Last year I contacted Al Shinn about making a replica Leeuwenhoek microscope for me. Leeuwenhoek was a compatriot of Maria Sybilla Merian’s, and he made around 500 very small microscopes.
Mr. Shinn and I talked last week, the results being since he is so busy that I would buy one on eBay. (Yes, I had seen three on eBay.) The little replica microscope I purchased was made by a man in the UK; it is on it’s way and I can hardly stand the wait! I will post a photo when it arrives.
I’ve been trying to improve on what little Dutch I know, mainly adding to my vocabulary. And I’ve discovered something baffling. Words that have an interesting sound are more likely to be retained. For instance, the word “fietsen” which means to bicycle. Now I don’t plan to bicycle in the rain forest. Or even in the city of Paramaribo, for that matter! And I’m sure I won’t find anything in the old Dutch records of 1699-1701 about bicycling, either. Yet that word clings to my brain while more useful words just slide right off. What’s up with that?
Writing this part has been going well…until I realized I needed to address the slavery issue in Surinam in 1700.
Were there really no wells in Amsterdam in the late 1600s? While researching material for my book about Maria Sybilla Merian I realized that not once had I come across any reference to wells. Nothing was mentioned in the books I read. I had not seen any marked on old maps of the city. Oh there was plenty of water with all of those canals, but I suspected that the canal water was salty since they did connect with the sea. So where did the residents of Amsterdam get their drinking water? Who could I ask?
I have taken Maria Sybilla Merian and her family from Frankfurt, Germany, where she was born to Nürnberg, back to Frankfurt, on to Castle Waltha in Friesland, northern Holland and now to Amsterdam.
The first photo shows the cobblestone street––notice the width of the street––and a modern wall that is boundary of someone's house/yard today.
The second photo gives a better look at the outer wall. The tower has the door which is an entrance to the upper walkway of the wall. Here I can imagine the men, whose duty it was to defend the city, walking their assigned stretch and keeping a close surveillance of any activity outside the city.
Old German washstand for washing fingers,
not hands, before eating.
Shown here is one style of what we would call an old washstand. These were used in Germany in the 1600’s for washing your fingers before eating. Yes, I did say fingers instead of hands. You didn’t wash both hands, instead you washed only the first two fingers and thumb of each hand. No housewife wanted to waste water, and the first two fingers and thumb is all you use when eating. (Notice next time you eat…this is true!) And, I’m sure that if you are the one who has to go outside with a bucket, draw the water from a well, and then lug it inside to use, you don’t want to be making a lot of trips to the well.
The sole reason I toured Albrecht Dürer's house in Nürnberg, Germany, was because I had read there was a display of his paint and where it came from. Now Dürer lived 170 years before Maria Sybilla Merian did, but things were slow to change back in those days; I figured the source of paints would still be the same. I had already spent two and a half years researching the old paint recipes to find a few which would be usable in the classroom during the study of art in the Middle Ages. (I was bored with the time period and needed a way to "liven it up" 'cause it's a sure bet that if the teacher's already bored, the students will be triply bored, and the last thing we need is bored kids in the classroom.)
I was delighted to see that what I had read was confirmed here.
The blue pigment in the picture on top is azurite; the powdered form was kept on the half shell, it's source is the azurite rock behind. The red pigment was new to me–it is called Drachenblut, or Dragon's Blood. It comes from a red resin from the fruit of a palm tree found in Asia.
The center picture shows a pigment made from roots of the Rubia plant–also new to me–on the left. On the right is a dish of cochineal bugs which, when crushed, make a purply-red pigment. (And, yes, the dried bugs do stink if you get your nose too close to them!)
The bottom picture shows the beautiful bright red pigment derived from Cinnabar rocks from Spain.
One added note: most rocks lose their color when crushed and cannot be used to make paint. Those that do retain their color make very lovely paint, indeed.