The bells of Notre Dame seemed exceptionally heavy in the early morning fog of late July, as if still mourning the horrifying tragedy of the previous day.
As the first ray of sunlight pierced through the glass window of Saint-Lazare Hospital, a single patient room was filled with the pungent smell of disinfectant mixed with putrid flesh.
Édouard Benoît de Villeneuve lay on the cold iron bed, the right side of his face covered with thick linen gauze, from which a pale yellow fluid seeped, soaking the pillow.
He occasionally made incoherent groans, sometimes suddenly sat up and screamed, his fingers scratching futilely at the air, as if still trying to escape the bone-deep burning pain.
"Give him ten grains of morphine,"
The doctor ordered his assistant, taking off his blood-stained gloves.
When the needle tip pierced his skin and the medicine was slowly pushed into his bloodstream, Villeneuve suddenly quieted down, staring fixedly at the ceiling with his clouded left eye.
"It was the bishop... and that priest..."
His voice was hoarse.
"They said... as long as I acted convincing... I could go to Toulon... instead of a mental asylum..."
Sergeant Claude pushed the door open and walked in at that moment, just in time to hear this fragmented confession.
He motioned for his men to guard the door, then took a notepad from his briefcase:
"Mr. Villeneuve, could you please clarify? What did the bishop and the priest tell you?"
But by then, the morphine had begun to take effect, and Villeneuve's eyes became unfocused again:
"Holy water... it should have been warm water..."
He suddenly cackled, which pulled at his wound, making him gasp:
"They wanted me to shout... to shout the words of those devils... saying that... the faithful would believe..."
————
Although confessions should be strictly confidential, there were many doctors, nurses, and his own mercenary subordinates present.
The reporters waiting at the hospital entrance almost effortlessly extracted Édouard Benoît's few statements with francs that very evening.
The next day, Paris was engulfed in an even more turbulent storm of public opinion than before.
Le Petit Journal published a full-page sketch of Villeneuve's bandaged face, with the title printed in crimson ink:
"Witness Returned From Hell! The Truth in the Holy Water Bottle!"
The report vividly described the sergeant's interrogation process, particularly emphasizing "the secret agreement between the bishop and the swindler," but was vague about the source of the strong acid.
L'Univers's reaction was rather embarrassed, publishing only a small statement on its third page:
[The unfortunate incident during yesterday's ceremony was caused by demonic interference with the sacred rites. The Church will cooperate with the secular judicial investigation.]
However, readers were more interested in its front-page article, "On the Similarities Between Symptoms of Madness and Demonic Possession."
The author of this report attempted to argue that "the mentally deranged often mimic demonic words and actions," but it was widely interpreted by readers as an attempt to cover up.
The most scathing comments, as expected, came from Le Figaro.
Chief writer Jules Clarétie finally found an outlet and wrote without reservation:
[When holy water turns into strong acid, when exorcism degenerates into murder, we finally see clearly — some people, cloaked in sacred garments, commit deeds more despicable than devils.
Beneath the dome of Notre Dame, how many illicit dealings are hidden?]
————
Bishop Gilbert paced back and forth in the temporary prayer room, his eyes bloodshot.
Father Fourcade slumped in an oak chair, his eyes filled with hollow fear.
The special holy bottle, brought from Rome, 600 years old and supposedly touched by the blood of a saint, had already become police evidence.
"Absolutely cannot admit anything," the bishop's voice was barely a whisper:
"The ravings of a madman, combined with journalistic exaggeration, do not constitute any evidence."
Just this morning, two policemen came to Notre Dame and announced the police's decision: Bishop Gilbert and Father Fourcade, due to their involvement in a criminal assault investigation, were forbidden from leaving the Notre Dame premises from today onwards and must be available for questioning at any time.
This was already the result of the Church's strenuous efforts, otherwise, the two would now be in the detention cells at "36 Quai des Orfèvres."
After all, besides them, all other personnel who might have had contact with the holy bottle were there.
————
Ernest Constans, the Minister of Interior, received a thank-you letter from the Sherbatov family, personally delivered by Sofia.
The haughty Russian noblewoman smiled faintly:
"My mother is relieved that the truth has finally come to light. Whether that swindler was directed or truly mad, it proves he was not possessed by a demon.
Uncle Constans, thank you for your help! The Sherbatov family never forgets kindness..."
Ernest Constans looked at the woman, barely in her twenties, and suddenly understood why her mother had summoned her to Paris.
Now that the biggest obstacle to Baroness Alexeyevna's "crisis of faith" had been removed, as Minister of Interior, all he had to do was use his hand of power to give it a gentle push...
Thinking this, Ernest Constans revealed a kindly, elder's smile:
"No thanks are needed, my dear Sofia. It is my duty to clear your mother's name. Please convey my respects to her..."
————
Early August, the first voting day for a parliamentary bill.
The previously stalemated debate, after the exorcism ceremony turned into a farce, completely swung in favor of Minister Jules Ferry.
La République reported the parliamentary grand occasion in a full-page spread:
"Education Reform Takes a Crucial First Step, Great France Chooses Reason."
The article detailed the voting process — 327 votes in favor, 112 against.
The most important provision of the bill was the requirement that "each department must establish at least one normal school for men and one normal school for women," and allocated 5 million francs for school building construction.
Even more revolutionary was the reorganization plan for the Higher Education Council.
A reporter from Journal des débats described the moment of the vote:
[When the Speaker announced that "religious representatives withdraw from the council" passed with 298 votes, many old parliamentarians removed the crosses from their chests, while young parliamentarians sang La Marseillaise.]
The new council would consist of 15 university professors, 8 secondary school teachers, and 5 education officials, responsible for formulating nationally unified curriculum standards.
La Croix strongly protested the passage of the bill.
Its front-page editorial, "This is the Tyranny of the Majority," lamented:
[When teachers replace priests, blackboards replace altars, where will the soul of France find its resting place?]
However, due to the lingering effects of the exorcism ceremony, the newspaper's sales plummeted by 30% within a week, no longer able to garner enough sympathy.
The Ministry of Interior was the busiest.
Minister Ernest Constans signed appointment letters, dispatching thirty inspectors to various departments to oversee normal school construction.
The minister told his secretary:
"Tell them, by this time next year, I want to see smoke from the chimneys and students enrolled."
This powerful statement was naturally also published in the newspapers.
————
As Lionel read these news items in his living room, two letters lay beside him.
The first was from Albert:
[Dear Léon:
The Rohan family has prepared the loggia and wine in the Loire Valley, looking forward to you spending August with us.
There are fresh mushrooms in the forests here, and streams that do not stink.]
His father, Count Rohan, had become the chairman of the Higher Education Council, riding on a wave of success.
The second was an invitation from Madame de Rothschild:
[Dear Léon:
If you are tired of the hustle and bustle of Paris, why not accompany me to Naples?
My villa at the foot of Mount Vesuvius has a private beach, and you can taste real Italian ice cream.]
Alice curiously leaned over, pointing to the newspaper headline:
"This... what does it mean?"
Lionel smiled slightly:
"It means more girls can go to school. This year, girls' education only involved reciting prayers under the watchful eyes of nuns;
By next year, their textbooks will contain Newton's theorems and Lavoisier's chemical formulas."
Petit didn't understand any of this, merely sighing:
"Young master, it's really hot lately..."
(End of Chapter)
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