Chapter 85: A Skill from Their Genes
Paris, Saint-Germain-des-Prés.
A salon was being held in a luxurious villa on the east side of Saint-Germain Boulevard.
Madame de Walwyl, the villa's hostess, listened to her guests' philosophical discussions, occasionally clapping softly in rapture.
Servants brought platters of snacks and fruit, placing them before each guest, or refilling empty glasses with expensive wine.
After several young people delivered their opening remarks, a disheveled middle-aged man rose to his feet. Before he even spoke, he was met with cheers from the guests:
"Monsieur Marat, we're eager to hear your insights!"
"The main event is here!"
"Monsieur Marat, your report was brilliant! I read it several times!"
"Quiet, everyone, let Monsieur Marat speak..."
"Today, I want to discuss the most corrupt and darkest place in Paris: the High Court!
"As you must have heard, just two days ago, they actually sent the Publication Police to harass the Paris Business Journal without cause, even attempting to shut it down!
"Those madmen, those filthy maggots! They abuse their censorship powers, preventing the Paris Business Journal from publishing numerous articles that reveal the truth. They are enemies of freedom!
"Those pious-looking judges, they believe newspapers and books are playthings to be manipulated at will, that they can control the thoughts of the people..."
His speech was sharp and fierce, his tone and demeanor intensely captivating. In terms of rousing emotions, he was absolutely explosive.
Dozens of people seated around him frequently voiced their agreement, applauding enthusiastically.
These individuals were all influential journalists in Paris, and Marat was the most authoritative opinion leader within this circle.
After Marat set the tone with a brilliant address, the entire salon revolved around criticizing the High Court. Madame de Walwyl, her face full of admiration, urged several scribes to record every word of the speech.
Marat picked up the wine before him, gave a nod of approval to the journalist currently speaking, then turned and whispered to the young reporter seated to his right, whose hair was unruly and eyes sharp:
"Viscount Desmoulins, my old friend, it's been a long time, hasn't it?"
Desmoulins nodded respectfully:
"Y-yes, it's been over half a year since I-I last saw you. I've always wanted to v-visit, but I was afraid of d-disturbing you."
Marat smiled faintly:
"You know you're always welcome. By the way, I recall you served as a judge in the High Court for a few years, didn't you?"
Desmoulins' face flushed slightly as he said indignantly:
"Y-yes, that's true. Just a-as you said, it's a f-filthy place. I-I simply couldn't endure it, so I r-resigned and became a journalist. My f-father scolds me for it every time we m-meet."
Marat lowered his voice further:
"Then you must know quite a lot about those corrupt judges, don't you?"
Desmoulins replied:
"I k-know a great deal. I-I even have s-some evidence left."
Marat's eyes lit up immediately, and he said solemnly:
"We must be like warriors and bravely expose the crimes of those individuals to the people!"
Desmoulins nodded earnestly:
"I-I'll follow your lead! Oh, and I a-also know a few friends who used to w-work at the court; th-they surely want to d-do something too!"
...
Just one day later, a large number of manuscripts were sent from Desmoulins' apartment to various newspapers across Paris.
Unlike previous articles that analyzed the pros and cons of the court system or criticized its interference with freedom of the press, these new manuscripts contained real cases.
Cases of High Court judges accepting bribes and orchestrating countless tragedies.
Not only were the case descriptions clear, but the writing was also highly inflammatory, clearly the work of an expert.
Such content naturally couldn't be published in newspapers, but teams creating pamphlets treated it like a treasure, beginning typesetting and printing overnight.
Of course, some bolder newspapers, such as the tabloid 'Paris Morning Post,' published these cases directly without censorship approval.
The next morning, thousands of pamphlets detailing the sordid deeds of High Court judges began circulating throughout Paris.
Real-life cases resonated far more with readers than any theories or policy analyses, especially the tragic fates of the victims, which ignited the fury of countless Parisian citizens.
The French people's inherent spirit of protest was instantly ignited. Before long, led by several journalists, hundreds of citizens spontaneously gathered outside the High Court, loudly cursing and protesting without pause. The bolder ones even hurled dirt and excrement over the court walls.
After another half-day, citizens noticed that the police merely patrolled the perimeter of the High Court, completely ignoring the protesters. Many more then joined in, and the crowd swelled dramatically.
Women formed "logistics teams" to distribute bread and water to everyone, which in turn attracted vagrants to join the protest.
Street speeches also became more frequent. Speakers even received pre-written speeches—penned by Marat, absolutely brimming with inflammatory rhetoric—which prompted continuous excited shouts from the audience.
At the intersection of Rue Serpente, a man in a dark gray long coat shook his head and spoke to a stout man beside him, a conflicted expression on his face.
A fervent voice from nearby drew their attention. "...Those judges' so-called justice and morality are nothing but silver coins! Mademoiselle Angèle's inheritance was shamelessly awarded to that villain by their decree, while she herself was cast out into the biting wind and snow..."
They glanced at a few police officers chatting nearby, then curious, squeezed into the crowd surrounding the speaker.
The speech continued, "...But even so, according to that judgment that confounded black and white, she still owed that villain a huge sum of money! Do you know her fate? She died of exhaustion at the age of twenty-three in a vocational school laundry, her body covered in frostbite..."
The man in the gray coat felt a surge of fury in his chest. He clutched the script in his pocket and told the stout man:
"I've decided! We'll rehearse this play as soon as we get back!"
The stout man, also indignant, nodded vigorously:
"So, we'll stage it next Wednesday at the Comédie-Française?"
"No!" the man in the gray coat declared. "It'll be a free street performance. More people need to see it, and I'll cover the costs!"
He was, in fact, the director of the theater troupe that had partnered with the Paris Business Journal to perform 'Battle Through the Heavens'.
Just moments ago, when he went to the newspaper office to discuss future novel adaptations into plays, Denico had given him a script about an Ottoman judge accepting bribes—a clear allegory for the Paris High Court.
He hadn't wanted to take on the play initially, knowing it could invite trouble from the censorship department at any moment. But the speech he'd just heard had inspired him to become a warrior!
Moreover, by performing this play, he would secure a one-year contract with the Paris Business Journal for future novel adaptations.
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