The next morning, Editor-in-Chief Armand de La Motte's luxurious office at Le Figaro, adorned with deep red carpets, received a letter from Lionel.
Editor-in-Chief Armand de La Motte sat behind a large mahogany desk, using a delicate pair of scissors to cut open the seal.
He had been waiting for a letter from this young man for almost two months.
The editor of the "Literary Supplement" at Le Figaro had sent two sincere invitations for submissions, but not only did he not receive an enthusiastic response, he instead saw two of his new works published in Modern Life and Le Petit Parisien, respectively.
This was an unprecedented humiliation for Le Figaro.
Which French writer didn't consider it an honor to have his work published in Le Figaro?
Lionel not only failed to cherish this opportunity but instead catered to the vulgar citizens of Le Petit Parisien, which was extremely unwise.
A single critique from Jules Claretie was enough to make this arrogant young man offer up his "precious" words.
Armand could already imagine how Lionel would humbly apologize to him in this letter and hope that Le Figaro would show mercy.
Although Jules Claretie primarily focused on music and drama, his sharp pen often determined the fate of a concert or a play.
Having him sanction a fledgling young man like Lionel was truly overkill.
Armand casually pulled out the letter and began to read.
He first saw the line, "I must thank you, for you have, inadvertently, handed the most moving key to this novel into the hands of its readers," and a smile appeared on his face.
This young man was quite polite!
But very quickly, "The cry of a freak shakes our conscience more than the cry of a holy infant" made his expression change.
As he read further, Armand de La Motte's expression grew increasingly grim, but by the time he finished the entire letter, he actually exclaimed, "Good!"
He then realized his slip of the tongue; how could he cheer for an "enemy"? — Fortunately, no one else was there.
But he couldn't help but pick up the letter and read it again, then sighed, shook the bell on his desk, and called his assistant: "Please invite Mr. Jules Claretie to my office."
After the assistant left, Editor-in-Chief Armand de La Motte rubbed his throbbing temples, trying to remain calm.
Even if he disliked, or even detested Lionel, he had to admit, this letter was… too brilliant.
Not only because of its rigorous logic and progressive structure, but also because Lionel adopted a method of rebuttal never before seen in French literary debates.
He actually started by acknowledging the term "freak show" that his opponent used to attack him, cleverly elevating the concept and transforming it into a profound exploration of the complexity of human nature and the absurdity of history.
This was like a duel where it was agreed to stand back to back, walk ten paces, turn, and fire, but when Le Figaro turned around, it found Lionel standing behind it.
The letter was not only well-referenced and eloquently written, but also full of undeniable rhetorical power and compassion for the vulnerable, extending Claretie's questioning of the novel itself into a critique of his contempt for the weak.
This wasn't even the most lethal part—the most lethal was that Lionel even displayed a tolerance akin to an adult indulging a naughty child's tantrum, as if, compared to Claretie, he was the elder.
Especially the line, "Freaks do not create ugliness, they merely expose it," and the poetic yet subtly sharp ending, "A freak is merely a line of poetry miswritten by fate; and love, with its clumsy rhymes, will set it right," were strokes of genius.
This depth of thought and command of language far exceeded what a young man in his early twenties should possess, and was also far superior to Claretie's emotional, name-calling critique.
As he pondered, there was a knock on the office door, and Jules Claretie walked in.
This sharp-tongued literary critic was in his prime, his eyes filled with confidence and determination.
Editor-in-Chief Armand de La Motte handed him the letter: "Take a look, this was submitted by Lionel Sorel today."
Jules Claretie gave a scornful smile, took the letter, comfortably sat on a sofa, lit a cigar, and then began to read.
But very quickly, his arrogance and composure vanished, as he gripped the sides of the letter with both hands, his cigar perched on the ashtray, his eyes widening.
After finishing the letter, he roared at Editor-in-Chief Armand de La Motte like a wounded, enraged lion: "Arrogant! Shameless! A mere wet-behind-the-ears youngster dares to lecture me like this! Who does he think he is? Hugo? Balzac?"
Claretie's voice trembled slightly with anger, and his spittle nearly sprayed onto the desk: "This is a naked provocation! An insult to Le Figaro! A desecration of the literary orthodoxy of France!"
Armand de La Motte's voice carried a hint of weariness: "Calm down, Jules. You have to admit, this letter… is very powerful."
Claretie stopped abruptly, incredulous: "Powerful? You call this 'powerful'? This is sophistry! It's pandering! He uses those flowery and insubstantial words and pretentious concepts to cover up the essence of his inferior, crowd-pleasing work!
We cannot publish it! Absolutely not! This would be an admission that our previous criticism was wrong, and it would be giving a stage to this literary opportunist!"
Editor-in-Chief Armand de La Motte fell into deep thought.
Claretie's concerns were not unfounded; Le Figaro's conservative stance and elite image were fundamental to its existence. Publishing a rebuttal letter that completely refuted, and arguably spiritually crushed, the assistant editor of the paper's column would be tantamount to destroying its own defenses.
This would severely damage the newspaper's authority and also make Claretie, a highly anticipated critic, lose face.
But, should they really reject the submission? This letter would soon appear in other newspapers, with equally unthinkable consequences.
Lionel Sorel had clearly anticipated this, which is why he "politely" submitted it to them.
Editor-in-Chief Armand de La Motte's voice was a bit dry: "He has given us a difficult problem. Publish it, and we are embarrassed; don't publish it, and we appear cowardly and closed-minded."
Claretie was still very agitated: "So what? We are Le Figaro, we have our pride!"
Armand de La Motte sighed: "Jules, times have changed. Look at the sales of Le Petit Parisien—Lionel Sorel is their darling.
Behind him also stand Georges Charpentier, and Flaubert, Zola, and those people…"
Claretie's voice was already a bit hoarse: "So we admit we were wrong to him? Ha, do you want me to write him a letter of apology?"
Armand de La Motte remained silent for a long time, finally making a difficult decision. He picked up the original letter: "Jules, for the reputation of the newspaper, and for your personal… dignity, this letter, we will not publish.
You must immediately prepare a new critical article, targeting the newly serialized content of the extraordinary adventures of benjamin button, and offer a more forceful critique! Seize upon plot holes, or moral ambiguities!
This time, be more well-reasoned and avoid giving him any more leverage!"
Jules Claretie nodded heavily and hurried out of the Editor-in-Chief's office.
One more chapter, I'll try to get it done by tonight.