Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 462 Liar, Sorel is a liar!

In Richelieu Hall, an old gentleman, unable to contain his emotions, suddenly slammed his cane on the floor, making a dull thud.

He wasn't angered by the performance on stage, but rather stung by this sudden association.

His son died in the chaos following the failure of the commune, a pain he could never forget.

A richly dressed lady covered her mouth tightly with a silk handkerchief, her eyes filled with terror.

She recalled the scene of watching the army escorting prisoners through the streets from behind the curtains years ago.

In the back row of the stalls, a man who looked like a worker clenched his fists tightly, his lips pressed into a pale line.

His father was reported by a neighbor and never returned.

The buzzing of conversation completely subsided, and the Richelieu Hall fell into a deathly silence, with only the deliberately cheerful lyrics of "Jacques the Rapper" echoing in the background.

The silence was more oppressive than any clamor, and the seemingly absurd "hymn" on stage unexpectedly reopened the wounds in the hearts of the Parisian audience.

The blood and fire of the civil war ten years ago, the republic government's ruthless suppression of commune members, the massacre known as "Bloody Week"...

All the emotions that were deliberately suppressed and the memories that were tried to be forgotten surged up in the hearts of the audience with the seemingly playful lyrics.

After rapping the last line, Jacques the Rapper bowed and retreated into the darkness as if fleeing.

The stage lights suddenly became bright and dazzling, illuminating the "Golden Sun" café once again in full view.

Ten years have passed, and the café has begun to fall into disrepair. The wooden sign that reads "No Politics" is still there, but it has been repainted with ink, making the lettering clearer.

Ironically, the walls were covered with brand-new revolutionary slogans and legal articles, which seemed out of place with the café's old-fashioned environment.

The customers were still sitting there, but the ease they had shown in the first scene was gone from their faces.

They were wary, moved cautiously, spoke in hushed tones, and frequently glanced nervously toward the door.

A silent, suffocating fear filled the air.

Act Two has officially begun.

The audience was still immersed in the painful memories, staring blankly at the people on stage struggling to survive under the shadow of terror, as if they were looking at themselves ten years ago.

The most thought-provoking part of this scene is the conversation between the owner, Pierre, and a regular customer, Professor François—

Pierre: (Leaning closer, lowering his voice) Mr. François, Mr. Robespierre sent someone to invite you a few days ago, why didn't you go? You are so learned, knowledgeable in law, and a former member of the National Assembly. Now you just read books all day, why don't you go out and do something? A good man like you should go out and serve in an official position! With wise men like you, we commoners can live a peaceful life.

François: Shame on me! Shame on me! To have been a member of the National Assembly was a terrible mistake! What use is revolution? It only harms others and oneself! Alas! Now all I can do is study and reflect!

Pierre: Look at Mr. Robespierre, he wants to implement a new calendar and reform the Revolutionary Court.

François: So what if he implemented a new calendar and reformed the courts? He said he wanted to establish a German republic, but who did he save? He saved himself, and he became more and more powerful! But his ideals, humph, foreign monarchs could plunge France into war with the flick of a finger!
Pierre: Please don't say that! Do we really have no hope at all?

François: Hard to say! Very hard to say! Look, today the revolutionary army is fighting the Prussians, tomorrow they'll be fighting the Austrians. Who forced us to fight?
Pierre: Who? Those nobles?

François: Foreign coalition!
Pierre: Foreign coalition? I don't understand!
François: You'll understand in time. One day, France will surely perish! I participated in the revolution; I don't speak lightly!

Pierre: So, why don't you think of a way to do something to prevent France from dying?

François: When I was young, I took liberty and equality as my mission, and I truly thought that way! Now, I see clearly that France is doomed!

Pierre: Well...we have to think of something! Are we just going to watch?

François: (Sneers, lowers his voice) A solution? Find a solution under the guillotine? Look at Danton, look at Desmoulins, where are those who were best at 'finding solutions' now? Let me tell you, in this revolutionary storm, the first to be swept away will always be those fools who still want to 'find solutions'!

(François stood up, tucked the book under his arm, looked around, and then leaned closer to Pierre.)

François: Remember my words, Pierre. Now, to live is the greatest victory.

(François glanced around warily, then quickly walked away.)

On stage, the dialogue between Pierre and François, filled with despair and disillusionment, made all the audience members feel uneasy and on edge.

François's answers struck a chord with everyone.

Many seasoned viewers, who had weathered many storms, nodded slightly. They had seen too many slogans and bloodshed, ideals and ruins.

One commentator whispered to a companion: “Power is always like this, no matter what color the flag is.”

People's thoughts drifted back ten years, when the Prussians allowed the Versailles army to rearm and released 6 prisoners of war to the Versailles government to suppress the commune.

Compared to 80 years ago, the only difference is that it has changed from a foreign coalition attacking France to a civil war among the French.

But what truly stirred the audience was François's resolute assertion:

"...Now I understand, France is doomed!"

The word "extinction" exploded in the theater like a thunderclap.

Several ladies instinctively covered their chests with handkerchiefs, while the gentlemen tensed their faces.

For proud French people, especially Parisians, this is the most jarring curse.

Although François was referring to 1794, the sense of despair was terribly contagious.

The final conclusion is: "Those fools who still try to 'find a way' are always the first to be swept away!" "To live is the greatest victory."

It instantly froze the blood of many people.

Under the victor's ruthless suppression, remaining silent and preserving one's life became the only option.

Inside the private room, an official from the Third Republic who had participated in the suppression of the commune was restless and almost wanted to leave his seat and stop watching.

In the back row of the stalls, a silent middle-aged man clenched his fists, a look of pain flashing in his eyes.

His brother died on the barricades of the commune, while he himself has survived to this day because he "wisely" kept silent.

The scene concludes with a historical event that everyone is all too familiar with—

Mathieu: It's over! It's all over! Robespierre... they... the guillotine, just now... the National Convention...

He was judged by his own law! The guillotine is full... it's finally time for someone to feed it!

(The café was initially deathly silent; some people began to cry, some looked around blankly, and others secretly made the sign of the cross.)
Pierre: (Muttering to himself) God, is this nightmare finally over? Or has it just begun?

On July 26, Robespierre delivered a lengthy speech to the National Convention, implying that there was a "conspiracy" and "bad guys" within the government, but he did not name them.

The decision not to mention names terrified everyone—"Are they referring to me? Is it my turn tomorrow?"

Almost all factions within the National Convention immediately joined forces against him, and on July 27, they shouted the slogan "Imprison the tyrant".

Then, in the early morning of July 28, Robespierre was arrested and sent to the Revolutionary Tribunal that morning, but the tribunal did not conduct a trial.

The court clerk said, "The National Assembly has already decided that we only need to register names."

That afternoon, Robespierre and more than 20 others, including his staunchest ally Saint Just, were sent to the guillotine.

With his death, the guillotine feast that had lasted for more than a year gradually came to an end.

The curtain also descended on the second act of "The Café".

A suffocating silence fell over the Richelieu Hall of the Comédie-Française.

No one got up.

No one applauded.

No one cheered.

The lights were on, illuminating the densely packed audience below, but they all seemed to have been turned into sculptures.

The gentlemen forgot to adjust their bow ties, the ladies forgot to wave their fans, and everyone stood frozen in place, staring blankly at the deep red curtain.

"The Café" deceived everyone.

Lionel did offer some sporadic moments of humor, but it was like sprinkling a tiny pinch of sugar into a bitter coffee.

What they saw was not the comedy they had imagined, but a serious "historical drama" so heavy it was suffocating.

More importantly, it is unlike any previous historical drama that featured important figures as protagonists, and it does not have grand war scenes or heated debates in parliament.

On stage, there is only a group of humble little people struggling in their despair and fear.

However, it is precisely the fates of these ordinary people that reflect the vicious cycle that France has been unable to escape for nearly a century.

Revolution, terror, Thermidorian Revolt, empire, restoration, revolution again... the cycle repeats itself endlessly, like a never-ending cycle.

Ideals are ignited, and then extinguished; passions boil, and then cool; power is overthrown, and then restored...

Silence is spreading.

One minute, two minutes... time seemed to stand still.

Five full minutes passed.

Suddenly, a voice boomed from the back row of the stalls, shattering the deathly silence:

"Liar! Sorel, you liar!"

The sound was particularly loud and jarring in the empty and silent Richelieu Hall.

That shout was like lighting a fuse.

Immediately afterwards, the same shout rang out from another direction: "Liar!"

"Sorel is a liar!"

One shout of "liar!" after another rang out from every corner of the audience, quickly becoming a continuous chorus.

There was indeed anger and dissatisfaction in these shouts, but more than anything, there was an almost uncontrollable admiration after being completely conquered by art.

Because ordinary praise cannot be used to express it, one can only follow one's intuition and call him a "liar"—but this "liar" refers not only to Lionel.
Then, scattered applause rang out, growing louder and louder, like a long-accumulated downpour that finally broke through the dam and crashed down!
This applause is an expression of understanding, admiration, and the highest respect paid to this drama that dares to confront the abyss of history and question the soul of the nation.

This applause is for those humble yet genuine little people on the stage!
This applause is for Lionel Sorel!
Richelieu Hall trembled slightly amidst the enthusiastic applause.

(I heard that updating early these past two days will get you monthly votes? Is this early enough? This is the first update of the day, with 2-3 more to come.)
(End of this chapter)