The International Electrical Exposition of September 1881 was destined to go down in history.
It not only showcased humanity's ambition to tame electricity but also became a stage where two eras and two ideologies intertwined.
Thomas Edison's carefully prepared "Tower of Light" was indeed a magnificent feat, but its prominence only lasted less than two days.
When "Sorel-Tesla Electric" unveiled its "Miniature Paris," the scales of victory shifted.
The public who came to see "Miniature Paris" quickly formed a new craze, and its grandeur swiftly overshadowed the "Tower of Light."
People were captivated by the breathing, glowing miniature world, and even more impressed by the concept of "long-distance power supply" it represented.
Media reports also diverged.
Newspapers with a strong technical leaning, such as Le Figaro, began to extensively introduce the principles of alternating current, discuss its superiority in long-distance transmission, and praise Tesla as "an engineer from the future."
Conservative newspapers like Le Gaulois, however, continued to defend Edison and the "stable maturity" of direct current, questioning the "safety" and "complexity" of alternating current.
A debate about "which is better, AC or DC" spread from the Palais de l'Industrie to salons and newspaper columns throughout Paris, becoming the most fashionable technical topic that autumn.
But in the eye of this storm of public opinion, Lionel quietly took a step back.
He left the stage entirely to Nikola Tesla and their technical team.
He knew that technical arguments needed to be proven by technology itself, and his battlefield should move back to his study.
In the apartment study at 117 Boulevard Saint-Germain, Lionel and Maupassant sat opposite each other across a desk piled with manuscripts, the air filled with the scent of coffee and cigar smoke.
Before them was the final act of the nearly completed script for "The Cafe."
Lionel typed the last character, then removed the manuscript from the typewriter and carefully checked it.
After finding no problems, he rubbed his slightly throbbing temples and handed the manuscript to Maupassant:
"Alright, Guy, I've put a period on this 'comedy'! It's time for our three old friends to give a final summary for themselves and for that era."
Maupassant took a deep breath, his usual playfulness gone, replaced by a deep solemnity.
He nodded, carefully reading Lionel's manuscript—
[On stage, the interior of the cafe is dilapidated. Several window panes are broken, crudely patched with old newspapers.
The tables and chairs are old, broken, and more than half are missing, scattered emptily.
The oil paintings that once adorned the walls are long gone, leaving only marks of varying shades.
Dust accumulates in the corners, and the air seems to be filled with a sense of decay.
Pierre, the cafe owner, has aged. His hair is gray, his back slightly hunched, and he wears a faded old coat.
He holds a dirty rag, idly wiping the bar with slow movements.
The brass bell on the door emits a dull sound. Viscount de Saint-Cyr enters. His once elegant silk coat is now worn out, but he still tries his best to maintain an upright posture. He leans on an old cane.
Immediately after, Lefebvre also enters. He is equally aged, with a haggard face, looking tired and downcast, his clothes full of wrinkles.
Pierre (looking up): "Who? Oh, it's the two gentlemen. Please, make yourselves at home."
Viscount de Saint-Cyr (looking around): "This place, it's old too."
Lefebvre (sighing, sitting down): "Everything is old, Viscount, everything has changed."
Pierre (shuffling to bring two cups of coffee): "There's nothing good left to offer, only this. Viscount, Mr. Lefebvre."
Saint-Cyr (looking at the coffee, with a bitter smile): "Can this be called coffee? Pierre, your skill has declined too."
Pierre: "What can I do? Good coffee beans are terribly expensive, and taxes are heavy... Just make do with it, at least it's hot."
(A silence falls, neither of them touches the "coffee" in front of them.)
Lefebvre (suddenly speaking): "Pierre, I, I went to see my old factory."
Pierre (startled): "Wasn't it confiscated long ago? Has it been returned to you now? That's truly something to be happy about!"
Lefebvre (a smile uglier than a cry appears on his face): "Returned? Torn down!"
Pierre, Saint-Cyr (almost simultaneously): "Torn down?"
Lefebvre: "Torn down! Over ten years of my life's work... torn down! Others may not know, Pierre, but you know—
Ever since the time of His Majesty Napoleon, I believed that strong industry alone could forge the future of France!
Now, the monarchy is back, but my factory has become 'confiscated property,' divided and resold by those gentlemen...
And the result? They don't understand how to operate at all! Millions of francs worth of machinery, sold as scrap iron, just to gild their estates.
In the whole world, can you find such a farce? I ask you!"
Pierre: "Back then, my business was thriving, and you insisted I invest in your factory. See, my meager savings... all gone!
Back then, I urged you not to stake all your assets, but you insisted it was the future of France!"
Saint-Cyr (sighing with emotion): "Remember? Back then, I helped that female worker who was bullied by noble youths, and you even called me 'the hypocrisy of the old era'."
Lefebvre (muttering to himself): "Now I understand—Pierre, I have a favor to ask you."
Lefebvre (he tremblingly pulls out an old quill pen with a cracked shaft from his pocket): "The factory is razed, only this pen remains.
This pen... how many orders did I sign with it, how many proposals did I write... I'll give them to you.
Later, when you have nothing to do, you can tell the customers who come for coffee as a joke, just say—
There was once a Lefebvre, who didn't know his place, deluded into thinking he could revitalize France with a factory;
He spent half his life, and in the end, only picked up this piece of junk from the factory's ruins!
You should advise everyone that once they have wealth, they should eat, drink, and be merry, and go with the flow—
But whatever you do, don't do anything foolish like 'revitalizing French industry'!
Tell them that Lefebvre only understood this truth at sixty! He was a born fool!"
Pierre (doesn't take it, shakes his head): "You keep it... My place here is closing soon too."
Saint-Cyr (startled): "Closing? Moving where?"
Pierre: "What's the difference! Mr. Lefebvre, Viscount, I am not like you two—
Mr. Lefebvre, you once had so much wealth, and almost became a member of parliament, but in the end, you were treated like a ripe fruit that anyone could pick a few from!
Viscount, you, throughout your life, upheld the dignity and integrity of a nobleman, refusing to bow down, and in the end, not even the Bourbon spies spared you!
And me? I've been an honest man all my life, not wanting to get involved in politics, greeting everyone warmly, not wanting to offend anyone.
I only wished for my family to be safe and sound, to have enough to eat, and for my children to succeed!
But then the Revolution came, my eldest son got involved and disappeared... The Empire came, fighting all of Europe, taxes doubled, my wife fell ill from exhaustion, and there was no money to treat her...
Finally, the Bourbons returned, and I thought we would have a few peaceful days, right?
Haha, haha, haha! Who would have thought that in France, even being an honest man is so difficult!"
Saint-Cyr: "I'm no better off than you, Pierre."
(He straightened his back, but his shoulders ultimately sagged.)
"I upheld noble honor, loyal to the King, believing I never betrayed my vows and faith. But what was the result?
My family property was scattered by successive revolutions, my title became an empty shell, I couldn't even gather enough money for my daughter's dowry...
I yearned, I yearned, only for France to return to order and glory, no longer to fall into chaos and bloodshed.
But, haha! Seeing old friends either go to the guillotine or die in poverty and sickness in exile...
I've cried all my tears dry!
The old Count, my dueling second back then, died without even a decent grave. I had to swallow my pride and beg for a coffin... At least he had a friend like me. What about me?
I love our France! But who loves me?
Who needs an old relic like me now? Look, passing Notre Dame, I picked her up from the ground.
Now even she can't protect herself..."
(Saint-Cyr pulls out a small wooden Madonna statue, but one of the Madonna's hands has been broken off.)
Lefebvre (looking at the Madonna statue in Saint-Cyr's hand, suddenly stands up): "Viscount! Pierre! Come, let's confess ourselves! The three of us old guys, let's face her!"
(Lefebvre places the Madonna statue on the counter. The three of them face the statue and make the sign of the cross over their chests.)
Pierre: "I confess—all my life, I only thought of compromising and living peacefully—I am guilty."
Lefebvre: "I confess—I actually believed in ideals, betting everything on the emperor and the future—I am guilty."
Viscount de Saint-Cyr: "I confess—I dedicated loyalty and honor to an unworthy monarch and era—I am guilty."
(After confessing, the three fall into a deadly silence. In the dim light, the Madonna's compassionate face silently gazes at these three people abandoned by their era.)
Viscount de Saint-Cyr (struggling to stand up): "I... have nothing more to say. Goodbye."
(He lets go, shuffles out, and pushes open the door without looking back, disappearing into the twilight of Paris's late autumn.)
Lefebvre (picks up the cold "coffee" from the table and drinks it in one gulp, as if drinking the bitter wine of fate): "One more cup of your coffee... Goodbye!"
(He turns sharply, stumbles, and rushes out of the cafe without looking back.)
Pierre (looking at his disappearing back, bewildered): "Goodbye!"
(He stands alone in the center of the empty cafe, looking at the Madonna statue on the counter, then surveying the place that consumed his entire life, in a voice so low it's almost inaudible): "Goodbye..."
[Curtain falls]
Maupassant let out a long breath, as if he had just personally experienced a baptism of the soul.
He looked at Lionel, his eyes complex:
"Lion, you are too cruel. You made the audience laugh for two acts, but in this last act, you made them taste all the bitterness.
'I love our France! But who loves me?' My God, how long has it been since I saw such a sharp question in a play?
Lion, is this play really going to premiere on Christmas?"
Fun fact: The first International Electrical Exposition in Paris and Edison's display of a 27-ton generator and 1200 light bulbs at it are historical facts. He later won 5 gold medals at this exposition.
(End of Chapter)