Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 438 The Great Adventure!
Lionel looked away and turned to Carnegie, his tone flat, as if discussing the weather: "Probably because I've seen better ones."

Andrew Carnegie raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced: "Better? With the British? Please, Mr. Sorel, I know the European steel industry."

Sheffield? The Ruhr region? I dare say, in Britain, even in the world, you absolutely won't find a larger or more advanced steel mill than this!

His tone was full of pride, but also tinged with offensive displeasure.

Lionel was unwilling to elaborate on the matter, simply shaking his head slightly and muttering, "Perhaps."

He looked directly at Carnegie and changed the subject: "Mr. Carnegie, you invited us here not just to show us this industrial marvel and marvel at America's power, right?"

Andrew Carnegie laughed heartily and patted Lionel's arm: "Haha, Mr. Sorel, you are indeed as astute as the rumors say!"

Instead of answering directly, he gestured to the crowd, "It's too noisy and dusty here. Let's go, gentlemen, let me find another place to properly entertain you."

He led the bewildered Zola and his companions out of the factory area and took a carriage to a nearby, imposing mansion.

In stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of the industrial area outside, this place is quiet and luxurious, with thick carpets and oil paintings on the walls.

They settled into the luxurious and comfortable living room, where servants quietly served them fine cigars, cigarettes, and aged whiskey.

Once everyone had relaxed and the cigar smoke was rising, Andrew Carnegie raised his glass and revealed his purpose.

"Gentlemen, I know that in Europe, especially in the eyes of you cultural elites, everything about America—"

Our cities, our industries, even we ourselves—are crude, reckless, lacking in European refinement, and utterly devoid of elegance.

Zola and the others remained silent, offering neither comfort nor explanation, but also no denial.

Andrew Carnegie dismissed this, and continued, "But I have always believed that great literature is not only born in the green hills, religious temples and ancient cities of Europe."

He pointed out the window: "It will also be born here! Born in America's industrial ambition, born in our steel jungle! It deserves to be written about and celebrated!"

He then offered a tempting offer: "So, I'm willing to set up a fund, a fund specifically to encourage European writers to write American stories."

For any piece of writing that is formally published in an influential European literary journal, regardless of length, my foundation will provide an additional reward equivalent to the royalties!
For short stories, the minimum wage is $200. For novels…

At this point, he emphasized, "I'm willing to give the author a reward of no less than $2000!"

The living room fell silent for a moment!
$2000! That heart-pounding number again. For these established authors, it's practically a windfall.

Carnegie's meaning couldn't be clearer: he wanted influential European writers to use their pens to sing praises of the booming United States and American tycoons like himself, gilding them with a layer of cultural patronage.

Émile Zola frowned. He was a believer in naturalism and advocated for the objective and ruthless exposure of social realities.

But wherever they went, they were warmly received and saw only the most glamorous and powerful side of the place—magnificent buildings, enthusiastic people, and efficient factories.

Should he really abandon his creative principles for this generous reward? This was a dilemma for him.

Yusman pursed his lips and didn't say anything, but his eyes showed the same hesitation.

Maupassant fiddled with his wine glass. Although he loved money and felt it was easy to earn, he felt awkward about praising it against his will.

The other young writers, such as Alexi and Céar, looked at each other in bewilderment, hesitant to express their opinions.

The money was extremely tempting, but they all understood the principle of "he who takes a bribe is bound to be obligated to do so".

At that moment, Lionel broke the silence: "Mr. Carnegie, your generosity is admirable; however, our understanding of America is still very limited."

The real stories are often hidden deeper. You can't expect us to write every speech, ball, and dinner as a novel, can you?

He looked at Carnegie with a candid gaze: "To write an 'American story' that can move readers, we need more time to explore freely and to experience more authentic American life."

Only in this way can we collect truly valuable material for writing. What do you think?

Andrew Carnegie looked at Lionel and pondered for a moment.

He liked the young man's directness and composure; he wanted persuasive propaganda, not flashy advertisements that were easy to see through.

Finally, Andrew Carnegie nodded: "That makes sense, Mr. Sorel. In that case, I will provide you with a carriage, a driver, and a guide."

You are free to explore Pittsburgh and the surrounding area as you please, go wherever you like, and experience life here. How does that sound?

This arrangement was exactly what Lionel wanted to hear. He smiled slightly and said, "Thank you very much, Mr. Carnegie. This is perfect."

----------

The next day, Carnegie kept his promise, and two spacious four-wheeled carriages stopped in front of the hotel, each with a driver and a guide fluent in French.

Guided by the enthusiastic guide, the carriage first headed towards the workers' residential area surrounding the steel plant.

The houses here are certainly not as grand as those in Carnegie, but most are neat and sturdy, and are basically brick and stone structures.

The streets were bustling with people. According to the guide, in addition to locals, most of the workers were immigrants from Germany, Ireland, Bohemia, and Poland.

Just as they had discussed aboard the Perel, skilled workers from Europe were also drawn here by the higher wages. The guide pointed to the houses and proudly introduced, "Look, gentlemen, these are the homes of our Carnegie Steelworks workers!"

We offer the highest wages in the country, and they are extremely satisfied with their lives here! Many people back home couldn't afford houses like this.

Lionel and his colleagues saw workers returning home from their night shifts, looking tired but dressed smartly, some carrying food they had bought from the store.

The children were running and playing in the street, and they all seemed to be getting good nutrition.

Zola and the others exchanged glances, their minds filled with even more doubt. The living standards of the workers here did indeed seem to be better than those of many similar workers in Europe.

At most, the factory area is more polluted, but that's the norm in Europe and it's not a unique material at all.

Zola whispered to Lionel, "Lionel, look at the situation here, it's much better than we thought."

His tone was somewhat helpless. Was America really paradise on earth? Reason told him that he couldn't believe such a place existed in the world.

Lionel's face remained expressionless as he simply said to the driver, "Please take us to see some further areas, not just these main working-class districts."

The coachman smiled and said, "Yes, Mr. Sorel, there are some nice neighborhoods nearby..."

Lionel interrupted him: "No, go further. Steelmaking requires coal. Are there any coal mines nearby?"

The guide's smile froze slightly: "Coal mines? Oh, yes, there are some. But the roads are rough, and there's nothing worth seeing. We'd better..."

Lionel looked at him: "Mr. Carnegie has you serving us today, not leading us. We want to go see the coal mine today."

The guide opened his mouth, but seeing Lionel's determined look, he swallowed his words and nodded helplessly to the driver.

As the carriage traveled along, leaving the area around the steel mill, the roads gradually became rugged and the scenery desolate.

In the afternoon, they entered the mountains and arrived at a small town called Cornellsville.

According to the guide, this is an important source of coke for the Carnegie Steel industry.

The scene here is completely different from the worker settlements I had seen before.

The houses were low and densely packed, many of them simple wooden huts; the streets were muddy, and the air was filled with the smell of cheap coal smoke.

The miners, dressed in work clothes stained with coal dust, their faces dark and their eyes weary, walked silently.

The entire town was shrouded in a gloomy and oppressive atmosphere, and living conditions were significantly more difficult.

The guide earnestly advised, "Gentlemen, there's really nothing to see here. The environment is terrible, why don't we go back?"

There are many more interesting places in downtown Pittsburgh…

Lionel ignored him and said to Zola and the others, "We'll stay here tonight."

Maupassant was the first to exclaim: "Stay here?"

He looked at the dirty taverns and dilapidated hotel signs by the roadside with disgust: "God, can anyone live in this place?"

Lionel said firmly to the guide, "This is it. Settle us in. The best hotel here."

The guide looked distressed, but dared not disobey, so he had no choice but to bite the bullet and make the arrangements.

The best hotel was nothing more than a slightly sturdier-looking three-story wooden building, dark and damp inside, with old furniture.

After settling in and having dinner, Zola couldn't help but pull Lionel aside and whisper, "Lionel, why did you deliberately stay in this place?"

I've been to coal mines in France. The work is tougher and more tiring than in a steel factory, the pay is lower, and the environment is worse, but essentially there's nothing special about it.

Lionel glanced out the window at the darkening sky and the blurry outline of the coal mine shaft in the distance.

He said softly, "I've heard some rumors about these 'corporate towns.' Tonight, perhaps we can quietly verify them..."

……

Around 10 p.m., Lionel, Zola, Maupassant, and others quietly bypassed the sleeping guide and coachman, slipped out of the inn, and went to the town's bar.

The bar was packed with miners who had just finished work, drinking and playing cards around a wooden table. When they saw Lionel and his group enter, almost all the workers stopped what they were doing.

Their eyes held no curiosity, only vigilance, doubt, timidity, and even fear, and they subconsciously moved aside, making room for each other.

Lionel remained unfazed, walked straight to the bar, and pulled out a one-dollar bill: "Give us the best drinks we have here, one for each of us."

The bartender's eyes lit up for a moment, revealing a greedy look, but he quickly rubbed his hands together in embarrassment: "Sir, we...we don't accept cash."

"No cash accepted?" Zola finally found the trip interesting.

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(End of this chapter)