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 Brühl.
ITHIN 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.
| “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?