Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 27 Albert's Invitation

Mr. Hugo is 77 years old, which is considered quite old in this era.

Last June, he suffered a minor stroke. Although he has almost fully recovered, he rarely goes out or sees guests anymore.

He is currently focusing his main energy on writing the final volume of his last major work, "Legends of the Century".

This monumental work of human history, written in the language of poetry, spanned the latter half of his life—the first volume was published in 1859, and the second volume in 1877.

So when he received Professor Taine's letter, he initially wanted to write a polite reply to decline the invitation, but one sentence from Taine moved this literary giant who was revered by the French people:
The Sorbonne cannot lose its youth, vitality, and justice, just as France cannot lose Victor Hugo! Your arrival will greatly encourage and comfort these young people, and will surely allow the French people to witness your greatness once again!

He recalled his experience studying at law school—although he wasn't particularly interested in law and was merely following his father's arrangements, the daily interactions with his young classmates, the intellectual clashes, and the sincere exchanges were unforgettable memories.

Although Victor Hugo's reputation grew in his later years, he often found himself in the loneliness common to the elderly.

Especially after the Paris Commune in 1871, Hugo, out of sympathy for the Commune members, repeatedly called on the government to pardon and release them, and even appealed to foreign governments to provide them with asylum, which resulted in unrest.

One night, a mob of about 50 people tried to force their way into Hugo's house, shouting, "Kill Hugo! Hang Hugo! Kill this villain!"

Although the atrocity was unsuccessful, it greatly affected Hugo's heart, making him see the wickedness of human nature and how unreliable so-called "reputation" was.

He felt that he was nothing more than a rather glamorous signboard.

After hesitating for a long time, he found paper and pen and wrote a reply:

Dear Tainna:

Thank you for your enthusiasm, and I wish you continued good health...

I apologize for being unable to attend the "Poetry Gathering." My old and ailing body is no longer capable of dancing with beautiful ladies at such a grand event.

But I still have the energy to look at the works of the Sorbonne students…

After writing his reply, Hugo felt weak again. Looking out at the thick, inky night, he rang a bell to summon a servant to help him to sleep.

……

The next morning, Lionel woke up precisely when the church bells rang eight times.

When I opened the door, I saw Petty waiting for me at the door, with a basin of clean water at my feet.

Because the attic is too small and there is no place for Patty to rest, she has been sleeping at her parents' house on the second floor lately.

Upon seeing Lionel, Petty flashed a bright smile: "Good morning, Master Sorel."

Having eaten a lot of beef and chicken with Lionel these past few days, Petty's complexion is no longer pale, but has a faint flush.

Lionel brought the basin of water into the house, then shut Petty out, took off his coat, and began to wash and dry himself.

The icy cold water instantly cleared his mind—after living in this era for over a month, he had gradually adapted to the custom of washing everything with cold water. It wasn't entirely because poverty prevented him from affording hot water, but rather because washing and wiping with cold water was considered an important way to maintain health in this era.

In the early 19th century, people generally believed that diseases existed in the form of gases and could enter the body through pores and nostrils, causing illness. Cold water bathing could shrink pores and block the "disease gas" from entering the body.
Although after Pasteur discovered the existence of bacteria and other microorganisms, "pore phobia" turned into "bacterial phobia," and the middle class and upper class launched a "disinfection craze," with every household taking pride in the smell of lime water, the habit of using cold water was still generally retained.

However, Lionel was determined that if he really made a fortune writing novels and could afford a large villa like Flaubert, Zola, and Maupassant, he would definitely live a life where he could take hot baths...

After washing up, Lionel, who was about to leave, gave Petit two tasks and gave her 2 francs:

He bought food for the two of them today and cooked it according to the method he had taught him before. He would go home for lunch and dinner.

She copied the manuscript of "The Old Guard" that she had placed on the table. If she encountered any unfamiliar words, she could look them up in the dictionary next to her—she had already taught her the basic spelling and dictionary lookup methods last year.

Patty is very smart and does quite well in her studies; if she weren't frequently interrupted by her mother to do chores, she might already be able to write letters by herself this year.

Seeing Petty nod emphatically, Lionel felt a sense of relief, patted her head, and hurried downstairs and out the door.

The Sorbonne's courses were as boring as ever, with professors repeating theories and works from 100 or even 300 years ago, as conservative as zombies resurrected from the Middle Ages.

Professor Hippolyte Tainer, though old-fashioned, was as trendy as a rock musician compared to them—if rock music existed in this era.

Bored out of his mind, Lionel hid in a corner at the back of the classroom and continued working on "The Old Guard" in his notebook.

Well, writing "The Decadent City" in class is still too risky—

[I overheard people talking behind his back that the old guard was indeed a veteran of His Majesty the Emperor's personal guard, having distinguished himself at Austerlitz and Jena. But after Waterloo, King Louis XVIII ordered the disbandment of these elite troops. Some were sent back to their hometowns, while many more were kept under constant surveillance by the secret police and couldn't find decent work. They grew poorer and poorer, almost to the point of begging. Fortunately, he was an excellent marksman, sometimes hunting and chasing wolves for others in exchange for bread. Unfortunately, he had a bad temper: a fondness for alcohol. With a few coins, he would head straight to the tavern, get completely drunk, and often make mistakes. After several such incidents, no one needed his help anymore. The old guard, having no other option, occasionally resorted to theft. But in our shop, his conduct was better than anyone else's; he never defaulted on payments. Although occasionally he might not have cash, and we'd temporarily write it down on the blackboard, he would always pay it off within a month, erasing his name from the blackboard.]

Lionel was writing, not even getting up during the break, when suddenly the paper went dark. It turned out someone was standing in front of his desk, blocking the light.

He looked up and saw Albert de Rohan, leading a group of his henchmen, surrounding the row of seats where he was sitting.

Lionel frowned. After what happened in the principal's office, Albert hadn't bothered him for a long time. Was he going to revert to his old ways today?

Before he could speak, Albert said, "Lional, do you have any other plans this weekend?"

Lionel thought to himself that of course he did; he had just received Gabriel's advance of 1500 francs in cash and a 1500 franc draft to "an honest Parisian," and he was planning to look at houses over the weekend and move in as soon as possible if they were suitable.

But Albert's tone didn't seem provocative, so he asked, "What's wrong? Is there something you need?"

Albert hesitated for a moment, then finally spoke his mind: "This weekend, we're going on an adventure to the 'Empire of Death,' do you want to come?"

Lionel paused for a moment. "Empire of the Dead" was an inscription on the lintel above the entrance to the famous catacombs of Paris, and it was also the name of the place.

This vast network of underground tunnels contains the remains of 600 million people dating back to the 18th century. Currently managed by the church, it has always been considered a forbidden place and is associated with many supernatural legends.

As he hesitated, he clearly saw a contemptuous smile slowly creep up Albert's lips.

(End of this chapter)