"A competition?"
Sophie and Alice were both very surprised.
It wasn't because of Lionel's idea, but because in this situation, he was concerned about business.
Lionel didn't wait for them to ask further, but began to speak on his own:
"Yes, a competition. A typing competition, and a bicycle race.
The typing competition is simple: whoever can type the most content within a set time wins. The prize could be a typewriter and 200 francs.
As for the bicycle race… what do you think about people riding them around all of France?"
As soon as this idea was voiced, Sophie and Alice were stunned.
Riding bicycles around France?
Even including the high mountains and valleys of the Alps?
Only a madman would participate!
Lionel then gave a self-deprecating smile:
"I'm afraid that won't work—the current road system isn't developed enough, and our bicycles aren't sturdy enough. But…"
He walked to one side of the living room, where a map of France hung on the wall, originally used to mark product sales across France.
Lionel took out a pen and drew a circle around the Paris region—this covered the department of Paris, Hauts-de-Seine, Seine-Saint-Denis… and eight other departments.
Lionel tapped the map with his pen:
"A Tour de France isn't realistic right now, but how about a Tour de Paris?"
————————
In late July 1881, a heatwave swept through Paris, and also swept through French public opinion.
The situation seemed to be sliding into an abyss that even its instigators found hard to control.
The Jules Ferry government perhaps initially only wanted to reprimand Lionel, but once the monster of public opinion was unleashed, it no longer obeyed the commands of its tamer.
Both his supporters and opponents used this seemingly insignificant "small matter" to begin employing their tactics.
On July 28th, an official summons from the Criminal Court of the Palace of Justice in Paris was delivered to Lionel's summer villa in Villeneuve.
The parchment envelope bore the emblem of the Republic, and its wording was cold.
The summons required Lionel Sorel to appear in court on September 1st, facing charges of: opposing the Tunisian expedition and accusing the French military's actions as "aggression" and "massacre" in his publicly published articles and statements.
These statements were considered to have "undermined French military discipline," and were suspected of "inciting soldiers to insubordination" and "insulting the nation."
The news spread like wildfire through telegraph lines and newspapers, instantly reaching Paris and all of France.
This was no longer a simple public opinion attack.
The name Lionel Sorel was officially inscribed on a long list of French writers who had dealt with the judiciary—
Stendhal in 1821, Balzac in 1831, Baudelaire and Flaubert in 1857, Zola in 1873…
Now, it was Lionel Sorel's turn.
Le Figaro's report had a heavy tone:
[They have finally made their move! Less than a month has passed from book burning to public prosecution.
Monsieur Sorel will follow in the footsteps of his literary predecessors and face "trial" in court.]
La France, however, cheered:
[Justice has finally shown its power! Any words or deeds that attempt to tarnish the army's honor or shake the nation's foundations must be severely punished by law!
This is a victory for the Republic!]
Lionel's villa in Villeneuve was bustling with visitors for a time.
On the afternoon the news broke, Émile Zola rushed over from Paris, looking travel-worn.
His face was solemn; as soon as he entered, he tightly grasped Lionel's hand:
"Lion, things are bad. They really mean to throw you in prison! Absurd! Shameless! Accusing a writer of 'inciting soldiers to insubordination'? It's the same old trick, just under a different guise!"
Maupassant, Daudet, Émile Bellin, and other writers and celebrities friendly with Lionel also arrived successively.
Even Madame Berthe and François Gauthier-Luzarches sent messages of concern.
The villa's living room was packed with people; the atmosphere was heavy and anxious.
Among everyone, Zola was undoubtedly the most experienced.
He had gone through a lawsuit in 1873 and knew the subtle "rules of the game" between the French judicial system and writers inside out.
He waved his stout arm, his voice booming:
"Lion, listen to me! You must leave France immediately! Within the next few days, the sooner the better!
Go to Belgium, to Switzerland, or even to England like Hugo did back then! In short, get out of their jurisdiction!"
He saw Lionel seemed about to say something and immediately interrupted:
"I know what you're thinking! You believe you can fight back, that you can make a grand speech in court?
It's no use! I'm telling you, for this kind of lawsuit, since they dare to prosecute, they're surely confident they can convict you!
Then, they'll sentence you to a year or several months in prison—do you really want to suffer in Toulon?"
Lionel knew Zola was right; this was an unspoken understanding.
The government needed to save face and quell the uproar.
So they had to prosecute, but they might not truly want to imprison a writer—that would invite even greater criticism and solidify their notoriety for suppressing free speech.
Exile, then, became an unspoken solution.
The Palace of Justice in Paris gave him a full month precisely to allow him ample time to leave France.
This way, the court would convict him in absentia, and wouldn't have to worry about the writer making inflammatory statements during the trial.
Maupassant, as expected, also began to persuade him:
"If you leave voluntarily and stay abroad for a while, half a year, a year, until the storm passes, until the political climate changes—
French politics change very quickly—then, the verdict will fizzle out, or be symbolically enforced, and you can still return.
The court will sentence you to imprisonment in absentia, but no police will actually come to arrest you. Don't worry, we can still write The Café through correspondence!"
Everyone's gaze in the living room was fixed on Lionel.
His friends spoke all at once, analyzing the pros and cons, stating the "benefits" of exile and the risks of resisting.
This seemed to be the most "conventional" and "sensible" choice under the current circumstances.
Lionel remained silent.
He stood by the window, occasionally gazing at the serene pastoral scenery of Villeneuve outside, the setting sun gilding his profile.
Those names echoed in his mind—Stendhal, Balzac, Baudelaire, Flaubert, Hugo—this felt like the coming-of-age ritual for French writers.
Whether it was corrupting morals, blaspheming religion, insulting royalty, or now "inciting soldiers to insubordination"…
Nineteenth-century French writers, one way or another, would always have one or several "close encounters" with the courts; this was not something one could avoid by being a coward.
Exile? Like Hugo? He recalled what he had recently told Sophie and the others about Hugo's journey from hero to "villain."
Now, was it his turn to make a choice?
Should he flee court judgment, become an expatriate longing for home, writing in the cold foreign weather fueled by memories and indignation, waiting for a shift in the domestic political winds?
This seemed to be a path verified by countless predecessors, a seemingly "smart" one.
But…
He slowly turned around, and the discussions in the living room gradually quieted down.
There was no fear or anger on Lionel's face, only a faint smile.
His gaze swept over the concerned faces of his friends:
"Exile…"
He repeated the word softly, as if savoring its taste.
Everyone held their breath, waiting for his decision.
Finally, Lionel shook his head:
"Thank you all, I will stay in Paris and face the trial—whatever the outcome."
Everyone was speechless; seeing Lionel's resolute expression, they knew he wasn't feigning nobility and thus stopped persuading him.
Zola patted his shoulder:
"It seems you've made up your mind. The courtroom can indeed be another battlefield. But be careful not to let them actually put you in prison."
Lionel nodded, indicating that he understood the gravity of the situation.
————————
After seeing his friends off, Sophie anxiously said:
"Lionel, are you really going to stay and go to court? Then… then…"
Alice also looked alarmed:
"Lion, why? Wouldn't it be better to hide in England for a while? You have friends there too…"
Patty, meanwhile, burst into tears:
"Young Master… will you… will you… really go to jail?"
Lionel comforted them:
"Don't worry, actually, I precisely need a trial like this. As for going to jail, actually…"
Before he could finish, several lights flashed outside the villa, followed by a clamor of human voices…
(End of chapter)