“Christ in heaven! I’m no criminal! I’ve nothing to be
ashamed of! I’m a good Christian, a gentleman, the King’s servant – an officer
of the law, the equal of any of them – I only follow the orders the judges give
me. Why should I be pointed at,
hissed at, despised?”
I might as well admit at the outset that I’m vehemently
anti-Capital Punishment, and that state-sanctioned murder strikes me as being abhorrent.
I therefore approached a fictional account of an executioner (albeit a real historical figure), with some
considerable caution. An executioner is an interesting figure, no doubt; but a
sympathetic one? Not likely.
However, it says much for Susanne Alleyn’s skill that,
within pages, I was won over. Admittedly, Charles Sanson is not an executioner
through choice; in pre-Revolutionary France, the job is handed down from father
to son, with very little chance of escape. Charles has never wanted to be an
executioner, and at first entertains ideas of somehow sidestepping his destiny;
medicine is his passion, and he dreams of healing rather than harming. When his
father is forced to retire due to ill health, however, Charles not only
reluctantly takes over his job, but does so at a frighteningly young age.
The Sansons’ lives are paradoxical: in many ways they are
actually rather privileged. They have steady jobs, a good income, and a level
of material comfort unusual for the time. However, their profession is the
price they pay – that, and being the object (understandably) of almost
superstitious horror. Few people outside their profession wish to associate
with them; most people shun them. Theirs is a peculiarly isolated little world.
Meanwhile, in the countryside, the young François de la
Barre, the son of a penniless aristocrat, is growing up in a manner which
Charles might have envied. He has freedom, if not much money; the future looks
bright for him. However, one of François’s traits is his inability to stay out
of trouble, together with an extraordinary knack for making dangerous enemies.
His life, seemingly so different, is in fact on a collision course with
Charles’s.
Charles fulfils his duties, obediently but without
enthusiasm, and seeks solace in various things: family, women, entertainment.
He continues to dream of escape, but as he grows older those dreams become
tinged with desperation, as all the doors that might lead him out of his
current life close, one after the other. Meanwhile, his former rationalisation
of his job as a necessary evil, and of his role as a mere official of the
justice system, begins to wobble as he is asked to perform duties that he finds
increasingly abhorrent. Justice, in pre-Revolutionary France, is a very fluid
concept indeed; people are harshly punished for minor crimes, and many trials
and convictions are politically motivated. Yet even as he realises this, he
also realises that he is trapped. As he eventually, sadly concedes, “You’re
right, all of you; I can’t escape.
Even when my duty is at odds with my conscience, duty without honour.”
Like all good historical fiction, The Executioner’s Heir makes a particular time and place come alive
through its very real and vivid characters. Alleyn’s research must have been
painstaking, but it’s lightly worn; pre-Revolutionary Paris came alive for me
in all its grubbiness and glamour. This is an interesting world: there are
still years to go before the Revolution, but the Enlightenment is well
underway, and the old system is gradually dying. The novel also examines many
weighty issues: the extent of, and problems inherent in, the justice system,
and the clash between personal freedom and responsibility. There is no easy way
out for Charles, much as he (and the reader) wishes there were; there is only,
in the end, his choice to be the best man he can be, within the limitations of
his life.
The Executioner's Heir is available at Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk.
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