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Selected Writings-Part18_Guy De Maupassant(1850-1893)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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and motionless; it bites you, pierces through you, dries you,

kills the trees, the plants, the insects, the small birds



themselves, who fall from the branches on to the hard ground, and

become stiff themselves under the grip of the-cold.



The moon, which was in her last quarter and was inclining all to

one side, seemed fainting in the midst of space, so weak that she



was unable to wane, forced to stay up yonder, seized and

paralyzed by the severity of the weather. She shed a cold,



mournful light over the world, that dying and wan light which she

gives us every month, at the end of her period.



Karl and I walked side by side, our backs bent, our hands in our

pockets and our guns under our arms. Our boots, which were



wrapped in wool so that we might be able to walk without slipping

on the frozen river, made no sound, and I looked at the white



vapor which our dogs' breath made.

We were soon on the edge of the marsh, and entered one of the



lanes of dry rushes which ran through the low forest.

Our elbows, which touched the long, ribbonlike leaves, left a



slight noise behind us, and I was seized, as I had never been

before, by the powerful and singularemotion which marshes cause



in me. This one was dead, dead from cold, since we were walking

on it, in the middle of its population of dried rushes.



Suddenly, at the turn of one of the lanes, I perceived the

ice-hut which had been constructed to shelter us. I went in, and



as we had nearly an hour to wait before the wandering birds would

awake, I rolled myself up in my rug in order to try and get warm.



Then, lying on my back, I began to look at the misshapen moon,

which had four horns through the vaguelytransparent walls of



this polar house. But the frost of the frozen marshes, the cold

of these walls, the cold from the firmament penetrated me so



terribly that I began to cough. My cousin Karl became uneasy.

"No matter if we do not kill much to-day," he said: "I do not



want you to catch cold; we will light a fire." And he told the

gamekeeper to cut some rushes.



We made a pile in the middle of our hut which had a hole in the

middle of the roof to let out the smoke, and when the red flames



rose up to the clear, crystal blocks they began to melt, gently,

imperceptibly, as if they were sweating. Karl, who had remained



outside, called out to me: "Come and look here!" I went out of

the hut and remained struck with astonishment. Our hut, in the



shape of a cone, looked like an enormous diamond with a heart of

fire which had been suddenly planted there in the midst of the



frozen water of the marsh. And inside, we saw two fantastic

forms, those of our dogs, who were warming themselves at the



fire.

But a peculiar cry, a lost, a wandering cry, passed over our



heads, and the light from our hearth showed us the wild birds.

Nothing moves one so much as the first clamor of a life which one



does not see, which passes through the somber air so quickly and

so far off, just before the first streak of a winter's day



appears on the horizon. It seems to me, at this glacial hour of

dawn, as if that passing cry which is carried away by the wings



of a bird is the sigh of a soul from the world!

"Put out the fire," said Karl, "it is getting daylight."



The sky was, in fact, beginning to grow pale, and the flights of

ducks made long, rapid streaks which were soon obliterated on the



sky.

A stream of light burst out into the night; Karl had fired, and



the two dogs ran forward.

And then, nearly every minute, now he, now I, aimed rapidly as



soon as the shadow of a flying flock appeared above the rushes.

And Pierrot and Plongeon, out of breath but happy, retrieved the



bleeding birds, whose eyes still, occasionally, looked at us.

The sun had risen, and it was a bright day with a blue sky, and



we were thinking of taking our departure, when two birds with

extended necks and outstretched wings, glided rapidly over our



heads. I fired, and one of them fell almost at my feet. It was a

teal, with a silver breast, and then, in the blue space above me,



I heard a voice, the voice of a bird. It was a short, repeated,

heart-rending lament; and the bird, the little animal that had



been spared began to turn round in the blue sky, over our heads,

looking at its dead companion which I was holding in my hand.



Karl was on his knees, his gun to his shoulder watching it

eagerly, until it should be within shot. "You have killed the



duck," he said, "and the drake will not fly away."

He certainly did not fly away; he circled over our heads



continually, and continued his cries. Never have any groans of




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