Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 419 The Stubborn Illness of the French Nation!

Lionel nodded, not surprised by the news. Nikola Tesla's electrical engineering team had been spending almost all their time on the construction site recently, so naturally, the results were remarkable.

He readily agreed: "Of course, I will definitely go. This is not only for 'Thunderstorm,' but also to promote our electrification standards."

At that time, the Lyon Grand Theatre will receive the gold badge of the 'Sorel Certified Theatre', as a testament to their foresight in embracing new technologies and standards.

“Ah! Speaking of badges!” Emil Perrin seemed to be suddenly reminded. He immediately bent down, opened the drawer, and carefully took out an exquisite box.

He pushed the box in front of Lionel, full of pride and anticipation: "Look, this is a sample that we agreed on beforehand, handcrafted by the best jewelers in Paris."

Are you satisfied with this?

Lionel opened the box and saw a beautifully designed, gleaming gold badge lying quietly on the dark blue velvet.

The badge design is simple and elegant, with an overall circular shape and a golden branch symbolizing laurel leaves around the edge, representing honor and artistic achievement.

At the center of the emblem, above a small electric light emitting rays, represents advanced stage electrification technology;
Beneath the light, a classic quill pen and a theatrical mask are placed crosswise, symbolizing scriptwriting and theatrical performance respectively.

At the bottom of the badge, an elegant Latin motto is engraved in cursive script: Art is light.

On the back of the badge is a place to engrave the theater's name and the date of certification.

The entire badge design blends classical art with modern technology, making it both dignified and noble, yet full of contemporary flair.

Lionel gently stroked the badge and exclaimed sincerely, "It's perfect."

Emil Perrin looked at the badge, his eyes gleaming with ambition.

He emphasized his words, as if announcing the coming of a new era: "Yes, perfect. From now on, only theaters that possess this badge will be worthy of, and able to, stage the finest plays of this era!"

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Lionel left the Comédie-Française with a light heart.

He decided not to call a carriage, but to stroll alone along Rue Richelieu, enjoying this moment of leisure and letting the cool Parisian autumn evening air clear his mind, which was occupied by the script.

However, he soon noticed that the atmosphere on the street was unusual—an uneasy feeling, like an invisible plague, was spreading in the air.

The gentlemen, who usually walked with a leisurely pace, were now hurrying along, their faces devoid of composure, instead showing worry, or even panic.

Many people were clutching newspapers tightly in their hands, waving their arms and shouting something.

He saw a well-dressed middle-aged man leaning against a shop window, his hands covering his face, his shoulders trembling slightly, emitting suppressed sobs, like a wounded wild animal.

Not far away, a woman wearing an ornate feathered hat was gesturing excitedly to her male companion, her voice shrill and tearful, drawing the attention of passersby.

Even worse, a young man ran wildly on the sidewalk as if being chased by a demon, nearly knocking over a newsboy, but didn't even bother to apologize, leaving only a gust of wind behind.

Lionel frowned.

Why are the Parisians so out of control today? Have the Germans attacked again?
The idea seemed absurd to him, but the scene before him was simply too abnormal.

He strode forward and stopped another man who was about to rush past him.

Lionel asked, "Sir, what happened?"

The man, stopped and extremely impatient, shoved Lionel aside, babbling incoherently, "Six meters! A full six meters! These damned idiots! They've fooled us all!"

He struggled free and continued running forward as if the world would end if he delayed even a second.

Lionel was stunned: "Six meters?"

This number sounds completely unrelated to a military invasion.

He looked around and noticed that the carriages on the street were running faster and more frantically than usual.

The drivers waved their whips and urged their horses on, seemingly racing against time to reach their destination.

An ominous premonition rose in his heart.

He walked up to a newsstand, tossed in a coin, and picked up the latest copy of Le Figaro.

The huge, bold black font of the front-page headline immediately caught his eye:
Pacific Ocean level is six meters higher than Atlantic Ocean level! Canal project faces catastrophic collapse!

Turning to the second page, the headline was still shocking:

Tropical plague ravages the isthmus, turning it into a graveyard!

The article reveals, in an almost desperate tone:

The latest measurements show that the sea level on the Pacific side of the Panama Canal is a full six meters higher than that on the Atlantic side!
This means that the original plan for a sea-level canal that did not require locks has completely failed!
To make matters worse, the harsh climate of the Central American rainforest led to a large-scale outbreak of yellow fever and malaria, killing thousands of workers and fatally impacting the project's progress.

The report concluded by stating unequivocally that the ambitious plan to open the route within five years had become an impossible task.

Lionel instantly understood the reason for the panic, wailing, and frantic running in the street.

The Panama Canal, a project endorsed by the French government and touted by countless media outlets as a "national honor" and a "project of the century," has long since become a massive black hole for financial speculation.

In order to raise huge sums of money, the Panama Canal Company issued a massive amount of stocks and bonds, including the "Panama Canal Five-Year Bonds" that had previously swindled the Sorel family.

Countless middle-class people, small business owners, and even nobles were attracted by the rosy prospects and high returns depicted in the advertisements and invested their life savings in it.

Now, this "six-meter" drop and the devastating news of the plague have punctured this carefully woven bubble of wealth.

Those who were worried, wailing, and running frantically were all participants in this speculative frenzy, and at that moment they had only one thought:
Before their stocks and bonds become completely worthless, they need to sell them off, even if it only recovers a small portion of their losses. Lionel puts down his newspaper: "This is France, this is the French..."

As he watched the urban tragicomedy unfolding before him, a complex mix of emotions welled up within him—mockery, pity, and even a cool indifference.

Driven by fanaticism and vanity, they blindly speculate and place their hopes on an unattainable dream; once the dream is shattered, they immediately fall into a hysterical collapse.

This recurring impulse is practically a chronic disease rooted in the very marrow of the French nation…

He could almost imagine the brutal scene unfolding right now inside the Palais des Stockpile in Paris.

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The Stock Exchange Palace, located in the Vivian neighborhood, is now both a living hell and a paradise.

Inside the grand trading hall, the once impeccably dressed brokers and investors had long since lost all their composure.

An atmosphere of near-mad despair permeated the air, and countless voices converged into a deafening roar.

"Dump it! Dump it all! Panama Canal, no matter the price!"

"God! It's dropping again! Another five percent!"

"My money! All my money is in there!"

"No buyers! Not a single one! They're finished!"

"Please, take my order! I'll only charge 70% of the original price! 60% is fine too!"

Those who had staked their lives on canal stocks and bonds, their faces contorted and eyes bloodshot, waved their arms like drowning men, screaming desperately, trying to grasp at the last straw.

Some people slumped in chairs, their eyes glazed over, as if their souls had been emptied out;
Some people couldn't accept the reality of sudden bankruptcy and broke down in tears in public, sobbing uncontrollably.
Some people fainted due to extreme excitement and were hurriedly carried out of the hall.

Every second, wealth evaporated, hope was shattered, and the entire hall seemed to be shrouded in an invisible plague of panic.

However, a small group of people, either standing on the edge of the crowd or hiding on the second floor, could not hide their smugness and greed with smiles on their faces.

These people are all speculators who shorted the Panama Canal.

They stared at the Panama Canal-related securities plummeting on the exchange's price blackboard, their faces contorted in despair, as if watching a spectacular drama unfold.

A fat man smoking a Havana cigar chuckled in a low voice to his companion, "Fall! Fall even harder!"

With each price change, the numbers in his account were expanding at an alarming rate.

Another man chimed in, “Perfect! It’s a textbook short-selling opportunity!”

He held a thick stack of transaction slips in his hand, his spoils of war.

Some people scoffed, "These idiots should have thought of this day when they were praising Lesseb as the 'hero who created a second Suez.'"

Here, sorrow and ecstasy, bankruptcy and sudden wealth are separated by only a fine line.

Human greed, fear, wishful thinking, and ruthlessness bloom brilliantly like poppies in this temple of capitalism.

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The next day, unsurprisingly, all the major newspapers in Paris pointed the finger at one man—Ferdinand de Lesseb, the chief engineer of the Panama Canal, who was once hailed as the "Great Messenger of the Canal."

Overnight, he went from a national hero to a villain condemned by all.

The most scathing headline in *Le Gall* was: Ferdinand de Lesseps, French sinner, the biggest fraud of the century!

Le Figaro detailed the "decision-making errors" and "technical blind spots" in the project, questioning its professional competence.

Even some newspapers that had previously championed the canal quickly turned their guns on it and joined the criticism, attempting to distance themselves from the disaster.

Lionel browsed the reports at the breakfast table, a sneer playing on his lips: "We French change criminals faster than women change hats."

Just two months ago, he himself was branded a "traitor to France" for opposing colonial expeditions.

Now that hat has been placed on Ferdinand de Lesseb's head.

The French not only suffer from collective amnesia, but are also always eager to find scapegoats.

Fortunately, Lionel had already arranged for Mr. De La Ruyak to exchange the bonds the swindler had bought for a small building in Gap, the capital of the Upper Alps.

His parents and sister have now moved there permanently, and it is said that the heir to a local shop is pursuing his sister.

Their house in Montiel was rented to a family that had come from Provence to settle in Montiel.

This family brought their child to try their luck with the "20,000 francs," but apparently the child's grades weren't very good...

After finishing breakfast and getting dressed, Lionel prepared to head to the "Charpentier's Shelf" publishing house.

He planned to talk to George Charpentier about whether "The Sun Also Rises" should be serialized or published as a standalone book.

Although there was only one issue left in the serialization of "The Sign of Four," Lionel was not particularly willing to serialize two very different works in the same magazine at the same time, considering that "The Hound of the Baskervilles" would start a new serialization at Christmas.

However, when he pushed open the door to "Charpentier's bookshelf," he was met with a suffocatingly gloomy atmosphere.

(Things are mostly back to normal now; I'll start catching up on updates tomorrow.)
(End of this chapter)