Chapter 137: Liberty, Equality, Fraternity (1) After listening to the black man's long speech, the governor of Saint-Domingue had a very simple answer in mind.
How the hell would I know that, you black bastard?
They say you can measure ten fathoms of water but not one fathom of a man's heart. If even the thoughts of someone beside you are difficult to know, how could a man exiled all the way to the West Indies possibly understand the mind of someone in Paris?
Besides, even if he did know, there was absolutely no reason for him to bother explaining it to a rebel leader who had once been a slave.
But if he showed that attitude here, the rebels would flood toward the governor's residence like a rising tide.
At the very least, that must not happen.
The rebels themselves were not what frightened him.
Even if those black savages occupied the island temporarily, reinforcements and a fleet from France would eventually crush them.
What truly frightened him was what came afterward.
After all, what was Saint-Domingue?
It was France's golden goose, a treasure house of coffee and cash crops that sustained the nation.
If the blacks seized Saint-Domingue, France's revenue would collapse overnight.
The authorities in Paris would panic and dispatch a suppression army immediately.
And once that army arrived, it would easily crush the rebellion—then begin investigating why it had happened in the first place.
Which meant the end of the governor's comfortable life in Saint-Domingue, buried beneath piles of gold coins and bribes.
Thinking that far, the governor glanced subtly toward the drawer where the key to his precious safe was stored.
No.
Absolutely not.
Under no circumstances could that happen.
The days when you could bribe an inspector and hear him say, "Ahem… well, these things happen," had vanished with the arrival of the revolutionary government.
The moment investigators from Paris discovered his secret ledgers, he would be sent back to Paris and delivered straight to the guillotine.
In the end, the governor forced a pleasant smile toward the black man who was talking as if he had smoked too much hemp.
"Haha… I would love to answer your question, General, but you know how the human heart is. One cannot easily know another's mind."
"Is that so? Then I will go and ask the man himself."
"What—what?"
"Did you not hear? I, Toussaint Bréda, will personally travel to Paris and ask Finance Minister Guillaume de Toulon. While I am away, our resistance forces will cease all hostile military actions and enter a state of truce. I give you my word."
The governor's mouth went dry.
Is this bastard doing this on purpose?
No.
Even his closest aides did not fully know how much corruption he had committed.
A mere rebel leader would have no way to know.
"What is the matter? Governor, didn't you want a truce?"
"…G-give me a moment to think, General."
"Surely you are not suggesting that my journey to Paris must also be approved by the central government?"
"…F-fine! I will arrange for you to board a ship to Paris within a few days. I promise!"
"Very well. A civilized man would not speak twice with one mouth."
The black man removed his hat and gave a formal bow before calmly leaving the governor's office.
"…What will you do about that insolent black bastard, Governor?"
"Secretary, give me a moment. I'm thinking."
"Shall we have the sailors assassinate him aboard the ship and throw the body into the Atlantic Ocean? We could say the ship sank during a storm."
"There are too many witnesses. And would the other blacks believe such a story? Is there another way?"
If the governor had embezzled ten parts, the secretary had embezzled five.
He stroked his chin thoughtfully.
"Didn't the black rebels kill several of our white men recently?"
"Ah, that's true. Though those fellows deserved it, didn't they?"
The governor shook his head as if the memory disgusted him.
"Indeed. Beating slaves to death with whips just because the harvest was slightly lower—that crossed the line. But that doesn't mean they weren't white."
"Well… that's true."
"What if we dress it up a little and report to Paris that the blacks massacred white people?"
"…Explain in more detail."
"If we spice up the story and spread rumors in Paris about 'blacks massacring whites,' who do you think people will believe—us white men, or some black rebel leader?"
"Are you a genius?"
The governor slapped his knee.
Two days later, a ship departed Saint-Domingue, bound for Calais in mainland France.
Finance Minister.
Guillaume de Toulon.
President of Isaac's People.
Guillaume de Toulon.
The Face of the Revolution.
Guillaume de Toulon.
Man, I had a lot of titles.
When had I ever achieved enough to deserve all that?
Because of that, the daily life of Guillaume de Toulon, the unfortunate kindergarten principal of "France Village"—not some peaceful little town—was unbelievably exhausting.
First, I had to mediate between the Plain faction and the Mountain faction, who constantly complained like children.
"Minister Guillaume! A Committee of Public Safety? That's nothing less than judicial murder! Please do something about those insane Mountain faction people!"
"Minister Guillaume! A High Council of Twelve? That's basically civilian surveillance! Please do something about those crazy Plain faction people!"
"…Sigh. Gentlemen, you are twice my age. Why are you acting like this? Here—have a drink and calm down. It's just a difference in perspective, isn't it?"
Fortunately, they usually calmed down after I poured them each a glass of wine.
Thank heaven I learned how to mix drinks properly in my previous life while entertaining corporate executives.
Damn… I need a cigarette.
If I die of tuberculosis later, it will be because of you people.
Actually, maybe I should write a will in advance.
If I, Guillaume de Toulon, die of tuberculosis… bury the members of the National Assembly alive with me. Otherwise I will reincarnate as a tattooed bald man and destroy France with a giant axe.
After dealing with politicians, there was the work of the Ministry of Finance.
"Did everyone enjoy time with their families?"
"Yes…"
"Good. Because none of you will be going home for the next week. Haha!"
"…."
Come on, if you look so miserable, it makes me seem like a villain destroying your family life.
"Team One will investigate all workplaces in Paris with four or more workers. Team Two will determine what products those workshops produce. Team Three will analyze financial statements and calculate their profits for the current period."
Gentlemen, remember—this is all for the people and the nation.
Honor! The Panthéon!
After finishing Finance Ministry work, I had to deal with Isaac's People.
"Boss, I'm resigning. The farming off-season is over, so I have to return to my hometown in Vendée."
"You've worked hard. Here is your severance pay."
"Severance pay?"
"Use it to buy better farming tools. Thank you for your service."
People left, new people arrived.
Busy, busy.
"You must be the new employee. Your name?"
"Yes! Lebon from the development team!"
"Ah! The heating device!"
"Y-you remember?"
Murdoch had told me about it.
A device that heated homes using warm steam produced from burning coal.
If you think about it, isn't that basically ondol?
"Of course I remember. It's like ondol."
"O… ondol?"
Ah.
He didn't know the word.
"Well… something like that. Anyway, I have high expectations for you. Keep up the good work."
"Yes! Thank you, sir!"
Ah, such enthusiasm.
Very nice.
"By the way, where is Murdoch?"
"I'll call him right away! Please wait a moment!"
Look at that energy—full of spirit for a new employee.
"Ah, boss! You're here! This way, please."
"Murdoch, I've been looking for you."
"Haha, sorry. I was checking the final adjustments."
"No problem."
"We've improved the efficiency of the gas lamps, but now the problem is the raw materials."
"Raw materials?"
"The iron produced by nearby foundries isn't very high quality, so obtaining good material is difficult."
"I see… We'll find a solution later."
A foundry…
Come to think of it, building refining facilities early might make things easier in the future.
After Isaac's People, it was time to deal with the military.
"Minister! If this continues, our navy will be destroyed! Completely destroyed!"
"Do we really have to invest money? Isn't the Atlantic fleet and the Asian fleet enough? We already have so many expenses…"
"Ah! I'm dying!"
"I'm already dying."
That was Admiral Louis Latouche-Tréville, who had suddenly risen from a one-star rear admiral to a five-star minister.
"Minister, Russia could invade at any time."
"That's why I sent Brother Napoleon Bonaparte."
"Brigadier General Bonaparte is certainly capable, but we are worried whether he can stop Alexander Suvorov, who annihilated the Polish resistance."
"So what are you suggesting?"
"We would like to issue another mobilization order."
"Oh? Sure. Do as Commander Lafayette suggests."
"Really, Minister?"
"Of course. But next year you'll be armed with bamboo instead of muskets."
"…."
Russia, Russia.
Everyone keeps talking about Russia.
But are those guys actually going to invade?
They declared war and spent two years attacking Poland without even showing their noses near us.
And even if they did invade, wouldn't our Napoleon defeat them all?
Maybe we could reduce the military a little.
"…Minister?"
"Yes?"
"You should come to Versailles immediately."
I had been happily drafting military reduction plans.
How serious could it be?
If it wasn't important, the furious Guillaume would not forgive them.
"I demand that Toussaint Bréda, who massacred French citizens, be executed immediately!"
"Hear! Hear!"
"…You may kill me if you wish. But before that, allow me to meet Minister Guillaume."
"…Damn it. This really is serious."
I quietly asked the deputy who had brought me here.
"What is happening?"
"There was a black uprising in Saint-Domingue. That man is the leader of the rebels. I heard he slaughtered hundreds of white people."
"If that's the case, shouldn't the judiciary handle it? Why involve me?"
"Because executions require the approval of the head of the executive branch."
"I see. When is the trial?"
"It won't be a trial. It will be summary execution, Your Excellency!"
"Who are you?"
I had never seen this face before.
"Nice to meet you! I am Governor François Rouxel de Blanchelande of Saint-Domingue!"
"Ah… I see."
"That man is a vicious criminal who killed hundreds of whites! A trial would be too generous! Summary execution is appropriate, Your Excellency!"
"Governor Blanchelande."
"Yes, Your Excellency."
"Isn't the governor part of the executive branch?"
"That is correct."
"Then why is the executive interfering in the judiciary? I never authorized that."
"B-but he's a black man!"
"Black or not, respect the separation of powers."
The ink on the Declaration of the Rights of Man and Citizen had barely dried.
And already people were talking about summary executions?
If the constitution began to crumble now, all my efforts would become meaningless.
"I will transfer the case to the judiciary for a formal trial."
"Y-Your Excellency!"
"Are you a judge? Capturing a criminal is commendable—but do not overstep your authority."
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