As Vienna's morning light spread across the land, the carriage arranged by "Hug & Mann Publishing House" arrived punctually at their hotel.
Zola, Maupassant, Lionel, and their group passed through Vienna's Ringstrasse, arriving at Schillerplatz, where the magnificent building of the Vienna Academy of Fine Arts soon came into view.
This neoclassical temple of arts, along with the Hofburg Palace, the Parliament Building, and the University of Vienna, collectively forms Vienna's most spectacular "capital architectural complex."
In front of the Academy's main entrance, beneath four massive Corinthian columns, several people were already waiting.
The elderly gentleman leading them was impeccably dressed in a dark suit, with silver hair and a white beard, exuding elegance; beside him stood several individuals, likely Academy professors, with solemn expressions.
Once the carriage came to a halt, Mr. Karl Hug was the first to disembark, enthusiastically introducing the parties:
"Esteemed Dean, allow me to introduce our friends from Paris—this is Mr. Émile Zola, this is Mr. Guy de Maupassant, and Mr. Lionel Sorel..."
Then he turned to the writers:
"Gentlemen, this is Professor Eduard von Lichtenfels, the Dean of the Vienna Academy of Fine Arts."
Dean Lichtenfels stepped forward, his smile warm:
"Welcome, welcome to the Vienna Academy of Fine Arts. Yesterday's book-signing event was truly admirable. I have also read The Evenings at Médan, and its power and brilliance invigorate even an old man like myself."
His French was remarkably fluent, entirely without accent.
As the group's leader, Zola stepped forward to shake hands and exchange pleasantries with the Dean.
Afterward, Dean Lichtenfels personally led everyone through the Academy's main entrance.
The interior of the Academy of Fine Arts appeared even more solemn and profound than its exterior.
The towering domes were adorned with religious frescoes, and sunlight streaming through the large windows illuminated the sculptures and oil paintings displayed along the corridors.
The air was filled with the distinctive scent of turpentine, paint, and old wood.
Occasionally, students in paint-stained smocks hurried past, and upon seeing the Dean and his group, they promptly stood aside respectfully and bowed.
As the Dean slowly walked forward, he began his explanation—though it was often interspersed with his appraisals of The Evenings at Médan.
"After reading The Evenings at Médan, my strongest feeling is a... return of classical heroism!"
His words immediately captured the writers' attention.
The Dean pointed to a group sculpture:
"This is a replica of Laocoön. Ancient Greek heroes, facing unavoidable fate, demonstrate spiritual struggle and defiance even when their bodies endure extreme pain. I felt this tragic grandeur in your The Attack on the Mill, Mr. Zola.
The outsider, Dominique, could have remained detached but chose to hold fast, even to the point of sacrifice. He is like a modern Greek hero, fighting against fate beneath the small 'Troy' of the mill."
Zola subtly nodded.
The group continued onward, stopping before a colossal historical painting depicting a battle scene:
"Mr. Sorel, Father Milon also deeply impressed me. He doesn't shout slogans or harbor grand ideals; his motives are primal and simple—avenging his father, avenging his son, protecting his property.
This act of revenge, based on the most direct, personal emotions, strips away all pretense, becoming pure, like Achilles!
Father Milon is like a hero stepped out of a Homeric epic, except his battlefield isn't the plains of Troy, but the rural fields of Normandy."
Lionel politely replied:
"Your interpretation is deeply inspiring."
Although the Dean went on to praise each of their masterpieces, he particularly likened "Boule de Suif" in Boule de Suif to the famous ancient Greek courtesan Phryne, possessing an inner, spiritual "beauty."
This spiritual radiance, as pure and dazzling as Phryne's perfectly exquisite physical body, made the hypocritical "respectable people," like the Greek elders who dared not look directly at Phryne's body, similarly afraid to look directly at her!
Maupassant trembled with excitement.
He looked at Lionel with a mix of gratitude and guilt—if it hadn't been for Lionel's innovative idea of a "book signing," how could he have received such praise from an important figure?
Observing the reactions of Zola, Lionel, Maupassant, and the others, Dean Lichtenfels nodded with satisfaction:
"I believe 'Naturalism' shares a common thread with the artistic credo of the Vienna Academy of Fine Arts.
We both pursue a profound observation and accurate depiction of reality, but the ultimate goal is to distill the sublime spirit contained within, imbuing it with classical, eternal beauty."
His tone gradually became serious:
"This makes me inevitably think of the trend of... well, 'Impressionism' that is now emerging in Paris. Please forgive my frankness, gentlemen, you are from Paris and may hold different views. But in my opinion, that is simply a betrayal and a reaction against art!"
His voice gradually became disdainful:
"Those painters abandon drawing, disregard composition, forsake the sublime...
They are obsessed with fragments of light and shadow, pursuing blurry outlines and saccharine colors.
Painting bourgeois picnics, indistinct train stations, water lilies...
Frivolous!
Superficial!
Devoid of spiritual weight!
That is not art at all; it is a regression of technique, a degradation of taste!"
His voice echoed through the corridor, carrying an unquestionable authority:
"Art needs freedom, but even more so, it needs reverence for tradition and beauty; it must never allow chaos and vulgarity to run rampant!
Literature is the eternal source of inspiration for painting—your works show me a side of Paris that has not yet fallen into decay!"
These remarks instantly made the atmosphere rather subtle.
Zola had little interest in painting, being more fond of photography; while Huysmans and a few other young men were supporters of Impressionism.
But they merely moved their lips, ultimately not uttering a single word.
Lionel suddenly understood that the Dean's appreciation of their works was actually a "misreading"—he had merely used a classical filter to extract the parts of Naturalism that conformed to his aesthetic.
However, if these words were to reach Paris, they would undeniably become "traitors to Parisian avant-garde art."
At the end of the tour, the group was led into a spacious lecture hall at the Academy.
Students who had heard the news had already gathered there, filling the seats and the open space behind, all eager to catch a glimpse of these writers from Paris.
Dean Lichtenfels gave a brief opening speech, reiterating his appreciation for The Evenings at Médan and restating his views on art.
Afterward, he invited Zola to speak.
Zola stood up, his speech steady and powerful.
He thanked the Academy for its warm reception, briefly outlined the philosophy of Naturalist literature, emphasizing that writers should be as objective as scientists, yet also harbor compassion for those who suffer.
His speech was met with enthusiastic applause, even though some students and professors in the audience looked puzzled by his assertion that "writers are like scientists."
The Dean then looked at the remaining members of the group:
"Young gentlemen, what would you like to share with our students?"
The several men exchanged glances, finally all turning their gaze to Lionel.
The Dean was also pleased with this unspoken understanding:
"Mr. Sorel, you displayed extraordinary insight in Father Milon. The emergence of 'Naturalism' assures us that not all art forms in Paris have descended into decay. At least literature is on a flourishing path of development.
I wonder, what are your esteemed views on art, especially the art of painting? We are all very much looking forward to your sharing."
Lionel could only reluctantly stand up and walk to the podium.
He first bowed slightly to the Dean and the teachers and students present, adopting a humble posture.
"Esteemed Dean Lichtenfels, esteemed teachers, and students—First, I must state that I know nothing about painting; concerning all painting techniques, those present here have far more authority to speak than I do.
Therefore, I dare not presume to discuss painting. Instead, I can only approach from a literary perspective, exploring a phenomenon that might be related: namely, how the development of material technology has profoundly altered the themes and focus of literary creation."
This opening remark seemed somewhat unexpected, and a slight murmur of discussion arose from the audience, everyone curious about what he intended to say.
(End of Chapter)
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