As the weekend drew closer, Paris was about to usher in the last social feast before Easter—the "Poetry Reading" of the Sorbonne Faculty of Letters.
This tradition, inherited from ancient Greece, would attract hundreds of aristocrats, wealthy merchants, noblewomen, socialites… The Sorbonne campus would become a joyous feast.
Within a month after each "Poetry Reading," the Sorbonne Faculty of Letters would gradually receive donations ranging from hundreds of thousands to even millions of francs.
The amount of funding for the entire faculty's research projects and professors' allowances this year depended on the success of the "Poetry Reading"!
At the same time, the Sorbonne's "Poetry Reading" was widely considered the signal to kick off Paris's "social high season."
Before the peak of summer in July, when everyone would leave for seaside or forest villas to escape the heat, Paris would have three whole months of social revelry—balls, poetry readings, salons, dramas… enough to make the waters of the Seine boil.
However, the first time Lionel heard this, his mind only heard the deep, magnetic voice of teacher Zhao Zhongxiang:
"Spring has arrived, everything is recovering, and it's mating season for animals again…"
Originally, he was supposed to be the "flower queen"... ah, no... the "center of attention" at this year's "Poetry Reading."
Lionel himself wasn't averse to this—it was a tradition followed by foreign universities for hundreds of years.
He had participated in such events during his academic exchange in America in his previous life.
Writers and artists of this era, in addition to having excellent works, also heavily relied on "art patrons," which was also a Renaissance tradition.
Lorenzo de' Medici's patronage of Leonardo da Vinci; Paul Durand-Ruel's patronage of Monet; Madame Hanska and Eveline de Balzac's patronage of Balzac…
Even though he had gained some fame with "The Old Guard," he needed to publish a full-length novel or bring a play to the stage to make big money.
Very few booksellers and theaters were willing to take a risk on a newcomer.
Even the generous Charpentier was the same—reserving a dozen pages in his magazine for an admired writer was completely different from spending thousands or tens of thousands of francs to publish a book for them.
So, if there was a suitable patron at the "Poetry Reading," Lionel wouldn't mind saying flattering things to him or her.
But Louis-Alphonse's "commodity theory" on the day of Chen Jitong's speech had blocked this path—
For others, it might not be taken seriously; but for Lionel, if his "persona" collapsed, it would be difficult to get by in the literary circles, especially since he wasn't famous enough to be immune to public criticism.
So, when Dean Douen found Lionel to convey the principal's message, he still firmly refused and returned the Ancient Greek robe the academy had custom-made for him.
However, Douen soon brought a new "oral message" from Dean Professor Henri Patin—asking him to meet an important guest in the school's small reception room on Thursday afternoon.
French universities typically didn't schedule regular classes on Thursday afternoons, only electives and lectures, allowing 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 the brothels around the school.
Lionel thought of Dean Henri Patin's previous support for him and nodded in agreement.
The small reception room was originally the small chapel of the Sorbonne Faculty of Theology, mainly used for private prayer.
It was not large, less than 30 square meters, and apart from replacing the pews and altar with sofas and bookshelves, everything else remained in its original state.
This time, Dean Henri Patin personally led Lionel to the small reception room.
After entering, he made a brief introduction and then withdrew:
"Eleanor, this is Lionel, the author of 'The Old Guard';
Lionel, this is Madame Éléonore Adélaïde de Rothschild.
She has read your novel and admires it greatly…"
As the door of the small reception room gently closed, Lionel finally had the chance to carefully observe the noblewoman whose name he had heard months ago.
At this moment, Madame Rothschild stood with her back to him, in front of a stained-glass window depicting the stories of saints.
Her slender figure was enveloped in a radiant halo, like a religious painting come to life.
She wore an extremely well-tailored dark green velvet gown, with understated yet valuable lace embedded in the neckline and cuffs, outlining her graceful neck and wrists.
She didn't turn around immediately, but merely tilted her head slightly, revealing a small, impeccably delicate profile of her face and a hint of sun-kissed blonde hair.
After a long wait for Lionel to speak, Madame Rothschild finally couldn't help but speak first:
"Good afternoon, Monsieur Sorel, please forgive me for occupying your valuable rest time.
Monsieur Dean… seems to have some academic matters to attend to temporarily."
Her voice carried a lazy yet clear Parisian high society accent, like silk gliding over velvet.
Lionel thought for a moment and decided to reply politely:
"It's my honor to meet you…"
Upon hearing this, Madame Rothschild finally slowly turned around, allowing Lionel to see her full appearance.
She was indeed very young, looking no more than twenty-seven or twenty-eight, with blonde hair and blue eyes, skin as white as snow, features as perfect as a classical sculpture, and a faint, elusive smile playing on her lips.
Lionel bowed slightly:
"Good afternoon, Madame!"
His gaze calmly met hers, neither avoiding nor excessively scrutinizing.
Madame Rothschild gently paced and sat opposite Lionel:
"Oh?
An honor?
I thought your mood at this moment was probably more… unwilling?
—Please sit down!
Don't be so stiff, I won't eat you!
Of course, I won't treat you as, well, 'merchandise'!"
She clearly knew everything that had happened at the Sorbonne, with a hint of sly playfulness in her smile.
Lionel wasn't surprised and returned a smile:
"Madame, you know that dignity is one of the few decent coats a poor student possesses."
Madame Rothschild scrutinized Lionel:
"Louis-Alphonse is a brainless fool.
I originally wanted to meet you at the 'Poetry Reading,' which might have been more natural… but this is good too.
Speaking of coats, you seem a bit different from the rumors…"
She didn't dwell on the matter but spoke of his work:
"Your 'Old Guard,' it made me read it many times.
That old soldier abandoned by his era, his stubbornness, his disillusionment…
That's why I really wanted to meet you, to see what kind of young man from the Sorbonne could write such a masterpiece."
Lionel secretly took a deep breath and said faintly,
"Madame, if you eat an egg and find it good, why bother getting to know the hen that laid it?"
Madame Rothschild was stunned by his words, then quietly chuckled, which grew louder and louder until she almost lost her composure before regaining control.
"Lionel, you truly are the most eloquent young man I have ever met…"
She leaned forward slightly, and a scent of expensive perfume wafted over:
"If I may be frank, Lionel, though you wrote 'The Old Guard,' what I read was the fate of women."
Lionel: "Hm?"
Madame Rothschild stood up:
"Praised, seduced, utilized, sacrificed, abandoned, scorned, destroyed… ultimately left to cling to a shred of past memories, living out the rest of their lives tragically.
Is this not woman?
This is woman!"
Lionel was dumbfounded, never expecting "The Old Guard" could be interpreted this way, but now he could only politely reply,
"Your appreciation flatters me.
Madame, your interpretation of 'The Old Guard' is refreshing; it's an perspective I hadn't even considered!"
Madame Rothschild's eyes lit up, filled with surprise:
"Really?
You think my interpretation is correct?
Oh my, I've said it to others before, but they all said it was just my idle fantasy!
Even my husband couldn't understand me, thinking I was delirious.
So, Léon, does my interpretation really make sense?"
Lionel: "…"
He hadn't expected his casual compliment to elicit such a strong reaction from her, even changing her way of addressing him.
But words spoken couldn't be taken back, so Lionel could only bravely continue to elaborate:
"'The Old Guard' itself is a symbol of the unpredictability of fate. One could say that most people, more or less, carry a bit of his shadow…"
The more Lionel spoke, the brighter Madame Rothschild's eyes became, and her expression grew gentler.
After Lionel uttered his last sentence:
"…Therefore, anyone can be the Old Guard, and the Old Guard can be anyone,"
she almost moved to his side.
It wasn't until Lionel cleared his throat that she seemed to awaken from a dream, returning to her seat and resuming her proud, languid, and charming expression.
Madame Rothschild no longer wanted to beat around the bush and went straight to the point:
"Léon, you are the most excellent 'Sorbonnian' I have ever met, and I would not want to see true talent buried due to some… unnecessary concerns and the remarks of certain idiots.
Art needs soil, Léon.
Even a genius needs bread and a quiet room to create.
I am never stingy in providing this soil to artists I admire.
And you don't need to worry, I am not the kind of… vulgar woman who would hold a paintbrush and dictate behind an artist."
Madame Rothschild leaned forward in front of Lionel, looking directly into his eyes, her gaze as fervent as flames, almost burning a hole in his heart.
(End of this chapter)
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