I am a literary giant in Russia

Chapter 221 A Lot of Questions and Mikhail's Crime of Passion
While Paris's cultural scene is gradually heating up because of two recent declarations, the rest of Paris continues to operate day and night.

Starting from the opulent Louvre, as night falls, thousands of candles are lit, their light shining through crystal chandeliers and extending into the distance, illuminating the gilded walls of aristocratic homes and the dazzling shop windows in the heart of Paris.

The light was already somewhat weak here, but it eventually turned into some dim and mediocre neighborhoods, faintly reflecting the outlines of millions of ordinary families. If you continued to go deeper, the light would gradually dissipate, the streets would gradually narrow, and an unpleasant smell would begin to permeate the air. One after another, tired men, women and children were heading towards a small dwelling.

In the heart of such neighborhoods, the only bustling place is often a small pub selling cheap drinks. Once inside, a wave of heat, mixed with the smell of human sweat, the spiciness of cheap tobacco, and the pungent odor of spilled sour wine, hits you.

The room was extremely dimly lit, relying mainly on a few smoking oil lamps or candles for illumination, and the furniture consisted only of rough wooden tables and benches.

Even though its environment and food and drinks are so simple, it attracts a large number of customers almost every day thanks to its low prices. Among them, the workers who have been busy all day are the tavern's regulars and core. They relieve their fatigue and numb their nerves with cheap drinks, while also complaining about their work, sharing information and seeking mutual help.

In addition, you can also see poor students in dire financial straits and some so-called intellectuals from the lowest rungs of society. Ordinary small vendors and clerks also often appear here. Relatively speaking, they are the quieter group in the tavern.

If you're lucky, you might also encounter some radicals, and see Proudhon's followers, republicans, or members of other factions holding semi-secret meetings here to discuss ideas, plan actions, and even recruit members.

Places like this naturally attract the attention and surveillance of the police.

Antoine was the owner of such a small tavern. As the owner, he naturally hated trouble. But in Paris, there were just too many kinds of trouble, and it was impossible to avoid them. Moreover, for some reason, Antoine had a vague feeling that even bigger trouble was brewing among these troubles.

After all, food prices have been rising, the number of homeless people in Paris is increasing, factory management is becoming increasingly strict, piece-rate wages are constantly decreasing, and the introduction of a lot of machinery seems to be causing even more chaos.
In short, the bad news was piling up, and these things would inevitably lead to other things happening. As for what those things would be, Antoine, the small business owner, neither could imagine nor cared to imagine them. In the end, these were not things he should be thinking about. What he should really be thinking about was how much water to add to the wine each day and how to raise the price while controlling costs as much as possible.

Despite the constant troubles, Antoine has been in a good mood lately. If you ask why, simply put, his tavern recently hired a clever young man.

In those days, newspaper news and serialized novels were the biggest pastime for ordinary people. However, there were far too many illiterate people. In order to attract as many customers as possible, small taverns like theirs naturally had to pay some price to hire some literate people to read the newspapers aloud for everyone.

Of course, this job doesn't require much physical exertion and is much easier than the laborers in the factory. Therefore, the pay is quite low. Antoine would basically only provide such people with a cheap meal, and he would even pay special attention to whether they ate or drank too much.

This is something that Antoine would absolutely not allow to happen.

But for the young man who comes to read the newspaper from time to time, Antoine is willing to relax his surveillance a little. In fact, Antoine is seriously considering whether to offer him a salary of five sultans to make him come and read the newspaper a few more times.

Is five Su too much? Or how about three Su?
The reason they were willing to pay the money was, of course, that the young man was quite good at reading. In addition to being able to read the contents of the newspaper, the young man seemed to have read a lot of books. Therefore, when the contents of the newspaper were too boring and made people feel bored, the young man could use his excellent eloquence to tell legendary stories from history or other interesting knowledge.

It must be said that there were some things that even Antoine, the well-traveled tavern owner, hadn't heard of, such as the Great Wall, Thebes, and Babylon.
On nights when he's around, there seem to be more guests, and they stay longer without even realizing it.

Without a doubt, this young man is at least a college student. Although it's unclear why he's ended up in this situation, since Antoine has run into him, he'd better seize the opportunity.

So how much should he be paid? How about five Su?

Just as Antoine was still pondering, a sudden commotion arose in the tavern. When Antoine looked in the direction of the sound, a young man who looked every bit the pauper was walking towards him. As he approached, some of the patrons who recognized him greeted him.

"It's finally here again! I've been waiting for your story for so long!"

"Come on, have a drink. I've got quite a bit left in this glass!"

"Where did we leave off last time? I remember there are still some things I haven't told you!"

Antoine watched as the young man, who liked to chat with others, walked over. Just as he was about to bring up the topic of wages, he changed his mind and decided it would be better to wait until the young man finished reading today's content before bringing it up, which would undoubtedly save him today's pay.

He quickly put on a smile and then said the other person's more common female name: "Mr. Michel, get ready to get to work, a sumptuous feast awaits you!"

Michel means "a person like a god," and of course, such a name is found all over France.

In addition, although the description of a lavish meal is a bit of an exaggeration, Antoine thinks it is still quite accurate, since the other party would basically eat all the food, and sometimes even share the food with others because there was too much to finish!

".good."

Although his lips seemed to twitch slightly, the young man, who had recently experienced many new things, eventually smiled and nodded.

When he officially began reading the newspaper, almost everyone in the room turned to look. Undoubtedly, the first thing he read was the serialized novel that most people were very interested in. And if we were to talk about one of the most popular serialized novels in Paris recently, it would definitely be "Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea".

While many people were listening and discussing the plot, in an inconspicuous corner of the tavern, a middle-aged man who seemed a bit out of place was talking quietly to the person next to him.

Although he worked as a laborer for a long time in his early years, Pierre-Joseph Proudhon now plays more of a scholar role, tirelessly pondering one important question after another, reading various books, and exchanging ideas with intellectuals of all kinds.

Even today, he probably comes to these taverns more for research or to communicate and converse with his followers.

At this moment, Proudhon was surrounded by his followers. While explaining something, he seemed to be lost in thought and unconsciously frowned.

In short, he suddenly thought of the young man named Karl, with whom he had communicated for a long time. The reason he thought of him was that Karl had recently written from Brussels. As for the content of the letter, it was roughly that the young man was planning to establish a simple organization with another friend around the communist movement.

While more details were not explicitly stated, the underlying message was clearly a desire for him to participate in the organization's activities.

However, for Proudhon, the social change he hoped for was more about peaceful reform, and the reasons why are clearly explained in his works.

Therefore, Proudhon would most likely refuse such an invitation.

Just as Proudhon was slightly distracted, the person reading the newspaper continued. After the serialized novel was finished, many people felt unsatisfied, while others shouted, "Is there any news about this author lately? The news about him is really interesting. It's hard to believe that he is actually an ordinary person."

As soon as he shouted it out, someone quickly retorted loudly:
"Come on, how can you still believe such outdated rumors? Other newspapers have already exposed him; he's clearly..."

The young man reading the newspaper: "?"

"Your information is inaccurate! As far as I know, he..."

The young man reading the newspaper: "???" After the discussion had gone on for a while, the young man finally had a chance to read the relevant news:

"The most absurd theory of poetry"

Although this was one of the hottest topics in Parisian cultural circles recently, it was clear that the audience was not very interested in it, and someone quickly said, "Let's forget about news like this. I can't understand it at all. Poetry is something that belongs to men, and not many people can understand it."

"That's not necessarily the case."

Someone chimed in: "Have you forgotten those straightforward and powerful slogans? These things were also written by some poets."

"Can those things be called poetry? I don't think so. Although those satirical remarks and some battle slogans sound inspiring, are these things really poetry?"

Aren't all true poems very complex?

Despite knowing almost nothing about poetry, perhaps because it was on the topic, after a brief debate, someone suddenly thought of the very knowledgeable young man in the tavern, and immediately asked:
"Hey, young sir, you know far more than those who claim to be cultured. Do you consider simple, easy-to-understand poetry to be poetry? Have you ever seen poetry like that?"

"of course."

The young man reading the newspaper nodded decisively and said, "There are many, many poems like this, and some of them are quite well written."

"Oh?"

Although some people still find poetry difficult to understand, someone seized the opportunity and blurted out, "Could you recite one for us? Simple and easy-to-understand poems do exist, right?"

"of course."

Although not many people were interested in the topic, when the young man read out the name of a poem, everyone who was busy with various things suddenly looked over, their faces showing surprise and confusion.

What is the title of "A Worker's Questions about Reading History"?
Will the workers question history?
Upon hearing the name, Proudhon, who had been talking to his followers, paused for a moment, then quickly looked towards the front of the tavern. In that instant, many poems flashed through his mind, but none of them seemed to match the name of the poem.

Before he could think of anything else, the young man had already recited the poem:

Who built Thebes with its seven gates?

The book listed the names of some kings.

Did the king move the stones and bricks?
And Babylon, repeatedly destroyed.
Who has rebuilt her time and time again?
Construction workers in Lima, gleaming with gold.

Where do they live?
They spent a whole day building the city wall.

Where did the bricklayers who built the Great Wall spend the night after dark?

When this series of easy-to-understand rhetorical questions was read out, the tavern, which had just been quiet for a while, suddenly became agitated. Although some of them were not very familiar with certain historical details, the general meaning was not difficult to understand.

Simply put, who actually built those seemingly great buildings and achievements?
Even as such questions arose in the minds of some, the poem continued:
"Magnificent Rome has triumphal arches everywhere. Who built them?"

Whom did those Roman emperors defeat? The infamous Byzantium.
Do all its inhabitants live in palaces?

In the legend of Atlantis, the sea first submerged the slaves, and then...
Those masters were adrift in the vast ocean of darkness, howling in agony.

The young Alexander conquered India.

Just him?

Caesar defeated the Gauls,

Could it be that he didn't even bring someone to cook?
When the invincible Armada sank,
Philip of Spain wept.

Is there no one else crying?
Frederick the Great won the Seven Years' War.

Who else won besides him?

Upon hearing this, Proudhon felt a surge of emotion welling up inside him. He struggled to lift his head, even tiptoeing to avoid looking undignified, just to catch a glimpse of the person reciting the poem.

Unfortunately, the lighting in the tavern was too dim, and the other person was deliberately keeping their head down, so no matter how hard Proudhon tried, he could only focus his attention on the end of the poem for the time being:

"Victory after victory."

Who will prepare the victory celebration banquet?
Great people emerge in every generation.

Who will pay the bill?

A whole host of historical facts.

A whole host of questions.

After the poem was recited, the once bustling tavern fell silent in bewilderment, both by the poem itself and its contents. But soon...
Mikhail, sensing the rapidly escalating situation: "."

Oh no, spending too much time in places like this makes me risk committing a crime of passion.
All I can say is that it was fortunate the name was a pseudonym, the poem was someone else's, and I hadn't told anyone about the part-time job. My clothes were different, and my face was covered in ash, plus there were many people and the environment was dim.
Although he felt that the Paris police's investigative methods weren't that impressive these days, Mikhail, who still understood what he had said, decided to quickly leave the tavern and then leave Paris as soon as possible.

So, taking advantage of the slight chaos, Mikhail nimbly found a suitable spot, then reluctantly gave up his rightful dinner, and quickly disappeared into the deep Parisian night.

However, as he walked, Mikhail looked back again. He saw nothing, but it seemed as if he saw many things at once.
(End of this chapter)