Ed Piacentino, Seeds of Rebellion in Plantation Fiction: Victor Séjour's "The Mulatto"

"Ten days later, two white creole children were playing in the street.

" 'Charles, 'one said to the other: 'is it true that the mulatto woman who wanted to kill her master is to be hung tomorrow?'

" 'At eight o'clock,' answered the other.

" 'Will you go?'

" 'Oh yes, certainly.'

" 'Won't that be fine, to see her pirouetting between the earth and the sky,' rejoined the first, laughing as they walked off.

"Does it surprise you to hear two children, at ten years of age, conversing so gayly on the death of another? This is, perhaps, an inevitable consequence of their education. From their earliest days, they have heard it ceaselessly repeated, that we were born to serve them, that we were created to attend to their whims, and that they need have no more or less consideration for us than for a dog. . . . Indeed, what is our agony and suffering to them? Have they not, just as often, seen their best horses die? They don't weep for them, for they're rich, and tomorrow they'll buy others.. . . While these two children were speaking, Georges was at the feet of his master.

" 'Master, have mercy . . . mercy. . . .' he cried out,. weeping. . . . 'Have pity on her . . Master, pardon her. . . . Oh! yes, pardon her, it is in your power . . . oh! speak ... you have only to say the word ... just one word . . . and she will live.'

"Alfred made no answer.

" 'Oh! for pity's sake . . . master . . . for pity's sake, tell me you pardon her . . . oh! speak ... answer me, master . . . won't you pardon her.. ..' The unhappy man was bent double with pain. . . .

" Alfred remained impassive, turning his head aside. . .

" ‘Oh!' continued Georges, begging, 'please answer . . . just one word ... please say something; you see how your silence is tearing my heart in two . . . it's killing me . . .

" 'There's nothing I can do,' Alfred finally answered, in an icy tone.

" The mulatto dried his tears, and raised himself to his full height.

" 'Master,' he continued in a hollow voice, 'do you remember what you said to me, as I lay twisting in agony on my bed?'

" 'No….'

" 'Well! I can remember . . . the master said to the slave: you saved my life; what can I grant you in return? Do you want your freedom? 'Master,' answered the slave, 'I can never be free, while my son and my wife are slaves.' To which the master replied: 'If ever you ask me, I swear that your wishes shall be granted'; and the slave did not ask, for he was content that he had saved his master's life . . . but today, today when he knows that, in eighteen hours, his wife will no longer be among the living, he flies to throw himself at your feet, and to call out to you: master, in God's name, save my wife.' And the mulatto, his hands clasped, with a supplicating gaze, fell to his knees and began to cry, his tears falling like rain. . . .

"Alfred turned his head away. . . .

" 'Master . . . master . . . for pity, give me an answer.. . . Oh! say that you want her to live . . . in God's name . . . in your mother's name . . . mercy . . . have mercy upon us. . . .' and the mulatto kissed the dust at his feet.

"Alfred stood silent.

" 'But speak, at least, to this poor man who begs you,' he said, sobbing. "Alfred said nothing.

" 'My God . . . my God! how miserable I am . . .' and he rolled on the floor, pulling at his hair in torment.

"Finally, Alfred decided to speak: 'I have already told you that it is no longer up to me to pardon her.'

" 'Master,' murmured Georges, still crying, 'she will probably be condemned; for only you and I know that she is innocent.'

" At these words from the mulatto, the blood rose to Alfred's face, and fury to his heart. . . .

"Georges understood that it was no longer time to beg, for he had raised the veil that covered his master's crime; thus he stood up resolutely.

" 'Leave . . . get out,' Alfred shouted at him.

"Instead of leaving, the mulatto crossed his arms on his chest and, with a fierce look, eyed his master scornfully from head to foot.

" 'Get out! get out, I say,' continued Alfred, more and more angrily.

" 'I'm not leaving,' answered Georges.

" 'This is defiance, you wretch.' He made a motion to strike him, but his hand remained at his side, so full of pride and hatred was George's gaze.

" 'What! you can leave her to be killed, to have her throat cut, to be murdered,' said the mulatto, 'when you know her to be innocent . . . when, like a coward, you wanted to seduce her?'

" 'Insolent! What are you saying?'

" 'I'm saying that it would be an infamous deed to let her die. . .

" 'Georges ... Georges. . .

" 'I am saying that you're a scoundrel,' screamed Georges, giving full rein to his anger, and seizing Alfred by the arm . . . 'ah! she'll die . . . she will die because she didn't prostitute herself to you . . . because you're white ... because you're her master . . . you lying coward.'

" 'Careful, Georges,' replied Alfred, trying to take a tone of assurance. `Be careful that instead of one victim tomorrow, the executioner does not find two.'

" 'You talk of victim and executioner, wretch,' shouted Georges. . . . 'So that means she dies . . . her . . . my Zelia ... but you should know that her life is linked to your own.'

" 'Georges!'

" 'You should know that your head will remain on your shoulders only so long as she lives.'

" 'Georges.. . Georges!'

" 'You should know that I will kill you, that I'll drink your blood, if even a hair on her head is harmed.'

"During all this time, the mulatto was shaking Alfred with all his strength.

" 'Let me go,' cried Alfred.

" 'Ah! she's dying . . . she's dying' . . . the mulatto screamed deliriously. " 'Georges, let me go!'

" 'Shut your mouth . . . shut it, you scoundrel ... ah! she's dying ... well then, should the executioner put an end to my wife . . .' he continued with a hideous smile.

"Alfred was so agitated he didn't even know that Georges had left. He went directly to his hut, where his child of two years was sleeping in a light cradle made from lianas; taking up the child, he slipped away. In order to understand what follows, you must know that there was only a small river to cross from Alfred's home before one arrives in the midst of those thick forests that seem to hold the new world in their arms.

"For six long hours, Georges walked without a rest; at last he stopped, a few steps from a hut built in the deepest heart of the forest; you'll understand the joy that shone in his eyes when you realize that this tiny hut, isolated as it is, is the camp of the Maroons; that is, of slaves who have fled the tyranny of their masters. At this moment the hut was filled with murmurs; for a rustling had been heard in the forest, and the leader, swearing that the noise was not that of any animal, had taken his rifle and gone out.... Suddenly the underbrush parted before him and he found himself face to face with a stranger.

" 'By my freedom,' he cried, looking over the newcomer, 'you found our recess all too easily.'

" 'Africa and freedom,' Georges replied calmly, as he pushed aside the barrel of the rifle. . . . I'm one of you.'

" 'Your name.'

" 'Georges, slave of Alfred.'

"They shook hands and embraced.

"The next day the crowd clamored round a scaffold, from which hung the body of a young mulatto woman. ... When she had expired, the executioner let her corpse down into a pine coffin and, ten minutes later, body and coffin were thrown into a ditch that was opened at the edge of the forest.

"Thus this woman, for having been too virtuous, died the kind of death meted out to the vilest criminal. Would this alone not suffice to render the gentlest of men dangerous and bloodthirsty?"