14 July 1789.
The day the world turned upside-down.
I was barely eighteen years old. For me, the world was supposed to be a place of never-ending opportunity, and yet France was a land of oppression. The oppression of dreams. The oppression of life.
Eighteen is such a foolish age.
I thought my purpose in life was to be a beacon of light, shining the message of freedom to the world. With my art, I would preach equality. My voice would sing the praises of a new existence, an existence apart from the class-driven one forced upon us all.
I thought my purpose was to fight.
A fortnight before that sticky afternoon, I auditioned to be a chorine for La Comedie Francaise. I sang sixteen bars of a song called "Je dis adieu a la monde" with all of the passion that lurked deep within me.
I did not know what passion was.
That afternoon, those cries of injustice that sprang from the lips of the lower classes came to life. The people came to claim what was rightfully ours. We stormed the Bastille.
I saw my most dangerous dreams fulfilled in human form.
In the mass hysteria of the mob, I searched to find familiar faces. Instead, I found myself staring into a pair of blue eyes.
I was drowning.
To my surprise, I found my gaze returned. A deep, rich, resonant baritone voice began to speak to me. "May I have the honor of knowing your name, citoyenne? I'd love to know whose beautiful eyes were the first to greet me in my new life as a free man."
There was no escape.
"Marguerite St. Just," I replied. His eyes sparkled as he took my hand. "My name is Chauvelin."
With one word, another chapter of my life began.
The voice continued to draw me nearer. "We have done all that we can here. The crowd will take care of the rest. I'm on my way to dinner...would you care to join me?"
I had no choice.
Before I knew what I was doing, I was walking with him. I entered his flat without thinking. A table with three candles stood in the small room before me. He lit each one, and with each he uttered a different word. "Liberte...egalite...fraternite..."
I was spellbound.
I must have looked at him strangely, for his response to me was strange. "Remember those words," he whispered. "The future of France rests within them." I smiled. His declarations turned into questions. "You do believe in revolution, Marguerite, do you not?"
I believed in freedom.
Our conversation lasted for three hours. We had the same common dream...the dream of a country where the rich were equal to the poor. Yet I felt our connection was more than political.
It was unlike anything I had ever felt before.
The distant drone of a church bell tolled midnight. I got up from the table to leave. He rose also. "Marguerite..." he pleaded. The way his voice caressed my name as he said it sent cold chills racing down my spine.
It was final.
As he came nearer, I lost all control. Before I could get away, I kissed him. I expected him to pull away, disgusted. After all, I thought that my strong attraction to him was not returned. What happened instead removed that notion from my head eternally.
I was his.
--To be continued--
The day the world turned upside-down.
I was barely eighteen years old. For me, the world was supposed to be a place of never-ending opportunity, and yet France was a land of oppression. The oppression of dreams. The oppression of life.
Eighteen is such a foolish age.
I thought my purpose in life was to be a beacon of light, shining the message of freedom to the world. With my art, I would preach equality. My voice would sing the praises of a new existence, an existence apart from the class-driven one forced upon us all.
I thought my purpose was to fight.
A fortnight before that sticky afternoon, I auditioned to be a chorine for La Comedie Francaise. I sang sixteen bars of a song called "Je dis adieu a la monde" with all of the passion that lurked deep within me.
I did not know what passion was.
That afternoon, those cries of injustice that sprang from the lips of the lower classes came to life. The people came to claim what was rightfully ours. We stormed the Bastille.
I saw my most dangerous dreams fulfilled in human form.
In the mass hysteria of the mob, I searched to find familiar faces. Instead, I found myself staring into a pair of blue eyes.
I was drowning.
To my surprise, I found my gaze returned. A deep, rich, resonant baritone voice began to speak to me. "May I have the honor of knowing your name, citoyenne? I'd love to know whose beautiful eyes were the first to greet me in my new life as a free man."
There was no escape.
"Marguerite St. Just," I replied. His eyes sparkled as he took my hand. "My name is Chauvelin."
With one word, another chapter of my life began.
The voice continued to draw me nearer. "We have done all that we can here. The crowd will take care of the rest. I'm on my way to dinner...would you care to join me?"
I had no choice.
Before I knew what I was doing, I was walking with him. I entered his flat without thinking. A table with three candles stood in the small room before me. He lit each one, and with each he uttered a different word. "Liberte...egalite...fraternite..."
I was spellbound.
I must have looked at him strangely, for his response to me was strange. "Remember those words," he whispered. "The future of France rests within them." I smiled. His declarations turned into questions. "You do believe in revolution, Marguerite, do you not?"
I believed in freedom.
Our conversation lasted for three hours. We had the same common dream...the dream of a country where the rich were equal to the poor. Yet I felt our connection was more than political.
It was unlike anything I had ever felt before.
The distant drone of a church bell tolled midnight. I got up from the table to leave. He rose also. "Marguerite..." he pleaded. The way his voice caressed my name as he said it sent cold chills racing down my spine.
It was final.
As he came nearer, I lost all control. Before I could get away, I kissed him. I expected him to pull away, disgusted. After all, I thought that my strong attraction to him was not returned. What happened instead removed that notion from my head eternally.
I was his.
--To be continued--