Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 598 The Person Who Stopped at the Fork in the Road
September 19, 1883, Gare du Nord (Paris Railway Station).

The morning mist had not yet completely dissipated, and a dense crowd had already gathered under the station's tall glass dome.

The white steam billowing from the steam locomotive made everything appear hazy and solemn.

Lionel walked into the station with his cane to participate in the grand farewell ceremony.

Turgenev's body lay in the courtyard of the post office passenger office for half a month before the Tsarist government finally granted permission for it to be transported back to Russia for burial.

More than four hundred people came to see him off; almost all the celebrities from Paris's cultural scene came out.

Lionel spotted Émile Zola immediately; he was standing with Alphonse Daudet, and Huysmann, Maupassant, and others were also gathered together.

Lionel also saw his Sorbonne teacher, the historian Ernest Renan, who was also one of Turgenev's close friends.

Many Russians also came. The men had thick beards, and the women wore dark shawls. They spoke in hushed tones in Russian.

In the courtyard of the station's post office passenger office, there was a black freight car parked, and through the open car door, a dark coffin could be seen inside.

The coffin was covered with black velvet, and four Russian Orthodox priests stood beside the carriage, wearing black robes and holding incense burners and crosses.

The coffin was already surrounded by wreaths: white lilies, red roses, and garlands woven from cypress branches.

The ribbons on the wreaths bore eulogies in Russian and French: "To the great artist," "The light of Russian literature," and "A friend of Paris forever."

Polina Vialdo also stood beside the carriage, dressed in a black gown, with her face deliberately covered by a veil.

Her husband, Louis Viardo, stood beside her, supporting her arm.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries with everyone, Lionel's bell rang at the station, signaling the start of the ceremony.

The first speaker was Edmond Abou, president of the French Writers' Association, who, on behalf of all French writers, paid the highest tribute to Turgenev.

"His passing is a great loss to the literary world, but his works will live on forever!"

Edmund Abramovich's speech was brief but well-mannered. After he finished speaking, the crowd applauded. Several Russians removed their hats and bowed towards the coffin.

The second speaker was Grigory Verubov, a leader of the Russian émigré community in Paris.

He first spoke a few words in Russian, then switched to French, and after highly praising Turgenev's contributions to the Russian people and Russian literature, he concluded—

"Today, his remains are finally returning to his homeland. This is a comfort to all of us Russians in Paris. He is finally going home."

Grigory Verubov's voice choked as he spoke. He paused, took out a handkerchief, and wiped his eyes. Several Russian women began to weep softly.

The third speaker was the Russian painter Bogolyubov, who had been a friend of Turgenev since his youth.

He reminisced about his long friendship with Turgenev and Turgenev's sincere feelings for his friends. After speaking, he bowed deeply to the coffin and then returned to the crowd.

The fourth speaker was Ernest Renan, who walked to the front of the carriage, looked around at the crowd, and then began his address:
"Turgenev accepted the most sublime gift bestowed by the mysterious law that marks the divine calling of mankind; he was by nature, in essence, beyond the human being."

"His conscience is not the kind that nature generously bestows upon an individual, but rather, to some extent, the conscience of a nation."

He had lived for thousands of years before he was born; endless, continuous dreams accumulated deep within his heart.

“No one has become such an embodiment of an entire nation as he has been—ancestors of generations lost in the slumber of centuries, silent and speechless, who through him have gained life and expression.”

Lionel listened, deeply moved. Renan was absolutely right; Turgenev was indeed not writing a personal story, but the story of an entire nation.

"A salute to and a tribute to the great Slavic people, whose rise to prominence is one of the most remarkable phenomena of our time."

Let us pay tribute to it, for it so early found this unparalleled artist as its spokesperson. He belongs to all humanity.

After Renan finished speaking, he bowed slightly. The crowd erupted in enthusiastic applause. This time, it wasn't just polite applause, but genuine approval.

The Russians were particularly moved, and many applauded with tears in their eyes.

Renan's speech concluded. As scheduled, the next step was for an Orthodox priest to preside over a memorial service for the deceased.

But at that moment, Polina Vialdo stepped forward and faced the crowd: "Before the religious ceremony begins, I have one more thing to announce—"

Before his death, Ivan left a wish: that a young writer who could represent the future would summarize his life's work.

The crowd began to whisper, exchanging glances and wondering who it could be. But soon everyone realized what was going on, and all eyes turned to one spot.

Polina's gaze swept across the crowd and finally settled on the same spot—Lionel standing next to Zola.

"The person Ivan designated is Mr. Lionel Sorel."

Lionel was somewhat taken aback. The two Frenchmen who had spoken earlier were Edmond Abou, president of the Writers' Association, and Ernest Renan, a member of the French Academy.

Compared to them, although I am very famous, I have no official status whatsoever, so I was not prepared to give a speech.

But Émile Zola gently nudged him: "Go, Leon. It is Ivan's wish." Leonard no longer hesitated, took a deep breath, leaned on his cane, and crossed the crowd to stand in front of the carriage as well.

He turned around to face the crowd. Four hundred pairs of eyes were on him. There was expectation, curiosity, and skepticism—after all, he was too young, only twenty-six years old.

Is it appropriate for him to "summarize" Turgenev's works?

Lionel understood the meaning behind those gazes, but he did not back down. Since it was Turgenev's dying wish, he would fulfill it for him.

"Ladies and gentlemen, today we are here to bid farewell to Ivan Sergeyevich Turgenev. We are sending him home, back to the Russian land he loves so dearly."

“Just now, Mr. Renan pointed out Ivan’s most essential quality—that he transcends the individual and becomes the conscience and embodiment of a nation. I completely agree. But I would like to add one more point.”

“I believe that Ivan is not a prophet who shows us the way, but a man who stops at the fork in the road.”

This statement drew puzzled looks from some people. Lionel's tone remained calm—

"Most people in this era are always eager to judge, eager to take sides, and eager to pronounce judgment, but Ivan has chosen a more difficult path—to fully present the contradictions of this era."

"His characters are always arguing, but no one has the final say; not because the author hesitates, but because he knows he shouldn't be so rash."

Tell me, who was right and who was wrong, Bazarov or Pavel Petrovich? Was Insarov's ideal feasible? Was Lisa's piety a virtue or a constraint?

Ivan never gives us a definitive answer. What he gives us are complete pictures, living, breathing people, and real predicaments.

Many people nodded slightly. They had all read "Fathers and Sons," had been fascinated by the debate between Bazarov and Arkady, and had been puzzled by the author's stance.

"In his novels, there are no losers who are simply ridiculed, nor are there victors who are unconditionally crowned. He lets young people express all their anger, and he also lets people of the old era retain their last dignity."

“Think of Lavretsky in A Nest of Gentlefolk. He is undoubtedly a loser; his marriage has broken down, and his ideals have been shattered. But Ivan does not mock him. On the contrary, he gives this character profound sympathy and understanding.”

"Think again about Insarov in 'On the Eve.' This Bulgarian revolutionary is full of ideals and ready to sacrifice himself for the liberation of his country. But Ivan also did not portray him as a perfect hero."

Insarov would hesitate, would doubt, and would struggle between love and duty. Because he was a human being, not a political symbol!

"Therefore, in an era where literature is accustomed to serving ideas, Ivan has always adhered to a rare artistic ethic—not allowing any soul to become a tool of a position."

"In this century that celebrates passion, eloquence, and assertion, he chose to calmly narrate those stories that should have been thrilling, with a low tone and a slow pace. But perhaps it is precisely because of this that his words will gain a more enduring power."

A murmur of approval rose from the crowd. Several older writers nodded; they had lived through that era and knew how rare Turgenev's unconventionality was.

Lionel turned to the coffin, as if speaking to Turgenev himself: "And the tragedy he wrote most often was not death, but 'too late'."

These words struck a chord with many people. Polina covered her mouth with a handkerchief, her shoulders trembling.

“His novels rarely feature devastating destruction, but rather genuine suffering—speaking too late, making decisions too late, and missing out on love due to hesitation. He shows us that life is often not about failing because of mistakes, but about losing things because of hesitation.”

"Lisa and Lavretsky's love was lost because a word was never spoken; Bazarov and Odintsova's relationship ended because of pride and misunderstanding; Insarov and Elena's happiness was shattered by the sudden arrival of death."

"These are all tragedies that were 'too late.' And these tragedies are often overlooked by us."

Lionel turned toward the Russians.

"If one day people stop rushing to judge right and wrong, stop believing in absolute victory, and start listening to each other seriously—then perhaps they will reread Ivan Sergeyevich Turgenev and discover that he realized this much earlier than we did."

"He stood at the fork in the road, not rushing to choose a direction, but carefully observing the scenery of each road and listening to the voices of every pedestrian. This attitude is especially precious in today's black-and-white world."

After saying his last words, Lionel bowed slightly and returned to the crowd.

The station was silent. Then, applause broke out. At first, it was sporadic, but it quickly spread and became enthusiastic and sustained applause.

The French were applauding, the Russians were applauding; writers, painters, musicians, scholars—everyone was applauding.

Lionel watched this scene, his heart filled with mixed emotions. He knew that the applause was not only for him, but also for Turgenev.

He was simply giving a fair assessment of him as a reader and researcher of later generations; he was not praising him excessively.

Turgenev, like Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Flaubert, and others, was one of the writers who set an example for 20th-century literature.

The applause gradually subsided. Father Vasilyev stepped forward, indicating that the religious ceremony was about to begin.

Émile Zola grasped Lionel's arm: "Well said, Lionel. Ivan will be proud of you."

“I hope so,” Lionel said.

At that moment, the Orthodox priests began chanting scriptures, their deep, melodious voices filling the air above the station…

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(End of this chapter)