Robin Mitchell - Vénus Noire: Black Women and Colonial Fantasies in Nineteenth-Century France

VNUS NOIRE

RACE IN THE ATLANTIC WORLD, 1700 1900

SERIES EDITORS

Richard S. Newman, Rochester Institute of Technology
Patrick Rael, Bowdoin College
Manisha Sinha, University of Massachusetts, Amherst

ADVISORY BOARD

Edward Baptist, Cornell University
Christopher Brown, Columbia University
Vincent Carretta, University of Maryland
Laurent Dubois, Duke University
Erica Armstrong Dunbar,
University of Delaware and the Library Company of Philadelphia
Douglas Egerton, LeMoyne College
Leslie Harris, Emory University
Joanne Pope Melish, University of Kentucky
Sue Peabody, Washington State University, Vancouver
Erik Seeman, State University of New York, Buffalo
John Stauffer, Harvard University

BLACK WOMEN
AND
COLONIAL FANTASIES
IN
NINETEENTH-CENTURY FRANCE

ROBIN MITCHELL

2020 by the University of Georgia Press
Athens, Georgia 30602
www.ugapress.org
All rights reserved
Designed by Kaelin Chappell Broaddus
Set in 12/15.5 Fournier Std by Kaelin Chappell Broaddus

Most University of Georgia Press titles are available from popular e-book vendors.

Printed digitally

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Mitchell, Robin, 1962 author.

Title: Vnus noire : black women and colonial fantasies in nineteenth-century France / Robin Mitchell.

Other titles: Black women and colonial fantasies in nineteenth-century France

Description: Athens, GA : The University of Georgia Press, [2020] | Series: Race in the Atlantic world, 17001900 | Includes bibliographical references and index.

Identifiers: lccn 2018027405I ISBN 9780820354323 (hard cover : alk. paper) | ISBN 9780820354316 (pbk. : alk. paper) | ISBN 9780820354330 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: Women, BlackFrancePublic opinion. | Women, Black, in literatureFrance. | Women, Black, in popular cultureFrance. | Stereotypes (Social psychology)France History. | African diasporaFrance. | Baartman, Sarah. | Duras, Claire de Durfort, duchesse de, 17771828. Ourika. | Duval, Jeanne, approximately 1820approximately 1862In literature. | RacismFranceHistory. | SexismFrance History. | FranceRace relationsHistory.

Classification: LCC DC34.5.A37 M58 2018 | DDC 305.8/89604409034dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018027405

TO CLARE.
This book literally
would not exist without you.

If I willingly tread on the unstable ground that lies between history and representation, it is because I wish to blur the distinction between them.
DORIS GARRAWAY, The Libertine Colony

INTRODUCTION
Black Women in the French Imaginary

CHAPTER ONE
The Tale of Three Women: The Biographies

CHAPTER TWO
Entering Darkness: Colonial Anxieties and the Cultural Production of Sarah Baartmann

CHAPTER THREE
Ourika Mania: Cultural Consumption of (Dis)Remembered Blackness

CHAPTER FOUR
Jeanne Duval: Site of Memory

CONCLUSION
Vnus Noire

When I first arrived in Paris in 2004 to begin my research, I faced the bureaucracy of France naked in a cultural sense. French bureaucratic protocol has its special flavors: letters establishing credentials, permission for archival access, identity photos in hand, and of course, a prayer that the archivists will understand your sad French accent and lack of familiarity with the appropriate etiquette. I knew all of this when I showed up at the Muse de lhomme (sans appointment, sans letter, sans photos). Could I see her? I asked in my most proper French. Sarah Baartmann. May I see her? The front desk staff looked at me quizzically, as if I were an alien. Scared to death, I remained standing and quiet. Probably convinced that security would need to be engaged, they phoned upstairs to ask if someone could do something with me. I was then met by Philippe Mennecier, a senior curator. He was the only one available, for I had arrived at lunchtime (another major faux pas).

M. Mennecier, an extremely tall man with kind eyes behind glasses, asked what he could do for me. Ah, Mme. Baartmann, he said softly, without a hint of condescension. Oui, I countered. He paused for a moment, smiled, and said, Bon. Allons-y. And with that, we went to his office, where I explained in fractured French that I had studied Baartmann for my masters thesis and was now working on her for my doctoral dissertation. I knew that her body had been repatriated to South Africa but was eager to see if anything remained from her time in the museum. He told me that many items were still there, including her body cast. Did I wish to see it?

It might be difficult for the nonhistorian to understand seeing in the flesh what you have studied for a long time (in my case, more than a decade) in pictures or books. Did I wish to see it? Yes. I dont know if I answered out loud or if I said anything else. The body cast had not been displayed for a very long time, and access to it was restricted appropriately. I had assumed that the cast had been repatriated along with most of the museums other Baartmann-related holdings in 2001, but the South African government had not wanted everything. The cast was brought out in an immense crate. As I waited and watched the screws holding the cover in place being removed with a power drill, my sense of anticipation began to rise. I started pacing. I am a historian, I told myself; this reaction is unprofessional. As the unpacking continued, the feelings worsened. I was having trouble breathing. I began peering at the skeletons lined up along one wall, wondering who these people were. My hands were shaking. The last screw was removed. I held my breath. They pulled. Nothing happened. Merde, the technician complained. Ah, they had missed one screw.

The technician left me alone with M. Mennecier and the crate. M. Mennecier removed the cover, and I burst into tears. Horrified by my own reaction, I begged M. Menneciers pardon. Non, pas du tout. Cest normal. He then asked in English if I would like a moment alone with her. I nodded, and he departed. I sat in the chair next to her and wept. I do not know for how long. Then I placed my hand in her tiny plaster hand and promised her, Ill try not to screw this up. I left the room. After that, Philippe, as he let me call him, and I had many dates with Mme. Baartmann. I remain grateful to him for the kindness and subsequent friendship he showed a clueless graduate student that day. Meeting Sarah Baartmann remains a difficult and profound memory for me. I tell it here because history matters. The lives of the long-dead people we write about still matter, and the way we tell these stories undeniably matters. To pretend that I am not implicated in the stories contained in this book would be a lie. In fact, one of the reasons Baartmann first caught my attention is because of the uncanny similarities between her body and mine. Discovering the women I write about in this book was a progressive revelation. They changed everything for me. What I thought I knew about France I did not know.