Max Havelaar

by Multatuli

  But thrift didn’t come easily to Havelaar. Personally, he was able to restrict his expenses to the basic necessities. In fact he had no difficulty at all on that score; it was when other people were in need that he felt compelled to give and to help. He was conscious of this being a weakness, for common sense told him how unreasonable it was to support others while his own need was greater . . . and all the more unreasonable when “his Tina” and his beloved little boy suffered on account of his generosity. He blamed himself for letting his heart rule his mind; it was a failing, it was vanity, it was posturing as a prince in disguise . . . He vowed to mend his ways, and yet every time someone came to him with a tale of misfortune he forgot his resolve in his eagerness to help, in spite of the bitter consequences to himself of this virtue turned vice. A week before little Max was born he couldn’t even afford to buy the ironwork cradle for his darling to sleep in, and yet only a few days before he’d sacrificed what little jewelry his wife possessed just to help someone who was undoubtedly better off than he was.

  But all this lay far behind them when they arrived in Lebak. They moved into their new home, where they truly hoped to remain “for some time,” with confidence and good cheer, and had taken particular delight in ordering furniture from Batavia that would make their surroundings comfortable and snug. They pointed out to each other where they’d have their breakfast, where little Max would play, where they’d have the library, where they’d sit in the evening so he could read to her what he’d written in the day, for he was forever working out his ideas on paper . . . and “one day they’ll be printed,” Tina said, “then people will know who my Max is!” But a certain diffidence verging on prudishness had prevented him from committing to print the thoughts going through his mind. He himself, at any rate, had no better way of describing his reluctance than by countering any suggestion to seek publication with: “Would you send your daughter out into the street with no clothes on?”

  It was this kind of repartee that made people think “That man Havelaar is rather a queer fish,” and I’m not saying they were wrong. But if you took the trouble to interpret his unusual way of expressing himself, you’d find that the odd question about a girl’s state of dress amounted to a treatise on the temperance of mind that shrinks from the gaze of the vulgar passerby and withdraws into a shell of chaste modesty.41

  Yes indeed, Havelaar and his Tina were bound to be happy in Rangkasbitung! The only cares weighing on them were the debts they had left behind in Europe, compounded by their as yet unpaid passage back to the Indies and the expense of furnishing their new home. Nothing desperate. After all, they could get by on half or even a third of his income, couldn’t they? Besides, there was the chance, or rather the likelihood, of his being promoted soon, in which case everything would be put to rights in no time . . .

  “I would be very sorry to leave Lebak, Tina, because there’s such a lot of work to be done here. You must be very frugal, my dear, then we might be able to get everything settled even if I don’t get my promotion . . . Once we’ve managed that, I hope to stay here for a long, long time!”

  There was no need for him to remind Tina of the need for thrift. It wasn’t her fault that they had to scrimp, but her identification with her Max was so complete that she didn’t take the reminder as a reproach. Nor was it intended as such, for Havelaar was well aware that the fault lay with him alone for being overgenerous, and that her fault—if she had one at all—was that she approved of everything he did out of sheer love.

  No indeed, she hadn’t protested when, confronted by a pair of penniless women in Nieuwstraat who had never left Amsterdam and had never been on an outing, he offered them a tour of the fair in Haarlem, under the curious pretext that he had received royal orders to provide “entertainment for old ladies of irreproachable conduct.” She didn’t mind when he treated the inmates of all the orphanages in Amsterdam to cake and almond milk, besides showering them with toys. She was in full agreement with his decision to settle the innkeeper’s bill for a poverty-stricken family of singers wishing to return to their homeland but unwilling to part with their harp, violin, and double bass, the tools of their languishing trade. She didn’t protest when he brought home a girl who had accosted him in the street . . . and gave her food and a bed for the night . . . and didn’t tell her to “go, and sin no more!” until he had provided the lass with the means to do so. She thought it very kind of her Max to provide a piano for the man who told him how devastated he was that his daughters were deprived of music by his bankruptcy. She understood perfectly well why her Max purchased the freedom of a brokenhearted family of slaves forced to mount the auctioneer’s block in Manado. She thought it natural that Max should provide new horses for the Alfuros in the Minahasa when theirs had been ridden to death by the officers of the Bayonnaise. She didn’t object when he went out of his way at Manado and Ambon to help the stranded American whalers and felt too grand to ask the American government to reimburse him for their upkeep.42 She took it for granted that the naval officers of almost every visiting warship stayed with them, and that Max’s house was their favorite home away from home.

  He was her Max, wasn’t he? Wouldn’t it have been too petty, too small-minded, too unfair to subject a man of such majestic conscience to the rules of domestic economy that apply to others? Besides, even if there was some disproportion between income and expenditure at times, wasn’t Max, her very own Max, destined for a brilliant career? Wouldn’t circumstances soon permit him to be as generous as he pleased without exceeding his income? Wasn’t it obvious that one day Max would rise to the very highest office in their beloved Indies, or even become . . . a king? Wasn’t it strange that he wasn’t a king already?

  If any fault could be found in her, it was her infatuation with Max, and if ever it was true to say of a wife that her sins were forgiven for she loved much, it was true in her case!

  But there was nothing to forgive. Regardless of the exaggerated notions she had of her Max, it is fair to assume that his career prospects were good, so that once these realistic expectations were met he would soon be relieved of the disagreeable consequences of his generosity. But there was another circumstance of an entirely different nature that excused her and Havelaar’s apparent carelessness.

  She had lost both parents at a very young age and was brought up by relatives. Upon her marriage she was told that she had come into a modest fortune, which was paid out to her, but then Havelaar came across some old letters and notes in a casket given to her by her mother, and discovered that her family had been very wealthy on both her father’s and her mother’s side, without it being clear where, how, or when all that money had gone. Tina herself had never cared about finances, and could therefore tell him little or nothing when pressed for details about her family’s former possessions. Her grandfather, Baron Van W., had followed William V, Prince of Orange, to England, and had served as a captain in the Duke of York’s cavalry. He appeared to have led a life of leisure with the likewise exiled stadtholder’s family, and it was this that had presumably caused his financial ruin. He eventually fell in battle at Waterloo, during a charge of the Boreel Hussars. Her father, then a young lieutenant aged eighteen, had been in the same charge and suffered a saber cut to the head, leading to insanity and death eight years later, and it was affecting to read the letters he wrote to his mother describing how he had searched the battlefield in vain for his father’s body.43

  As for her mother’s side of the family, she had memories of her grandfather living on a grand scale, and there were papers indicating that he had owned the postal service in Switzerland, in much the same way as such revenues belong to the appanage of the Princes of Thurn and Taxis in large sections of Germany and Italy today.44 This suggested a considerable fortune, but for unknown reasons none of that wealth, or at any rate very little, had been passed on to the next generation.

  It was not until he was married that Havelaar received what little information there was to be had on this matter, an
d when he decided to look into it further was taken aback to discover that the aforementioned casket—which had been kept out of filial piety, without any inkling that it might contain documents of financial importance—had unaccountably gone missing. However unselfish his motives, he came to the conclusion, in view of this and many other circumstances, that there had to be some romantic story at the bottom of it all, and it’s hardly surprising that a man of his extravagant generosity dearly wished that story to have a happy ending. Whether or not there was the stuff of a novel hidden away, and whether or not there had been any spoliation, what is certain is that something you might call a “dream of millions” took root in Havelaar’s imagination.45

  But again, the strange thing was that a man who was only too eager to ferret out and defend the rights of others—however deeply buried in dusty documents and cobwebby chicaneries—could be so careless where his own interests were concerned as to let pass the moment when it might have been possible to tackle the issue more successfully. It was as if he felt there was something shameful about fighting his own cause, and I firmly believe that had “his Tina” been married to someone else, and if that man had asked Havelaar to unpick the tangled web surrounding her ancestors’ fortune, he’d have restored to the “interesting orphan” the wealth that was rightfully hers. But the fact was that the interesting orphan was married to him and her fortune was his, so he felt it a touch tradesman-like, a touch degrading to say, in her name: “You owe me, you know!”

  And yet he was unable to shake off his dream of millions, if only because it came in handy as an excuse when he fell prey to fits of self-reproach over spending too much money.

  It was not until shortly before his return to Java, when he was racked with financial woes and had to bow his proud head under the Caudine yoke of many a creditor, that he was able to overcome his lassitude or embarrassment to take up the case of the millions he believed were his due. In reply he received an old account book . . . an argument that is impossible to gainsay, as everyone knows.

  But oh, they would keep such a tight rein on their purse in Lebak! And why wouldn’t they? In such uncivilized domains there are no girls roaming the streets at night with a little honor to sell for a little food.46 There are no homeless singers about with problematic means of livelihood, no families facing ruin from one day to the next because of some mishap—while such, after all, were the rocks on which Havelaar’s good intentions tended to founder. The number of Europeans in the regency was negligible, and the Javanese of Lebak were too poor to attract much attention for any worsening of their penury, regardless of its cause. Tina didn’t concern herself with these things, for her love of Max prevented her from acknowledging the reasons for their straitened circumstances. However, their new surroundings had a tranquil air, free from all those heartrending temptations that Havelaar had been so disinclined to resist, saying, “Well, I can’t very well turn a blind eye to this, can I, Tina?” To which her unfailing reply would be, “Of course not, Max, you’re absolutely right!”

  We shall see, in due course, how the simple, apparently untroubled regency of Lebak came to cost Havelaar more than all his heart’s previous extravagances combined. But they didn’t know that yet! They faced the future with confidence, happy in their love for each other and their child . . .

  “Have you seen all those roses in the garden,” cried Tina. “And the pandan bushes, and the magnolia tree over there, and all the jasmine. And just look at those gorgeous lilies . . .”

  Like a pair of children, they reveled in their new home. And when Duclari and Verbrugge returned to their shared quarters after calling on Havelaar that evening, they talked at length about the childlike gaiety of the newcomers.

  Havelaar went to his office and stayed there all night, until the following morning.

  EIGHTH CHAPTER

  HAVELAAR had told Controleur Verbrugge to invite all the chiefs gathered in Rangkasbitung to stay an extra day and attend the sebah he planned to convene. Such meetings were usually held once a month, but he had fixed the next sebah for the following morning, either to save the chiefs who lived far away the extra journey to the capital—for the Lebak regency is very large—or because he wished to address them officially at the earliest opportunity.

  In front of his house, to the left but on the same grounds and facing the house occupied by Mrs. Slotering, stood a building containing the offices, which included the treasury, as well as a fairly spacious veranda well suited to meetings of this kind. It was there that the chiefs were duly assembled at an early hour. Havelaar entered, greeted them all, and sat down. He was presented with the monthly reports on agriculture, livestock, police, and the courts, which he laid to one side for later perusal.

  After this everyone expected a speech similar to the one given by Resident Slymering the previous day, and it is quite likely that Havelaar was not planning to say anything different, but you had to have heard and seen him on such occasions to realize how very excited he could become, and how his unusual style of oratory tinged the most familiar subjects with new shades of meaning, how he would draw himself up, eyes blazing, his tone going from soft and genial to razor sharp while the figures of speech poured from his lips as though he were scattering gems at no cost to himself, and how, when he ceased, everyone stared at him openmouthed, as if to say: “Heavens above! What sort of man are you?”

  Yet although on such occasions he spoke like an apostle, like a seer, he was afterwards often unable to recall everything he’d said, and indeed his eloquence was more likely to astonish and stir emotion than to persuade with keen argument. He could have roused the Athenian fighting spirit to a frenzy when war was declared against Philip of Macedon, but would have been less successful in convincing them through rational argument. His address to the Chiefs of Lebak was in Malay, of course, which gave it an extra dimension, for the simplicity of oriental languages gives many expressions a poignancy our idioms have lost through literary artifice, while conversely the melodious aspect of Malay is hard to reproduce in any other language. It should also be borne in mind that his listeners were mostly simple but by no means unintelligent men, and that they were Orientals, whose emotions are very different from ours.

  Havelaar must have spoken something like this:

  •

  “My dear Mr. Adipati, Regent of South Banten, and you, Radens Demang, who are district chiefs here, and you, Raden Jaksa, who are administrator of justice, and you, Raden Kliwon, who exercise authority over the capital, and all you radens, mantris, and chiefs in the regency of South Banten, I salute you!47

  “And I say to you that I feel joy in my heart, now that I see you all gathered here, heeding the words from my mouth.

  “I know there are those among you whose knowledge and virtue are outstanding, and my hope is to increase my knowledge through yours, for my own understanding is not as great as I might wish. And much as I value virtue, I often find in my own heart errors of sentiment that overshadow it and stunt its growth . . . you all know how the large tree overarches the sapling and stifles it. So I will listen carefully to those of you who excel in virtue, to try to become a better man.

  “My sincere greetings to you all.

  “When the Governor-General directed me to serve as your Assistant Resident here, my heart rejoiced. You may be aware that I had never been to South Banten before. So I sent for documents concerning your regency, and saw that South Banten has much that is good. Your people have rice fields in the valleys, and there are rice fields on the mountainsides. And you wish to live in peace, and you have no desire to live in lands inhabited by others. Yes indeed, I know there is much that is good in South Banten!

  “But that was not the only reason why my heart rejoiced. For I would have found much that is good in other places as well.

  “I also discovered that your people suffer poverty, and this warmed me to the depths of my soul. For I know that Allah loves the poor, and that He bestows riches on those whom He wishes to put to the test.
But to the poor He sends those who speak His word, that they may stand tall amid their misfortunes.

  “Doesn’t He bring rain to the ear wilting on its stalk, and a dewdrop to the cup of the thirsty flower?

  “And isn’t there beauty in being sent to seek out those who, exhausted by their labors, sink to the ground at the roadside because their legs are too weak to carry them to collect their wages? Wouldn’t I be glad of the chance to reach out a helping hand to the man fallen into a ditch, and to offer a staff to the mountain climber? Wouldn’t my heart leap up to be chosen among many to turn complaint into prayer and lamentation into thanksgiving?

  “Indeed, I am overjoyed to have been called to South Banten!

  “I said to the woman who shares my troubles and magnifies my happiness: Rejoice, for I see that Allah heaps blessings on the head of our child! He has sent me to a place where there is still work to be done, and He deemed me worthy of being here before the time of harvest. For the joy lies not simply in cutting the paddy, it lies in cutting the paddy one has planted oneself. And the human soul thrives not on wages, but on the work done to deserve those wages. And I said to her: Allah has given us a child who one day will say: ‘Do you know that I am his son?’ And there will be those in the land who salute him with love, and who will lay their hand on his head and say: ‘Sit down at our table, and dwell in our house, and take your share of what we have, for I knew your father.’

  “Chiefs of Lebak, there is much work to be done in your regency!

  “Tell me, is not the peasant poor? Doesn’t your paddy often ripen to feed others than those who planted it? Aren’t there many wrongs in your land? Aren’t your children few in number?

  “Don’t you feel shame in your souls when asked by a visitor from Bandung,48 over in the northeast, ‘Where are the villages, and where the tillers of the soil? Why don’t I hear the gamelan proclaiming gladness with its mouth of brass, nor the sound of paddy being pounded by your daughters?’