Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 118 Lionel and His Friends
When Jules Claretti arrived at the Le Figaro building, he found that the lights in editor Armand de Lamotte's office were still on.

He wasn't too surprised, but rather pushed open the editor-in-chief's office door with feelings of fear, frustration, and ignorance.

When Lamote saw it was him, he quickly stuffed a piece of paper he was writing on into the drawer and forced a smile: "Mr. Claretti, have you thought it through?"

Jules Claretti didn't want to recount his recent experience, but simply nodded heavily and asked, "I've figured out how to write it to meet General Matimpre's requirements..."

"Give me the paper and pen, and I'll write here."

Editor-in-Chief Lamote quickly pulled out a stack of manuscript paper and handed over his ink bottle and quill pen as well.

Without a word, Jules Claretti took the paper and pen, sat down opposite Lamotte, and began to write furiously.

Editor-in-Chief Lamote did not disturb him, but quietly observed the pale face of his top writer, wondering what had made him suddenly become so enthusiastic.

As the editor-in-chief of Le Figaro, Lamote was not without his pride, but it was clear that General Matimpree's influence could significantly diminish that pride.

Le Figaro can point fingers at French parliamentarians, ministers, and even the president, because being criticized is part of their job, and readers actually applaud it.

The veterans group is different; whether conservative or republican, they must at least nominally maintain respect for them.

Lamotte hadn't expected that criticizing a young writer would provoke such a fierce backlash, and he couldn't help but feel a little regretful.

As they were talking, Jules Claretti finished writing his article. His handwriting was very messy, and you could tell he was anxious and nervous.

But as a senior editor at the newspaper, Lamotte easily understood the contents above:

A Necessary Correction – To Mr. Lionel Sorel

If someone told me that I would mention your name three times in a public newspaper within a week, I would think it was a rumor;

If someone were to predict that I would be the one to write the words of praise on one of those occasions, I would probably send them to a mental hospital for treatment.

Today, however, I am willing to take up my pen, because truth and conscience—these two judges who are more severe than any literary theory—have made it impossible for me to remain silent.

I admit that my previous article, "Double Betrayal," was too harsh, and some of the wording was close to a moral manifesto.

I completely overlooked the fact that you once comforted the forgotten wounded soldiers of France with "The Old Guard," dissected the most subtle folds of a woman's heart with "Letter from an Unknown Woman," and awakened the first compassion for suffering in the eyes of children with "My Uncle Jules."

These three things alone demonstrate your love for France, your love for literature, and your commitment to moral order. Looking back today, I realize I echoed your criticisms too much, but lacked sufficient ears.

I will not retract the question I raised: the question itself is not wrong, the problem lies in the tone. I cannot condemn the entire cathedral because of questioning a single brick.

Therefore, please allow me to retract those comments that might have obscured the reader's view, and retain my initial, and forever valid, respect—the emotion I felt when I read your first book, "The Old Guard."

If my words have ever created a rift between you and the readers, may this short note today be the first stitch to mend that rift. This matter concludes for me.

As for the future, I hope we will meet again on paper—side by side, or against each other—but please believe that it will be in the same arena, under the same light. Sincerely

A mixture of respect and apology
Jules Claretti

After reading the entire letter, Editor-in-Chief Lamote breathed a sigh of relief, his expression softening, and his smile finally became natural and sincere: "Claretti, beautifully written! I believe our readers will only have more respect for you because of this."

The last sentence was naturally meant to be comforting, but Jules Claretti was in no mood for returning the compliment. Instead, he hurriedly asked, "Can it be published tomorrow?" Editor-in-Chief Lamote nodded: "I'll hand it over to the typesetter in a bit."

Jules Claretti breathed a sigh of relief, greeted Lamotte, and then left the editor-in-chief's office absentmindedly.

Once his footsteps faded into the corridor, Editor-in-Chief Lamotte took out the sheet of paper he had just written from his drawer, glanced at it, and continued writing:
[...We are now extending a call for contributions from Mr. Lionel Sorel and members of the public:]

If you wish to contribute an article to the literary supplement of Le Figaro, you are free to choose the length, style, and theme. The newspaper will reserve the most open space for the freest thoughts.

Armand de Lamothe

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.

When Lionel saw the latest issue of Le Figaro, he was preparing to hand over his newly written rebuttal to Alice for transcription and then send it to La Repubblica.

For him, Jules Claretti's criticism was not a threat, but rather an opportunity to enhance his reputation and raise awareness of "The Curious Case of Benjamin Bouton".

Unexpectedly, the other party backed down so quickly, and even seemed to be begging for mercy.

Although Jules Claretti declared that he "would not retract the questions he had raised" and that "the questions themselves were not wrong, but the tone was," a careful reading reveals his eagerness to make peace.

“No fun…” Lionel muttered, putting the manuscript back in the drawer.

If the other party begs for mercy, continuing to "hunt down" them will only make him seem like he lacks class, and public opinion will turn against him.

Even if he was unwilling, Lionel had no choice but to "lay down his weapon".

But his decision to let go didn't mean others would either—especially those manuscripts that had already been written and submitted to the editorial department; it was too late for them to give up now.

"La Repubblica," "Le Petit Parisien," "Le Petit Les Medici," "Le Monde"... these competitors of "Le Figaro" published a number of articles criticizing Jules Claretti in just three days, all with rather sharp wording.

For example, the "Echoes" section of Le Parisien published an article by "Paul Alessic," which included the following sentence:
[Le Figaro has a habit of two faces: one bowing to power, the other glaring at art; when their pages need sales, they open their velvet arms; when their dogma is questioned, they bare their bloody fangs.]

It became widely known, giving Parisians their first impression of the name.

The article, signed "Joris-Karl Huysmann," was published in the Morning Post and was even more forceful:
If Le Figaro truly believes that the "sacred order" can serve as a literary ban, then it would be better to also ban the steam engine, the railway, and everything new that makes the old world tremble.
—Because the nineteenth century itself was the greatest affront to the "sacred order."

The most brilliant satire comes from Guy de Maupassant, the young man who frequently contributed to Le Figaro, who this time hurled the sharpest javelin at his own "dream intelligence":
Monsieur Claretti and Le Figaro always loved to invoke the name of God, as if the Creator had left them a spare key in heaven...

Please remember, you're just someone who coughs loudly in the hallway and then blames the echo for being too noisy...

I'd like to give Mr. Claretti a small copper coin; I've heard you've finally learned to bow instead of wielding a whip—very good, this coin is a reward for you to buy some sweets.

Jules Claretti had criticized Maupassant's play, "Old Tales," a few months earlier, and Maupassant's criticism was somewhat driven by personal grudge.

Since its transformation in the 70s, Le Figaro has not experienced such intense attacks. Its reputation and sales plummeted, and it could only lick its wounds in silence.

"Lional and his friends" became a small group that was widely discussed in Parisian art circles.

Lionel also acquired a new nickname – “the young man who single-handedly defeated Le Figaro.”

(End of this chapter)