"So, you're writing a play this time?"
Maupassant asked Lionel, who was sitting across from him, curiously.
Lionel nodded:
"Yes, a five-act play. From the current concept, it's roughly a light comedy."
It was 11 AM, and the two were in a small café on Rue Saint-Dominique in Paris's 6th arrondissement.
Maupassant's Parisian residence was upstairs.
The Seine meandered nearby, and the dome of Les Invalides could be seen, making for a rather good view.
However, Maupassant's apartment, filled with male hormones and cheap perfume, was a veritable collection of human health disasters, truly unsuitable for outsiders.
It was only after Lionel's repeated insistence that he, still in a hangover, haphazardly pulled on his clothes and followed Lionel downstairs.
Regarding the "cooperation" with the church, Lionel had two plans.
The one he was discussing with Maupassant was the "best option."
Maupassant became excited:
"Oh? That's great, Lionel! You're finally venturing into theater! Can you tell me what the story is about?
I think several of your novels—'The Old Guard,' 'Letter from an Unknown Woman,' and 'Father Milon,' which you told us about last time at Médan...
...are all suitable for adaptation into plays. Ha, I think 'The Old Guard' and 'Father Milon' are the most suitable! One is poignant, the other is heroic!"
For French writers, there were only two pinnacles of creation: becoming a poet or becoming a playwright.
Of course, a genius like Hugo could be both.
Poets were the darlings of the court, salons, and noblewomen, while playwrights were an important stepping stone to wealth.
Each time a play written by them was staged, playwrights could receive a box office dividend ranging from 2% to 10%.
Both Dumas père and Dumas fils, after achieving success in writing novels, focused on adapting their works into plays—Dumas fils later even became a dedicated playwright.
Lionel shook his head:
"None of those. This time I want to write a completely new story—but I haven't fully worked it out yet, and I also need some help.
By the way, speaking of 'Father Milon'... why hasn't our collection 'Médan Evening Gatherings' from 'Charpentier's Bookshelf' been published yet?
That's not like Monsieur Charpentier at all!"
Maupassant's old face flushed, and he stammered:
"My 'Boule de Suif'... I haven't handed it to him yet... I swear to God, I've been trying very hard!
But from a spoken story to a novel, I find I have too much to add... I have to work during the day, and I rarely have free time in the evenings..."
Lionel was speechless.
Two and a half months had passed since the "Médan Evening Gathering" in early July, and he himself had sent "Father Milon" to Monsieur Zola back in early August.
Maupassant still hadn't finished his "Boule de Suif"...
Looking at his haggard friend, he sighed:
"Guy, this is a good opportunity, you must cherish it. Among the seven stories, yours is the best!"
Faced with encouragement, Maupassant hastily replied:
"Okay, okay, I'll do it as soon as possible, I'll hand the manuscript to Émile by the beginning of next month at the latest.
But let's get back to your play—what do you need me to do for you?"
Lionel took a sip of coffee and smiled:
"I hope this play of mine can be staged at the Comédie-Française."
Maupassant's eyes lit up:
"Ha, the Comédie-Française? Léon, your ambition is grand! You want your first work to be staged there!
Émile Perrin is always strict, and almost no 'newcomer' can win his favor!"
Émile Perrin was the director of the Comédie-Française, as well as a well-known painter and critic.
Maupassant had once submitted his own play to Émile Perrin and was rejected.
Lionel nodded:
"I have to try it—if it's rejected, then I'll try a less famous theater. I don't think I'm that bad; there will always be a theater willing to take my script."
Maupassant immediately looked puzzled:
"So..."
Lionel waved his hand:
"I want to finish this script as soon as possible, and my own strength alone is far from enough—
Especially for the music, I need a musician willing to put aside his pride and work with me to compose the score in the shortest possible time."
Plays of this era had not yet completely shed the influence of opera; even pure dramas primarily driven by dialogue still contained numerous musical elements.
For example, "chorus" performances or background music during prologues and scene transitions; certain characters would need to sing solos when expressing emotions, and so on.
And since Lionel was writing a "light comedy," he needed to use music even more to set the mood.
Typically, after a playwright completed a script, they would hand it over to a musician to compose the score.
However, this process was often lengthy—talented musicians usually had a large backlog of soundtrack orders for plays, and newcomers might have to wait six months or even a year.
Maupassant asked curiously: "When do you plan to submit the script to Émile Perrin?"
Lionel pondered for a moment before replying:
"I hope to complete the script by November, then hand it over to the Comédie-Française and spend a month and a half rehearsing it.
If all goes well, it can be staged during the Christmas holidays."
Maupassant was so shocked he almost jumped out of his chair:
"Are you insane? Or am I hallucinating? Damn it, Léon, do you have syphilis too?
It's already late September, and a new play that's not even written yet wants to open by Christmas? That would be difficult even if Monsieur Hugo wrote it!"
Lionel shook his head:
"I'm not crazy, you didn't mishear—and I don't have syphilis!"
Maupassant clicked his tongue, a look of regret on his face:
"Léon, your biggest problem is that you don't have syphilis, which limits your imagination..."
Lionel: "..."
Fortunately, Maupassant didn't dwell on the topic and began counting on his fingers:
"Even if you can finish the script by November—
First, it needs to be submitted to the Comédie-Française for review, which takes at least 2 weeks; then it also needs to be submitted to the 'Culture Department' of the police station for censorship, which also takes at least 2 weeks.
After that comes actor rehearsals, and a five-act play requires at least 4 to 6 weeks—and you say you're not crazy?
You know, for what's to be performed at Christmas, the Comédie-Française might already have its program set!"
Lionel smiled:
"Someone at the Comédie-Française and the police station will help me sort things out... but I need to ensure the quality of the performance, so that musician is very important."
Although Maupassant didn't know where Lionel's confidence came from, since he had said so, as a friend, he could only offer his full support.
Maupassant still had one question:
"Why not ask Émile, or the teacher? They know more musicians..."
Lionel patiently explained:
"Émile and Monsieur Flaubert know established figures, and where would they find a month to spare for me?
I need a talented musician who hasn't yet made a name for himself—Guy, you know the most people like that!"
Maupassant: "..."
Lionel continued to sweeten the deal:
"You can tell him that I'm willing to pay handsomely for it. For example... 200 francs a month, or even more.
Provided he dedicates himself entirely to me throughout October!"
Hearing 200 francs a month, Maupassant practically salivated, wishing he could take the job himself.
He readily agreed:
"Money talks! No problem, leave it to me!"
————
Maupassant was very efficient.
The next day, he wrote to Lionel, inviting him to meet at the café downstairs from his home.
When Lionel arrived at the café, he saw Maupassant chatting with a tall, slender young man sitting there and couldn't help but frown.
He wanted a talented, down-on-his-luck musician, not a greenhorn.
But since he was already there, he could only brace himself and walk over to greet them.
Maupassant pulled the young man in front of Lionel:
"This is the person you're looking for, Léon. I found him in the 'House of Roses' in the 7th arrondissement..."
Lionel's brows furrowed deeply:
"A brothel?"
Before Maupassant could explain, the young man blushed and hurriedly clarified:
"Monsieur Sorel, I play the piano there to earn a bit of pocket money..."
Lionel remained skeptical but didn't press further:
"Oh... what's your name?"
The young man pursed his lips and clearly stated his name:
"Debussy, sir, Achille-Claude Debussy."
(End of this chapter)
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