Connecticut western news., 1895-06-27
THEFALCON'S FLIGHT

THEFALCON'SFLIGHT
 It was & cold, desolate winter, and was making an official tour in the so- ciety of the district intendent We were driving to the remotest corner of Sibe- ria, about 900 versts in straight line on the ice of the river, over . thick layer of snow, the rocky formation of the shores on both sides glowering down upon us dark and savage in their arotio splendor. There was nothing worth looking at beyond this The monotony of the trip served to bring the virtues of my companion into strong relief. He was an old man, tall, with large, strong face, from which nose of solid formation protruded; hair cut short and a gray, close cropped beard, but despite his rough exterior one of the best na- tured of men. He was a bachelor, iv- ing all by himself, who had grown gray in the service and accepted. lapowki tperquisites) from no matter whom or for what purpose, and had thus gained the esteem and friendship of all who came into contact with him. His three weak nesses were to kill bears, to sing songs and to talk about Siberia, the latter with passionate fondness Like most of the officials there he was . sealous pa triot, and whenever he discoursed upon Siberia andp its charms he was apt to lapse into poetry. To offset this he be- Titled Russia. Although he had never been on the other side of Urals, he in- sisted that the people there were noth- ing but a mixture of Tartars and immi- grants, devoted to the industry of steal ing handkerchiefs and purses.
 twitted him that Siberia was only an imitation of Russia; that it had never produced Q song of its own; that its father and schoolmaster were the penal colonists. That aroused him, es- pecially the reflection regarding it's dearth of song music. and to disprove it he sang in no unpleasant manner, in his hoarse, ago enfeebled basso. sundry old Russian airs with the zealous assurance that they were the purest of Siberian.
 By the way" he suddenly declared, "I'll tell you 8 story-an actual occur rence-that will show you the sort of songs we sing. '"
 And he began thus:
 "It was in the days of my youth, aft or had taken service in my country be- hind the Baikal was presiding not far from the Kara region, knew near ly every convict by sight, and the affair happened almost under my very nose
 "There was life convict. 1 forget now what he had done, but of course it was no small affair. He had red hair, with a sprinkling of gray in his beard; big and bony, with large, disagreeable eyes. He walked with slight stoop, seeming to be thinking to himself; was very serious in his demeanor and lived apart from the rest. He was never mixed up in anything, either with the officials or tho convicts. Six years he had lived on the Kara and should really soon have gone over to the trusted. Many wondered why he had not escaped in the many years
 "Well, he had Q voicel have heard not a few excellent voices and myself sang not badly in my younger days, but this was something superior. People there love songs, and good singers soon come together, but when Wasi Semio- nitsch began to sing everything became so still that yeu could hear fly. Crowd ed in the door stood overseers. soldiers and conviots, listening to his favorite song. My Little Falcon Flies.
 "Hesang rarely. They would gather around him in vain, for people there are fond of the convict and vagabond airs. But one evening he sang of his own incentive, and all came running and surrounded him in silence, as if he had cast 8 spell upon them. He sang a prison song. long and sad. l cannot exactly describe his voice to you-half like powerful baritone, half tenor of unusual range and purity. Ifelt riveted to the spot, listening with breathlees in- terest. It seemed SO tender and simple, and yet it seemed to penetrate the heart like knife Then suddenly his voice burst forth like the roll of thunder and made one tremble. You would bow as l though some subtle power were bending you to earth, and then all would sound soft and plaintive, and you breathed | again. Even the commandant stood there with lowered head, apparently in | Q pensive mood.
 "One day they brought in Q new con- | vict He was an ugly fellow, not worth a puff of powder, weak. sickly, like a half grown child. He had beaten bis | wife to death. or his mi stress, or some thing of the sort. He used to laugh much and showed the prisoners various tricks, like a clown. The convicts liked him because he was good natured, tract | able and awkward, but specially be- cause he knew great many songs. His | voice was not remarkable-weak and tremulous, but ineffably sad and tender. | "Well, Wasi1 Semionitsoh formed an attachment to this man and he be. came his accompanist in singing, and they soon harmonized. The first would thunder away and the other would join in very tenderly, asif you heard some one weeping softly. If one ceased, the ] other would catch the last note, and then you would hear a powerful duet.
 "And so it went on until spring came, and the Tajga awoke and became lively. But one must know what the Tajga ii in springl
 "Well, it was spring. spring morn
 Ing, warm and bright. The snow hat
 not quite melted, but in the valleys th'
 grass was growing.
 "Very early the oonviots were led ou
 to work, as they are always led by th
 elder and the soldiers who encirclet
 them with their guns like a chain.
 ''Then Wasil Semionitsch struck u]
 his favorite song. My Little Falcol
 Flies, but he soon broke of. All ha,
 begun to prick up their ears
 .'And now they began to plead. Sing
 singp The elder himself Approaches