In the eyes of the military academy students in Paris, Lionel, who opposed the colonial war, was their most direct enemy.
With a few dull thuds, several fist-sized stones were thrown at the window of Lionel's second-floor apartment.
One hit the window frame with a loud bang; another struck the glass, and with a crash, shards of shattered glass scattered onto the floor like hail.
The lights in the apartment remained off, and no one poked their head out to check.
Only the broken window, like a gaping black eye, silently watched the unruly young people downstairs.
Nearby residents were startled; some opened their windows to scold, while others quickly shut theirs tight.
Patrolling police ran over.
Seeing this, the students, laughing and cursing, quickly disappeared into the depths of the alley shrouded in night.
When Sophie saw the floor covered in glass shards and dents on the window frame the next morning, her face instantly turned pale, gripped by fear and immense doubt.
Just a month ago, Lionel was the most popular darling of the Parisian salons.
He was a rising literary star, sought after by the media, a supporter of educational reform, the author of the sensational play Thunderstorm...
His apartment entrance was once bustling with traffic and constant visitors.
How, in the blink of an eye, did he become a "traitor," a "coward," with people even throwing stones at him and threatening to take him to court?
What made her feel even more strange was that despite the widespread attacks on Lionel, performances of Thunderstorm at the Comédie-Française were still sold out.
Even in this sweltering July, the theater, like a steamer, could not deter the audience's enthusiasm.
Long queues formed in front of the ticket booth, and ticket prices on the black market were inflated.
At the same time, sales of Lionel's other works not only didn't decline but attracted more curious readers and even increased.
This sharp contradiction left Sophie at a loss, as if living in two distinct parallel worlds.
After returning to the villa in Villeneuve, Sophie expressed her thoughts:
"I don't understand, Lion, what exactly is going on? Why do people curse you on one hand, yet rush to see your plays and buy your books?"
Here, shaded by green trees, a breeze blew from the river, carrying the coolness of water vapor, as if a world away from the hustle and bustle of Paris.
Lionel showed no surprise after listening.
He patted Sophie's hand reassuringly, then poured iced lemonade into everyone's glasses.
His tone was as calm as if discussing the weather:
"This is France, Sophie. This is Paris. Political differences and artistic recognition can perfectly coexist here!"
He paused, seeing a few people still with furrowed brows, knowing they needed a more concrete example to understand this absurdity.
Lionel smiled slightly:
"Do you think my experience is too dramatic, too unreal, like a fabricated plot from a novel?
Then, let's recall the experience of Mr. Victor Hugo—in 1870, he returned to France as a hero.
Sophie, do you still remember the grand spectacle in Paris then?"
Sophie nodded, a look of bewilderment on her face:
"Of course I remember. My father took me to greet Mr. Hugo.
I remember people gathered at the train stations then, from Paris to Lyon, every station along the way was packed with crowds welcoming him, and the cheers were deafening.
After entering Paris, his carriage moved slowly along the streets, and flowers were thrown like raindrops.
People cried with excitement, shouting his name, as if welcoming a triumphant monarch."
Sophie's words brought everyone's thoughts back to that fervent autumn more than a decade ago.
Lionel picked up the thread, continuing:
"Mr. Hugo at that time believed he would be granted unlimited power, becoming a 'dictator'.
He even wrote in his notes—'Dictatorship is a crime, and I have committed this crime.'
However, Mr. Hugo was disappointed—not only did he not become a 'dictator,' he even lost the subsequent National Assembly election, failing to become a deputy.
Paris gave him the reception of a hero, but not actual power."
Alice and Patty were hearing this history for the first time, their mouths agape in surprise.
Lionel smiled slightly:
"And that's not even the most dramatic part. Just one year later, in 1871, the Paris Commune failed, and Bloody Week ended.
The government carried out brutal suppression, exile, and executions of Commune members. At this time, Mr. Hugo condemned the government in Belgium's L'Indépendance belge.
He spoke out for them, calling for tolerance, pardon, and offering asylum to exiles. What was the result? Overnight, the hero became a 'villain'—
One evening, about fifty thugs, calling themselves 'patriots,' gathered outside Hugo's residence in Brussels. They pounded on the door, shouting—
'Kill Hugo! Hang Hugo! Kill the villain!' The French embassy in Brussels also hinted that he would be arrested if he returned home.
Mr. Hugo had to begin another period of exile, taking his family to Luxembourg, though it lasted only four months."
Even Sophie was shocked; she hadn't known that the renowned Victor Hugo had experienced such absurd events.
Both the imperial government and the republican government had, astonishingly, wanted to throw this literary giant into prison, or even send him to the gallows.
Lionel shrugged:
"Think about it, that was 'Victor Hugo'! The author of Les Misérables!
A year before, he had been welcomed by huge crowds in France. And just one year later, some wanted to hang him.
Hadn't those thugs who tried to break into his home been among the crowds throwing flowers at him a year ago?
Hadn't they shed tears for his return? The emotions and positions of the Parisian populace are fluid, even contradictory.
Political allegiance and artistic appreciation, for them, can be two completely separate drawers."
Lionel looked at the enlightened Sophie, his tone gentle:
"So, there's no need to be confused; this is reality!
People can curse me as a 'traitor' on one hand, and on the other, buy several tickets to Thunderstorm to watch with their whole family.
They can also burn My Uncle Jules while avidly reading The Sign of the Four at the dinner table.
At least for now, they only want to take me to court, not to hang me."
The room fell silent, with only the chirping of cicadas outside the window and the faint sound of a boat horn from the Seine.
The knot in Sophie's chest seemed to loosen, and she began to understand a certain absurd logic of this land.
Lionel raised his glass, took a sip of iced lemonade, and his gaze fell upon the sparkling river outside the window.
Sophie walked to his side and asked:
"So, will you continue to remain silent?"
Lionel shook his head:
"Not only will I remain silent, but I also told Émile, Guy, and the others to stay silent.
If we retaliate now, the only ones truly harmed will be the children who burned the books—in any case, children are innocent.
Should I scold the children for their blind obedience, or incite them to resist? Some people are probably just waiting for me to speak!
That's precisely where those fools are truly hateful; they shouldn't have dragged the children into this farce."
Alice also stood by Lionel's side, her tone still filled with worry:
"So, when will this farce end?"
Lionel mused:
"It shouldn't be too long... Hmm, let's talk about the sales of typewriters and bicycles.
I have an idea; we could organize competitions for them, not small-scale ones, but large-scale events..."
(End of Chapter)