I
While, at the village of Morne Rouge, I was frequently impressed by the
singular beauty of young girls from the north-east coast--all porteuses,
who passed almost daily, on their way from Grande Anse to St. Pierre and
back again,--a total trip of thirty-five miles.... I knew they were from
Grande Anse, because the village baker, at whose shop they were wont to
make brief halts, told me a good deal about them: he knew each one by
name. Whenever a remarkably attractive girl appeared, and I would
inquire whence she came, the invariable reply (generally preceded by
that peculiarly intoned French "Ah!" signifying, "Why, you certainly
ought to know!") was "Grande Anse."... _Ah! c'est de Grande Anse, ça!_
And if any commonplace, uninteresting type showed itself, it would be
signalled as from somewhere else--Gros-Morne, Capote, Marigot,
perhaps,--but never from Grande Anse. The Grande Anse girls were
distinguishable by their clear yellow or brown skins, lithe light
figures, and a particular grace in their way of dressing. Their short
robes were always of bright and pleasing colors, perfectly contrasting
with the ripe fruit-tint of nude limbs and faces: I could discern a
partiality for white stuffs with apricot-yellow stripes, for plaidings
of blue and violet, and various patterns of pink and mauve. They had a
graceful way of walking under their trays, with hands clasped behind
their heads, and arms uplifted in the manner of caryatides. An artist
would have been wild with delight for the chance to sketch some of
them.... On the whole, they conveyed the impression that they belonged
to a particular race, very different from that of the chief city or its
environs.
"Are they all banana-colored at Grande Anse?" I asked,--"and all as
pretty as these?"
"I was never at Grande Anse," the little baker answered, "although I
have been forty years in Martinique; but I know there is a fine class of
young girls there: _il y a une belle jeunesse là, mon cher!_"
Then I wondered why the youth of Grande Anse should be any finer than
the youth of other places; and it seemed to me that the baker's own
statement of his never having been there might possibly furnish a clew.
... Out of the thirty-five thousand inhabitants of St. Pierre and its
suburbs, there are at least twenty thousand who never have been there,
and most probably never will be. Few dwellers of the west coast visit
the east coast: in fact, except among the white creoles, who represent
but a small percentage of the total population, there are few persons to
be met with who are familiar with all parts of their native island. It
is so mountainous, and travelling is so wearisome, that populations may
live and die in adjacent valleys without climbing the intervening ranges
to look at one another. Grande Anse is only about twenty miles from the
principal city; but it requires some considerable inducement to make the
journey on horseback; and only the professional carrier-girls,
plantation messengers, and colored people of peculiarly tough
constitution attempt it on foot. Except for the transportation of sugar
and rum, there is practically no communication by sea between the west
and the north-east coast--the sea is too dangerous--and thus the
populations on either side of the island are more or less isolated from
each other, besides being further subdivided and segregated by the
lesser mountain chains crossing their respective territories.... In view
of all these things I wondered whether a community so secluded might not
assume special characteristics within two hundred years--might not
develop into a population of some yellow, red, or brown type, according
to the predominant element of the original race-crossing.