IDA PFEIFFER’S LAST TRAVELS.

CHAPTER I.

I made acquaintance with several passengers on board, and among the rest with the wife of the respected physician, Dr. Pleninger, of Linz. This amiable lady insisted upon my taking up my quarters in her house. Unfortunately, I had but a short time to stay at Linz, as I purposed proceeding to Lambach the same day. But kind Dr. Pleninger arranged a little pleasure party for the morning to the neighboring “Freudenberg” (Mountain of Joy), on which a great Jesuit convent is built. Besides its clerical occupants, this establishment numbers more than a hundred and fifty pupils, who, for the sum of only twelve florins[A] per month, are boarded and lodged, and get their education into the bargain. The institution appears to be conducted with care and with notable order. It already possesses a little collection of ethnographical objects and a botanic garden, the latter under the superintendence of Herr Hintereker, a very eminent botanist. The view from the Freudenberg is very charming, and I herewith recommend this walk to all future tourists, including those who are unable to see the convent.

I remained at Dr. Pleninger’s till the afternoon, and then proceeded by rail to Lambach, a distance of eight German miles, which it required full three hours to accomplish.

At Lambach I took the Salzburg omnibus. Unfortunately, this vehicle was not managed on English principles. It was a true, genuine, and unadulterated German omnibus, drawn by German horses, who tramped stolidly along at the rate, as I judged, of a German mile an hour. The distance is twelve German miles, and in just twelve hours we got to our destination, so that my calculation was quite correct.

At Salzburg it was pouring wet weather, of course: my countrymen do not call this town the “rainy corner” without reason.

They tell a story of an Englishman who once came to Salzburg at midsummer, and found town, valley, and hills alike shrouded in mist and rain. He had read so much of the charming situation of Salzburg that he lingered there a few days, but, as the sky showed no token of clearing up, this son of Albion at length lost patience and decamped. Two years afterward, on his journey home from Italy, he took the route by this town, in the hope of being more fortunate this time; but, behold, it was raining as it had rained two years ago. “By Jove!” exclaimed the Briton, in astonishment, “hasn’t it left off yet?”

I might have made the same observation; for, although in my journeys I had several times passed through Salzburg, I had not once had the good luck to see this beautiful region smiling in the sunshine. And beautiful it is—wonderfully beautiful. It would be difficult to find a prettier little town, or one situate in so fertile a valley, and surrounded by such majestic masses of mountains. One of these, the Watzmann, is nearly 9000 feet high.

I had only half a day to spend in Salzburg, and had just time to look at the statue of Mozart, set up here since my last visit. Mozart, as is well known, was born in this town in the year 1756.

From Salzburg I took the stage-coach (stellwagen) to Munich. This kind of conveyance could never be classed among the most agreeable methods of traveling, but since the invention of railways it has become intolerable. Crowded together like negroes in a slave-ship, we loitered for two whole days in accomplishing this little distance of nineteen German miles. The rain fortunately ceased a few miles from Salzburg, and, moreover, the scenery is very fine to within four miles of Munich. The Bavarian frontier is crossed within the first mile. To my great surprise, the inspection of passports and of luggage was speedily accomplished.

Toward evening we came to the Chiem Lake, also called the “Bavarian Sea.” This beautiful sheet of water is two German miles in length, and one and a half in breadth. On three sides it is shut in by high mountains, while on the fourth it is bordered by a plain of seemingly unlimited extent.

Not far from Traunstein we struck into a by-road toward Sekon, a pretty seat belonging to the widowed Empress of Brazil, who was by birth a princess of Leuchtenberg. Sekon is situate on a tiny lake, whose waters are said to possess mineral properties. The empress has caused a large building, originally a convent, on the banks of the lake, to be converted into a bathing hotel, with fifty rooms, and it has been very tastefully arranged. A neat garden surrounds the building, the kitchen is well supplied, and conveyances can be had, and every thing is marvelously cheap. A very good room, for instance, costs only three florins per week; the table d’hôte, twenty-four kreutzers; a one-horse carriage can be had for two florins a day, and other expenses are in proportion. This pleasant bathing-place, when its existence becomes more widely known, can not fail to attract a multitude of guests, and then, of course, the prices will rise.

From Sekon we went on to Wasserburg. This little town is wonderfully placed as regards situation. It lies in a perfect basin, shut in at almost every point by steep walls of rock and sandstone. When I came to the edge a giant crater seemed to open suddenly at my feet, but, instead of fire and flames, this crater contained a charming rural scene. The little houses lay there hidden and secluded as if they belonged to another world. The Inn flowed between them, its yellow waters covered with signs of a busy life; for hundreds of rafts, built of the trunks of trees and planks, float down hence to distant harbors. Taking a wide circuit, we drove down into this crater; and then I became aware that the basin was much wider than it had appeared from above, and that it afforded space for numerous hop-gardens. This region might not inaptly be called the Vineyard of Bavaria.

On the 26th of May I arrived in Munich. The portion of Bavaria with which I became acquainted on this little journey pleased me greatly. The scenery is splendid, the towns and villages look pretty and prosperous, and the fields are well cultivated. The scattered farms in particular bear a certain impress of prosperity, cleanliness, and order. The buildings are of stone, are sufficiently roomy, and generally have an upper story; the roof is constructed in the Swiss manner, almost flat, and weighted with heavy stones, as a protection against the violent storms which prevail here. Exception might be taken to the fact that dwelling-house, barn, and stable are all under the same roof; for, in the event of a fire, the farmer would most probably lose all his property at once.

No one who looks at these teeming fields and valleys (and when I saw them the crops were waving in rich abundance), the smiling villages, the well-built farms, would suppose that poverty could lurk here, and that many of the inhabitants are forced to emigrate, to seek beyond the sea a country that will better repay their toil.

And yet it is so. The chief reason is perhaps to be found in the fact that in Bavaria, and particularly in Upper and Lower Bavaria and the Upper Palatinate, farms are not divided, but given to one of the children, who is chosen by the father from among his family. The fortunate individual thus selected has certainly the responsibility of “paying out” his brothers, as it is called; but they never receive much, as the estate is always appraised considerably below its value, and the chief heir, moreover, receives a considerable sum under the name of “Mannslehen.” The rest have naturally no course left but to seek a service, to learn a trade, or to emigrate. Even in the other provinces, where the estates are divided, there is a great deal of poverty, and emigration is always going on. Why this should be so I can not pretend to determine.

The costume of the peasant women in these regions is very peculiar. They wear short but very full skirts, with double bodices, the one with long sleeves, the other sleeveless. This second jacket, generally of dark-colored velvet, is put on over the other, and laced with silver tags. The wealthier peasant women adorn their necks with eight or ten strings of little real pearls, with great clasps in front. The poorer ones are fain to content themselves with imitation pearls, of silver.

Munich seemed to me a very quiet city. There is little traffic, and none but the principal streets show any signs of life.

I only remained in this city six days, but in that short time I made the acquaintance of several families. So far as I could judge, domestic life appears to be simple and social here, and the fair sex seemed to care less for outward show than the ladies of other capitals. I must confess that the mode of life in Munich pleased me much.

Through a fortunate chance I became acquainted with many distinguished men here, principally artists. The Artists’ Festival was being celebrated, and I received a polite invitation to take part in it. Were I to chronicle the names of all the eminent people to whom I had the honor of an introduction on this occasion, I should perhaps tire my readers; but in my memory those names will always be impressed.

I must devote a few words, however, to the festival, which is celebrated every year on a fine day in May.

It was held at Schwanegg and Pullach, in a beautiful meadow surrounded by forests. At Schwanegg, a chateau built in the Gothic style by Herr von Schwanthaler, a comic interlude was represented, a parody on Schiller’s “Fight with the Dragon.” The fortress of Schwanegg is supposed to have been besieged for a whole year by a dragon, in such wise that no man could go out or in. A knight comes riding past by chance; he is seen from the watch-tower, and the inmates of the castle straightway assemble on the threshold, and in very comic verses implore the knight to deliver them from their enemy. Then follows the combat, with discomfiture of the dragon, etc.

After the dragon had been satisfactorily slain, we had another scenic show in the little wood near Pullach—Spring expelling Winter. Then we had a series of funny processions. Bacchus appeared seated on a wine-cask, drawn by gigantic cockchafers (each represented by a man), with similar insects sporting round him. Apollo came next, on a triumphal car, with Pegasus as his horse, and surrounded by butterflies, flowers, and beetles, from one to two feet in height, cut out of card-board, tastefully colored, and mounted on lofty poles. In short, one frolic succeeded another, and the appreciating public enjoyed the sight most unequivocally; it was a thorough “people’s festival.” There must have been nearly ten thousand people assembled, all passing the day in hearty enjoyment, and seeming to belong to a single family. Some found places at long tables under the trees, others simply threw themselves on the grass; but all seemed equally devoted to the national beverage of the country, the beer, without which a true Bavarian would scarcely be able to enjoy himself thoroughly. In spite of this bibulous propensity, every thing went off peaceably and well, and it was not until the evening that one or two of the company showed signs of having overdone the thing a little. Luckily, the Spirit of the Hop seems to be a good-natured sort of spirit, only promoting hilarity, for I did not hear of a single quarrel.

The first representation had been honored by the presence of King Max, who came in the dress of a plain citizen. Afterward in the theatre I saw the king and the whole court in private dress. It is a long time since I have seen a monarch in the garb of a civilian; crowned heads wear uniforms, and nothing but uniforms, as if they belonged exclusively to the military class. There is some fitness in that; for what would the majority of them be without soldiers?

King Max seems to take a different view of things. He honors the citizens, and does not scruple to associate with them. He marched along with the great crowd, with no followers to accompany or police to escort him. He cleared a path for himself, and the people passed to and fro around him quite unceremoniously.

The king was told that my insignificant self was among the audience at the feast, and I was speedily presented to him among thousands of spectators. His majesty conversed with me for some time in the most gracious manner.

To describe the “lions” of Munich and its Art treasures is no fit task for a journal like mine. Any of my readers who may wish for information on the subject will find it amply detailed in one or other of the capital hand-books which have been published concerning this city of Art.

Two amiable ladies, the Baronesses Du Prel and Bissing, were obliging enough to lead me from gallery to gallery, and from church to church. But nothing is more tiring, or more exhausting to the mind and body, than crowding a large amount of sight-seeing into a limited time. These six days tried me more than a sojourn of double that time in the virgin forests of the tropics, where I had to walk on the most tiring paths all day long, with the damp earth for my resting-place at night, and rice parboiled in water for my daily food.

Before I take leave of Munich I must relate a funny incident that occurred one evening on my leaving the theatre. I did not know my way well, and begged a good dame, who came walking past with a gentleman, to set me right. As they were walking in the same direction, they invited me to go with them. On the way she inquired if I had been to the Artists’ Festival, and if I had seen the “great traveler,” Ida Pfeiffer, there. My questioner added that she had been with her husband, but only in the evening, and had not seen the person in question. I replied that the “great traveler” was a quiet little woman, and that I knew her well enough; if I wanted to see her I had only to look in a glass. The good people seemed very glad to see me, and insisted on accompanying me to my door.

On the 1st of June I proceeded, by way of Hof, to Berlin (ninety-five miles), and, arriving on the following day, was received with their wonted hearty kindness by my dear friends, Professor Weisz and his wife.

The journey from Munich to Berlin offers few points of interest: the views are sometimes pretty, but nowhere striking; the country around Plauen is the most agreeable. Before we got to Hof, the last Bavarian station, something broke down in the engine; we thus lost a whole hour, and missed the corresponding train. At the Prussian frontier my passport was demanded, but the official scarcely glanced at it, and the inspection of my luggage was also entirely formal; in a few moments the whole ceremony was over.

In Berlin a great and joyful surprise awaited me. I received from Alexander von Humboldt an open letter of recommendation to all his friends in the wide world.

The celebrated geographer, Carl Ritter, also did me a great honor by inviting me to a sitting of the Geographical Society. In March last I had been received as an honorary member of that body, and was the first woman to whom such a distinction had been accorded.

I only staid a week in Berlin, and proceeded thence to Hamburg (a distance of thirty-eight German miles), taking up my quarters again with the worthy Schulz family. But in Hamburg also there was no long tarrying for me. I wanted to husband my time for Holland, a country with which I was unacquainted, and accordingly, on the 14th of June, I embarked on board the steamer “Stoomward,” Captain C. Bruns, for Amsterdam, distant three hundred and twelve sea-miles from this port.

This was the first passage I made in Europe on a Dutch steamer, and here I experienced the same kindness I had met with from the proprietors of Dutch steamers in India during my second journey round the world; not only did they give me a free passage, but refused to accept payment for table expenses, etc. How much more easily would my journeys have been accomplished had I met with similar consideration from English steam-boat companies! but unfortunately, till now, such has not been my good fortune. The English directors, agents, and managers have shown far greater appreciation for my dollars than for my journeyings, and always made me pay my passage, alike for long and short distances.

CHAPTER II.

The thing that struck me most in Amsterdam was the architecture of the houses, which I can best liken to the old German style, as seen, for instance, in Magdeburg. The houses, inhabited generally by a single family, are very narrow, from two to four stories high, terminating in fronted or rounded gable roofs. They are built of brick stained with a dark brown tint, and in some instances ornamented with arabesques. The streets have a singular appearance. The houses stand in straight rows, but do not by any means rise in a perpendicular line. In some the under, in others the upper, and in others, again, the middle story, bulges out beyond the rest, the deviation from the perpendicular frequently exceeding a foot. It would seem that such houses were peculiarly liable to fall in; but, from the dates over the doors, I found that the majority had stood for one, and not a few for two centuries. The narrow steep staircase is a great drawback in Dutch houses. One ought to be a born Hollander, and accustomed from childhood to the task of climbing these stairs, to look upon them with equanimity, especially as in any of these lofty narrow houses one seems to be mounting and descending the stairs all day long. I need scarcely say that the houses of the rich, the hotels, and similar buildings, are free from this inconvenience.

Equally surprised was I to notice that in houses where the ground floor is arranged as a shop, the whole width of the front is thus occupied, and no room left for a private door. The cook with her market-basket, the water-carrier with his pails, the housewife and the visitors, have all to go through warehouses sometimes filled with costly wares arranged to the best advantage. Of course, too, the shop-door must be left open on Sundays and holidays as on ordinary occasions.

These inconveniences are all caused by the high price of the ground. Every one knows with what labor the greater part of the Dutch soil was won from the sea, and how expensive it is to build on ground where the foundation must be almost created, so to speak, by driving heavy piles. Generally the building below the ground costs quite as much as all the rest of the structure.

Amsterdam is intersected by numerous canals, all sufficiently broad, and crossed by 250 bridges. This town might indeed be called the Venice of the North, but that the marble palaces, the bustle and life of the southern people, the crowd of passing gondolas, and the melodious songs of the boatmen, are all wanting. Amsterdam has, however, one advantage over Venice in possessing fine broad streets running parallel with the canals, so that carriages can be used in traversing the city. Many of the streets are adorned with tall stately trees, which make the town look very fresh and pleasant.

There are some handsome buildings, but none of remarkable appearance except the royal palace—the council-house of old times. This is built in a grand style, and beautified with excellent sculpture.

I must farther mention a few peculiarities of Amsterdam which greatly surprised me. The first was, that in this great city of 200,000 inhabitants there are no stands for hired carriages; whoever wants to drive out must send to the stable-keeper’s house, and wait until the horses are harnessed. Another peculiarity struck me as very original: in the middle of summer people may be seen traversing the paved streets in sledges. These sledges—low carriage bodies mounted on frames of wood and iron without wheels—are called “steepkoets,” and are used chiefly by old people. The pace is very slow, but the traveling comfortable enough.

The Zoological Garden, adjoining the town, is spacious and tastefully laid out. The number of foreign animals is considerable, and had just been increased by the arrival of several giraffes. The classes of birds and reptiles were very fully represented.

The Museum contains a valuable collection of sea-shells and land-snails.

I visited two picture galleries, the Trippenhuis collection and that of Herr van der Hoop. The word van, by the way, unlike the German von, is not an indication of nobility; every Hollander may prefix it to his name. The principal pictures I saw were “The Watchmen and——,” by Rembrandt; Van der Helst’s “Meal;” Steen’s “Feast of St. Nicholas;” and the “School by Moonlight” of Dow. The two galleries can boast of many masterpieces by the above-mentioned artists and by various others, as Ruysdael, Wouvermans, Ostade, etc.

The Van der Hoop gallery is in the Academy, and was a bequest from the proprietor. The Academy hesitated long before accepting the valuable present, the institution then lacking funds to pay the high legacy-duty.

I was much interested during my visit to the diamond-cutting works of Herr Costa, reputed to be the chief establishment of the kind in existence. The Dutch enjoy an acknowledged pre-eminence over all the nations of Europe in the art of cutting diamonds; but in India they have found their masters, as is proved by the great diamond in the possession of the sultan, which was cut in Upper India. This diamond, the largest known to exist, though convex on the under side, has been cut in facets of uniform size, with an amount of skill which even the Hollanders are unable to emulate.

The size of the manufactory is very striking when one considers the smallness of the objects manipulated; the building is more than a hundred feet long and three stories high.

The various operations are conducted in the following way: the rough diamond passes first into the hands of the planer, then into those of the cutter, and finally is handed to the grinder. The first of these operators removes any defects that may be in the stone with a sharp diamond, wherewith he files the gem, and then chips off the faulty piece. The cutter gives the stone its proper shape by getting rid of the corners and inequalities in the same way. The dust obtained by these operations is carefully collected and husbanded, for the use of it is indispensable in grinding the diamond. The grinder uses a leaden bullet inclosed in wood, with the upper portion softened in the fire, so that the stone may be pressed into it as far as necessary. The diamond is then ground on a steel plate, on which a little diamond-dust has been strewn. The great art consists in making the facets and corners perfectly even, whereby the fire and beauty of the diamond are greatly increased.

The turning of the grinding machine (by steam power) is so rapid that the steel disk does not seem to move at all; it makes two thousand revolutions per minute.

A great deal is lost by this grinding; thus the English crown diamond Kôh-i-Noor was reduced one fourth in size on being cut the second time. The first cutting of this beautiful diamond had proved a failure, and in 1852 the English government sent for a Dutch workman from Herr Costa’s establishment to cut the stone artistically. The work occupied the lapidary for six months, and the mere working expenses, apart from any profit, which indeed the proprietor of the factory, Herr Costa, would not accept, amounted to four thousand Dutch guilders, or something more than £330 sterling. In Herr Costa’s works, of which he is sole owner, 125 workmen are employed, of whom five are planers, thirty cutters, and ninety grinders. These men earn each from thirty to seventy and eighty Dutch guilders per week.

In Amsterdam I saw also the sugar-refining works of Messrs. Spakler, Neoten, and Fetterode. The sugar is refined by means of steam-engines. I have seen the same thing done in other countries. This manufactory turns out about 5,000,000 kilos (about 4885 tons, English weight) of sugar every year. The greatest establishment of the kind in Holland manufactures 16,000,000 kilos, and the entire produce amounts to 80,000,000.

Very near Amsterdam lies the famous Haarlem Lake, the draining of which may be certainly reckoned among the most gigantic undertakings of the present century. Where a few years ago great ships sailed, and where the fisherman spread his nets, thousands of cows now graze, and beauteous fields and meadows smile with verdure; nay, scattered houses, already fast increasing, will soon probably expand into towns and villages.

The pumping out of this lake, which was about thirteen feet deep, was begun in February, 1849, and the whole great work was completed in four years. Engines of 400-horse power were set up in three different places; each of these engines raised the pistons of eight pumps six times a minute, and poured out the water into the canals leading to the sea. The twenty-four pumps of the three engines discharged 20,340 kilderkins of water per minute.

The area of land thus gained amounts to no less than 60,000 English acres. The cultivation of this great tract was begun as early as 1853.

Herr Muyskens, who had the kindness to show me this new wonder of the world, is the owner of a fair tract of the land, from which he carried the first harvest last year. His house, too, was finished, and had been built with much taste. Here I first saw how far the Hollanders’ predilection for cattle-breeding leads them; the cow-stable was indisputably the handsomest part of the house. It must be borne in mind, however, that the greater part of the Dutch soil consists of rich pastures and meadows, and that stock-breeding is the chief source of the Dutchman’s wealth; it is thus reasonable enough that every possible effort should be made to develop this branch of farming. But I had scarcely expected that their anxiety should go so far as to procure for the cows cleaner and more comfortable dwellings than many well-to-do people can boast in the less civilized countries of Europe, to say nothing of other quarters of the world. The cow-house monopolized the greater part of the building: its windows, of a handsome oval form, were absolutely festooned with white curtains, looped up with gay ribbons. The entrance door, of which the upper part was glazed, also boasted of a curtain of dazzling whiteness. The interior of this establishment was in the form of a lofty spacious hall. The stalls were just broad enough to allow the hind feet of the cows to rest on the edge of a canal or gutter a foot in depth, so that the straw might be kept perfectly clean. Just over this gutter, and parallel with it, a rope had been stretched, and to this rope the tails of the cows were tied, to prevent them from whisking their sides and raising a dust. All these arrangements were pleasing enough to the eye; but I fancy, if the poor animals had been consulted, they would have voted for a little more freedom, although at some sacrifice of neatness.

One compartment of the stable was partitioned off by a wall of planks three feet high: it had a boarded floor, and formed quite a neat little room, for the use of the farm attendants. The store-houses for milk, cheese, and similar farm produce were as scrupulously clean as the stable itself. The walls of the entrance halls, staircases, kitchen, store-rooms, etc., in almost every house, are covered, to the height of three or four feet from the ground, with tiles of white porcelain or green clay, which are not so difficult to keep clean as whitewashed walls.

It was at Herr Muysken’s house that, after a long abstinence, I enjoyed the luxury of good milk to my coffee; milk pure and fresh as it comes from the cow. One would think that in a country like Holland, where there are so many cows, good milk could be had in abundance; but it is not so; for the Hollander is such an enthusiast in making butter and cheese, that, like the Swiss, he scarcely allows himself enough good milk for domestic purposes. Almost every where, even in the wealthiest families, the coffee was very indifferent.

While I am speaking of coffee-drinking, that most important subject for us women, I can not help mentioning a custom prevalent throughout Holland, which, in my humble opinion, is not very seemly or worthy of imitation. As soon as the coffee or tea-drinking is over, the lady or daughter of the house, or one of the female authorities, washes the tea-service at the table, in presence of the company. She pours a little hot water in each of the cups, rinses them out, wipes them on a cloth, and the business is done.

Herr Muyskens was kind enough to lead me right across the drained lake to one of the three machines used for pumping out the water, and one or other of which is occasionally put in requisition when there has been an accumulation of rain-water. We came just in time to see one of these machines at work.

We went on to Haarlem, where we saw the fine park, with the elegant royal palace, and likewise a portion of the town. I noticed over the door of a house an oval disk, about a foot and a half in length, covered with pink silk, and ornamented with rich lace in ample folds. They told me this was a sign that one of the inmates had recently become the possessor of a baby. A strip of paper projecting above the disk indicates that the new arrival is a girl. The custom dates from the old warlike times, when the rough soldier respected the house where the suffering mother lay, and the practice once prevailed throughout Holland. It has now fallen into disuse, and is only kept up in Haarlem.

Besides Colonel Steuerwald, who paid me the kindest attention during my stay in Holland, I was fortunate enough to meet another very amiable friend, the “Resident” van Rees, whom the readers of my “Second Journey round the World” will recollect I had encountered at Batavia. Herr van Rees lived at the Hague; but as soon as he heard of my arrival in Holland he came to Amsterdam to invite me to make a short tour through his native country.

We began by an excursion to Utrecht, where a great Students’ Festival happened to be going on when we arrived. The students are in the habit of celebrating the foundation of the University by an annual commemoration. The festivities are kept up for a whole week. They comprise masked processions, concerts, balls, races, dinners, illuminations, and much more of the same kind. This year the affair was to be particularly brilliant. The worshipful students, it appears, were divided into two factions, the aristocratic and the democratic. Each party wished to out-shine the other, and had stipulated for an entire week to carry out their laudable purpose.

We arrived in Utrecht during the aristocrats’ week. The concourse of visitors was so great that we could not find room in any hotel; fortunately for us, Herr and Frau Suermondt, friends of Herr van Rees, received us with friendly hospitality in their house.

In the afternoon there was a procession. The students were all decked out in the most costly dresses; nothing was to be seen but velvet, satin, lace, and ostrich feathers. Some groups represented characters of the sixteenth century; others figured as princes from Java, Hindostan, etc., with their splendid retinues. There was even an Indian deity, carried in a palanquin, and accompanied by a Malay band of music. Whole scenes were represented in enormously long wagons, and some of these were really very artistically arranged. Thus, for instance, a whole house was shown, with the side walls taken out. A married pair sat at a table; the wife had a child in her lap, and a second was playing about at her feet; the family doctor and another friend were paying a visit, chatting and drinking tea, while the maid was scouring the step in front of the house.

On another wagon a wind-mill was perched; in front sat a man building a boat, while a second mended his nets.

A third wagon showed the interior of a peasant’s farm, where butter was being churned, sail-cloth woven, and ropes twisted. Next came a hunting procession, the huntsmen carrying falcons on their wrists, and the whole thing really capitally carried out. The procession was headed by military music, and a second band brought up the rear. In the evening the town was brilliantly illuminated with lamps of colored glass and gay paper lanterns arranged in festoons along the streets and on both sides of the canals. In some houses the whole façade was blazing with light, and the portals and balustrades of the bridges glittered with thousands of lamps. Some of the streets looked like fairy-land.

Toward midnight the procession came marching back with a number of torches spitting forth blue and dark purple flames. The feast was not over until two o’clock.

Gay and brilliant it was, I can not deny, but much too grand for students. It might be allowable if the celebration only took place once or twice in a century; even then a single day would be sufficient for it; but in its present form the effect can not be beneficial. The young men must occupy themselves for many weeks beforehand with their masks, costumes, balls, and other delectations, much more than with their studies. Moreover, the expenses are so great that only the rich can bear them with ease; the poorer students must therefore abstain or run into debt. For my part, I infinitely prefer the plain burlesque exhibited at the Artists’ Festival at Munich, which, although inexpensive, was full of merriment and wit, lasted only a day, and afforded as much, if not more, pleasure to actors and spectators than could be extracted from this students’ feast, with all its show and glitter.

The townspeople, too, are put to an amount of expense by the two evenings’ illumination that must be any thing but welcome to the poorer classes among them; but if they neglected to illuminate, the students would be almost sure to break their windows or play them some other silly trick.

Another custom of which I could not approve was the practice pursued by the students of parading about the whole week in their fancy costumes, as princes, knights, etc.

The second entertainment at which I was present consisted of a horse-race and a few feats of horsemanship by professional circus-riders. To say the truth, I expected something better. Tilting at the ring, or a joust executed by the students in their fancy costumes, would not have cost more, as they had dresses and horses all ready provided, and would have been more worthy of the grand programme. On this occasion I noticed how difficult it is to rouse the Hollander from his phlegmatic repose. A Herr Loisset brought forward a beautiful and marvelously trained horse, which performed such difficult feats as would have called forth the loudest plaudits from any other audience. To my surprise, the people remained as cold as ice, and Herr Loisset left the circus with his horse without receiving the slightest token of approbation.

The town of Utrecht is surrounded by very pretty shrubberies and park-like plantations; but here, as every where else in Holland, the want of hills and mountains is evident. There was not much to be seen in the place. Of the churches, I only visited the Protestant cathedral, allured by its majestic exterior. Unfortunately, I found the interior defaced in an incredible way. As the church is very large, and the congregation found a difficulty in hearing the sermons, a great and high partition of boards had been erected—a church within the church. Of course, this hideous plank-work, which occupies above half the entire space, completely destroys the proper effect of the really beautiful building.

My friendly host, Herr Suermondt, seemed reluctant to part with me, and I readily accepted his hearty invitation to prolong my stay a little while. The first days were devoted to the town itself and to the fortifications; and here and there I snatched an hour for a visit to the fine picture-gallery belonging to Herr Suermondt, and which he has thrown open to strangers.

We also paid a visit to the favorite resort of the Utrechters—the little village of Zeigst, a few miles from the town. The drive to this place is charming. The road, paved with brick like most of the Dutch high roads, leads us past pretty country houses with handsome gardens; in many parts there are avenues of sturdy trees, of a thickness I have seldom seen surpassed. Lime-trees, oaks, and beech-trees, and among the latter particularly the red beeches, attain a height in Holland perhaps unparalleled elsewhere.

In Zeigst there is an establishment of the Moravian brethren.

CHAPTER III.

The houses are all built of wood, and painted of some dark color. The roofs are covered with glazed tiles, and the windows adorned with handsome curtains, while every door-lock is so brightly polished as to look as if it had been just fixed. All the houses stand in little gardens, and each has three doors. One of these is never used but on the most important events of life: when the bridegroom and bride go forth to be married; when the child is carried to the font; and when man is borne forth to take possession of his last earthly dwelling. This strange fashion is found nowhere except in this village. Of the two remaining doors, one is used for daily purposes of entrance and exit; the other leads to the stable, which forms part of the building.

The somewhat narrow streets are bordered by wooden palings; behind the houses room is left to drive in the cattle, to stack the harvest of hay, etc. The streets were washed and swept so clean that, though they are skirted by trees, I did not see a single leaf on the ground. The people, I believe, keep no domestic animals except oxen and cows, for fear the streets should be dirtied. Verily, this is carrying cleanliness to extremes.

We went into several of the houses. The rooms showed the perfection of cleanliness and adornment. The floors were covered with plain carpets or mats, and every piece of furniture polished so highly that it looked like new, though, to judge from the shape of the different pieces, they evidently dated from the last century. The interior arrangements were handsome enough, with plenty of glazed cupboards, full of all kinds of rarities, particularly china, among which I noticed specimens of Chinese and Japanese manufacture. I saw no beds; their place was supplied by false cupboards in all the rooms, which are metamorphosed into couches at night; but great was the store of bed and table linen. The floors of these rooms must not be desecrated by shoes; like the Oriental, the Dutch peasant leaves his slippers at the door. It certainly does not cost him much trouble to divest himself of them, for they are of wood, and he has only to kick them off. Not but that he has better ones for Sundays and visiting days; it is only at his work that he is shod with wood.

The cow-stables were far handsomer than those I had seen at Herr Muysken’s establishment in the Lake of Haarlem. They consist of long halls, with handsome ceilings, resting on pillars of wood. But a stable of this kind is, in fact, only half a stable, for the cattle only live in it during the winter. On the first of May the beasts are driven to pasture, and there they remain until the first of November, and during this time the farmer may be said to make a summer residence of his stable. The hall is divided into compartments or rooms by partitions four feet high, and in these rooms the family lives the whole of the day, only using the real dwelling-house at night. The walls and pillars of the hall are hung with glittering paraphernalia of china, plates, dishes, and metal cans, and even pictures are seen there. The implements for making butter and cheese are ranged in perfect order in the various compartments, and every thing glistens and gleams as brightly as if it had never been used. Not a stain, not an atom of dust is tolerated any where.

It happened to be on a Sunday that we visited Broeck, and the villagers were at church. We proceeded there to see them in their Sunday garb. There was nothing peculiar in the costume of the men, who were all very neat and tidy; but all the women wore that unhappy head-dress, common throughout Holland, which seems to have been invented to deprive the female sex of its chief natural ornament, for it entirely conceals the hair.

This head-dress, probably invented of old by some dame of high degree who had lost her hair, is worthy of a particular description. A hoop of gilt metal encircles the head. This hoop is about an inch and a quarter in width at the forehead, increasing to two inches at the back of the head. This fillet is surmounted by a white cap, fitting tight to the skull, and trimmed with broad folds of lace, while a long strip of the same fabric hangs down over the shoulders. Chased gilt ornaments an inch and a half long, and an inch broad, are attached to each temple, producing very much the effect of the blinkers with which the bridles of carriage-horses are furnished. Three little locks of silk hang down over the eyes. This head-dress certainly has no pretensions to taste, but has the advantage of being subject to no change in fashion. It is expensive enough, costing generally from sixty to eighty Dutch guilders, and even some hundreds in the cases of rich people, who ornament their coifs with pearls and precious stones; but these are heir-looms, descending from generation to generation.

Many women absolutely place a structure of straw, with a broad brim bent upward in front and behind, on this wonderful cap when they go out, and this queer affair they call a hat. I was astonished to find that girls and women endowed by nature with beautiful hair subjected themselves to this foolish fashion—the motive could scarcely be vanity.

In the remaining costume of the women I found nothing very worthy of remark. On Sunday they all wear gowns of black merino. The fashionable world dresses as it does every where else; and some of the citizens’ wives paid homage to the present fashion so far as to wear a stylish bonnet over their hideous Dutch caps.

On the following morning, my indefatigable Mentor, Herr van Rees, took me to the Hague to see his family.

The Hague, a city of eighty thousand inhabitants, does not look so ancient as Amsterdam, but is very much cleaner, principally from the fact that the Hague is not such a manufacturing and commercial city as Amsterdam. Like all Dutch cities, it is intersected by numerous canals. The Hague is the seat of government and the abode of the court, the foreign embassadors, and officials generally. The king has several palaces, not remarkable either for size or for their architecture. They look merely like handsome private houses. The old chief palace, built in the town itself, is a fortress surrounded by moats, and built on a low mound or redoubt. The heavy gates, the tower, and especially the dark color with which it is stained all over, give this place an appearance of antiquity.

About the churches there is not much to be said. The cathedral is a very handsome building, dreadfully disfigured by being surrounded by a number of mean-looking little houses.

The picture gallery, here called the “Museum,” owes its celebrity chiefly to two pictures, which are reckoned among the great masterpieces of the Dutch school—a cattle-piece in life size, by Paul Potter, and Rembrandt’s “Doctor,” or “Anatomist.”

The cattle-piece is so true to nature, so warm in tone, and powerful in execution, that one almost wonders, after a lengthened contemplation of the work, to see the bull, the sheep, the cow, and the shepherd remain so still and motionless, expecting them to begin to move.

The other picture is just as extraordinary in its way, but I thought the subject less attractive. The surgeon is dissecting a corpse. He has just laid open the palm of the hand and the arm sufficiently to expose the whole system of veins and nerves, and he is explaining these to his audience. The calmness of the operator, to whom the business is familiar, and the rapt attention of his hearers, some of whom are hanging upon his words, while others gaze fixedly upon the dissected subject, are admirably rendered; in my poor opinion, this picture is the great painter’s masterpiece. Besides these two great paintings, there are many charming pieces by Steen, Ostade, Rubens, and others.

Herr de Boer’s bazar is well worth a visit. I have seen similar establishments in other great towns, but none to compare with this. The objects to be seen are innumerable, and are arranged in the most attractive manner in large halls. There is a great variety, in particular, of Chinese and Japanese objects. That Nature may not be forgotten amid the charms of Art, these halls are surrounded by beautiful green-houses, which, with their palms and cactuses, sugar-canes, and coffee-trees, remind the Hollander who has returned from India of the El Dorado he has left. Another arrangement, unfortunately not universal, is, that all who come to Herr de Boer’s bazar, whether purchasers or visitors, are alike treated with great civility and attention.

The Dutch seat of government possesses a very fine park, whose fresh verdure, glorious trees, and blooming slopes reminded me of the parks in England. Very charming, too, is the road from the Hague to Scheveningen, a fishing village on the coast, some half a dozen miles from the city, and a place much frequented by the townspeople in summer for bathing purposes. The action of the waves here is said to be particularly invigorating. Thick shady avenues for pedestrians, carriages, and horses extend to the entrance of the village. Scarce a sunbeam struggles through the thick foliage, so that there is coolness and refreshment on the hottest day of summer. Unfortunately, however, real summer days are very sparingly meted out to the Hollanders, the full power of the sun being felt only for a short period in this land. It was in June that I visited Holland, and yet it was only at noon that I found it agreeable to lay aside my warm cloak. In the evening and the morning the thermometer often showed only six to eight degrees Réaumur, and in the night the mercury must have sunk some degrees lower. They told me, however, that this year was an exceptionally cold one, and strong north winds were continually blowing.

From the Hague I made a few excursions—one to the city of Leyden, and another to the busy port of Rotterdam.

Leyden is a very dull place. In the busiest streets it is very easy to count the passengers, and it very seldom happens that one must step aside to avoid a passing carriage. But the place possesses great Art treasures. The museums of Leyden are celebrated for their great collections, particularly of specimens of animals, fishes, and reptiles, and likewise of skulls of men of almost every race. The Museum of Antiquities possesses many rolls of Egyptian papyrus, mummies, and Egyptian and Buddhist idols.

Messrs. Leeman and Schlegel, the curators of these museums, were obliging enough to conduct us through them in person. Unhappily, our time was so limited that we could only give a passing glance at all these wonders. The museums are separated, because it was impossible, we were told, to find a single building with the requisite number of great rooms. The collections are at present deposited in ordinary dwelling-houses.

The Japanese Museum, an exceedingly complete collection of the natural and artificial products of that country, is the private property of Dr. Siebold.

If Leyden did not appear very attractive to me as a city, I was much delighted with Rotterdam: if I had to fix my residence in one of the cities of Holland, it should certainly be here. In this rich commercial town there is business and bustle all day long, especially on the canals, which are broader and deeper than those of the other towns, and as navigable for great three-masted ships as for little cockboats.

Few towns offer such an aspect as Rotterdam, where marine colossi with high masts, as well as smoking steamers, are seen parading, as it were, through the middle of the city. I stood for hours at the window, and was never weary of gazing. Yonder a great East Indiaman is slowly getting under way; here a ship has just arrived from a long voyage, and the sailors are shouting, waving their caps, and calling to their wives, who, informed of the vessel’s arrival, stand waiting on the banks of the canal. Here weighty chests of sugar and bags of coffee are being dragged out of the hold of a ship and deposited in the huge warehouses; there they are loading a brig with Dutch produce for conveyance abroad; steamers of all sizes are swirling by every moment, and hundreds of boats dart to and fro among them. To be able to see all this from my own window seems so strange, that I rub my eyes, fancy myself in a dream, and refuse to believe in the reality.

Rotterdam has many great and handsome houses; some are particularly remarkable for having flat terraces instead of ordinary roofs. The park adjoins one of the best streets; though less spacious than the Haagsche Bosch, it is charmingly laid out.

In Rotterdam I took leave of my worthy and generous friend, Herr van Rees. The good-nature of this gentleman was so great, that he wished to take me through the whole of Holland, as far as Gueldres and Friesland; but it would have been more than encroaching on my part to take advantage of his liberal offer. I alleged that the time had come when I must embark on my new journey, and that I must proceed at once to London to make the necessary preparations.

My stay in Holland had been a brief one—about a fortnight. During this time I had seen many interesting things, but few scenes of natural beauty. In this respect Holland is poor. A great portion of the land, having been won from the sea, necessarily consists of a continuous plain, broken here and there only by low banks and “dunes,” about twenty or thirty feet high. In Gueldres and Friesland, these “dunes,” or sandy banks, are said to attain a height of from fifty to a hundred feet. The views, therefore, show the same features every where—green meadows, with cattle grazing, a few fields, pretty shrubberies, great massive trees, and neat farms and villages. The picture thus presented is cheerful enough, but when one has it continually before one’s eyes it soon becomes monotonous, and creates a craving for the sight of mountains, or, at least, of a range of hills.

The most striking objects to the traveler in Holland are the numerous canals, great and small, which intersect both town and country in all directions. Every patch of field, every meadow, is, as it were, a little island, surrounded in all directions by canals two or three feet broad.

The part of Holland through which I passed consists principally of marsh land. As far as the eye can reach, it rests upon pastures full of fine-looking cattle, which constitute the chief wealth of the country. In Holland there are about 1,130,000 head of cows, oxen, and calves, to a population of 3,200,000 souls, a proportion to which no other country presents a parallel. No wonder that Holland provides half the world with butter and cheese.

The soil is decidedly fertile—witness the fat pastures and meadows, the plentiful crops of great heavy corn-ears, and the strong, lofty trees. A fruitful land is Holland, I will not deny, but certainly not a beautiful one.

CHAPTER IV.