Max Havelaar (Siebenhaar)/Chapter 18
It was afternoon. Havelaar came out of his room, and found his Tine in the front veranda, waiting with the tea. Mrs. Slotering came out of her house, and looked as if she were coming across to the Havelaars; but all at once she turned to the gate, and made violent signs to a man to go back, who had just that moment entered. She stood still until she was assured that he had gone back and was outside, after which she came along the grass-plot to Havelaar’s house.
“I am going for once and for all to find out the meaning of this!” said Havelaar, and after welcoming her, he asked in a jocular manner, so that she might not think that he begrudged her a little authority over grounds that formerly were hers:
“Well, Mrs. Slotering, I wish you would tell me why you are so determined to turn back the people who come into the grounds! Suppose now that man who came in a moment past had some chickens for sale, or something else that might be of use in the kitchen!”
There appeared on the face of Mrs. Slotering a pained expression which did not escape Havelaar’s attention.
“Oh,” she said, “there are so many bad people!”
“Certainly, that’s the case everywhere. But if one makes it so difficult for people to enter, the good ones will keep away too. Come now, Mrs. Slotering, do tell me quite frankly why you keep such a strict supervision over the grounds!”
Havelaar looked at her, and vainly tried to read the answer in her moist eyes. He pressed a little harder for an explanation . . . the widow burst into tears, and said that her husband had been poisoned at the house of the District-Chief at Parang-Koodyang.
“He wished to be just, Mr. Havelaar,” the poor woman went on, “he wished to put a stop to the ill-treatment under which the population groaned. He admonished and threatened the Chiefs, at meetings and in writing . . . you must have found his letters in the archives!”
That was true. Havelaar had read those letters, copies of which lie before me.
“Over and over again he talked with the Resident,” continued the widow, “but always to no purpose. For as it was universally known that the extortions took place on behalf and under protection of the Regent, whom the Resident did not wish to charge before the Government, all those interviews led to nothing but the ill-treatment of the complainants. Therefore my poor husband had said that, if there were no improvement before the end of the year, he would address the Governor-General himself. That was in November. Shortly after he set out on a tour of inspection, took dinner at the house of the Dhemang of Parang Koodyang, and was soon after brought home in a pitiable condition. He cried, pointing to his stomach: ‘Fire, fire!’ and a few hours later he was dead, he who had always been a picture of perfect health.”
“Did you send for the doctor from Serang?” asked Havelaar.
“Yes, but he only treated my husband a very short time, as the death took place soon after his arrival. I was afraid to tell the doctor my suspicion, as I foresaw, on account of my condition, that I should not be able to leave this place for some time, and I feared vengeance. I have heard that you, like my husband, are resisting the abuses that are prevalent here, and on this account I have not a peaceful moment. I had wished to conceal all this from you, in order not to alarm yourself and your wife, and therefore confined myself to watching the garden and grounds, so that no strangers should have access to the kitchen.”
Now it became clear to Tine why Mrs. Slotering had continued to carry on her own household, and had not even wished to make use of the kitchen, although it was so large.”
Havelaar sent for the Controller. Meanwhile he addressed a request to the doctor at Serang for a statement of the symptoms observed at Slotering’s death. The answer he received to this request was not in accordance with the suspicions of the widow. According to the doctor Slotering had died from an “abscess in the liver.” I have not been able to obtain evidence as to whether such a complaint can show itself all of a sudden, and cause death in a few hours. I am of the opinion that here Mrs. Slotering’s declaration that her husband had until that occasion always been healthy demands serious attention. But if one attaches no importance to such a declaration, seeing that the conception as to what constitutes health, especially in the eyes of non-medical persons, is very subjective, yet the important question remains whether a person who dies to-day from an “abscess in the liver” could yesterday have mounted on horseback, with the intention of inspecting a mountainous region so extensive that in some parts its width would constitute a twenty hours’ journey. The doctor who treated Slotering may have been an able physician, and yet have been mistaken in his opinion as to the symptoms of the illness, unprepared as he was for the suspicion of crime.
However this may be, I cannot prove that Havelaar’s predecessor was poisoned, as the authorities did not leave Havelaar the necessary time to try successfully to throw light on the question. But I certainly can prove that those about him considered he had been poisoned, and that they connected this suspicion with his desire to resist injustice.
Controller Verbrugge entered Havelaar’s room. The latter asked briefly:
“What did Mr. Slotering die of?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was he poisoned?”
“I don’t know, but . . .”
“Speak plainly, Verbrugge!”
“He tried, like you, to resist the abuses, Mr. Havelaar, and . . . and . . .”
“Well,go on!”
“I am convinced that he . . . would have been poisoned if he had been here longer.”
“Write that down!”
Verbrugge wrote those words down. His declaration lies before me!
“Another thing. Is it true or not true that extortion is practised in Lebak?”
Verbrugge did not answer.
“Answer. Verbrugge!”
“I dare not.”
“Write it down, that you dare not!”
Verbrugge wrote it down: it lies before me.
“Now, yet another thing: you dare not answer the last question, but you said to me recently, when there was a question of poisoning, that you were the only support of your sister at Batavia, isn’t that so? Is that perhaps the cause of your fear, the root of what I always called halfness?”
“Yes!”
“Write that down.”
Verbrugge wrote it down: his declaration lies before me.
“All right,” said Havelaar, “now I know enough.” And Verbrugge was allowed to go.
Havelaar went outside and played with little Max, whom he kissed with more tenderness even than usual. When Mrs. Slotering had gone, he sent the child away, and called Tine into his room.
“Dear Tine, I have to ask you a favour. I wish you to go to Batavia with Max: to-day I shall inform against the Regent.”
She put her arms around his neck, and for the first time refused to obey his wish; she cried sobbing:
“No, Max, no, Max, I won’t . . . I won’t! We shall eat and drink together!”
Had Havelaar been wrong, when he maintained that she was no more justified in blowing her nose than the women of Arles?
He wrote and sent off the letter of which I here give a copy. After having to some extent sketched the circumstances in which this document was written, I do not think it necessary to point out the resolute dutifulness to which it bears witness, nor yet the kindliness which moved Havelaar to try to protect the Regent from too severe a punishment. But it will not be equally superfluous to draw attention to his caution, which did not let him utter a word about the discovery just made, in order that the positive nature of his charge might not be weakened by uncertainty about an accusation undoubtedly most important, but as yet unproven. It was his intention to have the body of his predecessor disinterred and scientifically examined, as soon as the Regent should have been removed and his adherents rendered powerless for evil. But the opportunity was not to be given him.
In my copies of official documents—copies which in every essential correspond with the original—I think I may with advantage replace the senseless titles by simple pronouns. I expect from the good taste of my readers that they will be satisfied with this alteration.
“No. 88.Secret
“Urgent.
“To the Resident of Bantam.
“Since I took up my duties here a month ago, I have chiefly been occupied with an inquiry into the manner in which the Native Chiefs discharge their obligations towards the population as regards master-service, poondoosan[1] and similar matters.
“I very soon discovered that the Regent called up people, on his own authority and behalf, far in excess of the legally permitted number of pantjans and kemits.[2]
“I wavered between the choice of reporting at once officially, and the desire of turning the Native Chief-officer from these practices by kindliness, or later even by threats, in order to attain the twofold object of stopping the abuse and at the same time avoiding too severe a treatment of the old Government-servant on the first occasion, especially in view of the bad examples which, I believe, have often been set him, and also in connection with the special circumstance that he was expecting a visit from two relatives, the Regents of Bandoong and of Tjanjor—at least for certain from the latter, who, I believe, is already on the way with a numerous retinue—so that more than otherwise he was tempted, and, on account of the straitened condition of his finances, as it were compelled, to provide by unlawful means for the requisite preparation for that visit.
“All this moved me to a lenient view with regard to things that had already happened, but in no way to indulgence for the future.
“I insisted on an immediate cessation of every illegal practice.
“With my provisional attempt to bring the Regent by kindliness to his duty I have previously acquainted you.
“It has, however, become evident to me that he flouts me in every way with insolent shamelessness, and in accordance with my official oath I feel it my duty to inform you:
“That I accuse the Regent of Lebak, Radhen Adhipatti Karta Natta Nagara, of abuse of authority by illegal disposal of the labour of his subjects, and that I suspect him of extortion, by demanding produce in naturâ, without payment or else for payment arbitranly fixed and insufficient;
“Further that I suspect his son-in-law, the Dhemang of Parang Koodyang, of complicity in the aforementioned acts.
“In order that both indictments may be properly prepared by me, I take the liberty to propose that you instruct me:
“1º to send the Regent of Lebak post-haste to Serang, taking every care that neither before his departure nor during the journey he be given the opportunity to influence, by bribery or other means, the testimonies I shall obtain;
“2° provisionally to arrest the Dhemang of Parang Koodyang;
“3º to apply similar measures to such persons of a lesser rank as, belonging to the Regent’s family, may be expected to influence the rigour of the proposed inquiry;
“4º to hold this inquiry at once, and to report fully on the result.
“I further take the liberty to suggest for your consideration that the visit of the Regent of Tjanjor be countermanded.
“Finally I have the honour to give the assurance—no doubt superfluously for you, who know the Division of Lebak better than is as yet possible for me—that from a political point of view a strictly just treatment of this matter can cause no danger, and that I should view with far greater apprehension the neglect to clear it up. For I have information to the effect that the people who, as a witness told me, are poossing[3] with vexation, have long been looking for deliverance.
“I have partly drawn strength, for the difficult duty I am fulfilling in writing this letter, from the hope that I shall be permitted in due time to urge certain reasons in extenuation of the old Regent, with whose position, however much the result of his own actions, I nevertheless feel deep sympathy.
“The Assistant-Resident of Lebak,
Next day he received a reply from . . . the Resident of Bantam? Ah, no, from Mr. Slimering, in his private capacity!
This reply is a precious contribution to the knowledge of the manner in which Government is carried out in Netherlands India. Mr. Slimering complained that Havelaar had not first acquainted him orally with the matters dealt with in letter No. 88. Of course there would then have been a better chance of compromising. And next that Havelaar disturbed him in his pressing occupations!
No doubt the man was occupied with an annual report on peaceful peace! I have his letter before me, and can scarcely trust my eyes. I re-read the letter of the Assistant-Resident of Lebak. . . . I place him and the Resident of Bantam, Havelaar and Slimering, side by side. . . .
That Shawlman turns out to be a common blackguard! You must know, reader, that Bastians is again often absent from Office, as he has lumbago. Now as I make it a matter of conscientious scruple not to squander the funds of the firm—Last & Co.—for I am unshaken in my principles, I yesterday remembered that after all Shawlman writes a moderately good hand, and as he looks so shabby, and therefore no doubt could be got for a modest wage, I felt that it was my duty to the firm to provide in the cheapest manner possible for replacing Bastians. So I went to the Long-Leiden-Side-Street. The woman of the shop was in front, but did not seem to recognize me, although I had recently told her quite plainly that I was Mr. Drystubble, Coffee-broker, from the Laurier Canal. That trick of not recognizing a person has always something odious about it, but as it is a little less cold now, and as on the previous occasion I wore my fur coat, I attribute it in this case to that coat, and shall not worry about it . . . I mean the insult. So I said once more that I was Mr. Drystubble, Coffee-broker, from the Laurier Canal, and asked her to go and see whether that Shawlman was at home, as I did not this time, as on the previous occasion, want to deal with his wife, who was always so discontented. But this second-hand shopwoman refused to go upstairs. She could not all day long be climbing stairs for that beggarly crew, she said; I had better go and see for myself. And then there was again a description of the stairs and portals, which I did not require at all, for I always recognize a place I have once visited, as I always take such notice of everything. That’s a habit I have acquired in business. So I climbed up the stairs, and knocked at the old door, which opened at my touch. I entered, and as I found no one in the room, I had a look round. Well, there wasn’t much to see. A pair of short pants with an embroidered strip was hanging on a chair . . . why do such people want to wear embroidered pants? In a corner stood a travelling-trunk, not very heavy, which without thinking I half raised by one handle, and on the mantelpiece lay some books, which I just had a look at. A curious collection! A couple of volumes of Byron, Horatius, Bastiat, Béranger, and . . . just guess! A Bible, a complete Bible, with even the Apocrypha in it! That I certainly had not expected at Shawlman’s. And it seemed to have been read, too, for I found quite a number of notes on loose bits of paper, which related to the Scriptures—he says that Eve came into the world twice . . . the man is mad!—well, everything was in the same handwriting as the documents in that cursed bundle. He seemed to have made a special study of the Book of Job, for there the leaves were dog-eared. I suppose that he is beginning to feel the hand of the Lord, and that therefore he wants to reconcile himself with God by reading the holy books. I don’t object. But while I was still waiting, my glances lighted on a lady’s work-box which stood on the table. I looked at it unintentionally. There was in it a pair of child’s half-finished stockings, a lot of silly verses, and also a letter to Shawlman’s wife, as was evident from the superscription. The letter had been opened, and looked as if it had been crumpled up in anger. Now it is a fixed principle with me never to read anything that is not addressed to me, as I don’t think it good manners. So I never do it when I am not interested. But now I had an inspiration that it was my duty just to have a look at that letter, because the contents might perhaps enlighten me with regard to my humanitarian intention in visiting Shawlman. I reflected how surely the Lord is always with His own, as now He unexpectedly gave me the opportunity to get to know a little more about that man, and so protected me against the danger of doing a benefit to an immoral person. I pay scrupulous attention to such directions from the Lord, and it has often been of great use to me in business. To my amazement I saw that the wife of this Shawlman belonged to a very good family, at least the letter was signed by a relative whose name in Holland is most distinguished, and I was really elated with the beautiful contents of that missive. He seemed to be someone who worked diligently for the Lord, for he wrote that the wife of Shawlman ought to obtain a separation from such a wretch, who allowed her to suffer poverty, who was not able to earn his living, and who moreover was a scoundrel, as he was in debt . . . that the writer of the letter was concerned about her condition, although she had brought her fate upon herself by her own fault, as she had forsaken the Lord, and stuck to Shawlman . . . that she must return to the Lord, and that then probably the whole family would put their heads together to try to get her needlework to do . . . but before all she must get separated from that Shawlman, who was a real disgrace to the family.
In short, one could not have found more edification in the Church than there was in that letter.
I knew enough, and was grateful for having been warned in so wonderful a manner. For without that warning, shouldn’t I again have become the victim of my own kind heart? I therefore decided once more that I should keep Bastians until I found a suitable substitute, for I hate driving anyone out into the street, and at present we can’t spare one employee, as there is so much doing with us.
The reader will no doubt be curious to know how I got on at the last party, and whether I found the triolet. Well, I never went to that party. Most wonderful things have happened: I have been to Driebergen with my wife and Marie. My father-in-law, old Last, the son of the first Last—when the Meyers were still in it, but they are out of it long ago—had over and over again said that he would like to see my wife and Marie. Now it happened to be good weather, and my dread of the love-story Stern had threatened us with suddenly brought back to my mind that invitation. I spoke about it to our book-keeper, who is a man of much experience, and who after mature reflection submitted to me for consideration the suggestion that I should let a night pass before deciding. I at once determined to do so, for I am quick in carrying my resolutions into effect. The very next day I realized how sensible the advice had been, for night had given me the idea that I could do no better than put off my decision until Friday. Briefly, after having weighed all the pros and cons maturely—there was much in favour, but also much against—we went on Saturday afternoon, and returned on the Monday morning. I should not relate all this so precisely if it were not closely connected with my book. First of all I am anxious for you to know why I do not protest against the foolish things Stern is sure to have again dished up last Sunday. What kind of a story is that, of a person who would hear something when he was dead! Marie referred to it. She had got it from the young Rosemeyers, who are in sugar.—Secondly, because I have once more become absolutely convinced that all those stories about distress and unrest in the East are pure lies. This shows how travelling gives one the opportunity to fathom things properly.
You must know that my father-in-law had accepted an invitation for Saturday night to go and see a gentleman who was formerly a Resident in the East, and who now lives in a large villa. We all went there, and truly I cannot speak highly enough of the charming reception we had. The gentleman had sent his carriage to meet us, and the coachman wore a red waistcoat. It was certainly a little too cold yet to see the country place properly, though it must be splendid in summer. But inside the house you could not wish for anything they hadn’t got, everything to make life enjoyable: a billiard-room, a library, a covered-in glass house in the form of a gallery, and the cockatoo had a silver perch to sit on. I had never seen anything like it, and at once remarked how good conduct always receives its reward. The man had most carefully looked after his affairs, for he had quite three decorations. He owned this delightful country place, and in addition a house in Amsterdam. At supper everything was cooked with truffles, and the servants at the table also wore red waistcoats, the same as the coachman.
As I take a great interest in Indian affairs—on account of the coffee—I turned the conversation to that subject, and soon saw what to think of it all. This Resident told me that he had always done very well in the East, and therefore there is not a word of truth in all those tales about discontentment among the population. I turned the conversation to Shawlman. He knew him, and that in a very unfavourable light. He assured me that they had done quite right in sacking that fellow, for he was a very discontented person, who was always fault-finding, whilst in addition there was much to be criticized in his own conduct. For instance, he was always carrying off girls, and taking them to his wife, and he did not pay his debts, which surely is not very respectable. Now as I knew so well from the letter I had read how true all these charges were, I was greatly pleased to see how accurately I had judged in this matter, and was therefore specially satisfied with myself. And for this, I may say, I am well-known at my pillar . . . I mean for judging so accurately.
That Resident and his wife were charming, generous people. They told us much of their manner of life in the East. It really seems to be very pleasant there. They said their country place at Driebergen was not half as large as their “grounds,” as they called it, in the interior of Java, and for the maintenance of those grounds quite a hundred people were required. But—and this seems to prove clearly how much they were liked—those people did this altogether without payment, and entirely from affection. They also said that on their departure the sale of their furniture had brought them about ten times the value, because the Native Chiefs like to buy a souvenir of a Resident who has been kind to them. I told Stern this afterwards, and he contended that it was done by coercion, and that he could prove this from Shawlman’s bundle. But I said to him that this Shawlman was a slanderer, that he used to carry off girls—just like that young German at Busselinck & Waterman’s—and that I attached no value whatever to his opinion, for that now I had personally heard from a Resident how matters stood, and therefore had nothing to learn from Mr. Shawlman.
There were several other people from the East present that evening, amongst others a gentleman who was very rich, and still made much money out of tea, which the Javanese prepared for him for little money, and which the Government bought from him at a high price, in order to encourage the industry of those Javanese. That gentleman also was very angry with all the discontented people who are always talking and writing against the Government. He hadn’t words enough to praise the administration of the colonies, for he said he was convinced much money was lost on the tea they bought from him, and that therefore it was true generosity on their part to keep paying so high a price for an article that in reality had little value, and that he personally did not like (for he always drank Chinese tea). He also said that the Governor-General who had extended the so-called tea-contracts was, in spite of the calculation which proved that the Country lost so much in these transactions, such an able and good man, and especially such a faithful friend to those who had known him earlier. For that Governor-General had taken no notice whatever of the gossip about the losses on tea, and had, when the repeal of those contracts was mooted, I believe in 1846, done him personally a great service by decreeing that they should still continue to buy his tea. “Yes,” he exclaimed, “my heart bleeds when I hear such noble people slandered! If it had not been for him, I and my wife and children would now have to walk instead of driving.” Then he had his carriage called, and it looked so spick-and-span, and the horses were so well-fed, that I can quite well understand how one may burn with gratitude for such a Governor-General. It warms ones very soul to set eyes on such sweet emotions, especially on comparing them with the cursed grumbling and whining of creatures like that Shawlman.
The day after, this Resident paid us a return-visit, and so did the gentleman for whom the Javanese prepare tea. They are such nice people, and yet men of such importance! They both at the same time asked by what train we expected to arrive in Amsterdam. We did not understand the meaning of this, but afterwards it was cleared up, for when we arrived on the Monday morning, there were two servants at the station, one with a red waistcoat, and one with a yellow waistcoat, who each told us at the same time that they had received orders by telegram to meet us with a carriage. My wife was embarrassed, and I thought of what Busselinck & Waterman would have said if they had seen it . . . that there were two carriages for us at the same time, I mean. But it was not easy to make a choice, for I could not offend one of the two parties by declining so charming an attention. What was I to do? But again I managed to find my way out of that exceedingly difficult circumstance. I placed my wife and Marie in the red carriage—I mean the barouche of the red waistcoat—and myself stepped into the yellow one . . . I mean the carriage.
How those horses ran! In the Weesper-street, which is always so dirty, the mud flew up to right and left house-high, and, as fate would have it, there we passed that vagabond of a Shawlman, with a stoop, his head bowed down, and I saw how with the sleeve of his shabby short coat he tried to wipe the splashes from his face. I have rarely had a pleasanter outing, and my wife said the same thing.