which was long considered one of the greatest in the world]
The year before the siege of Leyden, Haarlem suffered a siege under
Frederic of Toledo, the son of the Spaniard, Alva; but Haarlem was not
so fortunate as her sister city. After bravely maintaining the place
against the enemy for a period of seven weary months, with odds of
seven to one against them, the Prince of Orange, with heavy heart, sent
a message asking the commandant to make the best terms he would with
the Spaniards and surrender, the many attempts of the Prince to rescue
the city having proved futile.
The massacre that followed the surrender was too shocking to bear the
telling of in detail. The garrison and its commandant, the Protestant
clergy, and 2,000 or more burghers were cruelly butchered by the
Spaniards. Alva himself, however, was forced to admit to Philip that
“never was a place defended with such skill and bravery as Haarlem”;
not only the men of the town, little accustomed to arms, but the
women also had taken an active part in Haarlem’s defense, and Kenau
Hasselaer, “a widow of distinguished family and unblemished reputation,
about forty-seven years of age, who, at the head of her amazons” (some
three hundred or more) “participated in many of the most fiercely
contested actions of the siege, both within and without the walls.”
As the birthplace of a number of Holland’s celebrated painters,
including Franz Hals and Jacob van Ruysdael, Haarlem holds as her
most cherished possession a handsome percentage of the works of the
former, numbering among which are his ten famous corporation and regent
canvases, arranged in chronological order in the museum of the old
Town Hall. To know these will mean that you know the jovial Franz.
Across the market place from the Town Hall rises the Groote Kerk,
and, just beside it, the old meat market, erected in 1602, and said,
by those who know, to be the quaintest brick and stone Renaissance
building in the Netherlands. The Groote Kerk is of a graceful cruciform
shape and around the edges of its buttresses, like chicks peeping
from under the protecting wings of the mother hen, are built a number
of curious little one-story houses whose interiors suggest the last
word in coziness and cleanliness, and where the much maligned Dutch
decorative taste may be seen at its best. The church contains what
was long considered the largest and loudest pipe organ in the world,
possessing three keyboards, sixty stops, and 5,000 pipes of varying
lengths and diameters up to thirty-two feet in the case of the former
and fifteen inches with respect to the latter. A cannon ball, imbedded
in the wall of the south aisle of the church, was allowed to remain
undisturbed during the restoration as a reminiscence of the siege of
1572.
At the side of the church, in the market place, stands a bronze statue
of a Dutchman of the name of Coster, erected in 1856 upon rather
fictitious evidence of his having been the inventor of printing.
Nothing in the way of printed matter having been proven to have been
done by Coster prior to or even shortly after 1447, when Gutenburg of
Mayence developed the art, the palm for this distinction was finally,
but reluctantly, relegated to the latter.
Instead of Spanish encampments, Haarlem is now surrounded with a
beautiful forest, a prominent collection of attractive residences,
municipal playgrounds for the children, and lives in an atmosphere of
peace and comfort. The old Amsterdam Gate at the east end of the city
serves as the only reminder that the place at one time possessed strong
fortifications.
VIII
THE CITY OF NINETY ISLANDS
From all practical points of view, if, indeed, it is stretching
the metaphor a bit with regard to smells and scenes (to preserve
the alliteration), Amsterdam may be considered the Venice of the
Netherlands. Like Venice it seems to have as many canals as there are
blood vessels in the human body; like Venice it is the home of the damp
cellar, for the city is built upon piles.
In the erection of a new building in Amsterdam the first thing they
do is to pump out the site, and, after they have it fairly dry, keep
on pumping to prevent it from filling up again; when the structure is
completed they celebrate the event by the installation of a permanent
pump in the basement which they must needs start running at stated
intervals to diminish the volume of water that has seeped in through
the cracks. The driver of piles takes the place of our stone mason, for
of piles is the city’s foundation. A foot at a whack, these piles are
sunk into the sand. They are then morticed with mud, girders are strung
between them, and behold! the house on stilts commences to assume its
architectural design. By and by the mud loses its adhesive properties
to a certain degree, and the building commences to lean dangerously
forward or backward, although without the dire results that one might
imagine.
Amsterdam is the largest and most commercially important city in
Holland. Founded in 1204 by Gysbrecht II, who built a castle here,
and choked the flow of the river Amstel by throwing a dam across
it--from which more or less momentous event the town derived its
appellation,--Florins V, of Binnenhof fame, favored the place to the
extent of granting its exemption from the taxes imposed by Zeeland and
Holland. In 1311 it was formally absorbed by the latter province. From
that time on Amsterdam gathered greater importance as a commercial
center, until, in the early years of the seventeenth century, after
the Dutch had finally succeeded in beating off the Spaniards, the
establishment of the Dutch East India Company added its might to raise
Amsterdam to the rank of the foremost mercantile community in the
world. Later she commenced to gravitate slowly down the incline of
trade and her cogs refused to take hold again until the latter half
of the nineteenth century, although at the time of the dividing of
the Dutch Republic, when King Louis Bonaparte took up his residence
in Amsterdam in 1808, she was considered the third greatest city in
the French Empire. To-day she has advanced well past the half million
population mark. Although as regards her foreign trade she does not
profess to compete with Rotterdam, as a money market and clearing house
for colonial products she is preëminent in the Netherlands.
The Dam--a large square that owes its name to the fact of its being the
eastern boundary of Lord Amstel’s embankment across the river--is the
axis around which Amsterdam revolves. It is literally the hub of the
Dutch universe. Every electric car in the place starts from the Dam,
and in due course of time will wind its way back again. The principal
edifices adjacent to it are the Royal Palace, the Nieuwe Kerk, or New
Church, and the imposing post and telegraph offices.
Completed in the year 1655 at a total cost of more than $3,000,000,
this Royal Palace was originally the Town Hall, but when Louis
Bonaparte came upon the scene the Dutch made him a present of it for
his use as a royal residence. At a later date King William I of Holland
handed it back to the city, whose property it still remains, instead of
that of the Crown; so that when Wilhelmina makes her annual ten days’
visit to Amsterdam she comes more as a private citizen and is the guest
of the city for the period of her stay. With its 264 feet of length
and its 207 of width it seems rather a strain upon the imagination
to picture the Royal Palace as standing upon stilts; but such is
actually the case, for its foundations consist of 13,659 piles (to be
absolutely accurate) driven from forty to sixty feet into the sand.
The difference in ages between the Nieuwe Kerk, just around the corner
from the palace, and the Oude Kerk, or Old Church of Amsterdam, is that
the Oude Kerk was erected in 1300, whereas they didn’t commence work
upon the Nieuwe Kerk until a hundred and eight years later. Both were
doing their religious duties before America was discovered. Successive
conflagrations destroyed different parts of the Nieuwe Kerk and the
first service in the building as it stands to-day was not celebrated
until 1648. The church contains the tombs of three of Holland’s famous
fighting admirals, that of Admiral de Ruyter included, in addition to
the hermes bust of another, and the mausoleum of a Dutch lieutenant
of marines, van Speyk by name, who, during the revolution of Holland,
“maintained on the 5th of February, 1831, before Antwerp, the honor of
his native flag at the cost of his life” by blowing up his gunboat in
the harbor of Antwerp to prevent it from falling into the possession
of the enemy. Since 1814 four kings of Holland have taken the oath of
the constitution in the Nieuwe Kerk and here, on September 6, 1898,
Wilhelmina was formally inaugurated Queen of the Netherlands--an event
recently commemorated by the installation of a handsome stained glass
window in the church. Well might the Nieuwe Kerk be said to be the
Westminster Abbey of Amsterdam.
Connecting the Dam with the central railway station is the wide Damrak,
part of which was at one time a canal. In the opposite direction
wiggles the narrow Kalverstraat, Amsterdam’s principal shopping street,
thronged in the late afternoon and evening with that part of the
population of the city that isn’t sipping coffee in the windows of its
cafés.
[Illustration: The Royal Palace, Amsterdam, facing upon the Dam which
is the axis about which the whole city revolves]
Once I had the misfortune to be stopping in Amsterdam upon the
occasion of the Queen’s birthday, the 31st of August. This not being
sufficient unpremeditated self-punishment, I was provincial enough to
have chosen as headquarters what appeared from across the street to
be a clean, quiet little hotel in the Kalverstraat. The two blended
most harmoniously. Between the unmelodious patriots who paraded the
Kalverstraat from sunset to sunrise, and the battles royal participated
in with the ambidextrous entomological specimens among the bedclothes,
I did anything but enjoy a refreshing night’s rest. To which tale
there are two morals: avoid Amsterdam on the Queen’s birthday, and
little Juliana’s as well, and eschew the hotels in the Kalverstraat
(one especially, which shall be nameless) as you would the nest of the
subtle hornet.
At the southeastern terminus of the Kalverstraat stands the old Mint
Tower of 1620, and still farther to the east is the Rembrandtplein,
a small, park-centered intersection of streets named in honor of
Holland’s painter _par excellence_, who lived for sixteen years at
No. 4 Joden-Breestraat in Amsterdam’s Jewish quarter, the house having
been since marked with a small memorial tablet.
Here bordering the Rembrandtplein are the larger sidewalk cafés, jammed
of a summer’s evening with pleasure-seeking Amsterdamers, each with a
cup or a glass of something in front of him. Like those found in the
ordinary German cafés these crowds seldom change. Here you may find
the same people at eleven that you have seen at seven, and in exactly
the same positions. A cup of coffee followed by a cordial is the usual
evening’s refreshment programme, the consuming time of which the
Amsterdamer will expand into a couple of hours by the assiduous perusal
of every newspaper and periodical he can inveigle the waiter to bring
him, interrupted only by an occasional sip of his beverage. Even the
persistent street singers, who come one at a time to prolong the agony
and stand but a few feet away from his table, yelling triumphantly
into his ear, fail to disturb him in the least. If, unthinkingly, he
finishes his refreshment before he considers the time has arrived to go
home to bed, he will calmly smoke out the remainder of the engagement.
The expenditure of half a _gulden_ or less will buy his contentment
until the following evening.
Many of the indoor cafés charge a small admission fee for the privilege
of listening to a “lady orchestra.” In each of these that part which
is adjacent to the street will be partitioned off by a dark curtain,
so that the patrons of the place may choose, if there be any choice,
between the crowds on the street and the vaudeville turns that may be
scheduled to follow the sufferings of the musicians.
On the Rembrandtplein stands also the Rembrandt theater, Amsterdam’s
principal playhouse, which, by way of information, is closed in summer.
But, by way of further information, there are in the city a number of
vaudeville theaters that cater to the less exacting in the matter of
histrionic art and are open throughout the year, offering more or less
respectable performances.
To one of these near the Rembrandtplein I wended my way upon a certain
evening, desirous of being amused, no matter what the consequences.
I obtained my money’s worth, and more. It cost me one and a half
_gulden_ to get in, and it might have cost me an ear, or other
projecting appendage, to get out if I had not slipped through a side
exit as inconspicuously as I could during the height of the mêlée and
commenced forthwith to accelerate my gait toward the hotel. I think the
disturbance was inaugurated by an American protégé of His Pugilistic
Highness, John Johnson, but I did not consider it exactly safe at the
time to tarry longer in order to ascertain definitely.
It so happened that this particular vaudeville house was in the
habit of concluding its performance each evening with a series of
international wrestling matches, offering a considerable monetary
reward to the winner of the finals. The first bout of the evening of
my visit was between an Englishman and a Dutchman, which terminated
satisfactorily for the latter and with no casualties. The crowd went
rampant; whereupon I became imbued with the spirit of the thing,
ordered another cup of coffee--which, by the way, was served gratis by
the management--and settled myself more comfortably to enjoy the next
tilt between a Frenchman and a Swede. The gougings and hair-pullings
resorted to by the Latin were not received with complacency on the part
of the audience, and when he lost the match, he made his exit with
ruffled temper, together with his full share of hisses and catcalls.
Then the promoters of the scheme made a managerial mistake. They pitted
a bloated Belgian wrestler against the champion of Amsterdam. A brief
reference to the pages of any volume reciting the incidents of 1830–31
will convey the correct impression that the Belgians and the Dutch are
not the intimate playmates they used to be--a fact which in itself
precluded the possibility of any amicable settlement of the forthcoming
athletic imbroglio.
The Belgian proved to be a past master in the science of hair-pulling
and eye-gouging. When the even tempered Dutchman finally turned him
on his back he felt called upon to challenge the referee, the score
keeper, the orchestra, the audience, or any other single individual or
group of them that happened to be within reach. The crowd hooted the
villain and applauded the hero.
Just at this inopportune moment a dark, ominous cloud, of African
parentage, wrapped in a true Alabama grin and peg-top trousers, blew in
from the wings and commenced to congratulate the victor hilariously.
In order that the peace respecting reputation of the house might be
preserved, a brigade of stage hands and ushers rushed in double phalanx
upon the scene, and, with rather generous turn of mind, attempted to
distract the negro’s attention and keep him from maiming the Belgian.
Ultimately they tried to put the negro out--an inconsiderate procedure,
to say the least. I once saw the same thing attempted during fair week
in Albuquerque, to the demolition of several plate glass windows and
the necessary services of half a dozen local surgeons.
The last I remember they were enticing the negro toward the front door
in a none too gentle manner, while the more enthusiastic half of the
audience was making for the stage, and the other half, among whom was
the writer, for the exits. On my way to the hotel there passed two
police vans loaded to the gunwales with a blur of arms and legs.
[Illustration: Diamond workers in Amsterdam. In a single year over
$13,000,000 worth of the gems were exported from this district to the
United States]
The Rijks or Royal Museum stands in a prominent location to the south
of the Old Town, surrounded by the more fashionable residence section
and the Vondel Park. From street floor to gables it is filled with
objects of historical and technical interest. It would take just as
long to “do” it thoroughly as it would the British Museum in London or
the Metropolitan in New York. But the tourist in Holland, usually of
limited time allowance, contents himself with a hurried inspection of
the different collections in the Rijks Museum and a view of the _pièce
de resistance_ of its picture gallery, namely, the world renowned
painting by Rembrandt erroneously styled “The Night Watch.” Many having
been led to believe, on account of the very marvelous chiaroscuro of
the picture, that Rembrandt intended it to represent a street scene at
night, its present title has been given universal usage; but in reality
the scene depicted takes place in daylight. It is the largest and most
justly celebrated work by Rembrandt, being fourteen and a quarter feet
long, and eleven and three quarters feet wide. It was painted in 1642,
and represents a small company of arquebusiers under Captain Franz Cocq
emerging from their shooting gallery, or _doele_--a name so commonly
given to Dutch hotels that you will find a “Hotel de Doelen” in almost
every town in Holland. The supposed night shadows in the picture are
in truth cast by the lofty vaulting of the gallery. The portraits of
the sixteen members of the guild were done from life, and each member
represented in the picture paid the artist one hundred _gulden_, which
remunerated him to the extent of something less than $800 for his
labors. To-day the painting could not be purchased at any price.
Not the least interesting--nor most fragrant--section of Amsterdam
is its Jewish Quarter, situated in the eastern part of the Old Town.
The quarter is a typical city in itself, for of Amsterdam’s total
population more than 60,000 are Jews. It possesses ten synagogues,
the largest of which, erected as early as 1670 by the Portuguese
Jews and said to resemble as far as possible the ancient Temple
of Solomon, stands in the Muiderstraat. Freedom of religion was
accorded these persecuted peoples early in the history of Amsterdam,
and to Amsterdam as an asylum they flocked, first from Spain in the
fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, a little later from Portugal, then
from the Spanish Netherlands, from Germany, and from Poland. In the
administration and the commercial enterprises of the city their wealth
wielded much influence.
Amsterdam is indebted to those Portuguese Jews who emigrated from
Antwerp in 1576 for the introduction of its most widely known industry,
that of diamond polishing--an art utterly unknown in Europe prior to
the fifteenth century. To-day there are more than seventy diamond
polishing establishments in and about the city, employing some 10,000
men, and they are building a new diamond exchange to cost in the
neighborhood of $240,000. The cut diamonds exported to the United
States from the Amsterdam district alone in 1909--the latest figures
at my elbow--were valued at $13,319,417, in addition to more than a
million dollars’ worth in the rough.
The rules of the London syndicate from which every Amsterdam diamond
polisher must purchase his uncut stones are equally strict with the
regulation of the diamond workers’ organization.
In the former case, a diamond polisher must procure an introduction to
the London merchant through the de Beers syndicate in order to obtain a
“sight.” If a polisher is buying diamonds of one class, say Kimberly,
he may not under any circumstances obtain a “sight” of diamonds of any
other class, say Jagerfontein. He may examine the parcel of diamonds
offered to him for a “sight” for fifteen minutes, no longer. If they do
not suit him his trip to London has been of no avail. He must take what
is offered or nothing, and at the price quoted. Until five years ago a
polisher was punished by not being able to obtain a “sight” for a year
if he refused to accept a parcel offered for purchase, and he would
often pay a premium of $4,000 for another man’s packet without seeing a
stone.
With regard to the worker, no one in Amsterdam may learn the trade of
diamond polishing without the consent of the organization and unless he
be the son of a diamond worker or jeweler. He must be under eighteen
years of age, he must pass a rigid examination, and if he desires to
become a cleaver--the highest salaried artisan in the diamond industry,
whose wages often amount to $120 a week--he must pay sometimes as much
as $2,000. There are special schools in Amsterdam for turners and
polishers which charge an instruction fee ranging from $120 to $150.
The rough diamond is first cleaved by hand, or, if thought more
profitable, it is set in a bar of hot lead which, after having cooled,
is placed in front of a phosphor-bronze saw and sawed in half.
Whether or not this saw may be used a second time depends upon the
crystallization of the stone sawed. Some stones that, after being
sawed, are considered too hard to polish, are pulverized and mixed
with emery dust to be used in making the saws. The two halves of the
original stone are then handed over to the cutters who cut them round,
or nearly so, and remove the flaws. The polishers then polish the
stones and make their facets, which, in the case of a gem of the first
class, number from fifty-eight to sixty-four.
Amsterdam is also the home of a peculiar institution into the workings
of which some of our own municipalities might delve to their advantage.
It puts the predatory money-loan shark out of business as effectually
as a hydrochloric acid bath would a potato bug. This institution is
the municipal pawnshop, known as the Bank of Leening, of which there
are fifteen branches in the city. It has been in successful operation
for centuries, the first pawn ticket showing the early date of April
29, 1614. Loans are made for six months, and all articles not redeemed
at the expiration of that period are sold at public auction. It is
interesting to note that among the articles disposed of in this manner
in 1909 were 3,427 sewing machines, 1,325 bicycles, and 106 pianos and
organs. The maximum loan allowed on a single article is approximately
$201, while the low rates charged have been the cause of much anxiety
on the part of the independent pawnbrokers, and with the desired
results. You may pawn with the Bank of Leening anything from a hair
comb to a hair mattress, but it is an acknowledged fact that forty
per cent. of its business is derived from that well-meaning Dutchman
addicted to the habit of wearing his best suit only on Sunday. This he
pawns on Monday and redeems on Saturday, until the suit wears out from
being passed over the counter.
One item more to the credit of Amsterdam: all the slaughtering of
animals for food must be done in the municipal abattoir, and meat
which is brought in from the country must be inspected there before
it is offered for sale. The dealers do their own slaughtering and
must pay for the use of the abattoir sixty-four, thirty-four, or ten
cents, according to the size of each animal slaughtered. Especially
constructed vans then transfer the meat to the shops of the different
dealers. Inasmuch as horseflesh is found on the daily menu of many
families in Amsterdam, 5,444 horses were numbered among the 150,000 or
more animals slaughtered in the municipal abattoir in 1909. Mutton,
not being in particular favor with the Dutch for some unknown reason,
cannot be bought in many of the meat shops, and there is a large
central market in Amsterdam that carries only mutton as its stock in
trade.