Paris, Saint-Germain District.
A salon was being held in a luxurious villa on the eastern side of Saint-Germain Boulevard. Mada Valvert, the hostess, listened to the profound words of her guests, occasionally clapping softly in admiration. Servants brought trays of snacks and fruits, placing them before each guest, or refilled empty glasses with expensive wine.
After a few young people gave their opening remarks, a middle-aged man with disheveled hair stood up, receiving cheers from the guests before he even spoke:
"Mr. Marat, we've been waiting to hear your thoughts!"
"The main event has arrived."
"Mr. Marat, your recent article was brilliant—I read it several tis!"
"Quiet, let Mr. Marat speak..."
Marat smiled and gestured for silence before raising his right hand and speaking loudly:
"Today, I want to talk about the most corrupt and dark place in Paris—the High Court!
"You all must have heard, just two days ago, they sent publication police to harass The Paris Gazette without cause, even attempting to shut it down!
"Those madn, those filthy worms! They use their censorship power to prevent The Paris Gazette from publishing several truth-revealing articles—they are enemies of freedom!
"Those self-righteous judges, they think newspapers and books are re toys they can manipulate at will, believing they can control the thoughts of the people..."
His speech was fierce and biting, his tone and expression highly persuasive. In terms of stirring emotions, he was incredibly effective. The dozens of people seated around him frequently voiced their agreent, applauding enthusiastically.
These guests were so of the most influential journalists in Paris, and Marat was the most authoritative opinion leader among them. After Marat set the tone with his powerful speech, the entire salon revolved around criticizing the High Court. Mada Valvert, with an expression of admiration, urged the scribes to ensure they recorded every word of the speeches.
Marat took a sip of wine and gave a thumbs-up to the journalist currently speaking, then turned to the young, sharp-eyed journalist sitting on his right, who had wild hair, and said softly:
"Viscount Desmoulins, my old friend, it's been a long ti since we last t."
Desmoulins nodded respectfully:
"Yes, yes, it's been over six months since I last saw you. I've been aning to visit, but I was afraid of disturbing you."
Marat smiled:
"You know you're always welco. By the way, I rember you once worked as a judge in the High Court, didn't you?"
Desmoulins' face turned red with frustration as he replied:
"Yes, yes, I did. As you said, it's a filthy place. I couldn't stand it and resigned to beco a journalist. My father scolds every ti we et because of it."
Marat lowered his voice further:
"So you must know quite a bit about the corruption among those judges, right?"
Desmoulins nodded:
"I know a lot. I even kept so evidence."
Marat's eyes lit up as he solemnly said:
"We must be like warriors and bravely expose those criminals to the people!"
Desmoulins nodded seriously:
"I'll do whatever you say! Oh, and I know a few friends who also worked in the courts—they'd probably want to help too!"
...
Just one day later, a large number of articles were sent from Desmoulins' apartnt to various newspapers across Paris. Unlike the previous articles that analyzed the pros and cons of the court system or criticized the court's interference with press freedom, these new articles were filled with real cases.
They detailed the corruption and bribery of High Court judges, leading to countless tragic outcos. The cases were clearly described, and the writing was highly provocative—clearly the work of professionals.
Naturally, newspapers were too cautious to publish such content, but the teams producing pamphlets were thrilled and began working through the night to print them. A few daring newspapers, like a small publication called The Paris Morning, even published these cases directly without waiting for approval from the censors.
The next morning, tens of thousands of pamphlets containing stories of the High Court judges' misdeeds began circulating throughout Paris. Real-life cases were far more compelling than any theoretical or policy analysis, especially when they highlighted the tragic fates of the victims, igniting the fury of countless Parisians.
The French people's genetic inclination to protest was instantly activated. Before long, under the leadership of several journalists, hundreds and then thousands of citizens spontaneously gathered outside the High Court, loudly cursing and protesting. The braver ones even threw dirt and manure over the court's walls.
Within a few hours, the protesters noticed that the police were rely patrolling around the court without interfering with the crowd, so more and more people joined in. The numbers kept growing.
Won ford "logistics teams" to distribute bread and water to the protesters, which in turn attracted holess people to join the protests. Street speeches also increased, with speakers even receiving pre-written scripts—crafted by Marat himself, filled with incendiary language—provoking the crowds to shout in anger.
At the entrance to Rue Sabot, a man in a dark gray coat shook his head at the chubby man beside him, conflicted.
A powerful voice caught their attention: "...The so-called justice and morality of those judges are nothing but silver coins! Miss Angier's estate was shalessly awarded to a scoundrel by their unjust ruling, and she was thrown out into the cold and snow..."
They glanced at a group of policen chatting nearby, then curiously squeezed into the crowd surrounding the speaker.
The speech continued: "But even worse, according to that upside-down verdict, she was still in debt to that scoundrel! Do you know what happened to her? At the age of twenty-three, she worked herself to death in the laundry of a workhouse, her body covered in frostbite..."
The man in the gray coat felt a surge of anger in his chest. He clenched the script in his pocket and said to the chubby man:
"I've made up my mind—we'll rehearse this play as soon as we get back!"
The chubby man, also filled with indignation, nodded vigorously:
"How about we perform it next Wednesday at the Comédie-Française?"
"No!" the man in the gray coat replied, "We'll perform it for free in the streets so more people can see it. I'll cover the costs!"
He was the head of the troupe that had previously worked with The Paris Gazette to stage Breaking Through the Heavens. He had just been discussing the adaptation of future novels into plays with the newspaper when Denico handed him a script about a corrupt Ottoman judge—a thinly veiled allegory for the Paris High Court.
He had initially hesitated to take on the play, knowing it could be a target for the censors. But the speech he had just heard made him decide to be a warrior!
Besides, performing this play would secure a contract with The Paris Gazette for adapting their novels into plays for the next year.
(End of Chapter)
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