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Verse to go to Paris

Verse to go to Paris
� E. Koposova, translation, 2014.
� Y. Katashinskaya, maps, 2014.
� LLC "Azbuka-Atticus Publishing Group", 2015.
All rights reserved. No part of the electronic version of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including placing on the Internet and in corporate networks, for private and public use without the written permission of the copyright owner.
� The electronic version of the book was prepared by the company LitRes (www.litres.ru)
This book is dedicated to the memory of my cousin Jean Louis Brizar, who worked as a pediatrician at the Hospital of Bojon, at the British Hospital and at the American Hospital in Paris.
Paris. City of love. City of lights. A city of luxury. City of saints and scientists. Party town.
For two thousand years, Paris saw everything.
None other than Julius Caesar, first saw the advantages of the terrain, which made his home a modest tribe of parisias. By that time, the Mediterranean coast of South Gaul was no longer the first human age to be a Roman province; and when Caesar decided to annex the restless Celtic tribes of Northern Gaul to the empire, he did not need much time for this.
The Romans quickly realized that in the possession of the Parisians it was logical to lay the city, since the production from the huge fertile plains of Northern Gaul was brought here; In addition, the navigable river Seine flowed through these lands. In the south, the origins of the Seine were connected by land paths with the mighty Rhone, which led to the lively ports of the Mediterranean. In the north, the Seine fell into a narrow sea, behind which lay the island of Britain. It was a great system of waterways connecting the southern and northern worlds. Greek and Phoenician merchants used it even before the birth of Rome. The place was chosen perfectly. The heart of the lands of the parisias was in a wide shallow valley, where the Seine made several elegant turns. In the middle part of the valley the river expanded, and in this beautiful bend in the direction east-west lay several large silted sections and islands, like huge barges, anchored in the middle of the stream. On the north shore, far and wide, meadows and swamps stretched all the way to the edge of a low ridge of hills and cliffs bordering the valley. Here and there the slopes were covered with vineyards.
And on the southern shore - left, if you move downstream - near the river a low, flat elevation like a table set near the water rose gently. It was here that the Romans laid their city: a large forum and the main temple, an amphitheater nearby, a network of streets around and a road running from north to south right through the center of the city, across the bridge across the river to the largest island that was then a suburb with a beautiful temple in honor of Jupiter, and on the second bridge to the north shore. At first the city was called Lutetia. But he was also known under a different, more impressive name: the city of Pariziev.
In the Dark Ages, after the fall of the Roman Empire, the German tribe of the Franks conquered this territory and founded the Frankish state. Later it was called France. These ravages were raided by the Huns and Vikings. However, the island on the river, surrounded by wooden fortifications, resembling an old, storm-battered ship, survived. In the Middle Ages, this island turned into a large city with a labyrinth of Gothic churches, tall wooden houses, dangerous lanes and fetid cellars. Over time, the city splashed on both banks of the Seine, and already in this form it was surrounded by a high stone wall. The decoration of the island was the majestic cathedral of Notre Dame. The universities here were respected throughout Europe. But then the English came and subdued Paris. He could forever remain English, but the wonderful maiden Joan of Arc appeared and drove them away.
Old Paris: it was a city of bright lights and narrow streets, a city of carnivals and plague.
And then a new Paris was born.
The change was slow. Since the Renaissance in the dark medieval city began to appear more light zones in the spirit of classicism. The royal palaces and noble squares gave it new grandeur. Through the old crowded areas, wide boulevards lay. Ambitious rulers created urban prospects, worthy of ancient Rome.
Paris changed its appearance to match first the splendor of Louis XIV, and then the grace of Louis XV. The Age of Enlightenment and the new republic that arose after the French Revolution encouraged classical simplicity, and the era of Napoleon left the heirs of imperial splendor.
Then the process of change accelerated thanks to the new urban planner - Baron Osman. Its grandiose system of boulevards and long straight streets framed by office and residential buildings was so thorough that the dense medley of Middle Ages disappeared from some areas of Paris almost completely.
And yet the old Paris did not disappear without a trace, he lives almost every corner, evoking memories of past centuries and lived lives that have been repeated from generation to generation as an old half-forgotten melody; played again - in another era, in a different vein, on a harp or hurdy-gurdy - it is still recognizable. And in this endless charm of the city.
Did Paris finally find peace? He suffered and survived, saw the ups and downs of empires. Chaos and dictatorship, monarchy and republic - Paris tried them all. What did he like more than the rest? Oh, it's a question ... Despite its age and experience, the city seems to have not figured it out.
Recently, he experienced another terrible catastrophe. Four years ago, its inhabitants ate rats. At first they were humiliated, then condemned to starvation. And then they moved on each other with weapons. It's been a very short time since the dead were buried, since the scent of death had vanished by the wind and the echo of the executions had melted beyond the horizon.
Now, in 1875, he is recovering. But many more pressing problems are waiting for their solution.
The little boy, blond and blue-eyed, was only three years old. Something he already knew. About the other he has not yet been told. And of course, something was kept secret.
Xavier's father looked thoughtfully at the child. How much he looks like a mother! Father Xavier was a clergyman, but he loved this woman. He confided to himself in his passion, but his composure was impeccable, and no one knew his feelings. As for the boy, then, of course, the Lord has a higher plan for him.
Perhaps he is destined to be sacrificed.
It was a sunny day. In the fashionable Tuileries garden, nannies looked after children playing. Father Xavier - family confessor, friend in need, priest - brought the boy here for a walk.
"Well, tell me, what's your name?" He asked the child with a smile.
- Roland d'Artagnan Dieudonne de Xin. - The child already knew all his names by heart.
"Bravo, young man."
Father Xavier Parle-Doo was a short, wiry man of forty with something years. Once upon a time he served in the army, but falling from a horse for life gave him a daggerache in his back. Only a handful of people knew about this.


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