Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 75 So Said the Lady of the Rothschilds! (Second update, please subscribe and vote!)
As the weekend draws near, Paris will also welcome the last social event before Easter – the Sorbonne's "Poetry Gathering".

This tradition, inherited from ancient Greece, will attract hundreds of nobles, wealthy merchants, ladies, and socialites... The Sorbonne campus will become a joyous feast.

Within a month of each "poetry gathering," the Sorbonne Academy would receive donations of hundreds of thousands, or even millions, of francs.

The amount of research funding and professors' stipends for the entire institute this year will depend on the results of the "Poetry Festival"!
At the same time, the Sorbonne's "poetry gatherings" are widely regarded as a signal to kick off Paris's "social season."

Before the sweltering heat of July arrives and everyone heads to the seaside or forest villas to escape the heat, Paris will have a full three months of social revelry, with balls, poetry gatherings, salons, and plays... enough to make the Seine River boil.

However, when Lionel first heard this saying, all he could think of was Zhao Zhongxiang's deep, magnetic voice: "Spring has arrived, all things are reviving, and it's mating season for animals again..."

He was originally the "flower queen" of this year's "poetry festival"... oops... the "focus person".

Lionel himself was not averse to this—it was a tradition that foreign universities had followed for hundreds of years, and he had participated in such activities when he went to the United States for academic exchanges in his previous life.

In addition to producing excellent works, writers and artists of this era relied heavily on "patrons of the arts," a tradition of the Renaissance.

Lorenzo de' Medici's patronage of Leonardo da Vinci; Paul Durandrue's patronage of Monet; Madame Hanska and Evelyn Laszka's patronage of Balzac...

Despite his current fame with "The Old Guard," he needs to publish a full-length novel or adapt a play for the stage to make big money, and very few booksellers and theaters are willing to take the risk for a newcomer.

Even the generous Charpentier was the same—it was a completely different matter to dedicate a dozen pages in his own magazine to an author he admired and to spend thousands or tens of thousands of francs to publish a book for that author.

So if there is a suitable patron at the poetry gathering, Lionel wouldn't mind saying nice things to him or her.

However, Louis-Alphonse's "theory of goods" on the day of Chen Jitong's speech blocked this path—

For others, this might not be a big deal; but for Lionel, the collapse of his "persona" could make things difficult in the literary world, especially since he wasn't famous enough to be unafraid of public opinion.

So when Provost Dunn approached Lionel to convey the Dean's message, he still firmly refused and returned the ancient Greek robe that the college had made for him.

However, Dunn soon received a new "instruction" from Dean Henry Patan—instructing him to meet a distinguished guest in the school's small meeting room on Thursday afternoon.

French universities typically do not schedule regular classes on Thursday afternoons, but rather elective courses and lectures, giving students time to participate in religious doctrine classes or prepare for Sunday.

However, most students would choose to go shopping or simply seek pleasure in brothels around the school.

Lionel, remembering Dean Henry Patan's previous support for him, nodded in agreement.

The small reception room was originally a small chapel of the Sorbonne Theological Seminary, mainly used for private prayer. It was not large, less than 30 square meters. Except for replacing the long benches and altar with sofas and bookshelves, everything else was preserved in its original state.

This time, Dean Henry Patan personally led Lionel to the small reception room. After entering, he gave a brief introduction and then left: "Eleonore, this is Lionel, the author of 'The Old Guard'."
"Lional, this is Mrs. Eleonore Adelaide de Rothschild. She has read your novel and greatly admires it..."

As the door to the small reception room was gently closed, Lionel finally had the opportunity to take a closer look at the noblewoman whose name he had heard of months ago.

At that moment, Mrs. Rothschild stood with her back to him in front of a stained-glass window depicting the story of saints. Her slender figure was enveloped in a dazzling halo of light, like a religious painting come to life.

She wore a perfectly tailored dark green velvet gown, with understated yet expensive lace trim at the neckline and cuffs, outlining her graceful neck and wrists. She didn't turn around immediately, but rather tilted her head slightly, revealing half of her exquisitely beautiful profile and a ray of sunlight kissing her blonde hair.

Before Lionel could speak, Mrs. Rothschild finally broke the silence: "Good afternoon, Mr. Sorel. Please forgive me for taking up your precious rest time. The Dean... seems to have some urgent academic matters to attend to."

Her voice carried a languid yet clear tone characteristic of Parisian high society, like silk gliding over velvet.

Lionel thought for a moment and decided to reply politely, "It is my honor to meet you..."

Upon hearing this, Madame Rothschild finally turned around slowly, allowing Lionel to see her in full.

She was indeed very young, looking no more than twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old, with blonde hair, blue eyes, snow-white skin, and features as perfect as a classical sculpture, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips. Lionel bowed slightly in greeting: "Good afternoon, Madam!" His gaze met hers calmly, without avoiding her eyes or probing excessively.

Mrs. Rothschild strolled over and sat down opposite Lionel: "Oh? Honored? I thought you were more...reluctant? -- Please sit down! Don't be so formal, I won't eat you!"

Of course, we won't treat you like, well, 'commodity'!

She was clearly fully aware of everything that had happened at the Sorbonne, and her smile carried a hint of sly mockery.

Lionel was not surprised and smiled in return: "Madam, you should know that dignity is one of the few decent coats a poor student has."

Madame Rothschild looked Lionel up and down: "Louis Alphonse is a brainless fool. I originally wanted to see you at the 'Poetry Party,' which would have been more natural... but this is fine as it is."

Speaking of coats, you seem a bit different from the rumors..."

She didn't dwell on the issue, but instead spoke of her work: "I've read your story 'The Old Guard' many times. That old soldier abandoned by the times, his stubbornness, his disillusionment..."

So I really want to meet you and see what kind of young Sorbonne writer could produce such a masterpiece.”

Lionel took a deep breath and said calmly, "Madam, you ate an egg and thought it was good, so why do you need to know the hen that laid it?"

Mrs. Rothschild was taken aback by what she heard, then chuckled softly, and then laughed louder and louder until she was almost out of control.

“Lionel, you are truly the most eloquent young man I have ever met…”

She leaned forward slightly, and the scent of an expensive perfume wafted over her: "Excuse my bluntness, Lionel, although you wrote about 'The Old Guard,' what I read was the fate of women."

Lionel: "Hmm?"

Mrs. Rothschild stood up: "Praised, seduced, used, sacrificed, abandoned, despised, destroyed... In the end, she could only cling to a sliver of the past and tragically spend the rest of her life."

Isn't this a woman? This is a woman!

Lionel was speechless, never expecting that "The Old Guard" could be interpreted in this way, but now he could only politely reply, "I am flattered by your appreciation."

Madam, your interpretation of "The Old Guard" is truly eye-opening; it's a perspective I hadn't even considered!

Mrs. Rothschild's eyes lit up with surprise: "Really? You think my interpretation is correct? Good heavens, I've told others before, but they all said it was just my silly fantasy!"
Even my husband can't understand me; he thinks I'm talking nonsense. So, Leon, is my interpretation really correct?

Lionel: "..." He hadn't expected his casual compliment to elicit such a strong reaction from the other party, who even changed how he addressed him.

But words spoken cannot be taken back, so Lionel could only bite the bullet and continue to smooth things over: "'The Old Guard' himself is a symbol of the capriciousness of fate, and it can be said that most people have a bit of his shadow in them..."

The more Lionel spoke, the brighter Madame Rothschild's eyes became and the gentler her expression grew. When Lionel uttered his last sentence, "...therefore anyone can be an old guard, and an old guard can be anyone," she practically pressed herself against him.

It wasn't until Lionel coughed that she snapped out of her daze, sat back in her seat, and resumed her haughty, languid, and alluring expression.

Mrs. Rothschild, no longer wanting to beat around the bush, went straight to the point: "Léon, you are the finest 'Sorbonne' I have ever met, and I do not wish to see true talent buried because of some... pointless concerns and the words of some fools."

Art needs soil, Leon. Even geniuses need bread and a quiet room to create. I'm never stingy with providing that soil for artists I admire.

And don't worry, I'm not the kind of... vulgar woman who would stand behind an artist with a paintbrush, pointing and gesturing."

Madame Rothschild leaned down before Lionel, looking him straight in the eye with a gaze as fiery as if she could burn a hole in his heart.

(End of this chapter)