Cover image for The Black Count
Title:
The Black Count

Glory, Revolution, Betrayal, and the Real Count of Monte Cristo (Pulitzer Prize for Biography)
Author:
Reiss, Tom
Subject:
History
African American Nonfiction
Nonfiction
Description:
WINNER OF THE 2013 PULITZER PRIZE FOR BIOGRAPHYGeneral Alex Dumas is a man almost unknown today, yet his story is strikingly familiar—because his son, the novelist Alexandre Dumas, used his larger-than-life feats as inspiration for such classics as The Count of Monte Cristo and The Three Musketeers.But, hidden behind General Dumas's swashbuckling adventures was an even more incredible secret: he was the son of a black slave—who rose higher in the white world than any man of his race would before our own time. Born in Saint-Domingue (now Haiti), Alex Dumas made his way to Paris, where he rose to command armies at the height of the Revolution—until he met an implacable enemy he could not defeat.The Black Count is simultaneously a riveting adventure story, a lushly textured evocation of 18th-century France, and a window into the modern world's first multi-racial society. TIME magazine called The Black Count "one of those quintessentially human stories of strength and courage that sheds light on the historical moment that made it possible." But it is also a heartbreaking story of the enduring bonds of love between a father and son.
Publisher:
Crown/Archetype

Crown
Date:
2012/09/18
Digital Format:
Adobe EPUB

HTML

Kindle
Language:
English

Summary

Summary

WINNER OF THE 2013 PULITZER PRIZE FOR BIOGRAPHY

General Alex Dumas is a man almost unknown today, yet his story is strikingly familiar -- because his son, the novelist Alexandre Dumas, used his larger-than-life feats as inspiration for such classics as The Count of Monte Cristo and The Three Musketeers .

But, hidden behind General Dumas's swashbuckling adventures was an even more incredible secret: he was the son of a black slave -- who rose higher in the white world than any man of his race would before our own time. Born in Saint-Domingue (now Haiti), Alex Dumas made his way to Paris, where he rose to command armies at the height of the Revolution -- until he met an implacable enemy he could not defeat.

The Black Count is simultaneously a riveting adventure story, a lushly textured evocation of 18th-century France, and a window into the modern world's first multi-racial society. TIME magazine called The Black Count "one of those quintessentially human stories of strength and courage that sheds light on the historical moment that made it possible." But it is also a heartbreaking story of the enduring bonds of love between a father and son.


Author Notes

Tom Reiss (born May 5, 1964) is an American author, historian, and journalist. He grew up in New York City and graduated from Harvard University in 1987. Reiss is the author of three nonfiction books, the latest of which is The Black Count: Glory, Revolution, Betrayal, and the Real Count of Monte Cristo (2012), which received the 2013 Pulitzer Prize for Biography or Autobiography. His previous books are Führer-Ex: Memoirs of a Former Neo-Nazi (1996), the first inside exposé of the European neo-Nazi movement; and The Orientalist: Solving the Mystery of a Strange and Dangerous Life (2005), which became an international bestseller. As a journalist, Reiss has written for The New Yorker, The Wall Street Journal, and The New York Times.

(Bowker Author Biography)


Reviews 5

Publisher's Weekly Review

Alex Dumas, an extraordinary man whose sensational life had been largely lost to history solely because of his race, takes the spotlight in this dynamic tale. Thanks to Reiss's excellent research, combined with the passionate memorial his son, Alexandre Dumas, consistently built in his own novels and memoir, Dumas's life has been brought back to light. Father to the well-known novelist and clear inspiration for The Count of Monte Cristo, as well as the adventurous spirit of The Three Musketeers and other stories, Dumas (1762-1806) rose through the ranks of the French army from a lowly private in the dragoons to become a respected general who marched into Egypt at Napoleon's side. (The rivalry and juxtaposition between these two leaders proves fascinating.) Born in what is now Haiti to a French nobleman father and a slave mother, the biracial Dumas chanced to come of age during the French Revolution, a brief period of equality in the French empire; he was thus granted numerous opportunities that the son of a slave 20 years before him (or even 20 years later) would not have enjoyed. Reiss capitalizes on his subject's charged personality as well as the revolutionary times in which he lived to create an exciting narrative. Agent: Tina Bennett, Janklow & Nesbit. (Sept.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.


Booklist Review

The inspiration for some of the great adventure tales of Alexandre Dumas has long been a subject of curiosity and debate. According to Reiss, the inspiration for the great novel of intrigue, betrayal, and revenge, The Count of Monte Cristo, was Dumas' own father, General Alexandre Alex Dumas. In this often thrilling and often sad chronicle, Reiss makes clear that Alex lived a life as full of adventure, triumph, and tragic loss as any of his son's literary creations. He was born in Haiti, the child of an enslaved mother and an erratic French aristocrat who briefly sold his son into slavery. Despite the obvious and immense political and racial obstacles in his path, Alex found his way to Paris, became a skilled swordsman, and rose rapidly in the reorganized army of the French Republic, where he served admirably during Napoleon's invasions of Egypt. Unfortunately, like his literary counterpart, Edmond Dantes, Alex incurred the hostility of powerful people, leading to his fall from grace and eventual impoverishment. This is an absorbing biography that should redeem its subject from undeserved obscurity.--Freeman, Jay Copyright 2010 Booklist


New York Review of Books Review

IN the 1790s, the son of an aristocratic white father and a black slave woman became a charismatic French general who for a time rivaled Napoleon himself, and afterward languished in an Italian dungeon. His story inspired the novel "The Count of Monte Cristo," written by his son, Alexandre Dumas, who also drew upon his father's adventures in "The Three Musketeers." Posterity remembers this son as Dumas père, to distinguish him from Alexandre Dumas fils, also a writer, whose novel "La Dame aux Camélias" was the source for Verdi's "La Traviata." But the general was the first of the three Alexandres (he preferred to be known as Alex), and in "The Black Count," Tom Reiss, the author of "The Orientalist," has recovered this fascinating story with a richly imaginative biography. Despite Reiss's extensive research, the count remains a somewhat remote figure, since his contemporaries usually described him in conventional superlatives. The chief source of information is a highly romanticized memoir by his son, who was not yet 4 when he died, and who idealized him, in Reiss's words, as "the purest, noblest man who ever lived." Still, such language seems deserved. General Dumas was majestically tall ("his proportions were those of a Greek hero"), a crack swordsman and horseman ("looking like a centaur"), utterly fearless, generous to subordinates and a loving husband and father. He was also exceptionally good-looking, though the portraits that survive are less spectacular than the majestic Adonis depicted in the book's cover illustration. Dumas was born in 1762 at the western end of Saint-Domingue, the colony that is now Haiti. Remarkably, the French Empire guaranteed protection and opportunities to people of mixed race, and when the boy's father brought him to France at the age of 14 he was able to receive a first-rate education and later to join the army. He never cared much for his feckless father, however, and took the name Dumas from his slave mother, about whom very little is known. Still a young private in the army, Dumas fell in love and proposed marriage to Marie-Louise Labouret, his landlord's daughter. It was an enduring love match; years later he wrote to her from the wars, "I am and will always be your best friend." Marie-Louise's father asked the couple to wait to marry until Dumas was promoted to sergeant. They didn't have long to wait. The French Revolution had erupted, proclaiming an ideal of égalité, and he shot up through the ranks. This was a time of chaos throughout Europe, and Dumas got to experience the upheavals firsthand. Assigned to the Army of the Alps, he fought a series of difficult winter engagements in which his troops sometimes foundered in deep snow and at other times skidded on icy cliffs. In addition to being a gifted organizer and inspired tactician, he was indomitable in hand-to-hand combat. But back in Paris, his civilian superiors kept complaining that he wasn't accomplishing enough, and when the infamous Committee of Public Safety launched the Reign of Terror, he was charged with defeatism and incivisme, "lack of civic consciousness." If anyone should have been safe from such an accusation it was Dumas, whose devotion to the principles of the revolution never wavered. But he was summoned to Paris possibly to face execution. He survived only because Robespierre fell and the Terror abruptly ended. Next, Dumas was sent to the Vendée region in western France, where the army had punished peasant resistance to the regime by massacring many thousands of people. Acting decisively, he succeeded in restoring order. Here and throughout his career he flouted military custom by forbidding his men to pillage. And then it was on to Italy. Promoted by now to the rank of general, Dumas battled the Austrians, who called him the Black Devil. On one memorable occasion he defended a mountain bridge against heavy odds, and a companion remembered seeing him "lift his saber, as a thresher lifts his flail, and each time the sword was lowered a man fell." Meanwhile Napoleon, seven years his junior, was rising rapidly in prestige, and was hostile to potential rivals. Dumas's gifts as a soldier were obvious, and Napoleon would continue to make use of him, but always with jealousy and suspicion. It didn't help that Napoleon was skinny in those days and that his nose barely came up to Dumas's magnificent chest. In 1798 Napoleon started a megalomaniac campaign in the Middle East, intending to conquer Egypt and then to go on to British India. There were never enough supplies, the heat was intolerable and thousands of soldiers were killed or died of disease. In Egypt, Dumas was now supreme cavalry commander of the Army of the Orient, and as usual he distinguished himself in battle. Reiss's narrative of the campaign is especially spirited, and along the way he treats us to a wealth of incidental information, for instance about the Mameluke warriors who came to Egypt from the Caucasus and bequeathed pale skin and blue eyes to some Egyptian families. Though the French managed to rule Egypt for several years, there were repeated setbacks, most notably Lord Nelson's naval victory in the Battle of the Nile in 1798, which put an end to thoughts of conquering India. Napoleon abruptly departed for France, leaving his bedraggled army behind. Dumas then chartered a vessel that proved to be frighteningly leaky. It stayed afloat only after his shipmates threw their cannons overboard, as well as 4,000 pounds of coffee that he had been planning to sell in France, along with nine Arabian horses. When the men got as far as Italy they put ashore at Taranto on the southern coast, expecting to be welcomed by a recently established republic there. It turned out, however, that Neapolitan monarchists had retaken Taranto, and Dumas was imprisoned in its fortress by a reactionary gang that called itself the Holy Faith Army. He spent two miserable years in the dungeon, unable to get anyone in authority to address his case, and after falling gravely ill he became convinced that the physician attending him was administering poison. Back home, Marie-Louise kept pestering the French authorities to locate her husband, which they finally did, and they negotiated his release. By now he was a broken man, and anyway his military career was over, since Napoleon had become first consul - effectively dictator. Shortly after his release from prison, Dumas wrote a bitter account of his captivity that would later inspire his son's tale of the ordeal of Edmond Dantès in "The Count of Monte Cristo." Alex Dumas, who was never officially a count because he didn't claim his father's title, died of cancer in 1806 at the age of 43. In 1802 Marie-Louise gave birth to their third and last child, Alexandre, Dumas père. That Alexandre was a figure of vast appetite and incredible energy, but thanks to Reiss we now know that Dumas grandpère was even more interesting. A statue in the general's honor once stood in the Place Malesherbes in Paris, but it was destroyed by the Nazis since it celebrated a man of mixed race. Reiss concludes by remarking, "There is still no monument in France commemorating the life of General Alexandre Dumas." Leo Damrosch's most recent books are "Jean-Jacques Rousseau: Restless Genius" and "Tocqueville's Discovery of America."


Guardian Review

More a literary gumshoe detective than a conventional biographer, Tom Reiss has written the last of a trilogy of enthralling biographies. His first book was Führer Ex, co-written with a young East German, Ingo Hesselbach, who was involved in the neo-Nazi "scene" before repenting and shopping his erstwhile comrades. As a Jewish outsider, Reiss was well-placed to tell this story, as he was for his next book The Orientalist, the fascinating tale of Lev Nussimbaum, aka Kurban Said, a Jewish Azeri writer and wheeler-dealer who assumed the identity of a Muslim in Hitler's reich and Mussolini's Italy. Now he tells a long-hidden story that sheds light on racism and the damage it does. And, although this time his research was conducted chiefly in rural France, it had its share of thrills. Reiss persuaded a French small-town official to blow open a municipal library's safe when the librarian – the only person knowing the combination – suddenly died. The Black Count is a study of a hitherto obscure historical figure, General Alexandre (Alex) Dumas – not the famous Alexandre Dumas père, author of The Three Musketeers and The Count of Monte Cristo, nor the novelist's playwright son, who wrote the classicLa dame aux camélias. Reiss's subject is the first Alexandre Dumas, who proves to have had a stranger life than many portrayed in his son's and grandson's fictions. Dumas was born in 1762 in the French Caribbean colony of Saint-Domingue (modern Haiti). It was not an auspicious start. Dumas was a "batarde" - the product of a relationship between his aristocratic French father, Marquis Alexandre Davy de la Pailleterie, and a freed slave, Marie-Cesette Dumas. (Her surname, meaning "of the farm", was bestowed on her because managing a sugar plantation was her occupation as a freewoman.) Reiss is excellent on the colonial attitudes to race exemplified by Alex's father, who, after Marie-Cesette died when the boy was 12, though proud of his strapping son, sold him into slavery to pay for his passage back to Normandy. After six months of Alex's servitude, the marquis purchased his freedom and duly shipped him to France, to commence an education befitting a gentleman. Alex proved adept at the skills expected of a young French aristocrat: especially fencing and horsemanship. His father remarried, however, and, possibly ashamed of his mulatto son, cut Alex off without a centime. Undaunted, the young man joined the army. During the French revolution he fought alongside other black men in a unit called the African Legion. Dumas's military abilities were quickly recognised and he rose through the ranks from corporal to general in a little over two years, commanding a division of 53,000 soldiers when he was just 30. He fought in the many wars waged against revolutionary France and captured a key fortress in the Alps from the Austrians, who dubbed him Der schwarze Teufel (the "Black Devil") after he scaled an ice-covered rock wall in boots he had fitted with crampons. He was also noted for showing unusual moderation in the savage civil war against Catholic royalists in the Vendée. By the time Napoleon Bonaparte had emerged as the strong man from the chaos of revolution, Dumas was a dangerous rival. Napoleon took Dumas on his disastrous Egyptian campaign as his cavalry commander, where the two generals fell out and Dumas quit his command. When he was shipwrecked off Italy en route home from Egypt, he was imprisoned by the Bourbon king, Ferdinand I of Naples and Sicily. Reiss suggests that it was deliberate foot-dragging by a spiteful and jealous Napoleon that delayed his rival's release. Ferdinand attempted to poison Dumas with arsenic and by the time he was finally freed, the man who could reputedly lift his own horse off the ground was a half-blind, half-deaf wreck. Dumas went back to the small town of Villers-Cotterêts where he had met his devoted wife Marie-Louise, and fathered the future novelist. The France to which Dumas returned was utterly changed. Napoleon's military autocracy had extinguished the last sparks of revolutionary zeal. In the most poignant change of all Napoleon reintroduced slavery in Dumas's native Haiti, and crushed the republic of former slaves established by the Haitian hero Toussaint L'Ouverture. This even though Napoleon's first wife, Joséphine, was a West Indian Creole, from Martinique. (Earlier, Dumas had refused to command the expedition France sent against L'Ouverture, who ended his days in a Napoleonic jail.) The story of Dumas's imprisonment and death in 1806 from stomach cancer exacerbated by arsenic (the same disease that would kill Napoleon) was told in The Count of Monte Cristo. Reiss has written a swashbuckling tale of his own.


Library Journal Review

Confronted with the surname Dumas, most readers are likely to think of Alexandre Dumas, author of such classics as The Count of Monte Cristo and The Three Musketeers. But in The Black Count, Reiss (The Orientalist) explores the life of the writer's father, a man of mixed racial and cultural heritage, born in Saint-Domingue to a slave mother (her last name was Dumas) and a French aristocrat. His father brought him to France, where, because of his tremendous courage and physical gifts, he rose through the ranks of the French military under Napoleon to become a general. He was taken prisoner of war when his ship returning to France from Cairo was captured near Sicily, and he died five years later, when his son was not yet four. Reiss seeks to demonstrate the great effect of the elder Dumas on his son's fiction, inspiring many of the characters and situations in those works. VERDICT While Reiss occasionally strays from the central narrative with an abundance of tangential detail regarding the French Revolution, this accessible read is recommended for fans of popular narrative nonfiction as well as for both casual and serious students of French history, and of the younger Dumas's work.-Ben Neal, Sullivan Cty. P.L., Bristol, TN. (c) Copyright 2012. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.


Excerpts

Excerpts

1 the sugar factory Alexandre Antoine Davy de la Pailleterie--father of the future Alex Dumas--was born on February 26, 1714, in the Norman province of Caux, a region of rolling dairy farms that hung above great chalk cliffs on the northwest coast of France. A scrawled scrap of paper from the time states that he was baptized "without ceremony, at home, because of the peril of death," suggesting he was too sickly to risk bringing in to the local church. He was the firstborn son of an old family that possessed a castle, a scarcity of cash, and an abundance of conniving members, though Antoine would one day outdo them all. The boy survived, but the following year his sovereign, King Louis XIV, the Sun King, died after seventy-two years on the throne. As he lay dying, the old king counseled his heir, his five-year-old great-grandson: "I loved war too much, do not imitate me in this, nor in my excessive spending habits." The five-year-old presumably nodded earnestly. His reign, as Louis XV, would be marked by a cycle of spending and wars so extravagantly wasteful and unproductive that they would bring shame not only on his person but on the institution of the French monarchy itself. But the profligate, war-driven habits of its kings could not hold France back. In fact the "Great Nation" was about to unleash the age of the philosophes, the Enlightenment, and all that would follow from it. Frenchmen were about to shake the world into the modern age. Before they could do that, they would need money. Big money. Big money was not to be found in Normandy, and certainly not around the Pailleterie château. The family's coat of arms--three golden eagles holding a golden ring on an azure background--looked impressive but meant little. The Davy de la Pailleteries were provincial aristocrats from a region more abounding in old glories than in current accounts. Their fortune was not enough to sustain grandeur without work--or not for more than one generation. Still, a title was a title, and as the oldest son, Antoine would eventually claim the title of "marquis" and the ancestral estate of Bielleville that went with it. Next in succession after Antoine were his two younger brothers--Charles Anne Edouard (Charles), born in 1716, and Louis François Thérèse (Louis), born in 1718. Faced with their limited prospects in Normandy, all three Pailleterie brothers sought their fortunes in the army, which then accepted nobles as young as twelve into its commissioned ranks. Antoine received a commission in the Corps Royal de l'Artillerie, an up-and-coming branch of the service, as a second lieutenant at sixteen. His brothers soon followed him as teenage junior officers. The Pailleterie brothers were kept busy by His Majesty's plunge, in 1734, into the War of the Polish Succession, one of a series of dynastic conflicts that regularly provided excuses for the gory quaintness of eighteenth-century European combat. The big-power rivals behind this little war were the traditional competitors for European land domination, the Bourbons and the Hapsburgs, France and Austria. (England would soon play a bigger role, especially on the high seas and in the New World, but that was still one or two wars in the future.) In addition to his commission in the artillery, Antoine served at the front as gentleman in the entourage of the Prince de Conti, the king's dashing, fabulously rich cousin. Antoine saw his main action at the Siege of Philipsburg, in 1734--later written into the military annals by Karl von Clausewitz, in On War, as the "perfect example of how not to site a fortress. Its location was that of an idiot standing with his nose against the wall." Voltaire was also there, fleeing a royal arrest warrant, and working as a kind of one-man eighteenth-century USO show during the siege, offering bons mots and brandy between bouts of battle and composing odes to the military men. The most notable event in Antoine's service at Philipsburg, however, was that he served as a witness to a duel that took place on the night of the Prince de Conti's birthday party at the front: it was between the Prince de Lixen and the Duke de Richelieu. The duke took offense when the prince mocked the Richelieu pedigree. The duke's grandfather had been Cardinal Richelieu (later immortalized as the mustache-twirling nemesis of the Three Musketeers), an adviser to Louis XIII who had managed royal financial and building projects to great advantage--both for himself and for France. But such accomplishments did not measure up to the high standards of snobbery practiced by Lixen, who regarded the Richelieu clan as parvenus. To make matters worse, the duke had recently offended the prince by marrying one of his cousins. At midnight, the illustrious in-laws met in the field of honor between the dining tents and the trenches. They began lunging at one another there in the dark, their lackeys lighting the swordfight with flickering lanterns. The prince took the advantage first, wounding Richelieu in the thigh. The lackeys switched from lanterns to bare torches, and the combatants chased each other in and out of the trenches, their blades reflecting fire. The prince stabbed the duke in the shoulder. At this point an enemy barrage lit the field of honor. One of the lackeys was hit and killed. Richelieu counterattacked, and with Antoine watching, the duke sank his blade into the chest of his unfortunate in-law. Contemporaries considered it a sort of poetic justice, since Lixen himself had recently dispatched one of his own relations, his wife's uncle, the Marquis de Ligneville, for a similarly trifling offense. Such were the friendly-fire deaths of the eighteenth-century battlefield. In 1738, when the war ended, Antoine took the chance to get out of the army and Europe altogether. While he was stationed at Philipsburg, his younger brother Charles had joined a colonial regiment that went to the French sugar colony of Saint-Domingue, on the West Indian island of Hispaniola. This was a fortunate posting. Sugar planting was the oil business of the eighteenth century, and Saint-Domingue was the Ancien Régime's Wild West frontier, where sons of impoverished noble families could strike it rich. Barely sixteen when he arrived in the colony as a soldier, by twenty-two Charles Davy de la Pailleterie had met and wooed a young woman, Marie-Anne Tuffé, whose family owned a sizable sugar plantation on the colony's wealthy northeast coast. Antoine decided to join him. Today, the world is so awash in sugar--it is such a staple of the modern diet, associated with all that is cheap and unhealthy--that it's hard to believe things were once exactly the opposite. The West Indies were colonized in a world where sugar was seen as a scarce, luxurious, and profoundly health-giving substance. Eighteenth-century doctors prescribed sugar pills for nearly everything: heart problems, headache, consumption, labor pains, insanity, old age, and blindness. Hence, the French expression "like an apothecary without sugar" meant someone in an utterly hopeless situation. Saint-Domingue was the world's biggest pharmaceutical factory, producing the Enlightenment wonder drug. Columbus brought sugarcane to Hispaniola, the first European settlement in the New World, on his second voyage, in 1493. The Spanish and the Portuguese had been the first to cultivate sugar in Europe, and when they began their age of discovery, among the first places they "discovered" were islands off the coast of North Africa just perfect for sugar cultivation. As the Iberian explorers made their way down the African coast--the Portuguese going around the Horn to East Asia, the Spaniards cutting west to the Americas--both powers had two main goals in mind: finding precious metals and planting sugarcane. (Oh, and spreading the word of God.) The Spanish established a colony on the eastern side of Hispaniola and named it Santo Domingo; eventually, the colony would extend over the eastern two-thirds of the island, roughly corresponding to the modern-day Dominican Republic. (The native inhabitants called the entire island by another name: Hayti.) The Spanish brought artisans from the Canary Islands, off the coast of West Africa, to build the elaborate on-site technology needed for sugar production--presses, boilers, mills--and then brought the most essential ingredient of all: African slaves. Slavery, of course, had existed since antiquity. The Greek city-states had created democracy among a small elite by enslaving almost everybody else, in some cases up to a third of the population. Aristotle believed democracy could exist only because of slavery, which gave citizens the leisure for higher pursuits. (Modern versions of this argument held that American democracy was born of the slave society of rural Virginia, because slavery gave men like Washington and Jefferson the free time to better themselves and to participate in representative government.) In Greece and Rome, slavery was the fate of prisoners of war and barbarians, anyone not lucky enough to have been born Greek or Roman. When ancient slaves managed to buy their freedom or that of their children, they would assimilate into the free population, with no permanent mark on their descendants. Though ubiquitous in the ancient world, slavery was not based on any sense of "race." There was an ethnic connotation in the etymology of the word "slave," which first appeared in the eighth century AD: the word was a corruption of "Slav," since at the time nearly all slaves imported into Europe were ethnic Slavs. The Slavs were late converts to Christianity, and their pagan status made them vulnerable. "Slav markets" were established across Europe, from Dublin to Marseilles, where the people being bought and sold were as fair-skinned as those buying and selling them. The rise of Islam led to a vast expansion of slavery, as conquering Arab armies pulled any and every group of "unbelievers" into bondage. Arab slave traders captured whites from the north via sea raids on European shipping, and blacks from the south via land raids or barter with the sub-Saharan kingdoms. Justified by religious faith, the Muslim slave trade was a huge trans-national business. Over time it focused more and more on black Africans. Yet there was still no fixed biological marker for bondage. The European sugar trade changed this forever. As thousands of blacks were bought and sold out of Africa to harvest sugar, for the first time in history a biologically marked group of human beings came to be considered destined for slavery, created by the white landowners' God for a life of permanent chattel servitude. The Portuguese had first taken blacks to Madeira to cut sugarcane because the island was off the coast of North Africa and the Muslim traders there happened to deal in African slaves. When they sailed down the Guinea Coast, the Portuguese found the black African kingdoms were willing to supply them with slaves directly: the Africans did not consider they were selling their racial brothers to the whites. They did not think in racial terms at all but only of different tribes and kingdoms. Before, they had sold their captives to other black Africans or to Arabs. Now they sold them to whites. (The African kingdoms and empires themselves kept millions of slaves.) As time went on, Africans would learn of the horrors awaiting black slaves in the American colonies, not to mention on the passage over, yet they continued to export ever greater quantities of bois d'ébène--"ebony wood," as the French called their cargo. There was no mercy or morality involved. It was strictly business. Spain laid the foundations of this great wealth and evil in the Americas, then quickly became distracted and forgot about it. After introducing the plants, the technology, and the slaves into Santo Domingo, the Spanish dropped the sugar business in favor of hunting for gold and silver. They moved on to Mexico and South America in search of the precious metals, leaving the island to languish for nearly two centuries, until the French began to harness its true potential. By the mid-to-late eighteenth century, the Saint-Domingue colony, situated on the western end of Hispaniola, where Haiti is today, accounted for two-thirds of France's overseas trade. It was the world's largest sugar exporter and produced more of the valuable white powder than all the British West Indian colonies combined. Thousands of ships sailed in and out of Port-au-Prince and Cap Français, bound for Nantes, Bordeaux, and New York. When the British, after winning the Seven Years' War, chose to keep the great swath of France's North American colonies and instead return its two small sugar islands, Guadeloupe and Martinique, they unwittingly did their archrival a favor. Saint-Domingue was the most valuable colony in the world. And its staggering wealth was supported by staggering brutality. The "pearl of the West Indies" was a vast infernal factory where slaves regularly worked from sunup to past sundown in conditions rivaling the concentration camps and gulags of the twentieth century. One-third of all French slaves died after only a few years on the plantation. Violence and terror maintained order. The punishment for working too slowly or stealing a piece of sugar or sip of rum, not to mention for trying to escape, was limited only by the overseer's imagination. Gothic sadism became commonplace in the atmosphere of tropical mechanization: overseers interrupted whippings to pour burning wax--or boiling sugar or hot ashes and salt--onto the arms and shoulders and heads of recalcitrant workers. The cheapness of slave life brushed against the exorbitant value of the crop they produced. Even as the armies of slaves were underfed and dying from hunger, some were forced to wear bizarre tin-plate masks, in hundred-degree heat, to keep them from gaining the slightest nourishment from chewing the cane. The sugar planter counted on an average of ten to fifteen years' work from a slave before he was driven to death, to be replaced by another fresh off the boat. Along with malnutrition, bugs and diseases could also eventually do in someone working up to eighteen hours a day. The brutality of the American Cotton Kingdom a century later could not compare to that of Saint-Domingue in the 1700s. There would be no shortage of cruel overseers in the United States, but North American slavery was not based on a business model of systematically working slaves to death in order to replace them with newly bought captives. The French sugar plantations were a charnel house. Because Versailles loved laws and orders, France was the first country to codify colonial slavery. In doing so, King Louis XIV passed a law, in 1685, that changed the history of both slavery and race relations. Le Code Noir--the Black Code. Its very name left no doubt about who were to be the slaves. It elaborated, point by point, the many ways in which black Africans could be exploited by their white masters. The Code sanctioned the harshest punishments--the penalty for theft or attempted escape was death--and stated that slaves could not marry without their master's consent or pass on property to their kin. But the very existence of a written legal code--a novelty of the French colonial empire--opened the way for unexpected developments. If there were laws governing slavery, then slave owners, at least in some instances, could be found in violation of them. By articulating the rules of white domination, the Code, theoretically, at least, limited it, and gave blacks various opportunities to escape from it. It created loopholes. One of these was on the issue of sexual relations between masters and slaves, and the offspring resulting from such relations. Excerpted from The Black Count: Glory, Revolution, Betrayal, and the Real Count of Monte Cristo by Tom Reiss All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.