Translation:Max Havelaar/25

Havelaar's predecessor, who also had good intentions but also feared the high disgrace of the government – he had many children and little money – also preferred to speak with the Resident about what he called far-reaching abuses, rather than mentioning it in an official report. He knew that a Resident dislikes receiving a written report, which can remain in his files and which can afterwards be used to prove that he had been advised on time about this or that, while a spoken message leaves him the choice of accepting or rejecting a complaint, without any danger. Such spoken messages always resulted in a conversation with the Regent, who denied everything and challenged the Resident to present proofs. Then the people were called who had been so bold as to complain, and crawling at the Adhipatti's feet they prayed to be forgiven. "No, the water buffalo had not been taken without payment, they believed that a double price would be paid" "No they had not been called from their fields to work without payment in the Regent's sawahs, they knew very well that the Adhipatti would have generously rewarded them." "When they complained it was in a moment of an unfounded bad mood – they had been insane, and begged to be punished for this deep disrespect!"

The Resident knew what he should think of the withdrawal of the complaint, but this withdrawal gave him a fair opportunity to retain the Regent in his office and honour, and he had been saved the unpleasant task of bothering the government with an unpleasant message. The reckless complainers were caned, the Regent had triumphed and the Resident returned to the capital, with the unpleasant awareness that he had arranged things well.

But what could the Assistant-Resident do when other complainers came the next day? Or – and this often happened – when the same complainers appeared to withdraw their withdrawals? Should he report the thing again, speak about it to the Resident, to see the same comedy again, with the risk that he seemed like someone who always produced accusations which after all turned out to be unfounded? What could be expected of the much-needed friendly relations between the native chief and the first European clerk, if the latter always listened to false complaints about the chief? And in particular, what happened to the poor complainers when they had returned to their villages, under the power of the district or village chief whom they had accused because he had carried out the orders of the Regent?

What happened to those complainers? Who could flee, fled. That's why there were so many Bantammers in the nearby provinces! That's why there were so many people of Lebak among the revolting people in the Lampong districts! That's why Havelaar had asked in his speech to the chiefs: "what is this, that so may houses are empty in the villages? Why prefer so many people the shade of the forests elsewhere over the fair forests of Bantan Kidoel?"

But not everyone could flee. The man whose body floated down the river in the morning, who had the previous night, slowly, frightened, asked to be heard by the Assistant-Resident, he had no more need to flee. Perhaps it would have been charitable that an immediate death saved him from a longer life. He did not get the mistreatment that he could expect on return in his village, and the caning which was the penalty for a man who thought for a moment that he could not be a beast, a mindless log or rock. The punishment for the one who in madness had said that there was righteousness in the country and that the Assistant-Resident was willing to use his power to maintain that righteousness...

Perhaps it would have been better to prevent that man from returning to the Assistant-Resident – as he spoke to him in the evening – and to smother his complaint in the yellow water of the Tjioedjoeng, which would softly carry him to the mouth, as it was common to carry these gifts to the sharks in the sea.

And Havelaar knew all this! Does the reader understand what he felt in his mind when he thought that he had been called to do justice, that he was responsible to do so to a higher power than the power of a government, which did prescribe righteousness in its laws, but did not like it to be applied? Does the reader feel how he was swung to and fro by doubt, not about what he had to do, but how he was to do it?

He had started with meekness. He had spoken to the Adhipatti as an older brother and if you think that I, satisfied with the hero of my history, attempt to exalt his way of working, you should hear how, after such an interview, the Regent sent his patteh to him to thank him for the benevolence of his words, and how long afterwards that patteh, talking with the Controller Verbrugge – when Havelaar was no more an Assistant-Resident of Lebak, so nothing could be hoped for or feared from him – how that patteh remembered his words and exclaimed: "no gentleman has ever spoken like he!"[129]

Yes, he wanted to help, to bring justice, to save, not to destroy. He felt sorry for the Regent. He, who knew what it is to be in want of money, especially when it leads to humiliation or disgrace, looked for reasons to be excused. The Regent was old, and the chief of a family that afforded itself a lot in the neighbouring provinces, where they harvest a lot of coffee and enjoy emoluments. Wasn't it distressing to him, who had to live a less wealthy lifestyle than his younger kin? And the man thought, governed by fanaticism, that as he got older he could buy the salvation of his soul with paid voyages to Mecca and with gifts to prayer-singing idlers. The clerks who preceded Havelaar in Lebak had not always been exemplary. And eventually the size of the Regent's kin in Lebak, which lived completely at his expense, made it hard for him to return to the good way.

That's why Havelaar looked for reasons to postpone strictness, and again and again he tried to reach with meekness.

And he went further than meekness. With a generosity reminiscent of the errors he made which made him so poor, he frequently advanced money to the Regent, on his own responsibility, so that he did not have to use other means, and as usual he went so far that he offered to live on the utmost minimum, so he could help the Regent with the little he could spare from his wages.

If it were still necessary to describe the meekness with which Havelaar fulfilled his hard duty, one might find evidence in an order he gave to the Controller, who was just leaving for Serang. He said: Tell the Resident that he, if he hears about the abuses which happen here, should not think that I am indifferent to it. I do not report every event because I want to spare the Regent, whom I pity, from too great a strictness. First I want to see if I can remind him of his duty with meekness.

Havelaar was often away for several days. If he was home, he was usually found in the room which in the map would be square number 7. He was usually writing there, and he received the persons who wanted to be heard. He had chosen that room because it was in the neighbourhood of Tine, who was usually in the next room. They were so intimate that Max, even if he was doing something which required his full attention, continuously felt the need to see her or to hear her. It was often comical how he at times spoke to her about his thoughts which bothered him, whereupon she immediately understood what he meant, although she did not know what case he was investigating, which he usually did not explain, as if it was a matter of course that she knew what he meant. Often, when he was unsatisfied about his own labour or a sad message he had just received, he jumped up and said something unkind to her – who was not to blame for his dissatisfaction. But she was pleased to hear this, because it proved how much Max confused her with himself. And they never said sorry about this apparent harshness, or asked forgiveness from the other party. That would have been like asking forgiveness from yourself, because, in his anger he had beaten his own head.

She knew him so well, that she knew exactly when she had to be there to give him a short break – at the very moment that he needed her advice. And she knew just as well when to leave him alone.

Havelaar was working in that room one morning when the Controller came in, with a letter he had just received.

"This is a hard case, Mr Havelaar," he said when he came in. "Very hard!"

When I tell you that the letter was simply Havelaar's order to clarify why there had been a change in the process of wood and labour, you will find that the Controller easily found that something was hard. So let me add that other people would also find it hard to answer that simple question.

A few years before, a prison had been built in Rangkas-Betoeng. It is well known that the clerks in the inner lands of Java are very able to build things which have a value of thousands, for the price of only a few hundreds. Thus they obtain fame that they are very skilled in the service of the country. The difference between the spent money and the value of the result is obtained by unpaid supply or unpaid labour. For some years there had been rules which forbade this. Whether those rules are observed, is not the question, nor whether the government actually wants those rules to be observed with an exactness which would burden the budget of the building department. It is probably like so many rules which appear very charitable on paper.

Well, in Rangkas-Betoeng many other buildings had to be erected, and the engineers who designed them, had asked for information about the local prices of labour and materials. Havelaar had ordered the Controller to carefully investigate this, and to quote the exact prices, without regarding what happened previously. When Verbrugge had fulfilled this order, it was found that the prices were much higher than they used to be. This required an explanation, and this is what Verbrugge found so hard. Havelaar, who knew very well what was behind this apparent simple case, replied that he would give a written report about his ideas of this trouble. Among the documents that I have I find a copy of the letter which apparently resulted from this promise.

Reader, if you complain that I bore you with a correspondence about the price of wood, which is something you are not interested in, I must ask you to observe that the matter is something completely different, namely of the situation of the official economy in the Indies, and that the letter does not only clarify the artificial optimism about which I spoke, but that it also explains the difficulties which were encountered by someone like Havelaar, who wanted to pursue his course straight ahead without looking back.


 * Number 114 ———— Rangkas-Betoeng, 15 March 1856.
 * To the Controller of Lebak,
 * When I sent the letter from the Director of Public Works, of 16 February, number 271/354, to you, I asked you to answer the questions, after considering with the Regent, remembering what I wrote in my missive of 5 March number 97.
 * That missive contained some General hints regarding what should be considered fair and right when deciding the prices of materials, which the people will supply to the government.
 * In your missive of 8 March number 6, you did so, and I believe as best as you could. Therefore I forwarded these data to the Resident, trusting in your local knowledge – and the knowledge of the Regent.
 * This was followed by a missive from the chief clerk of 11 March number 326, in which information is requested to explain the differences between the prices I reported, and the prices which were paid in 1853 and 1854, when a prison was built.
 * Of course I gave this letter to you, and I ordered you to justify your report. This must have been easy, since you could appeal to the regulations which I gave you in my letter from 5 March, and which we have discussed frequently.
 * Up to this point everything is simple and gradual.
 * But yesterday you came to my office, with the forwarded letter of the Resident, and you spoke about trouble complying with that request. I found that you were reluctant to name certain things by their true name, which, as I said to you before, also in the presence of the Resident, is something I consider to be half-heartedness. I often kindly warned you about this. Half-heartedness leads to nothing. Half good is not good, half true is not true.
 * For a full payment, a full rank, after a clear and complete oath, one does his full duty. If it takes courage to fulfil it, one should have that courage.
 * Personally I would not have the courage to lack courage, For, apart from the dissatisfaction which is often caused by neglect of duty, the search for easier ways, the attempt to avoid collisions, everywhere and always, the coveting of compromise, all this produces more trouble and more danger than one would have found on a straight road. In the course of a very important matter, which is currently being considered by the government, and in which you should have been involved, I left you silently neutral, from time to time making remarks in jest.
 * Then, for example, I received your report about the causes of want and famine and I replied "This may all be true, but it is not the complete truth, nor the main truth. The main cause is deeper." You admitted that and I did not use my right to require that you would also name the main cause.
 * I had many reasons to be so accommodating, one of them being that it would be unfair to require you to do what many others would not do either. To force you to suddenly say goodbye to the routine of reserve and fear of men, which is not really your fault but the fault of the role you had to play. I wanted to give you an example that it is so much simpler and easier to do your duty completely than partly.
 * Today however, while you have been some time under my command, and after I repeatedly gave you the opportunity to learn principles which – if I am not mistaken – will eventually triumph, I wished for you to you accept them, and for you to acquire the present but unused power which seems to be needed to always say clearly what must be said. So stop having that inhuman shyness about speaking aloud.
 * I therefore expect a simple but complete report of your explanation for the price difference between today and 1853 or 1854.
 * I sincerely hope that you will regard no sentence in this letter as if it was written to affront you. I trust that you know me well enough to know that I mean no less and no more than what I say, and – although this should be clear – I assure you that my remarks do not really apply to you but to the school where you became a clerk of the Indies.
 * However, these circonstances atténuantes would be void if you, as long as you are in my company and serve the government under my management, should go on with the half-heartedness to which I object.
 * You may have noticed that I did not write "Uweledelgestrenge", I found it boring. Please do the same, if we esteem one another, this will be obvious in a different way, not from that boring and bothersome title.


 * The Assistant-Resident of Lebak
 * MAX HAVELAAR.

The reply to this letter accused some of Havelaar's predecessors, and it proved that he was right when he named the bad examples of an earlier time among the reasons which the Regent pleaded to excuse himself.

I ran a bit forward when I quoted this letter, since I wanted to show how little help Havelaar got from the Controller as soon as other, more important, affairs had to be named by the right name, when this clerk, who was certainly a good man, had to be spoken to like that to say the truth when it was only in mentioning the prices of wood, brick, mortar and labour. One realises that he did not only fight against persons who benefitted from crime, but also with the reluctance of people – who rejected that crime as well – who found themselves not called or not able to act against it with the required courage.

Perhaps the reader will, after reading this letter, change his opinion about his contempt for the slavish submission of the Javanese who, in the presence of his chief, withdraws his accusation like a coward, although the accusation was correct. If he remembers that there was a lot of reason to be fearful, even for the European clerk, who can be expected to be safe from revenge, he will understand what the poor farmer can expect who lives in a village far away from the capital, completely subject to his accused tyrants. Is it surprising that these poor people, frightened by the consequences of their boldness, attempted to escape those consequences or to relieve them with humble submission?

And it was not only the Controller Verbrugge, who did his duty with much reluctance so that it was almost neglect of duty. Also the Djaksa, the native chief who has the task of public prosecutor at the Country Council, preferred to enter Havelaar's home by night, unseen and without train. He, who had to prevent theft, had the order to betray the sneaking thief, he stole, as if he were the thief himself, on tiptoe through the backdoor of the house, after carefully looking around to make sure that there was no-one else who could betray him afterwards, and blame him for doing his duty.

Is it surprising that Havelaar's soul was sad and that Tine needed to enter his room often to cheer him up when he sat there with his head down?

And yet the biggest problem was not the fear of his helpers, nor the accessory cowardice of those who had called him for help. No, he would do his duty all alone if it had to be done, with of without the help of other people, yes, against all, even if it were against the people who needed his help! For he knew what influence he had on the people and how – once the poor victims, called to repeat aloud in court what they had whispered to him at night – he knew that he had the power to work on their minds, and how the power of his words would be stronger than the fear of the revenge of the district chief or the Regent. The fear that his wards would abandon their own cases could not withhold him. But it cost him a lot to accuse the old Adhipatti; and that was the cause of his dilemma! And on the other hand he could not give in to this resistance, since the entire population, separated from good righteousness, also had the right to pity.

Fear for himself had no part in his dilemma. For he knew that the government does not like to see that a Regent is accused, and that it is much easier to fire a European clerk than to punish a native chief, but he had a special reason to believe that right at this moment the case would be judged with different principles from normally. It is true that he, even without that opinion, would also have done his duty, even more if he had judged the danger for himself and his family to be greater than ever. We already said that he was attracted by trouble, and how he longed for self-sacrifice. But he thought that a self-sacrifice was not as attractive here and he feared – if he would eventually start a real fight against injustice – that he would be weaned from the knightly joy of having started the fight as the weaker party.

Yes, he feared that. He thought that the government had a chief, the Governor-General, who would be his ally, and it was another peculiarity in his character that this opinion prevented him from taking strong measures, more than anything else could have, because he did not want to fight injustice at a time when he considered justice to be stronger than usual. I have already said, when I described his character, that he was naïve and also very astute.

Let us try to clarify why Havelaar formed that opinion.