Max Havelaar 1732 Studios

Dutch · The Novel

Hoofdstuk 13

Chapter 13

139 sentences · 237 notes

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  1. 1

    --And may one now learn why you were actually suspended? asked Duclari.

    Enanden · conjunctionintroduces the question
    magmaymogen · auxiliary verb, present, singularmodal auxiliary of weten
    menonemen · pronoun, nominativesubject of mag weten
    nunownu · adverbmodifies weten
    wetenlearnweten · verb, infinitivemain infinitive governed by mag
    waaromwhywaarom · interrogative adverbintroduces the embedded question and expresses cause
    geyougij · personal pronoun, nominative, second-person singularsubject of waart
    eigenlykactuallyeigenlijk · adverbmodifies gesuspendeerd
    gesuspendeerdsuspendedsuspenderen · verb, past participlemain participle of the embedded passive clause
    waartwerezijn · auxiliary verb, past, second-person singularauxiliary of gesuspendeerd

    Waart is the older second-person singular past form used with gij/ge.

    vroegaskedvragen · verb, past, singularreporting verb introducing the quoted question
    DuclariDuclariDuclari · proper noun, common gender, singularsubject of vroeg
  2. 2

    --Oh yes, gladly!

  3. 3

    For since everything I have to tell you about this I can vouch for as true, and even partly prove, you will see from it that I did not act rashly when, in my account of that missing child, I refused to dismiss the Padang gossip as utterly absurd. You will find it quite credible once you come to know our brave general in the matters that concern me.

  4. 4

    There were, then, inaccuracies and omissions in my cash account at Natal.

  5. 5

    You know how every inaccuracy ends in a loss: carelessness never leaves one with money to spare.

  6. 6

    The head of the accounting office at Padang--who just then was no particular friend of mine--claimed that there were thousands missing.

  7. 7

    But note well that, all the while I was at Natal, no one had drawn my attention to this.

  8. 8

    Quite unexpectedly I received a transfer to the Padang highlands.

  9. 9

    You know, Verbrugge, that on Sumatra a posting in the highlands of Padang is regarded as more advantageous and more pleasant than one in the northern residency.

  10. 10

    Since only a few months earlier I had had the Governor with me--presently you will hear why, and how--and because during his stay at Natal, and even in my own house, things had occurred in which I believed I had borne myself altogether very well, I took that transfer as a mark of favour, and set out from Natal for Padang.

  11. 11

    I made the voyage on a French ship, the Baobab of Marseille, which had loaded pepper at Atjeh, and ... naturally was "short of drinking water" at Natal. As soon as I reached Padang, intending to leave at once from there for the interior, I wished, as custom and duty required, to call on the Governor; but he sent me word that he could not receive me, and at the same time that I was to postpone my departure for my new post until further orders.

  12. 12

    You can imagine how astonished I was at this, the more so since at Natal he had left me in a mood that led me to think I stood rather well in his books. I had only a few acquaintances at Padang, but from these few I learned--or rather I perceived it from them--that the general was greatly displeased with me.

  13. 13

    I say I perceived it because at an outpost such as Padang then was, the goodwill of many could serve as a gauge of the favour one had found in the eyes of the Governor.

  14. 14

    I felt that a storm was brewing, without knowing from which quarter the wind would come.

  15. 15

    Since I needed money, I asked this person and that to help me out, and I was truly astonished that everywhere I met with a refusal.

  16. 16

    At Padang, no less than elsewhere in the Indies, where on the whole credit plays an even excessive part, the disposition on that point was otherwise quite liberal.

  17. 17

    In any other case people would gladly have advanced a few hundred guilders to a controller who was travelling and, contrary to expectation, found himself detained somewhere.

  18. 18

    But to me all help was refused.

  19. 19

    I pressed some of them to name the grounds of this distrust, and bit by bit I came at last to learn that errors and omissions had been discovered in my financial administration at Natal, which made me suspect of dishonest management.

  20. 20

    That there were errors in my administration did not surprise me in the least.

  21. 21

    The very opposite would have astonished me; but I did find it strange that the Governor, who had personally been a witness to how, far from my office, I had again and again to contend with the discontent of the population and with persistent attempts at insurrection ... that he, who had himself praised me for what he called "resoluteness," could give the discovered errors the name of dishonesty or fraud.

  22. 22

    No one, surely, could know better than he that in these matters there could never be any question of anything but force majeure. And even were this force majeure denied, even were I to be held responsible for errors committed at moments when I--often in peril of my life!--far from the treasury and whatever resembled it, had to entrust the management of it to others; even were it demanded that, doing the one thing, I ought not to have left the other undone, then still I would have been guilty only of a carelessness that had nothing in common with "dishonesty." There existed besides, in those days especially, numerous instances showing that the Government understood this difficulty in the position of officials on Sumatra, and it seemed indeed to be accepted in principle that on such occasions one should turn a blind eye.

  23. 23

    They contented themselves with demanding from the officials concerned the repayment of what was missing, and the proofs had to be very clear indeed before the word "dishonesty" was uttered or even thought of.

  24. 24

    This was indeed so accepted as a rule that at Natal I had myself told the Governor I was afraid that, after the examination of my accounts at the offices in Padang, I should have a great deal to repay, to which he answered with a shrug: "oh ... those money matters!" as though he himself felt that the lesser must give way to the greater. Now, I grant that money matters are important.

  25. 25

    But however important, in this case they were subordinate to other branches of concern and duty.

  26. 26

    If, through carelessness or omission, a few thousand were missing from my management, I do not call that a trifle in itself. But if these thousands were lacking as a consequence of my successful efforts to forestall the insurrection that threatened to set the region of Mandhéling ablaze, and to make the people of Atjeh return to the lands from which we had only just driven them at great cost in money and men, then the weight of such a shortfall falls away, and it became even somewhat unjust to impose its repayment on a man who had saved infinitely greater interests.

  27. 27

    And yet I was at peace with such a repayment. For by not demanding it, one would open too wide a door to dishonesty.

  28. 28

    After days of waiting--you can imagine in what mood!--I received from the Governor's secretariat a letter informing me that I was held suspect of dishonesty, with orders to answer for myself on a number of charges that had been raised against my management.

  29. 29

    Some of these I could clear up at once. For others, however, I needed sight of certain documents, and above all it was important for me to investigate those matters at Natal itself, so as to inquire of my employees into the causes of the discrepancies found; and probably I should have succeeded there in my efforts to bring everything to light.

  30. 30

    The failure to enter, for instance, a sum sent to Mandhéling--you know, Verbrugge, that the troops in the interior are paid out of the Natal treasury--or some such thing, which most likely would have become clear to me at once had I been able to investigate on the spot, had perhaps given rise to those vexing errors.

  31. 31

    But the general would not let me set out for Natal.

  32. 32

    This refusal made me attend the more to the strangeness of the manner in which that accusation of dishonesty had been brought against me.

  33. 33

    Why, after all, had I been transferred from Natal so unexpectedly, and that under suspicion of dishonesty?

  34. 34

    Why was this dishonouring suspicion first disclosed to me only when I was far from the place where I should have had the opportunity to defend myself?

  35. 35

    And above all, why were these matters cast against me so promptly in the most unfavourable light, contrary to accepted custom and to fairness?

  36. 36

    Before I had yet answered all those charges, as best I could without archive or oral information, I learned indirectly that the General was so displeased with me "because I had so thwarted him at Natal, in which, it was added, I had also done very wrong."

  37. 37

    Then a light dawned on me.

  38. 38

    Yes, I had thwarted him, but in the naïve belief that he would esteem me for it!

  39. 39

    I had thwarted him, yet at his departure nothing had led me to guess that he was displeased about it! Foolishly enough, I had taken the favourable transfer to Padang as proof that he had thought my "thwarting" fine.

  40. 40

    You will see how little I knew him then.

  41. 41

    But as soon as I learned that this was the cause of the harshness with which my financial administration had been judged, I was at peace with myself.

  42. 42

    I answered point by point as well as I could, and ended my letter--I still have the draft of it--with these words: "I have answered the charges raised against my administration, as well as was possible for me without archive or local inquiry.

  43. 43

    I beg Your Most Noble and Stern Honour to spare me all kindly considerations.

  44. 44

    I am young, and insignificant by comparison with the might of the prevailing notions against which my principles compel me to take a stand; but I remain nonetheless proud of my moral independence, proud of my honour."

  45. 45

    The next day I was suspended for "dishonest administration." The Officer of Justice--in those days we still said fiscal--was instructed to discharge "office and duty" with regard to me.

  46. 46

    And so there I stood at Padang, barely twenty-three years old, gazing at the future, which was to bring me dishonour!

  47. 47

    I was advised to plead my youth--I was still a minor when the alleged offences were supposed to have taken place--but this I would not do.

  48. 48

    I had, after all, already thought and suffered too much, and ... I dare say it: already worked too much, to take shelter behind my youth.

  49. 49

    You can see from the closing of that letter, just quoted, that I would not be treated as a child--I, who at Natal had done my duty toward the general as a man.

  50. 50

    And at the same time you can see from that letter how groundless was the accusation brought against me.

  51. 51

    Truly, one who is guilty of base offences writes otherwise! I was not arrested, and yet this surely ought to have happened had that criminal suspicion been meant in earnest.

  52. 52

    Perhaps, however, this apparent omission was not without grounds.

  53. 53

    For a prisoner, after all, one is bound to provide lodging and food.

  54. 54

    Since I could not leave Padang, I was in reality a prisoner all the same, but a prisoner without a roof and without bread.

  55. 55

    I had written repeatedly to the General, though each time to no avail, that he must not bar my departure from Padang; for that, even were I guilty of the very worst, no crime ought to be punished with starvation.

  56. 56

    After the council of justice, which was plainly embarrassed by the case, had found a way out by declaring itself incompetent--because prosecutions for offences committed in the course of service may not take place except by authorization of the Government at Batavia--the general kept me, as I said, nine months at Padang.

  57. 57

    At last he received from higher quarters the order to let me depart for Batavia.

  58. 58

    When, a couple of years later, I had some money--dear Tine, it was you who gave it me!--I paid a few thousand guilders to square the Natal cash accounts of 1842 and 1843, and then a man who could be considered to represent the Government of the Netherlands Indies said to me: "in your place I would not have done that ... I would have given a draft on eternity." Ainsi va le monde!

  59. 59

    Havelaar was just about to begin the story his guests were awaiting from him, the one that would make clear how and why he had so "thwarted" General Vandamme at Natal, when Mrs. Slotering appeared in the front gallery of her dwelling and beckoned to the police officer who was sitting on a bench beside Havelaar's house.

  60. 60

    He went over to her, and then called out something to a man who had just stepped onto the grounds, probably with the intention of making his way to the kitchen, which lay behind the house.

  61. 61

    Our company would probably not have taken notice of this, had not Tine said at table that afternoon that Mrs. Slotering was so shy, and seemed to keep a kind of watch over everyone who entered the grounds.

  62. 62

    They saw the man whom the officer had summoned go up to her, and it seemed indeed that she put him through an interrogation that did not turn out in his favour. At any rate he turned on his heel and went back outside.

  63. 63

    --I am sorry, said Tine. That was perhaps someone with chickens for sale, or vegetables.

  64. 64

    I have nothing yet in the house. --Well then, just send someone out for that, answered Havelaar.

  65. 65

    You know that native ladies are fond of wielding authority. Her husband was formerly the foremost person here, and little though an assistant resident really amounts to, in his division he is a petty king: she is not yet used to the dethronement.

  66. 66

    Let us not deny that poor woman this little pleasure. Just act as though you had not noticed it.

  67. 67

    Now this came easily to Tine: she had no love of authority.

  68. 68

    A digression is needed here, and I should even like, for once, to digress about digressions.

  69. 69

    It is sometimes not easy for a writer to steer just so between the two reefs of too much and too little, and this difficulty grows greater when one describes conditions that must transport the reader onto unfamiliar ground.

  70. 70

    There is too close a connection between places and events for one to be able to do entirely without the description of those places; and avoiding the two reefs I spoke of becomes doubly difficult for someone who has chosen the Indies as the setting of his tale.

  71. 71

    For where a writer dealing with European conditions can take many things as known, one who sets his piece in the Indies must continually ask himself whether the non-Indian reader will rightly grasp this or that circumstance.

  72. 72

    When the European reader pictures Mrs. Slotering as "lodging" with the Havelaars, as would be the case in Europe, it must seem incomprehensible to him that she was not present in the company taking coffee in the front gallery.

  73. 73

    True, I have already said that she occupied a separate house; but for a correct understanding of this, and likewise of later events, it is indeed necessary that I make Havelaar's house and grounds somewhat known to him.

  74. 74

    The reproach so often brought against the great master who wrote Waverley, that he often abuses the patience of his readers by devoting too many pages to the description of places, seems groundless to me; and I believe that, in order to judge the justice of such a charge, one need only put the question to oneself: was this description necessary for a correct understanding of the impression the writer wished to convey to you?

  75. 75

    If so, then let no one take it ill of him that he expects of you the trouble of reading what he took the trouble to write.

  76. 76

    If not, then let one throw the book away. For the writer who is empty-headed enough to give topography without need, in place of ideas, will seldom be worth the trouble of reading, even where his description of places at last comes to an end.

  77. 77

    But let it not be forgotten that the reader's judgment as to whether a digression is necessary or not is often false, because before the catastrophe he cannot know what is or is not required for the gradual development of the situation. And when, after the catastrophe, he takes up the book again--of books one reads only once I do not speak--and even then still thinks that this or that digression might well have been spared without harm to the impression of the whole, it remains forever the question whether he would have received the same impression of the whole had not the writer, by more or less artful means, brought him to it, precisely by those digressions that strike the superficially judging reader as superfluous.

  78. 78

    Do you think that Amy Robsart's death would have moved you so, had you been a stranger in the halls of Kenilworth?

  79. 79

    And do you believe that there is no connection--connection by contrast--between the rich garb in which the unworthy Leicester showed himself to her, and the blackness of his soul?

  80. 80

    Do you not feel that Leicester--everyone knows this who knows the man from sources other than the novel alone--that he stood infinitely lower than he is portrayed in Kenilworth?

  81. 81

    But the great novelist, who chose rather to enthral by an artful arrangement of colours than by coarseness of colour, deemed it beneath him to dip his brush in all the mire and all the blood that clung to Elizabeth's unworthy favourite.

  82. 82

    He wished to point out but a single speck in the pool of filth, yet he knew how to make such specks catch the eye through the tints he set beside them in his immortal writings.

  83. 83

    Whoever now thinks he may reject as superfluous all that setting-beside loses sight entirely of the fact that one would then, to produce an effect, have to turn to the school that has flourished so long in France since 1830--though, to the honour of that land, I must say that the writers who in this respect sinned most against good taste made their greatest mark precisely abroad, and not in France itself.

  84. 84

    That school--I hope and believe it has flowered itself out--found it easy to plunge a full hand into pools of blood and with it to fling great blots upon the painting, so that one would see it from afar!

  85. 85

    They are, after all, painted with less effort, those crude streaks of red and black, than the fine strokes one pencils into the cup of a lily.

  86. 86

    That is why that school chose for the most part kings as the heroes of its tales, preferably from a time when the peoples were still minors.

  87. 87

    Behold: the king's grief is rendered on paper as the wailing of a nation ... his wrath offers the writer occasion for the slaying of thousands on the battlefield ... his faults give scope for the painting of famine and pestilence ... all that gives work to coarse brushes!

  88. 88

    If you are not stirred by the mute ghastliness of a corpse lying there, there is room in my tale for a victim still twitching and shrieking!

  89. 89

    Have you not wept beside that mother fruitlessly seeking her child ... well, I show you another mother who sees her child quartered!

  90. 90

    Did you remain unmoved by that man's death under torture ... I multiply your feeling a hundredfold by having ninety-nine other men tortured beside him!

  91. 91

    Are you hardened enough not to shudder at the sight of the soldier who, in a besieged fortress, devours his own left arm out of hunger ...

  92. 92

    Epicurean!

  93. 93

    I propose to you the order: "right and left, form the ring! Let each eat the left arm of the man to his right ... march!"

  94. 94

    Yes, thus art's ghastliness passes over into folly ... which I wished to prove in passing.

  95. 95

    And into that, after all, one would fall by condemning too hastily a writer who wished to prepare you gradually for his catastrophe without resorting to those screaming colours.

  96. 96

    The danger on the other side, however, is greater still.

  97. 97

    You despise the efforts of the coarse literature that thinks it must storm your feelings with such rude weapons; but ... if the writer falls into the other extreme, if he sins by too much straying from the main point, by too much mannerism of the brush, then your anger is stronger still, and rightly so. For then he has bored you, and that is unforgivable.

  98. 98

    When we walk together, and you keep turning aside from the road and calling me into the underbrush, only to prolong the walk, I find this disagreeable, and resolve in future to go alone.

  99. 99

    But if you can point out to me there a plant I did not know, or one in which there is something to see that earlier escaped my notice ... if from time to time you show me a flower that I gladly pluck and carry along in my buttonhole, then I forgive you that straying from the road--yes, I am grateful for it.

  100. 100

    And, even without flower or plant, as soon as you call me aside to show me, through the trees, the path we shall presently tread, which now still lies far before us in the depths and winds like a barely perceptible little streak across the field down below ... even then I do not take the digression amiss.

  101. 101

    For when at last we shall have come so far, I shall know how our road wound through the mountains, what the reason is that we now have on our left the sun that stood just now over there, why that hill now lies behind us whose summit we earlier saw before us ... see, then by that digression you have made the understanding of my walk easy for me, and to understand is a pleasure.

  102. 102

    I, reader, have often left you on the high road in my tale, though it cost me an effort not to carry you off into the underbrush.

  103. 103

    I feared that the walk would weary you, since I did not know whether you would take delight in the flowers or plants I wished to show you. But because I believe it will give you pleasure later to have seen the path we shall presently tread, I now feel obliged to tell you something of Havelaar's house.

  104. 104

    One would do wrong to picture a house in the Indies according to European notions, and to imagine alongside it a mass of stone made up of rooms and little rooms stacked one on another, with the street in front, neighbours on right and left whose household gods lean against ours, and a little garden with three berry bushes behind it.

  105. 105

    With few exceptions, houses in the Indies have no upper storey.

  106. 106

    This strikes the European reader as strange, for it is a peculiarity of civilization--or of what passes for it--to find strange everything that is natural.

  107. 107

    The houses of the Indies are altogether different from ours, yet it is not they that are strange; our houses are strange.

  108. 108

    Whoever first could afford the luxury of not sleeping in one room with his cows did not set the second room of his house on top of, but beside the first, for building on a single level is simpler and offers more comfort in the living.

  109. 109

    Our tall houses were born of a want of space: we seek in the air what is lacking on the ground, and so, in truth, every servant girl who in the evening closes the window of the attic room where she sleeps is a living protest against overpopulation ... though she herself be thinking of something else, as I am quite willing to believe.

  110. 110

    In countries, then, where civilization and overpopulation have not yet squeezed mankind upward by compression below, the houses are without an upper storey, and Havelaar's was not among the few exceptions to this rule.

  111. 111

    On entering ... but no, I will give a proof that I renounce all claim to picturesqueness.

  112. 112

    Given: an oblong rectangle that you will kindly divide into twenty-one squares, three wide, seven deep.

  113. 113

    We number these squares, beginning from the upper left-hand corner and going rightward, so that four comes beneath one, five beneath two, and so on.

  114. 114

    The first three numbers together form the front gallery, which is open on three sides and whose roof rests in front on columns.

  115. 115

    From there one passes through two double doors into the inner gallery, which is represented by the next three squares.

  116. 116

    Squares 7, 9, 10, 12, 13, 15, 16, and 18 are rooms, most of which are connected by doors with those lying adjacent ...

  117. 117

    The three highest numbers form the open back gallery, and what I skipped over is a sort of unenclosed inner gallery, passage, or corridor.

  118. 118

    I am downright proud of this description.

  119. 119

    It is hard to say which expression in the Netherlands renders the idea that one attaches in the Indies to the word "erf." There an erf is neither garden, nor park, nor field, nor wood, but either something of these, or all of them together, or none of them at all.

  120. 120

    It is the ground belonging to the house, in so far as that ground is not covered by the house itself, so that in the Indies the expression "garden and grounds" would pass for a pleonasm. There are few or no houses there without such a plot.

  121. 121

    Some plots contain woodland and garden and meadow, and call a park to mind. Others are flower gardens.

  122. 122

    Elsewhere again the whole plot is one large lawn. And finally there are those that, quite plainly, have been made over entirely into a macadamized square, which is perhaps less pleasing to the eye, yet promotes cleanliness within the houses, since many kinds of insects are drawn by grass and trees.

  123. 123

    Now Havelaar's plot was very large—indeed, strange as it may sound, on one of its sides one might have called it boundless, for it bordered on a ravine that stretched down to the banks of the Tjioedjoeng, the river that encircles Rangkas-Betoeng in one of its many bends.

  124. 124

    It was hard to determine where the grounds of the assistant resident's house ended and where the common land began, since the great rise and fall of the water in the Tjioedjoeng—which now drew its banks back the breadth of a horizon, and now again filled the ravine to very near Havelaar's house—was forever altering the boundaries.

  125. 125

    This ravine had therefore always been a thorn in the eye of Mrs. Slotering, which is very understandable.

  126. 126

    The plant growth, already so rapid everywhere else in the Indies, was on that spot uncommonly luxuriant on account of the silt deposited there time and again, so much so that, even when the rising or falling of the water had taken place with a force that uprooted the underbrush and swept it away, very little time was needed for the ground to be covered once more with all the rank growth that made keeping the plot clean—even in the immediate vicinity of the house—so difficult.

  127. 127

    And this caused no small distress, even to one who was no housewife.

  128. 128

    For—to say nothing of all manner of insects, which usually flew about the lamp of an evening in such great swarms that reading and writing became impossible (a nuisance in many places in the Indies)—there dwelt in that underbrush a host of snakes and other vermin, which did not confine themselves to the ravine, but were repeatedly found in the garden beside and behind the house as well, or in the grass plot on the front square.

  129. 129

    This square lay directly before one when one stood in the outer gallery with one's back turned to the house. To its left stood the building with the offices, the treasury, and the council hall where Havelaar had addressed the Chiefs that morning, and behind it stretched the ravine, which one overlooked as far as the Tjioedjoeng.

  130. 130

    Just opposite the offices stood the old assistant resident's house, now temporarily inhabited by Mrs. Slotering, and since access from the high road onto the grounds ran by two paths that passed along both sides of the lawn, it follows of itself that anyone who set foot on the plot in order to make his way to the kitchen or the stables, which lay behind the main building, had to pass either the offices or Mrs. Slotering's dwelling.

  131. 131

    To the side of the main building and behind it lay the rather large garden that had stirred Tine's delight, on account of the many flowers she found there, and above all because little Max would so often play there.

  132. 132

    Havelaar had sent his apologies to Mrs. Slotering for not yet having paid her a visit. He intended to go there the following day, but Tine had been and had made her acquaintance.

  133. 133

    We have already learned that this lady was a so-called "native child," who spoke no language other than Malay.

  134. 134

    She had made known her wish to go on running her own household, in which Tine gladly acquiesced.

  135. 135

    And this acquiescence sprang not from any want of hospitality, but chiefly from the fear that she, newly arrived at Lebak and thus not yet "settled," might not be able to receive Mrs. Slotering as well as the particular circumstances in which that lady found herself made desirable.

  136. 136

    True, she—understanding no Dutch—would not be "injured" by Max's tales, as Tine had termed it, but she grasped that more was needed than not to wound the Slotering family, and the meager kitchen, taken together with the thrift they had resolved upon, made her in truth find Mrs. Slotering's intention very sensible.

  137. 137

    Whether, moreover, had circumstances been otherwise, intercourse with someone who spoke but a single language, in which nothing is printed that refines the mind, would have led to mutual pleasure, remains doubtful.

  138. 138

    Tine would have kept her company as well as she could, and talked much with her about kitchen matters, about sambals, about the pickling of ketimon—without Liebig, ye gods!—but a thing of that sort always remains a sacrifice, and so it was thought very well that the affair had been arranged, by Mrs. Slotering's voluntary withdrawal, in a manner that left both parties complete freedom.

  139. 139

    Singular, however, it was that this lady had not only declined to take part in the common meals, but that she would not even make use of the offer to have her dishes prepared in the kitchen of Havelaar's house. "This modesty," said Tine, "was carried somewhat too far, for the kitchen was roomy enough."

The particulars

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Max Havelaar, Multatuli. The Novel.
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Public-domain Dutch (Multatuli, d. 1887; published 1860). English translation © 2026 1732 Studios, LLC.
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Two whoopie pies and a pine. An inside joke.