The Further Adventures of O'Neill in Holland. Brown John Irwin
n John Irwin
The Further Adventures of O'Neill in Holland
CHAPTER I
WHERE DID O’NEILL’S DUTCH COME FROM?
We had all heard something of Jack O’Neill’s adventures in Holland; and the members of our informal little club in Trinity College Dublin were positively thirsting for fresh details. There must be much more to tell, we felt sure: and we had a multitude of questions to ask.
Now the odd thing about O’Neill was that he didn’t like to be interrogated; he preferred to tell his story straight through in his own way. He had evidently studied hard at the Dutch language, but without the least regard for system: and it was clear that he had been by no means careful in the choice of text books. Indeed, he seemed to be rather sensitive on this point, no doubt regretting that, in the ardour of his early enthusiasm, he had just taken the first grammar and exercise-book he could lay his hands upon, without consulting anybody. It was that curious plan of doing everything by himself that doubtless led him into the initial mistake, that of trying to get any sense out of “Boyton and Brandnetel”.
Apparently he had kept that “literary find” by him for reference, and for digging stray idioms and rules out of, while he added more modern volumes to his working stock. This would account for his glibness in rattling off out-of-the-way phrases, and for that rich bizarre flavour which his simplest Dutch utterance undoubtedly had.
But we didn’t know the worst.
Intentionally vague though he was in talking about his authorities, we ran him to earth (so to speak) at last in the matter of “Boyton and Brandnetel”; and had a happy evening.
That book was all O’Neill told us, and more. Printed on paper that seemed a cross between canvas and blot-sheet, it bore the date 1805. It was very Frenchified, and the English puzzled us extremely. Here is the Preface – or a part of it.
The following WORK was, originally, compiled by William Boyton. After passing five Editions, a Sixth appeared partly enlarged, and partly improved, by Jac. Brandnetel. This last Edition was published, at the Hague, in the Year, 1751.
The several particles, of Speech, are arranged by the usual Order; and Declare with precision; every rule being followed, with practical exercise. This Mode, of teaching, being already appreciated; it will not be deemed Essential; nor do we, point out, the utility of it. As to Syntax; it is fully treated: whilst, last not least, cares have been exercised, to unite ease with simplicity, accuracy with idiom, and animate the Learner. It aims at the pupil of High-Life, and to acquire the Polish of the civilized Lady.
THE HAGUE, 1805.
This brilliant introduction raised our expectations to fever heat. We had never encountered such an army of commas before; and as for the English – !
Anything, evidently, might be met with inside the covers of William Boyton’s ‘Work’.
The best of it, of course, was its extraordinary politeness. Every other question was prefixed with “Verschoon my”, and went on something like this: “Zoudt gij zoo goed willen zijn mij toe te staan…”. Then there were some plain and unornamental phrases such as “Men weet nooit hoe een koe eenen haas vangt”. – This was labelled ‘proverbial expression’, and was translated, happily enough, by “The unexpected often occurs.”
“Ik heb er het land aan je” was rendered mysteriously: “I have an objection”, “I cannot agree”.
That was puzzling enough, and delightfully vague! But for all that found the phrase doubly underlined by O’Neill and marked by him as ‘useful for general conversation’. —
CHAPTER II
SOME CHARACTERISTICS OF THE COMPENDIOUS GUIDE TO THE DUTCH LANGUAGE
There was something good on every page, as might be expected from the very preface. And, withal, there was a steady process of boasting about its own merits that was most refreshing in the barren realm of grammar.
With mock modesty it dubbed itself on the title page, “The Compendious Guide,” and followed this up with another title “Korte Wegwijzer tot de nederduitsche taal.” The whole compilation was evidently the work of several generations of literary gentlemen, who aimed at the ‘Polish of the Civilized Lady’ in quite different ways, but whose united efforts certainly made ‘The Work’ remarkably incoherent.
We all quizzed O’Neill unmercifully about the Civilized Lady, and read some dialogues with immense satisfaction. So uproarious, indeed, did the fun become at last, that our neighbours on the stair came trooping in. Three of them were Cape-students, hard-working medicals, whom we never heard speaking Dutch, though we were well aware they must have known it. Like the others, they insisted on a full explanation of the tumult, and we showed them “Boyton”. They didn’t mind so much about the Civilized Lady; but when they turned to the Polite Dialogues at the end, a kind of shudder seemed to pass through them, as if they had got an electric shock – till finally they dropped the book and screamed with delight.
“Why! that’s nothing so very odd”, said O’Neill, looking hurt. “I have often used lots of those phrases.” Picking up the dishevelled leaves from the floor, he ran his eye down a page or two and said: “Yes, of course. These things are all right: A bit stiff and bookish, perhaps; but correct, quite correct. You fellows needn’t be so excited over nothing.”
“Read us some!” clamoured the men from the Cape. “Read us some of the dialogues you imitated. Go on! Read!”
“Oh!” said O’Neill, “almost any one of these conversations about common things is good enough. Here, for instance.” And he took the book in his hand and walked about the room, giving us first the English – then the Dutch.
“That conversation,” said the Professor, “must have been of immense help to you now in modern Holland?”
“Hm” – replied Jack doubtfully.
“O’Neill,” said I; “Stop! You’re making that out of your head. That stuff’s never in any book.”
“Well,” was the hasty reply; “I see this isn’t so good as some parts – not so practical, perhaps; but that’s all here. Wait a bit… Now listen. Here’s something better. Hush!”
There was a noise in the room at this, but O’Neill went on boldly to finish the Dialogue.
“That’s enough – quite enough – for the present”, said the Cape men. “We’ll borrow the Wegwijzer from you, and bring it back safe.
“No, there’s no fear we’ll mislay it, or harm it. Much too valuable for that. But – you’ll excuse us; we can hardly believe you’ve got that actually in print. And we’re curious to know what kind of rules those learned grammarians give. You’ll lend us this mine of wisdom for a few days, won’t you? Thank you, so much.
“And by the way, here are some of your own notes. What’s this about engert?”
“Oh”, said O’Neill; “that’s a reminder about a neat phrase I picked up from my landlady. Did I never tell you?
“Well. When my cousin came over, you know, on his way to Germany, he stayed with me a couple of days. He’s very athletic – a fine wiry, muscular young fellow, lithe as a willow, as you are aware. So I wasn’t astonished at overhearing the landlady and a crony of hers discussing him. They used a rumble of unintelligible words about Terence, as he passed the two of them on the stairs with the slightest of nods, and mounted three steps at a time, whistling as he went. There was no mistake about their referring to him; and amid the chaos of sounds I caught the words eng and engert.
Curious