Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 627 Technical Discussion Area! (Bonus Chapter, Requesting Monthly Tickets!)
On the night of December 26, 1883, a surge of heat was rising around the Comédie-Française.

Just after six o'clock in the evening, several streets around the Royal Palace Square began to be congested. Carriages moved slowly, one after another, like beads strung on a rope.

The gas lamps on the vehicle formed a flowing river of light in the twilight, while the white mist exhaled from the horse's nostrils rose and dissipated in the cold air.

The shouts of the drivers, the clatter of horseshoes, and the rustling of wheels rolling over the asphalt road intertwined to create a fervent symphony.

A wealthy woman in a mink coat leaned out of the car window, gazing anxiously at the endless stream of cars ahead.

"At this rate, we can get to the theater faster than a horse-drawn carriage!"

Her husband glanced at his pocket watch: "It's already 7:30. The premiere starts at 8:00 and the show begins at 9:00. We need to get off the bus."

Similar conversations were repeated in different carriages.

Soon, men and women in their finest attire disembarked from the carriages, some lifting their skirts, others adjusting their hats, and walked along the sidewalk toward the comedy theater.

Everyone is heading toward the same destination—the Comédie-Française.

They were going to see the premiere of Lionel Sorel's new play, "The Legend of 1900"!

This play has been keeping Parisians on tenterhooks for months.

First, the newspapers reported the bizarre story of Lionel selecting a pianist at the Black Cat pub in Montmartre—

It is said that Debussy's piano piece was so difficult that "it required devilish fingers to play it," and no one could play it for seven consecutive days before two genius pianists were finally found.

The story itself is like a dramatic play with ups and downs.

Next came the publication and immense popularity of "Murder on the Orient Express." The novel sold an astonishing number of copies in less than a month after its release at the end of November.

The later release of the "Murder on the Brest Express" card game sparked a city-wide craze, with everyone in Paris playing the role of either Detective Poirot or the murderer.

As a result, when the premiere tickets for "The Legend of 1900" went on sale, they sold out within three hours.

Those who couldn't buy tickets were even willing to pay three or five times the price to buy them from scalpers.

So the audience members who can sit in the comedy theater tonight are either dignitaries with reserved boxes, lucky ones who bought tickets, or wealthy people who paid a high price.

"I heard that the piano pieces in the play are even more difficult than solo performances in concerts!" a young student said to his companion.

"Nonsense, right? If it were that difficult, how would this play be performed in other theaters?"

"A reporter from Le Figaro saw the rehearsals in person! He said only geniuses like Raoul Pounío and Paulo Brod could do it!"

Such discussions circulated among the crowd, adding to the mystery surrounding tonight's performance.

At 8 p.m. sharp, the heavy doors of the comedy theater slowly opened, and the audience began to enter one after another.

Upon entering the theater's performance hall, many longtime audience members expressed their heartfelt amazement.

They were very familiar with the Comédie-Française.

Designed by Victor Louis and opened in 1790, this theater is the oldest and most prestigious theatrical temple in Paris.

They've seen Molière, Racine, Hugo, Dumas fils... and of course, Lionel Sorel.

The breathtaking performance of "Thunderstorm" two years ago—the realistic lightning effects in that performance are still a hot topic in Parisian theater circles.

But tonight's comedy theater is different.

Two years ago, when "Thunderstorm" was performed, Lionel persuaded the director, Émile Perrin, to undertake a major renovation of the theater:
The stage was widened and deepened to support heavier and more realistic sets; electric lights were introduced, making stage lighting an integral part of the theatrical expression for the first time.

At the time, this was considered a revolutionary innovation.

At that time, electric lights were mainly used for auxiliary stage lighting and stage effects, such as lightning and thunder.

The main stage lighting, as well as most of the lighting in the audience seating and public areas, still relies on traditional gas lamps.

Although those huge gas chandeliers were magnificent, the light was always dim and flickering, and they also emitted a pungent odor.

But tonight, everything has changed. All the gaslights that used to grace the ceiling and walls of the comedy theater have been replaced with electric light bulbs.

Especially the huge crystal chandelier in the center of the hall—it used to take dozens of gas nozzles to light it, but now it's lit by hundreds of round light bulbs.

Through the refraction of the crystal prism, this set of light bulbs emits a more stable, brighter, and more dazzling light than a gas lamp!

The entire theater lobby was illuminated as if it were daytime, and every detail was clearly visible:

Gilded decorations, crimson velvet curtains, reliefs on marble columns, expectant expressions on the faces of the audience…

"My God, it's all changed!" An old gentleman adjusted his glasses and looked up at the magnificent chandelier.

His wife whispered, "No wonder the comedy theater was closed for almost a month. So that's what they were doing." The old gentleman nodded. "Another 'upgrade' to electrification. Lionel is trying to redefine the way we watch the theater again!"

This statement resonated with those around him. After all, starting with "Thunderstorm," Lionel had been using technology to change the theatrical experience.

The audience continued walking inside, searching for their seats according to the areas indicated on their tickets.

The seating arrangement at the Comédie-Française strictly follows the social hierarchy of Paris:
The stalls closest to the stage (the main hall) were occupied by wealthy businessmen, professionals, and affluent middle-class individuals.
The tiered seating (private boxes) with the best views were reserved for nobles, high-ranking officials, and financiers.

Prices for units on the second floor and above decrease with each floor, making even higher-floor units affordable for ordinary citizens and students.
The highest tier (the top tier) seats offer a view of almost nothing but the actors' heads, and are the cheapest, making them the domain of low-level employees and struggling artists.

Even the entrance and exit channels are separate—VIPs have their own entrances and staircases and are not mixed with ordinary people.

Tonight, all areas were packed with people, and everyone was socializing with those around them. This is also an important function of theater—social interaction.

The theater becomes a large-scale live salon at the premiere of each highly anticipated new play.

In the stalls, business managers nodded to each other, lawyers exchanged views on the political climate, and doctors discussed Pasteur's latest research findings.

Their wives secretly compared each other's jewelry and dresses, their necks, earlobes, and wrists sparkling with diamonds, pearls, and rubies.

In the private rooms, the atmosphere was more reserved and understated. The Rothschild family, the Perel family, the Worms family…

These family members, who control the financial and political lifeline of France, sat in high-backed chairs lined with velvet, talking in hushed tones.

Their conversations often revolve around stock market trends, overseas investments, tariff bills being discussed in parliament, and, of course, railway investments recently.

The atmosphere was electric on the higher balconies. Citizens and students jostled for the best view of the stage, and some even came to blows.

The audience in the penthouse seats were the most excited. Many of them had saved up for months to buy the ticket, and now they were excitedly pointing at the celebrities below and identifying them.

At this moment, in a box on the left side of the stage, a group of people are sitting together.

This private room wasn't very big to begin with; it was designed to accommodate only four to six people, but now it's crammed with a full ten.

Lionel was seated in the middle, with Sophie to his left, and Alice and Maria Chekhov to his right, while Martha sat next to her brother Anton Chekhov.

Chekhov had come all the way from Moscow at the invitation of Leonard. His financial situation had improved considerably, and he was now dressed quite respectably.

There were several other guests in the box, each a prominent figure in the European theater world:

Alexandre Dumas fils of France, Henrik Ibsen of Norway, Oscar Wilde of England, Alexander Ostrovsky of Russia, August Strindberg of Sweden...

Each person was invited by a personal letter from Lionel, and this box was also reserved for him by Emil Perrin at his request.

He needs a space where he can exchange ideas with his peers about the latest stage technologies – “This box will be a ‘technical discussion area’ that will influence the direction of European theater for decades to come.”

Alexandre Dumas fils couldn't help but ask, "Léon, what surprise have you prepared this time? It won't be like the lightning on the night of 'Thunderstorm,' which will scare the audience so much they'll jump out of their skin, will it?"

Lionel turned and smiled, without answering directly: "Please watch patiently, Mr. Dumas. The charm of drama lies in the unknown."

Ibsen smiled and said, “You’re always so mysterious. In Christiania, my theater has also been equipped with electric lights, and they work very well; the audience loves them.”

Lionel nodded: "Art needs investment. And electric lights will become cheaper and cheaper, and technology will become more and more advanced."

Oscar Wilde was about to say something when a clear bell rang out in the theater—ding-ding-ding-ding—the signal that the play was about to begin.

The conversation gradually subsided, and the more than two thousand audience members fell silent, all eyes focused on the deep red velvet curtain of the stage, which was being slowly pulled up.

The audience opened their eyes wide, eager to see the scene of the first act. According to the program, it should be the first-class entertainment room of the cruise ship "Perel".

But just as the curtain was fully drawn back and people were about to see the details of the set design—

Suddenly, all the lights in the theater went out.

It wasn't dimming, it wasn't flickering, it was complete and sudden darkness.

In an instant, all the light disappeared: the stage lights, ceiling lights, and side lights; the chandeliers and wall lights above the audience seating area; the corridor lights…

Everything went out! The Comédie-Française was plunged into unfathomable darkness.

This is unprecedented in the history of theater!

There was a deathly silence in the audience. Everyone was stunned for about three seconds, not knowing what had happened.

Then, panic broke out...

(Third update, thank you everyone, please vote with monthly tickets!)

(End of this chapter)