Translation:Max Havelaar/26
Prologue -
Chapter 1 -
Chapter 2 -
Chapter 3 -
Chapter 4 -
Chapter 5 -
Chapter 6 -
Chapter 7 -
Chapter 8 -
Chapter 9 -
Chapter 10 -
Chapter 11 -
Chapter 12 -
Chapter 13 -
Chapter 14 -
Chapter 15 -
Chapter 16 -
Chapter 17 -
Chapter 18 -
Chapter 19 -
Chapter 20 -
Chapter 21 -
Chapter 22 -
Chapter 23 -
Chapter 24 -
Chapter 25 -
Chapter 26 -
Chapter 27 -
Chapter 28 -
Chapter 29 -
Chapter 30 -
Chapter 31 -
Chapter 32 -
Chapter 33 -
Chapter 34 -
Chapter 35 -
Chapter 36 -
Chapter 37 -
Chapter 38 -
Chapter 39
Very few European readers will have the right idea about the height, where a Governor-General must be as a man, in order to be not lower than the height of his service, and therefore it may not be a strong judgement if I stick to the opinion that very few people, perhaps nobody, could have met those severe requirements. I shall not mention all properties of head and heart which are required, I only want to draw attention to the amazing level on which this man is suddenly found. Yesterday still a common civilian, and not he has power over millions of subjects. A moment ago he was still hidden in his surroundings, without being conspicuous in rank or authority, and suddenly, often unexpected, he is raised over a multitude, infinitely grater than the small circle that used to hide him. I believe I had a reason to call the new level amazing, since it truly reminds of what a man feels if he suddenly finds himself on the edge of an abyss, or of the blindness which occurs if we are suddenly transferred from darkness into the sunlight. The nerves of face or brain cannot deal with such changes, no matter how strong they are.
If the appointment to Governor-General includes the causes of decay, even of those who were excellent men in sense and mind, what then can be expected of those man who were already lame before they were appointed? And if we imagine for a moment that the King is always well informed, if he signs his name under a law of which he says that he is convinced of the good faith, zeal and skill of his ministers, if we imagine that the new viceroy is zealous, faithful and skilled, we may still wonder whether that zeal, and in particular that skill, are sufficient to comply with the requirements of his vocation.
The question cannot be whether the man, who leaves the King's cabinet in The Hague for the first time as a Governor-General has the kill which will be needed for his new office – this is impossible! When one trusts in his skill, one can only mean that he will, after arrival in his new circle, suddenly, by inspiration, know what he cannot have learned in The Hague. In other words, that he is a genius, a genius who suddenly knows and can do, what he neither knew nor could. Such geniuses are very rare, even among those who are in the King's favour.
I speak about geniuses, and it appears that I want to skip what can be said of many viceroys. I am also unwilling to include pages in my book which would expose the serious purpose of this book to suspicion that I am hunting for scandals. So I'll skip the peculiarities of certain persons, but the general history of the diseases of a Governor-General can be indicated as follows: First stadium. Dizziness. Drunk of frankincense. Self-satisfaction. Lots of self-confidence. Despising others, in particular "previous guests". Second stadium. Tiredness. Fear. Discouragement. Inclination to sleep and rest. Complete confidence in the Council of the Indies. Dependency of the General Secretary. Homesickness for a Dutch country house.
Between those two stadiums, as a transition – perhaps the cause of this transition – there are dysenterian stomach diseases.
I trust that many in the Indies will thank me for this diagnosis. It has a useful application, since it is sure that the sick man, who at first would suffocate in a fly, will later – after his stomach disease – resist camels without trouble. Or, to say it clearer, a clerk who accepts presents, not with the intention to enrich himself – for example a cluster of pisang with the value of a few cents – will be chased away shamefully during the first period of his disease, but if he has the patience to wait for the last stadium, he will be able to take possession of the garden where the pisang grew, with gardens around it, and the houses in the neighbourhood, what's in those houses, and a lot more, ad libitum.
Everyone do his advantage with these pathological-philosophical remarks, and keep my advise secret, to prevent to much competition.
Cursed, that indignation and sadness should so often be clothed in the costume of a clown! Cursed that a tear, in order to be understood, must be accompanied by a grin! Or is my incapability to blame, that I find no words to fathom the depth of the wound which cankers in our economy, without searching the style of Figaro or Polichinel?
Style, yes! There are documents here with style in them. Style which showed that there was a man near who was willing to help a hand! What benefit was that style to poor Havelaar? He did not translate his tears into a grin, he did not mock, he did not attempt to move people with abundance of colours of with the jokes of the announcer at the fair – and what benefit was it to him?
If I could write like he did, I would have written in a different way.
Style? Have you heard how he spoke to the chiefs? What benefit was it to him?
Could I speak like he did, I would have spoken in a different way.
Put away that amiable language, that meekness, that frankness, clarity, simplicity, feeling! Put away anything that reminds of Horace's justum ac tenacem! Trompets here, sharp clashing of cymbals, hissing of rockets, scratching of false strings, and here and there a true word, which sneaked in as contraband, covered by all that drumming and piping.
Style? He had style! He had too much soul to drown his thoughts in words like "I have the honour" and "Your esteemed honour" and "humbly taken in consideration", which constitute the voluptuousness of the small world where he lived. When he wrote, one would be moved while reading, which made one understand how the clouds were floating during the thunderstorm, and that one did not hear the rattling of a tin stage thunder. When he hit fire from his ideas, one felt the heat of the fire, unless one was a born clerk, or Governor-General, or author of the most disgusting report about restful rest. What benefit was it to him?
If I want to be heard – and in particular understood – I must not write like he. But how?
Behold, reader, I am searching for the answer to that how, and therefore my book appears so piebald. Is is a sample sheet: make your choice. Afterwards I'll give thee yellow or blue or red, as you wish.
Havelaar had seen the Governor's disease so often in so many sufferers – and often in animâ vili, for there are analogous Resident's, Controller's and surnumerary's diseases, which are related to the former as measles to smallpox, and most of all, he had suffered himself of that disease – so often had he seen all that, that he knew all symptoms. He found the current Governor-General at first less dizzy than most others, an he decided that the disease would continue in a different way.
It was for this reason that he feared to be the strongest, when he eventually had to do his duty in defending the good right of the people of Lebak.