Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 129 The Battle of the Mill
The "Médan Evening Party" was the most important gathering in the French literary world, and indeed the world literary world, at the end of the 19th century.

In the summer of 1879, five young writers met with Émile Zola, who was more than ten years their senior, at the Villa Médan. Over six nights, they each told a story about the Franco-Prussian War.

These six stories were eventually written into short stories and published as a collection in "Charpentier's Bookshelf," causing a huge sensation.

One of the most outstanding stories is widely recognized as Maupassant's "Boule de Suif," which was also the key starting point for his rise to fame in the literary world.

These six individuals were subsequently known as the "Meitang Group," the most important group of writers in the "naturalism" movement.

"So I became the seventh?" Lionel wondered to himself.

He was very familiar with both "Meitang Night Party" and "Meitang Group".

I've been in this world for so long that I almost forgot about this incident in 1879, and ended up getting involved without really knowing it.

However, since he was already there, Lionel decided to make the best of it and wanted to experience firsthand the anecdotes that would be remembered in literary history.

The topic was so heavy that even the chirping of insects on the summer night fell silent, leaving only the murmuring of the river, whispering about those unbearable years.

Maupassant broke the silence first: "The sound of Prussian cannons... God, those sounds! They didn't come from afar, but were like hammers smashing directly into your skull."

In Shalon... we were like a flock of sheep being herded, the organization was completely in disarray, officers couldn't find their soldiers, and soldiers couldn't find their companies...

Retreat? That would be a hellish march! Mud, rain, hunger…

Maupassant himself participated in the Franco-Prussian War as a soldier, so he had a particularly deep understanding of it.

Huysmann, who had also served in the Franco-Prussian War, spoke up, his tone somber and weary: "I spent most of my time in the rear... in the so-called 'field hospitals'."

God forgive me—that place was more like a slaughterhouse than the front lines, only slower and more painful.

The festering wounds reeked of decay, maggots swarmed beneath the bandages, and wounded soldiers screamed as their legs were amputated…

And those bureaucrats! Those idiots! They managed to deliver a truckload of medicine to the wrong place three times! War… has turned people into livestock…

Paul Alexis's young face also showed indignation: "I was in Paris, experiencing the siege. Gentlemen, can you imagine? Comedies were being performed in the theaters while cannons roared outside the city walls!"

Those unscrupulous merchants hoarding goods and speculating, those thugs taking advantage of the situation… war strips away all pretense, revealing only the nakedest greed and selfishness.

Henri Céar pushed up his glasses, his voice full of sarcasm: "Look at our generals! Before the Battle of Sedan, those boastful tactics, those foolish decisions..."

They led an entire army into an encirclement. And then? Surrender! Even the emperor became a prisoner!

After listening, Leon Ennick sighed: "All I remember is that there were rumors everywhere back then, faster than the Prussian cannonballs."

First, rumors of victory caused the crowd to erupt in excitement; then, news of defeat plunged the entire neighborhood into a deathly silence.

Hope rises, shatters, rises again… it exhausts people.

As Zola listened to his friends' stories, he seemed to see the smoke of battle from 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 down, presented, with our own pens!

He surveyed the crowd, his gaze piercing: "I propose! Let each of us speak about this war—whether it be the defeated battlefields, the ravaged villages, the starving sieges—"

Tell me a story, just a short one, something real, sharp, and piercing to the heart!

This suggestion was like a spark thrown into dry tinder, instantly igniting creative passion.

Lionel joked, "Ha, a short story? Is it because Ivan (Turgenev) isn't here that you came up with this idea?"

Zola laughed too: "Perhaps... Speaking of which, he is the best writer of short stories among us—along with Alphonse (Daudet) of course."

Paul Asilek had his own assessment: "Alphonse's novels are clever and concise, but not as powerful as Ivan's."

After a brief discussion, the group unanimously agreed that Ivan Turgenev was the greatest short story master of their time. Maupassant, however, was more interested in Zola's suggestion: "War! Siege! Refugees! Soldiers, bureaucrats, civilians..."

Faced with fear and desire, the most authentic aspects of human nature are laid bare! This is precisely what we aim to write about!

Alexi and Seal exclaimed in unison, "A brilliant plan! Veterans, sieges, field hospitals... we have all of that! Why not write it down?"

"Yes, why didn't I write it down before?" Lionel thought to himself, but he also agreed with Mr. Zola's suggestion.

Zola smiled with satisfaction: "Alright! To make things more interesting, I'll start by telling a story."

The background and tone of your subsequent stories will be 'constrained' by my first story!

"no problem!"

"Tell me quickly, Emile!"

The crowd urged.

Zola cleared his throat, his voice becoming deep and narrative: "The story I'm about to tell takes place on the border of Franche-Comté, on the banks of the Sauvage River, in an ordinary country mill..."

Lionel thought to himself, "It really is 'The Battle of the Mill'."

In the collection "The Night of the Médan," besides Maupassant's "Boule de Suif," Zola's "The Battle of the Mill" is the best work and also Zola's representative work.

This short story tells the tragic tale of a group of French villagers and a small French army squad who, using Grandpa Mellier's mill as a base, resisted the pursuing Prussian army during the war.

"...Uncle Mellier's mill turned its windmill blades peacefully in the autumn sun."

He lived a quiet life with his daughter Françoise and her taciturn lover, Dominique, a Belgian.

Zola depicted the idyllic French countryside before the war and the French people's unwavering confidence in victory.

But then news of the defeat came, and the whole village was plunged into panic: "...the defeated French army swept through the village like a receding tide, leaving behind only devastation and despair."

A small rearguard was ordered to hold the line and hold off the pursuers. A captain led a dozen or so exhausted but determined soldiers into the mill.

The captain asked Domick why he hadn't been drafted. He replied, "I'm Belgian. But I can shoot an apple from 500 meters away."

The captain smiled. "Good, you might find it useful." So Dominic joined the resistance.

Zola's voice quickly became tense, for the Prussians had arrived:

"...The battle erupted instantly! The mill's thick walls became a fortress, and flames of vengeance spewed from every window."

"The Prussians fell like wheat being harvested, but more surged forward..."

"Dominique, this silent Belgian, displayed astonishing composure and precise marksmanship, each shot making a Prussian disappear from sight..."

Zola vividly depicted the fierce battles, highlighting in particular the courage of ordinary people in war.

Then a dramatic scene unfolded: the French squad that had completed its mission began to withdraw, leaving only Dominic behind.

"Before leaving, the captain apologized to Grandpa Mei, adding, 'You can tease them for now... we'll come back soon.'"

Upon hearing this, the young men all looked surprised. Maupassant, who had fought on the front lines, even shouted, "Emile, how could they do this? What will happen to Dominic if they leave?"
They should at least have taken him with them, instead of leaving him to fight alone!

Zola glanced sideways at Maupassant, not angry at his interruption, but asked, "Didn't this kind of thing happen often back then, Guy?"

Upon hearing this, Maupassant slumped to the ground.

But Zola's satire of the French army did not end there...

(End of this chapter)