A fierce Viking sound, affirming better than French, STOLT’s mother tongue, the very essence of too modest a soul. A powerful name, in keeping with the voice of the person who bears it, to whom it gives the shelter of a bronze shield. A geode-like name, whose rugged, organic envelope conceals the refinement of a hidden treasure. A unique voice. THE voice. An oxymoron-voice of rough velvet and flayed silk. Bitter and soft.
Like his homonym Knight Bayard, a Renaissance French-man, Marc thought for a long time that he was ‘fearless and blameless’, convincing himself that he was omniscient, even immortal, and boldly multiplying hazardous if not perilous experiences. But this period of soul-searching is over. Marc, who was looking for himself, has found his voice, his way. He is no longer arrogant.
