And Chopin's days of playing the wind spectrum month

【Necessary reason】

Old Hepburn stretched out his hand in the cabinet and paused for a moment on the lawyer's ink bottle before taking it out.

He carefully unscrewed the bottle cap, took the dip pen and adjusted the flange, and after the nib was fixed and the ink was hung, he handed it to the female guest to test the color on the paper.

The tip of the point travels the lines on the paper, draws grays of different thicknesses, and when it dries, only a kind of eternal black will be left on the paper.

This kind of change has been performed countless times in the eyes of the old man, but he was attracted by this black for the first time—compared with Jane Hepburn's other magical colored inks, the lawyer has never been eye-catching except for its characteristics.

"I hope that his writing can be the same as this ink, and it will be immortal after all."

Old Hepburn looked at the girl who was carefully checking the ink marks, and the charming words she just said casually echoed in her ears.He glanced calmly at the young writer who was stunned in front of the counter, and smiled slightly.

Presumably Victor was also shocked by her lovely confession.

The shop owner looked at the old acquaintance leaning on the display cabinet again, and sighed enviously to himself: "What a lucky guy...Old Hepburn, how happy he must be to be watched by such a pair of eyes."

Just as he was about to say something, the female guest raised her head, as if she was very satisfied with Mo Se: "Sir, I want this. I also want to see 'Emerald'... What are you talking about?"

He said wait a moment, and went to get another ink cartridge for the girl.As soon as he turned around, he heard Victor start talking again.

"Do you know how damaging that sentence is to a writer? Dear unknown lady, if I am still single and have never had my love... Believe me, for such a sentence, I am willing to break through Everyone bows their heads and kisses the back of your hand, even if they want to compete with your 'Mr. Writer' in literary battles."

"First, sir, you must... make fun of me."

"Miss, I believe Victor is telling the truth. This great writer will not deceive people in this matter——what you said just now is too charming."

As an old Parisian, Hepburn was not at all surprised by the French romantic qualities displayed by Victor.He handed the new ink to the girl, and after seeing her expression clearly, he realized that she didn't care about the writer's words.

"You...haven't recognized who he is yet?"

"Hold, sorry, I really don't know much about writers..."

"Here's a hint, miss, 'Twilight Song'."

The old shopkeeper waited with anticipation to hear the lovely screams from the girls, just like all the beings in the salon who were fascinated by the writer's words.

"Is that poetry? Sir, I'm very sorry, I don't know much about poetry...Compared to literature, my life is almost only related to music—" The girl paused, then added after hesitation, "For me If I don’t understand, I dare not speak in vain. Sir, although I don’t read many poems, when it comes to “Evening Songs”, I still remember one poem in my barren mind.”

"Read, I want to hear it."

Hearing it, Victor's expectations were aroused instead.

He also opened his ears, waiting to hear the poem remembered by the girl.

"I like the wilderness before dusk. At this time, all the colors are quiet and the darkness has not yet come. In the lush green on the hills, there is still the last touch of passion.

I also like Twilight's life, at this time, all the stories have been formed, but the end has not yet come.I looked back again with a smile, looking for my heart that had been wandering and desolate. [1]"

"I hope this poem can make up for my regret of not being able to recognize you. I will definitely read your "Evening Song" when I have the chance."

Her attention seemed to never leave her favorite gift, and after she finished speaking, she began to seriously test her color again—no matter who was standing beside her, she couldn't be shaken.

"Is it poetry from... the East?"

The owner heard a sigh, and it melted into the blue-green gossamer on the test paper.

……

Enough lawyers, plus pocket emeralds.

Because the green ink is only for implication, the shopkeeper helped Aurora make subpackages in delicate glass bottles the length of her little finger, and sealed the bottle for her considerately.Such a small thing is perfectly safe unless smashed too hard.

After finally choosing the gift in return, Aurora waited with satisfaction for the shopkeeper to complete the final decoration.She took out the gold louis, rubbed it reluctantly, and finally handed it out with her eyes closed.

"Miss, do you...do you have any difficulties?"

"No, sir—I only have one request. Can you please keep this coin safe, and it doesn't matter if you don't give me change. I will definitely come to redeem it in a few days. Maybe I'm a bit rigid...you just When it's important to me, just don't trade it."

Perhaps it was the first time he heard such a strange request, and the shopkeeper put down his hand to accept the payment.Seeing this, Aurora was a little anxious, she leaned forward, trying to fight for it again.

A gold coin landed on the glass counter, and after spinning it a few times, it lay down.

"I paid for the ink. Old Hepburn, after so many years, you still can't get rid of your grumpy temper—she cherishes that piece of Louis so much, I can tell that it has something to do with the person to send the ink to— Be kind, my friend, do you want to be my Bishop?"

Aurora turned sideways, the young writer's eyes had long faded sharply, he looked at the shopkeeper full of jokes.

"Sir, it's unreasonable—"

"It's reasonable, miss. For your words, for the poem just now, for the inspiration you gave me to write—that gold coin I paid is totally worth it. If I give out my money, I will never accept it back."

Aurora took a deep breath.

Perhaps it was the aura of luck in that bottle of emeralds, she once again got kindness from strangers in the nineteenth century.

"Sir, you have your insistence, and I have my principles—how about it, shopkeeper, you accept the gold coins from this gentleman, but I will make an IOU with him and keep it with you. Next time I will use money to redeem the IOU , when he comes to you to buy ink in the future, you will give him a discount."

Aurora took out a piece of good color test paper on the counter, and put pen to paper.

……

The female guest has been away for a long time.

Looking at the so-called IOU, the shopkeeper recalled the lovely expression on the writer's face when his kindness was accepted in this way, and couldn't help breaking the silence and began to tease the other party.

"I didn't expect, Victor, that there are still people who haven't read your Les Chantsducrepuscule, which caused a sensation last year?"

"Don't think I didn't hear you teasing me, old Hepburn, didn't you hear what the lady said? She 'didn't pay much attention to poetry', and her accent wasn't old Paris..."

He handed the dip pen to the great writer, urging him to sign the IOU.

"But that poem just now—oh, Victor, do you think she'd react differently if I mentioned Notre-Dame de Paris?"

"It is indeed a poem that she will like... Only the Lord can answer this question. However, I am looking forward to fighting with her 'Mr. Writer'."

The young man picked up the pen and tapped the tip to outline the chic elegance on the paper.

—Victor Hugo.

Victor Hugo.

One of France's greatest writers.

Chopin spreads plum jam on bread.As soon as you bite down, the fresh fragrance of plums permeates the mouth, as if wrapping up the whole summer.Petit is really good at making jams, and this little jam is definitely the authentic Polish method.

A day ago, Aurora handed over an invitation to the doorman who was going to pick up the letter, inviting him to have dinner at home tonight.

The letter mentioned thank you, and also stated that a large table of Polish dishes would be prepared.It wasn't until the appointment that the young man realized that there were almost all four seasons of Poland on the dining table.

"Yes, Francois, because your gift is too precious, I can only repay you in this way."

"This table dish is already a very good return gift—"

"If it's just this dinner, I'd be embarrassed to invite you... There are other things, I owe you another favor anyway."

"It sounds like a hard-won surprise to me? Then don't talk about it, let me look forward to it. When I leave, take your gift with me. But when you eat, you shouldn't Would you mind telling me the story of 'owing favor'?"

Hearing his reply, Aurora smiled shyly.She took a serving plate and served him some bigos.

Chopin took the plate, and the aroma of sauerkraut and meat whetted his appetite.With the delicious stew, the fiancee told him about her adventure.

"...If you were given another chance, Aurora, would you still take that piano home? If it weren't for it, you might not have to go through this—"

"No ifs, François. I am a pianist, so I will have my professional awareness-although a pianist can control any piano, he will only practice on the best piano. Besides, that piano, Playing Chopin is really appropriate."

Only practice on the best violin...

When the young man was trembling for these words, the sudden appearance of "Chopin" washed away all his gathered emotions.

Aurora duly gave him a stuffed egg.

Chopin had no time to take into account the strangeness in his heart, and when he reached out to take it, he found a new lumpy red scar on her smooth arm.

"What's wrong with your arm...?"

"Ah, this, it's okay, don't worry, I'm not very good at using the oven at home, I got burned when I baked the snacks."

Seeing her swinging her arms indifferently, he could only remind her with a frown.

"You are the 'pianist', Aurora, take good care of your hands and arms."

"I will, François, it's different this time...there's a reason why it must be done."

Her cheeks bulged like a squirrel eating acorns whole, and her eyes sparkled again at the sound of food being served.

Chopin couldn't help being aroused by Aurora. He didn't speak, but smelled the tempting aroma on the plate that Petit had just put down.

Heart-shaped chunks of thick biscuit, either lightly coated with chocolate or simply dusted with white icing.The crispy outer skin is matched with the spongy holes in the inner, and the ginger fragrance will spread all over the tongue bed after biting down.

"My God, it's Gingerbread—"

"Wow, François, I'm so glad you recognized it. This is the only pastry I can make that tastes like Poland, want to try it?"

He couldn't hold back his excitement, so he quickly took a piece and chewed it carefully in his mouth.

Memories of Poland once again flooded my mind.Nibbling and swallowing, he seemed to be back in his boyhood, following the footsteps of Copernicus on the winding Vistula River—he was still the boy eating gingerbread and looking up at the starry sky.

"This smell... is Torun!"

Only this group of simple pronunciation - Torun, made Chopin almost cry.

"It's great to be liked by you. Chopin also likes this flavor of gingerbread."

Chopin, Chopin again.

The most delicious gingerbread in the world, he couldn't eat a bite.