It was April, eighty-seven years together, a cold spring day, and the sunny branches of the willows along the Seine were only sprouting shoots the size of half a grain of rice, while elsewhere the winter's cold was not far away.
"You know, Joseph. In fact, I actually prefer April to May when the flowers are in full bloom." While walking slowly along the banks of the Seine River, Armand said this to Joseph who was walking side by side.
"Why?" Joseph asked.
"Because April is the season of budding, the most promising season. Although the cold has not yet subsided, the snow and ice have not yet completely melted, and if you raise your head and look out of the city, you can still see the remnants of the snow that has not melted in the backs of those hillocks outside the city, but look at the willow branches here by the river - the arrival of spring is, after all, unstoppable." Amand said as if he had a point.
"There is some truth in what you say." Joseph said, "But April is also the cruelest season ah."
"Why do you say that?" Armand asked.
"You know what, Armand?" Joseph looked around and finally pointed to a small, bare tree not far away, "Take that lilac, for example. In the last year, this lilac has produced thousands and thousands of seeds. All these seeds, Armand, will try to germinate in April."
"What's wrong with that?" Armand said in disbelief.
Joseph walked over to the bare lilac tree, reached out and stroked the rough trunk, turned his head and said, "Amang, how many of the thousands of seeds of this tree will grow even a small shoot? How many of those seeds that managed to grow even a small shoot can grow into a tree that can bloom in the spring? Think about it, Amang, even in the coldest winter, these millions of seeds are alive, but in April, most of them die silently in the soil. Think of how many lives die a silent death in April, how many hopes are silently dashed? Even as you think of the countless lives that are dying right now, perhaps right here in the dirt beneath our feet ... April is one of the cruelest months, when the lilacs grow on the wasteland, mixing memories and desires, and letting the spring rains urge those sluggish roots and buds. Winter keeps us warm, and the earth is called to be covered with snow that helps people forget, and to provide little life to the dry root balls ..."
"You wait ..." said Armand, "Joseph, I find it a pity you are not a poet. Well, you do have an interesting way of putting it, too. But I have heard a similar statement from another man, only his final exclamation was different from yours. He said that in a revolution, many people will pay a price, even the price of their lives, and many people will die. But that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with revolution. For if there is no revolution, if there is always an ice-covered winter, the loss of life may be slower, but a continual harsh winter will surely cause all life to wither away. After all, the withered root ball alone cannot support it for long. The revolution, on the other hand, while it will cost us much in the short run, will win us much more in the long run."
"Who said that to you?" Joseph asked.
"Mara, a doctor." Amand replied.
"Mara? Is that the one who was stabbed in the bathtub and sent to the Pantheon after his death, only to be moved out again not long afterward?" Joseph thought so, but asked, "Is that the one who wrote 'A Study on the Properties of Fire'? I heard your uncle mention him."
"Then my uncle must not have had anything good to say about him." Amang laughed. This also simultaneously confirmed that the Mara Amand was talking about was the same Mara that Joseph had in mind.
"Mr. Lavoisier was only mentioning those erroneous views in passing. In fact, Mr. Lavoisier has nothing more to say about him than 'absurd', the word used to describe his conclusions. Why, has he had a conflict with your uncle?"
"Conflict not to speak of." Armand replied, "merely a disagreement of scholarly opinion. But my uncle ridiculed him severely, and his words were probably a bit more heated, so he and my uncle weren't on good terms. But that's between him and my uncle, this person is actually still very talented. Well, I hope to meet one of your friends who has him."
With that said, Amand looked up and ahead and added, "Almost there, up ahead is Abel's Beer Hall, where those friends I mentioned are waiting for us."
"Why did you get such a remote place." Joseph said.
"Not so much for anything else, mainly because the booze is cheap here." Armand said, "Of course, the wine is all privately brewed and untaxed."
The two men talked as they continued to walk ahead. After about a hundred paces, they turned to the right into an alley, then after another twenty or so paces, they reached the front of a house.
This was close to the poor district of Paris, so most of the houses here were low and dilapidated, and all of them were gray and drab, like the expression on the faces of the poor. This house was naturally the same. The door of this house was closed, and there wasn't any signboard or anything else outside the door. From the outside, this house looked almost indistinguishable from those next to it.
Armand walked to the door and reached out his hand to knock on it. The door didn't open, only a voice came out from inside: "Who is it?"
"I'm a friend of Albert's." Armand replied.
The door to the room opened a crack, only it was dark inside and Joseph could only vaguely see what appeared to be a pair of eyes scrutinizing them. Then he heard a voice say, "A friend." Then the door to the room opened all the way.
Amand led Joseph inside, and the door of the room then closed again behind them. As the door to the room was shut, the entire room went dark all at once. It took a while for Joseph's eyes to adjust to the change, and by the way, he also got a good look at the person standing in front of them.
It was a young man not too far from Armand's age, with black, slightly curly hair, as well as a pair of hair that shone like lightning even in the dark.
The young man obviously also knew that they had just come in and that their eyes would need time to adjust, so first he just stood there quietly, waiting for Joseph and their eyes to adjust to the dim light of the place before addressing them, "Armand, and this ..."
"Joseph Bonaparte." Joseph hurriedly introduced himself.
"Then Mr. Bonaparte, please come in with me." The young man said. Then he turned and headed inside.
Through a hallway, the young man pushed open a door and led them into a larger room.
This room was leaning against the back yard and had relatively larger windows, so it was going to be relatively brighter. There was a large round table in the center of the room, and some people were sitting around the large round table.
When they heard the door open, these people looked this way. One man even stood up and waved his hand towards Joseph and Armand, "Hey, our great scientist and writer has finally arrived."
That person Joseph also recognized, it was his classmate Oreno. After graduation, Aureno became a lawyer and left Paris for the provinces. He and Joseph still corresponded quite a bit, but met much less often. I can't imagine that this is the time he returned to Paris.
"Aurelio, why are you here too? You didn't write me a letter in advance when you came." Joseph said rather pleasantly.
"Because of some work matters, I need to make a run to Paris. It was decided on the spur of the moment, and I thought that the messenger would more than likely not be able to run as fast as I could myself. When I got to Paris and finished my business, I was going to come to you, but when I heard from Armand that you were coming here with him to-day, I came straight here to wait for you." Oreno said, "Joseph, welcome."
After welcoming Joseph, Oreno and Armand began to introduce Joseph to those present.
"This is our barrister Danton." Oreno began by introducing Joseph to a slightly fatter, larger man in his twenties sitting beside him, "He was one of my teachers. He taught me a lot during this time."
Knowing that this was Danton, later one of the famous Jacobin Triumvirate, Joseph couldn't help but look at him twice.
It was a large, unkempt man, dressed in a wide, bright red tweed blouse, with a loose tie hanging down below the front trim, showing off his neck, his tunic open, some of the buttons on it having fallen off, and his flip-flop boots on his feet. His hair stood up haphazardly, and there was evidently horsehair in his wig. His face was a little pockmarked, but there was a kind smile on the corners of his mouth, thick lips, large teeth, thick fists, and bright eyes.
"Pleased to meet you." Joseph said with a slight stoop.
"It is also an honor to meet a future great scientist." Danton replied as well.
"The guy who is so handsome that he looks like an angel and just one more look at him can make me so jealous that I can't sleep at night is our friend Louis." Amand introduced Joseph again to the young man who had just led them in.
"Hello, I have read some of your works and if I have time in the future, I would like to ask you some math questions." The young man called Louis said. Joseph returned his greeting like him, while noticing that indeed, as Armand had said, Louis was handsome like like like an angel. Slightly curled flaxen hair, gelatinous delicate and polished skin, autumn water like clear and soulful eyes ... If he is willing to smile a little, and with such eyes, even if his gaze is only gently brushed like the west wind in May, it is enough to blow open the roses in any girl's heart. But there was scarcely a smile to be seen on Louis's face, as if he were really carved out of marble.
"If he had been born in the latter days, he wouldn't have to do anything but worry about eating with that face." Joseph also couldn't help but think this way with some jealousy.