Max Havelaar (Siebenhaar)/Chapter 19
In the private note Mr. Slimering sent to Havelaar, he informed him that in spite of his “pressing occupations” he would come to Rangkas-Betoong the next day, in order to discuss what ought to be done. Havelaar, who knew only too well what such discussion meant—had not his predecessor so often “conferred” with the Resident of Bantam?—wrote the following letter, which he sent to meet the Resident in order that the latter should have read it before his arrival at the head-centre of Lebak. Comment on this document is superfluous.
“No. 61. Secret
“Urgent.
“Yesterday at noon I had the honour to send you my urgent missive No. 88, substantially stating:
“That, after long investigation, and after having vainly sought, by gentle means, to turn the person concerned from his culpable action, I felt compelled by my official oath to charge the Regent of Lebak with abuse of authority, and that I suspected him of extortion.
“I took the liberty in that letter to suggest that you should call this Native Chief to Serang, in order to commence, after his departure and after neutralizing the corrupting influence of his numerous family, an examination of the soundness both of my charge and of my suspicion.
“Long, or rather deeply, had I reflected before I decided to take this course.
“Owing to my precaution it was known to you that I had tried by repeated exhortation and threat to save the old Regent from misfortune and ignominy, and myself from the deep sorrow of being the cause—although only the immediately preceding cause—of it.
“But I saw on the other hand the sorely oppressed population, exploited for years, I thought of the urgent necessity of an example—for I shall have to report to you many other vexations, at least if the reaction of this affair does not put a stop to them—and, I repeat, after mature consideration I did what I took to be my duty.
“At this moment I have just received your courteous and esteemed private letter, informing me that you will be here to-morrow, and at the same time hinting that I should have done better first to deal with this matter privately.
“To-morrow, therefore, I shall have the honour of seeing you, and it is exactly for this reason that I take the liberty to send this letter in time to reach you on the road, so that before our meeting I may place in your hands the following statement:
“All that I have inquired into concerning the actions of the Regent has been done in profound secrecy. Only himself and the Patteh knew of it, for I had loyally warned him. Even the Controller so far knows the result of my investigations only partly. This secrecy had a twofold object. First, when I still hoped to be able to turn the Regent from his path, I wished, if successful, not to compromise him. The Patteh, on his behalf, on the 12th instant, thanked me expressly for my discretion. But afterwards, when I began to despair of the success of my efforts, or rather, when the measure of my indignation ran over owing to an occurrence just heard of, when further silence would have become complicity, then this secrecy had to be observed on my own account, for to myself also, and those belonging to me, I have duties to fulfil.
“Should I not, after my letter of yesterday, if its contents were idle, baseless, or a figment of the imagination, be unworthy to serve the Government? And should, or shall, I be able to prove that I have done ‘what a good Assistant-Resident should do,’ prove that I am equal to the position given to me, prove that I do not thoughtlessly and rashly stake seventeen difficult years of service, and, what is more, the interest of wife and child . . . shall I be able to prove all this, if not a profound secrecy conceals my investigations, and prevents the guilty one from covering himself, as it is called?
“On the slightest suspicion the Regent will send an urgent message to his nephew, who is on the way to him, and who is interested in backing him up. He will ask for money at any price, distribute it with a liberal hand to all those whom of late he has done out of their belongings, and the result may be—I trust it should not be necessary to say will be—the opinion that I have passed a rash judgment, and, briefly, that I am an unpractical officer, not to say worse.
“It is in order to secure myself against this eventuality that I am writing this letter. I have the highest respect for you, but I know the spirit which may be called ‘the spirit of East-Indian officials,’ and I am not possessed of that spirit!
“Your hint that it would have been better had the case first been treated privately, makes me fear a conference. What I said in yesterday’s letter is true. But it might appear untrue if the case were treated in a manner that might tend to revealment of my charge and my suspicion before the Regent shall have been removed from here.
“I may not conceal from you that even your unexpected arrival, in connection with the urgent message I sent to Serang yesterday, makes me fear that the guilty one, who has hitherto refused to yield to my admonitions, will now wake up before the right time, and will try, if possible, tant soit peu to exculpate himself.
“I have the honour, for the present, still to conform literally to my letter of yesterday; but I take the liberty at the same time to remark that that letter also contained the proposal: to remove the Regent before the inquiry, and provisionally to render his adherents powerless. I hold that I am responsible for the contentions I advanced only in so far as it may please you to agree to my proposal concerning the manner of the inquiry, i.e.: impartial, open, and above all, free.
“This free character does not exist until the Regent shall have been removed, and in my modest opinion there is nothing dangerous in his removal. Can he not be told that it is I who charge and suspect, that it is I, and not he, who incur risk if he is proved innocent? For I myself am of the opinion that, if it should be shown that I have acted rashly, or only precipitately even, I ought to be dismissed from the service.
“Precipitate! After years, years of abuse!
“Precipitate! As though an honest man would be able to sleep, to live, to enjoy, as long as they over whose well-being he is called to watch, they who in the highest sense are his nearest, are continually robbed and exploited!
“It is true, I have only been here a short time, but I trust that some day the question will be what one has done, and whether one has done it well, not whether one has done it in too short a time.
“To me every period of time is too long when it is marked by extortion and oppression, and to me every second would weigh heavy which, owing to my neglect, to my dereliction of duty, to my spirit of compromise, would have been spent in misery by others.
“I even now regret the days I have allowed to pass without reporting officially, and I ask to be pardoned for that neglect.
“I take the liberty to request that I may be given the opportunity of justifying this letter, and protected against the failure of my efforts to free the division of Lebak from the worms that since the memory of man have gnawed at its welfare.
“It is for this reason that I again presume to ask you kindly to approve my actions in this matter—which, to be sure, have only consisted in inquiry, report and recommendation—that you will remove the Regent of Lebak from here without previous direct or indirect warning, and that further you will order an inquiry to be held as to the facts I communicated to you in my letter of yesterday, No. 88.
“The Assistant-Resident of Lebak,
“Max Havelaar.”
This request not to afford protection to the guilty was received by the Resident on the way. An hour after his arrival at Rangkas-Betoong he paid a short visit to the Regent, and asked him on this occasion what he could allege against the Assistant-Resident, and whether he, the Adhipatti, was in want of money! To the first question the Regent replied: “Nothing, I swear!” To the second question he replied in the affirmative, whereupon the Resident gave him a couple of banknotes which he—having brought them for the purpose!—took out of his waistcoat pocket. It will be understood that all this happened unknown to Havelaar, and presently we shall be shown how he became aware of this disgraceful action.
When Resident Slimering alighted at Havelaar’s house, he was paler than usual, and his words were farther than ever parted from one another. And indeed it was no trifling ordeal for one who so greatly excelled in “manœuvring” and in annual peace-reports, to have suddenly to receive letters in which there was not a trace, either of the customary official optimism, or of artistic twisting of the matter, or of the fear of making the Government dissatisfied by being “embarrassed” by unfavourable tidings. The Resident of Bantam had had a fright, and if I may be pardoned the ignobility of the figure of speech for the sake of exactness, I am inclined to compare him to a street-arab who complains of the violation of pre-ancestral customs, because an eccentric companion has hit him without preliminary invectives.
He began by asking the Controller why he had not tried to turn Havelaar from making his charge. Poor Verbrugge, who knew nothing whatever about the charge, protested to that effect, but found no credence. Mr. Slimering could not at all understand that anyone, all by himself, on his own responsibility, and without long-drawn deliberations or “consultations,” had been able to proceed to such unheard-of performance of his duty. As, however, Verbrugge, in strict accordance with the truth, maintained his ignorance of the letters written by Havelaar, the Resident, after many exclamations of almost unbelieving amazement, was at last compelled to accept his statement, and he next, I don’t know why, started to read those letters.
What Verbrugge suffered in listening to this would be difficult to describe. He was an honest man, and would certainly not have told a lie if Havelaar had appealed to him for confirmation of the truth of the contents of those letters. But even without this proof of honesty, in many written reports he had not always been able to avoid speaking the truth, often when such truth was dangerous. What would happen if Havelaar were to make use of these reports?
After reading the letters the Resident stated that it would please him if Havelaar would take back these documents, so that they might be considered as not written. This proposal was declined with courteous firmness. After some vain efforts to persuade Havelaar, the Resident said that nothing was left for him but to institute an inquiry into the truth of the complaints made, and that therefore he must request Havelaar to have the witnesses called who could substantiate his charges.
Poor people who had torn your flesh at the thorn-bushes in the ravine, how anxiously would your hearts have beaten if you could have heard this demand!
Poor Verbrugge! You, first witness, chief witness, witness ex officio, witness by virtue of office and oath! Witness who had already borne witness in writing! In writing that lay there, on the table, under Havelaar’s hand. . . .
Havelaar answered:
“Resident, I am the Assistant-Resident of Lebak, I have promised to protect the population from extortion and violence, I accuse the Regent, and his son-in-law of Parang Koodyang; I shall prove the truth of my charge as soon as the opportunity is given me which I proposed in my letters; if my charge is false, it is I who am guilty of slander!”
How freely Verbrugge breathed!
And how strange the Resident thought Havelaar’s words!
The interview lasted a long time. With great courteousness—for Mr. Slimering was courteous and well-bred—the Resident sought to persuade Havelaar to relinquish such mistaken principles. But with equal courteousness the latter remained immovable. The end was that the Resident had to yield, and said by way of a threat, which to Havelaar was a triumph: that he would then be compelled to bring the letters in question under the notice of the Government.
The conference was closed. The Resident visited the Adhipatti—we have already seen what business he had there!—and next sat down to dinner at the scanty meal of the Havelaars. After this he returned at once to Serang, with great despatch: Because. He. Was. So. Exceptionally. Busy.
The next day, Havelaar received a letter from the Resident of Bantam, the contents of which may be inferred from Havelaar’s answer, which I here copy:
“No. 93.
“I have the honour to acknowledge your urgent missive of the 26th instant, confidential, containing principally the following communication:
“That you have reasons not to assent to the proposals made in my official letters of the 24th and 25th instant. Nos. 88 and 91;
“That you would have preferred a previous confidential communication;
“That you do not approve of my action as described in those two letters;
“And finally some instructions.
“I now have the honour to assure you once more, as I did orally at our conference the day before yesterday:
“That I entirely respect your legal authority as regards your assent or non-assent to my proposals;
“That your instructions will be carried out strictly and if needs be with self-denial, as though you were present at all I do or say, or rather do not do or say.
“I know that in this you will trust to my loyalty.
“But I take the liberty to protest most solemnly against the slightest vestige of disapproval with regard to any action, any word, any phrase, which in this matter I have done, spoken, or written.
“I have the conviction that I have done my duty, in intention and in manner of execution, my whole duty, nothing but my duty, without the slightest deviation.
“I reflected a long time before I acted—i.e.: before I investigated, reported and proposed—and if I should have erred at all in anything . . . I did not err from precipitateness.
“In similar circumstances I should again do and omit—though with a little less delay—entirely and literally the same.
“And even if a more exalted authority than yours disapproved anything in what I did—excepting perhaps the idiosyncrasy of my style, which is part of myself, a fault I am as little responsible for as a stammerer is for his—if it were that . . . but this, no, this cannot be; yet if it were so: I have done my duty.
“It certainly grieves me—though without astonishment—that you have a different opinion on this—and if only my person were concerned I should resign myself to what appears to me a misjudgment—but a principle is at stake, and I have reasons of conscience which demand that it be settled whose opinion is correct, yours or mine.
“I cannot serve otherwise than I did at Lebak. If then the Government wishes to be served differently, then honesty compels me to beg respectfully to be relieved of my duties. Then, at thirty-six years of age, I must try to begin a new career. Then, after seventeen years, after seventeen heavy and difficult years of service, after having devoted my life’s best powers to that which I held to be my duty, I shall again have to ask Society whether it will give me bread for wife and child, bread in exchange for my thoughts, bread maybe in exchange for labour with a wheelbarrow and a spade, if the strength of my arm should be judged of greater value than the strength of my soul.
“But I cannot and will not believe that your opinion is shared by His Excellency the Governor-General, and I am obliged, therefore, ere I am driven to the bitter extreme I described in the last paragraph, to request respectfully that you will be good enough to recommend to the Government:
“To instruct the Resident of Bantam to approve the actions of the Assistant-Resident of Lebak, relative to the latter’s missives of the 24th and 25th instant, Nos. 88 and 91;
or otherwise:—
“To call upon the aforesaid Assistant-Resident to answer the points of disapproval formulated by the Resident of Bantam.
“In conclusion I have the honour to give you the grateful assurance that if anything could have moved me to go back upon my principles concerned in this matter, long reflected upon and calmly but ardently adhered to though they are . . . it would indeed have been the courteous and persuasive manner in which at our conference the day before yesterday you combated those principles.
“The Assistant-Resident of Lebak,
“Max Havelaar.”
Without pronouncing a verdict with regard to the truth of the Widow Slotering’s suspicion about the cause of her children’s having become orphans, and accepting only what is provable, namely that at Lebak there was a close connection between the fulfilment of duty and . . . poison, even if this connection only existed in people’s opinions, yet everyone will understand that Max and Tine passed anxious days after the Resident’s visit. I believe it is unnecessary to sketch the torturing fear of a mother who, in giving food to her child, has continually to put to herself the question whether perhaps she is murdering her darling. And truly he was a “prayed-for” child, little Max, who had tarried in coming for seven years after the marriage, as though the rogue knew that it was not exactly an advantage to come into the world as the son of such parents!
Twenty-nine long days Havelaar had to wait before the Governor-General informed him . . . but we are not yet so far.
Shortly after the vain efforts to persuade Havelaar to take back his letters, or to betray the poor people who had trusted in his magnanimity. Verbrugge one day came into his room. The good man was deadly pale, and found it difficult to speak.
“I have been to see the Regent,” he said . . . “this is infamous . . . but do not betray me.”
“What? What is it I am not to betray?”
“Will you give me your word that you won’t use what I shall say to you?”
“Again halfness,” said Havelaar. “But . . . very well! I give my word.”
And then Verbrugge stated what is already known to the reader, that the Resident had asked the Adhipatti whether he had any complaints to make against the Assistant-Resident, and had also quite unexpectedly offered and given him money. Verbrugge had it from the Regent himself, who asked him what reasons could have moved the Resident to this action. Havelaar was indignant, but . . . he had given his word.
The next day Verbrugge returned, and said that Duclari had pointed out to him how ignoble it was to leave Havelaar, who had to fight such opponents, so entirely alone, and Verbrugge therefore came to release him of his word.
“Very well,” Havelaar exclaimed, “write it down!”
Verbrugge wrote it down. This declaration also lies before me.
-—BN S— — The reader must long have seen why I can so readily relinquish all claims to juridical authenticity for the story of Saïdyah.
It was a striking thing to observe how the timid Verbrugge, before the reproaches of Duclari, durst rely on Havelaar’s word in a case which tempted so strongly to breach of faith!
And another thing. Since the events which I am relating, years have elapsed. Havelaar has suffered much in that time, he has seen his family suffer—the writings that lie before me bear witness to it!—and it appears that he has waited. . . . I here give the following note from his hand:
“I have seen in the newspapers that Mr. Slimering has been made a Knight of the Netherlands Lion. He now appears to be Resident of Djokjakarta. I could not therefore now revert to the Lebak affairs without danger to Verbrugge.”