Hans Brinker
Or: what does this legend have to do with Dutch folk narrative?
The oldest version of the supposedly Dutch story, known as the
legend of Hans Brinker, is in English and goes like this:
The Hero of Haarlem
Many years ago, there lived in Haarlem, one of the principal
cities of Holland, a sunny-haired boy of gentle disposition. His father was a
sluicer, that is, a man whose business it was to open and close the
sluices, or large oaken gates, that are placed at regular distances across the
entrances of the canals, to regulate the amount of water that shall flow into
them.
[...]
The sluicer raises the gates more or less according to the
quantity of water required, and closes them carefully at night, in order to
avoid all possible danger of an oversupply running into the canal, or the water
would soon overflow it and inundate the surrounding country. As a great portion
of Holland is lower than the level of the sea, the waters are kept from flooding
the land only by means of strong dikes, or barriers, and by means of these
sluices, which are often strained to the utmost by the pressure of the rising
tides. Even the little children in Holland know that constant watchfulness is
required to keep the rivers and ocean from flooding the country, and that a
moment's neglect of the sluicer's duty may bring ruin and death to all.
[...]
One lovely autumn afternoon, when the boy was about eight years
old, he obtained his parents' consent to carry some cakes to a blind man who
lived out in the country, on the other side of the dike. The little fellow
started on his errand with a light heart, and having spent an hour with his
grateful old friend, he bade him farewell and started on his homeward walk.
Trudging stoutly along the canal, he noticed how the autumn
rains had swollen the waters. Even while humming his careless, childish song, he
thought of his father's brave old gates and felt glad of their strength, for,
thought he, 'If they gave way, where would Father and Mother be? These
pretty fields would all be covered with the angry waters - Father always calls
them the angry waters. I suppose he thinks they are mad at him for
keeping them out so long.' And with these thoughts just flitting across his
brain, the little fellow stooped to pick the pretty flowers that grew along his
way. Sometimes he stopped to throw some feathery seed ball in the air and watch
it as it floated away; sometimes he listened to the stealthy rustling of a
rabbit, speeding through the grass, but oftener he smiled as he recalled the
happy light he had seen arise on the weary, listening face of his blind old
friend.
[...]
Suddenly the boy looked around him in dismay. He had not
noticed that the sun was setting. Now he saw that his long shadow on the grass
had vanished. It was growing dark, he was still some distance from home, and in
a lonely ravine, where even the blue flowers had turned to gray. He quickened
his footsteps and, with a beating heart recalled many a nursery tale of children
belated in dreary forests. Just as he was bracing himself for a run, he was
startled by the sound of trickling water. Whence did it come? He looked up and
saw a small hole in the dike through which a tiny stream was flowing. Any child
in Holland will shudder at the thought of a leak in the dike! The boy
understood the danger at a glance. That little hole, if the water were allowed
to trickle through, would soon be a large one, and a terrible inundation would
be the result.
Quick as a flash, he saw his duty. Throwing away his flowers,
the boy clambered up the heights until he reached the hole. His chubby little
finger was thrust in, almost before he knew it. The flowing was stopped! Ah! he
thought, with a chuckle of boyish delight, the angry waters must stay back now!
Haarlem shall not be drowned while I am here!
This was all very well at first, but the night was falling
rapidly. Chill vapors filled the air. Our little hero began to tremble with cold
and dread. He shouted loudly; he screamed, 'Come here! come here!' but no one
came. The cold grew more intense, a numbness, commencing in the tired little
finger, crept over his hand and arm, and soon his whole body was filled with
pain. He shouted again, 'Will no one come? Mother! Mother!' Alas, his mother,
good, practical soul, had already locked the doors and had fully resolved to
scold him on the morrow for spending the night with blind Jansen without her
permission. He tried to whistle. Perhaps some straggling boy might heed the
signal, but his teeth chattered so, it was impossible. Then he called on God for
help. And the answer came, through a holy resolution: 'I will stay here till
morning.'
[...]
The midnight moon looked down upon that small, solitary form,
sitting upon a stone, halfway up the dike. His head was bent but he was not
asleep, for every now and then one restless hand rubbed feebly the outstretched
arm that seemed fastened to the dike - and often the pale, tearful face turned
quickly at some real or fancied sounds.
How can we know the sufferings of that long and fearful watch -
what falterings of purpose, what childish terrors came over the boy as he
thought of the warm little bed at home, of his parents, his brothers and
sisters, then looked into the cold, dreary night! If he drew away that tiny
finger, the angry waters, grown angrier still, would rush forth, and never stop
until they had swept over the town. No, he would hold it there till daylight -
if he lived! He was not very sure of living. What did this strange buzzing mean?
And then the knives that seemed pricking and piercing him from head to foot? He
was not certain now that he could draw his finger away, even if he wished
to.
At daybreak a clergyman, returning from the bedside of a sick
parishioner, thought he heard groans as he walked along on the top of the dike.
Bending, he saw, far down on the side, a child apparently writhing with
pain.
'In the name of wonder, boy,' he exclaimed, 'what are you doing
there?'
'I am keeping the water from running out,' was the simple
answer of the little hero. 'Tell them to come quick.'
It is needless to add that they did come
quickly.
The legend of the brave Dutch boy - by others thought to be
named Hans Brinker - who supposedly put his finger in the dyke to prevent a
flood, was actually a literary invention by the American writer
Mary Elizabeth Mapes Dodge (1831-1905), who was born in New York.
Hans Brinker was made famous in the USA by her children’s novel
Hans Brinker or the Silver Skates, dating from 1865. In the chapter
called ‘Friends in Need’ there is this story read out in class called 'The Hero
of Haarlem'. This is the story - quoted above - of the heroic boy who saves the
land from drowning by putting his finger in the dyke all night long. The
adventure is situated near Haarlem, not yet in Spaarndam (both in the province
of North-Holland). Actually, the hero in the story remains anonymous, but
still the adventure is mostly attributed to Hans Brinker, Hansie Brinkers or
Peter of Haarlem. (By the way, several of the names Mary Mapes Dodge invented
perhaps look or sound Dutch for Americans, but they are not, and sometimes they
look more like German names - Hans' sister for instance is called Gretel, like
in the Grimm Brothers’ fairy tale).
After the story about the ‘Hero of Haarlem’ is read out in
class, the chapter continues, and another character in the novel claims the
story is based on facts and concludes:
True! Of course it is! [...] I have given you the story just as
Mother told it to me, years ago. Why, there is not a child in Holland who does
not know it. And [...] you may not think so, but that little boy represents the
spirit of the whole country. Not a leak can show itself anywhere either in its
politics, honor, or public safety, that a million fingers are not ready to stop
it, at any cost.
The novel itself is about something completely different: Hans
and his sister Gretel want to win silver skates in a skating race, so that they
can use the money for their poor father, Raff Brinker, who lost his job after a
fall from a scaffolding.
The art historian Annette Stott states that with Hans
Brinker Mary Mapes Dodge created a work of pure fiction: "She had not
visited Holland when she wrote it and relied on a variety of published sources
about Dutch life, literature, and art for her information. She also mined the
memories of a Dutch-born couple living in the United States." (Holland
Mania, p. 240). Stott concludes her research on the book by saying: "The
fanciful tale of a finger in the dike, which was repeated by other authors of
juvenile literature, undoubtedly went some distance toward establishing in young
American minds a belief in the courage, independence and trustworthiness of the
Dutch" (Holland Mania, p. 241). Somehow, Mary Mapes Dodge tried to depict
Holland as an ideal and idyllic nation of brave, righteous, godfearing farmfolk
on wooden shoes.
It is said that 99% of the Americans know this so-called Dutch
legend about the courageous 'Hans Brinker', mainly by reading the book at
school, or hearing the tale from their parents. In the past, many American
tourists left the Netherlands in disappointment, because none of the Dutch
natives could point out the dyke where Hans Brinker saved the country. Fact is
that the story of Hans Brinker was hardly present in the oral tradition or
cultural awareness of the Netherlands, even though the book had been translated
into Dutch as early as 1867 by P.J. Andriessen (De zilveren schaatsen, een
schets uit het Noord-Hollandsche volksleven, illustrated by Charles
Braakensieck). The book has been reprinted several times, always with the
following addition by Andriessen to the Hans Brinker legend: "This sweet story
is entirely the author's view."
Another fact is that there was absolutely no dyke to be shown
to the tourists: no dyke, no boy with a finger in it, no Hans Brinker. In order
to please the American tourists, the Dutch Bureau for Tourism decided to place a
statue of Hans Brinker at Spaarndam in 1950, made by Grada Rueb. In 1954 the
Dutch author Margreet Bruijn rewrote the old story as Een nieuw verhaal naar
het oude boek van Mary Mapes Dodge (illustrated by Maarten Oortwijn). For
the first time now, the adventure is situated in Spaarndam, obviously because of
the statue. The inscription beneath the statue is in Dutch and English (American
spelling) and it reads:
Opgedragen aan onze jeugd als een huldeblijk aan de knaap die
het symbool werd van de eeuwigdurende strijd van Nederland tegen het water.
Dedicated to our youth, to honor the boy who symbolizes the
perpetual struggle of Holland against the water.
Note the emphasis on the word 'symbolizes', because the story
is not true and the story is not a popular folktale in the Netherlands.
Furthermore, the name Hans Brinker is missing (because it isn’t there in Mary
Mapes Dodge’s novel either). Still, thanks to the statue the American tourists
can visit the Dutch hero that never was...
Although it is suggested in the book that there exists an old
Dutch folktale dealing with a boy sticking his finger in the dyke, it has never
come down to us. No folktale older than the book can be found. Even after 1865,
the tale can hardly be found in publications on Dutch legends - because the
story was not told in oral tradition, and if it was, the collectors were
probably not interested in 'fakelore' rather than 'folklore'. If Dutch
folklorists bother to pay attention to the story, they never fail to point out
the American origin.
The Dutch are aware that the Americans tell this story, but we
hardly have taken over this story in the oral tradition, because we consider it
to be a silly tale.
Outside Madurodam (near
The Hague), a tourist attraction showing Holland in miniature, there is another
statue of Hans Brinker. Nowadays, the Dutch recognize the image of the boy
putting his finger in the dyke, thanks to the Americans, but most of us don’t
know the whole story. Hans Brinker may be a ‘Dutch Icon’, but he is much more a
hero abroad than in the Netherlands itself.
Text written by
Theo Meder
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