Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 416 "I love our France! But who loves me?"

The International Electricity Exposition of September 1881 is destined to be recorded in history.

It not only showcased humanity's ambition to tame electricity, but also became a stage where two eras and two ideologies intersected.

Thomas Edison's meticulously prepared "Tower of Light" was indeed a feat, but its fame lasted for less than two days.

When Sorel-Tesla Electric's "Miniature Paris" was unveiled, the scales of victory shifted.

The crowds who came to see the "miniature Paris" quickly formed a new frenzy, which soon overshadowed the "Tower of Light".

People are fascinated by that breathing, glowing miniature world, and even more captivated by the "remote power supply" concept it represents.

Media coverage has also become fragmented.

Newspapers with a strong technical focus, such as Le Figaro, began to publish lengthy articles on the principles of alternating current, discussing its advantages in long-distance transmission, and praising Tesla as "an engineer from the future."

Conservatives, such as Le Gallo, continued to defend Edison and the "stability and maturity" of direct current, questioning the "safety" and "complexity" of alternating current.

A debate about the superiority of alternating current (AC) versus direct current (DC) spread from the Palais des Industriels Industriale to salons and newspaper columns throughout Paris, becoming the most fashionable technical topic of the autumn.

But in the eye of this storm of public opinion, Lionel quietly took a step back.

He left the stage entirely to Nikola Tesla and their technical team.

He knew that the debate on technology needed to be proven by technology itself, and that his battlefield should be moved back to his study.

In the study of their apartment at 117 Boulevard Saint-Germain, Lionel and Maupassant sat facing each other on either side of a desk piled high with manuscripts, the air filled with the aroma of coffee and cigars.

Before them lay the final scene of the nearly completed script for "The Café".

Lionel typed the last character, then peeled the manuscript off the typewriter and examined it carefully.

After confirming that there were no problems, he rubbed his throbbing temples and handed the manuscript to Maupassant.
"Alright, Guy, I've put a period to this 'comedy'! It's time for our three old friends to give a final summary, for themselves and for that era."

Maupassant took a deep breath, his usual playful expression replaced by a profound solemnity.

He nodded, looking intently at Lionel's manuscript—

On stage, the interior of the café is dilapidated. Several pieces of windowpane are broken and patched up with old newspapers.

The tables and chairs were old and broken, and most of them were missing, leaving the place empty.

The oil paintings that originally decorated the wall are long gone, leaving only marks of varying shades.

Dust piled up in the corner, and the air seemed to be filled with an atmosphere of decay.

Pierre, the café owner, was old. His hair was gray, his back was slightly hunched, and he wore a faded old coat.

He was holding a dirty rag and wiping the bar counter slowly and half-heartedly.

The brass bell on the door rang softly. Viscount de Saint-Cyr entered. His once elegant silk coat was now worn and tattered, but he still tried his best to keep his posture upright. He leaned on an old cane.

Then Lefebvre entered. He was equally old, with a haggard face, tired and disheveled, and his clothes were full of wrinkles.

Pierre (looking up): "Who? Oh, it's you two gentlemen. Please make yourselves at home."

Viscount Saint-Cyr (looking around): "This place is getting old."

Lefebvre (sighs and sits down): "Everything is old, Viscount, everything has changed."

Pierre (staggering over with two cups of coffee): "There's nothing better to offer, just this. Viscount, Monsieur Lefebvre."

Saint-Cyr (looking at the coffee, with a wry smile): "Can this be called coffee? Pierre, your skills have deteriorated too."

Pierre: "What can we do? Good coffee beans are ridiculously expensive, and the taxes are heavy... We'll just have to make do with what we have, at least it's hot."

(A moment of silence followed, neither of them touching the "coffee" in front of them.)
Lefebvre (suddenly speaking): "Pierre, I, I went to see my old factory."

Pierre (paused for a moment): "Wasn't it confiscated a long time ago? Now it's back to you? This is truly something to be happy about!"

Lefebvre (with a smile that looked more like a grimace): "Still? Tear it down!"

Pierre and Saint-Cyr (almost simultaneously): "Tear it down?"

Lefebvre: "Tear it down! My life's work of over ten years... tear it down! Others may not know, but Pierre, you do—"

Since the time of His Majesty Napoleon, I have believed that only a strong industry can forge the future of France!
Now, the dynasty has returned, but my factory has become 'rebel property,' divided up and resold by those lords...

And what happened? They had absolutely no business sense! Millions of francs worth of machinery were sold as scrap metal just to cover their estates with gold leaf.

Can you find such a farce anywhere else in the world? I ask you!

Pierre: "Back then, my business was booming, and you insisted that I invest in your factory. Look, all my savings... are gone!"

"Back then, I advised you not to stake everything on it, but you insisted it was the future of France!" Saint-Cyr (sighing): "Remember? Back then, when I helped that female worker who was being bullied by the noblemen, you called me a 'hypocrite of the old era.'"

Lefebvre (muttering to himself): "Now I understand—Pierre, I need your help."

Lefebvre (who shakily pulled an old quill pen with a cracked barrel from his pocket): "The factory was demolished, and this is all that's left."

This pen... I've used it to sign so many orders, to write so many business plans... I'm handing them over to you.

In the future, when you have some free time, you can tell it as a joke to the customers who come for coffee. You can say something like this:

There was once a man named Lefebvre who was so arrogant and ignorant that he thought he could revitalize France through factories;

After spending half his life, all he managed to salvage in the end was this piece of junk from the factory ruins!

You should advise everyone that once you have wealth, you should indulge in eating, drinking, and merrymaking, and follow the crowd—

Don't do anything foolish like 'revitalizing French industry'!

Tell them, Lefebvre was sixty years old when he finally understood this! He was a born fool!

Pierre (without taking it, shaking his head): "You keep it for yourself... I'm about to close up shop too."

Saint-Cyr (surprised): "Close down? Move to where?"

Pierre: "How are we different! Monsieur Lefebvre, Viscount, I am different from you—"

Mr. Lefebvre, you had so much wealth back then, and you almost became a member of parliament, but in the end you were treated like a ripe fruit that anyone could pick a few of!

Viscount, you have spent your life upholding the dignity and integrity of the nobility, refusing to bow your head, and in the end even those Bourbon spies did not let you go!

As for me? I've always been an honest person, I don't want to get involved in politics, I greet everyone warmly, and I don't want to offend anyone.

All I want is for my family to be safe and sound, to have enough to eat, and for my children to be successful!
But then the French Revolution came, and my eldest son joined the rebellion and disappeared... The empire came, and we were at war with all of Europe. Taxes doubled, my wife fell ill from exhaustion, and we had no money for treatment...

Finally, the Bourbon family is back. I think we can finally have a few peaceful days.
Haha, haha, haha! Who would have thought that in France, even being an honest person is so difficult!

Saint-Cyr: "I'm no better than you, Pierre."

(He straightened his back, but his shoulders eventually slumped.)

"I upheld noble honor, remained loyal to the king, and asked myself if I had ever broken my oaths or beliefs in my life. But what was the result?"
His family fortune was shattered by repeated revolutions, his titles became empty shells, and he couldn't even raise enough money to buy a dowry for his daughter...

I long for France to return to order and glory, and never again to fall into chaos and bloodshed.

But ha! I watched as my old friends either went to the guillotine or died in poverty and illness in exile...

I've cried all my tears out!
The old Count, my dueling right-hand man back then, is dead, and he doesn't even have a decent grave. I had to swallow my pride and beg someone to get me a coffin... At least he had me as a friend. And what about me?
I love our France! But who loves me?
Who needs an old relic like me now? Look, I picked up Notre Dame from the ground as I passed by.

Now even she can't protect herself...

(Saint-Cyr pulls out a small wooden statue of the Virgin Mary, but one of her hands has been broken off.)

Lefebvre (looking at the statue of the Virgin Mary in Saint-Cyr's hand, suddenly standing up): "Viscount! Pierre! Come, let us repent! The three of us old men, right here before her!"

(Lefebvre placed the statue of the Virgin Mary on the counter, and the three men faced the statue and made the sign of the cross.)
Pierre: "I confess—I have spent my whole life only thinking about compromising and living a peaceful life—I am guilty."

Lefebvre: "I confess—I have believed in ideals, I have staked everything on the emperor and the future—I am guilty."

Viscount de Saint-Cyr: "I confess—I have dedicated my loyalty and honor to unworthy kings and times—I am guilty."

(After their confession, the three fell into a deathly silence. In the dim light, the Virgin Mary's compassionate face silently gazed upon these three people abandoned by the times.)
Viscount de Saint-Cyr (struggling to his feet): "I... have nothing more to say. Goodbye."

(He let go, staggered, pushed open the door without looking back, and disappeared into the Parisian autumn twilight.)
Lefebvre (picks up the cold "coffee" on the table, drinks it down in one gulp, as if swallowing the bitter wine of fate): "One more cup of your coffee... Goodbye!"

(He turned abruptly, staggered, and rushed out of the coffee shop without looking back.)
Pierre (staring blankly at his disappearing figure): "Goodbye!"

(He stood alone in the center of the empty café, looking at the statue of the Virgin Mary on the counter, then around the place that had consumed his life, and said in a voice so low it was almost inaudible:) "Goodbye..."

[Curtain Falls]

Maupassant let out a long sigh, as if he had just experienced a spiritual cleansing.

He looked at Lionel with a complicated expression: "Leon, you're too cruel. You made the audience laugh for two scenes, but in this last scene, you made them taste all the bitterness."

'I love our France! But who loves me?' Good heavens, how long has it been since I've seen such a sharp question in a play?

"Leon, is this play really going to premiere at Christmas?"

(There will be another update later, please give me a monthly ticket!)

　The first International Electricity Exposition in Paris and the 27-ton generator and 1200 light bulbs that Edison displayed there are real. He later won five gold medals at the exposition.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)