CHAPTER X.
Though I spare nobody where principles are concerned, yet I have come to the conclusion that I must act otherwise with Stern than with Fred; and as I foresee that my name—[the firm is Last and Co., but my name is Drystubble—Batavus Drystubble]—will be connected with a book, wherein matters appear that are not in harmony with the respect which every honourable man and broker owes to himself, I conceive it to be my duty to communicate to you how I have endeavoured to bring this young man Stern back to the true path.
I did not speak to him of the Lord, because he is a Lutheran; but I worked on his mind and his honour. See how I did this, and observe how useful a knowledge of mankind is. I heard him say, “auf Ehrenwort,” and asked him what he meant by that?
“Well,” he said, “that I pledge my honour for the truth of what I say.”
“That is much,” I said. “Are you so sure of speaking the truth?” [[170]]
“Yes,” he replied, “I always speak the truth. When my breast glows * * *” The reader knows the rest.
“That is indeed very noble,” said I, and I made as if I believed it.
But this was a part of the trap that I had prepared for him, to show the young fellow his right place, and to make him understand how great is the distance between a mere beginner—though his father may have a large business—and a broker who has frequented the Exchange for twenty years, but I said it in a manner not to run the risk of seeing old Mr. Stern fall into the hands of Busselinck and Waterman. I was acquainted with the fact that he knows all sorts of verses by heart; and as verses always contain lies, I was quite sure that I should very soon catch him telling lies. It was not long before I did. I sat in the back parlour, and he was in the suite[1]—for we have a suite; Mary was occupied with knitting, and he was going to tell her something. I listened very attentively, and when he had finished I asked him if he possessed the book containing the story which he had just narrated. He said Yes, and gave it me; it was a volume of one of the works of a certain fellow called Heine.
The following morning I handed to him—Stern, I mean—the following [[171]]
“Contemplations on the love of truth of one who recites the following nonsense of Heine to a young girl occupied in knitting in the drawing-room—
‘Auf Flügeln des Gesanges,
Herzliebchen, trag’ ich dich fort.’[2]
“Herzliebchen——? Mary your sweetheart? Do your parents and Louise Rosemeyer know that? Is it proper to say that to a child, who might, on account of it, very readily become disobedient to her mother, by thinking herself of age, because she is called herzliebchen. What is the meaning of that ‘carrying away on your wings?’ You have no wings, nor has your song. Try to fly over the Laurier Canal: it is not very wide. But if you had wings, could you propose such a thing to a girl who is not yet confirmed? what do you mean by that flying away together? For shame!
‘Fort nach den Fluren des Ganges
Da weisz ich den schönsten Ort.’[3]
“Then you may go there alone, and hire lodgings, but don’t take with you a girl who has to help her mother at home. But you do not mean it; for you never saw the Ganges, and you cannot therefore know whether you will be comfortable there. Shall I tell you how matters [[172]]stand? You tell nothing but lies only, because you make yourself in the verses a slave of cadence and rhyme. If the first line had ended in cake, you would have asked Mary whether she would go with you to a lake, and so on. You see, therefore, that your proposed voyage was not meant, and that all depends on a tinkling of words without sense. What if Mary should indeed like to undertake this journey? I do not speak now of the uncomfortable mode of conveyance which you propose; but she is, God be praised, too intelligent to long for a country of which you say:—
‘Da liegt ein rothblühender Garten
Im stillen Mondenschein;
Die Lotosblumen erwarten
Ihr trautes Schwesterlein;
‘Die Veilchen kichern und kosen;
Und schau’n nach den Sternen empor;
Heimlich erzählen die Rosen
Sich düftende Märchen in’s Ohr!’[4]
“What do you intend to do with Mary in that garden in the moonshine? Is that moral, is that proper, is that [[173]]respectable, Stern? Would you disgrace me to the level of Busselinck and Waterman, with whom no respectable commercial firm will have any dealings, because of the elopement of their daughter, and because they are bunglers. What should I have to say, when they asked me on the Exchange why my daughter remained so long in that garden? For, you understand,—I hope that nobody would believe me if I said that she had to look after those lotos flowers, which, as you say, have been long waiting for her. And every intelligent man, too, would laugh at me if I was foolish enough to say, ‘Mary is there in that red garden—[why red, and not yellow or purple?]—to listen to the tattle and laughing of the violets, or to the tales which the roses tell each other in a clandestine manner.’ Even though this might be the truth, of what use would it be to Mary if all happened so clandestinely that she did not understand a word? But it’s all lies, insipid lies, and ugly they are at the same time; for take a pencil and draw a rose with an ear, and see how that looks. And what do you mean by saying, that those tales have a nice perfume? Shall I tell you what it means in plain Dutch? That means, that you can smell the lie——so it is!
‘Da hüpfen herbei und lauschen
Die frommen, klugen Gazellen;
Und in der Ferne rauschen
Des heiligen Stromes Wellen,——
[[174]]‘Da wollen wir niedersinken
Unter den Palmenbaum
Und Ruhe und Liebe trinken
Und träumen seligen Traum.’[5]
“Cannot you go to the Zoological Gardens, if you wish to see foreign animals? Must those animals be on the Ganges, which you never observe so well in the wilderness as in a nice enclosure of iron? Why are those animals pious and clever? I will not speak of the latter word (it serves to make foolish verses rhyme), but pious? What is the meaning of that? Is not this an abuse of a holy word that should only be used of men who hold the true faith? And then that holy stream? These stories you tell to Mary might make her a Pagan, might make her faith waver as to the existence of any other holy water than that of baptism, and any holier river than the Jordan. Is not that an undermining of morality, virtue, religion, Christianity, and respectability?
“Think about all this, Stern! Your father is the head of a respectable firm, and I am quite sure that he [[175]]approves of my speaking thus in a straightforward way, and that he likes to do business with a person who defends virtue and religion. Yes, principles are sacred to me, and I do not scruple to say plainly what I mean: therefore, make no secret of what I say; you may write to your father that you are here in a respectable family, that shows you the right path, and ask yourself what would have become of you if you had gone to Busselinck and Waterman? There you would likewise have recited such verses, and nobody would have told you the folly of it, because they are bunglers. You may write this to your father, for when principles are concerned I fear nobody. There the girls would perhaps have gone with you to the Ganges, and then you would perhaps by this time be lying under that tree on the grass; whereas, because I warned you, you remain with us in a respectable house. You may write all this to your father, and tell him that you are so grateful, that you came with us, and that I take such good care of you, and that the daughter of Busselinck and Waterman ran away; make him my compliments, and say that I intend to drop 1⁄16 per cent. of the brokerage, because I cannot suffer those low fellows, who steal the bread out of the mouth of a rival in trade by more favourable conditions.
“And be so kind as to give us something more substantial in your readings at the Rosemeyers’. I have seen in Shawlman’s parcel statements of the coffee-culture [[176]]of the last twenty years, in all the Residencies in Java: read us something of that. And you must not scold the girls and all of us, by saying that we are cannibals, who have swallowed a part of you; that is not respectable, my boy; believe one who knows what goes on in the world. I served your father before his birth—[I mean the firm, Last and Co., formerly it was Last and Meyer]—you understand, therefore, that I speak for your good. And incite Fred to behave himself better, and do not teach him to make verses; and make as if you did not see it when he makes wry faces at the bookkeeper, and suchlike things. Show him a good example, because you are much older, and try to impress him with steadiness and gravity, because he must become a broker.
“I am your fatherly friend,
“Batavus Drystubble,
(Firm Last & Co., Coffee-Brokers,
No. 37 Laurier Canal.”)
[[177]]
[1] Suite is an Amsterdamism, and means a front room divided from a back parlour by folding-doors: to possess such a “suite” is considered in Amsterdam as the ne plus ultra of respectability. [↑]
“On song’s exulting pinion
I’ll bear thee, my sweetheart fair.”
“Where Ganges holds his dominion,—
The sweetest of spots know I there.”
“There a red blooming garden is lying
In the moonlight silent and clear;
The lotos-flowers are sighing
For their sister so pretty and dear.
“The violets prattle and titter,
And gaze on the stars high above;
The roses mysteriously twitter
Their fragrant stories of love.”
“The gazelles so gentle (pious) and clever
Skip lightly in frolicsome mood;
And in the distance roars ever
The holy river’s loud flood.
“And there, while joyously sinking
Beneath the palm by the stream,
And love and repose while drinking,
Of blissful visions we’ll dream.”
—From Bowring’s Heine’s Poems. Lond. 1866.
CHAPTER XI.
[CONTINUATION OF STERN’S COMPOSITION.]
So that I will only say, to speak with Abraham Blankaart, that I consider this chapter to be “essential,” because it makes you, in my opinion, better acquainted with Havelaar, and he seems to be the hero of the history. “Tine, what sort of Ketimon (gherkin, cucumber) is this? Never, my dear, give such sour things with fruits; cucumbers with salt, pine-apples with salt, all that comes from the ground with salt. Vinegar with fish and meat … there is something about it in Liebig.…”
“Dear Max,” Tine said, laughing, “how long have we been here? That Ketimon is from Madam Slotering.”
And it seemed difficult for Havelaar to remember that he had arrived only the day before; and that Tine, with the best intentions, had not yet been able to regulate anything in kitchen or household. He had already been a long time at Rankas-Betong! Had not he spent the whole night in reading the archives, and had not too many things already passed through his soul in connexion [[178]]with Lebak, for him to know so soon that he only arrived there the day before? Tine knew this very well; she always understood.
“Oh yes, that is true,” said he; “but still you may like to read something from Liebig. Verbrugge, have you read much of Liebig?”
“Who was he?” asked Verbrugge.
“An author who wrote much on the preserving of gherkins; he also discovered how to change grass into wool.… You understand?”
“No,” said Verbrugge and Duclari together.
“Well, it had been known for a long time:—send a sheep into the field, and you will see. But it was Liebig who discovered the manner in which it happens. Others, however, say that he knows but little about it: they are now trying to discover the means of dispensing with the sheep altogether.… Oh, those scholars! Molière knew it very well.… I like Molière. If you like, we shall have reading every evening; Tine will also be of the party when Max is in bed.”
Duclari and Verbrugge liked this. Havelaar said that he had not many books, but amongst them he had Schiller, Goethe, Heine, Lamartine, Thiers, Say, Malthus, Scialoja, Smith, Shakespeare, Byron, Vondel.…
Verbrugge said that he was not acquainted with the English language.
“What the deuce! You are more than thirty years of [[179]]age: what have you been about all this time? But it must have been very disagreeable for you at Padang, where English is so much spoken. Did you know Miss Matta-api (Fire-eye)?”
“No, I do not know the name.”
“It was not her name; we gave her this nickname because her eyes were so brilliant. I think she must be married by this time; it was long ago. I never saw such eyes … except at Arles … you must go there. That is the prettiest place I ever visited in my travels. It seems to me that there is nothing that so well represents beauty in the abstract, as—a beautiful woman—a visible image of true immaterial purity——Believe me, go to Arles and Nîmes.…”
Duclari, Verbrugge, and Tine also, I must confess, could not suppress a loud laugh at the thought of stepping over so unexpectedly from the west of Java to Arles or Nîmes. Havelaar, who, perhaps, had stood on the tower[1] built by [[180]]the Saracens, near the old Roman amphitheatre at Arles, had some difficulty in understanding the cause of this laugh, and then he continued:—
“Well, yes, I mean, when you are in that neighbourhood. I never saw such a thing. I was accustomed to disappointments on seeing things that are generally so loudly extolled. For instance! look at the cataracts we hear so much of;—I felt little or nothing at Tondano, Abaros, Schaffhausen, and Niagara. One requires to look at his hand-book to know the exact measure of his admiration of the ‘so many feet of fall,’ and ‘so many cubic feet of water in a minute,’ and when the figures are high, he says, ‘What!’ I won’t go to see any more cataracts, at least not when I have to make a détour to get at them. They do not tell me anything. Buildings speak louder to me, above all when they are pages out of history; but the feeling which these inspire is quite different; bringing up the past, and making its shadows pass in review before us. Amongst them are abominable ones, and therefore, however interesting they may be, one does not always find in them what satisfies æsthetical tastes. And without reference to history, there is much beauty in some buildings; but this beauty is again corrupted by guides—either in print, or of flesh and blood—who steal away your impression by their monotonous babble. ‘This chapel was erected by the Bishop of Munster in 1423; the pillars are sixty-three feet high, and are supported by.…’ I don’t [[181]]know what. This is tiresome; for one feels it necessary to have exactly sixty-three feet of admiration at hand not to be taken for a Turk or a bagman. You will tell me now, perhaps, that you keep your guide, when a printed one, in your pocket, and in the other case, order him to hold his tongue, or stand outside; but sometimes to arrive at a correct judgment, information is wanted; yet even if that could be dispensed with, we might seek in vain in some building or other for anything to gratify for more than a moment our passion for the beautiful, because there is nothing to move us. This also holds good, in my opinion, of sculpture and paintings. Nature is motion. Growth, hunger, thought, feeling, all these are examples of motion.… Stagnancy is death. Without motion there is no grief, no enjoyment, no emotion. Sit there motionless for a while, and you will see how soon you will make a ghostly impression on every one else, and even on your own imagination. At a tableaux vivants, one soon wants a new figure, however impressive the sight may have been at the commencement. As our taste for beauty is not satisfied with one look at anything beautiful, but needs a good many successive looks to watch the motion of the beautiful, we are dissatisfied when contemplating works of art, and therefore I assert that a beautiful woman, provided her beauty is not too still, comes nearest to the ideal of the divinity.
“How great is the necessity for motion that I speak of, [[182]]you can partly realize from the loathing which a dancer causes you, even if an Elssler or a Taglioni, when she having just finished a dance, stands on her left foot, and grins at the public.”
“That is beside the question,” Verbrugge said; “for it is absolutely ugly.”
“That is just my opinion; but she fancies it beautiful, and as a climax to all the previous performance, in which much beauty may have been displayed. She regards it as the point of the epigram, as the ‘aux armes!’ of the Marseillaise which she sang with her feet; or as the murmuring of the willows on the grave of the love represented in the dance. And that spectators, who generally, like us, found their taste more or less on custom and imitation, think that moment to be the most striking is evident, because just then every one explodes in applause, as if they said, ‘All the former was beautiful, but now we cannot refrain from giving vent to our feelings of admiration.’ You said that these pauses were absolutely ugly, so do I; but what is the reason? It is because motion was at an end, and with that the history which the dancer told. Believe me, stagnation is death.”
“But,” interrupted Duclari, “you also rejected as an exponent of beauty, the cataracts … yet they move.…”
“Yes, but without a history. They move; but do not change their place. They move like a rocking-horse, [[183]]minus the ‘to and fro.’ They make a noise, but don’t speak.… They cry ‘rroo … rroo … rroo!’… Try crying ‘rroo, rroo’ … for six thousand years, or more, and you will see how few persons will think you an amusing man.”
“I shall not try it,” said Duclari; “but still I do not agree with you, that this motion is so strictly necessary. I give up the cataracts;—but a good picture can express much, I should think.”
“To be sure, but only for a moment. I will try to explain my meaning by an example. This is the 8th of February.…”
“Certainly not,” said Verbrugge, “we are still in January.…”
“No, no; it is the 8th of February 1587, and you are shut up in the Castle of Fotheringay.”
“I?” asked Duclari, who thought that he had not quite understood the remark.
“Yes, you. You are weary, and try to get some variation. There in that wall is a hole;—it is too high for you to look through, but still that is what you desire to do. You place your table under it, and upon this table a three-legged stool, one of the legs being decidedly weak. You have seen at a fair an acrobat, who piled seven chairs one above another, and then placed himself on the top with his head downwards. Self-love and weariness press you to do something of the kind. You climb on your chair, [[184]]and reach the object.… You look for one moment through the hole.… ‘Oh, dear!’ You fall.… And don’t you now know why?”
“I think that the weak leg of the stool broke down,” said Verbrugge.
“Yes; that leg broke down,—but that is not the reason why you fell, the leg broke after your fall. Before every other hole, you could have stood a year on that chair, but now you would have fallen even if there had been thirteen legs to the stool. Yes, even had you been standing on the ground.…”
“I take it for granted,” said Duclari. “I see that you intend to let me fall, coûte que coûte. I lie flat enough now, and at full length; but really I don’t know why.”
“Well; that is very simple … you saw there a woman, dressed in black, kneeling down before a block. She bowed her head, and white as silver was the neck, which appeared whiter from its contrast with the velvet … and there stood a man with a large sword;[2] and he held it high, and he looked at this white neck … and he considered the arc which his blade must describe, to be driven through just there … there between those joints with exactness and force——and then you fell, Duclari; you fell because you saw that, and, therefore, you cried: ‘Oh, dear!’ and not because your chair had only three legs. [[185]]
“And long after you have been delivered from Fotheringay through the intercession of your cousin, or because they have grown tired of feeding you there any longer like a canary, long afterwards, yes, even now, your day-dreams are of this woman; you are roused from sleep, and fall down with a heavy shock on your bed, because you want to arrest the arm of the executioner!… Is it not so?”
“I am willing to believe it, but I cannot say very decidedly, because I have never looked through a hole in the wall of Fotheringay.”
“Granted! nor have I. But now I take a picture, which represents the decapitation of Mary Stuart. Suppose the representation to be perfect: there it hangs in a gilt frame, suspended by a red cord, if you like.… I know what you are about to say,—‘Granted!’ No! you do not see the frame; you even forget that you left your walking-stick at the entrance of the picture-gallery; you forget your name, your child, the new model shako, not to see a picture, but to behold in reality Mary Stuart, exactly the same as at Fotheringay. The executioner stands there exactly the same as he must have been standing in reality; yes, I will even suppose that you extend your arm to avert the blow, that you even cry, ‘Let this woman live, perhaps she will amend.’… You see, I give you fair play as regards the execution of the picture.”
“Yes, but what more? Is the impression then not [[186]]exactly the same as when I saw the same in reality at Fotheringay?”
“No, not in the least, because you did not climb on a chair with three legs. This time you take a chair,—with four legs, by preference an easy-chair,—you go and sit down before the picture, in order to enjoy it completely and for a long time—[We do enjoy ourselves in seeing anything dismal!]—and what is the impression which it makes on you?”
“Well, dread, anguish, pity, trouble!… just the same as when I looked through the hole in the wall. You supposed the picture to be perfect, so I must have the same impression from it as from the reality.”
“No, within two minutes you feel pain in your right arm out of sympathy with the executioner, who has to hold up so long that blade of steel.…”
“Sympathy with the executioner?”
“Yes; an equal sense of pain and discomfort … and also with the woman who sits there so long in an uncomfortable position, and probably in an uncomfortable state of mind, before the block. You still sympathize with her; but this time not because she had to wait so long before being decapitated——and if you had anything to say or to cry,—suppose that you felt disposed to trouble yourself with the matter,—it would be nothing else than, ‘Give the blow, man, she is waiting for it!’ And if afterwards you look again at that picture, and look often at it, is [[187]]your first impression that it is not yet done? ‘Is he still standing and she lying?’ ”
“But what motion is there then in the beauty of the women at Arles?” asked Verbrugge.
“Oh, that is quite different! In their features you may read a whole history.[3] Carthage flourishes, and builds ships: you hear Hannibal’s oath against Rome … here they twist cords for their bows … there the city burns.…”
“Max! Max! I believe that you left your heart at Arles,” said Tine.
“Yes, for a moment … but I have got it back again: you shall hear it. Observe, I do not say I saw a woman there who was in this or that respect beautiful—no, they were all beautiful, and so it was impossible there to fall in love, because the next person always drove the preceding from your admiration, and really I thought of Caligula or Tiberius,—of which of them do they tell the story?—who wished that all humankind had but one head … now therefore involuntarily I wished that the women of Arles.…”
“Had but one head together?”
“Yes.”
“To knock it off?”
“Certainly not … but to kiss it, I was going to say; [[188]]it is not that.… No, to look at it, to dream of it, and to … be good!”
Duclari and Verbrugge certainly thought this conclusion very strange.
But Max did not notice it, and continued:—
“For so noble were the features that one felt somewhat ashamed to be only a man, and not a spark … a beam … no, that would be substance … a thought.…. But——suddenly a brother or a father sat down beside these women, … goodness! I saw one blow her nose!”
“I knew that you would draw a black stripe across it,” said Tine.
“Is that my fault? I would rather have seen her fall down dead;——
“Ought such a girl so far to forget herself?”
“But, Mr. Havelaar,” asked Verbrugge, “suppose she had a bad cold?”
“Well, she ought not to have a bad cold with such a nose.…”
As if an evil spirit spoke, Tine suddenly sneezed … and before she thought of it, she had blown her nose!
“Dear Max! don’t be angry!” said she, with a suppressed laugh.
He did not reply; and however foolish it seems, or is,—yes, he was angry. And what sounds strange too, Tine was glad that he was angry, and that he required her to [[189]]be more than the women of Arles, even though she had no reason to be proud of her nose.
If Duclari still thought Havelaar a fool, one could not be surprised if he felt himself strengthened in this opinion, on perceiving the short anger that could be read in Havelaar’s face, after that nose-blowing. But he had returned from Carthage, and he read on the faces of his guests, with the rapidity with which he could read, when his mind was not too far away from home, that they had made the two following theorems:—
“1. Whoever will not let his wife blow her nose is a fool.
“2. Whoever thinks that a beautiful nose may not be blown, is wrong to apply that idea to Madam Havelaar, whose nose is a little en pomme de terre.”
Havelaar would not speak of the first theorem, but the second one.…—“Oh,” he said, as if he had to reply, though his guests had been too polite to speak their thoughts, “I will explain that to you, Tine.…”
“Dear Max!” she said entreatingly; and she meant by these words to say, “Do not tell these gentlemen why I should be in your estimation elevated above a bad cold.…”
Havelaar appeared to understand what Tine meant; for he replied, “Very well, dear.” But do you know, gentlemen, that one is often deceived in estimating the rights of men by material imperfections? I am quite sure that his guests never heard of these rights.
“I knew a little girl in Sumatra,” he continued, “the [[190]]daughter of a datoo[4] … well then, I am certain that she had no claim to such imperfection; and yet I saw her fall into the water in a shipwreck just like another. I, a man, had to help her to land.”
“But ought she to have flown like a sea-mew?”
“Certainly, … or, no … she ought not to have had a body. Would you have me tell you how I became acquainted with her? It was in ’42, I was Controller at Natal.[5] Have you been there, Verbrugge?”
“Yes.”
“Now then, then you know that pepper is cultivated at Natal. The pepper-grounds are situated at Taloh-Baleh, north of Natal, near the coast. I had to inspect them, and having no knowledge of pepper, I took with me in the pirogue[6] (prakoe) a datoo—some one who knew more about it than I. His daughter, then a child of thirteen years, went with us. We sailed along the coast and found it very wearisome.”
“And then you were shipwrecked?”
“No, it was fine weather … the shipwreck happened many years afterwards; otherwise I should not have been weary. We sailed along the coast, and it was fearfully hot. Such a pirogue gives little occasion for relaxation, and, moreover, I was then in a very bad humour, to which [[191]]many causes had contributed. First of all, I had an unfortunate love,—that was in those days my daily bread;—but, moreover, I found myself in a state between two attacks of ambition. I had made myself a king, and been dethroned, I had climbed up a tower, and had fallen down again to the ground.… I shall now pass by the reason of this. Enough, I was sitting there in that pirogue with a sour face and a bad humour; I was, as the Germans call it, ungeniessbar. I thought it derogatory to inspect pepper-fields, and that I ought a long time ago to have had the appointment of governor of a solar system. Moreover, I thought it moral murder to put a spirit like mine in a pirogue with that stupid datoo and his child. I have to tell you that generally speaking I liked the Malay chiefs very much, and harmonized well with them. They even possess qualities which make me prefer them to the Javanese grandees. Yes, I know, Verbrugge, that you do not agree with me in this matter, there are but few who do … but I leave this question now. If I had performed this voyage on another day, when less restless, I should perhaps immediately have commenced a conversation with this datoo, and perhaps have found that it was worth my while. Perhaps the little girl would have spoken too, and that would have entertained me; for a child has generally something original,—though I was still myself too much a child to take an interest in originality. Now this is otherwise; now I see in every girl of thirteen [[192]]years old a manuscript, in which little or nothing has been effaced. They surprise the author en négligé, and that is often pretty.
“The child was stringing coral beads, and this seemed to absorb all her attention. Three red, one black … three red, one black … it was pretty!
“Her name was ‘Si Oepi Keteh.’ This means in Sumatra about the same as ‘little miss.’… Yes, Verbrugge, you know it, but Duclari has always served in Java. Her name was ‘Si Oepi Keteh,’ but in my thoughts I called her ‘poor creature,’ because I was exalted in my own ideas so very much above her.
“It was afternoon … almost evening; the corals were laid aside. The land passed slowly by, and grew fainter and fainter behind us. To the left, far in the west, above the wide, wide ocean, which has no limit as far as Madagascar—the sun set over Africa, and his beams fell—more and more obliquely on the waves, and sought for coolness in the sea. What the dickens is it?”
“What? the sun?”
“No, no.… I used to make verses.…
“Thou askest why the ocean stream,
That washes Natal’s shore,
Elsewhere so gentle and serene,
Is known to boil and roar.
“Thou askest the poor fisher’s son,
Who scarce can understand; [[193]]
And he points out th’ horizon dun,
Without a trace of land.
“He casts a glance of his dark eye
Along the Western main;
And he and you can nought descry
But sea, and sea again.
“And here the Ocean tears the land,
And beats the sandy shore,
Because from Madagascar’s strand
There’s sea and nothing more—
“A sea where shrieks of terror wild,
To all the world unknown,
Unheard by friend, or wife, or child,
Are heard by God alone!
“A hand with agonizing bound,
Oft sprang above the wave;
And snatched, and clutched, and swung around,
For something that could save.
“But there was nought to give a hold:
The waves that on him pressed,
Soon o’er his head for ever rolled——
And——* * * *”
“I don’t know the rest!”
“You could ascertain it,” said Verbrugge, “by writing to Krijgsman, who was your clerk at Natal; he knows it.”
“How did he get hold of it?” asked Max.
“Perhaps out of your waste-basket. But certain it is [[194]]that he has it. Does not then follow the story of the fall of man, which made the island sink, that formerly protected Natal’s coast … the history of Djiwa and the two brothers?”
“That is true. This legend—was no legend at all, it was a parable which I made, and which two hundred years hence——will be a legend if Krijgsman often relates it. Such has been the origin of all legends. Djiwa is ‘soul’ as you know.…”
“Max, what became of the little girl with the coral beads?” asked Tine.
“They had been laid aside. It was six o’clock, and there under the equator—Natal being a few minutes north of it [when I went on horseback to Ayer-Bangie, I made my horse walk over the equator, or almost walk; fearing I should fall over it]—it was six o’clock, a signal for evening thoughts. Now, I think that a man in the evening is always a little better, or less vicious, than in the morning—and that is natural. A Controller wipes his eyes, and dreads meeting an Assistant Resident, who assumes a foolish ascendency because he has been a few years more in the service; or has to measure fields that day, and is in doubt between his honesty——you do not know that, Duclari, because you are a military man; but there are indeed honest Controllers——then he is in doubt between that honesty and the fear that Radeen Demang So-and-so will desire to have that grey horse that ambles [[195]]so well;—or, he has to say that day Yes or No in answer to letter No——. In a word, when you awake in the morning, the world falls on your heart; and that is a heavy burden for a heart, even when it is strong.
“But when it is evening you pause. There are ten hours; thirty-six thousand seconds before you will see your official coat again. That allures every one. That is the moment when I hope to die … to arrive yonder with an unofficial face. That is the moment when your wife finds something once more in your face of what caught her when she allowed you to keep that pocket-handkerchief with an ‘E’ in the corner.…”
“And before she had time to catch a bad cold.”
“Ah, don’t disturb me … I only mean to say, that during the evening one is more susceptible (gemüthlicher). So when the sun set, I became a better man, as the first proof of my improvement may show, and said to the little girl—
“ ‘Now it will soon be cooler.’
“ ‘Yes, sir,’ she replied.
“But I lowered my dignity still further, and commenced a conversation with this poor creature. My merits were still greater, because she replied little. I was right in all that I said; which is annoying, even in spite of one’s arrogance.
“ ‘Should you like to go again to Taloh-Baleh?’ I asked. [[196]]
“ ‘As you please, sir.’
“ ‘No, I ask you if you think such an excursion agreeable?’
“ ‘If my father does,’ she replied.—Was not this enough to anger me? Well, then, I did not get angry, the sun had set, and I felt myself good (gemüthlich) enough not to be disheartened by so much stupidity; or rather, I believe, I began to enjoy hearing my own voice,—for few amongst us do not like to listen to their own voices,—and after my muteness during the whole day, I thought, now that I did speak, it merited something better than the silly replies of ‘Si Oepi Keteh.’
“I will tell her something, I thought, then I shall hear it too, without wanting any replies. Now you know that, as at the unloading of a ship, the ‘Kranjang’ (cask) of sugar last put on board is the first to be taken out, so we generally unload first that thought or tale that was acquired last. In the periodical paper, ‘Dutch India,’ I had read not long before a story by Jerome, ‘The Japanese Stone-Cutter.’… This Jerome has written many beautiful things. Did you read his ‘Auction in the House of the Dead’? And his ‘Tombs’? And, above all, the ‘Pedatti’? I will give you the last. I had just read ‘The Japanese Stone-Cutter.’… Now I suddenly remember that my anger that day was connected with the perilousness of the Natal roads.… You know, Verbrugge, that no man-of-war can approach these roads, [[197]]certainly not in July.… Yes, Duclari, the rainy season is there at its height in July, quite different from here … now then, the perilousness of these roads was linked with my mortified ambition. I had often proposed to the Resident to construct at Natal a breakwater, or at least an artificial harbour at the mouth of the river, with a view to bring commerce into the district of Natal, which unites the battah districts with the sea. One million and a half of inhabitants in the interior do not know what to do with their produce, because the Natal roads are so bad. Now then, these proposals had not been approved by the Resident, or at least he asserted that the Government would not approve of them, and you know that the Residents never propose anything but what they know pretty well beforehand will be agreeable to the Government. The making of a harbour at Natal was in principle contradictory of the separate system; and far from encouraging ships there, it was even forbidden to admit ships with yards on the roads, unless in case of superior force. Yet when a ship came—they were mostly American whalers, or French ships that had loaded pepper in the small independent countries on the north side—I always caused a letter to be written by the captain, wherein he asked permission to take in fresh water. My anger about the miscarriage of my efforts to do something for the benefit of Natal, or rather my offended vanity at being still of so little consequence that I could not even have a harbour [[198]]made where I liked, and all this in connexion with my candidateship for the ruling of a solar system,—all this made me so peevish that day. When I recovered a little at sunset, for discontent is a sickness exactly,—this sickness reminded me of the Japanese stone-cutter, and perhaps I only thought this history aloud, in order to take the last drop of the medicine which I felt that I wanted, whilst I imposed upon myself by saying that I did it out of benevolence for the child. But she, the child, cured me, for some days at least, better than any tale.
“Oepi! There was a man who cut stones out of a rock. This labour was heavy, and he laboured much; but his wages were small, and he was not content. He sighed because his labour was heavy, and he cried, ‘O that I were rich, in order to rest on a baleh-baleh[7] with klamboo.’[8]
“And there came an angel out of heaven, who said, ‘Be it as you have said.’
“And he was rich. And he rested on a baleh-baleh, and the klamboo was of red silk.
“And the king of the country passed with horsemen before his carriage, and likewise behind the carriage there were horsemen, and the golden pajong[9] was held over the head of the king. [[199]]
“And as soon as the rich man heard this, he was sad, because they held no golden ‘pajong’ over his head, and he was not content. He sighed and cried, ‘I should like to be a king.’
“And there came an angel out of heaven and said, ‘Be it as you have said.’
“And he became a king. And before his carriage were many horsemen, and behind were also horsemen, and over his head they held the golden ‘pajong.’
“And the sun shone with hot beams, and burned the earth in such a manner that the grass was dried up.
“And the king complained that the sun burned his face, and had more power than he; and he was not satisfied.
“He sighed, and cried, ‘I should like to be the sun.’
“And there came an angel out of heaven who said, ‘Be it as you have said.’
“And he became the sun. And he sent up his beams on high, and down to the earth; to the right and to the left——everywhere.
“And he burned up the grass on the earth, and the faces of the princes who were on the earth.
“And a cloud came between him and the earth, and the beams of the sun were turned back.
“And he was angry that his power was resisted; and he complained that this cloud had more power than he; and he was dissatisfied.
“He desired to be the cloud that was so mighty. [[200]]
“And there came an angel from heaven who said, ‘Be this as you have said.’
“And he became a cloud, and placed himself between the sun and the earth, and intercepted the beams, so that the grass became green.
“And the cloud rained in large drops on the earth, and made the rivers swell, and the ‘banjers’ carried away the herds.
“And the cloud devastated the field with much water.
“And it fell on a rock which did not move, and rattled in large streams, but the rock did not yield.
“And the cloud was angry because the rock would not yield; and because the strength of its streams was vain. And it was not contented.
“It cried, ‘This rock has more power than I have. I wish to be this rock.’
“And there came an angel out of heaven who said, ‘Be this as you have said.’
“And it became a rock, and moved neither when the sun shone nor when it rained.
“And there came a man with pickaxe and sharp chisel, and heavy hammer, who cut stones out of the rock.
“And the rock said, ‘What is this, that the man has power over me, and cuts stones out of my bosom?’ And it was discontented.
“It cried, ‘I am weaker than he, I should like to be that man.’ [[201]]
“And there came an angel out of heaven who said, ‘Be this as you have said.’
“And he became a stone-cutter. And he cut stones out of the rock with heavy labour, and he laboured hard for small wages, and was contented.”
“Very nice,” said Duclari, “but now you still owe us the proof that this little ‘Oepi’ ought to have been imponderable.”
“No, I did not promise to prove that. I only desired to tell you how I got acquainted with her. When I had done with my story, I asked: ‘And you, “Oepi,” what would you choose, if an angel from heaven came to ask you what you desired?’ ”
“Sir, I should pray him to take me with him to heaven.”
“Is not that beautiful?” said Tine to her guests, who perhaps thought it very foolish.
Havelaar stood upon his legs, and wiped away something from his forehead. [[202]]
[1] As Arles is renowned for its beautiful remains of Roman origin, the tower in question is probably also of Roman construction. True, the Saracens conquered this city in 730, yet soon afterwards they were beaten by Charles Martel, who took the city again. We are strengthened in our supposition by the communication of M. De Caumont, the celebrated French archæologist, that the Roman monuments are known by the French peasants of the different départements under the name of Sarrazin. Even M. Leroy de la Brière says that the workmen call the Roman coins pièces de Mahomet,—See Annales de la Société Française d’archéologie pour la description et la conservation des monuments, 1865 (Congrès Archéologique de France, XXXI. session à Fontenoy 1864) pag. 6 F.—Translator. [↑]
[3] This appears to refer to the confident looks of the Carthaginians, who knew their own strength. [↑]
[4] Datoo = a petty chief in Sumatra. [↑]
[5] Natal in Sumatra—not to be confounded with Natal in Africa. [↑]
[6] Pirogue = piragua, a canoe formed of two trees united. [↑]
[9] Pajong = umbrella—distinctive of rank—a golden one being the highest. [↑]
CHAPTER XII.
[CONTINUATION OF STERN’S COMPOSITION.]
“Dear Max,” said Tine, “our dessert is so scanty——would you not——you remember Madam Geoffrin——?”
“Talk to us of something else than pastry? What the deuce! I am hoarse; it is Verbrugge’s turn.”
“Yes, Mr. Verbrugge! Please relieve Max,” said Madam Havelaar. Verbrugge hesitated for a moment; and began:
“Once upon a time there was a man, who stole a turkey.”
“Oh you rogue,” cried Havelaar, “that is from Padang! And how does it go on?”
“It is finished. Do you know the end of this story?”
“To be sure, I ate the turkey in company with … somebody. Do you know why I was suspended at Padang?”
“People said that there was a deficit in your cash at Natal,” replied Verbrugge.
“That is not altogether untrue, but neither is it true. From many causes I had been very careless in my pecuniary [[203]]responsibilities at Natal, on which many observations were made. But this happened in those days very often: matters in Northern Sumatra were, soon after the pacification of Baros, Tapos, and Singkel,[1] so confused, all was so turbulent, that fault could not be found with a young man who was more inclined to be on horseback than at the desk, or in keeping cash-books in order. It could not be expected that everything would be in such strict order as if an Amsterdam bookkeeper had been in charge with nothing else to do. The Battah-countries were in revolt, and you know, Verbrugge, how all that happens there reacts on Natal. I slept every night in my clothes, to be ready for anything: which was often necessary. Moreover there was danger,—a few days before my arrival a plot had been discovered to revolt and murder my predecessor, and danger has something attractive, above all to a man of twenty-two, and this attractiveness makes him the more incapable for office-work, or the stiff accuracy which is wanted for the proper management of money matters. Moreover, I had all sorts of nonsense in my head.…”
“It is not necessary,” said Madam Havelaar in reply to a man-servant. [[204]]
“What is not necessary?”
“I had told them to make something ready in the kitchen——an omelet—or some such thing.”
“Ah!… and that is not necessary, because I have begun my story—that is naughty, Tine. Very well, as far as I am concerned; but these gentlemen have also a voice in the matter. Verbrugge! what do you like?—your share of the omelet or the story?”
“That is a difficult choice for a polite man,” said Verbrugge.
“Nor should I like to choose,” added Duclari, “for it would be a verdict between man and wife; and——”
“Entre l’écorce et le bois, il ne faut pas mettre le doigt.”
“I will help you, gentlemen, the omelet is.…”
“Madam,” said the courteous Duclari, “the omelet will certainly be worth as much.…”
“As the story? Certainly, if it is worth anything; but there is a difficulty.…”
“I wager that there is no sugar in the house,” said Verbrugge; “pray fetch from mine whatever you want.”
“There is sugar, from Madam Slotering; no, it is not that. If the omelet were good, that would not matter.…”
“What then, Madam; has it fallen into the fire?”
“I wish it had. No, it cannot fall into the fire; it is.…”
“But, Tine,” said Havelaar, “what is it then?”
“It is imponderable, Max! as your women at Arles [[205]]… ought to have been. I have no omelet——I have nothing more.”
“Then, for heaven’s sake, the story,” said Duclari in droll despair.
“But we have coffee,” cried Tine.
“Good! Then we shall drink coffee in the fore-gallery,[2] and let us invite Madam Slotering and the girls,” said Havelaar, whereupon the small company moved.
“I suppose that she will not come, Max; you know that she prefers not to dine with us, and in this I cannot say that she is wrong.”
“She may have heard that I tell stories,” said Havelaar, “and that must have frightened her.”
“You are wrong there, Max! This would not harm her—she doesn’t understand Dutch. No, she told me that she wished to have her own household; and I understand that very well. You know how you translated my name—‘E. H. v. W.’ ”
“Eigen Haard veel Waard.”[3]
“Just so: she is quite right; she seems, moreover, a little unsociable. Only fancy, she makes the servants drive away all strangers that come near the house.…”
“I beg for the story or the omelet,” said Duclari. [[206]]
“So do I,” cried Verbrugge; “evasions are not accepted. We are entitled to a complete dinner, and therefore I ask for the history of the turkey.”
“I have told you that already,” said Havelaar: “I stole the turkey from General van Damme, and ate it with somebody.”
“Before something went to heaven,” said Tine playfully.
“No, that’s an evasion,” cried Duclari, “we want to know why you stole that turkey.”
“Well, because I was hungry, and that was the fault of General van Damme, who had suspended me.”
“If you don’t tell me more than that, I will bring an omelet next time myself,” complained Verbrugge.
“Believe me, it was nothing more than that. He had many turkeys, and I had none. These birds were driven before my door; I took one, and said to the man who imagined that he watched them, ‘Tell the General that I, Max Havelaar, take this turkey, because I want to eat it.’ ”
“And what about that epigram?”
“Did Verbrugge speak to you about it?”
“Yes.”
“That has nothing to do with the turkey. That was because he had suspended so many functionaries: there were at Padang seven or eight of them whom he had suspended, with more or less justice, from their functions. Many amongst them deserved it less than I. The Assistant Resident of Padang himself had been suspended, and [[207]]for a reason which, as I believe, was quite a different one from that given in the decision. I must tell you, however, that I cannot assure you that I know all about it, and that I say only what was thought to be true at Padang, and what may have been true, when taking into consideration above all the peculiarities of the General.
“He married his wife to gain a wager of an anker of wine. He often went out in the evening, and went everywhere. Mr. Valkenaar on one occasion so respected his incognito, that in a small street near the girls’ orphan-house, he gave him a thrashing, as a common disturber of the public peace. Not far from that place lived Miss ——. There was a rumour that this Miss —— had given birth to a child, that had disappeared. The Assistant Resident was about to examine into the matter, and seems to have expressed his intention at a whist-party at the General’s. The next day he received an order to go to a certain district, whose Controller had been suspended from his functions because of true or supposed dishonesty, there to examine and report upon these affairs. The Assistant Resident certainly wondered that he was charged with a thing that had no connexion whatever with his district; but as he could, strictly speaking, consider this charge as an honourable distinction, and as he was on very good terms with the General, so that he had no cause to think of a snare, he acquiesced in the mission, and went to —— I don’t know where, to execute his orders. After some [[208]]time he returns and makes a report, that was not unfavourable to the Controller. But lo! the public (that is, ‘nobody and every one’) at Padang had now discovered that the Controller had only been suspended to afford an opportunity for the removal of the Assistant Resident from the place, in order to prevent his intended investigation of the disappearance of that child, or at least to delay it till it would be more difficult to clear up the mystery. I now repeat that I do not know whether that was true, but since my better acquaintance with General van Damme, it appears to me very credible; and at Padang likewise there was nobody who did not think him capable of such a thing, considering how very bad his morals were. Most people only gave him credit for one quality, intrepidity in danger; and if I, who have seen him in danger, stuck to the opinion that he was, after all, a courageous man, that alone would induce me to withhold this story. It is true that he, in Sumatra, had caused many ‘to be sabred down,’ but that ought to have been seen more closely, to form a correct estimate of his valour; and, however strange it may appear, I believed that he owed his military glory in a great measure to the spirit of contradiction which animates us all more or less. One readily admits, it is true, that Peter or Paul is this, or that; but what he is, that one must leave him, and never can you be so sure to be praised as when you have a great, a very apparent fault. You, Verbrugge, are drunk every day.…” [[209]]
“I?” asked Verbrugge, who was a pattern of temperance.
“Yes, I make you drunk every day. You forget yourself so far that Duclari tumbles over you in the fore-gallery. That he will find unpleasant, but he will immediately remember to have seen something good in you, which he did not remark before. And when I come, and I find you thus horizontal, then he will put his hand on my arm and say, ‘Oh, believe me, he is otherwise such a good, honest, nice fellow!’ ”
“I say that of Verbrugge, even when he is vertical,” said Duclari.
“Not with the same fire and persuasion. Think of it, how often one hears people say, ‘Oh, if this man would be attentive to his business, he would be somebody, but——’ and then comes the story, how that he is not attentive to business, and is, therefore, nobody. I believe that I know the reason of this. Of those that are dead we always hear good qualities which we never before perceived. This is because they are in nobody’s way. All men are more or less concurrents; we should like to place everybody else completely under us, and to have all things under us. Politeness, even self-interest, prevents the confession of this, for very soon nobody would believe us, even if we asserted something true. A subterfuge is sought for, and look how we do it. When you, Duclari, say, ‘Lieutenant Slobkous is a good soldier, to be sure he is a good soldier, [[210]]I cannot sufficiently express what a good soldier Lieutenant Slobkous is, … but he is no theorist …’ did you not say so, Duclari?”
“I never knew or saw a Lieutenant Slobkous.”
“Very well, make one, and say that of him.”
“Well, I make him, and say it.”
“Do you know what you have now said? You have said that you, Duclari, are thoroughly acquainted with theory. I am not a bit better. Believe me, we are wrong to be so angry with one who is very bad, for the good ones amongst us are very near the bad. Suppose we call perfection 0, and take 100 degrees to be bad, how very wrong we are then, who fluctuate between 98 and 99, to call shame on a person who stands at 101. And still I believe that many do not attain the 100th degree for want of good qualities, courage, for instance, to be quite what 1 is.”
“At what degree do I stand, Max?”
“I want a magnifying-glass for the subdivisions, Tine.”
“I object,” cried Verbrugge,—“no, Madam! considering your proximity to the 0,—no, functionaries are suspended, a child is lost, a General is accused.…”
“But where’s the story?”
“Tine, take care that next time there is something in the house. No, Verbrugge, you will not get ‘the story’ until I have been a little time longer on my hobby-horse, on the spirit of contradiction. I said every man sees in [[211]]his fellow-creature a sort of rival. One must not always blame what is but too obvious, therefore, we like to exalt a good quality excessively, to make the bad quality (which is properly the only thing we want to reveal) the more obvious, without displaying the appearance of partiality. If any one comes to me complaining that I have called him a thief, when I have also called his daughter a lovely girl, then I reply: ‘How can you be so angry since I have called your daughter a lovely girl?’ Do you see, I win both ways. Each of us is a grocer; I take away his customers, who will not buy raisins of a thief,—and at the same time, it is said that I am a good man, because I praise the daughter of a rival in business.”
“No, it is not so bad,” said Duclari; “that is going much too far.”
“You think so, because I made the comparison a little short and blunt. You must mitigate it a little. But if we must indeed acknowledge that somebody is in the possession of a quality which merits esteem, respect, or credit, then we are pleased to discover, near this quality, something which releases us in part or altogether of this tribute.
“To such a poet we should bow, but … he beats his wife. You see, then, we like to use the black and blue of this wife as a motive to keep our backs straight; and in the end we are pleased that he beats the poor creature,—a practice which in any other case we should condemn. If we must acknowledge that somebody possesses qualities [[212]]that allow him the honour of a statue, if we can no longer deny his claims thereto without being thought ignorant, insensible, or jealous, then we say, ‘Well: set him up!’ But already, while mounting him upon the pedestal, and while he himself still thinks that we are full of admiration of his excellence, we have already made the noose in the lasso, that is intended, on the first favourable opportunity, to pull him down. The greater the changes among the occupiers of pedestals to have a turn too, and this so true, that we from habit, and for exercise, like a sportsman who shoots crows which he does not bag, like to pull down even these statues, whose foot-piece never can be mounted by us. If Kappelman lives on sauerkraut and hard beer, he likes to say: ‘Alexander was not great … he was intemperate,’ whilst there exists for Kappelman not the least chance of rivalry with Alexander in conquering the world. How this may be, I am sure that many never would have the idea that General Van Damme was so very brave, if his bravery could not have served as a vehicle for the always added: ‘but … his morality!’ And at the same time, that this immorality would not have been much thought of by many, who were not themselves so very invulnerable in this respect, if it had not been wanted to counterbalance his renown for prowess, which disturbed the slumbers of some. One quality he possessed in a very high degree—energy. What he intended to happen did generally [[213]]happen. You see, however, I have immediately an anti-thesis ready—but in the choice of the means he was very free, and, as Van der Palm[4] has said, as I believe unjustly, of Napoleon, ‘Obstacles of morality never arrested him,’ and then it is certainly easier to attain your aim than when you think yourself bound by such rule.
“The Assistant Resident of Padang had made a report that sounded favourably for his suspended Controller, whose suspension got in this way a colour of injustice. The Padang scandal continued: people always were talking about the disappearance of the child; the Assistant Resident was again obliged to notice the matter; but before he could clear up the mystery, he received an order, whereby he was suspended by the Governor of Western Sumatra ‘because of negligence.’ He had, as it was said, out of friendship or pity, and while he knew better, represented the matter of the Controller in a false light. I did not read the documents concerning this affair; but I know that the Assistant Resident was not in the least connected with this Controller, which is already evident from his having been chosen to examine the matter. I know, moreover, that he was an estimable person, and the Government thought so too, which appears from the annulling of the suspension after the affair had been [[214]]examined elsewhere than on the west coast of Sumatra. This Controller also was afterwards restored to his honour. It was their suspension which inspired me with the epigram that I caused to be put down on the General’s breakfast-table by somebody who was then in his service, and had been formerly in mine—
‘Suspension on legs, the suspension that rules—
Old Jack the Suspender, the bogie of fools—
Would surely his Conscience itself have suspended,
Were’t not that it long ago finally ended!’ ”[5]
“Such a thing was not proper,” said Duclari.
“I quite agree; … but I was bound to do something. Only fancy: I had no money, received nothing: that I feared every day starvation, which in reality I was very near, I had few or no relations at Padang, and, moreover, I told the General that he was responsible if I perished from hunger, and that I should accept aid of nobody. In the interior there were persons who, on hearing what had happened, invited me to come to their homes; but the General prohibited the issue of my passport thither. Neither was I allowed to go to Java. Anywhere else I could have managed it, and perhaps there too, if people had not been so afraid of the mighty General. It appeared [[215]]to be his intention to let me starve. Such a state of things lasted nine months!”
“And how did you live all that time? had the General plenty of turkeys?”
“No, I did that only once.… I made verses, and wrote comedies … and so on.”
“And was that enough to buy rice at Padang?”
“No, but I did not ask that for it, … I would rather not say how I lived.”
Tine pressed his hand; she knew it.
“I have read a few lines which you wrote at that time on the back of a receipt,” said Verbrugge.
“I know what you mean; the lines give you an idea of my position. There was at that time a periodical paper, the ‘Copyist,’ to which I subscribed. As it was under the protection of the Government, the editor being an official under the General Secretary, the subscribers’ money went into the Exchequer. They offered me a receipt for twenty guilders. As this money had to be booked at the Governor’s office, and the receipt, if the money was not paid, had to pass these offices to be sent back to Batavia, I made use of this opportunity, and protested against my poverty on the back of the paper.
‘Vingt florins … quel trésor! Adieu, littérature.
Adieu, Copiste, adieu! Trop malheureux destin.
Je meurs de faim, de froid, de soif, et de chagrin …
Vingt florins font pour moi deux mois de nourriture.
[[216]]
Si j’avais vingt florins … je serais mieux botté,
Mieux nourri, mieux logé, j’en ferais bonne chère.
Il faut vivre avant tout, soit vie de misère.
Le crime fait la honte, et non la pauvreté.’
But when, afterwards, I went to the publishers of the ‘Copyist,’ to give them my twenty guilders, I was told that I owed nothing. It appears that the General had himself paid the money for me, to prevent this illustrated receipt being sent back to Batavia. But——what did he do, after the taking away of that turkey—?
“It was a theft; and after that epigram?”
“He punished me terribly. If he had accused me as being guilty of want of respect for the Governor of Western Sumatra, which could have been explained in those days with a little ingenuity, as an endeavour to undermine, to revolt, ‘or as theft on the public road,’ he would have showed himself to be a right-minded man. But no, he punished me better! He ordered the man who had to watch the turkeys to choose henceforth another road; and as to my epigram … that is still worse—he said nothing, and did nothing. You see that was cruel! He did not grant me the smallest claim to be a martyr … I did not become interesting by persecution, and was not allowed to be unhappy through excess of wit … it was enough to disgust me once for all with epigrams and turkeys. So little encouragement extinguishes the flame of genius to the last spark! I never did it again!” [[217]]
[1] Three Dutch settlements on the west coast of North Sumatra. Singkel is the most northern of the Dutch possessions in that island, and is separated by a river of the same name from the still independent little states of Troomon and Analaboo. Still further north commences the Sultanat of Atchin. The whole coast from Ayer-Bangie to the northern point is known to sailors by name of Pepper Coast. [↑]
[2] Such a fore-gallery is open on three sides and supported by pillars. The reader will find a description of an Indian house infra, p. 231. [↑]
[3] Eigen Haard veel Waard = “One’s own hearth is worth much.” (There’s no place like home.) The lady’s name was Everdine Huberte van Wijnbergen. [↑]
[4] Johannes Henricus Van der Palm, a celebrated Dutch author and orator, born 1763, died 1840; best known by his Bible for children and his Bible translations. [↑]
“Het wand’lend schorsbesluit, dat schorsend ons regeert,
Jan Schorsäl, Gouverneur, de weerwolf onzer dagen,
Had zijn geweten zelf met vreugd gesuspendeerd,—
Als ’t niet voor langen tijd finaal reeds ware ontslagen.”
CHAPTER XIII.
[COMPOSED BY STERN.]
“And may we now hear why you were suspended?” asked Duclari.
“Oh yes; for as I can assure you of, and even prove, the truth of all that I say on the subject, you will see that I did not act rashly, when I, in telling the story about that lost child, did not quite disregard the scandal of Padang; because you will think it very credible, as soon as I shall have made you acquainted with this General in affairs that concern myself.
“There were in my accounts at Natal inaccuracies and omissions. You know how every inaccuracy ends in loss: inaccuracy never increases money. It is pretended that I was short of thousands. But, observe, they did not tell me that so long as I was at Natal. Quite unexpectedly I received an appointment in the highlands of Padang. You know, Verbrugge, that in Sumatra an appointment to the Padang highlands is considered as more profitable and more agreeable than one in the Northern Residency. As [[218]]the Governor had visited me a short time before—by and by you will know why, and how—and things had happened in my house, in which I thought I had acted as a man; I accepted this appointment as a distinction, and set out from Natal for Padang. I made the passage on board a French ship, the ‘Baobab,’ of Marseilles, which had loaded pepper at Atchin, and, of course, on arriving at Natal was in want of fresh water. As soon as I arrived at Padang, with the intention to depart from there to the interior, I wished, as in duty bound, to visit the Governor, but he sent word that he could not receive me; and, at the same time, that I must delay my setting out for my new situation till further orders. You may believe that I was very much surprised at that,—the more so because he left me at Natal in a humour which made me think that he entertained a high opinion of me. I had but few acquaintances at Padang, but from the few I had, I heard, or rather perceived, that the General was very angry with me. I say that I perceived it, because, at a country place such as Padang was then, the goodwill of many can serve as a thermometer of the favour in which one stands in the eye of the Governor. I felt that a storm was near, without knowing from which point of the compass the wind would come. As I was in want of money, I asked one and another of my friends to lend me some, and was quite astonished that I was met everywhere by a refusal. At Padang, as everywhere else in the Indies, there is [[219]]great liberality in this respect. In every other case, a few hundred guilders would have been lent with pleasure to a Controller who had been detained on his journey contrary to his expectations. But I was refused every assistance. I pressed some to tell me the cause of this distrust; and by little and little I got to know at last that in my money matters at Natal faults and oversights had been discovered, which now caused me to be suspected of dishonest administration. That there were faults in my administration I was not surprised to hear; the contrary would have surprised me; but I wondered that the Governor, who had himself witnessed how I had always to struggle far from my office with a discontented population, ready to revolt at any moment;—that he, who had himself given me credit for what he called ‘manliness,’ could accuse me of dishonesty, as he knew better than any one that there could be no other question than that of ‘force majeure.’ And though this force majeure was denied, though they wanted to make me responsible for faults that had happened at moments when I, often in danger of my life, far away from the cash or anything connected with it, had to intrust others with the administration of it,—even if it was expected that I, while doing one thing, ought not to have neglected the other, even then my only fault would have been a carelessness that had nothing in common with dishonesty. Moreover in those days there were many instances in which the Government took into [[220]]consideration this difficult position of their functionaries in Sumatra; and it seemed to be accepted as a principle on such occasions that some allowance should be made. It only required that these functionaries should make good the deficiency, and the word ‘dishonest’ was never pronounced without very clear proofs. This was so much a custom that I myself told the Governor at Natal, that I feared I should have to pay a good deal, after my account had been examined at the offices at Padang, whereupon he replied, shrugging his shoulders: ‘Ah! … those money matters …’ as if he himself felt that matters of smaller importance ought to give place to those of greater.
“I readily admit that money affairs are important; but, however important in themselves, they were in this case subordinate to other branches of duty and business. If through carelessness or oversight some thousands[1] failed in my administration, I call this no trifle; but if these thousands failed in consequence of my successful efforts to prevent a revolt, that would have devastated the district of Mandhéling with fire and sword, and that would have brought back the Atchinese to the haunts from where we had just driven them, with great sacrifice of blood and treasure, then the magnitude of the short-coming disappears, and it seems even a little unjust to make him refund who has saved infinitely more important interests. [[221]]Yet I thought such a repayment right; for the non-exaction of it would lay one open to a charge of dishonesty.
“After waiting for many days, you may conceive with what feelings I received at last from the Governor’s Secretary a letter, in which I was given to understand that I was suspected of dishonesty, and I was ordered to reply to a number of charges that had been made against my administration. Some of them I could explain immediately, for others I wanted to look at documents, and, above all, it was most important for me to look into these matters at Natal. I could have examined clerks and other employés, to ascertain the causes of the mistakes, and very likely I should have succeeded in my endeavours to clear up all. The neglect, for instance, to book money that had been sent to Mandhéling—[you know, Verbrugge, that the troops in the interior are paid out of the Natal exchequer]—or something like that, which I should, perhaps, have seen immediately, if I could have examined into it on the spot, as having been the cause of these sad faults. But the General refused to let me go to Natal. This refusal caused me to pay still more attention to the strange manner in which this accusation of dishonesty had been brought forward against me. Why had I been suddenly transferred from Natal, and under colour of good intentions to me, if I was really suspected of dishonesty? Why did they communicate to me that disgraceful suspicion only for the first time, when I was far from the place [[222]]where I should have had an opportunity to clear myself? And above all, why had these affairs been brought against me in the most unfavourable light, contrary to the usual custom, and to justice?
“Before I had replied to all these observations as well as I could without written or verbal information, I learned that the reason why the General was so angry with me was—
“ ‘Because I had opposed him so much at Natal,’ in which, as was added, ‘I had done wrong.’
“Now, then, I saw it all. Yes, I had opposed him; but with the innocent idea that he would esteem me because I had opposed him; but after his departure nothing made me suppose that he was angry with me on that account; stupid as I was, I had accepted the favourable transfer to Padang as a proof that he had thought my opposition very noble. You will see how little I knew him then. But when I heard that this was the cause of the severity with which my money administration was condemned, I was at peace with myself. I answered every point as well as I could, and ended my letter, of which I still have a copy, with the words, ‘I have answered the observations made on my administration as well as is possible without consulting documents or having recourse to local investigation. I beg your honour, on all benevolent considerations, to excuse me. I am young and insignificant in comparison with the power of the dominant ideas, which my principles compel me to oppose; but [[223]]I remain, nevertheless, proud of my moral independence, proud of my honour.’
“The following day I was suspended on the plea of dishonest administration. The officer of justice was ordered to fulfil my office and duty; and such was my position at Padang, when scarcely twenty-three years of age. I contemplated the future that must bring me infamy. People advised me to appeal on the score of my youth; for I was still under age when the pretended mistake occurred. But I would not do that. Had not I thought, suffered, and I daresay laboured too much already, to advance the plea of youth? You may see from the end of the letter above named, that I would not be treated as a child, I who had done my duty at Natal against the Governor, and like a man; and at the same time, you may perceive from this letter, how unfounded the accusation was which they brought to bear against me; for a guilty man writes in another style. I was not, however, taken into custody; though this ought to have been done, if this accusation had been well founded. Perhaps this apparent neglect was not without foundation, for a prisoner must be housed and fed. As I could not leave Padang, I was in reality still a prisoner, but a prisoner without shelter and without bread. I had often written, but without success, to the General, requesting that he would not prevent my departure from Padang, for, even supposing me to be guilty, no crime was punishable with starvation. [[224]]
“After the Council of Justice, which was at a loss how to deal with the affair, had found a way out of the difficulty by declaring itself unable to decide, because a prosecution for crime in the service of the country could not be held without the authorization of the Government at Batavia, the General kept me, as I said, nine months at Padang.
“At last he himself received instructions from headquarters to let me set out for Batavia.
“A few years afterwards, when I had some money——dear Tine, you had given it me——I paid some thousand guilders to clear the Natal accounts of 1841 and 1842, and then a person, who may be considered to represent the Government of the Dutch Indies, said, ‘I would not have done that in your place.… I should have drawn a bill of exchange on eternity.’
“Ainsi va le monde!”
Havelaar was about to recommence the narrative, which his guests expected from him, and wherein he was to explain in what and why he had so opposed General van Damme at Natal, when Madam Slotering appeared in her fore-gallery, beckoning to the policeman who sat on a bench near Havelaar’s house. The policeman went over to her, and then said something to a man who had just entered the grounds, probably intending to go to the kitchen that was behind the house. Our company would probably have paid no attention to this, if Madam Havelaar had not said that afternoon at dinner that Madam [[225]]Slotering was so shy, and appeared to exercise a sort of control over every one that came into the grounds. We saw the man, who had been called by the policeman, go to her, and she questioned him, apparently much to his dissatisfaction. At least he retraced his steps, and was soon outside. “I am very sorry for that,” said Tine; “perhaps it was a man selling fowls, or vegetables; I have nothing yet in the house.”
“Then send some one after him,” replied Havelaar; “you know that native ladies like to exercise power. Her husband was formerly the first man in the place, and however small an Assistant Resident may be as an individual, he is in his own district a petty king: she is not yet accustomed to dethronement. We must not grudge this small pleasure to the poor woman; act as if you did not perceive it.”
This was not difficult for Tine; she had no desire for power.
A digression is necessary here, and I even intend to digress about digressions. It is not easy for an author to sail exactly between the two rocks of the too much or too little, and this difficulty is enhanced if one describes situations that have to remove the reader to unknown countries. There exists too nice a connexion between the places and the events for us to be able to abstain entirely from describing the former; and to avoid the two rocks, already mentioned, becomes doubly difficult for him who [[226]]has chosen the Indies for the scene of his narrative. For whereas the author who deals with European situations may suppose many affairs to be known, on the other hand he whose story refers to the Indies has continually to ask himself whether the non-Indian will rightly understand this or that. If the European reader thinks of Madam Slotering as lodging with the Havelaars, as would be the case in Europe, it must appear incomprehensible that she was not present with the company that took coffee in the fore-gallery. I have certainly already observed that she lived in a separate house; but to understand this aright, and also events to be described, it is indeed necessary to make you acquainted with Havelaar’s house and grounds. The accusation often made against the great artist who wrote Waverley, that he often abuses the patience of his readers by devoting too many pages to topography, seems to me to be unfounded, and I believe that in order to judge of the appropriateness of such descriptions, one has only to consider—Was this topography required exactly to convey the impression which the author wanted to communicate to you? If so, do not be offended because he expects you to take the trouble to read what he had taken the trouble to write. But, if it was not required, then throw the book aside; for the author who is empty-headed enough unnecessarily to give topography for ideas, will be very seldom worth reading, even when at last his topography is at an end. But the judgment of [[227]]the reader about the necessity of a deviation is often false, because he cannot know before the catastrophe what is necessary, and what not, to the systematic development of the situation; and when after the catastrophe he reads the book again—of books which one reads but once I do not speak—and even then thinks that this or that digression could have been omitted without marring the impression of the whole, the question remains whether he would have had the same impression of the whole if the author had not conducted him thither in a more or less artificial manner, just by means of the digressions which seem to him to be superfluous.
Do you think that the death of Amy Robsart would have touched you, if you had been a stranger in the halls of Kenilworth? And do you think that there is no connexion—connexion through contrast—between the rich dress wherein the unworthy Leicester showed himself to her, and the blackness of his soul? Do you not understand that Leicester—every one knows this who is acquainted with him from other sources than the novel only—was infinitely worse than he was painted in Kenilworth? But the great novelist, who liked better to charm by an artistic arrangement of colours than by coarseness of colour, thought it beneath him to dip his brush in all the mud and all the blood that clung to the unworthy favourite of Elizabeth. He wished to point out only one spot in the mud-pool; but he knew [[228]]how to present such spots vividly to the eye, by means of what he put in juxtaposition, in his immortal writings. He who thinks that all this juxtaposition may be rejected as superfluous, quite forgets that in so doing in order to bring about effects, one would be obliged to go over to the school which, since 1830, has flourished so long in France; though I must say to the honour of that country, that the authors who in this respect have offended the most against good taste have been valued most in foreign countries, and not in France itself. The authors,—I believe that this school is now no more,—thought it easy to dip their hands in pools of blood and throw it in great spots on the picture, in order to be able to see them from a distance. To be sure they are easier to paint, those rough lines of red and black, than the beautiful lines in the calyx of a lily. Therefore that school generally chose kings for the heroes of narratives by preference, from the time when the nations were still in their infancy. You see, the affliction of the king is represented on paper by cries of the people: his anger gives the author an opportunity to kill thousands on the field of battle: his errors give room to paint famine and plague—suchlike things give work to rough pencils. If you are not touched at the sight of the corpse that lies there, there is room in my narrative for another man, convulsed with pain, and still shrieking. Did you not weep for the mother, who sought in vain for her child?—Well, I will [[229]]show you another mother, who sees the quartering of her child. Did you remain unmoved at the martyrdom of that man?—I increase the number a hundredfold by torturing ninety-nine at his side. Are you hardened enough not to shudder when seeing this soldier, who, in the besieged fortification, devours his left arm because of hunger …?—
Epicure! I propose you give order, “Right and left wheel, form circle, left files eat left arms of right files … march!”
Yes, in this manner, artificial horrors become folly … which en passant I would fain prove.
And yet we would be reduced to this if we condemned too soon an author who wished to prepare you for his catastrophe without having recourse to these screaming[2] colours. But the danger of the other extreme is still greater. You despise the efforts of coarse literature, which thinks it must take your feelings by storm with such rough weapons; but if the author falls into the other extreme, if he sins by too much deviation from the principal matter, by too much pencilling, then your anger is still greater, and quite right; for then he has bored you, and that is unpardonable.
If we walk together and you stray every moment from the road, and call me into the underwood only with the intention to prolong the walk, I think this disagreeable, [[230]]and intend to walk alone for the future. But if you can show me there a plant which I did not know before, or in which I may see something that I overlooked, if you show me from time to time a flower, which I like to pluck and carry in my button-hole, then I forgive your deviation from the road; yes, I am grateful for it.
And even without flower or plant, when you call me aside to show me through the trees the path that we shall walk upon by and by, but which now is still far from us in the depth, and which winds itself as a scarcely perceptible line through the field there below, then likewise I do not take this deviation amiss. For when at last we have arrived thus far, I shall know how our road has wound——through the mountain, how it is that the sun, that was a few minutes ago there, is now on our left; why that hill is now behind us, whose summit was just now before us … then through that deviation you have made it easy for me to comprehend my walk——and to comprehend is to enjoy.
Reader, I have often in my narrative left you on the broad way, though it has cost me much not to take you with me into the underwood. I was afraid that the walk would weary you, as I did not know if you would be pleased with the flowers and plants which I would show you; but as I believe that you will afterwards be pleased to have seen the path we shall walk upon presently, I am obliged to tell you something about Havelaar’s house. [[231]]
You would be very wrong to form your ideas of a house in the Indies according to European notions, and to think of a heap of stones, small rooms piled upon large rooms, with the street before it, neighbours right and left, whose household gods lean against yours, and a little garden with three gooseberry-bushes behind. With a few exceptions, the houses in the Indies have but one storey. The European reader will think this very strange, for it is a peculiarity of civilisation, or what passes for it, to consider strange all that is natural. The Indian houses are quite different from ours, but they are not strange; our houses are strange. He who was the first to allow himself the luxury of not sleeping in the same room with his cows, put the second room of his house not upon, but next to the first, for to build them all on the ground is both more simple and more comfortable. Our high houses owe their origin to want of space: we seek high in the air what we miss on the ground; and so every maid-servant, who in the evening shuts the window of her bed-room under the eaves, is a protest against this crowding, even when she is thinking, what I can readily believe, of something else.
In those countries, also, where civilisation and over-crowding of the population have not yet pushed mankind high up, because of the pressure below, the houses are of one storey, and Havelaar’s did not belong to the few exceptions to this rule. On entering, … but no, I will give a proof that I abandon all claims to the [[232]]picturesque, “Given,” an oblong: divide it into twenty-one parts, three in breadth, seven in depth. You give each of these partitions a number, beginning with the upper corner on the left-hand side, from there to the right, so that four comes under one, and so on.
| 1 | 2 | 3 |
| 4 | 5 | 6 |
| 7 | 8 | 9 |
| 10 | 11 | 12 |
| 13 | 14 | 15 |
| 16 | 17 | 18 |
| 19 | 21 | 21 |
The first three numbers together form the fore-gallery, which is often open on three sides, and whose roof is supported in the front by pillars. From there, one enters by two folding doors, the inner gallery which is represented by the three following numbers. The partitions 7, 9, 10, 12, 13, 15, 16, and 18, are rooms, most of them being connected by doors with each other. The three last numbers form the open gallery behind, and what I have not mentioned is a sort of closed inner gallery or passage. I am very proud of this description.[3]
I do not know what expression is used in Holland to give the idea conveyed in the Indies by the word “estate.” “Estate” is there neither garden, nor park, nor field, nor wood, but either something, or that, or altogether, or none of these. It is the ‘ground’ that belongs to the house, in [[233]]so far as it is not covered by the house; thus, in India, the expression, “garden and estate” would be a pleonasm. There are no houses, or very few, without such ground. Some estates contain wood, and garden, and field, and make you think of a park; others are flower-gardens; elsewhere, again, the whole estate is one large grass-field; and lastly, there are some very simple ones reduced to a macadamised square, which is perhaps less agreeable to the eye, but which promotes cleanliness in the houses, because many insects are harboured by grass or trees.
Havelaar’s “estate” was very large; yes, however strange it may sound, it might be called on one side boundless, as it was bordered by a ravine that extended to the shores of the Tji-Udjung, the river that surrounded Rankas-Betong with one of its many windings. It would be difficult to say where the ground of the Assistant Resident’s house ended, and where the common commenced, as the great ebb-tides and floods of the Tji-Udjung, which at this time had drawn back its shores as far as the horizon, and which at another time filled the ravine up to very near Havelaar’s house, changed its limits every moment. This ravine had always been a thorn in the eye of Madam Slotering,—that was very clear. The vegetable growth, everywhere so rapid in India, was always particularly luxuriant, on account of the mud that was left behind, to such an extent that, though the rising and falling of the water happened with a force that rooted up and carried [[234]]away the underwood, a little time was sufficient to cover the ground with a shagginess which rendered the clearing of the grounds, even near the house, very difficult. And this would have been no little grief even to one who was not a mother. For not to speak of all sorts of insects that generally flew during the evening round the lamp in such a multitude that to read and write became impossible, which is very tiresome in many parts of the Indies, there were a number of snakes and other animals in the underwood, not only in the ravine, but even found every moment in the garden, near and behind the house, or in the grass of the square in front.
Standing in the fore-gallery with the face to this square, one’s back was to the house; on the left was the building with the offices, the counting-house, and the place for meetings, where Havelaar had spoken that morning to the chiefs, and behind that was the ravine which extended to the Tji-Udjung. Exactly opposite the offices was the old mansion of the Assistant Residents, which was now temporarily inhabited by Madam Slotering; and as one could reach the estate by two ways that were approached on both sides by the grass-fields, of course every one who came on the estate to go to the kitchen or stalls that were behind the principal building, had either to pass the offices or Madam Slotering’s house. On one side of the principal building, and behind it, was the very large garden, which had excited the joy of Tine, because of the many flowers [[235]]which she found there, and above all, because there little Max could so often play.
Havelaar had made his excuses to Madam Slotering for not having yet paid her a visit; he would go there next morning, but Tine had been there and made acquaintance with her. I have already said that this lady was a so-called “native,” who spoke no other language than Malay. She had intimated her desire to keep her own household, to which Tine readily agreed. And she did not comply for want of hospitality, but chiefly out of fear that she, just arrived at Lebak, could not receive Madam Slotering so well as she considered she ought under the peculiar circumstances in which she was placed. True, this lady, who understood no Dutch, need not have apprehended any harm from the narratives of Max, as Tine had said; but she understood that more was required than not to harm the Slotering family, and the scanty kitchen, in connexion with the intended economy, made her consider the intention of Madam Slotering very wise. It is also doubtful whether, had the circumstances been otherwise, the intercourse with a person who spoke only one language, wherein nothing is printed that civilizes the mind, would have conduced to mutual pleasure. Tine would have kept her company as much as possible, and would have spoken much with her about the “kitchen” and “puddings,” but this would always have been a sacrifice, and it was therefore thought much better that matters had been arranged [[236]]through Madam Slotering’s voluntary retirement in such a manner as left every one in perfect liberty. Yet it was curious that this lady had not only refused to take part in social dinners, but that she even made no use of the offer to have her food prepared in the kitchen of Havelaar’s house, and this reserve went a little too far, as Tine said, for the kitchen was large enough. [[237]]
[1] 1000 guilders = £83, 6s. 8d. The English reader will bear in mind that when ‘thousands’ are spoken of, guilders are referred to. [↑]
[2] This is a literal rendering of the word used by the author. [↑]
[3] Nos. 7 and 10, 10 and 13, 13 and 16, are connected by doors with each other; 9 and 12, 12 and 15, 15 and 18 are connected by doors with each other. Between 5 and 8 a door; between 17 and 20 a door; between 7 and 8, 10 and 11, 13 and 14, 16 and 17 doors; between 8 and 9, 11 and 12, 14 and 15, 17 and 18 doors. [↑]
CHAPTER XIV.
[CONTINUATION OF STERN’S COMPOSITION.]
“You know,” began Havelaar, “that the Dutch possessions on the west coast of Sumatra are bounded on the North by independent districts, of which Atchin is the most important. It is said that a secret article in the treaty of 1824 restrains us from extending our frontier in that direction beyond the river Singkel. General van Damme, who with a faux air Napoléon wanted to extend his government as far as possible, here, therefore, stopped short at the insurmountable obstacle. I must believe in the existence of that secret article, because otherwise it would surprise me that the Rajahs[1] of Troomon and Analaboo, whose provinces are not without importance on account of their active trade in pepper, have not long ere now been brought under the Dutch power. You know how easy it is to find a pretext for war with such petty sovereigns, and for the annexation of their territory. To steal a province will always be easier than to steal a [[238]]mill.[2] I believe that General van Damme would even have taken a mill, if he had pleased, and do not understand, therefore, how he could have abstained from those provinces in the North if there had not existed more substantial reasons for so doing than right and justice. However this may be, he extended his conquests, not north but east. The provinces Mandhéling and Ankola—[the latter was the name of the Assistant-Residency formed out of the hardly tranquillized Battah countries]—were not yet quite freed from Atchinese influence (for when once fanaticism has taken firm root in a country, extirpation of it is difficult), although the Atchinese were no longer there; but this was not enough for the Governor. He extended his power to the east coast; and Dutch functionaries and Dutch garrisons were sent to Bila and Pertibea, which places were, as you know, afterwards evacuated, when at last a Government Commissioner came to Sumatra, who thought this extension purposeless, and therefore disapproved of it, above all because it was contrary to the principles of economy, on which the mother country so much insisted. General van Damme asserted that this extension would not add to the budget; for that the new garrisons consisted of troops for whom money had already been voted, and that he had thus brought a very large province under the Dutch Government without incurring [[239]]any additional expenses. And as for diminishing the garrisons of other places, above all in Mandhéling, he believed that he could place sufficient confidence in the fidelity and alliance of Jang di Pertoean, the most influential chief in the Battah district. The Government Commissioner reluctantly concurred, upon the reiterated assurance of the General, that he would be personally responsible for the fidelity of Jang di Pertoean.[3]
“Now the Controller, who was my predecessor in the province of Natal, was the son-in-law of the Assistant Resident of the Battah countries, who was at enmity with Jang di Pertoean. I afterwards heard many complaints brought against this Assistant Resident, but received them with caution, as coming from Jang di Pertoean, who had himself been recently accused of other offences, and on that account perhaps tried to make good his own defence by exposing the faults of his accuser. However this may be, the Controller of Natal took his father-in-law’s part against Jang di Pertoean; and the more readily because this Controller was very intimate with a certain Soetan Salim, a chief of Natal, who also bore the Battah chief a grudge. There was a feud between the families of these two chiefs; the rejection of marriage proposals, jealousy of each other’s influence, pride on the part of Jang di Pertoean, who was of better family, and many more causes contributed to keep Natal and Mandhéling at enmity with each other. [[240]]
“Suddenly a report was circulated that a conspiracy had been discovered in Mandhéling, in which Jang di Pertoean was concerned, and which had for its object to display the holy banner of revolt, and murder all the Europeans. The first discovery of this was of course made at Natal, as one is always better instructed in neighbouring provinces how matters stand, than on the spot, because many who at home, from fear of compromising a chief, are careful not to mention a circumstance known to them, lay aside that fear as soon as they enter a territory where such a chief has no influence. This is also the reason, Verbrugge, why I am no stranger to the affairs of Lebak. I knew much of what happened there, before I ever thought I should be appointed here. I was in 1846 in the Krawang districts, and made many excursions in the Preangan, where, as early as 1842, I met with many landed proprietors in the neighbourhood of Buitenzorg[4] and Batavia, and I know how those landlords have always rejoiced at the miserable condition of the Lebak district, whose refugees flock to cultivate their estates.…
“Now, then, the conspiracy at Mandhéling, which, if real, would have branded Jang di Pertoean as a traitor, must have been discovered in the same manner at Natal
“According to the evidence of witnesses examined by the Controller of Natal, that chief, together with his brother, Soetan Adam, would have summoned Battah [[241]]chiefs to assemble in a sacred grove, where they were to swear not to rest before the power of the Christian dogs in Mandhéling was destroyed. Of course, he had received an inspiration from heaven to this effect: you know this qualification is never wanting on such occasions.
“Whether such was the intention of Jang di Pertoean, I cannot say for certain; I read the evidence; but you will see why implicit reliance was not to be placed on it. It is certain that he, with his Islam fanaticism, was quite capable of such a project.
“He, with the whole population of Battah, had recently been converted by the paderies[5] to the true faith; and new converts are generally fanatical.
“The consequences of this true or supposed discovery was, that Jang di Pertoean was apprehended and conveyed to Natal, where the Controller shut him up in the fortress and sent him by sea, on the first opportunity, to the Governor of the west coast of Sumatra at Padang, to whom were submitted the documents, in which the heavy accusations had been set forth that justified the severity of the measures already taken. Jang di Pertoean had thus left Mandhéling as a prisoner; at Natal he was kept in confinement on board the man-of-war that had transported him thither; he expected, therefore,—innocent or not, because he had been accused in legal form of high treason—to arrive at Padang as a prisoner; and he must certainly [[242]]have been astonished to learn, on landing, not only that he was free, but that the General, whose carriage awaited him on shore, would consider it as an honour to receive him into his house and lodge him. Certainly never was a person accused of high treason more agreeably surprised. A short time afterwards, the Assistant Resident of Mandhéling was suspended from his office because of all sorts of deficiencies, about which I do not care to express an opinion. Now Jang di Pertoean, who, after having been for some time at Padang in the General’s house, and treated by him with the utmost distinction, returned through Natal to Mandhéling, not with the self-esteem of one found innocent, but with the arrogance of a person who stands so high that he needs no declaration of innocence. Indeed, the matter had not been examined; and, suppose that the accusations brought against him were thought to be false, why, this very suspicion ought to have required an examination, to punish the false witnesses, and those who had induced them to tell such falsehoods. It appears that the General found reasons why this examination should not take place. The accusation against Jang di Pertoean was considered as “non-avenue,” and I am sure that the documents relating to the matter have never been submitted to the eyes of the Government of Batavia.
“A few days after the return of Jang di Pertoean, I arrived at Natal, to take in hand the government of that [[243]]district. My predecessor told me, of course, what had just happened in Mandhéling, and gave me the necessary information as to the political condition of that province in relation to my department. It could not be taken amiss, that he complained much of the (in his eyes) unjust treatment which his father-in-law had had to undergo, and of the incomprehensible protection which Jang di Pertoean appeared to receive from the General. Neither he nor I was acquainted at that time with the fact that the sending of Jang di Pertoean to Batavia was a blow aimed at the General’s face, and that he had good reasons, whatever they might be, to guarantee that chief against a charge of high treason. This was of so much the more importance to the General, because the Government Commissioner, mentioned above, had become in the meanwhile Governor-General, and probably would have recalled him from his government, from displeasure at the unfounded confidence in Jang di Pertoean, and the obstinacy founded upon that,—with which the General had opposed the evacuation of the East coast.
“ ‘But,’ said my predecessor, ‘whatever may move the General to admit all the accusations against my father-in-law, and yet not to think worth an examination the much heavier accusations against Jang di Pertoean——this matter is not yet ended! And if at Padang, as I suppose, the sworn evidence has been destroyed, I have here something else that cannot be destroyed.’
And he showed me a sentence of the Court of Justice [[244]]at Natal, of which he was president, containing the condemnation of a certain Si Pamaga to the penalty of flogging, branding, and, I believe, twenty years’ hard labour, for attempting to murder the Toeankoe[6] (an Indian functionary) of Natal.
“ ‘Read the procès-verbal of the session,’ said my predecessor, ‘and then you may judge whether my father-in-law will be believed at Batavia, when he there accuses Jang di Pertoean of high treason!’
“I read the documents. According to declarations of witnesses, and the confession of the defendant, he had been bribed by Si Pamaga to murder at Natal the Toeankoe, his guardian Soetan, and the governing Controller. In order to execute this design, he had gone to the house of the Toeankoe, and had there commenced a conversation about a Sewah,[7] with the servants who sat on the staircase of the inner-gallery, intending thereby to prolong his stay till he perceived the Toeankoe, who actually made his appearance very soon, surrounded by a number of relations and servants. Pamaga had fallen upon the Toeankoe with his ‘sewah,’ but, from unknown circumstances, had not been able to execute his criminal design. The Toeankoe, much frightened, jumped out of the window, and Pamaga fled; he hid himself in the wood, and was a few days afterwards taken by the Natal police. [[245]]
“When the accused was asked what had moved him to this assault, and the intended murder of Soetan Salim and the Controller of Natal, he replied ‘that he had been bribed to that by Soetan Adam, in the name of his brother Jang di Pertoean of Mandhéling.’
“ ‘Is that clear or not?’ asked my predecessor. The Resident’s sentence ‘fiat execution’ was carried out, as regards the flagellation and branding, and Si Pamaga is now on his way through Padang, to be sent to Java, there to undergo his hard labour. At the same time with him the documents of the procès-verbal arrive at Batavia, to show who the man was upon whose accusation my father-in-law was suspended. That sentence the General cannot annul, even if he would.
“I undertook the Government of the Natal district, and my predecessor left. After some time they acquainted me that the General would come in a war-steamer to visit the North, and also Natal. He arrived with a large retinue at my house, and asked to see the original documents concerning that poor man who had been so extremely ill-treated.”
“ ‘The accusers themselves,’ added he, ‘deserved to be flogged and branded.’ ”
“I did not understand it at all. For the causes of this contest about Jang di Pertoean were then still unknown to me, and I could therefore not conceive, either that my [[246]]predecessor had wilfully and knowingly condemned an innocent person to such heavy punishment, or that the General wished to protect a criminal from a just sentence. I was charged to have Soetan Salim and the Toeankoe taken prisoners. As the young Toeankoe was very much beloved by the population, and as we had but a small garrison in the fortress, I begged to be allowed to leave him at large, which was granted me; but for Soetan Salim, the enemy of Jang di Pertoean, there was no pardon. The population was in great excitement. The Natallers took it into their heads that the General was debasing himself to be a tool of Mandhéling hatred, and it was under these circumstances that I could do from time to time something which he deemed a brave action, above all because he did not give me for escort the small force that could be spared out of the fortress, and the detachment of mariners which he had brought from the ship, when I went on horseback to the places where there were seditious assemblies. I observed, on this occasion, that the General van Damme took good care of his own safety, and, therefore, I do not subscribe to his military renown.
“He formed a council which I might call ‘ad hoc.’ The members were a few adjutants, other officers, the Magistrate, whom he had taken from Padang, and myself. This council was to investigate how under my predecessor the procès had been conducted against Si Pamaga. I had to summon a number of witnesses, whose declarations were [[247]]necessary for the purpose. The General, who of course presided, interrogated, and the evidence was written down by the Magistrate. As the latter understood but little Malay, and nothing at all of the Malay spoken in North Sumatra, it was often necessary to translate to him the replies of the witnesses, which the General, for the most part, did himself. From the sessions of this Council resulted documents that show very clearly that Si Pamaga never had the intention to murder any person whatever; that he had never seen or known Soetan Adam or Jang di Pertoean; that he had not assaulted the Toeankoe of Natal, who did not jump out of the window, and so on. Further, that the sentence against the unhappy Si Pamaga had been pronounced under the pressure of the President, my predecessor, and of Soetan Salim, a member of the Council, the persons who had invented the pretended crime of Si Pamaga, to give to the suspended Assistant Resident of Mandhéling a weapon for his defence, and to give vent to their hatred against Jang di Pertoean.
“The mode of investigation by the General reminded one of a certain whist-party of one of the Sultans of Morocco, who said to his partner:[8] ‘Play hearts, or I will cut your throat.’ The translations also, as he caused the officer of justice to write them down, left much to be desired.
“Whether my predecessor and Soetan Salim had exercised pressure on the Court of Justice to declare Si Pamaga [[248]]guilty, I do not know; but this I know, that General van Damme did exercise pressure on the evidence assigned to prove his innocence. Without as yet knowing the tendency of these proceedings, I opposed them, and went so far that I was obliged to refuse to sign some documents, and in this it was I so offended the General. You understand now the drift of the words, with which I ended the reply to the observations that had been made on my pecuniary administration, and in which I begged to be excused on all benevolent considerations.”
“It was very brave for one of your years,” said Duclari.
“I thought it a matter of course, but it is certain that General van Damme was not accustomed to anything of the kind. I have suffered much from the consequences of this affair. Oh no, Verbrugge, I see what you mean to say, I never regretted it. I must even add, that I should not have contented myself with simply protesting against the manner in which the General examined the witnesses, and refusing my signature to the documents, if I could have guessed at that time, what I learned only afterwards, that all this arose from a determination fixed beforehand to accuse my predecessor in question. I thought that the General, convinced of the innocence of Si Pamaga, allowed himself to be carried away by a praiseworthy desire to save an innocent victim from the consequence of any error in justice, as far as was possible, after the flagellation and the brand. Though this opinion made [[249]]me oppose falsehood, yet for that reason I did not become so indignant as I should have been if I had known that all this was not to save an innocent man, but that this falsehood was designed to annul the proofs that stood in the General’s way, at the expense of the honour and the welfare of my predecessor.”
“And what became of your predecessor?” asked Verbrugge.
“Happily for him, he had already gone to Java before the General returned to Padang. It seems that he has been able to account for his conduct to the Government at Batavia; at least he has remained in the service. The Resident of Ayer-Bangie, who had issued the ‘fiat execution’ was.…”
“Suspended?”
“Of course. You see that I was not so very wrong, when I said in my epigram that the Governor ‘reigned over us as a suspender.’ ”
“And what became of all these suspended functionaries?”
“Oh, there were still many more. All of them have been, one after another, re-established in their functions. Some of them have afterwards been invested with very considerable employments.”
“And Soetan Salim?”
“The General took him as a prisoner to Padang, and from thence he was exiled to Java. He is now at Tji-andjoor, in the Preangan Regencies. In 1846 I was [[250]]there, and paid him a visit.… Do you now remember, Tine, why I came to Tji-andjoor?”
“No, Max, I have quite forgotten that.”
“Well, who can remember everything?… I was married there, gentlemen!”
“But,” asked Duclari, “as you have told us several things, is it true that you fought so many duels at Padang?”
“Yes, I fought very often. There were many reasons for that. I told you already, that the favour of the Governor in such an out-of-the-way place is the rule with which many measure their friendliness. Most of them were very ill-disposed towards me, and this often showed itself in rudeness. I, on the other hand, was very sensitive. A salutation not acknowledged, a taunt on the ‘folly of one who would take up the cudgels with the General,’ an allusion to my poverty, my state of starvation, the poor food, that seemed to be the reward of moral independence—all this, you conceive, made me bitter. Many, above all amongst the officers, knew that the General liked to see people duelling, and, above all, with one so much in disgrace as I was. Perhaps, therefore, my sensitiveness was intentionally excited——likewise I sometimes fought for somebody else, whom I considered to be wronged.——However this may be, duelling was the order of the day, and it often happened that I had two meetings in one morning;——there is something very attractive in duelling, particularly with the sabre. Yet you understand [[251]]that I would not do such a thing now, even if there were as much reason for it as in those days.——Come here, Max!——no—don’t catch that little insect—come here. I say you must never catch butterflies. That little creature at first crept for a long time as a caterpillar on a tree,—that was no happy life. Now it has just got wings and likes to flutter in the air and enjoy itself, seeking food in the flowers and hurting nobody:—look, is it not prettier to see it fluttering there?”
So the conversation went on from duelling to butterflies, from the compassion of the merciful man to his cattle to cruelty to animals, from the “loi Grammont”[9] to the French Parliament at Paris where that law was accepted from the republic, to many other things.——At last Havelaar got up. He excused himself to his guests, because he had business to attend to.
When the Controller visited him the following morning at his office, he did not know that the new Assistant Resident had ridden out the day before to Parang-Koodjang after the conversation in the fore-gallery, and had only just returned.
I beg the reader to believe that Havelaar was too courteous to speak so much at his own table as I have represented in the last chapters, by which I make him appear to monopolize the conversation, and neglect [[252]]those duties of a host which prescribe that guests should take or decline the opportunity “of showing what they are.” I have selected a few of the many materials that were before me, and I could have prolonged the table-talk for a longer time with less difficulty than the breaking it off has cost me. I hope that what I have communicated will be sufficient to justify in part the description which I gave of Havelaar’s character and mind, and that the reader will observe with some interest the adventures that are in store for him and his family at Rankas-Betong. The small family lived on in peace. Havelaar went out very often during the day, and spent half the nights in his office. The intercourse between him and the commandant of the garrison was most agreeable, and also in his familiar conversation with the Controller no trace could be discovered of difference in rank, which often makes social intercourse in the Indies so stiff and disagreeable; whilst the inclination of Havelaar to lend assistance where he could, was often to the advantage of the Regent, who also was very fond of “his elder brother;” and finally, the amiability of Madam Havelaar contributed much to the agreeable intercourse between the few Europeans and the native chiefs. The correspondence about the service with the Resident of Serang showed a mutual cordiality: the orders of the Resident were given with courtesy, and very punctually followed.
The household of Tine was soon in good order. After [[253]]we had waited for it a long time, the furniture arrived from Batavia. Ketimons (gherkins) were pickled; and in future when Max related anything at table, it was not for want of eggs for the omelet, though the manner in which the little family lived showed very clearly that the intended economy was strictly adhered to.
Madam Slotering seldom left her house, and only now and then joined the Havelaar family at tea in the front veranda. She spoke little, and always kept a vigilant eye upon every one who approached her own or Havelaar’s house; people got accustomed to what they called her monomania, and soon paid no more attention to it.
All seemed to breathe peace; for Max and Tine it was comparatively a trifle to submit to the privations which are inevitable at a place in the interior with but little communication. As no bread was baked in the neighbourhood, they had no bread. We could have had it brought from Serang, but the expenses of transport were too high. Max knew as well as others, that there were many means of having bread brought to Rankas-Betong without payment; but UNPAID LABOUR, that Indian cancer, was horrible in his eyes. So there was much at Lebak that could be got for nothing, through power, but could not be bought for a reasonable price, and in such cases Havelaar and his wife willingly endured privation. To be sure, they had undergone other privations. Had not the poor woman lived for months on board of an Arab vessel, without [[254]]other bed than the deck, without other shelter from the heat of the sun and the showers of the rainy season, than a small table, between the legs of which she had to squeeze herself? Had not she been obliged to satisfy herself in that vessel with a small allowance of dry rice and dirty water? And had not she in these and many other circumstances always been contented if she could only be with her Max?
One circumstance, however, at Lebak caused her pain:—little Max could not play in the garden, because there were so many snakes. When she perceived this and complained of it to Havelaar, he promised the servants a reward for every snake they could catch, but on the first day he paid so many premiums that he was obliged to withdraw his promise for the future; for even in ordinary circumstances, and without the economy so necessary for him, this payment would soon have exceeded his means. It was resolved that little Max should henceforward leave the house no more, and that when he wished to take an airing, he would have to content himself with playing in the fore-gallery. Notwithstanding this precaution Tine was always anxious; and above all in the evening, as it is known that snakes often creep into the houses, and, seeking warmth, hide themselves in the bed-rooms. Snakes and suchlike vermin are to be found everywhere in the Indies; but in the chief towns, where the population live closer together, they are of [[255]]course more rare than in wilder places such as Rankas-Betong. If Havelaar could have decided to have his estate cleared of weeds, as far as the border of the ravine, the snakes would still from time to time have showed themselves in the garden, but not in such large numbers as was now the case. The nature of these reptiles makes them prefer darkness and lurking-holes to the open daylight, so that, if Havelaar’s grounds had been kept clean, the snakes would not then, as it were, unwillingly have lost their way, and left the weeds of the ravine. But Havelaar’s grounds were not cleared, and I wish to explain the reason of it, as it gives another opportunity of a view of the abuses that reign almost everywhere in the Dutch Indian possessions.
The houses of the persons intrusted with power in the interior are built on common lands, if one may speak of such as existing in a country where the Government appropriates all.
Enough, these grounds do not belong to the official inhabitant. For he would take care not to buy or to hire grounds the maintenance of which was too much for him. Now, when the grounds of the house assigned to him are too large to be maintained in good order, they degenerate in a few weeks (so luxuriant is the growth of plants) into a wilderness. And yet, such grounds are seldom if ever to be seen in a bad condition——yes, the traveller is often astonished at the beautiful park that surrounds a [[256]]Resident’s house. No functionary in the interior has a sufficient income to get this labour done for fair wages, and as a respectable appearance of the administrator’s house is necessary, in order that the population, attaching so much importance to externals, may find nothing in it to excite contempt, the question is, how has this result been obtained?
In most places the administrators have at their disposal persons condemned elsewhere, but not, however, kept at Bantam, on account of political reasons. But even in places where such are located, their number, considering the other kinds of labour required of them, is seldom in proportion to the work that would be required to keep large grounds in good order. Other means must be found, and the summoning of labourers to perform feudal tasks is had recourse to. The Regent or Demang who receives such a summons makes haste to obey it, for he knows very well that it will be very difficult for the administrator who abuses his power, afterwards to punish a native chief for a similar fault, and so the error of the one becomes the passport of the other.
Yet it seems to me, that such a fault on the part of an administrator must not, in some cases, be judged of with too much severity, and, above all, not according to European notions. The population itself would think it strange, perhaps because so unwonted, if he always and in every case held too strictly to the stipulations that prescribed [[257]]the number of those destined for feudal labour, as circumstances may occur which were not foreseen when these stipulations were made.
But as soon as the limit of what is strictly lawful has been exceeded, it is difficult to fix the point where such an excess would become criminal; above all, great circumspection is wanted, when it is known that the chiefs only wait for a bad example to imitate it in still greater excess. The story of that king who ordered that every grain of salt which he had used at his simple dinner, when he travelled through the country at the head of his army, should be paid for, because otherwise, as he said, this would be a beginning of an injustice that would at last destroy his kingdom——his name may have been Tamerlane, Noer-eddien, or Genghis Khan—certainly either this fable, or if it is no fable, the occurrence itself, is of Asiatic origin; and just as looking at sea-dikes makes you think of the possibility of high water, so it must be admitted that there exists an inclination to such abuses, in a country where such lessons are given.
The persons whom Havelaar had lawfully at his disposal could only keep clear a very small part of his grounds, in the immediate neighbourhood of his house, from weeds and underwood. The rest was in a few weeks a wilderness. Havelaar wrote to the Resident about the means of remedying this, either by paid labour, or by proposing to the Government to cause persons under [[258]]sentence of hard labour, to work in the Residency of Bantam, as elsewhere. Thereupon he received a refusal, with the observation that he had a right to put to work on his grounds the persons who had been condemned by him, as a magistrate, to “labour on the public roads.” Havelaar knew this very well; but he had never made use of this right, neither at Rankas-Betong, nor at Amboina, nor at Menado, nor at Natal. It shocked him to have his garden kept in good order as a fine for small errors, and he had often asked himself how the Government could permit stipulations to remain, of a nature to tempt the functionary to punish small excusable offences, not in proportion to the offences themselves, but in proportion to the condition or the extension of his estate. The very idea, that he who was punished, even justly, might think that self-interest was hidden under the sentence pronounced, made him, where he was obliged to punish, always give preference to the system, otherwise very objectionable, of confinement.
And it was from this cause that little Max could not play in the garden, and that Tine had not so much pleasure from the flowers as she had anticipated on the day of her arrival at Rankas-Betong. Of course, this and suchlike small misfortunes had no influence on the minds of a family that possessed so much material to procure itself a happy domestic life; and it was not to be ascribed to these trifles when Havelaar sometimes entered with a clouded brow, [[259]]after his return from an excursion, or after having listened to some one who had asked to speak to him. We have heard from his speech to the chiefs that he would do his duty, that he would oppose injustice; and at the same time, I hope that the reader may have seen from the conversations which I have communicated, that he certainly was a person capable of discovering and bringing to light what was hidden from others, or but dimly seen. It might therefore be supposed that not much of what happened in Lebak escaped his observation. We have also seen that many years before he had paid attention to this province in such a manner that, from the very first day when he met Verbrugge in the ‘pendoppo,’ where my history begins, he showed that he was no stranger in his new sphere of duty. By investigation on the spot, he had discovered much that was confirmatory of what he had previously suspected; and, above all, the official records had made him acquainted with the exceedingly miserable condition in which this country was. From the letters and notes of his predecessor, he observed that the latter had made the same observations. The letters to the chiefs contained reproach upon reproach, menace upon menace, and showed very clearly how this functionary would at last have said, that he intended to apply direct to the Government if this state of affairs continued.
When Verbrugge communicated this to Havelaar, the latter had replied that his predecessor would in that case [[260]]have acted very wrongly, as the Assistant Resident of Lebak ought in no case to pass over the Resident of Bantam; and he had added, that this could in no case be justified, as it was not likely that that high functionary would side with extortion and tyranny.
Such countenance of injustice was not to be supposed, in the way that Havelaar meant, namely, that the Resident would derive any advantage or gain from these crimes; but still there was a cause which made him unwilling to do justice to the complaints of Havelaar’s predecessor. We have seen how this predecessor had often spoken to the Resident about the prevailing abuses, and of how little use this had been. It is therefore not quite without interest to examine why he who, as the head of the whole Residency, was obliged to take care as much as the Assistant Resident, yes, even more than he, that justice was done, chose rather continually to oppose it.
When Havelaar was staying at the Resident’s house at Serang, he had already spoken to him about the Lebak abuses, and had received for answer,—“that this was everywhere the case in a greater or less degree.”
Now Havelaar could not deny this. Who could pretend to have seen a country where nothing wrong happened? But he thought that this was no motive to tolerate abuses where they were found; above all, not when one is appointed to oppose them; and, moreover, that after all that he knew of Lebak, the question was not of [[261]]abuses “more or less,” but of abuses on a very large scale, whereupon the Resident replied, “that it was still worse in Tjiringien” (likewise belonging to Bantam).
If it is now taken for granted, as it may be, that a Resident has no direct advantage in extortion, and the tyrannical disposal of the population, the question presents itself, what then induces many to tolerate such abuses, without acquainting the Government with them, and that contrary to their oath and duty? And he who thinks about this, must think it very strange indeed, that the existence of these abuses is so coolly acknowledged, as if it were a question of something out of reach or competence. I will try to explain the causes of this.
To bring bad news is generally disagreeable, and it seems as if something of this unfavourable impression sticks to him whose lot it is to communicate them. Now, when this alone is a reason with some for denying, while they know better, the existence of something unfavourable, how much more this becomes the case, if one runs the risk, not only of falling into the disgrace, which seems to be the fate of the bringer of bad tidings, but, at the same time, of being regarded as the cause of them.
The Government of Dutch India likes to write home to its masters in the mother country that all goes on satisfactorily. The Residents like to announce this to the Government. The Assistant Residents, who receive themselves from their Controllers nothing but favourable accounts, send [[262]]again, in their turn, no disagreeable tidings to the Residents. From all this arises in the official written accounts of these matters, an artificial optimism, contradictory not only to the truth, but also to the real opinions of these optimists themselves, as soon as they treat these same matters by word of mouth, or, what is still more curious, even in contradiction to their own written reports. I can cite many examples of reports that rate very high the prosperous condition of a Residency, but at the same time give themselves the lie, especially when accompanied by figures. These examples would,—if the matter were not too serious on account of the final consequences,—give occasion for laughter and satire, and the naïveté is really astonishing, with which, in such cases, the grossest untruths are maintained; though the writer exposes himself, a few sentences further on, to the weapons with which these untruths can be rebutted. I will quote a single example, to which I could add many more. Among the documents which I have before me I find the yearly account of a Residency. The Resident praises the flourishing state of trade, and asserts that everywhere the greatest prosperity and activity are to be seen. A little further on, he speaks of the scanty means which he has in his power to prevent smuggling; but to take away the disagreeable impression which would be produced on the Government at the thought that in his Residency many import duties are evaded, “No,” he immediately adds, “there is no fear of that; little or nothing is [[263]]smuggled into my Residency, for … so little business is done here, that nobody would venture his capital in the trade.”
I have read a Report that commenced with the words, “During the past year, in this Residency, tranquillity has remained tranquil.…”[10] Such phrases certainly testify to a very tranquil tranquillity founded on the indulgence of the Government to every one who spares it disagreeable tidings, or, as the saying goes, “does not bother it with sad reports!”
Where the population does not increase, it is ascribed to inexactness in the census of former years. Where the taxes do not rise, this circumstance must be attributed to the necessity for a low taxation, in order to encourage agriculture, which will eventually—that is to say, when the writer of the Report shall have retired from office,—be sure to produce inestimable treasures. Where disturbances have taken place, that could not be concealed, they were occasioned by a few malefactors, and need be no more feared for the future, as there exists a general contentment. Where poverty or famine has thinned the population, this was the consequence of scarcity, drought, rain, or something else,——NEVER OF MISGOVERNMENT.
The memorandum of Havelaar’s predecessor, wherein he ascribed the emigration of the people from the district of Parang-Koodjang to “excessive abuses,” lies before me. [[264]]This notice was unofficial, and contained matters about which this functionary had to speak to the Resident of Bantam. But in vain Havelaar sought in the archives for a proof that his predecessor had described plainly what he meant by its true name in a public official missive.
In short, the official reports of the functionaries to the Government, and likewise the reports founded thereupon which are sent to the Government in the mother country, are for the greater and more important part UNTRUE.[11] I know that this accusation is serious; yet I maintain it, and feel myself capable of proving it. Whosoever is angry because of this undisguised utterance of my opinion, let him consider how many millions of money, how many human lives might have been spared to England, if the eyes of the Nation had been opened in time to the true condition of affairs in British India. Let him consider what a large debt of gratitude would have been due to the man that had had the courage to be the Job’s comforter before it was too late to repair the wrong without bloodshed.[12]
I said that I could prove the charge. I will show, where it is necessary, that famine often reigned in regions that had been held up as models of prosperity; and where it was said that the population was tranquil and contented, I assert that it was often on the verge of a furious [[265]]outbreak. It is not my intention to give these proofs in this book; yet I trust that it will not be laid aside, without the readers believing that these proofs exist.
For the present I confine myself to another and unique example of the ridiculous optimism of which I have spoken, an example that will be understood by every one, whether acquainted or not with Indian affairs.
Every Resident sends in a monthly statement of the rice that has been imported into his province or exported elsewhere. These statements show how much of this rice is exported or imported. On comparing the quantity of rice which, according to the returns, is transported from Residencies in Java to Residencies in Java, we shall see that this quantity amounts to many thousand more picols (Javanese weight) than the rice that, according to the same returns, is imported into Residencies in Java from Residencies in Java.[13]
I will not speak now of what may be thought of the intelligence of the Government that receives and publishes such returns, and will only show the reader the tendency of this cheat.
The reward per cent.[14] to European and native functionaries [[266]]for products that must be sold in Europe, had caused such a neglect of the rice-culture, that in some parts a famine has reigned that could not be juggled away from before the eyes of the nation.
I have already said that orders were then given not to let things go so far as that again. To the many results of these orders belonged the statements referred to of the quantity of exported and imported rice, that the Government might be able to keep an eye on the ebb and flow of that produce. Exportation from a Residency represents prosperity, importation scarcity.
On comparing and examining these statements, it appears from them that the rice is everywhere so abundant that all the Residencies together export more rice than is imported into all the Residencies together, I repeat, that the tables alluded to only refer to rice grown on the island. Thus the conclusion of the matter is the absurd theorem: that there is more rice in Java than there is rice in Java.[15]…
That is what I call prosperity!!
I have already said that the desire to communicate no other than good news to the Government would be ridiculous, if the consequences of all this were not very sad. What amendment is to be hoped for much that is wrong, if there exists a preconcerted intention to bend and distort [[267]]all in the reports to the Government? What, for instance, is to be expected of a population that, from its nature mild and submissive, has complained, year after year, of tyranny, when it sees the departure of one Resident after another, on furlough or on half-pay, or called to another office, without anything ever being done towards the redress of the grievances under which it bows? Will not the bent bow rebound? Will not the long suppressed discontent—suppressed in order to be able to deny it—be turned at last into fury, despair, frenzy? Cannot you see the Jacquerie at the end of all this?
And where will the functionaries then be that succeeded each other for years, without ever having had the idea that there existed anything higher than the “favour of the Government,” anything higher than the “satisfaction of the Governor-General?” Where will they be then, those insipid report-writers, that blindfold the eyes of the Government by their untruths? Shall those who before lacked the courage to put a manly word on paper, fly to arms and preserve for Holland the Dutch possessions? Will they give back to Holland the treasures that will be required to stamp out revolt, to prevent revolution? And finally, will they give back life to the thousands that have fallen through their fault?
And those functionaries, those Controllers and Residents, are not the most guilty. It is the Government itself which, as it were, struck with incomprehensible blindness, invites, [[268]]encourages, and rewards the sending in of favourable reports, and above all this is the case where the question is that of the oppression of the population by native chiefs.
Many persons ascribe this protection of the chiefs to the ignoble calculation, that as they have to exhibit pomp and magnificence to preserve that influence on the population which the Government requires, they ought to enjoy a much higher salary than they do now, if they were not to be at liberty to supply what was still wanting by unlawfully disposing of the possessions and the labour of the people. However this may be, the Government consents but very unwillingly to the application of the regulations ostensibly for the protection of the Javanese against extortion and plunder. For the most part it is easy to find, in political reasons not to be called in question, but often fictitious, a cause why this Regent or that chief should be spared, and the idea is therefore generally spread throughout the Indies that the Government would rather dismiss ten Residents than one Regent. These pretended political reasons—if they are founded on anything—are generally supported by false Reports, because it is the interest of every Resident to extol the influence of his Regents on the population, so that, if afterwards there arose a question of excessive indulgence towards the chiefs, he might shelter himself behind them.
I will not speak now of the horrible hypocrisy of the humane-sounding stipulations, and of the oaths that protect [[269]]the Javanese against tyranny, and beg the reader to remember how Havelaar, when repeating these oaths, had something of a disdainful look;—and will only now point out the difficult situation of the man who thought himself bound to his duty quite independently of the repeated oaths.
And for him this difficulty was greater still than it would have been for many others, because his heart was soft, and in contrast with his mind, which, the reader may have perceived by this time, was quite the opposite. So he had not only to contend with the fear of man, and the cares of office or advancement, but also with the duties which he had to fulfil as a husband and a father: he had to conquer an enemy in his own heart. He could not see suffering without suffering himself, and it would lead me too far, if I quoted examples, of how he always took, even where he was injured and offended, the part of an adversary against himself. He had told Duclari and Verbrugge how in his youth he had found something attractive in duelling with the sabre, which was true; but he did not add, how he, after having wounded his adversary, generally wept, and cherished his late enemy as a loved sister, till he was quite recovered. I could relate how he, at Natal, had spoken in a friendly manner to the man condemned to hard labour who had shot at him, how he caused him to be fed, and gave him more liberty than others, because he thought he had discovered [[270]]that the exasperation of this condemned man was the consequence of a too severe sentence pronounced elsewhere. Generally, the mildness of his disposition was either denied or thought ridiculous——denied by those who confounded his heart with his mind—thought ridiculous by those who could not understand how an intelligent man gave himself pains to save a fly that had stuck fast in a spider’s web——denied again by every one—except Tine—who afterwards heard him scoff at those “stupid animals,” and at “stupid Nature” that created such animals.
But there was still another means of pulling him down from the pedestal whereupon his acquaintances—nolens volens—were compelled to place him. “Yes, he is witty … but there is inconsiderateness in his wit. He is intelligent … but he makes no good use of his intelligence. Yes, he is good-natured, but … he plays the coquette with it!”
For his mind and his intelligence I do not stand up, … but his heart? Poor insects, which he saved when he was quite alone, will you defend his heart against the accusation of coquetry?
But you fled away, and did not care about Havelaar—you, that could not know that he would once need your testimony.
Was it coquetry of Havelaar, when at Natal he jumped into the estuary after a dog (the animal’s name was Sappho), because he feared that the young creature could not swim [[271]]well enough to escape the sharks that are so numerous there? I find such a coquetting with good-nature more difficult to believe than good-nature itself.
I call you to witness that have known Havelaar—if you are not stiffened by the cold of winter, and dead or dried up and withered by the heat yonder, under the Equator!—I summon you to testify of his heart, all of you who have known him! Now, above all, I summon you with confidence, because you need no more seek for the spot where the cord must be hooked in to pull him down ever so little.
Yet, however inopportunely it may appear, I will here insert a few lines from his pen, which will, perhaps, make such witnesses superfluous. Max was once far from wife and child. He had to leave her behind in the Indies, and was in Germany. With the quickness which I ascribe to him, but which I won’t defend if attacked, he mastered the language of the country where he had been for a few months. Here are the lines which picture his love for his household:—
“ ‘Mein Kind, da schlägt die neunte Stunde, hör!
Der Nachtwind säuselt, und die Luft wird kühl,
Zu kühl für dich vielleicht, dein Stirnchen glüht:
Du hast den ganzen Tag so wild gespielt
Du bist wohl müde, komm, dein Tikar[16] harret.’
‘Ach Mutter, lasz mich noch ein Augenblick;
Es ist so sanft zu ruhen hier … und dort,
Da drin auf meiner Matte schlaf’ ich gleich, [[272]]
Und weisz nicht einmal was ich träume, … hier
Kann ich doch gleich dir sagen was ich träume,
Und fragen was mein Traum bedeutet … hör,
Was war das?’
Was war das?’ ‘’s War ein Klapper[17] der da fiel.’
‘Thut das dem Klapper weh?’
‘Thut das dem Klapper weh?’ ‘Ich glaube nicht,
Man sagt die Frucht, der Stein hat kein Gefühl.’
‘Doch eine Blume, fühlt, die auch nicht?’
‘Doch eine Blume, fühlt, die auch nicht?’ ‘Nein
Man sagt sie fühle nicht.’
Man sagt sie fühle nicht.’ ‘Warum denn Mutter,
Als gestern ich die Pukul ampat[18] brach
Hast du gesagt: es thut der Blume weh?’
‘Mein Kind, die Pukul ampat war so schön,
Du zogst die zarten Blättchen roh entzwei,
Das that mir für die arme Blume leid,
Wenn gleich die Blume selbst es nicht gefühlt
Ich fühlt’ es für die Blume, weil sie schön war.’
‘Doch Mutter, bist du auch schön?’
‘Doch Mutter, bist du auch schön?’ ‘Nein mein Kind,
Ich glaube nicht.’
‘Allein du hast Gefühl?’
‘Ja, Menschen haben’s, … doch nicht alle gleich.’
‘Und kann dir etwas weh thun? thut dir’s weh,
Wenn dir im Schoos so schwer mein Köpfchen ruht?’
‘Nein, das thut mir nicht weh!’
‘Nein, das thut mir nicht weh!’ ‘Und, Mutter ich,
Hab ich Gefühl?’
Hab ich Gefühl?’ ‘Gewisz, erinn’re dich
Wie du gestrauchelt einst,—an einem Stein
Dein Händchen hast verwundet, und geweint.
Auch weintest du als Saoedien[19] dir erzählte
Dasz auf den Hügeln dort ein Schäflein tief
In eine Schlucht hinunter fiel und starb; [[273]]
Da hast du lang geweint,—das war Gefühl.’
‘Doch Mutter, ist Gefühl denn Schmerz?’
‘Doch Mutter, ist Gefühl denn Schmerz?’ ‘Ja oft,
Doch immer nicht,… bisweilen nicht! Du weisst
Wenn’s Schwesterlein dir in die Haare greift,
Und krähend dir’s Gesichtchen nahe drückt,
Dann lachst du freudig, das ist auch Gefühl.’
‘Und dann mein Schwesterlein … es weint so oft,
Ist das vor Schmerz … hat sie denn auch Gefühl?’
‘Vielleicht, mein Kind, wir wissen’s aber nicht,
Weil sie so klein es noch nicht sagen kann.’
‘Doch Mutter … höre, was war das?’
‘Doch Mutter … höre, was war das?’ ‘Ein Hirsch
Der sich verspätet im Gebüsch, und jetzt
Mit Eile heimwärts kehrt und Ruhe sucht
Bei andren Hirschen die ihm lieb sind’—
Bei andren Hirschen die ihm lieb sind’— ‘Mutter,
Hat solch ein Hirsch ein Schwesterlein wie ich,
Und eine Mutter auch?’
Und eine Mutter auch?’ ‘Ich weisz nicht, Kind.’
‘Das würde traurig sein wenn’s nicht so wäre!
Doch, Mutter sieh … was schimmert dort im Strauch,
Sieh wie es hüpft und tanzt … ist das ein Funk?’
‘’s Ist eine Feuerfliege.’
‘’s Ist eine Feuerfliege.’ ‘Darf ich ’s fangen?’
‘Du darfst es, doch das Flieglein ist so zart,
Du wirst gewisz es weh thun und sobald
Du ’s mit den Fingern all zu roh berührst,
Ist ’s Thierchen krank, und stirbt und glänzt nicht mehr.’
‘Das würde Schade sein … ich fang ‘es nicht,…
Sieh da verschwand es,… nein, es kommt hierher,…
Ich fang ‘es doch nicht … wieder fliegt es fort,
Und freut sich dasz ich’s nicht gefangen habe,…
Da fliegt es … hoch … da oben … was ist das,
Sind das auch Feuerflieglein dort?’
Sind das auch Feuerflieglein dort?’ ‘Das sind
Die Sterne.’
Die Sterne.’ ‘Ein’, und zwei und zehn und tausend!
Wieviel sind denn wohl da?’
Wieviel sind denn wohl da?’ ‘Ich weiss es nicht; [[274]]
Der Sterne Zahl hat Niemand noch gezählt!’
‘Sag’ Mutter, zählt auch Er die Sterne nicht?’
‘Nein liebes Kind, auch Er nicht.’
‘Nein liebes Kind, auch Er nicht.’ ‘Ist das weit
Dort oben wo die Sterne sind?’
Dort oben wo die Sterne sind?’ ‘Sehr weit.’
‘Doch haben diese Sterne auch Gefühl?
Und würden sie, wenn ich sie mit der Hand
Berührte, gleich erkranken, und den Glanz
Verlieren wie das Flieglein?… Sieh noch schwebt es …
Sag, würd’ es auch den Sternen weh thun?’
Sag, würd’ es auch den Sternen weh thun?’ ‘Nein
Weh thut’s den Sternen nicht,… doch ’s ist zu weit
Für deine kleine Hand, du reichst so hoch nicht.’
‘Kann Er die Sterne fangen mit der Hand?’
‘Auch Er nicht, das kann Niemand.’
‘Auch Er nicht, das kann Niemand.’ ‘Das ist Schade,
Ich gäb so gern dir einen … wenn ich grosz bin,
Dann will ich so dich lieben dasz ich ’s kann.’
Das Kind schlief ein und träumte von Gefühl,
Von Sternen die es faszte mit der Hand.…
Die Mutter schlief noch lange nicht!
Die Mutter schlief noch lange nicht! Doch träumte
Auch sie, und dacht an den der fern war.…
“Cassel, Januar 1859.”
Yes, at the risk of becoming tedious, I have inserted the above lines. I wish to lose no opportunity of making known the man who plays the principal part in my narrative, in order to inspire the reader with interest, as black clouds afterwards gather over our hero’s head. [[275]]
[1] Independent petty princes. [↑]
[2] Allusion to Le Meunier de Sans-souci, by Andriena, in which he says of Frederick the Great of Prussia, “On respecte un moulin, on vole une province.” [↑]
[3] Literally: He who reigns—the highest title in Sumatra. [↑]
[4] The residence of the Governor-General. [↑]
[6] Toeankoe—title of rank only used in Sumatra. [↑]
[7] Sewah = Indian weapon. [↑]
[8] The French Ambassador. [↑]
[9] The General de Grammont was the proposer of this law. It was accepted in the Corps Législatif in the year 1850. [↑]
[10] “Tranquillity has remained tranquil,”—this is a literal rendering of the phrase used by many Residents. [↑]
[11] “Max Havelaar” has never been refuted. The laws and regulations are good. They even look so philanthropic on paper! [↑]
[12] The English reader will bear in mind that this was written subsequent to the great Indian mutiny of 1857. [↑]
[13] A sends more to B than B receives from A; B sends more to C than C receives from B, etc. [↑]
[14] The European and native functionaries are paid a certain percentage on products raised by the Dutch Government for the European marts. The Dutch government has its coffee-plantations, sugar-fields, etc. The European and native officials have to encourage labour in those government gardens, or fields, or plantations. [↑]
[15] Max Havelaar was published in 1860. Since 1860 the Dutch Chambers have done nothing, but declare themselves horror-struck. [↑]
[17] Klapper (Malay, Klappa)—cocoa-nut. [↑]
[18] Pukul ampat—literally, four o’clock; also, a flower which opens at four o’clock in the afternoon. [↑]
[19] Saoedien—the child’s guardian; pron. Sudin. [↑]
CHAPTER XV.
[COMPOSED BY STERN.]
Havelaar’s predecessor had good intentions, but seemed to have been in some measure afraid of the displeasure of his superiors——had many children and no fortune——had thus preferred speaking to the Resident, about what he called excessive abuses, than describing them plainly in an official report. He knew that a Resident does not like to receive a written report, which remains in his archives, and which may be afterwards a proof that he had been made acquainted in time with this or that wrong, whilst a verbal communication leaves him, without danger, the choice of paying attention to a complaint or not. Such verbal communications generally brought about a conversation with the Regent, who, of course, denied all, and asked for proof. Then the men were summoned who had the boldness to complain, and creeping before the feet of the Regent, they begged pardon. “No, that buffalo had not been taken away from them without payment; they certainly believed that double its value would be paid for it. No, they had not been summoned from their fields to labour without payment in the Regent’s ‘sawahs;’ [[276]]they knew very well that the Regent would pay them afterwards handsomely for their labour. They had complained in a moment of groundless malice—they had been mad, and begged that they should be punished for such excessive disrespect.”…
Then the Resident knew very well that he had to think about this revocation of the complaint, but it gave him nevertheless a nice opportunity to maintain the Regent in office and honour, and spared himself the disagreeable task of troubling the Government with an unfavourable report. The rash accusers were punished by caning, the Regent triumphed, and the Resident returned to the capital with the agreeable consciousness of having again managed so nicely.
But what was the Assistant Resident now to do, when the next day other complainers announced themselves? Or—and this often happened—when the same plaintiffs returned and revoked their revocation? Must he again insert this affair in his memoranda, to speak to the Resident about it a second time, to see the same comedy played again, to run the same risk as before, to pass at last for a person who, stupid and malicious, was continually producing complaints that were to be rejected every time as unfounded. And what would become of the relation so necessary between the first Native chief and the first European functionary, when the latter seemed to give ear continually to false complaints against his younger brother? [[277]]And, above all, what became of those poor plaintiffs, after they had returned to their village, under the power of the district or village chief, whom they had accused as the instrument of the Regent’s arbitrariness,—what became of these poor men? He who could fly, fled.
Therefore were there many Bantam people in the neighbouring provinces. Therefore were there so many inhabitants of Lebak among the rebels in the Lampong district. Therefore had Havelaar asked in his speech to the chiefs:—“Why is it that so many houses are empty in the villages; and why do many prefer the shadow of the wood elsewhere to the coolness of the forests of Lebak?”
But not every one could fly. The man whose corpse floats down the river in the morning, after having asked the foregoing evening—secretly, hesitatingly, and anxiously—for an audience of the Assistant Resident, he needs flight no more. Perhaps it may be deemed philanthropy to spare him a further life, by consigning him to an immediate death. The torture was spared him that awaited him on his return to the village, and the stripes which are the punishment of every one who could for a moment think himself above the brute, and no inanimate piece of wood or stone,—the punishment for him who in a moment of folly had thought that there was justice in the country, and that the Assistant Resident had the will and the power to maintain that justice.
Was it not indeed better to prevent that man from [[278]]returning the next day to that Assistant Resident, as he had given notice in the evening; and to smother his complaint in the yellow water of the Tji-berang, that would carry him away softly to its mouth, accustomed as that river was to be bearer of the brotherly presents of salutation from the sharks in the interior to the sharks in the sea?
And Havelaar was acquainted with all this! Does the reader understand what went on in his mind, when he considered that his vocation was to do justice, that he was responsible for that to a HIGHER POWER than the power of a Government, that to be sure stipulated for this justice in its laws, but did not always like to see the application of it? Do you understand how he was perplexed with doubt, not of what he had to do; but of how he ought to act? He had commenced with moderation, he had spoken to the Regent as to an elder brother, and he who thinks that I, captivated with the hero of my history, try to extol too much the manner of his speaking, may hear how once after such an interview the Regent sent his Patteh[1] to him, to thank him for the benevolence of his words, and how again long afterwards this Patteh, speaking to the Controller Verbrugge, after Havelaar had ceased to be Assistant Resident of Lebak, when nobody had anything more to hope of or fear from him, how the Patteh at the remembrance of these words had been touched, and cried, “Never as yet any gentleman spoke like him.” [[279]]
Yet he would save, restore—not destroy. He had sympathy with the Regent; he who knew how want of money oppresses, above all where it leads to humiliation and scorn, sought for reasons to avoid the unpleasant duty. The Regent was old, and the head of a family that lived magnificently in neighbouring provinces, where much coffee was reaped,[2] and where many emoluments were enjoyed. Was it not grievous for him to be so far behind his younger relatives in style of living?
Moreover he was fanatical, and thought whilst his years advanced to be able to purchase the welfare of his soul by paying for pilgrimages to Mecca, and by giving alms to prayer-singing idlers.
The functionaries who had preceded Havelaar in Lebak had not always shown a good example, and finally, the extensiveness of the Lebak family of the Regent, that lived entirely at his expense, made it very difficult for him to return to the right path.
Therefore Havelaar sought for reasons to delay all severity, and to try once more, and still once more, what could be done by gentle means.
And he went further still than kindness. With a generosity which reminded him of the faults that had made him [[280]]so poor, he continually advanced money to the Regent, and that on his own responsibility, in order that necessity should not urge too strongly to rapine, and, as was ordinarily the case, he forgot himself so far as to offer to retrench in his own family to what was strictly necessary, that he might assist the Regent with the little that he could still spare of his income.
Were it still necessary to prove the gentleness with which Havelaar fulfilled his difficult duty, that proof could be found in the verbal message which he intrusted to the Controller, when Verbrugge was going for a few days to Serang. “Tell the Resident that he, on hearing of the abuses that take place here, must not believe that I am indifferent on the subject, of which I do not immediately make an official report, because I would spare the Regent, for whom I feel pity, from too great severity, so I will try first to bring him to a sense of duty by gentleness.”
Havelaar was often out for many days together. When he was at home, he was for the most part to be found in the room which we represented in our plan as No. 7. There he was generally occupied in writing, and received the persons who asked an audience. He had chosen this spot, because there he was near his Tine, who was generally in the next room;—for so cordially were they bound together, that Max, even when he was occupied with work that needed attention and exertion, continually wanted to see and hear her. It was often comical how he [[281]]suddenly spoke to her about what came up in his thoughts about the subjects that occupied him, and how quickly she, without understanding of what he treated, knew how to seize the sense of his meaning, which he did not generally explain, as if it was a matter of course, that she knew what he meant. Often when he was discontented with his own labour, or bad news just received, he would jump up and say something unkind to her, who was not to blame for his discontent. But she liked to hear this, because it was another proof how Max confounded her with himself. And, therefore, there was never a question of repentance of such apparent unkindness, or of pardon on the other side. This would have appeared to them as if somebody had asked his own pardon, because he in ill humour had beaten his own forehead.
She knew him so well, that she could tell exactly when she had to be there to procure him a moment’s relaxation—exactly when he needed her advice, and not less exactly she knew when she had to leave him alone.
In this room Havelaar was seated on a certain morning, when the Controller entered with a letter in his hand just received.
“This is a difficult matter,” he said, entering; “very difficult.”
When I state that this letter imposed on him the duty of stating to Havelaar why there was a change in the prices of joiners’ work and labourers’ wages, the reader [[282]]will think that the Controller Verbrugge saw difficulties rather too readily. I make haste, therefore, to add, that many others would have thought the answer of this simple question very difficult.
A few years ago a prison had been built at Rankas-Betong. Now it is generally known that the functionaries in the interior of Java understand the art of erecting buildings that are worth thousands, without spending more than so many hundreds for them. This gains them the reputation for capacity, and zeal for the service of the country. The difference between the money expended and the value of what they get for it IS SUPPLIED BY UNPAID LABOUR. For a few years regulations have existed which forbid this. It is not the question here whether these regulations are observed, nor if the Government itself wishes them to be fulfilled with an exactness that would be burdensome on the budget of the building-department. It is with this as with other regulations that look so philanthropic on paper.
Now many buildings had to be erected at Rankas-Betong, and the engineers who were instructed to prepare plans of these had of course asked for information regarding the local rates of wages and the price of materials. Havelaar had charged the Controller to prepare an exact estimate of these matters, and had recommended him to give the true prices, without looking back to what had happened before, and Verbrugge had fulfilled this duty. But [[283]]these prices did not agree with the statements made a few years back. The reason of this difference was asked, and that was what Verbrugge deemed so very difficult. Havelaar, who knew very well what was concealed behind this apparently simple business, replied that he would communicate his ideas about this difficulty in writing; and I find amongst the documents before me a copy of the letter, which seems to be the consequence of this promise.
If the reader should perhaps complain of this detention with a correspondence on the price of joiners’ work, with which he has apparently nothing to do, I must beg him to observe that the question here is properly about quite another matter, viz., the condition of the official Indian economy, and that the letter which I communicate does not only throw another ray of light on the artificial optimism of which I have spoken, but paints at the same time the difficulty with which a man like Havelaar had to struggle, who would go on straightforward.
“No. 114.
“Rankas-Betong, March 15, 1856.
“To the Controller of Lebak.
“When I sent you the letter of the Director of Public Works, dated the 16th ultimo, No. 271/354, I begged you to answer the questions which that letter contained, after having consulted the Regent and duly [[284]]considered what I wrote in my missive of the 5th inst., No. 97.
“This missive contained some hints about what may be considered right and just with regard to the fixing of the prices of materials to be supplied by the people, to and at the charge of the Government.
“This you have done in your letter of the 8th inst., No. 6, and as I believe to the best of your knowledge, so that I, confiding in your local information and that of the Regent, have submitted these accounts, as prepared by you, to the Resident.
“This was followed by a missive from that chief functionary, dated the 11th inst., No. 326, whereby information was required about the cause of the difference between the prices given by me and those that had been sent in in 1854 and 1855 (the two preceding years) for the building of a prison.
“I, of course, put this letter into your hands, and verbally required you now to justify your statements, which ought to be less difficult for you, as it enabled you to appeal to the instructions given you in my letter of the 5th inst., and of which we spoke at length more than once. Up to this point all is very plain and simple. But yesterday, you entered my office with the Resident’s letter in your hands, and began to speak of the difficulty of clearing up the questions put therein. I perceived again some reluctance to give certain things their true [[285]]names, which I have told you of before, and lately in the presence of the Resident, something which I call for shortness’ sake halfness, and against which I often warned you in a friendly way. Halfness leads to nothing. Half is no good. Half true is untrue. For full payment, for a full rank, after a distinct complete oath, full duty must be done. If courage is sometimes necessary to fulfil that duty, one must possess that courage. For myself, I should not have the courage to lack that courage. For apart from the discontentedness with one’s-self, which is a consequence of neglect of duty or lukewarmness, the seeking for easier byeways, the desire always and everywhere to escape collisions, to settle, produces indeed more care, more danger than is to be met with in a straight policy.
“During the course of a very important affair, which is now under the consideration of the Government, and in which you ought to be concerned in an official way, I left you tacitly, as it were, neutral, and alluded laughingly from time to time to the circumstance. When, for instance, I lately received your report about the causes of poverty and starvation among the population, and replied thereto:—‘All this may be the truth; it is not the whole truth, nor the cardinal truth; the principal or main cause lies deeper’—you freely assented to this, and I made no use of my right to exact that you should make known that cardinal truth. For this indulgence [[286]]I had many reasons, and, amongst others, this, that I thought it unjust to exact suddenly from you what many others in your place would have readily afforded; to force you to say farewell in such a hurry to a course of reserve and timorousness that is not your fault, but that of the training which you have received. Finally, I wished to give you first an example how much simpler and easier it is to do one’s duty fully than only by halves. But now that I have had the honour of seeing you so long under my orders, and after having continually given you occasion to make yourself acquainted with principles, which, unless I err, will triumph at last, I should wish that you accepted them, that you would make your own the power which is not wanting, but merely in disuse, to tell me to the best of your knowledge what you have to say, and that you would bid adieu at once and for ever to that unmanly fear of telling the plain truth.
“I expect, therefore, a simple but complete report of what seems to you to be the cause of the difference in price between 1854 and 1856. I sincerely hope that you will not consider any phrase of this letter meant to hurt you. I trust that you understand me well enough, to know that I say neither more nor less than I mean, and, moreover, I give you the assurance that my observations refer less to you than to the school in which you were trained for an Indian functionary. Yet this ‘circonstance [[287]]atténuante’ would disappear if you, continuing longer with me, and serving the Government under my orders, should go on to follow the course against which I set myself.
“You may have observed that I have omitted the title ‘Right Honourable,’[3]—it annoyed me. Do the same to me, and let our honourableness, where it is necessary, come forward in another manner than by this annoying style, spoiling the use of titles.—The Assistant Resident of Lebak,
(Signed) “Max Havelaar.”
The reply to this letter was an accusation against some of Havelaar’s predecessors, and proved that he was not very wrong in quoting the bad examples of former times amongst the reasons that pleaded as an excuse for the Regent.
In communicating this letter I have departed from the order of time, to make it at once obvious how little help Havelaar could expect from the Controller, as soon as quite different and more important transactions were to be called by their right names, when the latter, who was without doubt a good man, had to be addressed in this way about telling the truth, when the question was only to [[288]]give information about the prices of wood, stone, lime, and wages, and how Havelaar had not only to struggle with the power of those who reaped advantage from crime, but likewise with the timorousness of those who, though condemning that crime as much as he, did not mean courageously to combat it. Perhaps the reader, after having perused this letter, will think no more with such disdain of the servile submission of the Javanese, who in presence of his chief revokes like a coward an accusation however well founded it may be. For if you consider that there was so much cause for fear, even for the European functionary, who certainly may be deemed to be somewhat less exposed to vengeance, what then awaited the poor husbandman who, in a village far from the capital, fell entirely into the power of his accused oppressors? Is it surprising that these poor men, afraid of the consequences of their boldness, endeavoured to escape or to soften those consequences by humble submission? And it was not only the Controller Verbrugge who did his duty with a shyness characteristic of neglect of duty. The Djaksa likewise, the native chief, who fills in the council of the country the office of public prosecutor, preferred entering in the evening, unseen and without attendants, the house of Havelaar. He whose duty it was to prevent theft, he whose vocation it was to catch the sneaking thief, sneaked softly in at the back door, as if he were himself a thief, fearing to be seized, after having firstly convinced himself [[289]]that there was no company which could have afterwards betrayed him as guilty of performing his duty. Was it to be wondered at that the soul of Havelaar was very sad, and that Tine had to go more than ever to his room to console him, when she saw him sitting there with his head resting on his hand?
And yet his greatest difficulty was not in the shyness of those who were near him, nor in the accessory cowardice of those who had invoked his help. No! quite alone, if necessary, he would do justice, without or with the help of others; yes, against all, even were it against the will of those who were in want of that justice. For he knew the influence he had over the people, and how, if once the poor oppressed were summoned to repeat loudly, and before the tribunal, what they had whispered to him during the evening and the night in solitude,—he knew how he had the power to work upon their minds, and how the force of his words would be stronger than the fear of the revenge of district chief or Regent. The fear that his protégés would forsake their own cause did not restrain him.
It cost him so much to accuse this old Regent—that was the reason of his internal struggle; but, on the other hand, he ought not to yield to this reluctance, because the whole population, besides their good right, had as much claim to pity. Fear for himself had no part in his doubts. For though he knew the unwillingness with which the Government generally entertains the accusation of a [[290]]Regent, and how much easier it is to take away the bread of the European functionary than to punish a Native chief, he had a special reason to believe that exactly at this moment other than the ordinary principles would predominate in the decision of such an affair.
It is true that he would have done his duty as faithfully even without this opinion; with more pleasure if he had deemed the danger for himself and his household greater than ever. We have already said how difficulty enticed him, how he thirsted for sacrifice; but he thought that the charm of a self-sacrifice did not exist here, and he feared that when at last he should have to commence a more serious struggle against injustice, he should come short of the chivalrous pleasure of having commenced this struggle as the weakest party.
Yes, that was what he feared. He thought that at the head of the Government was a Governor-General who would be his ally, and it was another peculiarity of his character, that this opinion restrained him from severe measures, and would do so longer than anything else, because it prevented his attacking injustice at a moment that he thought justice stronger than ever.
I have already said, in my attempt to describe his character, that with all his sharpness he was ingenuous (naïf).
I will endeavour to explain how Havelaar arrived at this opinion.
Few European readers can form an exact idea of the [[291]]height on which a Governor-General must stand as an individual, not to be beneath the dignity of his office; and it is therefore not too severe a judgment, if I maintain that very few, perhaps none, have been able to respond to so heavy a claim. Not to speak of the qualities of head and heart that are required, only cast an eye on the giddy height on which so suddenly the man is placed, who——yesterday only a citizen——to-day has power over millions of subjects. He who a short time ago was still hidden among his acquaintances without being more than they in rank or power, feels himself suddenly, for the most part unexpectedly, elevated above a multitude infinitely greater than the small circle in which he had been before but imperfectly known, and I believe that I was not wrong in calling this height giddy; which, indeed, puts us in mind of the giddiness of one who sees suddenly a precipice before him, or which makes you think of the blindness that strikes us, if we come suddenly from a deep darkness into bright light. Against such transitions, the nerves of vision and the brain are no match, even where they are of extraordinary strength.
When also the nomination to the rank of Governor-General bears in itself causes of corruption, which will affect even one remarkable for excellent understanding and thorough conscientiousness, what may be expected of persons who already before their nomination had many faults? [[292]]
And if we suppose that the King is always well informed before he signs his august name at the foot of the document, in which he says he is convinced of “the good faith, the zeal, and the capacity” of the newly appointed Governor, even if we suppose that the new Viceroy is zealous, faithful, and able, then the question still remains, whether this zeal, and above all, this capacity, exist with him in a measure high enough elevated above mediocrity to satisfy the claims of his vocation.
For the question cannot be whether the man, who for the first time leaves the King’s cabinet at the Hague as Governor-General, possesses at that moment the capacity necessary for his new office,—that is impossible. By the declaration of confidence in his capacity can only be meant the belief, that he, in a quite different situation, on a given moment, shall know, as it were by intuition, what he could not have learnt at the Hague,—in other words, that he is a genius, a genius which suddenly must know and understand what before it neither knew nor understood. Such geniuses are rare, even among persons who are in favour with kings.
As I speak of geniuses, the reader will understand that I wish to omit what could be said of many a Governor. It would likewise disgust me to insert in my book pages that should expose the serious design of this work to the suspicion of hunting after scandal. I omit, therefore, the peculiarities that can only reach certain persons, but as a [[293]]general history of the malady of the situation of the Governors-General, I believe that I can give:—First period—Dizziness, Incense-drunkenness, Self-conceit, Immoderate self-confidence, Disdain of others, above all of persons who have been long in India. Second period—Fatigue, Fear, Dejection, Inclination to Sleep and Rest, Immoderate confidence in the Council of India, Home-sickness and desire for a Dutch country-seat.
Between these two periods, and as a sort of transition, perhaps as cause of this transition, there is Dysentery.
I trust that many persons in India will thank me for this diagnosis.
The application is very useful, for it may be accepted as very certain, that the patient, who through over-exertion in the first period, would choke at a gnat, would later, after the dysentery, swallow without difficulty a camel;—or, to speak more plainly, that a functionary who “accepts presents, not with the intention of enriching himself,”—for instance a bundle of pisang worth a few pence,—would, in the first period of the malady, be driven away with scorn and disgrace; but if that official has patience enough to wait for the second period, he may seize very calmly, and without any fear of punishment, the garden where the pisang grew, with the adjoining gardens, and the houses round, and what there may be in those houses, and other things … ad libitum. [[294]]
Every one may take advantage of this pathological philosophical observation, and keep secret my advice to prevent too much competition.…
A curse on it, that indignation and grief are so often clothed in the rags of satire! A curse on it, that a tear, to be understood, must be accompanied with a sneer!
Or is it the fault of my inexperience, that I seek in vain for words to name the depth of the wound that cankers in our Indian Government, without borrowing the style of Figaro or Punch? Style, … Yes! There are documents before me, in which there is style; style that showed that there was a man in the neighbourhood; a man, to whom it would have been worth the trouble to give a helping hand! And of what use was this style to poor Havelaar? He did not translate his tears into grins, he did not scoff, he did not endeavour to touch by a medley of colours or insipid farces; … of what use was it to him?
If I could write like him, I should write otherwise than he.
Style?… Did you hear how he spoke to the chiefs? And of what use was it to him?
If I could speak like him, I should speak otherwise than he.
Away with conscientious language, away with considerateness, straightforwardness, plainness, simplicity, feeling; away with all that puts you in remembrance of Horace’s [[295]]“Justum et tenacem;” trumpets here, and the sharp rattle of kettledrums, whizzing of rockets, screeching of tuneless strings, here and there a true word sneaking in as contraband, under cover of so much drumming and so much trumpeting! Style?… He had style! He had too much soul to drown his thoughts in, “I have the honour to be,” and the “Right Honourable,” and the “respectfully giving in considerations,” that was the luxury of the small world in which he moved. When he wrote, something impressed you in the reading of it, which made you understand that there were clouds accompanying this thunderstorm, and that you did not hear the rattling of tin thunderstorm as in a theatre. When he struck fire from ideas, the heat of his fire was felt by all but born clerks, or Governors-General, or the writer of that most disgusting report about “tranquil tranquillity.”
And what was the use of it to him?… If I want to be heard, and, above all, understood—must I then write otherwise than he? But how, then?
Do you see, reader! I look for an answer to this “how,” and therefore my book is such a medley: it is a pattern-card, make your choice; afterwards I will give you yellow or blue or red, as you please.
Havelaar had already so often observed the Governor’s malady in so many sufferers, and often in anima vili, for there are analogical Residents’, Controllers’, Clerks’ maladies, that are in proportion to the first as the measles [[296]]to the small-pox, and finally, he himself had suffered from this malady; he had already so often observed this, that he knew the symptoms very well. He had remarked that the present Governor-General[4] had been less dizzy at the commencement of the malady than most others, and he concluded from this that the rest of the malady would likewise take another course. Therefore he feared to be the strongest, if at last he should have to come forward as the champion of the rights of the inhabitants of Lebak.[5] [[297]]
[1] A person in service of the Regent. [↑]
[2] The Dutch Government has its coffee-gardens. If a Regent encourages labour in those gardens, or better still, compels men and women to work for nothing in the government gardens,—these government gardens will produce much coffee, and the Regent receives a certain percentage, so much for every pical. [↑]
[3] Right Honourable is by no means a good translation of the Dutch “WelEdelGestrenge.” It is impossible to translate this into English, just as “Right Worshipful” could hardly be translated into Dutch without becoming ridiculous. [↑]
[5] He would BEGIN the campaign as the weakest, and yet at last be the strongest. [↑]
CHAPTER XVI.
[COMPOSED BY STERN.]
Havelaar received a letter from the Regent of Tjanjor, wherein the latter communicated to him that he wished to pay a visit to his uncle the Regent of Lebak. This was very disagreeable news for him. He knew how the chiefs in the Preangan Regencies were accustomed to display much magnificence, and how the Regent of Tjanjor could not undertake such a journey without a train of many hundreds, all of whom must be lodged and fed, as also their horses. He would gladly have prevented this visit; but he thought in vain of the means of doing so, without offending the Regent of Rankas-Betong; as the latter was very proud and would have felt deeply offended if his comparative poverty had been mentioned as a motive for not visiting him. And if this visit could not be avoided, it would inevitably give occasion to aggravate the oppression of the people.
It is to be doubted if Havelaar’s speech had made a lasting impression on the chiefs; with many this was certainly [[298]]not the case; but it is certain that, in all the villages, the report had spread, that the gentleman who had power at Rankas-Betong would do justice, and if his words were powerless to prevent crime, they had at least given the victims the courage to complain, however hesitatingly and secretly.
In the evening they crept through the ravine, and when Tine was sitting in her room, she was frightened by an unexpected noise, and saw before the open windows dark forms that sneaked along with a shy step. But very soon she started no more, for she knew what it meant when these forms wandered like so many spectres round the house, and asked protection of her Max. Then she beckoned him, and he got up to call in the complainants. Most of them came from the district of Parang-Koodjang, where one of the chiefs was a son-in-law of the Regent; and though this chief did not omit to take his part of the extortion, yet it was no secret that he generally robbed in name of the Regent, and for his benefit. It was affecting to see how these poor men relied upon the chivalry of Havelaar, that he would not summon them to repeat the following day openly what they told him in his room. This would have caused the ill-treatment of them all, and the death of many. Havelaar made notes of what they said, and after that ordered the plaintiffs to return to their village. He promised that justice should be done, provided they made no opposition, and did not emigrate, as was [[299]]the intention of many. Generally, he was shortly afterwards at the place where the injustice happened, yes, he had often been there already, and had for the most part examined into the affair before the plaintiff himself had returned to his dwelling. In this manner he visited in this extensive department, villages that were eighty miles distant from Rankas-Betong, without the Regent or even the Controller Verbrugge knowing that he was absent from the capital. His object in so doing was to shield the complainants from the danger of revenge, and at the same time to spare the Regent the shame of a public inquiry, which with Havelaar would not have ended in a revocation of the complaint. He still hoped that the chiefs would turn back on the dangerous road which they had already walked so long; and he would in that case have been contented merely to claim indemnification for the poor sufferers.
But on every occasion of his speaking to the Regent, it was evident to him that all promises of amendment were vain; and he was deeply pained at the ill-success of his endeavours.
We shall now leave him for a time in his disappointment and the difficult work he had undertaken, to relate to the reader the history of the Javanese Saïdjah in the dessah Badoer. I extract from Havelaar’s notes the name of this village and that of the Javanese concerned. It is a [[300]]case of extortion and plunder; and lest my history should be thought fictitious, I give the assurance that I can furnish the names of the thirty-two persons in the district of Parang-Koodjang alone, from whom in the course of one month thirty-six buffaloes had been stolen for the use of the Regent; or, still better, I can give the names of thirty-two persons in that district, who in one month dared to complain, and whose complaints, having been examined by Havelaar, were found to be true.[1]
There are five such districts in the Residency of Lebak. Now if one chooses to believe that the number of stolen buffaloes was less in those parts that had not the honour of being governed by the son-in-law of the Regent, I will grant that; though the question still remains, whether the rapacity of other chiefs was not founded on as sure ground as that of near relationship? For instance, the district chief of Tjilangkahan on the south coast could in default of a father-in-law, of whom one was much afraid, rely upon the difficulty with which the poor in their complaints had to contend, that, namely, of walking forty or sixty miles before hiding themselves during the evening in the ravine near Havelaar’s house. And if we observe the fact that many started never to reach that house, that many did not even leave their village, frightened as they were by their own experience or by the sight of the [[301]]fate which overtook other plaintiffs, then I believe that we should be wrong in thinking that the multiplication by five of the number of buffaloes stolen out of one district would be too high an estimate of the number of cattle stolen every month in the five districts, to provide for the wants of the Regent of Lebak’s court.
And it was not buffaloes alone; nor was buffalo-robbing the main thing. A somewhat less degree of shamelessness is required—above all in India, where statute-labour is still lawful—to summon the people unlawfully for unpaid labour, than is necessary to take away property. It is easier to make the population believe that the Government wants labour without wishing to pay for it, than that it should claim the poor man’s buffalo for nothing; and even if the timorous Javanese dared to investigate whether the statute-labour required of him agreed with the regulations on the subject, even then it would be impossible to succeed, as the one has nothing to do with the other, and he cannot therefore calculate whether the fixed number of persons has not been exceeded ten or fifty times. Where also the most dangerous, the most easily discovered abuse, is executed with such boldness, what may not then be thought of the abuses that are much easier of execution, and less liable to discovery? I said that I was going to relate the history of the Javanese Saïdjah; yet I am compelled first to make one of those digressions which are so difficult to avoid when describing situations that are quite strange [[302]]to the reader. I will state at the same time the causes that make it so difficult for those who have not been in India to judge of Indian affairs.
I have repeatedly spoken of the people as Javanese, and however natural this nomenclature may appear to the European reader, it must have sounded wrong to the ears of any one acquainted with Java. The Western Residencies of Bantam, Batavia, Preangan, Krawand, and a part of Cheribon,—all together called Soondah-countries,[2]—are not considered as belonging to Java proper; and not to speak now of the foreigners that came from over the sea into these regions, the aboriginal population is quite different from that of the middle of Java, or that of the so-called east corner. Language, character of the people, manners, dress, change so much as you go eastward, that, indeed, there is more difference between the Soondanese and the Javanese proper, than between the English and the Dutch. Such differences are often the cause of disputes in judging of Indian affairs. If we observe that Java alone is so sharply divided into two distinct parts, without marking the many subdivisions of these, we may calculate how great the difference must be between populations that live further from each other, and are separated by the sea. He whose knowledge of Dutch India is confined to Java, can no more form a just idea of the Malay, the Amboynese, the Battah, the Alfoer, the [[303]]Timorese, the Dayak, or the native of Macassar, than he who never left Europe; and for a person who has had the opportunity of observing the difference between these populations, it is indeed often amusing to hear the conversations, and afflicting to hear the speeches, of persons who get their knowledge of Indian affairs at Batavia or at Buitenzorg. I have often wondered at the courage with which, for instance, a late Governor-General endeavoured, in the Representative Chambers, to give weight to his words, by a pretended claim to local knowledge and experience. I esteem very highly the knowledge acquired by profound study in the library, and have often been astonished at the extent of the knowledge of Indian affairs which some have displayed without having ever trod Indian ground, and when a late Governor-General gives proofs of having acquired such knowledge in this manner, we feel for him the respect which is the legitimate reward of the conscientious and fruitful labour of many years. This respect would be still greater for him, than for the scholar who had fewer difficulties to conquer, because he at a far distance, without inspections, ran a less risk of falling into the errors which are the consequence of a defective view, as was the lot of the late Governor-General.[3] [[304]]
I said that I was surprised at the confidence which some have shown in the treatment of Indian affairs. For they know that their words are heard by others than those who think it enough to have passed a few years at Buitenzorg, to know India; that these words are likewise read by those persons in India itself, who were the witnesses of their inexperience, and who, as much as I, are astonished at the boldness with which a man, who, only a short time ago, tried to hide this incapacity behind the high rank which the King had given him, speaks now all at once as if he really possessed a knowledge of the affairs of which he treats.
Again and again, therefore, you hear complaints of incompetent interference, again and again this or that system is opposed in the Representative Chambers by denying the competency of him who represents such a system, and it would perhaps not be inopportune to make an exact inquiry into the qualities which make a person competent to judge of competency. Generally, the touchstone of an important question is not the matter of which it treats, but the value which is ascribed to the opinion of the person who speaks of it; and as he is often one who is considered to be qualified above all others, one who had, in India, such “a high position,” the consequence of it is, that the results of the voting bear generally the colour of the errors that seem to stick to “these important positions.” If this is the case where the influence of such [[305]]a person is only exercised by a member of the Representative Chambers, how great then will be the inclination to judge wrongly if such influence is accompanied by the confidence of the King, who placed this functionary at the head of the ministry of the colonies? It is a peculiar phenomenon (perhaps owing its origin to a sort of dulness, which shuns the trouble of judging for ourselves), how easily one gives his confidence to persons who know how to give themselves the appearance of more knowledge, when this knowledge has been drawn from a foreign source. The reason perhaps is, that self-love is less hurt by the acknowledgment of such an ascendency, than would be the case if one could have recourse to the same expedients when anything like emulation should arise. It is easy for the representative of the people to give up his opinion, as soon as it is combated by a person who may be deemed to pass a more accurate judgment than he, and this accuracy need not be ascribed to personal superiority, confession of which would be more difficult, but only to the particular circumstances wherein such an opponent has been. And not to speak of those who have filled high offices in India, it is indeed strange how often value is ascribed to the opinion of persons who really possess nothing to justify the credit given them, than the remembrance of a residence of so many years in those regions, and this is so much the more strange, because they, who attach importance to such a source of information, would [[306]]not readily believe all that would be told them, for instance, about political economy in Holland, by a person who could show that he had lived forty or fifty years in Holland. There are persons who have lived more than thirty years in Dutch India without ever coming in contact with either the population or the native chiefs; and it is sad that the Council of India is often totally, or for a great part, composed of such persons,—that the means have even been found to make the King sign the appointment, as Governor-General, of a person who belonged to this class.
When I said that this supposed capacity of a newly appointed Governor-General might be considered as implying that he was held to be a genius, I did not mean to recommend the appointment of geniuses. Besides the difficulty of having this important employment continually vacant, another reason pleads against this. A genius would not be able to work under a Minister of the colonies, and would therefore be useless, as geniuses generally are.
It would, perhaps, be desirable that the main faults given by me in the form of a diagnosis should get the attention of those who are called upon to the choice of a new Governor. Taking it for granted that all the persons considered eligible are conscientious, and in the possession of a faculty of comprehension sufficient to enable them to learn a little of what they will have to know, I think it a main thing that the avoidance may be expected of them [[307]]of that presumptuous self-conceit in the beginning, and, above all, of that apathetic sluggishness in the last years of their administration. I have already said that Havelaar, in his difficult duty, thought he could rely upon the help of the Governor-General; and I added that this opinion was naïf. That Governor-General was expecting his successor … his rest in Holland was near. We shall see what this sluggishness brought upon Havelaar, and upon the Javanese Saïdjah, whose monotonous history—one amongst many—I am now about to relate.
Yes, “monotonous” it will be! Monotonous as the history of the activity of the ant, which had to carry up its contribution for the winter store over the clod—the mountain—which blocks up the way to the storehouse. Again and again it falls back with its burden, to try again to put its feet on that little stone high there on the rock at the top of the mountain. But between it and this top there is an abyss, a depth which a thousand ants could not fill——this must be passed. Therefore the ant, that has scarcely the strength to drag its burden on even ground—a burden many times heavier than its own body—that can hardly lift it up and balance itself on an unsteady footing, has to preserve its equilibrium—when it climbs with its burden between the fore-legs, it has to sling it round to the side to make it come down on the point which stretches out on the rock,—it staggers, totters, is frightened, sinks down, endeavours to take hold of the [[308]]half rooted-up trunk of a tree—of a blade of grass—which, with its top, points to the depth—it loses the fulcrum which it sought for, the tree gives way, the blade of grass yields under its weight, and the ant falls back into the depth with its burden. Then it is still for a moment, which is long in the life of an ant. It is stunned by the pain of its fall—or does it yield to grief that so much exertion was in vain? No, its courage does not forsake it. Again it seizes the burden, and again drags it aloft, again soon to fall into the depth. So monotonous is my tale. But I shall not speak of ants, whose joy or sorrow escapes our observation through the dulness of our organs; I shall speak of men who move in the way same as we do. It is true he who shuns emotion, and would fain avoid compassion, will say that those men are yellow or brown—many call them black,—and for them the difference of colour is reason enough for turning the eye from their misery, or at least for looking down on it without emotion. My narrative is therefore only addressed to those who are capable of the difficult faith, that hearts throb under that dark epidermis, and that he who is blessed with a white skin, and the civilisation thereunto belonging—generosity, mercantile knowledge, and religion, virtue, etc.—might use these qualities of the white man better than has yet been experienced by those less blessed in colour and mental capacity.
Yet my confidence in your sympathy with the Javanese [[309]]does not go so far as to make me imagine when I tell you how the last buffalo has been carried off from the enclosure, in broad daylight, without fear, under protection of Dutch power, when I cause the stolen cattle to be followed by the owner and his weeping children, and make him sit down upon the steps of the robber’s house, speechless and senseless, absorbed in sorrow, to be chased away with outrage and disdain, menaced with stripes and prison.…
See! I neither claim nor expect that you will be moved by this in the same manner as you would be if I sketched the destiny of a Dutch peasant whose cow had been taken away. I ask no tear for the tears that flow on such dark faces, nor noble indignation when I shall speak of the despair of the sufferer. Neither do I expect that you will rise and go with my book in your hand to the King, saying: “Look here, O King, that happens in your empire, in your beautiful empire of Insulinde!”…
No, no; all this I do not expect. The excess of misery at home overmasters your feeling of sympathy for what is far off. Was there not yesterday but little business going on at the Exchange, and does not the glutting of the coffee-market threaten a reduction in price?
“Don’t write such nonsense to your papa, Stern,” I said, and perhaps a little passionately, for I can’t bear untruth; that has always been a fixed principle with me. [[310]]I wrote that evening to old Mr. Stern, telling him to beware of false reports.
The reader understands what I have again suffered in listening to the last chapters. Was I not right when I said that Shawlman had made them all mad with his parcel? Would you recognise in this writing business of Stern——and Fred too helps, that is certain——young men that were educated in a respectable house?
What foolish sallies are these against a sickness which reveals itself in a desire for a country seat? Is that aimed at me? Am not I allowed to go to Driebergen as soon as Fred is a broker? And who speaks of dysentery in the company of mothers and daughters? It is a fixed principle with me always to remain quiet, for I think it useful in business; but I must confess, that it has often cost me a great deal to listen to all the nonsense that Stern reads. What does he mean? What must be the end of all this? When shall we hear anything substantial? Of what interest is it for me whether Havelaar keeps his garden clean or not, and whether those people enter in front of the house or at the back? At Busselinck and Waterman’s one has to go through a small entrance, near an oil warehouse, where it is always abominably dirty.——And then those tiresome buffaloes. Why do they want buffaloes, those black fellows?… I never had a buffalo, and yet I am contented;—there are men who are always complaining. And as regards that scoffing at forced labour, I [[311]]perceive that he had not heard that sermon of Dominé Wawelaar’s, otherwise he would know how useful labour is in the extension of the kingdom of God. It is true, he is a Lutheran.…
To be sure, if I could have known how he would write the book, which was to be so important to all coffee-brokers—and others—I would rather have done it myself. But he is supported by the Rosemeyers, who trade in sugar, and this makes him so bold. I said plainly, for I am honest in those things, that we can dispense with the history of that man Saïdjah; but just then, all at once, Louise Rosemeyer began to cry. It appears that Stern had told her that there would be something about love in it, and girls are mad after that. Yet this would not have made me yield, if the Rosemeyers had not told me that they would like to be acquainted with Stern’s father. Of course, through the father they will arrive at the uncle, who trades in sugar. If I am now too much for common-sense, and against Stern junior, I get the appearance as if I would keep them away from him, and that is not at all the case, for they trade in sugar.
I don’t understand what Stern means by what he writes. There are always discontented people, and does it become him who enjoys so much good in Holland——only this week my wife gave him camomile tea——to scoff at the Government? Does he mean to excite public discontent? Does he want to become Governor-General? He is self-conceited [[312]]enough for that. I told him the other day that he spoke very bad Dutch. “Oh, that is nothing,” said he, “it seems that a Governor is very seldom sent over who understands the language of the country.”
What shall I do with such a self-conceited fellow? He has not the least respect for my experience. When I told him this week that I had been a broker for seventeen years, he cited Busselinck and Waterman, who have been brokers for eighteen years, “and,” said he, “they have one year’s more experience.” Thus he caught me, for I must confess, because I like truth, that Busselinck and Waterman have little knowledge of business, and that they are old women and sneaks. Mary too is led astray. Only this week——it was her turn to read at breakfast, we were about to have the history of Lot——when she suddenly stopped, and refused to proceed. My wife, who likes religion as much as I do, tried gently to persuade her to obedience, because it does not become a modest girl to be so obstinate. All in vain. Thereupon I, as a father, was obliged to scold her with much severity, because she spoiled, by her obstinacy, the comfort of the breakfast, which always has a bad influence on the whole day. But nothing would help, and she went so far as to say, that she would rather be beaten till she was dead than proceed with reading. I have punished her with three days’ confinement to her room on coffee and bread; I hope that it will do her good. To make this punishment [[313]]severe, at the same time a moral lesson, I have ordered her to copy the chapter which she would not read ten times, and I have treated her with this severity above all, because I have perceived that she has, during the last few days—whether from Stern or not I do not know—taken up ideas which appear to me to be dangerous to morality, to which my wife and I are so much attached. I heard her sing, for instance, a French song—by Béranger, I believe—in which the poet pities a poor old beggar, who in her youth sung at a theatre, and yesterday at breakfast she had no stays on——Mary, I mean—that was really not respectable.
I have likewise to confess that Fred brought home little good from the prayer-meeting. I had been much pleased with his sitting so quietly in church. He did not move, and always looked at the pulpit, but afterwards I heard that Betsy Rosemeyer was sitting near it. I said nothing about it, for one must not be too severe towards young people, and the Rosemeyers are a respectable firm. They have given their eldest daughter, who married Bruggeman the druggist, something very nice, and therefore I believe that this will keep Fred away from the Wester Market, which is very gratifying to me, because I am so attached to morality.
But I am grieved to see that this does not prevent Fred from hardening his heart, like Pharaoh, who was less guilty, because he had no father to show him continually [[314]]the right path, for the Scriptures do not speak of old Pharaoh. Dominé Wawelaar complains of his conceit——I mean Fred’s——at catechism, and he seems—again from Shawlman’s parcel,—to have derived this self-conceit, which drives the conscientious Wawelaar almost mad. It is touching how the worthy man, who often lunches with us, endeavours to work on Fred’s feelings, and how the scamp is always ready with new questions, which show the perversity of his heart. It all comes from that accursed book of Shawlman’s. With tears of emotion on his cheeks, the zealous servant of the Gospel endeavours to move him to turn away the eyes from the wisdom of men, to be introduced into the mysteries of the wisdom of God. With gentleness and meekness he prays him not to throw away the bread of eternal life, and to fall while acting thus into the clutches of Satan, who, with his angels, inhabits the fire prepared for him to all eternity. “Oh,” said he yesterday——Wawelaar, I mean——“O my young friend, open now eyes and ears, and hear and see what the Lord gives you to see and hear by my mouth. Pay attention to the evidences of the saints who have died for the true faith. Look at Stephen, sinking down under the stones that crush him, see how he still looks to heaven, and how he ceases not to sing psalms.…”
“I would rather have thrown stones in return,” said Fred in reply.——Reader! what shall I do with this fellow?
A moment afterwards Wawelaar commenced again; for [[315]]he is an ardent servant, and sticks to his work. “Oh,” said he, “young friend … (the preamble was as above), can you remain insensible when you think of what shall become of you when once you are counted amongst the goats on the left hand.…”
Thereupon the rogue burst out laughing——I mean Fred——and Mary laughed too. I even thought that I perceived something like a laugh on my wife’s face. But then I helped Wawelaar: I punished Fred with a fine out of his money-box to the missionary society.
But all this touches me deeply. And could any one take pleasure in hearing stories about buffaloes and the Javanese with such grievances of his own? What is a buffalo to the salvation of Fred? What do I care about the affairs of those people away there, when I have to fear that Fred will spoil my business by his unbelief, and that he will never become a good broker? For W. himself has said, that God so directs all things that orthodoxy leads to wealth! “Look only,” he said, “is there not much wealth in Holland? That is because of the Faith. Is there not in France every day murder and homicide? That is because there are Roman Catholics there. Are not the Javanese poor? They are Pagans. The more the Dutch have to do with the Javanese, the more wealth will be here, and the more poverty there.”
I am astonished at Wawelaar’s penetration. For it is the truth, that I, who am exact in religion, see that my [[316]]business increases every year, and Busselinck and Waterman, who do not care about God or the Commandments, will remain bunglers as long as they live. The Rosemeyers, too, who trade in sugar, and have a Roman Catholic maid-servant, had a short time ago to accept 27 per cent. out of the estate of a Jew who became bankrupt. The more I reflect, the further I advance in tracing the unsearchable ways of God. Lately it appeared that thirty millions had been gained on the sale of products furnished by the Pagans, and in this is not included what I have gained thereby, and others who live by this business. Is not that as if the Lord said—“Here you have thirty millions as a reward for your faith?” Is not that the finger of God, who causes the wicked one to labour to preserve the righteous one? Is not that a hint for us to go on in the right way, and to cause those far away to produce much, and to stand fast here to the True Religion? Is it not therefore—“Pray and labour,” that we should pray, and have the work done by those who do not know the Lord’s Prayer?
Oh, how truly Wawelaar speaks, when he calls the yoke of God light! How easy the burden is to every one who believes. I am only a few years past forty, and can retire when I please to Driebergen, and see how it ends with others who forsake the Lord. Yesterday I saw Shawlman with his wife and their little boy: they looked like ghosts. He is pale as death, his eyes protrude, and his [[317]]cheeks look hollow. His attitude is bent, though he is younger than I am. She too was dressed very poorly, and she seemed to have been weeping again: I perceived immediately that she is of a discontented temper; I need only see a person once to form an opinion——that comes from my experience. She had on a thin cloak of black silk, and yet it was very cold. There was no trace of a crinoline; her thin dress hung loose round the knees, and a fringe hung from the edge. He had not even his shawl, and looked as if it was summer. Yet he seems to possess a kind of pride, for he gave something to a poor woman sitting on a bridge. He who has himself so little sins if he gives anything to another. Moreover, I never give in the streets, that is a principle of mine, for I always say, when I see such poor people, Perhaps it is their own fault, and I must not encourage them in their wickedness. Every Sunday I give twice; once for the poor, and once for the church. So it is right. I do not know if Shawlman saw me, but I passed rapidly and looked upwards, and thought of the justice of God, who would not have allowed him to walk along without an overcoat if he had behaved better, and if he were not idle, self-conceited, and sickly.
As regards my book, I must indeed beg pardon of the reader on account of the unpardonable manner in which Stern abuses our contract. I must confess that I look forward without pleasure to our next party, and the love-story of this Saïdjah. The reader knows already the [[318]]sound notions which I have about love;—think only of my criticism of that excursion to the Ganges. That young ladies take pleasure in such things I understand, but that men of years hear such nonsense without disgust is inexplicable to me. I will endeavour to hear nothing of this Saïdjah, and hope that the fellow will marry soon, if he is to be the hero of a love-story. It was very good of Stern to warn us that it will be a monotonous story. When he afterwards commences with something else, I will listen again. But I am tired almost as much of his always condemning the Government as of his love-stories. It may be seen from everything that Stern is young, and has little experience. To judge rightly of affairs one must see them clearly. When I married I went to the Hague, and visited the Museum with my wife: I there came in contact with persons in all sorts of positions in society; for I saw the Minister of Finance pass by; and we bought flannel together in Veene Street——I and my wife I mean——and nowhere did I perceive the slightest evidence of discontent against the Government. The young woman in the shop looked healthy and contented; and when in 1856 some tried to deceive us by saying that at the Hague all was not as it ought to be, I said at the party what I thought about the discontent, and I was believed; for every one knew that I spoke from experience. When returning from my journey, the conductor of the diligence played a gay popular melody, and he would not have done that if [[319]]there had been so much wrong. So having paid attention to all, I knew immediately what to think of all that grumbling in 1856.
Opposite to us there lived a young woman whose cousin has a Toko in the East Indies, as they call a shop there. If all was so very bad as Stern represents, she would likewise know something about it, and yet it seems that she is very contented, for I never hear her complain. On the contrary, she says that her cousin lives there at a country seat, and that he is member of the consistory, and that he has sent her a cigar-case ornamented with peacocks’-feathers, which he had himself made of bamboo. All this shows distinctly how unfounded all these complaints about misgovernment are. Likewise it is clear that for a person who will behave properly, there is still something to gain in that country, and that when this Shawlman was there, he was idle, conceited, and sickly, otherwise he would not have come home so very poor; to walk about here without a greatcoat. And the cousin of the young woman who lives opposite us is not the only one who has made his fortune in the East Indies. In the club I see so many persons who have been there, and who are very nicely dressed. But it is plain one must pay attention to one’s business yonder as well as here. In Java pigeons will not fly into anybody’s mouth ready roasted; there must be work, and whoever will not work is poor, and remains so as a matter of course. [[320]]
[1] This statement the author published in 1861 at Amsterdam. (Minnebrieven, by Multatuli.) [↑]
[3] Because usually the Governors-General have never before been in India. The late Governor-General, for instance, when he was appointed by the king, had never been in India, or connected in anything with Indian matters. [↑]
CHAPTER XVII.
[CONTINUATION OF STERN’S COMPOSITION.]
Saïdjah’s father had a buffalo, with which he ploughed his field. When this buffalo was taken away from him by the district chief at Parang-Koodjang he was very dejected, and did not speak a word for many a day. For the time for ploughing was come, and he had to fear that if the sawah[1] was not worked in time, the opportunity to sow would be lost, and lastly, that there would be no paddy to cut, none to keep in the lombong (store-room) of the house. I have here to tell readers who know Java, but not Bantam, that in that Residency there is personal landed property, which is not the case elsewhere. Saïdjah’s father, then, was very uneasy. He feared that his wife would have no rice, nor Saïdjah himself, who was still a child, nor his little brothers and sisters. And the district chief too would accuse him to the Assistant Resident if he was behind-hand in the payment of his land-taxes, for this is [[321]]punished by the law. Saïdjah’s father then took a kris,[2] which was poosaka[3] from his father. The kris was not very handsome, but there were silver bands round the sheath, and at the end there was a silver plate. He sold this kris to a Chinaman who dwelt in the capital, and came home with twenty-four guilders, for which money he bought another buffalo.
Saïdjah, who was then about seven years old, soon made friends with the new buffalo. It is not without meaning that I say “made friends,” for it is indeed touching to see how the Karbo[4] is attached to the little boy who watches over and feeds him. Of this attachment I shall very soon give an example. The large, strong animal bends its heavy head to the right, to the left, or downwards, just as the pressure of the child’s finger, which he knows and understands, directs.
Such a friendship little Saïdjah had soon been able to make with the new-comer, and it seemed as if the encouraging voice of the child gave still more strength to the heavy shoulders of the strong animal, when it tore open the stiff clay and traced its way in deep sharp furrows.
The buffalo turned willingly, on reaching the end of the field, and did not lose an inch of ground when ploughing backwards the new furrow, which was ever near the old, [[322]]as if the ‘sawah’ was a garden ground raked by a giant. Quite near were the ‘sawahs’ of the father of Adinda (the father of the child that was to marry Saïdjah); and when the little brothers of Adinda came to the limit of their fields just at the same time that the father of Saïdjah was there with his plough, then the children called out merrily to each other, and each praised the strength and the docility of his buffalo. But I believe that the buffalo of Saïdjah was the best of all; perhaps because its master knew better than any one else how to speak to the animal, and buffaloes are very sensible to kind words. Saïdjah was nine and Adinda six, when this buffalo was taken from the father of Saïdjah by the chief of the district of Parang-Koodjang. Saïdjah’s father, who was very poor, thereupon sold to a Chinaman two silver klamboo[5] hooks—‘poosaka’ from the parents of his wife—for eighteen guilders, and for that money bought a new buffalo. But Saïdjah was very dejected. For he knew from Adinda’s little brothers that the other buffalo had been driven to the capital, and he had asked his father if he had not seen the animal when he was there to sell the hooks of the ‘klamboo.’ To this question Saïdjah’s father refused to give an answer. Therefore he feared that his buffalo had been slaughtered, as the other buffaloes which the district chief had taken from the people. And Saïdjah wept much when he thought of this poor buffalo, which he had known [[323]]for such a long time, and he could not eat for many days, for his throat was too narrow when he swallowed. It must be taken into consideration that Saïdjah was a child.
The new buffalo soon got acquainted with Saïdjah, and very soon obtained in the heart of Saïdjah the same place as his predecessor,—alas! too soon; for the wax impressions of the heart are very soon smoothed to make room for other writing.… However this may be, the new buffalo was not so strong as the former: true, the old yoke was too large for his neck, but the poor animal was willing, like his predecessor, which had been slaughtered; and though Saïdjah could boast no more of the strength of his buffalo when he met Adinda’s brothers at the boundaries, yet he maintained that no other surpassed his in willingness; and if the furrow was not so straight as before, or if lumps of earth had been turned, but not cut, he willingly made this right as much as he could with his patjol.[6] Moreover, no buffalo had an oeser-oeseran[7] like his. The Penghooloo[8] himself had said that there was ontong[9] in the course of the hair-whirls on its shoulders. Once when they were in the field, Saïdjah called in vain to his buffalo to make haste. The animal did not move. Saïdjah grew angry at this unusual refractoriness, and could not refrain from scolding. He said “a—— [[324]]s——.” Every one who has been in India will understand me, and he who does not understand me gains by it if I spare him the explanation of a coarse expression.
Yet Saïdjah did not mean anything bad. He only said it because he had often heard it said by others when they were dissatisfied with their buffaloes. But it was useless; his buffalo did not move an inch. He shook his head, as if to throw off the yoke, the breath appeared out of his nostrils, he blew, trembled, there was anguish in his blue eye, and the upper lip was curled upwards, so that the gums were bare.…
“Fly! Fly!” Adinda’s brothers cried, “fly, Saïdjah! there is a tiger!”
And they all unyoked the buffaloes, and throwing themselves on their broad backs, galloped away through sawahs, galangans,[10] mud, brushwood, forest, and allang-allang,[11] along fields and roads, and when they tore panting and dripping with perspiration into the village of Badoer, Saïdjah was not with them.
For when he had freed his buffalo from the yoke, and had mounted him as the others had done to fly, an unexpected jump made him lose his seat and fall to the earth. The tiger was very near.… Saïdjah’s buffalo, driven on by his own speed, jumped a few paces past the spot where his little master awaited death. But through his speed alone, [[325]]and not of his own will, the animal had gone further than Saïdjah, for scarcely had it conquered the momentum which rules all matter even after the cause has ceased, when it returned, and placing its big body, supported by its big feet, like a roof over the child, turned its horned head towards the tiger, which bounded forward … but for the last time. The buffalo caught him on his horns, and only lost some flesh, which the tiger took out of his neck. The tiger lay there with his belly torn open, and Saïdjah was saved. Certainly there had been ‘ontong’ in the ‘oeser-oeseran’ of the buffalo.
When this buffalo had also been taken away from Saïdjah’s father and slaughtered.…
I told you, reader, that my story is monotonous.
When this buffalo was slaughtered, Saïdjah was just twelve, and Adinda was wearing ‘sarongs,’ and making figures on them.[12] She had already learned to express thoughts in melancholy drawings on her tissue, for she had seen Saïdjah very sad. And Saïdjah’s father was also sad, but his mother still more so; for she had cured the wound in the neck of the faithful animal which had brought her child home unhurt, after having thought, by the news of Adinda’s brothers, that it had been taken away by the tiger. As often as she saw this wound, she thought how far the claws of the tiger, which had entered [[326]]so deeply into the coarse flesh of the buffalo, would have penetrated into the tender body of her child; and every time she put fresh dressings on the wound, she caressed the buffalo, and spoke kindly to him, that the good faithful animal might know how grateful a mother is.
Afterwards she hoped that the buffalo understood her, for then he must have understood why she wept when he was taken away to be slaughtered, and he would have known that it was not the mother of Saïdjah who caused him to be slaughtered. Some days afterwards Saïdjah’s father fled out of the country; for he was much afraid of being punished for not paying his land-taxes, and he had not another heirloom to sell, that he might buy a new buffalo, because his parents had always lived in Parang-Koodjang, and had therefore left him but few things. The parents of his wife too lived in the same district. However, he went on for some years after the loss of his last buffalo, by working with hired animals for ploughing; but that is a very ungrateful labour, and moreover, sad for a person who has had buffaloes of his own.
Saïdjah’s mother died of grief, and then it was that his father, in a moment of dejection, fled from Bantam, in order to endeavour to get labour in the Buitenzorg districts.
But he was punished with stripes, because he had left Lebak without a passport, and was brought back by the police to Badoer. There he was put in prison, because [[327]]he was supposed to be mad, which I can readily believe, and because it was feared that he would run amuck[13] in a moment of mata-glap.[14] But he was not long in prison, for he died soon afterwards. What became of the brothers and sisters of Saïdjah I do not know. The house in which they lived at Badoer was empty for some time, and soon fell down; for it was only built of bamboo, and covered with atap.[15] A little dust and dirt covered the place where there had been much suffering. There are many such places in Lebak. Saïdjah was already fifteen years of age, when his father set out for Buitenzorg; and he did not accompany him thither, because he had other plans in view. He had been told that there were at Batavia many gentlemen, who drove in bendies,[16] and that it would be easy for him to get a post as bendie-boy, for which generally a young person is chosen, so as not to disturb the equilibrium of the two-wheeled carriage by too much weight behind. He would, they told him, gain much in that way if he behaved well,—perhaps he would be able to spare in three years money enough to buy two buffaloes. This was a smiling prospect for him. With the proud step of one who has conceived a grand idea, he, [[328]]after his father’s flight, entered Adinda’s house, and communicated to her his plan.
“Think of it,” said he, “when I come back we shall be old enough to marry, and shall possess two buffaloes!”
“Very well, Saïdjah, I will gladly marry you when you return. I will spin and weave sarongs[17] and slendangs,[18] and be very diligent all the time.”
“Oh, I believe you, Adinda, but … if I find you married?”
“Saïdjah, you know very well that I shall marry nobody but you; my father promised me to your father.”
“And you yourself?”
“I shall marry you, you may be sure of that.”
“When I come back, I will call from afar off.”
“Who shall hear it, if we are stamping rice in the village?”
“That is true, … but, Adinda, … oh yes, this is better, wait for me under the djati[19] wood, under the ketapan[20] where you gave me the melatti.”[21]
“But, Saïdjah, how can I know when I am to go to the ketapan?” [[329]]
Saïdjah considered and said:—
“Count the moons; I shall stay away three times twelve moons, … this moon not included.… See, Adinda, at every new moon, cut a notch in your rice-block. When you have cut three times twelve lines, I will be under the Ketapan the next day, … do you promise to be there?”
“Yes, Saïdjah, I will be there under the ketapan, near the djati-wood, when you come back.”
Hereupon Saïdjah tore a piece off his blue turban, which was very much worn, and gave the piece of linen to Adinda to keep it as a pledge; and then he left her and Badoer. He walked many days. He passed Rankas-Betong, which was not then the capital of Lebak, and Warong-Goonoong, where was the house of the Assistant Resident, and the following day saw Pamarangang, which lies as in a garden. The next day he arrived at Serang, and was astonished at the magnificence and size of the place, and the number of stone houses covered with red tiles. Saïdjah had never before seen such a thing. He remained there a day, because he was tired; but, during the night, in the coolness, he went further, and the following day, before the shadow had descended to his lips, though he wore the large toodoong[22] which his father had left him, he arrived at Tangerang.
At Tangerang he bathed in the river near the passage, and rested in the house of an acquaintance of his father’s, [[330]]who showed him how to make straw-hats like those that come from Manilla. He stayed there a day to learn that, because he thought to be able to get something by that afterwards, if he should perhaps not succeed at Batavia. The following day towards the evening when it was cool he thanked his host very much, and went on. As soon as it was quite dark, when nobody could see it, he brought forth the leaf in which he kept the ‘melatti’ which Adinda had given him under the ‘Ketapan’ tree, for he was sad because he should not see her for so long a time. The first day, and the second day likewise, he had not felt so much how lonely he was, because his soul was quite captivated by the grand idea of gaining money enough to buy two buffaloes, and his father had never possessed more than one; and his thoughts were too much concentrated in the hope of seeing Adinda again, to make room for much grief at his leave-taking. He took that leave in anxious hope, and mingled the memory of it in his thoughts, with the prospect of again seeing Adinda at last under the ketapan. For this prospect so occupied his heart that he, on leaving Badoer, and passing that tree, felt something like joy, as if the thirty-six moons were already past that separated him from that moment. It had appeared to him as if he had only to turn round, as if on his return from the journey, to see Adinda waiting for him under the tree. But the further he went away from Badoer, the more attention he paid to the duration of one [[331]]day, the longer he thought the period of the thirty-six moons before him. There was something in his soul which made him walk less quickly—he felt affliction in his knees, and though it was not dejection that overcame him, yet it was mournfulness, which is not far from it. He thought of returning;—but what would Adinda think of so little heart?
Therefore he walked on, though less rapidly than the first day. He had the ‘melatti’ in his hand, and often pressed it to his breast. He had become much older during the last three days, and he no longer understood how he had lived so calmly before, when Adinda was so near him, and he could see her as often as he liked. But now he could not be calm, when he expected that he should see her again by and by. Nor did he understand why he after having taken leave had not returned once more to look at her again. And he even remembered how a short time ago he had quarrelled with her about the cord which she had made for the lalayang[23] of her brother, and which had broken because there was a defect in her work by which a wager had been lost against the children of Tjipoeroet. “How was it possible,” he thought, “to have been angry about that with Adinda? For if there was a defect in the cord, and if the wager of Badoer against [[332]]Tjipoeroet had been lost in consequence, and not by the piece of glass which little Djamien had thrown while hiding himself behind the pagger,[24] ought I then to have been so rough to her, and called her by unseemly names? What if I die at Batavia without having asked her pardon for such harshness? Will it not make me appear as if I were a bad man, who scolds a girl? And when it is heard that I have died in a foreign country, will not every one at Badoer say, ‘It is good that Saïdjah died; for he had an insolent mouth against Adinda?’ ”
Thus his thoughts took a course which differed much from their former buoyancy, and involuntarily were uttered, first in half words and softly, soon in a monologue, and at last in the melancholy song, of which a translation follows. My first intention was to have recourse to measure and rhyme in this translation; but, like Havelaar, I thought it better to leave it without the corset.
“I do not know where I shall die.
I saw the great sea on the south-coast,
when I was there with my father making salt;[25]
If I die at sea, and my body is thrown into the
deep water, then sharks will come:
They will swim round my corpse, and ask, ‘Which of
us shall devour the body, that goes down into the water?’
I shall not hear it!
[[333]]
“I do not know where I shall die.
I saw in a blaze the house of Pa-ansoe, which he
himself has set on fire because he was mata-glap;
If I die in a burning house, glowing embers
will fall on my corpse;
And outside the house there will be many cries of
men throwing water on the fire to kill it;—
I shall not hear it!
“I do not know where I shall die.
I saw the little Si-Oenah fall out of a klappa-tree,
when he plucked a klappa[26] for his mother;
If I fall out of a klappa-tree I shall lie dead
below, in the shrubs, like Si-Oenah.
Then my mother will not weep, for she is dead. But
others will say with a loud voice: ‘See, there lies Saïdjah.’
I shall not hear it!
“I do not know where I shall die.
I have seen the corpse of Pa-lisoe, who died of
old age; for his hairs were white:
If I die of old age, with white hairs,
hired women will stand weeping near my corpse;
And they will make lamentation, as did the mourners over
Pa-lisoe’s corpse; and the grandchildren will weep, very loud;
I shall not hear it!
“I do not know where I shall die.
I have seen at Badoer many that were dead. They
were dressed in white shrouds, and were buried in the earth;
If I die at Badoer, and I am buried beyond the dessah,[27]
eastward against the hill, where the grass is high;
Then will Adinda pass by there, and the border of
her sarong will sweep softly along the grass,…
I SHALL hear it.”
Saïdjah arrived at Batavia. He begged a gentleman to take him into his service, which this gentleman did, [[334]]because he did not understand Saïdjah’s language;[28] for they like to have servants at Batavia who do not speak Malay, and are, therefore, not so corrupted as others, who have been longer in connexion with Europeans. Saïdjah soon learned Malay, but behaved well; for he always thought of the two buffaloes which he should buy, and of Adinda. He became tall and strong, because he ate every day, what could not always be had at Badoer. He was liked in the stable, and would certainly not have been rejected, if he had asked the hand of the coachman’s daughter. His master even liked Saïdjah so much that he soon promoted him to be an indoor servant, increased his wages, and continually made him presents, to show that he was well pleased with his services. Saïdjah’s mistress had read Sue’s novel,[29] which for a short time was so popular: she always thought of Prince Djalma when she saw Saïdjah, and the young girls, too, understood better than before how the Javanese painter, Radeen Saleh, had met with such great success at Paris.
But they thought Saïdjah ungrateful, when he, after almost three years of service, asked for his dismissal, and a certificate that he had always behaved well. This could not be refused, and Saïdjah went on his journey with a joyful heart.
He passed Pisang, where Havelaar once lived many years ago. But Saïdjah did not know this, … and even [[335]]if he had known it, he had something else in his soul which occupied him.… He counted the treasures which he was carrying home. In a roll of bamboo he had his passport and a certificate of good conduct. In a case, which was fastened to a leathern girdle, something heavy seemed to sling continually against his shoulder, but he liked to feel that.… And no wonder!… this contained thirty piastres,[30] enough to buy three buffaloes! What would Adinda say? And this was not all. On his back could be seen the silver-covered sheath of the kris,[31] which he wore in the girdle. The hilt was certainly very fine, for he had wound it round with a silk wrapper. And he had still more treasures! In the folds of the kahin[32] round his loins, he kept a belt of silver links, with gold ikat-pendieng.[33] It is true that the belt was short, but she was so slender.… Adinda!
And suspended by a cord round his neck, under his baadjoe,[34] he wore a small silk bag, in which were some withered leaves of the ‘melatti.’
Was it a wonder that he stopped no longer at Sangerang than was necessary to visit the acquaintances of his father who made such fine straw hats? Was it a wonder [[336]]that he said little to the girls on his road, who asked him where he came from, and where he was going—the common salutation in those regions? Was it a wonder that he no longer thought Serang so beautiful, he who had learnt to know Batavia? That he hid himself no more behind the ‘pagger’ as he did three years ago, when he saw the Resident riding out; for he had seen the much grander lord, who lives at Buitenzorg, and who is the grandfather of the Soosoohoonan (Emperor) of Solo?[35] Was it a wonder that he did not pay much attention to the tales of those who went a part of the way with him, and spoke of the news in Bantam-Kidool; how the coffee culture had been quite suspended after much unrewarded labour; how the district chief of Parang-Koodjang had been condemned to fourteen days’ arrest at the house of his father-in-law for highway robbery; how the capital had been removed to Rankas-Betong; how a new Assistant Resident was there, because the other had died some months ago; how this new functionary had spoken at the first Sebah meeting; how for some time nobody had been punished for complaining; how the people hoped that all that had been stolen would be returned or paid for?
No, he had sublime visions before his mind’s eye. He sought for the ‘Ketapan’ tree in the clouds, as he was still too far off to seek it at Badoer. He caught at the air [[337]]which surrounded him, as if he would embrace the form which was to meet him under that tree. He pictured to himself the face of Adinda, her head, her shoulders; he saw the heavy kondeh (chignon), so black and glossy, confined in a net, hanging down her neck; he saw her large eye glistening in dark reflection; the nostrils which she raised so proudly as a child, when he——how was it possible?——vexed her, and the corner of her lips, where she preserved a smile; he saw her breast, which would now swell under the kabaai;[36] he saw how well the sarong of her own making fitted her hips, and descending along the thighs in a curve, fell in graceful folds on the small foot.
No; he heard little of what was told him. He heard quite different tones; he heard how Adinda would say “Welcome, Saïdjah! I have thought of you in spinning and weaving, and stamping the rice on the floor, which bears three times twelve lines made by my hand. Here I am under the ‘Ketapan’ the first day of the new moon. Welcome, Saïdjah, I will be your wife.”
That was the music which resounded in his ears, and prevented him from listening to all the news that was told him on the road.
At last he saw the ‘Ketapan’ or rather he saw a large dark spot, which many stars covered, before his eye. That must be the wood of Djati, near the tree where he should see again Adinda, next morning after sunrise. He [[338]]sought in the dark, and felt many trunks—soon found the well-known roughness on the south side of a tree, and thrust his finger into a hole which Si-Panteh had cut with his parang[37] to exorcise the pontianak[38] who was the cause of his mother’s toothache, a short time before the birth of Panteh’s little brother. That was the Ketapan he looked for.
Yes, this was indeed the spot where he had looked upon Adinda for the first time with quite a different eye from his other companions in play, because she had for the first time refused to take part in a game which she had played with other children—boys and girls—only a short time before. There she had given him the ‘melatti.’ He sat down at the foot of the tree, and looked at the stars; and when he saw a shooting-star he accepted it as a welcome of his return to Badoer, and he thought whether Adinda would now be asleep, and whether she had rightly cut the moons on her rice floor. It would be such a grief to him if she had omitted a moon, as if thirty-six were not enough!… And he wondered whether she had made nice ‘sarongs’ and ‘slendangs?’ And he asked himself, too, who would now be dwelling in her father’s house? And he thought of his youth, and of his mother; and how that buffalo had saved him from the tiger, and he thought of what would have become of Adinda if that buffalo had [[339]]been less faithful! He paid much attention to the sinking of the stars in the west, and as each star disappeared in the horizon, he calculated how much nearer the sun was to his rising in the east, and how much nearer he himself was to seeing Adinda. For she would certainly come at the first beam——yes, at daybreak she would be there,… Ah! Why had not she already come the day before?
It pained him, that she had not anticipated the supreme moment which had lighted up his soul for three years with inexpressible brightness; and, unjust as he was in the selfishness of his love, it appeared to him that Adinda ought to have been there waiting for him, who complained before the time appointed, that he had to wait for her.
And he complained unjustly, for neither had the sun risen, nor had the eye of day cast a glance on the plain. The stars, it is true, were growing pale up there! ashamed as they were of the approaching end of their rule; strange colours were flowing over the tops of the mountains, which appeared darker as they contrasted sharply with places more brightly illuminated; here and there flowed something glowing in the east—arrows of gold and of fire that were shot hither and thither, parallel to the horizon;—but they disappeared again, and seemed to fall down behind the impenetrable curtain, which hid the day from the eyes of Saïdjah. Yet it grew lighter and lighter around him—he now saw the landscape, and could [[340]]already distinguish a part of the Klappa-wood behind which Badoer lay:—there Adinda slept.
No! surely she did not sleep; how could she sleep?… Did she not know that Saïdjah would be awaiting her? She had not slept the whole night certainly; the night police of the village had knocked at her door to ask, why the pelitat (Javanese lamp) continued burning in her cottage; and with a sweet laugh she had said, that a vow kept her awake to weave the ‘slendang,’ in which she was occupied, and which must be ready before the first day of the new moon.
Or she had passed the night in darkness, sitting on the rice floor and counting with her eager finger, that indeed thirty-six deep lines were cut near each other. And she had amused herself with an imaginary fright as to whether she had miscalculated, perhaps had counted one less, to enjoy again and again, and every time, the delicious assurance, that without fail three times twelve moons had passed since Saïdjah saw her for the last time.
And now that it was becoming light, she too would be exerting herself with useless trouble, to bend her looks over the horizon to meet the sun, the lazy sun, that stayed away … stayed away.…
There came a line of bluish-red, which touched the clouds and made the edges light and glowing;—and it began to lighten, and again arrows of fire shot through the atmosphere; but this time they did not disappear, [[341]]they seized upon the dark ground, and communicated their blaze in larger and larger circles, meeting, crossing, unrolling, turning, wandering, and uniting in patches of fire and lightnings of golden lustre on the azure ground … there was red, and blue, and silver, and purple, and yellow, and gold, in all this … oh God! that was the daybreak, that was seeing Adinda again!
Saïdjah had not learnt to pray, and it would have been a pity to teach him; for a more holy prayer, more fervent thanksgiving than was in the mute rapture of his soul, could not be conceived in human language. He would not go to Badoer—to see Adinda in reality seeming to him less pleasurable than the expectation of seeing her again. He sat down at the foot of the ‘Ketapan,’ and his eyes wandered over the scenery. Nature smiled at him, and seemed to welcome him as a mother welcoming the return of her child, and as she pictures her joy by voluntary remembrance of past grief, when showing what she has preserved as a keepsake during his absence. So Saïdjah was delighted to see again so many spots that were witnesses of his short life. But his eyes or his thoughts might wander as they pleased, yet his looks and longings always reverted to the path which leads from Badoer to the Ketapan tree. All that his senses could observe was called Adinda.… He saw the abyss to the left, where the earth is so yellow, where once a young buffalo sank down into the depth,—they had descended with strong [[342]]rattan cords, and Adinda’s father had been the bravest. Oh, how she clapped her hands, Adinda! And there, further on, on the other side, where the wood of cocoa-trees waved over the cottages of the village, there somewhere, Si-Oenah had fallen out of a tree and died. How his mother cried, “because Si-Oenah was still such a little one,” she lamented, … as if she would have been less grieved if Si-Oenah had been taller. But he was small, that is true, for he was smaller and more fragile than Adinda.… Nobody walked upon the little road which leads from Badoer to the tree. By and by she would come … it was yet very early.
Saïdjah saw a badjing (squirrel) spring with playful nimbleness up the trunk of a cocoa-tree. The graceful animal—the terror of the proprietor of the tree, but still lovely in form and movement—ran untiringly up and down. Saïdjah saw it, and forced himself to stay and look at it, because this calmed his thoughts after their heavy labour since sunrise—rest after the fatiguing expectancy. Soon he uttered his impressions in words, and sang what his soul dictated him. I would rather read you his lay in Malay, that Italian language of the East:—
“See, how the ‘badjing’ looks for his means of living
On the Klappa-tree. He ascends, descends, wantons right and left,
He turns (round the tree), springs, falls, climbs, and falls again.
He has no wings, and yet he is as quick as a bird.
Much happiness, my ‘badjing,’—I give you hail!
You will surely find the means of living which you seek;
But I am sitting alone near the wood of Djati-trees [[343]]
Waiting for the food of my heart.
Long has the small appetite of my badjing been sated;
Long has he returned to his little nest;
But still my soul
And my heart are very sad … Adinda!”
Still there was nobody on the path leading from Badoer to the Ketapan.…
Saïdjah caught sight of a butterfly which seemed to enjoy itself in the increasing warmth.…
“See how the butterfly flutters everywhere:
His wings glisten like a flower of many colours;
His heart is in love with the blossoms of the kenari,[39]
Certainly he looks for his fragrant sweetheart.
Much joy, my butterfly,—I give you hail!
You will surely find what you seek;
But I am sitting alone near the Djati-wood,
Waiting for what my heart loves:
Long since has the butterfly kissed
The kenari blossom which it loves so well;
But still my soul
And my heart are very sad.… Adinda!”
And still there was no one on the path leading from Badoer to the Ketapan.
The sun began to rise high,—there was warmth in the air.
“See how the sun glitters on high,
High above the waringi[40]—hill!
He feels too warm and wishes to descend,
To sleep in the sea as in the arms of a spouse. [[344]]
Much joy, O sun,—I give you hail!
What you seek you will surely find;
But I sit alone by the Djati-wood
Waiting for rest for my heart
Long the sun will have set
And will sleep in the sea, when all is dark;
And still my soul
And my heart will be very sad … Adinda!”
And there was nobody on the road leading from Badoer to the Ketapan.
“When no longer butterflies shall flutter about,
When the stars shall no longer glitter,
When the melatti shall no longer yields its perfume,
When there shall be no longer sad hearts,
Nor wild animals in the wood,
When the sun shall go wrong
And the moon forget the east and the west,
If Adinda has not yet arrived,
Then an angel with shining wings
Will descend on earth, to look for what remained behind:
Then my corpse shall be here under the ketapan—
My soul is very sad, … Adinda!”
There was nobody on the path leading from Badoer to the Ketapan.
“Then my corpse will be seen by the angel,
He will point it out with his finger to his brethren—
‘See, a dead man has been forgotten,
His rigid mouth kisses a melatti flower:
Come, let us take him up to heaven,
Him who has waited for Adinda, till he died,
Surely, he may not stay behind alone,
Whose heart had the strength to love so much,’
Then my rigid mouth shall open once more.
To call Adinda whom my heart loves,
I will kiss the melatti once more,
Which she gave me.… Adinda!… Adinda!”
[[345]]
And still there was nobody on the path leading from Badoer to the Ketapan.
Oh! she must have fallen asleep towards morning, tired of watching during the night, of watching for many nights:—she had not slept for weeks: so it was!
Should he rise and go to Badoer!—No, that would be doubting her arrival. Should he call that man who was driving his buffalo to the field?… That man was too far off, and moreover, Saïdjah would speak to no one about Adinda, would ask no one after Adinda.… He would see her again, he would see her alone, he would see her first. Oh, surely, surely she would soon come!
He would wait, wait.…
But if she were ill, or … dead?
Like a wounded stag Saïdjah flew along the path leading from the ‘Ketapan’ to the village where Adinda lived. He saw nothing and heard nothing; and yet he could have heard something, for there were men standing in the road at the entrance of the village, who cried—“Saïdjah, Saïdjah!”
But, … was it his hurry, his eagerness, that prevented him from finding Adinda’s house? He had already rushed to the end of the road, through the village, and like one mad, he returned and beat his head, because he must have passed her house without seeing it. But again he was at the entrance of the village, and, … Oh God, was it a dream?… [[346]]
Again he had not found the house of Adinda. Again he flew back and suddenly stood still, seized his head with both his hands to press away the madness that overcame him, and cried aloud—
“Drunk, drunk; I am drunk!”
And the women of Badoer came out of their houses, and saw with sorrow poor Saïdjah standing there, for they knew him, and understood that he was looking for the house of Adinda, and they knew that there was no house of Adinda in the village of Badoer.
For, when the district chief of Parang-Koodjang had taken away Adinda’s father’s buffaloes.…
I told you, reader! that my narrative was monotonous.
… Adinda’s mother died of grief, and her baby sister died because she had no mother, and had no one to suckle her. And Adinda’s father, who feared to be punished for not paying his land-taxes.…
I know, I know that my tale is monotonous.
… had fled out of the country; he had taken Adinda and her brothers with him. But he had heard how the father of Saïdjah had been punished at Buitenzorg with stripes for leaving Badoer without a passport. And, therefore, Adinda’s father had not gone to Buitenzorg, nor to the Preangan, nor to Bantam. He had gone to Tjilangkahan, the quarter of Lebak bordering on the sea. There he had concealed himself in the woods, and waited for the arrival of Pa Ento, Pa Lontah, Si Oeniah, Pa Ansive, [[347]]Abdoel Isma, and some others that had been robbed of their buffaloes by the district chief of Parang-Koodjang, and all of whom feared punishment for not paying their land-taxes.
There they had at night taken possession of a fishing-boat, and had gone to sea. They had steered towards the west, and kept the country to the right of them as far as Java Head: then they had steered northwards till they came in sight of Prince’s Island, and sailed round the east coast of that island, and from there to the Lampoons.
Such at least was the way that people told each other in whispers in Lebak, when there was a question of buffalo robbery and unpaid land-taxes.
But Saïdjah did not well understand what they said to him; he did not even quite understand the news of his father’s death. There was a buzzing in his ears, as if a gong had been sounded in his head: he felt the blood throbbing convulsively through the veins of his temples, that threatened to yield under the pressure of such severe distension. He spoke not: and looked about as one stupefied, without seeing what was round and about him; and at last he began to laugh horribly.
An old woman led him to her cottage, and took care of the poor fool.
Soon he laughed less horribly, but still did not speak. But during the night the inhabitants of the hut were [[348]]frightened at his voice, when he sang monotonously: “I do not know where I shall die,” and some inhabitants of Badoer put money together, to bring a sacrifice to the bojajas[41] of the Tji-Udjung for the cure of Saïdjah, whom they thought insane. But he was not insane.
For upon a certain night when the moon was very clear, he rose from the baleh-baleh,[42] softly left the house, and sought the place where Adinda had lived. This was not easy, because so many houses had fallen down; but he seemed to recognise the place by the width of the angle which some rays of light formed through the trees, at their meeting in his eye, as the sailor measures by lighthouses and the tops of mountains.
Yes, there it ought to be:—there Adinda had lived!
Stumbling over half-rotten bamboo and pieces of the fallen roof, he made his way to the sanctuary which he sought. And, indeed, he found something of the still standing pagger,[43] near to which the baleh-baleh of Adinda had stood, and even the pin of bamboo was still with its point in that pagger, the pin on which she hung her dress when she went to bed.…
But the baleh-baleh had fallen down like the house, and [[349]]was almost turned to dust. He took a handful of it, pressed it to his opened lips, and breathed very hard.…
The following day he asked the old woman, who had taken care of him, where the rice-floor was which stood in the grounds of Adinda’s house. The woman rejoiced to hear him speak, and ran through the village to seek the floor. When she could point out the new proprietor to Saïdjah, he followed her silently, and being brought to the rice-floor, he counted thereupon thirty-two lines.…
Then he gave the woman as many piastres as were required to buy a buffalo, and left Badoer. At Tjilangkahan, he bought a fishing-boat, and, after having sailed two days, arrived in the Lampoons, where the insurgents were in insurrection against the Dutch rule. He joined a troop of Badoer men, not so much to fight as to seek Adinda; for he had a tender heart, and was more disposed to sorrow than to bitterness.
One day that the insurgents had been beaten, he wandered through a village that had just been taken by the Dutch army, and was therefore[44] in flames. Saïdjah knew that the troop that had been destroyed there consisted for the most part of Badoer men. He wandered like a ghost among the houses, which were not yet burned down, and found the corpse of Adinda’s father with a [[350]]bayonet-wound in the breast. Near him Saïdjah saw the three murdered brothers of Adinda, still boys—children,—and a little further lay the corpse of Adinda, naked, and horribly mutilated.…
A small piece of blue linen had penetrated into the gaping wound in the breast, which seemed to have made an end to a long struggle.…
Then Saïdjah went to meet some soldiers who were driving, at the point of the bayonet, the surviving insurgents into the fire of the burning houses; he embraced the broad bayonets, pressed forward with all his might, and still repulsed the soldiers, with a last exertion, until their weapons were buried to the sockets in his breast.
A little time afterwards there was much rejoicing at Batavia for the new victory, which so added to the laurels of the Dutch-Indian army. And the Governor wrote that tranquillity had been restored in the Lampoons; the King of Holland, enlightened by his statesmen, again rewarded so much heroism with many orders of knighthood.
And probably thanksgivings mounted to heaven from the hearts of the saints in churches and tabernacles, at the news that “the Lord of hosts” had again fought under the banner of Holland.…
“But God, moved with so much woe,
Did not accept the sacrifices of that day!”[45]
[[351]]
I have made the end of the history of Saïdjah shorter than I could have done if I had felt inclined to paint something dreary. The reader will have observed how I lingered over the description of the waiting under the Ketapan, as if I was afraid of the sad catastrophe, and how I glided over that with aversion. And yet that was not my intention, when I began to speak about Saïdjah. For I feared that stronger colours were requisite to move when describing such strange circumstances. Yet while writing I felt that it would be an insult to the reader to believe that I ought to have put more blood in my picture——
I could have done it, for I have documents before me … but no!—rather a confession.
Yes! a confession. I do not know whether Saïdjah loved Adinda: I know not whether he went to Badoer, nor whether he died in the Lampoons by Dutch bayonets. I do not know whether his father died by being beaten with rods, because he left Badoer without a passport, I do not know whether Adinda counted the moons by lines in her rice-floor.
All this I do not know.
But I know more than all this. I know, and I can prove it, that there were many Adindas and many Saïdjahs, and that what was fiction in one case, becomes truth generally speaking. I have already said that I can give the names of persons who, like the parents of Saïdjah and Adinda, were driven away by oppression from their [[352]]country. It is not my intention to publish in this book communications such as would be suitable for a tribunal that had to decide on the manner in which the Dutch power is exercised in India,——communications that would have the power to convince him only who had patience enough to read them all, which cannot be expected of the public that looks for recreation in its reading. Therefore instead of barren names of persons and places with the dates, instead of a copy OF THE LIST OF THEFTS AND EXTORTIONS WHICH LIES BEFORE ME, I have tried to give a sketch of what can take place in the hearts of the poor people who are robbed of their means of subsistence; or even, I have only made you guess this, as I feared to be mistaken in painting emotions which I never experienced.
But as regards the main point.… O that I were summoned to prove what I wrote! O that it were said, “You invented that Saïdjah: he never sang that lay; there never lived an Adinda in Badoer!” O that it were said with the power and the will to do justice as soon as I have proved myself to have been no slanderer!
Is there untruth in the parable of the Good Samaritan, because perhaps a plundered traveller was never taken to the Samaritan’s house? Is there untruth in the parable of the Sower, because it is clear that no husbandman will throw his seed on a rock? or, to descend to more conformity with my book, can the main thing——truth——be [[353]]denied to “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” because there never existed an Evangeline? Shall people say to the author of that immortal protest——immortal, not because of art or talent, but because of tendency and impression——shall they say to her, “You have lied: the slaves are not ill-treated; for there is untruth in your book—it is a novel?” Had not she to give a tale, instead of an enumeration of barren facts, a tale which surrounded those facts, to introduce them into our hearts? Would her book have been read if she had given it the form of a law-suit? Is it her fault or mine, that truth, to find entrance, has so often to borrow the DRESS of a lie?
And to some who will pretend that I have too much idealized Saïdjah and his love, I ask how they can know this; as only very few Europeans have given themselves the trouble to stoop to observe the emotions of the coffee and sugar machines, called “Natives.” But even if this observation were well founded, whosoever quotes this as a proof against the cardinal tendency of my book, gives me a complete triumph. For that observation when translated is as follows:—“The evil which you combat does not exist, or not in such a high degree, because the native is not like your Saïdjah: there is not in the ill-treatment of the Javanese so much evil as there would be if you had rightly drawn your Saïdjah. The Soondanese do not sing such songs, do not love so, do not feel thus.…”
No, Colonial Ministers! no, Governors-General in retirement! [[354]]you have not to prove that. You have to prove that the population is not ill-treated, whether there are sentimental Saïdjahs amongst this population or not; or should you dare to pretend that you may steal buffaloes of men who do not love, who do not sing melancholy songs, who are not sentimental?
On an attack upon literary performances I should defend the exactness of the picture of Saïdjah, but on political grounds I admit immediately all observations on this exactness, to prevent the great question from being removed to a wrong basis. It is quite indifferent to me whether I am thought to be an incapable painter, if it is only admitted that the ill-treatment of the native is EXCESSIVE; that is the word on the notice of Havelaar’s predecessor which he showed to the Controller Verbrugge:——a notice which lies before me.
But I have other proofs, and that is fortunate. For this predecessor of Havelaar could also have been mistaken.
Alas, if he was mistaken, he has been very severely punished for his mistake! [[355]]
[3] Poosaka = inheritance—such a poosaka is kept as a holy keepsake (family heirloom). [↑]
[7] Oeser-oeseran, see p. 143. [↑]
[8] Penghooloo = village priest. [↑]
[9] Ontong = gain, good luck. [↑]
[10] Galangan = a trench for irrigating the rice-fields. [↑]
[11] Allang-allang = Imperata cylindrica. [↑]
[12] Adinda had already learned to express thoughts on her tissue; she drew sad pictures on her tissue. (See page [77].) [↑]
[13] Run amuck.—A man who runs amuck kills everybody whom he meets, till he is at last killed himself like a mad dog. [↑]
[14] Mata-glap—literally = darkened eye—darkness, frenzy. This is the name one gives to the peculiar state wherein a Javanese is, when, because of jealousy, or oppression, he soon becomes so mad as to run amuck. [↑]
a is fastened to b, then it is a sarong. If it is open unfastened, then it is called a slendang. [↑]
[19] Djati = Quercus indicus, Indian Oak. [↑]
[20] Ketapan—An Indian tree. [↑]
[21] Melatti—A beautiful flower. [↑]
[23] Lalayang = kite,—a game wherein they try to cut each other’s cord. Often matches take place between different villages. This is a national game in Java, like cricket in England. [↑]
[24] Pagger,—an enclosure constructed of bamboo canes. [↑]
[25] Making salt. This means to do something against the law. Salt is a monopoly of the Government. The Javanese is obliged to buy from the magazines of the Government. Saïdjah in his simplicity is saying something—which the police ought not to hear! [↑]
[27] Dessah = Javanese village. [↑]
[31] The Javanese is never without his poniard; it belongs to his dress. [↑]
[32] Kahin = a piece of linen. [↑]
[33] Ikat-pendieng—pendieng is a girdle of small plates of silver or gold, and ikat-pendieng—the clasp of it (agrafe). [↑]
[35] A superstition of the Javanese. [↑]
[37] An implement used by farmers in cutting grass and wood. [↑]
[39] Kenari, a beautiful tree. The kenari produces a nut, of which very good oil is made. [↑]
[40] Waringi, one of the most beautiful trees in Java. [↑]
[41] Bojajas = crocodiles. “To bring a sacrifice to the crocodiles.” Such sacrifices are much in vogue. Some fruits and some pastry, or a few hen’s eggs, are placed on a saucer of bamboo, one or more burning wax-lights are added, all this is placed on the river, and the floating down of many such sacrifices is a beautiful sight. [↑]
[44] Read the address of the Lieutenant-General Van Swieten to his soldiers. See Ideen (Ideas) of Multatuli, first bundle, and the speech of Mr. Douwes Dekker in the Annales of the International Congress for the Promotion of Social Science (Amsterdam, 1864). [↑]
“But God in high displeasure turned away,
And honoured not the offerings of that day.”
CHAPTER XVIII.
[CONTINUATION OF STERN’S COMPOSITION.]
It was afternoon. Havelaar, coming out of his room, found Tine in the fore-gallery, waiting for him at the tea-table. Madam Slotering had just left her house, and seemed to have the intention of going to Havelaar’s, but suddenly she went to the gate, and there, with very violent gestures, sent back a man who had just entered. She remained standing still till she felt sure that he had gone away, and then returned along the grass-field to Havelaar’s.
“I will know at last what this means,” said Havelaar; and when the salutation was over he asked, jokingly, that she might not think he grudged her influence in grounds which formerly were hers:
“Now, Madam, do tell me why you always send back the men who come into the grounds. What if that man, for instance, had fowls to sell, or any other kitchen requisite?”
There was in the face of Madam Slotering a painful expression, which did not escape Havelaar’s observation. [[356]]
“Ah,” she said, “there are so many bad men.”
“Certainly, that is the case everywhere; but if you are so particular, the good ones will stay away too.—Come now, Madam, tell me why you keep such a sharp look-out over the grounds?”
Havelaar looked at her, and endeavoured in vain to read the reply in her watery eyes. He again pressed for an explanation, and the widow burst into tears, saying that her husband had been poisoned at Parang-Koodjang, in the house of the district chief.
“He would do justice, Mr. Havelaar!” continued the poor woman; “he wished to put an end to the oppression of the people. He exhorted and threatened the chiefs in councils and in writing; you must have found his letters in the archives.…”
That was the case: Havelaar had read those letters, of which I have copies before me.
“He spoke repeatedly to the Resident,” continued the widow, “but always in vain; for as it was generally known that the extortion was for and under the protection of the Regent, whom the Resident would not complain of to the Government, all these conversations had no other effect than the ill treatment of the complainants. Therefore my poor husband had said that if no alteration should be made before the end of the year, he would apply direct to the Governor-General. That was in November. A few days later he made a journey of inspection, took his dinner [[357]]at the house of the Demang of Parang-Koodjang, and soon afterwards was brought home in a pitiable condition. He cried, while pointing to his stomach, ‘Fire, fire,’ and in a few hours he was dead; he who had always been remarkable for good health.”
“Did you send for the Serang doctor?” asked Havelaar.
“Yes, but my husband died soon after his arrival. I did not dare to tell the doctor my suspicion, because I foresaw that I should not be able soon to leave this place, and I feared revenge. I have heard that you, like my husband, oppose the abuses which reign here, and therefore I have not a moment’s peace. I would have concealed all this from you to avoid frightening you and Madam Havelaar, and so I only watched the grounds to prevent strangers from entering the kitchen.”
Now it was clear to Tine why Madam Slotering had kept her own household, and would not even make use of the kitchen, which was so large. Havelaar sent for the Controller. Meanwhile he sent a request to the physician at Serang, to make a statement of the symptoms attending the death of Slotering. The reply which he received the next day to that request, was not in accordance with the widow’s suspicions. According to the doctor, Slotering had died of “an abscess in the liver.” I do not know whether such a disease can manifest itself suddenly, and cause death in a few hours. I think I must bear in mind the evidence of Madam Slotering, that her husband had [[358]]formerly been always healthy; but if no value is attached to such evidence, because the notion of what is called health varies with different persons, particularly in the eyes of non-medical individuals, yet the important question remains, whether a person who dies to-day of an “abscess in the liver,” could ride on horseback yesterday, with the intention of inspecting a mountainous country, which is in some directions eighty miles in extent?
The doctor who treated Slotering may have been a skilful physician, and yet have been mistaken in his judgment of the symptoms of the disease, unprepared as he was to suspect crime. However this may be, I cannot prove that Havelaar’s predecessor was poisoned, because Havelaar was not allowed time to clear up the matter; but I can prove that every one believed in the poisoning, and that this was suspected on account of his desire to oppose injustice.
The Controller Verbrugge entered Havelaar’s room; the latter asked abruptly—
“What did Mr. Slotering die of?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was he poisoned?”
“I don’t know; … but——”
“Speak plainly, Verbrugge.”
“But he endeavoured to oppose the abuses, as you do … and he would certainly have been poisoned if he had remained here longer.” [[359]]
“Write that down!”
Verbrugge wrote it … it lies before me.
“To proceed, Is it true, or untrue, that much extortion is committed in Lebak?”
Verbrugge made no reply.
“Answer me, Verbrugge!”
“I dare not.”
“Write down that you dare not.”
Verbrugge wrote it down … it lies before me.
“Well, to proceed, you dare not answer the last question. You told me lately, when there was a question about poisoning, that you were the only support of your sisters at Batavia,—is that the reason of your fear, of what I always called your halfness?”
“Yes.”
Verbrugge wrote it down … his declaration lies before me.
“That will do,” said Havelaar, “I know enough.” And Verbrugge left. Havelaar went out and played with little Max, whom he kissed very fervently. When Madam Slotering was gone, he sent away the child, and called in Tine.
“Dear Tine! I have a favour to ask you. I should like you and Max to go to Batavia:—to-day I accuse the Regent.”
She fell on his neck, for the first time opposed to his wishes, and cried, sobbing— [[360]]
“No, Max; no, Max, I will not go … I will not go; we eat and drink together.”
Was Havelaar wrong when he made out that she had as little right to blow her nose as the women at Arles?
He wrote and despatched the letter of which I here present a copy. After I have given a slight sketch of the circumstances under which that letter was written, I believe that it is not necessary for me to show the circumspection which he observed, while not uttering a syllable of the discovery just made, not to weaken his positive accusation by the uncertainty of a very important but as yet unproved accusation. His intention was to exhume the corpse of his predecessor, and to have it scientifically examined as soon as the Regent should have been removed, and his party made harmless; but as I have already said, he was not allowed the opportunity of doing this.
In the copies of official documents—copies which strictly conform with the originals—I think I may use single pronouns instead of the foolish titles. I expect that the good taste of my readers will approve of this change.
“No. 88. { Private. Immediate.
“Rankas-Betong, 24th February 1856.
“To the Resident of Bantam.
“Since returning a month ago to my duties here, I have occupied myself principally in examining how the chiefs [[361]]discharge their obligations towards the population as regards statute-labour, poondootan,[1] and suchlike.
“I very soon discovered that the Regent, on his own responsibility, and for his advantage, summoned the population to work for him, far above the legally authorized number of pantjens or kemits.[2]
“I hesitated between the choice of sending at once an official report and the desire to make this native functionary change his policy by gentle means, or even afterwards by threats, in order to attain the double purpose of putting an end to abuse, and at the same time not acting too severely against this old servant of the Government, particularly considering the bad examples which, I believe, have often been set before him; and in connexion with the peculiar circumstance that he expected a visit from two relations (the Regents of Bombang and Tjandoer, at least of the latter, who, as I hear, is already coming with a large train), and he being thus more than usually in temptation—and with regard to the critical embarrassment of his pecuniary circumstances, as it were obliged—to provide by unlawful means the necessary preparations for that visit. [[362]]
“All this made me incline to moderation, with regard to what had already happened, but not at all to indulgence for the future.
“I insisted upon the immediate cessation of every unlawful act.
“I made you acquainted with that previous experiment to induce the Regent by moderation to do his duty.
“Yet it is evident to me that he casts all to the winds with rude insolence; and I feel bound to communicate to you in virtue of my official oath;
“That I accuse the Regent of Lebak, Radeen Adhipatti, Karta Natta Negara, of abuse of power, by disposing unlawfully of the labour of his subordinates, and suspect him of extortion while exacting productions in natura, without payment, or for prices arbitrarily fixed:
“That I suspect, moreover, the Demang of Parang-Koodjang (the Regent’s son-in-law) of complicity in the above-mentioned abuses.
“In order conclusively to prove both these charges I take the liberty of proposing to you to order me—
“1. To send the Regent of Lebak with the utmost speed to Serang, and to take care that he shall not have occasion, either before his departure or during the journey, to influence by corruption, or in any other way, the witnesses. I require,
“2. Previously to take the Demang of Parang-Koodjang into custody.
“3. To apply the same measure to such persons of [[363]]inferior rank as, belonging to the family of the Regent, may be expected to mar the impartiality of the examination to be instituted.
“4. To order that examination to take place immediately, and to report circumstantially on the issue. I take the liberty of submitting to your consideration the advisability of countermanding the visit of the Regent of Tjanjar.
“Finally, I have the honour to give you, as one who knows the district of Lebak better than it is as yet possible for me to know it, the assurance that, from a political point of view, the strictly just treatment of this affair has no difficulty at all, and that I should be rather apprehensive if it was not cleared up, for I am informed that the poor man is, as a witness told me, ‘poessing’ (tired, sick, disgusted) of all the vexation he has suffered, and that he has long sought relief.
“I have partly derived the strength to fulfil my difficult duty in writing this letter, from the hope that I may be allowed in due time to bring forward one or two excuses for the old Regent, for whose position, though caused by his own fault, I nevertheless feel great compassion.—
The Assistant Resident at Lebak,
(Signed) “Max Havelaar.”
| “No. 88. | { | Private. | ||
| Immediate. | ||||
The next day the Resident of Bantam replied?… no, but “Mr. Slymering” did so, in a private letter.
That reply is a precious contribution to the knowledge [[364]]of how the Government is carried on in Dutch India. Mr. Slymering complained “that Havelaar had not first communicated verbally to him the affair mentioned in the letter No. 88,”—of course because then there would have been more chance of “arranging” matters; adding, moreover, that Havelaar “disturbed him in pressing business!”
The man was surely busy in writing the yearly report on TRANQUIL TRANQUILITY.… I have that letter before me, and do not trust my eyes. I read once more the letter of the Assistant Resident of Lebak.… I compare Havelaar and Slymering. * * * * * *
This Shawlman is a low beggar. You must know, reader, that Bastianus is again very often absent from the office, because he has gout. Now, as I cannot reconcile it with my conscience to throw away the funds of the firm (Last and Co.)—for where principles are concerned, I am immoveable. I thought the day before yesterday that Shawlman wrote a good hand, and, as he looked so very poor, that he could therefore certainly be got for small wages. I therefore thought that it was my duty to provide in the cheapest manner for the removal of Bastianus. I went accordingly to Shawlman’s house in the Lange Leidsche Dwarsstraat.[3] The woman of the shop was at the door, but she seemed not to recognise me, though I [[365]]had lately told her that I was Mr. Drystubble, coffee-broker, of the Laurier Canal. There is always a sort of insult in such a non-recognition; but as it was now not so cold, and as I wore last time I was there my coat trimmed with fur, I ascribed it to that, and think nothing of it—I mean the insult. I said therefore again that I was Mr. Drystubble, of the Laurier Canal, coffee-broker, and begged her to go and see if Shawlman was in, because I did not wish, as on the last occasion, to have to speak to his wife, who is always discontented. But the woman refused to go up-stairs. “She could not walk up and down stairs the whole day for that beggarly family,” said she, “but I could go and look for myself.” And then followed again a description of the staircase and doors, which I had no need of; for I always know a place where I have been once, because I pay such attention to everything. I have got accustomed to that in my business. So I went up-stairs, and knocked at the well-known door, which opened. I entered, and as I saw nobody in the room, I looked round. There was not much to be seen. A child’s trousers with an embroidered stripe hung over a chair—why need such people wear embroidered trousers?
In a corner stood a not very heavy travelling box, which I lifted up by the hinge, and on the mantel-piece there were some books, which I looked at. A curious collection! A couple of volumes of Byron, Horace, Bastiat, Béranger, and, … do guess!… a Bible, a complete Bible, with [[366]]the Apocrypha. This I had not expected of Shawlman. It appeared also to have been read, for I found many notes on loose pieces of paper relating to the Scriptures, all written in the same handwriting as the pieces in that unwelcome parcel. Above all he seemed to have studied carefully the Book of Job, for there the leaves bore the marks of it. I think that he begins to feel the chastisement of the Lord, and will therefore reconcile himself to God by reading the Holy Scriptures, and I am not opposed to that. But while waiting, my eye caught sight of a lady’s work-box which stood on the table. Without thinking about it, I looked at it: there were in it a pair of half-finished child’s stockings, a lot of foolish verses, and a letter addressed to Shawlman’s wife, as could be seen by the inscription. The letter was open, and it seemed as if it had been rumpled with some anger. Now it is a firm principle with me never to read anything that is not addressed to me, because I do not think it respectable. I never do such a thing when I have no interest in it;—but now I got an inspiration that it was my duty to read this letter, because the contents would perhaps further me in the humane intentions that made me go to Shawlman. I thought about it, how the Lord is always near to those who believe in Him, as He gave me here quite unexpectedly an opportunity to know a little more about this man, and protected me too from the danger of performing an act of charity to an immoral person. [[367]]
I pay much attention to such directions of the Lord:—this has done me a great deal of good in business. With much surprise I saw that the wife of Shawlman belongs to a respectable family; the letter at least was signed by a relation whose name in Holland is respected, and I was indeed in ecstasies with the beautiful contents of those lines. It appeared to be from a person who laboured zealously for the Lord; for he wrote that the wife of Shawlman ought to be divorced from such a wretch, who made her suffer poverty,—who could not earn his livelihood, who was, moreover, a rascal, because he had debts. That the writer of the letter pitied her condition, though that condition was her own fault, because she had forsaken the Lord, and stuck to Shawlman;—that she ought to return to the Lord, and that in that case her family would all of them assist her, and furnish her with needle-work, but before all things she ought to put away this Shawlman, who was a disgrace to the family.
In a word, you could not get in church itself more piety than was to be found in this letter.
I knew enough, and was grateful to have been warned in such a miraculous way. Without this warning I should certainly have become a victim of my own good heart. I resolved, therefore, again to keep Bastianus till I could find a fitter person to take his place; for I do not like to turn any one to the streets.
The reader will be curious to know how I got on at the [[368]]Rosemeyers’ last party. I was not there,… wonderful things have happened! I had gone to Driebergen with my wife and Mary. My father-in-law, old Mr. Last, the son of the first Last (the Meyers were then still in the firm, but they have left it long ago), said some years ago that he should like to see my wife and Mary. Now, it was very fine weather, and my fear of the love-history with which Stern had menaced us, made me think all at once of this invitation. I spoke of it to our bookkeeper, who is a man of experience, and who, after mature deliberation, recommended me to sleep a night on it. This I intended immediately to carry out, for I am quick in the execution of my decisions. The following day I perceived already how wise this advice was, for during the night I got the idea that I could not do better than delay my decision till Friday. In a word, after having carefully considered all things,—there was much in favour of the plan, but also much against it,—we went on Saturday afternoon, and came back on Monday morning. I would not tell you all this, if it was not in connexion with my book.
First of all I think it necessary that you should know why I do not protest against the nonsense which Stern certainly brought out last Sunday. (What nonsense is that about a person who would hear when he was dead? Mary mentioned it to me: she had heard it from the Rosemeyers—who trade in sugar;) secondly, because I am now again convinced that all those stories about misery [[369]]and trouble in the East Indies are downright lies. Thus it may be seen how travelling gives a person the opportunity to penetrate deeply into affairs.
Saturday evening, for instance, my father-in-law had accepted an invitation from a gentleman, who had been formerly a Resident in the East Indies, and who lives now at a large country-seat. We went there, and, indeed, I cannot sufficiently praise the excellent reception we met with. Our host sent his carriage to fetch us, and the coachman had on a red waistcoat. Now it was certainly a little too cold to inspect the country-seat, which must be magnificent in the summer, but in the house itself there was nothing to desire; for it was replete with luxury: a billiard-room, a library, a covered iron and glass conservatory, and a cockatoo on a silver perch. I never saw such a thing. I made the observation, how good conduct is always rewarded; that that man had been attentive to his business was evident, for he had more than three orders of knighthood. He had a beautiful country-seat, and, moreover, a house in Amsterdam. At the supper all was truffé, and even the servants who waited at table wore red waistcoats, like the coachman.
As I take great interest in Indian affairs, because of the coffee, I began a conversation on the subject, and perceived very soon what I had to think about it. This Resident told me that he was always very well off in the East Indies, and that there was, therefore, not a word of [[370]]truth in those stories of discontent among the population. I turned the conversation upon Shawlman. He knew him, and that unfavourably. He said that the Government had done well in dismissing him, for that this Shawlman was a very discontented person, who made remarks about everything, and there was, moreover, much to disapprove in his own conduct. For instance, he was always running away with girls, and bringing them home openly before his wife; he did not pay his debts, a thing which is very unseemly. As I knew so exactly from the letter I had read how well-founded this accusation was, I was very well pleased to find that I had judged of all so correctly, and was quite satisfied with myself. I am also known for this at the Exchange—I mean for always possessing a sound judgment.
This Resident and his wife were agreeable and kind. They told us much of their manner of life in the Indies: it must be very pleasant there. They said that their country-seat near Driebergen was not half so large as what they called their “grounds,” in the interior of Java, and that a hundred men were required to keep it in order. But—and this is a proof how they were liked—all this was done for nothing, and out of pure attachment. They told us also, that when they went away the sale of their furniture had produced a large profit, as it fetched ten times its value; for that the native chiefs were all of them so fond of buying a keepsake of a Resident. I told [[371]]this afterwards to Stern, who maintained that this was done by coercion, and that he could prove it out of Shawlman’s parcel; but I told him that this Shawlman was a slanderer,—that he had run away with girls, like that young German at Busselinck and Waterman’s,—that I did not attach the least value to his judgment, for that I had now learnt from a Resident himself how matters stood, and had therefore nothing to learn from Shawlman.
There were still more persons from the Indies, amongst others a very rich gentleman, who had gained much money on tea, which the Javanese made him for little money, and which the Government bought from him for a high price, to encourage the activity of the Javanese. This gentleman was also very angry with all those discontented persons, who are always speaking and writing against the Government. He could not say enough in praise of the government of the Colonies; for he said that he had the conviction that it lost a great deal in tea, which it bought from him, and that was therefore very generous in invariably paying such a high price for an article, intrinsically of little value, which he himself did not like, for he always drank Chinese tea. He said also, that the Governor-General, who had prolonged the so-called tea-contracts, notwithstanding the calculation that the nation lost so much on this, such a clever, good man was he, and, above all, a good friend of those who had known him formerly; for that this Governor-General had not paid [[372]]the least attention to the talk about losses on the tea, and had done him therefore a great deal of good by not cancelling those tea-contracts. “Yes,” he went on, “my heart bleeds, when I perceive that such noble persons are slandered: if he had not been there, I should have to walk with my wife and children.” Thereupon he ordered his carriage, and it looked so magnificent, and the horses were so beautiful and so fat, that I can understand why he is full of gratitude to such a Governor-General. It does one’s heart good to behold such charming emotions, above all when comparing them with that accursed grumbling and complaining of persons like that Shawlman.
The following day, the Resident and that gentleman for whom the Javanese make tea, returned our visit.
Both of them at once asked us by what train we thought of going to Amsterdam. We did not know what this meant, but afterwards it was clear to us, for when we arrived there on Monday morning, there were two servants at the station, one with a red waistcoat, and one with a yellow one, who both at the same time told us that he had received an order by telegram, to fetch us in a carriage. My wife was confused, and I thought what would Busselinck and Waterman have said if they had seen that,——I mean that there were two carriages for us. But it was not easy to make a choice, for I could not resolve to hurt one of the parties by refusing such a nice [[373]]offer. Good advice was dear; but I came victorious out of this great difficulty. I put my wife and Mary in the red carriage, the red waistcoat I mean——and I went in the yellow one,——I mean the carriage.
How those horses tore along! on the Weesper Street where it is always so dirty, the mud flew as high as the houses, and there I saw the miserable Shawlman, his back bent, his head bowed down——and I saw how he tried to wipe the mud off his pale face with the sleeve of his threadbare coat. [[374]]
[1] Poondootan is the obtaining of provisions and goods under the pretext of Government service. In the journeys of important personages invited by the Regent or district chiefs, all necessaries are supplied by the population, and that as often as required. [↑]
[2] Followers and serving-people summoned to increase the pomp, and attend upon the chief or other personage. [↑]
[3] Long Leiden Cross-street. [↑]
CHAPTER XIX.
[COMPOSED BY STERN.]
In the private letter which Mr. Slymering sent to Havelaar, he communicated to him, that he, notwithstanding his pressing business, would come the next day to Rankas-Betong, to deliberate on what ought to be done. Havelaar, who knew what such a deliberation meant—his predecessor had so often deliberated with the Resident of Bantam——wrote the following letter, which he sent to meet the Resident, and be read by him before his arrival at Lebak:—
“No 91. { Private. Immediate.
“Rankas-Betong,
“25th Feb. 1856, 11 P.M.“Yesterday at 12 o’clock, I had the honour to send you my missive (Immediate, No. 88) containing in substance—
“That I, after a long investigation, and after having tried in vain to bring back by moderation the party concerned [[375]]from his perversity, felt myself obliged by my official oath to accuse the Regent of Lebak of abuse of power, and to add that I suspected him of extortion. I have taken the liberty to propose to you in that letter, to summon that native chief to Serang, in order to examine after his departure, and after the corrupting influence of his extensive family had been neutralized, whether my accusation and suspicion were well founded.
“Long, or to speak more accurately, much have I reflected before determining upon this.
“I took care to let you know that I have endeavoured, by exhortation and threats, to save the old Regent from misfortune and shame, and myself from the deep regret of having been the immediate cause of his troubles.
“But on the other hand, I saw the (for many years) plundered and much oppressed population. I thought of the necessity of an example—for I shall have to report to you many more vexations,—if, at least this affair, by its reaction makes no end of them,—and, I repeat it, after mature consideration, I did what I thought to be my duty.
“I have just received your kind and esteemed private letter communicating that you will come here to-morrow, and at the same time a hint that I ought to have treated this affair privately at first. To-morrow I shall therefore have the honour to see you, and it is exactly on that account that I have taken the liberty to send you this [[376]]letter, to add, before our meeting, the following considerations:—
“All my investigations about the Regent were quite secret; only he and the Patteh (Adjutant of the Regent) knew it, for I myself had frankly warned him. Even the Controller knows only a part of my investigations. This secrecy had a double aim. At first when I still hoped to bring back the Regent to the right way, it was my object if I succeeded not to compromise him. The Patteh thanked me in the name of the Regent for this discretion. (It was on the 12th inst.) But afterwards when I began to despair of the success of my endeavours,—or rather, when the measure of my indignation overflowed on hearing of a recent occurrence;—when a longer silence would have become participation as an accomplice—then that secrecy would have been to my advantage; for I too have to fulfil duties towards my household and myself.
“For after writing my letter of yesterday, I should be unworthy to serve the Government, if what I wrote down then was vain, unfounded, or invented. And would or will it be possible to me to prove that I have done what a good Assistant Resident ought to do—to prove that I am not unworthy the functions which I have received;—to prove that I do not risk thoughtlessly and rashly my seventeen hard years in the service of the Government, and, what is of more importance still, the interest of wife and child—will it be possible for me to prove all this, unless [[377]]deep secrecy does not hide my investigations, and prevent the criminal from concealing himself?
“At the least suspicion the Regent would send an express to his nephew, who is coming here, and whose interest it is to maintain him, at any sacrifice, and to distribute money with a profuse hand to every one whom he had recently swindled, the consequence would be (I need not say will be) that I have passed a rash judgment, and am an unserviceable functionary, not to say worse.
“To prevent that result I write this letter. I have the highest esteem for you; but I know the spirit of East Indian functionaries, and I do not possess that spirit.
“Your hint that it would have been better to have treated the affair privately at first, makes me apprehensive of such a course. What I said in my missive of yesterday is true; but perhaps it would seem untrue if the affair was treated in such a manner as would reveal my accusation and suspicion before the removal of the Regent. I may not conceal from you that even your unexpected arrival in connexion with the express sent by me yesterday to Serang, gives me reason to fear that the accused, who would not listen to my exhortations, will now awake too soon, and endeavour, if possible, tant soit peu to exculpate himself.
“I have the honour to say that I still refer literally to my missive of yesterday; but I take the liberty to [[378]]observe that this missive contained a proposal to remove the Regent before the investigation, and previously to make his adherents harmless; and at the same time that I believe myself to be no further responsible for what I advanced, than so far as you may be pleased to agree to my proposition as regards the manner of investigation—that it should be impartial, open, and above all, free.
“This liberty cannot exist before the removal of the Regent; and according to my humble opinion, there is nothing dangerous in that; as he can be told that I accuse him and suspect him, that I am in danger, and not he, in the event of his innocence being established:—for I myself am of opinion that I ought to be dismissed, if it shall appear that I have acted precipitately or rashly.
“Precipitately!… After years and years of abuses!
“Rashly!… as if an honest man could sleep, and live, and enjoy, while they, over whose welfare he is called upon to watch, who are in the highest sense his neighbours, suffer extortion and injustice!
“I have been here, it is true, but a short time. I hope, however, that the question will for once be, what has been done, if anything has been well done, and not whether it has been done in too short a time. For me, every moment is too long, when characterized by extortion and oppression, and every second weighs heavy on me that is passed in misery by my negligence, by my ‘spirit of arranging.’ [[379]]
“I regret the days which I allowed to pass away before reporting to you officially, and I apologize for that neglect.
“I have taken the liberty to request you to give me the opportunity to justify my letter of yesterday, and to guarantee me against the miscarriage of my endeavours to free the province of Lebak from the worms which have gnawed, since the memory of man, at its welfare.
“It is therefore that I have again taken the liberty of asking you to approve my action, which consists only of investigating, reporting, and proposing to remove the Regent of Lebak, without direct or indirect notice beforehand; and moreover to order an investigation to take place of what I communicated in my letter of yesterday, No. 88.—The Assistant Resident of Lebak,
(Signed) “Max Havelaar.”
| “No 91. | { | Private. | ||
| Immediate. | ||||
This request, not to take the criminals under his protection, the Resident received on the way. An hour after his arrival at Rankas-Betong, he paid a visit to the Regent, and asked him whether he could “say anything to the prejudice of the Assistant Resident,” and whether he, the Regent, “wanted money.” To the first question the Regent replied, “I have nothing against him! I can solemnly swear to that!” The second question he answered in the affirmative, whereupon the Resident gave him a couple of bank-notes. [[380]]
It may be understood that Havelaar knew nothing of this. We shall see by and by how he became acquainted with so shameful a transaction.
When the Resident Slymering entered Havelaar’s house, he was paler than usual, and the intervals between his words were longer than ever. It was indeed no small thing for a person who so excelled in arranging and making out the yearly reports of “tranquillity,” to receive so unexpectedly letters in which there was no trace either of optimism or of artificial colouring, or of fear of the disapprobation of the Government.
The Resident of Bantam was in a fright; and if I may be forgiven the ignoble comparison for the sake of exactness, I feel inclined to liken him to a little street-boy who complains of the violation of old customs, because he has been beaten without previous abusive language.
He began by asking the Controller why the latter had not endeavoured to restrain Havelaar from his accusation? Poor Verbrugge, who was entirely unacquainted with the circumstances, said so, but was not believed. Mr. Slymering could not believe that any person without assistance could do his duty in such a manner. As Verbrugge, however, maintained his ignorance, the Resident began to read Havelaar’s letters.
What Verbrugge suffered in listening is indescribable. He was an honest man, and would not have lied if Havelaar had appealed to him to confirm the truth of the [[381]]contents of these letters. But even without that honesty, he had not always been able to avoid the truth in many written reports, even where it was dangerous to tell it. How would it be if Havelaar made use of those reports?
After having read these letters, the Resident said that, if Havelaar chose to recall these documents, it would be agreeable to him to consider them as not written, which Havelaar firmly but politely refused.
Having in vain tried to move him to this, the Resident said that he must investigate the charges, and that he had therefore to request Havelaar to summon the witnesses in support of the accusation he had brought against the Regent.
Ye poor creatures, whose sides had been wounded by the thorns in the ravine, how anxiously would your hearts have beaten if you could have heard this request!
And you, poor Verbrugge, you first witness, chief witness, ex officio witness, a witness in virtue of office and oath, a witness who had already borne witness on paper, which lay there on the table under Havelaar’s hand!…
Havelaar replied:—
“Mr. Resident,—I am Assistant Resident of Lebak; I have promised to protect the population from extortion and tyranny; I accuse the Regent and his son-in-law of Parang-Koodjang; I will prove my accusation as soon as that opportunity is given me, which I proposed in [[382]]my letters. I am guilty of slander if this accusation is false!”
How freely Verbrugge breathed again!
And how strange the Resident thought Havelaar’s words.
The conversation lasted long. With politeness,—for Slymering was polite and well-bred,—he urged Havelaar to turn aside from such wrong principles; but with as much politeness the latter remained immoveable. The result was, that the Resident had to yield, in saying as a threat, what was to Havelaar a victory, that he should be compelled to bring the matter under the notice of the Government.
The meeting was ended. The Resident paid the visit to the Regent, to put to him the questions already mentioned, and then dined at the scanty board of the Havelaars, after which he returned in great haste to Serang, “because——he——had——still——so——much——to——do.”
The next day Havelaar received a letter from the Resident of Bantam, the contents of which may be understood from the reply, of which I here give a copy:—
“No. 93.—Private.
“Rankas-Betong, 28th February 1856.
“I have had the honour to receive your missive of the 26th inst. (La. O, private), containing mainly the following:— [[383]]
“That you had reasons for not accepting the proposals made in both my official letters of the 24th and 25th inst., Nos. 88 and 91;
“That you had desired a previous confidential communication;
“That you do not approve of my transactions described in both those letters;
“And lastly, some orders.
“I have now the honour again to assert, as I did verbally in the meeting of the day before yesterday:—
“That I fully respect the legality of your power as regards deciding whether to accept my proposition or not:—
“That the orders received shall with exactness be obeyed—with self-sacrifice, if need be, as if you were present to witness all I do or say, or, more properly, all I do not do or do not say.
“I know that you place confidence in my good faith in this matter.
“But I take the liberty solemnly to protest against the least semblance of disapprobation of any action, any word, any phrase, done, spoken, or written by me in this matter. I am convinced that I have done my duty:—in my object and in the manner of executing it quite my duty;—nothing but my duty, without the least deviation.
“I have long pondered before acting (that is: before examining, reporting, and proposing), and if I have been [[384]]to a certain extent mistaken in anything,—my fault was not precipitancy.
“In the same circumstances I should do again——yet a little quicker——exactly, exactly the same.
“Even if it happened that a higher power than yours disapproved anything which I did,—(except perhaps the peculiarity of my style, which is a part of myself, a defect for which I am as little responsible as a stammerer for his defect;)—even if that happened … but no, that cannot be, even if it were so, … I have done my DUTY.
“Certainly I am sorry—yet without being astonished,—that you judge differently of this; and as far as regards myself, I should rely upon what appears to me to be a slight——but there is a question about a principle, and I have conscientious reasons which require that it shall be decided which opinion is correct, yours or mine.
“Serve otherwise than I served at Lebak, I cannot.
“If the Government desires to be served otherwise, then I shall be obliged as an honest man to ask the Government to discharge me;—then I must endeavour, at the age of thirty-six years, to commence a new career;—then I, after seventeen years, after seventeen heavy difficult years of service as a functionary, after having devoted the best of my lifetime to what I considered to be my duty, then I must again ask society for bread, if it will give me bread, for my wife and child—bread in exchange [[385]]for thoughts—bread perhaps in exchange for labour with spade or wheelbarrow, if the strength of my arm is approved more than that of my soul.
“But I cannot and will not believe that your opinion is shared by his Excellency the Governor-General, and I am therefore compelled, before I pass to the bitter extreme of what I wrote in the last paragraph, to beg you respectfully to propose to the Government:
“To order the Resident of Bantam to approve so far the transactions of the Assistant Resident of Lebak, including his letters of the 24th and 25th inst., Nos. 88 and 91;—
“Or:
“To call the above-mentioned Assistant Resident to account on the points of disapprobation to be given by the Resident of Bantam.
“I have, finally, the honour to give you the grateful assurance that if anything could bring me back from my long calculated, and calm but fervently adhered to principles in this,—it would have been indeed the polite, engaging manner in which you, at the meeting of the day before yesterday, opposed those principles.—The Assistant Resident of Lebak,
(Signed) “Max Havelaar.”
Without deciding as to the correctness of the suspicions of Slotering’s widow, concerning the cause which made her children orphans, and only accepting what may be [[386]]proved, that there was a strong connexion in Lebak between fulfilment of duty and poison—even if that connexion existed only in public opinion—yet it may be conceived, that Max and Tine passed sorrowful days after the visit of the Resident. I believe that I need not paint the anguish of a mother, who, when offering food to her child, has continually to ask whether she is not perhaps murdering her darling?
And certainly little Max was an “adored child,” who had stayed away seven years after the marriage, as if the rogue knew that it was no advantage to come into the world as the son of such parents.
Twenty-nine long days had Havelaar to wait before the Governor-General communicated with him, …
But we are not yet so far.
A short time after the vain endeavour to move Havelaar to withdraw his letters, or to betray the poor people who had confided in his magnanimity, Verbrugge entered Havelaar’s house. The good man was deadly pale, and had some difficulty in speaking.
“I have been with the Regent,” he said; “it is scandalous, … but do not betray me!”
“What? What must I not betray?”
“Do you pledge me your word to make no use of what I shall tell you?”
“More halfness,” said Havelaar; “but well! I pledge my word.” [[387]]
And then Verbrugge told Havelaar what the reader knows already,—that the Resident had asked the Regent, if the latter could say anything against the Assistant Resident, and had quite unexpectedly given him money. At the same time Verbrugge knew it from the Regent himself, who had asked him what reasons the Resident could have had for this.
Havelaar was indignant, but he had pledged his word.
The next day Verbrugge returned and said that Duclari had told him how ignoble it was to leave Havelaar, who had to fight such opponents, so completely alone, whereupon Verbrugge released him from his pledge.
“Very well,” said Havelaar, “write it down.”
Verbrugge wrote it down. This declaration is likewise before me.
The reader will have long understood why I renounced so cheaply any pretensions to authenticity in the history of Saïdjah.
It was touching to observe how Verbrugge—timorous before he was awakened by the reproaches of Duclari—dared to trust Havelaar’s pledged word, in a matter which so induced violation of it!
And another thing. Years have passed since the events which I relate. Havelaar has suffered much during this time, he has seen the suffering of his household—the documents which lie before me bear witness of this, and it [[388]]seems that he has waited.… I give the following note from his hand:—“I read in the newspapers that Mr. Slymering has been made Knight of the Order of the Dutch Lion. He appears to be now Resident of Djocjocarta. I can therefore now speak of the affairs of Lebak without danger to Verbrugge.” [[389]]
CHAPTER XX.
[COMPOSED BY STERN.]
It was evening. Tine was reading in the inner gallery; and Havelaar was drawing an embroidery pattern; little Max was putting together a puzzle picture, and was getting angry because he could not find that red lady’s body.
“Will it be right so, Tine?” asked Havelaar. “See, I have made this palm a little larger … it is exactly Hogarth’s line of beauty.”
“Yes, Max! but these lace-holes are too near each other.”
“Are they? And the others?”
“Max! do let me see your trousers, … have you that stripe?”
“Ah! I remember where you embroidered that, Tine!”
“Not I—where then?”
“It was at the Hague, when Max was ill, and we were so frightened because the physician said that he had such an uncommonly shaped head, and that so much care was [[390]]required to prevent congestion of the brain … then you were busy with that stripe.”
Tine went and kissed the little one.
“I have found her stomach, I have found her stomach!” cried the little boy gaily; and the red lady was complete.
“Whose bedtime is it?” asked the mother.
“Mine; but I have not yet supped,” said little Max.
“You shall have some supper first of course.”
And she rose up, and gave him his simple supper, which she seemed to have fetched out of a well-secured cupboard in her room; for the noise of many locks had been heard.
“What are you giving him?” asked Havelaar.
“Oh, don’t be uneasy! It is biscuit out of the tin box from Batavia, and the sugar too has been kept under lock and key.”
Havelaar’s thoughts turned again to the point where they had been interrupted.
“Do you know,” he continued, “that we have not yet paid that doctor’s bill?…”
“Oh! that is very hard!”
“Dear Max, we live so economically here, we shall soon be able to pay all; moreover, you will certainly soon be appointed Resident, and then all will be arranged in a little time.”
“That is exactly the thing that makes me sad,” said Havelaar. “I should be so unwilling to leave Lebak.… [[391]]I will explain that to you. Don’t you believe that we loved our Max more after his illness? Now, it appears to me that I shall love poor Lebak still more, after it has recovered from the cancer from which it has suffered for so many years. The thought of promotion frightens me, and yet on the other side, when I think again that we have debts.…”
“All will be right, Max! even if you had to go from here, then you could help Lebak afterwards on being made Governor-General.”
Then came wild lines in Havelaar’s pattern——there was anger in those flowers, … those strips were sharp, angular, crossing each other.… Tine understood that she had said something wrong.
“Dear Max!” she began kindly.
“A curse on it!… Will you have them starve so long?… Can you live on sand?”
“Dear Max!…”
But he jumped up from his chair, and there was no more drawing that evening.
He went up and down in the inner gallery, and at last he spoke in a tone which would have sounded rough and hard to every stranger, but which was thought of quite differently by Tine.
“A curse on this indifference, this shameful indifference! Here I have waited a month for justice, and meanwhile the poor people are suffering terribly. The Regent seems [[392]]to calculate upon nobody daring to take it up against him—look.…”
He went into his office, and came back with a letter in his hand—a letter which lies before me, reader!
“Look, in this letter, he dares to make me proposals about the kind of labour which he intends to have done by men whom he has summoned unlawfully … is not that shamelessness going too far? And do you know who these persons are? They are women with little children, with sucklings; women who are pregnant, who have been driven from Parang-Koodjang to the capital, to work for him——there are no more men! And they have nothing to eat, and they sleep on the road, and eat sand.… Can you eat sand? Must they eat sand till I am Governor-General?
“Curse it!…”
Tine knew very well with whom alone Max was angry, when he spoke thus to her whom he loved.
“And,” continued Havelaar, “that is all on my responsibility. If at this moment some of these poor creatures are wandering there outside, and seeing the light of our lamps, will say: ‘There lives the wretch who ought to protect us; there he sits quietly with wife and child, and draws embroidery patterns, while we lie here like dogs on the road, and starve with our children!’ Yes, I hear it, I hear it; that cry for vengeance upon my head! … here, Max, here!…” [[393]]
And he kissed the child with a wildness which frightened it.
“My child, if they tell you that I am a wretch, who had no courage to do justice, that so many mothers have died by my fault; if they tell you that the neglect of your father stole away the bliss of your life … Max, bear witness how I suffered!”
And he burst into tears, which Tine kissed away. Then she put little Max to bed—a mat of straw—and when she returned found Havelaar in conversation with Verbrugge and Duclari, who had just come in. The conversation was about the expected decision of the Government.
“I understand very well that the Resident is in a difficult position,” said Duclari. “He cannot advise the Government to accept your proposals, for then too much would be brought to light. I have been long in Bantam, and know much about it,—more than you, Mr. Havelaar! I was here as sub-lieutenant, and in that position one hears things that the native does not dare to tell the functionaries. But if now, after an open investigation, all this comes to light, the Governor-General will summon the Resident to account for it, and ask him how it is that he has not discovered in two years what was obvious to you immediately? He must, therefore, prevent that investigation.
“I have considered that,” replied Havelaar, “and put on my guard by his endeavours to move the Regent to [[394]]say something against me, which seems to show that he will try to remove the question, for instance, by accusing me of … I know not what; I have covered myself against that by sending copies of my letters direct to the Government. In one of these letters, I beg to be called to account, if perhaps it should be pretended that I had done something wrong. If, now, the Resident of Bantam attacks me, no decision can be made, according to justice, before I have been heard—that is allowed even to a criminal—and I have done nothing wrong.…”
“There is the post!” said Verbrugge.
Yes, it was the post!—the post that brought the following letter from the Governor-General of the Dutch Indies to Havelaar, late Assistant Resident of Lebak:—
“Official.—No. 54.
“Buitenzorg, 23d March 1856.
“The manner in which you have acted on the discovery or supposition of wrong-doing on the part of the chiefs in the district of Lebak, and your attitude towards your superior, the Resident of Bantam, have excited, in a high degree, my displeasure. In your acts there is not only a want of the deliberate judgment, caution, and prudence so indispensable to a functionary intrusted with power in the interior of Java (sic), but also notions of insubordination to your immediate superior. Only a few days after your appointment to your present office, you made the head of the native Government of Lebak the subject [[395]]of irritating examinations, without first consulting (sic) the Resident. In these examinations you found cause, without substantiating your accusations against that chief by facts (sic), much less by proofs, to make proposals which tended to subject a native functionary of the rank of the Regent of Lebak (a man of sixty years, but still a zealous servant, related to neighbouring influential Regents, and of whom favourable testimony has always been given) to a morally quite annihilating treatment. Moreover, you have, when the Resident did not feel inclined to give his consent to your proposals, refused to satisfy the just desire of your superior, that you should say openly what you knew of the actions of the native Government of Lebak.
“Such conduct merits all disapprobation, and sanctions belief in your incapacity to bear office in the interior Government of Java. I am therefore obliged to dismiss you from your employment as Assistant Resident of Lebak.
“Yet, in consideration of the favourable reports received formerly of you, I have not found cause to deprive you of the prospect of again getting a situation in the Government of the interior. I have therefore given you the temporary appointment of Assistant Resident of Ngawie. On your behaviour in this office, it will entirely depend whether you remain a functionary in the service of the Government.”
[[396]]
And beneath that stood the name of the man on whose “zeal, capacity, and good faith,” the King said that he could rely, when he signed his appointment as Governor-General of the Dutch Indies.
“We go from here, dear Tine,” said Havelaar; and he gave the letter to Verbrugge, who read the document with Duclari.
Verbrugge had tears in his eyes, but did not speak. Duclari, a very polite and well-bred man, burst out with a wild curse.
“G——, I have seen rogues and thieves in the Government here, … they have gone from here with honours, and to you they write such a letter!”
“It is nothing,” said Havelaar; “the Governor-General is an honest man, … he must be deceived; though he could have guarded himself against that deceit, by first hearing me. But I will go to him, and show him how matters stand here … he will do justice, I am certain of it.”
“But if you go to Ngawie.…”
“I know this for certain. The Regent of Ngawie is related to the Regent of Bantam. I should have to do the same at Ngawie that I have done here: that would be a useless journey.
“Moreover, it was impossible for me to serve the trial as if I had behaved ill … and, finally, I see that to put an end to all this deceit, I can no longer be a functionary. [[397]]As functionary, there are too many persons between me and the Government who have an interest in denying the misery of the population. There are other reasons that prevent me from going to Ngawie. There was no vacancy there; there has been one made for me——Look here!”
And he showed in the Javanese newspaper, which had come by the same post, that indeed, in the same decree of the Government whereby he was appointed Assistant Resident of Ngawie, the Assistant Resident of that place was appointed to another district where there was a vacancy.
“Do you know why I have to go to Ngawie, and not to the district where there was a vacancy?
“I will tell you——the Resident of Madioen, to which Ngawie belongs, is the brother-in-law of the late Resident of Bantam. I have said that such scandalous things went on here,——that the Regent had had such bad examples.…”
“Ah,” cried Verbrugge and Duclari at the same time. They understood why Havelaar was transferred to Ngawie in particular, to be tried if he would perhaps correct himself.
“And there is still another reason why I cannot go there,” said he. “The present Governor-General will soon resign,——I do not know his successor, nor what I may expect of him.[1] In order to do something in time for [[398]]those poor people, I must speak to the present Governor before his departure, and if I went now to Ngawie, that would be impossible … Tine!”
“Dear Max!”
“You have courage, have you not?”
“Max! you know I have courage when I am with you.”
“Good!”
He went and wrote the following, in his own opinion an example of eloquence:—
“Rankas-Betong, 29th March 1856.
“To the Governor-General of the Dutch Indies.
“I have had the honour to receive the official letter of your Excellency of the 23d inst., No. 54. In reply to that document, I feel constrained to beg your Excellency to grant me an honourable discharge from the service of the Government.
(Signed) “Max Havelaar.”
It needed not so long a time at Buitenzorg to grant the asked-for discharge, as was needed to decide how Havelaar’s accusation could be turned away. For the latter a month was required, and the news of the discharge arrived in a few days at Lebak. [[399]]
“God be praised,” said Tine, “that you can be your own self at last.”
Havelaar received no instructions to surrender the Government to Verbrugge; he therefore awaited his successor. The latter was a long time in coming, because he had to travel from a remote corner of Java. After waiting three weeks, the ex-officio Assistant Resident of Lebak, who had, however, still acted as such, wrote the following letter to the Controller Verbrugge:—
“No. 153.
“Rankas-Betong, 15th April 1856.
“To the Controller of Lebak.
“You know that I have received at my own request an honourable discharge from the service of the Government by decree of 4th inst., No. 4. Perhaps I should have acted rightly, if, on the receipt of this decree, I had resigned my office of Assistant Resident immediately; as it seems to be an anomaly to fulfil a function without being a functionary.
“Yet I received no instructions to surrender my office, and partly from the idea of the obligation not to leave my post without being duly relieved, partly from causes of subordinate interest, I waited for the arrival of my successor, thinking that that functionary would arrive soon, at least this month.
“Now I hear from you that my successor may not be [[400]]expected so soon——you have, as I think, heard this news at Serang,—and at the same time that the Resident was astonished that I, in the very peculiar position in which I am, have not yet asked to be allowed to transfer the Government to you. Nothing could be more agreeable to me than this news, for I need not assure you, that I, who have declared myself unable to serve otherwise than I have done, who have been punished for this way of serving with censure,[2] with a ruinous and discreditable transfer, with an order to betray the poor men who confided in my good faith, with the choice also between dishonour and starvation … that I had to consider with pains and care, everything if it was in harmony with my duty, and that the most simple matter was difficult for me, placed as I was between my conscience and the principles of the Government, to which I owe fidelity as long as I am not freed from my functions. This difficulty showed itself principally in the reply which I had to give to plaintiffs.
“I had once promised to betray nobody to the rancour of his chiefs;—once I had, imprudently enough, given my word for the justice of the Government.
“The poor population could not know that this promise and this bail had been denied, and that I, poor and impotent, stood alone with my desire for justice and humanity.
“And people went on complaining. It was painful, [[401]]after the receipt of the missive of 23d March, to sit there as a supposed refuge, as a powerless protector.
“It was heart-rending to hear the complaints of ill-treatment, extortion, poverty, hunger, whilst I myself had, with a wife and child, to meet hunger and poverty!
“Neither could I betray the Government. I might not say to these poor people: ‘Go and suffer, for it is the will of the Government that you should suffer extortion.’ I might not avow my impotence, one as it was with the shame and unconscionableness of the Governor-General’s counsellors.
“Here is what I replied:
“ ‘I cannot help you immediately, but I will go to Batavia; I will speak to the Governor about your misery. He is just, and he will assist you. Go now quietly to your home; do not oppose, do not remove—wait patiently: I think, … I hope that justice will be done!’
“So I thought, ashamed as I was of the violation of my promise of help, to bring my ideas in harmony with my duty to the Government, which pays me still this month, and I would have continued thus till the arrival of my successor, if a particular occurrence had not obliged me to-day to put an end to this equivocal position. Seven persons had complained. I gave them the above-mentioned reply. They returned to their homes. The district chief met them on the way. He must have forbidden [[402]]them to leave their village again, and taken away (as I am told) their clothes, to oblige them to remain at home. One of them escaped, came to me again and declared ‘that he did not dare to return to his village.’
“What I ought to reply to this man, I did not know.
“I could not protect him;——I might not avow my impotence; I would not prosecute the accused chief, because this would have appeared as if the matter had been picked up by me, pour le besoin de ma cause I did not know what to do.…
“I charge you, until further instructions from the Resident of Bantam, with the Government of the district of Lebak, from to-morrow morning.—The Assistant Resident of Lebak,
(Signed) “Max Havelaar.”
Then Havelaar departed with wife and child from Rankas-Betong. He refused all escort. Duclari and Verbrugge were deeply touched at the leave-taking. Max was likewise moved; above all, when he found at the first stage a great number of persons who had gone secretly from Rankas-Betong to bid him a last farewell.
At Serang, the family was received into the house of Mr. Slymering, with the ordinary Indian hospitality.
In the evening many visitors came to the Resident. They said they had come to say farewell to Havelaar, and Havelaar received many an eloquent shake of the hand.… [[403]]
But he had to go to Batavia to speak to the Governor-General.
When they arrived there, he sought for an audience. This was refused him, because his Excellency had a pain in his foot.
Havelaar waited till the foot was cured. Then he again sought an audience.
His Excellency “had so much to do that he had been obliged to refuse an audience even to the Director-General of Finance, and could not see Havelaar.”
Havelaar waited till his Excellency should have struggled through all this; meanwhile he felt something like jealousy for the persons who had to help his Excellency in his labour, for he liked to work quickly and hard, and generally so much business disappeared under his hand. This was, however, out of the question. Havelaar’s labour was heavier than labour.… He waited.
He waited. At last he again sought an audience. He received an answer that his Excellency could not see him, as he had too much to do, being on the point of departure.
Max sought the favour of his Excellency to be heard for half-an-hour as noon as there should be some space between two “businesses.”
At last he heard that his Excellency would depart the next day! That was a thunderbolt for him. Still he believed with spasmodic energy that the resigning Governor [[404]]was an honest man, and had been deceived. A quarter of an hour would have sufficed to prove the justice of his cause, and it appeared that this quarter of an hour would not be granted him.
I find among Havelaar’s papers the copy of a letter which he seems to have written to the retiring Governor-General, on the last evening before his departure to the mother country. In the corner I find the words written in pencil “not exact,” which gives me to understand that some phrases were changed in copying. I make this observation in order that no doubt may arise regarding the authenticity of the other official documents which I have communicated, and which have all been signed by another hand for exact copy; I mention this, because of the want of literal conformity with this document. Perhaps he to whom this letter was addressed may feel inclined to make public the exact text; then one may see how far Havelaar deviated from this copy.
“Batavia, 23d May 1856.
“Your Excellency,—My official request, by missive of 28th February, to be heard on the affairs of Lebak, has remained unanswered.
“Neither has your Excellency thought fit to grant my repeated request for an audience.
“A functionary, who was ‘favourably known to the Government’ (I quote your Excellency’s own words),[[405]]—one who has served his country in these regions for seventeen years,—one who not only never neglected his duty, but who conceived what was good with unexampled self-sacrifice, and who chose to sacrifice all for honour and duty,—such a one your Excellency has placed beneath the criminal, for the criminal is at least heard.
“That they have deceived your Excellency with regard to me, I understand,—but that your Excellency did not catch the opportunity to escape from this deceit, I do not understand. To-morrow your Excellency goes from here, and I may not let you depart without having said once more that I did my duty,—only my duty,—with judgment, with calmness, with humanity, with moderation, and with courage.
“The grounds on which is based the censure contained in your Excellency’s missive of 23d March are entirely invented and false. I can prove this, and it would have been proved already, if your Excellency had granted me half-an-hour’s interview, if your Excellency could have found half-an-hour to do justice.
“This you could not; and an honest family has been ruined.
“Yet I do not complain of this.
“But your Excellency has sanctified the system of abuse of power, of plunder and murder, by which the poor Javanese suffer, and I complain of that.
“That is what I complain of! [[406]]
“Your Excellency, blood cleaves to the money saved out of the Indian salary thus earned! Once more I beg for a moment’s interview, be it this night, be it early to-morrow! And again I do not ask this for myself, but for the cause which I defend, the cause of justice and humanity, which is, at the same time, the cause of good policy.
“If your Excellency can reconcile it with your conscience, to depart from here without hearing me, mine will be quiet in the persuasion that I have endeavoured all that I could to prevent the sad bloody events, which will soon be the consequence of the self-willed ignorance in which the Government is left as regards the population.…
(Signed) “Max Havelaar.”
Havelaar waited that evening. He waited the whole night. He had hoped that perhaps anger at the tone of his letter would bring about what he had tried in vain to obtain by moderation and patience.
His hope was vain. The Governor-General departed without having heard Havelaar.…
Another Excellency had retired to the mother country to rest!
Havelaar wandered about poor and neglected. He sought * * * * * * * [[407]]
Enough, my good Stern! I, Multatuli, take up the pen. You are not called upon to write Havelaar’s biography. I created you: I brought you over from Hamburg: I taught you good Dutch in a very short time: I made you kiss Louise Rosemeyer, of the Rosemeyers, who trade in sugar … it is enough,——Stern! you may go.
“This Shawlman and his wife.…”
Stop!! miserable spawn of dirty covetousness and blasphemous hypocrisy! I created you:——you have grown into a monster under my pen:——I am disgusted with my own creation … choke yourself with coffee and begone!
Yes, I, Multatuli, “who have suffered much,”——I take the pen. I do not make any excuses for the form of my book,——that form was thought proper to obtain my object. That object has a double end——
In the first place, I would bring forward something which may be preserved as a holy poosaka by “little Max” and his sister, when their parents have died of sheer want.——I would give to these children a testimonial from my own hand. [[408]]
And in the second place, I will be read! Yes, I will be read! I will be read by statesmen, who are obliged to pay attention to the signs of the times; by men of letters, who must also peep into the book of which so many bad things are said; by merchants, who have an interest in the coffee-auctions; by lady’s-maids, who read me for a few farthings; by Governors-General in retirement; by Ministers who have something to do; by the lackeys of these Excellencies; by mutes, who, “more majorum,” will say that I attack God Almighty, where I attack only the god which they made according to their own image; by the members of the Representative Chambers, who must know what happens in the extensive possessions over the sea, which belong to Holland.…
Ay, I shall be read!
When I obtain this I shall be content. For I did not intend to write well.… I wished to write so as to be heard, and, as one who cries “Stop thief!” does not care about the style of his impromptu address to the public, I too am indifferent to criticism of the manner in which I cried my “Stop thief!”——
“The book is a medley; there is no order, nothing but a desire to make a sensation. The style is bad; the author is inexperienced; no talent, no method.”…
Good! good!… all very well!… but the Javanese are ill-treated! [[409]]
For, the merit of my book is this:—that refutation of its main features is impossible. And the greater the disapprobation of my book, the better I shall be pleased, for the chance of being heard will be so much the greater;—and that is what I desire.
But you, whom I dare to interrupt in your business, or in your retirement, ye Ministers and Governors-General—do not calculate too much upon the inexperience of my pen. I could exercise it, and perhaps, by dint of some exertions, attain to that skill which would make the truth heard by the people. Then I should ask of that people a place in the Representative Chambers, were it only to protest against the certificates which are given vice versa by Indian functionaries.
To protest against the endless expeditions sent, and heroic deeds performed against poor, miserable creatures, whose ill-treatment has driven them to revolt.
To protest against the cowardice of general orders, that brand the honour of the nation, by invoking public charity on behalf of the victims of inveterate piracy.
It is true those rebels were reduced by starvation to skeletons, while those pirates could defend themselves.
And if that place were refused me, … if I were still disbelieved.…
Then I should translate my book into the few languages that I know, and the many that I yet can learn, to put [[410]]that question to Europe, which I have in vain put to Holland.
And in every capital such a refrain as this would be heard: “There is a band of robbers between Germany and the Scheldt!”
And if this were of no avail?…
Then I should translate my book into Malay, Javanese, Soondanese, Alfoer, Boegi, and Battah.
And I should sharpen Klewangs, the scimitars and the sabres, by rousing with warlike songs the minds of those martyrs whom I have promised to help——I Multatuli would do this!
Yes! delivery and help, lawfully if possible;—lawfully with violence, if need be.
And that would be very pernicious to the coffee auctions of the Dutch Trading Company!
For I am no fly-rescuing poet, no soft dreamer, like the down-trodden Havelaar, who did his duty with the courage of a lion, and endured starvation with the patience of a marmot in winter.
This book is an introduction.…
I shall increase in strength and sharpness of weapons, according as it may be necessary.
Heaven grant that it may not be necessary!…
No, it will not be necessary! For it is to thee I dedicate my book: William the Third, King, Grand Duke, Prince, … more than Prince, Grand Duke and King, [[411]]… Emperor of the magnificent empire of Insulind, which winds about the equator like a garland of emeralds!…
I ask Thee if it be thine Imperial will that the Havelaars should be bespattered with the mud of Slymerings and Drystubbles; and that thy more than thirty millions of Subjects far away should be ill-treated and should suffer extortion in THY name?
[1] In the original MS, the author wrote: “I know his successor, I know what I may expect of him.” This was changed against the will [[398]]and without the knowledge of the author. We give this note with the authorization of the author. [↑]
[2] Literally—“For the manner in which I served.” [↑]
EDINBURGH: T. CONSTABLE,
PRINTER TO THE QUEEN, AND TO THE UNIVERSITY. [[413]]
DUTCH POSSESSIONS IN INDIAN ARCHIPELAGO
The Dutch Possessions coloured thus
[[415]]
88 Princes Street,
Edinburgh.
EDMONSTON & DOUGLAS’
LIST OF WORKS
————oOo————
Wanderings of a Naturalist in India,
The Western Himalayas, and Cashmere. By Dr. A. L. ADAMS, of the 22d Regiment. 1 vol. 8vo, with illustrations, price 10s. 6d.
A Short American Tramp in the fall of 1864.
By the Editor of ‘Life in Normandy.’ 8vo, price 12s.
Memoir of Lieutenant-General Sir Ralph Abercromby, K. B.,
1793–1801. By his Son JAMES LORD DUNFERMLINE. 8vo, price 10s. 6d.
Essays and Tracts:
The Culture and Discipline of the Mind, and other Essays. By JOHN ABERCROMBIE, M. D., Late First Physician to the Queen for Scotland. New Edition. Fcap. 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d.
The Malformations, Diseases, and Injuries of the Fingers and Toes, and their Surgical Treatment.
By THOMAS ANNANDALE, F. R. C. S., Assistant Surgeon, Royal Infirmary, Edinburgh. The Jacksonian Prize for the Year 1864. 1 vol. 8vo, with Illustrations, price 10s. 6d.
Odal Rights and Feudal Wrongs.
A Memorial for Orkney. By DAVID BALFOUR of Balfour and Trenaby. 8vo, price 6s.
Basil St. John.
An Autumn Tale. 1 vol. 8vo, price 12s.
By the Loch and River Side.
Forty Graphic Illustrations by a New Hand. Oblong folio, handsomely bound, 21s. [[416]]
Aunt Ailie.
Second Edition. By CATHARINE D. BELL, Author of ‘Cousin Kate’s Story,’ ‘Margaret Cecil,’ etc. Fcap. 8vo, cloth, 8s. 6d.
Charlie and Ernest; or, Play and Work.
A Story of Hazlehurst School, with Four Illustrations by J. D. By M. BETHAM EDWARDS. Royal 16mo, 8s. 6d.
Homer and the Iliad.
In three Parts. By JOHN STUART BLACKIE, Professor of Greek in the University of Edinburgh. In 4 vols. demy 8vo, price 42s.
| Part | I.— | Homeric Dissertations. |
| II.— | The Iliad in English Verse. | |
| III.— | Commentary, Philological and Archæological. |
By the same Author.
On Democracy.
A Lecture delivered to the Working Men’s Institute, Edinburgh. Sixth Edition, price 1s.
On Beauty.
Crown 8vo, cloth, 8s. 6d.
Lyrical Poems.
Crown 8vo, cloth, 7s. 6d.
On Greek Pronunciation.
Demy 8vo, 3s. 6d.
Memoirs of the Life, Writings, and Discoveries of Sir Isaac Newton.
By Sir DAVID BREWSTER, K. H., A. M., LL. D., D. C. L., F. R. S., etc., etc. With Portraits. New and Cheaper Edition, 2 vols. fcap. 8vo, cloth, 12s.
Works by Margaret Maria Gordon (neè Brewster).
Lady Elinor Mordaunt; or, Sunbeams in the Castle. Crown 8vo, cloth, 9s.
Letters From Cannes and Nice. Illustrated by a Lady. 8vo, cloth, 12s.
Work; or, Plenty to do and How to do it. Thirty-fourth thousand. Fcap. 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d.
Little Millie and her Four Places. Cheap Edition. Fiftieth thousand. Limp cloth, 1s.
Sunbeams in the Cottage; or, What Women may do. A narrative chiefly addressed to the Working Classes. Cheap Edition. Forty-first thousand. Limp cloth, 1s.
Prevention; or, An Appeal to Economy and Common-Sense. 8vo, 6d. [[417]]
The Word and the World. Price 2d.
Leaves of Healing for the Sick and Sorrowful. Fcap. 4to, cloth, 3s. 6d. Cheap Edition, limp cloth, 2s.
The Motherless Boy; with an Illustration by J. Noel Paton, R. S. A. Cheap Edition, limp cloth, 1s.
France under Richelieu and Colbert.
By J. H. BRIDGES, M.B., late Fellow of Oriel College, Oxford. In 1 vol. small 8vo, price 8s. 6d.
Memoirs of John Brown, D.D.
By the Rev. J. CAIRNS, D.D., Berwick, with Supplementary Chapter by his Son, John Brown, M.D. Fcap. 8vo, cloth, 9s. 6d.
Works by John Brown, M.D., F.R.S.E.
Locke and Sydenham, with other Professional Papers. By JOHN BROWN, M.D. A New Edition in 1 vol. extra fcap. 8vo, price 7s. 6d.
Horæ Subsecivæ. Sixth Edition, in 1 vol. extra fcap. 8vo, price 7s. 6d.
Letter to the Rev. John Cairns, D.D. Second Edition, crown 8vo, sewed, 2s.
Arthur H. Hallam; Extracted from ‘Horæ Subsecivæ.’ Fcap. sewed, 2s.; cloth, 2s. 6d.
Rab and his Friends; Extracted from ‘Horæ Subsecivæ.’ Thirty-fifth thousand. Fcap. sewed, 6d.
Marjorie Fleming: A Sketch. Fifteenth thousand. Fcap. sewed, 6d.
Our Dogs; Extracted from ‘Horæ Subsecivæ.’ Nineteenth thousand. Fcap. sewed, 6d.
Rab and his Friends. With Illustrations by George Harvey, R.S.A., J. Noel Paton, R.S.A., and J. B. New Edition, small quarto, cloth, price 3s. 6d.
“With Brains, Sir;” Extracted from ‘Horæ Subsecivæ.’ Fcap. sewed, 6d.
Minchmoor. Fcap. sewed, 6d.
Jeems the Doorkeeper: A Lay Sermon. Price 6d.
The Enterkin. Price 6d.
Lectures on the Atomic Theory, and Essays, Scientific and Literary.
By SAMUEL BROWN. 2 vols., crown 8vo, cloth, 15s.
The Biography of Samson
Illustrated and Applied. By the Rev. JOHN BRUCE, D.D., Minister of Free St. Andrew’s Church, Edinburgh. Second Edition. 18mo, cloth, 2s. [[418]]
My Indian Journal,
Containing descriptions of the principal Field Sports of India, with Notes on the Natural History and Habits of the Wild Animals of the Country—a visit to the Neilgherry Hills, and the Andaman and Nicobar Islands. By Colonel WALTER CAMPBELL, author of ‘The Old Forest Ranger.’ 8vo, with Illustrations, price 16s.
Popular Tales of the West Highlands,
Orally Collected, with a translation by J. F. CAMPBELL. 4 vols., extra fcap., cloth, 32s.
Inaugural Address at Edinburgh,
April 2, 1866, by THOMAS CARLYLE, on being Installed as Rector of the University there. Price 1s.
Book-keeping,
Adapted to Commercial and Judicial Accounting, giving Systems of Book-keeping for Lawyers, Factors and Curators, Wholesale and Retail Traders, Newspapers, Insurance Offices, and Private House-keeping, etc By F. H. CARTER, C.A. 8vo, cloth, price 10s.
Characteristics of Old Church Architecture, etc.,
In the Mainland and Western Islands of Scotland. 4to, with Illustrations, price 25s.
Ballads from Scottish History.
By NORVAL CLYNE. Fcap. 8vo, price 6s.
Life and Works of Rev. Thomas Chalmers, D.D., LL.D.
Memoirs of the Rev. Thomas Chalmers. By Rev. W. Hanna, D.D., LL.D. 4 vols., 8vo, cloth, £2: 2s.
—— Cheap Edition, 2 vols., crown 8vo, cloth, 12s.
Posthumous Works, 9 vols., 8vo—
Daily Scripture Readings, 3 vols., £1:11:6. Sabbath Scripture Readings, 2 vols., £1:1s Sermons, 1 vol, 10s. 6d. Institutes of Theology, 2 vols., £1:1s. Prelections on Butler’s Analogy, etc., 1 vol, 10s. 6d.
Sabbath Scripture Readings. Cheap Edition, 2 vols., crown 8vo, 10s.
Daily Scripture Readings. Cheap Edition, 2 vols., crown 8vo, 10s.
Astronomical Discourses, 1s. Commercial Discourses, 1s.
Select Works, in 12 vols., crown 8vo, cloth, per vol., 6s.
Lectures on the Romans, 2 vols. Sermons, 2 vols. Natural Theology, Lectures on Butler’s Analogy, etc., 1 vol. Christian Evidences, Lectures on Paley’s Evidences, etc., 1 vol. Institutes of Theology, 2 vols. Political Economy; with Cognate Essays, 1 vol. Polity of a Nation, 1 vol. Church and College Establishments, 1 vol. Moral Philosophy, Introductory Essays, Index, etc., 1 vol. [[419]]
‘Christopher North;’
A Memoir of John Wilson, late Professor of Moral Philosophy in the University of Edinburgh. Compiled from Family Papers and other sources, by his daughter, Mrs. GORDON. Third Thousand. In 2 vols. crown 8vo, price 24s., with Portrait, and graphic Illustrations.
Chronicle of Gudrun;
A Story of the North Sea. From the mediæval German. By EMMA LETHERBROW. With frontispiece by J. Noel Paton, R.S.A. New Edition for Young People, price 5s.
Of the Light of Nature,
A Discourse by NATHANIEL CULVERWELL, M.A. Edited by John Brown, D.D., with a critical Essay on the Discourse by John Cairns, D.D. 8vo, cloth, 12s.
Dainty Dishes.
Receipts collected by Lady HARRIET ST. CLAIR. Sixth edition, with many new Receipts. 1 vol. crown 8vo. Price 7s. 6d.
“Well worth buying, especially by that class of persons who, though their incomes are small, enjoy out-of-the-way and recherché delicacies.”—Times.
The Annals of the University of Edinburgh.
By ANDREW DALZEL, formerly Professor of Greek in the University of Edinburgh; with a Memoir of the Compiler, and Portrait after Raeburn. In 2 vols. demy 8vo, price 21s.
Gisli the Outlaw.
From the Icelandic. By G. W. DASENT, D.C.L. 1 vol. small 4to, with Illustrations, price 7s. 6d.
The Story of Burnt Njal;
Or, Life in Iceland at the end of the Tenth Century. From the Icelandic of the Njals Saga. By GEORGE WEBBE DASENT, D.C.L. In 2 vols. 8vo, with Map and Plans, price 28s.
Popular Tales from the Norse,
With an Introductory Essay on the origin and diffusion of Popular Tales. Second Edition, enlarged. By GEORGE WEBBE DASENT, D.C.L. Crown 8vo, 10s. 6d.
Select Popular Tales from the Norse.
For the use of Young People. By G. W. DASENT, D.C.L. New Edition, with Illustrations. Crown 8vo, 6s.
On the Application of Sulphurous Acid Gas
to the Prevention, Limitation, and Cure of Contagious Diseases. By JAMES DEWAR. M.D. Eighth edition, price 1s.
The Fifty Years’ Struggle of the Scottish Covenanters,
1638–88. By JAMES DODDS. Third Edition, fcap., cloth, 6s. [[420]]
The Last Years of Mary of Lorraine,
1557 to 1560. By JAMES DODDS, author of ‘The Fifty Years’ Struggle of the Scottish Covenanters.’
Memoir of Thomas Drummond, R.A., F.R.A.S.,
Under-Secretary to the Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, 1835 to 1840. By JOHN F. M’LENNAN, M.A. 1 vol. demy 8vo, price 15s.
Studies in European Politics.
By M. E. GRANT DUFF, Member for the Elgin District of Burghs. 1 vol. 8vo. Price 10s. 6d.
“We have no hesitation in saying that there is no work in the English Language which has anything like the same value to persons who wish to understand the recent history and present position of the countries described.”—Saturday Review.
Inaugural Address
Delivered to the University of Aberdeen, on his Installation as Rector, March 22, 1867, by MOUNTSTUART E. GRANT DUFF, Member for the Elgin District of Burghs. Price 1s.
Notes on Scotch Bankruptcy Law and Practice.
By GEORGE AULDJO ESSON, Accountant in Bankruptcy in Scotland. Second edition, price 2s. 6d.
Karl’s Legacy.
By the Rev. J. W. EBSWORTH, 2 vols, ex. fcap. 8vo. Price 6s. 6d.
Social Life in Former Days;
Chiefly in the Province of Moray. Illustrated by letters and family papers. By E. DUNBAR DUNBAR, late Captain 21st Fusiliers. 2 vols, demy 8vo., price 10s. 6d.
Veterinary Medicines; their Actions and Uses.
By FINLAY DUN. Third Edition, revised and enlarged. 8vo, price 12s.
The Story of Waldemar Krone’s Youth.
A Novel. By H. F. EWALD. 2 vols. crown 8vo, price 16s.
The Secret of Happiness.
A Novel By ERNEST FEYDEAU. 2 vols. fcap. 8vo, price 7s.
Forest Sketches.
Deer-stalking and other Sports in the Highlands fifty years ago. 8vo, with Illustrations by Gourlay Steell, price 16s.
L’Histoire d’Angleterre. Par M. LAMÉ FLEURY. 18mo, cloth, 2s. 6d.
L’Histoire de France. Par M. LAMÉ FLEURY. 18mo, cloth, 2s. 6d. [[421]]
Christianity viewed in some of its Leading Aspects.
By Rev. A. L. R. FOOTE, Author of ‘Incidents in the Life of our Saviour.’ Fcap., cloth, 3s.
Frost and Fire;
Natural Engines, Tool-Marks, and Chips, with Sketches drawn at Home and Abroad by a Traveller. Re-issue, containing an additional Chapter. In 2 vols. 8vo, with Maps and numerous Illustrations on Wood, price 21s.
“A very Turner among books, in the originality and delicious freshness of its style, and the truth and delicacy of the descriptive portions. For some four-and-twenty years he has traversed half our northern hemisphere by the least frequented paths; and everywhere, with artistic and philosophic eye, has found something to describe—here in tiny trout-stream or fleecy cloud, there in lava-flow or ocean current, or in the works of nature’s giant sculptor—ice.”—Reader.
Clinical Medicine.
Observations recorded at the Bedside, with Commentaries. By W. T. GAIRDNER, M.D., Professor of the Practice of Physic in the University of Glasgow. 8vo, 742 pp., with numerous Engravings on wood, 12s. 6d.
By the same Author.
Medicine and Medical Education. 12mo, cloth, price 2s. 6d.
Clinical and Pathological Notes on Pericarditis. 8vo, sewed, price 1s.
A Girl’s Romance.
1 vol. ex. fcap. cloth, price 6s.
Camille.
By MADAME DE GASPARIN, Author of ‘The Near and Heavenly Horizons.’ 1 vol. fcap. 8vo, price 3s. 6d.
By the Seaside.
By MADAME DE GASPARIN, Author of ‘The Near and Heavenly Horizons.’ 1 vol. fcap. 8vo, price 3s. 6d.
Great Harefield.
A new Novel by a new Writer. 1 vol. small 8vo, price 12s.
“A book with a great deal of cleverness in it. Nearly all the satirical touches—and they sparkle everywhere—are keen, truthful, and brilliant.”—Star.
An Ecclesiastical History of Scotland,
From the Introduction of Christianity to the Present Time. By GEORGE GRUB, A.M. In 4 vols. 8vo, 42s. Fine Paper Copies, 52s. 6d.
The Earlier Years of our Lord’s Life on Earth.
By the Rev. WILLIAM HANNA, D.D., LL.D. Extra fcap. 8vo, price 5s. [[422]]
The Ministry in Galilee.
By the Rev. WILLIAM HANNA, D.D., LL.D. 1 vol. ex. fcap. 8vo.
The Last Day of our Lord’s Passion.
By the Rev. WILLIAM HANNA, D.D., LL.D. 46th thousand, extra fcap. 8vo, price 5s.
The Forty Days after our Lord’s Resurrection.
By the Rev. WILLIAM HANNA, D.D., LL.D. Extra fcap. 8vo, price 5s.
The Passion Week.
By the Rev. WILLIAM HANNA, D.D., LL.D. Extra fcap. 8vo, price 5s.
The Healing Art, the Right Hand of the Church;
Or, Practical Medicine an Essential Element in the Christian System. Crown 8vo cloth, price 5s.
Hidden Depths.
2 vols. crown 8vo, price 21s.
“This book is not a work of fiction, in the ordinary acceptation of the term: if it were, it would be worse than useless, for the hidden depths, of which it reveals a glimpse, are not fit subjects for a romance.”—Preface.
Notes of a Cruise of H.M.S. ‘Fawn’
In the Western Pacific in the year 1862. By T. H. HOOD. Demy 8vo, with numerous Illustrations from Photographs, price 15s.
Homely Hints from the Fireside.
By the author of ‘Little Things.’ Cheap Edition, limp cloth, 1s.
Herminius.
A Romance. By I. E. S. In 1 vol. fcap. 8vo, price 6s.
Sketches of Early Scotch History.
By COSMO INNES, F.S.A., Professor of History in the University of Edinburgh.
1. The Church; its Old Organisation, Parochial and Monastic 2. Universities. 3. Family History. 8vo, price 16s.
Concerning some Scotch Surnames.
By COSMO INNES, F.S.A., Professor of History in the University of Edinburgh. 1 vol. small 4to, cloth antique, 5s.
Death Scenes of Scottish Martyrs.
By HENRY INGLIS. Square 12mo, cloth, price 6s. [[423]]
The New Picture Book.
Pictorial Lessons on Form, Comparison, and Number, for Children under Seven Years of Age. With Explanations by NICHOLAS BOHNY. 36 oblong folio coloured Illustrations. Price 7s. 6d.
Instructive Picture Books.
Folio, 7s. 6d. each.
“These Volumes are among the most instructive Picture-books we have seen, and we know of none better calculated to excite and gratify the appetite of the young for the knowledge of nature.”—Times.
I.
The Instructive Picture Book. A few Attractive Lessons from the Natural History of Animals. By ADAM WHITE, late Assistant, Zoological Department, British Museum. With 58 folio coloured Plates. Seventh Edition, containing many new Illustrations by Mrs. Blackburn, J. Stewart, Gourlay Steell, and others.
II.
The Instructive Picture Book. Lessons from the Vegetable World. By the Author of ‘The Heir of Redclyffe,’ ‘The Herb of the Field,’ etc. Arranged by Robert M. Stark, Edinburgh. New Edition, with many New Plates.
III.
Instructive Picture Book. The Geographical Distribution of Animals, in a Series of Pictures for the use of Schools and Families. By the late Dr. Greville. With descriptive letterpress by ADAM WHITE, late Assistant, Zoological Department, British Museum.
The History of Scottish Poetry,
From the Middle Ages to the Close of the Seventeenth Century. By the late DAVID IRVING, LL.D. Edited by John Aitken Carlyle, M.D. With a Memoir and Glossary. Demy 8vo, 16s.
The Circle of Christian Doctrine;
A Handbook of Faith, framed out of a Layman’s experience. By Lord KINLOCH, one of the Judges of the Supreme Court of Scotland. Third and Cheaper Edition. Fcap. 8vo, 2s. 6d.
Time’s Treasure;
Or, Devout Thoughts for every Day of the Year. Expressed in verse. By Lord KINLOCH. Third and Cheaper Edition. Fcap. 8vo, price 3s. 6d.
Devout Moments.
By Lord KINLOCH. Price 6d.
Studies for Sunday Evening.
By Lord KINLOCH. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo, price 4s. 6d.
The Philosophy of Ethics:
An Analytical Essay. By SIMON S. LAURIE, A.M., Author of ‘The Fundamental Doctrine of Latin Syntax: being an Application of Psychology to Language.’ 1 vol. demy 8vo, price 6s. [[424]]
Supplemental Descriptive Catalogue of Ancient Scottish Seals.
By HENRY LAING. 1 vol. 4to, profusely illustrated, price £3 : 3s.
Life of Father Lacordaire.
By DORA GREENWELL. 1 vol. fcap. 8vo. Price 6s.
A Memoir of Lady Anna Mackenzie,
Countess of Balcarres, and afterwards of Argyle, 1621–1706. By Lord ALEXANDER LINDSAY. Fcap. 8vo, price 3s. 6d.
The Reform of the Church of Scotland
In Worship, Government, and Doctrine. By ROBERT LEE, D.D., Professor of Biblical Criticism in the University of Edinburgh, and Minister of Greyfriars. Part I. Worship. Second Edition, fcap. 8vo, price 3s.
The Clerical Profession,
Some of its Difficulties and Hindrances. By ROBERT LEE, D.D. Price 6d.
The Early Races of Scotland and their Monuments.
By Lieut.-Col. FORBES LESLIE. 2 vols. demy 8vo, profusely Illustrated, price 32s.
“This learned and elaborate book presents the closest and most satisfactory investigation of the character of the primitive races who inhabited the British Islands yet given to the public. Whether the readers agree with Colonel Leslie or not, they must of necessity allow that he has produced the most complete book on this subject that has ever been published.”—Daily News.
Life in Normandy;
Sketches of French Fishing, Farming, Cooking, Natural History, and Politics, drawn from Nature. By an English Resident. Third Edition, 1 vol. crown 8vo, price 6s.
Specimens of Ancient Gaelic Poetry,
Collected between the years 1512 and 1529 by the Rev. JAMES M’GREGOR, Dean of Lismore—illustrative of the Language and Literature of the Scottish Highlands prior to the Sixteenth Century. Edited, with a Translation and Notes, by the Rev. Thomas Maclauchlan. The Introduction and additional Notes by William F. Skene. 8vo, price 12s.
The Development of Science among Nations.
By Baron JUSTUS LIEBIG, F.R.S., President of the Royal Academy of Science, Member of the French Institute, etc., etc. Price 1s.
Little Ella and the Fire-King,
And other Fairy Tales. By M. W., with Illustrations by Henry Warren. Second Edition. 16mo, cloth, 3s. 6d. Cloth extra, gilt edges, 4s.
Love and Duty.
A Novel. By the Author of ‘Basil St. John.’ 1 vol. crown 8vo, price 12s. [[425]]
Macvicar’s (J. G., D.D.)
The Philosophy of the Beautiful; price 6s. 6d. First Lines of Science Simplified; price 5s. Inquiry into Human Nature; price 7s. 6d.
Heroes of Discovery.
By SAMUEL MOSSMAN, Author of ‘Our Australian Colonies,’ ‘China: its Inhabitants,’ etc. 1 vol. crown 8vo, price 5s.
Medical Officers of the Navy.
Everything about them. For the information of Medical Students, and of the Parents of Young Gentlemen intended for the Medical Profession. Price 1s.
The Correct Form of Shoes.
Why the Shoe Pinches. A contribution to Applied Anatomy. By HERMANN MEYER, M.D., Professor of Anatomy in the University of Zurich. Translated from the German by John Stirling Craig, L.R.C.P.E., L.R.C.S.E. Fcap., sewed, 6d.
The Herring:
Its Natural History and National Importance. By JOHN M. MITCHELL F.R.S.S.A., F.S.A.S., F.R.P.S., etc. Author of ‘The Natural History of the Herring, considered in Connection with its Visits to the Scottish Coasts,’ ‘British Commercial Legislation,’ ‘Modern Athens and the Piræus,’ etc. With Six Illustrations, 8vo, price 12s.
The Insane in Private Dwellings.
By ARTHUR MITCHELL, A.M, M.D., Deputy Commissioner in Lunacy for Scotland, etc. 8vo, price 4s. 6d.
Ancient Pillar-Stones of Scotland:
Their Significance and Bearing on Ethnology. By George Moore, M.D. 1 vol. 8vo, price 6s. 6d.
North British Review.
Published Quarterly. Price 6s.
Reflections on the Relation of Recent Scientific Inquiries to the Received Teaching of Scripture.
By JAMES MONCREIFF, Esq., M.P., LL.D., Dean of the Faculty of Advocates. Price 1s.
The Extension of the Suffrage.
By JAMES MONCREIFF, Esq., M.P., LL.D., Dean of the Faculty of Advocates. Price 1s.
Biographical Annals of the Parish of Colinton.
By THOMAS MURRAY, LL.D., Author of ‘The Literary History of Galloway’, etc., etc. Crown 8vo, price 3s. 6d.
A New-Year’s Gift to Children.
By the author of ‘John Halifax, Gentleman.’ With Illustrations, price 1s. [[426]]
Man: Where, Whence, and Whither?
Being a glance at Man in his Natural-History Relations. By DAVID PAGE, LL.D. 1 vol. fcap. 8vo, price 3s. 6d.
‘At the Seaside.’
Nugæ Criticæ; Occasional Papers written at the Seaside. By SHIRLEY. Crown 8vo, price 9s.
The Bishop’s Walk and The Bishop’s Times.
By ORWELL. Fcap. 8vo, price 5s.
Popular Genealogists
Or, The Art of Pedigree-making. 1 vol. crown 8vo, price 4s.
Reminiscences of Scottish Life and Character.
By E. B. RAMSAY, M.A., LL.D., F.R.S.E., Dean of Edinburgh. Fifteenth Edition, price 1s. 6d.
“The Dean of Edinburgh has here produced a book for railway reading of the very first class. The persons (and they are many) who can only under such circumstances devote ten minutes of attention to any page, without the certainty of a dizzy or stupid headache, in every page of this volume will find some poignant anecdote or trait which will last them a good half-hour for after-laughter: one of the pleasantest of human sensations.”—Athenæum.
⁂ The original Edition in 2 vols. with Introductions, price 12s., and the Sixteenth Edition in 1 vol. cloth antique, price 5s., may be had.
Memoirs of Frederick Perthes;
Or, Literary, Religious, and Political Life in Germany from 1789 to 1843. By C. T. PERTHES, Professor of Law at Bonn. Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s.
Scotland under her Early Kings.
A History of the Kingdom to the close of the 13th century. By E. WILLIAM ROBERTSON, in 2 vols. 8vo, cloth, 36s.
Doctor Antonio
A Tale. By JOHN RUFFINI. Cheap Edition, crown 8vo, boards, 2s. 6d.
Lorenzo Benoni;
Or, Passages in the Life of an Italian. By JOHN RUFFINI. With Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 5s. Cheap Edition, crown 8vo, boards, 2s. 6d.
A Quiet Nook in the Jura.
By JOHN RUFFINI, Author of ‘Doctor Antonio,’ etc. 1 vol. extra fcap. 8vo, price 7s. 6d.
The Salmon
Its History, Position, and Prospects. By ALEX. RUSSEL. 8vo, price 7s. 6d.
Horeb and Jerusalem.
By the Rev. GEORGE SANDIE. 8vo, with Illustrations, price 10s. 6d. [[427]]
Our Summer in the Harz Forest.
By A SCOTCH FAMILY. 1 vol. fcap. 8vo, price 6s.
Twelve Years in China:
The People, the Rebels, and the Mandarins, by a British Resident. With coloured Illustrations. Second Edition. With an Appendix. Crown 8vo, cloth, price 10s. 6d.
A Handbook of the History of Philosophy.
By Dr. ALBERT SCHWEGLER. Translated and Annotated by J. Hutchison Stirling, LL.D., Author of the ‘Secret of Hegel.’ Crown 8vo, price 5s.
John Keble:
An Essay on the Author of the ‘Christian Year.’ By J. C. SHAIRP, Professor of Humanity, St. Andrews. 1 vol. fcap. 8vo, price 3s.
The Sermon on the Mount.
By the Rev. WALTER C. SMITH, Author of ‘The Bishop’s Walk, and other Poems, by Orwell,’ and ‘Hymns of Christ and Christian Life.’ 1 vol. crown 8vo, price 6s.
On Archaic Sculpturings of Cups and Circles upon Stones and Rocks in Scotland, England, etc.
By Sir J. Y. SIMPSON, Bart, M.D., D.C.L., Vice-President of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, etc., etc. 1 vol. small 4to, with Illustrations, price 21s.
The Law and Practice of Heraldry in Scotland.
By GEORGE SETON, Advocate, M.A., Oxon, F.S.A., Scot. 8vo, with numerous Illustrations, 25s.
⁂ A few copies on large paper, half-bound, 42s.
‘Cakes, Leeks, Puddings, and Potatoes.’
A Lecture on the Nationalities of the United Kingdom. By GEORGE SETON, Advocate, M.A., Oxon, etc. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo, sewed, price 6d.
The Roman Poets of the Republic.
By W. Y. SELLAR, M.A., Professor of Humanity in the University of Edinburgh, and formerly Fellow of Oriel College, Oxford. 8vo, price 12s.
The Four Ancient Books of Wales,
Containing the Kymric Poems attributed to the Bards of the Sixth century. Edited, with an Introduction and Notes, by WILLIAM F. SKENE. 2 vols. 8vo, with Illustrations.
My Life and Times, 1741–1813.
Being the Autobiography of the Rev. THOS. SOMERVILLE, Minister of Jedburgh, and one of His Majesty’s Chaplains. Crown 8vo, price 9s. [[428]]
Life and Work at the Great Pyramid
During the Months of January, February, March, and April A.D. 1865; with a Discussion of the Facts Ascertained (Illustrated with 30 Plates and several Woodcuts). By C. PIAZZI SMYTH, F.R.SS.L. and E., F.R.G.S., F.R.S.S.A., Hon. M.I.E. Scot., P.S. Ed., and R.A.A.S. Munich and Palermo, Professor of Practical Astronomy in the University of Edinburgh, and Astronomer-Royal for Scotland. 3 vols. demy 8vo, price 56s.
Dugald Stewart’s Collected Works.
Edited by Sir William Hamilton, Bart. Vols. I. to X. 8vo, cloth, each 12s.
Vol. I.—Dissertation. Vols. II. III. and IV.—Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind. Vol. V.—Philosophical Essays. Vols. VI. and VII.—Philosophy of the Active and Moral Powers of Man. Vols. VIII. and IX.—Lectures on Political Economy. Vol. X.—Biographical Memoirs of Adam Smith, LL.D., William Robertson, D.D., and Thomas Reid, D.D.; to which is prefixed a Memoir of Dugald Stewart, with Selections from his Correspondence, by John Veitch, M.A. Supplementary Vol.—Translations of the Passages in Foreign Languages contained in the Collected Works; with General Index.
History Vindicated in the Case of the Wigtown Martyrs.
By the Rev. ARCHIBALD STEWART. Price 1s.
Natural History and Sport in Moray.
Collected from the Journals and Letters of the late CHARLES St. JOHN, Author of ‘Wild Sports of the Highlands.’ With a short Memoir of the Author. Crown 8vo, price 8s. 6d.
Christ the Consoler:
Or Scriptures, Hymns, and Prayers for Times of Trouble and Sorrow. Selected and arranged by the Rev. Robert Herbert Story, Minister of Roseneath. 1 vol. fcap. 8vo, price 3s. 6d.
Shakespeare.
Some Notes on his Character and Writings. By a Student. 8vo, price 4s. 6d.
Works by Professor James Syme.
Observations in Clinical Surgery. Second Edition. 1 vol. 8vo, price 8s. 6d.
Stricture of the Urethra, and Fistula in Perineo. 8vo, 4s. 6d.
Treatise on the Excision of Diseased Joints. 8vo, 5s.
On Diseases of the Rectum. 8vo, 4s. 6d.
Excision of the Scapula. 8vo, price 2s. 6d.
Lessons for School Life;
Being Selections from Sermons preached in the Chapel of Rugby School during his Head Mastership. By The Right Reverend The Lord Bishop of London. Fcap., cloth, 5s. [[429]]
What is Sabbath-Breaking?
8vo, price 2s.
The Dynamical Theory of Heat.
By P. G. TAIT, Professor of Natural Philosophy in the University of Edinburgh. 1 vol. fcap. 8vo.
Day-Dreams of a Schoolmaster.
By D’ARCY W. THOMPSON. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo, price 5s.
Ancient Leaves;
Or Metrical Renderings of Poets, Greek and Roman. By D’ARCY W. THOMPSON. Fcap. 8vo, 6s.
Sales Attici:
Or Proverb Wisdom of the Athenian Drama. By D’ARCY WENTWORTH THOMPSON, Professor of Greek in Queen’s College, Galway. Fcap. 8vo, price 9s.
Antiquities of Cambodia.
By J. THOMSON, F.R.G.S., F.E.S.L. Sixteen Photographs, with Explanatory Text. Imperial 4to, handsomely bound, half-morocco. Price Four Guineas.
An Angler’s Rambles among the Rivers and Lochs of Scotland.
By Thomas Tod Stoddart, Author of “The Angler’s Companion.” 1 vol. crown 8vo, price 9s.
Travels by Umbra.
8vo., price 10s. 6d.
Hotch-Pot.
By UMBRA. An Old Dish with New Materials. Fcap 8vo, price 3s. 6d.
Life of Dr. John Reid,
Late Chandos Professor of Anatomy and Medicine in the University of St. Andrews. By the late GEORGE WILSON, M.D. Fcap. 8vo, cloth, price 3s.
Researches on Colour-Blindness.
With a Supplement on the danger attending the present system of Railway and Marine Coloured Signals. By the late GEORGE WILSON, M.D. 8vo, 5s.
Dante’s—The Inferno.
Translated line for line by W. P. Wilkie, Advocate. Fcap. 8vo, price 5s.
Westfield.
A View of Home Life during the American War. 1 vol. crown 8vo, price 8s. 6d. [[430]]
ODDS AND ENDS—Priced 6d. Each.
Now Ready, Vol. I., in Cloth, price 4s. 6d., containing Nos. 1–10.
1. Sketches of Highland Character—
Sheep Farmers and Drovers.
2. Convicts.
By a Practical Hand.
3. Wayside Thoughts of an Asophophilosopher
By D’ARCY W. THOMPSON. No. 1. Rainy Weather; or, the Philosophy of Sorrow. Gooseskin; or, the Philosophy of Horror. Te Deum Laudamus or, the Philosophy of Joy.
4. The Enterkin.
By JOHN BROWN, M.D.
5. Wayside Thoughts of an Asophophilosopher.
By D’ARCY W. THOMPSON. No. 2. Asses—History—Plagues.
6. Penitentiaries and Reformatories.
7. Notes from Paris; or, Why are Frenchmen and Englishmen different?
8. Essays by an Old Man.
No. 1. In Memoriam—Vanitas Vanitatum—Friends.
9. Wayside Thoughts of an Asophophilosopher.
By D’ARCY W. THOMPSON. No. 3. Not Godless, but Godly; a Triangular Treatise on Education.
10. The Influence of the Reformation on the Scottish Character.
By J. A. FROUDE, Author of the ‘History of England.’
Now Ready, Vol. II., in Cloth, price 4s. 6d., containing Nos. 11–19.
11. The Cattle Plague.
By LYON PLAYFAIR, C.B., LL.D., F.R.S., etc.
12. Rough Nights’ Quarters.
By One of the People who have Roughed it.
13. Letters on the Education of Young Children.
By S. G. O.
14. The Stormontfield Piscicultural Experiments. 1853–1866.
By ROBERT BUIST.
15. A Tract for the Times.
16. Spain in 1866.
17. The Highland Shepherd.
By the Author of ‘The Two Queys.’
18. The Doctrine of the Correlation of Forces: its Development and Evidence.
By the Rev. JAMES CRANBROOK, Edinburgh.
19. ‘Bibliomania.’ ——
20. A Tract on Twigs, and on the best way to Bend them.