Read Ebook: Max Havelaar; by Multatuli Nahuys Alphonse Translator

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Ebook has 1192 lines and 92484 words, and 24 pages

"He did it generally on behalf of another; he always was the champion of the weak."

"To be sure, there is no doubt about that. He is now so much older, has long been a married man, and Assistant Resident. Moreover, I have always heard that his heart is good, and that he has a strong sense of justice."

"I do not think so; but show me something out of your game-bag; then he will think that we are speaking of that."

Duclari took his bag, pulled out two wood-cocks, and, handling them, as if speaking about his sport, he communicated to Verbrugge that he had been followed by a Javanese, who had asked him if he could do nothing to lighten the pressure under which the population groaned? "And," he went on, "that means much, Verbrugge! Not that I wonder at the fact itself; I have been long enough in the Residency of Bantam to know what is going on here; but that a common Javanese, generally so circumspect and reserved in what concerns the chiefs, should make such a request to one who has nothing to do with it, surprises me."

"And what did you answer, Duclari?"

"Well, that it was not my business; that he must go to you, or to the new Assistant Resident, when he arrives at Rankas-Betong, and there make his complaint."

"There they come," said the servant Dongso, all at once. "I see a 'mantrie' waving his toodoong."

All stood up. Duclari not wishing it to appear that he had come to the frontiers to welcome the Assistant Resident, his superior in rank but not in command, and who was moreover a fool, mounted his horse, and rode off, followed by his servant.

The Adhipatti and Verbrugge, standing at the entrance of the 'pendoppo,' saw a travelling carriage approaching, dragged by four horses, which soon stopped, covered with mud, near the little bamboo building.

It would have been very difficult to guess what there could be in that coach, before Dongso, helped by the runners and a legion of servants belonging to the Regent's suite, had undone all the straps and buttons, that enclosed the vehicle in a black leathern cover, an operation which put you in mind of the precautions with which lions and tigers were formerly brought into cities when the Zoological Gardens were as yet only travelling menageries. Now there were no lions or tigers in the van; they had only shut it up in this way because it was the west monsoon, and it was necessary to be prepared for rain.

There are but few circumstances in the material world that do not afford to the thinking man the opportunity of making intellectual observations, and so I have often asked myself whether many errors, that have become common with us, many "Wrongs" that we think to be right, owe their origin to the fact, of having been sitting too long with the same company in the same travelling carriage? The leg, that you had to put there on the left, between the hat-box, and the little basket of cherries;--the knee, which you held pressed against the coach-door, not to make the lady opposite you think that you intended an attack on her crinoline or virtue;--the foot, covered with corns, that was so much afraid of the heels of the "commercial traveller" near you;--the neck, which you had to bend so long a time to the left because rain came in on the right side, all these are at last somewhat distorted. I think it well to change from time to time coaches, seats, and fellow-travellers. Then you can give your neck another direction, you can sometimes move your knee, and perhaps you may have a young lady near you with dancing-shoes, or a little boy whose feet do not touch the ground. Then you have a better chance of looking and walking straight, as soon as you get solid earth under your feet.

If anything in the coach that stopped before the 'pendoppo' was opposed to the solution of continuity I don't know; but it is certain that it was some time before anything appeared.

There seemed to be a difficulty of etiquette, judging from the words: "If you please, Madam!" and "Resident!" Be this as it may, a gentleman at length stepped out who had in his attitude and appearance something perhaps which made you think of the Saurians I have spoken of. As we shall meet him again afterwards, I will tell you at once that his immobility was not only due to assimilation with the travelling coach, since, even when there was no van in the neighbourhood, he exhibited a calmness, a slowness, and a prudence, that would make many a Saurian jealous, and that in the eyes of many would be considered as tokens of a sedate, calm, and wise man. He was, like most Europeans in India, very pale, which, however, is not in the least considered in these regions as a sign of delicate health. He had fine features, that certainly bore witness of intellectual development. But there was something cold in his glance, something that made you think of a table of logarithms; and though his aspect on the whole was not unpleasing or repulsive, one could not help thinking that the very large thin nose on that face was annoyed because there was so little stir.

He politely offered his hand to a lady, to help her in getting out, and after he had taken from a gentleman who was still in the coach, a child, a little fair boy of about three years old, they entered the 'pendoppo.' Then that gentleman himself alighted, and any one acquainted with Java would immediately observe that he waited at the carriage door to assist an old Javanese baboe . Three servants had delivered themselves out of the little leather cupboard that was stuck to the back of the coach, after the manner of a young oyster on an old one.

The gentleman who had first alighted had offered his hand to the Regent and the Controller Verbrugge, which they accepted with respect; and by their attitude you could see that they were aware of the presence of an important personage. It was the Resident of Bantam, the great province of which Lebak is a district,--a Regency, or, in official language, an Assistant Residency. I have often, when reading works of fiction, been offended at the little respect of the authors for the taste of the public, and more than ever with anything comical or burlesque; a person is made to speak, who does not understand the language, or at least pronounces it badly; a Frenchman is made to speak Dutch thus: "Ka Kaurv na de Krote Krak," or "Krietje Kooit Keen Kare Kroente Kraakwek." For want of a Frenchman, a stammerer is selected, or a person "created," whose hobby consists of two words recurring every moment. I have witnessed the success of a foolish vaudeville, because there was somebody in it who was always saying: "My name is Meyer." I think this manner of being witty too cheap, and to tell you the truth, I am cross with you, if you think this funny. But now, I have to introduce to you something of that kind myself. I have to show you from time to time a person--I shall do it as seldom as possible--who had, indeed, a manner of speaking which makes me fear to be suspected of an unsuccessful effort to make you laugh; and, therefore, I must assure you that it is not my fault, if the very sedate Resident of Bantam, of whom I am speaking, is so peculiar in his mode of expressing himself, that it is very difficult for me to sketch that, without giving myself the appearance of seeking to produce the effect of wit by means of tic. He spoke as if there stood after each word a period, or even a long pause; and I cannot find a better comparison for the distance between his words than the silence which follows the "Amen" after a long prayer in church; which is, as every one knows, a signal of the proper time to cough or blow one's nose. What he said was generally well considered, and if he could have persuaded himself to omit those untimely pauses, his sentences would have been, in a rhetorical point of view at least, passable, but all that crumbling, stuttering, and ruggedness, made listening to him very tedious. One often stumbled at it, for generally, if you commenced to reply, thinking the sentence finished, and the remainder left to your ingenuity, the remaining words came on as the stragglers of a defeated army, and made you think that you had interrupted him,--an idea which is always disagreeable. The public at Serang, such persons at least as were not in the service of the Government, called his conversation 'slimy,' but Government employ?s were more circumspect. I do not think this word very nice, but I must confess that it expressed very well the principal quality of the Resident's eloquence. As yet I have said nothing of Max Havelaar and his wife,--for these were the two persons who had alighted from the carriage after the Resident, with their child and the 'baboe;' and perhaps it might be sufficient to leave the description of their appearance and character to the current of events and your proper imagination. But as I am now occupied with descriptions, I will tell you that Madam Havelaar was not beautiful, but that she still had in language and look something very charming, and she showed very plainly, by the ease of her manner, that she had been in the world, and was at home in the higher classes of society. She had not that stiffness and unpleasantness of snobbish respectability which thinks that it must torment itself and others with "constraint," in order to be considered distingu?; and she did not care much for appearances which are thought much of by other women. In her dress too she was an example of simplicity. A white muslin Coadjoe with a blue Cordeli?re,--I believe they call this in Europe peignoir,--was her travelling costume. Round her neck she wore a thin silk cord, from which hung two little medallions, invisible, because they were concealed in the folds of her dress. Her hair ? la Chinoise, with a garland of melati in the Kondek, --completed her toilette.

I said that she was not beautiful, and yet I should not like you to think her ugly. I hope that you will find her beautiful as soon as I have an opportunity to show her to you, burning with indignation at what she called the "disregard of genius" when her Max was concerned, or when she was animated with an idea in connexion with the welfare of her child.

It has too often already been said that the face is the mirror of the soul, for us to speak well of an immovable face that has nothing to reflect, because there is no soul reflected in it. Well, she had a noble soul, and certainly he must be blind who did not think her face very beautiful, when that soul could be read in it.

Havelaar was a man of about thirty-five years. He was slender and active in his movements; except his very short and expressive upper lip, and his large pale blue eyes--which, if he was in a calm humour, had something dreamlike, but which flashed fire if he was animated with a grand idea--there was nothing particular in his appearance. His light hair hung flat round his temples, and I can believe very well, that if you saw him for the first time, you would not arrive at the conclusion, that there was a person before you possessing rare qualities both of head and heart. He was full of contradictions: sharp as a lancet, and tender-hearted as a girl, he always was the first himself to feel the wound which his bitter words had inflicted; and he suffered more than the wounded. He was quick of comprehension, grasped immediately the highest and the most intricate matters, liked to amuse himself with the solution of difficult questions, and to such pursuits would devote all pains, study, and exertion. Yet often he did not understand the most simple thing, which a child could have explained to him. Full of love for truth and justice, he often neglected his most simple and nearest obligations to remedy an injustice which lay higher, or further, or deeper, and which allured him more by the perhaps greater exertion of the struggle. He was chivalrous and gallant, but often like that other Don Quixote he wasted his valour on a windmill. He burned with insatiable ambition, which made him look on all the ordinary distinctions of social life as vanities, and yet he considered his greatest happiness to consist in a calm, domestic, secluded life. He was a poet in the highest sense of the word; at the sight of a spark he dreamed of solar systems; peopled them with creatures of his own creation, felt himself to be lord of a world, which he had animated, and yet could immediately thereupon have a conversation on the price of rice, the rules of grammar, or the economic advantages of the Egyptian system of artificial incubation. No science was entirely unknown to him: he "guessed intuitively" what he did not know, and possessed in a very high degree the gift of using the little he knew in a way that multiplied the measure of his knowledge. He was punctual and orderly, besides being exceedingly patient; but precisely because punctuality, order, and patience were difficult to him,--his mind being somewhat wild,--slow and circumspect in judging of affairs; though this seemed not to be the case with those who heard him reach his conclusions so quickly. His impressions were too vivid to be thought durable, and yet he often proved that they were durable. All that was grand and sublime allured him, and at the same time he was simple and na?f as a child. He was honest, above all things where honesty became magnanimity, and would have left unpaid hundreds which he owed because he had given away thousands. He was witty and entertaining where he felt that his wit was understood, but otherwise blunt and reserved: cordial to his friends; a champion of sufferers; sensible to love and friendship; faithful to his given word; yielding in trifles, but firm as a rock where he thought it worth the trouble to show character; humble and benevolent to those who acknowledged his intellectual superiority, but troublesome to those who desired to oppose it; candid from pride, and sometimes reserved, where he feared that his straightforwardness might be mistaken for ignorance; equally susceptible to sensuous and spiritual enjoyment; timid and ineloquent where he thought he was not understood, but eloquent when he felt that his words fell on fertile soil; slow when he was not urged by an incitement that came forth from his own soul, but zealous, ardent, where this was the case; moreover, he was affable, polite in his manners, and blameless in behaviour,--such was within a little the character of Havelaar.

I say, "within a little," for if all definitions are difficult, this is particularly the case in the description of a person who differs much from the every-day cast of men.

That is also the reason, I think, why the poets of romance generally make their heroes either devils or angels. Black or white is easy to paint, but it is more difficult to produce the varieties between these two extremes, when truth must be respected, and neither side coloured too dark or too light. I feel that the sketch which I have tried to give of Havelaar is very imperfect. The materials before me are of so extensive a nature that they impede my judgment by excess of richness, and I shall perhaps again refer to this by way of supplement, while developing the events which I wish to communicate to you. This is certain,--he was an uncommon man, and surely worthy of careful study. I see even now, that I have neglected to give, as one of his chief characteristics, that he understood at the same time, and with the same quickness, the ridiculous and the serious side of things,--a peculiar quality, imparting unconsciously to his manner of speaking a sort of humour which made his listeners always doubt whether they were touched by the deep feeling that prevailed in his words, or had to laugh at the drollery that interrupted at once the earnestness of them.

And, on the contrary, how many persons undergo a series of emotions without the external circumstances seeming to give occasion for it. Think of "Robinson Crusoe," of Pellico's captivity; of the charming "Picciola," of Saintine; of the struggle in the breast of an old maid, who cherished through her whole life but one love, without ever betraying by a single word what were the feelings of her heart; of the emotions of the philanthropist, who, without being externally involved in the current of events, is ardently interested in the welfare of fellow-citizens or fellow-creatures, the more he alternately hopes and fears, the more he observes every change, kindles into enthusiasm for a beautiful idea, and burns with indignation if he sees it pushed away and trampled upon by those who, for some time at least, were stronger than beautiful ideas. Think of the philosopher, who from out his cell tries to teach the people what truth is, if he has to remark that his voice is overpowered by devout hypocrisy or adventurous quacks. Think of Socrates, not when he empties the poisoned cup--for I speak here of the experience of the mind, and not of that which owes its existence to external circumstances,--how intensely sad his soul must have been, when he, who loved what is right and true, heard himself called a corrupter of youth and a despiser of the gods. Or better still, think of Christ, gazing with such profound sadness on Jerusalem, and complaining that it "would not!"

The 'baboe' whom he had helped out the coach resembled all 'baboes' in India when they are old. If you know that sort of servants, I need not tell you how she looked, and if you do not, I cannot tell you. This only distinguished her from other nurses in India, that she had little to do; for Madam Havelaar was an example of care for her child, and what there was to do for or with her little Max, she did herself, to the great astonishment of many other ladies, who did not think proper to act as "slaves to their children."

The Resident of Bantam introduced the Regent and the Controller to the new Assistant Resident. Havelaar courteously saluted both these functionaries; the Controller he placed at once at his ease with a few friendly words, as if he wished immediately to introduce a sort of familiarity that would make intercourse easy. With the Regent his meeting was as it ought to be with a person entitled to a gold payong, at the same time his younger brother. With grave affability he rebuked his too great civility, which had brought him, in such weather, to the confines of his district, which, according to the rules of etiquette, the Regent was not bound to do.

"I wished to see Mr. Assistant Resident as soon as possible," said the Adhipatti, "to make his acquaintance."

"Yes, Mr. Assistant Resident! where duty calls me, I am even now always active and vigorous."

"--zealous," drawled the Resident.

"--well," continued the Resident.

The Resident had seated himself with the Adhipatti. Havelaar called Verbrugge to ask him who was the owner of that grey horse with red trappings; and when Verbrugge went to the entrance of the 'pendoppo' to see what horse he meant, he put his hand on his shoulder and asked--

"Is the Regent always so attentive?"

"He is a strong man for his years, Mr. Havelaar, and you understand that he would like to make a good impression on you."

"And he has a large family?"

Some such expression appeared in the face of Verbrugge; and Havelaar had to repeat the question, before the Controller replied--

"Yes, he has a very large family."

"And do they build Medjiets in the province?" Havelaar continued, again in a tone which, quite in contradiction with the words, seemed to express his belief that there was some connexion between these mosques and the large family of the Regent.

Verbrugge answered that indeed much labour was bestowed on the mosques.

"Yes, yes, just as I thought," replied Havelaar. "And now tell me if they are much in arrear with their land-taxes?"

"Exactly so, and above all things in the district 'Parang-Koodjang,'" added Havelaar, as if he thought it easier to reply himself.

"What does the taxation of this year amount to?" he continued; and Verbrugge hesitating a moment, as if to consider his reply, Havelaar anticipated him in the same breath--

Verbrugge saw that he would not have much to teach the new Assistant Resident, and that there was no question of ascendency arising from "local acquaintance," an advantage which the good fellow had not desired.

Thereupon he shook hands with Verbrugge, and the latter returned with him to the table, where the Resident, the Regent, and Madam Havelaar were seated, the Controller having perceived more than five minutes before that "this Mr. Havelaar was not such a fool" as the Commandant thought. Verbrugge was not at all ill furnished with intellect, and he who knew the province of Lebak almost as well as it is possible to know an extensive region, where nothing is printed, began to feel that there was surely some connexion between the apparently incoherent questions of Havelaar, and, at the same time, that the new Assistant Resident, though he had never been in the province, knew something of what happened there. Verbrugge did not understand, it is true, why he had rejoiced at the poverty of Lebak, but he supposed he had misunderstood that expression; and afterwards, when Havelaar often said the same, he understood how good and noble was that joy.

Havelaar and Verbrugge seated themselves at the table, and while drinking tea, and speaking of indifferent matters, we all waited, till Dongso came in to tell the Resident that fresh horses were put to the carriage. All took their places as well as they could in the carriage, and off it went. To speak was difficult, because of the jolting and bruising. Max was kept quiet with pisang; his mother had him on her lap, and would not acknowledge that she was tired, when Havelaar proposed to relieve her of the heavy boy. During a compulsory rest in a mud-hole, Verbrugge asked the Resident if he had yet mentioned Madam Slotering?

"I should not like to forbid my house to a lady in such circumstances. That is a matter of course,--is it not, Tine?"

Tine, too, was of opinion that it was a matter of course.

"You have two houses at Rankas-Betong," Verbrugge said; "there is room enough for two families."

"Well, Resident," said Madam Havelaar, "there is no doubt about it."

"But to travel at such a time is an impossibility, Resident."

A heavy jolt of the carriage, just got out of the mud, put a point of exclamation after the declaration that to travel was an impossibility for Madam Slotering. Every one had said the usual "Oh!" which follows such a jolt; Max had recovered in his mother's lap the 'pisang' which he lost by the shock, and we were already pretty near to the next mud-hole before the Resident could resolve to finish his phrase, by adding--

"Oh, that makes no difference," explained Madam Havelaar. The Resident nodded, as if he thought it good that the matter was thus arranged, and as it was so difficult to speak, we ended the conversation. This Madam Slotering was the widow of Havelaar's predecessor, who had died two months ago. Verbrugge, who had been charged ad interim with the duties of Assistant Resident, would have had a right to occupy, during that time, the large mansion which had been erected at Rankas-Betong, as in every district, for the head of the Government. Still he had not done so, partly because he feared that he should have to remove too soon, partly that this lady with her children might continue to occupy it. Yet there would have been room enough, for besides the large mansion for the Assistant Resident, there was near it, in the grounds, another house, that had served for the same purpose formerly, and though in a decayed condition, was still very inhabitable.

Madam Slotering had asked the Resident to intercede for her with the successor of her husband, and obtain permission for her to inhabit that old house till after her confinement, which she expected in a few months. This was the request which had been granted so readily by Havelaar and his wife, for hospitable they were in the highest degree.

The Resident had said that Madam Slotering was a "native woman." This needs some explanation for readers who are not acquainted with India; for otherwise they would be apt to come to the wrong conclusion--that she was a Javanese woman. European society in India is very sharply divided into two different parts, the Europeans proper, and those who, though lawfully belonging to the same jurisdiction, were not born in Europe, and have more or less Indian blood in their veins. In honour of the notions of humanity prevailing in the Indies, I hasten to add, that however clearly in social intercourse the difference between the two classes of persons, both having, in contradistinction to the native, the name of Europeans, may be marked, this separation has by no means the barbarous characteristic which predominates in America. I do not deny that there is still much injustice and exclusiveness in the relation of the parties, and that the word liplap sounded often in my ears as a proof how removed the white man, not being a 'liplap,' often is from true civilisation. It is true that the 'liplap' is only by exception admitted into society; that he is generally considered, if I may be allowed to make use of a very vulgar expression, "as not being thoroughbred;" but such an exclusion or slight is seldom defended as a principle. Every one is at liberty to choose his own companions, and one cannot take it amiss in the European proper, if he prefers the conversation of persons of his own nationality to that of persons who, not to speak of the greater or less esteem in which they are held in society, do not agree with his impressions or ideas, or--and this is perhaps the main point,--whose prejudices have taken a different direction from his own.

The 'liplap' has many good qualities, so has the European. Both have many bad qualities; in this way too they resemble each other. But the good and bad qualities which they have are too distinctive for intercourse between them to be, generally speaking, productive of mutual satisfaction. Moreover, and this is in a great measure the fault of the Government, the 'liplap' is often very badly educated. We are not now inquiring how the European would be if from youth he had been impeded in his mental development; but this is certain, that, generally speaking, the small mental development of the 'liplap' stands in the way of his equality with the European, and even where an individual 'liplap' is distinctly superior to a certain European, he is kept down on account of his origin. There is nothing new in this. It was a part of the policy of William the Conqueror to raise the most insignificant Normans above the most intelligent Saxons, and every Norman devoted himself to furthering the ascendency of the Normans in general, for the advantage of himself in particular, because he often would have been most insignificant without the influence of his countrymen as the prevailing party.

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