Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 224 Tuogu
Hearing Lionel's words, Juliet seemed to be awakened: "Oh...yes, there's some bread, cold meat, and soup. I'll go heat it up right away..."

A simple lunch was quickly served on the wooden table in the restaurant.

The food wasn't fancy, but the hot soup did dispel the chill and made all three of them feel a bit better.

During the meal, Lionel continued calmly with the arrangements: "We can't all stay on the job. The three of us should take turns keeping watch, changing shifts every eight hours."

This way, everyone can get rest, and it also ensures that someone is always alert and watching over Mr. Flaubert.

Maupassant and Juliet, their minds in turmoil and almost unable to think clearly, immediately nodded in agreement.

At this moment, Lionel, with his calm and organized mind, became their only lifeline.

After lunch, the extremely tired Juliet went to rest first; Maupassant was responsible for keeping watch from the afternoon until late at night; and Lionel was responsible for the early morning until the next morning.

This class is the toughest; only Lionel has the spirit to endure it now.

Time flowed slowly in the silence...

Winter days are short, and night falls early, enveloping this solitary villa on the banks of the Seine.

Maupassant stood by his teacher's bedside, his heart filled with a mix of emotions—regret, worry, and fear—that threatened to consume him.

He couldn't forgive himself for his negligence—if he hadn't been so engrossed in pleasure, he should have arrived here last night.

Late at night, Lionel arrived at the room on time to relieve Maupassant.

Maupassant looked even more haggard than before, his eyes bloodshot, and he said in a hoarse voice, "It's up to you now."

Then he dragged his heavy steps away.

Only Lionel and the sleeping Flaubert remained in the room.

The gaslight was dimmed, casting a faint glow that outlined the large shadows of the furniture and the silhouette of the patient in bed.

The air was filled with the smell of medicine. Leonard sat on a chair by the bed, watching Flaubert's breathing, which was sometimes steady and sometimes rapid.

Outside the window, the Normandy countryside was utterly silent, with the occasional sound of the cold wind whistling across the rooftops.

In the still of the early morning, before the dawn had even broken through the window, Flaubert on the bed let out a soft groan, his eyelids fluttered a few times, and he slowly opened them.

Lionel immediately leaned over and asked softly, "You're awake? How are you feeling? Do you need some water?"

Flaubert's gaze was initially somewhat unfocused and confused, but it took him a while to focus on Lionel's face.

Upon recognizing him, she was visibly surprised, but this quickly turned into gratitude, and she nodded very slightly.

Lionel quickly fed him a few sips of warm water with a spoon.

The warm water seemed to have restored some of Flaubert's strength, and Lionel fed him a piece of soft cake that had been prepared beforehand.

Flaubert was finally able to speak: "Lionel... what are you doing here?"

Lionel explained softly, "Guy received a telegram from Lady Juliet, and we hired a carriage to come here overnight—are you feeling better?"

Flaubert seemed to recall something: "Oh... thank you... thank you, my child... I'm sorry to have troubled you... Guy... and Juliet?"

Lionel immediately said, "They've been watching over you for a long time and just went to rest. Should I wake them?"

Flaubert immediately stopped them: "No! No... Let them sleep... Let them sleep... Don't disturb them..."

He seemed to have gathered some strength: "You... just talk to me for a bit..."

Lionel nodded. "Yes, sir. I'm all ears. Whatever you have to say."

A brief silence fell over the room, broken only by the faint hissing of the gas lamp wick. Flaubert's gaze was fixed on the dim ceiling, as if recalling the disaster that had just occurred.

He began to recount his story haltingly: "I...I was taking a shower...the water was very hot...I suddenly...suddenly felt dizzy...the world spun around...like falling into a dark vortex...and then I knew nothing more..."

His voice trembled: "I thought... I was really going to die this time..."

Lionel listened silently without interrupting him.

Suddenly, Flaubert's gaze returned to Lionel's face: "Lionel... this is retribution... this is punishment... for my dissolute life in my youth... for the health I squandered..."

Lionel wanted to offer some words of comfort, but Flaubert stopped him with a look.

He desperately needed to confide: "The East... Egypt... back then... we were all crazy... chasing after the ultimate thrill... thinking that was freedom, that was everything in life..."

Syphilis...that's when I contracted it...this damned curse that has haunted me for life..."

His voice was filled with bitterness: "It eroded my brain, my nerves...it brought me endless pain and shame...and epilepsy..."

Those sudden, out-of-control moments of terror... made me feel like a monster..."

He began to ramble on about some of his wild experiences in his youth, those dissolute days in Paris and the Near East. His tone had lost its former playfulness and unruliness, leaving only heavy regret.

"I've wasted too much energy... on lust and pleasure... If... if I had been as restrained as you, and cherished this body... perhaps... perhaps I could have written more..."

Flaubert's voice suddenly filled with fear: "I have too few works...too few...just a handful...after I die, I will soon...soon I will be forgotten..."

Like writing on the beach, a wave washes it all away... No one will remember Gustave Flaubert anymore..."

Upon hearing that this literary giant was so pessimistic, Lionel could no longer contain himself.

He spoke, his voice filled with sincerity: "Sir! Please don't say that! You will never be forgotten!"

Flaubert looked at him with a puzzled expression.

Leonard took a deep breath and slowly said, "Sir, you have not produced many works, but each one has been meticulously crafted and is enough to change the trend and direction of literature!"
Your pursuit of a precise, objective, and calm narrative style, your almost obsessive meticulousness and refinement of words—'finding the one and only suitable word'—

This was by no means in vain! You have pioneered a completely new aesthetic of the novel!

Seeing the astonishment in Flaubert's eyes, he spoke with even greater conviction: "You have taught us that the author should exist in the work like God, invisible yet omnipresent."

You have elevated the art of the novel to an unprecedented level, transforming it from mere gossip into a serious art form worthy of meticulous crafting!

Your personal inspiration has been immense, far exceeding your expectations. And in the future, sir, I firmly believe that future literature, and indeed all of 20th-century literature, will draw nourishment and enlightenment from you!
You are an inextinguishable star in the night sky of literature! Your name, Gustave Flaubert, will live and die with French literature itself!

Lionel's voice echoed in the quiet bedroom.

He could not directly quote Roland Barthes or other later critics, but he expressed Flaubert's value in a language that was understandable in this era.

Flaubert was completely stunned. He stared wide-eyed at the young man before him in disbelief.

These words not only deeply understood his pursuits and values, but were even more insightful and precise than those of his most ardent supporters!
After the initial shock came an indescribable gratitude and comfort that almost brought him to tears.

In his most vulnerable moment, the person who understood him best was Lionel Sorel, whom he had known for less than a year!
Lionel was no unknown; he was one of the brightest new stars in French literature!

Flaubert's chest heaved, his eyes flashing with shock, emotion, and relief.

After a long while, he suddenly reached out with trembling hands and tightly grasped Lionel's wrist.

He said in an almost pleading tone, "Lional...promise me...if I can't take it anymore...help Guy for me..."

(End of this chapter)