peaceful scene which is very attractive. The air is fresh, yet balmy,
imparting tone and vigor to the sturdy natives.
At last we bid adieu to this stationary spot upon the earth's surface,
wondering if an earthquake or any other startling event will ever happen
here to rouse it from its lethargy, and compel it to take its place in
the march of the ages. If not, it will remain as of old, a boon to the
artist, an infinite source from which he may draw quaint, ideal and most
original studies of a people and an era whose counterpart has long since
vanished from our everyday world.
In our travels in the northern portion of Holland, and away from the
larger cities, as Amsterdam and Rotterdam, which are more visited by
tourists, we find that our letters of credit extend over an astonishing
space of time, for a little money goes a long way among these people.
The regions seem to be too remote for the regular tourist, and as there
is no great influx of capital from that source, there is no inducement
for the people to change their simple and primitive mode of living,
hence honesty, frugality and contentment reign here, and the visitor
may enjoy to its full extent, the beautiful country and the pure,
innocent life of its inhabitants.
The quaint and simple town of Monnikendam lies some fifteen or sixteen
miles north of Amsterdam, and here is a rich and rare scene of ancient
associations. Eyes, ears and brain are almost bewildered by the
exquisite strangeness of our surroundings. Here are houses with the date
of their birth inscribed over the doorways, and the odd designs of
bygone centuries still clinging to their walls.
These ancient dates and the rich beauty of these aged tenements impress
us with a feeling of awe, and we walk softly as we pass the hallowed
ground upon which so many lives have risen, passed their little day,
then vanished to make place for the next players. Of the two hotels
which the town supports, we choose the oldest, the Hotel de Posthoorn,
which derives its name from the fact that at an early date the building
was used as a post office station. In those days the postman carried a
horn, which he blew when approaching a station, as a notice to the
townfolk to have their mail ready for collection, that he might not be
detained, as his route was long and wearisome.
[Illustration: "Hotel de Posthoorn." (_See page 186._)]
We are conducted to the second floor of the hotel by a steep and narrow
stairway, which requires much ingenuity in the ascent, as the steps are
constructed at such a peculiar angle that it is difficult to balance
one's self upon them. We reach the top as gracefully as possible under
the circumstances, and find two pleasant communicating rooms overlooking
the main street. Rooms, beds and all our surroundings are wonderfully
clean, and filled with an atmosphere of the past, which is very
charming. The rates charged here are seven dollars a week for each
person, and this includes meals and attendance: the latter simply a
pleasant fiction, with no meaning whatever.
The sheets upon our beds are of homespun linen of good quality, but
emitting such an odor of antiquity, that there is no doubt whatever in
our minds that they are heirlooms of many generations, and we wish that
this genuine, ancient and unpleasant smell could be scattered abroad, or
adulterated in some way, even to the extent of a pair of modern sheets,
for concentrated age is more attractive in sights than in odors.
Our hotel bears the date 1697 upon a fancifully carved tablet above the
middle window, but the Stadhuis Tower is still older, dating back to
1592. The proprietor, his wife and daughter are pleasant, hospitable
people, who make our stay with them, both comfortable and enjoyable.
Before supper we stroll about the town, which consists of a main or
central avenue, with small narrow streets diverging from it. As we walk
along, a little crowd, composed chiefly of children, follows us closely.
These young people stare at us, and laugh as though we are a freshly
imported menagerie. On our return, we sit in front of the hotel where
some chairs and small tables are placed for the convenience of those who
wish to rest and sip their glass of beer or genuine Holland gin in the
open. The favorite beverages in Holland are beer, porter and gin, the
latter of an excellent quality, and genuinely "old."
We are soon surrounded by a group of children, who watch our motions and
by words and gestures freely express their wonder and amusement at the
odd-looking stranger people. They seem greatly surprised that we do not
understand their language: not even such simple phrases as "Goeden
avond," (Good-evening), or "Ja," (Yes), and "Nee," (No). When I make
them understand that in English yes and no are the same as their ja and
nee, they laugh immoderately, and repeat in their own broad accents,
yes and no, as if greatly amused.
After supper, which consists of cold fish, coffee, cheese, boiled
potatoes and tea with a private nip of the real ancient Holland gin, we
walk out again without a guide, to do some shopping. We have a funny
experience, as we are compelled to resort to pantomime in making the
various purchases. Entering a "general" store in search of candles, we
at first ask for them in English: the good-natured shopwoman smiles and
shakes her head. I repeat the word "candles," at the same time going
through the motion of striking a match on the counter, and holding it up
to the end of my forefinger. This strange proceeding attracts the
attention of a young man and woman, who draw near the counter, followed
by several other members of the family, but I cannot make them
comprehend. We then try the French language, but this also proves a
failure, so we are obliged to depart without our candles, although I am
confident they have them somewhere in the store.
Scene after scene of this kind is gone through with in the different
shops, and now our curious actions have attracted a large crowd of
people who follow close at our heels, wondering what we will do next,
and thinking, no doubt, that we are a very good kind of free show. Such
strange beings rarely visit their isolated town, and they are certainly
enjoying their opportunity to its full extent. When we stop to look into
a shop-window, they stop too, and follow our example like very shadows.
The expression of wonder and merriment depicted on the countenances of
both young and old is a fine study for an artist.
As we saunter leisurely along, we espy a clothing store, which we enter,
and find half-a-dozen men lounging about with long clay pipes in their
mouths, and their hands in the pockets of their baggy trousers. Their
faces wear a peaceful, contented expression, which changes to a look of
surprise as we approach them, and they scan our attire, as something
wholly different from anything to which they are accustomed. The gaping
throng outside besieges the doorway. As the men still gaze curiously at
us, I draw near the one who appears to be the proprietor of the
establishment, and in pantomime, aided by English, interspersed with a
little French, ask for a Marken suit of clothes. The man laughs and
looks perplexed; his companions also shake their heads in token that
they do not understand. With serious countenances and widely-opened
eyes, they follow the motions of my lips and hands. Uttering slowly
the words: "Marken suit," I point to my own trousers, coat and vest.
Their eyes follow my hands, first to my trousers, then to my coat and
vest. It is a difficult position; but what a treat to watch their
puzzled countenances, now smiling, now with a look of actual pain in
their efforts to understand.
[Illustration: "De Hooflstraat, Monnikendam." (_See page 190._)]
At last my perseverance and their attention are rewarded, and the
storekeeper takes from a shelf a dusty bundle, and carefully unfolds it.
Within the bundle is a Marken suit: yes, the very kind I wish to
possess, an entire woman's dress. I am anxious to purchase it at any
reasonable figure. The garment is passed to us for inspection. We nod in
indication that it is just what we desire. Now for the tug of war; the
price. "Combien? Combien?" Finally thirty guilders is named as the price
set upon the dress. We motion, "Too high," and I point to the ceiling.
The six weary men all look up in the direction of my finger: they smile,
and think it is a good joke, and look at me as though saying: "What
next?" They laugh heartily at my vain endeavors. Alas! How can I make
them understand? "Fifteen guilders," I say. The proprietor seems to
understand. "Nee. Nee. Ik kan het niet doen." (No. No. I cannot do it.)
After long deliberation, still holding the cherished suit in his hands,
he turns to his companions, and seems to ask their opinion. Several
shake their heads and utter: "Nee. Nee," others say: "Ja. Ja." One
suggests twenty-five guilders as the price; another twenty guilders. The
bargaining goes on without drawing any nearer to a conclusion, when to
our relief a gentleman enters the shop who understands the language of
these people. He has learned from the outsiders that some Americans are
in the store trying to buy a suit of clothes. Through the kindness of
this stranger, matters are speedily adjusted, and the sale effected, as
he speaks both Dutch and English fluently. We purchase the complete suit
for fifteen guilders, or about six dollars in the currency of the United
States.
These suits are rarely made for sale, but only when needed for immediate
use. The natives of the island make them for personal wear, or for each
other. Every man and woman generally owns two suits: one to wear every
day, and one for Sundays.
As we move toward the door to take our departure, after spending
three-quarters of an hour over this transaction, we perceive that the
throng around the door has increased in numbers. What an assemblage!
And we are the curiosities. I count them, and find there are thirty men,
women and children, all full of excitement at the presence of strangers
in Monnikendam. One young girl is so shy and timid, that as we advance
toward her on our way out, she starts and runs hurriedly away, and gazes
at us from a distance of some twenty feet, as though we are dangerous
animals.
We make several other purchases; partly because we desire the articles,
but chiefly on account of our enjoyment of this novel mode of shopping.
[Illustration: "There is a young man whose walk is all his own." (_See
page 211._)]
Old Customs and Quaint Pictures.
[Illustration: "The streets and sidewalks are kept scrupulously clean."
(_See page 211._)]
_Old Customs and Quaint Pictures._
Segars and Tobacco--Row Boats--"Goeden Morgan"--The Zuyder Zee--By
Candle Light--Total Darkness--The Town by Night--Women and
Girls--Shoes and Stockings--The Shuffling Man--Streets and
Sidewalks--The Town Crier--The Daily News--A Message to the
People--Draught Dogs--Milkmaids--The Barber Shop--Drug
Stores--"Horretje"--A Street Auction--Selling Curios--They Leave their
Shoes at the Door--An Old Grist Mill--The Holland Draught Girl.
In Holland, segars and tobacco of very good quality are sold at low
prices: it is not uncommon to buy two segars for one cent (United States
currency) and should you be detected smoking an article costing more
than a penny, you are immediately stamped as a wealthy and extravagant
personage. This reputation is easily acquired in a town of such thrifty
habits as Monnikendam, and here my fondness for a good smoke lays me
open to both charges.
A row boat may be hired for twenty cents a day, if you do your own
rowing; with a man to row, the charge is forty cents. We find it
convenient to hire a man, who also serves as guide and interpreter, and
who rows us to many lovely nooks and out-of-the-way spots, which we
would otherwise miss seeing.
The inhabitants of the town are kind and hospitable, and we are charmed
with their good, honest countenances. We are always greeted with a
pleasant "Goeden morgen," or "Goeden avond," or it may be: "Hoe staat
het leven?" (How are you?), when we pass them on the street.
The country about here is principally farm land, with rich and abundant
pasturage. A short distance from us is the placid Zuyder Zee, with its
shining waters stretching eastward for miles. From its picturesque banks
may be seen boats of every size and kind, from the tiniest row boat to
craft of many tons' burden, and it is interesting to observe from this
point the busy life upon the water, as produce, farm implements and
merchandise are carried to and fro.
[Illustration: "The whole place is a succession of quaint and
picturesque houses." (_See page 216._)]
As I sit writing in my room, by the light of a homemade candle, I now
and then pause in my occupation to look around with an ever increasing
wonder, at the dark old furniture over which the light casts a ghostly
gleam. The spirit of the past seems lurking in the corners, with their
long forgotten history, and around yonder ancient cupboard and brass
trimmed chest of drawers. I can almost feel upon my shoulder the
touch of the hand which has carried this quaint old candlestick in those
olden days, and in imagination, hear the rustle of her gown as she
stands behind me waiting for her own. It is ten o'clock, and I walk to
the window and draw aside the curtain, curious to see the life that is
abroad in the town at this hour. To my astonishment there are no signs
of life of any kind. The town lies in total darkness. There is not a
glimmer of light anywhere, save the dim glow from a lantern dangling
carelessly by the side of a pedestrian who moves slowly and quietly
along the sidewalk. There is no other evidence of any living thing. Even
the frogs and crickets, which enliven a night scene at home, are not
heard here. Dead silence prevails, while
"Night, sable goddess, from her ebon throne,
In rayless majesty now stretches forth
Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world."
Even the stars are slumbering, or their sparkle has been engulfed by
this all-devouring darkness. The light of my candle seems out of harmony
with the peaceful repose around me: with a half-guilty feeling I
extinguish it, and wrapping myself in sheets of Holland linen, am soon
slumbering with the rest of the world.
In the morning, when seated at the breakfast table, my first question to
our host is as to the reason for such all-pervading darkness, and the
absence of the townspeople from the streets at night. He tells me that
it is so rare for any one to be abroad after nine o'clock in the
evening, that the street lamps, of which there are but few, are never
lighted. At ten o'clock every one is supposed to be at home and in bed.
The women and girls of this and the neighboring towns are thrifty and
industrious. When resting after their daily labors, whether at noon or
in the evening, they will invariably take from their deep side-pockets a
ball of thread or yarn, and with the short knitting needle, or the long
ones of steel, continue their work on an unfinished stocking, cap or
other article of wearing apparel.
The prevailing foot-covering for men, women and children is a heavy
woolen stocking; this fits the foot snugly, and protects it from the
hardness of the clumsy wooden shoe or clog as it is called. These shoes
are carved from a single block of wood: when they are worn and shabby
they are painted black, and a strap is placed across the instep. They
are of all sizes, but only one style or pattern. In the larger cities,
however, such as Rotterdam, one can obtain from the manufacturers a
painted wooden shoe, with buttons and stitches carved upon it as
ornaments. But this variation is found only in men's shoes. In Holland
the ordinary American slipper is frequently worn by both men and women.
The clatter of the wooden shoes is at first an unpleasant sound,
especially when several persons are walking together, but the ear soon
becomes accustomed to it, as to all other odd noises. There is a young
man in this place, who walks with a peculiar shuffle, all his own. He is
so strange looking altogether that I snap my camera on him one day as he
innocently passes by me. The peculiar sound of his walk has taught me to
know that he is coming long before his figure is visible. I sometimes
feel like telling him in the words of Byron, that
"He has no singing education,
An ignorant, noteless, timeless, tuneless fellow."
The streets and sidewalks are kept scrupulously clean, as the women of
each household scrub not only their sidewalks, but half-way across the
street in front of their dwellings. One may thus imagine what a charming
and inviting place this is for the pedestrian.
In this peaceful town where the golden rule is not simply a precept to
frame and hang upon the wall, it is not necessary to employ officials
with such high sounding but meaningless titles as "Street Commissioner,"
"Director of the Highways," etc., etc. No, here each individual
possesses sufficient honor and self-respect to accomplish his own share
of municipal work, to the benefit and comfort of the whole community.
There is one very ancient custom still existing here which interests and
entertains us greatly. This is the old fashion of employing a town
crier, who after beating a brass disk which is suspended by a cord from
his shoulder, calls out in a loud, clear voice, the news of the day,
events in foreign lands, transfers of property, sales and auctions which
have already taken place or are to occur in the near future, lost and
found articles and the like. For instance: he walks a distance of a
block or two, then stops in the middle of the street, beats the brass
disk vigorously with a small striker, and casting his head heavenward,
utters the phrases which have been prepared and given to him in
stereotyped tones. Thus the town receives its news, and the crier keeps
those who never stir from their homes as well as the business men of the
city informed of the most prominent events of their own and other
countries. What better method could be employed in the absence of
newspapers? The community is kept in touch with the outside world and
with its own members by means of this odd and ancient custom.
[Illustration: "A street auction." (_See page 220._)]
I have the pleasure of a personal association with the crier. Our party
is so much annoyed by the continual staring of the people, who seem
unable to become accustomed to our appearance in the town, and who
follow us constantly day and evening when we walk upon the streets, that
I decide to try some means to stop it. The proprietor of the hotel, at
my request, adds another sentence to the daily bulletin; it runs as
follows: "The three Americans now stopping at the Posthoorn Hotel must
not be annoyed by the good people of this town. It is not good manners
to stare at them and follow them, and it is unpleasant to these
strangers."
The day following my request, I listen anxiously for the voice of the
crier, and his appearance in our neighborhood. Here he comes; and the
message is rolled forth in sonorous tones. I seek the landlord and ask
him if the notice is to be circulated throughout the town; and he
replies in the affirmative. In justice to the inhabitants, I must state
that they heed the request, and hereafter go on their way without undue
excitement or comment when we appear among them; much to our own comfort
and enjoyment.
Few horses are seen upon these streets: wagons are drawn by two, three,
or four huge draught dogs, trained for this purpose. Men are also
frequently harnessed to wagons, as well as women, and sometimes a woman
and dog will appear together drawing a load of merchandise.
Milk is delivered by buxom young girls who carry on their shoulders a
strong wooden yoke: from the ends of this the milk pails are suspended
by ropes. Vegetables and other provisions are delivered in the same
manner. The milkmaid passes from door to door, rapping on each with the
ancient brass knocker, and serving her customer with the milk as it is
served with us.
The whole place is a succession of quaint and picturesque houses. The
shapes are various, and the heavy red-tiled roofs and many gables have a
charming effect as they stand in rows on either side of the street. Each
house seems to possess an individual style of its own, and many are so
old that they lean quite out of the perpendicular.
[Illustration: "At the farthest end of the street stands an old
windmill." (_See page 223._)]
While travelling in Holland one is constantly confronted with a sign in
the form of a wooden arm stretched from a doorway, with a brass disk
suspended from it containing the words:
Hier scheert en snyd men het haar,
which signifies that here one can be shaved and have his hair cut: in
other words, it is the sign of a barber, who in America designates his
calling by the gayly-colored pole. The brass disks in front of these
places are polished to a high state of brilliancy, and being suspended
so that they swing loosely in the breeze, they cast dazzling reflections
in all directions which cannot fail to attract the attention of the
passer-by. Another advertisement which differs greatly from those in our
country is that of the drug store. While with us huge glass vases and
globes of different colors are displayed in the window of the
apothecary, in Holland a wooden head of a man in great agony, with
protruding tongue, indicates that here the sufferer can find relief and
medicine for all his aches and pains. This head is conspicuously placed
over the entrance to the drug store.
Another odd custom in this strange country is that of placing a large
screen called a "Horetje" in the front windows of private houses, or on
the first floors. The screen is sometimes shaped like a fan, sometimes
it is heart-shaped or oval, and is intended to protect the person
seated at the door or window from the idle gaze of the pedestrian.
Indeed it often hides a charming picture of maiden grace and modesty.
One day as I am sitting at the door of the hotel attempting to sketch
some of the picturesque houses in the neighborhood, with many wondering
eyes directed toward my canvas, I notice a crowd of people beginning to
gather a short distance off. I do not see the centre of attraction, but
seizing my camera, which is my constant companion, together with pencils
and brushes, which are as close friends as Robinson Crusoe and his man
Friday, I hasten to the scene of action, feeling that probably something
is going to happen which will add a new page to my experience. It is
true: something interesting is about to take place; and that is a street
auction, a common occurrence in this town. The auctioneer, perched above
the heads of his audience upon an old wooden box, is calling out his
sales in Dutch. The articles which he is about to dispose of to the
highest bidders are dress goods, linen and wearing apparel. Much
persuasion is necessary before a sale is effected, as the strong desire
of the customers to obtain bargains is met by an equally strong
determination on the part of the auctioneer to sell his stock at good
prices. A funny sort of a seesaw is the result, which is the source of
much merriment among the spectators. I join in some of these outbursts
from pure sympathy, as most of the time I do not understand either the
jokes or allusions. A lively business is frequently carried on at these
auctions; but whether the purchaser really obtains more for his money
than by the ordinary method of buying I cannot ascertain. I presume they
think they have some advantage, or they would not flock to the sales in
such numbers.
[Illustration: "A beautifully shaded walk just outside the town." (_See
page 224._)]
An active branch of business here is the sale of curios, antique
silverware, china, gold, jewels, and bric-a-brac; in fact ancient
articles of every description.
As we walk down the Main street, admiring the clean highway and lovely
old houses on either side of us, we observe many pairs of wooden shoes
lying in front of the different residences near the doorways, and upon
inquiry learn that when one person goes to call upon another, he leaves
his heavy wooden shoes outside the door, and enters in his stocking
feet.