with climbing roots; while on the summit stood shaggy fir-trees
bent over, as though looking down in terror and curiosity. A minute
later there were shrieks and laughter again: they had to drive under
a huge overhanging rock.

"I don't know why the devil I'm coming with you," said Laevsky.
"How stupid and vulgar it is! I want to go to the North, to run
away, to escape; but here I am, for some reason, going to this
stupid picnic."

"But look, what a view!" said Samoylenko as the horses turned to
the left, and the valley of the Yellow River came into sight and
the stream itself gleamed in the sunlight, yellow, turbid, frantic.

"I see nothing fine in that, Sasha," answered Laevsky. "To be in
continual ecstasies over nature shows poverty of imagination. In
comparison with what my imagination can give me, all these streams
and rocks are trash, and nothing else."

The carriages now were by the banks of the stream. The high mountain
banks gradually grew closer, the valley shrank together and ended
in a gorge; the rocky mountain round which they were driving had
been piled together by nature out of huge rocks, pressing upon each
other with such terrible weight, that Samoylenko could not help
gasping every time he looked at them. The dark and beautiful mountain
was cleft in places by narrow fissures and gorges from which came
a breath of dewy moisture and mystery; through the gorges could be
seen other mountains, brown, pink, lilac, smoky, or bathed in vivid
sunlight. From time to time as they passed a gorge they caught the
sound of water falling from the heights and splashing on the stones.