Chapter 1692 - 1598: No Comparison, No Harm

Chapter 1692: Chapter 1598: No Comparison, No Harm

Tener drank the last drop of wine in his glass, then grabbed his hat to leave.

Girard hurriedly stopped him: "Where are you going?"

"Of course to prepare the application," Tener’s face flushed bright red, not knowing if it was due to alcohol or excessive excitement, "and then review classical literature. I swear, this time I absolutely won’t complain about Mr. Cicero."

Cicero occupies quite a large portion in "Classical Literature," which is also the part Tener finds most challenging.

The next morning, Tener was startled awake by the church bells while sleeping at his desk, initially seeing the half-written, saliva-stained doctoral application — he had drunk a bit too much yesterday afternoon and unintentionally fell asleep.

He pulled another sheet of paper from the shelf, preparing to transcribe the application, but the pen hovered in mid-air.

Yesterday, in a drunken impulse, he had decisively filled in the research direction for synthetic explosives, but now, upon calming down, he remembered he seemed to have no foundation in this field.

He hesitated for a moment, deciding it was best to consult Mr. Kampa.

When Tener stepped off the steam tram at Sorbonne Road Station, he lifted his eyes to see the hundreds of students gathered in front of the University of Paris gate, noisily competing for something.

There seemed to be only one bookstore in that place. He curiously muttered, "Has anyone published an important academic work?"

He walked to the bookstore but couldn’t squeeze in, hearing students loudly discussing, "She’s definitely a genius, Leonard said he read it all night yesterday."

"I heard too, it’s written very well, looks like Mr. Bell will probably lose this time."

"No, he won the ’Youth Beautiful Prose Prize,’ shouldn’t be losing to a British woman..."

"What are you talking about? What win or lose?"

"Don’t you know? Yesterday, the new student at the Faculty of Letters, Marie-Henri Bell questioned Miss Austin’s scholarship issue, only to find out she is the author of ’First Impressions.’ After that, hearing from those who have read that the book is written well, everyone rushed to buy it today."

Another student chimed in: "Even though Mr. Bell acknowledged her scholarship, he still seems a bit discontent, so he proposed a bet with her, claiming he could write a work better than hers before graduation."

"That Miss Austin is now a celebrity in the Faculty of Letters, it’s said the Dean even has specially summoned her."

"Alas, if only she were French..."

"Is it because your father won’t agree to you pursuing a British girl?"

"Of course not, I just admire her talent!"

Only then did Tener understand, they were rushing to buy novels, he couldn’t help but shake his head laughing: "God, how could I forget when have these students ever been so eager about academics?"

Just as he was about to turn around, he heard the bookstore owner shout, " ’First Impressions’ is sold out, the earliest it will be available is in half a month, everyone please return home."

Immediately someone complained: "Half a month? That long?"

"Yes, it’s already the fastest, the books are all shipped from London."

Tener sighed with envy: "Ah, young people without competition pressure are truly fortunate..."

...

North Suburb of Paris.

Jane stepped off the steam tram, her cheeks flushed with excitement, this steel ’monster’ ran even faster than a carriage, making her feel like she was a knight riding a dragon.

She walked toward the ancient little house, pondering whether to go to the Champs-Elysees or the Tuileries Palace first in the afternoon.

Since arriving in Paris, she had been cooped up revising French history, hadn’t yet toured this great city.

"Better go to New Bridge first," she decided, as it is a gathering place for artworks.

Just as she took out her key to open the door, two neatly dressed men approached and bowed with a smile: "Excuse me, are you Miss Austin?"

"I am. Do you have any business with me?"

"I am Joel Charpentier, you may have heard of our family’s publishing house."

Jane glanced at the neighbor’s house, ensuring the landlady was home, before inviting them in: "Please have a seat. I’m sorry, I don’t have much to entertain you with here."

Charpentier cut straight to the point: "Honestly, I’m very interested in your work. Perhaps we could collaborate."

Jane seemed a bit flustered: "Sorry, I don’t have a male agent at present. If you’re willing to visit my brother in London, I would love to publish my book in Paris."

"Male agent?" The publisher puzzled, "Why not negotiate with me yourself? If you’re very busy, I can come another day."

"Me?" Jane pointed at herself, "But I’m female."

Charpentier patted his forehead: "Oh, sorry, I forgot, England seems to forbid women from writing books. Fortunately, here is Paris, you can entirely make your own decisions."

Jane knew French people do not discriminate against female authors, but still was a bit surprised: "You mean, I could sign the copyright agreements myself?"

"Yes, it’s your right. In fact, even the Queen personally participated in script revisions."

The assistant whispered: "Madame Lavoisier is still presiding over a factory and has been awarded a title of nobility."

"Yes, hereditary nobility," Charpentier nodded, "Here, as long as you have the capability, no one cares whether you’re a gentleman or a lady."

Jane tentatively asked: "Then, I can use my own name on the book?"

"Of course, be it a real name or a pen name, it’s completely up to you."

Jane’s heart skipped a few beats, publishing the book under her own name had always been her greatest wish.

For this, even if the copyright fee were less, she was willing.

She tried to remain calm, saying: "My new book is already half-written, if you’re interested.

"By the way, could you indicate roughly how much remuneration I might receive?"

She quickly added a whisper: "Right, my previous two books’ remuneration was over 100 British Pounds."

This figure was absolutely considered very high for a new author, especially a female author.

Charpentier immediately frowned and raised his voice: "That’s practically extortion!"

Jane was momentarily stunned, but considering the signing rights, she was prepared to forgive the other’s rudeness.

However, the publisher continued: "Having read your books, you should at least be paid 8,000 francs for copyright..."

Jane did the conversion, eyes widening. 320 British Pounds, such compensation was only possible for famous male authors!

Little did she know Charpentier hadn’t finished: "Per book."

Jane felt she was about to be swallowed by a feeling of ’regret,’ if only she had come to France earlier.

This place truly is heaven!

She took a deep breath and gave a polite smile: "I will complete the manuscript as soon as possible."

Charpentier nodded: "I’m very much looking forward to it. However, I equally like your ’First Impressions,’ we can proceed with cooperation immediately."

"Unfortunately, the copyright for this book was sold to Mr. Edgerton two years ago."

Charpentier took out the French version of ’First Impressions’ from his bag: "May I ask who translated this?"

Jane is British, the first edition must have been in English.

Jane pointed at herself: "I translated it. You know, it can earn me some stipend."

"Did you sign any agreement regarding the translations with Mr. Edgerton?"

"Well, apparently not. I just handed over the manuscript for him to publish."

"That’s great!" The publisher excitedly rubbed his hands, "I can independently buy your translation manuscript. Oh, including German version, Italian version, Spanish version, among others."

"But the rights were already sold to..."

Charpentier mischievously winked: "Perhaps you’re not very familiar with British law. The courts generally recognize a translation as ’newly created works,’ previous cases regarding translation manuscripts, the publishers have never won."