"Just as I thought…"
Lionel chuckled softly, tossing Le Figaro's rejection letter onto the table as if it were nothing more than a discarded piece of paper from the street corner.
The words on it were, of course, still tactful and polite, showing no hint of anger:
[Does not meet the publication standards of this newspaper and its consistently held literary criticism stance.]
He was not surprised in the least, even finding it somewhat amusing.
His submission, which synthesized the essence of a century of polemics from the newspaper era to online forums, combined eloquence, sophistry, concept-swapping, theme elevation, emotional resonance, and even the seizing of the moral high ground.
To this era, it was nothing short of "a devastating blow from a higher dimension."
The Parisian literary scene of 1879 was accustomed to debates either involving humble apologies or screaming like a fishwife.
This article was indeed far too advanced.
Le Figaro's rejection was not merely due to their weakness and arrogance, but also their inability to handle Lionel's almost all-encompassing intellectual crushing superiority.
After all, Le Figaro couldn't just stand by and watch one of its most popular lead writers be humiliated in broad daylight.
Lionel picked up his article, his gaze focusing on the title—this title was prepared for Le Figaro, if they had been willing to publish it.
Since they had refused, it was too polite, too "academic."
Lionel's pen hovered over the manuscript paper.
A moment later, with a hint of cold satisfaction, he crossed out the original title.
————
The next morning, Parisian pedestrians noticed that today's newsboys were exceptionally proactive, and what they were hawking was not the cheap Le Petit Parisien or Le Petit Journal, but the slightly more expensive La République.
"Extra, extra! 'The Conscience of Sorbonne' Lionel officially declares war on Le Figaro!"
"Extra, extra! Lionel vehemently criticizes Claretie as the real freak!"
"Extra, extra! La République accuses Le Figaro of being a cancer on the media!"
This piqued the curiosity of many, who stopped and spent 2 sous to buy a copy of La République.
This newspaper belonged to the Hugo family, founded by Victor Hugo's two sons, Charles Hugo and François-Victor Hugo.
Unlike Le Figaro, which leaned conservative and catered to upper-class tastes, La République was a radical republican mouthpiece, often fiercely criticizing royalists and aristocratic culture, and frequently satirizing the high society gatherings and theatrical tastes promoted by Le Figaro.
So, their differing viewpoints were common, but such direct confrontation was rare.
Soon after, these hurried pedestrians slowed their pace, because they saw the large headline on the front page:
"To the "Freak" of the Flesh from the "Freak" of the Spirit—To Mr. Claretie, Lead Writer of Le Figaro"
Immediately, this "refutation essay" written by Lionel elevated their understanding of language to another dimension—it turned out that literary quarrels could be so unconventional!
Especially the frequent "golden phrases" within it, which completely refreshed people's perceptions—
"Literature awakens the numb, humbles the proud, and makes the gentle smile."
"Each of us is a bastard child of distorted history, bearing the birthmarks of the old regime and the scars of revolution, yet we pretend to be reborn in the dawn of the Third Republic."
"Freaks do not create ugliness; they merely expose it."
"A freak is but a line of poetry written wrong by fate; and love, with clumsy rhyme, sets it right."
...
Usually, it is rare for an article to have one or two catchy and memorable lines, but Lionel's article seemed to be a wholesale supplier of them.
The preview of subsequent plot developments for The Curious Case of Benjamin Button—"All Parisians will see him abandoned in the novel, then picked up again by love"—made all readers who had not yet read the novel instinctively wonder:
Am I not a Parisian! Where is The Curious Case of Benjamin Button?
And in the offices of Le Petit Parisien, Paul Pigott gripped La République and laughed loudly:
"Hahaha! 'To the "Freak" of the Flesh from the "Freak" of the Spirit'! Lionel is truly a devil! I love it!"
He immediately called his assistant and gave instructions:
"Contact La République at once! Make sure they agree to let us reprint this article tomorrow! And put it alongside the latest serialization of Benjamin Button!"
————
The latest issue of Le Petit Parisien was published, and today's serialization of The Curious Case of Benjamin Button received unprecedented attention.
Whether ordinary citizens or the middle class, everyone noticed the feud between Lionel and Le Figaro, and their interest in the novel intensified.
How should an infant "born old" face his life? How long could he live?
Driven by curiosity, people eagerly turned to the "Literary Supplement" of Le Petit Parisien, voraciously reading the latest installment:
[While the other abandoned infants in the nursery, adhering to nature's iron law, unfurled and rounded like tender spring shoots, letting out joyful gurgles, Benjamin was undergoing a silent yet astonishing metamorphosis.
Old Sister Marcelle, who was in charge of him, her hands made exceptionally rough by prayer and toil, suddenly paused at his withered chest during one of his cleanings.
Her clouded eyes trembled slightly with shock—
Beneath the infant's skin, loose like a torn sack, there seemed to be... a faint trace of elasticity belonging to young life?
At the roots of his sparse white hair, which had originally clung to his scalp like autumn's withered grass, a ring of soft, nearly transparent, pale golden fuzz had quietly begun to grow!
The strength with which he gripped her finger also subtly but firmly increased.
Was this an illusion?
...
It was not an illusion.
Year after year, under Sister Marcelle's watchful gaze, filled with both surprise and enduring tenderness, Benjamin "progressed" in a slow, steady, even God-defying manner.
When he was marked as "five years old" according to his year of admission, his appearance was that of a seventy-year-old man utterly crushed by life, his face deeply etched with wrinkles and the marks of time.
Yet, his eyes—in the depths of his once murky, swamp-like eyes—began to flicker with a childlike, naive curiosity, utterly incongruous with his aged face.
He could lean against the cold wall and take faltering steps that were undeniably "walking."
The sounds from his throat were no longer deathly rattles, but garbled yet genuine babbling.
...
By "ten years old," his physique was still stooped and small, but the deepest furrows on his face had miraculously been smoothed out by time, and most of the stubborn age spots had faded.
His sparse white hair became thicker, mixed with increasing amounts of gray and light brown, making him look like a sixty-year-old, down-and-out old man.
He began to clearly utter simple words and displayed a comprehension that privately startled Sister Marcelle.
He could quietly listen through lengthy Psalms, though his gaze often drifted past the stained-glass windows of the prayer room, toward the fragmented sky beyond the high walls, dissected by the church's lofty walls and spires.]
"So that's it!" Readers who reached this point suddenly had an epiphany, and the novel's second "selling point" leaped off the page:
Benjamin Button was not just "born old," but also "aging in reverse."
This novel premise completely captivated all readers!
(End of Chapter)
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