I dined with Marie and her uncle the next day. He outlined the thoughts of many of the leading thinkers of the day. Having come to the gentry from below, I understood his views on the impropriety of hereditary class. Honors should be earned; position should be earned. I, of all people, could understand how contrived such honors were. I who had come to the Lordship undeserving and unprepared. I was a simple tradesman until that fateful evening. Now, I was especial on the death of an old man. It made no sense. I found myself in sympathy with M. Voltaire’s ideas.
After dinner, he retired to continue work on a Philosophical Dictionary he was preparing for publication. Marie and I went out for a walk. We talked of everything and nothing. I did not know it at that moment, but I had fallen in love for the first time. Marie was my first true love.
I had been in lust with many women and even some sweet appreciation and attraction as with Elizabeth Woodhouse whose mind and body I adored. But this feeling was different. The entire world seemed to glow in a golden light. How could any man be unhappy in such a divine world? A glance from Marie and I would laugh. We walked down to the quay on the Ile where we had met. I thought of how lucky I had been that singular afternoon when Marie had spoken with this strange Englishman.
I wished to spend every moment with Marie. But a woman is ever more practical than a man. Marie limited my visits. I would have been happy just being with her. My feelings were so different from what they had ever been with any woman before. I had no desire to control her, to use her. My desires were only in making her joyous. Luckily, she too had desires and our time spent in her boudoir, well, I can only thank Mme. Reynard for her lessons for I put them all to good use in bringing Marie every sort of delight.
This was also the moment of my life when my intellect was formed for the rest of my life, and the writer Voltaire, who was also the man, Arouet, formed me with his wit and his keen thought. I read his books and pamphlets that Marie gave me. When I did not understand, Voltaire would explain in so clear, concise, and understandable a way that anyone of clear mind could grasp it easily.
I became a different man as lettered men of Europe became a different race. To give but one example; religious toleration. Before Voltaire the very idea of religious toleration was thought an evil. Would you not consider it a sin to leave a neighbor in a burning building? Then was it not a greater sin to let him burn for all eternity by allowing him to remain apart from the Church? I was raised, as was every other European of that day, and for the preceding millennium, with that Truth.
But as Voltaire argued so well, which church? Roman? Episcopal? Anabaptist? Man cannot ever know with certainty anything of God other than his existence and his utter disregard for man’s churches. All these sects are equal in God’s mind. If God does not care which church a man belongs to, why should man? Voltaire changed the very mind of Europe so that only the religious bigots and theologians continued to believe that toleration was a sin.
Voltaire created the modern European mind, the enlightened mind.
I paid court to Marie on a daily basis. Her uncle noticed my devotions. One afternoon he pulled me into his study. “Lord Northam, I think you have fallen in love with my niece.”
“Monsieur Arouet, I do not know, having never been in this state before. But I think that perhaps I am afflicted as you say,” I said.
He laughed, “Afflicted. Yes, that is love indeed. As I have said, I do not intend to marry as I do not want to lend by my acquiescence, support to a corrupt morality. But, many others are different. Perhaps Marie is different,” he said softly. Then, as if to himself, “I too have felt such longings, my Dear Emilie...” He was silent for a moment.
I could not stand the silence when my soul cried out in a single blazing question. “Would she accept me?” Then recovering, “I mean, would I be acceptable to you as her guardian?”
He laughed, full of gusto. “My dear Jeremy, the man whom Marie finds acceptable is acceptable to me. Do not worry. I am determined to make a small trip to Geneva. The current political intrigues here make it wise for me to distance myself for a short while. I am going to take Marie with me. No, don’t worry. I’ll be sending her back shortly with some papers I hope to have published there which cannot be printed in La Belle France. You’ll not be separated long, dear boy,” he said.
I looked abashed at being so plain to him.
He patted my knee. “I see it so well since I have also felt exactly as you feel. In a few weeks, Marie will be back and you can pursue her. You might find her amenable to your wishes,” he said.
I looked at him hopefully. He waved me from his study with an indulgent smile.
Two days later, Marie left with her uncle in a coach. I returned disconsolately to my dwelling. Mme. Reynard noted my mood. “You look as though you have an appointment with Monsieur Guillotine.”
Mme. Reynard knew of my acquaintance with Marie but nothing of its depth. I told her. She smiled indulgently at the end of my sad tale. “Ah, Monsieur Northam. You are suffering from love. You should get married. Marriage cures that malady faster than any doctor can cure a disease. Once married, quickly out of love, until the next love appears.”
Mme. Reynard was typically French when it came to love and marriage. Marriage was not for love and love was not for marriage. They were separate. Her advice was for me to wander down to the boulevard and find myself a young pretty woman for consolation. Wine and a willing woman would cure my malaise, or so she said. I would have nothing to do with such a suggestion. Marie was an angel compared to the tramps of the boulevards. I would prove the purity of my love and await her return.
I dedicated the time until her return to proving my love. I was as if a monk cloistered in the farthest monastery. I ate and drank sparingly. I read books to edify myself, mostly those recommended by Marie or her uncle. I learned much of the current thoughts about the state of Man. I, too, was imbued with these feelings of freedom from the old traditions. I had acquaintance with several Scots whom M. Voltaire had highly recommended. It was good to see fellow countrymen leading the march towards a new and higher state of man.
It was in this virtuous circumstance that the letter from Voltaire found me. It seems that once across the Rhone River, drenching storms had followed them. Marie had taken a chill and they had stopped to allow her to regain her strength. But her chill had grown to a fever. A doctor was summoned but his skills proved inadequate to the challenge. Marie slipped deeper into the clutches of the fever. Finally, after several days, she succumbed, carried from this vale of tears.
The letter, unfinished, slipped from my hands and fell to the floor. I did nothing. Then overcome by anger, I stood and knocked over several chairs, furious with a Universe which would steal my heart’s desire before it could even possess her. I raged, yelling great obscenities against a God who would allow such evil into the world.
Finally, the rage fled and I fell to my knees weeping and gnashing my teeth. It was thus that Mme. Reynard found me. She had heard the sounds of my rage. When they ceased, worried, she came to my door. Finding it unlatched she entered, wondering what she would discover. She spied the letter lying in the middle of the floor and me, on my knees in the corner weeping as a baby. She picked up the letter and read it.
“Monsieur Northam. I can only express my sincere grief at your news. Please, join me for supper this evening. Please…”
Summoning all my reserves of strength I thanked her and accepted. It was one of the wisest things I have ever done but I had no idea at the time.
At supper, I was morose. Mme. Reynard and Lisette, who was visiting her mother that evening, were attentive but not meddlesome, keeping the conversation light, about the latest play or perhaps some neighborhood scandal. It pulled my mind from my grief and made me think about something outside of myself.
After supper, I stood to depart. Mme. Reynard, like all mothers, knew in her heart what she must do. She pulled me too her breast and wrapped me protectively in her arms, cooing nonsense in my ear. Like a dam bursting, the comfort of a mother’s arms released the demons of my soul. I bawled like a newborn. She held me, comforting me with her presence more than the words, until I was cried out.
After she released me, Lisette took me in her arms to extend her comfort. I had been at the nadir and now I began the journey back.
Before you think it was because Lisette had stirred some sexual longings with her youth and beauty, put that thought aside. It would be long before I had put aside the grief of losing Marie. No, it was that in seeing Lisette, I realized that there was still Beauty in the world, that all had not died with Marie. I had much grief to experience until I was recovered, but those two wonderful women had set me on the path upward, though I was unaware of it at that moment.
I found myself constantly surrounded by Marie in Paris. The Ile de Cité, the boulevards, the parks, everything was Marie. In a fit one afternoon, I took my leave of Mme. Reynard, told her to express my gratitude to Lisette, mounted my horse, and proceeded to the port of Le Havre. It was chance that took me there. I had no thought in mind other than fleeing Paris.
At Le Havre, I saw the great ships in the harbor. Those great vessels called to me as they could take me far away from Paris, from the emptiness of my loss. I called on one Captain. His ship was bound for the French settlements in the New World. I asked about passage and he affirmed they had room for a passenger. The cost was not that great, I just having received the annual rentals from the lands of the manor, quickly signed on to the outward bound, Belle-Poule.
We sailed two days later with a favorable tide and wind. France fell away as we sailed west towards a new world. I found myself almost happy again with that thought. In a new world I might find the happiness which had eluded me in the old.
About sailing; I did find that I am not a sailor. We were buffeted by storms several times during the crossing. The crew said they were not major storms but I was confined to my cabin, emptying any recently eaten foods into a great jug and lying on my bed deathly ill. I could not imagine what a great storm would be like.
We were at sea for five weeks before sighting land once again. The Captain and crew considered this an omen of great import. We turned north and found the St. Lawrence River which we followed to Fort Frontenac on Lake Ontario.
The land around the fort was quite beyond description. The fort was surrounded by thick forests which were unbroken for hundreds of leagues. The main business of the fort was trading in furs with trappers and Indians. I thanked the Captain for the voyage, happy that we had arrived in such good order and glad to obtain some fresh food.
The ship sailed several days later, filled with pelts for the European markets. I installed myself at an inn next to the fort and began to learn of the fur trade. There were many different animals whose pelts were valuable and an inexhaustible supply in those endless forests.
After the culture of Paris I quickly found the rough comforts of the fort distressingly shallow and pointless. At Le Havre, I took ship to get as far from Paris, both in distance and in culture as was possible. Once I had achieved that end, I was to realize that I was not quite attuned to the life at the end of civilization. Reading M. Rousseau in the comfort of a library was one thing; living this primitive life was another entirely. In short, I was quickly ready to travel to some more cultured destination and leave the primitive life to Rousseau and his followers.
Talking with the people of the fort, I heard much about New York and Boston, the great cities of the Americas. I decided that I would travel there at the first opportunity. That opportunity was quick to present itself; not before I did have one chance to use the ring.
Because of my deep love of Marie, I had abandoned the idea of using the power of the ring. In consequence of my recovery of my manhood from her loss, I found myself aware once again of its powers and with some desire to avail myself of those powers. One afternoon, I was at the trading post when a savage came, trailing two women, one young, one older, who I assume were his wife and daughter, if these savages did have benefit of the usual alliance between man and woman.
The younger Indian maiden captured my attention. She had iridescent black hair, long and tied into a free tail behind her. It was difficult to tell much of her shape as she was clothed in rough buckskin. Her eyes were dark and glinted in the light, and her face looked almost angelic in its innocence. I was surprised to find myself affected so by a savage creature.
The women had been used like pack animals, weighed down with pelts. The man began bargaining with the owner of the trading post and the bargaining went back and forth with only a few words. The savage would grab an item and put it in a pile of goods. The trader would take a number of pelts. If that was amenable, the savage would take another item, perhaps a trinket for the women, and more pelts would be in the trader’s pile until all of the pelts were in his pile.
One of the items that was in the savage’s pile was a bottle of whiskey. Once the deal was struck, the women picked up all of the goods and went off to one side of the square where they sat down and waited. The savage began drinking whiskey until he could no longer stand. Then a few more drinks and he fell back. The traders all seemed to find this laughable, leaving the savage to lie on the ground. I found this an opportunity, knowing it would be many hours before he would awake.
I went over to the women and tried to make myself understood. They both looked straight ahead as if I was not even present. This was a challenge. Could I make the ring work when no language was used? I willed the older woman to ignore and forget. I turned my attention to the younger woman, willing her to follow me all without words. I stood and went off into the woods. The younger woman followed.
Once away from the fort, I willed her to desire our coupling. With a single easy motion, she stripped off her dress and laid it on the ground covering the leaves and twigs. She lay back on it, spreading her legs in welcome. I quickly doffed the rough trousers commonly worn by men at the trading post. My manhood, so long ignored, reared its proud head, willing, nay eager, to once again do its duty.
I lay between her legs and my staff found her opening. She sighed as I entered her. Long disuse by me made the coupling sweet and quick. I quickly came to the conclusion that I had been wrong about the lovely maiden; she was neither maiden nor unpracticed in the arts amore. She demonstrated great skill and enjoyment in our coupling, so much so that I could not last long. I poured out my spendings into the willing Indian maid.
I rolled to her side. She followed, gently stroking my fair skin and said some words in her strange tongue, which I did not understand, but could tell were sweet words. I returned the soft words with my own appreciations.
She was first up, throwing on the rude dress that had served as our bed and hurrying off towards the fort. I dressed and followed, making sure to enter the clearing from another point, far away from where the two Indians sat waiting for the savage to regain his senses. I found the scene distasteful and returned to the Inn.
Copyright Rod O'Steele © 2007