Kingsbridge
He showed it to Spade in the Methodist Hall. ‘Very good,’ said Spade. ‘Without criticizing your father, you hint that recent failings have come to an end and the enterprise is under new and more dynamic management.’
‘Exactly,’ said Amos, pleased.
‘I’m a believer in advertising,’ Spade said. ‘It doesn’t sell your goods all by itself, but it creates opportunities.’
That was what Amos thought.
It was Bible study night. The subject was the story of Cain and Abel, but once the topic of murder had been raised, they started to talk about the execution of the king of France. The bishop of Kingsbridge had preached a sermon saying that the French revolutionaries had committed murder.
That was the view of the British nobility, the clergy and most of the political class. Prime Minister William Pitt was violently hostile to the French revolutionaries. But the opposition Whigs were divided, most siding with Pitt but a substantial minority seeing much that was positive in the revolution. The people were similarly split: a minority campaigning for democratic reforms along French lines, but the cautious majority declaring loyalty to King George III and opposition to the revolution.
Rupe Underwood sided with Pitt. ‘It was murder, plain and simple,’ he said indignantly. ‘It’s iniquitous.’ His forelock fell over his eyes and he tossed his head to throw it back.
Then he glanced at Jane.
Rupe was performing for Jane’s benefit, Amos realized. She was the picture of elegance tonight, as usual, in a navy blue dress and a tall-crowned hat like a man’s. Would she be attracted by Rupe’s high moral stance?
Spade saw things differently, as he so often did. ‘On the day the French king was guillotined, we here in Kingsbridge hanged Josiah Pond for stealing a sheep. Was that murder?’
Amos would have liked to say something clever to impress Jane and make Rupe look foolish, but he was not sure which side he was on, or what he thought about the French revolution.
Rupe said piously: ‘God made Louis king.’
Spade said: ‘God made Josiah a poor man.’
Amos thought: There, now, why couldn’t I have come up with that?
Rupe said: ‘Josiah Pond was a thief, tried and found guilty by a court.’
‘And Louis was a traitor, accused of conspiring with his country’s enemies,’ Spade countered. ‘He was tried and found guilty, just like Josiah. Except that treason is worse than stealing a sheep, if you ask me.’
Amos decided he did not need to make Rupe look foolish because Spade was doing it for him.
Rupe became pompous. ‘The stain of that execution will remain on every Frenchman for hundreds of years.’
Spade smiled. ‘And do you, Rupe, bear a similar stain?’
Rupe frowned, not understanding. ‘I have never killed a king, obviously.’
‘But your ancestors and mine executed Charles I, king of England, a hundred and forty-odd years ago. By your reasoning we bear the stain of that.’
Rupe was weakening. ‘No good can come of killing a king,’ he said desperately.
‘I disagree,’ Spade said mildly. ‘Since we English killed our king we have enjoyed more than a century of gradually increasing religious freedom, while the French have been forced to be Catholics – until now.’
Amos thought Spade was going too far, and now at last he found the words to speak up. ‘An awful lot of French people have been killed for having the wrong opinions,’ he said.
Rupe said: ‘There you are, Spade, what do you say to Amos?’
‘I say Amos is right,’ said Spade surprisingly. ‘Only I remember what the Lord said: “First cast the beam out of thine own eye, and then shalt thou see clearly to cast the mote out of thy brother’s eye.” Instead of concentrating on what the French are doing wrong, we should be asking what needs reforming here in our own country.’
Canon Midwinter intervened. ‘Friends, I think we’ve taken the discussion far enough for one evening,’ he said. ‘When we leave here tonight, we might all ask ourselves what our Lord would think, remembering that he himself was executed.’
That startled Amos. It was easy to forget that the Christian religion was about blood and torture and death – especially here in the plain interior of the Methodist Hall, looking at its whitewashed walls and homely furniture. The Catholics were more realistic, with their statues of the crucifixion and their paintings of martyrs being tortured to death.
Midwinter went on: ‘Would the Lord condemn the guillotining of the French king? If so, would he approve of the hanging of Josiah Pond? I don’t offer you answers to these questions. I simply believe that thinking about them in the light of the teachings of Jesus may clarify our minds, and show us that such matters are not simple. And now, let us close in prayer.’
