The first update, ask for recommendation votes!

The early morning in Paris is accompanied by the ringing of the bells of the Notre-Dame Cathedral in the center of the city, slowly waking up from the silence of the night. Hawkers and pawns who woke up from last night's hangover roamed the streets, and the cobblestone streets gradually returned to a lively scene.

White doves circle around the Frauenkirche and the city is a peaceful and peaceful scene.

The steam train at Gare du Nord let out a high-pitched whistle, like a steel monster emitting white smoke, slowly driving into the crowded platform.

When the doors of the train cars are opened, the people who step into the city rush in, adding fresh blood and vitality to Paris.

An inconspicuous man had just closed his notebook, the tip of the pen had just tilted a beautiful text on the paper, and his mustache followed the movement of the water storage pen, showing a cheerful arc.

"The dark grey sky twinkled with stars, the moist wind rippled like a microwave, the oppressive, faint sound of the night could be heard, and the trees shrouded in a thick fog whispered."

He slipped the notebook into his arms and rubbed his eyes. After a sleepless night and a long journey, we finally ended this hard journey of exile and arrived at our destination.

The long wait for freedom is coming to an end, and the anticipation is growing.

Away from the cold, gloomy sky and frozen soil, he felt that even the French air was full of sweetness.

The man is carrying a black suitcase, and there are curious and wistful faces everywhere, and the drunken Paris beckons to all who step into his realm.

Follow the crowd and start walking in the direction of the platform, until you come to the thriving street.

It was his first time in the thriving European literary center, and his curious eyes were watching the hustle and bustle of the crowd. He suddenly remembered that he had agreed with his friend to meet today, so he hurriedly quickened his pace and walked into the noisy crowd.

His mind was thinking about the next few sides, and how to settle in this strange city, not noticing the young man who rushed out of the alley.

He accidentally bumped into the other man on the shoulder, but he was so busy that he hurriedly turned around and took off his hat to apologize, and then continued on his way.

As he turned to the next block, a sudden commotion diverted his attention.

He saw several policemen push a middle-aged man in a shabby jacket to the ground, and the noise caused by the quarrel quickly separated the crowd into a vacuum area, and only the fierce-looking policeman and the struggling man scuffled together.

The scruffy man was outnumbered and soon subdued by the police.

"Let go of me!"

The policeman kicked away his paste and brush, and punched the middle-aged man in the face.

"Shut up! Don't move me! ”

"Let go of me, you accomplices, executioners!"

The middle-aged man was still struggling, and the leaflets in his arms were scattered on the ground like snow. A gust of wind blew, and one of them blew right at his feet.

He bent down and picked up one of the flyers. Able to read French, he whispered, "Eliminate the tyranny of Napoleon III, and the future of France belongs to the people......

He looked down with some surprise and found that there was a poem at the bottom of this "revolutionary" leaflet.

"Questions and Answers, by G."

"Meanness is the pass of the mean, and nobility is the epitaph of the noble......"

Reading down slowly, the man's face gradually became solemn. The poem provoked a buried empathy in his heart – exiled him from his beloved homeland to faraway France.

Every sentence is an indictment of the feudal remnants of Europe by those who yearn for freedom, against the dictators who try to maintain the dictatorship of the empire. They whitewash peace with fragile prosperity, and they use power to oppress the enlightened who dare to speak.

Freedom of opinion? Under the shadow of capitalism, they can throw you in prison for crimes against society.

There is still a group of literati who angered Napoleon III and have been in exile for a long time.

The poetry of longing for freedom and equality illuminated the light of the abyss, and he suddenly sobered up, and his palms were already wet.

"Who wrote this poem exactly?"

The middle-aged man raised his head, and he saw that the arrested man was looking at him, and his face was full of determination in the face of death. He looked at him and said word by word, "Long live freedom!" Long live the republic! Victory belongs to the people! ”

However, his cry was not echoed by the crowd around him, and he just watched indifferently as the man was crossed by his arms and gradually moved away. There was even a sharp and piercing taunt from the crowd.

"Revolution? I'm afraid this person has a problem with his brain. Was Napoleon III's reign bad? Why go back to the time of the Great Revolution? ”

"I'm afraid this person isn't one of those stupid revolutionaries, right?"

"The republicans are a bunch of stupid liars, who really think that France will be more prosperous than it is now? When France was at its strongest, wasn't it the era of the First Empire? What benefits does the republic bring us? ”

He froze in place, all his previous visions of France blurred in an instant.

Having understood what the noisy crowd was saying, he was silent, and could only stare silently at the men who were shouting for the revolution, and he was powerless to change anything.

He was fortunate to have only taken the path of redemption and was spared imprisonment.

The people who were dragged away by the police were more like noble warriors who shed blood than the gentlemen who buzzed like flies around them.

The police dragged the scruffy man and took him off the street. Without the excitement, the indifferent crowd of onlookers dispersed. A moment later, there was no sign of the man's shouting, except for leaflets with black shoe prints trampled on the ground.

As if in a dream, Paris regained its prosperity.

He froze in place, remembering the ignorant and confused eyes of those serfs in the motherland, exactly the same as these well-dressed gentlemen.

Before he could think about it, he felt a pair of powerful hands tap on his shoulder, and the middle-aged man turned his head to see a familiar face standing in front of him.

Clark, dressed in gray, wears a silver-white bauhinia brooch pinned to his chest. He took his cane and took off his black top hat.

After a moment of hesitation, he asked in a low voice, "Is it Baudelaire?" ”

The man, who looked like the picture sent in the letter, smiled and nodded, and said, "Welcome to Paris, Monsieur Turgenev." ”

Turgenev in front of Baudelaire squeezed out a reluctant smile on his face, and said helplessly, "I just saw Paris that is not quite the same as I imagined. ”