Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 638 I'll Bet My Life with You! (Two chapters combined)

On the morning of February 13, 1884, newsboys in Paris flooded the streets earlier than usual, waving newspapers and shouting at the top of their lungs:

"Le Parisien! A report from Mr. Sorel in the locked-down area!"

"Le Figaro! The Diary of 17 Rue de Arles! Exclusive!"

"Read the newspaper! The truth about the cholera lockdown zone!"

The café on Boulevard Saint-Germain had just opened, and before the waiters had even finished wiping the tables, a customer rushed in asking for a newspaper.

At a street corner in Montmartre, a young man in overalls threw down five sheng (a type of savory citrus), grabbed a copy of "Le Petit Parisien," and began reading it while leaning against a lamppost.

Several people immediately gathered around him and watched.

The newspaper's front page featured a striking headline: "Diary of 17 Rue de Arles (Part 1) – From Maurice Barres"

...we began repeatedly flushing the hallways and toilets with limestone...

...All drinking water must be boiled and then poured into clean containers to cool...

...We collected the patients' excrement and vomit in wooden buckets, added a large amount of quicklime, stirred it, and then buried it in a deep pit in the corner of the apartment's backyard...

...We boiled all the tableware and all the cloths used by the patients in boiling water...

...Everyone, regardless of their health, began drinking warm water with a little salt added...

...But what moved me was not these measures, but the brilliance of humanity shown during their implementation.

Mrs. Lafayette on the fifth floor, her husband has fallen ill and is in critical condition, still unconscious.

To avoid spreading cholera, she voluntarily isolated herself and her husband in their room, with food and water left at their door by neighbors.

Ms. Belt, who once threatened to throw boiling water on the third floor, is now actively distributing supplies and supervising sanitation.

She went from house to house checking whether the water had been boiled and scolded the children who wanted to steal and drink unboiled water.

Mr. Caron said to me, “Mr. Sorel didn’t turn us into saints, but he made us understand that if we want to live, we have to look after each other and help each other out.”

……

A miracle may be happening; the curse of death upon admission seems to have been broken here.

Of the seven patients, one elderly and frail individual died, while the remaining six, though still weak, experienced some relief from severe vomiting and diarrhea after receiving saline solution.

Most importantly, five days have passed since Mr. Sorel’s protocol was strictly implemented, and not a single new case of cholera has been reported in the apartment.

Fear remains, but hope has begun to rise!

Meanwhile, Le Figaro published a report by Ston Calmet.

I only lived in this apartment building for one day, but I saw how those people abandoned by the government lived.

The people here are poorer than I imagined, and also stronger than I imagined.

Jeanne, the laundry worker on the third floor, had a husband who was the first patient taken away by the Department of Health and died in the hospital the next day.

She has two children, one eight years old and the other five. She herself was also infected and had diarrhea for several days.

This afternoon I went to bring her bread. She was lying in bed and said to me, “Kind sir, don’t worry about me, I’m much better. Mr. Sorel’s saline solution really worked.”

I asked her, "Are you scared?"

She said, "I'm afraid. But I'm even more afraid that my children will be left unattended. Mr. Sorel said that as long as I drink enough water and eat enough, I can survive. I have to live for my children."

……

The young couple on the fourth floor, Etienne and Mary, had no children and were not sick.

But they took in two children—the children of the couple who died in the hospital a few days earlier, one six years old and the other seven.

When I went up to the fourth floor to deliver quicklime, Mary was feeding her two children hot soup with beef and onions that had been brought from the carriage that day.

Mary said to me, "We don't have children. This is perfect for us. Once we're able to leave, we'll go through the adoption procedures."

……

This evening, when Mr. Sorel called all the adults together and announced that "there were no new deaths," everyone applauded.

Then Mr. Sorel said, “You survived not by luck, but by yourselves. It was the water you boiled, the hands you washed, and the quicklime you poured.”

Everyone nodded, and some even cried.

When I entered this apartment building, I expected to see chaos, panic, and despair; but instead, I saw order, mutual assistance, and hope.

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

The two reports caused a sensation throughout Paris. People in cafes and bars eagerly passed the newspapers around.

"Did you see? Only one person died at 17 Rue de Arles! Do you know how many died at the hospital?"

"Seventy percent! My cousin works as a handyman at the hospital, and he says they can't keep up with the piles of corpses!"

"Mr. Sorel is right! The water needs to be boiled, and we need to drink salt water!"

"Those doctors kept talking about miasma and bloodletting, it's all bullshit!"

Newspapers at the newsstand sold out in a minute; the newsboy ran back to get more, only to have them snatched up again in no time.

On Saint-Denis Street, several workers gathered together, listening to a literate person read the newspaper.

"Speak louder! So everyone can hear you!"

The person reading the newspaper shouted at the top of his lungs, "Mr. Sorel said that survival is not a matter of luck, but of the water you boiled, the hands you washed, and the quicklime you poured!"

Someone in the crowd of workers shouted, "We'll do it too! No matter what the Department of Health says!"

"Yes! We'll save ourselves!"

Eleventh arrondissement, Obokamp Street.

Although the lockdown has not been lifted, people are passing around newspapers behind the police cordon.

After reading the newspaper, a middle-aged man said to the person next to him, "Did you see that? Lionel's method is correct!"

"Then what do we do? Does the Department of Health still need to take people to the hospital?"

"What are you trying to stop! Anyone who goes will die! We'll do it ourselves!"

That afternoon, several worker representatives from Obercamp Street went to see the health department.

"We won't hand over patients! We'll treat them ourselves!"

The residents of other apartments on Rue Arles in Belleville, 19th arrondissement, had already been ignited by the newspaper reports.

That evening, three more apartment buildings announced: they would refuse entry to the Department of Health, refuse to hand over the patients, and would save themselves according to Mr. Sorel's method.

District 20 followed closely behind.

By the evening of February 13, seven apartment buildings had declared "independence".

When the news reached the Seine government, Eugène Pubert was meeting with health officials.

The secretary knocked and came in, whispering a few words in his ear, and Pubel's face instantly turned ashen.

"They're here again? Building 7?"

"Yes, Mr. Pubel. Three buildings in District 11, three buildings in District 19, and one building in District 20. More apartments are under discussion."

Puber stood up and paced back and forth in the office.

Henry Monod of the Department of Health asked cautiously, "Mr. Pubel, what should we do?"

Pubel stopped in his tracks, gritting his teeth as he said, "What do we do? Lockdown! Complete lockdown! Lock down anyone who dares to resist!"

Henry Monod was stunned: "Mr. Pobel, the situation at 17 Rue Arles is still unresolved. Seven more buildings need to be sealed off."

"I said lockdown! Don't you understand?"

Henry Monod dared not speak again and turned to relay the order.

On the morning of February 14, police and health officials in Paris mobilized en masse.

Arrondissement 11, Obokamp Street. Three apartment buildings were surrounded by yellow police tape.

In the 19th arrondissement, Belleville, three more apartment buildings have been sealed off.

District 20, the working-class district. The last apartment building was also surrounded.

But this time, things were different. The day after the police tape was put up, horse-drawn carriages appeared on the street corner—lots and lots of horse-drawn carriages.

Each vehicle was piled high with supplies: flour, potatoes, onions, cured meat, coal, clean buckets, quicklime, and bleaching powder.

The scene was exactly the same as it was four days ago in front of No. 17 Rue de Arles.

The sheriff rushed to the front of the convoy, trying to stop the carriages: "Stop! This place is sealed off! No one is allowed to enter!"

But the drivers did not stop; they continued driving the carriage forward until they were stopped by the police.

Just as the police were about to take action, a man stepped out from behind the carriage. The police immediately recognized the distinctive broad forehead—it was Émile Zola.

“Mr. Zola?” The sheriff was stunned.

"These supplies are for the people inside. Let them in."

"No. This is an order from a high-ranking official."

“I know it’s an order from a high-ranking official. But I also know that the people inside have no food, no water, and no coal. They will starve to death and freeze to death.”

"That was their own choice. They refused to hand over the patient."

"What they refused to do was send patients to the hospital to die. The newspapers said only two people died at 17 Rue Arles. Seventy percent of the deaths occurred in the hospitals. Do you think they made the wrong choice?"

The sheriff's face went from red to white, then from white to green. Zola was France's most famous writer; arresting him was out of the question. He could only wave his hand, signaling the police to move aside. And so, carriage after carriage slowly made its way to the sealed-off apartment building.

……

The same scene played out in other locked-down apartments.

The only difference was that the leader changed from Zola to Alphonse Daudet, Edmond de Goncourt, and others.

They didn't go into the apartment building like Lionel did, to stand shoulder to shoulder with the workers and poor who remained there, but at least they made sure the carriages could move freely.

By the evening of February 14, all seven locked-down apartment buildings had received supplies; not a single building was left out.

When the news reached Eugène Pubert, he was so angry that his hands were trembling, but there was nothing he could do.

If it were just Lionel Sorel alone, he could be called a madman, an amateur, or a show-off.

But now that Zola, Daudet, and Goncourt have all stepped forward, the nature of the aid has changed to humanitarian assistance for these residents.

Eugène Pubert slumped back into his chair and said to his secretary, "Have the health department people withdraw."

The secretary hesitated for a moment: "Withdraw? Then impose a lockdown?"

Puber shook his head: "The blockade is still in place. But don't stop the supplies anymore. Let them get in."

The secretary nodded and turned to leave.

Looking out at the night sky, Pubel muttered to himself, "Sorel, what exactly are you trying to do?"

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

On February 15, readers of Le Figaro were shocked by a long article on the front page.

It was not Gaston Calmet's "Diary of 17 Rue de Arles," but rather a paper by the highly respected Professor Louis Pasteur, a member of the French Academy of Sciences.

The paper has a long title: "Preliminary observations on a microorganism found in the excrement of cholera patients in Paris."

[...From February 11 to 14, we collected twenty-two excrement samples from cholera patients at Saint-Louis Hospital and Labote Hospital in Paris.]

...Of the 22 samples of excrement from cholera patients, 20 samples showed a unique morphological microorganism after culture.

...This microorganism is a curved rod-shaped organism with flagella at one end, which allows it to swim rapidly in liquids and is shaped like a comma.

...This is almost identical to the microorganisms that German physician Robert Koch discovered in the excrement of cholera patients in Egypt in 1883.

...Dr. Koch's naming of this microorganism as "Asian cholera spirochetes" is appropriate, and this paper will use this name.

...None of the fifteen control samples from healthy individuals showed this microorganism.

...This microorganism reproduces most actively between 18 and 37 degrees Celsius; it dies after being heated to 55 degrees Celsius for 10 minutes; and it dies immediately upon boiling.

This explains why cholera outbreaks typically occur in summer and autumn, but this time it appeared in late winter. Paris had just experienced a mild winter with average temperatures above 5 degrees Celsius.

...In the working-class district where the cholera outbreak occurred, public water pipes were insufficient, leading residents to rely heavily on well water. Due to the mild winter, the well water in Paris was close to the lower limit of the suitable temperature for spirochetes.

Preliminary experiments show that common disinfectants such as quicklime, bleaching powder, and carbolic acid can kill this microorganism in a very short time.

Based on the above observations, we draw the following preliminary conclusions:
This microorganism has a close and direct link with cholera, but it is not yet possible to prove whether it is the cause of cholera or a result of contracting cholera.

However, if this microorganism is indeed the pathogen of cholera, then the measures proposed by Mr. Sorel to block the spread of cholera are scientifically sound.

Therefore, given the current emergency situation of the cholera outbreak, we believe it is our responsibility to make these preliminary findings public…

When Pasteur's paper was published, the whole of Paris was in an uproar.

In cafes and bars, people held up newspapers and shouted:

"Professor Pasteur has proven it! Mr. Sorel was right!"

"The water needs to be boiled! We need to drink salt water! All those doctors are wrong!"

"Bloodletting and enemas are murder!"

Long queues formed in front of newsstands of all sizes throughout Paris.

People are rushing to buy Le Figaro; they usually buy one copy, but today they're buying three—one for themselves, one for their neighbors, and one for their relatives.

But amidst the clamor, a group of people remained silent—the professors of the Paris Medical School.

On the morning of February 15, Jules Rochelle sensed something was amiss as he entered the medical school building.

In the corridor, students gathered in small groups, whispering amongst themselves. Upon seeing him, they all stopped talking and looked at him with complicated expressions.

Jules Rochelle walked straight into his office with a stern face.

On the table was the day's edition of Le Figaro, with Pasteur's paper on the front page.

He picked it up, read it once, then read it again, then put the newspaper down, sat in the chair, and remained motionless for a long time.

There was a knock on the door. Emil de Kener and Ferdinand de Lonne entered.

Emil Dekener's face was grim: "Did you see it?"

Jules Rochelle nodded, but remained silent for a long time before saying, "He says he has found evidence. If we have evidence, we can refute him."

Ferdinand Delaunay shook his head: "But we don't. 'Miasma' is soluble in air, and current technology cannot separate it from the air."

Emil Dekener clenched his fist: "Are we going to admit defeat?"

Jules Rochelle looked up: "Admit defeat? The miasma theory has a history of two thousand years. You think Pasteur's few petri dishes can overturn it? Impossible."

Ferdinand Delaunay asked, "So how did you respond?"

Jules Rochelle stood up: "I'm going to the lockdown zone."

Emil de Keane and Ferdinand de Lonne were both stunned.

"what?"

Jules Rochelle looked at them: "Sorel went to the blockade and gambled his life on his theory. Pasteur published his paper and gambled his reputation on his discovery."

What kind of person am I if I just sit in my office yelling at people? I want to go and see for myself what cholera really is.

"Are you crazy? That's cholera!"

“If a novelist like Sorel dares to go, why shouldn’t I, a doctor, go? I’m going to find the root of the ‘miasma’!”

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

But Jules Rochelle had not yet found anything in the air when, on February 17, Le Figaro republished Pasteur's paper.

This discovery came from the laboratory assistants who entered 17 Rue de Arles, and it was about their research on the excrement of cholera survivors.

As of the morning of February 17, we had collected nine samples from seven cholera patients and two healthy individuals.

The main findings are as follows:

First, even cholera patients who have begun to recover still have a large number of active Asian cholera spirochetes in their excrement.

Secondly, if the excrement of these recovered patients is discharged directly into the sewer without treatment, it will still pollute the water source and infect others.

Third, because the study has been conducted for a short period of time, we cannot yet determine how long this condition will last. However, it is estimated to last at least four weeks, and possibly longer.

Based on the above findings, we draw the following conclusions:
First, although recovered cholera patients are cured, they can still be a source of transmission. Their excrement, if not properly disposed of, can also lead to the spread of cholera.

Second, this explains why cholera often occurs in "intermittent outbreaks," because those who have "recovered" are still shedding the germs.

Third, therefore, the excrement of cholera survivors must be treated with the same strict disinfection procedures as the excrement of patients in the acute phase.

When Pasteur's second paper was published, Paris went completely crazy, and everyone was debating it.

"Can recovered patients still be contagious? Then what about those who are 'cured' in hospitals? Will they still be a menace after they come out?"

"Hospitals? How many people have actually been cured in hospitals? Those who survive are barely hanging on!"

"Even though Mr. Sorel's people are better, they can't just come out freely?"

"Professor Pasteur said they should be confined for at least four weeks! Their excrement also needs to be disinfected!"

"What about those people who were 'cured' at the hospital? Were they examined before they left?"

No one could answer this question, but the Paris Medical School was in no state of calm; the reputation of the entire institution was now in jeopardy.

At 8:00 a.m. on February 18, 1884, hundreds of people gathered at the intersection of Rue de Arles in Belleville.

Reporters, doctors, health officials, police officers, and ordinary citizens. In the center of the crowd stood Jules Rochelle.

Standing beside him were Emil de Keane and Fernández de Lonne. Both of them looked tense.

Not far away was an apartment building that had just been sealed off. Yellow police tape was strung up at the street corner, and several health department personnel stood there, their faces covered with medical bandages.

There is a well downstairs in the apartment building.

Jules Rochelle addressed the crowd: "Ladies and gentlemen, for the past week, Paris has been debating one thing: how exactly does cholera spread? Is it miasma or water?"
Professor Pasteur claims to have discovered the Asian cholera spirochete. He says that drinking water contaminated with this microorganism can cause cholera—but I disagree!

I believe cholera is caused by miasma, by toxic gases emitted from decaying matter, not by any microorganisms. But talk is cheap. We need evidence.

At this point, he pointed to the well: "This well is right below the sealed-off apartment building. If Pasteur was right, this well has been contaminated—"

Because of the cholera patients in the apartment building, their excrement must have seeped into the well. If the miasma theory is correct, then the well is clean—

Because cholera is not transmitted through water. Therefore, to put an end to this debate, I will risk my life to conduct an experiment.

At this point, he took a clear glass from his pocket, walked to the well, and filled a glass with murky well water.

Then, he brought the cup to his lips and drank it all in one gulp.

(Two chapters combined into one, thank you everyone, please vote with your monthly tickets! I'll add another chapter tomorrow.)

(End of this chapter)