Prosecutor Alexandre Dupont's list, steeped in despair and betrayal, was immediately presented by Minister of Justice Jules Korder to Prime Minister Jules Ferry.
Jules Ferry was originally deeply mired in the quagmire of colonial failures and the inevitable rejection of the annual budget, with his prestige plummeting to rock bottom.
Everyone thought this sinking ship was about to go down, and even he himself was already preparing his resignation speech.
However, this list was like a shot in the arm, instantly igniting the flame in his heart.
Even if he had to step down, he would make those "allies" and enemies who stabbed him in the back pay a heavy price.
A swift and decisive political purge quietly unfolded in the Bourbon Palace and the corridors of various ministries.
The first to suffer was the cabinet.
Ministers and deputy ministers who had openly agreed but secretly defied on issues such as colonial appropriations, and who were confirmed by the list to have close ties with behind-the-scenes forces, were mercilessly purged.
Among them was Albert's father, Count Edmond de Rohan, Deputy Minister of Public Education and Fine Arts.
A cold dismissal notice ended his career as a deputy minister.
However, Count Rohan was not overly disheartened, as if he had long anticipated this outcome.
He hadn't even gone to the Bourbon Palace these past few days, having started his retirement early, thus avoiding the embarrassment of being escorted out of his office.
The military high command was not spared either.
Several generals who vigorously advocated colonial expansion and secretly pushed for the lawsuit against Lionel suddenly received unexpected personnel transfers.
Their new posts were no longer the Paris General Staff or some bustling garrison area, but rather Corsica, the edge of the Algerian desert, or French Guiana...
In short, they were all remote posts considered career graveyards.
Meanwhile, the Ferry government's anti-clerical policies became more radical and severe.
Especially against the Jesuits, a new round of expulsion orders was quickly issued and executed, with a force far exceeding previous instances, almost as if in vengeance.
Parish bishops and abbots who had secretly supported or tacitly approved of the "moral critique" against Lionel had their funding sources almost completely cut off.
Jules Ferry used his last authority before stepping down to declare to the entire political circle of Paris:
Even a dying lion still possesses the fangs and strength to tear apart hyenas.
This retaliatory political earthquake left many who were waiting to see his downfall speechless and temporarily deterred the restless conspirators.
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Meanwhile, another reckoning was unfolding.
The "Young Guard of the French Republic," who once defiantly surrounded Lionel's Villeneuve villa, now faced a harsh winter.
Under the dual pressure of public opinion and the Ferry government, the Paris police finally stopped being "inefficient."
Several ringleaders, headed by Charles de La Rochefoucauld, were formally arrested on multiple charges including "illegal assembly," "property damage," and "endangering personal safety," and criminal prosecution awaited them.
Their prominent surnames and family backgrounds lost their former magic in the face of surging public opinion and irrefutable evidence.
In the interrogation room of the Paris police headquarters, Charles de La Rochefoucauld regretted more than once why he hadn't reported to the army in Vietnam earlier...
Notary Monsieur Delaroix naturally wouldn't miss this opportunity.
He quickly hired Paris's most skilled lawyer in tort compensation cases for Lionel, filing a civil lawsuit against Charles de La Rochefoucauld and several other identified "Young Guard" members.
He demanded full compensation for the severe damage to the Villeneuve villa, an amount high enough to rebuild an even larger house.
Facing reporters, Monsieur Delaroix's response was direct: any form of violence must come at a sufficiently high price.
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Just as external events were turbulent, political rivals suffered, and enemies were sued, Lionel Sorel disappeared from public view.
The Villeneuve villa was not yet repaired, so he moved back into his apartment at 117 Boulevard Saint-Germain, declining all interviews and even ceasing to attend various salons.
This became a rare haven of peace in the eye of the storm.
Outside, Paris was still noisy, but inside the apartment, he could enjoy his own time.
That afternoon, Guy de Maupassant finally escaped the various invitations and the persistent demands of newspapers, sitting opposite Lionel in the study.
Between them lay thick manuscript paper, which was the script for "The Café."
With their combined efforts, the first two acts of the script were complete, and they were now discussing the third act.
However, the conversation began with Lionel's bizarre legal ordeal.
Maupassant put down his coffee cup, looked at Lionel, who appeared calm opposite him, and couldn't help but exclaim,
"Lion, why do I feel like none of this has really happened to you?
My God, from receiving the subpoena to exile in London, and finally to court... I think we should put down 'The Café' and write a script called 'The Lawsuit' instead.
Honestly, people initially opposed you, then sympathized with you, then supported you, and even fanatically supported you... I just feel like it's all the most absurd dream made by a madman!"
Lionel didn't answer immediately.
He turned sideways on the sofa, leaning back slightly, and looked out at the vast, unpredictable sky outside the window.
After a moment, he slowly spoke:
"Guy, haven't you noticed?"
Maupassant pondered for a moment before speaking somewhat uncertainly:
"I noticed... fickle. The people of Paris, and indeed all of France, are too fickle."
He organized his thoughts, trying to grasp that vague feeling within him:
"They can cheer for you because of 'Thunderstorm,' they can denounce you as a traitor because of colonial policies, and then they can elevate you to a pedestal again because of military defeat.
I even suspect that many of them supported you not because they truly opposed colonialism itself, but perhaps they only opposed 'defeat.'
They could not accept the tarnishing of French glory, and when they discovered that colonial ventures did not bring the anticipated glory, but rather a series of failures and international ridicule, their anger needed an outlet.
And you, by chance, became a symbol!"
He paused, then continued:
"The people of Paris are also the most contradictory group, unparalleled anywhere else in the world—
They yearn for change, long for freedom, yet often reveal a deep attachment to the old order; they advocate rationality, yet are very easily incited by passion and slogans.
Parisians are like a constantly shifting flame, both warm and burning."
Lionel listened intently, a look of approval on his face.
He nodded:
"You've hit the nail on the head, Guy. You've grasped one of the essences that the script of 'The Café' we are currently creating needs to portray—
—the contradictions and oscillations within the French national spirit."
He stood up, walked to the bookshelf, and took down a copy of "The Great Revolution":
"From the Great Revolution of 1789 until now, it's been less than a hundred years, hasn't it? What have we experienced?—
The Bourbon monarchy was overthrown, the First Republic established; then Napoleon's First Empire, followed by its downfall; after the Bourbon restoration, the Empire was also restored; then the Louis from the House of Bourbon returned; followed by the July Monarchy, the Second Republic, the Third Empire, and finally the current Third Republic...
This cyclical repetition, these frequently changing political systems..."
Lionel turned around, looking at Maupassant, his tone filled with emotion:
"Don't you think? Perhaps we French, far more than we are willing to admit, cling to those 'old things.'
Or rather, deep down, we have a craving for 'order' and 'authority' that we ourselves are unwilling to admit.
After every revolution overthrows the old order, there is always a force that attempts to pull society back onto a familiar track.
This oscillation between radicalism and conservatism, change and regression, is the most unique landscape in France's history of the past century, and it is also a mark deeply imprinted on our national character."
Maupassant pondered Lionel's words, and in his mind, the history he had read and the various confusions he had personally experienced during the Paris Commune and the early days of the Third Republic emerged.
Then he nodded profoundly.
However, a moment later, a hint of astonishment appeared on his face, and he looked at Lionel with some confusion:
"Wait, Lion, your analysis is profound and very reasonable.
But aren't we discussing a comedy? 'The Café'? You said it was a comedy. Such a heavy theme, such sharp criticism, will make the audience unable to laugh!
After all, they are also French, and they wouldn't want to see their own ugliness exposed in a comedy!"
A playful smile appeared on Lionel's face:
"Yes, 'The Café' really is a comedy! It's just that the experiences of these past two months have given me new ideas.
Guy, think carefully about the history we just discussed, from the Great Revolution to the two restorations of the Bourbon monarchy, and then to the Empire...
Aren't this series of upheavals, ideals, blood, betrayals, compromises, farces... just a joke filled with blood and tears?
Behind the antics of a clown, there is the lament of an era!"
"A joke?"
Maupassant muttered the word again, feeling as if his heart had been struck.
Lionel affirmed:
"Yes, a joke. The core of comedy is tragedy! I want the Parisian audience, after their laughter, to feel bitterness and a chill, and then to truly ponder what lies behind the laughter.
'The Café' should have such an effect."
Maupassant didn't think so; he only had one thought:
"Lionel holds grudges too much. The people of Paris opposed him once, and he wants them to be unhappy for that long..."
It should be known that the run time for popular plays is measured in "years."
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Shortly after seeing Maupassant off, Lionel received a letter sealed with gold lacquer:
Levi Morton, the United States Ambassador to Paris, invited him to a dinner at the embassy and mentioned that an important guest would be introduced to him.
(End of chapter)