The story is romantic and legendary, but it is by no means a boring fiction.But is it possible to conclude that this story is not true because what it describes is not true?It would be a big mistake to think that way.We live in an age where anything can happen, and it is even reasonable to think that everything has happened in this age.If the story seems too mysterious today, it will be true tomorrow.The development of science guarantees the prosperity of the present and the future, and no one will simply equate this story with ordinary legends.What's more, at the end of the 19th century, when it was practical and pragmatic, legends of gods and monsters have long since fallen out of favor.Brittany is no longer the land of vicious leprechauns, Scotland is no longer home to good elves and goblins, nor is Norway the homeland of the gods Aze, Urf, Siberf, Varshman, or even Terry. The mysterious and deep Carpathian mountains of Transylvania are no longer haunted.But it should also be noted that people in Transylvania still believe in various superstitions and legends from ancient times.

For these remote provinces in Europe, Mr. De Rui Rando once mentioned in his works, and Eliser and Rex James also visited in person.But the two never mentioned a word about the anecdotes on which this novel depends.Do they understand?Maybe understand, but they won't believe it.It's such a pity.Because both of them can write beautifully, one records events as accurately as a chronicler, and the other writes travel notes are always full of poetic and picturesque flavor. Since neither of them have ever told the story, I'll do my best to ghostwrite it. On May 29 of that year, at the foot of the Rediezat Mountain, on the edge of the green grassy plateau, a shepherd was grazing his flock.In the fertile valley below the mountain, there are lush trees with straight branches, and the crops are growing gratifyingly.The plateau is empty and there is no shelter.In winter, the bitter northwest wind sweeps across the ground like a razor.It is said that even if the people here have beards, they are just a bunch of short beard stubble.

The shepherd lacks Arcadian attire and idyllic grace in his manner.He was neither Dalene, Amanda, Tytil, Licida, nor Melibe.It is not the Lignon that flows under his clogged feet, but the Wallachian Shire, so clear and sweet that even the soul-stirring passages written in the Astor In the plot, it is not inferior at all. This vulgar shepherd was called Frick of Welster.His people are as unkempt as his cattle.He lives in a broken house at the entrance of the village, which is dirty and damp.The pigs and sheep are crowded together, and the stench is suffocating.Indeed, only the word "it stinks", borrowed from an old saying, can properly describe the stables in this rural area.

The sheep grazing tamely.Frick was lying in the green grass of the hillock, with one eye closed, watching the sheep with only one eye, and a big pipe in his mouth. Sometimes when a ewe walked away, he would whistle. Or the bullhorn signaled to the shepherd dogs, and the sound of the horn echoed in the mountains, endlessly. At 4 o'clock in the afternoon, the sun slanted westward, illuminating several mountain peaks in the east, but the foot of the mountain was still covered by clouds and fog.In the southwest, a beam of sunset slanted into the gap between the two mountain beams, like a bright band of light coming through the crack of the door.

This mountain range belongs to the wildest part of Transylvania, which lies in the heart of Crosswall County, also known as Clausenburg County. Transylvania is a peculiar region of the Austrian Empire, called "Erdli" in Hungarian, which means "land of the forest".It borders Hungary to the north, Wallachia to the south, and Moldavia to the west.It covers an area of ​​60,000 square kilometers, or 6 million hectares, which is equivalent to one-ninth of the French mainland. It is a bit like Switzerland, but half larger than Switzerland, and the population is not as dense as Switzerland.The Transylvania region has arable plateaus and fertile grasslands, winding and deep valleys, and towering mountains.The branches of the Carpathian Mountains criss-cross, and there are many rivers, all of which flow into the Tisza River and the beautiful Danube River.The "Iron Gate" a few kilometers to the south blocks the Balkan Pass at the junction of Hungary and the Ottoman Empire.

This is the former site of the Dacian kingdom conquered by Trajan in the first century of the Christian era.It enjoyed independent sovereignty under the dynasty of Jean Zapoli until Leopold I annexed it to the territory of Austria.However, no matter how the polity changes here, it has always been a place of mixed races: Wallachians, Romanians, Hungarians, and gypsy people of Moldavian origin.These people did not achieve national integration. Only the Saxons were finally "Hungarianized" with the changes of the times and the environment. This is a good thing for the unification of Transylvania.

To what race did this shepherd Flick belong?A degenerate descendant of the ancient Dacians?It is unpredictable.He has messy hair, a chubby face, a shaggy beard, two thick eyebrows like two light red ponytail brushes, and his eyes are blue-green between blue and green, and there are wrinkles of old people around the wet eye sockets.He was 65, or so he seemed to be.He was tall, thin, and wore a dark yellow coat, with a straight back and thicker hair on his chest than the coat.Wearing a broken straw hat, it is better to say that it is wrapped in a bunch of messy grass.He leaned on the shepherd's stick shaped like a crow's beak, standing still like a rock.The portrait in front of him also catches the painter's eye, drawing his profile on the canvas.

The sun was coming from the mountain pass in the west, and Flick turned around; he built a shade with his hands—just like he usually made a trumpet with his hands and put it on his mouth to shout—watching carefully. A thousand meters away, under the blue sky, there is the outline of a castle, but it doesn't look so tall because it's too far apart.This ancient castle stands on a round hill not far from the Volcan Pass in the Algal Heights.Under the dazzling strong light, its outline is clearly visible and has a strong sense of three-dimensionality.But what eyesight the shepherd must have had to discern the tiny ornaments on this distant building!

Suddenly, the shepherd shook his head and shouted: "Old castle!...Old castle!... Don't look at you squatting on the hill now! Your beech has only three branches left. You only have three years to live!" On the top of one of the castle's bastions, the beech tree fell black in silhouette against the distant sky.So far, only Flick can see it.How to understand what the shepherd said just now?Since this is related to a rumor in the castle, the author will choose an appropriate time to explain it. "Yes!" he babbled repeatedly, "there are only three branches left... yesterday there were still four, and another one fell off last night... only the trunk is left... I counted, and there are only three branches It's... the castle, it's only been three years... only three years!"

When people idealize the shepherd, it is often easy to imagine him as a contemplative figure: he converses with the sun, moon and stars; he comprehends the will of God.But in fact he is just an ignorant fool.But the public's superstitious psychology endowed him with supernatural abilities.He is proficient in witchcraft, and he can pray for people or bring disasters on people and animals at will-it is equally easy for him.He sold harmless powders, and people bought aphrodisiacs and prescriptions from him.Will he one day throw spellbound stones into the fields and kill the crops, squint the ewes with his left eye and make them die?This kind of superstition exists in any age and any region. Even in a more civilized village, people have to greet a shepherd when they pass by and call him "Buster" because he is very concerned about it. of.Seeing the shepherd take off his hat to salute him, it is said that it can ward off disasters and avoid disasters.Especially in Transylvania, compared with other places, it is as good as it is.

Flick is regarded as a wizard, and people say that he has the ability to summon gods and ghosts.Some people say that the vampires are obedient to him, and some people say that they have seen him riding on the gate of the mill on dark and stormy nights, whispering to wolves, or thinking about the stars. Frick let people comment and ignored it because it was in his interest.He could sell both aphrodisiacs and antidotes.But it is worth noting that he himself was as superstitious as the man he had fooled, and though he did not believe in his own tricks, he believed in the local legends prevailing. No one should be surprised, therefore, that he predicted the impending collapse of the castle on the basis of only three remaining branches on the beech, and was eager to make a public announcement in the village of Welster. Frick blew the white wood longhorn vigorously, gathered the sheep, and set foot on the path back home.The shepherd-dogs followed with the flock of sheep--two half-curly mongrels, irascible and fierce.They don't seem to be guarding the flock, but they seem to want to devour a few greedily.There are about 100 ewes and rams in this flock, of which 12 are the milk lambs of that year, and the rest are three or four years old, that is, lambs with four to six baby teeth. The owner of the flock is Kurz, the judge and head of the village of Welster.He paid the village a large grazing tax.He appreciates his shepherd Frick very much, because he knows that Frick is an expert at shearing sheep, and at the same time he can cure many difficult and strange diseases in the flock. A flock of sheep is stumbling forward, the head sheep is at the head of the team, and the ewes are next to it.Along the way, the sound of bleating, mixed with the jingling of neck bells, could be heard endlessly. Walking out of the ranch, Frick picked a wide trail, with vast fields on both sides of the road.High-stalked wheat is planted here, with long, slender ears and rolling waves; on the other side of the road, local corn, "kuuluz", is planted.At the end of the road is a forest of pine and maple trees. The air in the forest is refreshing, and the tall trees block out the sun, making it dark.Further down is the rolling Hill River. The surface of the river is sparkling, and the gravel at the bottom of the river is clear. On the surface of the water are floating wood chips from the upstream sawmill. The hounds and sheep stopped on the right bank of the river, brushed aside the tangled reeds, put their mouths into the water along the bank, and drank greedily. The village of Welster lay three shots away, and beyond that lay a thick willow grove.There are tall trees growing in the woods, not groves only a few feet high.This willow grove extends to the slopes of the Vulcan Pass.Fuerkang Village, which has the same name as the mountain pass, is located on a prominent place on the south slope of Pleza Mountain. At this time, the road was deserted.Generally, farmers don’t return home until night falls, so Flick didn’t meet anyone to greet him along the way.After the sheep had finished drinking, Flick led them and was about to turn into a winding col, when he saw a person appearing at the bend fifty steps away from the lower reaches of the Hill River. "Hi, friend!" the man greeted the shepherd. This is a peddler who runs around the country fair.This kind of people can be met in cities and small towns, and even remote mountain villages cannot do without their traces.It is easy for them to be understood: they can speak all languages.Was the salesman Italian, Saxon, or Wallachian?no one knows.He was actually a Jew, a Polish Jew, tall and thin, with a hooked nose, a goatee beard, a high forehead and piercing eyes. This peddler sold telescopes, thermometers, barometers, and all manner of small clocks.There are too many things to pack into the shoulders, and they are tied with strong straps in tight, bulging bags, and some have to be hung around the neck and tied to the belt.What a stall, a mobile grocery store. Perhaps out of respect for the shepherd, or perhaps out of precaution, he raised his hand to greet Frick, and then spoke Romanian, a mixture of Latin and Slavic, and said with a foreign accent: "Is everything all right, my friend?" "It's okay...it depends on the weather." Flick replied. "Then you must be doing well today, because the weather is fine." "If it rains tomorrow, I'm in trouble." "Will it rain tomorrow?" the peddler called out, "Can it rain even if there are no clouds in your place?" "There will be clouds tonight... over there... over the mountains." "How do you know?" "Look at the sheep's wool. It's dry and hard, like tanned leather." "It's unlucky for those who are on the road..." "It's not bad for people who stay at home." "Got to have a home, Buster." "Do you have kids?" Frick asked. "No." "Are you married?" "No." Flick asked this, completely out of local habits.When the two met for the first time, they just talked about these topics. He asked again: "Where are you from, Brother Shopkeeper?" "Elzstadt." Elzstadt is a major town in Transylvania.Out of the town, you can see the valley of the Hill River flowing into Hungary, and you can reach the town of Petchany down the river. "where did you go?" "To Crosswall." You only need to go upstream along the Maros River to Crosswall, and then along the slopes of the Bihar Mountains, pass through Kaltsburg, and you will arrive at the seat of the county government.This section of road is at most 20 kilometers. To be honest, these merchants selling thermometers, barometers, and old clocks always seem quaint, reminiscent of a character in a Hoffman novel, which cannot be separated from their profession.They sold clocks to tell the time, thermometers to tell the weather, weather and time anyway, just as other peddlers always sell baskets and knitted goods and cotton cloth and so on.People often jokingly refer to them as Saturn traveling salesmen who are marked by "Golden Hourglass".Frick probably had this impression of the Jew.He stared at the stalls in front of him in amazement, full of curiosity, and really didn't understand the use of those things. "Oh, peddler," he asked, stretching out his arms, "what's that thing on your belt that jingles like a hangman?" "It's a valuable thing," replied the peddler, "and it will be useful to everyone." "Everyone can use it," Flick blinked and exclaimed in surprise, "is it also useful for shepherds?" "Yes, it is also useful for shepherds." "What about that?" "This," said the Jew, fiddling with a thermometer, "will tell you whether it's hot or cold today." "Ah! My friend, what's so difficult about it! I'm sweating in a short-sleeved jacket, and I'm shivering in the cold in a thick coat. It's obvious." Obviously, this bit of common sense is enough for a shepherd, he doesn't care what is scientific or not. "What's that big shit with a pointer on it for?" he asked, pointing to the aneroid barometer. "This is not a piece of shit, this is an instrument that can tell you whether it will be sunny or rainy tomorrow..." "real?……" "real." "Hey!" Frick retorted, "I wouldn't mind selling a Crozier for this thing. Just by looking at the clouds hovering over the mountainside or rolling over the top, don't I know what the weather will be the next day?" ? Hey, do you see that there is a thick fog in front of you, as if gushing out of the ground?... Let me tell you, it will rain tomorrow." Shepherd Frick is indeed a good weather observer, and has no need for a barometer at all. "I haven't asked you if you want just a clock?" the peddler asked again. "A clock? . . . I have an automatic one running overhead. That's the sun in the sky. You see, my friend, when the sun hits the top of Roduk, it's noon, and when it hits At Ergert Pass, it was six o'clock in the afternoon. My sheep and my hounds know everything about it. Keep the rags for yourself." "Oh," the peddler said unconvinced, "if my buyers were all shepherds like you, it would be hard for me to make money! Then, you don't want anything?..." "Do not need anything." What's more, isn't the common saying that "since ancient times there are no good products that are cheap".The barometer was inaccurate, and the clock was going either fast or slow, and the shepherd probably knew this long ago, so he didn't want to be fooled at all.When he was about to pick up the shepherd's sticks and was about to leave, he bumped into a pipe hanging from the peddler's harness. He asked curiously: "What are you using this tube for?" "It's not a pipe." "Is that a gun?" The shepherd was referring to an old-fashioned pistol with a large muzzle. "No," replied the Jew, "it's a telescope." This is an ordinary monocular, which can magnify the object by five or six times, and can also shorten the distance by the same multiple, and the effect is very good. Frick took off the telescope, watched, touched, and fiddled with it over and over again, pulling the sleeve out for a while, and retracting it for a while. He shook his head and asked: "telescope?" "Yes, Shepherd, this is a fine piece. You can see far with it." "Oh, my friend, I have very good eyesight. On a clear day I can see the furthest rocks on the top of the Rediezato, and the furthest trees in the depths of the Vulcan Pass." "Not even blinking?" "Yes, I don't even blink. It is the dew that makes my eyesight so good. At night, I often sleep under the beautiful starry sky. The dew nourishes my eyes and washes them bright." "What... dew?" The peddler was puzzled, "It only blinds people's eyes." "Not to the shepherds." "Even so! But no matter how good your eyesight is, you can't see as far as I put my eyes in front of the telescope." "Not necessarily." "You might as well take a closer look..." "I?……" "Try." "It doesn't cost money?" asked Frick, who was suspicious by nature. "Not one...unless you buy it." With this reassurance, Frick picked up the binoculars that the peddler had adjusted.He closed his left eye and placed the eyepiece over his right eye. He looked down the Pouzalay Mountain towards the Vulkan Pass.Then he lowered the camera and looked towards the village of Welster. "Uh! Uh!" he exclaimed in amazement. "Really...it can see farther than my eyes...look there's the street...I recognize the people...hey, that's Nick the Ranger Deckard, just came back from patrol, with a backpack on his back and a gun on his shoulder..." "Didn't I tell you earlier!" The vendor reminded him. "Yes... yes... that's Nick!" the shepherd said again. "Who is the girl who came out of Judge Kurtz's house? She is wearing a red skirt and a black jacket, and she seems to be picking him up?" "Look well, shepherd, if you recognize the boy, you can recognize the girl "Oh! By the way! . . . it's Milyuda... pretty Milyuda! . . . Ah! . . . a pair of lovers . . . lovers! . . . Facing them, their every move cannot escape my eyes!" "What do you think of my telescope?" "Oh! Oh! . . . how far it can see!" Frick had never seen such a thing as a telescope before, and it was clear from this that the village of Welster was the most backward village in Clausenburg County.You will soon understand this. "Well, Buster," said the peddler again, "take a look... look further than the village of Wells... the village is too close... look there, look there, listen to me! ..." "Still not taking money?" "Of course not." "Okay! . . . Then I'll look at the Hil River in Hungary! . . . I see it, that's the bell tower of the Rivager Church . . . I see the cross with its arms missing . . . In the middle of the woods, I saw the bell tower of the Petchani Church. Its white iron rooster was opening its mouth, as if calling its cock wife... There is a tower in the woods... It must be the back Triata... But, I thought, Brother Shopkeeper, let's just wait a little longer..." "One price, Shepherd." Frick's gaze turned to the Orgal Heights; then, it moved to the dark forest curtain on the top of Pozale Mountain, and finally the outline of the ancient castle in the distance appeared on the camera. "Yes!" he exclaimed, "the fourth branch has fallen... I read that right!... No one will pick it up to light St. John's fire... No, no one will... ...Nor would I!...It's a risk of body and soul...but you don't have to worry about it!...somebody's going to throw it in the furnaces of hell tonight...that's Schort!" The Schort mentioned by the people here is synonymous with the devil. To someone who was neither from the village of Welster nor lived in the surrounding area, this string of conversations was inexplicable and incomprehensible.The Jew was probably about to ask for clarification, when Frick just yelled, his tone of astonishment was full of terror: "Steam coming out of the castle tower! . . . Is it fog? . . . No! . . . It could be smoke . . . How could it be! . . . The chimneys of the castle haven't smoked for years!" "Brother Buster, you see the smoke coming up over there. It must be the fog rising." "No... Brother shopkeeper, no! It may be that the glass on the mirror is blurred." "Wipe." "If it's still like this after wiping..." Frick adjusted the binoculars, wiped the glass with his sleeve, and put it back in front of his eyes. The smoke that floated from the roof of Peilou was indeed smoke.Pillars of smoke slowly rose into the sky, intertwining with the clouds and mist in the sky. Frick was motionless and speechless.He stared at the castle intently, and the smoke rose slowly, hovering over the Algal Heights. Suddenly, he put down the binoculars and reached into the bag that hung under his coat: "How much do you sell your pipe for?" he asked. "A florin and a half," answered the peddler. He was ready to drop the price to one florin if Flick made a counter-offer.However, the shepherd did not hesitate at all.Evidently he was still in a state of sudden, indescribable consternation.He reached into his bag and pulled out the money. "Did you buy it for yourself?" the peddler asked him. "No...it's for my master, Judge Coltz." "So he will pay you back..." "Of course . . . I must have two florins . . . " "What...two florins?..." "Oh! probably! . . . Well, good-bye, my friend." "Goodbye, Buster." Flick whistled to call back the hounds, drove the sheep, and hurried to the village of Weierst. The Jew watched him walk away and shook his head, thinking he was dealing with a madman: "If I had known," he murmured, "I would have raised the price even higher!" He packed up the goods on his belt and shoulders, walked down the right bank of the Hill River, and continued on his way in the direction of Katzburg. Where is he going?It doesn't matter.He is but a passing visitor in this story.You will never see him again.