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Thousands of white candles are lit on the menorah of Saint-Etienne, the faint flame falters with the wind that passes through the fingertips, and the melodious melody of the ancient organ reverberates throughout the cathedral with the chanting of the choir. Jesus in the stained-glass window looked at all the believers in front of him with compassion.

Gan Bida's rapid breathing seemed to keep swaying with the swaying of the candle, as if he had found a treasure, revealing a look of surprise and envy.

Baudelaire explained, "No, the author of this poem is a Frenchman who is like a fake. As for why black eyes are written, it's more symbolic. A poet born out of darkness in search of light. ”

After listening to Baudelaire's explanation, Gan Bida did not continue to dwell on small details, he read the poem several times, and finally nodded affirmatively, and said, "Strictly speaking, this poem does not meet the standards of the Imperial Press Censorship Department, but every word goes straight to the spiritual core of the Second Empire." After all, he didn't directly point out what he was against, at least his poetry was more like a subtle aristocratic girl, unlike your work, which was simply a bold gypsy girl in the Moulin Rouge, dangling her white and long thighs in front of men. ”

Gambita's little humorous metaphor made Baudelaire smile, and his tense nerves relaxed for a moment when he knew that the poem would not be picketed by the authorities.

"Thank you for your advice, Mr. Gan Bida. I wish you a bright future. ”

Baudelaire stood up, and by this time he had already made up his mind to publish these two poems, making up for the lifeless literary world at this time.

"That's right."

Gambida stood up and asked Baudelaire, who was leaving, "You haven't told me who the author of these two poems is?" Could it be you? ”

A cold wind poured in from the entrance of the cathedral, blowing the hem of Baudelaire's trench coat, and he stood in a backlit position, leaving only a backlit silhouette of Gambita in the shadows.

All he could see was the silhouette of the light, a blurred expression.

Baudelaire shook his head and said, "It's not me, and I don't know who he is, but remember this abbreviation that may be known to the entire French literary and artistic world in the future, G." ”

Gan Bileng froze in place, watching Baudelaire stride out of the church, his back firm and persistent.

After the two finished chatting, the priest who was standing on the side walked up to Gan Bida and said softly, "Can I help you with anything?" My baby. I see that you have been sitting here for the past few days, pondering, do you have a grudge in your heart that cannot be resolved? ”

"No need, Father."

Ganbida stood up, ripped off the cross on his chest, and placed it on the bench behind him.

Then he turned his head to look at the kind priest who was slightly stunned, and said with a smile, "The Lord can't solve my confusion, and now I have the answer I want." ”

The priest was stunned and said, "Answer? ”

"There will always be someone who will burn and become a spark that illuminates the darkness."

"There will always be people who will fight, for the future of French freedom."

In the priest's panicked expression, Gambida issued a slogan to fight for freedom.

"The empire will eventually be destroyed, long live the great republic!"

Baudelaire got into the carriage and told the coachman the address of the Le Figaro newspaper, and the wheels of the carriage began to spin and sped in the direction of its destination.

Baudelaire's palms were soaked with sweat, and his breathing was as rapid as a galloping horse, and he breathed a long sigh of relief when the carriage stopped at the door of the newspaper office of Le Figaro.

After paying another franc, Baudelaire hurried towards Wilmesant's office and opened the door, despite the dissuasion of his secretary.

Bang.

Almost everyone heard the loud bang as Baudelaire pushed the door open. They all stopped what they were doing and turned their heads to look in the direction of Wilmesan.

"Baudelaire?"

Obviously, the other party's sudden intrusion startled him, but when he saw the manuscript in the other party's hand, he instantly revealed a look of sudden realization.

"What's wrong? Is this what new manuscript is ready to be submitted? ”

Baudelaire silently handed the manuscript in his hand to the editor-in-chief in front of him.

The other party took the manuscript with a smile, but after reading it, he showed a solemn expression.

"These two poems...... Very well written. ”

Wilmesan looked at his chair and whispered, "But you should also know about the censorship system of the Paris government, and it may be ...... after it is published."

"No, I've consulted professionals, and it's not a problem at all with these two poems getting in the newspaper, the question is who is going to be the first to eat crabs."

Wilmesan suddenly realized, he smiled knowingly, and said, "Well, I'll let it be published in the newspaper the day after tomorrow!" ”

"No, tomorrow."

Baudelaire said firmly, "I hope to see this article published tomorrow." ”

Wilmesan frowned, he handed Baudelaire the layout he had already designed, and said, "My friend, tomorrow's layout has already been designed, and your two poems are too sudden to redesign them. Baudelaire, don't be too strong. ”

Baudelaire's eyes were focused on the literary section of the newspaper, and he looked at the handwriting on it when he suddenly saw a familiar name.

Sainte-Beuve.

"Sainte-Beuve also published a literary review?"

"Yes, it was already discussed."

Will Mesan made a helpless look. However, what the other party did next made Will Mesan stunned.

Seeing the name of Sainte-Beuve, Baudelaire had an inexplicable disgust, and he threw his own suggestion directly at Vermesant.

Then replace Sainte-Beuve's literary criticism and replace these two poems. You know that I am going to have a literary salon over the weekend, and these two poems are my opening words and a new opening for Parisian literature. ”

Will Mesand was stunned, he did not expect Sainte-Beuve to be so decisive, even at the expense of replacing the literary critic who had written the prologue for himself.

If this incident spreads in the literary circle, it will become the fuse for the public break between the two.

Will Mesand asked hesitantly, "Really replace Sainte-Beuve?" ”

He had no opinion, but the literati were interested in the first-come, first-served issue. Before, Wilmesan just thought that his friend had found a good seedling, but he didn't expect to use it to support the newcomer.

And this newcomer has only one initial.

G。

"The old man should give in."

Baudelaire's eyes sparkled, and he said word by word, "They should not be a stumbling block to the future of French literature, as you can see, the world is Hugo's, ours, but ......"

He pointed to the psalms on the oak table and said in a firm tone, "After all, they belong to them!" ”