tories working together cast
over the valley a continuous veil of cloud and smoke, through which
even the beams of the sun look brown and dingy.

From the foundry flows a rusty-red stream, and out of the coal-mine
another, which is as black as ink. In the valley both these streams
unite and continue their course together. For a little the rusty-red
tries to get the better of the inky-black, but it has to give up, and
the black rivulet flows on triumphantly through the black meadow
lands.

It is a most depressing landscape, and it is saddening to reflect that
in such a place men have grown from childhood to middle age, from
middle age to old age, and have never seen the green fields or the
blue sky of God's heaven.

But Ivan Behrend, when he ascended from the pit into the open air,
found little contrast between the upper and the under ground. Below,
there was the stifling smell of gas; above, a suffocating fog: below,
the black vault of the mine; above, the murky vault of the heavens:
and the same men above and below.

It was then evening; the sun had gone down, and for the moment even
the vile smoke could not rob it of its setting glory. The towers of
the distant castle of Bondavara were touched with its gleam, and the
chimneys of the distilling-houses were aglow with this crimson light.
The miners were standing about idly; the women and the girls, who are
employed in shoving the wheelbarrows, sat gossiping together, as is
the manner of the sex. One of them, a young girl, began to sing--a
simple little song, with simple words. It was a Slav volkslied--a sort
of romance. A mother is taking leave of her daughter, a bride of a few
hours; she recalls to the girl her childish days and her mother's care
in these words:

"Wenn ich das Haar dir strich,
Zerr' ich am Haare dich?
Wenn ich dich wusch, mein Kind,
War ich je ungelind?"

The melody was touching, with the sad strain that all the Slav music
has, as if composed with tears; and the voice of the one who sang was
musical and full of feeling. Ivan stopped to listen to the song until
the singer and her companions disappeared behind the houses.

At this moment it seemed to him that there was a great difference
between life underground and life in the open.

The song still sounded in the distance; the clouds had passed over and
extinguished the light of the setting sun, enveloping the landscape in
total darkness. No star, no white house; only the