Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 637 I Swear by My Life! (Four chapters combined into one, a long chapter of 10,000 words, please vote with monthly tickets!)

Henri Monod walked into the office with heavy steps. He bowed to Eugène Pubert first, then hesitated when he saw Lionel sitting to the side.

Only after Pubert gestured for him to speak freely did he begin: “Mr. Pubert, I’ve come to report on the situation at the workers’ apartment at 17 Rue de Arles in Belleville.”

Eugène Pubert sat up straight: "How is the situation? Has the patient been transferred out?"

Henry Monod shook his head: "No. They...they started to resist."

Eugène Pubert frowned. "Resist? What do you mean? How can they possibly resist? Are they out of their minds?"

"The people in the apartment blocked the door and wouldn't let us in. They threw things out the window and said they would pour boiling water on us. The police didn't dare to force their way in either."

Eugène Pubert's face darkened: "The police wouldn't dare? What are their guns for?"

Henry Monod's voice was low: "Yes, the police have guns. But Mr. Pobel, it's cholera. There are at least seven cases in the apartment, and many more who may be infected."

If they force their way in, people inside will rush out, and people outside will push in, causing chaos and potentially spreading the infection throughout the entire neighborhood. They're afraid they can't bear that responsibility…

Eugène Pubert abruptly stood up from his chair, leaned forward, and roared at Henry Monod with overwhelming force, "Can't take responsibility? They're trying to shirk their duties!"

Lionel sat in his chair without speaking. He knew that Henry Monod was telling the truth; cholera was not a riot, and the methods used to deal with riots could not be used to deal with cholera.

After speaking, Eugène Pubert sat back down, glancing at Lionel with an expression as cold as ice.

His voice turned cold: "In that case, seal off that apartment building and don't let anyone out!"
Anyone who comes into contact with them must either be locked in their apartment or taken to the hospital. Do it immediately!

Henry Monod's face changed, because he knew all too well what this order meant. The apartment building was inhabited by poor laborers who couldn't possibly have many food reserves.

If they seal it off and prevent anyone from entering or leaving, the people inside will soon run out of food. They will starve to death!

“Mr. Pobel…this…this might…” Henry Monod’s voice trembled.

Eugène Pubert raised his hand to interrupt him: "Henry, we have no choice now. If they don't cooperate, this is the only way. This is not punishment, this is epidemic prevention."

Lionel finally couldn't help but speak up: "Mr. Pubel, what you're doing will only drive the people inside to their doom."

Eugène Pubert looked at Lionel: "Mr. Sorel, what do you suggest? Let them continue to resist and then spread cholera throughout the neighborhood, the whole of Paris?"

Lionel fell silent, knowing that Eugène Pubert could no longer be swayed by any benefits or threats.

Eugène Pubert turned to Henri Monod: “Go, seal off 17 Rue de Arles. No one who goes in can come out. Unless he wants to go to the hospital.”

Henry Monod stood still, without moving.

After a long while, he finally mustered up the courage to try again: "Mr. Pubel, if we seal off the area, what about the food inside...?"

Eugène Pubert waved his hand, his voice devoid of warmth: "That was their own choice. If they're willing to send the patients out, everything is negotiable. But..."
If they continue to resist, then this is the only way. I must be responsible for all of Paris, not be swayed by a bunch of misled fools in an apartment building.”

As he said this, he glanced at Lionel, as if reminding Lionel who had instigated them.

Henry Monod looked at Eugène Pubert, then at Lionel. His face was filled with struggle.

As a health official, he knew the importance of epidemic prevention; but as a person of conscience, he knew what this order meant.

Finally, he could only lower his head and say, "Yes, Mr. Pobel," before turning to leave.

“Wait a minute,” Eugène Pubert called out to him.

Henry Monod stopped and turned around.

Eugène Pubert's tone softened somewhat: "Henry, I know what you're thinking. But you have to understand, we're not doing this to really drive these people to their deaths."

We want them to give up resistance. As long as they're willing to open the door and cooperate, everything is negotiable. We can provide food and medicine.

Henry Monod's eyes lit up for a moment, then dimmed again: "What about the police..."

The police in Paris are not under the jurisdiction of the Seine department or the city of Paris, but are directly under the Ministry of the Interior. Even Eugène Pubert had no authority to order the police around.

Eugène Pubert waved his hand: "I will discuss it with Mr. Rousseau. You pass down the order first: seal off the apartment and forbid anyone from entering or leaving."

Pierre Waldeck-Rousseau is the current Minister of the Interior and Jules Ferry's most important political ally in this cabinet.

Henry Monod nodded and turned to leave the office.

The door closed, leaving only Eugène Pubert and Lionel in the office.

Eugène Pubert looked at Lionel, his earlier excitement gone, and the last vestige of his inner turmoil vanished.

He said in an arrogant tone, "Mr. Sorel, all current prevention and treatment measures for cholera in Paris are guided by the Paris Medical School."

A medical advisory committee was formed, comprised of professors such as Jules Rochelle, Emil De Kener, and Ferdinand De Lonne; they are among the most authoritative medical experts.

Lionel remained silent, staring intently at Pubel in front of him.

"The articles you published in the newspapers have disrupted the Paris municipality's efforts to stop the spread of cholera. Out of consideration for freedom of speech, we will not prosecute you."

However, please stop interfering with our normal operations. What you just said, I can take as suggestions from a concerned citizen, but the government will not adopt it.

Lionel looked at Eugène Pubert and knew in his heart that things were beyond repair.

If Eugène Pubert had initiated a “pilot” before the resistance at 17 Rue de Arles, it would have been a courageous attempt.

But resistance has already emerged, and to push forward with a "pilot program" now would no longer be courageous, but a helpless compromise, and would "expose the government's cowardice."

Even if they succeed in the end, the public and the media will only attribute the credit to Lionel, not Eugène Pubert.

There are two things that no bureaucrat can tolerate most: first, someone challenging their authority; second, someone taking credit for their achievements.

Unfortunately, he now has both of these advantages. If Eugène Pubert were to agree to Lionel's request under these circumstances, he shouldn't be a high-ranking official in Sennes, but should instead stand with Joan of Arc.

Lionel sighed, stopped trying to persuade him, and stood up: "I understand, Mr. Pobel. Farewell."

Eugène Pubert nodded but did not get up to see him off.

------------

The next day, the newspapers reported on the resistance to the health department at the workers' apartment building at 17 Rue de Arles.

The headline in *Le Figaro* was: "Foolish Resistance." The article stated:
A shocking incident occurred yesterday at the workers' apartment building at 17 Rue de Arles in Belleville:
When health officials attempted to remove cholera patients from an apartment building, they were met with violent resistance from the residents.

Residents blocked the front door with furniture, threw debris from the windows, and even threatened to pour boiling water on it. Police were forced to retreat, and the entire neighborhood faced a serious public health risk.

This behavior is utterly foolish and selfish. Cholera is an infectious disease, and isolating patients is a necessary measure to protect public health.

These workers' resistance not only endangers themselves but could also spread the disease to the entire community.

We urge the government to take decisive action to uphold public health authority. Such acts that endanger public safety must be severely punished.

Le Parisien reported from a different angle: "Desperate Self-Salvation".

Yesterday afternoon, residents of the workers' apartment at 17 Rue Arles in Belleville made a desperate decision: they blocked the entrance and refused to allow the Department of Health to take away their patients.

This is not ignorance; it is self-salvation after despair. These workers witnessed their neighbors being taken to the hospital and then dying.

They knew that once patients entered the hospital, what awaited them might not be treatment, but bloodletting, enemas, and death.

“My husband was taken away, and he died the next day,” a woman on the third floor cried out to us from her window. “They said going to the hospital was for treatment, but it was sending him to his death!”

The government has now ordered the apartment building locked down, and the people inside are not allowed to leave. What does this mean?
This means that these workers and their families will be trapped in the epidemic area, without food or medicine, and can only wait to die.

We urge the government to reconsider this decision. Epidemic prevention is important, but human life is equally important.

The Liberation newspaper went even further: "Puber's Murder Order".

Seine official Eugène Pubert issued an order: seal off the workers' apartment at 17 Rue de Arles, and forbid anyone inside from leaving.

This order was tantamount to a death sentence for all the residents of the apartment building. They were workers, poor people, and lacked sufficient food reserves.

Lockdown means hunger, and hunger means death!

All of this was simply because they were unwilling to send their loved ones to the hospital to die.

They chose to save themselves, choosing to care for the patient according to the methods proposed by Mr. Lionel Sorel in "I Appeal!"

Boil water, give the patient salt water, properly handle the patient's excrement, and keep the food clean.

Now, Mr. Pobel will use hunger to force them to submit.

This is tyranny! This is murder!

The Times published an article by Jules Rochelle, a professor at the Paris Medical School, entitled "The War Between Science and Ignorance".

Recently, some irresponsible statements have claimed that cholera is not transmitted through the air, but through water and food, which completely contradicts common medical knowledge.

Cholera is a typical malaria disease caused by toxic gases emitted from decaying matter!

Isolating patients, purifying the air, burning tar, and spraying perfume—these are the correct epidemic prevention measures.

The methods suggested by some people, such as "boiling water" or "drinking salt water," are not only ineffective, but may also delay treatment.

Bloodletting therapy is an effective method that has been proven over two thousand years and can clear heat toxins from the body.

The resistance at the Belleville workers' apartments is a direct consequence of these erroneous statements.

Misled workers refused scientific treatment and chose self-isolation, which only allowed the miasma to accumulate in the enclosed space, leading to more serious consequences.

We urge the public to trust science and doctors. Don't be misled by the nonsense of laymen.

In cafes, salons, and on the streets, people are arguing.

Those who support the government say, "We must be tough! Otherwise, anyone will dare to resist, and how can we carry out epidemic prevention?"

Those who sympathize with the workers say, "That's forcing people to die! If the hospital can't cure them, are they not allowed to find their own way?"

Those who trust doctors say, "Professor Rochelle is right, we must trust science!"

Those who believe in Lionel say, "Science? Bloodletting and enemas are science? That's murder!"

The argument grew increasingly heated, but the people at 17 Rue de Arles couldn't hear it; even newsboys dared not approach.

All they knew was that they were trapped and couldn't get out.

----------

Inside 17 Rue de Arles, time moves very slowly, so slowly that a day feels longer than a week.

On the first day, everyone still held onto hope. Perhaps the government would change its mind, perhaps there would be negotiations, perhaps...

But the next day, hope began to fade and panic began to spread.

The apartment building has six floors, with four rooms on each floor, housing more than twenty families, totaling about one hundred people.

Currently, the seven confirmed patients are scattered across different floors, with their families taking care of them, while others try to stay in their own rooms.

But the apartment was too old and poorly soundproofed. Coughs, groans, and vomiting could be heard through the thin walls, making everyone tremble with fear.

Food is the biggest problem.

Workers' families don't have much food reserves. They usually buy food on the same day they earn money.

In each household's cupboard, there were only some bread, potatoes, onions, and perhaps a little bit of cured meat.

On the second night of the lockdown, Mr. Caron, who lived on the third floor, called a meeting. He worked at the iron foundry as a foreman and was the most respected person in the apartment building.

Everyone was gathered in the narrow stairwell, and anxiety was written on everyone's face.

“We’re running out of food,” Mr. Caron said bluntly. “My family will run out of bread tonight. We have a few potatoes left, but not many.”

The others nodded in agreement.

"My family is the same."

"I only have two loaves of bread left."

"There are still a few onions left, but if we only eat onions..."

Mr. Caron looked around: "Where's the water?" There used to be a public water pipe next to the apartment, but the building has been sealed off, so they can't get fresh water.

The only saving grace was that the police made an exception for them before the lockdown and allowed them to get water again.

“There’s still water,” a woman on the fourth floor said, “but Mr. Lionel said the water has to be boiled before it’s drinkable. Boiling water requires fuel, and we don’t have much coal left.”

Coal, yet another serious problem. Winter in Paris wasn't completely over, and heating was needed at night. Poor families bought coal daily, and had little stockpiling.

"How is the patient?" Mr. Caron asked.

A man on the fifth floor shook his head: "My wife still has diarrhea, but after drinking salt water, she seems to be a little better. At least it hasn't gotten worse."

Another woman said, "My son is the same. He has severe diarrhea, but after drinking salt water, he can still drink a little rice water."

Mr. Caron nodded. This was the only good news.

Since they followed the advice Lionel suggested in "I Call!", only one new patient has appeared in the apartment, and that patient was likely infected beforehand.

Of the seven who had contracted the disease, only the most severely ill person died; the body was sent out before the complete lockdown. The other six, though critically ill, were still alive.

Mr. Caron sighed. "The question now is," he said, "how much longer can we hold out?"

Everyone looked at each other, but no one answered.

After a long while, a young man whispered, "What if we open the door and let the health department people in?"

"Open the door? And then what? All the patients are taken to the hospital, then bled and given enemas, and then they die? You might be taken away too, because you came into contact with the patients."

Young people are afraid to speak up. In this era, the coexistence of trust in doctors and fear of hospitals is a common experience for everyone.

This is because not all doctors accept the bacteriological theory, so puerperal fever and other infections occur frequently in hospitals, with a mortality rate far higher than that of home visits.

“But if we don’t open the door, we’ll starve to death,” another old man said. “Without food and coal, we won’t last more than a few days.”

“Maybe the government will change its mind,” a woman said hopefully.

Mr. Caron shook his head helplessly: "Maybe, maybe not... I'll try to negotiate tomorrow, hoping to buy some food. At least I can get some water."

The meeting ultimately yielded no results. Everyone returned to their rooms to continue waiting.

On the third day, the food dwindled. Mr. Caron called out to the police through the door, but received only a cold rejection.

Some people started eating less, only one meal a day. The children cried from hunger, but the adults couldn't do anything about it.

The coal supply was running low, and the nights were getting colder. Some people started taking apart old furniture to make fires. A chair, a small table... they threw them into the stove, hoping they could burn for a while.

But furniture was limited, and some people were so hungry they couldn't even chop wood.

On the fourth day, the atmosphere became tense, and the disagreements became increasingly intense.

Someone suggested opening the door and surrendering: "At least if we go to the hospital, we'll have a chance; staying here is just waiting to die!"

Some objected: "Going to the hospital is suicide. It's better to stay here; maybe things will turn around."

"I don't believe Pobel would actually let us starve to death! He'll be drowned in the spittle of the newspapers!"

"If he didn't dare, he wouldn't have sealed off this place! These lords are all as hard-hearted as stone!"

An argument inevitably broke out, the voices grew louder and the emotions became more and more intense.

Mr. Caron tried to calm them down, but with little success. Hunger and fear were eroding people's sanity.

By the morning of the fifth day, the situation had reached a critical point.

The last crumbs were given to the children; the adults hadn't eaten all day. The coal was completely used up, and some began dismantling the doors, while others prepared to rush out.

Despair enveloped the entire apartment...

Then they heard a sound—the sound of carriages, the sound of many, many carriages, the sound of very heavy carriage wheels rolling over the ground.

----------

Lionel stood at the entrance to Rue de Arles. Behind him, twenty large carriages were lined up, each loaded with goods.

Food, coal, clean cotton cloth, buckets of clean water, quicklime, coal powder, bleaching powder... so heavy that it would take two large draft horses to pull it.

Beside the convoy stood a dozen or so drivers and two young men.

Sheriff Alphonse Legrand rushed over nervously and blocked the convoy: "Mr. Sorel, you can't go over there! Don't you know the Ministry of the Interior's orders?"

If you come into contact with anyone in the apartment, you either need to go to the hospital or stay in the apartment!

Lionel looked at him calmly: "Of course I know. This damn order was given to you right in front of me."

Alphonse Legrand was taken aback: "Then you still..."

“I came here to be with those who believe in my methods. If I am wrong, I am willing to pay with my life.”

Alphonse Legrand opened his mouth, but could not utter a word.

Lionel stared at him: "Do you want those poor people in the apartment to starve to death in front of you?"

Alphonse Legrand was speechless, but silently took a step to the side.

He has also been under tremendous psychological pressure these past few days—the higher-ups only need to give orders, while he, on the front lines, bears the moral condemnation.

Lionel ignored him and turned to the drivers, saying, "Drive the carriage to the apartment building, and then you can leave."

The drivers looked at each other, but seeing Lionel's calm and resolute gaze, they did as he asked.

The carriage slowly drove toward 17 Rue de Arles.

Behind the barricade across the street, the police, seeing Alphonse Legrand's actions, also quietly made way for him.

They all knew who Lionel Sorel was, and they knew what the newspapers would write tomorrow if the police stopped him and his convoy today.

The carriage stopped in front of the apartment. Lionel told all the drivers to leave first, and he stood at the door waiting alone.

Faces appeared in the apartment windows—pale, thin, and wary—then their expressions turned to surprise and disbelief.

Lionel looked up at the third-floor window. The woman who had once threatened to pour boiling water on him was standing there, watching him.

“Open the door,” Lionel said. “I’m here to help you.”

After a few seconds of silence, the sound of heavy objects being moved came from behind the iron gate, and the tables and chairs blocking the door were slowly moved away.

Then the iron gate opened, and several healthy workers came out.

With tears in their eyes, they looked at Lionel and then at the twenty wagons loaded with supplies.

Lionel pointed to the wagons: "Let's start moving them. Let's do it together."

He rolled up his sleeves, walked to the first carriage, and picked up a sack of flour.

The workers paused for a moment, then stepped forward one after another. Flour, coal, buckets, cotton cloth... box after box, bag after bag, were carried into the apartment building.

Across the street, the crowd watched silently. Reporters quickly took notes and sketched. Several cameras clicked, capturing the moment.

Without any warning, two young reporters rushed out of the crowd and headed for the apartment door.

The police tried to stop them, but they couldn't.

Two reporters quickly ran to Lionel's side and began helping to move the supplies.

“Mr. Sorel, I am Gaston Carmet, a reporter for Le Figaro,” the tall young man said as he moved things.

“I am Maurice Barris, a freelance journalist,” another said. “We will go in with you, record everything inside, and then publish it.”

Lionel glanced at them and nodded. "Thank you."

The unloading of goods lasted for more than an hour. All the goods from the twenty horse-drawn carts were moved into 17 Rue de Arles.

After the last item was moved in, Lionel turned and looked at the police and crowd across the street.

"The door will close. But this time, it's not to resist the government, it's to resist death. We will control the epidemic and care for patients using scientific methods."

If the government is willing to provide assistance, we welcome it. If the government insists on taking the patient away to the hospital for bloodletting and enemas, then we will continue to resist.

His voice echoed through the street—

"If any doctor is willing to come in—not those who believe in bloodletting, but those who believe in bacteria and cleanliness—we will cooperate and be infinitely grateful!"

After saying that, Lionel turned and walked into the apartment. The iron door slowly closed behind him.

But this time, the door wasn't blocked.

----------

When the news reached Eugène Pubert, he was meeting with officials from the Department of Health to discuss how much more perfume, vinegar, and burnt wood should be purchased from other provinces.

Two weeks into the cholera outbreak, even in Paris, supplies are running low due to panic buying by citizens.

The secretary knocked and came in, her face pale, and whispered a few words in his ear.

Eugène Pubert jumped to his feet: "What?"

Everyone in the conference room looked at him.

Eugène Pubert's face went from red to white, then to pale. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but in the end only managed to utter one sentence: "Madness! They've all gone mad!"

He slumped back into his chair, covering his face with his hands.

Is a renowned European writer going to die in the apartment he himself ordered to be locked down? He could practically see the end of his political career in sight.

This news also shocked everyone else.

When Jules Ferry heard the report in his office, he dropped his pen on the table.

But he quickly picked up the pen and said casually, "This falls under the jurisdiction of the Seine province, and it's not our place to interfere. I trust Poubert will handle it well."

Zola, Maupassant, Daudet, Huysmann, Charpentier… almost everyone who knew Lionel received the news immediately.

"He's entered the restricted area?" Zola asked the messenger incredulously.

"Yes, sir. He brought twenty wagons of supplies into 17 Rue de Arles. Two reporters followed him in as well."

Zola stood up and paced back and forth in the room: "He's gone mad...he's really gone mad...it's cholera! He's going to die!"

Maupassant's reaction was more direct. He rushed out of his study, jumped into his carriage, and headed straight for 117 Boulevard Saint-Germain.

But when he arrived, he only saw Sophie and Alice.

"What about Lionel?" Maupassant asked eagerly.

Sophie's face was calm, but her eyes were red: "He went to 17 Rue de Arles."

"Why didn't you stop him?" Maupassant almost shouted.

“We can’t stop him.” Sophie shook her head. “He’s made up his mind, and no one can change it.”

Maupassant wanted to say something, but in the end he could only sit helplessly in his chair: "He will die... Sophie, he will die."

“I know,” Sophie said softly, “but he said he has to go.”

Alice stood to the side, silently shedding tears.

Maupassant suddenly stood up: "I'll go and gather everyone. We'll work together to figure out a way. We can't let Lionel die like this!"

The news spread throughout Paris.

In the café, people were talking in shock.

"Mr. Sorel has entered the restricted area? Really?"

“It’s true! My cousin saw it with his own eyes in Belleville. Twenty wagons, all carrying supplies.”

"Has he gone mad? That's cholera!"

"He's not crazy. He went to save people."

"But he'll die..."

"Maybe not. He believes in his own methods."

"But that's cholera..."

The debate continued, but this time, everyone felt a heavier weight on their hearts.

Lionel Sorel, one of France's finest young writers, enters a cholera-stricken area to uphold his beliefs.

But he might die there... Can France afford such a loss?
----------

The atmosphere was somber in Professor Jules Rochelle's office at the Paris Medical School.

Several professors gathered together, with the day's newspaper laid out in front of them.

The front-page headline of Le Parisien was: "Courage and conscience: Lionel Sorel enters the lockdown zone."

The article details how Lionel led the convoy to break through the blockade, how he worked with the workers to move supplies, and how he invited a doctor who believed in bacteriology into his apartment.

The article concludes by saying:
When the government chooses to force people into submission through starvation, Mr. Sorel chooses to give people hope through material resources.

While doctors were still debating bloodletting and enemas, Mr. Sorel was already putting his life into practice by boiling water and drinking salt water.

This is a new approach to epidemic prevention, based not on authority and fear, but on fearlessness and compassion.

Perhaps Mr. Sorel will succeed, perhaps he will fail.

But regardless, his courage and conscience have earned him the respect of the people of Paris!

Jules Rochelle slammed the newspaper on the table: "Absurd! Utterly absurd! A novelist dares to question medical theory! Dares to use this method to sensationalize!"

Professor Emil Dekener shook his head: "What's even more absurd is that people actually believed him. The workers, the journalists, and the citizens reading the newspapers..."

They actually believed a layman instead of us professional doctors. My God, Paris is in decline! France is in decline!

Professor Ferdinand Delaunay coldly stated, "This is a desecration of medicine! Whether he succeeds or fails, Sorel's actions will cause the public to lose trust in medicine."

If everyone treats illnesses their own way, what's the point of doctors? What's the point of medical schools? French rationality will vanish!

Jules Rochelle made a decision: "We must respond again. The public must know that Sorel's approach is wrong! It is dangerous! It is ignorant!"

The following day, Le Figaro published Jules Rochelle's article, "To the People of Paris," on its front page.

Recently, some irresponsible actions and remarks are dragging Paris into greater danger.

Mr. Lionel Sorel, an author, dared to enter the cholera-locked area, claiming he would treat patients using his own methods.

……

By entering 17 Rue de Arles, Mr. Sorel not only put himself in danger but could also accelerate the spread of the epidemic within the apartment.

His methods of "boiling water" and "drinking salt water" were completely ineffective against cholera.

Cholera is caused by excessive heat in the blood, which requires bloodletting to remove the heat toxins; it is also caused by intestinal poisoning, which requires enemas and laxatives to expel the toxins.

……

We predict that 17 Rue de Arles will soon become a house of death. Those inside, including Mr. Sorel, will pay the ultimate price for their folly.

We urge the people of Paris to trust science and doctors. Don't be fooled by the performances of laymen.

Preventing cholera is a serious scientific battle, not a literary joke!

This article immediately sparked even fiercer debate upon its publication.

Those who support Lionel say, "What can Professor Rochelle do besides curse? At least Mr. Sorel took action!"

Those who support the doctor say, "Professor Rochelle is right! Sorel is risking his life for a publicity stunt!"

But this brought all of Paris into focus on 17 Rue Arles.

People waited, speculating. Would those inside ultimately die or live?
----------

The living room of the "Hillside Villa" in Vernev was full of people.

Zola, Maupassant, Huysmann, Daudet, Émile Perrin, Tesla, Poincaré, Armand Peugeot… all of Lionel’s good friends were there.

Sophie and Alice suppressed their inner pain and received them.

The atmosphere in the living room was heavy.

“Leon was too impulsive,” Zola said first. “He should have discussed it with us. It’s too dangerous to just barge in like this.”

Maupassant nodded: "I think so too. He's gambling with his life."

Yusman sighed: "But he's already in. What's the point of saying all this now?"

Dudley looked at Sophie: "Ms. Sophie, did Lionel leave any message before he left?"

"He only said that he had to go. He couldn't watch the people who believed in him die. He said if he was wrong, he would pay the price with his life."

Zola shook his head: "That's Leon. He had the same idea when he went to London last time to testify for the poor people in the East End."

Emil Perrin frowned: "But that's cholera, not a court of law. Even if England were insane, they wouldn't hang him. The plague doesn't care if you're a good person or what your motives are."

Tesla and Poincaré sat in the corner, silent. They were scientists, but not physicians. They knew little about cholera.

“The miasma theory may be correct,” Poincaré said softly. “The lack of air circulation in enclosed spaces can indeed lead to the spread of diseases.”

Tesla nodded. “I think so too. Although I don’t completely believe in miasma, Sorel’s method… boil water, drink salt water… sounds too simple.”

Only one person had complete faith in Lionel.

Petty stood in the living room doorway, listening to the adults' conversation. She had only recently returned from England and was still grieving the loss of her parents, but her eyes were resolute.

“Young Master can’t be wrong,” Petty suddenly said.

Everyone looked at her.

Petit walked into the living room and looked at these most famous French writers, scientists, and entrepreneurs.

"The young master taught me that science isn't about authority, it's about facts. A good method is one that saves a patient's life; a bad method is one that makes a patient die faster!"

She paused, then continued, "The hospital's methods caused so many patients to die. But the apartment building used the young master's methods, and only one person died. So the young master was right!"

The living room fell silent. Everyone stared at the little girl they had all taught, as if they were meeting her for the first time.

Mr. De La Ruwak sat by the fireplace, silent all this time. Then he spoke: “Pettit is right. Leon had everything arranged before he left; he was confident.”

If something unexpected does happen, there's no need to worry. His works and his businesses have clear arrangements. He's explained everything to me.

These words made the atmosphere even heavier.

“That’s not what I meant…” Mr. De La Ruwak realized he had misspoke, but it was too late.

Sophie stood up: "Everyone, what Leon needs now is support. I believe he will succeed. He will lead those people out of 17 Rue de Arles alive."

Her voice was calm, but everyone could hear the determination in it.

Zola nodded. "You're right, Sophie. We should trust Lionel."

Maupassant sighed: "Alright, I believe him. But when he comes out, I'm going to give him a good scolding."

Yusman laughed: "Count me in."

The atmosphere eased a little.

But everyone still has a weight on their shoulders.

Will Lionel really make it out alive?
Zola put on his coat and hat: "Let's go, we need to do something for Lionel, at least to prevent him from bearing all the pressure of public opinion alone!"

--------

Paris, Pasteur Laboratory.

Louis Pasteur is leaning over a microscope, observing a petri dish.

He had been working for more than ten hours straight. Since receiving Lionel's letter, Pasteur had temporarily put aside his work on the rabies vaccine.

He began to consider the transmission routes of cholera. Miasma? Pasteur didn't believe it.

He studied fermentation, silkworm diseases, anthrax… Each time, he found that microorganisms were the culprit. Why was cholera an exception?

But Pasteur had to find evidence.

Yesterday, he finally received government permission to enter the hospital and collect enough samples of excrement from cholera patients to culture on a culture medium.

He distributed the samples to each assistant in the lab. Now, everyone was intently watching the petri dishes right in front of them.

Suddenly, an assistant shouted, "Professor, come quick!"

Pasteur looked up and strode over: "What's wrong?"

The assistant pointed to the microscope: "Look at this."

Pasteur brought his eyes close to the microscope.

In his field of vision, a microorganism he had never seen before appeared—a large head with long, curved flagella, like a comma.

He had never seen this kind of thing in normal human excrement.

Pasteur's heart raced. He quickly adjusted his focus, carefully observing the shape, size, and movement of the microorganism...

After a long while, he finally looked up and said, "Bring Robert Koch's paper."

The assistant immediately ran to the bookshelf, found a German magazine, and turned to a page. There was a sketch of a microorganism on it.

Pasteur compared the images under the microscope with the pictures in his paper.

Almost the same!
"This is the same bacteria Koch discovered in Egypt last year!" Pasteur looked up, his voice trembling with excitement. "The bacteria that causes cholera! It really exists!"

The lab was silent for a few seconds, then the assistants cheered.

Pasteur did not cheer; he was still thinking.

If this bacteria is indeed the cause of cholera, then Lionel Sorel's method is correct.

Boiling water can kill bacteria in the water, adding salt water can prevent dehydration and death, and burying excrement with quicklime can prevent secondary transmission.

The bloodletting, enemas, and laxatives administered by those doctors are all hastening the death of patients; they are nothing short of murder in the name of medicine!

Pasteur straightened up and looked out the window. The Parisian night sky was overcast, obscuring the moon completely.

He thought of the news he had seen today: Lionel was currently in a cholera-locked area, saving lives using the simplest and most basic methods.

And he, Louis Pasteur, had just seen cholera bacteria under a microscope.

It turns out that science and conscience sometimes require different people to prove them in different ways.

At this point, several more assistants discovered this unique bacterium in their respective petri dishes, and Pasteur stepped forward to witness their discoveries one by one.

In contrast, no such bacteria were found in the excrement of other assistants who were assigned to healthy individuals and those with other different diseases.

Although the current observations are not entirely rigorous, Paris can't wait any longer.

Pasteur walked to the center of the laboratory and said loudly, "Gentlemen, prepare your papers immediately; we are going to publish this discovery. But before that—"

He looked at his assistants and said, "Mr. Sorel is currently fighting alone at 17 Rue de Arles. He needs help. Who among you is willing to go and assist him?"

The assistant was stunned: "Professor, that's a restricted area..."

Pasteur interrupted him: “I know. But science needs to get to the scene, especially where there are patients being treated with Mr. Sorel’s method.”

If there are indeed cases of recovery or improvement, the changes in bacterial count should be clearly observable. Those going should bring microscopes and other such instruments.

Those who participate can have their names listed as authors on all relevant papers!

As soon as the last sentence was uttered, the assistants all raised their hands:

"I go!"

"I go!"

"Professor, I was the first to raise my hand!"

……

--------

At 17 Rue de Arles, Lionel is feeding a child salt water.

The child is very weak, but can still swallow.

Lionel gently wiped the water from the corner of the child's mouth and looked out the window.

Outside the window, a few stars peeked out through the gaps in the clouds.

(I've finished writing this in one go, so you can enjoy it on your way home!! Please vote with monthly tickets!)
　Gaston Calmette (1858-1914)

　　In 1884, at the age of 26, he had just joined the editorial department of Le Figaro as a junior reporter. He later (in 1894) rose to become the newspaper's editor-in-chief, becoming one of the most powerful newspaper magnates of the time, until he was assassinated by the wife of the finance minister in 1914, leading to the "Caio Affair"—the biggest political scandal in pre-war France.

　　Maurice Barrès (1862-1923)

　　At the age of 22 in 1884, he had just begun his journalism career, writing political, art, and literary reviews for various newspapers. He later became a leading figure in nationalist literature, and in 1906 he was elected to the French Academy. His theory of "Homeland and the Dead" (La Terre et les Morts) profoundly influenced French right-wing thought.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)