Chapter 6

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 still warm bread and espied a young lady watching me from another bench. When I looked up, she held my eye and said, "Bonjour."

"Bonjour," I answered.

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 Monsuir 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?"