After the afternoon classes, all Sorbonne students gathered in the Grand Lecture Hall.
A red banner hung above the hall, emblazoned with golden cursive letters: "First 'Rothschild-Sorbonne Literary Scholarship' Award Ceremony".
On one side of the platform sat Dean Henri Patin, several senior professors, and the most conspicuous figure, Madame Éléonore Adélaïde de Rothschild.
Today, she had chosen a slightly solemn deep blue velvet gown, with delicate black lace adorning the neckline and cuffs.
Her hair was styled in an elegant chignon, revealing her smooth neck and beautifully sculpted chin.
A polite smile played on her face as her emerald eyes calmly surveyed the audience, her gaze lingering only briefly when passing over Lionel.
The ceremony was presided over by Dean Henri Patin.
As per custom, he first delivered an enthusiastic speech, praising the Rothschild family's generous support for French education and culture.
He also reminisced about Sorbonne's brilliant literary tradition and emphasized the significant importance of establishing this scholarship for encouraging young literary creation.
Next, he solemnly invited Madame Rothschild to deliver her address.
Madame Rothschild gracefully rose and walked to the podium.
Her voice, amplified perfectly by the excellent acoustics of the Sorbonne Grand Lecture Hall, clearly reached every corner:
"Esteemed Dean Patin, professors, dear students—
It is with deep honor that I stand here today. Literature has always been an indispensable light in my personal life.
It can comfort the soul, enlighten wisdom, and record the most subtle vibrations and the grandest echoes of our era."
She then briefly expressed the Rothschild family's original intention to support art and education, and praised the talent of all participating students.
Then, her topic naturally shifted to today's award recipient:
"...And this year, we are very honored to award the first scholarship to Mr. Lionel Sorel! He is a rare genius in France!"
Her gaze found Lionel in the audience, and a brighter smile blossomed on her face:
"His works, whether The Old Guard, or Letter from an Unknown Woman, or My Homeland, all demonstrate a young author's profound humanistic concern.
His words not only possess the power to move people, but also the potential to change and shape them. He is a treasure to me... to us in France."
She was unsparing in her praise for Lionel, and many in the audience cast envious glances his way.
However, during a pause in Madame Rothschild's speech, a low voice spoke up.
Though it wouldn't affect the stage, it was loud enough for a small group around to hear.
"Hmph... how beautifully said. 'Rare genius'? 'Profound humanistic concern'?"
"I think it's 'handsome face' and 'sweet talk,' isn't it?"
"'The conscience of the Sorbonne'? Turns out it's worth 5,000 francs. Quite cheap, to be honest."
"All pomp and circumstance on the surface, but secretly fawning over noblewomen's skirts and moneybags?"
The speaker was naturally Sophia.
Several students around frowned.
Even if they didn't like Lionel, they felt a deep aversion to Sophia, an "outsider," for so disparaging her classmate.
Lionel naturally heard it too, but did not turn back.
Madame Rothschild on stage concluded her eloquent speech, bowing with a smile amidst warm applause, then elegantly retreated to her seat.
Next came the highlight of the award ceremony.
Dean Henri Patin once again stepped to the front of the stage and announced in a booming voice:
"Now, with our warmest applause, let us welcome the recipient of this year's 'Rothschild-Sorbonne Literary Scholarship'—Lionel Sorel, to come up and receive his award!"
A thunderous applause erupted, and all eyes focused on the young figure slowly rising from his seat.
Lionel walked steadily onto the podium.
Facing the vast crowd and countless gazes below, his face showed little emotion, neither excessive excitement nor nervousness.
He received an exquisite medal from Dean Henri Patin, with the Sorbonne crest on the front and the Rothschild family crest on the back.
There was also a thick envelope, containing a full five thousand francs.
He first bowed to the Dean and Madame Rothschild in the audience to express his gratitude, then turned to his classmates and slowly began to speak:
"Esteemed Dean Patin, esteemed Madame Rothschild, professors, fellow students.
First, please allow me to express my sincerest thanks.
Thank you to the Academy for bestowing this honor upon me, thank you to Madame Rothschild for her generous sponsorship and recognition of my work, thank you to all my teachers for their instruction, and thank you to my fellow students for your continuous support and encouragement."
His tone was sincere, but it was indeed somewhat formulaic.
Sophia's sneer in the crowd grew deeper, as if to say,
"See? I told you so."
However, Lionel's speech was not over:
"Yet, beyond the joy of winning, what I feel more deeply is a heavy sense of responsibility.
This scholarship, it is not merely a sum of money; it is a question—what exactly is the relationship between literature and money?"
The audience grew even quieter.
Albert became excited; he could feel Lionel's mood had shifted from before.
"We cannot avoid money. A writer may be poor, but is certainly not destined to be poor..."
"Money itself is neither good nor evil. It is like the tow rope on the Volga River, which can pull boats laden with grain, but also tighten around a throat, causing suffocation."
"The key lies in whether it is regarded as living water to irrigate ideas, or golden lacquer to gloss over vanity? Is it considered travel expenses for exploring human nature, or ransom for purchasing obedience?"
"I have seen some people, born into noble families, whose wealth comes from the silent 'souls' on their land."
When he said "souls," Lionel specifically used Russian.
Even if the Sorbonne students didn't understand Russian, almost all of them had read Gogol's Dead Souls, and knew that in Russian, this word also had another meaning: serfs.
Sophia's face instantly drained of color, turning deathly pale; Louis-Alphonse wanted to say something, but was deterred by the scornful glares of those around him.
"They seem to inherently believe that the light of gold coins can illuminate all truth, and the softness of silk can wrap all suffering."
"They prattle on, quoting extensively, familiar with every fashionable word in the Parisian salons."
"They talk about Hugo's compassion, Julien's tragedy, yet turn a blind eye to the suffering around them."
"All of you present have surely read the works of Count Tolstoy, and Mr. Turgenev's A Sportsman's Sketches."
"Both were nobles, yet Count Tolstoy felt pain for his privileged status; Mr. Turgenev used his pen to compose elegies for the 'souls'."
"And some people? They only inherit the arrogance of nobility, but lose the responsibility of nobility!"
"They are busy in the Parisian salons, using gold rubles extracted from 'souls' to purchase flattery, yet they turn a deaf ear to the heavy suffering on their own lands!"
"Today, I stand here to accept this scholarship. I am grateful for it, because it stems from a goodwill that seeks to nourish, not to bribe."
"These five thousand francs, their value lies in enabling the recipient to hold the pen in hand more intently, rather than binding him with a chain."
"This, as I understand it, is the most correct relationship between literature and money. Thank you all."
With that, Lionel proudly walked down the podium, into the thunderous applause.
Sophia's face was paler than snow.
She didn't know why Lionel consistently refused to show even a hint of submission or fear towards her power and money.
In truth, if he had made even a tiny concession, she would have had a way to back down, and wouldn't have had to provoke him again and again.
Madame Rothschild's face, however, was as rosy as spring.
Lionel had compared himself to Count Tolstoy and Turgenev? Heavens, she felt that 5,000 francs was far too little!
(End of this chapter)
---------------------
Support me on P@treon
[email protected]/charaz
$3 -> 50 chapters in advance
$5 -> 100 chapters in advance
$10 -> 300+ chapters in advance
Check my pinned post on P@treon