[Masterpiece Les Miserables] Paris Sparks

Caton walked out of his bedroom slowly.

It was late at night.The whole house was silent except for the crackling of firewood in the fireplace.The room was covered with a thick carpet—it was laid by Corona when she was a child, in case she would fall on the ground when she was unsteady on the road.Therefore, Corona did not hear Caton's footsteps at all.

She leaned over the desk to read the letter, with a large pile of letter paper and draft paper spread out in front of her, and the ink bottle was left open on the side.She held the letter paper in one hand, and inserted the other hand into her hair, combing her long hair absently. At her feet, several golden long hairs had already fallen on the carpet.A moment later, with a long, weary sigh, she put the letter aside, rubbed her eyes, and picked up her pen.

"February 2th...February 8th..." She whispered, scribbling a few words on the draft paper next to her.Carton was worried that she would stain the letter paper, so he hurriedly asked when her pen tip was still on the draft paper: "Corona?"

Corona was really taken aback.She dropped her pen casually, stood up, and walked towards him in a hurry: "Father! Why are you up? Did you sleep well today?"

"Why haven't you slept yet?" Caton asked without answering.

"I'll go to bed right away—I went out with Basil this afternoon, so I didn't have time to reply. Wait until I finish writing the last few letters!" Corona said.The drowsiness that Carton observed from the back just now disappeared when she turned around, her tone was light and clear, as she always did when facing him. "I'm sixteen, father, and I can take care of myself! What do you need?"

"I just got sick once, and you treated me like glass." Caton patted her arm affectionately, "I don't need anything! I'm already in my sixties, and I can take better care of myself. In a few days you will be able to leave for Paris: there are still many things to attend to in Paris, and you don't have to tire yourself out."

Corona shrugged. "You wouldn't believe me if I said I wasn't tired. However, I do plan to go back to Paris: I leave on February 2 and return on the 1th."

"return?"

"Why, you don't expect me to stay in Paris forever?" Corona laughed. "I'm not welcome here anymore, papa?"

"You know that's not what I mean." Caton tapped her lightly, "but you don't need to worry about me too much."

"Maybe, but I think. Believe it or not, I really like living with you," Corona said, clasping Carton's arm as intimately as she had when she was a child. "Aren't you also Ever lived a life like this, constantly going back and forth between England and France? Why can't I?"

This is not the first time such a debate has been held, and Carton has never won against Corona.He shook his head helplessly, giving up the attempt he knew would be futile: "Maybe I taught you to be too stubborn."

"Well—so, if you don't want to live with me, you have only yourself to blame." Corona said, covering her mouth with her hands, and swallowed a yawn, "Okay, you go to sleep! Let me Finish this last letter, and then I too will go to bed."

It was nearly midnight when she finished her letter to Madame de Morcerf and sealed the envelope.Corona put down her pen, packed her desk, went back to her own bedroom, and changed into her pajamas.

But she did not put out the oil lamp.She walked to the dressing table, took out a pen and paper from the bottom drawer, and continued to write another long letter that was not yet finished.

"...Last time you mentioned that you will try to take the Sorbonne this year. If you succeed, please let me know, Combeferre! I have already missed an opportunity to be your tour guide, and I don't want to miss the second.

"I would like to thank you for your many suggestions in the last letter. As Enjolras suggested, I ended up choosing to travel between the two places. This seemed to be the only way to combine my father's painting with mine. I know, Combeferre, that you have persuaded me that some things in the world may not be compatible. I am equally aware of this myself, and as I grow older, I begin to understand that human energy The so-called hard work will definitely be rewarded is just an ideal luxury when I was a child. Many times, hard work may not be rewarded; even if I try my best, I may not necessarily be able to achieve the goal. For a while, I used to believe that , I really understand this truth.

"But maybe you'll say I don't know enough, or maybe the stupid idealism hasn't quite faded from me. Because, if I really knew, I probably wouldn't put myself in such a desperate situation right now. The world It feels like there is so much to do on the internet, and I never have time, never have time. I wrote down the book on the history of the Revolution that Combeferre suggested to me last time, but I don't even have time to go to the bookstore Come and buy it. There are times -- like today, when I am writing to you in the middle of the night -- that I feel fear. Not for myself, but fear that what I am trying to hold on to at the same time will I lost them all. I was afraid that I wanted to do many things well at the same time, and if I couldn't do the last one well, I would lose my painting and my father at the same time.

"Enjolras would have said it was not like me, it was too weak! I can almost imagine his face as you read this letter. Please forgive my occasional weakness, my friends, because of this fear I dare not To anyone else. My relatives and friends love me, and out of such love and concern for me, they would advise me to give up a side: Paris probably, my paintings. But for me, No matter which side I give up, I cannot accept it. Maybe only you can understand that what I need now is not pity, sympathy, or even concern and help——I need your encouragement, I need you to tell me not to give up, Keep fighting.

"This is somewhat out of my reluctance. I have much better conditions than others. More importantly, I can't bear to accept failure before I try.

"Getting away from a city and still maintaining a connection to it was a lot more complicated than I imagined. Frankly, it was about being relaxed in front of my father -- in front of everyone, but inside I was always Be ready to accept that I screwed everything up. But since it's not screwed up, I'm going to keep trying. Bless me, my friends, I think you're probably the only ones who will encourage me."

She carefully put the pen aside to prevent the ink from staining the densely written letter paper.She contemplated the last paragraph for a long time, then opened the drawer again and took out a letter inside.

That was the last letter that Combeferre and Enjolras sent her half a month ago.Since Gongbeferfei was preparing for the admission to the medical school for half a year, the schoolwork was intense, and the graceful handwriting of Gongbeferfei on the letter paper had changed to Enjolras' strong and powerful writing style, but the length of the letter had not decreased in the slightest.She familiarly turned to the second page of letter paper, on which Enjolras wrote:

"...I can't say I'm a good role model, and the word 'stiff' is not enough to describe my relationship with my family. But your description really confuses me and Combeferre: every time you mention relatives, Just plenty of compliments. Your father is described as a saint by you, and you do mention a number of times how he and your siblings supported you. Yet at the same time, you seem pretty sure they don't Discourages your pursuit - becoming a painter is discouraged and doesn't seem to require you to enter university. We asked you if you needed financial help and you denied it. If they don't have any expectations of you per se, then If they don't approve of you pursuing your own ideals, then what on earth do they want you to do? This is completely unreasonable.

"This is not a question. To be fair, we know as little about your family as you do about ours, and both Combeferre and I believe that family is not necessary to know a man, so if you don't want to talk, We can avoid this topic. But again, because of this confusion, I'm afraid we can't give you any valuable advice. All I can say is that if you have passion, talent, and don't endanger others, I don't see any reason why you shouldn't pursue your ideals..."

She read the letter by the light of the candle and ran her fingers over the quill of the quill that lay flat on the table.The graceful and slender fingers contracted slightly, as if they wanted to grab the pen several times, but flinched several times.

How she longed to pick up her pen, dip it in ink, and add a paragraph to her stationery!Tell her two closest friends why people around her expect so differently from her.tell them!Tell them she's a girl, tell them a girl can read and write, can be a painter, can discuss history and philosophy with them, can do everything a man can do!Tell them that it is a soul they are meeting and speaking to, a soul that is not necessarily gendered.Tell them her family discouraged her career because they expected her to be a lady, a lady, a mother in the future.Tell them that, and maybe they'll encourage her anyway!

...but what if they won't?

Enjolras and Combeferre are the only close friends around her, the only ones who can have in-depth conversations and discussions with her, and who can encourage her. The basis of all this is: when they met, she was disguised as a man of.Of course, they seem to be very open about many things, very open to debate and open to different points of view, and they never look away from the facts.Maybe the proof she gave was enough to convince them that she could be a worthwhile friend, male or female.

But what if, if they found out her gender, she lost both friends forever?

She can't take the risk.Not now, not when she was exhausted.

Slowly, she carefully folded Enjolras' letter in half according to the original crease, and put it back in the drawer.She picked up the pen again, dipped in the ink, and concluded the letter with the existing paragraph.The question Enjolras raised in his last letter was left unanswered, and probably will not be raised again in their subsequent correspondence.

She wrote: "Your sincere friend Cole Carton".