By now, casually, the other ladies also sensed something of what was happening in Labuwangi behind a haze of mystery. Because Ida van Helderen told Eva Eldersma, her tragic white Eurasian eyes aghast with fear, that her husband and Eldersma and the Commissioner too were afraid of a revolt by the population, stirred up by the Prince’s family, which could never forgive the dismissal of the Prince of Ngajiwa. However, the men gave nothing away and reassured their wives. But a dark turbulence continued to bubble under the ostensible calm of their provincial life. And gradually the rumours leaked out and alarmed the European population. Vague reports in the newspapers — commenting on the dismissal of the Prince — also played a part. Meanwhile, the busy preparations for the gala continued, but people were no longer involved heart and soul. People’s lives were hectic and restless, and they became sick with nerves. At night, houses were made more secure, weapons put out close to hand; people woke suddenly in a fright, listening to the muffled sounds of the night in the great outdoors. Opinion condemned the hastiness of Van Oudijck, who after the scene at the ball following the races had no longer been able to exercise any patience, and had not hesitated to recommend the dismissal of the Prince, whose family was so attached to and so identified with the territory of Labuwangi.
The Commissioner had authorized for the native population an evening market on the square in front of the commissioner’s mansion, which would last several days and coincide with the gala. There would be popular festivities, with many stalls and booths, and a Malay theatre company performing scenes from the Arabian Nights. As a favour to the Javanese population, which was much appreciated, he had decreed this to be at the same time that the Europeans were celebrating. There were now only a few days to go to the gala and the day before, quite coincidentally, the monthly management meeting was to be held at the palace.
The anxiety, the bustle, the nervousness caused such a stir in the otherwise invariably quiet town that it made people almost ill. Mothers sent their children away and were themselves in two minds. But the gala made people stay. Did they want to miss the gala? Treats were so rare here. But if there really was… a rebellion! And people didn’t know what to do: people were undecided whether to take seriously the murky threat that they sensed, or to make light-hearted fun of it.
The day before the meeting, Van Oudijck requested an audience with the Princess, who lived with her son. His carriage drove past the booths and stalls on the square, and through the decorative gates of the evening market. This evening was to be the first evening of the festivities. They were putting the finishing touches and in the hive of activity and hammering and arranging, the natives did not always squat down for the Commissioner’s carriage, and did not see the gold sunshade, which the attendant held on the box like a furled sun. But when the carriage drove past the flagpole into the palace driveway and people saw that the Commissioner was going to visit the Prince, groups formed, and people spoke in heated whispers. They thronged about the entrance to the drive, and tried to catch a glimpse of proceedings. But the population could see nothing except the dim outline of the empty pavilion, with its rows of expectant chairs. The Chief of Police, who at that moment suddenly rode past on his bicycle, made the gatherings scatter as if by instinct.
The old Princess waited for the Commissioner on the front veranda. A calm lay over her dignified face and did not allow one to read her inner turmoil and feelings. She motioned the Commissioner to sit and the conversation began with the usual formalities. Then four servants approached quickly, half-squatting and half-crawling across the ground: one with a crate full of bottles, another with a tray carrying a quantity of glasses, a third with a silver ice bucket full of ice cubes, the fourth not carrying anything but performing the semba. The Princess asked the Commissioner what he wanted to drink and he said he would like a whisky and soda. The last servant, still moving between the three others on his haunches, prepared the drink, poured in the measure of whisky, opened the soda-water bottle like a cannon and dropped an ice cube like a miniature glacier into the glass. Not a word had yet been spoken. The Commissioner first allowed the drink to stand, and the four servants left on their haunches. Then, finally, Van Oudijck began and asked the Princess if he could say in complete confidence what was on his mind. She begged him politely to do so. In his firm, muted voice, he said to her, in Malay, in very courteous phrases full of friendship and flowery politeness, how high and great his love for the Prince had been and still was for his illustrious family, even though he, Van Oudijck had with the deepest regret had to act contrary to that love, because his duty demanded it of him. And he asked, if that were possible for a mother, not to bear him any ill will for performing his duty; he asked her, on the contrary, to feel like a mother towards him, the European official, who had loved the Prince like a father, to work with him, the official, as the mother of the Prince, by exercising her great influence as far as possible for the welfare and prosperity of the population. In his piety and his distant focus on invisible things, Sunario sometimes lost sight of factual, self-evident reality; well, he, the Commissioner, was asking her, the powerful, influential mother, to cooperate with him, in harmony and love, on those matters that Sunario overlooked. In the elegance of his Malay he opened his heart completely, and told her of the turmoil that had been brewing for days among the population, like a noxious poison that could only intoxicate it and might lead it to commit acts that would be bound to cause deep regret. And with those last words “deep regret” he indicated to her, between the lines, that the government would be the stronger, and that a dreadful punishment would befall those who were proved guilty, both high and low. But his language remained supremely courteous and his words respectful, like those of a son addressing a mother. She, although she understood the tenor of his words, appreciated the tactful grace of his manners, and the flower-strewn depth and seriousness of his language made him rise in her estimation and almost astonished her — in a Dutch commoner, without noble blood or breeding. But he went on, and did not say to her what he knew very well, that she was the instigator of this dark turmoil — though he did say it was excusable, that he understood that the population sympathized with her in her sorrow at her unworthy son, himself a descendant of the noble family, and that it was therefore natural that the people should feel deeply for their old Princess, even if that sympathy was in this case unreasonable and illogical. For her son was unworthy, the Prince of Ngajiwa had proved himself unworthy, and what had happened could not have happened differently. His voice became stern for a moment and she bowed her grey head, remained silent and appeared to accept what he said. Now his words became more tender again and once more he asked for her help in exercising her influence for the best. He had complete confidence in her. He knew that she upheld the tradition of her family, the loyalty to the Dutch East India Company, the unimpeachable loyalty to the government. He was asking her to exercise her power and influence in such a way, to use the love and veneration she inspired in such a way that she, together with him, the Commissioner, might quieten what was churning in the darkness; that she would bring to their senses those who did not reflect; that she would pacify what threatened in secret — thoughtlessly and frivolously — the worthy and powerful authority. While he flattered and threatened at the same time, he felt that she — although she said scarcely a word, but simply punctuated his words with her saya—was becoming susceptible to his more powerful influence as a man of tact and authority, and that he was causing her to reflect. He could see that as she reflected the hate subsided in her, the vengefulness became paralysed, and that he was breaking the energy and pride of the ancient blood of the sultans of Madura. Beneath his flowery language, he gave her a glimpse of complete downfall, the heavy penalty, the government’s power that remained superior. And he bent her into the old suppleness in bowing before the power of the rulers. He taught her that, against her impulse to rise up and throw off the hated yoke, it was better to be sensible and calm and to submit once again. She nodded gently in agreement, and he felt he had overpowered her, which awakened a sense of pride in him. And now she spoke, and promised with her inwardly weeping, broken voice, saying that she loved him like a son, that she would do as he wished and would certainly exert her influence outside the palace in the town to abate these threatening troubles. She denied any responsibility and said that they had originated from the unthinking love of the population, which sympathized with her because of her son. She repeated his own words back to him, but did not use the word “unworthy”, since she was his mother, and again she repeated that he could trust her, that she would do as he wished. Then he told her that tomorrow he would be coming to the monthly council with all his officials and with the native chiefs, and said that so great was his trust in her that all the Europeans would be unarmed. He looked into her eyes. He was threatening her more by saying this than if he had mentioned weapons. For simply by the intonation of his Malay, he was threatening her with the punishment — the revenge — of the government if as much as one hair on the head of his officials were harmed. He had got to his feet. She also got up, wrung her hands, begging him not to speak in this way and to trust her and her son completely. And she summoned Sunario, the Prince of Labuwangi, and Van Oudijck repeated yet again that he hoped for peace and reflection, and in the tone in which the old Princess used with her son, he felt that she wanted there to be reflection and peace. He felt that she, the mother, was all-powerful in the palace.