Part 7

We walk along the narrow streets, some of which are paved with little footways, and now and then visit one of the whitewashed frame houses with their red tiled roofs. These houses are built after one pattern, and resemble each other so closely in their crude architecture, that a stranger might easily make a mistake, and enter the wrong door, without having previously taken anything stronger than a glass of water. The interior consists of four small rooms, which are kept scrupulously clean and orderly. One of these is used as a living-room, and one as dining-room and kitchen. The beds of the family are simply close, dark recesses in the wall, in which there are bunks or shelves, and on these the mattresses and bed clothing are placed, the occupants mounting by means of wooden steps to this ill-ventilated and most uninviting resting-place. We shudder as we glance into these dismal closets, and feel a touch of nightmare at the thought of sleeping in one of them.

In every house there seems to be reserved a special apartment, as a storage-place for the family heirlooms, and here are preserved articles which have been handed down from generation to generation for centuries. Dolls of various primitive shapes, broken and torn, with black, dusty clothing; clocks long since arrested in their career by age or accident; chairs of rude manufacture, with perhaps a broken leg or back; watches and jewelry of ancient design; odd furniture and pieces of china, besides other relics which would be useful only in an exhibition of the antique. All these things are sacred in the eyes of their owners, who would as soon think of parting with one of their children as of allowing one of these treasures to pass out of the family.

At one of the houses I see stored among the heirlooms a clock, which the owner informs me has been in the family for two hundred and fifty years. I do not doubt the assertion, for it looks as though the dust of a _thousand_ years has silently but steadily accumulated upon its venerable face. I am about with my handkerchief to brush off some of this precious dust, in order to see the wood and brass in their peculiar coloring and design, but am quietly stopped by the hand of my host.

There is a noticeable rivalry between the different families in regard to these treasures which are placed carefully away, as if too sacred for the light of day, and are shown to the visitor much as the guide employed in the mint allows one to touch a piece of gold or silver in the early process of coinage. Each family tries to outdo the others in its collection, and in the ancient appearance of the hoard. It is amusing to watch their faces, when exhibiting the wonders: they seem very uneasy if the stranger offers to touch one of the pieces, as though in terror lest it should thus lose some of those precious particles which enhance its value.

At another house I am allowed, as a great favor, to examine one of the dolls, and really the anxiety shown until the owner has placed it once more in its place in his collection is ludicrous. The most delicate human being, or a piece of frail egg-shell china could not be more tenderly handled.

These people are quite as quaint in appearance as in their customs. The old-time costume of the island is worn as in other parts of Holland, but here there is an intensity of ancientness, if I may use the expression, which must be seen in order to be fully appreciated. They really seem the remnants of a dead era, and in all their ways display a want of experience of the outside world, a lack of that perception which the men and women of to-day seem to inhale with the very atmosphere, which is truly astonishing. The marriage and betrothal customs are especially peculiar. We learn that an engaged couple cannot wed until five years have elapsed since the announcement of the betrothal; and should a death occur in either family in the meantime, it is considered such an ill omen that the engagement is broken off altogether: at the end of a year, however, a new engagement may be entered into, and after a second long period of waiting the wedding is consummated.

There are many rigid rules of etiquette connected with these engagements; for instance: should the young lover, upon each meeting, neglect to impress a kiss upon the cheek of every member of the family of his fiancee, the contract is annulled. One can readily believe almost any statement regarding these strange people who seem like a peculiar race stranded upon a desert island. Still from ocular demonstration, we feel very certain that notwithstanding these stringent rules, there is no lack of weddings among the young people, for there is an overwhelming number of children upon the island.

Marken boasts of a hotel, and the owner and landlord tells us as he stands proudly upon its stoop, that this bold enterprise issued from his fertile brain, and that he is looking for a rich return for his venture. I respond with as much enthusiasm as I can gather upon this occasion, but fear he would receive but cold comfort from the true state of my mind on the subject. The building consists of six rooms which he pronounces quite modern. On the lower floor are a kitchen, ten feet by ten, and a dining-room, twelve by fourteen, which also serves as a barroom, sitting-room and smoking den, all rolled into one. Here the guests are supposed to reach the acme of ease and comfort. A bare wooden table and six chairs comprise the furniture of the room, and there is nothing else visible save the snowy muslin curtains which hang at the windows. Upstairs are three bedrooms, scantily furnished; here too the windows are curtained. The freshness of these rooms and their surroundings gives us the impression that they have never been occupied since the erection of the hotel a year ago, by any one of greater importance than the myriads of flies and mosquitoes which cling in lazy groups to the walls and ceilings. My sympathy goes out to these ignorant creatures who do not seem to have strength enough to get away, and seek their nourishment in other quarters.

We find tolerably comfortable accommodations here, and view things very philosophically on account of the curious and interesting life by which we are surrounded. The men and women in their odd costumes are rare pictures. The clothing worn here is of a style worn hundreds of years ago, and there is no consciousness on the part of its wearers that there is anything unusual in its appearance. "Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise," and it is more than probable that they will continue to wear this antediluvian garb for centuries to come.

Much of the washing is done in the little canal which flows through the town, and this is easily accomplished, as linen is not worn to any great extent, as in other places, and the coarse homespun garments are cleansed by a very simple process.

Sheep, grazing upon many of the green pasture lands, form a homelike, peaceful scene which is very attractive. The air is fresh, yet balmy, imparting tone and vigor to the sturdy natives.

At last we bid adieu to this stationary spot upon the earth's surface, wondering if an earthquake or any other startling event will ever happen here to rouse it from its lethargy, and compel it to take its place in the march of the ages. If not, it will remain as of old, a boon to the artist, an infinite source from which he may draw quaint, ideal and most original studies of a people and an era whose counterpart has long since vanished from our everyday world.

In our travels in the northern portion of Holland, and away from the larger cities, as Amsterdam and Rotterdam, which are more visited by tourists, we find that our letters of credit extend over an astonishing space of time, for a little money goes a long way among these people. The regions seem to be too remote for the regular tourist, and as there is no great influx of capital from that source, there is no inducement for the people to change their simple and primitive mode of living, hence honesty, frugality and contentment reign here, and the visitor may enjoy to its full extent, the beautiful country and the pure, innocent life of its inhabitants.

The quaint and simple town of Monnikendam lies some fifteen or sixteen miles north of Amsterdam, and here is a rich and rare scene of ancient associations. Eyes, ears and brain are almost bewildered by the exquisite strangeness of our surroundings. Here are houses with the date of their birth inscribed over the doorways, and the odd designs of bygone centuries still clinging to their walls.

These ancient dates and the rich beauty of these aged tenements impress us with a feeling of awe, and we walk softly as we pass the hallowed ground upon which so many lives have risen, passed their little day, then vanished to make place for the next players. Of the two hotels which the town supports, we choose the oldest, the Hotel de Posthoorn, which derives its name from the fact that at an early date the building was used as a post office station. In those days the postman carried a horn, which he blew when approaching a station, as a notice to the townfolk to have their mail ready for collection, that he might not be detained, as his route was long and wearisome.

We are conducted to the second floor of the hotel by a steep and narrow stairway, which requires much ingenuity in the ascent, as the steps are constructed at such a peculiar angle that it is difficult to balance one's self upon them. We reach the top as gracefully as possible under the circumstances, and find two pleasant communicating rooms overlooking the main street. Rooms, beds and all our surroundings are wonderfully clean, and filled with an atmosphere of the past, which is very charming. The rates charged here are seven dollars a week for each person, and this includes meals and attendance: the latter simply a pleasant fiction, with no meaning whatever.

The sheets upon our beds are of homespun linen of good quality, but emitting such an odor of antiquity, that there is no doubt whatever in our minds that they are heirlooms of many generations, and we wish that this genuine, ancient and unpleasant smell could be scattered abroad, or adulterated in some way, even to the extent of a pair of modern sheets, for concentrated age is more attractive in sights than in odors.

Our hotel bears the date 1697 upon a fancifully carved tablet above the middle window, but the Stadhuis Tower is still older, dating back to 1592. The proprietor, his wife and daughter are pleasant, hospitable people, who make our stay with them, both comfortable and enjoyable. Before supper we stroll about the town, which consists of a main or central avenue, with small narrow streets diverging from it. As we walk along, a little crowd, composed chiefly of children, follows us closely. These young people stare at us, and laugh as though we are a freshly imported menagerie. On our return, we sit in front of the hotel where some chairs and small tables are placed for the convenience of those who wish to rest and sip their glass of beer or genuine Holland gin in the open. The favorite beverages in Holland are beer, porter and gin, the latter of an excellent quality, and genuinely "old."

We are soon surrounded by a group of children, who watch our motions and by words and gestures freely express their wonder and amusement at the odd-looking stranger people. They seem greatly surprised that we do not understand their language: not even such simple phrases as "Goeden avond," (Good-evening), or "Ja," (Yes), and "Nee," (No). When I make them understand that in English yes and no are the same as their ja and nee, they laugh immoderately, and repeat in their own broad accents, yes and no, as if greatly amused.

After supper, which consists of cold fish, coffee, cheese, boiled potatoes and tea with a private nip of the real ancient Holland gin, we walk out again without a guide, to do some shopping. We have a funny experience, as we are compelled to resort to pantomime in making the various purchases. Entering a "general" store in search of candles, we at first ask for them in English: the good-natured shopwoman smiles and shakes her head. I repeat the word "candles," at the same time going through the motion of striking a match on the counter, and holding it up to the end of my forefinger. This strange proceeding attracts the attention of a young man and woman, who draw near the counter, followed by several other members of the family, but I cannot make them comprehend. We then try the French language, but this also proves a failure, so we are obliged to depart without our candles, although I am confident they have them somewhere in the store.

Scene after scene of this kind is gone through with in the different shops, and now our curious actions have attracted a large crowd of people who follow close at our heels, wondering what we will do next, and thinking, no doubt, that we are a very good kind of free show. Such strange beings rarely visit their isolated town, and they are certainly enjoying their opportunity to its full extent. When we stop to look into a shop-window, they stop too, and follow our example like very shadows. The expression of wonder and merriment depicted on the countenances of both young and old is a fine study for an artist.

As we saunter leisurely along, we espy a clothing store, which we enter, and find half-a-dozen men lounging about with long clay pipes in their mouths, and their hands in the pockets of their baggy trousers. Their faces wear a peaceful, contented expression, which changes to a look of surprise as we approach them, and they scan our attire, as something wholly different from anything to which they are accustomed. The gaping throng outside besieges the doorway. As the men still gaze curiously at us, I draw near the one who appears to be the proprietor of the establishment, and in pantomime, aided by English, interspersed with a little French, ask for a Marken suit of clothes. The man laughs and looks perplexed; his companions also shake their heads in token that they do not understand. With serious countenances and widely-opened eyes, they follow the motions of my lips and hands. Uttering slowly the words: "Marken suit," I point to my own trousers, coat and vest. Their eyes follow my hands, first to my trousers, then to my coat and vest. It is a difficult position; but what a treat to watch their puzzled countenances, now smiling, now with a look of actual pain in their efforts to understand.

At last my perseverance and their attention are rewarded, and the storekeeper takes from a shelf a dusty bundle, and carefully unfolds it. Within the bundle is a Marken suit: yes, the very kind I wish to possess, an entire woman's dress. I am anxious to purchase it at any reasonable figure. The garment is passed to us for inspection. We nod in indication that it is just what we desire. Now for the tug of war; the price. "Combien? Combien?" Finally thirty guilders is named as the price set upon the dress. We motion, "Too high," and I point to the ceiling. The six weary men all look up in the direction of my finger: they smile, and think it is a good joke, and look at me as though saying: "What next?" They laugh heartily at my vain endeavors. Alas! How can I make them understand? "Fifteen guilders," I say. The proprietor seems to understand. "Nee. Nee. Ik kan het niet doen." (No. No. I cannot do it.)

After long deliberation, still holding the cherished suit in his hands, he turns to his companions, and seems to ask their opinion. Several shake their heads and utter: "Nee. Nee," others say: "Ja. Ja." One suggests twenty-five guilders as the price; another twenty guilders. The bargaining goes on without drawing any nearer to a conclusion, when to our relief a gentleman enters the shop who understands the language of these people. He has learned from the outsiders that some Americans are in the store trying to buy a suit of clothes. Through the kindness of this stranger, matters are speedily adjusted, and the sale effected, as he speaks both Dutch and English fluently. We purchase the complete suit for fifteen guilders, or about six dollars in the currency of the United States.

These suits are rarely made for sale, but only when needed for immediate use. The natives of the island make them for personal wear, or for each other. Every man and woman generally owns two suits: one to wear every day, and one for Sundays.

As we move toward the door to take our departure, after spending three-quarters of an hour over this transaction, we perceive that the throng around the door has increased in numbers. What an assemblage! And we are the curiosities. I count them, and find there are thirty men, women and children, all full of excitement at the presence of strangers in Monnikendam. One young girl is so shy and timid, that as we advance toward her on our way out, she starts and runs hurriedly away, and gazes at us from a distance of some twenty feet, as though we are dangerous animals.

We make several other purchases; partly because we desire the articles, but chiefly on account of our enjoyment of this novel mode of shopping.

Old Customs and Quaint Pictures.

_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.

In 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.

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.