Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 4 Introducing a Western Meat Feast

Lionel was startled. He examined the young man in front of him closely and realized that he was indeed the same person as the bearded middle-aged man on the cover of the novel collection to be published in the future.

However, at this time his beard was not so coarse and thick, but neatly combed and pressed against his upper lip and cheeks;
“1879…1879…” Lionel murmured the number to himself, making sure that Maupassant was still unknown at this time, and that his masterpiece “Boule de Suif”, which had shaken the French literary world, had not yet been published; he smiled and gently shook hands with Maupassant: “It is my honor—but may I ask why?”

Maupassant's face was pleased, and his tone was particularly relaxed: "You've given me quite a show, Mr. Sorel. I had thought the Faculty of Arts was full of dull bookworms or frivolous young noblemen."

But you changed my mind about it. Your interpretation of *Phaedr* is absolutely brilliant!

Lionel took off his cap and held it to his chest, nodding slightly. "Thank you for your compliment, sir! But a mere five-minute lecture is probably not worth a franc!"

It would certainly be a good thing to get to know a future star like Maupassant, but it would be even more inappropriate to accept the invitation rashly; Lionel would rather be cautious before he knew his true intentions.

He cared more about winning Maupassant's respect and lasting friendship than about a free lunch.

After all, historical records show that this "King of Short Stories" had a strange temper, was moody, and arrogant. In his youth, he disliked church schools and even deliberately caused trouble to get himself expelled.

If Maupassant truly valued her in his eyes, then this rejection wouldn't deter him; if Maupassant was merely indulging in a passing fancy, then she had no reason to be a mere spice in his life.

Maupassant clearly hadn't expected Lionel to not immediately agree, but instead to display a socially tactful probe—showing humility without offending him.

This made Maupassant even more interested in the young man before him.

Such social terms are usually reserved for people from wealthy families who have received good etiquette training. Lionel's old coat and shoes that haven't been polished in a long time suggest that his family probably doesn't have the financial means to hire an etiquette teacher.

—The whispers among the other students when he sat in the back row confirmed this.

In particular, when he announced his name, he emphasized the character "德" (de) in the middle, which is a symbol of noble status and still has a deterrent effect on the common people, even though it is now a republic.

But Lionel did not show any emotional fluctuation. Instead, he responded politely to the compliment and declined the invitation.

Could it be that this student from the common people was born with some kind of noble temperament, just like himself?
Maupassant, unwilling to miss the opportunity, took out a small notebook from his pocket, opened it to a page, and handed it to Lionel.

Lionel took it and found it filled with words and phrases:

"Deep chestnut hair," "A clean-cut profile," "Long eyelashes, sprinkled with gold dust in the morning light," "The language possesses an undeniable calm," "Disturbing," "Dead silence," "As startled as a duck seeing an eagle"...

"This is..." Lionel asked, puzzled, "...a record of the lesson just now?"

Maupassant was overjoyed to see that he could understand it, and took the notebook back from Lionel's hand: "This is my shorthand notebook—just like a painter's sketchbook! My teacher taught me to record the characteristics of people, things, and events at any time."

He told me, 'You must learn to observe life with your eyes, and more importantly, let your hands obey your eyes, and write down what you observe.'"

Lionel smiled. He knew, of course, who Maupassant was referring to as his teacher, but since the teacher hadn't mentioned his name, he didn't need to reveal it. However, he still had to show the necessary respect: "Your teacher must be an outstanding literary master, and his training of you is the right path in literature!" Hearing Lionel's compliment, Maupassant became even more excited, but he still didn't reveal his teacher's name. Instead, he continued, "I came to the Sorbonne University to observe what university students are like these days."

Forgive my bluntness, but they were lifeless and only treated professors with the utmost deference, like mice before a cat.

And what about those professors? They're practically like that American Edison's invention from a few years ago, the phonograph—repeating the same boring, outdated sermons every single class.

To be honest, I almost fell asleep sitting in the last row of the classroom.

But you came in, Mr. Sorel—from the moment you pushed open the door into the classroom to the moment you answered Professor Taine's tricky question—it was a vivid story, full of dramatic elements, a veritable five-minute version of "Fedal."

If you had been in the classroom from the beginning, this effect might not have been achieved; it was precisely because you were late, and precisely because of your—forgive my frankness—commoner status, precisely because of the other students' hostility towards you, precisely because of Professor Turner's harshness—

Of course, most importantly, it's precisely because of your profound understanding of "Phaedr" and your excellent oratory skills...

So, Mr. Sorel, I'm not inviting you to dinner for your five-minute classroom presentation, but for this fascinating story—is that reason sufficient?

Looking at the eloquent and passionate Maupassant before him, Lionel's smile widened even more: "Of course, Mr. Maupassant! It is a great honor to have lunch with you!"

But you can just call me 'Leon'.

Maupassant was overjoyed and led Lionel out of the academy.

These days, universities basically don't have canteens. Students from other provinces have to go to restaurants outside or go back to their rented apartments if they want to eat—provided that meals are included.

At that time, the "three meals a day" system was not yet widespread in France, and most people did not care about breakfast. They usually ate a "brunch" between 10 am and 12 pm. Poor students could get by with 10 cendol worth of bread and 5 cendol worth of milk.

Since dinner is the main meal, it should be something nutritious.

Students from relatively well-off families at the Sorbonne University typically have a living allowance of around 1200 francs per year, while those with more resources may have 1500 francs.

They often stayed on Rue Saint-Jacques or Rue Masson-Sorbonne, enjoying a dinner for only 80 centimes at simple restaurants like "Will," "Rousseau," or "Fricto," and then dancing until late at night at cheap pubs like "Grand Charlus."

Poor Lionel only had 900 francs a year for living expenses, so he could only live in the chaotic 11th arrondissement, eating the unpalatable meals provided by his landlady, Ms. Martin, and never danced a single time.

Although Maupassant was not yet famous at this time, he had been working in the Colonial Administration of the Admiralty for many years, so his financial situation was quite good, and he naturally would not go to those cheap, simple restaurants.

Instead, they walked for a full 20 minutes to a restaurant called "The Prince's Inn," paid 8 francs, and sat down to enjoy the same delicious food with the owner and other guests.

This way of dining opened Lionel's eyes; for Zhang Chaohua, who was tasting French cuisine of this era for the first time, it was also a taste of something new.

(There will be another chapter tonight)
(End of this chapter)