A TRIP THROUGH HOLLAND.
Up the Meuse to Rotterdam.--Dutch sights and
ways.--The pretty milk-carriers.--The
tea-gardens.--Preparations for the Sabbath.--An
English chapel.--"The Lord's barn."--From
Rotterdam to the Hague.--The queen's "House in the
Wood."--Pictures in private drawing-rooms.--The
bazaar.--An evening in a Dutch
tea-garden.--Amsterdam to a stranger.--The
"sights."--The Jews' quarter.--The family whose
home was upon the canals.--Out of the city.--The
pilgrims.
AT nine o'clock, the next morning, we left Antwerp for Rotterdam. Two
hours by rail brought us to a place with an unpronounceable name, ending
in "djk," where we were to take a steamer. How delightful, after the
dust and heat of the railway carriage, were the two hours that followed!
The day was charming, the passengers numerous, but scattered about the
clean, white deck, picturesquely, upon the little camp stools, drinking
brandy and water as a preventive to what seemed impossible, eating
fruit, reading, chatting, or pleased, like ourselves, with the panorama
before their eyes. In and out of the intricate passages to the sea we
steamed, the land and water all around us level as a floor; the only
sign of life the slow-revolving arms of the windmills, near and far,
with here and there a solitary mansion shut in by tall trees; or, as we
wound in and out among the islands fringed with green rushes, and waving
grasses that fairly came out into the water to meet us, and sailed up
the Meuse, the odd Dutch villages that had turned their backs to the
river, though their feet were still in the water over which hung rude
wooden balconies, or still ruder bay-windows, filled with pots of
flowers. This monotonous stretch of sea and land might grow tiresome
after a while, but there was something peculiarly restful in that sail
up the wide mouth of the river, beckoned on by the solemn arms of the
windmills.
When we reached Rotterdam, how strange it was to find, instead of a row
of houses across from our hotel, a wharf and a row of ships! Such a
great, comfortable room as awaited us! with deep, wide arm-chairs, a
heavy round table suggesting endless teas, and toast unlimited, and
everything else after the same hearty, substantial manner. There was no
paper upon the walls, but, in its place, paintings upon canvas. Delilah
sat over the mantel, with the head of the sleeping Samson in her lap,
and Rebekah and the thirsty camels were behind our bed curtains. From
the wide windows we watched the loading and unloading of the ships,
while the song of the sailors came in on the evening breeze, and with
it, we half-fancied, the odor of sandal-wood and spices from the East
Indiamen anchored across the way. Our hotel was upon the Boompjes, the
quay that borders the river; but through nearly all the streets flow the
canals, deep enough to float large ships. You can appreciate the
advantage of sailing a ship to the very door of one's warehouse, as you
might drive a cart up to unload; and you can imagine, perhaps, the
peculiar appearance of the city, with its mingled masts and chimneys,
its irregular, but by no means picturesque, houses, and the inhabitants
equally at home upon water or land. Among the women of the lower classes
may still be seen some national peculiarities in dress, shown
principally in the startling ornaments--twisted gold wire horns, and
balls, and rings of mammoth size thrust out from their caps just above
their ears. Whether their bare red arms would come under the head of
dress, might be questioned; but a national peculiarity they certainly
were, and unlike anything ever seen before in the way of human flesh.
Was that painfully deep magenta hue nature or art? We could never tell.
There were some very pretty faces among the girls carrying milk about
the city in bright brass cans, or in pails suspended from a yoke over
their shoulders--faces of one type, round, red-cheeked, blue-eyed, with
the mouth called rosebud by poets, and bewitching little brown noses of
an upward tendency. As they all wore clean purple calico gowns, and had
each a small white cap on their heads, the resemblance among them was
rather striking. These caps left the whole top of the head exposed to
the sun. Only an iron-clad, fire-proof brain could endure it, I am sure.
Not a beggar did we see anywhere in Holland. The people seemed
thoroughly industrious and thrifty. A gentleman connected with the civil
service there--an agreeable, cultivated man, who had been half over the
world, written a book or two, and parted his hair in the middle--gave
the people credit for all these, with many more good qualities, and
added, "They are the simplest minded people in the world. Why, would you
believe it, one of the canal bridges was run into and broken down, the
other day,--a fortnight ago,--and it has been town talk ever since. No
two men meet upon the street without, 'Have you heard about the
bridge?'" And sure enough, when we reached the scene of the accident, in
our after-dinner walk through the city, quite a crowd was collected to
watch the passage of a temporary ferry-boat, the simplest contrivance
imaginable, only an old barge pulled back and forth by ropes. Still
later we found the entrance to a narrow street choked with people,
though nothing more unusual seemed to be taking place than the bringing
out of a table and a few chairs.
Upon the outskirts of the city are pleasant tea-gardens, often attached
to club-rooms, where concerts are held Sunday evenings, attended by the
upper classes. We walked through one, over the pebbled paths, and among
the deserted tables, and then returned to see more of the town. It was
Saturday night. All the little girls upon the street had their locks
twisted up in papers so tight and fast that they could shut neither eyes
nor mouth, but seemed to be in a continual state of wonderment. All
their mothers were down upon their hands and knees, scrubbing the
doorsteps and sidewalk, in preparation for the Sabbath. The streets were
dirty and uninviting with a few exceptions, yet hardly more so than
could be expected, when you remember that nearly the whole city is a
line of wharves; but we felt no disposition to walk through it in our
slippers, as the guide book in praising its cleanliness, says you may.
What an advantage it would be to the world if the compilers of
guide-books would only visit the places they describe so graphically! We
spent a quiet Sabbath here--the fourth of July--with not so much as a
torpedo to disturb its serenity or mark the day, attending church at the
English chapel, and joining in the responses led by a clear soprano
voice behind us, which we had some desire to locate; but when we turned,
at the conclusion of the service, there was only a row of horrible
chignons to be seen, to none of which, I am sure, the voice belonged.
There is nothing to be seen in Rotterdam but its shipping. One great,
bare church we did visit--"the Lord's barn;" for these cathedrals,
stripped of altar, and image, and stained glass, and boarded into stiff
pews, without the least regard to the eternal fitness of things, are
ugly enough. There is somewhere here a collection of Ary Scheffer's
works,--in the city I mean,--but we did not see it. It is less than an
hour's ride by rail from Rotterdam to the Hague, with the same
delightfully monotonous scenery all along the way--meadows smooth and
green, and fields white for the harvest, separated by the almost
invisible canals. No wonder the Spaniards held the Low Countries with a
grasp of iron--the whole land is a garden. The Hague, being the
residence of the court, is much after the pattern of all continental
capitals, with wide, white streets, white stuccoed houses of regular and
beautiful appearance, and fine, large parks and pleasure-grounds filled
with deer, and shaded by grand old elms as large as those in our own
land, but lacking the long, sweeping branches. A mile from the city is
"The House in the Wood," the private residence of the queen of the
Netherlands. The wood is heavy and of funereal air, but the little
palace is quite charming within, though upon the exterior only a plain
brick country-house. The rooms are small, and hung with rice-paper, or
embroidered white satin, with which also much of the furniture is
covered. The bare floors are of polished wood, with a square of carpet
in the centre, the border of which was worked by hand. "Please step over
it," said the neat little old woman who was showing us through, which we
accordingly did. There was a home-like air, very unpalatial, about it
all,--as though the lady of the house might have been entertaining
callers, or having a dress-maker in the next room. Delicate trinkets
were scattered about--pretty, rare things worth a fortune, with any
amount of old Dutch china in the cosy dining-room. In one of the rooms
hung the portrait of a handsome young man,--just as there hang portraits
of handsome young men in our houses. This was the eldest son of the
queen,--heir to the throne,--who, rumor says, is still engaged in that
agricultural pursuit so fascinating to young men--the sowing of wild
oats. In the next room was a portrait of Queen Sophie herself--a
delicate, queenly face--a face of character. The walls of the ball-room
are entirely covered with paintings upon wood by Rubens and his pupils.
"Speak low, if you please," said our little old woman; "the queen is in
the next room, and she has a bad headache to-day." I am sure she had a
dress-maker! As we stooped to examine a rug worked by the royal
fingers, an attendant passed, bearing upon a silver salver the remains
of her majesty's lunch.
From the palace we drove back to town to visit two private collections
of paintings. It seemed odd, if not impertinent, to walk through the
drawing-rooms of strangers, criticise their pictures, and fee their
servants. Upon the table, in one, were thrown down carelessly the bonnet
and gloves of the lady of the house. I was tempted to carry them off.
Only a vigorous early training, and the thought of a long line of pious
ancestors, prevented. Here were pictures from most of the earlier and
some of the later Dutch artists--Paul Potter's animals, Jan Steen's pots
and pans, Vandervelde's quays and luggers, and green, foaming seas, and
even a touch or two from the brush of the master of Dutch art. We
stopped on our way back to the hotel, at a bazaar,--a place of
beguilement, with long rooms full of everything beautiful in art,
everything tempting to the eye,--and after dinner went out to one of the
adjacent tea-gardens. It was filled with family parties drinking tea
around little tables. The music was fine, though unexpected at times,
as, for instance, when a trumpet blew a startling blast, and a little
man in its range sprang from his seat as though blown out of his place.
It was amusing and interesting to watch the stream of promenaders
circling around the musicians' stand--broad, heavily-built men, long of
body, short of limbs; women "square-rigged," of easy, good-natured
countenance. I doubt if there was a nerve in the whole assembly.
At noon the next day, we took the train for Amsterdam--another two
hours' ride. The land began to undulate as we went towards the sea,
with the shifting hillocks of sand raised by wind and wave. We passed
Leyden, famous for its resistance to the Spaniards, as well as for
having been the birthplace of Rembrandt and a score of lesser lights,
and Haarlem, known for its great organ, and still the sand-hills rose
one above the other, until they shut out everything beyond. It was only
when we made a sharp turn, and struck out in a straight line for the
city, that the Zuyder Zee opened before us, the curving line of land
along its edge alive with windmills. We counted a hundred and twenty in
sight at one time, and still did not exhaust them; so many skipped and
whirled about, and refused to be counted. It hardly seems possible that
the city of Amsterdam is built upon piles driven into the sand and mud.
Certainly, when you have been jolted and shaken until your teeth
chatter, for a long mile, in one of the hotel omnibuses from the station
through the narrow streets and over the rough pavements, you will think
there must be a tolerably firm foundation. Such a peaceful, sleepy,
free-from-danger air, these slimy canals give to the cities! You forget
that just beyond the dikes the mighty, restless sea lurks, and watches
day and night for a chance to rush in and claim its own. The canals run
in a succession of curves, one within the other, all through the city.
Upon the quays are the dwellings and warehouses. In the narrow streets,
crossing them by means of endless bridges, are the shops and dwellings
of the lower classes. Looking down a street, no two houses present an
unbroken line. They have all settled in their places until they nod, and
leer, and wink at each other, in a decidedly sociable, intoxicated
manner. The whole city, to a stranger, is a curious sight--the arched
bridges over the interminable canals; the clumsy boats (for the canals
are too shallow to admit anything but coasters and river boats); the
antic and antiquated houses with high gables, rising in steps, to the
street; the women of the lower classes, with yokes over their shoulders,
and long-eared white caps on their heads, surmounted by naked straw
bonnets of obsolete fashion and coal-scuttle shape, and out and from
which, on either side, protruded all the wonderful tinkling ornaments of
which the prophet speaks; the long quays and streets utterly bare of
trees; the iron rods thrust out from the houses half way up their
height, upon which all manner of garments, freshly washed, hang over the
street to dry. Down in an open Place stands the dark, square palace,
grand and grim, where Hortense played queen a little time while Louis
Bonaparte was king of Holland. Near the palace is a national monument,
for the Dutch, too, remember their brave. There are old and new churches
also to be seen, but churches bare of everything which clothes
cathedrals with beauty, having been stripped in the time of the
reformation. I suppose one should rejoice; but we did miss the high
altar, the old carved saints, and the pictures in the chapels.
Some of the finest paintings of the Dutch school are in the national
museum here; _genre_ pictures, many, if not most of them, but pleasant
to look at, if not of the highest art; and we visited another collection
of the same, left by a M. Van der Hoop. There are several other private
collections thrown open to the public. But after all, the most charming
picture was the Jews' quarter of the city. I know it was horribly
filthy, and so crowded that we could hardly make our way; I know it was
filled with squalor and rags, and great dark eyes, and breathed an odor
by no means of sanctity. The dusky, luminous-eyed people seemed to move,
and breathe, and hold a constant bazaar in the lane-like streets filled
with everything known and unknown in merchandise, or leaning out from
the windows of the tottering houses, their arms crossed over the sill,
to dream away a lifetime. Still there was a fascination about it all, a
suggestion of vagabondism, of Ishmaelitish wanderings, of having "here
no continuing city," that touched the heart of a certain Methodist
minister's daughter in our party.
Sometimes the houses rise directly from the water, as did our hotel, the
entrance being gained from another street in front. Our room was like a
town hall, with mediaeval bed furniture and sofa, high chest of drawers,
and great round table that might have come in with the Dutch when they
took Holland. The deep windows looked down upon a canal. Across from
them, anchored to the quay as if for a lifetime, was one of the river
boats. Early in the morning the wife of the skipper--a square woman,
brown-faced, with faded, braided hair--ran out bareheaded into the town,
coming back with her arms mysteriously full. Down into the cabin she
disappeared, from whence directly came a sound of sputtering and frying,
with a most savory odor. Up she would come again--frying pan in hand to
corroborate her statement--to call her husband to breakfast. He was
never ready to respond, never, though he was doing nothing to support
his energetic family at the time, but coiling and uncoiling old ropes,
or rubbing at invisible spots with a handful of rope-yarn. I know he
only delayed to add to his own dignity and the importance of his final
advent. Breakfast over, there followed such a commotion in the little
world as I cannot describe--a shaking out of garments, a scraping out of
plates, and throwing into the canal the refuse of the feast, a flying up
with pots and pans for no object whatever but to clatter down again with
the same, and all in the face and eyes of the town, with nevertheless
the most absorbed and unconscious air imaginable. When it was over,
somewhat what red in the face, but serene, the wife would appear upon
the deck, to sit in the shadow of a sail and mend her husband's
stockings, or put on a needed patch. We left the boat still fast to the
quay; but I know that some day, when it was filled with scented oils,
and rouge, and borax, and all the other things exported from the
manufactories here, our skipper and his wife went sailing out of the
canals and along the edge of the sea or up the Rhine, the stockings all
mended, and the good woman not above giving a strong pull at the ropes.
To drive about the streets of Amsterdam is slow torture, so rough are
the pavings, so springless the carriages; but to roll along the smooth,
wide roads in the suburbs is delightful. Upon one side is a canal,
stagnant, lifeless, with a green weed growing upon its still surface,
which often for a long distance entirely hides the water; beyond the
canal are pleasant little gardens and a row of low, comfortable-looking
wooden houses with green doors. Before each door is a narrow bridge--a
neatly-painted plank with hand-rails--thrown over the canal, to be swung
around or raised like a drawbridge at night, making every man's house a
moated castle. We passed a fine zoological garden here upon the
outskirts of the city, a garden of animals that ranks next to the famous
one in London; but had no time to visit it, nor did we see any of the
charitable institutions in which Amsterdam excels.
"You know the pilgrim fathers?" said Emmie--whose family had preceded us
by a day or two--the night after our arrival. "O, yes; had not our whole
lives been straightened out after their maxims?" "Well, we've found the
house where it is said they held meetings before they embarked for
America. Wouldn't you like to see it?" Of course we would; in fact, it
would be showing no more than proper respect to our forefathers. So six
of us--women and girls--put ourselves under her guidance. We found a
narrow, dirty street, the dwellers in which stared after us curiously.
Between two old houses was an opening, hardly wide enough to be called
an alley, hardly narrow enough to be looked upon as a gutter. Into this
we crowded. "There; this is the house," said Emmie, laying her slight
fingers upon the old stone wall before us. It was quite bare, and devoid
of ornament or entrance, being evidently the back or side of a house.
Down from the peak of the gable looked a solitary window. A rude
balcony, holding a few plants, was below it, with freshly-washed clothes
hanging from its rail. We rolled our eyes, experienced a shiver that may
have been caused by awe or the damp chill of the spot, and came out to
find the narrow street half filled with staring men and women crowding
about the point of our disappearance, while from the upper end of the
street, and even around the corner, others hastened to join the
whispering, wondering crowd. How could we explain? It was utterly
impossible; so we came quickly and quietly away; but whether this house
had ever been a church, whether the pilgrim fathers ever saw it, or
indeed whether there ever were any pilgrim fathers, are questions I
cannot undertake to answer.