II

YERMOLAI AND THE MILLER'S WIFE


One evening I went with the huntsman Yermolai 'stand-shooting.' ... But
perhaps all my readers may not know what 'stand-shooting' is. I will
tell you.

A quarter of an hour before sunset in spring-time you go out into the
woods with your gun, but without your dog. You seek out a spot for
yourself on the outskirts of the forest, take a look round, examine
your caps, and glance at your companion. A quarter of an hour passes;
the sun has set, but it is still light in the forest; the sky is clear
and transparent; the birds are chattering and twittering; the young
grass shines with the brilliance of emerald.... You wait. Gradually the
recesses of the forest grow dark; the blood-red glow of the evening sky
creeps slowly on to the roots and the trunks of the trees, and keeps
rising higher and higher, passes from the lower, still almost leafless
branches, to the motionless, slumbering tree-tops.... And now even the
topmost branches are darkened; the purple sky fades to dark-blue. The
forest fragrance grows stronger; there is a scent of warmth and damp
earth; the fluttering breeze dies away at your side. The birds go to
sleep--not all at once--but after their kinds; first the finches are
hushed, a few minutes later the warblers, and after them the yellow
buntings. In the forest it grows darker and darker. The trees melt
together into great masses of blackness; in the dark-blue sky the first