Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 200 The Charm of Music

The bell rang for intermission, but the Richelieu Hall was unusually quiet for a moment before thunderous applause erupted!

The applause included cheers for the actors' superb acting skills, emotions over the beauty of the music, and an outpouring of strong resonance with the storyline!

The ordinary audience members were excitedly discussing the topic, their emotions running high.

Archbishop Gibo, however, stood up with a livid face and, surrounded by panicked Monsignor Valette and others, quickly left the box without a word and headed towards the lounge.

He certainly couldn't leave halfway, as that would mean surrender; at the same time, he still held a sliver of hope that perhaps there would be some unexpected twist in the end...

He needed to calm himself down in the lounge and think about what he should do...

The lights in Richelieu's Hall dimmed again, and the third act began.

Archbishop Gibo returned to his box, his face calm and composed.

He wanted to see where Lionel Sorel was headed.

The stage lights became softer and dimmer, and the scene shifted to a classroom at night.

Mr. Clement Mathieu, all alone, was writing furiously on a worn musical staff by the light of a kerosene lamp.

Matthew: "It...it should be brighter here...like hope piercing through the clouds..."

His kindness and talent are subtly revealed through this quiet moment of solitude.

He was not a fool with only enthusiasm, but a truly talented artist who was willing to dedicate himself selflessly to these abandoned children.

The children started sneaking in.

They were no longer the mischievous and noisy little wild animals they were during the day, but rather filled with curiosity, anticipation, and even a hint of timid awe.

Matthew did not scold them, but smiled and invited them to sit down.

The following segment is one of the warmest and most moving parts of the play.

Matthew began teaching the children to read music, explaining those dry musical notes in a humorous way—

"Look, this little tadpole is climbing up, so we need to raise our voices too..."

He patiently corrected their pronunciation, imitated their incorrect singing to make them laugh, and built trust through laughter.

[Matthew: "No, no, no, Pierre, it's not 'howling,' it's 'singing.' Imagine you're not a little wild boar rolling in the mud, you're a little lark perched on a branch at dawn! Come on, give it a try!"]

Mune-Shuli's performance was full of subtle humor and genuine tolerance, brimming with sincere emotion.

Gentle chuckles occasionally broke out from the audience, especially from parents with children, who appreciated the preciousness of this guidance and companionship.

Then, the real magic began.

Mathieu picked up his accordion, and the melody of Debussy's "Night" began to play again, but this time, it was sung by children's innocent yet incredibly earnest voices.

At first, the singing was a bit uneven and slightly shy.

But under Matthew's encouraging gaze and gentle guidance, the voices gradually converged, becoming harmonious and pure, filled with an indescribable infectiousness.

The singing seemed to have the power to cleanse the soul, penetrating the boundaries of the stage and lingering throughout the Richelieu Hall.

Oh, the night still shrouds the earth.

Your magical, hidden, tranquil power
How tender and sweet are the clustered shadows!
Isn't it more beautiful than a dream?

Isn't it more worthy of hope than expectation...?

The heavenly children's choir blends perfectly with Debussy's sacred yet warmly human music.

The soft light enveloped the children's focused and radiant faces.

At this moment, there is no reformatory, no punishment, only the pure beauty and hope brought by music.

The audience was completely captivated.

The anger and repression that had arisen from Dean Lazie had now transformed into deep emotion.

Many women took out delicate handkerchiefs and gently wiped the corners of their eyes.

An elderly gentleman with white hair took off his glasses and rubbed his moist eyes.

In the stalls and balcony, some people even began to hum along to the simple and beautiful melody in very low voices.

A strong emotional resonance silently surged and spread within the theater.

Even Archbishop Gilbo's grip on the armrest loosened slightly without him realizing it.

He had to admit that the music... the singing... did touch something deep within him.

It is a sacred beauty that transcends dogma and touches the heart.

For a moment, he even forgot the "malice" of the play and was completely immersed in the tranquility and emotion brought by the music.

His eyes revealed a mixture of bewilderment and admiration that he was trying hard to suppress.

However, this purity was soon shattered by hypocrisy.

Dean Lazi makes another appearance.

However, the way he appears has changed compared to the past.

It was no longer a thunderous intrusion, but a silent appearance. [Dean Lazzi: "Ah... truly... a surprising sound. Although it's still a... um... pointless drain on energy. However, Mr. Matthew, I must admit, you seem... um... to have indeed made a slight commotion among these rocks."]

His tone was no longer a pure roar and denial, but had become a condescending, condescending evaluation.

He walked up to the children and looked them over with a scrutinizing gaze.

Dean Lazi: "Remember, the reason you can make any decent sound isn't because of these...notes...but because here, under strict rules and punishments, your souls have only been initially disciplined, barely possessing...well...the possibility of making some less jarring noise. Be grateful! Be grateful for the...well...minor progress that this order has given you!"

Every pause he made, every "um" he uttered, was filled with nauseating hypocrisy.

He attributed the musical achievements to his harsh management, revealing his attempt to steal the fruits of Matthew and the children's hard work, which aroused a new and stronger sense of disgust in the audience who had just been moved.

[Dean Lazzi: "I've heard... that Countess who frequently donates has a keen interest in music. When she visits next month, perhaps... we could let her 'casually' hear your little tricks. Remember, this isn't for entertainment! It's to show her that under our... um... 'strict discipline,' even the worst material can produce a little... positive change. This is crucial to securing her continued 'donations.' Do you understand, Mr. Matthew?"]

He finally revealed his true colors—he tolerated the choir only to curry favor with the sponsors and for money!
This act of blatantly linking sacred education and art with the stench of money exposes his hypocrisy, greed, and ignorance.

A suppressed chorus of boos and disdainful sneers rose from the audience.

Archbishop Gibo's face turned extremely ugly once again.

Dean Lazi's performance made him even more uneasy than his previous outbursts of rage, harshness, and authoritarianism.

Because this is no longer simply strictness, but utter hypocrisy and utilitarianism, which is simply smearing the face of the church!
He felt a tightness in his chest and shortness of breath.

The pace of the drama quickened, and it soon reached its climax.

The stage set was changed to a slightly tidier "auditorium".

The elegantly dressed Countess, accompanied by the obsequious and fawning Dean Lazi, arrived at the "Pond Bottom Orphanage".

Dean Lazie rushed ahead of everyone else, boasting with exaggerated words about how "effective" his management was, and how he had managed to mold a group of "uncarved rotten wood" into "some semblance of human form".

He couldn't wait to show the Countess his "achievements"—

He was referring, of course, to the children's upcoming choir performance, but he made no mention of Matthew's contribution.

The children stood in neat rows, dressed in their best clothes, their faces showing tension and anticipation.

Teacher Mathieu stood in front of them, took a deep breath, bowed slightly to the Countess, then turned and raised his hand.

As the piano prelude began, the children started to sing.

After weeks of secret rehearsals, their performance reached an unprecedented level.

The singing was more harmonious and confident, filled with genuine emotion.

The song "Night" was performed with an ethereal and sacred quality, as if it could truly dispel all gloom and bring light.

The countess on the stage was deeply moved. She gently touched the corner of her eye with a handkerchief, her eyes filled with admiration and emotion.

The audience below the stage was once again immersed in the beautiful singing, with many people closing their eyes to appreciate it, their faces showing expressions of intoxication and satisfaction.

However, attentive viewers noticed that Pierre—the boy with the best voice but also the most rebellious—was not in the choir.

Because of his previous confrontation with Matthew, he stood alone and stubbornly in the shadows on the side of the stage, his head bowed.

During an interlude, the singing paused, leaving only the beautiful melody flowing through the theater, and the entire theater fell silent.

Just then, Mr. Mathieu did something that surprised everyone.

He stopped conducting, turned around, and his gaze swept across the entire choir, landing on Pierre in the corner.

Matthew smiled and extended his hand to him; it was an invitation, but also a gesture of forgiveness and trust.

Pierre was stunned. He looked into Mathieu's sincere, encouraging eyes, then at his fellow choir members...

In the end, the inner longing and love for music triumphed over everything.

He took a deep breath, as if breaking free of invisible shackles, and walked step by step from the shadows to the center of the stage, to Teacher Mathieu, and into the spotlight.

All eyes—on stage and off stage—instantly focused on that lonely boy.

Pierre spoke up.

His voice was like the first ray of sunlight breaking through the dark clouds—high-pitched, clear, and pure without a trace of impurity, carrying the unique penetrating power of a young man.

This song contains all the suppressed emotions—grievance, anger, longing, gratitude, and the joy of finally being redeemed.

The solo he sang was a brilliant cadenza meticulously composed by Debussy, with a beautiful and passionate melody, like a lark breaking free from its cage and soaring straight into the blue sky.

This song has a soul-stirring power.

On the stage, the Countess covered her mouth with her hand, tears silently streaming down her face.

Sobbing and suppressed choking sounds rose and fell from the audience.

Mrs. Rothschild held her husband's hand tightly, while Mrs. Zweig, Ida, leaned completely on her husband's shoulder, her eyes glistening with tears.

Even the most reserved gentleman couldn't help but be moved, blinking hard.

Count Rohan secretly applauded, for this dramatic turn of events and emotional outburst perfectly illustrated the immense potential that "love and tolerance" in "secular education" could inspire.

This is more powerful than any political speech!

(End of this chapter)