Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 603 A season when only one flower blooms is not spring.
The piano music stopped in the rehearsal room of the Comédie-Française.

The last note dissipated into the air, rising slowly like smoke, touching the high ceiling, and then disappearing.

Émile Perrin sat motionless in the third row of the audience. He had maintained the same posture for a full five minutes—

He hasn't touched it since Raoul Pounío and Paul Broad began playing the most difficult "battle of the pianos" ensemble from "The Legend of 1900".

The rehearsal hall was quiet. The other actors, stage crew, and even the handyman who had just brought in coffee were all standing still.

Everyone was stunned by the performance.

Raoul Pounío stood up from the piano. Fine beads of sweat glistened on his forehead, and his fingers trembled—a natural reaction to the rapid run he had just completed.

Paul Broad also rose from the other piano. His young face was flushed with excitement, and his breathing was a little rapid.

The two looked at each other and saw satisfaction in each other's eyes.

Émile Perrin finally moved. He took a deep breath, stood up, walked down the steps of the audience, and came to the front of the stage.

He looked at the two pianists on the stage: "Mr. Brod, your performance was excellent. It perfectly met the requirements of Mr. Debussy's score."

Paul Broad smiled: "Thank you, Dean."

Then Émile Perrin turned to Raoul Pounía: "Mr. Pounía, I have worked in the theater for twenty-five years. I have heard countless pianists play—"

Opera accompaniment, ballet accompaniment, theatrical background music. They are all excellent musicians, capable of reading complex scores, following the conductor, and harmonizing with the singers.

But you're different. You're not 'accompaniing,' you're 'performing.' Your music has life. It breathes, it speaks.

Raoul Pounio nodded reservedly: "Thank you."

Emil Perrin walked onto the stage and stood between the two pianos: "I never imagined that in just one week, your teamwork would be so seamless and skillful."

Okay, let's talk about the terms. *The Legend of 1900* is scheduled to premiere during the Christmas season. If it succeeds—I believe it will succeed—

So there will be at least five to ten performances each month, possibly more. Léon's plays are never unpopular.

In addition, there will be tours in other cities. Lyon, Marseille, Bordeaux... and possibly even Belgium and Switzerland. Of course, the tours are voluntary and not mandatory.

However, I also hope that the two of you can perform together; only when the two of you work together will the effect be the best.

Paul Broad's eyes lit up even more. A tour! To other cities, even other countries! This was a golden opportunity to become famous!
Raoul Pounío's expression was calmer, but his slightly trembling shoulders betrayed his inner turmoil.

Émile Perrin held up two fingers: "As for compensation, I'll give each of them twenty francs per performance. For a tour, double that!"

Twenty francs! A tour costs forty francs!
Paul Broad almost whistled. He taught piano lessons for five francs a lesson, and he didn't have students every day.

Twenty francs for a performance? If he does ten performances a month, that's two hundred francs! That's more than he earns in three months!

Raoul Pounio quickly did some mental calculations—

He worked as an organist at the Church of Saint Eugène, earning a monthly salary of one hundred francs; and as a chorus conductor at the Vendôme Theatre, earning a monthly salary of sixty francs.

The total came to 160 francs, barely enough to cover the expenses of a family of four.

If a performance costs twenty francs, and you only need to perform eight shows a month, that's one hundred and sixty francs, which is the same as the income from two jobs now.

Moreover, the performances are all in the evening, so they don't interfere with his daytime work. He can play the organ in the church, teach students, and continue writing his own music.

Emil Perrin stared at the two men: "What do you two think?"

Paul Broad immediately said, "I agree!"

Raoul Pounío thought for a moment. Twenty francs a show—that was a fair price. No, not just fair, it was generous.

He knew the going rate for theater musicians—an average accompanying pianist would earn ten to fifteen francs per performance.

Émile Perrin gave them twenty francs as an acknowledgment of their solo performance level.

Raoul Pounio nodded: "I agree."

Emil Perrin smiled. “Very good. I’ll have my secretary prepare the contract, and the two of you will come to sign it tomorrow. How about we go for a drink now? It’s on me.”

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At the same time, on the outskirts of Paris, the starting line of the third Tour de Paris cycling race was packed with people.

Lionel Sorel stood on a makeshift wooden platform, holding a starting pistol in his hand.

The audience below was a sea of ​​people: riders, instructors, staff, reporters, and onlookers.

Horse-drawn carriages were parked on both sides of the road, with well-dressed gentlemen and ladies sitting inside. They didn't want to squeeze into the crowd, but they also didn't want to miss out on the excitement.

Vendors weaved through the crowd, selling hot chestnuts, cookies, and cider; reporters crowded at the front, notebooks and pencils in hand, ready to take notes.

Lionel glanced at his pocket watch; it was already 9:58 AM. The match was scheduled to start at 10:00 AM.

His gaze swept over the riders in front of the starting line—this was the third year already!
This year's race has been extended to 700 kilometers and will take a full week to complete, bringing him closer to his dream of the Tour de France.

Moreover, the number of "sponsors" for the competition is increasing, and the venue is covered with posters of various products and slogans of companies. It is no longer a "money-losing business".

The bicycles on the track were no longer exclusively "Sorel-Peugeot" products, but rather a wide variety of shapes and sizes.

Of course, the most common models were those from "Sorel-Peugeot Mechanical Manufacturing Company," all equipped with typical diamond-shaped frames, chain drives, and rubber tires.

But other brands also shone brightly—

The "Clemenceau Racer," manufactured by the Clemenceau Machinery Factory, features a frame painted a striking red and wheels with a distinctive radial arrangement of spokes.

"Jürti Flying Swallow," a product of the Jürti Machinery Manufacturing Plant, is characterized by its exceptionally wide and soft seat. The advertisement claims that "you can ride it all day without your butt hurting."

The "Le Boucher Lightning" was a bicycle from the Le Boucher Mechanical Works. The handlebars were designed to be very low, requiring the rider to lie down while riding, supposedly to reduce wind resistance.

There were also a lot of modified cars. Some had extra gears added, some had strange mudguards installed, and some had water bottle cages strapped to their frames...

A year ago, at Lionel's insistence, several key patents were licensed to these manufacturers. Of course, it wasn't free; Sorel-Peugeot Mechanical Engineering received a patent fee for every car these manufacturers produced.

At the same time, Lionel also had Sorel-Peugeot Mechanical Manufacturing Company provide them with some key components.

Armand Peugeot complained on numerous occasions that he should monopolize the market and make all the money himself.

Lionel doesn't think so...

He glanced at his pocket watch. It was 9:59:30, so he raised the starting pistol.

The crowd quieted down. The riders gripped the handlebars, one foot on the pedal, leaned forward, and prepared to sprint.

Lionel looked at the riders—

Young people, middle-aged people, even some with gray hair; workers, students, office workers, shop owners; some in sportswear, some in work clothes, some in old suits...

They all have one thing in common: a light in their eyes that yearns to challenge themselves, prove themselves, and surpass themselves.

Lionel liked this light.

The second hand of his pocket watch pointed to "12," and he pulled the trigger.

"Bang!" The starting gun fired.

The riders rushed out of the starting line at the same time, the sound of their wheels rolling over the gravel road like thunder, accompanied by shouts, cheers, and the ringing of bicycle bells.

The riders crowded together, vying for the best positions, like a school of fish trying to break through a narrow river mouth.

Lionel stood on the wooden platform, watching them leave.

Dust billowed. In the sunlight, the riders' silhouettes grew smaller and smaller until they became a string of black dots on the horizon.

Armand Peugeot stepped onto the wooden platform, his face grim: "Leon, only half of the cars competing this year are ours."

Lionel nodded: "I know, I've seen the application form."

Armand Peugeot shook his head: "In the first edition, 90% of the cars were ours; in the second edition, 80% were ours; this year, it's just over half."

"so what?"

"So we are losing market share! Those manufacturers—Clément, Jürgen, Le Boucher—are stealing our business! They are using our patents, our technology, and then building cars to compete with us!"

Lionel picked up his cane and began to walk down the wooden platform: "Competition is a good thing."

Armand Peugeot followed behind him: "Good thing? Leon, I don't understand. We could have monopolized this market; the patents were in our hands!"
We can prevent anyone from producing them; the entire French bicycle market is ours!

Lionel turned to Armand Peugeot: "Armand, what would happen if we monopolized the market?"

Armand Peugeot paused for a moment, then replied, "We will make a lot of money."

"anything else?"

"And... we will be the only bicycle manufacturer in France."

"and then?"

Armand Peugeot frowned: "And then? Then we control the price, control the production, and sell it for whatever price we want."

"So we're going to sell a car for five hundred francs, six hundred francs, or even eight hundred francs?"

"What's wrong with that? Higher profits."

Lionel shook his head: "A bicycle should not be a luxury; it should be a mode of transportation suitable for everyone."

Armand Peugeot remained silent.

Lionel continued, "When we first started producing bicycles, how many bicycles did France sell in total?"

"About... three thousand vehicles? Most of the vehicles at that time were high-wheeled."

"What about this year? Let's make an estimate."

"Perhaps... 35,000 vehicles."

"If the French bicycle market is only three thousand bicycles in size, then even if we monopolize it, the sales volume will only be that much."

"Now the market size is 35,000 vehicles. Even if we only have a 10% share, we will sell more than when we only had 3,000 vehicles."

Armand Peugeot thought for a moment, still unwilling to give up: "But... what if another manufacturer's car wins? What if this year's champion rides a 'Clemenceau Racer' or a 'Lobches Lightning'? Wouldn't that be advertising for them?"

Lionel laughed: "So what?"

"Then...then other people will think their cars are better!"

"Maybe their cars are indeed better. Then we have to improve our cars and make them even better. That's the point of competition."

He patted Armand Peugeot on the shoulder: "I know what you're thinking. You're thinking about 'our business,' and I'm thinking about 'the bicycle industry.'"

If only Sorel-Peugeot manufactures bicycles, this industry will never grow large. Only when many manufacturers work together can the industry mature.

Armand Peugeot shook his head: "I still don't understand. We could clearly monopolize the market, so why share it with others?"

Lionel was silent for a few seconds. In this era of explosive new technologies, Armand Peugeot represented the thoughts of the vast majority of people.

He thought for a moment and asked, "Armand, do you know a Chinese proverb?"

"Chinese proverbs?"

"Yes. The proverb goes, 'If only one flower blooms, it is not spring.'"

Having said that, he left Armand Peugeot, who was still thinking, and got into the carriage that was waiting for him by the roadside.

(End of this chapter)