Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 440 In the end, it was Maupassant who shouldered it all!
The guide ran up to them, panting, his gaze sweeping over Lionel and his group with a mixture of wariness and even panic.

But then he glanced at the dimly lit brothel next door and the girl peering out the door, and the look of panic on his face quickly faded.

He began to show a lewd expression of "sudden realization," and even started to laugh.

French writers are known for their romantic escapades, and he clearly believed that Lionel's reason for coming to this remote mining area was to conceal his true intentions and seek pleasure.

The guide rubbed his hands together, his smile revealing unspoken understanding: "Oh, gentlemen, so that's what it was about! You should have said so earlier!"
Why did you have to come here yourself? The girls in places like this aren't clean; what if you catch a disease? That would be such a hassle!

The girls didn't understand French, which saved them a lot of trouble.

The guide leaned closer and pushed the girl next to Lionel aside: "If you want to enjoy the best service, I know a place!"

It's very secluded, the girls are all young and healthy, absolutely clean and hygienic! I assure you, there are absolutely no syphilis or other dirty diseases! You'll be satisfied!

As soon as he said this, Maupassant's expression changed.

He himself was a syphilis patient, and he was never ashamed of it. On the contrary, he often boasted about it in his letters as a romantic anecdote.

The guide's claims of "cleanliness and hygiene" and "no syphilis" sounded particularly jarring to him, as if he were being deliberately mocked.

He twitched his mustache, about to open his mouth to refute.

Maupassant had barely uttered two words: "We..."

Unexpectedly, Lionel patted Maupassant on the shoulder first, interrupting him, and then stepped forward to block Maupassant with his body.

He took over the conversation quite naturally, even with a helpless smile on his face: "You've misunderstood. We're mainly here to accompany Mr. Maupassant!"

As you know, he is one of the most outstanding novelists in France. Many of his works require him to immerse himself in life and gather material.

Especially regarding... well, women in certain professions. For example, his famous story "Boule de Suif" features such a woman as its protagonist.

Artistic creation requires genuine observation and understanding.

He spoke with utmost seriousness and reason.

The guide immediately understood, his gaze shifting to Maupassant, who was being shielded by Lionel.

His eyes were full of curiosity and respect: "So that's how it is. Mr. Maupassant did it for art! For writing books! Amazing! Truly amazing!"

He nodded repeatedly and assured him warmly, "Don't worry, Mr. Maupassant, I know this area very well!"
I will definitely take you to the most 'story-filled' places, and I guarantee that you will be able to collect the most authentic and abundant materials!
"Absolutely the best brothel!"

Maupassant, standing behind him, glared angrily and was about to struggle to explain, "I didn't! I didn't!"

Lionel quickly gave him a look, and Huysman, who was standing next to him, immediately understood.

He reached out with perfect understanding, seemingly affectionately putting his arm around Maupassant's shoulder, but in reality, he firmly covered his mouth with his hand, allowing him to only make "woo-woo" sounds.

Huysmann whispered in Maupassant's ear, "Guy! Shut up! Are you trying to do something bad?"

Seeing this, Lionel said to the guide, "In that case, let's go back first."

It's quite late now, and Mr. Maupassant needs time to process what he's seen and heard tonight.

The guide readily agreed: "Yes, yes, gentlemen, please follow me. The carriage is just ahead."

Having said that, he ignored the girls' protests and led the group of French writers away.

On the way back, the night was deep, with only the sound of horses' hooves and wheels rolling over the uneven road.

Lionel casually pulled the remaining "tin coin" from his pocket, weighed it in his hand, and it made a slight rustling sound.

He turned to the guide and asked in a curious and ignorant tone, "By the way, there's something I find quite interesting—"

I've noticed that US dollars don't seem to be very useful in your town. Everyone seems to use these, um, these little metal clips?

He handed a tin coin to the guide.

Upon seeing this, the guide's face immediately lit up with pride, as if he were showing off some remarkable invention.

He began his introduction with a smug look: "That's right! Sir, you have a very keen eye!"

This is a 'company token' that the bosses here specially promoted for easier management; we all call it 'tin coin'!
This is really a great product!

He spoke at length, his tone entirely matter-of-fact: "Think about it, what kind of people are these workers who work in the mines?"

Poor bastards from Ireland and Eastern Europe! They're stupid, greedy, unskilled, and utterly lacking in self-control!

All he thinks about is drinking, gambling, and finding women!

After saying that, he curled his lip, looking disdainful.

Then, the guide mimicked the way the workers received their money, making a gesture of recklessly spending it: "If it were like outside, they'd just give them cash directly? Humph!"
They'll surely throw all their money away at the gambling table in the blink of an eye! Or get completely drunk in the tavern! In the end, they'll be penniless, homeless, or even starve and freeze to death!
This kind of thing has happened all the time!

At this point, his tone became earnest: "But it's different with our 'tin coins'! This money can only be spent in our town."

Buying food, buying clothes, staying in dorms, and even... hehe, finding some fun.

He smiled knowingly: "Isn't that great! Their money won't leave this town, and they won't be swindled out of the outside world!"

We're protecting them! It's for their own good! We want them to be able to live peacefully, with food to eat and a place to live!

These words made Zola and the others' blood boil. Zola clenched his fists, Daudet's face turned ashen, even Maupassant's eyes blazed with fire, and Huysmann's lips twitched, clearly trying his best to restrain himself.

Lionel's face remained expressionless as he continued to ask with feigned curiosity, "Oh? It's for their own good? I think I saw taverns and gambling dens in town too."

What if they gamble away all their 'tin coins' in these places? What then?

The guide answered crisply: "That's easy, they can get an advance on their wages from the coal mine's accountant! Of course, the advance will be in 'tin coins'."

Then they can gradually make up for it with their future labor. Anyway, the town has everything—shops, dormitories, brothels, and the owner even opened a primary school for them!

Tuition fees can also be paid with Tin coins! Isn't that convenient and thoughtful?

Every word he spoke was laced with pride, as if it were a matter of course.
The guide got more and more excited as he talked, practically portraying himself as an angel beside a "savior":

"If it weren't for our boss giving them work and providing them with such a good life, these miners would only deserve to rot on the streets!"
They were scumbags who wouldn't even be wanted as beggars! They should be grateful! Grateful to Mr. Carnegie, grateful to their bosses for giving them all this!

The writers tried several times to denounce this absurd logic, but each time, Lionel stopped them with a stern look.

He shook his head slightly, signaling them to remain silent, and then continued in an innocent tone, "I see, that does sound very 'thoughtful'."

Seeing this, Zola and the others could only sigh deeply in their hearts, their gazes towards Lionel filled with even more emotion.

Surprisingly, Lionel, the youngest member of the team, is the one with the deepest understanding of the United States.

----------

The following day, Lionel and the others acted as if nothing had happened.

They were still led by a guide and a coachman, and toured around downtown Pittsburgh and the surrounding area, including visiting the foundation of the library donated by Carnegie.

We also visited several "model workers' communities"—naturally, the kind that have been carefully decorated and presented to outsiders.

They wore perfectly measured smiles and asked some trivial questions, as if that night in Cornellville was just a minor incident.

As evening approached, the guide, still preoccupied with "Mr. Maupassant's artistic needs," indeed mysteriously led them to a rather respectable house.

There was no conspicuous sign outside, but the interior was quite nicely decorated. The air was filled with the scent of expensive perfume, and the women looked younger, dressed smartly, and had gentle smiles.

The guide proudly introduced, "This is it, gentlemen, especially Mr. Maupassant, absolutely clean, healthy, and well-mannered."

I guarantee you'll be able to collect, uh, um, more 'refined' creative material!

However, even someone as thick-skinned as Maupassant, after experiencing the shock of last night's "tin coin" system, had completely lost his desire for pleasure.

He even felt a little nauseous, and the others showed little interest, their eyes cold.

Seeing that no one moved, especially since Mr. Maupassant showed no intention of going in to "immerse himself in life," the guide assumed he understood.

He smiled knowingly: "Mr. Maupassant, is it inconvenient for me to be here? It's alright, just remember this place, and come here yourself tonight or tomorrow night..."

You're guaranteed to have a great time; no one will disturb your 'artistic creation'.

Maupassant's lips twitched, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end it turned into a mumbled murmur and a haphazard nod.

------

On the third day, their "scouting" trip in Pittsburgh finally came to an end, and the carriage took them back to Carnegie's mansion.

At this time, several other carriages were parked at the entrance; these were the official carriages that would take them to Pittsburgh train station.

Andrew Carnegie greeted them at the door with a broad smile, clearly very satisfied with the arrangements that had been going well for the past few days.

He greeted them warmly: "Gentlemen! How have you been in Pittsburgh these past few days? Are you satisfied with the guides I arranged?"

I'm sure you've all collected quite a bit of vivid material about America's industrial power.

His tone was firm and confident, as if he could already see the future European literary publications praising the American industrial miracle.

Zola, Daudet, Goncourt, and the others exchanged complicated glances.

Zola cleared his throat and replied in a meaningful tone, "Yes, Mr. Carnegie. These past few days have been, well, extremely enriching."

It far exceeded our expectations!

Andrew Carnegie laughed heartily: "That's good, that's great! I knew the real America, the vibrant life we ​​have here, would impress you all!"

I eagerly await the publication of your works in Europe! Rest assured, the extra reward I promised will be delivered immediately once the article is published!

Lionel calmly walked up to Carnegie: "Mr. Carnegie, we appreciate your kindness. However, we don't need that extra reward."

Andrew Carnegie's smile faltered slightly: "No need? Mr. Sorel, why is that? It's just a token of my appreciation..."

Lionel said calmly, “Because we have already received the greatest reward a writer can receive in Pittsburgh.”

As he spoke, he slowly took out a "tin coin" from his pocket, weighed it in his hand, and revealed a bright smile.

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(End of this chapter)