A Little Treasure

I went to a yard sale today and bought a little antique book with gilded pages from 1929. I paid ten cents. It is full of beautiful things like this:

41. The Sparrow, by Ivan Sergiewich Turgenev, Russian novelist, 1818-1883

I was returning from hunting and walking along an avenue of the garden, my dog running in front of me.

Suddenly he took shorter steps, and began to steal along as though tracking game.

I looked along the avenue and saw a young sparrow, with yellow about its beak and down on its head. It had fallen out of the nest (the wind was violently shaking the birch trees in the avenue) and sat unable to move, helplessly flapping its half-grown wings.

My dog was slowly approaching it, when, suddenly darting down from a tree close by, an old dark-throated sparrow fell like a stone right before his nose, and all ruffled up, terrified, with despairing and pitiful cheeps, it flung itself twice towards the open jaws of shining teeth.

It sprang to save; it cast itself before its nestling, but all its tiny body was shaking with terror; its note was harsh and strange. Swooning with fear, it offered itself up!

What a huge monster must the dog have seemed to it! And yet it could not stay on its high branch out of danger. A force stronger than its will flung it down.

My Tresor stood still, drew back. Clearly he too recognized this force.

I hastened to call off the disconcerted dog, and went away, full of reverence.

Love, I thought, is stronger than death or the fear of death. Only by it, by love, life holds together and advances.

Dream Tales and Prose Poems
Trans. Constance Garnett