Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 551 "Upholding judicial fairness, regardless of wealth or social status!"

Lionel emerged from the apartment, not calling for a carriage, but instead turning up his coat collar, pulling his hat down low, and quickly crossing the street, turning into a side alley.

He knew someone was watching him. Since last week, there had been some unfamiliar faces loitering around his apartment.

Some were from the British Embassy, ​​others were French police—the Ministry of the Interior wanted to protect this "national treasure" while also ensuring he wouldn't cause any more trouble.

But he has to go out tonight.

He knew the alleys in the area well; he knew which path led to which place and which house left its back door unlocked at night.

He circled around twice, climbed over a low wall in the backyard of a small pub, and then emerged from another alley.

After confirming that no one was following him, he headed towards the Seine, crossed two blocks, and then hailed a passing horse-drawn carriage.

Paul Lafargue lived at 66 Rue Vanno in the fifth arrondissement, on the second floor of an unassuming four-story apartment building, with a balcony facing the street.

Lionel knocked on the door. The door opened a crack, revealing an eye; it was Lafargue's wife, Laura.

She was somewhat surprised: "Mr. Sorel?" Then she opened the door. "Please come in. Paul is in the study."

Lionel walked down the narrow hallway and took off his wet coat. Laura took it and hung it on the coat rack, whispering, "He's writing."

Laura led Lionel to the study door and knocked: "Paul, Mr. Sorel has arrived."

A few seconds later, the door opened. Paul Lafargue stood in the doorway, equally surprised: "Leonard? Come in quickly."

The study was small, with books piled up everywhere. Manuscripts and newspapers were spread out on the table, and a typewriter sat in the center, next to an ink bottle and sharpened pencils.

A map of Europe was pasted on the wall, covered with dense markings made of red and blue pencils.

Lafargue closed the door and gestured to the chair: "Sit down. What would you like to drink? I only have red wine, the cheap kind."

Lionel waved his hand: "No need. I've already read today's Times."

Lafargue nodded: "I saw it too. Thirty-two civilians, all of them workers, vendors, seamstresses, bar owners..."

This is the tactic of empires—if they can't deal with the authors, they deal with the readers; if they can't deal with ideas, they deal with those who speak the truth!

Lionel looked at him: "I need your help."

Lafargue sat down on the edge of the desk: "Go ahead."

Lionel said: "First, the money. I want to give each of the thirty-two people's families a temporary allowance of £10."

My contacts in the UK are all on the list, and even my lawyer might not be reliable anymore. You're the only person I can trust now.

Lafargue nodded: "10 pounds is equivalent to more than two months' wages for them, which should be enough for their families to get through this."

I will contact the London Labour Union, and they will deliver the money to everyone without fail.

Lionel breathed a sigh of relief: "Second, lawyers. Hire the best lawyers in London for them. Not those quacks who will do anything for money, but lawyers who understand the law and have a conscience."

I hope to get them bailed out as soon as possible; I'll cover all the costs. If bail isn't possible, then I'll try my best to make their stay in there as comfortable as possible.

Lafargue knew Lionel was wealthy, so of course he wouldn't object: "Okay, I'll help you. I'll arrange the money tomorrow. I'll also find someone to contact regarding the lawyer."

There are a few lawyers in London who specialize in these kinds of 'political cases,' they charge high fees, but they are truly capable. However, Lionel, you need to understand—

Even with the best lawyers, these people will find it difficult to escape unscathed. Since the government has arrested them, they must sentence some. This is a message to everyone.

Lionel sighed. "I know. But at least let them have someone to defend them in court, and let their families live."

Lafargue walked back to his desk: "The Equality will have a detailed report in the next issue. It's a British workers' newspaper; I'll arrange for someone to send the materials over."

In terms of public opinion, I won't let them have it easy!

Lionel nodded, paused for a few seconds, and then said, "There's a third thing."

"what?"

“Send me to England like last year.”

Lafargue turned around, his eyes turning serious: "Are you crazy?"

"No."

“Last year you were prosecuted in France, and we sent you to England as asylum. Now you are being prosecuted in England, yet you want to go to England? That’s like walking into a trap.”

Lionel shook his head: "Not now. It's at the right time, and we have to completely avoid the British."

Lafargue was somewhat confused: "Leonard, what exactly are you trying to do? Go to England to surrender? And then add another defendant to the court? That won't work!"
Your presence will only draw more attention to the case, but it won't change the outcome. The government would love for you to be in the dock.

Lionel stared at him for a moment before saying, "If I don't show up in the dock, even the best lawyers for 'Old Jimmy' won't help."

Lafargue was speechless upon hearing this. He knew that Lionel was most likely right, and the purpose of this lawsuit from beginning to end was to "punish" Lionel.

If you can't punish Lionel, then punish the people Lionel cares about and make him suffer mental anguish.

Lionel looked out the window: “They were arrested for speaking up for me, so I have to take responsibility for them. It’s easy to hide in Paris and write articles criticizing the British government, but that won’t save them. I have to go to London and show up at the right time.”

The study quieted down, and the sounds of a couple arguing upstairs could be heard.

Lafargue stared at Lionel for a long time before finally saying, "You're such a petty bourgeois."

Lionel didn't say anything.

Lafargue looked closely at him: “Compassionate, morally upright, and willing to take risks for ‘responsibility.’ But lacking discipline, lacking planning, driven only by passion.”

Do you know how dangerous this is? The British government hates you to the core right now. The moment you set foot on British soil, you'll be arrested.

They'll sentence you to the most serious charges, then exile you to Australia, or imprison you in Dartmoor Prison and let you rot in the mines.

Lionel laughed. "Thank you for your concern. But have you considered whether they really want me to show up? Especially when I suddenly appear without any warning."

Lafargue looked at Lionel suspiciously, unsure whether he was crazy or had some real plan.

Lionel continued, "But I do need your help to avoid any 'what ifs'. First, arrange a safe route and a reliable contact for me."

After arriving in the UK, I will need a place to stay for the time being, as well as a new identity to travel with.

Then he pulled a piece of paper from Lafargue's table, wrote down a string of numbers with a pen, and handed it to Lafargue.

“This is an account I have in London, and there’s more than enough money in it to do everything I just mentioned.”

Lafargue hesitated for a long time before saying, "I can't guarantee anything. The British government will definitely put pressure on France to extradite you."

Although France won't agree, it will strengthen border checks. And once you're in Britain, the protection our people can provide is limited.

"I see."

"You might die." "I know."

Lafargue stared at him for a few more seconds, then sighed. "Alright. I'll try. But you have to wait for my message. You can only leave when I say it's okay."

I said no, you'd better stay in Paris.

"it is good."

------------

The Clerk's Office, Central Criminal Court, London.

Clerk Alfred Winter sat behind his desk with a thick booklet spread out in front of him—the preliminary jury roster.

The roster is arranged by constituency, with each page listing eligible jurors for that constituency.

The eligibility criteria are very clear:
Male, 21 years of age or older, owning property with an annual rental value of £10 or more, or renting property with an annual rental value of £20 or more, and with a good tax record.

Winter is reviewing the juror list for the October trial.

The “sedition case” had such a great impact that the court decided to form two special juries, each with 24 prospective jurors, and then randomly select 12 jurors before the trial.

The Interior Ministry did not issue an official document, but Winter received a private note from Edgar Winthrop, the Permanent Under-Secretary of the Interior, three days ago.

The note was carefully worded, but its meaning was clear:
"Given that the case involves national security and the dignity of the royal family, it is recommended that extra attention be paid to the social stability and reliability of candidates during the jury qualification review."

Winter understood what this meant. He opened the register and began marking it with a red pencil. The marking principles were all very "objective":
Most of the constituencies in the East End were crossed off the list – properties there generally have an annual rental value of less than £10, making it difficult to meet the rental value requirement.

Even if a few meet the criteria, those whose occupation is listed as "dockworker," "porter," or "street vendor" are all excluded.

“Job instability,” “high income fluctuations,” and “potential for being swayed”—these are sufficient reasons.

The list from the West End and Kensington remains largely unchanged. It includes property owners, retired military officers, lawyers, doctors, businesspeople, insurance brokers…

These professions are "stable", "respectable", and "have a good social reputation".

But Winter also encountered a few problems. For example, there was a man on the list named John Harrison, a book publisher in Hampstead, who met all the property eligibility requirements.

However, after reviewing the files, Winter discovered that this person had published a book the previous year criticizing the empire's colonial policies. Although it hadn't been banned, it was clearly "ideologically unreliable."

So he made a mark next to it in red pen: "Further review required."

For example, there was a retired teacher named William Foster who met the property requirements, but Winter knew from his records that he had participated in Chartist rallies—

Although that happened forty years ago, who knows if he still has "radical tendencies"? Another sign.

The review process was tedious and lengthy. With each name Winter crossed out, he told himself: This is for the sake of judicial fairness.

Unstable jurors are easily influenced by emotions and can be easily swayed by defense lawyers.

Only those with wealth, status, and a sense of responsibility can truly and rationally examine evidence and make judgments that conform to the spirit of the law.

This is the original intention of the system design. He is not manipulating it; he is simply strictly enforcing the standards.

There was a knock on the office door. Charles Evans, the court's deputy clerk, entered.

“Mr. Winter, the Bar Association has sent an inquiry letter.”

"What inquiry letter?"

"Regarding the composition of the jury in this sedition case, they are demanding that the court disclose the jury selection criteria and allow the defense lawyers to object to the shortlist."

Winter frowned. "The Bar Association? Who's behind this?"

"Henry Brad, a lawyer. He is the brother of George Brad, the Manchester constituency MP, and specializes in labor cases."

Winter knew this man. He was radical, difficult, and liked to challenge the system.

"The reply stated that the jury selection process was conducted in accordance with the law, and the standards were open and transparent, requiring no special explanation," Winter said. "Defense lawyers can request the recusal of specific jurors during the trial, but they have no right to interfere with the selection process."

"But Brad's lawyer said that if the court does not disclose the standards, he will apply to the High Court for judicial review."

Winter put down the red pencil, rubbed his temples, and knew he was in trouble.

On what grounds does he request an investigation?

He said that if the jury is composed entirely of propertied persons while the defendants are all proletarians, the impartiality of the trial will be fundamentally questioned. This violates the legal principle of 'trial by equals'.

Winter sneered: "Equal status? The law refers to 'free people,' not 'the poor and the poor.' That's how it's been done for centuries."

"But lawyer Brad said times have changed. The Reform Act of 1867 gave some workers the right to vote, so the right to serve as jurors should be expanded accordingly. He said, if workers are eligible to run for Congress, why aren't they eligible to serve as jurors?"

Winter said impatiently, "Because the law hasn't changed! The legal requirements for property rights are written in black and white. If he wants to change it, he should go to Parliament, not bother the courts."

Evans hesitated for a moment: "So, should the reply be written like this?"

Winter waved his hand: "Write it like that. Also, make a copy of this list and send it to Mr. Winthrop at the Interior Department for his review. Tell him we've been 'paying extra attention'."

Evans picked up a copy of the list and left the office.

After the door closed, Winter leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

He felt tired, and a vague unease lingered. This case was more complex than he had anticipated. It was no longer just a legal case; it had become a political symbol.

All parties are watching closely, each wanting to use it to achieve their own goals.

The government needs to show toughness, the opposition needs to show sympathy, and the radicals need to challenge the system.

The court was caught in the middle.

Winter opened his eyes and looked at the thick register on the table. The red pencil marks looked like bloodstains, scattered everywhere.

He recalled the oath he took when he first became a court clerk: "To uphold judicial fairness, regardless of wealth or social status!"

At that time, he truly believed it.

What now?
He shook his head, dismissing these useless thoughts. He was a court official, enforcing the law, not questioning it.

The law states that jurors must have property, so he selected jurors based on their assets. Whether this was fair or not—that was not his concern.

He picked up the red pencil again and turned to a new page.

The roster is still quite thick. The work must continue.

Outside the window, the London sky was overcast; it looked like it was going to rain again.

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(End of this chapter)