Flaubert's death seemed to press the accelerator for the entire era.
Parisian literary salons grew subdued, Zola and Charpentier temporarily ceased their gatherings, and France's literary progress was paused for a month.
However, for Norman Macleod, editor-in-chief of Britain's largest literary journal, 'The Good Word', this was not the case.
One morning in early June, he arrived at the newspaper office building early, as usual.
The weather had begun to turn hot this season, and the scent of the Thames was starting to waft, with the air only being slightly better in the mornings.
The serialization of 'The Curious Case of Benjamin Button' was nearing its end, and the progress bar for British readers was almost level with that of French readers.
What he most anticipated, and at the same time most anxious about, was the progress of Lionel's new work, 'A Study in Scarlet'.
The initial chapter fragments sent to him had already filled this old editor, who had been active in the literary scene for thirty years, with inexpressible excitement.
He hadn't imagined that a French writer like Lionel could write the character 'Sherlock Holmes' so deeply into the heart of him, an Englishman.
Erudite, astute, calm, rational, solitary, aloof, with a strong sense of justice, a touch of dry humor, and considerable musical talent.
This detective was nothing like Jules Verne's 'Phileas Fogg', who, though charming, was full of French stereotypes of English gentlemen.
And 'Sherlock Holmes' – at least from the fragments – was practically the work of an outstanding English writer.
From that day on, the first thing Norman Macleod did every day upon arriving at the newspaper office was to check for mail from France, especially Paris.
But a month, two months, three months... days passed, and apart from receiving a letter requesting his assistance in collecting research material for an Edinburgh University student named 'Arthur Conan Doyle', there was no further news on 'A Study in Scarlet'.
This plunged Norman Macleod into increasing anxiety.
It wasn't that he worried Lionel couldn't write the novel, but rather that Lionel might delay submission – after all, Lionel had only finished writing 'The Curious Case of Benjamin Button' in early May, and the Sorbonne's final exams were in late June.
To clear space for 'A Study in Scarlet', Norman Macleod had even risked rejecting a new full-length novel by Thomas Hardy.
Now he had some regrets; what if Lionel couldn't submit 'A Study in Scarlet' before July? What would 'The Good Word' magazine use to fill its pages then?
Norman Macleod finally sat in his editor's office, piled high with books, manuscripts, and proofs, and once again began to sift through the mail awaiting opening.
Letters arrived from all directions: authors, readers, critics, agents... Yet today, his gaze was drawn to a thick parcel.
The address on the parcel was—
"Mr. Lionel Sorel, 117 Boulevard Saint-Germain, Paris, France."
Macleod's heart skipped a beat, then accelerated.
He almost impatiently brushed aside the letters on top and took the heavy parcel into his hands.
He carefully slit open the edge of the parcel with a letter opener; inside was a thick stack of tightly typed manuscripts.
On the top page, the title was written in both French and English: 'A Study in Scarlet'.
Norman Macleod took a breath and eagerly immersed himself.
At first, his reading speed maintained the caution of a professional editor; but as the case truly began, Macleod's reading pace unconsciously slowed down.
Lionel's prose became exceptionally subtle—
The bizarre murder in a secluded empty house, the neatly dressed victim, the wedding ring rolling on the floor, 'RACHE' scrawled in blood on the wall, and Scotland Yard at a loss...
Macleod's emotions tensed with it—
He watched how Holmes meticulously examined the scene, how he put forth one unexpected conclusion after another...
Immediately after, the entire deductive process was clearly dissected through Lionel's understated descriptions...
Each step made Macleod's mind oscillate uncontrollably between 'So that's it!' and 'Why didn't I think of that?'
Time passed silently, as if the bustle outside the office and the sounds of editors moving about had vanished...
Until the sun reached its zenith, painting the room in a warm golden hue.
Norman Macleod finally let out a long breath, gently placing the last page of manuscript on top of the already-read stack.
He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and an indescribable feeling surged within him.
This feeling hadn't appeared for a long time – the joy and satisfaction of being completely captivated by a brilliant story, as a pure reader.
When was the last time he felt this way? Perhaps when he first read Dickens' 'Great Expectations' or Wilkie Collins' 'The Moonstone' in his youth.
But this time, the feeling was uniquely different – not only was the intellectual challenge met, but there was also emotional resonance and aesthetic enjoyment.
Lionel Sorel had not only created an unprecedented detective character but had also imbued this detective story with an incredible height of rationality and depth of realism.
He had not merely written a story about a clever detective solving a bizarre murder case, but had woven a legend of faith, betrayal, revenge, and destiny!
In the presence of 'Sherlock Holmes', neither Edgar Allan Poe's 'Auguste Dupin' nor Émile Gaboriau's 'Inspector Lecoq' paled in comparison; they even appeared somewhat childish.
Norman Macleod murmured to himself:
"A work of genius... Is this, Sherlock Holmes?"
He had no doubt that once this story was published in 'The Good Word', it would conquer readers across London and throughout Britain.
The names Sherlock Holmes and John H. Watson would soon become household names.
He almost impatiently rang the call bell, and his assistant Will quickly pushed open the door.
Norman Macleod said, a little breathlessly:
"Will! At once! Go find our best translator, Mr. Humphreys! Tell him to drop everything he's doing and start translating this immediately!"
He solemnly pushed the thick stack of manuscripts across the table:
"Top priority! Tell him that starting in July, this will be 'The Good Word's' main feature! He must ensure it is both accurate and vivid!"
Will rarely saw the editor-in-chief so excited; not daring to delay, he carefully picked up the precious stack of manuscripts:
"Yes, sir! Mr. Humphreys will give it his utmost effort."
He bowed and quickly exited the office.
After his assistant left, Norman Macleod's excitement still hadn't subsided.
He paced a few steps in his office, his gaze falling once more on the now empty parcel.
He subconsciously reached inside and fumbled around, checking for anything overlooked.
Sure enough, his fingertips brushed against a thin envelope; he had been so completely absorbed by 'A Study in Scarlet' that he hadn't noticed it earlier.
He opened the envelope; inside was a letter sheet, the content still typewritten, with only the final signature, 'Lionel Sorel', in elegant, flowing handwriting.
The letter was short, but after reading it, Norman Macleod fell into a deeper, longer silence.
He felt that his thirty years of editorial experience had been completely overturned by this young man, Lionel!
(End of Chapter)