Before I go on, I must tell you that young Mr. Stern has come; he is a
good fellow. He seems to be active and clever, but I believe that he—as
the Germans call it, “Schwärmt.” Mary is thirteen. His outfit is very
nice, and he has got a copybook, in which to practise the Dutch style.
I wonder whether I shall soon receive an order from Ludwig Stern. Mary
shall embroider a pair of slippers for him,—I mean to say for young Mr.
Stern. Busselinck and Waterman have made a mistake,——a respectable
broker does not supplant, that’s what I say. The day after the party at
the Rosemeyers, who are sugar-merchants, I called Fred, and ordered him
to fetch Shawlman’s parcel. You must know, reader, that I am very
precise in my family as to Religion and Morality. Now then, yesterday
evening, just when I was eating my first pear, I read in the face of
one of the girls that there was something in a verse from the parcel
that was not right. I myself had not listened, but I saw that Betsy
crumbled her bread, and that was enough for me. You will perceive,
reader, that I am a man of the world. I made Fred hand over to me “the
beautiful poem” of yesterday evening, and very soon saw the line which
caused Betsy to crumble her bread. They speak there of a child on the
breast of its mother,—I say nothing of that;—but: “which scarcely left
the mother’s womb,”—that I disapproved,—to speak about that, I mean,—so
did my wife. Mary is thirteen. Of “cabbage” [7] and such things we do
not speak; but to give all in this way its right name is not necessary,
as I am a great lover of morality. So I made Fred, who knew it by
heart, promise that he would not repeat it again,—at least not before
he was member of Doctrina, [8] because no young girls come there,—and
then I put it in my writing-desk, I mean the verse. But I wanted to
know whether there was anything else of an offensive nature in the
parcel; I began to look and to inspect everything. I could not read
all, for a great deal was written in foreign languages which I did not
understand, but at last I caught sight of a treatise entitled “Account
of the Coffee Culture in the Residency of Menado.” My heart leaped for
joy, because I am a coffee-broker, at No. 37 Laurier Canal, and
“Menado” is a very good mark. So this Shawlman, who made immoral
verses, had been in the Coffee trade. I looked at the parcel with quite
a different eye. I saw treatises in it which I did not completely
understand, but they showed a knowledge of business. There were
statements, problems, computations, which I could not understand at
all, and everything was done with so much care and exactness, that I,
to speak plainly,—for I am a lover of truth,—thought this Shawlman, if
perhaps the third clerk left,—a likely event, as he is old and
dull,—could very well take his place. Of course I should like, first of
all, to have testimony as to his honesty, religion, and respectability,
for I will not take anybody into my office until I am satisfied on
these points. This is a fixed principle with me. You have seen it in my
letter to Ludwig Stern.
I did not care to show Fred that I began to take an interest in the
contents of the parcel; and therefore I made him go away. I grew quite
dizzy when I took in hand one treatise after another, and read the
titles. It is true, there were many verses among them, but also much
that was useful, and I was astonished at the variety of the different
subjects. I acknowledge—for I love truth—that I, who have always been
engaged in the coffee trade, am not in a position to criticise; but
without going so far as criticising, I can pronounce the list of the
different titles curious enough. As I have told you the history of the
Greek, you know that in my youth I was taught Latin, and though I avoid
quotations in my correspondence—which would not be right in a broker’s
office—yet I thought, on seeing all these things: “De omnibus aliquid,
de toto nihil,” or “Multa non multum.”
Yet I said this more out of anger, and a desire to speak in Latin of
all this learning before me, than because I meant it. For if I examined
something or other for a time, I was bound to confess that the author
appeared to know all about it, and had even a great deal of sound
argument in support of his opinions. I found in the parcel treatises
and disquisitions—
On the Sanscrit, as the Mother of the Teutonic Languages;
On the Punishment of Infanticide;
On the Origin of the Nobility;
On the Difference between the Ideas: “Infinite time,” and
“Eternity;”
On the Theory of Chances;
On the Book of Job—(there was something else about Job; but in
verse);
On the Proteïne in the Atmospheric Air;
On Russian Politics;
On the Vowels;
On the Cellular Prisons;
On the Ancient Hypotheses;
Of the “Horror vacui;”
On the Desirableness of the Abolition of Punishments for Slander;
On the Causes of the Revolt of the Dutch against Spain, not being
the Desire for Religious or Political Freedom;
On Perpetual Motion, the Squaring of the Circle, and the Extraction
of the Square Root of Surds;
On the Ponderability of Light;
On the Decline of Civilisation since the Commencement of
Christianity;
On the Mythology of Iceland;
On the Emile of Rousseau;
On Sirius as the Centre of the Solar System;
On Import Duties as Useless, Indelicate, Unjust, and Immoral—(of
this I had never heard before);
On Verse as the Most Ancient Language—(this I do not believe);
On White Ants;
On the Unnaturalness of Schools;
On Hydraulic Matter in connexion with Rice Culture;
On the Apparent Ascendency of the Western Civilisation;
On the Price of Java Coffee—(this I have put aside);
On the Secret Societies of the Chinese, etc. etc. etc.
And this was not all. I found, not to speak of the verses—which were in
all languages—many small treatises having no title;—romances in Malay,
war-songs in Javanese, and what not. I found also letters, many of them
in languages which I did not understand. Some were directed to him,
others written by him, or were only copies; but evidently made for some
particular purpose; for all were signed by other persons, who testified
that they agreed with the original. I saw also extracts from diaries,
notes and thoughts at random—some very much so. I had, as I said
before, laid aside some treatises, because it appeared to me that they
would be useful in my business, and I live for my business;—but I must
confess that I was at a loss to know what to do with the rest. I could
not return him the parcel; for I did not know where he lived. It was
open now. I could not deny that I had looked at the contents—[and I
should not have denied it, being so fond of truth],—because I had tried
in vain to do it up exactly as it had been before. Moreover, I could
not dissemble that some dissertations on Coffee interested me, and that
I should like to make some use of them. Every day I read here and there
some pages, and became more and more convinced that the author must
have been a coffee-broker, to become so completely acquainted with all
sort of things in the world. I am quite sure that the Rosemeyers, who
trade in sugar, have not acquired such extensive knowledge.
Now I feared that this Shawlman would drop in unexpectedly, and again
have something to tell me. I was now very sorry that I went that
evening through the Kapelsteeg, and now felt the impropriety of passing
through unfashionable streets. Of course, if he had come he would have
asked me for some money, and would have spoken of his parcel. I should
perhaps have given him something, and if he had sent me the following
day the mass of MSS., it would have been my legal property. Then I
should have separated the wheat from the chaff; I should have singled
out what I wanted for my book, and should have burned, or thrown into
the waste-basket, all the rest. This I could not do now; for if he
returned, I should have to produce his property, and he, seeing that I
was interested in a couple of treatises of his, would very soon have
been induced to ask too high a price;—for nothing gives more ascendency
to the seller than the discovery that the buyer stands in need of his
wares. Such a position is therefore avoided as much as possible by a
merchant who understands his business. I have another idea, previously
mentioned, which may prove how a person who frequents the Exchange may
yet be open to humane impressions;—it was this: Bastianus, that is the
third clerk, who is becoming so old and stupid, has not of late been at
the office more than twenty-five days out of the thirty; and when he
does come, he often does his work very badly. As an honest man, I am
obliged to consult the interests of the firm—Last and Co. since the
Meyers have retired—to see that every one does his work; for I may not
throw away out of mistaken pity, or excess of sensibility, the money of
the firm. This is my principle. I would rather give that Bastianus
three guilders [9] out of my own pocket, than continue to pay him every
year seven hundred guilders which he does not deserve. I have
calculated that this man has drawn during the thirty-four years of his
service—as well from Last and Co., as formerly from Last and Meyer, but
the Meyers have left—the sum of nearly fifteen thousand guilders
(£1250), and that, for a man in his station, is a large sum; which but
few can command. He has no right to complain. I came to this
calculation through the treatise of Shawlman on multiplication. That
Shawlman writes a good hand, I thought he looked very poor, he did not
know what o’clock it was—how would it do, I thought, to give him the
situation of Bastianus? I should tell him in that case, that it would
be his duty to “SIR” me. That he would know without telling, I hope;
for a servant cannot call his superior by name, or he would catch it.
He could commence with four or five hundred guilders a year. [10]
Bastianus had to work many years before he got seven hundred, [11] and
I shall then have performed a good deed. Yes, with three hundred
guilders he could very well commence, for from his inexperience he
would, of course, consider the first year as an apprenticeship, which
would be quite right; for he cannot be equal to old hands; I am quite
sure that he will be content with two hundred guilders.
But I was not easy about his conduct——he had on a shawl; and, moreover,
I don’t know where he lives.
A few days afterwards young Mr. Stern and Fred attended a book auction
at an hotel, the “Wapen van Bern.” I had forbidden Fred to buy
anything; but Stern, who has plenty of money, brought home some
rubbish: that’s his business. However, Fred brought news, that he had
seen Shawlman, who appeared to be employed at the auction, in taking
the books from the shelves, and giving them to the auctioneer. Fred
said that he looked very pale, and that a gentleman, who seemed to have
the direction there, had growled at him, for letting fall a couple of
complete volumes of the “Aglaja;” [12] it was, indeed, very clumsy of
him to damage such charming ladies’ books. In the course of the
scolding, Fred heard that he got fifteen pence a day. “Do you think
that I intend to give you fifteen pence a day for nothing?” were the
gentleman’s words. I calculated that fifteen pence a day,—Sundays and
holidays not included, otherwise he would have spoken of so much a
month or so much a year,—make two hundred and twenty-five guilders a
year. [13] I am quick in my decisions—a man who has been in business
for so long a time, knows immediately what to do,—and the following
morning I called on Gaafzuiger, [14] the bookseller who had held the
auction. I asked for the man who had let fall the “Aglaja.” “He had his
dismissal,” said Gaafzuiger; “he was idle, conceited, and sickly.”
I bought a box of wafers, and resolved immediately to give Bastianus
another trial; I could not make up my mind to turn an old man so
unexpectedly upon the streets. To be strict, but, where it is possible,
forbearing, has ever been my principle, yet I never lose an opportunity
of getting information which may be of use in business, and therefore I
asked Gaafzuiger where this Shawlman lived. He gave me the address, and
I put it down. I pondered over the book to be brought out; but as I
like the truth, I must tell you plainly that I did not know how to
manage it. One thing is quite sure: the materials which I found in
Shawlman’s parcel were important to coffee-brokers. The only question
was, how to arrange the materials in a proper way;—every broker knows
how important is the right sorting of the parcels. But to write, except
correspondence with “Principals,” [15] is rather out of my line, and
yet I felt that I must write; because the future of the trade depended
on it. The information which I derived from that parcel of Shawlman, is
not such as Last and Co. can exclusively profit by; otherwise any one
will understand that I should not take the trouble to have a book
printed for Busselinck and Waterman’s advantage; because whoever helps
a rival in business is a fool;—this is a fixed principle with me. No, I
saw that danger menaced the whole coffee-market—a danger that could
only be averted by the united forces of all the brokers; but even these
might be insufficient, and the sugar-refiners and indigo-merchants
might have to help.
And thinking it over while I write, it seems to me that shipowners too
are in some measure interested in it, and the commercial marine——
Certainly, that is true; sail-makers also, and ministers of finance;
overseers of the poor, and other ministers; pastry-cooks, and
shopkeepers; women, and shipbuilders; wholesale merchants, and retail
dealers, and gardeners.—
It is curious how thoughts run on when writing,—my book concerns also
millers, clergymen, vendors of Holloway’s pills; liquor-distillers,
tile-makers, and those who live on the national debt; pumpmakers, and
rope-makers; weavers, and butchers; brokers’ clerks, and shareholders
in the Dutch Trading Company; in fact, on consideration, all other
persons——the King too—yes, the King more than any! My book must go
throughout the world. There is no help for it——I do not care if
Busselinck and Waterman read it——I am not envious; but they are old
women and sneaks, that’s my opinion. I said the same this morning to
young Mr. Stern, when I introduced him at “Artis:” [16] he may write
home about it.
So it was, that a few days ago, I didn’t know what to do with my book,
but Fred showed me a way out of the dilemma. I did not tell him so,
because I do not think it right to show anybody that I am under an
obligation to him; that is a principle of mine, and a true one. He
said, that Stern was such a clever fellow, that he made rapid progress
in the Dutch language, and that he had translated Shawlman’s German
verses into Dutch. You see, the Dutchman had written in German, and the
German translated into Dutch; if each had stuck to his own language,
much trouble would have been spared. But, I thought, if I have my book
written by this Stern——when I have anything to add, I can write a
chapter from time to time. Fred may also help—[he has a dictionary of
difficulties]. Mary may write the fair copy, and this is a guarantee
against all immorality; for, you understand, that a respectable broker
will not give anything into the hands of his daughter that is contrary
to Morals and Respectability.
I spoke to the young people about my plan, and they liked it. Only
Stern, who, like Germans in general, has a smattering of literature,
wanted to have a share in handling the subject. This I did not approve;
but because there would soon be a Spring Auction, and no order had yet
come from Ludwig Stern, I did not like to oppose his wishes. So we
agreed to the following conditions:—
1. That he should contribute to the work every week two chapters.
2. That I should make no alterations in his contributions.
3. That Fred should correct the grammatical errors.
4. That I should be at liberty to write from time to time a chapter, to
give the book a respectable appearance.
5. That the title should be: “The Coffee Auctions of the Dutch Trading
Company.”
6. That Mary should make the fair copy for the press; but that we
should have patience with her on washing-day.
7. That a complete chapter should be read every week at our party.
8. That all immorality should be avoided.
9. That my name should not appear on the title-page, because I am a
broker.
10. That Stern should be at liberty to publish German, French, and
English translations of my book, because, as he asserted, such works
are better understood in foreign countries than at home.
11. That I should send Shawlman paper, pens, and ink.—[Stern insisted
very much on this.]
I agreed to everything, for I wanted to finish the book. Stern was
ready the following morning with his first chapter,—and here, reader,
the question is answered, how it was that a coffee-broker—[Last and
Co., No. 37 Laurier Canal]—wrote a book, something like a novel.
Scarcely, however, had Stern commenced the work when difficulties
arrested him. In addition to the difficulty of selecting and arranging
the materials, he met with, every moment, in the manuscripts words and
expressions which he did not understand, and which puzzled even me.
These were often Javanese or Malay; and abbreviations also occurred
here and there, which we could not decipher. I perceived that we wanted
Shawlman; and as I did not think it proper for a young man to fall into
bad company, I would not send Stern or Fred to fetch him. I took some
sweetmeats with me, which remained after the last party (for I always
think about everything), and I went in search of him. His abode was
certainly not brilliant; but equality for all men, and of their houses
too, is a chimera. He said so himself in his treatise about
“Pretensions to Happiness.” Moreover, I do not like persons who are
always discontented. It was in a back room in the Lange-Leidsche
Dwarsstraat. On the basement lived a marine store-keeper, who sold all
sorts of things, as cups, saucers, furniture, old books, glasses,
portraits of Van Speyk, and so on. I was very anxious not to break
anything, for such people always ask more money for the things than
they are worth. A little girl was sitting on the steps before the
house, and dressing her doll. I inquired if Mr. Shawlman lived there;
she ran away; and her mother made her appearance.
“Yes, sir, he lives here. Your honour has only to go upstairs, to the
first landing, then to the second, on to the third, and your honour is
there. Minnie, go and say that there is a gentleman come. Who can she
say, sir?” I said that I was Mr. Drystubble, coffee-broker, at No. 37
Laurier Canal, but that I should introduce myself. I mounted as high as
they told me, and heard on the third landing the voice of a child
singing, “Papa will come soon,—sweet papa.” I knocked, and the door was
opened by a woman or lady,—I did not know what to think of her. She
looked very pale, and her features wore signs of fatigue. She made me
think of my wife when washing-day is over. She was dressed in a long
white gown or robe without waist-band, which descended to her knees,
and was fastened in front with a black pin. Instead of a respectable
skirt, she wore underneath a piece of dark linen covered with
flowers,—which seemed to be wrapt round her body, hips, and knees very
tightly. There was no trace of the folds, width, or amplitude becoming
a woman. I was glad that I did not send Fred; for her dress seemed to
be extremely immodest, and the strangeness of it was still heightened
by the gracefulness of her movements, as if she thought herself quite
right in this way, and seemed quite unconscious that she did not look
like other women. I also perceived, that she was not at all perplexed
at my arrival: she did not hide anything underneath the table, did not
move the chairs,—in a word, she did not do as is generally done, when a
stranger of respectable appearance arrives.
She had combed her hair back like a Chinese, and bound it behind her
head in a sort of knot. Afterwards I heard that her dress is a sort of
Indian costume, which they call there Sarong and Kabaai, but I thought
it very ugly.
“Are you Shawlman’s wife?” I asked.
“To whom have I the honour to speak?” she said, and that in a tone
which seemed to me as if she meant that I might have said honour too.
Now, I dislike compliments. With a “Principal” it is a different thing,
and I have been too long a man of business not to know my position, but
to give myself much trouble on a third storey, I did not think
necessary. So I said briefly that I was Mr. Drystubble, coffee-broker,
at No. 37 Laurier Canal, and that I wanted to speak to her husband.
She pointed me to a little chair, and took a little girl on her lap,
that was playing on the ground. The little boy whom I had overheard
singing looked steadily at me, having viewed me from head to foot. He
also, though only six years old, appeared to be not at all perplexed.
He was dressed in a very strange way, his wide trousers scarcely
reached half-way down the thigh, and his legs were naked to the
ankles.—Very indecent, I think. “Do you come to speak to papa?” he
asked all of a sudden; and I saw at once that he had been badly brought
up, otherwise he would have said “Sir.” But as I was a little out of
countenance, and wanted to speak, I replied—
“Yes, my boy, I am here to speak to your papa; do you think he will be
in soon?”
“I don’t know. He went out to look for money to buy me a box of
colours.”
“Be quiet, my boy,” said the woman. “Do play with your pictures or with
the puppet-show.”
“You know, mamma, that that gentleman took away everything yesterday.”
It appeared that “a gentleman had been there and taken away
everything——” a delightful visit! The woman appeared to be in trouble,
for secretly she wiped away her tears, whilst she brought the little
girl to her brother.
“There,” said she, “play a little with Nonnie.”—A strange name. And so
he did.
“Well, my good woman,” I asked; “do you expect your husband presently?”
“I do not know,”——she replied.
Then the little boy who had been playing with his sister, left her and
asked me:
“Sir, why do you call mamma ‘my good woman?’”
“What then, my boy?” I said, “how must I address her?”
“Well—as others do.——You should say ‘my good woman’ to the woman below,
who sells saucers.”
Now I am a coffee-broker—Last and Co., No. 37 Laurier Canal: we are
thirteen of us at the office, and, including Stern, who receives no
salary, there are fourteen. Well, my wife is not Madam, and ought I to
call this creature Madam? That is impossible; every one must remain in
his own station——besides, the bailiffs took away everything. I thought
“my good woman” quite right, and made no alteration.
I asked why Shawlman had not called on me to ask for his parcel? She
seemed to know it, and said that they had been to Brussels, where he
had worked for the “Indépendance,” but that he could not remain there,
because his articles caused the Journal to be so often refused at the
French frontiers; that a few days ago they had returned to Amsterdam,
where Shawlman expected a situation.
“That was certainly at Gaafzuiger’s?” I asked.
“Yes, it was; but that would not do,” she said.
I knew more about it than she. He had let the Aglaja fall, and was
moreover idle, conceited, and poorly——therefore they had turned him
out——“And,” she went on, “that he would certainly come to me one of
these days, and was, perhaps, just now going to my house to ask for a
reply to his request.”
I said that Shawlman might come, but that he was not to knock, that
being so troublesome for the servant; if he waited for some time, I
said, the door would certainly be opened, when somebody went out. And
then I went away, and took my sweetmeats along with me; for, to speak
the truth, I did not like the place. I did not feel comfortable there.
A broker is certainly not a common porter, and I maintain that I am a
very respectable man; I had on my coat with furs, and still she sat as
much at her ease, and spoke as calmly with her children, as if she were
alone. Moreover, she seemed to have been crying, and I cannot bear
discontented persons: it was cold and unsociable there, because
everything had been taken away, and I like sociability. While going
home I resolved to give Bastianus another trial, not liking to give
anybody his dismissal.
Now it is Stern’s first week. Of course much is in it which I do not
like; but I must obey stipulation No. 2, and the Rosemeyers are of that
opinion; but I think that they flatter Stern, because he has an uncle
at Hamburg in the sugar trade.
Shawlman had indeed been at my house; he had spoken to Stern, and given
him some information about words and matters which Stern did not
understand. I beg the readers to peruse the following chapters; then I
promise afterwards something more substantial, composed by myself,
Batavus Drystubble, coffee-broker (firm of Last and Co., No. 37 Laurier
Canal).