At the end of February 1880, what heated up earlier than the weather was France's unprecedented passion for a play.
After "The Chorus" played at the Comédie-Française and caused a sensation, the craze did not subside with time.
Instead, it transcended the borders of Paris and spread across the vast land of France.
Invitations, each stamped with the crests of various local theaters and filled with earnest words, snowed onto the desk of Émile Perrin, director of the Comédie-Française.
Lyon, Marseille, Bordeaux, Toulouse... these cultural hubs outside Paris, all eagerly awaited "The Chorus" to appear on their stages as soon as possible.
Director Perrin keenly seized this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and launched a national tour for "The Chorus."
The tour's timing was even earlier than that of the Paris Opera, causing quite a stir in Parisian literary and artistic circles.
The day of departure arrived, and the Gare Saint-Lazare in Paris was bustling with an extraordinary crowd.
Unlike the usual hurried travelers, today the platform had a festive atmosphere.
A massive steam locomotive belched white mist; on one carriage, the words "Comédie-Française" stood out conspicuously in the sunlight.
Actors, musicians, stage managers, costume designers, prop masters... the nearly one-hundred-strong touring team was in high spirits, their faces beaming with pride.
Special luggage cars were loaded with meticulously packed sets, costumes, and props, ready to carry the joys and sorrows of "Pond's End Boarding School" to distant places.
On the platform, the crowd seeing them off far exceeded expectations.
In addition to the actors' relatives and colleagues from the Comédie-Française, there were also many citizens and theater enthusiasts who had rushed there upon hearing the news.
Reporters set up their cameras, and flashbulbs intermittently flickered, capturing this historic moment.
"Look! It's Monsieur Mounet-Sully!" someone exclaimed.
Jean Mounet-Sully, who played "Clément Mathieu," caused a small commotion upon his appearance.
François Gautier-Luzarche, who played "Director Rachin," was conversing in a low voice with a drama critic who had come to see them off.
The young rising star Léopold-Barret was surrounded by a group of female admirers, receiving a large bouquet of flowers, his cheeks flushed with excitement.
Director Émile Perrin stood in the center of the crowd, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with celebrities and officials who had come to bid farewell, a wide smile on his face.
After brief goodbyes, the train whistle blew loudly, signaling that the departure time was imminent.
The actors boarded the carriages one after another, embarking on their tour.
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The first stop of the tour was Lyon, known as the "Second Capital of France."
After nearly a week of rehearsals and intensive stage preparations, the day for "The Chorus" to open at the Grand Théâtre de Lyon finally arrived.
Long before the touring team even arrived, two months of promotional buildup had already pushed the Lyon audience's anticipation to its peak.
Le Progrès de Lyon had serialized, for several days, glowing reviews from Parisian and local drama critics;
Wealthy merchants and celebrities who had specifically traveled to Paris during the Christmas holidays for an "early preview" became "volunteer publicists" for "The Chorus."
In salons, clubs, and cafes, they tirelessly described the emotion and shock they experienced that night in the Salle Richelieu.
The scenes of an entire audience shedding tears, paper flowers flying, and a thousand voices singing in chorus were recounted repeatedly, almost taking on a legendary quality.
This made tickets for "The Chorus" extremely hard to come by in Lyon.
Three weeks before the performance, all seats were already sold out; ticket prices on the black market were inflated tenfold, yet people still scrambled to buy them.
On the night of the performance, the area in front of the Grand Théâtre de Lyon was bustling with traffic, an unprecedented spectacle, and teeming with people, as if the entire upper crust of Lyon society had gathered there.
Beneath the grandeur was astonishing congestion.
Half an hour before the performance was scheduled to begin, the theater manager had to open all corridors and emergency spaces.
Soon, even the corridors were packed with people, and latecomers could only squeeze into the aisles near the entrances and exits.
They stood on tiptoes, craning their necks, hoping to catch even a faint sound of singing and dialogue from inside the hall.
Ushers and staff, drenched in sweat, maintained order, constantly repeating:
"Please move inside! Please make way! Be careful!"
But no one was willing to step back.
Such a fervent scene had only been enjoyed by a handful of plays in the history of the Grand Théâtre de Lyon.
Inside the theater, the opulent auditorium was also completely full, with impatience written on every audience member's face.
The hushed discussions converged into a mighty hum, which instantly fell silent as the house lights slowly dimmed.
The deep red velvet curtain, under the gaze of countless eager eyes, slowly drew open.
From the moment the gloomy and solemn set of the first act, "Pond's End Boarding School," appeared, and the deep, slightly melancholic music began, the entire audience was instantly drawn into that specific setting.
"Director Rachin's" entrance immediately drew suppressed gasps and whispers from the audience.
And when "Clément Mathieu" appeared, a glimmer of hope seemed to begin penetrating the oppressive gloom.
His efforts to connect with the children through music, and his ideological clashes with Director Rachin, firmly captured the audience's hearts.
When the children, under that single lamp, sang "Night" with their tender and sincere voices, Debussy's pure, beautiful, soul-stirring melody resonated in a Lyon theater for the first time.
"Oh, night has just descended upon the earth, your wondrous, secret, peaceful magic..."
The ethereal children's choir seemed to possess a soul-cleansing magic.
The lights softly illuminated the children's focused and radiant little faces; this scene was both heartbreakingly beautiful and full of infinite hope.
The subsequent plot intertwined laughter and tears.
Teacher Mathieu's humorous teaching methods and the children's charming clumsiness evoked waves of knowing, warm laughter.
Director Rachin's obstruction, hypocrisy, and authoritarianism, on the other hand, filled the audience with indignation.
The climax arrived during the Countess's observation of the performance.
When Pierre stepped out of the shadows and sang that clear, impassioned, and emotionally charged solo, the entire Grand Théâtre de Lyon erupted!
Applause burst forth like thunder, almost threatening to lift the theater's dome!
Finally, as countless paper flowers drifted down from the "high window," and the children sang their farewell song...
The complex emotions, intertwined with sadness, warmth, and hope, reached their peak.
The curtain slowly fell, followed by a profound silence.
It was as if all the audience members were still deeply immersed in that immense emotional impact, unable to extricate themselves.
Immediately thereafter—
"Bravo!!!"
The same cheers as in Paris, earth-shattering applause, shouts of approval, and stomping of feet suddenly erupted like a mountain roar and a tsunami!
-----
The premiere in Lyon was a huge success, achieving an even greater sensation than the Paris premiere.
For the following two weeks, "The Chorus" played to packed houses in Lyon, and the phenomenon of tickets being impossible to obtain continued throughout the entire run.
Lyon newspapers exhausted every superlative: "Work of the Century," "Ocean of Tears," "Baptism of the Soul," "The Most Unforgettable Night in Lyon's Theatrical History"...
With the progress of the tour, the name "Lionel Sorel" spread through thousands of Lyon households with unprecedented speed and breadth.
When reporting on the grand success of the tour, newspapers invariably placed "the genius playwright" and "the author of 'The Chorus,'" Lionel Sorel, in a prominent position.
And as Lionel's reputation began to ferment across all of France, the trajectory of many things, and the attitudes of many people, began to subtly change...
(End of chapter)