The Un-Naming of ‘Zamore’ and ‘Mirza’

A ‘name is an infinite source of control’ (George Lamming, ‘The Negro Writer and his World’, 1956). While personal to each human being, it also becomes a social designation of one’s identity. It is no surprise, then, that the routine practice of enslavers stripping enslaved people of their African or Indigenous names and renaming them with Christian, classical, or European names shapes much scholarship of the Atlantic slave trade (see, for example, Marylise Thill, Caryl Phillips’ Cambridge: The Ambiguity of a Slave’s Identity Through Naming, 2012). This removal and replacement of naming enforced ownership, allowing enslavers to control the identity of enslaved people. Yet this is not the only circumstance of forced un-naming and re-naming exercised throughout the early modern period. When we turn to imaginative literature, we see a pattern of racial blurring; exotic names become general indicators of the abstract colonised and orientalised Other – with consequences for real-life racialised people.

Alexander Kucharsky, Portrait of Olympe de Gouges (1748-1793), c. 18th century (CC BY-SA).

Olympe de Gouges’ abolitionist play Zamore et Mirza, ou l’heureux naufrage (1785) is an exemplary example of how eighteenth-century texts relied on identity erasure to depict fictional enslaved characters. The original play, written in 1783/4, takes place on a colonial estate in the East Indies. The young Zamore and Mirza are noted initially as being South Asian domestic slaves who oversee Black enslaved field workers on a colonial estate. The play’s second version, written in 1788, shifts the drama to India and converts Zamore and Mirza into enslaved field workers of abstract racial identity (although they are implied to be South Asian). This process of racial blurring becomes further articulated in the play’s final version, written shortly before de Gouges’ death on the guillotine in 1792. Here, Zamore and Mirza are transformed once again into enslaved ‘n****s’. The play’s geographic ambiguity is often attributed by scholars to racial ignorance on the part of de Gouges. We argue that this homogenisation of racial identity is in fact a hallmark of French colonial imaginative literature; its lineage is found within much earlier iterations of ‘Zamore’ and ‘Mirza’.

Jean-François Janinet, Rôle et costume de Zamore (dans Alzire, tragédie de Voltaire), engraving, 1788, Bibliothèque nationale de France.

We are first introduced to Zamore in Voltaire’s Alzire, ou les Américains (1736), and the name then reappears in Madeleine de Puisieux’s novel Zamor et Almanzine, ou L’inutilité de l’esprit et du bon sens in 1755.  Either of these sources may have inspired de Gouges to appropriate the name. However, Zamor was also attached to real-life enslaved figures throughout the eighteenth century. Madame du Barry’s slave boy, likely a Siddi (an Indian of African descent), was renamed Louis-Benoît, though Zamor became his sobriquet. She remarks in her Mémoires that this renaming was in part ‘En l’honneur de la tragédie d’Alzire’ (Jeanne du Barry, Chroniques Populaires: Mémoires de Madame du Barri, sur la ville, la cour et les salons de Paris sous Louis XV, n.d.). Meanwhile, at least twelve people were given the name Zamor(e) in the Port-au-Prince newspaper Affiches américaines from 1785 to 1789 to denote individuals who escaped plantations and settled in marronnages. These instances of the name reveal a process whereby Zamor(e) became a racial stock name for enslaved boys/men. In short, by the time de Gouges employed the name, Zamor had come to denote an exotic Otherness, rather than a specific identity.

Zamor(e)

Usage of Name  TextRacial or Ethnic Identity
VoltaireAlzire, ou les Américains (1736)Inca prince
Madeleine de PuisieuxZamor et Almanzine, ou L’inutilité de l’esprit et du bon sens (1755)Favourite emir of the sultan of Safavid Persia
Madame du BarryLouis-Benoît ZamorLikely Siddi
Affiches américainesThe name Zamor(e) appears in the newspaper between 1785–1789 a minimum of 12 times to label various maroonsEnslaved men of African origin
Olympe de GougesZamore et Mirza, ou l’heureux naufrage (1785)South Asian
Olympe de GougesZamore et Mirza, ou l’heureux naufrage (1788)Indian
Olympe de GougesZamore et Mirza, ou L’Esclavage des Noirs (1792)Enslaved African in the West Indies

*Revised and expanded from Christopher Miller, The French Atlantic Triangle: Literature and Culture of the Slave Trade, 2008.

Jean-Baptiste André Gautier-Dagoty, Madame du Barry et le page Zamore, end of 18th century, Museu Calouste Gulbenkian.

Mirza too underwent a process of racial blurring during the early modern period. Unlike Zamor(e), however, it was originally a real name, a male Persian one linked to nobility. It appeared throughout various histories of the Middle East in the seventeenth century, attributed to real-life figures, and by the eighteenth century it entered the realm of imaginative literature. Both Joseph Addison and Montesquieu employ the name in their Persian and Indian fantasies (Joseph Addison, The Vision of Mirza, 1711; Montesquieu, Lettres persanes, 1721). The shift in gender likely begins with Diderot’s Les Bijoux indiscrets (1748), where the similarly-styled character Mirzoza is the mistress of the Kongolese sultan Mangogul. In Louis Guillaume de La Folie’s Le philosophe sans prétention, ou L’homme rare, ouvrage physique, chymique, politique et moral (1775), we see Mirza now firmly attached to a woman. She is probably still intended to be Persian at this point, as it is not until Gardel and Gossec’s Mirza et Lindor (1779) and its ill-fated sequel La feste de Mirsa (1781) that she crosses the Atlantic to become Creole. Mirza then becomes closely associated with prominent French writers, employed to denote both Middle Eastern, African, and racially ambiguous characters, as in de Gouges’ play. Madame de Genlis, for example, included a character entitled Mirza in Le Palais de la Vérité (1784). Germaine de Staël’s Mirza ou Lettre d’un Voyageur (1795) is another notable example where Mirza appears, now as an enslaved woman akin to de Gouges’ L’Esclavage des Noirs.

Mirza

Usage of NameTextRacial or Ethnic IdentityGender
Common real namePersianMale
Joseph AddisonThe Vision of Mirza (1711)Allegorical tale supposedly found in CairoMale
MontesquieuLettres persanes (1721) Male
DiderotLes Bijoux indiscrets (1748)Mirzoza is the mistress of the Kongolese sultan MangogulFemale
Louis Guillaume de La FolieLe philosophe sans prétention, ou L’homme rare, ouvrage physique, chymique, politique et moral (1775)Enslaved (likely) Persian womanFemale
Maximilien Gardel and François-Joseph GossecMirza et Lindor (1779); sequel La feste de Mirsa (1781)CreoleFemale
Madame de GenlisLe Palais de la Vérité (1784)Middle EasternFemale
Olympe de GougesZamore et Mirza, ou l’heureux naufrage (1785)South AsianFemale
Germaine de StaëlMirza ou Lettre d’un Voyageur (written 1786, published 1795)Enslaved of African originFemale
Olympe de GougesZamore et Mirza, ou l’heureux naufrage (1788)IndianFemale
Olympe de GougesZamore et Mirza, ou L’Esclavage des Noirs (1792)Enslaved African in the West Indies  Female

By the time de Gouges employed Zamore and Mirza in her play, then, these two names already constituted a generalised abstract colonial Other. Both Zamore and Mirza shifted from specific racial identities fixed to precise geographies and, over the course of the eighteenth century, they came to denote any colonised persons. All specificities of identity were therefore removed from these common character names resulting in a process of racial erasure not dissimilar to the renaming of enslaved people. Indeed, the fact that ‘Zamor’ became such a popular name to impose on enslaved people in the Antilles demonstrates the real-world consequences of French writers’ appropriation of these monikers.

Caroline Gleason-Mercier and Samuel Harrison

Mirabeau meets Voltaire and Rousseau in the underworld

‘Mais le voilà donc ce prétendu égoïste, cet homme dur, cet impitoyable misanthrope, que ses lâches ennemis déchirent plus que jamais après sa mort!’ (Mirabeau to Marie Thérèse Sophie Richard de Ruffey, marquise de Monnier, on the subject of Rousseau’s acts of kindness during his lifetime.)[1]

Today marks the 223rd anniversary of the death of Honoré Gabriel Riqueti, the comte de Mirabeau. A courter of controversy, Mirabeau is famous for being a nobleman who joined the third estate for the Estates General and became rapidly popular thanks to his oratory skills.[2] He died of a suspected inflammation of the diaphragm, on 2 April 1791, though some did question the rapidity of the illness and wondered if he had been poisoned.[3] Other than for a few individuals, such as Marat, who publicly rejoiced at his passing, Mirabeau’s death seems to have been overall a source of sorrow, provoking numerous displays of affection including prints and plays.

The representation of Mirabeau’s post-life is part of a wider Revolutionary fascination for the gathering of historical characters in the afterlife. Indeed, it was viewed by artists as an opportunity to create imaginary encounters between characters of different eras, stage reconciliations or provide a commentary on the situation in France. One can see an example of this in Olympe de Gouges’s rapidly penned Mirabeau aux Champs-Elysées, first performed on 15 April 1791, in which Rousseau and Voltaire are quick to shake hands and forgive each other in their joy at the French Revolution: ‘tu as posé les premières bases de tout ce qui s’est opéré de grand et d’utile en France’ exclaims Rousseau. [4]

Prints were more likely to pick either Voltaire or Rousseau as the object of Mirabeau’s affection. For instance, in ‘Le Voile est tombé’, Voltaire can state ‘Mon triomphe est beau sans doute, puisque il est l’ouvrage des Français’, while the archbishop of Paris, Christophe de Beaumont, burns in the background.

Mirabeau_Voltaire

Le Voile est tombé (source: French Revolution Digital Archive)

However, in ‘Mirabeau arrive aux Champs-Elysées’, it is to Rousseau that Mirabeau presents a charte constitutionelle as if it were ‘un de ses ouvrages’, involving him in the Revolution.

Mirabeau_Champs_Elysees2

These representations are not just a homage to Mirabeau, but also an occasion to revisit the historical thinkers who influenced Revolutionary ideology and to place Mirabeau within this illustrious canon. [5]

While only a few of these representations can be deemed negative, this was all to change with the discovery of the armoire de fer, a secret cupboard in the Tuileries which contained compromising correspondence, in November 1792. Even after death, there is no rest for the depicted.

Mirabeau_apparition

Apparition de l’ombre de Mirabeau (source: French Revolution Digital Archive)

Claire Trévien

[1] Correspondance complète de Jean Jacques Rousseau, ed. R. A. Leigh et al., 52 vol. (Oxford, 1965-1998), vol.44, p.187-91, letter 7686 (27 March 1780).

[2] John R. Neill and Charles F. Warwick, Mirabeau and the French Revolution (Chicago, 2005), p.431.

[3] Pierre-Jean-Georges Cabanis, Journal de la maladie et de la mort d’Honoré-Gabriel-Victor Riquetti Mirabeau, ed. Carmela Ferrandes (Bari, 1996), p.137.

[4] Mirabeau aux Champs-Elysées, p.6. Numerous plays and prints of the period staged what their creators saw as a long overdue reconciliation between the two feuding philosophes. See Ling-Ling Sheu, Voltaire et Rousseau dans le théâtre de la Révolution française (1789-1799) (Brussels, 2005).

[5] I will be exploring these representations in greater detail in an article, ‘Théâtre de l’ombre: visions of afterlife in prints of the French Revolution’, in Shadows of the Enlightenment: chiaroscuro in Early-Modern France and Italy, a study in analogy and metaphorology, a special issue of Journal of eighteenth-century studies, ed. Mark Darlow and Marion Lafouge (forthcoming).