Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 604 Orient Express
At 6 p.m. on October 4, 1883, when it was still relatively bright, the Longchamp racecourse in the Bois de Boulogne was bustling with activity.

The awards ceremony for the third Tour of Paris is being held here. Armand Peugeot stands on the stage, holding the trophy and a check.

The top nine drivers have already received their awards; now it's the champion's turn.

"The champion of this competition is Pierre de Coubertin from Paris!"

The crowd erupted in cheers! Pierre de Coubertin, with his small mustache and lean build, walked onto the stage, his expression excited.

He worked hard for three whole years and finally stood on the highest podium of the competition.

The only regret is that it wasn't Mr. Sorel who presented him with the award.

Armand Peugeot handed the trophy to Pierre de Coubertin, who then held it high. The silver trophy shimmered brilliantly in the sunlight!
The cheers grew even louder!
Coubertin rode a Sorel-Peugeot 3, painted in a striking blue and white color. This made Armand Peugeot feel a little better.

But when he looked at the other award-winning cars, his brows furrowed again.

The third-place bike was a bright red Clement Racer; the sixth and eighth place bikes were both Le Boucher Lightning, with handlebars so low they almost touched the front wheel.

Out of ten cars, three were not "Sorel Peugeot" products...

After the noise of the awards ceremony subsided, Armand Peugeot stood by the platform, looking at the three "outliers," and recalled what Lionel had said a week earlier—

"If only one flower blooms, it is not spring."

He didn't fully understand at the time. Now, looking at these cars and the smiles on the owners' faces, he suddenly understands something.

If only Sorel-Peugeot produced bicycles, they would forever remain a luxury item owned by a select few, and technology would stagnate.

Just like the "high-wheeled car" that was popular for decades, it was almost exclusively played by nobles and elite children. Not only were sales low, but the model also remained unchanged.

But now, with so many manufacturers like Clément, Jürth, and Le Boucher producing it, each with its own approach, there has been a noticeable change in just one year.

They are competing, improving, and trying to make cars better and cheaper so that more people can own them.

The owner of the "Clermont-Athletico" was a worker from Marseille who earned no more than 2000 francs a year, but he could still afford it.

The wide cushion of the "Jurty Swallow" was reportedly designed after three months of repeated testing, and he is now having people research similar cushions.

Competition truly drives everyone to improve! Armand Peugeot suddenly smiled.

Spring should not have only one flower.

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At the same time, under the dome of Gare du Gare de l'Est, Lionel stood on the edge of platform three, leaning on his cane.

Sophie, dressed in a gray hunting outfit, stood beside him, one arm around his and the other carrying a small suitcase.

Before them stood a train, its steam billowing and rising between the tracks.

This is the world's first "Orient Express," and it is preparing to embark on its maiden voyage.

Unlike the streamlined, night-blue "Orient Express" with gold trim depicted in later propaganda posters, the train before me was a dark wine red, like aged Bordeaux.

The carriage was made of teak with brass trim; its shape was square, and small windows were set into the heavy body like rows of postage stamps.

On the side of the vehicle is a line of gold cursive lettering: Compagnie Internationale des Wagons-Lits (International Sleeper Car Company).

The platform was packed with people: journalists, artists, politicians, officials, banking tycoons, railway company representatives, and onlookers...

It was simply a grand event.

Lionel spotted the Rothschilds immediately. Mrs. Rothschild was dressed in an ivory-white travel outfit with a veil over her hat.

He also saw several familiar faces, some he had seen in salons and some he had seen in newspapers.

A short, stocky man with a thick mustache stood in front of the train, waving his arms vigorously as he gave a speech:

"...From now on, the journey from Paris to Constantinople will no longer require fifteen days of turbulent sea travel! Four days! Ladies and gentlemen, only four days!..."

He was Georges Nagelmarx, a Belgian engineer, founder of the International Sleeper Company, and creator of the Orient Express.

As Lionel listened to his speech, his thoughts drifted back to a month earlier—

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"Mr. Sorel, you are one of the most celebrated writers in all of Europe. This train is more than just a means of transportation; it is a link of civilizations, a symbol of Europe's journey to the East. We need witnesses like you!"

When faced with the sudden invitation from Georges Nagelmarx, Lionel's first reaction was to refuse.

The Orient Express was certainly legendary, but he had already seen the itinerary in the newspaper:
Starting from Paris, the journey passed through Strasbourg, Munich, and Vienna, finally arriving in Bucharest, Romania…

Then the problem arises: there are no bridges across the lower Danube! Passengers have to take a ferry across the river from Giurgiu in Romania to reach Ruse in Bulgaria.

In Ruse, they needed to transfer to another train to the Black Sea port of Varna, then board a steamship for a bumpy 15-hour sea voyage to Istanbul. The entire journey took four days, but the actual time spent sitting on this "luxury train" was less than 48 hours! The rest of the time was spent on the arduous journey.

Lionel had already experienced the hardships of traveling on a slow train during the Spring Festival travel rush, and he had no interest in reliving those experiences in late 19th-century Europe.

He was about to refuse on the spot, but before he could say it, Sophie, who was sitting next to him, gently touched the back of his hand, and he couldn't help but turn to look at Sophie.

Sophie smiled and said to him, "The Ottoman Empire has a huge market. Bicycles, typewriters, generators... all need new sales channels. I want to go and see for myself."

Nagelmarque was overjoyed: "If you two wish to go to Istanbul, then the Orient Express is the best choice. I will provide you with a private cabin!"
Moreover, the service on the train will be top-notch—sleeper berths, dining car, salon—everything will make you both feel comfortable, just like staying in a suite at the Ritz Hotel!

Lionel, of course, didn't believe such nonsense, but since Sophie had said so, he suddenly became interested.

Lionel nodded. "In that case, thank you for the invitation, Mr. Nagelmarx! October 4th, is it? I will go."

Nagelmarx immediately shook hands with Lionel: "We'll send your ticket here tomorrow. It's our honor to have you on board!"

However, before leaving, he couldn't help but kindly remind him: "Mr. Sorel, travel always inspires, especially on a train like this that travels through Europe."

Passengers from different countries, the clash of different viewpoints and cultures... perhaps some stories worth writing will unfold.

Lionel was aware of his thoughts, but he simply smiled and remained noncommittal.

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On the platform, Nagelmarx's speech reached its climax.

"...This is not only a victory for the railway, but also a victory for European civilization! From now on, the East is no longer far away!"

Applause erupted, and the magnesium powder from the camera exploded, freezing this moment forever.

Passengers then began boarding; there were only twenty-four invited passengers on this inaugural flight.

In addition to Nagelsmarques and company members, there were French and Belgian politicians, bankers, journalists, as well as artists, Orientalists, and historians.

Lionel and Sophie's tickets were for first class, which normally cost seven hundred francs, roughly half a year's wages for a skilled worker.

The interior of the carriage was much better than the exterior. Although it was nowhere near the standard of the Ritz Hotel, it was still quite luxurious for a train compartment.

The corridors and private rooms were covered with thick carpets, the walls were made of light-colored mahogany, and the gas lamps were installed in brass lamp holders with frosted glass shades that cast a soft light.

The private room wasn't large, but it was cleverly laid out. There was a large, soft two-seater sofa that could be unfolded and laid flat to become a double bed at night.

There's a small, retractable table on the wall, along with hooks, a net, and a mirror. Heavy curtains hang in the window, blocking out all light when drawn.

After settling in with their luggage, the train attendant knocked on the door to remind them: "Dinner will begin at 7:00 PM in the dining car. Please be on time."

At 7:00, Lionel and Sophie left their compartment, walked through two sleeper cars, and arrived at the dining car.

The decorations here are even more luxurious than those in the sleeper cars, with gas lamps hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the entire car as bright as day.

The dining table was covered with a snow-white tablecloth and set with porcelain tableware and crystal-clear glasses. The cutlery was also silver, and each piece glittered under the light.

Lionel and Sophie were led to an empty table and sat down, where the waiters quickly began serving the food:
Royal consommé, Normandy halibut with hollandaise sauce, English apple gardener-style beef tenderloin, roasted lamb chops with seasonal vegetables, Le Mans chicken with watercress, baked cauliflower...

Dessert included chocolate cream, fruit tarts, and a cheese platter. The wine list was also extensive, featuring Bordeaux, Burgundy, Champagne, and more.

With each dish served, waiters poured different drinks for the passengers. They were well-trained and moved quietly between the tables, like dancers.

This certainly doesn't feel like eating on a train; it feels more like being in any upscale restaurant in Paris—except for the view of the Parisian suburbs rushing past the window.

Everyone ate with great focus, their conversations were kept low, and laughter occasionally broke the silence.

"It tastes great." Sophie finished eating, picked up a napkin to wipe her mouth, and commented.

Lionel nodded: "Indeed, such food and drinks are necessary to justify the 700 franc ticket price."

More than an hour later, the passengers finished their meals one after another, and the waiters began to clear the tables.

Nagelmarx stood up and clapped his hands: "Ladies and gentlemen, we can move to the salon carriage and continue to enjoy our coffee and drinks."

People gradually got up and headed to the salon carriage behind the dining car.

There are more than twenty high-backed soft chairs here, with small round tables between them, on which are placed ashtrays and matchboxes.

The curtains in the car windows were also drawn most of the way, making the light much dimmer than in the dining car, and creating a more private and comfortable atmosphere.

The waiters served coffee, tea, brandy, and cognac; the men lit cigars and cigarettes, while the women huddled together and whispered.

Political commentary... It's time for our discussion.

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(End of this chapter)