Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 89 The Day of the Parisian Woman's Death
(After thinking about it, I've almost reached 4 votes. Everyone's been so supportive, I can't back down. Here comes the fourth update!)
Although color printing was already very advanced in this era, prices remained consistently high.

Newspapers that need to boost sales naturally cannot afford high-end products like "color lithographing," which is time-consuming, labor-intensive, and expensive.

The price of 10 Su of "Modern Life" is certainly not cheap, but can it cover the cost of using color printing?

Regardless, this newspaper gave Lionel a feeling of being in another world, as if "yesterday" had come back to life, making him lose track of time.

He flipped through the pages and found that not only the front page, but also the second and third pages... all featured "Letter from an Unknown Woman," which was published all at once in "Modern Life."

You should know that he initially planned to publish this novella of over a thousand lines in at least two parts, "Part 1" and "Part 2," but he never expected that Modern Life would be so bold as to publish it all at once.

However, it also brings an excellent reading experience, since excerpts are never popular with readers in any era.

Before the Easter holidays ended, the latest issue of Modern Life quietly appeared in elegant newsstands, members-only club reading rooms, and salons with heavy velvet curtains.

What first and foremost shocks readers is, of course, the color illustration.

The stunning color saturation, dramatic contrast of light and shadow, and the characters' complex micro-expressions instantly captivated everyone's attention.

Naturally, their attention then turned to the novel illustrated by this picture...

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.

"'A letter from an unknown woman'?" Madame de Rune read the words softly.

She was used to sitting in the small living room facing the garden after breakfast, reading the newly arrived newspapers and magazines in the morning light.

When she read the letter the "unknown woman" wrote to "L," the very first sentence struck her heart like a cold hammer:

My son died yesterday—I fought against death for three days and three nights for this frail life, as thin as a reed…

The Marquis's hand trembled, and scalding coffee splashed onto her expensive lace cuffs, but she was completely unaware.

Her breathing became rapid, and her gaze swept greedily, almost with a masochistic urgency, over the hastily written and frenzied words.

The love of that stranger woman, so humble it was like dust; the countless unseen moments of waiting; the solitary courage to conceive and raise the child, the symbol of their love, all alone; and finally, the immense pain of the child's death…

Every word was like a red-hot needle, scorching her already numb heart.

When she read that the woman, at the end of her life, chose to declare her existence and love and hate through this long letter rather than through crying and fussing, the Marquise felt a strong sense of dizziness.

She slammed the magazine shut and pressed it tightly to her chest, as if trying to calm her wildly beating heart.

She thought of the secret stirrings of her youth; of the glances she cast at the men she admired, only to quickly avert them behind a fan; of the countless nights her husband was absent-minded…

An unprecedented and immense sense of resonance and indignation swept over her...

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.

While her husband was out seeing patients at the pharmacy, Michelle's wife, Frilline, slipped into their small, herbal-smelling dispensing room.

This is the only place where she can temporarily escape from chores and her crying child.

She eagerly opened "Modern Life"—it was one of the great pleasures of her dull life.

After being stunned by the colorful illustrations, she read the novel with an almost voyeuristic excitement.

But soon, this excitement was replaced by an overwhelming feeling of suffocation.

You, who have never known me at all!

The letter from the "strange woman" to "L" was so sweet that the opening salutation sent a shiver down her spine.

She read about how women lived like ghosts on the fringes of men's world, how they remembered every tiny detail about him, and how they burned themselves out on countless lonely nights...

Frillie's tears flowed silently, dripping onto the rough paper of the newspaper and even blurring the ink.

She seemed to see herself in him. Did she love her husband? Perhaps.

But married life had long since worn away all passion, leaving only responsibility and the daily grind. Did she ever once have such a passionate, selfless, even self-destructive love?
Perhaps there was a vague shadow of it in some moment during my teenage years.

But the woman in the novel exposes her deepest, most unspoken, humble desires and immense sacrifices in such an extreme and tragic way.

When Emily read about a woman raising her child alone, seeing it as her only bond with her lover, only to ultimately lose him, she could no longer hold back and began to sob uncontrollably.

She thought of her young child, who was the entire focus and meaning of her life.

Losing him? She couldn't imagine that kind of despair.

When a woman chooses to declare her existence with a long letter on the verge of death, rather than the hysterical women she had seen before, Emily felt a deep-seated shudder and admiration.

What a desperate display of dignity!
Looking at the man's confused, bewildered, and slightly mocking face in the illustration, a surge of intense anger and sorrow welled up within her...

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 crowded, poorly lit tailor shop in Montmartre, female workers are engrossed in needlework and fabric.

The proprietress, Mrs. Malvina, held a copy of "Modern Life"—she had initially come to study the latest fashion illustrations, but had become completely captivated by the colorfully illustrated novel.

Just before lunch break, she unusually refrained from discussing fashion and gossip about customers. Instead, she hesitated for a moment, then cleared her throat and addressed the group of female workers, saying, "Girls, quiet down. I... I'll read something to you."

She opened "Letter from an Unknown Woman".

At first, the women were somewhat indifferent, continuing to sew buttons; but as Madame Malvina read out the opening proclamation about her son's death, the sound of the sewing machine gradually stopped, and the needle and thread were put down.

The only sounds in the cramped space were the landlady's voice and her increasingly heavy breathing.

They heard how a lowly woman loved a man who didn't even remember her, how she lived like a shadow, and how she bore the burden of pregnancy and raising a child alone...

These scenarios are too close to their lives. Many of them have experienced or are experiencing emotional loss and being neglected.

That strange woman was like a cruel mirror, reflecting their own image.

When the text read about a woman writing a letter in despair, just to be "seen" before she died, a young female worker in the corner could no longer hold back, suddenly covering her face and her shoulders trembling violently.

She thought of the lover who abandoned her, and the child she had secretly aborted.

No one laughed at her. The entire tailor shop fell into a heavy, suffocating silence, broken only by suppressed sobs.

Occasionally, someone would mutter a curse: "Damn it! These men..."

After reading the last line, Madame Malvina was already in tears.

She closed the newspaper, looked at the group of women in front of her, roughened by life but deeply moved at this moment, and after a long while, said in a hoarse voice, "Go...go back to work."

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 warm, luxurious, palace-like manor living room, a group of young, fashionable ladies were sitting together.

The usual lighthearted conversations, art critiques, and political gossip had all vanished, because almost every lady and young woman who arrived was carrying a copy of "Modern Life."

Many people had red eyes and looked dazed, as if they had not yet recovered from the huge mental shock.

A slightly older noblewoman asked with tears in her eyes, "That child... God, when I read 'My son died yesterday,' my heart... felt like it was being gripped by an icy hand."

Why did she start like that? Why?

Having read the novel long ago, Mrs. Rothschild replied calmly, "Because that was her only 'collateral'! No one can question what a mother says when she loses her only child!"
She wanted to exchange this greatest pain for that indifferent man… for just a few minutes of our listening!

Hearing this answer, the ladies' hearts broke again, and their eyes reddened even more.

As Mrs. Rothschild looked at the pained expressions on the faces of the others and the adoring gazes they gave her, a sense of immense satisfaction welled up within her. This secret pleasure almost made her moan ambiguously on the spot.

She desperately wanted her servants to bring Lionel here in a carriage right away so she could announce to everyone, "This is my lad!"

(End of this chapter)