Under such unfavourable circumstances Anselm Eibenschütz took up his new post in the Zlotogrod District. He arrived in spring, on one of the last days of March. In the Bosnian barracks of artilleryman Eibenschütz the squirrels had already begun to glow softly, and so had the laburnum; the blackbirds were already fluting on the lawn, the larks already trilling in the air. When Eibenschütz arrived in northern Zlotogrod the thick white snow still lay in the streets and sharp, pitiless icicles hung from the eaves. For the first few days Eibenschütz went about like one who has suddenly been struck deaf. True, he understood the language of the country, but what mattered was to understand not so much what the people said as what the land itself uttered. And the land spoke a terrifying language: it spoke of snow, darkness, cold and icicles, even though the calendar said it was spring and the violets in the woods of the Bosnian garrison at Sipolje had long since been in bloom. But here in Zlotogrod the crows cawed in the bare pastures and in the chestnut trees. They hung on the bare stripped branches in clusters, not like birds at all but like a kind of winged fruit. The little river – it was called the Struminka – still slept under a heavy sheet of ice and the children skated merrily over it, and their merriment made the poor Inspector feel even more melancholy.

Suddenly, in the night, when midnight had not yet struck from the church tower, Eibenschütz heard a great cracking as the icy sheet split open. Although, as stated, it was the middle of the night, all at once the icicles on the eaves began to melt and the drops fell hard onto the wooden pavement. A soft sweet wind from the south, a nocturnal brother of the sun, had induced them to melt. Windows opened in every cottage, people appeared at the windows, many even left their houses. In a bright blue shining sky stood the gold and silver stars – cold, eternal, brilliant, as if, from above, they too were listening to the cracking and rumbling. Many of the inhabitants dressed hurriedly, as one does when a fire breaks out, and made for the river. With storm lanterns and lamps they stationed themselves on the banks and watched as the ice burst and the river awoke from its winter sleep. Some, like playful children, hopped on to one of the large drifting floes, floated rapidly downstream and, lantern in hand, signalled with it to those remaining on the bank before, eventually, alighting on the bank again. All behaved exuberantly and foolishly. For the first time since his arrival the Inspector began to talk with various inhabitants of the little town. They asked the Inspector whence he came and what he intended to do there. He replied, friendly and contented.