not use his intellect to any sensible purpose,” or “ Yes, he is kind-hearted, but . . . he parades his kind-heartedness!”
I have no wish to take sides about his wit or his intellect. But his heart? Poor struggling flies which he saved when there was no one near, will you not defend his heart against the charge of “parading”? But you have flown away, and have not troubled about Havelaar, you who could not know that some day he would be in need of your testimony!
Was it “parading” on Havelaar’s part, when at Natal he jumped into the river-estuary after a dog named Sappho, because he feared that the animal, still a pup, could not yet swim well enough to escape the sharks which are so numerous there? It seems to me more difficult to believe in such “parading” of kind-heartedness than in the kind-heartedness itself.
I summon you, the many who have known Havelaar, if you are not frozen by winter cold and death, like the rescued flies, or withered in the heat yonder on the Line! I summon you to bear witness to his heart, all you that have known him! Now especially do I summon you with confidence, as you have no need now to look where the block must be hooked in to drag him down from whatever little height!
Meanwhile, however patchy it may seem, I will here make room for some lines from his hand, which may perhaps render such testimony superfluous. Max was once far, very far from wife and child. He had been compelled to leave her behind in India, and was in Germany. With the mental quickness which I attribute to him, and which I am ready to defend if anyone should wish to assail it, he had mastered the language of the country where he had been some months. Here are the lines,[1] which at the same time paint the devotion that bound him to those belonging to him:—
- ↑ In the Dutch version of Max Havelaar they appeared in German, the language in which Multatuli wrote them. For the benefit of English readers who do not know that language I have given them in English translation. Trsl.
