" Yes, good tobacco, Turkish tobacco," says the Frenchman. " And your tobacco — Russian.? — good?"
"Russian, good," says the soldier in the pink shirt: whereupon those present shake with laughter. " The French not good — bon jour^ Mansieury' says the soldier in the pink shirt, letting fly his entire charge of knowledge in the language at once, as he laughs and taps the Frenchman on the stomach. The French join in the laugh.
" They are not handsome, these beasts of Russians," says a zouave, amid the crowd of Frenchmen.
"What are they laughing about?" says another black-complexioned one, with an Italian accent, approaching our men.
[fragment illegible in the scan of the first edition]
" Caftan good," says the audacious soldier, staring at the zouave's embroidered coat-skirts, and then there is another laugh.
*' Don't leave your lines; back to your places, sacre noin I " shouts a French corporal, and the soldiers disperse with evident reluctance.
In the meantime, our young cavalry officer is making the tour of the French officers. The conversation turns on some Count Sazonoff, " with whom I was very well acquainted. Monsieur," says a French officer, with one epaulet — " he is one of those real Russian counts, of whom we are so fond."
" There is a Sazonoff with whom I am acquainted," said the cavalry officer, " but he is not a count, so far as I know, at least; a little dark-complexioned man, of about your age."
" Exactly, Monsieur, that is the man. Oh, how I should like to see that dear count! If you see him, pray, present my compliments to him — Captain Latour," says he, bowing.
" Isn't this a terrible business that we are conducting here? It was hot work last night, wasn't it } " says the cavalry officer, wishing to continue the conversation, and pointing to the dead bodies.
i jg
" Oh, frightful, Monsieur! But what brave fellows your soldiers are — what brave fellows! It is a pleasure to fight with such valiant fellows."
" It must be admitted that your men do not hang back, either," says the cavalry-man, with a bow, and the conviction that he is very amiable.
But enough of this.
Let us rather observe this lad of ten, clad in an ancient cap, his father's probably, shoes worn on bare feet, and nankeen breeches, held up by a single suspender, who had climbed over the wall at the very beginning of the truce, and has been roaming about the ravine, staring with dull curiosity at the French, and at the bodies which are lying on the earth, and plucking the blue wild-flowers with which the valley is studded. On his way home with a large bouquet, he held his nose because of the odor which the wind wafted to him, and paused beside a pile of corpses, which had been carried off the field, and stared long at one terrible headless body, which chanced to be the nearest to him. After standing there for a long while, he stepped up closer, and touched with his foot the stiffened arm of the corpse which protruded. The arm swayed a little. He touched it again, and with more vigor. The arm swung back, and then fell into place again. And at once the boy uttered a shriek, hid his face in the flowers, and ran off to the fortifications as fast as he could go.
Yes, white flags are hung out from the bastion and the trenches, the flowery vale is filled with dead bodies, the splendid sun sinks into the blue sea, and the blue sea undulates and glitters in the golden rays of the sun. Thousands of people congregate, gaze, talk, and smile at each other. And why do not Christian people, who profess the one great law of love and self-sacrifice, when they behold what they have wrought, fall in repentance upon their knees before Him who, when he gave them life, implanted in the soul of each of them, together with a fear of death, a love of the good and the beautiful, and, with tears of joy and happiness, embrace each other like brothers 1 No! But it is a comfort to think that it was not we who began this war, that we are only defending our own country, our father-land. The white flags have been hauled in, and again the weapons of death and suffering are shrieking; again innocent blood is shed, and groans and curses are audible.
I have now said all that I wish to say at this time. But a heavy thought overmasters me. Perhaps it should not have been said; perhaps what I have said belongs to one of those evil truths which, unconsciously concealed in the soul of each man, should not be uttered, lest they become pernicious, as a cask of wine should not be shaken, lest it be thereby spoiled.