The Project Gutenberg eBook ofAn Irishman's Difficulties with the Dutch Language

The Project Gutenberg eBook ofAn Irishman's Difficulties with the Dutch LanguageThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: An Irishman's Difficulties with the Dutch LanguageAuthor: J. Irwin BrownRelease date: July 29, 2013 [eBook #43349]Most recently updated: October 23, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by eagkw, Jeroen Hellingman and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AN IRISHMAN'S DIFFICULTIES WITH THE DUTCH LANGUAGE ***

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

Title: An Irishman's Difficulties with the Dutch LanguageAuthor: J. Irwin BrownRelease date: July 29, 2013 [eBook #43349]Most recently updated: October 23, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by eagkw, Jeroen Hellingman and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

Title: An Irishman's Difficulties with the Dutch Language

Author: J. Irwin Brown

Release date: July 29, 2013 [eBook #43349]Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Produced by eagkw, Jeroen Hellingman and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AN IRISHMAN'S DIFFICULTIES WITH THE DUTCH LANGUAGE ***

BY THE SAME WRITER“IRELAND—ITS HUMOUR AND PATHOS”Full of humour, pathos, imagination and poetry.Wij hebben telkens gelachen om geestige uitvallen, typische anecdoten, droog-komisch, zonder gewildheid, maar wij zijn ook geroerd door het mooie in het karakter der Ieren, hun vaderlandsliefde en melancholie.A most interesting study.... graceful.... bright and readable.(Brit. Weekly.)Geestig en pathetisch.(N. Gron. Courant.)Vol humor en geest—weemoed en melancholie.(Dor. Courant.)Ingenaaid90ct.Gebonden f1.25O’NEILL’s FURTHERADVENTURES IN HOLLAND.PRESS NOTICES.Ingenaaid90ct.Gebonden f1.25Thans kregen we de avonturen van O’Neill te hooren op een auto-tochtje, waarbij hij te gast gaat bij een vriendelijke boerenfamilie. O’Neill heeft razenden honger, maar tot zijn onuitsprekelijke verbazing krijgt hij niets te eten, ofschoon hij toch op elk vriendelijk aanbod even vriendelijk antwoordt: “dank u wel”, hierbij een getrouwe vertaling gevend van ’t Engelsche: “thank you”, zonder echter ’t verschil in beteekenis van beide uitdrukkingen te kennen.Zijn belet vragen, zijn verwarring met biljet, en belet krijgen en geven, zijn avonturen met den Dagtrein, die altijd ’s nachts gaat omdat het een D-trein is, een trein, die geen belet heeft en waarvoor geen belet gevraagd behoeft te worden,—het was alles niet om na te vertellen maar om het uit te gieren.

BY THE SAME WRITER

“IRELAND—ITS HUMOUR AND PATHOS”

Full of humour, pathos, imagination and poetry.

Wij hebben telkens gelachen om geestige uitvallen, typische anecdoten, droog-komisch, zonder gewildheid, maar wij zijn ook geroerd door het mooie in het karakter der Ieren, hun vaderlandsliefde en melancholie.

A most interesting study.... graceful.... bright and readable.(Brit. Weekly.)

Geestig en pathetisch.(N. Gron. Courant.)

Vol humor en geest—weemoed en melancholie.(Dor. Courant.)

Ingenaaid90ct.Gebonden f1.25

O’NEILL’s FURTHERADVENTURES IN HOLLAND.

PRESS NOTICES.

Ingenaaid90ct.Gebonden f1.25

Thans kregen we de avonturen van O’Neill te hooren op een auto-tochtje, waarbij hij te gast gaat bij een vriendelijke boerenfamilie. O’Neill heeft razenden honger, maar tot zijn onuitsprekelijke verbazing krijgt hij niets te eten, ofschoon hij toch op elk vriendelijk aanbod even vriendelijk antwoordt: “dank u wel”, hierbij een getrouwe vertaling gevend van ’t Engelsche: “thank you”, zonder echter ’t verschil in beteekenis van beide uitdrukkingen te kennen.

Zijn belet vragen, zijn verwarring met biljet, en belet krijgen en geven, zijn avonturen met den Dagtrein, die altijd ’s nachts gaat omdat het een D-trein is, een trein, die geen belet heeft en waarvoor geen belet gevraagd behoeft te worden,—het was alles niet om na te vertellen maar om het uit te gieren.

BYCUEY-NA-GAEL

FOURTH EDITION

Logo

J. M. Bredée’s Boekh. en Uitgevers-Mij.ROTTERDAM

N.V. DRUKKERIJ V/H KOCH & KNUTTEL, GOUDA.

Haarlem, March 1908.

Dear Cuey-na-Gael,

Thank you ever so much for the pleasure you gave me by sending me the account of your friend O’Neill’s experiences in our country.

It is excellent fun and the whole thing is full of quiet humour.

It cannot but be highly appreciated by all Dutch people who are trying to master the difficulties of English, and often despair of finding the right word for the right place. To all such it will be quite a treat to see how their vernacular puzzled your fellow-countryman.

The booklet fully deserves a place in the libraries of our H. B. Schools and Gymnasiums, and is sure to find one there.

Wishing you all possible success with your publication,

I remainYours very truly,C. HEYMAN.

For permission to give recitations or readings from this book application should be made to the Publisher.

Page.Introduction.vChapter I.O’Neill’s Great Plans1Chapter II.Grammar and Phrase Book6Chapter III.The Recitations in the Wood18Chapter IV.The Purchase of the Pens22Chapter V.Local Colour31Chapter VI.A Wash-List in Dutch37Chapter VII.Some Misunderstandings48Chapter VIII.Out for a Walk52Chapter IX.The Quest of Mijnheer Hiernaast68Chapter X.The Parcel Post77Chapter XI.A Successful Interview89Chapter XII.Dutch Correspondence100

We were seated one November evening in O’Neill’s rooms in Trinity College Dublin when the conversation turned on modern languages.

Each had his own story to tell, but we waited in vain for our host to unbosom himself on the subject of Dutch. Yet he was understood to have had thrilling experiences in the Hague in August.

By a few gentle hints we endeavoured to elicit from him some talk about his linguistic adventures, and, not succeeding very well, I at last asked him point-blank if he didn’t find Dutch hard.

“Yes”, said O’Neill promptly, in answer to my question. “Yes: it certainlyishard!” he repeated, as he balanced the poker, preparatory to smashingthe biggest piece of coal on the fire. “Why the whole thing’s next to impossible!”

O’NEILL’S GREAT PLANS.

There was something in his tone that sounded promising. He had a grievance evidently against the language; and there was a sufficient amount of suppressed irritation in his voice to indicate that there might be entertaining disclosures at hand.

Jack O’Neill had worked too closely at his mathematics the winter before, and had taken a long holiday in summer. A month of this he had spent in Holland to master the Dutch language, he said, and get a good general acquaintance with Dutch Literature. These had been great plans, and we were naturally eager to learn how they had succeeded. We had seen, however, very little of Jack since his return, as he had been most of the time at his aunt’s place in Connemara. Now that he was back at Trinity safe and sound, we naturally expected to get the news sooner or later. The conditions were so favourable that evening for a talker to spin his yarn, that we were all impatience for Jack to begin. We settled ourselves comfortably to listen; but he did not seem in a hurry to unfold this particular tale.

We had already heard from him a great dealabout William the Silent, and more than a great deal about Dutch art, but not a word about the Dutch language.

HUNTING IDIOMS IN THE DARK.

Our next-door neighbours, the “Professor” and the “Philosopher”—two students from the Cape who were working for their degree—were as interested as I was, in O’Neill’s Dutch, and they used to drop in to hear what was going on.

It was the third evening they had called; and as it was clear that Jack was somewhat reticent about his “linguistics”, we had to guide him gently to the subject.

“Nonsense!” I said again. “Youhad no difficulty. You made yourself understood from the first. You wrote me that.”

“Well,” said Jack, sitting bolt upright, “I know better now; and I stopped talking Dutch when I began to understand myself. You have to hunt in the dark,” he explained, “to catch the exact word or the proper idiom—and a man likes to know what he is talking about, himself. The language isn’t child’s play, that’s the truth. But it’s a fine country. You should see the light when—”

O’NEILL’S GREAT PLANS.

“Oh,” said the Philosopher, “we don’t want tohear any more about the country. Please not. We know all about those azure heavens and the infinite horizons and the scrumbled distances and the Rembrandt cattle, and all that. Why, man, I’ll undertake to draw from your own rhapsodies about those pictures an absolutely correct copy of (say) Paul Potter’s ‘Night Watch’, or van der Helst’s ‘Anatomy Lesson’, or Mesdag’s ‘Lost-Chord’, and the canals and the clouds and the chiaro-oscuro. You needn’t go over them again”.

“But I thought”, piped the First year’s man, who always came in with the Professor and never quite comprehended what was going on, “I thought that the ‘Night Watch’ was not by Paul Potter. Surely the ‘Night Watch’ and the ‘Anatomy Lesson’ are two well-known pictures by Remb—” “Never mind what you thought!” interrupted the Professor. “Don’t think, it’s bad for your constitution. And above all things don’t try to be accurate, or you’ll get yourself into trouble.”

“The Philosopher’s right,” I urged. “Our minds are a chaos after O’Neill’s descriptions. We’ll only pardon you, Jack, all that golden haze and the Rembrandts, if you condescend to plain facts. Tell us now about your Dutch. Do. We’re absolutelythirsting for an account of your adventures. Or were you too timid to embark on the open sea of thetaal, sticking cravenly to English all the time? Why I thought you had morego.”

MASTERING DUTCH IN A FORTNIGHT.

“Mr. O’Neill promised to master the language in the first fortnight”, chimed in the First Year’s man in his high boyish voice, “and to finish the principal Dutch classics in the second fortnight. Those were his very words.”

“Well”, said O’Neill with a kind of sickly smile, “I didn’t get so very much time, you see, either for the Literature or for the Language. Of course there was much sight-seeing, and—I spent a good deal of time over the pictures, which——”

The Philosopher shut his eyes, heaved an audible sigh, but said nothing.

“And”, continued Jack hastily without seeming to notice the interruption, “my efforts to speak Dutch were not always appreciated”.

“Really?” said the First Year’s man, with sudden interest.

“Go on”, said the Professor, “now you’re started”.

JA AND NEEN.

“You soon left your hotel for lodgings?” I added enquiringly.

“Well, you see,” he resumed, “I was afraid I’d never pick up the language. There is no chance of practice unless you get away from everybody that speaks English. That was not too easy, I tell you. But Enderby helped me, and we searched about the Hague for two whole days. At last we found perfectly charming rooms opposite a canal; the landlady didn’t know a word of English. She knew Dutch, though, all right. Fluent, did you say? I should think she was. A perfect marvel. No need of the dictionary, you know.—Verbs all in their proper places—and plenty of them!

WILL YOU BITE?

Enderby told her all I required, and then went away. It was like being thrown into the sea, as you may guess; but I imagined I should soon learn to swim. There’s nothing like being cast completely on your own resources, they say. Still it was a bit awkward at coffee-time, when the landlady came up and talked. She poured forth a rapid and resistless stream of friendly Dutch upon me, while I nodded in the intervals and tried to think. It was a very one-sided business. I was very hungry, too, and wanted luncheon. Now there was abundance ofthis unequal kind of conversation, but no lunch in sight, so I—(remember I knew onlyjaandneen, and was not very sure of them, either)—I just pointed gracefully to my lips to indicate that I needed food. That produced an immediate effect—a torrent of eloquence forcibly delivered and ending with some enquiry aboutbiting!

I shook my head and said “Neen, neen!You put it too crudely—luncheon—eat—eat.”

“O ja,” she replied, “best. Eten—eten om vijf uur—vijf.” And she held out one hand with the fingers spread. It seemed to me she was swearing there was enough food in the house to satisfy a hungry Irishman.

“Good—so far,” I returned. “Ja, ja!”

“En mynheer wil niet ontbijten?” she rejoined. This was thebitingagain, so I said decidedly, “Neen; niet bijte”. She seemed surprised and a little hurt, but she said nothing and went away. And of course I had to fast until five o’clock.

This would never do, I felt; and that evening I bought the first grammar and dictionary I could lay my hands on at a second-hand bookstall in theBinnenhof.

THE PURCHASE OF THE BOOKS.

They were antique looking volumes, most ofthem there; and my books had a remarkably ancient aspect. But I was glad to find that I had completed the purchase of them without using one word of English. How? Oh, the method’s very simple. You pick out some big book you don’t want, and hold it up interrogatively.

Youcanhold up a book interrogatively, you know, with a little practice. Well, you lift some rubbishy, bulky volume that you wouldn’t be paid to put in your library, and you give it a sort of enquiring wave in front of the vendor of these second-hand goods, and the vendor immediately understands your picturesque query to be “How much?” He answers promptly, and you as promptly drop the rubbishy fat volume, as if it was a scorpion: you sigh resignedly, raise your eyebrows and walk away disgusted.

That is the first step. That is to give him respect for your intelligence and to indicate your willingness to negociate on reasonable terms.

The next step is different. You linger with an air of disdain at the tail-end of the bookstall; and, as an after-thought—just as you are moving off—you halt a moment and flick the particular work you do happen to want, with a careless forefinger or thepoint of your walking-stick. At once the man talks, and you say “Nee”.

THE PURCHASE OF THE BOOKS.

He talks more. You say, “Neen, neen” and shake your head sadly. He talks still more, and gesticulates excitedly with the book in his hand. You wait till he stops for breath, then suddenly interject, “Ja; best,” taking care to put down a large silver coin,—and the article is yours! The negotiation is over; and all you have to do is to gather up your purchase and a quantity of small silver and copper coins that you get as change. Then with a little patience at home and some arithmetic you can count out—approximately—how much the things have cost you. That’s the way you buy second-hand books.”

“I had no idea, Jack, you had such a genius for diplomacy,” I murmured, as O’Neill evidently expected us to say something.

“Or for finance,” added the First Year’s Man.

“Did your medieval purchases do all for you that you expected?” enquired the Philosopher.

“Well, hardly,” said Jack.

“After my first success I somewhat underestimated the difficulties of the idiom. But I worked hard at the grammar.”

A LITERARY FIND.

“Ah! a Grammar?” interrupted the Professor. “Did you say you acquired a Grammar? I am interested. Could you manage to describe those volumes now, if it’s not too great a strain?”

“Oh, the books!” resumed O’Neill. “Well—there was a little fat Dictionary, closely printed, with Dutch into English and English into Dutch; and there was a handsome new Phrase-book in brilliant colours, containing conversations on the most unlikely topics. But I admit the Grammar Exercise-book was the gem of the collection. It was printed on a kind of dusky paper, something like blot-sheet, and it bore the date 1807. It had six hundred and thirty-one exercises, double ones, Dutch into English and English into Dutch—and contained many idioms, hints, exceptions, and explanations. In warnings, foot-notes, and asterisks it was particularly rich. Not a few pages were ornamented withNota Bene’sof various brands, with hands, large and small, drawing attention to them. The English of this manual was very odd, and by and by I got the impression that the Dutch was rather shaky too. Not that I guessed this at first, you may be sure; but it gradually dawned upon me.

A PLENTIFUL HARVEST.

I took a certain pride in my treasures, and setabout studying them with zeal. No doubt it was disappointing just at the beginning to read:Nota Bene—No one but a Dutchman can emit this sound; or this: “N. B. *.*.*.This sound must be heard.It issomething like Ubut cannot be otherwise described. It cannot be represented by any known letters. Foreigners need not try it.”

But I skipped over these obstacles, mastered the verbs ‘to be’ and ‘to have’, in their elements, got an idea of the way to construct plurals and diminutives, and went to sleep content.

Next morning after breakfast—which by the bye came up all right, without any special effort on my part—, remembering that I needed pens and ink I determined to go out and buy them myself.

Have you pens?Give me pens, please.Thank you.

That is all I seemed to require.

HURDLES.

Have you?Well; that is not so simple as it looks. I consulted the Grammar and was appalled to see the amazing variety of choice afforded to any one in Holland who contemplated asking this innocent question.

accoladehebt gijaccoladehebt UHebt gij(lieden)hebt geheeft Uheb jeheeft UEdeleheb jijheeft Ueheeft Uès

I looked carefully at this curious form. Yes, wherever it occurred, there were marks of parenthesis tied round the (lieden). How was I to pronounce those brackets? The vowels and the usual consonants I had learnt already were very trying. But what about those marks? Did they denote a cough, or a sneeze or gentlemanly tap of your foot on the ground? On the whole I thought I should best represent them by two graceful waves of the hand—one for each bracket.

hebt gij(lieden)with brackets carefully fenced round the(lieden)hebt jullieheb jelui

THE VERB OF THE SEASON.

I counted them over. There are twelve ways of sayingHave youin Dutch. That was distinctly suggestive, it seemed to me at the first brush, of the twelve months of the year. You could begin in January withHebt gij, in February you would haveHebt ge, and so you could work on throughthe months, keeping your grammar and your chronology going, side by side, through the seasons till you would emerge safely near Christmas withHeb jelui.This theory was not without its attractions. But what would happen in passing, say, from June to July, if you forgot what day of the month it was? If it was July the first and you imagined it was June the thirtieth, you would be talking bad grammar! No: that would never do. My brilliant conjecture had soon to be abandoned as fanciful, and I was very sorry.

THE TWELVE SIGNS OF THE ZODIAC.

But the facts of the case were dead against the obvious chronological arrangement, though they were by no means easily grasped. There were asterisks and foot-notes to all these zodiacal forms; and a great deal of solid reading had to be gone through before you got at the relative force of any particular term. The erudition was distracting, and the warnings were positively alarming, but after much painstaking investigation I seemed to perceive three grand principles emerging.”

“Yes?” we all said together, as O’Neill paused for breath. “And these were?—”

“In the first place,” resumed Jack deliberately, checking off the principles upon his fingers.

THREE PRINCIPLES.

I. “Never sayjeorjijto a man unless you mean to insult him.”

II. In the second place,jeandjijmay be freely used on all occasions, if you only know how.

“But”, said the First Year’s Man, “you just said that...”

“And,” continued O’Neill firmly, not heeding the interruption, “and you may use the Third Person of the verb for the Second and the Second for the Third; and you may use a Plural for a Singular and a Singular for a Plural; and you may useUforUE, andUEforUEdele; you usejijforje, andjeforge, andgeforgij, and you usejullieforgy(lieden)with brackets round thelieden; but no one now ever does saygy(lieden)with brackets round thelieden, except in poetry; and nobody in any circumstances ever usesUEdeleexcept when dining with members of the Royal Family. Then you are allowed to utter this vocable once, and must maintain a discreet silence during the rest of the repast.”

“Where do you get all that rubbish?” I asked in disgust.

“Boyton and Brandnetel”, he answered glibly, “page 52.”

“At least”, he added, “it was something like that. That gives you a good general idea of the thing.”

“When you are quite done with Boyton,” said the Professor slowly, “when your education’s finished, you know, I’ll make you a reasonably high offer for that book. Boyton would relieve the tedium of my philological studies, I can see.”

“Perhaps,” interposed the First Year Incorrigible, “perhaps Mr. O’Neill’s accuracy was all used up in his Artistic Studies. That would leave none for the grammar.”

“That’s a nice way to put it,” said the Philosopher. “Please curb your imagination, O’Neill; stick as near to probability as you can—without too great pain to yourself—and we’ll not be hard upon you. Wasn’t there a third clear principle that emerged in the course of your investigations?”

“Oh, yes”, said O’Neill with some show of caution. “As nearly as I can remember, it was this:

III. Never sayjou; and avoidUEexcept in correspondence. You are warned against any approach to familiarity in the use of pronouns. The courteous form isUEdele.Gijmore respectful thanjij.Jeis a term of endearment.”

A WARNING NOTE.

“But,” objected the First Year’s Man, “it doesn’t seem to hang together, for you said just now—”

“No debating allowed,” growled the Philosopher.

“Hurry up, O’Neill, with those general principles.”

“Oh, that’s all of them,” said Jack, “all at present.” “Well, to resume my story, I picked out the most harmless of thehave you’s, and was proceeding to work out the formula for ‘Have you pens,’ when to my consternation my eye fell on a dreadful warning, a kind of threat.

N.B. Important!—The foreigner is distinctly given to understand that he must commit to memory some polite phrases before engaging in conversation (see page 201) and study the chief sentences of a good phrase book. All pronouns savouring of familiarity are to be carefully avoided.

You may be sure that made me rather diffident till I had mastered some of these ‘polite phrases’. Polite they were, and no mistake—why French was nothing to it!—and I got the very nicest of them well into my head. I went round to Enderby’s, and he put me on the way of pronouncing the words. Then I took a whole morning inHet Boschand recited them to myself aloud. When no one was in sight I allowed myself some freedom of utterance; and once I thought I must have startled with myore rotundoan artist who was plying his harmless calling unseen behind a clump of trees. At least some one retired very hastily after I had delivered, “Doe zooveel moeite niet”, three times with a vigorous risinginflection and four times with the falling inflection, followed in each case by the rhetorical pause. From the deserted easel I judged it must have been an artist. He withdrew at a good pace, and never once looked back.

A SUSPICIOUS POLICEMAN.

These and similar polite idioms I repeated over some hundreds of times, till I knew them backwards and forwards and every way, and could have rattled them off in my sleep. Then there was some difficulty in avoiding the policemen in the wood. They kept prowling about after I had incautiously experimented on the first one with, “Mynheer! ik wensch U goeden morgen; ik hoop dat ik U niet stoor. Vaarwel.” He had looked amazed at this; so, as a parting shot—a sort of courteous Good Bye—I added gaily, “Ik bid U maak geen complimenten.” It was this that made the trouble, as he looked distinctly displeased, not to say suspicious. When he heard the words first, he had stood speechless, transfixed. Then he followed me home and hung about the street—I could see him from my window—for over half an hour. I feared my pronouns had been too familiar, though I couldn’t see how to change them, for there they were in the book. On the whole I concluded I had been a trifle abrupt, and withrenewed vigour I set to and committed a host of apologetic phrases such as: “Ik bid U verschoon mij. Duizendmaal vergiffenis. Het heeft niets te beduiden.” A pretty little triplet caught my ear and I took rather a fancy to it: “Het geeft niets—het hindert niet—het komt er niet op aan.”

DUIZENDMAAL VERGIFFENIS.

It was a little puzzling to disentangle some of the courteous introductions from the sentences in which they stood; and occasionally I committed to memory somewhat more than I needed. This was the case with a sentence that greatly took my fancy. It was an apology to an imaginary gentleman in a tram-car for having trodden on his foot. It seemed odd to provide yourself so soon for such contingency; but of course the book knew best. Well, from constantly seeing the two parts of this sentence together I got into the way mechanically of associating the one phrase with the other. Thus when repeating that engaging expression “Duizendmaal vergiffenis”, I was accustomed to follow it up by, “dat ik op Uw teen heb getrapt,” either in my own mind or audibly, for the sake of practice. From the first this polite sentence was a great favourite of mine, and I was soon able to repeat it with the utmost fluency and ease. So well didI know it, indeed, after two day’s practice that I was tempted to seek occasion for its use, and in getting into the tram-car. I was half disposed to brush, accidentally, against any object in the way for the sake of working off my courteous apology. But that sort of thing has unexpected consequences; and I came to the conclusion that it is more philosophic to learn too little than to learn too much.Ne quid nimis, you know.”

DAT IK OP UW TEEN HEB GETRAPT.

“Oh, leave metaphysics to me,” said the Philosopher, “and go on with your story. You wanted to buy pens? Did you get them?”

“Not at first,” answered O’ Neill shamefacedly, “but I’ll tell you about it”.

“And what”, said I, “might be the particular difficulty of sayingpensin Dutch? You had a dictionary?”

“Dictionary indeed!” retorted O’Neill with some heat. “Commend me to a dictionary for leading you astray.”

THE VALUE OF DIMINUTIVES.

There was a penholder in the room, so what I needed was only nibs. Having already with much pain made my selection among thehave you’s, I now looked upnibin the dictionary. Nib was represented by five words, three of which seemed likely enough to be right, i. e.neb,punt, andsnavel. Accordingly I wrote these down and worked out their plurals and diminutives. The doubtful ones I kept in reserve. Why did I fancy diminutives?Oh, the grammar put me on the way of finding them, and I got quite partial to their use. It is such a comfort, you know, they are all neuter. You can puthetin front of one, and then it’s safe for nominative or accusative, wherever it drops in the sentence.

Thus armed for the fray, and confiding in my grammar and dictionary, I sallied forth to buy those nibs.

There was no use in going to a large shop, for experience had taught me I should at once be accosted there in English; so I wandered about till I discovered a kind of small general warehouse in an obscure street. Making sure, by a careful inspection from without, that pens were among the commodities sold in this place, I muttered a polite phrase or two below my breath, cleared my throat, and entered boldly. There was a big good-natured man reading behind the counter. No one else was in the shop. The circumstances simply couldn’t be more propitious for beginning the difficult art of Dutch conversation.

“Mynheer!” said the big man, putting down the newspaper and looking at me amiably over his spectacles.

NEBBETJES.

“Mynheer!” I replied, “Ik wensch U goeden morgen.”

In the momentary pause that I was obliged to make, to get my polite phrase properly by the end, he rose up and said in an encouraging, friendly manner, “Wat wou Mynheer?”

“Mynheer”, I returned, confident in the correctness of phrase number two, “Mag ik U beleefd verzoeken mij mede te deelen, verkoopt jullie nebben—of nebs?”

He eyed me steadily for half a minute and then exclaimed:

“Blief?”

I said “Blief” too.

But I had to go over it again. He shook his head: “Nebs—Nebs? Wat bedoelt Mynheer?”

“Heeft UE nebs,—of nebben?” I said—“of nebbetjes?”

The last variations were of my own invention, thrown out as suggestions merely in order to make sure of catching the correct plural. The Grammar—Boyton, you know—had been strong on diminutives; hence I thought “nebbetjes” might make things clear. Apparently it did, for a deep voice at my elbow said, “Voor paling”, and Iturned round to see a red-faced sailor with rings in his ears, nodding and smiling. “Ja, ja, ik weet het wel,” he said to the shopman; “Mynheer gaat visschen,” adding confidentially for my benefit, “Engelsman always feesh.”

Before I had made out what this friendly mariner wanted to be at, the shopman had produced a tiny fishing-rod and tackle, which he planted down before me with an air of triumph, “Als ’t U blieft, Mynheer!”

POENTEKENS.

“Neen—Ik bid U”—I explained, grasping for my manuscript. A glance at the document told me that the next word for nib waspunt, plural probably “punten”, pronunciation doubtful.

“Mynheer”, I said, “zou U zoo goed willen wezen my te zeggen.... verkoopt UE poenten?”

“Wat zegt U, Mynheer?”

I explained “Zou U zoo goed willen zijn mij beleefd te zeggen en te verwittigen, verkoopt UEdele poenten of poentekens?”

I put in the “UEdele” once, you see, to propitiate the shopman, who was growing flurried, as the shop was beginning now to fill with customers. He didn’t seem, however, more than half pleased at being called “UEdele”; so I determined to give himanother pronoun next time—there was plenty of choice without touching on the despised “jy.”

ASTUMPER.

“Ik bid U verschoon my!.... Mag ik beleefd verzoeken, verkoopt gy (lieden) spitsen?” When I came to the brackets of the (lieden) I expressed them vaguely by a graceful sweep of both hands.

No; he shrugged his shoulders in good-natured perplexity; he didn’t understand; and indeed my rendering of the (lieden) may have confused him.

Then in dumb show I wrote with an imaginary pen on an imaginary piece of paper, saying very distinctly, “poent!” “spits!” “poent!” A light seemed suddenly to dawn upon him; he went to a drawer and brought out crayons and pencils, and reached me a stumper,—one of those soft pointed things for rubbing in mountains and clouds, on a pencil sketch. It was such a surprise after the fishing rod that I involuntarily exclaimed, “Hallo! a stumper!” Well, as that harmless English term seemed to ruffle him somewhat, I hurried to my next word. This word by the way I had written twice, having misspelled it the first time. Now as I stooped down to make it out, my nautical friend, whose interest in me had never flagged, read it before me: “Swavel! mynheer wou swavel.”

SNAVEL—NOTSWAVEL.

“Hoeveel?” said the shopman impatiently.

“Voor dit,” I replied, putting down a five-penny piece.

He mumbled something aboutswavelto a message-boy, who forthwith left the shop; and I sat down to wait. It was a vast relief to cease speaking Dutch for a few minutes; and yet I felt uneasily conscious that there was a mistake somewhere. The shop was filled with pens, so that if I was really buying pens now—as I hoped I was—there was no need for the message-boy to go elsewhere.

On calmly examining my notes I detected the error. The sailor had read the word in the first rough draft instead of the corrected copy. I started up hurriedly and went to the counter through the crowd.

“Duizendmaal vergiffenis!” I said. “Verschoon my. Ik veroorzaak U veel moeite.”

“Ja mynheer,” he replied patiently.

“Niet zwavel hier,” I said, pointing to my paper. ‘I have drawn my pencil through it,’ I wanted to say, but of course couldn’t. Then a happy thought struck me. Say I have a line through it—streepjeis the grammar word for a little line.

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