I adopted the French manner, purchasing a fresh baguette and some cheese for my mid-day meal and wandering down to the quay of the island to eat and reflect or simply watch boats on the Seine as life went on.
It was on a fine spring day that I sat eating cheese and warm bread when I espied a young lady watching me from another bench. When I looked up, she held my eye and said, “Bonjour.”
“Bonjour,” I answered, bowing my head slightly.
She paused and smiled, then switched to English, “Ah, I think from your accent that you are English.”
I blushed at being caught out so easily. “Yes, mademoiselle, I have that misfortune.”
“Oh, do not feel so. My Uncle was much impressed by the English men of letters whom he has met. They have influenced his own thoughts. And you are, Sir?”
I stood and doffed my hat, “I am Jeremy Northam, Lord Northam, at your service.”
“Marie Louise,” she said, “And I believe I will accept your offer of service, Lord Northam.”
I bowed, “How may I be of service?”
“After lunch, perhaps you will escort me to my uncle’s,” she asked.
“Of course,” I said.
“Will you join me until we leave?” Marie Louise asked pointing at her bench.
I nodded, picked up my repast, and joined her. She complimented me on my choice of cheese. I offered her some and she accepted, then offered me a bit of pear from the Brittany coast. I found it delicious. I must say in looking back over many years, that lunch, in the soft spring air, the boats gliding by on the Seine with simple bread, cheese, and pears all washed down with a red country wine in the company of a delightful young woman was one of the most memorable meals I have had occasion to enjoy.
I felt as if I was French for we shifted to French at my request as I asked her to help with my speech. She was complimentary, even though she did say I had a pronounced English accent. But I was able to be understood, and as I had been spending my days absorbed in reading the latest French writings, I was able to discuss many of the men of letters of the day. Surprisingly, Marie Louise was as knowledgeable, and perhaps more so, than I. In this way, she reminded me of Elizabeth.
After lunch, I walked with her to her uncle’s house. At the door she stopped and said, “My uncle is having a salon this evening. I would be glad if you could join us.”
“I should be delighted. At what time will you expect me?”
“Eight of the clock. Would that do?” she asked.
“Of course. Till then,” I said and bowed.
She returned the courtesy and entered the door of the great house. It was only then that I took the time to examine the house. It was a grand house and at once I realized her uncle must be a man of means.
I wandered the city until eight hardly able to contain my enthusiasm for meeting the delightful girl again. At eight precisely, I knocked. A servant opened the door, I think a bit surprised. I learned later that in French society, being a few minutes late is expected.
Marie greeted me and introduced me to her Uncle, François-Marie Arouet. He was a handsome man with a long thin face, piercing eyes and a ready smile. He greeted me almost fondly I might say. After he left to greet other guests, Marie told me her Uncle was a writer and better known by his nom de plume, Voltaire, and that I would hear him addressed so this evening.
It seems that he had criticized the King and gentry for their unearned rights and debasement of the peasantry and had earned their enmity. Progressive members of French society therefore addressed him as Voltaire in honor of his infamy.
The evening was a revelation to me. While the food and drink circulated, as it would at an English party, the conversation was of an entirely different nature. Rather than crops and marriages, the topics were of a philosophical and literary bent with M. Arouet leading many of them. His knowledge and wit were both of a kind I had never imagined I would meet in this life. He seemed to know everything and everyone. Precious Marie was able to follow the discourses as easily as any of the stronger sex. At points when I became lost, Marie would lean over and explain some fine point and perhaps supply the missing knowledge that was known to all, except me. I was drunk, and not from the fine wine being served.
The rest of the evening passed as if in a blur. My intoxication, while not caused by wine, was just as real. Marie never strayed from my side and I found myself dependent on her, appreciating her as I had never appreciated a woman before. I realized she was much better read than I. Elizabeth had also been better read, but not like Marie. Most of the men at the gathering deferred to her in discourse and I began to realize that she was better read than many of the men present. Their deference was earned, not because of her sex. I was enchanted by her.
Later, after most of the guests had departed, Marie was helping the servants clear the last of the party away when I told her, “I must go. It is late.”
“No, Dear Jeremy. Please stay a bit.”
I could not argue with such a lady. It was but a few minutes later that Marie took me by the arm and led me to the second floor. She opened a door and I realized she had led me to her boudoir. “Marie?”
She smiled. “Do you wish to flee, Lord Northam?”
“No, my dear lady. I would never flee your presence,” I said.
“I had a wonderful time tonight,” she said. “I felt your presence all night.”
“Marie, I will tell you as an honest man, I have never felt before tonight as I did about you. You have forced me to reassess my thoughts about women. I have not finished but I know I will never think of women the same as I have before,” I said.
“Is that good?” she asked.
“Yes indeed,” I said smiling.
“Jeremy, that I the most gracious compliment I have ever been paid. And I have been complimented, sometimes seriously, by many of the leading men of Europe. You deserve a reward,” she said and came into my arms, closing the door behind us.
This experience was so different from any I had previously with a woman. For one, Marie was a complete partner with me and completely at ease with her part experiencing no uneasiness that she was committing a sin. Her uncle had long before convinced her that sin was not possible in a bedroom between a willing man and woman.
I had always had the lead with a woman. But here Marie took the lead. Mme Reynard was an aggressive lover but I was the man and leader. Marie took the lead in our love-making as natural. As she began undressing she said, “Please, Jeremy. Undress. I wish to see you as a great artist would, like a God.”
How could a man resist that invitation? My raiment was soon on the chair next to me. She smiled at my hurry, but quickly was with me, naked as Eve. She led me to her bed. She kissed me. She had me lay back and took my shaft in the French manner. She mounted me, taking her pleasure and bringing mine to me. She lay on me, kissing me and stroking my chest when we were done.
In all, a reversal of all previous expectations of a young single woman, and a most loving one it was.
I emerged from Marie’s bedroom, happy and content. As I closed the door behind, I saw a light in the hall. I turned and saw that it was her Uncle holding a candlestick and watching me. I stood motionless, unknowing of the correct course of action. The interview with Mr. Barrett about the unfortunate pregnancy of his daughter had been difficult. At least, he had not discovered me coming from her boudoir, still reeking of her sex.
“Good evening, Lord Northam,” he greeted me in English.
“Good evening,” I answered. Desperately, I thought of any course of action which would relieve the situation but none came to me. It was so obvious that I was emerging from dear Marie’s room at this hour. There could be no misunderstanding of what had occurred. I steeled myself for the inevitable. “Sir, I can explain…”
He held up his hand. “What is there to explain?”
“But, I… Your niece… I must…” I was at a loss for words.
Smiling, he came over and took my arm. “Come, Sir, let us have some Port.” He led me downstairs to his study. He poured us each a glass of a dark liquid from a fine decanter. It was sweet, but also flavorsome, and I felt the strength of the drink. In all, it was my first taste of what would become a love, fine wine from Oporto.
He sat back in his chair and beheld me with his calm expression. “I have spent my life in battle against the stupidity, vice, and abuses of the powerful, especially those who use their power to thwart the natural desires of man. Would you expect me now to complain when my niece exercises her own natural desires?”
I shook my head unable to believe he was so calm. “Jeremy, it is natural for a man and woman to enjoy sexual congress. It is the most normal state of affairs. It is unnatural for a woman or a man to remain a virgin. Chastity is a vice since it is nothing more than ignorance of a beautiful congress of man and woman. If I believe this, that chastity is a vice, a sin if you will, how could I hold my niece to a different standard of conduct? It would be hypocrisy and I have spent my career blasting the stupidity of hypocrisy.” He took another sip of port and smiled.
“My life has been dedicated to freeing people from the unnatural strictures of class and religion. Many of those unnatural strictures are imposed by the Church, and I will fight them till my death. I live with another niece and she is my wife in all but title since I refuse to allow a corrupt body as the State or Church to have any say over my relations. I, who live in sin everyday, according to these antiquated ideas, how could I express a sanction against my niece for doing the same?”
“I do not say that I understand all of what you have said, but I find that it strikes some chord in me. I would like to understand this,” I said.
“Good, dine with us tomorrow and we’ll talk more on it. Then you and Marie can spend the afternoon however you might like to pass the time,” he said smiling. “But you’ll have to work on the blushing.”
I lowered my head for a moment, then raised it, “Of course.”
“It is late, I shall say good evening and see you out.”
Copyright Rod O'Steele © 2007, 2008