Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 422 The Troubles of Happiness! (Bonus Chapter 2)

In September 1881, the air in Boston was beginning to cool, but the streets were still bustling and vibrant.

Boats shuttle back and forth on the Charles River, the sounds of dock horns mingling with the roar of factories; red brick houses stand close together, horse-drawn carriages rumble through the streets, and gentlemen and ladies stroll among them...

It presents a vibrant urban landscape of the East Coast of North America, pulsating with the burgeoning spirit of this emerging nation.

In the editor's office of The Atlantic on Tremont Street, Thomas Bailey Aldridge was engrossed in his manuscript.

The editor, known for his keen insight, is currently reading the latest chapter of "Life on the Mississippi," a book sent by Mark Twain.

On the manuscript paper, Mark Twain's distinctive writing style, blending vivid slang with sharp satire, brings the scenery of the Mississippi River to life on the page:

"...The river is a thick, muddy coffee...Being a navigator is no poetic job; he has to have the entire river's temperament etched into his mind...As for those romantic legends about the river? Come on, in a navigator's eyes, it's just a capricious, scheming bitch that can kill you at any moment."

Aldridge smiled knowingly.

Mark Twain's writing strips away the Mississippi River's mysterious romantic veneer, giving it a raw and authentic vitality.

It is this style of boldly combining dialects and slang with satire of reality that has paved a path for American literature that is distinct from European traditions.

Starting with Mark Twain, "American English" broke free from the shadow of "British English" and began to make its own unique voice heard.

Aldridge appreciates this energy, even though it sometimes appears too blunt or even vulgar, challenging traditional aesthetic tastes.

Just as he was completely immersed in the fantastical river world described by Mark Twain, there was a hurried knocking on the office door.

Aldridge's brow furrowed immediately.

He hated being disturbed while reviewing important manuscripts, but he suppressed his displeasure and said in a deep voice, "Come in!"

The door was pushed open, and the young assistant, Ezra Pym, rushed in, saying in a flustered manner, "Sir, I'm so sorry to bother you, but..."

Ezra Pym was panting, clutching a piece of paper tightly in his hand.

Aldridge was clearly impatient: "But what? Pym, I've said it many times, when I'm reviewing manuscripts..."

Pym quickly explained, "It's a telegram, sir! Just received, sent from Paris! The message is very important, I think you must see it immediately!"

As he spoke, he handed the note to the desk.

Aldridge glanced at the telegram, then at Pym's anxious eyes, and finally put down Mark Twain's manuscript, reaching for the note.

He unfolded the note, his gaze casually sweeping over the words on it—

At first, his expression still carried lingering anger and nonchalance; but soon, the muscles in his face tensed, and disbelief filled his eyes.

His eyes began to widen, and his fingers even trembled slightly.

He couldn't believe his eyes and read those few lines of text two or three more times.

The telegram clearly stated:

"Confirmed news. Émile Zola, Lionel Sorel, Alphonse Daudet, Guy de Maupassant, Edmond de Goncourt, Joris-Carl Huysmann, and others will arrive in the United States in late October for a month-long visit."

—The Chinese Embassy in Paris.

The office fell into a deathly silence, broken only by Aldridge's heavy breathing.

French writers? Such a prestigious delegation of French writers? Coming to visit the United States?

Zola! The naturalist giant who shook the European literary world with "L'Hotel" and "Nana"!

Lionel Sorel! The playwright and novelist who has recently gained fame in Europe!
And then there's Daudet! Goncourt! Maupassant! Each of these names is a household name in the literary world!
They represent the pinnacle of contemporary French literature and its latest trends.

They actually decided to cross the Atlantic Ocean together to come to this country that Europeans considered a "cultural wasteland".

This is incredible! It's as astonishing as a flock of peacocks migrating to a swamp and displaying their plumage.

Moreover, this message was released through the US embassy in France, so it could not possibly be a prank by anyone.

At almost the same time, similar shock spread to almost all major newspapers, magazines and publishing houses on the East and West coasts of the United States.

The headquarters of Harper Brothers Publishing Company on Broadway, New York.

As the elderly Fletcher Harper was discussing the next season's publication plans with his editors, a telegram was delivered directly to his desk.

After reading it, he suddenly stood up from his chair, so excited that he almost knocked over the ink bottle on the table.

The old man repeatedly instructed his son beside him: "Quickly! Send a telegram to our agent in Paris immediately! Spend more money and try to get them to come here! Go now!"

Not far away, the Charles Scribner & Sons company on Bond Street was also in a similar frenzy. Charles Scribner, clutching the telegram, practically ran to the telegraph office, not even having time to write a note for his secretary to send.

In the newsroom of the New York Herald, editor-in-chief James Gordon Bennett II, upon seeing the telegram, immediately shouted to his reporters: "Headline! And reserve space for the October issue!"

I want you to dig up everything about these Frenchmen! Their itinerary, the hotels they stay in, every word they say, even what they eat for breakfast!

Even the Southern Weekly, a publication in the south, felt the shockwave.

The editors, surprised, began to consider how to introduce these writers, representing the "Yankees'" allies, to readers in the South.

In an instant, from the East Coast to the West Coast, from the industrial cities of the North to the heart of the South, the American publishing and news industries were completely ignited by this sudden news.

It's important to understand that in America at this time, although English was spoken, the upper class and middle class had an almost obsessive fascination with French culture.

In major coastal cities like New York and Boston, having "Parisian heritage" has become a passport to status.

Almost all high-end women's clothing is imported from France, and nearly two-thirds of the finished products from top Parisian fashion houses are sold to foreigners, most of whom are Americans.

Many shops simply use "that American" to refer to all foreign customers.

For a wealthy American family, a hallmark of a "tasteful life" is being able to go on two shopping sprees in France each year.

Jewelry, clothes, shoes, binoculars... you have to buy everything you need in Paris to complete a fashion pilgrimage.

In the gallery, the collection of French paintings completely overwhelms that of American works, and the largest buyer of Monet's paintings is an American.

Posters, interior decorations, and even the exteriors of houses in the United States are almost entirely copied from French styles.

For many American artists, going to Paris to "take a breath of Latin air" has become an essential part of their lives.

Left Bank cafes, Comédie-Française, Paris Opera, Arc de Triomphe, Notre Dame Cathedral... these are all "holy sites" that appear repeatedly in their writings.

Even Black people at the time regarded France as a "refuge" and a "benchmark of civilization."

Black intellectuals who come to Paris often find themselves treated with courtesy and kindness everywhere they go, and almost never experience discrimination, to the point that some exclaim, "France has made me feel like a human being again."

Even Franklin once said, "Everyone has two homelands: the country where he was born and France."

So, the top French writers are going on a month-long tour of the United States? And it's a group, not just one!
This is enough to drive any American with even a modicum of culture and taste crazy.

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The atmosphere inside the U.S. Embassy in Paris was quite different from usual.

Ambassador Levi Morton's desk was almost overwhelmed by a deluge of telegrams.

The strips of paper, printed with the logos of different telegraph offices, were stacked on top of each other, like a small mountain that was constantly growing taller.

These telegrams came not only from major publishers, bookstores and newspaper giants in New York, Boston, Philadelphia and Chicago, but also from prestigious universities such as Yale, Harvard and Columbia.

They also yearn to invite figures like Zola and Lionel to give lectures, thereby enhancing their academic reputation and international influence.

In addition, there were countless invitations to private meetings, sent by Washington politicians, New York railroad tycoons, Pittsburgh steel giants, and so on.

They viewed this visit by the French writers' delegation as an opportunity for ostentatious socializing.

Most of the telegrams were quite direct, making no attempt to conceal their willingness to pay "reasonable" and "generous" sponsorship fees if they could be included in the itinerary of the French writers' group.

Many telegrams also specifically stated that even if it was impossible to invite all the writers, generous compensation would be paid if only a few, especially Zola, Lionel, Maupassant, and Daudet, could be invited.

Levi Morton leaned back in his chair, rubbing his throbbing temples. This was the first time he had truly experienced what "happy troubles" meant.

Choosing which trips from this massive influx of invitations would yield the greatest benefits while balancing relationships with all parties has become a challenge.

“We can’t just look at money, but we also can’t ignore it…” Levi Morton murmured to himself, pondering the words Lionel had told him.

Time was of the essence, so he didn't hesitate any longer. He picked up a pen and hurriedly wrote down the first list on the letter paper, then called his assistant and asked him to go to the post office immediately to mail it to Lionel.

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Meanwhile, on the edge of the Fontainebleau Forest, near Paris.

"Beep——!"

As Lionel puffed out his cheeks and blew his whistle with all his might, the loud, high-pitched sound broke the silence.

Thousands of bicycles rushed out one after another!
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