At his approach the bird flew up into the clear,
empty sky, towards the east, emitting a low, deep, unforgettable cry
that echoed dolefully over the fragrant fields.
From the hill and tumulus could be seen a vast panorama of meadows,
thickets, villages, and white steeples of churches. A golden sun rose
and swung slowly above the hill, gilding the horizon, the clouds,
hill-ridges, and the tumulus; steeping them in wave upon wave of
shimmering yellow light.
Below, in wisps and long slender ribbons, a rosy mist crept over the
fields; it covered everything with the softest of warmly tinted
light. There was a morning frost, and thin sheets of ice crackled in
the dykes. An invigorating breeze stirred gently, as if but half-
awakened, and tenderly ruffled fronds of bracken, sliding softly
upward from moss and roots, tremulously caressing the sweet-smelling
grass, to sweep grandly over the hill-crest in ripples and eddies,
increasing in volume as it sped.
The earth was throbbing: it panted like a thirsty wood-spirit. Cranes
sent their weird, mournful cries echoing over the undulating plains
and valleys; birds of passage were a-wing. It was the advent of
teeming, tumultuous, perennial spring.
Bells tolled mournfully over the fragrant earth. Typhus, famine,
death spread like a poisonous vapour through the villages, through
the peasants' tiny cabins.
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