University education in the 19th century was fundamentally different from that in the 21st century.
Even in Paris, renowned for its progress, openness, and freedom, universities here focused on cultivating national elites—officials, scholars, professionals—whose core mission was to serve the nation or the construction of the French nation.
Professors primarily imparted knowledge based on classical systems, single-handedly indoctrinating students with so-called "absolute truths."
Critical thinking was by no means encouraged here, nor was there any concept of a "flipped classroom"—unless you wanted to be expelled and then considered a lunatic by everyone.
Especially in humanities universities, students were still predominantly young people from privileged families of old nobility, merchants, and bureaucrats.
Students like Lionel, who came from a provincial clerk's family, while not exactly rare, were certainly not mainstream.
In most people's eyes, he should have attended an "accounting school," a "road and bridge college," or a "mining school," rather than sitting in this seminary, a legacy from the Richelieu era (1624-1642), studying knowledge that touched the human soul.
The disparity in family background was most directly reflected in the university classroom not by wearing luxurious clothes or expensive perfume, but by the accumulation of reading.
Even in the latter half of the 19th century, when book prices had become very cheap, only a few families could afford to maintain a private library.
When well-off students casually quoted lines from slightly "obscure" works, they were, in effect, silently excluding their commoner classmates from their circle.
Although public reading rooms were plentiful in Paris, they only contained newspapers and novels for entertainment.
Collections of plays by Jean Racine, for example, could only be borrowed from a few libraries.
After all, Jean Racine was not a household name like Victor Hugo, Balzac, or Flaubert among Parisians; he had been dead for nearly 200 years.
And plays, unlike novels, were only read by a few professionals, aside from directors and actors.
In class, if a professor mentioned a classic work—like Phèdre—commoner students would silently note down the title and then try to borrow it from the library.
The opportunity to converse with the professor about the specific content of the work belonged only to wealthy students who had received a good home education from an early age.
Professor Hippolyte Taine evidently intended to make Lionel, who was late, suffer a bit.
He stared at the student before him with a critical gaze, waiting to hear an "Excuse me, Professor, I haven't read Phèdre..."
But he would never have imagined that inside the familiar young student's body was a soul who, 140 years later, would teach "Selected Foreign Literary Works" and "Literary Theory" in the Chinese Department of Yenching University...
Lionel looked up, met Professor Taine's gaze in silence, then stood up, his tone calm as water:
"Racine's Phèdre is a play that strictly adheres to the 'three unities' advocated by Boileau.
The story has a single plotline, the action is concentrated in one location, and the time span is within one day..."
Albert burst out laughing, interrupting Lionel:
"Mr. Sorel is truly brilliant; his rhetoric could apply to any of Racine's plays..."
The classroom erupted in laughter.
Everyone believed Lionel was using wordplay to avoid analyzing the specific content of Phèdre, and Professor Hippolyte Taine was no exception.
He frowned, waving his hand to silence the laughter in the classroom:
"Lionel, I once thought honesty and simplicity were your good qualities..."
Lionel did not panic, his voice still calm:
"Professor, I haven't finished yet."
Professor Hippolyte Taine nodded helplessly, indicating that he could continue—he even somewhat regretted asking a question to this poor young man from the 11th arrondissement.
However, this emotion lasted only a few seconds before being drowned out by Lionel's eloquent narration:
"In Phèdre, Phèdre's incestuous love for Hippolytus is the single, highest-level plotline, with all secondary actions serving this main thread, conforming to the 'unity of action';
The entire play unfolds in the forecourt of the Palace of Trézène, where the columns and stone steps symbolize a cage, metaphorically imprisoning the characters by fate, conforming to the 'unity of place';
The entire plot occurs from the news of Theseus's 'death' until dusk after his return, spanning less than 18 hours, conforming to the 'unity of time'.
Professor, that is the answer to the first question.
Do you think it is acceptable?"
The clear, concise, and focused answer plunged the scene into a long silence.
Professor Hippolyte Taine put away his disdainful gaze and began to re-examine the young man before him with thick black hair and a pair of blue eyes.
Perhaps it was just a coincidence?
Although Jean Racine's works were difficult to borrow, he was, after all, a great dramatist who influenced all French theater, so it wouldn't be surprising if Lionel had stumbled upon a script or performance.
However, to answer this question so accurately under such hasty circumstances,
Professor Hippolyte Taine nodded again, without changing his expression—though this time with a hint of encouragement—indicating that he had no objection to Lionel's answer and that he could continue.
The next question was even more difficult, arguably completely exceeding what a university student could improvise in class; there was no shame in not being able to answer it.
Professor Hippolyte Taine had essentially forgiven Lionel's tardiness.
Lionel remained equally composed, his voice unwavering, showing no trace of joy at being affirmed:
"The unity of time requires the plot to unfold within twenty-four hours.
Racine masterfully arranges the plot—the news of Theseus's 'death', the eruption of Phèdre's repressed feelings for Hippolytus, Theseus's unexpected return, the revelation of the truth, and the ultimate tragedy—all these critical turning points are compressed into the brief period from morning to dusk.
This high concentration of time is not merely to adhere to the rules, but to intensely amplify the dramatic tension and the characters' psychological pressure.
Imagine Phèdre's lust, jealousy, fear, and despair, erupting and colliding like a lit fuse on a bomb within a single day, ultimately leading to irreversible destruction.
Time, here, is not a constraint but a catalyst that accelerates the tragic process and highlights the abyss of human nature.
Character conflicts are like gunpowder; the same amount, scattered on the ground, will only burn for a moment; but packed into a confined space, it can cause an explosion.
Racine's greatness lies precisely in his ability to unleash such powerful and moving emotional force within the framework of classicism.
Professor, I have answered both questions."
With that, he sat down without waiting for Professor Hippolyte Taine's consent.
The classroom was deathly silent.
If reading Phèdre wasn't unusual, then analyzing it to such a profound degree completely exceeded everyone's expectations.
Seeing that Lionel had not made a fool of himself, Albert de Rohan's face turned ashen with rage, like a corpse just pulled from the water; his cronies were silent as mice, daring not to breathe.
Professor Hippolyte Taine was first shocked, then puzzled, and then appreciative.
However, he did not praise Lionel, merely saying lightly:
"Well answered, Mr. Sorel. I hope that in the future, your arrival time in class will be as accurate as your answers."
Then he continued his lecture:
"...Jean Racine is the great master of French classical theater, but why do we appreciate Molière more..."
Finally, noon arrived, and when the bell for class dismissal rang, everyone stood up and bowed to Professor Hippolyte Taine.
It was only when the professor's back disappeared down the corridor that everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
In an era where teachers held absolute authority, and Hippolyte Taine was a supreme academician of the Académie française, the pressure his class exerted on students was self-evident.
To answer his questions with such composure and calmness, as Lionel did today, instead of trembling and being on high alert, was unprecedented.
Therefore, the shock Lionel brought to his classmates today was not only due to his surgically precise answers but also his confident, neither humble nor arrogant demeanor, which was usually considered a social grace possessed only by gentlemen of extremely noble birth.
Students still remembered that before the Christmas holiday, Lionel was a timid Alpine country bumpkin who only dared to huddle in a corner.
Some were already whispering, wondering if Lionel had inherited a large fortune or a noble title from somewhere.
In their minds, only money and power could bring about such a significant change in a person.
As for why he was so familiar with the "three unities" and Phèdre, hardly anyone cared.
And why Lionel was still wearing an old coat with worn elbows and taking a public carriage to the academy was intentionally or unintentionally overlooked—perhaps he just hadn't had time to complete the acceptance procedures yet?
As the center of attention, Lionel only wanted to leave the classroom quickly and get some fresh air.
The main building of the Sorbonne University was the original Sorbonne Theological College, over 200 years old.
Its lighting and ventilation were not as good as the Haussmann buildings of today, requiring lamps even during the day to supplement light.
After a morning of classes, it was already filled with various unpleasant smells—young men's hormones, different perfumes, and the scent of gas lamps—making it suffocating.
Lionel glanced at Albert, who was still looking at him with resentful, bewildered eyes, and sneered inwardly.
He packed his notes and rushed out of the classroom impatiently.
The most pressing issue now was to fill his empty stomach.
Lionel held a piece of bread warmed by his body, with a thin slice of bacon inside.
If he could find a cafe and spend 10 centimes on a hot cup of coffee, he could put together a decent lunch.
Just then, a clear voice came from behind him:
"Lionel Sorel, isn't it?"
Lionel turned around to find a young man a few years older than himself, not tall but well-built and sharply defined.
He had thick, neatly trimmed dark brown hair and a bushy handlebar mustache that extended to his cheeks—which was the fashion of the day.
His expression was rather arrogant, but he was trying his best to appear friendly to Lionel.
Lionel was a little confused:
"I am... And you are?"
The young man extended his hand to Lionel:
"My name is Guy de Maupassant. If you'd permit, I'd like to invite you to lunch!"
(End of this chapter)
---------------------
Support me on P@treon
[email protected]/charaz
3$ -> 20 chapters in advance
5$ -> 50 chapters in advance
10$ -> 100 chapters in advance
20$ -> All availabe chapters
Check my pinned post on P@treon