Perhaps a useful focus for the hundred and fiftieth anniversary of Debussy's birth should be on what has happened since its centenary in 1962, a few years before my own interest in the composer developed, alongside that of several British colleagues. Any serious young student at that time, searching for materials, would find a complex web of patchy information with as many lacunae as there were concrete sources. In the 1960s Debussy scholarship was frankly in its infancy: there were few robust analytical approaches to his music, no critical editions, and precious few commentaries of much worth. The scattered publications of the composer's correspondence and his collected writings were incomplete and, although the early biographies contained some important information here and there, they were opinionated, biased, and debatable, and there was little literature that tied the music to any context.

Fresh on the library shelves was the new two-volume tome by Edward Lockspeiser, who, incidentally, became my supervisor and friend. This was Debussy: His Life and Mind, complementing his single volume Debussy written in the 1930s and many times reedited. The two-tome work was meant to coincide with the centenary but was running a little late. Essentially it contained little commentary on the music itself, though Lockspeiser was forced to write an appendix addressing it in more detail, a task he took on reluctantly and which—many will agree—he was not very good at. More concentration on the music per se was coming into fashion, and journalistic commentary, laden as it was with value judgments, was beginning to be yesterday's news. There can be no doubt that Lockspeiser appended commentary on the music with some trepidation because he believed that approaching music through its techniques was simply not the way to a composer's heart—not that he wasn't skilled at marshalling notes on manuscript paper; indeed, he bequeathed a substantial mountain of compositions from the time when he studied both composition and conducting at the Royal College of Music in London. His strength in the Life and Mind volumes was to explore context, especially of the neighboring arts, rather than to expose “kitchen secrets.” He was dissatisfied with the binary opposition that had plagued Debussy throughout the middle years of the twentieth century: “Was Debussy an Impressionist, or was he a Symbolist?”

Introduction

Claude Debussy's prelude no. 4, book 1, often referred to by the epigraph “Les sons et les parfums tournent dans l'air du soir” (hereafter, “Les sons”), is shown in example 11.1. The opening measures exhibit generic markers of the waltz, nineteenth-century Europe's most popular dance. The low A on the downbeat followed by chords in the middle register of the piano on beats two and three realize the conventional waltz accompaniment. The arch contour and rhythm of the melody, too, are signatures of the genre. All three features can be found in numerous waltzes from the first half of the nineteenth century, such as Schubert's Valse noble no. 6 and the first theme of Chopin's Grande valse brillante, op. 18, shown in examples 11.2 and 11.3. Still, “Les sons” can hardly be considered a waltz in a generic sense. Unlike Chopin's op. 18, which also begins in a state of metrical ambiguity but soon falls into recognizable patterns, “Les sons” fails to establish and maintain the triple meter essential to the waltz. Indeed, the meter becomes more obscure over the course of the opening eight measures. Other factors mitigating conscious perception of the waltz include tempos that push and pull irregularly, phrases of irregular lengths, interruption of textures by caesurae, and harmonic structures at odds with the tonal norms that reinforce the phrasing and form of nineteenth-century waltzes.

The tension between features of “Les sons” that derive recognizably from the waltz and features that resist assimilation to the dance's generic norms has informed recent interpretations of the prelude. In order to reconcile these apparently divergent musical elements, such interpretations employ a hermeneutic strategy that posits “Les sons” as a kind of phenomenological transcript of another listener's experience. This other listener remembers, imagines, or perhaps distractedly attends to a waltz, hearing it as something other than what it actually is. In turn, we hear only what presents itself to this listener's consciousness, e.g., a “faded, half-grasped memory,” or an “interpenetration of perception and remembrance.” Baudelaire's poem “Harmonie du soir,” from which Debussy drew the piece's epigraph, is then enlisted as support for the general mnemonic conceit and the particulars of each interpretation.

As the figure of Claude Debussy (1862–1918) relentlessly recedes into the past and we arrive at the centennial of his death, an ever abundant harvest of documents surrounding his life and work continues to bear fruit: the moment seems ripe, almost ideal, to dedicate a new research volume to him. Beyond the occasion of the anniversary, the composer maintains a preeminent status in accounts of musical modernity at the fin de siècle and early twentieth century— and without his music having lost any of its freshness.

Debussy is still a major presence in the performing canon. Among the pioneers of modernism, his music has always attracted the largest number of listeners. But what about the current state of research? In his valuable Claude Debussy: A Guide to Research, published in 1990, James Briscoe was able to identify and describe 910 secondary sources. Work on the critical edition had just begun a few years before and publication of the complete letters, the Correspondance (1872–1918) by François Lesure and Denis Herlin, was still many years off. There had nonetheless been considerable research activity since 1945: in his contribution to our essay collection relating to the historiography of Debussy research Richard Langham Smith offers much insight into Debussy scholarship in the post-World War II era, including (on the Anglo-American side of things) the key role played by Edward Lockspeiser. Now a perusal of RILM under the subject heading “Debussy” from the year of Briscoe's volume to the present shows no fewer than 2,271 entries, a staggering increase of activity that shows no signs of abating. This is more than double the number produced in the entire century before, and it makes for a persuasive statistic to encourage the production of a second edition of Briscoe's volume. Readers with a penchant for figures will savor the RILM yield in the period 1990–2015 for other composers: Beethoven (6,675), Wagner (7,870), Schoenberg (4,171), Stravinsky (2,629), Bartók (2,215). With all the activity related to Debussy, Richard Langham Smith asks in the title of his essay for the present volume “Has the barrel run dry?” We might also reflect upon how the current state of Debussy's research should be judged. Are we still puzzling, searching, and trying to make sense of a music that remains out of reach, out of firm grasp?

This story, let us call it a ‘story’ only because I can think of no better term, has no proper beginning. Whether or not it has proper ending, well, that is a matter that has not yet been decided. Let us try for a beginning, then.

My colleague in the Program in Literature at Duke University, V. Y. Mudimbe, invited Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o to present a series of lectures at our institution. On one of these afternoons, a couple of hours before he was scheduled to deliver his talk, I spotted Ngũgĩ on an East Campus bench, enjoying the warm Durham sunshine. I walked over to him, introduced myself, and proceeded to tell my story. He smiled, good naturedly; in his modesty, however, he scoffed at my account.

‘I'll bring you a book tomorrow,’ I said, ‘to show you that it's true.’ My promise of proof, in hindsight, is more like an ending – an ending of sorts, anyway – than a beginning.

So, let me try again.

It wasn't until I was in ‘Standard Nine’ (today it would be called ‘Eleventh Grade’ in South Africa, the equivalent of being a high school ‘Junior’ in the US) at Livingstone High School in Cape Town, a school designated for Coloureds only, that I first read any South African literature. Other, that is, than Alan Paton's Cry, the Beloved Country, which I'd picked off the shelves of my local library. Livingstone H.S., I should be clear, was a singular institutional animal in apartheid South Africa. The teachers, for the most part, were incredibly committed, no matter their race. Livingstone H.S. was a school that prided itself on educating its student body in two senses of the term: it taught the apartheid curriculum as rigorously as though us Coloured boys and girls were being instructed by Plato in Athens, no matter the discrepancy in resources, no matter the ideological strictures imposed by the apartheid regime's educational arm. (I should say, there were other schools such as Livingstone, Trafalgar and South Peninsula foremost among them. But Livingstone had one distinct advantage.) And, Livingstone's political and philosophical ethos was steeped in Marxist thought, most notably the work of Leon Trotsky.

I want to look at the genealogy of the African intellectual relationship to African and European languages, English in particular. This is particularly relevant today when most of Africa is celebrating their fiftieth years of independence from colonial rule.

The intellectual is not a new creation in Africa, every society has had its intellectuals, intellectual here defined as a worker in ideas. They may do other things but their primary social significance and visibility was as workers in ideas. African healers, seers, artisans, including builders, would be in this category. The intellectual was an integral part of the old Egyptian, Ethiopic, Zimbabwean, and Songhai civilizations. A most important component of this pre-colonial intellectual was the poet who often combined the role of the historian, moralist and seer. In West Africa they call him the griot. Swahili civilization is replete with poets, leaders of thought, spanning centuries. A book edited by Abdilatif Abdalla and published by Mkuki na Nyota, Kale ya Washairi wa Pemba, lists quite a few including Fumo wa Liyongo. In total, Liyongo wa Baury in the twelfth century, Muyaka bin Haji in the eighteenth century, and Suudbin Said Al-Maamiriy in the nineteenth century. These poet-intellectuals largely saw themselves as voices of the people and seekers of justice. It may seem needless to say, but it is important to emphasize that these intellectuals, from Egyptian to Ungozi/Uswahili times, used the languages of their society. The pre-colonial African intellectual was rooted among their community.

Today I want to focus at the modern African intellectual, particularly. I am talking of course of the intellectual who has been to a modern school and for whom European languages have been means of his education. There have been two faces and phases of these African intellectuals, and these phases are almost contradictory.

The intellectuals of the anti-colonial struggle used European languages to get what they carried and then took it back to African languages, enriching them. They went into European languages as scouts.

Mwaka 2004 nilialikwa na Chuo Kikuu cha Transkei ambacho sasa kinaitwa Chuo Kikuu cha Walter Sisulu, Africa Kusini, ili kupokea digrii ya heshima ya uzamifu (au ya udaktari wa falsafa), pamoja na Nelson Mandela na Ali Mazrui. Hafla hiyo ilikuwa pia ni ya kuadhimisha kubadilishwa jina la zamani la Chuo Kikuu hicho, na kupewa jina hilo jipya. Jina lake la zamani, yaani Transkei, lilikuwa na kumbukumbu za utawala wa ubaguzi wa rangi wa kuigawa nchi. Na hilo jina la sasa lina uhusiano na shujaa wa taifa.

Nikiwa pamoja na mke wangu na watoto wawili, tuliwasili kwenye maeneo ya Chuo ambako kulikuwa kumetundikwa mabango yaliyoandikwa HOMECOMING (yaani KURUDI NYUMBANI/ KARIBU NYUMBANI) Niliguswa moyoni: Hiyo ilikuwa ni digrii yangu ya kwanza ya heshima niliyotunukiwa na chuo kikuu cha Afrika, baada ya nyingine kadhaa nilizotunukiwa na vyuo vikuu vya Ulaya na Marekani. Lakini hilo bango la HOMECOMING – ambalo ni jina la kitabu changu kimojawapo – lilikuwa na maana nyingine muhimu. Nilikuwa ninarudi nyumbani Kenya, kwa kupitia Afrika ya Kusini, baada ya kulazimika kuishi uhamishoni kwa miaka ishirini na mbili. Huko kurudi nyumbani kwa kupitia Afrika ya Kusini, kilele chake kilikuwa kiwe Kenya; watoto wangu wawili waliozaliwa uhamishoni walikuwa hawajaigusa ardhi ya Kenya.

Yaliyotokea baada ya siku kumi na moja tangu kurudi nchini kwangu kwa furaha kuu, pamoja na digrii niliyotunukiwa Afrika nikiwa njiani kurudi nyumbani, sasa ni historia. Kurudi kwangu nyumbani kukageuka kuwa ni jinamizi. Mimi na mke wangu tuliponea chupuchupu, baada ya kuvamiwa na watu wanne wenye bunduki/ bastola.

Si makosa ya Afrika ya Kusini, kwamba digrii yangu ya kwanza ya heshima kutoka Afrika pia ina kumbukumbu za ugaidi. Hii ya leo ni digrii ya kwanza ya heshima tangu usiku ule wa ugaidi.

Makamu Mkuu wa Chuo: Mimi ni mwandishi; yaani mimi ni mhunzi wa maneno (au mfua maneno). Lakini nimekosa maneno muwafaka ya kueleza jinsi heshima hii – ambayo Chuo Kikuu cha Dar es Salaam imenipa leo – ilivyo na maana kubwa kwangu. Si kwa sababu tu ya kwamba ni matumaini yangu kuwa nitaweza kuisherehekea digrii hii kutoka Afrika bila ya furaha yangu kufujika; lakini hasa ni kwa sababu ya hadhi ya Chuo Kikuu hiki katika usomi na siasa za Afrika.

My fear of South African taxi drivers goes back to an encounter in my early days in Johannesburg in the early 2000s. I was in a taxi van on Jan Smuts Avenue, going to Braamfontein, in Johannesburg. I needed to be at WITS University by 12.30 for a meeting. It was 11.15, and there was a stop near Braamfontein Centre on Jan Smuts, right across from one of the University entrances. I was confident I would be on time for my meeting, having made this trip countless times before. By the time we got to my stop, I was the only passenger left in the taxi. I asked the driver to please drop me at Braamfontein Centre, to which he responded, ‘yhini hawukhulumi?’

I suddenly remembered a Facebook status update by a well-known radio presenter on an English medium radio station, who had posted one morning: ‘Today, I don't feel like speaking English, I am #unableToCan speak today. Akhant.’

As we drove deeper into the Johannesburg CBD towards the notorious Hillbrow precinct, well known to many foreign students as a no-go area, a cold panic started settling in my stomach at not only missing my meeting, but also being stranded in Hillbrow with all its reputed horrors. I begged him to drop me, but he just calmly kept asking why I was speaking English. Was I not Black? He stopped somewhere in Hillbrow, and dropped me off, with a firm word of advice: ‘learn your language!’

When I told my friends about the encounter, they asked me why I hadn't responded in Kiswahili. This bit of wisdom has saved me many taxi crises since. In situations that hover towards an accusation of being a ‘coconut’—black on the outside, white inside—I simply respond in Kiswahili ‘sielewi unachosema’ (‘I don't understand what you are saying’). My response works wonders. The tone of these conversations changes from aggressive to curious.

DHC: 1262M/0/O/LD/113/127

TYPED LETTER FROM FORTESCUE HEADED DEVONSHIRE PATRIOTIC FUND

Rough Draft

Dear Sir,

I beg to forward an audited Statement of the Receipts and Expenditure to 31st March last.

The Expenditure on Relief of Families would have been infinitely greater but for the changes made by the Government in regard to separation allowance. I may remind you that the Wife of a Seaman, who last August got nothing beyond her Husband's allotment, now receives 6/- a week, provided the Husband makes an allotment of £1 per month; and the Wife of a private Soldier, with three children, now receives 19/6 per week, as against 14/9, in addition to her Husband's minimum allotment of 6d. per day.

Notwithstanding this, the local sub-committees who investigate and report on cases still find that Grants amounting in all to a substantial sum per week are required to keep from want some of the relatives of those who are fighting our battles; and the need for assistance in relieving the sufferings of the sick and wounded cannot, I fear, fail to increase the continued increase of the number of men who are putting into the field.

Under these circumstances, even if we knew how long the War would last, it would be impossible to form any reliable estimate as to the sum likely to remain in hand at the end of it.

The generosity of the public continues, and subscriptions are still coming in, and though they do not keep pace with the expenditure, it is likely that there will be a balance–perhaps a considerable one–unexpended on the termination of hostilities. It is idle to suggest any scheme for the disposal of this yet. All that can usefully be said is that we believe there will be no difficulty in finding good use for any money that remains in supplementing Pensions and Grants to some of the disabled men, widows, etc., for whom the provision made by the necessary inelastic rules of the Government is in their circumstances inadequate.

DHC: 1262M/0/O/LD/139/1

PAMPHLET ON THE HISTORY OF

THE DEVON AND CORNWALL WAR REFUGEES COMMITTEE.