In the carriage, Furen alternated between reviewing what he had learned the day before and planning what he would do today. But his mind remained restless. It was a bit like studying on a cell phone: you feel like you've worked hard, learned a lot, but in the end, everything evaporates and you even forget what you really wanted to do.
So Furen preferred not to think too much anymore. He entered a state of meditation, letting time pass slowly, to the rhythm of his breathing. He didn't know how much time had passed before he heard the coachman's voice calling him.
Furen got out of the car and looked up at one of the places most familiar to him in this world and at this time: the National Library in Trier.
He left the carriage and, like a regular, walked confidently inside, climbing without hesitation to the second floor.
As he climbed the stairs, he passed many well-dressed gentlemen slowly descending. Looking at his watch, he understood why: it was about eleven fifteen, and it was almost lunchtime.
Although Trier had already begun to industrialize, the middle and upper classes had not yet adopted the feverish busyness of the modern world on Earth. These people maintained a calm and leisurely way of life; even at work, their pace remained far more relaxed than a 9–5–5, let alone a 9–9–6.
Of course, this only concerned a tiny minority. What Furen called the "middle class" actually represented barely more than 10% of the population. From this perspective, he reasoned that, exhausting as they were, modern work rhythms had at least some merit, even if their negative effects remained terribly more marked than their advantages.
So he ignored the elegant gentlemen who were getting off: even if he were hungry, going downstairs now to eat would make his trip pointless. His upbringing had taught him that an action should always have meaning, which betrayed a modern mentality, eager for results. But Furen had grown up in the modern world: some habits never fade. And then, this idea of "efficiency" could also have its good sides, provided you knew how to stay calm.
Since it was lunchtime, he was lucky enough to easily find a spot on the second floor. Usually, these places were highly contested, after all; one couldn't really count on wealthy book lovers coming to the library to delve into dense, arduous tomes capable of making one's scalp tingle.
Similarly, the fifth floor of the library was the preferred haunt of these wealthy idlers: nobles from all countries enjoyed discussing philosophy, theology, and literature. One would hardly expect to see them debating linear algebra or advanced analysis at a high-society salon.
Of course, there were exceptions. Some industrialists, newly enriched by the Industrial Revolution, organized more technical salons, where science and engineering were discussed. But these meetings were more like scientific congresses, perhaps with a slightly more expansive atmosphere.
However, even great scholars, when faced with nobles or businessmen, could not avoid discussing these now traditional topics. The social conventions of the modern world differed profoundly from strictly scientific circles.
Furen, however, preferred to continue reading this powerful work, entitled A Brief History of Ancient and Modern Philosophy. Although the book's thickness was not very welcoming, its content remained clear and accessible, perfect for an autodidact like him, who had no master in philosophy.
Since his mind wasn't yet completely calm, he first took the time to meditate, as he did at every study session. This helped him concentrate, while also training his meditation skills. A double benefit, in short.
Let Furen immerse himself for a while in the ocean of philosophy.
When he came to, the light had changed: it was already almost afternoon. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was a little after 1:00. His well-regulated biological clock was bringing him back to reality.
His empty stomach growled softly. Thinking about it, he realized his last meal had been two slices of Dixie's pie and seafood chowder the day before. He carefully filed away his notes, slipped his notebook into his jacket, and returned the enormous volume to its shelf.
He still took his time: his temperament remained a little too rushed, always seeking efficiency. But observing these elegant people, walking slowly and without haste, he found himself wondering if they ever did any sport... In any case, this kind of person now formed his entire entourage.
Meeting people of a different rhythm seemed almost impossible. Those who didn't fit in with the group were excluded; it was a human weakness, a primitive instinct. One couldn't expect too much from those who were completely in control under one's domination.
Furen only hoped, in the secret of his heart, that the young people he would soon meet would not have inherited their parents' languid rhythm. That would be, for him, a real torture.
Once out of the library, he glanced at the nearby restaurants. He didn't want to go to the most luxurious ones: even if his finances were comfortable, continuing to eat like the day before would quickly empty his wallet. Especially since he would soon have to buy the expensive ingredients needed to prepare his potions. The main materials for sequences 8 and 7 had certainly cost him less, but the rest of the series was shaping up to be expensive.
Following the roads radiating around the library, he passes a row of upscale restaurants, to stop at a simpler establishment, though not a miserable place suitable for an ordinary Trian lunch.
Fortunately, at this time, lunch service was coming to an end: the waiters weren't completely relaxed yet, and the stoves were still burning. So he could still get a hot meal.
Trier's lunches were nothing special: salads were often served as the main course, sometimes accompanied by fries. Nothing to do with earthly fish and chips, and even less with those British star pies, two of the culinary prides of the former empire.
There were also steaks and lamb chops, but few fish dishes. Unlike Britain, Intis was only half a maritime territory, so the locals weren't big fish lovers, which suited Furen's tastes perfectly.
Hungry, he ordered a steak and a Trier coffee. This coffee was nothing special: it was a cheap variety, Trier not being a suitable area for its cultivation.
Tasting the meat, Furen couldn't help but notice, a little disillusioned, that the taste of the steak of the "new century" was ultimately not so different from that of Earth, his previous world.
(End of chapter)