Time flowed like the waters of the Seine, and in a blink, it was the end of March.
Paris was gradually imbued with spring, beginning its revival.
For Lionel, these days were very peaceful.
Apart from the smooth passing of Count Rohan's "public education materials" initiative, only occasionally seeing news about The Chorus in the newspapers would bring him joy.
The Comédie-Française touring troupe had achieved extraordinary success not only in Lyon but also in Bordeaux, Marseille, Toulouse... everywhere they were warmly received.
Before this, although Lionel had emerged in the Parisian literary scene with a few novels, his fame was mostly confined to Paris and a few provincial intellectuals who followed literary trends.
However, the dramatic form of The Chorus and the national emotional resonance it evoked had a reach and infectiousness far beyond that of novels.
Now, whether at the gates of silk workshops in Lyon, by the fishing docks in Marseille, in the grape estates of Bordeaux, or on university campuses in Toulouse...
People were talking about The Chorus, and inevitably, they were also talking about its creator.
"Monsieur Sorel, who wrote The Chorus, is said to be very young!"
"He seems to be a Sorbonne student? Truly a genius!"
"He also wrote My Uncle Jules and Papa Milon; I've read them, they're excellent!"
"A Letter from an Unknown Woman was also written by him? God, that story broke my heart..."
"I heard he comes from a common background, which is why he could write a character like Teacher Clément Mathieu, right?"
...
Several pieces of music from The Chorus—"Night," "Look Back on the Way Home," and "The Kite"—also began to circulate throughout France as the play exploded in popularity.
The script of The Chorus, finally, after much anticipation, was published by "Charpentier's Bookshelf," with the first edition selling 5,000 copies.
In the Parisian theater criticism circles, the artistic evaluation of this play reached new heights.
Jules Claretie, the theater critic for Le Figaro, completely set aside their past grievances and highly praised The Chorus for its breakthrough and innovation.
After reading the script, he acutely realized that Lionel had abandoned some of the bad paradigms of past dramas in The Chorus—
Those lengthy inner monologues, the constantly interspersed choral performances, the programmatic moralizing, and the plot's extreme reliance on coincidence...
The rhythm of The Chorus's plot never stagnated; every character and every segment flowed continuously, with every twist adequately prepared.
The climax was like a torrent meeting a reef, with spray splashing high, refracting a rainbow of colors in the sunlight.
The Chorus was not an opera, yet the power of music permeated it everywhere; The Chorus was not a serious drama, yet it allowed the audience to grasp profound truths amidst laughter.
Jules Claretie asserted in his review—
[Though it is unknown where Lionel Sorel found his inspiration, or from whom, there is no doubt that The Chorus has elevated "light comedy" and "opéra comique" to a new height.
After Jacques Offenbach, France may well welcome a younger, more outstanding dramatic master—oh, and this time, he is a true Frenchman!]
Lionel was stunned when he saw this evaluation.
He wasn't surprised by Jules Claretie's praise for The Chorus's pacing—
This play was originally adapted from later cinematic works, and when writing the script, he indeed discarded many of the chronic ailments of contemporary drama.
But comparing himself to Jacques Offenbach... wasn't Claretie going a bit overboard?
Jacques Offenbach was German, only coming to Paris with his father at the age of 14, later becoming the founder of French operetta.
His operettas, Orpheus in the Underworld and La Belle Hélène, are still regularly performed in major French theaters today.
The key point was that the old man wasn't even dead yet... Lionel felt that Jules Claretie still held some slight resentment towards him.
Nevertheless, the continuous tour brought Lionel unusually generous rewards—
In less than two months, his bank account received 8,000 francs, more than his income from novel royalties.
Émile Perrin, the director of the Comédie-Française, even wrote to Lionel, hoping he would consider adapting all his novels into plays—
The Old Guard, My Uncle Jules, and My Homeland were all very suitable for adaptation into three-act costume plays;
A Letter from an Unknown Woman was, without a doubt, an outstanding five-act naturalistic drama in itself;
Papa Milon was even more remarkable; the story of the old country farmer bravely killing the Prussian devils, he couldn't even imagine how popular it would be on stage.
As for The Chronicles of Benjamin Bouton, although it presented some minor technical challenges, it was the most promising novel to be adapted into a historical drama.
Lionel's scriptwriting ability gave Émile Perrin unlimited imagination.
He wrote at the end of his letter:
[Lion, you should become a professional playwright, like Monsieur Alexandre Dumas fils. This will eternally engrave your name in the history of France!]
But Lionel did not accept Émile Perrin's tempting offer.
For him, the current limitations of the theatrical stage and its forms of expression were still too great, offering less freedom than novels.
Moreover, in this era, the speed of theatrical dissemination was far inferior to that of novels; it would have to wait until cinemas became widespread.
And now, his most important task was to let readers in France and England see the conclusion of The Chronicles of Benjamin Bouton.
This novel had been serialized in Le Petit Parisien and Modern Life for nearly a year, and it was finally nearing its end.
In mid-April 1880, loyal readers of The Chronicles of Benjamin Bouton finally witnessed the long-awaited scene.
After experiencing glory, love, betrayal, confusion, and setbacks in their respective lives... Benjamin Bouton and Delphine Villeneuve finally met in the "middle age" of their lives.
At this time, Benjamin was tall and handsome, full of the charm of a mature man; Delphine had shed her youthful shyness, revealing the allure of a mature woman.
Although they had both loved others before, and even gone through several absurd periods in their lives, when they met at life's crossroads, they found a fervent flame still burning in each other's eyes.
Only this flame would no longer burn each other but would bring a warmth as gentle as sunlight.
[Delphine Villeneuve was no longer the lighthearted girl who dreamed of the opera stage; time had fairly left its marks on her: fine lines around her eyes, but her demeanor had gained a calm composure.
She pushed open the door and immediately saw the familiar yet unfamiliar figure on the stairs.
Time seemed to freeze.
The steamboats' whistles on the Seine, the street newsboys' cries, instantly faded into a distant background.
"Benjamin?"
"Delphine."
There were no exclamations, no excited running.
Just a long, fixed gaze, as if trying to penetrate the years they had missed, to confirm if the shape of each other's soul remained the same.
They saw themselves in each other's eyes, and they saw the unseen medals and scars on each other:
His voyages and solitude, her struggles and disappointments; the foreign woman he had loved and lost, the mediocre man she had loved and left...
...
"Sleep with me," Delphine said.
"Of course..." Benjamin replied.
...
"I'm glad I wasn't with you when I was 26."
"What do you mean?"
"I was too young then, and you were too old—this way, now, is the most natural."
"I will cherish every moment with you..."
...]
Upon reading this, the hearts of the readers—especially the female readers—simply melted!
(End of Chapter)