The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, October 11, 1896, Page 16

16 THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, OCTOBER 11, 1896. A California Artist in Holland and Belgium and a XVI Century Aubrey Beardsley F ANTWERP it has been said that the desire and love of wealth is the ruling passion. An old monk once wrote that Brussels could boast of noble men, Antwerp of money, Bruges could show the prettiest girls, Louvain was justly proud of herlearned men, and the poor town of Ghent could only produce the halters which marked the humiliations to which her turbulent citizens were so frequently subjected, while the lordship of Malines was chiefly remark- able for the fools which inhabited it. 1 pelieve the reputation for unusual simplicity dated from the story that the citizens of Malines once at- tempted to extinenish the moon shining through their cathedral tower, king the radiance for a fire. / Every town in Holland or Belgium is within a few hours of every other town; therefore the resolve to visit Antwerp or Bruges needs no more deliberation than a sudden irresistible impulse to visit East Oakland or Petaluma, only there 1s this difference. In California the mighty MR i Portrait-of a Flemish Woman of the XVI Century. resolve to travel need not be communicated to all the neighbors, nor does it awaken in their minds any overwhelming anguish of interest. To leave a town in Holland in order to cross the border into Belgium is a grave matter; to leave a little village for the same purpose is to become a public character. A little ramshackle carriage, with flapping tarpaunlin blinds, stops before the door. It is called the ‘‘rideout.” The postman, Jan de Ziouw, knocks on the door and opens it, shouting in Dutch that it is time to leave. This is the signal for the gathering of the cians, and the de- parture is accomplished only after innumerable handshakes and nods of the head and repeated good wishes for a safe journey. The children fol- low the rideout as long as possible, clattering over the stones with their wooden shoes and giving vent to their excitement in earsplitting yells. On! the tender charms of childhood ! The road to Dordrechi is beautiful. Itisantumnal September, but the landscape has the soft freshness of early spring in California. An avenue of giant elms, remarkable even for this land of stately trees, points the way. Napoleon laid it out and it is quite as suggestive of his taste for magnificence and pomp as the great tomb under the golden dome of the Invalides in Paris. It is aroad for a king to drive through in a royal chariot. The little rideout, however, bunips along behind an ancient horse with admirable cheerfulness. In the cénter of the avenue the thick tree trunks rise like the pillars of a Gothic cathedral and the overarching branches meet high above the head; the sunlight is subdued like the Light through stained-glass windows, and at either end of the van- ishing aisle a faint blue mist rises like incense. : Between the trees, as within a frame, you see constantly changing pictures of Dutch peasant life, iz the fresh, keen, early morning air. The women are already bending over their work in the ields or washing at the edge of their garden in the little silver streams. The fields roll away to the distance, an emerald sea, and away in the horizon is the inevitable veil of mist. A number of sentimental last impres- sions are rudely broken in upon by the appeArance of a woman, who empties into her own par- ticular ‘dittle silver stream’a choice collection of potato par- ings, flax and salad leaves, an “olls podrida” that brings to the mind of the unwilling ob. server an instantaneous calcula- tion: How many shining silver streams—typhoid fever? How much delicate veiling of blue mist, added to constant exposure and weariness, may amountto chronic malaria? . To reach Dordrecht itis neces- sary to cross the River Maas, A ferry-boat of the size ot a steam launch is provided for foot-pas- seugers and a clean mudscow for the transportation of ve- hicles. The ferry puff: across, or waggles across, more prop- erly speaking, with the direct- ness of aim and purpose so often to be remarked in the little tin boats and fishes you may have propellea in a basin in early youth, At the end it makes a dash for the landing mguch asa drunken man collects himself for a final effort at his own front door. Dordrecht, or Dort, as it iy called, looks like a phantom city itis in the early morning, wrapped in mists that the pale sunlight tries vainly to-dispel. The windmills stand motion- less like great spider-webs and the towers of the Town Hall and the Groote Kerk (the Big Church) look like the masts of ships way out at sea. It is a curious little town. Under the walls the sea- going vessels come sliding in and huge rafts with timber from German forests come floating down to the feet of the windmills. The streets run up and down and around the corner and back again, with a piquant irregularity, and are crowded with women in quaint caps and little dogearts piled high with vegetables and children. Upon leaving the town the train crosses an immense arm of the sea, which was formed centuries ago by an inundation, to which the Johns- town disaster was nothing. The arduously conquered soil was divided into a hundred islands. Towns and villages were swept away and the loss of life was horrible. 1tis called tha ‘“‘reed forest.” From Dordrecht to Antwerp is a distance to be traversed in less than two hours, but the difference in the character of the two countries is hardly less than may be found between the extreme East and the extreme West of the United States. Immediately on the Belgian frontier the trees strike for freedom. “The Daughter of Herodias,” by Quentin Massys, the XVI Century Aubrey Beardsley. No more avenues, forced to march with the precision of regiments of soldiers, sometimes allowed to grow only on two sides, the great branches clipped at the trunk where they threatened to rebel. Instead of the eternal siraight lines an insolent little pine forest of young trees straggles away from the train. They stand in ragged groups, their heads together, like whispering children, or they run after each other in twos and threes or stand alone, su'king and silent. The houses in the little villages are painted white, and are gay with vegetable gardens. Thesky1s a candid blue, and a few astonished clouds that have most apparently lost their way are traveling back as fast as they may to Holland. The train fiies through the pleasant country, that is like pleasant countries all the world over, a little like France, even a little like Cai- ifornia. And suddenly here is Antwerp in the distance, and in anothér moment the station is reached and you are driv- ing through the streets. Any town of which you have read much, which plays at once a romantic and ‘beroic partin the history of the past, which forms a background for tragedies and operas, must be for an instant a disillusionment, Everything- moaern is more or less out of place; even in the Great square, the Place Verte, you look in vain for the dark, rich, old Flemish houses, for that background of terrible splendor against which the Spanisn faces of the tyrants, the horrors of the Inquisition, the struggles for freedom have been so appropriately and pictu- resquely depicted. The sunny square is alive with idlers. The carriages that line it have each a driver, who cracks his whip and his joke with equal facility. American girls, with pretty faces, and a Baedeker, most visible, go chat- tering into the postoffice or cross the square to the street called *‘The Shoe Market” to invest in expensive little Antwerp toys, miniature milk cans and wooden shoes. The statue of Rubens, in the center of the square, is covered with leaves, but is not wanting in the dignity which made the most remarkable painter of his time an equally distinguished statesman and diplomatist. In one corner of the square mises the big, black weather-stained front of the Cathedral of Notre Dame. In the museum, which is full of interesting things, we find the sketches for these and other pictures. Rubens is king, but hardly less remarkable are the exam- plesof the work of other men—Van Dyck, in his early period, like Rubens in sober moments; Franz Hals, in woPderful portraits, with such overwhelming force and power that the pictures near them seem made of paper and painted with water. Only one portrait stands the comparis on. 1t is that of Simon de Vos, painted by himself. The figure of the painter stands against a dull green background, in velvet of brownish biack, one long, fine hand holding a roll of paper, the white of the frill around the neck and wrists of a rich subdued tone, and the face, that under a shower of lack hair, looks straight out of the canvas, wears an expression of such smiling mockery that isalmost like a personal affront. The eyes follow the observer with intolerable superciliousness, an insolent gayety, at once patronizing and contemptuous. And the maddening ease with which it is painted does not lessen the astonishment of the simplicity of the sur. roundings, even the lettering of the inscription which informs us that he himself to every one with a hlesaing\ has lived i t introduces as lived in poverty, but intr: e ab: upon them, down to the last day—a blessing which this particul server accepts with some resentment. 2 A Quintin Massys leads us to the time-worn conclusion that there is nothing new under the sun. He is a sixteenth century .r\ubr_c_v Beardsley. The daughter of Herodias is a part of an altar-piece. She is in a dress of heavy brocade, with a rich pattern; her pale little head, with red umr;nd radder flowers, under a transparent veil, is finely and firmly drawn aga_ms: a flat, dark background, in which a whole scene takes placs-, as in a tapestry. The curious position, the strange expression of the face, that 1 almost alive with an animation that is far mere wonder than horror, con- vinces us that the sixteenth century draughtsman is still the superior of his modern imitator, who might with advantage imitate not only tha quaintness and the archaic simplicity of his ancestor but a little of the beauty and a great deal of the reserve of these old pictures. One of the oldest buildings in Antwerp and by far the most interesting is the Museum Piantin-Moretus, established in the house of Christopher Plantin, the painter, who set up his printing office in 1555. Atter the A Quaint Old House in Picturesque Mechlin. middle of the seventeenth century they printed only mass and prayer books. Something of the charm and interest wh\ch is attached to Nuremberg, to Bruges, to Verona and to all old cities is re-enlivened before we leave Antwerp, in spite of its well-swept modern streets and boulevard with trees and residences of conventional stateliness. Thers are old streets and old buildings; the prison of the riotous, gay and devil-may-care tavern painter Jat Steen; the funny little old chyrch at the port: the port itself. If the vessels of every nation do not fill the wide bay formed by the Scheldt, as in the days when Antwerp rivaled Venice for its wealth and prosperity, at least the scene is one of great animation. After Antwerp Mechlin, or Malines, seems dreary and dead. Empty streets, empty squares, aroun the churches crowds of ragged children, who strike out rudely if you refuse them alms. The children are every- where, they swing on iron chains in the great empty marketplace, where a meager fair, a sale of decrepit furniture and ragged clothes and broken pottery attracts a few curious spectators. Vax Dyck Broww. Translated from the Russian. During the war of the Cancasus I was | serving in one of the regiments sent against the mountaineers. At that timea young officer from the Imperial Guard | Nedewitchel was transferred to our regi- ment. He was remarkably handsome, | with the figure of a Hercules, and would | bave become a general fayorite were it not | for his shyness and extraordinary misan- thropy. Sulky and unsocial in disposi- tion, his only aff:ction seemed centered | on an enormous black dog with a white | star upon its forehead, called Caro. Once our regiment had to move against a Circassian village that was in revolt. The Circassians defended their position | with desperate bravery, but through supe- | rior numbers we disposed of them easily. | The solaiers, driven to frenzy by the stub- born resistance of the enemy, killed every | one they met. Nedewitchef commanded a | company and was in front of every-| body. Neara mud hut I met him face to | face, and I was thunderstruck. His | magmificent face was all distorted by an | expression of brutal cruelty; his eyes| were bloodshot and wandering like those | of a maniacin a fit of fury. He was liter- | ally choppifig an old man to pieces with | his sword. I was shocked at such a dis- | play oi useless ferocity and hurried for- | ward to stop him. . But before I had | reached him the door of the hut flewopen | and a woman, with a ery which made my | blood run cold, rushed out of it and flung | herself upon the corpse of the old man. | At this sight Nedewitchef sprang back- | ward as if he had been shot himself and trembled violently. I looked atthe woman and couid hardly suppress a cry of sur- | prise. Heavens, what a gorgeous beruty | was theyel With her lovely face, pale as | death itself, uplifted toward us, her mag- nificent black eyes full of nameless terror and mortal hatred were phosphorescent, flaming like two burning coals as she fixed them upon us. at her like one fascinated and it was with an effort that coming out of his stupor he gave the orders to beat the rappel in order to put a stop to useless bloodshed. I did not sce Nedewitchef again for sev- eral days, and only learned accidentally from his orderly that the same young woman, two days later, had come to his tent, thrown herself at his feet, and pour- I1ng her whole soul into her tale had con- fessed an ardent iove for him. She de- clared that, accoraing to the Circassian custom, his coursge had made her his slave and that she wanted to be his wife, Remembering well her look of hatred 1 did not at tirst believe, but had to yield at last to the evidence. After the submission of the village we encamped there a considerable length of time. One afternoon, calling my dog, I took a gun and went out for a stroll in the wild vineyards. I had no intention to hunt, but simply to take a walk and watch the splendid sunset from the top of Ali- Dag. Having gone two or three miles by a narrow path which wognd up to the mountain top I entered a small thicket, drowned with sunlight and burning like a jewel set with gold, rubies and diamonds. Under a group of tall tiees, lying lazily on a patch of green moss, I saw Nedewit- chef; the black-eyed beauty was sitting near him playing with his hair, and asleep at the foot of his master was the faithful dog. Unwilling to break their tete-a-tete, I passed unperceived by them and began climbing higher up. While crossing a thick vineyard I suddenly came upon toree Circassians who, perceiving me, rapidly disappeared, though not guickly | adistance from the murdered man, for | Nedewitchef stared | attention. Charmed by the pleasant evening I wandered about till night and returned home very late and tired out. Passing fhrough the camp toward my tent I at unce perceived that something unusunal had happened. Armed horsemen repidly brushed by me. The division ad- jutant was galloping furiously in my direction. Curious to knew what had happened I went straight to the crowd. I had hardly approached it when 1 saw it was Nede- witchef’stent, and a horria presentiment, which soon became a fearful reality, got hold of me at once. The first object I saw was a mass of hacked apd bleeding flesh lying on the iron bedstead. It was Nedewitchef. He had been literally choppea to pieces with yatagans and dag- gers. At the foot of the bed Caro, also bleeding, was stretched, locking at his master's remains with such a-human ex- pression of pity, despair and affection mingled that it brought a gush of hot tears to my eyes. Then it was that' I learned the follow- | ing: Soon after sunset Caro, furiously barking, ran into the camp. [t was im- mediately noticed that his muzzle was | bleeding. The intelligent doz, getting hold of the soldiers’ coats, seemed to in- vite them to follow him, which was imme- diately understood, and a party was sent with him up the mountain. OCaro ran be- fore the men, showing them the way, till at last he brought them to a group of trees where they found Nedewitchef's mangled body. A pool of blood was found at quite which no one could acconnt, till pieces of coarse clothing disclosed the fact that Caro had had his battle also with one of the murderers and had come out best in | the fight; the latter accounting also for his bleeding muzzle. The black beauty had disappeared—she was revenged. Several of the officers tried to keep Caro, but he would live with none. He had got very much attached to the soldiers, who all doted on him. Several months later ( the poor animal was killed in his turn by a mounted Circassian, who blew bis brains out and disappeared. The soldiers buried thedog,and many there were among them who shed tears, but no one laughed at their emotion. Eighteen years rolled away; war was declared with Turkey, and I, as an old Caucasian officer, well acquainted with the seat of war, was ordered off to Armenia. The Turks were in a minority, ana, evi- dently feeling afraid, they remained idle. We also had to be inactive, and quietly awaiting developments encamped at Kizil- Tapa, in front of the Aladgin Heights, on which the Turks had entrenchea them- selves. Camp discipline was not very rig- orous at first, but after the unfortunate battle of Kizil-Tapa, which we lost, the most trifling breach in regulations was often punished with death. After awhile I heard people talking of the mysterious apparition of a dog named Caro, who was adored by the old soldiers, Once when I went to see our colonel on business I heard an officer mentioning Caro, when Major T., addressing an artil- leryman, remarked; “It must be some trick of the soldiers.” “What does all this mean ?” I asked the major, extremely interested. “1s it possible that you should not have heard the foolish story told about a dog Caro?”’ he asked me, full of surprise. And upon receiving my assurance that I had not, he explained as follows: “Before our disastrous loss of Kizil- Tapa the soldiers had been allowed many enough to prevent my seeing that they | unpardonable liberties. Very often the were armed to the teeth. Supposing them | officers on duty had seen the sentries and to be runaways from the conquered village | patrols asleep. But notwithstanding all 1 passed on without paying themmuch | their endeavors it had been impossible tol | ing to make my rounds and examine the | '} posts. Would you like to come with me? | | Perhaps we will discover something.” Allreacily assented. Not wishing to part | from good company, and being besides | catch any of them; hardly did an officer | devoured with curiosity, I said I would go. | on duty appear going the rounds than an| We passed through a lonely gorge and | enormous black dog with a white star on | began mounting a steep incline. We'now | its forehead mysteriously appeared, no | distinctly saw the chain of sentries on the | one knew whence, ran toward any care- | picket line. We kept to the bush in the less sentry and pulled him by his coat and | sitadow to escape observation, and. legs to awaken him. Of course, as soon as | fact, we approached unobserved. Pres- | the man was fairly warned he would begin | ently it became plainly evident that a | pacing up and down his beat with an air | sentinel seated upon a knoll was asleep. | of perfect innocence. The soldiers began | We had come within a hundred paces of | circulating the most stupid stories about | him, when suddenly, from behind a bush, | that dog. They affirm that itis no living | darted & huge black doz with a white | dog, but the phantom of Caro, a New- | star on its forehead. Oh, horror! It was | foundland that had belonged to an officer | the Caro of Nedewitchef. I positively of their regiment, who was treacherously | recognized it. The dog rushed up o ihe killed by some OCircassians many years | sleeping sentry and tugged at his leg. ago, during the last Circassian war with I was following the scene with intense Shamyl.” } concentration of attention and a shudder- The last words of the major brought | ing heart when at my very ear there came | back to my memory the pictures of the | the crack of a pistol shot. I started at the long-forgotten past, and at the same time | unexpected explosion. MajorT. had fired | an uneasy feeling that I could not well de-7 at the aog. At the same instant the cul- fine. Icould not vronounce a word, and | prit soldier dropped to the ground. remained silent. | Weall sprang toward him. The major “You heard, I suppose,’ said the | was the first to alight from his horse; but colonel, av‘dr.essing the major, “that the | he had hardly begun to lift the body when commander-in-chief has just issued an |a heartrending shriex burst from his lips order to shoot the first sentry \u,\nd and he fell senseless upon the corpse. asleep on his post.” The truth besame instantly known—a “Yes, but I confess to a great desire | father had killed his owxn son. The boy to first try my hand at shooting the | had just jeined the regiment as a volun- phantom dog, or whoever represents it. | teer and had been sentout on picket duty. 1am determined to expose the trick,” ex- | Owing to a terrible mischance he had met claimed the major, who was a skeptic. his death by the hand of his own father. *“Well, there is a good opportunity for After this tragedy Caro was seen no vou,” put in the adjutant. “I am just go- | more. A.J.J. A striking looking man,wearing a heavy dark beard and with dark eyes, arrived here a week or two ago on the steamer China and took up his quarters at the O¢- cidental. He was attired in a dark blue suit, while on his head was a white soft hat. These, combined with his neglige shirt, careless tie and other features of garb, betokened possible experiences in the wilds. It was soon revealed that this was true. Packed away in his rooms were several guns, some skins of wild animals, several hunting suits and other parapher- nalia used in forays in the mountains and jungles. The man was Lieutenant Joseph Polo of Paris, a noted nimrod and traveler, who has, like his famous namesake, Marco Polo, been exploring remote portions of the world. While abroad he has partici- pated in many hunting expeditions. He has gone in quest of the biggest game to be found in the Orient. He visited many different sections, his trip. extending through different countries for over a year. He had much good fortune on his hunting trip, and is congratulating himself on the enjoyment he has had. While abroad he has visited India, Bur- mah, Java, Cochin-China, Cambodia and Tonquin. In some of these countries he spent considerable time, but was longer in Cochin-China and Cambodia and Ton- quin than any other countries. He as- cended the famous Red Riyer in Tonquin R % KX W “OH, HORROR! IT WAS THE [ | \ AT ‘\“\n)\ CARO OF NEDEWITCHEF ” and had some interesting experiences among the natives. In Cochin - China he spent several months, His time there was devoted to bunting for the peculiar deer indigenous to that country. He also visited e for- ests and hunted for the extraordinarily | beautiful leopards that abound there. In Cambodia he also hunted for this game and for many other varieties. Cambodia, lhiesays, is a magnificent game country. It abounds in -big game of nearly all kinds, and is, according to Lieutenant Polo, the paradise of sportsmen. In Tonquin, where he met many friends from France, he also hunted for leopards, as well as tigers. 1t was with the tigers he had his most exciting experiences. The lieuten- ant told about these yesterday. “I suppose it falls to the lot of few hunters,” he said, ‘‘to have the rare sea- son of enjoyment which Ihave for over a year past experienced. 1n nearly all the countries I have visited—at least where I remained any length of time—I went on hunting forays. But it was in Cochin- China, Cambodia and Tonquin that I enjoyed myself the, most. There the wild game abounds in profusion. «“Cambodia, which is a very beautiful country, with flowing rivers and pic- turesque scenery, is a great country for tigers; they are very big and powerful, though I cannot say their skins are al- ways the best. But when it comes tosize, strength and agility they beat any tigers tbat I have ever seen. “In company with several friends of mine we went after these tigers. We were armed mainly with fine express rifles. There were some other guns used that were supposed not to possess any particu- lar merit. They were all, however, useful in these experiences; for they were thrilling, and required not only great vigilance at times, but a promptness of action only necessary in a wilderness where vicious animals abound. “To get these wild animals in Cambodia we organized a large party, being made up of a number of the most experienced tiger-hunters, and we had with us a re- tinue of natives who beat gongs and rang betis and made all kinds of queer noises in order to arive the tigers from theirlair, We invaded the forests, we did not seek for the tigers in the open, for in Cambodia they are most numerous in the thick woods. “When we had selected what we consid- ered a rendezvous of the wild beasts, we surrounded it with the native gong-beaters and bell-ringers. We had previously taken the precaution to erect a high scaffold, or platform, and on this we, who proposed to shoot the tigers, took up our position. If it were at night, we had blazing fires to light the forests. “We were very successtul in our endeay- ors and before we had got through we suc- ceeded inkilling no less than seven tigers. Besides these we killed a large number of leopards. When the natives on the out- skirts raised their cries and sounded their belis and gongs, the animals whatever they were fled toward us, and then all we had todo was to exert our utmost skill in bringing them down. Bome of the ani- mals, especially the tigers, were very fierce, and had we thrown ourselves need- lessly before them we would have had | some personal encounters that might have resulted in death. “As it was, nothing of this kind hap- pened, but I may say that it is certainly a very vivid experience that one has, espe- cially if it be at night, when among the soughing of the branches and per- haps amid the occasional falling of rain you hear at first the weird sounds of the bells and gongs, the far-away shouts of. the natives, and then presently see the Encounters With Forest Monsters dark forms and glisteniz eyes of the for- est monsters bounding toward you. Itis a time of feverish excitemeént and a time for being cool as well, for without being cool it is not to be expected that you cufl‘ make a center shot. When you have shoe you are pretty apt to know whether the wound you have made has been so savage as to cause fata!ity. The shrieks of these animals, combined with their rage, add a weird and fearful grandeur to the darkness of the forest. “This kind of experience I had over and over again. It is something to be re- membered, and somehow a man thinks more of himself from having gone through these experiences, but what I have told you is only a part of the experience of the tiger-hunter and leopard-killer in a coun- try like Cambodia. When daylight ap- pears, if you have been firing by aid of the sidelights of a campfire, you are en- abled to pursue your game that has been wounded and fled for some distance away. This is done of course by following the trails of blood, and when you follow these trails, especially if you are proceeding through a thicket, you must be very alert. “Your gun must be in a position to be immediately used, for there is no animal that is more apt to be revengeful at such a time than these powerful animals of the cat kind that probably for hours have suffered from ugly gunshot wounds. If they are not seriously weakened they will fight, and they will fight with an alacrity and vigor that are simply astonishing to a man who has not had experiences with them. It is like a battle with a grizzly to come in contact with them. The wounded animals seem to make a more desperate fight than those who have not been wounded at all. They are endowed with phenomenal strength, and their remarka- ble quickness make them frightful com- batants at short range. “The only way to do, at the instant you catch sight of your wounded animal -nd‘ can see that he bas any life remaining-id him, is to pour forth a volley of lead. 1f you don’t do so, or if by chance you are so netrvous as to miss your animal, he will fly to the fore and make it so interesting for you that you may never again participate in a tiger hunt. “Lucxily for us we succeeded in killing all the wounded tigers as well as the leopards that we came upon. Their skins we took and preserved, and they will ever remain so long as they last with us as me- mentos of our experiences in the Cambo~ dian woods. “But 1 have omiited to speak of some other kinds of game 1n whose quest we enjoyed ourselves also very much; the spice of danger, it is true, was gone in some instances. but skill was required nevertheless. 1 refer for one thing to the peculiar little brown deer indigenous to the hills of fair Cambodia. All deer you know differ a little in different countries, and & man who will pick up atextbook on zoology will soon ascertain’ that in North America there are & great many different species of deer. The noble buck which Daniel Boone killed in the Kentucky for- est is different from the deer that is to be found in the Sierra Nevadas. Lik ewise again, these are different from the deer in Southern Mexico and Central America. The Cambodia deer, with their peautiful brown color, sometimes shading toa dap- ple, and with their magnificent antlers, are a sight to see.” \ —_— Birds are able to work ata higher Atg than any other animal—that is, they can develop more energy in proportion to weight by working at a higher tempera- ture, and this necessitates a warm coating of feathers as protection from the cold at- mosphere.