Few people in France at that time introduced themselves with their full names.
It was like Lionel, when introducing himself, would only say "My name is Lionel Sorel," not "My name is Lionel Joseph Étienne Sorel."
However, this surname caught Lionel's attention.
He asked with some curiosity,
"Are you and Mr. Jules Verne...?"
Hearing this question, Michel Verne did not answer, but instead snorted disdainfully and turned his head away.
But Albert proudly introduced him,
"Michel is Mr. Verne's only son, and he will soon be our classmate.
Mr. Verne thinks we Sorbonne..."
Michel Verne interrupted Albert,
"Stop talking about that old scoundrel who's obsessed with money!
I don't care where he wants me to go!
He makes me come to Paris but only gives me 300 francs a month, he just wants me to starve to death in Paris!"
Lionel: "..."
300 francs in Paris was enough to support a large family, living in a nice apartment, with a maid from Brittany to serve them.
However, it seemed Mr. Jules Verne and his only son had a strained relationship.
300 francs a month was a huge sum for ordinary people, but for him, it was a drop in the ocean.
Jules Verne, through the connection with Alexandre Dumas fils, became a disciple of Alexandre Dumas père, and successfully entered the literary circle with his "master's" patronage.
So his creative philosophy entirely came from Alexandre Dumas père—in Dumas père's eyes, "What is history? It's just a nail for me to hang my novels on!"—and for Verne, it could be summarized as "What is science? It's just a nail for me to hang my novels on!"
In any case, his writing was very successful.
In 1863, he signed a twenty-year contract with the famous publisher, Hetzell's Publishing House.
As long as he provided three books to Hetzell's Publishing House each year, Hetzell's Publishing House would pay him 500 francs a month.
And this sum increased tenfold compared to the original contract as Jules Verne's fame and sales soared.
By the 1870s, Jules Verne's novel sales were already catching up to his mentor Alexandre Dumas père, making him one of the most beloved novelists among the French people, and certainly one of the wealthiest writers.
It seems that how to educate children is a common heartache for famous people throughout history?
Lionel thought to himself, since you are not your father, you're just a rich second generation, so he didn't press further, but instead directly asked Albert,
"Are you ready?"
Albert gave a strange "hehe" laugh, took the lead, and led everyone into the narrow "Rue de l'Enfer" (Hell Street).
"Rue de l'Enfer" first formed in the 13th century, evolving from fortifications built during King Philip Augustus's era.
It bravely survived numerous wars, fires, and even the large-scale land requisition of the 1860s, existing stubbornly until today.
It was also one of the few streets in Paris still primarily made of wooden buildings.
The outer walls of many buildings were dark and black, unable to be lit by lights, which further added to the oppressive feeling.
Many playful Parisian students had probably been here to satisfy their "adventurous desires," but coming so late was a first for everyone.
The group walked one after another, like a glowing centipede, through "Rue de l'Enfer."
Many people doing transactions late at night, upon seeing them, either covered themselves with cloaks or pulled down their hat brims and turned up their collars.
Not long after entering the alley, Albert stopped beneath a window.
He reached out and knocked on the glass, and the window quickly opened, revealing a pale, dry hand.
Albert slipped a 10-sou coin into the hand and asked,
"We want to go 'down the well' to have a look."
The pale, dry hand retracted, and soon a note was handed out, accompanied by a hoarse, gender-indistinguishable voice:
"Take the note to number 109.
Knock twice slowly, then after a few seconds, knock three times quickly."
Following the instructions, Albert led the group forward for a few more minutes, finally spotting a narrow door with the number "109" on it.
Albert knocked on the door as instructed.
Soon, a small window on the narrow door opened, and Albert handed in the note. After about half a minute, the narrow door finally opened completely.
A gaunt, short man, resembling a goblin, looked up at Albert, Lionel, and the others, revealing a lewd smile:
"Students?"
Before Albert and the others could react, he stepped aside:
"Come in.
As long as you're not police, it doesn't matter who you are."
Lionel took a deep breath and followed Albert and the others through the narrow door.
Unexpectedly, the space inside was not small, just empty, without any furniture.
Gas lamps lit the walls.
Although the brightness was mediocre, it was no longer as gloomy and terrifying as outside.
The "goblin" extended his hand:
"Going 'down the well' is 2 francs per person; if you need a guide, it's 4 francs per hour; the 'wellhead' will be open for you for 1 hour.
If you don't return after 1 hour, you'll have to wait for the next guest, or pay an additional 2 francs per person; if you don't want a guide, we are not responsible for getting lost or any accidents."
Albert looked back at Lionel, who shrugged:
"I don't care, but I'm certainly not paying these 2 francs."
Albert choked for a moment, then wordlessly turned back to the "goblin," pulled out 12 francs, and handed them over:
"We don't need a guide."
The "goblin" took the money, nodded, then retrieved a crowbar from a corner of the room.
He pried at the edge of a broken floorboard, and a dark opening appeared.
The "goblin" then dragged over a ladder, lowered it into the opening, and instructed:
"Below, there are only three main tunnels.
No matter how far you go, as long as you follow the widest path, you will surely return here.
Of course, if you encounter something else, then I can't guarantee if you'll come back..."
He then started to laugh sinisterly.
Albert felt a little unnerved by the laugh and was about to say something when he saw Lionel already climbing down the ladder first.
He could only close his mouth, bite the bullet, and follow him down.
The vertical shaft wasn't very high, only about 5 meters.
They quickly reached the bottom, where it was pitch black, with not a trace of light except for the gas lamps in their hands.
The air within the catacombs immediately seized them.
It wasn't the coolness of the surface, but a viscous, icy, deathly stillness, carrying ancient dust and an indescribable decaying sweet-stench.
Albert was the last to touch solid ground.
The ladder was swiftly pulled up by the "goblin" above, and the last faint light from the surface was completely swallowed, as if the tomb door had slammed shut above their heads.
Absolute darkness, thick and impenetrable, like cold grease coating everyone's eyes and nostrils.
Only their own heavy, tense breathing echoed in the narrow shaft bottom, sounding exceptionally harsh and helpless.
"Light! Quick!"
Albert's voice, with an imperceptible tremor, sounded exceptionally abrupt in the absolute darkness.
The others quickly brought their gas lamps together and raised them high, finally illuminating their surroundings—they stood at the entrance of a low-arched tunnel, barely wide enough for two people to walk abreast.
The walls and ceiling of the tunnel were not made of earth or masonry at all, but of dense, layered, endless human bones.
Femurs were neatly stacked like firewood to form the wall base; tibias, fibulas, and arm bones crisscrossed, filling the gaps; and what sent chills down their spines and made their souls tremble were the countless skulls embedded in the bone walls, like wallpaper from hell.
Tens of thousands, boundless.
Albert and his followers were not new to the catacombs; some of them had even been "subdued" by Albert in this very way.
But at 10 PM, in a private shaft, without a guide... this was a first for everyone.
Seeing the scene before them, they couldn't help but swallow.
The sound of their Adam's apples bobbing seemed exceptionally harsh at this moment.
Suddenly, Michel Verne's voice rang out:
"Then, where, where did Lionel go?"
(End of chapter)
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