Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 5 Dropping out of school

The so-called "public dining table" originally referred to all the guests and the owner of the hotel sitting at a large table to enjoy their meals during mealtimes. Later, it evolved into a widely accepted way of dining, and anyone who paid could join at any time.

It was more upscale than those casual restaurants where the stewed beef was so tough it was impossible to cut or chew; yet it was also more modest than those that offered separate dining areas, making it perfect for Maupassant and Lionel, two newly acquainted friends.

It was lunchtime, and the food wasn't as plentiful as in the evening, so the meal was cheaper. But the table was still laden with grilled sausages, stewed beef, and several kinds of strange fish.

Maupassant explained in a low voice, "If we could come in the evening, we could have the famous roasted grouse here—but I already have another appointment tonight."

Lionel nodded: "This is already very lavish!"

On the side of the table were a bread basket, a pot of thick soup, a large bowl of salad, a salt shaker, and a spice jar containing pepper or cinnamon; and of course, wines from different regions, their colors red and inviting.

Whenever a large plate of food becomes empty, the hostess will come forward, remove it, refill it, and serve it on the table.

At "public dining tables," there's no need for any "plating." As long as the table is full enough, diners will loudly praise the restaurant's generosity.

The table was already packed with people on all four sides: the elderly, the young, intellectuals, government employees, engineers... They didn't know each other very well, but they were all enjoying themselves at the same table, with drinks and saliva mixed together, and knives and forks flying everywhere, creating a harmonious and joyful atmosphere.

This was quite different from the elegant and noble "French feast" that Lionel remembered, which lasted three or four hours. It was more like a "banquet".

Lionel watched the condiments splatter on the lukewarm tablecloth and the breadcrumbs scattered everywhere, and found it amusing. He picked up his knife and fork and joined the feast.

He forked a piece of tenderly stewed beef rump from a plate about arm's length away, sprinkled it with salt and pepper, cut off a large chunk, and put it in his mouth to chew.

In an instant, the rich aroma of meat filled his mouth and even traveled up his nose, directly "invading" his brain, satisfying his body's instinctive craving for high-quality protein, fat, and amino acids.

Then he ladled himself a bowl of mushroom soup and drank it down, finally warming up his body which had been icy cold all morning.

The hunger and cold that had plagued them for the past two weeks seemed to have been completely eradicated at this moment.

"If only I could have a meal like this every day..." This thought had barely crossed his mind when Lionel quickly dismissed it.

He watched as Maupassant pulled eight francs from his pocket and handed them to the owner of the "Prince Inn," meaning each person would have to pay four francs for the meal—while an ordinary person's daily food expenses were only one franc.

After his rebirth, he searched through the original owner's memories and every corner of that low attic, and confirmed that his total assets amounted to only 90 francs and 35 centimes. The 90 francs were borrowed by mortgaging the pocket watch left to him by his grandfather before Christmas.

The 900 francs from last year have long been spent, and the original owner of this year's 900 francs has written several times to inquire about it, but there has been no response...

Maupassant was very talkative, and within fifteen minutes Lionel learned that he had recently been transferred from the Colonial Administration of the Admiralty to the Ministry of Education, and would take up his post next month. He was currently on leave.

That's why he had the time to come to the Sorbonne for a "study".

Halfway through the meal, he even started discussing with a retired primary school teacher next to him whether "empire" or the current "republic" was better.

The intensity of the argument nearly made the rather elegant, conservative old man jump up and curse, but in the end he simply retorted coldly, "France cannot be without an emperor!"

Then he threw down his knife and fork, wiped his lips with a napkin, and stormed off from the "Prince Hotel".

Maupassant, his face flushed and his eyebrows dancing with excitement, showed no remorse for having angered a strange old man. He even continued to mock the man's retreating figure, saying, "France can't live without wine, not emperors!"

Then he downed the Bordeaux in his glass in one gulp. Lionel looked at the overly excited Maupassant speechlessly, then tried to keep a low profile... This great writer later went mad, was confined to a mental hospital, and died young at the age of 43—it seems there were signs of it all.

However, his appetite was indeed astonishing. He ate almost three people's worth of food before putting down his knife and fork under the murderous glare of the shop owner.

Lionel finally understood why he had brought him to this kind of self-service "public dining table"...

Maupassant let out a loud burp, wiped his lips haphazardly with a napkin, and asked Lionel, "How come you've only eaten so little?"

Lionel: "..."

The two finally left the "Prince Hotel" before the hotel owner went completely mad.

Maupassant was still somewhat unsatisfied: "The food here is only so-so, far inferior to the weekend lunch at Mr. Zola's house..." He then realized he had let something slip and quickly stopped.

Lionel's heart skipped a beat, and he instinctively wanted to ask more questions, but he quickly suppressed the urge and pretended not to have heard anything.

But Maupassant's keen observation caught this fleeting feeling, and his opinion of the young man rose even higher.

He pulled out a gold pocket watch and glanced at it: "It's already 1:40. You should go back to the Sorbonne for class—but I'm quite curious, if you're late again this afternoon, will you still be able to perform as well as you did this morning?"

It was clearly a joke, and Lionel smiled shyly: "Thank you for lunch! I really should get back to class—how about you?"

Maupassant shook his head: "I have other things to do this afternoon."

Lionel, understanding the situation, removed his hat, bowed to Maupassant in farewell, and said, "Then I wish you all the best!" He then turned to leave.

Maupassant was somewhat taken aback. He hesitated for a moment, but ultimately said nothing, watching Lionel disappear around the street corner with hurried steps.

The afternoon classes were dry and boring Latin. The professor read from the textbook, and the students were drowsy. In this day and age, Homer's original Latin texts were outdated, and only weirdos and bookworms were interested in them.

On the contrary, Lionel, who was attending his first Latin class, listened with great interest...

All the classes didn't end until 5 p.m.

Full of good fortune, Lionel did not choose to take a public carriage, but walked for almost an hour before returning to his apartment on Obokamp Street in the 1th arrondissement, which was managed by the widowed Mrs. Martin.

He was stopped by Mrs. Martin as soon as he entered the door.

The old man, who had a terrible temper and was an even worse cook, poked his white-haired head out of the living room on the first floor and said in a sharp voice that seemed to be full of sarcasm, "Isn't this our young master Sorel? Your family has sent you a letter."

As she spoke, she threw an envelope at Lionel's feet—she wasn't going to give this out-of-towner, who was always late on rent, any kind of treatment.

Lionel could only helplessly bend down to pick up the envelope, opening it as he went upstairs, his heart filled with joy: "My living expenses have finally arrived..."

However, the first line of the letter left him speechless:

"Dear Leon: You should drop out of school..."

(End of this chapter)