Stephen O'Connor - Thomas Jefferson Dreams of Sally Hemings

This morning Monsieur Petit told the staff that a very important meeting would be occurring at the Hôtel that night, that the most courageous and brilliant men in all of France would be coming to discuss matters of utmost importance “to the future of humanity.” He did not say what those matters might be, but as Sally Hemings has moved among the men carrying bottles and trays, she gathers that they are intending some sort of confrontation with the king, and she wonders — though she hardly dares to hope that this might be true — if this meeting isn’t like the ones that Thomas Jefferson attended in Philadelphia when she was a baby and that led to the Revolution. The thought that she might be a witness to a great moment of history fills her with an intense excitement that expresses itself as a buoyant sense of well-being — as if she has gotten mildly intoxicated on the fumes of the wine she’s been pouring.

Most of the men are crowded at one end of the table, where an old man whose wig rests crookedly on his bald head sits, flanked by candelabras, plume in hand, and occasionally transcribes phrases shouted to him by one or more of the men. The Marquis de Lafayette, standing just behind the old man, sometimes claps his hand on the man’s shoulder and gives him commands to write additional phrases or to cross out ones he has already set down. Most of the time, these commands are met by incredulous roars and upraised hands and then a new round of shouting, in which the marquis actively participates, his expression alternating between mischievous delight and the conviction that he is surrounded by imbeciles.

Apart from the elderly scrivener, Thomas Jefferson is the quietest man in the room. He stands beside the marquis, his arms folded tightly across his chest, although his right hand does clutch a wineglass. Every now and then, the marquis will move his mouth close to Thomas Jefferson’s ear and they will confer behind a cupped hand. Some of the other men standing around him also address remarks to him or ask questions, but none of his responses are audible above the cacophony. Sally Hemings can’t help but feel disappointed that he is not taking a more active role in this important discussion. She feels that he is letting himself down and worries that his moment in history may have passed.

At one point late in the evening, as she is walking down the dark corridor from the kitchen, a bottle of wine in each hand, she hears that the room has gone silent and that Thomas Jefferson is speaking. She stops just inside the door, in the wavery brown dimness, far from the lamps and candles on the table.

He is one of the tallest men in the room, and seems even taller standing next to the much smaller marquis, yet his stature seems diminished by a vagueness in his eyes, as if he can’t actually see the people he is addressing, and his voice is pitched higher than normal and sounds thin.

All at once Sally Hemings realizes that he is afraid.

“Le premier principe doit être que tous les hommes sont créés égaux,” he says. “Tous les droits découlent de cela.”

He is quoting his own writing: “All men are created equal.” Is he doing that because he is nervous? Do the other people notice? Do they think he is a fool for repeating a phrase they must all have heard a thousand times?

She looks around the room. A couple of men just in front of her are murmuring to each other, but she can’t hear well enough to tell if there is anything derisive in their tone. The faces of the other people in the room are unreadable masks. There is a snakelike fixity in the shining eyes of the marquis. Is that his way of trying to hide his embarrassment? Or could it be an expression of his anger that Thomas Jefferson is making a fool of them both?

Sally Hemings cannot move from her spot by the door until Thomas Jefferson, after a pause that reminds her of nothing so much as that of an old man who has forgotten what he meant to say, closes his mouth, looks down and shrugs, and then the men around the table begin to cheer and applaud. The applause isn’t so loud that it might not just be polite, but then she sees that a shy, happy smile has come onto Thomas Jefferson’s face. He suppresses the smile, looks up at the crowd and says, “Nous avons encore beaucoup de travail à faire!” —sparking a new surge of applause.

To Sally Hemings’s utter surprise, her eyes fill with tears.

A short time later, when she is pouring more wine for Lafayette, he grabs hold of her hand and says, “ Merci, ma jolie Sarah! This is a very good night! You must get your friend Mr. Jefferson to tell you what we are doing.” As he lets go of her hand, he gives it a light squeeze and he smiles at her, his eyes flaring with excitement. “I think the world is changing tonight!”

She glances toward Thomas Jefferson, and, finding that he is already looking right at her, she has to turn her head away. But when she looks back, she manages to hold his gaze just long enough not to appear self-conscious — or so she hopes. “Would you like some more wine, Mr. Jefferson?”

He smiles warmly and holds out his glass. “Thank you, Sally.”

Hours later, as Sally Hemings and Anne are clearing the abandoned table, Thomas Jefferson walks back into the room after having said good-bye to the last of his guests. He seems thoughtful and contented, if very tired.

Anne fills her tray with clinking glasses and walks toward the corridor to the kitchen. Sally Hemings deliberately slows down her collection of glasses but doesn’t look in Thomas Jefferson’s direction until Anne has left the room.

He gives her a weary smile. “I’m sorry to have made so much work for you, especially so late at night.”

She shrugs and makes a smilelike crinkle of her mouth. She doesn’t know what to say.

His smile fades. He takes a step backward, as if he is ready to leave the room.

“Has the world changed?” she asks.

“I don’t know.” He pauses thoughtfully, and then his smile returns. “What do you think?”

“It doesn’t look much different to me,” she says. “Maybe a bit messier.”

Thomas Jefferson laughs, and Sally Hemings can’t stop herself from laughing, too. After a moment he says, “Do you know what we were doing here tonight?”

“Well… apart from eating, drinking and shouting, not really.”

“We’ve been putting together a French document that is a lot like our own Bill of Rights, about which Mr. Madison and I have been corresponding so much lately.”

Sally Hemings has heard Thomas Jefferson talk about the Bill of Rights, but she isn’t entirely clear what it is.

“So what does the document say?”

“Well, it starts out by saying, more or less, that all men are created equal. It also says that liberty is the freedom to do everything that will injure no one else.”

“Oh.” She looks away, unsure why Thomas Jefferson has chosen to refer to that very awkward night.

“So you see, Sally, that you, too, played a role in what happened here tonight.”

She is blushing. Her ears go hot. “I didn’t.”

“I don’t know about that,” says Thomas Jefferson. “I think that the marquis has had you in mind often as he has contemplated the issue of individual liberty.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” She is still blushing. “Anyhow, I didn’t do anything.”

“You’re too modest.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are,” he says firmly.

She has been looking down at her tray, but when she raises her eyes, she sees that Thomas Jefferson is looking at her with a smile that is both weary and tender.

“You make a very good impression on people,” he says. “I think you should know that.”

1. Men are born and remain free and equal in rights. Social distinctions may be founded only upon the general good.