scudding rapidly along, as though searching impatiently for a
direction and a shape. Then the waters began to ripple, and became
streaked with rapid luminous reflections, with long stripes of green,
violet, white, ochre, black. Finally this irritation of nature ended
in a violent downpour, which confused sky, water, and earth in one
gray mass, broken only by a lighter tone caused by the far-off banks,
and by some sailing ships, which came into view here and there like
upright shadows on the waters of the river.

"Now we are really in Holland," said the captain of the ship,
approaching a group of passengers who were contemplating the
spectacle. "Such sudden changes of scene," he continued, "are never
seen anywhere else."

Then, in answer to a question from one of us, he ran on:

"Holland has a meteorology quite her own. The winter is long, the
summer short, the spring is only the end of the winter, but
nevertheless, you see, every now and then, even during the summer, we
have a touch of winter. We always say that in Holland the four seasons
may be seen in one day. Our sky is the most changeable in the world.
This is the reason why we are always talking of the weather, for the
atmosphere is the most variable spectacle we have. If we wish to see
something that will entertain us, we must look upward. But it is a
dull climate. The sea sends us rain on three sides: the winds break
loose over the country even on the finest days; the ground exhales
vapors that darken the horizon; for several months the air has no
transparency. You should see the winter. There are days when you would
say it would never be fine again: the darkness seems to come from
above like the light; the north-east wind brings us the icy air from
the North Pole, and lashes the sea with such fury and roaring that it
seems as though it would destroy the coasts." Here he turned to me and
said, smiling, "You are better off in Italy." Then he grew serious and
added, "However, every country has its good and bad side."

The boat left the Volkerak, passed in front of the fortress of
Willemstadt, built in 1583 by the Prince of Orange, and entered
Hollandsdiep, a wide branch of the Meuse which separates South Holland
from North Brabant. All that we saw from the ship was a wide expanse
of water, two dark stripes to the right and left, and a gray sky. A
French lady, breaking the general silence, exclaimed with a yawn,

"How beautiful is Holland!"

All of us laughe