The literary supplement of Le Petit Parisien published Lionel Sorell's short story My Hometown in a prominent front-page position, once again stirring up public opinion in Paris.
The first to react strongly were the obscure provincial immigrants scattered in every corner of Paris.
My Hometown was like a key that unlocked the "nostalgia" deep within their hearts.
These readers might not all have come from a mountain town like Montiel; some were from farms in Normandy, some from fishing villages in Brittany, some from vineyards in Burgundy, and some from small towns in the Massif Central...
But their common identity was that of "provincials" – forced to leave their hometowns for survival or dreams, struggling to make a living in Paris, the "City of Light."
Pierre, a typesetter working day and night in a printing house in the Latin Quarter, came from a rural area in Limousin.
When he read the respectful yet distant "Master" from Lentu in My Hometown, his hand paused, and the lead type blocks fell to the ground...
After work, he uncharacteristically skipped the bistro and bought a bottle of the cheapest wine.
Back in his cramped attic, by the dim light of a kerosene lamp, he drank wine and silently wept, missing his parents and the land he could never return to.
Marion, a maid working near Place de la Madeleine, was from a rural area in the Champagne region.
She read My Hometown in a newspaper her mistress had discarded, and the descriptions of rural poverty and the struggles of land inheritance resonated deeply with her.
She was forced to come to Paris to make a living because her family had too little land and too many mouths to feed.
She secretly cried in the laundry room, not just for Lentu in the story, but also for her own fate of a meager dowry and an uncertain future.
There were also sales clerks working in department stores, minor civil servants from Nantes, Corsican laborers toiling on construction sites...
My Hometown touched their complex feelings of both love and resentment for their hometowns, as well as the hardships and alienation of integrating into a big city.
In cafes, workshop corners, and below rented apartments, people began to quietly discuss the novel in French, with accents from various regions...
————
Paris's literary circles quickly took notice of the short story, keenly perceiving Lionel's return to the calm, restrained, and realistic style of The Old Guard.
Especially the novel's profound and subtle revelation of the decaying state of rural areas in remote parts of France excited the critics.
Jules Janin, the chief literary critic and veteran critic of Le Figaro, wrote a lengthy review, enthusiastically praising it:
"...My Hometown convincingly demonstrates Lionel Sorell's astonishing insight and compassion, painting a heartbreaking picture of the French countryside for us.
His portrayal of characters' fates and the changes of the times, his depiction of class divides and human warmth, are enough to remind us of the great Balzac.
This is undoubtedly the finest and most thought-provoking masterpiece of French rural short fiction we have read since The Human Comedy."
The review in Journal des débats focused more on its social significance:
"...The value of My Hometown extends far beyond literature; it reveals the painful struggles being experienced in those unnoticed corners of France outside our Paris:
The fragmentation of land, heavy taxes, the exodus of young people... Lionel uses literature to reflect the shadows beneath the facade of the Republic's prosperity.
These issues should rightfully receive high attention from the government and the esteemed ministers of the cabinet, rather than being drowned out by grand slogans."
A critic from Le Temps also noted:
"...Lionel Sorell engages in no empty political shouting or moralizing; he simply narrates calmly, yet allows every conscientious reader to feel the thunder beneath the calm surface.
This short story should be sent to every Member of Parliament's desk."
————
Unlike the reactions from the literary world and the general public, government officials located in the Palais Bourbon and Hôtel Matignon showed considerable indifference, even impatience, towards the short story.
The secretary placed the newspaper containing My Hometown and related comments on the desk of Adolphe Lepreux, the Minister of Agriculture and Commerce.
Adolphe Lepreux, busy drafting a new agricultural tax bill, merely glanced at it impatiently before pushing it aside:
"More of these writers' groundless groans!
Exaggerated and sensational! To achieve artistic effect, they always piece together the most extreme and tragic examples.
The situation in the French countryside is not nearly that bad; most farmers are content with the status quo and live in peace and prosperity."
The secretary kindly reminded him:
"Minister, there's a lot of discussion about this short story now... Public opinion..."
Adolphe Lepreux showed a contemptuous smile, then his tone became serious again:
"For the glory of France, to repay national debts, and to build railways and fleets, sacrifices are always required.
Everyone is bearing heavy burdens, not just them!
Do these writers know that I have to work overtime for at least half an hour every day now?
Alas, it's not that I lack sympathy, but... let the farmers suffer a bit, and I'll bear the blame!"
————
On the coast of Naples, Italy, in Madame Rothschild's mansion, My Hometown also became a hot topic of discussion.
At some unknown point, discussing Lionel's works – whether the endlessly captivating Letter from an Unknown Woman or the currently serialized The Curious Case of Benjamin Button – had become a regular topic.
Of course, discussing My Hometown here took on a completely different hue.
Ladies and gentlemen, dressed in exquisite attire, sipped champagne under glittering crystal chandeliers, discussing the distant world of Montiel – a world they had never encountered – with a mixture of curiosity, sympathy, and a touch of exoticism.
The fate of Lentu's family became the object of their pity.
"Oh, darling, have you read it? That poor farmer, it's truly tragic!"
"Indeed, it's hard to imagine that such impoverished places still exist in our France."
"'Hope is neither existence nor non-existence, just like paths on the ground,' my goodness, Lionel always has golden sentences waiting for us!"
"That's because Mr. Lionel Sorell truly has a heart of gold; he can notice and write about these things."
Madame Rothschild, seated at the head of the table, keenly sensed the sympathetic mood permeating the salon.
She had always regarded Lionel as one of her most insightful "investments" and "collections."
Ever since the oral exam for the Sorbonne annual big exam, when she sent her chief maid Lia to confront the arrogant Sophia directly, ambiguous speculations about Lionel and her had secretly circulated among the ladies.
Madame Rothschild had noticed, but didn't care – Lionel was not the corpulent, crude Balzac – the ladies would simply be driven mad with jealousy.
Therefore, every success of Lionel's meant an even greater boost to her reputation among the aristocratic ladies.
Thinking this, Madame Rothschild gently put down her feather fan:
"Ladies and gentlemen, Lionel's words have allowed us to touch a scar on France.
Simply sighing is not enough; we, who enjoy the prosperity of Paris, perhaps should do something concrete for those poor souls..."
An impromptu charity fundraiser began.
The noblewomen generously opened their purses, perhaps out of genuine sympathy, perhaps to curry favor with Madame Rothschild, or perhaps simply to display their own kindness...
Soon, a sum of 20,000 francs was raised.
Madame Rothschild immediately announced that the money would be donated to the town of Montiel, in the name of "Friends of Paris," to "improve the livelihoods of the people"...
————
Lionel had no idea that his My Hometown had once again caused an extraordinary stir in Paris; he was now facing a tremendous challenge, even more difficult than his time struggling to survive in Paris...
(End of Chapter)
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