Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 145: The Tragically Thick Barrier
Beside the banner, several little girls held bouquets of slightly wilted wildflowers, looking at him timidly yet curiously.

Around the platform, some citizens who had heard the news came to watch the excitement, whispering and pointing, their faces beaming with a sense of pride and excitement.

Lionel was completely stunned.

He had expected the telegram to let his family know when he would return, but he never imagined the news would spread so quickly and so widely that such a grand welcoming ceremony awaited him.

He was the only one getting off at this station, so a bouquet of flowers was quickly stuffed into his hand.

The girls shouted in a halting and weak voice, "Welcome! Welcome!..."

A well-dressed old man with a full beard came forward to greet him: "Mr. Sorel! Welcome! Welcome back to Laranje!"

I am André-Savard de Martino, the mayor of Larané.

Mayor Martino gripped Lionel's free hand tightly with both of his, shaking it vigorously: "This is truly an honor for our Laranje!"

We've never had a figure as renowned as you, appearing in national newspapers!

Lionel was somewhat flustered: "Mayor...you're too kind. This...I'm truly flattered."

He was used to the elegance and reserve of Parisian salons and found it rather difficult to adapt to this straightforward and simple rural enthusiasm.

Mayor Martino beamed: "Of course! Of course! Your achievements are not only a source of pride for the Sorel family, but for the entire Laranje region!"
We've already heard that you're in Paris, on par with literary giants like Flaubert and Zola, and that even ministers and counts speak highly of you!

Lionel then realized what was going on.

He underestimated how quickly news spread in small towns these days, and he also underestimated what his current fame meant in his hometown.

His own story, circulated in newspapers from Paris and passed down orally by merchants and postmen, may have been embellished, shaping him into a legendary figure.

For a remote and quiet town like Larangue, almost forgotten by time, a Parisian celebrity "born locally" is undoubtedly a powerful stimulant.

Lionel glanced into the crowd: "My father...he..."

Mayor Martino chimed in, "Oh! Brother Joseph was overjoyed to hear you were coming today! He was going to come and pick you up himself..."

But I think Mr. Sorel is an important figure now, and it would be more proper for me to greet him on his first visit home!

So I took the liberty of organizing this small welcoming ceremony, and I hope you won't mind.

Mrs. Sorel is preparing a sumptuous dinner at home! The carriage is ready; I'll take you back to Monttier now!

Without a word, the mayor took Lionel's not-so-heavy travel bag, handed it to his attendant, and then warmly took his arm, practically escorting him out of the station.

The boy holding the banner and the little girls presenting flowers followed closely behind, while the crowd buzzed with discussion and exclamations of admiration.

"Look! That's the son of the Sorel family!"

"So young! I heard you can earn 10,000 francs a year in Paris!"

"Ten thousand francs! My God, that's so much money..."

"Look at his airs, no wonder he's seen the world..."

"I heard that Parisian ladies are all vying to invite him to their salons!"

What is a salon?

……

These whispers drifted clearly into Lionel's ears, making him feel less like a returning traveler and more like a rare animal brought on display.

Outside the station, sure enough, there was a four-wheeled carriage that was much more spacious and tidy than a regular taxi, and it also had the emblem of the Laranje municipal government on its body.

The driver, wearing a brand-new hat, respectfully opened the car door.

"Please get in, Mr. Sorel. This carriage will take you directly back to Monttier's residence." The mayor personally helped him into the carriage, as if he were some frail nobleman.

Lionel had no choice but to thank him again and climb into the carriage.

The mayor leaned against the carriage window and said one last thing: "If you meet any important person in Paris, don't forget to mention my name..." The carriage finally started moving, leaving the bustling station square and turning onto the country road leading to Montiel.

Lionel leaned back in his chair, let out a long sigh, and gazed at the familiar fields and forests rushing past the window, his heart filled with mixed emotions...

Two hours later, the carriage entered Montiel's territory.

The low stone walls, the crooked wooden fence, the old oak tree at the entrance of town... every detail evoked Lionel's deep-seated memories.

Several children playing by the roadside stopped playing immediately when they saw the carriage decorated with the city emblem. They looked around curiously, then ran off in a flash, probably to report the news.

The carriage finally stopped in front of the familiar, slightly worn two-story stone and wood house of the Sorel family.

It seemed to have been renovated more than he remembered; the walls had been freshly painted white and the windows were clean.

However, the scene in front of the door stunned him once again.

The father, Joseph Sorel, was wearing his best black suit, his bow tie perfectly tied, but he looked somewhat tight and uncomfortable.

My mother also changed into a dark-colored long dress that she only wore on holidays, and her hair was neatly combed.

Ivana, the older sister, stood behind them, dressed in a simple dress. Her face seemed paler than before, and she looked at the carriage with a complicated expression.

The three of them stood at the door, as if preparing to welcome distinguished guests, rather than a son and brother returning home.

What made Lionel even more uncomfortable was that a large number of people had gathered at the doorways and windows of his neighbors' homes, and even outside the pub across the street, silently watching him.

Their gazes were no longer filled with the mockery of "that bookworm from the Sorel family," but rather with a mixture of awe, envy, and curiosity...

Perhaps there was also a hint of barely perceptible jealousy.

The driver jumped out of the carriage and respectfully opened the door for him.

Lionel took a deep breath, trying to appear natural, and stepped out of the car.

He tried to keep his tone steady: "Father, Mother, Sister, I'm back."

The mother was the first to break down, stepping forward and her eyes instantly reddening: "Lionel! My child!"

But she was rubbing her hands together on her apron, seemingly hesitant to hug him.

Father Joseph Sorel appeared more reserved. He stepped forward, extended his hand as if to shake hands, then seemed to think it inappropriate, and finally just patted Lionel on the shoulder heavily: "It's good to be back, it's good to be back. You must have had a long journey."

His eyes darted away, as if he dared not look directly at his son for long.

“Leon…” Ivana called softly, her voice choked with emotion. She quickly lowered her head and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

At this moment, the neighbors slowly began to gather around, offering warm greetings and compliments, which stirred up a complex emotion in Lionel's heart.

He went home, back to the land that gave him birth and nurtured him, and saw the family he had missed day and night.

However, he was no longer "the bookworm of the Sorel family," but "the famous writer, 'the conscience of the Sorbonne' Lionel."

He tried his best to smile, nod, and respond to each neighbor, and helped his mother, father, and sister walk toward that familiar door.

Just then, he saw Luntu, the blacksmith's son and his best childhood friend, slowly approaching.

Luntu was still wearing the coarse cloth clothes he wore while working, with a simple and honest smile on his face. He didn't jokingly punch his shoulder like he used to.

Behind Luntu, a child of no more than three or four years old timidly peeked out.

“Hey! Luntu—you’re here?…” Lionel tried to recapture the feeling from back then.

Luntu stopped, his face showing a mixture of joy and timidity. He moved his lips but remained silent.

His attitude finally became respectful, and he clearly called out, "Young Master..."

Lionel seemed to shudder. He knew that a pitifully thick barrier had already separated them!
Luntu turned to the child and said, "Come, bow to the young master..."

(End of this chapter)