I see yet his expression of pity, not wholly (yet perhaps
sufficiently) softened to polite interest, when consulted as to the
best way in which to visit Alkmaar to see the cheese market. That
any one staying at The Hague--and more, at the Oude Doelen--should
wish to see traffic in cheese at a provincial town still strikes his
wise head as tragic, although it happens every week. I honour him
for it and for the exquisite tact with which he retains his opinion
and allows you to have yours.
A poet landlord and an operatic head waiter, what are they when all
is said beside a friendly hotel porter? He is the _Deus ex machina_
indeed. The praises of the hotel porter have yet to be sung. O
Switzerland! the poet might begin (not, probably, a landlord poet) O
Switzerland--I give but a bald paraphrase of the spirited original--O
Switzerland, thou land of peaks and cow bells, of wild strawberries
and nonconformist conventions, of grasshoppers and climbing dons,
thou hast strange limitations! Thou canst produce no painter, thou
possessest no navy; but thou makest the finest hotel porters in the
world. Erect, fair-haired, blue-eyed, tactful and informing, they
are the true friends of the homeless!--And so on for many strophes.
To Texel I did not cross, although it is hard for any one who has
read _The Riddle of the Sands_ to refrain.
Pages:
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303