The lightning rushed past on the road and, blazing over the forests, lit up the wide night all around.  Overhead the sky was cut across:  in the east was a perfectly clear sky except at the horizon where the moon seemed to have left behind fiery vapours; in the west and overhead lay the dense black mass of the storm cloud.  The clouds came forward in regular array like an army.  Nothing could hold them back; they came on—­appallingly.  And the moon looked at the steady advance and her light gleamed upon the front ranks as if she were lighting them with many lanterns.

I had lain down to sleep quite sober-hearted, but now as the lightnings played around I began to feel as excited as if I were in a theatre—­my blood burned.  I had tired feet, but I forgot them.  I walked swiftly.  I felt ready to run, to dance.  Very strangely there was at the same time a presentiment that I might be struck by lightning.  But all Nature was madly excited with me and also shared my presentiment of destruction.  We lived together like the victim and the accomplices in a Dionysian sacrifice and orgy.

And the clouds kept on gaining!  Far away I heard the storm wind and the clamour of the sea.  The thunder moaned and sobbed.  I hurried along the deserted road and asked my heart for a village, a house, a church, a cave, anything to shield from the oncoming drench.

Spying a light far away on a hill, I left the road and plunged towards it.  I went over many maize-fields, by narrow paths through the tall waving grain, the lightning playing like firelight among the sheath-like leaves.  I crossed a wide tobacco plantation and approached the light on the hill, by a long, heavily-rutted cart-track.  This led right up to the doors of a farmhouse.  Big surly dogs came rushing out at me, but I clumped them off with my stick, and having much doubt in my mind as to the sort of reception I should get, I knocked at the windows and doors.  I expected to be met by a man with a gun, for the dogs had made such a rumpus that any one might have been alarmed.

The door was opened by a tall Russian peasant.

“May I spend the night here?” I asked.

The man smiled and put out his arms as if to embrace me.

“Yes, of course.  Why ask?  Come inside,” he replied.

“I thought of sleeping in the open air,” I added, “but the storm coming up I saw I should be drenched.”

“Why sleep outside when man is ready to receive you?” said the peasant.  “It is unkind to pass our houses by.  Why do you deny your brothers so?  You said you slept in the fields, eh?  That is bad.  You shouldn’t.  The earth here is full of evil, and the malaria comes up with the dampness.  Your bones grow brittle and break, or they go all soft, you shrivel up and become white, or swellings come out on you and you get bigger and bigger until you die.  No, no!  God be thanked you came to me.”

He asked me would I sleep in the house or on the maize straw.  His sons slept on the maize; it was covered, and so, sheltered from the rain.  I could sleep in the house if I liked, but it was more comfortable on the straw.  His three sons slept there, but as it was a festival they had not come home yet.