In a comfortable villa in Bougival, a suburb of Paris, Ivan Turgenev was having dinner with his confidante, Pauline Viardot.
Of course, Pauline's husband, Louis Viardot, was also at the table.
Ivan Turgenev had lived with this couple for many years and was practically part of the family.
The servant brought the just-purchased copy of Le Figaro to the table.
The talented opera singer Pauline glanced at the paper:
"Ivan, look at this. Your young friend has caused quite a stir in Saint Petersburg."
As she spoke, she pushed the newspaper towards Turgenev.
Turgenev put down his knife and fork, picked up the paper, put on his glasses, and began to read carefully.
He read slowly, his expression shifting from initial calmness to gravity, then to one of deep emotion and melancholy.
He remained silent for a long time.
Only after reading the very last word did he slowly remove his glasses and gently place the newspaper on the table.
His voice was low and solemn:
"Pauline, I must admit, Lionel understands the soul of Dostoevsky better than I do, or better than anyone else."
Both Pauline and her husband looked at him with some surprise.
The friendship and conflict between Turgenev and Dostoevsky were no secret in literary circles.
Turgenev continued speaking to himself:
"This is not a eulogy; it is a letter written to all future readers of Dostoevsky. He tells posterity why they should read him, and what they can gain from him—not answers, but the recognition of their predicament and the courage to face the truth."
He paused, his gaze drifting toward the darkening courtyard outside the window:
"Pauline, if, when my own day of death arrives... I hope Lionel will give my eulogy. I hope he can draw a full stop to my life's work, just as he did for Flaubert and Dostoevsky. Only he can clearly see a writer's true place in the long river of time."
Pauline was stunned; she knew Turgenev's pride, and she understood his seriousness at this moment.
She reached out and gently covered the back of Turgenev's hand, saying nothing, but her eyes were filled with sorrow.
She knew why Turgenev spoke this way; the tumor in his spine had already allowed him to foresee his own death, and he could no longer endure the journeys between France and Russia.
Louis Viardot also stood up and silently patted his old friend's shoulder.
Following the praise for the eulogy, the purpose of Lionel's trip to Saint Petersburg also surfaced as the media delved deeper.
"Mr. Sorel travels to Russia not only to pay tribute to the great writer but also to seek a revolutionary stage lighting system for his astonishing new work!"
Headlines like this began appearing in the papers. Curiosity and anticipation spread like wildfire—Lionel Sorel's new work! After the huge success of The Choir, what would he present next?
It seemed to be related to some novel "electric candle" technology from Russia?
Just as public interest was peaking, the Comédie-Française dropped a bombshell at the appropriate time.
The director of the Comédie-Française, Émile Perrin, officially announced to the public via the newspapers:
[To welcome Mr. Lionel Sorel's brand new masterpiece and realize his unique artistic vision, the Comédie-Française will undergo large-scale technical renovation of the main auditorium starting at the end of February, lasting approximately two months!]
Émile Perrin faced the reporters, his voice ringing out confidently:
"The first performance in the renovated theatre will undoubtedly be Lionel's new work, Thunderstorm!"
The news caused an instant sensation.
Renovating a theatre with a long history, one of the highest temples of French drama, for a play that was not even finished?
This level of investment and boldness! It was rare in the history of theatre in Paris, and indeed, in all of Europe.
Le Gaulois exclaimed:
"This is the 'Haussmann Plan' of the theatre world! Sorel and the Comédie-Française are joining forces to reshape the Parisian stage!"
Revue des Deux Mondes sounded a touch skeptical:
"Will this huge investment yield the corresponding artistic revolution? We shall wait and see, but undoubtedly, Sorel has once again become the center of attention!"
Regardless of whether the commentary was praise or criticism, all eyes were focused on those two names: Lionel Sorel, and his Thunderstorm.
The level of anticipation was pulled to an unprecedented height.
People began speculating about what kind of story Thunderstorm could possibly tell to warrant such a grand buildup and investment.
The public began eagerly awaiting the day the young writer would conclude his journey in Russia and return to Paris to personally unveil the mysteries of Thunderstorm.
On February 6, 1881, Lionel finally returned to his apartment at 117 Boulevard Saint-Germain.
He was greeted by an almost overflowing wave of enthusiasm and missing him.
Patty was the first to rush over, almost throwing herself at him: "Master!" Her eyes were red:
"You're finally back!"
Sophie efficiently took his hat and gloves:
"Welcome home, Lionel. We read the papers every day; we were terribly worried."
Alice had also returned early from the "Typewriter Cooperative," her voice full of concern:
"Was the journey smooth? How did things go?"
Lionel nodded:
"Everything went well, smoother than expected."
He briefly mentioned reaching an agreement with Yablochkov, but for the time being, he didn't want to talk much about the funeral or the pirate publisher Adolphe Marx.
However, outside attention would not cease just because he was tired; within a few days, the apartment became a hive of activity again.
Maupassant practically arrived on schedule.
As soon as he entered, he clapped Lionel hard on the shoulder:
"Good heavens! Lionel! You were the talk of Saint Petersburg! All the salons in Paris are now reciting your eulogy!"
Then he immediately announced some "good news" of his own:
"Lionel, I have resigned from the 'Ministry of Public Education and Fine Arts'! I am free!"
Lionel nearly choked on his coffee:
"Resigned? When did this happen?"
After Flaubert died last year, Maupassant had taken a six-month leave of absence from the Ministry, meaning he should have returned to work after Christmas.
Yet, he had resigned outright!
Maupassant said proudly:
"Just a few days ago. I signed a contract with Le Gaulois; I give them four short stories a month, and they give me 500 francs!
Le Gil Blas also commissioned stories from me, with advance payments; and Le Figaro, L'Écho de Paris, Le Monde Littéraire... I'm going to have too much to write!
Lionel, I succeeded! You are the first friend I wanted to share this news with!"
Lionel felt moved.
The success of A Night at Marly had finally allowed Maupassant to ascend to his own throne.
In the next ten years, he would enter his creative prime—but he would also move step-by-step closer to madness and death.
Lionel looked at Maupassant with some concern and asked:
"Resigned... so what are your plans next? I mean, apart from writing."
Maupassant was elated and didn't notice Lionel's expression:
"Apart from writing? Ha, first I plan to move, move into an apartment just like this one. Then, I'm going to buy a boat, a sailboat! In the summer, I'm going to travel to Italy or Spain!"
Lionel got a headache.
Maupassant was about to step into that period of extravagance and passion from his history; Flaubert's advice seemed to have been completely forgotten.
(End of Chapter)