[CONTINUATION OF STERN’S COMPOSITION.]
“You know,” began Havelaar, “that the Dutch possessions on the west
coast of Sumatra are bounded on the North by independent districts, of
which Atchin is the most important. It is said that a secret article in
the treaty of 1824 restrains us from extending our frontier in that
direction beyond the river Singkel. General van Damme, who with a faux
air Napoléon wanted to extend his government as far as possible, here,
therefore, stopped short at the insurmountable obstacle. I must believe
in the existence of that secret article, because otherwise it would
surprise me that the Rajahs [89] of Troomon and Analaboo, whose
provinces are not without importance on account of their active trade
in pepper, have not long ere now been brought under the Dutch power.
You know how easy it is to find a pretext for war with such petty
sovereigns, and for the annexation of their territory. To steal a
province will always be easier than to steal a mill. [90] I believe
that General van Damme would even have taken a mill, if he had pleased,
and do not understand, therefore, how he could have abstained from
those provinces in the North if there had not existed more substantial
reasons for so doing than right and justice. However this may be, he
extended his conquests, not north but east. The provinces Mandhéling
and Ankola—[the latter was the name of the Assistant-Residency formed
out of the hardly tranquillized Battah countries]—were not yet quite
freed from Atchinese influence (for when once fanaticism has taken firm
root in a country, extirpation of it is difficult), although the
Atchinese were no longer there; but this was not enough for the
Governor. He extended his power to the east coast; and Dutch
functionaries and Dutch garrisons were sent to Bila and Pertibea, which
places were, as you know, afterwards evacuated, when at last a
Government Commissioner came to Sumatra, who thought this extension
purposeless, and therefore disapproved of it, above all because it was
contrary to the principles of economy, on which the mother country so
much insisted. General van Damme asserted that this extension would not
add to the budget; for that the new garrisons consisted of troops for
whom money had already been voted, and that he had thus brought a very
large province under the Dutch Government without incurring any
additional expenses. And as for diminishing the garrisons of other
places, above all in Mandhéling, he believed that he could place
sufficient confidence in the fidelity and alliance of Jang di Pertoean,
the most influential chief in the Battah district. The Government
Commissioner reluctantly concurred, upon the reiterated assurance of
the General, that he would be personally responsible for the fidelity
of Jang di Pertoean. [91]
“Now the Controller, who was my predecessor in the province of Natal,
was the son-in-law of the Assistant Resident of the Battah countries,
who was at enmity with Jang di Pertoean. I afterwards heard many
complaints brought against this Assistant Resident, but received them
with caution, as coming from Jang di Pertoean, who had himself been
recently accused of other offences, and on that account perhaps tried
to make good his own defence by exposing the faults of his accuser.
However this may be, the Controller of Natal took his father-in-law’s
part against Jang di Pertoean; and the more readily because this
Controller was very intimate with a certain Soetan Salim, a chief of
Natal, who also bore the Battah chief a grudge. There was a feud
between the families of these two chiefs; the rejection of marriage
proposals, jealousy of each other’s influence, pride on the part of
Jang di Pertoean, who was of better family, and many more causes
contributed to keep Natal and Mandhéling at enmity with each other.
“Suddenly a report was circulated that a conspiracy had been discovered
in Mandhéling, in which Jang di Pertoean was concerned, and which had
for its object to display the holy banner of revolt, and murder all the
Europeans. The first discovery of this was of course made at Natal, as
one is always better instructed in neighbouring provinces how matters
stand, than on the spot, because many who at home, from fear of
compromising a chief, are careful not to mention a circumstance known
to them, lay aside that fear as soon as they enter a territory where
such a chief has no influence. This is also the reason, Verbrugge, why
I am no stranger to the affairs of Lebak. I knew much of what happened
there, before I ever thought I should be appointed here. I was in 1846
in the Krawang districts, and made many excursions in the Preangan,
where, as early as 1842, I met with many landed proprietors in the
neighbourhood of Buitenzorg [92] and Batavia, and I know how those
landlords have always rejoiced at the miserable condition of the Lebak
district, whose refugees flock to cultivate their estates....
“Now, then, the conspiracy at Mandhéling, which, if real, would have
branded Jang di Pertoean as a traitor, must have been discovered in the
same manner at Natal
“According to the evidence of witnesses examined by the Controller of
Natal, that chief, together with his brother, Soetan Adam, would have
summoned Battah chiefs to assemble in a sacred grove, where they were
to swear not to rest before the power of the Christian dogs in
Mandhéling was destroyed. Of course, he had received an inspiration
from heaven to this effect: you know this qualification is never
wanting on such occasions.
“Whether such was the intention of Jang di Pertoean, I cannot say for
certain; I read the evidence; but you will see why implicit reliance
was not to be placed on it. It is certain that he, with his Islam
fanaticism, was quite capable of such a project.
“He, with the whole population of Battah, had recently been converted
by the paderies [93] to the true faith; and new converts are generally
fanatical.
“The consequences of this true or supposed discovery was, that Jang di
Pertoean was apprehended and conveyed to Natal, where the Controller
shut him up in the fortress and sent him by sea, on the first
opportunity, to the Governor of the west coast of Sumatra at Padang, to
whom were submitted the documents, in which the heavy accusations had
been set forth that justified the severity of the measures already
taken. Jang di Pertoean had thus left Mandhéling as a prisoner; at
Natal he was kept in confinement on board the man-of-war that had
transported him thither; he expected, therefore,—innocent or not,
because he had been accused in legal form of high treason—to arrive at
Padang as a prisoner; and he must certainly have been astonished to
learn, on landing, not only that he was free, but that the General,
whose carriage awaited him on shore, would consider it as an honour to
receive him into his house and lodge him. Certainly never was a person
accused of high treason more agreeably surprised. A short time
afterwards, the Assistant Resident of Mandhéling was suspended from his
office because of all sorts of deficiencies, about which I do not care
to express an opinion. Now Jang di Pertoean, who, after having been for
some time at Padang in the General’s house, and treated by him with the
utmost distinction, returned through Natal to Mandhéling, not with the
self-esteem of one found innocent, but with the arrogance of a person
who stands so high that he needs no declaration of innocence. Indeed,
the matter had not been examined; and, suppose that the accusations
brought against him were thought to be false, why, this very suspicion
ought to have required an examination, to punish the false witnesses,
and those who had induced them to tell such falsehoods. It appears that
the General found reasons why this examination should not take place.
The accusation against Jang di Pertoean was considered as “non-avenue,”
and I am sure that the documents relating to the matter have never been
submitted to the eyes of the Government of Batavia.
“A few days after the return of Jang di Pertoean, I arrived at Natal,
to take in hand the government of that district. My predecessor told
me, of course, what had just happened in Mandhéling, and gave me the
necessary information as to the political condition of that province in
relation to my department. It could not be taken amiss, that he
complained much of the (in his eyes) unjust treatment which his
father-in-law had had to undergo, and of the incomprehensible
protection which Jang di Pertoean appeared to receive from the General.
Neither he nor I was acquainted at that time with the fact that the
sending of Jang di Pertoean to Batavia was a blow aimed at the
General’s face, and that he had good reasons, whatever they might be,
to guarantee that chief against a charge of high treason. This was of
so much the more importance to the General, because the Government
Commissioner, mentioned above, had become in the meanwhile
Governor-General, and probably would have recalled him from his
government, from displeasure at the unfounded confidence in Jang di
Pertoean, and the obstinacy founded upon that,—with which the General
had opposed the evacuation of the East coast.
“‘But,’ said my predecessor, ‘whatever may move the General to admit
all the accusations against my father-in-law, and yet not to think
worth an examination the much heavier accusations against Jang di
Pertoean——this matter is not yet ended! And if at Padang, as I suppose,
the sworn evidence has been destroyed, I have here something else that
cannot be destroyed.’
And he showed me a sentence of the Court of Justice at Natal, of which
he was president, containing the condemnation of a certain Si Pamaga to
the penalty of flogging, branding, and, I believe, twenty years’ hard
labour, for attempting to murder the Toeankoe [94] (an Indian
functionary) of Natal.
“‘Read the procès-verbal of the session,’ said my predecessor, ‘and
then you may judge whether my father-in-law will be believed at
Batavia, when he there accuses Jang di Pertoean of high treason!’
“I read the documents. According to declarations of witnesses, and the
confession of the defendant, he had been bribed by Si Pamaga to murder
at Natal the Toeankoe, his guardian Soetan, and the governing
Controller. In order to execute this design, he had gone to the house
of the Toeankoe, and had there commenced a conversation about a Sewah,
[95] with the servants who sat on the staircase of the inner-gallery,
intending thereby to prolong his stay till he perceived the Toeankoe,
who actually made his appearance very soon, surrounded by a number of
relations and servants. Pamaga had fallen upon the Toeankoe with his
‘sewah,’ but, from unknown circumstances, had not been able to execute
his criminal design. The Toeankoe, much frightened, jumped out of the
window, and Pamaga fled; he hid himself in the wood, and was a few days
afterwards taken by the Natal police.
“When the accused was asked what had moved him to this assault, and the
intended murder of Soetan Salim and the Controller of Natal, he replied
‘that he had been bribed to that by Soetan Adam, in the name of his
brother Jang di Pertoean of Mandhéling.’
“‘Is that clear or not?’ asked my predecessor. The Resident’s sentence
‘fiat execution’ was carried out, as regards the flagellation and
branding, and Si Pamaga is now on his way through Padang, to be sent to
Java, there to undergo his hard labour. At the same time with him the
documents of the procès-verbal arrive at Batavia, to show who the man
was upon whose accusation my father-in-law was suspended. That sentence
the General cannot annul, even if he would.
“I undertook the Government of the Natal district, and my predecessor
left. After some time they acquainted me that the General would come in
a war-steamer to visit the North, and also Natal. He arrived with a
large retinue at my house, and asked to see the original documents
concerning that poor man who had been so extremely ill-treated.”
“‘The accusers themselves,’ added he, ‘deserved to be flogged and
branded.’”
“I did not understand it at all. For the causes of this contest about
Jang di Pertoean were then still unknown to me, and I could therefore
not conceive, either that my predecessor had wilfully and knowingly
condemned an innocent person to such heavy punishment, or that the
General wished to protect a criminal from a just sentence. I was
charged to have Soetan Salim and the Toeankoe taken prisoners. As the
young Toeankoe was very much beloved by the population, and as we had
but a small garrison in the fortress, I begged to be allowed to leave
him at large, which was granted me; but for Soetan Salim, the enemy of
Jang di Pertoean, there was no pardon. The population was in great
excitement. The Natallers took it into their heads that the General was
debasing himself to be a tool of Mandhéling hatred, and it was under
these circumstances that I could do from time to time something which
he deemed a brave action, above all because he did not give me for
escort the small force that could be spared out of the fortress, and
the detachment of mariners which he had brought from the ship, when I
went on horseback to the places where there were seditious assemblies.
I observed, on this occasion, that the General van Damme took good care
of his own safety, and, therefore, I do not subscribe to his military
renown.
“He formed a council which I might call ‘ad hoc.’ The members were a
few adjutants, other officers, the Magistrate, whom he had taken from
Padang, and myself. This council was to investigate how under my
predecessor the procès had been conducted against Si Pamaga. I had to
summon a number of witnesses, whose declarations were necessary for the
purpose. The General, who of course presided, interrogated, and the
evidence was written down by the Magistrate. As the latter understood
but little Malay, and nothing at all of the Malay spoken in North
Sumatra, it was often necessary to translate to him the replies of the
witnesses, which the General, for the most part, did himself. From the
sessions of this Council resulted documents that show very clearly that
Si Pamaga never had the intention to murder any person whatever; that
he had never seen or known Soetan Adam or Jang di Pertoean; that he had
not assaulted the Toeankoe of Natal, who did not jump out of the
window, and so on. Further, that the sentence against the unhappy Si
Pamaga had been pronounced under the pressure of the President, my
predecessor, and of Soetan Salim, a member of the Council, the persons
who had invented the pretended crime of Si Pamaga, to give to the
suspended Assistant Resident of Mandhéling a weapon for his defence,
and to give vent to their hatred against Jang di Pertoean.
“The mode of investigation by the General reminded one of a certain
whist-party of one of the Sultans of Morocco, who said to his partner:
[96] ‘Play hearts, or I will cut your throat.’ The translations also,
as he caused the officer of justice to write them down, left much to be
desired.
“Whether my predecessor and Soetan Salim had exercised pressure on the
Court of Justice to declare Si Pamaga guilty, I do not know; but this I
know, that General van Damme did exercise pressure on the evidence
assigned to prove his innocence. Without as yet knowing the tendency of
these proceedings, I opposed them, and went so far that I was obliged
to refuse to sign some documents, and in this it was I so offended the
General. You understand now the drift of the words, with which I ended
the reply to the observations that had been made on my pecuniary
administration, and in which I begged to be excused on all benevolent
considerations.”
“It was very brave for one of your years,” said Duclari.
“I thought it a matter of course, but it is certain that General van
Damme was not accustomed to anything of the kind. I have suffered much
from the consequences of this affair. Oh no, Verbrugge, I see what you
mean to say, I never regretted it. I must even add, that I should not
have contented myself with simply protesting against the manner in
which the General examined the witnesses, and refusing my signature to
the documents, if I could have guessed at that time, what I learned
only afterwards, that all this arose from a determination fixed
beforehand to accuse my predecessor in question. I thought that the
General, convinced of the innocence of Si Pamaga, allowed himself to be
carried away by a praiseworthy desire to save an innocent victim from
the consequence of any error in justice, as far as was possible, after
the flagellation and the brand. Though this opinion made me oppose
falsehood, yet for that reason I did not become so indignant as I
should have been if I had known that all this was not to save an
innocent man, but that this falsehood was designed to annul the proofs
that stood in the General’s way, at the expense of the honour and the
welfare of my predecessor.”
“And what became of your predecessor?” asked Verbrugge.
“Happily for him, he had already gone to Java before the General
returned to Padang. It seems that he has been able to account for his
conduct to the Government at Batavia; at least he has remained in the
service. The Resident of Ayer-Bangie, who had issued the ‘fiat
execution’ was....”
“Suspended?”
“Of course. You see that I was not so very wrong, when I said in my
epigram that the Governor ‘reigned over us as a suspender.’”
“And what became of all these suspended functionaries?”
“Oh, there were still many more. All of them have been, one after
another, re-established in their functions. Some of them have
afterwards been invested with very considerable employments.”
“And Soetan Salim?”
“The General took him as a prisoner to Padang, and from thence he was
exiled to Java. He is now at Tji-andjoor, in the Preangan Regencies. In
1846 I was there, and paid him a visit.... Do you now remember, Tine,
why I came to Tji-andjoor?”
“No, Max, I have quite forgotten that.”
“Well, who can remember everything?... I was married there, gentlemen!”
“But,” asked Duclari, “as you have told us several things, is it true
that you fought so many duels at Padang?”
“Yes, I fought very often. There were many reasons for that. I told you
already, that the favour of the Governor in such an out-of-the-way
place is the rule with which many measure their friendliness. Most of
them were very ill-disposed towards me, and this often showed itself in
rudeness. I, on the other hand, was very sensitive. A salutation not
acknowledged, a taunt on the ‘folly of one who would take up the
cudgels with the General,’ an allusion to my poverty, my state of
starvation, the poor food, that seemed to be the reward of moral
independence—all this, you conceive, made me bitter. Many, above all
amongst the officers, knew that the General liked to see people
duelling, and, above all, with one so much in disgrace as I was.
Perhaps, therefore, my sensitiveness was intentionally
excited——likewise I sometimes fought for somebody else, whom I
considered to be wronged.——However this may be, duelling was the order
of the day, and it often happened that I had two meetings in one
morning;——there is something very attractive in duelling, particularly
with the sabre. Yet you understand that I would not do such a thing
now, even if there were as much reason for it as in those days.——Come
here, Max!——no—don’t catch that little insect—come here. I say you must
never catch butterflies. That little creature at first crept for a long
time as a caterpillar on a tree,—that was no happy life. Now it has
just got wings and likes to flutter in the air and enjoy itself,
seeking food in the flowers and hurting nobody:—look, is it not
prettier to see it fluttering there?”
So the conversation went on from duelling to butterflies, from the
compassion of the merciful man to his cattle to cruelty to animals,
from the “loi Grammont” [97] to the French Parliament at Paris where
that law was accepted from the republic, to many other things.——At last
Havelaar got up. He excused himself to his guests, because he had
business to attend to.
When the Controller visited him the following morning at his office, he
did not know that the new Assistant Resident had ridden out the day
before to Parang-Koodjang after the conversation in the fore-gallery,
and had only just returned.
I beg the reader to believe that Havelaar was too courteous to speak so
much at his own table as I have represented in the last chapters, by
which I make him appear to monopolize the conversation, and neglect
those duties of a host which prescribe that guests should take or
decline the opportunity “of showing what they are.” I have selected a
few of the many materials that were before me, and I could have
prolonged the table-talk for a longer time with less difficulty than
the breaking it off has cost me. I hope that what I have communicated
will be sufficient to justify in part the description which I gave of
Havelaar’s character and mind, and that the reader will observe with
some interest the adventures that are in store for him and his family
at Rankas-Betong. The small family lived on in peace. Havelaar went out
very often during the day, and spent half the nights in his office. The
intercourse between him and the commandant of the garrison was most
agreeable, and also in his familiar conversation with the Controller no
trace could be discovered of difference in rank, which often makes
social intercourse in the Indies so stiff and disagreeable; whilst the
inclination of Havelaar to lend assistance where he could, was often to
the advantage of the Regent, who also was very fond of “his elder
brother;” and finally, the amiability of Madam Havelaar contributed
much to the agreeable intercourse between the few Europeans and the
native chiefs. The correspondence about the service with the Resident
of Serang showed a mutual cordiality: the orders of the Resident were
given with courtesy, and very punctually followed.
The household of Tine was soon in good order. After we had waited for
it a long time, the furniture arrived from Batavia. Ketimons (gherkins)
were pickled; and in future when Max related anything at table, it was
not for want of eggs for the omelet, though the manner in which the
little family lived showed very clearly that the intended economy was
strictly adhered to.
Madam Slotering seldom left her house, and only now and then joined the
Havelaar family at tea in the front veranda. She spoke little, and
always kept a vigilant eye upon every one who approached her own or
Havelaar’s house; people got accustomed to what they called her
monomania, and soon paid no more attention to it.
All seemed to breathe peace; for Max and Tine it was comparatively a
trifle to submit to the privations which are inevitable at a place in
the interior with but little communication. As no bread was baked in
the neighbourhood, they had no bread. We could have had it brought from
Serang, but the expenses of transport were too high. Max knew as well
as others, that there were many means of having bread brought to
Rankas-Betong without payment; but UNPAID LABOUR, that Indian cancer,
was horrible in his eyes. So there was much at Lebak that could be got
for nothing, through power, but could not be bought for a reasonable
price, and in such cases Havelaar and his wife willingly endured
privation. To be sure, they had undergone other privations. Had not the
poor woman lived for months on board of an Arab vessel, without other
bed than the deck, without other shelter from the heat of the sun and
the showers of the rainy season, than a small table, between the legs
of which she had to squeeze herself? Had not she been obliged to
satisfy herself in that vessel with a small allowance of dry rice and
dirty water? And had not she in these and many other circumstances
always been contented if she could only be with her Max?
One circumstance, however, at Lebak caused her pain:—little Max could
not play in the garden, because there were so many snakes. When she
perceived this and complained of it to Havelaar, he promised the
servants a reward for every snake they could catch, but on the first
day he paid so many premiums that he was obliged to withdraw his
promise for the future; for even in ordinary circumstances, and without
the economy so necessary for him, this payment would soon have exceeded
his means. It was resolved that little Max should henceforward leave
the house no more, and that when he wished to take an airing, he would
have to content himself with playing in the fore-gallery.
Notwithstanding this precaution Tine was always anxious; and above all
in the evening, as it is known that snakes often creep into the houses,
and, seeking warmth, hide themselves in the bed-rooms. Snakes and
suchlike vermin are to be found everywhere in the Indies; but in the
chief towns, where the population live closer together, they are of
course more rare than in wilder places such as Rankas-Betong. If
Havelaar could have decided to have his estate cleared of weeds, as far
as the border of the ravine, the snakes would still from time to time
have showed themselves in the garden, but not in such large numbers as
was now the case. The nature of these reptiles makes them prefer
darkness and lurking-holes to the open daylight, so that, if Havelaar’s
grounds had been kept clean, the snakes would not then, as it were,
unwillingly have lost their way, and left the weeds of the ravine. But
Havelaar’s grounds were not cleared, and I wish to explain the reason
of it, as it gives another opportunity of a view of the abuses that
reign almost everywhere in the Dutch Indian possessions.
The houses of the persons intrusted with power in the interior are
built on common lands, if one may speak of such as existing in a
country where the Government appropriates all.
Enough, these grounds do not belong to the official inhabitant. For he
would take care not to buy or to hire grounds the maintenance of which
was too much for him. Now, when the grounds of the house assigned to
him are too large to be maintained in good order, they degenerate in a
few weeks (so luxuriant is the growth of plants) into a wilderness. And
yet, such grounds are seldom if ever to be seen in a bad
condition——yes, the traveller is often astonished at the beautiful park
that surrounds a Resident’s house. No functionary in the interior has a
sufficient income to get this labour done for fair wages, and as a
respectable appearance of the administrator’s house is necessary, in
order that the population, attaching so much importance to externals,
may find nothing in it to excite contempt, the question is, how has
this result been obtained?
In most places the administrators have at their disposal persons
condemned elsewhere, but not, however, kept at Bantam, on account of
political reasons. But even in places where such are located, their
number, considering the other kinds of labour required of them, is
seldom in proportion to the work that would be required to keep large
grounds in good order. Other means must be found, and the summoning of
labourers to perform feudal tasks is had recourse to. The Regent or
Demang who receives such a summons makes haste to obey it, for he knows
very well that it will be very difficult for the administrator who
abuses his power, afterwards to punish a native chief for a similar
fault, and so the error of the one becomes the passport of the other.
Yet it seems to me, that such a fault on the part of an administrator
must not, in some cases, be judged of with too much severity, and,
above all, not according to European notions. The population itself
would think it strange, perhaps because so unwonted, if he always and
in every case held too strictly to the stipulations that prescribed the
number of those destined for feudal labour, as circumstances may occur
which were not foreseen when these stipulations were made.
But as soon as the limit of what is strictly lawful has been exceeded,
it is difficult to fix the point where such an excess would become
criminal; above all, great circumspection is wanted, when it is known
that the chiefs only wait for a bad example to imitate it in still
greater excess. The story of that king who ordered that every grain of
salt which he had used at his simple dinner, when he travelled through
the country at the head of his army, should be paid for, because
otherwise, as he said, this would be a beginning of an injustice that
would at last destroy his kingdom——his name may have been Tamerlane,
Noer-eddien, or Genghis Khan—certainly either this fable, or if it is
no fable, the occurrence itself, is of Asiatic origin; and just as
looking at sea-dikes makes you think of the possibility of high water,
so it must be admitted that there exists an inclination to such abuses,
in a country where such lessons are given.
The persons whom Havelaar had lawfully at his disposal could only keep
clear a very small part of his grounds, in the immediate neighbourhood
of his house, from weeds and underwood. The rest was in a few weeks a
wilderness. Havelaar wrote to the Resident about the means of remedying
this, either by paid labour, or by proposing to the Government to cause
persons under sentence of hard labour, to work in the Residency of
Bantam, as elsewhere. Thereupon he received a refusal, with the
observation that he had a right to put to work on his grounds the
persons who had been condemned by him, as a magistrate, to “labour on
the public roads.” Havelaar knew this very well; but he had never made
use of this right, neither at Rankas-Betong, nor at Amboina, nor at
Menado, nor at Natal. It shocked him to have his garden kept in good
order as a fine for small errors, and he had often asked himself how
the Government could permit stipulations to remain, of a nature to
tempt the functionary to punish small excusable offences, not in
proportion to the offences themselves, but in proportion to the
condition or the extension of his estate. The very idea, that he who
was punished, even justly, might think that self-interest was hidden
under the sentence pronounced, made him, where he was obliged to
punish, always give preference to the system, otherwise very
objectionable, of confinement.
And it was from this cause that little Max could not play in the
garden, and that Tine had not so much pleasure from the flowers as she
had anticipated on the day of her arrival at Rankas-Betong. Of course,
this and suchlike small misfortunes had no influence on the minds of a
family that possessed so much material to procure itself a happy
domestic life; and it was not to be ascribed to these trifles when
Havelaar sometimes entered with a clouded brow, after his return from
an excursion, or after having listened to some one who had asked to
speak to him. We have heard from his speech to the chiefs that he would
do his duty, that he would oppose injustice; and at the same time, I
hope that the reader may have seen from the conversations which I have
communicated, that he certainly was a person capable of discovering and
bringing to light what was hidden from others, or but dimly seen. It
might therefore be supposed that not much of what happened in Lebak
escaped his observation. We have also seen that many years before he
had paid attention to this province in such a manner that, from the
very first day when he met Verbrugge in the ‘pendoppo,’ where my
history begins, he showed that he was no stranger in his new sphere of
duty. By investigation on the spot, he had discovered much that was
confirmatory of what he had previously suspected; and, above all, the
official records had made him acquainted with the exceedingly miserable
condition in which this country was. From the letters and notes of his
predecessor, he observed that the latter had made the same
observations. The letters to the chiefs contained reproach upon
reproach, menace upon menace, and showed very clearly how this
functionary would at last have said, that he intended to apply direct
to the Government if this state of affairs continued.
When Verbrugge communicated this to Havelaar, the latter had replied
that his predecessor would in that case have acted very wrongly, as the
Assistant Resident of Lebak ought in no case to pass over the Resident
of Bantam; and he had added, that this could in no case be justified,
as it was not likely that that high functionary would side with
extortion and tyranny.
Such countenance of injustice was not to be supposed, in the way that
Havelaar meant, namely, that the Resident would derive any advantage or
gain from these crimes; but still there was a cause which made him
unwilling to do justice to the complaints of Havelaar’s predecessor. We
have seen how this predecessor had often spoken to the Resident about
the prevailing abuses, and of how little use this had been. It is
therefore not quite without interest to examine why he who, as the head
of the whole Residency, was obliged to take care as much as the
Assistant Resident, yes, even more than he, that justice was done,
chose rather continually to oppose it.
When Havelaar was staying at the Resident’s house at Serang, he had
already spoken to him about the Lebak abuses, and had received for
answer,—“that this was everywhere the case in a greater or less
degree.”
Now Havelaar could not deny this. Who could pretend to have seen a
country where nothing wrong happened? But he thought that this was no
motive to tolerate abuses where they were found; above all, not when
one is appointed to oppose them; and, moreover, that after all that he
knew of Lebak, the question was not of abuses “more or less,” but of
abuses on a very large scale, whereupon the Resident replied, “that it
was still worse in Tjiringien” (likewise belonging to Bantam).
If it is now taken for granted, as it may be, that a Resident has no
direct advantage in extortion, and the tyrannical disposal of the
population, the question presents itself, what then induces many to
tolerate such abuses, without acquainting the Government with them, and
that contrary to their oath and duty? And he who thinks about this,
must think it very strange indeed, that the existence of these abuses
is so coolly acknowledged, as if it were a question of something out of
reach or competence. I will try to explain the causes of this.
To bring bad news is generally disagreeable, and it seems as if
something of this unfavourable impression sticks to him whose lot it is
to communicate them. Now, when this alone is a reason with some for
denying, while they know better, the existence of something
unfavourable, how much more this becomes the case, if one runs the
risk, not only of falling into the disgrace, which seems to be the fate
of the bringer of bad tidings, but, at the same time, of being regarded
as the cause of them.
The Government of Dutch India likes to write home to its masters in the
mother country that all goes on satisfactorily. The Residents like to
announce this to the Government. The Assistant Residents, who receive
themselves from their Controllers nothing but favourable accounts, send
again, in their turn, no disagreeable tidings to the Residents. From
all this arises in the official written accounts of these matters, an
artificial optimism, contradictory not only to the truth, but also to
the real opinions of these optimists themselves, as soon as they treat
these same matters by word of mouth, or, what is still more curious,
even in contradiction to their own written reports. I can cite many
examples of reports that rate very high the prosperous condition of a
Residency, but at the same time give themselves the lie, especially
when accompanied by figures. These examples would,—if the matter were
not too serious on account of the final consequences,—give occasion for
laughter and satire, and the naïveté is really astonishing, with which,
in such cases, the grossest untruths are maintained; though the writer
exposes himself, a few sentences further on, to the weapons with which
these untruths can be rebutted. I will quote a single example, to which
I could add many more. Among the documents which I have before me I
find the yearly account of a Residency. The Resident praises the
flourishing state of trade, and asserts that everywhere the greatest
prosperity and activity are to be seen. A little further on, he speaks
of the scanty means which he has in his power to prevent smuggling; but
to take away the disagreeable impression which would be produced on the
Government at the thought that in his Residency many import duties are
evaded, “No,” he immediately adds, “there is no fear of that; little or
nothing is smuggled into my Residency, for ... so little business is
done here, that nobody would venture his capital in the trade.”
I have read a Report that commenced with the words, “During the past
year, in this Residency, tranquillity has remained tranquil....” [98]
Such phrases certainly testify to a very tranquil tranquillity founded
on the indulgence of the Government to every one who spares it
disagreeable tidings, or, as the saying goes, “does not bother it with
sad reports!”
Where the population does not increase, it is ascribed to inexactness
in the census of former years. Where the taxes do not rise, this
circumstance must be attributed to the necessity for a low taxation, in
order to encourage agriculture, which will eventually—that is to say,
when the writer of the Report shall have retired from office,—be sure
to produce inestimable treasures. Where disturbances have taken place,
that could not be concealed, they were occasioned by a few malefactors,
and need be no more feared for the future, as there exists a general
contentment. Where poverty or famine has thinned the population, this
was the consequence of scarcity, drought, rain, or something
else,——NEVER OF MISGOVERNMENT.
The memorandum of Havelaar’s predecessor, wherein he ascribed the
emigration of the people from the district of Parang-Koodjang to
“excessive abuses,” lies before me. This notice was unofficial, and
contained matters about which this functionary had to speak to the
Resident of Bantam. But in vain Havelaar sought in the archives for a
proof that his predecessor had described plainly what he meant by its
true name in a public official missive.
In short, the official reports of the functionaries to the Government,
and likewise the reports founded thereupon which are sent to the
Government in the mother country, are for the greater and more
important part UNTRUE. [99] I know that this accusation is serious; yet
I maintain it, and feel myself capable of proving it. Whosoever is
angry because of this undisguised utterance of my opinion, let him
consider how many millions of money, how many human lives might have
been spared to England, if the eyes of the Nation had been opened in
time to the true condition of affairs in British India. Let him
consider what a large debt of gratitude would have been due to the man
that had had the courage to be the Job’s comforter before it was too
late to repair the wrong without bloodshed. [100]
I said that I could prove the charge. I will show, where it is
necessary, that famine often reigned in regions that had been held up
as models of prosperity; and where it was said that the population was
tranquil and contented, I assert that it was often on the verge of a
furious outbreak. It is not my intention to give these proofs in this
book; yet I trust that it will not be laid aside, without the readers
believing that these proofs exist.
For the present I confine myself to another and unique example of the
ridiculous optimism of which I have spoken, an example that will be
understood by every one, whether acquainted or not with Indian affairs.
Every Resident sends in a monthly statement of the rice that has been
imported into his province or exported elsewhere. These statements show
how much of this rice is exported or imported. On comparing the
quantity of rice which, according to the returns, is transported from
Residencies in Java to Residencies in Java, we shall see that this
quantity amounts to many thousand more picols (Javanese weight) than
the rice that, according to the same returns, is imported into
Residencies in Java from Residencies in Java. [101]
I will not speak now of what may be thought of the intelligence of the
Government that receives and publishes such returns, and will only show
the reader the tendency of this cheat.
The reward per cent. [102] to European and native functionaries for
products that must be sold in Europe, had caused such a neglect of the
rice-culture, that in some parts a famine has reigned that could not be
juggled away from before the eyes of the nation.
I have already said that orders were then given not to let things go so
far as that again. To the many results of these orders belonged the
statements referred to of the quantity of exported and imported rice,
that the Government might be able to keep an eye on the ebb and flow of
that produce. Exportation from a Residency represents prosperity,
importation scarcity.
On comparing and examining these statements, it appears from them that
the rice is everywhere so abundant that all the Residencies together
export more rice than is imported into all the Residencies together, I
repeat, that the tables alluded to only refer to rice grown on the
island. Thus the conclusion of the matter is the absurd theorem: that
there is more rice in Java than there is rice in Java. [103]...
That is what I call prosperity!!
I have already said that the desire to communicate no other than good
news to the Government would be ridiculous, if the consequences of all
this were not very sad. What amendment is to be hoped for much that is
wrong, if there exists a preconcerted intention to bend and distort all
in the reports to the Government? What, for instance, is to be expected
of a population that, from its nature mild and submissive, has
complained, year after year, of tyranny, when it sees the departure of
one Resident after another, on furlough or on half-pay, or called to
another office, without anything ever being done towards the redress of
the grievances under which it bows? Will not the bent bow rebound? Will
not the long suppressed discontent—suppressed in order to be able to
deny it—be turned at last into fury, despair, frenzy? Cannot you see
the Jacquerie at the end of all this?
And where will the functionaries then be that succeeded each other for
years, without ever having had the idea that there existed anything
higher than the “favour of the Government,” anything higher than the
“satisfaction of the Governor-General?” Where will they be then, those
insipid report-writers, that blindfold the eyes of the Government by
their untruths? Shall those who before lacked the courage to put a
manly word on paper, fly to arms and preserve for Holland the Dutch
possessions? Will they give back to Holland the treasures that will be
required to stamp out revolt, to prevent revolution? And finally, will
they give back life to the thousands that have fallen through their
fault?
And those functionaries, those Controllers and Residents, are not the
most guilty. It is the Government itself which, as it were, struck with
incomprehensible blindness, invites, encourages, and rewards the
sending in of favourable reports, and above all this is the case where
the question is that of the oppression of the population by native
chiefs.
Many persons ascribe this protection of the chiefs to the ignoble
calculation, that as they have to exhibit pomp and magnificence to
preserve that influence on the population which the Government
requires, they ought to enjoy a much higher salary than they do now, if
they were not to be at liberty to supply what was still wanting by
unlawfully disposing of the possessions and the labour of the people.
However this may be, the Government consents but very unwillingly to
the application of the regulations ostensibly for the protection of the
Javanese against extortion and plunder. For the most part it is easy to
find, in political reasons not to be called in question, but often
fictitious, a cause why this Regent or that chief should be spared, and
the idea is therefore generally spread throughout the Indies that the
Government would rather dismiss ten Residents than one Regent. These
pretended political reasons—if they are founded on anything—are
generally supported by false Reports, because it is the interest of
every Resident to extol the influence of his Regents on the population,
so that, if afterwards there arose a question of excessive indulgence
towards the chiefs, he might shelter himself behind them.
I will not speak now of the horrible hypocrisy of the humane-sounding
stipulations, and of the oaths that protect the Javanese against
tyranny, and beg the reader to remember how Havelaar, when repeating
these oaths, had something of a disdainful look;—and will only now
point out the difficult situation of the man who thought himself bound
to his duty quite independently of the repeated oaths.
And for him this difficulty was greater still than it would have been
for many others, because his heart was soft, and in contrast with his
mind, which, the reader may have perceived by this time, was quite the
opposite. So he had not only to contend with the fear of man, and the
cares of office or advancement, but also with the duties which he had
to fulfil as a husband and a father: he had to conquer an enemy in his
own heart. He could not see suffering without suffering himself, and it
would lead me too far, if I quoted examples, of how he always took,
even where he was injured and offended, the part of an adversary
against himself. He had told Duclari and Verbrugge how in his youth he
had found something attractive in duelling with the sabre, which was
true; but he did not add, how he, after having wounded his adversary,
generally wept, and cherished his late enemy as a loved sister, till he
was quite recovered. I could relate how he, at Natal, had spoken in a
friendly manner to the man condemned to hard labour who had shot at
him, how he caused him to be fed, and gave him more liberty than
others, because he thought he had discovered 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 ridiculous——denied 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 web——denied 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 well enough to escape the sharks that are
so numerous there? I find such a coquetting with good-nature more
difficult to believe than good-nature itself.
I call you to witness that have known Havelaar—if you are not stiffened
by the cold of winter, and dead or dried up and withered by the heat
yonder, under the Equator!—I summon you to testify of his heart, all of
you who have known him! Now, above all, I summon you with confidence,
because you need no more seek for the spot where the cord must be
hooked in to pull him down ever so little.
Yet, however inopportunely it may appear, I will here insert a few
lines from his pen, which will, perhaps, make such witnesses
superfluous. Max was once far from wife and child. He had to leave her
behind in the Indies, and was in Germany. With the quickness which I
ascribe to him, but which I won’t defend if attacked, he mastered the
language of the country where he had been for a few months. Here are
the lines which picture his love for his household:—
“‘Mein Kind, da schlägt die neunte Stunde, hör!
Der Nachtwind säuselt, und die Luft wird kühl,
Zu kühl für dich vielleicht, dein Stirnchen glüht:
Du hast den ganzen Tag so wild gespielt
Du bist wohl müde, komm, dein Tikar [104] harret.’
‘Ach Mutter, lasz mich noch ein Augenblick;
Es ist so sanft zu ruhen hier ... und dort,
Da drin auf meiner Matte schlaf’ ich gleich,
Und weisz nicht einmal was ich träume, ... hier
Kann ich doch gleich dir sagen was ich träume,
Und fragen was mein Traum bedeutet ... hör,
Was war das?’
‘’s War ein Klapper [105] der da fiel.’
‘Thut das dem Klapper weh?’
‘Ich glaube nicht,
Man sagt die Frucht, der Stein hat kein Gefühl.’
‘Doch eine Blume, fühlt, die auch nicht?’
‘Nein
Man sagt sie fühle nicht.’
‘Warum denn Mutter,
Als gestern ich die Pukul ampat [106] brach
Hast du gesagt: es thut der Blume weh?’
‘Mein Kind, die Pukul ampat war so schön,
Du zogst die zarten Blättchen roh entzwei,
Das that mir für die arme Blume leid,
Wenn gleich die Blume selbst es nicht gefühlt
Ich fühlt’ es für die Blume, weil sie schön war.’
‘Doch Mutter, bist du auch schön?’
‘Nein mein Kind,
Ich glaube nicht.’
‘Allein du hast Gefühl?’
‘Ja, Menschen haben’s, ... doch nicht alle gleich.’
‘Und kann dir etwas weh thun? thut dir’s weh,
Wenn dir im Schoos so schwer mein Köpfchen ruht?’
‘Nein, das thut mir nicht weh!’
‘Und, Mutter ich,
Hab ich Gefühl?’
‘Gewisz, erinn’re dich
Wie du gestrauchelt einst,—an einem Stein
Dein Händchen hast verwundet, und geweint.
Auch weintest du als Saoedien [107] dir erzählte
Dasz auf den Hügeln dort ein Schäflein tief
In eine Schlucht hinunter fiel und starb;
Da hast du lang geweint,—das war Gefühl.’
‘Doch Mutter, ist Gefühl denn Schmerz?’
‘Ja oft,
Doch immer nicht,... bisweilen nicht! Du weisst
Wenn’s Schwesterlein dir in die Haare greift,
Und krähend dir’s Gesichtchen nahe drückt,
Dann lachst du freudig, das ist auch Gefühl.’
‘Und dann mein Schwesterlein ... es weint so oft,
Ist das vor Schmerz ... hat sie denn auch Gefühl?’
‘Vielleicht, mein Kind, wir wissen’s aber nicht,
Weil sie so klein es noch nicht sagen kann.’
‘Doch Mutter ... höre, was war das?’
‘Ein Hirsch
Der sich verspätet im Gebüsch, und jetzt
Mit Eile heimwärts kehrt und Ruhe sucht
Bei andren Hirschen die ihm lieb sind’—
‘Mutter,
Hat solch ein Hirsch ein Schwesterlein wie ich,
Und eine Mutter auch?’
‘Ich weisz nicht, Kind.’
‘Das würde traurig sein wenn’s nicht so wäre!
Doch, Mutter sieh ... was schimmert dort im Strauch,
Sieh wie es hüpft und tanzt ... ist das ein Funk?’
‘’s Ist eine Feuerfliege.’
‘Darf ich ’s fangen?’
‘Du darfst es, doch das Flieglein ist so zart,
Du wirst gewisz es weh thun und sobald
Du ’s mit den Fingern all zu roh berührst,
Ist ’s Thierchen krank, und stirbt und glänzt nicht mehr.’
‘Das würde Schade sein ... ich fang ‘es nicht,...
Sieh da verschwand es,... nein, es kommt hierher,...
Ich fang ‘es doch nicht ... wieder fliegt es fort,
Und freut sich dasz ich’s nicht gefangen habe,...
Da fliegt es ... hoch ... da oben ... was ist das,
Sind das auch Feuerflieglein dort?’
‘Das sind
Die Sterne.’
‘Ein’, und zwei und zehn und tausend!
Wieviel sind denn wohl da?’
‘Ich weiss es nicht;
Der Sterne Zahl hat Niemand noch gezählt!’
‘Sag’ Mutter, zählt auch Er die Sterne nicht?’
‘Nein liebes Kind, auch Er nicht.’
‘Ist das weit
Dort oben wo die Sterne sind?’
‘Sehr weit.’
‘Doch haben diese Sterne auch Gefühl?
Und würden sie, wenn ich sie mit der Hand
Berührte, gleich erkranken, und den Glanz
Verlieren wie das Flieglein?... Sieh noch schwebt es ...
Sag, würd’ es auch den Sternen weh thun?’
‘Nein
Weh thut’s den Sternen nicht,... doch ’s ist zu weit
Für deine kleine Hand, du reichst so hoch nicht.’
‘Kann Er die Sterne fangen mit der Hand?’
‘Auch Er nicht, das kann Niemand.’
‘Das ist Schade,
Ich gäb so gern dir einen ... wenn ich grosz bin,
Dann will ich so dich lieben dasz ich ’s kann.’
Das Kind schlief ein und träumte von Gefühl,
Von Sternen die es faszte mit der Hand....
Die Mutter schlief noch lange nicht!
Doch träumte
Auch sie, und dacht an den der fern war....
“Cassel, Januar 1859.”
Yes, at the risk of becoming tedious, I have inserted the above lines.
I wish to lose no opportunity of making known the man who plays the
principal part in my narrative, in order to inspire the reader with
interest, as black clouds afterwards gather over our hero’s head.