Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 82 Even the most majestic mountain has a path that can cross it.

Upon arriving at St. Helir Port (the capital of Jersey), Lionel declined Maupassant's invitation and chose to stay at a hotel near the port called "Norman's Dream".

Maupassant didn't insist, but instead gave him an ambiguous "I understand" look, and after agreeing with Lionel to come find him the next morning, he left in a hired carriage.

Lionel booked a "family suite" for 15 francs a night, which included two bedrooms and a living room.

After putting their luggage away, the three of them went to the hotel restaurant for dinner. Since the arrival time of the guests was not fixed, the hotel’s communal dining table would be open until 9 p.m., but each person’s dining time was limited to half an hour.

Alice and Patty didn't have much of an appetite, so they ate a little bit of the island's specialty British fish and chips before going back to their room.

Lionel was in high spirits. In addition to fish and chips, he also tasted the fish and shrimp that the island's fishermen had caught that day, as well as the mussels that the owner's daughter had picked up from the rocks by the sea. He ate for a full half hour before leaving at the owner's urging.

The balcony of his room faced a row of flags that were being blown about by the sea breeze. At night, the wind howled like waves, mixed with the coughs of the passengers and the soft singing from the nearby English pub, making him feel as if he were in a dream.

The next morning, Maupassant arrived at "Norman Dream" as promised, bringing with him a two-row, four-seat open carriage and a coachman.

Alice, who already knew a little about prices outside the Alps, exclaimed, "This carriage rental must be expensive!"

“It’s 22 francs a day to hire a car, and they can take us anywhere on the island!” Maupassant said with a hint of pride.

This "sky-high price" left Alice and Patty speechless.

Jersey is about one-fifth the size of Paris, but most of the residential areas and attractions are concentrated in and around Saint-Helier, which can be explored on foot, though having a horse-drawn carriage on standby would certainly make it more pleasant.

Lionel did not refuse the offer and took Alice and Petit into the carriage; he and Maupassant sat in the front, while Alice and Petit sat in the back.

The first attraction on a tour of Jersey must undoubtedly be "Elizabeth Castle".

This 700-year-old stone castle is located by the sea and served as both a palace and a military fortress—of course, both of these functions have now been lost, and it has become a purely tourist attraction.

Why must we go early in the morning? Because the road to the castle is only visible at low tide in the morning. (Suddenly reminded of the movie "28 Years Later" I watched yesterday...)
There is no entrance fee to the castle, but it is almost completely empty inside. Every room has trash left by tourists and smells musty.

Even the two girls who were initially excited were now holding their noses and urging Lionel and Maupassant to leave quickly.

Only when you climb to the top of the tallest arrow tower and look down at St. Helier Port and gaze at Guernsey Island 27 kilometers away do you feel that the trip was worthwhile.

After lunch, Maupassant suggested that the four of them first go to the beach at Saint-Breard Bay, and then visit Mr. Hugo's former residence before sunset.

After Napoleon III's coup d'état (1851), Hugo decided to go into exile. He first lived in Brussels, Belgium for a year, and then moved to the islands in the English Channel.

He initially lived on Jersey, then moved to Guernsey in 1855, where he remained until the fall of Napoleon III in 1870, when he returned to France and received a hero's welcome in Paris.

Les Misérables was written during his exile. His residences on Jersey and Guernsey have become tourist attractions, with the Jersey entrance fee being 15 sous per person—rumored to be that Mr. Hugo received at least 2 francs annually from the ticket sales of these two islands.

As younger literary figures, Lionel and Maupassant naturally had to pay their respects when they came to Jersey.

The mansion stands on a hillside, with two lush elm trees growing in front of it, like two green flags raised for the exiles.

The manager and guide was an elderly gentleman who spoke French with a touch of British accent. He would lead tourists through a series of cramped rooms, pointing out the poems written by Victor Hugo himself on the walls, the tapestries, the mirrored ceilings, and the wicker chair he once reclined in.

"Here, he wrote his curse on Napoleon III, and also his hope for human conscience." This sentence was powerful, but the old man's voice carried a mature weariness.

Lionel stood in front of the large window facing the sea in his study, and through the glass, he vaguely saw a shadow writing at his desk, with the sea swaying behind him.

It is not the territory of any country, but simply the ocean itself.

Maupassant approached, and Lionel asked him in a low voice, "Do you think Mr. Hugo truly exiled himself, or used exile as an escape from everything?"

Maupassant was speechless for a moment, feeling a surge of emotions welling up in his chest, with nowhere to go.

He followed Lionel's gaze to the vast, turbulent sea outside the window, where the cries of seagulls sounded particularly desolate in the wind.

After a long while, Maupassant slowly spoke, his voice low: "Escape? Lionel, you are too sharp... or perhaps, you are too young, not yet fully enveloped by the shadow of that mountain."

Maupassant looked at the empty wicker chair with a complicated expression, as if he could see the white-haired, piercing-eyed giant just getting up and leaving: "Mr. Hugo is too big, Lionel."

So vast... like the Alps stretching before us. We who come later, no matter which direction we go, can always look up and see those peaks covered in eternal snow.

He defined what 'greatness' is, what 'humanitarianism' is, and what 'conscience' is!
Les Misérables alone encompasses almost all the sublime emotions and immense suffering that humanity can experience—Jean Valjean's redemption, Fantine's tragedy, Cosette's love…

Lionel understood Maupassant's feelings.

The emergence of an artistic giant in a civilization is fortunate for the average viewer, but not necessarily for other artists—especially long-lived artistic giants like Victor Hugo.

He could only offer a soft word of comfort: "Yes, sometimes, standing in this shadow can make it hard to breathe."

He was like a bottomless well; we tried to draw water from it, but always felt our buckets were too small, and the reflection on the surface was always his image.

Maupassant nodded like a chick pecking at rice: "He wrote about the suffering of Paris, so what else can we write about? He wrote about the struggle and redemption of humanity, so what new depths can we explore? He wrote about the raging and magnificent sea, so what unseen waves can we create with our pens?"

Even exile became a literary performance art form unique to him, imbued with a tragic aura. If we were to write about exile again, it would be like imitating the path he walked, picking up the sand he trodden upon.

Lionel smiled: "So, Mr. Zola, Mr. Flaubert, and you chose 'naturalism'?"
Don't be so discouraged—you just said Mr. Hugo was the Alps? Coincidentally, that's where I'm from.

In my experience, even the highest, most sprawling mountains have many paths that can be traversed. Is that so, Alice?

Alice had no interest in Hugo's house and was feeling rather bored when she suddenly heard Lionel ask her a question. It took her a moment to realize what he meant: "Yes, there are many main roads and trails that go through the Alps—"

"Léon, Mr. Maupassant, are you going to Switzerland or Italy?"

Lionel and Maupassant exchanged a glance, and amidst the puzzled looks of Alice and Petit, they burst into laughter.

(End of this chapter)