Book 15 Chapter 9

THE FIFTH COMPANY was bivouacking close up to the birch copse. An immense camp-fire was blazing brightly in the middle of the snow, lighting up the rime-covered boughs of the trees.

In the middle of the night the soldiers had heard footsteps and the cracking of branches in the copse.

“A bear, lads,” said one soldier.

All raised their heads and listened; and out of the copse there stepped into the bright light of the fire two strangely garbed human figures clinging to one another. These were two Frenchmen, who had been hiding in the wood. Hoarsely articulating something in a tongue incomprehensible to the soldiers, they approached the fire. One, wearing an officer's hat, was rather the taller, and seemed utterly spent. He tried to sit down by the fire, but sank on to the ground. The other, a little, stumpy man, with a kerchief bound round his cheeks, was stronger. He held his companion up, and said something pointing to his mouth. The soldiers surrounded the Frenchmen, laid a coat under the sick man, and brought both of them porridge and vodka. The exhausted French officer was Ramballe; the little man bandaged up in the kerchief was his servant, Morel.

When Morel had drunk some vodka and eaten a bowl of porridge, he suddenly passed into a state of morbid hilarity, and kept up an incessant babble with the soldiers, who could not understand him. Ramballe refused food, and leaning on one elbow by the fire, gazed dumbly with red, vacant eyes at the Russian soldiers. At intervals he uttered a prolonged groan and then was mute again. Morel, pointing to his shoulders, gave the soldiers to understand that this was an officer, and that he needed warmth. A Russian officer, who had come up to the fire, sent to ask the colonel whether he would take a French officer into his warm cottage. When they came back and said that the colonel bade them bring the officer, they told Ramballe to go to him. He got up and tried to walk, but staggered, and would have fallen had not a soldier standing near caught him.

“What? You don't want to, eh?” said a soldier addressing Ramballe with a jocose wink.

“Eh, you fool! It's no time for your fooling. A peasant, a real peasant,” voices were heard on all sides blaming the jocose soldier. The others surrounded Ramballe. Two of them held him up under the arms and carried him to the cottage. Ramballe put his arms round the soldiers' necks, and as they lifted him he began wailing plaintively.

“O you good fellows! O my kind, kind friends. These are men! O my brave, kind friends”; and like a child he put his head down on the soldier's shoulder.

Meanwhile Morel was sitting in the best place surrounded by the soldiers.

Morel, a little, thickset Frenchman, with swollen, streaming eyes, was dressed in a woman's jacket and had a woman's kerchief tied over his forage cap. He was evidently tipsy, and with one arm thrown round the soldier sitting next him, he was singing a French song in a husky, broken voice. The soldiers simply held their sides as they looked at him.

“Now then, now then, teach it me; how does it go? I'll catch it in no time. How was it?” said the soldier Morel was hugging, who was one of the singers and fond of a joke.

“Vive Henri Quatre! Vive ce roi vaillant! …” sang Morel, winking. “Ce diable à quatre …”

“Vi-va-ri-ka! Viff-se-ru-va-ru! Si-dya-blya-ka!…” repeated the soldier, waving his hand and catching the tune correctly.

“Bravo! Ho-ho-ho-ho!” a hoarse guffaw of delight rose on all sides. Morel, wrinkling up his face, laughed too.

“Come, strike up, more, more!”

“Qui eut le triple talent de boire, de battre, et d'être un vert galant.”

“That sounds well too. Now, Zaletaev!…”

“Kyu,” Zaletaev articulated with effort. “Kyu-yu-yu …” he sang, puckering up his lips elaborately; “le-trip-ta-la-de-boo-de-ba-ce-detra-va-ga-la.”

“That's fine! That's a fine Frenchman, to be sure! oy … ho-ho-ho. Well, do you want some more to eat?”

“Give him some porridge; it'll take him some time to satisfy his hunger.”

They gave him more porridge, and Morel, laughing, attacked a third bowlful. There were gleeful smiles on the faces of all the young soldiers watching him. The old soldiers, considering it beneath their dignity to show interest in such trifles, lay on the other side of the fire, but now and then one would raise himself on his elbow and glance with a smile at Morel.

“They are men, too,” said one, rolling himself up in his coat. “Even the wormwood has its roots.”

“O Lord! What lots of stars! It's a sign of frost …” And all sank into silence.

The stars, as though they knew no one would see them now, were twinkling brightly in the black sky. Flaring up and growing dim again, and quivering, they seemed to be busily signalling some joyful mystery to each other.

五连驻地紧靠森林边上。一堆大火在雪地里燃烧得通红，透亮。火光照亮了被霜雪压弯了的树枝。

半夜里，五连的士兵听见了在林中的雪地上有脚步声和地上的树枝发出的啪嚓啪嚓的响声。

“弟兄们，有狗熊。”一个士兵说。大家都抬起头来仔细倾听，两个衣衫奇异、互相搀扶着的人影从林中朝着火堆的光亮走来。

这是两个躲藏在森林里的法国人。他们声音嘶哑，说着士兵们听不懂的话，走近火堆。一个身材稍高一点，头戴军官帽，看样子已筋疲力竭。走近火堆，他想坐下来，但却倒在地上了。另一个矮小，结实，用手巾包住脸庞，他把同伴从地上扶起来，用手指指自己的嘴，说了几句话。士兵们围着两个法国人，给生病的铺上了军大衣，又给他俩拿来稀饭和伏特加酒。

那个精疲力竭的法国军官叫朗巴莱；那个脸上包着手巾的是他的勤务兵莫雷尔。

莫雷尔喝了伏特加和一碗稀饭之后，突然异乎寻常地快活起来，不停地对那些听不懂他的语言的士兵嘟嘟噜噜。朗巴莱不吃也不喝，头枕着臂肘躺在火堆旁，默不作声，以漠然的通红的眼睛望着俄国的士兵们。他时而发出长吁短叹的声音，之后又默不出声。莫雷尔指着他的肩膀，向士兵们示意，这是一位军官，应当让他暖和一点。一位走近火堆的俄国军官派人去向团长请示，可否准许一个法国军官到他的屋子里去取暖。派去的人回来说，团长吩咐把法国军官带去。于是告知了朗巴莱。他站起来想走，但他站立不稳，要不是站在他身旁的一个士兵扶住他，差一点就又会摔倒。

“怎么的？不来了吗？”一个士兵对着朗巴莱讥讽地挤着眼，说。

“咳，傻瓜！你胡说些什么！乡巴佬，真是个乡巴佬，”大家齐声责备那个开玩笑的士兵。大家围着朗巴莱，把他抬起来放到由两个士兵手拉手形成的“担架”上，把他抬到屋子里去了。朗巴莱搂住一个抬着他的士兵的脖子，悲怆地说：

“Oh，mesbraves，oh，mesbons，mesbonsamis！Voilàdeshommes！oh，mesbraves，mesbonsamis！”①他像一个小孩子那样，把头靠在一个士兵的肩头上。

这时，莫雷尔坐在火边最好的地方，士兵们围着他。

莫雷尔是一个矮小敦实的法国人，他两眼红肿，流着眼泪，军帽上扎一条女人的头巾，穿一件女人的皮袄。他显然喝醉了，他搂着坐在他身旁的士兵，声音嘶哑地，断断续续地唱着法国歌曲。士兵们紧盯住他，捧腹大笑。

“喂，喂，教教我们，怎么样？”“我们一学就会，怎么样？

……”莫雷尔搂着的那个滑稽鬼——歌唱家说。

ViveHenriquatre，

Viveceroivailant！②

莫雷尔眨巴着眼唱道。

Cediableàquatre…③

“维哇利咯！维夫，塞路哇路！西传波拉咯……”④那个士兵挥着手，跟着喝，果然跟上了调子。

①法语：哦，好人哪！哦，善心的、善心的朋友们哪！这才是真正的人，我的好心的朋友们。

②法语：亨利四世万岁，万岁，勇敢的国王！

③法语：亨利四世那个魔鬼……

④摹仿法语的发音。

“好家伙！哈—哈—哈—哈—哈！”爆发出一片粗犷的，快乐的哈哈大笑声，莫雷尔皱了一下眉头，也跟着笑了。

“喂，来呀，再来一个，再来一个！”

Quieutletripletalent，

Deboire，debattre，

Etd'treunvertgalant…①

“调子也合得起，喂，快点，快点，扎列塔耶夫！……”

“克由……”扎列塔耶夫用力唱出来。”克—由—由……”他使劲噘起嘴唇，拉长了声音唱道。“列特里勃塔拉，吉—布—吉—巴，吉特拉哇嗄拉！”②他唱道。

①法语：他有三套本领：喝酒，打仗，还有当情夫……

②摹仿法语的发音。

“好哇！跟法国人唱的一样！啊……哈哈哈哈！怎么样，你还要吃一点吗？”

“给他点稀饭；饿过了头是一下子吃不饱的。”

又给他送来稀饭，于是莫雷尔吃了第三碗。年轻的士兵们都看着莫雷尔，脸上露出快乐的微笑。年长的士兵认为干这种无聊的事有失体面，他们躺在火堆的另一边，时而用臂肘支起身子微笑着看一下莫雷尔。

“他们也是人哪，”一个裹着大衣的士兵说，“就是苦蒿也是从自己的根上生长的。”

“哎哟，老天爷，老天爷！满天星斗，密密麻麻，天还要更冷……”一切都静了下来。

星星好像知道现在谁也不去看它们，在黑暗的天空中欢闹起来，它们忽明忽灭，忽而颤动，它们互相之间正忙着说些快乐而又神秘的悄悄话。