CHAPTER NINETEEN
Van Oudijck had been to the government-building that day. Leonie methim the moment he returned.
"The raden-aju pangeran is here," she said. "She has been here quitean hour, Otto. She wishes to speak to you badly. She has been waitingfor you."
"Leonie," he said, "I want you to look through these letters. I oftenget libels of this sort and I've never mentioned them to you. Butperhaps it's better that you should not be left in ignorance. Perhapsit's better for you to know. But please don't take them to heart. Ineedn't assure you that I don't for a moment believe one word of allthis filth. So don't get upset about it and give me back the letterspresently yourself. Don't leave them lying about.... And send theraden-aju pangeran to my office...."
Leonie, carrying the letters in her hand, went to the back-verandahand returned with the princess, a distinguished-looking, grey-hairedwoman, with a proud, royal bearing in her still slender figure. Hereyes were a sombre black; her mouth, which was widened in outlineby betel-nut-juice and which grinned with filed, black, lacqueredteeth, was like a grimacing mask and spoilt the proud nobility ofher expression. She wore a black satin kabaai fastened with jewelledbuttons. It was above all her grey hair and her sombre eyes thatgave her a peculiar admixture of venerable dignity and smoulderingpassion. Tragedy hung over her old age. She herself felt that fatewas pressing tragically upon her and hers; and she placed her onlyhope in the far-reaching, divinely-appointed power of her first-born,Sunario, the Regent of Labuwangi.
While the old princess preceded Van Oudijck into the office, Leonieexamined the letters in the middle gallery. They were lampoons couchedin foul language, about her and Addie and Theo. Always wrapped in theselfish dream of her own life, she never troubled greatly about whatpeople thought or said, especially as she knew that she could alwaysand immediately win every one again with her personality, with hersmile. She possessed a tranquil charm which was irresistible. Sheherself never spoke ill of others, out of indifference; she madeamiable excuses for everything and everybody; and she was loved... when people saw her. But she considered these dirty letters,spat out from some dark corner, tiresome and unpleasant, even thoughVan Oudijck did not believe them. Suppose that one day he beganto believe things? She must be prepared for it. She must aboveall retain for that possible day her most charming tranquillity,all her invulnerability, all her inviolability. Who could havesent the letters? Who hated her so much, who could be interested inwriting like this to her husband? How strange that the thing shouldbe known!... Addie? Theo? How did people know? Was it Oorip? No,not Oorip.... But who then? And was everything actually known? Shehad always thought that what happened in the secret chambers wouldnever be known on the housetops. She had even believed--it wassimple of her--that the men never discussed her with one another,that they might discuss other women, but not herself. Her mindharboured such simple illusions, despite all her experience, in asimplicity which harmonized with the half-perverse, half-childishpoetry of her rose-hued imagination. Could she then not always keephidden the secrets of her mystery, the secrets of reality? It annoyedher for a moment, that reality, which was being revealed despiteher superficial correctness.... Thoughts and dreams always remainedsecret. It was the actions that were so troublesome. For an instantshe thought of being more careful in future, of refraining. But shesaw before her, in imagination, Theo and Addie, her fair love andher dark love; and she felt that she was too weak for that. She knewthat in this she could not conquer her passions, though she controlledthem. Would they end by proving her destruction, notwithstanding allher tactfulness? But she laughed at the thought: she had a firm faithin her invulnerability. Life always glided off her shoulders.
Still she wanted to prepare herself for what might happen. She had nohigher ideal in life than to be free from pain, free from grief, freefrom poverty and to make her passions the slaves of her enjoyment,so that she might possess this enjoyment as long as possible, leadthis life as long as possible. She reflected what she should sayand do if Van Oudijck suddenly questioned her, suspicious becauseof these anonymous letters. She reflected whether she had betterbreak with Theo. Addie was enough for her. And she lost herselfin her calculations, as in the vague combinations of a play aboutto be enacted. Then, suddenly, she heard the raden-aju pangeran'svoice sounding loudly in the office, in between her husband's calmeraccents. She listened, inquisitively, foreseeing a tragedy, and wasquietly relieved that this tragedy also was gliding away from her. Shecrept into Van Oudijck's bedroom; the communicating-doors were alwaysleft open for coolness and only a screen separated the bedroom fromthe office. She peeped past the screen. And she saw the old princessmore greatly excited than she had ever seen any Javanese woman. Theraden-aju was beseeching Van Oudijck in Malay; he was assuring herin Dutch that what she asked was impossible. Leonie listened moreclosely. And she now heard the old princess imploring the resident toshow mercy to her second son, the Regent of Ngadjiwa. She entreatedVan Oudijck to remember her husband, the pangeran, whom he had lovedas a father, who had loved him as a son, with a mutual affection moreintense than that of an "elder and younger brother"; she conjured himto think of their famous past, of the glory of the Adiningrats, everloyal friends of the Company, its allies in war, its most faithfulvassals in peace; she conjured him not to decree the downfall oftheir race, on which a doom had descended since the pangeran's death,driving it into an abyss of fatal destruction. She stood before theresident like a Niobe, like a tragic mother, flinging up her armsin the vehemence of her protestations, while tears poured from hersombre eyes and only the wide mouth, painted with brown betel-juice,was like the grimace of a mask. But from this grimace the fluentphrases of protestation and conjuration were pouring forth; and shewrung her hands in entreaty and beat her breast in contrition.
Van Oudijck answered in a firm but gentle voice, telling her thatcertainly he had loved the old pangeran most sincerely, that herespected the old race highly, that no one would be better pleasedthan he to uphold their lofty position. But then he grew more severeand asked her whom the Adiningrats had to blame for the fate that wasnow pursuing her. And, with his eyes looking into hers, he said thatit was she! She fell back, flaring up with rage; but he repeatedit again and yet again. Her sons were her children: bigoted andproud and incurable gamblers. And it was gambling, that low passion,which was wrecking their greatness. Their race was staggering to itsdownfall through their insatiable greed of gain. How often did it nothappen that a month went by at Ngadjiwa before the regent paid thenative heads their salaries? She protested that it was true: it wasat her instigation that her son had taken the money of the treasury,to pay gambling debts. But she also swore that it would never happenagain. And where, asked Van Oudijck, had a regent, descended froman ancient race, ever behaved as the Regent of Ngadjiwa had at therace-ball? The mother lamented: it was true, it was true; fate doggedtheir footsteps and had clouded her son's mind; but it would never,never happen again. She swore by the soul of the old pangeran that itwould never happen again, that her son would win back his dignity. ButVan Oudijck grew more vehement and reproached her with never havingexercised a good influence over her sons and nephews, with beingthe evil genius of her family, because a demon of gambling and greedheld her fast in its claws. She began to shriek with anguish, she,the old princess, who looked down upon the resident, the Hollanderwithout birth or breeding, shrieking with anguish because he daredto speak like this and was entitled to do so. She flung out her arms,she begged for mercy; she begged him not to urge her son's dismissalby the government, which would act as the resident suggested, whichwould follow the advice of such a highly esteemed official; she beggedhim to have pity and show patience a little longer. She would speakto her son; Sunario would speak to his brother; they would bring himback to his senses, which had been bewildered by drink and play andwomen. Oh, if the resident would only have pity, if he would onlyrelent! But Van Oudijck remained inexorable. He had shown patiencefor so long. It was now exhausted. Since her son, at the instigationof t
he native physician, relying on his talisman, had resisted himwith his insolent silence, which, as he firmly believed, made himinvulnerable to his enemies, he would prove that he, the spokesman ofthe government, the representative of the queen, was the stronger,physician and talisman notwithstanding. There was no alternative:his patience was at an end; his love for the pangeran did not allowof further indulgence; his feeling of respect for their race was notsuch that he could transfer it to an unworthy son. It was settled:the regent would be dismissed.
The princess had listened to him, unable to credit his words, seeingthe abyss yawn before her. And, with a yell like that of a woundedlioness, with a scream of pain, she pulled the jewelled hairpins fromher head, till her long grey hair fell streaming about her face;with a rending tug she tore open her satin kabaai; beside herselfwith anguish, she threw herself before the feet of the European, tookfirm hold of his foot with her two hands, planted it, with a movementwhich made Van Oudijck stagger, on her bowed neck and cried aloudand screamed that she, the daughter of the sultans of Madura, wouldfor ever be his slave, that she swore to be nothing but his slave,if only he would have mercy on her son this time and not plunge herhouse into the abyss of shame which she saw yawning around her. And sheclutched the European's foot, as though with the strength of despair,and held that foot, like a yoke of servitude, with the sole and heelof the shoe pressed upon her flowing grey hair, upon her neck bowedto the floor. Van Oudijck trembled with emotion. He realized thatthis high-spirited woman would never humble herself like that, withevident spontaneity, to the lowest depths of humiliation that shecould conceive, would not resort to the most vehement utterance ofactual grief that a woman could ever display, with her hair unboundand the ruler's foot planted on her neck, if she had not been shakento the very depths of her soul, if she did not feel desperate tothe pitch of self-destruction. And he hesitated for a moment. Butonly for a moment. He was a man of considered principles, of fixed,a priori logic, immovable when he had come to a decision, whollyinaccessible to impulse. With the utmost respect, he at last releasedhis foot from the princess' clinging grasp. Holding out both handsto her, with visible compassion, visible emotion, he raised her fromthe floor. He made her sit down; and she fell into a chair, broken,sobbing aloud. For a moment, perceiving his gentleness, she thoughtthat she had won. But when he calmly but decidedly shook his headin denial, she understood that it was over. She panted for breath,half-swooning, her kabaai still open, her hair still unbound.
At that moment Leonie entered the room. She had seen the drama enactedbefore her eyes and felt a thrill of artistic emotion. She experiencedsomething like compassion in her barren soul. She approached theprincess, who flung herself into her arms, woman seeking woman in theunreasoning despair of that inevitable doom. And Leonie, turning herbeautiful eyes on Van Oudijck, murmured a single word of intercessionand whispered:
"Give in! Give in!"
And for the second time Van Oudijck wavered. Never had he refusedhis wife anything, however costly, for which she asked. But thismeant the sacrifice of his principle never to reconsider a decision,always to persist in what he had resolved should happen. Then hadhe always controlled the future. Thus things always happened as hewilled. Then had he never shown any weakness. And he answered thatit was impossible.
In his obstinacy, he did not divine the sacred moments in which aman must not insist upon his own will, but must piously surrenderto the pressure of the hidden forces. These moments he did notrespect, acknowledge or recognize; no, never. He was a man witha clear, logically deduced, simple, masculine sense of duty, aman of a plain and simple life. He would never know that, lurkingunder the simple life, are all those forces which together make theomnipotent hidden force. He would have laughed at the idea that thereare nations which have a greater control over that force than thewestern nations have. He would shrug his shoulders--and continue hisown road--at the mere supposition that among the nations there area few individuals in whose hands that force loses its omnipotenceand becomes an instrument. No experience would teach him. He wouldperhaps for an instant be nonplussed. But immediately afterwards hewould grasp the chain of his logic in his virile hand and link upthe iron actualities together....
He saw Leonie lead the old princess from his office, bowed and sobbing.
A deep emotion, an utterly agitating compassion, brought the tearsto his eyes. And before those tearful eyes rose the vision of thatJavanese whom he loved like a father.
But he did not give in.