Leave the Hague.--Leyden.--Wood near Haerlem.--Waddling
fishermen.--Enter the town.--The great fair.--Riot and
uproar.--Confusion of tongues.--Mine hostess.
Haerlem, July 1st, 1780.
The sky was clear and blue when we left the Hague, and we travelled
along a shady road for about an hour, when down sunk the carriage into a
sand-bed, and we were dragged along so slowly that I fell into a
profound repose. How long it lasted is not material; but when I awoke,
we were rumbling through Leyden. There is no need to write a syllable in
honour of this illustrious city: its praises have already been sung and
said by fifty professors, who have declaimed in its university, and
smoked in its gardens. Let us get out of it as fast as we can, and
breathe the cool air of the wood near Haerlem.
Here we arrived just as day declined: hay was making in the fields, and
perfumed the country far and wide with its reviving fragrance. I
promised myself a sentimental saunter in the groves, took up Gesner, and
began to have pretty pastoral ideas as I walked forward; but instead of
nymphs dispersed over the meadows, I met a gang of waddling fishermen.
Letting fall the garlands I had wreathed for the shepherdesses, I jumped
into the carriage, and was driven off to the town. Every avenue to it
swarmed with people, whose bustle and agitation seemed to announce that
something extraordinary was going forward. Upon inquiry I found it was
the great fair at Haerlem; and before we had advanced much farther, our
carriage was surrounded by idlers and gingerbread-eaters of all
denominations. Passing the gate, we came to a cluster of little
illuminated booths beneath a grove, glittering with toys and
looking-glasses. It was not without difficulty that we reached our inn,
and then the plague was to procure chambers; at last we were
accommodated, and the first moment I could call my own has been
dedicated to you.
You will not be surprised at the nonsense I have written, since I tell
you the scene of the riot and uproar from whence it bears date. At this
very moment the confused murmur of voices and music stops all regular
proceedings: old women and children tattling; apes, bears, and
show-boxes under the windows; French rattling, English swearing,
outrageous Italians, frisking minstrels; _tambours de basque_ at every
corner; myself distracted; a confounded squabble of cooks and haranguing
German couriers just arrived, their masters following open-mouthed,
nothing to eat, the steam of ham and flesh-pots all the while provoking
their appetite; squeaking chamber-maids in the galleries above, and mine
hostess below, half inclined to receive the golden solicitations of
certain beauties for admittance, but positively refusing them the moment
some creditable personage appears; eleven o’clock strikes; half the
lights in the fair are extinguished; scruples grow faint; and mammon
gains the victory.