Chapter 2: An Unexpected Invitation

University education in the 19th century was vastly different from that of the 21st century.

Even in Paris, a city renowned for progress, openness, and freedom, universities focused primarily on cultivating the nation’s elite—officials, scholars, and professionals—to serve the state and the French nation’s development.

Professors imparted knowledge based on classical systems, delivering so-called “absolute truths” in a one-way transmission to their students.

Critical thinking was never encouraged, and there was no such thing as a “flipped classroom”—unless one wished to be expelled and regarded as a lunatic by all.

Especially within the humanities, students predominantly came from privileged backgrounds such as old nobility, merchants, and bureaucratic families. Students like Léonard, born into a modest provincial clerk’s household, were not exactly unheard of but certainly far from the norm.

Most people believed he ought to be enrolled in an accounting school, a bridge and road institute, or a mining academy—not sitting in this seminary, whose origins traced back to the Richelieu era (1624–1642), studying knowledge that touched the human soul.

The stark contrast in family background was most plainly reflected not in the fineness of one’s clothing or the scent of expensive perfume, but in the accumulation of reading.

Even in the latter half of the 19th century, when books had become relatively affordable, few families could afford to maintain a personal library.

When affluent students casually quoted obscure passages from rare works, they effectively excluded their working-class classmates from the circle.

While public reading rooms were abundant throughout Paris, they mainly stocked newspapers and light novels for amusement. Collections of Jean Racine’s plays, for instance, were only available in a handful of libraries.

After all, Racine was not Victor Hugo, Balzac, or Flaubert—writers familiar to most Parisians—and he had been dead for nearly two centuries. Plays, unlike novels, were read only by directors, actors, and a few professionals.

In class, if a professor mentioned a classic work—say, “Phèdre”—the working-class students’ task was to quietly note the title and try to borrow it from the library.

Only the wealthy, who had received excellent family education from childhood, had the chance to discuss the specific content of such works with the professors.

Professor Hippolyte Tenaud clearly intended to give the late-arriving Léonard a hard time. He fixed the student with a scrutinizing gaze, waiting to hear the words, “Sorry, Professor, I haven’t read ‘Phèdre’…”

Yet he could never have imagined that beneath the familiar young student’s exterior dwelled the soul of a man who would, over 140 years later, teach at Yenching University’s Chinese department in China, instructing courses like “Selected Foreign Literary Works” and “Literary Theory.”

Léonard lifted his head and exchanged a silent glance with Professor Tenaud before standing and speaking with a calm, even tone: “Racine’s ‘Phèdre’ is a play that strictly adheres to the ‘three unities’ advocated by Boileau.

The story follows a single plot line, set in one location, with the action taking place within a single day…”

Albert abruptly burst out laughing, interrupting Léonard: “Mr. Sorel is brilliant—this explanation fits any of Racine’s plays…”

Laughter erupted throughout the classroom.

Everyone assumed Léonard was using rhetorical trickery to evade a detailed analysis of “Phèdre,” including Professor Tenaud.

Frowning, he waved to silence the laughter: “Léonard, I once thought honesty and simplicity were your virtues…”

Léonard remained composed, his voice steady: “Professor, I haven’t finished yet.”

With a resigned nod, Professor Tenaud gestured for him to continue—perhaps even regretting having asked a question of this poor young man from the 11th arrondissement.

But that fleeting thought was soon drowned out by Léonard’s fluent explanation:

“In ‘Phèdre,’ Phèdre’s illicit love for Hippolytus forms the singular, paramount thread, with all secondary actions serving this main line, fulfilling the ‘unity of action.’

The entire play unfolds in the forecourt of King Theseus’s palace, where columns and stone steps symbolize a cage, metaphorically imprisoning the characters in fate, thus observing the ‘unity of place.’

The plot spans from the announcement of Theseus’s supposed death to his return at dusk, lasting less than eighteen hours, satisfying the ‘unity of time.’

Professor, this is the answer to the first question. Do you find it satisfactory?”

The clear, concise, and focused response plunged the room into prolonged silence. Professor Tenaud withdrew his previously disdainful gaze and began reassessing the young man with thick black hair and striking blue eyes before him.

Perhaps it was mere coincidence. Though Racine’s works were hard to borrow, he was, after all, a monumental figure in French drama. It was not impossible that Léonard had encountered the script or a performance by chance.

Yet to answer so accurately under such pressure…

Professor Tenaud nodded again, this time with encouragement, signaling Léonard could proceed. He had no objections to the young man’s answer.

The next question was more difficult—beyond what a university student could be expected to improvise in class—and it was not shameful to fail.

By now, Professor Tenaud had largely forgiven Léonard’s tardiness.

Léonard remained unshaken, his voice calm and emotionless, betraying no sign of pleasure at the professor’s approval: “The unity of time requires the plot to occur within twenty-four hours.

Racine skillfully arranges the events—the news of Theseus’s ‘death,’ Phèdre’s suppressed passion erupting toward Hippolytus, Theseus’s unexpected return, the revelation of truth, and the final tragedy—all compressed into the brief span from morning to dusk.

This intense concentration of time is not merely to comply with the rule but to intensify the dramatic tension and the psychological pressure on the characters.

Imagine Phèdre’s desire, jealousy, fear, and despair erupting like a lit fuse within a single day, culminating in irreversible destruction.

Here, time is not a constraint but a catalyst accelerating the tragic process and highlighting the abyss of human nature. The characters’ conflicts are like gunpowder: scattered on the ground, it burns briefly; confined in a limited space, it triggers an explosion.

Racine’s greatness lies precisely in his ability to unleash such overwhelming emotional power within the classical framework.

Professor, I have answered both questions.”

Without waiting for agreement, he sat down.

The classroom fell into a deathly silence.

If having read “Phèdre” was not extraordinary, analyzing it to such depth was entirely unexpected by all.

Albert de Royan’s face drained of color, looking as pale as a drowned corpse; his followers fell silent, barely daring to breathe.

Professor Tenaud was first shocked, then puzzled, and finally appreciative.

Yet he offered no praise, merely remarking calmly, “Well answered, Mr. Sorel. I hope your punctuality in arriving at class will be as precise as your answers.”

He then resumed his lecture: “… Jean Racine is the consummate master of French classical drama, but why do we admire Molière even more…”

At last, noon arrived; the bell rang, and everyone rose to salute Professor Tenaud. Only after his silhouette vanished down the corridor did the students finally exhale in relief.

In an era when teachers wielded absolute authority, and Hippolyte Tenaud was a supreme member of the French Academy, the pressure his classes exerted on students was unmistakable.

For someone like Léonard to answer his questions so calmly and confidently, without trembling in fear, was unprecedented.

Thus, the shock Léonard brought to his classmates was not only due to his surgically precise answers but also his dignified, unassuming demeanor—an attitude usually reserved for gentlemen of the highest birth.

Students still remembered that before the Christmas holidays, Léonard had been a meek, timid young man from the Alpine countryside, cowering in a corner.

Whispers began circulating: Had Léonard inherited a vast fortune? Or acquired a noble title?

In their minds, only wealth and power could explain such a transformation.

No one cared why he was so familiar with the “three unities” or “Phèdre.”

Nor did anyone deliberately notice that Léonard still wore an old jacket worn thin at the elbows and took the public horse-drawn carriage to the academy—perhaps he simply hadn’t completed the enrollment procedures yet.

As the center of attention, Léonard only wished to leave the classroom quickly and breathe some fresh air.

The main building of the Sorbonne was the former Sorbonne Seminary, with a history of two centuries. Its lighting and ventilation were inferior to the contemporary Haussmann architecture, requiring lamps even during the day.

After a morning of classes, the air was thick with unpleasant odors—the musk of young men’s hormones, various perfumes, and the scent of gas lamps—almost suffocating.

Léonard glanced at Albert, who was still glaring at him with hatred and disbelief, and sneered inwardly. Gathering his notes, he hurried out of the classroom.

His immediate concern was to fill his empty stomach.

Léonard had a piece of bread warmed by his body heat in his arms, with a thin slice of salty meat tucked inside.

Finding a café where he could spend ten sous on a steaming cup of coffee would make for an acceptable lunch.

At that moment, a clear voice called from behind him: “Are you Léonard Sorel?”

Turning around, Léonard saw a young man slightly older than himself. Though short in stature, he was sturdy and well-defined, with neatly trimmed, thick dark brown hair and a prominent mustache extending to his cheeks—the current fashion.

His expression was somewhat arrogant but he made an effort to appear friendly toward Léonard.

Léonard, puzzled, asked, “I am… Who might you be?”

The young man extended his hand: “My name is Guy de Maupassant. If you don’t mind, I would like to invite you to lunch!”