CHAPTER VII. SOME MISUNDERSTANDINGS.

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Next evening Jack O’Neill resumed his narrative to myself alone, on the understanding that our friends would drop in if they could.

“Where was I?” he said. “Ah, yes, I had just told you about the wash-list.

“Well; I learnt many things in the next few days, said he,—especially grammar. Rules and exceptions I committed to memory and could rattle you off werkwoorden and voortzetsels, bijvoegelijke naamwoorden, verleden deelwoorden and onbepaalde wijzen with vigour and promptitude.

In walking about the town and neighbourhood, too, I caught up more and more of those native idioms that give colour and fragrance to one’s speech. Of course I was at a loss now and again to explain what I heard and saw.

The notice boards, for example, of some inn such as “De Nieuwe Aanleg” remained somewhat mysterious; and on enquiry a satisfactory translation was never forthcoming. “The New Genius” was very wide of the mark, evidently. “The New Tendency” was equally obscure.

WHAT’S PUT IN DUTCH?

Two common English verbs I found very difficult to render exactly. These were ‘drive’ and ‘put’.

‘Put’ you have to use so often that it is certainly provoking to hunt for a new verb almost every time you have a fresh order to give. ‘Put it down’, ‘put it in the cupboard,’ ‘put it in the hall’—well, I managed these somehow. But when it came to having letters posted, I was a long time at sea.

I wrote a good deal; and ‘put that letter in the box’ was a common order I had to give. Now ‘box’ was easy enough, for the receptacle in the street was duly called ‘Brievenbus’. But when I said, ‘Plaats dien brief in de brievenbus,’ the maidservant stared at me as if I was hardly human.

Zet’ and ‘werp’ were not much clearer, apparently. ‘Gooi’, I must admit, always made her perform the task with alacrity, but with an air that plainly said the matter was not very serious.

By a happy accident I became aware that all you need say for ‘put’ is ‘doe’; but alas! it will only help you for a few of the simplest ‘puts’.

Two functionaries called about orphans one day, and I said “Put me down for five guilders”. “Doe mij beneden voor vijf gulden”. It wasn’t idiomatic, but they caught the idea when they saw the coins.

THE LONG AND THE SHORT OF IT.

Of course the long and the short a are notorious, and they perplexed me nearly every time I worked with them. You can’t be always sure that you have hit the right one.

An important letter had to go off one evening, and I impressed on the domestic that she must be careful.

Voorzichtig hoor!—voorzichtig!’ I repeated, ‘want dit is een gewichtige zak’.

I might have spared myself the trouble, for she tossed it in one hand and said, “Een zak, mijnheer, ha!” and departed with a gaiety of manner that augured ill for the safety of my missive. All the while I imagined I had said zaak,—but my a was too short.

THE BEAUTIFUL MAN.

One night when the landlady’s son—a promising youth of thirteen—brought up the supper, he appeared playful and excited. He urged me, as I understood it, to come downstairs and admire a man that was in the street. Surely it must be a fine specimen of manly grace that could elicit this interest! Yes, the man there was ‘erg mooi’, he assured me.

U moet es eve kome kijke, mijnheer.

The request was odd, and I refused at first. As he persisted, however, I accompanied him downstairs, wondering whether there was an acrobat performing in the market-place or if a statue had been erected whilst I was at dinner.

When we came outside, there was nothing remarkable to be seen in the street. My guide, however, didn’t mind that, but pointing triumphantly to the sky where the full moon was shining, he exclaimed with delight: “Daar, mijnheer, kijk nou is, nietwaar?

It looked like boyish chaff, getting the foreigner to leave his room to gaze at the ‘man in the moon’, and I was dumb with indignation at his audacity. Gradually, however, the facts of the case emerged. The youth was only considerately anxious that I should not miss seeing the big Dutch moon itself, which was indeed that evening particularly fine. It was a ‘mooi maan’ not “man”.

Yes; the long and the short a are not to be trifled with, and you’ll get into no end of trouble if you ever mix them.


                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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