That leaven
of tenderness which every collection of human beings must have was
harder to find at Scheveningen than anywhere in Holland--everything
was so ordered, so organised, for pleasure, pleasure at any price,
pleasure almost at the point of the bayonet.
But on the second occasion one little incident saved the day--an
encounter with a strolling bird-fancier who dealt in Black-Headed
Mannikins. Two of these tiny brisk birds, in their Quaker black and
brown, sat upon his cane to attract purchasers. They fluttered to his
finger, perched on his hat, simulated death in the palm of his hand,
and went through other evolutions with the speed of thought and the
bright spontaneous alacrity possible only to a small loyal bird. These,
however, were not for sale: these were decoys; the saleable birds lay,
packed far too close, in little wooden boxes in the man's bag. And
Scheveningen to me means no longer a mile of palaces, no longer a
"hot huddle of humanity" on the sand among myriad sentry-boxes:
its symbol is just two Black-Headed Mannikins.
From the Curhaus it is better to return to the Hague by electric tram
along the new road. Save for passing a field where the fishwives of
Scheveningen in their blue shawls spread and mend their nets, this
road is dull and suburban; but from it, when the light is failing,
a view of Scheveningen's domes and spires may be gained which,
softened and made mysterious by the gloaming, translates the chief
watering-place of Holland into an Eastern city of romance.
Pages:
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132