Holland's Influence on English Language and Literature

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Chapter XXXV The Time of the Anglo-Dutch Wars. John Dryden, Andrew Marvell and Edmund Waller

The seventeenth century was the most glorious time for the Dutch Republic. The Dutch flag was on all seas, Dutch colonies were found in every corner of the globe; the riches accumulated in the cities of Holland was for those times beyond all imagination; art and literature flourished under the protection of wealthy business men, and names like those of Rembrandt and Van Dyck, Vondel and Cats were being added to the list of world-famous men; admirals like Tromp and DeRuyter maintained the respect which was due to the sturdy Republic; generals, like the Princes of Orange, made their armies a training-school for the best soldiers in Europe. The Northern Provinces, in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, with their wealthy cities like Amsterdam and Rotterdam, were worthy successors of the cities of the Southern Netherlands in the sixteenth and fifteenth centuries and even excelled them by far. In a city like Brughes, it happened in the year 1301, that the queen of France, sitting at a dinner party, made the remark, ‘I thought that I alone was the queen here, but I see that all the ladies here are queens.’ But in Amsterdam it happened that a foreign prince while taking dinner with the magistrates, asked one of his neighbors at the table if there were any nobles there,

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and received as an answer, ‘We are all princes here.’ Holland ‘had reached the height of power, prosperity and glory. The Batavian territory, conquered from the waves, and defended against them by human art, was in extent little superior to the principality of Wales. But all that narrow space was a busy and populous hive, in which new wealth was every day created, and in which vast masses of old wealth were hoarded. The aspect of Holland, the rich cultivation, the innumerable canals, the ever whirling mills, the endless fleets of barges, the numerous clusters of great towns, the ports bristling with thousands of masts, the large and stately mansions, the trim villas, the richly furnished apartments, the picture galleries, the summer-houses, the tulip-beds, produced on English travelers in that age an effect similar to the effect, which the first sight of England now produces on a Norwegian or a Canadian.’¹ That foreigners who travelled in Holland during the seventeenth century were profoundly impressed by its tremendous wealth and power is evident from contemporary English writers such as Evelyn in his Diary (published London, 1818), and William Temple, and from an anonymous pamphlet, published in 1664, entitled, ‘The Dutch Drawn to the Life,’² and another work, A Late Voyage to Holland, which was published in 1691.³

But this glorious position of Holland, leading the nations of Europe in civilization, in trade, in industry, in art, and last, but not least, in politics, was not destined to endure. England's trade and power were now growing very fast, and because Cromwell made up his mind either to unite the Dutch Republic with the English Commonwealth, or to conquer the Dutch

1 Macaulay, History of England, Vol. I, p. 188.

2 A copy of this pamphlet is in the University Library at Leyden.

3 Harleian miscellany, Vol. II.

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on the sea, and because the Dutch could not accept the former alternative, there was left for Holland only one choice, viz., a struggle against England for the empire of the waves. Cromwell's navigation acts gave the first, but at the same time, the fatal stroke to Holland's supremacy on the sea.¹ Since that time England grew in power very fast and Holland declined. Only once more, and that in confederation with England, did Holland lead the politics of the world. It was under William the Third, Prince of Orange, stadholder of Holland and King of England, when Louis XIV of France threatened all Protestantism with complete extirpation, and this great Prince, a statesman and general of such ability that the world's history knows only a few like him, at the head of Holland and England, frustrated all the plans of the French King, delivered England from the tyranny of the Stuarts, and dominated all the factions that weakened the United Netherlands.

The Dutch-English wars were begun for no other reason ‘but that the Hollanders exceeded us in commerce and industries, and in all things but envy’ as Evelyn wrote on June 2, 1672. This constant envy, and the wars brought about a bad feeling between the two nations, which is easily perceived, and is apparent in the literature of both nations during the period. Patriotism received an evil development and was exaggerated to the limit, and in such cases some literary men are always found who are eager to please public opinion.

There was, indeed, an opportunity for a man like

1 Like John Dryden, writing poems for his daily bread, said in his stanzas on Oliver Cromwell:
‘He (viz. Cromwell) made us freemen of the continent
Whom nature did like captives treat before;
To nobler preys the English lion sent,
And taught him first in Belgian walks to roar.’

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John Dryden (1631-1700), a man ‘who made writing a trade.’ ‘He was quick to feel what the public wanted and he showed no scruples in adapting his wares to the popular demand.’¹ Dryden's ability was great, indeed, and from the death of Milton in 1674, till his own in 1700, he reigned undisputed; and sat on his throne in Will's Coffeehouse, as ‘glorious John,’ surrounded by several of the minor poets, and writers of his time; but at the same time the moral danger of the influence of his character, or rather of his lack of character, has been felt ever since, and is warned against by every author to the present day. In the days of Cromwell, he praised the Lord Protector; after the restoration, he celebrated the return of the Stuarts, and when the Catholic James II ascended the throne, Dryden wrote his Hind and Panther, glorifying the Church of Rome. No wonder that this man, as he felt that the envy and competition between the English and the Dutch nations was growing, inspired himself with a hatred against the Dutch, that knew no limit. His tragedy, Amboyna, gives the proof. The full title is: Amboyna, or the Cruelties of the Dutch to the English Merchants, a Tragedy, 1672. His subject is the story of some Englishmen on the Dutch isle of Amboyna in East India, who were accused of conspiring to overpower the Dutch government of the isle, were arrested, convicted and executed. The story as related in Dutch and English books seems to be different and the truth is difficult to find out; but there is no difference of opinion as to this tragedy of Dryden. According to the authors of the best edition of Dryden's works, Sir Walter Scott and George Saintsbury, ‘the play is beneath criticism’ and, says Scott, ‘I can hardly hesitate to

1 Henry Pancoast and P. van Dyke Shelly, English Literature, p. 227.

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term it the worst production Dryden ever wrote,’ and Saintsbury adds: ‘The play is the one production of Dryden which is utterly worthless except as a curiosity.’¹ Dryden wrote it ‘with the avowed intention of exasperating the nation against the Dutch.’² at a time when the Lord Chancellor of England, Shaftesbury, stated that ‘the States of Holland were England's eternal enemies, both by interest and by inclination.’³ The play was acted and printed in 1673. Both the language spoken by the Lord Chancellor, and the play of Dryden, show with what apprehension at that time a war with Holland was regarded. Such language is not inspired by strength, but by fear and despair. It shows how strong Holland still was at that time, and the war, that followed these utterances, lasted from 1672 until 1674, when Holland had to fight at the same time against England, France, Munster and Cologne. And the result for England was doubtful. From 1672, to February, 1674, not less than twenty-seven hundred and three English ships were taken by the Dutch, and after two years' experience England was ready to make peace. The time for the annihilation of Holland as one of the great powers on sea had not yet come.

Besides his Amboyna, Dryden in 1665 wrote a poem on the victory of the Duke of York over the Dutch, June 3, 1665, during the war of 1665-1667, with Holland. Much better than his Amboyna is Dryden's poem entitled, Annus Mirabilis, the year of Wonders, 1666. This is generally considered as one of Dryden's best works. The versification is brilliant, indeed, and from an enthusiastic English patriotic point of view, one can understand that even the con-

1 The works of John Dryden, Vol. V, p. 3.

2 Idem., p. 2.

3 Idem., p. 2.

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tents are wonderful, when the poet sings the praise of the English in the Anglo-Dutch war of that time. When describing the four days' battle of June, 1666, his enthusiasm nearly makes a glorious victory out of a decided defeat, from which the remnant of the English fleet was saved only by a heavy fog. And as for the inspiration of the poet, it was the same as the reason why England declared war, viz., a jealousy of the commerce, and a greedy desire to grasp the riches of the Dutch commercial vessels. His enthusiastic praise of simple brute force, without any higher ideal of righteousness shows this. He begins with these stanzas:

In thriving arts long time had Holland grown,

Crouching at home and cruel when abroad;

Scarce leaving us the means to take our own;

Our king they courted and our merchants awed.

Trade, which like blood should circularly flow,

Stopped in their channels, found its freedom lost;

Thither the wealth of all the world did go,

And seemed but shipwrecked on so base a coast.

For them alone the heavens had kindly heat

In eastern quarries ripening precious dew;

For them the Idumaean balm did sweat,

And in hot Ceylon spicy forest grew.

The sun but seemed the labourer of their year;

Each waning moon supplied her watery store,

To swell those tides, which from the Line did bear

Their brim-full vessels to the Belgian shore.

Thus mighty in her ships, stood Carthage long,

And swept the richess of the world from far;

Yet stooped to Rome, less wealthy, but more strong;

And this may proof our second Punic war.

What peace can be, where both to one pretend?

(But they more diligent, and we more strong)

Or if a peace, it soon must have an end;

For they would grow too powerful, were it long.

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Such language as this reminds one of the fallen angels in Paradise Lost or in Vondel's Lucifer, telling each other about the happiness and luxury of Adam and Eve in Paradise, at a time when they, overwhelmed by jealousy, were stirring each other up to a revolt against Heaven.

Dryden used sometimes to visit Milton, but Milton ‘thought him no poet but a good rhimest,’¹ and Milton knew what poetry was.

Another English poet, inspired by English patriotism against the Dutch, was Andrew Marvell (1621-1678), an intimate friend of Milton, an adherent of Cromwell, and for sometime member of Parliament for Hull. Marvell was not a vile hireling of every dominant party like Dryden, for after the restoration of the Stuarts, the government was once advised ‘to crush the pestilent wit, the servant of Cromwell and the friend of Milton.’ He visited Holland more than once and in 1653 he wrote a satire upon Holland entitled: The character of Holland. It is a satire of 192 lines, and contains several really humorous parts. The small size of the country, its low level, which is in part below that of the sea, the work of draining, the herring-fishery, and many things in Holland, seen with the superficial view of an English member of Parliament, furnish him abundant material for his wit.

He begins by looking at Holland from his English patriotic point of view, and says:

‘Holland, that scarce deserves the name of land,

As but the off-scouring of the British sand.’

The city of Amsterdam he describes as follows:
Sure when religion did itself embark
And from the east would westward steer its ark,

1 English Plutarch, Life of Milton, p. 142.

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It struck, and splitting on this unknown ground

 

Each one thence pillaged the first piece he found;

 

Hence Amsterdam, Turk - Christian - Pagan - Jew;

 

Staple of sects and mint of schism grew;

 

The bank of conscience, where not one so strange

 

Opinion but finds credit, and exchange.

The old custom which Dutch women in the villages had of taking with them, when going to church in wintertime, a footstool heated by glowing pieces of peat or ‘turf’ he described as follows:

See but the mermaids with their tails of fish
Reeking at church over the chafing-dish!
A vestal turf, enshrined in earthern ware,
Fumes through the loopholes of a wooden square;
Each to the temple with these altars bend.

He shows himself even acquainted with the works of Hugo Grotius, and brings his book entitled Mare Liberum or ‘the free sea’ into his satire in this way:

Yet still his claim the injured ocean laid
And oft at leap-frog o'er their steeples played,
As if on purpose it on land had come
To show them what's their mare liberum.

Yet after all he cannot deny that Holland in the year 1653 amounted to something, for he called it ‘the Hydra of the seven provinces.’ But he is not afraid, for there is England, the young Hercules that will beat the Dutch.

And now the Hydra of seven provinces
Is strangled by our infant Hercules.

England is further compared with Rome, and Holland is the Carthago delenda:

Or, what is left, their Carthago overcome
Would render fain unto our better Rome.

Another much longer poem, containing 900 lines,

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is a satire directed against Holland and is entitled: The last instructions to a painter about the Dutch Wars, 1667. From the picture which the painter is supposed to make of our lady State, it is apparent that the Dutch war of 1665-1667 has made a painfully sore impression on our poet. The Dutch admiral, De Ruyter, had just taken as his trophy the Royal Charles, the English flagship, while the English Parliament and Lords, horror-stricken, listened to the music of the Dutch guns on the Thames. Now our poet is in sack-cloth and ashes! Just listen how he complains over that day of Chattam; the sublime style of the book Job is hardly good enough:

Black day, accursed! on thee let no man hail
Out of the port, or dare to hoist a sail,
Or row a boat in thy unlucky hour!
Thee, the year's monster, let thy dam devour
And constant Time, to keep his course yet right,
Fill up thy space with a redoubled night.

His heart really breaks, when he thinks of that flagship, the Royal Charles:

That sacred keel that had, as he, restored
Its exiled sovereign on its happy board
That pleasure boat of war, in whose dear side
Secure, so oft he had this foe defied
Now a cheap spoil, and the mean victor's slave
Taught the Dutch colours from its top to wave;
Of former glories the reproachful thought,
With present shame compared, his mind distraught.

They would rather have seen it burnt,- I think he is right! - than to see it taken as a trophy to Holland:

But most they for their darling Charles complain
And were it burned, yet less would be their pain,
To see that fatal pledge of sea-command,

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Now in the ravisher De Ruyter's hand,

 

The Thames roared, swooning Medway turned her tide,

 

And were they mortal, both for grief had died.

But enough to see the influence of Holland on Andrew Marvell. Holland made the deepest and the most different impressions on him; it made him laugh, so that his sides were sore, and on the other hand it made him cry like a baby, so that the tears rolled down his cheeks; him, Andrew Marvell, Englishman, M.P.

Another poet, who deserves to be mentioned here, is Edmund Waller (1606-1678), whose lovely poems cannot but make a charming impression on the reader, whose conduct in life was controlled by personal friendship, and by noble principles, not always without conflict between the two leading elements; to whom we can forgive his personal friendship both for Stuart Kings and for Cromwell, because he ever tried to stand for liberty and the rights of property, for freedom and toleration. ‘No poetical reputation,’ says Drury,¹ ‘has suffered such vicissitudes as that of Edmund Waller; described in the inscription upon his tomb as “inter poetas sui temporis facile princeps,” it was still possible, in 1766, to introduce him to the readers of the Biographia Brittannica as “The most celebrated Lyric poet that ever England produced,” and when, in 1772, Percival Stockdale wrote his Life in which he declared that “his works gave a new era to English poetry,” his performance was considered of such merit, that he was on the point of receiving that commission to write “The lives of the Poets,” which was afterwards entrusted to Johnson.’ His position as member of Parliament during many years, and from his early youth, his wealth,

1 The Poems of Edmund Waller, edited by G. Thorn, Vol. I, Introd. p. 69.

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and that of his wife, which gave him the name of being probably the richest poet in English literature, have added lustre to his refined spirit, and to the charming elegance of his poetry.

Waller wrote several poems inspired by Dutch subjects, the first of which was that to Anton Van Dyck, a Dutch painter, who lived in England during ten years (1630-1640), and whom everybody knows from his lovely portraits of the children of Charles I. The poem is apparently written by Waller after having admired a lady's portrait painted by Van Dyck, and reads as follows:

Rare Artisan whose pencil moves
Not our delights alone, but loves!
From thy shop of beauty we
Slaves return, that entered free.
The heedless lover does not know
Whose eyes they are that wound him so;
But, confounded with thy art,
Inquires her name that has his heart.
Another, who did long refrain,
Feels his old wound bleed again
With dear remembrance of that face,
Where now he reads new hopes of grace:
Nor scorn nor cruelty does find,
But gladly suffers a false wind
To blow the ashes of despair
From the reviving brand of care.
Fool! that forgets her stubborn look
This softness from thy finger took.
Strange! that thy hand should not inspire
The beauty only, but the fire;
Not the form alone, and grace,
But act and power of the face.
Mayst thou yet thyself as well,
As all the world besides, excel!
So you the unfeigned truth rehearse

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(That I may make it live in verse)

 

Why thou couldst not at one assay

 

That face to aftertimes convey,

 

Which this admires. Was it thy wit

 

To make her oft before thee sit?

 

Confess, and we'll forgive thee this;

 

For who would not repeat that bliss?

 

And frequent sight of such a dame

 

Buy with the hazard of his fame?

 

Yet who can tax thy blameless skill,

 

Though thy good hand had failed still,

 

When nature's self so often errs?

 

She for this many thousand years

 

Seems to have practiced with much care,

 

To frame the race of women fair;

 

Yet never could a perfect birth

 

Produce before to grace the earth,

 

Which waxed old ere it could see

 

Her that amazed thy art and thee.

 

But now 'tis done, O let me know

 

Where those immortal colors grow,

 

That could this deathless piece compose!

 

In lilies? or the fading rose?

 

No; for this theft thou hast climbed higher

 

Than did Prometheus for his fire.

Another poem in which he mentions Holland is: A panegyric to my Lord Protector, Of the present greatness, and joint interest of his Highness, and this nation. Here speaks the English patriot at the time in which the great struggle between Holland and England for the supremacy of the sea began. Addressing the Lord Protector the poet says:

Holland, to gain your friendship, is content
To be our outguard on the continent;
She from her fellow-provinces would go,
Rather than hazard to have you her foe.

Several years later, after the restoration, in the year 1665, Waller wrote a poem entitled: Instruction

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to a painter. For the drawing of the posture and the progress of his Majesty's forces at sea, under the command of his Highness-Royal; together with the battle and victory obtained over the Dutch, June 3, 1665.

In this poem he describes the battle in which the Dutch admiral Wassenear-Obdam, with his flagship, was blown up, after which the Dutch fleet retired to the coast of Holland. He calls the Hollanders:

Those greedy mariners, out of whose way
Diffusive Nature could no region lay,
At home, preserved from rocks and tempests, lie,
Compelled, like others, in their beds to die.
Their single towns, the Iberian armies pressed;
We all their provinces at once invest;
And, in one month, ruin their traffic more
Than that long war could in an age before.

Yet, the poet cannot deny that the Dutch still had some soldiers and some ships:

Meanwhile, like bees, when stormy winter's gone,
The Dutch (as if the sea were all their own)
Desert their ports, and, falling in their way,
Our hamburg merchants are become their prey.
Thus flourish they, before the approaching fight;
As dying tapers give a blazing light.
To check their pride, our fleet, half-victualled goes;
Enough to serve us till we reach our foes;
Who now appear so numerous and bold,
The action worthy of our arms we hold.
A greater force than that which here we find,
Ne'er pressed the ocean, nor employed the wind.

The death of Van Wassenear-Obdam is described as follows:

Against him first Obdam his squadron leads
Proud of his late success against the Swedes;
Made by that action, and his high command,

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Worthy to perish by a prince's hand.

 

The tall Batavian in a vast ship rides,

 

Bearing an army in her hollow sides;

 

Yet, not inclined the English ship to board,

 

More on her guns relies, than on his sword;

 

From whence a fatal volley we received;

 

It missed the Duke, but his great heart is grieved;

 

Three worthy persons from his side it tore,

 

And dyed his garment with their scattered gore.

 

Happy! to whom this glorious death arrives,

 

More to be valued than a thousand lives!

 

On such a theatre as this to die,

 

For such a cause, and such a witness by!

 

Who would not thus a sacrifice be made,

 

To have his blood on such an altar laid?

 

The rest about him struck with horror stood

 

To see their leader covered o'er with blood.

 

So trembled Jacob, when he thought the stains

 

Of his son's coat had issued from his veins.

 

He feels no wound but in his troubled thought,

 

Before, for honor, now, revenge he sought;

 

His friends in pieces torn, (the bitter news

 

Not brought by Fame) with his own eyes he views.

 

His mind at once reflecting on their youth,

 

Their worth, their love, their valour, and their truth,

 

The joys of court, their mothers, and their wifes,

 

To follow him, abandoned, - and their lives!

 

He storms and shoots, but fiying bullets now,

 

To execute his rage, appear too slow;

 

They miss, or sweep but common souls away;

 

For such a loss Obdam his life must pay.

 

Encouraging his men, he gives the word,

 

With fierce intent that hated ship to board,

 

And make the guilty Dutch, with his own arm,

 

Wait on his friends, while yet their blood is warm.

 

His winged vessel like an eagle shows,

 

When through the clouds to truss a swan she goes;

 

The Belgian ship unmoved, like some huge rock

 

Inhabiting the sea, expects the shock.

 

From both the fleets men's eyes are bent this way,

 

Neglecting all the business of the day,

 

Bullets their flight, and guns their noise suspend;

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The silent ocean does the event attend,

 

Which leader shall the doubtful victory bless,

 

And give an earnest of the war's success;

 

When Heaven itself, for England to declare

 

Turns ship, and men, and tackle, into air.

Shortly before the marriage of Prince William of Orange, the future king of England, with Mary, the daughter of the Duke of York, who later became King James II, Waller wrote two poems, one Of the Lady Mary, and another To the Prince of Orange in 1677. Both are gems of poetry, and interesting enough to be given here in full.

As once the lion honey gave

Out of the strong such sweetness came;

A royal hero, no less brave,

Produced this sweet, this lovely dame.

To her the prince, that did oppose

Such mighty armies in the field,

And Holland from prevailing foes

Could so well free, himself does yield.

No Belgia's fleet (his high command)

Which triumphs where the sun does rise,

Nor all the force he leads by land,

Could guard him from her conquering eyes.

Orange, with youth, experience has;

In action young, in council old;

Orange is, what Augustus was,

Brave, wary, provident, and bold.

On that fair tree which bears his name,

Blossoms and fruit at once are found;

In him we all admire the same,

His flowery youth with wisdom crowned!

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Empire and freedom reconciled

 

In Holland are by great Nassau;

 

Like those he sprung from, just and mild,

 

To willing people he gives law.

 

 

 

Thrice happy pair! so near allied

 

In royal blood, and virtue too!

 

Now Love has you together tied,

 

May none this triple knot undo!

 

 

 

The church shall be the happy place

 

Where streams, which from the same source run,

 

Though divers lands awhile they grace,

 

Unite again, and are made one.

 

 

 

A thousand thanks the nation owes

 

To him that does protect us all;

 

For while he thus his niece bestows,

 

About our isle he builds a wall;

 

 

 

A wall! like that which Athens had,

 

By the oracle's advice, of wood;

 

Had theirs been such as Charles has made,

 

That mighty state till now had stood.

Welcome, great Prince, unto this land,

Skilled in the arts of war and peace,

Your birth does call you to command,

Your nature does incline to peace.

When Holland, by her foes oppressed

No longer could sustain their weight;

To a native prince they thought it best

To recommend their dying state.

Your very name did France expel;

Those conquered towns which lately cost

So little blood, unto you fell

With the same ease they once were lost

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'Twas not your force did them defeat;

 

They neither felt your sword nor fire;

 

But seemed willing to retreat,

 

And to your greatness did conspire.

 

 

 

Nor have you since ungrateful been,

 

When at Seneff you did expose,

 

And at Mount Cassel, your own men

 

Whereby you might secure your foes.

 

 

 

Let Maestricht's siege enlarge your name,

 

And your retreat at Charleroy;

 

Warriors by flying may gain fame

 

And Parthian-like their foes destroy.

 

 

 

Thus Fabius gained repute of old,

 

When Roman glory gasping lay;

 

In council slow, in action cold,

 

His country saved, running away.

 

 

 

What better method could you take?

 

When you by beauty's charm must move.

 

And must at once a progress make,

 

I' th' stratagems of war and love.

 

 

 

He that a princess' heart would gain,

 

Must learn submissively to yield;

 

The stubborn ne'er their ends obtain;

 

The vanquished masters are o' the field.

 

 

 

Go on, brave Prince, with like success,

 

Still to increase your hoped renown,

 

Till to your conduct and adress,

 

Not to your birth, you owe a crown.

 

 

 

Proud Alva with the power of Spain

 

Could not the noble Dutch enslave;

 

And wiser Parma strove in vain

 

For to reduce a race so brave.

 

 

 

They now those very armies pay,

 

By which they were forced to yield to you;

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Their ancient birthright they betray,

 

By their own votes you them subdue.

 

 

 

Who can then liberty maintain

 

When by such arts it is withstood?

 

Freedom to princes is a chain

 

To all that spring from royal blood.