Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 207 "The Notary"!
"Ronaldo Soler," this transliterated name full of the characteristics of the era sounds like a certain football star, which is really out of place.

Lionel managed to suppress a laugh and continued reading. After a few lines of self-introduction, the main text began:

The Alpine taverns are different from other places: a huge, L-shaped counter facing the street, with an ice bucket of boiling water in the center, instantly bringing all the wines to a suitable drinking temperature. Laborers, finishing their work at dusk, would spend one sous on iced wine—a price twenty years ago, now requiring two—to lean against the counter, sip, and enjoy a leisurely rest…

Yan Fu's classical Chinese proficiency was undoubtedly profound; his use of words was elegant and concise, striving to conform to the reading habits of Chinese literati of that era.

He translated "L-shaped bar" as "L-shaped giant bar" and condensed "making each type of wine reach the appropriate drinking temperature in the shortest time" into "making all wines reach the appropriate drinking temperature instantly", which is quite ingenious.

In Chinese, "醴" refers to sweet wine, and "冰醴" refers to chilled beer, which is quite elegant.

However, Lionel's brows gradually furrowed.

This highly condensed classical Chinese, far removed from everyday spoken language, is certainly elegant, but it seems to isolate the cold, realistic feel of the original text.

The power of Lu Xun's original work "Kong Yiji" lies precisely in its almost plain, vernacular narrative and in the ordinariness and authenticity of the "young waiter's" perspective.

Lionel's "The Old Guard" restores this austere and objective style in French.

Yan Fu's translations, however, are involuntarily filtered through the "refined" lens of old-style literati.

He translated "the worker" as "the laborer," "drank and rested heartily" as "took a leisurely rest," and "generally not so extravagant" as "generally not so wealthy"...

Every change in wording subtly elevates and distances the original work's everyday atmosphere, confining it to the clichés of classical Chinese.

Such a translation is undeniably vivid, but Lionel felt a strong sense of regret and dissatisfaction.

He knew that a novel written in elegant classical Chinese could only circulate within a small circle of enlightened scholars and students who had received traditional education; it was ultimately just scratching the surface.

The true power of change lies in ordinary people who may not understand classical Chinese, but can see their own joys and sorrows reflected in vernacular stories.

He put down his translation, pondered for a long time, and then picked up his pen, deciding to write a reply to Yan Fu.

[Dear Mr. Yan Fu:]

I was delighted to receive your letter and to learn that you and Mr. Sa Zhenbing are doing well and that you are making great progress in your studies at Greenwich.

The accompanying translation was written in the elegant style commonly used by the Chinese intellectual class, much like Latin was used in Europe, presumably in the hope that it would be accepted and valued by scholars and writers.

I fully understand and respect this.

However, please forgive my somewhat superficial opinion, which may stem from a different cultural background.

My original intention in creating "The Old Guard" was not merely to amuse literary figures, but to depict the living conditions of ordinary people in order to evoke a wider resonance.

In France, the vitality of the novel stems from its gradual departure from salons, allowing citizens to read and discuss it.

As far as I know, in China, besides this elegant literary style, there is another language that is closer to the everyday speech of ordinary people, which is the mainstream of novels.

……

I am enclosing your translation with this letter. Please check your mail.

Thank you again for your kindness and hard work.

Sincerely, Lionel Sorel

Lionel did not directly criticize Yan Fu's classical Chinese translation, but subtly suggested the possibility of "vernacular translation" by expressing his thoughts on the novel's audience and function.

Lionel did not mention in the letter whether he had shown the translation to Chen Jitong; how much Yan Fu could understand and whether he would adopt these opinions was beyond his control. As for the translation "London Soler," Lionel did not correct it, believing that this translation would be a good trace of cultural change in the future.

Lionel handed the letter to Alice, then tidied himself up and went out.

Today is January 3, 1880. Last night, "The Choir" was performed for the fourth time, and its popularity showed no signs of waning. Some audience members even came from other places, paying five times the price to buy scalped tickets, just to see the brilliance of "The Choir".

This play was like a tireless money-printing machine, bringing huge profits to both Lionel and the Comédie-Française.

In just four shows, Lionel earned over 2000 francs in box office revenue.

If, as Émile Perrin wrote in his letter to himself, *The Chorus* became a regular feature of the comedy theater and went on tours, with a 6% share of the box office revenue, his annual income could very well exceed 3 francs.

In addition, Lionel also earns income from serializations and reprints, with royalties paid not only in francs but also in pounds and rubles...

"The Choir" may also attract theater contracts from Britain, Russia, and even Germany.

These all involve complex legal provisions, revenue calculations, and asset management, which Lionel is gradually becoming unable to handle.

So he is now standing in front of a quaint stone building.

Above the building entrance, a gleaming brass plaque bears several lines of text:
Delacroix Firm
Founded in 1832

Lionel took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy oak door.

A warm, stuffy air rushed in, and a not-so-spacious reception room came into view, with walls occupied by huge dark wood filing cabinets, the doors covered with a dense array of labels.

A young clerk in a black robe was hunched over a tall writing desk, writing furiously with a quill pen in an account book, making a rustling sound.

Another, slightly older clerk was carefully cutting through the thick documents with a small knife, his movements meticulous.

The entire space felt solemn, dignified, and even somewhat oppressive, as if time flowed exceptionally slowly.

Hearing the door open, the young clerk looked up and scrutinized Lionel through his thick glasses: "Good day, sir. Do you have an appointment?"

Lionel nodded. "Good day. I have an appointment with Mr. Maurice Delacroix at 10:30. I am Lionel Sorel."

Upon hearing this, the clerk immediately checked the appointment book on the table: "So it's Mr. Sorel. Please wait a moment, I'll inform Mr. Delacroix right away."

He stood up, straightened his robe, and strode towards a heavy solid wood door on the inside.

A moment later, the clerk returned and opened the door for Lionel: "Mr. Delacroix is ​​waiting for you, sir. This way, please."

Lionel walked into the inner office.

The space here is slightly smaller than the outer hall, but the furnishings are more exquisite.

A huge mahogany desk occupied the center position, with a brass inkwell, several quill pens of different sizes, a gas lamp, and a stack of documents waiting to be processed neatly on it.

On the wall hangs a print depicting Napoleon promulgating the Civil Code, as well as several beautifully framed professional certificates.

Behind the desk, the tall and thin Mr. Maurice Delacroix stood up.

He was around forty-five years old, wearing a well-tailored dark suit, with a pair of exquisite gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. His eyes behind the lenses were calm, revealing little emotion.

This was recommended to him by Émile Zola; he was one of the best "notaries" in the Paris region.

(End of this chapter)