THE THUNDERSTORM.
THE NORTH SEA COAST.--AN EXQUISITE DAWN.--A MORNING WALK.--BY THE
SUMMER SEA.--LOST IN THE DUNES.--NO FOOD FOR SALE.--AN ORDINARY
BAKER.--THE BROKEN SIESTA.--WOU JE ETEN?--BETAALD ZETTEN.--YOU DON'T
QUITE FOLLOW.--REPARTEE UNDER DIFFICULTIES.
I must tell you about that great walk we took from Leyden to Haarlem.
That was just after Terence came back from Germany, wearied with waiting
till his learned Dad would cease pottering about the museums in Bonn.
He wrote to van Leeuwen in Arnhem; and urged that youth use his
influence with the University Librarian to let Dr. MacNamara see the
Irish manuscripts he was so keen upon. Then, if you please, my brave
Terence thought his duties were over, as far as helping his father was
concerned. Taking the next train for the Hague he turned up unexpectedly
at my lodgings.
That was at six in the morning, and he banged at my bedroom door till
I was awake.
"I'm back," he said: "And I'm going to carry you off on that famous
bicycle tour of yours. Hurry up with all those papers and preparations
and things,--and I'll be round with my bike in no time!"
"Well!" I shouted through the closed door, "you may come as soon as ever
you like; but there'll be no bicycle tour to-day. I'm not nearly ready
yet. I've all the nouns from T to Z to learn yet; and it'll take me
another week. Catch me leaving this neighbourhood without those nouns!
No, my boy. But I'll take a tramp with you to the seaside, if you like."
He didn't wait for my explanations but pranced off grumbling, and I
didn't see him till noon. He was then quite willing to fall in with my
project of a long walk--first by the strand to Noordwijk, then inland
through the dunes, and so on to Haarlem.
We only got as far as Noordwijk that evening. After a heavy miserable
trudge by the shore, and mostly through loose sand, we were glad enough
to put up at Huis-ter-Duin for the night. The sunset, magnificent
though it was, could hardly banish the deep sleepiness that seized us.
Terence, who was in better training than I, sat up smoking a while, but
I heard him go off to his room before I fell over. All the music,
laughter, and talk about the place, never in the slightest degree
disturbed our slumber.
I slept like a log, and awoke early, with the sound of the sea in my
ears. It was a softly modulated, gentle murmur that seemed to call me;
and when I looked out, the view was superb. Deep blue, almost indigo in
hue, and calm as oil, the waves stood high on the sands. Every now and
then a long, knife-like billow would slowly rise up for half-a-mile or
so, poise itself for an instant, and then fall with a mighty flap, like
a wall of slate. Away out towards the horizon the ocean gleamed a
fairy-like blue and opal; but close at hand it had a deep, menacing
tint that took your breath away. And all the time those slatey ledges
of water kept languidly lifting themselves and suddenly dropping, as
if they were alive.
When I opened the window, a cool wind softly stole in--like some subtle
elixir. I looked at my watch. It was half past four. Fired with the
idea of having a tramp by that mysterious light, I went off and roused
Terence--happily without terrifying the other inmates of the hotel. He
was willing to make an early start if I could secure him enough
breakfast.
This required some diplomacy. Suddenly encountering a _knecht_ prowling
about and collecting boots, I tried to communicate our plans to him,
and gain his sympathy. No idiom, however, that I was acquainted with
was equal to this strain: so I had recourse to the language of gesture
and the display of coin. This at last induced him to bring us part of
his own modest breakfast--a chunk of black bread and a hard-boiled
egg--and to let us out by the front door.
He kept our bags, however, and a bankbiljet, to settle the rekening
provisionally, and as an evidence of good faith. It was a fussy business
getting him to agree even to this, and in consequence I quite forgot
about my dictionary and "walking-tour notes"--which were strapped up
in the bag.
Indeed, I didn't notice the neglect till we were far away from the
hotel. But there was no Dutch needed for a long time.
It was an exhilarating experience to go careering along by that weird,
threatening sea in the fresh morning air. The scent of herbs and
wild-flowers on the dunes greeted us when we took a turn inland: and
the colours of everything around us kept changing with incredible
swiftness.
At first we couldn't keep our eyes off the mirror-like expanse of
water. Its slate became steel-blue--the steel-blue deepened into purple
shading off into amethyst, while the sky and the air all about us grew
rosy, then saffron, then silver.
Over and across the rolling hills we trudged, our spirits rising every
instant. Why shouldn't we keep on till we got opposite Haarlem, then
strike off east, do that city, and return by rail? Why not indeed?
Huis-ter-Duin and its slippered knecht could settle the matter of the
rekening and the change, by post; and we should make a day of it!
So we climbed up and down along the edge of the grassy slopes, till the
tide retired from the sands a little. There we had a delightful hour,
along the firm damp shore. It grew sultry after a while; yet it was
only a quarter to eight. There would be more heat yet! Alternately we
tried the dunes and the beach--the beach and the dunes--but there was
no shelter from the sun; and the pleasant wind had died down. After an
other couple of hours' toil through the hot, loose sand we decided we
had enough of the coast for the day, and followed a kind of winding
path inland. This was a regular cart-track at first, and promised to
lead us to some thriving village where we could have a rest. But it
didn't. It twined round a score of scattered potatoe plots, and then
came to an abrupt and ignominious end against a wire fence, on the top
of a hill. No doubt we ought to have gone back and kept along the shore.
But we were too hungry to think of returning to the desolation we had
left. What we wanted was to see houses as soon as possible--houses
containing eatables and cool rooms and chairs. Besides, we were as yet
pretty confident of our geographical whereabouts; accordingly we pushed
on for Haarlem--as we thought.
Well, it was a great mistake! The map makes the dunes only a few miles
broad at most, yet we climbed up and down for hours, and couldn't get
clear of them.
Once we saw a fisherman at a distance and we yelled to him. He answered
"terug" very faintly, and waved both arms. We hurried to meet him, but
not a trace of him was to be found. Though the heat was intense, after
a while shimmery haze began to spread over the sky, and there came a
sudden change. It got dark and cold; and the storm that had been
threatening all day burst on us with fury. In two or three minutes we
were drenched. There was a marvellous display of sheet lightning so
curious and varied that for a while it diverted our attention from our
miserable plight, as we stumbled on over soaked hillocks and sand. We
had a good hour of this.
In a dismal grove of non-descript-shrubs, we at last stumbled upon a
trifling shelter, just as the rain was ceasing; and there we shivered
like aspens, till the truth dawned upon us that there was a faint sound
of human voices over the slope. "Hurrah!" we shouted. "Relief at
last--and a chance of something to eat!"
Stiff and dripping though we were, we positively bounded over the sand
hill.
Two or three small one-storied cottages came soon into view. Rushing
into the first--it looked like a shop, and had the words _garen en
band_ over the window--we demanded pointedly if we could get food. The
youngish woman who ambled slowly to and fro behind the counter, said
she had no coffee or bread for us, but we could get these things in
Haarlem. There was a good restaurant there.
"Geen ei?" I asked.
No; not even an egg for sale.
Very disappointed we retired, still dripping, and gloomier than ever;
but as we left the winkel I espied a group of schoolchildren, with
capes round their heads, dancing along merrily hand in hand. They were
evidently coming from school. Such bright blue eyes, such plump and
rosy cheeks suggested that food was plentiful wherever they lived.
There must be a butcher and a baker near, I concluded; and by a happy
inspiration I turned back to the depressing _garen en band_ shop, and
enquired where the local baker was to be found.
"Is er een baker hier?" I enquired politely of the lethargic juffrouw.
She woke up immediately. "Ja, zeker!" was the prompt reply. "Net
gisteren thuis gekomen!"
This was all right, of course. Why does he come home and go away, I
wondered. But, after all, that was a small matter. He was at home now.
A peripatetic baker, perhaps, might be some very special and clever
artist in pies and tarts and rich cake--and it was the humble, ordinary
baker that we were in search of. I stated this. "Geen banket baker is
noodig, juffrouw!" I explained. "Een gewonen baker bedoel ik--een
gewonen alledaagschen baker. Bestaat er een hier?"
She had meantime summoned two young men from a sort of den behind the
shop, and now communicated my wishes to them with an interest and an
animation that I hadn't expected. They led us rapidly half a mile
across fields, and then up a little lane. The last few yards were done
in good record time, I should say.
This sympathetic promptitude we highly appreciated, as we felt now more
and more famished, the nearer we approached provisions. We reached the
baker's house breathless, and were ushered panting into a kind of
waiting room. At least you couldn't call it a shop exactly.
When the baker came into this apartment (by the way it was a woman,
that turned up--a portly and middle-aged woman) we noticed that she was
rather dishevelled, as if just awakened from a much needed siesta. I
was sorry, but not surprised. Bakers are often that way, you know. They
bake during the night, and sleep during the day. Thus they are rather
drowsy and cross, if you wake them up. She looked both. There was a
portentous frown upon her brow; and really, she seemed somewhat of the
virago type. That made me doubly polite.
"Duizendmaal vergiffenis, banketbaker!" I apologised with my best bow.
"Het spijt mij geweldig.--Maar zult gij zoo goed willen zijn--?"
"Ja ja!" she interrupted impatiently; "Waar? Heb je een rijtuig?"
"Een rijtuig?" I exclaimed in bewilderment. "Nee. Ik heb geen rijtuig.
Maar mag ik u beleefd verzoeken of U zoo goed--."
"Ja, ja! Is er haast bij?" She broke in again.
"Wel zeker!" I replied courteously, "Veel haast. Wij zijn verbazend
hongerig."
But she was gone, and hadn't heard the last remark. In a moment or two
she reappeared, fully dressed, tying the strings of her bonnet.
As I waited a second before repeating my request, she grew most
unreasonably irritable, and actually stamped her foot, exclaiming
disrespectfully: "Gaauw nouw! gaauw een beetje."
"Ja baker!" I answered. "Wilt gij zoo goed zijn, twee boterhammetjes en
twee glaasjes melk te brengen?"
She stopped titivating herself at the mirror, and turning round groaned
in a voice of horror: "Wou je eten?"
"Ja," I contrived to put in, as politely as I could; "als U zoo goed
wilt zijn."
"Maar schaam jullie niet? bent jullie kinderen dat je nouw om een
boterham moet vragen?"
It was plain she was a good deal ruffled. Accordingly to appease and
conciliate her I smiled again, and said deferentially: "Het heeft niets
te beduiden. Wij moeten een heel klein boterhammetje gebruiken. Een
sneedje brood zonder iets--dat is ook goed."
She seemed stunned by this harmless announcement; and I deemed it
prudent to offer her a bribe of some kind. The simplest plan was to
promise to pay her well for any trifle we took.
"Het is een kleinigheid," I told her--"niets dan een kleinigheid. Maar
ik zal het je betaald zetten."
That loosened her tongue. Her natural fluency asserted itself and
appeared to fine advantage. But she was so needlessly excited that I
knew there must be a misunderstanding somewhere. Accordingly to remove
all haziness I just indicated that she had failed to grasp my meaning.
The idiom for this I fortunately recollected. _You don't quite follow_
was one of those choice specimens of local colour that, by frequent
repetition, I had thoroughly imprinted on my memory.
"Duizendmaal verschooning," I said heartily, "bent U soms niet goed
snik?"
The effect of this well meant apology was electrical. The woman really
became very rude. She got pale and grabbed at a chair. As we withdrew
unostentatiously, we noticed her springing in our direction and talking.
It was the most fluent talk I had yet heard in Dutch. She did not
hesitate one instant for gender, number, or case. It rained, hailed and
stormed terrible words--werkwoorden, voorzetsels, and especially
tusschenwerpsels.
Terence and I ran.
On reaching safety outside Terence asked me: "What was she angry about?"
"Oh," I answered, "as likely as not it's something out of the grammar. I
believe I didn't use the right idiom. You have to be very particular
about these things, you see.
I said vragen _voor_ een boterham, I think; and it should be vragen
_om_. Still she made far too big a fuss over it: and I'd tell her so, if
I could."
When we got outside of her garden plot and had latched the gate behind
us, I turned to wave our grammarian a graceful adieu.
"Baker!" I said. "Banket baker! Wees niet zoo kleinzeerig. Niet zoo
kwaalijknemend hoor! Wij zijn niet tegen je opgewassen. Maar",--and
here I sank my voice to a confidential whisper, to make the irrelevancy
sound as like wit as possible,--"maar, U weet nooit hoe een koe een
haas vangt!"
I still flatter myself that the exit was worthy of the occasion.