[CONTINUATION OF STERN’S COMPOSITION.]
The Resident of Bantam introduced the Regent and the Controller to the
new Assistant Resident. Havelaar courteously saluted both these
functionaries; the Controller (there is always something painful in
meeting a new superior) he placed at once at his ease with a few
friendly words, as if he wished immediately to introduce a sort of
familiarity that would make intercourse easy. With the Regent his
meeting was as it ought to be with a person entitled to a gold payong,
[38] at the same time his younger brother. With grave affability he
rebuked his too great civility, which had brought him, in such weather,
to the confines of his district, which, according to the rules of
etiquette, the Regent was not bound to do.
“Indeed, Mr. Adhipatti, I am angry with you for having given yourself
so much trouble on my account.——I thought I should see you first at
Rankas-Betong.”
“I wished to see Mr. Assistant Resident as soon as possible,” said the
Adhipatti, “to make his acquaintance.”
“Certainly, certainly, I am obliged; but I do not like to see a person
of your rank and years exert himself too much——and on horseback too!”
“Yes, Mr. Assistant Resident! where duty calls me, I am even now always
active and vigorous.”
“That is too self-exacting——is it not, Mr. Resident?”
“Mr. Adhipatti——is——very——”
“Very well; but there is a limit * *”
“—zealous,” drawled the Resident.
“Very well; but there is a limit,” Havelaar had to say again, as if to
swallow the former words. “If you agree to it, Resident, we will make
room in the carriage. The ‘baboe’ can remain here; we will send her a
tandoo [39] from Rankas-Betong. My wife will take Max on her lap——won’t
you, Tine? there is room enough.”
“It——is——very——”
“Verbrugge, we will make room for you too; I don’t see——”
“—well,” continued the Resident.
“I don’t see why you should needlessly ride on horseback through the
mud; there is room for all of us: we can then make acquaintance with
each other——can’t we, Tine?—we will arrange it. Here, Max—look here,
Verbrugge, is not this a pretty little fellow?—’tis my little boy,
Max!”
The Resident had seated himself with the Adhipatti. Havelaar called
Verbrugge to ask him who was the owner of that grey horse with red
trappings; and when Verbrugge went to the entrance of the ‘pendoppo’ to
see what horse he meant, he put his hand on his shoulder and asked—
“Is the Regent always so attentive?”
“He is a strong man for his years, Mr. Havelaar, and you understand
that he would like to make a good impression on you.”
“Yes, I understand that. I have heard much good of him——he is an
educated man?”
“Oh, yes——”
“And he has a large family?”
Verbrugge looked at Havelaar, as if he did not understand the
transition. This style often presented difficulties to those who did
not know him. The quickness of his mind often made him omit in
conversation some links in the reasoning; and although these links
followed each other with regularity in his thoughts, he could not take
it amiss on the part of one who was not so quick, or accustomed to his
quickness, if he stared at him on such an occasion with the unuttered
question on his lips—“Are you mad?——or what is the matter?”
Some such expression appeared in the face of Verbrugge; and Havelaar
had to repeat the question, before the Controller replied—
“Yes, he has a very large family.”
“And do they build Medjiets [40] in the province?” Havelaar continued,
again in a tone which, quite in contradiction with the words, seemed to
express his belief that there was some connexion between these mosques
and the large family of the Regent.
Verbrugge answered that indeed much labour was bestowed on the mosques.
“Yes, yes, just as I thought,” replied Havelaar. “And now tell me if
they are much in arrear with their land-taxes?”
“Yes, there is room for improvement——”
“Exactly so, and above all things in the district ‘Parang-Koodjang,’”
[41] added Havelaar, as if he thought it easier to reply himself.
“What does the taxation of this year amount to?” he continued; and
Verbrugge hesitating a moment, as if to consider his reply, Havelaar
anticipated him in the same breath—
“Very well, very well, I know it already—sixty-eight thousand and a few
hundreds—fifteen thousand more than last year—but only six thousand
more than in the year 1845—we have made since 1843 an augmentation of
eight thousand—and the population too is very thin—yes, in twelve years
we have had an increase of only eleven per cent., and even this
statement is questionable, for the statistics were formerly very
inexactly kept—and farther!—from 1850 to 1851 there is even a
diminution—and the cattle market does not flourish—that is a bad omen *
* * What the deuce! look how that horse jumps and rears——come here,
Max!”
Verbrugge saw that he would not have much to teach the new Assistant
Resident, and that there was no question of ascendency arising from
“local acquaintance,” an advantage which the good fellow had not
desired.
“But it is a matter of course,” continued Havelaar, taking Max in his
arms; “in Tjikandi and Bolang they like it—and so do the rebels in the
Lampoons. [42] I recommend myself to your co-operation, Mr. Verbrugge;
the Regent is a man old in years——his son-in-law is still
district-chief? All things considered, I think him to be a person who
deserves indulgence——I mean the Regent——I am very glad that there is so
much poverty here——I hope to remain here a long time.”
Thereupon he shook hands with Verbrugge, and the latter returned with
him to the table, where the Resident, the Regent, and Madam Havelaar
were seated, the Controller having perceived more than five minutes
before that “this Mr. Havelaar was not such a fool” as the Commandant
thought. Verbrugge was not at all ill furnished with intellect, and he
who knew the province of Lebak almost as well as it is possible to know
an extensive region, where nothing is printed, began to feel that there
was surely some connexion between the apparently incoherent questions
of Havelaar, and, at the same time, that the new Assistant Resident,
though he had never been in the province, knew something of what
happened there. Verbrugge did not understand, it is true, why he had
rejoiced at the poverty of Lebak, but he supposed he had misunderstood
that expression; and afterwards, when Havelaar often said the same, he
understood how good and noble was that joy.
Havelaar and Verbrugge seated themselves at the table, and while
drinking tea, and speaking of indifferent matters, we all waited, till
Dongso came in to tell the Resident that fresh horses were put to the
carriage. All took their places as well as they could in the carriage,
and off it went. To speak was difficult, because of the jolting and
bruising. Max was kept quiet with pisang; [43] his mother had him on
her lap, and would not acknowledge that she was tired, when Havelaar
proposed to relieve her of the heavy boy. During a compulsory rest in a
mud-hole, Verbrugge asked the Resident if he had yet mentioned Madam
Slotering?
“Mr. Havelaar——has——said——”
“Of course, Verbrugge, why not? that lady can stay with us: I should
not like——”
“that——it——was——good,” continued the Resident, with much difficulty.
“I should not like to forbid my house to a lady in such circumstances.
That is a matter of course,—is it not, Tine?”
Tine, too, was of opinion that it was a matter of course.
“You have two houses at Rankas-Betong,” Verbrugge said; “there is room
enough for two families.”
“But, even if this were not the case——”
“I——should——not——dare——”
“Well, Resident,” said Madam Havelaar, “there is no doubt about it.”
“to——promise——it,——for——it——is——”
“Were they ten of them, if they only liked to be with us——”
“a——great——deal——of——trouble——and——she——is——”
“But to travel at such a time is an impossibility, Resident.”
A heavy jolt of the carriage, just got out of the mud, put a point of
exclamation after the declaration that to travel was an impossibility
for Madam Slotering. Every one had said the usual “Oh!” which follows
such a jolt; Max had recovered in his mother’s lap the ‘pisang’ which
he lost by the shock, and we were already pretty near to the next
mud-hole before the Resident could resolve to finish his phrase, by
adding—
“a——native——woman.”
“Oh, that makes no difference,” explained Madam Havelaar. The Resident
nodded, as if he thought it good that the matter was thus arranged, and
as it was so difficult to speak, we ended the conversation. This Madam
Slotering was the widow of Havelaar’s predecessor, who had died two
months ago. Verbrugge, who had been charged ad interim with the duties
of Assistant Resident, would have had a right to occupy, during that
time, the large mansion which had been erected at Rankas-Betong, as in
every district, for the head of the Government. Still he had not done
so, partly because he feared that he should have to remove too soon,
partly that this lady with her children might continue to occupy it.
Yet there would have been room enough, for besides the large mansion
for the Assistant Resident, there was near it, in the grounds, another
house, that had served for the same purpose formerly, and though in a
decayed condition, was still very inhabitable.
Madam Slotering had asked the Resident to intercede for her with the
successor of her husband, and obtain permission for her to inhabit that
old house till after her confinement, which she expected in a few
months. This was the request which had been granted so readily by
Havelaar and his wife, for hospitable they were in the highest degree.
The Resident had said that Madam Slotering was a “native woman.” This
needs some explanation for readers who are not acquainted with India;
for otherwise they would be apt to come to the wrong conclusion—that
she was a Javanese woman. European society in India is very sharply
divided into two different parts, the Europeans proper, and those who,
though lawfully belonging to the same jurisdiction, were not born in
Europe, and have more or less Indian blood in their veins. In honour of
the notions of humanity prevailing in the Indies, I hasten to add, that
however clearly in social intercourse the difference between the two
classes of persons, both having, in contradistinction to the native,
the name of Europeans, may be marked, this separation has by no means
the barbarous characteristic which predominates in America. I do not
deny that there is still much injustice and exclusiveness in the
relation of the parties, and that the word liplap [44] sounded often in
my ears as a proof how removed the white man, not being a ‘liplap,’
often is from true civilisation. It is true that the ‘liplap’ is only
by exception admitted into society; that he is generally considered, if
I may be allowed to make use of a very vulgar expression, “as not being
thoroughbred;” but such an exclusion or slight is seldom defended as a
principle. Every one is at liberty to choose his own companions, and
one cannot take it amiss in the European proper, if he prefers the
conversation of persons of his own nationality to that of persons who,
not to speak of the greater or less esteem in which they are held in
society, do not agree with his impressions or ideas, or—and this is
perhaps the main point,—whose prejudices have taken a different
direction from his own.
The ‘liplap’ has many good qualities, so has the European. Both have
many bad qualities; in this way too they resemble each other. But the
good and bad qualities which they have are too distinctive for
intercourse between them to be, generally speaking, productive of
mutual satisfaction. Moreover, and this is in a great measure the fault
of the Government, the ‘liplap’ is often very badly educated. We are
not now inquiring how the European would be if from youth he had been
impeded in his mental development; but this is certain, that, generally
speaking, the small mental development of the ‘liplap’ stands in the
way of his equality with the European, and even where an individual
‘liplap’ is distinctly superior to a certain European, he is kept down
on account of his origin. There is nothing new in this. It was a part
of the policy of William the Conqueror to raise the most insignificant
Normans above the most intelligent Saxons, and every Norman devoted
himself to furthering the ascendency of the Normans in general, for the
advantage of himself in particular, because he often would have been
most insignificant without the influence of his countrymen as the
prevailing party.
From anything of this kind arises a priori a constraint, which can only
be removed by philosophical liberal designs on the part of the
Government.
That the European who belongs to the dominant race accommodates himself
very easily to this artificial ascendency speaks for itself; but it is
often curious to hear a person who received his education in one of the
lowest streets of Rotterdam ridicule the ‘liplap’ because he makes
mistakes in pronunciation and grammar. A ‘liplap’ may be polite, well
educated, or learned—there are such——as well as the European, who
counterfeiting illness stayed away from the ship in which he had dishes
to wash, and is now at the head of a commercial undertaking which made
prodigious profits on indigo in 18—, long before he had the shop in
which he sells hams and fowling-pieces——as soon as this European
perceives that the best educated ‘liplap’ has some difficulty not to
confound the h and g, he laughs at the stupidity of the man who does
not know what is the difference between a “gek” and a “hek” (fool and
hedge).
But to prevent him from laughing at that, he ought to know that in the
Arabic and Malay languages, the cha and the hha are expressed by one
and the same sign—that Hieronymus becomes Jerome, viâ Geronimo, that we
make Guano out of Huano, and that we say in Dutch for Guild
Heaume—Huillem or Willem (William). This is rather too much to expect
of a person who made his fortune in the indigo trade.
Yet such a European cannot converse with such a ‘liplap.’
I understand how Willem (William) is derived from Guillaume, and must
confess, that I have made acquaintance with many ‘liplaps,’ especially
in the Moluccas or Spice Islands, who surprised me with the extent of
their knowledge, and who gave me the idea that we Europeans, whatever
advantages we possess, are often, and not comparatively speaking
merely, much behind these poor pariahs, who have to struggle from their
cradle upwards with an artificial, studied inferiority, and the
prejudice against their colour.
But Madam Slotering was once for all guaranteed against faults in the
Dutch language, because she spoke Malay. We shall see more of her
afterwards when we are drinking tea with Havelaar, Tine, and little Max
in the fore-gallery of the Assistant Resident’s mansion at
Rankas-Betong, where our travelling company arrived at last safe and
sound after having had to endure much jolting and bruising.
The Resident, who had only come along with us to install the new
Assistant Resident in his office, intimated his wish to return that
same day to Serang, “because——he——”
Havelaar said he was likewise disposed to make all possible speed.
“——had——still——so——much——to——do.”
So it was arranged that we should all meet in half-an-hour, in the
Regent’s large front portico. Verbrugge, who was prepared for this, had
many days ago summoned to the capital [45] the heads of the districts,
the Patteh, [46] the Kliwon, the Djaksa, the tax-gatherer, some
‘mantries’—in a word, all the native officials who had to assist at the
ceremony.
The Adhipatti took his leave and drove home. Madam Havelaar inspected
her new house, and was much pleased with it, above all things because
the garden was so large: which she liked so on account of Max, who
required to be much in the open air. The Resident and Havelaar had
retired to dress; for at the solemnity which had to take place, the
official costume was indispensable. Hundreds of people were assembled
around the house, who had either followed the Resident’s carriage on
horseback, or who had belonged to the retinue of the assembled chiefs.
The police and other officials were running to and fro with much
bustle; in short, all indicated that the monotony of that secluded spot
was now broken.
Soon the handsome carriage of the Adhipatti drove up the yard. The
Resident and Havelaar, glittering with gold and silver, but their
movement somewhat impeded by their own swords, entered it, and drove to
the Regent’s mansion, where they were received with the music of gongs,
gamlangs, and all sorts of stringed instruments. Verbrugge, too, who
had put off his muddy costume, had already arrived. The inferior
chiefs, according to Oriental usage, were sitting in a great ring, on
mats upon the ground, and at the further end of the long gallery stood
a table, at which the Resident, the Adhipatti, the Assistant Resident,
the Controller, and two native grandees took their seats. Tea and
pastry were served, and the simple ceremony began.
The Resident stood up and read the decree of the Governor-General,
whereby Mr. Max Havelaar was appointed Assistant Resident of
Bantam-Kidool (South Bantam), as Lebak is called by the natives. He
then took the official paper, containing the oath which is required of
those entering upon employments in general, providing, that “To be
appointed or promoted to the employment of——, the candidate has neither
promised nor given anything to any one, and will not promise or give
anything; that he will be loyal and faithful to his Majesty the King of
the Netherlands, obedient to his Majesty’s Representative in the
Indies; that he shall punctually obey and cause to be obeyed the laws
and decrees that have been issued or shall be issued, and that he shall
behave himself in everything as becomes a good ——(here Assistant
Resident).” This was of course concluded with the sacramental
expression: “So truly help me God Almighty.” Havelaar repeated the
words of the oath as read to him. The promise to protect the native
population against oppression and extortion ought to be considered as
included in it, for after swearing that you will maintain the existing
laws and regulations, you have only to do so, and you will consider a
special oath superfluous. But it seems that the legislators have
thought that abundance of fair words would do no harm, for they exact a
special oath of the Assistant Residents, whereby that obligation is
once more expressly mentioned, and Havelaar once more took God Almighty
as a witness, that he “would protect the native population against
oppression, ill-treatment, and extortion.”
To a nice observer, it would have been worth while to remark the
difference in tone and manner between the Resident and Havelaar on this
occasion. Both had often attended such a solemnity; the difference
which I refer to was not, therefore, occasioned by their being more or
less affected by a novel and unwonted spectacle, but was only a
consequence of the very different characters of the two persons. The
Resident, it is true, spoke a little quicker than he was used to do,
because he only had to read the decree and oaths, which saved him the
trouble of seeking for the last words of what he had to say; but still
all went on with a gravity and a seriousness which must have inspired
the superficial spectator with a very high idea of the importance which
he attached to this matter.
Havelaar, on the contrary, had something in expression of countenance,
voice, and mien, when with uplifted finger he repeated the oath, as if
he would say, “Of course, without ‘any oath,’ I should do that.” Any
one having a knowledge of men would have had more confidence in his
freedom from constraint than in the sedateness of the Resident. Is it
not ridiculous indeed to think that the man whose vocation it is to do
justice, the man into whose hands is given the weal or woe of
thousands, should think himself bound by a few uttered sounds, if his
heart does not feel itself obliged even without those sounds to do so?
We believe of Havelaar, that he would have protected the poor and
oppressed wheresoever he might meet them, even if he had promised by
“God Almighty” the reverse.
Thereupon followed a speech of the Resident, addressed to the chiefs,
in which he introduced to them the Assistant Resident as lord-paramount
of the district, and invited them to obey him, to perform punctually
their duties, and other commonplaces. Then the chiefs were presented,
every one in his turn, to Havelaar: he gave his hand to each of them,
and the installation was at an end.
Dinner was served at the house of the Adhipatti, and the Commandant
Duclari was among the guests. Immediately after it was finished, the
Resident, wishing to be the same evening at Serang,
“because——he——had——so——much——business,” entered again his travelling
coach, and so Rankas-Betong was soon again as quiet as can be expected
of a small town in Java, inhabited only by a few Europeans, and
moreover far from the highway. Duclari and Havelaar soon became
acquainted; the Adhipatti seemed to be well contented with his “elder
brother;” and Verbrugge said afterwards, that the Resident also, whom
he had accompanied a part of his way to Serang, had spoken in very
favourable terms of the family of Havelaar, who, on their journey to
Lebak, had spent many days at his house; adding, that it was easy to
foresee that Havelaar, who was in high esteem with the Government,
would very probably be soon promoted to a higher office.
Max and “his Tine” had recently returned from a voyage to Europe, and
were tired of what I once heard happily described as “the life of
boxes.” They esteemed themselves, therefore, very happy, to inhabit at
last, after many changes, a spot where they were at home.
Before this voyage to Europe, Havelaar had been Assistant Resident at
Amboyna, where he had to struggle with many difficulties, because the
population of that island was in a state of excitement and revolt, in
consequence of the many bad measures which had of late been taken; he
had, with much energy, succeeded in repressing that spirit, but from
vexation at the little assistance which the Government gave him in that
affair, and from sorrow over the bad government which for many
centuries has depopulated and corrupted the magnificent Moluccas (the
reader should try if he can get to read what was written on that
subject by the Baron Van der Capellen in 1825—the publications of this
philanthropist are to be found in the Indian official papers of that
year, and affairs have not since improved), from sorrow for all this he
had become ill, and this had induced him to leave for Europe. Strictly
considered, he had a right to a better choice than the poor
unproductive district of Lebak, because his office at Amboyna was of
more importance, and there, without an Assistant Resident as his
superior, he had managed all the business himself. Moreover, long
before he went to Amboyna, it was said that he would be appointed
Resident, and, therefore, many were astonished that he got a district
which gave him so little emolument, because many measure the importance
of a function by the revenues it produces. Yet he himself did not
complain about that. His ambition was not of the kind that he should
ever play the beggar for a higher office or more money.
Yet the latter would have been useful to him, for in his voyages to
Europe he had spent the little money which he had saved in former
years; he had even been obliged to leave debts behind, and he was, in a
word, poor. But never had he considered his employment as a source of
emolument, and when appointed at Lebak, he intended with contentment to
pay up his arrears by economy; in which intention his wife, who was
also simple in tastes and necessities, willingly seconded him.
But economy was a difficult thing to Havelaar. As for himself, he could
be content with the bare necessaries of life; yea, even with less; but
where others were in want of assistance, to help, to give, was a strong
passion with him. He himself was aware of this foible; he considered
with all the common-sense he had, how unjustly he acted in succouring
any one, when he himself had a better claim to his own assistance, and
felt this injustice the more when his Tine and Max, both of whom he
loved so dearly, suffered through the consequence of his liberality. He
often reproached himself for his good nature as a foible, as vanity, as
a desire to be considered a prince in disguise: he promised amendment,
and yet, whenever any one presented himself to his notice as the victim
of adversity, he forgot all and helped him. Yet he had some bitter
experience of the consequences of this too far-stretched virtue. A week
before the birth of his little Max he had not money enough to buy the
iron cradle wherein his darling was to rest; and a little before he had
sacrificed the few ornaments of his wife, to assist somebody who was
certainly in better circumstances than he.
But all this was far behind them when they arrived at Lebak. With a
joyful calmness they had taken possession of the house, “where they
hoped now to remain for some time.” With peculiar satisfaction they had
ordered the furniture at Batavia; they would make all so comfortable
and snug. They showed each other the places where they should
breakfast; where little Max should play; where the library should be;
where he should read in the evening to her what he had written that
day;—for he was always occupied in developing his ideas on paper—and
when once these were printed, she thought that “people would see what
her Max was——” But he had never given anything to the press, on account
of scruples arising from modesty. He himself, at least, did not know
how better to express that timidity, than by asking those who urged him
to publicity, “Would you let your daughter walk the streets without a
chemise?”
This was another saying which made his circle say “that Havelaar was a
singular man,” and I do not say the contrary; but if you took the
trouble to interpret his uncommon manner of speaking, you would perhaps
find in that strange question about a girl’s dress the text for a
treatise on intellectual modesty, which, shy of the glances of dull
passers-by, retires behind the veil of maidenly timidity.
Yes, they should be happy at Rankas-Betong, Havelaar and his Tine! The
only care that oppressed them was the debts which they had left behind
in Europe, augmented by the still unpaid expenses of the voyage back to
the Indies, and of the furnishing of their house. But they would live
on half, even a third of his income——perhaps he would soon be made
Resident, and then all would be arranged in a few years——
“Yet I should be sorry, Tine, to leave Lebak; for I have many things to
do here. You must be very economical, my dear, and perhaps we may pay
off all even without promotion——then I hope to remain here for a long
time.”
Now she needed no incitement to economy. It was not her fault that
frugality had become necessary; but she had so completely identified
herself with her Max that she did not consider this speech as a
reproach, which, to be sure, it was not; for Havelaar knew very well
that he alone had been wrong through excessive liberality, and that her
fault was this,—if fault there was on her side,—that she, out of love
for her Max, had always approved of all that he did.
Yes, she had approved when he took those two poor women from the
Nieuwstraat (New Street), who had never before left Amsterdam, and
never had been out, to the Haarlem fair, under the odd pretext that the
King had ordered him “to amuse little old women of respectable
character.” She approved of his entertaining the orphans of all the
asylums in Amsterdam with gingerbread and almond-milk, and loading them
with playthings. She perfectly understood that he had paid the
hotel-bill of that family of poor singers, who wanted to go back to
their country, but did not like to leave the goods behind, including
the harp, and the violin, and the violoncello, which they wanted for
their poor profession. She could not disapprove his bringing to her the
girl, who in the evening had accosted him in the street, giving her
food and lodging, and not pronouncing the “Go and sin no more!” before
he had placed it in her power not to sin. She approved of her Max
causing the piano to be brought back to the parlour of the father of a
family, whom she heard say “how sorry he was that by his bankruptcy the
girls were deprived of their music.” She quite understood that her Max
had redeemed the family of slaves at Menado who were so intensely
afflicted at having to mount upon the auctioneer’s table. She thought
it quite a matter of course that Max gave other horses in return for
those that had been ridden to death by the officers of the Bayonnaise.
She did not object to his lodging at Menado and at Amboyna all the
survivors of the ship-wrecked American whalers, and thought himself far
above sending in an innkeeper’s bill to the American Government. She
understood how it was that the officers of every man-of-war that
arrived lodged for the most part with Max, and that his house was their
favourite pied-à-terre. Was not he her Max?—Was it not too petty, too
shabby, too absurd, to bind him, who had such princely notions, to the
rules of frugality and economy applicable to other persons? And
moreover, although there might sometimes be a disproportion between
revenues and expenses, was not Max, “her Max,” destined for a brilliant
career?—Ought not he to be soon in a position which would allow a free
course to his high-minded passions without exceeding his revenues? Was
not her Max destined to become a Governor-General, or a King? Nay, was
it not strange that he was not yet a King? If she had any fault at all,
it was her deep affection for Havelaar; and here more than ever it
should be: that much must be forgiven those who have loved much!
But there was nothing which she had to be forgiven. Without
participating in the exaggerated ideas which she cherished about her
Max, it appeared sufficiently evident that he had good prospects, and
that, when these prospects were realized, the disagreeable consequences
of his liberality would soon vanish. But yet another reason excused his
apparent carelessness and hers. At an early age she had lost both
parents, and had been educated by her father’s relatives. At the time
of her marriage, they told her that she had a small fortune, which was
accordingly handed over to her; but Havelaar discovered, from some
letters of earlier date, and from some loose notes which she kept in a
writing-desk that had belonged to her mother, that her family had been
very rich; but he could not make out where, or how, this wealth had
been lost. She, who had never herself taken any interest in money
matters, could give little or no information on this subject. When
Havelaar insisted upon some information concerning the former
possessions of her family, he found that her grandfather, the Baron W.,
had emigrated with William VI. [47] to England, and had been captain in
the army of the Duke of York. It seemed that he had led a jolly life
with the emigrant members of the Stadtholder’s household, which was
considered by many to have occasioned the decline of his fortunes. He
was afterwards killed at Waterloo, in a combat among the hussars of
Boreel. The letters of her father, then a young man of eighteen, were
touching to read,—as lieutenant of that corps, he had received in the
same charge a sabre-cut on the head, from the consequences of which he
died eight years afterwards in a state of madness,—letters to his
mother, in which he lamented how he had sought in vain for his father’s
corpse.
She remembered that her grandfather on the mother’s side had lived in
very high style, and it appeared from some papers that he had been in
possession of the post-offices in Switzerland, in the same manner as
till now, in a great part of Germany and Italy, this branch of revenue
is an appanage of the princes of Tour and Taxis. Hence a large fortune
was to be expected; but from some entirely unknown causes, nothing, or
very little at least, was handed over to the second generation.
Havelaar did not learn the little that could be known of this matter
till after his marriage; and while investigating it, he was surprised
that the said writing-desk, with the contents, which she preserved from
a feeling of filial love, without knowing that it perhaps contained
papers of importance in a financial point of view, had incomprehensibly
disappeared. Disinterested as he was, he built on this and many other
circumstances the idea that a romantic story was hidden in the
background; and one cannot be angry with him that he, who was in want
of so much for his style of living, desired that this romance should
have a happy end. However this may be, whether there had been
spoliation or not, it is certain that in Havelaar’s imagination
something was produced which one could call—un rêve aux millions.
It is again strange, that he who would have so carefully examined and
so sharply defended the right of another, though it might have been
buried very deep beneath dusky papers and thick-webbed chicanery, here,
where his own interest was at stake, carelessly neglected the moment
when he ought to have taken the matter up. It seemed as if he was
ashamed of it, because it concerned here his own interest, and I
believe for certain, that had “his Tine” been married to another, and
he been intrusted to break the cobweb in which her ancestral fortunes
remained hanging, Havelaar would have succeeded in putting “the
interesting orphan” in the possession of the fortune she was entitled
to. But now this interesting orphan was his wife; her fortune was his:
and he thought it something mean and degrading, something derogatory,
to ask in her name, “Don’t you owe me something more?”
Yet he could not shake off this dream of ‘millions,’ were it only to
have an excuse at hand for the often repeated self-reproach that he
spent too much money.
But a short time before returning to Java, when he had already suffered
much under the pressure of impecuniosity, when he had to bow his proud
head under the furca caudina of many a creditor, he succeeded in
conquering his idleness or shyness, and set himself to work for the
millions to which he still thought he had a right. And they sent him in
reply a long-standing bill, an argument against which, as everybody
knows, nothing can be said.
But they would be economical at Lebak. And why not? In such an
uncivilized country you will not see girls in the streets who have a
little honour to sell for a little food. There you will not meet
persons who live on problematic employments. There it does not happen,
that a family suddenly loses all through a change of fortune——and of
this kind were generally the rocks on which the good intentions of
Havelaar had made shipwreck. The number of Europeans in this district
was too small to be noticed; and the Javanese at Lebak were too poor to
become interesting through any increase of poverty. Tine did not think
of all this; for then she ought to have thought more than her love for
Max permitted of the causes of their less favourable circumstances.
There was something, however, in their new surroundings that breathed a
calm, an absence of all cases of falsely romantic appearance, which had
made Havelaar so often say in former days: “Is not this, Tine, a case
from which I cannot withdraw?” And the answer always was: “Certainly,
Max, you cannot withdraw from it.”
We shall see how the simple, apparently still life of Lebak, cost
Havelaar more than all the former excesses of his heart taken together.
But that they did not know! They expected the future with confidence,
and were so happy in their love, and in the possession of their child.
“How full this garden is of roses!” said Tine, “and look at the rampeh,
and tjempaka, and melati, [48] and beautiful lilies——.”
And children as they were, they were delighted with their new house;
and when in the evening Duclari and Verbrugge, after a visit to
Havelaar, returned to their common home, they made many remarks on the
childlike joy of the newly arrived family.
Havelaar went to his office, and remained there till the next morning.