Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 629 The Troubles of Two Francs!

The applause continued as Lionel emerged from his box and walked down the corridor toward the stage.

The corridor was packed with people, those who couldn't get into the private boxes and those who wanted to block the author in advance, making the passageway completely impassable.

Upon seeing Lionel appear, the crowd automatically parted to make way.

"Mr. Sorel!"

"awesome!"

"hero!"

Lionel nodded, continued walking through the crowd, and reached the side of the stage.

Emil Perrin was already standing there, his face flushed and his eyes glistening with tears.

Upon seeing Lionel, he grabbed his hand: "Leon, it's been twenty years. I've worked at the comedy theater for twenty years, and I've never seen anything like this."

Lionel thought to himself, "It seems you said the same thing after the premiere of 'Thunderstorm' last time; and the time before that, after the premiere of 'The Choir'..."

But he still patted him on the shoulder: "This is just the beginning, Emil."

Émile Perrin nodded emphatically: "I went to the opera house and will immediately begin the electrification process!"

Émile Perrin has always wanted to become the director of an opera house, and "The Legend of 1900" should be the one that qualifies him for that position.

As for the next director of the comedy theater, barring any unforeseen circumstances, it will be Mune Sully, who played important roles in both "The Chorus" and "Thunderstorm".

He was still able to work happily with the Comédie-Française and was even moving into the Paris Opera.

The curtain call on stage continued. The actors lined up and bowed repeatedly.

When Lionel walked onto the stage, all the actors spontaneously made him stand in the center.

The spotlight shone on him, and the applause rose another notch. He raised his hand in acknowledgment, but the applause simply wouldn't stop.

He stood in the center of the stage and waited for a full five minutes before the applause gradually subsided.

"Thank you. Tonight's success doesn't belong to me alone."

Lionel pulled Raoul Pounío and Paulo Brod, who had been standing on the sidelines, to his side.

"Without them, there would be no performance tonight!"

The audience applauded again, this time for the two pianists.

Raoul Pounío stood there, his eyes already wet, his heart, which had long since cooled, now burning with renewed warmth.

From 1871 to now, twelve years! Nobody knows him, nobody remembers him, and he thought that was how his life would be.

Now, on this stage, more than two thousand people are standing and applauding for him.

Young Paul Broad was much more direct; he raised his hands, waved them constantly, and grinned from ear to ear.

Lionel stepped back, giving center stage to the two pianists.

At this moment, some people in the audience started to push forward.

It started with just a few people, moving forward from the center of the stalls; then more people joined in.

"Sorel!"

"Sorel!"

The shouts grew louder and louder.

Soon, dozens of people rushed to the edge of the stage, reaching out to try and touch Lionel.

Some people even climbed onto the stage, but were quickly stopped by staff; however, as the number of people increased, the staff could no longer hold them off.

Then the first person rushed onto the stage, followed by the second, the third...

Before Lionel could react, he was surrounded by a group of people.

They grabbed his arms and shoulders and lifted him up with all their might.

"one two Three!"

Lionel was tossed into the air, caught, and tossed up again.

Once, twice, three times...

The audience cheered, whistled, and screamed.

He was put down countless times before he was finally released.

But as soon as his feet touched the ground, someone rushed over to hug him.

He didn't recognize the man, but the man hugged him and cried uncontrollably, "Thank you, Mr. Sorel! Thank you!"

Then the second, the third... whether male or female, everyone wanted to kiss his cheek according to traditional etiquette.

Lionel was so frightened that he wet himself, covering his face with his hands, and barely managed to squeeze out of the crowd.

His hair was now disheveled, his coat buttons were ripped off, and his shirt collar was torn open, but fortunately, the bullet in his cane was not accidentally fired.

Theater staff quickly protected him, preventing the frenzied audience from getting close.

Lionel didn't dare linger. After waving to the audience one last time, he quickly returned backstage.

The curtain in the performance hall then slowly fell.

But backstage was just as chaotic—actors were hugging each other, staff were running around, some were crying, and some were laughing.

Emil Perrin squeezed in: "Leon, we must celebrate tonight! It's on me, everyone come!"

Lionel shook his head: "You may go, Emil. I want to go back and rest."

Perrin wanted to say something more, but seeing Lionel's tired face, he nodded: "Okay, but you must come to the banquet hall of the Comedy Theatre tomorrow night!"

Lionel nodded, leaned on his cane, and left the comedy theater through a hidden back door.

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At seven o'clock in the morning on December 27, 1883, Paris was not yet fully awake, but all the newsstands were already bustling with activity.

At the shop on the corner of Boulevard Saint-Michel, as soon as the owner put bundles of newspapers on the shelf, people gathered around.

"Give me a copy of Le Figaro!"

"Le Parisien!"

"Gil Blass!"

The newsstand owner was flustered, handing out newspapers, collecting money, and giving change. He had been selling newspapers for thirty years and had never seen anything like it.

Those who received the newspaper stood by the roadside and began to read it.

Front page! All front page content!
The front-page headline in Le Figaro was in extra-large font, taking up three entire columns: "A Night That Rewrote Theatre History!"

The article was written by Auguste Vito, chief theater critic for Le Figaro:
Last night, I sat in the audience at the Comédie-Française and witnessed the end of one era and the beginning of another.

I don't know how to describe those three hours. I'm not even sure if I was watching a play or experiencing some kind of supernatural event.

When all the theater lights went out, and the stage became the only source of light in the darkness, I suddenly realized: all the plays I had ever seen in the past were watched during the day!
Last night, when darkness truly descended, I realized for the first time that drama could be so real, so immersive, and so undistracting!
Then came that 'piano duel'. I had attended countless piano recitals, including Debussy's new work presentation at the Pleyel Concert Hall, and I thought I knew how far modern piano music could go.

But I was wrong! Terribly wrong!
When Mr. Poignant and Mr. Brod played their four-hand piano duet, when the melody known as the 'Devil's Etude' echoed throughout the theater...

I felt my heart being squeezed, and the woman next to me started to cry without even realizing it.

Later, "80 Years" pressed that cigarette onto the piano string—with a hiss, the cigarette was lit—at that moment, the entire audience of more than two thousand people was completely silent.

I could hear my own heartbeat. Was this a drama? Or magic? I don't know.

But I know that since last night, the drama has changed.

Vito's article took up two full pages, detailing every aspect of the performance, analyzing every new technology Lionel used, and concluding with this summary:

Some say Lionel Sorel is a monster. After last night, I believe it. Fortunately, this monster belongs to France, so let's cheer for that!

The front page of Le Petit Parisien was even more extravagant, featuring only a single, enormous sketch—

Last night, the scene where "80s" stuffed a cigarette into "Debussy's" mouth. Below the sketch, a line of large text reads:
He set Paris on fire!

The inside pages were filled with four full pages of reports. In addition to reviews, there were interviews with the actors and audience members.

Journalist Charles Morris wrote:

Last night I interviewed twenty audience members. Twenty people, twenty different descriptions, but the meaning was the same: unprecedented and unheard of!

The headline of the newspaper "The Motherland" consisted of only two words: "Night of Geniuses," and it began with an exclamation:
Last night, the Comédie-Française wasn't a theater, it was a church. The more than two thousand audience members weren't watching a play, they were on a pilgrimage.

The Telegraph reporter took a different approach; instead of writing a theater review, he wrote a "technical report": "The Revolution of Light."

What moved me most in last night's "The Legend of 1900" was not the story, the performance, or the music, but the light.

When all the lights went out, and the stage became the only source of light, I suddenly realized: the era of gaslighting was over.

----------

Amid the clamor, Lionel did not choose to appear in the newspapers and boast, but instead did something else that everyone was interested in:

How were those magical effects achieved during the performance of "The Legend of 1900"?

He led more than a dozen journalists, along with playwrights and theater managers in Paris, on a tour of the renovated backstage and stage of the Comédie-Française.

A huge iron frame, like a tree, with outstretched branches supporting dozens of discs containing electric lights, which are what make the stage lights flicker.

There is a motor under the iron frame. When it rotates, it drives the main rod to sway through gears. The amplitude and frequency can be adjusted, and it can be used to sit quietly and synchronously at the same time.

Next is the theater's lighting system, consisting of 6000 carbon filament bulbs and more than a dozen large arc lamps, connected by extremely complex wiring.

To this end, the comedy theater has set up a special lighting control room, with two electrical engineers taking turns on duty and inspecting to ensure that everything goes smoothly during the performance.

There's also how to use the mechanism of the prop piano to allow the younger and older versions of "80s" to switch personnel during the intervals of the flickering lights, thus achieving the effect of "the passage of time";
And how can a specific steel string be heated to a high temperature using an electric current so that a cigarette can be lit without an open flame or the use of dangerous self-igniting chemicals...?

At the end of the tour, Lionel stood on the stage, looking at the playwrights, journalists, critics, and theater managers before him—

"Theatrical revolution is not my patent, but an opportunity for everyone, and any theater can do it. It only requires three things: electricity, engineers, and courage!"

A reporter immediately asked a sensitive question: "How much will the upgrade cost?"

Lionel was quite frank: "The Comedy Theatre had already undergone an electrification upgrade two years ago, so the foundation was good and this time it didn't cost much, less than 200,000 francs."

A collective gasp immediately filled the air.

Two hundred thousand francs? Less than that? Not much money spent.
Lionel shrugged: "So, for the time being, 'The Legend of 1900' can only be shown here. If other people want to see it, they should come to Paris."

The reporter murmured, "Then this play will become a Parisian exclusive."

Lionel nodded: "You could say that."

He looked at the empty seats below the stage: "But isn't that a kind of charm too?"

--------

On December 28th, at 8:00 AM, a long queue had already formed outside the Comédie-Française.

Starting from the theater entrance, the line stretches along the Place Royal Palace and all the way to the Louvre Promenade.

Some of them hadn't left since last night—they were dozing against the wall, wrapped in blankets and coats.

Starting yesterday, the ticket prices for "The Legend of 1900" have been skyrocketing in an irrational direction.

Any balcony ticket issued before February, even the worst "top floor" seat, can fetch as much as 80 francs on the black market.

This is almost equivalent to a month's income for a laborer in Paris.

Tickets for the stalls start at 200 francs and have become the most fashionable "hard currency" in Paris; selling one to you is considered a favor.

The private rooms on the second floor—especially the "long-term private rooms"—are simply not available for purchase and are not traded on the market at all.

Paris's elite have come to regard taking friends to see "The Legend of 1900" as a new way to socialize and showcase their taste.

In Parisian salons, the only topic of conversation these days is "The Legend of 1900".

Haven't seen "The Legend of 1900"? Then I'm sorry, you'll have to keep quiet tonight, otherwise you'll only spoil the enjoyment of those who have.

The standard greeting in Parisian high society has become "Have you seen it?"

If you say "I watched it," the other person's eyes will light up, and they'll start discussing how immersive the "Full Dark Theatre" was, how stunning the "piano duel" was, and how touching the final scene was.

If you say "I didn't see it," the other person will look away, give a perfunctory reply like "The weather is really nice today," and then go find something to talk about with someone else.

Therefore, if someone considers themselves part of the "elite class" in Paris and wants to remain in social circles, they must quickly find a way to get a ticket.

200 francs? Worth it! Waiting in line for three days? Worth it!

Because after watching this play, you become a part of "Paris."

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But while everyone was willing to spend 200 francs for a ticket to "The Legend of 1900," its author, Lionel, was struggling to afford 2 francs.

Because he has been spending more time in the city recently, he has temporarily moved back to the apartment at 117 Boulevard Saint-Germain for convenience.

This "Haussmann building," which was completed just ten years ago, remains one of the most prestigious luxury apartments in Paris.

The tap water pipes leading into the house, the toilet system that flows directly into the municipal sewer system, the gas lights in every room...

If Lionel hadn't stayed at the "hillside villa" in Vernef, he would still find everything here so comfortable.

But now everything is different...

"It's easy to go from frugality to extravagance, but difficult to go from extravagance to frugality!" Lionel said painfully after washing himself with cold water early in the morning.

But then he heard a crying sound.

Lionel quickly dressed and followed the sound to the living room, where he saw Sophie and Alice comforting the family cook.

This remarkable woman from Brittany, who was even wider than the two ladies standing together, was now crying like a little girl.

"Damn it! Two francs! Two francs! I only threw away a few vegetable leaves, some eggshells, and a few beef bones, and they want to fine me two francs! How am I supposed to live like this..."

(I'm busy today, so this is just one update. I'll make up for it later.)

(End of this chapter)