Old Customs and Quaint Pictures
“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.
N 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.
“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.
“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.
“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.
“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.
At the farthest end of the street stands an old windmill with its huge 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.
“Land and water.” (See page 224.)