Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 597 It makes perfect sense to light a cigarette with a guitar string!
Debussy still didn't quite understand the connection between being single and hand speed, but he didn't press the matter further, since he was already destined to be single.

He was silent for a moment, then said, "So in the 'Duel of Pianos,' apart from the simple 'Boat Song' at the beginning, I need to compose four completely new pieces."

The first piece is a virtuoso etude, and the second is a sonata full of emotion; both are pieces that could be perfectly reproduced in the 80s.

"Yes, so they need to be difficult enough, so that the audience can hear the difference, and the theater musicians also need to be able to play them."

Debussy nodded: "The third piece is an original work from my 'latest exploration of the style'."

“Yes. Especially the third one, it should represent the musical direction you, Achille-Claude Debussy, are exploring.”

Debussy's expression turned serious. He stared at the black and white keys of the piano, as if pondering some profound question.

After a long pause, he finally spoke: "Mr. Lionel, do you know what kind of music I'm exploring right now?"

Lionel smiled and said, “I know a little about it. I went to your concert at the Halle de Pleyel last year. It’s not quite like traditional French music. You seem to focus more on the color and atmosphere of the music than on structure and melody.”

Debussy's eyes lit up: "Yes! Mr. Sorel, you understand! I'm trying to break free from the constraints of tonality, and even create new scales."

I'm trying to make harmonies freer and rhythms more flexible. I'm trying to use music to depict impressions, rather than tell stories.

"Then put all of these into the third piece. Let this piece be a concentrated expression of your musical ideas. Let it challenge the listener's ears."

It had to be so good that even the most discerning audiences in Paris would believe that the '80s' version could neither be replicated nor surpassed.

Debussy still had doubts: "What about the piece that defeated Debussy in '80'? How fast was it? How shocking was it?"
I... I find it hard to imagine. If the third piece of Debussy on stage is already my highest level, how can I possibly surpass it?

Your request is like asking me to lift myself off the ground by my own hair? That's... way too difficult.

Lionel patted him on the shoulder: "So, this requires you to push your limits!"

Debussy still couldn't imagine what kind of piano piece it would be: "Could you describe exactly how fast it is? I need a more specific image."

Lionel did not answer the question immediately, but turned to the chest of drawers in the corner of the living room, took out a pack of cigarettes, and then took one out.

He took a cigarette and went behind the piano, looked at Debussy who looked puzzled, and then gently touched the exposed metal strings of the piano with the cigarette.

"During the performance, this cigarette would be lit by the hot strings of the piano, and then '80' would shove it into the mouth of a dumbfounded 'Debussy'—"

He would say, "You smoke, I don't." The piece had to be fast enough for the audience to believe that this scene was really happening, that the strings were really that hot!

Debussy was stunned and incredulous.

……

As dusk settled outside the window, the sun began to set, painting the sky a vibrant orange-red. Lionel stood up and flipped the light switch on the wall.

The chandelier on the ceiling lit up, with all sixteen bulbs shining at the same time, illuminating the living room as if it were daytime.

The three pieces played by Debussy on stage were basically complete, as they were all still within his "comfort zone".

However, the last piece played by "80 years" was extremely difficult.

Because it cannot simply be "fast," but must also possess a strong vitality, capable of completely dispelling the shock brought by the previous music and creating new heights.

Debussy tried many times, but could not satisfy himself and Lionel.

Finally, Lionel patted Debussy on the shoulder: "Let's take a break, have something to eat, and then start again."

Debussy stretched his shoulders and wrists. The continuous playing and composing had left him somewhat tired, but his spirits remained high.

He and Lionel arrived at the restaurant, where a simple dinner had been prepared—cold cuts of meat, bread, salad, and red wine.

The two ate and chatted, and the topic shifted from music to other things.

Debussy spoke of his recent study of a new work with Marie Vasnier, while Lionel mentioned the impact of the surge in visits to the "Hillside Villa".

The relaxed atmosphere eased the tension of the creative process.

After dinner, they returned to the living room. Debussy sat down again at the piano, while Lionel sat in the armchair beside him.

Lionel told Debussy, "This piece is not only a response to 'Debussy,' but also '80' interpreting his own understanding of life."

Debussy nodded, his expression becoming more serious than before, and then tried several different openings in succession.

The first time, he used a series of dissonant chords, but the result was a jarring and chaotic melody;
The second time, he used complex rhythm changes and different beats for his left and right hands, but it was still not ideal;

The third time, he tried the whole tone, attempting to create a feeling of floating in mid-air...

But each time Lionel shook his head – “The tempo isn’t fast enough,” “The melody seems to repeat the previous three songs,” “It lacks power,” “It’s not as good as the third song”…

Debussy was somewhat dejected. He stopped playing, stood up, and paced around the living room. He went to the window and looked out at the garden, already illuminated by lights, and the streetlights on the distant telephone poles lighting up one after another…

Debussy murmured to himself, “Vitality…fast…shocking…lighting a cigarette…can this really be done? In a play?”

“I believe you can. Your musical ideas are revolutionary, Ashir. You’re already breaking the rules and creating new possibilities.”

This piece of music should showcase this revolutionary quality—it should shock the audience, then lead to understanding, identification, and ultimately, emotion.

Debussy walked back to the piano, but did not sit down immediately. He looked at the black and white keys as if seeing them for the first time.

He whispered, “Break the rules…but if I break all the rules, what’s left of the music?”

Lionel didn't presume to explain the essence of Debussy's music; he simply emphasized:

“‘80’ has never learned the rules, but the music he plays can touch people’s hearts. What you need to do now is figure out how to present that feeling.”

Debussy stared at Lionel, then slowly sat down, his fingers lightly resting on the keys, but he didn't press them down.

"Essence... What is the essence of music? Is it the organization of sound? The expression of emotion? The art of time?"

He pondered, closed his eyes, and remained in that position for a long time, so long that Lionel thought he had fallen asleep.

The living room was so quiet you could hear your own breathing, and the faint sound of boat horns on the Seine in the distance.

Then, Debussy pressed the keys heavily...

--------

After the last note faded, Debussy's hands were still on the keys. He opened his eyes, his gaze somewhat dazed, as if he had just returned from another world.

Lionel did not speak immediately. He sat in his chair, leaning slightly forward, his cane in his hand, but held loosely.

Lionel finally spoke: "This piece... you did it, Achille."

Debussy shook his head: "If it were actually performed on stage, it would need to be richer and faster to achieve the effect of 'lighting a cigarette'."

Lionel stepped forward and gently hugged Debussy: "The rest is just a matter of technique. Congratulations, Achille, you've defeated 'Debussy'!"

Debussy breathed a sigh of relief, then suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him.

He leaned back against the piano and rubbed his temples: "I never thought... I could play such a piece."

“Of course you can. Because that’s who you are, Achille. You are Debussy, and you are 80 years.”

Debussy smiled, though he was exhausted, his gloom lifted. He quickly picked up a pencil and, while he still felt it, wrote down the score.

Debussy glanced at the clock on the wall; it was already nine o'clock in the evening. They had been working continuously for seven hours since they started at two in the afternoon.

Lionel noticed Debussy's fatigue: "Let's stop here for today. Go back and rest, and we'll continue tomorrow. But the hardest part is done."

Debussy nodded and began tidying up the sheet music. He organized the dozen or so pages of written score and put them into his bag.

----------

For the next few days, Debussy came to No. 7 Linden Path every day to work with Lionel to perfect the music for The Legend of 1900.

The next day, Debussy refined the first two pieces played by the character 'Debussy' in the opera and began composing a replica of the '80s' version.

He tried to think about music from the perspective of the "80s"—how would an untrained but gifted person understand and reproduce these two works?

On the third day, after Debussy met that charming girl while composing "80 Years," he unconsciously played the piano piece under an unprecedented inner impulse.

This piece of music flows entirely from the heart of someone born in the 80s; it is the first innocent flutter of a pure and genuine soul towards love.

On the fourth day, Debussy began composing the "80 Years" piece, which he played for the last time in the deserted cabin of the Perel before it was blown up.

This piece of music has neither a stirring melody nor a mournful accusation; instead, it is very calm, as if "80 years" is telling his own story.

Day 5... Day 6...

After a full week, Debussy finally finished the first draft of most of the piano pieces in "The Legend of 1900". All that was left was to refine and detail them.

But just as Debussy was leaving the "hillside villa" with a thick stack of sheet music, a postman brought devastating news—

The great Russian writer, Ivan Sergeyevich Turgenev, died in his little log cabin, "Dacha".

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(End of this chapter)