Before the war, every Sunday Morisau would set out at first light, catch the train from Argenteuil with a bamboo fishing rod in his hand and a white tin can on his back, alight at Colombe and walk to Marante. As soon as he reached the place he had dreamed of coming to, he was eager to start fishing, and would not catch until it was too dark to see.
There, every Sunday, he met a warm, cheerful, stout gentleman, Sauvage, proprietor of the clothes-shop in the Rue Notre-Dame de Loulette, and a fishing enthusiast. They often sat side by side, fishing rods in hand, feet dangling in the current. They would spend most of the day together in this way, and a friendship would arise between them.
Sometimes they chatted casually; Sometimes they don’t say a word all day.
Paris in the heavy siege of food, these two people have leisure leisure fishing, remind me of Li Qingzhao couple two people thrift, often pawn clothes for monument monuments, two people copy together, often late at night and can not stop.
So romantic, let a person envy.
Shame is, I only know yearning, but do not follow suit, after all, is a vulgar person.
In troubled times, to have a bosom friend, with their own peace of mind, is also Maupassant described the portrayal of these two friends.
Towards ten o ‘clock in the morning, the warm sun would be spreading its faint clouds over the still river, making it drift slowly along with the current, and casting the new season’s warmth on the backs of the two friends.
In autumn, when the sun is setting, the sky is red, and a few goatsin clouds are reflected in the river, and the whole river is red. The horizon is burning, and the trees, whose leaves are already yellow, are clothed in gold as they quiver in anticipation of the coming winter. The two friends were bathed in hot red light, and M. Sauvage looked at Morisseau and smiled. “What a beautiful view!” Morisseau, equally delighted, with his eyes fixed on the buoy, agreed: “It’s better than the Beltway, isn’t it?”
Rare blue sky, the sun is particularly bright.
Don’t be surprised by wine spring sleep heavy, gambling book elimination spilled tea. Only Tao was common at that time.
Spring is long, enjoy the time, more enjoy the right to control the time
Enjoy freedom, more enjoy the peace of freedom.
Isn’t freedom the ability to go to a new place and try new fishing gear on a whim?
There was no freedom then, just as they did not know that danger was brewing.
The later blood, floating up the bank, was a little stained by the day’s weather.
When the two friends gently lowered the fish into a net with a fine hole in the water at their feet, a wonderful joy spread through them, that peculiar joy that one can feel when one has been separated from a beloved thing that has been deprived of one’s life.
The warm sun warmed their shoulders, and they listened to no sound, and thought no thought, and ignored everything else in the world: they thought only of fishing.
About the two happy time, only so few words, do not know for them, in the end is long or short, static or a moment.
Boring thing is also a great thing, write the length of time, can not help but think of Einstein’s theory of relativity, a person who has not “wasted” time will achieve nothing. Einstein dropped out of his German high school and returned to his home in Pavia, Italy. It was the early 20th century, the beginning of Italy’s industrial revolution, and his father, an engineer, was building the first power stations on the Po River plain. Einstein, on the other hand, read Kant and occasionally sat in on classes at Pavia, which he attended for the fun of it, neither registering nor taking exams. But it was this seemingly childish act that made him a true scientist.
Perhaps they had many options, and could have gone to the party of the gentry that afternoon, could have measured the situation and plotted the best option for them,
In the first place, they are not low status. Fishing is not for the lower classes. Perhaps in our rational eyes, is a kind of depravity, because so many people are less and less happy, less and less have real hobbies.
Thoughts drifted away, and suddenly a dull sound, as if from the ground, shook the earth: the Prussian cannons began to roar.
Every word after this description is hard to read.
The two friends, ash-faced, stood side by side, shaking their hands slightly nervously. They did not speak.
“No one will know about it,” the officer continued. “You go home in peace, and the secret will disappear with you forever. However, if you refuse to give me the password, then, will only die! And die at once! Take your pick.”
The two friends remained motionless and silent.
The officer seized Morisau’s arm and took him into the distance, saying in a low voice: “Quick, what’s the password? Your companions won’t know anything. I can pretend to be soft.”
Morisau did not answer a word.
The Prussians took away M. Sauvage and put the same question to him.
There was no response.
Morisau’s eyes happened to rest on a net full of fish in the grass a few paces away. If a movie is made, this scene must be the most moving, a ray of sunlight, the pile of dancing fish shining.
The pile of fish. How do I compare the pile of fish?
It is our friendship, it is our brief joy, it is our moment of freedom.
“Farewell, Monsieur Sauvage.”
“Farewell, M. Morisseau.”
I wanted to go back and see who had proposed the fishing, but I knew at once that it was meaningless, that there was no difference between Sauvage and Morisau, but that the author had placed it on one person at will, and that whoever it was would not be blamed.
Mount Valerian still rumbles, its summit shrouded in a grey haze.
While fishing, Sauvage complained,
Man will never be free. The rumbling of the cannon in the Valerian Hills never stopped, destroying the houses of the French people, shattering the lives of countless people, and destroying the lives of fresh people. How many dreams come to naught, how many joys and expectations have been disappointed, how many dreams of happiness have come to an end, in the heart of the mother, in the heart of the wife, in the heart of the daughter, leaving wounds that can never be healed, from here to far away.
