Van Reybrouck se soeke na Marais word sekondêr tot sy ervaring van Suid-Afrika. Die eindbestemming word ‘n skim terwyl die landskap om hom in fokus gebring word, ‘n transisie wat die skrywer duidelik diep raak. Maar hoe geldig is Van Reybrouck se waarnemings, hoe diep gekleur deur die eeu-oue Europese bril waarmee die buitewêreld so graag na Afrika kyk? Hoe ver word sy ervaring van Afrikaners gemanipuleer deur sy eie opvatting van hoe mense moet wees?

Hy walg van die rassepolitiek van die mense wat hy in die Waterberg en diep Afrikaanse platteland ontmoet, maar hoe verteenwoordigend is dit van Afrikaanse sieninge as ‘n geheel? In ‘n onderhoud met die Vlaamse tydskrif Humo vind Van Reybrouck dat daar “een onvoorstelbare rancune bij brede lagen van de blanke bevolking” bestaan, ‘n wrok dus, “zelfs bij mensen die kritisch staan tegenover de extremisten van de Afrikaner Weerstand Beweging [sic]“. Hoe kan ‘n mens sy ervaring ernstig opneem as die AWB een van sy maatstokke is, ‘n organisasie wat op sy beste minder as een persent van die Afrikaanse bevolking as lede gehad het, ‘n groep wat in die Suid-Afrika van vandag nog net in naam bestaan en funksioneer?

Van Reybrouck vind dat die “blanke bevolking” ‘n “volstrekte onwil” het om aan “dat nieuwe Zuid-Afrika” deel te neem, sonder om te spesifiseer wat hy as kwalifikasies tot deelname sou beskou. Sou blote “lip service” aan sy kriteria voldoen? Steun aan die ANC? Direkte betrokkenheid as menseregte-aktiviste? Die “blanke bevolking” dra ook tog by deur die kweek en verspreiding van Suid-Afrika se voedselvoorraad? Lede van die “blanke bevolking” beman tog ook poste in die administratiewe meganismes, bestuur huurmotors, verkoop selfone? Waar begin ‘n bydrae tot “dat nieuwe Zuid-Afrika” vir Van Reybrouck dan? ‘n Dogmatiese paradys versus ‘n regte land met regte probleme en regte mense? Of is Van Reybrouck se opvatting van Suid-Afrika eintlik maar net die onrealistiese, polities-korrekte weemoed van ‘n jong Vlaming op toer deur sy eie idealisme?

Is Van Reybrouck se uitspraak dat hy “het hele Afrikaner-nasionalisme tot in de grond van mijn hart verfoei” werklik die uitspraak van ‘n objektiewe waarnemer in ‘n vreemde kultuur? In Naboomspruit (“het einde van de wereld”, volgens Van Reybrouck), in ‘n slegte kroeg wat hy as ‘n “garage met harde muziek” beskryf, “bevriend” hy twee tieners, een van hulle “een jongen van een jaar of zestien”. Dis deur die uitsprake van twee tieners van Naboomspruit wat Van Reybrouck Afrikaner-nasionalisme sien; kinders wat laat in die aand in ‘n kroeg sit en rook, wat graag “fok” voor elke sin sê, hul politieke denkwêreld deurspek met die woord “kaffer”, en wat van Eugène Marais sê: “I was so fokking bored of Marais that I could puke.”

“Ons is rasiste[sic], ja,” sê die tieners. “Ons is blank en hulle is kaffers [...] Sinds de zwarten dit land hebben overgenomen is het fokked up.” En, wys Van Reybrouck uit, “hun familienamen bulkten van het Afrikaner nationalisme en waren zo oud als Delfts aardewerk”. In Humo sê Van Reybrouck dan ook: “Overal waar ik kwam, ontmoette ik boeiende en leuke mensen, tot ze hun mond opendeden en er compleet verachtelijke praat over de politieke en raciale situatie in hun land uitrolde.”

Gee Van Reybrouck ooit uitsluitsel oor die kwessie van Maeterlinck se beweerde plagiaat van Marais? Op ‘n manier wel. Maeterlinck het waarskynlik Marais se werk gelees, en konsepte en denkstrome daaruit oorgeneem in sy eie werk. Nie plagiaat nie, maar Marais sou sekerlik verdien het om as bron gelys te word. ‘n Belangriker vraag is of Van Reybrouck ooit Suid-Afrika en die hart van die Afrikaner gevind het? Die eenvoudige antwoord is nee. Hartseer genoeg lyk dit asof sy reis verby is, hy het sy bestemming nooit bereik nie, en ‘n antwoord op sy vrae sal hy nooit vind nie.

Hy is gebore as Stephen Petrus Daniël le Roux op 13 Junie 1922 te Oudtshoorn, en sou later alma mater van die befaamde Grey-kollege in Bloemfontein, alumnus van die Universiteit van Stellenbosch (waar hy die grade B.A. en LL.B. behaal het), en boer van die plaas Janee naby Koffiefontein in die Vrystaat, wees. Hy was ook ‘n intellektuele reus, wêreldburger, student, aanhanger van Jung, peetkind van C.J. Langenhoven, en stigterslid van die Afrikaanse Skrywersgilde.

Vroeg in 2001 het die Afrikaanse webwerf www.Afrikaans.be in samewerking met Anton Raath Webontwerp en -ontwikkeling die Digitale Etienne Leroux Projek – of kortweg, DELPHI – geloods. DELPHI [2] spog met die feit dat dit die grootste enkele Internet hulpbron oor enige Afrikaanse figuur, en één van die grootste oor enige Dietse skrywer is. Ongeveer 2 000 besoekers raadpleeg byna 10 000 bladsye elke maand. Die projek het tans geen formele bande met die amptelike Etienne Leroux Projek aan die Universiteit van die Vrystaat nie, maar danksy bydraes uit twee privaat versamelings kon DELPHI wegspring met ‘n sterk verteenwoordigende korpus van ongeveer 200 bladsye wat ‘n tydperk van meer as 40 jaar dek. Uiteindelik word ook beoog om ‘n multimedia versameling met foto’s en klank- en video-materiaal by te voeg.

In letterkundige kringe, sowel in Suid-Afrika as in die buiteland, is Leroux se werk met lof ontvang. Graham Greene was ‘n goeie vriend en ondersteuner. So ook groot Afrikaanse letterkundiges soos Elize Botha, Louis Preller, Antjie Krog, Charles Malan, Chris Barnard en H.P. van Coller. As een van die vroeë Sestigerskrywers was Leroux se gelykes en vriende mense soos André P. Brink, Breyten Breytenbach, en Jan Rabie. Ook was hy ‘n groot bron van inspirasie vir (en vriend van) meer moderne Afrikaanse skrywers, onder andere Daniël Hugo, Koos Prinsloo, en Ryk Hattingh.

Madeleine van Biljon het die skrywer en sy werk liries saamgevat: “The elegant, limpid prose of Etienne Leroux describes a subtle, satirical, fantastical and psychologically-layered world. The complex novels are the complex man. Both his defenders and his detractors are the losers when they speak about Leroux without knowledge of his work.” [3]

Leroux was ‘n digotomie, ‘n blanke Afrikaner boer binne die stelsel wat ook krities kon wees oor sy mense en sy regering. Deur sy werke het hy nie net ‘n groter wêreld van mitologie, alchemie en filosofie verken nie, maar ook gesoek na die swak plekke binne homself as Afrikaner. Met sy donkerbril, dag en nag, geklee in swart, was hy ‘n mistiese figuur op ‘n soms barre literêre landskap.

“Dit is vieruur en Hans Winterbach se kameras is op die slagveld gerig. Sodra dit lig genoeg word, sal hulle die waarheid afneem. Sodra in die grys waas die eerste beelde van die werklikheid, fotografies gesproke, sigbaar word. Met die veronderstelling dat die werklikheid en die waarheid sinoniem is.” [4]

Leroux se pa was op sy dag ‘n Nasionale Party Minister van Landbou, en Leroux self was sterk ingeburger in die Afrikaanse magstrukture: landbou, die kerk, en die politiek. In ‘n ope brief aan Breyten Breytenbach, na dié homself op radikale manier in die tydskrif Kol uitgespreek het, skryf Leroux: “Al sit jy en Lewis Nkosi en al die verlatenes in die tronk – ons, as skrywers, is saam met julle. Ek sal julle optrede miskien veroordeel; ek sal julle selfs skiet met ‘n .303 as julle my veiligheid en my familie bedreig, maar ons het ‘n bloedband as skrywers.” [5] In dieselfde brief sê Leroux oor Afrikaners: “Ons is woestynmense en ons verander swaar.”

Die Hertzog-prys is twee maal aan Etienne Leroux toegeken, eers in 1964 vir “Sewe Dae by die Silbersteins”, en weer in 1979 vir “Magersfontein, O Magersfontein!” Laasgenoemde het ook in 1977 vir Leroux die CNA-prys verower, en in 1981 ontvang hy die Perskor-prys vir sy bundel “Tussengebied”. Die universiteite van Natal, die Vrystaat en Stellenbosch het eredoktorsgrade aan hom toegeken. Erkenning was daar dus wel.

Maar kritiek, haat en vervolging was daar in gelyke dosis. “Sewe Dae by die Silbersteins” is deur kenners as “moontlik die grootste roman in Afrikaans” beskryf, maar tegelykertyd het figure soos prof. P.F.D. Weiss en sy vrou, Hymne, “deur die land gereis en toesprake gehou teen ‘expertenkrankheit’, die siekte van kenners wat gemors as kuns aan die publiek probeer voorhou.” [6] ‘n Predikantsvrou in die Noord-Transvaal het in ‘n brief aan die pers beweer dat sy “sewe-en-twintig keer seksueel geprikkel was” terwyl sy Sewe Dae by die Silbersteins gelees het.

In 1977 is Leroux se “Magersfontein, O Magersfontein!” verwys na die Appèlraad vir Sensuur, ‘n raad onder voorsitterskap van regter Lammie Snyman. Snyman het sy pro-sensuur standpunt te kenne gegee met die uitspraak: “Alle Afrikaners kan nie elke boek wat verskyn, koop en lees om vas te stel of hulle daarvan hou of nie. Nou is daar ‘n raad wat hierdie boeke namens hulle sal lees en vir hulle sal sê of hulle daarvan sal hou of nie.” “Magersfontein, O Magersfontein!” is ongewens verklaar. In 1978, ten spyte van enorme publieke en politieke druk daartéén, het die uitgewers Human & Rousseau hulle tot die Hooggeregshof gewend, en die boek is ontban. Dit was ook die nekslag wat die einde van ‘n era van politieke en sosiale sensuur aangekondig het.

“‘n Mens kan ‘n gesprek met ‘n boek voer,” sê Leroux in sy bundel “Tussengebied” [7]. “Jy kan dit weer en weer lees. Jy sal altyd iets van jouself daarin vind. Dit sal die skeppende vermoë in jouself prikkel. Dit sal jou uit die vallei haal en op ‘n bergspits plaas vanwaar jy miskien vir die eerste keer sal besef waar jy bly en, as jy gelukkig is, jou help om al daardie vrae te beantwoord waarvoor jy in die verlede geen antwoord kon kry nie.”

Bibliografie

[1] Etienne Leroux Sestig: 1922 – 1982, Vrystaatse Biblioteke, 1982-04-01
[2] http://leroux.afrikaans.be
[3] Portrait of the Artist as a Young Sixtyish, Sunday Times Magazine, 1982-08-22
[4] Magersfontein, O Magersfontein!, Human & Rousseau, 1976
[5] Daardie brief was ook aan my gerig, Kol, 1968-10-05
[6] Só het die Afrikaner sy grootste skrywer verguis, Insig, 1990-02-01
[7] Die Plig van Skrywer en Leser, uit Tussengebied, Perskor, 1980

“Ons bevraagteken beelde vóór ons na hulle luister, ons bevraagteken hulle lukraak. En dan staan ons sprakeloos as die verwagte antwoord nie verskyn nie.” – Paul Nougé, Belgiese Surrealis.

Die Surrealistiese beweging is ‘n eg twintigste-eeuse fenomeen wat die onderbewuste eerder as die bewuste verbeeld. Van groot belang vir die Surrealiste was die Dadaïstiese beweging en die psigoanalitiese navorsing van Sigmund Freud (veral sy boek Die Traumdeutung), en, gevolglik neem Surrealistiese werke reëlmatig ‘n droomagtige vorm aan. ‘n Bekende voorbeeld hiervan is die werke van Salvador Dali, alhoewel Dalí weens sy gebrek aan politieke belangstelling buite die kern van die tradisioneel links-aktiewe Surrealistiese beweging gestaan het.

Surrealisme erf sy aversie vir verteenwoordigende of realistiese kuns by Dadaïsme, maar waar Dadaïste wegskram van betekenis en ‘n boodskap in kuns, verkies die Surrealiste kuns as ‘n kommunikasiemedium. Die betekenis is egter net sigbaar vir die onderbewuste, onder die invloed van Freud se teorieë.

Die oorsprong van die beweging kan teruggevoer word na die Dadaïstiese kunstenaar André Breton, en sy Le Manifeste du Surréalisme van 1924. Sy Manifes open met die stelling: “Ons leef nog steeds onder die heerskappy van logika, maar die logiese prosesse van ons tyd is net van toepassing op die oplossing van probleme van sekondêre belang.” ‘n Jaar later verskyn ‘n verkorte weergawe van die Manifes, onderteken deur die Bureaus de Recherches Surréalistes, bestaande uit, onder andere, Louis Aragon, Max Ernst en Breton self. Hierdie nuwe manifes omvat die gees van die Surrealistiese beweging in die stelling dat Surrealisme nie ‘n nuwe of makliker uitdrukkingsvorm is nie, ook nie metafisiese poësie nie. Dit is ‘n weg tot die volle bevryding van die gees en alles wat daarvan deel uitmaak.

Die invloed van die Surrealistiese beweging was só sterk dat ‘n groot deel van die bekendste kunstenaars van die 20e eeu as Surrealiste beskou kan word – Max Ernst, Joan Miró, Salvador Dalí, Marc Chagall, Marcel Duchamps en dan natuurlik René Magritte.

Magritte (1898 – 1967) se werk deel dieselfde ambisies as dié van die ander vername Surrealiste, maar verskil aansienlik in sy afhanklikheid van alledaagse voorwerpe eerder as Jungiaanse droomsimboliek. Magritte skep ‘n surrealisme in sy werk deur skreiende kontraste: gewone voorwerpe word uitgebeeld in buitengewone en onnatuurlike situasies, byvoorbeeld die jukstaposisie van dag- en nagtonele in L’Empire des lumières.

“My skilderwerk is sigbare beelde wat niks wegsteek nie,” het Magritte gesê, “Hulle ontlok geheimsinnigheid, en, wanneer iemand een van my prente sien, vra ‘n mens inderdaad die eenvoudige vraag: ‘Wat beteken dit’? Dit beteken nie iets nie, want geheimsinnigheid beteken ook nie iets nie, dis onkenbaar.”

Gebore in Hainaut in Franssprekende België, word Margitte gereeld verkeerdelik as ‘n Franse kunstenaar beskryf. Sy studie in Brussel by die Koninklijke Academie voor Schone Kunsten – ook die alma mater van die Belgiese kunstenaar James Ensor – begin in 1914. As grafiese kunstenaar teken Magritte in 1922 veral ontwerpe vir muurpapier, maar in 1926 skep hy sy eerste surrealistiese werk, getiteld Le Jockey Perdu. Sy eerste uitstalling vind in 1927 in Brussel plaas, gevolg deur sy vertrek na Perreux-sur-Marne naby Parys.

Die eenvoud van Magritte se werke is misleidend, maar onder die oppervlak veg ‘n anti-realisme om deur konvensies en logika te breek. Magritte maak nie toegewings nie. Sy bron van inspirasie was die alledaagse – vensters, skoene, bome, stoele, tafels – en die gewone, waar sy tydgenote eerder sou put uit hallusinasies, die okkulte en Kabbalisme. Die voorbewuste self speel vir Magritte ‘n ewe belangrike rol as die onderbewuste self.

Hy het fanaties geveg teen die idee van simboliek in sy werk, en was sterk gekant teen die golf van psigo-analitiese denke wat die Surrealistiese beweging aangedryf het. Sy werke moes buite enige vorm van vertolking staan. “Om te sien is belangrik,” het hy gesê. “Sien moet genoeg wees.”

Dit sou byna ‘n kwart eeu duur voor die wêreld, buite die klein sirkel van die Surrealiste, René Magritte erken vir sy filosofiese inhoud wat aan die spesifieke sosiale en intellektuele strominge van ons tyd uiting gee.

Bronne:

[1] “René Magritte”, deur Abraham Marie Hammacher (Abradale Press, 1995)
[2] “Surrealism”, deur Patrick Waldberg (McGraw-Hill, 1971)

Dus, by wyse van inleiding, vir diegene wat nog steeds nie oor ‘n diepgaande kennis van die Afrikaanse kanon beskik nie, sou ek graag iets oor een van my gunstelingskrywers skryf, met name Karel Schoeman, aan die hand van twee van sy mees bekende werke: “Verkenning” en “‘n Ander land”. Een rede hoekom ek vir Karel Schoeman gekies het, is juis omdat hy ook in Suid-Afrika, behalwe in die akademiese sfeer, relatief onbekend skyn te wees. Hoekom dit so is, is dalk ‘n onderwerp vir ‘n ander opstel maar dit is in ieder geval waar dat sy werk selfs binne die perke van die akademiese wêreld redelik min aandag gekry het.

Ek het hom gekies omdat hy ‘n baie goeie skrywer is en sy werk is, om dit anders te stel, die moeite werd. Maar let wel! Schoeman se oeuvre is nogal groot. Hy is ‘n besonder veelsydige skrywer en is, behalwe romansier, ook skrywer van beide geskiedkundige werke en televisierolprente. Sy fiksie is gekenmerk deur postmodernistiese trekke, met as hooftemas veral onderwerpe soos eensaamheid van die individu teenoor die maatskappy en ‘n sterk belangstelling in die Afrika-kontinent as deel van die Afrikaner se identiteit.

Maar dit sou baie moeilik wees om hier ‘n opsomming van sy werk te probeer gee. Daar is nog talle temas en motiewe wat telkens weer in sy oeuvre behandel word. In hierdie opstel is ek veral geïnteresseerd in die historiese inslag van sy latere werke. Die geskiedenis speel ‘n belangrike rol in Schoeman se werk. Van sy beter bekende romans kan ruweg geklassifiseer word as historiese metafiksie, of historiese fiksie met verwysings, beide eksplisiet en implisiet, na ander literêre bronne. Hierdie term suggereer ook dat sy werk op verskillende vlakke gelees kan word. In boeke soos “Verkenning”, “Verliesfontein” en op ‘n vroeëre stadium “‘n Ander land” spreek hy die problematiek van geskiedskrywing en die kwessie van noukeurigheid en die waarheid van geskrewe geskiedenis aan.

Hy suggereer dat om ‘n ware idee van die geskiedenis te kry, moet ‘n mens al jou sintuie, maar veral jou geheue, jou verbeelding en jou gevoel inspan ten einde ‘n werkliker beeld van die verlede te kan skep. ‘n Mens kan nie sommer ware gegewens (datums, plekname, geboorteregisters) raadpleeg as mens ‘n ware gevoel vir die verlede wil skep nie. ‘n Mens moet probeer om jou op een of ander manier in die geskiedenis in te dink, in te lewe en betrokke te raak by historiese gebeure voor jy hieroor kan skryf. Schoeman skryf self in sy boek “Verkenning” dat ‘n mens teen die donkerte in moet “beur”. Hierdie donkerte verteenwoordig die geskiedenis wat terselfdertyd vir altyd verby is, maar ook nog heel lewendig in die kollektiewe geheue bly. ‘n Mens moet moeite doen om die geskiedenis te kan begryp en ‘n mens moet veral bedag wees op die spore wat deur die “geskiedenis” agtergelaat word. Die implisiete betekenis van hierdie strewe is die idee dat, in die woorde van Santyana, “as die verlede nie opgeskryf word nie, is mens verdoem om dit te herleef”, en dus by implikasie moet ‘n mens probeer om die verlede te begryp op ‘n persoonlike, nie net ‘n teoretiese vlak nie.

As die geskiedenis gereduseer word tot slegs name en datums, sodra ‘n mens vergeet dat dit regte mense was wat daartoe bygedra het, bestaan die gevaar dat die mensheid uit arrogansie of selfs uit blote onkunde steeds dieselfde foute sal maak. Daar bestaan dus ‘n sekere drang, ‘n verpligting, by wyse van skrywe, op ons om te probeer om die geskiedenis noukeurig op te skryf en sodoende te onthou.

VERKENNING

In “Verkenning” beskryf Schoeman die ervarings van ‘n Nederlander (hy bly naamloos deur die hele boek) wat tydens die Bataafse bewind aan die Kaap aankom op pad na Nederlands Indië toe om daar ‘n betrekking by die V.O.C. aan te neem. As seun van ‘n pastoor in Nederland en toekomstige amptenaar by die V.O.C. word hy met groot plegtigheid deur die klein Kaapse elite verwelkom.

Ondanks die aandag wat hy kry, verraai sy beskouings oor die “Kaapenaars” sy minagting vir hierdie klein, agterwêreldse kolonie met sy verouderde tradisies en sy “verwronge Nederlands.” Sy opvoeding as seun van ‘n dominee in Nederland en sy opleiding in die regte het hom nie voorberei op hierdie kolonie wat nie regtig ‘n kolonie meer is nie. Die koloniste wat hy daar ontmoet, beantwoord inderdaad nie aan die tradisionele beeld van koloniste nie, want dit lyk asof hulle in die tussentyd heelwat verander het van hulle oorspronklike Europese voorsate.

Des te meer verrassend is dat die reisiger teen sy verwagtings, en dalk sy beterwete in, ‘n opdrag van die Goewerneur van die Kaap aanvaar om ‘n deel van die binneland, tot daardie stadium nog nooit in kaart gebring nie, te verken (vandaar een van die betekenisse van die titel van die boek). Aldus begin sy verkenningstog in die binneland van Suid Afrika. Opvallend hier is die feit dat die mense wat hy op pad ontmoet steeds minder na Europeërs lyk namate hy die binneland binnedring. Hy sien en ervaar dat hulle besig is om in ‘n ander nasionaliteit te verander, al noem hy dit nie uitdruklik nie.

Ondanks sy aanvanklike gevoelens t.o.v. hierdie nuwe land raak hy algaande gewoond aan die andersheid van Suid-Afrika. Hy raak gewoond aan die omgangswyse van die mense met wie hy gesels. Hy begin hulle taal verstaan en sodoende begin hy ook hulle gebare van vriendelikheid en gasvryheid te erken. Hy begin selfs tot ‘n sekere mate hulle leefstyl begryp, alhoewel hy nooit regtig daaraan deelneem nie.

Schoeman het hier ‘n hooffiguur geskep wat eintlik baie min van sy eie gevoelens prysgee. Die reisiger se houding teenoor sy medemens word aanvanklik beperk tot sy soms sarkastiese, en ander keer positiewe opmerkings oor die lewenswyse van die Afrikaners wat hy ontmoet en tot beskrywings van sy omgewing, die weersomstandighede, die natuur, ens. Miskien word die persoonlikheid van die reisiger só beskryf om die klemtoon te verskuif van die verteller na die verteller se omgewing en na die mense wat hy op pad ontmoet.

Die reisiger se beskrywings van sy omgewing word in die loop van die narratief al hoe sintuigliker, al hoe fyngevoeliger. Inderdaad, sy gevoelens teenoor die fisiese werklikhede van Suid-Afrika, die veld, die klippe, die sand, en bome getuig van sy stadige gewoond raak aan die hele land en sy inwoners. Dit is juis hierdie poëtiese inslag, hierdie eerlike poging om die topografie van Suid-Afrika te beskryf, enersyds, en andersyds, Schoeman se beskrywing van die inwoners van Suid-Afrika en hoe hulle besig is om ‘n eie kultuur te ontwikkel, wat indrukwekkend is in hierdie boek.

‘N ANDER LAND

“‘n Ander land”, ook ‘n boek oor ‘n soort verkenning van Suid-Afrika deur ‘n buitelander, en weer eens ‘n Nederlander van welgestelde afkoms, toon ook hierdie soort geleidelik gewoond raak aan Suid-Afrika. Hier gaan dit eweneens om die ontdekkingsreis van ‘n buitelander en ‘n geleidelike besef dat Suid-Afrika nie meer ‘n kolonie van Nederland of van Europa is nie, maar eerder ‘n hele nuwe is land wat besig is om ‘n eie identiteit te ontwikkel.

Die reisiger (in hierdie geval het hy ‘n naam: Versluis) en hoofpersoon van die roman gaan teen die einde van die 19e eeu na Bloemfontein omdat hy aan tuberkulose ly en hoop dat die warm weer en die droë lug van Suid-Afrika tot sy herstel sal bydra. Net soos die Ek-verteller in “Verkenning” is sy aanvanklike reaksie op die nuwe land krities. In teenstelling met die Ek-verteller in “Verkenning” is sy aankoms in Bloemfontein, hoewel op ‘n manier plegtig, alles behalwe aangenaam. Vanweë die moeilike reis in die geselskap van onder andere die ietwat opdringerige mnr. Hirsch, ‘n algemene handelaar en “socialite” in Bloemfontein, neem Versluis se tuberkulose hom stewig beet. Hy raak koorsagtig en sweef tussen bewussyn en floute en uiteindelik beland hy met sy aankoms in Bloemfontein in ‘n hotelbed in die stadsentrum waar hy versorg word deur die hotel se Duitse bestuurderes, ene mev. Schröder. (Die hotel blyk ‘n soort hospies te wees vir gesondheidsreisigers, soos mnr. Versluis, vir wie die reis na Bloemfontein waarskynlik hul laaste gaan wees).

Versluis word stadig maar seker ‘n bietjie beter, al ly hy nog steeds aan tuberkulose en na enkele weke verhuis hy na ‘n kamer aan huis van die Van der Vliet familie, een van die mees vooraanstaande gesinne in Bloemfontein. Terwyl sy gesondheid effens verbeter, voel hy nog nie heeltemal tuis in hierdie nuwe land nie. Hy weerhou hom om deel te neem aan die provinsiaal maar wel lewendige sosiale lewe van die klein hoofstad, en hy ontwyk, soveel as moontlik, die nuuskierige aandag van die Bloemfonteinse gemeenskap. Hy vind die voortdurende verpligting om met nuwe nuuskierige mense te verkeer lastig. Telkens soek hy die salige afsondering van sy eensame kamer. By gemeenskaplike geleenthede neem hy waar, luister hy, maar hy neem nie regtig daaraan deel nie. Sy interpersoonlike kontak met die inwoners van Bloemfontein is tot ‘n baie laat stadium van sy verblyf in Bloemfontein byna uitsluitlik beperk tot die oppervlakkige uitruiling van beskaafde gemeenplase en selfs sy kontak met ander Nederlanders in Bloemfontein word tot ‘n minimum gehou.

“‘n Ander land” handel oor die eensaamheid van die individu, die onsekerheid van die menslike bestaan, en angs vir die dood. Telkens in die loop van Versluis se gedagtegang kry ‘n mens die gevoel dat hy nie alleen omrede sy siekte maar ook weens sy hele persoonlikheid nie in staat is om die muur van eensaamheid te deurbreek en ‘n verband te lê met hierdie nuwe wêreld nie. Hierdie afsondering dien nie net as ‘n manier om bogenoemde vraagstukke te behandel nie. ‘n Ander funksie van die afstand tussen die Ek-verteller en sy omgewing is om vir hom die moontlikheid te skep om ‘n meer onpartydige beskrywing van sy omgewing te kan gee. Dit is presies hierdie afstand van die gebeure wat om hom heen plaasvind wat die moontlikheid skep vir Versluis om die lewe in die negentiende-eeuse Bloemfontein duideliker te kan omskryf. Dus, hoewel, die leser moet probeer om sy geestelike vermoëns in te span ten einde ‘n duideliker beeld van die destydse Bloemfontein te skep, is dit ook die plig van die verteller om ‘n afstand te hou van sy onderwerp en sodoende ‘n meer noukeurige en onpartydige weergawe van die feite te lewer.

SLOT

Versluis is, nes sy voorganger in “Verkenning” (‘n voorganger in terme van die tyd waarin die gebeure plaasvind. Eintlik is “Verkenning” veel later geskryf) blykbaar ook ‘n lid van die hoëre stande van die Nederlandse maatskappy. Dit blyk onder andere uit die talle verwysings na sy leefstyl tuis in Nederland waar hy ‘n persoonlike bediende het (‘n “butler”) en waar hy gereeld na sy “gentlemen’s club” gaan en so aan. En net soos die reisiger figuur in “Verkenning” is dit presies hierdie konfrontasie tussen ‘n “beskaafde” Europeër met Europeërs wat juis nie meer Europeërs is nie, maar wat besig is om Suid-Afrikaans te word, wat moeilik is vir hom om te verwerk. Maar hoe langer hulle albei daar bly, hoe meer raak hulle gewoond aan die andersheid van hierdie afgeleë uithoek van die “beskawing”. Schoeman beskryf hierdie proses van kennismaking en gewoond raak aan Afrika op ‘n baie poëtiese en intense manier en dit is miskien juis hierdie fyngevoeligheid ten opsigte van sowel mense as hul omgewing wat Schoeman van so vele van sy tydgenote onderskei.

BRONNELYS

[1] Burger, Willie, VERHALE OOR VANMELEWE SE DAE, Afrikaanse Letterkunde Seminarie, Limburgse Universiteit Centrum, Julie 2002
[2] Roos, Henriette, BREUKLIJNEN IN DE AFRIKAANSE LETTERKUNDE 1990-1999, www.deusexmachina.be. (in vertaling)
[3] Schoeman, Karel, VERKENNING,
[4] Schoeman, Karel, ‘N ANDER LAND
[5] PERSPEKTIEF EN PROFIEL, 2001
[6] Van Vuuren, Helize, Op die limiete, LITERATOR

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Edward Burke het opleiding gekry in Germaanse Tale by Trinity College, Dublin en het daarna ‘n honneursgraad in Internasionale Betrekkinge behaal by Dublin City University. Hy is tans besig om sy M.A. verhandeling te skryf oor Karel Schoeman en J.M. Coetzee. Hy bly in Dublin.

Hulle hou meteens op om te beweeg en te praat as hy onder die lig verskyn en ‘n hele gerei van dieregesigte draai hulle snoete en glasoë na hom toe: bere, leeus, varke, bokke, akkedisse, koggelmanders, paddas, katte en honde. Dan begin almal hande klap, en ‘n kolossale beer sê: “Welkom, Henry. Welkom in ons midde.”

‘n Takbokkie in ‘n silwer bikini kom te voorskyn en gaan voor Henry staan terwyl die ligte op haar skyn. Die silwer blink en vestig sy aandag op die welomhulde sacrum, acetabulum, pubis en coccyx. Sy haak by hom in en die horinkies kom skaars by sy skouers. Hulle lyk ‘n pragtige paar, hierdie twee, soos iets uit ‘n volkslegende, die mooi jong prins en sy woudbruid.

“A!” sê die beer Silberstein. “Hoe mooi! Maar waar is jou horings?” Hy wag nie op ‘n antwoord nie. “Beweeg tussen ons gaste, julle twee.” En hy omarm ‘n verbygaande kat met slank bene wat tevergeefs uit sy greep probeer kom.

Sy loop liggies langs hom en haar hand lê stil in syne. Sy volg hom volkome, asof hulle dans, en hy kan die bewegings van haar ledemate teen syne voel. Hulle sink weg in die gras en langs die swembad weerkaats hulle beelde blou in die water. In volkome swye wentel hulle in en uit tussen die gaste en die tablo’s van hulle kaperjolle. Maar wat kan jy vir jou beminde sê as sy volkome gesigloos is? Hy trek haar nog stywer teen hom aan en vind voorlopig genoegsame kommunikasie in die liggaamlike aanraking. Al sou hulle nou praat, sou die gesprekke, met die toevallige openbaring van die toevallige persoonlikheid van die toevallige oomblik, gering wees voor hierdie dieper verbintenis van die liggaam. Daarom praat hulle nie en Henry en Salome wandel in harmonieuse swye deur die betowerde landskap.

Maar dit duur nie lank nie, of hulle word voorgekeer deur twee ou uile. Twee mae hang rustig oor bikini’s, oumansknieknoppe klop teen mekaar, en die bene, ongerep deur enige son, blink wit in die lig.

“A! Meneer van Eeden,” sê die een. “U is seker verbaas om ons hier te sien?” Hy buig in die rigting van die takbokkie en wend hom weer tot Henry. “Maar ons van Bishopscourt is nie onbekend met die kunste nie. Wie dink u sal die skilderye koop wat hierdie jong klomp skilder as ons dit nie doen nie? Dis wel waar dat ons dikwels eers koop nadat die kunswerk as sodanig erken word, maar ons betaal in harde munt genoeg vir ons gebrek aan voorafkennis.”

‘n Gevulde glasie sjampanje verdwyn êrens onder die snawel en verskyn weer ongevul. Twee enorme uiloë staar bewegingloos na Henry.

“Jock Silberstein vertel egter dat u geïnteresseerd is in die begrip van goed en kwaad. Nou, ek moet sê, vir iemand van u jare het u ‘n onverwagte” (hy beklemtoon die woorde) “en diepsinnige belangstelling in die menswees met al sy vertakkinge. Dit strek u tot u eer.” ‘n Pouwyfie met mooi bene trek sy aandag maar verloor dit as sy op die rug van ‘n leeu gelig word. “Daar is egter ‘n paar ander stellings van Jock wat ek wil kritiseer en ek hoop u sal met my saamstem.”

Henry knik en trek Salome stywer teen hom aan. Daar is niks so lekker as bedekte liefkosings in die aangesig van die konvensionele oomblik nie.

“Volgens Jock se beskrywing van die malum as ‘n ontbering strook dit met die Christelike opvatting,” sê die uil. “Kwaad is dan ‘n privatio boni. Maar waar hy praat van die twee teenoorgestelde pole (goed en kwaad) wat mekaar balanseer, dwaal hy.”

Hy beweeg sy kop na die ander uil wat aandagtig die gesprek met pieringoë volg.

“Hy verwar ook die begrip,” vervolg hy, “deur té veel aan kwaad as iets positiefs te dink. Sal ‘n normale mens wat die kennis het van goed en kwaad só onnosel wees om kwaad ter wille van kwaad na te jaag? Daar is ‘n teorie dat Satan self, in sy verset teen God, gelykheid met die Skepper geëis het en wel dat die gewone sterwelinge hulle saligheid van hom moet kry. Hy wou die enigste bron van goed wees.”

Henry voel hoe Salome effens van hom weg beweeg; die glasoë van die takbok is in die rigting van die ander gaste gedraai. Maar die uil se stem word nou sterker en dwing sy aandag terug.

“Kwaad bly dus negatief volgens ons Christelike opvatting, en is geen onafwendbare teenoorgestelde pool van goed nie. Satan vorm geen deel van ‘n mistieke quadratum nie.” Hy kyk na die ander uil en die twee, teenoor mekaar, lyk soos twee opgestopte diere in ‘n museum.

Marais arrived in the Waterberg in 1907, when he was 36. He left it early in 1916, never to return.

During those years, he found brief happiness, even though towards the end of the period, drug-dependence plunged him into new depths of despair.

During the same eight years he collected the material for at least three books which were to become famous. They were My Friends the Baboons, The Soul of the White Ant and Dwaalstories (Wandering Tales).

A fourth book, The Soul of the Ape, completed in 1919, might just have made him world famous if it had been published then, but in fact half a century was to pass before it appeared in book form in 1969, 33 years after his death.

Marais was born in Pretoria in 1871. Although the capital of the Zuid-Afrikaansche Republiek was little more than a village then, it was soon to start growing rapidly, especially after the discovery of gold in 1886.

By 1890 Marais, then only 19 years old, became the editor of Land en Volk, the only Pretoria newspaper to oppose President Paul Kruger.

At the age of 20, he became co-owner of the paper, and soon afterwards its sole proprietor.

Influenced by De Quincey’s Confessions of an English Opium Eater, one of the classics of the 19th century, Marais started taking morphine, an opium derivative, when he was 21. In 1895 his beautiful young wife died in childbirth, leaving behind a baby son. There may be truth in the popular idea that this was a blow from which he never quite recovered.

In 1897 Marais was admitted to the Inner Temple in London, obtaining a degree in law about five years later. During this time he also acquired some knowledge of medicine.

In South Africa the Anglo-Boer War had broken out. In 1902 Marais joined an expedition to smuggle medical supplies and ammunition to the Boer forces via East Africa, but the end of the war also put an end to the expedition, which by this time had reached Beira.

Marais seems to have made a good deal of money from his newspaper (before the Anglo-Boer War) as well as from his practice as an advocate after his return from London.

He was regarded as a wealthy man when he settled in the Waterberg in 1907.

What he seems to have sought there was a retreat from the world and its weary round. By this time he was 36, a deeply disillusioned man.

Marais soon went to live on the farm Rietfontein, the property of Oom Gys and Tant Maria van Rooyen.

In a classic essay, The Road to Waterberg, he has left a description of what it was like to be taken there early in the 20th century from Nylstroom by an acquaintance, Dolf Erasmus: “The horses had to be fed before we started. It was decided that we should travel by night so as to reach our destination in the central hills of Waterberg somewhere about sunrise.

“While we waited, darkness succeeded dusk and the little village sank into dreamy quietness. Lights began to twinkle through the windows. From one cottage came the notes of a piano and across the river the jackals howled incessantly. It seemed the very line of contact between civilization and the wilderness – the little ‘stream of Nile’ serving as a common frontier.”

Which reminds one that the first Voortrekkers, having trekked so far north, thought that they had reached one of the streams which fed the Nile.

Today it is an easy trip.

Head north on the N1 (Kranskop Toll Road) from Pretoria or Johannesburg and pass Warmbaths and Nylstroom. Then turn west on the R520 at Naboomspruit and you soon reach a tourist haven at the mineral springs. This is what used to be lovely Rietfontein, where Marais lived for eight years in a stoepkamer.

Behind the farmhouse lay some low hills where he would stroll between the numerous termite mounds to watch the white ants at work. The observations he made here were later to form the nucleus of Die Siel van die Mier (translated as The Soul of the White Ant).

About 8km from Rietfontein, on the way to Nylstroom, lay the farm Doornhoek. A tin mine was established here during Marais’ sojourn.

On this farm, too, lay the Bobbejaankloof, which was home to a troop of about 300 baboons. Marais and a friend stayed for some time in a shack in the kloof to be near the primates they were studying.

Their observations and the insights Marais gained from them formed the basis of a serious work later to be called The Soul of the Ape.

They also led to a more popular work, Burgers van die Berge (My Friends the Baboons), first published in book form in 1938, two years after Marais’ death.

On a Friday or Saturday evening the horses drawing Marais’ Cape cart could usually be seen trotting from Rietfontein to the hotel at Naboomspruit, where the owner, Armstrong, and remittance men like Leroyd and Graves would wait for Marais to join them. Remittance men were the black sheep of prominent British families who were paid a sizeable allowance on condition that they stayed in the colonies and did not show their faces at home.

“They often played poker until two o’clock in the morning,” Marais’ son told me more than 30 years ago.

“Apart from Armstrong, Graves and Leroyd, there was also a police sergeant, a certain De Beer. I remember De Beer always having a water glass full of brandy for every tot the others ordered.”

Less frequently, Marais would visit Nylstroom, a larger village, where one of his friends was Emil Tamsen. He had come to the Waterberg from Germany when he was 16 and now had a shop, with the nature of its wares, including curios, indicated by a stuffed 3.7m-long crocodile mounted above the shop front.

Wild animals from all over the Waterberg were brought to Tamsen’s farm, Tweefontein, about 13km from Nylstroom, and then shipped to the famous game park Carl Hagenbeck had set up near Hamburg, Germany.

Another close friend Marais made in Nylstroom was Ebrahim Ravat, then known throughout the Waterberg simply as “Abram Koelie”.

Descendants of Ravat told me that besides supplying Marais with opium, he took the drug himself – which may partly account for the hefty prices (up to 20 golden sovereigns for a pound of opium) he charged.

Rietfontein was visited from time to time by Ou Hendrik, a wandering Bushman (or San). Marais listened to his tales and transmuted them into Dwaalstories , a slim and unforgettable collection.

They are unique, for in them, it seems to me, Marais somehow managed to glimpse from the inside the Khoisan world of myth and fantasy as it still existed in the early 1900s. No other writer has succeeded in doing this.

Some 4km west of Rietfontein lay Welgevonden, home of old Van Deventer, whose daughter-in-law, Hessie, Marais induced by means of hypnosis to “walk” after a paralysis of 17 years.

When I was last in the Waterberg there was still a drif called Hessie-se-water. This was where Hessie had got off the ox-wagon after a furious quarrel with her husband, Jossie, and declared “I will not walk again”.

The paralysis of her legs had been psychosomatic.

Beyond Welgevonden one could pass through Bokpoort and reach the true Waterberg, a deeply scarred region of ravines and krantzes. Here, at the foot of the Hangklip mountain on the Palala Plateau, on the farm Purekrans, lived Piet van Rooyen, brother of Gys, not far from the source of the Palala River. Marais went there to treat Oom Piet’s illness, and this is where he met the old man’s son, Hans Purekrans van Rooyen, who became his lifelong friend.

Sixteen years after the publication of Die Groot Verlange, Marais’ life story, I began a fresh investigation (published as Eugène Marais and the Darwin Syndrome) into Marais’ importance as a pioneering ethologist. I concluded that it was mainly the long-delayed publication of The Soul of the Ape which denied him the fame that was his due.

In 1948, 12 years after Marais’ death, Tinbergen reformulated Marais’ extremely important concept of the phyletic (inborn) and causal (acquired) memory.

Thirteen years later still, in 1961, Washburn and De Vore published a lengthy article, “The social life of baboons”, in the Scientific American. Though some of their observations were contested, they were feted as the first serious observers of baboons in the wild (meaning not in captivity), a title which surely Marais had earned 50 years before. His notes on baboon behaviour in The Soul of the Ape are regarded as honest and reliable by modern ethologists.

When The Soul of the Ape was finally published in 1969, it was too late.

Four years later Von Frisch, Lorenz and Tinbergen shared the Nobel prize for medicine and physiology for having opened a new field of science, ethology.

The name of Eugène Marais, pioneering ethologist, was not mentioned. But a time came in Marais’ life that he did not care a hoot about such matters.

Marais has now been dead for 64 years. None of the buildings on Rietfontein remain – perhaps not even their ruins.

Oom Gys and Tant Maria, their children and even many of their grandchildren have long passed away. Yet the old farm springs to life as fresh as the morning sunrise in one of Marais’ best-known poems:

Wanneer dit reën op Rietfontein
en deur die stof ‘n straal van groen verskyn…
dan sit oom Gysbert op die stoep alleen
Hy adem sag die geur
gemeng van stof en reën…
Van agter uit die groot kombuis
Kom daar aanhoudend die gesuis
Van kole op die vuurherd aangeblaas
Van pot en pan die klinkende geraas -
Dis net so seker as die boek,
Tant Malie bak nou pannekoek!

Rietfontein, the Waterberg itself, lives today partly because Eugène Marais was there.

Rousseau is the author of The Dark Stream, the Story of Eugene Marais, originally published as Die Groot Verlange.

This year the Federation of Afrikaans Cultural Associations organized a festival, lasting seven weeks, to celebrate the ‘Wonder of Afrikaans’. Essentially a festival that is South African in character, it will nevertheless be spoken of beyond the country’s borders, not only where Afrikaners find themselves, but where Afrikaans is used as in some African territories, and in Holland and Belgium, where it is understood.

Afrikaans, as a language with its roots in Europe, has an unusual history. It developed rapidly at the Cape and spread all over South Africa. More than that, though a Germanic tongue, it did not hesitate to shed the inflections common to the Germanic group. Perhaps the reason was that, in its initial growth, it was a spoken language of the people and therefore not confined by the niceties of dictionaries and grammars, conservative in their action. In this simplification, later defined by normal rules when it was accepted as a written language, it has joined the ranks of the most evolved of modern languages.

From its beginnings as the tongue of a vigorous people of Western culture, it has been adequate to express most ideas commonly current; indeed, as examination of the first volumes of the great new dictionary shows, it has been ever ready in adapting or coining terms to describe the essentially South African scene. In its use of technical terms it has had to follow another course, and boldly at that, so that technical terms for the complexities of the modern sciences and their application are being devised and spread with thoroughness.

Characteristic of Afrikaans is its wealth or idiom, most being derived from life as it is lived in the South Africa milieu from day to day. Often picturesque and always graphically descriptive, they reflect the very soul of the Afrikaner people and the experience of three centuries of life on the African continent.

The fiftieth anniversary of the foundation of the South African Academy for Science and Art has inspired the nation-wide festival of the Afrikaans language on the theme of ‘the Wonder of Afrikaans’, For me there are three wonders: (1) That of the existence of Afrikaans; (2) that of the rapid advance of Afrikaans as the language of a culture, and (3) that of its remarkable literary achievements within half a century.

THE NAME

The name of our language is intimately connected with the name of our people and is, indeed, derived from it. The name of Afrikaner lies within the field of recent history, for according to Theal it had acquired its ordinary meaning by 1735 and must al ready have connoted the idea of a separate people.

As early as 1707 Hendrik Bibault had proclaimed: ‘I am an Afrikaner. In any event, opinions about the word ‘Afrikaner’ as the appellation of a people diverge considerably in writings that date between 1806 and 1860. Many travel writers and diarists of that period speak of ‘Cape Dutch’, and it is exceptional for any other word to be used for the inhabitants of the Southern portion of Africa whose language was the then I current ‘Dutch’.

But in the second half of the 19th century Afrikaner became the honourable title of the white inhabitants of South Africa, quickly gaining ground with the national awakening of the Afrikaner people at the Cape after 1875 and the founding of the Society of True Afrikaners. Afrikaner is the designation to-day of everyone, whoever he might be, born in South Africa and looking upon the country as his home. Indeed, the word Afrikaner can no longer be translated into English.

Afrikaans as the name of the language is not old. If we have to date its acceptance, we should give 1870. It owes its origin to Afrikaner, and its first use was adjectival: It was not then a noun. And the word Afrikaans makes great claims: it would connote the language of Africa as a whole, though it is spoken only in the south. That is why Hollanders so often speak of ‘Zuid-Afrikaansch’, for more precise localization.

Afrikaans has had several competitors, but of them we shall name only Kaapsch-Hollands or Cape Dutch, Kaaps, laag-Hollands, Boeren-Kaapsch, the Taal, and Boer Dutch. As these appellations may to-day be regarded as spent coin, we pass on with no further remarks.

Although Afrikaans, as far as I can ascertain, was first used as a written word by Dr. Pannevis in 1872 in a letter about the Bible in Afrikaans in De Zuid-Afrikaner, it might well have been used earlier.

THE WONDER OF ITS EXISTENCE

C. J. Langenhoven described Afrikaans as ‘the one and only white man’s language fashioned in South Africa and not brought ready-made over the sea, imbued with the love and the suffering of all that our forefathers had been through, in the struggle that ended in triumph, the one bond that binds us together as a nation, the expressed soul of our people.’

The wonder of the existence of Afrikaans lies in this, that throughout history no other instance is known of a Germanic language changing so rapidly and radically into an independent language.

Philologists have come to the conclusion that the dialects of 17th century Dutch transplanted to the Cape by colonists from every level of society, displayed tendencies in the first half of the 18th century sufficiently divergent from Dutch to justify talk of a separate language. Some say that about 1700 Afrikaans had already acquired its form, others that by 1750 it was possible to speak of Afrikaans, or at any rate of a proto-Afrikaans, and all that in the few years since 1652 when Jan van Riebeeck had landed at the Cape with his band of officials to found a refreshment station for the Dutch East India Company.

Let us, then, take 1725 as a date between the two and say that at about that time we can without any doubt set the appearance of Afrikaans. There are a few direct witnesses to justify researchers in this deduction. In any event, Afrikaans must naturally have attained its independence as a language before the Great Trek of 1836, otherwise there would not have been the remarkable degree of uniformity in the language as found over so wide an area.

In the account of his journeyings, (1803-1806) H. Lichtenstein says directly that the people use a ‘clipped, powerful Afrikaans-Dutch language’. But there is older evidence: the German soldier-schoolmaster Mentzel reports in the period from 1733 to 1741 an increasing use of the word ons (we) instead of wij at the Cape. From similar evidence it can be calculated when Afrikaans assumed its definite form.

The great difference between Afrikaans and Dutch is not in the vocabulary but in the formal aspect of inflections. In contrast with such forms of loop as lope, loopt, lopen, leep, leept, leepen, and gelopen, Afrikaans merely has loop and geloop. In contrast with de and het (the) Afrikaans has merely die. Afrikaans is therefore economical, and this economy has led many to think that Afrikaans is poor simply because it has fewer inflections than Dutch. They forget that modern Dutch, compared to the Dutch of the Middle Ages, gives the same impression of poverty, that Danish and English have hardly any inflexions left and certainly are not poor. It is one of the most interesting phenomena in the lives of languages that the older the documentation, the richer the inflection. The development of language from the earliest times until to-day is in the simplification of formal elements. It is the normal process.

There is nothing unnatural when languages take the road of deflection; this process of simplification is by no means exhausted in our language. Yet in regard to Afrikaans one circumstance makes it difficult to accept that the defleclionary and analytical trend is to be ascribed to the usual laws of internal growth. There is one thing that arouses the suspicion that abnormal factors have been at work: the surprisingly short time which Afrikaans took to discard suffixes, which all happened in the course of two or three generations. In 1657 the first free burghers received land; about 1725 it was obvious enough that a new language had been born at the Cape differing entirely in formal and other aspects from the original language. To repeat: in all history no other instance is known of a Germanic language changing normally in so radical a manner.

The cause of the acceleration of the process must be sought. It is possible that it was another language. The learned have propounded various theories: one has said that Afrikaans changed so much under the Hottentot influence, another finds the cause in the French of the Huguenots, a third in German, a fourth in the language of the slaves, a patois of Portuguese and Malay words and phrases.

Over against these are others who say that Afrikaans owes its existence to the mixture of dialects, or the natural development of Dutch dialects, without the braking influence of schools, books, and intimate contact with the mother country.

To-day most of the learned follow a sort of middle course. They believe that, where Afrikaans was not shaped in its natural, spontaneous growth by internal laws, its shape was affected, or the change was accelerated, by external factors such as the general intercourse of Hollanders speaking Dutch with other people, slaves included, who were learning Dutch. In any event, preference must be given to the explanation by internal development, for it is just as possible as external influence. The two causes naturally operate at the same time. If the early researchers had paid more attention to the dropping of inflections and less to vocabulary, we should to-day be more advanced in our study of the language.

THE WONDER OF THE RAPID RISE OF AFRIKAANS AS A LITERARY LANGUAGE

The second wonder is the elevation of Afrikaans, once regarded as a language fit for the kitchen, to a cultural language, and that within half a century.

‘In our wonderful Afrikaans, born from the lowly necessities and the rough soul of the countryman without privilege, the farmer and his tenants, the shepherd and the labourer, in which you can express anything, from the lowest to the highest, from the most ugly to the most beautiful, from the foulest to the purest, better than in all the highly developed languages of the world, have I found my pearl of great price’, is the testimonial of C. J. Langenhoven in My Share in the Language Struggle.

Let us now review briefly the elevation of Afrikaans to a cultural language.

OLDEST WRITINGS

All spoken languages have had a long history as such before being reduced to writing. This has also occurred with Afrikaans. The learned used to view typical Afrikaans with its departure from the normal, as a ‘wrong’ form of Dutch. As a result, no-one thought of writing the ‘wrong’ form before about 1860, and therefore passages in the language of the people, before that time, are rare.

For all that, in 1795 we find a song, to a well-known tune, in which the writer, a champion of the Orange cause, makes fun of the rash Commandant Delpoort and his men who came from Swellendam and elsewhere to drive the English invaders from the Cape, but forgetting their bombast and running away when the first shell burst among them.

The author not only ridicules the ‘heroes’ but also their unusual speech, the Afrikaans language, and the satirical Song in Honour of the Swellendam and various others Heroes at the Bloody Action at Muizenberg is therefore our oldest known piece intentionally in Afrikaans.

These deviations from the norm of local tendencies in language occur more commonly about 1823. For health reasons M. D. Teenstra stayed some weeks in the country in 1823 and in his Fruit of my Labours he mentions the language and reproduces a dialogue in Cape Dutch to show his fellow-countrymen in Holland what it was like.

In 1830 there appeared on the scene a Frenchman who had become an Afrikaner, Charles Etienne Boniface, and he sent a letter in Hottentot-Afrikaans to the paper De Zuid-Afrikaan. Two years later, in 1832, Boniface wrote the first original play in the country, The New Order of Knights, in which he made fun of teetotallers. In it there appear from time to time argumentative Coloured people, and Boniface makes them speak in their own form of Afrikaans.

About 1835 two Britons, Rex and Bain, wrote a monologue called Kaatje Kekkelbek; part is sung, part recited. Kaatje, the Hottentot girl, uses Hottentot-Afrikaans in the spoken parts, and in the sung parts a mixture of Afrikaans and English. She comes on to the stage playing a Jew’s-harp, introducing herself thus:

My name is Kaatje Kekkelbek,
I come from Kat Rivier,
Daar’s van water geen gebrek,
But scarce of wine and beer.

We now come to a very important person in the history of the language: Louis Henri Meurant (1811-1893). His Dutch newspaper, Het Kaapsche Grensblad (The Cape Border Newspaper) began soon after 1844 to publish pieces, especially letters, in Afrikaans, most of them being by Meurant himself. His letters are in a pithy Afrikaans. In 1860 he was magistrate of Cradock and a fiery champion of the partition of the Eastern Province of the Cape and the Western Province. He pleaded this cause vigorously in the local paper, The Cradock News, and in 1861 his contributions were collected in book form as Zamenspraak tusschen Klaas Waarzegger en Jan Twyfelaar (Conversation between Nick Truthteller and John Doubter). And there we have the first book in Afrikaans!

In the same year Meurant wrote a series of letters in Het Cradocksche Nieuwsblad (The Cradock Newspaper) describing the progress of the debate in Parliament on the subject of partition. Prom the literary point of view these letters are far superior to the Zamenspraak – they are human reports of fine quality. The letters were republished in other papers, read avidly, and followed with enthusiasm.

In the Orange Free State, in The Friend, there existed an unknown urge to write in ‘Boer Dutch’. It was the result of Meurant’s brilliant use of the language, especially his witty use of his material, which brought it out. It was Meurant who stimulated the use of the language in the Press. He unleashed a hitherto unrealized desire to write and started a movement which increased incredibly in tempo.

In 1861 appeared the first book of verse in Afrikaans, religious in subject and by D. C. Esterhuyse. Thenceforward the number of letters and dialogues grew so fast that it is impossible to name them individually. Between 1861 and 1875, when the next phase begins with the foundation of the Genootskap van Regte Afrikaners (the Society of True Afrikaners) pieces in Afrikaans had claimed space in practically every Dutch and bilingual newspaper and periodical.

ANGLICIZATION

Afrikaners at the Cape had by the 1870′s gone so far along the road to anglicization that it is a wonder that they were saved at all. It was the Dutch culture that had to be anglicized, for in 1806 the Cape had passed into English hands, where previously in had been in the possession of Holland and enjoyed a culture that came from Holland. The English way of life had found root on South African soil.

The circumstances were in the main as follows: the established White population was unilingual, speaking Dutch, and the ruling class, occupying the key positions, was also unilingual, speaking English. This led to attempts at reform, with conflicts emanating from the attempts. The British Government for its part did much to attract English immigrants in order to establish a settled English- speaking population, and on their part the Dutch opposed anglicization.

As far as the policy was concerned, it led among other things to the arrival of the British Settlers of 1820 in the Eastern Province. Until then, the Dutch element had had to deal with the less advanced Native races, but thenceforward they had to deal with a nation of fellow White men; in the past they had absorbed all White immigrants, but the English had the spiritual strength to resist absorption.

As the English section ruled and occupied the country, its members had a strong feeling of individuality, and even superiority, which was the dynamic in the maintenance of language, religion, customs, and way of life. Although they were at first a small percentage of the White population, they were immediately a civilizing factor of importance and their influence was felt. This was especially so in the sphere of entertainment (balls, horse-racing) and local government (district and road boards, municipalities, and participation in the central government).

Coupled with this was the fact that cultural ties with Holland were being severed one after the other, while the new colony was being drawn closer to England in every way.

It is obvious that the authorities not only did everything to bring out British colonists, but also fostered British thought among the rest of the White population. This took the form of a number of laws aimed at supplanting Dutch. Anglicization began at the top, with government institutions. The language of the government was English; it was the official language in all government departments. Lord Charles Somerset abolished Dutch in the courts, imported Scottish clergymen in order to anglicize the Afrikaners in the exercise of their religion, and the schools were anglicized too. Indeed, the schools were the most important instrument of the policy, for he who teaches the children of today moulds the people of to-morrow, and sympathies follow education.

Without going into detail, it can be said that the result of these and other factors was that the Afrikaner began to despise his spiritual heritage, his people, his language, and his country. ‘Dutch’ fell into disrepute. It virtually became a term of opprobrium for something inferior. C. P. Hoogenhout characterized the language position of 1870 by saying in some verses that English was heard on every hand and that the mother tongue was being done to death in school and church.

SELF-AWARENESS GROWS

We have already shown how the first efforts at writing Afrikaans occurred. There was, however, nothing much in the way of love for the language as a medium for the expression of thought. The writers known to us by name were for the most part not Afrikaners but foreigners able to use Afrikaans in attempts to joke or to amuse. They looked down upon the language as a vehicle of thought and used it as a plaything. It was only good enough for pretending to be unlettered or to produce yokelish, comic effects. The Cape was becoming anglicized; Afrikaans had no future.

But when the picture was at its darkest, Afrikaans was moving in to claim its own. To wage the campaign in earnest, men were required with a love for and faith in the language of the people, men ready to make sacrifices, to give their time, their money, strength, and love.

However strange it may seem, it took a long time to bring home to the Afrikaners themselves that Afrikaans was indeed their language. Although they no longer spoke or wrote Dutch with ease or even correctly, they continued to regard it as their mother tongue.

First of all they had to be made aware of the simple truth that it was Afrikaans that was their own tongue. They had to be convinced and converted, and as always in great movements towards reformation, one or a few intellectuals had a better idea of the steps necessary and came forward as champions of the new cause. There had to be leaders with a clear vision and they had to recruit disciples.

The leader was Dr. A. Pannevis (1838- I 188S). A Hollander by birth, versed in the classical and various modern European languages, as a teacher at the Paarl Gymnasium he brought a great influence to bear on one of his pupils, later the Rev. S. J. du Toit, opening his eyes to the existence and utility of Afrikaans. In private conversations he convinced many that Afrikaans was the future language of South Africa. Indirectly he set the First Afrikaans Movement going by means of his letters advocating a translation of the Bible into Afrikaans, addressed to De Zuid-Afrikaan (1874) and then to the British and Foreign Bible Society (1874).

Pannevis was supported by another man from Holland, C. P. Hoogenhout, who also wrote in Afrikaans to De Zuid-Afrikaan and published, in 1873, the third book in Afrikaans, a history of Joseph.

Under the nom de plume of Ware Afrikaner (True Afrikaner) the Rev. S. J. du Toit also advocated the use of Afrikaans and warned the Afrikaner against anglicization, calling upon Afrikaners to awake before it was too late.

In his letter to the British and Foreign Bible Society Pannevis named the Rev. S. J. du Toit as a possible translator of the Bible into Afrikaans; unfortunately, he called Afrikaans a ‘gibberish’, and that frightened the society out of undertaking the translation. Their secretary in Cape Town was, however, told to make investigations and got into touch with the Rev. S. J. du Toit and C. P. Hoogenhout. They decided that the time was not yet ripe for the task but founded the Society of True Afrikaners to develop Afrikaans into a written language.

Although Pannevis was not present at the meeting which founded the society, its existence was the direct result of his letter to the British and Foreign Bible Society. Not only did he recruit disciples but he gave a great impetus to their unification into a society as a closed group working for an ideal, to convince the people that they had a language of their own. In that sense we can call Pannevis the father of the Afrikaans movement.

It soon became apparent that this was more than a language movement. Its motto was: ‘For language, nation, and country’. It gathered the true Afrikaners, the patriots, together into making a united effort for their own language, nation, and country. They sought to make the entire people aware of their spiritual heritage and to persuade them to acceptance. The society addressed itself to that part of the people that lived in mental poverty, that understood Dutch to some extent but could not express themselves adequately and easily through it. To inspire the people, they had to be given a voice; they had to speak, not merely to listen. Thus the national movement was originally a campaign to make the people conscious or their language. That is why the society looked not only to adults and its own period but also to the children in the schools and to the future.

Its leaders, and especially the Rev. S. J. du Toit, were inspired by great faith and love. Otherwise they would not have been able to fly in the race of current opinion. Their campaign was nothing short or a revolt against established attitudes and convictions. For mere self-protection against public disapprobation they later had to adopt a pseudonym for the editor or their sheet, The Afrikaans Patriot. Later, enmity towards their efforts flamed high, and they had to suffer much in the way of misapprehension and belittlement. Yet they persisted in their act of faith.

They presented a united front, composed a national anthem (Every Nation has its Land), issued a manifesto, published a newspaper (The Afrikaans Patriot), published nearly a hundred books, including novels, tales, a play, volumes of verse, history, schoolbooks, etc. They founded a periodical, Ons Klyntij (Our Little One), translated various books of the Bible, and called into being a political organization, the Afrikaner Bond.

Opposition was violent. The English-language newspapers let their disapproval be known when they could no longer suppress the influence of the society by their silence. President Reitz had to take a determined stand against Mr. Wirgmann and the South African Magazine in 1880 when that divine followed other belittling opinions by branding Afrikaans as a patois. But opposition was to be expected from such a quarter. When it came from quarters whose support could have been expected, it inflicted grievous wounds, that is, when it came from the Dutch, for whom it was meant to be a balm.

There were also the learned, such as Lord de Villiers, who in a lecture described Afrikaans as poor in vocabulary and inflections and unsuitable for the expression or lofty thought (May 1876). He was also of opinion that English was the future language of the country and he did not regret that. Others also stood aside, as did the Dutch newspapers. Dutch schoolmasters forbade their pupils to read The Patriot, on pain of expulsion. In 1882 the Cape synod spent nearly two days investigating against the spirit and the tenour of The Patriot and distributed thousands or pamphlets against it.

The main reason for opposition was the form of the language, represented to be the mother tongue, the true, pure language of the country. It was against this claim that its opponents took their stand, and in it the principal content of their letters of protest and arguments was grounded. No; Dutch, the language of the pulpit, that was the civilized tongue. Afrikaans, on the contrary, was belittled by ascribing to it a mean and doubtful birth, as the language of Hottentots, its utility was denied, because it was poor in vocabulary and inflexions, and it was said to have no grammar, no literature.

About 1900 the First Period came to an end. The South African War had much to do with that, but the basic reason was the political change of the leader, the Rev. S. J. du Toit, who, at the time of the Jameson Raid (1896) and again during the South African War, ranged himself with England.

The society had carried the Afrikaans idea to the broad masses of the people and in many respects prepared and smoothed the path for the next generation.

A NEW LOW POINT

With the Treaty of Vereeniging (31 May 1902) the republics of the Orange Free State and the Transvaal lost their political independence and became part of the British Empire. But the Afrikaner people unconsciously knew that a people is conquered, not when it signs a treaty of peace with a pistol at its head, but when it ceases to be itself, ceases to protest against expropriation.

The future of the Afrikaans language was then at its darkest. The influence of the schools at the Cape had made it customary for educated Afrikaners to converse together in English and to write to each other in English. The authorities had done all they could to discourage the use of Dutch and to sever the Afrikaner people from their traditions and institutions. From 1900 a knowledge or Dutch was no longer required of public servants and inspectors of schools – to know Dutch was a handicap rather than an advantage.

As for the former republics, the authorities did their utmost, as in the days of Lord Charles Somerset, to anglicize the entire people, again using the schools. Within three years 3,000 English teachers were brought in from England, and the language they knew was English.

Anglicization spread fast, not only among the less advanced, for it became fashionable to speak English in well educated circles. This caused great confusion among Afrikaners: most could no longer write Dutch, while they despised Afrikaans as a language fit for the kitchen, so all they could do was to write in English.

Good Afrikaners opposed this distressing state of affairs and believed that only one way was open to them, to raise Afrikaans to a written language. But they met determined opposition from the authorities who wanted English as the only language of the country and, more determined still, from the champions of Dutch, especially from those who were responsible for the simplified Dutch spelling. They, and among them were Dr. W. J. Viljoen and Professor P. J. G. de Vos, wanted to use this spelling to popularize Dutch in South Africa and thereby dispel the spectre of Afrikaans.

The champions or Dutch fought doughtily against Afrikaans, even calling it a patois or a Hottentot language. Afrikaans, they repeated, would sever the ties with Holland and make Dutch literature strange to the Afrikaner.

Those favouring Afrikaans as a recognized language of the people argued roughly that Dutch was an artificial language in South Africa, because it was learnt at school but never actually spoken, being used by the well educated merely for speechifying or preaching. As Dutch was not a spoken language in South Africa, but the language of books, Afrikaans would have to be raised from its lowly state and recognized as the real language of the people.

All those working for the advancement of Afrikaans were at the same time lovers of Dutch. They knew well enough that the two could never be divorced and that Afrikaans needed Dutch, for it would be a tragedy if Dutch literature was a closed book for the Afrikaner .

The direction to be taken was obvious: the elevation of Afrikaans to the position of a written language. It was then that the leaders stepped forward, most of them being men with academic training. Their task was to hamstring the arguments of those who said that Afrikaans was no language, had no grammar, and so forth.

At the beginning of the Second Period of the Afrikaans movement the leaders were three: J. H. H. de Waal, Gustav Preller, and the Rev. W. Postma, all of them seeing clearly that it was no longer a question only of supporting the language but also of saving the people.

In Cape Town De Waal made propaganda for Afrikaans in his periodical De Goede Hoop (Good Hope) (1903); in the Orange Free State Postma wrote his manifesto pleading for the rights of Afrikaans; and in the Transvaal Preller set things moving with a series of articles, ‘Let us be Serious’, in De Volkstem.

In Afrikaans-speaking circles in the Transvaal and the Orange Free State this pioneer work aroused the feelings necessary for the combination of efforts into an association, resulting in the foundation of the Afrikaans Language Society in December 1905 at Pretoria, intent upon convincing Afrikaners that Afrikaans was their language. A year later, also in Pretoria, The Afrikaans Language Association was formed, and in 1908 the society, Our Language, in Bloemfontein. These societies worked for the good of Afrikaans by means of lectures, plays, and, in the instance of the Afrikaans Language Society, by convening congresses.

In 1909 a society was formed to reconcile the champions of Dutch and those of Afrikaans; it was called the South African Academy for Language, Letters, and Art. The body was of great importance in the direction taken by the Afrikaans cause; first it tackled the difficult question of spelling; in 1915 the proposed spelling rules were approved and published, and they were applied in later editions of the Afrikaans Vocabulary. The Academy’s spelling is recognized as the only one to-day. Schoolbooks especially in the early years were examined from the standpoint of spelling and style ; the Hertzog Prize was presented annually by the Academy for the best literary work.

To-day the Academy also presents the Stals Prize for the mental sciences and the Havenga Prize for natural science. In 1942 a faculty of natural science and technology was added to the Academy.

OFFICIAL RECOGNITION

Official recognition of the Afrikaans language then came rapidly, and that is another of the wonders of Afrikaans. During the negotiations before Union one of the most difficult questions was that of language. General J. B. M. Hertzog caused Section 137 to be inserted in the Act of Union, laying down that Dutch had equal rights with English in all respects. Full bilingualism was thus guaranteed in South Africa.

It is to be noted, however, that it was Dutch not Afrikaans that was to be recognized. The Government therefore instructed the schools that equal language rights applied, and in 1912 the Provincial Council of each province, except Natal, decided that children should be taught in their home language as far as standard IV, which really meant in the official language that they knew best. Under this ruling, of course, Afrikaans-speaking children were not taught in Afrikaans but in Dutch. This discrepancy provoked C. J. Langenhoven to introduce legislation in the Cape Provincial Council saying that ‘Dutch’ meant ‘Afrikaans’. This was soon followed in the Orange Free State and the Transvaal.

Laws had been made, but they still had to be applied. The provincial legislation gave the Afrikaans language societies an immediate and clear goal and diverted their activities into new channels: through the activities of the Afrikaanse Studentebond (Union of Afrikaans Students) Afrikaans was recognized in the universities in 1918; and in the same year the first chair of Afrikaans was established at the Grey University College, Bloemfontein.

Although by 1914 Afrikaans had gained much ground as a cultural language, the attitude of the church towards the Afrikaans movement was one of withholding approval, for the church seldom experiments with new things and even more seldom with causes of discord. When the Afrikaans cause had proved its power of lasting, it took root in the church and then grew so fast that Afrikaans was recognized in all four Dutch Reformed Churches as their official language.

On this subject Langenhoven exclaimed: ‘Truly, the cause is of the Lord and it is wonderful in our eyes, too wonderful for us to believe our own senses’.

The lead was taken by the Orange Free State synod which recognized Afrikaans when it met in 1916 and decided to translate the Bible into Afrikaans. The other churches quickly followed the example: translators of the Bible were nominated, and after considerable delay it was decided in 1923 that the translation should be from the original languages. The Academy named advisers on language to help with the translation, and the complete Bible appeared in Afrikaans in 1933. The rhymed Psalms followed in 1937 and hymns in 1944. Afrikaans had thus conquered the church.

Now we must consider the position of Afrikaans in Parliament, the highest legislative body in the land.

In 1918 J. H. H. de Waal introduced a motion that for the purposes of administration Afrikaans should be included in the word ‘Dutch’ in Section 137 of the Act of Union. But on the motion of N. J. de Wet it was decided that the term included Afrikaans ‘except in Bills, and Acts of Parliament, and in official documents of both Houses’, in which the simplified form of Dutch was to be used.

The significance of this decision was that the entire public service was thrown open to Afrikaans. Yet in the proviso there lurked one obstacle, for in Parliament itself Afrikaans was not recognized as a written language for administrative purposes.

An end was brought to this dualism in 1925 when, on the recommendation of two select committees, it was decided that Afrikaans would be included in the word ‘Dutch’ in the section concerned and that from the first session of 1926 it would take the place of Dutch for Parliamentary purposes.

Afrikaans had thus gained complete recognition. Who, knowing the position of the language at the end of the South African War, would ever have dreamed that in less than twenty years the despised language of the people, by acting through the language societies, would not only have replaced Dutch but conquered what appeared to be impregnable fortresses? That was indeed a miracle!

Afrikaans is also recognized oversea: it can be heard on the radio from Holland and England; there is a chair of Afrikaans at Amsterdam; before World War II it was taught at the University of Berlin, and attention is paid to it at University College, London. Various Afrikaans books have been translated into European languages.

APPLICATION

Afrikaans is now fully recognized in every aspect of our lives, but the application of the laws depends upon the Afrikaans-speaking people themselves. The question now is to support and expand the Afrikaans idea in political, cultural, and economic fields. That is why the Federation of Afrikaans Cultural Societies had to come, with its effective motto, ‘Support and Build’. Its aim is ‘the promotion of close co-operation among all Afrikaans cultural and related societies by means of (a) common and, where necessary, simultaneous action, and (b) the protection and expansion of a national culture based on the religion and traditions or the Afrikaner.

The third wonder of Afrikaans is its remarkable and superior literary achievement within half a century, for, from the literary point of view, we can leave what was written before 1900 out of account.

Afrikaans literature, in particular its poetry, dates from after the South Africa War, when suddenly the plant burst into flower. It was as if everyone had been struck dumb by the shock of war, until Eugene Marais and Jan Celliers appeared on the scene. Poetry was something new, deriving its power from integrity; its foundations were in the experience of the people. It took its first, faltering steps in poets such as Totius; then followed the high moments of vision, expressing the intimate form of the suffering of the people.

In Totius’s Rachel occurs the most mature expression, but in Winternag (Winter’s Night) by Marais (1905) Afrikaans is elevated for the first time to a poetic language, proving its poetic qualities. In that poem are found for the first time the lyricism of nature and a personal voice, with individual feeling; yet the personal is universalized, the particular given at a general value. In Winternag Marais becomes the herald of Afrikaans poetry, the first poet of Afrikaans, announcing a newcomer to the poetic art.

Following Marais were the triumvirate of Celliers, Totius, and Leipoldt, bringing with them an unexpected blossoming of Afrikaans poetry. We have called Marais with his Winternag the herald, but his work did not appear in volume form until 1925, whereas Totius’s By die Monument, (At the Monument) and Celliers’s Die Vlakte en ander Gedigte (The Plain and other Poems) both made their appearance in 1908, and Leipoldt’s Oom Gert Vertel en ander Gedigte (Oom Gert Relates, and other poems) in 1911.

The pain of war is in all the early works of these poets, for it pervaded all the post-war poetry like a sombre leitmotiv; each felt the pain differently and interpreted it in his own way.

The poetry of Celliers was a surprise for the Afrikaner. In his work are heard for the first time stately and full music, an elevated tone not heard since – a skill, a beauty of Afrikaans unknown until then. Thoroughly grounded in Dutch, he brought a new richness to Afrikaans. It must be remembered that when Celliers started to write, there was no Afrikaans literary tradition; his value lies in his language and a prosody of great variety.

As subjects, Totius chose the War, nature, and personal grief, showing throughout the attitude of the Calvinist. On the other hand, Leipoldt had his eyes on the world of the day, not on the here-after; he was the first to use the language as powerfully as the people did and was one of the outstanding poets of nature.

D. F. Malherbe, C. J. Langenhoven, and A. G. Visser belong to the second group of the ‘First Generation’ that followed the war. Visser was the poet of love and, by the spirituality of his work, gained great popularity.

About 1920 there began a trend in Afrikaans poetry that cannot be defined with any great clarity; a new sound was heard, but not clearly. There was a measure of revolt against the ruling traditions and in the sphere of religion too.

The War had not been forgotten, but the poets were further from it and were not moved by the immediacy of suffering as much as by the deeds of heroism, as in the Rit-rympie (Riding verses) of Toon van den Heever, the most important of the generation of 1920. Others were A. D. Keet, Theo Wassenaar, Kleinjan van Bruggen, and R. A. Fagan. Quite apart is the classicist Theo Haarhoff who published volumes in 1931 and 1933, seeking to revivify classical antiquity, in all its humanism and beauty, in Afrikaans.

The ‘Generation of 1934′ followed, including C. M. van den Heever, I. D. du Plessis, W. E. G. Louw, N. P. van Wyk Louw, Uys Krige, and Elisabeth Eybers. Naturally they did not form a close group, nor is the new in poetry to be found to the same degree in each, for they have not consciously pursued the same ideals.

C. M. van den Heever, in some ways a link between the old and the new, was the first of them to come to notice in 1930. All were individualists, even I. D. du Plessis, most reminiscent in style of the earlier generation. In Elizabeth Eybers we hear the sorrows of love, and Uys Krige is ‘not so much an individualist as a strongly individual poet of romantic melancholy at the transitory nature of beauty.’ The most spontaneous representative of the new poetry was N. P. van Wyk Louw.

The poets of 1934 were individualists, but each after his own manner, for they did not confine themselves in ivory towers and cut themselves off from the people – witness the national poems of W. E. G. Louw and N. P. van Wyk Louw. Absorbed in their own psychological problems, they analysed them and thus came to a clear view of life, so that in their work is much of self-revelation. They shun the old problems of the earlier poets and express their own loves and sorrows, direct and naked. They are not easily linked to a theme, for it is life in all its variety that holds them.

Without calling their originality in question, these poets were under the influence of the best modern Dutch poets, especially the generation of 1910, an influence to the good in the refinement of language and expression. This new feeling for life was reflected in new art forms, with subtler and freer verse and a refined musical quality.

We speak of the ‘Group of 1934′, a date used because that year saw Die Ryke Dwaas (The Rich Fool) of W. E. G. Louw, a volume that introduced a new era in Afrikaans poetry. But it was the elder of the brothers, N. P. van Wyk Louw, who was the strongest and most conscious of the group. His first volume, Alleenspraak (Soliloquy) appeared in 1935, followed by others with new and higher levels. It was also N. P. van Wyk Louw who found fame for Afrikaans poetry oversea and the acknowledgement that it stood on an equal footing with the best in Europe. Translations had already appeared of Afrikaans volumes, such as Poems by Eugene Marais (translated by A. E. Thorpe) and The Quiet Adventure by Elisabeth Eybers.

WINTER NIGHT

The wind, it is biting
and chill.
Agleam in the twilight
and still,
Like God and His grace without end,
So the plains in the starlight extend.
  Up above, far away,
  In their serried array,
Like beckoning hands,
The tall grasses sway.

With sad music laden,
  The east wind blows on,
Like the song of a maiden
Whose lover is gone.
Each blade in its fold
A dewdrop doth hold,
So soon to be turned
To frost in the cold!

From: Poems by Eugene Marais (translated by A. E. Thorpe.)

MARY

One of God’s holy seraphim
with joyful news came down to earth:
in humble praise you sang a hymn,
Mary, maid of Nazareth!

But when the neighbours looked askance
and Joseph thought he’d go away,
could you predict the dreary load
of shame your son would bear one day?

When, with a little secret smile,
you stroked your body – could you tell
the mingled love and dread with which
he’d have to brave the pit of hell?

And in the stable – as you lay
forsaken in your agony -
could you foresee the lonely way
that led into Gethsemane?

When gaudy monarchs journeyed far
their homage and their gifts to bring,
did you know with what boisterous shouts
the soldiers would proclaim him king?

When in your arms you held him so
as babes are cradled to be nursed
and watched his sucking, did you know
how helplessly he’d writhe with thirst?

When darkness flooded you, and John
came up and took you by the hand,
Woman of Sorrows, did you then
remember all and understand?

From: The Quiet Adventure by Elisabeth Eybers.

About 1940 a new group appeared, continuing the tradition of that of 1934. Except for D. J. Opperman, they showed few signs of a new trend. To the group belong S. J. Pretorius, Ernst van Heerden, Olga Kirsch, S. V. Petersen, and G. A. Watermeyer. A little later, say 1950, followed P. J. Philander, Ina Rousseau, and Peter Blum.

Opperman immediately took a place in the front rank with his volume Heilige Beeste (Holy Cattle), though his unusual qualities evoked some opposition. In his succeeding volumes he shows renewal and enrichment of subject and fulfilment for, responsible and sober, he never displays weakness or sentimentality.

PROSE

Although prose has not reached the heights of Afrikaans poetry, there have been works worthy of attention. Prose, with objective and calm descriptions of situations of complexity and narrative art that goes with insight and maturity, appears later than poetry. In the emotional post-war years comes the lyrical expression of poetry; later reflection gives form to the prose description of Afrikaans life with its wealth of themes and its own problems.

Ultimately a picture of Afrikaner life in the Western milieu is obtained. Some works, such as Uit Oerwoud en Vlakte (From Primaeval Forest and Plain) by Sangiro, have been translated into various European languages, as well as Somer (Summer) by C. M. van den Heever.

Other important writers of prose are D. F. Malherbe, with Die Meulenaar (The Miller) and Hans die Skipper (Hans the Skipper), Jochem van Bruggen with his Ampie trilogy, Micro with Toiings and Pelgrims (Pilgrims), J. van Melle with En ek is nog by (And I was there), G. H. Franz with Moeder Poulin (Mother Poulin), Hettie Smit with Sy Kom met die Sekelmaan (She comes with the New Moon) and M. E. R. with Uit en Tuis (Out and In), Die Eindelose Waagstuk (The Endless Adventure), and others.

Drama in Afrikaans has had its successes with Leipoldt, Fagan, Grosskopf, and De Klerk, but its future lies ahead when the wonder of Afrikaans has developed yet further.