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.