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THE AMERICAN MUSEUM JOURNAL 



arrival, they are firmly established, and 

 work much havoc in -the small hours 

 among gardens and sugar cane. Our 

 efforts were in vain. We heard the 

 scolding chatter of one of the small 

 simians, and were preparing to sur- 

 round him, when a warning l)last from 

 the shi]) summoned us and we packed 

 up our collection of insects and flowers, 

 munched our last piece of chocolate, 

 and began to clamber down the great 

 sun-drenched slopes. 



Martinique, or a New Use for an^ 

 Eight of Hearts 



Columbus thought that this island 

 was inhabited only by women, and to 

 this day the market place bears out the 

 idea. It is a place apart from all the 

 rest of the city. In early morning, be- 

 fore the gaudy shutters were taken 

 down, the streets were quiet — the cal- 

 lous soles of the passersby made the 

 merest velvet shuffling and only an oc- 

 casional cry of the vendor of some 

 strange fruit or cakes broke the still- 

 ness. When the market was yet half a 

 block away, one became aurally aware 

 of it. The air was filled with a siib- 

 dued hum. an indefinite murmur which 

 might as well be the sound of tumbling 

 waters as of human voices. It Avas a 

 communal tongue, lacking individual 

 words, accent, and grammar, and yet 

 containing the essence of a hundred 

 little arguments, soliloquies, pleadings, 

 offers, and refusals. After the aural 

 came the olfactory zone, and none may 

 describe this, so intermingled that fish 

 and vegetables, spice and onions were 

 to l)e detected only when one ap- 

 proached their respective booths. 



The details of market life hold the 

 possibilities of epic description; the 

 transactions of a stock exchange pale 

 into mediocrity compared with the 

 noise and excitement when a sixpence 

 changes hands between Martinique 

 negresses. 



All the sales in the market were of 

 the smallest quantities; little silver was 



seen, pennies, ha'pennies, and sous 

 composing all the piles of coppers. The 

 colors of the fruits were like flowers: 

 melons white with a delicate fretwork 

 of green; brilliant touches of red pep- 

 pers like scarlet passion flowers; tiny 

 hits of garlic, lilac-tinted. The fish 

 had the hues of sunsets on their scales, 

 and the most beautiful, the angel 

 fishes, were three for a penny, while 

 the uglier," more edible ones, were six- 

 pence each. Beauty was rated at in- 

 verse value here. 



Around and around the iron fence 

 which bounded the market place, ^Daced 

 a pitiful joair^a tiny black mite Avho 

 could not have passed three summers, 

 leading an old blind woman by the hem 

 of an ample black skirt. After several 

 halting steps they would hesitate and 

 the gaunt hand would be thrust 

 through the bars begging for market 

 refuse. Once the gods were kind and 

 a bit of melon and a spotted mango 

 were given, but more often alms was 

 asked of an empt}^ stall, or within sight 

 only of a tethered duck or chicken. 

 Some of the gifts were no better than 

 the garbage over which the pair 

 stepped. 



We sat in chairs in a tiny pharmacist 

 shop — the artist and I — and were at 

 once the center of a chattering, star- 

 ing throng, a kaleidoscope of shifting 

 colors. We shoved and dismissed to 

 no avail, then the owner of the shop 

 with a gentle " P ermettez-moi' threw a 

 pailful of not-too-clean water over the 

 crowd, including the artist and myself. 

 The mob scattered shrieking and for a 

 short time the surrounding space was 

 open. Soon a larger crowd gathered, 

 with the still dripping units of the first 

 assemlflage smiling expectantly in the 

 offing, hovering at a safe distance. 

 The second dispersal had a legal 

 origin; the market policeman stole 

 quietly along the Avail of the shop and 

 hurled himself like a catapult, butting 

 goatlike into the heart of the crowd. A 

 half dozen fat negresses toppled over. 



