If a writer from the 20th or 21st century heard this question, they would surely first widen their eyes in surprise, then burst out laughing.
For later generations of writers, the idea of a writer being 'pitying' or not towards their characters, and inferring their 'humanitarian spirit' from that, would seem utterly fantastical and absurd.
However, in the 19th century, it was perfectly normal for criticism of a work's moral stance to extend to criticism of the author's own moral views.
Writers deemed 'morally corrupt' could be prosecuted in court, facing fines for minor offenses and even imprisonment for serious ones.
After Baudelaire's *Les Fleurs du Mal* was published, he was fined three hundred francs by the court for 'offending public morals' and ordered to remove six major poems from the collection; only a very small number of people in the French literary scene at the time stood by Baudelaire.
Maupassant also faced a similar lawsuit—he once published a poem titled 'A Young Girl' in *La Revue Moderne et Naturaliste*, which roughly went:
[I search, I search in stories... / I search for a young girl. / A young girl whose body may be free, but whose soul is bound, / Bound by vows, promises, or verbal commitments. / A noble young girl, well-educated, proud, self-respecting... / The kind of young girl a man can say to: 'You are mine!']
The entire poem contained no obscene language, but the Etampes court still deemed it offensive to public morals and prepared to put Maupassant on trial.
It was only through the mediation of his teacher, Flaubert, and the networking and public opinion leveraged by a group of writers, that he was spared from imprisonment.
Therefore, Professor Boissier's question was quite sharp, directly cutting to the core of the novel *the old guard*.
Lionel, of course, could not directly apply literary theories that only emerged in the 20th century, such as 'bystander,' 'message body,' or 'death of the author'; that would only enrage these 19th-century scholars before him and cause them to label him a madman.
Lionel did not shy away from Professor Boissier's gaze; instead, he stood up and replied, "Respected Professor Boissier, thank you for your attention to perspective. But quite the opposite, I believe this 'young fellow's' perspective is the path to the deepest compassion.
Compassion, Professor Boissier, does not always manifest in tears or shouts; sometimes, it is hidden beneath a kind of 'ignorance' shaped by the social atmosphere."
This statement caused a small stir of discussion, and Hugo was clearly surprised by this insightful remark.
He had just finished reading *the old guard* and also wondered if such a masterpiece could have been written by this young man before him.
However, Lionel's words made him believe it for the most part.
Lionel's young, clear voice echoed in the high-domed hall of this ancient building: "The young fellow, that is, the 'I' in the novel, is not inherently indifferent; he is a product of that tavern world, that rigidly hierarchical society.
His numbness reflects the widespread indifference of society. Therefore, I want him to 'see' but not 'understand,' to 'record' but not 'judge.'
Only in this way can readers fill in that huge emotional void themselves—to feel the silent screams of the old guard's dignity being repeatedly trampled beneath the seemingly 'cold' narration, and the cruelty in the laughter of the onlookers."
"Onlookers?" When Lionel uttered this word, it immediately drew attention, and even the erudite Professor Boissier paused, unconsciously beginning to ponder the meaning of the term.
For a moment, he couldn't find a more accurate or profound corresponding work or image in the magnificent world of French literature, or even in the entire European literary world.
But this did not mean that 'onlookers' did not exist—on the contrary, 'they' were universally present among the French people; 'they' were not a specific individual, but an attitude of cold indifference and numbness towards tragedies in life.
Most writers in France and other European countries were immersed in grand narratives and had never brought such people onto the literary stage.
Lionel, however, achieved this in his *the old guard*—at this moment, Professor Boissier's doubts about Lionel had largely dissipated.
If he were not the creator of the work, he would simply not be able to answer this question so perfectly.
But Lionel's answer was not over: "This 'dehumanized' presentation is, in itself, the greatest indictment of a society that devours humanity and forgets heroes.
The object of my compassion is not only the old guard, but also the spiritual desert of society as a whole that rendered the 'I' in the novel numb.
Shouldn't literary humanism reveal the cruelty of this 'collective unconscious' rather than merely offering a cheap, sentimental perspective of sympathy?"
"Collective unconscious?" Professor Boissier once again fell into contemplation over this term, feeling as if his brain was boiling.
Then he realized that this term, like 'onlookers,' precisely described, from a psychological perspective, people's unthinking emotional expression in social environments, following the crowd.
This was also a field that French or European literature had not touched upon in the past—'Naturalism' attributed all human psychological and behavioral motivations to the influence of hereditary diseases, and Zola even wrote the *Rougon-Macquart* series to illustrate this concept.
To some extent, most professors at Sorbonne, including Gaston Boissier and Hippolyte Taine, were adherents of 'Naturalism'.
This was related to the overall societal reflection after France's crushing defeat in the Franco-Prussian War of 1871—the French generally believed that the defeat was because French social culture was not 'scientific' enough, too 'emotional,' and too devoted to 'art'.
Simply put, they felt there were too many 'liberal arts students' in France!
So, French society launched a vigorous movement to 'embrace science and engineering,' and many famous writers and artists were expelled from university campuses; Sorbonne even considered whether to close the Faculty of Arts for a time.
In this atmosphere, whether in literature, painting, or music, everyone began to seek their 'scientific basis,' and 'Naturalism,' based on pathology, genetics, and psychology, became their lifeline.
But a single phrase, 'collective unconscious,' from Lionel's mouth, like magic, gently shook the 'Naturalism' tower in the hearts of Gaston Boissier and the other professors present.
The brevity and conciseness of *the old guard* were not enough for them to fully grasp the profound interplay of 'onlookers' and 'collective unconscious,' but it had already caused a significant stir within them.
Just from the give-and-take of a single question, Professor Boissier felt that this inquiry was no longer a test for Lionel Sorel, but an opportunity for this young man to step onto the stage of history.
Lionel was also secretly smiling to himself; Mr. Lu Xun's 'onlookers' and Jung's 'collective unconscious' were both terms he had carefully selected, both originating in the early 20th century.
Even if these late 19th-century scholars couldn't precisely understand their implications, they could feel their impact.
This one answer contained fifty years of development in literature and psychology; can you handle it?
Just as the atmosphere gradually became subtle, Professor Paul Janet, sitting to Hugo's left, spoke up: "Mr. Sorel, you are the most adept young man at creating 'new words' I have ever met.
But let's talk about structure. This novel has almost no 'plot' in the traditional sense. It consists of a series of fragmented scenes: the old guard appears, is mocked, interacts with a child, talks about the past, and finally tragically breaks his leg and dies silently.
There's no intense conflict, no dramatic climax; it seems to lack novelistic tension. How do you explain this narrative style, which seems to violate dramatic principles since Aristotle?
Is it merely a technical laziness or a failed experiment?"
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