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Hans Brinker ('t Jonkje)figuur uit Mary Mapes Dodge,
Hans Brinker or The Silver Skates (1865)
Vroeger verlieten Amerikaanse toeristen Nederland teleurgesteld omdat geen enkele Hollander de dijk aan kon wijzen waar "Hans Brinker" het land gered had. Het verhaal was zelfs nauwelijks bekend, alhoewel het boek al in 1867 door P.J. Andriessen vertaald was (De zilveren schaatsen, een schets uit het Noord-Hollandsche volksleven). Dodge heeft het verhaal niet zelf geschreven. Vanaf 1850 komt het verhaal "The Little Hero of Haarlem" voor in diverse tijdschriften, met als eerste Sharpe's London Journal of Entertainment and Instruction, jaargang 1850, (overgenomen in het Amerikaanse Harper's Magazine van hetzelfde jaar, lees het hier op Google Books). Zie de Engelse Wikipedia voor een lijst. De auteur van dit anoniem gepubliceerde verhaal is waarschijnlijk de Franse schrijfster Eugénie Foa (pseudoniem van Rébecca Eugénie Rodrigučs-Henriques, 1796-1852).
In 1954 herschreef de Nederlandse schrijfster Margreet Bruijn het oude verhaal als Hannes Brinker, of De zilveren schaatsen, waarin het avontuur in Spaarndam plaatsvindt, ongetwijfeld vanwege het standbeeld.
Een oud Nederlands volksverhaal is het zeker niet. Het staat echter wel in Volksverhalen uit Noord- en Zuid-Holland (1980) van Bert Sliggers. Daar is het achtjarige sluiswachterszoontje niet anoniem, maar heet hij 'Hansie Brinkers' en redt hij niet Haarlem, maar Spaarndam. Sliggers geeft aan dat dit verhaal teruggaat op Dodge en noemt het een 'zelfverzonnen sage'. Een ander feit is dat er absoluut niets was om aan de toeristen te laten zien: geen dijk, geen jongen met een vinger in de dijk, geen Hans Brinker. Om de Amerikaanse toeristen te plezieren heeft het Nederlandse Bureau voor Vreemdelingenverkeer in 1950 een standbeeld van "Hans Brinker" in Spaarndam geplaatst. Sinds 1962 is er ook een standbeeld van de "Held van Haarlem" in Harlingen.
Theo Meder, Hans Brinker Or: what does this legend have to do with Dutch folk narrative?.
Ewoud Sanders, Nawoord Hans Brinker of De zilveren schaatsen
Ewoud Sanders [m.m.v. Peter van der Krogt], Voostenwalbert Schimmelpenninck
Het verhaal "The Hero of Haarlem"
Uit het hoofdstuk Friends in Need.
At that same hour, while Ben [Engelse jongen op bezoek in Nederland] was skating with his companions beside the Holland dike, Robby and Jenny [Bens broertje en zusje] stood in their pretty English schoolhouse, ready to join in the duties of their reading class.
"Commence! Master Robert Dobbs," said the teacher, "page 242. Now, sir, mind every stop."
And Robby, in a quick childish voice, roared forth at schoolroom pitch, "Lesson 62. 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 overwhelming the country, and that a moment's neglect of the sluicer's duty may bring ruin and death to all."
"Very good," said the teacher. "Now, Susan."
"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."
"Now, Henry," said the teacher, nodding to the next little reader.
"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.'"
"Now, Jenny Dobbs," said the teacher. Jenny's eyes were glistening, but she took a long breath and commenced.
"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 and that--"
"Jenny Dobbs," said the teacher, rather impatiently, "if you cannot control your feelings so as to read distinctly, we will wait until you recover yourself."
"Yes, sir!" said Jenny, quite startled.
It was strange, but at that very moment, Ben, far over the sea, was saying to Lambert, "The noble little fellow! I have frequently met with an account of the incident, but I never knew, till now, that it was really true."
"True! Of course it is," said Lambert. "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, Ben, 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."
"Whew!" cried Master Ben. "Big talking that!"
"It's true talk anyway," rejoined Lambert, so very quietly that Ben wisely resolved to make no further comment.