Bourgeois Interactions
The intensive work that Debussy put into Pelléas did not prevent him from leading a life that bordered on the uncharacteristically sociable during the first months of 1894. In the absence of Chausson, who was spending time at Arcachon, Debussy was received by his mentor's mother-in-law, Mme Escudier, who had the idea to organize “ten Wagnerian gatherings” at her home at 77 rue du Monceau as a way of helping him. He was expected, playing alone at the piano and doing some singing, to render Parsifal, Tristan, Die Meistersinger, and excerpts from Siegfried. The performances were planned for Saturdays, from 4:00 to 6:00 p.m., beginning on 3 February.
At the same time, he was introduced at the home of Mme de Saint-Marceaux, the commanding wife of a very influential sculptor who was not at all disposed toward Symbolist thought. Every Friday, at 100 boulevard Malesherbes, “Meg,” as she was called by those close to her, organized musical soirees, for which Messager and Fauré became her closest advisers. In her salon, which was said to be the model for that of the Princesse de Polignac, one would encounter Massenet and Reynaldo Hahn as well as Chabrier and Chausson, and soon thereafter Willy, Jean de Tinan, and the young Marcel Proust. One such evening, in February 1894, after sight-reading La damoiselle élue with Debussy, Meg wrote in her journal: “There is no way he could demonstrate better what he wants or wanted to convey. He sings with a bad voice, to which we are becoming accustomed, since its expression is so convincing.” He returned the following day, to perform for her the Proses lyriques and especially “all that is completed” of Pelléas: “It's a revelation. Everything is new, the harmony, the writing—and it's all so musical.”
Debussy was aware of being at the center of a bourgeois circle, while speaking about it in his own ironic way to Chausson:
I no longer recognize myself! I can be found in the salons, smiling away, or else conducting choruses at Countess Zamoïska's home! (yes sir!) and I bask in the beauty of the chorus of “Magnanarelles” [silkworm workers], telling myself that to be flayed by fearless society ladies is the just reward for such dreary music.