Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 81 Maupassant in Despair! (Fourth update, please vote!)
"As the ship approached the harbor, a strong desire arose in my heart to see Jules one more time, my uncle Jules. I wanted to get close to him and say a few comforting words to him."

But I could no longer see him—no one ate oysters anymore, and the poor man had to go back to the bottom of the hold, where there was only foul, cold air.

On the way back, we changed to the St. Mary to avoid running into him again. During our day on Jersey, my mother was restless and extremely worried.

I have never seen my father’s brother since then!

In the future, you will sometimes see me giving 5-franc silver coins to vagrants, for the very reason I just mentioned.”

After Lionel finished speaking the last sentence of the story, there was complete silence around him.

He looked up and saw Maupassant standing there, stunned, his eyes filled with shock, confusion, admiration, and a complex mix of other emotions. His lips trembled slightly, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't utter a word.

Alice and Patty were already teary-eyed and hugging each other. If they weren't afraid of disturbing Lionel's storytelling, they might have already been sobbing uncontrollably.

There were a few other passengers waiting in line for oysters, but they all stood still and didn't urge him on. Instead, they carefully put out their cigarettes.

One woman even threw herself into the arms of her male companion, sobbing silently.

The saying "men are silent, women weep" perfectly describes this situation.

The old oyster shucker, Jules Darmance—who, of course, was called Anthony Matthew just fifteen minutes ago—was trembling so badly he could barely hold onto his knife.

His eyes gleamed, his teeth chattered, and after a long while he finally spoke: "Sir, are you going to give me five francs in silver?"

Everyone: "..."

However, as the silence was broken, everyone became more lively, some wiping away tears, others lighting cigarettes. Just as Maupassant was about to take out 5 francs from his pocket and toss it to "Jules Darmans," Lionel quickly pulled him away.

Unbeknownst to the disappointed old sailor, months later, he would tell everyone he met that his name was "Jules Darmâmasse," that he lived in Le Havre, and that in his youth he had been foolish enough to squander his brother's fortune and be sent to America...

Moreover, the oysters he opened would sell for a sky-high price of 5 francs per dozen, and many customers would give him an extra 5 francs tip. His ship, Saint-Michel, became the most popular ferry on the "Le Havre-Jersey" route, and tickets were hard to come by.

When Lionel and the others returned to their cabin, Alice and Petit were still recovering, while Maupassant had fallen into a strange mental state that was both excited and depressed.

He paced back and forth in the cabin, then took out a cigarette to light it—but his hands were shaking so badly that he failed several times.

After a long while, he sat down next to Lionel and extended a hand to him.

Lionel was stunned, momentarily unable to react. Suddenly, a shadow fell over him, and then Maupassant embraced him tightly. Soon after, Maupassant grabbed his shoulders and shook him, his voice trembling with tears.

“A masterpiece! A masterpiece, Leon! You are a genius I have never seen before! How long did you think it took you to write this story? One minute? Thirty seconds?”
Or did that damned Muse bestow inspiration upon you in a flash? No, inspiration alone isn't enough—

It also has a perfect structure, profound social critique, and even warm emotions.

And then there's "I"—little Joseph. Good heavens! "I" from *The Old Guard*, and "I" in this story—

Leon, is there really such a child living inside you? My God, what spirituality, what a gift...

I'm finished, I'm finished..."

As he spoke, tears streamed down his face. Lionel did not "resist," but silently watched Maupassant vent his emotions.

This future "King of Short Stories" may have led a dissolute personal life, but his pursuit of the art of fiction is undeniable.

His works, along with those of his teacher Flaubert, are considered to be the "purest, most refined, and most concise" representative works of French literature, demonstrating his dedication.

However, Maupassant was now almost 30 years old, and apart from publishing a few poems that caused legal trouble and a play that no one watched, it would be no exaggeration to describe him as "obscure".

He wasn't in a hurry before Lionel appeared.

Both his teacher Flaubert and Maupassant himself were convinced that the name "Maupassant" would one day shock the entire French literary world, and even the entire European literary world.

So whether in his hometown or in Paris, he lived a life of debauchery.

During the day, he works as a corporate slave at the Navy Department, and at night he frequents salons and brothels, occasionally writing some "little things," but he doesn't care too much about whether they can be published.

But things are different now. Lionel Sorel is like a comet, streaking towards the literary world from the distant edge of the universe.

Although its light is not yet very bright, Maupassant is now completely certain, based on today's events, that this comet will surely illuminate the entire night sky.

He might even become a star that hangs eternally in the sky, like Mr. Hugo, Mr. Zola, or his teacher Gustave Flaubert.

In his mind, this position was reserved for himself.

How could this not leave him feeling confused, pained, lost, or even desperate?

Lionel patted him on the shoulder, his tone unusually sincere and friendly: "Guy, don't be discouraged. Actually, you can write the story of 'My Uncle Jules' too, and it will be even more wonderful than mine."

What you need to do now is break free from your current state of 'doing nothing'. Life is full of stories—

A kind-hearted old farmer from the countryside, a sailor shucking oysters, a fat prostitute, a bookkeeper leading a dull life, a vain woman, a handsome man...

It doesn't matter what kind of story they have; what matters is what kind of story we want to give them.

Upon hearing this, Maupassant jumped up as if he had been electrocuted: "You're right, Léon! It's not that they have any stories, but that we want to give them a story..."

You've brought me to my senses! Thank you, Leon! No one, except my teachers, has ever inspired me so much!
Oh, and I also have to apologize to you…

Lionel was puzzled. Why not just thank him? Why apologize?

However, given that Maupassant's mental state was not very stable at the moment, he did not ask any further questions.

At that moment, the Saint-Michel ferry sounded a long, deep blast of its horn—

Jersey Island, we've arrived.

(End of this chapter)