Minette put her hand on Marie-Rose’s shoulder and also looked outside.
A few slave couples were dancing the “chica,” bumping hips, while others played with sticks – swearing and tapping their feet in the dust.
Under the arbor, the head chef watched over the food preparation, surrounded by several kitchen hands. When the sound of the lambi rang out, they turned instinctively toward the mountains, their gestures suspended in mid-air.
Marie-Rose shivered and looked with Minette in the direction of the hills.
“My old ‘storyteller’ used to say to me, ‘They won’t forget Makandal any time soon…The lwas spirits speak with the voice of the lambi and when the Negroes hear it, they hear messages from the gods of Africa. A day will come when they’ll all rally around that voice.’ ”
She stopped for a moment, as if thinking, then added:
“I never knew who Makandal was.”
“He was a maroon leader. On his orders, the slaves launched a campaign of poison and fire and they fled to the hills, where they remain to this day.”
“Are there other leaders?”
“That’s what they say.”
Marie-Rose closed the window and remained leaning against the shutters for a moment, trembling.
“I’m afraid,” she murmured.
“You mustn’t be, my darling.”
“My old one-armed friend used to say the same thing – but the sound of the lambi always frightened me…”
With that, she sat down abruptly on the bed.
The masked guests passed by the room, laughing gaily.
“The masked ball,” exclaimed Minette. “I promised Madame Saint-Ar I’d sing.”
Marie-Rose rose quickly to her feet.
“I’m coming, too.”
She began rifling around feverishly in a drawer and tossed two black eye masks into Minette’s hands.
“We’ll be incognito. Godmother has barely seen my costume – she won’t recognize me. Besides, there’ll likely be dozens of Columbinas.”
“But if you’re going to faint again…”
“That’s nonsense. I’ll hold up till morning.”
When they entered the salon, a hundred Harlequins, Columbinas, shepherds, and Tritons were holding hands as they ran about in a furious farandole. The two girls were immediately snatched up by gleefully insistent hands, while someone shouted: “Follow along, follow along, keep moving…” The group rushed passed Mme Saint-Ar, imposing in her chatelaine’s costume. Dressed as a Triton, M Saint-Ar chatted with a Spanish dancer, who was none other than M de Caradeux, and a charming shepherd – Alfred de Laujon. The farandole passed near them and grabbed the latter, despite himself.
“They’re choosing the young ones,” noted M Saint-Ar, as if to provoke M de Caradeux.
“Oh! Well I prefer to dance. Excuse me, my dear friend.”
He went to bow before a somewhat out-of-place-looking middle-aged woman, who smilingly offered him a seat.
In the meantime, the farandole had made its way out into the garden. When it reached the hedges, someone cried out: “Break the chain,” and immediately a hundred voices repeated: “Break the chain!” Minette had her right hand in that of Alfred de Laujon. Once the farandole had scattered, he kept her hand in his.
“And who are you, lovely Iseult?” he whispered to her.
“Iseult, herself.”
“And I’m Tristan in a shepherd’s costume. Show me your eyes.”
“No.”
She tore her hand from the young man and began to run.
“Wait, Iseult, wait.”
Couples embraced under the groves, avoiding the lights.
Looking for Marie-Rose, Minette returned to the salon and went to curtsy before Mme Saint-Ar.
“Is it time, Madame?”
“Ah, yes! Is that you, my child? Your costume suits you well. And the idea of the mask is perfect. Monsieur de Laujon,” she called out, “where has that young man gotten to?”
“Here I am, Madame. I was chasing after a charming Iseult but, if I’m not mistaken, this is her right here.”
“You don’t have to chase her anymore, my young friend,” answered Mme Saint-Ar, rapping him lightly on the arm with her fan. “Now come help me prepare a surprise that, I’m sure, will be very much appreciated…”
She walked away with the young man who, after listening to her, headed straight over to the orchestra. The pianist played several chords to call for silence.
“Ladies and Gentlemen…” began Alfred de Laujon. But his voice was lost among the laughter and noisy shouting.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said more forcefully. “May I have your attention for a moment?”
“Hoorah!” someone shouted.
Everyone gathered round, suppressing their laughter, and the couples that had been lingering in the garden hurried back, their hair in disarray.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, our delightful hostess, Madame Saint-Ar, has asked me to inform you that there will be three great surprises this evening: the first will be a song recital, performed by a young lady who prefers to remain incognito.”
Cheers burst out.
“The two other surprises have to do with all those in costume here tonight. Two prizes will be distributed: the first will go to to the funniest costume and the second to the most beautiful…”
“Hoorah!”
“And now, I ask for your absolute silence. The performance is about to begin.”
In the same moment, a man in a yellow domino costume, face hidden by an eye mask and hands gloved, entered the room and stood in the doorway, facing the piano. Alfred de Laujon, spurred on by the little raps of a fan and some sidelong glances, smiled his charming smile and discreetly gave out compliments and pecks on the hand. He made his way out of the crowd of ladies and joined Mme Saint-Ar, who was directing Minette toward the piano.
“What will you sing, lovely Iseult?” he asked.
“The melody from The Beautiful Arsène.”
And, leaning toward Mme Saint-Ar:
“Who will accompany her, Madame?”
“Monsieur Saint-Ar himself.”
At that moment, the man in the yellow domino costume took a few steps forward and placed himself just in front of Minette.
Simon handed a violin on a silver platter to M Saint-Ar, who struck up the first measures.
Dressed in her Iseult costume, Minette began to intrigue the crowd.
Once she began to sing, everyone looked at her in astonishment.
Some of those who had heard her at the Comédie in Port-au-Prince whispered as they looked on. M de Caradeux, standing next to the man in the yellow domino costume, immediately exclaimed:
“My word! It’s the ‘young person’!”
And then, turning to a powdered and paunchy marquis:
“Oh! My good Lugé, what are these times we’re living in? Our dear Monsieur Saint-Ar – height of eccentricity – has opened his doors to some colored wench and brought her among our wives and daughters!”
The man in the domino costume made an abrupt gesture, as if he were about to lean toward M de Caradeux to say something. Then he seemed to think better of it.
“Madame,” said Alfred de Laujon to Mme Saint-Ar, “this young girl has the most beautiful voice I have ever heard…Now who is she?”
She leaned in to whisper a few words into his ear. Then, so that everyone might hear:
“Bring the young girl to me, Alfred. She deserves a kiss from you,” she added.
The final note of the little aria had just been sung and was met by enthusiastic applause. As she waved and bowed, Minette observed the man in the yellow domino costume. He smiled at her and her heart leapt. Still she did not want to believe it. At that moment, M de Caradeux, an impertinent expression on his face, walked up to the piano, where he stopped and addressed M Saint-Ar:
“My dear man,” he said, “to amuse your guests you’ve gone so far as to break the law; do you really think we can abide
such eccentricity and such derring-do?…”
And turning to Minette:
“We would very much like to see the eyes of this Iseult,” he finished.
With an abrupt gesture that nothing in his attitude would have prepared them for, he tore off her eye mask and threw it at her feet.
Stony-faced, she looked him directly in the eyes.
“So I was right – it’s that young colored actress that’s got everyone talking,” he declared.
The dubious comment was interrupted by stifled exclamations and whispers.
“I don’t appreciate Monsieur de Caradeux’s actions one bit,” said Alfred de Laujon indignantly.
“But she’s a colored girl, after all,” reasoned Fernand de Rolac.
“Leave the salon, my dear,” advised M Saint-Ar, with an embarrassed air. “That would be for the best.”
At that moment, the hand of the man in the yellow domino costume landed on M de Caradeux’s shoulder.
“If you are not a coward, Monsieur…”
The voice made Minette shiver. It was Lapointe. She had to do whatever it took to prevent this duel or it would be the death penalty for him.
“My Lord!” she murmured.
She scanned the room for Marie-Rose and saw the young girl waiting for her, hidden from Mme Saint-Ar. She was first to raise her hand in a subtle gesture, and Minette ran to join her.
“Who is that?” she whispered.
“He’s my lover.”
“Is he white?”
“No…”
“Oh! This is incredible!”
And she crushed Minette’s hand in her own.
“What weapon, Monsieur?” said M de Caradeux.
“I’ll leave that up to you.”
“Swords.”
The man in the domino costume smiled.
His lips were painted and the bottom half of his face was hidden by the mask.
“So be it.”
M Saint-Ar made a sign to Simon, who rushed into another room and then returned with two swords, lain on a silver platter.
“Here are your weapons, gentlemen,” said the master of the house with an incomprehensible smile. “Now let’s take this into the garden.”
“Holy Mother Mary,” whimpered Mme Saint-Ar, “my poor supper!…”
They went down the long stone staircase.
“Remove your mask,” said Caradeux, brandishing his sword.
“You put one on.”
The clanking of the weapons mixed with the cries of the women and the exclamations of the men. Lapointe, taller and stronger than his adversary, immediately had the upper hand.
“Well then, Monsieur,” he cried, “it seems you’re about to be skewered.”
M de Caradeux, beside himself, grew livid, dropping his head.
“Who are you?”
“Your pride will suffer less if you don’t know…”
Minette, once again separated from Marie-Rose, who was pressed up against a tree, seemed not to know what to do with herself. Someone touched her arm. It was Alfred de Laujon. He bowed, took her hand, and kissed it.
The sincerity of his gesture comforted her.
“Leave, Mademoiselle. That would be for the best, believe me,” he told her.
She bowed her head and went to her bedroom. She took her things, piled them into her little suitcase, and then quietly went back out to the garden. At that very moment, a cry rang out: Lapointe had just disarmed Caradeux and was holding the tip of his sword against the old man’s chest.
She forgot to be prudent and threw herself between them.
“Minette,” shouted Marie-Rose…
“You owe her your life,” screamed Lapointe. He then slashed Caradeux’s white shirt twice, grazing him slightly. He removed the man’s hat and held it on the tip of his sword like a trophy. “I’ll keep this as a memento…”
And then he burst into a horrifying laugh.
“Who is that man? Someone take off his mask…”
Minette fled. She heard Marie-Rose calling after her but did not turn around.
Jostling the curious onlookers who had gathered around the gate, she managed to force her way through to the street. A horrible chill spread through her body. Now, I’m not going to faint like Marie-Rose, she said to herself. I’m perfectly used to such insults, such humiliations. She breathed deeply and heard a horse galloping behind her. Two large dogs surrounded her and licked her hands.
The horseman came up to her at a gallop, bent down, and swept her into his arms. He sat her just in front of him.
“Oh,” she sighed. “Why did you come?”
He took off his mask, galloping all the while.
“And you? What were you looking for with those nice Frenchies there?”
“Humiliation, as you saw.”
He laughed his sonorous laugh.
“The Saint-Ars! The nice, sweet Whites who love their slaves!” he cried. “So what did you think? Lapointe beats his wretches and Monsieur Saint-Ar spoils them…That’s it, isn’t it?”
“Leave me alone.”
“You run away from my house, you abandon me because I have a few slaves whipped. Foolish, foolish girl…”
The horse climbed the path and stopped at the stone staircase leading to the lone little gallery. Lapointe set Minette down and passed the reins to a slave.
“How pitiful my home must seem to you after so much luxury!”
“Oh, just be quiet!”
He turned her around suddenly and took her in his arms.
“I thought you’d left forever. I beat more than ten slaves that day.”
“You’re nothing but a monster.”
“What does that matter, since I’m in love with you?”
He took her mouth and plunged his hand in her hair in a gesture of loving tenderness.
She freed herself and wiped her lips with the back of her hand:
“You won’t beat anyone as long as I’m here?”
“You’re imposing conditions?”
“Just the one.”
“And if I refuse?”
She brought her face close to his.
“That will mean you don’t love me.”
He pressed her against him, kissed her face wildly and, opening the door to the bedroom, had her enter first.
He kept his promise. During the eight days Minette spent under his roof, he refrained from getting angry. She only allowed herself to be served by Ninninne. He did not object and sent away the two Mulatresses of the house. He behaved perfectly and spoiled her immensely. The two dogs became friends whose caresses she accepted and who she rolled around with, laughing, in the garden. For eight days, they led a carefree life troubled only, for Minette, by the sorrowful songs coming from the workhouse.
One morning, Lapointe went to Arcahaie and came back with a hidden note, which he passed to her.
“The coachman was going to bring this to Madame Saint-Ar, but I said I’d take care of it. I’ve got some mail of my own.”
His face darkened suddenly.
“Kiss me,” said Minette.
He ignored her and caressed her hair.
“Read your letter.”
She unfolded it and read aloud.
My dear Minette,
The public is calling for you. The first performances given by Mmes Dubuisson and Valville were real successes but the public now seems weary of them. Mlle Dubuisson missed a note and was booed.
You’ve had your revenge – as you can see. Our director wrote us that your younger sister has had great success in Les Cayes. He is counting on you to take up your work – especially given that your contract is reaching its term and he will soon have to pay you the agreed upon three thousand pounds. We await your return and send you our love.
Mme Acquaire
Minette could not help but be overjoyed.
“The death-blow,” muttered Lapointe darkly.
She put her arms around his neck.
“We’ll be together again. Life mus
t go on.”
“For me, it will stop after you leave. Oh, if only you loved me enough to give it all up. I’d marry you…”
She murmured:
“Jean, my career is also a part of my life.”
He lost his temper at that.
“Well then go back to your career!” he shouted at her.
She saw that he was in pain and tried to reason with him.
“We both have things that are important to us. We’re both bitter. You said to me one day that having the workhouse and those slaves would help you to do what you want. Well, my voice is the only thing I possess…”
“You’re the only possession that truly matters to me.”
She felt such distress in his voice that she moved away from him, for fear of crying herself.
She went into the bedroom and folded her dresses to put in her suitcase. He remained alone on the gallery for a moment; then Minette heard the sound of a galloping horse. He did not return until that evening, muddied and half drunk. She welcomed him without reproach and helped him to undress.
“When are you leaving?” he asked her.
“Tomorrow.”
He stretched out on the bed, groaning, and pretended to sleep.
He did not touch her and she did not dare fuel his desire. During the night she heard him wake quietly. He went into the next room and returned with a bottle of rum, which he put down at the foot of the bed. Three times he got up ever so quietly and took long swigs from the bottle. The third time, he fell back on the bed, completely drunk. So she tucked him in like a child and cried. When she left the house the next morning, he was still sleeping. She kissed Ninninne and gave her a note to pass on to Marie-Rose.
“Go to Madame Saint-Ar’s. Ask for Miss Marie-Rose. Do you understand?”
“Miss Marie-Rose at Madame Saint-Ar’s,” she repeated. Then, taking Minette’s hands:
“Like this, you’re leaving us, Mistress?”
“Alas, yes, Ninninne.”
“You’re abandoning him. What will he do without you?”
“Watch over him, do you hear me? And when you want to send me news, go find Miss Marie-Rose. She’ll help you.”
“Very well, Mistress.”
“Farewell, my dear woman.”
“God be with you.”
Dance on the Volcano Page 24