{"created":"2023-07-25T09:16:17.053306+00:00","id":16420,"links":{},"metadata":{"_buckets":{"deposit":"4ca24448-40f9-4c87-bfa0-413c5dacd2d6"},"_deposit":{"created_by":19,"id":"16420","owners":[19],"pid":{"revision_id":0,"type":"depid","value":"16420"},"status":"published"},"_oai":{"id":"oai:toyama.repo.nii.ac.jp:00016420","sets":["1428:1599:1779"]},"author_link":["373"],"item_8_alternative_title_20":{"attribute_name":"その他（別言語等）のタイトル","attribute_value_mlt":[{"subitem_alternative_title":"4th Hearn talk: audio file"}]},"item_8_date_7":{"attribute_name":"発表年月日","attribute_value_mlt":[{"subitem_date_issued_datetime":"2018-07-25","subitem_date_issued_type":"Created"}]},"item_8_description_16":{"attribute_name":"フォーマット","attribute_value_mlt":[{"subitem_description":"application/mp3","subitem_description_type":"Other"}]},"item_8_description_4":{"attribute_name":"抄録","attribute_value_mlt":[{"subitem_description":"テーマ：美しきクレオール：ユーマを読む \n\n・私たちが抱いているアメリカのイメージ \n　　南北戦争（1861年～1865年）とは？ \n　　南部の人々，プランテーションの大農園主 \n　　サトウキビのモノカルチャー \n\n・『ユーマ：西インドの奴隷の物語』Youma, The Story of a West-Indian Slave. \n　　初出『ハーパー・マンスリー』1890年1月号，2月号 \n　　同年5月，ハーパー社より単行本として出版 \n\n・平井呈一「八雲の小説」より \n　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） \n\n・中田堅次「ユーマ」の項目より \n　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。 \n　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） \n\n・クレオール小説の元祖 \n\n・『ユーマ』の構成 \n　　献辞：わが友ジョゼフ・S・デュニソンに \n　　導入：乳母（ダア）について \n　　１．ユーマの出自および幼少期，性格，成長 \n　　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 \n　　　　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 \n　　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 \n　　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 \n　　５．ガブリエルの好意，贈り物 \n　　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 \n　　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。 \n　　　　ユーマの苦悩，自らの奴隷という立場に煩悶。 \n　　　　ガブリエルがドミニカへの出奔を示唆 \n　　８．ユーマの煩悶 \n　　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， \n　　　　ガブリエルとの長い会話，ガブリエルの誘いを断る \n　　１０．アンヌ・マリーヌ最後の夜，血葛の挿話 \n　　１１．奴隷による武装蜂起 \n　　１２．奴隷による武装蜂起 \n　　１３．ユーマとデリヴィエール氏との会話 \n　　１４．ユーマの最期 \n\n以下のページ数は，『The writings of Lafcadio Hearn: Vol 4』による \n\nPage 261 \nYOUMA \nThe da, during old colonial days, often held high \nrank in rich Martinique households. The da was \nusually a Creole negress -- more often, at all events, \nof the darker than of the lighter hue -- more com- \nmonly a capresse than a mestive; but in her particu- \nlar case the prejudice of color did not exist. The da \nwas a slave; but no freedwoman, however beautiful \nor cultivated, could enjoy social privileges equal to \nthose of certain das. The da was respected and loved \nas a mother: she was at once a foster-mother and \nnurse. For the Creole child had two mothers: the \naristocratic white mother who gave him birth; the \ndark bond-mother who gave him all care -- who \nnursed him, bathed him, taught him to speak the \nsoft and musical speech of slaves, took him out in \nher arms to show him the beautiful tropic world, \ntold him wonderful folk-stories of evenings, lulled \nhim to sleep, attended to his every possible want by \nday or by night. It was not to be wondered at that \nduring infancy the da should have been loved more \nthan the white mother: when there was any marked \npreference it was nearly always in the da's favor. \nThe child was much more with her than with his \nreal mother: she alone satisfied all his little needs; \nhe found her more indulgent, more patient, perhaps \neven more caressing, than the other. The da was \nherself at heart a child, speaking a child-language, \nfinding pleasure in childish things -- artless, play- \nful, affectionate; she comprehended the thoughts, \nthe impulses, the pains, the faults of the little one \nas the white mother could not always have done: \nshe knew intuitively how to soothe him upon all \noccasions, how to amuse him, how to excite and \ncaress his imagination; -- there was absolute har- \nmony between their natures -- a happy community \nof likes and dislikes -- a perfect sympathy in the \nanimal joy of being. Later on, when the child had \nbecome old enough to receive his first lessons from a \ntutor or governess, to learn to speak French, the \naffection for the da and the affection for the mother \nbegan to differentiate in accordance with mental \nexpansion; but, though the mother might be more \nloved, the da was not less cherished than before. \nThe love of the nurse lasted through life; and the \nrelation of the da to the family seldom ceased -- \nexcept in those cruel instances where she was only \n\"hired\" from another slave-holder. \n\n\nPage 266 \nI \n\nThere are old persons still living in Saint Pierre \nwho remember Youma, a tall capresse, the property \nof Madame Léonie Peyronnette. The servant was \nbetter known than the mistress; -- for Madame \nPeyronnette went out little after the loss of her \nhusband, a wealthy merchant, who had left her in \nmore than comfortable circumstances. \n\nYouma was a pet slave, and also the godchild of \nMadame Peyronnette: it was not uncommon dur- \ning the old regime for Creole ladies to become god- \nmothers of little slaves. Douceline, the mother of \nYouma, had been purchased as a da for Madame \nPeyronnette's only child, Aimeé -- and had died \nwhen Aimée was nearly five years old. The two \nchildren were nearly the same age, and seemed much \nattached to each other: after Douceline's death, \nMadame Peyronnette resolved to bring up the little \ncapresse as a playmate for her daughter. \n\nThe dispositions of the two children were notice- \nably different; and with their growth, the difference \nbecame more marked. Aimée was demonstrative \nand affectionate, sensitive and passionate -- quick \nto veer from joy to grief, from tears to smiles. \nYouma, on the contrary, was almost taciturn, sel- \ndom betrayed emotion: she would play silently when \nAimeé screamed, and scarcely smile when Aimeé \nlaughed so violently as to frighten her mother. In \nspite of these differences of organization, or perhaps \nbecause of them, the two got along together very \nwell : they had never a serious quarrel, and were first \nseparated only when Aimeé, at the age of nine, was \nsent to a convent to receive an education more \nfinished than it was thought that private teachers \nwere capable of giving. Aimeé's grief at parting \nfrom her playmate was not assuaged by the assur- \nance that she would find at school nicer companions \nthan a young capresse; -- Youma, who had cer- \ntainly more to lose by the change, remained out- \nwardly calm -- \"était d'une conduite irréprocha- \nble,\" said Madame Peyronnette, too fine an observer \nto attribute the \"irreproachable conduct\" to insen- \nsibility. \n\nThe friends continued to see each other, however; \nfor Madame Peyronnette drove to the convent in \nher carriage regularly every Sunday, always taking \nYouma with her; and Aimée seemed scarcely less \ndelighted to see her former playmate than to see \nher mother. During the first summer vacation and \nthe Christmas holidays, the companionship of child- \nhood was naively resumed; and the mutual affection \nsurvived the subsequent natural change of relation: \nthough nominally a bonne, who addressed Aimée as \na mistress, Youma was treated almost as a foster- \nsister. And when Mademoiselle had finished her \nstudies, the young slave-maid remained her confi- \ndante, and to some extent her companion. Youma \nhad never learned to read and write; Madame \nPeyronnette believed that to educate her would \nonly make her dissatisfied with the scope of a destiny \nout of which no effort could elevate her; but the girl \nhad a natural intelligence which compensated her \nlack of mental training in many respects: she knew \nwhat to do and how to speak upon all occasions. \nShe had grown up into a superb woman -- cer- \ntainly the finest capresse of the arrondissement. \nHer tint was a clear deep red; -- there was in her \nfeatures a soft vague beauty -- a something that \nsuggested the indefinable face of the Sphinx, espe- \ncially in profile; -- her hair, though curly as a black \nfleece, was long and not uncomely; she was graceful, \nfurthermore, and very tall. At fifteen she had \nseemed a woman; at eighteen she was taller by head \nand shoulders than her young mistress; and Made- \nmoiselle Aimee, though not below the average stat- \nure, had to lift up her eyes, when they walked out \ntogether, to look into Youma's face. The young \nbonne was universally admired: she was one of those \nfigures that a Martiniquais would point out with \npride to a stranger as a type of the beauty of the \nmixed race. Even in slave days, the Creole did not \nrefuse himself the pleasure of admiring in human \nskin those tones none fear to praise in bronze or \ngold: he frankly confessed them exquisite; -- aes- \nthetically, his \"color prejudice\" had no existence. \nThere were few young whites, nevertheless, who \nwould have presumed to tell their admiration to \nYouma: there was something in the eyes and the \nserious manner of the young slave that protected \nher quite as much as the moral power of the family \nm which she had been brought up. \n\nMadame Peyronnette was proud of her servant, \nand took pleasure in seeing her attired as hand- \nsomely as possible in the brilliant and graceful cos- \ntume then worn by the women of color. In regard \nto dress, Youma had no reason to envy any of the \nfreed class: she had all that a capresse could wish to \nwear, according to local ideas of color contrast -- \njupes of silk and of satin -- robes-dezindes with \nhead-dresses and foulards to match -- azure with \norange, red with violet, yellow with bright blue, \ngreen with rose. On particular occasions, such as \nthe first communion of Aimée, the fête of madame, a \nball, a wedding to which the family were invited, \nYouma's costume was magnificent. With her trail- \ning jupe of orange satin attached just below the \nbosom, and exposing above it the laced and em- \nbroidered chemise, with half-sleeves leaving the \nbraceleted arms bare, and fastened at the elbow with \ngold clasps (boutons-à-clous) ; -- her neck-kerchief \n(mouchouè-en-lai) of canary yellow striped with \ngreen and blue; -- her triple necklace of graven \ngold beads (collier-chou) ; -- her flashing ear- pend- \nants (zanneaux-à-clou), each a packet of thick gold \ncylinders interjoined; -- her yellow-banded Madras \nturban, dazzling with jewelry -- \" trembling-pins,\" \nchainlets, quivering acorns of gold (broches-à-gland) \n-- she might have posed to a painter for the Queen \nof Shcba. There were various pretty presents from \nAim6e among Youma's ornaments; but the greater \npart of the jewelry had been purchased for her by \nMadame Peyronnette, in a series of New- Year gifts. \nYouma was denied no pleasure which it was thought \nshe might reasonably wish for -- except liberty. \n\nPage 282 \n... Often, when the nights were clear and warm, \nthe slaves would assemble after the evening meal, \nto hear stories told by the libres-de-savane (old men \nand women exempted from physical labor) -- those \ncurious stories which composed the best part of the \nunwritten literature of a people forbidden to read. \nIn those days, such oral literature gave delight to \nadults as well as to children, to bèkés as well as to \nnegroes: it even exerted some visible influence upon \ncolonial character. Every da was a story-teller. \nHer recitals first developed in the white child in- \ntrusted to her care the power of fancy -- Africaniz- \ning it, perhaps, to a degree that after-education \ncould not totally remove -- creating a love of the \ndroll and the extraordinary. One did not weary of \nhearing these stories often repeated; -- for they \nwere told with an art impossible to describe; and \nthe little songs or refrains belonging to each -- \nsometimes composed of African words, more often \nof nonsense-rhymes imitating the bamboula chants \nand caleinda improvisations -- held a weird charm \nwhich great musicians have confessed. And further- \nmore, in these contes Creoles -- whether of purely \nAfrican invention, or merely African adaptation of \nold-world folk-lore and fable -- the local color is \nmarvelous: there is such a reflection of colonial \nthought and life as no translation can preserve. \nThe scenes are laid among West Indian woods and \nhills, or sometimes in the quaintest quarter of an old \ncolonial port. The European cottage of folk-tale \nbecomes the tropical case or ajoupa, with walls \nof bamboo and roof of dried cane-leaves; -- the \nSleeping Beauties could never be discovered in their \nprimeval forest but by some nègue-marron or chas- \nseu-chou; -- the Cinderellas and Princesses appear \nas beautiful half-breed girls, wearing a costume \nnever seen in picture-books; -- the fairies of old- \nworld myth are changed into the Bon-Dié or the \nVirgin Mary; -- the Bluebeards and giants turn into \nquimboiseurs and devils; -- the devils themselves \n(except when they yawn to show the fire in their \nthroats) so closely resemble the half-nude travail- \nleurs, with their canvas trousers and mouchouè- \nfautas and other details of costume, as not to be \nreadily recognized: it requires keen inspection to \ndetect the diabolic signs -- the red hair, crimson \neyes, and horn-roots under the shadowing of the \nenormous \"mule-food hat\" or the chapeau-bacouè. \nThen the Bon-Dié, the \"Good-God,\" figures as \nthe best and kindest of old békés -- an affable gray \nplanter whose habitation lies somewhere in the \nclouds over the Montagne Pelée: you can see his \n\"sheep\" and his \" choux-caraibes \" sometimes in \nthe sky. And the breaker of enchantments is the \nparish priest -- Missié labbé -- who saves pretty \nnaughty girls by passing his stole about their necks. \n... It was at Anse-Marine that Youma found most \nof the tales she recounted to Mayotte, when the \nchild became old enough to take delight in them. \n\n(中略） \n\nPage 288 \none must not tell stories in the daytime, unless one \nwants to see zombis at night!\" \n\"No, da! ... tell me one ... I am not afraid, \nda.\" \n\"Oh! the little liar! ... You are afraid -- very \nmuch afraid of zombis. And if I tell you a story you \nwill see them to-night.\" \n\"Doudoux-da, no! -- tell me one....\" \n\"You will not wake me up to-night, and tell me \nyou see zombis?\" \n\"No, da ? I promise.\" \n\"Well, then, for this once\" -- said Youma, utter- \ning the traditional words which announce that the \nCreole story-teller is ready -- \"bobonne fois?\" \n\"Toua fois bel conte!\" cried the delighted child. \nAnd Youma began: \n\nDAME KÉLÉMENT \nLong, long ago there lived an old woman who every- \nbody said was a witch, and in league with the devil. And \nnearly all the bad things said about her were true. \n\nOne day a poor little girl lost her way in the woods. \nAfter she had walked until she could not walk any more, \nshe sat down and began to cry. She cried for a long, long \ntime. \n\nAll about her she could see nothing but trees and \nlianas; -- all the ground was covered with slippery green \nroots; and the trees were so high, and the lianas so woven \nbetween them, that there was very little light. She was \nlost in the grands bois -- the great woods which swarm \nwith serpents.... \n\nAll at once, while she sat there crying, she heard strange \nsounds quite near her -- sounds of singing and dancing. \n\nShe got up and walked toward the sounds. Looking \nthrough the trees she saw the same old woman that people \nused to talk about, riding on a balai-zo,*[1] and dancing \nround and round in a ring with ever so many serpents \nand crapaud-Jade -- great ugly toads. And they were all \nsinging: \n\nKingué, \nKingué; \nVonvon \nMalato, \nVloum-voum! \nJambi, \nKingué, \nTou galé, \nZogalé, \nVloum! \n\nThe little girl stood there stupid with fright: she could \nnot even cry any more. \n\nBut the old woman had seen the leaves move; and she \ncame with a sort of fire playing all round her, and asked \nthe little girl: \n\"What are you doing in the razié?\" *[2] \n\"Mother, I lost my way in the woods.\"... \n\"Then, my child, you must come to the house with \nme.... You might undo me, unravel me, destroy me if \nyou had a chance.\" \n\nThe little girl did not understand all that, the old woman \nsaid; for the wicked old creature was talking about mat- \nters that only sorcerers know. \n\nBy the time they got to the house, the poor child was \nvery tired: she sat down on a calabash which served the \nwitch for a chair. Then she saw the old woman light two \nfires on the earth floor, with torch-gum -- which smells \n\n*[1] A broom made of the branches of a shrub called guiyantine. \n*[2] Razié: the lower growths which occupy the ground under forest- \ntrees, or cover the soil in places where the trees have been cleared away. \n\nlike incense. On one fire she placed a big pot full of man- \nman-chou, camagnioc, yams, christophines, bananas, \ndevil's egg-plants (melongène-diabe), and many herbs the \nlittle girl did not know the names of. On the other fire she \nbegan to broil some toads, and an earth-lizard -- zanoli- \ntè. \n\nAt noon the old woman swallowed all that as if it was \nnothing at all; -- then she looked at the little girl, who \nwas nearly dead for hunger, and said to her: \n\n\"Until you can tell me what name I am called by, you \nwill not get anything to eat.\" ... Then she went away, \nleaving the little girl alone. \n\nThe little girl began to weep. Suddenly she felt some- \nthing touching her. It was a big serpent -- the biggest \nshe had ever seen. She was so frightened that she almost \ndied; -- then she cried out: \n\n\"Oti papa moin? -- oti manman moin? \nLatitolé ké mangé\" moin!\" \n\nBut the serpent did not do her any harm: he only rubbed \nhis head fondly against her shoulder, and sang: \n\n\"Bennemè, bennepè -- tambou belai! \nYchc p'accoutoume' tambou belai!\" \n\nThe little girl cried out louder than before: \n\n\"Oti papa moin? -- oti manman moin? \nLatitole ke mangl moin!\" \n\nBut the serpent, still rubbing his head fondly against her, \nanswered, singing very softly: \n\n\"Bennepè, bennemè -- tambou belai! \nYchc p'accoutouml tambou belai!\" \n\nThen when he saw she had become less afraid, he lifted his \nhead close to her ear, and whispered something. \nThe moment she heard it she ran out of the house and \ninto the woods again. There she began to ask all the ani- \nmals she met to tell her the old witch's name. \nShe asked every four-footed beast; -- she asked all the \nlizards and the birds. But they did not know. \nShe came to a big river, and she asked all the fishes. \nThe fishes, one after another, made answer to her that \nthey did not know. But the cirique, the river crab that is \nyellow like a plantain -- the cirique knew. The cirique \nwas the only one in the whole world who knew the name. \nThe name was Dame Kélément. \n... Then the child ran back to the house with all her \nmight; her little stomach was paining her so that she felt \nshe could not bear the pain much longer. The old woman \nwas already at the house, scraping some manioc to make \nflour and cassave.... The little girl walked up to her, \nand said: \n\"Give me to eat, Dame Kélément.\" \nTwo flashes of fire leaped from the witch's eyes: she \ngave such a start that she nearly broke her head against \nthe iron-stones that she balanced her pots on. \n\"Child! you have got the better of me!\" she screamed. \n\"Take everything! -- take it, take it! -- eat, eat, eat! -- \nall in the house is yours!\" \nThen she sprang through the door quick as a powder- \nflash: she seemed to fly through the fields and woods.... \nAnd she ran straight to the river; -- for it was deep under \nthe bed of the river that the Devil had buried the name \nwhich he had given her. She stood on the bank, and \nchanted: \n\"Loche, O loche! -- was it you who told that my \nname was Dame Kélément?\" \nThen the loche, that is black like the black stones of the \nstream, lifted up its head, and cried: \n\"No, mamma! -- no, mamma! -- it was not I who \ntold that your name was Dame Kélément.\" \n\"Titiri, O titiri! -- tell me, was it any among you who \ntold that my name was Dame Kélément?\" \nThen the titiri, the tiny transparent titiri, answered all \ntogether, clinging to the stones: \n\"No, mamma! -- no, mamma! -- none of us ever said \nthat your name was Dame Kélément.\" \n\"Cribfche, O cribfche! -- was it you who told that my \nname was Dame Kélément?\" \nThen the cribfche, the great crawfish of the river, lifted \nup his head and his claws, and made answer: \n\"No, mamma! -- no, mamma! -- it was not I who \nsaid that your name was Dame Kélément.\" \n\"Tétart, O tétart! -- was it you who said that my \nname was Dame Kélément?\" \nAnd the titart, that is gray like the gray rocks of iron \nto which it holds fast, made answer, saying: \n\"No, mamma! -- no, mamma! -- it was not I who told \nthem that your name was Dame Kélément.\" \n\"Dormeur, O dormeur! -- was it you who told that \nmy name was Dame Kélément?\" \nAnd the dormeur, the lazy dormeur, that sleeps in \nthe shadow of the rocks, awoke and rose and made \nanswer: \n\"No, mamma! -- no, mamma! -- it was not I who told \nthem that your name was Dame Kélément.\" \n\"Matavalé, O matavalé! -- was it you that said my \nname was Dame Kélément?\" \nAnd the matavalé, the shining matavalé, that flashes \nlike copper when the sun touches his scales, opened his \nmouth and answered: \n\"No, mamma! -- no, mamma! -- I never said that \nyour name was Dame Kélément!\" \n\"Milet! -- bouc! -- pisquette! -- zangui! -- zhabitant! \n-- was it any one among you who told that my name \nwas Dame Kélément?\" \nBut they all cried out: \n\"No, no, no, mamma! -- none of us ever said that your \nname was Dame Kélément.\" \n\"Cirique, O cirique! -- was it you who said my name \nwas Dame Kélément?\" \nThen the cirique lifted up his eyes and his yellow claws, \nand screamed: \n\"Yes, you old wretch! -- yes, you old witch! -- yes, \nyou old malediction! -- yes, it was I who said that your \nname was Dame Kélément!\" ... \nThe moment she heard those words she stamped on the \nground so hard that the Devil heard her, and opened a \ngreat hole at her feet; and she leaped into it head-first. \nAnd the ground closed over her. Two days after, there \ngrew up from the place a clump of the weed they call \narrête-nègue -- the plant that is all thorns. \n\nNow while this was happening, the serpent had turned \ninto a man; -- for the old witch had changed a man into \nthat serpent. He took the little girl by the hand, and led \nher to her mother. \n\nBut they came back again next day to search the old \nwoman's cabin. They found in it seven casks filled with \nthe bones of dead people; and also ever so much silver and \ngold -- more than enough to make the little girl rich. \nWhen she got married, there was the finest wedding ever \nseen in this country. \n\n\nPage 295 \nIV \n\nYouma was alone in the house that night with the \nchild; for M. Desrivières had ridden over to Sainte- \nMarie, and the servants occupied an adjoining build- \ning.... She was roused from her sleep by hearing \nthe child cry: \n\"Da, oh da! -- moin pè!\" \nThe tiny lamp left burning before the images of \nthe saints had gone out; ? little Mayotte was afraid. \n\"Pa pè \" -- called Youma, quickly rising to caress \nher -- \"mi da-ou, chè.\" \n\"Oh! there is Something in the room, da!\" said \nthe child. She had heard stealthy sounds. \n\"No, doudoux; you have been dreaming.... Da \nwill light the lamp for you.\" \nShe felt for the matches on the little night-table -- \ncould not find them -- remembered she had left \nthem in the adjoining salon -- moved toward the \ndoor; -- and her foot suddenly descended upon \nsomething that sent a cold shock through all her \nblood -- something clammy and chill, that lived! \nInstantly she threw all the weight of her lithe strong \nbody upon that foot -- the left: she never could \ntell why; -- perhaps the impulse was instinctive. \nUnder her naked sole the frigid life she strove to \ncrush writhed with a sudden power that nearly \nthrew her down; and in the same moment she felt \nsomething wind round her ankle, over her knee, \nwrapping the flesh from heel to thigh with bruising \nforce ... the folds of a serpent! \n\"Tambou!\" she muttered between her teeth -- \nand hardened her muscles against the tightening \ncoil, and strengthened the pressure of her foot upon \nthe unseen enemy.... The foot of the half-breed, \nnever deformed by shoes, retains prehensile power -- \ngrasps like a hand; -- the creature writhed in vain \nto escape. Already the cold terror had passed; \nand Youma felt only the calm anger of resolve: \nhers was one of those semi-savage natures wherein \nfear rarely lives beyond the first moment of nervous \nsurprise. She called softly to the little one. \n\"Ti doudoux?\" \n\"Da?\" \n\"Do not move till I tell you: stay in bed; there is \na bete in the room.\" \n\"Ale, ale!\" sobbed the frightened child -- \"what \nis it, da?\" \n\"Do not be afraid, cocotte: I am holding it, and \nit cannot bite you, unless you get up. I am going to \ncall for Gabriel: do not stir, dear.\" \nAnd Youma called, with all the power of her clear \nvoice: \n\"Sucou! -- sucou! Eh! Gabou!\" ... \n\"What is it? -- what is it, da?\" sobbed the little \ngirl. \n\"Do not cry like that, or I will get angry. How \ncan I see what it is in the dark?\" ... \nShe called again and again for aid.... Bon-Dié! \nhow powerful the creature was ! -- the pressure of \nthe coil became a numbing pain. Her strength was \nalready beginning to weaken under the obstinate, \nicy, ever-increasing constriction. What if the cramp \nshould come to help it? ... Or was it the entering \nof venom into her blood that made those strange \ntinglings and tremblings? ... She had not felt her- \nself stricken; -- but only the month before a plan- \ntation-hand had been bitten in the dark without \nfeeling it; and they could not save him.... \"Eh! \nGabou!\" ... Even the servants in the pavilion \nseemed to sleep like dead. And if the child should \nleave the bed in spite of her warning? ... \n\"Oh! they are coming, da!\" cried Mayotte. \n\"Gabou is coming!\" She had seen the flash of his \nlantern through the slatted shutters. \"But the \ndoor is locked, da!\" \n\"Stay in bed, Mayotte! -- if you move it will \nbite you!\" The salon filled with voices and sound of \nfeet; then there was a pushing at the bedroom door. \n\"It is locked,\" called Youma; -- \"break it! -- \nsmash it in! -- I cannot move!\" \n... A crash ! -- the room filled with a flare of lan- \nterns; and Youma saw that the livid throat was \nunder her foot; -- the hideous head vainly strained \nat her heel. \n\"Pa bouèné piess!\" cried the voice of the com- \nmandeur. \"Do not stir for your life, my girl! Keep \nstill for your life! Stay just as you are!\" \nShe stood like a bronze. \n\n\nPage 303 \n... He brought one afternoon a fine sapota -- \nthat fruit in whose smooth flushed swarthy skin \nCreole fancy finds the semblance of half-breed \nbeauty. Within its flat black seed, between the two \nhalves of the kernel, lies a pellicle -- creamy, frag- \nile, and shaped like a heart -- which it requires \ndexterity to remove without breaking. Lovers \nchallenge each other to do it as a test of affection. \n\"Mayotte,\" said Youma, after they had eaten \nthe fruit together -- \"I want to see if you love me.\" \n... She cracked the flinty shell of a seed between \nher teeth -- then tried to remove the pellicle, and \nbroke it. \n\"Oh, da!\" cried the child, \"it is not true! -- you \nknow I love you.\" ... \n\"Piess, piess!\" declared Youma, teasing her; -- \n\"you do not love me one bit!\" \nBut Gabriel asked for a seed, and she gave him \none. Rude and hard as his fingers were, he took out \nthe little heart intact, and gave it to Mayotte. \n\"Ou ouè!\" he said, maliciously; -- \"da ou ain- \nmein moin passé ou!\" (Your da loves me better \nthan you.) \n\"It is not true! -- no, cocotte!\" Youma assured \nthe child. But she did not feel sure of what she said. \n\n... When the cane-cutting season was over, \nGabriel asked and obtained leave to go to La Trinité \none holiday morning. He returned at evening, later \nthan the hour at which he was accustomed to find \nthe young capresse on the veranda; but she was still \nthere. Seeing him approach, she rose with the child \nasleep in her arms, and put her finger to her lips. \n\"Quimbe!\" whispered Gabriel, slipping into \nYouma's hand something flat and square, wrapped \nin tissue-paper: then, without another word, he \nstrode away to his quarters. \nWhen Mayotte had been put to bed, Youma \nlooked at the packet.... A little card-board box: \nwithin it, upon a layer of pink cotton, shone two \nlarge light circles of plain gold -- barbaric ear-rings \nsuch as are only made by colonial goldsmiths, but \nwell suited to the costume and bronze skin of the \nrace of color.... Youma already possessed far finer \njewelry; but Gabriel had walked thirty kilometres \nfor these. \nHe smiled as he passed by her window in the \nmorning and saw them shimmering in her ears. \nHer acceptance of the gift signified assent to a ques- \ntion unspoken -- the question which civilized men \nmost fear to ask, but which the Creole slave could \nask without words. \n\n\nPage 335 \nX \n... Would she ever see him again? she asked herself \nunceasingly through all her wakefulness of that \nnight -- her last save one at Anse-Marine. But \nalways came the self-answer of tears.... She heard \nthe number of the hour at which she might have fled \nwith him to freedom, and hour after hour, tingled \nout by the little bronze salon timepiece through its \nvaulted glass. She closed her eyes -- and still, as \nthrough their shut lids, saw the images of the eve- \nning: the figure of Gabriel, and Mayotte playing with \nher cocoanut, and the velvet shadowing of the black \ncliffs on the black sand, and a white sheeting and \nleaping of surf -- silent like breakings of cloud. \nThey went and came -- distorted and vanished \nand returned again with startling vividness, as if \nthey would never fade utterly away. Only in the \nfirst hours of the morning there began for her that \nstill soft darkness which is rest from thought. \nBut again a little while, and her mind wakened \nto the fancy of a voice calling her name -- faintly, \nas from a great distance -- a voice remembered as. \nin a dream one holds remembrance of dreams gone \nbefore. \nThen she became aware of a face -- the face of a \nbeautiful brown woman looking at her with black \nsoft eyes -- smiling under the yellow folds of a \nmadras turban -- and lighted by a light that came \nfrom nowhere -- that was only a memory of some \nlong-dead morning. And through the dimness round \nabout it a soft blue radiance grew -- the ghost of a \nday; and she knew the face and murmured to it: \n\" Doudoux-manman.\" ... \n... They two were walking somewhere she had \nbeen long ago -- somewhere among mornes: she \nfelt the guiding of her mother's hand as when a child. \nAnd before them as they went, something purple \nand vague and vast rose and spread -- the enormous \nspectre of the sea, rounding to the sky. And in the \npearliness over its filmy verge there loomed again \nthe vision of the English island, with long shred* \ndings of luminous cloud across its violet peaks.... \nSlowly it brightened and slowly changed its color as \nshe gazed; and all the peaks flushed crimson to their \ntips -- like a budding of wondrous roses from sea to \nsun.... \nAnd Douceline, softly speaking, as to an infant, \nsaid: \n\"Travail Bon-Dié toutt joli, anh?\" (Is it not all- \npretty, the work of the Good-God?) \n\"Oh! my little jewel-mamma -- ti-bijou-manman! \n-- oh ! my little-heart-mamma -- ti-khè-manman ! \n... I must not go!\" ... \n... But Douceline was no longer with her -- and \nthe shining shadow of the island had also passed \naway -- and she heard the voice of Mayotte crying \n... somewhere behind trees. \nAnd she hastened there, and found her, under \nsome huge growth that spread out coiling roots far \nand wide: one could not discern what tree it was for \nthe streaming weight of lianas upon it. The child \nhad plucked a sombre leaf, and was afraid -- \nsomething so strange had trickled upon her fingers. \n\"It is only the blood-liana,\" said Youma: \"they \ndye with it.\"... \n\"But it is warm,\" said the child -- still full of \nfear.... Then both became afraid because of a \nheavy pulsing sound, dull as the last flappings of a \ncannon-echo among the mornes. The earth shook \nwith it. And the light began to fail -- dimmed into \na red gloom, as when the sun dies. \n\" It is the tree!\" gasped Mayotte -- \"the heart of a \ntree!\" \nBut they could not go: a weird numbness weighed \ntheir feet to the ground. \nAnd suddenly the roots of the tree bestirred with \nfrightful life, and reached out writhing to wrap \nabout them; -- and the black gloom of branches \nabove them became a monstrous swarming; -- and \nthe ends of the roots and the ends of the limbs had \neyes. \n... And through the ever-deepening darkness \ncame the voice of Gabriel, crying -- \"It is a Zombi! \n-- I cannot cut it!\" \n\n\nPage 366 \n\" Mi ! yon négresse ! \" \n\"It is the da! -- Jesis-Maīa!\" \n\"Pé! -- pé zautt!\" \n\"Pé!\" ... The word ran from mouth to mouth; -- \nalmost a hush followed its passage through the \ncrowd, a hush of malignant expectation; ? then \nYouma's powerful contralto rang out with the dis- \ntinctness of a bugle-call. \n\"Eh! tas de capons!\" she cried, fearlessly -- \n\"cowards afraid to face men! Do you believe you \nwill win your liberty by burning women and chil- \ndren? ... Who were the mothers of you ? \" \n\"We are burning békés,\" screamed a negress in \nresponse: \"they kill us; we kill them. C'est jusse!\" \n\"You lie!\" cried Youma. \"The békés never \nmurdered women and children.\" \n\"They did!\" vociferated a mulatto in the mob, \nbetter dressed than his fellows; -- \"they did! In \nseventeen hundred and twenty-one! In seventeen \nhundred and twenty-five!\" ... \n\"Ale, macaque!\" mocked Youma. \"So you burn \nnegresses now for imitation! What have the ne- \ngresses done to you, Ape?\" \n\"They are with the békés.\" \n\"You were with the békés yesterday, the day \nbefore yesterday, and always -- every one of you. \nThe békés gave you to eat -- the bekes gave you to \ndrink -- the bekes cared for you when you were \nsick.... The békés gave you freedom, O you traitor \nmulatto! -- gave you a name, saloprie! -- gave you \nthe clothes you wear, ingrate! You! -- you are not \nfighting for your liberty, liar! -- the békés gave it to \nyou long ago for your black mother's sake! ... Fai \ndoctè, milatt! -- I know you! ... coward without a \nfamily, without a race! -- fai filosofe, O you rene- \ngade, who would see a negress burn because a negress \nwas your mother! -- Allé! -- bâtà-béké!\" ... \nThen Youma could not make herself heard: a \nfresh outburst of vociferation drowned her voice. \nBut her reproaches had struck home in at least one \ndirection : she had touched and stirred the smoulder- \ning contempt, the secret jealous hate of the black for \nthe freedman of color; and the mulatto's discomfit- \nure was hailed by yells of ironical laughter. In the \nsame moment there was a violent pushing and sway- \ning; -- some one was forcing his way to the front \nthrough all the pressure -- rapidly, furiously -- \nsmiting with his elbows, battering with his shoul- \nders: a giant capre.... He freed himself, and sprang \ninto the clear space before the flaming building -- \nmaking his cutlass flicker about his head -- and \nshouted : \n\" Nou pa ka brilé négresse! \" ... \nThe mulatto put to scorn advanced and would \nhave spoken; -- ere he could utter a word, the \ntravailleur, with a sudden backward blow of his \nunarmed hand, struck him to the ground. \n\"A moin! méfouè!\" thundered the tall new-comer; \n-- \"Stand by me, brothers! -- we do not burn ne- \ngresses! \" \nAnd Youma knew it was Gabriel who stood there \nalone ? colossal, menacing, magnificent -- daring \nthe hell about him for her sake.... \n\"Ni raison! ni raison!\" responded numbers.... \n\"Non! nou pa ka brilé négresse! ... Châché lé- \nchelle!\" Gabriel had forced sympathy -- wrung \nsome sentiment of compassion from those wild-beast \nhearts.... \"Pòté léchelle vini! -- iji yon léchelle!\" \nwas clamored through the crowd ... \"a ladder! ? \na ladder!\" \nFive minutes -- and a ladder touched the window. \nGabriel himself ascended it -- reached the summit \n-- put out his iron hand. Even as he did so, \nYouma, stooping to the sill, lifted Mayotte from \nbehind it. \nThe child was stupid with terror; -- she did not \nknow him. \n\"Can you save her?\" asked Youma -- holding \nup the little fair-haired girl. \nGabriel could only shake his head; -- the street \nsent up so frightful a cry.... \n\" Non ! -- non ! -- non ! -- non ! -- pa lè yche-béké ! \n-- janmain yche-béké!\" \n\"Then you cannot save me!\" cried Youma, clasp- \ning the child to her bosom \"janmain! janmain, mon \nami!\" \n\"Youma, in the name of God ...\" \n\"In the name of God you ask me to be a coward! \n... Are you vile, Gabriel? -- are you base -- ... \nSave myself and leave the child to bura? ... Go!\" \n\"Leave the béké's yche! -- leave it! -- leave it, \ngirl!\" shouted a hundred voices. \n\"Moin!\" cried Youma, retreating beyond the \nreach of Gabriel's hand -- \"moin! ... Never shall \nI leave it -- never! I shall go to God with it.\" \nBurn with it, then ! \" howled the negroes ... \ndown with that ladder! down with it, down with \nit!\" Gabriel had baiely time to save himself, when \nthe ladder was dragged away. All the first fury of \nthe riot seemed to have been rekindled by the sight \nof the child; -- again broke forth the tempest of \nmaledictions. \nBut it calmed: there was another reaction ... \nGabriel had men to strive with him. They forced \nthe ladder once more into position; -- they formed \na desperate guard about it with their cutlasses; -- \nthey called to Youma to descend.... She only waved \nher hand in disdain: she knew she could not save the \nchild. \nAnd the fierce heat below began to force back \nthe guard at the foot of the ladder.... Suddenly \nGabriel uttered a curse of despair. Touched by a \nspirit of flame, the ladder itself had ignited -- and \nwas burning furiously. \nYouma remained at the window. There was now \nneither hate nor fear in her fine face: it was calm \nas in the night when Gabriel had seen her stand \nunmoved with her foot on the neck of the ser- \npent. \nThen a sudden light flared up behind her, and \nbrightened. Against it her tall figure appeared, as \nin the Chapel of the Anchorage Gabriel had seen, \nagainst a background of gold, the figure of Notre \nDame du Bon Port.... Still her smooth features \nexpressed no emotion. Her eyes were bent upon the \nblond head hiding against her breast; -- her lips \nmoved; -- she was speaking to the child.... Little \nMayotte looked up one moment into the dark and \nbeautiful bending face -- and joined her slender \nhands, as if to pray. \nBut with a piteous cry, she clung to Youma's \nbosom again. For the thick walls quivered as walls \nquiver when a hurricane blows; -- and there were \nshrieks -- frantic, heart-sickening, from the rear -- \nand a noise of ruining, as of smothered thunder. \nYouma drew off her foulard of yellow silk, and \nwrapped it about the head of the child: then began \nto caress her with calm tenderness -- murmuring to \nher -- swaying her softly in her arms -- all placidly, \nas though lulling her to sleep. Never to Gabriel's \nwatching eyes had Youma seemed so beautiful. \nAnother minute -- and he saw her no more. The \nfigure and the light vanished together, as beams and \nfloor and roof all quaked down at once into dark- \nness.... Only the skeleton of stone remained -- \nblack- smoking to the stars. \nAnd stillness came -- a stillness broken only by \nthe hissing and crepitation of the stifled fire, the \nbooming of the tocsin, the far blowing of the great \nsea-shells. The victims had ceased to shriek; -- the \nmurderers stood appalled by the ghastliness of their \nconsummated crime. \nThen, from below, the flames wrestled out again \n-- crimsoning the smoke whirls, the naked mason- \nry, the wreck of timbers. They wriggled upward, \nlengthening, lapping together -- lifted themselves \nerect -- grew taller, fiercer -- twined into one huge \nfluid spire of tongues that flapped and shivered high \ninto the night.... \nThe yellowing light swelled -- expanded from \npromontory to promontory -- palpitated over the \nharbor -- climbed the broken slopes of the dead \nvolcano leagues through the gloom. The wooded \nmornes towered about the city in weird illumina- \ntion -- seeming loftier than by day -- blanching and \nshadowing alternately with the soaring and sinking \nof fire; -- and at each huge pulsing of the glow, the \nwhite cross of their central summit stood revealed, \nwith the strange passion of its black Christ. \n\n... And the same hour, from the other side of the \nworld -- a ship was running before the sun, bearing \nthe Republican gift of liberty and promise of uni- \nversal suffrage to the slaves of Martinique. 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