Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 600: Tell us your musical dreams!

After leaving the Comedy Theatre, Lionel went directly to Henri Wasnier's villa in the 16th arrondissement.

He knew that Debussy had been spending almost all his time here lately, writing songs for Marie Vasnier.

Lionel was deeply moved by Debussy's unique love, similar to that of Turgenev, but could only express his respect.

Upon seeing Lionel's arrival, Debussy immediately stood up, looking anxious: "Mr. Sorel? What brings you here? Does the sheet music need revisions again?"

Marie Vasnier smiled slightly and said, "You two chat, I'll go make Mr. Sorel a cup of coffee."

Lionel nodded, and after Marie Vasnier left, he said to Debussy, "Aren't the piano pieces you wrote a bit...too difficult?"

Debussy was taken aback: "Too difficult? What do you mean?"

Lionel stated bluntly: "The pianist at the Comedy Theatre can't play it. Even after practicing for almost a week, he still stumbles and falls far short of the performance requirements."

Debussy was silent for a few seconds, then said softly, "Mr. Sorel, isn't this how you asked me to write it..."

Lionel deliberately raised an eyebrow: "Did I tell you to write it like this?"

Debussy mimicked Lionel's tone: "'It has to be fast enough for the audience to believe that the strings are really that hot, hot enough to light a cigarette'; 'It has to be breathtaking, it has to be full of life, it has to beat 'Debussy'..."

He paused, then continued, "I wrote it exactly as you requested..."

Lionel remained unfazed: "Did I say that? But how was I supposed to know it would be this difficult? You're a professional, you should have reminded me."

Debussy muttered something, then said, "Or... should I play it myself at the premiere?"

Lionel then laughed and patted Debussy on the shoulder: "Actually, you wrote very well. This is the kind of effect you need to truly win over the audience!"

"But you can't play the opening act. Otherwise, what about after the opening? Is Mr. Debussy going to give up his musical career and become a pianist at a comedy theater?"

Debussy fell silent. He did indeed have his own music career now. He was preparing for a concert and composing a symphonic poem; he couldn't possibly be spending all his time in the theater.

Lionel changed the subject: "Can't the music academy find any pianists who can play these pieces?"

Debussy thought for a moment: "Most of the students in the academy are too young and have to attend classes, so it's difficult for them to keep up with the pace of the performances."

Lionel leaned back on the sofa: "What can we do? The show has to go on."

Debussy was silent for a moment, then said, "There is a place where you might find a good violinist."

"where?"

“Montmartre. Near the ‘Boatwash’ and ‘Place de la Terre’, almost all the down-on-their-luck musicians in Paris lived there.”

Lionel realized that the rent was cheap there, so many young musicians, painters, and poets lived there before they became famous.

He thought for a moment, then stood up: "Alright, let's go there. Let's set off now!"

Debussy had no choice but to put down the score he had only half-finished, put on his coat, and follow Lionel.

Marie Vasnier had just brought in coffee and asked with some surprise, "Are you in such a hurry to leave?"

Lionel took the coffee and sipped it. "Thank you for your hospitality, but we really can't wait any longer."

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On the hills north of Montmartre, the streets are narrow and steep, paved with uneven cobblestones, and lined with low brick and wood houses.

Laundry ropes stretched across the street, hanging faded sheets and shirts. The air was thick with the smells of coal smoke, cooked food, and mildew.

Debussy led Lionel through a maze of alleyways until they arrived at a cluster of buildings built on a hillside.

“This is the ‘Boatwasher’,” Debussy said, pointing to the buildings. “It used to be an abandoned piano factory, which was later converted into residences for artists.”

Lionel surveyed the building before him. It was a timber and brick structure, built against the mountainside, appearing to be only one story from the front, but from the side, one could see that there were several stories on the back.

The windows were small, some without even glass, just boardboards nailed together. Large sections of the plaster on the exterior walls had peeled off, revealing the bricks underneath.

As Debussy led the way, he explained, "The environment is very basic. It's bitterly cold in winter and stiflingly hot like a sauna in summer. There's no gas, and we rely on oil lamps for lighting."

The wooden partitions didn't insulate against sound; you could hear your neighbor sneezing. It was damp and moldy, and twenty-five households shared a single water supply point.

That's why it's called 'Shipwashing Workshop,' because the way everyone lines up to fetch water looks like they're washing boats at the dock.

They went inside the building. The light was dimmer there, the corridors were narrow, and thin wooden doors lined both sides, from which wisps of cheap tobacco smoke drifted out.

Debussy lowered his voice: "The rent here is less than thirty francs a month. If you hadn't asked me to write 'The Chorus,' I'd probably be living here now."

Just as Lionel was about to say something, a door next to them opened, and a young man poked his head out, holding an empty water jug.

He saw Debussy, paused for a moment, then widened his eyes: "Achille?"

Debussy turned around, also taken aback: "Paul?"

The young man put down his water jug ​​and strode over. He was about twenty years old, thin, with messy dark brown hair, and wearing a faded shirt and old trousers.

"It really is you!" the young man laughed. "The music academy's genius, didn't you have endless orders for theatrical scores? How come you've suddenly fallen on hard times?"

Debussy hugged him, then turned to Lionel: "Mr. Sorel, this is my good friend, Paul Broad."

He then said to Paul, "This is Mr. Lionel Sorel." Paul Broad recognized Lionel as well, and his expression changed instantly.

He stared wide-eyed at Lionel and stammered, "Mr. Sorel? The Lionel Sorel who wrote 'The Chorus' and 'Thunderstorm'?"

Lionel nodded: "It's me."

Paul Broad's face flushed instantly. He hurriedly straightened his shirt, tucked the hem into his waistband, and then wiped his hands.

Then he extended his hand to Lionel: "Sir, I...I am honored. I have seen all your plays, and each one has deeply moved me."

Lionel shook his hand politely: "Thank you. It's my pleasure!"

Debussy interjected: "Paul was the winner of the first prize in piano at the Paris Conservatory last year. He just graduated this year."

Lionel was somewhat surprised. He looked at Paul Broad, then at the dilapidated surroundings: "The winner of the first prize at the music academy lives here?"

Debussy sighed: "Paris lacks everything, except for talented young people who are not appreciated."

Paul Broad smiled somewhat sheepishly: "First prize is just a title, sir. After graduation, you'll have to find work yourself."

I occasionally play the piano at cafes and teach a few students, but my income is unstable. Living here at least saves me some money on rent to buy bread.

Lionel nodded, saying nothing more. He turned to Debussy: "Do you think Paul is capable of handling the pieces you've written?"

Before Debussy could answer, Paul asked curiously, "What piece is it?"

Debussy explained: “Monsieur Sorel has written a new play, and I composed a piano piece for it, but the piece is very difficult, and the pianist at the Comédie-Concert Hall cannot play it. We need a highly skilled pianist.”

Paul Broad's eyes lit up: "A piano piece? You composed it?"

Debussy nodded: "It's a solo piece, a bit complex and quite difficult. The pianists in the theater are used to accompaniment and can't adapt to it. We..."

Before the words were even finished, more than a dozen doors on both sides of the corridor swung open with a bang. At least twenty or thirty people rushed out—young people, middle-aged people, and even a few elderly people with gray hair.

They were dressed in all sorts of old clothes, some even in just their pajamas, but all eyes were fixed on Lionel and Debussy.

A man with a long beard spoke first: "Piano music? Do you need a pianist?"

Another tall, thin guy chimed in, "I can play! I can play anything!"

"I played the piano in coffee shops for ten years!"

"I taught the Countess to play the piano!"

"I……"

The noise rose and fell, and the corridor instantly became a cacophony. Everyone crowded around, surrounding Lionel, Debussy, and Paul Broad.

Debussy quickly raised his hand: "Quiet! Quiet!"

The crowd quieted down a little, but everyone's eyes remained eager.

Lionel thought to himself, "This 'Boatwasher' really has terrible soundproofing. Their conversation could probably be heard throughout the entire floor."

Among these people, some may be truly talented, while others may only know how to play a few pop songs. But regardless, they all yearn for an opportunity.

Lionel pulled Debussy aside and whispered, "Could Paul Brod be up to those pieces?"

Debussy replied confidently, “Absolutely. Paul is one of the best pianists of our generation. First prize at the music academy isn’t awarded lightly.”

Lionel nodded: "He's one of the pianists."

“But ‘The Legend of 1900’ requires two pianists to work together,” Debussy cautioned.

Lionel knew what was going on. He turned to face the crowd and raised his voice: "Ladies and gentlemen."

The corridor fell completely silent.

Lionel said, “My new play does need a pianist, two in total. Besides Mr. Paul Broad, I need one more now.”

Everyone's eyes lit up.

“For the next week, I will be at the Black Cat Bar every night after 7 p.m. There is a piano there. I will wait until the right pianist comes along.”

After a brief silence, cheers erupted from the crowd.

"Black Cat Bar!"

"I will definitely go!"

I'm going tonight!

The crowd was excitedly discussing it, and some people had already run back to their rooms, probably to prepare for the evening's performance.

Looking at these people, Lionel almost couldn't help but shout, "Tell us your musical dreams!"

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(End of this chapter)