and stillness, only broken in September by the lowing of mating elks.
In December came the mournful, sinister howling of the wolves; for
the rest of the time--a deep, dreadful, overpowering silence! A
silence that can be found only in the wastelands of the world.

A village stood on the hill by the river.

The bare slope descended to the water's edge, a grey-brown granite,
and white slatey clay, steep, beaten by wind and rain. Clumsy
discoloured boats were anchored to the bank. The river was broad,
dark, and cold, its surface broken by sombre, choppy, bluish waves.
Here and there the grey silhouettes of huts were visible; their high,
projecting, boarded roofs were covered by greenish lichen. The
windows were shuttered. Nets dried close by. It was the abode of
hunters who went long excursions into the forests in winter, to fight
the wild beasts.

II

In the spring the rivers--now broad, free and mighty--overflowed
their banks. Heavy waves broke up the face of the waters, which sent
forth a deep, hoarse, subdued murmur, as restless and disquieting as
the season itself. The snow thawed. The pine-trees showed resinous
lights, and exhaled a strong, pungent odour.

In the day-time the sky was a broad expanse of blue; at dusk it had a
soft murky hue and a melancholy attraction. In the heart of the
woods, now that winter was over, the first deed of the beasts was
being accomplished--birth. Eider-ducks, swans, and geese were crying
noisily on the river.