Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 402 Why the sudden change from respect to arrogance? (Seeking votes at the beginning of the month)
The old man walked up to Lionel and, unlike the others, did not shout excitedly. He simply bowed deeply and said, "Mr. Sorel! Do you remember me?"
Anthony Matthew, the poor sailor on the 'Saint-Michel' who spent his whole life shucking oysters!

Lionel certainly remembered that his essay "My Uncle Jules" was first dictated to Maupassant and others, using Jules as a model.

The old man was no longer as destitute as he had been two years ago; his clothes were clean and fit him well, and his face was free of dirt.

Lionel stepped forward and shook his hand: "Mr. Matthew, of course I remember—but you've changed a lot."

Anthony Matthews broke into a smile, bringing the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes together: "Change? Yes, sir, now everyone calls me 'Uncle Jules'!"
It was you who changed my fate and that of the "Saint-Michel" ship!

He turned around and pointed to the "Saint-Michel" ship docked at the pier.

Unlike other busy ships, it was empty at this moment. The deck was devoid of the usual bustling passengers, with only the crew standing solemnly, their eyes all fixed on this side.

The old man's voice trembled with excitement: "Did you see that? Today, it was deliberately left empty, without carrying a single passenger or transporting a single box of goods!"
It's here, just waiting for you, waiting for you and these... these people who follow you and believe in you!

He surveyed the sea of ​​supporters around him, raised his arms, and made a huge arc in the air to emphasize the sheer number of people.

"It is you and your pen that have given this old ship new life, giving it stories and hope. Today, it will send you home in the cleanest cabin!"

At that moment, the Saint-Michel sounded its horn, letting out a long blast, as if in response to Anthony Matthew's statement.

Lionel knew he couldn't refuse this simple act of kindness.

He took a deep breath, nodded solemnly, and then strode toward the gangway of the "Saint-Michel".

Supporters followed behind and boarded the "Saint-Michel".

The only ones who breathed a sigh of relief were the British policemen—their mission was accomplished, and the French could now handle the rest of the trouble.

Just as old Matthew had said, the ship was spotless, indicating that it hadn't picked up any passengers when it came from Calais.

The several-hour flight was spent in a strange and enthusiastic atmosphere.

Anthony Mathieu personally served Lionel plump oysters that he had shucked himself—of course, without charging him 5 francs a dozen.

The other crew members on the ferry also changed from their usual lazy demeanor, their eyes filled with curiosity, and they provided exceptionally attentive service.

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When the outline of the "Saint-Michel" finally appeared on the horizon of Calais, the shore was already a scene of another boiling ocean.

A larger crowd than those on Jersey gathered at the pier, with countless arms waving hats, handkerchiefs, and makeshift signs.

"Welcome back, Lionel!"

Long live truth and freedom!

Paris is waiting for you!

The shouts merged into a huge wave of sound, which came from afar and drowned out the roar of the waves and the long whistle of the ferry.

The Saint-Michel cruise ship slowly docked, and the gangway was lowered.

When Lionel's figure appeared on the ship's side, the entire port of Calais seemed to be set ablaze.

People rushed forward, and the human wall formed by the police appeared precarious under immense pressure.

Countless hands reached out to Lionel, wanting to touch him and express their support.

Reporters crowded at the front like hunting dogs, pencils flying across their notebooks.

Lionel, escorted by several robust supporters, struggled down the gangway.

He did not give a speech immediately, but simply kept waving to the crowd.

"Back to Paris! Let's go back to Paris together!" A new cry erupted from the crowd.

Clearly, many of the people gathered in Calais were not there simply to see him; like many others in Jersey, they intended to accompany him back to Paris.

Lionel knew that from the moment he set foot in Calais, his journey home was no longer a private trip, but a public parade.

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As Lionel drew ever closer to Paris, the city's public opinion and political atmosphere became increasingly bizarre, like a bowstring being drawn taut.

The headlines in the newspapers changed every day, and the attitudes of the morning and evening papers could be completely opposite, fully demonstrating the fickleness of the Parisian media.

While Lionel was still in exile in London, almost all the media outlets unanimously condemned the Jules Ferry government's failed colonial policies and its incompetence in condoning violence.

They all clearly expressed their sympathy for Lionel, calling on him to return "to the embrace of his homeland," as if he were the cure for France's reputation.

But when Lionel actually decided to return and was greeted by a crowd of people, it was seen by many as a kind of "provocation".

The attitude of some newspapers has undergone a subtle change.

Especially those media outlets that support Jules Ferry and moderate republicans, such as The Times and Le Figaro.

Their headlines gradually changed from "Welcome back, the law will make a fair judgment" to "Rationally view the return, beware of the abuse of public opinion".

Commentators even began earnestly advising Lionel to "exercise the people's affection for him with caution and not to act impulsively."

Or, "Remember the support Mr. Jules Ferry has given you in the past, and don't drag the country into unnecessary division and turmoil." Between the lines, it's clear that his immense influence has become a "threat" to the Jules Ferry government.

Within Jules Ferry's cabinet, fierce disputes and major disagreements also occurred.

Jules Ferry himself was tormented by the triple torment of colonial failure, parliamentary distrust, and public pressure.

Upon learning that Lionel was about to arrive in Paris, he almost gritted his teeth and asked Justice Minister Jules Corde to put pressure on the Paris prosecutors.

He hoped to have that damned, utterly stupid accusation dropped before Lionel arrived in Paris.

Jules Ferri paced back and forth in his office, his face ashen: "We must cut our losses, Jules!"

Letting this farce continue in court will only bring more humiliation to us and the Republic!
The British are laughing at us! Withdrawing now will at least save face!

However, Attorney General Jules Kold, who is also a legal expert, helplessly spread his hands, indicating that he was powerless to do anything.

Jules Korde spoke calmly and steadily: “Mr. Prime Minister, I understand the current situation and I understand your considerations.”

However, I regret to inform you that I cannot do it. Those prosecutors have already begun to operate semi-independently.

They won't obey my orders as Attorney General, especially in such a high-profile case.

They maintain that the lawsuit is based on legal provisions, and once the process has begun, it must be completed and cannot be swayed by public opinion.

Any intervention from the cabinet would be seen as a desecration of judicial independence and could trigger a greater backlash.

“These bastards!” Jules Ferri almost roared.

He knew perfectly well who was exerting influence behind this so-called "judicial independence."

The prosecutors' tough stance stems from their assessment of the political situation—that he, the prime minister, will step down by November at the latest.

Normally, for a Third Republic to remove a prime minister, someone in parliament needs to propose a motion of no confidence, which then needs to be voted on.

But in France, it usually doesn't escalate to such an ugly state.

Members of parliament express their stance by vetoing important bills, especially major budgets.

If the bill or budget is passed, it means that the prime minister can continue to serve; if it is not passed, the prime minister should wisely lead the cabinet to resign.

The emergency additional military budget for Tunisia at the end of July was a test for him, but he ultimately managed to get through it.

Now, a month has passed, and the situation in both Tunisia and Cochinchina has not improved at all; the French army remains mired in difficulties.

In October, he was to submit the 1882 government budget to Parliament for discussion. If it was rejected, his year-long term as prime minister would come to an end.

Jules Ferry knew very well that this budget was doomed to fail.

That's why prosecutors and the judicial office can so brazenly resist their own will—even though, in the eyes of the public, they are acting according to their own will.

Jules Ferry felt as if he were sitting on the crater of a volcano about to erupt, with molten lava beneath his feet…

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The atmosphere is quite different in the private aristocratic salons located in the Saint-Germain district.

The heavy velvet curtains shut out the noise of the street outside, while the air was filled with the smoke of fine cigars and the rich aroma of aged brandy.

Under the crystal chandelier, several well-dressed gentlemen and several elegantly dressed ladies sat together, their faces bearing knowing smiles.

Duke Giscard d'Montemorancy, wearing a monocle, raised his glass: "Cheers to our upcoming victory."

He was the host of the salon, an old duke with close ties to the Orleans school.

Count Patrice de Gramont, a retired general in military uniform, raised his glass in agreement: "For true order in France."

Victor Bonaparte swirled the amber liquid in his glass: “It’s fascinating to see those commoners chasing after Sorel like idols.”

Don't they understand that a momentary uproar changes nothing? Paris, ultimately, needs intellect and tradition to govern it.

The Duke of Montmorency said slowly, "That fool Jules Ferri has been cornered."

Regardless of whether Lionel Sorel wins or loses, this trial will destroy his government.

All we need to do is wait patiently. When the public grows weary of the chaos, that will be the moment order returns.

Lady Isabella de Lafayette covered her mouth with her fan and chuckled: "I heard that Mr. Sorel wrote a fairy tale in London, which angered the Englishmen."
What an energetic young man! However, making too many enemies is not a wise move.

Victor Bonaparte said coldly, “Let him make a scene, the bigger the better. It would be best if everyone could see it—”

How easily the so-called 'voice of the people' can be swayed, and how unreliable it is.

When he falls in court, or when public expectations are dashed, that will be a very educational sight.

The crisp clinking of glasses echoed in the warm salon, creating a stark contrast with the restless Paris outside the window—two completely different worlds.

(End of this chapter)