arms moving slowly and regularly in harmony with the gentle breeze which
blows across the Zuyder Zee. As we draw nearer, we see that it is an
ancient grist mill, and here is the owner, who invites us in to view the
interior, and with whom we have a pleasant chat in our own colloquial
style, adopted since our arrival in this city. Dozens of windmills can
be seen from this point, and, as I have already said, they are used for
many different purposes. The foundation story is the home of the family,
and in a number of these you will find quaint, delightful pictures of
old Dutch interiors, with their odd chairs and dressers, ancient clocks
and brass bound chests, old-fashioned china, and tiled fireplaces.
There is a beautifully shaded walk just outside the town, encircling the
whole city. Large trees here protect Monnikendam from the heavy wind and
rain storms which come from the Zuyder Zee, when old Neptune rises in
one of his dreadful tantrums. We enjoy this lovely walk, but what do we
not enjoy in this town which surely has bound us by some magic spell;
for the longer we stay here, the more loath we are to leave its borders.
One day we take a boat and direct our course along one of the canals, on
which there is considerable traffic. Here we behold the pitiable sight
of two young girls, harnessed like mules, and attached to a lead rope,
pulling inch by inch, and foot by foot, a large canal-boat filled with
merchandise.
I can imagine no harder work than this, for the poor creatures are
exposed to the intense heat of the sun, with no protection against its
direct rays, and they have a long slow journey before them, ere the
heavily-laden boat making its progress foot by foot shall reach its
destination. The toil of the factory girl in America is play when
compared with that of the draught girl in Holland.
[Illustration: "Land and water." (_See page 224._)]
A Dutch Cheese-making District.
[Illustration: "A good road for the bicycle." (_See page 239._)]
_A Dutch Cheese-making District._
A Cheese-making Country--Edam Cheese--A Picturesque Inn--An
Interesting Interior--A Thrifty Farmer--At Sunrise--In the Cow
Stable--The Pretty Maid--Stall and Parlor--The Cheese Room--The
Process of Making Cheese--"I Have Listened and Listened"--A Trip to
Volendam--A Fine Country Road--A Charming Day--Muzzled Dogs--The Only
Street--A Multitude of Children--Gay Decorations--A United People--As
a Hen and Her Brood--Their Wealth is Health--In Sunday Dress--Stalwart
Men and Sturdy Women--A Higher Type--"I have enough"--Fishermen--The
Anchorage--A Volendam Suit.
To-day we take the train for Edam, of world-wide fame as a cheese-making
centre. This town, situated about five miles north of Monnikendam,
abounds in beautiful old trees which protect it from the heat of the
sun, and render it very attractive. All of these towns seem to possess
individual interest, and the traveller is constantly surprised in this
region by new and unexpected scenes: but the imprint of truth and
honesty upon the faces of the dwellers in every town, village and
settlement in Holland is observed as the common bond of union, and leads
us to understand the happiness and prosperity for which this region is
justly celebrated.
It is hardly necessary to say that many cheese factories are scattered
throughout this section of the country. At one of these factories,
located on the bank of the canal, we see a large barge being loaded with
five thousand of the delicious Edam cheeses, intended for foreign
markets. We stop for rest and refreshment at one of the many inns on the
way. This house is a fine subject for an artist. The room in which our
meal is served is in itself a masterpiece. The floor, composed of large
stone flags, is spotlessly clean, and the walls are covered with odd
pieces of china, evidently associated with family history: the woodwork
is as white as soap and sand can make it, and the windows are as clear
as crystal. In a corner stands the old Dutch clock, with the moon, now
nearly full, represented above its time-worn face, and on one side is
the dark dresser, rich in ancient plates, and other quaint old-fashioned
crockery. The table at which we sit is covered with a snowy cloth of
homespun linen, and the blue and white dishes with the stories upon them
which have been thus told for unknown ages almost charm us into
forgetfulness of our luncheon itself, until a healthy cheerful country
girl appears, and with deft movements and smiling face places before us
the appetizing cheese, delicious bread, freshly churned butter, and new
milk as well as buttermilk. For this but a trifling charge is made, but
we feel that a glimpse into this quaint old Dutch interior, the sight of
these brass-bound chests and claw-footed chairs, and the picture of the
cheerful Holland maid are worth many times the cost of the meal.
We are much entertained by our visit to a thrifty farmer whose home is
about a mile from Monnikendam. This well-to-do personage owns a large
dairy farm, and learning that we are interested in this subject, invites
us to be present at sunrise to witness the process of cheese-making. An
early hour finds us on the way, and in good time a rap on the door of
the farmhouse brings us into the presence of a bright middle-aged Dutch
vrow, who with a cherry "Goeden morgen" bids us enter. We are first
ushered into the parlor, which is a room of considerable size,
immaculately clean, with comfortable chairs and sofas placed in various
corners, and a supply of delft ware and shining brass candlesticks that
fill our hearts with longing. In a few moments we are invited to the
adjoining room, which we suppose to be the kitchen or dining-room, but
to our surprise find ourselves in the cow-stable, a spacious, well
lighted apartment, about seventy feet long and fifteen feet wide. A row
of stalls runs along one side of the room, and here stand as many of the
genuine, full blooded Holstein cattle. They are handsome creatures,
looking as sleek and clean as those which take the premiums at the state
and county fairs at home. Here they stand, patiently awaiting the
appearance of the milkmaid; not however the milkmaid, "all forlorn" of
nursery rhyme, but in truth
The pretty maid with dress so clean,
With shining pail and face serene,
Who milks the cows with happy smile,
And sings her joyous songs the while.
The stalls are as sweet, clean and orderly as is the parlor which we
have just left, and snowy curtains hang above the windows over them, the
only apparent difference between the stable and the parlor being that
the cattle stand upon fresh, fragrant straw, instead of a clean carpet.
From the stable we are conducted to an adjoining building, which is the
cheese factory, and to the room in which are assembled the farmer, his
wife and two servants. Everything is in readiness: the fresh milk is
poured into a huge iron kettle which stands upon the floor, and which
is capable of holding about twenty gallons: a small quantity of rennet
is put into the milk, and in perhaps twenty minutes a kind of sieve is
passed quickly to and fro through the curdled mass. These sieves or
curd-knives have handles by which they are held while the blades are
drawn from side to side, cutting the curd into myriads of tiny cubes.
Then the farmer's wife rolls up her sleeves, exposing to view a pair of
round, shapely arms which would be the pride of a city belle, and dips
both hands and arms deep in the floating mass. She presses, and kneads
and rolls this thickening body until it assumes the consistency of
dough: the whey is bluish in color, and as thin as water. This is
drained off, and water is poured over the mass several times, until the
cheese is thoroughly cleansed of all the floating particles. It is now
ready to be placed in five pound moulds made of wood: the moulds are put
into a powerful press which shapes the cheese, and extracts any lurking
remnants of water. After about eight hours in the press, the cheeses are
salted and placed on shelves to dry. Now for a month it is necessary to
turn them every day, and after that, every other day for a month. They
are also sponged with lukewarm water and dried in the open air, and the
final process is a thin coat of linseed oil. It is a tedious operation;
great care is necessary to keep the chamber in which they are shelved
perfectly clean and dry, and of an even temperature. At last the
articles are ready for shipment to all parts of the world. This is an
enormous industry: in North Holland alone, we are informed that
twenty-six million pounds of cheese are produced per annum.
The portion of the process witnessed by us occupies about an hour and a
half: these cheeses are worth from the farmer's hands fifty or sixty
cents apiece.
There is a little boy ten or twelve years of age about here who seems to
derive great pleasure from our society, although he cannot understand
one word of English. One day, after sitting quietly for a long time,
while we are conversing together, he repeats impatiently in his own
language: "I have listened and listened to your talk, and I cannot
understand one word. I do not think you are talking sense at all."
Alas, poor child! You are not the only one who has listened and
listened, trying in vain to find a gleam of intelligence in the
foreigner's gibberish. Ignorance of the language of a nation causes it
to appear to one like a vast sealed volume, which he knows only by the
pictures on the title page.
I have written at length of the Island of Marken, one of the most noted
of the "Dead cities of Holland," and now, let us take a peep at the
sister city of Volendam, which lies four miles north of Monnikendam. As
we do not wish to visit this place when all the men are off on their
fishing expeditions, we choose for our excursion a clear bright Sunday,
a day on which the men will surely be at home, and their sea horses at
anchor in the harbor.
Procuring a large carriage and a powerful horse, a difficult thing to
obtain at short notice, we direct our driver to jog along slowly that we
may enjoy the beauty of the surrounding country. We drive over a fine
road, level and well ballasted; a good road for the bicycle: in fact all
the roads of Holland, city and country, are kept in perfect condition.
It is a charming day, and the balmy atmosphere and the refreshing breeze
which sweeps over the Zuyder Zee have a soothing effect upon mind and
body. This would be a great country for invalids, and those who seek
rest and change from the demands of fashion and social life. There is no
fashion here; only pure air and lovely peaceful beauty everywhere, with
good wholesome food and kind hearts to extend a cordial welcome to the
weary stranger. Added to this is the very moderate cost of a sojourn in
this delightful region.
Occasionally we pass a small cart or wagon drawn by dogs, the driver a
young girl who is comfortably seated in the vehicle, now and then
administering to the animals, by means of a short stick, reminders not
to lag on the way. These dogs are not the ordinary house dog which is
seen in our country; but are powerful and muscular creatures, as perhaps
I have already said, and so cross and savage when roused, that to secure
the safety of the persons near them they are closely muzzled. Being
ignorant of their peculiar traits, one day while admiring a couple of
fine draught dogs which are resting near a wagon, I approach them too
closely; my enthusiasm is suddenly cooled as one of them springs
viciously at me, striking me heavily on the chest, and he certainly
would have chipped a good sized piece of flesh from my body had his
muzzle not prevented this catastrophe. Hereafter I keep a distance of
many feet between me and these animals, and others of their species.
[Illustration: "This strange looking highway runs lengthwise through the
town." (_See page 243._)]
After a lovely drive of an hour, we arrive at the old town which is as
wonderful and interesting as its sister city. It too is built upon the
banks of the Zuyder Zee. We stand upon the only street in the place,
which in appearance resembles the back bone of a whale, with small brick
houses on either side. This strange looking highway runs lengthwise
through the town. The street is narrow: horses and dogs are never seen
upon it, but there are hundreds of children, who gather in great throngs
around our horse, wondering at the strange animal, and declaring him to
be a huge dog, for many of them have never seen a horse before. Our
appearance is also a great event to them, and the visit creates as much
excitement on one side as the other. It is a "red letter day" for both
the townspeople and ourselves.
The houses are roofed with red tiles, which exhibit many different
shapes and styles, and we perceive numerous flags floating from the
windows, and decorations of gay bunting. Upon asking the reason of this
festive appearance in the isolated and usually quiet city, we are
informed that they are in honor of a wedding which is to take place
within a few days. A wedding in this town is an occasion of great
rejoicing, and every household enters into the spirit of the
entertainment with enthusiasm, as the whole community resembles one
large family, and from the least to the greatest, they are all well
known to each other. The affairs of one are the affairs of all, hence a
single marriage becomes the festive occasion of the entire population.
This is not strange when one recollects that the people have no other
means of entertainment, such as theatres, concert halls or libraries,
whist or euchre parties. They have nothing save the individual
happenings in the domestic lives of the different families.
A woman whose children are sitting quietly upon the curb stone near us,
looks hurriedly around the door of her house, and seeing the commotion
which our arrival excites, calls anxiously for her "kids" to come to her
protecting arms, in mortal fear lest one of her brood should be carried
off by these strange and unexpected visitors. As I look around, and
behold the robust and muscular physiques of both men and women, I think
any one would be daring indeed who would attempt to carry off a child or
any other possession from these people in opposition to their wills.
[Illustration: "The houses are roofed with red tiles." (_See page
243._)]
The women and children here are richly endowed with the blessings of
health and strength. The whole population of thirteen hundred people
employ but one doctor, who has time to grow rusty in his profession, so
few are the demands upon his skill. I suggest to him on the occasion
of a meeting, that he adopt the Chinese plan of remuneration, that is
that the people pay him an annuity as long as they are well, and that
when they are sick, they be entitled to his services gratis.
The natives of Holland are not inclined to excesses of any kind, and
they thus enjoy the full benefit of naturally sound constitutions, and
are able to transmit to their children perfect, unimpaired health. As we
stroll along this backbone of a street without name or pretensions, we
stop at many of the doorways to talk with the residents, and soon become
impressed with the hospitality of the people, who are arrayed in all the
glory of their Sunday finery, and appear at the fronts of their homes
happy in the consciousness that they as well as all their surroundings
are in "apple pie order." We are as much interested in them as they are
in us, and that is saying a great deal.
The great, stalwart fellows with their broad shoulders and rugged faces
are indeed true types of all that is brave and manly. A loose shirt and
baggy trousers, with a small cloth cap is the ordinary costume of the
men, many of whom wear wooden shoes; leather slippers are also worn. The
women are equally brave and strong in appearance, and as large in
proportion as the men. Their sturdy forms and healthy faces are rare
models for the artist's brush. Their dress is of homespun linen,
generally dyed blue, and is composed of several pieces; sometimes these
are of various colors combined in a picturesque and effective
arrangement. The head-dress is of lace and is pretty and becoming:
indeed many of our fashionable belles might greatly improve their
appearance by adopting the charming coiffure of these pretty and
apparently unconscious Holland girls and women. These people represent a
higher type of humanity than the inhabitants of Marken: their
intelligence and refinement are more marked, but they have the sunny
temperaments and contented dispositions characteristic of the
Hollanders, and though ignorant of the customs of the outside world, and
limited in their lives to a narrow sphere, they are a happy and
satisfied people. They seem in that happy state of mind, so rarely
possessed, in which they can say _I have enough_. Happiness consists not
in possessing much, but in being content with what we possess. He who
wants little always has enough.
These men, like those in the neighboring Island of Marken, obtain their
livelihood by fishing. They leave their homes in small boats or yachts
every Monday morning, and do not return until late Saturday night,
allowing them but one day in the week, Sunday, to spend in their homes.
Close by us is the anchorage, so called from the fact that dozens of
fishing boats anchor within its harbor. I suppose that fully a hundred
of these yachts are lying there now, and, shifting from side to side as
the wind stirs the waters of the Zuyder Zee, present the appearance of a
city of masts in a hurricane.
As we wander about it occurs to me that I should like to become the
possessor of one of the odd and picturesque suits of clothing worn here;
especially one of the better kind of the men's suits, for I know that
this quaint and ancient dress would be interesting to a number of
friends far away in dear America. Filled with the idea, I stop many of
the natives, and through our good and genial friend Mr. L---- inquire if
it is possible to purchase from one of them a suit of clothing, and
suggest that if they have none themselves to sell, perhaps one of their
comrades would part with a suit in exchange for my bright guilders. We
talk to a great many men, but receive the same answer from all: that is
that each possesses but two suits; a best or Sunday suit, and a week-day
or fishing suit, neither of which it is possible to sell for any price
that I may offer. I ask again if there is not some one else among the
men who may be willing to oblige me, and learn that most of the men and
women are in church, but that if we will wait until the service is over,
we can talk with them, and may succeed in our quest.
Volendam Sights and the Oldest Town on the Rhine.
[Illustration: "The delicate lace caps frame smiling faces." (_See page
256._)]
_Volendam Sights and the Oldest Town on the Rhine._
Church is out--The Promenade--Every man is a Volume--An Old Suit--His
Sunday Clothes--"Let him have it"--An Obedient Son--The Silver
Buttons--The Last Straw--An Uncommon Action--The Hotel--An Artist's
Resort--An Unfinished Painting--Good-bye--The Ancient City of
Cologne--The Cathedral--Within the "Dom"--A Wonderful
Collection--Foundation of the Town--History--Vicissitudes--Public
Gardens--Eau de Cologne--The Palace of Bruehl.
Within a short time we perceive a large number of people slowly
advancing in our direction. Church is over, and it is customary after
the service for every one to promenade up and down this street. Here
friends and relatives greet each other, exchange items of local interest
and have their little gossips over family affairs. The sight is one long
to be remembered. The round weather-beaten faces of the men, as they
roll along in true sailor fashion, the merry chattering women and girls
in their picturesque costume, the children running hither and thither,
and the gayly decorated houses that line the long street are worthy the
brush of an artist.
Truly these people seem to practice the Golden Rule, for no one appears
to be thinking of himself, but every one cares for the comfort and
happiness of his family, friends or neighbors. The delicate lace caps of
the women frame smiling faces, and the maidens in their quaint homespun
gowns look as though they are a part of a play at one of our theatres.
As the congregation draws nearer, we halt before the foremost group, and
having attracted their attention by our novel appearance, ask through
our friend Mr. L----, the oft-repeated question about the suit of
Volendam clothes, which we are anxious to carry home to show our friends
in America. In an instant they all shake their heads in the negative,
looking very serious at the idea of such a proposition. Their manly and
straightforward manner charms me. I look into the open countenances, in
which there is much individuality, and say to myself: it is as true here
as in the great cities of the world that _Every man is a volume if you
know how to read him._ There is a story in the heart of each one of
these sturdy fishermen, whether it has seen the light of day or not, and
many a noble deed and heroic action that in another town would receive a
medal of honor, or at least the applause of the public, passes here as a
common incident of everyday life. These people do not live for show:
the only medals which they wear, and which they transmit to their
children are the records of pure, honest lives which are proudly handed
down from one generation to another.
[Illustration: "As the congregation draws nearer, we halt before the
foremost group." (_See page 256._)]
Meanwhile I stand before them watching the varying expressions and
wondering if there is any prospect of obtaining my desire. At last one
man says hesitatingly that he has an old suit at home that he no longer
wears, and if we will accompany him to his house, a few doors away, he
will show it to us. We turn and follow him, and a score or more of the
people follow us. What must an old suit look like in this thrifty
community where the men and women never discard anything until it is
utterly hopeless as regards service?
A suit which one of these is willing to dispose of must indeed be a
peculiar object. I wonder if it has that "ancient and fish-like smell,"
described by Shakespeare. The fates forbid! Perhaps it is a relic of a
beloved father or grandfather, handed down as a family heirloom. We
enter the house, still surrounded by curious spectators, and our
obliging friend takes from a closet a carefully-wrapped bundle, which
upon being opened discloses a worn and aged suit: unfortunately its age
does not add to its beauty or value as in the cases of old masterpieces
in art, as a painting by Murillo or Rembrandt. The clothes are old,
dirty, and faded, and only fit for the receptacle of the ragman, but
they do not fail to serve their purpose, for while this young athlete
holds them out, with an expression of pride and pleasure, a sudden
thought fills me with hope. The suit which this young man wears is of
the highest type of the Volendam fashion, and is quite new. The flannel
blouse with its gay undervest showing at the chest, and the baggy brown
velveteen trousers form an ideal specimen of the costume of these
people. I must have this suit. No other will answer my purpose. Without
preliminaries, I boldly propose to him to sell me the suit he wears, and
put on the old one until he can procure another. His countenance falls,
and with a look of positive fear, he draws back, shaking his head and
repeating: "Nee. Nee. Nee."