French fiction -- Translations into English; Short stories, French -- Translations into English
During the season there are almost daily exchanges of shot. Often a man
is killed, which means jail, penitentiary, scaffold. All for a miserable
rabbit! Remnants of the feudalism of birth which the effort of
revolutions has merely replaced by the feudalism of money.
The worst of it is that gamekeepers and poachers, mutually exasperated,
cling to their quarrel, and that a taste for brigandage develops in men
diverted from the unremunerative tilling of the soil by the daily
temptation of booty. Deal as harshly as you may with the poacher, you
will not succeed in discouraging him. Has anything ever cured a devotee
of roulette? And to the excitement of gambling, in this case, is added
the attraction of danger. There is no cure for it. The question of
increasing the penalty for poaching often comes up. There will be long
discussion before anything is ever done. The discrepancy would be too
great between the misdeed and the punishment. And the matter of
elections enters into it. No one is anxious to make too violent enemies
among the citizen electors.
Entirely different is the question of poaching in the happy
regions--there are not many left in France--where preserved hunting is
still at the rhetorical stage. There the poacher is merely a hunter
without a permit, and as no such thing exists as a peasant whom a hare
has never tempted to use his gun, and as a natural understanding unites
all those who are compelled to pay taxes against the State which
represents taxation and statute labour, never will you find a field
labourer ready to admit that a shot, in order to be lawful, needs the
seal of a tax gatherer.
The poacher on free territory, therefore, does not hide as does the
poacher on preserved lands. He plays a sort of tag with the rural guard,
who is by no means eager to meet him, and with the occasional
_gendarmes_, whose cocked hats and baldricks make them conspicuous from
afar. Following along hedges, looking for burrows, keeping his eyes
steadfastly on the ground, he scents out the wild creatures and knows
the art of capturing them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account