LETTER XII.
At Utrecht, our first Holland city, at the station, we had our first glimpse of a Holland lady in her national costume. She stepped from her carriage and stood near us for several moments, and in that time, I fear, we proved to be as good ‘starers’ as the French are. I wish I could make you see her just as I did. She was a large-framed, good-looking woman. Her dress skirt was of stiff black satin, in length considerably above her ankles. She wore a full white waist, over which she had a jacket, cut the shape of a zouave garment, of black cloth, upon the front of which seemed to be gilt or gold ornaments, that looked like military decorations; but her head rigging was the oddest of all. First she had on a cap-like covering, that looked as if made of white tarleton, with a full front, into which were stuck numerous gold pins, from the heads of several of which diamonds flashed; a broad gold band ran from side to side across her forehead, and from each end hung a gold ornament; over this she wore a flaring straw bonnet. She had on white kid gloves, and looked and moved every inch a lady.
We were a good while delayed before being able to get a two-seated carriage, for everybody in the sleepy old town moved slowly, but after a while we were furnished with an open barouche and a handsome pair of slow-moving black horses, and were driven about the city. Utrecht means ‘Old Ford,’ and the place looks quiet and dull, although it has a beautiful park and many fine, large residences, but they all seemed shut up; and we came to the conclusion, after a disgusting incident a little later, of which I will tell you, that the older people were off travelling.
On one of the best streets of Utrecht stood a group of well-dressed children, intelligent and attractive looking. Just as I had finished a remark complimentary to them, we were covered, deluged, blinded with mud and manure thrown at us by these remarkably innocent looking children, who had grouped there for this very purpose with the dirt in their hands, coolly awaiting and watching our approach. A second time, in another part of the city, we were attacked in the same manner by children, and this time E. rushed from the carriage, so indignant was he at the coarse outrage; and although both times the children took fast to their heels, they would have been severely and justly punished if I had not begged our defender to let them go, and not take up the little time we had in having them overtaken. Our driver said it was a very common occurrence for the youth of the town to thus attack strangers. I just longed to give them a good Yankee chastisement. We visited the cathedral, and my companions went up into the tower, from which they had a good view, but I had seen all of Utrecht that I desired, but was destined to see one more disturbing scene.
A canal runs through the town, and the boats are mostly managed and towed along by women,—old white-haired women lifting and tugging away at bags and barrels, pulling at the ropes of the boats; and at the rope of one huge canal boat a woman and a cow were pulling together. The water in the canal was low and the mosquitoes were high, for they also attacked us in our carriage, the very first ones we have met with on the continent. So, after a really good dinner—the only acceptable attention received by us in Utrecht,—we were glad to push on to Amsterdam.
Holland is largely a grazing country, very level, with vast pastures filled with cattle, horses, and sheep, all fine-looking specimens of their race. At one little station where we waited I stepped close to a dike, on the other side of which were hundreds of sheep; as if by one consent they all raised their heads and looked at me in such a human way that I felt like an intruder, bowed respectfully to them, and retreated. The Holstein cattle are noble-looking creatures, and the horses of Holland handsome animals,—dignified steppers, but heavy and slow. Cattle and horses are all black, or black and white, and all the cats I have yet seen here are black. I saw four big black tabbies at Utrecht. We pass through several little Dutch villages, see farmhouses in the distance, glints of blue water far away, dikes all about us, and, as we near Amsterdam, big windmills without number. And here we are!
Amsterdam, August 4th, 1888.—Do you remember our old Dutch nurse, who used to tell me stories, in Pittsburg, Penn., of her home in Amsterdam? And now here I am to tell you a little about the same place as I see it. Our first stroll revealed to us one of the queerest, quaintest cities we had anywhere visited. Directly after breakfast we went to the markets, where the peasantry were selling fruit, vegetables, fowl, crocheted articles, plants and flowers, cheese, butter, and much else; the venders themselves, in their queer dress, being the most attractive of all to us. The women nearly all wore the queer-looking head-dresses of their country, although not made up as richly as the one we saw at Utrecht, and all had on heavy, woollen stockings and wooden shoes, and when not busy otherwise were vigorously knitting.
From the market we went to the quarters of the poorer class of Jews, where the streets were narrow, the homes squalid, and the little rooms fairly crowded with human beings, packed closer than were ever sardines. In one small, dirty front entry we counted sixteen children. Our carriage was surrounded, every time we stopped, by crowds of lookers-on, young and old, tattered and torn, but all behaved well. ‘How true it is that one half of the world knows not how the other half lives’, There are about thirty thousand Jews in this city,—many richer than kings, and many who know not ‘where to lay their heads.’
Acquaintances who have visited this city have given me different ideas of it, more disparaging it than praising, but I find it delightful, and filled with interest.
Amsterdam, now the capital of Holland, you know, and by far its richest city, was in the twelfth century only a small village. When the Spaniards persecuted the so-called Reformers of other Dutch and Flemish towns, they fled to Amsterdam, taking with them their riches and their industries, and to them the place owes the beginning of prosperity. The River Amstel divides the place, the one side being called the Oude Zijde (old side), and the other Nieuwe Zijde (new side). It is said that ninety canals intersect the city, and I know there is one in about every street, and drawbridges are built over them. In the prettier parts of the city these canals have avenues of handsome residences, and lines of shade trees on one or both sides. On these houses, nailed close to the side of the upper windows, we observed the so-called ‘Spiegless’ mirrors—on hinges, which could be turned so as to allow a person sitting within to see all that was going on in the street below, up or down. They answer the purposes of our bay-windows. In some of the older parts of the city the queer Dutch houses are painted black, with white trimmings, and were apparently ‘dropped down’ together, and remain wherever they happened to light, Marblehead-like; and in many of them the upper story pitches forward, as if to greet the opposite roof, in a most neighborly and social manner, and altogether they are exceedingly picturesque.
We visited one of the large diamond factories, and saw every process used on the stone in its rough condition, to cause it to become the glittering, costly gem, ready for the adornment of ‘my lady.’ The different work upon the stones was to me intensely interesting. We saw little mounds of diamonds, cut and polished, ready for the diamond market, that were radiantly brilliant. The gentleman who escorted us through the building was very polite, and exerted himself to give us clear explanations of everything we wished to understand. Two officials kept pretty close to us, however; they may have thought that ‘piles’ of diamonds might prove too seductive for even American honesty. These mills give employment to about ten thousand workmen, mostly Jews, and many of the establishments are owned by wealthy Jews. Most of the best cut stones of the present age have been cut here. Well, we cannot always live amongst diamonds, so out into the air we go, for if but one can be ours, the latter is better,—oxygen rather than carbon.
The commerce of the place is extensive, as a visit to the docks proved. Ships from nearly every part of the world bring merchandise here, and take back the products of Holland. Amsterdam cheese, gin, and chocolate we well know, but we did not suppose so many other valuable articles were manufactured here. We see not merely one woman at work here on the boats, but hundreds of women. Many of them know no other home; whole families live on boats, children are born on them, and on them many human beings close their eyes on this life. Everything about these boats is scrupulously clean; pretty Dutch girls, with their short dresses and wooden shoes, peep from behind the fresh, white muslin curtains to look at us; and women who are not doing harder work sit around with the inevitable queer head-dress on, and the blue kerchiefs pinned across their breasts, knitting away as if lives depended upon stockings being finished. These Amsterdam canal boats have sails, and look very odd to us.
We took a three-mile sail for a rest, then landed, and lunched in a rose-embowered arbor in a pretty garden. Refreshed, we took a barge back, thus getting good views of the river banks; and next went to the Zoological Gardens, the best we have seen anywhere. How the beautiful, bright-plumaged birds, walking and flying in the open air, seemingly free from the almost invisible chains that held them, welcomed us in their gorgeous costumes; how the tall flamingo showed us his best ballet steps,—I have not time to give you details. The extensive aquarium connected with the gardens contained a wealth of wonders. Why do we not have places of such interest in Boston? As we stepped out of the garden we observed, on a neat-looking house, a singular sign, ‘Hot Popjies.’ With our usual curiosity we entered, and found that ‘popjies’ were nothing more or less than genuine Yankee griddle cakes, and very good ones too, served with butter and sugar.
The best picture gallery in Amsterdam, the Rijks Museum, is the best in Holland. Here we saw Rembrandt’s ‘Night Watch,’ of which we have often seen engravings, but were not prepared for such beautiful effects of colors as we found in the original. Near this painting is a still larger one, representing a celebrated banquet of the City Guard of Amsterdam, in 1684, by Vander Heist, and here too is Jan Steen’s ‘Lady and the Parrot,’ and other beautiful paintings by this pleasing artist. One picture here, by Gerard Duow, called the ‘Evening School,’ cost forty thousand dollars, although not over a half-yard long, and not measuring as much across. This painting has five or six different effects of light produced on it from the burning candles represented. A girl is pointing to her lesson with her finger, and a boy is writing on a slate; a candle, held by another girl standing back of them, throws a light on their backs, and another candle, lighted, which is on a table, throws light upon their faces, but it would be impossible for you to imagine the peculiar glow and loveliness of it all. All of the works from this man’s easel are charming. There are here several of Paul Potter’s paintings, wonderful in execution, and particularly to be considered so when we think how young he must have been when he painted them. Here are hens, chickens, geese, and ducks, all so natural that we almost hear their cackle. Here are landscapes, interiors of Dutch homes, and portraits without number, works of Tenier, Van Mieris, Van Dyck, Peter Schilder, Dolens, Frans Hals, and the many other Dutch artists. It is one of the most enjoyable collections of pictures we have anywhere seen. It is a marvel to me how the old masters and the noted artists ever did so much work; they must have gone right ahead, and not even laid down their brushes long enough to have had pleasant little disputes over the hanging of their pictures. But thanks to them for having left to us such great sources of pleasure!
Amsterdam abounds in excellent charitable institutions. I think I could name over as many as there are in Boston; and there are schools and societies for educating the poor, and for their advancement, that do great credit to the citizens. I am told that the rich here of every sect spend freely their money for the benefit of the poor. There is a palace on a square called the Dam, in the middle of the city, containing large rooms, but without much elegance excepting the ball-room. The churches of the city are numerous, and some fine ones, but as we have not time to see everything in this remarkable place, we have decided to omit the churches this time.
We were told of a ‘swell’ restaurant, and for a change dined there to-day. It was a ‘swell’ place, we had a ‘swell’ dinner, and paid ‘swell’ prices. They certainly know how to tempt one’s appetite, but the submitting to the temptation must be generously paid for. We have seen a fine statue of Rembrandt; and we have observed objects very new to us, which are queer, ludicrous-looking faces, over the doors of drug stores, with mouths wide open, and tongues protruding, as if to show that they were coated, or feverish, and needed doctoring. I was so amused at these that I asked the meaning of them, if they had any, but no one seemed to know, only that they were called ‘Gappers.’
After seeing pretty thoroughly the business part of the city, we were more surprised than ever upon being driven to the aristocratic end, where the wealthier people live, to find so much beauty. The streets were broad and finely cared for; the residences palatial, large, and varied in architecture, with beautiful grounds about them. Fine carriages abounded, filled with well-dressed people, in whom we supposed we saw the descendants of the Van Dycks, Van de Werffs, and all of the other Vans; and these families maintain much elegance and regal style in living. In this drive we had many glimpses of it; and ended the day by being entertained right royally in one of these beautiful homes by a gentleman and his charming family, to whom we had letters of introduction, and who had previously called upon us, and engaged us for the evening. If we could have spared time to accept, these people would have extended many courtesies to us, and their cordial hospitality we shall never forget. The whole of Amsterdam is indeed delightful, and far exceeds my expectations. We leave it with regret. We made hasty excursions to Haarlem, to see the wonderful hyacinths and tulips; and to the over-clean town of Broek, where notices are put on doors ‘to take off your shoes before entering;’ and to the Island of Marken, in the Zuider Zee, to see the queer dress of the peasants who live there, and never leave their homes, nor ever intermarry with the inhabitants of the mainland. Their costume is the same as that worn by their ancestors of a hundred years ago.