Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 152 A Holiday Ruined (Bonus Chapter for 1000 Votes)
Before the morning mist in the Alps had completely dissipated, Lionel walked along the dew-dampened path toward St. Joseph's School at the foot of the Alps.

This is his alma mater, and what The Universal newspaper calls "the place that shaped his soul."

Today, he is going to teach a class to the children of his "alma mater".

St. Joseph's School was originally converted from an abandoned chapel, and now it is even more dilapidated than Lionel imagined.

Large areas of plaster have peeled off the surface of the stone wall, and several roof tiles are missing, barely patched up with wooden boards.

The heavy oak door that once required several children to push open is now crooked, groaning in pain whenever its hinges are moved.

The only bright spot was the faded but still legible white sign above the door, which read "St. Joseph's School" and had a cross on top.

The classroom was dark and cold, the towering dome making the space seem particularly empty, and the air was filled with a mixture of smells of old books, damp wood and cheap ink.

He was greeted by the only teacher here in forty years, Mr. Jean-Baptiste Reynolds.

He was very old, his back was hunched over badly, like an old tree bent by the mountain wind.

Monsieur Reynolds lived a life of poverty, nominally earning a meager monthly salary of 90 francs, but actually receiving only 60 francs in hand.

The other 30 francs were withheld by the local priest in the sacred names of "supporting church work" and "offering".

In the past forty years, three priests have come and gone here, and each one has been able to give a new reason.

This meager income prevented him from ever marrying. Yet, it was this nearly destitute old man who gave Lionel his initial intellectual awakening and love of writing.

They had met a few days ago, and Lionel still felt bitter.

Lionel gripped his teacher's cold, rough hand tightly: "Mr. Renault, I'm here!"

Mr. Reno looked around the empty, cold classroom, his voice low: "Good, good... it's good that you're here. Lionel... Saint Joseph is not the same as when you were here..."

When life got tough, everyone felt that studying was useless. Knowing a few words and being able to do arithmetic was enough. It was better to go home early to herd sheep, chop wood, or be sent to a workshop as an apprentice.

At least I can save on food and earn a few coins..."

As they were talking, the children arrived one after another.

The number of people was smaller than Lionel had expected, only about twenty, and they varied in age.

The youngest was only six years old, timidly tugging at the hem of the older child's clothes; the oldest was thirteen or fourteen, tall and thin, with a stubborn and wary expression.

Most of their shoes were ill-fitting, and their complexions lacked rosy color.

Lionel stood in front of the rough blackboard at the front of the classroom.

Since there was no podium, Mr. Reynolds gave him his creaky old chair.

Lionel looked down at the pairs of eyes below—big, small, innocent, precocious, curious, wary…

His prepared lesson plans on French grammar or historical stories suddenly seemed so pale.

He cleared his throat, trying to start with the most basic greetings, and then talk about the power of words and the vastness of knowledge.

But he soon discovered that this wouldn't work.

Children's attention spans are very short, and they have no interest in being lectured.

They were more interested in Lionel himself.

Sure enough, before he could finish speaking for more than a few minutes, a slightly bolder boy couldn't help but raise his hand and interrupt him: "Mr. Sorel, are all the houses in Paris really as tall as mountains?"
Can you reach out and touch the clouds?

A buzz of discussion immediately filled the classroom.

Another little girl asked with bright eyes, "I heard the priest say that Parisians don't go to Mass and just dance in the streets all day. Is that true?"
Aren't they...aren't they afraid of going to hell?

One of the older boys was more direct, almost shouting, "Mr. Sorel, they all say you earn 1 francs a year in Paris! Is that true?"

How much can you buy with 1 francs? Is it possible to spend it all?

This question elicited gasps from all the children, and even the most wary boy looked up.

Lionel was stunned, then laughed—he realized that this lesson had only just begun!
He put down the chalk, walked among the children, and simply pulled over a stool to sit down.

"The houses in Paris are indeed very tall, but they are not mountains. They are called 'apartments' and a single building can house many, many people."

"However, you can't touch the clouds, but standing on high ground, you can see a very distant view, just like when we're standing on a mountain." Lionel cleverly steered the conversation towards a topic familiar to the children.

Regarding the question of Parisians' faith, he considered it for a moment and answered cautiously: "There are many, many people in Paris. Some go to church devoutly, while others choose to seek inner peace in other ways."

What matters is kindness and integrity, isn't it? Whether in Montiel or Paris.

It would be unwise to challenge the priest's authority directly now, but this answer is broad enough.

He burst into laughter at the most pressing question—the 1 francs:
“1 francs sounds like a lot, but things are very expensive in Paris! A loaf of bread can cost several sous, and renting a small room can cost hundreds of francs.”

"So it's not something you can never spend all of. The important thing is that making money requires knowledge and skills."

He tried to be more honest and humorous in every answer so that the children could understand.

"Want to know why there are so many skyscrapers in Paris? It's because there are a lot of people there who can do math."

"Factories, newspapers, and shops all need people who can read and write and understand principles to work."

“And these abilities, Mr. Reno will teach you in St. Joseph, just as he taught me.”

"The reason I was able to go to Paris and write is because I sat here back then, and Mr. Reynolds taught me to read and write."

The classroom atmosphere became lively, with the children asking all sorts of questions, which Lionel patiently answered, striving to build bridges between them and the wider world.

Mr. Reynolds sat in the corner, a smile of relief mixed with complex emotions on his face.

Lionel noticed that the oldest, wary-looking boy remained silent.

The boy noticed Lionel's gaze and suddenly gave a disdainful smile: "Mr. Sorel, you've said so much. Reading is good; knowledge is the key..."

Mr. Reynolds often said these things too. But what we want to know is—

"We've read books, learned to read, done math, and understood principles. But will we really be able to leave here, go to Paris, and earn ten thousand francs a year, just like you?"

The classroom fell silent instantly.

All the children’s eyes, including Mr. Reno’s expectant yet slightly fearful gaze, were focused on Lionel.

This issue concerns hope and disillusionment; it is the most genuine source of confusion for these children in the Alps.

Lionel remained silent; he couldn't easily make a false promise.

He knew that for most of the children here, the road to Paris and "success" remained narrow and almost hopeless.

Class, poverty, regional discrimination... these are obstacles that are more difficult to overcome than the Alps.

Knowledge is a weapon, but not everyone can acquire the same high-quality equipment, nor can everyone win in the fierce competition.

He took a deep breath, carefully choosing his words, considering how to protect their hopes without shirking the harsh realities, and tell them that the meaning of education goes far beyond "earning 1 francs a year"—

With a loud bang, the dilapidated classroom door was suddenly pushed open!
Everyone was startled and turned to look. They saw a postman leaning against the door frame, panting heavily, clearly having run all the way up the mountain.

He waved a thick letter in his hand, panting as he shouted, "Mr. Lionel Sorel! Good news! Fantastic good news!"
Paris...a money order and a letter from Paris! It says...it says a 'friend from Paris' has donated money to Montiel!

Lionel was bewildered, completely unaware of what had happened, and instinctively asked, "A donation? How much?"

The postman replied in a peculiar tone: "Two...two thousand francs!"

This number struck like a thunderbolt in the dilapidated classroom.

The children's mouths dropped open, their eyes wide with disbelief. Twenty thousand francs!
Even Mr. Renault was so shocked that he stood up and adjusted his glasses, which had slipped down to the tip of his nose.

The postman then added, "'Our friend in Paris' says that you should collect the money and decide how to allocate it..."

The mayor is waiting at the post office now. When...when will you be going?

All eyes were once again focused on Lionel, filled with disbelief, ecstasy, and an almost superstitious awe.

The tall, thin boy who had just posed the ultimate question also froze in place. He looked at Lionel with a look that was no longer contemptuous, but rather one of bewilderment, as if he were lost in a fog.

At this moment, the abstract and difficult relationship between "knowledge" and "success" was instantly embodied by this sudden and tangible "20,000 francs".

Lionel was in a real bind—was he being asked to allocate 20,000 francs?

This precious holiday looks like it's going to be ruined!
(Bonus chapter for every 1000 votes! I promise, please vote with your monthly tickets!)
(End of this chapter)