The first update

As the morning dawns in Paris, bathed in a chilly cold, people begin to wrap themselves in coats to resist the colder season. Everyone wished they could lean against the warm fire and watch the flames flutter on the charcoal, occasionally sparkling and extinguishing.

Turgenev sat by the fireplace, slouched into the benches, and enjoyed a rare moment of peace. Just as he was about to squint his eyes and take a short nap, a sharp knock on the door dragged him back to the real world from his half-asleep sleep.

"What's going on?"

Turgenev said goodbye to his beloved bench with great dissatisfaction and walked in the direction of the door. While walking, he scolded and scolded, disturbing people's dreams early in the morning. However, the moment he opened the door, he almost turned and ran back in fright, to get the shotgun on the fireplace, and prepared to have a close encounter with him with a double-barreled shotgun.

In front of him stood a guy who had wrapped himself tightly in a trench coat, a scarf and hat covering most of his head, and a suitcase in his right hand. The whole picture looked extremely weird, making him think that he had encountered a murderer who broke into the house and robbed.

"It's me, Your Excellency Turgenev."

The mysterious man in front of him saw Turgenev turn around to run, and quickly took off his scarf and hat, revealing his young face.

He looked around nervously and whispered, "You don't have anyone at home, right?" ”

"Lord Garion? What are you doing here? ”

Turgenev looked at the young writer who was hiding in front of him, and immediately understood, and hurriedly invited him into his room, and poked his head out to look around to make sure that no one noticed, and then let him in.

"It's hard to put into words."

Garion walked into Turgenev's living room, the warmth of his face made him untie his scarf and coat, and he took a deep breath, the scent of charcoal running down his nostrils, filling his alveoli and stimulating his nerves a little.

"You really scared me just now, and I thought that the murderer who was about to break into the house and rob was about to turn around and get the double-barreled shotgun on the wall."

Turgenev complained as he helped him hang his coat on a coat rack.

Garion touched his heart in fear, sure enough, the thinking of the fighting nation cannot be explained by common sense, if he had been slow to explain a few seconds just now, he would probably be on his way to the Paris hospital now.

Garion gave him a blank look and said, "Thank you for not killing. ”

"Would you like something to drink?"

Turgenev picked up half a bottle of vodka on the table, shook the bottle, and said, "A glass of vodka to warm up?" ”

"No, no, a cup of coffee, thank you."

Garion declined the invitation to drink, he wanted to know what the current situation was in Paris, and deliberately stirred up the topic.

"Then again, Your Excellency Turgenev already knows my poem, right? I've been hiding in a hotel for the past few days, not going home, and not daring to go to the newsstand to buy newspapers. ”

"Oh my God, what you have done is so horrible that even Baudelaire and I can't help but sweat for you."

"What's wrong?"

Garion's heart suddenly lifted his throat, and he asked anxiously, "Something happened?" ”

"It's not."

Turgenev smiled bitterly and said, "Don't you know yet? Lord Garrian? Your poem has caused an explosive sensation, and now half of Paris is looking for you, some threatening you to apologize, others praising you for being silent. There are also people clamoring for you to give you a bullet. ”

"And I admire your courage, it takes a lot of courage to publish this article at the risk of offending everyone. If the Russian intelligentsia had half the courage of you, they would not have thought like a swarm of flies, crawling in the garbage heap. ”

Indeed, the French literary scene is boiling again.

This boiling is not a celebration of the birth of a classic, but a suicidal charge against the now lifeless Parisian literary scene.

Kill a thousand, no matter the cost.

Every time Garion makes a move, it sparks a seismic discussion. The guys who like to sit in the right seats savor the poems, and more and more feel that something is wrong, and always feel that there is infinite irony in it.

And the spearhead of these meanings is none other than themselves.

After the poem was published, the literary critics who relied on the old and sold the old became angry. Angry at the poem, as vulgar and noisy as Garion.

However, Garion already intends to leave behind the outdated writers and usher in a new literary era in Paris.

Who is the fly-like mind scolding?

People with dirty hearts always think that Garion is scolding him, the royalists also think that the article is satirizing them, and some Parisians see Garion's poetry as a silent provocation - Lao Tzu refuses to publish in the newspaper, refuses to admit mistakes, not only does he not admit it, but he also arrests you and scolds you.

Just after Garion's poem was published, the editor-in-chief of Wilmesan also took a few days off work and mysteriously disappeared, and even his wife did not know where he went to hide from the limelight. It is said that not a single window in the office of Le Figaro is intact, and not a single window has been smashed by a group of French patriotic youths.

Turgenev went to the kitchen, prepared a cup of coffee for Garion, brought it to him and handed it to the other party.

"Thank you."

Garion took the coffee with both hands, blew it lightly, and took a slow sip.

"Now what about Lord Garion? You've offended half of London, including the literary critics, and now they're eager to put your head on the wanted bounty list, alongside the heinous fugitive murderers. ”

For Turgenev's ridicule, Garion has long had no leisure to gag. It's just that I didn't expect Napoleon III to stand idly by and let public opinion ferment.

He used Garion to build momentum, but he didn't provide any protection to Garion, not even solidarity.

A companion is like a tiger.

Gary regretted that Louis Bonaparte lacked not only his uncle's eloquence, but also his magnanimity.

"I heard that His Excellency Turgenev is going on a trip to London?"

Garion involuntarily mentioned.

"Yes."

Turgenev didn't understand why Garion suddenly asked about it, nodded and said, "It's to visit a friend, what's wrong?" ”

"Great."

Garion's eyes lit up, as if he had grasped the last straw, and he would not let go.

"I'm also going to set off with His Excellency Turgenev to take a break from the limelight."

"And, this time I'm going to London, I have something more important to do."