Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 628 Us in the New Era! (A long chapter of 10,000 words to celebrate the New Year!)
(I sat in front of the computer all day today, typing away, and finally finished typing this. Happy New Year everyone! Please give me your monthly votes!)
In the audience, both men and women began to stir.

Some people started screaming, some started roaring, some frantically searched for their companions, and some even tried to stand up and run away, almost knocking over the audience in front of them.

"What's going on!"

"Lights! The lights are out!"

"My God, what happened?"

"Is it on fire? Is it on fire?"

"Let me out! Let me out!"

"Quiet! Everyone be quiet!"

A chaotic sound erupted in the darkness, like a flock of startled birds fluttering in a confined space.

The creaking of chairs, the staggering footsteps, the rustling of clothes, the rapid breathing—all sounds were amplified in the darkness, sounding particularly jarring.

But the commotion lasted only a second or two before the stage was suddenly illuminated with dazzling lights!

It wasn't a gradual brightening, nor a flickering; rather, it was a sudden "snap," as if someone had abruptly pulled back the curtain of the sky, letting the most magnificent summer sunlight pour down.

A beam of intense light shone down from the top of the stage, and not just one, but a second, a third…

Multiple light sources illuminated the stage simultaneously from different angles, making it as bright as day.

The light was so sudden and so intense that it immediately captured the attention of all the viewers.

The commotion abruptly ceased; everyone fell silent, turned their heads, and stared wide-eyed at the stage.

The deep red curtain has been fully drawn back, revealing to the audience the interior of a typical ship's cabin entertainment room, extremely realistic—

On the left is a set of dark walnut sofas, with a card table in front of them;
To the right is the bar, and the wine cabinet is filled with bottles of various shapes, with the glasses sparkling under the lights;
Behind the bar stood a waiter in a white uniform, wiping a wine glass in his hand.

In the center of the stage was a small dance floor where several couples were dancing the polka.

The men wore evening suits, and the women's skirts swirled and spread out like blooming flowers.

Beside the dance floor, a piano stood there, and the pianist's fingers danced rapidly across the black and white keys, playing a gaudy and joyful dance tune.

Besides the dancers, several men were gathered around another card table, playing cards and smoking cigars.

Viewers can clearly see how the smoke they exhale slowly rises under the lights and then dissipates;

At the bar, several passengers held up their glasses, drinking and chatting, their faces beaming with relaxed and happy expressions...

Under the illumination of multiple light sources, everyone's movements and expressions appear exceptionally vivid and three-dimensional, even reaching the level of "exquisite detail".

All the audience members quieted down, and no one made any more noise.

They suddenly realized that the sudden blackout of the stage lights was not a malfunction, but rather, like the curtain rising, a sign that the performance had officially begun.

The panic completely subsided, and everyone returned to their seats.

Those who had stood up carefully groped their way to sit down, those who had grabbed their companions' arms let go, and those who had opened their mouths closed.

The theater returned to normal, but this time, the audience's focus was on something never before achieved!
Everyone noticed that watching a play in this "completely dark" environment was a completely different experience from the past!

In the past, theaters used gas lamps for lighting. Gas lamps required a ignition lamp to keep burning so that the main flame could be reignited if needed.

However, as long as the ignition lamps are still burning, the theater cannot be completely dark; it will only be slightly dimmer than the main stage lights.

Of course, 19th-century audiences were also accustomed to this bright viewing environment.

Traditionally, the theater's large chandeliers are kept lit at a certain level throughout the performance.

Thus, the audience seating area became a social space where people could talk, flirt, and dine; it was simply a darker area within the overall bright space.

But now, the sudden darkness has deprived the audience of their right to freely "socialize," causing them to feel momentarily disoriented, as if their eyes had been suddenly covered.

Instead, the images and sounds on stage become exceptionally clear to the senses.

The original sound system of the comedy theater was already very well designed, so even the audience in the rooftop seats could hear the actors' lines.

In a completely dark environment, with the audience almost completely silent, any sound can be picked up by ear.

The actors didn't speak any lines in this scene, but the laughter, coughs, and the sounds of cards being flipped were all clearly audible.

This is a completely new experience!

In the "Technical Discussion Area," Ibsen excitedly whispered, "Is this the effect of an electric light?"

Lionel nodded: "Only electric lights can achieve the effect of instantaneous complete darkness and instantaneous complete brightness. If we still use gas lamps, the theater will never be truly dark."

A completely dark theater environment creates a fully immersive experience. When the audience is in darkness and only the stage is illuminated, the theater truly possesses the 'fourth wall'.

The moment the term "fourth wall" was uttered, the playwrights in the box all shuddered.

Alexandre Dumas fils abruptly turned his head and stared at Lionel; Henrik Ibsen's breathing quickened; Oscar Wilde sat up straight; Ostrovsky and Strindberg exchanged a shocked glance...

Although young, Anton Chekhov immediately understood the meaning of the word.

In the past, performance halls could not be completely darkened, so the audience seating and the stage were still connected in the same space.

All stages consist of only three walls – the proscenium arches on the left and right sides and the backdrop.

The side of the stage facing the audience is open, and the actors and audience share the same light.

In his performance of "The Legend of 1900," Lionel uses "light" and "darkness" to visually "isolate" the audience from the stage.

The audience seats were plunged into darkness, while the stage was bathed in light. The dividing line between darkness and light was that invisible "fourth wall."

With the "fourth wall," the performance is essentially conducted in a "closed space."

The actors on stage are no longer performers interacting with the audience, but characters living in another time and space.

Their story unfolds naturally in that time and space, while the audience observes through an invisible window, unable to disturb the actors' performance.

In addition, the audience no longer talks casually in the dark, and their attention is basically focused on the stage, which creates an extremely "immersive" performance and viewing experience.

At this moment, the stage shone with an unprecedented jewel-like luster!
Electric lights are brighter and more stable than gas lamps; they do not flicker, waver, or emit the odor of gas.

Under this light, the velvet skirt, the crystal-clear glass, the reflection of the piano lacquer... everything was astonishingly clear.

Lionel laughed and told the other playwrights, "The theater is a place to watch plays, not a salon or a ball. People come to the theater to watch a great performance."

This is about making the theater belong to theater again, and to us again!

Alexandre Dumas fils murmured, “The fourth wall…the fourth wall…God! Although Diderot said that one should ‘imagine a wall at the edge of the stage separating you from the audience in the stalls’—”

But in the past, we could only vaguely sense it; no one had ever defined it so clearly, let alone known how to realize it. Now, the 'fourth wall' has finally appeared, and many plays need to be rewritten.

Ibsen took a deep breath: "Lionel, you have not only changed the technology, you have also changed the concept of theater."

Lionel shook his head: "The idea has been there for a long time. It was technology that made the idea a reality. It was electric lights that turned the 'fourth wall' from a concept into a reality."

While they were talking, the ball on the stage had already ended.

The pianist finished playing the last note and lifted his hands from the keys. The dancers stopped, bowed to each other, and then dispersed in twos and threes.

The card players gathered their chips and got up to leave. The bartender finished his drink and put down his glass.

As the crowd gradually dispersed, the entertainment room became empty, and then the stage lights changed again.

The main lights dimmed slowly and softly, like the setting sun gradually sinking below the horizon, and the stage lights grew weaker and weaker...

In the end, only a few cold lights remained on the side and front of the stage, and the whole scene sank from liveliness to desolation.

This level of lighting would normally make it too dark to see the scene on stage, but now it's different.

Even with only a little light in the completely dark audience area, the audience can still clearly see the scenes and characters on stage.

Moreover, this dim, cold light created a desolate and lonely feeling after the ball.

The empty recreation room, the scattered playing cards, the uncollected bottles of liquor on the bar... everything seemed so quiet, so lonely.

A peculiar emotion arose in the audience, as if their inner feelings had been drained away with the end of the lively dance party.

The joy and clamor just now came to an abrupt end, leaving only emptiness and melancholy.

At this moment, the audience also noticed that behind the "porter"-shaped set high up on the stage, there was a moon emitting a faint light!
The moon was incredibly realistic—not a flat moon painted on a backdrop, but a real disc radiating a soft white light.

Moonlight streamed through the porthole into the recreation room, casting soft dappled patterns on the floor, just like the real moon!
Meanwhile, the ship's stoker, Armand, tiptoed in, hoping to find any valuables left behind by the passengers.

He then saw a baby on the piano...

Audience members immediately whispered among themselves: "Did the comedy theater cut a hole in the roof? Are we seeing the real moon?"

Then it dawned on me: "Today is a waning crescent moon, not a full moon—so this moon is also a prop created using electric lights?"

People were utterly amazed. The electric light could not only provide illumination, but also simulate the moon! This technology was unimaginable in the past.

But what's even more surprising is yet to come.

"Why is the moon swaying?" someone whispered.

"Not only is the moon swaying, but the stage lights are swaying too!"

"Look! The light and shadow next to the sofa!"

"It's not the moon that's shaking, it's the stage!"

"Oh my god, was there an earthquake?"

"No, it's not an earthquake, it's the 'boat' rocking!"

The audience once again noticed that the moon outside the porthole and the stage lights were swaying at the same frequency and amplitude.

The swaying was very slight, gentle, and rhythmically undulating.

The moonlight swayed, the lights and shadows on the stage swayed, and even the sofa, card table, and piano seemed to sway slightly.

This shaking creates the effect of a stage swaying, like a ship rising and falling with the waves on the sea.

It's so realistic!
The audience held their breath, their eyes wide. They had never seen such an effect in a play before.

The stage "moves"? Although it's a visual illusion, it's still quite stunning.

At this moment, even the most socially adventurous audience members no longer complained that the venue was too dark, preventing them from showcasing their eloquent tongues.

This is a revolutionary moment in the history of theater! Missing even a second of it would be a crime against art, let alone disturbing others.

In the "Technical Discussion Forum," the playwrights fell silent once again.

Ibsen stared intently at the shimmering moonlight on the stage, his eyes unblinking; Alexandre Dumas fils gripped the armrests of his chair tightly; Oscar Wilde's mouth hung open, and he forgot to close it; Ostrovsky and Strindberg almost stood up from their seats.

Anton Chekhov whispered to his sister Masha, "Do you see? This is the future."

After watching "Thunderstorm" and electrifying their own theaters, the playwrights present also tried using electric lighting to create better stage effects.

However, their attempts were limited to creating light and shadow zones and foreground and background separations on the stage, achieving a certain focusing function, and expanding the visual space of the stage.

But what Lionel showed them was something on a completely different level.

First, in a completely dark environment, the play wrests the audience's attention away from "socializing" and focuses them on "watching";
Then, the lighting creates a "fourth wall," separating the stage from the audience into two spaces, allowing the actors to be more immersed in their performances.
Now, lighting effects have brought the entire stage to life.

Ibsen finally couldn't help but ask, "Léon, how did you do that?"

Lionel answered in a low voice, “It’s simple. All the lights—including the ‘moon’—are mounted on a bracket that can sway slightly.”

The support structure is controlled by a mechanical device beneath the stage, simulating the rhythmic undulations of a boat. The device is powered by a small, quiet electric motor.

Alexandre Dumas fils asked in surprise, "An electric motor? In the theater? Under the stage? Where does the electricity come from?"

Lionel nodded: "Yes, right below the stage. The electricity comes from a power plant in the suburbs, so there's no noise."

Although its power is small, the power it provides is very stable and smooth, which is why the lights truly resemble a ship bobbing on the sea.

Seeing that others didn't quite understand, he continued to explain: "The key to the technology is to make all the lights move together, and the frequency must be synchronized."

If only the moon is shaking while the other lights are still, the effect won't look realistic. Inconsistent shaking rhythms can also make viewers feel uncomfortable or even nauseous.

So our engineering team spent a lot of time debugging that mechanical device.

Ibsen exclaimed, "This is no longer just a play; it is a massive undertaking."

Lionel laughed: "Theatre has always been an engineering project. From the mechanical deus ex machina of ancient Greece to the perspective sets of the Renaissance, and now to electric lights and mechanical devices."

The theater industry is constantly absorbing the latest technologies. Fortunately, I have a top-notch team of engineers; all I need to do is tell them my requirements.

Just as Lionel was quietly answering the playwrights' technical questions, the plot on stage had progressed to the part where the piano was played for the first time in the "80s".

The door to the recreation room was gently pushed open, and a small, thin figure slipped in.

It was a child, about seven or eight years old, wearing ill-fitting old clothes, with sleeves that were too long and trousers that were too short.

His hair was messy, and his face wore a curious yet timid expression.

This is the young "80s".

He first looked around cautiously to make sure no one was in the recreation room before carefully entering.

His gaze was drawn to the piano. He slowly walked to it, looking up at the large, black instrument.

The piano gleamed faintly in the dim, cold light, its keys clearly defined in black and white, like a row of neat teeth.

He stretched out his dirty little hand, hesitated for a moment, and then gently touched the piano key.

"when--"

A crisp note rang out, echoing in the empty recreation room.

"80 years" was startled and quickly withdrew his hand, looking around nervously, afraid of being discovered, but thankfully no one came.

The recreation room remained empty, with only the moon silently watching him from the porthole.

He reached out again, this time with more courage, and pressed another key.

"Boom-"

This note is very low.

His eyes lit up, and he pressed another button.

"Ding--"

This time it's a high note.

He seemed to have discovered a new continent, his fingers exploring the piano keys, pressing different keys and listening to the different sounds they made.

At first, I was careful, pressing one by one. Then I pressed two or three at a time. Then I pressed a whole string of keys randomly.

The first few notes were very awkward and haphazard, just the child exploring randomly.

But gradually, he played more and more smoothly.

His fingers began to consciously search for combinations that sounded "good".

He repeated the keys he had just pressed and found that they, when put together, resembled a small melody.

He tried changing the rhythm, giving the melody some ups and downs.

A nascent piano piece gradually took shape under his fingers.

Its melody sounded somewhat similar to the sensual dance music played by the pianist in the recreation room—after all, the only piano music he had ever heard was those dance tunes.

But this melody only has the simplicity and innocence of a child, without the temptations and provocations of the world.

It is simple and clear, like a mountain stream; it is also like a calm sea with gentle waves, clouds as white as cotton, and a sky as blue as jewels.

The sound of a piano echoed in the empty recreation room.

The moonlight shimmered, the light and shadow swayed, and finally only a bright beam of light remained on the stage, still swaying with the "waves".

In the beam of light, the figure of "80 years old" appeared and disappeared. He looked so small and so lonely in front of the piano, yet so focused.

The audience gradually became engrossed. They forgot that this was a play, forgot that this was a performance.

They seemed to be spying on a real night, on a real child secretly playing the piano.

After playing a short piece, during a light sway, sharp-eyed viewers noticed that the figure of "80 years old" playing the piano had "grown up".

It wasn't a sudden increase in size, but rather, in the instant the beam of light flickered, the small child suddenly transformed into a teenager.

It's still the same piano, but the person playing it has grown up; judging from his height, he should be about thirteen or fourteen years old.

Although his clothes were still tattered and worn, they fit him better; his hair was also combed neatly, and he was no longer a naughty child.

At this point, the piano music also begins to change.

The melody became smoother, with more embellishments, a more complex rhythm, and richer chords.

The tone was somewhat melancholic, carrying the sentimentality unique to youth—but in any case, the piano skills of "80 years old" have clearly made great progress.

The boy closed his eyes, completely immersed in the music. His fingers danced across the keys.

The audience was still immersed in the music and hadn't fully processed the change yet—

Then, with another flash of light, the figure of "80s" transformed from a boy into a young man sitting upright.

He was in his early twenties, wearing a clean white shirt and black trousers, with his hair neatly combed.

His fingers flew across the keys faster, his technique became more skillful, and the piano music became more cheerful and bright.

The melody is full of vitality, like ocean waves under the sun, like soaring seagulls, like all the passion and dreams of youth.

The audience finally understood. Lionel had used a few changes in light and shadow to make twenty years pass on stage.

From childhood to adolescence to youth, two shifts in the lights, two changes in the figures, two changes in musical style—twenty years have passed on stage in this way.

This amazing effect shocked everyone; it was a theatrical experience unlike anything ever seen before!

In the past, the passage of time in drama was shown either through intermissions, narration, or actors changing costumes and returning to the stage.

Never before has it been done so smoothly, so naturally, so poetically.

Light and shadow became the paintbrush of time, and music became the measuring stick of years.

After the last light flickered, the stage lights came back on full brightness, and the audience was finally able to see the entire stage again.

It was still that same recreation room, still filled with a group of men and women having fun. People were dancing, playing cards, drinking, and laughing.

The piano music started again, and this time, sitting behind the piano was a handsome and dashing man in his thirties.

He was dressed in a well-tailored evening suit, his hair was slicked back, and his fingers moved skillfully across the piano keys.

Everyone knows that it was "80 years"! The genius pianist who was born and raised on a cruise ship and never set foot on land!
Inside the "Technical Discussion Area" booth, all the playwrights could not contain their excitement.

Ibsen was the first to stand up, walk up to Lionel, and grasp his hand firmly: "Lionel, you...you have given drama a new life."

Alexandre Dumas fils also came over and hugged Lionel: "This is both technique and art. You have found the perfect combination of the two."

Oscar Wilde practically pressed himself against her: “Dear Léon, you make us look like a bunch of cavemen. We’re still painting on stones, and you’ve already invented the camera.”

Ostrovsky and Strindberg also stepped forward to hug Lionel.

Strindberg stammered, "I'm going to take all of this back to Stockholm. My theater will also undergo the same renovation."

Anton Chekhov stood to one side, his eyes shining. He didn't speak, but the expression on his face said it all—shock, admiration, and longing.

Ibsen exclaimed excitedly, "Tonight marks a turning point in the history of theater! The theater in complete darkness, the fourth wall, narrative with light... these will change theater all over Europe!"

Lionel smiled and said, "I've only offered some possibilities. But to truly change the drama, one person alone isn't enough; it requires each and every one of us!"

Even as they were talking, the story on stage continued.

But the audience couldn't contain themselves any longer.

Without any warning, before the play was even over, they began to applaud enthusiastically.

First came scattered applause, rising from a corner of the stalls; then it spread rapidly, like a wildfire.

People in the second-floor private rooms stood up and applauded, people in the third-floor balcony seats whistled, and excited cheers came from the top-floor balcony seats...

The applause grew louder and more frequent, eventually merging into a thunderous sea of ​​applause.

The actors on stage barely managed to resist the instinct to stop performing and greet the audience, remembering that there was a "fourth wall" in front of them, so that they did not interrupt the performance.

However, they slowed down their performance to "get through" the two-minute applause...

The first act ends when "Debussy" boards the ship.

The applause from the audience erupted again! This time it lasted longer and was even more enthusiastic!

People don't know how else to express their shock and excitement.

------------

The intermission lasted fifteen minutes.

The buzzing of discussion never ceased in the performance hall of the Comédie-Française.

The audience members excitedly shared their amazing experience—the completely dark theater, the magical lighting, and how twenty years had passed in the blink of an eye…

Everyone was talking, but their voices were low. Even the most sociable ladies had toned down their usual flamboyance, as if afraid of breaking the sacred artistic atmosphere.

In the orchestra pit below the stage, two men were making final preparations. Raoul Pounío adjusted the height of the piano bench, then lightly ran his fingers across the black and white keys, and loosened his wrists and finger joints.

At the age of thirty-seven, having spent many years playing the organ in church, his fingers are still as nimble as those of a twenty-year-old, though he needs to warm up thoroughly.

Especially the piece to be played next—one of four piano pieces composed by Debussy for the "piano duel" scene, especially the fourth one, which is so difficult that it is known as the "devil's etude".

He glanced at the sheet music spread out on the music stand. The dense notes, the complex chord markings, the rapid rungs…

If it were twenty years ago, he might have felt excited; but now, he only feels calm.

Paul Broad sat at another piano, the twenty-two-year-old's face flushed with excitement.

He kept taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself down, but his fingers were still trembling slightly—not from nervousness, but from anticipation.

"Are you ready?" Raoul Pounía asked.

Paul Broad nodded: "Ready."

“Remember the rhythm. For the third piece, I will play the Debussy part and you will play the 80s part. It’s not difficult.”

But the fourth piece requires us to simulate a two-hand solo using a four-hand piano duet, and it needs to be perfectly synchronized. Let's do it the way we practiced before.

“I understand.” Paul Broad took another deep breath. “I’ll stay close to you.”

Raoul Pounio glanced at the young man, as if he wanted to say something, such as "Relax, it's just a show," but in the end he said nothing.

Some experiences need to be learned through personal experience.

The bell in the theater rang again: ding ding ding—

The murmurs quickly subsided. The audience returned to their seats, adjusted their posture, and refocused their attention on the stage.

The entire theater was plunged into darkness once again.

This time, the audience was no longer panicked. They already knew—this was the signal that the performance was about to begin, a harbinger of the magic that was about to happen.

Act Two begins.

Debussy, the renowned European music master, heard about the "80 years" legend and came specifically to witness whether this "genius pianist who has never disembarked from a ship" truly lived up to the name.

The scene on stage is still the first-class entertainment room of the "Perel", which is packed with people.

The passengers gathered in small groups, forming a semicircle, holding their breath as they waited.

Debussy sat down at the piano; and in the orchestra pit, Raoul Poggio's fingers gently fell.

The first piece of music has begun.

Debussy played a very difficult etude, with extremely fast scale runs, complex arpeggios, and frequent hand crossings.

It doesn't pursue beautiful melodies, but only showcases dazzling skills.

Raoul Pounío's fingers danced across the keys, and scales cascaded down like a waterfall, triplets, sextuplets, thirty-second notes... one after another.

On stage, "Debussy" had his eyes closed, his body swaying slightly with the music, and his fingers moving rapidly across the keys of the prop piano.

Although no sound was actually produced, the actor's finger movements remained meticulous, ensuring that the audience would not be distracted.

Three minutes later, the music ended, and the "passengers" in the entertainment room let out low murmurs of admiration.

"Debussy" opened his eyes, stood up, and looked at "80 Years": "It's your turn."

"80 years" nodded and sat down on the piano bench; in the orchestra pit, Paul Broad's fingers fell.

The exact same notes, the exact same rhythm, the exact same dynamic changes...

Paul Broad perfectly replicated Raoul Pounío's performance.

Every scale, every arpeggio, every chord, every rest—perfectly accurate.

Three minutes later, the music ended. But the "passengers" on stage did not applaud; instead, they were shocked and dissatisfied.

What they want to hear are individual works that belong exclusively to the "80s generation." No matter how closely they imitate, it is not worth mentioning in terms of art.

Debussy's expression changed; he felt that "80" was provoking him. So he sat down at the piano again.

The second piece of music begins. This time, Debussy plays a sonata full of emotion.

This piece is no longer just about showing off technique; it has melody, emotion, complex interweaving of voices, and delicate changes in timbre.

In the orchestra pit below the stage, Raoul Pounío's fingers also became gentle.

The notes he played were sometimes plaintive and full of emotion; at other times they burst forth with passion, like a torrential downpour.

This piece is incredibly emotional, conveying feelings of loneliness, longing, and struggle... The audience was completely captivated, both on and off stage.

The piece lasted a full six minutes before ending with a long, sigh-like chord.

Debussy opened his eyes and looked towards the "80s".

"80 Years" was already filled with tears, clearly moved by the piece; he sat down on the piano bench again and began to play.

Paul Brod, sitting in the audience, replicated Raoul Pounío's performance once again—the same melody, the same harmony, the same structure…

Six minutes later, the music ended. But in the entertainment room, the passengers' dissatisfaction had reached its peak.

They banged on the table angrily, loudly mocking and even cursing "80 years." They weren't there to see how good the "genius pianist's" imitation skills were!

Debussy's expression changed completely. He felt that "80 years" was an insult to him, an insult to his reputation and skill as a music master.

He couldn't understand the pure, music-driven spirit of "80 Years," nor could he understand that "80 Years" was expressing respect for his skills in this way.

"80 years" played the piano on the ship for 20 years and never met a master like "Debussy".

Lacking worldly utilitarianism, he naturally couldn't understand the meaning and value of this "challenge".

Debussy decided to play a piece that could never be replicated in the 80s, and before playing it, he mocked the 80s in a cold tone.

The third piece of music begins. This piece is completely different from the previous two.

Its complex rhythmic variations exceeded the imagination of all the audience members present.

Its notes seem to float in mid-air, sometimes as magnificent as the most formal gown, sometimes as bright and cheerful as a babbling brook in the forest...

This is the musical language that Debussy is exploring, a style that even he himself cannot fully define.

Without Lionel's encouragement, it might have taken him five or ten years to create such a work.

Raoul Pounío poured his heart and soul into playing this piece.

His fingers sometimes move as fast as a shooting star; sometimes they move so slowly that a chord can last for several beats; and sometimes they stop completely, letting silence become part of the music...

On stage, Debussy had his eyes closed, and fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead; his fingers moved rapidly across the piano keys, and his body swayed violently, as if he were fighting against the music.

The audience was stunned. The Parisians' excellent musical literacy told them that this piano piece had broken through the traditional paradigm and was exploring the unknown.

The music lasted a full five minutes. Debussy opened his eyes, panting heavily, utterly exhausted.

He looked at "80 years," his eyes filled with disdain, mockery, and pride. This is a piece of music that no one can replicate!

"80 Years" watched him quietly, then borrowed a cigarette from him, placed it on the piano, and said to "Debussy," "This is your own doing."

The music that truly belongs to the "80s" has begun!

Paul Broad and Raoul Pounío exchanged a glance, and their fingers simultaneously began to touch the keys.

This piano piece starts running, flying, and sprinting from the very first note! There's no build-up, no transition!
Its melody is like lightning piercing the night sky, unstoppable; its chords are like crashing waves, continuous and endless.

Its rhythm is breathtakingly fast. Sixteenth notes? No, thirty-second notes. Sextuplets? No, twelfth notes.

Its scale sometimes spirals upwards, sometimes plunges downwards, sometimes makes sharp turns, and sometimes bounces continuously...

Sometimes, "80 years" will suddenly insert a sustained note during a rapid playing, giving the rushing music a fulcrum;
Sometimes, the "80 years" will suddenly play a soft, whispering note after a thunderous chord, like a light rain tapping on a window.

The seemingly simple melody hides complex vocal parts, three, four, five... intertwined together, like weaving a Persian carpet with music.

The ocean came to mind for the audience—

It has the shimmering light of the rising sun, the deep blue of the midday sun, the fiery gold and red of the setting sun, and even the mysterious darkness of the moonlight at night...

The audience also saw a large ship—

The bow cleaved through the waves, the sails billowed in the storm, the ropes rubbed against the mast, and the steam engine roared...

The audience also saw people—

A person who is one with the ship and the music, lonely yet free, who has never set foot on land, yet possesses the entire ocean.

Paul Broad and Raoul Pounío's fingers are about to burn on the piano keys!
But they dared not stop, or even think, and could only keep moving forward by relying on the muscle memory formed by repeated practice over the past few months.

On stage, "80 Years" closed his eyes, his fingers flying across the screen, his expression shifting from calm to absorption, then to ecstasy, then to pain, and finally to liberation...

The "passengers" in the entertainment room were completely stunned.

The waiter poured wine, which overflowed the glass, spilled onto the tray, and dripped onto the carpet, without either he or the guest noticing.
A man was smoking a cigar when ash fell onto his crotch, causing the fabric to smoke and emit a burnt smell, but he was completely unaware of it.

An old noblewoman's wig was knocked off and rolled to the ground, leaving her bald but completely unaware.

Everyone seemed frozen in place, their eyes wide, mouths slightly agape, their souls seemingly drawn away by the music.

Debussy's expression shifted from shock to disbelief, to fear, to awe, and finally to complete submission.

He knew he had lost, not just in terms of skill, but also in terms of his soul.

If his music is about exploration and questioning academia and classics, then the music of the "80s" is about declaration and answer.

The same five-minute piece ends abruptly after reaching its highest note.

It was like a galloping horse suddenly crashing into a wall, like a flying bird suddenly breaking its wings, like a black hole suddenly swallowing all sound.

Silence, absolute silence.

Silence reigned on stage, and silence also reigned off stage.

For a full half minute, there was no sound.

Then, "80 years" opened his eyes, reached out, picked up the cigarette from the piano, and pressed it onto the string.

With a "sizzle," the cigarette was lit.

He picked up a cigarette, walked up to Debussy, and put the cigarette into the other man's slightly open mouth.

“You smoke,” he said. “I don’t.”

There was no smugness, no mockery, just a calm remark as if saying, "The weather is nice today."

Then he turned and left the recreation room.

The "passengers" on the stage only woke up when his figure disappeared through the doorway.

The waiter exclaimed "Ah!" and realized he had poured a terrible mess of wine. He hurriedly apologized and wiped himself clean.

The man felt his thigh burning, looked down and saw smoke coming from his crotch. He screamed and slapped the fire out.

The old lady touched her bald head, screamed, and frantically searched for a wig on the floor.

Chaos erupted on stage.

Then, the "passengers" began to applaud, and applause erupted on the stage.

Meanwhile, the audience in the real world below the stage also woke up.

They experienced the same stunned silence until the applause on stage brought them back to their senses.

Then, applause erupted from the audience, as fierce as a volcanic eruption!

The applause on stage and the applause from the audience resonated in unison at that moment.

boom--

The sound of more than two thousand people clapping together was like a tsunami, like thunder, shaking the earth.

It lasted for a full five minutes.

No one could speak, no one wanted to speak, so they could only express themselves through clapping.

The "fourth wall" that Lionel had just created with lighting seemed to be broken again at this moment.

On and off stage, actors and audience, were connected by the same music and the same powerful impact.

Inside the private box, the playwrights were also applauding.

Anton Chekhov said to his sister Masha, "Music...in this play, music is the main character!"

Martha nodded, tears welling in her eyes.

Ibsen excitedly told Lionel, "You did it! You've made music more than just an accessory to the plot, even outside of musicals."

Tonight is a revolution! A revolution in theater!

Alexandre Dumas fils also remarked: "Therefore, music is a language, a language that is more direct, more profound, and more universal than dialogue!"

The applause gradually subsided, but the audience's emotions had reached their peak.

They knew that after tonight, this play would become a legend in theatrical history, and they were part of the witnessing of this "miracle"!

Ten, twenty, or fifty years from now, as long as they are alive, they can boast to others: "That night, I saw the premiere of 'The Legend of 1900'..."

The plot continues, moving into the third act.

After the "piano duel," "80 Years" reached the pinnacle of his fame. But he remained on the "Perel," still playing the piano every day, and never disembarked.

Then, love came—but not a passionate, dramatic love, but a fleeting, heart-fluttering feeling.

One day, the music maestro Saint-Saëns boarded the Perel with his young niece. He had also heard of the 80s and wanted to invite him to join his orchestra.

His niece had long, radiant blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes. She quietly followed Saint-Saëns, like a lily bud about to bloom.

When he played for Saint-Saëns in 80, his eyes were on that girl.

He no longer showed off his skills; instead, his fingertips flowed out a simple, gentle piano piece, as clear as moonlight.

This piece is only three minutes long, with a simple melody that even a child can hum along to, and a soothing rhythm like breathing.

But it can make the listener's heart race and cheeks flush, as if someone is whispering gently in their ear.

When the piece ended, Saint-Saëns acknowledged the "80-year" art and invited him to disembark and join him on a tour of the United States.

But "80 years" remained silent, his gaze passing over Saint-Saëns and landing on the young woman.

But in the end, he shook his head and declined the invitation...

In the audience, a woman was wiping away tears.

They understand this struggle—wanting to love, yet fearing change; wanting to possess, yet fearing losing oneself; wanting to take that step, yet dreading the unknown world…

Inside the private box, the playwrights were discussing in hushed tones.

“He was afraid that the land would change him, that once he got off the ship, he would no longer be the ‘80’, but just another ordinary person.”

"His music comes from the solitude of being isolated from the world; once those are lost, his music loses its soul."

"Love is an adventure, so some people just want to stay whole and don't want to try and end up shattered."

……

Time continued to flow. On the stage, the lights flickered several times, and the years passed by.

Faster cruise ships were built, and the Perel went from being a proud flagship to an outdated old ship.

Fewer and fewer passengers were arriving, and the entertainment room grew increasingly deserted. Finally, the shipping company decided to scrap it.

Workers began dismantling the ship's decorations, moving furniture, and sealing the cabin doors.

But the "80 years" did not materialize.

Everyone assumed he had disembarked—after all, if the ship was about to be blown up, who would stay on board to die?

Only one old stoker said, "He won't get off the ship. This ship is his world. If he leaves the ship, he will die."

But nobody listened to him.

The day of clearance arrived, and all personnel were evacuated. The Perel was left alone in the bay, awaiting demolition.

In the final scene, the recreation room is empty and in ruins; the sofa, card table, and bar are gone, and the piano is no more.

"80 Years" sat alone on a broken chair in the middle of the cabin, his fingers pressing lightly in the air, as if there were piano keys dancing in front of him.

That simple piano piece, as breathy as a whisper, began to play again, this time seemingly telling the story of his entire life—

Born at sea, grew up at sea, played the piano at sea, loved someone at sea, and ultimately chose to stay at sea...

The lights subtly changed, from sunrise to noon, then to dusk, and finally to night...

Then, a blinding red light shone from behind the stage, just like a real explosion had occurred!

The stage went dark again, this time completely dark, without a single ray of light.

For a full ten seconds. Then, the lights in the audience slowly came on.

The premiere of "The Legend of 1900" has come to an end!

--------

No one moved; the audience was still immersed in the tragic finale.

"80 years" chose to perish with the ship, choosing to die in the place where he was born.

No compromises, no regrets, only a resolute yet gentle farewell.

Then, applause broke out, and everyone stood up.

Applause, cheers, whistles, screams... the comedy theater had never seen such a spectacle before!

"Bravo!"

"awesome!"

"Incredible!"

The applause lasted for a full twenty minutes. Every time it seemed to be fading, a new wave of applause would erupt, bringing the atmosphere back to a climax.

The curtain rose again, and the actors began to take their bows.

Some people shouted the character's name, some shouted the actor's name, and some couldn't shout anything at all, they just clapped their hands frantically.

In the stalls, the wealthy businessmen and their wives, their tears still wet on their hands, were already red from clapping.

Inside the private room, even the usually reserved nobles stood up and applauded enthusiastically.

Inside the building, the poor students and young artists danced and cheered with joy.

Flowers and gifts flooded the stage, and the ladies took off their expensive jewelry and threw it at the actors.

Students surged from the building toward the stage, some even stepping on other people's shoulders and heads to "run" forward.

In one of the boxes, Debussy himself was already in tears. This was the first time he had seen a complete performance of "The Legend of 1900," and he was equally overwhelmed with emotion.

His music, combined with the plot and performance, unleashed an unimaginable emotional power.

The entire theater erupted in revelry.

The audience began chanting Lionel's name:

"Authors! Authors! We need authors!"

"Sorel, Sorel, Sorel!"

"Heroes! Heroes of France!"

……

In the box, Lionel looked at the cheering audience and the excited playwrights around him, nodded slightly, and stood up.

He achieved his goal. "The Legend of 1900" is not just a play; it is a manifesto, a demonstration, and a beginning.

Ibsen, unable to contain his emotions, gripped Lionel's hand tightly: "Léon, this is a new era of theater! This is a new era of theater!"

Lionel smiled and replied, "No, this is us in a new era! This is our new era!"

The playwrights present all knew the weight of the phrase "us in the new era." From today onward, European playwrights will need to adopt a different mindset when writing scripts.

Two years ago, "lighting as part of the drama" was just a "blueprint" that Lionel drew up in front of a few people;
Two years later, this blueprint was presented to them in the most incredible way.

Lionel was about to go downstairs and then onto the stage to receive the audience's applause.

Just then, Wilde quietly approached Lionel and asked, "Lion, I'd like to know how much this kind of modification will cost?"

Lionel smiled. "To be honest, it's not too expensive... but first, you need 'electricity'... I'll have Dean Perrin introduce it to everyone later..."

(With all five watchmen working together to celebrate the New Year, asking for a monthly pass isn't too much to ask, right?)

(End of this chapter)