A Wanderer in Holland | Page 5

day the same.
"The shops and warehouses are of a surprising neatness and
magnificence, filled with an incredible quantity of fine merchandise,

and so much cheaper than what we see in England, I have much ado to
persuade myself I am still so near it. Here is neither dirt nor beggary to
be seen. One is not shocked with those loathsome cripples, so common
in London, nor teased with the importunities of idle fellows and
wenches, that choose to be nasty and lazy. The common servants and
the little shopwomen here are more nicely clean than most of our ladies;
and the great variety of neat dresses (every woman dressing her head
after her own fashion) is an additional pleasure in seeing the town."
The claims of business have now thrust aside many of the little
refinements described by Lady Mary, her description of which has but
to be transferred to some of the smaller Dutch towns to be however in
the main still accurate. But what she says of the Dutch servants is true
everywhere to this minute. There are none more fresh and capable;
none who carry their lot with more quiet dignity. Not the least part of
the very warm hospitality which is offered in Dutch houses is played by
the friendliness of the servants.
Every one in Holland seems to have enough; no one too much. Great
wealth there may be among the merchants, but it is not ostentatious.
Holland still seems to have no poor in the extreme sense of the word,
no rags. Doubtless the labourers that one sees are working at a low rate,
but they are probably living comfortably at a lower, and are not to be
pitied except by those who still cherish the illusion that riches mean
happiness. The dirt and poverty that exist in every English town and
village are very uncommon. Nor does one see maimed, infirm or very
old people, except now and then--so rarely as at once to be reminded of
their rarity.
One is struck, even in Rotterdam, which is a peculiarly strenuous town,
by the ruddy health of the people in the streets. In England, as one
walks about, one sees too often the shadow of Death on this face and
that; but in Holland it is difficult to believe in his power, the people
have so prosperous, so permanent, an air.
That the Dutch die there is no doubt, for a funeral is an almost daily
object, and the aanspreker is continually hurrying by; but where are the
dead? The cemeteries are minute, and the churches have no

churchyards. Of Death, however, when he comes the nation is very
proud. The mourning customs are severe and enduring. No expense is
spared in spreading the interesting tidings. It is for this purpose that the
aanspreker flourishes in his importance and pomp. Draped heavily in
black, from house to house he moves, wherever the slightest ties of
personal or business acquaintanceship exist, and announces his news. A
lady of Hilversum tells me that she was once formally the recipient of
the message, "Please, ma'am, the baker's compliments, and he's dead,"
the time and place of the interment following. I said draped in black,
but the aanspreker is not so monotonous an official as that. He has his
subtleties, his nuances. If the deceased is a child, he adds a white
rosette; if a bachelor or a maid, he intimates the fact by degrees of
trimming.
The aanspreker was once occasionally assisted by the huilebalk, but I
am afraid his day is over. The huilebalk accompanied the aansprekers
from house to house and wept on the completion of their sad message.
He wore a wide-awake hat with a very large brim and a long-tailed coat.
If properly paid, says my informant, real tears coursed down his cheeks;
in any case his presence was a luxury possible only to the rich.
The aanspreker is called in also at the other end of life. Assuming a
more jocund air, he trips from house to house announcing little
strangers.
That the Dutch are a healthy people one might gather also from the
character of their druggists. In this country, even in very remote towns,
one may reveal one's symptoms to a chemist or his assistant feeling
certain that he will know more or less what to prescribe. But in Holland
the chemists are often young women, who preside over shops in which
one cannot repose any confidence. One likes a chemist's shop at least to
look as if it contained reasonable remedies. These do not. Either our
shops contain too many drugs or these too few. The chemist's sign, a
large comic head with its mouth wide open (known as the gaper), is
also subversive of confidence. A chemist's shop is