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Updated: May 29, 2025
Patches of light crept upon the slanting streaks of rain again; they danced on the tops of the trees and died away among the wet leaves. Damka found a hedgehog under a bush, and wanting to attract her master's attention to it, barked and howled. "Did you have an eclipse or not?" the shepherd called from the bushes. "Yes, we had," answered Meliton. "Ah!
Spots of light glistened on the mist and the slanting streaks of rain as though on opaque glass, and immediately died away again it was the rising sun trying to break through the clouds and peep at the earth. "Yes, the forests, too..." Meliton muttered. "The forests, too," the shepherd repeated. "They cut them down, and they catch fire, and they wither away, and no new ones are growing.
"Yes, brother, very few.... Very few everywhere! The shooting here, if one is to look at it with common sense, is good for nothing and not worth having. There is no game at all, and what there is is not worth dirtying your hands over it is not full-grown. It is such poor stuff that one is ashamed to look at it." Meliton gave a laugh and waved his hands.
While not technically the equal of one or two of his contemporaries, Wieniawski played with so much fire, and knew so well how to reach the heart of his audience by methods perfectly legitimate, that he must be ranked among the greatest violinists. Don Pablo Martin Meliton de Sarasate is a name known throughout Europe and America, if not throughout the civilised world.
As the copse became sparser, and the pines were interspersed with young birch-trees, Meliton saw a herd. Hobbled horses, cows, and sheep were wandering among the bushes and, snapping the dry branches, sniffed at the herbage of the copse. A lean old shepherd, bareheaded, in a torn grey smock, stood leaning against the wet trunk of a birch-tree.
Bother you, the plague take you! The devil has taken you into the thicket. Tu-lu-lu!" With an angry face he went into the bushes to collect his herd. Meliton got up and sauntered slowly along the edge of the wood. He looked at the ground at his feet and pondered; he still wanted to think of something which had not yet been touched by death.
"A bad business for the peasants and no pleasure for the gentry." The shepherd looked at the sky again, thought a moment, and said deliberately, as though chewing each word: "It's all going the same way.... There is nothing good to be looked for." "How are things with you here?" Meliton inquired, lighting his cigarette. "Haven't you seen any coveys of grouse in the Artamonovs' clearing?"
The gentry in old days were half of them generals, but nowadays they are a poor lot." "They are badly off nowadays," said Meliton. "They are poorer because God has taken away their strength. You can't go against God." Meliton stared at a fixed point again. After thinking a little he heaved a sigh as staid, reasonable people do sigh, shook his head, and said: "And all because of what?
Meliton plodded along to the river, and heard the sounds of the pipe gradually dying away behind him. He still wanted to complain.
He stared at the ground, pondering something, and played his pipe, it seemed, mechanically. "Good-day, grandfather! God help you!" Meliton greeted him in a thin, husky voice which seemed incongruous with his huge stature and big, fleshy face. "How cleverly you are playing your pipe! Whose herd are you minding?"
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