Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 582 This was a complete victory!
When Ruth uttered "Rose Juniper," the French, especially French men, perceived more than just a woman changing her name and surname.

They read about an English aristocrat ending his identity, the failure of an American capitalist marriage, and the continuation of the French spirit in foreign lands.

Especially when Ruth's gaze fell upon the Statue of Liberty, they felt an unusually strong sense of French national pride—

The bronze statue is from France, and the name she chose at this moment is also from France; Ruth's love died in the sea, but her soul was reborn in the New World.

A French man rescued an English woman without having to take her back to France.

He entrusted her with the spirit of France, allowing her to step into the future world with a new identity.

At the Fountain Café on the corner of Boulevard Saint-Michel, all readers who finished reading the magazine were deeply enchanted.

Felix Durand, a young law school graduate, leaned back in his chair, let out a long sigh, and said, "She became French."

He is twenty-four years old this year, and his passion has not yet faded. He is always very engrossed when reading novels. At this moment, his eyes show both sadness and satisfaction.

Beside him stood Pierre Lafont, a seasoned lawyer. This middle-aged elite also sighed: "But Jacques is dead."

Jean-Baptiste Clermont, a literature lecturer at the Sorbonne University sitting at the same table, disagreed: "But his surname lives on, and she inherited it."

The three men remained silent for a moment. Outside the window, a carriage rumbled past, and the driver's shouts drifted in, sounding as distant as from another world.

Jean-Baptiste Clermont pointed to the last few lines of the novel: “Did you notice what she was looking at? The Statue of Liberty.”

Felix Durand immediately sat up straight: "That bronze statue was a gift from France to the United States!"

Pierre Laffont added, "It hasn't been sent out yet; it's still being cast in Monsieur Eiffel's workshop."

Jean-Baptiste Clement shook his head: "But the head and arms have already been built and were exhibited at the Paris Exposition last year."

Every Parisian knows that was our gift to America: a statue of Liberty, from France!

He paused, picked up the magazine: "Now, an English woman stands before it and chooses a French name."

Felix Durand felt a surge of warmth rise in his chest; it wasn't just a feeling of being moved, but also a sense of satisfaction.

He recalled those details from the novel:

A British lookout couldn't see the iceberg because his binoculars were locked; a British gentleman shoved a woman in front of a lifeboat; British crew members locked the passageway to third class...

Jacques, a poor French painter, sacrificed his life for the woman he loved in the icy sea.

Standing before the Statue of Liberty cast in France, Ruth abandoned her British aristocratic surname and her engagement to an American capitalist, choosing instead to become French.

This is no longer just a love story with a sad ending!
Felix Durand took a deep breath and said, "This is our victory, a complete victory!"

Pierre Lafont glanced at him: "What victory?"

"A triumph of culture. The British built the Titan, claiming it was unsinkable, but it struck an iceberg and sank."

The British revealed their hypocrisy and selfishness in the face of disaster. And we French…”

He pointed to the magazine: "Jacques Juniper. A painter with no money and no status, but he had art, courage, and humanity."

He won Ruth's heart, not with money, not with status, but with himself. In the end, he even won her name.

Jean-Baptiste Clermont nodded: “Mr. Sorel writes very cleverly. He doesn’t directly criticize Britain; he merely presents it.”

It shows how a British ship sank and how the people on board reacted. The reader will draw their own conclusions.

Pierre Laffont thought for a moment and said, "Do you know what the most ironic thing is? This novel can be serialized in France, and it can be reprinted in the United States, but in Britain—"

British readers may never see it. Because Lionel Sorel has been expelled, his work may never appear in London again.

"So they can't see their own mirror. They keep locking their telescopes and pretend the iceberg doesn't exist."

The three men remained silent for a while. Then, other voices finally broke in from the café—

The sounds of political discussion at the next table, the rustling of waiters clearing away dishes, and the ringing of the doorbell.

And the whole of Paris, like this little corner of the café, was immersed in the afterglow of "The Sinking of the Titans".

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In Britain, within London's literary circles, almost no one dared to openly discuss "The Sinking of the Titans."

In clubs, salons, and the literary supplements of newspapers, the novel was as if it didn't exist.

Interestingly, this novel does not actually not exist.

After Lionel was deported, the new cabinet did not impose any further public punishments on him, so in principle his novels could be published in the UK.

Even with the exception of "1984", all of his works, including "Pirates of the Caribbean", are still being sold normally in the UK and its colonies and protectorates.

But no British literary magazine—neither Good Words, Cornhill Magazine, nor Macmillan Magazine—serialized The Sinking of the Titan.

Especially "Good Words," which was even still serializing Conan Doyle's "A Scandal in Bohemia."

The British, with their characteristic "subtlety," effectively "annihilated" Lionel Sorel and his films "1984" and "The Sinking of the Titans."

However, many British elites still subscribed to Live Moderne—one of the most important literary journals in France, read by anyone interested in European culture.

So they all read it in private.

In a gentlemen's club in London's West End, two men sit in armchairs by the fireplace, a copy of "Modern Life" on the table in front of them, turned to the last chapter of "The Sinking of the Titan".

One of them was Charles Langdon, a columnist for the Edinburgh Review; the other was Arthur Bryant, a historian from Oxford University. Arthur Bryant took a sip of whiskey and asked, "Have you finished reading?"

Charles Langdon nodded. "I've finished reading."

How are you feeling?

Charles Langdon was silent for a moment before speaking: "Well written."

Arthur Bryant raised an eyebrow: "That's it?"

"Technically impeccable. The structure, rhythm, characters, details... are all excellent. Sorel is an excellent writer, we've always known that."

"but……?"

"But I felt very uncomfortable. The telescope was locked, the rudder was too small, there weren't enough lifeboats... Every detail suggested that the sinking of the Titan could have been avoided."

Arthur Bryant laughed: "And the author is French, which makes us even more uncomfortable, doesn't it?"

Charles Langdon sighed. “Yes. If it were an Englishman, we could discuss, argue, and defend him. But Sorel is French…”

"And this Frenchman was just expelled by us."

The two fell silent.

Charles Langdon continued, "I heard that after Harper's Weekly reprinted it, the novel was seen in the United States as an indictment of the Old World."

Arthur Bryant shook his head: "And we British are the representatives of the Old World."

Arthur Bryant was somewhat indignant: "The worst part is that we can't respond! Now everyone's being told from above to 'ignore' Sorel!"

Charles Langdon scoffed: "So we can only pretend it doesn't matter, pretend it's just another mediocre novel that will soon be forgotten."

"But will they be forgotten?"

Charles Langdon glanced at the magazine on the table. The cover bore the title, "The Sinking of the Titan," simple yet striking.

"No. This novel will live on. People will still be reading it ten or twenty years from now."

"Does Her Majesty know about this novel? I heard that she quite enjoyed reading Sorel's novels before '1984'."

"Who knows..."

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Queen Victoria did indeed learn about the novel at Windsor Castle.

Her trusted Scottish servant and private secretary, John Brown, carefully reported the news.

The Queen sat on the sofa in the living room, listened to the report, and remained silent for a long time.

She finally spoke, her voice calm: "So, Sorel is attacking us with his novels again, this time using a British ship sunk by an iceberg?"

John Brown lowered his head, not daring to speak.

The Queen finally shook her head: "He's retaliating! So don't respond; silence is the best weapon."

"But remaining silent could be interpreted by outsiders as..."

"Interpreted as tacit agreement? Interpreted as inability to refute? We have no choice now. Ireland, Egypt, India, South Africa... we can't waste our energy on him."

She paused for a moment, then added, "As long as no one mentions him anymore, he will naturally be forgotten in London."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The Queen looked out the window again. Her thoughts drifted far away.

The British Empire is currently at its zenith – it is the leading industrial power, the leading military power, and the world's technological center.

No empire in human history has ever controlled such a vast territory, nor has any other empire possessed such an overwhelming competitive advantage over other countries.

But why did that French writer keep challenging the empire? And it wasn't just him; there were Irish, Egyptians, Indians, Boers…

They were so weak, and the empire could easily crush them into dust if it wanted to, yet they still rose up to resist time and time again.

What's wrong with being a contented subject of an empire?
“Your Majesty, you need to rest,” John Brown said softly.

The Queen nodded: "Yes. I need to rest."

Then he glanced at John Brown, stood up, and walked back to his bedchamber surrounded by his maids.

John Brown understood immediately and quickly returned to his room, opened the huge wardrobe, which was filled with all kinds of men's clothing.

These were all worn by Prince Albert during his lifetime.

"Which outfit should I wear today? The Queen seems very angry..." John Brown was caught in a dilemma.

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Unlike France's immersion in the story and Britain's indifference, the United States' public opinion was thrown into a frenzy as soon as Harper's Weekly finished serializing "The Sinking of the Titan."

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　For a time, John Brown enjoyed walking around the court in Prince Albert's shoes, making noise to demonstrate his status.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)