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WHAT THE BOYS SAW AND DID IN AMSTERDAM
"Are we all here?" cried Peter, in high glee, as the party assembledupon the canal early the next morning, equipped for their skatingjourney. "Let me see. As Jacob has made me captain, I must call theroll. Carl Schummel----You here?"
"Ya!"
"Jacob Poot!"
"Ya!"
"Benjamin Dobbs!"
"Ya-a!"
"Lambert van Mounen!"
"Ya!"
"[That's lucky! Couldn't get on without _you_, as you're the only onewho can speak English.] Ludwig van Holp!"
"Ya!"
"Voostenwalbert Schimmelpenninck!"
No answer.
"Ah! the little rogue has been kept at home. Now, boys, it's just eighto'clock--glorious weather, and the Y is as firm as a rock--we'll be atAmsterdam in thirty minutes. One, Two, Three, START!"
True enough, in less than half an hour they had crossed a dyke of solidmasonry, and were in the very heart of the great metropolis of theNetherlands--a walled city of ninety-five islands and nearly two hundredbridges. Although Ben had been there twice since his arrival in Holland,he saw much to excite wonder; but his Dutch comrades, having lived nearby all their lives, considered it the most matter-of-course place in theworld. Everything interested Ben; the tall houses with their forkedchimneys and gable ends facing the street; the merchants' warerooms,perched high up under the roofs of their dwellings, with long, arm-likecranes hoisting and lowering goods past the household windows; the grandpublic buildings erected upon wooden piles driven deep into the marshyground; the narrow streets; the canals everywhere crossing the city; thebridges; the locks; the various costumes, and, strangest of all, shopsand dwellings crouching close to the fronts of the churches, sendingtheir long, disproportionate chimneys far upward along the sacred walls.
If he looked up, he saw tall, leaning houses, seeming to pierce the skywith their shining roofs; if he looked down, there was the queer street,without crossing or curb--nothing to separate the cobblestone pavementfrom the foot-path of brick--and if he rested his eyes half-way, he sawcomplicated little mirrors [_spionnen_] fastened upon the outside ofnearly every window, so arranged that the inmates of the houses couldobserve all that was going on in the street, or inspect whoever might beknocking at the door, without being seen themselves.
Sometimes a dog-cart, heaped with wooden ware, passed him; then a donkeybearing a pair of panniers filled with crockery or glass; then a sleddriven over the bare cobblestones (the runners kept greased with adripping oil rag so that it might run easily); and then, perhaps, ashowy, but clumsy family-carriage, drawn by the brownest of Flandershorses, swinging the whitest of snowy tails.
The city was in full festival array. Every shop was gorgeous in honor ofSaint Nicholas. Captain Peter was forced, more than once, to order hismen away from the tempting show-windows, where everything that is, hasbeen, or can be thought of in the way of toys was displayed. Holland isfamous for this branch of manufacture. Every possible thing is copied inminiature for the benefit of the little ones; the intricate mechanicaltoys that a Dutch youngster tumbles about in stolid unconcern wouldcreate a stir in our Patent Office. Ben laughed outright at some of themimic fishing boats. They were so heavy and stumpy, so like the queercraft that he had seen about Rotterdam. The tiny trekschuiten, however,only a foot or two long, and fitted out, complete, made his heartache--he so longed to buy one at once for his little brother in England.He had no money to spare, for with true Dutch prudence, the party hadagreed to take with them merely the sum required for each boy'sexpenses, and to consign the purse to Peter for safekeeping.Consequently Master Ben concluded to devote all his energies tosightseeing, and to think as seldom as possible of little Robby.
He made a hasty call at the Marine school and envied the sailor studentstheir full-rigged brig and their sleeping-berths swung over their trunksor lockers; he peeped into the Jews' Quarter of the city, where the richdiamond cutters and squalid old-clothes men dwell, and wisely resolvedto keep away from it; he also enjoyed hasty glimpses of the fourprincipal avenues of Amsterdam--the Prinsen gracht, Keizers gracht,Heeren gracht and Singel. These are semicircular in form, and the firstthree average more than two miles in length. A canal runs through thecentre of each, with a well-paved road on either side, lined withstately buildings. Rows of naked elms, bordering the canal, cast anetwork of shadows over its frozen surface; and everything was so cleanand bright that Ben told Lambert it seemed to him like petrifiedneatness.
Fortunately the weather was cold enough to put a stop to the usualstreet-flooding, and window-washing, or our young excursionists mighthave been drenched more than once. Sweeping, mopping and scrubbing forma passion with Dutch housewives, and to soil their spotless mansions isconsidered scarcely less than a crime. Everywhere a hearty contempt isfelt for those who neglect to rub the soles of their shoes to a polishbefore crossing the door-sill; and, in certain places, visitors areexpected to remove their heavy shoes before entering.
Sir William Temple, in his Memoirs of "What passed in Christendom from1672 to 1679," tells a story of a pompous magistrate going to visit alady of Amsterdam. A stout Holland lass opened the door, and told him ina breath that the lady was at home and that his shoes were not veryclean. Without another word, she took the astonished man up by botharms, threw him across her back, carried him through two rooms, set himdown at the bottom of the stairs, seized a pair of slippers that stoodthere and put them upon his feet. Then, and not until then, she spoke,telling him that her mistress was on the floor above, and that he mightgo up.
While Ben was skating, with his friends, upon the crowded canals of thecity, he found it difficult to believe that the sleepy Dutchmen he sawaround him, smoking their pipes so leisurely, and looking as thoughtheir hats might be knocked off their heads without their making anyresistance, were capable of those outbreaks that had taken place inHolland--that they were really fellow-countrymen of the brave, devotedheroes of whom he had read in Dutch history.
As his party skimmed lightly along he told Van Mounen of a burial-riotwhich in 1696 had occurred in that very city, where the women andchildren turned out, as well as the men, and formed mock funeralprocessions through the town, to show the burgomasters that certain newregulations, with regard to burying the dead, would not be accededto--how at last they grew so unmanageable, and threatened so much damageto the city that the burgomasters were glad to recall the offensive law.
"There's the corner," said Jacob, pointing to some large buildings,"where, about fifteen years ago, the great corn-houses sank down in themud. They were strong affairs, and set up on good piles, but they hadover seventy thousand hundred-weight of corn in them; and that was toomuch."
It was a long story for Jacob to tell and he stopped to rest.
"How do you know there were seventy thousand hundred-weight in them?"asked Carl sharply--"you were in your swaddling clothes then."
"My father knows all about it," was Jacob's suggestive reply. Rousinghimself with an effort, he continued--"Ben likes pictures. Show himsome."
"All right," said the captain.
"If we had time, Benjamin," said Lambert van Mounen in English, "Ishould like to take you to the City Hall or _Stadhuis_. There arebuilding-piles for you! It is built on nearly fourteen thousand ofthem, driven seventy feet into the ground. But what I wish you to seethere is the big picture of Van Speyk blowing up his ship--greatpicture."
"Van _who_?" asked Ben.
"Van Speyk. Don't you remember? He was in the height of an engagementwith the Belgians, and when he found that they had the better of him andwould capture his ship, he blew it up, and himself too, rather thanyield to the enemy."
"Wasn't that Van Tromp?"
"Oh, no. Van Tromp was another brave fellow. They've a monument to himdown at Delft Haven--the place where the Pilgrims took ship forAmerica."
"Well, what about Van Tromp? He was a great Dutch Admiral; wasn't he?"
"Yes, he was in more than
thirty sea-fights. He beat the Spanish fleetand an English one, and then fastened a broom to his masthead to showthat he had swept the English from the sea. Takes the Dutch to beat, myboy!"
"Hold up!" cried Ben, "broom or no broom, the English conquered him atlast. I remember all about it now. He was killed somewhere on the Dutchcoast, in an engagement in which the British fleet was victorious. Toobad," he added maliciously, "wasn't it?"
"Ahem! where are we?" exclaimed Lambert changing the subject. "Hollo!the others are way ahead of us--all but Jacob. Whew! how fat he is!He'll break down before we're half-way."
Ben of course enjoyed skating beside Lambert, who though a staunchHollander, had been educated near London, and could speak English asfluently as Dutch; but he was not sorry when Captain van Holp calledout:
"Skates off! There's the Museum!"
It was open, and there was no charge on that day for admission. In theywent, shuffling, as boys will, when they have a chance, just to hear thesound of their shoes on the polished floor.
This Museum is in fact a picture gallery where some of the finest worksof the Dutch masters are to be seen, beside nearly two hundredportfolios of rare engravings.
Ben noticed, at once, that some of the pictures were hung on panelsfastened to the wall with hinges. These could be swung forward like awindow-shutter, thus enabling the subject to be seen in the best light.The plan served them well in viewing a small group by Gerard Douw,called the "Evening School," enabling them to observe its exquisitefinish and the wonderful way in which the picture seemed to be litthrough its own windows. Peter pointed out the beauties of anotherpicture by Douw, called "The Hermit," and he also told them someinteresting anecdotes of the artist, who was born at Leyden in 1613.
"Three days painting a broom handle!" echoed Carl in astonishment, whilethe captain was giving some instances of Douw's extreme slowness ofexecution.
"Yes, sir; three days. And it is said that he spent five in finishingone hand in a lady's portrait. You see how very bright and minuteeverything is in this picture. His unfinished works were kept carefullycovered, and his painting materials were put away in airtight boxes assoon as he had finished using them for the day. According to allaccounts, the studio itself must have been as close as a band-box. Theartist always entered it on tiptoe, besides sitting still, before hecommenced work, until the slight dust caused by his entrance hadsettled. I have read somewhere that his paintings are improved by beingviewed through a magnifying glass. He strained his eyes so badly withthis extra finishing, that he was forced to wear spectacles before hewas thirty. At forty he could scarcely see to paint, and he couldn'tfind a pair of glasses anywhere that would help his sight. At last, apoor old German woman asked him to try hers. They suited him exactly,and enabled him to go on painting as well as ever."
"Humph!" exclaimed Ludwig, indignantly, "that was high! What did _she_do without them, I wonder?"
"Oh," said Peter, laughing, "likely she had another pair. At any rateshe insisted upon his taking them. He was so grateful that he painted apicture of the spectacles for her, case and all, and she sold it to aburgomaster for a yearly allowance that made her comfortable for therest of her days."
"Boys!" called Lambert, in a loud whisper, "come look at this BearHunt."
It was a fine painting by Paul Potter, a Dutch artist of the seventeenthcentury, who produced excellent works before he was sixteen years old.The boys admired it because the subject pleased them. They passedcarelessly by the masterpieces of Rembrandt and Van der Helst, and wentinto raptures over an ugly picture by Van der Venne, representing asea-fight between the Dutch and English. They also stood spellboundbefore a painting of two little urchins, one of whom was taking soup andthe other eating an egg. The principal merit in this work was that theyoung egg-eater had kindly slobbered his face with the yolk for theirentertainment.
An excellent representation of the "Feast of Saint Nicholas" next hadthe honor of attracting them.
"Look, Van Mounen," said Ben to Lambert, "could anything be better thanthis youngster's face? He looks as if he _knows_ he deserves a whippingbut hopes Saint Nicholas may not have found him out. That's the kind ofpainting _I_ like; something that tells a story."
"Come, boys!" cried the captain, "ten o'clock, time we were off!"
They hastened to the canal.
"Skates on! Are you ready? ONE, TWO--hollo! where's Poot?"
Sure enough where _was_ Poot?
A square opening had just been cut in the ice not ten yards off. Peterobserved it, and without a word skated rapidly toward it.
All the others followed, of course.
Peter looked in. They all looked in; then stared anxiously at eachother.
"Poot!" screamed Peter, peering into the hole again. All was still. Theblack water gave no sign; it was already glazing on top.
Van Mounen turned mysteriously to Ben.
"_Didn't he have a fit once?_"
"My goodness! yes!" answered Ben, in a great fright.
"Then, depend upon it, he's been taken with one in the Museum!"
The boys caught his meaning. Every skate was off in a twinkling. Peterhad the presence of mind to scoop up a cap-full of water from the hole,and off they scampered to the rescue.
Alas! They did indeed find poor Jacob in a fit--but it was a fit ofsleepiness. There he lay in a recess of the gallery, snoring like atrooper! The chorus of laughter that followed this discovery brought anangry official to the spot.
"What now! None of this racket! Here, you beer-barrel, wake up!" andMaster Jacob received a very unceremonious shaking.
As soon as Peter saw that Jacob's condition was not serious, he hastenedto the street to empty his unfortunate cap. While he was stuffing hishandkerchief to prevent the already frozen crown from touching his head,the rest of the boys came down, dragging the bewildered and indignantJacob in their midst.
The order to start was again given. Master Poot was wide awake at last.The ice was a little rough and broken just there, but every boy was inhigh spirits.
"Shall we go on by the canal or the river?" asked Peter.
"Oh, the river, by all means," said Carl. "It will be such fun; they sayit is perfect skating all the way, but it's much farther."
Jacob Poot instantly became interested.
"_I_ vote for the canal!" he cried.
"Well, the canal it shall be," responded the captain, "if all areagreed."
"Agreed!" they echoed, in rather a disappointed tone--and Captain Peterled the way.
"All right--come on--we can reach Haarlem in an hour!"
Hans Brinker; Or, The Silver Skates Page 13