The Fox of France

It was the chilly month of April 1787, when the willow trees along the Seine River had just begun to sprout tiny buds, no bigger than grains of rice. In other parts, the cold of winter still lingered.

"Do you know, Joseph, I actually prefer April to the full bloom of May," Armand said as he strolled along the Seine's banks, with Joseph walking beside him.

"Why's that?" Joseph inquired.

"Because April is the season of budding, the most hopeful time of all. Though the cold hasn't completely receded, and patches of snow can still be seen on the shaded slopes outside the city, the arrival of spring by the river is unstoppable," Armand explained.

"You make a good point," Joseph replied. "But April can be quite harsh too."

"Why do you say that?" Armand asked.

"Do you know, Armand?" Joseph glanced around and pointed to a bare lilac tree not far away. "Take this lilac tree, for instance. Last year, it produced thousands of seeds. Armand, all these seeds try to sprout in April."

"What's wrong with that?" Armand asked, puzzled.

Joseph walked over to the bare lilac tree, ran his hand along the rough trunk, and turned back to say, "Armand, out of the thousands of seeds this tree produced, how many do you think can grow even a small shoot? And of those fortunate enough to sprout a tender bud in April, how many can grow into a magnificent tree that blooms with flowers in spring? Think about it, even in the harshest of winters, all those thousands of seeds are still alive. But in April, most of them silently die in the soil. Think about how many lives quietly fade away in April, how many hopes are crushed. Even now, beneath our feet, in the soil, countless lives may be dying... April is the cruelest month. It resurrects lilacs on barren land, mixing memory and desire, and urges the dull roots to stir. Winter warms us, covering the earth in forgetful snow, sustaining the withered roots for a while."

"Wait a moment," Armand interjected. "Joseph, I must say you're wasting your talents not being a poet. Your perspective is intriguing. However, I've heard a similar sentiment from someone else, though their conclusion differed from yours. They said that in a revolution, many will pay a price, even with their lives. But it doesn't mean there's anything wrong with the revolution. Because without it, if we have an eternal winter, life might fade away a bit slower, but the prolonged harsh winter will eventually wither all life. After all, dry roots can only sustain for so long. Revolution may cause us to lose a lot in the short term, but in the long run, it can bring us more."

"Who told you that?" Joseph asked.

"Marat, a doctor," Armand replied.

"Marat? Is that the one who was assassinated in a bathtub, then briefly enshrined, only to be moved again shortly after?" Joseph wondered. "Is he the author of 'A Study on the Properties of Fire'? I recall your uncle mentioning him."

"Ah, I'm sure my uncle didn't speak kindly of him," Armand chuckled. It also confirmed that the Marat Armand mentioned was indeed the same Marat that Joseph was thinking of.

"Lavoisier only mentioned his views when discussing erroneous ideas. In fact, besides the word 'absurd' to describe his conclusions, Lavoisier had no other opinion about him. Did he have any conflicts with your uncle?" Joseph asked.

"Not really a conflict," Armand replied. "Just academic disagreements. But my uncle did mock him rather harshly, so their relationship wasn't great. Nevertheless, that's between him and my uncle. This person is indeed quite talented. I hope to introduce you to him, as he might be among your friends."

With that, Armand looked ahead and said, "We're almost there. Abel's Tavern is just ahead, and the friends I mentioned are waiting for us there."

"Why choose such an out-of-the-way place?" Joseph questioned.

"It's not for any other reason but the cheap drinks here," Armand explained. "These are all private brews, untaxed."

As they continued walking, they took a right turn down a narrow alley and walked about twenty steps to arrive in front of a building. This area was close to the poor neighborhoods of Paris, so the houses were mostly small and dilapidated, all gray and gloomy, much like the expressions of the impoverished. This particular building was no exception. It had a closed door, with no signs or any distinguishing features. From the outside, it was nearly indistinguishable from the neighboring structures.

Armand walked up to the door and knocked. The door didn't open, but a voice from inside inquired, "Who is it?"

"I'm a friend of Albert's," Armand replied.

The door opened slightly, revealing darkness inside. Joseph could only make out a pair of eyes seemingly assessing them. After a while, a voice from within said, "It's a friend." The door then swung open fully.

Armand, with Joseph in tow, entered the building, and the door closed behind them. The sudden darkness enveloped them, and it took Joseph's eyes a while to adjust to the dim light. He also got his first clear look at the person standing before them.

He was a young man, roughly the same age as Armand, with black, slightly curly hair, and eyes that shone like lightning, even in the darkness.

The young man clearly knew they had just entered and waited for their eyes to adapt, standing quietly. Then, he said, "Armand, and this is..."

"Joseph Bonaparte," Joseph introduced himself hastily.

"In that case, Mr. Bonaparte, please come in," the young man said, turning and walking further inside.

They followed him through a corridor, and he pushed open a door, leading them into a slightly larger room. The room was positioned towards the back of the building and had relatively larger windows, allowing more light to filter in. In the center of the room stood a large round table, and several people were seated around it.

Upon hearing the door open, all eyes turned in their direction. One person even stood up and waved, "Hey, our great scientist and writer have finally arrived."

Joseph recognized the person – it was his fellow student, Orléans, who had gone on to become a lawyer and left Paris for a provincial town after graduation. They had kept in touch through letters, but their in-person meetings had been few and far between. It was a pleasant surprise to see him back in Paris.

"Orléans, you're here too? You didn't send me a letter in advance," Joseph exclaimed, pleasantly surprised.

"Because this trip to Paris was a last-minute decision due to some work-related matters. I thought my messenger might not be as fast as I am. After finishing my work, I intended to come find you, but Armand said you were coming here today, so I decided to wait for you directly," Orléans explained. "Joseph, welcome."

After welcoming Joseph, Orléans and Armand began introducing the others present.

"This is our esteemed lawyer, Danton," Orléans began, introducing a slightly overweight man in his twenties, seated next to him. "He was one of my mentors and has taught me a great deal during this time."

Joseph knew that this was Danton, one of the later-to-be-famous Jacobin giants. He couldn't help but observe him closely.

Danton had an unrefined appearance, wearing a loose, bright red overcoat with an open shirt revealing his neck. The coat's buttons were missing, and he wore high boots. His hair was untamed, and his wig was visibly made from horsehair. His face had a few blemishes, but a friendly smile played on his lips. He had thick lips, large teeth, powerful fists, and bright eyes.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Joseph said, giving a slight bow.

"It's an honor to meet a future great scientist," Danton replied.

Joseph also noticed that, indeed, as Armand had mentioned, Danton was quite the unrefined character. He couldn't help but glance at him a couple more times.

"This angelic-looking fellow, who can make me jealous to the point of sleepless nights with a single glance, is our friend, Louis," Armand introduced the young man who had brought them inside. "Joseph, Louis is just like that – even a simple glance from him is enough to steal any maiden's heart. But he rarely smiles."

"Hello, I've read some of your works, and if you have time in the future, I'd like to seek your guidance on some mathematical questions," Louis said. Joseph responded with a greeting while noticing that, indeed, as Armand had described, Louis had the face of an angel. His slightly wavy flaxen hair, velvety skin, and crystal-clear, lively blue eyes were striking. Even if he were to offer a slight smile, just like a gentle breeze in May, it would be enough to sweep any maiden's heart away. But Louis's face was almost devoid of a smile, resembling a marble sculpture.

"If he were born in a later era, he wouldn't have to do anything – just with that face, he wouldn't have to worry about food," Joseph thought, feeling a touch of envy.

The story of their gathering continues, and the group's discussion, laughter, and shared camaraderie unfold as they explore the dynamics of this unique assembly of friends.

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