Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 616 Night Banquet, Nightingale (Seeking monthly votes)
Lionel followed the waiter through the hotel lobby, pondering the title "Lord Agah".

Before he came, he had read some books about the Ottoman Empire and knew that the court eunuchs were divided into two systems: white eunuchs and black eunuchs, and that they wielded considerable power.

The reception room was on the second floor of the hotel, and the door was closed. The waiter knocked on the door, and a deep voice came from inside: "Come in."

The waiter pushed open the door, stepped aside to let Lionel in, and then quickly stepped back, gently closing the door behind him.

The room was small, decorated with Ottoman-style carpets and tapestries, and two people were standing in the middle.

Lionel was taken aback. In his mind, eunuchs were often effeminate, pale, and had high-pitched voices, but these two were completely different.

They were tall and strong, with broad shoulders and thick backs, standing upright, and all wearing ankle-length brocade robes and tall red fais hats on their heads.

They wore silk belts around their waists, from which adorned daggers were tucked. One had a neatly trimmed mustache, while the other had a smooth face and handsome features.

If the waiter hadn't mentioned it beforehand, Lionel would never have guessed they were eunuchs.

The bearded man spoke first, his French fluent: "Mr. Lionel Sorel?"

“It’s me,” Lionel nodded. “And you two are?”

“We serve in the palace. You may call me Camille, and this is Rashid.”

"Did you two need something from me?"

Camille, sporting a beard, stepped forward: "A distinguished member of the royal family wishes to have dinner with you tonight and have a chat."

Lionel was silent for a few seconds. A member of the royal family? In the Ottoman Empire, that meant the Sultan's brother, son, or nephew.

According to the materials he had read, most of these people were under house arrest in "cages" deep inside the palace, isolated from the world.

Without hesitation, Lionel asked directly, "Has this been approved by the Sultan?"

His caution was not without reason. Of all the human empires, the Ottomans were arguably the most strict and ruthless in their control over the royal family.

In the early Ottoman period, the Ottoman Empire practiced the law of fratricide, where a new sultan would execute all his brothers upon ascending to the throne. For example, Mehmed III executed 19 of his brothers at once.

After the 17th century, this bloody tradition was replaced by the "cage system," but what awaited the male members of the royal family was a form of spiritual lynching.

They were often confined for life to specific pavilions deep within Topkapi Palace or Dolmabach Palace, in what were known as "cages."

These areas are isolated by high walls, iron bars, and armed guards, completely cut off from the outside world, where even sunlight is a luxury.

In extreme cases, a prince's entire life might be confined to a few inner rooms and a closed courtyard, and the books he reads would be limited to scriptures.

Compared to the Ottoman Empire, Chinese-style imperial family infighting such as the "Xuanwu Gate Incident" and the "Jingnan Campaign" can be described as brotherly love, paternal love, and filial piety.

So Lionel knew that it didn't matter who wanted to see him; what mattered was whether the Sultan had given his consent for the meeting.

He had no desire to get inexplicably entangled in the brutal court intrigues of the Ottoman Empire.

The two eunuchs exchanged a glance. The beardless Rashid took out a scroll from inside his robe and unfurled it, revealing it covered in beautiful Arabic script.

Rashid explained, "A week ago, His Majesty granted the application of that esteemed prince. This is His Majesty's official approval."

Lionel took the scroll and could only make out that the last two lines were a signature and a red seal, but he couldn't understand a single word.

He hesitated for a moment, then frankly said, "I need to confirm." As a literary youth who was well-versed in "Water Margin," he wouldn't make the same mistake as Lin Chong.

Lionel walked to the door, called over the hotel waiter waiting in the corridor, and handed him the scroll: "Please help me see what is written on this."

The attendant glanced nervously at the two eunuchs, and only took the scroll after seeing that they did not object.

He read it carefully, then said to Lionel, "This is a royal decree, His Majesty grants you permission to enter the Palace of Belébey for dinner tonight."

The imperial edict bears His Majesty's signature and seal; no one dares to forge it. The date, according to the Gregorian calendar, is the 2nd of this month.

Lionel breathed a sigh of relief, thanked them, took back the scroll, and turned to the two eunuchs: "Then I need to tell my family first."

Camille nodded: "Of course. We'll be waiting for you in the carriage, right at the hotel entrance."

When Lionel returned to the lobby, Sophie and the Rothschilds were waiting for him, and he briefly explained what had happened.

Sophie frowned after hearing this: "You're going alone?"

Lionel gently comforted him, "It might be more dangerous if you don't go. You and Mr. and Mrs. Rothschild go to dinner first, I'll be back after I've met with them."

Sophie said softly, “Be careful, Leon. Even if it’s a meeting approved by the Sultan… this is the Ottoman Empire after all.”

Lionel patted Sophie's hand: "I know. I'll keep it within limits."

Sophie looked at him and finally nodded: "Come back soon."

Lionel walked to the hotel entrance, where a luxurious carriage with gold trim was already waiting, pulled by four pure black horses.

Once he boarded the carriage, the curtains were completely drawn, so he couldn't see any scenery outside and could only hear the sound of the wheels rolling over the stone road.

The sounds of the bustling city could still be heard outside the carriage window, but wherever the carriage went, those sounds would suddenly become quieter, and there would be the soft sound of footsteps quickly making way.

Camille suddenly spoke up: "Don't you want to know who you're going to see?"

Lionel shook his head: "I don't want to. And you don't need to tell me."

Rashid glanced at Camille, then said to Lionel, "You are very cautious; few people can control their curiosity."

Lionel simply smiled and remained silent.

The carriage traveled for about twenty more minutes before stopping. Lionel heard the sound of heavy metal hinges turning, indicating that a large door had been opened.

After entering the gate, everything became completely quiet. The carriage gradually slowed down and finally came to a stop.

The car door opened. What came into view was a typical Ottoman courtyard, with white marble paving the ground and high walls all around.

Torches were lit in the courtyard, their flames flickering in the night, yet the space remained dim—this must be inside a palace.

Camille and Rashid did not get out of the carriage; instead, two equally tall black eunuchs took their place and guided Lionel further into the palace.

In the Ottoman Empire, white eunuchs mainly came from the Caucasus, Balkans or Central Europe and performed functions such as etiquette, document, and companionship.

Black eunuchs controlled the order of the Sultan's harem, with more centralized power. They even had a "chief eunuch" position, which was closer to the Chinese image of a eunuch.

In the center of the courtyard stood a fountain, and the surrounding walls were adorned with tall arched windows, though all the windows were closed and curtains drawn. After walking for about three minutes, they came to a large door, which a black eunuch pushed open and stepped aside to let Lionel in.

This is a small palace with a thick red carpet on the floor and a starry sky pattern painted on the ceiling dome, adorned with gold powder.

A large, low table stood on one side of the room, with many cushions and seat pads beside it. On the other side were several bookshelves, crammed full of books.

Several copper charcoal braziers sat in the corner of the room, the charcoal fire burning quietly, making the room warm and cozy.

A young man in his early twenties stood up from the low table. He was thin and pale, as if he hadn't seen the sun in a long time.

He hurried forward, his eyes gleaming with excitement: "Mr. Lionel Sorel! It's so exciting to finally meet you!"

His French was so fluent and pure that he sounded like a Parisian.

Lionel nodded slightly in greeting: "Your Highness."

The young man waved his hand: "Please don't be so polite! Please sit down! I'm so glad you came... I worry every day that my application will be rejected by my father."

To my utter astonishment, my father agreed! It's nothing short of a miracle!

Lionel sat down on a cushion at the low table, with the young man sitting opposite him, the table separating them.

In the corner beside the low table stood a black eunuch, almost blending into the shadows, holding a pen and a stack of papers.

He would write down every word spoken in this room.

Lionel casually started a conversation: "You speak French very well."

The young man smiled shyly: "Thank you! My French teacher is Madame de Lavallier, a very well-mannered French noblewoman."

She taught me French, literature, and etiquette for twelve years. Of course, she also brought me many French books—including yours.”

It was not uncommon for women from declining French aristocratic families to come to the Ottoman Empire, or to the United States and Russia, to teach French and etiquette.

Since the 18th century, when France replaced Italy as the trendsetter for culture and fashion in Europe, French language and French court etiquette have been among its most important exports.

The fact that this prince was allowed to hire French teachers to teach him language and literature suggests that he was quite favored by the Sultan; at least the Sultan was not too worried about him being exposed to outside ideas.

Even so, he was still under house arrest in the palace.

After chatting for a while, the young man realized that Lionel didn't know his name and title, so he prepared to introduce himself: "I'm actually..."

But Lionel raised his hand, interrupting him: "Your Highness, I think it would be more appropriate to call you by a code name—'Nightingale,' what do you think?"

Upon hearing this "code name," the young man seemed to recall something, and his eyes suddenly reddened. He quickly lowered his head, took a deep breath, and tried to remain calm.

In the literary tradition of this land, the nightingale symbolizes love, longing, and unattainable freedom. It sings of freedom, yet is forever imprisoned in the garden.

Just then, there was a gentle knock on the door. Several servants entered carrying trays and began setting out dinner, quickly filling the low table with dishes.

This was a typical Ottoman court dinner, very lavish.

All kinds of roasted meats, stews, and pilaf are available; there are also French salads drizzled with olive oil and lemon juice; and various dipping sauces are also a highlight.

The bread was freshly baked and still steaming. The desserts were baklava, layers of flaky pastry filled with nuts and honey, as well as rice pudding and candied fruit.

The drinks were rose water, lemon water, and fermented yogurt.

"Please enjoy. I hope it suits your taste."

The two began their meal. Lionel noticed that while his table manners were good, he ate very little, tasting only a tiny bit of each dish, like a bird pecking at food.

Their initial conversation was safe. "Nightingale" expressed her love for Lionel's works.

"I've read 'The Old Guard' five times. That old guard from the Napoleonic era, abandoned by the times, yet still clinging to the glory of the past..."

And then there's "My Uncle Jules," where the family discovers that the Jules they've been hoping for is a penniless man, so they pretend not to know him—how hypocritical and snobbish!

"Hometown" reminded me of my mother. She came from a small town in Anatolia, and she often talked about the olive trees in her hometown, the sheep on the hillside, the snow in winter...

"Old Man Milon," the old man seeking revenge for his son—I admire him. He single-handedly fought against the entire Prussian army. Knowing he would die, he still went…

I recently read *The Old Man and the Sea*, and the quote, "Man can be destroyed but not defeated," is from that book. I put that quote on my bedside table so I can see it every morning when I wake up.

Lionel listened quietly, only occasionally responding with a word or two; the young man seemed to be pouring out his entire heart to him.

Nightingale finally got tired of talking and couldn't help but laugh sheepishly: "Sorry, I got too excited. It's rare to find someone to talk to about these things with."

Aside from the teachers, there were only servants and guards around. They either didn't dare to talk to me much, or all they said were flattering words.

Lionel watched him quietly. Nightingale's face finally regained some color with excitement, but the underlying tone remained pale, as if she had never seen sunlight.

Halfway through dinner, the servants brought out baklava and rice pudding. Nightingale took only a small bite of the dessert before putting down her spoon.

He was silent for a moment, then looked up at Lionel: “I’ve been rereading Alexandre Dumas’s The Count of Monte Cristo recently.”

Lionel nodded: "His work is always captivating, and even after thirty years, the French still love him."

"Nightingale" paused for a moment, then her voice softened further: "Yes. Especially at the beginning, when Edmond Dantès was imprisoned in the Château d'If."

The descriptions in those chapters were very detailed. Darkness, dampness, loneliness—time seemed to lose its meaning.

He paused, his gaze fixed on Lionel's face: "So that's why he's so eager to regain his freedom, isn't it?"

Lionel sighed inwardly. This was the thing he had been most worried about since meeting the prince, so he didn't even want to know the prince's name.

But what was bound to happen still happened!

The Sultan imprisoned his son in this deep palace, yet he was "soft-hearted" enough to allow him to receive an elite European education; this problem was bound to arise sooner or later.

How can "free will" be so easily erased? Besides, the one who taught "Nightingale" was French.

The room was eerily quiet, with only the occasional crackling of the charcoal fire in the copper basin.

Finally, Lionel spoke up: "Have you ever heard of a Chinese sage named 'Zhuangzi'?"

(I got home very late today and didn't have enough time, so this is just one update. I'll make up for it tomorrow or the day after. Thank you everyone.)
(End of this chapter)