Seeds of Rebellion in Plantation
Fiction:
Victor Séjour's "The Mulatto"
Victor Séjour's "The Mulatto"
Ed Piacentino, High Point University
cite this page | printable version
Essay Sections:
Introduction
| Liberated Narrative Voice | Restricted
Space | Clotel's Rebellion| Local
Color | Conclusion & Notes | Recommended
Resources | "The Mulatto"
"The Mulatto"
By Victor Séjour
Courtesy of Philip Barnard, translated 1995
Story Sections:
Section II:
"Alfred may have been a decent man, humane and
loyal with his equals; but you can be certain he was a hard, cruel man
toward his slaves. I won't tell you everything he did in order to possess
Laïsa; for in the end she was virtually raped. For almost a year,
she shared her master's bed. But Alfred was already beginning to tire
of her; he found her ugly, cold, and insolent. About this time the poor
woman gave birth to a boy and gave him the name Georges. Alfred refused
to recognize him, drove the mother from his presence, and relegated
her to the most miserable hut on his lands, despite the fact that he
knew very well, as well as one can, that he was the child's father.
" 'Georges grew up without ever hearing the name of his father; and when, at times, he attempted to penetrate the mystery surrounding his birth, his mother remained inflexible, never yielding to his entreaties. On one occasion only, she said to him: 'My son, you shall learn your name only when you reach twenty-five, for then you will be a man; you will be better able to guard its secret. You don't realize that he has forbidden me to speak to you about him and threatens you if I do. . . . And Georges, don't you see, this man's hatred would be your death.'
" 'What does that matter,' Georges shouted impetuously. 'At least I could reproach him for his unspeakable conduct.'
" 'Hush. . . . Hush, Georges. The walls have ears and someone will talk,' moaned the poor mother as she trembled.
"A few years later this unhappy woman died, leaving to Georges, her only son, as his entire inheritance, a small leather pouch containing a portrait of the boy's father. But she exacted a promise that the pouch not be opened until his twenty-fifth year; then she kissed him, and her head fell back onto the pillow. . . . She was dead. The painful cries that escaped the orphan drew the other slaves around him. . . . They all set to crying, they beat their chests, they tore their hair in agony. Following these gestures of suffering, they bathed the dead woman's body and laid it out on a kind of long table, raised on wooden supports. The dead woman is placed on her back, her face turned to the East, dressed in her finest clothing, with her hands folded on her chest. At her feet is a bowl filled with holy water, in which a sprig of jasmine is floating; arid, finally, at the four corners of this funereal bed, the flames of torches rise up. . . . Each of them, having blessed the remains of the deceased, kneels and prays; for most of the negro races, despite their fetishism, have profound faith in the existence of God. When this first ceremony is finished, another one, no less singular, commences. . . . There are shouts, tears, songs, and then funeral dances!"
" 'Georges grew up without ever hearing the name of his father; and when, at times, he attempted to penetrate the mystery surrounding his birth, his mother remained inflexible, never yielding to his entreaties. On one occasion only, she said to him: 'My son, you shall learn your name only when you reach twenty-five, for then you will be a man; you will be better able to guard its secret. You don't realize that he has forbidden me to speak to you about him and threatens you if I do. . . . And Georges, don't you see, this man's hatred would be your death.'
" 'What does that matter,' Georges shouted impetuously. 'At least I could reproach him for his unspeakable conduct.'
" 'Hush. . . . Hush, Georges. The walls have ears and someone will talk,' moaned the poor mother as she trembled.
"A few years later this unhappy woman died, leaving to Georges, her only son, as his entire inheritance, a small leather pouch containing a portrait of the boy's father. But she exacted a promise that the pouch not be opened until his twenty-fifth year; then she kissed him, and her head fell back onto the pillow. . . . She was dead. The painful cries that escaped the orphan drew the other slaves around him. . . . They all set to crying, they beat their chests, they tore their hair in agony. Following these gestures of suffering, they bathed the dead woman's body and laid it out on a kind of long table, raised on wooden supports. The dead woman is placed on her back, her face turned to the East, dressed in her finest clothing, with her hands folded on her chest. At her feet is a bowl filled with holy water, in which a sprig of jasmine is floating; arid, finally, at the four corners of this funereal bed, the flames of torches rise up. . . . Each of them, having blessed the remains of the deceased, kneels and prays; for most of the negro races, despite their fetishism, have profound faith in the existence of God. When this first ceremony is finished, another one, no less singular, commences. . . . There are shouts, tears, songs, and then funeral dances!"
Essay Sections:
Introduction
| Liberated Narrative Voice | Restricted
Space | Clotel's Rebellion| Local
Color | Conclusion & Notes | Recommended
Resources | "The Mulatto"
