Max Havelaar (Nahuijs)/Chapter 14

by Multatuli

Layout 2

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 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 garrison 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 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.

“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 im 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 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 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 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 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.

“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 procés-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 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 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 of 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 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 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 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 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-Koedjang 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 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 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 pride, 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 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 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 rave. 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 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 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 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, 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 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 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 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 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. 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 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 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 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 furned 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, 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 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 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 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 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,
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?’
‘ ’s War ein Klapper^[17] der da fiel.’
 ‘Thut das dem Klapper weh?’
‘Ich glaube nicht,
Man sagt die Frucht, der Stein hat kein Gefühl.’
 ‘Doch eine Blume, fühlt, die auch nicht?’
‘Nein
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?’
‘Nein mein Kind,
Ich glaube nicht.’
        ‘Allein du hast Gefühl?’
 ‘Ja, Menschen haben’s, . . . doch nicht allen 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!’
‘Und, Mutter, ich,
Hab ich Gefühl?’
        ‘Gewis, 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;
Da hast du lang geweint,—das war Gefühl.’
 ‘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 ach Gefühl?’
 ‘Vielleicht, mein Kind, wir wissen’s aber nicht,
Weil sie so klein es noch nicht sagen kann.’
 ‘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’—
‘Mutter,
Hat solch ein Hirsch ein Schwesterlein wie ich,
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.’
        ‘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?’
          ‘Das sind
Die Sterne.’
      ‘Ein’, und zwei und zehn und tausend!
Wieviel sind denn wohl da?’
         ‘Ich weiss es nicht;
Die Sterne Zahl hat Niemand noch gezählt!’
 ‘Sag’ Mutter, zählt auch Er die Sterne nicht?’
 ‘Nein, liebes Kind, auch Er nicht.’
‘Ist das weit
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?’
‘Nein
Weh thut’s den Sternen nicht, . . . Doch ’s ist zu weit
Für deine kleine Hand, du reichst so hoch nicht.’
 ‘Kan Er die Sterne fangen mit der Hand?’
 ‘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!
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.

 

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.
5. Mohammedan Priests.
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.
16. Tikar, a straw-mat.
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.