les soirées de médan was one of the most important gatherings in French and even world literature at the end of the 19th century.
In the summer of 1879, five young writers and Zola, who was more than ten years their senior, gathered at Médan Villa. Over six evenings, each told a story about the Franco-Prussian War.
These six stories were eventually written as short stories, collected and published by Charpentiers Bookshelf, causing a huge sensation.
The most acclaimed story among them was Maupassant's "dumpling," which became a crucial starting point for his rise to fame in the literary world.
Thereafter, these six individuals were known as the "Médan Group," the most important 陣營 of writers for naturalism.
"So I'm the seventh?" Lionel mused to himself.
He was, of course, familiar with both les soirées de médan and the Médan Group.
He had just been in this world for so long that he almost forgot about this event in 1879, and ended up getting involved without realizing it.
However, since he was here, Lionel also wanted to personally experience this anecdote that would go down in literary history.
The topic was so heavy that even the summer night's insect chirps respectfully fell silent, leaving only the gurgling river, whispering of those unbearable years.
Maupassant was the first to break the silence: "The sound of Prussian cannons… God, those sounds! They didn't come from afar, but like hammers striking directly on your skull.
In Châlons… we were like a driven flock, our formations completely chaotic, officers couldn't find soldiers, soldiers couldn't find their companies…
Retreat? That was a parade of hell! Mud, rain, hunger…"
Maupassant himself had participated in the Franco-Prussian War as a soldier, so his feelings were particularly profound.
Huysmans, who had also served in the Franco-Prussian War, spoke up, his tone gloomy and weary: "I, for the most part, was in the rear… in what they called 'field hospitals.'
God forgive me—that place was more like a slaughterhouse than the front, just slower, more painful.
Putrid wounds emitting a stench, maggots feasting under bandages, the screams of wounded soldiers having their legs sawn off…
And those bureaucrats! Those idiots! They could send a cart of medicine to the wrong place three times! War… it turned men into beasts…"
Paul Alexis's young face also showed indignation: "I was in Paris, experienced the siege. Gentlemen, can you imagine? Comedies were still being performed in theaters, while cannons roared outside the city walls!
Those profiteering merchants, those hooligans taking advantage of the chaos… War stripped away all pretenses, revealing the most naked greed and selfishness."
Henri Céard pushed up his glasses, his voice full of sarcasm: "Look at our generals! Before the Battle of Sedan, those boastful tactics, those foolish decisions…
Sent an entire army into an encirclement. And then? Surrender! The Emperor himself became a prisoner!"
After listening, Lionel sighed: "I only remember that there were rumors everywhere at that time, flying faster than Prussian cannonballs.
First, rumors of victory, instantly igniting the crowd; the next moment, news of defeat plunged the entire neighborhood into dead silence.
Hope rising, shattering, rising again… tormenting people to exhaustion."
Zola listened to his friends' accounts, as if seeing the smoke of ten years ago again.
"Friends," his voice rang out again: "These memories, these pains, these absurdities… they should not be forgotten in the dust of history.
They need to be written, to be presented, with our respective pens!"
He scanned the group, his gaze like a torch: "I propose! Each of us, centered around this war—whether it's the defeated battlefield, the ravaged countryside, the hungry siege—
Tell a story, a short story will do, true, sharp, piercing to the heart!"
This proposal was like a spark thrown into dry tinder, instantly igniting creative passion.
Lionel joked, "Ha, short stories? Is it because Ivan (Turgenev) isn't here that you came up with this idea."
Zola also laughed: "Perhaps… Speaking of which, among us, he is the best at writing short stories—and of course, Alphonse Daudet."
Paul Alexis, however, had his own assessment: "Alphonse Daudet's stories are clever and refined, but they lack the power of Ivan's."
Everyone discussed for a while and generally agreed that Ivan Turgenev was the greatest master of short stories of this era.
Maupassant was more interested in Zola's proposal: "War! Siege! Flight! Soldiers, bureaucrats, civilians…
In the face of fear and desire, the most authentic aspects of human nature are exposed! This is precisely what we need to write about!"
Alexis and Céard said in unison: "A great plan! Veterans, sieges, field hospitals… We have all of these! Why not write them down?"
Yes, why hadn't they written them down before? Lionel grumbled inwardly, but also expressed agreement with Émile's proposal.
Zola smiled contentedly: "Good! To add a bit of fun, I'll start by telling a story.
Your subsequent stories, their background and tone, will be 'constrained' by this first story of mine!"
"No problem!"
"Tell it quickly, Émile!"
Everyone urged.
Zola cleared his throat, his voice becoming deep and narrative: "The story I'm telling takes place on the border of Franche-Comté, by the Sauval River, in an ordinary country mill…"
Lionel thought, "It's 'the attack on the mill' indeed."
In the collection les soirées de médan, besides Maupassant's "dumpling," Zola's "the attack on the mill" was the best work, and also one of Zola's representative works.
This short story tells the tragic tale of a group of French villagers and a small French military unit, using old Man Merlier's mill as a stronghold, resisting the pursuing Prussian army during the war.
"…Old Man Merlier's mill, in the autumn sun, quietly turned its windmill blades.
He, his daughter Françoise, and his daughter's taciturn lover, the Belgian Dominic, lived a peaceful life."
Zola depicted the idyllic French countryside before the war and the unwavering confidence of the French people in victory.
But then the news of defeat arrived, and the entire village plunged into panic: "…The routed French army surged through the village like a receding tide, leaving behind only desolation and despair.
A small rearguard unit was ordered to hold their ground and block the pursuers. A Captain, with a dozen exhausted but defiant soldiers, took up residence in the mill.
The Captain asked Dominic why he hadn't enlisted. He replied, 'I am Belgian. But I can hit an apple five hundred meters away with a gun.'
The Captain smiled, 'Good, you might need it.' So Dominic also joined the resistance."
Zola's voice quickly grew tense, because the Prussians were coming:
"…The battle erupted instantly! The mill's thick walls became a fortress, and every window spewed forth the flames of vengeance.
"The Prussians fell like mown wheat, but more kept coming…"
"Dominic, the silent Belgian, displayed astonishing calmness and precise marksmanship, each shot making a Prussian disappear from sight…"
Zola vividly depicted the brutal offensive and defensive battle, particularly highlighting the courage of ordinary people in war.
Then a dramatic scene unfolded: the small French unit, having completed its holding mission, began to withdraw, eventually leaving only Dominic behind.
"As they left, the Captain apologized to Old Man Merlier, adding, 'You just keep them busy for a while… We'll be back soon.'"
Hearing this, several young people showed surprised expressions. Maupassant, who had fought on the front lines, even cried out: "Émile, how could they do that? They left, what about Dominic?
They should at least have taken him with them, not left him to resist alone!"
Zola glanced sideways at Maupassant, not angry at his interruption, but asked, "Did such things happen less often back then, Guy?"
Hearing this, Maupassant slumped to the ground.
But Zola's satire of the French army was not yet over…