Sansay's Secret History

When I finished reading Sansay’s Secret History, I was at first surprised by the “scant attention to the cataclysmic events of the Haitian revolution, the complex politics of race and colonial power, and the often horrific scenes of warfare that took place during the very years of the novel’s exposition” (Dillon 78). However, I appreciated the novel’s complex treatment of social and marital relations within the context of the revolutionary period, especially through the parallel between Clara’s oppressive marriage and the slave rebellion. St. Louis’s violence against Clara mirrors the violence the slaves experienced under their cruel masters. The novel not only shows the success of the slave revolution, but also Clara’s success in escaping her husband. Elizabeth Maddock Dillon points out in her article that “a surprising effect of the revolution is thus to enable white women to escape from the power of men” (92). The large scale rebellion that topples the hierarchy in St. Domingue paves the way for shifts in gender dynamics.

 

Mary’s letters to Burr reveal that life goes on during periods of warfare and revolution, thus seemingly trivial concerns will continue to be discussed and worried about in addition to bigger issues. In many ways, Mary’s attention to social experiences is a coping mechanism. She often tells Burr that the horrors she experiences “cannot be imagined” (61) or that she “cannot describe” (83) them. Her inability to fully convey the gravity of the situation in addition to a desire to distract herself must be strong motivations for her sudden jumps to describing social experiences. When describing social life, she is often able to take the focus away from herself, as well, acting as an objective observer. In focusing on other people’s issues, like her sister’s unhappy and unhealthy marriage, she can avoid talking about her own issues. Mary even acknowledges in one of her letters to Burr, “You say, that in relating public affairs, or those of Clara, I forget my own, or conceal them under this appearance of neglect” (89). While Mary comes up with excuses, Burr’s comment still resonates since the reader must have thought the same thing.

 

Dillon discusses the novel as a creole novel in which Sansay’s “account of the community of creole women that is created in the wake of the Haitian Revolution indicates that she understood herself and other white U.S. citizens to be creoles as well” (88). Dillon’s reading of Sansay’s novel is very much in line with Edward Watts’ arguments for a new way of reading texts in his “Settler Postcolonialism as a Reading Strategy” article we read last week. In this way, I think Dillon provides a useful and provocative reading of a text that shows an alternative history to the myth of American nationalism. However, Dillon’s contrast of the white creole women from St. Domingue to the French leaves out another important cultural group—the Spanish.

 

As Dillon explains, “Mary’s initial view of the creole is eventually subject to a direct reversal. Ultimately, she will contend, the apparent lack of stability and seriousness of the creole masks superior capacities for self-support that are revealed by the violent upheaval of revolution” (89). Yet, Mary exhibits ambivalence toward the Spanish creoles as well. When in St. Jago, she gives many accounts showing “the inhabitants of this island have long since reached the last degree of corruption” (126). However, this contrasts with her experience with Jacinta in Barracoa. Jacinta is a “native of the Havanna” who speaks Spanish, and despite having to move to the “deserted” region of Barracoa, “she never repines, and seeks to diffuse around her the cheerfulness by which she is animated” (108). After leaving Baraccoa, Mary writes, “a sigh for the peaceful solitude of their retreat will often heave my breast amid the mingled scenes of pleasure and vexation in which I shall be again engaged. Fortunate people!” (108). In some ways, the Spanish creoles have an idyllic lifestyle.

 

Clara’s letters to Mary also show the negative aspects of the Spanish as their filth and poverty fills her “with disgust” (143). However, Clara doesn’t blame the Spanish people, “believing that it is entirely owing to their vicious government” (144). Like the French creoles in St. Domingue, there are important political issues that complicate the Spanish characters. Both sisters’ accounts reveal that every culture has its vices and problems, but there are always examples of goodness as well.