Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 497 The Defeated Ones...

This scene led to the first time that the women in the salon discussed "The Sun Also Rises" more intensely than the men.

Today, twelve ladies attended Mrs. Rothschild's weekly literary salon, which she hosted every Thursday afternoon, and the topic naturally turned to "The Sun Also Rises."

A young lady, Madame de La Tour, said, "Berthe is unfaithful. She has Jacques, yet she falls in love with that bullfighter; it's immoral!"

She had been married for only two years to Henri de La Tour, the wealthy Marquis of La Tour, who had served as a diplomat during the Second Empire.

Another lady, Madame Duval, countered, "What did Jacques give her? A cough? Silence? Or the habit of waking up at four in the afternoon?"

She was a widow in her forties. Her husband, Charles Duval, had been a high-ranking military officer who died in the Battle of Sedan.

Madame Latour looked indignant: "But love is a promise!"

Mrs. Duval shook her head: "A promise requires two people to keep it. If one person can't keep it, why should the other?"

Mrs. Latour was even more furious: "Are you defending infidelity?"

Madame Duval remained calm: "I'm not defending her, I'm just understanding. After my husband died, many people advised me to remarry."

I've met several men, all respectable men. But when they spoke, it was as if they were reading from a prepared script, and when they smiled, it was as if they were fulfilling some kind of obligation.

Looking at them, I asked myself, 'Do I want to spend the rest of my life with people like this?' In the end, I chose to live alone!

The older Madame Claire de Saint-Oban spoke up; her husband was a member of parliament, and she herself came from a prominent family. Her perspective was more "grand"—

"But this novel implies that French men are inferior to Spanish men, which is dangerous! We need unity now, and we need to rebuild our national self-confidence!"
Not something that diminishes masculinity!

The young Mathilde de Charlotte spoke up: "But if we don't read novels, can we ignore reality? Many of my classmates' fathers or brothers are like Jacques."

What they see at home is a man who only gets up in the afternoon, a man who is always in the pub, a man who is vague when talking about the future.

What would they think? What kind of husband would they want? A husband like their father or brother?

The salon fell silent for a moment.

Mrs. Irene Montreux said slowly, "My son is just like Jacques, going out every afternoon and returning in the early morning."

I asked him what he would do in the future, and he said, "Don't worry, Mom." But how could I not worry? Watching Belt fall in love with that bullfighter, I just—

Please forgive my bluntness—I'm actually happy for her. At least she's seen another kind of man, a man who knows why he lives!

Madame La Tour remained unconvinced: "But that's not a French man!"

At this point, Mrs. Rothschild, who had been silent for a long time, finally spoke up: "So here's the question. Why can't the 'Lost Generation' be like that again?"
Why can't those men have that 'hard youth'? Was it taken away by war? Or something else?

No one answered.

Mrs. Rothschild sighed: "I think there's nothing wrong with Berthe falling in love with the bullfighter; the real problem is Jacques's reaction—"

He wasn't angry, competitive, or even showing any pain. He simply nodded and left, as if it were all perfectly natural, as if he had expected it to happen.

It was more like he was saying to himself, 'Yes, of course, she'll fall in love with someone like that, because that's who I am—a man who makes women fall in love with others.'

She paused before continuing, "This kind of calm surrender is more terrifying than anger. Anger at least has power, but surrender has nothing."

These words made the other ladies present realize something, and they all cast admiring glances at Mrs. Rothschild.

"The woman who understands literature best in all of Paris"—she truly lives up to her reputation.

Sensing the gazes of the crowd, Madame Rothschild slightly raised her chin, and beneath her wide, ornate skirt, her toes pointed slightly.

Madame Irene Monterey nodded: "So Berthe's love for Romero wasn't betrayal, it was the beginning of a search—"

We seek what the 'Lost Generation' cannot find! It's our instinct as women, like a river seeking the sea, a plant seeking sunlight.

This argument has also received widespread approval.

But Julie Mallard, the wife of a Supreme Court Justice, disagreed: "That's too pessimistic!"

This statement plunged Salon into silence again, with only the sounds of carriages and children's laughter coming from outside the window.

In Paris, life goes on, but the women in the salons all know that something has changed.

Twelve years have passed since the war, but the wounds have not healed; we have only learned not to bleed.

----------

Four men sat by the window in a café on Boulevard Saint-Michel.

Philip, a 38-year-old National Guard veteran, suddenly said, "...It's all because we were defeated."

Everyone else turned their attention to him.

Philip looked down at his leg, where a piece of shrapnel was still embedded.

He shook his head, his voice low: "Those who are defeated don't have Romero's composure; those who are defeated are always filled with doubt—"

Was that the right move? Should we have fired? Should we have retreated? Even though the war is over, the doubts remain.

It crawls into your brain and lives there. You work hard, and it whispers, 'Is this useful?' You argue loudly, and it whispers, 'Does this make any sense?'...

Even if you succeed, it will still whisper in your ear, 'What can this change?' You can't get rid of it, never.” Henry, who worked as a clerk at the city hall, nodded. “So the bullfighter can drink water, we can only drink alcohol. It's not that we like to drink, it's that we need to.”

"Alcohol can silence that soft voice for a moment." — He had also experienced war and lost the hearing in one ear forever.

Mark, a 48-year-old retired artillery lieutenant, looked at the passage in the newspaper: "Romero doesn't have 'I don't know.' He only has things to do and things he's done."

Do we have things to do? Go to work, get off work, get paid, spend money, sleep, then go to work again. Is this something to do? Or is it just about existing?

No one answered.

Philip stood up: "I'm not drinking tonight."

"Then what?"

"I don't know, but I won't drink it for now. I want to try it."

"try what?"

"Let's try it without alcohol. Will that quiet voice be so loud it drives me crazy?"

--------

Le Figaro broke its sales record.

Everything in Paris seemed the same as before—cafes were full of people, pubs were filled with loud music, and horse-drawn carriages were constantly moving through the streets.

But Periveer, the editor of the literary supplement of Le Figaro, knew that some things in Paris had changed.

In the hearts of those who read newspapers, in the mouths of those who discuss novels, in the silence of those who cannot sleep at night—

A question is emerging: Why can't we ever be like that again?
It's not about becoming a "bullfighter," it's about becoming someone who believes they are doing the right thing and can do it.

He is someone who can face the night without alcohol, someone who can make a woman feel certain rather than disappointed, and someone who can make her respect herself.

There was no answer to this question, so more and more people began to question the man who had made them think about it.

"Lionel Sorel, why are you forcing us to think about these things?!"

Many readers felt already exhausted after a day of work, social interactions, and political anxieties.

Literature should provide them with a sense of security and order, an affirmation of traditional values, or at least an outlet for emotional expression.

But this novel deliberately rejects all of that—

It sends characters to watch bullfights, but doesn't teach readers how to understand courage; it lets women fall in love with bullfighters, but neither condemns nor praises them; it gives the protagonist a brief moment of exhilaration, but immediately sends him back to harsh reality...

Another group of readers, especially those who still firmly believe that France will rise again and conquer Europe, began to accuse Lionel of "lacking a sense of responsibility."

They believed that the war with the Prussians had only ended ten years ago, and the wounds in people's hearts had not yet healed. Literature should not be so cold-hearted as to not offer any answers.

The title of a previous commentary in Le Gaul best encapsulates this viewpoint: "We're already confused enough, why does Sorel have to confuse us even more?"

In their view, Lionel intentionally deprived these French citizens of their last bit of spiritual support; his cruelty to his characters was cruelty to the readers.

Many younger readers, while inwardly acknowledging that The Sun Also Rises resonated with their situation, still felt offended by Lionel.

Because the novel doesn't tell them how to become like Romero, nor how to get rid of Jacques's situation.

It merely showed the gap between the two and then remained silent, leaving these readers feeling abandoned.
"Since you see things so clearly, why don't you tell us how to live?"

Ultimately, these accusations gradually converged in the Parisian public sphere, forming a highly representative voice:

"This kind of book shouldn't be appearing at this time!"

--------

"So, Mr. Sorel, is this the power of literature in France? You've made all of Paris think with just one novel!"

The young Chekhov put down the latest issue of Le Figaro and posed this question with a sigh.

Today is the last Sunday before Easter, and also the day when the Sorbonne's "Poetry Festival" officially begins.

He and Lionel were riding in a carriage on their way to the Sorbonne.

This poetry gathering was vastly different from previous ones—

Not only was Anton Pavlovich Chekhov, the literary genius from Russia, invited to attend, but Lionel Sorel, "the pride of the Sorbonne" and "the conscience of Paris," was also participating in this grand event for the first time.

In fact, Lionel should have attended the conference in 1879 and 1880, but missed it for various reasons.

His sudden announcement of his participation has undoubtedly given this event a level of popularity far exceeding any other cultural or artistic event in Paris.

The ladies were scrambling to get a ticket to the "poetry gathering".

Upon hearing Chekhov's question, Lionel smiled and gave his answer:
"The waves of French literature appear to be vast on the surface, but they quickly subside, after all, Paris is never short of new things."

The waves of Russian literature lie beneath the ice, silent and still, but one day they will break through the ice and sweep everything away.

Chekhov nodded emphatically, tears welling in his eyes.

(First update, thank you everyone! Please vote with monthly tickets!)
(End of this chapter)