The intermission bell rang, but Richelieu Hall remained unusually quiet for a moment, before erupting in thunderous applause!
In this applause, there was admiration for the actors' superb performances, emotion for the beauty of the music, and an outpouring of strong resonance with the plot!
The ordinary audience members discussed excitedly, their emotions running high.
Archbishop Guibaud, however, stood up with a livid face and, surrounded by a panicked Monsignor Valette and others, quickly left the private box without a word, heading towards the lounge.
Of course, he couldn't leave midway, as that would signify surrender; at the same time, he held a sliver of hope that there might be some unexpected twist at the end...
He needed to calm himself in the lounge and think about what he should do...
The lights in Richelieu Hall dimmed once more, and Act Three began.
Archbishop Guibaud returned to his box, his expression as calm as water.
He wanted to see where Lionel Sorel intended to lead this play.
The stage lights softened and dimmed considerably, and the scene transitioned to a classroom at night.
Teacher Clément Mathieu was alone, busily writing on a worn-out sheet of musical notation by the light of a kerosene lamp.
[Mathieu: "Here... here it should be a little brighter... like hope piercing through the clouds..."]
His kindness and talent were subtly displayed through this quiet moment of solitude.
He was not an empty-headed enthusiast, but a truly talented artist willing to selflessly dedicate himself to these abandoned children.
The children began to sneak in.
They were no longer the unruly, noisy little rascals from the daytime, but approached with curiosity, anticipation, and even a touch of timid reverence.
Mathieu didn't scold them; instead, he smiled and motioned for them to sit down.
The ensuing segment was one of the warmest and most captivating parts of the play.
Mathieu began teaching the children to read music, explaining the dry notes in a humorous way—
["Look, this little tadpole is climbing up, so our voices should also rise..."]
He patiently corrected their pronunciation, mimicking their incorrect singing to make them laugh, and in that laughter, he built trust.
[Mathieu: "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 skylark perched on a branch in the morning! Come on, try it?"]
Mounet-Sully's performance was filled with subtle humor and genuine inclusivity, brimming with sincere emotion.
Occasional knowing chuckles erupted from the audience, especially from parents with children at home, who could particularly appreciate the value of such guidance and companionship.
Then, the real magic began.
Mathieu picked up his accordion, and Debussy's melody of 'Night' sounded again, but this time, it was sung by the children's tender yet incredibly earnest voices.
At first, the singing was a bit uneven and somewhat shy.
But under Mathieu's encouraging gaze and gentle guidance, the voices gradually converged, becoming harmonious, pure, and filled with an inexpressible moving quality.
The singing seemed to possess the power to cleanse the soul, penetrating the boundaries of the stage and lingering throughout Richelieu Hall.
["Oh, night still covers the earth
Your magical, secret, tranquil power
The clustered shadows, so tender and sweet
Is it not more beautiful than dreams
Is it not more worthy of hope than expectations..."]
The heavenly children's choir perfectly blended with Debussy's music, which was both sacred and full of human warmth.
Soft lights enveloped the children's focused and glowing little faces.
In this moment, there was no correctional institution, no punishment, only the pure beauty and hope brought by music.
The audience was completely captivated.
The anger and suppression caused by Director Rachi earlier now transformed into deep emotion.
Many ladies took out their delicate handkerchiefs, gently dabbing their eyes.
A white-haired old gentleman took off his glasses and rubbed his moist eyes.
In the orchestra and balcony seats, some even began to hum along very softly to the simple yet beautiful melody.
A strong emotional resonance silently surged and spread throughout the theater.
Even Archbishop Guibaud's hand, tightly gripping the armrest, unconsciously loosened its grip somewhat.
He had to admit, this music... this singing... truly touched something deep within him.
It was a sacred beauty that transcended dogma and went straight to the heart.
For a moment, he even forgot the play's 'malice,' completely immersed in the tranquility and emotion brought by the music.
His gaze revealed a bewilderment and appreciation that he tried desperately to suppress.
However, this purity was quickly interrupted by hypocrisy.
Director Rachi appeared on stage again.
But his manner of appearance had changed compared to before.
It was no longer a thunderous intrusion, but a quiet appearance.
[Director Rachi: "Ah... truly... astonishing voices. Although this is still a... hmm... a futile expenditure of energy. However, Monsieur Mathieu, I must admit, you seem to... hmm... have indeed managed to get some sound out of these stubborn stones."]
His tone was no longer pure roaring and negation, but had turned into a condescending, patronizing evaluation.
He walked up to the children, scrutinizing them with an assessing gaze.
[Director Rachi: "Remember, the fact that you can produce any decent sound is not because of these... notes... but because here, under strict rules and discipline, your souls have been initially disciplined, barely acquiring... hmm... the possibility of producing not-so-harsh noises. Be grateful! Grateful for the... hmm... insignificant progress that this order has bestowed upon you!"]
Every pause, every 'hmm,' was filled with nauseating hypocrisy.
He attributed the musical achievements to his harsh management, trying to steal the credit for Mathieu's and the children's efforts, which filled the already moved audience with a new, even stronger sense of revulsion.
[Director Rachi: "I heard... that countess who frequently donates, has quite an interest in music. When she visits next month, perhaps... we can let her 'casually' listen to your little trick. Remember, this is not for entertainment! This is to show her that under our... hmm... 'strict discipline,' even the poorest material can produce a little bit of... positive change. This is crucial for securing her continued 'donations.' Do you understand, Monsieur Mathieu?"]
He finally revealed his true colors—tolerating the choir was merely to please a patron, for money!
This act of explicitly linking sacred education and art with the stench of money exposed his hypocrisy, greed, and ignorance completely.
A wave of suppressed boos and contemptuous sneers rose from the audience.
Archbishop Guibaud's face turned incredibly ugly once more.
Director Rachi's performance made him even more uneasy than his previous outbursts of rage, harshness, and authoritarianism.
Because this was no longer simple strictness, but outright hypocrisy and utilitarianism; it was practically tarnishing the Church's reputation!
He felt a tightness in his chest and shortness of breath.
The pace of the play quickened, soon reaching its climax.
The stage setting changed to a slightly neater 'Great Hall'.
The elegantly dressed Countess, accompanied by a cringing and extremely fawning Director Rachi, arrived at the 'Pond Bottom Correctional Institution'.
Director Rachi, eager to be first, boasted with exaggerated words about how his management was 'highly effective,' and how he had barely managed to polish a group of 'unteachable rotten wood' into something 'slightly human-like'.
He couldn't wait to show the Countess his 'achievements'—
Of course, he was referring to the children's upcoming choir performance, but he didn't mention Mathieu's contributions at all.
The children stood neatly, dressed in their best clothes, their faces showing nervousness and anticipation.
Teacher Mathieu stood in front of them, took a deep breath, bowed slightly to the Countess, then turned and raised his hand.
The piano prelude began, and the children started to sing.
After weeks of secret rehearsals, their singing had reached an unprecedented level.
Their voices were more harmonious, confident, and filled with sincere emotion.
The song 'Night' was performed with an ethereal and sacred quality, as if it could truly dispel all shadows and bring light.
The Countess on stage was deeply moved; she dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief, her gaze filled with admiration and emotion.
The audience below also once again immersed themselves in the wonderful singing, many closing their eyes to appreciate it, their faces showing expressions of rapture and contentment.
However, observant audience members noticed that Pierre—the child with the best voice, yet also the most rebellious—was not among the choir.
Having previously defied Mathieu again, he stood alone and stubbornly in the shadows at one side of the stage, head bowed.
The choir reached an interlude; the singing paused, and only a beautiful melody flowed, as the entire theater fell silent.
It was then that Teacher Mathieu made a move that surprised everyone.
He stopped conducting, turned around, and his gaze swept over the entire choir, settling on Pierre in the corner.
[Mathieu smiled, extending his hand to him—an invitation, and even more, an act of forgiveness and trust.
Pierre froze.
He looked at Teacher Mathieu's sincere, encouraging eyes, then at his choir mates...
Finally, his inner yearning and love for music triumphed over everything.
He took a deep breath, as if breaking free from invisible shackles, and stepped by step emerged from the shadows towards the center of the stage, towards Teacher Mathieu, towards the spotlight.]
All eyes—both on and off stage—instantly focused on the solitary boy.
Pierre began to sing.
His voice was like the first ray of sunlight breaking through dark clouds: high-pitched, clear, pure without a trace of impurity, possessing the unique penetrative power of a youth.
This singing contained all his suppressed emotions—grievance, anger, longing, gratitude, and the joy of ultimately finding salvation.
The solo passage he sang was a meticulously composed cadenza by Debussy, with a beautiful and passionate melody, as if a skylark had broken free from its cage and soared directly into the blue sky.
This singing possessed the power to shake the soul.
On stage, the Countess covered her mouth with her hand, tears silently streaming down her face.
In the audience below, suppressed sobs and choked cries rose and fell.
Madame Rothschild tightly clutched her husband's hand, while Madame Zweig Ida leaned entirely on her husband's shoulder, her eyes glistening with tears.
Even the most reserved gentlemen couldn't help but be moved, blinking their eyes vigorously.
Count Rohan silently applauded in his heart; this dramatic turn and emotional outburst perfectly encapsulated the immense potential that 'love and inclusivity' could unleash within 'secular education'.
This was more powerful than any political speech!
(End of Chapter)
---------------------
Support me on P@treon
[email protected]/charaz
$3 -> 50 chapters in advance
$5 -> 100 chapters in advance
$10 -> 400+ chapters in advance
Check my pinned post on P@treon