Chapter 144: Liberty, Equality, Fraternity (8) Even though Robespierre had won a sweeping victory in the courtroom and overturned the entire stage, public opinion among ordinary citizens could not yet be viewed optimistically.
Think about it. Even in twenty-first-century South Korea, when people see someone with a different skin color on the street, many still glance over out of curiosity. Wouldn't it be strange if public opinion suddenly flipped overnight in the eighteenth century—an age when absolute monarchy had existed until recently—just because of a single speech?
So what, we just sit here and watch Toussaint die?
Of course not. It simply meant that reversing this kind of public sentiment required a very delicate touch.
To be frank, people are not fond of unfamiliar things. Sometimes that unfamiliarity is food. Sometimes it is an object. At its largest scale, it can even be another person.
When we watch baseball, even if the veteran cleanup hitter from Joseon we've seen for more than ten years is getting old, we still want to see him step up to the plate. We don't want a complete rookie standing there instead.
When televisions first appeared in our living rooms, people called them "idiot boxes." And when smartphones first appeared, people grumbled that someone had stuffed a useless computer into a phone.
But what happened after time passed?
The rookie who replaced the aging veteran became the player fans cheered for the most. The "idiot box" television became a popular gift for parents. Smartphones became a necessity of human life.
People dislike what is unfamiliar, but once it becomes familiar, everyone welcomes it. That is human nature.
Seen from that perspective, it is only natural that the citizens of Paris—who had lived their entire lives among white people—would feel uneasy when seeing a black man for the first time.
"…But what does that have to do with this prison visit?"
"It has everything to do with it, Toussaint."
I pulled out my notebook and spoke.
If we wanted to save Toussaint, we absolutely had to gain the support of the citizens.
To do that, people had to realize that Toussaint was not a monster but an ordinary person like themselves.
Isn't Mr. Jean living in Paris and Mr. Toussaint living in Saint-Domingue fundamentally the same? They both eat bread, sleep at night, and enjoy going out with their families from time to time.
Those human commonalities would become the most powerful weapon we could present to the citizens.
"So tell me everything—how you lived in Saint-Domingue."
"Uh…"
"If you don't know where to start, begin with your family. Your wife, your sons, your daughters."
After all, nothing sells emotion better than heartfelt family love.
[Forbes Exclusive Interview — The Life of Toussaint Bréda]
"Toussaint Bréda… isn't that the black man who committed that massacre or whatever?"
The next day, a small booklet containing the touching love story between Toussaint and his wife Suzanne, along with moving accounts of his fatherly devotion, was loaded into wagon cargo holds and distributed throughout Paris and across France.
July 30, 1792Kingdom of the French Revolution, Port of Toulon
"Wow. So this is the boss's hometown?"
"Ugh, that fishy smell. Well, it's a port after all."
"Enough chatting. Unload the cargo quickly."
From cuirasses to pistols, lead bullets, swords, grenades, and even fuses for gunpowder—equipment that had proved its worth during the suppression of Old Man Duchesne last time.
The employees of Ears of the Nation, who looked as if they had packed more military supplies than soldiers marching into war, finished their inspection and hoisted the cargo onto their shoulders.
For ordinary people, riding in wagons from Paris to Toulon for more than a week would leave their bodies utterly exhausted. But the legs of grenadiers hardened through years of marching treated such fatigue as nothing.
"Haha, quite a group of sturdy men."
"A pleasure to meet you, sir. I am Nicolas Oudinot."
Nicolas Oudinot, Director of the private security company Ears of the Nation, bowed politely to the elderly man he was meeting for the first time.
"Welcome, young man! You've come a long way from Paris! So, is that boy Guillaume doing well?"
"Please don't worry, sir. The boss is doing well."
"Haha, that's good to hear!"
The old man beamed with joy at the news of his youngest son and patted the rough-looking man's shoulder happily.
"Ah, you said time is short, didn't you? This old man shouldn't waste it. Come along. I'll show you the ship that will take you all the way to Saint-Domingue."
"Thank you, sir."
Thirty tall men over 180 centimeters and Oudinot followed the old man to a thirty-meter fast vessel moored at the edge of the harbor.
"It's an eighteen-gun corvette, the Expédition. Compared to grand frigates or ships of the line, she's smaller—but she's faster, which makes her perfect for this mission."
"As expected, an excellent choice, sir."
"So when will you depart?"
"We will depart immediately."
"…Immediately?"
"The boss said time was short. I'm simply following his orders."
"You're quite a bold fellow."
Harbor Master Charles laughed heartily and led the strongly built men—who smelled of pure machismo—onto the ship's deck.
"Captain Villeneuve! The passengers you were waiting for have arrived! Director Oudinot, that gentleman is the captain of the Expédition."
"Greetings! I am Colonel Pierre-Sylvestre Villeneuve of the Navy, captain for this voyage. I will deliver you swiftly to Saint-Domingue."
"A pleasure to meet you. I am Nicolas Oudinot, Director of the private security company Ears of the Nation."
The former army captain and the current naval colonel clasped hands and shook vigorously.
"Our ship is fully prepared for departure. Just say the word if you wish to leave."
"Then let's go immediately."
"I-Immediately, you say?"
"There's no time to hesitate."
After a three-week voyage, the corvette Expédition, carrying Oudinot and the employees of Ears of the Nation, safely entered the port of Saint-Domingue.
At the same time, the instincts Oudinot had honed through war began ringing alarm bells for their master.
Palm trees grew everywhere, and the scenery of Saint-Domingue was clearly different from Europe at a glance. Seeing it, Oudinot silently brushed the pistol and sword at his waist.
Something… something felt wrong.
The unpleasant killing intent he had felt on battlefields seemed to exist here as well.
"Gather around, everyone."
""Yes, Director.""
The thirty former grenadiers—who until a year ago had called each other officers, soldiers, and NCOs—were now becoming accustomed to addressing one another as director, employee, and assistant manager.
"This is a map of Saint-Domingue."
Oudinot hung the map on the wall so all thirty comrades he had personally recruited into Ears of the Nation could see it.
"Director, isn't this something we've already looked at several times? Why the meeting all of a sudden?"
"I have a bad feeling."
At those words from the superior who had rolled through battlefields with them, everyone's eyes sharpened.
"Even if the feeling's bad, why not just crush them with force? What can those bastards possibly do to us?"
"That's right. Colonial security forces are something we can handle with one hand."
"Should we prepare grenades?"
As expected of a group that seemed to have selected only the most reckless among rough grenadiers—they were already talking about smashing the Governor's Office door with pickaxes or throwing grenades inside. What kind of talk was that?
"Rather than being violent from the start, how about letting them slap us first, then pushing back?"
"As expected of the Director!"
"Haha! Exactly."
After all, clean self-defense was far better than writing tedious reports and incident statements afterward.
"This area is restricted! Turn back immediately!"
"I'm afraid that won't be possible."
"This is the Governor's Office! Leave now or you'll be detained under military law!"
"We're from the Ministry of Finance. Step aside."
"…M-Ministry of Finance?"
The sentry in a blue uniform stiffened the moment he heard those words.
"First squad, search the first floor. Second squad, search the second floor."
""Yes, Director.""
"W-Wait… you can't do that…"
"Hey, don't just stand there looking dumb. Move your body out of the way."
"Don't worry. We'll take a quick look and leave."
The men claiming to be from the Ministry of Finance patted the sentry's shoulder jokingly and snickered as they walked into the Governor's Office.
"What's going on? Who are those men?"
"W-What should we do, Lieutenant? They say they're from the Ministry of Finance."
"What? The Ministry of Finance? Damn it… damn it!"
The colonial army lieutenant who rushed over at the commotion turned pale instantly.
"How many troops are currently inside the Governor's Office?"
"Don't tell me… you're planning to attack them?"
"Why? Are you scared?"
"W-Won't Paris come down on us?"
"If those Ministry of Finance bastards get their hands on the ledgers, we're finished either way."
"Sh-Should we bring muskets from the armory?"
"No. We can't cause a disturbance. We'll handle it quietly with swords. They may be big, but they're just desk clerks from the Ministry of Finance. Do you really think they're a match for us—men who fight black rebels?"
The colonial army lieutenant muttered slowly and clearly.
"Close the front gate."
"Sergeant—no, Assistant Manager. Don't those bastards look suspicious?"
"Yeah. I was just thinking they look suspicious as hell."
"It's written all over their faces that they're about to stab us in the back."
"Hm. Should we strike first?"
"What does the Director say?"
"I'll go ask."
The mustached assistant manager approached Nicolas Oudinot, who was searching the governor's office on the second floor.
"Director Oudinot. Those bastards look like they're preparing to stab us in the back."
"…So?"
"Wouldn't it be better to strike first?"
"We follow the boss's orders and the Ministry of Finance's orders. No independent action. As I said earlier, don't give them an excuse—better to offer them our heads first."
Oudinot lifted a heavy wooden desk and examined underneath it before speaking again.
"If they hit us first, then it becomes self-defense."
"As expected of the Director! Absolutely correct!"
"Men! Attack! They're just desk clerks!"
"Waaaah!!"
"Ah, I'm dying!"
"Mother!"
The supposed Ministry of Finance clerks from Paris screamed in terror when the colonial troops suddenly charged at them with gleaming longswords.
Good. That should firmly seize the initiative.
"We bear you no personal grudge. You merely saw something you should not have seen. Lay down your swords and surrender now, and I will send you off painlessly. Otherwise, I will throw you alive into the jungle and feed you to the beasts!"
The colonial lieutenant stepped forward proudly and shouted at the Parisian clerks.
Soon the clerks—who could do nothing but play with numbers—would be sobbing and collapsing in tears.
After that, all that remained was to sink the ship they arrived on somewhere in the open sea.
Thinking about how cleanly he had handled everything, the lieutenant's grin stretched nearly to his ears.
But the voices he heard from the clerks carried laughter rather than fear.
"Wow, thanks! You've given us a perfect excuse to crush you."
"…What?"
As expected, quietly behaving like bureaucrats didn't suit Oudinot's temperament at all.
"Men! Now that they've drawn swords, this counts as self-defense, doesn't it!"
""The Director is right!""
"W-What are you talking about—"
Enjoying the lieutenant's stunned expression, Oudinot drew his longsword and shouted.
"Grenadiers! Charge!!"
"Waaaah!!"
"Ki-ri-whi-ri-whooo!!"
"Aaaah!! The clerks have gone mad!!"
Oudinot rushed forward like an arrow toward the lieutenant while leaving the other colonial troops to his subordinates.
Colonial forces were second-rate units at best, not homeland defense troops. Which meant that once the head was cut off, the rabble would collapse on their own.
"Y-You…! What do you think I am, you bastard!"
Seeing through that audacious intent, the lieutenant thrust his sword toward Oudinot's chest with all his strength.
But Oudinot lightly deflected the blade, stepped close, and kicked the lieutenant's chest with his right foot.
"Ugh!"
The kick from the 180-centimeter giant sent the lieutenant flying across the polished marble floor, his sword slipping from his hand.
"What do I think you are? At best, some countryside officer playing boss in a rural alley."
"Argh!"
"I arrest you for attempting to harm Ministry of Finance personnel dispatched from Paris—and for destruction of evidence."
Oudinot said this while stepping on the back of the fallen lieutenant's head with his boot.
"Director! We found something like a safe key!"
"Oh? Hey. You there."
"W-What…"
"That key. Do you know what it's for?"
Looking down at the lieutenant pinned beneath his boot, Oudinot spoke calmly.
"I… I don't know…"
"Haa… think carefully. I'm giving you a choice. Will your head be cut off at the guillotine, or will you rot in prison for ten or twenty years? Who knows—if you cooperate well, maybe I'll help reduce your sentence in court."
"..."
The lieutenant's eyes darted back and forth while his face was pressed against the ground.
"AAAAH!"
"Where do you think you're rolling your eyes?"
"I'll do it! I will! I'll cooperate! Please!"
The colonial lieutenant began shouting through tears.
Only then did Oudinot lift his boot and speak with satisfaction.
"Good. It would have been nice if you'd started like that."
Three weeks later—August 24.
Countless secret ledgers arrived at the French Ministry of Finance in Paris.
Of course, a few property-damage incident reports were mixed in with them.
But really—who would care?
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