On foggy mornings, before the leaves are on the trees, it was easy to forget that the city of Amsterdam is close by. In the stillness, the calls of the seagulls and the muffled sounds coming from canal boats made the open water of the Zuiderzee seem much closer. A woman walked steadily over the cobbles. She had to take care to avoid the household rubbish and the contents of chamber pots. She appreciated a respite from the incessant hammering of piles for the never-ending construction. The work was suspended during the freezing months. No one who lived through it would have reckoned this to be a "Golden Age" by any measure. Yet, the city was growing every year, fed by the stream of exiles fleeing persecution by the Inquisition in the Papist lands, and the East India ship cargos.

Liesbeth, or Liesje, as the woman was called, was herself from a Huguenot family that had fled to Amsterdam. The jardin next to the city where the French and Flemish Protestants settled still had working farms then. But the mispronounced Jordaan district, had since lost its Frenchness, and its innocence. Souls poured in from more distant and exotic cultures now. These migrants and refugees were more foreign, poorer, and not much welcomed anymore. Life here in Amsterdam could feel hopeless if you were destitute, and the city itself chaotic. Liesje preferred Sundays when the bells of the Westerkerk did not have to compete with the noisy, bustling spirit of commerce.

Liesje let herself into a fine house on the Bloemgracht where she was employed to clean the public salon. These rooms were very strange to her, full of cabinets that belonged to a doctor. He and his family lived upstairs. Twice a week, visitors came to view the great doctor's collection of dried plants, insects, shells and animal bones. Even though she understood that she was in a place of science, Liesje did not know what use it all was. The walls were also wrapped in a mosaic of anatomical drawings and portraits of dead people, their innards exposed. Criminals they told her. Liesje suspected they were a warning to those who turned away from God. It all frightened her. Liesje would probably have quit the position, but they paid unusually well for her work, and her discretion. Her daughter's family - with whom she lived - needed the income. A baby was due.

There were human skeletons too, and jars with body parts, many were from humans, and some were diseased. Liesje could no longer let herself look at them. Somehow, the doctor's skill could preserve them in a special liquid so that they did not spoil. The most shocking cabinets for Liesje were those holding the jars that held forms of human and animal babies, still so small that they could fit in the jar completely whole! Liesje especially detested the specimens that the doctor's horrid daughter adorned with eyes, and caps or lace so that they looked as if they had been hacked from a living child.

Liesje changed into her house slippers and placed an apron over her bodice. She gathered a bucket and scrub brush, and a broom and a dustpan that she would need for the big tiled fireplaces. After each open day, all of the floors would get scrubbed. The shelves got dusted. Lids were put back. The carpets would get beaten. It did not really matter whether the doctor had been busy with visitors or not; the Dutch had an expectation of being clean and tidy on a schedule. After the cleaning, there were the cups and saucers that visitors used to consume the new drink they called koffie. The dishwater got reused for the bloodied and strange smelling linens, aprons, and rags needing to be washed. Liesje knew that these were not a part of the household laundry. If the weather was fair, the linens and rags could be dried in the hofje behind the house. Liesje then carried the now twice used water to the street where she would scrub the steps in front of the house. It was plain work, but she understood it completely.

Guests could not always be accommodated on the schedule and Liesje would hear them. They were all fascinated by the salon. Liesje could tell from their clothes and accents that the doctor's guests were important men - women were never permitted - some from the university in Leiden. Liesje preferred the social distance; she found the doctors and burghers conversation enigmatic and intimidating. Liesje was more at ease with the plain-spoken merchants, and the artists. These fellows showed her very clever things they could do with glass.

One day, the doctor called down. It was unusual then when the doctor himself called to her from upstairs to answer the front door, he being occupied. This was very irregular and it made Liesje nervous. Liesje smoothed her apron and carefully tucked some loose hair back into her cap.

"Can I help you?" she asked a woman outside in the ritualistically proscribed, polite manner of the Dutch.

Judging from her dress, this caller was herself clearly also a low person. Furthermore, she looked disordered in her clothing, and her face was puffy as though she had not slept. She was carrying a heavy black carpet bag.

The visitor appeared unnerved by an unexpected face at the door. In a manner that signaled she had not prepared what exactly to say, she inquired: "I have come to see mijn heer docktor Frederik Ruysch." It sounded a bit more like a question than a statement. Liesje had seen the woman's eyes quickly flick up to search the stone gable above the door to be sure that she had the correct home.

Liesje put her fists to her ribs to show authority, cleared her throat, and replied; "And who may I say is calling for him?"

The visitor offered her name uncertainly, as if reluctant to identify herself; "Tell him that Miriam . . . Miriam from the Lindengracht . . . needs to speak with him. Please."

In fact, Liesje had already recognized Miriam as a Jewish midwife who worked in the Jordaan. The Lindengracht was a disreputable place, now overcrowded with refugees. Liesje closed the door and climbed to the upper floor where she knew she would have to go in search of the doctor. It was all very well for him to raise his voice to call out to her, but her status did not allow her the same familiarity. Liesje had never visited the upper floors of the house. She saw all the doors were closed, so she politely called "yoo-who" in a high sing-song voice, uncertain and self-conscious.

Liesje delivered the message when bidden. She was surprised when the doctor sprang out immediately, brushing past her and quickly down the narrow stairs to speak with this woman. In the brief moment that she was at the open door, Liesje could see that the doctor's room contained work benches, lamps, strange instruments, and more glass jars. And the room smelled of the same sharp odor as the stained towels that she washed.

As Liesje started back down the steps she could hear the doctor whispering with the midwife, who he had pulled inside. Liesje could not hear what they were saying, and caught only the louder, deferential ending: "thank you very much sir" spoken by Miriam as if concluding a transaction. His back to her, Ruysch closed the big door after the departing woman and went quickly back up to his room. He did not look at Liesje as they passed for a second time. Liesje noted that he now carried a small bundle in his arm, something untidily wrapped in a dirty sheet.

Liesje went quietly about her work.