Just on the eve of Count Rohan reaching his breaking point, Albert received a letter from Lionel, asking him to come to an apartment on Rue Saint-Dominique in the Sixth Arrondissement.
That afternoon, Albert, feeling uneasy, knocked on the apartment door again.
This time, Lionel, who opened the door, had a busy and excited look on his face.
Lionel pulled him in,
"Come in, Albert!"
As soon as Albert entered, he was stunned by the sight before him.
Smoke filled the narrow living room of the apartment.
The air was thick with a mingled scent of coffee, ink, tobacco, and men's sweat.
Four or five people were gathered around a large table, writing furiously with their heads down.
Crumpled manuscript paper and empty wine bottles were scattered all over the floor.
Albert recognized one of them—Guy de Maupassant—who was one of his father's subordinates and had appeared at a ball last year.
At that moment, he was clenching a pipe between his teeth, his brows furrowed, scribbling something rapidly.
Lionel introduced them from the side:
"Maupassant, you should have met him. This is Joris-Karl Huysmans; this is Paul Alexis; this is Henri Céard...
These are all my good friends, and well, Mr. Zola's good friends too."
These few people only exchanged quick greetings with Albert before returning to their focused creative work.
They would sometimes converse in low voices, and at other times burst into low chuckles, like successful pranksters.
Albert stammered,
"This... what is this?"
Lionel laughed easily,
"Ah, this is our 'rumor factory,' and it's running at full speed."
Lionel's tone was as if he were introducing a grand enterprise.
Lionel pushed Albert forward,
"Albert de Rohan, our 'special consultant.'
He is responsible for providing the freshest astonished reactions, to be used as material for everyone's creations."
Maupassant looked up, a smudge of ink still on his beard:
"Hey! Say hello to the Deputy Minister for me! Now, listen to this one of mine—
'According to an anonymous palace maid, Mr. Lionel Sorel is actually a secret literary advisor serving the Russian Tsar. His works were selected for the reader to indoctrinate French children with Slavic mysticism!'
How's that? Explosive enough?"
He burst into laughter after he finished speaking.
Huysmans didn't even lift his head, saying disdainfully,
"Too conservative. Mine's better—'
Lionel Sorel's works, after translation, will become gifts from the Prime Minister to foreign heads of state, and the French Academy is preparing to exceptionally grant him the title of 'Lifetime Academician.'
Since we've already started fabricating rumors, why not be bolder?"
Albert listened, dumbfounded, his mind completely unable to process it.
Lionel walked to the table, picked up a few freshly written drafts, and quickly scanned them, nodding sometimes, shaking his head at others.
"Hmm... This one says I'm going to be elected an honorary citizen of Paris and have the privilege of free rides on all public carriages... Not bad, that's very relatable."
"This one says Archbishop Guibert has invited me to revise the French translation of the Bible... Good angle, but it's not good to overstimulate the Church for now; they're still fighting among themselves."
"This one says my portrait is about to be printed on postcards issued by the Alpine Post Office... Hmm, a bit interesting, but lacks impact—it could be like this: 'Lionel Sorel's likeness, about to be printed on new stamps issued by the Republic.'"
He picked up the piece Maupassant had just written about the Russian Tsar, and laughed,
"Guy, yours is too exaggerated; it lacks a touch of real texture.
Half-truths are the most confusing. You should say someone saw me entering and exiting the Russian embassy late at night, holding Pushkin's manuscripts or something."
Maupassant slapped his forehead,
"Good point! I'll revise it now!"
Albert finally couldn't hold back, grabbing Lionel and asking in a low voice,
"Lion! My God! What exactly are you doing? Aren't there enough rumors outside already?
You're just adding fuel to the fire yourselves!"
Lionel patted his shoulder, pulled him to the window, and pointed outside:
"Albert, look outside, suppose there's a big fire burning out there...
The initial rumors are like a fire that has already spread. Throwing water on it, covering it with sand... or even trying to reason with it, will only make the fire burn bigger, the smoke thicker, and eventually consume everything."
"Then... what should we do?"
"What to do? In a mine, when a large fire cannot be extinguished by conventional methods, miners use a technique called 'explosion extinguishment method.'"
Albert, bewildered, could only repeat Lionel's words:
"Explosion extinguishment method?"
Lionel nodded, explaining patiently:
"Exactly. It's about deliberately setting off a small, controlled explosion in a burning mine.
This explosion generates a powerful shockwave, instantly depleting the oxygen in the mine and simultaneously suppressing the flames.
This momentary extreme chaos and suffocation can, counterintuitively, completely put out a fire that could destroy the entire mine."
He pointed to his friends behind him who were "manufacturing rumors":
"Now, the rumors about me have spun out of control like a mine fire, and ordinary debunking is useless.
So, the best way is for us to create more, stranger, more absurd, and more exaggerated rumors ourselves! Throw them in like bombs!
When rumors reach a certain level of absurdity, when everyone starts to find these messages preposterous and untrustworthy, the original 'three pieces selected' rumor will also lose its credibility, becoming ridiculous and powerless.
People's attention and curiosity are limited over a certain period; they are like the oxygen that rumors rely on to spread.
When the 'oxygen' is quickly consumed, emotions will shift from anger to ridicule, and people might even begin to reflect on whether the original news was equally ridiculous.
This is the 'explosion extinguishment method' when dealing with public opinion."
Albert stood there with his mouth agape, frozen, his mind struggling to digest this astonishing and risky strategy.
This was absolutely... insane!
Yet it also seemed... to make a little sense?
Albert stammered,
"So, that report about 'four pieces selected'..."
Lionel shrugged,
"I wrote it—I originally wanted to write it myself, but the workload was just too much, and Maupassant and the others happened to be idle..."
Albert: "..."
Maupassant finished his new draft and came over to hand it to Lionel.
Albert's face still showed worry:
"Lion, can this really work? I feel like we're walking on a tightrope... What if it gets out of control..."
Lionel took the draft paper, quickly scanned it, and smiled contentedly:
"Don't worry, Albert, that's human nature; what we want is for public opinion to get out of control.
When they find that all news about me becomes as untrustworthy as a circus advertisement, they will naturally begin to doubt that initial report from Le Gaulois. And...
He paused, a smile appearing on his face:
"Those who are truly fanning the flames behind the scenes, seeing the situation become so chaotic and uncontrollable, will instead feel uneasy and afraid, because they've lost their dominance over public opinion.
Just wait and see, the real show has just begun."
He turned to everyone and said,
"Alright, gentlemen, this batch of 'bombs' is almost ready. We'll go to 'Black Forest' for a meal later! My treat!"
Maupassant and the others cheered.
Lionel gathered the drafts from the table and tucked them into Albert's arms:
"Albert, could you please send these submissions from 'A True Parisian' and 'An Anonymous Scholar' separately to Le Figaro, Journal des débats, Le Temps, and those tabloids?"
Albert still looked bewildered:
"Me?"
Lionel shrugged,
"You can wander around near Le Gaulois and L'Univers, find a suitable mailbox, and drop them off, ensuring they receive them as soon as possible.
We need to make sure the editors-in-chief really hear the 'voices' from the 'people.'"
Albert, dazed, followed Lionel out of the apartment, and only became slightly clearer-headed when the cold wind blew.
He looked at Lionel beside him, at his calm profile, as if he were meeting him for the first time...
Lionel was both a genius and an utter madman.
Only a madman would choose to deal with public opinion in such a way.
(End of Chapter)