Happiness

Anton Chekhov

FLOCK of sheep was spending the night on the broad steppe road that is called the great

highway. Two shepherds were guarding it. One, a toothless old man of eighty, with a

tremulous face, was lying on his stomach at the very edge of the road, leaning his elbows on

the dusty leaves of a plantain; the other, a young fellow with thick black eyebrows and no

moustache, dressed in the coarse canvas of which cheap sacks are made, was lying on his

back, with his arms under his head, looking upwards at the sky, where the stars were

slumbering and the Milky Way lay stretched exactly above his face.

The shepherds were not alone. A couple of yards from them in the dusk that shrouded the

their stewards.

The sheep were asleep. Against the grey background of the dawn, already beginning to

cover the eastern part of the sky, the silhouettes of sheep that were not asleep could be seen

here and there; they stood with drooping heads, thinking. Their thoughts, tedious and

oppressive, called forth by images of nothing but the broad steppe and the sky, the days and

the nights, probably weighed upon them themselves, crushing them into apathy; and,

standing there as though rooted to the earth, they noticed neither the presence of a stranger

nor the uneasiness of the dogs.

The drowsy, stagnant air was full of the monotonous noise inseparable from a summer night

on the steppes; the grasshoppers chirruped incessantly; the quails called, and the young

"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 aged

growl; the other dogs could not refrain from leaping up too.

"Lie down, you damned brute," cried the old man, raising himself on his elbow; "blast you,

you devil's creature."

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 solitude, 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 bristling like a cock before a hen. To go to

church or to the tavern or to lark 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

"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, nervously 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 gathering, 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 streaked with lightning, the willows were bent right down to the

"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 cholera. . . ."

"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 mere

flames as though from brimstone. I have seen them myself. Everyone expected that Yefim

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 dignified nose. Little circles of light danced from his hands to his cap, raced

"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 talisman, and without a talisman you can do nothing, lad. Yefim had talismans, but

there was no getting anything out of him, the bald devil. He kept them, so that no one could

get them."

features of his coarse young face. He was listening intently.

treasure and even how many pounds of gold was in it and the sort of vessel 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 spoke with warmth, as though he were pouring out his soul before the

into folds, slipped upwards and displayed his back, black with age and sunburn. He kept

lad, fortune enough for all the country round, but not a soul sees it! It will come to this, that

the barrows. . . . They scented something! They are envious 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 brew 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 monk revealed to my brother Ilya -- the Kingdom of Heaven be

his -- that in one place in the fortress 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. . . ."

inquiringly at Panteley, who stood motionless and unconcerned.

snow, losing its outlines; the sky was becoming dull and dingy so that you could not make

out whether it was clear or covered thickly with clouds, and only from the bright leaden

streak 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 wit to find it."

his left leg into the stirrup. "A younger man may live to see it, but it is time for us to lay

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

here and there above the horizon and the boundless steppe had a sullen and death-like look;

there was a feeling of endless time and utter indifference to man in their immobility and

silence; another thousand years would pass, myriads of men would die, while they would

still stand as they had stood, with 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 awakening, 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!

taken from Petersburg to the Emperor Peter who was building a fleet at the time at

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 rein, still with the same expression as though he had forgotten something or left

The sheep, waking up -- there were about three thousand of them -- began without zest to

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-

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 crook -- 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, mumbling with his lips:

the middle one."

"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

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 inexplicable 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, promising 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 drowsiness. The

old shepherd and Sanka stood with their crooks on opposite sides of the flock, stood

without stirring, like fakirs at their prayers, absorbed in thought. They did not heed each

other; each of them was living in his own life. The sheep were pondering, too.