Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 62 A thousand people will have a thousand different interpretations of the "Old Guard".

After "The Decadent City" swept through the underground book market of Paris with astonishing speed and momentum, and greatly enriched the nightlife of Parisian men, a novel published openly in "Le Petit Parisien" also caused quite a stir.

However, the title was not simply "The Old Guard," but was changed to—

"The Sorbonne's groundbreaking work: *The Old Guard—A Tragic Song of a Forgotten Hero*"

It even had a long, poignant subtitle—

"He once fought under the emperor's eagle banner, but now he crawls amidst the tavern's mockery..."

For Le Petit Parisien’s large readership, which consists mainly of small shop owners, workers, artisans and junior civil servants, the name “Sorbonne” itself carries a sense of distance.

That was a place where masters, young masters, and young ladies were gilded; it was another world.

However, words like "forgotten hero," "emperor's eagle banner," and "crawling amidst ridicule" attract the hearts of these "fish" like fat earthworms wriggling on a fishhook.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

In a Parisian tailoring workshop, under the yellowish-white light of a gas lamp, a dozen skilled tailors are working diligently.

Pieces of fabric are cut into various shapes and then fed into sewing machines with different functions. Under skillful hands, they are sewn into garments.

At the entrance of the workshop sat a middle-aged man with a face full of scars and tattered clothes. His right sleeve was empty, and the cuff was tucked into his waistband.

He used his remaining left hand to flip through a copy of "Le Petit Parisien" and read the contents of the newspaper aloud in a hoarse voice:
After All Saints' Day (November 1st), the Alpine winds grew cooler day by day, and it was almost late autumn; I spent all day by the fireplace and even needed to wear a thick coat. One afternoon, without a single customer, I was sitting with my eyes closed.

Suddenly, a voice called out, "A drink, please." The voice was very low, yet it sounded familiar. Looking around, however, there was no one there. Standing up and glancing outside, I saw the old guard sitting on the steps below the bar.

……

The boss, as usual, smiled and said to him, "Old guard, you've stolen something again!" But this time he didn't argue much, only saying, "Don't make fun of me!"

"Making fun of you? If you hadn't stolen, how could you have broken your leg?" the old guard said in a low voice. "Fall, fall, fall..." His eyes seemed to be pleading with the boss not to mention it again.

……

A short while later, after finishing his drink, he slowly moved out the door, seated, amidst the laughter and chatter of those around him.

Before the tailors had even finished reading the novel, they heard the man reading the newspaper start sobbing, his tears falling and making a "tap-tap" sound on the newspaper.

"Hey, Jacques, what's up? Have you finished reading the novel?" a tailor asked, stopping his work.

The man quickly wiped his eyes and apologized to everyone, "I'm sorry, everyone, I was just thinking about myself." He then glanced to his right.

“You mean the ‘Old Guard’ from the novel? Don’t overthink it, Jacques. Bourbon, Republic, Empire… they’re all the same.” Another tailor spoke up.

He left his sewing machine, went to Jacques' side, and patted him on the shoulder: "You're lucky, aren't you? Although you lost your hand in Sedan, at least you survived. Think about your comrades."

Jacques nodded, but instead of reading the last paragraph of the novel, he turned to another page and began reading another news article:
Recently, Baroness Alexievna from Russia purchased a 70 franc estate in Montmartre, Paris, which includes a small 18th-century castle, two farmhouses, and a small lake.

According to sources, Baroness Alexievna will be residing in Paris to escape her dull and stilted husband in Moscow. Another source revealed that the estate not only has hundreds of male and female servants attending to the Baroness's needs, but also a handsome Parisian gentleman who will be by her side day and night…

The tailors laughed. This was Paris! This was France!
Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

In a noisy workers' tavern on St. Anthony's Street, smoke filled the air and glasses clinked. A bearded man with a pipe loudly recited the last paragraph:
[After that, the old guard was not seen for a long time. At Christmas, the boss took down the blackboard and said, "The old guard still owes nineteen sous!" At Easter the following year, he said again, "The old guard still owes nineteen sous!" But he didn't say anything at Pentecost, and he was not seen at Christmas again.]

I haven't seen him yet—the old guard must have really died.

After a brief silence in the tavern, a man with a bulbous nose slammed his glass down on the greasy wooden table: "Damn it! Isn't that old Pierre? The one on the corner! The one from Metz who came back, who froze to death in the ditch last winter! Exactly the same!"

Several drinking companions nearby nodded in agreement, one of them cursing, "Damn this world! Is this what people who shed blood for France deserve?"

Then another person spoke up: "That sounds nice—would you be happy if Parliament raised taxes to give veterans subsidies?"

Everyone else immediately fell silent.

The speaker chuckled dismissively: "Patriotism is fine, but touching my wallet is not! Haha!" The crowd laughed again, chanting in unison: "Patriotism is fine, but touching my wallet is not!"

The tavern was filled with a cheerful atmosphere!
Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

In the small square in front of Les Invalides (the Invalides for the Disabled, built in 1670 by Louis XIV, the Sun King), several veterans with medals and physical disabilities sat in a circle. One veteran, blind in one eye, was reading aloud an article from Le Petit Parish entitled "The Old Guard."

After the message was read aloud, another veteran in a wheelchair unconsciously rubbed his empty trouser leg with one hand and said in a hoarse voice, "'Long live France! Long live the Emperor!'... It's been so many years since I've heard anyone shout those words. We... we are not thieves."

His tone was filled with sorrow and a sense of dignity being offended.

Another one-armed veteran scoffed, "Brother, you're not a member of the Imperial Guard. Those old geezers are long gone to see their emperor. The newspapers are making things up! Why would Imperial Guard gentlemen steal? Aren't they the most arrogant?" He then let out a grotesque laugh.

Another blind veteran mocked himself: "Wake up! The empire is long gone! The dynasty is finished! Look at ourselves? Can medals feed us? This story... is well written. We are all just tools for the big shots, tools that are thrown into the trash heap after they're done using us!"

The wheelchair-bound veteran didn't care about the ridicule, but murmured to himself, "At least someone still remembers us... even if it's in this way."

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

A neighborhood grocery store. The proprietress, while weighing sugar for a customer, chatted with a regular: "Tsk tsk, this Sorbonne student is really hard-hearted! His writing is so cold and detached. That old man stealing is wrong, but…"

"Sigh, things are like this now, who could bear to laugh at him? That young waiter is heartless too!"

A customer chimed in, "Exactly! But it's written so realistically. The tavern was diluting the drinks, and the customers could see it clearly! This author is so young, yet he has such a sharp eye!"

The shop owner lazily pointed to the small blackboard hanging in his shop that advertised credit: "The old guards at least didn't delay paying, which is better than many of the people who default on their debts these days!"

A customer, looking guilty, hurried away, leaving behind a remark: "Hmph, what's the use of being strong? In the end, you still get your legs broken, don't you think? If you ask me, when you get old, you have to accept your fate and not cause trouble..."

The proprietress concluded, "The story is good, but it's just too unlucky. It left me feeling suffocated."

Then she folded the newspaper again, intending to use it to wrap the fish when she went grocery shopping later.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

In a café called "The Debaters" in the Seventh District, several young men waved newspapers, their emotions running high: "See that? This is what those Bourbon bastards did! Disband the army, spies on veterans! Long live the Republic! Let's settle accounts with those bastards!"

Another old gentleman disagreed, tapping the floor with his cane: "Hmph, Le Parisien is publishing this? With ulterior motives! This is inciting hatred of the old era! It's smearing His Majesty's government!"

A middle-aged man wearing a cap said coldly, "This only shows that the Republic is not doing enough! A better veterans' pension system needs to be established!"

Immediately, someone retorted: "Come on! This is the debt of the previous dynasty! It's the mess left behind by Napoleon dragging France into the quagmire of war! Why should the Republic pay for it?"

"This is nothing but the lament of Bonapartism!"

"Wrong, this exposes the Republic's indifference!"

The owner of the "Debater" café watched all this with a smile, offering no attempt to dissuade them.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

For the readers of Le Petit Parisien, they were not concerned with the literary value of The Old Guard, nor could they see the artistic path that Flaubert saw foreshadowing the future development of the novel.

What they care about are the parts of the novel that resonate with them or that they find repulsive.

But they all remembered one name—"Lionel Sorel," a student from the Sorbonne, who wrote this widely discussed masterpiece…

"Bang!" Albert Gigo, the chief of the Paris police department, slammed this issue of Le Petit Parisien on the table and pointed with his finger at the title of "The Old Guard" and the name of the author, Lionel Sorel.

He angrily said to the man on the other side of the table who was grinning slyly, "Gabe, why can't your 'Buzzing News' publish a few articles by poor, honest, and talented young people like Lionel Sorel?"

"The Decadent City... My God, do you really want to go to court?"

　In the tailor shop, there are disabled veterans reading books and newspapers, from the book "French Readers and Society in the Nineteenth Century: Workers, Women and Peasants".

　　
　
(End of this chapter)