Chapter IV

I did not care to show Fred that I began to take an interest in the contents of the parcel; and therefore I made him go away. I grew quite dizzy when I took in hand one treatise after another, and read the titles. It is true, there were many verses among them, but also much that was useful, and I was astonished at the variety of the different subjects. I acknowledge—for I love truth—that I, who have always been engaged in the coffee trade, am not in a position to criticise; but without going so far as criticising, I can pronounce the list of the different titles curious enough. As I have told you the history of the Greek, you know that in my youth I was taught Latin, and though I avoid quotations in my correspondence—which would not be right in a broker’s office—yet I thought, on seeing all these things: “De omnibus aliquid, de toto nihil,” or “Multa non multum.”

Yet I said this more out of anger, and a desire to speak in Latin of all this learning before me, than because I meant it. For if I examined something or other for a time, I was bound to confess that the author appeared to know all about it, and had even a great deal of sound argument in support of his opinions. I found in the parcel treatises and disquisitions—

On the Sanscrit, as the Mother of the Teutonic Languages;

On the Punishment of Infanticide;

On the Origin of the Nobility;

On the Difference between the Ideas: “Infinite time,” and “Eternity;”

On the Theory of Chances;

On the Book of Job—(there was something else about Job; but in verse);

On the Proteïne in the Atmospheric Air;

On Russian Politics;

On the Vowels;

On the Cellular Prisons;

On the Ancient Hypotheses;

Of the “Horror vacui;”

On the Desirableness of the Abolition of Punishments for Slander;

On the Causes of the Revolt of the Dutch against Spain, not being the Desire for Religious or Political Freedom;

On Perpetual Motion, the Squaring of the Circle, and the Extraction of the Square Root of Surds;

On the Ponderability of Light;

On the Decline of Civilisation since the Commencement of Christianity;

On the Mythology of Iceland;

On the Emile of Rousseau;

On Sirius as the Centre of the Solar System;

On Import Duties as Useless, Indelicate, Unjust, and Immoral—(of this I had never heard before);

On Verse as the Most Ancient Language—(this I do not believe);

On White Ants;

On the Unnaturalness of Schools;

On Hydraulic Matter in connexion with Rice Culture;

On the Apparent Ascendency of the Western Civilisation;

On the Price of Java Coffee—(this I have put aside);

On the Secret Societies of the Chinese, etc. etc. etc.

And this was not all. I found, not to speak of the verses—which were in all languages—many small treatises having no title;—romances in Malay, war-songs in Javanese, and what not. I found also letters, many of them in languages which I did not understand. Some were directed to him, others written by him, or were only copies; but evidently made for some particular purpose; for all were signed by other persons, who testified that they agreed with the original. I saw also extracts from diaries, notes and thoughts at random—some very much so. I had, as I said before, laid aside some treatises, because it appeared to me that they would be useful in my business, and I live for my business;—but I must confess that I was at a loss to know what to do with the rest. I could not return him the parcel; for I did not know where he lived. It was open now. I could not deny that I had looked at the contents—[and I should not have denied it, being so fond of truth],—because I had tried in vain to do it up exactly as it had been before. Moreover, I could not dissemble that some dissertations on Coffee interested me, and that I should like to make some use of them. Every day I read here and there some pages, and became more and more convinced that the author must have been a coffee-broker, to become so completely acquainted with all sort of things in the world. I am quite sure that the Rosemeyers, who trade in sugar, have not acquired such extensive knowledge.

But I was not easy about his conduct——he had on a shawl; and, moreover, I don’t know where he lives.

And thinking it over while I write, it seems to me that shipowners too are in some measure interested in it, and the commercial marine——

Certainly, that is true; sail-makers also, and ministers of finance; overseers of the poor, and other ministers; pastry-cooks, and shopkeepers; women, and shipbuilders; wholesale merchants, and retail dealers, and gardeners.—

So it was, that a few days ago, I didn’t know what to do with my book, but Fred showed me a way out of the dilemma. I did not tell him so, because I do not think it right to show anybody that I am under an obligation to him; that is a principle of mine, and a true one. He said, that Stern was such a clever fellow, that he made rapid progress in the Dutch language, and that he had translated Shawlman’s German verses into Dutch. You see, the Dutchman had written in German, and the German translated into Dutch; if each had stuck to his own language, much trouble would have been spared. But, I thought, if I have my book written by this Stern——when I have anything to add, I can write a chapter from time to time. Fred may also help—[he has a dictionary of difficulties]. Mary may write the fair copy, and this is a guarantee against all immorality; for, you understand, that a respectable broker will not give anything into the hands of his daughter that is contrary to Morals and Respectability.

I spoke to the young people about my plan, and they liked it. Only Stern, who, like Germans in general, has a smattering of literature, wanted to have a share in handling the subject. This I did not approve; but because there would soon be a Spring Auction, and no order had yet come from Ludwig Stern, I did not like to oppose his wishes. So we agreed to the following conditions:—

1. That he should contribute to the work every week two chapters.

2. That I should make no alterations in his contributions.

3. That Fred should correct the grammatical errors.

4. That I should be at liberty to write from time to time a chapter, to give the book a respectable appearance.

5. That the title should be: “The Coffee Auctions of the Dutch Trading Company.”

6. That Mary should make the fair copy for the press; but that we should have patience with her on washing-day.

7. That a complete chapter should be read every week at our party.

8. That all immorality should be avoided.

9. That my name should not appear on the title-page, because I am a broker.

10. That Stern should be at liberty to publish German, French, and English translations of my book, because, as he asserted, such works are better understood in foreign countries than at home.

11. That I should send Shawlman paper, pens, and ink.—[Stern insisted very much on this.]

I agreed to everything, for I wanted to finish the book. Stern was ready the following morning with his first chapter,—and here, reader, the question is answered, how it was that a coffee-broker—[Last and Co., No. 37 Laurier Canal]—wrote a book, something like a novel.

Scarcely, however, had Stern commenced the work when difficulties arrested him. In addition to the difficulty of selecting and arranging the materials, he met with, every moment, in the manuscripts words and expressions which he did not understand, and which puzzled even me. These were often Javanese or Malay; and abbreviations also occurred here and there, which we could not decipher. I perceived that we wanted Shawlman; and as I did not think it proper for a young man to fall into bad company, I would not send Stern or Fred to fetch him. I took some sweetmeats with me, which remained after the last party (for I always think about everything), and I went in search of him. His abode was certainly not brilliant; but equality for all men, and of their houses too, is a chimera. He said so himself in his treatise about “Pretensions to Happiness.” Moreover, I do not like persons who are always discontented. It was in a back room in the Lange-Leidsche Dwarsstraat. On the basement lived a marine store-keeper, who sold all sorts of things, as cups, saucers, furniture, old books, glasses, portraits of Van Speyk, and so on. I was very anxious not to break anything, for such people always ask more money for the things than they are worth. A little girl was sitting on the steps before the house, and dressing her doll. I inquired if Mr. Shawlman lived there; she ran away; and her mother made her appearance.

“Yes, sir, he lives here. Your honour has only to go upstairs, to the first landing, then to the second, on to the third, and your honour is there. Minnie, go and say that there is a gentleman come. Who can she say, sir?” I said that I was Mr. Drystubble, coffee-broker, at No. 37 Laurier Canal, but that I should introduce myself. I mounted as high as they told me, and heard on the third landing the voice of a child singing, “Papa will come soon,—sweet papa.” I knocked, and the door was opened by a woman or lady,—I did not know what to think of her. She looked very pale, and her features wore signs of fatigue. She made me think of my wife when washing-day is over. She was dressed in a long white gown or robe without waist-band, which descended to her knees, and was fastened in front with a black pin. Instead of a respectable skirt, she wore underneath a piece of dark linen covered with flowers,—which seemed to be wrapt round her body, hips, and knees very tightly. There was no trace of the folds, width, or amplitude becoming a woman. I was glad that I did not send Fred; for her dress seemed to be extremely immodest, and the strangeness of it was still heightened by the gracefulness of her movements, as if she thought herself quite right in this way, and seemed quite unconscious that she did not look like other women. I also perceived, that she was not at all perplexed at my arrival: she did not hide anything underneath the table, did not move the chairs,—in a word, she did not do as is generally done, when a stranger of respectable appearance arrives.

She had combed her hair back like a Chinese, and bound it behind her head in a sort of knot. Afterwards I heard that her dress is a sort of Indian costume, which they call there Sarong and Kabaai, but I thought it very ugly.

“Are you Shawlman’s wife?” I asked.

“To whom have I the honour to speak?” she said, and that in a tone which seemed to me as if she meant that I might have said honour too.

Now, I dislike compliments. With a “Principal” it is a different thing, and I have been too long a man of business not to know my position, but to give myself much trouble on a third storey, I did not think necessary. So I said briefly that I was Mr. Drystubble, coffee-broker, at No. 37 Laurier Canal, and that I wanted to speak to her husband.

She pointed me to a little chair, and took a little girl on her lap, that was playing on the ground. The little boy whom I had overheard singing looked steadily at me, having viewed me from head to foot. He also, though only six years old, appeared to be not at all perplexed. He was dressed in a very strange way, his wide trousers scarcely reached half-way down the thigh, and his legs were naked to the ankles.—Very indecent, I think. “Do you come to speak to papa?” he asked all of a sudden; and I saw at once that he had been badly brought up, otherwise he would have said “Sir.” But as I was a little out of countenance, and wanted to speak, I replied—

“Yes, my boy, I am here to speak to your papa; do you think he will be in soon?”

“I don’t know. He went out to look for money to buy me a box of colours.”

“Be quiet, my boy,” said the woman. “Do play with your pictures or with the puppet-show.”

“You know, mamma, that that gentleman took away everything yesterday.”

It appeared that “a gentleman had been there and taken away everything——” a delightful visit! The woman appeared to be in trouble, for secretly she wiped away her tears, whilst she brought the little girl to her brother.

“There,” said she, “play a little with Nonnie.”—A strange name. And so he did.

“Well, my good woman,” I asked; “do you expect your husband presently?”

“I do not know,”——she replied.

Then the little boy who had been playing with his sister, left her and asked me:

“Sir, why do you call mamma ‘my good woman?’ ”

“What then, my boy?” I said, “how must I address her?”

“Well—as others do.——You should say ‘my good woman’ to the woman below, who sells saucers.”

Now I am a coffee-broker—Last and Co., No. 37 Laurier Canal: we are thirteen of us at the office, and, including Stern, who receives no salary, there are fourteen. Well, my wife is not Madam, and ought I to call this creature Madam? That is impossible; every one must remain in his own station——besides, the bailiffs took away everything. I thought “my good woman” quite right, and made no alteration.

I asked why Shawlman had not called on me to ask for his parcel? She seemed to know it, and said that they had been to Brussels, where he had worked for the “Indépendance,” but that he could not remain there, because his articles caused the Journal to be so often refused at the French frontiers; that a few days ago they had returned to Amsterdam, where Shawlman expected a situation.

“That was certainly at Gaafzuiger’s?” I asked.

“Yes, it was; but that would not do,” she said.

I knew more about it than she. He had let the Aglaja fall, and was moreover idle, conceited, and poorly——therefore they had turned him out——“And,” she went on, “that he would certainly come to me one of these days, and was, perhaps, just now going to my house to ask for a reply to his request.”

I said that Shawlman might come, but that he was not to knock, that being so troublesome for the servant; if he waited for some time, I said, the door would certainly be opened, when somebody went out. And then I went away, and took my sweetmeats along with me; for, to speak the truth, I did not like the place. I did not feel comfortable there. A broker is certainly not a common porter, and I maintain that I am a very respectable man; I had on my coat with furs, and still she sat as much at her ease, and spoke as calmly with her children, as if she were alone. Moreover, she seemed to have been crying, and I cannot bear discontented persons: it was cold and unsociable there, because everything had been taken away, and I like sociability. While going home I resolved to give Bastianus another trial, not liking to give anybody his dismissal.

Now it is Stern’s first week. Of course much is in it which I do not like; but I must obey stipulation No. 2, and the Rosemeyers are of that opinion; but I think that they flatter Stern, because he has an uncle at Hamburg in the sugar trade.

Shawlman had indeed been at my house; he had spoken to Stern, and given him some information about words and matters which Stern did not understand. I beg the readers to peruse the following chapters; then I promise afterwards something more substantial, composed by myself, Batavus Drystubble, coffee-broker (firm of Last and Co., No. 37 Laurier Canal).