Andrew Marvell Part 11

This court sat in Clifford's Inn, and was usually presided over by Sir Matthew Hale, whose skill both as an arithmetician and an architect completed his fitness for so responsible a position. Within a year the work was done.

The Act for rebuilding the City is an elaborate measure of more than forty clauses, and aimed at securing "the regularity, safety, conveniency and beauty" of the new London that was to be. The buildings were cla.s.sified according to their position and character, and had to maintain a prescribed level of quality. The materials to be employed were named. New streets were to be of certain widths, and so on. This is the Act that contains the first Betterment Clause: "And forasmuch as the Houses now remaining and to be rebuilt will receive more or less advantage in the value of the rents by the liberty of air and free recourse for trade," it was enacted that a jury might be sworn to a.s.sess upon the owners and others interested of and in the said houses, such sum or sums of money with respect of their several interests "in consideration of such improvement and melioration as in reason and good conscience they shall think fit."

It takes nothing short of a catastrophe to suspend in England, even for a few months, those rules of evidence that often make justice impossible, and those rights of landlords which for centuries have appropriated public expenditure to private gain.[126:1]

The moneys required to pay for the land taken under the Act to widen streets and to accomplish the other authorised works were raised, as Marvell informs his const.i.tuents, by a tax of twelve pence on every chaldron of coal coming as far as Gravesend. Few taxes have had so useful and so harmless a life.

All this time the Dutch War was going on, but the heart was out of it.

Nothing in England is so popular as war, except the peace that comes after it. The king now wanted peace, and the merchants on 'Change had glutted their ire. In February 1667 the king told the Houses of Parliament that all "sober" men would be glad to see peace. Unluckily, it seems to have been a.s.sumed that we could have peace whenever we wanted it, and the fatal error was committed of at once "laying up" the first-and second-rate s.h.i.+ps. It thus came about that, whilst still at war, England had no fleet to put to sea. It did not at first seem likely that the overtures for peace would present much difficulty, when suddenly arose the question of Poleroone. It is amazing how few Englishmen have ever heard of Poleroone, or even of the Banda Islands, of which group it is one. Indeed, a more insignificant speck in the ocean it would be hard to find. To discover it on an atlas is no easy task. Yet, but for Poleroone, the Dutch would never have taken Sheerness, or broken the chain at Gillingham, or carried away with them to the Texel the proud vessel that had brought back Charles the Second to an excited population.

Poleroone is a small nutmeg-growing island in the Indian Archipelago, not far from the eastern extremity of New Guinea. King James the First imagined he had some right to it, and, at any rate, Oliver Cromwell, when he made peace with the Dutch, made a great point of Poleroone. Have it he would for the East India Company. The Dutch objected, but gave way, and by an article in the treaty with Oliver bound themselves to give up Poleroone to the Company. All, in fact, that they did do, was to cut down the nutmeg trees, and so make the island good for nothing for many a long year. Physical possession was never taken. For some unaccountable reason Charles, who had sold Oliver's Dunkirk to the French for half a million of money, stuck out for Poleroone. What Cromwell had taken he was not going to give up! On the other hand, neither would the Dutch give up Poleroone. This dispute, about a barren island, delayed the settlement of the peace preliminaries; but eventually the British plenipotentiaries did get out to Breda, in May 1667. Our sanguine king expected an immediate cessation of hostilities, and that his unpreparedness would thus be huddled up. All of a sudden, at the beginning of June, De Ruyter led out his fleet, and with a fair wind behind him stood for the Thames. All is fair in war. England was caught napping. The doleful history reads like that of a sudden piratical onslaught, and reveals the fatal inefficiency of the administration. Sheerness was practically defenceless. "There were a Company or two of very good soldiers there under excellent officers, but the fortifications were so weak and unfinished, and all other provisions so entirely wanting, that the Dutch Fleet no sooner approached within a distance but with their cannon they beat all the works flat and drove all the men from the ground, which, as soon as they had done with their Boats, they landed men and seemed resolved to fortify and keep it."[128:1] Capture of Sheerness by the Dutch! No need of a halfpenny press to spread this news through a London still in ruins. What made matters worse, the sailors were more than half-mutinous, being paid with tickets not readily convertible into cash. Many of them actually deserted to the Dutch fleet, which made its leisurely way upstream, pa.s.sing Upnor Castle, which had guns but no ammunition, till it was almost within reach of Chatham, where lay the royal navy. General Monk, who was the handy man of the period, and whose authority was always invoked when the king he had restored was in greater trouble than usual, had hastily collected what troops he could muster, and marched to protect Chatham; but what were wanted were s.h.i.+ps, not troops. The Dutch had no mind to land, and after firing three wars.h.i.+ps (the _Royal James_, the _Royal Oak_, and the _London_), and capturing the _Royal Charles_, "they thought they had done enough, and made use of the ebb to carry them back again."[129:1] These events occupied the tenth to the fifteenth of June, and for the impression they produced on Marvell's mind we are not dependent upon his restrained letters to his const.i.tuents, but can turn to his longest rhymed satire, which is believed to have been first printed, anonymously of course, as a broadsheet in August 1667.

This poem is called _The Last Instructions to a Painter about the Dutch Wars_, 1667. The t.i.tle was derived from Waller's panegyric poem on the occasion of the Duke of York's victory over the Dutch on the 3rd of June 1665, when Opdam, the Dutch admiral, was blown up with his s.h.i.+p.[129:2]

Sir John Denham, a brother satirist of Marvell's, and with as good an excuse for hating the Duke of York as this world affords, had seized upon the same idea and published four satirical poems on these same Dutch Wars, ent.i.tled _Directions to a Painter_ (see _Poems on Affairs of State_, 1703, vol. i.).

Marvell's satire, which runs to 900 lines, is essentially a House of Commons poem, and could only have been written by a member. It is intensely "lobbyish" and "occasional." To understand its allusions, to appreciate its "pain-giving" capacity to the full, is now impossible.

Still, the reader of Clarendon's _Life_, Pepys's _Diary_, and Burnet's _History_, to name only popular books, will have no difficulty in entering into the spirit of the performance. As a poem it is rough in execution, careless, breathless. A rugged style was then in vogue. Even Milton could write his lines to the Cambridge Carrier somewhat in this manner. Marvell has nothing of the magnificence of Dryden, or of the finished malice of Pope. He plays the part, and it is sincerely played, of the old, honest member of Parliament who loves his country and hates rogues and speaks right out, calling spades spades and the king's women what they ought to be called. He is conversational, and therefore coa.r.s.e. The whole history of the events that resulted in the national disgrace is told.

"The close cabal marked how the Navy eats And thought all lost that goes not to the cheats; So therefore secretly for peace decrees, Yet for a War the Parliament would squeeze, And fix to the revenue such a sum Should Goodricke silence and make Paston dumb.

Meantime through all the yards their orders were To lay the s.h.i.+ps up, cease the keels begun.

The timber rots, the useless axe does rust, The unpractised saw lies buried in the dust, The busy hammer sleeps, the ropes untwine."

Parliament is got rid of to the joy of Clarendon.

"Blither than hare that hath escaped the hounds, The house prorogued, the chancellor rebounds.

What frosts to fruits, what a.r.s.enic to the rat, What to fair Denham mortal chocolate,[130:1]

What an account to Carteret, that and more, A parliament is to the chancellor."

De Ruyter makes his appearance, and Monk

"in his s.h.i.+rt against the Dutch is pressed.

Often, dear Painter, have I sat and mused Why he should be on all adventures used.

Whether his valour they so much admire, Or that for cowardice they all retire, As heaven in storms, they call, in gusts of state, On Monk and Parliament--yet both do hate.

Ruyter, the while, that had our ocean curbed, Sailed now amongst our rivers undisturbed; Surveyed their crystal streams and banks so green, And beauties ere this never naked seen."

His flags fly from the topmasts of his s.h.i.+ps, but where is the enemy?

"So up the stream the Belgic navy glides, And at Sheerness unloads its stormy sides."

Chatham was but a few miles further up.

"There our sick s.h.i.+ps unrigged in summer lay, Like moulting fowl, a weak and easy prey, For whose strong bulk earth scarce could timber find, The ocean water, or the heavens wind.

Those oaken giants of the ancient race, That ruled all seas, and did our channel grace; The conscious stag, though once the forest's dread, Flies to the wood, and hides his armless head.

Ruyter forthwith a squadron doth untack; They sail securely through the river's track.

An English pilot too (O, shame! O, sin!) Cheated of 's pay, was he that showed them in."

The chain at Gillingham is broken, to the dismay of Monk, who

"from the bank that dismal sight does view; Our feather gallants, who came down that day To be spectators safe of the new play, Leave him alone when first they hear the gun, (Cornbury,[131:1] the fleetest) and to London run.

Our seamen, whom no danger's shape could fright, Unpaid, refuse to mount their s.h.i.+ps for spite, Or to their fellows swim on board the Dutch, Who show the tempting metal in their clutch."

Upnor Castle avails nought.

"And Upnor's Castle's ill-deserted wall Now needful does for ammunition call."

The _Royal Charles_ is captured before Monk's face.

"That sacred Keel that had, as he, restored Its excited sovereign on its happy board, Now a cheap spoil and the mean victor's slave Taught the Dutch colours from its top to wave."

Horrors acc.u.mulate.

"Each doleful day still with fresh loss returns, The loyal _London_ now a third time burns, And the true _Royal Oak_ and _Royal James_, Allied in fate, increase with theirs her flames.

Of all our navy none shall now survive, But that the s.h.i.+ps themselves were taught to dive, And the kind river in its creek them hides.

Freighting their pierced keels with oozy tides."

The situation was indeed serious enough. One wiseacre in command in London declared his belief that the Tower was no longer "tenable."

"And were not Ruyter's maw with ravage cloyed, Even London's ashes had been then destroyed."

But the Dutch admiral returns the way he came.

"Now nothing more at Chatham's left to burn, The Holland squadron leisurely return; And spite of Ruperts and of Albemarles, To Ruyter's triumph led the captive _Charles_.

The pleasing sight he often does prolong, Her mast erect, tough cordage, timber strong, Her moving shape, all these he doth survey, And all admires, but most his easy prey.

The seamen search her all within, without; Viewing her strength, they yet their conquest doubt; Then with rude shouts, secure, the air they vex, With gamesome joy insulting on her decks.

Such the feared Hebrew captive, blinded, shorn, Was led about in sport, the public scorn."

The poet then indulges himself in an emotional outburst.

"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 s.p.a.ce with a redoubled night.

When aged Thames was bound with fetters base, And Medway chaste ravished before his face, And their dear offspring murdered in their sight, Thou and thy fellows saw the odious light.

Sad change, since first that happy pair was wed, When all the rivers graced their nuptial bed; And father Neptune promised to resign His empire old to their immortal line; Now with vain grief their vainer hopes they rue, Themselves dishonoured, and the G.o.ds untrue; And to each other, helpless couple, moan, As the sad tortoise for the sea does groan: 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, 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."

A scapegoat had, of course, to be at once provided. He was found in Mr.

Commissioner Pett, the most skilful s.h.i.+pbuilder of the age.

"After this loss, to relish discontent, Some one must be accused by Parliament.

All our miscarriages on Pett must fall, His name alone seems fit to answer all.

Whose counsel first did this mad war beget?

Who all commands sold through the navy? Pett.

Who would not follow when the Dutch were beat?

Who treated out the time at Bergen? Pett.

Who the Dutch fleet with storms disabled met?

And, rifling prizes, them neglect? Pett.

Who with false news prevented the Gazette?

The fleet divided? writ for Rupert? Pett.