Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 480 This is a chance I'm giving the Sherbatov family!
In the editor's office of Le Figaro, the firewood in the fireplace crackled.

Antonin Perrivière sat behind his large desk, his hands resting on the armrests, staring at Lionel Sorel in front of him with a look of incomprehension and suspicion.

He repeated the tongue-twisting name: "Anton Pavlovich Chekhov? Who is he?"

Lionel sat relaxed across from him, speaking in a light tone: “A third-year medical student at Moscow State University, and also a good writer.”

Antonin Perrivière sized up Lionel, trying to tell if he was joking: "Has he published any works before?"

Lionel shrugged: "It may have been published in Russia, I don't know which newspaper it was, but it probably wasn't very well-known."

Antonin Perlivier's expression changed, and he leaned forward: "Are you making fun of me, Mr. Sorel?"
"You actually want Le Figaro to publish the work of such an unknown young Russian, and for a whole week!"

Lionel nodded and said firmly, "Yes. If it weren't for the fact that he only has these few works right now, I would even hope for much longer."

I'm giving you, and Le Figaro, an opportunity.

The office was silent for a few seconds.

Antonin Perrivière stared at Lionel, then suddenly calmed down, leaned back in his chair, and began to think.

He knew Lionel Sorel, he knew him all too well.

The relationship between Le Figaro and this young writer is not close; they even had a conflict two years ago—but that was two years ago after all.

At that time, I wasn't the editor-in-chief of the newspaper.

But now this young man has suddenly come knocking on our door, just to make such an absurd request? That's unreasonable!
Antonin Perrivière didn’t believe that Lionel Sorel, who was so busy with writing assignments that he couldn’t keep up, would have the time to joke with him like that.

Thinking of this, his tone softened a bit: "I need a reason, Mr. Sorel!"
Neither of us are idle people; you must have a plausible reason for making this request!

Lionel replied directly: "His works are all masterpieces, and it is an honor for Le Figaro to publish them."

Antonin Perrivière almost burst out laughing.

A masterpiece? A masterpiece by an unknown Russian student? If anyone else had said that, he would have had the gatekeeper throw them out long ago.

But it was Lionel Sorel who said this.

This young man, who has written countless masterpieces, had just made Paris go crazy with "Café" a month ago.

Antonin Perrivière thought for a moment and then said, "A masterpiece? I must see it."

Lionel shrugged: "Still translating. I won't be able to give you the first draft until at least tomorrow."

Antonin Periver could no longer contain himself; he slammed his hand on the table with a loud bang.

He yelled, "Even if you're Lionel Sorel, you can't play games with me like this! I haven't even seen the article, and you're already taking away my entire week's worth of space?"
Do you know how sought-after the literary supplement of Le Figaro is? Next week, Mr. France's new novel will be published, and—"

Before he could finish yelling, Lionel pulled out a few pages of manuscript paper from his pocket and handed them over: "Take a look at this first."

Antonin Periveer's voice was stuck in his throat.

He glared at Lionel, then at the few pages of manuscript, and finally took it.

The title of the top page is: "The Sun Also Rises".

Antonin Periver paused, then looked up: "Is this the Russian? Didn't you say it would be tomorrow?"

Lionel shook his head: "It's not his, it's mine. It was just finished a while ago."

Antonin Perrivière's eyes lit up—Lional Sorel's new novel!

This is something that every newspaper in Paris longs for.

From The Old Guard to The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, Lionel's works were always first published in Le Petit Parisien and Modern Life.

Moreover, almost all of them became phenomenal works, either sparking huge social discussions or causing newspaper sales to skyrocket.

At the first editorial meeting after Christmas this year, everyone was still discussing how to get a share of the pie from Le Parisien and Modern Life.

Now, Lionel Sorel's new novel manuscript is in his hands.

Antonin Periver took a deep breath, suppressed his excitement, and began to read carefully.

The only sound in the office was the turning of pages.

Lionel took a sip of coffee, then turned to look out the window at the rooftops of Paris, their gray lead tiles gleaming coldly in the winter sun.

He knew Antonin Perlivier would agree.

In "The Sun Also Rises," he wrote about a group of young people who were physically and mentally traumatized by the war.

In Paris and Spain, they numbed themselves with alcohol, bullfighting, and chaotic love affairs, trying to find meaning in nothingness.

This kind of bewildered, decadent yet powerful narrative is something entirely new to the French literary scene of this era.

After completing the first draft on the ship from New York back to Paris, Lionel spent another two months polishing it, knowing it would be a success.

The manuscript was short, just a beginning, but it was enough. Five minutes later, Antonin Periver turned to the last page.

He looked up, his eyes wide with shock: "Your manuscripts, aren't they all for Le Petit Parisien and Modern Life? Then this one..."

Lionel turned around: "If you agree to dedicate the entire fiction section of Le Figaro's literary supplement for Anton Chekhov for the next week—"

He then said, almost word by word, "Then this 'The Sun Also Rises' will belong to Le Figaro."

Antonin Periveer paused for a moment.

He looked down at the manuscript in his hand, then looked up at Lionel, then looked down at the manuscript again.

He was caught in a fierce internal struggle.

On one hand, there's the work of an unknown young Russian artist, which I haven't even seen, yet I'm already promising to give them a space that's already been reserved—

This is a huge risk to his reputation as editor-in-chief.

What if the article is utterly rubbish? The readers of Le Figaro are among the most discerning people in Paris.

They would vehemently criticize the newspapers and themselves.

On the other side is the new work by the renowned Lionel Sorel.

Once published, it will likely become a significant chapter in the history of Le Figaro.

Subscriptions will skyrocket, advertisers will scramble to get their hands on ads, and one's status in the newspaper industry will rise accordingly.

Moreover, the opening of "The Sun Also Rises" is indeed brilliant.

The cold, restrained narrative, the fragmented yet vivid characters, and the sense of loss that permeates the lines—all these belong only to that generation during the war.

Antonin Pellivier worked at Le Figaro for twenty years, and he knows what makes a hit—this is it!

Antonin Periver gritted his teeth, raised his head, and said, "Fine, I agree!"

Lionel's face remained expressionless; he simply nodded slightly.

Antonin Periver immediately added: "However, if that Russian's work is too bad, I won't risk Le Figaro and my own reputation."

I need to review the manuscripts first—even just one. If I don't think it's acceptable, the deal is off.

Lionel agreed: "Sure. I'll send over the first translation tomorrow afternoon."

Antonin Periver breathed a sigh of relief, but was also somewhat uneasy. He had a feeling that there was some kind of trap in this deal.

Sure enough, Lionel spoke again: "But I have one more request..."

Antonin Periveer was startled and almost jumped out of his chair.

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After leaving the editor's office of Le Figaro, Lionel did not rest but boarded a carriage and headed to Montmartre.

His choice of Le Figaro was a reluctant one. Although Le Petit Parisien and Modern Life had closer working relationships with him, neither of these newspapers could be found on the desks of the upper classes in Moscow and St. Petersburg.

Only Le Figaro, France's "first newspaper," has enough influence in Russia.

By having "The Sun Also Rises" serialized in Le Figaro, he did not suffer any financial loss; he could still receive the highest royalties in all of France.

However, George Charpentier and Paul Pigut might have some issues with him, and he can only try his best to make amends later.

The carriage bumped along the streets of Paris, and Lionel leaned back in his seat, watching the scenery flash by outside the window.

From the bustling city center to the artist-filled Montmartre, the streetscape gradually changes, but from any angle, the Sacré-Cœur Basilica under construction can be seen.

Before long, Baroness Alexievna's estate came into view.

More than two years have passed since his last visit here, and Lionel still vividly remembers that chaotic night.

The carriage stopped in front of the cast-iron gate. Lionel alighted and said to the valet at the gate, "Lionel Sorel has made an appointment with Miss Sophia."

After his appointment was confirmed, he was quickly led to the manor's living room.

Upon entering the living room, Lionel saw Sofia Ivanovna Durova-Sherbatova, whom he hadn't seen in a long time, standing in front of the fireplace with her back to the door.

She was wearing a dark blue velvet dress, her hair meticulously styled in a fashionable way, and only turned around slowly when she heard footsteps.

Sofia was still stunning, but her expression still carried Lionel's familiar air—arrogant and slightly provocative.

She deliberately drew out her words, laced with sarcasm: "Good afternoon, Mr. Sorel! What a rare guest! What brings our great writer to our door?"

Lionel didn't respond to that. He walked to the center of the living room, stopped, and looked at Sophia.

His voice was calm: "Sofia, I've come to you this time to give the Sherbatov family a chance."

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