The Hour and the Man Part 34

"Your prejudices on one point are strong, Jacques; and prejudice is blind. Monsieur Pascal is singularly unprejudiced: and therefore I believed that he would understand me."

"Perhaps I do: but I wish to hear your reasons from yourself."

"Particularly," interposed Raymond, "as to whether you believe the blacks (who are, we know, your first object) would be more benefited by continued connection with France or by independence. I believe Monsieur Pascal is unprejudiced enough to bear the discussion of even this point."

"It is that which I wish to understand clearly," observed Monsieur Pascal.

"Whether, if I believed my race would be benefited by the independence of this island, I could answer it to my conscience to separate from France," said Toussaint, "we need not decide, as I am convinced that, amidst all the errors committed under the orders of government, it is best for us to remain in connection with France. The civilisation of the whites is the greatest educational advantage we could enjoy. Yes, Jacques; and the more we despise it, the more we prove that we need it.

The next great reason for remaining faithful is that we owe it to the white inhabitants of the colony not to deprive them of their connection with Paris, on the one hand, nor of their liberty to live and prosper here, on the other. As regards my own peculiar position, I feel that my first duty is to present an example of reverence and affection for my country, and not of a selfish ambition. I may have other personal reasons also, tending to the same conclusion."

"Some favourite pa.s.sages in Epictetus, perhaps, or in the Bible," said Jacques: "some reasons confirmed by the whispers of the priests.

Nothing short of priestly influence could blind you to such an opportunity as we now have of disembarra.s.sing ourselves of the whites for ever."

"Patience, Jacques!" said Toussaint, smiling.

"I believe," said Christophe, "that there is neither book nor priest in the case. I believe that it is your peculiar feeling towards Bonaparte, Toussaint, which strengthens your affection for France."

Christophe saw, by a glance at his friend's countenance, that he was right.

"I should act as you do," Henri continued, "if I were certain of a full and generous reciprocity of feeling on the part of the government and of Bonaparte. But I have no such confidence."

"Hear him!" cried Dessalines and Raymond.

"You were not wont to doubt Bonaparte, Henri," observed Toussaint.

"Because, till of late, there was no reason to doubt him. I still believe that he was in earnest at the outset, in his professed desire to serve France for the sake of France, and not for his own. But I believe that he has a head less strong than yours; that we shall see him transformed from the pacificator into the aggressor--that, instead of waiting upon his pleasure, we may have to guard against injury from him."

"These words from the generous Henri," said Toussaint, "are portentous."

"I may be wrong, Toussaint. G.o.d grant, for the sake of the liberties of the world, that I may be proved mistaken! But, in the hour of choice between your sovereignty and continued dependence, you must not suppose the sympathy between the First of the Whites and the First of the Blacks to be greater than it is."

Toussaint could have told how Henri's words only confirmed misgivings as to the public virtues of Bonaparte, which had long troubled his secret soul.

"Are you willing," he asked of Monsieur Pascal, "to tell us your antic.i.p.ations as to the career of the First Consul? Do not speak, if you prefer to be silent."

"I cannot predict confidently," replied Pascal; "but I should not be surprised if we see Bonaparte unable to resist the offer of sovereignty.

Once crowned, and feeling himself still compelled to speak incessantly of the good of his country, his views of good will become debased. He will invest France with military glory, and sink into ruin by becoming a conqueror;--a vulgar destiny, in this age--a destiny which Alexander himself would probably scorn, if now born again into the world."

"Alas! my poor blacks, if this be indeed Bonaparte!" exclaimed Toussaint. "Their supreme need is of peace; and they may become the subjects of a conqueror."

"And happy if they be no worse than subjects," said Christophe.

"If," said Toussaint, "Bonaparte respects the liberties of the French no more than to reduce them from being a nation to being an army, he will not respect the liberties of the blacks, and will endeavour to make them once more slaves."

"Ah! you see!" exclaimed Dessalines.

"I neither see nor believe, Jacques. We are only speculating. I will be thoroughly faithful to my allegiance, till Bonaparte is unquestionably unfaithful to the principles by which he rose. At the moment, however, when he lifts his finger in menace of the liberties of the blacks, I will declare myself the Champion of Saint Domingo;--not, however, through the offices of the English, but by the desire of those whom I govern."

"Say King of Hayti," exclaimed Christophe. "This island was Hayti, when it lay blooming in the midst of the ocean, fresh from the will of G.o.d, thronged with gentle beings who had never lifted up a hand against each other. It was Hayti when it received, as into a paradise, the first whites who came into our hemisphere, and who saw in our valleys and plains the Eden of the Scripture. It became Saint Domingo when vice crept into it, and oppression turned its music into sighs, and violence laid it waste with famine and the sword. While the blacks and whites yet hate each other, let it be still Saint Domingo: but when you withdraw us from jealousy and bloodshed, let it again be Hayti. While it holds its conquered name there will be heart-burnings. If it became our own Hayti, we might not only forgive, but forget. It would be a n.o.ble lot to be King of Hayti!"

"If so ordained, Henri. We must wait till it be so. My present clear duty is to cultivate peace, and the friends.h.i.+p of the whites. They must have their due from us, from Bonaparte himself, to the youngest infant in Cap. You may trust me, however, that from the hour that there is a whisper about slavery in the lightest of Bonaparte's dreams, I will consent to be called by whatever name can best defend our race."

"It will be too late then," said Dessalines. "Why wait till Bonaparte tells you his dreams? We know, without being told, that all the dreams of all whites are of our slavery."

"You are wrong, Jacques. That is no more true of all whites, than it is true of all blacks that they hate the whites as you do."

"You will find too late that I am not wrong," said Jacques. "Remember, in the day of our ruin, that my timely advice to you was to send for your sons from Paris, and then avow yourself King of Saint Domingo--or of Hayti, if you like that name better. To me that name tells of another coloured race, whom the whites wantonly oppressed and destroyed.

One cannot traverse the island without hearing the ghosts of those poor Indians, from every wood and every hill, calling to us for vengeance on their conquerors."

"Take care how you heed those voices, Dessalines," said Christophe.

"They are not the voices of the gentle Indians that you hear; for the whites who injured them are long ago gone to judgment."

"And if they were still in the midst of us," said Toussaint, "vengeance is not ours. Jacques knows that my maxim in the field--my order, which may not be transgressed--is, No retaliation! I will have the same rule obeyed in my council-chamber, as we all, I trust, observe it in our prayers. Jacques, you have not now to learn my principle and my command--no retaliation. Have you ever known it infringed, since the hour when you found me at Breda, and made me your chief?"

"Never."

"Nor shall you while I am obeyed. If the hour for defence comes we shall be ready. Till then we owe allegiance."

"You will find it too late," Dessalines said, once more.

"The a.s.sembly," said Toussaint to Raymond, "will withdraw their proposition regarding my being President of this island. I have all needful power as Commander-in-chief of the colony."

"They have already published their request," said Raymond; "which I do not regret, because--"

"I regret it much," said Toussaint. "It will incense France."

"I do not regret it," pursued Raymond, "because it renders necessary the publication of your refusal, which cannot but satisfy France."

"On the point of Toussaint's supposed ambition it may satisfy France,"

observed Christophe. "But if Bonaparte be jealous of the influence of the First of the Blacks, this homage of the a.s.sembly will not abate his jealousy."

"Have you more messages for us, Raymond?--No. Then Monsieur Pascal and I will examine these reports, and prepare my replies. This our little council is memorable, friends, for being the first in which we could report of the entire pacification of the colony. May it be only the first of many! My friends, our council is ended."

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

LEISURE FOR ONCE.

Precious to the statesman are the moments he can s.n.a.t.c.h for the common pleasures which are strewed over the earth--meant, apparently, for the perpetual enjoyment of all its inhabitants. The child gathers flowers in the meadow, or runs up and down a green bank, or looks for birds'

nests every spring day. The boy and girl hear the lark in the field and the linnet in the wood, as a matter of course: they walk beside the growing corn, and pa.s.s beneath the rookery, and feel nothing of its being a privilege. The sailor beholds the stars every bright night of the year, and is familiar with the thousand hues of the changing sea.

The soldier on his march sees the sun rise and set on mountain and valley, plain and forest. The citizen, pent up in the centre of a wide-built town, has his hour for play with his little ones, his evenings for his wife and his friends. But for the statesman, none of these are the pleasures of every day. Week after week, month after month, he can have no eyes for the freshness of nature, no leisure for small affairs, or for talk about things which cannot be called affairs at all. He may gaze at pictures on his walls, and hear music from the drawing-room, in the brief intervals of his labours; and he may now and then be taken by surprise by a glimpse of the cool bright stars, or by the waving of the boughs of some neighbouring tree. He may be beguiled by the grace or the freak of some little child, or struck: by some wandering flower scent in the streets, or some effect of sunlight on the evening cloud. But with these few and rare exceptions, he loses sight of the natural earth, and of its free intercourses, for weeks and months together; and precious in proportion--precious beyond its utmost antic.i.p.ation--are his hours of holiday when at length they come. He gazes at the crescent moon hanging above the woods, and at the long morning shadows on the dewy gra.s.s, as if they would vanish before his eyes. He is intoxicated with the gurgle of the brook upon the stones, when he seeks the trout stream with his line and basket. The whirring of the wild bird's wing upon the moor, the bursting of the chase from cover, the creaking of the harvest wain--the song of the vine-dressers-- the laugh of the olive-gatherers--in every land where these sounds are heard, they make a child once more of the statesman who may for once have come forth to hear them. Sweeter still is the leisure hour with children in the garden or the meadow, and the quiet stroll with wife or sister in the evening, or the gay excursion during a whole day of liberty. If Sunday evenings are sweet to the labourer whose toils involve but little action of mind, how precious are his rarer holidays to the state labourer, after the wear and tear of toil like his--after his daily experience of intense thought, of anxiety, and fear! In the path of such should spring the freshest gra.s.s, and on their heads should fall the softest of the moonlight, and the balmiest of the airs of heaven, if natural rewards are in any proportion to their purchase money of toil.

The choicest holiday moments of the great negro statesman were those which he could spend with his wife and children, away from observing eyes and listening ears. He was never long pent up in the city, or detained by affairs within the walls of his palace. His business lay abroad, for the most part; and he came and went continually, on horseback, throughout every part of the island. Admirable as were his laws and regulations, and zealously as he was served by his agents of every description, there was no security for the working of his system so good as his own frequent presence among the adoring people. The same love which made him so powerful abroad interfered with his comfort at home. There were persons ever on the watch for a glimpse of him, eager to catch every word and every look: and the very rarest of his pleasures was unwitnessed intercourse with his family.

At length, when Hedouville was gone away from one port, and Rigaud from another--when neither spy nor foe appeared to remain--it seemed to be time for him, who had given peace and leisure to everybody else, to enjoy a little of it himself. He allowed his children, therefore, to fix a day when he should go with them on a fis.h.i.+ng excursion round the little island of Gonaives, which was a beautiful object from the windows of the house at Pongaudin, as it lay in the midst of the bay.

The excursion had answered completely. General Vincent, leaving the south of the island in a state of perfect tranquillity, had arrived to enjoy his honours in the presence of L'Ouverture and his family. Madame Dessalines had come over from Saint Marc. As Afra was of the party, Monsieur Pascal had found it possible to leave his papers for a few hours. Toussaint had caught as many fish as if he had been Paul himself. He had wandered away with his girls into the wood, till he was sent to the boats again by the country people who gathered about him; and he lay hidden with Denis under the awning of the barge, playing duck and drake on the smooth water, till the islanders found out where he was, and came swimming out, to spoil their sport. It was a day too soon gone: but yet he did not consider it ended when they landed at Pongaudin, at ten o'clock. The moon was high, the gardens looked lovely; and he led his wife away from the party, among the green alloys of the shrubbery.