Burlington weekly free press. [volume] (Burlington, Vt.) 1866-1928, 1883-11-02
THE QfltiI.
Turgcncr's Last story,
New York Tribune translation. |

The last sketch written by Turgcnefs
pen before it dropped from his hand for.
ever is given below. 1t is remembrance
of his childhood, tender, simple and
touching:
L was about ten years Of age when what
am about to relate occurred.
1t was summer time. In those DAYS |
lived with my father on farm in south-
ern Russia. Around us for n distance of
many versts the steppc extended in every
direction. No forest, no stream could be
found in the neighboring country only
shallow ravines, covered by brushwood
and looking like immense green snakes,
hcIc and there made their way through
the otherwise unbroken surface of the
plains. Tiny rivulets flowed at the bot
tom of these ravines; in places to which
well-beatcn foot-paths generally led you
could sec, very near the top of the bank,
small aprinSsoe limpid water, like tears,
issue from the ground, and on their edges
in the damp clay the tracks of number
less birds and other small animals. Man
and beast alike need fresh, pure water.
My father was passionately fond of
hunting. Every moment that he could
spare from his work-providcdt the wealth
CT was iine-would see him take down his
rifle, strap his pouch about his waist,
whistle for his old dog Trcsor, and start
to hunt quail or partridge. Hare he
thought little of fit only, he would say,
with an air of contempt, to make hun
ter run. These, and snipes which came
i'll the autumn, were all tho game found
i'll the ncighborhood.
But quails and partridgCs were quite
numerous especially the latter. In fol-
lowing the banks of the ravincs YOU would
encounter at every step little hollows in
the dry ground where they love to squat.
Old Trcsor would then come to n sudden
stop, his tail waG ging furiously, and his
forehead gathering in wrinkles, while my
father, pale with excitement would eau
tiously raise the hammer of lis gun.
At times, to my great joy, l would be
permitted to accompany him. l used to
tuck the legs of my trousers into the tops
OF my boots, hang my little flask over nv
shoulders and, so equipped, would .imag.
Inc myself true sportsman. Thougl,
perspiration might cover me from head Ia
foot, and gravel and dust enter nv shoes.
never felt the least fatigued, and never
in single instance allowed myself to
drop behind. AT each report of the gun.
and as soon as the bird fell | bounded
forward with n joyous shout felt 80
happy! The wounded quail might strug-
Gle, flap its wings, sometimes ON the
ground Mt other times in Tresor's mouth.
its blood fowl only became enthusiasts
tic never felt the least sentiment of
pity
What wouldn't have given to be able
to lire gun myself to kill quail and par.
tridgcs with my own hand But my
father had repeatedly explained to me that
was not to have gun until had reach
ed the age of twelve, and that then l was
to have single-barrellod gun, and that |
would be allowed to shoot larks only.
Large numbers of these were found near
our house /; on sunny days yon could see
them by the dozens in the clear sky
mounting higher, ever higher, with chirps
resembling the tinklirg Of little bells.
looked upon them as my future spoil.
and aimed at them with n stick which [
carried over my shoulder like gun. II
IS very easy to get close to them, when
they hover with quiyering wings perhaps
five or six feet above the ground, before
suddenly plunging into the grass.
Sometimes in the distance, on stubble
ilelds or the green prairie, bustards could
be seen. "Ah /" volld sigh "to kill
big bird like that, and then die |"
pointed the n out to my father with
my finger, but he world Invariably an
swer that the bustard was very shy bird,
winch would not permit anybody to get
near 1t. Once, however, he attempted to
steal upon solitary bustard, thinking
That 1t had been wounded perhaps, and
was tagging behind the rest Of the flock.
ne ordered Iresor to keep behind him,
and babe me not to stir. Charging his
gun with buckshot he turned to the dog
and exclaimed in low voice. "Back,
PACK. Then covering MS low as posi-.
pie he advanced cautiously upon the bus.
tard. Tresor would not couch down, but
assumed gait something like that of a
bandy-ie9gged person, wagging his tail
ana holding one of his lips between his
teeth: couldn't keep still any longer,
and followed my father and Tresor,
crawling carefully all the way. But the
1ustard wouldn't allow us to get within
three hundred yards; it started on run
i nrst, Then Tapping its wings flew away.
lresor mace bound forward and stared
az II. l., too, looked at it--with such a
disappointed heart Couldn't it have STAY
ed Just little longer We should GER
tainly have killed the bird
One day started with nv father IN m
hunting. 1t was on the eve of ST, Peters
Day. At that season of the wear the
young .partridges are still very small and
my father would not shoot any. He there |
fore entered patch of oak trees situated
on the edge of a rye field, where YOU
were always sure to find quail. As it was
rather difficult to cut tho grass in this
piece OF wood, it had been allowed to
grow freely and had attained a great
height. Myriads Of flowers, vetch, clio.
yer, harebell, mouse ear and sweet vii.