Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 426 The Pianist

Lionel and the others followed Daudet to the entertainment room on the upper deck of the cruise ship.

This area is about 100 square meters, with several card tables scattered around, and some passengers are playing Whistler.

In the corner, there was an inconspicuous little stage with a piano on one side, where a pianist was playing a gentle Schubert melody.

The air was filled with the faint scent of cigar smoke, the rich aroma of coffee, and the fragrance of perfume worn by the ladies.

Émile Zola and Edmond de Goncourt were already seated in a quiet corner, surrounded by a few journalists and some curious passengers.

Lionel and the others walked over and sat down in the empty seats.

Before Lionel could ask any questions, Zola eagerly stated his plan: "Gentlemen, this long voyage has only just begun, and it will take another five days to reach New York."

These past few days have been so bumpy, it's probably difficult to concentrate on writing. To pass the time, I have a suggestion—"

He looked around, his gaze sweeping over each writer: "Why don't we do what we did last summer in Meitang, where everyone takes turns telling stories, with no restrictions on the subject matter, but it must be related to ships and voyages?"

This will not only enrich our monotonous life on board, but it can also be compiled into a book someday. I've already thought of a title: "Night on the Perel!"

The suggestion was immediately endorsed by other writers, and the journalists were even more excited, because they finally had another topic to write about in the news, and it was the kind that would attract the most attention!
Last year's "Meitang Night Meeting" was arguably the most popular collection of short stories, and the book signings by the "Seven Talents of Meitang" in Paris and Vienna caused a sensation.

I never imagined I'd get to witness these great writers' creations in person today! It's something I never even dared to dream of!
Next, the order in which the stories were told was decided. To avoid politeness and shirking responsibility, Zola suggested drawing lots.

He took out a few notepads, quickly wrote down numbers, crumpled them into small balls, and put them in his hat. Everyone reached out and drew one.

Lionel unfolded the crumpled paper in his hand, on which was written a clear "1".

Zola laughed heartily: "It seems that fate has bestowed the honor of being the first to tell the story upon our Mr. Sorel!"
Leon, you can go back and think it over first. We'll gather here again after dinner to hear your story.

If you can't think of anything right now, tomorrow is fine too!

Everyone thought this was reasonable, since creating a story that meets the requirements and is also engaging is not an easy task.

However, Lionel simply waved his hand and said casually, "No need to wait until after dinner, much less until tomorrow, Emile."

I can tell you all about it right now!

This statement caused Zola, Daudet, Goncourt, and others present, as well as the reporters and passengers nearby, to show expressions of surprise.

Only Maupassant stroked his meticulously trimmed beard, a knowing smile on his face.

He addressed the astonished crowd, saying, "See? Ladies and gentlemen, this is Lionel's basic procedure."

I was right there beside him when he spontaneously composed "My Uncle Jules" aboard the "Saint-Michel".

I told you he was a monster, but you didn't believe me then!

Under the watchful eyes of everyone, Lionel calmly stood up.

He didn't start speaking immediately, but instead walked towards the piano.

Lionel leaned slightly forward beside the pianist and politely asked, "Sir, what is your name?"

The pianist was somewhat surprised and stopped playing: "My name is Jean Durand, sir."

Lionel nodded, took out a 5-franc silver coin, and placed it on the music stand.

“Very well, Mr. Durand. From now until the end of my story, your name is ‘80’.”

Jean Durand was stunned. He looked at the silver coin and then at Lionel.

Although he was puzzled, he finally nodded: "As you wish, sir. I am now '80 years old'."

Lionel straightened up with satisfaction and instructed, "Then, Mr. '80,' please begin playing Liszt's Sonata in B minor."

Can you play until the end of my story?

“Of course, sir.” The pianist put away the silver coin and his fingers returned to the black and white keys.

After a moment of silence, the notes flowed from the piano keys again, beginning to echo in the seaside entertainment room.

As the music played, Lionel returned to his seat, leaning back lazily, as if what was about to begin was not a tense improvisation, but a pleasant chat.

He glanced at the breathless audience: "The story I'm going to tell you today is about a pianist who never left a cruise ship in his entire life."

His name is simply '80'.

His opening remarks immediately captured everyone's attention.

A pianist who has never disembarked from a ship? This immediately sets this character apart from other pianists.

The reporters quickly took out their notebooks and pencils and began to record Lionel's account.

Lionel's voice intertwined with the piano music as he began his narration:

"The story begins on the first day of 1880, right here on the Perel."

That morning, in the first-class lounge, the all-night New Year's party had just ended, leaving behind a mess of cups and plates.

A stoker named Armand found an abandoned newborn baby on the piano.

Armand was a rough man, covered in coal dust, but kind-hearted. He picked up the weakly crying baby, ignoring the ridicule and dissuasion of the other workers—

"You can't even support yourself!" Who knows which nobleman left this mess behind?

But he still decided to raise the child.

Because he was discovered on the first day of the new year, Armand named him '80'.

This dramatic start elicited soft gasps from several women in the audience.

Zola nodded, seemingly approving of the kindness of these people from the lower classes.

Lionel ignored these comments and continued telling the story of the "80s"—

"Thus, '80 was born at sea and grew up amidst the roar of machinery and the rocking of the waves. The sea was his cradle, and the cruise ship was his whole world."

To Lu Di, he was a person who had never existed, with no relatives, no household registration, and no nationality.

He traveled between Le Havre and New York aboard the Perel, docking at various piers, but never set foot on it.

His childhood consisted of watching the glowing red coals in the boiler room, chasing seagulls on the deck, and peeking at the first-class dance party...

However, fate is unpredictable. In '80,' when he was eight years old, an accident during severe weather caused a loose hatch to fall on his adoptive father, Armand.

Armand died in '80's arms, leaving him only a tattered hat.

"80 years old" became an orphan again...

Lionel's slow, deliberate speech and concise descriptions paint a vivid picture of a lonely and unique childhood.

The sonata in B minor, flowing from the pianist's fingertips, is entering a section full of conflict and passion, as if reflecting the sudden change in the character's fate.

The audience fell silent for the second loss of this orphan at sea, and one mother even let out a soft sigh.

Only Zola couldn't help but whisper to Goncourt beside him, "A brilliant concept! An individual detached from conventional society, a pure product of his environment."

"Just late at night in '80, while he was huddled in a corner of the recreation room, a melodious piano tune attracted him."

It was an old folk song that the night watchman played casually, and its beautiful melody, like moonlight, illuminated his dark world.

After the Night's Watch left, '80' inexplicably walked to the piano, and his outstretched little hand pressed on the keys.
—A miracle happened!

Lionel's voice rose in pitch: "He had never studied music, but his fingers seemed to know by nature how to talk to these black and white keys."

A melancholic melody flowed from his fingertips. The music did not belong to any known score; it came from the sea, from solitude, and from his strange origins.

From then on, '80' found his way to communicate with the world; he began playing the piano at sea.

When Lionel described how he played a moving melody without any formal instruction during the “80 years,” the audience looked on incredulous as the notes flowed from pianist Durand’s hands.

Some exchanged skeptical glances, but many more were captivated by this "divine revelation" moment, immersing themselves in the magic created by the music and narrative.

"...At first, he only played in the dead of night when no one was around, but later the crew spread the word; gradually, passengers came from afar during the voyage, gathered outside the recreation room, and listened to the beautiful music drifting from the crack in the door."

His fame spread like wildfire…

Lionel paused briefly, letting the piano music fill the space alone for a moment.

The audience was completely drawn into the world he had created, and one woman even had tears welling up in her eyes.

"...As '80s' grew up, his piano skills became more and more exquisite, and his reputation spread to more and more places."

Finally, the real challenger arrived.

Lionel's gaze seemed to drift into the distance, as if recalling a real event from the past:
"Our musical genius, pianist, Achille-Claude Debussy, also boarded the Perel."

Upon hearing Debussy's name, the reporters and passengers gasped softly, clearly having heard of him before.

Maupassant raised an eyebrow, a look of envy on his face—this young man he had found at "Rose House" had been living a life that was like winning the lottery ever since he was introduced to Lionel.

The soundtrack to "The Chorus" gained fame in real life, and now it's going to be incorporated into a novel by Lionel...

Next, Lionel recounts how he and Debussy "danced" on the piano in 80 in front of an audience, including the scene of lighting a cigarette on the piano strings.

No one present could have imagined that a piano could be used for a "duel." This scene, comparable to a real duel, was not only ingenious but also full of twists and turns, making it extremely tense and exciting.

The passengers in the entire entertainment room were drawn to it, and even "80 Years," who was playing the piano, craned his neck, hoping to hear more details, which caused him to lose his rhythm several times.

"When the last note faded into the air, the recreation room fell silent."

Debussy remained silent for a long time, then stood up, walked to the '80' sign, and said respectfully, 'Sir, your music doesn't belong to the land; it belongs here.'

Debussy pointed to the vast sea outside the porthole…

The story is now halfway through, and Liszt's sonata has entered a more soothing phase.

Lionel's voice also lowered as he began to recount how, in the tumultuous "80s," he was encouraged by many to disembark and showcase his talent to the world.

"Did he disembark?" a young woman blurted out, then realized her mistake and blushed as she covered her mouth with a handkerchief.

Just then, the ship's dining bell rang, and Lionel paused his narration, smiling slightly. "Who knows? It's dinner time. Please allow me a moment to think about what happens next..."

A chorus of wails erupted from the cabin: "Broken here?"

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(End of this chapter)