Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 511 The Savior Has Arrived!

The ministers who left Bourbon Palace did not return to their respective departments to "handle urgent official business" as they claimed.

Mathieu's carriage did not head towards the Ministry of Finance, but went directly back to his luxurious mansion in the sixteenth arrondissement.

As soon as he entered, he barked urgently at the butler, "Quick! Pack up your important jewelry and documents! Be ready to leave at any time!"

The butler was taken aback: "Master, where are we going?"

Mathieu replied with a ferocious expression, "Don't ask! Go now!"

Meanwhile, at Interior Minister Lefebvre's club, he and Commerce Minister Guéant were huddled in a secluded corner.

There was brandy in front of them, but no one drank it.

Lefebvre's voice trembled: "It's over, Guan, it's really over this time. The army can't be relied on, the police can't be relied on..."

Paris is going to be in chaos! Just like in 1871!

Gu An's eyes flickered: "There's always a chance for chaos... but we need to protect ourselves first."

I always have a boat docked at the pier on the Île de la Cité, ready to go to Calais and then to London.

Lefebvre hesitated: "I...I have an account in Switzerland...but my family..."

Gu An lowered his voice: "Take care of yourselves first! Look at those people, they're running faster than anyone else!"
Mathieu, that old fox; Bergé, that slippery fellow… we need to make plans early!

Agriculture Minister Manier did return to the Ministry of Agriculture, but only stayed for ten minutes, picked up a few documents, and headed straight for the train station.

He prepared a ticket for the earliest train leaving Paris, his destination being his estate in Provence.

Upon returning to the Admiralty, Minister of the Navy Berger summoned his trusted aide and ordered him to prepare a carriage, as he was going to Brest for an inspection.

Brest was a naval port, with not only strong defenses and a loyal army, but also the ability to travel to Britain at any time.

……

Prime Minister Frésiné, Army Minister Cochebrew, and Education Minister Jules Ferry, who were still at the Bourbon Palace, were all waiting for one person—

Someone who might be able to calm these "mobs"...

------------

A horse-drawn carriage sped through the streets of Paris late at night.

The carriage was dark, with only the passing gas streetlights occasionally illuminating the face of the man opposite who claimed to be the "secretary of the chairman of the Council of Ministers".

He was very young, probably not even thirty years old. His hair was neatly combed, but his bow tie was crooked, and his forehead was covered in sweat.

Lionel leaned against the carriage wall, clutching a stack of crumpled papers in his hand, including official briefings that were normally only available to cabinet ministers, and several evening papers.

Now it was stuffed into his hands, but he still felt a little confused.

He had just returned from England, having traveled by ferry and train, and was exhausted.

He spent five days in England discussing contracts with people from Longman Publishing, meeting with lawyers, and signing documents.

George Longman was a very enthusiastic old man who said his novels—especially Sherlock Holmes—would sell very well in India.

"India's lower and middle-class intellectuals regard you as a European writer who truly respects Indian values!"

Lionel paused for a moment when George Longman said that.

He never considered "respecting Indian values," and the descriptions of colonial India in the background of "The Sign of Four" were mainly intended to denigrate Britain.

As for his conversation with the young Indian nobleman in London, it was not part of his plan, and he had almost forgotten about it.

Lionel found it a bit ridiculous, but said nothing. Anyway, the contract terms were very good, and the advance payment was made readily.

Longman will be responsible for the distribution of his works in the UK and all the colonies, and they are the largest publisher in the UK.

Including the publishing agreement signed in the United States, his works can now be sold in several of the world's major book markets, except for China, where they are still unavailable.

He readily signed the document, took the check, and then went to talk to Conan Doyle about his experiences in the American mining region, suggesting that he write a story called "The Valley of Fear"...

Then they boarded the ship back to France.

On the ship, he read the newspapers from the previous two days. There was nothing special about them—the pension crisis was still brewing, but the government didn't seem to be doing anything.

He didn't think much of it; such financial storms were not uncommon in the 19th century, and they would pass in a while.

The train arrived in Paris three hours later than usual, and didn't board the "Saint-Lazare" train until 11 p.m.

As usual, Lionel hailed a horse-drawn carriage to go home. The road was a bit congested, and he wondered if some place was holding a ball.

He was stunned when the carriage turned into 117 Boulevard Saint-Germain.

There was a large, dark mass of people downstairs at the apartment building. They weren't neighbors or friends, but a group of men in suits and top hats, along with several high-ranking police officers in uniform.

They stood under the streetlights, smoking, pacing, and occasionally glancing up at his window.

When the carriage stopped, everyone turned around and saw Lionel behind the window.

Then they surged forward, as if they had seen a savior—

"Mr. Sorel! You're finally back!"

"Please get in the car quickly! The Prime Minister is waiting for you!"

"The situation is urgent!"

Before Lionel could react, two men helped him off the carriage and shoved him into another, more spacious and imposing four-wheeled carriage.

The young secretary squeezed in and sat opposite him. The coachman cracked his whip, and the carriage sped off.

"What exactly happened?" Lionel asked. The secretary wiped his sweat and began to explain the current situation, speaking quickly and somewhat incoherently, but Lionel understood.

The Bank of France was besieged, the stock exchange was blocked, and there were a total of three thousand people, possibly more.

There were drumbeats, slogans, empty money bags, and a giant poster—

The poster for "The Old Man and the Sea" features a shark wearing a top hat, and the fish skeleton is inscribed with "Our Annuity".

……

Lionel listened quietly without saying a word. He unfolded the evening newspaper in his hand; the first one was the evening edition of Le Petit Parisien.

The headline on the front page was huge: "Paris is waiting..."

The article is very detailed, and includes on-site sketches—a woman sitting on the ground, a man holding an empty money bag, and a huge poster of "The Old Man and the Sea".

The article doesn't directly criticize the government, but it subtly implies that the government is incompetent, bankers are greedy, and ordinary people are desperate.

The evening edition of La Repubblica was even more direct, with the headline: "Who is the shark?"

The article begins with "The Old Man and the Sea," then moves on to the pension crisis, the absconding of directors of the "United Corporation," and the government's inaction.

The last paragraph reads:

When the old man Saint-Jacques was fighting sharks at sea, he at least knew where his enemies were.

What about the pension holders in Paris? They only know their money is gone, but they don't know who's responsible.

After Lionel finished reading, he folded the newspaper.

He asked his secretary, "So what? What does this have to do with me?"

The secretary's eyes widened: "It has nothing to do with you? Mr. Sorel, that poster! That slogan! 'Shark'—"

Now all of Paris is saying that sharks are bankers, they're the government! This came from your novel!

Lionel shook his head firmly: "I'm writing a novel. How readers interpret it is none of my business!"

The secretary leaned forward and said in a low voice, "But the Prime Minister believes that only you can calm the public's emotions."

"If you just say a few words to the Bank of France and the Paris Stock Exchange, they'll be dissolved, and the government will remember your contribution..."

Lionel laughed: "Contribution? What contribution? Helping you settle your troubles, and then everything goes back to normal?"
Will pensions continue to fall, bankers continue to flee, and ordinary people continue to go bankrupt?

The secretary turned pale: "Mr. Sorel, you can't say that..."

Lionel looked at him: "Then what should I say? You say the government will remember my contributions—"

Are you going to give me a huge medal, so that the citizens of Paris will remember me for the rest of my life as a government-run dog?

The secretary opened her mouth, but no words came out.

The carriage then turned into the courtyard of Bourbon Palace, where guards checked it with lanterns before allowing it to pass.

The carriage stopped in front of the main building. The secretary jumped down first and turned to help Lionel up.

Lionel thought for a moment, then got out of the car; after all, he was already there!

He simply ignored the secretary's outstretched hand.

The night wind was cold, and the courtyard was brightly lit.

The secretary led us through many doors and down many long corridors, the walls of which were adorned with portraits of French political figures.

In the dim light, they stared menacingly at the uninvited guest who had brought "trouble" to the Republic.

Finally, they stopped in front of a double wooden door. The secretary knocked on the door, and a voice from inside said, "Come in."

The door opened, revealing a large office with a fireplace burning, but the room was still cold.

Three people were sitting on the sofa, all looking up at them.

The one in the middle was the oldest, probably around sixty years old, with gray hair, a thin face, and deep-set eyes.

I recognized Lionel from the newspapers—Charles de Frésiné, the current President of the Council of Ministers and Minister of Foreign Affairs of France.

The man on the left, in his fifties, with a burly build, a thick beard, and wearing a military uniform—he didn't recognize him.

The one on the right is also in his fifties, with long sideburns that look like fish gills. He is also an old acquaintance of Lionel, Jules Ferri.

The secretary left, closed the door, and the room was quiet for a few seconds.

Fressine stood up first, forcing a smile: "Mr. Sorel, thank you for coming so quickly. Please have a seat."

Lionel didn't sit down, but watched them quietly.

Frésiné's smile froze for a moment, but he quickly recovered: "I think the secretary has already briefed you on the situation. The situation in Paris is very sensitive right now."

The standoff in front of the Bank of France has lasted all day, and if it is not resolved soon, it could escalate into a more serious conflict.

He paused, observing Lionel's reaction, but Lionel did not react.

Fressine could only continue, "We know that it was your novel, The Old Man and the Sea, that gave them some kind of spiritual guidance and support."

However, this guidance and support may currently be misunderstood and directed in a dangerous direction.

Lionel finally spoke, countering with, "How dangerous? Is it more dangerous than annuities, bonds, and stocks losing 30% in four weeks?"

In short, Fressine, Coschbrück, and Jules Ferri all visibly turned red.

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(End of this chapter)