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Beau Adams
Beau Adams

Joy Joy by Black Motion - The Ultimate Afro House Anthem Featuring Brenden Praise


It may be that you knew Mokoubamba who became famous in Passy for hislabours as a reseater of rush-bottomed chairs, weaver of mats, ofbaskets and hampers, mender of all things breakable, teller of tales,entertainer of the passerby, lover of all haunts where poor mortalityresorts to eat and drink. He was an old Negro from the coast of Guinea,very black as to skin, wholly white as to hair, with great velvety blackeyes and the jaws of a crocodile whence issued childlike laughter. Heused to honour me with his visits on his way home at evening when he hadnot sold quite all his wares. With abundance of words and gestures, hewould explain to me how fortunate I was to need precisely the article ofwhich by an unforeseen and kindly chance he was the owner. And as he sawthat I delighted in his talk, he gave free rein to that spiritedeloquence which never failed to bring him more or less remuneration.


"It was like this. I was quietly sitting at my chain one day, making alarge basket, when a man dressed in black, with an edge of white aroundhis neck, came near me and said: 'My brother, what have you done withyour soul?' I had learned a few words of English on the journey.However, I asked my visitor to repeat his question. He repeated it againand again, and I finally understood that he was talking about my Fetish,and that he wished to know what I had done with it. I answered that itwas a sacred thing, and that I had it with me, but that I wouldwillingly employ it in his service if he would acquire me for a sum ofmoney. My answer had the good fortune to please him, it seems, for onthat very evening the excellent Reverend Ebenezer Jones installed me inhis parsonage. He taught me about his great Fetish, who did not muchdiffer from Matori's. Is not a Fetish always something that we do notknow and that works us either good or evil? We ask it for good, and itdoes not always grant it. But as I was just saying, we go on expectingit, and that keeps us in patience.




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"One day, Ebenezer having been called back to London proposed that Ishould follow him. I did it joyfully, and I must say that the six weeksI spent in that capital were one long-drawn-out feast. I was exhibitedat the Missionary Society as a model among converts. At dessert I wouldrise and speak of my complete happiness, which was but natural after sogood a meal. People wept with emotion, and so did I myself. In thatcountry the religious fervour of elderly gentlewomen is extraordinary.Between puddings and mince pies, it was one stream of gifts of food.Never have I eaten so well or drunk so much.


Aunt Rosalie constantly received, and never gave. Even the poor got onlypromises for the future. Nothing did so much to rivet her in the publicesteem. Her reputation for blackest avarice was the surest guaranteethat the hoard would be enormous.


At first no one took any notice of him. The shops in that market arelittle more than wardrobes. The doors fold back and become show-cases.The proprietor sits on a chair in the middle, and the passer will hardlyget by without being deluged with reasons for buying exactly the entirecontents of the shelves. Gideon, at the front of his black cave, lightedonly by the big, hollow, smouldering eyes of his mother, seatedmotionless for hours on a heap of rags, thought himself in a palace fitfor kings. Dazzled but calm, he skillfully spread his striking wares totempt the passer. Others ran after possible purchasers, soliciting them,bothering them. The modest display which depended upon nothing but itsattractiveness obtained favour. "It may be cheaper in there," peoplesaid, and submitted to persuasion. It was the beginning of a greatdestiny.


That was what happened last week, and owing to it I had the pleasure ofwitnessing the interview I am about to relate. I was taking a walk withthe Mayor, when Simon Grelu suddenly stood before us. More elongatedthan ever, with his bony, sallow face, his pointed skull topped by alittle tuft of white hair, his mouth open in a smile truly formidablefrom the threat of a single great black tooth which the slightest coughwould inevitably have flung in one's face, the heron-man stood beforeus, motionless in his wooden shoes.


Accompanied by a formidable clatter of ironware, a little slim, spare,sharp man would approach, with long gray locks swinging about his face,after straggling from under a black round of which no one could havedeclared with any certainty whether it had been a hat or a cap at thetime of the Revolution. But it was not his headgear that held the eye.What struck one, what fixed the attention, what filled even a personunacquainted with him with a sort of superstitious uneasiness, was theblack dart of two small, lustreless eyes, which entered one's very souland stuck there. When the shaft of Claudit's glance had pierced one, itwas not to be plucked from the memory. The man, however, did not concernhimself with the impression he produced; he never broke the silenceexcept from necessity, and then spoke only of things pertaining to lockmending.


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In reality, the mending of locks and the brewing of healing philterswere merely the recreations of his life. Its passion was "the littlehen," as he tenderly called her. One of those silent passions deeplyrooted in our inmost being, for the satisfaction of which the Evil Onebesieges us with temptations. It is certain that between Claudit and thegallinaceous tribe obscure affinities existed. On Claudit's side thesentiment might be explained by an appetite for toothsome eating. Butwhy did the hen feel Claudit's fascination? Why did she stand there,stupidly motionless, fastened to the ground by the magnetism of thatblack eye? They say that hypnotized hens will drop of themselves intothe fox's jaws. To quote Hamlet: "There are more things in heaven andearth than are dreamed of in your philosophy."


In connection with the scandalous conduct of a lady pigeon I shallpresently speak of comparative psychology in the world of animals. Thecapacity of animals for emotion and sentiment is naturally the firstpsychic phenomenon presenting itself to the observer. Their manner ofexpressing the sensations received from the exterior world, and theimpulses resulting from those sensations constitute what may withoutderision be called the moral life of animals, leading, just as it doesin the case of man, to the best adjustment possible between theindividual organism and surrounding conditions.


Although I have forgotten the man's name, I remember the bullfinch's. Itwas Mignon. There was nothing to make him look different from the restof his kind. As you entered the shop, you saw against the wall a largecage decorated with rude carvings, on which the shoemaker had lavishedall the fancy of his art. In this, hopping from one wooden bar to theother, was a little bright red ball with a black head, lighted by twojet-black eyes gleaming with intelligence. The tiny hooked beakretreating into the throat did not appear fashioned for conversation,yet if during the shoemaker's absence you crossed the threshold, amuffled voice, which seemed to issue from the depths of the walls,greeted you with a cry, repeated over and over: "Someone in the shop,someone in the shop," etc., etc. By the smothered quality, the nasaltone, you recognized the master's voice. But it was not he who spoke,for you could see him coming from the courtyard with his mouth shut,while the sentinel's warning continued. It was the bullfinch, who withunfailing vigilance stood guard over the rows of wooden shoes.


In the courtyard, among the reddish alder logs, Mignon would come and gowith evident enjoyment, scratching the wood to whet his beak, orsearching it for dainty bits. I can still see those splendid shafts,golden yellow, marbled with sanguine red, on which the bird wouldsometimes stand motionless, swelling his copper-coloured throat, or atother times hop and flutter and cheep and softly twitter, to win aglance or a silent smile from his friend. Then he would fly straight tothe shoemaker's shoulder and peck his face and say: "Good morning, myfriend, I love you, indeed I do. Have you slept well?" The answer towhich would be given in human "twee-twees," until the neglected woodenshoe recalled the forgetful workman to his duty.


At the foot of the long arbour lay a dying birdling. He had as yet nofeathers, but a thin black down covered his bluish skin now painfullyheaving with the last spasms of agony. My first motion was to climb insearch of the nest from which the victim had fallen. I had not mounted ayard from the ground before I found a little dead body similar to theone I had just seen, and while I peered upward into the shadow, whatshould tumble on to my head but a third member of the same brood. Ifinally distinguished the nest, and soon little, stifled cries warned meof something going on in it. I bent to one side, to get a better view,and discovered in the midst of the down-lined dwelling a great grayishblack bird surrounded by three wretched wee ones who had not as yet beentossed into the abyss, but who were rendered miserably uncomfortable bythe inordinate growth of their big brother.


I am fond of observing animals, real ones, whose spirit has not beenperverted by the insufferable pretence and affectations which are alltoo often accompaniments of the human form. Whoever watches them with aseeing eye may gather deep lessons from the activities of animal life.In man and beast the motions of being are governed by one philosophy,however much trouble the sacristans of letters may take to separateunder the heads of "instinct" and "thought" phenomena differing indegree but identical in nature.


Every creature has its destiny. The betrayed wife refused to die. Sheremained motionless all day long, ate copiously, in spite of herillness, and did not waste away. Little by little the gallant husbandformed the habit of infidelity, and even ended by showing a grievousalacrity in evil doing. I must, however, say to his credit, that if hefound the attraction of sin stronger now than the call of duty, he neverceased to observe the strictest decorum under the conjugal roof. Healways treated the one responsible for his fall as a courtesan whoseacquaintance was not to be acknowledged. As soon as they were inside thedovecote, the two accomplices were not acquainted. The Roman pigeonlived faithfully at the side of his Roman wife. The white pigeon wouldgo to roost, with an assumption of indifference, on the highest perch.Bourgeois decency was preserved. As we see it daily among human beings,respectability among animals may be coupled with scandalous debauchery.The sad, confiding little invalid seemed to express gratitude to herspouse, by tender, cuddling motions, to which, I prefer to believe, hedid not submit without some feeling of shame. I should think that thevictim would have suspected something, if only because the two culpritslooked so remarkably above suspicion. But there are especial immunities.


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