CHAPTER XIX
IN THE KINGDOM OF THE NIGHT
Heigh-ho! for that run along the ice--a matter of half a dozen leaguesor so--at dead of night with a keen north-easterly wind whipping up theblood, and motion--smooth gliding motion--to cause it to glow in everyvein.
Heigh-ho! for the joy of living, for the joy in the white, ice-coveredworld, the joy in the night, and in the moon, and in those distantlights of Leyden which gradually recede and diminish--tiny atoms now inthe infinite and mysterious distance!
What ho! a dark and heavy bank of clouds! whence come ye, ye disturbersof the moon's serenity? Nay! but we are in a hurry, the wind drives usat breathless speed, we cannot stay to explain whence we have come.
Moon, kind moon, come out again! ah, there she is, pallid through thefrosty mist, blinking at this white world scarce less brilliant thanshe.
On, on! silently and swiftly, in the stillness of the night, the cruelskates make deep gashes on the smooth skin of the ice, long even strokesnow, for the Meer is smooth and straight, and the moon--kindmoon!--marks an even silvery track, there where the capricious wind hasswept it free of snow.
Hat in hand, for the wind is cool and good, and tames the hot youngblood which a woman's biting tongue has whipped into passion.
"The young vixen," shouts a laughing voice through the night, "was sheaware of her danger? how I could have tamed her, and cowed her andterrified her! Did she play a cat and mouse game with me I wonder....Dondersteen! if I thought that...."
But why think of a vixen now, of blue eyes and biting tongues, when thenight with unerring hand clothes the landscape with glory. One word tothe north-east wind and he sweeps the track quite clear and causesmyriads of diamonds to fly aimlessly about, ere they settle like tinybutterflies on tortuous twigs, and rough blades of coarse grass. Onecall to the moon and she partially hides her face, painting the hazearound her to a blood-red hue; now a touch of blue upon the ice, furthera streak of emerald, and then the tender mauves of the regal mantle offrost.
Then the thousand sounds that rise all around: the thousand sounds whichall united make one vast, comprehensive silence: the soughing of thewind in the bare poplar trees, the rattle of the tiny dead twigs andmoaning of the branches; from far away the dull and ceaseless rumblewhich speaks of a restless sea, and now and again the loud and
melancholy boom of the ice, yielding to the restless movements of thewater beneath.
The sounds which make up silence--silence and loneliness, nature'sperfect repose under its downy blanket of snow, the vast embrace of thenight stretching out into infinity in monotonous flatnesses far away, tothe mysterious mists which lie beyond the horizon.
Oh! for the joy of it all! the beauty of the night, the wind and thefrost! and the many landmarks which loom out of the darkness one by one,to guide that flying figure on its way; the square tower of oldKatwyk-binnen church, the group of pollard willows at the corner ofVeenenburg Polder, the derelict boats on the bank of the Haarlemer Meer,and always from the left that pungent smell of the sea, the brine andthe peculiar odour which emanates from the dykes close by, from the wetclay and rotting branches of willows that protect man against theencroachment of the ocean.
On, on, thou sole inhabitant of this kingdom of the night! fly on thywings of metal--hour after hour--midnight--one--two--three--where arethe hours now? There are no hours in the kingdom of the night! On, on,for the moon's course is swift and this will be a neck to neck race. Ah!the wicked one! down she goes, lower and lower in her career, and thereis a thick veil of mist on the horizon in the west! Moon! art notafraid? the mists will smother thee! Tarry yet awhile! tarry ere thoulayest down on the cold, soft bed! thy light! give it yet awhile!--twohours! one hour until thou hast outlined with silver the openwork towerof Haarlem's Groote Kirk.
On, on, for a brief hour longer how can one pause even to eat or drink?there is no hunger in the kingdom of night, no thirst, no fatigue! andthis is a neck to neck race with the moon.
Ah Dondersteen! but thou art beaten, fair moon! Let the mists embracethee now! sink! fall! die as thou list, there is the tower of St. Bavon!and we defy the darkness now!
Here it comes creeping like a furtive and stealthy creature wiping outwith thick black cloth here a star and there the tip of a tall poplartree, there a shrub, there a clump of grass! Take care, traveller, takecare! that was not just the shadow from the bank, it was a bunch ofreeds that entangle the feet and bring the skater down on to his faceand will drag him, if he be not swift and alert, right under, into thewater under the ice.
Take care! there is danger everywhere now in this inky blackness! dangeron the ice, and upon the bank, danger in the shadows that are less darkthan the night!
Darker and darker still, until it seemed as if the night's brush couldnot hold a more dense hue. The night--angered that she hath been so longdefied--has overtaken the flying skater at last. She grips him, sheholds him, he dare not advance, he will not retreat. Haarlem is therenot one whole league away and he cannot move from where he is, in themidst of the Meer, on her icy bosom, with shadows as tangible as humanbodies hemming him in on every side.
Haarlem is there! the last kiss of the moon before she fell into thatbed of mist, was for St. Bavon's tower, which then seemed so near. Sincethen the night had wiped out the tower, and the pointed gables whichcluster around, and the solitary skater is a prisoner in the fastnessesof the night.