Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 147 Methods for Catching Sparrows

Before his parents could call him, Lionel put down his pen, put on his coat, and went to the living room.

The visitor was none other than Mayor François Bertan, who looked much older than Lionel remembered, with graying temples.

Although his brown suit was neatly ironed, the wear and tear on the elbows and the outdated cut suggested financial hardship.

He was holding a felt hat in his hand, which he kept turning around.

Upon seeing Leonard, the mayor bowed slightly, but his movements were somewhat stiff and his expression unnatural: "Welcome back to Montiel, Leonard. It is truly an honor for our entire town."

The mother brought over coffee, which Mayor Beltang carefully took, casually praising the exquisite porcelain.

After exchanging pleasantries, the mayor began to talk about Paris: "We have heard about your achievements in Paris, even though we are far away in the mountains."

I've carefully kept all the newspaper articles about you.

As he spoke, he pulled a neatly folded newspaper clipping from his inner pocket, though the cut was clearly new.

Lionel, of course, did not expose him, but remained calm and polite.

After chatting for a while, Mayor Beltang leaned forward and lowered his voice: "Do you know, Montier is dying!"
Young people are flocking to the city; last year alone, seventeen young people went to Lyon and Paris, leaving behind mostly the elderly and children.

The fields were abandoned, and old Langke's little inn closed last month—fewer people were coming, and the remaining ones had no money to patronize it.

He pulled out a leather notebook filled with numbers: "Look at these, the population has dropped from 127 households ten years ago to 98 households now."
Direct taxes collected this year have increased by 15% compared to three years ago, but our income…

He shook his head: "The big shots in Paris just sit in their offices writing—do they even know how much milk a cow produces in a day?"

Lionel listened quietly, without saying a word.

Mayor Bertang's voice suddenly became cautious: "If you're in Paris, you might have the opportunity to meet with officials from the Ministry of Agriculture..."

Perhaps I could mention the difficulties faced by people from small towns like ours? We don't need special treatment, we just ask that they stop raising taxes.

Or...or at least get the road repaired? These days, the roads are constantly washed away by floods, and fresh cheese spoils if it can't be transported out within days.

Suddenly, the mayor seemed to realize he had said too much and quickly stopped talking, smiling: "Of course, I know you came back to rest and spend time with your family."

Although Montiel is poor, its air is fresh and its people are kind and honest, making it an ideal place for recuperation.

We will never let trivial matters disturb your peace.

……

After seeing the mayor off, Lionel realized that his cup of coffee was almost untouched and had gone cold.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Father Peltier arrived around noon; he had a kind face and gentle eyes.

Before entering, he made the sign of the cross at the doorway: "May God bless this devout family."

The mother almost ran to prepare tea and snacks, and the father also appeared exceptionally respectful.

The priest’s gaze fell on Lionel: “I’ve heard about your experiences in Paris.”

In such a place... full of temptations and dangers, it is not easy to create works that guide people to goodness and resist depravity.

The Lord will remember your faithfulness.

Lionel: "..."

The conversation shifted to the changes in Montiel, and the priest's tone became somber: "The greatest threat now is not poverty, but the loss of faith."

The railway brought newspapers, and the newspapers brought dangerous ideas from Paris—republicanism, secular education, women's normal schools…

He spoke these words as if he were referring to some kind of plague.

The priest tapped his fingertips lightly on the table: "Young people are no longer at ease with the Lord's arrangements, and always want to go out and make their way in the world."

Fewer people come to church on Sundays, and even those who do come seem to be preoccupied with other things.

The most frightening thing is that some people have begun to question the church's teachings, questioning why they should donate their hard-earned money to the church instead of keeping it for themselves.

At this point, he looked directly at Lionel: "You were enlightened in a church school, so you should understand that faith is the only bulwark against this chaos."

You have influence in Paris; you should promote these valuable values instead of... introducing too many disturbing new ideas.

Tranquility is Montiel's most precious treasure, and the cornerstone upon which its soul is preserved.

Before leaving, the priest gave Lionel a leather-bound Bible: "Wherever you go, never forget where your roots are, where your soul belongs."

Watching the priest's black figure disappear into the sunlight, Lionel suddenly realized that he wasn't actually that popular.

However, in a small place like Montiel, the fame earned in Paris is like a torch in the dark, always attracting moths.

Over the next two days, townspeople began to cautiously visit.

At first, they were relatives or old acquaintances of their parents, who brought home-grown cheese, eggs, or jam as gifts and offered compliments.

But soon, the real complainants arrived.

An old farmer tearfully recounted that his son had been taken away by conscription officers, leaving his family short of labor and his fields nearly abandoned. He asked Lionel if he could plead with the gentlemen in Paris to allow his son to return early.

A widow hoped that Lionel could write a letter to the manager of a textile factory in Lyon to plead for her daughter, who was being cheated out of her wages after falling ill while working there.

There was also a small farmer with a distressed expression. His land had been divided into several pieces due to inheritance laws, making it impossible to cultivate.

He also owed the vineyard owner an unpayable debt and was on the verge of losing everything.

He heard that people in Paris were discussing amending the law and wondered if "Young Master Sorel" knew any influential figures.

They saw Lionel as a direct route to the heart of power in Paris, as a "General Lamarck" who could solve all their suffering.

Lionel listened patiently, but felt utterly powerless.

He couldn't promise anything, only offer empty comfort and advice—such as getting a certificate from the mayor or consulting a local notary.

For the first time, he truly felt that fame brought not only glory, but also a heavy, suffocating responsibility and expectation.

He felt as if he were placed on a high place, with countless longing eyes below him, while his own strength seemed so insignificant.

All of this was transformed into the words written by Lionel.

It wasn't until nightfall that he laid out paper and pen again to continue writing "My Hometown".

He clearly remembered that when he was a child—a few years before the Franco-Prussian War—Montier was not like that.

Although the villagers are not wealthy, they are self-sufficient and have a kind of "Shangri-La" feel to them.

This boy was Luntu. When I met him, we were both just over ten years old, which is almost ten years ago now; at that time, my grandfather was still alive, and the family was better off than it is now, so I could study in peace.

That year, our little church in Montiel was to hold a grand Mass in memory of the patron saint. This Mass was said to be very solemn, the grandest of all the year, except for Christmas and this one.

……

So I eagerly awaited Mass every day. When the day finally arrived, I heard early in the morning that Luntu had already arrived and was helping out in the preparation room next to the church. So I ran to find him.

He was wiping the candlesticks, his cheeks flushed from the firelight and mountain breeze, his hair disheveled, and a small, polished bronze statue of the Virgin Mary hanging around his neck. This showed that his parents loved him and prayed for the Virgin Mary to bless him as he grew up safely.

……

After a while, I asked him about catching sparrows.

He said, “Now is not a good time. We have to wait until winter, when it snows. We’ll clear a patch of snow in a sheltered clearing in the valley, prop up an old sieve with a stick, sprinkle some wheat grains or breadcrumbs underneath, and hide behind a rope that’s far away.”

When the hungry tits and sparrows come down to peck at the food, once you've got a good look, a sudden tug on the rope can catch several. If you're lucky, you might even catch a silly little dove.

……

"Not entirely. It's usually nothing for a passerby to pick a bunch of grapes to quench their thirst. The main dangers are badgers, wild boars, and foxes. On a moonlit night, if you hear rustling sounds, it's definitely the badgers coming to ruin the grapes. You'd better grab a fork and sneak over..."

At the time, I didn't know what a badger was—and even now I'm not entirely sure—I just inexplicably felt that it looked like a small dog but was very fierce.

Lionel smiled as he wrote.

Montiel was indeed a paradise for children during their childhood.

It is precisely because it was once a paradise that it stands in stark contrast to the gloomy and desolate Montiel of today.

　The Napoleonic Civil Code's provision for equal inheritance among children led to increasingly fragmented land ownership. In the Alps, much of the arable land was already narrow and steep, making large-scale farming even more impossible after inheritance, forcing farmers to rely primarily on self-sufficiency.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)