by Multatuli
Yes, thus does artistic horror descend into absurdity . . . as I wished to point out in passing.84
And that would be the error in rushing to condemn a writer who has tried to pave the way gradually for his denouement, without resorting to garish colors.
Yet the danger on the other side is still greater. You may despise the sallies of unrefined writers who suppose they can storm the ramparts of your sensibility with such crude weapons, but . . . if the author veers to the other extreme, if his vice is too much digression from the main point, too much affectation in his brushwork, then your wrath burns yet more fiercely, and rightly so—because he has bored you, and that is unforgivable.
If we go out for a walk together, and you keep veering off the road and calling me into the fields for the sole purpose of prolonging the walk, I won’t like it and will resolve to go out on my own in future. But if you can point out a plant I’ve never seen before, or some fresh detail that has always escaped my attention . . . if from time to time you show me a flower, which I will happily pick and wear in my buttonhole, then I’ll forgive you for straying from the road—yes, I will thank you for it.
Indeed, aside from a flower or plant, if you call me to your side to point out, through the trees, the footpath that we will soon follow, still far ahead of us down in the valley, a barely perceptible line winding through the fields . . . then too, I won’t hold the digression against you. For once we have walked the whole way I’ll know how our path twisted around the mountains . . . why the sun, which was over there just a moment ago, is now on our left . . . why that hill is now behind us, the one whose crest we saw ahead of us earlier . . . in short, your digression will have made it easy for me to understand my walk, and to understand is to enjoy.
In my story, reader, I have often steered you down the main road, for all that I was tempted to lead you into the fields. I was afraid to bore you, as I didn’t know whether you’d appreciate the flowers or plants I wanted to point out. But as I now believe it will give you pleasure to have had a glimpse beforehand of the path we will be taking, I feel I ought to tell you a few things about Havelaar’s house.
It would be wrong to picture a house in the Indies in European terms, as a mass of bricks with rooms and closets stacked one on top of the other, with the street out in front, and neighbors to the left and right whose household gods are back to back with yours, and a little garden behind it with three currant bushes. In the Indies, with few exceptions, the houses are only one story high. That will strike the European reader as odd, because civilization—or what passes for it—tends to see anything natural as odd.
Houses in the Indies are very unlike our own, but there is nothing odd about them; our houses are the odd ones. The first man wealthy enough not to sleep in the same room as his cows built his second room not on top of the first, but next to it, because building at ground level is simpler, and single-story houses are more convenient. Our tall houses were born of a shortage of space; we seek in the sky what we lack on the ground. Every housemaid who shuts the window of her garret bedroom in the evening is a living protest against overpopulation . . . even if that’s the last thing on her mind, as I believe to be the case.
So in countries where civilization and overpopulation have yet to pack mankind together at ground level and squeeze it upward, the houses have only one floor, and Havelaar’s was not one of the few exceptions to this rule. On entering . . . but no, I wish to prove that I relinquish any claim to be picturesque. Given a narrow rectangle, to be divided into twenty-one squares, seven down, three across, we number the squares, beginning in the upper left corner and moving right, so that four is below one, five below two, and so on.
The first three numbers jointly form the outer gallery, or veranda, open on three sides, with a roof supported by columns at the front. From there, one passes through double doors into the inner gallery, represented by the next three squares. Squares 7, 9, 10, 12, 13, 15, 16, and 18 are rooms, most of which are connected by doors to the adjacent ones. The three highest numbers form the open back gallery, and what I left out is a kind of exposed inner gallery, corridor, or walkway. I am truly proud of this description.
It is difficult to find a phrase that would give readers in the Netherlands a clear idea of what I am calling the grounds of a house in the Indies. Out there, the grounds are not a garden, or park, or field, or jungle, but are either a little like one of those things, or something like all of them, or nothing like any. They are all the land that belongs with the house and is not covered by it; the expression “garden and grounds” would be considered a pleonasm. There are few, if any, houses there without grounds. Sometimes, the grounds include woods and gardens and pastures and are reminiscent of parks. Others are flower gardens. In still other cases, the grounds consist of a single large field of grass. And finally, there are grounds that have been completely surfaced with tarmac. The resulting yard may be less pleasing to the eye, but it promotes hygiene in the houses, because grass and trees attract many types of insects.
Havelaar’s grounds were very extensive and, strange as it may sound, could even be described as infinite on one side, since they bordered a ravine that ran all the way to the banks of the Ciujung River, which holds Rangkasbitung in one of its many bends. It was difficult to say where the Assistant Resident’s grounds ended and where communal land began, since the boundaries shifted continually as the mighty waters of the Ciujung rose and fell, sometimes receding as far as the eye could see, and sometimes filling the ravine, coming very close to the house.
This ravine had always been a thorn in Mrs. Slotering’s side, and understandably so. Plant growth, which is abundant throughout the Indies, was especially lush there because the river kept depositing fresh mud—so lush, in fact, that even when the water had risen with enough force to uproot the undergrowth and carry it away, in almost no time the ground would be covered again with the rampant vegetation that made it so difficult to keep the grounds tidy, even very close to the house. And this caused no little distress, even to a woman without a child to raise. For apart from the many insects buzzing around the lamp in the evening, making it impossible to read or write—a nuisance encountered in many parts of the Indies—the undergrowth also sheltered masses of snakes and other creatures, which didn’t confine themselves to the ravine but were often found in the garden and behind the house, or in the grass of the forecourt.
The veranda looked out directly onto this forecourt. To the left was the building with the offices, the countinghouse, and the assembly hall where Havelaar had addressed the chiefs that morning, and behind it lay the ravine, stretching all the way to the Ciujung before it dwindled out of sight. Directly opposite the offices was the former Assistant Resident’s house, for the time being still occupied by his widow, Mrs. Slotering, and as the grounds were connected to the main road by two drives running along either side of the lawn, it naturally follows that anyone who entered the grounds on the way to the kitchen or stables behind the main building had to pass either the offices or Mrs. Slotering’s dwelling. Behind the main building and off to one side was the large garden Tina was so pleased with, because of the abundance of flowers, and above all because little Max would be able to play there.
Havelaar had sent his apologies to Mrs. Slotering for not having called on her yet. He intended to go the very next day, but Tina had already been, and introduced herself. We have learned that this lady was what is known as a “native girl,” speaking no language but Malay. She had made it clear that she wished to continue running her own household, and Tina had happily agreed—not for any lack of hospitality, but mainly for fear that having just arrived in Lebak and not having yet had time to “settle in,” she wouldn’t be able to accommodate Mrs. Slotering as well as one might wish, considering that lady’s special circumstances. Not speaking Dutch, she would, as Tina had put it, not be “offended” by Max’s stories, but Tina understood that more was required than not offending the Slotering family, and considering her poorly stoc
ked kitchen, as well as her resolution to live frugally, she saw a great deal of wisdom in Mrs. Slotering’s decision. But even if circumstances had been otherwise, it remains doubtful whether an association with somebody who spoke only one language, in which there were no printed books that might edify the mind, would have proceeded to their mutual satisfaction. Tina would have kept Mrs. Slotering company as well as she could, and talked with her at length about culinary matters, about sambal-sambal,85 about how to pickle acar timun—without cookbooks, ye gods!—but that sort of thing is always a sacrifice, so it was thought to be very much for the best that Mrs. Slotering’s self-imposed solitude would leave both parties in perfect liberty. It was peculiar, however, that Mrs. Slotering had not only declined to dine at their table, but wouldn’t even accept Tina’s invitation to have her meals prepared in the Havelaars’ kitchen. Tina called this “taking modesty a little too far,” since the kitchen was large enough.
FOURTEENTH CHAPTER
“AS YOU know,” Havelaar began, “the Dutch possessions on Sumatra’s west coast border on the independent kingdoms at the northern end, first among which is Aceh. It is said that a secret article in the Anglo-Dutch Treaty of 1824 requires us not to go beyond the Singkil River. General Vandamme, our would-be Napoleon, who was itching to expand his rule as far as possible, thus ran into an insuperable obstacle in that direction. I must believe in the existence of that secret article, for otherwise I’d be at a loss to explain why the rajas of Trumon and Analabu, whose princedoms play no small role in the pepper trade, were not brought under Dutch sovereignty long ago. You know how easily pretexts can be found for waging war on petty states like those and then seizing control of them. Stealing a country will always be easier than stealing a mill. I believe General Vandamme could even have made off with a mill if he’d felt so inclined, so I can’t understand why he spared those northern lands, unless he had firmer grounds than justice and equity.86
“Be that as it may, he turned his conquering gaze not to the north, but to the east. The regions of Mandailing and Angkola—which lent their names to the regency formed in the recently pacified Batak lands—might not yet have been purged of Acehnese influence, for once fanaticism takes root it is difficult to eradicate, but at least the Acehnese were no longer present there. Yet this was not good enough for the General. He extended his authority to the east coast, and Dutch officials and Dutch garrisons were sent to Bila and Pertibi, although these stations—as you know, Verbrugge—were later evacuated.
“A government commissioner arrived in Sumatra who considered this expansion to be senseless, especially as it ran counter to the desperate belt-tightening so urgently demanded by the mother country; he voiced his disapproval,87 whereupon Vandamme argued that the expansion would not weigh on the budget, because the new garrisons would consist of troops for which funds had already been allocated, and that he had thus brought a vast territory under Dutch administration without any added expenses. As for the consideration that this would leave other places vulnerable to attack, particularly around Mandailing, he had such confidence in the loyalty and allegiance of the Yang di-Pertuan, the Supreme Chief of the Batak lands, that he saw no danger.
“The commissioner reluctantly gave in, but only after General Vandamme’s reiterated assurances that he would personally guarantee the loyalty of the Yang di-Pertuan.
“Now, my predecessor as controleur in the Natal regency was the son-in-law of the then Assistant Resident of the Batak lands, who was at loggerheads with the Yang di-Pertuan. I later heard of many complaints against that Assistant Resident, but one had to be skeptical of such accusations, because most of them came from the Yang di-Pertuan at a time when he himself was being accused of much graver offenses. He may have felt compelled to seek his defense in his accuser’s misdemeanors . . . a common enough tactic. Be that as it may, the Controleur in Natal sided with his father-in-law and against the Yang di-Pertuan, perhaps all the more ardently because he, the Controleur, was on friendly terms with Sutan Salim, a chief in Natal who was also the Yang di-Pertuan’s bitter enemy. The families of the two chiefs had been feuding for many years. Marriage proposals had been rejected, they were jealous of each other’s influence, the Yang di-Pertuan flaunted his superior lineage . . . in short, a host of circumstances conspired to keep Natal and Mandailing at odds.
“All at once, there came a rumor that a plot had been uncovered in Mandailing, in which the Yang di-Pertuan was said to be implicated, and which was aimed at raising the sacred banner of revolt and murdering all the Europeans. The first news of this plot came from Natal, as is only natural: people in neighboring provinces are always better informed than the locals. Those who refrain, at home, from saying what they know to be true, for fear of one of the chiefs involved, are less inhibited as soon as they enter a territory where that chief has no influence.
“By the way, Verbrugge, this is also why I am not unaware of events in Lebak, and why I was in fact reasonably well informed even before I had any notion of receiving this post. In 1846 I was in the Karawang area and spent a good deal of time roaming the Priangan regencies, where I had met refugees from Lebak back in 1840. I’m also acquainted with some owners of private plantations in the countryside around Buitenzorg and Batavia, and I know how pleased those landowners have always been with the poor conditions in Lebak, thanks to which the labor force on their estates continued to be well manned.88
“The conspiracy in Natal was presumably discovered in the same way and—if it existed, which I don’t know—showed the Yang di-Pertuan to be a traitor. According to witness statements taken by the Controleur of Natal, he and his brother had called together the Batak chiefs in a sacred forest, where they swore never to rest until the regime of the ‘Christian dogs’ in Mandailing had been annihilated. It goes without saying that this plan was divinely inspired. Such plans always are, you know.89
“Whether the Yang di-Pertuan truly had such intentions, I can’t say for certain. I have read the witness statements but can’t give them full credence, for reasons that you will learn shortly. What I do know for certain is that his Muslim fanaticism was extreme enough to make him capable of such a thing. Like the whole population of the Batak lands, he had only recently been converted to the true religion by the Padris, and recent converts tend to be fanatics.90
“The result of this discovery, real or supposed, was that the Yang di-Pertuan was arrested by the Assistant Resident of Mandailing and sent to Natal, where the Controleur locked him up in the fort until he could be sent off to Padang on the first available ship, and from there on to Batavia. Of course, the governor was presented with all the documents containing the incriminating testimony. These were meant to justify the severity of the measures taken. The Yang di-Pertuan had left Mandailing as a prisoner. In Natal, he was imprisoned. Aboard the warship that transported him, he of course remained a prisoner. He therefore—guilty or not guilty has no bearing on the matter, since the charge of high treason came from the competent authority in accordance with the law—expected to arrive in Padang as a prisoner. How astonished he must have been, then, to learn when he disembarked not only that he was free, but that General Vandamme, whose carriage awaited him when he went ashore, would be honored to receive him in his home and offer him his hospitality. I’m certain no one accused of high treason has ever received a more pleasant surprise.
“Shortly afterwards, the Assistant Resident of Mandailing was suspended from office for all sorts of offenses on which I won’t comment just now. The Yang di-Pertuan, however, after passing some time as a guest of Vandamme, who treated him with the greatest esteem, returned by way of Natal to Mandailing, not with the self-respect of a man found innocent, but with the pride of a man so highly placed that he requires no finding of innocence. For you see, the case had not been so much as investigated! Even supposing that the accusations against him were generally believed to be false, the appropriate response would have been an investigation for the purpose of punishing the false witnesses and,
in particular, those who had induced them to lie. General Vandamme apparently had his reasons not to allow such an investigation. The charges against the Yang di-Pertuan were deemed null and void, and I’m sure the documents referring to them never reached the eyes of the authorities in Batavia.
“Soon after the Yang di-Pertuan’s return, I arrived in Natal to take over the administration. Naturally, my predecessor told me of the recent events in Mandailing and apprised me of the political relationship between that region and Natal. I can’t blame him for railing against what he saw as the unjust treatment of his father-in-law, and against General Vandamme’s incomprehensible protection of the Yang di-Pertuan. Neither he nor I knew at the time that sending the Yang di-Pertuan to Batavia must have been a slap in the face for Vandamme, who, having personally guaranteed the Chief’s loyalty, had compelling reasons to protect him, at any cost, from accusations of high treason—all the more so because the aforementioned commissioner had by this time been appointed governor-general, and would in all likelihood have recalled Vandamme in outrage at his baseless confidence in the Yang di-Pertuan and his subsequent stubborn opposition to withdrawing from the east coast.
“‘And yet,’ my predecessor said to me, ‘whatever may have motivated General Vandamme to take all the accusations against my father-inlaw at face value, and to regard the much more serious grievances against the Yang di-Pertuan as not even worthy of investigation, the case is not closed! And if, as I suspect, the witness statements were destroyed in Padang, here is something that cannot be destroyed.’
“And he showed me a judgment of the Rappat Council in Natal,91 over which he presided, sentencing one Si Pamaga to the lash, to branding, and—if memory serves—to twenty years’ hard labor, for the attempted murder of the Tuanku of Natal.