Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 642 Having cultivated a physique resembling a crane! (Two chapters combined, please vote at the end of the month!)

In the first-class restaurant, the same crystal "electric chandelier" as the one in the Comédie-Française steadily casts its dazzling light onto the snow-white tablecloth of the long table.

Silver cutlery, fine porcelain plates, and carved glass cups, along with the jewelry worn by the ladies, all shone brightly under the electric lights.

As Lionel and Sophie entered the restaurant, a warm and sustained round of applause spontaneously erupted, filled with genuine enthusiasm.

Lionel had grown accustomed to this scene, and Sophie was no longer the young girl who needed to borrow a necklace to attend high society balls five years ago.

The two smiled and nodded to those around them before calmly walking to their reserved seats for the VIPs. As the applause subsided, the restaurant manager gently tapped his wine glass with a silver spoon.

After everyone quieted down, he said in a loud voice: "Ladies and gentlemen, it is a great honor for us to be here with Mr. Sorel and Miss Deneuve tonight."

Monsieur Sorel is not only the pride of French literature, but his courage also lit a beacon of hope for all of us during the recent cholera outbreak in Paris.

Let us raise a glass to welcome them and wish them a pleasant journey across the Atlantic!

"Cheers to Mr. Sorel and Miss Deneuve!" the crowd responded in unison, their glasses clinking together with a crisp, pleasant sound.

To Lionel's surprise, his subsequent conversations with the passengers revealed that their enthusiasm for him was not entirely due to his status as a writer.

They weren't even expecting him to recount the same captivating sea tales he had three years prior. What truly moved them was the recent cholera outbreak in Paris.

A well-dressed businessman was the first to approach, his voice trembling with excitement: "Mr. Sorel, I must express my deepest gratitude to you!"

My wife, Mary, also contracted cholera in February. It was our cook who fell ill first; that foolish woman hid her illness and continued working in the kitchen…

When I found out, Mary had already started having severe diarrhea and vomiting. I was terrified, and my first thought was to report it to the health department and have someone take her away.

But... I've heard too much about what happens in hospitals, and I can't imagine sending Mary to a place where she might die the next day.

I read your article, and a voice inside me told me that maybe...maybe I could try your method.

As he spoke, a look of fear crossed his face, as if he were back on that desperate night.

“I isolated Mary in the bedroom and, strictly as you instructed, treated everything that might be contaminated with quicklime, and then fed her warm salt water.”

I fed her spoonful by spoonful, and when she vomited, I fed her again... For three days and three nights straight, I didn't dare close my eyes. Thank God, she pulled through!
By the fourth day, her fever had subsided and her diarrhea had stopped... Two weeks later, she was basically recovered! No bloodletting, no enemas, she didn't suffer much..."

His words were like a floodgate opening, and immediately a cacophony of agreement erupted from those around him.

"Yes, yes! My old neighbor was the same way. He used your method at home, and although he was very sick, he eventually recovered."

"Those hospital doctors only know how to bleed and give enemas. My aunt was tortured to death by them! If only I had known..."

“Mr. Sorel, I’ve read your ‘I Appeal’ more than ten times! You’re right, the British proved it decades ago! But those old fogies just wouldn’t listen!”

The 19th century was the century of cholera, and from India to Europe, this plague, known as the "Blue Terror," haunted the world like a ghost.

Although the outbreak in Paris was not large in scale, the traditional treatments used in hospitals led to a horrifying death rate, deeply disturbing every citizen.

No one knows when or where the next cholera outbreak will occur, or whether they or their loved ones will become the next victims.

Therefore, regardless of whether they truly accepted the "bacterial theory," Lionel's approach was like pointing out a potentially safe path beside a cliff.

The hope for survival is far more moving to these ordinary survivors than any grand medical paper or authoritative statement.

Lionel listened patiently, nodding occasionally, his eyes revealing genuine satisfaction.

Sophie stood quietly beside him, occasionally exchanging a few words in hushed tones with the ladies who approached, her demeanor impeccable.

Lionel squeezed the businessman's hand firmly: "You and your wife are brave; her recovery is the best proof of those methods."

I am truly grateful that you told me this. Please also convey my sincerest greetings to your wife and wish her a speedy and full recovery.

The businessman nodded heavily, his eyes reddening again.

The dinner continued in a lively atmosphere, with exquisite dishes being served one after another, and guests' glasses being constantly filled with champagne and wine.

The conversation gradually shifted from cholera to other topics: the upcoming trip to New York, strange and unusual events in America, the latest art exhibitions and theatrical performances in Paris...

Sophie quickly noticed that Lionel was showing signs of fatigue. He had lost six kilograms during the cholera outbreak and had not fully recovered.

Sure enough, as the dinner was drawing to a close, Lionel firmly declined his invitation to join him in the ship's recreation room to "tell some more interesting stories."

Helpless, everyone could only watch with regret as Lionel and Sophie, arm in arm and leaning on their canes, left the restaurant ahead of schedule.

After entering the quiet corridor and taking a breath of the cool sea breeze, Lionel finally let out a long sigh of relief.

Sophie tightened her grip on his arm and asked softly, "Are you tired?"

Lionel nodded: "A little. I haven't been exercising lately, and my physical fitness has declined significantly."

Sophie nodded understandingly, said nothing more, and quietly accompanied him back to their cabin.

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The following morning, the Atlantic Ocean generously granted the Perel and its passengers a near-perfect day of sailing.

The sky was a light sapphire blue, with only a few wisps of feather-like white clouds hanging high above, almost motionless.

The sea was as smooth as a deep blue silk, and the Perel sailed on it so smoothly that you could hardly feel any shaking.

The sunlight was clear and bright, shining on the smooth deck, warm and comforting, dispelling the last trace of morning chill.

After breakfast, first-class and second-class passengers took a stroll on the open foredeck and upper deck, enjoying the rare pleasant weather.

Ladies, holding parasols and wearing light long dresses, leaned against the railings in twos and threes, gazing at the sea view, or sat on comfortable canvas deck chairs reading and chatting.

The men mostly took walks, smoked, discussed the news, and occasionally pointed to the seabirds or other ships in the distance.

Just then, many passengers noticed that on a spacious deck near the bow of the ship, Lionel was alone, engaging in a peculiar "movement".

He stood tall, dressed in loose clothing and soft-soled shoes. He moved his limbs with extremely slow and fluid movements, in a special rhythm.

Every gesture, every step, every turn, every movement carries a calm and focused power, as if it were not physical exercise, but some kind of solemn ritual.

The indescribable composure and unique balance of the sport, so different from the gymnastics and fencing common in Europe, immediately attracted many curious eyes.

What's even more striking is that as Lionel performed these slow and elegant movements, his lips were slightly parted, and he was muttering something to himself.

The voice was very low, masked by the sea breeze and waves, and indistinct, but it was clearly not French, nor English, nor even Latin or Greek.

It was a completely unfamiliar whisper with peculiar syllables, which, combined with his mysterious movements, made him seem even more unfathomable.

Some passengers stopped and watched from a distance, exchanging whispers of doubt and speculation. Several children stared wide-eyed, tugging at their mothers' skirts and pointing.

Soon, a crowd of spectators had gathered around Lionel without him noticing. But he was completely absorbed in his own world, oblivious to the stares around him.

It took him a full ten minutes to complete the entire set of movements, ending with a gesture of slowly pressing his hands down and returning them to his abdomen.

Then he exhaled a long, slow breath. Surprisingly, despite the slow movements, his forehead was covered in fine beads of sweat.

Furthermore, unlike the fatigue that ordinary people experience after strenuous exercise, Lionel's complexion was rosy, his eyes were clear and bright, and he was full of energy, even radiant.

He then picked up a towel from the railing and wiped his sweat, only then noticing that there were many more people around him. But he wasn't surprised and gave a smile.

Unable to contain his curiosity, one passenger was the first to ask, "Good morning, Mr. Sorel! Please excuse my interruption... But what were you doing just now?"
I've never seen such a... well... peculiar way of exercising. It looks incredibly slow, yet it seems quite strenuous?

Lionel draped a towel over his shoulder: "Good morning. It's no secret, just a form of gymnastics from the Far East called 'Tai Chi'."

"'Tai Chi'? Eastern? Gymnastics?" The passenger became even more curious, and the others around him also perked up their ears.

In 19th-century Europe, there was a fascination with Egypt during the reign of Napoleon III, and later, a wave of interest in Orientalism gradually arose.

Everything that comes from the "East"—especially China, Japan, the Ottoman Empire, and India—is shrouded in a mysterious and fascinating veil.

Despite the ongoing conflict between France and China in Vietnam, trade between the two countries has never ceased, especially the trade in raw silk.

Lyon, France, is the center of Europe's raw silk weaving industry and is highly dependent on Chinese raw silk, importing finished silk, silk floss and silkworm cocoons from China by ship.

In addition, rhubarb, musk, hair, camphor balls, and various spices such as cinnamon are also in high demand in the Paris market.

Lionel patiently explained, "Yes, it has been practiced in the Chinese Empire for over a thousand years. Even emperors practiced it for a long time in pursuit of health and longevity."

"Even emperors practice this? It can bring them health and help them live to be a hundred?" A commotion erupted on the deck, and more and more people gathered around, soon forming three or four layers deep.

If the French, who have just experienced cholera, are most interested in anything, it is undoubtedly "health," not to mention "living to be a hundred years old."

At this moment, a passenger who looked like a scholar excitedly said, "I remember now. The emperors of ancient China all lived to be at least 100 years old. I've read about it!"

Exclamations rose again from the crowd and echoed across the deck.

Lionel was speechless: "..." I clearly didn't ask for anything.
However, he nodded nonetheless: “Exactly. It’s not ordinary gymnastics; it’s about communicating with the rhythm of nature through specific body language.” At this moment, another passenger asked with great interest: “Mr. Sorel, what were you chanting while you were practicing? It sounded like a spell!”

This question struck a chord with everyone. The unfamiliar yet rhythmic whispers, coupled with the mysterious movements, truly sparked the imagination.

Lionel laughed: "That's not a spell, but a short poem to accompany the exercise, recited in ancient Chinese language, which helps to concentrate."

"A poem?" a young woman couldn't help but exclaim softly. "Could you recite it again?"

The crowd's gazes grew even more eager.

Lionel paused for a moment, then slowly recited: "Having practiced until my form resembles a crane, I fear not the palace maids... Two volumes of scriptures beneath a thousand pines. I come to ask the Way, but there is nothing more to say, my son... Clouds in the blue sky, water in the bottle."

Luckily, none of the Frenchmen on the ship understood Chinese... right? But it didn't matter to Lionel. It was reasonable for a French writer like him not to be fluent in Chinese.

The young woman's eyes widened in fascination as she listened, and she pressed on, "Then... what does this poem mean when translated into French?"

Lionel thought for a moment, searching hard for the right French words to convey the spirit of the poem, and after a long while he finally spoke:
"The body is as light as a bird in the sky, and the mind is as serene as turning the pages of scriptures under an ancient pine tree. What is the truth of this world? The answer is not complicated."

It is like clouds in a clear blue sky, and like water in a bottle—pure, clear, free, distinct, and unchanging throughout history.

Because the crane is a symbol of "clumsiness," "foolishness," and "frivolity" in French culture, Lionel simply translated it as "bird" to avoid misunderstanding.
The deck fell silent. The sound of the sea breeze rustling the sails, the gentle lapping of waves against the hull, and the distant hum of the steam engine all became the background music to this poem.

The passengers savored these translated lines of poetry, which were filled with Eastern imagery—birds, ancient pines, scriptures, blue skies, clouds, bottles of water…

These images, when combined, depict a transcendent, tranquil, and vibrant realm, quite different from European philosophy.

In particular, the last metaphor about "worldly truth" was like a clear spring, soothing many hearts that had just experienced the panic of cholera.

"Light as a bird... as spiritual as reading scriptures under an ancient pine tree..." a passenger murmured, subconsciously straightening his slightly overweight back.

"Truth... is like clouds in the sky, water in a bottle... This Eastern philosophy is indeed simple yet profound."

"It sounds... calming."

"Mr. Sorel! This is amazing! It can improve physical health, cultivate the mind, and be accompanied by such philosophical poetry!"

"Could you...could you teach us? Even just one or two simple movements? During this long voyage, it might be a great way to relax and exercise!"

The suggestion was immediately met with enthusiastic responses from almost all the passengers around.

"Yes, Mr. Sorel, please teach us!"

"I've been looking for a gentle form of exercise, and this looks perfect!"

"Please be sure to give us some guidance!"

Lionel looked at the enthusiastic and curious male and female passengers in front of him and laughed heartily: "Of course, if you are interested."

This isn't some secret technique; Mr. Zola and Mr. Daudet have been practicing it for a year. We can start with the most basic and simplest movements.

However, it requires patience; the movements are slow, so don't get bored halfway through.

"Absolutely not!" everyone exclaimed in unison, automatically finding their positions in front of Lionel and mimicking his standing posture, eager to try it themselves.

So, over the next week, a peculiar and fascinating scene unfolded aboard the Perel:

As long as the weather is fine and the waves are not too big, there are always thirty or forty passengers gathering in a specific deck area in the early morning and evening, dressed loosely and lined up in rows.

Led by Lionel, they slowly raised their hands, turned around, and moved, imitating some seemingly simple movements that actually required a high degree of balance and coordination.

At first, everyone was a bit clumsy. Some couldn't tell left from right, and some lost their balance, which drew bursts of laughter. After all, this was very different from popular sports.

But with Lionel's patient guidance, everyone gradually got the hang of it, and their movements became smoother and more fluid.

More importantly, as everyone immerses themselves in that slow rhythm, trying to adjust their breathing and find their "inner rhythm," a wonderful sense of tranquility begins to permeate.

The daily social greetings, the boredom of the journey, and even the vague anxiety about the unknown other side all seemed to be temporarily dispelled in the slow progression of each move.

The most interesting part was reciting the "poem" while performing actions. Lionel broke down the original Chinese poem into French pronunciation and repeated it repeatedly during the lesson.

For Europeans who knew absolutely no Chinese, these syllables were strange and difficult to pronounce, harder than a witch's spell. They tried hard to read along, but always pronounced them with odd accents.

Some people pronounce "like a crane" as "Xi Huo Xing", some pronounce "under a thousand pine trees" as "sneezing", and as for "clouds in the blue sky and water in the bottle", the pronunciations are even more bizarre.

A chorus of chants, a mixture of effort, frustration, and laughter, often echoed from the deck, creating a unique scene during the voyage.

Some lively young people even treat this "chanting" as a game, competing to see who can chant the fastest or the strangest spell, which makes others laugh.

But in any case, the slow, dancing figures and the strange, uneven chanting have become iconic memories of the Perel's April voyage.

Many people have found that after practicing for a period of time, although their movements are still clumsy, they do feel more relaxed and their sleep seems to be more restful.

More importantly, this feeling of focusing on one thing and completely relaxing the mind and body is undoubtedly a good medicine for those who have just emerged from the shadow of the pandemic.

Before the Perel even arrived in New York, the French Tai Chi Association had already been officially established in the ship's recreation room, with Lionel serving as the association's honorary president.

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On the morning of April 19, 1884, the Perel slowly entered New York Harbor.

At 7 p.m. that evening, Lionel and Sophie were already seated at the dining table in the Morgan family mansion.

Besides J.P. Morgan Sr. and his son J.P. Morgan Jr., Nikola Tesla was also present.

For the past year, he has been constantly traveling between Paris and New York. Now, the day has finally come to reap the rewards.

After a glass of wine, old Morgan looked at Tesla and said, "Mr. Sorel, I must tell you, Nikola is the most outstanding genius I have ever seen."

Lionel laughed: "I've always thought so."

Morgan remarked, "I've worked with Thomas for so many years, and I've seen many of his engineers. None of them can compare to him."

He looked at Lionel: "Leon, I used to think that Thomas was the greatest engineer in the world, but now I've changed my mind."

Thomas was a genius, but Nikolai was a genius among geniuses. You can't imagine how quickly he solved problems or how diligently he worked.

Lionel nodded: "Nikolai certainly has that ability."

Nikola Tesla smiled modestly: "I just did what I was supposed to do."

Old Morgan laughed: "The things to do? Do you know how many engineers in New York think you're crazy? How many complaints they've made to me?"

He turned to Lionel: "Leon, to be honest, I thought it would take at least three years to realize your plan, but Nicola made everything easy."

Lionel raised his glass towards Tesla: "To Nikola!"

J.P. Sr. and J.P. J.P. Jr. also raised their glasses, pointing towards Tesla: "To Nikola!"

After dinner, old Morgan glanced at the clock on the wall: "Eight-thirty. Perfect timing."

Then he stood up: "Let's go, let's go take another look together."

Several people left the study and went downstairs. Two carriages were parked at the door. Old Morgan, Lionel, and Sophie got into the first carriage, while young Morgan and Tesla got into the second.

The carriage traveled north along Broadway. The streets grew quieter and the buildings became increasingly sparse. Finally, the carriage stopped at the foot of a small hill.

Old Morgan got out of the car and pointed to a path ahead: "Go up there, it's not far."

Several people walked up the path. After walking for a few minutes, the view suddenly opened up before them.

Standing atop the hill, one can overlook a vast area of ​​buildings. These are all newly constructed residential areas, with dozens of new houses neatly arranged, one of which stands out as particularly tall and massive.

But not a single light was on in any of these houses. The entire area was pitch black, like a sleeping stone forest.

Lionel looked at the buildings: "This is..."

Old Morgan nodded: "Yes, Dakota Apartments."

He pointed to the tallest building: "From the outside, it looks no different from other apartments. Red brick, stone, wrought iron balconies. But the inside is completely different."

Lionel asked, "Is everything installed?"

Old Morgan looked at Tesla, who nodded, unable to hide his excitement: "It's all installed! I checked it at least three times, and it's flawless!"

Lionel remarked with considerable emotion, "I never imagined that the United States would be earlier and faster than France!"

Morgan Jr. proudly declared, "This is America!"

(Two chapters combined, please vote with monthly tickets!)
(End of this chapter)