Shadow of great britain

As a top European city on par with London, Paris is also divided into many areas according to streets, rivers and history.

However, unlike the British who like to name things, the administrative divisions of Paris are quite simple in their official names. They do not have any fancy titles, but only numbers from 1 to 48.

Among these 48 districts, many areas have been prominent in different historical periods, but most of them will fall into a long period of decline after experiencing glory.

Just like the St. Giles Parish in the West End of London, in the Middle Ages, the St. Giles Parish was a gathering place for dignitaries. However, now the residents of St. Giles are only a group of poor people who cannot afford the high rent but need to go to the central area of ​​London to work every day.

They are crowded in groups in the mansions that once belonged to nobles and big businessmen. However, due to the disrepair of the houses, only some traces of the glory left by the years can be found on the half-collapsed walls of those houses.

In Paris, there is also an area with the same attributes as the St. Giles Parish, that is the 12th district of Paris.

In the 13th century, this land once had the University of Paris, which was as famous as Cambridge and Oxford, two pearls of classical education in England. This highest crystallization of French national wisdom is located on Foa Street in the 12th district.

However, after 600 years of changes, this administrative district that once made Parisians proud has become the poorest area in Paris.

Foa Street, which once had the University of Paris, is in an even more embarrassing situation, because even in the 12th district, it is recognized as the dirtiest and most dangerous street.

One-third of the residents here have no firewood for heating in winter. Children who should be sent to the orphanage, patients who need to go to the hospital for treatment, beggars begging on the street, homeless people picking up rubbish in the streets and alleys, and sick old men and women basking in the sun against the wall can be seen everywhere.

As for the unemployed workers wandering in the squares of Paris and the defendants escorted by the police to the criminal court, most of these people are from the 12th district.

Every tourist who comes here with the dream of Paris will think that he has gone insane when he sees the scene of the 12th arrondissement. But for Londoners, this situation is not uncommon. Just like the prosperity of the West End of London and the dilapidated East End of London, the 12th arrondissement of Paris is the East End of Paris. They are two sides of the same coin and can never be separated.

However, for tourists who come to Paris, Foa Street will only cause them physical discomfort.

But for Sir Arthur Hastings, coming to Foa Street is like going home.

This street is damp all year round, and there is always black water from the dyeing factory flowing into the Seine River in the gutter. There is an old house in the middle. The four sides are stone and the middle is brick. According to the residents here, this house was probably rebuilt during the reign of Francis I of the Valois Dynasty.

But even if it was rebuilt, it was three hundred years ago.

Its solidity can be proved by appearance. It is under the pressure of the third and fourth floors above, and is supported by the thick wall base of the bottom floor. The second floor sandwiched in the middle expands to both sides, like a person's belly. Although supported by stone frames, the walls between the window holes also look like they are about to explode at first glance.

But those who are good at observation will immediately find that it is a house like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, with the peeling old bricks and stones always maintaining their center of gravity. Because of the humidity, the solid stone foundation at the bottom has a half-yellow hue and faint water drops all year round.

Pedestrians walking along the wall will feel a sense of gloom, and the crescent-shaped boundary stone cannot protect the corners from being hit by wheels. Like all houses built before private carriages were available, the semicircular doorway is unusually low, like a prison.

There are three window holes on the right side of the gate. The wire mesh outside is so fine, and the glass on the window is so dirty and dusty that others can't tell what the three damp and dark rooms inside are used for.

There are two similar window holes on the left side. One of the windows is sometimes open, allowing you to see the inner room, the doorman's wife, and the children in the inner room, huddled together and shouting, or working, cooking, or eating.

The house was paved with floors, and the rooms were separated by wooden boards. Everything was in tatters. To enter from the outside, you first had to walk down two steps. Such changes in the terrain were enough to show that the archaeologists' views were absolutely correct. As time passed, the street level gradually increased, so the older things were buried deeper.

Between the stairwells, there was a long corridor, and the arched roof was supported by white-painted beams.

It happened to rain in the evening, so you could see a few passers-by standing under the eaves to avoid the rain.

And everyone who came here must have wanted to see the inside of the house.

There was a small garden on the left side of the corridor, which was only deep and wide enough for an ordinary person to take four steps.

Although the layout of the garden showed that it should have been used to grow fruits and vegetables, unfortunately, there were no vines on the rotten grape racks, and there were no other plants except two trees. Under the shade of the trees, there were only waste paper, broken bowls, rags, and lime and tiles that fell from the roof.

It’s not that the residents here don’t want to use this small yard, but the surface of the dirt in the yard, on the walls, on the trees, and on the branches, is covered with a thick layer of hardened mud over time. It looks like a jelly made of soot. If you put a layer of this stuff on a person's face, humans will also be unable to breathe, so naturally you can't expect plants to thrive in such an environment.

But this small courtyard is not without its merits. At least the two houses in the east and south of the garden rely on it to get light.

As for the other two sides of the garden, they are wrapped with walls. But looking at the decayed and dilapidated appearance of the walls, don't expect them to play any role in preventing theft. The two walls can hold up until now without collapsing. They are not big or small. A miracle.

The more he stood in such a place, the clearer Arthur's mind became. Because based on the experience of an old East London policeman, if you dare to be careless in a place like this, you will have to lie in the hospital to collect your salary next week.

Arthur stood in the small courtyard and raised his head to look upstairs. Although no one told him the occupations of these tenants, the traces of life upstairs had invisibly betrayed all the privacy of the tenants.

Here, dyed wool is hung on long poles to dry, there are washed shirts hung on ropes, and some wooden boards are set up in front of some doors, with bound book spines placed on them.

Women who had just finished work gathered together to make housework. From time to time, you could hear a few singing lines, lyrics and tunes. These women seemed to be imitating several popular opera singers in Paris.

The men gathered in a group at the other end to chat and spank. Some were complaining about the low wages recently, some even cursed Louis Philippe a few times, and some said that if Bonaparte had come up during the July Revolution, Bapai, life may be a little easier. Others miss the old society and praise the Bourbon royal family for their achievements. Occasionally, there were a few shouts and curses from young people who supported the republicans. Everyone was about to start a quarrel. At this time, a dirty joke suddenly appeared and shattered the tense atmosphere.

The children don't want to get involved in the adults' conversations. They also have their own small circle. These children shout loudly and play games everywhere. Only the occasional shouting and scolding from their parents can temporarily calm them down.

But not everyone participated in the evening social activities. The taciturn carpenter was chewing tobacco leaves and sawing boards with one leg on the edge of the workbench. The coppersmith was turning copper on the sparking lathe. All the craftsmen came together to make a noise. Because of the many tools, the noise was deafening, comparable to the Paris Opera House.

Arthur casually touched the iron railing of the corridor, and his snow-white gloves were immediately covered with a layer of greasy stains.

Immediately afterwards, I saw him smiling at Louis beside him and saying: "It's true, the shape of the iron railings here is very weird, which shows that the carvings must have been extremely delicate. Although the velvet wrapped on it was so dirty that it was unrecognizable. But look at these diamond-shaped nails, they must have been plated with gold. It can be seen that tens or hundreds of years ago, the residents here were either high judges, wealthy priests, or people in charge of the fields. The tax collector of buying and selling, etc.”

Louis looked around at the small courtyard in front of him. Rather than tracing the history of this place, he was more curious about what Arthur had brought him to this place today.

Louis stroked the vague carvings on the iron railings and asked softly: "Arthur, you said you wanted to bring me to meet a friend. Does your friend live here?"

"Live here?" Arthur held his pipe in his mouth and looked at the tenants under the eaves who were paying attention to him and Louis: "I don't know where they live. Maybe they have lived in worse places."

Louis also noticed that the tenants were paying more attention to him and Arthur. He raised his hand to his mouth and coughed softly: "Are you sure there will be no problem coming here? It will get dark soon. It’s not safe here. Even if we really want to come, we should change our clothes first, we are too conspicuous now.”

"Eye-catching, but easy to recognize." Arthur took off his gloves and patted the dust on the rotten chair behind him, then sat down safely with a cane in both hands. He took out his pocket watch and looked at the time: "Don't be impatient, someone will be there soon. Come and contact us.”

Seeing Arthur being so calm, Louis could only sit down suspiciously. He joked: "Are you talking about thugs or robbers?"

Arthur tucked the gold pocket watch chain into his jacket pocket: "Maybe it's both."

As soon as Arthur finished speaking, Louis saw a middle-aged man with gray hair and dressed in black walking over.

This man walked like he was marching, his steps were very hard. He wanted not to pay attention to Louis and Arthur, but his acting skills were so poor that even a newly hired police secretary could tell what he was thinking. What's on your mind.

Arthur folded his hands on the round head of the cane, and the fingers of his right hand covering the top were tapping the back of his left hand leisurely. He just lowered his head and stared at the darkened floor, as if he was completely unaware of this person in black clothes. The gentleman passed by him for the third time.

Louis also suppressed his anxiety and excitement. When he was at Scotland Yard, he had heard Tony and others bragging about their experiences with informants many times. However, because Arthur did not agree to let him engage in such a dangerous job, Therefore, this noble Bonaparte can usually only dream about the scene in which he performs dangerous joint tasks for the Bureau.

"Is this man a secret agent of the British Foreign Office in Paris?" Louis thought to himself.

After all, everyone knows how much the British like to plant spies in France. As early as the 16th century during the reign of Elizabeth I, Sir Francis Walsingham, the head of the British intelligence agency at the time, had set up nearly 300 intelligence stations in France. And now, 300 years later, Louis believes that this number is definitely increasing.

Just as Louis was still fantasizing about the spy war drama of British spies meeting, he suddenly felt a shadow on his face.

Louis looked up and was shocked to find that the middle-aged man who had been pacing in front of them had stopped and stood in front of them.

It was not until this time that Louis could finally appreciate the gentleman's dress carefully.

He was dressed in black from head to toe, which showed that he was a steady person. His worn-out pants and woolen socks with threads showing through showed that he must be very frugal. The pair of boots that seemed to have been valuable had gone through so many years that their shape had become distorted, and at first glance they looked a bit asymmetrical...

For such a dress, Louis could only give an evaluation with great admiration: "This is a very professional spy. If the full score is ten, I would give him nine points."

Although this dress looked very shabby, it could be harmoniously combined with the environment here, and it didn't look abrupt at all.

As for why he could only get nine points out of ten, it was because the only flaw was that this gentleman had some congenital defects. His sparse hair made people know at a glance that this guy was probably from the other side of the strait.

Louis pretended to be calm in front of this 'old British spy', trying to make himself look like a senior person in the industry as much as possible. As a noble Bonaparte, he had some similarities with his uncle, that is, he did not want to be looked down upon by others in any aspect.

Even if he went to a high-end cafe for the first time to order food, he had to pretend to be calm and say to the waiter coolly, "Same old", using such a mysterious method to prove his status as a regular customer.

Even when he went to eat, he was like this. In front of senior intelligence personnel, Louis naturally did not want to lose face.

He tapped his cane like Arthur, pretended to take a deep puff of cigarette, and then slowly squeezed out the thick white smoke from his nose.

Louis reached out and lifted the brim of his hat, and asked on his own initiative: "Sir, do you have anything to do with us?"

The middle-aged man looked at Louis' face and replied seriously: "It's not that I have something to do with you, but that you have something to do with me. As far as I know, gentlemen like you and your companions come to Foa Street mostly because they have something to present to me."

"Petition?" Louis was stunned.

"Of course." The middle-aged man said seriously, "Aren't you two here to ask me, the assistant judge of the civil court, for leniency and redress?"

Louis thought for a moment, and then suddenly realized.

Although the words "petition" and "assistant judge" seem to be fine at first glance, they are actually mostly some kind of jargon of the British Foreign Office. "Petition" refers to "intelligence", and "assistant judge" refers to his title in the intelligence agency. Like Arthur, wasn't he the assistant police commissioner of the Greater London Police? Maybe this middle-aged man with sparse hair is the assistant station chief of a British intelligence station in France?

Louis nodded calmly and said, "I was confused. You are right. We have suffered legal injustice and we have a petition to present to you now."

When Louis said this, he cast his eyes on Arthur and gently pushed him.

However, what he didn't expect was that Arthur shuddered. The senior police officer raised his head suddenly and almost threw his hat to the ground.

Louis' eyes widened, and only then did he finally understand something.

"Arthur, is your mother asleep?"