@misc{oai:toyama.repo.nii.ac.jp:00016420, author = {中島, 淑恵}, month = {2018-07-25, 2018-07-26, 2019-03-26, 2019-03-26, 2019-03-26, 2019-03-26, 2019-03-26, 2019-03-26}, note = {application/mp3, テーマ：美しきクレオール：ユーマを読む ・私たちが抱いているアメリカのイメージ 　　南北戦争（1861年～1865年）とは？ 　　南部の人々，プランテーションの大農園主 　　サトウキビのモノカルチャー ・『ユーマ：西インドの奴隷の物語』Youma, The Story of a West-Indian Slave. 　　初出『ハーパー・マンスリー』1890年1月号，2月号 　　同年5月，ハーパー社より単行本として出版 ・平井呈一「八雲の小説」より 　どうもハーンという人は，小説というものの要素にアンバランスな感覚を持っているのではないかと思われるくらい，小説的効果を無視して，小説的効果のないヴィジョンに力瘤を入れる性癖があるように思われます。そのくせ小説的急所は素通りしています。（翻訳『仏領西インドの二年間』下，「あとがき」445頁） ・中田堅次「ユーマ」の項目より 　作品の評価ということになると，一部の批評家は好意的であったが，文体や部分的な描写には技巧が凝らされてはいるが，プロットや心理描写が手薄で小説としてのバランスに欠けている，というのが大方の見方だったようである。 　この点は先に触れた『チータ』も同様で，ハーンはこれら二作によって小説家としての創作能力の限界を悟り，やがて原話のある短い物語の再話に新たな文学的境地を切り拓いたと言われる。（平川祐弘監修『小泉八雲事典』より，666頁） ・クレオール小説の元祖 ・『ユーマ』の構成 　　献辞：わが友ジョゼフ・S・デュニソンに 　　導入：乳母（ダア）について 　　１．ユーマの出自および幼少期，性格，成長 　　２．デリヴィエール家の所有していたアンヌ・マリーヌの農場の描写 　　　　クレオールの物語，クレオール語による教義問答，クレオールの物語 　　３．ユーマの乳母としての日常，さまざまな物語をマヨットに聞かせる，「ケレマン婆さん」の挿話 　　４．マヨットの部屋，ユーマ蛇に咬まれる，ガブリエルに助けられる 　　５．ガブリエルの好意，贈り物 　　６．ガブリエル，デリヴィエール氏にユーマを嫁にしたいと頼む 　　７．ペロネット夫人，ユーマをアンヌ・マリーヌから引き戻そうとする。 　　　　ユーマの苦悩，自らの奴隷という立場に煩悶。 　　　　ガブリエルがドミニカへの出奔を示唆 　　８．ユーマの煩悶 　　９．海岸，マヨットと遊ぶユーマ，ガブリエルが再び誘いに来る， 　　　　ガブリエルとの長い会話，ガブリエルの誘いを断る 　　１０．アンヌ・マリーヌ最後の夜，血葛の挿話 　　１１．奴隷による武装蜂起 　　１２．奴隷による武装蜂起 　　１３．ユーマとデリヴィエール氏との会話 　　１４．ユーマの最期 以下のページ数は，『The writings of Lafcadio Hearn: Vol 4』による Page 261 YOUMA The da, during old colonial days, often held high rank in rich Martinique households. The da was usually a Creole negress -- more often, at all events, of the darker than of the lighter hue -- more com- monly a capresse than a mestive; but in her particu- lar case the prejudice of color did not exist. The da was a slave; but no freedwoman, however beautiful or cultivated, could enjoy social privileges equal to those of certain das. The da was respected and loved as a mother: she was at once a foster-mother and nurse. For the Creole child had two mothers: the aristocratic white mother who gave him birth; the dark bond-mother who gave him all care -- who nursed him, bathed him, taught him to speak the soft and musical speech of slaves, took him out in her arms to show him the beautiful tropic world, told him wonderful folk-stories of evenings, lulled him to sleep, attended to his every possible want by day or by night. It was not to be wondered at that during infancy the da should have been loved more than the white mother: when there was any marked preference it was nearly always in the da's favor. The child was much more with her than with his real mother: she alone satisfied all his little needs; he found her more indulgent, more patient, perhaps even more caressing, than the other. The da was herself at heart a child, speaking a child-language, finding pleasure in childish things -- artless, play- ful, affectionate; she comprehended the thoughts, the impulses, the pains, the faults of the little one as the white mother could not always have done: she knew intuitively how to soothe him upon all occasions, how to amuse him, how to excite and caress his imagination; -- there was absolute har- mony between their natures -- a happy community of likes and dislikes -- a perfect sympathy in the animal joy of being. Later on, when the child had become old enough to receive his first lessons from a tutor or governess, to learn to speak French, the affection for the da and the affection for the mother began to differentiate in accordance with mental expansion; but, though the mother might be more loved, the da was not less cherished than before. The love of the nurse lasted through life; and the relation of the da to the family seldom ceased -- except in those cruel instances where she was only "hired" from another slave-holder. Page 266 I There are old persons still living in Saint Pierre who remember Youma, a tall capresse, the property of Madame Léonie Peyronnette. The servant was better known than the mistress; -- for Madame Peyronnette went out little after the loss of her husband, a wealthy merchant, who had left her in more than comfortable circumstances. Youma was a pet slave, and also the godchild of Madame Peyronnette: it was not uncommon dur- ing the old regime for Creole ladies to become god- mothers of little slaves. Douceline, the mother of Youma, had been purchased as a da for Madame Peyronnette's only child, Aimeé -- and had died when Aimée was nearly five years old. The two children were nearly the same age, and seemed much attached to each other: after Douceline's death, Madame Peyronnette resolved to bring up the little capresse as a playmate for her daughter. The dispositions of the two children were notice- ably different; and with their growth, the difference became more marked. Aimée was demonstrative and affectionate, sensitive and passionate -- quick to veer from joy to grief, from tears to smiles. Youma, on the contrary, was almost taciturn, sel- dom betrayed emotion: she would play silently when Aimeé screamed, and scarcely smile when Aimeé laughed so violently as to frighten her mother. In spite of these differences of organization, or perhaps because of them, the two got along together very well : they had never a serious quarrel, and were first separated only when Aimeé, at the age of nine, was sent to a convent to receive an education more finished than it was thought that private teachers were capable of giving. Aimeé's grief at parting from her playmate was not assuaged by the assur- ance that she would find at school nicer companions than a young capresse; -- Youma, who had cer- tainly more to lose by the change, remained out- wardly calm -- "était d'une conduite irréprocha- ble," said Madame Peyronnette, too fine an observer to attribute the "irreproachable conduct" to insen- sibility. The friends continued to see each other, however; for Madame Peyronnette drove to the convent in her carriage regularly every Sunday, always taking Youma with her; and Aimée seemed scarcely less delighted to see her former playmate than to see her mother. During the first summer vacation and the Christmas holidays, the companionship of child- hood was naively resumed; and the mutual affection survived the subsequent natural change of relation: though nominally a bonne, who addressed Aimée as a mistress, Youma was treated almost as a foster- sister. And when Mademoiselle had finished her studies, the young slave-maid remained her confi- dante, and to some extent her companion. Youma had never learned to read and write; Madame Peyronnette believed that to educate her would only make her dissatisfied with the scope of a destiny out of which no effort could elevate her; but the girl had a natural intelligence which compensated her lack of mental training in many respects: she knew what to do and how to speak upon all occasions. She had grown up into a superb woman -- cer- tainly the finest capresse of the arrondissement. Her tint was a clear deep red; -- there was in her features a soft vague beauty -- a something that suggested the indefinable face of the Sphinx, espe- cially in profile; -- her hair, though curly as a black fleece, was long and not uncomely; she was graceful, furthermore, and very tall. At fifteen she had seemed a woman; at eighteen she was taller by head and shoulders than her young mistress; and Made- moiselle Aimee, though not below the average stat- ure, had to lift up her eyes, when they walked out together, to look into Youma's face. The young bonne was universally admired: she was one of those figures that a Martiniquais would point out with pride to a stranger as a type of the beauty of the mixed race. Even in slave days, the Creole did not refuse himself the pleasure of admiring in human skin those tones none fear to praise in bronze or gold: he frankly confessed them exquisite; -- aes- thetically, his "color prejudice" had no existence. There were few young whites, nevertheless, who would have presumed to tell their admiration to Youma: there was something in the eyes and the serious manner of the young slave that protected her quite as much as the moral power of the family m which she had been brought up. Madame Peyronnette was proud of her servant, and took pleasure in seeing her attired as hand- somely as possible in the brilliant and graceful cos- tume then worn by the women of color. In regard to dress, Youma had no reason to envy any of the freed class: she had all that a capresse could wish to wear, according to local ideas of color contrast -- jupes of silk and of satin -- robes-dezindes with head-dresses and foulards to match -- azure with orange, red with violet, yellow with bright blue, green with rose. On particular occasions, such as the first communion of Aimée, the fête of madame, a ball, a wedding to which the family were invited, Youma's costume was magnificent. With her trail- ing jupe of orange satin attached just below the bosom, and exposing above it the laced and em- broidered chemise, with half-sleeves leaving the braceleted arms bare, and fastened at the elbow with gold clasps (boutons-à-clous) ; -- her neck-kerchief (mouchouè-en-lai) of canary yellow striped with green and blue; -- her triple necklace of graven gold beads (collier-chou) ; -- her flashing ear- pend- ants (zanneaux-à-clou), each a packet of thick gold cylinders interjoined; -- her yellow-banded Madras turban, dazzling with jewelry -- " trembling-pins," chainlets, quivering acorns of gold (broches-à-gland) -- she might have posed to a painter for the Queen of Shcba. There were various pretty presents from Aim6e among Youma's ornaments; but the greater part of the jewelry had been purchased for her by Madame Peyronnette, in a series of New- Year gifts. Youma was denied no pleasure which it was thought she might reasonably wish for -- except liberty. Page 282 ... Often, when the nights were clear and warm, the slaves would assemble after the evening meal, to hear stories told by the libres-de-savane (old men and women exempted from physical labor) -- those curious stories which composed the best part of the unwritten literature of a people forbidden to read. In those days, such oral literature gave delight to adults as well as to children, to bèkés as well as to negroes: it even exerted some visible influence upon colonial character. Every da was a story-teller. Her recitals first developed in the white child in- trusted to her care the power of fancy -- Africaniz- ing it, perhaps, to a degree that after-education could not totally remove -- creating a love of the droll and the extraordinary. One did not weary of hearing these stories often repeated; -- for they were told with an art impossible to describe; and the little songs or refrains belonging to each -- sometimes composed of African words, more often of nonsense-rhymes imitating the bamboula chants and caleinda improvisations -- held a weird charm which great musicians have confessed. And further- more, in these contes Creoles -- whether of purely African invention, or merely African adaptation of old-world folk-lore and fable -- the local color is marvelous: there is such a reflection of colonial thought and life as no translation can preserve. The scenes are laid among West Indian woods and hills, or sometimes in the quaintest quarter of an old colonial port. The European cottage of folk-tale becomes the tropical case or ajoupa, with walls of bamboo and roof of dried cane-leaves; -- the Sleeping Beauties could never be discovered in their primeval forest but by some nègue-marron or chas- seu-chou; -- the Cinderellas and Princesses appear as beautiful half-breed girls, wearing a costume never seen in picture-books; -- the fairies of old- world myth are changed into the Bon-Dié or the Virgin Mary; -- the Bluebeards and giants turn into quimboiseurs and devils; -- the devils themselves (except when they yawn to show the fire in their throats) so closely resemble the half-nude travail- leurs, with their canvas trousers and mouchouè- fautas and other details of costume, as not to be readily recognized: it requires keen inspection to detect the diabolic signs -- the red hair, crimson eyes, and horn-roots under the shadowing of the enormous "mule-food hat" or the chapeau-bacouè. Then the Bon-Dié, the "Good-God," figures as the best and kindest of old békés -- an affable gray planter whose habitation lies somewhere in the clouds over the Montagne Pelée: you can see his "sheep" and his " choux-caraibes " sometimes in the sky. And the breaker of enchantments is the parish priest -- Missié labbé -- who saves pretty naughty girls by passing his stole about their necks. ... It was at Anse-Marine that Youma found most of the tales she recounted to Mayotte, when the child became old enough to take delight in them. (中略） Page 288 one must not tell stories in the daytime, unless one wants to see zombis at night!" "No, da! ... tell me one ... I am not afraid, da." "Oh! the little liar! ... You are afraid -- very much afraid of zombis. And if I tell you a story you will see them to-night." "Doudoux-da, no! -- tell me one...." "You will not wake me up to-night, and tell me you see zombis?" "No, da ? I promise." "Well, then, for this once" -- said Youma, utter- ing the traditional words which announce that the Creole story-teller is ready -- "bobonne fois?" "Toua fois bel conte!" cried the delighted child. And Youma began: DAME KÉLÉMENT Long, long ago there lived an old woman who every- body said was a witch, and in league with the devil. And nearly all the bad things said about her were true. One day a poor little girl lost her way in the woods. After she had walked until she could not walk any more, she sat down and began to cry. She cried for a long, long time. All about her she could see nothing but trees and lianas; -- all the ground was covered with slippery green roots; and the trees were so high, and the lianas so woven between them, that there was very little light. She was lost in the grands bois -- the great woods which swarm with serpents.... All at once, while she sat there crying, she heard strange sounds quite near her -- sounds of singing and dancing. She got up and walked toward the sounds. Looking through the trees she saw the same old woman that people used to talk about, riding on a balai-zo,*[1] and dancing round and round in a ring with ever so many serpents and crapaud-Jade -- great ugly toads. And they were all singing: Kingué, Kingué; Vonvon Malato, Vloum-voum! Jambi, Kingué, Tou galé, Zogalé, Vloum! The little girl stood there stupid with fright: she could not even cry any more. But the old woman had seen the leaves move; and she came with a sort of fire playing all round her, and asked the little girl: "What are you doing in the razié?" *[2] "Mother, I lost my way in the woods."... "Then, my child, you must come to the house with me.... You might undo me, unravel me, destroy me if you had a chance." The little girl did not understand all that, the old woman said; for the wicked old creature was talking about mat- ters that only sorcerers know. By the time they got to the house, the poor child was very tired: she sat down on a calabash which served the witch for a chair. Then she saw the old woman light two fires on the earth floor, with torch-gum -- which smells *[1] A broom made of the branches of a shrub called guiyantine. *[2] Razié: the lower growths which occupy the ground under forest- trees, or cover the soil in places where the trees have been cleared away. like incense. On one fire she placed a big pot full of man- man-chou, camagnioc, yams, christophines, bananas, devil's egg-plants (melongène-diabe), and many herbs the little girl did not know the names of. On the other fire she began to broil some toads, and an earth-lizard -- zanoli- tè. At noon the old woman swallowed all that as if it was nothing at all; -- then she looked at the little girl, who was nearly dead for hunger, and said to her: "Until you can tell me what name I am called by, you will not get anything to eat." ... Then she went away, leaving the little girl alone. The little girl began to weep. Suddenly she felt some- thing touching her. It was a big serpent -- the biggest she had ever seen. She was so frightened that she almost died; -- then she cried out: "Oti papa moin? -- oti manman moin? Latitolé ké mangé" moin!" But the serpent did not do her any harm: he only rubbed his head fondly against her shoulder, and sang: "Bennemè, bennepè -- tambou belai! Ychc p'accoutoume' tambou belai!" The little girl cried out louder than before: "Oti papa moin? -- oti manman moin? Latitole ke mangl moin!" But the serpent, still rubbing his head fondly against her, answered, singing very softly: "Bennepè, bennemè -- tambou belai! Ychc p'accoutouml tambou belai!" Then when he saw she had become less afraid, he lifted his head close to her ear, and whispered something. The moment she heard it she ran out of the house and into the woods again. There she began to ask all the ani- mals she met to tell her the old witch's name. She asked every four-footed beast; -- she asked all the lizards and the birds. But they did not know. She came to a big river, and she asked all the fishes. The fishes, one after another, made answer to her that they did not know. But the cirique, the river crab that is yellow like a plantain -- the cirique knew. The cirique was the only one in the whole world who knew the name. The name was Dame Kélément. ... Then the child ran back to the house with all her might; her little stomach was paining her so that she felt she could not bear the pain much longer. The old woman was already at the house, scraping some manioc to make flour and cassave.... The little girl walked up to her, and said: "Give me to eat, Dame Kélément." Two flashes of fire leaped from the witch's eyes: she gave such a start that she nearly broke her head against the iron-stones that she balanced her pots on. "Child! you have got the better of me!" she screamed. "Take everything! -- take it, take it! -- eat, eat, eat! -- all in the house is yours!" Then she sprang through the door quick as a powder- flash: she seemed to fly through the fields and woods.... And she ran straight to the river; -- for it was deep under the bed of the river that the Devil had buried the name which he had given her. She stood on the bank, and chanted: "Loche, O loche! -- was it you who told that my name was Dame Kélément?" Then the loche, that is black like the black stones of the stream, lifted up its head, and cried: "No, mamma! -- no, mamma! -- it was not I who told that your name was Dame Kélément." "Titiri, O titiri! -- tell me, was it any among you who told that my name was Dame Kélément?" Then the titiri, the tiny transparent titiri, answered all together, clinging to the stones: "No, mamma! -- no, mamma! -- none of us ever said that your name was Dame Kélément." "Cribfche, O cribfche! -- was it you who told that my name was Dame Kélément?" Then the cribfche, the great crawfish of the river, lifted up his head and his claws, and made answer: "No, mamma! -- no, mamma! -- it was not I who said that your name was Dame Kélément." "Tétart, O tétart! -- was it you who said that my name was Dame Kélément?" And the titart, that is gray like the gray rocks of iron to which it holds fast, made answer, saying: "No, mamma! -- no, mamma! -- it was not I who told them that your name was Dame Kélément." "Dormeur, O dormeur! -- was it you who told that my name was Dame Kélément?" And the dormeur, the lazy dormeur, that sleeps in the shadow of the rocks, awoke and rose and made answer: "No, mamma! -- no, mamma! -- it was not I who told them that your name was Dame Kélément." "Matavalé, O matavalé! -- was it you that said my name was Dame Kélément?" And the matavalé, the shining matavalé, that flashes like copper when the sun touches his scales, opened his mouth and answered: "No, mamma! -- no, mamma! -- I never said that your name was Dame Kélément!" "Milet! -- bouc! -- pisquette! -- zangui! -- zhabitant! -- was it any one among you who told that my name was Dame Kélément?" But they all cried out: "No, no, no, mamma! -- none of us ever said that your name was Dame Kélément." "Cirique, O cirique! -- was it you who said my name was Dame Kélément?" Then the cirique lifted up his eyes and his yellow claws, and screamed: "Yes, you old wretch! -- yes, you old witch! -- yes, you old malediction! -- yes, it was I who said that your name was Dame Kélément!" ... The moment she heard those words she stamped on the ground so hard that the Devil heard her, and opened a great hole at her feet; and she leaped into it head-first. And the ground closed over her. Two days after, there grew up from the place a clump of the weed they call arrête-nègue -- the plant that is all thorns. Now while this was happening, the serpent had turned into a man; -- for the old witch had changed a man into that serpent. He took the little girl by the hand, and led her to her mother. But they came back again next day to search the old woman's cabin. They found in it seven casks filled with the bones of dead people; and also ever so much silver and gold -- more than enough to make the little girl rich. When she got married, there was the finest wedding ever seen in this country. Page 295 IV Youma was alone in the house that night with the child; for M. Desrivières had ridden over to Sainte- Marie, and the servants occupied an adjoining build- ing.... She was roused from her sleep by hearing the child cry: "Da, oh da! -- moin pè!" The tiny lamp left burning before the images of the saints had gone out; ? little Mayotte was afraid. "Pa pè " -- called Youma, quickly rising to caress her -- "mi da-ou, chè." "Oh! there is Something in the room, da!" said the child. She had heard stealthy sounds. "No, doudoux; you have been dreaming.... Da will light the lamp for you." She felt for the matches on the little night-table -- could not find them -- remembered she had left them in the adjoining salon -- moved toward the door; -- and her foot suddenly descended upon something that sent a cold shock through all her blood -- something clammy and chill, that lived! Instantly she threw all the weight of her lithe strong body upon that foot -- the left: she never could tell why; -- perhaps the impulse was instinctive. Under her naked sole the frigid life she strove to crush writhed with a sudden power that nearly threw her down; and in the same moment she felt something wind round her ankle, over her knee, wrapping the flesh from heel to thigh with bruising force ... the folds of a serpent! "Tambou!" she muttered between her teeth -- and hardened her muscles against the tightening coil, and strengthened the pressure of her foot upon the unseen enemy.... The foot of the half-breed, never deformed by shoes, retains prehensile power -- grasps like a hand; -- the creature writhed in vain to escape. Already the cold terror had passed; and Youma felt only the calm anger of resolve: hers was one of those semi-savage natures wherein fear rarely lives beyond the first moment of nervous surprise. She called softly to the little one. "Ti doudoux?" "Da?" "Do not move till I tell you: stay in bed; there is a bete in the room." "Ale, ale!" sobbed the frightened child -- "what is it, da?" "Do not be afraid, cocotte: I am holding it, and it cannot bite you, unless you get up. I am going to call for Gabriel: do not stir, dear." And Youma called, with all the power of her clear voice: "Sucou! -- sucou! Eh! Gabou!" ... "What is it? -- what is it, da?" sobbed the little girl. "Do not cry like that, or I will get angry. How can I see what it is in the dark?" ... She called again and again for aid.... Bon-Dié! how powerful the creature was ! -- the pressure of the coil became a numbing pain. Her strength was already beginning to weaken under the obstinate, icy, ever-increasing constriction. What if the cramp should come to help it? ... Or was it the entering of venom into her blood that made those strange tinglings and tremblings? ... She had not felt her- self stricken; -- but only the month before a plan- tation-hand had been bitten in the dark without feeling it; and they could not save him.... "Eh! Gabou!" ... Even the servants in the pavilion seemed to sleep like dead. And if the child should leave the bed in spite of her warning? ... "Oh! they are coming, da!" cried Mayotte. "Gabou is coming!" She had seen the flash of his lantern through the slatted shutters. "But the door is locked, da!" "Stay in bed, Mayotte! -- if you move it will bite you!" The salon filled with voices and sound of feet; then there was a pushing at the bedroom door. "It is locked," called Youma; -- "break it! -- smash it in! -- I cannot move!" ... A crash ! -- the room filled with a flare of lan- terns; and Youma saw that the livid throat was under her foot; -- the hideous head vainly strained at her heel. "Pa bouèné piess!" cried the voice of the com- mandeur. "Do not stir for your life, my girl! Keep still for your life! Stay just as you are!" She stood like a bronze. Page 303 ... He brought one afternoon a fine sapota -- that fruit in whose smooth flushed swarthy skin Creole fancy finds the semblance of half-breed beauty. Within its flat black seed, between the two halves of the kernel, lies a pellicle -- creamy, frag- ile, and shaped like a heart -- which it requires dexterity to remove without breaking. Lovers challenge each other to do it as a test of affection. "Mayotte," said Youma, after they had eaten the fruit together -- "I want to see if you love me." ... She cracked the flinty shell of a seed between her teeth -- then tried to remove the pellicle, and broke it. "Oh, da!" cried the child, "it is not true! -- you know I love you." ... "Piess, piess!" declared Youma, teasing her; -- "you do not love me one bit!" But Gabriel asked for a seed, and she gave him one. Rude and hard as his fingers were, he took out the little heart intact, and gave it to Mayotte. "Ou ouè!" he said, maliciously; -- "da ou ain- mein moin passé ou!" (Your da loves me better than you.) "It is not true! -- no, cocotte!" Youma assured the child. But she did not feel sure of what she said. ... When the cane-cutting season was over, Gabriel asked and obtained leave to go to La Trinité one holiday morning. He returned at evening, later than the hour at which he was accustomed to find the young capresse on the veranda; but she was still there. Seeing him approach, she rose with the child asleep in her arms, and put her finger to her lips. "Quimbe!" whispered Gabriel, slipping into Youma's hand something flat and square, wrapped in tissue-paper: then, without another word, he strode away to his quarters. When Mayotte had been put to bed, Youma looked at the packet.... A little card-board box: within it, upon a layer of pink cotton, shone two large light circles of plain gold -- barbaric ear-rings such as are only made by colonial goldsmiths, but well suited to the costume and bronze skin of the race of color.... Youma already possessed far finer jewelry; but Gabriel had walked thirty kilometres for these. He smiled as he passed by her window in the morning and saw them shimmering in her ears. Her acceptance of the gift signified assent to a ques- tion unspoken -- the question which civilized men most fear to ask, but which the Creole slave could ask without words. Page 335 X ... Would she ever see him again? she asked herself unceasingly through all her wakefulness of that night -- her last save one at Anse-Marine. But always came the self-answer of tears.... She heard the number of the hour at which she might have fled with him to freedom, and hour after hour, tingled out by the little bronze salon timepiece through its vaulted glass. She closed her eyes -- and still, as through their shut lids, saw the images of the eve- ning: the figure of Gabriel, and Mayotte playing with her cocoanut, and the velvet shadowing of the black cliffs on the black sand, and a white sheeting and leaping of surf -- silent like breakings of cloud. They went and came -- distorted and vanished and returned again with startling vividness, as if they would never fade utterly away. Only in the first hours of the morning there began for her that still soft darkness which is rest from thought. But again a little while, and her mind wakened to the fancy of a voice calling her name -- faintly, as from a great distance -- a voice remembered as. in a dream one holds remembrance of dreams gone before. Then she became aware of a face -- the face of a beautiful brown woman looking at her with black soft eyes -- smiling under the yellow folds of a madras turban -- and lighted by a light that came from nowhere -- that was only a memory of some long-dead morning. And through the dimness round about it a soft blue radiance grew -- the ghost of a day; and she knew the face and murmured to it: " Doudoux-manman." ... ... They two were walking somewhere she had been long ago -- somewhere among mornes: she felt the guiding of her mother's hand as when a child. And before them as they went, something purple and vague and vast rose and spread -- the enormous spectre of the sea, rounding to the sky. And in the pearliness over its filmy verge there loomed again the vision of the English island, with long shred* dings of luminous cloud across its violet peaks.... Slowly it brightened and slowly changed its color as she gazed; and all the peaks flushed crimson to their tips -- like a budding of wondrous roses from sea to sun.... And Douceline, softly speaking, as to an infant, said: "Travail Bon-Dié toutt joli, anh?" (Is it not all- pretty, the work of the Good-God?) "Oh! my little jewel-mamma -- ti-bijou-manman! -- oh ! my little-heart-mamma -- ti-khè-manman ! ... I must not go!" ... ... But Douceline was no longer with her -- and the shining shadow of the island had also passed away -- and she heard the voice of Mayotte crying ... somewhere behind trees. And she hastened there, and found her, under some huge growth that spread out coiling roots far and wide: one could not discern what tree it was for the streaming weight of lianas upon it. The child had plucked a sombre leaf, and was afraid -- something so strange had trickled upon her fingers. "It is only the blood-liana," said Youma: "they dye with it."... "But it is warm," said the child -- still full of fear.... Then both became afraid because of a heavy pulsing sound, dull as the last flappings of a cannon-echo among the mornes. The earth shook with it. And the light began to fail -- dimmed into a red gloom, as when the sun dies. " It is the tree!" gasped Mayotte -- "the heart of a tree!" But they could not go: a weird numbness weighed their feet to the ground. And suddenly the roots of the tree bestirred with frightful life, and reached out writhing to wrap about them; -- and the black gloom of branches above them became a monstrous swarming; -- and the ends of the roots and the ends of the limbs had eyes. ... And through the ever-deepening darkness came the voice of Gabriel, crying -- "It is a Zombi! -- I cannot cut it!" Page 366 " Mi ! yon négresse ! " "It is the da! -- Jesis-Maīa!" "Pé! -- pé zautt!" "Pé!" ... The word ran from mouth to mouth; -- almost a hush followed its passage through the crowd, a hush of malignant expectation; ? then Youma's powerful contralto rang out with the dis- tinctness of a bugle-call. "Eh! tas de capons!" she cried, fearlessly -- "cowards afraid to face men! Do you believe you will win your liberty by burning women and chil- dren? ... Who were the mothers of you ? " "We are burning békés," screamed a negress in response: "they kill us; we kill them. C'est jusse!" "You lie!" cried Youma. "The békés never murdered women and children." "They did!" vociferated a mulatto in the mob, better dressed than his fellows; -- "they did! In seventeen hundred and twenty-one! In seventeen hundred and twenty-five!" ... "Ale, macaque!" mocked Youma. "So you burn negresses now for imitation! What have the ne- gresses done to you, Ape?" "They are with the békés." "You were with the békés yesterday, the day before yesterday, and always -- every one of you. The békés gave you to eat -- the bekes gave you to drink -- the bekes cared for you when you were sick.... The békés gave you freedom, O you traitor mulatto! -- gave you a name, saloprie! -- gave you the clothes you wear, ingrate! You! -- you are not fighting for your liberty, liar! -- the békés gave it to you long ago for your black mother's sake! ... Fai doctè, milatt! -- I know you! ... coward without a family, without a race! -- fai filosofe, O you rene- gade, who would see a negress burn because a negress was your mother! -- Allé! -- bâtà-béké!" ... Then Youma could not make herself heard: a fresh outburst of vociferation drowned her voice. But her reproaches had struck home in at least one direction : she had touched and stirred the smoulder- ing contempt, the secret jealous hate of the black for the freedman of color; and the mulatto's discomfit- ure was hailed by yells of ironical laughter. In the same moment there was a violent pushing and sway- ing; -- some one was forcing his way to the front through all the pressure -- rapidly, furiously -- smiting with his elbows, battering with his shoul- ders: a giant capre.... He freed himself, and sprang into the clear space before the flaming building -- making his cutlass flicker about his head -- and shouted : " Nou pa ka brilé négresse! " ... The mulatto put to scorn advanced and would have spoken; -- ere he could utter a word, the travailleur, with a sudden backward blow of his unarmed hand, struck him to the ground. "A moin! méfouè!" thundered the tall new-comer; -- "Stand by me, brothers! -- we do not burn ne- gresses! " And Youma knew it was Gabriel who stood there alone ? colossal, menacing, magnificent -- daring the hell about him for her sake.... "Ni raison! ni raison!" responded numbers.... "Non! nou pa ka brilé négresse! ... Châché lé- chelle!" Gabriel had forced sympathy -- wrung some sentiment of compassion from those wild-beast hearts.... "Pòté léchelle vini! -- iji yon léchelle!" was clamored through the crowd ... "a ladder! ? a ladder!" Five minutes -- and a ladder touched the window. Gabriel himself ascended it -- reached the summit -- put out his iron hand. Even as he did so, Youma, stooping to the sill, lifted Mayotte from behind it. The child was stupid with terror; -- she did not know him. "Can you save her?" asked Youma -- holding up the little fair-haired girl. Gabriel could only shake his head; -- the street sent up so frightful a cry.... " Non ! -- non ! -- non ! -- non ! -- pa lè yche-béké ! -- janmain yche-béké!" "Then you cannot save me!" cried Youma, clasp- ing the child to her bosom "janmain! janmain, mon ami!" "Youma, in the name of God ..." "In the name of God you ask me to be a coward! ... Are you vile, Gabriel? -- are you base -- ... Save myself and leave the child to bura? ... Go!" "Leave the béké's yche! -- leave it! -- leave it, girl!" shouted a hundred voices. "Moin!" cried Youma, retreating beyond the reach of Gabriel's hand -- "moin! ... Never shall I leave it -- never! I shall go to God with it." Burn with it, then ! " howled the negroes ... down with that ladder! down with it, down with it!" Gabriel had baiely time to save himself, when the ladder was dragged away. All the first fury of the riot seemed to have been rekindled by the sight of the child; -- again broke forth the tempest of maledictions. But it calmed: there was another reaction ... Gabriel had men to strive with him. They forced the ladder once more into position; -- they formed a desperate guard about it with their cutlasses; -- they called to Youma to descend.... She only waved her hand in disdain: she knew she could not save the child. And the fierce heat below began to force back the guard at the foot of the ladder.... Suddenly Gabriel uttered a curse of despair. Touched by a spirit of flame, the ladder itself had ignited -- and was burning furiously. Youma remained at the window. There was now neither hate nor fear in her fine face: it was calm as in the night when Gabriel had seen her stand unmoved with her foot on the neck of the ser- pent. Then a sudden light flared up behind her, and brightened. Against it her tall figure appeared, as in the Chapel of the Anchorage Gabriel had seen, against a background of gold, the figure of Notre Dame du Bon Port.... Still her smooth features expressed no emotion. Her eyes were bent upon the blond head hiding against her breast; -- her lips moved; -- she was speaking to the child.... Little Mayotte looked up one moment into the dark and beautiful bending face -- and joined her slender hands, as if to pray. But with a piteous cry, she clung to Youma's bosom again. For the thick walls quivered as walls quiver when a hurricane blows; -- and there were shrieks -- frantic, heart-sickening, from the rear -- and a noise of ruining, as of smothered thunder. Youma drew off her foulard of yellow silk, and wrapped it about the head of the child: then began to caress her with calm tenderness -- murmuring to her -- swaying her softly in her arms -- all placidly, as though lulling her to sleep. Never to Gabriel's watching eyes had Youma seemed so beautiful. Another minute -- and he saw her no more. The figure and the light vanished together, as beams and floor and roof all quaked down at once into dark- ness.... Only the skeleton of stone remained -- black- smoking to the stars. And stillness came -- a stillness broken only by the hissing and crepitation of the stifled fire, the booming of the tocsin, the far blowing of the great sea-shells. The victims had ceased to shriek; -- the murderers stood appalled by the ghastliness of their consummated crime. Then, from below, the flames wrestled out again -- crimsoning the smoke whirls, the naked mason- ry, the wreck of timbers. They wriggled upward, lengthening, lapping together -- lifted themselves erect -- grew taller, fiercer -- twined into one huge fluid spire of tongues that flapped and shivered high into the night.... The yellowing light swelled -- expanded from promontory to promontory -- palpitated over the harbor -- climbed the broken slopes of the dead volcano leagues through the gloom. The wooded mornes towered about the city in weird illumina- tion -- seeming loftier than by day -- blanching and shadowing alternately with the soaring and sinking of fire; -- and at each huge pulsing of the glow, the white cross of their central summit stood revealed, with the strange passion of its black Christ. ... And the same hour, from the other side of the world -- a ship was running before the sun, bearing the Republican gift of liberty and promise of uni- versal suffrage to the slaves of Martinique., Other, 中島淑恵（富山大学人文学部教授）が，これまでの研究成果を踏まえ，Lafcadio Hearn=ラフカディオ・ハーン＝小泉八雲に関する様々を語る（第4回目） これは，当日，会場でICレコーダを用いて収録したMP3形式の音声ファイル 当日，ヘルン文庫の空調設備故障のため，後半，場所を3Fのグループ閲覧室に移す, 日時：2018年7月25日（水）13:00～14:30 場所：富山大学附属図書館5階ヘルン文庫，3Fグループ閲覧室}, title = {へるんトーク第4回（音声ファイル）}, year = {} }