Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 177 Debiao's Journey to the Grand View Garden

117 Boulevard Saint-Germain is a typical new Haussmann building, completed only five years ago, with a clear outline and bright colors.

Compared to the old Ottoman buildings around it that have weathered more than 20 years of storms, it stands out as particularly tall and new.

Achille-Claude Debussy stood in front of the building, slightly flustered as he adjusted his collar and bow tie.

He clutched a hardcover notebook used for recording musical scores tightly in his hand and looked up at the imposing building.

Compared to his home on the second floor of the shop, or the cramped and noisy attic rooms rented by his classmates, this place seemed like another world.

Even the air is filled with the scent of money and order.

He took a deep breath, explained his purpose to the doorman, and then walked into the lobby, where he saw an interior that was even more glamorous than its exterior.

The marble floors gleamed like mirrors, the ceilings soared high, and the brass gas lamps shone brightly—everything was magnificent.

A uniformed, meticulously dressed administrator sat behind a walnut wood table: "Hello, sir, who are you looking for?"

The polite but scrutinizing tone made Debussy even more uneasy.

He tried to make his voice sound calm and composed: "Hello, I'm here to see Mr. Lionel Sorel."

My name is Achille-Claude Debussy, and I have an appointment with him.

The doorman glanced at the register on the table and nodded: "Yes, Mr. Debussy. Mr. Sorel instructed him."

His apartment is on the second floor, the one on the left. Please go straight up.

Debussy nodded slightly: "Thank you." Then he stepped onto the wide staircase and went up to the second floor.

To his surprise, even the stairs and corridors were covered with soft, thick carpets that felt as soft as snow when you stepped on them.

The hallway was unusually quiet. The thick walls, oak doors, and tightly closed windows isolated it from the noise of the street, and you could almost hear your own breathing.

This apartment could only be described as "high-class" in Paris; but for Debussy, it was unimaginable luxury.

The dormitories provided by the Paris Conservatory are like pigsties, not to mention the attics where it's difficult to even turn around.

There are only two doors on the second floor, located on the left and right sides of the stairwell.

Debussy followed the directions to the dark oak door on the left, which had a brass plaque with elegant calligraphic numbers.

He found the doorbell cord and gently pulled it.

Shortly after, Lionel opened the door: "Good afternoon, Ashley, you're right on time. Welcome!"

After exchanging greetings, Debussy nervously entered the apartment, only to be overwhelmed by the sights.

The first thing you see is a spacious foyer, which connects to an extremely open living room.

The velvet curtains hanging over the tall windows were drawn high, allowing the bright afternoon sunlight to stream in and illuminate the entire space.

The walls were painted snow-white and decorated with several landscape paintings and portrait sketches.

The floor is polished dark solid wood, covered with several beautifully patterned Turkish-style rugs.

What really caught Debussy's eye was a piano in excellent condition placed on the other side of the living room, near the inner window!
Debussy immediately recognized it as an Eiral piano, with a warm and mellow tone, particularly suitable for Romantic works, and a favorite of Chopin.

The dark wooden body of the instrument gleamed warmly in the sunlight, and the lid was open, revealing the distinct black and white keys, as if they were waiting for the musician to play them.

Debussy couldn't help but exclaim, "This...this place is truly wonderful, Mr. Sorel!"

Lionel smiled and pointed to the piano: "With this, our work will be much easier. Come on, don't stand, make yourself at home."

As soon as he sat down, Debussy saw a little girl, about ten years old, wearing a white apron, peek her head out of the kitchen and look at him curiously.

Debussy scratched his head somewhat embarrassedly.

Lionel seemed to sense his discomfort: "Actually, I'm not quite used to it either... I've only been here for three days."

"When I got up to drink water last night, I kicked the cabinet leg, and it still hurts a bit." This one sentence eased Debussy's tension.

Lionel had long considered moving away from 64 Lafitte Street, but he always found moving too much of a hassle, so he never did.

The place was a hastily found accommodation after the Greenhead incident, and the facilities were all old. Water could only be obtained from the public pool in the hallway.

The church's approach finally made Lionel's decision—

While it's unclear what the caretaker of 64 Lafitte Street said to the church, getting him to talk certainly wouldn't be that difficult.

Continuing to live there was risky, so Lionel hired an agent to find him a new apartment a few days ago and moved in before the start of the semester.

Just then, Petty returned carrying a tray with two steaming cups of black coffee and a small dish of sugar cubes.

Lionel said gently, "Thank you, Petty."

Debussy quickly thanked him, saying, "Thank you, Miss."

Petty gave a graceful, slight bow, and whispered, "You're welcome," before turning and leaving.

Lionel picked up his coffee, took a sip, and then got down to business: "Alright, Ashley, let's get to work."

I've already written the beginning of the script.

He got up, walked to his desk, picked up a stack of densely written manuscript paper, and handed it back to Debussy.

Debussy took the manuscript paper. The title of the play, "The Choir," was written at the top of the first page, followed by a list of characters and scene descriptions.

Next comes the script content:

【………

Father Razzi: Mr. Clement Mathieu? I am Father Razzi, the person in charge here. Thank you for answering our call. The situation here may be different from what you imagine. We do not take in ordinary children. They are lost sheep, abandoned by their families, forgotten by society, tainted with innate or acquired unruliness. Here, order, discipline, and punishment are the only way to cleanse their souls and guide them towards the light. Do you understand?
Matthew: I understand, Father. I will do my best…

Father Razi: It's not about trying, it's about strict adherence. Every rule here is for their benefit. Any weakness or indulgence is a concession to the devil, a further harm to their souls. Your predecessor tried to reform them, and the result… I hope you won't repeat the same mistake.”

Matthew: I will keep your teachings in mind, Father.

Father Razi: Very good. Now, I will take you to see your 'lambs'. Remember what you just said.

After reading the opening section, Debussy was deeply moved.

Lionel perfectly portrays Father Razzie's hypocrisy and coldness; his lines directly evoke the deepest fears in every French child.

For a long time, primary education in France was controlled by the church, so these harsh and high-sounding pronouncements have long been a nightmare for generations of French people.

When Lionel wrote this passage, the image of Father Peltier in Monttier came to mind.

Father Peltier was the nominal "principal" of Saint Joseph, but he never taught classes.

His favorite thing to do was to interrupt the class, conduct surprise inspections, and then stand on the platform and scold the students for being corrupted because of the teachers' leniency.

It often frightened Mr. Renault so much that he would tremble in a corner.

This emotional impact was well preserved by Lionel in the script.

This is also why Lionel dared to write the libretto for "The Choir" right under the noses of the church—

The biggest "villain," Dean Lazi, doesn't need to be portrayed as particularly evil in this play.

His every word and action was a "model" in the eyes of the church, but in the eyes of ordinary French people, he was an absolute "devil".

He patted the somewhat dazed Debussy on the shoulder and pointed to another part of the script: "This is where you're needed to compose the music."

Debussy quickly composed himself, looked down intently, and a smile gradually appeared on his face...

(End of this chapter)