Ableidinger was no more than half way through when Pastor Schaeffer got up and left the tavern.
None of the rest of the audience paid any attention to his disapproval. Frankenwinheim provided him with an unruly flock.
Kaethe pulled the shutter closed and brought in an oil lamp. "Read it again," she ordered. "Maybe there's something to be happy about, after all."
Rudolph blinked up at her. "What?"
"The uptimers printed it, didn't they? The plain old ordinary ram was clever enough to outwit the highly bred one. This wasn't smuggled in. Our new rulers—they printed a fable in which this Brillo triumphed."
Ableidinger grinned. "Not edifying, of course. To be properly edifying, I'm sure Pastor Schaeffer would insist that Brillo should have come to a proper insight that God the Father had established the merino ram as the representative of His secular sword on earth and deferred to the gentleram, giving him proper precedence."
"Teacher." Old Kaethe rapped him on the top of the head. "That's not respectful."
Ableidinger nodded. "I know." His voice rumbled as he started reading through the fable again.
He had to read Schade, Brillo! Schade! a half-dozen times. Not that the rest of the villagers couldn't read, but they only had one copy of the story. In any case, most people would rather hear something read out loud, with feeling and emphasis in the reader's voice. By the time they got out of the tavern, it was full dark. Old Kaethe had given them a crock of hot broth to dunk their bread. Matthias was sleeping on his cot. The comfort in his stomach had put him right to sleep.
The oil in the lamp wouldn't last much longer.
Ableidinger hadn't been that surprised by the fable. In other issues of the weekly newspaper for farmers, the uptimers had published paragraphs of political philosophy. Sayings. Maxims. He had copied out some of them, from John Locke, from Benjamin Franklin, from Thomas Jefferson.
But those authors were Englishmen, and they had written then, not now. If he understood properly what this Grantville city signified, they had written in a "then" that now would never happen. In a future that never would be.
The Bible provided comfort for all tribulations. "With God, all things are possible."
Thus, a city from the future, too, was possible.
Not that Pastor Schaeffer would be likely to see it that way.
Ableidinger had been a little surprised by the fable. The other authors had written "then." Not to mention "there." Brillo was, most certainly, here and now. An ordinary German ram.
Ableidinger opened Common Sense. He would make the most of this evening's ration of oil. He didn't have much time for reading in the daylight in winter. That was when most of his pupils spent most of their days at school, so he had to teach the lessons.
That was his job. Teaching. Not thinking about political philosophy.
Then and now. There and here. Thomas Paine. "The cause of America is in a great measure the cause of all mankind." How local circumstances could give rise to universal principles. "The laying a Country desolate with Fire and Sword, declaring War against the natural rights of all Mankind, and extirpating the Defenders thereof from the Face of the Earth, is the Concern of every Man to whom Nature hath given the Power of feeling; . . ."
Ableidinger frowned to himself. Looking up, he frowned at his pupils, directing the older ones back to doing simple addition on their slates.
Did the uptimers who would be administering Franconia agree with Paine?
If so, why were they working for the king of Sweden?
If not, why had they published this pamphlet in German?
He continued reading, fascinated by the distinction that Paine made between society and government, the first produced by men's wants and promoting their happiness; the second produced by men's wickedness and restraining their vices. Society was a blessing; government a necessary evil. "The one encourages intercourse, the other creates distinctions. The first is a patron, the last a punisher."
Hey, this was a good one! ". . . The palaces of kings are built upon the ruins of the bowers of paradise."
For were the impulses of conscience clear, uniform and irresistibly obeyed, man would need no other lawgiver; but that not being the case, he finds it necessary to surrender up a part of his property to furnish means for the protection of the rest; and this he is induced to do by the same prudence which in every other case advises him, out of two evils to choose the least. Wherefore, security being the true design and end of government, it unanswerably follows that whatever form thereof appears most likely to ensure it to us, with the least expense and greatest benefit, is preferable to all others.