Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 433 Mr. Mark Twain?

The golden carriage carrying Zola, Lionel, and others did not head straight for New York City Hall.

New York's high society began a slow and grand city parade to showcase the muscularity and wealth of the emerging metropolis.

Our first stop was the magnificent St. Patrick's Cathedral.

This is a Gothic Revival building that rises abruptly from the ground. Its gray and white stone walls appear particularly majestic in the sunlight, and its brand-new spire pierces the blue sky.

Young John Morgan proudly introduced, "This new church just finished its main sanctuary last year, and it is now the most magnificent church in New York, and even in the New World."

Even in Europe, churches like this are rare.

Lionel looked up at the enormous rose window and exquisite sculptures of St. Patrick's Cathedral.

Even though Parisians are accustomed to seeing Notre Dame, the scale of this cathedral is still breathtaking, especially since it stands out so much from the surrounding buildings in terms of style, like an angel on earth.

However, the United States is, after all, a relatively new country, and its religious architectural heritage still lags far behind that of Europe.

Notre Dame Cathedral was built in the 13th century, and its spire was already 90 meters high. In terms of sculptural art, it far surpasses St. Patrick's Cathedral. Even without a deep understanding of art, one can see the difference at a glance.

However, Lionel naturally wouldn't dampen the spirits of the two young men. He calmly commented, "Impressive. To build such a masterpiece in such a short time demonstrates the determination and financial resources of New Yorkers."

Anne Morgan added with a smile, “The power of faith and community is just as important, Mr. Sorel.”

The carriage continued on its way, but the air gradually became murky, and the smell of coal smoke, horse manure, and river water made Lionel think he had returned to Paris.

In the distance, above the great river, the outline of an even more magnificent building comes into view—that is the construction site of the Brooklyn Bridge!

Even from a great distance, the massive stone bridge towers and the steel cables as thick as pythons are enough to awe the eye and ear.

Get closer, and you can see the workers moving freely among the towering skeletons, looking like ants from a distance.

The sounds of hammering, steam engines roaring, and shouts filled the air, as if they were building a Tower of Babel in the industrial age!
John Morgan Jr. pointed to the bridge: "Look over there, Mr. Sorel! When it's finished, it will be the longest suspension bridge in the world! Connecting Manhattan and Brooklyn!"

Our American newspapers call it the 'eighth wonder of the modern world'!

It was only then that Lionel truly realized the difference in spiritual strength between the United States and France; France today would find it difficult to organize such a large-scale project.

Even if someone had such ambitions, Parliament wouldn't pass the budget; not to mention private companies, they'd rather throw money into the stock market than invest in real businesses.

The two young Morgans stared intently at Lionel's face, hoping to glean something from his expression.

Unfortunately, Lionel, whose soul had been baptized by the engineering marvels of the infrastructure maniac, remained completely unmoved, as if the bridge in front of him was nothing out of the ordinary.

But the others were different—Zola, Maupassant, and others leaned out of the carriage, their faces filled with shock.

Some people even subconsciously shrank their necks, as if oppressed by an invisible force, and dared not look directly at this modern industrial marvel.

Then, the train passed through the central station, and the noise suddenly increased as crowds surged in and out of the station like a turbid river.

The sharp whistle of the steam locomotive tore through the air, and white smoke and coal dust billowed from the chimneys, shrouding the station in a gray veil.

Gas lamps flickered in and out of the smoke, casting a dim, yellowish glow—this was the throat of the Vanderbilt railway empire!

Merchants hurrying along, immigrants carrying luggage, hawkers hawking their wares... everyone is like a tightly wound spring, constantly in motion.

John Morgan Jr. seemed reluctant to elaborate on the station, simply stating, "This is the pulse of New York."

As they approached Wall Street, the atmosphere changed again; the streets narrowed and the buildings became crowded.

There were no factories or construction sites; men in black suits walked briskly, clutching briefcases or newspapers tightly in their hands.

This place was quite similar to the vicinity of the Palais des Stocks in Paris, and John Morgan Jr.'s spirits lifted again as he launched into a long and enthusiastic presentation.

He was so excited when they passed the "Drexel Morgan Company" that he almost stood up in the carriage.

They then passed by landmarks such as Central Park, capturing the essence of New York in this era.

During the parade, citizens continued to recognize the conspicuous motorcade.

Cheers and whistles rose and fell, and some daring young people even threw bouquets of flowers at the carriage.

Maupassant and other young people enthusiastically leaned half their bodies out of the car window to wave to the crowd;
Zola, Daudet, and Goncourt, on the other hand, were much more composed, smiling and nodding to their followers outside the car window.

Lionel mostly just watched quietly, observing the details of the city, and his emotions remained the most stable.

More than an hour later, the convoy finally arrived at its destination—New York City Hall.

This is a white marble building built in 1811, with a distinct French Renaissance style, classical and elegant.

On the steps of City Hall, New York City Mayor William Grace, along with a group of city officials and city council members, were already lined up and waiting. Lionel and others got out of their cars and stepped onto the steps, where reporters had already set up their cameras.

Guided by officials, the nine French writers lined up at the top of the city hall steps.

The most prestigious Émile Zola and the oldest Edmond Goncourt stood in the center;

Lionel and Alphonse Daudet stood slightly behind the two men, while Maupassant and the others lined up on either side.

Behind them were the dome and columns of the city hall, and in front of them was a dense crowd and countless flashing cameras.

"Look here! Don't move!" the photographer shouted.

The spotlight flashed, and the moment was captured forever, resulting in a group photo that will go down in literary history.

After the group photo was taken, Émile Zola stepped forward and delivered a speech as a representative.

He first praised the architectural style of the city hall, saying that it "elegantly blends European aesthetics with the vitality of the New World."

Then he talked about what he had seen and heard along the way.

"We saw towering churches, steel bridges spanning rivers, bustling railway hubs, and tranquil and beautiful city parks."

Ladies and gentlemen, New York has shocked us!
This city possesses a vitality entirely different from that of ancient European cities; its energy is exceptionally vibrant, and the ubiquitous industrial construction imbues everything with an incredible sense of power, allowing us to feel the boundless ambition of Americans in building their home!

People cheered at the praise of the French literary giant.

Then, Émile Zola changed the subject: "Our trip is not only to witness the American miracle! We also hope that through our pens and our language, the American people can feel the French culture of today and its vibrant spirit that has endured through trials and tribulations!"

His speech was met with enthusiastic applause.

Afterwards, the writers, accompanied by officials, gave a brief tour of the city hall.

Next, they boarded the golden carriage again and headed to their hotel, the Fifth Avenue Hotel.

This hotel truly lives up to its reputation as one of New York's most luxurious hotels, with its interior décor being the epitome of opulence, featuring marble floors, crystal chandeliers, velvet curtains, and more.

Everything that European luxury hotels have, this place has too; at the same time, it has something that European hotels don't have – an elevator!
The Fifth Avenue Hotel installed a passenger elevator manufactured by Otis, which was powered by a steam engine and hydraulic pistons, with the switches manually operated by the waiters.

All of this once again amazed Zola, Maupassant, and others.

They were all well-traveled and knowledgeable people, but even they were a little overwhelmed by the constant barrage of modern industrial products throughout the day.

All nine people were arranged to stay in the hotel's most luxurious suites, with noon and afternoon for rest, as the long flight and the busy morning activities were tiring.

Their dinner was at Delmonico, one of New York's most luxurious and upscale restaurants, known for its French and Italian cuisine.

New York's high society booked the entire restaurant for a grand welcome banquet.

The long table was filled with silver cutlery and crystal glasses, and uniformed waiters were constantly moving about. The portions of the dishes were noticeably more lavish than those in Europe.

Lionel even saw a whole roasted peacock being served on the table, its magnificent feathers still adorning its body...

During the gathering, bankers, railroad tycoons, political figures, and their wives approached the writers to chat, creating a lively and noisy atmosphere.

Lionel tried his best to maintain the necessary politeness, but felt more tired than writing a script or novel all day.

But that wasn't the end of it. After the banquet, the group returned to the Fifth Avenue Hotel.

Meanwhile, in the hotel's lavish ballroom, another social extravaganza—a ball—had already begun.

A band specially invited from Paris played popular waltzes and polkas, and the dance hall was filled with almost all of New York's celebrities, so much so that some had to be asked to wait outside.

After being bombarded with compliments and probing questions, Lionel finally found a relatively quiet corner, holding a glass of champagne, and watching the people twirling on the dance floor.

With Sophie not around, he had little interest in such occasions and declined several invitations, including one from Anne Morgan, who was acting as his guide today.

If it weren't for the fact that he couldn't be too "rude" on the first day, he probably would have already found a chance to slip away—it just goes to show how tiring it is to lead your brothers to conquer the world!

Just then, a man in his forties or fifties walked through the crowd and headed straight for him. He had blond curly hair and a thick mustache.

He walked up to Lionel, extended his hand, and said in a loud voice, "Good evening, Mr. Sorel. Welcome to America!"
I am Samuel Langhorn Clemens, from Connecticut.

Lionel paused for a moment, then almost blurted out, "Mr. Mark Twain?"

(After a nap, I feel a bit alive again.)

(End of this chapter)