Chapter 1337: Public Schools and Kindergartens
The newly established Ministry of Science and Education was remarkably efficient. By early the next day, the teacher assessment results for the New Primary School on Pays Street in Angers were already out.
Langlois found his name and score on the announcement outside the headmaster's office and let out a long sigh of relief. "A B+ grade! Now I won't have to tend the flowerbeds."
Then he spotted a "sparkling" A+ next to Father Lemais's name and delightedly clapped his old friend on the back. "So, you'll be earning eighty francs a month from now on!"
Their former vice-principal's annual salary was only 1,000 francs; Father Lemais was already approaching that income.
Father Lemais shrugged. "Who knows how much I'll actually receive?"
Following the custom of church schools, a portion of the salary would usually be withheld by the superior order, leaving teachers with about three-quarters of their pay.
Langlois was about to ask Father Lemais to treat him when the new headmaster, recently transferred from Reims, emerged with a document in hand. He called out, "Father Delorme, please come in."
A portly priest with a stern face responded, his head bowed as he entered the headmaster's office.
Langlois had just seen it on the bulletin board: Father Delorme's assessment score was a D+.
Immediately afterward, the headmaster called in two more priests. One accepted the warehouse management position, while the other "followed" Father Delorme back to the abbey.
The headmaster shook his head, muttering to himself, "If you ask me, half of them aren't qualified... How long will it take to retrain them?
"Oh, Father Lemais, please come in."
Father Lemais exchanged a puzzled glance with Langlois, a sense of foreboding rising in his heart. 'Could Archbishop Maréchal have spoken to the headmaster, trying to cause trouble for me?'
He frowned as he entered the headmaster's office, where the young headmaster gestured toward a chair. "Father Lemais, please sit. I hear you're a graduate of the University of Poitou?"
"Yes, Headmaster."
"Excellent," the headmaster said with a smile, looking at him. "Your assessment results were the best of everyone's.
"I'd like to offer you the position of Director of Studies for our school. What do you think?"
Father Lemais was stunned, instinctively asking, "What about Father Pacan?"
Father Pacan had previously handled duties similar to a Director of Studies.
"His assessment was only a B-, and his Latin is abysmal. At best, he can be a mathematics teacher. So, what's your answer?"
"Of course, I accept. Thank you, Headmaster."
Father Lemais felt lightheaded as he left the headmaster's office. He had thought that after offending Archbishop Maréchal, he would be stuck as an ordinary teacher in a dilapidated church school for the rest of his life.
He never imagined that the government's compulsory education reform would offer him such a new opportunity!
The Director of Studies was a senior position, second only to the headmaster and vice-headmaster in the entire school.
He heard that the government would invest 7,000 francs in expansion funds for this church school—now called a public primary school—and soon he would have a reputation in western Angers.
Father Lemais took a deep breath, secretly resolving, 'I must do my utmost to teach these students well!'
A month later.
When Langlois and the other teachers received their salaries, they were all both surprised and thrilled.
Not only had their salaries increased as stipulated, but they were paid in full.
Langlois counted his salary three times: a full thirty-eight francs, not a single penny missing!
He leaned over to look at the stack of banknotes in Father Lemais's hand, a considerable wad. But it wasn't surprising, given his position as Director of Studies.
Father Lemais didn't hide it, smiling. "A hundred francs! On my next free day, I'll treat you to an opera at the Grand Théâtre de Rohan."
"Are you serious? I remember a single ticket costs fifteen francs!"
"Absolutely."
As the two chatted, their colleague, Father Bétin, excitedly approached, waving a copy of the Angers News. "Have you heard? Starting this month, we can choose to become civil servants!"
Father Lemais quickly took the newspaper and saw what Father Bétin was pointing at: a new regulation from the Ministry of Science and Education stating that the government would grant civil servant status to teachers in public schools.
Father Bétin explained, "However, to become a civil servant, we'd have to withdraw from the Brothers of the Christian Schools."
Catholic church schools in Europe were managed by various religious orders, such as the Oratorian Order and the Brothers of the Christian Schools, which Father Lemais and his colleagues belonged to.
A similar system had existed before: for a priest to serve as a government official, they had to separate from their original monastic order.
Langlois didn't hesitate. "Of course, I'll choose to be a civil servant."
It was a no-brainer. The government paid salaries promptly and offered various benefits to civil servants, such as pensions.
In contrast, leaving the order merely meant they couldn't hold sacred office in the future.
For low-ranking friars like them, such an opportunity would never have arisen otherwise.
Father Lemais also nodded. "Being a civil servant is clearly better."
He was eager to escape the influence of the order; it would make it much harder for Archbishop Maréchal to harass him again. Furthermore, as a senior school official now, he had no lingering attachment to the order.
Over the next ten days or so, tens of thousands of former church school friars across France almost universally chose to become civil servants.
After leaving their orders, although they still retained their priestly status, the Church no longer held significant sway over them.
Suddenly, over a dozen education-focused religious orders declared their dissolution due to a lack of members.
Thus, Joseph used the strategy of "removing the firewood from under the cauldron," decisively severing any future possibility for the French Church to reassert its influence over the education system.
While public schools were busy expanding, renovating, and recruiting students, government-sponsored public kindergartens also began to appear across France.
Unlike the Church's previous "dawdling on the job," with millions of francs from the Ministry of Science and Education poured into the effort, kindergartens instantly sprang up like mushrooms after a spring rain.
Of course, the bulk of this funding still came from the Church itself—as per tax regulations, the tithe they collected was designated for educational purposes—yet it was significantly less than the tens of millions of francs Archbishop Beaumont and other archbishops had initially budgeted for a public daycare system.
To conserve funds, Joseph arranged for kindergartens in less prosperous towns and villages to open directly within local churches.
The Ministry of Science and Education would pay a small rent to the churches.
While it was said that the government was promoting public daycare construction, the Church, in reality, contributed no less effort.
Naturally, the Church hierarchy dared not voice any objections, especially since Marat's bureau was still auditing the accounts of monasteries one by one.
The Ministry of Science and Education assigned only one trained director to each village and town kindergarten, while the necessary "kindergarten teachers" were recruited directly from local housewives.
These women already cared for their own children at home; now they would simply look after a few more and earn a bit of wages. Consequently, there was an overwhelming number of applicants, especially since the pay was only ten francs per month.
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