Max Havelaar;

by Multatuli

Before this voyage to Europe, Havelaar had been Assistant Resident at Amboyna, where he had to struggle with many difficulties, because the population of that island was in a state of excitement and revolt, in consequence [[115]]of the many bad measures which had of late been taken; he had, with much energy, succeeded in repressing that spirit, but from vexation at the little assistance which the Government gave him in that affair, and from sorrow over the bad government which for many centuries has depopulated and corrupted the magnificent Moluccas (the reader should try if he can get to read what was written on that subject by the Baron Van der Capellen in 1825—the publications of this philanthropist are to be found in the Indian official papers of that year, and affairs have not since improved), from sorrow for all this he had become ill, and this had induced him to leave for Europe. Strictly considered, he had a right to a better choice than the poor unproductive district of Lebak, because his office at Amboyna was of more importance, and there, without an Assistant Resident as his superior, he had managed all the business himself. Moreover, long before he went to Amboyna, it was said that he would be appointed Resident, and, therefore, many were astonished that he got a district which gave him so little emolument, because many measure the importance of a function by the revenues it produces. Yet he himself did not complain about that. His ambition was not of the kind that he should ever play the beggar for a higher office or more money.

Yet the latter would have been useful to him, for in his voyages to Europe he had spent the little money which [[116]]he had saved in former years; he had even been obliged to leave debts behind, and he was, in a word, poor. But never had he considered his employment as a source of emolument, and when appointed at Lebak, he intended with contentment to pay up his arrears by economy; in which intention his wife, who was also simple in tastes and necessities, willingly seconded him.

But economy was a difficult thing to Havelaar. As for himself, he could be content with the bare necessaries of life; yea, even with less; but where others were in want of assistance, to help, to give, was a strong passion with him. He himself was aware of this foible; he considered with all the common-sense he had, how unjustly he acted in succouring any one, when he himself had a better claim to his own assistance, and felt this injustice the more when his Tine and Max, both of whom he loved so dearly, suffered through the consequence of his liberality. He often reproached himself for his good nature as a foible, as vanity, as a desire to be considered a prince in disguise: he promised amendment, and yet, whenever any one presented himself to his notice as the victim of adversity, he forgot all and helped him. Yet he had some bitter experience of the consequences of this too far-stretched virtue. A week before the birth of his little Max he had not money enough to buy the iron cradle wherein his darling was to rest; and a little before he had sacrificed the few ornaments of his wife, to assist [[117]]somebody who was certainly in better circumstances than he.

But all this was far behind them when they arrived at Lebak. With a joyful calmness they had taken possession of the house, “where they hoped now to remain for some time.” With peculiar satisfaction they had ordered the furniture at Batavia; they would make all so comfortable and snug. They showed each other the places where they should breakfast; where little Max should play; where the library should be; where he should read in the evening to her what he had written that day;—for he was always occupied in developing his ideas on paper—and when once these were printed, she thought that “people would see what her Max was——” But he had never given anything to the press, on account of scruples arising from modesty. He himself, at least, did not know how better to express that timidity, than by asking those who urged him to publicity, “Would you let your daughter walk the streets without a chemise?”

This was another saying which made his circle say “that Havelaar was a singular man,” and I do not say the contrary; but if you took the trouble to interpret his uncommon manner of speaking, you would perhaps find in that strange question about a girl’s dress the text for a treatise on intellectual modesty, which, shy of the glances of dull passers-by, retires behind the veil of maidenly timidity. [[118]]

Yes, they should be happy at Rankas-Betong, Havelaar and his Tine! The only care that oppressed them was the debts which they had left behind in Europe, augmented by the still unpaid expenses of the voyage back to the Indies, and of the furnishing of their house. But they would live on half, even a third of his income——perhaps he would soon be made Resident, and then all would be arranged in a few years——

“Yet I should be sorry, Tine, to leave Lebak; for I have many things to do here. You must be very economical, my dear, and perhaps we may pay off all even without promotion——then I hope to remain here for a long time.”

Now she needed no incitement to economy. It was not her fault that frugality had become necessary; but she had so completely identified herself with her Max that she did not consider this speech as a reproach, which, to be sure, it was not; for Havelaar knew very well that he alone had been wrong through excessive liberality, and that her fault was this,—if fault there was on her side,—that she, out of love for her Max, had always approved of all that he did.

Yes, she had approved when he took those two poor women from the Nieuwstraat (New Street), who had never before left Amsterdam, and never had been out, to the Haarlem fair, under the odd pretext that the King had ordered him “to amuse little old women of respectable [[119]]character.” She approved of his entertaining the orphans of all the asylums in Amsterdam with gingerbread and almond-milk, and loading them with playthings. She perfectly understood that he had paid the hotel-bill of that family of poor singers, who wanted to go back to their country, but did not like to leave the goods behind, including the harp, and the violin, and the violoncello, which they wanted for their poor profession. She could not disapprove his bringing to her the girl, who in the evening had accosted him in the street, giving her food and lodging, and not pronouncing the “Go and sin no more!” before he had placed it in her power not to sin. She approved of her Max causing the piano to be brought back to the parlour of the father of a family, whom she heard say “how sorry he was that by his bankruptcy the girls were deprived of their music.” She quite understood that her Max had redeemed the family of slaves at Menado who were so intensely afflicted at having to mount upon the auctioneer’s table. She thought it quite a matter of course that Max gave other horses in return for those that had been ridden to death by the officers of the Bayonnaise. She did not object to his lodging at Menado and at Amboyna all the survivors of the ship-wrecked American whalers, and thought himself far above sending in an innkeeper’s bill to the American Government. She understood how it was that the officers of every man-of-war that arrived lodged for the most part [[120]]with Max, and that his house was their favourite pied-à-terre. Was not he her Max?—Was it not too petty, too shabby, too absurd, to bind him, who had such princely notions, to the rules of frugality and economy applicable to other persons? And moreover, although there might sometimes be a disproportion between revenues and expenses, was not Max, “her Max,” destined for a brilliant career?—Ought not he to be soon in a position which would allow a free course to his high-minded passions without exceeding his revenues? Was not her Max destined to become a Governor-General, or a King? Nay, was it not strange that he was not yet a King? If she had any fault at all, it was her deep affection for Havelaar; and here more than ever it should be: that much must be forgiven those who have loved much!

But there was nothing which she had to be forgiven. Without participating in the exaggerated ideas which she cherished about her Max, it appeared sufficiently evident that he had good prospects, and that, when these prospects were realized, the disagreeable consequences of his liberality would soon vanish. But yet another reason excused his apparent carelessness and hers. At an early age she had lost both parents, and had been educated by her father’s relatives. At the time of her marriage, they told her that she had a small fortune, which was accordingly handed over to her; but Havelaar discovered, from some letters of earlier date, and from some loose notes [[121]]which she kept in a writing-desk that had belonged to her mother, that her family had been very rich; but he could not make out where, or how, this wealth had been lost. She, who had never herself taken any interest in money matters, could give little or no information on this subject. When Havelaar insisted upon some information concerning the former possessions of her family, he found that her grandfather, the Baron W., had emigrated with William VI.[10] to England, and had been captain in the army of the Duke of York. It seemed that he had led a jolly life with the emigrant members of the Stadtholder’s household, which was considered by many to have occasioned the decline of his fortunes. He was afterwards killed at Waterloo, in a combat among the hussars of Boreel. The letters of her father, then a young man of eighteen, were touching to read,—as lieutenant of that corps, he had received in the same charge a sabre-cut on the head, from the consequences of which he died eight years afterwards in a state of madness,—letters to his mother, in which he lamented how he had sought in vain for his father’s corpse.