When Lionel saw this news, he had only recently woken up from a lie-in.
The apartment was quiet.
On the table lay the breakfast Patty had prepared for him: a glass of milk, a pan-fried lamb chop, a poached egg, and a bowl of fresh boiled broccoli.
Patty and Alice had both gone out, one to the market, the other to the "Typing Cooperative."
Lionel hummed "The Internationale" as he ate breakfast, casually opening the newspaper on the table.
"Arise, ye prisoners of starvation,
Arise, ye wretched of the earth!
For justice thunders in the fury,
And now, for truth, a fight is born!
..."
Recently, he had often listened to commune members' speeches in cafés and taverns, which usually ended with everyone singing "The Internationale" in unison.
Lionel also sang along—though at first, he was off-key, only then realizing that "The Internationale" at that time still used the tune of "La Marseillaise."
But when he hummed it to himself privately, he still used the version composed by Pierre De Geyter.
After humming for a while, he felt the song's atmosphere was a bit too solemn for breakfast, so he hummed a little tune that no one in France would understand:
"The Paris Revolution just succeeded, the treasury is tight, food is scarce. I, Louis Auguste Blanqui.
I ordered Frankel to get food, but he's not back at this hour, tell me what happened?
..."
Then he saw the article in "Le Figaro" titled "Lionel, Please Return 'Sherlock Holmes' to France!"
After reading it, he was "caught between laughter and tears"—
[When we read in "A Study in Scarlet" how Mr. Sherlock Holmes, residing at 221B Baker Street, deciphered a master's fate from a pair of "housewife hands" and a worn pocket watch, a complex emotion gripped us—a profound regret and "jealousy"!
Yes, gentlemen and ladies, we are jealous! Jealous of London's fog, jealous of Baker Street's gas lamps, jealous of those British gentlemen and ladies with their peculiar accents!
Because they had this unique "consulting detective" in literary history two months before us;
While we, readers of France, had to be tormented by anxiety for two months, like waiting for a delayed postal package, before we could behold his splendor!]
Reading this, Lionel finally understood that the article was not actually criticizing him.
The author was using a very novel way to flatter him—
[Mr. Lionel Sorel, our young genius.
We once thought "The Old Guard," "Homeland," "My Uncle Jules," and of course, "The Benjamin Bouton Case" were already your treasures offered to France;
We even shed tears at the singing of "The Choir"!
Yet, you first "dedicated" "Sherlock Holmes"—this name destined to shine—to England!
What "generosity," and what "luxury" this is!]
It was no wonder the author would say this, knowing that a country's literary influence is actually supported by many "long-selling books."
And people of that era found it hard to judge which books would endure the test of time.
Stendhal's "The Red and the Black" only sold 600 copies in its first five years.
But after its author died, the novel instead became a classic, even becoming a unique French "Redology," with the "Stendhal Club" established in Paris.
Meanwhile, bestselling authors of the same era, such as Eugène Sue, author of "The Mysteries of Paris," both their works and their names often faded into the river of time.
Novels that endure the test of time often have one characteristic: unique, pioneering character images.
The author of this article precisely grasped this point, keenly noticing the uniqueness of the "Sherlock Holmes" character, which led to such a "condemnation" of Lionel—
[You are like a sculptor of extraordinary skill, using French clay and glaze to mold a perfect English gentleman.
His "deductive method" is the result of cleverly fitting Voltaire's sharp wit and Diderot's erudition into a pipe and a deerstalker hat!]
The article's tone began to turn "plaintive"—
[Such a character, who should have strolled along the Seine, first appeared by the Thames! This is a major loss for French literature!
Mr. Sorel, in the face of heavy pounds sterling, have you forgotten your responsibility as the "Conscience of Sorbonne"?
Have you considered what expressions would be on the faces of us French writers when our children someday, when mentioning the greatest detective, first think of a London address, rather than a street in Paris—
What expressions would be on the faces of us French writers?]
At the end of the article, the author began to appeal—
[We are heartbroken! A literary character that should have belonged to France has been handed over to England, and we are left eagerly awaiting!
This feeling is like a daughter, painstakingly raised by a mother, who before she even had a chance to shine in her own salon, was hired away by a foreigner, and we can only learn of her grace from distant reports!
Therefore, we hereby issue a call: Mr. Lionel Sorel, please return "Sherlock Holmes" to France!
We call on all French writers to first dedicate your most outstanding ideas, your most vibrant characters, to this land that gave birth to and nurtured us!]
After finishing the newspaper, Lionel also finished the last bit of his meal, tidied the table, and then went to the washroom to clean up.
Only then did he stroll into his study, sit before the brand new "Sorel Type 1 Typewriter," and begin his creation.
He had originally intended not to write anything before October, but spurred on by the typewriter and this article, he began to write a response article for "Revue des Deux Mondes"—
"To Mr. Lemaître: Why Should We Be More Proud of a 'Made in France' English Gentleman?"
[Dear Mr. Lemaître:
Having read your esteemed work, I take up my pen to write this response with pleasure and a slight trepidation.
Pleasure, because of your lavish praise for "A Study in Scarlet" and Sherlock Holmes, the enthusiasm of which even makes me, the creator, blush;
Trepidation, however, is due to the "great responsibility" you have bestowed upon me—as if the debut location of a character from my pen could influence the very foundation of French literature.
This hat is truly too large; my head is too small, I fear I cannot bear it.
...
However, you have made a lovely mistake. You believe I "gave" Holmes to England? No, quite the opposite.
I believe that the image of an "ideal Englishman" shaped by a French writer is not a loss for French literature, but rather our glory!
...
Please consider, why should we regret that a mystery unsolved by Scotland Yard was ultimately cracked by a detective created by a Frenchman?
We should be proud! One of our "spiritual sons" is playing the role of an enlightener across the Channel; isn't this more exciting than merely receiving applause in the salons of Paris?
...
Yours faithfully, Lionel Sorel, Paris]
This letter was written in one go, requiring no revisions.
The carbon paper nestled within the typewriter cylinder successfully produced a copy, eliminating the need for separate transcription.
Lionel put the original into his drawer, slipped the copy into an envelope, addressed it, and prepared to drop it into the mailbox downstairs.
Unexpectedly, as soon as he went downstairs, the superintendent called out to him:
"Mr. Lionel, there's a letter here. The sender insisted I hand it to you personally."
Lionel took the envelope and saw that it was sealed with golden sealing wax.
The impression on the wax was precisely the Rothschild family crest.
(End of Chapter)