"Soirées de Médan" was the most important gathering in French, and indeed world, literary circles at the end of the 19th century.
In the summer of 1879, five young writers met with Zola, who was more than ten years their senior, at the Médan villa.
Over six evenings, each told a story about the Franco-Prussian War.
These six stories were eventually written into short stories, collected and published by "Charpentier's Bookshelf," causing a huge sensation.
Among them, the universally recognized most outstanding story was Maupassant's "Boule de Suif," which was a crucial starting point for his literary fame.
Thereafter, these six individuals were known as the "Médan Group," the most important writer contingent of "Naturalism."
"So I've become the seventh?"
Lionel mused to himself.
He was, of course, familiar with both the "Soirées de Médan" and the "Médan Group."
It had just been too long since he came to this world; he had almost forgotten about this event in 1879 and ended up participating in it without realizing it.
However, since he was here, he might as well make the best of it.
Lionel also wanted to experience this literary anecdote firsthand.
The topic was so somber that even the chirping of summer insects respectfully fell silent, leaving only the murmuring 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 were like sledgehammers striking directly on your skull.
In Châlons... we were like driven sheep, formations all messed up, officers couldn't find soldiers, soldiers couldn't find companies...
Retreat? That was a parade through 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, most of the time in the rear... in the so-called 'field hospitals.'
God forgive me—that place was more like a slaughterhouse than the front line, only slower and more painful.
Putrid wounds exuding stench, maggots feasting under bandages, wounded soldiers screaming as their legs were sawed off...
And those bureaucrats! Those idiots! They could deliver a cart of medicine to the wrong place three times! War... turned men into beasts..."
Indignation also appeared on Paul Alexis's young face:
"I was in Paris, experienced the siege. Gentlemen, can you imagine?
Comedies were still being staged in the theaters while cannons roared outside the city walls!
Those profiteering merchants, those hooligans who took advantage of the chaos...
War stripped away all disguises, 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 grand army into an encirclement. And then? Surrender! The emperor himself became a captive!"
Léon Hennique sighed after listening:
"I only remember that rumors were everywhere then, flying faster than Prussian shells.
First, rumors of victory, making the crowds instantly boil; the next moment, news of defeat plunged the entire neighborhood into dead silence.
Hope rose, was shattered, then rose again... exhausting people to the core."
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 looked around at everyone, his gaze piercing:
"I propose! Each of us, centered around this war—whether it's the defeated battlefield, the ravaged countryside, the hungry siege—
Tell a story, just a short story, true, sharp, striking deep into the heart!"
This proposal was like a spark thrown into dry tinder, instantly igniting creative passion.
Lionel quipped,
"Ha, short stories? Is it because Ivan (Turgenev) isn't here that you had this idea?"
Zola also laughed:
"Perhaps... Speaking of which, among us, he writes the best short stories—and of course, Alphonse (Daudet)."
Paul Alexis had his own assessment:
"Alphonse's novels are clever and refined, but lack the power of Ivan's."
They discussed for a while, generally agreeing that Ivan Turgenev was the greatest short story master of this era.
Maupassant was more interested in Zola's proposal:
"War! Siege! Escape! Soldiers, bureaucrats, civilians...
In the face of fear and desire, the most authentic aspects of human nature are exposed! This is what we must write about!"
Alexis and Céard spoke in unison:
"A great plan! Veterans, siege, 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 Monsieur Zola's proposal.
Zola smiled contentedly:
"Good! To add a bit of fun, I'll start by telling a story first.
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 low and narrative:
"The story I'm going to tell takes place on the border of Franche-Comté, by the Sauval River, in an ordinary country mill..."
Lionel thought:
"It is indeed 'The Attack on the Mill.'"
In the collection "Soirées de Médan," besides Maupassant's "Boule de Suif," Zola's "The Attack on the Mill" was the best work, and also one of Zola's representative works.
This short story tells the poignant tale of a group of French villagers and a small French army detachment, using old man Merlier's mill as a stronghold, resisting the pursuing Prussian army during the war.
"...Old Man Merlier's mill peaceably turned its windmill blades under the autumn sun.
He and his daughter Françoise, along with his daughter's taciturn lover, the Belgian Dominique, lived a quiet life."
Zola depicted the idyllic French countryside before the war, and the French people's firm belief in victory.
But soon news of defeat arrived, and the entire village plunged into panic:
"...The defeated French army surged through the village like an ebbing tide, leaving behind only chaos 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 Dominique 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 Dominique also joined the resistance."
Zola's voice quickly became tense, for the Prussians had arrived:
"...The battle erupted instantly! The thick walls of the mill became a fortress, every window spewing flames of vengeance.
"Prussians fell like mown wheat, but more kept pouring in..."
"Dominique, this silent Belgian, showed astonishing calm and precise marksmanship; each shot made a Prussian disappear from sight..."
Zola vividly depicted the fierce battle of offense and defense, particularly highlighting the courage of ordinary people in war.
Then a dramatic scene unfolded: the French squad, having completed its holding mission, began to withdraw, eventually leaving only Dominique.
"As they left, the captain apologized to Old Man Merlier, adding, 'You entertain them for a while... We'll be back soon.'"
Hearing this, several young people showed looks of surprise.
Maupassant, who had fought on the front lines, even cried out,
"Émile, how could they do that? They left, what about Dominique?
They should have at least taken him with them, not left him to resist alone!"
Zola glanced at Maupassant sideways, not angry at his interruption, but asked,
"Were such things rare at the time, Guy?"
Maupassant heard this and slumped to the ground.
But Zola's sarcasm towards the French army did not end...
(End of Chapter)
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