Dramatic sounding title, isn’t it? I’m afraid I’m not prepared to plumb that topic (at least not yet!) It refers to the first in a trio of crime novels by Judith Rock about a young Jesuit in 17th Century France.
I’ve just begun reading and, so far, it seems like fun.
Here’s a taste:
Jesuits had helped bring this new wave of suffering on the Huguenots and Charles was finding that very hard to live with.
But his Jesuit life, in other respects, mostly suited him. He loved his church and its ancient ritual, revered its heroic saints, believed its shining promises. He liked teaching rhetoric, loved producing the ballets that went with it. He wanted to come as close to Love as a man could, wanted to reach God’s heart. Through all his Jesuit training, in the heat of every theological argument, his deepest certainty had remained unshaken: that the beginning and end of God was Love, Love beyond human grasp or measure. For him, that trumped all other arguments. For him, cruelty in God’s name was blasphemously wrong. It was as simple as that. And so, for him, nothing was simple now.
He wiped his sweating face on his cassock sleeve and squinted through the road dust at the northern horizon.