Max Havelaar

by Multatuli

  67 Molière: I hold this author in less esteem than I used to, but I will save my remarks about that for a monograph on dramatic literature, for which there is not enough space in these notes.

  68 Fotheringhay: Some earlier editions have “Fothingeray,” a slip of Mr. Lennep’s. The manuscript contained neither, but instead referred to the “Tower.” That slip was mine.

  69 Arles is thought to have been an inland colony of the Massilians, and Massilia (Marseille) was founded by Phoenicians. The truly unparalleled beauty of the women of Arles, better preserved there than in Marseilles, may be the result of less interbreeding with outsiders. In coastal settlements such as Marseilles, the races quickly become very mixed. Whether the women of Nîmes—another outpost of Marseilles—are as beautiful as those of Arles is unknown to me.

  70 Opinions about the characteristics of the different races that populate Insulindia differ widely. The population and chiefs of Sumatra are not as mild mannered as the Javanese, and the personalities found there are more masculine. The Javanese is certainly not welcome in Sumatra, and the true Malayan despises him, calling him tukang makan kutu—ask a cousin in the East for a translation—and considering himself far superior. General Van Swieten made the mistake of appointing a Javanese as his negotiator with the Acehnese. The valiant raden who accepted this role became, as was to be expected, the casualty of his own obliging and loyal nature. I am sorry to have forgotten his name.

  71 Most Europeans in the Indies know little about the languages and customs of areas they have not visited. Duclari didn’t know the expression si upi keteh. People in Holland generally make the mistake of assuming that anyone “who has been in the East” will have a general knowledge of Indies affairs.

  72 Ophir: Could there be any connection between this mountain and the regions from which Hiram, King of Tyre, had gold, ebony, and precious stones fetched for the erection of Solomon’s temple (1 Kings 9:28, 10:11). That would be a daring supposition to base on a single word. Besides, where does the word Ophir come from? The “f” sound is suggestive of the Arabs. In the Arabian Nights, Sumatra is visited by Sinbad the Sailor.

  73 Tuan commodore: In the parts of Sumatra where there were once English settlements, the governing officials are still known as commodores. During the English period Natal was seen as strategically important—a fact illustrated by the fort there, which was much too large to be manned by the troops available in my day (1842).

  74 Pedati: Javanese cart. The unusual thing about this vehicle was that it did not have wheels rotating around an axle fixed to the vehicle, but disks whose axle turned with them. To complete this impractical, primitive system, their usual shape was a very irregular polygon. In the opinion of the “Chinese church” in Batavia (see note 78), Mr. W. R. van Hoevell was a skilled writer who did not hide behind his pen name, Jeronimus. It is unfortunate, however, that this public intellectual, partly out of ignorance of Indies affairs—he was a Batavian through and through—and perhaps still more out of a personal longing for a strident slogan, allowed himself to be tempted by the sound of the word “free” into extolling so-called free labor. All the waffling about this forcefully imposed topic has for years distracted attention from serious concerns such as those addressed in Havelaar, which remain relevant. On this subject, see my two brochures on “Free Labor.”

  75 See note 22.

  76 Independent regions at the northern tip of Sumatra: The number of more or less independent princelings in the area is legion. I have known two of them personally, the tuankus or rajahs of Trumon and of Analabu, who sometimes visited me in Natal, to the great annoyance of the tuanku of that regency. One of those chiefs—I don’t remember which—took the liberty of girding his loins with his silk cloth in a manner that, according to Natalese heraldry, bespoke greater distinction than he was due. Such matters of etiquette and precedence led to disputes and scuffles that sometimes vexed me sorely, since the followers of the Acehnese Chief were rather combative and the Natalese were extremely hot tempered whenever the rank of their tuanku was at issue.

  In general, Natal was a popular destination for the Acehnese, and I had plenty of opportunities to learn about their character, especially because the naive Si Upi Keteh—one of my many first loves—came from Aceh. Nevertheless, I lack sufficient materials for a full description of their character and do not dare do more—unlike the many people who speak of the Acehnese these days without ever having seen one—than claim that, generally speaking, they had very many good qualities. In particular, they are undeniably proud and brave. The fact that when war was declared a minister addressing Parliament had the gall to depict the Acehnese as guilty of piracy simply proves, for the thousandth time, that some speakers consider no slander too vile for use in accomplishing their parliamentary goals. Has piracy decreased in the Malay Archipelago since the Acehnese ports were blockaded? Of course not. If our government wants to fight pirates, let it declare war on the Sultan of the Sulu Islands, on the Illanese in Maguindanao, and in fact on all the rulers and peoples of that large island. From that quarter sail the fleets that have, for centuries, subjected the assets of the Acehnese sultans, as well as our own, to a pirate levy, hardly less shameful for those who pay than for the recipient. That would be an admirable job for our navy, or better still our army; shooting down bamboo beach huts is not much of a challenge.

  But the accusation of piracy wasn’t enough for our noble statesmen. To inspire the requisite bloodlust—and willingness to pay!—in the delicate souls of the Dutch people, they characterized the Acehnese in that same lower house as completely in thrall to . . . unnatural desires! I, who had frequent contact with the Acehnese, never noticed anything of the kind, perhaps because I never sought to further my career or position by finding putrid pretexts to wage war. I ask those who show such anthropological insight into this issue what “scientific arguments” they can put forward for their charming accusations. In any case, making such allegations against an enemy who has shown overwhelming evidence of manliness strikes me as rather . . . unmanly, and as distasteful as the supposed crime. What is to be said of a representative body that votes to spend millions at the proposal of ministers who do not balk at such incendiary and reprehensible tactics? The thought, I might add, that the government of the Dutch State—which is rotten to the marrow!—would take up arms in the interest of morality is ludicrous.

  As for the present war, I repeat what I have said elsewhere: our defeat begins in Aceh. I lack the space here to explicate this thesis. Nor do I have any interest in repeatedly giving unpaid lessons to Dutch politicians. They are paid by the nation to know something about these affairs. If the nation persists in contenting itself with individuals who do not meet this criterion, I’m not to blame. There can be no denying that the inevitable consequences of rescinding the secret article in the treaty of 1824 have never once been mentioned in the numerous pamphlets and countless newspaper articles on the subject, or in the speeches of ministers and “honorable members.” All those writers and speakers, either from ignorance of the circumstances or for reasons of a still lower kind, have never touched on the heart of the matter. If the minister of colonies politely inquires what consequences of the foolish Acehnese campaign can be foreseen, I will inform him adequately, although under protest against the injustice that he, not I, is paid for his efforts to maintain Dutch rule in Insulindia.

  77 Madame Geoffrin: In the manuscript, I wrote, “Madame Scarron,” and it seems to me that Mr. Van Lennep made an inaccurate change here. Madame Geoffrin, being very rich, had no need to compensate for her meager table by telling stories. Furthermore, I know for certain that some writers assign the leading role in the well-known anecdote to Madame Scarron.

  78 Chinese church: Everyone who’s anyone in the major cities of the East Indies. The origins of this expression appear to lie in the former practice of standing around gossiping after the Protestant church service in or near Batavia’s Chinatown.

  79 “People who witnessed certa
in events at close quarters.” In 1843, General Michiels took remarkably oppressive measures to widen the roads in the Padang area. No one had any doubt what he meant to achieve: he needed a little military glory to maintain his position as the civilian governor. The unrest he had provoked first became visible in Pau, near the capital. It was soon public knowledge that assemblies were taking place there, and everyone knew these would—by necessity!—give rise to insurrectionary movements. No immediate action was taken to stop them; the fruit had to ripen first. One night, I was awakened by a servant of the artillery captain J. J. M. de Chateleux. He had sent for me because our mutual friend, Captain Beyerman of the infantry, had come to him to bid the two of us farewell. I went to them and found Beyerman in a very grave mood. To his utter surprise, he’d been ordered to march on Pau “so that I can be killed there,” he said. He was killed there, that very night. When the news arrived the next morning, the general took to the field with more than sufficient troops. It was but a moment’s work for him to win the laurels and the certificate of indispensability that he’d been so sorely lacking. Poor Beyerman!

  Setting the scene for battles like that one by sending a small force out ahead on a suicide mission was one of Michiels’s favorite tricks, but he was not alone in this criminal fakery. It plays a role in many campaigns and is unlikely to go away until the art of reading becomes more widespread. Those ludicrous advertisements for cheap books and universal remedies are nothing compared to the clownish lies that, for centuries, some military commanders have been churning out for their paymasters. And there are always versifiers and historians close at hand to lend those old wives’ tales their official stamp—“witnessed and hyperbolized”—so that generations to come will parrot the nonsense they’ve made palatable. See, to give just one example—I have no end of them!—my remarks on the hyperstrategic feats of warcraft performed by the new Prince of Orange at Quatre Bras.

  80 This was prophetic of me, sad to say! The crudest, most unthinkable utterances are neither too crude nor too unthinkable, as long as they serve to knock down someone who’s stuck his neck out. This tactic is used by mediocrities of all stripes. The passage shows that I knew something about this when I wrote Havelaar, but I still wasn’t prophetic enough to anticipate that my caricature of the public would become the literal truth. If Duclari had interrupted me, saying, “No, now you’ve gone too far!” I would undoubtedly have made the error of tempering my bitter words, yet the ultimate outcome proved I hadn’t overstated my case.

  81 It was in those days (1843) that I wrote The Bride Up Above. This play was recently performed in The Hague, Rotterdam, and elsewhere. I attended one performance, and my feelings were very mixed. The renewed acquaintance with this work from my youth, almost forty years ago now, brought back more memories than my heart could bear. And to recall everything that happened to me and around me during that long span of my eventful life! But this is none of your concern, reader. All the same, considering the age of the play, I face a question I believe is relevant to some readers. Is the tone that some commentators take toward me these days truly in keeping with the respect we normally show to our seniors in rank? Have so many writings held up for more than a third of a century in our age of steam that any novice may address me as if I were a newcomer? My own opinion about The Bride is public knowledge, but the play is at least as good as Emilia Galotti, Kabale und Liebe, Minna von Barnhelm, and the sentimental comedies of Kotzebue, which remain in the repertory. In any case, it shows how I spent my time in the days when many of those who now believe they may treat me as their peer were still—or not yet even?—in short trousers. To every man his due, gentlemen! (See also notes 56 and 93.)

  82 Later, as a minister, that editor did his part to make the situation in the Indies untenable. For years, he used “penny-striking” to string along the two houses of Parliament and the Nation. Let me give just one example: the famous Accountability Act, a monument to bureaucratic futility, and as such an accurate reflection of the man himself. He was also the man who was so instrumental in paralyzing Dutch authority over the interior, by separating the judicial and executive powers (see note 13). This champion of our nation is named E. de Waal and, of course, holds a comfortable place on the list of state pensions.

  83 Mr. C. Visscher, then general secretary of the government of the Indies.

  84 What I mean to show here is that the requirements of art regarding moderation in the arousal of emotion, or rather in the means to that end, are not entirely unknown to me. I also claim elsewhere in Havelaar (see, e.g., p. 248) that I have met those requirements. It is precisely because I depict less horror than the circumstances are shown to have produced that the Saijah episode makes such a profound impression, and the critics are therefore wrong to charge me with “exaggeration.” Enough said about aesthetic sensibility. As for the facts reported in Havelaar, again, they are milder than the truth. I touched on nothing but what I could prove—and still can! That was far from the worst of it. If anybody would nonetheless seek to nullify my argument by stooping to the cheap and threadbare accusation that I “exaggerated”—essentially no more than a cunningly disguised admission of the truth!—then please tell me: what did I exaggerate, in what way, how, and how much? I repeatedly made this demand of Duymaer van Twist, who would have been better placed than anybody else to contradict me if there was anything to be said against my claims. He, however, didn’t even dare to speak of “exaggeration”; instead, he merely complained that I had so much talent—a flaw in his eyes, no doubt—and that he would say no more for fear of seeming to take sides. And Parliament and the Nation accepted these puerile dodges! People of the Netherlands, is this justice?

  85 Sambal-sambal: All sorts of side dishes, a type of cuisine in which the Indies excel. A description of the sambals found there would fill volumes. Prosperous families have one servant responsible solely for this part of the daily menu, and for the wealthy, even that is not enough. The basic ingredients include anything edible, made as unrecognizable as possible, as well as a great deal that the uninitiated would not regard as edible, e.g., unripe fruit and spoiled roe. Preparing all these dishes in the proper manner requires prolonged training. It sometimes takes a little practice for baren (newcomers) to learn to enjoy the flavors, but connoisseurs of Indies cuisine prize it above the many varieties of European fare.

  86 As soon as the secret Anglo-Dutch Treaty of 1824, which required a modicum of humility on our part, was terminated in 1873, war was declared. This might lead one to infer that my opinion of General Michiels is more widely pertinent than I myself could have guessed in 1842.

  87 Mr. P. Merkus, later appointed governor-general.

  88 See note 32.

  89 Nothing new under the sun! The Catholic with blind faith in the story about the Blessed Virgin taking the trouble to bring a message to a hysterical country girl in Lourdes mocks the Muslim claiming to have received a visit or a letter from Mohammed. And the Protestant, who laughs at the Catholic’s messages from heaven, feels greatly edified by a sermon on the Song of the Angels in Bethlehem. Why does it cause hard feelings when I equate all these varieties of stupidity?

  90 Padris is the popular name for the Acehnese, who not long before had converted the Batak lands to Islam. The word must mean Pedirese, after Pedir or Pidie, one of the least insignificant statelets in Aceh.

  In point of fact, the accumulated evidence of the fanaticism mentioned in the text has reached incredible proportions. It should nevertheless be acknowledged that the arrival of Islam—even as it increased the use of salt—sharply reduced the incidence of cannibalism. Ida Pfeiffer reports that this old custom hadn’t yet died out in the Panyabungan area—our center of authority in the Batak lands—when she visited (in 1844? 1845?). I hold this to be a lie. Her story of the relevant encounter is accompanied by an anecdote that bears the stamp of falsehood on its face. She was spared, she said, because of the humor in her remark that she was an “elderly woman” and her flesh therefore “too to
ugh.” By the time she ran into Batak natives, a few years after I did, anthropophagy had been stamped out in that region, thanks to the same peoples on whom we now wage war in the name of civilization. When has the Netherlands ever used its religion and its weapons to turn an entire tribe of cannibals, in the wink of an eye, into mild-mannered people?

  91 The Rappat Council in Natal consisted of the principal native chiefs in the regency, with the senior civil servant presiding. This council heard not only civil disputes and criminal cases, but also political matters. The only formality required for implementation of its verdicts was the fiat of the Resident in Ayer Bangies, as the text indicates. The derivation of the word rappat is unknown to me. Apparently it is used only in Sumatra.

  92 Séwah: The weapon used by the inhabitants of this region, like the kris the sharp edge on the inside of the curve. The original reason for this shape must have been that the hilt can be concealed entirely in the hand, with the blunt outer edge of the blade resting against the wrist and behind the arm. The victim thus remains unaware that his attacker is armed until, with three swift motions of the wrist and arm, he strikes. Quite apart from its convenience as a murder weapon, the séwah symbolizes freedom and manliness. Anyone who takes a Malay chief prisoner—as I was sadly obliged to do under the circumstances described on p. 175—will confiscate his séwah.

  Another Sumatran weapon that I do not believe is found elsewhere is called the kerambit and is used solely for killing. Its handle is little more than a circular opening through which the murderer sticks his thumb, while the entire blade remains concealed in or behind the hand.

  93 I believe this remark by the good Duclari is not without merit—a point I would raise in relation to the kind of weapon now being used to attack me, thirty-eight years after the events described in the text. It is hardly surprising that those seeking to destroy my reputation in order to further their own should cling to such a poor instrument. For it is said that poverty breaks through stone walls—that includes mental poverty, and it stands to reason that such people are oblivious to their own lack of stature. But the reading public shouldn’t have put up with this childish mudslinging against me without protest. What have the Van Vlotens and their like ever achieved that would give them the right to speak out against me? Those gentlemen should be required to furnish their credentials.