Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 601 The Voice of France

The Black Cat Bar is located on Rue de Rochechoar in Montmartre, not far from the "Boatwash".

This bar opened in 1881 and was the first "art bar" in Paris. The owner, Rodolphe Salli, was a great iceberg of the 19th century, as well as a poet and singer.

He transformed this place into an experimental theater for avant-garde art—poets recite their new works here, painters display their paintings here, and musicians perform new pieces here.

Lionel had informed Rodolfo Sally in advance that he needed to use the pub's piano for a few days.

Rodolph Sally was naturally very welcoming: "It's an honor for us to have you here, Leon. Just let us know if you need anything."

Lionel even inquired whether Oscar Wilde had visited recently, and Rodolphe Sally replied that Wilde was currently preoccupied with his legal troubles and had no time to come to Paris.

At 7 p.m., Lionel, Debussy, and Paul Broad arrived at the Black Cat Bar on time.

The bar was already quite full. Some were regulars, while others had come specifically after hearing about the auditions.

Lionel sat down at the table. Debussy and Paul Broad sat on either side of him.

Sally walked over: "Should I announce the start?"

Lionel nodded: "Thank you for your help."

Sally walked to the center of the bar and clapped her hands. The chatter gradually subsided.

"Ladies and gentlemen, tonight, Mr. Lionel Sorel is holding auditions for a pianist for his new play. The rules are simple—"

He pointed to the piano in the corner: "Those who want to participate, go there and play the piece Mr. Sorel has chosen. So, who wants to go first?"

As soon as he finished speaking, a middle-aged man stood up: "I'll give it a try." He was about forty years old and wearing an old black coat.

The middle-aged man walked up to the piano and bowed slightly to Lionel: "Mr. Sorel, my name is Etienne Martin."

People in the bar whispered among themselves: "Etienne Martin, he's very good."

"Yes, I played in cafes on St. George Street for over a decade."

……

Ignoring the commotion, Etienne Martin calmly sat down at the piano and adjusted the bench.

Then he saw the sheet music on the music stand—it was the third piece played by the character "Debussy" in the "piano duel" scene in "The Legend of 1900".

Although it is not the most difficult piece in the "80s" response, it is still one of the most difficult piano pieces composed by Debussy.

Etienne Martin was clearly taken aback. He reached for the sheet music and examined it carefully.

About two minutes later, he put down the sheet music, took a deep breath, and placed his hands on the piano keys.

The first note rang out...

Étienne Martin played slowly and carefully. He could read the score and play the correct notes, but the result was that the piece completely lost its life.

The complex harmonies became clumsy, and the fast runs became stumbling.

When he reached the third line, he realized he had played a wrong chord. In his nervousness, he had to stop awkwardly and start that measure again.

But the situation did not improve. The further the pieces progressed, the more complex they became, and the more difficult it was for Étienne Martin to play.

Sweat began to bead on his forehead, and his fingers struggled on the piano keys.

Finally, halfway through the piece, he completely lost control. His left and right hands were completely out of sync with the rhythm, and the notes were all mixed up.

Etienne Martin stopped, placed his hands on the keys, and lowered his head.

After a few seconds, he stood up and turned to Lionel: "I'm sorry, sir. I can't play this piece."

Lionel nodded. "Thank you for trying." He then gestured to the bartender to give Etienne Martin a drink.

Etienne Martin didn't leave; instead, he quietly returned to his seat, wanting to see who could complete the challenge.

The second young man was in even worse shape. He couldn't even play the first few measures smoothly, and gave up after barely a minute.

The third was an elderly man with gray hair. He played a little better, but still fell far short of the required standard.

The fourth, the fifth, the sixth...

Throughout the evening, nearly twenty pianists attempted to play the piece. However, not one of them was able to play the entire piece relatively fluently while sight-reading.

Some people tried a second or third time, but it still didn't work.

At 11 p.m., Lionel announced that the day was over.

The crowd in the bar gradually dispersed. Some people shook their heads as they left, whispering about the "impossible piece to play."

Lionel, Debussy, and Paul Broad were left to the end.

“The situation is not optimistic,” Lionel said.

Debussy felt somewhat guilty: "Perhaps I wrote something too difficult..."

Lionel patted Debussy on the shoulder: "Didn't I say that the piano pieces need to be difficult enough for this play to be successful?"

The situation did not improve the following evening.

More than twenty other pianists tried, but the results were equally unsatisfactory. Most of them gave up before even finishing their pieces.

The atmosphere in the bar gradually turned from the excitement of the first day to a heavy one, as if the dignity of the Montmartre pianist had been humiliated.

By the third day, the matter had already attracted the attention of the Parisian media.

Le Parisien published a short article on page four:
Lionel Sorel is holding a pianist search for his new play at the Black Cat pub in Montmartre, but it is said that no one has been able to perform the piano piece composed by Debussy for three days.

Some participants described the music as "like celestial script," requiring "devilish fingers" to play. Whether Mr. Sorel's new play will be staged as scheduled is now in doubt.

The report attracted even more attention, and everyone on the streets was talking about Lionel's new film and the extremely difficult piano pieces in it.

On the fourth night, the Black Cat Bar was packed with people. Besides pianists who wanted to participate in the auditions, there were also artists and reporters who came to watch the spectacle.

But the selection process remained stalled. Another group of musicians tried, and yet another failed.

On the fifth day, media coverage intensified. The literary supplement of Le Figaro even sent a reporter to the scene to document the event.

The selection process almost became a "music talent show" that was over a hundred years in advance, except that the "contestants" were all defeated.

On the sixth day, there were still no qualified candidates.

At 10 p.m., after seeing off the last unsuccessful pianist, Lionel leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples.

Debussy whispered, "Mr. Sorel, perhaps... we can spend a little more money and hire a famous pianist?"

Lionel didn't speak. He was thinking.

Hiring a renowned pianist is certainly an option. However, the problem is that renowned pianists have their own careers and cannot perform regularly in the theater. Moreover, the fees are high, and the comedy theater may not be willing to bear them.

More importantly, the play "The Legend of 1900" needs a pianist who can understand Debussy's musical ideas, not just a highly skilled playing machine.

Most established pianists focus on classical repertoire and may not be interested in or able to understand Debussy's unconventional new music.

Lionel sighed. "Tomorrow is the last day. If we still can't find it, we'll think of something else."

On the seventh night, the Black Cat Bar was more crowded than ever before.

There wasn't even room to stand. People crowded into the doorways, the aisles, and some even climbed onto the tables.

Rodolph Sally had to call on two friends to maintain order.

Lionel, Debussy, and Paul Broad sat in their usual spot. In front of them were three almost untouched glasses of beer.

The selection process started at 7:00 AM, and it's now 9:30 AM. Fifteen people have been tested so far. Not a single one has passed.

The atmosphere in the bar was strange. Some were expectant, some were disappointed, and some were simply there for the spectacle.

When the ninth pianist left the stage, some people even whistled—not as encouragement, but as mockery.

Lionel's mood grew increasingly heavy. He was almost ready to give up.

Just then, a voice rang out: "Can I try?"

The crowd parted, and a man stepped out.

He was in his early thirties, of medium build, wearing an old dark brown coat, and sporting a thick beard that almost covered half his face.

He walked up to Lionel and nodded slightly: "Mr. Sorel, my name is Raoul Pounio."

Lionel looked at him: "Mr. Punio, would you like to give it a try?"

“Yes,” Raoul Pounio said. “I play the organ at the Sacred Heart Cathedral and also teach the choir.”

People in the bar were whispering. An organist? Church music and theatrical music are not the same thing.

Debussy and Paul Broad exchanged a glance, neither of them holding out much hope.

But Lionel's expression remained unchanged, and he nodded: "Please."

Raoul Pounío walked to the piano and sat down. He didn't start immediately, but picked up the sheet music and began to study it carefully.

He read it slowly and carefully. One page, two pages, three pages... It took him almost three minutes to read the entire score.

Then he put down the sheet music, closed his eyes, and remained silent for a few seconds.

When he opened his eyes, his hands were on the piano keys.

The first note rang out.

Debussy sat up abruptly.

Paul Broad's eyes widened.

Lionel gripped the wine glass in his hand tightly.

Raoul Pounío did not play fast—in fact, he played very slowly, much slower than the speed indicated on the original score.

But he played with extreme precision. Every note, every chord, every rest was flawless.

Moreover, he wasn't just playing musical notes.

He is understanding music.

Those complex harmonies become clear and logical in his hands; those seemingly chaotic rhythmic changes are handled naturally and smoothly.

He even made subtle adjustments to the dynamics in a few places, giving the music a sense of breath.

Of course, you can hear the unfamiliarity in his playing – he would occasionally pause for half a beat, or play a wrong note and then immediately correct it.

Overall, he was the first person in the past seven days to be able to play the entire piece relatively smoothly.

The bar fell silent as the last note faded into the air.

Paul Broad was shocked to discover that, if only the first performance was considered, Raoul Pounío played even better than him.

Then, enthusiastic applause and cheers erupted.

"it is good!"

"awesome!"

"Finally, someone bounced down!"

Raoul Pounío stood up and turned to Lionel, his forehead beaded with sweat but his expression calm.

Lionel looked at Debussy, who nodded solemnly.

Lionel then stood up, walked to the piano, and extended his hand: "Mr. Punio, you are the one."

The cheers in the bar grew even louder.

Raoul Pounío shook his hand and nodded: "Thank you, sir."

Rodolfo Salih announced loudly: "On the seventh day, someone has finally passed the selection! It is Mr. Raoul Pounio!"

People gathered around to congratulate them. The pianists who were not selected were not jealous—at least, the pianists of Montmartre were not all wiped out.

Lionel then announced that he would treat everyone present to a drink, which made everyone even more excited!

He then invited Raoul Pounío to sit down at the table and ordered him a beer.

“Mr. Punio, I have a question,” Lionel said.

"Please ask."

"Your organ playing is excellent. Why can you only play the organ in churches? The income... must not be very high, right?"

Raoul Pounío was silent for a moment. He picked up his glass, took a sip, and then put it down.

"Because, when I was nineteen, I served as the music director of the Paris Opera..."

Upon hearing this, Lionel couldn't help but choke on a large mouthful of beer, coughing incessantly.

Debussy and Paul Broad also stared in shock at the man who was about ten years older than them.

(Second update complete. Thank you everyone. Please vote with your monthly tickets.)
(End of this chapter)