peared to be his intention to let me starve. Such a state of things lasted nine months!”
“And how did you live all that time? had the General plenty of turkeys?”
“No, I did that only once. . . I made verses, and wrote comedies. . . . and so on.”
“And was that enough to buy rice at Padang?”
“No, but I did not ask that for it, . . . I would rather not say how I lived.”
Tine pressed his hand; she knew it.
“I have read a few lines which you wrote at that time on the back of a receipt,” said Verbrugge.
“I know what you mean; the lines give you an idea of my position. There was at that time a periodical paper, the ‘Copyist,’ to which I subscribed. As it was under the protection of the Government, the editor being an official under the General Secretary, the subscribers’ money went into the Exchequer. They offered me a receipt for twenty guilders. As this money had to be booked at the Governor’s office, and the receipt, if the money was not paid, had to pass these offices to be sent back to Batavia, I made use of this opportunity, and protested against my poverty on the back of the paper.
Adieu, Copiste, adieu! Trop malheureux destin.
Je meurs de faim, de froid, de soif, et de chagrin. . .
Vingt florins font pour moi deux mois de nourriture.
