In this white night, the night was blackened by the night. - The Ballad of the Spanish Gendarmes

It's like in the splendor of Paris, where unknown high-voltage lines are still laid, wary of those who seek equality and freedom, and this road is not working.

Verlaine asked in a low voice, "It's just that I don't quite understand, does the black eyes depicted by the poet refer to the yellow race or the Spaniards?" Or does it have another meaning? ”

Baudelaire turned around and patiently explained to the bewildered Verlaine, "Black does not refer to the color of a certain pupil in detail, but more to imagery. In the vast darkness, the eyes are the only light. The eye is always a symbol of transparency. However, the eyes in the poem are black eyes. This is the feeling in the poet's heart, and it is also the poet's deep reflection. This feeling is a heart-rending trauma, a precipitation that accumulates over time. This reflection is heavy, and there is a great fear lurking behind it. And these all point to the 'night'. ”

When it came to the night, everyone was silent. After the cultural confinement of Napoleon I, the Second Empire showed an explosive boom, but the republicans called this prosperity the ultimate glory of the conservatives.

The dawn of the republic will finally come, and the imperial system that has shrouded the land of France for more than a dozen centuries will become a shadow of history.

"The person who was able to write this poem must have been a revolutionary poet."

Dumas was amazed by the black eyes.

"The poem is completely new in aesthetic principles. It avoids the direct expression of emotions and discards the actual narrative of the scene, it does not deliberately construct a complete artistic conception, but only uses imagery and metaphor to highlight a pair of unusual black eyes on a heavy black background, and in front of the eyes, it seems that a beam of white light can be seen shooting out of the gap in the dark clouds. ”

This sentence attracted everyone's attention, and at a time when they were still an indictment of social ethics and morality, and an ignorant attack on the dark Catholic Church, this more subtle and daring poem had already pointed its fingers at the oppressive rule of the Second Empire.

"Who is better in the poetry of the two?"

After reading "The Afternoon of the Faun" and "Answer", Turgenev already felt that these two poems had reached an unparalleled situation.

"All in all, G and Garian are two different situations. One is a delicate and delicate play in symbolism, and the other is a clever metaphor to criticize the darkness of reality. A revolutionary poet, a soul in pursuit of freedom. Two very different attitudes are the 'double walls' of Parisian poetry. ”

Baudelaire's narration has already established their place in poetry.

"It's a pity that I don't know G's true identity, only a few photos in a hurry."

Baudelaire said in a regretful tone, "Otherwise, he, like Garion, is fully qualified to step into our club." ”

"Mr. G is okay to say, but Garian is afraid that he will become famous at a young age, which will inevitably attract the jealousy of some unfashionable old guys."

George Sand half-covered his mouth with his hand and chuckled, "But I'm still looking forward to your literary salon, Baudelaire." ”

Dumas said sourly, "Are you looking forward to the young poet?" ”

George Sand, who was still charming, joked, "Your Excellency Dumas, you have indeed made me no longer interested in terms of age. ”

Looking at Alexandre Dumas, who had a rare and shy face, everyone present burst into laughter.

"Hahaha......"

After the laughter was over, George Sand turned back and said to Baudelaire expectantly, "It's a pity that Hugo and Monsieur Flaubert weren't present at next week's salon, otherwise Garion's talent would have attracted their attention." ”

"There's going to be a chance."

Baudelaire shook the Bordeaux red wine and said with a smile, "After all, the French poetry scene must be supported by the younger generation, and our glory will eventually become a thing of the past, and the future belongs to this group of people." ”

The manor spent a day of conversation and laughter, and everyone was looking forward to meeting the young poet at the next literary salon.

Unbeknownst to the bourgeoisie, Garion had finally finished his day's work and left the office with a hungry stomach.

The lights went out, and the hallway behind him went dark.

Garian was the last to leave the customs building, and as soon as he stepped out of the gate, the cold wind instantly sobered him up a lot, and he felt lonely like never before when he looked at the crowded street.

The moon was already hanging in the air, illuminating the clouds that floated in the night.

This city is drunk and brightly lit at night, and all the hustle and bustle has nothing to do with him.

It's them who are hilarious, and I have nothing.

"See you tomorrow, Garion."

A familiar voice sounded, and Garion, who had just lowered his head, subconsciously raised his head.

Russell stood not far away, smiled and beckoned to him, greeted him and said, "Come to my house for dinner another day." ”

"Okay, I'll be sure to go another day."

Garion greeted him politely, and then stepped out of the gate of the Customs House, walking towards the end of the gradually cold street. He was just walking around the corner when he suddenly stopped.

The crow perched on the moonlit eaves, silently watching everything in the street.

Looking at the deserted street, he suddenly had a sense of foreboding.

Bang.

A sharp gunshot echoed through the quiet air, causing Garion to subconsciously stop, and he flashed vigilantly, leaning against the wall of the alley, sticking out one eye to observe the street.

Then he saw a figure suddenly flash around the corner in front of him, staggering in his direction. He struggled to run to Garion, and finally collapsed due to exhaustion.

The man who had fallen in front of Garion slowly crawled in front of him, leaning against the wall and slowly sitting down. He looked at the young man in front of him, and after hesitating for a moment, the desire to survive still overshadowed the doubt.

"Help me."

The middle-aged man holding his injured left arm grabbed Garion and said with a pained expression, "Please, sir." Help me! ”

Garion looked at the wad of white paper on his chest, half blooded, but he could still see the words proclaiming the republican revolution.

It's a revolutionary party.

The thought crossed Garian's mind as he poked his head out to see the police rushing towards the place. He glanced back at the other man, caught in a dilemma.

Looking at the man who was about to fall into a coma, Garion was caught in a difficult choice.

To save or not to save?