Chapter 74 – Alphonse Mucha (1)

— Hanslow, you've been working again, haven't you!?

— No, this is just an important way to build connections...

— If I say you should rest, you should rest...!

What a heart-warming conversation.

Gustave Eiffel thought this as he watched Hanslow Jin and the Miller siblings moving away.

Could that conversation be between the eldest daughter of the household and an Oriental servant employed by the household? It seemed more like a conversation between an immature uncle and a determined niece.

Chick—

Eiffel lit a cigar and put it in his mouth.

Peter Perry,

Vincent Villiers,

DawnBringer.

It was an undeniable fact that he was not pleased with these novels.

However, even a Frenchman like him could roughly guess the natural implications contained in these works.

Racial equality.

Class equality.

And... altruism.

"And you're saying you're not an Enlightenment thinker?"

Was it sinister or humble?

Eiffel chuckled to himself, recalling the natural and unpretentious face of Hanslow Jin.

Even now, people around the world have not accepted the fact that the ideals of the French Revolution—'Liberty, Equality, Fraternity'—are fundamental human rights.

In Europe, aside from Switzerland and France, there are still very few proper republics.

In such a situation, writing novels about commoners usurping the bodies of aristocrats and claiming to be 'by the side of the people...'

'With such eyes.'

Just as Hanslow Jin had looked into Eiffel's eyes, Eiffel looked into the eyes of the Oriental man.

Straightforward, upright. Despite seeming lacking in confidence, his eyes, which were sure that the future he saw and believed in would come to pass, were undeniably pioneering.

'Britain is changing.'

The reason was unclear. But the progress of the neighboring country was also felt strongly here. Perhaps the sense of change was even more palpable due to the slight distance.

It was once a country where the term 'uncivilized' fit well, but the direction it was taking lately was not small.

And it seemed that this was gradually extending into economics and academia.

This was how the bourgeois, architect, and artist who looked towards the future thought.

'Anyway, we can't just stay idle.'

The unexpected meeting gave him certainty. France also needed to be prepared for change.

As someone belonging to a city leading global art and culture, and as a pioneering figure who had realized something, he could not remain still.

He called out loudly for his housekeeper.

"Henrietta! Are you still here? Send a telegram."

"Yes, sir. Where shall I send it?"

"To Clemenceau."

After a moment's thought, he added.

"And also contact Jules in Amiens."

Eiffel suddenly wondered.

If Jules knew that he had met the long-awaited junior first, how jealous would he be?

"Oh."

And he realized he had forgotten to ask how the Dwarf-style underground millennium tower came to mind.

There were many inspirations from his works, and he had been so caught up in conversation that the words kept coming.

"Well then, I'll need to revisit this later."

Gustave Eiffel licked his lips with a look of regret.

Paris, Montmartre, 18th District.

"Well, good work today."

"Thank you, Master!!"

"Thank you!!"

"... There's no need for thanks."

The workshop owner, Alphonse Mucha, replied gloomily.

Seeing his reaction, the apprentices tilted their heads in curiosity, but as they had only been his students for six months, they felt it awkward to speak up.

Besides, it wasn't as if there was no one else to speak on his behalf.

"Brother, is there a problem?"

"Oh, um. Adela."

At the question from his sister, who also served as the workshop's model and manager, Mucha's lips fluttered as if he was about to say something.

But then.

"No. It's nothing."

'Oh, really...!'

Adela wondered if she should just force his mouth open.

'It's not like we're poor anymore, so why is he like this?'

A year ago, Christmas 1894.

Mucha had been filling in at a printing shop for a friend on vacation when he happened to take on a commission for a play, "Gismonda," which turned out to be quite ordinary. But the problem was that the play was anything but ordinary.

It was produced and starred Sarah Bernhardt, the current pinnacle of the French theater scene, known as "The Divine Sarah."

Seeing the poster Mucha had created, many were drawn in, and he earned the reputation of being a major contributor to the play's success with tremendous acclaim.

One illustrator said, "This poster made the name Mucha familiar to all the citizens of Paris overnight." This was not mere vanity or falsehood but a clear truth.

Thus, over the past six months, Mucha has become the most popular commercial artist in Paris.

With a six-year contract with Sarah Bernhardt, countless commissions from bourgeois and celebrities, and even requests for jewellery designs... his workshop had rapidly become the most prominent on Montmartre Street, almost too overwhelming to handle alone.

With the overflowing workload, Mucha had to hire apprentices and expand the workshop.

However, despite this, Alphonse Mucha's face had been shadowed with worry in recent weeks.

His sister, Adela, placed her hands on her hips and retorted.

"If you have time to worry, you should hire more people. You know we can't keep up with the current orders with just the three of us."

"... How can I do that? How am I supposed to take responsibility for their futures?"

"Hmm? What did you say?"

Adela turned her head. Alphonse had said something, but his voice was too quiet to hear.

Alphonse hesitated, then spoke with determination.

"I'll handle that myself, so you should at least find yourself a suitor... Cough!!"

"If you reduce the workload, I might find a suitor, you idiot!!"

At that moment, Adela delivered a crisp straight to Alphonse's face, a familiar shadow appeared before them.

"Ahem. Alphonse... are you okay?"

"... Manager?"

Alphonse Mucha's eyes widened.

Before him stood Sarah Bernhardt, whom he had a contract with, and the manager of her theater, looking down at him.

"What's the matter?"

"Is everything... alright?"

"Oh, yes. Everything is fine. It's just a regular matter."

In the meantime, Adela Mucha smirked and went into the workshop. Left alone, Alphonse gave the manager an awkward smile and scratched his head.

"I'm sorry. He's not usually like this."

"Oh, it's nothing important. But Alphonse, we're in a hurry. The performance of <Gismonda > has been urgently scheduled in America."

"America?"

"Yes! This time, it's going to be a major event. And you, with the finest skills in Paris, need to have your poster for it, don't you?"

"Well, that's true..."

Mucha trailed off, seeming embarrassed.

Even without Adela's comments, he knew very well that the situation was urgent.

Most importantly, the poster for <La Dame aux Camélias>, which he was currently working on, was not even finished yet.

And then.

"Since we're at it, make sure to show it properly! As you know, America has quite a population. New York, Philadelphia... If you draw posters suited to each city and spread them out, that would be perfect!"

"... Doesn't that mean the workload will increase? The schedule is already tight."

"What does that matter? Just hire more people!"

The manager grabbed Alphonse's shoulder. His eyes, filled with a sticky desire for success, looked straight at Alphonse.

"Please. You're the best!"

"... Well."

"You're not going to say you can't do it, are you?"

The manager's eyes gleamed. Alphonse found himself unable to avoid swallowing at the look in those eyes that seemed almost threatening.

"Our great actress, Madame Sarah Bernhardt, has done so much for you!! If Madame hadn't recognized your talent and offered you a six-year contract, would a nameless artist like you have achieved such success?!"

To call him nameless, or to call him the best? Alphonse Mucha, if he had been a bit more assertive, might have countered that statement, but that was not in his nature.

The manager knew this well, which is why he was able to exert such pressure.

"Now, nod your head! And bring me that poster! Use whatever means necessary. Just get it done! Do you understand?"

Just as Alphonse was about to nod in agreement, something interrupted him.

"Ah, Mr. Miller. There's a visitor."

The French was spoken with a strangely youthful British accent.

When Alphonse and the manager turned to look, a typically British gentleman and his Asian servant were entering the workshop.

While the latter could be overlooked, the former had the appearance of someone with considerable wealth.

The manager quickly released Alphonse's shoulder, cleared his throat, and approached the gentleman.

"Ahem, sir? This workshop is closed right now. If you have a commission, you'll need to come back tomorrow."

"I'm not here to commission anything; I'm here to make a purchase. I represent Miller & Co. from England."

"Miller...!?"

It was Alphonse who was more surprised by the name than the manager.

Miller & Co.

To be unaware of that name was akin to being ignorant of recent developments in the European art scene.

They were known for having snatched up Paul Cézanne, who was then considered merely a common painter despite being selected for exhibitions; Vincent van Gogh, who was virtually unknown; and Edvard Munch, who was just a student, all the while being hailed as the Midas touch in the art world!

Despite their impressive results, they operated on a mysterious scale, and their name was often mentioned in social circles and gatherings.

Even Mucha, during his nameless days, had often hoped while drinking with peers that Miller's company would buy his artwork.

Although the hype had quieted recently, Montmartre still held that if Miller took an interest, it would surely succeed.

Why was such a living legend of the art world, like the eye of a storm, here?

As Alphonse puzzled over this, the manager, who was unaware of the significance, approached with an unpleasant expression, muttering, "What kind of backwater company is this?" 

"I told you to come back tomorrow for business or sales. We're in the middle of an important contract..."

"I was introduced by Mr. Gustave Eiffel. Is this more important than that?"

The Asian servant presented a business card from the Eiffel.

The manager, who knew Eiffel well, momentarily pressed his lips together, but eventually had no choice but to move aside abruptly.

"Finish quickly. We're busy as well."

"Well, I suppose."

It was a curious master-servant dynamic. Alphonse couldn't help but think so.

It was clear that the master was the British merchant in the back, so why was the conversation being led by the Asian servant?

And the answer to this question came swiftly with a single sentence from the Asian before Alphonse.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Alphonse Mucha. I'm Hanslow Jin. Well, you might be more familiar with my pen name."

"... Hanslow?!"

Alphonse jumped up in surprise.

Wasn't this the name of the writer who had recently swept through not only Britain but also North America and Europe?

When the French, who generally looked down on Britain, had started acknowledging him with comments like 'Hmm, not bad,' it was as good as being confirmed.

'The chance of being someone with the same name...'

It was slim to none.

Alphonse was convinced. Of course, it was hard to believe that such a popular writer could just be an Asian, but ironically, if he were merely someone with the same name, he would not have received a business card from Gustave Eiffel.

Forgetting even the presence of the manager, Alphonse took Hanslow Jin's hand.

"P-pleased to meet you! I've always enjoyed your work!"

"Ha ha, even if it's just polite talk, I appreciate it."

"No, it's definitely not just polite talk! When I was unknown, I always wanted to work on one of your illustrations!"

"Oh, really?"

At that moment, Hanslow Jin's eyes sparkled.

But Alphonse didn't notice it and continued.

"Absolutely! I've always admired the depiction of the Aesthetic fairyland!"

"That's wonderful. Well, would you like to try your hand at it?"

"... Pardon?"

At the unexpected proposal, Hanslow Jin calmly said.

"I was actually planning to significantly increase the number of illustrations in the upcoming book. Mr. Alphonse Mucha, would you like to become my illustrator?"