Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 121 Surprise...A Night of Fright! (Thanks to Alliance Leader Minghui Hunchao)

The Paris Salon is usually open to the public only during the day and closes in the evening—because there is no natural light, and gas lamps alone are insufficient for viewing the paintings.

But tonight is different. With funding from a British businessman, the Louvre has been equipped with a brand-new type of lighting that uses electricity. According to a reporter from the Tabloid who saw the actual product, it is "brighter than daytime!"

These novelties are usually very expensive, and it's not suitable to display them during the day when there are many people, so they were moved to the evening and only a small number of people were invited.

Lionel certainly knew what it was better than anyone else in this era, having even caught a glimpse of it at the "Orby Trading Company," but he couldn't resist his curiosity and asked Mr. Charpentier for an invitation.

When he arrived, the colonnade of the Louvre's north wing was already full of carriages: four-wheeled sedan chairs, two-wheeled light carriages, open-top Porto carriages...

The carriage shafts intertwined, the horse bits and brass bells jingled, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of leather, horse sweat, and perfume.

Although it was a "limited invitation," it seemed that everyone in Paris with a horse-drawn carriage had come tonight.

When Lionel looked up, he saw two rows of newly installed "lights" above the main entrance, like two rows of small suns, illuminating the Louvre's stone reliefs in every detail, leaving no room to hide even the smallest folds in the goddess's skirt.

After handing the gatekeeper the gold-embossed invitation given to him by Mr. Charpentier, Lionel was able to enter the exhibition without any trouble.

Amidst the luxurious perfumes, cigar tobacco, oil paints, and the warm, inviting atmosphere characteristic of a densely packed crowd, Lionel stepped into the hall and was instantly captivated by the scene before him.

Inside the huge exhibition hall, the places that used to rely on natural light from skylights are now illuminated as bright as day by countless hanging and wall-mounted light bulbs.

The crystal chandelier has also been given a new soul, with each facet reflecting dazzling light under the electric light, illuminating the oil paintings hanging below.

Gentlemen in elegant evening suits and ladies in flowing gowns and jeweled jewelry strolled, chatted, and paused to admire the artificial "daylight."

Deep male voices, clear female voices, and French and English in different accents intertwined to create a buzzing background sound, occasionally bursting into restrained laughter or exclamations.

The allure of the electric light on this night surpasses even that of the most outstanding paintings!

While the others were curious and shocked, Lionel felt as if he had stepped into another time and space.

“Leon! Over here!” Mr. Charpentier’s voice cut through the crowd, startling Leonard from his reverie.

He turned his head and saw Georges Charpentier standing in front of a huge painting depicting a scene from Greek mythology, with his wife and a thin man in a suit standing beside him.

Lionel squeezed through the crowd and came to the three of them.

Georges Charpentier introduced: "Léon, this is Pierre-Auguste Renoir, who illustrated Benjamin Bouton; Pierre, this is Lionel Sorel."

The two quickly shook hands and said to each other, "Nice to meet you!"

Lionel carefully examined the now-famous Impressionist painter. He saw that the painter was wearing a brand-new, well-tailored dark tuxedo coat with a light-colored vest underneath. His hair and beard were clearly well-groomed and trimmed, giving him a respectable appearance.

They were nothing like the painters in his self-portraits who looked so distressed and slovenly.

Georges Charpentier clearly wanted to get the two artists he valued more acquainted: "Let Pierre show you around, even though he has quite a few opinions about these paintings..."

As he spoke, he took his wife to socialize with other people.

“Leonard, look here!” Renoir was very enthusiastic and did not appear shy because of Leonard.

"Doesn't it look like a giant gilded birdcage? Filled with brightly colored parrots that can only mimic sounds? What's there to describe?"

Renoir didn't lower his voice deliberately, but rather, with his usual sarcasm, his gaze swept over the academic masterpieces that were gleaming under the electric lights.

The strange looks from the other spectators around them successfully drew attention to the two of them.

Lionel had no interest in the artistic disagreement about "artists belittling each other," so he smiled and changed the subject: "Pierre, you look radiant, unlike what I imagined."

“Thanks to you, young man!” Renoir’s voice was full of emotion: “Those little illustrations! My God, I never imagined that the ladies and wealthy merchants in those salons would get to know me because of them, and then casually buy all the works I had consigned in the gallery!”

He patted Lionel on the shoulder, his eyes shining: "Sold out! Completely sold out! Money for paints, canvases, I even moved to a studio that doesn't let in any drafts! I owe you a huge favor, Lionel!"

Lionel laughed and said, "That's because your paintings are excellent enough!"

Renoir looked Lionel up and down: "You're a great model... When would you like to come to my studio? I'd like to paint a portrait of you!"

Lionel smiled and agreed.

As the two strolled through the exhibition hall, Renoir remained dismissive of the exhibited works: "Look at these 'Bougueres,' how smooth, how sweet, how...empty they are! Like wood covered in thick icing. Their canvases have only 'correctness,' no 'life'!"

William Adolph Bouguereau was the chairman of the jury for this year's competition, and many of the paintings were works by his students.

As they were talking, the crowd suddenly surged in one direction, accompanied by an even louder commotion.

In the center of the exhibition hall, a tall man dressed in an elegant tailcoat stood in front of a huge painting depicting a brutal cavalry charge during the Napoleonic era.

Renoir whispered, "This is tonight's 'sponsor,' Sir Morton Cavendish of England. These 'lights' are all his."

Sir Cavendish, holding a glass of champagne, spoke in a booming voice in French with an English accent: "Ladies and gentlemen! This painting, 'Emperor Napoleon in 1814,' has deeply moved me with its unparalleled detail and magnificent scale."

Therefore, I decided to add it to my collection for 40,000 francs!

"Forty thousand francs!" A gasp and a buzz of discussion erupted from the crowd; even in art-loving Paris, this was an astonishingly high price.

Sir Cavendish smiled with satisfaction and pointed to the dazzling electric lights on the ceiling: "And all of this is made possible by the great light of progress—electricity!"
Sir Joseph Swann's invention—this pure, stable, artificial light surpassing even the sun! It dispels the darkness of night, allowing the treasures of art to shine at any moment! This is the future…

The jazz's impassioned speech came to an abrupt end!

Hanging directly above his head, in the center of a most magnificent crystal chandelier, several bulbs suddenly burst into a blinding white light, and then—

"boom!"

"Crack-!"

A series of ear-piercing explosions rang out! The fragile glass casing of the light bulb shattered and scattered like hail!

"what--!"

"Oh, God!"

Exclamations and screams from women instantly replaced the admiration and discussion! The crowd instinctively covered their heads and backed away.

Sir Cavendish was the first to be hit, with several shards of glass landing on his expensive suit and even drawing blood on the back of his hand. His champagne glass also shattered when he dropped it.

The chain reaction began! Several lights in different locations in the exhibition hall flickered intermittently, emitting a "buzzing" electrical sound, and then a few more lights exploded with a "bang"!

The once elegant and composed crowd suddenly descended into chaos.

The ladies' skirts were trampled, the gentlemen shoved others, and screams, shouts, and curses filled the space.

Lionel quickly became separated from Renoir and squeezed out of the Louvre's gates with the surging crowd.

The cool air invigorated him. Behind him lay the still noisy and chaotic palace, while before him lay the tranquil Tuileries Gardens.

On the street, rows of gas streetlights cast a soft glow, outlining the trees and buildings in the night.

At that moment, a remarkably tall young man emerged from the shadows and stopped beside Lionel.

At 180 centimeters, Lionel was considered tall for this era, yet one had to look up to see his face clearly.

She had long, dark, wavy hair that reached her shoulders, a square jaw, a straight nose, and gray-blue eyes with a languid and cynical look.

The young man took out a silver cigarette case, pulled out a cigarette, rummaged around in his pocket for a moment, then looked annoyed before turning to Lionel: "Excuse me, sir. May I borrow a light?"

Lionel took a matchbox out of his pocket and handed it to him.

The young man took the match, lit his cigarette, took a deep drag, and slowly exhaled the smoke: "Thank you very much."

He nodded slightly in greeting, then looked at Lionel with undisguised curiosity and scrutiny, before speaking after a moment: "My name is Oscar Wilde."

This chaotic night finally brought some pleasant surprises.

Lionel instinctively took a step to the side.

(End of this chapter)