Flaubert's living room was filled with the smoke of cigars, the rich aroma of coffee, and the scent of cologne, but even more so with the anxiety of those present.
Lionel felt the pressure of everyone's attention, but he wasn't in a hurry to speak—he was also weighing the pros and cons.
To him, this swindler named Édouard-Benoît de Villeneuve naturally deserved to die.
However, if it allowed the Church to seize the opportunity to expand its power, that was equally something he didn't want to see.
Moreover, Villeneuve was, in a sense, undergoing this absurd ritual on his behalf.
Maupassant couldn't help but urge Lionel:
"Léon, what do you think? Sign, or not sign?"
Lionel put down the cup of coffee he had only sipped a little from, raised his head, his gaze calm, his voice low, yet it cut through the stagnant air like a paper knife:
"Gentlemen, we seem to have fallen into an either/or trap."
Flaubert and the others were stunned:
"Another trap?"
Lionel patiently explained:
"Signing a petition to stop the exorcism would stigmatize us as harboring a devil; but not stopping it would mean tacitly acknowledging the Church's privilege to conduct theological judgments on literary creations."
Maupassant was impatient:
"We all know that, so what do you think we should do?"
Lionel smiled and patted his shoulder, calming his agitation:
"The true core of this issue lies in the Church taking advantage of the vague and dangerous label of 'demonic possession' to explain everything they cannot or are unwilling to understand—
Whether it's Villeneuve's criminal acts, or his... well, special 'creations,' isn't it?"
Lionel paused slightly to give his words more weight, and then he paced to the center of the living room.
His tone grew increasingly calm:
"The exorcism ritual itself, however absurd, we may be powerless to stop, and perhaps there's no need to forcibly stop it.
That's the Church entertaining itself within its belief system. The key lies in the 'verdict' after the ritual—
The Church will inevitably declare the exorcism successful, the 'demon' expelled, and Villeneuve 'restored to lucidity.'
And then, what will happen?"
This question made the writers exchange bewildered glances; they truly hadn't considered it.
Lionel smiled:
"According to Inspector Claude, who arrested him, based on past experience, after the exorcism, Villeneuve will be sent to the Salpêtrière mental hospital, chained up, and confined with actual madmen!
Everyone knows what a hellhole that is. In fact, this is their real purpose—to use a living body to erect a terrifying warning sign."
Silence fell upon the living room, only Lionel's voice echoed:
"So, the key to stopping the Church is not whether to jointly sign against exorcism, but to issue a scientific, indisputable diagnosis for Villeneuve's condition, based on science!"
"A diagnosis?"
Maupassant blurted out, bewildered.
Lionel nodded:
"Yes, a diagnosis. We can demand that the Ministry of Interior or the Ministry of Justice, after the exorcism ritual has taken place—note, after—
Appoint authoritative, reputable psychiatric experts to conduct a strict, independent assessment of Villeneuve's mental state!"
Flaubert was the first to realize:
"Excellent idea. Regardless of whether the assessment finds him to suffer from mental illness or not, even if the Church declares him possessed by a devil, there will be a huge controversy between the two.
The public will see that the same symptoms are attributed to demons by the Church, but to brain lesions or trauma by medicine.
As long as there's controversy, we can use it to educate the public about mental illness and the absurdity of exorcism rituals!"
Lionel nodded:
"Yes, so what the French Writers' Association needs to do is submit a carefully worded petition to the Ministry of Interior, or even higher authorities.
The focus isn't to oppose the exorcism, but to emphasize how necessary and urgent it is to introduce scientific medical evaluation at this critical juncture involving a citizen's mental health and judicial disposition.
Our goal is to prevent misjudgments based on superstition, and to uphold the fairness of the law and the dignity of the scientific spirit!"
As his words fell, the living room plunged into several seconds of absolute silence.
Zola suddenly slammed the table, making the ashtray jump:
"My God! That's it! Lionel, you're a genius! A truly brilliant idea! Bypassing pointless direct confrontation, and striking at the core!
Using the spear of science to puncture the intimidating facade of theology! This is more effective than arguing a hundred times over whether to sign the petition! I fully support it!"
Flaubert smiled and nodded:
"I'll push for it with the French Writers' Association!"
Maupassant excitedly grabbed the wine bottle, refilled his glass, and raised it high:
"To Lionel! To the spear of science! Let those charlatans go to hell! Cheers!"
He tilted his head back and drained the glass, not caring that the liquid trickled down his chin.
————
The writers weren't the only ones who wanted to stop the exorcism ritual.
Just as Flaubert was drafting his open letter to the Ministry of Interior, a luxurious four-wheeled carriage, adorned with intricate gold trim and a double-headed eagle emblem, hastily rolled over the damp cobblestone path in front of the annex residence of the French Ministry of Interior building in the 8th arrondissement, splashing mud.
After the carriage arrived downstairs, the door was abruptly opened, and Sophia Ivanovna Durova-Shcherbatova swept in like a cold front storm, entering the heart of this building, which symbolized the administrative power of the Third French Republic.
She didn't even wait for the secretary to announce her, but with crisp, hurried steps and a decisive anger, she directly knocked on the heavy oak door of Interior Minister Ernest Constans' residence.
"Uncle Constans, it's me, Sophia!"
Ernest Constans was in the living room meeting a high-ranking official.
Hearing Sophia's voice, he could only helplessly ask the official to step aside for a moment.
He then met the daughter of this Russian noblewoman in a more private sitting room.
"Uncle Constans!"
Sophia's voice wasn't cold as it was to outsiders, but sweet like a girl next door.
She looked as if she had suffered a great injustice:
"I hope that you, with your authority as the Minister of Interior of the French Republic, will cancel that utterly absurd exorcism farce targeting Édouard-Benoît de Villeneuve, which is about to take place in Notre Dame Cathedral!"
Minister Constans crossed his hands over his stomach, an appeasing smile on his face:
"Sophia, I understand your and your mother's concerns. Villeneuve's actions are indeed outrageous.
However, this exorcism ritual... it involves the internal affairs of the Church, and it's a practice of faith, falling within the scope of religious freedom.
The government, frankly, finds it inconvenient to directly interfere with the clergy's..."
Sophia couldn't help but sneer:
"Religious freedom? Uncle Constans, are you talking to me about the freedom of prayer for those muddy-footed peasants in country churches?
No! This carefully planned 'holy show,' aimed at all of Paris and even all of Europe, whatever its initial purpose, will ultimately point its finger directly at my mother!"
Minister Constans was somewhat surprised:
"What, you don't want the swindler punished? After Villeneuve undergoes the exorcism, he'll be confined to the Salpêtrière mental hospital.
Believe me, he'll suffer ten times more in there than in prison..."
While saying this, Minister Constans secretly considered a possibility—could Baroness Alekseyevna still harbor feelings for this exceptionally gifted swindler?
(End of chapter)
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