Summary of “Notes of a Hunter: Forest and Steppe” by Turgenev
“Hunting with a gun and a dog is beautiful in itself,” says the author of Zapiski, whose love of nature and freedom is fully transmitted to the reader, and talented, authentic pictures purify and inspire the soul.
Here the reader, along with the hunter, leaves in the spring until dawn.
“You go out on the porch… In the dark gray sky, where the stars are blinking, a wet breeze occasionally runs in a light wave, a restrained, uncertain whisper of the night is heard, the trees faintly rustle, shrouded…
And the summer morning in July. The sun is getting higher and higher. The grass dries quickly. It’s already getting hot. An hour passes, another… The sky darkens around the edges; The still air puffs up in the throaty heat… “
And here is the summer July evening. The sun sets, the air near is somehow particularly transparent, like glass, in the distance lies a soft steam, warm in appearance, along with the dew
And then you want to lay running droshky and go to the forest for grouse. It’s fun to make your way along a narrow path, between two walls of high rye. Ears gently beat you on the face, cornflowers cling to their feet, the quail screams around, the horse runs in a lazy trot. Here is the forest. Shadow and silence… An inexplicable silence sinks into the soul; and all around so drowsy and quiet. But now the wind has come running, and the tops
And how the same forest is good in late autumn, when woodcocks arrive! They do not keep themselves in the wilderness; they must be sought along the edge. Winds of movement; no noise; in the soft air the autumn smell is similar, like the smell of wine; a thin fog stands in the distance above the yellow fields… You walk along the edge of the forest, you look at the dog, and meanwhile your favorite images, beloved faces, dead and alive, come to mind, the long-fallen asleep impressions suddenly wake up… All life unfolds easily and fast, like a scroll; All his past, all the senses, forces, his whole soul is owned by man. And nothing around him does not interfere – there is no sun, no wind, no noise “… (All this is only excerpts, only a short, preliminary acquaintance with the amazing text…).
“And the autumn, clear, slightly cold, morning frosty day, when the birch, like a fairy tree, all golden, beautifully drawn in a pale blue sky, when the low sun does not warm, but shines brighter than summer, a small aspen grove all sparkles right through, as if it is cheerful and easy to stand naked, the frost still whitens at the bottom of the valleys, and a fresh breeze quietly stirs and drives fallen fallen leaves…
Summer foggy days are also good, although hunters do not like them. On such days you can not shoot: the bird, fleeing from under your feet, immediately disappears in the whitish haze of a still fog… Above you, around you – everywhere fog… But here the wind will move slightly – a patch of pale blue sky vaguely will come out through the thin, golden smoke, bursting like a smoke, suddenly bursts into a long stream, strikes the fields, rests against a grove, and again everything is shrouded.
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