The Fox of France - Chapter 341: The Shout

The day of the opening of the “Paris Trade Fair” was approaching rapidly. Early in the morning, the square in front of the War God Plaza station was packed with people—the world’s first passenger train was about to depart from here.

Young Fransois arrived at the station with his classmates. The first passenger train had three third-class carriages allocated by lottery to several schools situated in impoverished areas. Luckily, Fransois’ school won the draw.

Then came the allocation within the school. To prevent the wealthy from taking undue advantage—although in Fransois’ school, there were hardly any wealthy students left, the appearance of fairness was crucial. The allocation of slots within the school was solely based on exam scores.

Fransois wasn’t an exceptionally diligent student, but the primary school curriculum was manageable with a bit of cleverness. Coupled with the generally low academic performance of students in Fransois’ school, he stood out and secured a slot.

Yes, the academic standards in schools located in impoverished areas were considerably lower. Though compulsory primary education existed in France, the disparity in educational funding among different regions was vast.

Naturally, a primary school’s funding primarily stemmed from three sources: state allocation, district funding from local public services, and donations.

State allocation was based on the number of students. District funding came from the area’s public service expenditure, determined by local citizens’ votes and levied on residents—a sort of “district tax.” Generally, affluent neighborhoods imposed higher “district taxes,” barring the poor from residing there and ensuring quality public services, including education.

In impoverished areas, public service expenditure was nearly non-existent, leading to a lack of district funding. As for donations, they were out of the question. Hence, schools in poor areas heavily relied on government funding, resulting in a stark contrast in finances between Paris’ poor and affluent neighborhoods’ schools.

For instance, in the Saint Antoine district (divided into several smaller districts after Napoleon’s first consulship), over 98% of their school’s funds came from state allocations. In affluent areas like the Temple of the Ancestors district, the state allocation might not even reach 5%. Considering the equal state allocation per student, it was evident that a poor child’s education expenses in primary school might amount to about 5% of what a wealthy child received.

In affluent district schools, a class often had around twenty students, each subject taught by a dedicated teacher, sometimes even assisted by a teaching assistant. The facilities far surpassed those in poor area schools.

In impoverished areas, a school, including the principal, staff, barely exceeded a handful. Teachers often had to multitask, handling subjects like French, mathematics, science, and arts for multiple age groups. Due to inadequate funds, qualified teachers were scarce, resulting in overcrowded classrooms with sometimes just one class per grade, accommodating hundreds of students. These teachers might even be recent graduates from the same school, albeit with slightly better grades.

Therefore, academically speaking, students from impoverished areas were in an entirely different league compared to their affluent counterparts. In some cases, older primary school students from affluent areas might surpass the teachers in impoverished areas in academic prowess.

In a way, after the abolition of the aristocracy, this difference became a means for those in higher positions to ensure their descendants occupied superior positions. Educational inequality cemented societal inequality.

Yet, this couldn’t be blamed on the state. After all, if you couldn’t afford a house in an affluent district or pay the “district tax,” who could you blame? Unfortunate circumstances shouldn’t be pinned on the government, and misfortune shouldn’t blame society. At least Napoleon’s administration acknowledged the plight of poor children. For instance, today’s “historic opportunity” was entirely given to the less fortunate, though admittedly, such an opportunity held little actual significance.

Given the historical moment, a ceremony was inevitable. There had to be speeches. After Joseph and Lucien’s review and guidance, the First Consul delivered a speech titled “Sailing into the Spring of Science” at the train station. Napoleon emphasized, “Progress in science and technology is the foremost impetus for societal advancement. France calls upon her children to redouble efforts in this realm, forging ahead fearlessly in the sea of science.” He also stressed France’s significant responsibility to lead Europe and the world into a scientific spring, akin to a steam locomotive accelerating on a railway with its carriages. Finally, he highlighted that the first three carriages of this train were entirely given to these children to inspire them to explore bravely and continue leading the world through the ocean of science.

Napoleon’s speech was repeatedly interrupted by enthusiastic applause and shouts. Initially, people chanted, “Long live the First Consul!” Later, someone, no one knew who, shouted, “Imperator!” Consequently, everyone joined in, shouting “Imperator.”

“Imperator” in Latin directly means an invincible commander. The famous Caesar was once hailed as “Imperator” by his soldiers. Later, after Augustus established the imperial rule in Rome, the title “Imperator” was restricted to the reigning emperor and occasionally awarded to direct family members. At the enthronement of Roman emperors, the acclaim of “Imperator” had evolved into a symbol of coronation. Now, they were cheering “Imperator” at Napoleon, not only praising his military achievements but also suggesting “urging the First Consul to move forward.”

However, Napoleon didn’t respond much to these cheers. After completing his speech and announcing the inauguration of the passenger train, he left the platform.

Subsequently, it was time for ticket checks and boarding. Naturally, the first to board were passengers in the luxury compartments. For instance, Nathan Rothschild, who had paid a hefty price for carriage number six, was among the earliest to board.

Luxury compartments were indeed luxurious—far beyond the comfort of luxury carriages, perhaps comparable to certain lavish cabins on sea vessels. Nathan Rothschild didn’t sit back on the plush sofa to enjoy what he’d paid for. Instead, he proceeded straight ahead to the junction between the sixth and fifth carriages, where a steward stood.

“I’m Nathan Rothschild from Rothschild Bank. May I visit the fifth carriage?” Nathan Rothschild asked, handing over a business card.

The steward took the card, noticing something else below it, seemingly a voucher. Silently, he collected both items and replied, “Mr. Rothschild, I need to inquire with the passengers about this.”

Then the steward went inside. After a while, he returned and said, “The gentlemen inside welcome visiting friends.”

Thus, Nathan Rothschild, guided by the steward, entered the fifth carriage.

The exorbitant price of the sixth carriage was solely due to the person owning the fifth carriage being a Bonaparte. Consequently, many speculated that Napoleon’s family members would board this train.

Napoleon’s whereabouts were public—he would travel on the second train to the Palace of Liberty. However, it was surmised that his brothers might be on this carriage. If an opportunity arose to establish a connection with them, no expense was deemed excessive. (Conversely, if Napoleon was aboard, given the inevitable security, those individuals surely wouldn’t have a chance to approach him.)

Yet, in reality, none of Napoleon’s family members were in this carriage. Joseph wasn’t so keen on riding the train—he’d even taken the Revival Express in a previous life. As for Lucien, he wouldn’t be heading to the Palace of Liberty today; he had to oversee various propaganda efforts at the Ministry of Truth. Louis and Pauline were accompanying Napoleon, so in this carriage, not a single person surnamed Bonaparte was present. The occupants were friends and students of Joseph.