Fourteen o'clock, the bell sounded as if to warn of the end of recess. Laughter erupts and the last latecomers hastily settle on the "desks" installed at the foot of the Arc de Triomphe, Sunday, June 4. All very concentrated, pen in hand and eyes turned towards the large blackboard, the more than 1700 participants, young and old, are ready to compose under the curious eyes of Parisians and tourists, crammed along the barriers that delimit the giant classroom.
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Who has not seen Avignon in the time of the Popes, has seen nothing. For the cheerfulness, the life, the animation, the festival train, never a city like it." At the beginning of the excerpt from La Mule du pape from Alphonse Daudet's Lettres de mon moulin, stated by their teacher for a day, the cultural journalist Augustin Trapenard, a few amused breaths are heard on the Champs-Élysées, but the seriousness of the participants remains in order. Indeed, the objective of this first dictation is great: to register the number of participants in the world record book. Two dictations for the pleasure of writing will follow in the afternoon: the writer Katherine Pancol will read the "dictation of today", before finishing, as a small nod to the Olympic Games in Paris next year, with a "sports dictation" stated by the former rugby player Pierre Rabadan.
Copies of the "Grande dictée des Champs", on the Champs-Élysées, in Paris, June 4, 2024. Le Figaro
No worries, however, for the most distracted, the "dictation of childhood" will be reread three times, recalls journalist Ruth Elkrief, at the top of the stage, in the middle of the old furniture of the school of yesteryear. The first reading allows you to immerse yourself in the text, the second is dedicated to the work of writing, the last finally allows you to check your copy. The "mistress of ceremonies" confided shortly before to the Figaro "to be very attentive to the spelling, even if it should not become a brake, because it can inhibit some people". The world record of participants was announced at the end of the afternoon by the organizers. After counting and checking the copies, 1397 participants were certified by the Guinness World Records.
"I'm a dunce"
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We write with the blue pen, we correct with the green pen." A forgotten refrain, which revives the memories of the small school to the participants. Among them, Dalila, aged 60, came for the event with her nephew François, 20: "I am delighted! When I was a child, I always had 10/10 dictation, I wrote with the inkwell. I love the language, exercise has its place in French schools, young people can no longer write..." An observation shared by Mireille, 80, who could not finish the exercise under the blazing sun, which made more than one lose concentration: "I was very good at school. At my age, I am the one who corrects the memories of my grandchildren, who make a lot of mistakes.
»A remonstrance heard by Cedric, 46, sitting just in front of Mireille, who wore a donkey cap, a bit arrogant, even before the correction on the board: "I am a dunce," he laughs at the happy faces of walkers on the other side of the barriers, even if he admits to being actually good at spelling. An example not to follow, therefore, for the young Antoine, sitting on a desk a little further. The eleven-year-old schoolboy explains having made "three dictations in the year", the last of which last week. His mother remembers those of Bernard Pivot on television. The exercise is very French, it is quite rare in the English-speaking world, she explains.
Cédric disguised as a dunce with a donkey cap for the pleasure of the participants, on the Champs-Élysées, in Paris, June 4, 2024. Le Figaro
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Period." Under the scorching sun, the ephemeral students put down their pens, more or less satisfied with their copy. Some even wonder if they should buy a Bescherelle for the occasion. And for good reason, reading the correction aloud by the other "master of the ceremony", Rachid Santaki, a writer committed against illiteracy, the participants discover the subtlety of the French language and unknown words, sometimes witnesses of the past. Among them, the grave accent to "pilgrimage" or the "f" to "fife".
In any case, this did not frighten the professor of letters, Manon, 27, who "loves the French language for its richness". Quite happy with her composition, she claims to have made only two mistakes, to "beggars" and "lices", but did not let herself be trapped by the end "Ah! The happy times! the happy city!", which does not impose capital letters, considered as a single sentence. She was able to give her copy to the "teachers", who corrected the copies of less than four mistakes, a small gift to the key was even given to the "perfect copies". It was in a good-natured atmosphere that the first dictation ended, the participants all left with a book by Hector Malot, Sans famille, and recalled the words of the president of the Champs-Élysées Committee Marc-Antoine Jamet: "Even Emperor Napoleon III would have made 75 mistakes" at the famous dictation of Prosper Mérimée.
Excerpt from "The Pope's Mule" by Alphone Daudet, chosen for the "dictation of childhood".
Who has not seen Avignon in the time of the Popes, has seen nothing. For the cheerfulness, the life, the animation, the party train, never a city like it. They were, from morning to evening, processions, pilgrimages, the streets strewn with flowers, lined with high leaks, arrivals of cardinals by the Rhone, banners in the wind, galleys paved, the soldiers of the Pope who sang Latin in the squares, the rattles of the brother questors; Then, from the top to the bottom of the houses that crowded buzzing around the great papal palace like bees around their hive, it was still the ticking of the lace looms, the comings and goings of the shuttles weaving the gold of the chasubles, the small hammers of the burette chiselers, the soundboards that were adjusted at the luthiers, the hymns of the warping machines; over it the sound of bells, and always some tambourines that could be heard snoring, there, on the side of the bridge. For in our country, when the people are happy, they must dance, they must dance; and as at that time the streets of the city were too narrow for farandole, fifes and tambourines were posted on the bridge of Avignon, in the fresh wind of the Rhone, and day and night they danced, they danced there... Ah! The happy times! The happy city!
