We stare at the huge 
green wooden door.  
Today, one of the 
rare occasions 
we are allowed to 
walk through it, we 
can feel the cold 
breeze which makes 
us shiver.  As we 
trudge up the worn 
stone steps, we can 
see the main 
wrought iron gate 
which leads us to 
our school.



At the entrance, the caretaker peers at us through the lodge window and 
presses the electric button which unlocks the gate.  We pull its cold, 
ornate handle to discover the heart of the old part of our school.  The 
heavy gate slams behind us as we enter the 'Cour d'Honneur'.  In the 
distance, we hear the rumbling sound ot the tram passing by.  The four 
yellow walls tower over us.  A faint autumn light peeks through the clouds 
onto the trees and bushes.  Four imposing trees stand like lifeless guards 
in each corner.  On the wall, a plaque is placed in memory of a former 
pupil, Henri BEYLE, better known as STENDHAL. 
 
Above each wooden classroom door are engraved Latin subject names 
such as Physica, Qvinta and Logica.  Above the unique green door in 
this courtyard, stone cherubs look down on us reminding us of the religious 
origins of this establishment.

On first impression, on entering the school, with the pipes running overhead 
and the peeling grey paint covering the dirty grey walls, the ground floor 
corridor surprises visitors .  But if one looks more closely, Stendhal's 
wonderful secrets are revealed.  Behind the pipes, we discover the high 
arched ceiling and beneath the dust, the smooth and shiny stone floor.  
Daylight streams in from the large, high windows, inaccessible to students.  
When the place is in total silence, it creates a monastic atmosphere as it 
was centuries before.

Around lunchtime, the hallway is blocked by a crowd of excited, hungry 
students of all ages fighting to be the first to identify the chef's supreme 
surprise of the day!

When we reach the first floor, plaques in honour of Marie Reynouard, a 
member of the French Resistance during World War II, decorate the old beige 
flaking paint.  Through the windows, we can see the courtyard with a few 
wandering students.  Above the school, the mountains unveil themselves in 
the morning mist.

On our right, we barely notice the door to the staffroom hidden in the long, 
dark corridor.  The corridor on our left is much more pleasant.  Three 
flowery armchairs and freshly painted walls make the place friendly but 
serious.  This is the headmaster's corridor.  Of course, no yelling students 
run there and silence is required all day long.


Farther up the staircase, 
dim soft light filters  through 
two windows revealing an 
ancient masterpiece painted 
on the walls.  We are looking at 
all the Latin inscriptions, 
Roman numerals and lines 
which form the sun clock.  
There is a feeling of silence, 
a kind of respect in the air until 
the hour ends. The stillness is 
suddenly shattered by the shrill, 
stressing, high-pitched ring of 
the bell.  A few seconds later, 
hundreds of students rush down 
the stairs ignoring the beautiful
walls they are running between, 
more overcome by the joy the 
end of the lesson brings.  They 
flood the staircase and the spell 
is broken. Though this special 
part of Stendhal is often visited
by curious tourists, it is usually 
ignored by students.  Uncountable 
pieces of information are woven in the lines, but to the 
hurrying children it jumbles, forever a mystery to those unfamiliar.  
The linoleum covered stairs take us up to a sad, melancholic scene, the 
third floor. This is probably one of the least decorated areas of the school 
but that does not mean to say that it is ugly or dull.  Teacher's voices 
echo through the corridor.  A creaky old-fashioned wooden floor leads us 
onto a dark, narrow alley which brings us to the modern, renovated part of 
the school.  Descending the staircase, we arrive at the 'collège' courtyard. 
 Here we see two lonely Plane trees whose roots have cracked up the tar.  
The ancient buildings have witnessed many generations  of pupils.  
The large metal gate imprisons the students in the courtyard during 
school hours.

The buildings might be old, but is that important compared to us, its 
bright, young pupils, full of life and hope?



From the students of Cite Internationale Stendhal
Teacher, Anne Boursier

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