The solemn declaration of Minister Jules Cordes was met not with solemn silence or fervent applause, but with a burst of laughter that almost brought down the courtroom ceiling!
"Hahahahaha—"
"A special pardon? Pardon for what?"
"Five hundred francs?"
"My God, this is absolutely ridiculous!"
The spectator stands, suppressed for a long time, completely lost control.
Reporters laughed uncontrollably, hitting their notebooks; ordinary citizens clutched their stomachs, tears streaming from their eyes; even some bailiffs maintaining order couldn't help but turn their faces away, their shoulders shaking violently.
This was probably the most absurd scene in the history of the Palais de Justice:
The Minister of Justice, carrying the president's special pardon, solemnly declared a "pardon" in a case that had just been sentenced to a fine of five hundred francs.
Jules Cordes's face instantly turned purplish-red like a pig's liver.
He had anticipated various reactions—gratitude, doubt, even anger—but he had never expected such unrestrained mockery.
He abruptly turned to the loudest area of laughter, then pointed at Lionel:
"You... how dare you... Lionel Sorel! Especially you!
His Excellency the President, upholding republican benevolence, granted you a special pardon, exempting you from possible imprisonment! What a grace this is!
Not only are you ungrateful, but you dare to laugh here? It's simply shameless! Where are your conscience and upbringing?!"
Naturally, Lionel was not intimidated by this stern rebuke; instead, he casually adjusted his posture:
"Minister, perhaps you should first consult the esteemed Judge Bernard.
I believe he can explain more clearly than I why the President's 'great benevolence' appears so humorous at this moment."
Minister Jules Cordes froze for a moment, then turned to the judge's bench with a face full of anger:
"Judge Bernard! What in the world is going on?"
Judge Bernard stood up and dispassionately summarized the process and outcome of the bizarre trial that had just taken place, concluding:
"Today's verdict is based on the fact that the defendant, after receiving a court summons, left the country without permission for England, deeming his actions to constitute 'contempt of court'.
Accordingly, this court sentenced him to a fine of five hundred francs in court. The fine must be paid within two weeks.
As for other charges, they will have to wait until the prosecutor re-collects evidence and files a new prosecution."
Brief and concise, yet it struck Minister Jules Cordes like a heavy blow.
"Five... five hundred francs?"
The minister murmured, repeating the number, vast bewilderment replacing his anger.
He looked down at the roll of documents in his hand, feeling as though he had fallen into an incomprehensible vortex.
Premier Jules Ferry had finally reached a compromise with Grévy, then had him burst into the ongoing trial with a special pardon personally signed by the president, ready to stage a grand show of "the premier's benevolence saving a persecuted writer" to salvage the government's tottering reputation...
As a result, what he was to "pardon" was merely a fine of five hundred francs?
At this moment, Minister Jules Cordes felt that he, along with the presidential authority and the republican government he represented, had become a clown in the eyes of all Paris, all France, and even the entire world.
He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but found that any words were pale and powerless at this moment.
Unsuppressible snickers once again echoed in the courtroom, openly mocking him.
In this extremely awkward silence and suppressed laughter, Lionel chuckled and asked:
"Minister, I have a small question—
If I honestly pay this five-hundred-franc fine, can His Excellency the President's generous 'special pardon' be extended and used for my next court appearance?"
"Pfft—"
This time, even some reporters who had barely managed to remain serious completely broke down.
Jules Cordes had never suffered such humiliation! His face turned from purplish-red to ashen, and finally almost chalk-white.
He glared fiercely at Lionel, no longer wishing to stay for another second:
"Judge Bernard! The procedure! Complete it!"
Judge Bernard understood, quickly picked up the gavel, and struck it down with all his might, as if to smash all the absurdity and embarrassment into that crisp sound.
"Today's trial is hereby concluded! The defendant Lionel Sorel may leave on his own!
Court adjourned!"
Before he finished speaking, Minister Jules Cordes rushed out of the courtroom without looking back; Prosecutor Alexandre Dupont also looked ashen, frantically gathered his documents, and stumbled away.
Lionel turned to Lawyer Jules Fayol, who also wore a wry smile, and extended his hand to shake his firmly.
"Let's go, Mr. Fayol."
————————
When Lionel Sorel's figure reappeared under the grand arches of the Palais de Justice, once again bathed in the bright autumn sunlight of Paris...
The dense crowd gathered in the square erupted in a thunderous, unprecedented cheer, like a mountain roar and a tsunami.
"Lionel! Lionel! Lionel!"
Countless hats were thrown into the air, arms raised like a forest, waving handkerchiefs, scarves, and placards.
The waves of sound rose one after another, as if capable of shattering the ancient stone walls of the Palais de Justice.
"Long live freedom!"
"Truth will prevail!"
"We won!"
The news spread like wildfire through the crowd.
Although most people were not clear about what happened inside the courtroom, they knew the most crucial outcome—
Lionel was not imprisoned, he was not exiled, he walked out with his head held high!
The emotions of the public were completely vented and satisfied at this moment.
They saw a hero who had single-handedly resisted powerful authority return victorious!
Although Lionel had explicitly opposed this simple emotional catharsis in his speech on the steps about "superficiality" and "confession"—
But at this moment, his safety was seen by the public as a victory for justice, a symbol of France's enduring conscience!
Lionel stood on the high steps, looking down at the seething ocean of countless excited faces below.
The cheers, like tangible shockwaves, pounded against him.
He gave no further speech; he merely doffed his hat, quickly saluted the crowd, and then left with his friends.
——————————
The next day, September 2, 1881, newspapers in Paris and throughout France were dominated by the same news story.
Without exception, they dedicated their front pages to yesterday's "trial of the century."
The intensity of their reporting, the scale of the layouts, and the sensationalism of the headlines relentlessly pricked the nerves of all French people.
Le Figaro published an editorial titled "Justice Becomes a Laughingstock, France Humiliated," and questioned:
[...After this battle, where is the Republic's judicial credibility? Where does France stand in the face of the civilized world?]
La République, as the mouthpiece of the radical republicans, attacked even more fiercely, directly pointing its finger at royalists, clericalists, and high-ranking military officials, vividly describing how they colluded in an attempt to subvert the Republic.
The article characterized the trial as a "vile offensive launched jointly by all enemies of the Republic," and praised Lionel for "single-handedly thwarting their conspiracy and defending the republican spirit."
L'Intransigeant and Vallès's Le Cri du Peuple closely linked it to class oppression:
"Behold! The bourgeois court serves only their filthy plunder!"
They emphasized that Lionel's experience proved that the existing state apparatus served the interests of the ruling class, and called on the working class to draw strength from Lionel's struggle and recognize their common enemy.
Even the usually relatively conservative Le Temps and Le Gaulois could not defend anyone in this tsunami of public opinion.
Le Temps's commentary headline carried a heavy sigh:
"A Trial Without Winners."
The article admitted that the trial process was full of "regrettable deviations" and "incomprehensible absurdities," leading to "severe damage to national credibility."
Le Gaulois attempted to attribute responsibility to "the provocations of certain radicals" and "ineffective government oversight," but appeared pale and powerless amidst the overwhelming criticism.
And the headlines of popular newspapers like Le Petit Parisien and Le Petit Journal were more easily understood and more inflammatory:
"I Confess!"—How Lionel Sorel Plunged the Court into Hell with One Sentence?
"Special Pardon Becomes a Joke! Minister of Justice Flees the Scene in Disgrace!"
"A Full Record of a Judicial Farce."
Almost all reports, regardless of their political stance, reached a consensus: this trial was a major scandal in the history of the rule of law of the French Third Republic.
And Jules Ferry, who had been passive for several months, launched a counterattack in the final phase of his premiership.
————————
In the familiar secret room in the Saint-Germain district, the atmosphere dropped to freezing point.
Duke Guiscard de Montmorency roared like a trapped beast:
"Idiots! A bunch of idiots!
Look at the people you found! That slippery Bernard! And Dupont, that utter good-for-nothing! They turned the whole thing into a pile of reeking dog shit!
Now, all of Paris's sewage has been splashed onto us!"
Count Patrice de Gramont retorted:
"Montmorency, what's the use of saying all this now? You didn't object when the decision was made to push for prosecution!
Don't forget, your connections in the military also put in a lot of effort to 'express concerns' to the judiciary!"
Duke Montmorency fumed:
"Express concerns? I merely wished to uphold the army's honor! Who knew it would turn out like this!
If those mobs knew our names, wouldn't they surround our residences just like they surrounded Sorel's villa?"
Victor Bonaparte sat in the corner shadow:
"Panic solves nothing; the urgent task is to disassociate ourselves.
Everyone who has had contact with Bernard and Dupont must stick to the same story—
We only expressed 'general concern' about the case's progress, and absolutely did not exert any influence.
Everything was their own doing!"
An MP with close ties to the church shrilled:
"Disassociate? Easier said than done! What about Dupont?
He's like a ticking time bomb now! He knows too much!"
This sentence sent a shiver down everyone's spine in the room.
Prosecutor Alexandre Dupont, this mere tool, had now become the biggest hidden danger.
His ruin was a foregone conclusion; what would he do in desperation and anger?
————————
And reality did not disappoint them—
On the afternoon of the day after the trial, the desperate Prosecutor Alexandre Dupont placed a handwritten list on the Minister of Justice's desk.
(End of Chapter)