Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 537 Disgrace!

Despite Prime Minister Gladstone and Home Secretary Harcourt employing every political rhetoric imaginable to shift blame like dust to every corner of the earth, refusing to take it upon themselves—

But the interview in Le Figaro and the news that Scandal in Bohemia would not be serialized in Britain still felt like a red-hot iron branding their skin, sending the British into a frenzy.

Over the past week, British newspapers have been debating whether or not Sorrell should be refused entry.

Some say it should be done, mainly liberal newspapers; others say it shouldn't be done, mainly conservative newspapers.

However, these discussions are at least still revolving around the question of "should or should not".

Now Le Figaro and Lionel have rephrased the question: "Does Britain still deserve to call itself a free country?"

That's different!

Le Figaro is not a Russian communiqué, nor is it one of those official Berlin newspapers that acted on orders.

It is the most influential newspaper in France, with readers including elites from all over Europe, and even a large number of subscribers in the United States.

These elites had all read Voltaire, knew Locke, and were familiar with the "liberal tradition" that Britain itself boasted about.

Now they see Le Figaro asking: "British, do you still have your traditions?"

Even the British themselves today are hesitant to answer this question definitively.

In the editorial office of The Manchester Guardian, editor Scott sat behind his desk, holding two newspapers in his hands.

On the left is Le Figaro, and on the right is The Times.

He first read the interview in Le Figaro twice, and then read today's editorial in The Times.

The editorial was titled "The Necessary Boundaries of Customs Enforcement," and it was written in a very neutral and predictable manner.

The gist of the statement is that the government has the right to refuse entry to anyone based on considerations of public order, which is a common practice in modern countries, and France itself does the same.

Scott put down the newspaper and said to the assistant editor, "The Times is downplaying the important issues!"

The assistant editor nodded: "They dare not touch the most crucial question."

Scott stood up and walked to the window. The Manchester sky was always overcast, and today was no exception.

He remained silent for a while before speaking: "England is like an old house with beautiful furniture, but some rooms have been unopened for so long that even the owner doesn't remember what's inside."

Scott turned around: “I’m going to write an editorial called ‘The Closed Room’.”

The assistant editor asked curiously, "And what about the content?"

Scott sighed: "I don't want to say whether Britain should reject Sorel, I'm just saying whether the government should give appropriate reasons."

What's the difference between a free government that refuses to explain and a dictatorship that refuses to explain?

The assistant editor hesitated for a moment: "Wouldn't this be too harsh?"

Scott laughed: "Sharp? The French have a knife to our throats, and we're worried about sharp things?"

The next day, the Manchester Guardian published an editorial.

The article didn't mention Sorel's name, only saying that "a foreign writer was recently denied entry," but everyone knew who it was referring to.

The article is written with restraint, but the questions are tricky:

If a decision requires no explanation, then who can guarantee that the decision is fair?
If there is no obligation to explain, then where is the line between power and arbitrariness?

We often say that Russia is an autocratic country because the Tsar's police could arrest people at will without giving a reason.

So, when our customs officials can arbitrarily refuse entry to foreign citizens, what distinguishes us from Russia?

The last paragraph of the article reads:
Freedom should not be a slogan on everyone's lips, but a set of procedures that can be verified by everyone.

Now, the procedures have been boxed up by our bureaucrats!

This editorial sparked a huge reaction.

The Mainichi Shimbun reprinted the key paragraphs, adding an editor's note:

We agree with the Manchester Guardian's view. The issue isn't who was rejected, but how they were rejected.

The Palma Gazette was even more direct:

The government has the right to say no, but it must explain why. Silence is not a right, it's cowardice!

Liberal newspapers began to form a chorus.

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The atmosphere was somber in Prime Minister Gladstone's office at 10 Downing Street.

The secretary brought over a stack of newspaper clippings, all of which were commentaries from today's various newspapers.

Gladstone flipped through the pages quickly, his expression growing increasingly grim with each page.

He shoved the clipping in front of Home Secretary Harcourt: “Your ‘cooling-down’ strategy doesn’t seem to be working very well.”

Harcourt, sweat beading on his forehead, said, "This is just the liberal newspapers making a fuss. The conservative media still support us."

Gladstone pulled out a copy of The Times: "Support? Look at this! It's all bureaucratic jargon, not daring to say a single strong word. Is this support? This is just going through the motions!"

He stood up and paced around the office: "Now the issue has escalated. It's no longer 'should we refuse Sorel,' but 'is Britain still a country governed by the rule of law?'"

Do you realize the weight of this question?

As Home Secretary, Harcourt certainly knew that Britain's pride lay in its "rule of law tradition."

Parliamentary sovereignty, judicial independence, and procedural justice—these terms are written in textbooks and etched into the minds of every Briton.

Although there are various "unspoken rules" in its operation, they cannot be discussed openly—for example, implying that "Good Words" should be removed from the "postage discount" list.

Now, a French writer, through a French newspaper, asks Britain: "Is your rule of law, your freedom, your procedures... still alive?" The British government cannot answer "alive" with confidence, because the government itself is trampling on procedures.

Prime Minister Gladstone paced back and forth in his office several times before finally stopping: "When is the next question in the House of Commons?"

"The day after tomorrow afternoon."

"Get ready. Lawrence and his men will definitely hold this against us."

"Yes."

Gladstone stared at Harcourt: "And, find a way to get this over with. I don't want to see that Le Figaro interview being quoted repeatedly anymore!"

Harcourt looked troubled. "That's probably not going to be easy. As long as Sorel is in Europe, as long as he's still talking, this matter won't be resolved."

Gladstone paused for a few seconds, then said, "Then shut him up!"

"How can we close him? We've already refused him entry."

"Think of a way!"

But before Harcourt could come up with a solution, another blow came.

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An even more explosive piece of news has arrived than that "A Scandal in Bohemia" will first be serialized in the French magazine "Live Moderne" and the American magazine "Harper's Weekly":
In addition to Modern Life and Harper Weekly, the novel will also be published simultaneously in Germany's Contemporary and Russia's Chronicle of the Fatherland!

The news was confirmed and published by Publishers Weekly, taking up an entire column, and the London publishing and media circles went completely crazy.

France and the United States are out of the question—France is a cultural rival, and the United States is an emerging market. Selling works there may be shameful, but at least it can be understood as a commercial choice.

But Germany and Russia?

Germany was not only Britain's colonial rival, but also the kind of country that was "unqualified to criticize Britain" in public opinion.

Needless to say, Russia is not only an autocratic regime, but also a country with rampant secret police, the kind of country that British newspapers would frequently bring up to ridicule.

Now, a detective story that the British are so proud of is going to be published in magazines in Germany and Russia, but not in Britain itself.

This isn't just a slap in the face; it's stomping Britain's face into the ground.

The Manchester Guardian immediately published an editorial with a single-word title: "Disgrace!"

The article writes:

When Sherlock Holmes had to find a home in Berlin and St. Petersburg, we should ask ourselves: What exactly happened in this country?

What happened? Fear struck! Fear of ideas, fear of discussion! Fear of any story that might trigger discomfort!

The Home Secretary said this was for the sake of 'public order.' But public order should not be maintained by stifling thought.

He overstepped his bounds when Downing Street began deciding what people should and shouldn't read.

Now, the result of crossing the line is that we have lost our own story and our own heroes!

It wasn't taken away by others; we pushed it away ourselves!

[We blame it on France, the United States, Germany, Russia... We don't know who the next country will be.]

In any case, "Sherlock Holmes" will be pushed to the whole world, but not kept at home!

If this isn't shameful, then what is?

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The editorial was published on the same day that a question was asked in the House of Commons.

Member of Parliament Joseph Lawrence stood up, holding the Manchester Guardian in his hand.

He stared at Gladstone: "Mr. Prime Minister, have you read today's Guardian?"

Gladstone said calmly, "I read it."

"Do you agree with the article's point? It's a disgrace that Britain lost its own detective out of fear—do you agree?"

Prime Minister Gladstone's response remained gracious: "I don't think Britain has 'lost' anything. Where a work is published is the author's free choice."

"Choice? When all the magazines in Britain refuse to publish it, can this still be called 'free choice'? This is called 'no choice'!"

Prime Minister Gladstone's response remained calm: "The government will not interfere with the magazine's editorial decisions. Whether any work can be published depends on the magazine's own judgment."

If British magazines refuse to publish a work, it is an independent decision made based on internal discussions and feedback from the readership market.

Joseph Lawrence, of course, wouldn't let Gladstone off the hook. He brought up the same question again, the one that hadn't been answered due to the chaos and timeout:
"Mr. Prime Minister, I would like to ask a simple question. This is a question that many British people have been asking, but has yet to be answered."

"what is the problem?"

Will we ever see Lionel Sorel's work in British newspapers and magazines again?

The chamber fell even quieter, everyone staring at Gladstone, waiting for his answer.

Gladstone knew he couldn't avoid this question; he had to answer it.

But how should he answer? If he says "yes," it would be tantamount to slapping the Home Office and the government in the face; if he says "no," it would be tantamount to admitting that Britain is suppressing freedom of speech.

If you say "I don't know," that's tantamount to admitting that the government has lost control of the situation.

He stood there, using all the political wisdom he had ever accumulated to find the answer.

Lawrence is still waiting, and all of Britain is waiting.

Waiting for an answer.

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(End of this chapter)