TL: "Ronaldo" its mistranslation from the story, Chen jitong mistranslate Lionel name to Ronaldo.
Lionel held two letters in his hand: one was slightly thicker, with a rough envelope, sent by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov from Moscow University;
The other was slightly thinner but more exquisite, with the sender's address being Greenwich in Greater London, and signed "Yen Fou".
Lionel hesitated for a moment and first picked up the letter from Moscow.
Tearing open the envelope, inside were several pages of densely written letter paper.
The handwriting was slightly messy but full of power, and it was in French.
Tucked between the letter pages was another stack of rougher paper, with a different handwriting—seemingly a draft of a novel.
He took a deep breath and began to read Chekhov's letter.
[Dear Mr. Lionel Sorel, my mentor:
Please allow me to address you this way again.
Although you have repeatedly humbly refused, in my heart, your enlightenment of my thought and literature far surpasses any nominal teacher.
I have safely returned to Moscow, and thanks to your generous funding, the journey was very smooth.
When my family saw me return, surprise far outweighed anger, especially when I handed the remaining money to my mother...
Father's scolding also seemed to lose some of its conviction. You were right, bread sometimes solves problems more effectively than slogans.
...
I have enrolled in the Faculty of Medicine at Moscow University. Before picking up a pen, I will first learn to pick up a scalpel.
Winter in Moscow arrived earlier than in Paris. The gloomy sky and cold streets constantly remind me of the reality here.
But your teachings are like a flame, constantly burning in my heart.
I strive to observe as you taught, no longer eager to generalize the grand "Russian malady," but rather attempting to understand each specific person—
Vendors shivering from the cold but still hawking at the street corner, patients anxiously waiting outside the clinic, petty civil servants who boast but are empty inside...
Attached with this letter is a short exercise I attempted to write.
...
Your loyal Anton
Moscow, January 1880]
The enthusiasm in the letter deeply moved Lionel.
Lionel put down the letter, picked up those rough manuscript pages, and began to read the exercise.
Upon seeing it, it was indeed Chekhov's debut work published in the newspaper, "A Letter to a Learned Neighbor."
[A Letter to a Learned Neighbor
Maksim... (I've forgotten your father's name, please be magnanimous and forgive me for this).
Please forgive me, an old fellow and an absurd human being, for daring to disturb you with the humble babbling in this letter.
You moved to our humble place and have been my neighbor, a nobody, for a whole year now, yet I still don't know you, nor do you know me, this poor dragonfly.
...
I have long been looking for an opportunity to make your acquaintance, as eagerly as a chicken thirsts, for learning is, to some extent, our mother, as is civilization, and because I have always held scholars and literati in deep admiration; they are renowned far and wide, radiating brilliance.
...]
Lionel almost burst out laughing while reading it—this is so Chekhov!
Although there were still obvious traces of imitation of Gogol, that unique technique of exposing absurdity through the characters' own language had already begun to show its sharp edge.
The "retired sergeant Vasily Semi-Bulatov" in the letter spoke with a mouth full of specious literary phrases, his logic was confused, and it was filled with typos.
But he boasted of his erudition and went to great lengths to distort and mock evolution and astronomy.
That serious foolishness was portrayed vividly and thoroughly.
He quickly scanned the subsequent content, where "Vasily" denounced the origin of humans from monkeys as blasphemy and questioned how people could possibly live on the moon—
[Since the moon only comes out at night, then without sunlight, what do people live on? Do they light kerosene lamps instead?"].
Filled with an absurd sense of comedy.
Lionel put down the manuscript, pondered for a moment, took out paper and pen, and began to write a reply to Chekhov.
[Dear Anton:
First of all, I am genuinely happy for your safe return home and the beginning of a new stage in your life.
...
Now, let's talk about your "A Letter to a Learned Neighbor."
I must say, Anton, this is a remarkable exercise! It always makes me chuckle.
You have captured an extremely subtle satirical technique; this "self-revealing" comedic effect is far more profound and powerful than direct mockery.
This method of creating humor and thought through logically consistent absurdity is clear evidence of your talent.
...
But, Anton, I hope your satire does not merely stop at creating jokes or mocking an individual.
Vasily Semi-Bulatov is indeed laughable, but behind his ignorance lies the blockage of information, the lack of education, and a societal atmosphere that resists change and adheres to old ways.
His overflowing self-confidence stems from his complete unawareness of his own ignorance, and this "unawareness" is precisely the most pathetic and most in need of being revealed.
...
The highest realm of satire, perhaps, lies not in whom we mock, but in how through mockery, we allow readers to see the pathetic reality behind the laughable person.
Your "learned neighbor," that scientist who never appears, the reason and knowledge he represents, appear so powerless and distant in the face of the absurd fortress constructed by the Vasily's.
...
Keep writing, Anton! Continue to observe the "Vasily's" around you, observe their environment, and ponder why they have become this way.
Your pen should not merely be a funhouse mirror reflecting ugliness; humor is your talent, do not let this talent become superficial.
I look forward to your next letter and your next work.
Your sincere friend Lionel Sorel, Paris]
Lionel stopped writing, let out a long breath; then called for Alice, and had her transcribe it before sending it to Moscow.
He believed Chekhov would understand the meaning of his letter—for this was precisely the path Chekhov was meant to take in the future.
Then, he picked up the second letter from London.
Yan Fu's letter was written in fluent French:
[Respected Mr. Sorel:
Please forgive my presumptuous letter.
It has been over two months since we parted in Paris, and I often recall our delightful conversation at Marquis Zeng's dinner party, especially your insights on "doing it immediately" and "not being fixated on immediate success," which made my brother Sa Zhenbing and I ponder for a long time and benefit greatly.
...
After returning to Greenwich, I used my spare time to translate your novel "The Old Guard" into Chinese.
I know you are not familiar with Chinese, but I am still enclosing my translation draft with this letter.
If you have the opportunity to meet Mr. Chen Jitong, you may hand this translation draft to him for his critique.
Minister Chen is proficient in French and Chinese and well-versed in both Eastern and Western learning; his opinion will be invaluable to me.
If I could receive even a little guidance from him, I would be extremely grateful.
Your sincere Yan Fu, Greenwich, London]
Lionel picked up the attached translation draft.
The handwriting was neat and clear, and written with a brush pen, in vertical columns, from right to left.
He looked at the four "complex" Chinese characters in the title—"The Tale of the Old Guard"—a strange feeling instantly seized him.
This was the first time Lionel had seen Chinese characters in such a long time; it felt like an eternity.
And seeing Yan Fu's note that Lionel was "not familiar with Chinese" and asking him to hand the translation to Chen Jitong, he immediately showed a relaxed expression.
Continuing to read, Lionel was speechless—
[The Tale of the Old Guard, a masterpiece by Ronaldo Sorel, a prominent figure in French literature...]
(End of Chapter)
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