Vlas Mikhaĭlovich Doroshevich

“ The farther we go into the forest the stronger is this scent, the oftener do we meet the fires.
And it seems as if we are not in the forest at all—but as if a kind of illuminated endless town were stretching itself out upon the road.
We stop the car—the forest is full of rustlings and noises.
Human sounds are heard—here and there an axe resounds, bonfires crackle. ”

“ A whole sea of bonfires.
It is damp. The smoke settles downward.
It is impossible to breathe along the road for the smoke.
It stops the breathing, makes the eyes smart.
The lights of the relief cars cannot penetrate this thick smoke.
And all around in the smoke are crimson fires.
Showers of sparks fly about in the sky.
This great glare is the necessary outcome of all these camp-fires.
Possibly only in the times of the Tartar invasion were there such pictures.
All around in the forest is the unceasing chatter of some gigantic crowd. ”

“ For the children nothing is made.
And the refugees' children die like flies.
—They lie with their stomachs to the fire, and their backs are as cold as ice. They turn their backs to the fire and their stomachs freeze. ”