of their cordiality I mention a sumptuous banquet given in our honor by
a townsman Mr. L----, who says we must not return home without a glimpse
of the social life of the city. The banquet is held at the largest and
most popular banqueting hall (Maison Couturier), and besides our host
and his family, a few intimate friends and some young people are
present. At the appointed hour we are driven to a spacious and handsome
building, and are conducted to a beautiful apartment with most
attractive surroundings. The first floor of this hall is elegantly
furnished, and lit by electric lights. Flowers, palms, and other
tropical plants adorn the halls and rooms. After a cordial welcome from
our host, we are led to the banqueting hall, where we are dazzled by the
light and beauty around us, and delighted by the artistic effect.
Covers are laid for sixteen guests. Flowers, plants and fruits are
picturesquely arranged, and even the electric lights exhibit various
glowing designs. The feast is prepared under the direction of an
experienced chef, and here we speedily become aware that the city of
Amsterdam is not one whit behind the great centres of the world in this
line of achievement. After many toasts to Amsterdam and its people have
been responded to, the hospitalities are concluded with one to "America
and its beautiful women," and we take our departure after three hours
most delightfully spent in social intercourse with our friends. Upon
this occasion four languages, French, Dutch, German and English are
fluently spoken.
Excursions to Broek and the Island of Marken.
_Excursions to Broek and the Island of Marken._
A Charming Journey--Fellow-Passengers--National Costumes--The
Children--A Lovely Landscape--Holstein
Cattle--Windmills--Irrigation--Farmers--A Typical Dutch
Village--Washing-Day--The Red, White and Blue--Suppose a Bull Should
Appear--A Brilliant Picture--Drawing the Canal Boat--Honesty and
Cleanliness--A Thrifty and Industrious People--Farming and
Cheese-making--As Evening Falls--Scenes for an Artist--Dead Cities of
Holland--Monnikendam--Behind the Age--City Lamps--Houses and
People--The Island of Marken--An Isolated Wonderland--First
Impressions--Rare Holidays--The Family Doctor--Absence of the Men--The
Fishing--Healthy and Industrious population--The Women of
Marken--Pretty Girls--They Will not be Taken--A Valuable
Experience--Photographs.
A beautiful trip is that to Broek. We take the small steamer that lies
in the river a short distance from our hotel, the Amstel, and after a
sail of three-quarters of an hour, are landed at an insignificant
station on the opposite shore. Here a little car with bare wooden seats
running lengthwise, and a queer looking engine waits for passengers from
the boat. And now we ride through a picturesque farming country, passing
numerous small stations. This road terminates at Edam, but we do not go
that far. Our fellow-passengers are most interesting. Many of the women
wear their gold heirlooms with the finely embroidered caps which are so
quaint and becoming, and all wear the customary wooden shoes.
The men have rugged brown faces, and sinewy arms: some of them wear the
heavy wooden shoes, others slippers, while a number are barefooted. How
they all stare at us, and it is just as impossible for us to withdraw
our eyes from them. We are novel sights to each other. I wonder what
they think of our appearance. Their faces are impassive, but ours must
surely express wonder, admiration and a strong desire on the part of one
at least, to capture these studies in color and figure that surround us
on every side.
The children, with their rosy cheeks and round healthy forms, seem merry
and happy, although none of them are sociable or talkative with us. They
look at us in amazement. This is a delightful ride over a smooth velvety
road, with rich pasture land on either side. Now we pass great dikes
which hold back the waters from these fertile fields; and now short
canals with their little boats, on which perhaps the Dutch vrow in her
snowy cap and gold head-dress is seated beside her husband who smokes
his pipe with a meditative air. The flat landscape is varied by
innumerable herds of cattle, principally of Holstein breed, with the
great white bands encircling the bodies, which reminds me of the story
of the Yankee who used this band for a foundation upon which to paint
his sign: "The finest milk and cream in the world within. Price two
cents per quart."
[Illustration: "The flat landscape is varied by herds of cattle." (_See
page 153._)]
Hundreds of windmills may be seen with their long wings gracefully
moving at the touch of a gentle breeze, in perfect harmony with the
surrounding landscape. These mills have been used for many centuries in
Holland, which is their mother country, and serve for draining the land,
or for manufacturing purposes. They are placed upon a substantial
foundation of brick or stone, and their enormous sails describe a circle
of over a hundred feet in diameter: some run saws that cut through logs
of great thickness, while others are huge grain mills. The smaller
windmills are made of wood like those seen in some portions of our own
country. The system of irrigation by means of windmills is very complete
in Holland, thus it is that we see everywhere such beautiful fertile
fields. Many of the farms in this locality employ three or four, and
even more windmills for this purpose.
We see many farmers, with their wives and children, working in the
fields, and they all stop for an instant as our train passes, to shout a
merry greeting. Here a milkmaid in her snowy cap passes along the road.
Flocks of sheep stand in the shadow of the trees, and armies of quacking
ducks emerge from a marshy pool and spread themselves across the green.
The average speed of our antediluvian express is from five to seven
miles an hour, but it is perfectly satisfactory to these deliberate
people; and as to ourselves, we are enjoying everything too much to wish
it shortened by one minute. We arrive, however, at Broek, which is
celebrated as one of the cleanest towns in the world. It contains about
sixteen hundred inhabitants, and its narrow streets are paved with
yellow bricks which are kept scrupulously clean. The small frame houses
have tiled roofs, and with their flower gardens, present an orderly
appearance. The whole atmosphere of the place is one of primitive
simplicity. Some of the buildings are painted white, some green, and
others of a variety of hues. They all wear an indescribable air of
repose: and it is said that the front doors are not opened from the
beginning to the end of the year, except on the occasion of a wedding or
a funeral. The gardens are veritable curiosities, with their
old-fashioned flower-beds, and box-bushes cut into various fantastic
shapes, and all so diminutive that one feels as though he has fallen
upon an animated edition of the Noah's Ark of his childish days.
[Illustration: "Most of the houses have a canal at the back." (_See page
157._)]
Most of the houses have a canal or small stream at the back, and close
by, upon a washing-day, the garments of the family may be seen flying in
the breeze, displaying to the stranger the prevailing colors of the
community, which are red, white and blue. Red predominates, however,
since red flannel is universally worn by the middle and lower classes in
Holland. I think of the fine bull which we saw but a short time ago,
grazing so peacefully in the meadow, and wonder what effect this
exposure of tantalizing color would have upon his equanimity. Should he
be let loose among the back gardens of Broek upon a washing-day, the
order of this immaculate village would certainly receive a shock. For
once in the history of the place, things would be topsy-turvy, and the
excitement would doubtless surpass anything previously seen in this
peaceful town.
What beautiful and picturesque combinations are here! The varying shades
of green and blue, mingled with harmonious tints of yellow, produce a
scene for the impressionist, while the effect is enhanced by the
streams and canals which wind in and out with many a turn and twist,
apparently for the sole purpose of adding to the attraction of this
quaint and unique locality.
Occasionally we see a canal boat of larger size drawn by a buxom Dutch
maiden and her brother; or not infrequently it is the old man and his
wife, and sometimes the entire family all strenuously tugging the stout
rope which is securely fastened to the bow of the boat, while the
dilapidated old craft, laden with merchandise or produce creaks slowly
on its way, breaking the placid surface of the water with a soft musical
plash.
Honesty and truthfulness are unmistakably impressed upon the faces of
all whom we meet in this section. The people hereabouts do not possess
the shrewd business capacity of our Wall Street brokers, but they are
mild and pleasant, with a wholesome appearance of health and good
appetite. They are individually as clean and orderly as is their
village. Water is as cheap here as in America, but in this place there
seems to be an extravagance in the use of it which far exceeds that of
the same class in our country.
There are no beggars or idlers here. The people are so thrifty and
industrious that no portion of the day is wasted. Every one seems to
have an appointed task, even the small children, whom we see feeding the
ducks and pigs. All are engaged in some useful occupation.
Farming and cheese-making are the principal industries, although other
branches of business, such as stock-raising, fishing, boat-making, and
the manufacture of wooden shoes, are carried on to some extent.
Our visit to the village naturally attracts some attention, as
foreigners are rarely seen in these out of the way corners.
As evening steals upon us, the scene grows indescribably lovely, for the
sun in his descent illumines the whole landscape with vivid gleams of
many colors. The blue stream which finds its outlet in the larger river,
changes its sombre hue to one of dazzling gold, which throws out rich
reflections of clouds and foliage. A fairy-like transformation seems to
have taken place in the streets and houses; and, as we leave the village
and the shades of night fall about us, my thoughts are with the artist,
the photographer, the impressionist, who would feel the most exquisite
delight in such an opportunity; for he who could do justice to this
landscape either with brush or camera, would produce a picture worthy
of place among the noblest works of art.
We have heard so much of the "Dead cities of Holland," and especially of
the secluded life on the island of Marken, that we determine to see for
ourselves what this term really signifies. On our way thither, we pass
through the old town of Monnikendam, in which we behold many strange and
curious sights. People and buildings impress us with the idea that
"Father Time" has forgotten this place altogether in his rounds of
cutting down and making place for newcomers. The ancient and picturesque
houses look as though coeval with Time himself; but in truth they are
only mediaeval; it is the people who have stood still. The present age
has no place in their lives.
The population of the town numbers about twenty-three hundred, and this
is largely made up of children, judging from the appearance of the
streets. The main street is wide and attractive, but the side streets
are narrow, and all are paved with hard bricks placed edgewise. At night
the town is lighted by lamps balanced upon rude posts: coal is generally
used for fuel, but some of the residents use gasoline, which also serves
for light. The houses are primitive in construction, and the people
seem odd and inquisitive, but simple and economical in dress and
habit. As we expect to return in a short time, we direct our course
without delay to the Island of Marken.
[Illustration: "The blue stream finds its outlet in the river." (_See
page 159._)]
A good-sized yacht lies at anchor in the Zuyder Zee, beside the banks of
Monnikendam. The captain is a full-blooded "Markenite," born and bred on
the island. Having made arrangements with him, we go on board and are
soon on our way to the strange city: our hearts beat more quickly, and
all eyes are eagerly strained toward it, when the distant island appears
in the direction of our yacht's bow. After an hour's sail, we come to
anchor in the harbor of this secluded wonderland. As we approach the
town, the view from our boat seems to justify the title which has been
given to it of "the Dead City." It lies away from everything and
everybody, and save the deep sea which surrounds it, and which supplies
its inhabitants with food, the island of Marken has for centuries known
no association outside its own boundaries.
No news is carried to or from this isolated region. At rare intervals an
islander, by temperament more adventurous or enterprising than his
fellows, makes the daring undertaking of a visit to Monnikendam, or the
bolder flight to Amsterdam, although there are but few instances on
record of such a reckless proceeding as the last. The place has a
population of about thirteen hundred souls, and one may form an idea of
the health of its inhabitants from the fact that one doctor, without an
assistant, is the family physician for all the people on the island, and
we are told that calls upon his professional attention are not
sufficiently frequent to keep the cobwebs from forming on his medicine
chest.
The Dutch language is spoken here, and it is so rare to find any one who
understands English, that it is necessary to bring an interpreter as
well as guide in visiting this secluded spot. The inhabitants look upon
us as though we have dropped from the clouds, or sprung suddenly out of
the earth. It is unfortunate that we have come here on Monday, for on
this day the men of the island go off in their fishing boats, and do not
return till Saturday night. Only the old and crippled are left with the
women and children. Sunday is the one day in the week which the men may
spend with their wives and sweethearts. Fishing is the sole means of
subsistence here. The native inhabitants are industrious and economical,
but of a low type of intellect, rarely if ever displaying interest in
literary attainments. Health and good appetites seem to be their
chief characteristics, and a more law-abiding, innocent and virtuous
people it would be difficult to find. The women are large, muscular and
well shaped, and appear fully able to protect and care for their
households in the absence of the men.
[Illustration: "All persuasions accomplish naught." (_See page 168._)]
I am quite anxious to capture, by camera, not by force of arms, some of
these rare types of strength and beauty, and observing two pretty young
girls standing in the doorway of one of the houses, both perfect
specimens of physical health, I think this an opportunity not to be
neglected. What a fine picture they present with their erect forms,
their firm round arms, rosy cheeks and bright eyes! They are well
proportioned, and looking at their smiling faces one can readily
understand that a physician in a locality whose residents are
represented by such glowing life as that which is now before me, may
easily find time to be absent from his duties a year or two.
Fired with enthusiasm, I approach the girls who are talking to a couple
of old women, and am about to make a "snap shot" of the group, when
suddenly perceiving my intention, they fly into the house like
frightened deer, to the amusement of the old women, and the grief of the
writer. Determined not to be outdone, for now this picture beyond all
others is the desire of my heart, I enter the house and learn that the
young damsels have sought refuge in the loft, and are hiding, ostrich
like, with their heads buried in a mass of clothing. All my persuasions,
aided by those of the older women, accomplish nought, even the liberal
offer of silver guilders is not sufficient to move these obdurate maids,
and I am obliged to relinquish my desire. However, I have made a
valuable discovery, and that is that it is better under some
circumstances not to ask for the privilege, but to resort to strategy. I
request one or more of our party to engage the proposed subject in
conversation, while I retire to a suitable distance with my camera,
focus the group, then fire away. This plan succeeds admirably, and my
collection increases steadily and satisfactorily.
[Illustration: "One old woman is fascinated with the camera." (_See page
171._)]
However, upon better acquaintance with the townspeople and the repeated
assurances of our skipper, who speaks some English, that our purpose is
an innocent one, we are allowed to photograph the whole town freely, and
all its valuable possessions. Occasionally a guilder slipped quietly
into the hand of one of the older women opens a new vein of good
fortune, for they insist that "the gentleman shall be allowed to take
the picture;" whether it be an old-fashioned interior with its quaint
belongings, or a pretty maid too shy to hold her head up properly. One
old woman is so fascinated with the camera that she asks me to take
picture after picture of her homely wrinkled countenance. At first I do
so to her extreme delight, but finally I only pretend to take her
picture, and the last bewildering poses and bewitching smiles are all
wasted upon an unimpressionable plate.
The Ancient Town of Monnikendam.
[Illustration: "We walk along the narrow streets." (_See page 177._)]
_The Ancient Town of Monnikendam._
Marken Homes--Beds in the Wall--Family Heirlooms--An Ancient
Clock--Precious Treasures--Quaint Customs--Betrothed Couples--The
Hotel--Its Interior--A Lack of Patrons--Costumes of a By-gone
Age--Farewell to Marken--Remote Districts--Monnikendam--Ancient
Houses--Hotel de Posthoorn--The Postman of the Past--A Difficult
Stairway--We Stroll about the Town--Our Retinue--In Front of the
Hotel--Such Curious Children--Supper--We Visit the Shops--Pantomime--A
Novel Experience--They Cannot Understand--No Candles--We Attract a
Crowd--The Clothing Store--A Marken Suit--"Too High"--Bargaining--A
Stranger to the Rescue.
We walk along the narrow streets, some of which are paved with little
footways, and now and then visit one of the whitewashed frame houses
with their red tiled roofs. These houses are built after one pattern,
and resemble each other so closely in their crude architecture, that a
stranger might easily make a mistake, and enter the wrong door, without
having previously taken anything stronger than a glass of water. The
interior consists of four small rooms, which are kept scrupulously clean
and orderly. One of these is used as a living-room, and one as
dining-room and kitchen. The beds of the family are simply close, dark
recesses in the wall, in which there are bunks or shelves, and on these
the mattresses and bed clothing are placed, the occupants mounting by
means of wooden steps to this ill-ventilated and most uninviting
resting-place. We shudder as we glance into these dismal closets, and
feel a touch of nightmare at the thought of sleeping in one of them.
In every house there seems to be reserved a special apartment, as a
storage-place for the family heirlooms, and here are preserved articles
which have been handed down from generation to generation for centuries.
Dolls of various primitive shapes, broken and torn, with black, dusty
clothing; clocks long since arrested in their career by age or accident;
chairs of rude manufacture, with perhaps a broken leg or back; watches
and jewelry of ancient design; odd furniture and pieces of china,
besides other relics which would be useful only in an exhibition of the
antique. All these things are sacred in the eyes of their owners, who
would as soon think of parting with one of their children as of allowing
one of these treasures to pass out of the family.
At one of the houses I see stored among the heirlooms a clock, which
the owner informs me has been in the family for two hundred and fifty
years. I do not doubt the assertion, for it looks as though the dust of
a _thousand_ years has silently but steadily accumulated upon its
venerable face. I am about with my handkerchief to brush off some of
this precious dust, in order to see the wood and brass in their peculiar
coloring and design, but am quietly stopped by the hand of my host.
There is a noticeable rivalry between the different families in regard
to these treasures which are placed carefully away, as if too sacred for
the light of day, and are shown to the visitor much as the guide
employed in the mint allows one to touch a piece of gold or silver in
the early process of coinage. Each family tries to outdo the others in
its collection, and in the ancient appearance of the hoard. It is
amusing to watch their faces, when exhibiting the wonders: they seem
very uneasy if the stranger offers to touch one of the pieces, as though
in terror lest it should thus lose some of those precious particles
which enhance its value.
At another house I am allowed, as a great favor, to examine one of the
dolls, and really the anxiety shown until the owner has placed it once
more in its place in his collection is ludicrous. The most delicate
human being, or a piece of frail egg-shell china could not be more
tenderly handled.
These people are quite as quaint in appearance as in their customs. The
old-time costume of the island is worn as in other parts of Holland, but
here there is an intensity of ancientness, if I may use the expression,
which must be seen in order to be fully appreciated. They really seem
the remnants of a dead era, and in all their ways display a want of
experience of the outside world, a lack of that perception which the men
and women of to-day seem to inhale with the very atmosphere, which is
truly astonishing. The marriage and betrothal customs are especially
peculiar. We learn that an engaged couple cannot wed until five years
have elapsed since the announcement of the betrothal; and should a death
occur in either family in the meantime, it is considered such an ill
omen that the engagement is broken off altogether: at the end of a year,
however, a new engagement may be entered into, and after a second long
period of waiting the wedding is consummated.
[Illustration: "Sheep, grazing upon the green pasture lands, form a
homelike scene." (_See page 185._)]
There are many rigid rules of etiquette connected with these
engagements; for instance: should the young lover, upon each meeting,
neglect to impress a kiss upon the cheek of every member of the
family of his fiancee, the contract is annulled. One can readily believe
almost any statement regarding these strange people who seem like a
peculiar race stranded upon a desert island. Still from ocular
demonstration, we feel very certain that notwithstanding these stringent
rules, there is no lack of weddings among the young people, for there is
an overwhelming number of children upon the island.
Marken boasts of a hotel, and the owner and landlord tells us as he
stands proudly upon its stoop, that this bold enterprise issued from his
fertile brain, and that he is looking for a rich return for his venture.
I respond with as much enthusiasm as I can gather upon this occasion,
but fear he would receive but cold comfort from the true state of my
mind on the subject. The building consists of six rooms which he
pronounces quite modern. On the lower floor are a kitchen, ten feet by
ten, and a dining-room, twelve by fourteen, which also serves as a
barroom, sitting-room and smoking den, all rolled into one. Here the
guests are supposed to reach the acme of ease and comfort. A bare wooden
table and six chairs comprise the furniture of the room, and there is
nothing else visible save the snowy muslin curtains which hang at the
windows. Upstairs are three bedrooms, scantily furnished; here too the
windows are curtained. The freshness of these rooms and their
surroundings gives us the impression that they have never been occupied
since the erection of the hotel a year ago, by any one of greater
importance than the myriads of flies and mosquitoes which cling in lazy
groups to the walls and ceilings. My sympathy goes out to these ignorant
creatures who do not seem to have strength enough to get away, and seek
their nourishment in other quarters.
We find tolerably comfortable accommodations here, and view things very
philosophically on account of the curious and interesting life by which
we are surrounded. The men and women in their odd costumes are rare
pictures. The clothing worn here is of a style worn hundreds of years
ago, and there is no consciousness on the part of its wearers that there
is anything unusual in its appearance. "Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis
folly to be wise," and it is more than probable that they will continue
to wear this antediluvian garb for centuries to come.
Much of the washing is done in the little canal which flows through the
town, and this is easily accomplished, as linen is not worn to any great
extent, as in other places, and the coarse homespun garments are
cleansed by a very simple process.