Max Havelaar (Nahuijs)/Chapter 16

by Multatuli

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Chapter XVI.

[Composed by Stern.]

Havelaar received a letter from the Regent of Tjanjor, wherein the latter communicated to him that he wished to pay a visit to his uncle the Regent of Lebak. This was very disagreeable news for him. He knew how the chiefs in the Preangan Regencies were accustomed to display much magnificence, and how the Regent of Tjanjor could not undertake such a journey without a train of many hundreds, all of whom must be lodged and fed, as also their horses. He would gladly have prevented this visit; but he thought in vain of the means of doing so, without offending the Regent of Rankas-Betong; as the latter was very proud and would have felt deeply offended if his comparative poverty had been mentioned as a motive for not visiting him. And if this visit could not be avoided, it would inevitably give occasion to aggravate the oppression of the people.

It is to be doubted if Havelaar’s speech had made a lasting impression on the chiefs; with many this was certainly not the case; but it is certain that, in all the villages, the report had spread, that the gentleman who had power at Rankas-Betong would do justice, and if his words were powerless to prevent crime, they had at least given the victims the courage to complain, however hesitatingly and secretly.

In the evening they crept through the ravine, and when Tine was sitting in her room, she was frightened by an unexpected noise, and saw before the open windows dark forms that sneaked along with a shy step. But very soon she started no more, for she knew what it meant when these forms wandered like so many spectres round the house, and asked protection of her Max. Then she beckoned him, and he got up to call in the complainants. Most of them came from the district of Parang-Koodjang, where one of the chiefs was a son-in-law of the Regent; and though this chief did not omit to take his part of the extortion, yet it was no secret that he generally robbed in name of the Regent, and for his benefit. It was affecting to see how these poor men relied upon the chivalry of Havelaar, that he would not summon them to repeat the following day openly what they told him in his room. This would have caused the ill-treatment of them all, and the death of many. Havelaar made notes of what they said, and after that ordered the plaintiffs to return to their village. He promised that justice should be done, provided they made no opposition, and did not emigrate, as was the intention of many. Generally, he was shortly afterwards at the place where the injustice happened, yes, he had often been there already, and had for the most part examined into the affair before the plaintiff himself had returned to his dwelling. In this manner he visited in this extensive department, villages that were eighty miles distant from Rankas-Betong, without the Regent or even the Controller Verbrugge knowing that he was absent from the capital. His object in so doing was to shield the complainants from the danger of revenge, and at the same time to spare the Regent the shame of a public inquiry, which with Havelaar would not have ended in a revocation of the complaint. He still hoped that the chiefs would turn back on the dangerous road which they had already walked so long; and he would in that case have been contented merely to claim indemnification for the poor sufferers.

But on every occasion of his speaking to the Regent, it was evident to him that all promises of amendment were vain; and he was deeply pained at the ill-success of his endeavours.

We shall now leave him for a time in his disappointment and the difficult work he had undertaken, to relate to the reader the history of the Javanese Saïdjah in the dessah Badoer. I extract from Havelaar’s notes the name of this village and that of the Javanese concerned. It is a case of extortion and plunder; and lest my history should be thought fictitious, I give the assurance that I can furnish the names of the thirty-two persons in the district of Parang-Koodjang alone, from whom in the course of one month thirty-six buffaloes had been stolen for the use of the Regent; or, still better, I can give the names of thirty-two persons in that district, who in one month dared to complain, and whose complaints, having been examined by Havelaar, were found to be true.^[1]

There are five such districts in the Residency of Lebak. Now if one chooses to believe that the number of stolen buffaloes was less in those parts that had not the honour of being governed by the son-in-law of the Regent, I will grant that; though the question still remains, whether the rapacity of other chiefs was not founded on as sure ground as that of near relationship? For instance, the district chief of Tjilangkahan on the south coast could in default of a father-in law, of whom one was much afraid, rely upon the difficulty with which the poor in their complaints had to contend, that, namely, of walking forty or sixty miles before hiding themselves during the evening in the ravine near Havelaar’s house. And if we observe the fact that many started never to reach that house, that many did not even leave their village, frightened as they were by their own experience or by the sight of the fate which overtook other plaintiffs, then I believe that we should be wrong in thinking that the multiplication by five of the number of buffaloes stolen out of one district would be too high an estimate of the number of cattle stolen every month in the five districts, to provide for the wants of the Regent of Lebak’s court.

And it was not buffaloes alone; nor was buffalo-robbing the main thing. A somewhat less degree of shamelessness is required—above all in India, where statute-labour is still lawful—to summon the people unlawfully for unpaid labour, than is necessary to take away property. It is easier to make the population believe that the Government wants labour without wishing to pay for it, than that it should claim the poor man’s buffalo for nothing; and even if the timorous Javanese dared to investigate whether the statute-labour required of him agreed with the regulations on the subject, even then it would be impossible to succeed, as the one has nothing to do with the other, and he cannot therefore calculate whether the fixed number of persons has not been exceeded ten or fifty times. Where also the most dangerous, the most easily discovered abuse, is executed with such boldness, what may not then be thought of the abuses that are much easier of execution, and less liable to discovery? I said that I was going to relate the history of the Javanese Saïdjah; yet I am compelled first to make one of those digressions which are so difficult to avoid when describing situations that are quite strange to the reader. I will state at the same time the causes that make it so difficult for those who have not been in India to judge of Indian affairs.

I have repeatedly spoken of the people as Javanese, and however natural this nomenclature may appear to the European reader, it must have sounded wrong to the ears of any one acquainted with Java. The Western Residencies of Bantam, Batavia, Preangan, Krawand, and a part of Cheribon,—all together called Soondah-countries,^[2]—are not considered as belonging to Java proper; and not to speak now of the foreigners that came from over the sea into these regions, the aboriginal population is quite different from that of the middle of Java, or that of the so-called east corner. Language, character of the people, manners, dress, change so much as you go eastward, that, indeed, there is more difference between the Soondanese and the Javanese proper, than between the English and the Dutch. Such differences are often the cause of disputes in judging of Indian affairs. If we observe that Java alone is so sharply divided into two distinct parts, without marking the many subdivisions of these, we may calculate how great the difference must be between populations that live further from each other, and are separated by the sea. He whose knowledge of Dutch India is confined to Java, can no more form a just idea of the Malay, the Amboynese, the Battah, the Alfoer, the Timorese, the Dayak, or the native of Macassar, than he who never left Europe; and for a person who has had the opportunity of observing the difference between these populations, it is indeed often amusing to hear the conversations, and afflicting to hear the speeches, of persons who get their knowledge of Indian affairs at Batavia or at Buitenzorg. I have often wondered at the courage with which, for instance, a late Governor-General endeavoured, in the Representative Chambers, to give weight to his words, by a pretended claim to local knowledge and experience. I esteem very highly the knowledge acquired by profound study in the library, and have often been astonished at the extent of the knowledge of Indian affairs which some have displayed without having ever trod Indian ground, and when a late Governor-General gives proofs of having acquired such knowledge in this manner, we feel for him the respect which is the legitimate reward of the conscientious and fruitful labour of many years. This respect would be still greater for him, than for the scholar who had fewer difficulties to conquer, because he at a far distance, without inspections, ran a less risk of falling into the errors which are the consequence of a defective view, as was the lot of the late Governor-General.^[3]

I said that I was surprised at the confidence which some have shown in the treatment of Indian affairs. For they know that their words are heard by others than those who think it enough to have passed a few years at Buitenzorg, to know India; that these words are likewise read by those persons in India itself, who were the witnesses of their inexperience, and who, as much as I, are astonished at the boldness with which a man, who, only a short time ago, tried to hide this incapacity behind the high rank which the King had given him, speaks now all at once as if he really possessed a knowledge of the affairs of which he treats.

Again and again, therefore, you hear complaints of incompetent interference, again and again this or that system is opposed in the Representative Chambers by denying the competency of him who represents such a system, and it would perhaps not be inopportune to make an exact inquiry into the qualities which make a person competent to judge of competency. Generally, the touchstone of an important question is not the matter of which it treats, but the value which is ascribed to the opinion of the person who speaks of it; and as he is often one who is considered to be qualified above all others, one who had, in India, such “a high position,” the consequence of it is, that the results of the voting bear generally the colour of the errors that seem to stick to “these important positions.” If this is the case where the influence of such a person is only exercised by a member of the Representative Chambers, how great then will be the inclination to judge wrongly if such influence is accompanied by the confidence of the King, who placed this functionary at the head of the ministry of the colonies? It is a peculiar phenomenon (perhaps owing its origin to a sort of dulness, which shuns the trouble of judging for ourselves), how easily one gives his confidence to persons who know how to give themselves the appearance of more knowledge, when this knowledge has been drawn from a foreign source. The reason perhaps is, that self-love is less hurt by the acknowledgment of such an ascendency, than would be the case if one could have recourse to the same expedients when anything like emulation should arise. It is easy for the representative of the people to give up his opinion, as soon as it is combated by a person who may be deemed to pass a more accurate judgment than he, and this accuracy need not be ascribed to personal superiority, confession of which would be more difficult, but only to the particular circumstances wherein such an opponent has been. And not to speak of those who have filled high offices in India, it is indeed strange how often value is ascribed to the opinion of persons who really possess nothing to justify the credit given them, than the remembrance of a residence of so many years in those regions, and this is so much the more strange, because they, who attach importance to such a source of information, would not readily believe all that would be told them, for instance, about political economy in Holland, by a person who could show that he had lived forty or fifty years in Holland. There are persons who have lived more than thirty years in Dutch India without ever coming in contact with either the population or the native chiefs; and it is sad that the Council of India is often totally, or for a great part, composed of such persons,—that the means have even been found to make the King sign the appointment, as Governor-General, of a person who belonged to this class.

When I said that this supposed capacity of a newly appointed Governor-General might be considered as implying that he was held to be a genius, I did not mean to recommend the appointment of geniuses. Besides the difficulty of having this important employment continually vacant, another reason pleads against this. A genius would not be able to work under a Minister of the colonies, and would therefore be useless, as geniuses generally are.

It would, perhaps, be desirable that the main faults given by me in the form of a diagnosis should get the attention of those who are called upon to the choice of a new Governor. Taking it for granted that all the persons considered eligible are conscientious, and in the possession of a faculty of comprehension sufficient to enable them to learn a little of what they will have to know, I think it a main thing that the avoidance may be expected of them of that presumptuous self-conceit in the beginning, and, above all, of that apathetic sluggishness in the last years of their administration, I have already said that Havelaar, in his difficult duty, thought he could rely upon the help of the Governor-General; and I added that this opinion was naïf. That Governor-General was expecting his successor. . . . his rest in Holland was near. We shall see what this sluggishness brought upon Havelaar, and upon the Javanese Saïdjah, whose monotonous history—one amongst many—I am now about to relate.

Yes, “monotonous” it will be! Monotonous as the history of the activity of the ant, which had to carry up its contribution for the winter store over the clod—the mountain—which blocks up the way to the storehouse. Again and again it falls back with its burden, to try again to put its feet on that little stone high there on the rock at the top of the mountain. But between it and this top there is an abyss, a depth which a thousand ants could not fill——this must be passed. Therefore the ant, that has scarcely the strength to drag its burden on even ground—a burden many times heavier than its own body—that can hardly lift it up and balance itself on an unsteady footing, has to preserve its equilibrium—when it climbs with its burden between the fore-legs, it has to sling it round to the side to make it come down on the point which stretches out on the rock,—it staggers, totters, is frightened, sinks down, endeavours to take hold of the half rooted-up trunk of a tree—of a blade of grass—which, with its top, points to the depth—it loses the fulcrum which it sought for, the tree gives way, the blade of grass yields under its weight, and the ant falls back into the depth with its burden. Then it is still for a moment, which is long in the life of an ant. It is stunned by the pain of its fall—or does it yield to grief that so much exertion was in vain? No, its courage does not forsake it. Again it seizes the burden, and again drags it aloft, again soon to fall into the depth. So monotonous is my tale. But I shall not speak of ants, whose joy or sorrow escapes our observation through the dulness of our organs; T shall speak of men who move in the way same as we do. It is true he who shuns emotion, and would fain avoid compassion, will say that those men are yellow or brown—many call them black,—and for them the difference of colour is reason enough for turning the eye from their misery, or at least for looking down on it without emotion. My narrative is therefore only addressed to those who are capable of the difficult faith, that hearts throb under that dark epidermis, and that he who is blessed with a white skin, and the civilisation thereunto belonging—generosity, mercantile knowledge, and religion, virtue, etc.—might use these qualities of the white man better than has yet been experienced by those less blessed in colour and mental capacity.

Yet my confidence in your sympathy with the Javanese does not go so far as to make me imagine when I tell you how the last buffalo has been carried off from the enclosure, in broad daylight, without fear, under protection of Dutch power, when I cause the stolen cattle to be followed by the owner and his weeping children, and make him sit down upon the steps of the robber’s house, speechless and senseless, absorbed in sorrow, to be chased away with outrage and disdain, menaced with stripes and prison. . . . .

See! I neither claim nor expect that you will be moved by this in the same manner as you would be if I sketched the destiny of a Dutch peasant whose cow had been taken away. Task no tear for the tears that flow on such dark faces, nor noble indignation when I shall speak of the despair of the sufferer. Neither do I expect that you will rise and go with my book in your hand to the King, saying: “Look here, O King, that happens in your empire, in your beautiful empire of Insulinde!”. . . .

No, no; all this I do not expect. The excess of misery at home overmasters your feeling of sympathy for what is far off. Was there not yesterday but little business going on at the Exchange, and does not the glutting of the coffee-market threaten a reduction in price?

 

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“Don’t write such nonsense to your papa, Stern,” I said, and perhaps a little passionately, for I can’t bear untruth; that has always been a fixed principle with me. I wrote that evening to old Mr. Stern, telling him to beware of false reports.

The reader understands what I have again suffered in listening to the last chapters. Was I not right when I said that Shawlman had made them all mad with his parcel? Would you recognise in this writing business of Stern——and Fred too helps, that is certain——young men that were educated in a respectable house?

What foolish sallies are these against a sickness which reveals itself in a desire for a country seat? Is that aimed at me? Am not I allowed to go to Driebergen as soon as Fred is a broker? And who speaks of dysentery in the company of mothers and daughters? It is a fixed principle with me always to remain quiet, for I think it useful in business; but I must confess, that it has often cost me a great deal to listen to all the nonsense that Stern reads. What does he mean? What must be the end of all this? When shall we hear anything substantial? Of what interest is it for me whether Havelaar keeps his garden clean or not, and whether those people enter in front of the house or at the back? At Busselinck and Waterman’s one has to go through a small entrance, near an oil warehouse, where it is always abominably dirty.——And then those tiresome buffaloes. Why do they want buffaloes, those black fellows? . . . . I never had a buffalo, and yet I am contented;—there are men who are always complaining. And as regards that scoffing at forced labour, I perceive that he had not heard that sermon of Dominé Wawelaar’s, otherwise he would know how useful labour is in the extension of the kingdom of God. It is true, he is a Lutheran. . . . .

To be sure, if I could have known how he would write the book, which was to be so important to all coffeebrokers—and others—I would rather have done it myself. But he is supported by the Rosemeyers, who trade in sugar, and this makes him so bold. I said plainly, for I am honest in those things, that we can dispense with the history of that man Saïdjah; but just then, all at once, Louise Rosemeyer began to cry. It appears that Stern had told her that there would be something about love in it, and girls are mad after that. Yet this would not have made me yield, if the Rosemeyers had not told me that they would like to be acquainted with Stern’s father. Of course, through the father they will arrive at the uncle, who trades in sugar. If I am now too much for common-sense, and against Stern junior, I get the appearance as if I would keep them away from him, and that is not at all the case, for they trade in sugar.

I don’t understand what Stern means by what he writes. There are always discontented people, and does it become him who enjoys so much good in Holland——only this week my wife gave him camomile tea——to scoff at the Government? Does he mean to excite public discontent? Does he want to become Governor-General? He is self-conceited enough for that. I told him the other day that he spoke very bad Dutch. “Oh, that is nothing,” said he, “it seems that a Governor is very seldom sent over who understands the language of the country.”

What shall I do with such a self-conceited fellow? He has not the least respect for my experience. When I told him this week that I had been a broker for seventeen years, he cited Busselinck and Waterman, who have been brokers for eighteen years, “and,” said he, “they have one year’s more experience.” Thus he caught me, for I must confess, because I like truth, that Busselinck and Waterman have little knowledge of business, and that they are old women and sneaks. Mary too is led astray. Only this week——it was her turn to read at breakfast, we were about to have the history of Lot——when she suddenly stopped, and refused to proceed. My wife, who likes religion as much as I do, tried gently to persuade her to obedience, because it does not become a modest girl to be go obstinate. All in vain. Thereupon I, as a father, was obliged to scold her with much severity, because she spoiled, by her obstinacy, the comfort of the breakfast, which always has a bad influence on the whole day. But nothing would help, and she went so far as to say, that she would rather be beaten till she was dead than proceed with reading. I have punished her with three days’ confinement to her room on coffee and bread; I hope that it will do her good. To make this punishment severe, at the same time a moral lesson, I have ordered her to copy the chapter which she would not read ten times, and I have treated her with this severity above all, because I have perceived that she has, during the last few days—whether from Stern or not I do not know—taken up ideas which appear to me to be dangerous to morality, to which my wife and I are so much attached. I heard her sing, for instance, a French song—by Béranger, I believe—in which the poet pities a poor old beggar, who in her youth sung at a theatre, and yesterday at breakfast she had no stays on——Mary, I mean—that was really not respectable.

I have likewise to confess that Fred brought home little good from the prayer-meeting. I had been much pleased with his sitting so quietly in church. He did not move, and always looked at the pulpit, but afterwards I heard that Betsy Rosemeyer was sitting near it. I said nothing about it, for one must not be too severe towards young people, and the Rosemeyers are a respectable firm. They have given their eldest daughter, who married Bruggeman the druggist, something very nice, and therefore I believe that this will keep Fred away from the Wester Market, which is very gratifying to me, because I am so attached to morality.

But I am grieved to see that this does not prevent Fred from hardening his heart, like Pharaoh, who was less guilty, because he had no father to show him continually the right path, for the Scriptures do not speak of old Pharaoh. Dominé Wawelaar complains of his conceit——I mean Fred’s——at catechism, and he seems—again from Shawlman’s parcel—to have derived this self-conceit, which drives the conscientious Wawelaar almost mad. It is touching how the worthy man, who often lunches with us, endeavours to work on Fred’s feelings, and how the scamp is always ready with new questions, which show the perversity of his heart. It all comes from that accursed book of Shawlman’s. With tears of emotion on his checks, the zealous servant of the Gospel endeavours to move him to turn away the eyes from the wisdom of men, to be introduced into the mysteries of the wisdom of God. With gentleness and meekness he prays him not to throw away the bread of eternal life, and to fall while acting thus into the clutches of Satan, who, with his angels, inhabits the fire prepared for him to all eternity. “Oh,” said he yesterday——Wawelaar, I mean——“O my young friend, open now eyes and ears, and hear and see what the Lord gives you to see and hear by my mouth. Pay attention to the evidences of the saints who have died for the true faith. Look at Stephen, sinking down under the stones that crush him, see how he still looks to heaven, and how he ceases not to sing psalms. . . .”

“I would rather have thrown stones in return,” said Fred in reply.——Reader! what shall I do with this fellow?

A moment afterwards Wawelaar commenced again; for he is an ardent servant, and sticks to his work. “Oh,” said he, “young friend. . . . (the preamble was as above), can you remain insensible when you think of what shall become of you when once you are counted amongst the goats on the left hand. . . .”

Thereupon the rogue burst out laughing——I mean Fred——and Mary laughed too. I even thought that I perceived something like a laugh on my wife’s face. But then I helped Wawelaar: I punished Fred with a fine out of his money-box to the missionary society.

But all this touches me deeply. And could any one take pleasure in hearing stories about buffaloes and the Javanese with such grievances of his own? What is a buffalo to the salvation of Fred? What do I care about the affairs of those people away there, when I have to fear that Fred will spoil my business by his unbelief, and that he will never become a good broker? For W. himself has said, that God so directs all things that orthodoxy leads to wealth! “Look only,” he said, “is there not much wealth in Holland? That is because of the Faith. Is there not in France every day murder and homicide? That is because there are Roman Catholics there. Are not the Javanese poor? They are Pagans. The more the Dutch have to do with the Javanese, the more wealth will be here, and the more poverty there.”

I am astonished at Wawelaar’s penetration. For it is the truth, that I, who am exact in religion, see that my business increases every year, and Busselinck and Waterman, who do not care about God or the Commandments, will remain bunglers as long as they live. The Rosemeyers, too, who trade in sugar, and have a Roman Catholic maid-servant, had a short time ago to accept 27 per cent. out of the estate of a Jew who became bankrupt. The more I reflect, the further I advance in tracing the unsearchable ways of God. Lately it appeared that thirty millions had been gained on the sale of products furnished by the Pagans, and in this is not included what I have gained thereby, and others who live by this business. Is not that as if the Lord said—“Here you have thirty millions as a reward for your faith?” Is not that the finger of God, who causes the wicked one to labour to preserve the righteous one? Is not that a hint for us to go on in the right way, and to cause those far away to produce much, and to stand fast here to the True Religion? Is it not therefore—“Pray and labour,” that we should pray, and have the work done by those who do not know the Lord’s Prayer?

Oh, how truly Wawelaar speaks, when he calls the yoke of God light! How easy the burden is to every one who believes. I am only a few years past forty, and can retire when I please to Driebergen, and see how it ends with others who forsake the Lord. Yesterday I saw Shawlman with his wife and their little boy: they looked like ghosts. He is pale as death, his eyes protrude, and his cheeks look hollow. His attitude is bent, though he is younger than I am. She too was dressed very poorly, and she seemed to have been weeping again: I perceived immediately that she is.of a discontented temper; I need only see a person once to form an opinion——that comes from my experience. She had on a thin cloak of black silk, and yet it was very cold. There was no trace of a crinoline; her thin dress hung loose round the knees, and a fringe hung from the edge. He had not even his shawl, and looked as if it was summer. Yet he seems to possess a kind of pride, for he gave something to a poor woman sitting on a bridge. He who has himself so little sins if he gives anything to another. Moreover, I never give in the streets, that is a principle of mine, for I always say, when I see such poor people, Perhaps it is their own fault, and I must not encourage them in their wickedness. Every Sunday I give twice: once for the poor, and once for the church. So it is right. I do not know if Shawlman saw me, but I passed rapidly and looked upwards, and thought of the justice of God, who would not have allowed him to walk along without an overcoat if he had behaved better, and if he were not idle, self-conceited, and sickly.

As regards my book, I must indeed beg pardon of the reader on account of the unpardonable manner in which Stern abuses our contract. I must confess that I look forward without pleasure to our next party, and the love-story of this Saïdjah. The reader knows already the sound notions which I have about love;—think only of my criticism of that excursion to the Ganges. That young ladies take pleasure in such things I understand, but that men of years hear such nonsense without disgust is inexplicable to me. I will endeavour to hear nothing of this Saïdjah, and hope that the fellow will marry soon, if he is to be the hero of a love-story. It was very good of Stern to warn us that it will be a monotonous story. When he afterwards commences with something else, I will listen again. But I am tired almost as much of his always condemning the Government as of his love-stories. It may be seen from everything that Stern is young, and has little experience. To judge rightly of affairs one must see them clearly. When I married I went to the Hague, and visited the Museum with my wife: I there came in contact with persons in all sorts of positions in society; for I saw the Minister of Finance pass by; and we bought flannel together in Veene Street——I and my wife I mean——and nowhere did I perceive the slightest evidence of discontent against the Government. The young woman in the shop looked healthy and contented; and when in 1856 some tried to deceive us by saying that at the Hague all was not as it ought to be, I said at the party what I thought about the discontent, and I was believed; for every one knew that I spoke from experience. When returning from my journey, the conductor of the diligence played a gay popular melody, and he would not have done that if there had been so much wrong. So having paid attention to all, I knew immediately what to think of all that grumbling in 1856.

Opposite to us there lived a young woman whose cousin has a Toko in the East Indies, as they call a shop there. If all was so very bad as Stern represents, she would likewise know something about it, and yet it seems that she is very contented, for I never hear her complain. On the contrary, she says that her cousin lives there at a country seat, and that he is member of the consistory, and that he has sent her a cigar-case ornamented with peacocks’-feathers, which he had himself made of bamboo. All this shows distinctly how unfounded all these complaints about misgovernment are. Likewise it is clear that for a person who will behave properly, there is still something to gain in that country, and that when this Shawlman was there, he was idle, conceited, and sickly, otherwise he would not have come home so very poor; to walk about here without a greatcoat. And the cousin of the young woman who lives opposite us is not the only one who has made his fortune in the East Indies. In the club I see so many persons who have been there, and who are very nicely dressed. But it is plain one must pay attention to one’s business yonder as well as here. In Java pigeons will not fly into anybody’s mouth ready roasted; there must be work, and whoever will not work is poor, and remains so as a matter of course.

 

1. This statement the author published in 1861 at Amsterdam. (Minnebrieven, by Multatuli.)
2. Soondah or Sundah.
3. Because usually the Governors-General have never before been in India. The late Governor-General, for instance, when he was appointed by the king, had never been in India, or connected in anything with Indian matters.