Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 84 The Birth of World-Famous Paintings

The opening of "Letter from an Unknown Woman" captivated not only the noblewomen of the Normandy coastal estate, but also Émile Bégera, the editor-in-chief of "Modern Life."

Not everyone can go on vacation when the Seine River smells bad.

Like Émile Bégera, a renowned poet, playwright, and essayist, even though he owned a villa in the countryside, he couldn't leave Paris.

Especially for editors of weekly newspapers, before they could finish all the articles and layout, they had to be locked on the second floor of "Charpentier's bookshelf," drinking cup after cup of coffee and smoking one cigarette after another.

Although Georges Charpentier was a passionate patron of the arts and a discoverer of "Naturalism" and "Impressionism," he was not good at business.

Modern Life was an illustrated weekly he started on a whim. Because of its high cost, each copy sold for 10 sous, five times more expensive than Le Figaro.

Despite Mr. Charpentier's insistence that this was the future of newspapers, dismal sales had already overwhelmed the entire "Charpentier's Bookshelf".

He insisted on paying the highest possible fees to contributors to "Modern Life," which was simply insane.

As editor-in-chief, Emil Bergera looked at the mountain of manuscripts piled up in front of him with a worried expression—

The generous royalties would naturally attract many speculators, whom he had to weed out one by one.

Modern Life is positioned as a high-end publication with avant-garde ideas. It not only covers short stories, poetry, art reviews, and cultural essays, but also frequently publishes reviews and works by Impressionist painters such as Monet, Manet, and Renoir.

Even Pierre Renoir himself was one of the magazine's main illustrators.

A newspaper with no news, no scandals, no gossip, and no rumors... selling for 10 sous a copy would be too difficult to survive in Paris.

He wiped his bald forehead and then picked up a rather thick envelope.

“Lionel Sorel? That second-year student at the Sorbonne?” Emil Bergera frowned.

He had read "The Old Guard," and Mr. Charpentier had also told him that he had already commissioned the young man's manuscript, but he hadn't expected to receive it so quickly.

These days, it's common for writers to stop updating their work... and it's unusual for them to submit their work after only a few weeks.

"Another realistic piece like 'The Old Guard'? It's a bit cliché, but maybe it'll sell a few more copies of the newspaper..."

Emil Bergera opened the envelope, pulled out the letter, and unfolded it, only to find that it was a manuscript with signs of revision.

"Is it because they don't have the money to hire a scribe?" the editor-in-chief muttered—he naturally didn't know that the author had decided to take a scribe on a trip abroad at the last minute, which resulted in only one copy being made.

However, the manuscript had not been revised much and was not seriously affected by the changes, so he patiently read it.

The very first sentence made him stare wide-eyed—

Years later, when facing the woman in his bed, the novelist "L" will recall that distant afternoon when he read a letter from a stranger.

What kind of expression is this?
Emil Bergera rubbed his eyes and looked at the sentence twice more before he truly understood its meaning.

For a moment, he stood up excitedly, went to his deputy Joseph, slammed the manuscript on the other's desk, pointed to the first line and said, "Look at this! 'Years later... people will remember... that distant afternoon'!"
This completely breaks the shackles of time! It compresses a vague future scene, the act of reading in the present moment, and that 'distant afternoon' being remembered into a single sentence!

That's so powerful!

Joseph looked bewildered, picked up the manuscript and glanced at it. He was quickly drawn in by the opening and instantly sensed that this letter would have the power to change 'L's' life!

He wanted to read on, but Emil Bégera snatched the manuscript away, and he complained anxiously, "Oh, Mr. Bégera, how could you be so cruel? You only showed me such a wonderful beginning, but you won't let me read any further..."

Emil Bergera, as the editor-in-chief, naturally had priority in reading it; he was just feeling agitated and needed to vent.

Then, the novel's first-person narrative, filled with despair and repressed passion, completely captivated him. Béjart had long been immersed in the most avant-garde literary circles in France and had seen countless works attempting to depict female psychology and emotions, but such an extreme, pure, and destructive female voice was truly rare.

“Psychological depth! Unparalleled psychological depth!” Bergera exclaimed, once again drawing Joseph’s attention.

He put down his own manuscript, picked up the paper that Béjart had already finished reading, and began to read it.

Emil Bergera stood up abruptly: "That young man, Sorel, he has completely penetrated the soul of this dying woman! And the soul of the city of Paris!"

He particularly admired the novel's vivid depiction of Parisian urban life—

Through the perspective of a "strange woman," scenes related to L unfold: brushing shoulders in the stairwell, the lights in the apartment, waiting outside the theater, and helplessness when her child is sick...

These details are so real, full of the unique Parisian sense of alienation, chance, and hidden passion.

Unlike the environmental descriptions in traditional realistic novels, which merely serve as a backdrop for the characters' activities, these are not environmental descriptions.

They are the cold, dramatic stage that constitutes the tragic fate of women.

Joseph was deeply impressed after reading it and immediately exclaimed, "This is practically tailor-made for Modern Life! Mr. Bézanne, we must adopt it immediately!"

Emil Bergera nodded: "Put it on the front page of the next issue! No, next issue is too slow—you take this issue's front page down, this article must be published as quickly as possible!"

Joseph hesitated for a moment: "Won't it be too long? What about our costs..."

Emil Bergera shook his head: "Too long? I'll go explain to Mr. Charpentier! If that doesn't work, then we'll split it into two or even three installments! Readers will follow along, I guarantee it!"

Also, make two copies of it right away, one for the typesetter and the other for Mr. Renoir!

Trust me, Mr. Renoir will love it!

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

In a bright but slightly messy art studio on Queen Street in the Ninth District, the air was filled with the smell of oil paint and turpentine.

Pierre Renoir had just returned from a day of plein air painting, bringing back canvases depicting well-dressed tourists along the Seine in springtime.

Although the stench of the river in reality might force the models to cover their noses, in his paintings, life is always filtered of its harshness, presenting warm light and shadow and flowing pleasure.

A thick letter was delivered to the door by the postman.

Renoir put down his palette, sat down in a fairly clean chair in the corner of his studio, lit his pipe, and began to read.

At first, he was drawn in by the peculiar opening sentence and savored it with great interest.

But as the "unknown woman's" stories flooded in, Renoir's usual lighthearted expression, which depicted the sweetness of life, gradually disappeared.

He took a deep drag of his cigarette, his brow furrowed slightly, and his gaze became focused and complex...

After a long while, he stubbed out his cigarette, took the half-finished painting off the easel, threw it aside, and nailed on a new canvas.

Then, picking up the charcoal pencil, he began to draw the first line, sketching a blurry yet emotionally charged outline...

What he didn't know was that 120 years later, at an auction at the end of the century, this copy of "Letter from an Unknown Woman" would eventually fetch a record price of $83 million.

It ranks alongside Van Gogh's "Portrait of Monsieur Lionel Sorel" as one of the ten most expensive oil paintings.

(End of this chapter)