Stone That the Builder Refused - Madison Smartt Bell [3]
And still, Toussaint considered, more shame was due the men who had betrayed him . . . of the three letters snug in his coat lining, one, from Chief of Battalion Pesquidoux, was of small consequence. He had simply happened to receive it the same day as the other two . . . that last day.
The first from Leclerc—and this, after all difficulty had been smoothed between them. Toussaint had at last acknowledged the authority of the Captain-General, had formally retired both from the Governor-Generalship and the French army, and withdrawn with his family to his plantations surrounding Ennery. And yet the oily words of Leclerc still pursued him there: Since you persist in thinking that the large number of troops now found at Plaisance are frightening the cultivators there, I have charged General Brunet to arrange the placement of a part of those troops with you...2
This letter enclosed in another from Brunet:
Here is the moment, Citizen General, to make it known in an indisputable manner to the General in Chief that those who may have been able to deceive him on the subject of your good faith are nothing but miserable slanderers, and that your own sentiments have no tendency but to restore order and tranquillity to the area where you live. It is essential that you support me in this matter. We have, my dear general, some arrangements to make together which cannot be dealt with by letter, but which a conference of one hour would complete. Were I not overcome by work and troublesome details, I’d be today the bearer of my own response, but as I am unable to leave these days, come to me yourself, and if you are recovered from your indisposition, let it be tomorrow. One must never delay when it is a question of doing good. You will not find, at my country plantation, all the amenities I would wish to organize for your reception, but you will find there the frankness of a gallant man who has no other wish but for the prosperity of the colony and your own personal happiness . . .
La bonne foi, indeed. Toussaint sniffed and leaned sideways to spit through the gap in his front teeth onto the ashes in the hearth. Good faith . . . that Brunet and Leclerc should soil that phrase with their duplicitous tongues. Or Napoleon Bonaparte himself, for that matter. To whom Toussaint had appealed, most recently, for not only justice but mercy.
He stretched his hands toward the fire, palms down, seeking what heat still rose from the fading embers. A glance at the woodpile, so meagerly replenished, let him know that he must not build it higher, since this small store must be eked out for all of the day and the evening. But more than the cold, it was the constant damp which troubled him. He released a wet cough from the ache in his chest, and glanced over his shoulder at the pearlescent, oozing wall. It seemed to him that his left hand grew slightly warmer than his right. With an effort of his will, he stopped both hands from trembling.
His memorandum, that legal résumé of his self-justification and self-defense, had been penned to his dictation by a secretary procured by Baille. At the last minute, after the secretary had departed, Toussaint had added a final note in his own hand, his own uncertain orthography, before finally presenting the packet to Caffarelli for delivery:
Premier Consul, Père de toutes les militre. De fanseur des innosant,juige integre, prononcé dont sure un homme quie plus malheure que couppable. Gairice mes plai, illé tre profonde, vous seul pourretpoeter les remede, saluter et lan pé ché de ne jamai ouver, vous sete medecien, ma position et mes service mérite toute votre a tantion et je conte an tierment sur votre justice et