9:50 a.m.
Monsieur Henri Gluant, or otherwise known as Campion Serenaid, immediately ran from the crime scene after being figured out. He was quick, but Pietro and the four students were on his tail. While the teacher ran quickly down the stairs, Pietro was able to slide down the railing to the next floor. Monsieur Gluant then began
to bump purposely against the wall, making the nearby paintings start to shake. Pietro quickly held the paintings still before they got a chance to hit the floor. The group soon followed the teacher out the door and onto the streets. Seeing that they were closing in on him, Gluant turned to the left and into a nearby outdoor market. Seeing a few crates nearby, he started pushing
them to Pietro and the students. Pietro jumped over and dodged each one that passed by and had to get them out of the way for his friends to pass through. They soon followed him to a nearby park, but suddenly he was nowhere to be seen.
Andre panted heavily as he leaned against a nearby wall. "Well *pant pant* I oughta geeve heem credit. Campion is a fast runner."
"You're telling me." said Paul catching his breath. "As a result, we have lost heem."
"Probably going to vandalize anozher painting." said Andre as he folded his arms and scowled.
"Who would ever zhought zat our own art teacher was a creeminal!" exclaimed Louise. "He eez becoming, how you say, a disgrace to our own country!"
Pietro then raised up his hand to her. "Hang on, mes ami. I don't zheenk zat Campion Serenaid would vandalize anozher painteeng at ze moment. I believe zat he only got here to London only for heez own artwork."
Paul looked at Pietro and said, "But why? Why would he, out of so many great masterpieces, choose hees own to ruin?"
"Mes ami!" cried out Andre. "Look!" He pointed at the second tree on the left where a canvas, cream paper, a rather large bag, and some other art materials were.
"I say!" exclaimed Louise. "Zat's ze place where Monsieur Gluant used to relax and try and gain new ideas for heez next work of art.
Pietro then motioned for the others to follow him, for he knew that the culprit's supplies might contain his reasoning for his crimes. He saw something quite interesting. "Heez own bag eez open. I can bet zat somezhing important was in here."
Paul thought for a moment of what Pietro was saying. Suddenly his eyes grew wide in shock and so did the other students. "Y...You mean?"
Pietro pulled out a rather large cork and nodded. "We must hurry and get back to ze Art Gallery before Campion makes ze beegest meestake in heez life!" With that, all five friends got back to the scene of the crime within five minutes.
As they quickly ran up the stairs, they heard Campion's own footsteps nearing his own painting. Pietro knew exactly what he was about to do and he had to hurry before the final ten minutes are up. Once they got to the scene, the crowd suddenly grew still with frightened faces as they saw Campion holding his shap-pointed pen in one hand and the ink bottle in the other.
"Don't you move a muscle, mes ami!" said Campion in a threatening mood. "You do anyzheeng and I'll do what must be done! One little stroke from my pen to the painting...and my masterpiece is complete."
Pietro then boldly stepped up, making Campion move closer. "You have no idea what you are about to bring once you do so."
"I deedn't really zhink you understand."
"Non...I don't understand. You used to be a well-respected painter with a brilliant mind, Campion...but now you want to rebell against those morales now?"
"Campion, ha! Campion Serenaid was an art prodigy whose mastery of art was over ze top! My painteengs were adored and loved by all who laid eyes upon zhem! My art school, my neighborhood, and ze art fairs! Everywhere I went, I was a god among men!" He suddenly had a calmer look on his face as he said, "At least...I was...all zat."
"But you couldn't keep that title forever..."
Campion nodded his head and dropped his head along with his hand that held the pen as he sighed. "I was at ze top of my game but I trained even harder..." He slowly turned his head to the crowd and glared with clenched teeth. "But what did I get in return?" Slowly a flashback of his early life at several art fairs came to his mind as he explained his motives...
"Ovair ze years as a youth, I have been told by my tutors that I was one of their elite students they ever had. I knew what eet took to catch an onlooker's attention and keep their eyes on ze surifier first prize. I zhought I had everyzhing under control to always ensure ze highest honors...But as time passed by, I began to place lower and my followeeng grew few. Well sure, there were zhose who remained devoted to moi.
But I wanted more...I wanted to become immortal. Zat zhought had stuck weez me zhroughout ze years and I waited for my answer. I soon found eet een a form of my own special calligraphy pen, and soon I found myself using zhe same tacteecs of Leonardo Da Vinci een mirrorwriteeng and I had to make a new name for myself: Maestro. Before I became an art teacher, I began to practeece makeeng my tag on deeferent canvases. As soon as zat was
done, I then moved to forgeeng painteengs, sculptures, fiascos, every seengle masterpiece I can find. All for ze purpose to make sure zat ze art world never...ever forgets me..."
As soon as he was finished, Pietro continued, "So...now zat you're here, you zhought zat forgeeng your first masterpiece weell make you forget your past."
"Me oui! My own portrait only reminded me of my horrid revelation. Eet had to go seence my life as a painter meant nozheeng anymore!"
"But Campion!" exclaimed Armand. "People steell respected you as an arteest! Back een France, zhey steell have your best works of art which have been hung on walls and even shown een many of our art schools!"
But Campion still glared at his students. "Eez zat why zhose judges at zhose art fairs placed my art zhird? Placed my art fourzh? Placed my art...honorable mencion?" He then showed his pen in his left fist. "Zhis! Zhis eez beyond zhose judgements. No one, no one ever can eegnore zhis!"
Not showing a glimpse of fear, Pietro still stepped forward. "Oh, so zhat's how eet's gonna be huh? Get attencion een any way you can. Well, eef you're really zat desperate, zhen why don't you go ahead and write your real name. Don't hide behind some "Maestro" tag! Go ahead and write Campion Serenaid."
"Fine, Pietro! I weell!" Campion eased his left hand closer to his self portrait in angry determination. "Just watch me! I weell!" He tried to move his left hand closer, but somehow he couldn't. He even used his right hand to grasp his left to try and strengthen that easing. But even so, it still felt impossible and he didn't know why.
He suddenly heard the voice of Paul. "Non, I don't zhink you weell! You know why? Because zhen everyone weell find out what went down here."
"He's right, Campion." said Louise. "Ze way I see eet, zhere was zhis talented arteest who gave up helpeeng some of ze people...to hurteeng all of ze people. Ze reason for zat eez because he failed to see what ze purpose of art was."
Finally Andre concluded, "Eet's about expresseeng yourself...for ze sake of expresseeng yourself, no matter what ze outcome or judgement."
Campion still eased closer to the painting but looked at his students with a hopeless look on his face. "You zhink eet would matter after all zhese years...but eet don't. I've lost my place and I can never get eet back again."
"Zat may be so, Campion." said Pietro taking one more step forward. "But your art matters to me no matter what."
"And me." said Paul.
"And me." said Armand.
"And me." said Louise.
"And also me." said Andre. Campion looked around the room and saw that the other people were in agreement with them. He slowly glanced at his pen in his left hand, wondering what he should do.
Pietro knew there were three minutes left on the clock. "Come on, Campion Serenaid. Be Monsieur Henri Gluant: ze greatest art teacher France has ever had."
Campion remained silent for a while, then he turned his face to the painting and did something quite extraordinary. In a fast pace, he began to scrape off every trace of his tag with that same pen until there was nothing left. No one dared to ask how he did that.