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One evening I went with the huntsman Yermolai "stand—shooting. " …. But perhaps all my readers may not know what "stand—shooting" is. I will tell you.
一天傍晚，我和猎人叶尔莫莱一起去打 “伏击” ……但是，也许有些读者还不知道什么是 “伏击” 。我会告诉你的。
A quarter of an hour before sunset in spring—time you go out into the woods with your gun, but without your dog. You seek out a spot for yourself on the outskirts of the forest, take a look round, examine your caps, and glance at your companion. A quarter of an hour passes; the sun has set, but it is still light in the forest; the sky is clear and transparent; the birds are chattering and twittering; the young grass shines with the brilliance of emerald.... You wait. Gradually the recesses of the forest grow dark; the blood—red glow of the evening sky creeps slowly on to the roots and the trunks of the trees, and keeps rising higher and higher, passes from the lower, still almost leafless branches, to the motionless, slumbering tree—tops.... And now even the topmost branches are darkened; the purple sky fades to dark—blue. The forest fragrance grows stronger; there is a scent of warmth and damp earth; the fluttering breeze dies away at your side. The birds go to sleep—not all at once—but after their kinds; first the finches are hushed, a few minutes later the warblers, and after them the yellow buntings. In the forest it grows darker and darker. The trees melt together into great masses of blackness; in the dark—blue sky the first stars come timidly out. All the birds are asleep. Only the redstarts and the nuthatches are still chirping drowsily.... And now they too are still. The last echoing call of the pee—wit rings over our heads; the oriole's melancholy cry sounds somewhere in the distance; then the nightingale's first note. Your heart is weary with suspense, when suddenly—but only sportsmen can understand me—suddenly in the deep hush there is a peculiar croaking and whirring sound, the measured sweep of swift wings is heard, and the snipe, gracefully bending its long beak, sails smoothly down behind a dark bush to meet your shot.
春天，在离日落还有一刻钟的时候，您带着枪到树林里去，但是不要带狗。您先在树林外围给自己找个地方，观察一下四周，检查一下枪的火药帽，然后和您的同伴交换一下眼色。一刻钟过去之后，太阳也已经下山了，但森林里还亮堂着，天空晴朗清澈，鸟叽叽喳喳地叫着，嫩草闪耀着绿宝石般的光泽……您就等着。渐渐地，树林深处昏暗了下来，傍晚的天空中，血红色的霞光慢慢地沿着树根和树干移动，越升越高，从矮一点的、还没长什么叶子的树枝，跃上一动不动、酣睡着的树梢……而现在，就连最高的树枝上也没了光亮，紫红色的天空慢慢地变成了深蓝色。树林里的气味越来越浓烈，有一股温暖而潮湿的土味，流动的微风吹到您的身旁便渐渐消失了。鸟们也要去睡了——不是同时睡去，而是按类别分批睡去；最先安静下来的是雀类，几分钟后便是鸣鸟，之后便是黄鹀。森林里变得越来越暗了。树木化成了黑压压的一大片，深蓝色的天空中，有些星星羞答答地先出现了。所有的鸟都睡着了。只有红尾鸲和五子雀还在懒洋洋地啼叫着……而现在它们也安静了下来。凤头麦鸡的叫声还在我们的头顶上回荡，远处的某个地方传来了黄鹂悲伤的啼叫声，接着夜莺才开始啼叫。您正等得不耐烦了，突然——不过只有猎人才能明白我的意思——突然在沉寂中响起了这种独特的呱呱声和呼呼声，您还会听到一阵急促而谨慎的扇动翅膀的声音——沙锥优雅地弯着它长长的嘴，平稳地从一簇黑暗的灌木后面飞了出来，去迎接您的子弹。
That is the meaning of "stand—shooting.”
“伏击” 就是这个意思。
And so I had gone out stand—shooting with Yermolai; but excuse me, reader: I must first introduce you to Yermolai.
就这样，我和叶尔莫莱一起出去打伏击；不过请读者原谅，我得先向您介绍一下叶尔莫莱。
Picture to yourself a tall gaunt man of forty—five, with a long thin nose, a narrow forehead, little grey eyes, a bristling head of hair, and thick sarcastic lips. This man wore, winter and summer alike, a yellow nankin coat of German cut, but with a sash round the waist; he wore blue pantaloons and a cap of astrakhan, presented to him in a merry hour by a spendthrift landowner. Two bags were fastened on to his sash, one in front, skilfully tied into two halves, for powder and for shot; the other behind for game: wadding Yermolai used to produce out of his peculiar, seemingly inexhaustible cap. With the money he gained by the game he sold, he might easily have bought himself a cartridge—box and powder—flask; but he never once even contemplated such a purchase, and continued to load his gun after his old fashion, exciting the admiration of all beholders by the skill with which he avoided the risks of spilling or mixing his powder and shot. His gun was a single—barrelled flint—lock, endowed, moreover, with a villainous habit of "kicking. " It was due to this that Yermolai's right cheek was permanently swollen to a larger size than the left. How he ever succeeded in hitting anything with this gun, it would take a shrewd man to discover—but he did. He had too a setter—dog, by name Valetka, a most extraordinary creature. Yermolai never fed him. "Me feed a dog! " he reasoned; "why, a dog's a clever beast; he finds a living for himself.” And certainly, though Valetka's extreme thinness was a shock even to an indifferent observer, he still lived and had a long life; and in spite of his pitiable position he was not even once lost, and never showed an inclination to desert his master. Once indeed, in his youth, he had absented himself for two days, on courting bent, but this folly was soon over with him. Valetka's most noticeable peculiarity was his impenetrable indifference to everything in the world.... If it were not a dog I was speaking of, I should have called him 'disillusioned. ' He usually sat with his cropped tail curled up under him, scowling and twitching at times, and he never smiled. （It is well known that dogs can smile, and smile very sweetly. ）He was exceedingly ugly; and the idle house—serfs never lost an opportunity of jeering cruelly at his appearance; but all these jeers, and even blows, Valetka bore with astonishing indifference. He was a source of special delight to the cooks, who would all leave their work at once and give him chase with shouts and abuse, whenever, through a weakness not confined to dogs, he thrust his hungry nose through the half—open door of the kitchen, tempting with its warmth and appetising smells. He distinguished himself by untiring energy in the chase, and had a good scent; but if he chanced to overtake a slightly wounded hare, he devoured it with relish to the last bone, somewhere in the cool shade under the green bushes, at a respectful distance from Yermolai, who was abusing him in every known and unknown dialect.
您自己想象一下，一个四十五岁、高高瘦瘦的男人，长着一只细长的鼻子，前额很窄，灰色的眼睛小小的，所有头发都竖立着，厚厚的嘴唇看上去像在嘲笑别人。不论是冬天还是夏天，他都穿着一件德式裁剪的黄色土布外衣，而腰间却系着一条腰带，他下身穿着蓝色的马裤，头上戴着一顶羔羊皮帽，这帽子是一个挥金如土的地主一时高兴送给他的。他的腰带上系着两个袋子，一个系在前面，被他巧妙地扎成了两半，分别装着火药和子弹；另一个系在后面，用来装猎物；袋子里的填絮，是叶尔莫莱从他那独特的帽子里掏出来的，那里似乎有无穷无尽的东西。拿着卖猎物挣的钱，他本可以很轻松地给自己买个子弹盒和火药桶，但是他压根没想过去买这些东西，还仍然照老办法装他的枪具，他可以做到不把火药和子弹洒出来或把他们混在一起，所有见识过他的这个本领的人都惊叹不已。他的单管枪装有燧石，而且还有 “后坐力” 这种糟糕的惯性。正因为如此，叶尔莫莱的右脸颊总是肿得比左脸颊大。他究竟是如何用这支枪射中猎物的，这只有聪明人才能想得出来——不过他确实做到了。他还有一只塞特犬，叫做瓦列特卡，是一只非常特别的动物。叶尔莫莱从没喂过它。 “我喂狗干什么呀！” 他振振有词地说， “狗是一种聪明的动物，它自己就能找到吃的。” 当然，尽管瓦列特卡那骨瘦如柴的模样，让不相干的看客吃惊不已，可它依然活着，而且还很长寿；虽然它处境很可怜，它却从没逃走过，也从没表现出要离弃自己主人的倾向。在它年轻的时候，确实有那么一次，它为了谈情说爱离开过两天，不过这个笨蛋很快就忘掉它配偶了。瓦列特卡最显著的特征就是，它对世间万物抱着不可思议的冷淡态度……如果我现在谈论的不是一只狗的话，我想用 “幻灭” 这样的字眼来形容它。它常常把自己的短毛尾巴蜷起来压在身下坐着，有时还皱着眉头，打个哆嗦，而且它从来都没有笑过。（众所周知，狗是会笑的，而且笑得很可爱。）它长得特别丑，所以那些懒惰的家奴们只要有机会，就会狠狠地嘲笑它的外表，但是对于所有的这些嘲笑，甚至是殴打，瓦列特卡都以惊人的冷漠态度忍受了下来。它成了厨子们寻开心的特别对象，每当它饥饿难耐（这个弱点不仅属于狗），受到厨房里温暖和香味的诱惑、把鼻子伸进厨房半开着的门时，厨子们就都马上丢下手头的活，大声叫骂着追赶它。它在追赶猎物方面很出色，精力旺盛，而且嗅觉灵敏，但是，要是它碰巧追到一只受了点小伤的野兔，它就会躲到绿色灌木丛下某个阴凉的地方，狼吞虎咽地享受野兔，一根骨头都不剩下，而且会离叶尔莫莱远远的，因为他会用各种知道和不知道的方言咒骂它。
Yermolai belonged to one of my neighbours, a landowner of the old style. Landowners of the old style don't care for game, and prefer the domestic fowl. Only on extraordinary occasions, such as birthdays, namedays, and elections, the cooks of the old—fashioned landowners set to work to prepare some long—beaked birds, and, falling into the state of frenzy peculiar to Russians when they don't quite know what to do, they concoct such marvellous sauces for them that the guests examine the proffered dishes curiously and attentively, but rarely make up their minds to try them. Yermolai was under orders to provide his master's kitchen with two brace of grouse and partridges once a month. But he might live where and how he pleased. They had given him up as a man of no use for work of any kind— "bone lazy, " as the expression is among us in Orel. Powder and shot, of course, they did not provide him, following precisely the same principle in virtue of which he did not feed his dog. Yermolai was a very strange kind of man; heedless as a bird, rather fond of talking, awkward and vacant—looking; he was excessively fond of drink, and never could sit still long; in walking he shambled along, and rolled from side to side; and yet he got over fifty miles in the day with his rolling, shambling gait. He exposed himself to the most varied adventures: spent the night in the marshes, in trees, on roofs, or under bridges; more than once he had got shut up in lofts, cellars, or barns; he sometimes lost his gun, his dog, his most indispensable garments; got long and severe thrashings; but he always returned home, after a little while, in his clothes, and with his gun and his dog. One could not call him a cheerful man, though one almost always found him in an even frame of mind; he was looked on generally as an eccentric. Yermolai liked a little chat with a good companion, especially over a glass, but he would not stop long; he would get up and go. "But where the devil are you going? It's dark out of doors.’
叶尔莫莱是我的一位邻居的下人，那位邻居是一个旧式地主。旧式地主们不爱吃野味，但喜欢吃家禽。只有恰逢特别的日子，如生日、命名日和选举日，旧式地主的厨子们才会去烹饪一些长嘴鸟作菜肴，他们这时便陷入了一种疯狂的状态，这是俄罗斯人在不知道该怎样办时所特有的状态，于是厨子们给长嘴鸟调制出稀奇古怪的酱料，使得宾客们只能好奇而专注地观望端出来的菜肴，但很少有人下决心去尝一下。按照吩咐，叶尔莫莱每月为主人的厨房供应两对松鸡和山鹑。除此之外，他想住在哪里就住哪里，他愿意怎么生活就怎么生活。人们对他也不再抱有希望，认为他是个什么活也干不了的没用的家伙，就如同我们奥廖尔人所说的，是个 “懒骨头” 。当然，他们是不会给他提供火药和子弹的，这同他不喂自己的狗是一样的道理。叶尔莫莱是个很奇怪的人，像只鸟一样心不在焉，却很爱讲话，看上去有点笨拙呆滞；他极爱喝酒，可从来不能安静地坐上一段时间；他走起路来踉踉跄跄，还摇来晃去，可是他摇摇摆摆地拖着步子，一天也能走五十英里。他的经历也是千奇百怪：他在沼泽地、树上、房顶上，或是桥底下过过夜；他还不止一次地被关在阁楼、地窖，或是谷仓里；他有时连自己的猎枪、狗和贴身的衣服都丢了；他还被长时间地狠狠地鞭打过；但是过不了多久，他又会穿着衣服、背着枪、带着狗回来。但你却不能称他为快乐的人，虽然他的精神状态一直都很稳定；他常常被看成是一个怪人。叶尔莫莱喜欢与上流社会的朋友聊上几句，特别是喝酒的时候，但聊不了多长时间，他就会站起来走人。 “你究竟要去哪里啊？外面天已经黑了。”
"To Tchaplino. "
“去恰普利诺。”
"But what's taking you to Tchaplino, ten miles away?”
“是什么事让你跑去恰普利诺啊，有十英里远呢？”
"I am going to stay the night at Sophron's there.”
“我要去索夫龙家过夜。”
"But stay the night here. "
“就在这里过夜吧。”
"No, I can't.” And Yermolai, with his Valetka, would go off into the dark night, through woods and water—courses, and the peasant Sophron very likely did not let him into his place, and even, I am afraid, gave him a blow to teach him" not to disturb honest folks. "But none could compare with Yermolai in skill in deep—water fishing in spring—time, in catching crayfish with his hands, in tracking game by scent, in snaring quails, in training hawks, in capturing the nightingales who had the greatest variety of notes.... One thing he could not do, train a dog; he had not patience enough. He had a wife too. He went to see her once a week. She lived in a wretched, tumble—down little hut, and led a hand—to—mouth existence, never knowing overnight whether she would have food to eat on the morrow; and in every way her lot was a pitiful one. Yermolai, who seemed such a careless and easy—going fellow, treated his wife with cruel harshness; in his own house he assumed a stern, and menacing manner; and his poor wife did everything she could to please him, trembled when he looked at her, and spent her last farthing to buy him vodka; and when he stretched himself majestically on the stove and fell into an heroic sleep, she obsequiously covered him with a sheepskin. I happened myself more than once to catch an involuntary look in him of a kind of savage ferocity; I did not like the expression of his face when he finished off a wounded bird with his teeth. But Yermolai never remained more than a day at home, and away from home he was once more the same" Yermolka "（i. e. the shooting—cap）, as he was called for a hundred miles round, and as he sometimes called himself. The lowest house—serf was conscious of being superior to this vagabond—and perhaps this was precisely why they treated him with friendliness; the peasants at first amused themselves by chasing him and driving him like a hare over the open country, but afterwards they left him in God's hands, and when once they recognised him as" queer, "they no longer tormented him, and even gave him bread and entered into talk with him.... This was the man I took as my huntsman, and with him I went stand—shooting to a great birch—wood on the banks of the Ista.
“不，不行。” 于是叶尔莫莱就带着他的瓦列特卡离开了，在黑暗的夜色中，穿过丛林，越过水沟，而庄稼汉索夫龙很有可能不会让他进门，甚至还会打他一拳警告他 “不要去打扰那些老实人” 。但是叶尔莫莱有些无人能及的本领，比如说在春天捕深水鱼，用手抓小龙虾，靠嗅觉寻找野味，诱捕鹌鹑，驯养猎鹰，以及捕捉那些歌喉最婉转的夜莺……只有一件事他做不了，那就是训狗，因为他没有足够的耐心。他也娶过一个老婆。他每个星期去看她一次。她在一间破破烂烂、摇摇欲坠的小屋里勉强度日，根本就不知道过了这个晚上以后，第二天还有没有吃的，总的来说，她的命很苦。叶尔莫莱看上去是个随随便便、性情随和的人，但对自己的老婆却残酷而严厉；在自己家里时，他便装出一副严厉凶恶的样子；他那可怜的老婆尽其所能地去讨好他，他看她的时候，她都会哆嗦，她把自己最后剩的一点钱都用来给他买伏特加酒；当他神气十足地舒展在炕上呼呼大睡时，她还奉承地给他盖上一件羊皮袄。我不止一次地碰巧看到，他无意中流露出的一种凶恶残暴的神情，我并不喜欢他咬死受伤的鸟时脸上露出的表情。但是叶尔莫莱待在家的时间从没超过一天，离开了家他便又是那个 “叶尔莫尔卡” （也就是猎帽），方圆一百英里的人都这样叫他，他有时也这样称呼自己。就连最低下的家仆都觉得自己比这个流浪汉高一等——也许正是因为这个，他们对他很友善；农民们起先都以追赶他为乐，就像捉田野里的野兔那样驱赶他，但是后来他们仁慈地放了他，在得知他是个 “怪胎” 后，他们就再也不折磨他了，甚至还给他面包，同他说话……我就是带了这个人一同去打猎，我和他一起去了伊斯塔河边一片很大的桦树林里打伏击。
Many Russian rivers, like the Volga, have one bank rugged and precipitous, the other bounded by level meadows; and so it is with the Ista. This small river winds extremely capriciously, coils like a snake, and does not keep a straight course for half—a—mile together; in some places, from the top of a sharp declivity, one can see the river for ten miles, with its dykes, its pools and mills, and the gardens on its banks, shut in with willows and thick flower—gardens. There are fish in the Ista in endless numbers, especially roaches （the peasants take them in hot weather from under the bushes with their hands）; little sand—pipers flutter whistling along the stony banks, which are streaked with cold clear streams; wild ducks dive in the middle of the pools, and look round warily; in the coves under the overhanging cliffs herons stand out in the shade.... We stood in ambush nearly an hour, killed two brace of wood snipe, and, as we wanted to try our luck again at sunrise （stand—shooting can be done as well in the early morning）, we resolved to spend the night at the nearest mill. We came out of the wood, and went down the slope. The dark—blue waters of the river ran below; the air was thick with the mists of night. We knocked at the gate. The dogs began barking in the yard.
俄罗斯的许多河流，都像伏尔加河一样，河岸的一边崎岖险峻，另一边则是平坦的草地，伊斯塔河也一样。这条小河极为曲折、蜿蜒如蛇，没有一段河道在半英里内是直的；有的地方，从陡峭的斜坡上放眼望去，能看到这条小河延绵十英里长，还能看到河岸上的堤坝、池塘、磨坊和菜园，周围都是柳树和茂密的花园。伊斯塔河里的鱼多得数不清，特别是拟鲤（在热天时，农民们可以用手从灌木丛下抓这种鱼）；几只鹬一边吹着小曲，一边沿流淌着清凉纯净小溪的石坝游动；野鸭游到池塘的中央，小心地左顾右盼；鹭站在河湾里悬崖下的阴影处很显眼……我们伏击了将近一小时，猎到了两对林沙锥，因为我们还想在日出前来碰碰运气（也可以在清早伏击），便决定到最近的磨坊里过夜。我们走出了树林，下了斜坡。深蓝色的河水在下面潺潺流过，夜晚的雾气也使得空气变得浓郁起来。我们敲了敲门。几只狗在院子里叫了起来。
"Who is there? " asked a hoarse and sleepy voice.
“谁啊？” 一个沙哑且带有睡意的声音问道。
"We are sportsmen; let us stay the night. " There was no reply.
“我们是打猎的，让我们借宿一晚吧。” 然后就没了回应。
"We will pay. "
“我们会付钱的。”
"I will go and tell the master—Sh! Curse the dogs! Go to the devil with you!’
“我去给主人说一下——嘘！该死的狗！见鬼去吧！”
We listened as the workman went into the cottage; he soon came back to the gate. "No, " he said; "the master tells me not to let you in. "
我们听到那个雇工进屋去了，但很快他就回到了门边。 “不行，” 他说， “主人告诉我不能让你们进来。”
"Why not? "
“为什么不行啊？”
"He is afraid; you are sportsmen; you might set the mill on fire; you've firearms with you, to be sure.”
“你们是打猎的，他怕你们把磨坊给点着了，你们肯定带着枪。”
"But what nonsense! "
“真是胡说八道！”
"We had our mill on fire like that last year; some fish—dealers stayed the night, and they managed to set it on fire somehow.”
“去年我们的磨坊就是这样被烧着的，一些鱼贩子们在这里过夜，他们不知怎地就把磨坊给烧着了。”
"But, my good friend, we can't sleep in the open air!”
“可是，伙计，我们总不能在露天里睡觉吧！”
"That's your business.” He went away, his boots clacking as he walked.
“那就是你们的事了。” 他走开了，还伴着靴子发出的啪嗒啪嗒的声音。
Yermolai promised him various unpleasant things in the future. "Let us go to the village, " he brought out at last, with a sigh. But it was two miles to the village.
叶尔莫莱狠狠地诅咒了他一番。 “我们到那个村里去吧。” 他最后叹了口气说。可是这里离村里有两英里路呢。
"Let us stay the night here, " I said, "in the open air—the night is warm; the miller will let us have some straw if we pay for it.”
“我们就在这里过夜吧，” 我说， “就在露天地里——夜里挺暖和的，要是付钱的话，磨坊老板会给我们一些稻草的。”
Yermolai agreed without discussion. We began again to knock.
叶尔莫莱没有争辩就同意了。我们又开始敲门。
"Well, what do you want? " the workman's voice was heard again; "I've told you we can't.”
“哎呀，你们到底要干什么呀？” 我们又听到了那个雇工的声音， “我都给你们说了不行了。”