Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 25 Invitation to Submit an Article

Lionel couldn't help but cough, attracting everyone's attention. Then, like rabbits seeing the shadow of an eagle, they all scurried back into their houses.

The tenant downstairs who had been making unreasonable demands of Petty also fell silent and tiptoed into the room.

When she saw Lionel appear in the kitchen doorway, Petty lowered her guard and said proudly with a sob in her voice, "Young Master Sorel, I didn't let anyone touch your chicken soup."

Lionel nodded: "Well done, Petty!"

Then, when the lid of the soup pot was lifted, an aroma several times stronger than before wafted out, almost overflowing from the small apartment.

Lionel couldn't help but exclaim, "The taste of free-range hens is truly incomparable to that of 45-day-old white-feathered chickens!"

As the white mist dissipated, glistening radish chunks and snow-white mushroom slices floated on the thick, golden chicken soup; and the grey hen had already shown the world its greatest kindness—

The golden-yellow chicken skin had become translucent, revealing glimpses of the plump meat beneath, beckoning hungry stomachs to hurry and enjoy it.

Petty suddenly swayed, about to faint, when a loud and long "gurgle" sound came from her little belly.

The celery and onions used as spices had been stewed until they were almost dissolved, and Lionel took them out and put them in another bowl.

Petty thought this was her dinner for the day, and she stared at it longingly, her mouth watering, but she didn't dare to eat it without Lionel's permission.

Then I saw Lionel put a handful of spaghetti into the chicken soup...

Ten minutes later, two bowls of fragrant chicken soup pasta were placed on the restaurant table, each bowl piled high with meat.

Petty stared at the dining table in shock, momentarily unable to comprehend how the young master could eat two bowls of noodles at the same time...

Lionel picked up a few strands of noodles with his knife and fork, then noticed Petty was still standing there. He said, somewhat puzzled, "Sit down and eat with us!"

Petty looked at Lionel in shock, then at the chicken noodle soup on the table in disbelief—was this mine?
You should know that when she ate Mrs. Martin's meals with her parents, she could only get the scraps that the adults didn't want, and she was often still half hungry after a meal.

Throughout France—no, throughout Europe—there is no known household where a servant can sit at the same table as his master and eat the same food.

Even Mrs. Martin, who was warming herself by the fire in the living room, was stunned by what Lionel said—as a local woman in her sixties, she had witnessed more than half a century of ups and downs in Paris.

She had heard plenty of speeches from revolutionaries and politicians chanting beautiful slogans like "equality for all," but she had never actually seen anyone who was rich not hire a bunch of servants to wait on them, let alone any rich person who would have their servants sit at the table and eat with them.

But Lionel's words came out so naturally, without a trace of affectation, as if it were something that was taken for granted.

Petty sat down hesitantly, barely touching the edge of the chair with her bottom, ready at any moment for Lionel to say "I was just kidding" and then return to where she was supposed to stand.

But Lionel was too busy munching on his noodles to even look up at her.

Petty mustered her courage, picked up her fork, twirled the noodles, and put them in her mouth—an indescribable aroma filled her mouth, making her tongue feel as if it were melting.
With a mix of trepidation and excitement, I took another bite of the meat. The wonderful, springy texture and the even more intense meaty aroma left my mind completely blank...

Petty spent a full twenty minutes eating a bowl of noodles, licking the bowl clean...

After putting down the bowl, she noticed Lionel looking at her with concern: "Are you full? If you want more, go get some from the pot..."

Patty quickly opened his mouth, wanting to say, "No need, young master!"—but before he could finish speaking, a long burp came out instead...

It was another Monday morning, and Lionel arrived at the Sorbonne on time.

The entrance was still a bustling hub of carriage socializing, but now, when he jumped down from the public carriage, no one dared to mock him. This wasn't just because they feared his sharp tongue, but also because the academy bully, Albert de Rohan, had suddenly changed his ways. He not only stopped bullying Lionel, but even declared that no one else was allowed to touch him.

Therefore, the students generally guessed that Lionel must have caught the eye of some countess, which is why the arrogant Albert was so wary of him and cast envious and jealous glances at him.

The naive and innocent young man from the Alps, Lionel, had no idea what was going on, only that he felt a strange, warm, and ambiguous atmosphere surrounding him today...

The first class, as usual, was Professor Taine's "The Origins of French Literature." The old professor, who had been absent for a week due to a cold, was in full force today, asking Lionel three questions in a row as soon as class started, making him sweat profusely.

Although he managed to get by thanks to the knowledge he had accumulated in his previous life, Lionel still felt that something was wrong—he was clearly not late today, nor did he argue with Albert in class, so why did Professor Taine have such a big problem with him?
Having finally endured until the end of get out of class, Professor Taine, who had failed to stump Lionel, glared at him resentfully and left in a huff.

An even stranger thing happened in the afternoon—as soon as get out of class ended, Lionel was called to the office by Mr. Dunn, the school's dean of studies, which also sparked a lot of discussion among the students.

"You know about the 'Poetry Gathering' before Easter, right?" Mr. Dunn asked the tall, handsome young man in front of him, secretly praising the dean for his good taste.

Lionel nodded: "Of course I know." The Sorbonne's "Poetry Gathering" was a prestigious event in the Parisian university education circle, and it was always attended by a large number of wealthy people and nobles.

Mr. Dunn asked with concern, "Why haven't I seen you participate before?"

Lionel searched his memory before answering, "I submitted it, but it wasn't selected."

Students at the Sorbonne who wanted to participate in the "Poetry Festival" either had to be second-generation members like Albert, whose parents would attend the event, or they needed to submit their work to the Sorbonne Faculty of Arts journal. Only those with outstanding talent who were favored had the opportunity to stand out at the "Poetry Festival".

Lionel's original self once submitted a "Hymn to the Virgin Mary" to a journal, but naturally, it went unanswered.

Mr. Dunn patted Lionel on the shoulder encouragingly: "This year, we hope—no, you must submit an article to the journal. I believe in your talent!"

Lionel was even more confused, wondering if there was something wrong with the mushrooms in the stewed chicken yesterday, which was why he was having so many hallucinations today.

But since the dean of the college had already spoken, how could he refuse? He could only bite the bullet and agree: "Okay, I will definitely submit my work this year!"

Mr. Dunn was relieved: "That's good—the sooner the better. You can hand the manuscript to me directly once you've finished writing it."

At this moment, Lionel felt that the bald, hunchbacked old man in front of him was an NPC in the game, and that he had inexplicably received a side quest.

……

That evening, after eating the oxtail soup that Petit had painstakingly prepared, Lionel first wrote a confirmation letter to Gabriel, then laid out new manuscript paper on the table and began to ponder deeply, holding a quill pen.

He wanted to finish Mr. Dunn's task as soon as possible—whatever his purpose in wanting him to participate in the "poetry gathering"—it would be a loss if it affected the writing of "Decadent City".

But the more he thought about it, the more interesting it became:
The journal of the Sorbonne is quite well-known in Parisian literary circles.

Although it is not as famous as the major newspapers published in the public, most literary critics in Paris, as well as teachers in the faculties of literature, philosophy, and theology at various universities, subscribe to it.

Regardless, the Sorbonne remains a flagship institution for the humanities in French universities, and its journals occasionally publish some truly remarkable works…

With this in mind, Lionel abandoned any intention of being perfunctory and became more serious than ever before.

He didn't write the first line on the manuscript paper until the candle was half burned:

The layout of taverns in the Alps is different from other places: ...

(End of this chapter)