With a 'bang' as the door closed, Professor Taine's figure disappeared from the office.
Gaston Boissier and the others exchanged glances, all showing helplessness.
Hippolyte Taine was very knowledgeable and not a bad person, but he was arrogant, stubborn, and easily angered.
When Hugo published the first part of 'Les Misérables', 'Fantine', in 1862, he had openly stated that the novel was 'insincere', almost falling out with Mr. Hugo, who was both his mentor and friend.
Of course, he wasn't the only one criticizing 'Les Misérables' at the time; Flaubert's critique was even more scathing: 'In this book, neither truth nor greatness can be found.'
The Goncourt brothers wrote a review deeming 'Les Misérables' an 'artificial' work; Baudelaire, while praising it in newspapers, told friends that the novel was 'tasteless and impotent.'
But these people were different from Taine; they didn't have a close personal relationship with Hugo, so his personality was evident.
Émile Egger spread his hands, probably meaning, 'What do you think we should do?'
Gaston Boissier was straightforward, handing him the manuscript of 'the old guard': 'Pass this around; it's a rare masterpiece. Even if we truly present it to Mr. Hugo, I wouldn't feel any shame.'
Émile Egger took the manuscript doubtfully, wondering if Professor Boissier was just saying that to save face.
As soon as he finished the first page, his eyes widened, and he looked up, staring at Gaston Boissier in disbelief: 'This… this was really written by a student?'
Paul Janet and the others were impatient, snatching the first page of the manuscript and eagerly browsing through it.
Immediately after, the Sorbonne Journal office was filled with a chorus of exclamations, doubts, and praises.
More than 20 minutes later, everyone present had finished reading 'the old guard', and the office fell silent again.
'This… isn't this really a new work by Gustave Flaubert? Or did this lucky kid find an unpublished manuscript by Alphonse Daudet?' A question many had in their hearts was raised.
This novel had Flaubert's style in its conciseness, accuracy, and depth of language; however, its description of the customs and traditions of the Alps region and its ingenious narrative structure had the charm of Daudet.
Especially since Daudet himself was from Provence, a region adjacent to the Alps, many customs and habits were similar, so it would be reasonable to say that 'the old guard' was written by him.
What was even more remarkable was that 'the old guard' showed no signs of clumsy or immature imitation, but rather was refined, seasoned, and seamless, completely unlike a masterpiece that could be completed by a university student—not even one from the Sorbonne Faculty of Arts!
In current-day France, mastering the essence of just one of them would be enough to establish oneself in Paris through writing, let alone combining the strengths of two?
The active Paul Janet was the first to break the silence, saying with an air of admiration: 'If this was truly written by Lionel Sorel, then he will undoubtedly be the gem of Sorbonne!'
'the old guard' is one of the few short story masterpieces I've read in recent years! If the Faculty of Arts Bulletin doesn't adopt it, it will be the Bulletin's regret!'
'Also, have you noticed, the perspective in 'the old guard', the narrator 'I', seems different from the 'I' in all other novels—I can't quite pinpoint how, but it's very peculiar.'
'Yes, the 'I' in 'the old guard' possesses a special vitality; he is not just the narrator of the story, but also a participant, and an observer… it's so interesting…'
'The question is, was this really written by Lionel Sorel?'
Everyone frowned; this question was like a heavy stone weighing on their hearts.
Publishing a masterpiece in the Bulletin was an honor, but publishing a plagiarized work would easily become a joke.
Gaston Boissier collected all the manuscripts: 'It seems we need to meet this Mr. Sorel… Well, let's leave it at that for now, and discuss other issues for the March issue…'
— — — — — — —
Lionel had no idea of the shock his 'the old guard' had caused among the professors at Sorbonne.
Although he knew the novel was very good, he didn't fully realize how shocking some writing techniques, which only gradually appeared and matured in the 20th century, would be in the 19th century.
He was outside a high-end private ward at Necker Children's Hospital in the Eleventh District, visiting Petty.
'Young Master Sorel, when can I be discharged?' Petty, still somewhat pale, asked timidly through the ward window.
'The doctor just told me that you most likely don't have tuberculosis, but just common pneumonia. It will be two weeks at the fastest, or a month at the slowest,' Lionel comforted her.
In 1879, although microscopes were widely used in disease diagnosis, only a portion of bacteria had been identified and classified, and this did not include Mycobacterium tuberculosis, which causes tuberculosis.
So doctors could only rely on experience, using stethoscopes to listen to patients' chests and diagnose based on symptoms like dry cough and wet rales.
Fortunately, Petty did not exhibit the typical symptoms of tuberculosis.
'But I heard the nurses here chatting, it costs 3 francs a day to stay here… Can I be discharged earlier?' Petty's voice grew softer and softer.
3 francs… She thought about her father working as a servant, sometimes not even earning 3 francs a day.
Lionel didn't pretend to be generous but told Petty about the agreement he had reached with her parents, which finally put Petty at ease.
After chatting with Petty for a few more moments, a nurse came to remind him that visiting hours were over, and Lionel bid Petty farewell.
On his way out of the hospital, Lionel became the focus of many nurses' gazes. Seeing him walk through the corridor in his coat with shiny, worn elbows, they whispered among themselves.
News had spread throughout the hospital that Necker Children's Hospital was treating a young maid from a poor apartment in the Eleventh District, and she was staying in a 3-franc-a-day ward. Everyone was curious about who this generous employer was.
Seeing Lionel's face and physique, the nurses' eyes lit up; then, seeing his coat and leather shoes, various expressions of surprise, doubt, and disdain immediately appeared.
In their eyes, Lionel, who was putting on a brave face, was probably a 'do-gooder' who would rather go hungry himself than do a good deed. Such a person wouldn't last long in Paris.
Leaving Necker Children's Hospital, Lionel walked to the public carriage stop on Boulevard Saint-Germain, preparing to go to the Ninth District, also known as the 'Opera District'.
He intended to find a new apartment there that would meet his living needs for the next one to two years, at least so he wouldn't have to worry about suddenly falling ill like Petty.
In Paris, apart from those villas and mansions worth tens to hundreds of thousands of francs, the only suitable options were the Haussmann buildings, which were organized and built starting in 1850 by Baron Georges-Eugène Haussmann, the high official of the Seine department during the Second Empire and chief designer of the Paris renovation, and which became the standard for future Parisian residences.
Haussmann buildings were typically 5 to 6 stories high, built with cut stone, connected to the sewers underground, and had running water inside; the second floor usually had a long, continuous balcony, and each apartment had large windows, providing excellent light and ventilation.
Although Baron Haussmann was dismissed in 1870 because the urban renovation budget exceeded 1 billion francs, for the next 40 years, until World War I, Paris was largely transformed according to his original plans.
Haussmann buildings effectively became the architectural signature of Paris and a major component of the 'romantic charm' of Paris familiar to later generations.
However, just as Lionel was about to enter an apartment building next to the Opera House, he was unceremoniously stopped: 'Sir, we do not allow improperly dressed visitors here…'