It was open, and there was no charge on that day for admission. In they went, shufling, as boys will when they have a chance, just to hear the sound of their shoes on the polished floor.
This museum is in fact a picture gallery where some of the finest works of the Dutch masters are to be seen, besides nearly two hundred portfolios of rare engravings.
Ben noticed, at once, that some of the pictures were hung on panels fastened to the wall with hinges. These could be swung forward like a window shutter, thus enabling the subject to be seen in the best light. The plan served them well in viewing a small group by Gerard Douw[108], called the Evening School, enabling them to observe its exquisite finish and the wonderful way in which the picture seemed to be lit through its own windows. Peter pointed out the beauties of another picture by Douw, called The Hermit, and he also told them some interesting anecdotes of the artist, who was born at Leyden in 1613.
Three days painting a broom handle! echoed Carl in astonishment, while the captain was giving some instances of Douws extreme slowness of execution.
Yes, sir, three days. And it is said that he spent five in finishing one hand in a ladys portrait. You see how very bright and minute everything is in this picture. His unfinished works were kept carefully covered and his painting materials were put away in airtight boxes as soon as he had finished using them for the day. According to all accounts, the studio itself must have been as close as a bandbox. The artist always entered it on tiptoe, besides sitting still, before he commenced work, until the slight dust caused by his entrance had settled. I have read somewhere that his paintings are improved by being viewed through a magnifying glass. He strained his eyes so badly with the extra finishing, that he was forced to wear spectacles before he was thirty. At forty he could scarcely see to paint, and he couldnt find a pair of glasses anywhere that would help his sight. At last, a poor old German woman asked him to try hers. They suited him exactly, and enabled him to go on painting as well as ever.
Humph! exclaimed Ludwig indignantly. That was high![109] What did SHE do without them, I wonder?
Oh, said Peter, laughing, likely she had another pair. At any rate she insisted upon his taking them. He was so grateful that he painted a picture of the spectacles for her, case and all, and she sold it to a burgomaster for a yearly allowance that made her comfortable for the rest of her days.
Boys! called Lambert in a loud whisper, come look at this Bear Hunt.
It was a fine painting by Paul Potter[110], a Dutch artist of the seventeenth century, who produced excellent works before he was sixteen years old. The boys admired it because the subject pleased them. They passed carelessly by the masterpieces of Rembrandt and Van der Helst, and went into raptures over an ugly picture by Van der Venne, representing a sea fight between the Dutch and English. They also stood spellbound before a painting of two little urchins, one of whom was taking soup and the other eating an egg. The principal merit in this work was that the young egg-eater had kindly slobbered his face with the yolk for their entertainment.
An excellent representation of the Feast of Saint Nicholas next had the honor of attracting them.
Look, Van Mounen, said Ben to Lambert. Could anything be better than this youngsters face? He looks as if he KNOWS he deserves a whipping, but hopes Saint Nicholas may not have found him out. Thats the kind of painting I like; something that tells a story.
Come, boys! cried the captain. Ten oclock, time we were off!
They hastened to the canal.
Skates on! Are you ready? One, two halloo! Wheres Poot?
Sure enough, where WAS Poot?
A square opening had just been cut in the ice not ten yards off. Peter observed it and, without a word, skated rapidly toward it.
All the others followed, of course.
Peter looked in. They all looked in; then stared anxiously at each other.
Poot! screamed Peter, peering into the hole again. All was still. The black water gave no sign; it was already glazing on top.
Van Mounen turned mysteriously to Ben. DIDNt HE HAVE A FIT ONCE?
My goodness! yes! answered Ben in a great fright.
Then, depend upon it, hes been taken with one[111] in the museum!
The boys caught his meaning. Every skate was off in a twinkling[112]. Peter had the presence of mind to scoop up a capful of water from the hole, and off they scampered to the rescue.
Alas! They did indeed find poor Jacob in a fit, but it was a fit of sleepiness. There he lay in a recess of the gallery, snoring like a trooper! The chorus of laughter that followed this discovery brought an angry official to the spot.
What now! None of this racket! Here, you beer barrel, wake up! And Master Jacob received a very unceremonious shaking.
As soon as Peter saw that Jacobs condition was not serious, he hastened to the street to empty his unfortunate cap. While he was stufing in his handkerchief to prevent the already frozen crown from touching his head, the rest of the boys came down, dragging the bewildered and indignant Jacob in their midst.
The order to start was again given. Master Poot was wide-awake at last. The ice was a little rough and broken just there, but every boy was in high spirits.
Shall we go on by the canal or the river? asked Peter.
Oh, the river, by all means, said Carl. It will be such fun; they say it is perfect skating all the way, but its much farther[113].
Jacob Poot instantly became interested.
I vote for the canal! he cried.
Well, the canal it shall be, responded the captain, if all are agreed[114].
Agreed! they echoed, in rather a disappointed tone, and Captain Peter led the way.
All right, come on. We can reach Haarlem in an hour!
Big Manias and Little Oddities
While skating along at full speed, they heard the cars from Amsterdam coming close behind them.
Halloo! cried Ludwig, glancing toward the rail track, who cant beat a locomotive? Lets give it a race!
The whistle screamed at the very idea so did the boys and at it they went.
For an instant the boys were ahead, hurrahing with all their might only for an instant, but even THAT was something.
This excitement over, they began to travel more leisurely and indulge in conversation and frolic. Sometimes they stopped to exchange a word with the guards who were stationed at certain distances along the canal. These men, in winter, attend to keeping the surface free from obstruction and garbage. After a snowstorm they are expected to sweep the feathery covering away before it hardens into a marble pretty to look at but very unwelcome to skaters. Now and then the boys so far forgot their dignity as to clamber among the icebound canal boats crowded together in a widened harbor off the canal, but the watchful guards would soon spy them out and order them down with a growl.
Nothing could be straighter than the canal upon which our party were skating, and nothing straighter than the long rows of willow trees that stood, bare and wispy, along the bank. On the opposite side, lifted high above the surrounding country, lay the carriage road on top of the great dike built to keep the Haarlem Lake within bounds; stretching out far in the distance, until it became lost in a point, was the glassy canal with its many skaters, its brown-winged iceboats, its push-chairs, and its queer little sleds, light as cork, flying over the ice by means of iron-pronged sticks in the hands of the riders. Ben was in ecstasy with the scene.
Nothing could be straighter than the canal upon which our party were skating, and nothing straighter than the long rows of willow trees that stood, bare and wispy, along the bank. On the opposite side, lifted high above the surrounding country, lay the carriage road on top of the great dike built to keep the Haarlem Lake within bounds; stretching out far in the distance, until it became lost in a point, was the glassy canal with its many skaters, its brown-winged iceboats, its push-chairs, and its queer little sleds, light as cork, flying over the ice by means of iron-pronged sticks in the hands of the riders. Ben was in ecstasy with the scene.
Ludwig van Holp had been thinking how strange it was that the English boy should know so much of Holland. According to Lamberts account, he knew more about it than the Dutch did. This did not quite please our young Hollander. Suddenly he thought of something that he believed would make the Shon Pull open his eyes; he drew near Lambert with a triumphant Tell him about the tulips!
Ben caught the word tulpen.
Oh, yes! said he eagerly, in English, the Tulip Mania are you speaking of that? I have often heard it mentioned but know very little about it. It reached its height in Amsterdam, didnt it?
Ludwig moaned; the words were hard to understand, but there was no mistaking the enlightened expression on Bens face. Lambert, happily, was quite unconscious of his young countrymans distress as he replied, Yes, here and in Haarlem, principally; but the excitement ran high all over Holland, and in England too for that matter.
Hardly in England, I think, said Ben, but I am not sure, as I was not there at the time.[115]
Ha! ha! thats true, unless you are over two hundred years old. Well, I tell you, sir, there never was anything like it before nor since. Why, persons were so crazy after tulip bulbs in those days that they paid their weight in gold for them.
What, the weight of a man! cried Ben, showing such astonishment in his eyes that Ludwig fairly capered.
No, no, the weight of a BULB. The first tulip was sent here from Constantinople about the year 1560. It was so much admired that the rich people of Amsterdam sent to Turkey for more. From that time they grew to be the rage[116], and it lasted for years. Single roots brought from one to four thousand florins; and one bulb, the Semper Augustus, brought fifty-five hundred.
Thats more than four hundred guineas of our money, interposed Ben.
Yes, and I know Im right, for I read it in a translation from Beckman, only day before yesterday. Well, sir, it was great. Everyone speculated in tulips, even bargemen and rag women and chimney sweeps. The richest merchants were not ashamed to share the excitement. People bought bulbs and sold them again at a tremendous profit without ever seeing them. It grew into a kind of gambling. Some became rich by it in a few days, and some lost everything they had. Land, houses, cattle, and even clothing went for tulips when people had no ready money. Ladies sold their jewels and finery to enable them to join in the fun. Nothing else was thought of. At last the States-General interfered. People began to see what dunces they were making of themselves[117], and down went the price of tulips. Old tulip debts couldnt be collected. Creditors went to law[118], and the law turned its back upon them; debts made in gambling were not binding, it said. Then there was a time! Thousands of rich speculators were reduced to beggary in an hour. As old Beckman says, The bubble was burst at last.
Yes, and a big bubble it was, said Ben, who had listened with great interest. By the way, did you know that the name tulip came from a Turkish word, signifying turban?
I had forgotten that, answered Lambert, but its a capital idea. Just fancy a party of Turks in full headgear squatted upon a lawn perfect tulip bed! Ha! ha! Capital idea!
There, groaned Ludwig to himself, hes been telling Lambert something wonderful about tulips I knew it!
The fact is, continued Lambert, you can conjure up quite a human picture of a tulip bed in bloom, especially when it is nodding and bobbing in the wind. Did you ever notice it?
Not I. It strikes me, Van Mounen, that you Hollanders are prodigiously fond of the flower to this day.
Certainly. You cant have a garden without them; prettiest flower that grows, I think. My uncle has a magnificent bed of the finest varieties at his summer house on the other side of Amsterdam.
I thought your uncle lived in the city?
So he does; but his summer house, or pavilion, is a few miles off. He has another one built out over the river. We passed near it when we entered the city. Everybody in Amsterdam has a pavilion somewhere, if he can.
Do they ever live there? asked Ben.
Bless you, no! They are small affairs, suitable only to spend a few hours in on summer afternoons. There are some beautiful ones on the southern end of the Haarlem Lake now that theyve commenced to drain it into polders, it will spoil THAT fun. By the way, weve passed some red-roofed ones since we left home. You noticed them, I suppose, with their little bridges and ponds and gardens, and their mottoes over the doorway.
Ben nodded.
They make but little show, now, continued Lambert, but in warm weather they are delightful. After the willows sprout, uncle goes to his summer house every afternoon. He dozes and smokes; aunt knits, with her feet perched upon a foot stove, never mind how hot the day; my cousin Rika and the other girls fish in the lake from the windows or chat with their friends rowing by; and the youngsters tumble about or hang upon the little bridges over the ditch. Then they have coffee and cakes, beside a great bunch of water lilies on the table. Its very fine, I can tell you; only (between ourselves), though I was born here, I shall never fancy the odor of stagnant water that hangs about most of the summer houses. Nearly every one you see is built over a ditch. Probably I feel it more, from having lived so long in England.
Perhaps I shall notice it too, said Ben, if a thaw comes. The early winter has covered up the fragrant waters for my benefit[119] much obliged to it. Holland without this glorious skating wouldnt be the same thing at all.
How very different you are from the Poots! exclaimed Lambert, who had been listening in a sort of brown study[120]. And yet you are cousins I cannot understand it.
We ARE cousins, or rather we have always considered ourselves such, but the relationship is not very close. Our grandmothers were half-sisters. MY side of the family is entirely English, while he is entirely Dutch. Old Great-grandfather Poot married twice, you see, and I am a descendant of his English wife. I like Jacob, though, better than half of my English cousins put together. He is the truest-hearted, best-natured boy I ever knew. Strange as you may think it, my father became accidentally acquainted with Jacobs father while on a business visit to Rotterdam. They soon talked over their relationship in French, by the way and they have corresponded in the language ever since. Queer things come about in this world. My sister Jenny would open her eyes at some of Aunt Poots ways. Aunt is a thorough lady, but so different from mother and the house, too, and furniture, and way of living, everything is different.