OUT FOR A WALK.
NAAR HET EINDE.--A ONE-SIDED CONVERSATION.--KOLOSSAAL MOOI.--THE
LIGHTNING CONDUCTOR.--TAKE CARE OF YOUR WORDS.--A CHARMING WALK.--NAAST
DE PALING.--LIEMOEN-MOES.--A MYSTERIOUS BEVERAGE.--MELOEN MET
APPELMOES.--DRIVE ME TO THE HAGUE.--A DREADFUL INTERVIEW.--THE IRATE
INN-KEEPER.--A HAPPY ESCAPE.--VAARWEL.
Starting one morning for a long ramble in the country I took the
first stage by tram. It was very early, and as there were no other
passengers, the conductor was disposed to be communicative. He was
absolutely eager to talk, and he came up to me at once.
Now I have noticed that at one time it is much easier to express
oneself in a foreign language than at another.
Sometimes the grammar you have mastered becomes positively oppressive,
and your tongue refuses to lend itself to the task.
I cannot tell whether it may be due to barometric pressure or to
some electrical condition, but on certain days I cannot--to put it
mildly--come up to my normal standard, either of perspicuity or ease.
This was one of my bad days, and I was little inclined to respond to
the conductor's advances. Fate was against me, however, for I didn't
know the name of the place I was bound for. Enderby had several times
taken me to a pretty village some few miles from the Hague. It was the
terminus of the tram-line, and I purposed to tram there first and then
to start out on my country walk.
I had never troubled much about the geography of the district, and
consequently was quite in the dark now as to what the village was
called. This was awkward, for the talkative conductor was already at
hand trying to open conversation.
He made a first essay by producing his bunch of tickets and asking me,
"Hoe ver, mijnheer?"
I waved my hand and said, "Den geheelen weg." Seeing he was not
satisfied with this, I amplified the remark by adding "Naar het einde."
As he was still slightly bewildered, I glanced up to the tram-car
itself to ascertain, if possible, its destination. The designation of
the village would surely be printed somewhere on the vehicle. Happily
I could just make out at the end of a long series of hard words the
name 'Simplex'. Pointing to this with a careless flourish of my stick I
said "Ja; ik ga even naar Simplex."
"Net, mijnheer," he laughed, "ha! ha!, overal reclame!"
Before he had recovered from my unconscious wit, I perceived the error
into which I had fallen. Simplex was merely a cycle-advertisement.
Then I laughed as heartily as he, saying "Gunst ja; overal"--which
emboldened him to be still more familiar.
He fancied that I was a perfect master of Dutch, and could even joke
in it. He talked most volubly; and,--my reputation as a linguist being
now at stake,--whenever he made a slight pause I was obliged to say
something to show I understood.
I didn't understand. But I started him off always when he was inclined
to stop, and I kept him going by a careful use of 'ja' and 'neen'. If
he appeared to expect agreement, I threw in a hearty 'natuurlijk', 'ja
zeker', or 'wel van mijn leven.' At other points, and for variety's
sake, I interjected indignant negatives: 'Wel nee!' 'schei er uit!'
'Hoe heb ik het met je?'--and now and then even 'och kom!' with the
peculiar shake of the head that accompanies this phrase.
The plan was brilliantly successful. True, he stopped sometimes and
took a long queer look at me; but he was one of those garrulous people
that require little encouragement, and the flood of his reminiscences
always poured forth again as freely as ever.
We got along famously together--though I didn't know one word he
said--till we came opposite a tall church. Nodding patronisingly
towards this building he said, "Pracht van een Kerk", adding something
about a 'hooge toren'.
Here I felt on solid ground,--I understood him thoroughly. My natural
wish to take an intelligent part in the conversation would be gratified
if only I could say something about that edifice; and, one of the fresh
idioms that I had recently acquired occurring to me, I promptly gave it
to him by way of reply: "Ja, prachtig; het is kolossaal mooi."
This choice idiom I had got just the day before from a policeman.
We had been standing in front of a florist's window--the policeman
and I--admiring the tiny vases of lilies of the valley that were
displayed there, when I heard him murmur half to himself and half to me
"kolossaal mooi!" The combination so captivated my fancy that I added
it without delay to my working stock.
The tram-conductor emphatically agreed with my criticism. "Kolossaal!"
he repeated.
Thus encouraged I attempted to contribute something further to the
conversation, and catching sight of a lofty lightning-conductor, on
the church-steeple, I tried to draw his attention to it by an easy
grammatical remark.
The word 'lightning-conductor' did not seem to present difficulties.
'Lightning' of course I remembered, though I ought to have forgotten it
long ago. No doubt it was to be approached with caution; but as this
was a matter of pure science I felt tolerably safe. As for 'conductor',
there could be little doubt as as to the way to render that, for
'conducteur' was stamped on the tram-man's buttons, and had been
staring me in the face for the last half-hour. Those buttons were as
good as a dictionary.
Putting together then the component parts of 'lightning-conductor,' I
hazarded a bold guess, and waving my hand towards the steeple I said
cordially, "Ja, de toren is mooi--kolossaal mooi. Gunst; ja.--Zoo is
ook die bliksem-conducteur! Vind U niet?"
Well, he stopped as if I had struck him; his face got fiery red, and he
walked away without a word!
What had I done? There was no denying something had gone wrong.
Evidently the man was choking with rage, and he didn't as much as
glance at me for the rest of the journey.
That same afternoon I reported the affair to Enderby, who grew quite
gruff and crusty before I had finished the narration.
"Didn't I warn you", he grumbled, "against those horrid expressions
that you seem so fond of? You must really take care, O'Neill,--or I
won't speak to you as long as you stay in Holland."
It was useless to assure him that I had referred to the
'lightning-conductor' merely in its permissible and scientific sense.
He would listen to no explanations. "You simply can't imagine how
shocking all that talk of yours sounds, or you wouldn't attempt to
justify your vulgarity."
"Begging your lordship's pardon", I retorted ironically, "for all my
unseemly conduct, may I enquire humbly what the dignified term is?
_Onweersconducteur_, perhaps? Or _weerlichtsconducteur_?"
"Nonsense!" he almost shouted. "The thing's quite
easy--'_bliksemafleider_'."
"Aha," I could not help retorting, "you see after all you are in the
wrong. You warned me against _lightning_--quite needlessly, you now
admit--but you never said a syllable about that really dangerous word
_conductor_."
But to return to my trip that lovely morning. The tram duly reached
'Simplex', and the conductor was unfeignedly relieved to see me alight.
It was perfect weather, and my annoyances were soon forgotten. There
was such a shimmer and haze and play of light over the wide landscape
as I have seen only in Holland.
I was delighted. Such a scene is an inspiration. It makes one wish
to be a painter or a poet or something. Subtle and delicate shades
varied the long stretches of green meadow; clumps of trees, church
towers, tiny red-roofed villages dotted the landscape; while here and
there as far as the eye could reach, wide canals--the very pictures of
tranquillity--reflected the great white clouds sailing overhead.
"Splendid, splendid!" I exclaimed to myself. And charming indeed did my
ramble prove to be.
But the day was hot, and I was glad at last about eleven o'clock to
come to a good-sized tea-garden over the entrance to which stood in
conspicuous letters, "_Uitspanning_." Here was cool shade under broad
trees; and here were innumerable little tables at which a number of
people were seated, laughing and chattering and lunching pleasantly,
while little children, some of them not more than three years old, kept
running about and playing games. And all these tiny tots, too, were
talking Dutch, happily and unconcerned, tossing about in childish glee
and with incredible ease, onbepaalde wijzen, verleden deelwoorden and
voorzetsels, not to speak of het and hen and hun and je.
On entering this popular resort and looking round I was addressed by a
breathless waiter laden with plates. "Waar wou mynheer zitten?"
The shade was deepest under a noble elm, where at this instant I
spied an unoccupied seat close to the wooden paling that skirted the
enclosure. I didn't know what 'paling' was, but I chanced it, as there
was no time for the dictionary. "Naast de paling," I said, "als 't U
blieft."
The impatient waiter nearly dropped his tray, but recovering himself
he vanished, and I took the seat myself. Another kellner appeared,--a
slow grave man in whose district was situated the attractive nook I
had been fortunate enough to secure. The day was broiling hot, as I
told you, and I thought I couldn't do better than begin with a little
lemon-squash.
I could have wished to study up my part a little; but as the slow
dignitary was already waiting, I asked for a "limoen en een glas
water." Having greeted my remark twice with "blief?" he drew himself up
and enquired if I wanted 'liemonade.'
"Geen kwestie van," I said, hauling out of my pocket the little fat
dictionary, that faithful companion of my wanderings. "Wacht even!" I
hurriedly turned up "squash"; for on the analogy of meloen I assumed
that 'lemoen' was all right for lemon. The verb squash was _moezen_;
the noun _moes_. This latter I chose, preferring the beverage
ready-made, if possible.
"Ja, kellner"--I said, "nu weet ik het al. Breng mij limoenmoes."
He raised his eyebrows and said: "Bedoelt mijnheer soms appelmoes?"
Apple squash? That seemed rather a good idea. It sounded like cider or
apple-lemonade.
"Ja, best," I said; "breng mij een glas appelmoes, maar niet te sterk."
When he was gone to draw some of this mysterious beverage, who should
turn up but Enderby? He had been motoring; and was coming back from
Amsterdam when some pinion had given way, and he had to stop at the
Uitspanning for repairs. He came up to me and sat down saying: "Well,
O'Neill, you're a long way from home; how did you get here? What are
you taking this hot weather?"
"Indeed," said I, "I don't exactly know. It's apple-squash, or rather a
sort of apple lemonade,--cider, I believe."
"Ah," said he with surprise, "you talked English, I suppose?"
"Not at all,--not a word. I never speak English now. It was all Dutch."
"Then I tell you, you _have_ made progress with the language! For here
have I been in Holland for fifteen years, and I never even heard of
apple lemonade yet. To tell you the truth, I should not know how to ask
for it. My boy, I congratulate you on your linguistic enterprise!"
The waiter reappeared just then, and Enderby interposed, "Mynheer heeft
iets besteld, nietwaar? Wat is dat voor een drankje? Geen limonade?"
"Nee, menheer", said the waiter in a complaining tone, "volstrekt
niet, mynheer is wat vreemd, ziet u; want," and here his voice sank to
a horrified whisper, "menheer eet meloen met appelmoes!"
Enderby looked at me in speechless astonishment; while the waiter
murmured, perhaps as a further suggestion of guilt on my part: "We
hebbe geen paling!"
Matters had got so involved that I could not explain anything to him;
except to say that I had started with the intention of cooling my
thirst with lemon squash.
He was inclined to be huffy once more. "There you are at it again! Look
here now; do take some care about what you say. I'll get that drink for
you this time; and, for any sake if you want 'kwast' again, don't say
appelmoes. Indeed I strongly advise you to stick to English, or you
will get into worse trouble yet."
Enderby went off in high dudgeon, and I took a long ramble under the
trees. It was not long till I shook off the effects of my grammatical
skirmishes and began to enjoy the day to the full.
In point of fact I made several sketches, and returning in a couple of
hours had luncheon successfully. That was comparatively easy. I had
merely to say, "Koffie!--Kaas!"--and the meal was ready.
Being by this time a trifle tired, I conceived the idea of driving
back to the Hague, for it seemed too far to walk. In this design I was
encouraged by the presence of a considerable number of vehicles with
horses, standing about.
On examining my dictionary to get the Dutch idiom for 'drive home' I
discovered three curious translations for drive: 'rijden', 'drijven'
(used, I was informed, of ice) and 'jagen.'
Now seeing that 'rijden', meant 'to ride', and 'jagen,' to 'hunt,' and
the other word was restricted to icebergs, there really appeared to be
a lack of the precise term I needed.
Obliged thus to circumscribe my meaning, I rapped on my green table and
enquired, "Kellner, kan ik een paard hebben?"
The waiter mumbled inarticulately, coughed apologetically, and vanished
like a shadow.
Presently he came back with a red-faced man who seemed to be the
proprietor of the Uitspanning. What I wanted to say was, "Have you a
horse disengaged to drive me to the Hague!" but owing to the defective
character of the Dutch vocabulary this could not be said directly, and
I was obliged to go round the point.
I went round it thus: "Mag ik beleefd vragen, Mynheer, heeft U paarden
beschikbaar om my te dragen?"
This sounded diplomatic and neat, and was certainly clear; but the
apoplectic proprietor looked askance.
He paused and endeavoured to transfix me with his beady eyes and read
my inmost consciousness. This being impossible, he condescended to the
gruff question: "Wou meneer een peerd koope?"
"Koopen?" I replied in astonishment, "oh niet koopen! Gunst!
ashjeblieft niet."
"Raie dan?" was his brusque reply.
"Rijen, graag," I agreed; "gaarne rijden; maar--ik ben niet in staat
het paard terug te zenden. En ... en ik heb geen ruimte in mijn kamers
voor een paard."
"Wat dan?" said he rudely, with a kind of a dull glare in his black
eyes.
I was getting into deep water--there was no use blinking the fact--and
here was this dreadful man growing more enraged and suspicious every
moment. Perhaps after all I could make something of those three
doubtful dictionary words. "Kan u niet," I asked with some asperity,
"kan oe niet, mijnheer, mij laten jagen naar den Haag?"
"O, hé!" exclaimed my interlocutor with a sudden access of interest and
a kind of wrinkle distantly resembling a smile. "Gaat mijnheer op de
jacht?"
Dear me, this is _too_ bad, I thought, for I saw people watching me
with a curious air of disapproval, and a good many more approaching.
Really I regretted I had not walked to the Hague.
But I was in for it now, and with all the sternness I could command I
explained sententiously, "Ik wensch een paard!--Om mij te trekken--in
een rijtuig--naar den Haag, Ferdinand Bolstraat 66a."
My horsey friend took a step nearer, his face ominously darkening and
the fierce eyes flashing fire. "Wat wou menheer eigenlijk? rijtuig
huren? of pérd koope!--of raie naar de stad?--of op de jacht gaan?--of
onzin praote?"
I was at my wit's end and deemed it wise to retire as soon as possible
from the conversation. This I tried to do by means of that agreeable
little triplet that had hitherto proved so useful to me.
"Och kom!" I said with a pleasant smile, "'t Geeft niets; het hindert
niet; het komt er niet op aan."
He was unappeased, however. So by way of friendly deprecation I added:
"Laa maar! Schei er uit.--Hè! zanik nou niet!"
This did not appreciably mend matters, I assure you.--At every sentence
I uttered his face grew more purple--and I was intensely relieved when
at that moment one of the interested bye-standers ran up hurriedly,
whip in hand, and touching his cap exclaimed: "Drive you to the Hague,
Sir?"--It was a cabdriver who spoke English!
Oh! I could have embraced that man!
"Yes," said I with effusion, "Yes, at once, please!--as quick as ever
you can!"
I jumped up on his vehicle and, as the vendor of peerden was still
hovering unpleasantly near, I ventured on one of those despised
French verbs--it was the only thing I could think of--to construct an
effective phrase for my exit.
"Mynheer Uitspanning!" I said waving him adieu, "ik zal U niet verder
derangeeren!--Vaarwel!"
Good-bye at last! There was a faint cheer from the score or two of
spectators, but no response from my late tormentor.
What a relief to get away from the intricacies of that dreadful
cross-examination!
I was flurried and worn, and did not quite recover my equanimity or
feel properly cooled down till I was safely ensconced in my rooms in
Ferdinand Bolstraat 66a.