Flaubert's Parisian apartment was located at 240 Rue Saint-Honoré in the 1st arrondissement, an excellent location near the "Palais Royal" and "Saint-Roch Church."
Aside from his villa in Croisset, near Rouen, this was his only property; and for nearly 10 years, thanks to this salon, it had become the de facto heart of French literature.
Lionel had received numerous salon invitations in recent weeks — besides Stéphane Mallarmé, there were also invitations from his professors at the Sorbonne, and from Albert.
The late 19th century was the heyday of Paris's "salon culture," where writers, artists, publishers, wealthy patrons, and pretentious aristocrats ensured that no evening in Paris was ever dull.
So, choosing which salons to attend became a matter Lionel had to approach with caution.
The hosts of some different salons might be mortal enemies; some salon hosts were petty; some salons were simply certain unspeakable parties...
The salons of Sorbonne professors were usually quite academic, and Lionel really didn't want to leave class only to continue learning at a salon.
Albert's salons were either various wild games within young aristocratic circles or requests for patronage beneath a wealthy lady's skirts.
None of these fit Lionel's ideal — the only suitable one was "Mallarmé's Tuesday," but the participants in that gathering were mainly Symbolist poets, Impressionist painters, and rebellious musicians.
Lionel could tell what kind of scene it would be with his eyes closed.
To some extent, being a writer or artist in 19th-century Paris meant that "choosing a salon was choosing your camp."
So when Maupassant, sporting dark circles under his eyes, abruptly appeared before him and said,
"Monsieur Flaubert hopes to see you at the salon on Sunday afternoon," all other options vanished.
This was "Flaubert's Sunday," a text taught in middle school Chinese language classes.
Later, Chinese students first encountered those glittering names in literary history almost all within this essay: Gustave Flaubert, Ivan Turgenev, Alphonse Daudet, Émile Zola...
However, due to the middle school textbook editors' tradition of abridgment, Lionel only realized upon arriving that there were other people present:
Edmond de Goncourt, one of the Goncourt brothers who established the "Prix Goncourt," the great publisher Charpentier, the naturalist Pouchet, who looked as young as a cavalry officer, and several young writers under 30 who were loyal followers of Zola...
There was even a Sorbonne professor, Hippolyte Taine, who indirectly caused Lionel's attendance at this salon.
Lionel felt his scalp prickle...
And after Maupassant introduced Lionel, all these people observed the "intruder" to the salon with their own gazes, their inner thoughts varying.
"Is this 'Poor Lionel'?
The elbows of his jacket aren't shiny from wear?"
"Why doesn't he smell of the 11th arrondissement?
Did Guy make him bathe before bringing him over?"
"Why does Professor Taine look so normal?
Could the rumor be true — that he's going to marry his daughter to Lionel?"
...
Lionel naturally couldn't hear these inner thoughts, only feeling that the gazes of these seniors and peers were somewhat... peculiar. Nevertheless, he returned a smile, and at the same time, gestured to Maupassant with a grateful look:
"Thank you!"
Maupassant, feeling guilty, dared not respond and secretly hid at the very back of the crowd.
Although Flaubert found it a bit strange that his most garrulous disciple was so shy tonight, he still welcomed Lionel as the host of the salon.
At the same time, the conversation naturally turned to his "The Old Guard."
Everyone present had read this short story, some in the Bulletin of the Sorbonne Faculty of Letters over the past two weeks, others in Le Petit Parisien, which had just been published yesterday.
Everyone was curious that a second-year Sorbonne student could write such a masterpiece.
So Lionel first explained to everyone the origin of the "Old Guard" image and his initial inspiration.
After listening, Flaubert fell into contemplation.
After a moment, his low voice broke the stillness in the room:
"Léon — allow me to call you that — when I first read this story, I was more filled with a kind of theoretical curiosity.
Right here in this room—" He looked around, a smile on his face.
"Émile (Zola) advocates 'experimental novels,' placing literature within the laws of physiology and genetics; Edmond (Goncourt) prefers 'documentary' meticulous records; and I, I am a stubborn recorder of reality...
But you, Léon, your 'The Old Guard' seems different from all of us.
What creed gave birth to it?
Especially that narrator 'I,' the 'little fellow' — I've read the record of your interrogation at the Sorbonne, but I still have doubts."
"How perceptive..." Lionel sighed inwardly.
As the foremost writer of his era, Flaubert's touch for the art of the novel was unparalleled.
Although "The Old Guard" formally did not differ much from most short stories of the 19th century — "weak first-person perspective", "single-line narrative," "typical characters in a typical environment"...
But its source material was born in the 20th century, created by a short story master who ranks first-class even on a global scale, naturally surpassing the current era.
However, only a master like Flaubert could perceive this.
Lionel felt the pressure of the gazes focused on him and, after a moment of thought, slowly began:
"Indeed, when creating 'The Old Guard,' I was inevitably influenced by people like you, Monsieur Zola, Monsieur Daudet, and Monsieur Goncourt.
Your works are all exemplary French novels, the path and bridge that any Frenchman must cross to embark on the road of writing."
Lionel spoke the truth, which was quite gratifying to Flaubert and the others — only Maupassant looked depressed in the back row.
"But once I entered the state of writing, I had no extra thoughts to ponder whether this sentence was 'naturalism' or that one was 'realism' — so the birth of 'The Old Guard' was not born from conversion to some predetermined 'credo.'
I chose the little fellow as the narrator not merely to 'record' this environment and its products.
My true intention was to reveal how the environment shapes the act of 'watching' itself.
This 'little fellow' narrator 'I,' he himself is one of the most 'successful' products of this environment!
He shaped his perceptions with the rules of the tavern — sensitivity to prices, wariness of possible 'adulteration,' and the default distinction between broadcloth coats and short jackets.
His 'observation' of the old guard also carries the specific color that the environment bestowed upon him — a near-instinctive numbness, a sympathy blunted by the pressure of survival, and even a sense of participation, seeking temporary relief in the collective laughter."
Every word Lionel spoke was easy to understand, yet it struck the listeners like thunder —
"The environment not only shapes behavior, but also the way we perceive?"
No one present, including Lionel, realized that a literary storm, one that would sweep across Europe and indeed the entire world, had arrived thirty years early, quietly striking on "Flaubert's Sunday," on this most ordinary afternoon of 1879.
(End of Chapter)
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