Translation:Max Havelaar/09
Prologue -
Chapter 1 -
Chapter 2 -
Chapter 3 -
Chapter 4 -
Chapter 5 -
Chapter 6 -
Chapter 7 -
Chapter 8 -
Chapter 9 -
Chapter 10 -
Chapter 11 -
Chapter 12 -
Chapter 13 -
Chapter 14 -
Chapter 15 -
Chapter 16 -
Chapter 17 -
Chapter 18 -
Chapter 19 -
Chapter 20 -
Chapter 21 -
Chapter 22 -
Chapter 23 -
Chapter 24 -
Chapter 25 -
Chapter 26 -
Chapter 27 -
Chapter 28 -
Chapter 29 -
Chapter 30 -
Chapter 31 -
Chapter 32 -
Chapter 33 -
Chapter 34 -
Chapter 35 -
Chapter 36 -
Chapter 37 -
Chapter 38 -
Chapter 39
The Controller Verbrugge was a good man. If one saw him there in his blue clothing, with embroidered oak and orange branches on the collar and the cuffs, it was hard to mistake the type which is common among the Hollanders in the Indies – a kind of man who is very different from the Hollanders in Holland. He took his ease as long as there was nothing to do, and he was remote from the organising zeal which is in Europe called industrious, but he was industrious when work was needed – eager to give information and to help, hospitable – well-mannered but not stiff – candid – honest and righteous, without being a martyr to these properties – in short, he was a man who, as it is said, would fit in anywhere, although one would not consider naming the age after him, which he did not desire.
He was sitting in the centre of the pendoppo, near the table which was covered with a white cloth and loaded with food. A bit impatiently he asked the mandoor-caretaker, the chief of the police and office servants in the assistant-residency, in the words of Bluebeard's wife, whether no-one was coming? Then he stood up, tried in vain to make his spurs rattle on the clay floor of the pendoppo, lit his cigar for the twentieth time and sat down again, disappointed. He spoke little.
And yet he could have spoken, for he was not alone. I do not mean that he was accompanied by twenty or thirty Javanese servants, mantries and caretakers who were squatting in and around the pendoppo, or by the many people who walked in and out continuously, or by the many natives of different rank who held the horses outside or rode around on horseback – no, the Regent of Lebak Radhen Adhipatti Karta Natta Nagara was with him.
Waiting is always boring. Fifteen minutes last an hour, an hour lasts a half day, and so on. Verbrugge could have been a bit more loquacious. The Regent of Lebak was a civilised old man, who could speak sensibly about many things. If one only looked at him, one would be convinced that most of the Europeans, who met him, could learn more from him than they could teach him. His vivid, dark eyes contradicted by their fire the fatigue in the features of his face and the greyness of his hair. When he spoke, he usually had thought a long time about it – a peculiarity which is common for a civilised Asian – and when one talked with him, one felt that his words had to be considered as epistles, of which he kept a copy in his archive, so he could refer to it. This may appear unpleasant for someone who is not familiar with the Javanese princes, but it is not hard to avoid all topics which might be offending, in particular because they will never suddenly change the topic of a conversation is, since that would, according to Asian etiquette, be contrary to good behaviour. So if one has a reason to avoid speaking about a certain topic, he only need to speak about unimportant matters, and he can be sure that a Javanese chief will not, by an undesired change in the conversation, enter an area which he'd rather not enter.
However, there are several opinions about the best way to deal with the chiefs. It appears to me that simple honesty, without attempt to diplomatic care, should be preferred.
However it be, Verbrugge started with a simple remark about the weather and the rain.
"Yes, toean Controller, it's the West monsoon."
Verbrugge knew that; it was January. But what he had said about the rain, the Regent knew as well. It was followed by some silence. The Regent beckoned with a slight movement of his head to one of the servants who were squatting at the entrance of the pendoppo. A little boy, wonderfully clothed in a blue velvet shirt, white trousers and a golden girdle which held his precious sarong round his loins, on his head the convenient kain kapala which barely hid is naughty black eyes, crawled squatting to the Regent's feet and put there the gold box which contained tobacco, lime, sirie, pinang, and gambier. He made a slamat, by lifting both hands together to his forehead and offered his lord the precious box.
"Travelling will be hard after so much rain," the Regent said, as if the long waiting had to be explained, while spreading lime on a betel leaf.
"In Pandeglang the road is not so bad," replied Verbrugge. That reply was a bit careless if Verbrugge wanted to avoid giving offence. He should have known that a Regent of Lebak does not like to hear something good about the roads in Pandeglang, even though these are certainly better than the roads in Lebak.
The Adhipatti did not make the error of answering quickly. The little maas had crawled squatting backwards to the entrance of the pendoppo, where he joined his fellows. The Regent had already dyed his lips and his few teeth with the spittle of the sirie before he said:
"Yes there are a lot of people in Pandeglang."
For those who know the Regent and the Controller, for whom the situation in Lebak was not a secret, it should have been clear that the conversation had already become a fight. A remark about the better condition of the roads in a neighbouring department seemed to be caused by vain attempts to construct similar roads in Lebak, or to maintain the existing roads better. But the Regent was right, Pandeglang had a denser population, certainly when compared to the smaller area, which made labour on the roads much easier than in Lebak, a department with only 70,000 inhabitants in an area of many hundreds of pales.
"It is true," Verbrugge said, "that we lack people, but..."
The Adhipatti looked at him, as if he waited for an attack. He knew that something had to come after that 'but' which would be unpleasant for him, who had been a Regent in Lebak for thirty years. But it appeared that Verbrugge did not want to continue his attack at that time. Anyhow, he did not finish his sentence and asked the mandoor-caretaker again if he saw nothing coming.
"I see nothing on the side of Pandeglang, toean Controller, but there on the other side is someone on horseback – it is the Commander."
"For sure, Dongso," said Verbrugge, looking outside, "it's the Commander! He his hunting in this area, and he went out early this morning. Hi, Duclari... Duclari!"
"He hears you, Sir, he comes this way. His boy follows him, with a kidang behind him on the horse."
"Hold Mr commander's horse," commanded Verbrugge to one of the servants who were squatting outside. "Bonjour, Duclari! Are you wet? Did you shoot something? Come in!"
A strong man, thirty years old, with a military attitude, although there was no trace of a uniform, entered the pendoppo. It was the First Lieutenant Duclari, commander of the small garrison at Rangkas-Betoeng. Verbrugge and he were friends, and they felt that even more, because Duclari had lived for some time in Verbrugge's house, while waiting for the completion of a fortress. He shook Verbrugge's hand, politely greeted the Regent and sat down, asking: "well, what have you got here?"
"Do you want tea, Duclari?"
"Why no, I'm feeling so hot. Do you have coconut milk? That's more refreshing."
"I won't give you that. If one is hot, I judge that coconut milk is bad. It makes you stiff and gouty. Behold how the coolies carry those have burdens over the mountains – they keep themselves quick by drinking hot water, or koppi dahoen. But ginger tea is even better."
"What? Koppi dahoen, tea from coffee leaves? I never saw that."
"You never served on Sumatra. It's common there."
"Give me tea then – but not from coffee leaves, and no ginger tea. Yes, you've been to Sumatra, and so has the new Assistant Resident, hasn't he?"
This conversation was in Dutch, which the Regent did not understand. Perhaps Duclari felt that it was a bit impolite to shut the Regent out of the conversation, or perhaps he had another intention, but suddenly he continued in Malay:
"Does toean Adhipatti know that the Controller knows the new Assistant Resident?"
"Why no, I never said that," cried Verbrugge, also in Malay. "I never saw him. He served some time before me on Sumatra. I only told you that I heard a lot about him there, nothing else!"
"Well, it makes no difference. It isn't needed to see a person to know him. What does toean Adhipatti think about it?"
The Adhipatti just needed to call a servant, so it took some time before he could say that he agreed with Mr Commander, but that it is often needed to see someone in order to be able to judge him.
"In general this may be true," Duclari continued in Dutch – either because he knew this language better and he thought that he had done enough to be polite, or because he wanted only Verbrugge to understand, "in general this may be true, but it isn't needed to meet Havelaar personally – he is a fool!"
"I never said that, Duclari!"
"No, you didn't say that, but I say it after all the things you told me about him. If someone jumps in the water to save a dog from sharks, I call him a fool."
"Well, it isn't sensible. But…"
"And listen, that poem against General Vandamme. It was really inappropriate!"
"It was funny."
"At your service! But a young man should not be funny to a General."
"You must remember that he was still very young. It was fourteen years ago. He was only 22 years old."
"And the turkey he stole!"
"That was to tease the General."
"Right! A young man should not tease a General, he, being a civil Governor, was his superior. The other poem was cute, but the eternal duelling!"
"Usually he did it for the other. He always defended the weakest party."
"Well, let anyone duel for himself, if he wants to do it at all. Personally I think a duel is very rarely needed. When it cannot be avoided, I'd certainly accept a challenge, and perhaps I'd challenge myself, but doing such a thing almost every day – no thanks. I hope he has changed in this aspect."
"No doubt. He is so much older now, has been married for some time, and an Assistant-Resident. Furthermore I always heard that he was good-hearted and that was concerned for justice."
"Well, that could be useful in Lebak! Something happened there, that... does the Regent understand us?"
"I don't think so. Show me something from your game bag – he'll think we're talking about that."
Duclari took his game bag and produced a few forest doves. Feeling those birds as if he was speaking about hunting, he told Verbrugge that a moment ago he had been followed by a Javanese, who had asked him to do something to lighten the people's burden.
"And," he continued, "this is very strong, Verbrugge! I am not really amazed about it myself. I lived long enough in Bantam to know what happens here, but it was a simple Javanese, who should be expected to be very careful and cautious when he talks about his chiefs, and he asks such a thing of someone who is not involved at all. That amazes me!"
"What did you answer, Duclari?"
"Well, that I wasn't involved. That he had to go to you, or to the new Assistant Resident, when he had arrived in Rangkas-Betoeng. That was the person to complain to."
"There they come!" shouted the caretaker Dongso. "I see a mantrie waving his toedoeng."
All stood up. Duclari did not want to make the impression, by being in the pendoppo, that he had come to the boundaries to welcome the Assistant Resident, who was of higher rank but not his superior, and even a fool. So he mounted his horse and rode away, followed by his servant.
The Adhipatti and Verbrugge stood at the entrance of the pendoppo. They saw a coach, pulled by four horses, which soon stopped near the bamboe building, covered with mud.