Victor Hugo was already 77 years old, an advanced age for that era.
Last June, he suffered a minor stroke, and although he had mostly recovered, he rarely went out or received visitors anymore.
His main energy was currently focused on the final volume of his last important work, "The Legend of the Ages."
This monumental history of human society, written in poetic language, spanned the latter half of his life—the first volume was published in 1859, and the second in 1877.
So, after receiving Professor Taine's letter, he initially intended to write a politely worded reply declining the invitation, but one sentence from Taine moved the literary giant, who was held in such high esteem by the French people:
"The Sorbonne cannot lose youth, vitality, and justice, just as France cannot lose Victor Hugo! Your presence will bring immense encouragement and comfort to these young people, and it will surely allow the French people to witness your greatness once again!"
He recalled his own experience studying at the Faculty of Law—although he wasn't particularly interested in law, merely following his father's arrangements, the daily interaction with his young classmates, the clash of ideas, and the sincere exchanges were unforgettable memories.
In his later years, although Hugo's reputation grew, he often fell into the loneliness common to the elderly.
Especially after the Paris Commune in 1871, Hugo, sympathizing with the Communards, repeatedly called on the government to pardon and release them, and even urged foreign governments to offer asylum, which resulted in unrest.
One night, a mob of about 50 people attempted to force their way into Hugo's house, shouting, "Kill Hugo! Hang Hugo! Kill this villain!"
Although this act of violence was unsuccessful, it greatly struck Hugo's heart, making him see the wickedness of human nature and how unreliable so-called "reputation" truly was.
He felt he was merely living as a rather attractive signboard.
After much hesitation, he found paper and pen and wrote his reply:
"Dear Taine: Thank you for your enthusiasm, may you remain in good health... Please forgive me for not being able to attend the ""Poetry Society"", my old and ailing body can no longer dance with beautiful ladies at such a grand event.
But I still have the energy to look at the works of the Sorbonne students..."
After finishing the reply, Hugo felt another wave of weakness, gazing at the thick, inky night outside the window, he rang the bell, summoned his servant, and was attended to for sleep.
...
The next morning, Lionel woke up promptly as the church bells struck eight.
Opening the door, he already saw Petty waiting for him, with a basin of clean water at her feet.
Since the attic was too small for Petty to rest, she had been sleeping at her parents' house on the second floor recently.
Seeing Lionel, Petty smiled brightly: "Good morning, Sorel."
Having eaten a fair amount of beef and chicken with Lionel these past few days, Petty's complexion was no longer pale as before, but had two faint hints of red.
Lionel carried the basin into the room, then closed the door on Petty, took off his outer garment, and began to wash and clean himself.
The icy cold water instantly cleared his mind from its hazy state—after living in this era for over a month, he had gradually adapted to the custom of washing everything with cold water here.
It wasn't entirely due to poverty preventing them from heating water, but rather, washing and cleaning oneself with cold water was considered an important method for maintaining health in this era.
In the early 19th century, people generally believed that diseases existed as gases and would enter the body through pores and nostrils, causing illness; cold water sponge baths were thought to make pores contract, blocking the entry of "pathogenic qi";
Although after Pasteur discovered the existence of bacteria and other microorganisms, "pore phobia" turned into "germ phobia," and a "disinfection craze" swept through the middle and upper classes, with every household priding itself on the smell of limewater, the habit of using cold water was still widely retained.
However, Lionel was determined that if he truly got rich by writing novels, and could afford a large villa like Flaubert, Zola, and Maupassant, he would definitely live a life of hot baths...
After washing up, Lionel, who was about to leave, gave Petty two tasks and 2 francs:
To buy food for the two of them today and stew it according to the method he had taught her earlier; he would be home for both lunch and dinner.
To transcribe his manuscript of "the old guard" left on the table, and if she encountered any unfamiliar words, she could look them up in the dictionary nearby—he had already taught her basic spelling and how to use a dictionary last year.
Petty was very intelligent and learned quite well; if she hadn't often been interrupted by her mother to do chores, she might have been able to write letters on her own this year.
Seeing Petty nod emphatically, Lionel felt a little relieved, patted her head, and hurried downstairs and out the door.
The courses at the Sorbonne were as boring as ever, with professors repeating theories and works from 100 or even 300 years ago, as conservative as zombies resurrected from the Middle Ages.
Professor Hippolyte Taine, though old-fashioned, was almost as trendy as a rock musician compared to them—if rock music existed in this era.
A bored Lionel hid in a back corner of the classroom, continuing to work on "the old guard" in his notebook.
Well, writing "the decadent city" in class was still too risky after all—
"I heard people secretly discussing that the old guard was indeed an old Imperial Guard who followed His Majesty the Emperor, having distinguished himself in battles at Austerlitz and Jena. But after Waterloo, King Louis XVIII issued an order, and these elite troops of the Emperor were disbanded. Some of them were sent back to their hometowns, while more were shadowed by secret police and couldn't find decent work. So they became poorer and poorer, almost to the point of begging. Fortunately, he was an excellent shot and sometimes hunted or drove away wolves for people in exchange for bread. But he had one bad habit: he loved to drink. As soon as he got a few coins, he'd head straight to the tavern, get drunk, and often mess things up. After several such incidents, no one asked him for help anymore. the old guard had no choice but to occasionally resort to stealing. But in our shop, his conduct was better than anyone else's; he never defaulted on payments. Although he occasionally didn't have cash and temporarily had it noted on the blackboard, he would always pay it off within a month, and the old guard's name would be erased from the blackboard."
As Lionel was writing, without even getting up during the break, the paper suddenly darkened; someone had stood in front of his desk, blocking the light.
He looked up and saw Albert de Rohan, leading his gang of younger followers, surrounding the row of seats where he was sitting.
Lionel frowned; after the incident in the principal's office, Albert hadn't bothered him for a long time. Was he reverting to his old ways today?
Before he could speak, Albert spoke first: "Lionel, do you have other plans this weekend?"
Lionel thought to himself, of course he did. He had just received 1500 francs in cash and a 1500-franc bill of exchange as an advance from Gabriel for "An Honest Parisian," and he was planning to look at houses this weekend, hoping to move as soon as possible if he found a suitable one.
But Albert's tone didn't sound like a provocation, so he asked, "Why, is something wrong?"
Albert hesitated for a moment but still stated his purpose: "This weekend, we're going to explore the 'Empire of Death.' Do you want to come along?"
Lionel was startled. "The Empire of Death" was a line carved on the lintel at the entrance of Paris's famous catacombs, and also its common name.
In this vast network of underground tunnels, 6 million skeletons from the 18th century onwards were buried. It was currently managed by the church and had always been considered a forbidden place, with many supernatural legends.
As he hesitated, he clearly saw a scornful smile slowly creep onto Albert's lips.