If a writer from the 20th or 21st century heard this question, they would first widen their eyes in surprise, and then couldn't help but laugh.
Whether a writer "pities" the characters they create, and inferring from that whether they possess a "humanitarian spirit"—in the eyes of later writers, such questioning seems utterly fantastical and absurd.
But in the 19th century, extending criticism from a work's moral stance to the author's personal moral views was a perfectly normal occurrence.
Writers deemed "morally corrupt" would be prosecuted by the court; minor offenses led to fines, while serious ones could even result in imprisonment.
After Baudelaire's Les Fleurs du Mal (The Flowers of Evil) was published, he was fined three hundred francs by the court for the crime of "offending public morals" and ordered to remove six major poems from the collection.
At that time, only a very few people in French literary circles stood with Baudelaire.
Maupassant also got into a similar lawsuit—he once published a poem titled A Young Girl in The Journal of Modernity and Naturalists, the content of which was roughly:
[I am searching, searching in stories...
I am searching for a young girl.
A young girl whose body might still be free, but whose soul is already bound, tied by vows, promises, or verbal commitments.
A noble young girl, well-educated, proud, self-respecting...
The kind of young girl a man could say to her: "You are mine!"]
The entire poem contained no obscene language, but it was still deemed indecent by the Étampes court, which prepared to put Maupassant on trial.
Later, through the mediation of his teacher Flaubert, and with a group of writers leveraging their connections and public opinion, he was spared from imprisonment.
So Professor Gaston Boissier's question was indeed quite sharp, directly cutting into the core of the novel The Old Guard.
Leonard, of course, couldn't directly transplant literary theories that only emerged in the 20th century, such as "the observer," "the message itself," or "the death of the author."
That would only enrage these 19th-century scholars before him and make them judge him a madman.
Leonard did not avoid Professor Gaston Boissier's gaze, then stood up and replied:
"Respected Professor Boissier, thank you for your attention to perspective.
But on the contrary, I believe that this 'young lad's' perspective is the path to the deepest compassion.
Compassion, Professor Boissier, does not always manifest in the form of tears or cries; sometimes, it is hidden beneath an 'ignorance' shaped by the social atmosphere."
This statement caused a small stir of discussion; Hugo was clearly surprised by this insightful remark.
He had just finished reading The Old Guard and also had doubts as to whether such a masterpiece was written by this young man before him.
But Leonard's words made him believe it for the most part.
Leonard's young, clear voice echoed in the high-domed hall of the ancient building:
"The young lad, or the 'I' in the novel, is not inherently indifferent; he is a product of that tavern world, that rigidly hierarchical society.
His numbness reflects society's widespread apathy.
Therefore, I wanted him to 'see' without 'understanding,' to 'record' without 'judging.'
Only in this way can readers fill in that vast emotional void themselves—to feel, beneath the seemingly 'cold' narration, the silent cries of the Old Guard whose dignity is repeatedly trampled, and the cruelty in the laughter of the onlookers."
"Onlooker?"
After Leonard uttered this term, it immediately drew attention; even the erudite Professor Gaston Boissier paused for a moment and began unconsciously pondering the implications of the term.
For a moment, he couldn't find, in the magnificent world of French literature or even the entire European literary world, a more accurate or profound corresponding work or archetype.
But this does not mean that "onlookers" do not exist—on the contrary, "they" are universally present among the French people; "they" are not a specific individual, but an attitude of detached observation, coldness, and numbness towards life's tragedies.
Most writers in France and other European countries were immersed in grand narratives and had never brought such people onto the literary stage.
Leonard, however, had achieved this in his The Old Guard—at this moment, Professor Gaston Boissier's doubts about Leonard had largely disappeared.
If he were not the creator of the work, it would be impossible to answer this question so comprehensively.
But Leonard's answer was not finished:
"This 'dehumanized' presentation, in itself, is the greatest indictment of a society that devours humanity and forgets its heroes.
The object of my compassion is not just the Old Guard, but even more so, the spiritual wasteland stemming from the entire society, which has rendered the 'I' in the novel numb.
Shouldn't literary humanism rather reveal the cruelty of this 'collective unconscious' than merely offering a cheap, sensationalized sympathetic perspective?"
"Collective unconscious?"
Professor Gaston Boissier once again fell into contemplation of this term, feeling his brain was about to boil.
Then he discovered that this term, like "onlooker," extremely precisely depicted, from a psychological level, people's behavior in social environments, expressing emotions by unthinkingly following the crowd.
This was also a field that French or European literature had not previously touched upon—"Naturalism" attributed all human psychological and behavioral motivations to the influence of hereditary diseases; Zola even planned to write a Rougon-Macquart series to interpret this philosophy.
To some extent, most of the Sorbonne professors, including Gaston Boissier and Hippolyte Taine, were adherents of "Naturalism."
This was related to the overall social introspection after France's crushing defeat in the Franco-Prussian War of 1871—French people generally believed that the defeat was due to French social culture not being "scientific" enough, being too "emotional," and too devoted to "art."
Simply put, it was felt that France had too many "humanities students"!
So French society launched a vigorous "speak science, understand STEM" movement; many renowned literary figures and artists were expelled from university campuses, and the Sorbonne even considered, at one point, whether to close its Faculty of Arts.
In this atmosphere, whether it was literature, painting, or music, all began to seek their "scientific basis," and "Naturalism," based on pathology, genetics, and psychology, became everyone's lifeline.
But the "collective unconscious" from Leonard's mouth was like magic, gently shaking the tower of "Naturalism" in the hearts of Gaston Boissier and the other professors present.
The Old Guard was too refined and brief, not enough for them to fully grasp the profoundness of "onlookers" and "collective unconscious" both overtly and covertly, but it had already caused no small shock in their hearts.
Just the offense and defense of a single question made Professor Gaston Boissier feel that this inquiry was no longer a test for Leonard Sorel, but had become an opportunity for this young man to leap onto the historical stage.
Leonard was also secretly smiling inwardly; Mr. Lu Xun's "onlookers" and Jung's "collective unconscious" were terms he had carefully selected, both originating in the early 20th century.
These late 19th-century scholars, even if they couldn't precisely understand their full implications, could feel their impact.
This one answer contained fifty years of literary and psychological development—can you handle it?
Just as the atmosphere gradually grew subtle, Professor Paul Janet, sitting to Hugo's left, spoke up:
"Mr. Sorel, you are the young man most adept at coining 'new terms' I have ever met.
But let's talk about structure.
This novel has almost no 'plot' in the traditional sense.
It consists of a series of fragmented scenes: the Old Guard appearing, being mocked, interacting with a child, talking about the past, and finally tragically breaking his leg and dying silently.
There are no explosive points of intense conflict, no dramatic climax, seemingly lacking novelistic tension.
How do you explain this narrative approach, which seems to violate the dramatic principles since Aristotle?
Is it merely a technical laziness or a failed experiment?"
(End of this chapter)
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