Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 395 I challenge you to a duel!

Lionel returned from the Good Words magazine office and hurried back to his temporary residence, which was just one more street down the side.

However, as he turned the corner, he saw a dozen or so figures gathered in the shadows at the apartment entrance, and his heart skipped a beat.

An instinctive sense of vigilance made him slow down.

Norman McLeod's private apartment is located in a typical affluent middle-class neighborhood in London, where the residents are almost all British elites.

The vast majority of those people were clearly not residents of the community; not only were their skin dark, but their appearances were also quite different from those of the British.
The others did indeed look British, but they were carrying notebooks and pencils, looking like reporters.

He instinctively tried to walk around them, but the group had already spotted him and quickly surrounded him.

One of the tall young men was the first to come forward. He was wearing a suit and leaning on a cane, and could be described as having a very elegant demeanor.

Lionel recognized him and his companion; they were clearly of South Asian descent.

The young man spoke up: "Mr. Lionel Sorel?"

His English was very fluent, with almost no accent.

Lionel stopped in his tracks: "I am... May I ask who you are?"

He maintained basic politeness, but was clearly wary—had someone betrayed his whereabouts?

The young man slightly raised his chin and began his self-introduction with a sense of superiority: "Vikram Singh. My father is Sir Raja Singh."

We are the hereditary Thakur of Jaipur (Note 1), loyal servants of Her Majesty the Queen. I myself graduated from King's College.

Lionel was even more puzzled. Why would an Indian nobleman's son come to his door with such obvious dissatisfaction?
But what he was more concerned about now was how the other party found this place: "Mr. Singh, how did you know I lived here?"

Vikram Singh's expression turned mocking, and his tone became even more sarcastic: "Mr. Sorel, it's not hard to guess."

Everyone in the world knows that when the French are in trouble, the first place they think of for refuge is London—especially someone like you.

So, after the news broke that your villa had been enthusiastically visited by 'patriotic youths,' I realized that you were very likely to have set foot on British soil.

All we had to do was patiently keep an eye on the *Good Words* magazine office… and sure enough, you showed up shortly after!

After hearing this explanation, Lionel's tense nerves relaxed somewhat.

As long as it's not official surveillance or betrayal from someone close to you, this level of attention is still within an acceptable range.

At least Norman McLeod and the people around him should be reliable, otherwise the other party would have come knocking on their door long ago.

However, his emotional shift seemed to be misinterpreted by Vikram Singh as disdain.

The Indian nobleman's son's face darkened. He said no more, deftly removed his right glove, and threw it at Lionel's feet.

Lionel was stunned. A duel?

It is important to know that Britain is the country in Europe with the strictest ban on duels. As early as 1819, it passed a law prohibiting officers or civil servants from participating in duels.

In 1845, Queen Victoria further strengthened the punishment for duels, defining death in a duel as murder.

Even notaries, doctors, and coachmen could be brought to court.

Although France also banned duels, the authorities generally turned a blind eye; Britain, on the other hand, did actually take nobles to court for such matters.

Therefore, there are almost no public duels in Britain anymore; those who really want to duel usually go to Belgium or France.

He's in London right now, and someone's actually challenging him like this? And bringing reporters along? Have they had enough of jail time?
Moreover, he couldn't recall ever having any connection with this heir to Jaipur's Thakur, let alone any deep-seated hatred that required a life-or-death duel. Lionel didn't pick up the glove to signify his acceptance of the duel invitation.

He asked, puzzled, "Mr. Singh, what...does this mean? I hope to get a reasonable explanation."

Vikram Singh watched as Lionel didn't pick up his gloves, a flash of disappointment in his eyes, quickly replaced by anger.

He raised his voice, making sure the surrounding reporters could hear him clearly: "What do you mean? Mr. Sorel, have you forgotten? Your vile article entitled 'The Glorious and the Castrated'! And your sensationalist 'The Sign of Four'!"
These two works not only wantonly slandered the order and civilization established by the British Empire in India, but also deeply insulted us Indians!
You portray those Indian elites, loyal to the empire and dedicated to modernization, as pathetic, spiritually emasculated wretches!

At this point, his voice began to tremble with emotion: "Do you think all Indians should be like those hateful rebels you portray in your writings? You don't understand India at all!"
You have no idea about us Indian gentlemen who, under the protection of Her Majesty the Queen's laws, are able to use our talents and serve the people!

You sit in your comfortable Paris apartment, relying on your own imagination and prejudice, and dare to criticize us!
I, Vikram Singh, as a representative of Indians in London, cannot stand idly by while you slander the honor of the British Empire and the dignity of Indians!

Since words cannot awaken you, then let's settle this with rapiers and muskets! I challenge you to a duel!

After hearing this impassioned accusation, Lionel was speechless for a moment.

Looking at Vikram Singh's flushed face, filled with an almost pious sense of honor, he felt not anger, but a sense of absurdity.

He recalled the phenomenon he had criticized in his article—

The local elites of those colonies were not only shaped by colonial education and respected the values ​​of the colonizers, but they were also more proactive than the colonizers in maintaining the colonial order and were deeply proud of it.

At this moment, Vikram Singh is practically a living example that has stepped right out of his writings.

He couldn't help but sigh inwardly at how "effective" the British were in their "educational" work in India.

It's astonishing that a young nobleman would risk his life against a foreign writer for this.

Compared to the British, the French colonialism was simply indescribable.

But he still didn't bend down or touch the glove.

He simply replied calmly, “A duel? Mr. Singh, you seem to have forgotten that this is Great Britain. Dueling is explicitly illegal in England!”

"Since you claim to be loyal to Her Majesty the Queen, are you going to openly violate the laws enacted by the Queen to whom you are loyal?"

However, when Vikram Singh heard this, he did not back down; instead, a smug sneer appeared on his face.

Lionel's words seemed to have been expected, and he was clearly prepared for it.

Vikram Singh said slowly, “Law? Mr. Sorel, you are right, English law does indeed prohibit its citizens from dueling.”

But that law protects English gentlemen. And you, well, you're probably not qualified to be protected by that law, are you?

His voice became smug: "Besides, you didn't even enter the country through normal diplomatic channels and port checks, otherwise the news would have reported it already!"
Legally speaking, you, Mr. Lionel Sorel, do not exist on British soil at all.

How can a non-existent person, who is not British, be protected by British law? Therefore, this is a 'private matter' between us.

Lionel was completely stunned; he hadn't expected the other party to approach the issue from this angle.

Did he use his illegal entry status to circumvent the UK's ban on duels?
This argument was so cunning, with an almost shameless rationality, that he was momentarily at a loss for words to refute it.

He stood in the London evening mist, looking at the white glove at his feet, without the slightest panic.

He looked at Vikram Singh in front of him and asked leisurely, "Then could you please tell me who I am dueling with?"

　Note 1: This refers to a group of Rajput minor feudal nobles in the princely state of Jaipur who possessed hereditary lands and held the title "Takur". They belonged to a collateral branch or meritorious family of the Kachwaha royal family, and their status was second only to the princes. They constituted a fixed feudal class within the state, and their privileges, stipends, and ceremonial status could be inherited from father to son, hence the name "hereditary Takur".

　　
　
(End of this chapter)