Sketching Rambles in Holland ... With illustrations by the author and Edwin A. Abbey

Front matter

Sketching Rambles IN Holland By George H. Boughton, A.R.A. With illustrations by the Author and Edwin A. Abbey Uontunt MACMILLAN AND CO. ONE OF THEM, "QUI S'EXCUSE S'ACCUSE." By Way of Preface, I HAVE first set down the above wholesome maxim. It may check any wayward tendency within me to apologize beyond the full extent of any sin of commission or omis sion I may have been guilty of in writing this book. It might have been more to the interest and profit of the reader had the partner of these sketching rambles presented me, and explained my peculiar position in this, our joint effort. Knowing however, as well I do, his persistent and sometimes tiresome modesty, I feel that I have little hope of aid from his quarter. I must explain my unwonted appearance here as an author as best I may, not forgetting to premise that if there be any appreciable amount of credit to this, our production, I am not loath to take my fair share of it, while he, dear fellow, will be apt to make it unpleasant all round should he not have more than his share of any blame that may fall to us.

When my friend first proposed that I should join him in a vagarious " wander " over the " untrodden ways " of unfrequented Holland, the alluring scheme included in the party a certain writer of charming sketches of travel and of just such roving as we proposed to enjoy. My young friend's mission was either to illustrate the writer's impressions, or the writer purposed following the facile pencil " Qui s1 excuse s accuse A VIII with his graceful pen. Any way, it was to be " A rare good time," and I need not say with what alacrity I accepted an in vitation to "come along and throw in a sketch or two." After having been in Holland about a week with only my sketching companion, it occurred to me to inquire after our author. I then learned, not without a momentary pang, that he had been unavoidably detained in England and could not join us just then ; we were to meet him later on at some place in North Holland.

I did not pursue my inquiries to the verge of indiscretion. So long as I was absorbing all my own share and part of the absent one's of the prevailing " Good Time," I allowed my light-hearted friend and sketcher to banish what ever regret the " unavoidable circumstance " might call for. But as we meandered on through the placid, dreamy low land landscapes of Cuyp and Ruysdael, even into far North Holland, never did we descry on the horizon's farthest verge a single bright speck that told the coming of the mislaid author. Something definite ought to be done: sketches were ac cumulating ; experiences were delighting and even teaching us ; impressions were weighing us down — and the results were in danger of mildewing for want of proper literary preservation. We wandered about weighed down by the sad conviction that we had been culpably careless in not securing our author before we came away.

Chapter I. Off For North Holland

VERY large opal or the inside of a mother-of-pearl shell would make a good background for this thin strip of I Y distant Holland that lies blinking away in the early morning light. A long, narrow ribbon of a picture it makes, with its little spots and dots and splashes of color here and there, accidental here and methodical there, as if part of a pattern. By carefully looking through a glass, these dots of various shapes and sizes soon resolve themselves into windmills, cows, sheep, Dutchmen, churches, and steeples, and little redtiled houses, with green or blue shutters. I do not pretend that this is a peculiar or striking instance of the first glimpse of a foreign strand, with its. cows, windmills, and steeples — I know of other such places — but I contend that the Dutch sand-slip is cleaner than any other that there is, the cows are sleeker and fatter, the windmills more jaunty and active, the cottages more spick-and-span and more recently out of a toy-box, the specks of humanity more rotund and well-to-do.

Never, except on some other strip of Dutch strand, will you see just such specks as these. And as we draw nearer the shore, and the bits of Spontaneity of Dutch Sunrises. 2 color take more definite form, there is no mistake — this is Hol land, and no other land at all. Flushing is still in the dim, hazy distance. It is the lumi nous haze of an early autumnal morning at sunrise. Such a morning and such a scene are well worth coming these few miles to see, even if we see nothing else, and take the returning boat back to England. I don't mean to compare it to an Al pine sunrise, in order to give the preference either way. The charm of this particular sunrise is its unexpectedness : it was not down in the programme. We had not been preparing for it for days ; we had bribed no one to wake us at some unholy hour ; we had not made the hour more unholy still by strong language against all mountains, sunrises, guides, and the peo ple concerned in turning us out into the marrow-chilling mists, eyes blinking and teeth a-chatter, with no deeper wish than that it were done with, and we could go to breakfast.

We had come from London by the Queensborough and Flushing route. The vessels are, no doubt, the largest and fin est that cross that ever-vexed bit of sea, which often tries the inner consciousness more than the Atlantic itself. One great charm of this route is that you glide peacefully down the Thames for miles, and are safe in your berth and, haply, asleep before the ship begins her playful skipping over the Channel waves. The chances are that .you reach this quiet bit of water on the other side before you wake. You do not bump about outside a harbor bar, either, just a few minutes before landing. There is time to compose one's self — if one has not rested well, to put it mildly — before facing the little ordeal of landing at an unearthly hour in a strange country. They give you a very good breakfast on board the steamer, and plenty of time for it, too, on that bit of smooth water.

You reach Flushing in a good tem per ; and a good temper has very much to do with the truthful- First Impressions. 3 ness of first impressions. There is plenty of time, too, to note down our " first impressions " of this land flowing with milk — I am not sure about the honey, but certain about the butter and cheese, if they can be said to flow. Somebody has said that you do not "land" in Holland, but "go on board." That must have been written long before Flushing harbor was built, as that seems solid and substantial enough, however lightly moored the rest of the country may be behind it. There are trains in waiting for all sorts of places, but there is no hurry. Never did we see the so-called express train in any unseemly haste in Holland. There is time and to spare for the pleasant farce of the custom-house examination.

The official kindly selected the easiest thing to undo, and asked if we were going to stay in Holland or going farther on. Ere the straps were unbuckled fairly, he scuffled on his cabalistic chalk-mark, and we were free. Some one fond of telling pleasant lies has said that with the English and French languages you can go anywhere in the Low Countries. But when one asks an intelligent railway of ficial where the ticket-office is, and he looks puzzled, not to say pained, and we put the question in another form, and point to a crowd at the far end of the rambling station and say " Ticket office ?" and he says " Yes," and nods vigorously, and we rush off and find the refreshment-bar instead, it must be admitted that faith in the prevalence of English in Holland is somewhat shaken. However, as often happens, when the " trusted " fails, the " least expected " comes to the rescue.

A newsboy of sixty summers, with an armful of jaw-dislocating Dutch morning papers, obligingly marshalled us the way that we were already going, in the direction of the other small crowd, which did mean tickets. It is a sad thing to feel that you don't want the morning Dutch Numismatics. 4 paper. The titles were enough. I began to feel that I could not read at all. The newsboy was a godsend, however ; he set aside all thought of disseminating early morning Dutch litera ture, and put his services as interpreter entirely at our disposal. He kindly prevented us from rewarding him too scantily for his services by explaining that the ten coins of rather good design and size, but dubious color, were only worth two-pence. We continued "paying out" (to use a combination of nautical and commercial terms) until a beam of satisfaction showed upon his weather-beaten countenance.

It is a trying moment for a " happy-go-lucky " temperament to find itself early in the morning in a strange land, face to face with problems of a new and uncanny looking currency. Two or three of the biggest of the coins won't go into any decent purse, and if left loose in the trousers pocket they go rasping and knocking about, setting the teeth on edge, and jamming the fingers that are in search of smaller coinage about the size of shirt -buttons. - It seemed part of a liberal education to get up a knowledge of the intermediate specimens — combinations of copper, nickel, bronze, pewter, and silver. Still, it must be done ; it would never do to go on pay ing away at this rate. " We ought to have some sort of system. Suppose you pay for all, and we will settle up — " " Some time," said the most careless of us to the most reckless (or the reverse, if he like it better).

It cast a gloom of its own over us, and nearly settled us for the day. The first impressions — which are supposed to be everything — of a new country, as seen from the bedrizzled windows of an express train, are not always worth writing down. It is only as you linger a few minutes at a wayside station that you begin to note the little differences that make it evident that you are at some distance from home. Many a hasty sketch Dordrecht. ■ 5 we made from the convenient end windows of the railway carriage, of the bits of character and incident seen on the plat forms of the village stations. Such is the dignified repose of the Dutch that we could generally make a tolerably complete sketch before they moved. Seldom was the sketch-book out of hand, or the well-sharpened pencil unready. If the study of the relative values of Dutch money is not cheering, it is not much relief to turn to the pages of a Dutch railway time-table.

As we had been forced to admit the ne cessity of " some system " with regard to expenditure, we put off the evil day of arranging any very definite route until the morrow. We had two objective points — North Holland and Friesland — and so long as we came to these in good time, and by direct or indirect wanderings, the other places might arrange themselves as Time and happy Chance should will. We decided not to go straight on to Amsterdam the first day, but to break our journey at Haarlem. Many artists consider this delightful old town as one of the greatest attractions in all Holland. To go to Holland and not to visit the shrine of Franz Hals is like going to Italy and leaving out Venice. On our way to Haarlem, however, we came to Dordrecht ; and as all the delights of form and color of that most deeply dyed of all picturesque towns " wheeled into our ken," we began to loudly and bitterly lament that we were not to stop and explore them then and there.

To our aid came a good-natured Dutch fellow-passenger, speaking Eng lish, who assured us that we could stop over three hours, and go on by the next train to Haarlem, and that our luggage, booked therefor, would be as safely awaiting us in the station as if we had never lost sight of it. No sooner said than done. A man and his luggage are as soon parted as the fool and his money. Our good-natured friend explained to the ticket -col- A Dutch Villa. 6 lector — I fancy we had no real right to break the journey at Dort, but they seem curiously amiable on Dutch railways — and we passed out of the station and faced toward the town. We did not respond to the pantomimic blandishments of the tram-car conductor, preferring to wander at our own sweet will, and get lost if possible. A very modern sort of Dutch villa, with a misbegotten little Mansard roof, plate -glass win dows, muslin curtains of sprawling pattern, parted in the cen tre to display a cockety veneered table sustaining a basket of ON THE EDGE OF HOLLAND. wax fruit and a couple of sickly Parian statuettes, a small garden with paths of black cinders, surrounded with wood palings painted a rich arsenic green, and outside the palings a little, pathetic moat, covered with duck-weed, running en tirely round the small domain, and around and over all an unmistakable bouquet of strangulated drainage — this was the first picture we stopped a moment to take in (mentally only).

It was not exactly what we came on purpose to see, but we were not dismayed. Did we not see gleaming in A Skirmish Through Dort. 7 the distance the lovely tower of the cathedra], and the mar vellous roofs of the old houses, tiled with every hue of soft, velvety red ; towers, gables, and spires, with the golden weather cocks, all looking like delicate tracery on the gray-blue sky be yond ? Onward ! But, first of all, to restore the circulation, my companion indulged in a few steps of a darky dance, known among the select few as the " Essence of Ole Virginny." This, executed on the broad highway by a small, neat youth, nearly if not quite concealed by a monumental ulster, bristling with scores of uncanny flaps and pockets, brought a hitherto unseen and undreamed - of crowd of smiling but wondering natives up, seemingly from the ground.

" What on earth are they looking at ? Is there anything peculiar about me or this ulster?" " Nothing at all, my dear boy. Come on." It was agreed that there was to be no sketching, merely a skirmish to see all we could, and then get back in time to catch the train, leaving the serious business of carefully doing it until another visit; that is to say, if we found Dort, on near inspection, turn out to be what it promised from afar. We had nearly three hours before us. Many a bigger place has been "done" for good and all in less time. For the first quarter of an hour we carefully noted the lay of the land and the various turnings, so as to find our way back again with out being obliged to ask. But soon the interest began to thicken, the turnings were unnoted, and neither of us knew nor cared where we were, so long as we were going from one moving picture to another.

We did not refer to Murray or Baedeker, uselessly bulging out our coat pockets; what we were simple enough to enjoy most of all, those excellent guides took no note of. The church tower was our guiding Fragrance of Dort. 8 star; and as we moved from foreground to foreground, so to speak, how splendidly it " composed " with the masses of quaint gables and high red roofs ; then with tops of trees, golden with autumnal colors ; then with tangle of shipping, bewilder ments of masts, brown sails, spars, ropes, and flapping pennons; now at the end of a long canal, with the multiform and mul ticolored backs of houses overhanging either side; now again at the end of a long street of elaborately gabled houses filled with picturesque bustle and life ! Threading in and out the ever -moving kaleidoscope of form and color, as spots of high light, were the white caps of the women -folk, with their gold ornaments glinting in the sunlight — all this through ever -shifting veils of pale -blue peat smoke.

And over and above all these varying, moving sketches wafted a strange tangle of queer and not often unpleasant odors — peat reek and the various tarry smells of the shipping, coffee being roasted or ground on the pavement in front of grocers' shops, all the spices of the Indies seeming now and then to get mixed with the inevitable escape of gassy smells from old gas-pipes being grubbed up, and having a battle royal for pre eminence. Happily, the coffee, spices, and peat smoke in most instances appeared to have the best of it. Dort seemed well off for rivers — three, not over silvery or limpid, and yet to a painter's eye not of an uninviting muddy tone, gray, green, or yellow, sometimes in separate tints, some times in mixtures, as they lay stagnant here or swirled swiftly there past the dikes, walls, and bridges of the old town, making not one island of it, but several.

The breeze seems to have a fine chance for play round Dort ; the brown and yel low sails scud by, and the windmills far and near seem cut loose or working for a wager. By degrees, taking no note of time or direction in our wan- The Cathedral. 9 derings, we came to the cathedral itself. Just a peep inside we agreed to, but it was far from easy to find the entrance. Every door that seemed the right one was not, and we were DORT CATHEDRAL. fain to ask our way in best pantomime. We w7ere shown the koster's residence — a humble wooden excrescence jammed be tween the buttresses of the main building, with a pathetic little A Ruined Interior. 10 green -painted door. We knocked, and a tidy, smiling dame, speaking never a word, but looking unutterably intelligent and willing, led us through her little De- Hooge -like kitchen, with its blue and white tiles, its pots and pans glistening, like burnished gold and silver, and something uncommonly nice bubbling in a gold -like saucepan on the fire.

We looked so long and admiringly on this unexpected picture that the good woman must have thought us famished: it could not have been ready, that bubbling, fragrant stew, or I feel sure she would have offered us some there and then. There was a large, fluffy, comfortable cat curled up on a cushion on the easy-chair: evidently the church mice were not so poor, nor scarce, either. A large, open Bible with opulent silver clasps was on a small table, and near it a gray - and - blue mug filled with pale -yellow chrysanthemums. It was a won der that we tore ourselves away from this simple little ditty in color to the " frozen music " of the cathedral interior beyond. It was not a very cheerful strain of " frozen music " either, that particular interior, as we saw it. It might have been once. Alas ! the demons of sacrilegious havoc, the flaming torch, the invaders' cannon-shot, the pick and crowbar, and even the simple, but efficient, half -brick through the stained glass windows, had done much.

The foolish restorer, with his mud-pie of stucco and his ghastly shroud of whitewash, had done more. The " tooth of time " had mumbled off choice bits of rare carving in wood and stone. But still, there it was : " There was a something in its look That murder could not kill." If the pious Dutchmen of the good old days could only see the present state of their temple, reared with such reverence and toil to the Most High, I fancy that they would think the A Conflagration. 11 boasted progress of this age rather crab -like in some matters of taste and refinement. Out, somewhat sadly and rather chilled, into the bright air again. We found it time to get back to the railway, and began to think of some pantomime expressing that end and aim. But first let us try a little plain English on this man loading a truck with beer - barrels.

" Railway station ? I will schouw you the way." And he left his truck and took us down several streets until we struck the tram-line. He told the con ductor our destination, made light of our thanks, and away we went, with infinite jingling of bells and tooting of horn, and snipping of tickets with a bell-punch as big and as dangerous looking as an army revolver. It was a new tramway, and proudly they seemed to regard it. The conductor looked like an admiral of the fleet. At the station we found but one solitary small boy at the telegraph office. Everybody else, he ex plained, had gone to see the fire — and the train expected in a few minutes! There was a fire somewhere near by, and, sure enough, down quite at the end of the long platform was the entire staff of the station, even the cook, in white cap and apron, gazing off into the dim distance — all except the small boy.

We sought a restaurant opposite, and tried to get something from the solitary waiter who couldn't get away. He was evi dently distracted between duty to us and impulse to rush off to the scene of conflagration. He brought us a jam sand wich for ham, which was a near shot for one in his state of agitation. We had a good opportunity while sitting by the window to see something of the Fire Department. The en gine went by, but very deliberately and with much hesitation. We had even time to sketch it, as it rested for a time, while somebody went back for something. The station cook and Exciting Scenes. 12 party came upon the scene by this time ; and between his ad vice to go back, as it was all over, and the railway porter's advice to go on, as it was still smoking, if not burning, we got time to do a good bit.

However, at last the prudent counsel of the porter seemed to prevail, and the machine finally meandered quietly off in the direction of the late fire, pushed and dragged by a very scratch company, and followed by the chattering crowd. Fires are not of frequent occur rence, evidently, in Dort, and they probably had not seen that archaic old " squirt " out for years. What wonder that they moved it gently, for fear of internal injury. THE DORDRECHT FIRE DEPARTMENT. The distant scream of the coming train warned us to the station, and we were soon on board again, well pleased with our three hours' experience. I think that one of us told the other the story of the Western man on a Mississippi steamer who got off at a " wood-up " station, where the boat would be detained an hour. He asked the captain if there would be time enough to see the town.

The captain thought there would. The traveller returned in an hour with both eyes in mourning; his coat was torn up the back, and he had evi dently been rolled in the mud. A Reminiscence. 13 " Have you enjoyed your walk ?" asked the captain. " Oh, very much indeed. There was a free fight going on up in the village, and I asked if they would count me in, and they did, and so I took a hand in ; and then, after a time, I asked again, ' Is this a free fight ?' and they said it was. So I said they might count me out, and I came away. For a small place, I found it most lively and amusing. I enjoyed it very much." The amusements of Dort are not, in the present age, of this nature. There may have been such opportunities during the troubled times of the wars of the Middle Ages.

Chapter II. In And About Haarlem

OUR luggage was safe enough at Haarlem station, and I we were soon comfortably housed at the Hotel Funckler— landlord and all his people speaking English, and probably all the modern languages, if required. Haarlem seems prim and quiet, not to say sleepy, after Dort. It was too late to see the pictures that day, so we rambled about town, sketching bits of streets, canals, people— anything that came in our way. We were soon struck by the deep interest the Dutch people of every class seem to take in any one sketching. They will leave their dearest and most absorbing pursuits, business, home, friends, to come and look on. You will not have time to get a dozen lines in your book before you feel some one breathing almost in your ear. They are generally eating some thing, if they are women or girls, or smoking, if they are men or boys; but they are quiet and kind enough.

There is no sort of use in looking severely at them, with a " What-do-you want?" expression. They calmly eat or smoke, and look rather injured, or else return stare for stare with interest. Sometimes one would try the effect of turning over the leaf and beginning to write a few notes. It was seldom of any use ; he would still find himself a centre of attraction. If he stand with his back to a wall, they will try to squeeze their heads round back of the book, or else they will plant themselves well in front of him, and stop by the hour together A MORNING OBSERVATION IN HAARLEM. Modern Haarlem Architecture. 17 if he will. The only way is not to mind their profound and intimate scrutiny. Haarlem is being modernized at a furious rate. Some of the old canals have been filled up and made into " boulevards."

One was being filled up : we went out of our way to see if it were " sketchable." It certainly was not bad, with its inky, pent up waters, the banks piled high with sea-sand, the men pitching it in with great wooden spades. But, oh ! the perfume ! Sulphu retted hydrogen was the most innocent element of the peculiar " bouquet." It was enough to stop a clock ; and yet they didn't seem to mind it. Small boys were playing with little boats in it. Some men from a tobacco factory near by were wetting the leaves of the plant in this fragrant, aroma-giving element. I suppose that they had always been in the habit of using the canal for the same purpose, and it never occurred to them to stop because the water was getting a trifle richer in quality. Around these new boulevards is springing up the modern Dutch villa — the pet production of speculative builders all the world over.

Some were better, and some a little worse, than the one faintly hinted at in our few words about Dort. Although Holland abounds with the most delightful specimens of domestic architecture of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, they seldom care to revive it when they build a new house. There seems to be but one approved style now, and that the very worst style of French villa, with its dull, dark, " Mansard " roof. There is also an almost universal run on a certain garden statue in plaster, the most ill-modelled child, with a short tunic, holding a basket of chalk fruit on its sim pering, idiotic head. No garden is complete without that, and, if the means of the owner permit, a large globe of shining, quicksilvered glass, in which are reflected the most awful distor tions of every surrounding object.

Those who are tired of The Studio of Wouvermans. hearing of " high art " and " æsthetics," of harmonies and sym phonies of color, of dadoes and old bric-a-brac, should come here to rest the troubled brain. If one could only stay a few months with the owner of one of these villas ! The people are by no means backward in displaying their objects de luxe — mostly wax flowers or French vases. Gilt-edged books, bound in good, old-fashioned, positive colors, including now and then a cover in a tint of " magenta " that might have been distilled from long-pent-up and suffering canal water ; these, massed in brass -bound book -slides, and waited on by a Muse or two in plaster of Paris, are on the veneered table between the parted curtains of every one of these new abodes. Wander ing along one of the canals, we stopped to admire a crow stepped, gabled house of time -toned velvety brick.

We read on a tablet high up the name of Ph. Wouvermans. Yes, that must have been his studio window — that large one. A pleasant house, and a substantial, well-to-do air all about it. A pleasant spot, too, by the tree-shaded canal. Wonder if it is still a studio? It looks like it. It almost tempts one to ring the bell and ask if Heer Wouvermans is at home. We passed out of the town through the one fine old pos tern-gate left standing, and wandered off a little way into the country to see how that looked. There were no shady lanes, nor stone walls nor fences to obstruct the view. The narrow, rush-fringed ditch runs around and through each little domain. It was, fortunately, during the potato gathering, and the groups of women and children at work in the fields were most picturesque. I am not particularly fond of the idea of women do ing the hard field-work that they sometimes engage in; but potato digging, picking, sack-filling, and the rest of it are such very picturesque and easy -looking proceedings that one is tempted to look upon it as a feminine accomplishment or pas- HI THE MARKET-PLACE, HAARLEM.