I was told that he was born in Auvergne, and that he grew up in a small fishing villiage by the cold sea. His father died when he was very young-- a casualty of war-- and he returned with his mother to Latvia, where he lived until he was seventeen or eighteen.
I do no know where he went after that, or by what means he returned to France. All I know, is that he must have been there by the time he was 26, because that is when he met my mother, the late Ambassador Emmauldine Yvette Delacourt.
I am the daughter of Arnaud Defresne, a businessman whose exact tradings were kept a secret from even my mother. He was a clever man, far too clever-- who had a penchant for breaking the unjust rules and replacing them with his own, more equitable versions. Rare was the occasion we spent together, a fact which made every moment significant.
One day, during a chess game, he asked me why I played so aggressively. And so I told him, "papa, if I do not act quickly, then I will not win against you."
He smiled, and then placed his hand on the king. He was playing black, and I, White.
"It is the king who wins the game, my daughter" he said to me.
"But when does he ever venture onto the front lines?"
"Never--" I said. "because he is vulnerable, and his mobility is limited."
"I see why you think that." He said, firmly but fondly. "but you are only half right, dear child.-- look."
He moved his bishop into place, and ended the game... for my king had nowhere left to move. It was a cruel thing he did. Like a cat playing with a hapless mouse who had no defense against it.
"Yes his mobility is limited. You are right, in that. But you see, if he could move anywhere, he would have no use for a knight, a queen, or a castle. A king..." and he said this, looking deep into my eyes.
"A king is but one man. He cannot do everything, cannot know everything. Sometimes he can defend himself. But more often than not... "
his fingers wrapped around the white queen, and he slid it across the board, such that it placed the dark king in peril. A move that would have won me the game, had I seen it but a moment earlier.
"He must rely on those he trusts to stand beside him... in this way, even the small can defeat the mighty. In this way, he is strong."
He looked at me knowingly, and I wondered in that moment if perhaps he saw something coming that I did not.
"Remember this, ma fille... ce n'est pas important avant qui l'on se tient ... c'est ceux qui se tiennent devant l'on."
He got up then, and left, placing his hand on my head before he disappeared into his study, and closed the door. Without looking back, he never looked back. And I sat there, staring at the board.
A leader who thinks too much of himself risks more than he knows-- for in doing so, he makes himself a target. To fight and die for glory and honor is one thing... but to die for lack of wisdom is entirely another. A leader knows how to curry favor. To be equitable, to bleed and die along with his people-- to be reliable in times of strife and peril. But he also knows that without wisdom, honor and glory are nothing.
I am but one. I cannot be all. But for the sake of my people, for the sake of my tribe... for the loves and loyalties of my fellows-- I shall have others, to be my eyes.
You may walk with heavy feet-- and speak in harsh tones.
Break my back upon the yoke of dishonor.
I do no know where he went after that, or by what means he returned to France. All I know, is that he must have been there by the time he was 26, because that is when he met my mother, the late Ambassador Emmauldine Yvette Delacourt.
I am the daughter of Arnaud Defresne, a businessman whose exact tradings were kept a secret from even my mother. He was a clever man, far too clever-- who had a penchant for breaking the unjust rules and replacing them with his own, more equitable versions. Rare was the occasion we spent together, a fact which made every moment significant.
One day, during a chess game, he asked me why I played so aggressively. And so I told him, "papa, if I do not act quickly, then I will not win against you."
He smiled, and then placed his hand on the king. He was playing black, and I, White.
He always played black. I think... because he knew I liked to go first.
Or maybe he preferred to lay in wait.
To strike from behind,
as was his way.
"It is the king who wins the game, my daughter" he said to me.
"But when does he ever venture onto the front lines?"
"Never--" I said. "because he is vulnerable, and his mobility is limited."
"I see why you think that." He said, firmly but fondly. "but you are only half right, dear child.-- look."
He moved his bishop into place, and ended the game... for my king had nowhere left to move. It was a cruel thing he did. Like a cat playing with a hapless mouse who had no defense against it.
"Yes his mobility is limited. You are right, in that. But you see, if he could move anywhere, he would have no use for a knight, a queen, or a castle. A king..." and he said this, looking deep into my eyes.
"A king is but one man. He cannot do everything, cannot know everything. Sometimes he can defend himself. But more often than not... "
his fingers wrapped around the white queen, and he slid it across the board, such that it placed the dark king in peril. A move that would have won me the game, had I seen it but a moment earlier.
"He must rely on those he trusts to stand beside him... in this way, even the small can defeat the mighty. In this way, he is strong."
He looked at me knowingly, and I wondered in that moment if perhaps he saw something coming that I did not.
"Remember this, ma fille... ce n'est pas important avant qui l'on se tient ... c'est ceux qui se tiennent devant l'on."
He got up then, and left, placing his hand on my head before he disappeared into his study, and closed the door. Without looking back, he never looked back. And I sat there, staring at the board.
It is not important who you stand in front of.
It is who you have standing behind you.
A leader who thinks too much of himself risks more than he knows-- for in doing so, he makes himself a target. To fight and die for glory and honor is one thing... but to die for lack of wisdom is entirely another. A leader knows how to curry favor. To be equitable, to bleed and die along with his people-- to be reliable in times of strife and peril. But he also knows that without wisdom, honor and glory are nothing.
I am but one. I cannot be all. But for the sake of my people, for the sake of my tribe... for the loves and loyalties of my fellows-- I shall have others, to be my eyes.
You may walk with heavy feet-- and speak in harsh tones.
Break my back upon the yoke of dishonor.
But in doing so, you are forgetting that it is the station of frail things to confound the strong.
And Pride goes before the fall.
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