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 ridiculousdenied 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 webdenied 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
