In the apartment study at 117 Saint-Germain Boulevard, the silence of the night enveloped everything.
Lionel sat alone at his desk, a cup of long-cold black coffee beside him.
The scene at dinner at the "English Cafe", especially his own spontaneous remark, "You are a lost generation", and the shocked and bewildered expressions of Maupassant, Huysmans, and others, echoed repeatedly in his mind.
This phrase stirred up memories and associations far beyond his expectations.
As a soul from the future, he was all too familiar with this label; it was almost inextricably linked with the American writers who lived in exile in Paris in the 1920s—Hemingway, Fitzgerald, and others.
Many people thought "the lost generation" came from Hemingway's mouth, but it actually didn't.
The phrase was recounted by American novelist Miss Gertrude Stein, who heard it from a garage owner.
At the time, she brought her old Ford car to the garage for repairs.
A young man at the garage, who had served in the war (World War I), was scolded by the owner for his poor skills and perfunctory attitude—"You are all a lost generation."
Miss Gertrude Stein relayed this remark to Hemingway and asserted,
"You are such people. You are all such people, all of you who served in the war.
You are all a lost generation. You respect nothing, you live for pleasure and don't argue with me, you are a lost generation, exactly as the garage owner said."
It was simply that this phrase became famous because of Hemingway, and it became the label for an entire generation of American writers.
At this moment, sitting in his Paris study in 1881, Lionel realized that this description perfectly fit his group of French friends, and the spiritual predicament of an entire generation of French youth after the Franco-Prussian War.
That's why he could blurt it out so naturally at the dinner table.
In 1870, at the outset of the Franco-Prussian War, the Second French Empire was similarly permeated with blind optimism and so-called "patriotic fervor".
Newspapers were filled with contempt for "Prussian barbarians" and prophecies of swift French victory.
French national confidence swelled to its peak!
However, the disastrous defeat at Sedan, the capture of Napoleon III, the collapse of the Second Empire, the siege of Paris, followed by a humiliating peace, the cession of Alsace and Lorraine, and then the bloody Communard's Week in Paris...
This series of tempestuous blows once again crushed a nation's pride.
Such a massive disparity, plummeting abruptly from the illusory peak of "glory" into the abyss of real "defeat", was enough to destroy any naive young mind.
Guy de Maupassant, serving as a communications soldier, personally experienced the chaotic retreat of the French army and witnessed the absurdity and cruelty of human nature under the crushing weight of war.
That's why, in novels like Boule de Suif, he mercilessly depicted the soldiers' discomfiture, the officers' hypocrisy, and the selfishness and baseness of the so-called upper class beneath the mask of "patriotism".
War dragged modern civilization back to a state of naked barbarism; the "honor" and "sacrifice" loudly proclaimed were nothing but pale excuses to cover up plunder and slaughter.
This disillusionment was not merely the collapse of political stances and national beliefs, but an incurable spiritual trauma.
It shook the French people's trust in fundamental values like order, reason, and progress, which had been upheld as golden rules since the Age of Enlightenment.
Since lofty ideals could collapse so easily, and life was so fragile and impermanent, then indulging in sensory stimulation, seeking temporary numbness and solace in alcohol, women, and boisterous salons, seemed to become the only reasonable choice.
Maupassant chose a dissolute life, feeling pessimistic about life, mocking everything noble, and completely ignoring his worsening illness... these were all specific symptoms of this era's malady.
Even the entire literary style of France shifted from the passion and fantasy of Romanticism to the calm, objective, and even cold realism and naturalism.
This shift was precisely a direct manifestation of war trauma in literary concepts.
Lionel softly repeated the phrase: "a lost generation..."
Hemingway and his friends were disillusioned in the ruins of World War I, while Maupassant, Huysmans, and others experienced this "lostness" earlier, in the ruins of the Franco-Prussian War.
They were the French version of "the lost generation", a group of people who concealed their pain with debauchery.
Lionel took a deep breath, his fingers landing on the typewriter keys, and typed out the novel's title:
The Sun Also Rises
The novel's protagonist is named Jacques de Barnat, a descendant of a minor noble, who suffered genital injuries in the Franco-Prussian War, leading to the loss of his sexual ability and simultaneously his belief in glory.
After the war, he became a journalist for Le Figaro.
Upon returning to Paris, he spent his days and nights in taverns and cafes with a group of equally war-hollowed veterans, exiled writers, and bankrupt aristocrats.
They hoped that alcohol could extinguish the remaining illusions about country, religion, and love.
Berthe de Isabella, a noblewoman widowed by the war, had now become the most dazzling "new woman".
She moved freely between dinner tables and salons, engaged to the bankrupt baron Michel de Saint-Fargeau, and maintained an ambiguous relationship with the writer Robert Cohen, yet still held an unfulfilled pre-war affection for Jacques.
Entangled in a dead knot of mutual emptiness and desire, the few of them could only flee Paris together...
——————————
Inside the office of Émile Perrin, director of the Comédie-Française, heavy velvet curtains filtered the harsh afternoon sun, casting warm splotches of light on the floor.
Lionel Sorel sat across from Perrin, waiting quietly.
He watched as the director flipped through the thick manuscript of The Café page by page, his expression shifting over time from initial anticipation to solemnity, his brows sometimes furrowed, sometimes relaxed...
Finally, when he saw the last page with its ironic "confession" scene, he let out a long sigh and gently placed the manuscript on the desk.
He looked up at Lionel, his eyes filled with complex emotions: amazement, admiration, and concern.
Émile Perrin's attitude was very cautious, completely devoid of the excitement he had shown when first receiving the script:
"Lion, this is undoubtedly a masterpiece!
Its insight into history, its portrayal of human nature, especially its progression from a lighthearted and humorous opening, step by step, into the abyss of an irreversible tragedy...
All of this is astounding, and I have no doubt of its value!"
Lionel didn't reply; he knew that Émile Perrin's words were just a prelude.
Indeed, the director of the Comédie-Française paused, then changed his tone:
"But you told me earlier that this was a 'comedy'?
With all due respect, what I see is more pungent satire and profound pathos. Is it really suitable for a Christmas season premiere?"
He tried to make Lionel understand his predicament, and began to explain earnestly:
"The Christmas season, Lion! That's the most important performance slot of the year.
What do the gentlemen and ladies of Paris, willing to spend dozens or even hundreds of francs, expect when they bring their entire families to the theater?
They expect heartwarming stories like The Choir, Molière's classics that make people laugh heartily, or lighthearted and enjoyable operettas!
They want to relax during the holidays, seeking solace and joy, not... not be forced to reflect on a century of turmoil, or human weaknesses and the mistakes of their ancestors!"
Émile Perrin spread his hands, his face full of worry:
"Audiences might feel deceived—
They come in expecting a comedy, but leave with a heavy, perhaps even depressed, heart.
This could be a risk for the box office!'"
Lionel listened quietly, his face showing no displeasure at being questioned, but rather complete calm.
He didn't try to explain the satirical structure of the play, nor did he argue the common knowledge that the so-called "comedy" core is a tragedy.
After Émile Perrin finished speaking, he simply nodded slightly, then very naturally reached out as if to take the script back from the table.
Lionel's tone was as flat as if he were discussing the weather:
"Oh, it's not suitable? Then I understand. It's alright, the Comédie-Française isn't the only theater in Paris.
I believe we'll find a place willing to let it meet the Parisian audience this Christmas season!'"
Émile Perrin almost reflexively reached out his hands and firmly pressed down on the precious manuscript, as if it were the goose that laid golden eggs from the story of Jack and the Beanstalk.
He was in a complete panic; his previous calculations about the market and schedule immediately crumbled before Lionel's understated "threat".
Émile Perrin's voice became urgent and continuous:
"No! Don't! Lion, my good friend! Perform it! It must be performed!
Right here at our Comédie-Française! The Christmas season premiere, it's settled!'"
He held tightly onto the script, fearing Lionel might change his mind:
"Such a good script, what other stage besides our Comédie-Française deserves it?
Audiences need guidance, and we have a responsibility to lead them to appreciate true art!
I'll arrange it right away; I'll gather our best actors today to give them a sneak peek and begin rehearsals as soon as possible!'"
Watching Émile Perrin's change from arrogance to deference, Lionel's lips curved slightly upward, and he calmly settled back into his comfortable chair.
He knew that with the box office miracle created by The Choir and the sensational technical revolution brought by Thunderstorm, he held an absolute advantage in negotiations with any theater.
He had enough confidence to insist on his artistic vision; the opera houses of Paris, and even other renowned theaters across Europe, were eagerly awaiting his new work.
A small disturbance thus subsided, and the atmosphere in the office once again became harmonious.
Émile Perrin breathed a sigh of relief, adjusted his slightly disheveled collar, and quickly shifted the topic to another area that excited him greatly.
His face lit up again as he eagerly said:
"Lion, speaking of Thunderstorm, you absolutely can't imagine how smoothly the 'Sorel-Tesla Electric' theater renovation project is progressing!"
He began to report the results, listing them off one by one:
"So far, we have officially signed renovation contracts for six of the most important theaters in France, including Lyon, Bordeaux, and Marseille!
Not only that, two theaters in London's West End, an imperial theater in Saint Petersburg, and a court theater in Vienna... they also have long-term vision!
The total value of all these contracts combined is already close to two million francs! I anticipate that theaters across Europe will complete electrification within three years!'"
He grew more excited as he spoke:
"Especially the renovation project of the Grand Théâtre de Lyon, which is progressing at lightning speed and is expected to be fully completed by early October.
I've already planned it: I will personally lead the original cast and crew of our Thunderstorm to Lyon for a two-week tour, as the grand opening celebration for their new stage.
Lion, this is an important debut, and I hope you will personally attend the unveiling ceremony of the first performance."
(End of Chapter)