. (Trouillot, Haiti, State against
Nation, 131).
194
mentioned, hybridity in Haiti is ambiguous and unsettling. Haiti may have inherited multiple
origins, but its past makes it difficult to equally embrace its rich heritage. One is constantly
sacrificed and vilified to the detriment of the other.
Heinl and Heinl (p.5) capture the essence of the dualistic paradigms that literally divide
the country into two separate albeit interlocking worlds through a Manichean-type list comprised
of Mulâtre and Noir, literate and illiterate, French-speaking and Creole-speaking, townspeople
and rural peasants, Christian and Vodou, monogamous and polygamous, prosperous and
desperately poor, proud and apathetic and elite and non-elite. As he rightly posits, the opposing
pairs do not entirely accurately correlate. There is bound to be overlapping. This list certainly
doesn’t take into account the slippages and cracks or the strategies of ambivalence that are so
commonly employed in order to survive. The practice of Vodou, for example, infiltrates every
sector of Haitian society. Every Christian deity finds its double in the pantheon of Haitian Vodou
gods. The camouflage within religious practices is just one manner in which métissage persists
and survives despite outer manifestations of suppression. The paradoxes never cease where Haiti
is concerned. In fact, its political and social fabric are structured on ambivalence. Consequently,
Haiti and its people remain misunderstood, undervalued, and ostracized.
In order to understand the magnitude of racial and color tensions in Haiti, it is imperative
to examine the history of the town of Jérémie. One might question why I chose Jérémie in
particular as the focus of my study on socio-political class and color tensions in Haiti. Several
factors contribute to this choice. On a purely demographic level, Jérémie’s mulatto population
stood out. According to Saint-Méry,92 at the end of the eighteenth century, Jérémie’s population
92
Moreau de St. Méry. Description topographique, physique, civile, politique et historique de la partie française de
l'isle Saint-Domingue, Philadelphie, Paris, Hambourg, 1797-1798, (réédition, 3 volumes, Paris, Société française
d'histoire d'outre-mer, 1984), p.1400.
195
was made up of 2000 whites, 1000 freedmen, and 17000 slaves. One can deduce from these
statistics that given the number of whites represented, interracial unions whether coerced or
consensual occurred across racial lines increasing the possibility of the emergence of a much
wider mulatto community. In post-colonial Jérémie, a significant number of the educated elite
who were said to uphold French bourgeois values and who occupied the main economic
positions established themselves in Jérémie. Incidentally, Jérémie is said to have produced
numerous, poets, writers, and historians and consequently became known as the city of poets.
The rise of a mulatto caste
On a societal level, mulattoes of Jérémie had a distinct metis consciousness and identity
that were engendered through established dress codes and mannerisms, membership at exclusive
clubs, regular dominical social gatherings and picnics, and endogamous marriages and alliances.
Franck Laraque, a mulatto from Jérémie describes the prejudice of color as a bizarre
epiphenomenon in Jérémie. He claims that it was never institutionalized since blacks and
mulattoes each held public positions at some point or the other. He notes further that there were
no segregation as such, neither in the neighborhoods, nor at schools, neither among friends while
at play. He argues that color prejudice was a psychological phenomenon (phénomène
psychologique) which in the imaginary created barriers (cloisons). However, he reveals that the
psychological impact was manifested mainly on a sentimental level. As such marriages,
romances, flirts, balls, and pastoral outings were restricted within the mulatto class. He confesses
that they were not allowed to dance with their classmates and playmates who incidentally
animated the parties that were held in the town.93
93
Franck Laraque. Haïti: la lutte et l’espoir. Montréal : Les Editions du CIDIHCA, 2003. (p.68)
196
Secondly, similar phenotypical traits and ancestry helped solidify metis identity. This
social habitus deepened metis class ties and alliances but also widened the chasm between
mulattoes and the black masses. Because of this aristocracy of color, the mulattoes of the town of
Jérémie were perceived as particularly prejudiced against the black population. Jérémie is
certainly not the only town in Haiti with an important mulatto presence, however, few if any
other urban setting has been cited as a recurring referent of the “mulatto issue” as has Jérémie. Its
nickname as the birthplace of the mulatto caste is certainly not a mere coincidence.
Key historical events have also been recorded in Jérémie. For instance, Jérémie was the
site of a tragic massacre against the mulattoes as witnessed by the Jérémie Vespers (les vêpres
jérémiennes). In 1964, under the dictatorship of Duvalier, the town of Jérémie became a theatre
of repression against the mulattoes resulting in the massacre of entire mulatto families. The mass
slaying took place after a group of 13 young Haitians (one black and 12 mulattoes) calling
themselves “Jeune Haiti” landed at Petite-Rivière-de-Dame-Marie on August 6, 1964 with the
intention of overthrowing the regime of François “Papa Doc” Duvalier. The massacre was called
the "vespers" because many of the families killed by the regime are remembered as the families
who took many "vesper" picnic excursions on Sundays. These picnics were just one example of
class and color divide among Jeremieans as they were often organized exclusively among whites
and mulattoes to the detriment of the black population. On a literary level, Jérémie foregrounds
as the locus of significant racial and political turmoil in Haiti. Two novels in particular
interrogate the malaise of métissage in Jérémie namely, Les Chemins de Loco-Miroir by Lilas
Desquiron and Marie Chauvet’s Amour.
Jérémie’s function as a major colonial project has indeed contributed to its evolution into
a creolized space. Jérémie, like Saint-Louis and Saint-Pierre emerged as a metis enclave as a
197
result of complex interactions between composite groups of peoples whose diverse backgrounds
converged into a singular space, transforming it into a colorful often unsettling mosaic. The
following paragraphs explain the historical events leading to the discovery and development of
the town of Jérémie.
History
My description of Jérémie reflects in part, Moreau de Saint-Mery’s representation of the
Jérémie and its people as well as an historical overview by Dorimain94. According to these
historical reports, Jérémie is part of the district or commune of Grand-Anse and was only
discovered by the French in the late 17th century. At that time, Grand-Anse was occupied by
buccaneers as was most of Saint-Domingue. Being often devastated by the overflowing the
Voldrogue River and the sea, Grand-Anse was voted as an unsuitable site to build a town. The
seat of Grand-Anse would be irrevocably transferred to Trou-Jérémie from orders from the
administrators of the Company. The word Trou would eventually be annexed from Jérémie and
the town would be definitely established as Jérémie. The construction of a church officially
changed the status of Jérémie, transforming it into a bourg or large village. The bourg was
eventually sectioned off into two parts: the Basse Ville and the Haute Ville. Jérémie owes its
name to Jérémie Deschamps, one of three French colonists who gained control of SaintDomingue after a succession of invasions from the English and Spanish.
Jérémie proved to be an ideal spot for the new urban space not only because it provided
an embankment for ships, but also because of its pleasant temperature. Its sole inconvenience
however was its proximity to Jamaica, which was at the time controlled by the British, France’s
94
Dorimain, Martin Guiton. Jérémie D’antan 1673-1789 (pp. 9-22)
198
powerful enemies. Despite this disadvantage, Jérémie provided a fairly good defense against
invaders. Large reefs hid its marine interior, a precious asset, but also a natural protection against
British pirates. As a coastal town, Jérémie was exposed to the violent northeastern winds which
ultimately made navigation extremely difficult. The constant threat of invasions also meant that
the coastal town had to be fortified.
This small coastal town attracted many to its shores mainly because of its resources and
the potential for acquiring fortune. Near the end of 1789, two thirds of France’s commerce was
supplied by Saint-Domingue with Jérémie being a major contributor to France’s economy. In
1740, French merchants started trading with the southern part of the colony especially the town
of Jérémie. By 1751, Jérémie boasted about 53 indigo plants, 1,470 cocoa trees, 626,200 cotton
trees, and 483,850 coffee trees. From 1765, Jérémie became an important trading center.
Contraband and other shady businesses with neighboring Jamaica represented about 100.000
pounds sterling in the colony, two thirds of which came from Jérémie. Lumber was also an
essential asset. It earned the colony about half a million pounds per annum. Natural resources
such as steel, mineralized pyrite, vitrified stones, and rock crystals were also discovered in that
area. Jérémie also possessed an abundant fauna. Several different species of game such as wild
pigs, lizards, water fowls, ducks, guinea fowls, and crabs were hunted for meat for local
consumption and export. The wood pigeon, in particular was a favorite delicacy in the colony.
Although more rare, cattle, donkeys, horses, and mules were likewise found on the island. These
assets were in part major elements that attracted European investment on the island.
Nevertheless, Jérémie was a small town and could not accommodate the rapidly growing
population (Dorimain, Jérémie D’antan).
199
To solve that problem, two separate edicts (1760 & 1761) to extend Basse Ville were
issued by the Administrators at that time. The surge in population according to Dorimain,
(Jérémie d’antan) is due to the economic viability of Saint-Domingue. He maintains that men
and women alike fled France to come to the colony in pursuit of instant wealth. The Seven years’
war also contributed significantly to the migration of Europeans to Saint-Domingue. France was
dealt a terrible blow after the loss of some of its most flourishing colonies including Canada.
Economically, the great metropolis was experiencing many difficulties. Saint-Domingue being
one of the most lucrative colonies at the time became a haven of financial security to those
relentlessly seeking fortune.
The city of Jérémie was not only a space of economic gain, but it was said to be the
repository of French culture. Very little historical evidence explains Jeremieans’ penchant for
French bourgeois taste and values, but according to several accounts including those of Dorimain
and de Vaissière, Moreau de Saint-Méry, Jeremieans were representatives par excellence of
French culture and assimilation. Frenchness was reimagined and reinvented in the colonial space
by French citizens through traces and fragments of traditions and lifestyle of Metropolitan
France. These colonial cities were thus erected and structured with the intention of catering to the
needs of French citizens. Jérémie seems to have had a large concentration of French infiltration
because of its obvious assets. The colonial city was strategically built with a view to enhance
immigrant French standard of living by maximizing on these assets.
Mimic spaces
Above all else, the colonial space represents a location of authority and is deeply
stratified. The pre-independent society of Saint-Domingue is no exception. Subaltern groups
during that era are by no means a welcome presence within that space. However, the nature and
200
complexity of this rich French colony means that human contact and exchange of goods
increased the chances of métissage. Despite and because of their condition, subaltern groups
have always found ways of subverting authoritative systems in order to survive. One way in
which they do so is by appropriating the city center via the marketplace. The marketplace, a
quintessential point of human contact exchange and traffic of merchandise of all sorts, ideas,
ideologies, and information manages to efface the notion of hierarchy and obliterates the ruralurban divide.
Composite groups make up of local farmers and artisans, traders, merchants, adventurers,
tourists, religious personnel, members of high society, the middle and peasant class, blacks,
whites, and mulattoes all converge in a common place for similar reasons to buy or sell goods
and services. The peasant masses, former slaves produced for the urban market. Moreover, even
when exploited by wealthy landowners and merchants, they understood that freedom, mobility,
and fortune were made accessible through the open, chaotic, and ambiguous space of the
marketplace. The continuity of métissage from the plantation to the city is manifested in that
localized central point where transactions of all kinds force diverse peoples and cultures together.
The lure of potential fortune or minimal survival drew even the underclass to the city who made
it his home without permission. Squatting within the city limits transgressed boundary
restrictions.
Considering that Jérémie like all colonial cities are established as miniature replicas of
French cities, membership was reserved only to those who identified fully or partially to the
French language, culture, and wealth. The Non-white population, was relegated to the fringes of
society. These imagined spaces of material and symbolic colonial wealth are never extended to
the illegal occupants. However, border restrictions are constantly compromised and prove futile
201
against sexual desire and the day to day activities that keep colonial and subordinated population
in perpetual contact. Status and economic improvement among the freed non-white population
means that mobility across color and class lines is increasingly frequent.
Legislative measures are disregarded, as affluent mulattoes aim at securing their rightful
place in the white planter class due to their wealth, which many times surpassed that of the white
elite, their whitened complexion, and their assimilation of French values and culture. Despite
colonials’ aversion to the increasing opportunism of the mulatto class, they reluctantly ally with
them since doing so was more of an asset than a liability. For instance, the rapid upsurge in the
mulatto population and its attendant establishment as an economically stable viable group
benefited the colony. Mulattoes are thought of as good representatives of French values and loyal
to French sovereignty and thus strengthened France’s image as a leading empire. Mulattoes were
also indispensable within the colony as their men are chosen as recruits for the army and the
militia and help contain the ever present menace of slave insurrection. The women as well were
important assets to the colonial society and their roles far transcended the stereotypes of
libertines and mistresses.
Jérémie, like Saint-Louis and Saint-Pierre were built as Dawson argues “in general, to
cater to the needs of metropolitan capital for resource extraction.”95 It is interesting to note that
these imagined communities, to borrow Anderson’s concept are nothing more than
underdeveloped spaces that newly arrived colonials and visitors alike describe with scorn and
loathing. De Vaissière, for example, observes that the picture painted of Saint-Domingue was
exaggerated and excessive: “Mais à Saint-Domingue, au moins dans l’ensemble et sauf
95
Dawson, Ashley. “Squatters, Space, Belonging. ” P.22
202
exceptions, le tableau que l’on a tracé de cette vie est, il me semble, exagéré et chargé »96. SaintMéry’s depiction of the city is not a very flattering one either. However, the colony constitutes a
space of self-reinvention where newly arrived fortune seekers, most often representing the
underclass of French society reimagine themselves as nobility through upgraded social and
economic status that the plantation economy enabled. Formerly poor European immigrants to the
colony could become rich thus erasing the social hierarchies of the Old Regime.
Jean-Baptiste Du Tertre, French missionary and botanist in the colony referring to the
whites, observes that: “there is no difference between noble or nonnoble among the inhabitants;
he who owns the most is the most respected” (2:445)97. As a member of Old Regime aristocracy,
Du Tertre is particular peeved at the simulacrum of nobility in the colony achieved through
commercial means and to commercial ends and his caustic remarks regarding this
misrepresentation of nobility by women and men reveals his indignation: “they believe that their
husbands’ condition as soldiers means that they deserve to be treated as noblewomen…they hold
court around the governor’s wife as though in the presence of royalty” (2:446).
Indeed, colonial cities are reconfigured in the colonials’ imaginary as a space worthy of
royalty. Old Regime ideals of race and class superiority are recreated within these mimic spaces
shutting out not only non-whites but poor whites as well. However, such ideals are not exactly
respected in the creole context and are sabotaged from their very inception. The rapid increase of
the mulatto population is sufficient evidence that disproves all notions of ideals. Mulattoes in
turn mimic many of these markers of status from their white neighbors and established
96
Pierre De Vaissière. Saint-Domingue : La société et la vie créoles sous l’Ancien Régime, p. 276.
97
Jean-Baptiste Du Tertre. Histoire générale des Antilles habitées par les Français.
203
themselves as nobles, appropriating dress, mannerisms, and last names albeit in somewhat
modified forms. Just as white immigrants to the colony use these very markers to reinvent and
improve their lot, mulattoes especially, needed to be reinscribed and revalorized as individuals
worthy of visibility and recognition. The imagined city of French colonials is further transformed
by the persistent subversive acts of métissage. The freed men and women claim identity and
citizenship in the colonial town. The city as Dawson explains is indeed the “space in which
citizenship is realized” (“Squatters”, 24).
The creolization of libertinage
How do cities of rigid French colonial authority represent so pervasively Creole
syncretism and fusions? The tripartite structural organization of the plantation system was
established as an obstruction to boundary crossing. However, the system self-destructed as it was
impossible to preemptively deflect the ramifications of cultural and interracial transgressions or
the slippages that occur within the interstices of mainstream society. Boundaries were erected to
maintain colonial domination and power but more so to suppress subversion of that authority.
Ironically, interracial relations persisted throughout Creole societies amid a system of extreme
segregation based on race. This phenomenon was particularly prevalent in Saint-Domingue, no
doubt, because of its size and prosperity as a major sugar-producing colony.
How then does one reconcile the ambivalence of colonial relations? In Doris Garraway’s
text the Libertine Colony, she proposes the centrality of desire and sexuality in understanding the
ideologies and practices in the Creole society. The transgression of boundary crossing was
initiated by the master on his slave. Wimpffen98 refers to the phenomenon as “sexual self-
98
Wimpffen. Voyage à Saint-Domingue, 214.
204
sabotage”. Slaves held no claim over their bodies as these bodies were the site of production for
the rapacious capitalist system. Female black bodies were subjected threefold as they were at
once machines of production, reproduction, and sexual desire. The social order of slavery
implied an imbalance in the relations among desire, power, and domination. Therefore, the
slaveholder had access and claim to these dominated bodies and abused and subjugated them at
will. As Garraway rightly argues, “desire was a function of power that deeply impacted practices
and ideologies of domination. The question then becomes who desired and what were the uses,
parameters, and consequences of those desires and their pursuit, both real and imagined?”
(Introduction)
Her argument proposes that desire is ambiguous and multifaceted. Granted, the rape of
the black female or mulatto body by the white master replicates the violence upon which slavery
was structured. However, at some point the initial desiring gaze shifts. Notions of desire in
colonial societies take on many forms from rape to trafficking of women to rivalries between
women especially between free women of color and their white female rivals. Seduction then
becomes implicated in the agenda of desire. In Hartman’s view, desire and seduction are
strategies of mastery as well as terms in a logic that celebrates the surrender and perfect
submission of the enslaved.99
In popular views, the master capitalizes on his position to satisfy his craving by
imposition of his will. Even so, women were not mere victims of European lust and greed. The
desiring male performs and abuses because of his power role but sexual agency is not attributed
to him alone. Women use desire and seduction as political strategy to accrue agency as well as
99
Hartman, Saidiya. Scenes of Subjection, 85
205
control over males. Desire articulated within the cityscape is an act that portrays creative genius
rather than sexual victimization.
Métissage is often inscribed within situations of unequal power relations and as a result is
often interpreted as the site of violence against the black woman. Indeed, under the cruel yoke of
slavery, women were raped again and again by their European masters and gave birth to multiple
illegitimate children. These situations often led to narratives of the victimized black women
whose fate was predetermined by their uncertain positioning. Consequently, discourses emerging
within that context of plantation violence, inscribe métissage as an unfortunate accident that
engendered misfits or defective offspring, a phenomenon that would eventually lead to the
degeneration of superior races and civilizations.100 Unfortunately, these discourses reveal very
little about the strategies utilized by black slaves and mulatto women with the complicity of their
white lovers.
As I mentioned earlier, desire was not unidimensional but used also by slave women as a
tool to subvert her master’s sexual hegemony over her. Observers in the colony such as Labat
and Saint-Méry among others attributed the uncontrollable desire of male colonials to colonized
women’s wantonness and proclivity to insatiable sexual appetites. I argue that slave and mulatto
women capitalized on those narratives of unleased passions to gain superiority not only over men
on the plantation but French women as well. These discourses also afforded them certain
luxuries and privileges that slave life denied them. Some concubines received generous gifts
from their lovers and were given preferential treatment. Although a royal decree of 1726 would
100
In his voluminous essay, Essai sur l’inegalité des races humaines, 1855, Arthur de Gobineau theorized that
miscegenation of races was inevitable but that the superior white race, the origin of all civilizations would
eventually degenerate. Livre. 1 “Considérations préliminaires.”
206
eventually ban the extension of patrimony to freed persons, still others were bequeathed land,
money, and other material possessions upon the death of their lovers.
The dynamics of power, sexual, or otherwise shifted between colonizers and colonized as
both parties attempted to reach some sort of compromise with each other. What started from the
bowels of the slave ship and continued on the plantation as repeated acts of coercion and rape of
the female body would later be transformed into relationships of concubinage that were certainly
sexual in nature but were more so, practical arrangements. These unions were not only
consensual between both parties but were encouraged. Slave women and especially mulâtresses
understood the power they held over men and wielded their sexuality and beauty as tools to
improve their lot. Du Tertre, Labat, and other visitors to the colony often described the
debauchery and scandalous behavior between colonials and black/mulatto women.
The structure of the plantation system encouraged such licentious behavior not only by
European colonial employees but local women. The shift from plantation to urban center
encouraged new forms of sexual behavior, relationships, and unions for freed men and women.
The urban space with its markets, commercial and business centers, ports, trading posts, real
estates, developing infrastructure, consumerism practices, and differentiated populations created
an illusion of wealth and opportunities. The aristocratic lifestyles of rich planters, merchants, and
French women in Saint-Domingue encouraged migrations from all over the world but also from
rural areas. Migration from the rural areas symbolized a shift from forced labor and misery to the
bustling urban center where production and exchange abound.
The city presents itself as a space of utopia where dreams can be realized and new
identities created. Indeed, created as an artificial paradise for nostalgic colonials, the city bares
the mark of mimesis, a re-presentation of European metropolises, where paternalistic authority
207
imposes itself as a bastion against the peasantry. Boundary lines of urban centers are pervious to
the mimetic gaze and the subaltern penetrates the imposed barriers inundating its center by the
thousands. The freed class occupies the center and produces its own doubling culminating in
chaos and tensions. The prospect of acquiring fortune, respectability, and social status enticed
freed women to consciously select mates that had good social standing and wealth and freed men
to seek and vie for high ranking positions in politics, trade, and in the military.
The open space of the colonial city open opportunities for women that the plantation
space denied. Skilled in the art of trade and business and considered beautiful and desirable,
women, especially mulatto women, used their newfound mobility and influence to control and
command certain aspects of the city, notably the market scene, thus challenging the traditional
gendering of the urban space. Women also dominated the cultural arena and consequently
contributed significantly to the urbanization of the city. The increasing number and wealth of the
mulattoes within the city limits necessitated further strategies to accrue, maintain, and
consolidate wealth within the family. Communities of mulattoes are formed, usually according to
class, structured along family lines.
The subsequent ascendency of the mulatto families and the mulatto class in Haitian towns
and in particular Jérémie is as a direct result of women’s active influence and participation. Their
influence and power are particularly exercised through the institution of the family. King101
confirms that in the Saint-Dominguan society, free colored women had surprising autonomy and
power within their informal relationships with white men. He states further that they were
“legally independent, since they were unmarried and thus free to dispose of substantial property
101
Stewart R. King. Blue Coat or Powdered Wig: Free People of Color in Pre-Revolutionary Saint-Domingue.
Athens: The University of Georgia Press, 2001. (180)
208
without male supervision.” He also observes that “free colored family was bound with strong
ties, ties that transcend color and even status bars. Married or unmarried, black, white, or inbetween, free or slave, Saint-Dominguans generally looked out for their kin.”
Alliances are made along lines of wealth and status to consolidate wealth within families
and subsequently within the group. Affluent families emerge as a result of strategic pairings and
alliances. Metis sons of rich families are sent to France for education and married into
aristocratic French families. Even within the colony, wealthy mulattoes maintain strong ties with
whites and often traced their wealth to bequests and gifts from white relatives. Many were slave
owners and either inherited property from white benefactors or acquired property as a result of
their own labor as sugar planters or coffee and indigo planters, areas in which they dominated
(King, 206, 270). This improved economic status puts the mulattoes on equal playing field with
their white counterparts and they consequently seeks full civil and political rights. The abolition
of slavery in Saint-Domingue and its attendant revolution translated into full political power for
the mulatto class.
Many free mulatto families originate from relationships between slaves and their masters
and children born from these unions were well taken care of. The family unit at whatever form is
very important to the mulatto family and with the increased acquisition of wealth and status, the
prevalence of a “bourgeois morality” was crystallized among the metis. Marriage becomes
central to them as it provides many opportunities for social advancement, and as a result, many
mulattoes aspire to that end. The freed landholding mulatto elite were especially attached to
traditional French family structures. Men aspiring for leadership roles aspire to marry since
marriage increases their claim to bourgeois respectability and thus to full acceptance as French
citizens.
209
The city embodies a place of respectability as opposed to the plantation which denies
legal marriages and instead, personifies sexual libertinage and debauchery. Marriages and
contractual agreements between mulatto women and mulatto or Europeans males were especially
demanded by the women who saw these as a means of assimilating French bourgeois values. The
family unit represents a cohesive structure, where children are legitimized and brought up in a
stable environment and where women are granted the respect worthy of the French aristocrat
lady. Mulatto family values are replicated after French bourgeois values, and families within the
Haitian cities used any measure to maintain this order within the family structure. Women are the
matriarchs of many wealthy mulatto families and are significant economic actors. They own
large amounts of property, dominate some facets of commerce, and control important capital
through the terms of donation from white patrons. Many are involved in the sale of land and
contribute tremendously to urban real estate development (King, Blue Coat…188).
Marriages and other close alliances are therefore closely monitored and potential
situations of misalliances promptly dismissed. Women become tyrants in that regard, ensuring
that their son or daughter marries well in order to improve their class and race. Madame
Delavigne, Violaine’s mother, fictional characters of Desquiron’s Chemins de Loco-Miwa
exemplifies the tyrannical mulatto mother who guards the mulatto aristocracy and family legacy
at the cost of sacrificing her only child. Marrying well means marrying white in order to improve
the “race” or marrying up, as in another wealthy mulatto family. Despite the explosion of
diversity in the Haitian city, it is typically a centralized and homogeneous space that caters to the
authoritative Self to the exclusion of the Other. Certain mulatto families reproduce similar
behaviors that segregated according to class and color. The peasantry, representing the poor
210
working class blacks is systematically marginalized and excluded from the center of wealth and
social advancement.
Can métissage thrive within the urban space to the same extent it did on the plantation?
Under the plantation system, rigid sanctions promulgated by juridical regulatory laws prohibit
boundary crossing, yet the metis population grew, surpassing and rivaling the white elite. This
visible manifestation of métissage means that social and juridical laws are unable to restrain
white male sexual desire for the slave women. The persistence of métissage emphasizes further
the porosity and obvious failure of the so-called boundaries that were erected to prevent
transgression across racial lines leading to the conclusion that colonial desire knows no
boundaries. The confining and violent context of the plantation means that black or mulatto
female bodies were always at the disposal of white masters. Amidst narratives of the sterility of
interracial unions, interracial offspring appeared at such an alarming rate that laws were
intensified to curb colonial’s libidinal excesses.
The shift in the dynamics of métissage from the stiff confines of the plantation to the city
warrants a thorough study. Whereas the reproduction of métissage ensures the continuity and
preservation of the colony for the benefits of the French empire, it also represents increased
social and economic status for the freed persons especially the mulattoes. As a group who gained
freedom either through manumission, marriage or their metis children, mulattoes had significant
privileges and quickly established themselves as unparalleled rivals to white elites. In the late
eighteenth century, the mulatto population was almost the size of the white population because
of reproduction of métissage within the mulatto class. In other words, mulattoes formed
endogamous relationships and reproduced among themselves thus ensuring the continuity and
stability of the group.
211
Women in Jérémie play a pivotal role in propagating French bourgeois values. Although
their public roles have been negated, they have contributed in establishing Jérémie as an
urbanized creole space. Pierre de Vaissière102 a French historian during the colonial epoch
claims that the women of Jérémie are the most beautiful, elegant, and fashionable. They are held
in high esteem and outclass all women in the colony. Vaissière does not specifically identity the
women in his narrative, but based on the cult that European men make of mulatto women, one
assumes that he is alluding to mulatto women. Additional accounts describe the mulattoes of
Jérémie as being particularly fair-skinned with blue eyes103; “Jérémie est une petite ville du sud
[…] où les mulâtres dit-on étaient souvent très clairs et avaient des yeux bleus.” Metis women
are thus considered as essential agents of transculturation as they facilitate and accommodate
continued fluxes into the city. They are central in creolizing Jérémie, creating a space where
metropolitan sophistication clashed with Island charm, upsetting the notion of the rigid colonial
space. It is not surprising that Jérémie becomes one of the locations of European migrations.
As Vaissière notes, there are no traditional cliques, castes, or classes in Jérémie simply
because the occupants themselves all come from very modest backgrounds. The majority of the
occupants are former pirates. Initially, there were no European women in the colony. African
women are the companions of the first set of French conquerors. The (Code Noir) of 1685
eventually alters the relative harmony among the inhabitants. Relations between the Frenchman
and the Negress were expressly forbidden. Having an offspring with his slave, notably a female
would result in a fine of 2000 pounds of sugar. Jérémie is indeed initially a space where
102
Vaissière, Pierre de. La Société et la Vie créoles sous l’Ancien Régime (1629-1789)
103
Labelle, Micheline. Idéologie de couleur et classes sociales en Haïti. Montréal : Les Presses de l’Université de
Montréal, 1978. (P. 144)
212
métissage was encouraged and thrived. However, racist French laws altered mindsets and
thought patterns regarding race and class.
The ideology of color
To understand the complexity of métissage in Jérémie, it is important to examine the
racial/color taxonomy that has informed specific metis consciousness and identity. Color and
class are much more than social markers of metis identity in Haitian societies. They are the
founding traditional principles that dictate and inform distinct elite bourgeois values. These
markers determine belonging and exclusion. Perception of whiteness predisposes one to the
mulatto caste but other factors such as wealth, land ownership, education, and family tradition
played a key role in determining one’s position or identity in the mulatto ethno-class. Class
structure was often delineated according to somatic classifications such as skin nuances, hair
texture, and often eye-color. In other words, the higher the degree of whiteness, the greater the
possibility of belonging to the bourgeois class. Of course, given the ambivalence of color politics
in Haiti, the reality is not always neatly articulately.
There are often grey areas whose slippages disturb the norm. For instance, a fair-skinned
mulatto who is economically destitute but has” good” hair may be permitted into the bourgeois
class while a wealthy dark-skin mulatto with “bad” hair may be excluded. On the other hand, a
wealthy black man who has married “well” may also belong to the bourgeois class. As the saying
goes “a poor mulatto is a black man while a wealthy black person is a mulatto. (Labelle,
Idéologie de couleur, 137-140)
Being a Haitian is certainly more complex than one imagines. Not only are there
antagonisms among the two groups (blacks and mulattoes) but within each class, tensions
abound challenging the already fragile social structure. The mulatto class is notably pitted
213
against itself as Labelle104 demonstrates in her book. She probes into the universe of the mulatto
class and examines in detail the complexities of social stratification based on color gradation.
Her dissection of this class underscores the socio-cultural and socio-racial struggles that have for
centuries maintained Haiti in its comatose state. Although in her study, she focuses primarily on
the mulattoes of Port-au-Prince, her analysis can certainly be applied to Jérémie as I will reveal
in my analyses of Desquiron and Chauvet’s novels. She identifies several categories of mulattoes
and the factors that are perceived as essential to belonging to the upper class. She distinguishes
the traditional upper class mulattoes, those coming from old money whose fortune is
concentrated in commerce, luxury items, import-export, real estate, and tourism and the liberal
professions from the “parvenu” or the newly rich, who acquired their fortune from the industry
business.
This recent acquisition of wealth imposed some restrictions on this group within the
mulatto community as they were considered inferior since they lack the prestige and good
mannerisms of the traditional bourgeoisie. Labelle explains further that the traditional
bourgeoisie were referred to as “mulâtres haitiens” meaning that their lineage was traced to
original Haitian and European stock. They also had darker hues and enjoyed a superior status.
She notes that they were “plus cultivés, plus raffinés, plus sûrs de leurs assises sociales et
assurent avoir moins à prouver »; they were more cultured, more refined, and more socially
grounded and therefore were not in need of constant validation of their wealth.
Additionally, she describes the newly rich as having fairer hues and conscious of
maintaining an image. She also underscores the noticeable difference between brown-skin
104
Labelle, Micheline. Idéologie de Couleur et classes sociales en Haïti
214
mulattoes involved in commerce from those old propertied families affiliated with the liberal
professions and politics. Moreover, mulattoes from the big cities are given prestige over those
from the province whose origins are often thought of as questionable (e.g., refugee Jews, poor
whites…). The intricate underpinning of Haitian class and color identity that appear arbitrary to
the outsider is a normal social requirement for the Haitian people and unfortunately is at the core
of their internal turmoil.
For the Haitian bourgeoisie class, social and physical types are important specificities
that determine and maintain mulatto identity. Light skin, straight hair, and white features are
perceived as some of the most salient physical markers of the upper class mulatto elite. When
one speaks of the mulattoes of Haiti, one distinguishes them as a type. In a test that Labelle
conducted on the mulattoes of Port-au-Prince (Labelle, 144), the interviewees all identified the
specimen she presented according to their racial type. A few responses she gathered are as
follows: “Il dépasse” meaning that he can pass for white; he is “un mulâtre réussi” (phenotype
places him closer to white than black which implies that the outcome turned out positively);
“supérieur”, “blanc du pays” (the physical traits are so close that one can’t distinguish the
mulatto from an actual white person)’ “mulâtre authentique de la bonne société, de type
europeanisé”; and finally “mulâtre Jérémie”. As I mentioned already, mulattoes of Jérémie were
perceived especially as fair-skinned with blue eyes and were noted for their “préjudgé de
couleur”.
An analogous taxonomy is also articulated in the black society. The blacks who belong to
a socially elevated category or in other words, those whose family is well known and established,
those who possess family assets, and have a good education are referred to as “noirs fins”
(refined blacks) regardless of their physical type. They speak good French, belong to important
215
families, and earn a name through politics or in the liberal professions. These blacks are accepted
within the mulatto society. However, events such as the 1946 revolution and ousting of a popular
mulatto president, Estimé’s (a black civilian) rise to presidency, and the eventual dictatorship of
Francois Duvalier reignite tensions between blacks and mulattoes, leading to restrictions of
blacks into mulatto society regardless of their social standing.
An elitist mindset was equally manifested among the upper class blacks. There is a clear
distinction between the traditional black bourgeois and the newly arrived (monté) black
bourgeois who gained social eminence through politics. The latter is simply referred to as nouè.
[nwè]105 His social position opposes him from the noirs or nèg fins. Regardless of his physical
type, the traditional upper class black is a nèg fin. He may even be designated as “brun” or
brown-skin so as not to offend him. On the other hand, irrespective of the skin color (very dark
to fair-skinned) of the newly arrived black bourgeois, he is a nèg de “la classe” or a nouè.
“Classe” here refers to the peasant masses. The picture painted by Labelle is indicative of the
deep socio-cultural cleavage of Haitian society. Sadly, this picture resonates in the works of
sociologists, anthropologists, writers, and demagogue leaders who throughout history have
mystified and exploited the black masses’ emotions and resentment against the “race métissée”,
and have ignited the latter’s latent fears regarding the masses. Such an outlook presents a rather
grim future for the reconciliation of Haiti’s multiply identities.
The Marassa trois: Cocotte, Violaine and Alexandre
Fortunately, Desquiron’s novel, Les Chemins de Loco-Miroir (Reflections of Loko Miwa)
offers a counter rhetoric to the racial myths and prejudices that have maintained the Haitian
105
Nouè is the Creole term for Noir (Black).
216
nation at odds with its multiplicities and points instead to the way (chemin) forward for
reconciliation and progress. Les Chemins de Loco-Miroir, published in 1990 and translated in
English in 1998 as Reflections of Loko Miwa is Desquiron’s first novel. It unravels the soul and
complexities of Haitian society through the metaphor of two spiritual twins or “marassa sisters,”
Violaine Delavigne and Alma Viva Jean Joseph (Cocotte). The story takes place in Jérémie. The
two main protagonists are Violaine who is rich, beautiful, and extraordinary and born to the
Delavigne family, a leading mulatto family of Jérémie and Cocotte her spiritual sister who is
born at the same time to a poor black family from the Macaya Hills. As dictated by the Vodou
Lwa (spirits), Violaine and Cocotte were to be venerated and honored according to time-set
rituals and ceremonies. Vodou rituals are embedded in Haitian society and transcend class, race,
and color. Despite their outward repugnance of the Vodou practices, The Delavigne, members of
Jérémie’s aristocracy were bound to its dictates.
According to Haitian beliefs, the term marassa refers to two or more children of the same
or differing genders born at the same time from the same mothers. In other words, they are what
we refer to in the English language as biological twins. In Haitian Vodou customs, twins
transcend the biological aspect and take on a metaphysical character. As such, they are to be
venerated, honored, and served since they are believed to be endowed with special magical
powers. They are so powerful that in Vodou cosmogony, they are considered to be “the first
children of God,” the childhood of the race”. They are thus regarded as stronger than the Lwas.
That is why during Vodou rituals, they are greeted first before Papa Legba. As divine twins,
217
they incarnate the notion of the segmentation of some original cosmic totality that must regain
wholeness. Deren106 observes that:
The metaphysical character of the Divine twin is reflected in the beliefs and practices
relating to contemporary twins, who are understood as two parts of a whole, hence
sharing one soul…since the twins are essentially one, that which affects one part affects
the other and whatever disease or accident may best one twin is understood to threaten
the other; and their violent separation may lead to disaster. (39)
This quote is vital in understanding Cocotte’s devotion to Violaine up till the end and the
sacrifice of her virginity in exchange for Alexandre’s release from prison. Under Haitian myth,
Alexandre completes the Marassa and together they form a triad known as Marassa-Dossou- that
Dossa or “Marassa trois”. A. Métraux explains that the dossou or male child or the dossa, the
female child are born sequentially after a set of marassa. The dossou or dossa complements the
twins and it is said that they are often stronger than the twins (Le Vaudou Haitien, 132).
According to Deren, in this trinity, “the third element is understood as the issue of the twins, and
in this sense—male, female and issue—it is an affirmation of multiplicity.” (40)
The symbolism of marassaness or twinning permeates Desquiron’s Chemins. Although
Violaine and Cocotte are not biological twins, they are considered marassas. Alexandre is not
affiliated biologically to Cocotte or Violaine but together, the three synthesizes the composite
reality of Haitian society. Alexandre’s arrival in the lives of the marassa indeed corresponds with
Métraux’s concept of the sequential birth of the dossou. Cocotte and Violaine were bound from
birth and their bond solidifies when Cocotte comes to live with the Delavigne family. The
“marassa trois” is born with the arrival of Alexandre as a young revolutionary man, full of
political ambition and radical ideas. Indeed, his deep insight of the Haitian reality and his
106
Deren, Maya. Divine Horsemen: Voodoo Gods of Haiti. New York : Dell, 1972, 1970
218
commitment to provoke change render him stronger than the twins. Their tripartite relationship
represents not only the main character Violaine who incarnates Haiti’s multiplicity within herself
as a racial and cultural hybrid, but it is also a metaphor for Haiti’s relationship with its diverse
African, European, and Amerindian components.
As noted earlier, the ties that link the three are not biological ones but spiritual ones,
embedded in Haitian Vodou traditions. As the customs would have it, Violaine’s and Cocotte’s
mothers would give birth to twin marassa girls, dossou-dossa whose duty it is to pursue the
patient task of maintaining positive energy between their two worlds: the countryside, sanctuary
of the loas (Vodou gods) and the city, a space where money and education could be garnered
(Chemins, 15) Indeed, Cocotte, a poor black girl from the Macaya Hills and Violaine, a metisse
girl from a rich mulatto family from the city of Jérémie are born at the same time.
Sacred rituals have to be properly observed in order to appease l’Esprit des Marassa
(Marassa Spirit). From the night after their births, Cocotte and Violaine are sanctified by the
same Vodou priest and their umbilical cords, strand of hair, and bits of their fingernails are
placed in separate pitchers in the temple (16). Madame Delavigne like all other members of
Haitian elite has to yield to these conventions since not doing so would displease the marassa
spirits. Upsetting the spirits would only lead to great misfortune and tragedy. Consequently, they
have to give in to the whims of the twins. Métraux107 in Le Vodou Haitien observes that:
Any family which include twins…in one of its ancestral lines must, under pain of
“chastisement”, serve them with offerings and sacrifice. Sometimes a family reeling
under a series of misfortunes learns from a hungan (Vodou priest) that it has been
neglecting twins far back in ancestry “at the time of the Guinea” (129-130)
107
Métraux, Alfred. Le Vodou Haïtien. Paris: Gallimard, 1958.
219
The fear of upsetting the gods and losing their privileged place in society is the
motivation behind the false act of kindness that Madame Delavigne bestows on Cocotte who by
the way, is a mere servant to the family. At age eight, Cocotte is brought to be a restavek108, in
Violaine's upper-class home. The laws of marassa oblige that the two girls grow up as
inseparable sisters in both spirit and flesh. As the story unfolds, Desquiron evokes the evolution
and growth of the marassa trois as they struggle to overcome the arbitrary conventions and
rivalries that have kept Haiti in its comatose state.
Cocotte, the poor country girl incarnates Africa and the Vodou traditions. Through her
eyes and voice, an aged Cocotte takes the reader on a journey down memory lane into the
problematics of Jeremiean society. Despite her aged body and arthritic limbs, Cocotte has
maintained her keen eyesight. She engages her clairvoyance from the beginning of the novel and
claims it as a poisoned gift from the Vodou gods: “Je marche à peine. Les yeux sont pourtant
bons!... Je vois très loin et avec une clarté qui étonne le voisinage. Je vois clair même au cœur de
la nuit, une vraie chouette frisée, je vous dis. Mes yeux infatigables sont un cadeau empoisonné
des loas. » (Chemins, 9). Notably, from the age of eight, Cocotte’s visual acuity already has a
powerful effect. At the moment she leaves her Macaya Hills for the city and encounters Violaine
for the second time, the two contemplate each other, Violaine with her orange-like tiger’s eyes
and Cocotte with her silver eyes penetrates the very soul of Violaine: “Elle me regarde de ses
yeux de tigre oranges…Et moi, mes yeux d’argent lui entrent dans l’ame.” (24).
Cocotte’s ability to see Violaine’s soul crystallizes their doubling as the magic of the
spirit of the gods unites them on a metaphysical level. Even as she obeys the dictates of the
108
. Literally means “stay with” in Creole; a borrowed or purchased poor child from the countryside who does
housework in a wealthy household or may get some schooling in exchange.
220
spirits, she knows that it is no easy task: “Les Esprits, croyez-moi, quand ils vous choisisssent,
votre vie cesse d’être un champs de roses…” (Chemins, introduction). She knows for instance
that Violaine, a mulâtresse from Jérémie’s High society, promised to a rich mulatto heir should
not fall in love with a poor Black man. She knows just as Violaine the horrible consequences of
such an unthinkable act, the forbidden act. She is also aware that true love transcends social
conventions, taboos, and prejudices (76). As a black poor girl, her logical mind reasons with
Violaine, but as her double what can she do, but support her: “Et moi, Cocotte, moi Alma Viva
Jean Joseph, je ne pus que murmurer: “Amen, ma fille!” que pouvais-je dire de plus? (85)
Despite having to drop out of school at a young age, Cocotte is portrayed as wise beyond her
years. She personifies the constant in an ever changing society and through her own sacrifices
demonstrates that in other to go forward as a totality, Haitians must sacrifice the conventions that
they hold so dear to and engage in progressive acts of change.
Violaine, the rich mulatto heiress is the complete opposite of Cocotte in every sense of
the word. Independent and rebellious, Violaine overtly defies societal laws and oversteps the
rigid class and color boundaries by fully affirming her cultural and biological hybridity. She
incorporates within herself her multiplicity (European, African and Amerindian) to the chagrin
of her family and class. She commits the ultimate transgression when she falls in love with
Alexandre, a poor black revolutionary who returns from studies to assist in an attempt to
overthrow President-for-Life, Francois Duvalier. In the end, Violaine is zombified, the ultimate
punishment meted out for disobeying the conventions of the mulatto caste. Cocotte is cast out of
the Delavigne’s home and ends up in Port-au-Prince where she becomes a merchant woman. As
for Alexandre, he is thrown in jail with little hope of getting out. Not even Cocotte’s ultimate
221
sacrifice of her virginity would free him. Violaine’s wondering travail would eventually lead her
to Port-au-Prince where she reunites with her sister Cocotte.
Several important aspects of Haitian reality are evoked in this fictional tale. Central
among them is the inscription of Vodou as a thematic and stylistic tapestry through which the
novel unfolds. The author’s vivid portrayal of the folk religion, Vodou and its intimate
interlacing within her storyline may on the one hand, transgress westernized conceptions of
progression and on the other hand appeal to foreigner’s latent exoticism. Desquiron’s work has
nonetheless extracted Vodou from its marginal acceptance and reinstated it as a religion worthy
of that name. Many Haitian writers have also critiqued Desquiron of untruthfully attacking the
mulatto class. Guy Laroque109, pseudonym Jeff Hell, a member of Haiti’s elite with roots in
Jérémie has castigated the author for her “twisted” reality of the little town of Jérémie.
Coates110 notes however that Reflections of Loko Miwa “is the fictional inscription of a
historical truth, a mirror image of Haitian history which is written against or in parallel with the
history of colonialist France.” Bellande-Robertson’s critical analysis of Desquiron’s novel
presents another perspective to this mindset. She argues that the story of Violaine, Cocotte, and
Alexander runs counter to the history of Jérémie. Much like Bellande-Robertson, I too believe
that their story transcends the paradigms of color and class prejudice and instead charts different
paths and crossroads for reconfiguring and reclaiming lost identity. Violaine’s road to
dezombification and the reunion with her soul sister are indicative of new beginnings.
109
. Literary and art critic for Le Nouvelliste (along with Le Matin, is one of the two most important and oldest
Haitian daily newspaper.
110
. The Twins in Vodou : Lilas Desquiron’s Les Chemins de Loco-Miroir…
222
Indeed, Desquiron’s novel portrays the ambivalences and tensions in Jérémie, but this
narrative is not her ultimate objective. Through the interwoven experiences of her characters, she
unveils the intricacies of Haitian life and society. She explores the mysteries and mystic appeals
that are often concealed in discourses of backwardness, superstitions, and political propaganda.
Her story brings to life the traditional Haitian religion that is occulted yet secretly worshipped by
the upper class mulatto. Through the twinning of Violaine and Cocotte, Haiti’s vibrant mosaic
arises from centuries of repression and explodes to the surface stirring up dormant pretensions.
Métissage is revived and renewed amidst latent negations. The violent reaction of the metis
world is theatricalized through Violaine’s affirmation of her hybridity, Cocotte’s gentle but
resilient personality and ultimate sacrifice of her virginity, and Alexandre’s relentless pursuit of
justice and equality. What better triad than Violaine, Cocotte, and Alexandre to restore and
reconcile Haitian identities?
Les chemins
The title of Desquiron’s novel is very telling of her bid to rise above essentialist dictates
by offering a new socio-political discourse that leads to a possibility of unity and identity among
Haitians regardless of class, color, or gender. The title, Les Chemins de loco-Miroir is more than
didactic in its approach. Desquiron draws her readers into a universe fraught with tragic
consequences and allows them to unveil for themselves the hypocrisy and close-mindedness of
the elite, the abuse of power of a corrupt regime as well as the abject misery of the peasant class.
However, her trajectory extends beyond this pessimistic outlook to a window of possibilities for
the unity of all Haitians.
The title is evocative; it embodies ambivalence and as such is indicative of Haiti itself.
The French term Chemin translates as way, path, or road and invokes the notion of moving
223
forward. It negates stasis and inspires mobility. Furthermore, emphasis is placed on the
pluralized form which indicates that the roads to recovery are numerous and possible. The
second part of the title directly implicates the folk religion of Vodou. The French word “miroir”
is the direct translation of the Creole word “miwa”, a term cited in the translated version of
Desquiron’s novel. The juxtaposed term “Loco-Miroir” refers to Haiti’s most venerated spirit
(Loa), Loko-Miwa, who is the healer or the guardian of the houmfors or Vodou temple.
In the Vodou cosmogony, the Loko-miwa is closely linked to the marassa twins. As
Bellande-Robertson explains in her analysis, marassas who are also referred to as “Calfou
Marassa” are guardians in control of the crossroads and are linked to the Loa spirit called Legba,
who opens the gate to the crossroads. In Vodou traditional beliefs111, Legba is the patron of the
universe, the link between the Godhead and the universe, the umbilical cord that connects the
universe to the origin. Legba is also androgynous and therefore seen as a sexually complete
deity. He symbolizes both the phallus and the umbilical cord and is therefore the guarantor of the
continuity of human generations. As the Loa of the crossroads, he is the mediating principle
between opposites. Thus, a metaphysical link connects the Marassa, Legba, and Loko-Miwa;
Legba guards the crossroads of life and the loko guards the temple. He is the healer, the one who
sees into the future and souls of beings, hence his association with the term “miroir/miwa”.
Devotees of Vodou also believe that the metaphysical world of the Lwas is a cosmic mirror
which reflects the images of the profane world of the living and in so doing inverts them.
Through the symbolism of the title, a message of healing is possible. However, in order
for the healing to be successful, the petty differences that have created such deep wounds must
111
Leslie Desmangles. The Faces of the Gods: Vodou and Roman Catholicism in Haiti, p. 108-110.
224
be absolved spiritually through the embodiment of the marassa and the Lwas. Violaine and
Cocotte are more than just fictional characters in a novel. They represent the fusion of opposite
elements implicated by a mystical link that serves to create new avenues not only in the “identity
discourse of hybridity, but also in a new vision of physical and cultural métissage in which the
two parts of the Haitian social/racial composite can come together and foster an abundance of
chances, multiplying the possibility for true richness in Haiti’s developmental process. 112
The struggle of métissage is far from over. In this section, I examine the ways in which
the novel demonstrates the arduous travail and inevitable triumph of hybridity through the
dynamic relations between the main characters and the ways in which they interact and impact
each other’s lives. Central to this analysis is Violaine as she is the poto-mitan113 or central pillar
from which the story evolves. In general, to understand the violent reactions of Violaine’s family
and the mulatto elite and the realization and acceptance of her cultural and racial Creoleness, it is
essential to delve deeper into the persona of Violaine.
Violaine is the quintessential hybrid. In that, she embodies within herself the composite
elements of Haiti- the African, Amerindian, and European aspects. Violaine, unlike her metis
world does not favor one over the other. Instead, she affirms her hybridity and embraces each
diverse element that constitutes her diversity. These very aspects that divide Haitians and deprive
them of the strength and mobilization of unity are indeed the source and inspiration of Violaine’s
independence and strong-will. Philippe Edouard, the metis boy chosen at birth to be Violaine’s
betrothed and ultimately rejected by her admitted in anger and grudgingly:
112
Bellande-Robertson, Florence. The Marassa Concept, P. 6.
113
Sacred center pole in a Vodou temple
225
C’est son indépendance qui m’intéressait, son inconscience absolue d’être tellement
autre, d’être tissée d’une étoffe hétérogène à nous, énigmatique pour nous; c’est sa
tranquille indifférence à toute notre « cuisine » de minables mulâtres jérémiens qui nous
prenions pour des êtres élus… (133)
It was always her independence that attracted me, her complete unawareness of being so
utterly different, of being woven from a fabric so distinct from ours, of being so
enigmatic to the rest of us. She had always shown such tranquil indifference to all our
“concocting,” our “shaking and baking,” as wretched, Jeremiean mulattoes, who consider
ourselves chosen beings… (101)
Violaine’s acceptance of her hybridity is the vision that many writers on Creolization and
Créolité project for all Caribbean people and for a world in constant transformation. Bernabé,
Confiant and Chamoiseau, authors of Éloge de la Créolité (In Praise of Creoleness proclaims:
We are at once Europe, Africa, and enriched by Asian contributions, we are also
Levantine, Indians as well as pre-Columbian Americans in some respects. Creoleness is
“the world diffracted but recomposed,” a maelstrom of signifieds in a single signifier: A
Totality. Creoleness is an annihilation of false universality, of monolingualism, and of
purity. It is in harmony with diversity…we…accepting ourselves as complex. For
complexity is the very principle of our identity. (88-90)
Although Violaine’s affirmation of her diversity evolves as she gains womanhood, her
rebelliousness against her caged-in world manifests itself from the moment of her birth.
Violaine’s birth in a cocoon of lace “cocon de dentelle” (14) immediately demarcates her social
standing from that of her spiritual twin Cocotte who was born in a canal on the coffee plantation
“dans le canal” (14). Despite their racial and social differences, Violaine and Cocotte share a
mystical destiny. Violaine, the rich métisse heiress of her family’s fortune relinquishes her
inheritance for forbidden love. The tragic consequences that ensue are the cruel punishment
meted out for disobedience and for disrupting the neatly organized world of the metis class.
Violaine commits the unforgivable and she dares to transgress; she dares to overstep the rigidly
set boundaries and rules of her caste. Violaine becomes the troubling thorn that has to be
removed.
226
Nonetheless, Violaine is unable to disavow her hybridity even if she tries. Her life’s
destiny has been dictated by the Lwas. She manifests her difference from the moment of her
birth. The lacy comfort of her crib could not appease the baby whose vigorous screams ring out
disrupting the muted atmosphere of the mansion. « Les Cris vigoureux de Violaine retentirent
aussi incongrus qu’une sonnerie de clairon dans cette atmosphère feutrée » (15). The sharp
contrast between Violaine and her milieu is articulated by the disharmony between her energetic
“cris” and the padded calm of her environment. The “cris” is very symbolic of the unspoken
expression of resistance. It is the wailing of slaves shackled together in the bowels of the slave
ship, it is the moans of the slaves bent over in the hot tropical sun of the plantations, it is the
rebellious chants of the maroons, it is the collective sigh of the forgotten masses, it is the
victorious shout of freedom and yes it’s Violaine’s cry of defiance, her refusal to be caged-in.
As I mentioned earlier, Violaine’s trajectory is sealed by fate. Her very name
foreshadows the tragic circumstances of her life. The name Violaine is a juxtaposition of two
terms that bespeak utter aggression and violence. Taken from a French perspective, the name
Violaine can be interpreted in several ways. First, the syllable “viol” from the verb “violer” can
be translated as “violate” or to transgress, to break, to disregard (a sacred place, a law,
agreement), or rape. Violaine embodies both meanings to perfection.
Violaine’s metis body is a sacred place and represents the values and ideals of her class.
However, Violaine violates that sacred place by the overt disregard of her family’s values and
specifically by uniting her body to that of Alexandre through sexual intercourse, the
transgression par excellence of miscegenation. In this first definition, Violaine is the “agent
provocateur” taken in its literal signification. She provokes the subsequent chain of events that
would lead to my second interpretation, her rape. Violaine is doubly raped; the act of
227
zombification is indeed rape as her body is violated against her will. Violaine’s will to live is
curtailed by the vicious dispossession of her soul. All that’s left of her is an empty shell, a living
dead, and a dichotomized being separated from herself. Violaine’s zombification symbolizes
Haiti’s tragic history cut from its roots and its dichotomized African and European origins.
Violaine’s body is further violated by Philippe Edouard’s morbid obsession. Even as a
child, Violaine is oblivious to his attentions, he is a mere shadow that she vaguely acknowledges;
“Philippe Edouard never took his eyes off Violaine. But then again, had he ever stopped spying
on her, following her everywhere, and pining after her with that intense gaze of his?” (23) After
all, Philippe Edouard and Violaine were from birth chosen for each other and Philippe Edouard
took that very seriously. “Violaine belonged to him. She was his fiancée.” (23) Violaine on the
other hand who loved her freedom and independence was “bothered by his oppressive adoration
and kept pushing him away, sometimes violently, sometimes with a strange kind of affection.
After all, she actually did love him. But did she really see him…she slipped into a type of
lethargy when Philippe Edouard appeared because of his singular inability to capture her
attention. (23)
Philippe Edouard never owns Violaine for the simple reason that he is unable to move
her, to stir her emotions. His fear, anger, and anguish intensified when in her womanhood,
Violaine still refuses to see him: “Ay Cocotte…I’ve told you before I just don’t see the same
Philippe Edouard you do. The image you have created of him doesn’t make any impression on
me whatsoever.” (96) Philippe Edouard is powerless, weak, and emasculated before Violaine,
but the dark-skin revolutionary Alexandre, once the best friend of Philippe Edouard but now his
greatest nemesis is the figure of virility and power. But were they really friends? The two young
men were still young and did not consider the fateful end of their friendship. The younger
228
generation of Jeremieans for their part clung to the illusion that this union was hope for Haiti.
The older people however, knew that Alexandre and Philippe Edouard “hadn’t been brought into
this world to like each other; that they were born on different sides of an absurd chasm.” (52)
Violaine and Alexandre’s love for each other would ultimately bring to the surface latent feelings
of hatred and jealousy, exposing the superficiality of the friendship.
After spying on Violaine and catching her with Alexandre locked in a passionate love
scene, Philippe Edouard himself reflected on the true nature of this friendship. In betrayed anger,
he said:
J’ai vu, non pas mon ami Alexandre (il n’y avait plus d’ “ami Alexandre”, d’ailleurs y en
eut-il jamais? Ce genre d’amitié est un leurre a Jérémie, je le sais maintenant), je n’ai vu
que la peau sombre d’un homme de l’autre cote du monde... j’ai vu la peau ténébreuse de
l’Homme noir que nous chassons avec effroi de nos entrailles mêmes, j’ai vu cette peau
abyssale l’envelopper comme une bogue immonde enserre une amande d’or. (134)
I saw someone other than my friend Alexandre, because from that moment on “my friend
Alexandre” no longer existed. I had to wonder if he had ever existed at all. This type of
friendship, I now know, is often nothing more than a delusion in Jérémie. I saw only the
dark skin of a man from the other side of the world…I saw the tenebrous skin of the
Black man we all faithfully try to chase away from our very entrails. Yes, as troubling as
it was, I saw the unfathomable skin envelop her like a dirty husk clasping a golden
almond. (101-102)
Philippe Edouard dredges up the fear of miscegenation. His friendship to Alexandre
remained intact as long as the threat of intermixture was absent. The ideology of color however,
suddenly resurfaces when Philippe Edouard witnessed the “golden almond” being enveloped by
the “unfathomable, tenebrous skin of the Black man”. That black skin that generations of upper
class mulattoes attempts to “chase away from their very entrails”; the repressed African nature
that Violaine embodies so manifestly by the rolling sway of her gait, her untamed locks, her
intimate link to the Vodou religion! Indeed, years of rearing that fashioned and molded
229
prejudiced ideals come hurtling forward as Philippe Edouard contemplates and plots to betray his
“friend”. That hope of unity comes crumbling down:
Et nous étions là, sur cette terre étroite et décharnée, irrémédiablement dressés les uns
contre les autres: Alexandre—les siens enfin—d’un côté et moi—nous, les miens—de
l’autre. Entre nous bouillonnait un terrible magma de sentiments contradictoires :
fascination et haine, attirance et rejet, d’une violence que notre incapacité à la dire rendait
plus cuisante encore. (134-135)
There we were, on that narrow, barren piece of land, hopelessly squared off against each
other: Alexandre and I. Between us a dreadful magma of contradictory emotions was
boiling: fascination and hatred, attraction and rejection, of a violence that our inability to
express made all the more volatile. (102)
But Violaine is the hope that remains burning for although the land that Philippe Edouard
describes may appear barren, it is not. Unlike Alexandre, Philippe Edouard has never captured
the interest or the true essence of Violaine. Violaine is Haiti and she certainly is fertile for she
became pregnant by Alexandre. Their fertile union mocks Philippe Edouard and the metis class
to the core, hence the premature disruption of the pregnancy and Philippe’s participation in
Violaine’s zombification. His only way of gaining possession of Violaine is through her
submission. Violaine’s fate for “going astray, for going down those forbidden byways” (103)
was certain death. However, in a weak desperate attempt to not lose Violaine forever, Philippe
Edouard pleads in anguish: “Don’t harm her! Give her to me, she’s mine!” (109) Thus, it was in
a zombified state, devoid of her free will that Philippe Edouard is able to finally “possess”
Violaine.
His obsessive desires however are unnatural and border on necrophilia. As Nounou
(Violaine’s childhood nanny) watches on worriedly, Philippe Edouard violates Violaine’s lifeless
body night after night: “I am frightened, as I watch this man possessed by you and whom you are
unable to see…I watch him cover you with his huge quaking frame, lavish your sleeping body
with passionate kisses…You don’t even make an effort to defend yourself. I see him trying to
230
love you all alone, so completely alone.” (138) Even in her catatonic state of a “zombie” (living
dead), Philippe Edouard’s love remains unrequited. That energy and exuberance that Violaine
exuded and that he loved was never directed at him. Despite his caresses, Violaine remains inert
and unresponsive. In frustrated anger he speaks to her lifeless form:
Ton corps resplendit, tu ne tressailles pas, tu ne te défends pas…Ou es-tu partie,
emportant tes colères, ton rire de diamant et ce feu qui couvait sous ton épiderme de
mangue mure?...Tu n’as jamais voulu me regarder, Violaine, et tu continues… (185)
Your body is aglow, but you show no response whatsoever. You don’t even try to defend
yourself. Where did you go, disappearing with your flashes of anger, your dazzling smile
and that fire that used to smolder just under your ripe mango skin?... You never wanted to
look at me, Violaine, and even now you keep on… (140-141)
As he sinks into insanity, Philippe Edouard holds on to his morbid obsession of Violaine: “I am
going to take care of you now. You’re one of the living dead, someone who’s been mutilated, but
mine all mine, finally.” (141)
A relationship between Philippe Edouard and Violaine could never have worked as
Desquiron’s vision aims not at perpetuating complex white-color prejudice but rather intends at
recharting the course of Jérémie/Haiti’s epidermic problematic. Like the Delavigne and the rest
of the mulatto elite of Jérémie, Philippe Edouard upholds and represents the patriarchal status
quo, too coward to denounce the prejudices and corruption that he is so aware of: “No doubt
about it, here are two beautiful specimens of provincial high society…Authentic storehouses of
traditions as well as prejudices, they wield an unexpected power on any and all inclined to give
in to the patriarchal appearances of Jeremiean mores.” (104-105)
His inaction portrays him as a man emasculated and feminized. And compared to
Madame Delavigne, aunts Tika and Frida, the trio of women who brought “justice” against
Violaine, Philippe Edouard is a non-entity, he is a mere puppet manipulated at will by Madame.
Nonetheless, he is as guilty as this council of women that sacrificed Violaine in the name of
231
archaic traditions. Alexandre, although on the other end of the color spectrum is a better suitor
for Violaine as he understands and knows well the source of tension between the mulattoes and
the Negro, yet he is willing to sacrifice his life and Violaine’s not merely because he loved her,
but also because he harbors the hope that Haiti would one day embrace her hybridity. In a
monologue he murmurs these words:
Tu connais mieux que moi la répulsion des mulâtres jérémiens pour le Nègre qu’ils
portent en eux et qu’ils relèguent désespérément dans l’obscurité de leur mémoire ; tu
connais cet effroi que provoque l’idée même, absurde, mais réelle pour eux, de retomber
dans la faute originelle, de régresser vers la source primitive, maudite. (79)
You know better than I the revulsion Jeremiean mulattoes have for that Negro they all
carry within themselves and have desperately relegated to the most obscure part of their
memory. You’re aware of their real fear, which is of course absurd, of falling back into
original sin, of regressing to that primitive source, their accursed origins (59- 60).
The frustration that Alexandre feels of this mulatto/black conflict is echoed by the black
middle-class. The profound resentment towards the mulatto elite engenders equally essentialist
ideals. The lure of a purely black racial and cultural authenticity permeats the minds culminating
in the ascendancy of black fascism in 1957. Alexandre’s role as a revolutionary is not a mere
coincidence. His voice is a reminder of the political oppression, corruption, and cruelty to which
Haitians have been subjected. He exposes the essential truths of Violaine’s and Haiti’s tragic
racial and cultural cleavage: “You are indeed this land with all its discarded wealth; you are this
soil of ours that proves fertile in spite of itself,… you are the one who refuses to deny or give up
while the rest of us relentlessly tear each other apart.” (63)
Although relationships are very important to the mulatto elite, especially relationships
that can improve the race or “whiten it”, foster political privileges, economic power, and social
intercourse, they are nonetheless endogamous affiliations seeking worth and identity in a white
filial origin. The Delavigne, hidden under their mask of Frenchness have succeeded at erasing
232
any trace of their African ascendancy until the irruption of Violaine into their world. With her
unruly locks and rebellious nature, Violaine brings to the surface a past that should have
remained buried forever. Violaine’s overt disregard for her caste’s conventions and her
appreciation and affirmation of the differences intertwined within her body express the desire for
Rhizomatic relation, a nonhierarchical principle of unity, a relation of equality with and respect
for the Other as different from oneself. It is only from this point of view of relation that
Jeremieans can begin to be healed.
As we have seen from the outcome of the Haitian revolution, Haitian affranchis
(freedmen the majority of whom were mulattoes) join ranks with insurgent slaves to bring down
white supremacy. This remarkable feat shows that when Haitians unite on all fronts, change is
possible. The opposite is true as well; disunity and dichotomy engender conflicts and stunt
growth and development. Interestingly, the vine has medicinal and curative powers as well
which means that there is hope for healing and rebirth.
The benevolent and malevolent functions of Vodou
Vodou plays an essential role in the healing process. Often marginalized and vilified as
the superstitious beliefs of the peasantry, Desquiron portrays Vodou as an irrefutable construct of
Haitian identity. Neither the mulatto elite nor the black elite escapes the dictates of the Vodou
lwas. As Sourieau114 notes: “since the telling of the ceremony of Bois-Caïman, a key event in the
revolution (14 August 1791) by which Haitians continue to construct their identity, Vodou has
entered both official written history and the ritualized imaginary of the people through a complex
system of myths.”
114
. Marie-Agnès Sourieau. “Introduction”, Reflections of Loko Miwa XV.
233
Vodou is essentially linked to Africa as the term is used by the Fon tribe of Dahomey to
mean spirit, god, or image. However, its survival in Haiti is linked to the successful revolution of
1791 and as such its ritual practices reenact the spirituality of freedom. The practice of Vodou
infiltrates Desquiron’s novel both as a maleficent and benevolent agent. Violaine and Cocotte’s
births were marked by similar ritualistic practices despite their different social backgrounds:
But, despite the silk and Valenciennes lace, it was with genuine love and care that old
Vénus anointed the child, coating her with the same decoctions used on me (Cocotte),
those always prepared from sacred leaves, those preparations that made us all part of the
“Begotten”, part of those people thought to be capable of surviving the worst kind of
misery. (10)
The night after their births, the marassa twins were then taken to the oungan, the Vodou
priest who performed another ritual on the girls. It is interesting to note that the very catholic
Madame Delavigne participated in the very rituals that her class overtly rejects and denigrates.
However, her participation is done in perfunctory fashion out of obligation in order to remain in
the good graces of the spirits. By fulfilling her obligations to the Spirits, she rationalizes her
alienated being and indirectly protects her socio-economic supremacy.
Violaine on the other hand embraces her Haitianité and is victimized as a result. From a
very young age, she clings to her African roots, seeking liberation and restoration of self in
Vodou’s calming balm. A remarkable example of her devotion to Vodou rituals is when at age
ten she is forced to wear a white dress fit for a princess. However, the beautiful dress fitted with
streams of pearls and raised satin terrified Violaine: “But this accursed dress made me tremble
with fear. I was unable to keep myself from smelling its evil fragrances. Inexorably, it made me
think of the ceremonial shroud they wrap around wealthy people when they die. It horrified me.”
(24)
234
Unlike her milieu who expressed utter joy at seeing this beautiful white dress on
Violaine, she was fearful. She experienced a moment of total disconnection with herself. She felt
trapped and powerless and suddenly fled the room like a wild beast. Violaine sought refuge in
the wooded sanctuary that she had discovered with her sister Cocotte. And there, deep inside the
leafy cocoon, Violaine “calmly begun to exorcise the blond angel with which her mother had
tried to imbue her.” (25) Dance had always been Violaine’s way of reclaiming herself, a natural
inclination inherited from her African ancestors that not even her very bourgeois mother could
smother. Dance has always been used as a form of “sacred marronnage” of enslaved and
colonized Africans to reclaim their violated bodies. Vodou was thus the central medium through
which dance was expressed.
Through its rituals, bodies that were used as mere chattels for the material world were
transformed into “sacred vessels of higher powers that protected as well as dominated them.”
(Libertine Colony, 254) Not only was dance used as a protective tool, but was also used to
exorcise the body as Mehta115 suggests: “The transformative power of dance can be compared to
the exorcism of inhibitions in the form of societal bad intent, as a symbolic shedding of skin to
achieve a certain metamorphosis of the self.” (659) Furthermore, Vodou rituals engage the dance
form :
Mais voilà que, les yeux fermés, elle reprenait son visage de vérité: envolée la petite
sainte de vitrail, la vie de de nouveau palpitait autour des ailes du nez et sur la bouche
gourmande. Puis, lentement d’abord, elle se mit à bouger pour reprendre son corps qu’on
tentait de lui voler, de détourner de sa vocation primitive qui était de liberté, de sexe, de
vie, de danse, d’Afrique, de scandale donc, son corps marin, son corps de vague que l’on
essayait d’embaumer comme dans un suaire de dentelles. Elle commença par un « cassé »
maitrisé et sérieux…Et encore, et encore, elle dansa pour chasser la mort, elle dansa,
115
Re-Creating Ayida-Wèdo: Feminizing the Serpent in Lilas Desquiron's "Les Chemins De Loco-Miroir". Vol. 25,
No. 2 (Spring, 2002), pp. 654-670
235
Simbi d’eau, petite serpente d’Afrique travestie en infante. Elle dansa, profanant avec
ferveur tous les tabernacles d’or du Nouveau Monde, arrachant tous les harnais dont on
nous affublait, dénouant tous les cilices dont on nous torturait… Et c’est Banda, l’Esprit
lubrique par excellence, qu’elle saluait avec ses reins liquides. (35)
But gradually, as her eyes remained closed, her true face reappeared. The little saint from
the stain glass window vanished into thin air, and life once again began to palpitate
around her flaring nostrils and sensuous mouth. Then, she began, slowly at first, to stir,
taking back the body they were trying to steal and divert from its primitive calling of
freedom, sexuality, life, dance, Africa, and finally, scandal. She began to claim her
wandering, indistinct body they were trying to embalm as if in a lace shroud. Then came
dancing, a masterful, though quite serious, kasé116…And on and on she danced to chase
away death. She danced as a water Simbi, a little African serpent disguised as an infanta.
And still she danced on, fervently defiling all the golden tabernacles of the New World,
ripping away all the bonds with which they shackled us…And in so doing it was Banda,
the most carnal of all spirits, whom she honored with her liquid loins…Violaine had
become Violaine once again. (26)
Violaine like her enslaved African ancestors feels the need to reclaim her body not from
white oppressors, but from her prejudiced upper-class milieu. The white dress, symbolic of the
space of alienation created by her bourgeois family, is reminiscent of the shackles that bound her
ancestors but it is also emblematic of the class and color ideals of the mulatto elite. Violaine’s
attempts at self-preservation and self-affirmation go counter to these ideals which consequently
lead to conflicts within herself. As Bellande-Robertson writes, “Violaine is the very essence of
what the elite abhors the most due to its psychological inability to claim its Haitianness.” (The
Marassa Concept, 39)
Violaine thus typifies the outsider, the hybrid monster that needs to be fixed. In fact, in
her conversation with Alexandre, she admits as much: “I am a monster, and I say all this to you
as openly as I can, with two heads, two tongues, two hearts, and one eye, and only one.
Sometimes my mirror no longer recognizes me!”(63) Violaine’s close ties with Cocotte, Nounou
116
From the French cassé (broken : as in disjointed limbs); an erotic dance
236
her childhood nanny, Alexandre, and Maman Chavannes (the Vodou priestess) intensify daily as
she struggles to learn more of her African essence. Violaine’s joy is replete when she discovers
her family secret. Deep down in the bottom of a trunk, Violaine discovers a yellowed photograph
of a young girl who turned out to be her paternal great grand-mother.
To Violaine’s utter victory, “the girl is black, black as black can be. No doubt about it,
she is completely black! And I look just like her! This realization that the “pale color of her
father’s skin” camouflages the Negro emboldens Violaine to overtly manifest her rebellion. It
was shortly after that scene that Violaine falls for Alexandre and her character not only evolves
into full maturity but also becomes completely invested and engaged in the socio-political cause
espoused by her lover. Violaine takes on the personae of Erzulie in her attempt at exposing the
hypocrisy and betrayal of her class. Erzulie is a family of lwas (spirits) in the Haitian Vodou
Pantheon and takes on multiple representations.
Violaine turns into Erzulie Freda, the Lwa goddess of love and seduction in an effort to
expose Philippe Edouard for betraying and denouncing Alexandre as a communist. His action led
to the imprisonment of Alexandre. Violaine seeks her revenge in what turns out to be her most
theatrical but audacious move yet. She picks the occasion of the “grand Bal du Cercle
Excelsior”, an exclusive mulatto club to launch her attack. However, before she undertakes such
a move, she seeks the protection of the Lwas. She goes to her hideout in the deep vegetation and
takes a special bath of curative leaves in the basin found there and called on the gods: “Simbi of
the waters, Simbi of clear springs, you who make the water flow anywhere your heart desires,
lead me to the doors of life, strong and full of courage. Open my eyes and arm me to the teeth.”
(118) Invigorated and cleansed, Violaine dresses beautifully in a “robe de bal (evening gown),”
237
and “for the first time wears her grandmother’s diamond necklace, its oblong stones sprinkle her
throat with a string of blue-tinted droplets.” (120)
No one expected Violaine at the Club Excelsior after openly expressing her love for
Alexandre in front of the église Saint-Louis, “devant le ‘tout’ de Jérémie (in front the who’s who
of Jérémie).” (119-120). She however brazenly made her entrance on the arm of her cousin,
Dantès Delavigne and stops right in front of Philippe Edouard as the stunned audience looks on.
She approached him and asks him to dance: “Come, my beautiful angel, come dance with me,’
she murmurs to him, right against his mouth, her spellbinding eyes looking deep into his. You
might even say they’re the eyes of a sorceress, or a better yet, a she-devil.” (120) Violaine
danced seductively and outrageously, shocking the assistant with her behavior. She then
transforms into “Erzulie gé rouge” (red-eyed Erzulie) Lwa of revenge and wrath and addresses
her fury first against Philippe Edouard and her class, the bourgeois elite of Jérémie:
« Tu marches sur des cadavres, Philippe, hurle-t-elle, tu sens la mort! Ordure ! Regarde,
les voici autour de toi, les corps criblés de balles des femmes, des enfants, des hommes
paisibles qu’à cause de toi on a massacrés ! » (159)
“You’ve been walking over dead bodies, Philippe,” she screams. “You smell like death!
Like filth! Open your eyes! They’re all around you, the bullet-riddled bodies of peaceful
women and children, and men who have been massacred because of you!” (121)
Violaine’s tirade not only humiliates the elite, but denounces their duplicitous and
criminal collaboration with the dictatorial regime. As Bellande-Robertson posits, Violaine breaks
another taboo by her overtly political stance. A woman’s place especially the beautiful mulatto
woman is limited to her social role as the “object of men’s desires. Violaine overturns this
limitation and boldly takes a very public step forward. She has clearly threatened the patriarchal
values imposed by men but rigidly guarded and protected by women. Violaine has to be silenced
so that order can be restored. Her crucifixion through the maleficent powers of Vodou by the
238
council of female members of the family supports the notion of women as the purveyors of the
patriarchal status quo.
Desquiron’s novel shows us that the curative capabilities of Vodou trump its malevolent
influences. Violaine’s body was interred and later exhumed “so that she does not suffocate in her
coffin.” (130) The process of exhumation calls for a special magical ritual that the three women
orchestrated through the Vodou priest Eliacin. Violaine awakes but as an empty carcass,
silenced, zombified, and therefore harmless. She is further deprived of a diet of salt as salt is said
to reawaken the body and her soul or bon ange (good Angel) is hidden away.
Nounou intervenes and does the unthinkable. Unable to bear the torture of her beloved
Violaine, she defies the taboo and laws of Zombification and prepares a meal for Violaine that
she seasons with salt and hot pepper. “…the hand I used to pour the salt was trembling like a leaf
because, in all truth, to break a taboo is very serious…” (142) Violaine gulps down the meal and
the salt begins to take effect:
Le sel, le sel fait son travail!...Elle lève les yeux. Son regard terriblement indifférent se
pose un instant sur moi, puis va chercher ailleurs…Elle se campe soudain sur ses jambes,
toute raide, et, à pas rapides, saccadés, se rue vers la cuisine…Elle bouge enfin ! Comme
une poupée emballée, mais au moins la voilà sortie de la léthargie de la mort. » (191)
The salt, the salt is having its effect! …she looks up. Though terrified indifferent, her
gaze does, in fact, settle on me, but only for a moment, then drifts on to something else…
Suddenly, she jumps to her feet, stands straight up as an arrow, and with rapid though
shaky steps, rushes toward the kitchen… she has at least come out of that lethargy of
death. (145-146)
However, salt is not enough to achieve full dezombification. The soul had to be retrieved
or “the wandering of the cadaver-body never ceases.” (143) Violaine’s dezombification is a long
process but with help of the Lwa protectors, the love of Nounou and the communal solidarity of
children, elderly, and particularly women, Violaine’s makes her way to Bèl Antre, the
marketplace where Cocotte works. The latter sees her and takes her in her arms: “My God, Jesus,
239
Mary, have mercy! Papa Loko, have mercy! But where has she come from, my Lord Papa?”
(182) Violaine looks at her and suddenly a glimmer of recognition flicker in her eyes. Both sides
of Haiti have reunited amidst trials, terror, turmoil, and tragedy. They survived the odds. Cocotte
confirms that view when she says: “And we’ll make our way along our own trail all by ourselves
and in our own way, without oungan, without manbò, without anybody. We’ve paid our dues,
and, yes, have finally finished paying the debt. Now, it all belongs to us!” (182)
However, the solidarity of her surroundings surges forward and contradicts Cocotte’s
words: “No! Cocotte, don’t say that! No, you two are not all alone. We’re all here for you, and
don’t forget it!” (182). It takes therefore all citizens, whatever their gender, class, or color to
work towards a better future in a Haiti made new.
Amour
Marie Vieux-Chauvet’s trilogy Amour, Colère et Folie, three separate novellas articulates
in a remarkable way similar themes of abuse, injustice, terror, corruption, and racial tensions
confronting the Haitian nation and its inhabitants. Amour, the first of the three novels echoes
particularly the acerbic class and color tensions that have rendered almost impossible peaceful
cohabitation of differences in the country and among its people. The personal dramas that unfold
in the small town of X is indeed microcosms of larger historical conflicts. In that regard,
Chauvet’s novel Amour shares some parallel with Desquiron’s Chemins. Like Chemins,
Chauvet’s narrative centers on the figure of an upper-class mulatto family at odds with its
hybridity. These family dramas unfortunately depict deeper social schisms that have for years
informed societal and political relations in Haitian towns.
The portrayal of mulâtresses in each of the novels as agents of rebellion and change is no
coincidence. The family structure, a microcosm of the wider society has largely been influenced
240
by French bourgeois values strongly assimilated by the Haitian elite, which was primarily made
of mulattoes. As I have explained earlier, mulatto women are the portals and repositories of these
value systems that they perpetuate within their families and caste. As matriarchs of the mulatto
caste, they maintain strict conventions to which their sons and daughters were forced to adhere.
In seeking to “improve the race” and achieve social, economic and political status, many mulatto
women have resort to oppressive measures to maintain boundaries within the elite class, actions
which have engendered deadly consequences. The choice of mulâtresses as these wings of
change is indeed fitting and necessary as these arbitrary conventions can only be reversed by
women themselves through their acts of subversion despite the consequences to their lives.
In Amour, although the narrative remains similar to Chemins’, the script shifts and the
proud prejudiced mulatto class becomes the hunted in a twisted macabre game of predator and
prey. Through her main character Claire, Chauvet exposes and denounces the horrific agenda of
the color problematic by exposing the hypocrisy and pathetic paralysis of the mulatto elite as
they stand in passive indifference as their women in particular are imprisoned, tortured, raped,
and killed daily to appease the perverse appetites of the tontons macoutes117, henchmen of a
corrupt unseen dictator. The once bourgeois city, now lies almost in ruins, its inhabitants hidden
behind closed doors, peering through shutters that simultaneously open upon a gruesome scene
to be shut as quickly as possible. The mounting terror however does not eradicate the pretensions
and hypocrisy of the mulatto elite whose illusions of grandeur render them equally culpable of
the heinous acts inflicted on the population as they remain as silent witnesses and therefore
accomplices by default.
117
Haitian paramilitary force created in 1959 by dictator Francois “Papa Doc” Duvalier.
241
In this novella, the narrator and principal female character, Claire Clamont, lives in the
margin of the bourgeois society of the small provincial city known only as X which could in fact
be any Haitian town and in that regard could be Jérémie. Amour unravels the story of the
Clamont sisters through the medium of the intimate diary of the first-born Claire Clamont, a
thirty-nine year old unmarried woman marked by the darkness of her skin in a family of lightskin aristocratic mulattoes. Consequently, she struggles with her jealousy for her lighter sisters
and her secret passion for her French brother-in-law against the backdrop of the mounting
rebellion against the diabolic noiriste commandant, Calédu. The gripping reality that Chauvet
exposes through her character Claire has brutal consequences for the author and her book. For
her own safety and that of her family, the author eventually flees her homeland118.
Claire Clamont, akin to Violaine, is an outsider, a misfit. Unlike her aristocratic mulatto
family and circle, she was cursed with dark skin. Despite Violaine’s honeyed skin tone, her
voluptuous body, untamed hair, and rebellious nature betrayed the perceived notion of whiteness.
Consequently, the two women are similarly alienated by their upper-class milieu because they
did not fit into the accepted mold of their caste.
At age thirty-nine, Claire is a spinster and therefore has failed to accomplish what is
considered within the Haitian aristocratic mulatto circle as the primary vocation and destiny of
the woman. Pushed to the fringes of her class because of her unmarried status, Claire creates an
imaginary existence, a secret space of refuge where she is in total control and is allowed to live
118
Chauvet’s trilogy originally conceived as three separate novels (Coates), was sent to Simone de Beauvoir who
recommended it to Gallimard. Gallimard printed it in 1968. However, according to J. Michael Dash, Haitian critics
found the book “too daring politically and too critical of the Haitian bourgeoisie to receive public acclaim” (Dash
110). Soon after its publication, the controversial book was banned and withdrawn from circulation followed soon
by Marie Chauvet’s exile to New York where she would remain until her death in 1973. It was not till 2003, thirtyfive years later that the book was republished by an anonymous group that called itself Editions Voix de Femmes.
The book remains to this day clandestine has very limited copies.
242
out her fantasies in whatever way she desires away from the prying eyes of her surroundings.
The imagery of the eyes and the imagination are powerful medium through which Claire plots
and articulates her subversive acts.
Claire’s rebelliousness may not have been overt from the onset as Violaine’s but her
denunciation of the crippling injustices around her is present. Claire’s rebellion burns from the
inside. It’s embedded in her imagination, it’s hidden in her eyes, these all-seeing eyes that no one
pays attention to. Claire’s upper-class milieu denies her the rights as a thirty-nine year old
unmarried dark skin mulatto woman to a normal existence. Her singlehood erases her both as a
sexual and maternal woman and compounded with the worrisome color of her skin, Claire’s
problems have no other recourse but the church.
Claire’s devotion to the church is however duplicitous as she realizes that the teachings of
the church and those of her aristocratic milieu are the root cause of her self-hatred and selfimposed repression:
En plus, je me représentais les rapports sexuels, les caresses, les baisers mêmes comme
des actes honteux que l’Eglise seule pouvait absoudre par le sacrement du mariage.
Elevée par l’absurde primaires qui, toute ma jeunesse, m’avaient répété que l’amour était
un péché, cloitrée dans cette maison, dans cette province…, je vécus entourée des gens
dont la majorité n’était pas plus éclairée que mes éducateurs. J’appris, tout en ayant
stupidement honte de moi-même, à refouler mes instincts. Toute intimité avec ceux qui
ne faisaient pas partie de la « très haute société » représentait pour mes parents le
déshonneur. Leur étroitesse d’idées m’influença à un tel point que seuls existaient pour
moi ceux que nous recevions chez nous…Il fallait pour leur plaire mener une vie de
recluse…J’ai compris plus tard, que l’acte de l’amour se situe sur le même plan que les
autres besoins physiologiques de l’être humain. (Amour 19-20)
Furthermore, i imagined sexual relations, caresses, even kisses, to be shameful acts that
only the Church could absolve through the sacrament of marriage. Raised on absurd
primers that drilled it into me, throughout my entire youth that love is sin, cloistered in
this house, in this town…I lived surrounded by people for the most part no more
enlightened than my educators. Shamefaced, I learned to repress my instincts. Any
intimacy with those who did not belong to the highest level of society meant dishonor for
my parents. Their narrow-mindedness influenced me to such an extent that the only
people who existed as far as I was concerned were those we received at home…To please
243
such parents, you had to live like a recluse…I understood a bit late that the act of love is
like any other physiological need of a human being. (Love, 12)
Under the veneer of her outward pious dedication, Claire harbors forbidden licentious
thoughts and feelings for her sister’s husband, the Frenchman, Jean-Luze. Having demystified
the notion of the sacredness of the Church and having questioned her class’s ideals, Claire
unleashes her pent-up desires through her secret sexual fantasies of Jean-Luze. According to
family customs, the eldest sister weds first. Claire was denied that privilege because of her dark
skin. As a result, her younger sister Felicia whom she despises and she describes as “trop
blanche, trop blonde, trop tiède et mesurée” (18) “too white, too blond, too lukewarm, too
orderly” (11) gets the Frenchman.
Claire’s first act of subversion is thus against her aristocratic upbringing enforced and
endorsed by the institutions of the family and the church. By indulging in desires that to an
unmarried “well-bred” woman are unnatural and sinful, Claire rejects the tenets that have always
had a hold on her and thus emancipates her body from their stronghold. Indeed, as she gives in to
her personal pleasures, she dismisses the existence of purity and embraces the normalcy of her
body’s needs. The secrecy of her acts makes them all the more transgressive as she is able to live
a double life without anyone observing and by so doing control her surroundings. Felicia, her
unwitting rival ceases to exist as she appropriates her husband and eventually his child. In her
neurotic mind, Jean-Luze is hers as she so claims: “Ma tentation. Ma terrible et delicieuse
tentation!” (18)
Her virtual possession of her sister’s husband emphasized by the repeated use of the
possessive adjective “ma” crosses over into reality as she infiltrates the couple’s bedroom and
touches and smells the sheets they lay on: “Je vais toucher, sentir les draps sur lequels ils ont fait
l’amour…”(18). Through this ritualistic and voyeuristic existence, Claire finds an illusory
244
compensation for her erotic fantasies and in so doing denounce the rigid class and gendered
social conventions that have denied women control over their lives.
Claire’s aristocratic mulatto upbringing still largely influences her choices despite this
small victory. Her continuous struggle with self-hate is manifested through her twisted love for
her sister’s husband and her odd relationship with her lighter skin sisters, especially Felicia.
Unlike Claire whose skin tone betrays her African origins, her sisters fit into the accepted mold
of whiteness. She describes them as “mulâtresses-blanches”. Felicia in particular “a les traits fins
d’une blanche” with clear skin and blond hair though dull-looking “fadasse” and Annette
although she is white has some gold under her skin “a de l’or sous la peau.” (12) Naturally, it
would seem that according to the color ideology of the upper crust of the mulatto circle, Felicia’s
near whiteness makes her a suitable spouse for Jean-Luze who is white. Felicia thus appears to
adhere fully to the dictates of epidermal lactification as she is married to Jean Luze and moreover
is pregnant with a baby boy and quickly gets pregnant a second time.
Felicia represents continuity of certain codified norms and values of the aristocratic
mulatto family. She embodies all that Claire lacks and it is no surprise that through her crazed
imagination, Claire becomes Felicia, appropriating her husband and her son. In fact, that illusion
does transform into reality when Felicia, pregnant with her second child becomes very ill and
leaves the care of Jean-Claude, Felicia’s son to Claire. Claire finally gets to live her deferred
maternity and marriage by taking her sister’s place. Jean Luze requests Felicia’s help to keep the
baby in her room until Felicia gets better. This request as well as the transfer of the baby’s crib
into her room solidifies in Claire’s mind, her imminent new role as mother and wife:
Jean-Claude est mon hôte depuis quelques jours. Je me lève la nuit pour le changer et le
bercer. Contre moi ce petit corps chaud et vivant. Je suis heureuse de le voir salir ses
langes, vider ses biberons, pleurnicher pour m’en réclamer d’autres. L’odeur de la poudre
de talc, du lait, tout indispose Félicia. Elle embrasse son fils et vomit. Elle est décidément
245
allergique à cet état. C’est dans ma chambre que Jean Luze vit. Beni soit cette nouvelle
grossesse, cette nouvelle et torturante grossesse. Ah ! qu’elle enfante di fois, vingt fois,
pour me le donner…C’est sur mon lit qu’il se roule pour jouer avec son fils, c’est sur
mon lit qu’il s’étend pour se reposer. Il laisse sur mes draps l’odeur de son corps, son
odeur d’homme, mélange de tabac, de sueur rude et propre. Je respire à longs traits
l’oreiller où sa tête s’est posée ; j’embrasse son fils là où il l’a embrassé. Je nage dans la
félicité. (161)
Jean-Claude has been my guest for several days now. I wake up at night to change and
rock him to sleep. This hot living little body against me. I’m happy to see him soil his
diapers, empty his bottle, whimper for more. The smell of talcum powder and milk, it all
makes Felicia ill. She kisses her son and throws up. She is definitely allergic to her
condition. Jean Luze lives in my room. Blessed be this new pregnancy, this new
pregnancy that tortures her. May she give birth ten, twenty times more so that she will
give him to me…He’s rolling around in my bed playing with his son, he’s resting on my
bed. On my sheets he leaves behind the smell of man’s body, of tobacco, of clean rough
sweat. I deeply inhale the pillow where his head was resting; I kiss his son where he
kissed him. I bask in my good fortune. (134)
Claire imagines that she is the true mother to Jean-Claude as even his own mother rejects
him. Felicia, as a wife is also effaced as she is so ill and can’t perform her wifely duties. The
symbolism of the bodily fluid “vomit” is quite striking as it frames Felicia as a bad mother who
is literally repulsed by her own son and thus needs a doting mother like Claire to take her place.
Claire’s life is finally complete since she now has a son and a man: “Ma vie est si bien remplie!
J’ai un fils et un homme. » (161). The warm body of Jean-Claude is equally evocative as it
comes in sharp contrast to the plastic, lifeless doll that Claire has secretly played mother to:
Je dorlote en cachette une poupée. Je joue à la maman à mon âge. J’essaie de combler
mon existence avec cette statue qui sent la colle. Je me persuade que je l’aime et je la
parfume d’eau de Cologne et de poudre de talc pour mieux me tromper. Je lui ai acheté
un biberon. (44)
I nurse a doll in secret. I play mommy, at my age. I try to fill my existence with this
effigy that smells of glue. I convince myself that I love her and sprinkle her with cologne
and powder to better fool myself. I bought her a little bottle. (34)
The eerie parallelism between Claire’s attention to little Jean-Claude and her doll hints at
a wider unspoken terror against Haitian women. Women’s sexual repression and silence are a
246
direct consequence of a misogynous society supported by arbitrary and archaic conventions of
the upper class determined to render women invisible. Claire’s transgressions remain closeted for
the most part but still manages to violate traditional mores and values erected by her circle and
the larger society. Claire records in detail her thoughts and actions in a journal that she keeps
hidden but it is ironically through this textual medium that she tells her story and exposes the
hypocrisy, armchair politics, and corruption of her society. It is also textually that Claire regains
control of her body and claims her sexuality. It is through this medium that she gains the courage
to confront her demons of self-loathing manifested through her class prejudice but particularly
through Calédu, the black commandant who haunts her dreams.
Claire’s struggle with her identity is a long arduous journey made all the more tortuous
because of the presence of Jean Luze in her home. The image of the white ideal is evidently still
very much ingrained in the psyche of the Haitian mulatto elite as all three sisters are pining away
for the Frenchman. Although Claire is becoming increasingly aware of her class’s arbitrary
prejudice, she still clings to the caste system that has provided her family a measure of power as
members of the privileged upper class. This white male presence serves as a constant reminder of
French paternal influence since Jean Luze is presented as a fatherly and protective figure who
lives in the Clamont household and symbolically replaces their absent father.
His filial role extends to the wider community of X as he takes under his wings the young
Poet Joel Marti whom he instructs, guides, and encourages to stand up to fight “Il faut lutter”
(151). In the end, he engages with the poets and helps liberate the Haitians of the town of X from
their oppressor. On the other hand, Jean Luze is also the object of the Clamont sisters’ sexual
desires. In his ambiguous positioning as protector, father, and seducer, Jean Luze’s relationship
with his family evokes Doris Garraway’s the logic of the incestuous family romance. He is all
247
the more tantalizing to Claire as she’s lived a sexually cloistered existence. She thus idealizes
and fantasizes about Jean Luze in an attempt to compensate for the void left by her spinsterhood
and lost maternity.
Jean Luze becomes her obsession as he continues to represent “l’homme sans défaut, le
mari idéal”, “the man without faults, the ideal husband”. (11) Annette, on the other hand (the
youngest sister) relentlessly tries to tempt Jean-Luze with the silent approval of Claire who sees
Annette as her younger double and the overt medium through which she articulates and confirms
her love and passion. Annette’s youth, promiscuous lifestyle, and carefree attitude, traits that
Claire lacks and envies make her an unwitting accomplice in Claire’s sick twisted game.
Ironically, while the mulatto sisters are caught in the web of white love, a menacing male figure
represented by the black commandant Calédu is terrorizing the town, brutalizing women and
killing intellectuals; in short, imposing a radicalized black ideology that seeks power and
deference through an agenda of utter terror and corruption.
The reign of terror inflicted by the invisible yet omnipresent dictator has paralyzed the
small town of X, blinding eyes closed and taping mouths shut. This trope of silence is made all
the more evident by the imagery of the blinds and shutters that characterizes the implicit
complicity of Claire’s milieu to the menacing presence:
Ce matin, Calédu a matraqué quelques paysans. Il est en rage. J’ai assisté à toute la scène
derrière les persiennes de ma fenêtre. D’autres yeux épiaient aussi dans le voisinage. Je
voyais remuer les rideaux sous des mains frémissantes, luire des regards à travers
d’autres persiennes ; j’entendais chuchoter à droite, à gauche… (90).
This morning Calédu bludgeoned several peasants. He’s furious. I watched the whole
thing from behind my shutters. Other eyes in the neighborhood were spying too. I saw
curtains moved by trembling hands, eyes glowing behind other blinds; I heard whispering
to the right and to the left… (73).
248
Claire seems to be the only who has not been stricken by the contagion of blindness.
Despite her covert lifestyle, Claire sees and hears all. Surprisingly, Jean Luze is increasingly
aware of the corruption and terror to which everyone is turning a blind eye. No doubt, as a
recently arrived foreigner, he has not yet had the chance to become contaminated with the
disease of blindness. Even Felicia and Annette feign indifference to what is going on around
them hiding behind false sense of security that their lives provide. Having been rejected by Jean
Luze only after being caught by his wife, Annette falls for and marries Paul Trudor, a young
black man belonging to the newly rich black elite and provokes scorn from her own sister Felicia
whose prejudice echoes that of the rest of the declining aristocratic class: “A black man! A black
man in our family. And one of the lowest sort!” Marriages, births, and other happy life events
provide temporary refuge from the storms raging in X but unfortunately do not confront the
problem. It takes a concerted effort of commitment and radical action to rid the town of its
demons. Despite Claire’s delusions, she’s clairvoyant and sees the enormity of the problem and
dares to take a stand.
Like Violaine, Claire’s name is suggestive in that it is inscribed within the parameters of
Haiti’s color and class prejudices. Born into an aristocratic mulatto family, now almost destitute,
Claire must live with the realization that she is different: “Tugged at the delicate ambiguity of
my situation, I suffered from an early age because of the dark color of my skin. The mahogany
color I had inherited from some great-great-grandmother went off like a small bomb in the tight
circle of whites and white-mulattoes with whom my parents socialized.” (4) In an attempt to
conceal the African blemish that escaped generations of strategic marriages that helped improve
or “whiten” the race, Claire was given a name that conveniently negated her negritude.
Unfortunately, Claire’s darker epidermis is the undoing of the neatly imagined image of the
249
white ideal and consequently she suffers because of it. This unfortunate “stain” has pushed
Claire into a reclusive state which ironically forced her to see things that everyone else ignores.
Claire is an intellectual who reads a lot and writes what she secretly observes in her
journal. The fact that she takes precaution to keep her writing concealed is no coincidence. The
secrecy of her work brings to bear the silencing of Haitian women’s voices by an oppressive
regime as was the case of Marie Chauvet, author of the Amour. She is blatantly aware of the
impending implosion of the city and even if she is caught up in her own jealous schemes, she is
one of the few who denounces the political terror that Calédu represents. Her name is not just a
strategy of whitewashing, it is also ominously prophetic. Her name evokes the psychological
consequences of the color prejudice on its victims and it also reveals the political violence
against the mulatto class of X inflicted by a government led by a black regime. Claire’s lucidity
evolves gradually behind closed doors in the safe refuge of her bedroom, the only space where
she is allowed to have an existence, the only space where she gives reign to self-expression and
reinvents herself. Claire’s bedroom is a transformative, subversive site where her oppressors
have no access.
It is within this liminal space where her imagination and dreams come to life that Claire
was reborn. Claire’s rebirth is made all the more visible by her dominant role as the main
character and narrative voice of Chauvet’s novel presented in the form of a private journal where
her interior monologues are rendered audible to the readers. Through the imperial posture of the
“I” (Je), Claire reclaims herself and takes back control of her life. “Je suis devenue arrogante.
J’ai pris conscience de moi” (10) declares Claire as she discovers the power of the pen.
Indeed Claire’s pen, a phallic representation of male oppression is subverted as it
becomes an instrument of her sexual pleasure and exposure of archaic prejudices and political
250
corruption. Claire writes her sexuality textually and in so doing contests all forms of oppression
against women be they gender, class, color, or sexuality. As a mulatto woman, she is even more
conscious of the systemic brutality inflicted against her class by the black commandant and his
goons, a spate of violence reminiscent of the bloody massacre of Mulattoes post-1957. In seeking
to depose the mulatto elite from the seat of political power, bloody war was waged against the
mulatto classes. Women from this class were particularly targeted threatening into silence any
outlets of political feminist activism. Claire becomes a silent activist as she sees and hears the
horrors inflicted on her neighbors. The screams of women from the prison near her house chills
her to the core and haunts her dreams.
Claire’s dreams
Claire is terrorized by Calédu yet refuses to give in to the cowardly resignation of the
masses. Claire plots her revenge against her tormentor and ultimately stabs him to death,
symbolically breaking the shackles that have held her captive all her life. Claire has been
paralyzed by her fears ever since childhood and through her dreams and erotic reveries as an
adult, the origin of her sexual frustrations is unmasked. Her reveries and monologues unfolds her
obsession of her brother-in-law and her slow descent into madness.
Claire has unfortunately interiorized the complex of sexual guilt inculcated in her as a
child and as a result she is incapable of ever having a fulfilling sexual adult life. Her sexual
indulgences such as her secret obsession with pornographic material and her doll play are thus
often infantile and pubescent. Claire was denied the opportunity to become a feminine adult
because she was strictly monitored and severely punished for the slightest breach of the stiff
upper class conventions.
251
If her fear of Calédu is so acute, it is because in her milieu, violence was at the base of
girls’ education. Claire as well as the other young girls of her class were constantly brutalized by
their parents for the slightest error. “J’étais réprimandée pour rien, épiée odieusement…mon père
m’appelait chaque jour, de sa grosse voix bourrue, pour me faire répéter les leçons et me pinçait
l’oreille à la moindre erreur à la faire saigner » (104). Claire’s abuse by her father was made
even more severe because she was not the son that he had hoped for. Consequently, he raises her
as a boy.
Claire’s struggles with her sexuality is thus closely linked to her abusive relationship with
her father. His death however has not released his hold on her and is manifested often in her
erotic dreams: “Il m’arrive au cour de mes scènes d’amour fièvreusement imaginées, d’être prise
de panique. Cette panique est souvent déclenchée par le brusque souvenir de mon père armé de
sa ceinture et qui me fouette » (170). Claire’s relationship with her father could be interpreted as
incestuous since the belt “ceinture” could be seen as an instrument of sadistic pleasure. The
image of the father is eerily similar to the figure of Calédu whose weapon of choice is the gun,
symbol par excellence of the male phallus. Both men arouse in her, a troubling attraction, hence
the ambiguous interplay of desire and revulsion that saturates her dreams:
C’est cette nuit-là que pour la première fois, j’ai vu pencher sur moi un autre visage
d’homme. J’ai senti ses mains me caresser, j’ai entendu sa voix me supplier, crier
d’amour, sangloter de désespoir. Et j’ai ferme les yeux pour attirer contre moi un grand
corps muscle, noir et nu que je n’ai pas voulu reconnaitre. (83)
That very night, for the first time I saw another man’s face over me. I felt his hand
caressing me and I heard his voice begging me, crying out with love, weeping with
despair. I closed my eyes and drew him to me, a naked, big and black athletic body I did
not want to recognize. (66)
252
The naked black body continues to haunt Claire’s dreams and in this ultimate coup de
theatre, Claire is the victim of the brutal rape and decapitation by her torturer Caledu who
confounds into father:
Mon rêve d’hier soir me bouleverse encore: j’étais seule, debout en pleine lumière, au
milieu d’une arène immense surmontée de gradins où gesticulait une foule terrifiante…Je
courais, honteuse de ma nudité, cherchant en vain un coin obscur pour m’y cacher,
quand, tout à coup, je vis se dresser devant moi une statue de pierre…La statue pourvue
d’un phallus énorme tendu dans un spasme de voluptueuse souffrance était celle de
Calédu. La statue s’anima et le phallus s’agita fiévreusement. Je me jetai à ses pieds, à la
fois soumise et révoltée, osant à peine lever les yeux, les cuisses serrées. J’entendis crier
« a mort, a mort ». C’était la foule qui poussait Calédu à m’assassiner. Le froid d’un
métal me caressa la peau du cou en même temps qu’un éclat de rire féroce succédait seul
aux cris de l’assistance, tout à coup silencieuse. L’arme s’enfonça doucement,
profondément dans ma chair. Je restai un long moment immobile, figée d’horreur. Puis,
me relevant, je marchai dans la brume épaisse, les mains en avant, décapitée, avec ma
tête qui se balançait sur ma poitrine. Morte et vivant ma mort. (145)
Last night’s dream disturbs me still: I was alone, standing in broad daylight in the middle
of an immense arena framed by stands filled with agitated, terrifying crowds…I ran,
ashamed of my nakedness, looking in vain for a dark corner where I could hide, when
suddenly I saw a stone statue before me…The statue with its enormous phallus stiffened
in a voluptuous and painful spasm, was of Calédu. The statue came to life and the phallus
wagged feverishly. I threw myself at its feet, submissive and rebellious, hardly daring to
look up, my thighs shut tight. I heard cries: “Kill, kill!” The crowd was cheering on
Calédu to murder me. Cold metal caressed the skin of my neck as ferocious laughter
replaced the screaming of the suddenly silent spectators. The weapon sank slow and deep
into my flesh. For a long time I remained immobile, frozen in horror. Then, rising, I
walked in a thick mist, my hands in front of me, beheaded, with my head dangling on my
chest. Dead and living through my death… (120-121)
Claire’s nightmare evokes the frightening reality of the provincial town of X whose inhabitants,
fearful of becoming the next victim of Calédu’s sadism, resign themselves to their fate and in so
doing become by contagion, co-conspirators and accomplices to a corrupt and violent regime.
This nightmare frequently haunts Claire’s dreams and conjures up childhood images of her
father as a two-footed lion-like creature terrorizing her in a cage: “Petite fille, j’ai souvent rêvé
de mon père métamorphosé en un animal bipède à crinière de lion qui me fouettait, en rugissant,
dans une cage dont je cherchais en vain la clé!”(145) The superposition of Calédu with the image
253
of the paternal figure both in the posture of aggressor and father point to the underlying theme of
a nation at war with itself. That Claire’s head is decapitated and that she’s trapped in a cage
tracked by a ferocious beast is indicative of the oppression exacted against women, intellectuals,
and the peasantry, all in the name of political and economic greed and color politics.
Claire’s nightmare foreshadows a sinister encounter with the black commandant that
would ultimately free her from self-hate and at the same time liberate the town from its
executioner. Like Violaine’s dance, Claire’s nightmare leads to the exorcism of her demons.
Claire’s head, the medium by which she inculcated the beliefs of her aristocratic parents and
Catholic education had to be symbolically removed in order for her to dispel of her
indoctrination, confront her own assumptions, and change her commitments.
Indeed, her healing begins as she seeks to reestablish ties with people that she had
snubbed because of her foolish arrogance. She sympathized with the town prostitute and renewed
her friendship with Jane Bavière, an unwed mother shunned by the neighborhood. Claire boldly
interacts with her knowing that her every move was constantly monitored by Calédu. She
defiantly rejects the tenets that had kept her so close-minded: “You would think maturity has no
part in our mental evolution. Jane Bavière was once a friend, and I have decided to reestablish
our old ties. I have abandoned her long enough. I believe I have offered sufficient applause for
our proper bourgeois nonsense. I am rising up against it now.” (33) In her ultimate act of
defiance, Claire stabbed and killed Calédu. By killing him, she not only puts at end at least
temporarily to the corruption, extortion, misery, and injustices that plagued the town and its
people, but she also symbolically assassinates own father, liberating her mind and body from his
control.
254
Although these two novels are figments of their authors’ imaginations, their contents are
not far removed from the historical reality of Haitians and Haitian society. The town of Jérémie
caught up in its political, social, and familial dramas are microcosms of Haiti’s socio-racial and
political issues. However, despite the internal struggles and difficulties encountered by the main
protagonists, the novels offer an optimistic vision for a new and improved Haiti.
255
CONCLUSION
Throughout this dissertation I have examined from a historical and literary perspective various
aspects of cultural and ethnic métissage and the ways in which they were processed, coded,
decoded, interpreted and reinterpreted in three French Colonial cities. I have shown that the
articulation of processes of métissage in the colonial city is often fraught with tensions and
hostility as social groups negotiate new ways of maintaining hegemony, of surviving and
belonging. The city produces and reproduces ambivalence. Projected as a public, free and
accessible space, the city systematically marginalizes and excludes. It is however within this
margin of interdiction that subversion is articulated and forced reciprocal interactions are
engendered. These forced contacts are dynamic and from them emerge new identities, new forms
of power dynamics and conflicts.
I have illustrated that the practices of cultural and ethnic métissage in these three cities
are distinct from those that were engendered on the plantation and the on the slave ships and in
the Senegalese trading posts. I argued that processes of métissage produced on the plantation
were characterized by violence and rape of the black female slave by the white master. What
happened in the plantation and the slave ships is first and foremost acts of domination and
power, of unbridled colonial lust. Miscegenation thus emerged as a result of unequal sexual
power between the master and his female slave. In principal, slaves belonged body and soul to
their masters and consequently had no control over what happened to their bodies. This type of
métissage however, born out of violence in the white master/female slave dynamic, is only
applicable in Saint-Pierre and Jérémie where the socio-economic situation was defined by the
plantation economy.
256
The same cannot be said of processes of métissage in Saint-Louis where the socioeconomic situation was glaringly different due to the absence of the plantation system. The
absence of plantations therefore invalidates the master/female slave relational dynamics in SaintLouis. Pre-colonial Saint-Louis was a free space grounded in mutual trade between Muslims,
African kings, signares, slaves and European merchants. The major players all participated more
or less on an even playing field. In fact, Senegalese women and in particular the signares,
wielded a great deal of power at the time, and were clearly not under the domination of the
European men. Although Saint-Louis played a significant role in the trade of slaves and in the
eventual colonization of Senegal and French West Africa, the power dynamics and interactions
between Senegalese women and European men were far distinct from those that existed between
the master and female slaves on the plantation of the French Caribbean colonies of Haiti and
Martinique.
We must bear in mind that Saint-Louisians at that time were not yet colonized by the
French and were free citizens who played a significant role in the slave trade economy as traders
and middlemen and women. In fact, Saint-Louisians were already fully engaged in trading before
Europeans came on the scene. Signares especially were important players, having been involved
in the business with the Moors and other Muslim traders since the sixteenth century and later, in
the early seventeenth century with Portuguese traders. Signares thus enjoyed an advantageous
position over the enslaved women on the French Caribbean plantations. Not only were they free
agents but they held significant economic and social power. European men sought them out not
merely as sexual companions, but as business partners and advisers. Signares as well,
intentionally sought out European men not for the purpose of lactification but for social mobility
and economic reasons.
257
Signares were as shrewd as their male counterparts in business and did not pine away after
the departure of their lovers or husbands—they simply moved on to the next contact who had the
means and clout to further their ambitions. In that regard, they also defy the trope of the doudou
and assert themselves and their children as respectable and legitimate citizens. It is therefore
important to mention here that the use of the term miscegenation is inapplicable to describe the
unions between signares and European at that epoch. The conditions of “mariage à la mode du
pays” nullify the connotation of shame and fear that was usually attached to miscegenation.
Europeans and Saint-Louisians worked simultaneously and collaboratively not only at securing
their own personal fortune but also at building the colonial city.
Unlike Saint-Pierre and Jérémie which became colonial creole cities after the dismantling
of slavery and the plantation system, the exact timing of Saint-Louis’s transition into the status of
creole city is not as clearly defined since at the initial phase of contact with the Senegalese,
Europeans were not the dominant actors. In fact, they depended heavily on various Senegalese
stakeholders who were central to their survival. Saint-Louisians and especially signares and the
mulatto class thus dominated the social and economic scene for at least two centuries. Up till the
middle of the nineteenth century, relational entanglements between Saint-Louisians and
Europeans continued on fairly harmonious terms but the onset of emancipation in the French
Antillean colonies would dramatically alter the way in which interactions and contact were
articulated in Saint-Louis. While the liberated slaves of Haiti and in particular, the mulatto class
had taken over control of the colonial cities after the Haitian revolution and its ensuing
independence, freed Martinicans and notably the mulattoes were crowding the city of SaintPierre, competing with the white planter class after the 1848 emancipation. A reverse situation
was happening in Saint-Louis. Colonization had been fully established in Senegal with the
258
installation of Faidherbe as governor and Saint-Louis and the mulatto class would subsequently
lose their initial place as significant economic, social, cultural and political players in Senegal’s
and France’s history. The transfer of the federal capital to Dakar was the final blow to the
creative entanglements of métissage in Saint-Louis.
Like Saint-Pierre and Jérémie, Saint-Louis owes its unique brassage of peoples and
cultures to a group of men and women who manipulated their ambiguous positioning to establish
themselves as an important ethnoclass rivaling the dominant white class. These three French
creole cities were crystalized in French history not merely because they served as important
laboratories for French imperialist designs but also because of the significant role played by the
subaltern alterity in its incursion and appropriation of a center that initially refused it entry. The
development of the city is attributed to various stakeholders but mulatto women were the central
actors in that transformation.
In my dissertation I attempted to present an evenly distributed narrative on both mulatto
women and mulatto men and failed in that regard as studies on métissage focus very rarely on
metis men. Métissage in European history must firstly be interpreted as a biological reality that
implicated dominant European male figure in his relationship with the African slave or colonized
woman. The black female body unlike that of the black male body has been the subject and
object of the colonial imperial design. The Negress, as the productive and reproductive organ of
the plantation economy, is valorized over the male slave who poses as a possible threat to white
virility and paternity. Even though both the African male and female slave bodies were exploited
for imperialist extraction, it was the Negress’s body, that “inexhaustible” breeding apparatus that
replenished and refueled the capitalist machine.
259
The paucity of reports on black male slave and mulatto masculinity and agency in colonial
discourses and travel writings is no coincidence. Positioned as castrated feminized children,
property of the white master, their masculine roles were purposely eclipsed. The birth of the
mulâtresse further diminished the visibility of enslaved African men and mulatto males in
colonial societies. It is therefore not surprising that the mulatto and metis women are the
dominant subject of written and visual narratives since not only were colonial writers iconizing
them in their writings but postcolonial intellectuals from both the black and mulatto elite male
circles vilified them as well. Mulatto men not only had to live in the shadow of their white
fathers and brothers but they were also invisible vis-à-vis mulatto women.
The move to the city following the significant social and political changes in Haiti and
Martinique respectively, brought about by the 1791 Haitian revolution and 1804 independence
and the 1848 abolition laws, gave mulatto men the chance to reaffirm their masculinity and
agency. Their ambitiousness afforded them political roles and careers in the liberal field that
would eventually lift the cloud of invisibility that shrouded their contribution to their societies.
While they embraced new empowering roles, free colored women were still “enclosed in the
stereotype of the sexually rapacious but devious mulâtresse, and were continued to be exploited,
their sexual wiles permitted them to further infiltrate the citadel of white power and wealth”
(Burton, 73).
Yet this stereotype concealed the fact that free women of color were among the most
entrepreneurial and financially independent women in the colonies. This generation of
mulâtresses some of whom had acquired considerable sums, owed their social ascendancy to
their connections to white benefactors and their prevalence in urban marketing and commerce.
They used their newly acquired power to improve their position by building social networks,
260
sending their children to be educated in France, adhering to French moral codes regarding
marriage and legitimacy, and, in some cases, marrying their daughters to white men.
These narratives show that female sexuality and desire determined in part the subjectivity
and power of mulatto women, while mulatto men were driven by their ambitions for political and
economic power. This also illustrates that although mulatto men are not significantly represented
in studies on métissage, they clearly tend to occupy a much more advantageous position than
mulatto women. While mulatto men’s contributions to the creolization and development of the
French colonial cities should not go unnoticed, clearly, the social emergence of the mulatto
ethnoclass in these French colonial cities is primarily as a result of the considerable role that
women of color played as mistresses, concubines, wives, mothers, entrepreneurs, business
associates and advisers, astute managers and property owners. However, their uncertain
positioning as women and women of color in a phallocentric society eclipses these important
contributions.
These complex relationships that existed between mulattoes and Europeans in precolonial and colonial times, and persisted beyond the trading posts of Senegal and the plantations
of Martinique and Haiti, certainly is not characteristic only of the past. Today, similar forms of
entanglements are occurring in our increasingly globalizing communities. The inevitability of the
“brassage” triggered by these encounters are creating social, cultural and ethnic dynamics that
today are interpreted in such terms as creolization, créolité, douglarization, callaloo. 119 These
terms clearly embrace a much broader perspective on métissage in that they articulate processes
119
Aisha Khan shows that callaloo reveal the tension that exists between identity as a source of equality and identity
as an instrument through which social and cultural hierarchies are reinforced. In the context of her native Trinidad,
she demonstrates how ambivalence about the desirability of a callaloo nation—a multicultural society—is manifest
around practices and issues, including rituals, labor, intermarriage, and class mobility
261
and practices that transcend the purely biological reality to subscribe instead to the new ways
that multi-cultural and ethnic elements are rapidly shaping our changing world societies.
If today the cities of Saint-Louis, Saint-Pierre and Jérémie no longer reflect the racial
aspect of their métissage, it is because racial classifications and identities are not static nor are
they logical representations of any one group or individual. The terms Mulatto or Chabin or any
of the long list of terminologies that Saint-Méry used in his racial taxonomy are insufficient to
interpret the creative dynamism of entanglements that occurred and are still occurring in these
cities. The similarities that connected these French cities and formed the basis of my thesis were
embedded in race and color dynamics which given the historical approach of my thesis made
sense. Although the symbolic colonial importance of these three cities still lingers today in
various forms, color and race ideologies can no longer be used as the basis of their connection.
What then remains of that unique métissage that linked these three creole cities in precolonial and colonial times? It certainly isn’t the creole language since Creole was spoken only
in Saint-Pierre and Jérémie and was never adopted in Saint-Louis. Religious syncretism is not
applicable either due to the fact that Saint-Louis was not affected by the plurality of religious
forms as have the French Caribbean colonies. Islam remains the predominant religion in Senegal.
Could it be that the creole music is the one element that still connects these cities? Whereas
Saint-Pierre/Martinique and Jérémie/Haiti share similar musical genres, the creole language is
the common denominator in their music and thus serves as the glue that syncretizes the two
cultures. Saint-Louis obviously cannot fit into that mold because of the absence of the creole
language. The sole element that appears to cement the historical and present métissage in these
three cities is the pervasive evidence of colonial-style architecture. Saint-Louis’s downtown still
depicts its colonial past. The colorful brick houses that characterized colonial structures have
262
been fairly well preserved or slightly renovated and building codes insist on constructing houses
in the downtown area in compliance to the colonial models. A similar phenomenon can be seen
in Saint-Pierre. Notwithstanding its 1902 destruction, Saint-Pierre has since been rebuilt
although it has never been restored to its old glory. Some of its ruins have been restored
according to old colonial style architecture. In Jérémie, the Saint-Louis Cathedral and the green
and red houses made entirely of wood are manifestations of the eclectic mix of African and
European elements left over from the French colonization of Haiti.
Interestingly, colonial architecture is common throughout the majority of societies
profoundly influenced by colonialism and beside their colonial past, it remains the constant
element that links all these societies together across time and space and irrespective of language
barrier.
263
GLOSSARY
CÂPRE (M. n.) /CÂPRESSE (F): In the French Caribbean the term signifies an offspring
born from a Black parent and Mulatto parent
CHABIN/CHABINE (n.): Used in Martinique and Guadeloupe to refer to people born
from two parents of mixed ancestry. In appearance they are usually clear-skinned with
blue eyes and blond hair but they also carry traits of the Negroid (flat nose, curly hair,
thicker lips).
CREOLE (adj. & n.): May refer to people, language or other cultural elements such as
music, food, and religion in societies influenced by slavery and colonialism. Ex: The
Caribbean especially the French Caribbean, Louisiana, French Guiana, The Indian Ocean,
Senegal...
CREOLIZATION (n.): Refers to the forms and dynamics of cultural change that occur
over time as a result of colonization as phenotypically, religiously, and culturally
heterogeneous people come into contact.
GENS DE COULEUR (n.): A French term that means “People of Color” and commonly
used in the French Caribbean colonies prior to the abolition of slavery as the shortened
form of gens de couleur libres (free people of color). It referred specifically to freed
people of mixed European and African ancestry and freed Blacks.
METIS/METISSE (n. adj.): A person born from the union of two parents of different
ethnic origins.
MULATRE/MULATRESSE (n.): A term that designates offspring born from the union
of parents of European (White) and African (Black) ancestry.
SIGNARE (n.): The term refers to Senegalese women that were either black or of mixed
European and African ancestries who held significant economic importance in Senegal
during the 18th and 19th centuries.
SIGNARESHIP (n.): Represented an economic nexus between European men pursuing
personal gain and African and Eurafrican women determined to acquire European
merchandise.
NÈGRE/NÉGRESSE: Pejorative term used to refer to a black person or group of black
persons.
264
REFERENCES
Achéen, René. « Les Blancs Créoles de Saint-Pierre au début de la troisième République » : essai
d’analyse historique d’un comportement et d’une idéologie. Compte-rendu des travaux du
colloque de Saint-Pierre 14, 15, 16 décembre 1973. Les presses de l’Imprimerie Antillaise SaintPaul, 1975.
Aidara, Abdoul Hadir. 1957. Saint-Louis du Sénégal d’hier à aujourd’hui. Brinon-surSauldre: Grandvaux.
Barbot, Jean. 1992. Barbot on Guinea: the writings of Jean Barbot on West Africa, 1678-1712.
London: Hakluyt Society.
Bernabé, Jean Patrick Chamoiseau and Raphaël Confiant. 1993. Eloge de la Créolité. Paris:
Gallimard.
Bhabha, Homi K. 2004. The Location of Culture. London; New York: Routledge.
Bellande-Robertson, Florence. The Marassa Concept in Lilas Desquiron’s Reflection of Loco
Miwa: A socio-literary analysis of the Haitian race/color and gender problematic. Kendall Hunt
Publishing
Biguine. Dir. Deslauriers, Guy. Perf. Micheline Mona, Max Télèphe. Kreol Productions, 2003.
DVD.
Biondi, Jean-Pierre. 1987. Saint-Louis du Sénégal: Mémoire d’un métissage. Denoël.
Blerald, Monique. 2011. Carnival guyanais: traversée littéraire. Courbeyre: Nestor. Preface by
Rodolphe Alexandre (Ph.D. History).
Bloch, Iwan. 1925. The sexual life of our time in its relations to modern civilization. New
York: Allied.
Boilat, David. 1984. Esquisses Sénégalaises. Paris : Karthala.
Bonneville, René. 1897. Le Triomphe d’Eglantine. Alcan-Lévy
Bouët-Willaumez, Édouard. “Côtes occidentales d’Afrique: Sénégal, Saint-Louis et le fleuve »,
L’illustration : Journal universel, Paris, Vol. 15, 368, 1850, p.171.
Burton, Richard D. E. 1993. “Maman-France”: Images in French West Indian Colonial
Discourse. Diacritics, Vol. 23, No. 3, Histoires Coloniales.
265
Butel, Paul. 2002. Histoire des Antilles françaises: XVIIe-XXe siècle. Paris : Perrin.
Camara, Camille. 1968. Saint-Louis-du-Sénégal : évolution d’une ville en milieu africain.
Dakar : IFAN.
Capécia, Mayotte. 1948. Je suis Martiniquaise. Paris : Corrêa.
Césaire, Aimé. 2004. Discours sur le colonialisme; suivi du, Discours sur la négritude. Paris:
Présence africaine.
Césaire, Ina. 2009. Moi, Cyrillia, gouvernante de Lafcadio Hearn. Bordeaux: Elytis.
Chauleau, Liliane. 2002. Pierrotins et Saint-Pierrais: la vie quotidienne dans la ville de SaintPierre avant l’éruption de la montagne Pelée de 1902. Paris: L’Harmattan.
Chauvet-Vieux, Marie. 1968. Amour, colère et folie. Paris: Gallimard.
Cohen, William B. 1980. The French encounter with Africans: White response to Blacks, 15301880. Bloomington: Indiana University Press.
Confiant, Raphaël. 2012. Les Saint-Aubert : L’en allée du siècle, 1900-1920. Paris : Écriture.
David, Placide. 1959. L’héritage colonial en Haïti. Madrid: Langa.
Dawson, Ashley. “Squatters, Space and Belonging in the underdeveloped city”. Social Text, 81
(Volume 22, Number 4), winter 2004, pp. 17-34.
Deren, Maya. Divine Horsemen: Voodoo Gods of Haiti. New York: Dell, 1972, 1970.
Desmangles, Leslie Gérald. 1992. The Faces of the Gods: Vodou and Roman Catholicism in
Haiti. Chapel Hill, NC: The University of North Carolina Press.
Desquiron, Lilas. 1990. Les chemins de Loco-Miroir. Paris: Stock.
Doane, Mary Ann. 1991. Femmes fatales: feminism, film theory, psychoanalysis. New
York: Routledge.
Dorimain, Martin Guiton. 1978. Jérémie D’antan 1673-1789. University of Texas.
Dozon, Jean-Pierre. 2012. Saint-Louis du Sénégal: palimpseste d’une ville. Paris : Karthala
Dubuisson, Pierre-Ulric. 1780. Nouvelles considérations sur Saint-Domingue en réponse à celles
de M.H.D. Paris : Cellot et Jombert.
Du Tertre Jean-Baptiste.1667-71. Histoire générale des Antilles habites par les Français. 3 vols.
Paris: Thomas Jolly. (2:478).
266
Garraway, Doris Lorraine. 2005. The Libertine Colony. Durham: Duke University Press.
Garrett, Duane. 1993. Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Song of Songs. B&H Publishing Group.
Girot-Chantrans, Justin. 2010. Voyage D'un Suisse Dans Différentes Colonies d'Amérique
Pendant La Dernière Guerre. Nabu Press.
Glissant, Edouard. 1981. Le Discours antillais. Paris : Seuil.
---, 1990. Poétique de la relation. Paris : Gallimard.
---. 1997. Traité du tout-monde. Paris : Gallimard.
Gobineau, Arthur, comte de. 1967. Essai sur l’inégalité des races humaines. Paris : P. Belfond.
Grandsaignes d’Hauterive, Robert. 1948, rééd. 1994. Dictionnaire des racines des langues
européennes : grec, latin, ancien français, français, espagnol, italien, anglais, allemand. Paris :
Larousse.
Fanon, Frantz. 1952. Peau noire masques blancs. Paris: Edition du Seuil.
---, 1991. The wretched of the earth. New York: Grove Weidenfeld.
Fatton, Robert. 2007. The roots of Haitian despotism. Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers.
Franck Laraque. 2003. Haïti: la lutte et l’espoir. Montréal : Les Editions du CIDIHCA.
Hardy, Georges. 1921. La mise en valeur du Sénégal de 1817-1854, Paris: Larose.
Hartman, Saidiya V. 1997. Scenes of subjection: terror, slavery, and self-making in nineteenthcentury America. New York: Oxford University Press.
Hearn, Lafcadio. 1890. Two Years in the French West Indies. New York: Harper.
Heinl, Robert Debs. 2005. Written in blood: the story of the Haitian people, 1492-1995. Lanham,
Md.: University Press of America.
Hooks, Bell. 1992. “The oppositional Gaze: Black Female Spectators,” Black Looks: Race and
Representation. Boston, MA: South End Press.
Isert, Paul Erdmann.1992. Letters on West Africa and the slave trade: Paul Erdmann Isert’s
journey to Guinea and the Caribbean Islands in Columbia, 1788. Oxford: Published for the
British Academy by Oxford University Press.
James, Arnold. 2002. « Frantz Fanon, Lafcadio Hearn et la Superchérie de “Mayotte Capécia”.
Revue de littérature comparée. Vol. 2. N. 302 : 148-166.
267
Jolivet, Marie-José. « Culture et bourgeoisie créoles: A partir des cas compares de la Guyane et
de la Martinique ». Ethnologie française, nouvelle série 1. T. 20. No. 1: 49-61
Jones, Hilary. 2013. The métis of Senegal: urban life and politics in French West Africa.
Bloomington: Indiana University Press.
J.R., Général de Brigade. 1804. « Voyage à la Martinique. » Paris: An. XII.
Khan, Aisha. 2007. “Good to Think?: Creolization, Optimism, and Agency”. Current
Anthropology. Vol. 48. No. 5:653-673.
King, Stewart R. 2001. Blue Coat or Powdered Wig: Free People of Color in Pre-Revolutionary
Saint-Domingue. Athens: The University of Georgia Press.
Knibiehler, Yvonne and Régine Goutalier. 1985. La femme au temps des colonies. Paris: Stock.
Labelle, Micheline. 1978. Idéologie de couleur et classes sociales en Haïti. Montréal : Presses de
l’Université de Montréal.
Lacroix, Jean Bernard. 1986. Les Français au Sénégal au temps de la Compagnie des Indes de
1719 à 1758 (Vincennes : Services historique de la marine).
Laplantine, Francoise and Alexis Nouss. 1998. Le Métissage. Paris : Flammarion.
Lefebvre, Henri. 2003. The Urban Revolution. Trans. Robert Bononno. Minneapolis: University
of Minnesota Press.
---, 1991. The Production of Space. Trans. Donald Nicholson-Smith. Oxford: Basil Blackwell.
Lionnet, Françoise. 1985. Postcolonial representations: women, literature, identity.
Ithaca: Cornell University Press.
Lionnet, Francoise and Shu-mei Shi. 2011. The Creolization of Theory. Durham [N.C.]: Duke
University Press.
Loti, Pierre. 19-. Le Roman d’un spahi. Paris, Calmann-Lévy.
Makward, Christiane P. 1999. Mayotte Capécia, ou, L’aliénation selon Fanon. Paris : Éditions
Karthala.
Mandeleau, Tita. 1991. Signare Anna, ou, Le voyage aux escales. Dakar: Nouv. Editions
africaines du Sénégal.
Maran, René. 1947. Un homme pareil aux autres. Paris : Éditions A. Michel.
268
Mazet, Jacques. 1932. La Condition Juridique des métis dans les possessions françaises. Thèse
de doctorat en droit. Paris : Loviton.
M’Baye, Guèye. “La fin de l’esclavage à Saint-Louis et à Gorée en 1848”, Bulletin de l’I.F.A.N.,
n◦3 3-4, sér. B, 07-10/1966.
Mehta, Brinda J. 2002. “Re-Creating Ayida-Wèdo: Feminizing the Serpent in Lilas Desquiron's
"Les Chemins De Loco-Miroir". Vol. 25, No. 2: 654-670
Memmi, Albert. 1985. Portrait du colonisé. Paris. Gallimard.
Métraux, Alfred. 1958. Le Vaudou haïtien. Paris : Gallimard.
Moreau de Saint-Méry, M. L. E. 1984. Description topographique, physique, civile, politique et
historique de la partie française de l'isle Saint-Domingue, Philadelphie, Paris, Hambourg, 17971798, (réédition, 3 volumes, Paris, Société française d'histoire d'outre-mer).
Nardal, Andrée. « Étude sur la Biguine Créole. » La Revue du Monde Noir. Collection complète
N. 1-6.
Ott, Thomas O. 1973. The Haitian revolution, 1789-1804. Knoxville: University of Tennessee
Press.
Palmié, Stephan. 2006. “Creolization and Its Discontents”. Annual Review of Anthropology. Vol.
35: 433-456.
Péan, Leslie J. R. 2003. Haïti, économie politique de la corruption : De Saint-Domingue à Haïti
(1791-1870). Paris : Maisonneuve & Larose.
Pérotin-Dumon (Anne). 2000. La ville aux Iles, la ville dans l'ile: Basse-Terre et Pointe-à-Pitre,
Guadeloupe, 1650-1820. Paris: Edition Karthala.
Pluchon, Pierre. 1991. Histoire de la colonisation française. Paris : Fayard.
Price-Mars, Jean. 2009. Ainsi parla l’oncle suivi de revisiter l’oncle. Montréal: Mémoire
d’encrier.
Prieto, Eric. 2004. « Alexandre Stellio and the Beginnings of the Biguine. Nottingham French
Studies. Vol. 43 No.1.
Raffernel, Anne. 1846. Voyage dans l’Afrique Occidentale. Paris: Arthus Bertrand.
Randau, R. 1910. Le Commandant et les Foubes, Paris, Sansot.
269
Reyss, Nathalie. 1983. Saint-Louis du Sénégal à l’époque précoloniale : l’émergence d’une
société métisse originale (1658-1854). Thèse de doctorat de 3e cycle, Université de Paris I,
Sorbonne, Centre de recherches africaines, Paris.
Rosaldo Renato. 1988. “Ideology, Place and People without Culture.” Cultural Anthropology.
Vol. 3. No. 1: 77-87.
Rousseau R.1931. Le Sénégal autrefois: Étude sur le Cayor. BCEHS, AOF.
Rue Cases Nègres. Dir. Palcy, Euzhan. Perf. Darling Legitimus, Garry Cadenat and Douta Seck.
Orca Productions, 1984.
Sadji, Abdoulaye. 1988. Nini : mulâtresse du Sénégal. Paris : Présence africaine.
Saïd, Edward. 2003. Orientalism. New York: Vintage Books.
Schmidt, Hans. 1995. The United States Occupation of Haiti, 1915-1934. New Jersey: Rutgers
University Press.
Senghor, Léopold Sédar. 1961. Nocturnes; poèmes. Paris : Éditions du Seuil.
Sweeney, Marvin A. Tanak: 2011. A Theological and Critical Introduction to the Jewish Bible.
Minneapolis: Fortress Press.
Trouillot, Michel-Rolph. 1990. Haiti, state against nation: the origins and legacy of
Duvalierism. New York: Monthly Review Press.
Vaissière, Pierre de. 1909. Saint-Domingue: La société et la vie créoles sous l’Ancien Régime.
Paris : Perrin et cis.
Vial, Guillaume. 1995-1997. « Les Signares à Saint-Louis du Sénégal au dix-neuvième siècle:
Etude critique d’une identité métisse. » Mémoire de maîtrise, Université de Reims.
Virgile, Savane. Saint-Pierre: La Venise Tropicale (1870-1902). Paris: Editions Caribéennes,
1986. (107-121)
---, 1910. Trente Ans de Saint-Pierre (Martinique). Souvenirs. Edition Deslandes.
Wimpffen, Alexandre-Stanislas, baron de. 1797. Voyage à Saint-Domingue pendant les années
1788, 1789 et 1790. Edited by Pierre Pluchon. Paris: Karthala, 1993.
270
Wingfield, Roland and Vernon J. Parenton. 1965. “Class Structure and Class Conflict in Haitian
Society.” Social Forces. Vol. 43, No. 3: 338-347.
271