Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 561 The Assassin! (Second Update)

Of course, there were more people visiting Queen Victoria, and those who visited her were of greater importance than those who visited the Prime Minister.

Two guests arrived in the drawing room of Buckingham Palace, guests that even the Queen would not easily refuse.

One was the Archbishop of Canterbury, Edward White Benson, the 62-year-old head of the Church of England.

The other was William Spottiswood, the 65-year-old president of the Royal Society, a mathematician and astronomer.

One represented the empire's faith, and the other represented the empire's rationality; they rarely intervened directly in political affairs.

Archbishop Edward Benson spoke first: "Your Majesty, we represent the gentlemen who are concerned about this matter to express our concern to you."

Queen Victoria was in a foul mood, so she pretended to be confused: "What concern?"

The archbishop's expression remained unchanged: "Regarding the case of Lionel Sorel, public opinion is currently very unfavorable to the Empire."

Europe is criticizing us, and there are many voices within our own country calling for his release. We need a dignified solution.

The Queen did not speak.

Spottiswood continued, “Your Majesty, Sorel is a writer, not a criminal. His work may have offended you, but it is merely literary expression.”

Using criminal means to prosecute a writer is considered an outdated practice in civilized countries.

The Queen looked at him: "You mean I should forgive him?"

The archbishop shook his head: "It's not forgiveness, it's pardon. Christianity teaches us that forgiveness is a virtue."

As the supreme ruler of the state religion, Your Majesty's demonstration of forgiveness will earn you the respect of all.

The Queen was silent for a moment.

Then she said, “Amnesty applies only to the subjects of the Empire. Lionel Sorel is French, not British.”

How to deal with him is a matter for the cabinet; the royal family has no right to interfere.

The archbishop and Spottiswood exchanged a glance. They understood the queen's unspoken message:

She does not intend to grant Sorel a pardon, but she will not object as long as the cabinet makes a decision.

That was enough, and the two quickly got up to take their leave.

The Queen sat alone in the drawing room. She gazed at the fire in the fireplace, her eyes deep and thoughtful.

She knew she was playing a dangerous game, but now that the fire was burning, she couldn't back down.

----------

Before he knew it, it was time for Lionel to go to the "magistrates' court" for his first hearing.

This hearing only did two things:
First, to formally confirm Lionel's identity through official documents; second, to decide whether he can be granted bail.

It was a cloudy day. The sky over London was overcast, as if it were about to rain, and the air was bitterly cold.

Lionel sat in the escort carriage of the Metropolitan Police, with two policemen guarding him.

Yesterday he was moved to a different detention cell, which was not only spacious but also had large windows and a fireplace.

Scotland Yard assigned a young detective to guard the entrance, ostensibly to keep a close watch, but in reality, he was just his errand boy.

You can tell this young policeman what kind of letter you want to send, what you want to buy, what kind of book you want to read...

Judging from the drag marks left on the wooden floor, this "detention cell" was probably only cleaned up in the last two days.

The distance from Scotland Yard to the London Magistrates' Courts on Bower Street is only 1 kilometer.

Under normal circumstances, it takes about fifteen minutes to walk there, and even less time by carriage, at most ten minutes.

But today, this road is destined to be anything but peaceful.

As soon as the carriage left the gates of Scotland Yard, Lionel heard sounds from the street—

At first, there were scattered shouts, but then more and more came, merging into a buzzing wave of sound.

The carriage carrying him moved slowly because there were too many people on the street.

Lionel leaned close to the small window and looked out. He saw that the streets were packed with people, so densely packed that he couldn't see the end of the line.

There were men, women, the elderly, and children...

There were workers in overalls, vendors in old coats, gentlemen in hats, and poor people in tattered clothes...

They crowded together, blocking the entire street.

Police officers were maintaining order, forming a human wall by holding hands to keep the crowd at the roadside.

But there were too many people, and the human wall was so tightly packed that it was swaying and difficult to maintain.

The carriage could only move forward slowly, and the driver even had to use a whip to drive away people who rushed up to it.

When the carriage reached Strand Street, there were even more people.

This area is near the theater district and is usually bustling, but today it's packed with people.

Many people climbed onto lampposts and horse-drawn carriages just to catch a glimpse of it.

Someone was holding a sign. Lionel caught a glimpse of the words:

"Release Sorel"

"Freedom of thought" and "Tyranny will inevitably fail"

……

But there were also many dissenting voices. Several well-dressed gentlemen stood by the roadside loudly criticizing:

"Go back to France!"

"Disgraceful instigator!"

Soon, the two groups started hurling insults at each other. The police had to rush in and separate them.

The carriage continued on its way.

Upon reaching Riverside Street, the situation became even more chaotic. A group of young people who looked like students were struggling to push their way towards the carriage.

They shouted, "Freedom! Justice!" while shoving the police and trying to break through the lines.

The police waved their batons, raining blows on the students' heads, and finally managed to push them back.

At that moment, an old woman suddenly rushed out of the crowd, ran to the front of the carriage, and threw the flowers she was holding into the carriage.

Flowers crashed onto the car door and scattered all over the floor. Police officers quickly rushed forward, tackled her to the ground, and then hurriedly pulled her away.

"We're almost there," a policeman said, his voice filled with a sense of relief.

The carriage finally turned onto Bower Street, where the Magistrates' Courts was a three-story Victorian building with a few stone steps leading up to the entrance.

But the scene outside the courthouse made Lionel and the two policemen gasp in shock.

It wasn't just "many people," it was "a sea of ​​people."

The square in front of the courthouse was packed with at least a thousand people.

They crowded together, filling the square to the brim, with people even standing on the stone steps.

The crowd erupted in a huge roar upon seeing the carriage.

Shouts, curses, whistles, and applause mingled together, creating a deafening cacophony.

The carriage slowly made its way to the courthouse entrance. The crowd parted automatically to make way for the carriage.

Through the small window, Lionel saw those faces glide past him—excited, angry, curious, and sympathetic.

Some people waved at him, some gave him the middle finger, and some just stared blankly.

The carriage stopped in front of the courthouse steps, and the police opened the door.

"Get down," a policeman shouted.

The moment Lionel's foot touched the ground, the crowd erupted in an even louder commotion. They were shouting all sorts of things—

"Sorel! Look this way!"

"You bastard!"

"we support you!"

"Mr. Bond!"

"You are a friend of the poor!"

“Agitators, get out of Britain!”

Reporters who had been waiting for a long time seized the opportunity to squeeze in, bombarding them with questions like a battleship firing in salvo:
"Mr. Sorel! Do you regret coming to London?"

Do you think you will be granted bail today?

What are your thoughts on the Queen's pardon?

"Do you have a private agreement with the Queen?"

"Mr. Sorel, do you really intend to overthrow the British Empire?"

……

Lionel didn't answer, but just held his head high and walked forward. The stone steps weren't long, only a dozen or so, but walking on them was extremely difficult.

The crowd pushed and shoved from both sides, and the police tried their best to stop them, shouting, "Back off! Back off!" But it was no use.

One step, two steps… Lionel finally reached the courthouse entrance. The doors were wide open, revealing a dimly lit foyer.

He was about to step inside.

At that very moment, a man wearing a brown coat and a hat suddenly squeezed out of the crowd.

He moved quickly, slipping through the police line like an eel, and rushed to within a few steps of Lionel.

Then he pulled a revolver from his pocket, pointed it at Lionel, and shouted, "Sorel, die!"

It was French! Then he fired three shots in quick succession—

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

Gunshots rang out in the crowd, making everyone's ears ring.

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(End of this chapter)