The Greatest Thing

Rhythm of the Night

Paris, 1899

Christian wandered around the foreign city remembering the few visits he had taken there as a child. All the talk in the London Bohemian scene had been about how the 18th arrondissement of Montmartre was where the contemporary Bohemians of Paris had settled. Thus, Christian thought that there would be no better place to start his new life as a Bohemian writer than there. Perhaps he might cross paths with some of the greats, such as Emilie Zola, who was known to frequent the district. He didn't have much money to his name at the moment. Not after his fight with his father. Christian grimaced as he remembered the events leading up to him ending up in Paris.

The door of his room slammed open when he had returned home late once again. He had thought that he was quiet enough, but his father had been awake and waiting for him. His father stormed in and chastised him for acting like a poor student -or, even worse, a Bohemian- when he was so much more than that.

"You have one job, and that isn't to find the meaning of life, boy, that's to find a wife! This is your third season. Get ahold of yourself and straighten that head on your shoulders. No boy of mine is going to be a bachelor forever. You need to take care of yourself, make something of yourself in society. You'll never do that if you keep on like this. If I keep hearing about you in the gossip pages, we will have an issue," his father huffed.

"But, father, I am trying to find a wife! Why should I choose between following my own proclivities and the obligations of society when I can do both?" he asked.

"If doing one takes away from the efforts to do the other, then you have to choose. Those ideals of yours won't get you far in life, Christian. A suitable match will," his father remarked. "Now, unless you stop this nonsense, I'll have no other choice but to cut you off."

Stop being a Bohemian? Christian thought, That's like asking me to stop breathing air! His thoughts turned to Estelle. He'd be no good to her if he was poor and no longer worthy of participating in the Season, so he decided to try. He'd put more effort into being a better member of society. He tampered down his urge to rant about freedom, beauty, truth, and love, but he felt like by trying to please his father, he was becoming everything about the world that he despised. He was unhappy. He slipped further and further into a sense of resentment for everything society stood for. That was when he decided that he'd give up on society altogether. It wasn't a decision he had made lightly. He'd thought about the all the aspects of life in acceptable society and life outside of it, retreating into himself while he did so in order to soften the blow for when he did decide to leave. The final straw for Christian came after a week of dates arranged by his father. His father had received a telegram about how his son had been less than remarkable and very dull. When he confronted Christian about it, Christian broke.

"I'm either too lively, or not lively enough!" he said in exasperation. "If I can't be me, then what's the point?"

"The point is to get ahead."

"No, the point of marriage should be love," he yelled back.

"You'd best mind your tone, boy."

"Or what? You'll disown me?" he asked dangerously steady. "Is that it, father? Is that what this has come to?"

"If you don't have a wife, then you will not take over this family practice. If you're not going to continue my legacy, then what's the point of supporting you?" his father asked like it was the only logical conclusion.

"Even if I did have a wife, taking over your practice isn't what I want from life," he sighed.

"It doesn't matter what you want, what matters is what's good for you," his father said pointedly.