Chapter 138: Liberty, Equality, Fraternity (2) "Y-Your Excellency. That is not what I meant…"
"If that's not the case, then that's good. But for someone who is the governor of Saint-Domingue, coming all the way to Paris just to arrest a single criminal… you must have a lot of free time."
"E-Excuse me?"
The governor stammered, his face full of confusion.
While some people ran themselves ragged traveling between Paris and Versailles Palace, others enjoyed the sweet life in the warm resorts of the Atlantic Ocean. From my perspective, that felt rather unfair.
"H-Haha! Of course, the position of governor is extremely busy, but as an administrator who receives the nation's salary, I wished to personally witness a criminal who threatened the people receive judgment under the law…!"
"Ah, so you are a man with a strong sense of justice. Don't worry, Governor. I have complete faith that our judiciary will deliver a fair and impartial verdict."
What an admirable professional spirit.
I raised my hand and patted the frozen governor on the shoulder a few times.
Determining the truth and sentencing criminals was the work of judges.
Bureaucrats like you and me simply waited for the verdict and followed it.
Turning my head, I addressed one of the deputies who had brought me here.
"Please inform Leader Emmanuel-Joseph Sieyès and Leader Maximilien Robespierre that our executive branch will respect the decisions of the legislative and judicial branches."
"Of course, Your Excellency. On behalf of the National Assembly, we thank you for upholding the separation of powers."
"It's nothing. It's simply what must be done. Now then, Governor, you should return to Paris and wait for the trial date. Staying in Versailles Palace will only be uncomfortable for you."
"W-Why is that, Your Excellency?"
"There aren't enough toilets here."
That was Guillaume de Toulon's life tip.
In a palace as enormous as Versailles Palace, there were only two proper toilets. How did that make any sense?
"A formal trial just to deal with a single black criminal? This is absurd! At this rate we'll burn down the whole warehouse just to kill a flea!"
The governor wiped his face with cold hands as pale as drained blood.
His heart pounded anxiously.
What if that black man said something reckless during the trial? What if an investigation into Saint-Domingue began?
"Please don't worry too much, Governor. Public opinion is on our side."
The secretary spoke while the governor paced the room nervously.
"I made sure to spread the story to all the Paris newspapers. By tomorrow the citizens of Paris will be gathering to demand the execution of that wicked black villain."
"Oh? Explain in more detail."
The governor's eyes gleamed.
"Separation of powers or not, judges are still human. After being bombarded by such public opinion, they won't be able to ignore it."
This man…
Was he a genius?
"Hahaha! What a brilliant plan! You are my Richelieu and my Mazarin!"
"Hahaha! Governor, you are like Emperor Charlemagne to me!"
"Oh, you flatter me!"
The two corrupt officials from faraway Saint-Domingue spent quite a long time exchanging praises until their backsides nearly wore out from the flattery.
[Black bandit leader who killed 300 innocent whites captured thanks to the Saint-Domingue Governor's Office!]
[A formal trial for a black slave? Is that truly right?]
[The notorious mass murderer Toussaint Bréda—who is he?]
[The fate of whites who granted freedom to blacks! White men, raise the whip!]
The hand holding the newspaper trembled.
Cold sweat flowed down from the crown of his head, slid past the bridge of his nose, and dripped onto the wooden floor, leaving dark stains.
"…Pétion? Mr. Pétion? Alexandre Pétion!"
"Ah—yes! Vice President Florian! What is it?"
Startled by the voice calling him, Pétion answered loudly.
"Well… your complexion has looked terrible for a while. Is something wrong?"
"No, nothing at all. Haha…!"
As usual, Pétion scratched the back of his head awkwardly and laughed.
But Florian stared at him suspiciously.
"We've known each other and worked together for years. Are you really going to try to brush this off again? Tell me. What exactly is bothering you so much?"
"…To be honest, it's because of today's newspapers."
"What kind of—…ah."
Hearing that the subject was a black man, Florian fell silent before speaking again.
"Please don't worry too much about those articles, Mr. Pétion. Thinking about that garbage will only hurt you."
"…You think so?"
"Of course. Who among us would believe such nonsense when we know how kind you are?"
Pétion listened silently as Florian set the documents he had been reading neatly on the desk.
"You know, in a way I climbed up here from the very bottom of Paris. From my experience, judging a person's character by skin color is the most ridiculous nonsense imaginable."
When he was a laborer living hand-to-mouth, had any black people looked down on him?
No.
They had all been white.
"Take Orléans or Jacques René Hébert. Aren't they both white?"
"…."
"Skin color is just packaging. Don't take it to heart. Doesn't the boss always say the same thing?"
"As long as the work gets done, that's what matters?"
"Exactly."
"…."
"Well, if you're really troubled, you can take a day off and clear your head."
"…Thank you."
"It's nothing. As vice president, it's the least I can do. But when you come back, you'll have to work hard again."
Florian said this with a bright smile.
The small single room was cramped for several people but perfectly adequate for someone living alone.
Lying on the bed inside, a young man stared silently at the ceiling.
The only sound in the room was the occasional distant voices of people outside.
Otherwise, silence wandered around the bed where the young man lay.
But it was not the same silence he had known in the land where he was born—Saint-Domingue—or at the military academy in Paris.
This was a far more unpleasant silence.
It felt as if invisible insects were gnawing at his soul.
Unable to shake the sensation, Alexandre Pétion finally rose from the bed and began reading the newspapers again, one after another.
Every article was filled with demands that the unknown black man named Toussaint Bréda be executed immediately.
Articles claiming that three hundred whites had died at his hands.
Others saying four hundred.
Some even claimed five hundred.
There were even articles demanding that all free blacks be suppressed immediately.
Pétion felt the source of the unpleasant feeling almost within reach.
So he read again.
Dozens of newspapers, from beginning to end.
Again and again.
After spending hours reading the papers blankly, Pétion finally realized what the discomfort was.
"…Nowhere does it contain Toussaint Bréda's own words."
Even the newspapers that briefly summarized the statements of serious criminals like Duke of Orléans and Jacques René Hébert printed their words.
But nowhere in the newspapers could he find the voice of the black man Toussaint Bréda.
Pétion clenched his teeth so hard that they nearly cracked, and he wept quietly.
Do we black people truly not belong in this world? Is there an invisible wall before us?
It was unbearable.
Why did the principle of presumption of innocence in the Declaration of the Rights of Man and Citizen not apply to them?
His throat tightened.
His fists clenched so tightly that his palms hurt from the pressure of his nails.
He wanted to run outside immediately, grab someone by the trousers, and ask them.
What had we done wrong?
Why would they not even print a single word we said?
Why did they look at us that way?
Wasn't this supposed to be a new France of liberty, equality, and fraternity?
In the end, was it liberty, equality, and fraternity only for whites?
Something that belonged only to them?
Pétion's eyes fell on the military uniform hanging on the wall—the one he had received upon graduating from the academy.
He stared at it quietly, then took it down and slowly began putting it on.
Just as he had stood shoulder to shoulder with the other white cadets during his academy days, he put on the spotless white uniform.
Alright… finished!
Damn, today almost killed me.
Because I had to go all the way to Versailles Palace, time was so tight that I nearly had to stay up two nights straight.
I stamped the final report from the Ministry of Finance and stretched.
Seriously, work like this deserves triple overtime pay.
Please recognize my efforts, Chairman Mirabeau.
"Hehe! Time to go home!"
Putting on my coat, I hurried out of the cursed office to enjoy the pleasant night air.
Ah…
The feeling of leaving work while breathing the night air was almost addictive.
But the moment I stepped outside, someone standing at the door blocked my path.
"Boss… no, Senior."
"What's this, Mr. Pétion? What's going on?"
And why was he wearing his cadet uniform?
Did my salary somehow force him to wear that?
But the words that came from Pétion's mouth were not about a salary raise.
"May this junior ask you something?"
"…Of course. What is it?"
I replied in a serious tone.
"The liberty, equality, and fraternity you spoke of—how far do they apply?"
His lips trembled as he continued.
"Do they… do they apply to us black people as well?"
Ah.
So that was it.
"…I cannot say definitively, since I was not the one who wrote the full text of the Declaration of the Rights of Man and Citizen."
I thought for a moment before answering slowly.
"I believe they apply to anyone who considers themselves French, behaves as a French person, and speaks as a French person."
"…A person…"
"Then, Senior… do you consider us black people to be human?"
"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"
"Ah…! Ah!"
Pétion's legs collapsed.
"Boss! Please—please listen to the voice of Toussaint Bréda just once!"
"…The floor is cold. Please stand up, Mr. Pétion."
"Please, just listen to our voice once, Senior…!"
I grasped his shoulders and helped him up.
"Very well. Alexandre Pétion, my junior, I promise you this. But you'll catch a cold if you stay like this. Come on, get up. Hold onto my shoulder."
"Th-thank you… Thank you, Boss…"
Looks like I'll have to wake up a little earlier tomorrow morning.
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