At the same time Lionel received Garibuer's letter, he had a copy of Le Figaro by his side.
The front-page headline read: "Divine Intervention or Power Expansion? Cardinal Montelli Speaks at Paris Assembly, Calls for Greater Church Authority!"
The report itself maintained the consistent objective style of "Le Figaro," yet it also revealed its bias between the lines, namely its concern about the Church's expansion of power.
For this reason, it only briefly mentioned that the publisher of "the decadent city" was The Clamor, without elaborating further.
This reassured Lionel slightly. When he first wrote "the decadent city," he had considered the risks. After weighing factors such as the large-scale decline of Church influence after the Franco-Prussian War, the establishment of the French Republic, and the sweep of liberal thought across Europe, he decided to take the risk.
What he hadn't expected was that due to the popularity of "the decadent city," it would become an excuse for the Holy See to expand its power, escalating the issue, which caught him somewhat off guard.
Although Bishop Gibert and Cardinal Montelli did not focus on the erotic descriptions in the novel to support their arguments, Lionel knew this was the part that could truly provoke the sensitive nerves of the parliament members.
The attacks on the Church itself in "the decadent city" were no more excessive than in "The Decameron" or subsequent works—and even if they were, most French people wouldn't care.
But erotic descriptions were different; they concerned people's most fundamental moral concepts.
Take painting as an example: Édouard Manet's "Luncheon on the Grass," when first exhibited in 1863, was considered sacrilegious because it depicted two well-dressed gentlemen and a completely nude woman sitting on the grass.
Why did French people, accustomed to "nude" subjects, vehemently criticize this painting? Because in the past, such subjects were often associated with biblical stories, Greek mythology, folk tales, historical allusions... carrying a sense of sacredness or sin, with the human body being philosophized and theologized.
Another type was purely for private collection, or paintings for prostitutes in brothels (later replaced by cameras), which were not considered high art.
"Luncheon on the Grass," however, was different. It was highly naturalistic, depicting the daily life of Parisians at the time. The human bodies in the painting no longer carried philosophical or religious meaning, especially with the two gentlemen impeccably dressed, which represented a contrast and an offense.
So, although both were nude paintings, they revealed the clear distinction between the academic and impressionistic schools of thought at the time.
That year, Manet submitted this painting to the Académie des Beaux-Arts, hoping it would be selected for that year's "Paris Art Salon," but it was mercilessly rejected.
An angry Manet and other rejected artists pooled their money to organize a "Salon des Refusés" next to the official Salon, which was approved by Napoleon III and later even became a permanent salon.
This also marked the beginning of the subversion and reshaping of the paradigm of European academic painting and people's moral framework for the content of paintings.
The effect of "the decadent city" was similar.
European history is not lacking in erotic novels, but most of them confined their activities to the bedroom, with the content being nothing more than various affairs;
"the decadent city" was different; it not only integrated erotica into daily life, fully demonstrating how imaginative humans could be in this regard, but also combined murder and power struggles, making every man who read it unable to put it down.
But this also challenged the moral bottom line of the era.
So, as many people loved it, just as many hated it—even if it was a superficial hatred.
Lionel was very hesitant at this moment. Garibuer's Expediting submission letter was, in Chinese terms, an "open conspiracy."
Originally, the remaining 3,000 francs in royalties were to be paid only after the entire remaining part of "the decadent city" was completed. Now he could get it just by completing the second part, which seemed like a good deal.
The risks involved were also obvious—Garibuer did not know his identity now, but if he still rashly contacted him, how could he be sure this was not a trap?
Lionel looked at the largely completed second part of "the decadent city" in his drawer and fell into a dilemma.
A voice screamed in his head: "Disappear! Immediately! Give up those 3,000 francs, give up all connections to 'the decadent city,' take the meager savings in the drawer, ask the academy for a long leave, buy a train ticket to Marseille or Bordeaux, and hide for two months until the storm passes.
Another voice, however, also roared: "Take a gamble! Garibuer is still maneuvering, as long as you're careful enough, you might still get the money! 3,000 francs can support a year of decent living, the Easter Holiday is coming soon, French public offices will be paralyzed for two weeks, there's still time!"
---
After the report in Le Figaro was published, it did not plunge "the decadent city" into an abyss of no return; instead, it was like pouring a ladle of cold water into a hot oil pan, instantly triggering an unprecedented, almost frantic, explosive reaction.
Paris's underground book market went into a frenzy overnight.
The original copies of "the decadent city," which already showed signs of speculation, and its "soulmate"—that thin booklet filled with "□□□□ (XX lines deleted here)" as a "supplementary booklet"—saw their value soar like a hot air balloon at an astonishing rate.
In private reading rooms, the hourly rental price of the original copy surged from the original 1 sou to 3 sou, and required advance booking, along with a hefty deposit; when paired with the "supplementary booklet," it started directly at 5 sou.
The stock in the hands of mobile booksellers changed prices every 6 hours. In the morning, when he set up his stall, it was already selling for 2 francs; by the time he closed his stall late at night, it had risen to 5 francs—this price was simply insane, enough to buy an entire hardcover set of Mr. Alexandre Dumas's "D'Artagnan Romances."
On the black market, some even began to hawk author-signed editions of "the decadent city" by "An Honest Parisian," limited to 100 copies, at 10 francs each.
Just as Garibuer felt the noose around his neck tightening, the number of orders for "the decadent city" coming from various channels reached an incredible amount.
In just one day, he received nearly 30,000 francs in advance payments.
Garibuer watched all this, dumbfounded. Even after 30 years in newspapers and publishing, he had never seen a "banned book" become so wildly popular.
His inner desire to get the second part of "the decadent city" as soon as possible grew even stronger. He decided to write another letter to "An Honest Parisian" and enclose 300 francs as an advance royalty.
He believed no penniless scholar could resist the temptation of money.
And the French mainstream literary world also added fuel to the fire of "the decadent city's" popularity.
A few weeks ago, when Maupassant presented this novel at Flaubert's salon, everyone didn't take it too seriously. Turgenev's comment was: "A little talent, but not much!"
Now, however, they had to take its influence on secular culture and politics seriously—
Gustave Flaubert clearly stated in a letter to the editor of "Revue des Deux Mondes":
"...I am not surprised by the anger of Bishop Gibert and that important figure from Rome. ...Are not those dirty dealings concerning money, power, faith, and carnal pleasure the daily spectacle enacted within the gilded gates of Versailles?
What they fear is not so-called 'obscenity,' but this brutally honest truth. As for the Church's call for expanded censorship? Hmph, must the farce of 1857 be replayed in 1879, and with even greater intensity?
True evil is never in a book, but in the hands that try to cover everyone's eyes."
Émile Zola, in his column for "Voltaire," intervened with a more combative and theoretical stance:
"The Church's attempt to ban it precisely proves that it has hit a nerve! What they fear is not 'obscenity,' but the truth! It is the social reality depicted in this work that is enough to shake their carefully woven moral myth!
To strike it down with the club of 'obscenity,' to obscure it with the charge of 'blasphemy,' this is an insult to reason, a reactionary move against social progress!"
The remarks of Flaubert and Zola sparked a serious discussion about creative freedom, social criticism, and Church power, attracting more readers purely out of literary curiosity. Many had initially scoffed at banned books, but now they developed intense curiosity:
"What kind of book could Flaubert and Zola praise so highly?"
The sales of "the decadent city" became unstoppable, like a breaking dam...