Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 149 Coercion, Bribery, and Deception
Lionel and his guide left the Laranje valley one after the other and headed deeper into the mountains.

The road quickly transformed from a rutted dirt track into a narrow, winding path barely wide enough for one horse to pass, meandering along the steep hillside.

On one side is a dense forest of fir and beech trees, and on the other side is a dizzying deep valley with the roar of rushing streams.

Fabian led the horse, occasionally stopping to point to a spot and tell Lionel, "See that clearing in the woods? There used to be a house there twenty years ago."

Later, their son went to Lyon to serve in the army and never came back. The elderly couple didn't survive the previous winter.

When Lionel asked about Notre-Dame de Lour, Fabian opened up a bit, but his tone was a mixture of pious reverence and complaints about reality.

"Notre Dame Cathedral, I heard it's several hundred years old. The nuns inside, well, how should I put it, they have good hearts, but they're as stubborn as rocks in the mountains."

"They would also give a little charity to families who were really struggling to make ends meet, a few pieces of black bread, or some herbs... but they also set strict rules."

"Two years ago, my daughter accidentally entered what they considered a 'sacred place' and was severely scolded for blaspheming the gods. She was so frightened that she fell ill for several days."

"They always felt that the filth of the outside world would taint their purity. But without things from outside the mountains, their place couldn't survive."

After chatting for about three hours, the two walked through a particularly dense fir forest, and suddenly the view opened up before them.

A group of buildings built against the cliff appears on a plateau at the end of the valley; that is the Notre-Dame de Lour.

It is built of local gray-black rocks, with dark walls covered in thick moss and lichen; it is so ancient and solemn that time seems to have stood still here.

As a male, Lionel was not allowed to enter the main building.

He was led by a stern-faced, silent elderly nun to a detached stone house outside the high walls of the convent.

The hut was extremely simple, with only a rough wooden table and two long benches. The air was filled with a faint musty smell and the lingering scent of incense.

Fabian tied up his horse and wisely stayed outside to wait.

Half an hour later, the door was pushed open and Sister Marcella walked in.

She was very old, but her back was ramrod straight. Her face was covered with deep wrinkles, and her lips were tightly pressed together, as thin as a blade.

Her voice was icy: "You're from Montiel? Inquiring about the Rorschach sisters?"

Lionel rose and greeted her politely: "Yes, Madam. I am Lionel Sorel, a friend of Alice Rorschach."

I just got back to Larança from Paris not long ago!

Mother Marcela sneered: "I've heard of you... even Pierre, who delivers the grain, says how impressive you are..."

Lionel bowed slightly: "It's just because there's really nothing new here... I wanted to ask, Alice..."

Mother Marcela's voice suddenly became shrill: "She has escaped! She has betrayed her vow to God and failed the protection of the Holy Land!"
This is a grave offense! She must receive the punishment she deserves!

Lionel waited patiently for her to finish speaking, then took out the documents that Etienne Rorschach had given him from his bosom: "Mother, I understand your position."

But I came here with full authorization from Alice's parents, Etienne and Mary Rorschach.

He gently pushed the file across the table: "They've asked me to search for their missing daughter in Paris."

As parents, what they desire most right now is to know if their daughter is safe and sound, not to investigate whether she has violated any rules...

A promise she may not have fully understood at her age.

Mother Marcela glanced at the document, her tone becoming even sterner: "Parents' feelings cannot supersede sacred vows!"

She chose to serve God, therefore she had to…

“Mother,” Lionel interrupted her, his tone still polite, “please allow me to remind you that the current public opinion in Paris is not very friendly to the Church.”

Have you heard about the unfortunate exorcism ceremony at Notre Dame Cathedral not long ago, and its aftermath?

Mother Marcela's face stiffened slightly; she was the only person in the entire convent authorized to read books other than newspapers and canons. Seeing her reaction, Lionel smiled slightly and lowered his voice: "The Church is currently in a precarious situation; any small flaw could be magnified infinitely."

Imagine if a Parisian newspaper, such as Le Figaro or Le Petit Journal, received this story—

A rural girl was sent to a remote mountain convent by her parents. When she was sent to Paris for further studies, she couldn't bear the burden and ran away. She was never heard from again, and her fate is unknown...

He paused for a moment, his tone softening: "What will people think? They'll ask what she went through in the convent that led her to run away."

What could have happened to her that led to such a complete disappearance? Did she die far from home, freezing to death on the street?

Or... will she fall into prostitution, struggling in some dark corner of Paris?

Mother Massera's eyes began to glaze over.

Lionel leaned forward: "Regardless of the outcome, who will the public's criticism be directed at? Will it be directed at that helpless girl?"

Or should we condemn the monastery that failed to provide her with the care she deserved, and even drove her to her death?

Although Sister Massella was cornered by Lionel's barrage of questions, as the abbess who had long held absolute authority in the monastery, she was not so easily subdued.

Her response was sharp: "Mr. Sorel, are you threatening me? Or are you threatening the St. Martha Society?"
Or do you wish to challenge the foundations of the French faith?

Lionel suddenly relaxed, sat back in his chair, and gave a friendly smile: "Grandma, as a budding writer, I know a few people in the Parisian press who might be able to help me out."

If the Alice-Clemence Rorschach I 'found' is a cold corpse, or... someone ravaged beyond recognition by life...

I find it difficult to explain to her parents, and I also find it hard to resist the urge to reveal everything I know to the public.

After all, someone has to speak out about such tragedies, right?

After a pause, Lionel offered a tempting solution: "Otherwise, if this matter could end in a... gentler, less conspicuous way."

For example, you could write a letter explaining that after a long and fruitless search, it is inferred that she may have unfortunately passed away due to an accident, and suggest that the "St. Martha Society," out of kindness and understanding, cease the investigation and allow her soul to rest in peace.

Then, all potential risks will dissipate.

This is the safest option for monasteries, religious orders, and everyone.

After all, what the church needs right now is peace and dignity, not another uproar, wouldn't you agree?

The stone house fell into a long silence, with only the faint sound of Mother Massera turning her prayer beads audible.

Lionel didn't urge him, but instead looked down and counted the wood grain on the table.

After a long while, Sister Marcela stood up very slowly: "Wait a moment." Then she turned and went back to the monastery.

Fifteen minutes later, she appeared with a letter sealed with wax, which she hurriedly handed to Lionel as if it were something filthy.

Her voice was tired and hollow: "Take it. Hopefully, this will... be as you wish."

Lionel placed the letter in his inner pocket and nodded slightly: "Thank you for your understanding, Mother. May the Lord grant you peace."

He turned and walked out of the stone house, the afternoon sun making him squint slightly. Fabian was dozing against a rock, while his horse grazed quietly beside him.

As he mounted his horse and took one last look back at the ancient, greyish-black monastery, he keenly noticed that behind those small windows, several pairs of young, curious eyes seemed to be secretly watching him, this "uninvited guest."

Those glances were fleeting, quickly disappearing behind the dark window opening.

A complex mix of emotions welled up within Lionel, a sense of relief at his success mixed with an indescribable heaviness.

In the end, he could only gently tug the reins, urging the horse to embark on its journey home.

(End of this chapter)