Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 182 He compared me to Tolstoy?

After the afternoon classes ended, all the Sorbonne students gathered in the main lecture hall.

A red banner hung above the lecture hall, with gold cursive lettering that read: "Inaugural Rothschild-Sorbonne Literary Scholarship Award Ceremony".

Seated on one side of the stage were Dean Henry Patan, several senior professors, and most notably, Madame Eleonore Adelaide de Rothschild.

Today she chose a slightly formal dark blue velvet dress, with delicate black lace embellishing the neckline and cuffs. Her hair was styled in an elegant updo, revealing her smooth neck and beautifully shaped chin.

She wore a polite smile, her emerald eyes calmly scanning the audience, her gaze only lingering briefly on Lionel.

The ceremony was presided over by Dean Henry Patan.

As is customary, he began with a passionate speech, praising the Rothschild family's generous support for French education and culture.

He also reviewed the Sorbonne’s illustrious literary tradition and emphasized the importance of establishing this scholarship in encouraging young writers.

Then, he solemnly invited Mrs. Rothschild to give a speech.

Mrs. Rothschild rose gracefully and walked to the front of the podium.

Her voice, amplified by the excellent acoustics of the Sorbonne Grand Auditorium, carried clearly to every corner: "Respected Dean Patan, professors, dear students—"

I feel deeply honored to stand here today. Literature has always been an indispensable light in my personal life.

It can soothe the soul, enlighten the mind, and record the most subtle vibrations and the grandest echoes of our time.

She then briefly explained the Rothschild family's original intention to support the arts and education, and expressed her appreciation for the talents of all the participating students.

Then, her topic naturally turned to today's award recipient: "...and this year, we are very honored to award the inaugural scholarship to Mr. Lionel Sorel!"

He is a rare genius in France!

Her gaze fell on Lionel in the audience, and a brighter smile spread across her face: "His works, whether it is 'The Old Guard,' 'Letter from an Unknown Woman,' or 'Hometown,' all demonstrate a young writer's profound humanistic concern."

His writing not only possesses the power to move people, but also the potential to change and shape them; it is a treasure of us French people.

She was lavish in her praise of Lionel, and many in the audience cast envious glances at him.

However, during a pause in Mrs. Rothschild's speech, a low voice rang out, not affecting the stage, but enough for a small group of people nearby to hear.

"Hmph... How sweetly put. 'A rare genius'? 'A profound humanistic concern'?"

"I think it's a 'pretty face' and a 'sweet little mouth'?"

"'The conscience of the Sorbonne'? It turns out it's worth 5000 francs. To be honest, it's quite cheap."

"They speak eloquently, but secretly they're after the hems of a wealthy woman's skirt and her purse?"

Sophia was the one speaking.

Several students around frowned. Even though they didn't like Lionel, they still felt a deep sense of disgust at Sofia, this "outsider," belittling their classmate in such a way.

Lionel heard it, but did not turn around.

Mrs. Rothschild concluded her elegant speech on stage, smiled and nodded in response to the enthusiastic applause, and then gracefully returned to her seat.

Next up is the main event: the awards ceremony.

Dean Henry Patan stepped forward again and announced in a booming voice: "Now, let us welcome with the warmest applause this year's recipient of the Rothschild-Sorbonne Literary Scholarship—Lionel Sorel—to the stage to receive his award!"

Thunderous applause erupted, and all eyes were focused on the young figure who slowly rose from his seat.

Lionel walked steadily onto the podium.

Facing the sea of ​​people and countless gazes below the stage, his face showed little excitement or nervousness. He accepted an exquisite medal from Dean Henry Patan, the front bearing the Sorbonne's crest and the back the Rothschild family coat of arms.

There was also a thick envelope containing a full five thousand francs.

He first bowed to the dean and Mrs. Rothschild in the audience to express his gratitude, then turned to the students and slowly began to speak: "Respected Dean Patan, respected Mrs. Rothschild, professors, students."

First, please allow me to express my sincerest gratitude. Thank you to the Academy for this honor, thank you to Mrs. Rothschild for her generous support and recognition of my work, thank you to all my teachers for their guidance, and thank you to my classmates for their continued support and encouragement.

His tone was sincere, but it was indeed a lot of "clichés".

Sofia's sneer deepened in the crowd, as if to say, "See? Just as I expected."

However, Lionel's speech did not end there: "However, beyond the joy of winning the award, I feel a heavy responsibility."

This prize money is more than just a sum of money; it's a question that prompts us to consider: what is the true relationship between literature and money?

The audience grew increasingly quiet. Albert became excited; he could sense that Lionel's mood had changed from before.

"We cannot avoid money. Writers may be poor, but they are by no means destined to be poor..."

"Money itself is neither good nor evil; it is like a tow rope on the Volga River, which can both drag ships carrying grain and tighten their throats, suffocating people."

"The key question is whether to regard it as living water to irrigate the mind or as gilding to embellish vanity? Is it to pay for exploring human nature or as ransom to buy obedience?"

“I have met some people who were born into noble families, whose wealth came from the silent ‘spirits’ of those lands.”

When talking about the "soul," Lionel specifically used Russian.

Even though the students at the Sorbonne didn't understand Russian, almost all of them had read Gogol's "Dead Souls" and knew that in Russian, the word also had another meaning: serf.

Sofia's face instantly drained of color, turning deathly pale; Louis-Alphonse wanted to say something, but was forced to shrink back by the disdainful stares of those around him.

"They seem to have an innate belief that the light of gold coins can illuminate all truth and the softness of silk can wrap all suffering."

"They were eloquent, quoting classical texts and knowing every fashionable word in Parisian salons."

"They talk about Hugo's compassion and Julien's tragedy, but turn a blind eye to the suffering around them."

"All of you here must have read Count Tolstoy's works and Mr. Turgenev's 'A Sportsman's Sketches'."

"Both were nobles, but Count Tolstoy was tormented by his privileged status; Mr. Turgenev, with his pen, composed an elegy for the 'soul'."

"And what about some people? They only inherited the arrogance of the nobility, but lost the responsibility of the nobility!"

"They are busy in Parisian salons, buying flattery with gold rubles squeezed from 'souls,' while turning a deaf ear to the heavy suffering on their own land!"

“Today, I stand here to accept this prize. I am grateful for it because it stems from a goodwill that seeks to nurture rather than buy.”

"The value of these five thousand francs lies in the fact that they allow the winner to focus more intently on his pen, rather than binding him with chains."

"This is the correct relationship I understand between literature and money. Thank you everyone."

After saying that, Lionel walked proudly off the podium and into the thunderous applause.

Sofia's face was paler than snow. She couldn't understand why Lionel refused to show even the slightest submission or fear to her power and money.

In fact, if he had made even the slightest concession, she would have had a way to back down and wouldn't have had to provoke him again and again.

Mrs. Rothschild's complexion, on the other hand, was rosy and radiant.

Is Lionel comparing himself to Count Tolstoy and Turgenev? Good heavens, she thinks 5000 francs is far too little!

(End of this chapter)