The summer night was hot and still; not a ripple of air
swept over theย marais.ย Yonder, across Bayou St. John, lights twinkled here and there in the darkness, and in the dark
sky above a few stars were blinking. A lugger that had come out of the lake was moving with slow, lazy motion down the bayou. A man in the boat was singing a song.
The notes of the song came faintly to the ears of old Manna-Loulou, herself as black as the night, who had gone out upon the gallery to open the shutters wide.
Something in the refrain reminded the woman of an
old, half-forgotten Creole romance, and she began to sing it low to herself while she threw the shutters open:โ
โLisettโ to kitรฉ la plaine, Mo perdi bonhair ร mouรฉ;
Ziรฉs ร mouรฉ semblรฉ fontaine, Dรฉpi mo pa mirรฉ touรฉ.โ
And then this old song, a loverโs lament for the loss of his mistress, floating into her memory, brought with it the story she would tell to Madame, who lay in her sumptuous
mahogany bed, waiting to be fanned and put to sleep to the sound of one of Manna-Loulouโs stories. The old negress
had already bathed her mistressโs pretty white feet and
kissed them lovingly, one, then the other. She had brushed her mistressโs beautiful hair, that was as soft and shining as
satin, and was the color of Madameโs wedding-ring. Now, when she reรซntered the room, she moved softly toward the
bed, and seating herself there began gently to fan Madame Delisle.
Manna-Loulou was not always ready with her story, for Madame would hear none but those which were true. But
to-night the story was all there in Manna-Loulouโs headโ
the story of la belle Zoraรฏdeโand she told it to her mistress in the soft Creole patois, whose music and charm no
English words can convey.
โLa belle Zoraรฏde had eyes that were so dusky, so beautiful, that any man who gazed too long into their depths was sure to lose his head, and even his heart sometimes. Her soft, smooth skin was the color ofย cafรฉ-au- lait.ย As for her elegant manners, herย svelteย and graceful figure, they were the envy of half the ladies who visited her mistress, Madame Delariviรจre.
โNo wonder Zoraรฏde was as charming and as dainty as the finest lady of la rue Royale: from a toddling thing she
had been brought up at her mistressโs side; her fingers had never done rougher work than sewing a fine muslin seam;
and she even had her own little black servant to wait upon her. Madame, who was her godmother as well as her mistress, would often say to her:โ
โ โRemember, Zoraรฏde, when you are ready to marry, it must be in a way to do honor to your bringing up. It will be at the Cathedral. Your wedding gown, yourย corbeille,ย all
will be of the best; I shall see to that myself. You know, Mโsieur Ambroise is ready whenever you say the word; and his master is willing to do as much for him as I shall do for you. It is a union that will please me in every way.โ
โMโsieur Ambroise was then the body servant of Doctor Langlรฉ. La belle Zoraรฏde detested the little mulatto, with
his shining whiskers like a white manโs, and his small eyes,
that were cruel and false as a snakeโs. She would cast down her own mischievous eyes, and say:โ
โ โAh, nรฉnaine, I am so happy, so contented here at your side just as I am. I donโt want to marry now; next year, perhaps, or the next.โ And Madame would smile indulgently and remind Zoraรฏde that a womanโs charms are not everlasting.
โBut the truth of the matter was, Zoraรฏde had seen le beau Mรฉzor dance the Bamboula in Congo Square. That
was a sight to hold one rooted to the ground. Mรฉzor was as straight as a cypress-tree and as proud looking as a king.
His body, bare to the waist, was like a column of ebony and it glistened like oil.
โPoor Zoraรฏdeโs heart grew sick in her bosom with love for le beau Mรฉzor from the moment she saw the fierce
gleam of his eye, lighted by the inspiring strains of the Bamboula, and beheld the stately movements of his
splendid body swaying and quivering through the figures of the dance.
โBut when she knew him later, and he came near her to speak with her, all the fierceness was gone out of his eyes, and she saw only kindness in them and heard only gentleness in his voice; for love had taken possession of
him also, and Zoraรฏde was more distracted than ever. When Mรฉzor was not dancing Bamboula in Congo Square, he was hoeing sugar-cane, barefooted and half naked, in his masterโs field outside of the city. Doctor Langlรฉ was his master as well as Mโsieur Ambroiseโs.
โOne day, when Zoraรฏde kneeled before her mistress, drawing on Madameโs silken stockings, that were of the finest, she said:
โ โNรฉnaine, you have spoken to me often of marrying. Now, at last, I have chosen a husband, but it is not Mโsieur Ambroise; it is le beau Mรฉzor that I want and no other.โ And Zoraรฏde hid her face in her hands when she had said that, for she guessed, rightly enough, that her mistress would be very angry. And, indeed, Madame Delariviรจre was at first speechless with rage. When she finally spoke it was only to gasp out, exasperated:โ
โ โThat negro! that negro! Bon Dieu Seigneur, but this is too much!โ
โ โAm I white, nรฉnaine?โ pleaded Zoraรฏde.
โ โYou white!ย Malheureuse!ย You deserve to have the lash laid upon you like any other slave; you have proven yourself no better than the worst.โ
โ โI am not white,โ persisted Zoraรฏde, respectfully and gently. โDoctor Langlรฉ gives me his slave to marry, but he would not give me his son. Then, since I am not white, let me have from out of my own race the one whom my heart has chosen.โ
โHowever, you may well believe that Madame would
not hear to that. Zoraรฏde was forbidden to speak to Mรฉzor,
and Mรฉzor was cautioned against seeing Zoraรฏde again. But you know how the negroes are, Maโzรฉlle Titite,โ added Manna-Loulou, smiling a little sadly. โThere is no mistress, no master, no king nor priest who can hinder them from
loving when they will. And these two found ways and means.
โWhen months had passed by, Zoraรฏde, who had grown unlike herself,โsober and preoccupied,โsaid again to her mistress:โ
โ โNรฉnaine, you would not let me have Mรฉzor for my husband; but I have disobeyed you, I have sinned. Kill me if you wish, nรฉnaine: forgive me if you will; but when I heard
le beau Mรฉzor say to me, โZoraรฏde, mo lโaime toi,โ I could have died, but I could not have helped loving him.โ
โThis time Madame Delariviรจre was so actually pained, so wounded at hearing Zoraรฏdeโs confession, that there was no place left in her heart for anger. She could utter only
confused reproaches. But she was a woman of action rather than of words, and she acted promptly. Her first step was to induce Doctor Langlรฉ to sell Mรฉzor. Doctor Langlรฉ, who
was a widower, had long wanted to marry Madame Delariviรจre, and he would willingly have walked on all fours at noon through the Place dโArmes if she wanted him to.
Naturally he lost no time in disposing of le beau Mรฉzor,
who was sold away into Georgia, or the Carolinas, or one of those distant countries far away, where he would no longer hear his Creole tongue spoken, nor dance Calinda, nor hold la belle Zoraรฏde in his arms.
โThe poor thing was heartbroken when Mรฉzor was sent away from her, but she took comfort and hope in the
thought of her baby that she would soon be able to clasp to her breast.
โLa belle Zoraรฏdeโs sorrows had now begun in earnest.
Not only sorrows but sufferings, and with the anguish of
maternity came the shadow of death. But there is no agony that a mother will not forget when she holds her first-born to her heart, and presses her lips upon the baby flesh that is her own, yet far more precious than her own.
โSo, instinctively, when Zoraรฏde came out of the awful shadow she gazed questioningly about her and felt with her trembling hands upon either side of her. โOรน li, mo piti a moin?โ (โWhere is my little one?โ) she asked imploringly.
Madame who was there and the nurse who was there both told her in turn, โTo piti ร toi, li mouriโ (โYour little one is deadโ), which was a wicked falsehood that must have
caused the angels in heaven to weep. For the baby was
living and well and strong. It had at once been removed from its motherโs side, to be sent away to Madameโs plantation, far up the coast. Zoraรฏde could only moan in reply, โLi mouri, li mouri,โ and she turned her face to the wall.
โMadame had hoped, in thus depriving Zoraรฏde of her child, to have her young waiting-maid again at her side free, happy, and beautiful as of old. But there was a more powerful will than Madameโs at workโthe will of the good God, who had already designed that Zoraรฏde should grieve with a sorrow that was never more to be lifted in this world. La belle Zoraรฏde was no more. In her stead was a
sad-eyed woman who mourned night and day for her baby. โLi mouri, li mouri,โ she would sigh over and over again to those about her, and to herself when others grew weary of her complaint.
โYet, in spite of all, Mโsieur Ambroise was still in the
notion to marry her. A sad wife or a merry one was all the same to him so long as that wife was Zoraรฏde. And she
seemed to consent, or rather submit, to the approaching marriage as though nothing mattered any longer in this world.
โOne day, a black servant entered a little noisily the
room in which Zoraรฏde sat sewing. With a look of strange and vacuous happiness upon her face, Zoraรฏde arose
hastily. โHush, hush,โ she whispered, lifting a warning finger, โmy little one is asleep; you must not awaken her.โ
โUpon the bed was a senseless bundle of rags shaped like an infant in swaddling clothes. Over this dummy the woman had drawn the mosquito bar, and she was sitting
contentedly beside it. In short, from that day Zoraรฏde was demented. Night nor day did she lose sight of the doll that lay in her bed or in her arms.
โAnd now was Madame stung with sorrow and remorse at seeing this terrible a๏ฌiction that had befallen her dear Zoraรฏde. Consulting with Doctor Langlรฉ, they decided to
bring back to the mother the real baby of flesh and blood that was now toddling about, and kicking its heels in the dust yonder upon the plantation.
โIt was Madame herself who led the pretty, tiny little
โgriffeโ girl to her mother. Zoraรฏde was sitting upon a stone bench in the courtyard, listening to the soft splashing of the fountain, and watching the fitful shadows of the palm
leaves upon the broad, white flagging.
โ โHere,โ said Madame, approaching, โhere, my poor dear Zoraรฏde, is your own little child. Keep her; she is yours. No one will ever take her from you again.โ
โZoraรฏde looked with sullen suspicion upon her mistress and the child before her. Reaching out a hand she thrust the little one mistrustfully away from her. With the other hand she clasped the rag bundle fiercely to her breast; for she suspected a plot to deprive her of it.
โNor could she ever be induced to let her own child
approach her; and finally the little one was sent back to the plantation, where she was never to know the love of mother or father.
โAnd now this is the end of Zoraรฏdeโs story. She was never known again as la belle Zoraรฏde, but ever after as Zoraรฏde la folle, whom no one ever wanted to marryโnot even Mโsieur Ambroise. She lived to be an old woman,
whom some people pitied and others laughed atโalways clasping her bundle of ragsโher โpiti.โ
โAre you asleep, Maโzรฉlle Titite?โ
โNo, I am not asleep; I was thinking. Ah, the poor little one, Man Loulou, the poor little one! better had she died!โ
But this is the way Madame Delise and Manna-Loulou really talked to each other:โ
โVou prรฉ droumi, Maโzรฉlle Titite?โ
โNon, pa prรฉ droumi; mo yaprรฉ zongler. Ah, la pauvโ piti, Man Loulou. La pauvโ piti! Mieux li mouri!โ
