Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 205 Everyone is looking for Leon!
From the end of 1879 to the beginning of 1880, a new sound was added to the streets and alleys of Paris, in addition to the familiar sounds of horse-drawn carriages and newsboys hawking their wares.

It was a melody hummed by children's clear, even slightly off-key, voices—

"Oh, night has just fallen upon the earth..."

"Grandma Manon has a cat whose tail is held really high!"

The songs from "The Chorus"—especially the pure "Night" and the playful "Mother Manon's Cat"—permeated every corner of Paris with astonishing speed.

In the neat park next to Boulevard Saint-Germain, boys and girls wearing velvet coats sang while swinging on swings.
In the maze of alleyways in the Marais district, children rolling iron hoops responded with even louder voices.

Even under the bridge arch of the Pont des Arts on the Seine, several ragged little street children, their cheeks red from the cold, sang fragments of "Night" in their tender, hoarse voices, albeit intermittently, yet with extraordinary earnestness.

The singing seemed out of place in the environment, yet it stubbornly shone with a faint light, as if the children from "the bottom of the pond" in the play had truly stepped into reality.

At the Paris Conservatory, Achille-Claude Debussy became the most sought-after star in the entire school almost overnight.

Invitations began pouring in—not the kind for salon entertainment, but serious invitations to compose theatrical scores, with pay so generous it made him dizzy.

However, among all the invitations, there was a letter from faraway Russia that plunged him into unprecedented hesitation.

The letter was written by Nadezhda von Meck, a renowned art patron, Tchaikovsky's close friend and benefactor.

In her letter, she sincerely invited Debussy to come to Moscow to serve as her family pianist and chamber music advisor, with extremely generous terms.

Two months ago, Debussy, who was short of money, would have packed his bags without hesitation.

But at this moment, touching the generous composition deposit he had just received in his pocket, he hesitated.

The Parisian music market is embracing him, and his career is just beginning to take off in his homeland.

While Madame von Meck was a powerful supporter of the musicians in Russia, the experience of living under someone else's roof was quite different.

The young musical genius was caught in a happy dilemma, eager to find the respected Mr. Sorel and seek his advice.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Meanwhile, at the Comédie-Française, the office of director Émile Perrin was bustling with visitors.

Representatives from almost every French city with a decent theater—Lyon, Marseille, Nantes, Toulouse, Nice—crammed into his reception room.

Their goals were remarkably aligned: to obtain the rights to perform "The Choir" locally through the Comedy Theatre.

The sensation caused by "The Choir" in Paris had already spread throughout the country through letters, telegrams, and personal visits from these representatives.

Theater managers in every city saw the play's huge box office potential and were eager to bring it to their own stages.

But Dean Emil Perrin saw a different picture.

His reputation reached its zenith with the huge success of "The Chorus," and he even had a chance to win the position of director of the Paris Opera.

He was absolutely unwilling to let Lionel sell the libretto and score of "The Chorus" to other theaters, so that "The Chorus" could be performed all over France.

He saw a better idea—to make "The Chorus" the "exclusive signature" of the Comédie-Française and a regular repertoire piece.

If other cities want to stage the show, they must invite the original cast of the comedy theater to tour there!
This is the only way to maximize profits and spread your reputation throughout France!
Therefore, he did not hesitate to send his chief assistant to Lionel with a new contract with extremely attractive terms.

In the new contract, he significantly increased Lionel's share of the box office revenue from the industry standard of 3% to 6%.

The condition is that Lionel must grant the Comedy Theatre exclusive performance rights to the play, and the Comedy Theatre will act as its agent for all future performances outside the city.

Thus, the comedy theater assistant, representatives from various city theaters, and the preoccupied Debussy all began a "citywide search" for Lionel Sorel.

They all went to 117 Boulevard Saint-Germain, but Petit politely informed them that the young master had been leaving early every morning recently, his whereabouts unknown, often returning late at night, and sometimes not returning at all. They then inquired with Maupassant, Zola, and Flaubert, only to learn that Lionel had not appeared at their salon for several weeks.

This young, successful playwright seemed to have vanished in Paris.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

At this moment, Lionel is comfortably in a messy studio in Montmartre, Paris.

The air here is filled with the scent of flaxseed oil and tobacco, and crumpled sketches, worn-out paintbrushes, and several faded palettes are scattered on the ground.

The studio owner, Pierre-Auguste Renoir, was standing in front of his easel, sometimes squinting at the model in front of him, and sometimes quickly and elegantly applying paint to the canvas with a brush full of paint.

Fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, and his expression was extremely focused.

His model was none other than Lionel Sorel, whom many people had been searching for.

Lionel leaned back on an old sofa covered with a deep red velvet rug, his posture relaxed but not lazy.

He was wearing a simple white shirt with the collar slightly open, and his coat was casually draped over a rattan chair next to him.

The winter sunlight streamed through the large north-facing window, softly illuminating half of his face and body, creating a play of light and shadow.

“Yes, that’s it, keep it up, Lionel…very good…you’re much quieter than the models Monet found, they always like to move around…”

Renoir muttered to himself as he painted, completely immersed in his world of light and shadow.

Lionel smiled slightly but did not speak.

He knew, of course, that many people were looking for him, and he roughly knew why they were looking for him—but he wasn't in a hurry.

As the number of performances of "The Choir" increases, its fame grows, and its box office revenue rises, his bargaining power will also increase.

So let the bullets fly a little longer.

Just then, Renoir sent him an invitation—the winter sun in Paris was particularly lovely lately, perfect for painting portraits.

Lionel had already agreed to paint Renoir's portrait, so he took the opportunity to avoid the commotion.

Renoir was very particular about light, and could only paint for two or three hours a day, some of which was spent waiting for the clouds and smog to clear.

During this break, Lionel would drink coffee and chat about art.

What moved Renoir was that Lionel not only highly endorsed the artistic principles of the Impressionists, but even said that their paintings would sell for incredibly high prices in the future.

Just a few months ago, he was so poor he had to eat dirt.

In return for this kindred spirit, Renoir brought out many of his treasured masterpieces that he was unwilling to consign to galleries, allowing Lionel to choose freely.

Lionel didn't stand on ceremony, paying Renoir's current market prices, and taking one or two paintings with him almost every day before leaving.

Some of these paintings are hanging on the walls of her own apartment, while others are hanging in Sophie's home.

The process was quite enjoyable!

Moreover, watching Renoir capture and reshape light, and how he constructs images with blocks of color and brushstrokes, was a fresh and relaxing experience for him.

However, two letters, one from Moscow and the other from London, disrupted his leisure time...

(End of this chapter)