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.

巴黎被圍，掙扎在饑荒之中。就連屋頂上的麻雀和排水溝里的老鼠也越來越少了。人們能找到什么，就吃什么。

莫里索先生以修理鐘表為業，眼下游手好閑。元月的一個晴朗早晨，他肚子空空，雙手插在褲袋里，沿著林蔭大道溜達，突然和一個熟人索瓦熱先生——一塊釣魚的密友——迎面相遇。

戰爭爆發前，每星期天早上，莫里索總是習慣手拿竹釣竿，背著白鐵罐前去釣魚。他乘坐開往阿爾讓特伊的火車，在科倫布下車，然后步行到馬朗特島。一到這個他夢牽魂繞的地方，他就開始釣魚，一直釣到夜幕降臨。

每逢星期天，他都在這個地方遇到索瓦熱先生。那是一個結實快活的小個子，是洛萊特圣母堂街的一個布料商，也是一個釣魚迷。他們常常并肩一坐就是半天，手握釣竿，腳懸水面，一份深厚的友情在兩人間油然而生。

有時他們不說話，有時聊上幾句，彼此趣味相同，感覺觀念相似，無需借助言語，心有靈犀一點通。

春天，大約上午十點鐘，當初升的太陽撩起一層薄霧漂浮在河面上，暖烘烘地照在兩個釣魚迷的背上，莫里索總會不時地對他身邊的那個人說：“啊呀，這里真舒心。”對方對此常常答道：“我再也想不到比這更好的了！”

寥寥幾句話足以讓他們彼此了解和欣賞。

秋天，白晝將盡時，夕陽將西邊的天空照得血紅，深紅色云霞的倒影染紅了整個河水，把兩個朋友的臉照得通紅，給樹木鍍上了金色，樹上的葉子剛剛觸及冬天的第一縷寒意，就已經變了顏色。索瓦熱先生有時面帶微笑望著莫里索，說：“多么壯麗的景象！”莫里索總是眼不離浮子，答道：“這比林蔭大道好多了，不是嗎？”

他們一認出對方，就親切握手，一想到在如此風云變幻的時局下相逢，都觸景生情。索瓦熱先生嘆了口氣，低聲說道：“真是可悲的時代啊！”莫里索悲哀地搖了搖頭。“這天氣真好！這是今年第一個好天氣。”

天空確實一片蔚藍，晴朗無云。

他們并肩向前走，心事重重，神情黯淡。“想想釣魚的事兒！”莫里索說。“我們曾經有過多么美好的時光啊！”

“我們什么時候再能去釣魚呢？”索瓦熱先生問。

他們走進一家小咖啡館，共同喝了一杯苦艾酒，然后繼續沿著人行道散步。

莫里索突然停住了腳步。

“我們再來一杯苦艾酒好嗎？”他說。

“只要你愿意，那敢情好，”索瓦熱先生表示同意。

說著，他們又進了另一家酒店。

空肚喝酒，他們出來時，都搖搖晃晃的。天氣溫暖宜人，一陣和風拂面而來。

清新的空氣將索瓦熱先生身上的酒勁兒一掃而空。他突然停住腳步，說：“咱們上那里怎么樣？”

“哪里？”

“釣魚。”

“可去什么地方釣呢？”

“哎呀，去老對方啊。法國前哨陣地在科倫布附近。我認識杜穆蘭上校，我們一定會輕而易舉地獲準通過。”

莫里索蠢蠢欲動，渾身顫抖。“很好。我同意。”于是，他們分頭去拿各自的釣竿和釣線。

一小時后，他們肩并肩走在大路上。不一會兒，他們就到了那位上校住的別墅。聽了他們的要求后，上校微微一笑，表示同意。他們帶著一張通行證又上路了。

很快，他們就把前哨陣地撇在了身后，穿過荒涼的科倫布，來到了塞納河畔那些小葡萄園的邊界。時間大約是十一點鐘。

阿爾讓特伊村展現在他們面前，顯然了無生機。奧熱蒙和薩努瓦的高地俯瞰四周的一切。綿延至南泰爾的大平原，空空蕩蕩，荒原一片，只有暗褐色的泥土和光禿禿的櫻桃樹。

索瓦熱先生指著高地，喃喃說道：“普魯士人在上面！”而且看到這座荒蕪的村落，讓兩個朋友充滿了隱隱的擔憂。

普魯士人！他們至今沒有見過，但幾個月以來，他們已經感覺到普魯士人就在巴黎周圍——要毀滅法國，掠奪、屠殺、餓死他們。他們還感受到了一種帶有迷信意味的恐怖和對這個素不相識、節節勝利民族的仇恨。

“我們要是碰到他們，怎么辦？”莫里索說。

“我們就送他們一些魚，”索瓦熱先生帶著巴黎人那種任何東西都難以完全泯滅的輕松愉悅的神情答道。

盡管如此，但他們還是猶豫不決，不敢到開闊地去，周圍鴉雀無聲，他們畏畏縮縮。

最后，索瓦熱先生大膽地說：“來吧，我們出發，只是要小心！”

他們貓著腰，利用一叢叢葡萄藤的掩護，眼觀六路，耳聽八方，爬過了一處葡萄園。

現在他們還得橫穿一段光禿禿的狹長地面，才能到達河岸。他們奔跑著穿過了這個地帶，一到河邊，就躲進了干枯的蘆葦叢。

莫里索耳朵貼在地上，探聽是不是可能有人朝他們這邊走來。他什么也沒有聽見。看來就他們倆。

他們又恢復了信心，開始釣魚。

荒涼的馬朗特島擋在他們前面，對岸看不到他們。小飯店關門閉戶，好像已經荒廢幾年了。

索瓦熱先生釣到了第一條鮈魚，莫里索釣到了第二條，他們幾乎每次抬起釣竿，釣線末端都掛有一尾銀光閃閃、不停擺動的小魚；他們釣得真是出色。

他們輕輕地把釣到的魚放進腳邊一只網眼細密的袋子里，心里充滿了快樂——一種遭到長期剝奪、再次得以消遣的快樂。

陽光傾瀉在他們的背上；他們再也聽不見，再也想不起任何東西。他們把外界置之度外，一心釣魚。

但是，一陣仿佛來自地底下的隆隆聲，突然震得他們腳下的地面簌簌顫抖；大炮又響了起來。

莫里索轉過頭，越過河岸向左邊望去，只見瓦萊利昂山高大輪廓的頂端噴起一股白煙。

緊接著，又噴起了一股白煙。過了一會兒，一陣新的爆炸聲震得大地直顫。

爆炸聲接連不斷，一分鐘又一分鐘大山散發出死亡的氣息，噴出一陣白煙，白煙緩緩地升入寧靜的天空，飄浮在崖頂之上。

索瓦熱先生聳了聳肩。“他們又開始了！”他說。

莫里索焦急地望著浮子上下擺動，突然他這個性情平和的人對這些開火的瘋子急得發起火來，憤憤不平地說：“他們這樣自相殘殺，是多么愚蠢啊！”

“他們連畜生都不如，”索瓦熱先生答道。

隨后，莫里索釣到了一尾歐鮊魚，說道：“試想，只要有政府，情況就一定會是這樣！”

“共和國就不會宣戰了，”索瓦熱先生插話說。

莫里索打斷他說：“國王統治時，我們發動對外戰爭；共和國領導下，我們有內戰。”

兩人用平靜務實的平民百姓的健全判斷力，心平氣和地討論起了政治問題——在其中一點上達成一致意見：他們永遠都不會自由。瓦萊利昂山的炮聲隆隆不息，炮彈摧毀了法國人的房屋，炸碎了法國人的生命，毀滅了許多夢想，許多懷抱的希望，許多未來的幸福，慘無人道，在其他地方的妻子、女兒和母親的心里留下了無盡的悲哀和痛苦。

“這就是人生！”索瓦熱先生說。

“不如說這就是死亡！”莫里索笑著回答。

突然，他們聽到背后傳來了腳步聲，驚恐得渾身顫抖。他們轉過身，只見眼前有四個人，身材高大，留著絡腮胡，穿著侍從的制服，頭戴平頂軍帽，正用步槍對準他們。

釣竿從各自的手里滑落，順著河水漂走了。

不到幾秒鐘，他們就被捉住，五花大綁，扔進一艘小船，送到了馬朗特島。

在他們當初以為無人居住的那座房子后面，大約有二十個德國兵。

一個模樣粗野的彪形大漢騎在一把椅子上，抽著一只長長的瓷煙斗，用地道的法國話對他們說：“啊，先生們，你們釣魚的運氣不錯吧？”

接著，一名士兵把他小心翼翼帶回來的滿滿一袋魚放在那個軍官的腳邊。那個普魯士人露出了微笑。“我看不錯嘛。不過，我們還有別的要談。聽我說，不要驚慌。你們一定知道，在我的眼里，你們就是被派來偵察我和我的動向的奸細。自然，我抓住你們，就要槍斃你們。你們假裝釣魚，是為了更好地掩護你們真正的使命。你們落到我的手里，就必須接受這種后果。這就是戰爭。不過，既然你們是從前哨陣地過來，就一定知道回去的口令。把口令告訴我，我就放了你們。”

兩個面無人色的朋友肩并肩默默地站在一起，只有手的微微悸動暴露了他們的情緒。

“誰也不會知道，”軍官接著說道。“你們會平安回到家，這個秘密會隨你們消失。如果你們拒絕的話，那就意味著死——馬上死。選吧！”

他們站在那里一動不動，沒有開口。

普魯士軍官非常鎮靜，伸手指著河水，繼續說道：“想想吧，五分鐘后你們就會沉到水底。五分鐘！我想，你們都有親人吧？”

瓦萊利昂山仍然炮聲隆隆。

兩個釣魚人依舊默不作聲。德國軍官轉過身，用本國話下了命令。隨后，他稍微移開椅子，以免過于靠近兩個俘虜；十二個士兵手持步槍，走上前來，在相距二十步遠的地方擺好了姿勢。

“我給你們一分鐘，”軍官說。“一秒鐘都不延長。”

說完，他馬上站起來，走到兩個法國人身邊，拉住莫里索的胳膊，把他拽到一邊，低聲說道：“快說！口令！你的朋友什么也不會知道！我可以假裝發發慈悲。”

莫里索只字未吐。

隨后，那個普魯士人同樣把索瓦熱先生拉到一邊，對他提出了同樣的建議。

索瓦熱先生沒有回答。

他們又肩并肩站在了一起。

軍官發令，士兵們舉起了槍。

這時，莫里索的目光意外落在了那只裝滿鮈魚的袋子上，袋子躺在離他有幾英尺遠的草叢里。

一縷陽光照得還在抖動的魚銀光閃閃。莫里索心里一沉。盡管他努力克制自己，但淚水還是盈眶。

“永別了，索瓦熱先生，”他聲音顫抖地說。

“永別了，莫里索先生，”索瓦熱答道。

他們握了握手，不由自主有一絲恐懼，從頭到腳抖動著。

軍官喊道：“放！”

十二支槍同時響起。

索瓦熱先生應聲向前撲倒。莫里索個子較高，微微搖晃了一下，仰面朝天橫倒在朋友身上，鮮血從他外套胸口的槍孔處慢慢地流了出來。

那個普魯士人又下了幾道命令。

他的那些士兵分散開去，然后拿著繩子和石頭跑回來，把石頭綁在這兩個死人的腳上，接著把他們抬到了河岸邊。

瓦萊利昂山仍然炮聲隆隆，此時的山頂硝煙彌漫。

兩個士兵抬著莫里索的頭和腳，另兩個士兵抬著索瓦熱先生的頭和腳。這兩具尸首被幾只有力的手用勁來回晃了幾下，遠遠地扔了出去，畫出一道弧線，腳朝下先落進了河水里。

河水濺起很高，泛起了泡沫，旋轉，繼而歸于平靜；細小的波浪輕輕拍打著河岸。

幾道血跡星星點點漂在河面上。

始終平靜依然的軍官帶著殘忍的幽默說道：“現在該輪到那些魚了！”說完，他又向那座房子走去。

突然，他瞥見了忘在草叢里的那只裝滿鮈魚的網袋，拎起來，仔細看了看，微微一笑，然后喊道：“威廉！”

一個系著白圍腰的士兵應聲跑來。這個普魯士人把那兩個被槍決的人先前釣的魚扔給他，說：“趁這些魚還活蹦亂跳，馬上給我煎一下，味道一定鮮美。”

說完，他又抽起了煙斗。