Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 581 An Unprecedented Tingling Sensation! (Bonus Chapter 5)

Jacques came up with Ruth and a group of people. Women, children, the elderly, young people... everyone came up.

A man helps the crew lower a lifeboat. A woman comforts a crying child. A couple gives up their seats to a mother with a child.

“You go first,” the husband said. “We’ll wait for the next one.”

A young Italian man jumped into the sea, not to save his own life, but to save a child who had fallen in.

He lifted the children up, and the people on the boat pulled them aboard.

An elderly German woman gave a life jacket to a young woman, saying, "I'm old, you have a long way to go."

A Polish worker used his body to block a tilted box so that a group of people could pass underneath him.

The box later tipped over and pinned his leg down...

Inside the tavern, an old worker took off his hat and wiped his eyes.

"These are the real people."

"Those gentlemen are grabbing the lifeboats, while these poor people are helping each other. Who is nobler?"

"Of course, it's these poor people. They have no money, no titles, but they have humanity."

"That's what Lionel was trying to say. It's in the face of death that humanity is revealed."

"But why can't we see it normally?"

"Because you're usually overshadowed by class distinctions. If you wear tattered clothes, people look down on you. If you live in a slum, people avoid you."

But when it comes to life and death, clothes don't matter, where you live doesn't matter. What matters is who you are and what you've done.

These workers understood that feeling all too well. They helped each other in the factory and stood united during the strike.

They knew that there was a special kind of camaraderie in the world of the poor—not because of wealth, but because of shared hardships.

Now Lionel has written this sentiment into his novel. When the Titan sank, the third-class passengers did not break down; they stood together.

This makes them proud. Proud of the poor.

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The sinking of the Titans has finally come to an end.

The Titan, having taken on too much water, stood upright on the sea surface before breaking in two, and everyone fell into the water.

Most of them sank to the bottom of the sea with the large ship, while only a small number of people floated on the surface, relying on life jackets and debris to stay afloat in the cold seawater.

Jacques and Ruth fell into the icy sea and could only cling to a broken door panel to float on the surface, barely managing to stay afloat.

However, the door panel could only accommodate one person at a time, and Jacques tried several times but could not get two people onto the door panel at the same time.

To ensure Ruth's survival, Jacques chose to leave her alone on the door panel, waiting for rescue.

He could only hold onto the edge of the door and talk to Ruth, encouraging her not to give up hope and to live on.

"No, don't say goodbye to me, Ruth. Don't give up, don't do this."

"I'm so cold."

"You will escape safely, you will live a good life, surrounded by children and grandchildren, you will watch them grow up, and you will die like an old woman, lying in bed, warm and cozy. Not here, not tonight, not in this way, do you understand?"

"I can't feel my body."

"Winning that ticket was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me. Meeting you was my good fortune. Rose, I'm so content. I have one more wish, and you must promise me. You must live on, you must not despair, no matter what happens, no matter how difficult it is. Promise me, Rose, promise me, you will never break your promise."

“I assure you, Jacques.”

Never let go.

“I promise. I will never let go, Jacques. I will never let go.”

……

Jacques gradually fell silent in the icy sea; Ruth, too, succumbed to the biting cold and drifted into unconsciousness.

The women of Paris were utterly "destroyed" by this conversation!

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Paris, Madame Madeleine's tailor shop.

When Mrs. Madeline read this part, she put down the magazine; she needed to take a deep breath.

She walked to the window and looked out at the street. Carriages passed by, pedestrians walked by, and daily life in Paris continued.

But her heart remained in that cold seawater, and in that broken door.

Jacques' last words echoed in her mind.

"You should die like an old lady, lying in bed, warm and cozy."

Mrs. Madeline's husband had been dead for five years, and they had no children. She spent her days dealing with guests and calculating income and expenses; the days seemed endless.

But the kind of death Jacques described—warm, peaceful, in bed—was something she had never considered.

It's not that I haven't thought about death, but that I haven't thought death could be like that.

She remembered the time her husband died. In the hospital, on the white sheets, his lips were even whiter than the sheets.

He held her hand and said something, but she couldn't remember it. She only remembered being very scared—scared of being alone, scared of the future.

If someone had told her, "You should die like an old lady, lying in bed, all warm and cozy," what would she have thought?
She will cry—not from sadness, but from being blessed.

She knew that Jacques wasn't arranging Ruth's life, but entrusting her with her future—a complete and free future.

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At Mrs. Rothschild's literary salon, Isabel, who was to read aloud, closed the magazine, hugged it to her chest, and shrugged, unable to read any further.

But no one blamed her.

She's only nineteen, the same age as Ruth. She loves literature, writes some poetry, and dreams of love.

Jacques' last words brought her to tears; tears streamed down her cheeks and dripped onto the magazine cover.

Jacques Junin died, so peacefully, so resolutely. He had no complaints, no fear, he simply said what needed to be said, and then let go.

She thought of the boys she knew: the male students at the Sorbonne, the lawyer's son, the businessman's nephew...

They talk about politics, literature, and the future, but they will never speak like Jacques.

When faced with death, Jacques told Ruth, "You must live on," instead of "You must remember me."

Isabel opened the magazine again and read the dialogue once more, slowly, word by word, sentence by sentence.

“Winning that ticket was the best thing that ever happened to me. It introduced me to you. I’m so grateful…”

She would remember these words, not as sweet nothings, but as a vow—a vow about what love should be like.

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After reading this passage, Claude Debussy put down the magazine and remained silent for a long time.

Marie Vasnier asked softly, "How is it?"

After a long pause, Debussy nodded slightly: "Very good."

Henri Wassnier couldn't help but ask, "Is it just good?"

"It should be, very good."

Debussy didn't say much. He wasn't the kind of person who was good at expressing emotions in ways other than music, but something was churning inside him.

Jacques's death reminded him of heroes in classical literature. Not Christian martyrs, but heroes from something more ancient, belonging to Greece or Rome.

These heroes are calm and rational, maintaining their dignity even in the face of death.

Marie Vasnier gently patted Debussy's back to comfort the young man who had fallen silent.

Her husband shook his head: "The sacrifices of characters in old novels always had too strong a religious feel compared to what you just read, like a moral precept."

Jacques' sacrifice was worldly; he didn't die for God, nor for his country, but for a woman to live. That, too, is a kind of heroism…

Debussy raised his head, his eyes slightly red: "Yes, this is an individualistic hero, a humanistic hero, a true French hero!"

Henri Vasnier sighed: "I wonder if I could be as calm and resolute as Jacques if I were faced with such a moment."
He didn't know that this question lingered in the minds of everyone who had just read this passage, but no one had the answer.

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The novel continued, and Ruth's slumber didn't last long. Finally, a light startled her awake.

That was a lifeboat that returned to the rescue, and it was the only lifeboat that returned.

The crew on the lifeboat are shining emergency lights on the sea to see if there are any survivors.

Ruth tried to wake Jacques, but found that his face was pale and bloodless, and even the fingers gripping the door were frozen.

She was heartbroken, but she still remembered her promise to Jacques that she would "never let go".

[...She kissed Jacques's cold lips. "I will never let go."]

But she knew she had to let go now.

Ruth took Jacques's hand. That hand, which had once been so warm, was now cold and stiff as a frozen stone.

Jacques's hands left the plank. His body began to sink, very slowly.

Moonlight streamed through the seawater, illuminating Jacques. He seemed to be flying, flying downwards.

Then he disappeared. He vanished into the dark depths of the sea.

……

Ruth began to paddle with her stiff arms, while many people floated on the surface of the sea around her.

She saw a child hugging his mother's neck, and both of them fell silent.

She saw a man gripping a chair, his head bowed.

She saw a woman floating on her back, her eyes open, looking at the starry sky.

……

She kept paddling. There was light in the distance. A lamp, swaying and searching in the darkness.

Ruth paddled toward the light. She didn't know how long she paddled; time meant nothing. All she remembered was that she had to survive.

Because she made a promise.

Eventually, Ruth was found and rescued by a lifeboat. After waiting for two days and two nights, the survivors finally saw another passing cruise ship.

Once everyone was on the ship, she saw her fiancé, Carl Kannage, frantically searching for her, but Ruth avoided his gaze…

Until the cruise ship arrived in New York Harbor, until she saw the Statue of Liberty.

Customs began registering them, and since the Titan had sunk, everyone's identity had to be identified verbally.

"Name?" an official asked Ruth.

Ruth looked at the Statue of Liberty. The enormous bronze statue, holding a torch, faced the sea, as if welcoming or bidding farewell.

"Name?" the official asked again.

Ruth turned her head and looked at the official.

"Rose, Rose Juniper."

--over--】

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When Rose uttered the name "Rose Juniper" at the registry office in New York Harbor, the hearts of all French readers were instantly amplified by those simple letters.

Then, a tingling sensation crept into their brains, a reading experience they had never had before.

(That's all for today's three chapters. Thank you everyone, please vote with your monthly tickets!)

(End of this chapter)