Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 206 Ronald Soler, Emerging from Nowhere
The two letters in Lionel's hand, one slightly thicker with a rough envelope, were from Anton Pavlovich Chekhov, from Moscow University;
The other one was slightly thinner but more elegant, sent from Greenwich in Greater London, and signed "Yen Fou".

Lionel hesitated for a moment, then picked up the letter from Moscow.

Tearing open the envelope revealed several pages of densely written letter paper, the handwriting slightly messy yet full of power, in French.

Tucked among the letters was another stack of rougher paper, with a different handwriting—it appeared to be a novel draft.

He took a deep breath and began to read Chekhov's letter.

Dear Mr. Lionel Sorel, my mentor:

Please allow me to address you in this way again.

Although you humbly declined repeatedly, in my heart, your enlightenment to my thoughts and literature far surpasses that of any teacher in name.

I have returned safely to Moscow, and thanks to your generous assistance, the journey was very smooth.

My family was more surprised than angry when they saw me return, especially when I handed the remaining money to my mother...

The father's scolding seemed to have lost some of its strength. You're right, sometimes bread is more effective than slogans in solving problems.

……

I am now studying at the Medical School of Moscow State University. Before I pick up a pen, I will first learn to pick up a scalpel.

Winter comes earlier in Moscow than in Paris; the gloomy sky and cold streets constantly remind me of the reality here.

But your teachings, like a flame, continue to burn in my heart.

I am trying to observe as you taught me, no longer rushing to generalize about the grand "Russian disease," but attempting to understand each individual—

A street vendor shivering in the cold but still calling out to sell his wares; a patient anxiously waiting outside a clinic; a junior civil servant who talks big but feels empty inside…

Enclosed with the letter is a short piece of writing that I attempted to create.

……

Your loyal Anton
[January 1880, Moscow]

Lionel was deeply moved by the warmth expressed in the letter.

Lionel put down the letter, picked up the few rough pages of manuscript paper, and began to read the exercise.

Upon closer inspection, it was indeed Chekhov's debut work, "Letter to My Learned Neighbor," which had been published in a newspaper.

A letter to my learned neighbor

Maxine... (I forgot your father's name, please forgive me).

Please forgive this old man and this absurd human being, for I should not have dared to disturb you with these humble murmurs in this letter.

You have moved to our humble place and lived next to me, a nobody, for a full year now, yet I still do not recognize you, and you do not recognize me, this poor dragonfly.

……

I have long sought an opportunity to befriend you, eager as a chicken thirsting for knowledge, for knowledge is, in a sense, our very mother, just as civilization is. Furthermore, I have always held scholars and intellectuals in high esteem; they are renowned far and wide, radiating brilliance.
...]

Lionel almost burst out laughing—this was so Chekhov-esque!
Although it still bears obvious traces of imitation of Gogol, its unique approach of exposing the absurdity of things through the characters' own language has already begun to show its potential.

The letter from "Veteran Vasily Semi-Blatov" is filled with seemingly literary but actually nonsensical vocabulary, his logic is chaotic, and his writing is riddled with typos.

However, he boasted of his extensive knowledge and went to great lengths to distort and ridicule evolution and astronomy.

That kind of earnest stupidity is portrayed to the fullest extent.

He quickly skimmed through the subsequent content, in which Vasily denounced the idea that humans originated from monkeys as blasphemous and questioned how it was possible for humans to live on the moon.

"Since the moon only comes out at night, how do people live without sunlight? Do they rely on kerosene lamps?"

It is full of absurd comedic elements.

Lionel put down his manuscript, thought for a moment, took out paper and pen, and began to write a reply to Chekhov.

Dear Anton:

First of all, I'm truly happy for you to be home safely and starting this new chapter in your life. ...

Now, let's talk about your letter, "A Letter to My Learned Neighbor".

I must say, Anton, this is a remarkable piece of writing! It always makes me chuckle.

You've captured an extremely subtle form of satire; the comedic effect of this "self-disclosure" is far more profound and powerful than direct ridicule.

This ability to create humor and food for thought through logically consistent absurdity is clear evidence of your talent.

……

However, Anton, I hope your satire doesn't just stop at creating laughs or mocking a particular individual.

Vasily Semyon-Blatov may be laughable, but behind his ignorance lies a lack of information, a deficiency in education, and a social atmosphere that resists change and remains stagnant.

His overconfidence stems from his complete unawareness of his own ignorance, and this "unawareness" is precisely the most tragic and the most in need of being revealed.

……

The highest level of satire may not lie in who we are mocking, but in how we use mockery to let readers see the pathos behind the ridiculous.

Your "learned neighbor," the scientist who never appears, represents reason and knowledge that seem so powerless and distant in the face of the absurd fortress built by Vasily and his ilk.

……

Keep writing, Anton! Keep observing the "Vasilys" around you, observe their environment, and think about why they became this way.

Your pen should not be merely a funhouse mirror reflecting ugliness; humor is your talent, but don't let it become superficial.

I look forward to your next letter, and to your next piece of work.

Your sincere friend Lionel Sorel, in Paris

Lionel put down his pen and let out a long sigh of relief; then he called Alice over and asked her to copy it and send it to Moscow.

He believed that Chekhov could understand the meaning of his letter—this was the path Chekhov was destined to take.

Then he picked up the second letter from London.

Yan Fu's letter was written in fluent French:
Dear Mr. Sorel:
Please forgive my abrupt letter.

It has been more than two months since we parted in Paris. I often think back to our conversation at the Marquis Zeng's dinner party, especially your insights on "doing it now" and "not being fixated on immediate success," which have given my friend Sa Zhenbing and me much to ponder and from which we have benefited greatly.

……

After returning to Greenwich, I used my spare time to translate your novel, The Old Guard, into Chinese.

I know you are not fluent in Chinese, but I am still enclosing my translation with you.

If you have the opportunity to meet Mr. Chen Jitong, you can give this translation to him for his review.

Minister Chen is fluent in both French and Chinese and has a profound knowledge of both Chinese and Western cultures. His opinions will be invaluable to me.

I would be extremely grateful if I could receive some guidance from him.

Yours sincerely, Yan Fu, at Greenwich, London.

Lionel picked up the accompanying translation.

The handwriting is neat and clear, and it is written with a brush, vertically arranged, from right to left.

He stared at the four “complex” Chinese characters in the title—“The Story of the Old Guard”—and a strange feeling instantly seized him.

This was the first time Lionel had seen Chinese characters in such a long time; it felt like a lifetime ago.

Upon seeing Yan Fu say that he was "not familiar with Chinese" and asked him to hand over the translation to Chen Jitong, he immediately looked relaxed.

As he continued reading, Lionel was speechless.

[The Old Guard, a masterpiece by the brilliant French writer Ronald Soler...]

(End of this chapter)