The shepherds were not alone. A couple of yards from them in the dusk that shrouded5 the road a horse made a patch of darkness, and, beside it, leaning against the saddle, stood a man in high boots and a short full-skirted jacket who looked like an overseer on some big estate. Judging from his upright and motionless figure, from his manners, and his behaviour to the shepherds and to his horse, he was a serious, reasonable man who knew his own value; even in the darkness signs could be detected in him of military carriage and of the majestically6 condescending7 expression gained by frequent intercourse8 with the gentry9 and their stewards10.
The sheep were asleep. Against the grey background of the dawn, already beginning to cover the eastern part of the sky, the silhouettes11 of sheep that were not asleep could be seen here and there; they stood with drooping12 heads, thinking. Their thoughts, tedious and oppressive, called forth13 by images of nothing but the broad steppe and the sky, the days and the nights, probably weighed upon them themselves, crushing them into apathy14; and, standing15 there as though rooted to the earth, they noticed neither the presence of a stranger nor the uneasiness of the dogs.
The drowsy16, stagnant17 air was full of the monotonous18 noise inseparable from a summer night on the steppes; the grasshoppers19 chirruped incessantly20; the quails21 called, and the young nightingales trilled languidly half a mile away in a ravine where a stream flowed and willows22 grew.
The overseer had halted to ask the shepherds for a light for his pipe. He lighted it in silence and smoked the whole pipe; then, still without uttering a word, stood with his elbow on the saddle, plunged23 in thought. The young shepherd took no notice of him, he still lay gazing at the sky while the old man slowly looked the overseer up and down and then asked:
“Why, aren’t you Panteley from Makarov’s estate?”
“That’s myself,” answered the overseer.
“To be sure, I see it is. I didn’t know you — that is a sign you will be rich. Where has God brought you from?”
“From the Kovylyevsky fields.”
“That’s a good way. Are you letting the land on the part-crop system?”
“Part of it. Some like that, and some we are letting on lease, and some for raising melons and cucumbers. I have just come from the mill.”
A big shaggy old sheep-dog of a dirty white colour with woolly tufts about its nose and eyes walked three times quietly round the horse, trying to seem unconcerned in the presence of strangers, then all at once dashed suddenly from behind at the overseer with an angry aged24 growl25; the other dogs could not refrain from leaping up too.
“Lie down, you damned brute26,” cried the old man, raising himself on his elbow; “blast you, you devil’s creature.”
When the dogs were quiet again, the old man resumed his former attitude and said quietly:
“It was at Kovyli on Ascension Day that Yefim Zhmenya died. Don’t speak of it in the dark, it is a sin to mention such people. He was a wicked old man. I dare say you have heard.”
“No, I haven’t”
“Yefim Zhmenya, the uncle of Styopka, the blacksmith. The whole district round knew him. Aye, he was a cursed old man, he was! I knew him for sixty years, ever since Tsar Alexander who beat the French was brought from Taganrog to Moscow. We went together to meet the dead Tsar, and in those days the great highway did not run to Bahmut, but from Esaulovka to Gorodishtche, and where Kovyli is now, there were bustards’ nests — there was a bustard’s nest at every step. Even then I had noticed that Yefim had given his soul to damnation, and that the Evil One was in him. I have observed that if any man of the peasant class is apt to be silent, takes up with old women’s jobs, and tries to live in solitude27, there is no good in it, and Yefim from his youth up was always one to hold his tongue and look at you sideways, he always seemed to be sulky and bristling28 like a cock before a hen. To go to church or to the tavern29 or to lark30 in the street with the lads was not his fashion, he would rather sit alone or be whispering with old women. When he was still young he took jobs to look after the bees and the market gardens. Good folks would come to his market garden sometimes and his melons were whistling. One day he caught a pike, when folks were looking on, and it laughed aloud, ‘Ho-ho-ho-ho!’ ”
“It does happen,” said Panteley.
The young shepherd turned on his side and, lifting his black eyebrows, stared intently at the old man.
“Did you hear the melons whistling?” he asked.
“Hear them I didn’t, the Lord spared me,” sighed the old man, “but folks told me so. It is no great wonder . . . the Evil One will begin whistling in a stone if he wants to. Before the Day of Freedom a rock was humming for three days and three nights in our parts. I heard it myself. The pike laughed because Yefim caught a devil instead of a pike.”
The old man remembered something. He got up quickly on to his knees and, shrinking as though from the cold, nervously31 thrusting his hands into his sleeves, he muttered in a rapid womanish gabble:
“Lord save us and have mercy upon us! I was walking along the river bank one day to Novopavlovka. A storm was gathering32, such a tempest it was, preserve us Holy Mother, Queen of Heaven. . . . I was hurrying on as best I could, I looked, and beside the path between the thorn bushes — the thorn was in flower at the time — there was a white bullock coming along. I wondered whose bullock it was, and what the devil had sent it there for. It was coming along and swinging its tail and moo-oo-oo! but would you believe it, friends, I overtake it, I come up close — and it’s not a bullock, but Yefim — holy, holy, holy! I make the sign of the cross while he stares at me and mutters, showing the whites of his eyes; wasn’t I frightened! We came alongside, I was afraid to say a word to him — the thunder was crashing, the sky was streaked33 with lightning, the willows were bent35 right down to the water — all at once, my friends, God strike me dead that I die impenitent36, a hare ran across the path . . . it ran and stopped, and said like a man: ‘Good-evening, peasants.’ Lie down, you brute! “ the old man cried to the shaggy dog, who was moving round the horse again. “Plague take you!”
“It does happen,” said the overseer, still leaning on the saddle and not stirring; he said this in the hollow, toneless voice in which men speak when they are plunged in thought.
“It does happen,” he repeated, in a tone of profundity37 and conviction.
“Ugh, he was a nasty old fellow,” the old shepherd went on with somewhat less fervour. “Five years after the Freedom he was flogged by the commune at the office, so to show his spite he took and sent the throat illness upon all Kovyli. Folks died out of number, lots and lots of them, just as in cholera38. . . . ”
“How did he send the illness?” asked the young shepherd after a brief silence.
“We all know how, there is no great cleverness needed where there is a will to it. Yefim murdered people with viper’s fat. That is such a poison that folks will die from the mere39 smell of it, let alone the fat.”
“That’s true,” Panteley agreed.
“The lads wanted to kill him at the time, but the old people would not let them. It would never have done to kill him; he knew the place where the treasure is hidden, and not another soul did know. The treasures about here are charmed so that you may find them and not see them, but he did see them. At times he would walk along the river bank or in the forest, and under the bushes and under the rocks there would be little flames, little flames . . . little flames as though from brimstone. I have seen them myself. Everyone expected that Yefim would show people the places or dig the treasure up himself, but he — as the saying is, like a dog in the manger — so he died without digging it up himself or showing other people.”
The overseer lit a pipe, and for an instant lighted up his big moustaches and his sharp, stern-looking, and dignified40 nose. Little circles of light danced from his hands to his cap, raced over the saddle along the horse’s back, and vanished in its mane near its ears.
“There are lots of hidden treasures in these parts,” he said.
And slowly stretching, he looked round him, resting his eyes on the whitening east and added:
“There must be treasures.”
“To be sure,” sighed the old man, “one can see from every sign there are treasures, only there is no one to dig them, brother. No one knows the real places; besides, nowadays, you must remember, all the treasures are under a charm. To find them and see them you must have a talisman41, and without a talisman you can do nothing, lad. Yefim had talismans42, but there was no getting anything out of him, the bald devil. He kept them, so that no one could get them.”
The young shepherd crept two paces nearer to he old man and, propping43 his head on his fists, fastened his fixed44 stare upon him. A childish expression of terror and curiosity gleamed in his dark eyes, and seemed in the twilight45 to stretch and flatten46 out the large features of his coarse young face. He was listening intently.
“It is even written in the Scriptures47 that there are lots of treasures hidden here,” the old man went on; “it is so for sure . . . and no mistake about it. An old soldier of Novopavlovka was shown at Ivanovka a writing, and in this writing it was printed about the place of the treasure and even how many pounds of gold was in it and the sort of vessel48 it was in; they would have found the treasures long ago by that writing, only the treasure is under a spell, you can’t get at it.”
“Why can’t you get at it, grandfather?” asked the young man.
I suppose there is some reason, the soldier didn’t say. It is under a spell . . . you need a talisman.”
The old man spoke49 with warmth, as though he were pouring out his soul before the overseer. He talked through his nose and, being unaccustomed to talk much and rapidly, stuttered; and, conscious of his defects, he tried to adorn50 his speech with gesticulations of the hands and head and thin shoulders, and at every movement his hempen51 shirt crumpled52 into folds, slipped upwards and displayed his back, black with age and sunburn. He kept pulling it down, but it slipped up again at once. At last, as though driven out of all patience by the rebellious53 shirt, the old man leaped up and said bitterly:
“There is fortune, but what is the good of it if it is buried in the earth? It is just riches wasted with no profit to anyone, like chaff54 or sheep’s dung, and yet there are riches there, lad, fortune enough for all the country round, but not a soul sees it! It will come to this, that the gentry will dig it up or the government will take it away. The gentry have begun digging the barrows. . . . They scented55 something! They are envious56 of the peasants’ luck! The government, too, is looking after itself. It is written in the law that if any peasant finds the treasure he is to take it to the authorities! I dare say, wait till you get it! There is a brew57 but not for you!”
The old man laughed contemptuously and sat down on the ground. The overseer listened with attention and agreed, but from his silence and the expression of his figure it was evident that what the old man told him was not new to him, that he had thought it all over long ago, and knew much more than was known to the old shepherd.
“In my day, I must own, I did seek for fortune a dozen times,” said the old man, scratching himself nervously. “I looked in the right places, but I must have come on treasures under a charm. My father looked for it, too, and my brother, too — but not a thing did they find, so they died without luck. A monk58 revealed to my brother Ilya — the Kingdom of Heaven be his — that in one place in the fortress59 of Taganrog there was a treasure under three stones, and that that treasure was under a charm, and in those days — it was, I remember, in the year ‘38 — an Armenian used to live at Matvyeev Barrow who sold talismans. Ilya bought a talisman, took two other fellows with him, and went to Taganrog. Only when he got to the place in the fortress, brother, there was a soldier with a gun, standing at the very spot. . . . ”
A sound suddenly broke on the still air, and floated in all directions over the steppe. Something in the distance gave a menacing bang, crashed against stone, and raced over the steppe, uttering, “Tah! tah! tah! tah!” When the sound had died away the old man looked inquiringly at Panteley, who stood motionless and unconcerned.
“It’s a bucket broken away at the pits,” said the young shepherd after a moment’s thought.
It was by now getting light. The Milky Way had turned pale and gradually melted like snow, losing its outlines; the sky was becoming dull and dingy60 so that you could not make out whether it was clear or covered thickly with clouds, and only from the bright leaden streak34 in the east and from the stars that lingered here and there could one tell what was coming.
The first noiseless breeze of morning, cautiously stirring the spurges and the brown stalks of last year’s grass, fluttered along the road.
The overseer roused himself from his thoughts and tossed his head. With both hands he shook the saddle, touched the girth and, as though he could not make up his mind to mount the horse, stood still again, hesitating.
“Yes,” he said, “your elbow is near, but you can’t bite it. There is fortune, but there is not the wit to find it.”
And he turned facing the shepherds. His stern face looked sad and mocking, as though he were a disappointed man.
“Yes, so one dies without knowing what happiness is like . . . ” he said emphatically, lifting his left leg into the stirrup. “A younger man may live to see it, but it is time for us to lay aside all thought of it.”
Stroking his long moustaches covered with dew, he seated himself heavily on the horse and screwed up his eyes, looking into the distance, as though he had forgotten something or left something unsaid. In the bluish distance where the furthest visible hillock melted into the mist nothing was stirring; the ancient barrows, once watch-mounds and tombs, which rose here and there above the horizon and the boundless62 steppe had a sullen63 and death-like look; there was a feeling of endless time and utter indifference64 to man in their immobility and silence; another thousand years would pass, myriads65 of men would die, while they would still stand as they had stood, wit h no regret for the dead nor interest in the living, and no soul would ever know why they stood there, and what secret of the steppes was hidden under them.
The rooks awakening66, flew one after another in silence over the earth. No meaning was to be seen in the languid flight of those long-lived birds, nor in the morning which is repeated punctually every twenty-four hours, nor in the boundless expanse of the steppe.
The overseer smiled and said:
“What space, Lord have mercy upon us! You would have a hunt to find treasure in it! Here,” he went on, dropping his voice and making a serious face, “here there are two treasures buried for a certainty. The gentry don’t know of them, but the old peasants, particularly the soldiers, know all about them. Here, somewhere on that ridge67 [the overseer pointed61 with his whip] robbers one time attacked a caravan68 of gold; the gold was being taken from Petersburg to the Emperor Peter who was building a fleet at the time at Voronezh. The robbers killed the men with the caravan and buried the gold, but did not find it again afterwards. Another treasure was buried by our Cossacks of the Don. In the year ‘12 they carried off lots of plunder69 of all sorts from the French, goods and gold and silver. When they were going homewards they heard on the way that the government wanted to take away all the gold and silver from them. Rather than give up their plunder like that to the government for nothing, the brave fellows took and buried it, so that their children, anyway, might get it; but where they buried it no one knows.”
“I have heard of those treasures,” the old man muttered grimly.
“Yes . . . ” Panteley pondered again. “So it is. . . . ”
A silence followed. The overseer looked dreamily into the distance, gave a laugh and pulled the rein70, still with the same expression as though he had forgotten something or left something unsaid. The horse reluctantly started at a walking pace. After riding a hundred paces Panteley shook his head resolutely71, roused himself from his thoughts and, lashing72 his horse, set off at a trot73.
The shepherds were left alone.
“That was Panteley from Makarov’s estate,” said the old man. “He gets a hundred and fifty a year and provisions found, too. He is a man of education. . . . ”
The sheep, waking up — there were about three thousand of them — began without zest74 to while away the time, nipping at the low, half-trampled grass. The sun had not yet risen, but by now all the barrows could be seen and, like a cloud in the distance, Saur’s Grave with its peaked top. If one clambered up on that tomb one could see the plain from it, level and boundless as the sky, one could see villages, manor-houses, the settlements of the Germans and of the Molokani, and a long-sighted Kalmuck could even see the town and the railway-station. Only from there could one see that there was something else in the world besides the silent steppe and the ancient barrows, that there was another life that had nothing to do with buried treasure and the thoughts of sheep.
The old man felt beside him for his crook75 — a long stick with a hook at the upper end — and got up. He was silent and thoughtful. The young shepherd’s face had not lost the look of childish terror and curiosity. He was still under the influence of what he had heard in the night, and impatiently awaiting fresh stories.
“Grandfather,” he asked, getting up and taking his crook, “what did your brother Ilya do with the soldier?”
The old man did not hear the question. He looked absent-mindedly at the young man, and answered, mumbling76 with his lips:
“I keep thinking, Sanka, about that writing that was shown to that soldier at Ivanovka. I didn’t tell Panteley — God be with him — but you know in that writing the place was marked out so that even a woman could find it. Do you know where it is? At Bogata Bylotchka at the spot, you know, where the ravine parts like a goose’s foot into three little ravines; it is the middle one.”
“Well, will you dig?”
“I will try my luck . . . ”
“And, grandfather, what will you do with the treasure when you find it?”
“Do with it?” laughed the old man. “H’m! . . . If only I could find it then. . . . I would show them all. . . . H’m!.. . I should know what to do. . . . ”
And the old man could not answer what he would do with the treasure if he found it. That question had presented itself to him that morning probably for the first time in his life, and judging from the expression of his face, indifferent and uncritical, it did not seem to him important and deserving of consideration. In Sanka’s brain another puzzled question was stirring: why was it only old men searched for hidden treasure, and what was the use of earthly happiness to people who might die any day of old age? But Sanka could not put this perplexity into words, and the old man could scarcely have found an answer to it.
An immense crimson77 sun came into view surrounded by a faint haze78. Broad streaks79 of light, still cold, bathing in the dewy grass, lengthening80 out with a joyous81 air as though to prove they were not weary of their task, began spreading over the earth. The silvery wormwood, the blue flowers of the pig’s onion, the yellow mustard, the corn-flowers — all burst into gay colours, taking the sunlight for their own smile.
The old shepherd and Sanka parted and stood at the further sides of the flock. Both stood like posts, without moving, staring at the ground and thinking. The former was haunted by thoughts of fortune, the latter was pondering on what had been said in the night; what interested him was not the fortune itself, which he did not want and could not imagine, but the fantastic, fairy-tale character of human happiness.
A hundred sheep started and, in some inexplicable82 panic as at a signal, dashed away from the flock; and as though the thoughts of the sheep — tedious and oppressive — had for a moment infected Sanka also, he, too, dashed aside in the same inexplicable animal panic, but at once he recovered himself and shouted:
“You crazy creatures! You’ve gone mad, plague take you!”
When the sun, promising83 long hours of overwhelming heat, began to bake the earth, all living things that in the night had moved and uttered sounds were sunk in drowsiness84. The old shepherd and Sanka stood with their crooks85 on opposite sides of the flock, stood without stirring, like fakirs at their prayers, absorbed in thought. They did not heed86 each other; each of them was living in his own life. The sheep were pondering, too.
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1
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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3
slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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milky
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| adj.牛奶的，多奶的；乳白色的 | |
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shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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condescending
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| adj.谦逊的,故意屈尊的 | |
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intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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stewards
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| （轮船、飞机等的）乘务员( steward的名词复数 )； （俱乐部、旅馆、工会等的）管理员； （大型活动的）组织者； （私人家中的）管家 | |
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silhouettes
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| 轮廓( silhouette的名词复数 )； （人的）体形； （事物的）形状； 剪影 | |
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12
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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stagnant
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| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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grasshoppers
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| n.蚱蜢( grasshopper的名词复数 )；蝗虫；蚂蚱；（孩子）矮小的 | |
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incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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quails
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| 鹌鹑( quail的名词复数 )； 鹌鹑肉 | |
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willows
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| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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streaked
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| adj.有条斑纹的，不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
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streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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impenitent
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| adj.不悔悟的，顽固的 | |
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profundity
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| n.渊博；深奥，深刻 | |
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cholera
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| n.霍乱 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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talisman
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| n.避邪物，护身符 | |
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talismans
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| n.护身符( talisman的名词复数 )；驱邪物；有不可思议的力量之物；法宝 | |
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43
propping
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| 支撑 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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45
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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46
flatten
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| v.把．．．弄平，使倒伏；使(漆等)失去光泽 | |
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47
scriptures
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| 经文，圣典( scripture的名词复数 )； 经典 | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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adorn
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| vt.使美化，装饰 | |
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hempen
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| adj. 大麻制的, 大麻的 | |
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crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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54
chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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brew
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| v.酿造，调制 | |
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58
monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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myriads
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| n.无数，极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
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66
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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caravan
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| n.大蓬车；活动房屋 | |
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plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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72
lashing
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| n.鞭打；痛斥；大量；许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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76
mumbling
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的现在分词 ) | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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lengthening
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的现在分词 )； 加长 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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83
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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84
drowsiness
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| n.睡意；嗜睡 | |
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85
crooks
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| n.骗子( crook的名词复数 )；罪犯；弯曲部分；（牧羊人或主教用的）弯拐杖v.弯成钩形( crook的第三人称单数 ) | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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