The Hour and the Man, An Historical Romance

  CHAPTER FORTY ONE.

  HALF FREE.

  Autumn faded, and the long winter of the Jura came on, without bringingchanges of any importance to the prisoners--unless it were that, inaddition to the wood-fire, which scarcely kept up the warmth of life intheir bodies, they were allowed a stove. This indulgence was not inanswer to any request of theirs. Toussaint early discovered that Rubautwould grant nothing that was asked for, but liked to bestow a favourspontaneously, now and then. This was a clear piece of instruction; bywhich, however, Mars Plaisir was slow to profit. Notwithstanding hismaster's explanations and commands, and his own promises, ferventlygiven when they were alone, he could never see the Commandant withoutpouting out all his complaints, and asking for everything relating toexternal comfort that his master had been accustomed to at Pongaudin. Astove, not being among the articles of furniture there, was not askedfor; and thus this one comfort was not intercepted by being named.Books were another. Mars Plaisir had been taught to read and write inone of the public schools in the island; but his tastes did not lie inthe direction of literature; and he rarely remembered that he possessedthe accomplishment of being able to read, except when circumstancescalled upon him to boast of his country and his race. Books weretherefore brought, two at a time, with the Commandant's compliments; twoat a time, for the rule of treating the prisoners as equals was exactlyobserved. This civility brought great comfort to Toussaint--thegreatest except solitude. He always chose to suppose that Mars Plaisirwas reading when he held a book: and he put a book into his hands dailywhen he opened his own. Many an hour did he thus obtain for theindulgence of his meditations; and while his servant was wondering howhe could see to read by the dim light which came in at the window--moredim each day, as the snow-heap there rose higher--or by the fitful flameof the fire, his thoughts were far away, beating about amidst thestruggle then probably going on in Saint Domingo; or exploring, withwonder and sorrow, the narrow and darkened passages of that mind whichhe had long taken to be the companion of his own; or springing forwardinto the future, and reposing in serene faith on the condition of hispeople when, at length, they should possess their own souls, and havelearned to use their human privileges. Many a time did Mars Plaisir,looking off from a volume of the Philosophical Dictionary, which yieldedno amusement to him, watch the bright smile on his master's face, andsuppose it owing to the jokes in the Racine he held, when that smilearose from pictures formed within of the future senates, schools,courts, and virtuous homes, in which his dusky brethren would hereafterbe exercising and securing their lights. Not ungratefully did he usehis books the while. He read and enjoyed; but his greatest obligationsto them were for the suggestions they afforded, the guidance theyoffered to his thoughts to regions amidst which his prison and hissufferings were forgotten.

  At times, the servant so far broke through his habitual deference forhis master as to fling down his book upon the table, and then begpardon, saying that they should both go mad if they did not make somenoise. When he saw the snow falling perpetually, noiseless as the dew,he longed for the sheeted rains of his own winter, splashing as if todrown the land. Here, there was only the eternal drip, drip, which hisear was weary of months ago.

  "Cannot you fancy it rain-drops falling from a palm-leaf? Shut youreyes and try," said his master.

  It would not do. Mars Plaisir complained that the Commandant hadpromised that this drip should cease when the frosts of winter came.

  "So it might, but for our stove. But then our ears would have beenfrozen up, too. We should have been underground by this time--whichthey say we are not now, though it is hard, sometimes to believe them.However, we shall hear something by-and-by that will drown the drip.Among these mountains, there must be thunder. In the summer, MarsPlaisir, we may hear thunder."

  "In the summer!" exclaimed Mars Plaisir, covering his face with hishands.

  "That is, not you, but I. I hope they will let you out long before thesummer."

  "Does your Excellency hope so?" cried Mars Plaisir, springing to hisfeet.

  "Certainly, my poor fellow. The happiest news I expect ever to hear isthat you are to be released: and this news I do expect to hear. Theywill not let you go home, to tell where I am; but they will take you outof this place."

  "Oh, your Excellency! if you think so, would your Excellency be pleasedto speak for me--to ask the Commandant to let me out? If you will tellhim that my rheumatism will not let me sleep--I do not want to go home--I do not want to leave your Excellency, except for your Excellency'sgood. I would say all I could for you, and kneel to the First Consul;and, if they would not set you free, I would--" Here his voice faltered,but he spoke the words--"I would come back into your Excellency'sservice in the summer--when I had got cured of my rheumatism. If youwould speak a word to the Commandant!"

  "I would, if I were not sure of injuring you by doing so. Do you notsee that nothing is to be granted us that we ask for? Speak not anotherword of liberty, and you may have it. Ask for it, and you are here forlife--or for my life. Remember!"

  Mars Plaisir stood deep in thought.

  "You have never asked for your liberty?" said his master. "No. I knewthat, for my sake, you had not. Has no one ever mentioned liberty toyou? I understand," he continued, seeing an expression of confusion inthe poor fellow's face. "Do not tell me anything; only hear me. Iffreedom should be offered to you, take it. It is my wish--it is mycommand. Is there more wood? None but this?"

  "None but this damp wood that chokes us with smoke. They send us theworst wood--the green, damp wood that the poorest of the whites in thecastle will not use," cried Mars Plaisir, striving to work off hisemotions in a fit of passion. He kicked the unpromising log into thefireplace as he exclaimed--

  "They think the worst of everything good enough for us, because we areblacks. Oh! oh!" Here his wrath was aggravated by a twinge ofrheumatism. "They think anything good enough for blacks."

  "Let them think so," said his master, kindly. "God does not. God didnot think so when He gave us the soil of Africa, and the sun of SaintDomingo. When he planted the gardens of the world with palms, it wasfor the blacks. When He spread the wide shade of the banyan, He made atent for the blacks. When He filled the air with the scent of thecinnamon and the cacao, was it not for the blacks to enjoy thefragrance? Has He not given them music? Has he not given them love anda home? What has He not given them? Let the whites think of us as theywill! They shall be welcome to a share of what God gave the blacks,though they return us nothing better than wet wood, to warm us amongtheir snows."

  "It is true," said Mars Plaisir, his complacency completelyrestored--"God thinks nothing too good for the blacks. I will tell theFirst Consul so, if--"

  "The First Consul would rather hear something else from you: and youknow, Mars Plaisir, the whites laugh at us for our boastings. However,tell the First Consul what you will."

  Again was Mars Plaisir silenced, and his countenance confused.Perpetually, from this hour did he drop words which showed anexpectation of seeing the First Consul--words which were never noticedby his master. Every time that the increasing weakness and pain underwhich Toussaint suffered forced themselves on his servant'sobservation--whenever the skeleton hands were rubbed in his own, torelieve cramps and restore warmth; or the friendly office was returned,in spite of the shame and confusion of the servant at finding himselfthus served--with every drift of snow which blocked up the window--andevery relaxation of frost, which only increased the worse evil of thedamp--Mars Plaisir avowed or muttered the persuasive things he would sayto the First Consul.

  Toussaint felt too much sympathy to indulge in much contempt for hiscompanion. He, too, found it hard to be tortured with cramps, and wrungby spasms--to enjoy no respite from vexations of body and spirit. He,too, found the passage to the grave weary and dreary. And, as for aninterview with Bonaparte, for how long had this been his first desire!How distinctly had it of late been the reserve of his hope! Remindinghimself, t
oo, of the effects on the wretched of an indefinite hope, suchas the unsettled mind and manners of his servant convinced him, more andmore, had been held out--he could not, in the very midst of scenes ofincreasing folly and passion, despise poor Mars Plaisir. He mistrustedhim, however, and with a more irksome mistrust continually, while hebecame aware that Mars Plaisir was in the habit of lamenting SaintDomingo chiefly for the sake of naming Christophe and Dessalines, thecompanies in the mornes, the fever among the whites, and whatever mightbe most likely to draw his master into conversation on the hopes andresources of the blacks. He became more and more convinced that theweakness of his companion was practised upon, and possibly hisattachment to his master, by promises of good to both, on condition ofinformation furnished. He was nearly certain that he had once heard thedoor of the cell closed gently, as he was beginning to awake, in themiddle of the night; and he was quite sure that he one day saw MarsPlaisir burn a note, as he replenished the fire, while he thought hismaster was busy reading. Not even these mysterious proceedings couldmake Toussaint feel anything worse than sorrowing pity for Mars Plaisir.

  The Commandant had ceased to visit his prisoners. During the rest ofthe winter, he never came. He sent books occasionally, but lessfrequently. The supply of firewood was gradually diminished; and so wasthe quantity of food. The ailments of the prisoners were aggravated,from day-to-day; and if the Commandant had favoured them with hispresence, he would have believed that he saw two dusky shadows amidstthe gloom of their cell, rather than men.

  One morning, Toussaint awoke, slowly and with difficulty, from a sleepwhich appeared to have been strangely sound for one who could not move alimb without pain, and who rarely, therefore, slept for many minutestogether. It must have been strangely long, too; for the light was asstrong as it had ever been at noon in this dim cell. Before he rose,Toussaint felt that there was sunshine in the air; and the thought thatspring was come, sent a gleam of pleasure through his spirit. It wastrue enough. As he stood before the window, something like a shadowmight be seen on the floor. No sky--not a shred the breadth of hishand--was to be seen. For six months past, he had behold neither cloud,nor star, nor the flight of a bird. But, casting a glance up to theperpendicular rock opposite, he saw that it faintly reflected sunshine.He saw, moreover, something white moving--some living creature upon thisrock. It was a young kid, standing upon a point or ledge imperceptiblebelow--by its action, browsing upon some vegetation which could not beseen so far-off.

  "Mars Plaisir! Mars Plaisir!" cried Toussaint. "Spring is come! Theworld is alive again, even here. Mars Plaisir!" There was no answer.

  "He has slept deeply and long, like myself," said he, going, however,into the darker corner of the cell where Mars Plaisir's bed was laid.The straw was there, but no one was on it. The stove was warm, butthere was no fire in the fireplace. The small chest allowed for theprisoners' clothes was gone--everything was gone but the two volumes inwhich they had been reading the night before. Toussaint shook thesebooks, to see if any note had been hidden in them. He explored them atthe window, to discover any word of farewell that might be written onblank leaf or margin. There was none there; nor any scrap of paperhidden in the straw, or dropped upon the floor. Mars Plaisir was gone,and had left no token.

  "They drugged me--hence my long sleep," thought Toussaint. "They knewthe poor fellow's weakness, and feared his saying too much, when it cameto parting. I hope they will treat him well, for (thanks to my care forhim!) he never betrayed me to them. I treated him well in taking carethat he should not betray me to them, while they yet so far believedthat he might as to release him. It is all well; and I am alone! It isalmost like being in the free air. I am almost as free as yonder kid onthe rock. My wife! my children! I may name you all now--name you in mythoughts and in my song. Placide! are you rousing the nations to askthe tyrant where I am? Henri! have you buried the dead whites yet inSaint Domingo? and have your rains done weeping the treason of thosedead against freedom? Let it be so, Henri! Your rains have washed outthe blood of this treason; and your dews have brought forth the verdureof your plains, to cover the graves of the guilty and the fallen. Takethis lesson home, Henri! Forget--not me, for you must remember me incarrying on my work--but forget how you lost me. Believe that I fell inthe mornes, and that you buried me there; believe this, rather than shedone drop of blood for me. Learn of God, not of Bonaparte, how to blessour race. Poison their souls no more with blood. The sword and thefever have done their work, and tamed your tyrants. As for the rest,act with God for our people! Give them harvests to their hands; andopen the universe of knowledge before their eyes. Give them rest andstillness in the summer heats: and shelter them in virtuous and busyhomes from the sheeted rains. It is enough that blood was the price offreedom--a heavy price, which has been paid. Let there be no suchbarter for vengeance. My children, hear me! Wherever you are--in thecourt of our tyrant, or on the wide sea, or on the mountain-top, wherethe very storms cannot make themselves heard so high--yet let yourfather's voice reach you from his living grave! No vengeance!Freedom--freedom to the last drop of blood in the veins of our race!Let our island be left to the wild herds and the reptiles, rather thanbe the habitation of slaves: but if you have established freedom there,it is holy ground, and no vengeance must profane it. If you love me andmy race, you must forgive my murderers. Yes, murderers," he pursued inthought, after dwelling a while on the images of home and familiarfaces, "murderers they already are, doubtless, in intent. I should havebeen sent hence long ago, but for the hope of reaching my counselsthrough Mars Plaisir. From the eyes of the world I have alreadydisappeared; and nothing hinders the riddance of me now. Feeble as Iam, the waiting for death may yet be tedious. If tedious for him whohas this day done with me, how tedious for me, who have done with himand with all the world!--done with them, except as to the affectionswith which one may look back upon them from the clear heights on theother side of the dark valley. That I should pine and shiver long inthe shadows of that valley would be tedious to him who drove me therebefore my time, and to me. He has never submitted to what is tedious,and he will not now."

  The door of the cell was here softly opened, a head showed itself, andimmediately disappeared. Toussaint silently watched the kid, as itmoved from point to point on the face of the rock: and it was with somesorrow that he at last saw it spring away. Just then, Bellines enteredwith the usual miserable breakfast. Toussaint requested fire, to whichBellines assented. He then asked to have the window opened, that theair of the spring morning might enter. Bellines shrugged his shoulders,and observed that the air of these March mornings was sharp. Theprisoner persisted, however; and with the fresh air, there came in uponhim a fresh set of thoughts. Calling Bellines back, he desired, in atone of authority, to see the Commandant.

  It was strange to him--he wondered at himself on finding his mind filledwith a new enterprise--with the idea of making a last appeal to Rubautfor freedom--an appeal to his justice, not to his clemency. With thechill breeze, there had entered the tinkle of the cow-bell, and thevoices of children singing. These called up a vivid picture of thevalley, as he had seen it on entering his prison--the small green level,the gushing stream, the sunny rock, the girl with her distaff, tendingthe goats. He thought he could show his title to, at least, a freesight of the face of nature; and the impulse did not immediately die.During the morning, he listened for footsteps without. After somehours, he smiled at his own hope, and nearly ceased to listen. The faceof the rock grow dim; the wind rose, and sleet was driven in at thewindow: so that he was compelled to use his stiff and aching limbs inclimbing up to shut it. No one had remembered, or had chosen to makehis fire; and he was shivering, as in an ague fit, when, late in theafternoon, Bellines brought in his second meal, and some fuel.

  "The Commandant?"

  "The Commandant is not in the castle. He is absent to-day."

  "Where?"

  "They say the First Consul has business with him."
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  "With me rather," thought Toussaint. He said aloud, "Then he is gonewith my servant?"

  "May be so. They went the same road; but that road leads to manyplaces."

  "The road from Pontarlier?"

  "Any road--all our roads here lead to many places," said Bellines, as hewent out.

  "Poor Mars Plaisir!" thought Toussaint, as he carefully placed the woodso as to tempt the feeble blaze. "Our road has seemed the same for thelast eight months; but it leads to widely different points. I rejoicefor him that his has parted off to-day; and for myself, though it showsthat I am near the end of mine. Is it this soldier, with comrades, whois to end me? Or is it this supper, better drugged than that of lastnight? Or will they wait to see whether solitude will kill a busy,ambitious Commander-in-Chief, as they think me?"