Without waiting for his parents to call him, Lionel put down his pen, put on his coat, and went to the living room.
The visitor was none other than Mr. François Bertrand, the mayor, who looked much older than Lionel remembered, with graying temples.
His brown suit, though neatly pressed, showed signs of wear at the elbows and an outdated cut, hinting at his financial struggles.
He held a felt hat in his hand, twirling it constantly.
Upon seeing Lionel, the mayor bowed slightly, his movements a bit stiff, and his expression not entirely natural: "Welcome back to Montiel, Lionel. This truly is an honor for our entire town."
His mother brought coffee, which Mayor Bertrand carefully accepted, complimenting the exquisite porcelain as he did so.
After exchanging pleasantries, the mayor's conversation began to revolve around Paris: "We, though far away in the mountains, have heard of your achievements in Paris.
I have carefully collected all the newspaper reports about you."
As he spoke, he pulled out a neatly folded newspaper clipping from his inner pocket, though the cut edges clearly looked new.
Lionel, of course, did not expose him, but instead responded politely with a calm expression.
After some more small talk, Mayor Bertrand leaned forward, lowering his voice: "Do you know, Montiel is dying!
Young people are all flocking to the cities; last year alone, seventeen young people left for Lyon and Paris, leaving behind only the elderly and children.
Fields are being abandoned, and Old Lanque's small tavern also closed last month—fewer people, and those who remain have no money to patronize it."
He pulled out a leather notebook, densely filled with numbers: "Look at these, the population has decreased from 127 households ten years ago to 98 households now;
Direct taxes collected this year have increased by one and a half tenths compared to three years ago, but our income…"
He shook his head: "The big shots in Paris only sit in offices pushing pens—do they even know how much milk a cow produces in a day?"
Lionel listened quietly, without saying a word.
Mayor Bertrand's voice suddenly became cautious: "If you are in Paris and have the opportunity to meet officials from the Ministry of Agriculture…
Perhaps you could mention the difficulties of our small places? We don't need special treatment, just ask them not to raise taxes again.
Or…or at least fix the roads? The roads now are constantly washed out by floods, and fresh cheese spoils in a few days if it can't be transported."
Suddenly, the mayor seemed to realize he had said too much and quickly stopped, forcing a smile: "Of course, I know you've returned for rest and to be with your family.
Although Montiel is poor, its air is fresh and its people are simple and honest, making it ideal for recuperation.
We will certainly not let trivial matters disturb your peace."
…
After seeing the mayor off, Lionel realized his coffee was almost untouched and had grown cold.
————
Father Peltier arrived closer to noon, his face kind and his eyes gentle.
Before entering, he made the sign of the cross at the door: "May the Lord bless this devout family."
His mother practically ran to prepare refreshments, and his father also appeared exceptionally respectful.
The priest's gaze fell on Lionel: "I have heard of your experiences in Paris.
In such a…place full of temptation and danger, to be able to create works that guide people towards good and resist corruption is not easy.
The Lord will remember your faithfulness."
Lionel: "…"
The conversation shifted to the changes in Montiel, and the priest's tone became heavy: "The greatest threat now is not poverty, but the loss of faith.
The railway brought newspapers, and newspapers brought those dangerous ideas from Paris—what with republicanism, secular education, women's normal schools…"
He spoke these words as if referring to some kind of plague.
The priest's fingertips gently tapped the table: "Young people are no longer content with the Lord's arrangements; they always want to venture out.
Fewer people come to church on Sundays, and even if they do, their minds are wandering.
The most terrifying thing is that some people are beginning to question the Church's teachings, questioning why they should dedicate their hard-earned money to the Church instead of keeping it for themselves."
At this point, he looked directly at Lionel: "You were educated in a church school; you should understand that faith is the only fortress against this chaos.
You have influence in Paris; you should promote these valuable virtues, rather than…rather than bringing too many of those unsettling new ideas.
Tranquility is Montiel's most precious asset, and it is the cornerstone of its soul's preservation."
…
Before the priest left, he gave Lionel a leather-bound Bible: "No matter where you go, never forget where your roots are, and to whom your soul belongs."
Watching the priest's black silhouette disappear into the sunlight, Lionel suddenly realized that he wasn't actually that welcome.
————
However, in a small place like Montiel, fame earned in Paris was like a torch in the darkness, always attracting moths.
Over the next two days, townspeople cautiously began to call.
Initially, they were relatives or old acquaintances of his parents, bringing homemade cheese, eggs, or jam as gifts, and offering compliments.
But soon, the real petitioners arrived.
An old farmer tearfully recounted how his son had been conscripted, leaving his family short of labor and their fields on the verge of ruin, asking if Lionel could plead with the gentlemen in Paris to allow his son to return early.
A widow hoped Lionel could help her write to the textile factory manager in Lyon, to intercede for her daughter, who had fallen ill while working there but had her wages docked.
There was also a small farmer with a troubled expression; his plot of land, due to inheritance laws, had been fragmented into unusable pieces.
He also owed an unpayable debt to the vineyard owner, on the verge of losing everything.
He had heard that people in Paris were discussing changing the laws and wanted to know if "Young Master Sorel" knew any influential figures.
They treated Lionel as a direct conduit to the center of power in Paris, as a "General Lamarque" who could solve all their suffering.
Lionel listened patiently, but his heart was filled with a sense of powerlessness.
He could not promise anything, only offer some empty comfort and advice—such as going to the mayor for a certificate, or consulting a local notary.
For the first time, he so truly felt that fame brought not only glory, but also a heavy, suffocating burden of responsibility and expectation.
He felt as if he had been hoisted to a high place, with countless longing eyes below him, while his own strength was so minuscule.
————
All of this transformed into Lionel's written words.
It wasn't until night that he spread out paper and pen again, continuing to write "hometown."
He distinctly remembered that when he was a child—a few years before the Franco-Prussian War—Montiel was not like this.
Although the villagers were not wealthy, they were self-sufficient and had a sense of being a "paradise on earth."
This young man was Luntou. When I knew him, we were both just over ten years old, and it has been nearly ten years since then; at that time, my grandfather was still alive, and our family's circumstances were more comfortable than now, and I could study in peace.
That year, it was our Montiel town's small church's turn to host a grand mass commemorating its patron saint. This mass was said to be very solemn, the grandest of the year besides Christmas.
…
So at that time, I looked forward to the day of the mass every day. When the day finally arrived, early in the morning, I heard that Luntou had already come and was helping in the preparation room next to the church. So I ran to find him.
He was wiping candlesticks, his cheeks flushed by the stove fire and mountain wind, his hair disheveled, and a small, polished copper Virgin Mary statue hung around his neck. This showed that his parents also loved him, praying to the Virgin Mary to protect him as he grew up safely.
…
After a while, I asked him about catching titmice.
He said: "Now is not a good time. You have to wait until winter, after it snows. We clear a patch of snow in a sheltered clearing in the mountain hollow, prop up an old sieve with a wooden stick, scatter some wheat grains or breadcrumbs underneath, tie a rope to it from a distance, and hide.
When those hungry titmice and sparrows come down to peck at the food, you aim carefully, pull the rope suddenly, and you can trap several. If you're lucky, you might even catch a silly dove."
…
"Not entirely. Someone passing by picking a bunch of grapes to quench their thirst usually doesn't count for much. The main things to guard against are badgers, wild boars, and foxes. On bright moonlit nights, listen, the rustling sound, it's definitely badgers coming to ruin the grapes again. You have to quickly grab a fork and quietly creep over…"
At that time, I didn't know what a badger was—even now, I'm not very clear—I just vaguely felt it was dog-like in appearance, yet very fierce.
Lionel smiled as he wrote.
Montiel in his childhood was indeed a children's paradise.
And precisely because it was once a paradise, it formed a stark contrast with the gloomy Montiel of today.