Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 367 The Coming-of-Age Ceremony of a French Writer! (Bonus Chapter)

"A competition?" Sophie and Alice were both very surprised.

It wasn't because of Lionel's idea, but because, in this situation, he was more concerned with business.

Lionel didn't wait for them to ask further, but instead began to speak on his own: "Yes, competitions. Typing competitions, and bicycle competitions."

The typing contest is simple: it's a competition to see who can type the most content within a set time. The prize could be a typewriter and 200 francs.

Cycling races... what do you think about people riding them around the whole of France?

Sophie and Alice were stunned when they heard the idea out loud.

Cycling around France? Does that include the Alps and their valleys? Only a madman would do that!
Lionel then chuckled self-deprecatingly: "I'm afraid not—the current road system isn't good enough, and our bicycles aren't sturdy enough. But..."

He walked to one side of the living room, where a map of France hung on the wall, originally used to mark the sales of products throughout France.

Lionel took out a pen and drew a circle around the Paris region—which includes eight departments such as Paris, Hauts-de-Seine, Seine-Saint-Denis, etc.

Lionel tapped the map with his pen: "The Tour de France isn't realistic right now, how about the Tour of Paris?"

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In late July 1881, a heat wave swept through Paris, and also through French public opinion.

The situation seems to be sliding into an abyss that even the instigators cannot control.

The Jules Ferry government may have initially only intended to give Lionel a warning, but once the monster of public opinion was unleashed, it no longer obeyed the tamer's commands.

Both his supporters and his opponents used this seemingly insignificant "trivial matter" as an opportunity to employ their own tactics.

On July 28, a formal summons from the criminal court at the Palais de Justice in Paris was delivered to the summer villa in Leonard, Villeneuve.

The parchment envelope bore the emblem of the Republic, and the wording was cold.

The summons requires Lionel Sorel to appear in court on September 1st on the charges of:
In publicly published articles and statements, he opposed the Tunisian expedition and accused the French military of "aggression" and "massacre."

These remarks were considered to have "undermined the discipline of the French army," "incited soldiers to disobey," and "insulted the country."

The news spread like wildfire, instantly reaching Paris and all of France via telegraph lines and newspapers.

This is no longer a simple case of public opinion attacks.

Lionel Sorel's name has been officially inscribed on a long list of French writers who have dealt with the legal system.

Stendhal in 1821, Balzac in 1831, Baudelaire and Flaubert in 1857, Zola in 1873...

Now, it's Lionel Sorel's turn.

The report in Le Figaro was written in a somber tone:

They finally took action! From burning the books to the prosecution, less than a month had passed.

Mr. Sorel will follow in the footsteps of his literary predecessors and face trial in court.

Le France, on the other hand, was overjoyed:
The judiciary has finally demonstrated its power! Any words or actions that attempt to tarnish the honor of the military or shake the foundations of the nation must be severely punished by law!

This is a victory for the Republic!

Lionel's villa in Vernef suddenly became a popular destination.

On the afternoon the news broke, Émile Zola rushed over from Paris.

His face was grave, and as soon as he entered, he gripped Lionel's hand tightly: "Leon, things are bad. They really are going to throw you in jail!"

Absurd! Shameless! Accusing a writer of 'inciting military disobedience'? It's the same old story, just with a different pretext!

Writers and celebrities who were friends with Lionel, such as Maupassant, Daudet, and Émile Belin, also arrived one after another.

Madame Belte and François Gautier-Lüzarche also sent messages of concern.

The villa's living room was packed with people, the atmosphere heavy and tense.

Of all the people, Zola was undoubtedly the most experienced.

Having experienced the lawsuit of 1873, he was intimately familiar with the delicate "rules of the game" between the French judicial system and writers.

He waved his thick arms and shouted, "Leon, listen to me! You must leave France immediately! In the next few days, the sooner the better!"
Go to Belgium, go to Switzerland, or even go to England like Hugo did! In short, get out of their jurisdiction!

Seeing that Lionel seemed about to say something, he immediately interrupted: "I know what you're thinking! You think you can fight back, that you can give a passionate speech in court?"

It's no use! Let me tell you, if they dare to file a lawsuit like this, they must be confident they can convict you!

"Then you'll be sentenced to a year or several months in prison—do you really want to suffer in Toulon?" Lionel knew Zola was right; it was an unspoken understanding. The government needed to save face and quell the uproar.

So they have to sue, but they may not really want to put the writer in jail—that would draw even more criticism and solidify their reputation for suppressing speech.

Exile became a tacit solution.

The reason the Palais de Justice in Paris gave him a full month was to give him ample time to leave France.

This way, the court can convict the author in absentia, and there's no need to worry about the author making outrageous statements during the trial.

Maupassant, as expected, began to advise in this way: "Leave voluntarily, stay outside for a while, six months, a year, until the storm passes, until the political climate changes."

—The political situation in France changes very quickly—in the end, the verdict may be dropped, or it may be carried out symbolically, and you can come back.

The court will try you in absentia and sentence you to imprisonment, but the police won't actually come to arrest you. Don't worry, we can create "The Café" through letters too!

All eyes in the living room were on Lionel.

Friends chimed in, analyzing the pros and cons, outlining the "advantages" of exile and the risks of resisting.

This seems to be the most "conventional" and "wise" choice under the current circumstances.

Lionel remained silent.

He stood by the window, occasionally gazing at the tranquil pastoral scenery of Vernev outside, the setting sun casting a golden glow on his silhouette.

Those names echoed in his mind—Stendhal, Balzac, Baudelaire, Flaubert, Hugo—it was as if they were the coming-of-age ceremony for French writers.

Whether it's corrupting public morals, blaspheming religion, insulting royalty, or now "inciting military disobedience"...

Nineteenth-century French writers would inevitably have one or more close encounters with the courts, and this was not something they could avoid by hiding their heads.

Exile? Like Hugo? He recalled telling Sophie and the others not long ago about Hugo's journey from hero to "villain."

Now, is it his turn to make a choice?

To escape trial, to leave his homeland and yearn for his country, he writes in the cold, gloomy weather of a foreign land, relying on memories and resentment, while waiting for a change in the political winds at home.
This seems to be a seemingly "smart" path that has been proven by countless predecessors.

but……

He slowly turned around, and the murmurs in the living room gradually subsided.

Lionel's face showed no fear, no anger, only a slight smile.

His gaze swept over his friends' concerned faces: "Exile..."

He repeated the word softly, as if savoring its meaning.

Everyone held their breath, waiting for his decision.

In the end, Lionel shook his head: "Thank you all, I will remain in Paris to stand trial—whatever the outcome."

Everyone was speechless. Looking at Lionel's resolute expression, they knew he wasn't just pretending to be aloof, so they stopped trying to persuade him.

The legal process is lengthy, and even if Lionel is found guilty, he can appeal, giving him ample time to make his own choices about his future.

Zola patted him on the shoulder: "It seems you've thought it through. The courtroom can indeed become another battlefield."

But be careful, lest they actually put you in jail.

Lionel nodded, indicating that he understood the implications, and smiled: "I'm going to trial because some things only make a bigger impact when said in court."

If they don't go to court, even more mudslinging will be thrown at them.

As for exile, let's talk about that after the trial results are out.

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After seeing her friends off, Sophie said anxiously, "Lionel, are you really going to stay and go to court? Then...then..."

Alice also looked alarmed: "Leon, why? Wouldn't it be better to go to England for a while? You have friends there too..."

Petty burst into tears: "Young Master...you...you...are you really going to jail?"

Lionel comforted them, saying, "Don't worry, actually I need a trial like this. Going to jail, actually..."

Before he could finish speaking, several lights flashed outside the villa, followed by a cacophony of voices...

(End of fourth watch)
　Exile and court appearances were common occurrences for 19th-century French writers; why make such a fuss...?

　　
　
(End of this chapter)