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 "Grand 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 Grand Anse. The Grande Anse
girls were distinguished 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, perectly 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.
