brown barge-littered river, they could discern an enormous clearing along the Quai d’Orsay and scattered piles of bricks and timbers. As always, Jefferson brightened at any sign of building. “Brother Adams puts things forcefully,” he said, waving the question away with the same half-smile.
“In Virginia your enemies call you atheist.” Short held his breath at his own boldness. Jefferson turned with a look of mild surprise.
“In Virginia my enemies are much given to hyperbole.” His smile faded. “You are serious. Let me be too. In my view there is nothing in life more important than a man’s religion, unless it is his marriage or family. Nothing more important—nothing more private. Every religious idea and act should be free of the state, free of coercion. John Adams wouldn’t agree—though Franklin would—but in fact it does me no injury at all for my neighbors to say there are twenty gods or no god. It neither picks my pocket nor breaks my leg.”
He placed his elbows on the stone balustrade, as if to study the construction across the river, but kept his head turned toward Short. Behind them, on a gravel path between bare trees, passersby looked up curiously. Short thought that he knew Jefferson’sface well enough to paint it—the long symmetrical features, the pointed nose, the pale blue eyes that gave away nothing; thin, sensitive lips, prominent chin tilted up. Even in its present weariness a Frenchman coming by would instantly recognize the face of an aristocrat, refined, delicate, used to luxury, used to command.
In point of fact, the aristocratic Jefferson was now speaking with something like his old radical, democratic energy. “Bill eighty-two,” he continued, giving the modest legislative name to the Virginia declaration of religious freedom that he had written and labored bitterly for seven years to pass. “Bill eighty-two was intended to break the stranglehold on privacy that the state enjoyed.”
Short nodded and moved his lips silently; he could recite whole portions of the preamble:
“Almighty God hath created the mind free … Truth is great and will prevail if left to herself.…”
“In Virginia,” Jefferson said, “before we presented our bill, heresy was still a capital offense. Denial of the Trinity could be punished by three years’ imprisonment, children could be snatched away from their parents. These were dead laws, William, but dead laws can be revived. In any case every landholder in the state was compelled to support the Anglican Church with his taxes. The tyranny in Massachusetts was worse. I hear it said that our settlers came from England seeking religious freedom, but that is an untruth of great malignity. They came seeking
uniformity
of religion, a thing there never can be and never should be.”
The energy died away from his voice, and he rubbed his face with his hands. His smile returned cautiously, not to his eyes. “As for the ceremony we have just witnessed,” he said, straightening, “to you, on this day of confidences, I will admit that I take no consolation from superstition.”
On the long walk back to rue Taitbout—“the sun is my almighty physician,” Jefferson said—Short listened to a recital of the duties they would jointly undertake, when and if a lumbering Congress, now settled in New York, completed the appointments.
There were sixteen treaties in all that they were authorized to pursue, commercial trade agreements with every European nation. So far only Prussia had shown interest. In addition, Congress chafed—to be precise, Jefferson and Adams chafed—under the yearly tributes they paid to the pirates of the Barbary Coast toransom the sailors they routinely abducted from American ships. (Defiance and a large navy, Jefferson said, were his idea of tributes.) And sale of three specific American commodities—tobacco, rice, whale oil—needed to be negotiated directly with the Farmers-General of France. Jefferson laid out the
“In Virginia your enemies call you atheist.” Short held his breath at his own boldness. Jefferson turned with a look of mild surprise.
“In Virginia my enemies are much given to hyperbole.” His smile faded. “You are serious. Let me be too. In my view there is nothing in life more important than a man’s religion, unless it is his marriage or family. Nothing more important—nothing more private. Every religious idea and act should be free of the state, free of coercion. John Adams wouldn’t agree—though Franklin would—but in fact it does me no injury at all for my neighbors to say there are twenty gods or no god. It neither picks my pocket nor breaks my leg.”
He placed his elbows on the stone balustrade, as if to study the construction across the river, but kept his head turned toward Short. Behind them, on a gravel path between bare trees, passersby looked up curiously. Short thought that he knew Jefferson’sface well enough to paint it—the long symmetrical features, the pointed nose, the pale blue eyes that gave away nothing; thin, sensitive lips, prominent chin tilted up. Even in its present weariness a Frenchman coming by would instantly recognize the face of an aristocrat, refined, delicate, used to luxury, used to command.
In point of fact, the aristocratic Jefferson was now speaking with something like his old radical, democratic energy. “Bill eighty-two,” he continued, giving the modest legislative name to the Virginia declaration of religious freedom that he had written and labored bitterly for seven years to pass. “Bill eighty-two was intended to break the stranglehold on privacy that the state enjoyed.”
Short nodded and moved his lips silently; he could recite whole portions of the preamble:
“Almighty God hath created the mind free … Truth is great and will prevail if left to herself.…”
“In Virginia,” Jefferson said, “before we presented our bill, heresy was still a capital offense. Denial of the Trinity could be punished by three years’ imprisonment, children could be snatched away from their parents. These were dead laws, William, but dead laws can be revived. In any case every landholder in the state was compelled to support the Anglican Church with his taxes. The tyranny in Massachusetts was worse. I hear it said that our settlers came from England seeking religious freedom, but that is an untruth of great malignity. They came seeking
uniformity
of religion, a thing there never can be and never should be.”
The energy died away from his voice, and he rubbed his face with his hands. His smile returned cautiously, not to his eyes. “As for the ceremony we have just witnessed,” he said, straightening, “to you, on this day of confidences, I will admit that I take no consolation from superstition.”
On the long walk back to rue Taitbout—“the sun is my almighty physician,” Jefferson said—Short listened to a recital of the duties they would jointly undertake, when and if a lumbering Congress, now settled in New York, completed the appointments.
There were sixteen treaties in all that they were authorized to pursue, commercial trade agreements with every European nation. So far only Prussia had shown interest. In addition, Congress chafed—to be precise, Jefferson and Adams chafed—under the yearly tributes they paid to the pirates of the Barbary Coast toransom the sailors they routinely abducted from American ships. (Defiance and a large navy, Jefferson said, were his idea of tributes.) And sale of three specific American commodities—tobacco, rice, whale oil—needed to be negotiated directly with the Farmers-General of France. Jefferson laid out the
Similar Books
