burning sky

Chapter 4

The people I love and hate, and this beautiful and ugly world

1913 years.

At this time, Voltaire and Rousseau were already two teenagers with an apparent age of 17, and they had reconciled after a period of ups and downs.The French Pavilion is so peaceful. (Note: For how these two reconciled and how they changed from old to young, see the second "Portrait in Two Mirrors".)

It's almost June.The breath of summer is long and strong.

in the mathematics group.

"Mr. Lagrange, you have been here for almost two months. Do you have any opinions on our work?" Descartes said with a smile.

"Ah...no...I'm happy and fine..." Lagrange replied a little nervously.He has obviously just changed his apparent age, and his movements are not very coordinated. He is now a 28-year-old youth.He is of medium height, with a thin build, pale skin, and pale blue eyes shy and nervous.

"Oh, don't be so restrained, okay..." Descartes brushed his unkempt long hair and straightened his beard, "Do I look weird?"

"Maybe. Even someone with poor eyesight like me thinks so." A teenager came from behind, with fluffy silver mid-length hair and slightly drooping eyes. "Mr. Lagrange must not recognize me, right? I am Leonhard Euler. You have to become like this in order to reduce the impact of vision. You are not used to it."

Lagrange looked startled and embarrassed.The great mathematician who recommended him to become a member of the Prussian Academy of Sciences and helped him take his first step is now like this.Lagrange thought of those who had helped him in his life, especially Euler, D'Alembert, and... "I left Prussia after my teacher went to Russia and went to another place. I don't have any grudges...but I'm really happy to see that you are still as good as before..." Lagrange said guiltily.

"You did run a little too fast..." Euler joked. "But I have nothing to lose so that's it."

It's just... I always feel that you should comfort your other teacher and savior.

this night.

It was already late at night, and the only sound in the woods and gardens of the Association was the chirping of cicadas, slowly echoing in the cool summer wind.Lagrange walked slowly along the path behind the French Pavilion.The surrounding lights are getting darker and darker, and the bright moonlight is gradually unfolding.It must have been a place off the beaten track.

In the past two months in the association, the praise he has learned from history has been immeasurable, "the largest mathematician in Europe" and "the towering pyramid in the history of mathematics"... If the heart is not filled with that spontaneous sense of pride , that is impossible; but in the incomparable happiness, he still remembers those people who helped him back then, because he was so weak, he left without saying goodbye again and again... The dark worry can only make him pray that they are now all had a great time...

Sure enough, he is still cowardly and self-paralyzed...

The nightingale's cry came from the shadow of the tree, making him forget the worry just now.A tiny cricket jumped in front of him, telling him of the remoteness of the place.Lagrange couldn't help smiling at the little visitors as they disappeared behind his journey.

A cool summer evening breeze blows, refreshing.But at that moment, Lagrange seemed to hear a strange voice, a voice so chilling that it made one's hair stand on end.

He listened intently, the voice was breathless and intermittent, like the cry of a child.

Looking for the source of the sound, Lagrange walked through clumps of dark bushes, and a garden that had been deserted for a long time came into view.On the mottled white bench, there was a child, curled up in a ball, sobbing softly.He was wearing whitewashed old clothes, small and thin, and his exposed legs were as pale as a porcelain doll.Silver hair with a paradoxical light in the dark night.

Driven by some unknown reason, Lagrange stepped on the broken branches and leaves that had accumulated for an unknown number of years, and walked towards the bench.Then the child suddenly looked up.

His empty and helpless brown eyes were slightly swollen, and he was still weeping silently; his round face was full of despair and self-blame.

Lagrange froze for a moment.But the child seemed to realize something suddenly. He wiped away his tears and looked at him with a half-smile on his face.

"You are Monsieur Joseph-Louis Lagrange," said the child in a tone of no emotion.

"Uh...yes..." Lagrange looked at the sickly child.In his memory, this child has no resemblance to anyone at all, "You know me?"

"Mr. Lagrange, you have achieved world-renowned achievements in the fields of mathematics and physics. As one of your former colleagues, I am very honored to see your great achievements today."

"...Thank you... dare I ask you..." Before he could finish his words, Lagrange suddenly found a deep old scar on the child's neck, which reflected the bloodless skin, which looked particularly ugly and terrifying .He couldn't help but gasp.

The child seemed to have noticed where Lagrange was looking, and hurriedly pulled his thin collar to cover up the scar. "Anyway, Mr. Lagrange, I sincerely congratulate you." His eyes were fixed on Lagrange, and there was a remnant aura inside that made Lagrange shudderingly familiar. "Farewell."

"Hey...!" Before Lagrange could react, the child had disappeared into the desolate and decayed woods, only the cold wind was blowing the rotten leaves on the ground for many years...

Lagrange clearly saw tears in the child's cold eyes when he turned around.

But he didn't know who he was...he couldn't remember who he was like...although there was always a familiar feeling in his mind...

Lagrange didn't know how long he stood in that dilapidated garden.It was just that Mr. Buffon, who was watching the night, passed by and told him that this place was too close to the port in the backyard, and it was better to leave early if he was too resentful.In this way, Lagrange was pulled away, but before he left, he still looked at the bench emitting a deep white light, as if the crying child was still in front of him.

the next morning.

Lagrange walked into the mathematics group sullenly.In a trance, he saw a thin child sitting beside Descartes.

But when he walked in, he found that it wasn't the one from yesterday.The child has beautiful long black hair.

"It's surprising to see so many children who are apparently too young at once," Descartes said with a smile, "Did Joseph not sleep well last night? He looks very tired now."

"I'm Blaise Pascal. I met you at the welcome meeting of the mathematics group before." Pascal said and shook hands with Lagrange. "Is there any question for Mr. Lagrange?"

"Uh...it's like this. I met a child on the road from the French Pavilion to the backyard yesterday. His build was similar to that of Mr. Pascal, his hair was silver-white, and his eyes were brown..." Lagrange paused, "Then...he seems to have a very long scar on his neck...do you know who he is...?"

Pascal smiled mysteriously, "I think you met my roommate. Of course you know him, but it's normal that you can't recognize him now, after all, his apparent age is only 15 years old..."

"—he is Antoine Lavoisier."

For a moment, Lagrange's mind went blank.With empty eyes, he tried to speak in a normal tone and asked "... so... can you tell me where he is now?"

"The chemistry group is right next door to the physics group," Pascal said.He saw Lagrange almost galloping away.

"All the fetters need to be broken after all. The ashes of history rise up, revealing the bloodstains that have been covered in dust for centuries." Descartes said meaningfully to Pascal.

Pascal was sad.

I see the sky rekindle in its dead ashes.

Lagrange rushed into the chemistry group.

A graceful English youth blocks his way.

"Greetings, Monsieur Lagrange," Boyle bowed to Lagrange, "don't be surprised. I know you are looking for Monsieur Lavoisier. He has been waiting for you for 119 years. He is now upstairs in the chemistry team leader's office, and welcomes your visit."

If he hadn't been restrained all the time, Lagrange would have fallen every step he took.He walked up the second floor quietly.Everyone in the chemistry group seems to know that he will visit one day, as if they have known him for a long time, and they all sent him warm greetings.Before he knocked on the door, Scheele also asked him if he wanted a small Swedish snack.

"Please come in."

Lagrange pushed open the door, and a neat and dignified office came into view.Simple wooden floor, elegant furniture, and books on chemistry on two rows of bookcases.In the middle is a wooden desk, an ancient quill, and a few books.

Lavoisier sat behind the desk, looking down at a book.

"Sit down, please. Tea will be served in a moment."

His silver-white long hair was combed neatly, and was combed into a beautiful ponytail behind his head. The bright red ribbon against the silver hair exuded a gorgeous atmosphere.His tone is unhurried, arrogant and elegant, exactly the same as when Lagrange first met him at the Royal French Academy of Sciences that year.

Lagrange sat awkwardly on the sofa.Lavoisier stood up and walked to the compartment to get tea.Except that Lavoisier is only 15 years old, everything else is almost the same as it was two centuries ago.

Lagrange watched as Lavoisier brought the tea set to the coffee table in front of him and put it away. "Jasmine tea from China." Lavoisier said with a smile, his brown eyes met Lagrange's, and then quickly moved away.

The saucer was set on the table.Then came the teacup.Lavoisier poured tea from the teapot.Everything is the same as it was two centuries ago.Lagrange watched silently, until he realized that Lavoisier was trembling even though he was holding the teapot in both hands.He couldn't help but think of the child who cried secretly yesterday.

Everything in the past can't come back after all.

Lagrange picked up the teacup and watched the scent of jasmine slowly swirling around.Lavoisier sat down opposite him, with his legs crossed and his hands gracefully placed on his knees, carrying the aristocratic atmosphere of that era.

"Long time no see, Joseph. I remember when you came to Paris in 1786, suffered from depression, and hadn't touched your favorite math book for two years...but then you met a girl you could spend your life with, Rescue you from the vortex of sorrow...you don't mind if I catch up, Joseph...?"

Lagrange looked away sheepishly.Only then did he notice the large and small medicine bottles lined up on the desk.Ferrous sulfate, ferrous fumarate, ferric ammonium citrate, folic acid, and even cobalt chloride with strong side effects... These are not laboratory agents, but drugs for anemia.There was a glass next to the medicine bottle, and the water in the glass was still steaming.It is hard to imagine that Lavoisier has to spend every day taking these drugs and the anorexia, nausea, and abdominal pain caused by the drugs.

"The days when we worked together at the Royal French Academy of Sciences were still happy times... Do you still remember the book "On Political Arithmetic" we co-authored? I read Mr. Engels's anti-Dühring theory a few days ago. I mentioned this book, although it is to criticize the vulgar economics in it..." Lavoisier continued in that calm tone, "A chemist and a mathematician worked hard to complete a book on economics. , although it lacks, but it's still a fantastic adventure, isn't it?" His brown eyes flickered a few times.

Lagrange still didn't speak.Another small medicine bottle on the table caught his eye.The name is all too familiar.fluoxetine.This is a drug for the treatment of depression, which brings relief of psychological pain to patients, but also brings dry mouth, drowsiness, blurred vision, nausea, dizziness and other problems that cannot be ignored.He couldn't help looking at Lavoisier's neck, which was well concealed by a beautiful ruffled cravat.A mark of sin, slowly long nights of psychological torture, day after day.Lagrange hastily took a sip of his tea to hide the uneasy throbbing in his heart.

"In September 1793...the authorities decided to arrest all people born in enemy countries. And your name is on the list. At that time, I wondered if letting you come to France and funding you back then would have harmed you, but in the end This matter is still out of danger, Joseph." Lavoisier said with a smile, as if he didn't notice that the timeline was gradually approaching the final danger.

"Thank you for saving your life back then..." Lagrange avoided Lavoisier's eyes again.He could feel the conversation slipping down to the inescapable question.

"No, that's what I should do...I'm the one who dragged you into the stormy France, Joseph. So it's also right to take on this responsibility, isn't it?" Lavoisier paused, " So... there is nothing owed between the two of us, right."

Lagrange raised his head abruptly, and he saw that Lavoisier had stood up and walked towards the compartment. "But... But I left my teachers again and again. After Euler went to Russia, I went to D'Alembert, and after D'Alembert passed away, I came to you again... If my repeated compromises and weaknesses did not serve Euler and D'Alembert If Rambert has done any harm, but you..."

Lavoisier stopped in his tracks.His thin back trembled slightly. "However, I was really overwhelmed back then... Later, in France, where the political situation was turbulent, there were many regime changes, but from Robespierre to Napoleon, you have always been the darling of those in power, from the director of weights and measures to the winner of the Imperial Grand Cross ...The goddess of fate favors you, my teacher has no meaning to exist... I can't complain why you didn't use the power of the director at the time to say something for me, the teacher who was in trouble and once saved your life... After all, all the All, these assumptions lose their meaning in the face of history..."

"I know that all my apologies are so pale in the face of history, but..." Lagrange stood up.

A moment of silence.

Then I saw Lavoisier turning around slowly, tears running down his pale and thin face.He stared at his former colleague and friend with dull round eyes, and said in a trembling, hopeless, cold voice:

"Finally, I would like to thank you, M. Lagrange, for writing that famous line for me...now every biography needs your comment to make me flourish...from two centuries ago until now, you are Celebrities buried in the Pantheon, and I’m just a sinner who was discarded in the catacombs... Let’s say goodbye, teacher sinner, you’d better forget it forever..."

Lavoisier took a last look at the shocked and mournful Lagrange, turned around resolutely, and still tried his best to maintain his graceful steps back then, and disappeared into the compartment.

A teacup fell to the ground, and with the last fragrance, it turned into countless fragments and dust.

Lagrange looked at his bleeding hand.Blood slipped from his pale fingertips and fell silently to the ground.This blood is not one ten thousandth of the blood that Lavoisier shed that afternoon.

As expected, he was still so timid and cowardly.He looked at the door that was always closed, and silently finished the sentence:

"But... if you still need me, I am willing to do everything for you."

Lavoisier curled up weakly in a corner of his bedroom.The ground was wet and damp, and chilled to the bone.The black twilight swirled ominously in the room, filled with countless struggles and troubles.

He mechanically opened a book of inorganic chemistry, and saw his name in the preface. "Those who overthrew the phlogiston theory and established the law of conservation of mass..." are his immortal attributives.But he only knows now that in 1703, the Russian chemist Lomonosov had preliminarily proved the error of the phlogiston theory through experiments; in 1748, Lomonosov explained the law of conservation of mass in a letter to Euler prototype.Only because of the isolation of Russia, these achievements have not spread to the center of Europe.If the information circulated at that time, history would not have given me these opportunities... But no matter what, I am not the first person to think of these things after all...

He has questioned his academic value countless times, looking through the books of later generations, but every time the answer he gets is that he still obtained these results independently, the experiments he did were systematic and thorough, and he generalized these results. After all... But the career he is most proud of, the pillar of his life value, is still covered with dust that cannot be washed away... I used to be so confident that I could face thousands of criticisms, just for the truth I loved so much, Just for his oxidation theory, but...

Once so, he will hate himself.He hated himself for being domineering before.I hate my life of fame and wealth in the past.He thought that when he adopted the experimental protocol of the phlogiston chemist Priestley, he didn't mention Priestley's name at all, just because he felt that the wrong position of one person could cover up everything.He thought of himself in his most luxurious chemical laboratory in Europe, receiving guests from all directions condescendingly, and performing grand experiments in the arsenal... God had given him too much charity, and it would be taken away in an instant.

But he also complained about that turbulent era, and the idea of ​​aristocratic privilege instilled in him since he was a child made it difficult for him to accept civilian riots... He missed the study of the Enlightenment, calling for reason and science, but he was confused by the final result, confused Why the great revolution will become a riot, a bloodbath, an endless massacre... He remembered that crazy era, and remembered the morality of Rousseau that Robespierre wanted to practice The Republic, remembering that it finally turned to a pool of blood...

Now he can smile and walk through Rousseau's little garden, and see Rousseau chatting with his roommate Voltaire, and he can admire their thoughts as before, but Jacobin's Little Red Riding Hood in 1793, the oppressive Blood red, he couldn't bear it, he didn't know why he was the only one who ended up like this, experiencing life's peaks and valleys in an instant...

As for those his former friends, why were they also those who abandoned him in the end...Why do I love and hate them all?He opened those books, he was proud of them he supported back then, and he felt pain for the final abandonment and betrayal... All of Mary's sorrows turned into endless dust in their weakness, accompanied by his last ray of hope Disappeared completely... Lagrange, how I wish to attribute you and the dismissed Cullen and Laplace to myself, and to attribute you and Volt to being irretrievable, but why are you the one I saved back then? That person, the one I swore to protect to the death, the one who had the power to save me, and the one who was silent at the end... Why do you remember me after I die and write such praises for me...? !

He looked at his skinny hands, which radiated pale light in the twilight.

Why can I practice noblely for the realization of scientific ideals, and at the same time be a tax collector who plunders the people, and do some disgraceful things for the ruler on the big farm?Why am I so academically radical but politically conservative?It was because I was too self-righteous, and brought the entanglement of fame and fortune into the sacred palace, and finally ended up in this end...

Whether it was his own fault or the fault of others, whether it was the obliteration of the times or his own fault, he no longer wanted to know.All words are comfort and mercy.He doesn't deserve and shouldn't open his eyes again, and by doing so, he's just tarnishing the supreme name of the United Association of Individualized Individuals of the Common Memoir of Mankind.

……

The chilling curtain swayed secretly in the restless evening wind, leaving an empty room silent in the void.

We are already standing on the precipice where the wind blows.

"No, M. Lavoisier is missing!"

A withered rose fell from Lagrange's cold, pale hand.

The author has something to say:

After rambling on for so long, the second protagonist of the novel finally appeared. I am very helpless at the progress of the plot...

This chapter is almost unchanged from the two-year-old edition.It turned out that the title of this chapter was "A Withered Rose Falling from Lagrangian's Cold and Pale Hand" (reason: I had just finished my high-level mathematics exam at that time, and my head was full of Lagrange's median value theorem), and the result It attracted a lot of complaints from my classmates.