La Famille des Pitite-Caille is quite similar to its successor, Zoune chez sa ninnaine. Both are lodysans works which draw on oral storytelling, Haitian Creole, and creolized French. Here, however, Justin Lhérisson focuses on the rise and fall of a Haitian family in Port-au-Prince, likely set in the 1870s though the founder of the family lineage died under Boyer. One of the many descendants of Damvala, or Petite-Caille (pitit kay), the favored congo slave of a colonial planter, Eliézer and his wife from Martinique become wealthy and socially important in Port-au-Prince. After a triumphant return from France (where Eliézer and Velleda sent their children for schooling), he becomes a leading Freemason, throws expensive parties, and, like many people in Haiti who talk a lot (according to the narrator, Golimin), he decides to enter politics.
Boutenègre convinces Eliézer to hire him, and so they proceed to use the family fortune to throw parties, buy food and drink, and entertain the masses so that he can win. This is the best part of this tragicomic story, since it satirically takes apart the pseudo-democratic political system while also lampooning politicians and nouveau riche of the upper class. Boutenègre, for instance, speaks French like a Creole speaker, pronouncing words like the prêtre-savane in Zoune. Meanwhile, Eliézer, who pretends to be a sophisticated intellectual, does not read the books in his large library inside his Turgeau home. He speaks with authority and pretenses of caring for the masses, whose support he buys through Boutenègre and his team.
And if you think Lhérisson was only mocking the nouveau riche putting on airs, or the lower-classes of Port-au-Prince whose support is purchased, there is no doubt that the elites and high society of "good families" are mocked for their superstitions and corruption. Eliézer's daughter, who returns from France with a large inheritance after the death of her father, which was provoked by government repression after an erroneous tip targeted him for stockpiling weapons, marries a man from a "good family" who proceeds to waste her money on his several mistresses while beating her (of course, also claiming to be investing the money in cotton). Moreover, the superstitious high society women and their husbands were, ultimately, the source of wealth for the Petite-Cailles as they sought the services of Velleda, who was a tireuse des cartes. Therefore, these Haitian elites are no better than the superstitious peasants lamented by the narrator in Zoune.
Despite the hilarious comic elements in this tale of a family's rise and fall, it resembles Zoune in that it explores to tragic results the conditions of women in 19th century Port-au-Prince. Velleda, the wife of Eliézer, ends her days as a mistress of a general, despite being a wealthy woman whose husband ruined her. Although she was able to convince her husband to change his ways, his death and the decisions of her children ruin her. Her daughter, pushed to marry an abusive man who eventually kills her, has an even worse fate since she has no say over the finances of her husband. Indeed, she even stays with him after he beats her and throws away her inheritance chasing after other women. These disturbing social customs and gender relations define both stories in a country where the impossible can be possible. Where the upwardly mobile put on airs and speak French rather than express themselves in their mother tongue. In a place where corrupt officials, generals, and bought crowds dominate politics.
Unfortunately, the author left us too soon, and his papers were lost in a fire. Perhaps his next story would have showed us what happened to Zoune, or maybe he would have written a novel about working-class families in the Port-au-Prince of his time. Something, perhaps, with more of his innovative blend of French and Creole that would have addressed religion, music, and the role of language? Perhaps he would have inspired Haitian literature to embrace the Creole language earlier, maybe even promoting literacy efforts in recognition of it's undeniable presence in everyday life.
Unfortunately, the author left us too soon, and his papers were lost in a fire. Perhaps his next story would have showed us what happened to Zoune, or maybe he would have written a novel about working-class families in the Port-au-Prince of his time. Something, perhaps, with more of his innovative blend of French and Creole that would have addressed religion, music, and the role of language? Perhaps he would have inspired Haitian literature to embrace the Creole language earlier, maybe even promoting literacy efforts in recognition of it's undeniable presence in everyday life.
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