Gelderland. It is essentially an ancient place, dating back to a remote
period in the history of the Netherlands; even some there be who give
Arnhem the credit of being the original Arenacum of the Romans. It lies
upon the southern slopes of the Veluwe district, and from its railway
station the visitor will actually have to go down hill into the town--a
topographical condition so foreign to any of the other Dutch cities
already visited that Arnhem’s allegiance to Holland is questioned at
first sight.
Although Arnhem is old, it lacks many of those gifts of age that one
sees in other old cities throughout the country. Its appearance is
German, but its people, realizing the monetary benefits that rival
Dutch municipalities are deriving annually from the hordes of tourists
that descend upon them, try to advertise it as typically Dutch, and
issue frantic appeals to the traveler to be sure to pay it a visit on
these grounds. With its 60,000 inhabitants it is the sixth city in
point of population in Holland. Although it enjoys every advantage of
transportation its commerce is pitiable; as a residence city, however,
it is particularly favored. Because of the attractions of its environs,
Arnhem is a favorite spot for the retired Dutch merchant, who, having
amassed a fortune in the colonial trade after a long residence in the
remote Straits Settlements, seeks some quiet place at home endowed
with the beauties of nature, in which to spend the remainder of his
days in comfort.
The oldest part of Arnhem is the southern end of the city, bordering on
the Rhine and clustering about the Groote Markt as a center. The Groote
Kerk, an ecclesiastical building of large parts and deep excavations,
containing numerous monuments in memory of various historical
celebrities, bounds the market square on the west, and on the south one
may pierce the surrounding buildings to the Eusibius Square and the
Rhine bank through the ancient Sabil-Poort, a Gothic gateway recalling
the days when Arnhem was fortified with the customary town wall.
At the side of the Groote Kerk Arnhem holds a weekly market which is
scarcely more distinctive than that of Groningen but so popular with
the peasants that it overflows into the neighboring streets, and places
trolley service through the vicinity in a state of disruption. Having
driven into town the evening before, the country people unhitch their
horses and leave their wagons standing in the square so as to lose no
time in getting ready for business in the morning. Much faith they must
have in the honesty and orderliness of the citizens of Arnhem, for
their loads of vegetables and whatever they have for sale remain in the
open, when the weather is propitious, without even a covering.
A few blocks to the east of the market square lies the
Eusibiusbinnensingel, a beautiful park-like place, but a mouthful to
pronounce, with a lake in the center surrounded by great shade trees
and geometrical flower plots. If you follow this to the northward,
you will come, after a short walk, to the Velperplein, the pulse of
Arnhem’s trolley traffic, the principal feature of which is a large
building that goes under the poetical name of the Musis Sacrum,
containing a restaurant and various halls for exhibitions. Here at
the tables of the open air café the German tourists are wont to
forgather for refreshment purposes, guarding the while their little
ten-by-two-inch satchels, scarcely large enough to hold half a dozen
cigars, as if they contained the entire wardrobe and family jewels of
their owners.
In the Velperplein one may board an electric car for any part of the
city and many of its suburbs. And it is best to patronize the trolley
service of Arnhem whenever possible, because taxicabs, horse drawn or
motor propelled, are not to be found in operation. The buccaneering
cabbies of Arnhem, next of kin to the piratical baggage porters of
Fiume, charge a goodly price to take you out upon a drive in the
environs, and double the amount to bring you back, on the ground that
your ignorance of their language, not considering their ignorance of
yours, was the cause of a misinterpretation of directions. And the
worst of this tourist bleeding system is that the hotel head porters
connive with the cabbies.
On top of a real hill half a mile to the north of the railway station
is Sonsbeek, a favorite rendezvous of the pleasure-seeking Arnhemers,
thickly wooded, containing a small lake or two, and, of course, the
inevitable café, while the ascent of a tower called the Belvedere
is offered as a temptation only to those who expect to obtain a
magnificent and inspiring view where only a mediocre one exists.
The Velperweg, the Amsterdamschestraatweg--but if this kind of thing
goes on it might tangle my type into a knotted, inextricable mass; for
purely mechanical reasons, therefore, I shall revert to an English
version. The Velper Road, the Amsterdam Road, the Zyp Road, the Utrecht
Road, and the Apeldoorn Road are the five principal arteries that tap
the environs that have made Arnhem famous with the Dutchman. Each
one penetrates imposing woods, the like of which the Hollander never
saw before, but ruthlessly tramped almost threadbare by his frequent
pilgrimages through them in search of a “panorama,” no matter how
insignificant. At the different points where the foliage permits of a
view of sometimes several miles across the wheat fields, fruit venders
have set up their stands, the ground is littered with papers and the
empty boxes discarded by many picnickers, and the importunate picture
postcard man is seen in his element.
[Illustration: The market at Arnhem, at the side of the Groote Kerk, a
weekly event that overflows into the neighboring streets and interferes
with the trolley service]
The Velp Road, which leads at length to Zutphen, is, perhaps, the gem
of all the five. Wide and well kept, it is lined on either side as far
as the village of Velp, a distance of three miles from Arnhem, with
handsome residences and tastefully laid out lawns and gardens which are
girt with small canals in lieu of fences, so that each may be admired
from the roadway.
Halfway along is Bronbeek, the royal asylum for invalid soldiers who
have served in the colonial wars. It was bought by King William III in
1854 from its private owners, and presented by him to the State five
years later on condition that it be devoted to its present purpose.
Little cascades trickle here and there through its grounds, while
the pair of cannon mounted on its front lawn bespeaks its use as no
blaring signboard could possibly do. Not far from the corner entrance
to its park stands a statue of William II as Crown Prince, portrayed
as carrying his arm in a sling after having received a wound in the
battle of Waterloo. The interior of the building contains collections
of portraits of East Indian heroes, and of weapons, flags, and other
trophies of war taken in the colonies.
Rosendaal, one of the largest estates in Gelderland, can be reached
after a pleasant walk of a mile in a northerly direction from Velp.
Mentioned for the first time as early as 1314, its grounds are still
kept in a state of baronial magnificence, but of its old castle only a
comparatively small part of a great round tower remains.
Another walk, but toward the east on the road to the village and wood
of Beekhuizen, brings you to the castle of Biljoen, erected by Charles,
Duke of Guelders, in 1530, upon the foundations of an eleventh century
stronghold.
Nymwegen may be considered the twin city of Arnhem; when one is
mentioned the other is instinctively thought of. They lie close to
each other, are of about the same population, offer the same general
aspects, and have played parts of equal importance in the general
history of the country; but of the two, Nymwegen is possibly the more
diverting. It is two cities in one--the older part being purely Dutch,
with its old Dutch buildings and a few Dutch types which are mocked
by the declivity of some of its streets; the more modern and larger
part being distinctively German, with its _platzes_, the general
distribution and embellishment of its thoroughfares, and the density
of its greenery. The center of this German portion of Nymwegen is the
Keiser-Karelplein, a beautiful square from which the different streets
radiate; but what should be the pleasing quiet of the neighborhood is
constantly and mercilessly broken by the shrieks of the engine of a
noisy tram train that rattles around among the trees as if hunting in
vain for a convenient exit.
Yet another example of the very esthetic habit that the Dutch have
of demolishing old fortifications and planting the sites as public
pleasure grounds may be seen in the Kronenburg Park, the contour of
whose slopes adds admirably to the general landscape effect. Down
at the bottom is a duck-dotted lake bordered with the benches that
constitute the trysting places of many a young Nymwegen couple, so
unconscious of any but their own affairs that they suffer old ladies to
sit upon the same bench and knit and spy with generous eyes upon the
lovers’ advances. At the farther edge of the lake they have mercifully
preserved one of the sixteen towers that once strengthened the town
walls.
The Waal, one of the many branches of the Rhine, is a busier river at
Nymwegen than the real Rhine is at Arnhem. Tows of long, narrow boats,
typical of the Rhine above Cologne, ply up and down under the great
iron railway bridge and lend to the city more of a German air than ever.
Overlooking the river some distance above the railway bridge are the
shady pleasure grounds of the Valkhof, one of the seven hills upon
which the city of Nymwegen was originally built and where Charlemagne
erected an imperial palace, later destroyed by the French in 1796.
An interesting and picturesque ruin is a small fragment of the old
palace church, built by Emperor Frederick Barbarossa, while near by
may be seen the oldest remnant of ecclesiastical architecture in the
Netherlands--the sixteen-sided Gothic castle chapel, rebuilt a number
of times after being consecrated originally by Pope Leo III in 799.
Across what must have been the castle moat and connected with the
Valkhof grounds by an iron bridge, a tower of the seventeenth century
affords the people of Nymwegen an attractive view of which they are
justly proud, embracing as it does the fertile farming districts as far
as Cleve, to the southeast, as far as Arnhem, to the north, and, upon a
clear day, as many as four rivers: the Rhine, the Maas, the Waal, and
the Yssel.
The old Church of St. Stephen and the brick gateway that leads to
it from the market square, the weigh-house with its red and black
shutters, the Town Hall, and a number of other old buildings in the
vicinity of the Groote Markt are all essentially Dutch, but for which
the visitor might easily imagine himself in a German city.
[Illustration: A feature of Arnhem is the Eusibiusbinnensingel, a
park-like place with a lake in the center, surrounded by great shade
trees]
With those of Arnhem, however, Nymwegen’s environs can scarcely hope
to compete. The steam tram that rattles around the Keiser-Karelplein
eventually escapes the city limits and climbs the long hill to the
Hotel Berg en Dal, from the vicinity of which one may look out upon
a much vaunted “panorama” that might at least be worth while under
certain conditions. But what with the blatant strummings of an
automatic piano that considers itself of valuable assistance to the
complete enjoyment of the view, and the petty vibrations of a more or
less popular photographer intent upon making likenesses of visitors in
the unusual and startling act of looking from the top of a hill in
Holland, the view is rendered more of a bore than a diversion.
The Dutch province of Limburg, a narrow tongue of land successfully
battled for by the Dutch against the Belgians in the war of 1830–31,
lying away to the south of Gelderland and wedged in between Belgium on
the west and Germany on the east, is so un-Netherlandish, both as to
peoples and topography, that it can scarcely be considered as a part
of the Holland that the tourist expects. Its inhabitants even speak
a low German dialect instead of Dutch. Furthermore, it is not on any
route that a tour through Holland might include, for Maastricht, its
historical old capital, is on the direct railway line between Brussels
and Cologne and may be more easily visited from either of those points
than from any city in Holland proper.
CHAPTER XV
UTRECHT AND ’S HERTOGENBOSCH
There can be only one reason for my clearing my conscience of Utrecht
and ’S Hertogenbosch in one and the same chapter. This may or may not
be apparent to him who has already toured Holland, for the two towns
cannot be said to be on the same line of traffic; they are not even
in the same province; neither are they alike in appearance. Utrecht,
the capital of the province of that name, with its canals and old
houses, its lime avenues and its shady parks, has more of the typical
Dutch element in its make-up, and can be as easily reached, and as
profitably, from either Rotterdam or Amsterdam.
’S Hertogenbosch, on the other hand, the frontier town of the southern
provinces, lies along the route that leads into Germany, and its
“windmills and wooden shoes” are conspicuous in their absence. It
seems, out of respect for its geographical position, more of a Belgian
city. Indeed, the Belgians, unable to conquer its Dutch nomenclature,
long ago rechristened the place, and now it is as often spoken of by
the more euphonious name of Bois le Duc--a merciful convenience for
all of my personal purposes, because it is as difficult to write ’S
Hertogenbosch as it is to pronounce it. Since to Bois le Duc it has
been simplified, Bois le Duc it shall be henceforth called within these
pages.
Now to divulge my secret for treating Utrecht and Bois le Duc in the
same chapter: with their famous churches they are the most important
ecclesiastical cities in Holland. Utrecht, in addition, is a university
town, a cattle center, and one of the oldest places, as well as one of
the largest, in the Netherlands. In Roman times it was known by the
Latin translation of “The Ford of the Rhine”--_Trajectum ad Rhenum_. In
the seventh century, under the Frisians, King Dagobert I founded here
the first Frisian church. Subsequently the archbishops of Utrecht grew
to be the most powerful of medieval prelates, and their see at an early
date became renowned for the magnificence of its houses of worship.
Utrecht was included in the French province of Lorraine, was later
annexed to the German empire by force of circumstances, and enjoyed the
distinction of being a favorite residence of the emperors. The union
of the seven Dutch provinces was formed in Utrecht in 1579, under the
sponsorship and direction of John of Nassau, brother of William, Prince
of Orange, to establish the independence of the Netherlands. From that
time on until 1593 the States-General assembled here; in that year the
seat of the Dutch Government was transferred to The Hague. The most
celebrated event in the old city’s history, however, took place on the
11th of April, 1713, when the peace was here concluded that terminated
the Spanish wars of Succession.
That much for history.
Twentieth century Utrecht is different. Its old-time importance as one
of the foremost commercial cities of the Middle Ages was owing to its
enviable position on the Rhine where the river wrenches itself into two
branches--the Old Rhine and the Vecht. The former percolates, according
to the will and calculations of the Dutch engineers, into the North Sea
at Katwyk, and the Vecht empties into the Zuyder Zee, near Muiden. The
city’s commercial importance and activity have dwindled piteously into
a weekly cattle market held in the Vreeburg, Utrecht’s great central
square, occupying the site of a castle built in 1517 by Emperor Charles
V.
[Illustration: Utrecht’s Cathedral, erected in the eleventh century
upon the site of a church founded in 720]
With the break of day on Saturday the farmers from the surrounding
country, “_klomped_” in more varied styles of wooden shoes than you
will find in any other single town in Holland, begin to arrive with
their stock at the Vreeburg. In the night a conglomerate collection of
little side-show tents and canvas-covered stalls for the sale of almost
everything, has sprung up like a bed of mushrooms on the outskirts of
the market place, so that the cattle dealer, after he has negotiated a
substitution of stock for its equivalent in the coin of the realm,
may want for neither amusement nor a convenient place to purchase the
hundred and one articles that his better seven-eighths has cautioned
him not to come home without.
Singularly enough, the same methods obtain in bargaining for cows in
Utrecht that are prevalent while dickering for cheeses in Alkmaar.
There is the same placid composure on the part of the seller, the same
minute examination on the part of the buyer; there is the same Captain
John Smith pose; there is the same whacking of hands; there is the same
general exodus from the market place, after the ceremonies, to the
more blithesome lunchrooms and halls of frivolity. I wish I might have
followed up the case of a cattle dealer whom I saw in a certain café
after the market, making a lunch of the uncertain mixture of a glass of
beer and a dish of currants. The notation of the after effects of the
combination might have been of value to materia medica.
Utrecht’s famous old churches have been pillaged and desecrated to a
great extent by the elements and the changes wrought by time and tide.
Once, long ago, when the followers of the various creeds were all at
sixes and sevens, the Munsterkerk, the Pieterskerk, the Janskerk, and
the cathedral itself, no doubt, with their cloistersful of clergy,
were walled in and moated, and patronized as much as asylums of refuge
as for worship. To-day they are simply tolerated. A coffeehouse does
a land office business in the archbishop’s palace, and the tramcar
company has tunneled through the vaulted archway of the great detached
cathedral tower rather than go to the trouble of laying the tracks
around it.
And what a cathedral this Gothic curiosity of Utrecht is! Erected in
the eleventh century upon the site of a former ecclesiastical edifice
founded in 720, in its day it must have easily outclassed anything of
its ilk in all the Netherlands. Now its back is broken, so to speak,
beyond repair, for in 1674 a violent hurricane that bowled a spare with
the church towers in the district, tore out the nave of the cathedral
and left the tower and the choir completely disconnected. The site of
the demolished nave now forms the center of the Cathedral Square, and
is as much a thoroughfare as any street in the city.
The interior of the church, like the interior of almost every church
of any size in Holland, offers little of originality or interest. The
walls are covered with many layers of unbecoming whitewash, and any
pleasing effect that the columned interior might have originally had
is lost, for a portion in the center is boarded up, like a bull ring
with its barrier, segregating the inclosed space for the purpose of
uninterrupted worship. The one redeeming feature of the whole place,
aside from a few meritorious monuments, is a handsome oaken pulpit,
elaborately carved by hand, so as to give the effect of a miniature
cathedral in itself.
After being a city of disabled and decrepit churches, Utrecht is a
university town, and the seven or eight hundred students in attendance
do their best to emulate the early ecclesiastics by trying to keep the
place in a state of perennial siege, for it is to be remembered that
the drudgery and frugality of university life in Holland is not what
it is cracked up to be. In a way, a Dutch college education is a good
bit of a farce. The student is under very few obligations except to
himself. He does not have to appear in chapel; he does not even have
to attend classes, and there are a large number of students in each of
Holland’s three universities--young men of private fortune who take
up a course in law or what not, with no intention of ever practicing,
in order to avail themselves of the gaiety and freedom of university
life--who never enter a lecture room from one term’s end to the other.
Consequently, there is much hilarity and much extravagance, all of
which is more or less resented by the thrifty, peaceful townspeople,
and which sometimes places the two factions under strained relations.
When a student does complete a course, having seen fit to relegate
himself to the hard, honest work necessary to the attainment of a
doctor’s degree, he deems it of such momentous occurrence that he
forthwith has his thesis published in book form _de luxe_, and, hiring
a carriage, which is manned by student initiates into his Corps,
he drives in state to the residences of his several professors and
intimate friends, leaving with each a copy of his work.
In the above mentioning of the Students’ Corps, I have named a
salient feature of student life in Holland, and one which none of her
universities is without. Although of broader membership, it takes the
place of our own fraternities. It includes, however, all the students
who can afford to pay its dues and subscriptions. A senate, comprising
a rector, a secretary, and three other functionaries, elected annually
by the Corps from among its members of four or more years’ standing,
dictates the policy of the Corps and administers its affairs. Any
member of the Corps is eligible for membership in the Corps Club, the
culminating distinction of Dutch university life, or for any of its
various subdivisions of athletic or social societies. The initiates
undergo most of the harmless little byplays, not to mention some new
ones, that provide for such a halcyon period in the careers of our own
fraternal neophytes.
Among its numerous idiosyncrasies Utrecht has a canal, called the
Oude Gracht, that is unique in comparison with other canals in other
cities in Holland. The water in this canal lies far below the level
of the bordering streets. Between the street and the water there is a
great stone step that forms the real canal bank. In the old days the
“riser” above this step was made up of foundation arches of stone upon
which were built the specious mansions that fronted the thoroughfares
alongside the canal. To make use of spaces which would otherwise be
wasted, these vaulted foundations served as cellars, with the street
for a roof, and were in as constant use as any other part of the
dwelling. Most of them are now occupied as shops, to the entrances of
which you must descend a flight of steps from the roadway above; but
here and there their windows display the lace curtain and the boxful of
flowers that give evidence of domestic habitation.
Utrecht, too, has many verdant beauty spots, the most verdant being
the Hoogeland Park, with its circumference bordered with attractive
villas and reached through a wide lime avenue they call the Maliebaan.
In the Antiquarian Museum, situated in the park, one may behold the
two most interesting relics in the possession of Utrecht, if we
exclude, perhaps, the seventy different kinds of lace on view in
the Archiepiscopal Museum on the Nieuwe Gracht. These are: a table,
handsomely and delicately carved, at which the signatories of the
famous Peace of Utrecht were said to have sat in 1713; and the “Doll’s
House,” an accurate reproduction in miniature of a patrician dwelling
of the period, executed in 1680, and worked out in the minutest detail
from cellar to chimney pot, from kitchen utensils to genuine oil
paintings by celebrated masters on the walls of the drawing room.