Translation:Max Havelaar/24

I want the reader to believe that Havelaar was too polite to speak as much as has been told in the past chapters, so that it appears that he was master of the conversation, neglecting a host's duties, which require that the visitors have the opportunity to have their say. I made a selection from the many things that were said, and I could easily continue the conversations, which would even be easier than cutting them short. However, I hope that the given information will justify the description I gave of Havelaar's character and qualities, and that the reader will be interested in his adventures which were to come in Rangkas-Betoeng.

The small family lived quietly together. Havelaar was often away during the daytime and worked at night in his office. He had a very pleasant friendship with the commander of the small garrison, and in the casual relations with the Controller there was no trace of a different rank, which makes many relations in the Indies stiff and boring. Furthermore, Havelaar's desire to be helpful, wherever he could, was often convenient for the Regent, who was very satisfied with his "older brother". And last, the kindness of Mrs Havelaar contributed greatly to the pleasant relations of the few Europeans and the native chiefs. The correspondences with the Resident in Serang showed mutual benevolence, and the Resident's orders were obeyed strictly.

Tine's household had soon been arranged. After a long time the furniture from Batavia had come, the ketimons had been pickled and when Max told someone a story during a meal, it was no longer because the eggs for the omelette were missing, although the small family obviously lived in such a way that the intended thrift was strictly observed.

Mrs Slotering seldom left her house. Only a few times did she have tea with the Havelaars on the front porch. She spoke little and she always kept a watchful eye on anyone who approached her or Havelaar's home. One got used to what they called her monomania and stopped paying attention.

Everything seemed to breathe easily, because it was a simple matter for Max and Tine to get used to the hard life which is unavoidable if one is far away from the main roads. No bread was baked in that place, so they ate no bread. One could have ordered bread in Serang, but the transport cost was too high. Max knew as well as anyone else that there were many ways to get bread to Rangkas-Betoeng without payment, but unpaid labour, that cancer of the Indies, was an abomination to him. Thus there was a lot in Lebak that could be obtained without payment, just with authority, but that could not be bought for a fair price, and under those circumstances Havelaar and his Tine accepted that they could not have anything. They had been in worse plights! Wasn't that poor woman many months on board of an Arabian ship, without a bed except the deck and no shelter against the heat of the sun and the showers of the West monsoon, except between the legs of a little table? Didn't she have to satisfy herself with a small amount of dry rice and dirty water? And wasn't she always satisfied in this and other circumstances, if only she could be with her Max?

There was one circumstance in Lebak which made her sad: little Max could not play in the garden because there were so many snakes. When she discovered this and complained about it to Havelaar, he offered the servants a reward for each snake they caught, but in a few days he paid so many rewards that he had to withdraw his promise. Even in normal circumstances, without the need to be thrifty, the payment would soon have surpassed his means. And so it was decided that little Max could not leave the house and if he wanted some fresh air, he had to be satisfied with playing on the porch. In spite of this care, Tine was always frightened, in particular in the evening, since you know that snakes often crawl into the houses to find warmth and to hide in the bedrooms.

Well, you find snakes and other vermin everywhere in the Indies, but in the bigger towns, where people live closer together, they are rarer than in the wilder areas, such as Rangkas-Betoeng. However, if Havelaar could have decided to remove the weeds from his premises, as far as the edge of the valley, the snakes would also have been in his garden, but not as many as at present. The nature of these animals makes them prefer darkness and shelter over the bright open places, so that, if Havelaar's premises were kept clean, the snakes would only leave the roughness of the valley if they got lost, in spite of themselves. But Havelaar's premises were not clean, and I would like to disclose the reason for that, since it explains something about the abuses which were ubiquitous in the Dutch Indies territories.

The homes of the authorities in the inner lands are on grounds which belong to the communities, as far as one can speak about community properties in a country where the government owns everything. It's enough to say that the premises do not belong to the person who lives there, and everyone would be careful not to buy or hire something which he was unable to maintain. When the premises of his house were too big to be properly maintained, this would, with the abundant tropical vegetation, soon become a wilderness. And yet one seldom sees that premises are in a bad condition. Yes, a traveller is often amazed at the fair park that surrounds a Resident's home. No official in the country has sufficient income to have that done for a fair payment, and yet it is important that the home of an official looks good, since the people, who find the external impression very important, would not find a reason to despise the authorities. So you might wonder how this goal is achieved. In most places the officials can use chain gangs, which are convicted criminals, a kind of labourer. However, these were not available in Bantam, for some more or less valid reason of a political nature. But even in places where such convicted men exist, their number, in particular in view of the need of other labour, is seldom proportional to the amount of work that must be done to maintain the large premises. So other means must be found, and it is obvious to call people for forced labour. A Regent or Dhemang who receives a call for forced labour will hurry to comply, for he understands very well that the official who abuses such power will find it difficult to rebuke a native chief for a similar abuse. And thus abuse by one person legitimises abuse by someone else.

However it appears to me that such an abuse of authority should not be judged too strictly, and certainly not by European measures. The people themselves would find it very strange, because they aren't used to it, if the authority strictly followed the allowed number of forced labourers, since circumstances might occur which had not been foreseen. But as soon as the limit of legality has been overstepped, it becomes hard to indicate when such an overstepping becomes a criminal abuse, and care is needed in particular if one knows that the chiefs are eagerly waiting for a bad example, so they can imitate it. You know the story of the King who did not want to omit payment of a single grain of salt which he had used for a simple meal, since – as he said – this would be the beginning of injustice which would eventually destroy his empire. Whether his name was Timoerleng, Noereddien or Djengis-Khan, it is sure that the fable – or if it isn't a fable, the event – is of Asian origin. And as watching sea dikes reminds you of the possibility of high water, one may assume that there is a tendency to such abuses in a country were such lessons are given.

So Havelaar could legally use only a few people, and these could only maintain a small part of his premises, in the immediate vicinity of his house, to keep it clear of weeds and bushes. The rest was within a few weeks a complete wilderness. Havelaar asked the Resident for means to help him in this, either by more money, or to suggest that the government let chain gangs work in the residency of Bantam, just like elsewhere. The answer was negative, since he had the right to use persons who had been sentenced by the police to "work on the public road". Havelaar knew that, at least he knew that it was everywhere a normal thing to use the services of these condemned people, but he had never been willing to use this assumed right, neither in Rangkas-Betoeng nor in Amboina, nor in Menado, nor in Natal. He disliked having his garden maintained as a fine for small offences, and he had often wondered how the government could allow an official to punish small excusable offences, not proportional to the seriousness of the crime, but to the size or condition of his premises. The idea that a punished man, even if he had been righteously punished, could assume that there was some self-interest in the pronounced sentence, made him, when he had to penalise, always prefer the otherwise very condemnable incarceration.

And thus little Max could not play in the garden, and Tine could not enjoy her flowers as much as she had imagined on the day of their arrival in Rangkas-Betoeng.

It goes without saying that these and many other sorrows had no influence on the mood of a family that had sufficient means to give themselves a happy, homely life, so it was not the fault of these minor problems, when Havelaar came home with a sad face, after a trip, or after hearing someone who had asked to see him. From his speech to the chiefs we know that he intended to do his duty, that he wanted to fight injustice, and I hope that the reader had concluded from the conversations that he was very able to invent something and to make things clear, which was hidden or gloomy for others. So we can assume that very few things in Lebak would escape his attention. We also see that he had regarded the department many years before, so that already on the very first day, when he met Verbrugge in the pendoppo, where my story starts, he could show that he wasn't a stranger. Investigations on the places themselves had confirmed much of what he suspected, and from the archives he had seen that this region, of which the government had been entrusted to him, was really in an extremely sad situation.

He had seen letters and notes of his predecessor and seen that he had made the same remarks. The correspondence with the chiefs contained reproaches and reproaches, threats and threats, and it was obvious that a clerk would eventually say that he would go right to the government if nothing were done about it.

When Verbrugge said this to Havelaar, the latter had replied that his predecessor would have been wrong to do so, since the Assistant-Resident of Lebak was not allowed to go over the head of the Resident of Bantam, and he had added that there was absolutely no reason for it, since one could not expect that a higher clerk would be in favour of extortion.

This being in favour could certainly not be expected in the way Havelaar meant, since the Resident obtained no advantage or profit from these offences. However, there was a reason why he was reluctant to do something with the complaints of Havelaar's predecessor. We saw that the predecessor had often talked with the Resident about the existing abuses – geaboucheerd, as Verbrugge called it – and how little the results had been. It is therefore important to investigate why such a high clerk, who, being chief of the entire residency, just like the Assistant-Resident, or even more, has the duty to make sure that justice be done, could almost always have a reason to prevent that justice.

Already in Serang, when Havelaar stayed in the Resident's house, Havelaar had been talking about the abuses in Lebak, and the answer had been: "all this happens everywhere, more or less." Havelaar could not deny this. Who will say that he saw a country where no evil things happen? But he found this no reason to allow abuse, wherever it was found, in particular when one had been called explicitly to fight the abuse, and also, after all he knew about Lebak, that in this case there was no question of more or less but of very most, whereupon the Resident had replied that it was even worse in the department Tjiringien, which also belonged to Bantam.

If one assumes, as one can assume, that a Resident gets no particular advantage from the extortion and he cannot use the people for his own profit, one might wonder what moves so many people to allow these extortions, contrary to oath and duty, without even reporting them to the government. And if one thinks about it, it is also strange that the existence of the abuse is admitted, as if it were something that was out of reach of the authority. I'll try to develop the causes of this.

In general it is unpleasant to report bad news, and it appears that the bad impression the news makes sticks to the person who had the sad task of reporting the news. If this alone is a reason for some people to, against common sense, deny the existence of something unfavourable, this will be much more so if one not only runs the risk of obtaining the disgrace which appears to be the fate of the person who brings bad news, but also to be the cause of the unfavourable situation which one should reveal.

The government of the Dutch Indies prefers to write to its superiors in the mother country that everything is as desired. The residents report this to the government. The Assistant-Residents, who receive only favourable reports from their controllers, prefer not to send bad news to their residents. The result is that the official treatment of cases contains an artificial optimism, contrary to the truth, but also contrary to the opinion of the optimists themselves, as soon as they treat the same cases by word of mouth and – even stranger – contrary to their own written reports. I could give examples of reports which exalt the favourable position of a residency to the highest level, while at the same, time, where digits show, contradict themselves. These examples would, if the case was not so serious because of the final results, give rise to laughter and mockery, and one is surprised at the naivety with which in such a case the most damnable lies are accepted, even if the author himself offers the weapons to fight those lies. I shall mention a single example, but I could add a lot more. Among the documents that lie before me, there is an annual report of a residency. The Resident boasts of the blossoming trade and says that the area has extreme wealth and industrialism. A bit further on, however, speaking about the limited means he has to fight illicit trading, he immediately wants to remove the unpleasant impression which the government might have that his residency evades income tax. "No," he says, "there is no reason to be afraid of that. There is no illicit import in my residency, because there is so little business that no-one would venture his possessions in trade."

I read such a report that started with the words "In the past year everything remained quiet." Such a message witnesses that the writer trusts that the government will be favourable to anyone who has no bad news, or, as it is said, "who does not trouble the government" with sad messages!

When the population does not grow, this is attributed to erroneous counts in previous years. When the taxes do not rise, this is explained in a positive way: it was intended to encourage agriculture with lower taxes, so agriculture will develop and will soon - preferably after the reporter has resigned – produce incomprehensible fruits. When disorders have occurred which simply could not remain hidden, this was caused by a few evildoers, who will not be feared in the future, since there is general satisfaction now. When the population is decreased because of want or famine, it was always the result of drought or rain, never bad government.

The report by Havelaar's predecessor, in which he attributed the "departure of many people from the district Parang-Koedjang to serious abuse" is here before me. This report was not official and it contained topics which that clerk wanted to discuss with the Resident of Bantam. But Havelaar searched in vain for a proof that his predecessor called the case by its true name in a public missive of service.

In short, the official reports of the clerks to the government, and therefore the reports to the motherland, are for a great and major part: untrue.

I know that this is a serious accusation, but I insist, and I feel completely able to prove it. Anyone who might be disturbed by this uttering of my opinion, remember how many millions of money and how many lives would have been saved for England, if they had opened their eyes in time to the actual situation in British India, and how grateful one had to be to the one who had the courage to be the Job's messenger, before it was too late to correct the errors in a less bloody way that had been made necessary now.

I said that I could prove my accusation. Wherever it is needed, I'll show that there was often a famine in areas which boasted of having exemplary wealth, and that a population was described as quiet and satisfied while it was actually preparing to burst out in anger. I do not intend to give that evidence in this book, but I trust that the reader will not finish this book before he believes that it exists.

For the moment I limit myself to a single example of the ridiculous optimism I spoke about, an example that will be understood by anyone, whether he is acquainted with the cases in the Indies or not.

Every Resident produces a monthly report of the rice which has been imported in his area or has been transported elsewhere. This report consists of two parts, limited to Java and abroad. If one regards the amounts of rice that, according to those reports, have been transferred from Javanese residencies to Javanese residencies, one will find that this quantity is several thousand pikols more than the rice which, according to the same reports, has been transferred to Javanese residencies from Javanese residencies.

I shall remain silent about someone's thoughts about the perception of a government which accepts and publishes such reports, I only want to draw the reader's attention to the meaning of this falsification.

The commission to European and native clerks for products which must be sold in Europe had so retarded the cultivation of rice, that there has been a famine in some areas, which simply could not be magically hidden from the eyes of the nation. I already said that there have been regulations to prevent a repetition. One of the many results of those regulations were the reports of imported and exported rice, so that the government could see continuously how that important food rose and fell. Export from a residency means wealth, import means comparative want.

If one investigates and compares all those reports, one finds that rice is so abundant that all residencies together export more rice than all residencies import. I repeat that export is disregarded, since this is reported separately. The absurd final conclusion is there is more rice than rice on Java. Well, that surely is wealth!

I already said that the wish to give only good reports to the government would really be ridiculous if the results were not so sad. What improvement can be expected if there is a prior intention to change all information to the rulers? What can be expected of a people, originally of a soft and meek nature, which has complained for many years about suppression and extortion, if it sees that the residents resign one by one, or are retired, or called to another office, before something has been done to redress complaints under which they are bent! Shouldn't a bent spring jump back? Shouldn't the suppressed dissatisfaction – suppressed so that one can continue to deny it – change into anger, desperation, frenzy? Isn't there a Jacquerie at the end of this road?

And where will the clerks be, who succeed one another, year after year, without getting the idea that there must be something higher than the government's favour? Something higher than the satisfaction of the Governor-General? Where will they be, who wrote silly reports which blinded the eyes of the rulers with their lies? Will they, who used to lack the courage to write some brave words, take arms to keep the Dutch possessions for the Netherlands? Shall they give their treasures back to the Netherlands, which will be needed to quench an uproar, to prevent a revolt? Will they give life back to the thousands who died because of them?

And those clerks, the controllers and residents, are not the most guilty ones. It is the government, afflicted with incomprehensible blindness encouraged to give good reports, even rewards them. This happens in particular where the people are suppressed by native chiefs.

Many attribute this protection of the chiefs to the evil calculation that they must show pomp and circumstance to be able to influence the people, since this influence is needed to maintain the government's authority. They required a much higher salary if they had not the freedom to supply the missing income by unlawful possession of the goods and the labour of the people. However it be, the government is very reluctant to take measures which protect the Javanese against extortion and robbing. Usually one finds in rules of politics, which are often ill-judged and quite arbitrary, a reason to save that Regent or chief, and it has almost become a proverb in the Indies that the government had rather fire ten residents than one chief. And those assumed rules of politics – if they are founded on something – are usually founded on false reports, since it is in the interest of each Resident to exalt the influence of the regents on the people, so that he can hide behind them when there might be negative remarks about a great leniency towards those chiefs.

I skip the abominable hypocrisy of the decisions which seem charitable – and the oaths – which protect the Javanese against arbitrariness … on paper, and I ask the reader to remember how Havelaar pronounced those oaths, when he indicated something that appeared to be contempt. For the moment I only mention the trouble of the situation of that man who, not because a pronounced formula, considered himself bound to do his duty.

And for him the trouble was even greater than it would have been for other people, because his mind was so meek, completely contrary to his insight, which the reader has known as rather sharp. Therefore he did not only fight with fear for men or trouble for career and promotion, and he had not only the duties of a consort and a father: he had to fight an enemy in his own heart. He could not see suffering without suffering himself, and I would go too far if I gave examples of how he always, even when he had been hurt or offended, protected the opponent's party against himself. He told Duclari and Verbrugge how he found in his youth something attractive in a duel in sabres, and that was true, but he did not say that he usually wept after hurting the opponent and that he cared for his former enemy until he was healed. I can tell about the chaingang member who shot at him in Natal, and that he called him kindly, spoke to him, gave him food and freedom over all others, because he thought that he had discovered that the bitterness of that convict was caused by a very severe sentence, which had been pronounced elsewhere. Usually his meekness of mind was denied or considered ridiculous. Denied by the one who confused his heart with his spirit. Found ridiculous by the one who could not understand that a sensible man attempted to save a fly which got stuck in a spider's web. Denied again by everyone – except Tine – who heard him afterwards scold those "stupid animals" and the "stupid nature" that created those animals.

But there was another way to get him down from the pedestal where his surrounding – one could like him or not – was forced to put him, "Yes, he is witty – but his wittiness is volatile" or "He is sensible, but he never uses his senses" or: "yes, he is kind-hearted, but he shows it off!"

I do not take sides for his spirit, his senses. But his heart? Poor wriggling fly that has been saved when he was all alone, would you defend that heart against the accusation of showing off? But you have flown away, and you did not care for Havelaar, you who could not know that he would one day need your testimony!

Was it showing off when Havelaar jumped in the water to save a dog – his name was Sappho – which had fallen in the river mouth, because he feared that the young animal could not swim fast enough to evade the sharks which are so many there? I find the showing off of kind-heartedness harder to believe than the kind-heartedness itself.

I call ye, all ye who have known Havelaar, when you are not stiff because of chill in winter and death, like the saved flies, or withered because of the heat there near the equator. I call you to testify of his heart, all you who knew him! Today I call you with trust, because there is no more need to search where the rope must be fastened to get him down, from whatever low height.

In the meantime, although it appears colourful, I include some lines written by his hand, which may make such a description redundant. Max was far, far away from his wife and child. He had left her in the Indies and was in Germany. With the swiftness I know, but which I do not protect if he might judge otherwise, he learned the language of the country where he stayed a few months. Here are the lines which at the same time show the intimateness of the relation between him and his family.

Yes, for fear of being found too colourful I include these lines. I want to omit no opportunity to let thee know the man who is the main character in my story, so that the reader will find him a bit important when there are dark clouds over his head.