第5章 Two Friends 两个朋友

Besieged Paris was in the throes of famine. Even the sparrows on the roofs and the rats in the sewers were growing scarce. People were eating anything they could get.

As Monsieur Morissot, watchmaker by profession and idler for the nonce, was strolling along the boulevard one bright January morning, his hands in his trousers pockets and stomach empty, he suddenly came face to face with an acquaintance—Monsieur Sauvage, a fishing chum.

Before the war broke out Morissot had been in the habit, every Sunday morning, of setting forth with a bamboo rod in his hand and a tin box on his back. He took the Argenteuil train, got out at Colombes, and walked thence to the Ile Marante. The moment he arrived at this place of his dreams he began fishing, and fished till nightfall.

Every Sunday he met in this very spot Monsieur Sauvage, a stout, jolly, little man, a draper in the Rue Notre Dame de Lorette, and also an ardent fisherman. They often spent half the day side by side, rod in hand and feet dangling over the water, and a warm friendship had sprung up between the two.

Some days they did not speak; at other times they chatted; but they understood each other perfectly without the aid of words, having similar tastes and feelings.

In the spring, about ten o'clock in the morning, when the early sun caused a light mist to float on the water and gently warmed the backs of the two enthusiastic anglers, Morissot would occasionally remark to his neighbor: “My, but it's pleasant here.”To which the other would reply: “I can't imagine anything better!”

And these few words sufficed to make them understand and appreciate each other.

In the autumn, toward the close of day, when the setting sun shed a blood-red glow over the western sky, and the reflection of the crimson clouds tinged the whole river with red, brought a glow to the faces of the two friends, and gilded the trees, whose leaves were already turning at the first chill touch of winter, Monsieur Sauvage would sometimes smile at Morissot, and say: “What a glorious spectacle!” And Morissot would answer, without taking his eyes from his float: “This is much better than the boulevard, isn't it?”

As soon as they recognized each other they shook hands cordially, affected at the thought of meeting under such changed circumstances. Monsieur Sauvage, with a sigh, murmured: “These are sad times!” Morissot shook his head mournfully. “And such weather! This is the first fine day of the year.”

The sky was, in fact, of a bright, cloudless blue.

They walked along, side by side, reflective and sad. “And to think of the fishing!” said Morissot. “What good times we used to have!”

“When shall we be able to fish again?” asked Monsieur Sauvage.

They entered a small café and took an absinthe together, then resumed their walk along the pavement.

Morissot stopped suddenly.

“Shall we have another absinthe?” he said.

“If you like,” agreed Monsieur Sauvage.

And they entered another wine shop.

They were quite unsteady when they came out, owing to the effect of the alcohol on their empty stomachs. It was a fine, mild day, and a gentle breeze fanned their faces.

The fresh air completed the effect of the alcohol on Monsieur Sauvage. He stopped suddenly, saying: “Suppose we go there?”

“Where?”

“Fishing.”

“But where?”

“Why, to the old place. The French outposts are close to Colombes. I know Colonel Dumoulin, and we shall easily get leave to pass.”

Morissot trembled with desire. “Very well. I agree.”And they separated, to fetch their rods and lines.

An hour later they were walking side by side on the highroad. Presently they reached the villa occupied by the colonel. He smiled at their request, and granted it. They resumed their walk, furnished with a password.

Soon they left the outposts behind them, made their way through deserted Colombes, and found themselves on the outskirts of the small vineyards which border the Seine. It was about eleven o'clock.

Before them lay the village of Argenteuil, apparently lifeless. The heights of Orgement and Sannois dominated the landscape. The great plain, extending as far as Nanterre, was empty, quite empty—a waste of dun-colored soil and bare cherry trees.

Monsieur Sauvage, pointing to the heights, murmured: “The Prussians are up yonder!” And the sight of the deserted country filled the two friends with vague misgivings.

The Prussians! They had never seen them as yet, but they had felt their presence in the neighborhood of Paris for months past—ruining France, pillaging, massacring, starving them. And a kind of superstitious terror mingled with the hatred they already felt toward this unknown, victorious nation.

“Suppose we were to meet any of them?” said Morissot.

“We'd offer them some fish,” replied Monsieur Sauvage, with that Parisian light-heartedness which nothing can wholly quench.

Still, they hesitated to show themselves in the open country, overawed by the utter silence which reigned around them.

At last Monsieur Sauvage said boldly: “Come, we'll make a start; only let us be careful!”

And they made their way through one of the vineyards, bent double, creeping along beneath the cover afforded by the vines, with eye and ear alert.

A strip of bare ground remained to be crossed before they could gain the river bank. They ran across this, and, as soon as they were at the water's edge, concealed themselves among the dry reeds.

Morissot placed his ear to the ground, to ascertain, if possible, whether footsteps were coming their way. He heard nothing. They seemed to be utterly alone.

Their confidence was restored, and they began to fish.

Before them the deserted Ile Marante hid them from the farther shore. The little restaurant was closed, and looked as if it had been deserted for years.

Monsieur Sauvage caught the first gudgeon, Monsieur Morissot the second, and almost every moment one or other raised his line with a little, glittering, silvery fish wriggling at the end; they were having excellent sport.

They slipped their catch gently into a close-meshed bag lying at their feet; they were filled with joy—the joy of once more indulging in a pastime of which they had long been deprived.

The sun poured its rays on their backs; they no longer heard anything or thought of anything. They ignored the rest of the world; they were fishing.

But suddenly a rumbling sound, which seemed to come from the bowels of the earth, shook the ground beneath them: the cannon were resuming their thunder.

Morissot turned his head and could see toward the left, beyond the banks of the river, the formidable outline of Mont-Valerien, from whose summit arose a white puff of smoke.

The next instant a second puff followed the first, and in a few moments a fresh detonation made the earth tremble.

Others followed, and minute by minute the mountain gave forth its deadly breath and a white puff of smoke, which rose slowly into the peaceful heaven and floated above the summit of the cliff.

Monsieur Sauvage shrugged his shoulders. “They are at it again!” he said.

Morissot, who was anxiously watching his float bobbing up and down, was suddenly seized with the angry impatience of a peaceful man toward the madmen who were firing thus, and remarked indignantly: “What fools they are to kill one another like that!”

“They're worse than animals,” replied Monsieur Sauvage.

And Morissot, who had just caught a bleak, declared: “And to think that it will be just the same so long as there are governments!”

“The Republic would not have declared war,” interposed Monsieur Sauvage.

Morissot interrupted him: “Under a king we have foreign wars; under a republic we have civil war.”

And the two began placidly discussing political problems with the sound common sense of peaceful, matter-of-fact citizens—agreeing on one point: that they would never be free. And Mont-Valerien thundered ceaselessly, demolishing the houses of the French with its cannon balls, grinding lives of men to powder, destroying many a dream, many a cherished hope, many a prospective happiness; ruthlessly causing endless woe and suffering in the hearts of wives, of daughters, of mothers, in other lands.

“Such is life!” declared Monsieur Sauvage.

“Say, rather, such is death!” replied Morissot, laughing.

But they suddenly trembled with alarm at the sound of footsteps behind them, and,turning round, they perceived close at hand four tall, bearded men, dressed after the manner of livery servants and wearing flat caps on their heads. They were covering the two anglers with their rifles.

The rods slipped from their owners' grasp and floated away down the river.

In the space of a few seconds they were seized, bound, thrown into a boat, and taken across to the Ile Marante.

And behind the house they had thought deserted were about a score of German soldiers.

A shaggy-looking giant, who was bestriding a chair and smoking a long clay pipe, addressed them in excellent French with the words: “Well, gentlemen, have you had good luck with your fishing?”

Then a soldier deposited at the officer's feet the bag full of fish, which he had taken care to bring away. The Prussian smiled. “Not bad, I see. But we have something else to talk about. Listen to me, and don't be alarmed. You must know that, in my eyes, you are two spies sent to reconnoitre me and my movements. Naturally, I capture you and I shoot you. You pretended to be fishing, the better to disguise your real errand. You have fallen into my hands, and must take the consequences. Such is war. But as you came here through the outposts you must have a password for your return. Tell me that password and I will let you go.”

The two friends, pale as death, stood silently side by side, a slight fluttering of the hands alone betraying their emotion.

“No one will ever know,” continued the officer. “You will return peacefully to your homes, and the secret will disappear with you. If you refuse, it means death—instant death. Choose!”

They stood motionless, and did not open their lips.

The Prussian, perfectly calm, went on, with hand outstretched toward the river: “Just think that in five minutes you will be at the bottom of that water. In five minutes! You have relations, I presume?”

Mont-Valerien still thundered.

The two fishermen remained silent. The German turned and gave an order in his own language. Then he moved his chair a little way off, that he might not be so near the prisoners, and a dozen men stepped forward, rifle in hand, and took up a position, twenty paces off.

“I give you one minute,” said the officer; “not a second longer.”

Then he rose quickly, went over to the two Frenchmen, took Morissot by the arm, led him a short distance off, and said in a low voice: “Quick! the password! Your friend will know nothing. I will pretend to relent.”

Morissot answered not a word.

Then the Prussian took Monsieur Sauvage aside in like manner, and made him the same proposal.

Monsieur Sauvage made no reply.

Again they stood side by side.

The officer issued his orders; the soldiers raised their rifles.

Then by chance Morissot's eyes fell on the bag full of gudgeon lying in the grass a few feet from him.

A ray of sunlight made the still quivering fish glisten like silver. And Morissot's heart sank. Despite his efforts at self-control his eyes filled with tears.

“Good-by, Monsieur Sauvage,” he faltered.

“Good-by, Monsieur Morissot,” replied Sauvage.

They shook hands, trembling from head to foot with a dread beyond their mastery.

The officer cried: “Fire!”

The twelve shots were as one.

Monsieur Sauvage fell forward instantaneously. Morissot, being the taller, swayed slightly and fell across his friend with face turned skyward and blood oozing from a rent in the breast of his coat.

The German issued fresh orders.

His men dispersed, and presently returned with ropes and large stones, which they attached to the feet of the two friends; then they carried them to the river bank.

Mont-Valerien, its summit now enshrouded in smoke, still continued to thunder.

Two soldiers took Morissot by the head and the feet; two others did the same with Sauvage. The bodies, swung lustily by strong hands, were cast to a distance, and, describing a curve, fell feet foremost into the stream.

The water splashed high, foamed, eddied, then grew calm; tiny waves lapped the shore.

A few streaks of blood flecked the surface of the river.

The officer, calm throughout, remarked, with grim humor: “It's the fishes' turn now!” Then he retraced his way to the house.

Suddenly he caught sight of the net full of gudgeons, lying forgotten in the grass. He picked it up, examined it, smiled, and called: “Wilhelm!”

A white-aproned soldier responded to the summons, and the Prussian, tossing him the catch of the two murdered men, said: “Have these fish fried for me at once, while they are still alive; they'll make a tasty dish.”

Then he resumed his pipe.

巴黎被围，挣扎在饥荒之中。就连屋顶上的麻雀和排水沟里的老鼠也越来越少了。人们能找到什么，就吃什么。

莫里索先生以修理钟表为业，眼下游手好闲。元月的一个晴朗早晨，他肚子空空，双手插在裤袋里，沿着林荫大道溜达，突然和一个熟人索瓦热先生——一块钓鱼的密友——迎面相遇。

战争爆发前，每星期天早上，莫里索总是习惯手拿竹钓竿，背着白铁罐前去钓鱼。他乘坐开往阿尔让特伊的火车，在科伦布下车，然后步行到马朗特岛。一到这个他梦牵魂绕的地方，他就开始钓鱼，一直钓到夜幕降临。

每逢星期天，他都在这个地方遇到索瓦热先生。那是一个结实快活的小个子，是洛莱特圣母堂街的一个布料商，也是一个钓鱼迷。他们常常并肩一坐就是半天，手握钓竿，脚悬水面，一份深厚的友情在两人间油然而生。

有时他们不说话，有时聊上几句，彼此趣味相同，感觉观念相似，无需借助言语，心有灵犀一点通。

春天，大约上午十点钟，当初升的太阳撩起一层薄雾漂浮在河面上，暖烘烘地照在两个钓鱼迷的背上，莫里索总会不时地对他身边的那个人说：“啊呀，这里真舒心。”对方对此常常答道：“我再也想不到比这更好的了！”

寥寥几句话足以让他们彼此了解和欣赏。

秋天，白昼将尽时，夕阳将西边的天空照得血红，深红色云霞的倒影染红了整个河水，把两个朋友的脸照得通红，给树木镀上了金色，树上的叶子刚刚触及冬天的第一缕寒意，就已经变了颜色。索瓦热先生有时面带微笑望着莫里索，说：“多么壮丽的景象！”莫里索总是眼不离浮子，答道：“这比林荫大道好多了，不是吗？”

他们一认出对方，就亲切握手，一想到在如此风云变幻的时局下相逢，都触景生情。索瓦热先生叹了口气，低声说道：“真是可悲的时代啊！”莫里索悲哀地摇了摇头。“这天气真好！这是今年第一个好天气。”

天空确实一片蔚蓝，晴朗无云。

他们并肩向前走，心事重重，神情黯淡。“想想钓鱼的事儿！”莫里索说。“我们曾经有过多么美好的时光啊！”

“我们什么时候再能去钓鱼呢？”索瓦热先生问。

他们走进一家小咖啡馆，共同喝了一杯苦艾酒，然后继续沿着人行道散步。

莫里索突然停住了脚步。

“我们再来一杯苦艾酒好吗？”他说。

“只要你愿意，那敢情好，”索瓦热先生表示同意。

说着，他们又进了另一家酒店。

空肚喝酒，他们出来时，都摇摇晃晃的。天气温暖宜人，一阵和风拂面而来。

清新的空气将索瓦热先生身上的酒劲儿一扫而空。他突然停住脚步，说：“咱们上那里怎么样？”

“哪里？”

“钓鱼。”

“可去什么地方钓呢？”

“哎呀，去老对方啊。法国前哨阵地在科伦布附近。我认识杜穆兰上校，我们一定会轻而易举地获准通过。”

莫里索蠢蠢欲动，浑身颤抖。“很好。我同意。”于是，他们分头去拿各自的钓竿和钓线。

一小时后，他们肩并肩走在大路上。不一会儿，他们就到了那位上校住的别墅。听了他们的要求后，上校微微一笑，表示同意。他们带着一张通行证又上路了。

很快，他们就把前哨阵地撇在了身后，穿过荒凉的科伦布，来到了塞纳河畔那些小葡萄园的边界。时间大约是十一点钟。

阿尔让特伊村展现在他们面前，显然了无生机。奥热蒙和萨努瓦的高地俯瞰四周的一切。绵延至南泰尔的大平原，空空荡荡，荒原一片，只有暗褐色的泥土和光秃秃的樱桃树。

索瓦热先生指着高地，喃喃说道：“普鲁士人在上面！”而且看到这座荒芜的村落，让两个朋友充满了隐隐的担忧。

普鲁士人！他们至今没有见过，但几个月以来，他们已经感觉到普鲁士人就在巴黎周围——要毁灭法国，掠夺、屠杀、饿死他们。他们还感受到了一种带有迷信意味的恐怖和对这个素不相识、节节胜利民族的仇恨。

“我们要是碰到他们，怎么办？”莫里索说。

“我们就送他们一些鱼，”索瓦热先生带着巴黎人那种任何东西都难以完全泯灭的轻松愉悦的神情答道。

尽管如此，但他们还是犹豫不决，不敢到开阔地去，周围鸦雀无声，他们畏畏缩缩。

最后，索瓦热先生大胆地说：“来吧，我们出发，只是要小心！”

他们猫着腰，利用一丛丛葡萄藤的掩护，眼观六路，耳听八方，爬过了一处葡萄园。

现在他们还得横穿一段光秃秃的狭长地面，才能到达河岸。他们奔跑着穿过了这个地带，一到河边，就躲进了干枯的芦苇丛。

莫里索耳朵贴在地上，探听是不是可能有人朝他们这边走来。他什么也没有听见。看来就他们俩。

他们又恢复了信心，开始钓鱼。

荒凉的马朗特岛挡在他们前面，对岸看不到他们。小饭店关门闭户，好像已经荒废几年了。

索瓦热先生钓到了第一条鮈鱼，莫里索钓到了第二条，他们几乎每次抬起钓竿，钓线末端都挂有一尾银光闪闪、不停摆动的小鱼；他们钓得真是出色。

他们轻轻地把钓到的鱼放进脚边一只网眼细密的袋子里，心里充满了快乐——一种遭到长期剥夺、再次得以消遣的快乐。

阳光倾泻在他们的背上；他们再也听不见，再也想不起任何东西。他们把外界置之度外，一心钓鱼。

但是，一阵仿佛来自地底下的隆隆声，突然震得他们脚下的地面簌簌颤抖；大炮又响了起来。

莫里索转过头，越过河岸向左边望去，只见瓦莱利昂山高大轮廓的顶端喷起一股白烟。

紧接着，又喷起了一股白烟。过了一会儿，一阵新的爆炸声震得大地直颤。

爆炸声接连不断，一分钟又一分钟大山散发出死亡的气息，喷出一阵白烟，白烟缓缓地升入宁静的天空，飘浮在崖顶之上。

索瓦热先生耸了耸肩。“他们又开始了！”他说。

莫里索焦急地望着浮子上下摆动，突然他这个性情平和的人对这些开火的疯子急得发起火来，愤愤不平地说：“他们这样自相残杀，是多么愚蠢啊！”

“他们连畜生都不如，”索瓦热先生答道。

随后，莫里索钓到了一尾欧鮊鱼，说道：“试想，只要有政府，情况就一定会是这样！”

“共和国就不会宣战了，”索瓦热先生插话说。

莫里索打断他说：“国王统治时，我们发动对外战争；共和国领导下，我们有内战。”

两人用平静务实的平民百姓的健全判断力，心平气和地讨论起了政治问题——在其中一点上达成一致意见：他们永远都不会自由。瓦莱利昂山的炮声隆隆不息，炮弹摧毁了法国人的房屋，炸碎了法国人的生命，毁灭了许多梦想，许多怀抱的希望，许多未来的幸福，惨无人道，在其他地方的妻子、女儿和母亲的心里留下了无尽的悲哀和痛苦。

“这就是人生！”索瓦热先生说。

“不如说这就是死亡！”莫里索笑着回答。

突然，他们听到背后传来了脚步声，惊恐得浑身颤抖。他们转过身，只见眼前有四个人，身材高大，留着络腮胡，穿着侍从的制服，头戴平顶军帽，正用步枪对准他们。

钓竿从各自的手里滑落，顺着河水漂走了。

不到几秒钟，他们就被捉住，五花大绑，扔进一艘小船，送到了马朗特岛。

在他们当初以为无人居住的那座房子后面，大约有二十个德国兵。

一个模样粗野的彪形大汉骑在一把椅子上，抽着一只长长的瓷烟斗，用地道的法国话对他们说：“啊，先生们，你们钓鱼的运气不错吧？”

接着，一名士兵把他小心翼翼带回来的满满一袋鱼放在那个军官的脚边。那个普鲁士人露出了微笑。“我看不错嘛。不过，我们还有别的要谈。听我说，不要惊慌。你们一定知道，在我的眼里，你们就是被派来侦察我和我的动向的奸细。自然，我抓住你们，就要枪毙你们。你们假装钓鱼，是为了更好地掩护你们真正的使命。你们落到我的手里，就必须接受这种后果。这就是战争。不过，既然你们是从前哨阵地过来，就一定知道回去的口令。把口令告诉我，我就放了你们。”

两个面无人色的朋友肩并肩默默地站在一起，只有手的微微悸动暴露了他们的情绪。

“谁也不会知道，”军官接着说道。“你们会平安回到家，这个秘密会随你们消失。如果你们拒绝的话，那就意味着死——马上死。选吧！”

他们站在那里一动不动，没有开口。

普鲁士军官非常镇静，伸手指着河水，继续说道：“想想吧，五分钟后你们就会沉到水底。五分钟！我想，你们都有亲人吧？”

瓦莱利昂山仍然炮声隆隆。

两个钓鱼人依旧默不作声。德国军官转过身，用本国话下了命令。随后，他稍微移开椅子，以免过于靠近两个俘虏；十二个士兵手持步枪，走上前来，在相距二十步远的地方摆好了姿势。

“我给你们一分钟，”军官说。“一秒钟都不延长。”

说完，他马上站起来，走到两个法国人身边，拉住莫里索的胳膊，把他拽到一边，低声说道：“快说！口令！你的朋友什么也不会知道！我可以假装发发慈悲。”

莫里索只字未吐。

随后，那个普鲁士人同样把索瓦热先生拉到一边，对他提出了同样的建议。

索瓦热先生没有回答。

他们又肩并肩站在了一起。

军官发令，士兵们举起了枪。

这时，莫里索的目光意外落在了那只装满鮈鱼的袋子上，袋子躺在离他有几英尺远的草丛里。

一缕阳光照得还在抖动的鱼银光闪闪。莫里索心里一沉。尽管他努力克制自己，但泪水还是盈眶。

“永别了，索瓦热先生，”他声音颤抖地说。

“永别了，莫里索先生，”索瓦热答道。

他们握了握手，不由自主有一丝恐惧，从头到脚抖动着。

军官喊道：“放！”

十二支枪同时响起。

索瓦热先生应声向前扑倒。莫里索个子较高，微微摇晃了一下，仰面朝天横倒在朋友身上，鲜血从他外套胸口的枪孔处慢慢地流了出来。

那个普鲁士人又下了几道命令。

他的那些士兵分散开去，然后拿着绳子和石头跑回来，把石头绑在这两个死人的脚上，接着把他们抬到了河岸边。

瓦莱利昂山仍然炮声隆隆，此时的山顶硝烟弥漫。

两个士兵抬着莫里索的头和脚，另两个士兵抬着索瓦热先生的头和脚。这两具尸首被几只有力的手用劲来回晃了几下，远远地扔了出去，画出一道弧线，脚朝下先落进了河水里。

河水溅起很高，泛起了泡沫，旋转，继而归于平静；细小的波浪轻轻拍打着河岸。

几道血迹星星点点漂在河面上。

始终平静依然的军官带着残忍的幽默说道：“现在该轮到那些鱼了！”说完，他又向那座房子走去。

突然，他瞥见了忘在草丛里的那只装满鮈鱼的网袋，拎起来，仔细看了看，微微一笑，然后喊道：“威廉！”

一个系着白围腰的士兵应声跑来。这个普鲁士人把那两个被枪决的人先前钓的鱼扔给他，说：“趁这些鱼还活蹦乱跳，马上给我煎一下，味道一定鲜美。”

说完，他又抽起了烟斗。