The winter sunlight streamed through the spacious glass windows of the Médan villa, casting dappled light and shadow across the room.
The air was filled with the rich aroma of roasted grouse, black truffles, and aged Bordeaux.
Oak wood crackled softly in the fireplace, creating a lazy and comfortable ambiance.
The Saturday salon, held at Zola's villa in the countryside, was Lionel's most favored among the many salons in Paris.
Not only was it away from the dust and smoke of the city, offering a serene environment, but more importantly, Émile Zola always treated his friends to the freshest seasonal ingredients.
As Lionel stepped into the foyer, he heard the voices of Guy de Maupassant and Émile Zola conversing in the living room.
Zola was the first to greet him:
"Guy told me everything, Lion, Gustave's situation was really dangerous this time! Thanks to you!"
Maupassant also stepped forward and embraced Lionel.
Lionel humbly waved his hand:
"When we arrived, the doctor had already finished everything. We just stayed with him for two days."
Zola patted his shoulder:
"Lion, doctors heal the body, friends comfort the soul. Your companionship will help him recover faster. I can't wait to see Gustave return to Paris!"
The lunch atmosphere at the Médan villa was as lively as ever.
The long table was laden with delicacies meticulously arranged by Madame Alexandrine:
Plump Dijon snails, fresh oysters transported from the Normandy coast, black truffles from Périgord;
The main course was aromatic veal in white sauce with winter root vegetables, along with various cheeses, desserts, and breads;
Of course, there was no shortage of mellow Bordeaux, as well as liqueurs, champagne... almost everything imaginable.
However, due to Flaubert's illness, the atmosphere at the table was somewhat subdued, mainly because the usually lively Maupassant was not in high spirits, and others found it hard to joke around.
After the meal, everyone moved to the living room, and after coffee and apple brandy, their spirits gradually lifted.
Zola suddenly stood up, his face filled with excitement:
"Friends, today, I have something important I want to share with you all.
This is the cornerstone upon which our 'Médan Group' might step into a new phase."
He walked to the desk, picked up a thick stack of manuscript pages:
"This is a lecture, and I'm almost finished with it.
I believe this lecture will provide a solid, scientific theoretical system for 'Naturalism'!
I will present it at the École Normale Supérieure's spring lecture in Paris!"
He handed the manuscript to Henri Céard, who was closest to him:
"Please all take a look. I hope to receive your most sincere opinions."
The manuscript quickly circulated among everyone, accompanied by constant whispers.
When Lionel received it, he was actually unperturbed – if there were no surprises, this was Zola's most important theoretical work of his life, The Experimental Novel.
He opened the first page, and those familiar arguments, declarations, and terms borrowed from Claude Bernard's medical theory... all came into view.
Lionel had long been aware of the successes and failures of this work.
Zola paced excitedly, as if already standing on the podium of the École Normale Supérieure:
"Gentlemen, traditional literature relies too much on inspiration, imagination, and that ethereal genius!
The times have changed! The 19th century is the century of science, the century of positivism! Novelists should not be engrossed in entertaining society, or moralizing!
We too should become scientists!"
Everyone was not surprised by Zola's view, as he had expressed similar opinions many times in past salons.
However, equating novelists directly with "scientists" was a first.
Zola's voice grew more impassioned:
"We novelists should set our story situations and characters like chemists handling reagents in a laboratory!
Characters are our experimental subjects; their personalities are determined by heredity, and their actions are driven by environment.
We must place them in specific situations, then calmly observe and record their inevitable actions, to verify certain inevitable laws of society!"
In his excitement, he even waved his arms to emphasize his point:
"Imagine, literary creation as rigorous as natural science, repeatable, predictable!
Literature will possess the power to diagnose society, and even predict the future! 'Naturalism' will no longer be merely a literary concept, but a scientific theory!"
After Zola finished, he looked at his friends expectantly, seemingly awaiting enthusiastic applause.
Paul Alexis and Henri Céard showed expressions of admiration and approval on their faces.
They were shaken by Zola's grand vision and murmured in praise.
Huysmans, as always, pursed his lips, seemingly finding the theory a bit "crude," but too lazy to immediately contradict.
Maupassant, however, was the first to frown:
"Émile, this sounds good. But what do our characters become?
Frogs in a laboratory beaker or dissected rabbits? Do they not have their own will?"
He put down the manuscript in his hand and took a sip from his wine glass:
"When I write, I often feel that my characters come alive themselves, holding my pen and writing.
Is this not the most captivating part of writing? If everything is predetermined like an experimental report, what joy is there in creation?
What difference is there between us and those clerks who compile railway timetables?"
Zola had not expected Maupassant to contradict him, and his tone became somewhat impatient:
"Guy! This is a remnant of romanticism and realism!
Science demands precision, not elusive 'charm'!
The 'self-will' of characters?
That is merely the inevitable product of heredity and environmental influences!
As long as we possess sufficient scientific knowledge, we can fully predict and explain it!"
Maupassant tried to argue:
"But, Émile..."
Zola cut him off:
"No 'buts'!"
His gaze turned to Lionel:
"Lion, what about you?
You should be able to understand the value of this theory of mine!
Your Old Milon perfectly embodies how environment shapes a character's personality and behavior!
That old farmer, his revenge, wasn't it an inevitable reaction based on the specific situation of his land being seized and his relatives being murdered?"
For a moment, all eyes focused on Lionel.
Lionel slowly put down the manuscript and looked up.
He knew that Zola expected support, the collective response due when the leader of the "Médan Group" rallied the troops.
But he also knew that "Naturalism," after this lecture, embarked on an increasingly narrow path.
It was precisely due to philosophical differences that Maupassant and others gradually drifted away from Zola, and the "Médan Group" ultimately disintegrated in the mid-1880s.
Lionel looked at Zola, only forty years old and full of vigor, and then at the other young men, only a few years older than himself...
A line from Lament for Jiangnan suddenly came to mind:
"Watching him erect grand mansions, watching him entertain guests, watching his mansions crumble!"
Lionel took a deep breath, his voice calm:
"Émile, I first want to pay tribute to your ambition and efforts.
Introducing the spirit of science into literature, to reflect and analyze society more profoundly, is undoubtedly great and extremely valuable."
A hint of a satisfied smile appeared on Zola's face.
However, Lionel's tone immediately shifted:
"But, please forgive my frankness, I believe your The Experimental Novel has several fundamental problems that are open to debate."
Zola's smile froze.
The atmosphere in the room suddenly became tense.
(End of chapter)